south_park_kink_meme | South Park Kink Meme

South Park Kink Meme

This is a kink meme for South Park. It's fun and easy!

People comment anonymously with their prompts. Then, others write fic or make art based on the prompts and post their creations in response to the original prompt comment below!

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1. Please do not fight about ships or content in your prompts.

2. Hit "Post a new comment" if you'd like to leave a prompt, and hit "Reply to this" beneath the prompt you'd like to fill if you're filling a prompt

It's traditional to write the fic in the replies, but you can leave external site links too (such AO3 for fic, or privatter for art).

3. Please see this example prompt if you need guidance! Prompts don't have to be elaborate; please just try to give writers/artists enough to work with ^~^

- Here is a list of kinks you may find helpful, and you can search on your own as well

- Got an idea that's SFW or not necessarily centered around kink? Check out the General Prompt Meme!

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- Here are some examples of past South Park Kink Memes on Livejournal if you're curious

Temp Note 7/30/22: I've had to turn on comment screening because of spamming, but prompts have been great otherwise, so keep 'em coming if you got 'em. Comment screening just means I have to hit a button for them to appear. Please see the FAQ post if you have any questions!

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Hi, Anon! To me, writing an Omegaverse scenario requires a fair bit of exposition and background, so I'm working on a rather large entry for you. I really hope you'll enjoy this fill! It's gonna be fairly long when I'm through with telling this story. Thanks for the cool ABO prompt, it's been awesome coming up with the details for this one.

[1/?]

Craig could safely say presenting as an alpha had been one of the most irritating things he’d ever endured. It wasn’t necessarily that he disliked his secondary sex traits. On the contrary, he felt grateful for a handful of the perks. He was often regarded with a certain unspoken respect, most people would give him a wide berth of personal space out of either reverence or intimidation, and best of all he knew that no matter how unsocial or unpleasant he behaved in public it would be written off as a feature of his secondary sex rather than a failing of his personality.

That’s not to say being an alpha was all good things, however. On the contrary, it’s often a hindrance. With the aforementioned reverence comes a certain level of societal expectation Craig doesn’t prefer shouldering. He’s expected to “do better” and “be better” for the benefit of “the lesser sexes.” It’s assumed that one day he’ll be a loving provider or some sort of outspoken leader and live up to ideals others have set for him. He hates that. He’s not exactly a self-assured person, and he’d rather just be some no-name guy.

But that’s not even the worst of things. Because of course, it’s not. When Craig was young, he’d always quietly hoped he’d present as a beta. It’d seemed like the easiest path. It was very middle-of-the-road and he could surely blend into the backdrop. Back then, he’d been less confident. That’s not to say that he’s particularly confident now; rather, it’s more a testament to exactly how unsure of himself he’d been then.

Middle school had dealt with the embarrassing details of primary sexual education and put Craig and his classmates in the uncomfortable situation of listening to adult instructors stand up in front of the class and give graphic descriptions of their bodies and the changes that would happen to them. And then in high school, that very situation repeated itself with their secondary sexual education but in a much worse way. The instructor took a much more stern attitude, describing with the utmost urgency the importance of their impending presentations and how they would shape their lives going forward.

Craig waxed and waned between complacency and indifference at first (because honestly, what choice did he have), but in time he began to present unmistakably as an alpha. He grew taller than his classmates, and even though he took what could be described as a cavalier attitude towards physical fitness, he grew much stronger than most of his classmates, too. His senses became keener, and he became increasingly accustomed to the routine inconvenience of all-consuming, unquenchable lust.

He never had to look very far for a potential mate, though. Either someone would approach him (undoubtedly lured by the carelessly unmasked scent of his powerful pheromones), or he’d sniff around and quickly find some desperate omega or even a curious beta. There were ways to prevent an alpha from going into a routine rut, of course. Craig never much cared for them honestly, and the idea of having to schedule regular doctor’s appointments to prescribe him bottles and bottles of pills that would stifle his nature in exchange for unpleasant headaches and bodily dysfunction was never really a barter he wanted to make.

The common belief came as a somewhat conservative notion– finding a mate should be a special and reverent act. Craig never bought into that, either. Finding a mate was a constant yet temporary solution to a natural state of things. He, as an alpha, would go into a rut. Some random beta or omega would sense this and they would act on their mutual desire, relieve the craving, and then they’d part ways. Some people found this approach trashy, but for Craig, this was just simply the state of things.

In time, Craig had come to more or less settle down with one particular omega. He uses that term very lightly– she always seemed to sync up with his cycles and would often give him those pleading eyes. It was in all honestly an arrangement of convenience. But still, it was routine and she didn’t impede much on his daily life, generally speaking. They’d take care of their business in a way Craig overall preferred. Which is to say, it was routine, down to a concise and predictable pattern, and not very exciting.

Nothing about their increasingly customary habits has ever had an undertone of passion or romance. Craig views it sort of in the same way he views a chore or an errand or even just picking his nose. It’s something that needs to be done, so he does it. They don’t discuss much outside of their methodical meetups, and they don’t put much effort into any sort of pretense of what exactly they’re doing together. In fact, Craig isn’t even really sure of her name. He thinks it might be Annie, but at this point, he’s been fucking her pretty regularly, and even though there’s very little passion in the act, he’s much too embarrassed to ask her what her name is.

It’s only been about half an hour or so since he last saw her, actually. When her heat is approaching, she typically goes about things in the same way each time. She finds him where he frequently sits alone in the co-ed dormitory’s dining hall and quietly perches on the other side of his table. She gives him sidelong glances and twirls a finger through her wild, flaxen locks of hair.

And, as usual, at first, he feels nothing. He has no opinions on her appearance and he holds no emotion in his heart that might make him feel some kind of attachment to her. But he knows she’ll persist, and he also knows that given enough exposure to the way she blatantly and flagrantly propositions herself to him, something within him will activate. Ultimately, he likes it this way. This meaningless monthly ritual of twenty minutes of silent-but-effective, straightforward “foreplay” followed by ten minutes maximum of mostly clothed and meaningless sex is a far better situation to have landed himself in than the alternative of tedious suppression tactics or waiting for an organic rut to occur and then coping with the intensity and aggravation of it.

Today, however, Craig feels differently. Today maybe-Annie demanded too much and made some serious presumptions of him that rubbed him the wrong way. She threw around words and phrasing that she had no business taking so lightly or so impertinently. With a dainty finger in her voluminous blonde curls, she tossed around the idea that she considered herself his girlfriend. Craig had only snorted in response. Well, that was nothing short of trite. Where she had gotten that notion, he hadn’t the slightest clue. Craig had never asked her to be his mate and had never made any indication that he had any interest in her whatsoever beyond the unambiguously direct desire to relieve himself of his rut and the simplicity that she provided to that end. The closest things they’ve had to dates are the brief public meetups they share in the cafeteria. He’s never asked her a single question about herself and he’s never seen her body undressed. Hell, he doesn’t even know her name. There are only three things Craig knows about this girl at all– she has pretty blonde hair, she smells good, and they are a good physical match in a strictly biological way.

If in some way this girl thinks these things constitute the grounds for a decent partnership going forward, Craig almost feels sorry for her. The operative word here, of course, is almost; he truly can’t express how little attachment he feels towards the situation beyond the convenience of the arrangement. He feels a very numb sort of disgust towards the concept and as such, ended up wordlessly leaving her alone at the table. The whole idea of her claiming words that had no business in her mouth painted her in a new sort of desperate and pathetic light that he just couldn’t stomach. These are descriptors that he, as an alpha, would generally find a twisted sort of alluring. But in this context? Craig just couldn’t continue with that kind of charade.

So he walked off, aimlessly at first, out of the cafeteria, down the isolated corridor, and back towards the dormitory dwellings. He willed his mind to cease as many thoughts as he could manage and shuffled his legs in constant (albeit shambling) momentum forward. A gritty, two-fold irritation pooled in his belly. First and foremost, he was genuinely irritated. Having that girl dare to so casually refer to herself as his “girlfriend” irritated him to no end, and there was no way around that. But secondly, another irritation began to unfurl its nasty little tendrils within him and grip him from the inside. This one seemed far more insidious, and a creeping, consuming sort of familiar. Craig’s jaw clenched itself tight. He knew there was a good chance that he’d spent precisely enough time around that arrogant little blonde omega girl to induce a rut. And if that on its own wasn’t enough to only exacerbate his initial irritation (which it is), now Craig also has to deal with the painful aggravation of having no outlet for relief.

Craig has learned a few things over the years. First of all, he’s learned that once an alpha goes into a rut, the only way for it to end organically is to ride it out. Second, he’s learned that a rut can persist for an excruciating and seemingly neverending duration of time if left unchecked. Third, he’s learned that the symptoms of an alpha enduring a rut are all-consuming and extreme, and they cloud the mind of all rational judgment. This leads him to the last and most vital piece of information he’s gathered over the years of thwarting suppressants– an alpha in a rut will make dangerous choices in blind yet laser-focused determination to gratify and slate their carnal desires. Craig quickens his pace towards his dorm room.

All of this could so easily be relieved by turning on his heel, marching back to the cafeteria, and sticking his engorged cock into her slippery, wet hole for a few insignificant thrusts. He can hear her soft voice pleading with him to keep it inside while he finishes and he physically cringes. He’s always been very careful to pull it out before he fully balloons within her and always finishes carelessly on her leg or somewhere equally rude and crass. If he doesn’t, she’s likely to catch, and if she catches, he can only imagine what sort of commitment implications that would carry. It’s a whole world of messes he wants to avoid at any cost.

So rather than deal with the brief aggravation of waiting for his knot to deflate behind the zipper of his jeans after he’s spent and the ongoing hassle of her clinginess he’d have to endure in exchange for the easy relief, Craig fixates on his trek towards the privacy of his room and instead opts for the impending frustration of a solitary, unabated rut. He grimaces, failing to mitigate his mounting frustrations. To him, it’s so obvious why he overall would time and again choose a quick, reliable fuck over all the other horrible options to placate the otherwise unavoidable. He can’t even begin to describe how stupid all the other options sound. Suppression pills are tedious to obtain, and they result in headaches. Committing to a mate is a monumentally life-altering decision that would tie him down and most likely make him miserable (not to mention the commitment of catching a litter). Riding out a rut is painful and time-consuming and offers absolutely no benefit unless the alpha doing so is a fan of wasting days at a time in exchange for some strange bragging rights. The only logical conclusion, in Craig’s mind, is to relieve himself through a no-strings-attached fuck where he’s careful to pull out before he fully knots in the omega. It’s quick, it’s painless, and most of all it’s the simplest method to returning to his natural state of staying in his lane and giving no fucks about his surroundings. To view this mindset as trashy is old-fashioned and ignorant. It’s functional–nothing more, nothing less.

[2/?]

Unfortunately for Craig, though, he’s gotten himself too irritable to take advantage of his easy option. He can’t bring himself to want to confront that discussion with her, and he’s too petty and stubborn to cast that frustration aside in favor of biting his tongue and returning to a sense of normalcy. He’s not looking forward to riding this out. He knows he could just go prowling and find a willing body to penetrate, but he is too annoyed to even want to put in that small amount of effort. He reaches his single-dorm and enters, locking the door behind him with a heavy slam.

He’s already feeling sweaty. The rut is looming over him. He decides that he does want to ask maybe-Annie to be his girlfriend after all, if only so that he can turn around and immediately dump her bitch-ass and be formally rid of the annoyance in a clear and formal cut of that tie. His clothing feels uncomfortable against his prickling skin, so he strips his shirt. Even the air is starting to make him feel oversensitive. Craig hasn’t dealt with an unmitigated rut since his early teen years and he grimaces thinking of the impending escalation of it. He knows it’s a fool's errand to attempt to sleep through this, but he decides he’ll try anyway.

Once he’s aggressively slammed down every light switch in his unit and drawn the curtains tight, Craig flops face first into his mattress and emits a series of garbled, hateful noises into his pillow. The soft cotton sheets feel awful on his flesh, like a colony of ants has decided to swarm over his writhing body. He scrunches up his face into an objectively unrelaxed expression and tries but fails to ignore the tingling ache that’s already growing between his legs. After what feels like an absolute needless amount of time, Craig finally (yet restlessly) falls asleep.

After some amount of time passes, he awakes. He has no way of immediately knowing if the room is dark because he has cloistered himself away from everyone, or if it’s legitimately nighttime. Truth be told, that’s the least of his concerns. His bed is absolutely drenched in sweat and for whatever reason, he tore apart his pillow in his sleep. Part of the headboard is damaged and he’s entirely unsure what he did to it, but he suspects the ache in both his knuckles and jaw might have something to do with it. Still, what’s most pressing at this time is the physical agony he’s enduring.

His stomach growls angrily with a demanding sort of hunger and his waistband strains to contain his stiff erection. Everything feels hazy as his rough hand jams itself down his jeans and yanks his cock free. He almost can’t stand to look at it in this state. It’s swollen and purple, and the veins throb hotly underneath the tight flesh. He gives himself a furtive squeeze even though he’s sure his skin is ready to burst from the excessive strain it’s already putting on itself. Craig strokes himself up and down a few more times, twisting and jerking himself in all the familiar ways. And, admittedly, it feels good. But it feels good much in the same way scratching a mosquito bite feels good– it’s fleeting and does little more than provide a false sense of relief. Scratching the itch only makes it itchier.

Craig fucks his hand anyway. He knows it will only get worse before it gets better. It’s an unending sensation that can only cease if he knots. And, from excruciating personal experience, he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he can only knot if he sticks his enormous, aching girth into a tight, slick hole. But still, his instincts fight his rationality and he thrusts hard and fast into his own knuckles in a useless attempt to trick his big, stupid dick into knotting. It’s not until his skin has turned raw and red and threatens to blister that he pauses. And even then, it’s not like he stops because he rationally knows it’ll only hurt him more than it’ll relieve him. It’s actually because his stomach feels like it’s shriveling away inside him. He’s ravenously hungry to the point where the need to consume has overpowered the need to fuck.

He pads his way into the kitchenette with his heavy cock frustratingly bobbing with every step. The kitchenette is a nice addition to the dormitory, if only as a creature comfort. Craig hasn’t really used it much in his time living here, though. The little propane cooktop has gathered dust from its lack of usage, and he’s not even sure what’s lingering around in the cabinets. He doesn’t see much need in preparing his own meals when he can just head over to the cafeteria for a meal that’s already been cooked for him. Why spend time and money on cooking for himself when he’s not even a good cook and tuition covers meals in the cafeteria? It’s just the practical choice, really. But now, in this instance, he’s cursing himself for that.

There are a few packages of stale crackers in the cabinet and a few elements of food in the mini-fridge (mustard, olives, half a container of cheese-spread with a dubious expiration date) that Craig makes quick work of devouring. There’s no way Craig can leave his room in this state, but he’s so hungry. His spine hurts from hunching over and his skin crawls like he’s been doused in rubbing alcohol. Maybe he can jerk himself off just enough to appear decent and he can sneak out to find something substantial to eat. Craig grips his inflamed cock once again and hisses. A dissonant sensation blended of both relief and dissatisfaction washes over him.

His arm strains from the exertion and he has to switch to his non-dominant hand, which, needless to say, is even less satisfying. Ugly noises spill freely past his lips as he fruitlessly cranks away. In time his second arm gives out and his hips take over, frantically bucking against his raw palms. The more he works, the more he needs to work. Craig feels like he’s just there on the precipice of release and can’t achieve it. It’s not a normal erection, after all.

He’s really in the throes of it now. His vision blurs and he’s bathed in the most vexing physical sensations he can fathom all at once. He wants and needs to consume and devour and destroy and fuck and scream and ravish and yet he’s stuck in the temporal wasteland of his dormitory where he can’t act on any of his nagging urges. He blinks once (or at least he thinks he does) and has somehow ended up face down again in his bed, but this time he’s viciously grinding his furious, throbbing cock into the bedding. It feels horrible. Everything that isn’t a dripping, quivering hole feels like sandpaper on his skin.

There’s a little voice in his head still clairvoyant enough to remind him he’s entering the fugue-like portion of his rut. It’s horrible, but it will end. Craig grinds his teeth so harshly he’s honestly concerned they might crack. It won’t end soon enough, is the issue. He’s transcended the states of merely hungry and horny. It’s a fully physical and emotional consumption of his entire being. There’s a conflict in the delicate harmony between his cognizant mind and his animalistic body. He thrusts against the tangled, sweaty sheet and drags it along the mattress with his hefty, anguished shaft.

Craig fades in and out of consciousness, back and forth in a confusing tide of agony and lust insatiable hunger. He breaks from the daze every now and then, always to find himself in a new position with an alarmingly increasing amount of damaged furniture each time. He can’t tell if he’s fallen asleep or not anywhere in the interim. Everything is a maddening whirl of reckless abuse to his personal belongings and a pendulum-like effect of abuse and neglect to his miserable body.

After what might or might not be a long time, he falls from the hormone-laden spell and realizes that at some point he has become entirely naked. He’s splayed on the floor like some kind of crime-scene chalk outline and his cheek burns with what is unmistakably rug burn. There’s still a tell-tale weight between his legs and his stomach hurts so bad it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out of his torso so that it can sprout legs and run off to fill itself with food. Craig has no idea what time it is or how long he’s been trapped in his own room fighting for his life through this boner-induced temper tantrum he’s cursed to endure.

His eyes flit around the room. Or rather, the floor. He doesn’t usually see the place from this angle. Fortunately, his phone is nearby and within arm’s reach. He snatches it up only to realize that it is not only dead, but also there’s a fresh crack in the screen. This only serves to aggravate him further; he still doesn’t know what day or time it is and he broke his phone in one of the stupidest ways he can imagine. He carelessly drops it again on the carpet when something near the door catches his eye. It takes a moment for his bleary eyes to recognize what he’s looking at, and then another moment for his even blearier brain to register it. It’s a piece of paper tucked under the doorframe, and by the looks of it, it’s a note.

Craig army crawls the handful of feet forward and retrieves it, then sits upright on his bare ass before reading it and scowling. ‘The food’s outside the door. Take your pills, asshole,’ it reads. He recognizes all of these words individually, but strung together they make no sense and it pisses him off. He does, however, gather two vital bits of information from it. It means somehow, there’s food outside his door. It also means at some point or another, he was probably someone’s naked aggressive problem. He’s too exhausted and agitated to feel any kind of shame from whatever he did while blacked out, but if he’s entirely honest with himself he probably wouldn’t have given a single damn about offending a stranger even if he wasn’t enduring a horrible rut like a teenager who only recently presented.

He dares to unlatch the door and draw it open a couple of inches to take a cautious peek into the hallway. Sure enough, a little plastic bag filled with styrofoam boxes sits on the dingy welcome mat with the handles tied a neat little bow like an early birthday present. Craig piggishly yanks it into his dormitory-turned-hormone-cave and tears through the flimsy plastic confines to reveal a mountain of cold, congealed Chinese take-out food. He feels legitimately giddy for a fraction of a second. He has no recollection whatsoever, but clearly during his fugue he managed to place an order for delivery food before he busted his phone. He wastes very little time attempting to decipher the timeline of pointless events and chooses to eat like a starved dog instead.

Obviously old and unrefrigerated food in massive quantities isn’t good for his insides, but Craig can’t help himself from veritably inhaling enormous mouthfuls of the stuff. He feels like he might sincerely die if he doesn’t voraciously consume everything in his path. He swallows chunks of salty chicken and soggy noodles whole, pausing only occasionally to let out frantic, rumbly belches. He starts regaining his wits just a little bit as he pathetically licks the remaining vinegary puddles from the containers. After a bit of brief and admittedly petulant thought, Craig decides once again that he hates maybe-Annie now. He’s entirely unwilling to admit that any of this situation is of his own doing, and he internally thinks of all the spiteful and mean-spirited things he wants to say to her when he next sees her. In fact, he hates her so much that he decides he hates all omegas. He hates them from their soft features to their whiny voices. He can’t stand them from their supple skin to their glassy eyes when they proposition themselves to him. He despises every omega from their unequivocal need for his fat, throbbing girth scrambling their insides to their pulsing, gushing, velvety little holes. Craig swallows down a low, lustful growl along with the last bite of fried rice.

He’s pissed off, and that much is undeniable. He’s also regained enough of his senses to recognize a few aspects of his situation. First of all, the carpet feels really itchy and unpleasant against his bare ass and he should try to get up soon. Second, he needs to figure out how long he’s been at this so he can attempt to ascertain how much longer he’ll be stuck in this sorry state. Third, and somewhat importantly, he’s finally able to catch wind of himself and he’s able to sniff out that he smells potent enough to knock out a herd of elephants. Finally, though, and most importantly, he’s been through this enough times in his youth to recognize that this is something like the eye of the storm. He certainly feels more in control right now than he has for quite some time, but that means very little in the grand scheme of riding out a rut.

The smell, though. He should really do something about that. Craig knows he’s obviously leaking pheromones out of every single pore on his prickly body. The whole dorm stinks to high hell and the musky, sour stench has got to be clinging to the walls. If he doesn’t at least attempt to start masking this in some way, he’s definitely going to get complaints. Or barring that, he’s going to get solicitors knocking at his door. A part of him that isn’t insignificant mulls that last part over for a moment. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, actually. Maybe he should lure in a potential mate. Maybe he should fuck a stranger right here on the carpet and let his monstrous cock inflate deep inside them just to finally scratch that incessant itch. He shakes his head as if that will send the terrible, delicious thoughts tumbling right out of his head. Sure, he’s mad at that quiet little blonde omega he’s been sort of seeing, but that would still be a pretty nasty thing to do to her. Craig decides he should take a shower while he can think somewhat clearly.

[3/?]

With a towel precariously hanging around his waist and barely covering his substantial bulge, Craig steps into the hallway and reminds himself that he is absolutely not prowling. He exhales through his nose and tells himself he’s just a normal guy, and he’s about to embark on a normal walk across the way to take a very normal shower and do normal things like wash the sweat off of his normal body, and he will do this normal activity in a normal way. That’s what he says to himself in his mind, but his skin tells him that the climate-controlled air feels like it’s drowning him and his erection tells him that should he cross paths with a willing body he can’t be held accountable for his actions. Craig bites the inside of his cheek and makes his way toward the shower rooms.

Realistically, it’s only a two-minute walk maximum to the showers from Craig’s room. It feels like a century went by, though. To his relief, the halls were isolated. Either that or he was so laser-focused on being normal that he was somehow able to stride past droves of gawking onlookers without even noticing them. He doesn’t want to consider that might have been the case, considering how decidedly un-normal he definitely looks wearing nothing but a barely-there towel and blatantly dripping in sweat and pheromones out in the hallway. Regardless of the circumstances of the journey, Craig finally enters the shower room.

It’s humid in there and almost makes him breathless, at that. The nearby trickle of running water sounds almost distant to his ringing ears, and the clouds of steam twirling just below the ceiling only exemplify the bleary sensation in his eyes. Craig frivolously tosses his last lingering garment of modesty into a crumpled heap in the corner and scuttles into a vacant stall. He pulls the lever and the showerhead splatters onto his face. A hiss escapes him at the contact. The water feels both relieving and bothersome all at once. He stands in place for a few extended moments, letting the rivulets run in careless streams down his tight body. The water muffles both his hearing and his thoughts for a few nearly euphoric moments until the dampening of some of his senses manages to accentuate others.

The steam of the room acts as some kind of stench amplifier, it would seem. He definitely notices his extreme and immediate need to utilize some soap because the odor of his own pungent musk is strong enough to send a Mongolian yak running the opposite way. But that’s not the only thing he smells. Sure, there’s the underlying waft of sickly-citrus scented generic soap hanging in the air, but there’s something else there that’s much more powerful and enticing that catches his interest. It’s a balmy bouquet of something sweet that makes his mouth water and something salty that makes his big, angry dick twitch. There’s an alluring spice in the mix that tightens his clenching musculature and a faint sort of tangy bitterness that beckons him to investigate the source.

That’s when he hears a voice. There’s someone in another stall. Reminding himself that he’s merely curious as to what’s going on and that he’s most assuredly not on the prowl, Craig slips out of his own stall as casually as he’s able. He recognizes the sound of whimpers and stifled whines. Craig is very careful to tread lightly as he takes a few strides towards the occupied stall, both because he certainly doesn’t want to frighten whomever he’s about to intrude on, but also because he’s apt to slip and fall and bust his head open on these wet tiles. Death by spying on a naked stranger while sporting the biggest erection of his life doesn’t sound like a dignified way to go.

Craig’s nose leads him to the right place and he grips the side of the shower curtain that’s seen better days. He peers inside and his heart may as well stop on the spot. On the grimy tiles sits a naked guy in a snarled tangle of jittery limbs. He recognizes the guy in an instant. It’s his weird, blonde classmate, Tweek. It’s not much of a surprise to see Tweek as an inconsolable mess, but it’s a little jarring in this capacity. His typically wild and platinum locks are drenched and matted around his face and while it’s impossible to know from the wetness on his face alone, the puffy red eyes are the tell-tale giveaway that he’s been crying. He’s absolutely oozing with pheromones and blanketing the entire stall in the misty, tantalizing aroma that unmistakably signals him as an omega in heat.

To say Craig is shocked is an understatement. His mother’s voice rings somewhere in the recesses of his mind. She always warned him to stay away from male omegas, especially so if they were unregulated and unmarked. From the look of this unhinged display, it’s pretty clear Tweek absolutely fits that bill. She always advised him that a male omega was both a rarity and a threat. They’re a beguiling type of dangerous, and someone who wouldn’t think twice about ensnaring a big strong alpha like himself. Craig can feel himself frowning as he recollects his mom yammering on about the perils of ‘Alpha Entrapment’ at the hands of duplicitous, conniving omegas. Craig always shrugged that sort of thing off as unnecessary stereotyping and paid it no mind. And truthfully, as he gawks into the shower stall at Tweek’s helpless, quivering body, he sort of solidifies in his mind that these preconceptions about male omegas can’t possibly be true. Tweek has definitely always exclusively struck him as a harmless oddball. In fact, until these last few minutes of invading his privacy, Craig actually had no idea Tweek was even an omega. He should probably make his presence known.

“What are you doing,” Craig clears his throat and speaks in a voice so forcefully even it barely even sounds like a question.

“WAAGGGHHH!”

Craig jolts upright at the abrupt screaming he receives as a response, but he makes no moves otherwise to remove himself from the entrance to the stall. It’s not an unexpected reaction, considering he just walked in on this guy sniffling in the shower. Tweek squeaks and squawks in a frantic scramble to cover his most private areas with his hands. Even if Craig wanted to, he can’t seem to avert his gaze. It occurs to him that he’s never seen an omega fully undressed before. For all his experience, he’s always made quick work of the act shortly after his rut begins to set in and never bothered to make a whole ordeal of sex. It doesn’t occur to him, however, how scary it must look from Tweek’s perspective to see a big, horny alpha looming over him at his most vulnerable while his thick, bulky erection pokes haphazardly against the thin shower curtain.

“What are you doing?!” Tweek finally manages to shriek out indignantly, still precariously hovering his hands over his delicate bits.

“Taking a shower,” Craig states dryly amidst a couple of blinks, as though that much were obvious.

“I know you’re taking a shower,” Tweek hisses at him with wild bulging eyes and presses his back against the wall, cornering himself further. “Why are you in my shower?!”

It’s a good question. Craig wishes he had a good answer. But he doesn’t, so for a few long awkward moments, he says nothing at all and instead chooses to blatantly stare at the naked body in front of him. The drizzling water from the shower head combined with the bright, fluorescent overhead lights casts an alluring sheen to his alabaster skin and the shadows cast from the angles of the crowded stalls accentuate every angle and curve of his slight frame. He has a tight, wiry look to his otherwise slim, slender body, and Craig can see every muscle in his arms, his legs, and his torso twitch and contract as he quivers on the floor in a bundle of hyperventilating nerves and something that might be akin to anger. It doesn’t detract from Craig’s unabashed instincts, though. In fact, it only seems to increase his mounting desire to act according to his nature. He can feel his knees buckling under him and the saliva pools under his tongue.

“Well?” Tweek doubles down on the demand in that same incensed tone after Craig has taken much too long to offer an explanation.

“I, uh…” Craig has completely forgotten the question. “Wh…what…did you say again…?”

“Grargh! Do you normally barge in on other peoples’ showers?!”

“Do you normally hang out in the showers when you’re so obviously in heat?”

Craig winces the moment the words leave his lips. His tone came out so much more dark and so much more threatening than it sounded in his head. This can’t end well. Tweek’s livid expression immediately cracks and bends into something horrified. His bug-like eyes protrude somehow farther and his jaw goes slack.

“Oh, god…” he whimpers. “Is it… oh, fucking Christ… is it that obvious…?”

Craig snorts before he can stop himself because it is indeed extremely obvious. From the look on Tweek’s face, he can tell that was very much not an appreciated reaction. He clears his throat again, but this time it’s more of an uncomfortable grunt. It’s not like he has much of a leg to stand on in the way of calling out someone obviously in the middle of an unmitigated cycle (even though he sort of feels as though he has three legs to stand on). He nods to Tweek in affirmation, just to prevent himself from saying something else he might regret.

“Arrgghh,” Tweek writhes and yanks on either arm as he wraps them tightly around himself in some strange defensive pose. “Shit, man… it’s not supposed to be like this!”

Craig continues to stare openly. His mind wanders. That was an odd remark to make. It’s not supposed to be like this? What is he talking about… Omegas are absolutely supposed to go into heat and emit pheromones and lure alphas to them. They’re supposed to get soaking wet and beg for alphas to take care of them with their body language. As far as Craig can tell, everything is going according to plan. Maybe this is one of those situations where Tweek’s on a new suppressant regiment and it’s not working out for him. This line of reasoning seems to check out, Craig supposes. He’s gotta be on some kind of suppressant, anyway. Craig really never knew before. He’s heard through the grapevine about omega suppressants being much more fickle and challenging to match to the individual. For alphas, it’s a much more straightforward process. He’s grateful he’s not an omega. He’s not exactly thrilled to be an alpha right about now, but the alternative looks to be slightly more unfortunate than his own situation.

“So, it’s like…” Craig furrows his brow in confusion. “Are your pills not working?”

“No, Craig,” the anger returns to Tweek’s voice.

Something about hearing a naked omega say his name makes Craig’s cock tremble. On the one hand, he hopes Tweek didn’t notice that. On the other, he absolutely hopes Tweek noticed that. There’s a weird pause in the discussion. Tweek looks very small and helpless despite being a fully grown man. Craig tries to focus on his breathing to distract himself from his sorely neglected erection. It would probably be in extremely poor taste to start touching himself right now. The only problem with intentional breathing is that it in turn allows for him to take in gratuitous whiffs of those sultry, wanton pheromones exuding from this guy. And naturally, that only makes his swollen dick throb even harder. Tweek shudders and sighs before speaking again.

“I’m, hrngh, supposed to be a beta,” Tweek whispers and curls his chin down to his chest.

“But you’re an omega,” Craig states thickly, dumbly.

They both know what he meant, though. No one can claim they’re supposed to be whatever nature they want to be. That’s just the thing– it’s in the name. It’s in their nature to present as whatever secondary sex trait a person turns out to be. Saying someone is supposed to be something makes no sense. Sure, someone may not be happy with their presentation (take Craig for example, in this enormously uncomfortable moment), but no one can claim that their presentation isn’t in their nature.

“Okay,” Tweek agrees in exasperation. “But until yesterday, I thought I was a beta, man!”

Craig squints in confusion. Tweek emits a brackish yet dulcet aroma that sits in the air and swallows Craig entire aching body. It’s beyond apparent that he’s an omega. Even the way he sits there, naked and exposed, tantalizingly screams omega status to Craig. It takes him a moment of thought, and then another, but Craig eventually pieces together the puzzle.

“Is this…your first heat?”

Craig tries to remain even and calm, but the heat and desire in his words is painfully apparent and the drool can’t help but drip from the corners of his mouth. He’s really trying not to be a creep. He should leave. But also, he really shouldn’t just leave this guy here unattended. Tweek grunts and groans, clearly overwhelmed.

“Hnrgh, I can’t do this,” Tweek announces to no one in particular, twitching and wringing his hands aimlessly under the raining water. “It’s way too much pressure, man… Aw, shit, what if my parents find out I’m…?!”

He trails off, as if he can’t even say the word.

“Well, everyone’s gonna find out if you keep carrying on like this,” Craig shuffles his feet in place and supplies unhelpfully.

This earns another chorus of ugly, strangled noises from Tweek. Craig can’t help but lick his lips as he watches the squirming.

“What am I gonna do?!” Tweek squawks. “I’m so fucking uncomfortable, man! Argh, when I first noticed… holy shit, dude, this is so embarrassing… I just thought I was really sweaty…! It was all over the chair…”

Craig’s heart hammers and his cock throbs. He really hopes Tweek can’t see what’s going on on this side of the curtain. But then again, this guy is literally telling him about how fucking wet he’s been. Surely there’s some kind of implication there? Craig tries to cast aside his nature aside to attempt to remain pragmatic.

