Spread the Good Word (Not Your Legs)

by The Elder Gays (Katanachan)

Summary:

Craig Tucker has been haunted by the supernatural his entire life, so it's no surprise when fate entangles him with a demon. The real surprise lies with the angel sent down from heaven to save his soul.

But it is no coincidence that their paths have crossed, and fate has more in store for them than they know.

Chapter 1: All Bets Are Off

Summary:

Kenny

The Father of all creation was not happy, that's for sure. There were only a few times Kenny had the displeasure of watching God be in such a terrible mood, the last time being when Lucifer and Jesus thought it would be a fun idea to make a bet on world events. What with it ending with Lucifer tampering with the entire thing, needless to say, God was not pleased.

Kenny thinks God was only mad because the side he was routing for lost, but don't let him hear you say that.

But something down on Earth had his father in somewhat of a tizzy, so much so that he decided to call for his brother, Jesus. And in a strange turn of a events, Kenny as well. It's not often that Kenny finds himself in his father's presence. Generally he hears about the going-ons of Earth through his fellow Angels, so to be here now, that has him shifting nervously next to his brother.

"Father, how may we assist you today?" Jesus asks in a calm even tone, Kenny can tell that he's trying his best to placate his father. Kenny merely raises an eyebrow, letting Jesus do the heavy lifting. It's still a mystery to him why he was summoned here, best to keep his mouth shut.

"Lucifer has done it again, my son. He has tempted another one of my flock away from the holy word with sin." His voice booms and Kenny plugs a finger in his ear to wiggle it around. He never liked it much when Father was angry, he yelled a little too loud even for his immortal ears.

"Has he Father? How so?" Kenny knows Jesus is feign ignorance, he can see the smallest of quirk to the holy son's lips. The blond wonders if Jesus has something tucked up his sleeve, he certainly wouldn't put it past him.

"He has used a demon to seduce one of my Pastors. This particular human is special, he has yet to fulfilled his part of my grand plan for him. He has so much more potential for growth, we can not allow his soul to be damned for all creation." There's a certain way that God speaks these words that strikes Kenny in a strange manner. Sure, God cares about his human children, but why was this particular human so special? Heck, he was calling upon Jesus to deal with an demon? Wasn't that under his pay grade? Kenny frowns, trying his best to not fidget and draw any unneeded attention to himself. Sure, Kenny isn't knowledgeable about this type of situation, he's only heard of demons in passing, but this seems excessive, even to him.

Jesus turns at that moment and in that gesture, Kenny's stomach sinks. He's pretty sure he was summoned for a reason and here it is, works in mysterious ways my ass, he thinks to himself.

"Every soul is precious father, this one in particular, we should not allow for Lucifer to take him." Jesus picks his words carefully and it doesn't escape Kenny at all that they both seem to know more than they're letting on. A common issue that has plagued the young angel his entire life, why are people always talking above me instead of to me? He grumbles internally as he listens. "We wouldn't want that father now would we? May I make a suggestion? Perhaps Kenneth could speak to this Pastor, bring him back into your good graces?"

There it is. The other shoe falls and Kenny feels anxiety coil in his abdomen, he hates the idea of going to Earth. Humans are disgusting little ants that don't deserve their forgiveness and attention. All they do is waste away all the kindness that his father gives them. Why should I care if their souls are damned? Good. Be damned. You sinned, go for it buddy. Sleep in the bed you made.

The blond doesn't voice these thoughts, not at all. Instead he simply smiles when Jesus beckons him forward, "As you know Father, Kenneth is a bright young Angel who has only had the chance to experience Earth and humanity twice in his life time, be it very briefly. I believe two birds with one stone is the phrase?"

Kenny recalls the two times he's been to Earth, once, shortly after he was created and once more for his thousandth birth year. The first time humanity had been so small, so kind and full of potential. At that time, Kenny felt for sure that they would grow to become beautiful and worthy of his father's love. But the second time he saw Earth, it was full of war and famine. Sin had been running rapid, lapped up by humanity and it disgusted Kenny to even be there a second longer than need be. Demons had taken their time devouring what beauty humanity had to offer, leaving behind empty husks of what humans once were.

God watches Kenny, his stare so full of everything, all of creation that Kenny feels he's being judged. Then, the lord smiles and all that fear he felt moments ago melts away. God loves all of his children, the Angels and the Humans, even if Kenny doubts the humans deserve it much now. The blond sneaks a look to his brother, knowing in his heart his words carry more weight to them than he could understand.

There's a twinge of recognition that shoots through God that has Kenny standing straighter in that moment, wings bristling behind him. What like I need to go to Earth? I've had my fill. He thinks to himself, eyebrows knitting as he listens to the words his father supplies.

"Yes. I believe young Kenneth would be the best for this job. His heart needs to be reminded of why we love the humans so strongly and," God pauses in all his glory, stepping forward to rest his hand on Kenny's head, floppy mop of hair shifting at his touch. "I feel this deeply, that you will be the one to bring my child back and I think you've gone long enough without your first mission. We can't keep you in the nest forever."

Kenny can't help himself, the corners of his lips tug and before he knows it he's smiling. The Holy Spirit fills him and his wings tingle from the joy of it. God does believe in him. He believes with everything that his all mighty has, that Kenny will save this soul.

Now I really can't let him down. Kenny finds himself trying not to say out loud, the repetitive, can't fail can't fail can't fail... repeating in his mind.

Kenny bows, his wings behind him fluttering softly. "I will not let you down father, I promise." He can feel Jesus beside him, the smile on his lips seem to tell Kenny that he knew this would happen. That confidence his brother wears is something Kenny wishes he too could have, one can only hope that maybe one day he'll be as strong as him.

As they leave, God sending them off with his blessings, Jesus pulls the young Angel aside. "This isn't going to be an easy task my brother. This human has been entangled in the grasp of a very cunning demon. His soul has been tainted and he has lost hope in us." Jesus raises his hand and touches the side of Kenny's face, a smile sad, soft and almost bittersweet.

"You must do what you can. I know this is your first mission so I want you to be aware of temptation. Remember, that to be tainted and fall, is to damn yourself." His brother pauses, his eyes hovering over Kenny's face, a pain crossing his features. "I need you to remember that even Lucifer was once one of us. That, the world is not black and white, good and evil. It is so much more complicated than that. It won't be easy to bring this soul back to us, but I believe you will find the right way to do it. And sometimes, the right way can seem ..." Jesus backs away from his brother as he rubs at his knuckles, "Well, I'm sure you'll understand when the time comes."

