The Ache Won't Disappear

by Chasing Rabbits

While Kenny finds himself deeper in love with Butters Stotch than he ever intended to be, Butters finds himself juggling two relationships. A guy can only go through so much emotional turmoil before he hits his breaking point. Title from The Ache by Pansy Division.

If Kenny could spend every last second of his life tracing the lines of Butters' body with his tongue, he would.

Butters has the nicest skin, you see—warm and smooth and so, so soft—and Kenny found out completely by accident. Though Kenny didn't graduate from high school, he was still invited to Token's graduation party. He and Butters ended up on the couch in the basement, just the two of them, Butters three sheets to the wind and Kenny so high he had to lie down.

And he decided to do so right on Butters' lap.

And maybe he reached up and touched Butters' face for no reason, just because it was there, and good god, it was the most amazing thing Kenny had ever or has ever laid fingers on.

And then they may have ended up making out for a few moments before Butters squirmed away, pink in the cheeks and stammering something about getting home to his folks.

It happened again a few weeks later, only that time Kenny actually managed to get Butters into his bed. He let Kenny touch and kiss him everywhere, and called him a tease when he prolonged each and every stroke of his fingers and tongue.

"I don't know if we should keep doin' this," Butters said as he tied his shoes afterward, skin still pink from the afterglow, but it didn't stop them at all. Even when Butters went away to school he would show up at Kenny's apartment almost as soon as he returned, shamefully submitting to his innermost desires.

They're twenty-three now.

Kenny works at the same liquor store he's worked at for the last two years, doodling comics in a sketchbook he stashes under the counter; Butters lives all the way in Cheyenne with his girlfriend Angie, working out of a real estate office or something like that.

Butters only ever comes back to South Park for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Kenny's birthday. Since those all occur in the October-November-December stretch, Kenny and Butters go months and months without seeing each other.

Kenny begs him to stay each and every time, but he's nothing more than a passing thought to Butters, just another stop he has to make on his trips back home.

"I can't stay," Butters breathes as Kenny teases his tongue ring over one of his nipples.

"Yeah, you can," Kenny hums against his chest. He kisses down and down until he comes to the sticky mess Butters left on his stomach and licks him clean. Kenny loves the taste of come—boy or girl, it's one of the most intimate things you can know about a person.

And he loves the taste of Butters.

"Kenny, I left Angie with my mom," he purrs.

Kenny bites back a response and simply presses a kiss to the tip of his softening cock. Butters whimpers and twitches, and Kenny grins against him. He has a tattoo just above his hip, a reminder of the impulsivity of their youth—while Kenny got his sleeve touched up, Butters got a small skull and crossbones, one that he told Kenny was just like the one on the back of his neck.

It was Kenny's first tattoo on his eighteenth birthday; and it was Butters' first tattoo nearly two years later.

Kenny tries to lick it out of his skin every time he sees it.

"Kenny," Butters sighs softly. "I really can't, you know that."

And of course Kenny wraps his arms around Butters' waist in protest, burying his nose in the soft, wiry hair below his navel.

"I'd make it worth your while," Kenny promises into his skin. "I wanna kiss you awake nice and slow… I wanna be inside you while the sun rises. I wanna make you breakfast and watch you brush your teeth, and kiss you before we go to work—"

"Kenny," Butters interjects softly. "We can't do that."

"Why not?" Kenny looks up. "You don't want to do that with me?"

Butters doesn't make eye contact, just bites his lips shut and looks over at the breeze fluttering through the curtains.

"Baby," Kenny coos, moving up so he can thread his fingers through Butters' fine blonde hair.

"Kenny, c'mon," Butters bites his lip. "I can't."

"You obviously can," Kenny says. "You keep coming back."

"It's not that," Butters sighs, tears welling up in his bush baby eyes. "Kenny, my parents are countin' on me to get married. I'm s'posed to be with Angie, and have kids and—" he swallows hard. "It's how it's gotta be."

"You think I wouldn't give you babies?" Kenny asks, chest burning uncontrollably. "Fuck, I'd give you a thousand babies."

"God, Kenny, that's not the point," Butters sniffs and sits up. He's nicely muscled, with a broad chest and a sturdy middle, and these strong legs that feel best when they're wrapped around Kenny's skinny waist, or slung over his bony shoulders.

"You love her, I get it," Kenny nods, running his fingers through his sweaty hair.

"Kenny," Butters eyebrows knit together. "Don't do this right now, please. I-I like doin' this with you, I really do. It's just…" he stops, and lets out a shaky breath. "I gotta go. My folks'll be real sore if I'm late for Thanksgiving dinner."

Kenny sits paralyzed on the bed as Butters slides out and starts gathering his clothes off the floor. His pert bubble butt is still red from receiving Kenny's attention, and if Kenny knew he wouldn't get told off for it, he would leap off the bed and bite both cheeks in earnest.

He flops back into the sheets instead and breathes deeply.

Butters sits on the bed to tie his shoes and turns around, braced halfway over Kenny.

"I'll text you later," he says and leans down to capture Kenny's lips in his.

Kenny lingers a little too long, licking back into Butters' mouth and tasting himself of Butters' tongue.

"Brush your teeth," Kenny mutters when Butters pulls back. "You taste like my spunk."

Butters pulls a pack of disposable toothbrushes out of his pocket and gives him a smile.

"You're not the only one who comes prepared."

oo

Kenny's heat is out the next time Butters turns up at his door. Butters has in his hands a take-out container full of his homemade chicken soup and a thick wooly sweater that is also very obviously homemade. Kenny checks the date on his phone.

"It's not Christmastime, what gives?"

"You told me your heat was out, we can't have you gettin' sick," Butters invites himself in. "I made you a sweater."

"I can see that," says Kenny as Butters shoves it into his arms. "What'd you tell Angie?"

Butters shuffles his feet and immediately mashes his fingers together.

"I didn't really tell her," he says. "Truth be told, I had to get out of there anyway."

Kenny nods and tugs the sweater over his head, grateful already for the heat it keeps close to his skin.

"Angie's pregnant."

A giant pit forms in Kenny's stomach and he has to sit down.

"She's—"

"God, Kenny," Butters presses his hands into his eyes. "I don't know what I'm s'posed to do."

Kenny looks up and sees Butters wringing his hands, breaths coming short and fast, and immediately Kenny shoots up to his feet and pulls him in close to his chest. Butters' arms fasten around him and squeeze hard.

"It's okay, baby," Kenny hums, and Butters hugs him tighter.

"I can't be a dad, Ken," he chokes. "I can't take care of a kid. I'm a kid."

"You're twenty-three," Kenny reminds him gently. "Karen was already a toddler by the time my mom was twenty-three."

Butters' fingers dig into his back, his tears leak all over him. Inside, Kenny's heart hurts. He hates seeing Butters upset, and even more knowing that he can't do anything to fix it. So, he lets Butters cry on him, knowing that's the best he can offer.

As Butters' breathing evens out, he pushes Kenny back against the dining room table and kisses him, hard. Butters gets like this sometimes, gripping Kenny so hard that there will be bruises there later, biting down on his lips and nipping his jaw.

He grabs Kenny's legs and hoists him up onto the table.

"Holy shit," Kenny laughs as Butters kisses down his neck and pushes up his wife beater and sweatshirt. "Baby, come on, I'm cold."

"An' I'm gonna warm you up, now hush," Butters silences him with a firm kiss. He sheds his coat and grabs Kenny by the back of the neck, slipping his tongue back into Kenny's mouth. Hatred bores deep in Kenny's brain—hatred for how much he loves what he knows he can't have.

Still, he lets Butters pull his sweats off and give him a wolfish grin when he sees Kenny is half hard and not wearing any underwear.

"Thought you said you were cold," he says.

"Well, yeah, but that's no reason to lock up the boys, come on," Kenny chuckles back and pulls off Butters' shirt. "Come on, warm me up," Kenny goes right for his collar bone, laying into it kiss after kiss as Butters strokes his cock in his hand. Kenny hates that he has to be gentle; he wants to bite down, to mark Butters up like Butters marks him. Before the night ends, Kenny is going to have a whole host of bruises and bites, and there's honestly nobody he'd rather get bruised up and bitten by.

Butters takes a moment to retrieve lube and condoms from between the couch cushions, only to be interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Whoever it is, he doesn't seem to be too pleased by it; he chucks the phone so hard against the wall that Kenny actually hears it crack.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Shut up an' lay back," Butters snips, undoing his belt and fly. The Butters Kenny first started fooling around with never would have been caught dead in what can only be described as "dad jeans". Butters used to be bright colors and gaudy sunglasses and smiles.

"Anyone ever tell you that hetersexual doesn't suit you?" Kenny asks, and Butters bites at his stomach in response. It makes Kenny harder somehow, and he settles into a grin as he reaches down to touch himself.

"Anyone ever tell you not to jerk yourself off when you haven't been told?" Butters counters, blonde locks shaking out of their impeccable placement and falling into his eyes. He looks feral, and it makes Kenny smile.

