A/N: Sorry this took so damn long to update, I was dealing with graduation and stuff. But now I'm all done with school, so I'll have all summer to work on this. And I'm really enjoying writing it, so I hope you guys like it too! Review and all that shit.

Butters' fists curled into the pillow that he was currently pressing his forehead into.

"G-Gosh, Kenny..."

Said boy was fucking Butters into his mattress, passing time. As Kenny would say, 'Nothing like starting the day with a nut.' Normally, neither Kenny nor Butters had time to pass while waiting to go to school. But Craig Tucker was late to pick them up. Forty-five minutes late, as a matter of fact.

So Kenny decided to fuck Butters.

Now, Kenny fucked girls. Not boys. He didn't like it. But Butters was Kenny's only exception. Because he did like it. In fact, at the moment, Kenny could easily call Butters his favorite fuck buddy. Since Butters started coming around, fewer and fewer girls came and went through Kenny's door.

Fucking Butters wasn't like fucking a girl, at ALL. And Kenny had fucked lots of girls. (In the ass, too.) And none of them could quite compare with fucking Butters.

A low hiss sounded through Kenny's clenched teeth as he came, a shudder racking his body from the back of his neck all the way down to his toes. Right after he finished, he zipped his pants back up and threw his trademark orange parka on, while Butters proceeded to go to sleep.

"Wake up," Kenny grumbled lazily, getting sort of frustrated with the fact that their ride still was not there. "We gotta go to school, sleeping beauty."

Butters stretched and grinned toothily, sprawling out on the bed. "Ah, I know..."

"Jesus fucking Christ, it's already seven thirty. Fucking Craig, Jesus," Kenny spat, glaring at the little analog clock that was plugged into the wall. It was the same thing every morning. At his house at 7:20 AM.

Since Butters' parents wouldn't let him drive, and no one in Kenny's family could afford a car, they had to mooch rides off of people. Token and Clyde had basketball practice before school. Stan and Kyle walked to school, Wendy drove Cartman's lazy ass from place to place, and there wasn't really anyone else that he particularly wanted a car ride from.

Craig and Kenny had grown pretty close over the years. Both coming from shitty financial situations (mostly on Kenny's end of the spectrum), the two saw each other at the welfare office quite a bit, resulting in something of a friendship.

"Kenny," his mother nagged in that whiny voice of hers, "When is your little friend gonna get here?" She was in the living room, downing a Corona and watching TV. Sounded like the news.

"I don't know, Mom," Kenny snapped.

He rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands when he heard his mother start bitching about how he could not afford to miss any more school.

"Relax, Kenny, it's, ah, not so bad..." Butters coaxed.

A make out session and a half later, Craig finally showed up.

Kenny angrily threw open the door of Craig's '98 Thunderbird, and Butters quietly made himself comfortable in the backseat.

"The fuck took you, Tucker?"

"None of your business, asshole."

"Fuck you, Craig."

The rest of the ride to school was silent.

Craig's heart hammered in his chest. His usual indifferent gaze seemed more alert, but less alive. He tap tap tapped his pencil against his desk. God, this day wouldn't end. He felt like he'd been sitting in his 7th hour chemistry class for like 3 years.

It kept replaying in his head. Fucking Tweek. Fucking him, imagining how the infection must have spread as he was fucking him, his insides probably being torn apart as he sat in class. Sure, he couldn't feel it. But he was dying. He just knew that he was dying. Maybe slowly, or maybe it'd all be over in a couple of days. Craig didn't know. Fuck. Tap tap tap.

What about Tweek? When would he die, if Craig didn't kill him first? Tap tap—

"Craig, stop," Stan chided, looking up from his book. Naturally, the fact that Stan spoke up made everyone in the whole class stop what they were doing and stare at Craig.

"Mr. Marsh, is there a problem?"

Stan tore his typical "rival" glare away from Craig to look up to their teacher, Ms. Cross. "Sorry Ma'am," Stan replied sweetly. "That tapping was just distracting me from my b—"

Stan was interrupted by students gasping as Craig began to empty the contents of his stomach (breakfast pizza and chocolate milk) onto the floor.