“You can’t just wash it off, you know,” Craig reminds him.

“You think I don’t know that?” Tweek counters as though he’s taken offense.

“Just sayin’,” Craig shrugs.

“Oh, god… Everything just keeps happening! Hahhnnggh, I just want it to stop! I can’t take the stress of this!” Tweek curls into himself even further. “I feel so out of control of myself, man…”

Craig hasn’t noticed that the more Tweek squirms and complains, the more he leans in closer. He’s poked his whole head past the curtain and into the stall by now.

“Have you…thought about trying suppressants?”

“Are you kidding?!” Tweek’s voice cracks and goes up and octave. “I can’t take fucking pills, are you even serious?! That’s how they get you! I’ve heard about that shit, man. The government gets people addicted to the pills… grargh, no way are they getting me on that shit. It’s like mind control! They get you all, haranggh, compliant and then… then they take you away to do experiments and forced labor…!”

Craig stares at Tweek vacantly. He has no idea what he’s screaming about. None of that makes sense. He doesn’t bother to fight it, however, because in the end the take away is that they share the same sentiment– no pills. Craig swallows hard. He’s shaking with the exertion of exercising every ounce of his self control. He leans against the wall for support. Tweek devolves further into the rant until he’s not even using words anymore, but rather a slew of frantic and garbled moans and groans.

“Tweek,” Craig says his name to get his attention, and when it doesn’t work at first he does so again with a more forceful tone. “Tweek.”

[4/?]

Something about hearing his name spoken with an even yet commanding tone gets Tweek to go momentarily limp and he casts his watery eyes upward at Craig. The voice in Craig’s head reminds him he’s not prowling. It reminds him he’s here to shower and return to riding out his rut in solitude. But a second, louder voice also urges him to fulfill his duties as an alpha. It speaks clearly and coerces him into the belief that it is his sole responsibility right now to ensure this timid omega receives the assisstance he so clearly needs. The trouble is, Craig can’t think clearly enough to piece together what all of these conflicting thoughts entail in a tangible way.

He’s starting to feel cloudy-minded again. It’s hard to determine if it’s from the organic ebb and flow of his rut, or if all the hormonal charges in this shower are adding to the situation. It’s probably both. It doesn’t matter. Craig knows they both need to get out of here as soon as possible. He could turn around right now and bolt back to the solitude of his room, but if he later found out he abandoned an unmarked omega with his defenses down and something bad happened, Craig would never forgive himself. Any ill-intentioned alpha could easily follow the pheromone trail and act on their lust in whatever horrible ways they so desired. He can’t let that happen. He absent-mindedly wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Take deep breaths, Tweek,” he instructs, and demonstrates the command by taking in a long, ragged breath.

Surprising neither of them, Tweek obeys. It’s a jittery motion rather than a fluid one, but Tweek dutifully allows his eyes to flutter shut and his rib cage slowly swells with the soft intake of a hearty gulp of the steamy air. Craig feels dizzier from having done so. His head is swimming with the rich, full bodied aroma of the familiarly candy-like omega pheromones, but there’s something curious and piquant and so deliciously foreign and tantalizing that Craig can’t help but take in another greedy breath. Tweek’s eyes flicker open, completely out of focus yet somehow fixated solely on him.

“I don’t want this…” Tweek’s voice slurs, utterly pathetic and lost. “Make it stop…”

Craig knows full well that he can make it stop. It could be so easy. He could descend on him right now. In one swift motion, he could lunge forward and end it for both of them. And Tweek would be so willing. That’s the fucked up part, Craig thinks. He would so willingly let himself be bent over and fucked like a ragdoll by a guy who is little more than a face in the crowd. Craig could so freely and carelessly take him against the grimy shower wall and fuck wickedly into his sopping, gushing, slick-drenched hole and he knows that without a doubt Tweek would absolutely thank him for the gut-scrambling, stomach-turning assault. He can’t do that. Even more fucked up than the fact that it would be no difficulty at all to stick it in and have Tweek squealing for more in five seconds flat is how badly Craig wants it, too. His knuckles go white as he grips the shower curtain.

“You can’t say that to me, Tweek,” Craig grunts hoarsely.

Tweek breathes raggedly still, but it’s morphed into that distinctive, hormonal-driven manner. He’s less guarded with every shaky gasp and every deliberate sniff of the air around him.

“Augh, but I need it,” Tweek’s words liaison each into the next. “And… And I trust you…! You’re, mnph, you’re already making me feel so much better, man…”

“Yeah,” Craig grouses sarcastically, aggravation building once again as his enormous, neglected cock strains and pulses between his legs. “That’s probably because I’m an alpha and you’re in heat.”

“An alpha…” Tweek muses in a far away voice with glassy eyes and licks his parted lips. “That must be why you smell so good…! Hrnng, you smell like… like pennies, man…”

“I smell like pennies,” Craig repeats flatly.

“Yeah, dude… Mmmnnhh, I know it’s a good thing… Because, grahgrgh, because you can help me…”

“Tweek, stop,” Craig isn’t quite sure if he’s begging him or commanding him.

But Tweek doesn’t stop. Between his unfamiliarity with these extreme hormones and the harsh influence of Craig’s raging pheromones, Tweek is deep in the throes of it now. He’s transformed so quickly from a shaking pile of anxious limbs to a trembling mass of lascivicious orifices.

“I can’t,” he whines pathetically. “I can’t, Craig… I can’t!”

Craig teeters on the brink of succumbing to uncontrollable instinct. A roiling combination of irritation and lust churns inside him. He battles with the temptation to take what’s easy versus the resolution to do what’s right. Even though he’s already wet from the shower, a distinctive prickle along his spine lets him know he’s once again dripping in sweat, too. In the midst of his internal plight and external need, he snaps.

“Then fucking say it!” Craig bellows over the gentle trickle from the shower.

Tweek’s eyes pop open wide again as Craig aggressively rips open the shower curtain and barrels inside the cramped stall. He slams his arms against the shower wall with brutal force, effectively cornering Tweek and caging him in place. He bares his teeth and allows for his angry, monstrous dick to swing mere inches from Tweek’s pathetic, omega face. Tweek visibly cowers and quivers but makes no moves to otherwise act or flee.

“Fucking say it, Tweek!” Craig snarls and pushes his hips forward with a single, condescending thrust. “If you can’t, then fucking tell me you’re nothing but a worthless omega who needs to get fucked by this big, alpha dick. That’s what you want, isn’t it?! Then fucking say it, Tweek! Go on. End it! End it right fucking now! Say the fucking word and I’ll end it right here, so help me fucking god!”

Craig spits the words out before he can stop himself. He reminds Tweek succinctly of the consequences of his actions in the dangerous game they’re playing. His chest heaves with the strain of his aggression and his thoughts are muddy and blurred with the cloud of heightened lust and petulant provocation. Every omega should learn quickly that given a brazen opportunity, there isn’t a single alpha who can resist the grip of instinct and desire. Craig is absolutely no exception.

But then Tweek looks up at him with eyes so full of shame and trepidation that Craig’s heart flutters and his breath hitches. He scowls and works overtime to steady both his body and his mind. He’s never meant to scare him, yet here he is, looming over this freshly presented, virginal omega with nothing but ire and intimidation.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek whispers, just barely audible over the seemingly deafening flow of the water from the showerhead.

A sharp pain strikes Craig in the chest. He crumples over himself against the wall. He’s still thrumming with his constantly rising levels of cortisol, adrenaline, and testosterone.

“No…” Craig sighs. “I’m sorry.”

He has exactly enough awareness to understand of the pair of them, he has a much better sense of clarity and perception at this point in time. And, knowing that he’s only just emerged from a rut-induced fugue, the bar is dangerously low. Tweek dips his head towards his own chest, in a valiant attempt to avoid staring too intently at the girthy erection still well within tongue’s reach of his face. Craig takes a cautious step or two backward, just in case either of them gets any ideas that might be too good to resist.

“Come on,” Craig holds out his hand through the flowing water and speaks in a calming voice that is somehow equally as forced as it is innate to him. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tweek stares at Craig’s palm for a moment in deep consideration, then he takes one brave sniffle and grasps the extended hand firmly into his own and allows Craig to help him to his feet. Craig’s skin feels like it’s kindling that crackles under a flame at the contact. It bristles from the tips of his fingers, creeping and spreading up the length of his arm, and tingles through his torso. It’s a cheap, giddy thrill that toes the delicate line between comforting and intoxicating.

“I thought you said I can’t wash it off,” Tweek croons quite a bit more obviously than he likely intended.

“You can’t,” Craig replies, with absolutely more throttle to his voice than he intended, too. “But it’s nice to be clean.”

Tweek gives a little hum in response. Craig watches him move as if on auto-pilot; he has a vacant look on his face as he squeezes a fat dollop of soap into his cupped palm. The stall fills with the aroma of that fruity scent again, but it smells like vinegar and bile compared to the sweet, delicate fragrance emitting off of Tweek himself. There are a couple of moments where Tweek flimsily lathers up the sides of his arms, and then Craig acts on auto-pilot, too.

“Let me help,” he grunts and places his hands on Tweek’s shoulders.

[5/?] (This gets into an area of "mutual/consensual dubcon" ig, but that's abo, baby!)

“Craig…” Tweek’s posture goes slack at the contact and he melts readily, encouraging Craig to proceed.

“It won’t go away,” Craig repeats stiffly, careful to remain vigilant as he moves his hands down the length of Tweek’s arms. “But you should, ah, clean all the places where… you know…”

Tweek shudders as Craig’s fingertips make their way down to his wrists. They wrap around his slim bones and squeeze a little, feeling the quick beating of his pulse beneath the hot skin. Craig mindlessly rubs a bit of the lather there before guiding Tweek’s arms above his head. Tweek gazes up at him in admiration all the while, letting his body become loose and malleable at the touch of an alpha.

“The pheromones, they uh,” Craig grunts awkwardly as he explains. “They are strongest at the places someone could take your pulse.”

“Oh,” Tweek sighs in response, and it’s clear he’s not really paying attention to whatever he’s being told.

Arms above his head and back arched, Tweek leans against the wall of the shower. Craig has to close his eyes and bite his tongue. What the fuck is he doing here. He told himself he was just going to shower and head back to his room. He told himself he wouldn’t get himself into any trouble. And now, here he is, naked and groping quite literally the first omega he found in his path. Tweek’s skin feels so good under his hands, though. It’s soft, but tight along his musculature. Craig’s soapy fingers crawl their way to Tweek’s underarms and tangle just a little in the straw-colored patches of wispy hairs in there.

Craig tells himself this is all very weird. He’s never washed another person before, and most certainly he’s never washed another dude’s armpits before. He has literally no idea what’s gotten into him. But it somehow feels really nice. And, judging from the way Tweek’s whole body is melting at his touch like a popsicle in July, Craig supposes it’s nice for him, too. Originally the plan (if he can even claim it was a plan) was to help this forlorn omega clean himself up and get somewhere safe so that no lustful alphas could take advantage of him. In a way, that’s still the agenda. But this is also a really intimate moment, and Craig’s never experienced anything this personal before. He wants to stay like this for just a bit longer.

His hands glide over Tweek’s chest. Craig can’t help but note the way he can easily count this guy's ribs, yet at the same time he’s taken in by the nicely defined curves of his muscled shoulders and chest. He’s a smaller person than Craig, that’s for sure, but that isn’t to say he’s some tiny, delicate creature. He’s a substantial person, if not a little slim, and somehow this only adds to Craig’s draw to him. The way Tweek’s eyes flutter and roll back and the way his body squirms and arches with every gossamer touch and the way each measured grip of his flesh earns Craig a stifled little moan of contentment makes everything all the more satisfying.

This isn’t some fragile little faceless omega creature to be used for his own debaucherous purposes, Craig decides. This is a real person under his touch, and his exploring hands only commit that thought to his mind even further with every intentional splay of his well-lathered fingertips. He wants to guide him and protect him, and while most of him is sure that this feeling is directly tied to his nature…a small part of him can’t help but wonder if it’s more than that. His curious hands have wandered lower now. They’re resting along Tweek’s hips and stilling them as they attempt to roll wantonly forward. He’s well past the point of merely washing this eager body. Craig’s thumbs tightly indent into those skinny, lily-white hips and he fights every urge in his body to not slam his own forward and thrust his angry, swollen cock between those quivering legs.

“Turn around,” Craig chokes out the words.

Tweek bats his eyes up at him. There’s a moment of pause between them where they both equally attempt to piece together Craig’s intentions. If he’s fully honest, Craig can’t quite figure out why he demanded it but he surely isn’t about to rescind on it, either.

“Turn around…?” Tweek repeats with a lilt, but it’s less of a question and more of an affirmation.

“To… get your back,” Craig reasons on the fly, and internally compliments himself for being not only extremely helpful but also for being extremely reasonable.

That’s all it takes for Tweek’s compliance, it would seem, because he hums pleasantly and pushes himself forward from the shower wall. He leans forward just until their torsos gently brush. The little rivers of warm water trail their bodies and cascade from one chest to the other, but the contact is so brief and trivial that it has no chance to pool. A quick blink and the contact breaks as quickly as it started and Tweek is already spinning around away from Craig. There’s a hitch in Craig’s diaphragm, lodged deep in his chest. It addles his senses and urges him to press Tweek into the wall and nestle against him. But he holds back from that desire and instead holds tight to Tweek’s sides as he pushes him into a position he likes.

“Is this good?” Tweek asks over his shoulder.

Of course it’s good. There’s no way it couldn’t be good. Tweek rests his arms against the wall with his legs spread wide. His back is curved and his hips angle upwards. Craig holds him in place at the hip with one hand while the other pushes against his spine and flattens his back. His hand runs useless circles into Tweek’s skin as he vaguely remembers that only a moment ago he claimed this was supposed to be in order to wash him. He leans into it, fully hunched over the naked form below him. Craig grinds his knuckles into the tight, ropey muscles in Tweek’s back and pulls a series of grateful groans from him.

He can’t think straight. He feels groggy in a copacetic sort of way, transfixed by the robust, mouth-watering aroma radiating all around Tweek. The water rains down over the pair of them, hitting Craig’s back, then trickling over Tweek, then splashing carelessly to the floor. He’s so close to him now, the heat of their bodies mingles and makes the steam of the shower feel strangely cool by comparison. Craig’s body acts on its own despite his valiant efforts to resist the call of his nature. His hips organically line up behind Tweek’s and his terrible, needy length slots itself in between those shaking legs.

“Fuck,” Craig grunts and slides his shaft in the smallest of movements, gently dragging himself along Tweek’s scorching hot flesh.

“Craig,” Tweek wheezes and arches into the contact and scooches his legs together just a little tighter. “Mmph, what… what are we doing, man?”

“Shut up,” Craig growls harshly, and can feel that he’s inadvertantly baring his teeth. “I’m washing your back.”

It’s a reminder to not only Tweek, but to himself. He digs his fingers roughly into Tweek’s hip to force his rocking to slow down. He scrubs along the soft omega flesh of Tweek’s back in frivolous, repetitive motions. He tries to focus and fails. He’s throbbing so hard between his legs it’s all-consuming. It’s almost painful, the way his body aches and yearns for the release he needs. The relief is so close he can literally feel it– hot, slippery slick absolutely drips from Tweek’s backside and leaks down between his legs in a steady, sultry flow. This wet, naked omega in his clutch is positively begging for him with every fiber of his quivering body.

Craig knows he could handle it, too. He’s not some little waif. He’s not some delicate, marshmallow-bodied omega. No, not at all. He’s taut and lithe and of a well-built form. Somehow, in some way, it’s making Craig burn hotter than he ever has before. It’s one thing to have a pathetic little body squealing and wriggling for him, but it’s quite another to have the visible need of a substantial person beneath him. His ribcage rattles audibly with his strained breathing and his hips are in pain with the resistance necessary to prevent them from brashly thrusting forward.

There’s very little stopping him, and he knows that. But he shouldn’t. He said he wouldn’t. Hot slick veritably gushes from Tweek at this point, shamelessly sloshing onto Craig’s stiff, angry cock. He’s absolutely swimming in it and it taunts him as his fat girth sits stupidly and desperately between those milky-white legs. Tweek shivers, torn between the clear conflict he’s facing. On the one hand, it’s clear as day that he wants nothing more than to slam back onto Craig’s hefty, swollen dick and fuck himself into oblivion. But on the other hand, he’s been given direct orders from an alpha in the height of his rut to remain obedient. And he’s being such a good omega for Craig. He’s been such a good, malleable, dutiful, subservient, obedient omega. Craig feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Craig, please…” Tweek mewls, and his voice cracks a little. “Craig please, I’m so wet…! Argragh, I can’t! This is too much, man, too much pressure… You gotta help me, Craig…!”

“Shut up,” Craig hisses out in a whisper. “Shut up! I know! You need to stop, Tweek. I’m trying to help you here!”

It’s enough to bring him back from that ledge and Craig pulls back. He’s shaking now, too. It’s almost painful when he withdraws from Tweek even though he was never really inside him. The insides of Tweek’s thighs are noticeably glistening with slick despite the mask of the rivulets of shower water. Craig’s hands are still covered in soap and he slowly runs them down the curvature of Tweek’s angular spine. He’s careful not to let them land around the contours of Tweek’s backside lest he succumb too easily. It’s a precarious decision, but Craig still allows himself to slip his fingers cautiously between Tweek’s thighs. The viscous slick clings to his digits and he spreads it around, both trying very genuinely to clean it off of this poor, frantic omega and also hungrily imagining how it might taste on his tongue and how it might feel glazed all over the length of his pulsating dick.

“Augh, Craig… hnrgh, Craig…” Tweek whines as the set of steady alpha fingers skate so close to his delicate areas. “Thank you, Craig… hannh, thank you…”

Craig grunts out a sound that doesn’t quite indicate aggravation, but also doesn’t quite indicate approval. He swipes flippantly at the ever-growing, messy puddle in a fruitless effort to cleanse the area. The more he touches and clears it away, the more incessantly it dribbles down all over his hand. He’s all sorts of frustrated and moves up towards the source. One arms wraps around Tweek’s midsection to steady him. His hand languidly drapes over Tweek’s tight abdomen and guides him to stand more upright. The pair stand in the shower and Craig draws him close to his own body. His throbbing cock presses hard into the small of Tweek’s back while his other hand still lingers lower, just barely reaching to between Tweek’s wobbling legs.

“You have to calm down, Tweek,” Craig nudges his chin into the crook of Tweek’s neck and commands him in his best attempt at a soothing whisper.

Tweek, however, isn’t having it.

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down, man,” Tweek snaps back in a weak voice, but all the fire is still there in the tone. “You can’t say that… You can’t, grargh, you can’t say that with your hands all over me…!”

Craig doubles down and grips the dip of Tweek’s thigh with notable force. His thumb gives a vigorous press directly to Tweek’s weeping hole and causes them both to buckle their knees. It’s velvety smooth and completely drenched in thick, hot ribbons of glossy slick. Craig teases it in slow, loose drags. He presses against it, urging more and more of the slippery flow to leak gratuitously down his palm. By virtue of the act, he teases himself too, but it’s so fucking worth it to know he can keep this omega in his place.

“You told me to help you,” he gruffly reminds Tweek, relishing in the way he squirms and writhes. “You told me you can’t do this on your own. Tell me you don’t want my help.”

“No,” Tweek whines. “No, mmmnph, I do want your help…”

Craig knows he wants help, and Craig also knows he needs to stop himself before it’s too late. It’s so hard, though. His mind is fuzzy and swimming. All he wants is to bite and fuck and squeeze and tear into this eager, appetizing body. His decent hand grips softly into Tweek’s stomach, both to anchor Tweek and to stabilize himself. He absent-mindedly nibbles a careless trail along Tweek’s neck. He tries to stop himself but he can feel the intense pull of Tweek’s pheromones mingling with his own clouding his judgment and gripping him from within. He’s in too deep. His fingers trace Tweek’s needy little hole a few more times before he forces himself to back off of it. He breathes raggedly into Tweek’s neck, drinking in that delicious, intoxicating scent. He’s drooling openly at this proximity to it and can catch the more subtle notes that make up the unique bouquet. Then, like some kind of epiphany, a risky idea enters Craig’s mind.

“I have an idea,” he murmurs into the crease of Tweek’s neck. “It might calm us both down.”

Craig has no clue why he didn’t consider it before. Truth be told, it’s likely because he’s never felt the need to do it before. He’s never felt so drawn and consumed and enthralled before, so it never struck him as a necessity.

“I can scent you,” he continues, outright nuzzling the tender, fragrant spot beneath Tweek’s jaw.

“Scent me?!” Tweek squawks a little and stiffens. “Won’t that mark me?! I’ve read about this shit, man, I’m not anyone’s property!”

“I didn’t say that,” Craig grouses and gives Tweek a warning nip. “It’s temporary… Okay? It’ll make us both think clearer.”

Tweek hums thoughtfully, relaxing a bit as Craig licks a stripe up his neck and uses both hands the delicately knead at random spots on his tight, aching body. He isn’t sure why he feels this way, but Craig knows this is something he needs to do right now. Maybe it’s the surge of hormones and pheromones or maybe it’s something else. Right now, it doesn’t matter. All that matters to him is protecting this omega from alphas that might be out prowling and looking to get their dicks wet. His own neglected cock pulses roughly against Tweek’s back and he holds him close to his body.

“Ngh… yeah…” Tweek’s voice sounds very far away even though Craig can feel his hot breath. “Yeah… you should do it, Craig. I trust you…”

That’s all the confirmation Craig needs. Without any resistance, Tweek rolls his head back and Craig latches onto the side of his neck with vigor. His instincts guide him and he finds Tweek’s throbbing pulse-point that leads right to his scent gland. Craig presses his mouth openly and nearly desperately to the sensitive spot and licks and sucks at it, urging it with every ounce of his being to submit. Pleasant feelings bubble inside him and make his limbs feel like gravity has no hold on them. Despite all his years of his experience and all his past encounters, Craig has never scented an omega before. It’s never been something he’s understood until now. And now… now it feels so right. It’s organic and invigorating and effervescent. Here in the shower under the slowly cooling stream of water and above the writhing body of this virginal, freshly presented omega, Craig claims this body as his own.

[6/?]

Tweek’s back presses flush into Craig’s chest and their arms tangle loosely over Tweek’s abdomen. There’s a warmth pooling deep in Craig’s belly that feels comforting and familiar, like a wooden spoon stirring a big pot of soup. His shoulders loosen for the first time in probably days and the headache he hadn’t fully recognized until now begins to subside. Tweek’s head wobbles off to the side like an unattended marionette and exposes the full length of his neck. Craig’s eager tongue glides easily up the column and he takes his time pressing slowly and intentionally into the delicate flesh. With every swipe of his tongue and caress of his lips, it earns him another chorus of contented moans and sighs.

There’s no rhyme or reason for when Craig slows and finally stills. He just intuitively knows it’s time. He doesn’t pull away, though. Something inside him commands him to stay put, to hold Tweek and keep their bodies close. So he stays, ragged breaths coming more gently with each passing moment. Tweek’s heart drums in a stable percussion beneath the flat of his palm and in time, Craig can feel his own match the pace. A haze still makes his mind foggy, but there’s a serenity to it now. It’s the rage of a seastorm easing into the fine mist above the shore. It’s a disastrous storm fading into glistening morning dew. It’s the sweltering burn of the scorching sun melting into tranquil hues of the prismatic sunset. His chin rests in the crook of Tweek’s neck and his eyes flutter shut as he exhales a rumbly sigh.

He holds Tweek close to him, but there’s no clench to his grip. His arms feel like cooked spaghetti as he drapes himself casually over as much damp, exposed flesh as he’s able. His hands idly wander in pointless little trails– up the sides of his ribs and over their soft divots, and down the stretch of his tight stomach but stopping short above the patch of golden hairs. Craig doesn’t really mind that the water has turned less than lukewarm. He breathes in heartily, letting his head swim in the rich fragrance of their mingling pheromones. It’s potent and enticing, and it wraps around him like a homemade scarf. It harkens back to summer evenings where the scent of the heat clings sweetly in the air. It entices him like the aroma of fat, juicy, overripe cherries begging to be plucked from their stems and devoured in one big, lush, chewy bite. He licks his lips inadvertently.

Craig’s cock weighs heavily against the back of Tweek’s thigh. He’s still aching with a hungry need, but he feels so much less frantic. He gives a subtle little push to the flesh, just enough to remind Tweek it’s still there. Tweek shudders in his arms and his grip on Craig’s wrists grows a little firmer. A tingle starts in the tips of Craig’s fingers and trembles in its curious way up the length of his arms before it spreads throughout his body and manifests into an outright buzz that short-circuits his brain and forces any and all cognizant thoughts to a halt. Instinct fully consumes him and he lines up his turgid cock with the narrow, slippery passage between Tweek’s dripping thighs. He’s met with a languid eagerness as the heft of Tweek’s weight leans back against him.

A dreamy state of hypnosis blinds the pair. They don’t notice the chill of the shower water drizzling down their backs. The heat of their overwrought and dopamine-riddled bodies overpowers any other sensory experience. Craig holds tight to the limp, languorous body in his clutch and eases his hips into a cadenced rhythm. There’s an unspoken tenderness to the act, as though each of their bodies was composed of delicate tissue papers that could disintegrate if handled too harshly. One of Tweek’s arms snakes behind himself to clasp onto the back of Craig’s neck. It only encourages him to act more earnestly, slowly and deliberately pushing himself between the soft but unyielding flesh. His breathing becomes more rapid with each thrust, but it retains its even flow. Each shaky advance of his hips makes his chest rattle with a series of low, satisfied grumbles. Each scraping pull backward drags the topside of his cock against Tweek’s wet, pulsing hole, and with it comes the melody of his chittering mewls.

Craig moans along Tweek’s jaw as his quivering fingers tangle in his drenched hair and urge him to continue. Craig couldn’t stop if he tried. Every motion is drawn out in a painfully fluid gesture. It’s the most thoughtless yet purposeful act of his life. He’s compelled by instinct and drive and is completely powerless to the whims of his hormonal body. Time is irrelevant, as is any consideration of the repercussions of his actions. There’s only this moment and his insatiable need to coat himself in the luscious slick absolutely pumping out of Tweek’s tight body. His hands lower to Tweek’s hips and he guides them to grind a little harder into his shaft.

It’s almost strange, in an utterly gratifying sort of way, that Craig’s motivations have seemed to shift. He’s always viewed his cycle in an admittedly selfish mindset. It’s something he has to deal with, something he has to endure, and something he needs to resolve. But now, he seeks no resolution but rather he feels inspired to give of himself. If he could think straight, he’d probably wonder if this has something to do with the fact that he scented and marked an omega. But he can’t think straight, so instead, he can only hone in on the desire and the drive to provide for this omega in the only way his body knows how. Vague sentiments rattle around in his brain, humming about notions of protection, possession, and gratification. With only these simultaneously aggressive yet tender feelings consuming him with every puff of hot breath he rasps against the swollen gland on Tweek’s throat, he lines himself up against the entrance.

Tweek jolts in surprise at the gentle push but clings to him and chirps out a soft string of encouraging gasps and moans. His body shakes against Craig, but it’s less like the last leaf clinging to a branch before the winter frost and more like a boiling kettle about to spill over. Craig grunts and lets his tip sit idle at the rim, relishing in the heat and resistance. The slick pours from him, thick and saccharine, oozing like the sweetest honey dribbling down the thick length of Craig’s cock. It’s better than he could have hoped for and coats him in tantalizing promises for what is yet to come. Craig wants more and needs more, and he burning from the inside to give everything to Tweek as well. He traces the hole with his tip, smearing the syrupy fluids into a gratifying mess. He’s dizzy and desperate but still he manages to resist. He knows he won’t move further until Tweek does.

“Ahh, I… I want to get out of the shower,” Tweek announces, though the way his hips gently bounce against the engorged head prodding at him.

“Okay,” Craig agrees in a husky voice, but his grip on Tweek’s body remains firm.

For awhile, neither of them makes a move to leave. They remain tangled together under the icy waters that do very little to deter them. Craig tries to calm himself, taking in measured breaths in a forced, even pace. He grasps so harshly to Tweek’s hips his knuckles have turned white and there’s a part of him distantly aware of the fact that he’s sure to have left bruises on the pale flesh. His tongue lolls from his mouth and licks thick, idle stripes up Tweek’s neck in a way that indicates that despite stilling his hips he’s in no hurry to end things here. Eventually, Tweek’s heavy chest finds a more reasonable rise and fall and his arms loosen from behind Craig’s head. He leans forward, just shy of collapsing, and turns the knob until the chilly waters stop flowing. Save for the occasional droplet that drips from the showerhead and splashes carelessly to the floor, the shower room goes eerily quiet.

Tweek peels himself from Craig’s body and elicits a little whine as Craig grieves the physical loss. Tweek leans against the shower wall for a moment, cornered in the tiny stall by Craig’s lumbering, trembling body. There’s no way for Craig to avoid taking further notice of the other’s form, so he drinks it in blatantly. A splotchy pink flush mottles the otherwise porcelain-toned skin and accentuates the subtle twitches in Tweek’s tight muscles. Craig licks his lips and lets his eyes wander casually over the expanse of his back and fantasizes about sinking his teeth into the carved out physique along those shoulderblades. But his fantasy is short-lived because Tweek clumsily spins himself around to face Craig again just like he had at the start.

Craig’s heart does a cartwheel in his chest. His dick aches and threatens to inflate itself to an impossible girth, a testament to delirious heights of his feverish need to reach that climax and knot and empty his load. Tweek looks absolutely breathtaking. He’s unraveled and flushed, and his pupils are dilated so wide they blast out all the color from his irises. He chews his lower lip in a way that is both nervous and sultry. Craig hovers closely, but not close enough to initiate a second round of contact. No, not yet. His head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton but he’s clear enough to at least know he can’t just lunge. He has to be patient. He has to wait. He’s done his duty and he’s marked his omega so now it’s his turn to be compliant and vigilant.

But still, he’s awfully close. He’s close enough to try to count the smattering of pale freckles that pepper Tweek’s nose. He’s close enough to know he could easily reach forward and trace the tired bags below his eyes with the pad of his thumb. He’s close enough that if he wanted to, he could close the gap between their mouths and it could be his own teeth working over Tweek’s lower lip. He contains himself, though, and he does precisely none of those things. He patiently waits for Tweek to regain himself just enough to speak. The frenzy has left Craig’s body but the urgency remains. His cock bobs heavily between his legs, pulsing in a constant, neglected thrum to remind him of his unrelenting rut. He wants so badly to latch on to Tweek and fuck into him right here in the claustrophobic shower stall. But he doesn’t want to be some horny, out-of-control alpha that takes advantage of Tweek’s vulnerable state. The notion overwhelms him and the words begin to tumble past his lips before he can consider keeping them to himself.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises in a low, rumbling voice that he hopes conveys his absolute sincerity.

And it must, because Tweek reaches forward and grabs for one of Craig’s hands. He holds it in his own for a moment and runs his thumbs over it. A warm yet prickly feeling crawls up Craig’s spine like a lizard scuttling over hot sand. He stretches Craig’s arm forward and draws the hand in his up to cup his jaw. He presses Craig’s palm flat to his cheek and a faint, crooked smile curls up the corners of his mouth. Craig takes in a quick but significant sniff of the air. The potent bouquet of pheromones continually wafts around them as a constant reminder of the mark Craig has placed on Tweek.

“Thank you, Craig,” Tweek whispers softly, but his voice sounds distorted in the quiet.

Craig isn’t sure what to do now. He knows it isn’t safe to leave Tweek in this state and moreover, he absolutely feels obligated to stay by his side and carry him through this. It might have been better if Tweek had stumbled upon another omega. That isn’t the case, though. Craig is the one who found him alone and leaking and crying in the shower. Craig is the one whose alpha instincts are running rampant and unmitigated. Craig is the one who decided in a blind stupor to touch and bite and thrust and grab. And now, through circumstances that are neither his fault but are also entirely his fault, Craig finds himself in a quandary. Tweek’s fingers curl over the side of Craig’s. They can’t stay here in the shower stall for their entire cycles. They can’t stay here now, for that matter. They’re growing cold to the touch with skin like prunes. It’s hard to process thoughts right now, considering the duration of Craig’s extensive erection. It feels hot and bothersome as it hangs useless and untouched between his legs.

His thoughts garble and he struggles in place to untangle them like a mess of abandoned string lights. The cogs in his mind turn slowly, attempting in vain to formulate coherent thoughts. It’s been so long since Craig has had to deal with such an intense rut. He’d previously cracked the code. Just fuck and use and dismiss and move on with his life. But he can’t now–he’s gotten himself entwined in a delicate situation. He’d never forgive himself if he made this guy into another statistic, another notch in his belt. He doesn’t want that, so he strains to consider his options. Tweek gazes at him with such admiration and adoration it makes his heart swell. It makes him feel like maybe for once he’s been given the opportunity to do the right thing.