So few people know this side of Butters. Beyond the occasional outburst, Butters is such a tame and gentle soul. His temper only ever comes out around Kenny, and it's due to his own strange breed of masochism that Kenny lets Butters take it out on him.

"Can the table hold us both?" Butters asks as he steps out of his tighty-whiteys. His cock springs up, bobbing dutifully in the cold air, and Kenny moans softly to himself.

"Probably not," Kenny gulps back, and Butters braces himself over Kenny, one strong arm on either side of his head, bouncing to test the strength.

"Fuckin' piece of Ikea shit," Butters grunts and rights himself.

"You bought it," Kenny grins and Butters ever-so maturely sticks his tongue out at him. Kenny chuckles and pushes himself up on his elbows. "Aw, c'mon, don't pout," he coos at the sight of Butters' face. Even angry, his pout is possibly one of the most adorable things on the planet.

"Would you feel better if I sucked you off?" Kenny asks then, and Butters scowls.

"No," he snaps and surges forward to press Kenny back into the table. He cracks open the bottle of lube and drizzles it onto his fingers, getting them nice and slippery before he reaches down and presses one inside Kenny. It's a shock, but nothing Kenny can't handle. He loves when Butters fingers him—his fingers are so much thicker than Kenny's own, and god help him, he loves the painful stretch.

And then Butters' finger catches his prostate, and Kenny gasps. He gets even harder at the touch, and fuck, it feels like Butters' finger is actually inside his cock. Precome practically pours out of him, leaking all over his stomach.

"Like that?" Butters asks, and Kenny nods. Butters then adds another finger and Kenny has to grip the table. He knows his mouth is open like a guppy's, that he's making all these desperate noises in the back of his throat that only Butters can coax out of him.

"Jeez," Butters flicks his thumb over the steel ring through Kenny's cock. "I might as well just make you come an' get it over with."

"Fuck," Kenny screws his eyes shut. He's so turned on it almost hurts, but Butters keeps massaging that little spot inside him. His fingernails bite into the cheap wood of the table as he repeatedly smacks his skull back. Butters has only ever gotten him to come this way once or twice, and each time it's an orgasm unlike anything else he's ever experienced. He feels it build deep inside him, and his legs start twitching.

And of course Butters has to lean down and press his tongue right against Kenny's cock ring, licking so softly that it drives Kenny right up the fucking wall. On a loud string of swears, Kenny comes, shooting out more spunk all over himself than he ever thought humanly possible.

Then again, he does a lot of things that aren't quite humanly possible.

"Fuck, baby," Kenny whines softly as Butters pulls his fingers out of him.

"Don't think I'm done with you," Butters grabs a condom out of the box on the counter and rips it open. He slides it on and lubes up so deftly, Kenny feels like he's watching a fucking ballet. He leans back down over Kenny then and presses his lips hard into Kenny's.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Get that cock inside me, baby," Kenny grins, and stretches out like a cat in the sun as Butters presses into him.

Butters is a perfect fit inside him. He keeps Kenny pinned down by his shoulders as he rolls inside him. It's an odd thrill not being able to move as freely as he'd like, but he wraps his legs around Butters' middle and holds him close. His thrusts hit Kenny deep inside him, slowly bringing his erection back to life.

Above him, Butters' eyes are screwed shut as sweat beads on his forehead. He breaks his hold on Kenny momentarily to swipe his hair back and keep it from dripping onto him. Kenny runs his fingers through the sticky, drying jizz on his stomach and moans as Butters thrusts deeper and harder.

"C'mon baby, don't hold back," Kenny grunts. "I can take it."

Butters' head twitches in a nod and he starts snapping his hips faster. Kenny swears he can feel Butters cock hit him all the way in his brain, but that could just be the discombobulating haze of being between orgasms.

"Aw, fuck," Butters rests his forehead on Kenny's. "Fuck, darlin'."

He's close, and so Kenny takes his dick in his hand and starts stroking like his life depends on it.

"God, I love when you touch yourself," Butters hiccups.

"Is it gonna make you come?" Kenny asks on a thin thread of his voice. Butters grunts and nods, and like that his face contorts in that impossibly gorgeous way. Kenny loves making this boy come almost more than anything. He follows Butters soon after, coming again onto the rest of the mess on his stomach.

Butters presses his hot, sweaty body into Kenny's, trying to gather his thoughts into something comprehensible. Kenny somehow ends up kissing every bit of Butters he can get his lips on.

"You feel better?" he asks. Butters groans and nods.

"A lot better, yeah," he admits and pulls away and out of Kenny.

Kenny hates that feeling, being all full of Butters and then just losing it all at once.

As Butters disposes of the condom in the kitchen trash can, Kenny slides off the table and moves to wrap his arms around him from behind.

"Aw, you're all sticky," Butters chuckles.

"Come on, I'll wash it all off in the shower," Kenny purrs against him.

Butters follows him into the shower and wraps around him under the steamy spray. Kenny's hands roam over every part of Butters, scrubbing soap into his hair and skin. He loves making Butters smell like his soap; it's the only mark he's allowed to leave.

In here it's just the two of them, and Kenny can pretend, even just for a second, that after this they're going to curl up on his couch and watch TV together until they both fall asleep.

When they step out, they rush to get into their clothes again, freezing cold air sticking to their damp skin.

"You want me to heat up this soup?" Butters asks.

"Is there enough for two?" Kenny stretches, already sore in the best possible way.

"Aw," Butters ruffles his damp hair. "I-I really did just come to drop this stuff off, Ken. I—I'm real sorry, I gotta get home before it gets too late."

Kenny hangs his head and leans against the table.

"You seriously drove three hours to drop off soup, a sweater, and to fuck me," he tries to reason. "That's… yeah, that makes total sense."

Butters doesn't reply right away, just stoops to pick up his broken phone. "Shit," he mutters. "Can I use your phone? Angie called, she's probably worried."

"Then you should tell her where you are," Kenny shrugs, but Butters just gives him a look in response.

"Could'a just said no," he mutters. "I s'pose you want me to stay, huh?"

"You know you're always welcome," Kenny shrugs.

Apparently it's the wrong thing to say, though, because in the next moment Butters is puffed up like a wild animal, shouting, "And then what, Kenny? I stay over here just so I can leave the next morning? That's how it's gonna be, that's how it's always gonna be. A-an' maybe before it wouldn't have been, but now? I-I got a baby comin', Kenny. I-I can't just walk out on my girlfriend just 'cause I'd rather be with you."

Fire ignites in Kenny's belly, waking up a part of him that's already to riled up to shove back down.

"You know you cheated on me with her, right?" he snaps. "Five years we've been doing this shit and then you come in and tell me you're fucking some chick you met up in Wyoming? Fucking Wyoming, Butters?"

"It's not cheating, if there wasn't a relationship," Butters explains so loudly that Kenny's neighbors bang hard on the wall. "That goes boy-girl, boy-girl. We're just sleepin' together, Kenny, that doesn't count!"

"A page right out of the Stephen Stotch handbook, real fuckin' classy," Kenny bites back. "Have fun fucking a bunch of random dudes while Angie goes insane and tries to kill herself. You're really doing the selfless thing staying with her."

"Fuck you, Kenny!" Butters shouts, red in the face. "It's called responsibility a-and you wouldn't know the last thing about it. While you sit here an' get high a-a-an' drunk all the time… you want me to do the same, just sit here an' watch my life go nowhere with you. Well… just—Fuck you!"

Kenny swears his heart breaks as Butters slams the apartment door shut. He doesn't know what to do, or if there's anything he can do. Automatically, Kenny retrieves his pipe and stash from his sock drawer and packs a bowl nice and tight. No amount of drugs or alcohol can relieve this, though.

There's only one thing to do.

Without locking up or dressing for the frozen streets outside, Kenny runs all the way to the train tracks down the street. Usually, the moment he steps on the tracks is a recipe for disaster. He's never been able to cross them without something going wrong.

Until now, at least.

He must wait twenty minutes on the track with nothing but numb toes to show for it. Kenny kicks the pile of rocks below his feet and sits down, unwilling to move from this spot until a train comes and knocks him clean out of this world.

And when it finally does, he has never felt more relieved in his life.

oo

Butters is so upset, he ends up pulling over on I-25 before he even gets to Wyoming to cry, and the next thing he knows he's waking up to a cop knocking on his window. Butters curses to himself and tries to start the car, thankful as all hell it didn't start snowing last night.

The roar of the engine is one of the biggest reliefs Butters has ever felt. The cop knocks on the window again and Butters rolls it down.

"Everything all right here, sir?" he asks gruffly, and Butters nods.

"S-sorry about that, officer," he stammers. "Just pulled over to call the wife a-an' I must'a fallen asleep. Be-better here than drivin' right?"

He chuckles a little too loudly, and the officer gives him a wary look, but tells him to get on before his wife worries herself to death.

Shit.

Butters did call Angie his wife, didn't he?

