YOU GUYS. SERIOUSLY. WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THOSE LAST TWO EPISODES?
I ignore this friggin show for the better part of my life, then when I finally become interested, that's when all the emotional bullshittery starts? AAUGH WHYYY?
Okay, sorry. I'm good. Rant over.
So, this, sadly, is the last chapter of this particular story. But! I have begun writing a sequel. It will be more Stan and Kyle-centric (because really, who can ignore their love?), but Tweek and Craig will play a major part. So you can expect that from me soon (not that Stan and Kyle deserve it, given the most recent episodes have left me in a state of depression. I FEEL THINGS, OKAY?)
"What're we doing here, again? I can't say I'm enjoying this," Kyle whispered crabbily. Beside him, Stan elbowed Cartman in the side, hissing out his own angry whisper.
"Dammit Cartman, you take up practically the whole closet. And Kyle's right, this is...weird, to say the least."
"You gahs," Cartman replied without even glancing up from his video camera, "there's tons of money in homemade gay porn. Kenny told me himself. Right, Kenny?"
In the slit of light filtering through the crack of the closet door, Kenny grinned and nodded.
"But Craig and Tweek don't even know they're being filmed," Kyle argued, trying to convey his anger and keep his voice hush simultaneously, "This is breaking like twenty different laws."
"Who cares?" Kenny crouched below Cartman and peered hungrily out the door, "this is hot as fuck."
"Goddamnit, Kenny, don't start jerking off down there," Cartman warned, casting a wary eye at the blonde, "it's already gay as hell in this closet."
"Cartman-" Stan groaned, but was cut off by a harsh noise from the larger boy.
"Shut it, they're getting to the good part! No one wants to hear your faggy voice over the sound of awesome sex!"
He kept filming through the crack in Tweek's closet door, his camera aimed expertly across the room at the bed. Tweek himself lay in the bed on his back, naked but for an unbuttoned shirt. Craig stood over him, gripping Tweek's thighs and thrusting with a combination of care and passion into his blonde lover. Beside them, Tweek's iPod dock flashed its blue light in time with the song that played, not doing much to conceal the sounds of their coupling.
"Aaah...aagh, y-yes...Craig...ah...Jesus..." Tweek moaned and grunted, blissfully unaware of the four voyeurs hiding in his closet. He gripped his untidy bedsheets with white-knuckled fists, writhing under Craig.
"God, Tweek..." Craig groaned as pleasure raced through his body with each movement of his hips. He reached out to stroke Tweek, who yelped and whimpered at the welcome touch.
In the closet, Kyle pressed the sides of his ushanka to his ears and screwed up his eyes, head shaking slowly.
"Can't believe I'm here..." he grumbled, "Abraham, please get me out..."
"I bet they're glad I got them together now," Kenny mumbled with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"Is that why you were stalking them?" Stan asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't like to call it stalking, I like to call it-"
"Oh my god, you gahs! Shut the hell up!"
Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and gave an inaudible groan. From beyond the closet, Tweek gave a loud moan and Craig a long sigh of pleasure and the squeaking of the bed ceased.
"God, I don't wanna be here right now."
"Shut up, Stan, gay people love to watch other gay people have sex."
"How the hell do you know?" Stan narrowed his eyes angrily at Cartman. The edges of Kyle's lips twitched in a smirk and a bright blush came to Cartman's cheeks.
"Well...you know...uh...shut the hell up, that's how. Jesus Christ, you fags sure know how to ruin a smut film, don't you?"
Over on the bed, Craig laid beside Tweek, an arm wrapped around the blonde's torso. Tweek cuddled against him, exhaling a satisfied sigh against his shoulder.
"Good?" Craig asked with a light kiss on Tweek's lips.
"Great," Tweek grinned that all-consuming grin that lit up his face and his tired eyes. He lovingly buried his face into the crook of Craig's neck.
"I think I'm turning you into a sex addict," he quipped with another kiss to Tweek's temple.
"Probably," Tweek sighed, but he didn't sound too unhappy about it, "you're -gah!- staying here tonight, right?" he cast a heartwarming smile at the boy sharing his bed. Craig brushed the wild blonde locks from Tweek's forehead and smiled back.
