thanks for the great prompt, anon. hope this fits the bill ______________________
It’s so packed on this train, Tweek can’t even mess around on his phone. It’s not like there would be any messages. He just moved here. His apartment is a hovel he shares with Kenny McCormick, his job consists mainly of fetching coffee and running errands for minimum wage, and he hasn’t had the time or energy to try making friends yet. No one is clamoring to contact him during his early morning commute.
Still, it would be nice to be able to do some KenKens or something.
If he could muster up the requisite social graces, he’d see if he could find somebody to carpool with, but he probably lives further outside the city than anyone else.
His back is to the doors that don’t open, which makes him anxious even though they shouldn’t open during this train ride; they probably won’t open and let him fall and be crushed under the train. It’s unlikely that will happen, but still, he stands with his face to the window instead of his back. If he’s to fall to his death in some freak malfunction of the door mechanism, he wants to be able to see it coming.
The train pulls into the next station and the doors open with a hiss and more people push in. He’s pushed closer to the edge of the door. He can smell the cheap shampoo on the man behind him, feel the heat of his body, but they’re not all pressed up against each other just yet, which is good because Tweek doesn’t really like to be touched.
The man moves his hand over on the rail to their left. Tweek spots it immediately in his peripheral vision. He slides his grip down, til his fingers are right above of Tweek’s. They’re not touching but only just barely. Tweek’s heart thumps in his chest. He’s too close for Tweek to be able to turn his head and get a good look at him without it being very obvious.
They reach the next stop shortly thereafter and the doors hiss open again. Tweek takes the opportunity to scoot his fist down further on the rail so they’re not touching anymore. He can breathe a little again, but only for a second. This is a busy stop, few people push out and many more pack in, and the man pushes him further into the corner. He’s trapped, locked in place, but so is everyone around them, he notices as he jerks his head side to side, desperately looking for someone who might be paying attention, who might care. Everyone has their earbuds in, everyone is half-asleep, everyone is thinking about their impending work days.
But not this man. This man presses his bulge into Tweek’s low back, nose ghosting across his scalp. Tweek shudders to feel him inhale hard, breathing in his scent. He lets out a frustrated squawk from the back of his throat; no one even blinks.
“Please stop,” he begs the stranger in a low voice.
No response is forthcoming. He tries to turn his head but the man brings a hand around to grasp his jaw. “Eyes forward.”
Tweek gasps quietly, afraid, ashamed. “Not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs, and Tweek shivers as he strokes that hand down his chest, down his stomach, landing right above the waistband of his pants where his fingers stay hovering.
He lets them rest there, barely touching Tweek’s lower abdomen. The tension mounts in the pit of Tweek’s stomach. He’s being teased. He breathes in slowly and tries not to fixate on how much his body is heating up under his light touch.
It doesn’t work. Soon he’s breathing hard and he knows the man can feel it. He slows his own breath and pulls Tweek in closer by the hip in response. Tweek is forced to slow his breath too to match the stranger’s rhythm. It shouldn’t be calming, he reminds himself. This is unwanted attention.
The doors open again abruptly. Tweek gasps at the hissing sound, and the people packing in allow the man to press him into the corner even further. No one can see him. No one will come to his aid. It's just him and this stranger and his wandering hands.
He can feel his own treacherous cock reacting to these thoughts as if it's a good thing and not a violation. Even if he has some odd kink he's just now discovering, logically he should regard this as an inconvenience at the very least. It's not like he brought a change of pants. Still, it feels good to be wanted. He's feeling less touch-averse than usual. He has no say in the matter, after all.
The stranger's fingers stroke his lower abdomen more firmly, then slip just beneath the wasteband, and Tweek lets out an embarrassing moan.
“You want my scarf to keep quiet?” the man murmurs in his ear. His hot breath sends a chill down Tweek’s spine. Tweek pants but says nothing. “You want other guys hearing you? Finding out how easy you are?”
His voice is flat and lifeless which should give Tweek the creeps, especially given the things he’s saying. He finds it oddly comforting instead. No, he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. He shakes his head. The man stops touching him to wrap his scarf around Tweek’s mouth and neck.
“How can you go out in just this little thing, babe? You’re gonna get sick,” he says, sickeningly sweet, tugging at Tweek’s button down. Tweek shudders when the man sticks his hands directly down his pants. He’s not touching his dick yet, but it’s straining at the intimate touch.
“Look at you, you’re shaking.” The man finagles his open coat around Tweek’s shivering body. It’s thick and wool and seems expensive, but Tweek can’t think about all that because the man’s pants are very thin and his cock is now pressing into the cleft of his ass.
Then he shoves his hand further down Tweek’s pants and runs his fingers down the length of his straining cock.
