[FANFIC] Normally Nothing - Craig/Clyde
Title: Normally Nothing
Author: ienvy
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Craig/Clyde
Rating: PG-13
Summary: #40 Dance The Table
Warnings: There are brief, sexual references in this fic. If it makes you uncomfortable, then do not read.
Notes: Written for badsamajama
Normal, he had said, not even ten minutes ago. This is normal.
Craig is sure that he has never been smart and he is sure that he has never been normal, even though his life had been quite geared to obtaining a sense of normality amongst all the craziness that this town thrust upon their generation.
But, if there is one thing that he is absolutely sure of, it's that this is not normal.
"Craig, you just gotta... sorta like..."
He isn't listening to what his friend is trying, rather desperately, to explain to him. He's staring, slate colored eyes still as they lock onto Clyde's mushy, chocolaty brown ones. He's staring in disbelief, of course, because -- really? this is definitely not normal. This is the furtherest thing from normal but Clyde had shaken it away and is now, still, trying to teach him the different types of dance steps.
Craig regrets asking.
"Here, you have to--" Whatever Clyde was still trying to say, Craig didn't hear any of it because the other boy's hand was guiding his own to rest against Clyde's hip. Warm, soft. Craig can't help but wrap his fingers a little more firmly around it, just to get closer to that semblance of feeling he finds so damn attracting.
He is telling himself, promising himself, that he will go no further than that, push the barriers no more and just rest his grip upon that lovely hip, glad enough Clyde is even this close to him. He will not act upon those damn impulses that continually rise. He will not. He is repeating these promises within his mind, over and over, trying his damnedest to make sure he follows through. He can't ruin it.
"See? Then you just, you know..." They're moving now, swaying together. Clyde is already well adapted to the role of the girl, surprisingly enough, and their feet never cross or stumble upon one another.
"Yeah," is all Craig can grumble beneath his breath as he watches, promising himself over and over again. Never again. Never. Ever. Ever.
Even though Craig has already indicated that he understands how it works, the two remain spinning in circles on the floor, two little puppets in an endless dance, their strings all tangled and knotted together. Clyde isn't releasing Craig's shoulder or his hand and Craig isn't going to complain if they stay like this for quite some time. Even though all he can think of is that night. Thinking, more specifically, of how Clyde's body had looked when all of his muscles were tight, coated in a thin layer of sweat as his hips twisted, round, round, down, down, so hard, so beautifully delicious, against Craig's waiting and desiring body. These thoughts continue to rise in his mind and he cannot chase the pictures away, instead he watches them, fondles them, coos and cherishes them.
He's almost oblivious to the fact that he's going to be pitching a tent at any given moment and Clyde is still touching him, still allowing Craig to lead their dance.
"Well," Clyde stops it, very suddenly, and Craig feels his mouth go dry, wondering if Clyde notices the front of his pants. "I think we're done... and, I have some things to do..."
Craig allows his hands to falter, very slowly, away from Clyde, who remains standing there, looking all too awkward to be Clyde.
"Seeya later." He mumbles and before Craig can stop himself, he's gripping onto the boy who had just been turning to leave. He doesn't even know why he's doing it, he just is. Clyde's eyes are huge and Craig's heart is undoubtedly ready to spring right out of his chest. But he doesn't stop. He pushes forward, continues onward, and brings their lips so hard together it almost hurts.
There's that moment, that single frame of time, and then Clyde is pulling back hastily, even if he had allowed himself to relax against Craig for that brief, unreliable, unobtainable moment.
"Craig," he says in a voice so firm it nearly scares Craig. "I... the other night," he's groping blindly for the right words and Craig wants to rush forward to explain to him why he cannot find the words. Because he's lying to himself. He wants Craig as much as Craig wants him. "It was a mistake." He sounds distressed, tired out now. "I'm... We're not... we're not gay."
Craig doesn't stop him when he leaves this time, doesn't even look to watch the other walk out of his room. All he knows is that Clyde is gone and, damn, that hole in his chest is spreading at an alarmingly fast rate and he wonders if, maybe one day, he'll feel it hurt as much as it should.
Today, it seems, is not the day that he is going to feel the pain. Today is not the day and Craig does not feel the creeping sorrow, nor does he feel the hot tears at his eyes, nor does he feel that lump that threatens to choke him, nor does he feel the shuddering gasps or the carpet as he paces across it or the rapid thump of his heart or the quivering gasps it gives before it sputters out and dies inside of him. He feels nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing except for that warm, tender spot where Clyde had touched his shoulder.
