I Don't Need A Superhero [7/25]
fandom:: south park (( mctucker )) pairing:: mctucker (( kenneth james mccormick/craig tucker )) links:: fanfiction ao3
Kenny nods to the question, but his eyes do not look down at the textbook. Instead, they wander to where he sees a blue chullo peeking from beyond a row of books. "I'll definitely study more later..." he promises in an offhand manner as he stands and walks away from the table. Kyle hisses a whisper to stop him, but Kenny has a pretty long stride and is already out of earshot. It was either this, or he was simply ignoring Kyle.
Craig is reading a book. He picked it up at random, but now he is completely captivated. It looks a bit under-advanced for his age, but the story seems to relate to his own life. The boy in the story kidnapped and abused only to come home and find nothing is the same. His friends abandon him, and he is picked on day after day. He is so entranced that he does not notice Kenny stepping behind him and poking his shoulder. He mutters a "fuck off", not bothering to look up and see who is disturbing him.
"Is that any way to talk to the guy who is willing to buy you something at Harbucks?" Craig looks up at the words and the voice. He tilts his head ever so slightly wondering why Kenny is there. They had not spoken in nearly a week, and he thought that perhaps he had lost his newly acquainted friend. He arches a brow in questioning and shuts the book. "Seriously," Kenny says, "I just got paid, and all my other friends are too busy to hang out with me at the moment," The tiny white lie slips out easily. He knows very well all of his friends will be willing to accept the invitation if asked.
Craig stares a bit more before agreeing. The lie stops him from wondering why exactly Kenny came to him. He follows Kenny to the cafe, Kenny happily ordering a Mocha Valencia and a cinnamon muffin. Craig listens to the order and scans the place with a quick gaze. He had been searching for blond hair and twitching fingers when the waitress finished writing down Kenny's order and turned to him. "Peppermint cocoa," he says to the waitress. He turns back to looking at Kenny across the table, fingers absentmindedly thumbing the sleeves of his hoodie.
Kenny manages to drag Craig into a conversation. Craig's eyes look more their violet hue by the time the waitress hands them their orders. They both stop talking to enjoy their beverages. Although, unlike most silences he has with other people, Craig feels at ease. It is the first time in a while that Craig has felt this comfortable outside his Nana's house.
It is the first time he feels a lot of things.
The feelings are ignored, blindsided by indulging in his cocoa. They also go unnoticed because he just doesn't want to notice them. He simply takes a long sip of the cocoa, eyes closing as he drinks it. He licks away any whip cream that is on his face. It feels good not to worry, not to think about unpleasant things. He stares out the window to watch the passersby.
The slightest touch can startle anybody under the right circumstances. This even goes for stoic boys who appear to never be fazed. Kenny's ungloved fingers reach and wipe the corners of Craig's mouth to his cheek. "Sprinkle," he explains to deaf ears. Craig's hearing dies for a split second as he stares. The thoughts are coming back to him, but the memories are drowning in blue eyes. An unwanted flush covers his deadpanned face. The hand that reaches up and touches his cheek feels the heat, and his eyes widen slightly.
Honey blond hair and a cheesy grin is his undoing.
Craig's jumbled mind seems to catch up with the situation and understand what Kenny had said. "... Sprinkle...," he says slowly his voice still steady despite everything. His eyes are a swirling indigo, bright violet tinged over the blue to create the colour. His hand never leaves his cheek, apathy covering his features yet a contradicting light flush is giving him away. It does not help that Craig is outrageously pale skinned.
"Craig Tucker, I believe you are blushing," Kenny states without thinking. He is just as surprised as Craig is. The movements were an act of unconscious thinking. He had not thought Craig would react in this way. He had not thought at all. His words do not help the situation. They only make Craig's flush grow darker. It is a bit comical, an impassive face wearing a blush. In fact, Kenny thinks it is a rather flattering on Craig.
"I am," Craig says in disbelief. His eyes widen as his mind clears completely, and he realizes how his body betrayed him and his pact to apathy. "Fucking," he curses as he looks down at his cocoa, blaming the heat on his face on the steam coming from his dark mug. "I mean, I'm not... Shit," he says keeping his voice in monotone.
Kenny tilts his head. "I think it suits you," he says with a grin. He has no idea why, but he wants to fluster Craig just a bit more. He wants to see just how far he can go before Craig gets up and leaves. A tiny bit of Kenny is hoping Craig will do something "unexpected." He has not hung around the other long enough to be sure of what to expect.
Craig curses again, not looking up so he could will the blush back down. "Fuck you, McCormick," Craig finally says standing up from the table. His legs are preparing to walk right out of Harbucks and back home, but then Kenny stops him with a restraining hand around his wrist and a good-natured laugh. Both stop Craig in his attempt to escape, his curses dying in his throat momentarily as he stares at the one across the table once more.
Blue eyes are sparkling as they realize they have accomplished their mission. "Shit Tucker," Kenny says, using Craig's last name just to be coy, "You sure can't take a compliment very well can you?" There is a smirk on his lips. His comments are uncontrollable, the words coming out on their own.
Kenny's uncontrollable comments match Craig's uncontrollable thought process. As quickly as it halted, it came stuttering and bumbling back. The things his mind saying running together and not making any sense at all. Craig frowns slightly again at this, not liking the foreign feelings. "Fuck you. You just like making people uncomfortable," he says finding that the flush across his cheeks does not die down at all. In actuality it is still there faintly, Craig feels it the heat warming his cheeks and threatening to colour his ears as well. He is trying his best to muster the will power to push it back down, but Kenny is just saying some other thing to make him become flustered again. He feels like Tweek. Not in the way of twitches and sudden shouts, but in the way he suddenly has a quickening heart and his thoughts are not in order at all.
Kenny finds his smirk growing into a smile. "Correction, I just like making you uncomfortable Tucker," he says reducing Craig to another silence. Craig somehow finds himself sitting down again in this peculiar situation with no idea what he is doing. He stares at his mug once again as if it holds some sort of answer. There is an odd nagging at the back of Craig's mind that this is so very wrong, but he pushes it back and focuses on the whipped cream swirling in his half-drunken cocoa.
Words finally find the way to his lips as the feeling is pushed back completely, a hand reaching down to pick at his sleeve beneath the table. "... Consider yourself successful," Craig mutters looking up from his mug to the male across to him. Those baby blues are staring at him too hard to the extent that they are boring holes into his head. He nearly regrets lifting his gaze from the cocoa to those eyes because now he cannot look away. He does not realise there is a hand caressing his cheek or another on his shoulder to tug him closer.
Two meets one across the table although neither really expected the turn of events. A simple brush of the lips that taste of peppermint cocoa mixed with orange espresso tinged with the everlasting flavour of nicotine. It is a sweet kiss that lacks the usual eagerness expected of Kenny McCormick, long-lasting, but nothing more than that simple pressing of their lips across the table. Then Craig's arms begin to shake. His breath catches in his throat the longer they continue as one minute became five. It is his mind tangling with his heart and the thoughts in between.
Craig cannot part himself until his shaky hands knocks over the mug next to his fingers. The heat of the drink brings him back in control of his body, and he stumbles back not caring when he knocks over his chair. He is staring at Kenny with a blank expression but his face has glazed over with horror. Then Craig is out the door, a frenzy of blues pushing his way out into frigid winter air.