That's what it's felt like since this whole thing started. She told him a little before Thanksgiving, when she ended up breaking down over a fitted bed sheet that wouldn't fold properly.

She's just as scared as Butters, and that means Butters has to pretend he's not scared for her. He sat with her all night that night, just talking to her and braiding her hair and making her pancakes when she said she was hungry.

That's what he should have been doing last night.

Instead, he panicked when Angie brought home her first ultrasound picture yesterday.

"That's it," she beamed. "That's our baby."

She pressed her finger against a smudge that was no bigger than a bean.

A bean that's going to grow up into a person that could have his face or his eyes, or his Swedish blonde hair, or his receding gums. With any luck that bean will be brave like Angie, because Butters doesn't know what the world would do with another coward like him.

"A leaf right out of the Stephen Stotch handbook"

The words burn into Butters' chest and make his eyes well up with hot tears.

He knows Kenny is right, that's the worst part. That's probably why it hurts so much. It's nothing that he hasn't thought before, but hearing someone else say it… knowing that someone else—Kenny, for god's sake—noticed it, makes it real.

By the time he gets home, Angie has already gone into work. On the fridge there's a note that reads, "Couldn't get a hold of you last night. Please call when you get home. Love, Ang"

Butters obediently picks up their house phone and dials. The phone rings once, twice, three times before it goes to voicemail. That's odd… Angie's phone rings five times before—"Hey, it's Kenny. Leave it."

Butters hangs up the phone and slaps it down on the counter.

How in the hell did he manage to call Kenny? He just—he was dialing Angie, wasn't he? Fuck, this is not good. Carefully, he dials again, waiting patiently for Angie to pick up.

"Hello?" comes Angie's hushed greeting.

"Hey, hon, it's me," he breathes a sigh of relief. "Sorry, got caught up last night. My mom was havin' a crisis an' I had to go down'n help her."

"Oh gosh," Angie coos. "You sound exhausted, sweetheart. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, she just needed help, we're all okay," he shifts, gut churning with the lie. "I'm gonna go sleep though. How's your day so far?"

"Fine," Angie sighs. "I'm in telemetry today, so I should go—ah, crap, Mr. Ward needs to go to the bathroom. I'll talk to you later, okay? Love you."

"Yeah, you too," Butters rubs his eye and hangs up the phone.

He shuffles into the bedroom and flops down on the impeccably neat comforter. The tower of throw pillows falls around him and he moans. He supposes he should enjoy the solitude while he can. If that baby is anything like him, Butters is never going to have a moment to himself again.

He turns over onto his back and rubs his face.

He could have stayed with Kenny last night. Right now he could be waking up to kisses and hands undoubtedly teasing his cock to life. He could be stretched out on Kenny's crappy Ikea bed, wrapped up in his itchy sheets while Kenny worships every last part of him.

The burn comes back to Butters chest, his eyes well back up, and he can't think of what to do. If crying for the rest of his life was an option, he would probably take that. That would be much easier than being a dad, or telling the mother of his child that he's been fooling around, or letting himself love Kenny as much as he knows Kenny loves him.

He doesn't sleep.

Instead he grabs his to-do list off of his nightstand and gets to it. He fixes the leaky kitchen sink, and vacuums behind the refrigerator. He organizes the pantry and the spice rack, and manages to dust every surface in the house at least once.

By the time Angie gets home, Butters is curled up on the couch, watching another rerun of Say Yes to the Dress: Bridesmaids.

"Hey, honey," Angie hums, pulling her bright purple hat off of her hair. Her round freckled face is pink with the cold, her brown eyes bleary. "The place looks great."

"Thanks," Butters smiles at her. "Had some extra time on my hands today."

"That's what Saturdays are for," she sighs and sits down beside him. "What a day. I had to revive a lady Pulp Fiction style… it was not okay."

Butter snorts and drapes an arm around her shoulder. He presses a greeting kiss to her temple and rests his head on her shoulder. "I kinda spaced on dinner… you want pizza?"

"Sure," Angie hums, stroking her fingers through her hair. "You sure you're okay? You seem off."

Butters nods and rolls to his feet. He pads carefully into the kitchen to pull a menu out of the drawer beside the silverware and scans the menu.

"Butters."

He looks up from the menu and sees Angie standing beside him, concern etched into her sweet face. She wears her Alice in Wonderland scrubs, and her white shoes that Butters bedazzled with rhinestones (all mostly fallen off now) before her first day on the job.

He loves Angie, he really does.

He just—his heart only ever feels whole and full and embedded deep in his body when he's with Kenny.

"Oh, baby, why are you crying?" Angie lays a ginger hand on Butters' cheek. The realization that it's all starting to come out only makes it worse, and soon Butters finds it harder and harder to breathe. Calm and collected, Angie grabs a brown paper bag out of a drawer and hands it to Butters. He breathes in and out, inhaling and exhaling the stiff paper smell.

"Butters, your panic attacks are getting out of control again," she says. "What does Dr. Kaye say about that?"

Butters gulps, breaths finally coming in normal again, and removes the bag from his lips. He hasn't been to see Dr. Kaye in about a month. After he came out to her, he never got up the nerve to go back. He doesn't know why he did in the first place—it's not like she can fix that.

"Honey, you're scaring me, please say something."

"Sorry," Butters rasps. "I, uh… I should lie down."

Angie's about to rebut, but thankfully her phone rings and she gets distracted.

And then her eyebrows pinch together.

"Why's your mom calling me?" she asks, and answers, "Hello Linda, how are you?"

Oh fuck.

"I don't know why he's not answering his phone," Angie sniffs. "I couldn't get a hold of him all last night when he was with you, but that is why we have a landli—what?"

Oh, fuck.

"He told me you were having some sort of crisis," Angie stares daggers at Butters. "No, but I'm going to find out."

She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye and lifts an expectant eyebrow.

"My-my phone's broken," Butters stammers. "I dropped it."

"Leopold Stephen Stotch, you tell me where you were last night this instant," Angie demands.

"It's not a big—"

"If it wasn't a big deal you wouldn't have lied about it!" Angie exclaims, tendrils of red hair coming loose from their bun. "Where were you!"

Butters feels the panic set in again, and brings his bag back up to his face. The drain's been unplugged, and Butters feels himself spiraling faster and faster downward, unable to escape the suction.

"I-I was with a friend," he finally stammers. "M-my friend Kenny."

"Why would you lie about that?" Angie asks, incredulous. "What issue would I have possibly taken with that?"

Oh, god.

Here it comes.

"I-I reckon you probably would'a taken it pretty poorly, since Kenny—" he feels his heart beat so hard against his chest that it actually hurts. "I… I went there to sleep with him."

Angie's entire body freezes. She looks at Butters like she's never seen him before, a stranger in her home.

"And," she swallows, taking in a shaky breath. "How long have you been doing that, exactly?"

Butters looks down at his feet and he answers meekly, "Five years… more or less."

"Oh, my god," Angie moans and hides her face in her hands. "Oh, my god, I'm the other woman."

"Angie, no—"

"You need to leave," Angie folds her arms. She refuses to look at Butters as she continues, "You need to leave, go, get out, I don't care. Just go. You… I can't look at you right now."

The words cut through Butters' gut and a whole litany of questions pop up into his mind. What about her? What about the baby? What about the apartment, and their life? What is he supposed to do?

What are they supposed to do?

"I'm serious, Stotch!" she exclaims. "You have five minutes to get out of here."

In a fit of perverse obedience, Butters immediately packs an overnight bag. There's no telling if this is temporary or permanent (it should be permanent, he knows, because he's a fucking idiot), if he should pack up more of his stuff or not, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Phoneless and homeless, Butters makes the drive to a cheap motel where he can wait out the storm. He doesn't blame Angie for being angry—that's why he never said anything before—but if there's even a breath or a whisper of her potential forgiveness, Butters wants to be there to receive it.

Barely a week later, he's back in South Park with all of his belongings packed into his car and his final paycheck in his hand.

oo

"Why couldn't you have stayed in Wyoming again?"

Butters scowls. This isn't exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. He'd at least hoped Kenny would let him in his apartment, but the hallway is apparently the best place to be discussing this.

"I came back because… I dunno, this is my home," he says. "Cheyenne didn't feel that way. A-an' the further from Angie I am, the better."

"And you assumed I'd be happy about it," Kenny crosses his arms over his chest. He looks like hell, with bags under his eyes and his already dry and cracked hair all in disarray.

Butters sags, crestfallen, and looks down at his shoes.

"Well, yeah," he admits. "I know I was real cross last time I was here, but—"

"But nothing, Stotch," Kenny frowns. "You can't just fucking use people whenever you want. I'm not here to be your fucking convenience. You can't—you can't do this to me, okay? It's really shitty."

Butters' eyes go wide as he watches Kenny catch a few tears that leak down his face.

"Anyway, I gotta get ready for work," Kenny shakes his head. "I'll see you around."

He shuts the door in Butters' face and, Jesus.

Jesus, this hurts.

He wants to throw himself against the door and bang on it, to tell Kenny and the rest of the world that he's sorry.