Kenny is confused, he's watched his brothers and sisters fight many wars against the demons. He's heard so many different stories about Lucifer, good and bad. And yet here is his eldest sibling reminding him of the Fallen One and preaching about grey areas? Kenny knows in his heart that Lucifer's down fall was his own ego, but he can't seem to understand what Jesus is getting at. There's so little information being given to him, he wants to ask so many questions, but Jesus starts talking once more and Kenny hangs on ever word as if they could be his last.

"Do not lose yourself. Your way. Your heart." Jesus continues and Kenny knows now that the words his brother are speaking are visions he's seen of the future. Jesus' gift of foresight has always been a burden, unable to fully explain what he sees lest the future be changed and the outcome deviate. Something in his eyes pains him so much that Kenny lifts his hand to touch his brother on his cheek.

"Brother, you worry too much. I can do this, God believes in me, you believe in me too. What can this demon do that I can't? There's nothing I won't be able to overcome." Kenny tries to summon his cheeriest smile as he chuckles under his breath, the smile falling all together off of his features when his eyes meet his brothers. Something dark shines behind his eyes and Kenny feels a chill run down his spine.

"Humanity. Love. These are things you don't yet understand fully and I truly blame myself for not allowing you to experience these things." Jesus removes his hand and steps back, "You won't escape this mission unscathed brother. I believe you will succeed, but in the way you do not yet understand."

Kenny watches as Jesus opens a portal to Earth, his hands holding the very fabric of reality within them. The young angel is in awe at how much his brother can do, he wishes that he could too impress father such as Jesus does. This is his chance, his chance to fulfill a mission and prove to his family that he isn't just a baby bird. Finally, they're allowing him to leave the nest unattended, unguarded, and unchained. Free of his guardians, free of his constant watch, Kenny will finally experience that sweet taste of freedom, even if it means on Earth.

"I won't let you both down." Kenny agrees as he flaps his wings behind him. With a powerful thrust forward, Kenny dives face first into the portal and face first into his first actual mission. Face first into freedom.

When the portal closes and Jesus is alone, he covers his face with his hands in what can only be seen as mourning.

"Goodbye, Kenneth."

-----

Hitting the ground isn’t the hardest part of landing, no, it's making his way through the atmosphere. His wings power against the Earth’s gravitational pull, the invisible hand of gravity holding tight and pushing him faster and faster toward the impending ground. Kenny’s wings flex and fight back against the force, his wings beating against the wind. Kenny knows he has to glide, pull them close to his body and shoot downward, but being told how to enter Earth’s atmosphere and putting it into practice are two totally different things.

The blond grits his teeth, jaw set as he tugs his wings in close and embraces the tug of the Earth. His skin won’t burn, his feathers won’t char, and he knows this, his very form is made up of impossibility and stardust, but this doesn’t stop his mind from triggering fear. The young angel has to push this aside as he feels the moment in his gut to pull his wings back out and he braces himself for it as much as he can. The jerk of wind that pulls against his wings hurts, it feels like it could pull the appendages right out of his body, but they do their job and he can feel himself starting to glide more so than falling.

Turns out the trip down to Earth was just as awful as Kenny remembers it being. By the time he lands, his wings hurt more than they ever have in the past. He grumbles as he's forced to conceal them, something about having to look Human? Humans have such tiny minds, he thinks to himself, they should be grateful an Angel graces them with his presence.

But Jesus was clear that he was not to reveal himself to anyone but the Pastor and Kenny is not one to go against his brother’s wishes. He so often asked so little of him, it was only fair to listen the one time he did ask for something.

Kenny shakes out his human form, stretching his body and limbs and adjusting himself to gravity. It's so strange having to adorn human garments, but he was told they were what humans wore now and he just decides to roll with it.

As he saunters toward the church in question he narrows his eyes, he can not only feel the demonic presence, he can see it permeating the surrounding grounds. What, is the demon living here or something? He internally wonders before pushing the door to the church open.

The building is empty sans a person sitting by the alter. Kenny can feel his wings twitch in the hidden pocket of existence he placed them in. He was told he'd know when he found his charge and something tells him that's him.

His aura is tainted. Shrouded by a mist of miasma when it should be a light golden hue of the Holy Spirit. It aches deep in Kenny's heart to see that nasty color floating around one of his father’s children. He may not care about them much, but father does.

Walking cautiously forward, he eyes the area carefully as there's no telling where the demon is hiding, waiting to sense him and attack.

Kenny clears his throat and attempts to get the person's attention.

"Hello?"

Chapter 2: In Remembrance

Summary:

Craig

Notes:

A chapter on Craig's history before we move forward? Oh yes.

That being said, trigger warnings for this chapter need to be put out there.
Attempted suicide, character death, violence, blood.

For as long as he could remember, Craig saw things others couldn’t.

Sometimes it was little things; shadows that lagged behind their owners a moment too long.  A bright aura radiating off someone across the street. Whispers swirled around him in his waking hours, words jumbled and sometimes in languages he couldn’t begin to understand.  And in his dreams darkness and light fought a never ending battle.

He would observe the carnage in his dreams, fearful and hiding on the outskirts of the gory battle before him, staring in horror as angels and demons ripped each other limb from limb.  But he only watched, and neither side seemed to notice or care about the small boy quivering with fear.

Everything changed when he turned eight.  

Craig woke from a dead sleep, his mother sobbing uncontrollably over him, shaking as she held his small face in her hands.  Someone was screaming like they were on fire, and it took him trying to say something, anything, to his mother to sooth her distress, to realize his throat was raw.  He remembered the panic of that moment, the inability to get any sound past his lips that wasn’t a sickening croak, his own tears spilling from his eyes as his mother pulled him into her arms. 

The sting hit him first as he shifted to wrap his arms around his mother, peeking over her shoulder to see why he was suddenly so aware of his legs and the cool, stinging tingle that became more prominent by the second.  His feet were black, caked with dirt and grime and what appeared to be ash. The pain only got worse when he noticed the gashes over his legs, deep, jagged tears in his skin that looked like claw marks. A sob caught in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut against the image of dark trails of blood oozing down his calves, mixing with the powdery charcoal from his dreams that covered his thin legs. 

Sleep stopped having any appeal after that first trip to hell. 

His mother tried.  Through the perceived night terrors, dissociative episodes, and apparent hallucinations, she tried her best.  Craig saw the strain he put on his parents’ relationship, the way his father rarely made eye contact with him anymore, how often he heard them fighting after he was supposed to be asleep.  Not that he could sleep. 

The whispering voices got louder, their distorted figures and faces hissing that he should come with them, that he was only hurting his family with his presence.  Only they understood him, only they had a place for Craig to go where he wouldn’t bother anyone again. 

