First off:

THIS IS SLASH, mmkay? SLASH. AS IN, GUY X GUY. So, to those who don't like that sort of thing, especially in South Park, shoo.

Pairing: Bunny. That is, Kenny x Butters. I really think this pairing needs more love.

A/N: My first multichaptered fic. Please endure with me.

It was in seventh grade when Kenny discovered the joys of baking.

All right, so maybe he'd discovered it already, but definitely never like this. There was nothing quite like an extremely hot girl baking lovely, lovely things for you "just because." Simply nothing. It put his two favorite things together in one room: food and hot girls.

Exhibit A: Wendy.

The girl was purple and cute and, as Kenny had often pointed out to an amused Kyle and a tetchy Stan, very well-developed. One afternoon, she just came up to him and offered him some brownies she'd made "just because." Kenny didn't really care to know why; all he knew was that it was food, food was good, and therefore, he should take them, which he did.

They were gooey and chocolatey and stuck to his teeth in a simply delicious way. He'd fallen asleep that day dreaming of melted chocolate and Wendy and a kitchen table. They were good dreams. As good, if not better, as the brownies she'd made for him.

Then there was Exhibit B: Red.

She hadn't exactly been beautiful in elementary school. He never paid much attention to her, though sometimes he would catch her throwing certain looks at him, which he always repaid with a shrug and a hidden smile. Summers passed, and seventh grade came, and all of a sudden, she was hot. Tall and tan and thin, the girl possessed a confident aura about her and strutted about the school hallways with boys clamoring for a chance to carry her books.

And so it happened that one afternoon, not very long after his dreams about Wendy and chocolate and inappropriate things, she came up to him with a smile, a toss of silky hair, and a pretty silver box. With a wink, she said she'd made it "especially for him– just because."

It was the second "just because" he'd heard that week, and, while any normal person would find that either suspicious or flattering or both, he was simply too hungry to care. Food was food, and, as he took the box with a muffled "thank you," he was already thinking about how to consume whatever it was raveningly while making it last at least a day. Then he looked at her beaming face and felt a sort of weakness in his stomach that might have been cause by hunger or horniness or both. His gaze slid down, and he discovered it was both.

She'd given him a wonderful chocolate-and-vanilla cake, artistically frosted with brown and white icing and looking, as it generally should, good enough to eat. Which he did, and it tasted as beautiful as it had looked. That night he dreamt of vanilla and icing and Red's moans, and woke up sore and rather happy.

He never thought that two of the girls he'd known almost his entire academic career were to become two of the best bakers he'd come to know in his entire life.

And now we come to Exhibit C, which was something quite different.

First off, it did not concern a hot girl. Rather, it concerned a boy with hair the color of lemons and the temperament of a mango– which, to those who don't quite understand, are sweet and tropically sunny. His name, as I'm sure you already know, was Butters Stotch, which sounds an awful lot like butterscotch, which is sort of a sweet candy, which Butters was not. But Butters was quite sweet, in more ways than one, though I fear I am jumping far too much ahead in the story.

Kenny McCormick did not much care for fruits or butterscotch, which he'd tried when an old Scottish man he'd met gave it to him on his most recent sojourn to Hell. One can then logically assume that he did not much care for Butters. That assumption would be right, in actuality. The two blonds did not interact very often, and when they did, it usually ended with Butters getting exploited one way or the other. It wasn't the fun kind of exploitation either.

So it was a surprise to Kenny when, one afternoon after school, not too long after his dreams of Red and silk and a lot of moaning, Butters came up, looking anxious and clutching a pretty red box. A bewildered Kenny voiced a muffled thanks when Butters pushed the box in his arms.

Way to break the chain, Butters, he thought with understandable confusion. After all, once one has been given edible presents by hot girls, one after the other, one almost always expects the next edible present to be presented by another one of the attractive female persuasion– in other words, another hot girl. Certainly not a little short geek. Kenny frowned down at the box.

"Aw, shucks, Kenny, it's all right," Butters said, looking down shyly and smiling. He was that kind of kid. "Aren't you gonna try it?" he asked suddenly when Kenny turned to go.

Actually, Kenny was about to leave as fast as he can to find a private spot where he can consume the red box and whatever was in it without having to share. This was what he had done previously with Wendy and Red. At Butters's question, though, he stopped, pondered, and shrugged. "Whatever," he mumbled and, sitting down on a bench (if you are confused about the setting, please pretend they are in the park), opened the box. Deliciously, it beckoned to him, a box full of prettily arranged fudge cookies.

"Score!" he whooped, and dove right in.

Butters watched as the boy somehow ate his first cookie while keeping his hood tightly on.

"How'd-how'd you like it?" he asked eagerly.

Kenny was still. Slowly, his mouth chewed. He twitched.

Way to break the chain, Butters, his mind sobbed. Not just the chain of unbelievably hot girls, but also the chain of unbelievably delicious desserts.

A wide-eyed Butters rubbed his knuckles together in anxiety as Kenny spit out the offending cookie, vomited, screamed a muffled scream, vomited again, and passed out.

"Oh, hamburgers."

Bebe's not gonna like this, thought Butters in consternation and attempted to prop Kenny up. He glanced over at the poor, half-crushed box of fudge cookies and cringed.

Exhibit C was a failure. Or so it seemed.

Bebe Stevens was a pretty girl. Certainly nothing compared to Wendy's striking looks and Red's newfound tallness and tan-ness and goddess-like beauty, but she was pleasant to look at, with her blonde curls and ready smile. She loved shoes and was good at sewing and Call of Duty and taking charge and –or so she thought– flirting. Sixth grade had taught her new things about boys, and she thought it only prudent to display her knowledge in seventh grade.

However, the one boy she ended up wanting to use it on had her utterly tongue-tied and self-conscious and all the things she thought she would never be after sixth grade. Irony laughed at her, and in her dreams, she wanted to strangle it so much it died and would never again exist to mess with her life again.

Oh, what's the use. He'll never go for me, she thought mournfully as she stared at the paper she had been unconsciously cutting up. Not while girls like Wendy are putting the moves on him.

Her hands started to shake, and she blinked furiously. Goddamnit. Since when did any boy have the power to make her cry? Anger rose up, only to be defeated by self-pity, and she collapsed. Anger, however, turned to its back-up, shock, which quickly took over self-pity as the doorbell rang.

Ah shit. Bebe blinked back tears and swept away the pieces of paper onto the floor for no reason. She ran to her window and peered down. On the doorstep was a very anxious-looking Butters and what seemed like a comatose orange parka on his back. She gasped.

"Mom! Mom, don't answer the–" And then she remembered that her parents were out on some romantic date, supposedly, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Really.

And where were her cookies?

This was actually originally intended to be a oneshot, but somehow, it all spiraled out of control by Exhibit C. ._.