"Duh, retard," he answered, but there was no trace of malice in his voice. Tweek gave an appreciative nuzzle against Craig's bared shoulder before a fit of shivers overtook him. Craig watched as Tweek cast a cautious look around his room.
"Gah! S-sorry! It just...does it feel like someone's -AGH!- watching us?"
"No, Tweek. No one is watching us."
"It couldn't be Higgins," Tweek continued heedlessly, "I covered him up."
"Who the fuck is Higgins?"
Tweek nodded his head toward his dresser, where his bamboo plant sat, covered hastily and haphazardly with a stray t-shirt.
"...you named your plant? Higgins?"
The blonde worried at his bottom lip and nodded at Craig, trembling hands clutching the covers to hide the nakedness of his lower half. Craig watched him, his lips spreading into a slow grin.
"God, you are so fucking crazy," he murmured and leaned forward to nip at Tweek's ear, "and it's goddamn sexy as hell."
Tweek groaned in pleasure and, in his closet, Stan and Kyle exchanged a look as Cartman checked his video camera's memory to make sure there was enough for a second round.
"Boys, this is an after-school art club, not a motel room, mmkay. Try to keep your homosexual displays of affection at a minimum," Mr. Mackey chided as he passed Craig and Tweek. Craig flipped his finger up in protest, his other hand busy stroking Tweek's thigh under the table as the blonde shuddered, half-lidded eyes trained on his boyfriend.
"Mr. Mackey," Cartman stood, his hands flat on the table before him, "I'm afraid I simply can't stay here any longer. This place is full of fags and Jews. I don't want to catch anything from them."
"Blow it out your ass, Cartman!" Kyle hissed over his watercolors. He, Butters and Tweek had been the only ones actually interested in the art club.
Craig personally had only joined because Tweek insisted it'd look good on an application to Loft Bridge University. Stan had joined so he had another excuse to ogle Kyle, and Cartman was there as a punishment from Mr. Garrison for "accidentally" sending Jimmy to the hospital earlier that week.
"Mr. Mackey, can you do something about this Jew? He's so angry all the time. I think he needs therapy."
"Eric," Mr. Mackey closed his eyes wearily and put a hand to his forehead, "for the love of God, please just sit down and finish your painting, mmkay?"
"Fine," Cartman spat, plunking heavily back down into his seat. He muttered something about creampuffs as Stan stared lovingly across the table at Kyle, who was focused intently on his painting.
Craig had finished his ministrations and peered over to look at Tweek's canvas paper, his eyebrows knitted together in slight frustration.
"I can't think of what to paint," he grumbled, craning his neck to get a good look at Tweek's canvas, "What're you painting?"
"You always paint coffee."
"I like coffee! Oh Jesus! Last time I painted coffee, my parents wanted to hang it up in the shop. Gah! But that's way too much pressure! So I threw the painting in a bonfire and told them it'd been stolen by Sarah Palin!" he nibbled on the edge of his paintbrush, either not remembering or not caring that it had just been dipped in red pigment. The color washed across his lips like a smear of lipstick, and suddenly Craig wondered what Tweek would look like in a skirt.
"Are you working tonight?" he asked, dabbing carelessly at his paper with splotches of watery blue.
"Wah! Y-yeah, six 'till closing. I really wish you'd -nngh- come back and work there, my dad said he'd rehire you!"
"I can't, I'd be so busy fucking you that we wouldn't get any work done."
He grinned as Tweek's paintbrush clattered to the floor.
An hour later art club was over, and Stan, Cartman and Craig all had half-blank canvases for one reason or another.
"I painted a lil butterfly!" Butters proclaimed proudly as they walked toward the parking lot, holding up what was possibly the gayest-looking butterfly in the world, "hey there, lil butterfly!"
"Jesus Christ, Butters," Stan groaned.
"At least he didn't paint an ass, Stan," Cartman said pointedly, eyes flickering over to Kyle.
"It's not an ass, it's a peach!" Kyle snapped, hazarding an uncertain glance down at his painting.
