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He felt a kiss—wet and warm and oh so perfect—land on his temple.
Tweek stretched the tiredness from his weary form, holding tense for one, two seconds, and then let himself collapse in an exhausted heap on the plush mattress beneath his head. He yawned, but failed to rub the sleep from his eyes. He was so, so tired. He didn't think that he had ever been this tired, or this sore, in his entire life,
(His stomach growled; not to mention hungry)
But the sleep clinging to his bones was a welcome tiredness that made his insides all warm and fuzzy. His back ached, and his legs had seen better days, but Tweek didn't think that he had ever been this comfortable or this happy in a very long time.
He was with Craig—he had been with Craig for a wonderfully, exhausting night, and he couldn't be happier.
His face was peppered with more kisses, a sweet bombardment of tenderness and domesticity and love that it made his nose crinkle with mock disturbance and his lips bloom into a full-blown smile of content. He had yet to open his lashes and come face-to-face with his boyfriend; he was too comfortable, too warm and too sleepy and too loved to move. He knew that it sounded silly (how could anyone feel too loved to move?) but waking up meant disturbing the moment, opening his eyes meant leaving the bubble of bliss that they had created. He didn't want to move, he didn't want this perfect, fleeting moment to end.
He felt the soft lips move lower, and a warm palm cup his cheek.
The lips dabbled his neck with moisture, creating an oddly cold sensation on the tender bites lining his flesh with yellow and red bruises. The marks that Craig had left didn't hurt (though he vividly remembered scratching Craig's back up real good) but they were tender, and slightly sore to the touch.
Tweek tried to bat Craig away with a playful wave of the hand, but his feeble attempts were met with a low, amused chuckle, and more kisses being added to his neck. Tweek laughed—he was very ticklish—and let his lashes flutter open.
He was met with a beautiful sight.
Craig was bedraggled, and smiling with an untamed smile that was impossible to resist. His dark hair was a mess, his skin betraying marks and bites of intimacy, and his eyes were hooded with a passion and love that Tweek was more than familiar with. He looked beautiful; even half asleep and barely covered with a thin blanket, Craig was still his favourite thing to look at.
Tweek was smitten, wholly and undeniably smitten.
Craig leaned forward, and placed a light kiss on his nose. "Hey,"
Tweek smiled, and brought his hand up to run his fingernails through Craig's bedridden locks. He returned the greeting, his amusement and happiness soaring with the utterance of his word. "Hey,"
His voice was thick with sleep, his eyes heavy and his sight blurred with a tiredness, but he was happy. He was happy.
Craig returned the gesture, and brought his hand to pat the wild, messy strands of blonde hair on Tweek's head. As expected, his hair refused to be tamed, denied the request of neatness with a firm stubbornness, and became a spectator staring back up at the ceiling once again. Craig huffed in defeat; Tweek let out a breathy laugh, amused by the flat look that Craig was ogling at his hair with.
Tweek brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of Craig's face, and rose in order to place a feather light kiss on his boyfriend's mouth. His gesture brightened Craig's face instantly; Craig gave him a long stare—his eyes filled with such affection and compassion reserved for Tweek and Tweek only—accompanied by a fleeting smile, and then slipped out of the bed.
The covers pooled around Craig's thighs. It was hard, nigh, impossible for Tweek not to stare and flush a soft rosy, pink colour.
His cheeks were set alight with fluster, but Tweek found himself feeling fuzzy and ecstatic inside—he felt good, he was good.
Craig smirked, and took Tweek's hand with a fondness that melted his heart into a puddle of warm goo. "C'mon babe, I made you some breakfast,"
Tweek's stomach growled in delight.