Craig reaches forward on instinct. His hand reaches between his legs and lands on top of Tweek’s. After a few more unsteady strokes, he slows his pace and starts to catch his breath. They’re both shaking with nerves and doubt. Craig wills his eyes to come into focus so he can study his mate. The thoughts and considerations about the situation tumble through his mind. He’s never wanted to be an alpha. He didn’t ask for this. It was just something that happened to him one day, and from that point forward he had to come to terms with his lot in life. A spark of sympathy courses through him. In the end, Tweek is much the same. Not only did he never ask to be an omega, but he also spent most of his life thinking he’d avoided that fate. It must be so confusing for him. It must be so scary and unpredictable. He looks up at Tweek’s worried face and feels a terrible wave of exhausting emotions that overcome him all at once. It’s guilt and comradery and determination in one crushing wave. It’s a sudden sense of understanding and defiance that he wants to embrace.
“I’m not just an alpha,” he informs Tweek as boldly as he can manage, and strangely enough he knows in his bones that he is speaking from the heart.
A weight leaves his shoulders. The burden of a truth he’s been carrying for years on end has lifted. He’s long since gone soft and feels completely ridiculous holding his junk between his legs, so he flips his hand to lace his fingers in between Tweek’s. They sit there for a moment, gripping each other tightly until Tweek’s lip begins to wibble and his shoulders shake. He croaks out a few ragged breaths and a whimper, and then the tears he’s held in for so long spill from his eyes in fat, heavy rivulets.
“Craig…!” he cries out, but it is so clear it comes from a place of relief.
He can’t bear to lay like a limp dish rag for a second longer. Craig sits upright too quickly. His vision blacks out for a moment from the headrush, but he powers through it so he can fling his arms around Tweek’s distorted body. Tweek cries openly onto his shoulder, but it’s less like sobbing and more like the physical manifestation of his anxieties and fears leaving his body. They hold each other close, running aimless paths up and down with their hands in gentle, soothing motions. Soon, the tears run dry and they’re left as nothing more than two strange lovers clinging to the belief that there is hope for them yet.
“C’mere,” Craig finally suggests after some time and guides them both to lay back down in the bed.
Tweek is clearly exhausted, and truth be told that took a lot out of Craig as well. They easily resume their cuddling, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. It’s as if they’ve been this way all along. But they haven’t. The difference now is there’s no pretense. There’s no underlying obligation guiding them. Each of them, of his own volition and resolute decision, has chosen this. They tangle back up together like a pair of sleepy kittens and Craig kisses the tip of Tweek’s nose before gazing into his gem-like, tear-stained eyes. He asks a fragile question.
Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation
Craig reaches forward on instinct. His hand reaches between his legs and lands on top of Tweek’s. After a few more unsteady strokes, he slows his pace and starts to catch his breath. They’re both shaking with nerves and doubt. Craig wills his eyes to come into focus so he can study his mate. The thoughts and considerations about the situation tumble through his mind. He’s never wanted to be an alpha. He didn’t ask for this. It was just something that happened to him one day, and from that point forward he had to come to terms with his lot in life. A spark of sympathy courses through him. In the end, Tweek is much the same. Not only did he never ask to be an omega, but he also spent most of his life thinking he’d avoided that fate. It must be so confusing for him. It must be so scary and unpredictable. He looks up at Tweek’s worried face and feels a terrible wave of exhausting emotions that overcome him all at once. It’s guilt and comradery and determination in one crushing wave. It’s a sudden sense of understanding and defiance that he wants to embrace.
“I’m not just an alpha,” he informs Tweek as boldly as he can manage, and strangely enough he knows in his bones that he is speaking from the heart.
A weight leaves his shoulders. The burden of a truth he’s been carrying for years on end has lifted. He’s long since gone soft and feels completely ridiculous holding his junk between his legs, so he flips his hand to lace his fingers in between Tweek’s. They sit there for a moment, gripping each other tightly until Tweek’s lip begins to wibble and his shoulders shake. He croaks out a few ragged breaths and a whimper, and then the tears he’s held in for so long spill from his eyes in fat, heavy rivulets.
“Craig…!” he cries out, but it is so clear it comes from a place of relief.
He can’t bear to lay like a limp dish rag for a second longer. Craig sits upright too quickly. His vision blacks out for a moment from the headrush, but he powers through it so he can fling his arms around Tweek’s distorted body. Tweek cries openly onto his shoulder, but it’s less like sobbing and more like the physical manifestation of his anxieties and fears leaving his body. They hold each other close, running aimless paths up and down with their hands in gentle, soothing motions. Soon, the tears run dry and they’re left as nothing more than two strange lovers clinging to the belief that there is hope for them yet.
“C’mere,” Craig finally suggests after some time and guides them both to lay back down in the bed.
Tweek is clearly exhausted, and truth be told that took a lot out of Craig as well. They easily resume their cuddling, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. It’s as if they’ve been this way all along. But they haven’t. The difference now is there’s no pretense. There’s no underlying obligation guiding them. Each of them, of his own volition and resolute decision, has chosen this. They tangle back up together like a pair of sleepy kittens and Craig kisses the tip of Tweek’s nose before gazing into his gem-like, tear-stained eyes. He asks a fragile question.
“Can we try this again?”