He didn't… he didn't know he was using anyone. He knew it wasn't exactly a good thing, but using. Using is what people like Eric or his dad did. He was just taking advantage of an oversight.

Oh god, that's using.

Butters holds back, though. He picks himself up, squares his shoulders, and marches right out of Kenny's building.

He feels like shit, but that's good. He deserves it. He's managed to turn into everything he never wanted to be, why should be feeling anything other than awful?

If he never has another happy moment, he would understand completely.

Over the next few months, Butters manages to get a job working at the front desk at his old orthodontist's office. It's menial and dull, but it pays him decently and since his parents have been charging him rent since he got back, that is nothing short of a relief.

Christmas Eve passes without Kenny fucking him senseless, without Angie's amazing sugar cookies, without any joy whatsoever.

He gets no kiss on New Year's, nor any heart-shaped pancakes on Valentine's Day.

Neither Angie nor Kenny will return his calls.

Most days it's a miracle that Butters can even drag himself into work and back home again.

It's not until an annoyingly sunny day in early March that he's jerked awake by a ginger hand on his shoulder.

It's Angie standing over him, with his mom looking on nearby, eyebrows pinched together.

"Oh god, you look like crap," she presses a hand over her heart. The glow of pregnancy makes her look even more beautiful than normal. Butters sits up and runs a hand over his face, scratchy with stubble, and swallows at the sight of her stomach.

"Oh, jeez," he marvels softly. "A-Angie, what're you doin' here?"

"Your mom called me," she explains. "She's worried about you. And I wanted to talk to you anyway."

She turns to his mom and gives her a smile, "Linda, do you mind?"

Butters' mom quickly vacates the room. She doesn't have any of the details of the break-up, not that she hasn't asked. Butters has explained that he will tell her when he's ready.

On her death bed seems about right.

Angie sighs and runs her fingers through his scruff, and Butters looks away.

"Guess you're real chuffed about seein' me like this," he mutters.

"Why would you say that?" Angie asks. "I don't like seeing you in pain."

"'Cause I'm terrible," Butters frowns and shies away from her grip. "I was so awful not to tell you any of that… and to take up with you like that in the first place."

"Not stop seeing him?" Angie asks, voice even as ever.

Butters sniffs. "What?"

"Oh god, you do love him, don't you?"

"What're you talking about?" Butters wipes at his nose.

"You said you shouldn't have taken up with me," Angie tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear. "Not that you should've broken it off with him. You regret me, not him."

"Angie," Butters sighs.

"No," she holds up a hand. "You don't get to talk yet. First things first: I cannot believe you would do that to me. To anyone. That's not you."

"I kno—"

"Shush," Angie admonishes. "Second, I'm not going to restrict your access to the baby. You can be in the baby's life as much as you want. I'll absolutely share custody with you, provided this," she gestures at his face, "Stops. Third," she tries to hide her smile now, "I broke down and found out that we're having a girl."

"Oh, my god," Butters presses his hand to his mouth. "A-are you serious? A baby girl?"

"A baby girl," Angie smiles. "The doctor still says she should be here around the middle of July."

Butters can't help it. He thrusts himself forward and wraps his arms around her, hugging her tight.

"Butters," she pats him and pulls away. "I'm, uh. I'm not ready for that. You know, just because I forgive you doesn't mean it doesn't hurt still."

Butters sags, and he nods. Of course. She shouldn't even be this nice to him, but Angie is without a doubt the nicest person Butters knows.

"You're a good person, Butters," she says. "I know this. You just. Well, you fucked up. Really badly. But just because you fucked up doesn't make you bad. Do you believe me?"

Butters gives her a look, because no, he really doesn't, but he nods anyway.

"Good," she says. There are a few moments of silence before she takes a breath and continues, "I know I'm going to hate myself for asking, but… did you love me?"

"Angie," Butters' eyebrows knit together. "Of course I do. For god's sake, you're my best friend. You gotta believe me, I never meant for this to get so outta hand."

Angie nods, but doesn't reply any further. She instead says after an intake of breath, "You're welcome to feel the baby, though."

And even if Butters can't quite feel yet what Angie feels, he smiles because his baby is inside there. Angie even lets Butters babble to her stomach for a few minutes before she pushes herself up and tells him she has to go.

For the first time in a long time, Butters feels like everything might be a little all right.

oo

Kenny has been having a hell of a time avoiding Butters.

Sure, he can sneak around just fine—he had a whole childhood and adolescence of being Mysterion to thank for that—but that does nothing for the feelings in his stomach he gets when he catches a glimpse of Butters in the market or walking down the street.

He can't deny that he breathed a sigh of relief when Butters told him what had happened. He's been waiting for years to hear that, for Butters to come to his door and fall into his arms and they could be happy forever.

But as soon as fantasy turned to possibility, the reality of the situation came crashing down and he couldn't handle it.

So, naturally avoidance is the best possible option.

A hell of a lot of good that does him, though, when Butters comes into the liquor store and sets a pack of Guinness on the counter. Unkempt, his hair in disarray and stubble on his chin, glasses halfway down his nose… god, he looks like hell.

"I need to talk to you," Butters says.

"Well, by all means, corner me at my place of work," Kenny frowns and goes back to the issue of Iron Man he's got hidden under the counter.

"Kenny, I'm sorry," Butters sighs. "A-an' I understand if you never ever wanna talk to me again, but," he rubs his hands through his hair and confesses, "I saw Angie today."

"Whoop-dee-doo," Kenny replies, twisting his fingers in the air.

"She—we're havin' a girl," Butters offers.

Kenny looks up then, and even though it hurts every fiber of his being to say so, he gulps out a, "Congratulations. Just the Guinness?"

"You know I don't drink Guinness," Butters rolls his eyes.

"Then why the fuck is it on my counter, Stotch?" Kenny demands. "You don't actually have to pretend to buy something to talk to me, and if you're going to at least pretend you're going to buy something you like."

"Kenny, please don't yell at me," Butters pleads.

"Well, there's a way to fix that," Kenny shrugs. "It's got four sides, it opens and shuts, and it's right over there."

Butters looks over his shoulder at the door and scowls.

"Stop bein' an asshole," he says. "I'm here to tell you s-somethin' important."

"Th-th-then by all m-m-means, out with it."

Oh.

Kenny watches as Butters' eyes check out and his mouth drops open. That was a little too harsh.

"Never mind," Butters shakes his head. "It w—" he stops mid-word and hangs his head. "St-stu—"

Shit.

"Butters, hang on—"

But it's too late. Butters has already left the store, pulling his jacket tight around himself despite the fact that it's unseasonably warm today.

Kenny grabs the Guinness off of the counter and puts it back in the case with the others.

It's all for the best. If he let Butters say what he thinks he was going to say, it was only going to hurt them more in the long run. Right now Kenny has to work at dulling the pains he gets in his chest every time he sees Butters. That's the only way they're going to get through this.

So he'll just smoke a little more when he gets home, play on his DS, and see if Stan or Kyle are up for a phone call. He has to talk to someone who managed to get out of this godforsaken town. Maybe Stan will even let him come stay with him in Denver this weekend, or Kyle will log into WoW and play with Kenny into the morning.

Something, anything, to get the picture of Butters' bright sunny face on a little baby girl out of his brain.

oo

Kenny takes a deep drag of his cigarette and wipes the sweat from his brow.

"How the fuck do this many shingles fall off this goddamned roof?" he grunts. Kevin snatches the cigarette from his fingers and takes a deep drag. Both in wife beaters and covered in sweat and dirt, they must look quite the pair.

"Surprised you even agreed to help," Kevin admits. "You used to piss your goddamn pants if we asked you to get on the roof."

Kenny shrugs and lights another cigarette for himself.

"You and dad always did this together," he mutters. "Figured it was a two-man job."

"Karen may as well be helpin' me," Kevin shakes his head. "Least she's got bulk from her fuckin' lesbian club or whatever."

"She plays softball, Kev," Kenny frowns.

"Same thing," Kevin rolls his eyes. "You been fuckin' weird lately."

"Maybe I'm fuckin' weird always," Kenny lays back against the rest of the roof, praying he'll fall off and, god willing, stay dead for good.

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," Kevin shakes his head. "Suckin' all that dick's makin' your brain go soft."

"Mm," Kenny hums around his cigarette. "I remember reading about that in Health class."

"Fuck, man," Kevin chuckles. "Go out and get yourself some pussy. You like that shit still, right?"

"Kevin," Kenny warns. Because yes, he does like pussy and tits and long hair and soft curves still, but he likes Butters more than he likes all of that. Part of him wishes he hadn't ever said anything, that he'd just let Butters keep coming and going as he pleased. At least then he'd be looking forward to his birthday, when Butters makes him a cake and sucks him off and rides him so nice and slow that he's begging to come.

Shit. Now is neither the time nor the place for that.

"What about that foxy blonde with the big tits you always used to boff?" Kevin asks.

"Her name is Bebe and she joined the Peace Corps last year after she graduated," Kenny rubs his eyes.

