Leanne Cartman answered and let him in, and he trudged up to the bedroom where Eric would be waiting for him as usual. Butters Stotch would also do the same thing. "Why hey there Eric, what would you like to do first? Wanna play a game or maybe..."
But the door would no sooner close then Eric would be upon him, no doubt having waited all week for this moment. The boy with yellow-blonde hair would be pressed up against the door itself and hands would be roaming across his skin under his shirt. Today was the same, Eric biting lightly at his neck. He thoughtfully left no visible marks, as Butters would get grounded for sure. He used to protest these happenings, afraid of if anyone found out, only to find he feared Cartman scorned much more than a few weeks of being isolated in his room.
He didn't want to think about that now.
The boy, eternally younger seeming even if they were the same age, wasn't very smart, he was at least smart enough to know that. He also knew that everything Cartman did with him was a facade. He tried to get lost in the motions of Cartman all but throwing him into the unmade bedding, the nips that made their way across his skin, the tweaking of his nipples. Okay, the nipples made him gasp, they always did. Eric would undress him and watch him blush without speaking. Butters always thought it was strange that the larger boy would never say much during these moments, since Eric was such a loudmouth and all. Cartman would never get undressed, either, always already in a tee and boxers, not bothering to get dressed on Saturdays unless he had somewhere to be.
Eric probed little Stotch with a thick finger covered in saliva slowly, pumping routinely and making the smaller boy squirm, he'd then manage two fingers and scissor him. Butters would gasp and pant and grab at the other boy's shirt in need, his own cock weeping for attention. He knew Cartman wouldn't let him touch himself. "Eric..."
Things stopped suddenly, they always did. And the mousy-haired would correct him. "Cartman."
Butters would nod and repeat it. "Cartman." No less lustily than he had said the name Eric, and the other boy restarted his ministrations on his body. In moments, it was like nothing else had happened and Eric, no, Cartman would pull out of his anus and nudge him and he'd lay on his stomach. From here, the larger boy would loom over his body before biting his back harshly, as if to punish him for not being what the boy really wanted. Butters knew this. How dare his hair be blonde.
A rough cock, unlubed, would rub against his butt cheeks momentarily, dry humping him. The blonde liked this, there was something warm about it. Then the head of the penis, now visible in it's hardness, would press against his arse. Cartman didn't care where, really, he'd just press it inside of the cheeks and press back and forth until he heard a sharp cry from the boy under him, the response letting him know he'd successfully entered Butters Stotch. He'd wait a moment, let the lighter boy adjust, before pressing into him gradually with one long stroke.
The larger boy would groan, and Butters would wimper and moan the entire time. Once in entirely, the pale boy would be fine and suddenly want more, daring to slide his arm between him and the mattress and touch himself lightly.
From there, it was a rampage. Cartman would pound his ass with fervor, grinding him straight into the messed sheets. Sometimes he'd pull the blonde hair, sometimes he'd hold down Butter's head into the bed. Today he grabbed Butter's hips and thrusted in him greedily, forcing the boy to feel his cock for all it was worth. The fat boy would pant, overworked and overheated, the skinny would would squeel with desire, lust, and a heartfelt something else they would never talk about. The boy would fuck him with need, not with desire. The blonde was just an outlet with the right color skin, the right body type, and maybe even close to the right voice. Eric didn't love him, he knew that, and he couldn't even tell himself it was because the other boy couldn't love.
The thrusting got faster, shorter, and nails scratched against his back as the man over him groaned and the blonde was pushed over the limit at the same time Cartman was, something he had trained himself to be able to do after all these weeks of debauchery. He stained the sheets as white sticky stuff spurt into him without apology. Eric would collapse over him heavily, still within the boy, and Butters would smile. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to after-sex cuddling, and the closest he ever would from Eric Cartman, his lover and friend and the person who considered him their bitch.
No, he didn't want anyone to know what he and Eric did in the confines of this messy room, but he especially hoped that Kyle Brofloski would never take it away from him.