In collaboration with the wonderfully talented margaretdelancy after watching Sarcastaball, we asked ourselves the ever important question, "But what if Bunny locker room sex". This is the result on my end, inspired by her absolutely wonderful art. It's up on her tumblr, and one day we will put it somewhere where both can be admired together.
Oh what joy for every girl and boy
Knowing they're happy and they're safe
The day Butters made the swim team was the same day his mom had the mental breakdown to end all mental breakdowns and landed herself in the loony bin.
Only, he was informed by Kyle Broflovski that 'loony bin', despite whatever Eric Cartman had told him, was not and is not the politically correct term. He does wonder still what he should call it even now, but his dad brushed it off on the way home from the hospital a few days later and told him not to worry about it.
He seemed to be more worried that he would have to get Butters to swim practice every morning at six o'clock anyway.
"Because I have nothing better to do than wake myself up and get you to swim practice when all of the civilized world is still asleep."
Butters apologized for that and sank low in his seat. Never mind the fact that he's actually quite good at swimming, or that he was the youngest person to make any of the sports teams that year, the most important part of the whole ordeal was obviously that he had to be there so early in the morning. Butters understood, though—his dad was under a lot of pressure back then.
That was when his dad started bringing a lot of men home. He told Butters that they were old friends, or business associates, and that may have worked when Butters was a kid, but not anymore. He was nearly fifteen when all of this started going down, and he was not as big of an idiot as everyone seemed to think, thank you very much.
He knew what those strangled cries coming from his parents' room late at night were; he knew what it meant when he saw strange men attempt to sneak out of the house over his cereal in the morning.
He knew it meant that his dad liked boys.
And his mom went crazy because of it.
"Man, people don't go crazy because of shit like that," Kenny McCormick once told him. "People are crazy because they're crazy. It's a brain thing, not a 'my husband likes dick' thing."
"She's not crazy!" Butters defended, in spite of the fact that he actually agreed. "She's bipolar."
"Whatever," Kenny had held out his arms, inviting Butters to really dispute him on the subject. "That's still not a 'my husband likes dick' thing."
Kenny's not at the head of the class or anything, but he can be pretty smart where it counts.
Kenny was on the swim team with Butters. He made the team as sophomore, a whole year later than Butters, but that didn't seem to affect his proclivity for it. No one had expected it, but Kenny turned out to be a natural at swimming, and running too. In fact, the cross country coach had almost gotten her talons into him, but something had inexplicably steered him toward the swim team.
Butters found out quickly that that something was him.
The first time it happened was about a month after Kenny joined the team. Butters had just gotten out of the shower only to find that, as usual, everyone had finished before him. The coach always called him out on it, told him that for as fast as he was in the water there was no reason a shower should take so long.
Butters was shy, okay? Even after a year on the team he didn't like changing around anyone—the guys liked to talk about each other's privates and where they'd been and Butters didn't want any part of it. So, Butters just straggled behind, took the coach's tired criticisms, and got to change in peace.
In this particular instance, he'd only just barely dropped his towel to the bench when he heard the sound of footfalls and an impressed whistle. "Goddamn, Stotch, look at that ass."
Butters immediately snatched up his towel and whirled around, trying to cover himself but it was too late. Kenny was standing against the lockers, hood around his shoulders and arms folded across his chest, looking Butters up and down like he was a side of beef.
"Ke-Kenny, what are you doin' in here?" Butters stammered cheeks ablaze, and Kenny shrugged.
"Left my math book in my locker," he said and walked toward Butters. "You know, you're pretty hot for a guy."
Butters felt himself color further. Oh no.
He knew where this kind of thing ended up going—he could see himself thirty years from now, fucking some big, faceless guy and trying to keep himself quiet so his wife and kid in the next room won't hear.
"Ke-Kenny," Butters gulped back his nerves as Kenny swiped at a fat clump of wet hair on his forehead.
"Butters," Kenny repeats, grinning. Butters wished he could say that he dropped his towel on accident, wanted more than anything to be able to say that he told Kenny to turn right back around and let him get dressed.
"Have you ever done anything with a guy?" Kenny asked as he drew a hand up Butters' side. Butters shook his head, and Kenny grinned, "Me neither. Do you want to?"
No sooner had Butters nodded did he have Kenny's hand wrapped around his erection. Butters' breath hitched, but he didn't dare break eye contact. Kenny's eyes are this pretty deep blue that Butters could lose himself in, even still.
"Feel all right?" Kenny asked, and Butters nodded. Kenny's hands were a little rough, but felt nice coiled around him.
