Chapter Text
The smack of a heavy textbook hitting the floor reverberates throughout the dimly lit classroom. The collision startles most of the students in their seats, the echo loud enough to bounce down the walls of the hallway and be heard in the next classroom over. Craig jolts upright in his chair, his head jerking in all directions before fixating on the culprit of the noise.
The room is completely silent as his English teacher lurches over his desk, her spidery shadow cast on the board from the light of the projector. The corners of her mouth stretch downward into a deep-set frown. She clicks her tongue, glaring at him like he’s the scum of the earth. “Mr. Tucker, if you are going to sit here and be disruptive in my class then you can just go to detention. I will not tolerate any students thinking they can sleep through my lessons.”
And the next thing he knows he’s being presented with a familiar pink slip that effectively ruins all of his plans after school. He groans, mentally preparing himself for the yelling that is going to greet him when he comes home tonight.
Tweek sits at the desk behind him, worrying his lip between his teeth. Craig has been falling asleep a lot lately and Tweek is beginning to believe something is horribly wrong. It’s not even because class is boring anymore. At least that Tweek can somewhat understand (there’s only so much symbolism to talk about in novels before it turns into a snooze fest). Now it’s even happening when he is hanging out with their friends.
They were at their usual hangout spot; Denny’s. Jimmy couldn’t be there due to an after-school meeting for the school newspaper so it was Clyde, Craig, Tweek, and Tolkien who sat at the same red rounded booth next to the window that they have sat at since the fourth grade. Everything was fine. There was only idle conversation about classes and how much they were all looking forward to their senior year of high school.
Tweek’s birthday had been a few weeks ago, making him the oldest in his friend group by a few months. For whatever reason, his parents waited until he was seven years old to put him through school where he then started attending South Park Elementary. He did not experience preschool or kindergarten in any capacity. His parents shoved him directly into first grade, no questions asked. He was fairly small and sickly as a child which made it easy for him to blend in with the sea of six-year-olds, but it was a struggle to catch up to them academically in the beginning.
As the first of his friends to reach young adulthood, he expected to feel different somehow, but nothing seems to have changed. There was no big life-changing moment. No abrupt bodily or mental changes. No shift in personality. No urge to suddenly want to move out, get married and stay up all night doing his taxes. He just sat up in his bed and watched the numbers on the clock change with a small ‘huh’ and a shrug of his shoulders.
He always thought transitioning into adulthood would be more monumental. It’s seen as this grand benchmark of life that his peers are eager to reach themselves. They want to know what it’s like so they ask him and he doesn’t know what to say. He is exactly the same as he always has been. It’s the truth.
It’s kind of lame if he’s honest. Definitely not worth the hype.
The four boys are waiting for the waiter to come by and take their orders as Clyde babbles excitedly about upcoming sports tryouts. Tolkien yawns and then sips his drink as Craig silently looks at his menu. No one notices Craig’s head lulling forward until he face-plants his nose into the spine of his lunch menu. He jerks back with a snort, cupping his nose in his hand as his friends stare at him with owlish expressions.
For him to pass out like that, to completely lose consciousness and hit the surface so hard he gives himself a nosebleed, there must be something medically wrong. Without a word to anyone, Craig slides out of the booth and rushes to the bathroom, his hand still cradling his bleeding nose. Tweek clamores over Clyde and sprints after him, almost colliding with one of the waitresses and toppling her tray of food in his haste.
Of course, when he gets there Craig insists that there was no problem and he is just tired, but Tweek knows this was more than that. After dabbing his nose clean, Tweek forcefully unzips Craig’s jacket and presses his ear to his chest right over his t-shirt’s faded NASA logo.
Craig’s heart is going to give out at any second. He is sure of it. He is not getting blood flow to his brain and he is going to die.
He presses his ear hard enough against Craig’s ribcage to back him into the sinks. Ignoring the startled sound of protest and the hands gripping his upper arms, his fingers cling to Craig’s shirt, listening intently for an irregular heartbeat, anything to prove his theory true.
But Craig's heart sounds completely normal.
Craig pushes Tweek back, holding him by the shoulders as he looks into his eyes and tells him again, firmly, that he is fine.
Maybe he was fine then, but the issue persists long after that. Now he is passing out during class and getting detention because of it.
