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Craig steps out onto the front porch, breathing a silent sigh of relief as the fresh night air washes over him. He swipes some of his hair off his forehead, grimacing when his hand comes away glistening, practically dripping with sweat. He hadn't realized how suffocatingly hot he had been until now. The cacophony of the party going on inside the house is abruptly cut off when the heavy door swings shut behind him, and in its absence, Craig feels all the tension he's been holding in his body completely melt away.
God, does he ever hate parties.
He wipes his hand on the leg of his jeans and wonders, for approximately the fortieth time tonight alone, why he'd even bothered coming tonight. Of course, he knows the answer, and just like every other time, as soon as he asks himself the question, his brain pipes up almost immediately: Clyde. It's always because of Clyde. Craig has long ago lost track of the amount of times he's tried to refuse to go to any one of the various 'ragers' – as Clyde likes to call them – that his best friend has thrown in the last five years. It always goes the same way: Clyde invites him, Craig says no, and then Clyde begs and pleads and cries his fucking face off until the noirette relents and agrees to make an appearance.
Some days Craig thinks that maybe he needs a new best friend.
Tonight's godawful get-together had been Halloween-flavored, despite it only being October twenty-first, and it was every bit as terrible as Craig had been expecting. He could barely tolerate all those people on a normal day, but with them all dressed up in costumes and drunk to the point of believing they actually were the things they were dressed as? Absolutely insufferable. Craig hadn't bothered dressing up himself, but that hadn't stopped Bebe Stevens, who had crammed herself into a borderline XXX-rated Jessica Rabbit outfit, from aggressively hitting on him and repeatedly calling him Aladdin.
Honestly, Craig had been more offended that she had mistaken him for a fucking Disney cartoon character than anything else, because seriously?
He'd already made up his mind that he was definitely going to take that whole experience as his cue to get the fuck out of there, but that decision had only been cemented further in his mind when Clyde had loudly announced that it was time to play, "'Skeletons in the Closet', my duuuuuudes!" The brunette had snagged Craig by the sleeve as he'd been shoving his way past, having precisely zero desire to get himself involved in what basically amounted to a Halloween-themed version of 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'. "Get it?" Clyde had cackled, even as Craig had rolled his eyes and yanked his arm free, "Cause skeletons have bones and people are gonna be boning!"
Craig cringes at the memory, and takes a couple steps forwards before pausing again to look up at the clear sky. It's uncharacteristically nice outside, for a mid-October night in South Park, though there is a chilly breeze blowing through the air – but that doesn't bother Craig one bit. Fall is his favorite season, and not because of Halloween; he could take or leave that particular holiday, though he has to admit that he does thoroughly enjoy kicking creepy-ass jack o'lanterns off of doorsteps. But for him, fall is the greatest season because of all the other things it brings with it. The cooler temperatures are Craig's fucking jam, for one thing. He can't stand the sweltering heat of summer, and the harsh winters of this stupid mountain town are also much too extreme for him, but fall provides a balance between the two, one that spring just can't measure up to. Craig also loves when all the leaves change color; that orange, red, and yellow color palette has always been his favorite, ever since he can remember. He used to volunteer, as a kid, to go out and rake the lawn for his parents, just so he could play in the leaf piles.
He'd do the same thing now if he could get away with it.
Craig drops his gaze lower, eyeing the Donovan's old porch swing and the plaid flannel camping blanket draped across it, internally debating with himself if he wants to sit down and have a quick smoke or just ditch this place entirely and go home. A particularly icy gust of wind makes his decision for him, and soon enough he's curled up on the swing's soft cushion, lit cigarette in hand. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, just enjoying the quiet.
It doesn't last for long, though. After only a couple of minutes, the front door creaks open again. Craig cracks one eye open to see Kenny McCormick, dressed only in a pair of black boxers and an unzipped orange hoodie, stumble outside. He trips over his own feet and nearly falls flat on his face, but manages to catch himself on the wooden railing surrounding the porch.
"Ssssssssorry, darlin'," the blonde slurs, a bubbly little hiccup/giggle combination escaping his lips as he apologizes to the inanimate object. He turns his head, spying Craig before the noirette has any time to come up with any kind of plan of retreat, and grins widely. "Heyyyyy, Tucker, what're you doin' out here all alone?" He wanders over, dropping down onto the porch swing next to Craig, and worms his way underneath the blanket.
Ugh, Craig thinks to himself, because ew, human contact. For some reason, though, he doesn't immediately move away, even though Kenny is obnoxiously pressing his body super close up against his. As annoying as he's always considered Kenny to be as a person, it's actually kind of nice having the feeling of another warm body next to him like this. Craig hasn't realized it until right now, but he's really missed that, ever since his one and only relationship had ended two years earlier. Kenny might not have been his first choice for cuddle company, but at this point, Craig figures beggars can't be choosers.