In the past, he’s had the most success with simply locking himself away until his ruts wears off naturally. He supposes that method could still apply in this circumstance. Sure, in the past he’s never brought an omega with him… but it can’t be that different, right? He isn’t sure but he’s hopeful that this is the right move. If they lock themselves away together, he’s certain he can ensure nothing bad will happen to Tweek under his care. The thought that they are two creatures of raw desire and overpowering hormonal attraction who will be left unsupervised never crosses his mind. He solidifies his plan and dips his head down so that his forehead leans against Tweek’s.

Cool drops of water slither down the sides of his face. He holds his palm steady to Tweek’s jaw and lets a thumb drift back and forth against his cheek. They make eye contact, but it’s so close Tweek’s large, round eyes seem to morph together into one big eyeball in the middle of his face. Their noses brush. Craig can feel each time Tweek inhales a cautious sniff and hopes he’s appreciating the luscious notes of tier combined pheromones as much as he is. Craig goes to speak but then bites his tongue. He takes another moment or so to linger in place and truly consider if he’s doing the right thing. Ultimately, he finds his gumption and speaks.

“Let’s go back to my room.”

[7/?]

Tweek leaves no room to pause for thought. It all unfolds so fast. Within a dizzying instant, Craig finds himself ushering Tweek into the hallway. They hardly bothered to dry themselves with their towels, and as they step into the climate controlled hallway they’ve barely managed to cover their already sweltering bodies. The air feels somehow too cold on Craig’s agitated skin but he feels too hot, like he’s choking on the oxygen around him. He darts his eyes up and down the hallway, anxious and preemptively aggravated at the possibility that any other person might be making use of the public space. He rolls his shoulders back and puffs out his chest. He takes an unnecessarily defensive stance in front of Tweek despite the fact that the hallway is undoubtedly isolated.

“It’s okay, Craig,” Tweek says softly, placing a hand on Craig’s bare skin.

He bristles at the touch, but it’s reassuring nonetheless. Even though he’s sure that nothing can happen in this twenty-yard march back to his room, Craig stays hyper-vigilant and ready to take the offensive against anyone who might dare to so much as leer at Tweek. He promised he would protect him, and between his own personal vindication and the inclination of his nature, that’s not a promise he intends to take lightly. They tread cautiously, exposed and reeking of pheromones strong enough to suffocate a small village, but in the end they safely complete their short voyage and dash into Craig’s room. The door slams behind them and Craig latches the lock with a forceful click.

Once inside, Craig slides his bare back against the wooden door and heaves a ragged sigh. He scrunches his eyes shut and doesn’t want to look around the room. It’s honestly a bit embarrassing. The bed frame is broken, a smashed chair litters the floor as well as his discarded Chinese food containers from earlier, and the whole place reeks with the pungent smell of his sweat. He hopes Tweek will either choose to stay, or at least politely ask him to escort him to his own room and then never speak of this terrible idea ever again.

“What’s that smell…?” Tweek wonders aloud and Craig’s heart stops.

This is it. Anxiety grips him and he wants to crawl into a hole and vanish forever. It’s the very first time he’s scented an omega and offered to share his awful little den instead of fucking the omega lazily against some wall and then walking out. He’s put himself out on a limb and he’s about to be rejected. He sinks down to the floor and his naked ass chafes against the scratchy welcome mat that he’s never liked. His stupid fucking boner won’t relent, either. Craig is suddenly very stressed and upset. This was a terrible idea. How could he have ever thought he’d be a decent protector for Tweek? He hates being an alpha. It makes him stupid and aggressive and careless. He just wants to live a normal, boring life and this ruins everything.

Another thought crosses his mind. He promised himself he wouldn’t go prowling during this natural rut. He told himself he’d stay isolated and locked away, and that he wouldn’t go out into the world and fuck the first omega he found. And, obviously, that plan has backfired immensely. He blacked out, ate congealed Chinese food, and stuck his fucking dick very nearly inside quite literally the very first omega he found. Worst yet, he’s also invited him back to his room. Craig swallows a groan. He can’t do this. He wants to break something, but he instead sits paralyzed on the floor with his eyes crinkled shut and his jaw clenched tight. If he acts on his aggression, he might scare Tweek away. The effects of marking an omega still swim around inside him. He has to do the right thing. The trouble is, at this point, he has no idea what that thing might be.

The warmth of another body suddenly tingles beside him. He dares to peel one eye open and spots Tweek to his side, naked as the day he was born next to him on the coarse welcome mat. There’s no good reason for him to be sitting there, Craig thinks. Yet still, he’s there. He looks at Craig with a quizzical expression, unreadable for the most part but Craig is at very least perceptive enough to realize it’s some kind of look of concern.

“You’re nervous,” Tweek states plainly, without an ounce of judgment in his tone.

“No, I’m not,” Craig denies it and turns his head away perhaps a bit too quickly.

He hates feeling out of control. He hates feeling unpredictable and volatile and like his emotions and hormones can and will take over. Tweek’s hand tentatively taps Craig’s arm, and when Craig doesn’t immediately pull away, it settles more comfortably to rest atop his forearm. Something tender blooms in Craig’s chest, but before he has a chance to analyze it, Tweek speaks again.

“Hngh, yes you are,” Tweek insists. “I… I can smell it, somehow.”

Craig pauses at that. He mulls that over for a moment or two then finally decides he must be telling the truth. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he recalls being told years ago that an omega in heat has heightened senses. It’s not something he’ll ever personally understand, and it’s not something he’s ever discussed with a past partner. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that it’s never come up before. He squints thoughtfully and changes his mind. That’s not true. He actually also didn’t care. But he sort of actually, really cares now, and he isn’t sure why. He’s curious about Tweek in a way that he’s never been curious before. He’s intrigued and captivated. Or at least, he surmises he must be, because why else would he be so invested in his well-being and why else would he be having such a difficult time resisting the urge to stick his aching cock deep into this guy’s belly and scramble his guts around. The cock in question gives a mutinous little twitch at the thought and Craig hopes Tweek can’t suddenly read minds now, too.

“Oh,” Craig says thickly because all of his actual thoughts are terrible and stupid, but he’d better at least acknowledge that he’s been spoken to.

“Why are you nervous? …Ack! Actually, nevermind! You don’t have to answer that!” Tweek asks and then just as quickly withdraws the question with a garbled groan and a harsh squeeze before regrouping enough to proceed. “You don’t have to be nervous, Craig.”

Craig groans openly and runs his free hand down his face.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” he decides in a firm tone, completely ready to sever the tie before things can get somehow more dire.

“What?!” Tweek squawks in surprise. “But… grargh, but we just got here!”

Craig’s honestly a bit surprised at this response. Actually, he’s surprised for two reasons. First of all, he’s never had an omega question him before. Granted, while he’s had what he could politely describe as interactions with omegas, he’s never really held much conversation with anyone before. They’ve always been malleable and pliant to his whims and demands, so the fact that he’s here with one in his room and being questioned by him while deep in the throes of a very strong heat throws Craig for a loop. Second of all, and much more importantly, he doesn’t want to leave. It’s positively bewildering. Craig has very little to offer this guy, realistically. He’s just some surly alpha who has turned his meager dormitory into a gross den of sex and violence. He doesn’t understand why Tweek would want to stay here. He’s dangerous, and proved it less than a half hour ago back in the shower when he could barely hold himself back from fucking him right there against the wall. And yet, despite all of that, Tweek seems to dislike the idea of being returned to his own room.

“You don’t want to leave…?” Craig’s voice sounds uncharacteristically small.

“No way, man!” Tweek balks at the notion. “I’m an omega. An omega in heat! Oh Jesus, it’s awful just saying that! They could already be on their way to get me… They could abduct me and sell me into some sex-slavery human trafficking circle! Anything could happen out there. It isn’t safe! I’m an omega…and I’m a dude! I’m a dude, man! Do you know how rare that is?! Hrargh, I can’t believe this is happening to me. Oh god, they’ll definitely sell me as some kind of prized pig!”

Now it’s Craig’s turn to wrap a soothing hand around Tweek’s arm. While Craig doesn’t doubt the possibility of there being some sort of dark underground human trafficking circle being a horrific potential reality, he definitely doubts that Tweek is some kind of target. But he seems pretty genuinely terrified, so he bites his tongue and holds on to his arm in a flimsy attempt to silently ground Tweek back to reality. If anything, he should be more afraid of opportunistic alphas and machiavellian rapists that might be roaming these very halls. His grip on Tweek’s arm tightens just a little at the stomach-turning thought. Tweek’s hyperventilation slows before it can spiral out of control and he shifts in place to better look up at Craig.

“You offered to protect me,” Tweek croaks out amidst his jitters. “You didn’t have to do that. But you helped me.”

Craig stifles a snort. Helped him? He’s pretty sure Tweek is making fun of him. He hasn’t helped him at all. All he’s done is rub up against his wiry body and grind against his slick hole. Craig wishes his dick wouldn’t throb every time he recollects the act. He’s equal parts ashamed and aroused. Just when he decides he couldn’t have possibly fucked up more and he’s ready to delve low into the pits of self doubt and loathing, Tweek places a hand on top of his own. It’s feather-light and unsure, but it lingers hopefully. Craig ventures a chance and tilts his head back to look at Tweek.

“Please don’t make me leave…” Tweek whispers.

He looks so lost, so vulnerable. It’s a genuine plea and an apologetic prayer. Craig feels humbled in the most peculiar way. His skin tingles and his heart flutters like a hummingbird. He places his free hand on top of Tweek’s. It’s kind of weird. It’s an arm resting on a knee with a hand on top, followed by a different hand, followed by a third hand. They’ve built some kind of awkward limb-jenga sustained by a mutual, clumsy desire to comfort the other. Craig hopes it reads as a positive gesture. He stares blatantly at Tweek’s face. It’s riddled with anxiety and nerves but painted over with a sort of calm acceptance of his sorry state. Craig can’t imagine what he’s going through right now. There’s not really a word for how Craig feels about the situation. It’s not quite pity and it’s not quite carnal desire and it’s not quite noble intentions. It’s something mucky and muddled and swirls around inside him in some confusing blend of the three concepts, punctuated by something unidentifiable and foreign but not unpleasant in the least. Craig unabashedly wants to explore it.

“You don’t have to leave,” Craig murmurs softly.

Tweek blinks a few times in relief and produces a sound something akin to a pacified chuckle. His face relaxes. The tired bags still sit puffy and purple below his eyes, but the wrinkles in his forehead smooth themselves out and the deep creases of his frown go lax. Craig takes it all in. This is the first time he’s seen Tweek wear a calm expression. Something in his chest swells knowing that no matter how small or insignificant, he helped cause that. Tweek’s hair is starting to dry in the open air. It still hangs heavy in most spots, but a few gold-spun tresses are beginning to pop straight upwards. There’s a radiance about it, like a sunflower in the late spring starting to bloom its first petals or a freshly hatched chick looking at the great big world for the very first time.

“How…how long…” Tweek muses quietly, almost as though he’s unsure of what he’s trying to ask. “How long does the mark last…?”

“Probably a few hours,” Craig replies in a distant voice, never averting his gaze. “It depends.”

Tweek hums a little in thought, like his mind is very far away. He gives the slightest nod of affirmation but it’s clear he’s hardly paying attention to the words. He looks up at Craig with parted lips and eyes full of an unreadable emotion coupled with something that feels devoted and familiar. Craig doesn’t inherently register the way his neck cranes down and his chin tilts to the side. Tweek’s breath hitches then releases in a shaky, tenuous exhale. Craig can feel the hot puff of air lingering sweetly all around him, tantalizing him in an unspoken “come hither” sort of draw. He’s reminded of warm, downy covers on a chilly morning and the soft sounds of a gentle breeze whispering through the cracks of a window. His mind sweeps itself clear of all thoughts and he follows the lead of the pheromone-driven pull. But, it’s more than that. It’s the beating of his heart in his ears and the fragile way Tweek’s fingers timidly lace into his own in their odd pile of limbs. Craig lifts his top hand to nudge a damp lock of hair from Tweek’s forehead, then tenderly slips it down the side of his face to cup his vulpine jaw. Before he can think or hesitate, Craig dips his head down to brush his lips against Tweek’s.

[8/?] (In which Craig uses his 15 minutes of clarity to act really gay)

It’s a cautious little sample. It’s born not of unbridled lust or desire, somehow. Instead, it’s something more organic and vernal, and something Craig knows must surely be from the incessant sway of his pheromones but feels that it might be from something much milder and fresher than that. Tweek’s lips are chapped, but not dry. They tremble against his own, but he doesn’t resist the fragile touch. Craig admittedly isn’t well versed in the act, but a velvety sigh slips over Tweek’s tongue and onto his own and it galvanizes him to press forward. There’s no explanation for it, but Craig inexplicably allows for his body to move of its own inclinations. And to his surprise, it presents itself as neither harsh nor abrasive.

For reasons not even Craig can comprehend, he thinks about pears. But he’s not just sitting naked on a scratchy welcome mat anxiously kissing a guy he barely knows and daydreaming about pears in the supermarket. That would be weird. No, it’s much more specific than that. A flash of a fuzzy memory dances in the back of his mind. It’s more like a series of instances that blend together whimsically to craft a new, pretend memory. Right in the midst of his rut-induced dalliance, Craig stirs through past visions of reaching into the fridge when he was young and plucking a pear off the shelf. He remembers the vibrant green skin freckled with little spots of brown and he recalls the firmness in the flesh as well as the way his thumbs would leave little imprints if he squeezed in just the right places. He presses his thumb into Tweek’s cheekbone to steady himself.

He feels completely insane, but he huffs a sigh through his nose and recollects the satisfying feeling of sinking his teeth clear through the green exterior and exposing the mealy white insides. They were always so cold and crisp, yet still managing to be just overripe enough to dribble rivers of juicy nectar down his chin. Craig yearns for that simple satisfaction. The thoughts flit through his head in a half-garbled mess of nerves and never really formulate into anything significant. But he can’t swat them away– they dawdle there and fluster and instigate him. They don’t relent until his teeth sink into Tweek’s unguarded lip. And then, all at once, his nerves float away like the downy, white seeds of a dandelion caught in a breeze. Tweek meets him without resistance and closes the gap between them. It’s cool and refreshing yet it’s heated and raw in a breathtaking mixture that makes Craig’s eyes flutter shut and his shoulders go slack. He wants to taste everything. He wants to absolutely and irrevocably consume, devour, and experience the entirety of whatever he can provoke out of Tweek. Before he can, though, Tweek breaks away. There’s an instinct inside him that wants to growl. It wants to command the omega and intimidate him to take what he wants. But instead of glowering in aggression, Craig crumbles.

“I’m sorry,” he closes his eyes and apologizes. “I don’t know why I did that…”

And it’s true. He really doesn’t know what possessed him to kiss Tweek. What’s worse is, that he felt so sure that Tweek was kissing him back. It takes him a moment to realize that despite breaking away from the kiss before it could truly begin, Tweek hasn’t pulled his body away. His fingers still lace in Craig’s. Their thighs press together. Craig dares to crack open his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Tweek replies quickly, his face somewhere between a soft smile and a worried frown.

Craig studies him for a moment. There’s a strange dissonance at this moment. On the one hand, there’s a delicate and familiar intimacy to their closeness and Craig is positively rapt with the hopes and possibilities of prolonging it. On the other hand, a voice in his head reminds him of the absurdity of the situation. They’re two grown men sitting naked as the day they were born next to a pile of garbage, riddled with confusing hormones and pheromones while fluids drip from their bodies. He can recognize that much, but he’d rather not dwell on that too long lest he start to feel more embarrassed. He produces a little grunt that likely gives Tweek exactly zero insight into these thoughts.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Tweek reassures him but resumes his former lip-chewing.

Craig is suddenly convinced he has done everything wrong. He grunts again, but this time it clearly indicates his skepticism.

“Argh, no…!” Tweek insists. “It’s just… I’m feeling really overwhelmed, okay?!”

This time Tweek does pull away a bit. Craig hopes he doesn’t wince too noticeably. He crumples his own arms into a careless heap in his lap and squeezes his legs together in a futile attempt to draw attention away from his disrespectful erection.

“I can smell things I’ve never smelled before… Grahgrh, what if other people can smell me?! Everything’s making my ass leak, man! Wagh! Do you have any idea how uncomfortable this is?! Oh god… I can’t go back to the showers… I feel so out of control! How am I supposed to live with this kind of stress?! I don’t want this… why would anyone want this!? Hrangh, hah, what am I supposed to do?!”

Tweek dramatically throws his hands up and buries his face into his palms. Craig really does feel for him. Truth be told, it feels weird. He has never interacted this much with an omega in heat before. Typically he’s long done by now and has already cast aside whatever partner-du-jour he’d acquired (including that Annie girl) in exchange for a peaceful return to his solitude. There’s a part of Craig that understands he’s gotten himself in this situation entirely of his own volition. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and he feels a bit out of control in a way he’s struggling to pinpoint. And maybe it’s because he also willingly chose to mark Tweek’s scent gland, but it’s not something he particularly regrets. In fact, the weirdest part of the whole ordeal is that he feels strongly and unequivocally compelled to assist and protect this guy in whatever ways he can. His eyes roam Tweek’s body again while he squirms and squawks into his hands. Even those nagging voices that compel him to present himself as a living bulwark are weird as hell. After all, just looking at Tweek, Craig is pretty sure this guy could kick his ass. Sure, Craig is naturally a big, strong guy… but Tweek has the taut, sinewy form of someone who could definitely hold his own and put up quite a fight if necessary. An image of Tweek throwing a punch flashes through Craig’s mind and makes his throat feel tight.

A new thought crops up in Craig’s mind. It’s somewhere between a suggestion and an epiphany. He clears his throat and tries to speak evenly.

“You should probably build a nest,” he recommends in a way he hopes sounds very casual.

Tweek’s hands fall to his lap. Craig can see the squiggly red veins in his eyes. One bulges in its socket and the other twitches erratically. His hair stands on end, wild and almost electrical, giving the impression he stuck a fork in an outlet. Craig suspects he didn’t sound casual enough.

“Do I look like I know how to make a fucking nest?!” Tweek demands through something that manages to be both a whisper and a shriek.

Craig wonders if he looks like someone who knows how to build a fucking nest. It can’t be that hard though, right? He quite literally has no instinctual input on this matter. He’s an alpha, after all. The nest is something meant to bring comfort and ease to the omega. As far as an alpha goes, the nest is, well… Craig swallows the lump in his throat that rebelliously formed there and his palms suddenly feel a little sweaty. It’s a really personal thing if an omega invites an alpha into their nest. Craig’s never nested before. He’s been offered to nest in the past. Taking up that offer, on the other hand, is something he’s always veered away from. Even still, he sort of has a vague understanding of how a nest probably looks. He’s seen them on TV, and he’s seen textbook examples back in those terrible secondary sexual education classes in school. It surely can’t be that complicated. He’s willing to give it a try.

“I’ll help you,” Craig shrugs, as if that’s the obvious thing to do here.

He’s not sure if that’s actually obvious. Tweek probably doesn’t either, judging by the way he squints and scrutinizes him. Craig has no idea what he’s doing, but a delirious sort of confidence still courses through his veins. It’s coupled with a determined feeling he’s not entirely sure how to describe. He’s certainly driven by the incessant boner that just absolutely won’t go away, but ever since he marked Tweek, there’s another sensation behind it that’s equal parts intoxicating and nerve-wracking. And more than that, Craig finds himself really enjoying that feeling. So even if it’s unconventional for him to offer and it’s less than the obvious conclusion, it feels pertinent and obvious to Craig. He doubles down on that feeling and pushes himself to his feet.

“Come on,” Craig offers him a clammy hand.

Tweek tilts his head, but then he clasps it. That same prickly feeling shoots up Craig’s arm. It makes his stomach lurch pleasantly and he has to concentrate to prevent his knees from giving out under him. Tweek, with a little assistance, rises to stand as well. He cringes and brushes his free hand over his backside. He emits a strangled little gasp as he looks at his fingers completely slathered in the viscous, translucent fluids. Tweek looks down to the mat and Craig’s eyes follow. It’s completely soiled, drenched in the flood Tweek has been steadily producing. Tweek outright screams in horror and Craig flinches at the visceral reaction. It’s followed by flailing and more cacophonous howling. Wild hands fly into Tweek’s partially dry hair and the mess from his hand musses up the flaxen strands. When Tweek realizes what he’s done, he pauses for a fraction of a second and then resumes his frantic display.

“Tweek!” Craig bellows his name and grasps his wrists firmly when he’s finally able to capture them. “Tweek, it’s okay!”

He writhes and struggles, but Craig holds him as still as he can. His previous assessment seems to be true– this guy is pretty strong. He’s lithe and scrappy and all the squirming makes Craig’s heart flutter. He grips Tweek harshly but it’s to no avail. Tweek’s panicking and thrashing, completely overwhelmed by the uncontrollable state of his body. After a minute or so of the nonstop struggle, Craig uses his size to his advantage. He outstretches his arms and wraps them tightly around as much of the distressed omega as he possibly can. One arm snakes around the small of his back and the other to the nape of his neck. He forces Tweek’s body close until their torsos press flushed together and Tweek’s chin rests on his shoulder. For the time being, it works. Deranged shrieking diminishes into incoherent groans, and those eventually dwindle into heavy yet measured breaths. All the while, Craig holds him close and runs his hand in soothing circles along the knobs of his spine. Eventually, Tweek finds something adjacent to a sense of calm and peeks up at Craig.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a considerable moment. There’s something there that isn’t quite profound, but it isn’t insignificant, either. Tweek searches his face with a deep sense of longing, as if he searches long enough he’ll find all the answers behind Craig’s glassy eyes. It should feel awkward, Craig thinks, to have the weight of his swollen cock pressed firmly against this naked person’s exposed abdomen while he gazes into those sea glass eyes full of fear and hope and lust. But it’s not awkward. It’s a halcyon wave of relief punctuated with the heart-wrenching knowledge that this person in his arms feels just as scared and exhilarated and fraught with the same ticklish anxiety that he does. Craig has never felt so simultaneously lost yet determined in his life. The way Tweek’s arms tangle around his torso and cling to him like he’s a piece of driftwood while shipwrecked encourages him to make good on his word. Tweek looks up at him with a frail, hopeful expression. Steadfast and tenacious, Craig clears his throat. He’s determined to say just the right thing to wash away all of Tweek’s dread and anxiety.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, low and husky. “I’ve always hated that mat.”

There’s a pause. That didn’t sound as sympathetic and helpful as Craig had hoped it would. In fact, it sounded completely stupid. Before he has time to reconcile the terrible event by opening his mouth to blurt out more eloquent attempts at comfort, Tweek reaches up and drags Craig’s face to meet his own. It’s an inelegant clash of teeth and lips and tongues. Somehow, the spark ignites once again and Craig clings greedily to Tweek’s lean body. Each hungry moan is echoed by the other, as feverish as it was sudden. There’s no subtly this time; the intention is clear. All his courtesy and former politeness slip away as Tweek’s tongue pokes its way into his mouth and glides smoothly over his own. In an instant, Craig feels a spike of aggression. It’s not malicious, though. But it’s possessive and dominating and assertive. He grinds his ever-present erection roughly against the soft, tight surface of Tweek’s belly to both remind and inform Tweek of the consequences and intentions of this act. He reminds him that he’s an unbridled alpha deep in the throes of a turbulent rut. He informs him that the results of inviting any sort of action will result in reckless, lust-driven consequences. But Tweek doesn’t push him away. Instead, he veritably succumbs to his own hasty, impulsive whims.

“You smell so good,” Tweek whines in between the sloppy kisses.

Craig growls in response, sending a noticeable shiver up Tweek’s back. It goes without saying that he thinks Tweek smells good, too. He’s salivating like a starved animal who’s just been presented a fresh slab of meat. His aching cock is straining against their heated flesh, practically begging for relief. Nothing else matters right now. The broken furniture, the abandoned pile of trash, the disheveled cabinets, and the mountain of torn-up laundry are all but forgotten. There’s only the nectar of juicy ripe pears and the pale brown patterns of unknown constellations. There’s only the foggy mist that obscures dew drops on the blades of grass at dawn and the sizzling heat between two bodies pleading to be known.

Craig wants to savor this feeling for so much longer, but Tweek’s quivering body reminds him succinctly of the promise he made. He begins to move his feet, and as result, Tweek moves along with him. He guides them towards the bedroom. Neither of them really knows how to make a nest, but Craig’s sure they’ll figure it out.

[9/?]

Craig doesn’t remember crossing the threshold, nor does he remember tossing Tweek onto his damaged bed. Yet there he is, flushed and breathless with damp blonde hair framing his face, gulping down desperate breaths of oxygen while lying on his back. He scrunches up his face. Craig has no memory of locking his arms in place on either side of Tweek’s body. But clearly, he’s done it. He has Tweek thoroughly pinned below him. He’s slotted between Tweek’s legs nicely, though neither of them makes any distinct moves to tangle their bodies again. There’s a hollow space between their torsos. Craig shudders. He’s getting sick of this torment. It’s frustrating, unlike anything he’s experienced before. He wants it but he doesn’t want it. He’s in control but he’s spiraling and feels lost in ungovernable disarray. Craig bites his lip as Tweek gazes up at him, wall-eyed and complacent. It’s clear that the effects of scenting him are still in heavy impact. Fortunately for Craig, he’s still feeling it, too.

He isn’t sure if he regrets it. For the most part, he doesn’t. It’s proven to be the one action he’s taken thus far that has actually managed to quell his reckless behavior. But on the reverse, he’s worried about what it’s done to Tweek. He’s spoken to people who have scented an omega and he’s seen depictions of it in media, so he thought he knew what to expect. Maybe context takes a bigger role than he was initially led to believe. Craig takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and puffs them out through his nose. Scenting hasn’t taken away his desires, but rather it’s simply given him the clarity to at least be cognizant of what he’s doing. For Tweek, however, he’s utterly mollified. All the fire and indignation has melted from him and left him as a complacent, obedient puddle.

At least, that’s how Craig feels about it. He can’t think of any other reason he’d be so malleable and willing to go along with being groped and handled. And, to be completely honest, it doesn’t particularly feel good. He thinks of how unfair that must be for him. That in and of itself is a bizarre and uncomfortable concept for Craig. He hardly knows this guy. Yet here he is, hovering above his bare and vulnerable body, and trying to take his feelings into consideration. This is the weirdest rut of his life. Craig frowns. His cock is absolutely aching. He knows he needs to stay true to his internal promise. But it’s hard. It’s so, so hard. His swollen length drags along the cotton sheets and he pushes himself back to stand upright. He clears his throat with an awkward grunt.

“You, uh… you can make your nest here,” he suggests in a very stupid, stiff voice.

“Okay,” Tweek agrees distantly but doesn’t seem like he’s about to go anywhere.

“Only if you want,” Craig tacks on awkwardly.

Tweek blinks a few times as if just waking up from a particularly restful nap. He sits up slowly and braces himself on the heels of his palms. For a very long moment, he stares ahead seemingly looking at nothing. Before Craig can have a chance to figure out what he’s doing, Tweek belts out a strangled yell and his body twitches violently. His head snaps to the side, his eyes blink out of tandem, and his arms flap up and down to alternate between gripping the bed linens and tugging aggressively at his hair.

“Craig!” Tweek yelps. “Ahhargrgh, what am I supposed to do?! I don’t know how to make a nest!!”

“Hey!” Craig winces and puts his hands up defensively. “Tweek! Hey! Okay? Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Tweek points an accusing finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, man!”

All these ups and downs are making Craig’s head spin. It’s the most nauseating roller coaster he’s ever endured. He keeps his hands raised as if Tweek is a frightened, cornered animal and he’s showing the poor creature he isn’t a threat.

“Okay,” Craig concedes. “But maybe you could at least give me a warning if you’re gonna flip, dude.”

Tweek produces a series of jittery and frustrated groans. He grunts under his breath and bites his lip, squeezing his legs together and hanging onto the bed sheets like his life depends on it. Craig doesn’t know what to say, so instead, he waits and listens. He closes his eyes to attempt to ground himself again. He’s annoyed. Every attempt to regain his sense of control is countered with a new and enticing way Tweek seems to inadvertently beg for him. Craig knows the grunts aren’t meant to be of a sexual nature. He knows that. He knows that! But even still, his cock bobs a few times with each groan and it twitches and leaks with each shrill, garbled whine. It shouldn’t be so tantalizing, but somehow… it is.

“How the fuck am I supposed to make a nest,” Tweek bemoans and flops backward onto the mattress. “Urhk, I’ve never made a nest before. Why… argh, why is it called a nest?! What am I, a bird?!”

Craig can’t help but chuckle at this. A few guffaws get past him, but then Tweek shoots him a look that could kill. He covers his mouth with his hand and swallows down his laughter.

“It’s not funny, Craig,” the corners of Tweek’s mouth point downwards sharply.

“It’s a little funny,” Craig mutters, then sighs in relief when he realizes Tweek hadn’t heard that.

“I’m serious. Augh, I don’t know how to do this stuff,” Tweek grumbles and fusses with a stray blanket.

“Well,” Craig averts his gaze so he can try to think without distraction. “What kind of stuff do you know how to do?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tweek somehow manages to take this as an attack, as though Craig has insinuated he doesn’t know how to do anything at all in the world.

“Nothing,” Craig dismisses the hook and presses on. “Just think about it. Isn’t nesting about being comfortable? So what kind of stuff is comfortable for you? You’ve gotta know how to do something about that.”

Tweek makes a suffocated, strained noise as if he’s got a gun pointed to his head and he’s been asked to explain the Pythagorean theorem in the original ancient Greek. Craig tilts his head slightly, daring to catch a small glimpse of the naked man in his bed. Tweek’s grinding his teeth, gnashing away at nothing but air as he struggles to consider what might bring him a little comfort.

“Hrnnngghhhh…” he vocalizes somewhat thoughtfully. “P…pillows…?”

“Then let’s start with pillows,” Craig affirms him immediately and Tweek’s shoulders instantly relax just enough so that they’re no longer crammed up to his ears. “Uh… They used to be up on the top there… God damn it. Okay, I’ll go get some more pillows.”

Craig uncomfortably shuffles back out of the room. It’s terrible. He shouldn’t feel so out of his element in his own dormitory. There’s garbage and home furnishings strewn about everywhere. The whole place gives off an unsettling vibe that could be best described as half “hotel abandoned after a catastrophic tornado” and half “serial killer dwelling.” He can’t bring himself to draw too much attention to his surroundings. He’s just gotta find some pillows. Craig’s headache starts to return. It’s due in part to the unrelenting and frustrating swell of his stupid, angry cock between his legs. There’s no chance this obscene thing will stop plaguing every aspect of his existence anytime soon. But it’s also in part as a result of the choreographed fight in his mind between resistance and desire. Logic speaks clearly first: he needs to provide (even though it goes against everything he has ever claimed to want), and he needs to retain control (even though that also goes against everything his body tells him he wants). Lust whispers softly in reply: he needs to give (his body is able and willing), and he needs to receive (his unlikely bed partner is able and willing, too).

Craig tries to focus on the task at hand. He needs stuff to make a nest. He needs pillows. A few tattered couch cushions litter the floor and he grabs them. There’s that scratchy homemade blanket his grandmother sent him when he first moved into his dorm. It’s probably not very comfortable, though. Maybe he could wad it up and use it to prop Tweek up? Or use it for… uh, lumbar support? Craig groans. It’s not like he has some sudden understanding of how to do this just because he volunteered to help. He wonders what it might be like to be in Tweek’s position. It can’t be comfortable. The need for something like a nest makes sense. It can’t be easy feeling like a freshly carved piece of meat, dripping wet and constantly drenched in a river of slippery slick. Craig’s heart skips a beat.

There are a few moments of pause where Craig’s mind crashes to a halt and runs rampant with curious thoughts about how that must feel for him. Does it feel good? Does he like the way he gushes and throbs? Craig’s mouth feels dry and his fingers grip the ratty couch cushion. His thighs must be so wet with it. If he squeezed them together, would that mess spread itself in a vulgar smear along his skin and offer a sultry invitation? …Would he do it on purpose? Craig’s eyes go wide and he nearly drops the ugly cushions and the uglier blanket. He needs to get some towels. His heavy legs guide him to the linen closet. Craig couldn’t tell anyone the colors of the fabric in his clutch if his life depended on it– his focus is clearly elsewhere.

