3/4


Tweek whines in the back of his throat over the state he’s been left in. His body is burning and he can still taste Craig in his mouth. Once the water drains entirely, it’s evident his slick has left a residue behind on his skin, not to mention the bathtub. He turns the water on again and tries to at least rinse his legs but the water turns cold quickly and new slick keeps coming, hot and viscous, dripping down his legs. There’s no point.

With some effort he manages to turn the water off and snatch up the towel from the metal bar above the tub. Wrapping the towel around himself gingerly, he leans back against the back of the tub. He’s more acutely aware of how hot his body is in this towel, the hardness of his cock and nipples more apparent with the towel pressing them down. The bottom is already drenched from fresh slick and Tweek reaches down for the bottle of ice water Craig left by the side of the tub, takes a sip, and then holds it to his burning cheeks for some relief.

It doesn’t work. He’s so full of lust, all he can do is imagine Craig taking him right now, being in Craig’s bed with his face pressed into the pillow to muffle his screams as Craig hoists his hips up high and plows into him hard, over and over. Tweek knows from that one time on the couch (and, if he’s honest, from locker room sightings) that it’s bigger than most, Craig’s cock. He imagines struggling to take it, and Craig forcing it in him.

He has goosebumps and his nipples actually hurt thinking about what it would be like to suck it down deep in his throat. He wonders what his cum tastes like. He imagines trying to sit astride it, lowering himself slowly as Craig sucks on his nipples again and tells him he’s being so good, such a good boy for his big alpha cock, bucking up into him wildly as Tweek cries at the newness of the sensations. None of this is helping the situation at hand—in fact the slick situation is out of control at present.

Craig liked the taste of it. Tweek wonders if he would lap at his entrance, drinking his slick down. How would Craig treat him? Would he be sexually generous, or more demanding? Either sounds appealing to Tweek, but he imagines Craig being more comfortable giving. He imagines sucking Craig's cock while sitting on his face, his slick dripping from Craig's chin.

When Craig comes back in the bathroom, he stumbles and lets out a, “Fuck,” apparently deeply affected by Tweek's delirious lust-scent. Gathering himself, Craig resumes his mission—scooping Tweek up like before, with one arm under his back, and the other under his butt, right where it’s damp.

“Jesus, Tweek,” he hisses.

“Mnnh, sorry,” Tweek mumbles dazedly. He isn’t, really, because he’s not in control of this. It’s like apologizing for a sneeze. He feels a bit bad it’s so protracted and sticky, maybe, but it's not like he chose this.

Leaning against Craig’s chest, Tweek can feel Craig’s labored breaths. Tweek clings around his neck like a monkey and closes his eyes, focusing on his comforting scent. If he focuses on the way Craig smells and the actions he’s taken rather than his words, he can imagine Craig wants him back.


In short order, Craig deposits him in his bed where he’s piled up some clothes. Most are Craig’s and a few are Tweek’s that he’d lent Craig over the past few years—a scarf, some socks, a gym shirt from that time Craig spilled lasagna all over his shirt. The shirt had been too short on Craig and Tweek was distracted all day looking at that strip of visible skin just above Craig’s waistband, the coarse black hair that seemed so foreign and enticing to Tweek.

Still much too hot, Tweek takes off his towel, struggling to pull it out from under him and he hands it to Craig who watches half-lidded, breathing heavily. Then he covers himself with one of Craig’s oversized flannels. It smells so good, Tweek can’t help but moan softly as he hugs it against his body. When he opens his eyes, Craig is hovering, but takes a step back once their eyes meet.

“I’m gonna—put on laundry. And shower. Here, uh—” Craig opens the plastic casing for the sex toys and sets them on his bedside table. “—just, please. I know you can do it.”

“Craig,” Tweek pleads, “nnnh, what if I can’t?”

“Please just try.” Tweek must be looking pretty pitiful because he adds, “I’ll come check on you. Okay?”


Nodding, Tweek lets out an unsteady breath, and Craig is out the door in seconds flat. Tweek is burning up and his stomach feels sick again. Trying to calm himself down, he nestles into the pile of hoodies and flannels and inhales. It smells like Craig. He just left Tweek in a pile of his clothes, in his bed, which Tweek is now drenching with his slick. That has to mean something, that Craig would acknowledge how much Tweek wants to mate with him, that he would indulge it. Maybe he only did it because he had no other choice.