"You can paint ass-peaches all you want, Kahl, but that's not going to stop you from being a dirty Jew rat."
"I'm going to kill you, Cartman!" Kyle yelled and lunged toward the larger boy.
"Gah! Oh Jesus, dude, Jesus!" Tweek screeched. Craig hooked him by the arm and dragged him away.
"Come on, Tweek. We've gotta leave before their fighting triggers an earthquake or we somehow end up in Hong Kong or something."
Tweek nodded and allowed himself to be led away. He knew from firsthand experience how things usually went with that group.
A certain after-school routine had been forming for Craig and Tweek. They both had art club, (unless Craig had detention, which wasn't unusual; in that case, he'd be forced to sit in the library while Tweek went off to make art), then Craig would drive Tweek's car to his house, where they would watch TV or do homework or make out until Tweek had to go to work.
Tweek in particular seemed to take hold of this routine very quickly, delighting in having a sense of security in his world of fast-moving, hectic blurs.
"I meant what I said, though," Craig said over the sounds of the stereo as he pulled out of the parking lot, with Tweek fidgeting in the passenger seat beside him, "I can't go back to work at Harbucks. I'd end up plowing you on the counter in front of the customers."
Tweek gave a surprised little gasp and Craig smiled. He said those kinds of things to Tweek practically every day, but each new statement made Tweek seize up and blush like a maiden.
"Gah...I don't think...my dad would like that..." he murmured and hooked his thin fingers together, anxiety written across his features.
"Your parents do know we're dating, right, Tweek? You came out to them, right?" Craig asked sternly, dark eyes flicking over to the blonde beside him.
"You haven't told them?"
"Ack! N-no, I did! They didn't seem -nngh- t-that concerned..." he tugged at a lock of his hair, screwing up his eyes and remembering, "and my dad told me a story about some gay penguins in a -gah!- zoo or something..."
"That sounds about right."
"Nngh. He asked if we were going to adopt an egg."
"Could you take care of an egg, Tweek?"
"Jesus man, no way! That's way too much pressure! Eggs are fragile! Oh god! I know they say you can balance a tractor on them, but that's just a rumor spread by the poultry farmers of America! They want to keep us away from their farms so they can continue harvesting chicken souls for Bigfoot! GAH!"
Craig had grown used to Tweek's paranoid rants, but he couldn't help but listen in growing disbelief to the blonde's tale of Bigfeets living in the mountains and feeding on departed chicken souls harvested by oppressed poultry farmers. By the time they got to his house, he'd lost track of the story altogether.
"Ack! A-and then they use the leftover eggs to make that oatmeal with the dinosaur shapes in it! That's why I can't protest against them, man! I love that oatmeal..." Tweek yelped and trembled as they made their way into Craig's house.
"Goddamn, Tweek," Craig sighed and scratched the back of his head through his chullo, "that was...interesting. Sit down, I'm going to feed you. You have to eat before you go to work."
"GAH!" Tweek sat, his honey-colored eyes darting to and fro, "I-I don't need anything to eat! Please don't do anything special for me, oh sweet Jesus!"
Craig placed his palms flat on the kitchen table and leaned forward, staring into Tweek's twitching eyes.
"And why wouldn't I do anything special for you?" he asked blankly. Tweek froze for a moment before his body slid back into its usual patterns of uneasiness.
"I...gah...nngh...I mean...it's already enough that you're putting up with me!"
Craig stood, gazing down at him. What must it have been like to be Tweek? Craig had never had an issue with his self-esteem. Luckily, he was good-looking and popular, but even if he hadn't been, he imagined it wouldn't have fazed him much. He was simply not the type to care.
But was Tweek so damaged that he considered himself such an imposition on society? A few weeks ago, Craig might have agreed with him. But now it just made him sad. Sad and worried.
He huffed a little and turned to open the cabinets. More damn emotions.
"You're eating some goddamn mac and cheese, Tweek."
Tweek took so long to eat that it was five forty-five by the time he was done. He set the bowl in the sink and giggled as Swirls ran happily around his feet.