"Somebody help him!" Ms. Cross shrieked in panic, searching for something that ... well, she didn't exactly know what she was searching for. Probably her way of not getting involved in the pukey mess, and letting the students handle it.

Clyde and Token rushed to their friend's side, trying to lift him out of his seat and escort him somewhere that he could... deposit his waste more appropriately. But he continued to wretch vomit, and eventually just bile.

"Dude, sick," Token grimaced, trying to keep Craig from spattering any vomit onto himself.

"Fuckin' pussy! What the fuck," Cartman cackled from across the room, earning a jab in the gut from Wendy and a good finger pointing from their teacher.

Feeling pretty stupid, Craig jerked away from his two friends that were trying to help him. "Fuck off, guys, I can handle it."

All of the students in the class stared after Craig in awe as he stormed out, wiping puke off of his face and slinging it across the room. He hoped it hit Stan.

Craig braced himself over the disgusting toilet, dry heaving. It hurt. It fucking burned. He exhaled shakily, feeling the muscles in his stomach clench and unclench. It hurt so bad.

"Craig?" A familiar voice. "Craig, open the door."

He craned his neck to look under the door of the stall, and judging by the beat up Comey boots, Craig assumed it was Kenny. "Dude, no, I'm barfing."

"Open the goddamn door."

Craig wearily reached up and unhooked the hinge that held the door shut. Kenny cautiously opened the door, his face contorting as he saw the mess inside, and slung all over the toilet.

"I'm done with the vomit shit," Craig practically choked, "But I'm still heaving, u-ughhh."

Kenny rubbed Craig's back, being very used to taking care of people who were getting sick over toilets. A lot of years of drinking, and a lot of years of getting sick because of it.

"Everyone's really worried about you, Craig. You're really off today."

"I just don't feel good. I'm sick."

"Maybe you got it from Tweekers," Kenny joked.

Craig's shoulders visibly tensed. His eyebrows furrowed underneath his matted hair. "Shut the fuck up, McCormick."

Kenny was taken aback by Craig's sudden aggression. He could be a real asshole, but not usually like this. He looked like he was about to fucking pounce. "Jesus, Craig, I was fucking with you. Relax. Where is Tweek, anyway? He's not latched onto your arm like usua—"

Pop. Right in the eye.

The tall boy cracked his knuckles, exiting the bathroom stall. He glanced nonchalantly at Kenny, whom he had just knocked out. Craig was going home.

Craig sighed as his world disappeared around him. It'd been a while since he last smoked pot. (The football team had a lot of drug tests, and Craig didn't want to lose his position to Stan.) He figured he needed it right now though. That, and a hot bath.

Normally, this would be quite a relaxing setting. He would settle down and start feeling pretty good. But he didn't feel good— no, it was quite the opposite. He was jittery. Worse than Tweek, probably.

Tweek. Goddamn fucking Tweek.

Craig angrily inhaled a majority of the small joint he had rolled. He let his head sink under the steaming water, and exhaled underneath, his smoke bubbling to the top.

It wasn't an unusual thing for Craig to think about Tweek all day. Pretty common. He was in love with the kid. (Though, the thought of loving him at the moment made him want to slit his throat.) But this thinking... it wasn't the same as usual. It wasn't the excitement of being able to see him after school. Wasn't the butterflies he got when he thought of kissing Tweek's soft, warm mouth. And it wasn't arousal- it was adrenaline.

He couldn't even fathom the emotion, himself. He kept thinking about how he would react the next time he saw Tweek— would he kill him? Kiss him? No, definitely not. He didn't know.

The only thing he did know was that somehow, he subconsciously started touching himself under the water, and... Well, shit. Now he was whacking off. He sat up, his damp hair sticking to his face in pieces. He used his left hand that he had been bracing himself on the bath tub with, to take another hit off of the joint. He finished it off, continuing to angrily jerk himself off. His brows furrowed and his breathing became less steady, and more heavy.

Fuck. Things seemed so unreal. Craig felt as though none of this were really happening— it was all a dream and he'd wake up.

"Ahh, fuck..."

