Pining for a Spaz

Basement

**not my art, if you know who's art,  fire their info in the comments 😁**

"And what the fuck issh seven minutes in heaven anyway?!?" Tweek slurs.
"This is more like PURgatory!! Who in their right ffffffmind! thinks heaven is a dark, fuckinn... boOoby trapped basement!?!" He shouts, flailing his arms around wildly. I chuckle.
Drunk Tweek is a riot.
I swipe the small, half-drank bottle of whiskey from him, taking a large swig.
"Heyyy!!" He protests, lunging forward to try and steal it back, but unfortunately for him, he's much more intoxicated than I, and I easily evade his sloppy attack. I laugh, taking another swig, and he glares dangerously, tackling and pinning me onto the wrapped-up mattress we'd set up camp on. I'm caught completely off guard, and he plucks the bottle from my fingers, taunting me with it before chugging some back, sitting.
Right.
On.
Top.
Of.
Me.
He regards my shell-shocked reaction curiously, and I quickly try to regain my composure.
"Oh, come on. You can't be that ssurprised I took it back." He huffs, slumping childishly into himself, and effectively grinding his butt directly into my crotch.
Ohmygod.
I sit up immediately, forcing him to shift off of my quickly escalating problem, but he remains on my lap, straddling my thighs and pouting at me.
"You know, it's pretty fffrustrating that everyone thinks I'm this... fragile lllllittle thing they have to take under their wing." He slurs, taking another mouthful of whiskey. I swallow nervously, meeting his suddenly fierce eyes as he leans in, intimidatingly close.
"I'm capable of things you can't even imagine." He whispers.
Holy shit.
I can't remember how to breathe.
It suddenly dawns on me this must have been Kenny's plan all along, and I exhale shakily, mustering up the courage to go with it.
"Like what?" I whisper back, though, while his whisper was menacing, mine was breathless, bordering on desperation.  He grins sloppily at me, oblivious to my strange breathlessness, before throwing back his head gesturing widely with his arms.
"Anythhing! Try me!" He laughs giddily, propping his hands on his thighs, which still straddle my own, regarding me with daring playfulness in his shining eyes.
This is it.
My chance.
Eminem's lose yourself plays in the back of my head, fuelling my courage alongside the whiskey buzz.
"Anything?" I challenge, pleased with the taunting note in my tone. His eyes flare in defiance, and he nods impatiently.
"Anything." He confirms fiercely, puffing his chest out. My pulse kicks up a notch.
Here goes everything.
"Tough talk, for someone who had to be piggybacked down here," I taunt. He scowls.
"You offered!" He's getting really riled up now. I chuckle condescendingly, dismissing his claim even further. It's extremely important that I make it seem as if I'm not as invested as I actually am in what I say next.
"I bet you're be too chicken to even do something as simple as seven minutes in heaven." I jeer.
There, I said it.
There's no going back.
Either he does it, or he doesn't and we're back to square one ...unless he catches on to how much I actually want him to...
"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! How is that a fair trial?!?" He shouts in frustration.
Fuck.
I did not realize I would have to explain it to him word for word...
"Uhh,,, it's where two people get locked in a closet for seven minutes, and have to make out?" I say, aiming to sound incredulous at the fact that he didn't even know what it meant.
He stares at me, for what feels like an eternity, perched lightly on my legs just above my knees, just scrutinizing me.
No going back.
I have to live with the consequences.
No going back.
I repeat it over and over in my head while he just sits on me, squinting into the depths of my very being.
"You don't need to prove anything to anyone, Tweek." I say after a pause, trying to diffuse the bomb I personally set.
"I'm just teas-" he cuts me off, fisting the hair at my nape, and yanking me forward to smash his mouth against mine.
OhHhhHHh~
He wastes no time pushing his tongue past my lips, and I swear my heart stops. My movement is automatic when I wrap my arms around him, pulling him flush against me. He reciprocates, winding his arms around my shoulders,  arching into me.
Goddd~ he tastes so sweet... Like the girliest mocha-latte-frappuccino-whatever, spiked with liquor... and his lips are so soft, pliable... molding and re-molding as our mouths press and slide together, panting gently in between heated kisses. I can't help the soft groan that escapes me as he shifts in my lap, just barely shy of rubbing against my hard-on, and it must have broken the spell we were under, because he pulls back, breaking the magnetic contact between our mouths.
"You're... really good at that..." he pants sheepishly. I settle on curving up the corners of my lips, as I am completely at a loss for words otherwise.
It was amazing. Better than any fantasy I'd had about him.
He fidgets awkwardly, seemingly unable to decide on his next course of action. His hands are braced lightly on my shoulders, and he still sits much too close for this position to be anything close to casual.
I just stare at him. I can't help myself. I want to drink in this moment, this energy between us, before it's gone. I want to remember his face like this; flushed, and slightly overwhelmed, and I'm just drunk enough to not care if he realizes my feelings right now. He stares back, increasingly more flustered.
"Do we... have to; make out? For the whole seven minutes? ...for it to count?" He whispers breathlessly, hooded gaze shifting between my mouth and eyes.
My stomach somersaults and I nod.
"Yes." I state without hesitation.
"Hm~," he hums, wasting no time eagerly pressing his lips to mine.
Fuuuck~
Little sounds escape him in puffs of impatient breath, and he squirms closer, tugging on my hair, my clothes, anything his frantic hands can grab onto.  I wonder how he'd react if I push back, if I give into the desperation hammering in my heart. He pushes me backwards, pinning me to the mattress and I quickly flip us over, not wanting him to accidentally brush up against my raging hard-on. He gasps breathlessly, urgently tugging me back into our drunk make-out session as I carefully keep my crotch elevated.
...Fuck,
My thoughts come in hazy trickles.
...I want all of him...
I trail kisses down his jaw to his throat, my tongue impatiently quivering to taste his skin. He moans loudly as I trace his throbbing carotid with my tongue, succumbing to a fit of giddy giggling immediately after the downright-pornographic sound escapes his throat. He pushes at my shoulders and I lift myself higher to meet his eyes.
"What," I pant breathlessly.
"Th-this is pretty gay," he giggles, hiding his face with his hands. I swallow a sudden lump in my throat.
"Who cares. Doesn't count when you're drunk." I announce with a bravado that I don't feel. He exhales sharply, dropping his hands from his flushed face and yanking me back down to him.
"Good," he breathes, nipping hungrily at my lower lip.
Good.
Fucking.
GOD.
Please don't let this be a dream.