“No underpants, huh? Perfect, you’re perfect,” he mutters in his ear. He grips Tweek’s cock and Tweek whines beneath his scarf. “Perfect little slut. Bet you want my cock, don’t you.”
And then he just stays put, just like that—hand around Tweek’s cock, his own pressed into his ass. Tweek breathes deliberately, teeth clenched around the fabric of the scarf, the man’s cock throbbing against his ass, and his own throbbing in the man’s hand.
Tweek waits for what feels like minutes. No one around them can see. They are just pulsating together, one horny unit within the warm cocoon of the stranger’s nice winter coat, and then Tweek’s hips stutter backwards of their own accord. He moans into the scarf, quiet and raspy when the man grinds slowly forward to meet him, and then he jerks forward, and repeats this cycle of stilted grinding.
It doesn't take Tweek long. It's like the man said: he's easy, so easy, can just be minimally grabbed and groped and he'll fuck into the fist clutching at him, and grind back on the cock pressing up against him. Release creeps up on him in no time at all, eyes rolling back in his head and pleasure shooting down his legs into his toes curling in his shoes. The man strokes him til his thighs shake and he's whimpering into his scarf from how sensitive he is to the touch.
“Look at the mess you made. Dirty boy. Clean it up,” he commands in a low, throaty voice, grinding more urgently against Tweek’s ass. He jams his index and middle finger into Tweek’s mouth. Tweek accepts them without a fight, docile post-climax. He sucks hard, then laps at the fingers with a languid tongue, as the man's grinding grows erratic.
He pulls his fingers from Tweek's mouth with a groan and sucks the rest of Tweek's cum off his. "You taste so good, honey. So clean. Wish I was inside—fuck, fuck," he hisses, and then he comes to a shuddering halt. It's warm and damp against Tweek's ass. The man has managed to ruin the front and back of his pants.
He leans into the crook of Tweek's neck, trying to catch his breath, and after maybe thirty seconds, gathers himself, retracts his coat from around Tweek's body, and takes his leave. Tweek spins around, snatching his backpack from the floor to hold in front of his soiled lap, and tries to catch sight of the man. Tall, black hair, nice woolen coat. That's all he really has to go on.
As he leans against the back doors, Tweek thinks he won't bother asking the other interns about carpooling. The train isn't so bad. He'll mark down the number of the train car. So he doesn't come to this one again. Yes, so he doesn't accidentally come again.
Re: Craig/Tweek, molesting, noncon, public, chikan
______________________
It’s so packed on this train, Tweek can’t even mess around on his phone. It’s not like there would be any messages. He just moved here. His apartment is a hovel he shares with Kenny McCormick, his job consists mainly of fetching coffee and running errands for minimum wage, and he hasn’t had the time or energy to try making friends yet. No one is clamoring to contact him during his early morning commute.
Still, it would be nice to be able to do some KenKens or something.
If he could muster up the requisite social graces, he’d see if he could find somebody to carpool with, but he probably lives further outside the city than anyone else.
His back is to the doors that don’t open, which makes him anxious even though they shouldn’t open during this train ride; they probably won’t open and let him fall and be crushed under the train. It’s unlikely that will happen, but still, he stands with his face to the window instead of his back. If he’s to fall to his death in some freak malfunction of the door mechanism, he wants to be able to see it coming.
The train pulls into the next station and the doors open with a hiss and more people push in. He’s pushed closer to the edge of the door. He can smell the cheap shampoo on the man behind him, feel the heat of his body, but they’re not all pressed up against each other just yet, which is good because Tweek doesn’t really like to be touched.
The man moves his hand over on the rail to their left. Tweek spots it immediately in his peripheral vision. He slides his grip down, til his fingers are right above of Tweek’s. They’re not touching but only just barely. Tweek’s heart thumps in his chest.
He’s too close for Tweek to be able to turn his head and get a good look at him without it being very obvious.
They reach the next stop shortly thereafter and the doors hiss open again. Tweek takes the opportunity to scoot his fist down further on the rail so they’re not touching anymore. He can breathe a little again, but only for a second. This is a busy stop, few people push out and many more pack in, and the man pushes him further into the corner. He’s trapped, locked in place, but so is everyone around them, he notices as he jerks his head side to side, desperately looking for someone who might be paying attention, who might care. Everyone has their earbuds in, everyone is half-asleep, everyone is thinking about their impending work days.
But not this man. This man presses his bulge into Tweek’s low back, nose ghosting across his scalp. Tweek shudders to feel him inhale hard, breathing in his scent. He lets out a frustrated squawk from the back of his throat; no one even blinks.
“Please stop,” he begs the stranger in a low voice.
No response is forthcoming. He tries to turn his head but the man brings a hand around to grasp his jaw. “Eyes forward.”