If Craig won’t look into this issue and understand how serious it is then Tweek will. While Craig is in detention, Tweek goes to the library and researches illnesses that cause fainting. He finds a slew of different disorders, each more worrisome than the last. Nothing Tweek tells him, even with the hours upon hours of research, is enough to convince him that there’s a problem.
As the week progresses Craig’s condition only worsens. He falls asleep during lunch, in the middle of gym class, in Tolkien’s car several times, even once while he and Tweek are walking the nature trails behind Stark's Pond. Tweek doesn’t notice until he looks over and sees Craig’s eyes closed but his feet are still walking.
He sleeps over at Tweek’s house that night and sleep are pretty much all he does. He can’t keep his eyes open for longer than five minutes at a time, and anytime Tweek would shake him awake his head would tilt to the side and he’d fall asleep again.
Tweek doesn’t know what to do. He stands up from the couch, the glow from the game’s menu screen highlighting Craig’s slack expression as the PlayStation controller slips out from his loose grip and clatters to the floor.
Despite sleeping far more than he should, Craig looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His face is too thin, his bones too prominent, heavy bags hanging like drapes underneath his eyes. Tweek brushes the back of his shaky hand from Craig’s temple to his jawline and presses two fingers to his neck, sighing in relief when he feels a pulse.
He’s breathing. He’s alive. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.
It’s the mantra that Tweek repeats over and over to himself to keep from having a breakdown in his living room. He hooks his arms underneath Craig’s armpits, pulling him up to his feet. Craig sways to and fro, appearing lucent for a short moment before falling forward and being caught by Tweek’s quick reflexes.
He widens his stance to get a better grip and decides to carry Craig up to his room. His body is limp and deadweight in his arms but somehow he doesn’t feel any heavier than the bags of coffee beans that he’s forced to lift daily at Tweek Bros. In fact, possibly even lighter.
With Craig now in an actual bed where he can sleep comfortably, Tweek settles in beside him. Unlike Craig, Tweek’s body is positively buzzing with energy as if he just chugged a whole pot of coffee. He hugs Craig close and curls into his side, listening to the steady thumping of his heart and praying it doesn’t stop beating any time soon.
<•━━━•€
Tweek doesn’t sleep that night.
He’s too full of energy to sleep. He can feel it crackling inside him like static, millions of electric currents coursing through his veins. He lay unblinking most of the night, watching the shadows crawl down his wall and over his floor in real-time as the sun rises out his window.
He doesn’t know what time it is when Craig finally stirs awake. Probably close to the afternoon judging by how high the sun is. The wave of relief Tweek feels when Craig peers at him through those dark hooded eyes. He can’t dwell on how Craig makes him feel. Not now.
Craig is sick and he needs help.
Craig’s lips lift with a groggy grin, brushing a strand of blond hair behind Tweek’s ear. Tweek sighs, wanting to give into the pleasant touch but his worry begins to eat away at him. He pulls back, sitting on his knees and hugging his arms to his chest. Confused at the unusual reaction, Craig follows suit, sitting up on his elbows.
Tweek takes a breath. “Nineteen hours.”
“Huh?” Craig’s waking voice is gruff and gravelly, sounding deep from within his chest cavity. Its usual nasal is encased with a drowsy crust that makes Tweek’s cheeks flush, the low timber vibrating the very atoms of the air around him. It causes something to stir deep within him and he can’t help but squeeze his knees together. He pushes the feeling aside for the time being to focus on the matter at hand.
“You slept for nineteen hours last night.”
Craig blinks, squinting his eyes at the accusation like he can’t understand what Tweek’s words mean. Tweek doesn’t need him to answer. He already knows by that look that Craig doesn’t believe him.
“I counted Craig,” he states bluntly.
Craig scrunches up his face and reaches under the pillow for his phone. He feels around for it but he doesn’t find it in its usual spot under Tweek’s pillow. He sits up fully, reaching over Tweek’s nightstand and accidentally knocking a styrofoam coffee cup to the floor but it’s not there either. He turns his head to ask Tweek if he left it downstairs or something, but Tweek is already holding it out to him.
“I fucking counted.”