"Y-yeah," Butters mumbled and pulled Kenny forward by his belt loops, unbuttoning his jeans like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Not that Butters had had his hands on too many guys' private parts, but Kenny seemed to just fit. At that moment, everything was the two of them—hands working and bringing out soft gasps and strangled moans, muffling their cries of pleasure against one another's necks.
For a few minutes, nothing else mattered: Butters' mom wasn't crazy, his dad wasn't burying himself in a slew of strange men… For a few minutes, Butters actually felt okay.
"Um," Kenny said as he zipped up his pants. "So, I could get behind doing that again."
Butters gulped, knowing he shouldn't say anything, but looked at him anyway and with a smile said, "Me too."
oooo
When it happened again, Butters was as caught off guard as before. They were studying in Butters' room with Stan and Kyle, only Stan and Kyle both had to go home for dinner. Butters' dad was working late that night, so Butters invited Kenny to stay.
"I don't know how to cook much, except what my mom taught me," Butters posed as he opened the near empty fridge and he and Kenny peered inside. "And it was her that did all the shopping… Don't imagine I can make meatloaf with just the ketchup and stale bread, can I?"
Kenny shrugged. "You're the cook, dude."
Butters decided to put a frozen pizza in the oven. "What do you wanna do while we wait?" he asked. "I got a deck of cards, we got HBO—"
Kenny cut Butters off by casually backing him against the counter and undoing his pants. It was useless trying to talk him out of it, especially since his hands somehow knew even then just what to do when it came to Butters' cock.
Butters didn't know what it was about being touched that made him want to touch back, but it didn't seem to bother Kenny. Maybe feeling good made him want to make other people feel good too. He really liked making Kenny feel good too. That, and Kenny had a really nice penis.
Still does, as a matter of fact.
They almost kissed when Butters came, only because Butters had his free hand tangled in Kenny's hair and they were kind of close anyway. Butters pulled back and evaded that though—good thing, too. They weren't ready to do that kind of thing anyway, right? Kissing was what boyfriends and girlfriends did, not two fellas who were just messing around.
"Where is your dad, anyway?" Kenny asked after a stretch of silence. They were slumped against the counter, caught somewhere between the haze of afterglow and the grudging realization that they should clean up.
"Uh," Butters cracked his neck in an attempt to reinstate the flow of blood to his brain. "Bein' made some big tough guy's bitch in a bathhouse somewhere?"
Kenny barked out a laugh and hung his head.
"Fuck that," he sighed and looked over at Butters. "I won't make you my bitch, all right?"
"That's sweet of you," Butters grinned, only to realize a moment later what Kenny actually meant. "You wanna keep doin' this?" he asked.
"Yeah, why not?" Kenny shrugged. "It's just hands and dicks, right?"
Butters nodded and took a deep breath, all good feeling brought on by his orgasm now fading. He must have been making a face or something telling like that, because Kenny just gave him a sympathetic look and patted him on the shoulder.
"It's not like your dad's doing, okay?" he reassured him. "You and I are both way sexier."
oooo
Kenny's love for the female form didn't fall by the wayside either. Everyone knew he and Bebe were fucking, though Kenny seemed to think Butters needed to be debriefed on the situation sometime in junior year.
"You and I just fuck around, right?" Kenny offered as he slammed his locker shut.
"Sure," Butters said, wriggling into his t-shirt.
"It's the same thing with me and Bebe," Kenny shrugged then and leaned back against the lockers. There was a series of three silver hoops running up his right ear by that point, and he told Butters specifically not to be shy about playing with them (and with a wink told him he was saving up for more of them).
Then he'd turned to Butters and asked, "Do you like girls? I never asked."
Butters stuck his deodorant stick up under his arms and nodded.
"Dude, really?" Kenny asked, cocking his head.
"Yeah, why's that so hard to believe?" Butters countered, throwing the deodorant back against his swimsuit.
"You just seem to like guys more," Kenny shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that. I was just wondering. You should hang out with me and Bebe one day. The way you eat ass, I bet you'd kill at eating pussy."
He did that thing where he stuck his tongue between his two fingers and Butters laughed.
"I'm sure it's exactly the same," Butters rolled his eyes.
"Totally," Kenny nodded.
Butters smiled, about to respond, when his phone started ringing.
"Ah, shit," he muttered, fishing in his bag. Sometimes he forgot to shut off his phone at school.
Except it was his mom calling. She never called… not because of lack of ability, but because she just never thought to. Butters supposed he wouldn't want to talk to a kid who let her get stuck in the loony bin either.
Or, whatever he was supposed to call it.
"He-hey, mom," he answered. Kenny pulled a face and flipped his hood up over his head, giving Butters a wave before he left the locker room.