"Huh," Kevin grunts. "She's hot… too bad she's a fuckin' hippie. Maybe she and Karen'll go to down on each other, lez style."

"Dude!" Kenny exclaims. "That's our fucking sister. And she's not gay, Jesus Christ."

"That's what we all thought about you."

"I'm not gay either!" Kenny rolls his eyes. "Fuck it, how do I get down from here?"

He pushes himself up and walks over to the ladder, only to find that it's been taken down.

"God fucking damn it," he mutters. "Kevin, your fucking half-baked twatwaffle kid took the ladder down."

"Hey, don't you talk bad about Dennis," Kevin stubs his cigarette out on a nearby shingle. "Not my fault his mom never lets him have sugar. What the hell am I supposed to do, just not let him have Coke when he asks for it? Last time I checked my son's an American."

Kenny groans and cups his hands over his mouth, "Ma? Karen?"

When he gets no answer, Kenny turns back to Kevin, "If you tell me that kid is in this house unsupervised, I'm gonna drive the rest of those nails through your skull."

"What are you worried about?" Kevin asks. "It's not like he'll set fire to the place or anything, Jesus."

"Fuck," Kenny shakes his head. "MA!" he shouts again, and thankfully his mom comes out into the front yard.

"What?"

"Can you put the ladder back up?" he asks.

"You done fixin' my roof?" she braces her hands on her hips.

"Ma, come on," Kenny whines. "Kevin's being a fucktard."

"You act like you never met him before," his mom shields her eyes from the sun, and all of a sudden a nerf ball flies out of the front door and into her stomach. "God fuckin' bless it! Dennis, git your sorry hide back here!"

Kenny's face falls as his mom runs back into the house and he looks back. Kevin pats the patch of burning hot tiles beside him, and Kenny groans.

"The fuck's your deal?" Kevin asks.

"Shut up, Kevin!" Kenny snaps. "Where the fuck's the drain pipe…"

"Yo, if a dude's got you goin' all gay on me—"

"Kevin!"

"I'm just sayin'," Kevin starts hammering again. "Take me'n' Dennis' mom. I'm a regular fuckin' guy, she's a goddamn psycho."

"She's a normal person Kevin," Kenny tests the strength of the drain pipe at the corner of the house. "I've met her, she's very nice."

"Point is, we weren't meant for each other, you know?" Kevin continues. "If you feel like that with some guy, you should do somethin' about it, before you turn into a fuckin' chick or somethin' and start getting your period all over everything."

"He fucked up, Kevin," Kenny leers at him. "And so did I. And, y'know, if five years isn't enough time-"

"Aw, fuck, you've been taking dick that long?" Kevin grimaces.

"Oh, my God," Kenny's eyes flutter shut. "Ma! Put the ladder back up and I'll watch Dennis, please!"

"Don't act like you're fuckin' offended or whatever," Kevin comes back. "You used to talk to your prissy little girlfriends all the time about shit like this."

"Yeah, not you," Kenny shakes his head.

"So?" Kevin shrugs. "Your girlfriends don't talk to you anymore. Figure I'm the next best thing."

"You are the worst thing," Kenny states as loudly as he possibly can. "Let me the fuck down."

"Jump, if you want the fuck down," Kevin says. "Two story fall won't kill you."

"Kevin," Kenny warns.

"Or you can nut the fuck and just say what jumped up your ass so we can all move on with our lives," Kevin snaps and stands, walking down so he's at eye level with Kenny. "You shooting up again?"

The question hits Kenny like a sandbag to the chest.

No one's asked him that in forever.

He shakes his head.

"Good," Kevin claps him on the shoulder. "Ma was worried."

"Shit," Kenny hangs his head. He hasn't been this upset in a while, though, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't long for a sweet kick of instant relief. The weed and the booze kind of fill that void easily enough, though.

"C'mon, man," Kevin groans. "Don't make me be a bummer. That's your job."

"I'm not a bummer," Kenny shoves his hand off him. He sighs and runs his long fingers through his hair. "What am I supposed to do, just tell him to forget about it?"

"Man, I don't fuckin' know," Kevin scowls. "Go pick up a girl magazine or some shit. And save me the cover, my spank bank's runnin' low."

"You're a grown man with internet access, how is that possible?" Kenny raises an eyebrow, and lets himself smile when Kevin whacks him upside the head.

oo

The first couple of times Kenny calls to apologize, he hangs up before the line can even ring. He grabs a beer for courage, smokes a bowl for luck, and takes a couple of deep breaths for his own sanity before he tries again.

Butters lets it go to voicemail.

"Uh, hey, it's me," Kenny cracks the top of his beer. "I just want you to know… fuck, I'm sorry, dude, okay? I was fucked up to you, I didn't mean to make fun of your stutter… Okay, maybe I did, but I was upset and it was wrong. Um, call me when you get this. Bye."

Kenny drinks the rest of his beer and quickly follows it with another while he watches America's Worst Tattoos. Most of them really are god-awful, and he thanks God, Jesus, or whoever that the gal he goes to is so goddamned talented.

It's nearly midnight when Butters calls back. Kenny tries his hardest not to sound like he'd fallen asleep hours before, but Butters apologizes for waking him anyway.

"It's good to hear your voice," Kenny murmurs into the phone. "I've missed you."

"Kenny, you're high," Butters replies warily, voice as thick and smooth as it's ever been.

"Doesn't mean I don't miss you," Kenny rubs the sleep from his eyes.

"I know," Butters draws a shaky breath. "It's just… well, a-all I wanna do is talk to you, but I never think you're listenin' when you're high."

Kenny pauses, though he's unsure for how long. He can't… he's not hearing this right… right?

"Butters, does it bug you that I smoke pot?"

"No," Butters replies immediately. "Kenny, of course not. You love it, an' it makes you happy… you get the goofiest smile when you smoke. It's cute."

He clears his throat, and Kenny's face lights up. Butters thinks he's cute.

He thinks he knew that.

"I'd just rather talk about all this when we're both—w-well, when we're both in our right minds is all."

Kenny sighs into the phone, and wishes more than anything that he could disappear into his couch right here, right now.

"You work tomorrow?" he asks.

"No, it's Saturday."

"Well," Kenny shifts. "You could always come over tonight, and we could talk about it in the morning."

Butters lets out a breath and simply replies, "Good night, Kenny."

It stings, but Kenny supposes he had that coming. He caps off his night with a particularly heady strain he got from Tweek a long while ago, and this time when he falls asleep, he stays asleep well into the next afternoon.

Hours turn into days that Butters doesn't call him.

He can't ever tell if Butters is mad at him, because Butters has never been mad at him before. It doesn't feel like anger coming from Butters, but it does feel a little too close to rejection for comfort.

If Kenny tries to call him, he gets Butters' voicemail.

If he tries to accidentally bump into him, he's never where he usually is.

Nothing takes his mind off of it either. Booze and weed can only do so much for him, and ever y time shooting up crosses his mind he just gets mad. He's done with that. He's been done with that. He's never going back to that.

Which is why instead of getting tweaked, Kenny ends up in Tweek Tweak's basement, buying more pot.

"I thought you weren't supposed to smoke anything when you're clean, man," says Tweek as he measures out a hefty helping of a strain called Romulin into a plastic baggie.

"I thought dealers didn't judge," Kenny bites back, stroking Tweek's hedgehog, Pico, behind the ears.

"Hey, man," Tweek whispers, "I'm no dealer," as though someone else could be listening, and Kenny rolls his eyes.

"You grow, you harvest, you sell," he says. "How are you not a dealer?"

"Like you said," Tweek shrugs. "Grow, harvest, sell. I'm an entrepreneur."

Kenny chuckles as Tweek takes a hit off his joint and passes it over. "Here," he says. "Gesture of good will. You look like you could use it, man."

Kenny accepts it from him and takes a deep, long drag. "This what you're giving me there?" he points at the bag, and Tweek nods.

"I think you're gonna like it," he yawns against his bony wrist.

"Maybe I would if you ever rolled anything but little fuckin' pin joints," Kenny snorts. "S'good, though."

"Finish it, I'll roll another," Tweek offers, and Kenny accepts it gratefully. Tweek rolls joints like others might play the violin—carefully, well-practiced, and beautifully. He shares, too, this joint bigger than the last, and they both end up on their backs, staring up at the cold basement ceiling.

Slowly at first, then unable to stop, Kenny spills everything about him and Butters. From their very first kiss to the very last time Kenny spoke to him, he lets it all go, and Tweek, fuck. Tweek just lies there.

After a few moments of silence he finally speaks up, "Man, that fuckin' sucks major ass."

Kenny snorts, because of course that's all Tweek would have to say.

"I mean," he begins then. "When you and Craig hook up—"

Tweek makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and sits up, "Don't talk to me about that fucking rectal fissure right now. He's being such a fucking fuckwad lately."

"Always," Kenny laughs. "The word you're looking for is 'always'."

"Whatever," Tweek swats at him, but misses. His wild sandy hair bounces with his movements, and Kenny smiles.