Not wanting to disobey Craig, Tweek unclasps the plastic clamshell casing around the sex toys. He takes the narrowest one, accidentally nudging a button on the side. A fake knot swells at the base of the toy, and Tweek shrieks and drops it. With trembling hands, he picks it up again and strikes that button. The knot deflates and Tweek shudders, trying to banish the thought of it from his mind. An artificial knot—why does he find that so horrific?

And yet he promised Craig he'd try, and only the base inflates, so he rubs the head of the toy in his slick. He presses it to his entrance with unsteady hands, imagining Craig above him since his scent is all around him, but it's too obvious an illusion. Craig is not made of silicon. He’s not cold and sterile, and he’s not held by the shakiest set of fingers on the planet. Kyle hadn’t needed a toy; he’s probably had the real deal—Craig, Tweek’s Craig. The thought hurts, and pressing the silicon substitute against his slick entrance hurts. He doesn’t want this. This isn’t fair at all.


He persists, though, pushing though his body won't unclench for something it doesn't want, and is in fact repelled by. And he cries in pain at the fruitless endeavor. He moans helplessly at his predicament, but when he opens his eyes, there's Craig—all traces of his intoxicating pheromones washed away—standing in the doorway, utterly frozen.

“Craig,” Tweek cries, limply dropping the toy. “Craig, please.”

His sight is blurred but he can make out Craig panting heavily, the outline of his hard cock in his sweatpants, his lustful scent rising. He braces himself with an arm against the door frame.

“Tweek,” he croaks.

“Mmh, please, man, agh—I need you,” Tweek breathes out weakly.


Tweek sees it in his eyes, the urgency—something in him snaps, and Craig lunges forward towards him.

He sobs in relief as Craig climbs over him, sucking and licking at his neck, right where he needs it. The nausea and the pain abate right away, but slick keeps pouring out of him, and he moans, body curling up into Craig of its own accord, his desperation mounting. Even though he’s so weak, his shaky hands go for Craig’s waistband. He manages to get his pants down while Craig yanks his shirt over his head, and then it’s just Craig in his black briefs—his Craig, all for him.

Tweek can’t even breathe when he grabs for it, rubbing up the length of the shaft with both hands. It’s big and hot and pulsating for him and only him. The groan Craig emits makes the slick come even heavier. There’s a damp spot at his tip in his briefs like he’s been leaking just thinking about fucking Tweek to oblivion. Craig shudders when Tweek touches his thumb to the wet spot, then licks it, moaning at the heady, salty taste. Craig pulls off his briefs, eyes fixed on Tweek's mouth. For his part, Tweek can only stare at Craig's hard, naked cock with longing, a sense of surreality washing over him.

It’s going to happen, it’s finally going to happen, and Tweek needs it so badly, more than he’s ever needed anything. To a point, just Craig’s presence was enough. Tweek cries for it now, for all the years Craig wasn’t fucking him, and for the reality of it happening now being too good to be believed. He needs him more than he needs to breathe; he can’t breathe, choking on his ragged sobs.

“Don’t cry—God. Please don’t cry,” Craig says lowly, and he leans down to kiss Tweek.
Just like in the tub, it’s like their mouths were made to mesh together this way. He tastes like completion, fulfillment. He tastes like he belongs to Tweek. Their kisses, in unison, say, Yes, now. When Craig slots himself between Tweek's legs, Tweek wraps his legs around his lower back, drenching him in his slick without even meaning to.

He’s being tender with Tweek, kissing down his chest as if he needs foreplay right now. Craig's cock merely rests against him, but he can feel and smell that Craig needs inside him just as much as he needs it.

“Hnngh, Craig, please—just put your dick in me already, I’m so wet,” he rasps.

At the command, Craig snarls, and Tweek moans meekly when that show of dominance causes more still to gush out of him.

Craig pushes his legs up and he grabs hold of them from under his knees instinctively, like he was born for this, born to take Craig’s cock. It looks like so much to take, he has no idea how it’s going to fit, but he can’t stand the thought of it being outside his body a second longer. He wants to be full, so full of Craig that he’ll never leave again.

He groans as Craig drags it up and down his slick-drenched entrance and his hips instinctively try to rock him down onto it. Finally, impatient, he grabs at his fat cock and positions it at his sopping wet hole. Craig bends down over him, and Tweek whines when this presses the tip into his entrance, just a bit.