"Hi, Leopold?" It wasn't his mom, but a nurse. "We've been trying to get a hold of your dad, but he's not answering his phone. This Joyce over at Hell's Pass Psychiatric calling. Your mom has taken a significant turn—"
Butters stopped listening after that. He gleans little things, like that she stopped taking her medication and that she isn't responding well to her therapy sessions, but for the most part he tunes in and out. He knew his mom wasn't well, but his dad was a master of secrecy and decided not to tell Butters just how severe it had the potential to become.
He did hear the words 'self harm' a few too many times for his own liking, and when he was finally off the phone he went to find Kenny.
Only, the second he saw him sitting in the cafeteria with Kyle and Stan, he paused. Problems were the kind of thing you shared with your boyfriend or girlfriend, not the person you were casually fooling around with.
He sucked it up and turned right back around, choosing instead to head to homeroom a little early.
Kenny followed him, though, stopping him just outside of the classroom with a hand on his shoulder.
"You okay?" he asked.
Butters nodded and turned to him, about to say something but he decided to hold it in. Instead, he looked Kenny in the eye and said, "I'm feelin' a little tense, actually."
"Phone call was that bad, huh?" Kenny gives a mild grin. "I think I've got a cure for that. C'mere."
Kenny pulled him into the boy's bathroom on the third floor and locked the door behind them. He backed Butters against the door, sank to his knees, and closed his mouth around him before he'd even gotten hard.
Not that it took long after that, mind.
It was at that point that Butters decided sex was an absolutely fantastic distraction. Kenny's mouth moving over him made his mind go numb. All that mattered was the way Kenny's lips felt, how he sucked and licked every last problem away until there was nothing but that warm, happy feeling blooming through him.
The bell rang before Butters could reciprocate, but Kenny gave him a wink and told him not to worry about it.
oooo
Butters likes fooling around with Kenny, he really does. It's nice to be able to fool around with someone without having too many obligations attached. They're seventeen, for god's sake. They're not like Stan and his compulsive need to be in a relationship at all times; but they're also not like Kyle, who is a complete social retard.
On the other hand, Butters isn't like Kenny either: Kenny can juggle a handful of sexual partners, but even without the emotional attachment, Butters can only handle one or two at a time. Between swim practice, doing well in school, and functioning like a normal person, Butters has sort of a full plate. Kenny doesn't care much about school, and he seems to operate on inhumanly low levels of sleep and food and stuff like that, enough so that he doesn't have to worry about them falling by the wayside.
"I'm at the head of my AP English class," he tells his mom. He's visiting her in the hospital, unwilling to believe that she's been here for so long. He thought things would be better by now, that she would be home and okay and they would be a family again. Instead he still has to visit her after school and on the weekends, sitting at a big circular table with her while she works on some crafts.
When she doesn't respond, Butters continues, "That's only 'cause Wendy Testaburger and Kyle Broflovski are in a different class than me, though."
His mom still doesn't reply. They don't let her knit or do anything that she actually likes doing, but she does make rather pretty watercolor paintings. Butters keeps one in his locker, and a few up in his room. His dad doesn't like to look at them, says it's too hard to do. Butters has always thought that, no matter what, family is your family.
Kenny says it's that kind of loyalty that's going to land him in prison one day.
"Honey, why isn't your father with you this time?" she asks.
This time.
It's the same question he gets every time he comes here, and Butters never has the heart to tell her why. His dad has stated explicitly (several times and without remorse) that he does not want to see her.
"He's real backed up at work, he said," Butters offers as he dips his paintbrush in the cup of water between them and streaks a faded purple line through the center of the paper in front of him. For every picture she gives him, he tries to give one back. That's only fair, right?
"Well," his mom sighs and gives him a smile. "At least I know someone is here for me."
Butters smiles back and goes back to painting.
"I wish they'd let you come to my swim meets," he says absently. Apart from wanting her out of the hospital, he's just good at something and he wants his mom to see that and be as proud of him as normal parents are of their kids.
Heck, even Kenny's mom comes to cheer him on when she can get off of work.
"I wish I could too, sweetheart," she says, but there's something behind her voice that disinclines Butters to believe that she's being entirely truthful.
"He'll come next time, mom," Butters attempts to reassure her, but he knows it's for naught. He's pretty sure that's why she's so crazy: maybe if Butters' dad actually showed up and played the part of loving, supportive husband, she would want to get better.
Maybe she knows she has nothing to go home to… except Butters.
Sometimes he thinks that may as well be nothing, though.