He takes it and presses the home button. The screen lights up with a barrage of missed notifications and messages and his eyes widen when he sees the time.
“Craig, please be honest with me here, man. Are you depressed? Is it me? Is being with me too much on you?” The rapid-fire questions don’t leave Craig a chance to answer. He is clearly already having a hard time processing life with his groggy morning brain, but it doesn’t matter because Tweek has already reached his own conclusion. “Hrrr- Oh god, that’s it isn’t it? I’m a nightmare to deal with, huh? Urrgh- I take up so much of your time and energy. Hah! It must be so draining. I’m fucking draining your energy, man!”
Tweek knows he’s hard to deal with. Craig has been nothing but amazing to him. He listens to Tweek’s worries no matter how late at night. When he sees his way of dealing with things isn’t working, he takes the time to learn and adapt to better fit Tweek’s needs. He’s reliable, always there to bring him back down when Tweek feels like he’s losing himself.
He’s Tweek’s rock. And here Tweek is grinding him into smaller and smaller chunks until he becomes nothing but gravel. When is the last time Tweek has been there for Craig? Listened to Craig’s problems? Adapted to Craig’s liking?
Tweek feels selfish suddenly. Like a leech greedily sucking away at Craig’s essence. How long before there’s nothing left to latch onto?
It’s similar to how he felt during the Buddha box craze back in elementary. How everyone said they had anxiety just to put a cardboard box on their heads so they can play on their phone in class and not get punished for it. Tweek paid the trend no mind until his own boyfriend walked out with one. He immediately knew he was the reason for it. He was even worse back then than he is now. Everyone told him Craig had anxiety and he was being insensitive and didn’t understand what Craig was going through.
Craig has anxiety? That’s something Tweek can help with!
That’s what he thought at the time, but Craig didn’t speak to him for that whole week, not verbally. And when Tweek would text him Craig would groan from within the box and begrudgingly answer him with a half-assed, one-worded response. He probably didn’t realize Tweek was in the room with him. Maybe his reaction wouldn’t have been as visceral if he did.
Tweek had never felt shittier. Like a nuisance. An unwanted blemish in Craig’s presence.
After the fad was said and done and the boxes were banned from being worn at school, Craig realized how shitty he was being to Tweek, telling him that he regrets ever putting on the box and he’s sorry he made Tweek feel like shit about himself. It was a highly unusual display of emotion from Craig but Tweek believed that he was sincere and they made up.
But the damage had been done.
He feels his eyes sting with tears. “M-maybe we should take a break.” The words scratch the walls of his throat like he swallowed a handful of nails. That’s the last thing he wants to do but it’s what he feels is better for Craig.
Craig is who matters right now.
In that instant, Craig looks more wide awake than he has in weeks. He bolts upright, waving his hands and shaking his head. “NO! No no no, Tweek it’s not you. Please don’t… don’t think that.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m just… tired I guess.”
“But it’s not normal for you to be sleeping this much. I’m… I’m worried about you, Craig.” His voice cracks.
Craig is silent for a moment, his face creased in contemplation. He appears to be having some kind of inward battle with himself but one hard look at Tweek's face is all it takes to make up his mind. “I’ll get it checked out.”
“You will?”
“Yes.”
Feeling relieved, Tweek envelopes him in a tight hug. “Thank you.”
Craig grunts and pets Tweek’s head awkwardly as he clings to him. Craig isn’t the best with showing affection to others and especially with others showing affection towards him. All Tweek wants is for him to be healthy and happy and right now he’s afraid for Craig’s health. It’s not hard at all for Tweek to outwardly show that sentiment.
Ever since his fuck up with the Buddha Box Craig’s been so attentive, always there to tend to Tweek’s problems. Now Tweek is ready to take a backseat.
Craig just needs to put himself first for once.
<•━━━•€
Tweek comes home from work early, much to his father’s protest. He’s making a customer’s latte when he is struck with a wave of hot dizziness that nearly makes him spill the order as he hands it to the customer. He leaves the shop for some fresh air, hoping that the cold Colorado wind will help cool him down, but the flush in his cheeks remains the whole walk home. He tells himself that he is just worried about Craig and his body is having a negative reaction, making him sick.
