'Later' turned out to be three hours later, when the bus had stopped so everyone could get up at some roadside shop and have a toilet break or whatever. Craig left Marsh asleep, the guy would probably wake up on his own, right?
Wrong. Entirely wrong. Marsh slept like a zombie, or a baby. Or a baby zombie, which was probably the most horrifying thing Craig could think of.
When he returned with an energy drink, enjoying the quiet in the bus, Marsh was still in dreamland, his head resting against the hoodie he'd crumpled together and used as a pillow. His mouth was slightly open, but he didn't drool. Plus points that still put him above Clyde in the seat-neighbor olympics. At least he didn't look pissy anymore. In fact, he looked peaceful. Craig sighed then reached out to shake his arm.
"Hey, Marsh. Wakey-wakey, sunshine or whatever gayass thing your mom calls you. You're missing the piss break."
And probably sandwiches, because whilst Craig was happy with his own stash, the rest of the team had gone nuts at the sandwich refrigerator and, well, a whole team of hungry teenage football players ate like twenty cows. Aptly named, so to say. Marsh woke up and grumpily left, Craig enjoyed his quiet alone time until a few minutes later, Marsh was back, looking even more pissed. Goodie.
"What now?"
He knew what was up, he could see it in the way Marsh stared at the sandwiches and snacks piled in front of Craig.
"You couldn't have woken me up in time for food?" Stan knew that Craig had no obligation to do any of that, they weren't even friends, but it was still a dick move to leave him with nothing. Especially with Tucker's ample supply, stacked high on his side.
"There's nothing left."
And a handful of doritos were not enough to tide over anyone the size of Stan. Especially not without breakfast. Stan's eyes clung to the food and snacks with longing.
"Not my fault you sleep like a fucking baby."
Craig let him sit on his seat again and then fell into his own. He picked a cheese and ham sandwich (his mom had lovingly colour-coded them all) and unwrapped it, then realized that Marsh was still staring.
Before he bit into his food, he stopped, looking the guy dead in the eye.
"I get to choose the room and first pick of the beds. You get to pick between cheese and ham, turkey and tomatoes and crispy chicken with mayonnaise." To put emphasis on his words, Craig pulled his backpack up to show Stan the delicious treats inside.
"Oh, yeah, since princess probably missed it due to her 100 years of sleep: We're roomsharing."
"Great. Wait. What?"
Why? Why did it have to be Craig? Their names were miles apart alphabetically and no one would willingly make them endure each other. They weren't friends either. So why? This had to be Craig's doing. Stan's head warred with his rumbling stomach and his eyes slid between the sandwiches. He would kill for the crispy chicken, honestly, but the thought of sharing a room with Craig for a month was ruining his appetite.
"Why? Why are we rooming? Why aren't you with...anyone else?"
Marsh's genuinely annoyed reaction pissed off Craig for real this time.
"Don't blame this on me, Coach said so. I tried to tell him that it's bullshit, I always room with Clyde anyway, but he said that's exactly why he wants us to room. Cause we don't wanna. And he's gonna give us shit if we don't do it."
He closed up the backpack and stored it back under his seat. Now Marsh had to beg for it and Craig would get to choose room and his bed. The cheese-and-ham was great and he bit into it with quite the appetite. Sure this trip was shit and all, but his family had to cancel this year's vacation to finance it, so Craig needed to at least not be sent home early. Which meant he had to be on some form of good behavior. And if that meant he had to roomshare with Marsh, then that would be his price to pay.
Stan folded his arms and sunk into his seat, stomach grumbling and a slow headache developing, somewhere behind his left eye. This trip couldn't really get much worse, could it? He had vowed not to complain to Kyle every single day that he was gone, but the injustice of his roomie and the lack of food were turning him whiny, fast. He fished out his phone, and it beeped at him with a low battery warning. Fuck. Did he leave that stupid game running?
I hate everything about this trip already. Gotta room with Craig. Phone's nearly dead. Save me.