He was tired of being a burden.  Heartbroken that his little sister was kept as far away from him as possible.  Miserable when his father showed him scorn and fear. Desperate for anything other than this half existence between his crumbling family and the demons and angels that hovered at his periphery every moment of the day.  

The hushed voices rushing past his ears grew louder, beckoning him to come with them, offering him a way from the pain and heartache building in a wild crescendo inside him. 

The fall from the roof wasn’t enough to kill him. 

Craig’s doctors doted on him, sad half smiles trained on him the moment they entered his hospital room.  How lucky you are, they said, their smiles never fully meeting their eyes. You landed just right to avoid anything serious.

They were wrong, of course.  He’d landed wrong. If he landed right he could have gone with the voices and he wouldn’t have to see the despair in his parents’ eyes when they changed his dressings, inserted another IV, shoved him full of popsicles and ice cream and drugs that made everything fuzzy around the edges and his tongue heavy in his mouth.  

He heard the doctors and his parents when they thought he was out cold, voices hushed and urgent.  Murmurs of medication and psychosis, scientific words his young and addled mind couldn’t begin to process permeated his hazy thoughts.  His mother’s sobs, his father’s voice steadily rising, the constant words It’s all we can do for him suffocated his every thought, and he wished he’d listed to the left on his way down to the ground, shattering his skull instead of his leg.

It took a while to find the correct combination of drugs in the proper dosage for the shadows and auras and whispers to leave him alone.  They lurked at the edges of his vision, and Craig could feel their eyes boring into the back of his skull, words left unsaid hanging in the air around him constantly.  But he could think, he could laugh and smile and play with the other kids, with his sister, so he ignored them, begged them to leave him alone in his room in the middle of the night.  And they did.

Mostly. 

He still didn’t sleep, not really.  He had drugs to help (he had drugs for everything) but each time he took the tiny orange pills at night he was thrust back into darkness and fire, feet smoldering with ash when he woke.  Craig never mentioned the nightmares anymore and did everything to keep his screams hidden in the quiet of his family’s home.   Because what fourteen year old has night terrors, he would repeat to himself when the shadows twisted in the corners of his room, their inky tendrils coiling around him when he closed his eyes.  The moment light filtered through his window, warm rays of sunlight slicing through the dark like a blade, he was free again. Free to push down his demons, ignore the invisible stares, and medicate himself into the functioning adolescent his parents always dreamed he’d become. 

Craig was sixteen when he met Thomas.

The small, twitching blond with wild hair and tired eyes caught his attention almost immediately across the cafeteria, and as the days and weeks and months passed he found himself inexplicably drawn to the boy.  Their friendship bloomed and grew from quiet conversations to shy glances and touches, from shared words in the middle of the night to shared kisses, shared breath, shared beds. With Thomas curled against him, skin to skin and his unruly blond head tucked under his chin, Craig found sleep, the nightmares finally held at bay as bitten nails drew lazily over his chest. 

Thomas had demons of his own, and while they didn’t leave physical scars like the harsh lines marring Craig’s legs, arms, and torso, they left him shaking, paranoid, and afraid.  He did his best to quell the shudders wracking the blond, strong arms and gentle kisses making him shiver for another reason altogether. The smaller boy never asked about the scars littering Craig’s skin like a fucked up road map, instead tracing them reverently, adding his own scratches over Craig’s tanned back when he pressed Thomas into his mattress.  Craig didn’t mind those marks.

When he made it to twenty, Craig thought he might be home free.  He had a job, an apartment, a boyfriend, and even if their refrigerator was never fully stocked or his job was shitty half the time, he was happy.  The pill bottles and sleepless nights decreased in number. The shadows let him be. The glow surrounding people he passed on the street faded.  He felt something akin to peace for the first time in his life.

He stumbled in late, dropping his bag unceremoniously to the floor as he flipped the deadbolt behind him.  “Honey, I’m home,” Craig called in a sing-song voice, kicking off his shoes and padding across their frigid floor toward their bedroom.  

“I’m in here, you big nerd,” Thomas chuckled from his place on their bed, where he pulled their comforter around him in the human approximation of a burrito.  “It’s f-fuckin’ freezing, shut the door.”

Craig eyed the blond as he entered the room, doing as he was told and closing the door swiftly behind him, a sly grin spreading across his lips.  “Cold, huh?”

“Yes, obviously,” the other huffed, turning a page in his book, eyes darting up to watch Craig cross the room.  “What?”

“Maybe I can warm you up,” Craig's voice dropped at the words, crawling over the bed to the bundle sitting against the headboard.  The flush that spread over Thomas’ cheeks had Craig grinning, ducking his head down to place a kiss against his boyfriend’s neck.  The skin was like ice. He pulled back, a frown creasing his brow, “Tom, are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” Thomas offered a small smile, and the longer Craig looked, the more he noticed exactly how pale the blond was.  “Felt a little f-funny after work, is all.”

He pressed the back of his hand to Thomas’ forehead, trying desperately to mask his concern.  He was so fucking cold.  “Let me make you something.  Soup. Something hot. Anything.”

“I’ll be fine, Craig,” Thomas cupped his cheek, and Craig barely suppressed a shiver at the icy touch.  “Just need some sleep and maybe,” he purred, curling his fingers in the collar of his boyfriend’s shirt, “s-someone to come here and warm me up.”

Craig wasn’t exactly one to argue, especially with a hot mouth demanding attention against his own. 

He woke hours later, groggily reaching across the mattress and finding it empty, sheets freezing and damp under his hand.  Sitting up in a rush, Craig felt dread settle in the pit of his stomach, eyes frantically searching the room for any sign of the blond.  “Tom?” Craig rasped into the dark of his room, hanging his legs over the edge of his bed and slipping on his boxers. “Tom, where are you?”

A sickening gag from the connected bathroom caught his attention, green eyes instantly locking on the ajar door as he crossed the room in several long strides.  “Tom?”

“It’s fine,” Thomas' voice echoed form their small bathroom, another loud retch sounding through the cracked door.  “Leave me alone.”

Craig stopped mid-step, something in the back of his mind buzzing to life at the gravely undertone in his boyfriend’s voice.  “You don’t sound okay. I just want to help.”

A cold, humorless laugh burst from the bathroom, and Craig took a step back, catching sight of Thomas’ reflection in the mirror.  His pale skin was ghostly in the dim light, a trail of dark liquid spilling from his lips and down over his chin, splattered over their mirror and sink.  “What makes you think you can help him?”

What were once beautiful brown eyes met Craig’s in the mirror, now a soulless and nearly glowing red. 