Butters leaves right before dinner time. Instead of going home and making himself some pasta, which was his plan earlier this morning, he goes back to school. He and Kenny have hopped the fence dozens of times before, even on Fridays when Kenny reminds him that he has scores of other things he could be doing, and gone for a dip in the pool.
Swimming is sometimes better than anything—better than sex, better than weed (which he's only tried twice before and did not like, thank you), and better than any amount of macaroni and cheese one person can hold in them.
When he finds that the locker room is sealed up tight, he decides to throw caution to the wind and jump in naked. Nobody's here at this hour anyhow.
He swims a few laps and feels instantly better. Without a swim cap he knows he's going to have a serious case of green hair when he's done, but he doesn't mind. He needs to float weightlessly for a while and remind himself that everything will be okay.
Only it doesn't quite feel like it will be anymore, and he's starting to get a little scared.
"You know they'd have to drain the pool if they saw you doing this."
Butters' whole body jerks in surprise as it becomes apparent that he is no longer alone. In fact, he's positive that he's about to die by drowning for about three seconds until he rights himself and sees a very amused Kenny crouching beside the pool.
"What the hell are you doin' in here?" Butters coughs.
"Stan has a game at eight," Kenny sits back and pulls off his shoes. "But Kyle is being a twat and a half, so I thought I'd come swim for a little bit. What's your story?"
"Oh," Butters dips his mouth below the water line for a second, thinking as he watches Kenny discard items of clothing one by one. Kenny is tall and scrawny by nature, but swimming has really done him a world of wondrous good. He's long and lean and so, so gorgeous. Butters can hardly stand it.
He drops off of the edge and into the water—no fancy dive (which they're not allowed to do in here anyway), no jump behind it. He just steps off of the concrete and lets himself sink. When he reemerges, hair dark and eyelashes clumped together, he's smiling wide.
"Way better than listening to Kyle bitch about Calculus, or whatever the fuck," he sighs, very zen about it. He then swims toward Butters then and backs him up against one of the ladders at the other end of the pool, smiling the entire way. When Butters reaches up to grip the cool metal of the rails that dip into the water, Kenny gives him an affectionate nip on the chin.
"What's up with you?" he asks.
Butters swallows hard, already feeling an unmistakable erection coming on, and says, "Went to visit my mom."
Kenny gives a knowing nod and kisses down Butters jaw and neck, closing his hands over Butters' where they grip the rails. When he pulls back, Kenny's mouth is so close to Butters' that he thinks for a brief moment that they're about to kiss.
Then Kenny pulls him out of the pool altogether and over to the bleachers. Kenny goes to pull a condom and tiny tube of lube out of his pants, and Butters smiles. After the first time getting caught, quite literally, with their pants around their ankles and no condoms or lube, they've both been diligent in making sure they carry both items on them at all times.
They drape their clothes over the cool concrete floor, because it's right uncomfortable being on your hands and knees on concrete of all things without any padding. Kenny kisses down Butters' back and bites playfully at his butt cheeks.
"This ass, I swear to God," he mutters. Butters whines back when he feels the flat of Kenny's tongue press against him. Kenny's mouth is a wonderful, wonderful thing, and his tongue pure magic. Kenny pulls away after a few moments, much to Butters' disappointment, and fiddles around with the condom. Butters bends down, resting his forehead on his arms as his cock and balls weigh unbearably heavy between his legs. He takes a sharp breath when he feels Kenny press inside him.
"Kenny?" he breathes.
"What's up?"
"Do-don't worry about bein' rough," Butters grimaces as Kenny pushes further and further into him. He knows Kenny won't really hurt him, and he could do with a good fuck right now.
Maybe that will put everything out of his mind.
"Good, 'cause I'm horny as fuck," Kenny huffs and slumps over Butters, pressing a few kisses into his shoulder. Kenny doesn't need any instruction—he's very good at what he does, and Butters lets himself get lost in it. There's a distinct, pleasant burn where Kenny moves in and out of him, but it's not enough.
"Harder," he whines. "Go harder, please."
Kenny complies immediately and Butters lets out a satisfied whine, fisting the bright orange of Kenny's parka in his hands as he moves back against each slam of Kenny's hips against his.
He has to bite down on Kenny's parka when he comes, muffling the sound of his groans since he, as he's discovered, cannot keep them in on his own. That's a much more (allegedly) endearing trait when they're alone.
Kenny isn't too far behind, muting his own release against Butters' shoulder before he slumps against him, panting and lazily kissing every bit of skin his lips touch. After a few moments, Butters regains his thoughts and murmurs, "Sorry… I think I may have ruined your t-shirt." Kenny laughs and pulls out of him.
"No big deal," he says. "I think I found that in a bin at Goodwill or something. I can get another one."