Author: ienvy
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Craig/Clyde
Rating: PG-13
Summary: #40 Dance The Table
Warnings: There are brief, sexual references in this fic. If it makes you uncomfortable, then do not read.
Notes: Written for badsamajama
Normal, he had said, not even ten minutes ago. This is normal.
Craig is sure that he has never been smart and he is sure that he has never been normal, even though his life had been quite geared to obtaining a sense of normality amongst all the craziness that this town thrust upon their generation.
But, if there is one thing that he is absolutely sure of, it's that this is not normal.
"Craig, you just gotta... sorta like..."
He isn't listening to what his friend is trying, rather desperately, to explain to him. He's staring, slate colored eyes still as they lock onto Clyde's mushy, chocolaty brown ones. He's staring in disbelief, of course, because -- really? this is definitely not normal. This is the furtherest thing from normal but Clyde had shaken it away and is now, still, trying to teach him the different types of dance steps.
Craig regrets asking.
"Here, you have to--" Whatever Clyde was still trying to say, Craig didn't hear any of it because the other boy's hand was guiding his own to rest against Clyde's hip. Warm, soft. Craig can't help but wrap his fingers a little more firmly around it, just to get closer to that semblance of feeling he finds so damn attracting.
He is telling himself, promising himself, that he will go no further than that, push the barriers no more and just rest his grip upon that lovely hip, glad enough Clyde is even this close to him. He will not act upon those damn impulses that continually rise. He will not. He is repeating these promises within his mind, over and over, trying his damnedest to make sure he follows through. He can't ruin it.
"See? Then you just, you know..." They're moving now, swaying together. Clyde is already well adapted to the role of the girl, surprisingly enough, and their feet never cross or stumble upon one another.
"Yeah," is all Craig can grumble beneath his breath as he watches, promising himself over and over again. Never again. Never. Ever. Ever.
Even though Craig has already indicated that he understands how it works, the two remain spinning in circles on the floor, two little puppets in an endless dance, their strings all tangled and knotted together. Clyde isn't releasing Craig's shoulder or his hand and Craig isn't going to complain if they stay like this for quite some time. Even though all he can think of is that night. Thinking, more specifically, of how Clyde's body had looked when all of his muscles were tight, coated in a thin layer of sweat as his hips twisted, round, round, down, down, so hard, so beautifully delicious, against Craig's waiting and desiring body. These thoughts continue to rise in his mind and he cannot chase the pictures away, instead he watches them, fondles them, coos and cherishes them.
He's almost oblivious to the fact that he's going to be pitching a tent at any given moment and Clyde is still touching him, still allowing Craig to lead their dance.
"Well," Clyde stops it, very suddenly, and Craig feels his mouth go dry, wondering if Clyde notices the front of his pants. "I think we're done... and, I have some things to do..."
Craig allows his hands to falter, very slowly, away from Clyde, who remains standing there, looking all too awkward to be Clyde.
"Seeya later." He mumbles and before Craig can stop himself, he's gripping onto the boy who had just been turning to leave. He doesn't even know why he's doing it, he just is. Clyde's eyes are huge and Craig's heart is undoubtedly ready to spring right out of his chest. But he doesn't stop. He pushes forward, continues onward, and brings their lips so hard together it almost hurts.
There's that moment, that single frame of time, and then Clyde is pulling back hastily, even if he had allowed himself to relax against Craig for that brief, unreliable, unobtainable moment.
"Craig," he says in a voice so firm it nearly scares Craig. "I... the other night," he's groping blindly for the right words and Craig wants to rush forward to explain to him why he cannot find the words. Because he's lying to himself. He wants Craig as much as Craig wants him. "It was a mistake." He sounds distressed, tired out now. "I'm... We're not... we're not gay."
Craig doesn't stop him when he leaves this time, doesn't even look to watch the other walk out of his room. All he knows is that Clyde is gone and, damn, that hole in his chest is spreading at an alarmingly fast rate and he wonders if, maybe one day, he'll feel it hurt as much as it should.
Today, it seems, is not the day that he is going to feel the pain. Today is not the day and Craig does not feel the creeping sorrow, nor does he feel the hot tears at his eyes, nor does he feel that lump that threatens to choke him, nor does he feel the shuddering gasps or the carpet as he paces across it or the rapid thump of his heart or the quivering gasps it gives before it sputters out and dies inside of him. He feels nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing except for that warm, tender spot where Clyde had touched his shoulder.