Just as he sent the text, his screen went blank. His charger was tucked safely into his luggage in the compartment below the carriage of the bus and entirely out of reach. Stan groaned, loudly, letting his head hit his seat.
"Hey Craig?"
"... what?" Came the reply between sandwich bites. Craig was busy going through his phone, though he had resorted to not gaming on it in order to save battery. Instead, he was chatting with several girls at once. They all missed him 'sooo much heart smiley kiss smiley'. Having a selection of people at your disposal, however, didn't mean anything got better. Craig had already learned that and it had only been half a year since the breakup with Tweek. That whole debacle had been a nightmare, since everyone got involved. Explaining that they'd been together for the sake of the town's progressive peace of mind didn't really work. But this time, he and Tweek didn't actually have to act anything out. Their breakup was a mutually agreed upon thing. It had even hurt, really, to end what was essentially the closest friendship Craig had ever had. But he wasn't like that and at their age, he had a lot of catching up to do.
At least he wasn't 'the gay guy' anymore, having dated some girls publicly, for a day or two. The longest had been a week, and all of his relationships ended in a text from him, informing the unfortunate girl on the other end that things were not working out. He never really apologized, either. He knew he could be a dick, but the less he cared, the more they wanted him. It was an endless puzzle that he'd given up on trying to solve.
Craig didn't miss anyone really, not even his family. He didn't really mind going on a trip either, it was just that people annoyed the fuck out of him and summer camp meant he had nowhere to go.
"...what do you want for a sandwich?"
First pick of the bed in their room would hardly be sufficient. Stan should have taken the deal earlier, before it was whisked out of his hands. But then again, he did just learn of the potential misery in his immediate future, so someone (Craig) should cut him some slack.
Craig perked up. The way Marsh asked the question had quite the amount of options pop up in his head, some of them more PG in nature, others not so much. His gaze ran over Marsh's face, the guy looked grumpy and still a bit sleepy, his hair flat on one side and messed up on the other and his too-cute-to-be-manly nose was slightly scrunched up.
"Depends on what kind you want."
To tease him a bit more, Craig pulled the backpack out again and opened it. "Yellow's cheese and ham, blue's turkey and red's crispy chicken."
He didn't really have to ask because Marsh's gaze was fixated on that one crispy chicken. Craig took it and put it on his flip-tray, then looked Stan straight in the eye.
"Make out with me like you mean it. If you want that sandwich, that is."
That had Stan's eyes roll up to Craig's face, rather than the sandwich. His growling stomach was forgotten, at least for now. He must be hearing things wrong. Did Craig just suggest that instead of beating the shit out of each other, they should be...kissing?
"Dude, that's..." gay, yes. Was Craig? No, he'd made sure that everyone knew he was into girls after breaking up with Tweek. He'd never been gay either, responding only to South Park's obsession with their supposed love. So, what the fuck was this about? Stan felt ice on his spine. Maybe Craig knew. About him. About Stan's unsavory thoughts. Stan's long showers and choked whispers asking for something really, really gay from Kyle. Fuck. That ice was melting into a nervous bubbling in his stomach. He hadn't even told Kyle yet...why did Craig know? Did he have some sort of radar for it now?
"...Fine. But not here, right?"
Something reached Craig's icy eyes, a triumphant little glint, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived. Or maybe it was because he reached overhead and turned off the seat lighting. The bus, still empty, engine turned off, went entirely dark.
"Right here, right now, Marsh."
It wasn't that he was gay for Marsh, couldn't be because one, he wasn't gay and two, if he was gay for anyone then probably Tweek. Oh and three, he wasn't fucking gay.
No, this was different, this was about winning. Bringing him to do things he wouldn't usually dare with his fragile ego. Making Marsh finally submit. They stared at each other in the dark. Once their eyes had grown accustomed to the lighting, Craig could study his face. He seemed to hesitate, still, and Craig had enough.
He reached out and grabbed Marsh's hoodie, pulling him in real close. His breath was faster than usual and somehow, that sent just the right amount of tingling down his spine.