Butters nods vaguely and watches Kenny run buck naked to the trash can by the locker room and dispose of the condom, which prompts Butters to shout "No running!"
Kenny flips him off, though it still is intensely satisfying to see him fall flat on his ass about a second later.
They get dressed and sneak back out of the pool, both trying to fluff up and dry out their soggy hair. When they get to where Kyle is sitting in the bleachers, discussing something very pointedly with Wendy, they both try to pretend they've been there all along. This doesn't quite work, as Kyle turns to Kenny and asks, "How's the ass spelunking there, boys?"
"Good weather for most of it," Kenny shrugs. "Things got a little hairy there at the end."
"Okay, I need somethin' to drink," Butters interjects quickly and makes a hasty exit for the concession stand.
Butters buys Kenny a giant Sprite (since he absolutely refuses to drink any of Butters' Dr. Pepper) and a slice of pizza, just because.
oooo
It isn't unusual for Butters' dad not to be home when he wakes up on Saturdays. Sometimes he goes to the store, other times he's doing other stuff that Butters doesn't care to think about, so Butters doesn't think anything of it when his dad isn't there the next morning.
What's strange and out of place is the fact that there's a note on the kitchen counter that simply reads 'Gone with Tad. Take care of yourself. –Dad'
There's a few hundred dollar bills on the counter beside the note, but Butters reads over the words several times before it sinks in.
"Who the fuck is Tad?" he asks himself, and vaguely remembers being introduced to a large, muscled guy with a tan and bleach blonde hair that had made Butters wrinkle his nose.
He sits down at the dining table and stares at the note. He doesn't know why—it's not as though what it says or what it means is going to change by reading it a few times more.
Should he tell his mom?
What about food and the bills and things like that? How was a few hundred dollars supposed to cover any of that?
He has to get a job now, doesn't he? He can't do that and still do everything he does for school.
What about college?
It's at that point that Butters makes the executive decision not to worry about any of that right now. He's going to get his bowl of Cheerios, watch some TV, and worry about the rest when he worries about it.
oooo
Kenny barely has time to hoist himself out of the water at the end of practice before the coach stops him.
"Have you seen Stotch around?" he asks as Kenny pushes his goggles up his face. "He's your best friend, right?"
The coach is, in fact, referring to the time that they stayed in Denver for a meet last year and Kenny all but begged to be allowed to room with his best friend.
If it's not in the best friend manifesto to suck each other's dick's dry at every given opportunity, you're doing it wrong.
That one always makes Stan and Kyle really mad.
"I haven't seen him, actually," Kenny replies when he realizes that he actually hasn't.
Shit, now he feels like an asshole.
"Well, if you do, you tell him he'd better be here tomorrow if he doesn't want to get kicked off the team."
Kenny nods and goes back to the locker room to get dressed. He wouldn't classify himself as a 'worrier', but sometimes he does worry about Butters… especially after he sees his mom or gets into it with his dad. Butters can be pretty tough on the outside, but he definitely has the tendency to internalize a lot.
Fuck, he should've gone to make sure he was okay yesterday.
Kenny waits until lunch to skip out on the rest of school—he would have gone earlier, but he has to keep his math grade up or he'll get kicked off of the swim team. Being that's the only thing that's really keeping him sane, that would be counterproductive.
Butters' car is in the driveway, which is a good sign, but if he's awake he's refusing to answer the door. "Butters," he calls. "Hey Butters, open the goddamned door, dickmuffin."
He doesn't even get a moment to question the validity of his name calling before Butters wrenches the door open and with a tired look, repeats, "Dickmuffin?"
"Man, I don't know," Kenny shrugs and pushes inside. The curtains are all drawn shut, there's a nest of empty blankets on the couch, a small pile of take out boxes on the coffee table, and a marathon of Hoarders flitting across his TV screen.
When he gets a good look at Butters, he realizes that he's not in much better shape. His hair is greasy and unkempt, his skin is sallow and eyes puffy, and there's that fine blonde stubble scattered across his jaw that makes Kenny's lips tingle just looking at it.
"Um, what's going on here, dude?" Kenny finally asks as Butters slumps back onto the couch and curls up under a large quilt. He gives no indication that he'll be responding any time soon, so Kenny sort of just has to stand there impotently for a few moments before his focus shifts to the TV, where a woman is being asked whether or not she needs a crate full of old newspapers from the seventies.
"What's her story?" Kenny asks.
"Husband died ten years ago," Butters murmurs. "Kids don't visit, she's never met her grandkids… all she's got is cats."
"How out of the ordinary," Kenny sits down beside Butters and peeks inside the take out containers. There's some orange chicken left in the bottom of one that Kenny takes and polishes off.