When he returns to his bedroom, his eyes hone in directly on Tweek. He’s been fluffing the same pillow for quite a while, it would appear. He fusses and frets with it while bent over the mattress and Craig’s knees lock. It’s nothing particularly lewd by design, but it still has Craig biting the inside of his cheek and white-knuckling his humble home decor. There’s something about the way the muscles on Tweek’s back tense up as he bends and there’s something more to the way his spine arches in almost a feline curve leading down to the fullness just above his thighs that makes Craig want to lunge. But he can’t; or rather, he can… but he won’t. In only an instant, a series of racing desires barrel through his mind. He wants to bend and grip and push and thrust and feel. He wants to feel everything. It’s torture now that he’s had a taste. The only thing keeping him centered is the two-word staccato mantra that beats itself into the thickness of his skull. Protect. Survive. Protect. Survive.

“I brought some stuff,” Craig announces, hoping his demeanor comes off as sufficiently casual.

Clearly, it’s not casual enough because Tweek immediately lets out a startled scream. Craig’s already starting to get used to that, honestly. Tweek jolts straight upright like a puppeteer just yanked on his marionette strings. If Craig wasn’t so absorbed in his open-mouthed gawking, it would be almost funny. Tweek’s acting like he was caught burying a body rather than fluffing a deflated pillow. None of that matters, though. He’s frozen in place, struck by the realization that despite having been up close and personal with Tweek on multiple occasions within the last hour this is the first time he’s truly had a full view of his entire body. Up until this point, Tweek has been either guarded and curled over himself or pressed so tight to Craig’s own body that much was obscured. Now, ironically, that he’s been startled to attention, Craig can see it all. He wets his lips.

His shoulders are broader than his hips, but not by some significant measurement. He’s slender but wiry rather than frail. His hip bones are sharp and jut out at odd angles as his tight legs tremble. But most noticeable (and Craig feels remarkably stupid for not noticing before) is that his dick is hard. His smooth shaft peaks out from the bed of golden curls at its base and it’s tinged a rosy pink, as though it’s shyly blushing. It’s a strange thought, but Craig thinks it almost looks pretty. Maybe it’s from the extensive time he’s been looking at his own cock, which by now seems grotesque by his standards considering it’s veiny and throbbing and bloated with neglect. He hopes Tweek doesn’t notice him staring.

Tweek, however, does in fact notice his obvious staring. His cheeks stain a splotchy red that spreads like spilled ink down his throat and all along the top of his pale shoulders. His shaky hands move quickly to attempt to cover himself from sight.

“Oh, god, agghhh!” Tweek scrunches his eyes shut. “Shit, I’m sorry, man! Oh, Jesus Christ, this is so embarrassing…”

“I mean…” Craig chuckles sarcastically and gestures between his own legs. “It’s not like I’m judging.”

Tweek tries to stifle a long, shrill groan. He sounds like a dog on a leash that’s just a little bit too tight. Craig steadies his breathing. He focuses on his normal behavior again. It’s such a challenge. The way his mind gurgles with the knowledge of the confirmation that if Tweek’s in that state, surely those former speculations must have some sort of merit. He takes a couple of steps forward before he realizes he’s moving.

“Can we just make the nest?” Tweek pleads in a slurred liaison of words as the thin bones in his neck strain under his exertion.

Craig doesn’t speak. Instead, he acts to demonstrate his endorsement of the idea. It’s only a few strides to the bed, so Craig measures his steps carefully to contain himself. He concentrates. He needs to stay focused. The only thing that matters right now is setting up a nest so Tweek can settle in. in his peripheral, he can somewhat see that Tweek has cautiously resumed his jittery fussing with his shamefully crappy pillows. He carefully smooths the towels on top of his mattress. He can see now that they’re brown, as well as ugly and tattered. He hopes they’re at least a bit absorbent. A shiver runs through his bones at the thought and he tries to squash it down. The couch cushions and grandma's blanket are next. He tosses them haphazardly against the cracked headboard adjacent to the pillows Tweek is busy kneading. In what he hopes is a stealthy motion, he stuffs the itchy crocheted blanket in a crumpled ball behind them. With a quick scan of the room, he snatches up the first blanket he can see off the ground. Craig drapes it high in the air and it flutters down like a collapsing parachute over the rest of his handiwork. He decides that’s probably a nest.

“There,” he stands upright and proclaims, even going so far as to proudly place his hands on his hips.

“There…?” Tweek snaps from his trance and gives Craig a very confused look.

“It’s done,” he nods at the bed.

“Augh, what do you mean, it’s done?” Tweek scrunches up his face, his displeasure made entirely palpable.

“The nest,” Craig clarifies, but now he’s starting to feel less confident.

“Craig, hrngh, that’s not a nest,” Tweek fully frowns. “You just made the bed. But… ngh, you made it worse.”

Craig looks over his workmanship. It’s a completely uninviting amalgamation of scratchy fibers, uneven and mismatched items, and a less than adequate offering of neck support. It’s all squarely framed by the broken headboard that now sits about forty-five degrees off its center. It looks more fit for a stray dog to rest its weary vagabond head than for a desperate omega seeking comfort during heat. Craig’s shoulders fall in defeat. He can totally see how this could be described as a bed, but worse.

[10/?]

“God damn it…” Craig grouses. “Fuck me for trying, I guess?”

“Well, no…” Tweek begins thoughtfully. “It’s just not done.”

He scoots onto the mattress and curls his knees up to his chest. Craig watches stupidly from the foot of the bed with his legs just a little too far apart to stand normally. He watches as Tweek pushes all the padding up against the broken headboard and gives it a few hearty slaps to confirm everything is placed the way he likes.

“That’s better,” Tweek nods at the organized mess he’s created.

“Is it done now…?” Craig wonders aloud.

It doesn’t look like a nest. It looks like a crumpled heap of random materials. This is too weird. He knows there’s got to be some kind of biological imperative here, but he has no idea how or why this would be some important ritual. Tweek leans into the pile and the placated look begins to return to his face.

“Mnph, no…” Tweek makes swinging vertical gestures with his arms along the edges of the bed frame. “It needs, agh… bumpers?”

“Bumpers,” Craig repeats flatly.

“Bumpers,” Tweek agrees as if that somehow further explained anything.

There’s a pause and then Tweek makes another garbled noise and his body rolls in a big, spastic twitch.

“Work with me here, Craig!” Tweek squawks. “Grargh, c’mon, man… do you have more blankets or something?”

Craig can work with that, he decides. And he does in fact have more blankets. Once he’s collected and presented them to Tweek, there’s no hesitation on Tweek’s end. Some sort of neuron has activated in his brain and wires it into a mode of unadulterated instinct. He stirs around in the bedding and creates two long, fat strips of rumpled-up blankets like they’re a pair of lumpy and colorful sausages. He lines the edges of the mattress with them and Craig can see it now. Ah, yes, bumpers. They’re like soft fortifications for the ledges of the forming nest. It’s a rudimentary task, but making this nest keeps the pair of them occupied. Tweek busies himself with bird-like architectural design and Craig assists by continually scavenging for anything remotely plush or soft that might be stashed away in his dorm. In time, the nest takes shape and form. The appearance is a bit reminiscent of one of those big, soft pet beds that are shaped like a donut. Granted, the appearance also calls to mind imagery of the backroom of an extremely unorganized thrift store as well. Nevertheless, there’s clearly something about the messy hoard of linen items arranged with a distinct hollow spot in the center that identifies it distinctly as a nest.

“Hrmgh,” Tweek darts his eyes around the piles and grunts thoughtfully. “It’s missing something.”

“I’m out of stuff,” Craig purses his lips. “It looks fine, Tweek. What else could you possibly need?"

“Grargh, I don’t know?!” Tweek rakes a hand through his frazzled hair and his eyes bulge and twitch as though this is really gnawing at him.

“That’s actually everything. Like I said, I’m out of stuff,” Craig shrugs, but then a thought occurs to him. “Well… I mean, I’ve got some shirts-”

“Yes!” Tweek agrees before the thought is fully formed and whips his head up at such high velocity it gives Craig a sympathetic sense of whiplash.

Even from this distance, Craig can see that Tweek’s pupils have fully dilated. He feels as though he’s uttered some magical incantation and he dares not break the spell, so he fumbles his way over to his overflowing hamper of soiled clothing. An emotion starts bubbling up deep inside his belly. It’s neither pride nor shame, but it most certainly feels pleasant and validating. Craig retrieves every cotton shirt and hoodie he can gather and presents them to Tweek. They’re snatched from his hands like he’s a hungry dog a little too eager for his treat. Tweek draws one of the navy blue hoodies up to his face and breathes deeply into it as though it contains a powerful elixir. Craig watches with a slack jaw as Tweek’s eyes roll back shamelessly.

“They’re perfect,” Tweek’s muffled voice drawls low and thick from beneath the heavy fabric. “Thank you, Craig.”

Craig tries to swallow down the dry lump in his throat. A sharp pain shoots through his palms from his fingernails pressed deeply into them in his tight fists. The signals in the room are so strong and the pheromones that riddle his aching body urge him to just fucking do it. He should jump right now. It’s his bed, after all, so why shouldn’t he? Tweek would make for such a decadent, willing prize. He’s sweating again. There’s a deliciously gushing omega sitting in a crudely made nest compromised of his own possessions in his own bed, and that very omega perches there huffing at his soiled clothing like a junky huffing a paper bag filled with addicting solvents. He can barely contain himself.

“Well, if you’re all set, then…” Craig grits out through a tight jaw and turns on his heel to leave.

“Wait!” Tweek calls out as soon as his back is turned to him.

Craig doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He won’t. It’s a temptation too powerful and a lure too irresistible. But Tweek’s voice cuts through him like a pocket knife. It’s a sincere plea laced with a dejected sort of pain that almost humbles Craig to his plight. He chances a peak over his shoulder.

“Don’t leave,” he mutters softly like he’s ashamed to ask for what he wants.

Craig’s insides feel soft. His shoulders slump and he spins back around. He can’t do this.

“I shouldn’t stay in here with you in this state, Tweek,” Craig groans.

He doesn’t want to put words to this. They both know what will happen if he stays. It’s precisely the thing Craig promised himself, and he silently promised it to Tweek as well. Tweek only makes a disgruntled little noise in response to share his counterargument. Craig stands uselessly in place as Tweek wraps his arms around his knees and knits his eyebrows into a frustrated tangle above his forlorn eyes.

“C’mon, Tweek,” Craig practically whines in a desperate attempt to get him to understand the risk. “I’m an alpha.”

Tweek pulls his face from the hoodie and fixes a smoldering gaze directly on Craig. His lips turn down into a defiant frown.

“I’m not afraid of you,” his fiery words burn through the tension and resonate with the dignified sort of implication that he’s offended that Craig would insinuate anything of the sort.

Craig lets that gestate for a moment or so. It’s not at all what he expected to hear. His head is throbbing with a nauseating mixture of confusion and frustration and raw lust. A little spark of anger bubbles in his belly. Can’t Tweek see it’s not about fear? That it’s not about desire? It all comes down to the simple fact that actions have consequences. Can’t he fucking see that? Craig has suffered through the hell of his nature for enough years to understand this with a grim and thorough understanding. And now, completely out of the woodwork, Tweek thinks he can just arrive in his life and assume it’s as easy as deciding to say a few brave words in spite of nature itself.

“Don’t you think I get it, man?” Tweek doubles down, as though he can read Craig’s thoughts. “Grrr, I fucking get it, Craig. Don’t patronize me. You think I’m some pathetic little omega. Hrngh, but I’m not! I’m not, Craig.”

Craig scoffs. It’s not just that. Shows what Tweek knows. It’s a vile composite of factors. It’s not solely that Tweek is a lustful omega who is literally incapable of preventing himself from bequeathing himself to the first alpha dick he lays his eyes on. If only it were that easy. And no, it’s not enough that Tweek so boldly claims that he can abandon the fear of that prospect. Craig lowers his eyelids and exhales slowly through his nose. That feeling has to prevail from both parties. The truth is, Craig is afraid. He’s afraid deep down into the marrow of his bones. At this point, Craig wholly believes that Tweek has a strong constitution and at least understands some of the risks at play here. But Craig is so very profoundly and shamefully afraid of what he’ll do going forward. He doesn’t want to lose control. He doesn’t want to relinquish the lingering threads of self-perseverance he’s managed to hang onto throughout this ordeal.

“You said you’d help me, Craig. Hahngh, and you know what? Maybe you should trust that even though this shit is the biggest goddamn nightmare I could possibly imagine, I know what I need,” Tweek looks down his nose with that same air of reckless defiance. “Grargh, can you just help me?!”

He knows it’s a mistake. It’s a huge fucking mistake. But Craig relents anyway. He feels a bit justified, though. The simple knowledge that Tweek would dare to so blatantly make his needs known and demand them so freely despite the swell of pheromones swaying between them helps Craig feel as though he should stop fighting it. There’s a possibility that everything will be fine. And for reasons he can’t really understand, he believes that just maybe it really will be fine.

“Lay down,” Craig pushes the words out on a trembling breath.

Without resistance, the omega lays on his side. He curls into a loose fetal position and waits expectantly. It’s a few short strides to the bed and then Craig is on all fours. He crawls slowly up the length of the narrow passage between the clumsy barriers of the nest until he reaches the top. The fragrance is almost overpowering at this range. All the terrifying and comforting feelings meld together in a fragile blend of an emotional slurry Craig has never experienced before. His heart thrums nearly painfully behind his ribs. Slowly, very slowly, he lowers himself to fit alongside Tweek’s scorching body. In delicate and cautious motions, he molds his limbs to fit nicely all around Tweek.

“Just hold me for a little while,” comes the quiet whisper once they’re finally settled.

So he does. He concentrates on his breathing. He matches himself with Tweek, or maybe it’s Tweek that mirrors him. It’s hard to discern. What matters, though, is that their unsure aspirations work in an easy tandem. There’s an acute intimacy to it, just laying still and experiencing a private, quiet moment with another human being. Tears threaten to prickle in the corners of Craig’s eyes. He feels overwhelmed with such an inexplicable sense of security that strikes so sincerely it almost scares him more than ever. A ragged sigh heaves its way out of him, making his bones rattle under his flesh. It’s as if all his internalized strife is escaping on the hot puff of breath that rolls down Tweek’s knobbly spine. It earns him a contented sigh from Tweek in response and all the fine hairs on both of their bodies stand on end.

Their legs tangle together carelessly in the mess of fabrics. Craig’s arm snakes over Tweek’s torso and urges their bodies to press together. The motion is met with a languid acceptance. Tweek rolls his shoulders back until Craig’s chin slots into the crook of his neck. Craig flattens his palm over the breadth of Tweek’s tight abdomen and presses it firmly. He closes his eyes and lets himself live in the present. He’s been so overwrought for days, and while he still feels addled and agitated and his body is in absolute agony… this simple act of holding another human being close to his chest floods him with such a devastating sense of relief. Craig can’t bring himself to move or speak or even think. He can only cling tightly to the warm flesh beneath his hand and drink in the soothing aromas of their mutual scents. It’s only been about an hour (though it feels like a pleasant eternity) before Tweek begins to squirm a bit.

“Thank you, Craig,” he whispers softly. “For everything you’ve done for me.”

“I think…” Craig starts in a low voice, but then pauses for a moment to appreciate the way his voice rumbles a bit against Tweek’s neck. “I think I needed this, too.”

A weight leaves him as he admits that. In fact, now that he thinks about it, this must have been the true climax of the effects of having scented Tweek. In fact, it only now occurs to him that his erection has been pressed hotly against the small of Tweek’s back this entire time and it hasn’t caused him any egregious control issues. On the contrary, he realizes that for the first time since his rut has begun, he’s felt a bit of relief. He should feel some solace from this, probably, but instead, a cold spike of newfound fear rips through him. Hopefully, Tweek won’t notice his rising cortisol levels. All of these feelings are good, of course, but they come with a toll. Sure, Craig has never scented an omega before. Sure, he’s in well over his head with the entirety of this situation. But he’s still experienced enough to have an innate understanding of what’s happening. The calming effects will wear off soon. The clarity will fade and he can feel deep in his bones that the relapse will be stronger and more gripping than before. Most terrifying is the thought that the most powerful aphrodisiac he’s ever encountered is currently lounging comfortably beneath the weight of his arm. Craig tries not to panic. He needs to stay calm. He needs to be strong. He needs to retain control.

“Argh, I’m starting to feel sore again,” Tweek complains quietly.

“Where,” Craig rasps out the question before he can think.

“Mmmmnnnghh, same as before…”

Craig’s breath hitches. His eyes open but his vision is already starting to blur. He can feel himself plummeting into carnal downfall. He’s told himself time and again that allowing himself to succumb is strictly verboten. And yet…and yet…

“It’s okay, Tweek,” his words slither down the side of the omega’s jaw. “I can help.”

[11/?]

The source of all the pain and strife can be traced to the same source. It’s insidious and bewildering, and despite being such an innocuous thing it boasts a stranglehold over not only Tweek but Craig as well. Out in the open yet concealed in plain sight, Craig knows everything comes down to the overactive hormonal gland that swells and throbs under the delicate skin of Tweek’s pale neck. His hand crawls up the length of Tweek’s abdomen. Their breath rises and falls together evenly, but it’s heavy and desperate as though each gulp of air might not be enough oxygen. Craig moves slowly, intentionally. He can feel Tweek’s throat against the side of his cheek. He can feel it each time he swallows. It’s a trifling movement, meaningless at face value. But Craig hones in on it anyway. Nothing is insignificant right now, and this is especially so when the heat begins pooling deep and low inside him all over again. Tweek’s chest trembles beneath his hand. The beating of his heart fires steadily against Craig’s palm like a piston in an engine. Craig doesn’t stop to relish in that feeling, even though the simple notion of Tweek’s heart slamming into his ribs like that as a direct result of his touch affects him. His hand skates through the small handful of hairs that litter the center of Tweek’s chest and finally comes to rest under his jaw.

He breathes in deeply, letting the dizzying aroma flood his mind and innervate his actions. His hand lingers softly over Tweek’s throat. It’s near his own face now, which stays curled into the gentle crook of his omega’s neck. He’s close enough to bite. The temptation is so strong. Craig rests his arm over Tweek’s chest. It’s neither slight nor broad– it fits nicely beneath him. They’re closer than before, and it’s by Craig’s design. Even so, he craves more proximity. His second arm coils beneath the other body in his bed and wraps tightly around it. He pulls Tweek’s entire being closer until their torsos are flush and his cock feels squeezed tightly into the small of Tweek’s back. A bit of pooling sweat lingers there and slicks the underside of Craig’s shaft. It’s good but it’s not good enough. Still, for the time being, he’ll take it. He doesn’t thrust at all– he doesn’t have to. Tweek has already begun squirming again. With a few intentional puffs of breath along Tweek’s heating skin, Craig presses the tips of his fingers into Tweek’s supple throat. He savors the bob of his adam’s apple as Tweek feebly gulps and revels in the little squeaks and moans the new pressure draws out of him. He pushes his digits a little deeper into the flesh beneath them.

“It’s going to be okay, Tweek,” Craig promises.

It’s a promise to Tweek, but it’s also a promise to himself. Everything is going to be okay. Tweek tries to nod in understanding, but Craig’s grip is a bit too tight. He can only squirm.

“We’re going to get you through this,” Craig continues in a low, husky voice. “This is all new to you. That must feel so scary.”

“Mmnph… ‘m not scared,” Tweek grunts out just to be contrary.

Craig releases a depraved sort of growl into the shoulder below his chin. Tweek can be as brave in the face of natural terror all he likes. Craig pushes his hips forward in one forceful shove until the compression on his throbbing cock is almost painful. He holds Tweek’s body close to his own and leaves him no room to wriggle free.

“Do you feel that?” Craig rasps.

“Ahhh, Craig…”

It was a yes or no question and Tweek hasn’t answered properly.

“Answer me,” Craig rasps out the demand.

“Y…yes…”

He grinds harder, just for good measure. He holds Tweek’s jaw in place and makes it perfectly clear that escaping the grip is not an option. His cock throbs into the small of Tweek’s back, harsh and pulsating with a vigorous need.

“Good,” Craig affirms rather than praises.

He nudges the side of Tweek’s throat with his nose and exhales a hot breath that warms the flesh. His hands start to roam from their stranglehold but it’s still apparent that Tweek won’t be squirming away any time soon. From his body language, though, there’s little chance that he’d be trying to be anywhere else anyway. One of Craig’s hands slides down the length of Tweek’s torso yet again. His blunt nails rake lightly along the heated skin. He moves slowly and strategically, just so he can draw out the sensation of Tweek’s body heaving beneath his hand. Finally, in time, he comes to rest along the jut of Tweek’s hip. He holds his grip there, urging the body under his power to softly rock against him. It’s a minuscule movement but it’s everything. There’s just enough friction against his swollen cock and just enough motion between them to simulate the rolling sensation of copulation.

“I could fuck you right now,” Craig states, and it earns him a shuddery little gasp that rocks Tweek’s body back into his own.

So much is woven into that simple phrase. It’s an observation, first and foremost. He absolutely and without a doubt could plunge himself rather easily into Tweek’s slick, inviting hole. It’s also an offering– something of a polite suggestion, in a twisted way. The notion is almost as if to suggest Tweek may need some assistance and the only thing in the entire world that could help is Craig’s throbbing dick. More than even just these things, it’s a threat. Very little could possibly stop Craig if he decides right here and now to fuck deeply into him. But most of all and beyond all these things, it’s a warning. It’s a reminder that Tweek should not take this situation lightly. Craig needs him to know that this option sits plainly on the table. He could absolutely fuck Tweek right now.

“Mmmm, please… please…” Tweek manages to squeak out between breathy whines.

“No,” Craig speaks firmly from his chest, even though his voice isn’t above a whisper. “You don’t want that.”

His actions belie his words, though, and Craig pushes his cock harder into Tweek’s spine. The oozing slick from between Tweek’s legs leaks in a continuous river of vulgar fluids and slathers itself all over the tops of Craig’s thighs as they rock against each other. It’s so fucking hard to resist. His dick feels like it might burst if he doesn’t get some kind of relief so he uselessly grinds it with a bit more purpose. He’s desperate for any sort of friction even though he knows this won’t be good enough. Craig can tell he’s likely bruising Tweek’s hips but he retains his white-knuckled grip and rolls their bodies together in the same uneasy but repetitive motion.

“I do,” Tweek insists. “I do, Craig… Augh, help me… Please, you have to help me…!”

This breaks something in Craig. Deep from his belly, a grisly sound begins to emerge. It grows with his frustration until it resounds in a husky throttle and he can feel his teeth bared. Craig roughly yanks Tweek and flips him over onto his back. In a swift motion, he pins him into the mattress and holds him down by the shoulder as he looms above him. Tweek’s face contorts in a messy array of emotions, ranging all the way from a surprised sort of terror to a warped glimmer of excitement and greed. Craig’s chest heaves under the stress of resistance. He can feel the spittle that dots his lips and the weight of his dick between his legs feels heavier than ever with anticipation. He snarls down at Tweek, torn between holding true to his word and giving in to his nature. He wants to bite into Tweek’s neck and feel the soft skin against his teeth. He wants to thrust hard and fast into Tweek’s tight, velvety hole. He wants to feel the way he knows Tweek’s body would writhe and bend to his every whim. He wants to taste the salt on his skin and listen to the breathy gasps for air and see the way their bodies could so readily latch onto one another. He wants to smell the bouquet of pheromones and the stench of dirty, filthy, unencumbered sex. But he can’t do any of that. So instead he trembles above Tweek’s slim, sculpted form and dominates him in the only way left remaining.

“Can’t you see I’m fucking helping you?!” Craig booms at him.

Tweek flinches, but it’s hard to tell if that’s in response of just his natural state. Craig doubles down and forces his shoulders harder into the soft pile of fabrics. A few gurgles slip out of Tweek and he squirms uncomfortably but otherwise doesn’t resist. Craig’s muscles clench and burn throughout all his limbs. He can feel himself fading fast. Tweek is exactly where every fiber of his body tells him he needs him. His body acts of its own volition and his terrible, angry cock instinctually aligns itself with Tweek’s pulsing hole. It’s so soft, so impossibly wet and warm and their bodies both mutually beg and plead and cry out for merciful relief. Craig’s knees threaten to give out on him. The overwhelming and gratifying sensation of Tweek’s slippery fluids flooding all over his head makes his vision blur and his breath hitch.

“Please, Craig… please…!” Tweek’s eyes are entirely out of focus and it’s more than apparent he’s hardly cognizant of what he’s saying. “Just fuck me, hrngh, god, fuck me…!”

Rather than encourage him to proceed, this manages to snap Craig out of the lustful stupor enough to nearly get a grasp on reality again. He’s still so riddled with hormones and frustration, though. He growls and slams Tweek’s body again. One hand finds its way back to Tweek’s neck and squeezes it there. Not enough to bring him bodily harm, but enough to command and force him to shut the fuck up.

“You can’t fucking say that, Tweek!” Craig grits out and pushes into his windpipe. “Don’t you fucking get it? If you say that, I’ll fucking do it! Do you even hear yourself?!”

Tweek’s hands scramble to wrap themselves feebly around Craig’s wrist. Tears from strain form in the corners of his eyes and Craig can feel him struggling. The part of Craig that can still feel any amount of human decency is hit with a nauseous wave of guilt. He relinquishes his chokehold and leans back. The hand that once threatened to steal the opportunity for oxygen from Tweek rises upwards and he drags it across his face.

“God damn it,” he hisses while Tweek gasps for air. “You made me go and lose control of my goddamn emotions.”

Tweek splutters and moans, then wipes his drool off on the back of his wrist. His expression is like an oil slick– it’s impossible to get a solid read on its finite qualities. It distorts with every breath he takes, warping from furious to frightened to compliant to confused. Finally, he catches his breath and speaks.

“You’re an asshole, Craig,” Tweek informs him plainly.

And it’s true. Craig entirely agrees with the assessment. He won’t refute it, but it still stings in its validity. He grunts, hoping that it signals neither assent nor rebuttal. He sits back on his heels just to pull away from the temptation of Tweek’s body. But despite that and despite Craig’s uncouth behavior, Tweek bends his knees and angles his hips up towards Craig. The mouth-watering aroma wafts around Craig and he can’t help but lick his lips and let the hungry dribbles of saliva pool in his mouth. He struggles to gulp it down.

“Yeah, well… you’re out of control,” Craig snips back.

Even though he’s just berated Tweek, Craig lets his arms drape lazily around Tweek’s legs and presses them tight against his own torso. His fingertips trace idle lines along the musculature and cause the fine hairs there to stand on end. Tweek’s hips rotate in a quivering jitter, sneaking ever closer to the heat between Craig’s thighs as if he has no sense of authority over his own body.

“Urgh, you said you’d help me,” Tweek whines, back to his frantic state and all former transgressions clearly forgotten at the moment.

“I did say that,” Craig agrees because it is factually correct.

Giving Tweek what he’s asking for, though, has the terrifying possibility of ruining both their lives. He kneads the taut flesh in his hands as he fumbles through his possibilities. Focusing on deliberate breathing continues to be the only way to retain his sensibility, so Craig works diligently to maintain even, calculated aspirations. He wants so desperately to soothe Tweek. He wants in an equally desperate measure to throw it all away and ravish him until neither of them can walk or think or function beyond the vulgarity. The whole situation is so entirely unfair. He can’t even properly articulate his paltry woes since he’s so tunnel-visioned. Craig finds his thoughts wandering back to earlier in the day when he held Tweek close to him.

“I, angh, please, Craig… I need this to stop,” Tweek pleads in earnest.

There’s no heat behind the words. It’s a genuine, vulnerable cry for help. Something sharp pokes at Craig between his ribs and swells into something that manages to feel like it’s both crushing and bubbling over until it overwhelms him entirely. He doesn’t wholly recognize it at first, but it’s affection and sympathy and weakness all wound up into a clumsy package.

“Oh, honey…” he croons tenderly and dips his head towards Tweek’s knees. “You need relief.”

“I do… Augh, Craig, I do…”

Craig hums and presses a wet kiss to the inside of one of those creamy, trembling thighs. The pheromones are so strong Craig can’t resist the urge to sink his teeth into the flesh. He feels so light-headed but he works on instinct alone so his state of mind feels almost irrelevant. With only the slightest struggle, he’s able to hold back enough to merely graze his teeth over the sumptuous, salty flesh. His back arches and his eyes roll back while Tweek’s hips begin to buck a bit more erratically again. He’s not sure what in the hell is possessing him to work his tongue as he does, but he laves it lower and lower in a series of wet ribbons until his nose finds itself just below Tweek’s balls. He heaves a shaky exhale hotly against Tweek’s drenched opening and drinks in the luscious aroma of pheromones and sex and the piquant notes that mark it distinctly as Tweek. Craig urges those tense legs to fall further open and whispers a delicate promise softly into the flood.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

[12/?]

He’s shaking. Granted, he’s been on-and-off shaking this entire time. But now, Craig can intimately feel the tremors. Tweek’s thighs rest on either side of his face. The soft, downy hairs along his lotus-white skin tickle his cheeks. Craig can feel the vibrations coursing through Tweek’s body and he experiences the strangest sort of sympathetic reaction. At this proximity, he can sense every tremble and every vibration. He breathes in deeply and trembles as well. He can feel the buzzing frenzy that grips Tweek’s entire body; he can see and smell it as well. His keen sense of smell can detect the subtle top notes in the salty river flowing from Tweek’s backside and he savors them as his eyes flutter shut.

“Craig…” Tweek whines his name and it sends a crackling volt of electricity through his limbs. “Arngh, I just want to feel better…”

“I know,” Craig breathes the words hot and slow against the puffy, sensitive area.

Tweek clamps his legs tighter around Craig’s head, but Craig pries them back open. He’s in some sort of trance. He’s hyper-fixated on his self-appointed task and forces his body to remain steady. He’s doing this for Tweek. He’s doing this for himself. A hungry puddle of saliva pools under his tongue and he swallows it down. Craig feels starved. He wants to consume and devour but he knows he has to be cautious. He has to stay vigilant and in control. With a steady breath, Craig pushes his mouth against a thigh and slowly yet firmly sinks his teeth into the flesh.

“Craig, please!”

It’s positively exhilarating. The way the supple skin yields to his tight jaw makes all the pores on Craig’s body open pleasantly and a trickle of prickly sweat rolls down his spine.

“Deep breaths, Tweek,” Craig reminds him in a rumbly voice and plants a wet kiss to soothe the spot he just assaulted. “You have to be strong, okay? Your body is going through so much. We’re going to get you through this. You need some relief.”

Craig can hear Tweek whine in response, and while he can’t see anything, he can feel Tweek’s head nodding in vigorous agreement as well. He wraps his arms around Tweek’s legs to hold him still and to ground himself as well. A rush of confidence embraces him. Tweek’s thighs taste like salt but leave a subtle sweetness on his tongue. It encourages him to press on and he licks fat lines all the way down to that soft, tender opening. Tweek’s hips fight him all the while. Craig can feel him struggling to remain calm, but every swipe of the hot tongue on his oversensitive skin only makes him squirm more. Though it seems like forever, it’s only been a few fleeting seconds since Craig began. Even still he can’t resist any longer and pokes firmly against Tweek’s hole.

“Oh, shit,” Tweek bucks forward at the sensation.

It only spurs Craig on. He resists the temptation to plunge his tongue inside Tweek as far as it will reach. Instead, he takes a reserved sample of the banquet. Craig presses his lips around Tweek’s opening and allows his tongue to drape across it. It’s so inflamed with the constant gushing of his bodily fluids, he can’t help but want to soothe it for Tweek. He presses his tongue flat against the hole after his first initial prod and grips Tweek’s quaking legs. With all his mental capacity, he hopes the message he’s repeating internally will come across clearly. He hopes Tweek will calm himself. He hopes this will alleviate him and quell the demand for relief from his heat.

“Craig, fuck…” Tweek gasps.

His firm thighs only shiver the more Craig works, but Craig is nothing if not determined. The more Tweek writhes, the more his tongue works his desperate hole. The unrelenting flood of hot slick pours from him in a steady, constant flow and Craig drinks it down like he’s parched. Prior to this, he’s actually never tasted an omega’s slick before and he spares only an ounce of thought to mourn his previous loss. He never wanted to have it on his tongue before. To him, it’s just the biological aid to help him easily penetrate. At least, that’s what it was before. Now, it’s something intimate he feels privileged enough to share with Tweek. It’s strange and there’s an exciting sort of foreignness to that concept. But much like the rest of this experience, that intimacy is both terrifying and exhilarating. Craig dares not to stop. His tongue delicately probes all along Tweek’s greedy entrance and he’s peripherally aware of the low moans that spill from his own mouth and vibrate pleasantly into Tweek’s soft, wet skin.

“Please, Craig!” Tweek’s voice cracks through his pleading. “Craig, you’re, argh, you’re killing me, man!”