“Relax. Relax, baby,” Craig says.

Tweek whimpers at the petname and cries sharply as Craig begins pressing in in earnest, groaning. It’s so much bigger than the toy he couldn’t penetrate himself with, but Craig is doing the work of pushing his way inside of him, and Tweek wants him inside, so he obeys; he relaxes, attempting to breathe through the stretch. It’s still hard to take. He grits his teeth and exhales hard through his nose.

“Doing so good, baby," Craig says in a strained voice, and he pushes in further with a grunt. By now Tweek's taken him past the head. He whimpers as his hole spasms around it, but then he wills himself to relax, to submit, to allow himself to be opened up. He spreads his legs wider and moans at how good it suddenly begins to feel, which Craig seems to sense, because he presses in further.

Tweek can tell Craig is taking it slow for him, but they're both barely hanging on to their rationality, and he doesn't need its slow right now. A few inches in and he's drooling, unable to focus his eyes. Between animalistic grunts, Craig manages to choke out, “You okay?”

“Hnngh, yeah,” Tweek whines, nearly delirious, “give it to me, Craig—please, man, ah—I need your whole cock!”

Craig growls and leans in further to kiss Tweek which he readily accepts, then he slams himself the rest of the way inside, swallowing down Tweek’s scream.

They're both trembling and Craig sucks on Tweek's tongue and moans, keeping still, waiting for him to adjust. Craig's inside him so deep; he’s being stretched wider than he ever thought possible, and it feels so good, so freeing, he feels complete. He never wants Craig to leave and his muscles hug him tightly from the inside.

"Fuck, ah—you feel so fucking good,” Craig grits out.

He doesn’t move in or out but begins grinding, swiveling his hips and Tweek squeaks and cries sharply with every little pivot.

He’s so overstimulated, his head falls back on the pillow and he feels Craig shift, then suddenly his nipples are being sucked and tweaked hard. He’s quivering and quaking around the length of Craig inside him and Craig starts circling his hips up and out and around. Tweek can feel the rumbling of Craig’s growls in his own chest reverberating through his own chest where Craig sucks and nips at him.

All the stimulation is overwhelming in the best way possible. His body is just a vessel for pleasure, his mind is focused on their present deeds and nothing else, and most amazingly of all, Craig seems to be in the same position he is. He knows Craig is overwhelmed by the pleasure, too. His scent is the strongest Tweek's ever smelled it, and then Craig starts fucking him in earnest, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in over and over.


He's not taking it slow anymore and as he roughly fucks Tweek into the mattress, white starts to flash behind Tweek's eyes, and his legs begin to quake from the pressure of the hot bliss slowly spreading out from his center.

"You gonna come?" Craig asks in his ear, voice low and amused, almost mocking.

"Yeah, nnh—yes!" he squeaks out pathetically. "Please, Craig, augh—I need it!"

"You can come as much as you want but I'm not gonna stop til I knot you. Think you can take it?"

"Hnngh—make me," Tweek spits, suddenly wanting the struggle even knowing how badly he'll lose. He wants to put up a fight while he inevitably climaxes over and over on Craig's big alpha dick. Craig made him wait so long for this and he's not just going to lie there and take it while Craig marvels at how easy he was.

"Yeah," Craig hisses, sitting upright and pulling Tweek's legs up on his shoulders. "Yeah, I'll make you." He brutally pounds into Tweek in this position, balls slapping against Tweek's ass audibly with every harsh thrust. Tweek wails, his body attempting to squirm away from the savage treatment, but Craig holds him in place by his hips and watches with an expression of smug pleasure as Tweek struggles to keep his eyes open.

He's screeching and the flashing behind his eyes consumes him wholly when Craig pushes Tweek's feet beside his head and fucks into him hard, face hovering just over him, watching.

"Come on, Tweek, hah—come on my cock," he coaxes sweetly. Tweek obeys; he comes untouched on Craig's cock, clenching down firmly, quivering all around him as his muscles spasm throughout his whole body, the climax so intense it almost burns.

Once the worst of his spasms have subsided, Craig pulls all the way out with a groan, leaving Tweek empty, shaking and gasping.

“On your hands and knees,” he commands, voice husky and deep.