The fear that controlled most of his life, his every thought and action for years, hit Craig full force as he stumbled backward, tripping over his feet and crashing to the floor.  Thomas emerged from the bathroom, a twisted grin perched over his swollen and bloodied lips. He took a step forward, advancing on Craig in a state of panic on the ground. And Craig couldn’t look away; not from his eyes, the blood dripping down his chest, his normally gentle face perverted into something cruel and devilish.  

“What’s wrong, Craig?” the thing that used to be Thomas cooed at him, drawing closer and crouching down to grab his ankle and yank him forward, Craig’s bare back dragging across the floor with a nasty screech.  “Don’t like me anymore ? Don’t wanna fuck me again?”

Craig's eyes widened, jaw clenching in a futile attempt to fight back the tears welling in his eyes.  “Give him back,” Craig grit out, watching a darkness settle around Thomas’ form, licking over his alabaster skin.  He needed to get that thing out of him, away from Thomas. Heart hammering in his chest, he tried to wriggle out of the death grip on his ankle, the grasp getting impossibly tighter and feeling his bones grind together and crunch.  The scream that ripped from his throat was nothing short of feral, Craig using the fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins to grab the creature in the body he knew so well, careful not to hurt whatever of Thomas was left inside.  

A hand clamped over Craig’s throat, closing off air from reaching his lungs and threatening to crush his windpipe.  “Shhhh, Craig, darling,” the bastardized version of Thomas’ voice said, pinning him bodily against the floor with little effort, fingers tightening dangerously for a second over his throat.  “The more you struggle, the more he fights back.  And oh boy, is he fighting," he sat back, rolling his hips against Craig’s with a sick grin, and nearly cackling when tears finally spilled from his eyes.  “You thought you got rid of us, hm?  Thought you could live a perfect little life? Well look at him,” he loosened his grip for Craig to pull in a desperate breath before cutting off his airflow once again.  “You did this to him. This?” he lowered himself, chest flush against his, and Craig tried to ignore the congealing blood sticking their bodies together, “This is all because of you.  He’s dying in here, all because of you.”

Craig managed to twist a leg free, kicking out and using the momentum to break the hold on him, praying to whoever would listen that Thomas was okay, his limp body rolling across the floor.  He crawled forward, hesitant to touch the suddenly still body, but concerned for the boy he knew was still in there somewhere.

With a wild gasp, the blond jerked violently, attempting to raise himself on shaking arm.  A horrific cough wracked his thin frame, blood pouring from his mouth onto the floor. “C-Craig,” Thomas’ voice was wrecked beyond comprehension, barely more than a whisper as he turned to look at him.  “Craig p-please…”

He didn’t think he could move that fast, ignoring the throbbing pain in his ankle and pulling Thomas into his arms.  The heat radiating off the blond was immense, burning everywhere their skin met, but Craig didn’t care. He tried to wipe blood away from the other’s chin, looking into Thomas’ deep chocolate eyes and releasing a sob that they weren’t red.  “Tom, I’m so sorry. I-I’m sorry, I never-”

Thomas shook his head, covering Craig’s mouth with his hand, “D-don’t you dare, asshole.” He tried for a laugh, a cough escaping his throat with another dribble of blood.  “Don’t you f-fucking dare.”

Craig gripped the hand against his lips, pressing a kiss to the heated skin and allowing his tears to fall freely.  “We need to get you to a hosp-”

“Craig,” the word slipped past Thomas’ lips, the name sounding garbled on his tongue and dragging another sob out of the taller boy.  “I...l-love you.”

They’d exchanged those words over their years together, though not nearly as much as Craig was now wishing they had.  They reserved I love you’s for big moments, filling every other instance of love and adoration with delicate touches and silly whispers, knowing exactly which words ran under the current of every gesture and spoken word between them.  Hearing them then, Thomas laying bleeding in his arms, broke the last bit of composure Craig managed to maintain.

“Tom,” he murmured, trying to meet the other’s eyes as they fluttered and started rolling back into his head.  “Tom, I-”

“How sweet.”

Craig recoiled instantly when clear red eyes opened, a repugnant smirk twisting Thomas’ kind mouth.  “A last little goodbye, hm?  Go on an say it, Craig. No one’s been so delicate with me for eons,"  Thomas’ body shifted in his lap, gripping Craig's thigh hard when he frantically tried to move away.  “Don’t leave.  We’re just starting to have fun, Craig.”

The way that thing in Thomas’ body said his name chilled the blood in his veins.  Craig struggled against the harsh fingers bruising his leg, biting hard at his lip in an attempt to counteract the pain in his thigh.

“Isn’t this the leg you broke before? ” the hand tightened, Thomas’ bloodied lips spreading into a sneer when Craig muffled a scream through his clenched teeth.  “Poor thing.  You couldn’t even off yourself right,” he crawls over Craig, breath raking over his face.  “What makes you think you could save him?”

Craig watched in horror as Thomas’ body sat up in his lap, bringing a hand up to his neck and resting it over his throat.  “What a shame you couldn’t do it before.  It might have saved him.  Maybe you can join him in hell.” The hand clamps down over the pale column of his throat, squeezing until Thomas’ face and lips begin to purple. 

He fought back the best that he could.  He kicked and yelled, screamed for help, nearly breaking his fingers as he tried to remove the hand from his boyfriend’s throat.   

The fingers crushed, the body above him crumpling onto his chest in a lifeless heap.

Craig didn’t know how much time passed before they found them.  He’d long since run out of tears, dry sobs wracking him as he clutched Thomas to his chest, eyes never daring to look at the deep purple overtaking his throat. 

The paramedics ruled it a suicide despite the bizarre circumstances, and as much as it broke something at his core, Craig knew better than to argue.  

Three days after he was released from the hospital, Craig tried to follow Thomas.

He didn’t miss the pity in his doctors’ eyes.  The little reassurances, kind words about being revived, You were gone for two minutes, but we got you back, Mister Tucker. 

Two minutes in hell felt like two lifetimes on Earth.  And from those two minutes he knew for sure that Thomas was nowhere to be found in hell.

They put him in the care of his parents, deeming it unwise that he return to his apartment with the half empty refrigerator, warm memories of lazy morning kisses, and blood of the boy he loved soaked into the hardwood floor.  His therapist appointments were all he had to look forward to, his plethora of brightly colored pills his only friends. The shadows still lurked in the corners of his room, but never reached out with the intensity they once did.  Instead, they simmered around the edges of his vision, mocking him like they’d won.

He roamed his home in a daze, cognizant enough to eat and drink, maybe mumble a few words when spoken to.  Craig ignored the pained stares of his parents and their renewed arguments when they thought he couldn’t hear.  He knew he was a burden, none of that was new, but seeing how Tricia ached for him, curled against his side as they watched Red Racer (and he’d loved that before, hadn’t he) tore his heart in half.