Plus, it's cold out and it's not like he wants Kenny to freeze to death. He's an asshole, sure, but he's not completely heartless.
He continues puffing away on his cigarette, his eyes still focused skyward, watching the stars. Kenny wriggles around on the cushion for a minute or two; Craig figures he's either trying to find a comfortable position or he's infected with fleas, either of which seem equally as plausible. Eventually, the blonde drops his head onto Craig's shoulder, and while normally, he would shrug him off in an instant, Craig lets him stay there.
After a moment, Kenny decides that now is the perfect time to play 'Annoy Craig Tucker in 20 Questions or Less' and he starts firing off question after question, not giving Craig any reasonable amount of time to answer in between them. Not that Craig would have answered them in the first place. Probably not, anyway. Maybe the one about the constellations in the sky right now, because he actually knows the answer to that one, and he's legitimately interested in all things space-related. But he definitely wouldn't even try to come up with any response to any of the other ones, especially not the ones about death. Kenny's always been kind of morbid, but Craig has no idea how to even respond to something like, "What would you say at my funeral?"
Kenny suddenly sits straight up, and Craig instinctively inches further away from him, worried that all the alcohol the blonde had chugged earlier in the night is about to make a reappearance. But instead of puking his guts out all over the porch, Kenny scoots even closer to Craig, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear, "Wanna know a secret?"
"Sure," Craig sighs, even though he doesn't particularly care. He stubs out his burning cigarette on the side of the porch swing and tosses it to the ground, wishing it hadn't been his last one. Usually he would go to Christophe for more, but…he can't do that anymore.
"I'm," Kenny pauses to let out another drunken giggle before continuing, his warm breath tinged with the scent of spiced rum. "I'm a virgin," he declares, which is not at all where Craig had assumed that sentence was going.
The noirette rolls his eyes, shoving Kenny away from him. "Bullshit." He knows it's bullshit. Everyone and their fucking dog knows that Kenny is the furthest thing from a virgin in this town.
"Nuh-uhhhh," Kenny sings, crawling back over and poking Craig's cheek with his finger. He gestures down at himself, swaying back and forth and nearly toppling right off the swing. "I swear on my life, this body is completely untouched!" He puckers his lips, tapping them with his finger for emphasis. "Even these babies are one million percent pure!"
"Uh-huh," Craig says, turning to face Kenny. "Let's say for a second you're not full of shit, which we both know you are. Why are you telling me?" He's genuinely curious, despite himself. He and Kenny have never exactly been friends, even though they've known each other for practically their entire lives and have been hanging out in the same friend circles since elementary school.
"Isn't it obvious?" Kenny flutters his eyelashes at him and Craig, though it goes against reason and logic and his whole entire being, can feel himself blushing. It only gets worse when Kenny leans in again, his lips lightly brushing against Craig's earlobe this time when he purrs, "I want yyyou to be my first, Craig Tucker."
Craig doesn't know why he does it. Maybe it's the look Kenny's got in his sparking hazel eyes when he pulls back. Maybe it's the fact that they're so close right now that Craig can count all the tiny individual freckles that dot the blonde's cheekbones. Maybe it's the way the soft moonlight is shining down on him, giving his body an ethereal kind of glow that really highlights just how insanely, unfairly attractive Kenny is.
Or maybe it's because, in this moment, Craig finally figures out exactly what it is he wants in life – and it's sitting right in front of him.
Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter in the end. What matters is that Craig is the one to make the move. He leans slightly forward, takes Kenny by the shoulders, and pulls him in, his eyes drifting closed when their lips make contact. He can taste the spiced rum that Kenny had been drinking earlier, and although he can't stand drinking the stuff, when it's mixed with the taste of Kenny McCormick, Craig finds that he can't get enough of it. Kenny wraps both his arms around Craig's neck and, without breaking the kiss, climbs into the noirette's lap. The blanket slips off of them, but Craig somehow has the presence of mind to catch it before it hits the ground. He drapes it over both of them, sliding one arm around Kenny's back to hold it in place, and tangles the fingers of his other hand into the blonde's hair. When he tugs on it, Kenny whimpers, his lips parting just enough that Craig's tongue can sneak inside, and he takes full advantage of the opportunity.
The last coherent thought that runs through Craig's mind before he loses himself completely to this unprecedented, impromptu makeout session with Kenny is, I wonder if he likes to destroy pumpkins too.
Cause if he does, then...maybe this has some real potential.