Craig growls at that. He wants to prove himself. He needs to do better. His fingers grip tightly to Tweek’s thighs and rip them wider apart. He’s beyond caring if he leaves marks, and with the level of force he’s applied to his grip that gorgeous, translucent skin is sure to become riddled with galaxies of purple and blue bruises. Tweek whines in a garbled mess of moans and gasps as Craig pushes his tongue assertively forward. His determination consumes him and he focuses solely on driving his tongue in and out of Tweek’s throbbing, pulsing hole. The heat emanating from his entrance makes Craig feel absolutely feral. He can hear his own grunts and growls and the wanton gasps for air that he sucks in between each press of his lips and thrust of his tongue. His body remembers to preserve itself in the act through sheer instinct only– Craig can’t focus on breathing or swallowing or relaxing any of his taut muscles as he works. The only thing that matters is pulling the sweet mewls and frenzied cries out of Tweek through the fastidious efforts of his hungry mouth.

“I’m helping you,” Craig reminds them both when he finally bobs his head up for a proper breath.

But he doesn’t wait to hear if Tweek will confirm or deny his theories on helpfulness during this heat. No, instead his own desires overwhelm him again and he’s compelled to dive down between those milky legs once again. He takes only a minute to pause and admire the fruits of his labor thus far. Tweek’s rib cage rises and falls in a heavy rhythm, frantically toiling to get much-needed oxygen. One hand has risen to his mouth where he gnaws on his knuckles in a vain attempt to contain himself. The flush from his cheeks has never diminished, but rather has spread even farther and left most of his upper body tinged in a mottled, splotchy stain. Similarly, the insides of his thighs are a raw, prickly red. This, though, makes him swell with an odd sort of pride. They’re red, after all, from the constantly grazing of his unshaven face against the sensitive flesh. On top of all of this delicious visual, Craig also feels somewhat proud to see that Tweek’s cock rests heavily on top of his belly. It’s thick and twitching with obvious arousal and that only makes Craig want to gratify him all the more. Without a second thought, he dips his head back down between Tweek’s thighs.

His tongue bathes him excessively, practically slobbering on him with unbridled lust as he gulps down wave after wave of luscious slick. It’s smeared all over his face in a sloppy, careless mess. He can’t tell what’s slick and what’s saliva, but it dribbles freely down his chin as he frantically licks and kisses all over Tweek’s eager entrance.

“More,” Tweek managed to chirp needily, somewhere between a plead and a demand. “Craig, I need more. You’re making me feel crazy!”

Craig spares no time to think. The cries might typically aggravate him, or they might serve to riddle him with a false sense of inadequacy. But something about the fervor in Tweek’s tone and the way his hips roll desperately into his face has the opposite effect on him. Rather than feeling like he’s not doing enough, he intrinsically knows he has more to give and he knows it’s being adamantly requested of him. So, instead of pondering his options, Craig acts in the first way he knows how. One of his hands relinquishes the heavy grip on Tweek’s battered thigh and snakes its way under his chin. He’s met with little resistance as he pushes past the impatient ring of swollen muscle and plunges several knuckles deep inside him.

“Fuck,” Craig curses and licks his lips.

The softness and the heat suction around his digit and his breath hitches. It’s a genuine reaction and he’s overcome with new inspiration. Craig slowly drags his finger out just to the tip only to drive it back in with purpose. He moans and kisses the surrounding area if only to remind Tweek the soft ministrations of his mouth aren’t going anywhere any time soon. It’s met with a chorus of stifled gasps and elated trills with each drag of his thrusting index finger. But it’s not enough and they both know it. Craig doesn’t need to ask if Tweek wants more. He can sense it well enough. His wiry body quakes with desire and desperation. His sharp breaths all but insist he wants more from this. And, most importantly, his velvety opening is so impossibly wet. The flood of slick gushes more than ever, completely drenching Craig’s hand with its neverending flow. It’s impressive, really, how fucking soaked he has become. Craig feels so dizzy he couldn’t formulate a coherent thought if he tried. He’s warped into a being of pure, unfiltered instinct. His last lingering thread of sanity dwindles but it is singularly the only thing preventing him from losing the remnants of control he has on the situation. He clings to that thread dearly. If he doesn’t, surely he’ll succumb to this exquisite, succulent omega beneath him and fuck ravenously into his earnest, eager hole.

A second finger easily drives itself inside Tweek and both their knees buckle. It’s so fucking easy Craig can hardly believe it. There’s no resistance at all, but rather there’s almost an apparent greed. It’s still not enough. How could this be enough? He’s so blatantly hungry (starved, really) for the only thing that could possibly relieve him of his lust and distress. But Craig still knows he can’t give it to him. As much as his own cock throbs and aches and begs him to just fucking do it, he can’t. He shouldn’t. Craig props himself upright on his knees and pathetically wraps his free hand around his grotesquely swollen length. He pumps it in time with his other hand thrusting forcefully into Tweek’s weeping entrance. The viscous slick on his fingers teases him unfairly. He needs to feel that heat and that wetness glazed all over his cock. It’s veritably painful to not have that feeling envelope every inch of him. He keeps fucking Tweek with his hand, determined to at least provide relief for one of them. His hole is so tight but he continues to stretch it and he pushes in a third finger without hesitation.

“Craig…Craig!” Tweek squirms, at a point past crying out anything intelligible beyond a raspy smattering of his alpha’s name.

Craig leans back on his heels and rearranges himself. He figures out how to lean his body over Tweek’s. His arm strains from the new, odd angle but he still curls his fingers deep inside that throbbing hole. His cock drapes lazily next to Tweek’s and pulses with abject desire. He needs so badly to relieve himself, too. But he can’t, so instead, he makes a futile attempt at scratching the itch by crashing his mouth harshly against Tweek’s. It’s not like before when those kisses were soft and curious, marked with subtle inklings of desire and nerves. No, this time it’s punctuated with a crackling fire that burns deep inside him. It doesn’t worry about decorum or social graces. It focuses only on the deep-rooted necessity that is driven singularly by his nature. Tweek moans openly into the kiss, signifying both his gratitude and desperation. It’s hot and it’s frantic. They’re both so lost in the moment.

“More,” the word tumbles off Tweek’s tongue and dances around in every corner of Craig’s mouth as he insists upon it. “More…”

It’s a mix of obedience and lust and possibly insanity that pulls another finger out from its curled position against his palm and he shoves it harshly into Tweek’s ass. It’s honestly amazing how easily it glides into place. All four of his digits drag along those soft walls and the stretch makes Craig’s jaw clench and grind. It’s so much, and yet it’s clearly not quite satisfactory for either of them. He wants to force it out of Tweek. There’s some deranged part of his mind that clings obsessively to the conviction that he can’t succumb to this. It contorts itself into the unhinged notion that he can command Tweek’s body into relief in other ways. Despite rationally knowing that this isn’t how any of this works, he continues to fuck Tweek with his hand so harshly that the blonde head beneath him rams over and over into the headboard. His thumb kneads against the soft path of skin between Tweek’s entrance and his ball sack. He feels feverish and delirious. Sweat drips down his forehead and stings his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to bother with that. He wants to fill all of Tweek so badly. He can barely take it anymore. The clench of that tight ring against his hand makes him growl in frustration.

“Craig, I need, ahh, I need more from you,” Tweek outright begs him between their messy, careless kisses.

“I’m giving you everything I can, Tweek,” Craig grouses in frustration and juts his awkward hand forward to press it a bit deep to make his point.

“Mmph, no you’re not,” Tweek whines.

Craig tucks his thumb lower and angles it in a curious sort of way, as though he’s wordlessly offering to insert it, too.

“Grarargh, not like that!” Tweek huffs in exasperation, and Craig huffs similarly, too.

“Does it not feel good?” Craig challenges, not at all ready to lose his dominant edge.

He practically glowers at Tweek, who meets his gaze readily. Craig falters but won’t show it. He’s never had an omega challenge him before. He swallows the lump in his throat but makes no moves to retract his hand from the drenched hole. Tweek’s eyes are filled with a gritty sort of tenacity that makes Craig’s heart flip-flop. His eyebrows knit together in the center of his forehead and his mouth twists into something like a frown but it’s also a bit like a pout.

“Stop teasing me,” he orders Craig clearly. “Fuck me already!”

In an instant, Craig pulls out from Tweek’s hole to have both hands at the ready. He whips both hands forward in order to pin Tweek down. He slams him harshly into the mattress and snarls in his face. It’s close enough that he can see his own spittle fly onto Tweek’s skin.

“I already told you to stop fucking saying that shit!”

“I need it!” Tweek insists.

Craig’s cock bounces in excitement against Tweek’s tight abdomen.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Craig hisses at him. “I’m not going to be able to hold back!”

“Then don’t!” Tweek’s voice is so strong, yet so shrill. “I’m telling you what I need! Fuck me, you asshole! You’re freaked out because you think you need to fix me… I’m not broken, Craig! Argh, just fuck me!”

Something in those words resounds in Craig’s mind. Maybe it’s the blatant openness of the demand, maybe it’s the breaking point for his pheromone-addled mind, or maybe it’s a quiet acceptance that resisting the inevitable only prolongs his suffering. Regardless of the cause, the outcome of this is clear, and Craig severs that last lingering thread of his waning resistance. His breathing goes ragged. He bites his tongue and grips his aching cock. It lines up so easily against Tweek’s impatient, slippery hole. The draw of the heat is almost more than he can withstand. Tweek’s legs readily and easily coil around Craig’s midsection. He’s ready. He’s so painfully, godforsakenly ready.

“Say it again,” Craig demands darkly.

“Fuck me,” Tweek shoots back immediately, intensely, and just above a whisper.

Craig’s hips snap on cue and he brutally drives himself hard and deep inside Tweek. There’s no going back now.

[13/?]

He can still taste the flavors of Tweek’s slick on his tongue. His heart pounds in his ears so loudly it nearly drowns out the erotic melody that constantly spills from Tweek’s lips. The instantaneous relief of penetration feels borderline painful on his engorged cock. Tweek is both impossibly tight yet remarkably easy to fuck. Now that he’s begun, Craig never wants to stop. His eyes blur in and out of focus. He’s seeing stars in his eyes so he forces himself to focus straight ahead on Tweek’s flushed, sweaty body. The various fabrics below him have grown even messier with all their tumbling. Tweek breathes heavily in place atop the oddly crafted nesting pile. His heels dig into the small of Craig’s back and Craig lets his eyes roam over every straining muscle in Tweek’s body. Those glassy eyes are completely out of focus and beads of perspiration dapple his forehead beneath the wild locks of flaxen hair. Pale thighs wrap tightly around Craig’s midsection and squeeze as though he’s afraid Craig will pull away if he releases them. There’s no chance of that, though. Craig couldn’t stop now even if his life depended on it. His head is absolutely swimming and the grip of Tweek’s frantic body around his dick serves to make that sensation both better and worse.

“Fuck, Tweek,” Craig manages to huff out and he hopes that’s all he’ll need to convey exactly how incredible it feels.

Tweek on the other hand can’t even speak. A noise somewhere between a whine and a moan escapes him and then gets caught in an encouraging loop. Craig’s fully hilted inside him, not quite able to move yet. The body is willing, but his mind has stalled from the gratification and his entire being has short-circuited for the time being. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s shaking. He’s absolutely throbbing, and the tight ring gripping his length pulsing in response. It’s a sort of internal, involuntary cadence that subconsciously instructs Craig on what to do. He feels a bit faint from the rush of blood through his limbs and the relieving recompense for all his time spent fruitlessly resisting this. It’s not like he’s never had sex before. But something about the build and the crescendo of this desperation has managed to exemplify every sensation. Until now, it’s been a highly mechanical act. He feels ridiculous, but there’s a weird, tender part of his heart that feels like he’s finally experiencing things properly.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Not with the way Tweek’s beginning to roll against him and his hands reach for any part of his body they can latch onto, anyway. Between the desire churning low in his belly, the strange yet pleasant ache in his chest, and the unbridled need he can sense between the pair of them, Craig is beyond happy to oblige. For the first time he can ever recall, the natural instinct to claim an omega strikes Craig heavily. He’s never felt so strongly before. It’s always been just an itch to scratch and an urge to relieve. But now, as he’s plunged deep inside this omega he’s brought to his bed, all he wants to do is keep him here. He isn’t really sure what that means. He doesn’t even know what that feeling entails. It’s real, though, and it’s so strong and confusing and appealing and consuming all at once. His eyes feel prickly. He’s overwhelmed with intense emotions and physical gratification. Craig doesn’t know why he feels like crying suddenly. Maybe it’s just too much all at once.

It would be terribly humiliating if he, seemingly for no good reason, started to weep the moment he finally stuck his cock in precisely the one place he promised himself he wouldn’t. He bites the corner of his lip to hold it all in. He needs to act. It’s a physical need, of course, but at this point, he feels a certain investment and obligation as well. So instead of thinking about it too much, Craig allows his body to succumb to its natural inclinations. He wants to be closer to Tweek’s body. The idea of that is a bit preposterous, Craig realizes, considering he’s quite literally inside Tweek as the thought occurs to him. But he still wants it. He bends forward and presses their torsos flush. Tweek hisses at the change in the angle, but his arms eagerly slither around Craig’s midsection to pull him even tighter. A wave of overjoyed satisfaction blankets itself all over Craig– it’s confirmation that Tweek wants that proximity, too.

“It feels so good,” Tweek whispers in a throaty, scratchy voice against Craig’s cheek as they find themselves face to face.

Craig is afraid to speak. He’s afraid of making an ass of himself or saying something he doesn’t know if he means. He finally feels in control of his body, but his mind is spiraling out of control in a mixed up, dazed sort of way. Instead, he puts his tongue to better use. He angles his chin and catches Tweek’s open mouth with his own. It’s met with a pacifed sigh of contentment and he swallows it, hungrily drinking down all the satisfaction he’s providing for Tweek and let it morph into his own. Their lips press hotly against each other and their tongues seem to intuitively know exactly how to move together as if it’s all been choreographed. The sweetness of the kiss lingers in the empty space between them when they finally break apart. Craig can’t keep this up any longer. They’ve waited long enough. He finally finds it within himself to say something worth listening to, so he licks his already-damp lips and issues something that is partially a warning and partially a promise.

“I’m not going to be able to stop,” he warns Tweek, and hopes he is the only one of the pair who can hear the warble in his voice.

He fixates his gaze squarely on Tweek’s soulful eyes. There’s something peaceful there, Craig thinks. But that can’t be right, can it? There’s something of a spark behind his irises. It’s delirious bordering on beserk. It’s fiery and marked with a giddy mayhem. He’s decidedly lost in the untamed swell of pheromones and the sultry promise of impending gratification, and he seems wildly driven by the craze of desire and the demands of his fervent body. Nothing at all about his appearance or demeanor speaks to a classic definition of peaceful. And yet, Craig feels at ease. He feels an unfamiliar yet voraciously welcomed sense of confidence. He is struck with such a sense of undeniable and transcendental serenity it very nearly wraps back around into fear and uncertainty. But then Tweek’s hands both move up the sides of his body in a delicate trail. They quiver and shake all the while, but they finally come up to cup Craig’s cheeks. He gazes up at Craig with a strange, jittery hint of a smile on his lips. He looks entirely unhinged and deranged. But there’s something so remarkably reassuring about it, Craig can feel his bones turn to jelly and his heart melts like the hot wax under a candle.

“Don’t stop,” Tweek rasps in that warped, manic way.

The look in his eyes, the clench of his throbbing muscles, the gentle caress of his sweaty hands– it all galvanizes Craig with intense fervor. And so, for the first time since he’s presented as an alpha, Craig obeys the command of an omega. His breath hitches and his arms wrap tightly around Tweek. Naturally, Tweek responds in kind. Their bodies tangle around each other in a mass of greedy limbs. Craig feels like his chest might burst from the strain of it all, but his hips start to move in the familiar way he knows all too well. He starts out easy, dragging his heavy cock along those velvety walls. He savors the first draw for a moment. Tweek is completely drenched. There’s absolutely no resistance from his body. The eager body in his arms is so utterly desperate for him. He thrusts back in and the grip and pull he’s met with makes his eyes roll back in his head. He wonders if this kind of astounding bliss might make him go blind. It’s a stupid thought, but it is so entirely indulgent he honestly couldn’t formulate a functional thought if he tried.

His pace quickens even though his intent was to draw it out. Tweek’s hands roam his body and his tattered fingernails drag along his overheated skin. It stings, but if he’s being honest with himself it only punctuated the abject euphoria he’s experiencing with every roll of his hips.

“Fuck… holy shit, Tweek… Fuck…” Craig babbles, not really saying much at all.

He can’t think straight. He arches his back to get a better angle and thrusts as steadily as his overwrought body will allow. It’s a futile endeavor, though, because the more he fucks with deep thrusts to the hilt into Tweek’s supple hole, the more he loses his rhythm. He’s in a frenzy and the harder he works his hips, the tighter the clench around his swollen cock becomes. There’s no consideration for either of their comfort. They cling to each other’s bodies, but Craig’s knees drive hard into the mattress to support the burden of his labor. Tweek’s head bumps roughly with an arrhythmic thumping against the broken headboard, but neither of them seem dissuaded by this minor inconvenience. An incoherent string of libidinous gurgling steadily slips past Tweek’s parted lips as he attempts to vocalize his pleasure. It’s almost better this way, Craig thinks, because it means he’s made Tweek feel so good he’s gone entirely into a state of undeicpherable ecstacy.

Craig can feel the stiffness of Tweek’s cock pressing between their stomachs. It tickles against the trail of coarse hairs that start at his belly button and lead down to his cock. He groans into the crook of Tweek’s neck and hopes the friction against it feels good. He wants so badly to feel all of Tweek. Craig growls and fucks into him hard and sloppy but full of vigor and without restraint. He feels oddly selfless, considering a part of him has always believed the entire purpose of fucking an omega is solely to relieve himself of the annoyance of enduring a rut.

“I wanna, hah, wanna make you cum,” he grunts between heavy breaths.

“Oh, god,” Tweek all but squeaks in response. “More…more!”

Again Craig obeys. His lungs burn, his heart aches, and his vision slips in and out, but he obeys all the same. His hips are wound tight from their incessant thrusting. Tweek’s hands fly above his head to brace himself against the crooked headboard. Craig props himself up on his elbows and drives into the tightness as steadily as he can. He watches Tweek’s face again now that he’s able. Mouth agape and eyes rolled back behind fluttering eyelashes, it’s apparent that Tweek is entirely gone. A low rumble resounds from deep in Craig’s chest and he huffs frantically. It’s not enough. He needs more, too. His cock is starting to swell even further. He’s getting close, but he’s greedy and quickly growing obsessed with his newfound desire to watch as his efforts easily undo Tweek. Craig tenses himself and uses what little strength is left in his body to prop himself upright. He lifts Tweek’s legs by the back of his thighs and pushes them forward. Tweek gasps as Craig’s length drives harder and deeper into him.

“Touch yourself,” Craig growls from between clenched teeth.

“Craig…” Tweek puffs out as he gulps erratically to keep his breath.

He hesitates, squirming as he continually strains to accommodate the bulging girth inside his ass. Craig’s patience is wearing thin. He needs that hypnotic visual and he’s in no position to resist getting what he wants right now.

“Do it, Tweek,” he pushes down on Tweek’s thighs, forcing his knees towards his chest. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

Tweek whines and writhes, but one hand obediently slides down from the headboard and his knobbly fingers wrap tightly around his pretty pink cock. His shoulders quiver with each shuddering breath but he focuses on the task anyway. Craig can feel himself escalating rapidly towards his climax. And who could blame him? He’s balls deep inside a gorgeous blond omega. That very same omega is sweating and gasping from the stretch of his monstrous cock buried all the way inside him. He’s sweating and panting and begging for more while he erratically jerks himself off and slips his thumb over the weeping head of his own dick. Craig is absolutely drooling at the sight of it. With every fiber of his being, he wants to unfurl Tweek from the inside. He wants to having him cumming on his cock and moaning his name. His chest is sore in a pleasant sort of way, aching with the anticipation. Tweek’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his eyebrows scrunch together. His mouth hangs open, lax yet somehow drawn tight all at once. Whimpers of pleasure mingle with moans of overwhelmed distress fall shamelessly past his lips.

“Ahh, you’re so big, Craig… it’s so big inside me… shit, man…” Tweek wheezes out amidst the growing balloon of Craig’s impending release.

“I’m gonna knot soon, if you keep that up,” Craig warns gruffly.

Tweek’s eyes shoot open at this. He bites his lip and lurches forward just a little bit. His whole body practically vibrates with his trembling. He pumps his cock eagerly and nods his head wildly.

“Fuck. Fuck! Yes, oh god. Craig, knot in me! Grarghgh, please! Please! Fuck, dude, I need you to knot in me!” Tweek pleads.

It’s not the first time an omega has begged for him, but it’s certainly the first time it has affected him. Flashes of light glow behind Craig’s eyes each time he blinks. He’s suffocating in the most exhilarating way. He slams hard into Tweek over and over, eager and tenacious. Each thrust grows more difficult to perform– his cock is swollen so enormously it’s starting to become a genuine challenge to pull out and force it in once again. Tweek’s cries ring in his ears like a little bell, chiming over and over again through the lust and the lasp of better judgment. But they both need it so badly.

“You’re so good, Tweek,” Craig praises him genuinely. “Fuck, you’re so, so good…”

He’s closing in now. The end is in sight. Tweek’s knuckles have gone white with their grip around his cock but he pumps himself relentlessly with Craig’s wild fucking. It’s not a perfect match in pace, but it’s pretty damn close. It’s a vision Craig hopes will burn itself into a secret corner of his mind where he can revisit it over and over again.

“Jesus, man,” Tweek huffs desperately. “Ahh, I feel so full. Oh god… oh god, I’m gonna… I’m-”

And just like that, Craig watches as the first thick spurt shoots onto Tweek’s own chest. It’s followed by the heavy flow of his cum gushing from his tip and soils both his shaft and his hand. It doesn’t deter him, though, and he continues to work himself to completion. Craig can barely dislodge himself from Tweek’s ass by now, but he still fucks in and out as best as his grotesquely swollen cock will allow. He growls, enraptured with the vulgar yet beautiful mess beneath him.

“God damn it, that’s so fucking hot,” he wheezes.

Eventually Tweek goes limp like a discarded rag doll. Somehow, seeing him spent and filthy is even more alluring than seeing him bucking and writhing with need. Craig grapes onto those limp legs and pounds into him mercilessly. It’s more of a grind than a thrust, considering his impossibly engorged girth has grown so large he can no longer retract it. But even still, his hips push into Tweek’s body as hard as he’s able. He’s drenched in sweat and slick and the sultry scent of their blended pheromones engulfs him fully. Right now, he has no concern for anything in the entire world aside from continuing to pull those raspy, garbled moans from his worn-out and highly overstimulated omega.

[13.5/?]

By the time he reaches his peak, he’s unable to articulate himself. He can’t give a warning beyond the low, rumbly groan that starts deep in his chest and bursts forth desperately from his lungs. He’s fully knotted now. He can no longer move, no longer speak, and no longer do anything at all beyond enjoy and endure the slick, wet grip around his thick cock as he unloads wave after wave of hot, gushing cum deep within Tweek’s insides. He can feel the lewd sloshing of it all around his length as it pools in his guts. A satisfying tickle along his empty balls lets him know he’s filled him so full, it’s spilling out despite the knot locking them together. Eventually, Craig collapses in a heap on top of Tweek’s ruined body.

“Mmmm,” Tweek moans pleasantly and rolls his hips to adjust for the huge knots buried between his walls.

Their arms tangle around each other, shaking and weak from the ongoing efforts. Craig’s mouth works of its own volition and peppers any part of Tweek’s salty, sweaty body it can find with delicate yet sloppy kisses. The endorphins of the afterglow make him feel pleasantly affectionate and he revels in it until eventually, he begins to unwind.

And then everything begins to sink in.

Reality sets in. His eyes bulge. His muscles clench.

Oh, fuck.

(Oh shit, this is the fucky chapter and I slightly exceeded the maximum word count so now this chapter is weirdly broken into two parts, sorry!!!!) ((Also there's probably lots and lots of grammatical errors in these two, double sorry!!!!!))

[14/?]

“I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t hear you right. You did WHAT?”

It’s been a bit longer than a full day since Craig snapped out of his stupor and had a flash of clarity. And, it’s been a little less than that since he loaned Tweek a set of sweats to wear once they were able to tear their bodies from each other, and approximately less time even still since he walked him to his dorm room. He spent an indeterminable amount of time alternating between staring at the ceiling and pacing nervously. There are a few blank spots in that time frame, too, so he figures he probably inadvertently fell asleep for a brief spell here and there. It’s been around half a day since he returned to the shower room, but this time he actually took a normal shower (the kind with soap and hot water and absolutely no grinding on acquaintances). After that, Craig’s first class of the day was due to begin. But like the handful of days leading up to that moment, he didn’t attend it. He wasted a bit more time fretting and procrastinating sending a handful of emails to explain his absence and instead spent his afternoon taking a bus off campus to purchase a new phone since he managed to break his old one. It’s been a few hours since he returned to the ghastly state of his single-sized dormitory apartment. He spent a while mindlessly shuffling around, collecting the tattered ruins of his life and cleaning up the various broken items and stained linens. And now, it’s been approximately 5 minutes since he gathered the courage to call his mother and disclose the sordid events of the last handful of days.

“Craig,” she states his name sternly and it resonates in an unpleasant and tinny way through the receiver, but it’s laced with the type of concern any mother might have for her only son. “Tell me I didn’t hear what I think I just heard.”

Craig groans and runs a hand down his face. He can feel his body giving out on itself so he sits down on the edge of his crappy couch. He leans forward so his elbows prop themselves on his lap.

“I didn’t stutter,” he challenges her.

It’s rude and it’s defensive, and he knows that. But he can’t bring himself to repeat what he just confessed. It’s bad enough that he had to say it once. She clucks her tongue from the other end of the line. It’s clear she’s disappointed. He shrinks in on himself. It’s a weird feeling, truthfully. It’s a little bit shameful and humiliating, but also it’s frustrating and he’s quite a bit on edge. It’s not like his mom is the one with the problem– it’s his own burden to bear in the end.

“Well,” she begins again, cautiously. “Beta or omega?”

Craig groans but manages to mutter, “Omega.”

“Craig, are you serious?! An omega. Really? You know you definitely just got that poor thing pregnant,” she wastes no time in berating him.

“Mom!” Craig yelps.

It’s fucking embarrassing to hear her announce factual things like this. He stomps his foot petulantly and tears his old, worn hat from his head just to have the satisfaction of flinging it to the ground. He really doesn’t have a defensible argument here. He knows what he did. In fact, he’s pretty much the main guy who knows what he did. Whether he felt like himself or not, he’s the very person who went into an unmitigated rut. He’s the one who went out into the world with his big stupid boner and he’s the one who went prowling. Craig himself is the one who found an unchecked omega in heat, brought him back to his room, built a nest, and then succinctly fucked him into completion. He’s the one who felt the cum leak out of that plush, slippery ass and he’s the one whose knot remained tethered until the swelling went down. She signed his school papers and knows as well as he does that he attended his sexual health and education classes. They both know that Craig knows exactly how the act of getting pregnant works. She doesn’t have to rub it in and make him feel worse about it.

“I’m putting you on speaker,” she snips.

“Mom, no-”

But it’s too late for rebuttals. She’s already shouting across the house to get his father to join in on the conversation.

“Thomas! Thomas, get in here right now!”

There’s a clamor and then Craig’s father’s voice chimes in a bit distantly. Craig can hear that he’s breathless from rushing to the scene, but he can’t quite make out the first thing he says.

“It’s your asshole son on the phone,” she says, almost dismissively but not quite.

“My asshole son?” Thomas huffs suspiciously. “What the hell did the boy do this time?! He’s only ‘my son' when he’s done something!”

Craig can very nearly see both of their angry faces in his mind’s eye.

“Tell him what you did, Craig,” his mother practically dares him. “Go on, tell him, you little shit.”

Craig can only moan like a dying animal. He wishes a hole would open in the ground and he could just vanish inside it forever.

“He had unprotected sex,” she states as a matter of fact when Craig has taken too long to incriminate himself.

“It wasn’t with another alpha, was it?” Thomas accuses him immediately.

“What?” Craig perks up at that, bewildered. “No? No, it was an omega!”

“Okay, good,” Thomas says as if that were genuinely his biggest concern and he’s been placated.

“Good?! Thomas, are you fucking serious? Your son just told you he had unprotected sex with an omega!”

“Oh.”

“Don’t just say ‘oh’! This is serious!”

“Well damn it, Laura! What did you expect?! He’s a big strong alpha! He’s supposed to have sex with omegas!”

“Unprotected sex, Thomas!” Laura emphasizes.

Craig wishes they would stop acting like he committed a series of heinous crimes. He knows he’s in trouble, but they’re really overreacting here. There’s a shuffle as his father grabs the cell phone to speak more clearly into it.

“Did you knot, son?” Thomas asks him sincerely. “Did you, uh, plant your seeds, so to say?”

Craig is absolutely mortified. He drops his brand new phone on his lap and grabs a couch cushion to scream into it. He’s pretty sure he’s in hell. After a moment, he picks up the phone again and it’s clear his parents have been bickering for a few moments in his brief absence from the call.

“Craig,” Laura has changed her tune and now attempts to speak to him a bit more softly. “Please tell me it’s at least someone you care about.”

Something jolts straight through Craig’s chest at those words. He sits straight up in his seat and a strange feeling washes over him. Honestly, he doesn’t have a good answer to that question. Because on the one hand, how could he possibly care about someone he hardly knows? That’s a ridiculous notion. But then again, on the other hand, there was undeniably something remarkable between them. Craig would absolutely be lying to himself if he said what he felt the other night was strictly the result of raging hormones and his instinctual biological imperative. He isn’t sure what to make of it. He is, however, sure that that encounter was notably different from his previous string of cheap, quick fucks. His palms feel a bit sweaty all of a sudden and it’s a real challenge to grip his phone. The answer won’t come easily, so he attempts to speak cautiously and keep things vague for now.

“Uh, well…” Craig steadies his voice. “I know him from a few classes we have together.”

“Him?” Laura hones in on that part of the sentence. “Craig, c’mon. Him? God damn it. I should have known. It’s always a male omega. Every time you hear one of these stories about an accidental pregnancy, it’s a male omega. I taught you better than this, Craig.”

“You’re kind of being an asshole, Mom,” Craig grouses.

“How does it feel to be a statistic, Craig?” Laura drives home her prejudiced point.

“Fine,” Craig says defiantly.

She grumbles, clearly irate that her old-world views have no real bearing on Craig. Once again, she tries a new angle.

“What’s his name,” she sighs and asks out of politeness rather than genuine questioning.

“Tweek,” Craig answers the first easy question of this horrible discussion.

“That’s an odd name,” Thomas grunts in disapproval. “And you’re sure he’s not an alpha?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m sure he’s not a fucking alpha,” Craig rolls his eyes even though neither of them can see him.

“Well,” Thomas pauses thoughtfully. “What’s he look like?”

A thousand images race through Craig’s mind. The memories flood back in alarming succession. He’s shorter than Craig, but at his height, that’s pretty much a given. He’s slim, but not scrawny. He has the well-sculpted muscles of an athlete despite the demeanor of a cornered rodent. His eyes hold a unique sadness that Craig supposes he doesn’t even realize he broadcasts to anyone who might take the time to really look into them. Maybe Craig is the only one who can see it. Maybe Craig is the only one who cares. Craig’s chest clenches involuntarily at that notion. Tweek’s lips are chapped, and Craig’s not really sure if they’re uneven or if he just twitches and chews on them so frequently it’s impossible to see them properly. He is sure, though, about their warmth and the way his body felt so right when those scratchy lips pressed hard into his own. It takes a moment, but Craig snaps back to reality. His father asked him a question and instead of responding, he started daydreaming like a weirdo.

“He’s, uh, he’s blonde?” Craig decides to give a simple answer.

“Atta boy!” Thomas practically cheers. “No Tucker can resist a blonde! Isn’t that right, Laura?”

“Thomas, this isn’t helping!” Laura scolds him. “Can you just leave and let me speak with my son?”

“You’re the one who called me over!”

“Thomas…” she warns him.

“Good to see he’s your son again,” his father scoffs, but the distinctive sound of his stomping feet lets Craig know he was an obedient husband and it’s just himself and his mother once again.

An uncomfortable silence between them lingers in the air for more than a few moments. Craig has no idea how to proceed with the conversation, so he holds his tongue. His mother’s presence is only confirmed by her thoughtful, measured breathing into the receiver. It feels like an eternity passes before she speaks again.

“Craig…” she starts slowly, and it’s clear she’s trying her best not to berate him any further. “What are you going to do now?”

Craig heaves a ragged sigh. He slumps back into the wall of the couch. It’s a simple question at face value. And yet, it’s the most complicated question he’s ever been asked in his entire life. There are realistically only a few options on the table. None of them are particularly palatable. His eyes dart back and forth as he mulls each one over, attempting to speed-run the possibilities and outcomes of every choice in his mind. Ultimately, he’s at a loss here. He’s the type of guy who always has some kind of logic to follow or some kind of fix for whatever problem he’s faced with. Now, that’s not the case at all.