"So, what's with you?" Kenny presses again. "Are you going to start hoarding take out containers? Because I can't come and pull you out of your house twenty years from now, man. I can't do it."
Butters doesn't respond, so Kenny tosses down the take out box and pets his hair. "Come on, little buddy," he says. "Why so down?"
Butters shifts away from Kenny's touch, not deigning even to pull his focus from the TV. So, Kenny decides to shift back toward him and kiss him on the cheek. That only makes Butters whine and attempt to cover his head with his quilt.
"Hey, come on now," Kenny pulls the quilt away and nips Butters' jaw.
"Kenny, I'm all gross," Butters whines and tries to wriggle away. "And I got a headache."
That gives Kenny more pause than anything. He sits back on his knees and gives a very hearty, "Oh, hell no."
"What?" Butters asks.
"A headache?" Kenny inches closer, crawling over him so that he's flat on his back and giving Kenny this confused look. "Girls get headaches, dude. Two dudes don't get headaches, have you seen Queer as Folk?"
"Have you?" Butters counters back, eyebrows screwed up high on his forehead.
Kenny falters at this and gives Butters a shrug and a smile. "Nah," he shakes his head. "Karen says it all the time, though… I think she might watch it with Ruby."
Butters nods, "Fascinating."
"Dick," Kenny prods him in the gut and noses at Butters' jaw. He kind of stinks a little bit, like he hasn't showered in a while, but he still has that distinct chlorine smell on his skin that makes Kenny's insides give a pleasant jolt. He kisses Butters' neck and pushes his hands up his shirt, stroking at the soft skin there.
"Coach is pissed you haven't been at practice, dude," he pulls back, absently tracing his fingers along the lean definitions of muscle on Butters' torso. "He says you're off the team if you don't get your ass back there soon."
Butters groans and rubs at his eyes, muscles tensing under Kenny's touch. He gets like that sometimes, and when it gets to be this bad there's generally only two things that can pull him out of it: a dip in the pool, or coming so hard he can't see anymore.
There's no pool here, so.
"You want me to suck you off?" Kenny pushes Butters' shirt up further so he can kiss the center of his chest. He glances up at Butters to see him nod his head and grins, moving down to rid Butters of his pants and undies. He's getting hard already, Kenny notes with a grin, and ducks down to give him a kiss right on the tip of his cock.
"Come back to school," he says, grabbing Butters in a loose fist and stroking languidly.
"Kenny, do-don't do this right now," Butters breathes.
"Why?" Kenny smirks, loving more than anything that Butters is getting harder under his touch. "Because you know you'll say yes?"
Butters tries to kick at him, but Kenny pins his legs and ducks to slide his mouth over Butters.
"Fuck," Butters whines, and Kenny tries not to smile. Butters has a pretty filthy mouth when you get down to it—he probably doesn't even realize it, either—and Kenny absolutely adores it. And if sucking a little dick is all it takes to get Butters to say every swear word in the book, that's all right by Kenny.
He doesn't mind it either, thanks very much. Butters tastes good, and feels good in his mouth.
Maybe he's got one of those oral fixations Bebe always talks about.
Butters starts tugging roughly at Kenny's hair, which Kenny thinks he means as a warning. Kenny bobs his head faster and hums, inexplicably turned on by how hard Butters pulls on his hair as he comes in his mouth.
Kenny pulls back and sits up, feeling intensely satisfied at how Butters lays satiated against the couch. He's hard in his jeans, but feels he has to ask before he takes care of himself, "See you at school tomorrow?"
Butters looks up at him, panting still, and mutters, "You fucking dickface."
"Mm," Kenny nods in agreement. "But I'm your dickface."
Butters sticks out his tongue, and for a brief moment Kenny wants more than anything to kiss him square on the lips.
There's something off about him, something that makes Kenny want to wrap around him and hold him close—something that strikes a painfully fuzzy chord in his chest, that makes him want to take every last painful thing away from this boy in front of him. Because when Butters is happy, so is he.
Oh, shit.
oooo
"Jesus Christ, Stotch, what the hell is the matter with you?!"
Butters has been lagging all week. He's only been back at practice for a few days, but his body just does not want to cooperate with him. Slow, weak, and just plain disobedient, he feels absolutely impotent. Even Kenny can't give him a jumpstart, which is thoroughly frustrating.
How do you tell someone with such a cute face that his efforts are appreciated, but…
"If you don't get your goddamned act together, you can forget the meet next week."
Wow.
For a second there, Butters was thinking that he couldn't feel any worse. Al ways nice to know he can be proven wrong at any turn.