Craig's jaw clenched and he stared straight ahead. He wanted to tear Tweek apart. He tightened his grip on himself. He thought of the way Tweek looked when he fucked him. He would always let completely loose when they had sex, and it was fucking hot. He was a completely different person in the sack. He thought about the way that Tweek's hands would move across his back, soft at first, then his fingernails, God, those fingernails...

Craig found himself muttering Tweek's name as he reached that wonderful, wonderful orgasm that he'd been longing for. He rested his head on the faucet of the bathtub when he finished, sort of disgusted. Not only by the fact that he was now bathing in his own semen, but that he had actually masturbated to Tweek, the most disgusting, vile, wonderful, despicable person on this planet.

Craig ended up taking a shower and scrubbing his skin until it was red and it hurt. He felt so unclean. He felt disgusting. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wash off the inside of his body. Which, ultimately, was what he knew he was trying to clean.

Tweek grumbled and rubbed his eyes. The obnoxious vibrating of his phone on his nightstand woke him up. Probably Thomas texting him.

Hey. U still awake?

Nope, not Thomas... It was Craig. Tweek stared at the message for about five minutes before registering. He didn't expect Craig to ever talk to him again. He'd been in bed for a while- since Craig had left after beating the shit out of him. He hadn't moved.

Tweek's thumbs ghosted over the green LED keyboard on his phone.

yeah i aam, whats up... i didnt expect you t to talk to me again.

A couple of very anxious minutes.

I love u. I can't stop tlking 2 u. Even if I do hate u.

you make no sense.. id ont udnerstand

Can I come over?

Tweek's eyes glazed over. He didn't want to cry. Why would he start crying, anyway? "S-shit." He didn't know how to respond. He didn't know if he wanted to see Craig... Well, no. That was a lie. He did want to see him. But he knew that nothing good would come out of it.

you're j just lonely. trust me, you dont wanna come see me. im a wreck. nd i know you are too.

What was Tweek supposed to do? Maybe Craig was setting him up... He wanted to kill him. Hell, he said it himself. Craig hated him. He wanted to kill him, completely fucking destroy him. He wanted Tweek dead.

I just wanna talk 2 u about stuff. Thats all, then ill leave.

you're lying

Whatever, i'm already on my way right now.

Shit, now it was panic time. Tweek scrambled out of bed, socks sliding across the hard floor, and locked his window. That was always how Craig got in. Went downstairs, locked the front door. Back door. All windows. Back upstairs. Locked his own door. Craig was going to kill him. FUCK, Craig was going to kill him!

Tweek had never been so terrified of Craig in his life. Sure, he feared Craig. He was much taller, stronger, and had beaten the shit out of him several times. But this time— Craig surely meant business.

"Oh Christ!" Tweek brought his trembling hands to his face to gnaw on his nails. Now would be a wonderful time for a needle in his arm.

Then there was Craig's signature tap tap tap on his window. Shit! How could Tweek have been so stupid? He locked the window, but he didn't take down the ladder... ugh.

"C-Craig, go home!" Tweek hissed, looking at Craig through the window with wide eyes. Craig was wet. It was raining.

"Tweek, it's raining and I'm cold. I just wanna see you." His words were slightly muted by the glass that separated the two.

"AH! You're gonna hurt me, no!" Tweek banged his palm against the window in some sort of pathetic attempt to make Craig go away. "Go home!"

Tweek wanted to let him in, he really did. He tried to say more, but words wouldn't come. Why was this happening? He was more flustered than he had ever been. He had gone from confused to paranoid to scared to confused to... what was this? His eyes were wet.

Tweek remembered, back when they first got together, how Craig would take care of him, and hold him, and kiss his eyelids, and whisper to him when he got upset. Now, all he did was tell him to shut up, or hit him.

Craig watched as Tweek viciously wiped his eyes with his sleeves. He just stared, unmoving. He sighed. "Please."

Something in him wanted to see Craig. Wanted to touch his hands, kiss his neck, get so close to him that they breathed the same air. Tweek cupped his left hand over his mouth, hiccuping a sob, and used his right to unlock the window. He was going to regret it later, and he knew it.