Instinct and Innovation


The problem with Tweek is that he has no frame of reference for the way ordinary people go through life. It's his not-ordinariness that Craig finds most valuable, but occasionally this lack of perspective can become infuriating, like when he has a caffeine hangover at nine o'clock in the morning on a Monday, a school day, and he's sweating and shaking through the pledge of allegiance. Most of the kids in the class probably don't see this as any different from every other day of Tweek's existence, but Craig understands the fine line between surviving and suffering when it comes to Tweek, and today he's suffering, bad.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Craig asks when they're walking to first period. Tweek has Economics, Craig has Chemistry. They're juniors, and they've been fucking around for as long as Craig can remember. When he was a kid he thought he'd invented sex just to calm Tweek down.

"I don't know," Tweek says, wincing. "I was in bed, and my eyes were closed, but it wasn't really sleep, I don't think, not really."

"You look like hell," Craig says. Tweek's hair is never orderly, but today it's a mess of blond frizz and angular waves, an embarrassment.

"Shit!" Tweek cringes. "Don't tell me that!" His stomach makes an odd noise, kind of like a guttural snort, and he clutches at it, stopping in his tracks. Craig stops, too. He rolls his eyes when Tweek gives him a pitiable look.

"When's the last time you ate?" Craig asks.

"Ah - I don't know - I had some cheese, I think, yesterday?"

"Why do you do this?" Craig asks. He's holding the straps of his book bag, calm in the face of this idiocy. Tweek groans and pinches his eyes shut, pressing his palms over his temples.

"I don't know, man! I just don't have an appetite, okay? I can't eat anything now, God, I'd puke!"

The warning bell rings, and Craig sighs. He's already missed two pop quizzes in Chemistry. He should let Tweek deal with this alone. Maybe it would teach him a lesson. Craig doesn't like the idea of missing the opportunity to do that himself, though.

"Let's go," he says, grabbing Tweek's elbow.

"Go where? We can't skip! We'll get caught! I'm gonna get suspended - Craig, wait, my attendance record, it's so shitty, I'll get in trouble -"

"Who would you rather get in trouble with?" Craig asks, whirling on him. "Me, or the school?"

Tweek stares at him, considering this.

"The school," he says, his face coloring. Craig nods once.

"Right. So shut up and come with me. You think I want to spend my day nursing you? You're a disaster." Craig starts walking again, pulling Tweek with him. The halls are emptying of students, and by the time the late bell rings, they're already outside.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Tweek says when they've been walking for ten minutes in silence, nearing Craig's house. "I only meant to have one, but then I had another, and then I made espresso, and I made another cup of espresso -"

"You're not sorry," Craig says. "Yet."

"W-what are you gonna do to me?"

Tweek is pretty bad at hiding his excitement, though he does sound legitimately scared, too. When they were kids, Craig thought he invented bondage to keep Tweek in line.

"You'll see," Craig says. He hasn't really decided yet. First, he needs to get Tweek healthy again. That will take up most of the morning.

Craig's house is empty, his sister at school and his parents at work. He lets himself in and brings Tweek upstairs, closing his bedroom door behind him. Wordlessly, he takes Tweek's bag and sets it beside his desk, returning to unbutton his shirt. Tweek just stands there trembling while Craig strips him down to his socks and underwear. He's too sick to get turned on, but he's licking his lips, his hands twitching toward Craig.

"Get in the bed," Craig says, pointing, as if Tweek doesn't know where it is by now. He's been debauched there countless times. On Saturday, with Craig's parents in Middle Park for Rachel's soccer match, they stayed in bed all afternoon, and Craig fucked Tweek until he could finally sleep, his little hamster heart still beating fast while he slept against Craig's chest, eyelids twitching.

Craig goes downstairs for supplies. Cheerios, bottled water, the floor fan from his mother's office. He returns to the bedroom and sets the fan up so that it's pointed at the bed, cool air blowing against Tweek's sweat-damp skin. Tweek watches him, and accepts the water when he offers it.

"Don't drink it too fast," Craig says. He sits on the edge of the bed and opens the Cheerios, feeding them to Tweek one at a time. Tweek is listless but obedient, chewing and swallowing, drinking water in tiny sips. Craig tries not to be overly charmed by the trust in his eyes or the pathetic slope of his skinny shoulders. Tweek doesn't love him for his leniency.

"Alright," Craig says, putting the Cheerios away before they can make Tweek sick. Reintroducing him to food and non-caffeinated liquids is a delicate process. "Lie down."

Tweek obeys, pulling the blankets up to his chin and watching as Craig undresses by the closet. He takes off his shoes and lines them up neatly along the wall, unbuttons his shirt and hangs it up, folds his jeans over the back of his desk chair. He could tell Tweek to sleep in here alone, could go try to get some schoolwork done, but that would be pointless. Tweek can't sleep without him, especially not after a bender, and Craig wouldn't be able to concentrate on his homework if he knew Tweek was half naked in his bed, trembling under the blankets and staring up at the ceiling, queasy. Craig is only human. He cares about the kid, or gets off on calming him down, or some combination of the two.