At least if he had the meet to look forward to, he would have something else to think about other than the unpaid bills on the kitchen counter. He can't ask his mom for help, because God only knows that'll send her plummeting off the deep end. He knows he should call his aunt, but he hasn't told anyone that he hasn't seen his dad in almost a week, not even Kenny.
He foregoes his shower and dresses quickly, determined to finish up a bit of homework before classes start. Plus, if he doesn't shower he doesn't have to make up some flimsy excuse when Kenny asks if he wants to "blow off steam" before homeroom.
Also, if he doesn't shower, he doesn't have to pretend he's not watching Kenny out of the corner of his eye. Even if sex doesn't fix everything, it's still impossible not to appreciate the way water cascades over the subtle curve of that boy's ass, or the lines of his hips
Butters shakes his head and tries to get the thought of Kenny's ass out of his head. Although pleasant, it might be a little too much so for this moment in time.
He coasts through the school day on autopilot. Kenny tries to engage him a few times throughout the day, but he gets little in return.
"Check out Mrs. Gershon's tits, dude," Kenny whispers during French class, "You'd think someone would have told her that you need to rope those things up once they start to sag."
"Mm," Butters nods, absently pretending to read.
When his last class is over, Butters heads immediately back to the pool. He's going to work his ass off to get back to where he was, even if it kills him.
He just… he needs to be able to do this again. He needs to take control of something, anything.
"Dude, there you are," Kenny charges down the row of lockers just as Butters pulls on his swimsuit.
"Sorry, I can't hang out right now," Butters shakes his head. "I just gotta blow off some steam."
He looks at Kenny out of the corner of his eyes and can't help but notice that he looks a little…
Well, he looks a little hurt. Butters bites his lip and shuts the locker door, shifting his weight back and forth before he offers, "I could always use a buddy, I s'pose."
Kenny lights up like a Christmas tree and immediately goes to change. Butters feels amped up for this now—if he has someone to swim against, that might motivate him to push through whatever this funk is.
The pool is eerily still when they stretch beside it. Even when Butters jumps in, he feels as though he's cutting through something solid. The usual buoyancy he feels is gone, like something's gone and filled up every nook and cranny of his body with cement.
He lets all of the air out of his lungs and sinks as deep as he can. The water weighs heavier on him down here, and try as he might he can't find it in himself to kick back up to the surface and swim his laps like a normal person. There is an odd sort of peace he feels down here, where all he can hear is the water filling his ears and the sound of his own throat opening and closing as it vies for air.
It's not until he feels Kenny's hand on his arm that he realizes he's on the verge of passing out, and, out of instinct, kicks to the surface.
That first gulp of air feels better than anything has in weeks.
Maybe even years.
"Dude!" Kenny shouts as he treads water. "Dude, what in a miner's coalfuck was that?!"
Butters wheezes and pulls his goggles off his face, "What the fuck is a 'miner's coalfuck'?"
"I don't know, I made it the fucking fuck up!" Kenny bellows. There's a desperate, frightened wobble in his voice that gives Butters pause.
Nothing scares Kenny; Kenny is the bravest guy Butters knows.
Butters doesn't know if he can take this right now. He swims over to the side of the pool and hops out, padding carefully along the concrete so he won't slip and split is head open. That wouldn't do enough damage to kill him anyway. He grabs his towel from its spot at the end of the bleachers and wraps it around his waist. He can't be in here anymore.
He can't be anywhere anymore.
"Hey," Kenny calls as Butters heads toward the locker room. He hears him slide out of the water and start following him, accompanied by a much louder, "HEY!" once they're in the locker room.
"Hey, what?" Butters rounds on him fast. Kenny's got his towel draped over his shoulders, and looks legitimately stunned to be met with a similarly abrasive energy.
Except then he seems to remember he's upset and continues, "You just tried to kill yourself, asshole—really fucking poorly, I might add... I wanna know why."
Butters just rolls his eyes and gives Kenny a hardened look. "If I wanted to talk about it, don't I seem like the kinda fella who'd do just that?"
He then decides to chock this day up to an absolute failure and turns to get undressed at his locker.
"Don't bullshit me, Stotch," Kenny warns. "You talk a fuck of a lot, but you don't actually say much of anything. If there's something bothering you, you never talk about it. You just let it rot in your head until it drives you insane and you try to, oh, I don't know, fucking drown yourself."
"Shut up!" Butters rounds on Kenny and slams him back into the lockers. He sees a flicker of fear pass behind Kenny's eyes, and Butters can't help it: he leans forward and captures Kenny's lips roughly in his. And miraculously, Kenny doesn't push him away or tell him to stop. Instead, his fingers come up to tangle in Butters' damp hair and tug lightly where it's long enough to do so.
