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Summary
Craig was spread out on their bed, in their dark green sheets. His soft tan skin contrasting with the dark cotton. Tweek was kissing down the side of his throat, down to the jutting collarbones. He sunk his teeth into them, Craig was as bruised as the banana no one wanted at the supermarket. His skin littered with Tweek’s marks. His throat, collarbones and shoulders, all of them bore bruises. He wanted everyone to know who Craig Tucker belonged to. Even as he went to Stanford and MIT for grad school and then the fucking moon, he would be Tweek’s.