He told his parents about what was going on when he and Craig came down for breakfast that morning. They of course recommended Craig have some coffee and poured him a cup even though he politely declined several times. They kept saying that it was good for him and it will help him regain his energy.
Craig hates coffee. He always has. So it comes as a surprise to Tweek when he actually drinks it. It must have been that politeness too that prompted him to finish the whole cup. His parents seemed happy in their weird creepy way with their tilted heads and uncanny grins, watching intensely as he downed the whole thing. The expression on Craig’s face afterward was priceless though. Tweek had to turn his head to cover his snicker.
Pure disgust morphed Craig’s features and he did little to hide it. He pushed the mug away with a “Thank you, ma’am,” and a “No thank you,” when they asked if he wanted a refill, and then he proceeded to complain about the taste the whole walk back to his house.
At least he’s somewhat back to normal.
Tweek’s happy that Craig agreed to go to the doctor but he can’t shake the idea of there being something seriously wrong.
His body also can’t shake that thought.
He tosses and turns all night, feeling strangely constricted in his pajamas. Everything feels too hot, his skin too tight on his body. He groans, unconsciously rutting into the mattress as he lies on his stomach. The slight amount of friction from the sheets makes him bite his lip with a cry, small puffs of breath muffled as his face smooshes into the pillow.
He flips on his back, stretching out and spreading his legs. His body is on fire, his insides scorching with excruciating heat that threatens to burn the clothing straight off of his skin. He tugs on the collar of his top, sighing at the small bit of relief it gives him, but it’s not enough.
He pulls harder, his body starting to move lewdly on its own under the covers as the first button pops free and bounces across the floor. He yanks again, harder, curling his fingers into his sheets and panting as the shirt rips open fully. Stray buttons fly in every direction and scatter all over his room, finally freeing his clammy skin from its constraints.
His hips don’t stop gyrating as he runs his hands all over his body, unable to stop the loud whining moan as he brushes over a nipple. He arches his back, overwhelmed by the bolt of pleasure that strikes his groin, every inch of him trembling from the mere touch. He freezes for a moment, afraid that the slightest bit of movement will get him even more worked up.
He feels eager, aroused, but he doesn’t understand why. He’s no stranger to becoming aroused by any means but this feels different somehow. It’s not just a boner, the usual morning wood that he can easily take care of with a few jerks of his hand and then go about his day like normal. This isn’t normal! It can’t be normal! He feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust. It’s a full-body sensation that is unlike anything he has ever experienced. He can’t control himself. It’s like his body has a mind of its own.
Everything is so sensitive. Even the blanket pressing on his swelling length is becoming too much for him. He frantically kicks it from his body, bunching it along with his pajama bottoms at the foot of the bed with his feet. He rubs at his chest, experimentally pinching a nipple between his fingers. He yells as the sensation sends tantalizing shivers throughout his entire body. It has never felt this good before.
“J-Jesus Christ,” Tweek whines aloud, his limbs squirming on the bed. He’s getting lost in the pleasure. Waves of ecstasy crash into him causing him to slowly lose his mind, writhing in the sheets with wild abandon. His breathing escalates to a very quick, whispery pace as those scandalous fingers make their way to his tented boxers. His dick was calling to him almost. Begging him to release it from its cotton confines.
Who is he to refuse such a request?
He moans as the fabric pulls away from his flesh, his pulsing cock bouncing obscenely against his stomach. He can’t think straight and his brain may as well turn to mush as soon as his fingers make contact. He arches off the bed with a pleasured mewl as his fingers wrap tightly around his achingly hard cock. He starts with a single tug, nearly coming apart at the seams right then and there.
“Ah! God~ ” Tweek gasps, eagerly giving in to what his body wants. What it’s begging for.
More.
Faster.
Harder.
He listens to it, his fist tightening its hold and stroking faster and faster. He switches positions, balancing on the backs of his shoulders and digging his feet into the mattress, using them as leverage to press his hips up as high as they can go. His hips buck in time with his fist, clamping his free hand over his mouth to hold in his shivering gasps and moans.
He loses himself more to his lust as his tongue lulls out of his mouth, licking through the gaps of his fingers and curling around them. His fingers find their way past his lips as he stuffs three of them into his mouth, savoring the taste. He finds himself imagining the fingers had the weight and girth of a hard silky cock and he slips in a fourth, thrusting them in and out.