"I'm coming to see you when you get off work," Craig remarked tonelessly, scooping up his guinea pig and gently placing her in the pocket of his hoodie. She poked her fat little face out and sniffed the air. Tweek nodded as he shouldered his bag and made his way to the door. Craig opened it for him and they both leaned in for a chaste kiss. When they pulled away, Tweek's face was burning red and he was grinning like an idiot. Craig smirked. Even the most innocent of touches could have that effect on Tweek, and he loved it.
He waved goodbye as Tweek pulled away, still amazed that Tweek could work up the concentration and courage to drive a two-ton car. Craig looked down at Swirls, at her wide, twitching nose and sparkling button eyes, and thought about what Tweek had said.
"I'm serious, Tweek," Bebe chattered happily, a bobby pin sticking out of her mouth, "you'll look so cute with your hair up like this!"
She stood behind the boy, who sat trembling in a Harbucks chair. How Bebe had convinced him to let her mess with his hair, he wasn't sure, but here they were. While Tweek was happy when it got closer to closing and all the customers left, Bebe tended to get antsy and restless. He just hoped she didn't start gossiping about anyone again. There were certain things he didn't want to know about his peers. Knowing was WAY too much pressure sometimes.
"Did you hear that Eric Cartman asked Wendy Testaburger out on a date? Can you believe that?"
"I know! I asked Kenny what the deal was, and he said Eric is just trying to prove he's a lady's man. It's like, yeah right! Call me when you lose fifty pounds, asshole!"
The bell above the door twinkled its ridiculous melody, and Craig stepped through the door, hefting his backpack over his shoulder. Bebe and Tweek paused to look up at him. Craig, in turn, stared at his boyfriend, whose hair was collected in a stubby ponytail and pinned back from his eyes. Overall, he looked...
"Gay. Really gay," Craig said blankly, setting his bag down on a table, "Bebe, go home. I'll help Tweek close up, me and him wanna be alone."
"God, Craig, you are such a prick," Bebe curled her lips down in distaste, but otherwise seemed to present no argument. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, digging through it for her car keys, "if you boys go at it on those tables, don't forget to wipe them down afterwards."
"AH! OH JESUS!"
Bebe grinned over her shoulder and stepped out the door, jogging through the cold to get to her car. Craig watched her for a moment, then turned to look at Tweek.
"Uh..s-she cornered me, man! I had to let her do my hair! Oh god! She didn't dye it yellow or anything, did she?"
"Tweek, your hair is already yellow," Craig sighed, pulling up a chair across from him. Tweek's brows furrowed for a moment and then he looked down.
"Oh. I forgot."
Tweek's unwavering vision of the mocha-colored tiles was suddenly interrupted by a large cylinder being shoved in front of his face. Startled, he jumped back and looked at Craig.
The black-haired boy continued holding it out toward him.
"It's for you, stupid," he grunted, and pushed the thing into Tweek's hands.
It was a coffee thermos. Its body was stainless steel, with insulating rubber grips around the bottom and top. The shiny metal was decorated with long, vibrantly green prints of what Tweek recognized to be shoots of bamboo. He stared back up at Craig, the thermos held tightly between his shaking hands.
"I don't 'put up' with anyone or anything, Tweek," Craig said softly, "I've been doing stuff with you because I like you. I like you a lot. That's why we're boyfriends now. Because you're...you're a lot more amazing than you give yourself credit for. Than any of us gave you credit for."
He watched Tweek, watched as the blonde ran his fingers over the thermos like it was a wedding ring.
And in a sudden move befitting Tweek's speed, his lips were pressed against Craig's, his long arms wrapped around Craig's neck. It was a passionate kiss, with open mouths and warring tongues, but there was a strong sense of sincerity that neither of them had ever experienced before. Craig's hands were planted on Tweek's back, holding him in a tight, reassuring embrace.
They parted slowly. Tweek smiled and placed his forehead against Craig's, his eyes vibrant and sparkling and happy. Craig pressed his nose against Tweek's, curled his palm possessively around the back of Tweek's neck, and allowed himself a rare grin against his lover's cheek.
They clung together, two troubled teenagers from a troubled town, secure and happy in their brightly-lit box of glass.