"Craig," Tweek says as Craig climbs under the blankets with him, pulling Tweek into his arms. Craig says nothing, and doesn't protest when Tweek squirms, his thigh sliding up between Craig's legs. Craig buries his face in Tweek's disastrous hair and breathes in the smell of him. Beneath the film of coffee there's something like clover and citrus, something clean.

"Just get some goddamn rest," Craig says. "Junkie." He kisses Tweek's forehead. It's almost an endearment, the only nickname he's ever had for Tweek.

"Craig," Tweek says again, nuzzling at his chest. Craig grunts and Tweek goes still, or as still as possible with all that caffeine still and always coursing through his bloodstream, making him shake in Craig's arms. Neither of them is able to sleep, but they lie there together in something akin to peace. Elsewhere, the day goes on without them.

Eventually Craig does drift off, and when he wakes up he's overly warm despite the fan blowing against his bare shoulders. Tweek is in some sort of stasis, not quite sleep but close enough, his breath steady-ish against Craig's collarbone. Craig lets him hibernate for a little while longer, practicing excuses for why he left school in the back of his mind. He's been able to feign a vague stomach disorder for the past several years, none of his teachers wanting to inquire too deeply into what might be going on with his bowels. In fact he has a stomach of steel, and could drink as much coffee as he liked if he were so inclined. He hates the stuff and never touches it.

Tweek awakens to the fact that they're naked together as he begins to recover, rubbing himself against Craig and kissing his neck, his jaw, keeping his eyes closed as if Craig will believe that he's doing this in his sleep, or delirium, or whatever state of quasi-rest Tweek is half-experiencing this afternoon. When Craig has had enough of Tweek's fidgeting he takes a handful of his hair and tips his head back, gentle but insistent. Tweek blinks at him, his eyelids heavy and his pupils fat. He's a junkie for this, too. Craig refuses to believe that there's anyone else in South Park who needs to be fucked this badly and this often.

"You're burning up," Craig says. They're both sweating under the blankets.

"Ah - I'm okay," Tweek says. He's hard now. Craig is, too.

"You're looking at me like you've forgotten that you need to be punished," Craig says, smoothly and maybe even kindly. He can hear Tweek swallow.

"I - I didn't forget."

"You're still as weak as a fucking kitten," Craig says, rubbing his hand down over Tweek's trembling arm. "Aren't you?"

"Yes," Tweek says, very softly. Craig can't tell if he's embarrassed or trying to win his sympathy.

"You'd better not do anything too strenuous, then," Craig says. Tweek frowns.

"I'm not that bad," he says. "I - I can take it."

"Bullshit. Get down under those blankets and suck some dick. I need to think for a minute."

He watches Tweek hurry to do as he asked, and holds the blankets up so he'll be able to see him get to work, scrambling between Craig's thighs as they spread for him. Truthfully, Craig doesn't really feel like punishing him, or anyway doesn't feel particularly creative. He watches Tweek push his underwear down and take his dick into his mouth, letting him find his rhythm before fucking his mouth in slow rolls of his hips, his breath coming faster already.

"I should just tie you up here and go back to school," Craig says, jerking his hips up more sharply. Tweek can take it, even when he's like this. "That would be hard for you, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, oh -" Tweek pulls off of him and looks up at him with a broken, pleading expression. "I hate it when you leave me here - I could get caught - your parents would hate me - shit, they'd have me arrested!"

"Did I tell you to stop sucking?"

"N-no, sorry - ah!" He gets back to it, his mouth so wet. Craig sighs and smooths Tweek's hair, watching him work. He's good at this, but Craig prefers fucking him, for the chance to watch his facial expressions. Tweek gets unrecognizable when he feels good, mellowed out and so soft, dazed. Only Craig has ever seen him that way. Only Craig can make it happen.

"That's my good little junkie," Craig says, because maybe some humiliating dirty talk is all he has the energy for, after all. "You need that dick more than your liquid crack, don't you?"

"Mhmm - yes, oh, Craig, God, fuck, you taste good -"

"C'mere," Craig says, pulling him up for a kiss. They make out sleepily, Tweek all twitchy and eager on top of him, pushing frustrated little noises into Craig's mouth when he doesn't touch him. Craig smirks when Tweek pulls back to give him a confused, beseeching look.

"I think I'll just lie here," Craig says. "You can ride me if you want." He knows Tweek hates this, any invitation to take control. Too much pressure.

"Craig," Tweek says, humping him, frowning. "Please, I -"

"What? You're off the hook, I'm too tired. You exhaust me."

"Ah! I'm sorry, I, I don't mean to, I just -"

"You're just what? Just an addict with no self control? I know what you are. And this after all my hard work. Where would you be without me? Snorting coke? Rolling around in a gutter somewhere?"