Craig had never been religious, especially after his realization that he had no intent to ever settle down with a nice girl, but he found himself nestled into the corner of a pew late at night all the same, needing to be outside, away from all the pain he was causing his family.  And somehow after the Pastor approached him, offering him silence and something that was the only thing that had felt like real comfort since Thomas, Craig felt something click into place, regardless that he was damned.  

Maybe he could make it up somehow. 

Maybe he could be with Thomas again.

-----

Craig paced down the aisle toward the vestibule, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder and retrieving his keys.  A rush of chilled air hit him full in the face, making him eternally grateful for the jacket in his arms. As he closed the doors behind him and slid the deadbolt into place, he heard a low whine sound from somewhere in front of the church. 

Turning slowly, he looked out over the paved walkway leading to the church, movement from the adjacent garden catching his eye.  “Hello?” he called out as he approached the garden with caution, grip tightening on the strap of his satchel.

The moment his foot hit the first cobblestone of the garden path, a wave of familiar twisting dread washed over Craig.  

“A-ah...um,” the same voice that issued the whine replied, a thin and shaking young man appearing next to a well manicured rose bush. 

The darkness that twisted and curled like smoke around the man made Craig’s stomach lurch, and it took a second to rein in his emotions before he actually looked at the stranger in his garden.  

A chill ran through his entire body, goosebumps erupting over his skin.  

The wild mane of blond hair caught his attention first, slightly too light but still close enough to have his heart hammering in his chest.  The young man twitched and fidgeted with his hands, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he raised his eyes.

But those eyes held the same weight of the world that Thomas’ had, that same soul-crushing amount of worry and trepidation. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he spoke again, vibrant blue eyes wide and darting around the garden before settling on Craig, on the clerical collar at his throat.  “Father, I just d-didn’t know where else to go a-and…”

“Pastor,” he said before he even realized the word came out of his mouth.

The man before him continued to gnaw on his lip, the faintest hint of a smile quirking the corner of his mouth before it disappeared.  “P-Pastor...of course.”

“Craig,” he spoke again, eyes drawn to the bright blue pair in front of him, finding himself taking a step forward. 

The darkness bathing the man trembled at the name.  “O-okay...Craig,” the blond man spoke, wrapping his arms around himself and shuddering. 

Craig moved again, offering the jacket draped over his arm.  “Here, you look like you’re freezing.”

“I c-couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist,” he pressed the material into the smaller man’s hands, a faint smile forming on his lips when the blond took it and hesitantly slipped into it. 

“T-thank you, Craig.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Tweek,” the man uttered, fingers tangling in his hair when he went to brush a strand behind his ear.  "M-my name is Tweek."

Craig’s heart clenched in his chest the longer he watched the stranger in his jacket, the roiling darkness surrounding the blond bringing back memories or bloodied lips and purple throats. 

“Are you o-okay?”  Tweek’s bright eyes locked onto Craig’s, his brow furrowing in concern. 

He paused, an insurmountable sadness passing over his face before he turned away, unable to keep looking at the man before him.

“It’s nothing,” he murmured, eyes trained on the worn cobblestones under his feet.  “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

There was a long beat, the gentle rustle of leaves the only backdrop to the silence.  “Were...w-were they special?”

Craig closes his eyes, relishing the cold gusts whispering over his skin. 

“Yes.”

Chapter 3: The Devil You Know

Summary:

Tweek

Notes:

Let's pretend it hasn't been 7 months since we updated this.

This picks up right after the events of the previous chapter, so let's get to meeting Tweek.

So, uh, have some creek.

Humans were fascinating to Tweek.  Not necessarily to interact with, but in theory they weren’t so bad.  To each other, though, they were devastating.

They swarmed the Earth, killing and hating and fucking each other up without so much as a demon whispering in their ear, even when every Televangelist blamed the Devil until they were blue in the face.  Oh no, that whole freewill thing? That was nothing to laugh at.

But when he did whisper, they listened.

They bent and bowed to each uttered idea and whim, destroying those they held close for the smallest personal gain.  They broke solemn vows and holy covenants for wealth, power, and the heat of another body against their own. And Tweek reveled in it.  He fed off each lie and infidelity, stoking the darkness smouldering just under the surface of the human psyche.

Humans did just fine sealing their hellish fate on their own, but their souls tasted so much better when he had a hand in their deviations. 

Tweek would wait and listen and utter the sweetest words.  He susurrated phrases and ideas that made grown men’s toes curl, left women muffling gasps in the darkness of their rooms, and built people up to their highest peaks only to watch them shatter on their inevitable fall. 

Over many years of fulfilling assignments on Earth, Tweek learned the best ways to twist his words, how to use whatever body he was in to get the job done quickly and efficiently. Sex was a weapon he was more than proficient with, and each time he got his mark, he thrived in his triumph, at the satisfaction of bringing a human to their knees, completely at his mercy. 

Tweek had mastered how to tangle human souls like puppets on strings. Making them dance to the beat of his drum, their actions their own, but their thoughts belonging to him. It wasn’t too hard to control humanity; give them the tiniest little push and they would willingly dive head first into debauchery. Humanity was thirsty for sin, and if it just so happened to make Tweek’s job that much easier? So be it.

Playing puppet master was his absolute favorite thing about his job. He would research what made a human tic, what drove them, what their motivations, aspirations, dreams were. The best manipulation was the kind that no one saw coming, the work put in before hand, well, that was simply demonic foreplay.

This thing with the Pastor was something he hadn’t expected. Not because he was a man of the cloth; Tweek had corrupted more than his fair share of clergymen, and as much as they often provided him with something of a challenge, they all, inevitably, succumbed.  But this was different, gut-wrenching and anxiety inducing because he didn’t have a vessel this time, no meatsuit to shrug off at the end of his task. Just him, laid bare and vulnerable on Earth where he wasn’t even supposed to be as himself in the first place. 

But fuck the rules.  He had a job to do.

The sob story Tweek constructed to ensnare the Pastor was far from elaborate, to say the least. A little water works, a little sniffling, a lot of helplessness. Follow that with a well placed panic attack, and he found himself following the taller man to his home.

“It’s not much space,” Craig mumbled, sliding his key into the lock and turning it.  “But it must be better than the church garden, right?”

The small blond stared at the Pastor, eyes wide as though he couldn’t believe such a kindness could ever be bestowed on him.  Tweek noticed each little shift in the other’s gaze, the way it pointedly darted around his face, never fully meeting his eyes, but settling repeatedly on his lips.  

And he could work with that.

“M-much better,” Tweek agreed, rubbing at the borrowed jacket covering his arms as he crossed the threshold of the apartment, careful to let his foot catch on the small ledge.