"You want that sandwich or not?" Craig whispered, his lips almost touching Stan's as they moved to form the words.
"Fuck you, Tucker," Stan was hungry as hell and it was dark. There was something about the way Craig was in his face, invading his personal space. Demanding, when he really, had no fucking leg to stand on.
No one would know. If Craig told people, then everyone would know that he was the fucking freak, asking for weird, gay things for food. Stan had never felt kinship with a hooker before, so you know, this trip was already shaping up to be a learning experience of the worst kind. Stan bit the bullet. And in this case, it meant closing his eyes (even though it was dark) and tilting his head forward and pressing his lips to Craig's. He ignored how it felt and tasted, at least for the second that his brain revolted at the notion of kissing Craig fucking Tucker.
And then, he let it happen. He was supposed to make it good. Make out, Craig had demanded, not just a frigid kiss. Fine. Tucker wanted to embarrass him, or something. Fucking asshole. Stan wasn't homophobic, he was, in fact, aggressively bisexual (in the closet), so Craig was in for a fucking surprise. Kissing a guy was different. Kissing a guy you didn't like was bizarre. Stan let go, kissing for the sake of it, and it got better. His tongue traced over Craig's lips, stomach greedily reminding him that sandwiches were awesome at the taste and suddenly, Stan found his enthusiasm. His hand found Craig's collar, tugging hard for the guy to come closer. Suddenly there were teeth and tongues and lips, all meeting in a botched, little dance and the ice in his spine melted.
Craig did not, in fact, want to embarrass him, he wanted to happen exactly what was happening right now. After a rather disappointing start which in itself would definitely not won him that sandwich, Marsh picked up on it and did what he was asked to do. For a while, Craig just let him kiss on him. Marsh's lips were surprisingly supple and he had a fucking cheeky tongue. He also tasted vaguely like chewing gum and was pulling him in like he was the one in charge. Craig couldn't let that happen. Pushing Stan back and into his seat, Craig was on him, completely denying him any kind of control in the kiss. He licked, sucked and bit however he wanted and Marsh was just the lucky recipient. Lucky, because Craig had tons of practise and he knew just what to do to make a guy's knees wobbly.
It was also on Craig to stop it, so he did, pulling away only after he'd properly ravaged Marsh. To his additional pleasure, Marsh was out of breath. Craig sucked in his lower lip and the guy let it happen, with a tiny hitch of his breath, but no defensive response.
"Good boy." Craig hummed, deep and pleased with himself and Stan. He sat back and pushed the sandwich in Stan's hands.
"You earned that. Enjoy."
Thunderstruck was an adequate term for Stan's reaction. He sat with the sandwich in hand, staring into the dark for at least a full minute. His heart was pounding in his ears, which felt entirely too warm for comfort. The lights in the bus flickered on, the rest of the team returning to their seats, the coach herding them in. The cold air that rushed in from the open doors helped Stan calm down, and, you know, get back to reality. Which saw him urgently unwrap the sandwich and eat it. Crispy chicken was delicious, but Stan no longer knew whether or not it had been worth the price.
He decided that he needed to forget this happened. Or rather, that it had happened for a reason he didn't understand. Craig wanted to fuck with him. That much was clear, but why he would do it like this for any other reason than that he knew Stan was currently struggling with his sexuality eluded him.
Without music or Kyle's texts for company, he fell asleep again once the bus started moving. Hopefully, by the time he woke up, they'd arrive in California, and he could figure out why the hell Craig Tucker had it in for him so badly right now. Or that it had all been a nightmare. Yeah.
At least Marsh had been quiet for the rest of the trip and Craig could sit and sleep in peace. The guy had been adequately overwhelmed from his first taste of other things that could happen when they were room sharing.
Craig was not beyond going further than just kissing, it wasn't really about homo things anyway, but there was definitely something about imagining Marsh on his knees, asking for dick. Maybe he'd get him there.
They arrived at the hotel (yeah, it was a real hotel) around noon and this time, Marsh was up earlier than him and shaking him awake.