“I have no idea,” he finally admits.

Those words aren’t easy to say. He feels small and helpless. It’s foreign and scary. It’s unsettling.

“Well,” she clucks her tongue. “In the end, I can’t tell you what to do.”

He nods in understanding, even though she can’t see him.

“Lord knows I’ve tried telling you what to do in the past, and look where that’s gotten us,” she continues, and while the words themselves have a bite there’s a bit of a tongue-in-cheek quality to them that manages to lighten the mood if only a little bit. “I don’t know Tweek. And maybe you don’t either.”

“I know him a little,” Craig injects, but it sounds flimsier than he’d hoped.

“But I know you,” she avoids his attempt to derail and presses on. “And even though you’re a little asshole, you’re my son. No matter what you do, I’ll still love you. I just hope that you’ll do the right thing.”

He’s struck by that. His eyebrows knit together and his jaw tightens. It’s supportive, but that hardly gives him any substantial guidance.

“What’s the right thing?” Craig asks, just above a whisper.

“You tell me,” she says airily, as though she’s commenting on the weather.

“What if I don’t know what the right thing is?”

“You’ll know, Craig,” Laura affirms him.

He feels simultaneously hopeless and confident. Or maybe that’s not what it is. Oddly enough, it’s starting to sink in. He feels supported. And for that much, he’s grateful.

“Okay,” he agrees in that same small voice.

“And Craig?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant it,” his mother speaks with a tenderness he’s rarely heard from her in all his life. “I’ll still love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Craig slurs the words together awkwardly.

With that, she hangs up and the line goes dead. Once again, Craig sits alone in the silence with nothing but his own terrible, crushing thoughts. He still doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. Frozen in place on the edge of the world’s most uncomfortable couch, Craig weighs his options. How is he supposed to discern right from wrong here? He knows he’s made an egregious error, but he also knows he can only be held culpable to a certain extent. But in the end, blame and guilt are largely irrelevant concepts at play. Responsibility is the next step here, but Craig is still uncertain about what that entails.

It’s a very long time before he feels able to peel himself from where he sits, but when he does, it’s a simple yet profound thought that pulls him from his pool of selfish misery. It took two people to get into this mess. Logically, he thinks, it should take those same two people to reason their way back out of it. He hasn’t spoken to Tweek since he so chivalrously walked him home after blasting him full of cum. Craig cringes at the thought. Probably the best course of action is to just talk to this guy. After all, how hard can a conversation about that night be? They did the deed, and now they should address it. Craig feels like his stomach is full of butterflies, except all the butterflies are vomiting inside him. Maybe it’s the right thing to do. Maybe his mother was right and this gross, queasy feeling is the confirmation. At the very least, he’s pretty sure talking to Tweek can’t make anything worse. He lets his fear warp into invigoration as he rises from the couch and starts the search for a matching pair of shoes. For the first time in his life, he decides not to allow his status as an alpha feel like a burden. Craig willfully and unquestionably makes the firm decision in his mind to do the right thing.

[15/?] (This one also went over the word limit so it's a two-parter again)

It’s a short walk from the wooden door of Craig’s room to the heavy metal doors that lead towards the courtyard. He pushes them open and takes in a deep breath of the cool air. Everything seems duller than it did a few days ago. The leaves on the trees are less vibrant, the aromas that hang in the air are less fragrant, and even the air itself feels less oppressive on his skin. Craig couldn’t be more relieved. It’s a strange sort of relief, though, because even though in so many ways he physically feels better now that his rut has abated, he is teeming with a new kind of emotional distress he’s never experienced before. Ironically, it’s so all-encompassing it’s wrapped back around into physical discomfort. Nervous energy manifests low in his belly and swishes around inside him, making his skin feel tight like it’s crawling. His joints feel stiff too, but in all honesty that might be from the strain of his previous physical activities and then his complete inability to relax ever since then. Nevertheless, he plods one foot in front of the other along the concrete walkway.

Tweek actually resides in the same dormitory building, he came to learn the other day. But due to the nature of the shape of their building, it’s actually a quicker journey to cut through the courtyard to walk from one room to the other. He pays little attention to the manicured garden or the supposedly inspirational statues that are adorned with academic quotes etched upon them. He’s much too distracted. Not that he’s thinking about much, however. In fact, he has very little going in the way of a plan of action. His entire thought process was to essentially force his legs to carry him all the way back to Tweek’s room, knock on the door, and then sort of wing it from there. He didn’t want to dawdle on plotting out the details for the very genuine fear that he’d lose his gumption if he paused to think too hard. So for now, he walks. No thoughts, no distractions, only the singular task of initiating an open discussion with the poor omega he carelessly knocked up. He cringes and decides that’s a shitty way to think about it. He corrects himself. He’s going to initiate an open discussion with Tweek. He’s an individual. When he arrives, he hesitates. His mouth feels strangely dry and his palms feel strangely wet. Craig stares at the door for at least two solid minutes before he moves. Two minutes isn’t a very long time, but it’s certainly too long to be standing paralyzed while staring at a door. He forces his knuckles to firmly tap the door identical to his own three times. And then he waits.

Nothing happens. He’s getting more and more anxious. Part of him wants to turn on his heels and book it back the way he came, but a stronger part of him plants himself squarely in front of the door and refuses to move until the door opens. It feels like an eternity, but it’s really only another minute or two until Craig can hear some kind of commotion from the other side of the door. There are a few small crashing sounds and heavy footsteps, and then the distinctive sound of multiple locks turning. The door creaks open just a few inches, but Craig can see a mess of blonde hair through the empty space. His breath hitches and his heart does a cartwheel.

“Yeah?”

A voice speaks to him through the door and in an instant, Craig’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not from excitement but from fear. And further still, it’s not from the fear of having a heavy discussion with an acquaintance-turned-sex-partner, but from the fact that the voice speaking to him distinctly does not belong to Tweek. The door opens a bit further and Craig gets a full view of the person addressing him. He’s blonde, sure, but the rest is different. Craig looks ahead to the smiling face with a chipped tooth and downturned eyes.

“You’re not Tweek,” Craig states stupidly, and without a filter.

“Nice to see you, too, Tucker,” the imposter blonde clucks his tongue. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

The sentence doesn’t register right away in Craig’s mind. He’s too startled and distraught.

“What are you doing in Tweek’s dorm, Kenny?” Craig frowns, confusion plastered on his features.

“Uh,” Kenny scratches the back of his neck, clearly just as confused as Craig. “I just told you I live here, dude?”

“Tweek has a roommate?” Craig’s voice, unfortunately, goes up an octave in his sudden panic.

If he was nervous before, he’s bordering on a full-blown panic now. Dozens of thoughts race through his mind. It’s been nearly two full days since he dropped Tweek back at this very door. So much can happen in that span of time. What if Tweek told his roommate everything? What does Kenny know? Can Kenny keep a secret? Does Tweek trust Kenny? Is Tweek close to Kenny? Does Kenny know Tweek is officially an omega? Craig feels queasy. He can feel the color drain from his face. Kenny scrutinizes him for a moment and frowns before taking a cautious step forward.

“You doing okay there, Craig? Did something happen?” Kenny drops his cavalier attitude and takes one of much more genuine concern.

“No, I just need to talk to Tweek,” Craig says flatly, both lying and telling the truth all at once.

“Ah,” Kenny nods, but it’s apparent he knows something is fishy. “He’s not here right now. You don’t look so good. Wanna come inside and sit down for a minute?”

“No,” Craig scoffs as if the idea is ridiculous. “I just need to talk to Tweek. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, he’s at work,” Kenny shrugs.

Craig stares at him vacantly. He didn’t know Tweek had a job. He definitely doesn’t know where he works. Kenny stares back at him. This is so fucking awkward.

“At the coffee shop…?” Kenny finally supplies with a gesture of his hand as though that much were obvious.

Craig knows of at least five different places to get coffee on this stupid campus. That doesn’t narrow the search very much. There’s another awkward beat between them. Kenny looks increasingly concerned, but Craig can’t get out of his own head enough to notice.

“...the one he’s named after? Tweek Bros? Sure you don’t wanna come inside, buddy? You look like shit,” Kenny swings his arm back into the house in something akin to a welcoming motion.

“Fuck off, Kenny,” Craig takes an aggressive form of defense. “I’m not your buddy, you weirdo.”

With that, he turns and pulls out his new phone to plug the walking directions to the coffee shop into his GPS. He channels his tumultuous feelings all into something more condensed and familiar and fixates on actively hating Kenny. Truth be told, he doesn’t actually hate Kenny at all. But focusing on forcing himself to hate him is far easier than untangling the string of complex and foreign emotions he’s faced with instead. Kenny hasn’t done anything except offer him an uncomfortable kindness and point him in the right direction, but even still… Craig scrunches up his face hatefully and flips him off before following the path towards the cafe where he’ll find Tweek.

It’s a short walk, really, and when Craig arrives after his brief yet anguished journey, he realizes he’s actually walked right past this exact place multiple times before. He’s never paid it any mind since he’s never been much of a coffee drinker. It’s a nice storefront, though. There are big glass windowpanes that allow any passersby to catch a glimpse of the welcoming interior adorned with wooden furniture and cozy warm lighting. Even though his senses feel a bit dull right now, he can still smell the inviting aromas of fresh coffee and warm pastries wafting from inside out into the chilly air. On the entryway door, the company logo is plastered on the glass along with thick black letters, spelling out “Tweek” right there on the storefront. It's a wonder he didn't notice before. Craig surreptitiously peers through the window. His chest feels tight and his tongue feels thick when he catches sight of Tweek himself behind the counter. He hasn’t been sighted– Tweek looks preoccupied. It’s now or never, though, so Craig finds his strength and pushes through the door. He’s ready to say something to him, anything at all, whether it be a greeting or an apology or some weird messy monologue about their night together. He’s not ready, however, for the door to have a cute little set of jingling bells that chime the moment he swings open the door.

Naturally, it alerts Tweek right away and he looks up. Their eyes meet in shock and the mug Tweek was holding crashes to the floor and shatters. He screams. Craig winces. Several customers turn their heads and several more shuffle around, only adding to the commotion. Tweek apologizes vaguely to the room at a volume much too loud for a quiet, indoor coffee house. Craig stands in place, less sure than he’s ever been before. To others, it must look like he’s waiting patiently while Tweek gathers the shards with a broom and a wash rag, but in reality, he’s frozen on the spot. An abstract amount of time passes and Tweek emerges from the other side of the counter to get up close to Craig. He’s wearing a logo-branded apron smeared with coffee grounds on top of his usual attire. His hair is the same mess as ever (though there’s a bit of sweat along his hairline), and his eyes are wide and bloodshot.

“What are you doing here?” Tweek hisses in a low voice at Craig, but the tone denotes shock far more than malice.

“Needed to talk to you,” Craig mumbles.

“Hrngh, you couldn’t text?” Tweek’s shoulders slump, though he really isn’t relaxed or relieved.

“I don’t have your number.”

“Oh,” Tweek turns his head away and doesn’t contribute to that thought any further.

Craig is acutely aware of the way his chest is rising and falling erratically. This was a stupid idea. What was he thinking, just showing up unannounced during a work shift like this? He has no dialogue prepared and nothing to offer beyond his disruptive presence. He should leave. This is going extremely poorly. He should turn and run while he still has the chance.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he blurts out and starts to turn back to the door.

“Wait!”

Tweek’s hand shoots forward and grabs at his wrist. They both look down to see the abrupt gesture in action. Tweek clings a bit too harshly, but Craig doesn’t pull away. Tweek looks as startled by the action as Craig feels. A fleeting moment flies by and once again, Craig is surprised that Tweek doesn’t want to be left alone. Eventually, Tweek relinquishes his grip and holds onto his own arm instead while shuffling his feet in place.

“I was scared we wouldn’t talk after everything,” Tweek admits, speaking into his chest.

“We should definitely talk,” Craig agrees. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, though.”

“Agh! No!” Tweek shakes his hands in disagreement. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just clock out for my break now. Um, ngh, I’ll get us something to drink.”

“Oh,” Craig wasn’t expecting that. “No, uh, I’m fine.”

“No, really,” Tweek insists. “It’s on me. It’s the least I can do.”

Craig winces as Tweek disappears behind an ‘employees only’ door. He feels horrible accepting a gesture of kindness, as though Tweek seems to think he’s the one who has done something wrong in this situation. But the wheels are in motion so Craig is at least grateful that they’ll talk. He spots a secluded little booth near the rear of the cafe, so he drags his feet towards it and plops down to wait. A few minutes elapse and then Tweek scurries back out with two twin mugs in tow. He beelines it towards Craig’s booth, only spilling a little coffee on himself as he goes. He places one for himself, one for Craig, removes his apron and tosses it in a heap, and then slides into the booth. Neither of them speaks, despite the fact that they explicitly agreed to talk about things only a few minutes prior. Craig grips the glossy white handle of the mug and peers into the black liquid. A few brown bubbles sit atop the black coffee, and Craig thinks it’s a little odd that Tweek added a stir stick to the cup even though it’s pretty apparent there’s neither cream nor sugar in the cup. He gives it a stir once or twice anyway.

Tweek’s clearly on edge on the other side of the booth. He grips his mug with both hands, clearly in an attempt to remain steady. If Craig hadn’t seen this exact sort of behavior in their shared classes before, he’d feel doubly guilty for causing this poor guy to seem so unnerved. Eventually, Tweek lifts the mug and takes a hefty gulp from it despite the piping hot temperature. Though it’s a much daintier sip, Craig follows suit. It’s bitter and tastes unpleasant, like sour dirt. He tries to mask his disgust by clearing his throat.

“Guess I should be switching to decaf soon, huh,” Tweek breaks the ice with a flippant comment and a wry chuckle.

This breaks the man and Craig flops forward onto the tabletop in a whiplash of defeat and emotion.

“I’m so sorry,” he gurgles pathetically into the wood.

“Ack! Ah, Craig…!” Tweek flails a bit frantically. “Oh, god… Shit, no, I’m sorry! Argh, blech, what was I thinking? Ugh, fucking stupid, man… Dude, I wasn’t trying to guilt you. Mnph, it’s… it’s not your fault, Craig.”

“It’s kind of literally my fault, dude,” Craig grumbles and doesn’t lift himself from the table.

Tweek reaches forward and gives Craig a couple of the world’s most jittery and awkward pats to the top of his head. Its inefficacy is really punctuated by the fact that Craig’s still wearing his dumb hat. This is terrible.

“Well, I mean, yeah, but…” Tweek weirdly lays his head down on the table to face him. “It’s my fault, too.”

Both of their faces are squished awkwardly on the scratched-up wooden surface, but at this angle, they can look each other in the eyes. This wasn’t at all the reaction Craig expected. He sort of suspected anger or sadness or regret, but while laying face-first on the table and looking into Tweek’s unique eyes all he feels is a tingling, comforting sensation. Somehow being smoosh-faced on the table makes it feel a little more private, even though they’re both decidedly acting very peculiarly in public. It’s just the tiniest bit encouraging. He huffs a little bit and the ghost of a shy smile curls up the outer corners of his lips.

“I’m still sorry, Tweek,” Craig offers, but can’t quite keep eye contact as he talks.

“Me too,” Tweek’s teeth are clattering together and Craig can feel the vibrations through the table on the side of his face. “I feel like… ngh, like I tricked you…”

Craig sits upright at that. Tricked him? How could he feel like that? Craig was the one prowling, and he was the one that brought him back to his room, and, well… everything else after that.

“You didn’t trick me,” Craig insists firmly. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“Ha,” Tweek coughs out an ironic laugh and sits up, too. “I knew what I was doing, too.”

They go quiet again and let those words sit in the air. Tweek slurps at his coffee.

“Yeah, but Tweek, it was your first time,” Craig attempts to shoulder the entirety of the blame again.

“Yeah, about that,” Tweek cuts him off and puts down his mug. “Is… hmm. Is it always like that? Where, ah… where you know exactly what you’re doing…? But, agh, you can’t help yourself?”

“Pretty much,” Craig grouses. “I hate it.”

“Hmm…” Tweek muses and runs a finger over the rim of his mug. “Is it wrong if… I didn’t entirely hate it?”

“...oh,” Craig says just for the sake of replying.

[15.5/?]

They both pause for thought, really absorbing that, and then Craig realizes something has not yet been addressed.

“Do… you know for sure?” Craig stumbles awkwardly over the question. “If you’re… y’know. You know.”

“Pregnant?” Tweek blinks and just asks as though it’s not some forbidden word and Craig darts his head around to check if anyone overheard before Tweek presses on. “If you’re asking if I’ve taken a test, ngh, no, I haven’t. But like, Jesus, you were there, man. It’s, hrngh, pretty fucking obvious.”

It was one thing to know intuitively, but it’s quite another to have it sitting right in front of him and speaking openly about it. Everything feels in slow motion and underwater at the same time. There’s a strange persistent ringing in Craig’s ears that won’t go away. When his body realizes it’s been far too long since he’s taken a breath, he sucks in a big gasp of air. The world comes rushing back to him.

“What do we do now?” Craig tries not to wheeze through the reality of the situation.

“Shit, dude,” Tweek clings to his mug. “You think I know?”

Craig stares right at him for probably way too long.

“I didn’t know Kenny is your roommate,” Craig informs him for no reason at all.

He doesn’t know why he said that. Tweek jerks involuntarily.

“Oh, god… Wagh! I didn’t even think of that! What if he finds out?!”

“I mean… he probably will, in a few months,” Craig nods towards Tweek’s midsection.

“Agghh!” Tweek buries his face in his hands. “Dude, what if my parents find out?! Shit, man, they don’t even know I’m an omega… Oh god, what if they do?! My mom has been giving me these weird looks for days! They’re gonna whore me out for profit to make up for all the ceramic ware I keep breaking! Wauuggghhh!”

“Tweek, you’re being, like, way too loud right now,” Craig leans across the table in a futile effort to calm him. “You haven’t told your parents?”

“No! …have you?!”

“Yes.”

“What…what did they say?” Tweek calms himself enough to listen.

“My mom just told me to do the right thing,” Craig scowls.

“What’s the right thing?” Tweek’s eyes are impossibly wide, fixated directly on Craig as if he might suddenly reveal himself as some arcane font of pregnancy knowledge.

“I have no idea,” Craig says for what feels like the millionth time and Tweek crumples a bit. “But… I think it’s something we can figure out. Maybe this is the start of doing the right thing. I don’t know. This is exhausting and I feel like shit.”

Tweek gazes into his empty mug for a while, pondering something mysterious. Then he looks a bit inspired and looks up at Craig with determination.

“Can I come see you after work?”

“Yes,” Craig agrees instantly, then wonders internally why he gave that response without hesitation.

“Okay,” Tweek gives him an uncomfortable but genuine smile. “I should get back to work. I’ll see you then.”

He leaves the booth and Craig sits stunned for a few moments. He feels a bit numb, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. He decides to head back to his dorm. He should really clean it up if he’s expecting company later.

The walk back to the dormitories passes quickly. In the back of his mind, Craig knows the walk is exactly the same length. It’s funny how the preoccupation of his mind with one thing or the other changes his perception of things. Craig’s mind moves faster than his feet but he makes it back into the hallways before he knows it. It’s not that he has dozens of racing thoughts, but rather the same questions rearticulate themselves over and over in his mind. What should he do now? What does this mean going forward? What should he tell Tweek? What’s the right move? It’s all back to the same root problem at hand. The notion spreads its tendrils, though, and perpetuates into a slew of several curiosities he’d like cleared up, too. But he’s not sure where to begin or how to even go about voicing them. Mainly, he just needs some kind of clarity. But even that’s hard to wrap his head around. Everything is so new and weird.

He’s almost back to his room when he catches sight of something that catches him off guard and makes his stomach drop. It’s a mess of blonde curls framing the shape of a familiar face. What the fuck is she doing here? Craig thinks about fleeing since he’s pretty sure she hasn’t seen him yet. His eyes dart around the abandoned otherwise abandoned hallway. It’s pretty clear if he high-tails it out of there, that’ll be more obvious. He doesn’t want to talk to her. They left things on pretty sour terms, and while he barely knows her, he knows enough to suspect she’s the type who wants to make a big song and dance of fixing things up between them (whatever that means). He doesn’t want to confront this right now or ever and he can’t find a clever enough way to abscond, so Craig simply freezes in place like a scared, awkward deer. There are realistically only a few moments before she’ll spot him standing there like a sweaty statue.

“Craig!”

Her voice sounds like glass shattering and makes him wince. He doesn’t move from his spot where his shoes seem to be nailed to the grimy carpet. He doesn’t acknowledge her but he doesn’t shun her, either. In fact, he doesn’t do much at all beyond standing there paralyzed on the spot with discomfort. She crosses the hall and stops about a foot in front of him. It’s hard to read her expression.

“Craig,” she repeats his name a bit softer as she approaches. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?” Craig squeaks out in a dry voice.

There’s an odd pause where they both look at each other with scrunched-up expressions.

“Look, Anna-”

“Annie,” she interjects with a frown.

“Right, Annie,” he nods, corrects himself, and continues. “I know you said you wanted me to be your boyfriend, but-”

“Craig, just stop,” she holds up a hand and looks annoyed. “Before you say anything else, I should save you the embarrassment. I actually came here to tell you it’s over.”

“Oh,” he nods again.

He’s not really sure how something that never started could be over, but he feels a weight leave his shoulders. This problem seems to be resolving itself without much intervention on his end.

“You’re kind of an asshole, Craig,” she states plainly, as though it were an absolute fact. “After the way you treated me, there’s no way I’d want to be your girlfriend. I don’t see how anyone would. I’m here to break up with you.”

Craig can’t hold back a bout of strained chuckles. She frowns deeply. He feels bad for being rude, but he really can’t contain it.

“What’s so funny?” Annie demands.

“Nothing,” Craig manages to get out between the titters. “I’m just kind of relieved, you know?”

“Relieved?!”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “I’m glad we’re finally on the same page here.”

Her eyes look like they might pop out of her head. Craig would feel much more guilty if he’d done more than fuck her. And he’d feel worse, too, if he hadn’t only just confirmed her name. The whole thing had been such a mess, he really and truly can’t bring himself to feel anything beyond a massive sense of alleviation. Never mind about the giant mess he’s preparing himself to face going forward, but at least this one is in the process of wrapping itself up in a neat little package and mailing itself the fuck out of his life.

“Fuck you, Craig,” she says in a small, hurt voice and shoves past him.

He watches her little blonde curls bounce for a moment, then she rounds the corner and out of his sight. That was weird. Craig feels a bit lighter, though. Hopefully, that’s all over. Honestly, he’s a little grateful for that encounter. He actually sort of forgot about that girl entirely, since so many strange and dramatic things occurred in the last handful of days. That and, of course, he didn’t really give a shit about her in the first place. The feeling returns to his limbs since the startle of the situation has abated itself, and he completes his walk back to his single-sized dormitory.

Once inside, he feels drained. Two voices conflict in his head. The first one urges him to clean this shit up better and to actually make his home away from home somewhat presentable to a guest he wants to make a good impression on. The other voice reminds him that Tweek had no problems with the state of the place when they came here together and it was a total disaster. Craig flops down on his couch and idly scrolls around on his phone. Nothing holds his interest and the aimless clicking between apps without a sense of purpose stirs up a bit of anxiety inside him. He throws an arm over his eyes and lets his phone drop from his grip. It’s entirely not of his own volition, but a groan rumbles low in his chest. The only thing he hates more than feeling out of control is feeling uncertain, and this situation has managed to present itself with the worst of both options.

He replays the course of events throughout the last few days on repeat in his mind. His mother’s attempts at wisdom linger and he frets over the future and all the possibilities it can hold. In the end, it’s the uncertainty that gets him. Craig reflects on everything that led him here. It’s unnerving how quickly everything seems to have changed. All it took was one careless evening and one thoughtless mistake to topple everything into a very bizarre mess. He slowly eases into the couch to think a little harder. That’s just the thing– it wasn’t a mistake, right? His face twists into a weird expression. He could have so easily not done any of that, and a part of him is really convinced of it. He’s never had an issue with control like this before. But that’s even more to the point, isn’t it? He is pretty damn sure he was still in enough control of the situation. Sure, his hormones were running rampant like never before, and sure, Tweek’s pheromones were so potent and alluring and there’s no way that didn’t have some type of effect on him. But in the end, he knows he could have stopped and he knows that for whatever twisted reason he chose to throw his life away as he knew it just because a squirming omega showed up and asked him to do so nicely. What the hell is wrong with him?

Craig knows he can cast off annoying social situations like water off a duck’s back. In fact, it’s been less than fifteen minutes since he did exactly that with Annie. He’s getting more frustrated the longer he thinks about it. Why doesn't he want to do the same with Tweek? Ultimately if he looks at it in a selfish way (as he is accustomed to doing), he should be able to shake this one off, too. Yet every time he considers that as an option, his chest feels tight and uncomfortable and he is hit with wave after wave of desire to stick by his side through this new ordeal. His face contorts. Craig wishes he had someone to talk to about all this, but at the same time the thought of divulging his feelings to anyone makes him want to puke his guts out on principle. Craig splays out on the raggedy couch lost in cyclical, confusing thoughts until the sun dips in the sky and natural light stops pouring in through his windows. It barely registers to him how much time has elapsed until there’s a gentle knock at his door.

He jumps so quickly to his feet that he nearly loses his balance before he can even stand upright. Shit, he never even took off his shoes from earlier. For that matter, he never tidied up and he never got his thoughts sorted out. Fuck. It’s only a few long strides from the couch to the door, but when Craig reaches the threshold he freezes. He’s nervous in a way he’s never felt before and he has to coax himself just to turn the door handle. He takes a deep breath in and then swings open the door on the exhale. It takes him a moment to realize he’s inadvertently closed his eyes. It’s only a moment before he manages to open them, but it feels like ages go by. Craig’s eyelids peel apart and there’s Tweek, standing less than a foot away from him. He’s wearing the same messy button-down shirt he wore at the cafe, but the apron is absent. He must have walked over straight after his shift. Neither of them greets each other with any traditional salutations, nor do they say anything at all for an amount of time that goes well beyond what would be considered polite or normal. Craig means to invite him in, but his words fail him. Finally, it’s Tweek who breaks the silence.

“Are you sitting alone in the dark…?” Tweek glances past Craig’s shoulder.

“No,” Craig lies much too quickly.

Tweek raises an eyebrow and makes an odd little skeptical grunt. Craig winces internally. It’s pretty clear that he was indeed sitting alone in the dark.

“I was gonna turn on the lights,” he adds on.

He takes a step back inside and starts walking towards the lamp. He still doesn’t directly invite Tweek in, though he does make a weird little hand gesture at him to signal as much. Tweek gets the hint and steps inside. He’s just as weird and anxious as ever, it would seem. Craig turns on the light and watches for a moment as Tweek darts his eyes in every direction and wrings his hands. It’s comforting, in its way. While Craig feels something similar to pity for Tweek’s state, he also somewhat selfishly feels comforted in knowing he’s not the only one feeling out of sorts. He flippantly kicks his shoes off where he stands and returns to his former spot on the couch. It’s still warm. Tweek follows suit and perches on the other end. Craig chews on his lip for a moment, then he abruptly addresses the issue head-on.

“So you’re sure you’re pregnant?”

“WAAGGHHH!”

Tweek wails and throws his hands into his hair. All the tension between them breaks and is replaced by sudden frantic energy. Limbs flail and Tweek’s scratchy voice resounds like a swarm of agitated hornets. Craig should really be used to this sort of response by now, but he’s still growing accustomed to it, and with all his own turmoil to contest with as well, it takes him too long to respond adequately. Tweek carries on for another few moments before Craig’s arm reaches forward and grasps him by the shoulder.

“Tweek! It’s okay, Tweek, calm down!” Craig attempts to earn his attention through the force of his words, but without the command of their mixed pheromones, it’s not a very fruitful endeavor.

Craig’s at a loss– he can only wait uselessly until Tweek exhausts himself. In time, he does. He’s reduced to a quivering mess. Back in the cafe, he wasn’t this out of control of himself. Craig supposes that being in the public eye probably encourages him to reel it in a bit. Or maybe it’s just that being back in the place where everything shook out is a lot more stressful. It’s hard to discern right now. Regardless, when he tapers out into a quiet version of stress rather than a loud one, Craig offers a few meager apologies and the pair of them can only look into their own hands as the awkward silence resumes.

“Maybe…” Tweek begins, falters, takes a shaky breath, then begins again. “Maybe we can work up to that part of the conversation…?”

“Yeah,” Craig nods and agrees softly.

The irony of agreeing to start the discussion elsewhere and lead into the heavy stuff is that neither of them quite knows where to start. They’re too familiar with each other to chat idly about classes and the weather, and they’re not quite familiar enough to be fully relaxed. It’s a version of hell Craig really hates enduring, but on the same token too, he finds himself craving that level of intimacy somehow. He just has no idea how to achieve it. Another beat passes and then Tweek’s stomach growls audibly.

“Are you hungry?” Craig asks, grateful for the segue.

A pink tinge crawls over Tweek’s face and his eyes twitch in embarrassment.

“Sorry, no, I’m fine!” Tweek squawks and waves his hands at Craig in refusal.

Craig frowns.

“It’s okay if you’re hungry,” Craig presses the matter, confused as to why anyone would be embarrassed over this. “I mean, I could eat.”

“Oh…” Tweek sighs a bit in relief. “I’ve been so stressed. Argh, I keep forgetting to eat at work. And, ngh, I get pretty sick of the same boring pastries all the time. Plus, my parents hate when I eat the inventory…”

“Your parents don’t feed you?” Craig raises an eyebrow, but when Tweek’s face morphs to one of horror, he clamps up quickly and decides to potentially circle back to that one later. “Nevermind, it’s fine. Do you like Chinese food? I can order dinner for us.”

“There’s good Chinese food on campus?” Tweek asks, and his eyes light up a moment before he falters. “Ack, let me check my wallet and see how much cash I have.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Craig dismisses with a hand wave. “I’ve got my card saved on file.”

“You have your card saved on file?!” Tweek’s face switches quickly back to horror. “Oh god, how can you do that?! Aren’t you worried about them tracing you, man? Shit, what if they sell your information?! They’ll keep files on you, grarghgh, Jesus Christ... They can track you down and drain your accounts. They’ll find out where you live!”

“Uh,” Craig hesitates to respond. “I kinda have it set up to do that, Tweek. On purpose. They save my order, take the right amount of money out, and then bring it to my address. That’s kind of exactly how delivery works.”

“What?!” Tweek yanks at his hair again. “What if they come back to rob you?! Or worse!”

“Do you… Uh… Should I not order food?” Craig once again doesn’t know what to do with himself, but this time it’s for a reason he definitely didn’t predict. “Do you just never order delivery?”

“Never,” Tweek confirms, staring directly at Craig with an intensely serious face. “Pick up only, cash only. No trail. Ever. If they’re going to get me, I’m gonna at least make it hard for them.”

Craig wonders for a moment about who ‘they’ might be.

“Tell ya what,” Craig leans back on the couch and opens the familiar menu on his phone anyway. “I’m gonna order like I usually do. And if anything bad happens, I’ll protect you. Okay?”

Tweek wrings his hands and chews on his lip thoughtfully. It seems like he’s really giving this some deep consideration. Eventually, he gives a single nod of agreement.

“Okay.”

As per usual, Craig selects a few cheap noodles along with some chicken that comes drenched in a salty, messy sauce and adds on an order of spring rolls just for good measure. This time, however, he doubles the quantity. He places the order and drops his phone in his lap. The delivery never really takes that long. It’s a good thing, too. Even though it’s only just begun, Craig can tell this is going to be a long night.

[17/?] (Oops forgot to label last time, but that was obviously ch16 haha)

They’re halfway into their meal by the time the conversation feels more organic and natural. Craig can’t really tell if it’s because they’re growing more comfortable together or if it’s because they’ve delayed the inevitable discussion long enough. He takes another bite of his food. It’s the perfect bite. He got a little bit of chicken, some noodles, and even a grilled onion on his fork. He chews thoughtfully and it tastes so familiar. And yet, he’s not exactly feeling the same comfort as he normally would from the routine of eating the same junk food he always gets. It helps the situation a little, but overall… things are still weird.

“This is pretty good,” Tweek comments, twirling his plastic fork around inside the styrofoam container. “Is anything else on the menu good?”

“I dunno,” Craig snorts in reply because he really doesn’t. “I’ve only ever ordered this. But I order it all the time.”

“Really?” Tweek cracks a sideways sort of smile. “You only order the same thing?”

“Don’t see the need to order something else when I know I like this,” Craig shrugs.

“Hmph, but what if you’d like something better?” Tweek counters and pops a particularly large chunk of chicken in his mouth.