Craig lunged forward, catching Tweek’s thin human form in his outstretched arms as he toppled into the apartment.  “Careful,” the Pastor’s voice was quiet, his even-tone edged with concern as he helped to right Tweek’s footing, and if he felt Craig’s heart rate spike he certainly didn’t let it show.  

“S-sorry,” stammering, Tweek curled his fingers in the front of the Pastor’s shirt and relished the hard stutter of Craig’s heart when his nails dug into the skin under the crisp button-down.  “Thank you, Pastor.”

The man’s lips parted, his tongue unconsciously gliding over his bottom lip before he cleared his throat.  “Craig is fine,” he nearly whispered, hands still resting against Tweek’s back and waist. He’s worse off than I thought. Tweek arched into the touch a fraction and watched the momentary surge of guilt that crossed Craig’s features as he retracted his hands. 

Tweek lowered his eyes to the ground in a manner he knew appeared sheepish and shy, and it was hard to fight the urge to smirk. The entire situation was just a little too easy, wasn’t it? But humanity wasn’t much of a challenge, not to someone like him who’d been at this for centuries.

The taller man lead Tweek to the center of the room where a modest sofa sat in front of a television set. Tweek toed off his worn sneakers and took a seat on the plush cushions, curling into himself to appear smaller, his shoulders shaking slightly. He knew he looked powerless, like a frightened deer, and it seemed to him the Pastor had a thing for helping the helpless.  And that’s exactly what he was going to give him. Helpless.

Everyone wanted to be a hero.

Aqua eyes followed the Pastor as he walked into the kitchen, filling a tea kettle with water, and Tweek was reminded of exactly how mundane human life was as he watched. “Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, coffee?” Craig asked, glancing up to meet the demon’s gaze.

Tweek scratched at the jacket sleeve, eyes downcast after they held Craig’s for a moment. “I...could I have coffee? Thank you,” he muttered and looked back up to catch the sweet smile on Craig’s lips.

“Yeah. I have some,” the Pastor rummaged in the cabinet for a canister of coffee and turned the tea kettle off, opting to shift his attention to an unused coffee maker shoved to the back of the kitchen counter.

He’d waited for a moment like this.

Tweek watched Craig’s fingers twitch as he reached for the machine. His research uncovered a fucking gold mine when it came to past relationships he could use against the Pastor, and Thomas, his poor sweet Thomas, had been a coffee drinker. By the looks of the machine, Craig had likely not touched it since his boyfriend’s untimely demise.

A sick satisfaction slipped down Tweek’s spine as he watched Craig force himself to use the coffee maker. It oozed off of him, the unending sadness, and Tweek absorbed it, licking his bottom lip in anticipation.

After the clatter of silverware drawers and whispered questions (How do you take your coffee, are you hungry, can I get you anything) died down, Craig turned back toward the sofa with the mug of coffee and stopped mid step, eyes settling on the figure wedged against the armrest. 

Tweek didn’t need to look up to know exactly what happened, to see the way that Craig’s eyes were undoubtedly glazed over, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in an attempt to swallow down the rush of memories assaulting him.  From the moment he entered the apartment, Tweek let his miasma pour into the space, seeping out and tainting the room. Blurring and obscuring reality, warping it into whatever he wanted, whatever Tweek could use to subvert the situation.  Craig would see flashes of Thomas instead of Tweek, glimpses of a life that could have been instead of a stranger with wide eyes and wild hair, and Tweek used that to his advantage.  He shifted, his bare toes hitting the cold floor as he stood and walked over to the taller man. His fingers brushed Craig’s as he took the mug, a gentle smile pulling at his lips.

“Thank you, I really l-love coffee,” Tweek nearly whispered, not wanting to overdo it but letting the faintest purr seep into his voice. There was a time to push and a time to play coy. He was acutely aware of the way Craig was watching him, the look in his eyes speaking volumes; loneliness, hopelessness, and an underlying hunger.

Tweek wasn’t quite sure why this particular soul was so important or why he was sent here in his physical form to obtain it. The small amount he could find on the Pastor, bits and pieces he gathered in preparation for this assignment, was that his soul had been to Hell once before, and his boyfriend had been possessed by a rogue demon. It was enough to tempt Tweek into coming to Earth to fulfill the mission without just telling his boss to fuck off. A good conspiracy was good for the soul, right?

Ironic in every way. The Pastor with a damned soul.

Why was Craig Tucker such a mystery? No human before him had been so elusive to Tweek, so as he stood in front of the man, he felt somewhat let down by how easy this task was proving to be. Where was the challenge? He’d have his soul collected and taken back to Hell within a week, no, maybe half a week, at this rate.

Tweek tilted his head and looked Craig in the eye, blinking slowly as they continued their silent exchange. A visible shiver passed over Craig, his lips parting as he shifted closer.  Tweek bit his lip as he watched the distance between them lessen. His fingers closed over the mug tighter as he saw clarity coming back to Craig’s eyes.

“Um, is that too hot?” Craig asked, looking down and drawing Tweek’s attention back to the mug in his hands.

“Mmm, n-no. It’s just right,” Tweek stated as he brought the ceramic to his lips and tipped the liquid into his mouth. He kept eye contact with the taller man the entire time, watching as the Pastor’s pupils dilated in want when Tweek swallowed down the coffee with an audible gulp, tongue tracing over his bottom lip when he lowered the mug.

Craig opened his mouth as if to say something, a feeble sound escaping instead of any actual words, and Tweek took the opportunity to press the man further.  Taking another sip, he closed his eyes and hummed against the ceramic rim, gulping down a mouthful of the bitter liquid. Tweek reopened his eyes, peering up at the Pastor and watching the taller man’s tongue as it dragged along the dry patches of his own bottom lip.

“D’you want some?” the demon asked, collecting the lingering droplets of coffee on his lips with his thumb before sucking the digit into his mouth. 

“Ah, no,” Craig managed to force out, eyes tearing away from Tweek as he took a step back and ran a hand roughly through his hair.  “I’m not a big...coffee drinker. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“It’s divine,” Tweek drawled, his tongue laving at the mug.  “Thank you, Pastor.”

Craig seemed unable to look away, green eyes taking all of Tweek in and the demon positively bathed in the attention, drinking in the discrete shudder that rolled down the other’s spine. 

“It’s nothing,” the words left Craig in a rush, his wandering gaze settling on Tweek’s cheeks.  The demon allowed himself the faintest blush and bit at his bottom lip when he saw pink mirrored on Craig’s cheeks. 