"C'mere," he stretches out his arm, and Tweek looks back at him. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, and he sighs.

"Come on, man, that's not fair."

"I know," Kenny grins. "Haven't you heard? I'm irresistible."

Tweek lets out a huff of air through his nostrils and concludes, "This is the last time, man, I swear to god."

"Hey, man, whatever helps you sleep at night," Kenny grins. Tweek groans and presses him into the floor, settling in on top of him before he smashes their mouths together. Thin, chapped, and nowhere near as amazing as Butters', Tweek's lips move shakily over Kenny's. Butters always kisses slow and soft, like he wants to take care of you; Tweek, on the other hand, pries your mouth open and sticks his tongue inside like he's on a damned hunt for demons between your teeth.

They don't even get their shirts off before Kenny's phone rings. He has half a mind to ignore it… or, at least, he would have half a mind if he had any mind left at all. While Tweek rolls his hips into Kenny's, he answers his phone.

"Kenny," comes Butters' voice, soft and broken on the other line, and Kenny shakes his head at Tweek. He stops and rolls his pink-tinged gray eyes, hopping to his feet. He takes hints to back off way too easily.

Maybe Kenny should go kick Craig's ass later.

"What's up?" he asks, when he realizes he hasn't yet spoken.

"Could you come over?" Butters sniffs into the receiver. "I-I'm in a real bad way."

"Yeah, I'll be right over," Kenny sits up. "Hang tight, okay?"

"Okay," is all he gets in response.

Kenny snaps his phone shut and runs his fingers through his hair. "Hey, man, I'm sorry to bail," he says as he pulls out his wallet.

"Like hell you are," Tweek shakes his head, handing over the weed for cash. "Go get your man. I gotta update my blog anyway."

Kenny doesn't respond how he'd like to that, opting for a quick thanks and a grateful kiss to Tweek's stubbly cheek in pace of a snide remark.

He walks to Butters' at Tweek's insistence, though he'd rather drive so he can get there faster. Tweek insists he'll get there when he gets there.

The walk up Butters' driveway seems about eight years longer than normal. When he finally gets to the door, Butters answers all bleary-eyed and pink in the face.

Not a moment later, he pulls Kenny inside and throws his arms around Kenny's shoulders.

Oh, wow.

"It's okay," Kenny hums. "I got you."

"I can't do it," Butters moans into his shoulder, and pauses a moment before he concludes, "You smell all smoky."

"Sorry," Kenny screws his eyes shut. Idiot. "I didn't know I'd be seeing you."

"Smells good," is all Butters manages as he buries his nose in deeper. "Smells like you."

Kenny strokes over Butters' soft hair and sighs, just happy to be close to him again.

"Wait," Kenny mutters, though he doesn't pull back. "Where are your parents?"

"Branson for the weekend," Butters sniffs. "They got a time share there."

"Wow," Kenny frowns. "That's really fuckin' lame."

"I know!" Butters chokes out a sob. "They're s-so straight it hurts."

Kenny snorts and kisses him on the temple.

"What happened, baby?" he asks into the shell of Butters' ear, and Butters grips him tighter.

"I can't do it," Butters just repeats, chest heaving against Kenny's. "I t-tried a-a-an' I tried, b-but I can't."

"Can't do what," Kenny hums.

Butters pulls back and flails an arm over toward the couch. Kenny peers over and sees, in pieces on the floor, a baby's swing. One of those ones that plays lullabies and shit as the baby bounces or some shit. Kenny doesn't know, they never had anything like that.

"Are you trying to put that together?" Kenny asks then, only to realize a moment later what a stupid question that is.

"It w-won't go," Butters keeps crying. "I k-keep tryin', b-b-b," he swallows hard. "I can't do it."

"Dude," Kenny gathers the instructions from the floor. "Easy as pie, I'll have this built for you like that."

He tries to snap his fingers, but they don't quite make the sound he wants.

"Uh, maybe give me a few hours," he says then. "C'mere, I'll make you some tea. You gotta calm down, man."

Kenny hasn't been in the Stotch house for what feels like a decade. Faithfully predictable that they are, however, most of their kitchen has remained the same. Above the tea kettle, Kenny finds box upon box of tea. He settles on some sleepytime, because maybe at least that will get Butters back to breathing normally.

"I-I'm gonna be," Butters hiccups. "Th-the worst d-dad."

"Hey, come on," Kenny frowns and pulls Butters back into a hug. "You're not gonna be a bad dad, just 'cause you can't put a swing together? Who cares? I'll put every swing together from now on, no one has to know."

This makes Butters cry harder, and Kenny curses inwardly.

"You're okay," he soothes, over and over, until Butters' grip on his shirt relaxes and his breathing stabilizes. They only pull away when the kettle starts whistling. Though Butters says he can do it himself, Kenny insists, saying, "I can at least make you a fucking cup of tea when you're upset, dick."

"I didn't mean to call you a dick," Kenny amends a second later, handing Butters the steaming cup. "Sorry, just, uh… here."

Butters looks down and scuffs his feet on the tile.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

"You… you wanna cuddle on the couch or something?" Kenny offers. Butters nods and follows Kenny back into the living room, where he kicks one of the parts of the swing before he sits down on the couch. Kenny rips off his boots and joins him, tucking his knees up under his chin before he extends his arm around Butters' shoulders.

"You're gonna be a good dad," Kenny says then. "I promise."

Butters doesn't respond, just rests his head on Kenny's shoulder and blows across the top of his tea.

ooo

It's still dark when Butters wakes the first time. He wants to say he can't remember much from the night before, but he remembers everything. Every sordid detail is burned into his brain, filling him with red hot shame. He can't believe he called Kenny like that, crying and snot-nosed and halfway to throwing himself in front of a bus.

And now Kenny is in his bed, curled up facing the wall and snoring like he's sawing logs.

Butters shoves him.

"Kenny," he whispers, and when Kenny doesn't move he shoves him again. "Kenny roll over or somethin'."

Kenny grumbles sleepily into the pillow and rolls over on his stomach. The snoring ceases, thankfully, and Butters can try to sleep again.

Thoughts start racing in his head, though. A million a minute, zipping in and out faster than Butters' brain can even process them. He flips to his side, and then to the other, and finally rests on his back before Kenny grouses out, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm anxious," is all Butters can think to say, because it's the truth.

Kenny shifts to his side and rests a hand on Butters' stomach. "Ticklish?" he asks.

"Depends," Butters frowns, though he doubts Kenny can see it.

Kenny's hand rubs soothing circles over the flat of his stomach and, okay yes, that does feel nice.

"You're okay, baby," is the last thing he hears Kenny say before he drifts back to sleep.

This time when he wakes, Kenny's limbs are all tangled up in his, his long face pressed into the soft muscle of Butters' left pectoral. His straw hair pokes at Butters' skin, his spidery fingers clutch Butters' t-shirt.

And it's perfect.

In an instant, Butters knows what Kenny has been talking about for so long. Waking up next to Angie could never be as good as waking up with Kenny snuggled up against him. His light eyelashes flutter as his eyelids flicker, and his deep blue eyes bore into Butters'.

"Morning there, sunshine," he grins.

"G'morning," Butters offers back, and Kenny's euphoria seems to be too much for him. He buries his face in Butters' chest and holds him tighter. Butters sighs softly as Kenny begins pressing kisses into his chest, through his shirt, and lets his muscles stay relaxed for just a bit longer.

Then Kenny comes up and kisses him right on the lips, and Butters feels the wind sail straight out of his lungs.

He couldn't have imagined how much he wanted this until now.

Kenny knows how to handle him, knows which buttons to press and where to hold off, and why. Kenny knows everything about him—everything Butters has divulged willingly and unwillingly, everything he remembers and chose to forget—whether he likes it or not. He knows why Butters can't see out of his left eye, he knows why Butters doesn't like robot movies, and he knows why he doesn't trust a word most anyone says to him.

And he likes him anyway.

Loves him, even.

When they part long enough to catch their breath, they barely even look at each other before they crack up with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Butters asks through his giggles.

"This," Kenny shrugs, sweeping his hair up off his forehead. "I never thought I'd get to do this."

An iron fist squeezes Butters' heart, and he sighs.

"I'm sorry, Ken," he murmurs. "Honest. For everything. For sleepin with Angie, for not tellin' you anythin', for… for gettin' her pregnant."

"Dude, calm down," Kenny sighs, faintest hint of a smile still on his lips. "We fuck up, okay? That's what we do. No more holding it against each other, deal?"

Butters nods and smiles, "Deal."

They make out lazily as the sun rises higher up in the sky, smiling and arching into one another in the cool morning light. Butters can feel himself already getting hard in his pajamas, and with a gentle, exploring hand he can tell Kenny is in a similar state. Kenny sighs against him, a smile stretching over his lips as he remarks, "And I'm the tease?"

"Always," Butters tosses back through a smile. "Wanna shower first? I feel kinda icky."