“But what if I order something and I don’t like it?” Craig frowns through his response. “That would be a waste of my time, money, and food.”

He watches Tweek chew for a moment and thinks about what Craig’s just said. It’s hard to keep frowning when Tweek looks just like a hamster with his cheek all puffed out like that.

“Kinda says a lot about you, don’t you think?” Tweek finally says when he’s swallowed his food.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Craig narrows his eyes defensively.

“What’s your favorite color?” Tweek snaps back with another question instead of answering.

“Uh… I dunno?” Craig blinks rapidly a few times, taken aback.

“Pick one.”

“Um, blue? I guess?”

“Interesting,” Tweek hums at this and goes back to fussing with his disposable fork. “You’re a very pragmatic person, aren’t you?”

Craig grunts in a noncommittal sort of way. He’s heard that word before, but he’s not really sure what it means. He also wouldn’t have guessed Tweek had this nearly shrewd and mysterious side to him. It’s pretty unclear to him if he’s been insulted or not. Since he doesn’t want to somehow veer this odd discussion into a distinctly negative realm and mess everything up somehow, he opts not to launch his own line of interrogation and instead busies himself with another heaping bite from his to-go box.

“I, hngh, I wouldn’t normally get food from this kind of place,” Tweek continues airily, and it prompts Craig to glance back up at him. “They put chemical additives in cheap Chinese food.”

“Rumors about MSG have been debunked multiple times, Tweek,” Craig states flatly.

“MSG?” Tweek raises an eyebrow. “No, dude, I know that stuff’s harmless. It’s the other stuff you gotta watch out for. They put addictive chemicals in there to make you buy it more often. You crave it, man. It’s all a conspiracy to boost the economy through the constant cycle of buying Chinese food and then needing more and more of it!”

“Addictive chemicals that make you want more of it,” Craig repeats skeptically. “Sounds like caffeine.”

“Augh, but coffee tastes good and helps people start their day,” Tweek gives him a genuine look that makes Craig realize he’s serious.

They stare at each other in mutual disbelief for a moment before Tweek carries on.

“Anyway,” he continues and finally drops his fork. “None of it really matters because I’m probably craving junk food from, ngh, you know… the hormones.”

Craig groans and drops his fork, too.

“Look, I know I already said all this, but I’m so sorry,” Craig doesn’t like the way his voice strains through the words. “That’s not the way this should have happened.”

“And I already said this, too, but it’s okay,” Tweek smiles, but it’s sort of a sad and distant expression rather than a sincere visage. “I mean, argh, I played my part in it. I’m trying not to think too much about it or, ngh, I start getting way too anxious.”

“Yeah, but,” Craig gestures vaguely, trying to fully express himself and struggling, “it was your first time. No one’s first should end up in a really drastic, life-altering situation.”

“True,” Tweek agrees. “Grarghgh, that’s just my luck though, man. Not only do I end up an omega, but I immediately end up pregnant! It’s like everything’s out to get me!”

“I mean my first time was pretty awful, but not this extreme,” Craig gives a dry chuckle. “I hooked up with a complete stranger and I started to knot within about 2 minutes.”

He’s said it before he realizes it slipped out. He doesn’t know why he admitted that– he’s never told anyone before and had pretty much planned on taking that embarrassing moment with him to the grave. Craig dips his head low and hopes he’s not flushing too noticeably. He tries to regain composure and hopefully brush it off.

“Hmm,” Tweek hums with a sagely, knowing smile and resumes idly pushing the noodles across the styrofoam container. “Yeah, I think everyone’s first time is pretty awkward. Hanhrgh, mine was definitely weird.”

Craig feels a sudden pain under his ribs. He wants to brush it off as the result of far too much sodium intake, but he can’t fool himself. Tweek just told him his first time was weird in such a nonchalant manner, right to his face. It stings and he can’t help but internally acknowledge it. An insecure voice rings in the back of his head and echoes with the words Annie spat at him earlier in the day. Maybe it’s true. Maybe no one wants him.

“Oh,” he says through a tight jaw. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

Tweek squints at this and leans forward. He lifts the container from his lap and places it on the coffee table. Those gem-like eyes with the heavy bags below them study Craig in the most curious fashion and make him feel seen both inside and out in a way that gives him goosebumps.

“Wait,” Tweek speaks slowly, staring directly into Craig’s own eyes in a way that makes him squirm. “Did you think… Agh, did you think the other night was my first time…?”

“W-well,” Craig stammers uncomfortably. “It was your first heat.”

“Mmph, yeah, it was my first heat, dude,” Tweek tilts his head. “But it wasn’t my first time.”

“But it was your first heat?” Craig repeats himself as a question, his confusion mounting and slowly replacing the twinge of his briefly shattered ego.

“Craig…” Tweek begins slowly as if he’s carefully choosing his words. “Do you think… Ack! God, I hate saying this... I’m getting stressed! Do you… Do you think people only have sex to procreate?”

“No,” Craig scoffs immediately as if the implication is ridiculous. “Of course not. I’ve had a bunch of ruts and I can promise you I’ve never once tried to get someone pregnant. Even though… I sorta just did. Ugh.”

Tweek stares at him with those wide eyes for a bit longer, really scrutinizing him. It makes him feel distressingly perceived, and while it makes his skin crawl and his heartbeat race, he doesn’t particularly hate it to the point where he wants to make it stop. Tweek’s giving Craig that strange look again. It’s the one that he suspects makes Tweek think that if he ogles him long enough, he’ll suddenly know all the answers to everything. Craig doesn’t have the heart to admit that he’s feeling more lost than ever.

“Grgh,” Tweek visibly struggles to maintain his composure and prevent himself from having a nervous outburst over the discussion. “Do you only have sex, mnph, during a rut?”

“I mean, isn’t that pretty much the main time to have sex?”

“I guess,” Tweek agrees in a way that indicates he doesn’t really agree. “But what about betas?”

“What about them?” Craig narrows his eyes, failing to understand what that has to do with anything.

“Betas don’t have heats.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“They don’t have ruts, either,” Tweek tacks on, but Craig isn’t sure to what end.

He blinks a few times and he glances side to side.

“Grrr, Craig, I thought I was a beta until only a few days ago,” Tweek spells it all out for Craig, even though this has just been a series of facts he already knows.

“Okay…?”

“Craig, why aren’t you getting it?!” Tweek makes a hissing, squeaking kind of noise as he fails to get the point across to Craig. “Betas still have sex, man! They don’t go in cycles, dude. I’m telling you I’ve had sex before becoming an omega, why is that so hard to get?”

Craig suddenly feels very embarrassed. He, of course, knew all of this on some level before. It was never relevant to his personal experience, though, so he never really examined it very much. Of course, people have sex. Now he wonders if maybe he’s the weird one.

“I know,” he grumbles defensively. “It’s not like I’ve never slept with a beta.”

“Did you present early?” Tweek asks gently.

“Yeah,” Craig nods. “Pretty much went through both puberties back to back.”

“That makes sense,” Tweek nods. “So it’s like, why would you have considered anything else? Argh, our education system is a mess, man. It’s so mechanical, doesn’t teach anyone the um, ngh, you know, human aspect of it.”

“I guess,” Craig shrugs, but it’s less from indifference and more from the fact that he’s being faced with subject matter he’s never actively put thought to before.

“Anyway,” Tweek clucks his tongue and reels the conversation back in. “It was definitely my first time since presenting as an omega. And I’ve had time to think about it since then.”

Craig raises an inquisitive eyebrow at this and they make eye contact. It results in Tweek producing a truly terrible (yet somehow endearing) garbled, anxious laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tweek jitters and wrings his hands. “It’s, urkh, basically all I’ve been able to think about. And the more I think about it, the more confusing it is?! I have so many questions, man. And I want to ask you questions but I don’t want to scare you away, I don’t think you have all the answers but maybe you have some of the answers and even if you don’t I want you to know about the questions! Wagghh! It’s all so much, oh Jesus, why am I saying all of this so suddenly?! I’m freaking out here, man! I can’t keep it in anymore!”

That was a lot just there, and Craig feels dizzy from the many concerns bled all together into one jumbly thought. But still, he tries to hone in and focus. Tweek’s breathing has, in an instant, gone from steady and normal to frantic and ragged. He’s noticeably shaking and his hands keep finding clumps of his own hair to tug on. Craig leans forward and remains calm.

“I’m listening,” Craig leans in and speaks softly yet firmly. “You’re not going to scare me away, dude.”

And Tweek responds immediately. He hiccups and jerks his neck to look back at Craig. His eyes search him for sincerity and Craig can only hope he’s exuding it for him. A moment flits by and then Tweek calms himself enough to speak up in a small voice.

“Why did I have to present as an omega?” Tweek laments. “Especially after I had finally, ugh, got a little bit comfortable with my life…”

“I don’t know,” Craig deadpans, not really prepared to have so immediately been unable to answer a question.

“Pfft, Craig,” Tweek gives him a cheeky little smile, even though his eyes are still a bit wistful. “It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh.”

“But, angh, like I said before. The messed up thing is I really did like being in heat,” he slumps a bit as he admits it.

“Well,” Craig chews the side of his cheek thoughtfully. “I think we’re kinda programmed to like it, you know?”

“I guess,” Tweek agrees. “As out of control as I felt… For the first time in my life, I kinda felt like I was in control? Argh! That makes no sense. But… it felt right. Like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. Like I want to do it again.”

Craig mulls that over for a moment. While it doesn’t really reflect his general sentiments on how it feels to lose control to the swells of lust, he sort of somehow agrees with this. At least, that’s how he felt this last time around. He really felt like he was doing something right for once. Granted, it obviously backfired. But that feeling can’t be hollow, can it?

“Maybe that’s the hormones talking,” Tweek groans after a long moment of Craig’s lack of response.

“No, I was just thinking,” Craig waves a dismissive hand. “I… I agree, actually. It felt right. More right than usual.”

“I am pretty hormonal, though,” Tweek coughs up a single, ugly chortle that makes a stupid little smile pull at the corners of Craig’s lips through its absurdity.

It’s strange. By all accounts, he should feel much more stressed about that statement. He’s the very reason Tweek is hormonal, after all. But he doesn’t. The conversation is uncomfortable, as it sort of should be by design. But he’s not angry and he’s not feeling like he’s spiraling out of control. It feels natural. That, in and of itself, is a little distressing. But that comes as almost an afterthought rather than a concern at the forefront of his mind. It feels good and correct in the most disturbing way.

“So what comes next?” Craig muses aloud. “Where do we go from here?”

“Hmm,” Tweek rubs at his chin a little as he ponders. “I don’t know, man. That part is terrifying. Thinking about the future, grargh, shit.”

“Should we try talking about it more?” Craig suggests cautiously.

“Not tonight,” Tweek says definitively. “That’s way too much. Ack, I’ll probably freak out, harngh… Maybe another time.”

“Thank god,” Craig sighs in relief. “This has been exhausting.”

The pair both lean back into the couch and try to relax and reflect. Then Craig scrunches up his face as he realizes something.

“Wait, you want to do this again?”

“Agh! Oh… Ah! Well? Only if you want to?!” Tweek squawks. “I thought you said you wanted to do this together?”

“I do!” Craig sits upright with urgency and leans forward to place a hand on Tweek’s knee. “I do. I really do!”

He has no idea why he does, but something in his mind has been wholly convinced that this must be the right thing to do. He’s resolved to stand by Tweek’s side through this. Whatever that means.

“Okay,” Tweek looks into his eyes with an intensity he’s sure matches his own. “Then I’ll send you my work schedule. Argh! Except my fucking parents change it around all the time. Fucking assholes, ugh…”

“It’s okay, Tweek. We’ll figure it out.”

Something visibly breaks in Tweek at these words. It’s a simple promise, but somehow it has a strong effect on him. Craig watches as he bites his lower lip to prevent it from wibbling. He wrings his hands in his lap for a moment. Before Craig can process what’s happening, Tweek flings his arms around him. His breath hitches in his throat and any words he might have been attempting to formulate die on his tongue. Tweek’s face buries itself in the crook of Craig’s neck and he clings fervently to Craig’s midsection. He’s caught off guard, but soon enough Craig reacts and his arms fall into place around Tweek’s body. He holds him close just as he did only a few nights ago. It’s with similar urgency, but the tone has shifted. He buries his nose in the vibrant locks of golden hair that poke out every which way and he sighs through his nostrils. Neither seems to be able to speak, so their bodies do the talking. It’s a silent message of foreign yet mutual feelings. It’s fear and gratitude and anticipation and hopeful promise all rolled into the gentle caress of tangled arms and placid breaths. Somehow, this singular embrace has given them both more answers than any conversation could.

[17.5/?] (damn, I was like 300 words over the limit, whyyyy)

A long while passes before they pull apart. Craig’s chest feels tight, fraught with an oddly pleasant sorrow. Tweek gives him one more of those distant, mournful smiles before they call it a night. He declines Craig’s offer for a walk back to his dorm but assures him it’s a very nice gesture. It’s only a few minutes after Craig is left alone that his phone pings. The text message has no words– it’s just a somewhat blurry image of a handwritten work schedule. He glances it over a few times and starts immediately pinpointing timeframes that match up with his own free time. Craig feels a newfound sense of eagerness and hope. He isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he is sure he’s finally starting to do the right thing.

[18/?] (I'm baaaaaaack!)

As the days turn into weeks, everything changes. It’s a series of little changes, though. Craig’s life seems to rearrange itself organically as the days go by. Nights that were once spent pretending to review his school work alone in the dark are now spent sitting side by side with Tweek as they watch shitty movies in the soft glow of his laptop. Moments that would have been spent unsatisfactorily scrolling social media on his phone with no particular purpose in mind are now spent scrutinizing various images of handwritten schedules and cross-referencing his own obligations in order to maximize opportunities to invite Tweek over to spend time together. He’s even tried a variety of new foods and restaurants he never thought about before– it’s been easy to open his mind to new things with his omega by his side chattering about various cravings for specific flavors and food items. Even when Craig hasn’t particularly enjoyed a meal, he still finds himself happily eating it anyway. After all, there’s something uniquely satisfying about sharing dinner with someone who so clearly and genuinely experiences comfort and gratitude from the itch of a craving having been scratched.

It’s strangely addicting, spending all his free time with Tweek. There are scheduling conflicts here and there, seeing as his parents are less than reliable with a regular schedule at the coffee shop. Sometimes it seems as though there will be full weeks in which they won’t be afforded a chance to spend even one evening together. Craig spends time in his classes bored out of his mind and generally unable to focus on whatever flippant subject matter his professors drone about. It seems unfair that he’s stuck in a room taking notes on things he sincerely has no interest in while Tweek is left alone and probably lonely in his own dorm room. And so, Craig begins to strategically plan when he will ditch his classes. He reasons this isn’t such a bad thing in the end, considering that now that he’s paired with a mate, he won’t be missing any classes due to being in a rut. While in a rut, he could be missing out on important content or imperative exams. With his mind clear and plan in place, he figures he can get away with only missing out on days in class that aren’t of the utmost priority. It’s worth it, he decides, because he rationalizes shit he can simply google or content he can catch up on later should definitely be taking a back seat to providing an adequate level of emotional support to his pregnant omega. Even though his plan in action seems perfectly logical in his mind, he keeps it a secret from Tweek. He doesn’t want to worry him. So he lets him believe that the scheduling, despite the many odd and random changes that his parents implement, continues to work out in their favor miraculously.

The only trouble is, as the weeks turn into months, nothing changes at all. Craig feels like he’s in a rut, and not at all in the hormonal sense. The fact of the matter is that although Craig feels happier and more complacent these days than he ever has before in his life, the elephant in the room has still largely gone unaddressed. As the minutes and hours and days progress ever forward, it becomes all the more challenging to face that impending discussion. Tweek’s belly has started to protrude a bit, too, and it’s pretty clear that it isn’t the result of too many nights of take-out food. There’s no denying it– the result of the fateful night they met in the showers continues to grow and develop inside Tweek’s omega womb and there is no going back. And yet… the pair continue to exist inside their tenuous, self-imposed bubble of feigned ignorance. Not only does Craig not know what to do about it, he is not even sure if he could find someone to confide in for help.

The nagging truth gnaws at him even now, as he sits next to Tweek on the old, battered couch in his single-dwelling dormitory. It’s getting late, and the remaining bits of food in their discarded to-go boxes have long gone cold. Tweek looks exhausted. Granted, the ever-present bags under his eyes lead to a perpetual look of tiredness, but Craig has learned how to read the signs a bit better over time. He’s sluggish and a bit curled in on himself, and the usual string of garbled yelps and rambling stories that Tweek perpetually emits have slowed down drastically. It’s clear to Craig that he’s legitimately sleepy. As their usual routine dictates, Craig will read into the cues and then offer to walk Tweek across the courtyard and drop him off at his own dorm. Once offered, Tweek will politely decline each and every time and insist he is perfectly capable of walking himself the short distance back to his own bed. Then the pair will quietly tidy up whatever mess they’ve made, and Craig will walk Tweek to the door. They’ll share an awkward glance, never certain and never willing to establish where the boundaries lie between them, and err on the side of caution and make no physical contact. After a bit of nervous hemming and hawing, Tweek will promise to text Craig his updated schedule, and Craig will agree to let Tweek know when he can come over again. And that is where the night will end. Craig knows this because it’s what happens each and every time without fail. Still, Tweek does seem like he’s at a good point for this evening to come to an end, so Craig starts up with the script.

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

“Ack!” Tweek shoots straight up in his seat, suddenly startled and alert.

It’s not the exact response Craig expected, but a largely unprompted shriek is a fairly typical contender in the realm of Tweek reactions so Craig hardly bats an eye at this. He does, however, assume this is a stand-in reply for the usual, so he starts to stand up and proceed with the formulaic series of events.

“Wait…” Tweek says meekly, talking a bit towards his chest. “Actually, argh, oh god… Can… Can I stay a bit longer…?”

That was not the response Craig was expecting at all. He slowly sits back down on his end of the couch and raises an eyebrow in Tweek’s direction.

“Sure,” he agrees casually. “You just seem tired.”

“Ah, I am,” Tweek chortles nervously and wrings his hands together. “It’s just, ahh… Hmm. Well, I know Kenny is still awake…”

“Okay…?”

Craig leans forward and studies him. At face value, these should be two entirely separate thoughts. But since they’re not, Craig has grown instantly suspicious. He waits for Tweek to elaborate, but when nothing comes, he picks at the statement a bit deeper.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Craig asks slowly. “So you won’t wake up your roommate when you walk in?”

“Ah, well…” Tweek hesitates and attempts to deflect. “It’s just… I don’t really have a big coat or anything. Do you, mmph, have one I could borrow?”

“You never wear a coat,” Craig states plainly. “And it’s not that cold out. Are you cold?”

Craig looks him up and down skeptically. He doesn’t look cold. In fact, he actually looks like he might be on the verge of breaking a sweat.

“N…No…” Tweek admits.

They stare at each other for a moment and then Tweek makes a strained, garbled sound.

“I don’t want to walk in and let Kenny see me like this!”

“...what do you mean?”

“You know…” Tweek moans and vaguely gestures to his midsection.

“Wait…” Craig squints and pieces it together. “You don’t want him to see your… bump?”

Tweek can only wail and clutch at big clumps of his hair in response.

“Tweek, have you seriously not told your roommate that you’re pregnant?!” Craig spits out, incredulously. “I understood at first, but dude, you literally can’t hide it forever! How long do you think you can get away with ignoring it?!”

“I don’t know, Craig!” Tweek shoots back in a frantic rapid fire of words.

“Dude,” Craig splutters emphatically, trying to formulate some thoughts while remaining as calm as he can. “Have you told anyone? Tell me you’ve at least told your parents.”

“I can’t tell my parents!” Tweek shrieks at a volume much too loud for this time of the evening.

“Dude!”

“You don’t understand, Craig!” Tweek’s hands and eyes suddenly can’t seem to remain still as the panic starts to grip him. “They’ll send me away! They can’t know I’m an omega, Craig! They’ll… graghragh… they’ll figure out how to exploit me, man… They’ll use the baby for some marketing scheme and then they’ll send me away to some underground sex labor institution to keep me in heat and sell my body to weird alphas! WAAUUGHH! I can’t live like that, man! And they’ll do it! They’ve been trying to think of ways to afford renovations! They’ll sell my body like a piece of meat!!”

“Okay, Tweek, I think that’s maybe a little drastic-”

“They’ll do it, Craig!” Tweek interjects, adamant and shrill.

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you haven’t told the guy you live with,” Craig tries to veer the conversation back on track.

“Nobody can know!”

“Well, they’re gonna know soon enough, Tweek!” Craig exclaims incredulously and gestures at his belly. “You’re fucking pregnant, dude, you can’t really keep that a secret!”

Tweek gasps at this and the fear written on his face quickly morphs into sorrow. His arms wrap around himself, giving the appearance that he’s giving himself a tight hug.

“I’m scared, Craig,” he whispers into his chest, either refusing or unable to look up. “I don’t know what to do.”

Remorse for the outburst hits Craig like a train. It should have been so obvious that Tweek is scared. He’s not just avoidant or careless at all. Craig scoots closer to bridge the gap between them on the couch and places a hand on Tweek’s shoulder.

“Look… I’m sorry,” he offers clumsily. “I shouldn’t have yelled just now.”

Tweek doesn’t respond– he just shivers in place, failing to hold back the impending tears. When they fall, Craig can’t help himself. His heart aches and he acts without thinking. His arms fully reach out to coil around Tweek and he pulls him close until his head rests on his shoulder. Craig cards his hands through Tweek’s wild, blonde hair and keeps him there until the quaking slows and the crying dwindles to mere shudders. Maybe it’s very selfish of him, but Craig can inwardly admit that he missed this. It’s like back when they were fresh, and before they had swept the messy details under the rug. He lets out a heavy sigh.

“You can stay as long as you want,” Craig eventually says, and Tweek replies only with a small nod against his tear-soaked hoodie. “Do you work tomorrow?”

Tweek peels himself up from in between Craig’s arms and sits a bit more properly on the couch. He takes a moment to compose himself before answering.

“No,” he says after wiping his eyes on the corners of his sleeve. “Tomorrow’s supposed to be my day off.”

“Hmm,” Craig hums, mind whirling a bit slower than his mouth and he blurts out an idea before the thoughts fully formulate. “Do you want to…stay the night?”

Tweek has never spent the night aside from that first time. He’s never asked, and Craig has never offered. But now it’s out in the open and Craig can’t take it back. Tweek looks surprised at the suggestion, and Craig can only imagine he looks a bit startled with himself, too.

“Don’t you, ngh, have class tomorrow?”

“No,” Craig blurts out the lie, perhaps a bit too quickly. “It canceled.”

“Mmm,” Tweek narrows his eyes at this but otherwise doesn’t question the statement. “Well, that’s a lucky coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Craig agrees.

He takes the simple fact that Tweek didn’t immediately decline the offer as a sign. So he doubles down on it. He can figure out whatever he misses tomorrow at a later time. The situation at hand feels more important. It feels like something he should be prioritizing.

“So, do you?” Craig puts the cards on the table again, so to speak. “You can stay the night here. If you want. I think it’ll be good for us. We should talk.”

Tweek fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A long beat passes where neither of them says anything. Craig feels like he’s disintegrating from the inside out. Part of him knows it’s not a big deal, but another part can’t stand the uncertainty and it makes him squirm uncomfortably.

“Ah,” Tweek finally makes a sound, but it’s followed by another pause before he finally answers the question with another question. “Are you… Nrgh, are you asking me to stay in your bed with you?”

Craig blinks a few times, processing that. He quickly realizes that this is indeed the reality of the situation. They’ve only shared a bed once, and it was under the exact circumstances of that arrangement that led them to the situation they are in right now. Somehow, acknowledging and returning to the same place together feels both comforting and harrowing all at once. Craig swallows thickly, though his mouth seems to have gone dry. Putting words to it feels so weird, but he does so as nonchalantly as he can. For Tweek’s sake, of course.

“I guess that’s what I’m asking, yeah,” he shrugs and can’t quite seem to make eye contact right now.

“Okay,” Tweek agrees after a moment.

It’s hard to read whatever emotion that was that he put into the word, but it was an agreement nevertheless. Craig tries not to look too eager as he finally feels courageous enough to face him again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tweek nods this time, a bit more affirmatively. “I think… I think it’ll be nice. Might make it a little easier to talk, hanhragh… you know, about all this.”

Emboldened by the somewhat positive turn of events, Craig rises to his feet and wordlessly offers Tweek a hand. Only a fleeting moment passes before Tweek accepts and heaves himself to stand as well. Once they’re both up, Craig doesn’t let go. And, as a pleasant surprise, Tweek doesn’t either. They shuffle together, hand in hand as their shoulders bump against one another until they reach the foot of the bed. Craig holds his breath. He can only hope this will at least be comfortable.

[19/?]

“So, talking about it,” Craig cringes at his own clumsy icebreaker as he stares at the ceiling of his bedroom.

They’ve been laying stiffly in his bed for the past five minutes without saying a word. And to make matters worse, it is in fact not comfortable. Even worse yet again, this was his idea in the first place and he doesn’t know where to go from here. Tweek gives him a noncommittal grunt in reply but otherwise doesn’t speak. It’s clear that Craig has to be the one to guide this discussion, but even here at the start of things he feels wildly lost and out of control. A twisted part of him almost prefers the lack of control of a rut, because at least in that scenario he hasn’t stupidly and intentionally brought it on himself. He wonders where to start with this– it’s not like he can say, ‘Well, gee, Tweek, you’re getting to a point where you’re pretty obviously pregnant but you haven’t told a soul! And, well, heck! You and I haven’t discussed a single thing about what we’re gonna do about it!’ He wants to kick himself in the nuts just for having sarcastically thought this. Craig frowns for a while, struggling to find a good place to kick it off properly. Another silent yet stressful bout of time passes, and finally, he strings together a sentence he hopes will be tactful enough.

“I can’t really decide who you should or shouldn’t tell about it, Tweek,” he bites his tongue and pauses to attempt to gauge Tweek’s reaction. “But… there comes a point where you and I can’t put it off anymore. The inevitable is gonna happen, and you’re gonna have that baby. Even if we’re the only ones who talk about it, that’s really major. We should at least go into it with some kind of a plan.”

“I know,” Tweek groans to his side. “Argh, I know that, Craig! It’s just… hnngh, every time I start thinking about the future too much I start panicking, man. It’s so overwhelming! I know I’m not the best for these big emotional conversations in the first place, but… This shit in particular is almost too much to handle. It’s not like I want to lock you out or anything like that, dude. It’s more like… I feel like I’m not capable of getting into it.”

“I at least want you to trust that I have both of our best interests in mind, Tweek,” Craig disclaims in an attempt to reassure him. “I mean, I’m pretty terrible at this, too. Kinda takes two to not have an important conversation.”

This earns him a little chuckle from Tweek, and a fleeting sense of both pride and relief washes over him.

“Look, at the end of the day, I just want you to be able to tell me about how all this is going,” Craig continues. “You’re my mate, so I want to take care of you in whatever way that means.”

“Wait…” Tweek rolls over in order to better face him. “What… did you just call me?”

“Uhh… my mate?” Craig repeats back a bit sheepishly.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way about me,” Tweek states in a way that sounds somehow both flattered and insulted all at once.

“Well!” Craig practically yelps. “I mean, I got you pregnant, Tweek. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“I guess that’s fair,” Tweek rolls back over to face the ceiling again, too. “It just would have been nice to know, is all. Augh, maybe it’s good we’re talking about things, after all.”

Craig runs an embarrassed hand down over his face. He feels like there’s no way this is going well but he also knows he needs to press on. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of things that have gone unsaid until now.

“Is that okay?” Craig asks, trying not to sound too bashful.

“That you think of me as your mate?” Tweek clarifies as if it’s somehow not humiliating. “Hmmph, oh… I hadn’t thought about it before. But um… actually, now that I am, yeah. Ah.. haha… ha… I kinda like it?”

Something in Craig’s chest swells pleasantly. He feels happy, but he realizes something at the same time that makes him feel stupid and kind of like a jerk. It was only a few short months ago that he’d had a similar conversation with that Annie girl, and it had gone nothing like this. He wonders how he would have felt if instead of admitting he enjoyed it, Tweek shot him down right here. That would have been awful. And, as he recalls, that’s exactly how he treated Annie. He tries to push the thought of that out of his mind. He rationalizes that it was different. The circumstances cannot be fairly compared, probably. What matters is, things are going (he thinks) well with Tweek. He doesn’t want to dwell on that much longer now that things have been clarified in his favor, so he changes the subject.

“Speaking of things like that… I remember you saying something a while ago about kinda liking being an omega, too,” Craig states in a way he hopes will encourage Tweek to start elaborating on that.

“Hmm,” he muses for a moment in response, taking that bait easily. “Well, I don’t know, really. Because… I’m pretty sure most omegas don’t present late in life. And… ack! They probably don’t get pregnant a couple of hours right after presenting!”

“That fair enough,” Craig agrees with a guilty flinch.

“But aside from the bad stuff, hmm…” Tweek trails off and places a hand on the bulge on his tummy. “A few things are pretty good. And… I do like those things.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tweek repeats distantly and rubs a small circle over the bump. “It still feels so weird to really, agh, think about it. But… I actually really like being pregnant.”

That catches Craig’s attention pretty thoroughly. Now it’s his turn to roll over and face Tweek. He definitely wants to hear more about this.

“Why’s that?”

“Hard to explain,” Tweek turns over again, and now they’re laying side by side and face to face. “It just feels kinda… ngh, good. Y’know?”

“No,” Craig stares blankly at him. “I’ve never been pregnant.”

“You’re stupid,” Tweek smirks and rolls his eyes, but it’s clear it’s not an insult. “Maybe it’s because the hormones in my body are programmed to make it feel good. …Oh, god. That’s kind of a fucked up thought, man. Argh… but it does feel good. Everything seems sorta nicer. Like, food kinda tastes better and colors somehow seem brighter and just everything is better. I dunno.”

“Maybe that’s what they mean when people talk about the pregnancy glow,” Craig supplies.

“Ha,” Tweek laughs wryly, but his soft smile is still genuine. “Maybe.”

That thought hangs in the air for a moment. There’s a surreal pleasantness about this that Craig had not at all expected. The solitude of his room really brings out something very delicate and personal between them, it would seem.

“Have you thought about if you want a boy or a girl?” Tweek asks suddenly, tearing Craig back out of the momentary stupor.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times. “I, uh… Actually hadn’t thought about that at all until now. Hmm. A boy, I guess?”

“I think it’s a girl,” Tweek counters quietly.

“Why’s that?”

“Just a feeling,” Tweek shrugs a little. “Do you… ah hah… want to feel it?”

They lock eyes. There’s a vulnerability between them as if this is some monumental question. It’s not… but it feels like something has shifted. Craig can’t seem to find his tongue, so he responds with nothing more than a single nod. Tweek slowly reaches forward and grasps Craig’s hand. It’s a gossamer touch, but still, it’s firm and determined, too. Craig can’t tell which of their hands is the sweaty one. He allows himself to be guided forward until his own hand is placed flat against Tweek’s tummy. It feels solid under his hand, but it’s warm and soft and inviting despite seeming so unyielding. He can’t help himself– as soon as he’s made contact, he wants to explore it all. So he does. His palm traces the expanse freely, trying to discover as much as he possibly can with only the touch of his flattened hand. He tries to memorize every curve and he tries to force into his memories the way the smattering of hairs trailing down from Tweek’s belly button feels against his skin. Craig strangely and actively feels something inside him change and he nearly instantly agrees with Tweek’s former sentiments. Somehow, Tweek being pregnant really does make him feel good. He can’t really explain it beyond that. As if he read Craig’s thoughts, Tweek reaches up and places his hand on top of Craig’s and gives it a little squeeze against his belly.

“Wow,” Craig manages to choke out.

“Right?” Tweek agrees. “That’s gonna be ours.”

Those simple words cause Craig’s heart to do a somersault. He’s gripped by something powerful, unknown, and extremely overwhelming. He can’t form a coherent thought. Tweek’s eyes seem to dazzle in the low light and his breath feels hot in the small space between them. Craig doesn’t know what emotion he’s feeling, but he feels it so strongly. It’s warm and tingly and he feels it spread quickly from his chest and all throughout his limbs. It addles his mind and begs him to act on instinct and desire rather than any cognizant thoughts. And so, for the first time in his life outside of a rut, Craig leans forward and kisses someone.

Their lips catch gently at first, cautious and slow as if they’re uncertain. Tweek seems a bit more surprised than put off, but after a moment he leans into it, too. Now that he’s had a taste, Craig realizes he’s hungry for more. Of course, he knows what kissing someone feels like. This act itself isn’t new to him. And yet, this certainly isn’t familiar. He has no driving force to knot that’s guiding this. There’s no surge of pheromones dictating this behavior. He’s kissing Tweek because he wants to, and knowing that Tweek isn’t in heat and is reciprocating… that only makes him want it even more.