For a fleeting moment, Tweek caught Craig’s eyes.  The anguish and buried desire battling just behind the emerald green of his irises empowered Tweek, guided his fingers to skim over the thin cotton of Craig’s sleeve.  And even when the Pastor broke their eye contact in favor of staring at the hand brushing over his arm, Tweek still knew he was winning, knew that this enigma of a human would bend for him as so many others had. 

“S-sorry,” Tweek retreated a step, taking the mug back in both hands and clutching it to his chest.  “I’ve just been so alone, a-and after everything, I-I don’t…” he allowed himself a moment to ramble, watching the contents of his cup swirl under the light overhead.

“No need to apologize,” Craig’s calm voice returned, even if Tweek noticed his fingers shaking at his side.  “You’ve been through a lot today. Let me get my bed ready for you, it’s the least I can do.”

He could definitely work with that. 

“O-oh, God, Jesus, I could never,” the demon’s nails tapped against the ceramic nervously, one of his hands tearing away to grip at his hair.  “You’ve already been more than k-kind by bringing me into your home, I-I couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist,” Craig’s hand rose to untangle Tweek’s from his hair, his thin fingers tensing faintly in a gesture that was surely meant to reassure, but only belied the hunger bubbling behind the Pastor’s eyes.  “It’s yours until we can find you someplace better,” the taller man paused, a frown furrowing his brow, “maybe...maybe even set up a time to speak with your family-”

“N-no!” Tweek allowed his bright eyes to widen in horror, shaking his head frantically and taking a step away.  “Please...p-please, you don’t u-understand what they’re like.  They’ll n-never…”

A visible sadness washed over Craig, the hand still clasped over the demon’s a warm presence in the chill of the room.  “Okay,” the Pastor spoke, raising his other hand to rest on Tweek’s shoulder, “It’s okay. We’ll figure something out, take this slow and…”

Tweek saw the subtle shift in Craig’s expression; the way his jaw tightened in resolve, the resolute kindness radiating from his touch.  Despite the lust and desire simmering under his skin, this man was compassionate.  Selfless regardless of the strife that wracked his life and damned him to Hell. And Tweek was going to devour him.  

“Y’know...make sure you’re safe,” Craig finished, giving the demon’s hand and shoulder a gentle squeeze.  It took the man another beat to release Tweek, a momentary flash of confusion appearing on his face before he dropped his hands to his sides, fingers twitching almost imperceptibly.  “Sorry, uh,” Craig squeezed his eyes shut, pressing long fingers to his forehead, “long day. Let me get the room ready.” When the Pastor’s hand fell once more, he crossed to the closed door nestled into the wall next to the television stand, casting a glance over his shoulder at the young, troubled man shaking in his living room.  

Craig would be easy to break.  Peeling away each layer of defense the man had undoubtedly surrounded himself with would be as simple as scratching off the cracked and flaking paint in this shitty apartment.  The Pastor, Craig, was damaged, and each lingering look and good deed directed at Tweek was another nail in his coffin. 

---

As much as the Pastor was more than adamant about his new charge taking his bed for the night, Tweek was long practiced in the delicate art of breaking a human soul. He wore Craig down, changing the initial arrangement from sleeping in separate rooms to sharing the living room, Tweek taking the couch now piled high with plush blankets and mismatched pillows, and Craig’s long limbs stretched out on the easy chair. 

He had no real need for sleep, but he feigned it well, airy whimpers and gasps leaving his lips as Craig finally dropped his guard and let the first vestiges of sleep wash over him.

But if the way the Pastor’s cheeks lit up at Tweek’s suggestion that they share the bed was any indication, the want more than evident in Craig’s downcast eyes, the demon knew it wouldn’t be long before he claimed his prize. 

------

“How long has it been?” Tweek murmured against the rim of his mug on the third morning of his stay in the apartment, watching the care Craig took to tuck the blanket around his feet.

“Hm?” The Pastor’s hands lingered over the blanket as he sat back, “How long what’s been?”

“Since you’ve seen them,” lowering the mug to rest on top of his knees, Tweek continued to observe Craig.  The way his shoulders went rigid at the implication of his dead lover, even if Thomas’ name never crossed Tweek’s lips.

“Who?”

Tweek’s voice came out hushed, Craig’s green eyes finally raising to meet his when he spoke.  “The one I remind you of,” Tweek uttered, hours and days of observing the man in front of him finally clicking into place as he took the next step in his plan, “t-the reason your eyes get so sad whenever you look at me.”

The words froze Craig, his fingers curling and shaking against the tops of his thighs in the silence that followed.  Tweek kept his tone even and shy, even if a little thrill of pride slid down his spine. “At first I thought it must be because I...I’m…” he paused before shaking his head, “b-but, it’s different. It’s sadness, not judgement.”

The Pastor was still, the agony in Craig’s eyes slowly subsiding into resigned pain, “I couldn’t judge you for something I’m guilty of myself.”

“W-what?” Tweek brought his gaze to settle on the man next to him, “What do you mean, Craig?”

Looking away, Craig gave Tweek’s feet a final squeeze before sitting back, “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“I don’t mind,” reaching out and wrapping a thin, pale hand over Craig’s wrist, Tweek pulled him back into his space, gnawing at his bottom lip with a timid glance, “I-I mean, I’m sure you listen to people all day, but never really have anyone to listen to you.  Especially since you’re all alone here…”

The silence that swelled around them was almost palpable, Craig’s open stare twisting Tweek’s toes in his socks in the most delicious way. He broke it after a beat, fumbling with his mug under the guise of anxiousness, “Oh God, I’m sorry, t-that was so rude of me.”

“No, it’s okay,” Carefully taking the mug from Tweek’s hands, Craig placed it on the modest coffee table, his eyes seeming to follow the swirl of the dark liquid instead of watching the demon next to him.  And that just would not do. Not when Tweek was so close.  

“Craig,” Tweek’s fingers curled tighter over the Pastor’s wrist, voice dropping an octave as he leaned in, “y-you can talk to me.  I know I’m j-just-”

“You’re not just anything,” Craig shifted forward, knees brushing over Tweek’s feet. “Right now you’re lost.  But it’s okay. I was lost for a time, too.”

“I don’t feel lost,” Tweek walked his fingers lazily up the sleeve of Craig’s shirt, his nails digging into the fabric to scratch over the man’s skin, “and I don’t think you do, either.”

Something almost feral flashed in Craig’s eyes the longer he watched Tweek, pressing into each touch against his arm.  “I have to admit, I don’t know what I feel,” the Pastor’s words were measured, slow and deliberate as he wet his bottom lip. “What...what do you feel, Tweek?”