Craig groaned and peeled himself out of the seat, grabbing his stuff before he left the bus. Mason handed out the keys, his and Marsh's first, as was law. His large bag with all his clothes and stuff slung around his shoulders, the backpack in hand and the bag for his equipment in the other, Craig made his way to the room, a nice apartment with a veranda to walk out on that had a path right to the beach.
They even had a small kitchen and the bathroom wasn't too shabby - except the beds looked like the hotel had expected a fucking couple to live here. Craig would've complained, but he left that to Marsh and instead picked the bed closer to the window by throwing all of his bags on it.
"Looks like we got the honeymoon suite, baby."
Stan had crowded into the suite behind Craig, equally packed with luggage. Of course, they could have had the bellboys bring it up, but coach would never let them slack on something so trivial. Mason had a boner for proving how 'hardened' his team was, which was why, on occasion, they'd had some bizarre form of Crossfit assigned to each of them. They'd probably be doing something weird here, too, though from what Stan could see, there was a beach and sunshine that would peel him out of his hoodie. His first order of business was digging out his charger, though and plugging his phone in as he dumped his bags on the bed.
"As long as you don't get any weird ideas and keep calling me baby, I don't give a shit."
The weird memory of kissing Craig had not yet disappeared and Stan didn't think he could forget it easily, either. Even if it had been dumb. Something about Craig grabbing him and controlling him had almost lead to an unwanted boner, and Stan had to sit and think about the implications of that.
That had Craig chuckle as he pushed open the glass door to the terrace and fumbled for his cigarettes, self-rolled because that was cheaper. Mason was gonna strangle him if he caught him, probably, but everyone was tired including the coach so the plan for the day was meet somewhen late afternoon to walk around and explore and then have dinner together.
Kyle had sent about ten messages since Stan's phone had given up on him, the first ones acknowledging Stan's pain and confirming that yes, Tucker was an asshole, the latter ones complaining about the fact Sheila had made her son agree to visiting her sister in Chicago. The trip alone wasn't bad, but the fact that he'd be stuck with his cousin and namesake for two weeks made Kyle really unhappy. He'd ended his texts with a 'bet ur phone went out bc u were gaming' and then half an hour later a heartfelt 'miss u alrdy'.
Outside, Craig let his eyes wander over the ocean. He'd never actually been at the beach, so this wasn't bad at all. A slight breeze from the sea made the warm temperature bearable, but he'd already shed his zip-up jacket and was only wearing a shirt and some loose training pants. He finished the smoke and went back inside only to find Marsh stare at his phone.
"Girlfriend?"
Of course he knew about Stan and Wendy, they were the couple (especially now that he and Tweek were passé), but they were also incredibly well-known for being an on-off thing. Craig just thought Stan was too easily pussywhipped and honestly, he wouldn't give two fucks about him being taken during their stay here. If they ended up fucking because Craig said so, then they'd do that, girlfriend or not. Couldn't be that good a relationship if Marsh agreed to cheating anyway.
Stan had no idea what went on in Craig's head, but he was happy to read all of Kyle's messages. They made his heart ache for his best friend, who was now even further away. At least he wasn't stuck with Cartman for two weeks of the four that Stan was away. Eric's weird, anti-semitic obsession with Kyle had gotten out of hand lately, and Stan found himself bullying in on their usual bickering more often than once.
"What? No, I broke up with Wendy. Again. Last week. It's Kyle." He tried his best not to clutch his phone to his chest.
Craig didn't comment on that, instead he got rid off his socks and shoes and slipped out of the comfy pants, leaving him in only his shirt and the shorts. When he sat down on his bed, he set all his bags on the ground and then decided to remove his shirt as well.
"It's too freaking hot in here. Turn the AC up when you walk past it." Craig couldn't be bothered, he was going to take a nap and then go shower.
"I'm sorry, did I pick up a maid's uniform on my way in? Do it yourself, lazy ass." Stan shrugged off the command, flipping Craig off as he began to unpack, ridding himself of his hoodie in favor of a shirt. He wasn't leaving until he had at least half battery on his phone, though he definitely would go find some food once he did. Fuck doing any more weird, sexual favors for Craig. He was leaving that on the bus, in the dark and out of his mind.