"Why?" asks Kenny with this genuine curiosity that makes Butters' stomach ache.

"I don't know," he shrugs." Cried too much, I guess."

Kenny nods and strokes his hand over Butters' hair. He pushes a kiss to his forehead, and then to the tip of his nose.

"I'm gonna make some coffee," he says. "I can do that, right? Your parents won't dust for prints?"

Butters laughs and shakes his head, "You should be just fine."

He can't keep the goofy grin off of his face.

"I'll be down in a little bit," he pats Kenny on the back of his thigh and rolls out from under him.

In the shower, Butters lets the hot, hard spray pound into his back and chest. No amount of soap can wash away just how gross he feels about everything that happened last night. Because, really, what kind of dad can't put things together for his kid?

Butters scrubs his face and body, wondering how long it will be before his daughter starts resenting him. He's so pathetic, he can't even get through a rough patch without calling Kenny and crying all over him until he couldn't cry anymore.

He lingers under the spray for a while, letting it beat into him before he shuts off the water and towels his face and body dry. Back in his room, the only indication of Kenny's presence is his hoodie, sprawled out on the bed with the rest of the sheets. He must be downstairs, he figures, and pulls on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before he pads downstairs.

The smell of coffee and bacon hangs in the air, and Butters's smile broadens. He makes his way into the kitchen, only to stop right in front of the couch. The swing, perfectly assembled, not a part out of place, sits beside the coffee table like it's been there all along. Kenny even got the little mobile untangled.

A thousand 'thank you's sit on the tip of his tongue, but they all die the moment Butters walks into the kitchen. At the stove, Kenny flips some rather oblong pancakes on the griddle.

They're pretty black, too.

"Kenny, what is all this?" he asks, and Kenny turns. Butters' flannel pajamas are too big in the waist on him and too short in the leg, and patterned with smiley faces under Kenny's Flogging Molly t-shirt… well, it makes for an interesting picture.

"Uh, I made us some breakfast," Kenny gestures to a stack of blackened flapjacks. "But it appears your stove actually works here and I'm not very good at using it."

Butters can't fight the smile on his face. He pulls Kenny forward and into a kiss. Kenny makes a small noise of surprise when Butters plies his mouth with his tongue, licking into him with soft strokes.

"Hang on," Butters laughs against his mouth, and laughs harder when Kenny exclaims, "You started it!"

Butters makes a swat at him as he switches off the griddle, and yelps when Kenny wraps his arms around him from behind.

"Jeez, you're gonna burn the house down," he tries to admonish, but Kenny snags his earlobe lightly between his teeth and that makes pretending to be annoyed even more of a chore.

Butters can't believe he's let himself miss this for so long.

"Come on," he tugs Kenny toward the stairs, stopping one step up to turn and kiss him again.

"Fuck, we have to go all the way upstairs?" Kenny groans, and Butters hums.

"I don't wanna fuck you where my p-parents sit," he sticks out his tongue.

Kenny then presses their tongues together, and Butters laughs.

Kenny is kind of a dork.

He pulls them up into his room and closes the door, even though there's no one else home. Finally feeling safe, Butters pulls Kenny forward by his wrists and into another kiss. They melt into each other, languid, happy kisses turning heated all too soon.

Fingers already itching, Butters dips his hand beneath the waistband of Kenny's bottoms and smiles against his lips.

"You're still kinda soft," he remarks. Kenny's stamina is something to behold, his ability to get hard in any given situation nothing short of record-breaking. Kenny's cheeks color, though, when he admits,

"I may have jerked off while you were in the shower," he swallows hard. "Fuck, that feels good."

Butters licks his bottom lip and keeps stroking him. He loves the feeling of Kenny getting hard in his hand, or, god help him, his mouth.

Just the thought of that makes Butters' cock flush and knees wobble.

"What?" Kenny presses a kiss into his jaw. "What do you want, baby?"

"You," Butters sighs. "I want you."

"Obviously, dweeb," Kenny laughs, and Butters shifts so his hand cups his balls.

"You really wanna backtalk the fella who's literally got you by the balls, buckaroo?"

"Okay, okay!" Kenny smiles against his temple. "Twat."

"Shut up," Butters withdraws his hand and pushes his bottoms down all the way.

He pushes Kenny back onto the bed and sinks to his knees. He peppers kisses up the inside of Kenny's thighs. He can feel each and every one of Kenny's muscles twitch under his skin as he moves up further.

He flicks the tip of his tongue over the piercing in Kenny's cock, and smiles when Kenny sucks in a sharp breath.

"Oh, fuck," Kenny hiccups as Butters' mouth closes over him, sucking his way down slowly.

Butters loves giving head. The weight of Kenny on his tongue, the taste of his precome in the back of his mouth, the way he can still get him all the way down his throat with just a little bit of concentration.

He even loves the way Kenny thrusts up and chokes him a little bit, because apologies spill out of Kenny's lips when Butters pulls away and wipes the spit off his lips.

"You're actively trying to kill me, aren't you?" Kenny's chest heaves, and Butters chuckles.

"You're the one who choked me," he glances up, catching Kenny's eye. Kenny's freckly cheeks are bright red, his pupils blown wide. Butters is so hard he has to reach into his sweats and give himself a squeeze.

"Dude, get up here," Kenny scoots back then. "And lose the fuckin' sweats, Jesus. What are we, Amish? Let's see some skin."

"God, you're such a nerd," Butters laughs as he pushes down his sweats and discards them across the room. He crawls up onto the bed and braces himself over Kenny, grinning stupidly when he catches the same stupid look on Kenny's face.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Kenny shrugs. "Happy… horny. The usual."

"Your whole range of emotions," Butters teases back, and Kenny takes the opportunity to flip him back into the mattress.

They tangle themselves up in each other, tongues sliding and lips brushing as they rid themselves of their shirts, and then it's just them.

Together.

Kenny's erection drags along his, and Butters' breath hitches. Without a word, Kenny takes them both in his hand and starts stroking. Butters whimpers, and Kenny smiles against him.

"Want me to fuck you?" he mumbles into Butters' mouth, and Butters nods.

He has to guide Kenny to where he now keeps his stash of lube and condoms-nowhere special or hidden, just in his nightstand. Kenny looks like he wants to make a snide remark, but he refrains, opting instead to simply settle down between Butters' legs and press a kiss to the tip of his erection.

Butters whimpers and lets his eyes slip shut. He hears the cap of the lube crack open and he loses his breath when Kenny slips a slippery digit inside him.

He hiccups when Kenny's fingers graze his prostate. Kenny massages into him so slowly, so thoroughly, more so than Butters' poor brain can comprehend. He opens easily under Kenny's ministrations, swearing that it's never felt this good before.

"Please, Kenny," he begs as a third finger slips inside him. He's feeling fit to burst already, a fire under his skin that rages higher and higher with each touch of Kenny against him.

"'Please, Kenny', what?" Kenny mumbles into Butters' hip. "Please shove your whole fist in me? I know you like that."

"Kenny," Butters whines.

"Or maybe it's please-"

"It's please fuck me, Kenny," Butters kicks him then, fed up. "Jesus."

Kenny chuckles and withdraws his fingers, pausing just long enough to scrape his teeth over Butters' tattoo.

Mm, fuck.

Kenny rolls a condom over his erection, deep red and desperate for attention, and gives Butters a manic little smile before he lines himself up and pushes in.

Butters moans as the feeling of having Kenny inside him takes over. It's slow, so slow, and by the time Kenny is all the way inside him, Butters is sweating, panting, tangled in the sheets, ready for more. Kenny pushes his hair out of his eyes and gives Butters a big grin. He rolls into Butters slowly, in shallow movements that get Butters' blood pumping and toes curling.

Butters lets himself get swept up in it. For the first time in a long time, quite possibly ever, the world is just the two of them. The world is just kisses and laughs and the way they move with each other, together.

Butters is thankful as anything that his folks are out of town. Every move Kenny makes Butters replies with a whine or a groan, or a series of swear words he didn't even know he knew.

Soon Kenny loses his rhythm and thrusts into Butters harder and faster. Butters can feel himself on the edge of coming, but every time he gets close, Kenny changes his movements or presses his thumb into that spot at the base of his dick to hold him off.

"God, Kenny," Butters sobs, fisting his hands in his hair. "Please let me come. Please? Please."

Kenny shudders and releases his grip, and orgasm hits Butters like a damned freight train. Come splashes all over his stomach and Kenny's hand, slicking up between them. Kenny is soon to follow, slamming into Butters a few more times before he groans loudly and bites down on Butters' collarbone.

And Butters lets him, because he can now. There's no one he has to explain it to or hide it from.

He didn't expect that to feel so good.

They breathe into each other in a heap on the bed, kissing and nuzzling until Kenny musters the energy to roll off of him and toss the condom in the trash can.

Kenny crawls back into bed with him, a tissue in hand for clean up. Butters dampens it in the glass of water beside his bed and swipes it all over his belly.

"God damn, baby," Kenny laughs, kissing just below his ear as he drags a finger through the silky mess.