He presses his lips harder into Tweek’s while something in his chest flickers like a candle. His hands crawl forward of their own volition and wrap around Tweek’s body to pull him closer. Tweek responds in kind and tangles himself up with Craig, as well. Their lips part as they kiss, giving space for their tongues to freely explore. It’s all laced with desire and unspoken yearning, pushing out all traces of hesitation and confusion that either of them once held. The moment is rushed but it feels slow as well like time has stopped just for them to share this act and wordlessly reveal these feelings to one another. Craig can hardly tell where he stops and Tweek begins and it’s just like Tweek said before– it feels good, and it feels right, and he really can’t figure out how to define it beyond simply that.

In time they need to breathe, so despite the clear desire to continue, they break apart. As they huff big gulps of air, Tweek periodically leans forward and catches Craig with a handful of sweet, chaste pecks on the lips. Craig can hardly handle it, but he clings dearly to Tweek and lets him continue to pepper him with little kisses until they’ve both caught their breath. Craig still can’t think straight after that. He doesn’t know what to do or what to say. So instead, he lays there stupidly with a dreamy smile on his face. He hopes Tweek doesn’t think he’s an idiot. Even if he does, Tweek doesn’t address it.

“A girl sounds good, too,” Craig eventually blurts out.

Tweek replies with a bout of truly insane laughter.

“That’s what you say after we make out?!”

“I guess,” Craig shrugs and chuckles a bit, too.

“Hmm,” Tweek starts to settle down and muses to himself, still tangled up in Craig’s arms. “I guess I really am your mate, huh?”

“I guess,” Craig repeats. “If you want?”

“Yeah,” he solidifies it.

Craig nuzzles at his neck a little, even though he has no desire to bite it. It still somehow seems like the right thing to do, though he can’t place why. He’s not sure exactly what’s come over him. He wonders idly if it has something to do with the pregnancy hormones affecting him. He’s never heard of that before, though. And that’s probably not the case, since he isn’t experiencing any of the telltale signs of an impending rut. Actually, he’s completely certain he can’t go into a rut right now since his mate is pregnant. That’s essentially the one thing he scientifically knows about an alpha’s relationship to pregnancy (beyond inducing it, of course). That knowledge makes him feel all the more bizarre. Despite the inability to experience anything related to the heat cycle, Craig still feels affectionate and physically drawn to Tweek. He’s never felt like this before without the craze and the urgency of his active pheromones. It’s a pleasant sort of confusing.

All the while, Tweek continues to hold onto him. His hands move slowly but deliberately, traipsing along the length of Craig’s back and abdomen, but always falling just short of stopping to rest anywhere. It’s a ticklish sensation that makes his breath hitch and his muscles clench, but it only makes him want it more. It's adjacent to that feeling of vulnerability, mingling with something tender and fraught that burns in his chest and makes him feel warm all over. He leans in and mirrors Tweek, giving him a soft kiss just on the corner of his mouth. Maybe this was the right thing to do because Tweek’s eyes flutter shut in response and it pulls a wispy little gasp from him.

“Craig…” Tweek whispers his name, teetering on the verge of a moan. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

It’s almost funny, seeing as there hasn’t really been much discussion at all.

“Me too,” Craig agrees with him nonetheless.

Tweek takes his turn again and kisses Craig, pressing his lips hungrily against any place he can reach. They go back and forth like this for a bit, never quite returning to the heavy kissing but never quite keeping their hands or their mouths to themselves, either. Craig decides he would happily lose countless hours of sleep in favor of this.

“Now that you’re officially my mate,” Tweek puts some emphasis on that last word before a pause in his thought, “I… agh… I feel like I can tell you something.”

“What’s that,” Craig inquires airily in a liaison between a string of sloppily placed kisses.

“There’s something else about pregnancy,” Tweek begins to explain, still planting kisses here and there as well. “Something, haah, I didn’t expect.”

“There’s a lot to expect while expecting,” Craig agrees in a thick voice.

He’s not really thinking, and he hasn’t been for a while. At this point, he’s just stupidly quoting Hallmark cards he’s seen before. He’ll probably have to kick his own ass later. Right now, he’s very busy with kissing his mate, and it feels too good to concentrate on anything beyond how good he feels.

“Mmm, Craig, I’m serious,” Tweek almost whines, but it doesn’t deter either of them from the languid groping session.

Craig hears himself make some kind of hazy grunt of acknowledgment and he hopes it’s enough to show Tweek he’s (kind of) paying attention.

“It makes me… hnngh, so horny, man.”

“Hmm?”

That certainly caught Craig’s attention.

“Everything makes me want to fuck,” Tweek admits rather blatantly, and something stirs around pleasantly in Craig’s insides. “You said you want to take care of me… Do you still want to take care of me, Craig?”

[19.5/?]

Craig’s eyes go wide and his jaw goes slack. A moment like this has never presented itself to him before. In fact, he never even thought it was something in the realm of possibilities. Craig always supposed his lot in life was to be used for his rut. He figured he’d spend all his days living an uneventful life and occasionally fuck someone who was interested in scratching a mutual itch to rid themselves of the curse of presenting with a demanding secondary sex. Fucking, to him, had been little more than a necessary routine that was largely comparable to brushing his teeth or studying for an exam. It’s just the thing he had to do in order to reach a favorable end. But now, he’s not in a rut and Tweek isn’t in heat. They’re just two people laying together, and somehow, one of those people has decided Craig is worthy and desirable and accessible for reasons not at all related to his current status as an alpha. He feels almost virginal, in a way. Uncertain and giddy, riddled with nerves and excitement and a strange sense of belonging, Craig nods his head.

“In whatever way that means.”

(gdi I was 120 characters over the limit. Not words, characters. Jeez that's annoying lol)

[20/?]

Craig’s heart slams behind his ribs and the thrum of his pulse drones in his ears. His limbs are heavy as lead and prickly little beads of sweat form all along his spine. And yet, he feels calm. He's comfortable and without a single worry plaguing him. It should be a bit disconcerting, seeing as he has a grand variety of things to be legitimately worried about. But as Tweek’s lips meet his own again the countless time in a short span, it’s like he devours all the anxieties and stress of the situation right out of him before they can manifest. Really, Craig can’t be blamed for being so absorbed in this moment. Tweek’s kisses are hungry and wanton, and they make him feel like for the first time in his life, he’s wanted.

“Craig…” Tweek huffs his name into his mouth, and Craig swallows it down with a needy gulp.

He doesn’t know how it’s happened, but Tweek has crawled forward and pushed into Craig forcefully enough that he’s now flat on his back. Tweek looms above him, strong arms holding himself up and heavy stomach pressing into Craig’s. He’s dizzy and lightheaded, completely out of his element, and pleasantly out of control. There are no pheromones to guide him or sway his sense of judgment, and yet he’s fully succumbing to every sensation. His hands crawl up around the back of Tweek’s neck and his fingers tangle in the hair along the nape of his neck. Tweek moans into his mouth, desperate and familiar. In a way, it’s just like before. There’s urgency between them, building and swelling, propelling them to move and touch and feel each other. But it’s not like before– Craig feels adrift at sea, unsure which way the tide will pull him. So he holds on tight and lets the push of Tweek’s tongue on his own guide the way.

“Are you okay with this, Craig?” Tweek inquires, low and raspy, as though he’s read his mind.

On the one hand, of course, he’s okay with this. He’s drowning in the air around him, swept up in the grip of Tweek’s rough hands and soft tongue. Tweek cups his jaw and kisses him slowly, almost patiently. Craig allows his tongue to roll in time with his partner’s as if he’s been given a chance to mull over the situation. He’s more than okay with this… but he feels so new, like a clumsy newborn animal trying to find balance on his legs for the very first time. He isn’t accustomed to taking the lead. But then again, it’s always been something of a routine of instinct, hasn’t it? He’s never truly been in control, so he rationalizes that this isn’t too far from the familiar. He can only whine into Tweek’s hungry mouth in response.

“It’s been so hard, Craig,” Tweek continues, seemingly taking the pathetic sounds he’s drawn out of Craig as a good enough answer for now. “It’s freaking me out… Hrngh, so many secrets. So many changes… I can’t take all this pressure. It’s making me feel insane, Craig. And you wanna know the worst part?”

Craig can only nod feebly. He’s truly unsure of what to expect by now, but his head is in the clouds and his body is on fire with the consistent touch of jittering hands against him.

“It’s this,” Tweek peels one of Craig’s hands from his neck and drags it down until Craig is caressing his low-hanging belly. “This, Craig. In here. Hngh, it’s a constant reminder, man.”

“A constant reminder?” Craig repeats on reflex, though his voice comes out low and croaky.

“Yeah,” Tweek’s eyes bulge in their sockets, wild and fixated on Craig. “It’s all I can think about. It reminds me of what I am, Craig. I’m a filthy, obedient omega deep down inside. Ha… ha, ha… I’m something to be bred like an animal, and it’s so fucked up. It’s so fucked up, man. Hrngh, I’ll keep going into heat, and… grargh, I’ll beg for more. I’ll fucking beg for this.”

He holds Craig’s hand tight against his swollen abdomen. Craig swallows thickly. His eyebrows knit together in confusion and stress.

“I thought you liked being pregnant…? You just said you liked it…?”

Craig had meant for this to come out as a challenge, but now that the words hang in the air he almost feels stupid for saying it. He sounds meek and perplexed. Tweek dips his head low until their noses bump. He breathes a few ragged breaths shamelessly onto Craig’s face and a truly unhinged expression etches itself over his features.

“I love it,” he whispers dangerously. “Don’t you get it? That’s what’s so fucked up. Haangh, that’s what scares me. I love it.”

“Shit, ow,” Craig curses under his breath as Tweek tangles his free hand into a clump of his hair and grips it tightly. “That doesn’t, ow, make any sense, Tweek.”

“No.. no, no… no,” Tweek protests in a tone that manages to be both gentle and deranged all at once. “You get it. I know you get it. I’m not crazy, Craig. You’re an alpha. I know you know that I know that you get it.”

“God damn it, Tweek, what is that supposed to mean,” Craig grunts.

“You love it, too,” Tweek rasps as if it’s a matter of fact and grips tighter until the pressure on his scalp makes Craig’s vision start to blur. “You’d do it again, dude. You’d do this all over again, like a horny fucked up dog, no questions asked because you love it, too.”

Craig squirms uncomfortably under the strength and weight of Tweek’s grasp on him. He’s fully pinned in his own bed and something cold in his stomach tells him he’s better off not fighting it. Adequate thoughts fail to develop in his mind. If he tries to spin this positively, he’s grateful that in some way they’re finally having a long overdue discussion about their circumstances. The only problem is, this is not at all the way he’d supposed it would shake out. There’s a bizarre sense of whiplash to the ordeal, between the former giddy, delicate kisses and the current ferocious, flagrant accusations. He tries to concoct a decent response based on logic and reason.

“Well…” Craig pauses cautiously. “It’s sort of presented a lot of difficulties.”

“Exactly!” Tweek practically shrieks as he smooshes the bridges of their noses together and hisses a bewildering and emphatic agreement. “It’s been so hard, Craig. Grarghragh, so hard! Ack! And why?! Because it’s how we’re hardwired, man. This fucked up shit is how we’re preprogrammed to be. It’s because you’re an alpha, and I’m an omega. Do you know how much it turns me on having to see myself looking like this, arrghargh, every day?! And then you go and say nice things to me like you want to take care of me? I can’t take it!”

“I didn’t have to stick around, you know,” Craig grouses defensively, pushing his head back hard into the pillow to attempt to get a bit of personal space.

“But you did,” Tweek continues the accusation. “Because you’re an alpha, dude. None of this is in our control! Arrgh, I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore! But every time I see this, I get so… hrrngh, so overwhelmed! I feel like, ahagragh, like… I don’t know! It reminds me that I’m a pathetic omega, and I have an alpha to take care of me, and it gets me going. It gets me going so much I can’t see straight and it’s freaking me out! Warghaugh!”

He reels back abruptly and lets go of Craig’s hair only to tangle his hands in his own as he wails. Craig takes a few heavy breaths to collect himself. He looks up and watches Tweek for a moment. There’s fear behind the crazed, manic look in his eyes. He knows he needs to say something, but he’s at a loss. There’s truth to what Tweek has frantically cried out. They truly are in this unplanned pregnancy debacle due to the simple fact of their secondary sex statuses. Craig frowns. But that’s not why they’re here in his room now. That’s a choice they made together, of their own volition, and he feels nearly insulted that Tweek seems to believe otherwise.

“It’s not just because I’m an alpha, Tweek,” he defies him firmly, even though he continues laying on his back like a slug.

“Then why,” Tweek demands and whips his head hard to the side to glare at Craig.

Craig suddenly realizes he’ll have to answer that question with complete sincerity, and it’s not something he’s had the heart to actively examine until now. He chews on his lower lip. There’s more to it than instinct-driven compulsion. On some deep level, he knows it’s far more personal than that.

“Look, Tweek. I’ve already told you I presented early. I’ve had a lot more time to come to terms with my status than you have,” he begins, unsure exactly where he’s headed with this.

Tweek makes a little irritable sound under his breath but otherwise doesn’t interrupt.

“That means I kinda have a pretty good feel for when I do things just because I’m an alpha,” he continues to explain earnestly. “I can admit it’s why I went prowling that night, and it’s also definitely why I brought you back here in the first place. Ugh. I was in a rut. You were in heat. It was pretty cut and dry. But I’ve done that a bunch of times, dude. And I’ve never stuck around with someone before. So… what I’m saying is, you can’t just tell me you’re only here with me now because I’m an alpha. That part isn’t true.”

“Grr, you’re avoiding the question, Craig,” Tweek frowns.

“Okay, well maybe it’s because…” Craig trails off, feeling the heat rise to his face as he turns away, suddenly unable to look at Tweek. “Maybe it’s just because… I like you?”

“Wh…what…?” Tweek veritably gasps out the question.

The tension in the room drastically drops at those small, simple words. Craig squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t bear to face Tweek after so plainly stating something like that. There’s no duplicity to it. That isn’t the issue. Rather, it’s the opposite. It’s raw and vulnerable and fraught with unease because if Tweek truly views their situation based on nothing more than carnal instinct, he’s exposed a tenuous part of himself with no line of defense in place. He cringes with uncertainty and regrets saying anything at all…but at the same time, he doesn’t. There’s a sort of relief that has come with putting words to his feelings for once. He knows rationally that only a beat has passed since he confessed something akin to affection, but the stress of the situation makes it seem like an eternity has passed before Tweek says anything.

“Because you like me…?” Tweek repeats the words as a question, speaking slowly as if each word is fragile.

“Well, yeah,” something about the abject shock in Tweek’s voice emboldens Craig to crack his eyes open and continue. “Why else would I spend all my free time with you? That’s not really a symptom of biological impulse, dude.”

“Mmph,” Tweek grunts and folds his arms over his chest skeptically. “But how do you know? How do you know that’s not just your fucked up brain tricking you?”

Tweek seems so frangible and insecure. It’s a stark contrast to the strong arms and heated words that assailed him only a few minutes prior. For whatever reason, the fluctuation makes his chest flutter tenderly. The fact of the matter is, he doesn’t know it’s not just his fucked up brain tricking him. More importantly than that, though, is that he’s already decided it doesn’t matter.

“I dunno,” he admits rather freely. “But it doesn’t feel like it is. That whole night… it was different, Tweek. I don’t know how to explain it, but it just was.”

He realizes he’s not making a very compelling argument here, but he hopes Tweek can at least tell that he’s trying his best. Craig pulls himself upright on the bed and arranges himself to sit across from where Tweek has situated himself. Maybe he can show him he’s more than just a stupid alpha in another way. He hates being reduced to nothing more than that, and it stings to know that there’s a chance that even Tweek only views him as his label, too. He sighs heavily, then reaches forward to place his hand once again on the bulge in Tweek’s abdomen. The effect it has on him is equal parts instantaneous and amazing. It’s very curious how something as simple as touching his mate’s full belly makes his skin feel alive and his heart feel like a cloud ready to burst. He rubs a tentative circle over the spot where his hand lays, and though he can’t find the courage to look at Tweek’s face, he can feel the slight shudder that wracks his body at the subtle contact.

“You were right about one thing,” Craig keeps going before he loses his nerve. “I do like it. Maybe part of that is because I’m an alpha. I don’t know. But I do know if all this was going on with someone else, I think I’d hate it. A lot, probably. But I don’t. I think that should count for something.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation, but then Tweek places his hand on top of Craig’s. It’s warm and that alone is reassuring. Craig takes a chance and looks up. His eyes meet with Tweek’s. It’s the dead of night, and yet they still twinkle vibrantly under the soft sheen of the tears that pool in them. They’re haunted yet hopeful all at once, and Craig feels like he’s truly seeing him for the first time. He’s more than a lustful, desperate omega. He’s more than a clingy, heavily pregnant mate. He’s Tweek. He’s bombastic and loquacious, fretful and paranoid, curious and peculiar, all jumbled together. Just like himself, Tweek’s not some entity to be solely characterized by a singular trait. He’s a litany of captivating qualities that has managed to infatuate Craig. It’s ridiculous to only now come to this conclusion and Craig feels strangely humbled. He steadies himself and dares to press on.

“Do you, uh… think you feel the same? If this were with someone else, I mean.”

“I’m not sure,” comes the meek response.

Tweek must have noticed Craig teetering on the brink of crumpling because he gives the hand below his own a deliberate squeeze.

“But,” Tweek continues, with a bit more strength in his voice. “I’m glad it’s you.”

It’s weird– Craig never would have suspected that this kind of reciprocation would make his heart soar. His face feels warm and his lips start to curl into a gentle smile that he can’t hide. All of this is so exhausting. But oddly enough, he feels good all over. Tweek laces their fingers together and heaves a tired sigh before letting his head droop forward to land on Craig’s shoulder. They spend a few quiet minutes doing little more than basking in each others’ company.

“So,” Tweek nuzzles the crook of Craig’s neck, finally daring to break the silence. “Hmm, what do we do now?”

“I have no idea,” Craig says flatly and honestly, but he plants a kiss on the top of Tweek’s messy hair. “I was kinda hoping you’d tell me.”

“Me?” Tweek chuckles sarcastically and sits up. “I can’t think about the future, man. That’s way too stressful.”

“Hm,” Craig nods. “But what about now?”

“Now?” Tweek slings an arm over the shoulder where his head once laid. “What I think we should do now?”

“Uh, yeah,” Craig starts to lose his balance and pushes an arm out behind him to brace himself so he doesn’t lose his balance.

“Ah, Craig… you know what I want to do now,” Tweek continues to shove him downwards until Craig indeed can no longer support himself and falls into his pillow with a thud.

“Tweek…?” Craig’s voice cracks but he’s too distracted to feel embarrassed.

Their legs slot together in a way that is not at all familiar. His knees bend and open wide as Tweek slithers between them and holds himself above Craig. Something in his instincts that he’s never experienced before commands Craig to loop his long legs around Tweek’s, so he does. His arms follow suit and reach over his back and lock him into place. His mind is a mess and his jaw hangs slack.

“I can’t take it anymore, Craig,” Tweek warns him softly. “I’m not gonna be able to hold back.”

Craig swallows the lump in his throat. He hears his own voice distantly in his ears before he strains his neck to lean forward and push their mouths together in an eager, greedy kiss.

“Then don’t.”

[21/?]

“I really did love it, Craig,” Tweek reminds him once they pause for a breath.

Craig revels in it as Tweek’s hot breath dances along his own wet lips. He licks them as if he can taste and swallow those words.

“I loved feeling like an omega,” he continues, and all Craig can do is shamefully whimper and devour the sentences as they pour out. “I, ahh, loved how you made me feel. I understand why they call it heat. You feel like you’re on fire, man.”

He looms over Craig’s body and leans in to reach up to brush a few stray hairs off Craig’s forehead. The weight of his belly presses into Craig’s, even though he’s propped up. It really gives Craig an understanding of exactly how distended his abdomen has become.

“I never knew getting fucked could feel like that,” he whispers the vulgar words so sweetly. “Haaa, did you know that, Craig? Do you know how good it can feel?”

“ ‘Supposed to feel good,” Craig manages to grunt out even though his head is swimming.

“You know how good it feels to be fucked, Craig?” Tweek punctuates the question by grinding his hips against Craig’s with a wild look lighting up his eyes. “It feels better than that.”

“I’m, ahh…” Craig chuckles a bit awkwardly. “I’m an alpha.”

“That’s right,” Tweek veritably coos, somewhere between mocking and encouraging that response. “You’re an alpha. Ha… ha, ha… Right? You can’t have what I have, can you, Craig? Hee… hee, hee, hee… Tell me you’re just an alpha. You’re just an alpha, and you can’t do anything except fucking scramble up someone else’s guts with your, angh… your big… big alpha cock.”

“I’m not just an alpha,” Craig furrows his brow and puffs out his cheeks defiantly.

Tweek slips his hands up under the hem of Craig’s shirt and drums his fingers along the flesh beneath it all the way up to the collarbone before raking his nails back down the same path. Craig hisses through his teeth and his back arches just a bit.

“Prove it,” Tweek challenges him. “Prove it, Craig. Hrngh, I can prove it, man. I’m not just an omega. I’m an omega, though, Jesus Christ, fucking look at me, dude. I’m your omega. But that’s not all. No, that’s not all. That’s not all, at all, man. Angh, I can’t. That can’t be everything, Craig! But I could do it before. Yeah… Yeah, I can still do it. It’s fucked up, Craig, it’s so fucked up, Craig. C’mon, argh, c’mon…”

Tweek starts to roll his hips, lost in the mess of words that fumble past his lips in his agitated state. He presses his palms flat on Craig’s stomach, anchoring himself as well as holding Craig down in place.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Tweek,” Craig curses, but there’s no venom in his words.

In fact, his actions are nothing short of supportive of Tweek’s increasingly confusing behavior. His legs stay firmly latched around Tweek’s and he lets his hips reciprocate with each push and pull.

“Can you do it?” Tweek dips back down low, but stops just before their noses can brush together.

His arms creep forward to cradle Craig’s head and lock him in place, giving him no choice but to maintain eye contact. It makes Craig squirm feebly, but something in him knows he wouldn’t look away even if that were an option.

“Do… what, exactly?” Craig practically squeaks.

“I don’t know what we should do,” Tweek sighs through the words, then pauses to plant a wet kiss on the side of Craig’s overheated cheekbone. “But, augh, I know what I want. I wanna do this, Craig. And… and grrrargh, I gotta do it. I won’t be able to stop. I can’t stop, Craig! Is that okay? It’s gotta be okay, man, you gotta prove it. You said. You said, Craig!”

The thought doesn’t really come to fruition. Tweek, in a frenzy, trails off and pushes his mouth hard against Craig’s. He lets his tongue explore Tweek’s mouth. It’s hot and feverish, just as he remembers it. It’s pleasant and confusing all at once since his sense of smell isn’t overwhelming him. Similarly, his cock doesn’t strain and cause him a frantic sort of distress. But the sensations are much the same otherwise– his heart is racing and his limbs feel heavy and light all at once. There’s a need that burns in his belly that he has no idea how to act upon. In a way, he’s grateful that for once in his life he isn’t at the helm. As for his confusion, though, it’s because he never thought this would be a possibility for him. Tweek holds him down and forces his tongue deeper down his throat. All Craig can do is succumb and enjoy it.

“Will you take care of me?” Tweek pulls back and gasps out the words. “The way I need? Can you prove it, Craig? Can you, augh, take care of me?!”

“I can only say ‘yes’ so many times, Tweek,” Craig tries to sound exasperated, but he ends up wheezing since his lungs feel on the verge of collapse.

Tweek emits something between a whine and a growl, and then his hands get to work. They’re everywhere on Craig, never stopping in one place for too long. His swollen tummy prevents him from bending or moving too quickly, but Craig views this mostly as a blessing. Tweek grips Craig’s arms, his chest, and his hair all in an erratic mess of quickly tangling appendages. Craig, on the other hand, alters between letting himself be groped and gently reaching toward the bump on Tweek’s belly. It’s nearly more hypnotic than if he’d marked him during his rut. It’s tangible, visible, and real. Pheromones are only clear to those who can perceive them. This is so much more than that. It’s unquestionable and a clear mark of his claim. He suddenly understands how Tweek feels about it. There’s something unbridled here, showing the unmistakable results of what they’ve done and who they’ve become to one another. The blood in his veins burns hot. He’s sure he can’t describe it but he wants to relive every moment that led up to this.

Craig’s thighs fall open as Tweek’s mouth lands on the side of his neck. Soft lips and wet tongue meet the tender flesh above his pulse. He’s acutely aware that this is nothing like a mark– how could it be? There are no raging pheromones or engorged genitals to quell. He feels ticklish and squirmy, as well as sensual and lightheaded. There’s no greater reasoning behind this than for pleasure on its own. Craig feels like hot wax melting under a candle’s flame. Between the sensation itself and the knowledge that Tweek is simply doing this to make them both feel good, he can’t help himself. He’s a puddle on the mattress. Craig angles his head to the side to make himself more available. He’s acting on instinct, and yet he’s not. Once it seems he's satisfied, Tweek pulls back and sits on his heels between Craig’s open legs and starts fumbling with the zipper on his pants.

“Holy shit,” is all Craig can manage to utter.

It all happens so fast. Tweek tugs on his clothing and Craig lifts his hips and arches his back to assist in the process. Before he knows it he’s laying flat on his back and completely exposed. It’s strange– he feels shy and vulnerable, in a very nearly virginal sort of way. The evidence to the contrary is directly in his line of sight in the form of Tweek’s round tummy, but even still he can’t help but feel small, defenseless, and completely new to all of this. The sound of his own breathing deafens him. His fingers latch onto the bed linens as if clutching tightly will prevent him from falling off the side of the earth.

“Craig,” Tweek manages to find a way to make something as simple as saying his name sound lewd and vulgar. “You look good like this.”

He feels so insecure, considering he’s laying on his back with his jeans scrunched up around the back of his knees and his shirt has crawled a bit up his stomach. Tweek speaks so reverently, though, and he can’t help but feel like it’s sincere. He wants to return the compliments. Tweek is the reason his breath hitches and his heart clenches, and he wants him to know that, too. But the words die in his mouth and his thoughts tangle up like an abandoned box of string lights. He tries to swallow that dry feeling in his mouth but he can only scrounge up a few measly little moans and whimpers. He misses the ironically “in control” feelings of being out of control during a rut, but he also really and truly does not. It’s all quite literally in Tweek’s hands and there’s something new and exciting deep within him that loves it.

“Your cock was so swollen before,” Tweek comments casually like he’s recollecting a tasty meal he once enjoyed; it makes the heat burn almost painfully on Craig’s cheeks. “Looked like when you, agh, put too much shit in your backpack. Ha, you know? And the zipper just… Mmm, looks ready to pop. Was it painful, Craig? Did it feel… ah, heavy?”

Craig doesn’t know how to answer that question. He can’t really force his mind to look back and reflect on how his dick felt a few months ago even if he wanted to. Tweek’s hands glide up the top of Craig’s bare thighs and send pleasant waves of crackling electricity jolting up his spine.

“It felt like having a boner,” he says stupidly, kind of hating himself for saying something so useless.

“It felt heavy inside me,” Tweek doesn’t seem fazed by any of the dumb sentences being strung together, instead focusing on kneading little circles closer and closer to his groin. “How does it feel now?”

“Wha…?” Craig tilts his head forward to look where Tweek has paused to gesture in between his legs.

His bleary eyes struggle to focus, but lo and behold there stands the unfamiliar sight of his own cock standing upright. It’s not angry or red, nor is it grotesquely swollen to a deformed degree. Obviously, he knows what his own dick looks like when it’s hard. He’s not unfamiliar with the nuisance of waking up with an erection, and especially when he was younger it seemed like he spent most of both his puberties walking around with the damn thing tucked up in his waistband to conceal it. It’s just… the only time someone else has seen it, he’s been in a rut. It’s always been in its behemoth state of unrestrained, pheromone-driven determination. Having a run-of-the-mill boner has really never been anything more than a simple nuisance for Craig, and it’s one that much more easily resolves itself on its own compared to the other at that. He’s still stuck in this embarrassing limbo of feeling like a completely incompetent idiot and feeling completely overcome with pleasure and desire.

“Hmm,” Tweek gives him a coy smile when he takes too long to respond. “I think it suits you.”

Those words make his cock twitch and jump, now that he’s acknowledged it. He feels extra dumb for not putting it together before. Tweek lowers himself until he’s hovering just above Craig’s cock. He’s suddenly peripherally aware that he’s shaking, and it’s not because he’s cold. He holds his breath, unwilling to make any sudden movements. He bites his tongue, much too unsure of himself to speak.

“Are you nervous, Craig?” Tweek presses a kiss to his stomach before resting his cheek on the same spot.

“A little,” he admits hesitantly.

“It’s okay,” Tweek croons, planting a few more soft kisses around the hairs that lead down between Craig’s legs. “Ngh, it’s okay, man. I was nervous, too. So nervous…”

“I’m sorry,” Craig apologizes yet again, but this time it’s because he’s at a loss for anything else to say.

“No… no, no. No,” Tweek insists, adamantly shaking his head while his nose brushes against those ticklish hairs. “You knew what to do! Augh, and you did it. You did it all, Craig. So it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Hnngh, because you know what? This time I know. I know, man. Harghrgh, you know?”

“No, Tweek,” Craig huffs through his nose in exasperation. “I don’t know.”

“When I was scared, Craig, ngh, you made me feel so good. You showed me how,” Tweek’s slides easily up the side of Craig’s hip and finally finds a resting place with his palm flattened against Craig’s shaft. “And now? Now… hrngh, now I need to show you how.”

Craig’s knees buckle at the contact. It’s everything he didn’t realize he needed. There’s no urgency like he’s accustomed to. There’s no strain and no feverish burn to the act. Tweek’s fingers slowly curl around Craig’s shaft, like he’s testing the waters. It’s soothing, in a way. There’s no definitive drive toward seeking a predetermined end. It’s something Craig had never considered in the past– the whole point before was to fuck something raw until he knots, solely for the purpose of relieving himself of the anguish of his rut. But this? This is the simple act of someone touching him for no reason other than to bring him to a heightened state of pleasure. He lets out that quivering breath he was holding in, allowing the lingering feeling of Tweek’s deliberate pumps to wrack his entire body.

“Agh, don’t you want to feel good, Craig?” Tweek slowly strokes him, albeit it still a little bit erratically.

“Mm,” Craig can only nod and hope that his jerky hips show enough signs of agreement.

“You made me feel so good. Mm, so good,” Tweek mutters to himself. “Every day, hngh, every day I think about it, man. I can’t take it anymore. I hate it. Hate how much I love it. I’m an omega, Craig. So why do I wanna do this? Why?”

“Why,” Craig repeats, trying to hone in his focus on the fingers coiled around his length.

“ ‘m not just an omega,” he grouses and gives Craig an unintentional squeeze that causes him to lurch forward a bit.

“You’re not,” Craig agrees, and he realizes he truly believes it.

“Tell me you’re not just an alpha,” he demands, working Craig’s cock just a little faster.

“I’m not,” Craig agrees again, flinching just a little.

It’s not painful, but it’s certainly overwhelming. His head feels murky, but he’s strangely lucid.

“Grarghragh, say it, Craig! You need to say it,” Tweek almost wails, babbling a mile a minute while steadily jerking Craig off as if his life depends on it and his frantic eyes dart around wildly. “I gotta feel better about this. You gotta tell me. Please, Craig… I need to know. Ack, it’s gonna happen again, man, I can feel it. Once this part is over, it’s gonna start again. Oh, Jesus, it’s neverending, isn’t it?! Fuck, it was so good… I’ve never been fucked like that before, Craig. It’s not even over and, wagghhhh! I already want it again! Can’t stop thinking about it… It could be so easy. So easy to sell my body for profit, and… and I’d beg them to do it! That can’t be all there is. No way, man. I can’t live with that kind of pressure hanging over me. You gotta tell me! Please, Craig… say it! Tell me there’s more to it! Tell me there’s more to life than just being an omega. Tell me you’re more than just an alpha! I… I want this. But I know it’s so fucked up! I need to know you’ll take care of me because I’m me.”

There’s a disconnect between Tweek’s desperate plea and the calming sensation that comes from the pressure gripping his cock. He wants to tell Tweek to stop so he can think straight, but he also selfishly wishes Tweek could calm down on his own and let him relish in the gratification of the act. Neither choice is the right one, and once again Craig is faced with the burden of blindly trying to do the right thing. Tweek is skillful and relentless, but he’s also miserable and confused. Craig forces himself to think, though the task at hand isn’t an easy one. He wonders how they ended up in this mess. Lying to Tweek is out of the question. That won’t do them any good. But what is the truth?

South Park Kink Meme

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Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation

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