Stan threw himself on his bed, phone in hand, spending the next hour complaining to Kyle about the long, hungry journey here. He made no mention of Craig and his sandwich, though. He was going to take that one to the grave.
Coach Lars Mason wasn't fucking around. His idea of a good time was running his team up and down the streets of Carlsbad until each of them was dripping in sweat, then practice in full gear when the noon heat began to burn that soft, Colorado skin. By the time the South Park Cows were allowed to hit the communal showers near the swimming pool of their hotel, they looked like they'd trekked through the Nevada desert for the world's most hardcore, Mad Max style football game in the history of man.
Everyone was too wrung out and overheated to even groan about it as they rid themselves off the equipment and clothes, but there was a collective sigh of pleasure once the showers went on and everyone washed heat and dirt off with cold water. There were a few complaints, voiced lowly and agreed to by mutual muttering, but no one put it past the coach to come in and have them take another lap outside for being 'whiners' (or whatever other insult to their collective masculinity Mason could come up with).
The showers emptied quickly, everyone just wanted to go and sit or lay down somewhere to spend the rest of the day in peace as the coach had promised to leave them alone until at least the next morning. Craig wasn't swinging any wet towels at naked asses today, he was still standing under the shower, as the other guys cleared out. Token gave him a look that he ignored, before shrugging and herding Clyde out for some well-deserved down-time. Craig paid them no mind, instead staring at the only other guy left in the steamy, tiled room.
Marsh had just finished washing his hair, now standing there, face up towards the spray of water, probably enjoying his moment of quiet. So was Craig, he could appreciate the view. And the quiet. That didn't stop him from running his eyes over Marsh's body. The guy was built, he'd known that before, but now that they were alone, at summer camp, sharing a room even, Craig could appreciate it in an entirely new light.
Having a guy like Marsh bend over for him, beg him with those blue eyes for pleasure, relief, lust…
T he thought alone turned him on. Marsh needed to be played with, he was such a perfect target. Craig needed to put him on a leash and toy with him until he'd come crawling for more. Didn't matter if he wasn't considering himself gay, Craig would make him gay if necessary.
The water was still cold and that was helping to keep his very interested body in check. It did, however, not keep him from following through with his plan so he walked over until he was standing right behind his target. Marsh was still unsuspecting, having his back turned towards Craig, front to the tiles on the wall, eyes closed.
With a brief glance around, Craig made sure the rest of their team and their stuff was gone from the showers, no excess towels or forgotten shampoo bottles, before he stepped closer and snaked one arm around his waist, the other under his arm, across his chest, his hand pressing against Stan's mouth, hard. He held him there for a moment, just to let him feel that, yes, Craig could hold him down if he wanted to before he craned his neck to suck cold water off of Stan's neck, nose buried in the short and dark hair at his nape.
Stan's first instinct was to knock his head back until it cracked against Craig's. When that didn't dislodge the guy from him, Stan craned his neck until he could stare balefully at his teammate.
"Are you trying to rape me, or something? What the fuck are you doing, Tucker?"
Had Craig always been this...creepy? Forward? Hella gay? Ever since he sat down next to Stan on the bus, he'd been weird. Was this all part of a game to fuck with Stan's head? Clearly, Craig was committed to his role, which somehow involved a lot of unwanted and very intimate touching that Stan was just dumbfounded to witness. Especially because it didn't seem to bother Craig at all.
Something about being held in place was sending his heart into a frenzy, though, and Stan had to lean back against Craig in order to keep his balance.
Craig ignored the little struggle more or less, though it did turn him on, in a way, to have Stan fight back.
He was very patient and waited until Stan did what Craig had kind of hoped for (the other option being the guy really making a scene and picking a fight which he would've loved as well). Marsh leaned back into him, only a little bit, which Craig used to push him forward against the wall. Not that he did it harshly, it was a more or less gentle push and he held Stan to keep him from hurting, but he did hold him in place nevertheless.