Wanton moans slip past his fingers, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his stomach as his other hand moves even faster. He chases his climax, gasping over and over and arching his back more as his jerks become rapid and shaky.
He pulls the fingers from his mouth and brings them to his asshole, circling around it before curling a saliva-covered finger inside of himself. He rabbits his finger in and out with no restraint, moaning obscenely as he tries to find his prostate. He tenses, the pressure inside of him expanding until it explodes with his release. His head snaps back into the pillows as he screams, his vision blurring with white.
His orgasm tears through him, leaving him weak and lightheaded. He drops onto his back, his muscles all giving out at once. He gulps on air, trying to catch his breath as tears brought about by his intense pleasure roll down his cheeks.
He stares at the ceiling, his breathing returning to normal as he slowly brings his cum-drenched hand up to his face. A glob of it falls from his fingers and splats onto his heaving chest.
“Hah-urh, w-what the fuck is going on?” He breathes, the sweat-soaked sheets greedily clinging to his skin. He groans, clenching in on himself as that twinge of maddening desire alights within his gut all over again.
<•━━━•€
While it would usually help in any other circumstance, taking a shower proves only to make it worse.
Even with blasting himself with ice-cold freezing water from the shower head, his skin swelters and the arousal continues to course through his bones. The water pressure from the shower head is far too stimulating. He loses track of how many times he finds his fingers rubbing at his cock or teasing his hole. It’s like his own body is against him, edging him on until he gives in and gives it the release it is craving. But even when he does, something stirs inside him, screaming for more.
After about the fifteenth shower (having lost the arousal battle with himself and cumming all over the shower walls about that many times) he twists the shower handle and turns the water off.
His legs tremble as he wraps a towel around his waist, biting back another moan as the material rubs against his sensitive skin. He changes into his clothes, grabbing his phone to check his text messages. It’s obvious he’s not going to school today and he will most likely not be ‘well enough' to go with Craig to his Doctor’s appointment either.
“Urrrrghhnn, ” he grunts out, rubbing his legs together as he opens his phone. Yeah, he definitely can’t go. Just the thought of his boyfriend makes his center throb and his dick do weird funny things. He’s going to pop a boner in the waiting room or something and he can’t have that.
He brings up Craig’s contact. He’s probably in class right now, hopefully lucid. He sends a quick text saying he’s sorry he can’t go with him to his appointment and pockets his phone. To his surprise, he gets a response right away. The sudden vibration from his pocket startles him like an electric shock, sending an onslaught of pleasurable tingles down his legs to his toes. He chews his lip, sliding his thumb across the message that pops up on his lock screen.
That’s fine, babe. I’m actually feeling better today.
U are?
Yeah. I feel really energized. Guess I slept well last night.
Good! <3
Well, that’s a relief. At least Craig’s condition is getting better. Meanwhile, he’s stuck here with some kind of horny disease where just the thought of his boyfriend or the vibration of his damn phone drives him insane.
He’s trying to think of how something like this could happen. Maybe he freaked himself out so much that the chemicals in his body mistook the emotion he was feeling for arousal? That may sound like a silly conclusion but this is technically not the first time it has happened.
Contrary to what people may believe, Tweek actually adores horror. It scares him shitless, yes, but the truth is, if he digs somewhere deep inside himself, he finds that he loves the feeling. Being scared, others around him being scared, the jolts of adrenaline that course through his veins. It makes something stir in his gut. He would never admit that to anyone, the real reason why he was such an advocate for horror movie night with his friends.
He only realizes now that this is the same feeling but multiplied times ten. Now he can’t think about anything but sex! How is he supposed to function like this?? He hasn’t done anything today but jack off in the shower for five hours, and the relief he feels is painfully temporary!!
He needs to do something else, anything else!
He paces around his house absentmindedly until his bare feet touch the cool tiles of his kitchen floor. Upon seeing the fridge, a thought comes to mind that maybe he’s just hungry. There’s a hollow emptiness in his stomach, a pit carved in by the pains of what he reasons could only be hunger. He opens it in hopes that there will be leftovers that he can gorge on to make the feeling go away.
But no matter how much he fills his stomach, the hunger remains.