“Freedom,” the demon answered almost immediately, the hand that was slowly climbing Craig’s arm now sliding from his shoulder to the center of the Pastor’s chest.  “I can be myself, l-love whoever I want, even…even if it’s wrong,” he could feel Craig’s heart beat solidly beneath his hand, the steady rhythm picking up as each second ticked by. “I don’t blame them.  For kicking me out. I’m disgusting, why would they want to be further tainted by me…”

Craig’s hand closed over Tweek’s.  His lips parted as he shook his head, the now hammering muscle in his chest practically begging to be ripped from the confines of his ribcage. “You weren’t tainting them.  Or yourself,” though his words were pure, good , Tweek focused on the lust churning the emerald of Craig’s eyes, the pink tongue visible just beyond his lips, “Love is something that’s beautiful in every form.  And that’s not something that everyone can understand.”

The moment hung between them, a million things left unsaid, and the hunger, the want reaching a critical mass within Craig. 

Tweek struck fast and sure, closing the narrow distance between them to press their lips together, to taste the fear and pain undulating like a tempest within the Pastor. 

He let the touch linger, savoring the slight shudder beneath his lips as Craig’s carefully constructed walls crumbled with each passing second.  Breaking the kiss, Tweek felt each puff of breath wash over his face and Craig’s nails biting into his hand. Perfect.

“O-oh Jesus, fuck,” Tweek breathed out, eyes growing wide when he pulled back, carefully gauging the Pastor’s reaction.  “I mean…fuck, fuck, I-I’m so sorry.  I didn’t...I didn’t intend to, oh God, I-”

“Tweek,” Craig’s voice cut through the rising sounds of his panic, a rasp tainting his tone that sent a little thrill down the demon’s spine, “Deep breaths.  It’s okay.”

“H-how?! How can th-this…oh my God, I-”

“Shh,” Craig mused, heartbeat fluttering against Tweek’s skin at every point of contact.  “I’m right here. I’ve got you…”

“Craig,” Tweek breathed the Pastor’s name, feeling it roll like honey over his tongue.  

A visible shiver passed over Craig, his lips parting as he shifted closer on the couch.  Tweek bit his own lip, sinking his teeth into the plump flesh hard before soothing the skin with his tongue. Tweek’s fingers skirted up the Pastor’s t-shirt, tangling themselves in the neckline until he could easily brush his fingertip’s over Craig’s collarbone.

The reaction was almost immediate.  And Craig succumbed, like every other man and woman before him.

The fervor of Craig’s lips against Tweek’s was intensely gratifying, the hands eager to touch, to map every inch of skin driving him forward. Tweek fed off each slide of lips, each muffled gasp and groan spilling into the air between them. Because this was what he lived for, this was where he thrived. 

With the Pastor’s arm hooked firmly around his waist, Craig turned them, gathering Tweek in his arms to lay him back on the couch, slotting a leg between the demon’s thighs and oh, this was going better than expected.

Craig nearly trembled under his touch, each press of lips pulsing with his need and desperation for part of himself he had so carefully locked up and hidden away. He was starved, devouring Tweek and everything he gave. 

When his nails scraped over Craig’s shoulder blades, the Pastor stifling a moan against Tweek’s open mouth, he knew he’d won.  When Craig’s hands wandered, from hair to neck to arms and waist before lifting the demon’s hips to his, Tweek reveled in his triumph. 

Because fuck, humans were easy.

“Can...can we…?” Craig managed whisper, the hesitant roll of his hips finishing his sentence better than words ever could.  

“P-please,” Tweek replied, voice airy and defenseless in a way that had Craig’s pupils dilating and hands gripping his hips tight , “Craig, please.”

Strong arms lifted Tweek from the couch, his legs wrapping around Craig as he stood, as he moved them away from the couch and toward the bedroom.  He’d given himself a week, but this man, this poor shattered Pastor was so hungry for touch that Tweek would be home and completely satiated by the end of the night.  Maybe two if he wanted to savour this, to pull Caig apart piece by piece and take everything. 

There was no rule that said he couldn't enjoy his job, and from the way Craig’s hands so eagerly grabbed at his ass as they kissed and stumbled through the bedroom door, Tweek could tell that this particular assignment was going to be extremely lucrative. 

Craig’s knee hit the mattress, cradling Tweek as he lowered the two of them to the plush comforter. But as Tweek’s back fully met the fabric, Craig’s lips continuing their fevered exploration of his neck, something felt wrong. 

Fuck. 

“What is this?” Tweek hissed, pressing a hand against the Pastor’s chest, trying to angle himself to see the man’s face in the dim light of the bedroom. “The fuck is this?!”

Craig’s expression changed instantly.  

The lust that was building in his eyes for days cleared, his open and panting mouth closing in an impassive line.  Craig shifted away, rising to stand at the edge of his bed and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What did you do to me?!” Tweek’s voice rang out in the small room, his tone dripping with anger as he watched the Pastor just stare. Tweek felt like his entire body was in a vice grip, pressure seeming to pull him to the mattress when he tried to sit up and follow Craig.  It ached, everything in him burned and kept him confined to the bed.  

“Demon’s trap,” Craig said simply, rumpled appearance juxtaposed with the stoic, almost bored demeanor that flipped on like a light switch. He took several steps back from the bed, keeping himself out of reach of Tweek as he attempted to crawl to the end of the bed.

“You fucking piece of SHIT,” Tweek shrieked, his teeth and nails sharpening in his rage, sending another wave of violent pain coursing through his body.  “When I get out of here, I’m gonna flay your skin and wear it like a goddamn SUIT!”

Keeping his distance from the bed, Craig walked into the en-suite bathroom, busying himself with a bottle of mouthwash as Tweek seethed and writhed on his bed. 

It was agony. It was actual torture and he was trapped on this stupid bed by this fucked up man of the cloth.  But that lust in the Pastor’s eyes was real, Tweek’s power over men was real. 

“C-Craig,” he dropped his voice when the man re-entered the room, turning it terrified and vulnerable as he reached out as far as he could with a trembling hand, “Craig, please, it hurts. L-let me go, let me go a-and I’ll do anything.” Tweek let his miasma seep into the air around them, wincing at the pain it caused. “I’ll be yours,” sliding a hand up his chest, Tweek raised his shirt to expose some of his pale skin, letting a shiver pass over him from his own touch, “all y-yours. I’ll let you use me h-however you-”

“No.”

The scream that ripped from Tweek’s throat shattered every piece of glass in the room.

“I will KILL you, Craig Tucker! I will suck your soul out of your fucking dick and BITE IT OFF!” Tweek yelled as the Pastor crossed to the bedroom door, fury steadily rising at the lack of reaction from the dickhead human.

Craig paused at the door, looking Tweek over with his cold, acid green eyes.  “Good luck with that,” he replied before shutting the door with a final click.

Notes:

Weak Tweek, who's she?