When that was done, he leaned his head in to whisper to his confused target.
"Wouldn't do that, Marsh. You wanna know what I'm thinking?" While he spoke, Craig had no issue with aligning his body with Stan's, squeezing his chest against his teammate's back and his crotch flush against the guy's ass.
"You need to be handled. Girls are too soft for you, 's why you keep breaking up with her."
Craig was just playing, really, he had no idea if he was right or not. If he was, Marsh wouldn't be able to forget what he said, and if he wasn't, Marsh would be pissed and tried to fight him. A win win scenario, either way.
There was a dick. Very closely pressed to him. And it wasn't his own, or even Kyle's, which would have been okay in its own way. No, that piece of excited flesh right there on his other cheeks was Craig Tucker's fucking dick and he was pressing it into his fucking ass.
Stan didn't know what was happening to him right now, or why heat was flushing through him like some strange, hormonal hurricane. His body was doing things on its own, he swore, because his ass was perking out and his head was tilted to the side, as if inviting Craig to come whisper into his ear some more.
"You're fucked in the head, Tucker. It's pretty obvious you've never been in fucking love if that's your best bet at understanding Wendy and me."
His voice was at extreme odds with his willing body, and Stan was trying to figure out what the fuck was happening to him.
Still, Craig held onto him, forcing him to stay still. Marsh growled at him, but his body was speaking an entirely different language, and that did nothing to stop his growing arousal.
Even though he had known it all along, it came to him in a rush of victory when Stan offered him his neck so willingly and pushed his ass against him like a freaking whore.
Marsh wanted this. And by the feel of it, he also needed it, badly. Perfect star of the team, Stan Marsh, all growls and insults, wasn't even fighting him off anymore. Clearly, he struck gold when thinking that he had a real chance to play with Marsh like this. Craig sunk his teeth into the readily offered skin, biting him right in the neck. Not hard, but enough to establish territory. He wasn't marking him (yet), but Stan needed another reminder that with every move, he wound himself more into Craig's hold.
"Like I care about understanding some bitch and your involvement with her." Craig hummed against wet skin, "It just turns me on when you get angry."
To underline it, Craig rocked his hips forward, pressing his half-hard cock between Stan's ass cheeks.
Well, holy fuck, this was very much going in one direction that Stan had not anticipated. He should have, since the thing on the bus, but Craig had been his usual self during the exercises and the practice, so Stan had let it slip his mind. Big mistake.
Now he was stuck in a shower with a dick rubbing along his ass, and it made his spine tingle. It also forced blood into his own dick, but he was staunchly ignoring that rising problem. Craig bit him like an apple and it was both hilarious and gruesome, especially from his angle. As if the guy had been waiting for it.
Maybe he had? Tucker was notoriously shit at conveying any sense of emotion, and he liked it that way. Maybe he'd been watching Stan like a creeper for a long time, and now saw fit to strike. Now that Stan couldn't just flip him off, punch him and drive home.
"Don't call her a bitch, you fucking asshole." he muttered half-heartedly, hoping that this wasn't going much further. He might be kinda turned on by being held and overpowered, but he was pretty sure that the last thing he wanted to do was get fucked by Craig Tucker.
"I'm just calling things as they are." Craig replied, calmly, while pressing Stan harder into the wall.
Perhaps this was enough for now. Just give him a taste, make him confused. Give him material to have wet dreams about and feel bad thinking of when jerking off.
He backed off, but only one step, leaving room for Stan to react in however way he wanted. It was, seen from a game perspective, Stan's turn and Craig couldn't wait to see what South Park's golden boy would do.
Stan wasn't in the mood for games, however well constructed they might be around his desires, unspoken and unrealized. When Craig backed away, that little switch flipped back to reality and he understood what had just happened here. Craig was trying to make him his bitch, or something like that.