Tweek gasps quietly, afraid, ashamed. “Not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs, and Tweek shivers as he strokes that hand down his chest, down his stomach, landing right above the waistband of his pants where his fingers stay hovering.
He lets them rest there, barely touching Tweek’s lower abdomen. The tension mounts in the pit of Tweek’s stomach. He’s being teased. He breathes in slowly and tries not to fixate on how much his body is heating up under his light touch.
It doesn’t work. Soon he’s breathing hard and he knows the man can feel it. He slows his own breath and pulls Tweek in closer by the hip in response. Tweek is forced to slow his breath too to match the stranger’s rhythm. It shouldn’t be calming, he reminds himself. This is unwanted attention.
The doors open again abruptly. Tweek gasps at the hissing sound, and the people packing in allow the man to press him into the corner even further. No one can see him. No one will come to his aid. It's just him and this stranger and his wandering hands.
He can feel his own treacherous cock reacting to these thoughts as if it's a good thing and not a violation. Even if he has some odd kink he's just now discovering, logically he should regard this as an inconvenience at the very least. It's not like he brought a change of pants. Still, it feels good to be wanted. He's feeling less touch-averse than usual. He has no say in the matter, after all.
The stranger's fingers stroke his lower abdomen more firmly, then slip just beneath the wasteband, and Tweek lets out an embarrassing moan.
“You want my scarf to keep quiet?” the man murmurs in his ear. His hot breath sends a chill down Tweek’s spine. Tweek pants but says nothing. “You want other guys hearing you? Finding out how easy you are?”
His voice is flat and lifeless which should give Tweek the creeps, especially given the things he’s saying. He finds it oddly comforting instead. No, he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. He shakes his head. The man stops touching him to wrap his scarf around Tweek’s mouth and neck.
“How can you go out in just this little thing, babe? You’re gonna get sick,” he says, sickeningly sweet, tugging at Tweek’s button down. Tweek shudders when the man sticks his hands directly down his pants. He’s not touching his dick yet, but it’s straining at the intimate touch.
“Look at you, you’re shaking.” The man finagles his open coat around Tweek’s shivering body. It’s thick and wool and seems expensive, but Tweek can’t think about all that because the man’s pants are very thin and his cock is now pressing into the cleft of his ass.
Then he shoves his hand further down Tweek’s pants and runs his fingers down the length of his straining cock.
“No underpants, huh? Perfect, you’re perfect,” he mutters in his ear. He grips Tweek’s cock and Tweek whines beneath his scarf. “Perfect little slut. Bet you want my cock, don’t you.”
And then he just stays put, just like that—hand around Tweek’s cock, his own pressed into his ass. Tweek breathes deliberately, teeth clenched around the fabric of the scarf, the man’s cock throbbing against his ass, and his own throbbing in the man’s hand.
Tweek waits for what feels like minutes. No one around them can see. They are just pulsating together, one horny unit within the warm cocoon of the stranger’s nice winter coat, and then Tweek’s hips stutter backwards of their own accord. He moans into the scarf, quiet and raspy when the man grinds slowly forward to meet him, and then he jerks forward, and repeats this cycle of stilted grinding.
It doesn't take Tweek long. It's like the man said: he's easy, so easy, can just be minimally grabbed and groped and he'll fuck into the fist clutching at him, and grind back on the cock pressing up against him. Release creeps up on him in no time at all, eyes rolling back in his head and pleasure shooting down his legs into his toes curling in his shoes. The man strokes him til his thighs shake and he's whimpering into his scarf from how sensitive he is to the touch.
“Look at the mess you made. Dirty boy. Clean it up,” he commands in a low, throaty voice, grinding more urgently against Tweek’s ass. He jams his index and middle finger into Tweek’s mouth. Tweek accepts them without a fight, docile post-climax. He sucks hard, then laps at the fingers with a languid tongue, as the man's grinding grows erratic.
He pulls his fingers from Tweek's mouth with a groan and sucks the rest of Tweek's cum off his. "You taste so good, honey. So clean. Wish I was inside—fuck, fuck," he hisses, and then he comes to a shuddering halt. It's warm and damp against Tweek's ass. The man has managed to ruin the front and back of his pants.
He leans into the crook of Tweek's neck, trying to catch his breath, and after maybe thirty seconds, gathers himself, retracts his coat from around Tweek's body, and takes his leave. Tweek spins around, snatching his backpack from the floor to hold in front of his soiled lap, and tries to catch sight of the man. Tall, black hair, nice woolen coat. That's all he really has to go on.
As he leans against the back doors, Tweek thinks he won't bother asking the other interns about carpooling. The train isn't so bad. He'll mark down the number of the train car. So he doesn't come to this one again. Yes, so he doesn't accidentally come again.