"I didn't even know I had this much in me," Butters whines on the end of an exhausted chuckle. He tosses the damp tissue at the trash can and by some miracle of god it goes in.

They stay silent for a few moments, each just enjoying the company of the other, before they're interrupted by Kenny's stomach growling.

"Fuck," Kenny laughs.

"Come on," Butters pats him on the thigh. "I'll make pancakes this time."

oo

The next time Butters sees Angie, he's just finishing loading up Kenny's truck with the last of his stuff. In her hands she has a vanilla latte and a raspberry green tea, and under her dress is a significantly larger bump than before.

"Well, hey there Angie!" he greets her brightly, hopping out of the truck bed. "Sorry, I'm all sweaty. We've been at it all morning."

"Butters, what are you doing?" she asks, glancing over the tops of her sunglasses as she hands over the latte to him.

"Oh, I-I reckon I shoulda told you, probably," Butters grabs the back of his neck. "I'm, uh… I'm movin' in with Kenny."

"Wow," Angie takes off her glasses then. "This is just… wow."

Butters suddenly feels overcome with guilt. He and Angie lived together for a long while, picked out an apartment together, bought pots and pans together, even bothered to pick out bed sheets and towels together.

"Sorry," Butters picks at the paper sleeve on his cup. "If I'd'a known I would'a told you to come a different time."

"No," Angie shakes her head then, and looks at Butters. "I came to see how you were doing and I'm… I'm glad for you."

"Angie," Butters raises his eyebrows. "I-it's kind of a long way for you to come just to see how I'm doin'."

"Well," Angie looks down at her drink. "I was sort of coming to make an offering of peace. The baby's going to be here in a few months, and I wanted to make sure we were—"

She stops talking mid sentence. Her face screws up and she lets out a harsh breath through her nostrils.

"Whoa," Butters' gut twists anxiously. "A-are you okay?"

Angie nods, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just bad pregnancy gas bubbles, you know."

"Hey, Butters," Kenny calls from the house. "What's with the beer your parents drink? I mean, I know they're fancy wine and cheese types, but what the fuck is this artisanal shit? Doesn't anyone just drink fucking Natties anymore, I mean Jesus Christ."

It's not until Kenny's all the way out the front door that he realizes they've got company.

"Oh," he squares himself immediately. "Hi. You must be Angie."

He couldn't look sexier, in Butters' opinion. He's all pink and sweaty from moving all morning, his messy blonde hair sticking straight up with sweat, his gorgeous tattoos moving fluidly with the muscles under his skin. Butters could eat him up right here, but they have a guest, and Butters has also not fully recovered from their round this morning.

"You're Kenny, then," Angie offers a tight smile, like she could start crying at any moment, and Butters' heart sinks. Oh boy, he was afraid this would happen. The last thing he wants is for Angie to get hurt even more because of his stupidity.

"Uh, Angie, if you wanna go somewhere else and talk," he offers. "I-I reckon we could go inside, or Kenny could haul off this load—ow!"

Angie grips his forearm with full force, and Butters is a little surprised he doesn't hear or feel any crack.

"Oh, my god," she hiccups.

"Angie, what the heck's goin' on?"

She doesn't get an answer out before she starts crying hysterically, chest heaving in short, uneven breaths as she leans into Butters.

"I-I've been having contractions since early this morning," she sobs. "I didn't know what to do. It's too early, she's not supposed to be here for six more weeks."

Butters' instincts kick into overdrive. He looks over at Kenny, whose eyes are about the size of dinner plates, and says, "I'm drivin' her to Hell's Pass."

"Oh my god," Angie whines. "You're going to kill me, aren't you? That's some weird dirt road where you do all your human sacrifices isn't it?"

"What the fuck is she talking about?" Kenny's eyebrows crunch together, and Butters just shakes his head.

"Stay calm, baby girl, I'm just takin' you to the hospital, okay?"

She cries even harder as Butters helps her gingerly into the passenger seat of his car. It's not a very big car, but it's a lot safer than Kenny's pickup.

"Hey," Kenny knocks on the window and Butters rolls it down. "Be safe, okay? I'll drop this stuff off and be right there. No dying, and that goes for you too."

Angie still cries, but offers Kenny a nod anyway.

Though Hell's Pass isn't far, it's still one of the longest trips Butters can remember taking. The first time it'd felt long was when he'd gone to visit Kenny after his first overdose; now at least he knows something good will come of this.

Right?

"I'm so scared," Angie hiccups into her hands.

"You're okay," Butters reassures her. A million questions hammer in his mind—why didn't she go to the doctor as soon as she felt something? Isn't she a nurse? Doesn't she know labor pain when she feels it? Why is she putting the life of their baby in further danger?

But he keeps it all inside. It does no good to yell, and that'll only stress her out even more.

He instead reaches over and rubs the back of her neck, the same way he did when she was still studying, or when she'd come off a particularly heinous shift at the hospital up in Cheyenne.

By the time they have her all checked in and in a room, Butters' nerves are beyond frayed. He's chewed off every one of his fingernails down to little nubs, stammered his way through a very awkward phone call with Angie's parents and cursed at a vending machine that wouldn't dispense his Sprite right away.

Everything startles him, including a nurse who taps him lightly on the shoulder and informs him that Angie is asking for him.

In Angie's room, a doctor has his hand up her hospital gown, and Butters almost tells him to back off. Then he remembers that Angie is scared, and things aren't going the way that they're supposed to, and yelling at a trained medical professional would not help matters at all.

"It looks like your labor's progressed too far for us to stop it," says the doctor as Butters sits in the chair beside Angie's bed. "What on earth possessed you not to go to the hospital as soon as you started feeling these pains?"

"I-I don't know," Angie sniffs.

"I think she was just real scared, doc," Butters chimes in for her. "You never been so scared of something you just ignored it, hopin' it would go away?"

"I can't say that I have," the doctor gives an exasperated sigh. "Angie, we're going to do the best we can, but premature babies can and often do suffer a lot of complications—"

"I know," Angie insists, holding fast to Butters' arm. "I'm so sorry," she whispers into his bicep.

"Nothin' we can do about it now," Butters replies calmly, his insides cramping up with every negative word he swallows down.

Negativity won't help them now, or ever, for that matter.

"Hey, kids," comes Kenny's voice from the doorway, and Butters sits up.

"How the hell did you get in here?" he asks.

"If you've been in here enough times, you can pretty much walk anywhere confidently and they won't question you," Kenny sits down on the doctor's rolling stool. "How you doin', Angie?"

"Oh, just dandy," Angie screws her eyes shut and tries not to cry. Before Butters can offer any encouraging words, the doctor enters again with a few nurses.

"All right, Angie," he announces. "It's time—Kenny McCormick, what the hell are you doing in here? Get out of here before I find Eduardo and have him throw you out."

Kenny holds up both hands and stands, pecking a kiss to Butters' lips before he backs out of the room gracefully.

And then Butters realizes with mild terror that, holy shit, this is it. These are the last moments of his life that he will be childless.

"Oh, god," Angie reaches out for him.

Without a second thought, Butters takes her hand.

oo

Penny Jansen-Stotch is about the tiniest baby Butters has ever seen.

Weighing in at five pounds on the dot, with lanky limbs and big wide eyes, she's also the most beautiful human Butters has ever laid eyes on. She's got this tiny red, squishy face, and tufts of pale hair sticking up every which way.

They kept her in a special incubator for two days, just as a precaution, but she's here now, in Butters' arms, and it's… well, it's an indescribable feeling is what it is.

"She's like, the size of my shoe," Butters marvels as her tiny face scrunches up with a yawn. "Angie, she's perfect. I don't know what to do. I'm in love."

Angie's red hair unfurls over one of her shoulders, and she smiles as she watches the two of them.

"She looks like you, I think," she says, and turns a look over at Kenny, "Don't you think so?" He's been tremendous over the last couple of days, running errands when Angie needed, making sure everyone in her family was comfortable and knew their way around town.

"Oh," Kenny inches a little closer to them. "I kinda think babies mostly look the same. Not her, though. She's gorgeous. Hey there, li'l peanut. How're you doin'?"

He looks at Angie for permission before he strokes a finger over her wisps of hair.

"She is really beautiful," Kenny says then, as if there had ever been a doubt in his mind.

"Hear that?" Butters hums to Penny. "Kenny thinks you're beautiful. And Kenny's got pretty darn impeccable taste, if you ask me."

"I think he does too," Angie nods, offering them both a smile. "Look at you, you are so loved already, aren't you, baby girl?"

Penny's eyes open at that, light blue and inquisitive as she looks at the adults around her. Her little knit hat his too big for her, but the doctors said she's gotta keep warm since she doesn't have as much baby chub as the other babies they've seen here.

She stretches in the confines of her blankets and shuts her eyes again, as if to say, yes, this family will do.

This family is mine.

---

Hey kids, I'm ChasingRabbits over on AO3 now, too! That's where my new stuff will be going up from now on. Catch me over there, and thanks for reading!