His elbow cocked back, hard into Craig's stomach. There was nothing gentle or playful about it. Stan's blue, blue eyes were blazing with anger when he turned to face the guy who thought he could just dry hump him whenever he wanted. Or at all. His hands were already tightening into fists. As soon at Craig straightened, Stan punched him in the face and reached out to grab him into a very non-intimate chokehold.
"You asked for this, asshole."
Pain flooded him, bloomed in his stomach and in his head, and heat of a different kind rose in him, spread into every limb and, within seconds, had him fully addicted to the rush of a good fight ahead of him.
Sure, Marsh had gotten him good and his chokehold was pretty tight, but the guy had probably not anticipated Craig's entire body weight being thrown into the fight recklessly, pulling Stan with him. As they fell, Stan loosened his grip in order to catch himself, and that was what Craig had been waiting for. Instead of pushing Stan away from him, he pulled him closer, effectively landing hard tiles. On him now, Craig socked him square in the face.
The moment he allowed himself to savor the feeling cost Craig his upper hand. Marsh threw him around and they rolled over the floor, both of them gaining some bruises and scratches simply from the grate covering the drains of their battleground. They ended up against a wall, Marsh on top of him. Craig didn't let that one go and headbutted him, effectively forcing Stan to relinquish his hold.
Both of them struggled away from each other and back onto their feet. Marsh was bleeding from a scratch on his knees, he bled from his cute little nose, doubled over from the punch to his gut.
Craig tasted blood and the skin on his right cheekbone was tight where a fat bruise was blooming. There were cuts on him too, from the grate over the drains, but his eyes were blue fire.
He loved good fights, fights between equal opponents and Marsh was definitely worthy. Not only was he built like Craig, he was also a pretty decent fighter. He'd elect Marsh to be on his side any time in case he ever needed help in some fight. Which never really happened, but that was how much he respected the guy's skills in holding his own. Giving up wasn't on the menu. Craig would fight him until Marsh gave, or until he himself went down unconscious.
When Marsh seemed unfocused for the smallest of moments, Craig was on him and pushed him into the next wall, hard.
The contact between their naked bodies was both painful and exciting, though Craig definitely wasn't rocking any sort of boner anymore, now that his system had gone into battle mode.
"... that didn't make me wanna stop at all, Marsh."
Craig kissed him, hard, more a clash of teeth and angry tongue than anything else, really.
Only Craig Tucker could get turned on by a bathroom brawl. Stan had to admit, there was something thrilling about punching someone and then kissing the living daylights out of them, but it didn't suit him that he was the one being held down, or held against the wall, as was the case.
This wasn't really about being attracted to each other, at all, he surmised. Craig didn't even like Stan, and to be honest, if Tucker went missing, Stan wouldn't be crying his eyes out. This was some weird male alpha thing, the kind of bullshit Cartman heard on one of his Manswer TV shows and spread like wildfire to the stupid majority of the guys in their grade. Some bullshit excuse about power play and dominance. Kyle would flip out into a two-hour lecture on actual biological behavior and explain away the bullshit of socially constructed gender roles.
But the thing was, Stan was nowhere near as repulsed as he should be. Craig was pressing against him like a truck, pinning him against the wall, kissing him hard enough to make Stan's lips ache. Clearly, the taste of blood that mingled between their tongues wasn't putting him off at all.
Stan dislodged his face, but ended up smacking his head into the tile behind him. He groaned with pain, stars exploding behind his eyes.
"Fuck."
It was the signal to end their fight. Stan was, silently, surrendering as he went still in Craig's grasp. Not because he couldn't hold his own any longer, but because they were idiots that gave each other black eyes and bleeding noses on a trip that had specifically arranged for them to 'get along better'.
"Coach is gonna kill you."
Craig stayed exactly where he was, he didn't trust Stan to not fake it. He continued pressing him into the wall, but only for a moment longer where they stared at each other, a battle of will that lasted about seven, silent seconds.
Then, Craig pushed away from him and let him go. He went for his shower equipment and slung his towel over his shoulder, leaving as if nothing special had happened at all.
"You loved this as much as I did, Marsh. Get over it."