"Craig, shit, I'm sorry!" Tweek says. He's actually becoming emotional, but he just wants to get off. "I know I'd be fucked without you, Jesus! You - you're my - my -"

"Your what, Tweek?" Craig is interested. Tweek is his possession, but Craig has never really felt like his owner.

"You're the love of my fucked up life, okay?" Tweek says, jarring him. Craig raises both eyebrows, watching Tweek's face turn bright pink.

"Okay," Craig says. He slides his hands over the dip just before Tweek's ass. He's all sharp angles and hard edges, but his ass is soft and cute, squeezable. Craig is going to brush what he said off - what else is he supposed to do with that information? - but Tweek is on the verge of tears. Craig sighs.

"You, too, obviously," Craig says. "Quit wibbling. Do you think there's someone else on this fucking planet who I would hand feed Cheerios? No. Now roll over, I'm gonna fuck you."

The relief that sweeps over Tweek's features may only be in relation to the news that he's going to get reamed, but Craig suspects that probably unwise statement about Cheerios has something to do with it, too. He fucks Tweek from behind so he won't see him blushing. This means he can only see half of Tweek's face, the half that's turned toward him on the pillow, but it's enough: the corner of his blissed-out grin, the moisture between his blond eyelashes, the color climbing higher in his cheeks. Craig comes inside him when he feels him shuddering through his own orgasm, spilling himself onto Craig's sheets. They mastered coming together when they were still in junior high. Craig used to think they'd invented that, too.

He stays inside Tweek, lying against his back, sweat dripping from his temples. Tweek is breathing hard against Craig's pillow, but otherwise he's relaxed, his muscles loose and warm under Craig's body. Outside, a truck rumbles past, birds make irritated noises in the bushes, somebody runs a leaf blower. This is Craig's happy place, away from all of that, alone with Tweek.

"If you wanted me to quit, I would," Tweek says, going tense again underneath him. Craig moans dismissively. He does want that, but he's afraid to ask, because he's afraid he's not strong enough to make Tweek keep that promise.

"You need more food," Craig says. He pulls free of Tweek's sweltering body, watching the come drip from him as he does. "Real food," he says. Tweek rolls onto his side, still breathless. He watches Craig clean his cock off and drink from the bottle of water that's still beside the bed. Tweek looks like he could sleep, for real, all afternoon. Craig would love to see that.

"Where are you going?" Tweek asks, panicked at the sight of Craig putting on pants.

"Lunch," Craig says. "You can stay in bed. I'll bring something up."

"No - that's okay - I'll come with you."

Tweek sits at the table in Craig's kitchen, wearing his boxer shorts and one of Craig's t-shirts, watching Craig heat up tomato soup at the stove. The burners make Tweek nervous, so he stays clear, fidgeting.

"Are you going to flunk out of school because of me?" Tweek blurts when Craig is bringing him a bowl of soup. Craig nearly drops it, glowering at him.

"No," Craig says.

"It's just - ah!" Tweek pulls at his hair, staring at the soup when Craig sets it down in front of him. "You're missing your classes because of me! It's my fault if you get a zero on a quiz or something!"

"It's my choice to be here," Craig says. "Don't worry about my grades, ever. I forbid it."

"R-really?" Tweek always looks so relieved when Craig forbids him to worry about something, as if it actually works.

"Yes, really," Craig says. "Now eat every drop of that stuff."

He gets his own bowl and sits across from Tweek, mostly just stirring his soup and watching Tweek eat, studying him. He seems better now, less ragged, but there's still one more element of recovery to incorporate. When Tweek is finished, Craig rinses out their bowls at the sink, startling when Tweek suddenly appears behind him to nose at his neck.

"I feel better," Tweek says, his hands sneaking up under Craig's t-shirt.

"Good," Craig says, because he can't think of anything more clever than that at the moment.

The final stage of a proper Tweek rehabilitation afternoon involves sitting outside in Craig's backyard in a patch of sun that hits the porch about two hours before his parents come home from work. Craig drags a lounge chair into the sunlight and pulls Tweek into his lap, holding him there between his legs. This is vitamin D, and dangerous, because they usually fall asleep, Tweek spilled back onto Craig, Craig's arms hooked around him, their eyes closed against the glare of the sun. Craig doesn't really care if they get caught like this by his parents, though they are skipping school in addition to being homoerotic. It would be worth it to get in trouble, because this is his favorite extracurricular activity, his own addiction: feeling the tension drain from Tweek's body little by little, differently than it does from the frantic rhythm of sex. This is the one thing they really did invent for each other, and it's more than just sitting in the sun, Tweek getting held and Craig doing the holding. It's something else that they don't have a name for yet, halfway between meditation and cuddling, far superior to sleep.

                                                           (the end)  


~~~~~~~~ Back to Craig/Tweek ~~~~~~~~


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