"Fuck," Kenny mutters when they pull apart. "If you didn't want to talk, you should've just said so."
"I think if you keep pushin' my buttons, you're gonna get punished," Butters murmurs into his ear, tugging at the silver rings with his teeth. When he pulls back, Kenny's eyes are dark, and his lips are parted as he breathes in little puffs.
"That's not gonna solve anything," Kenny shakes his head, and Butters purses his lips.
He's just being a pain in the ass on purpose now.
Upon looking down, Butters sees the erection straining at the elastic of Kenny's swimsuit and makes a decision.
He walks over to his locker and opens it up, shucking his suit before he pulls an emergency bottle of lube and a condom out of the first aid kit he keeps at the ready. He looks over at Kenny, who's watching him (or his cock, Butters can't really tell) carefully, and demands, "Get over here and get naked, McCormick."
Kenny doesn't even bother to hide the pervy smile on his face as he comes over and tosses his towel on the bench, right beside where Butters discarded his. He gives Butters a cheeky wiggle of his hips before he discards his swimsuit too, and backs up against the locker.
"What's my punishment?" he asks, and it's really hard for Butters to keep his wits about him when Kenny's cock is so hard and looks so goddamned delicious and Jesus Christ it's right there—
Butters slaps himself (mentally) and comes back with a very firm, "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't see straight."
"Dude, fuck yes," Kenny sighs happily, like he's been waiting all his life for this. Butters has been on top once or twice before, but never like this. Being on top usually scares him, but not now.
"Don't," Kenny shakes his head when Butters squirts a dollop of lube onto his fingers. "I mean—here."
He takes the condom from Butters and tears it open, rolling it over Butters' cock before he settles back against the cool metal of the lockers. When Butters raises his eyebrows, Kenny just responds, "Go as hard as you need. My ass can take it, I swear."
Butters still lubes him up generously, because even like this he can't escape his innate politeness. When he pushes inside Kenny, he almost short circuits. Kenny is tight, but he never once tells Butters to slow down. Even when Butters is inside him entirely, he tells Butters, "Don't stop. I'm fine."
If he insists.
Butters pulls out a little and thrusts back in; Kenny groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt.
"You should get into porn," Butters grunts as he repeats the motion, this time a little rougher. "You got the pipes for it."
"Me?" Kenny barks out a laugh while Butters adjusts his legs so they're wrapped around his torso. "I'm wearing a tape recorder next time I drill the ever-loving shit out of you, see who you think has porn voice then, buddy."
Butters thrusts up extra sharp for that, and Kenny hisses in response.
The rhythm is easier to fall into this time, and Butters decides that being inside Kenny is nothing short of amazing. It's almost as good as the feeling he gets when the roles are reversed.
And, if he's being honest, Butters knows he's a lot stronger than he looks. He hears the old creak of the lockers as he slams his hips into Kenny over and over, and the screeching sound of Kenny's fingernails as they scrape against the metal—all an underscore to the veritable symphony of sounds coming out of Kenny's throat.
Butters can't help it: he has to kiss Kenny again. Their lips slide together roughly, their noses bump too hard, and they accidentally bite each other a few times, but it's all okay. Every time Kenny's teeth clack against his, or he feels Kenny's nails bite into his skin, he thrusts up harder and faster.
When Kenny pulls his head back by his hair gives him a love bite just below his jaw, Butters loses it. He moves a hand to Kenny's cock and starts jerking in time with his already erratic thrusts, and comes hard. He snaps up into Kenny with all his might and feels this intense satisfaction when Kenny spills all over his hand a few moments later.
They pant against each other for a few moments, sagging into the lockers and not daring to break whatever this is between them.
Butters would give anything if this warm buzz could fill him up and last forever.
"That was awesome," Kenny breathes when Butters finally pulls away. Butters grins and walks over to the trash to dispose of the condom. He actually sticks it inside an empty bag of Cheetos, just to throw off any prying eyes.
When they're both dressed and looking slightly less rumpled, Butters notices the red mark on his neck and tuts.
"Aw, shit," Kenny grabs the back of his neck. "Shit, I totally didn't even think of that. I think I have a scarf if you need to get by your dad later."
"My dad's gone," Butters just says, without even thinking about it. He thinks maybe that was a little abrupt, but it's out now and Kenny is looking at him like he's from Mars.
"He ran away with a guy named Tad," Butters explains then. "I don't think he's comin' back."
Kenny looks at him for a few moments and nods, thumbing at the straps of his bag as he looks down at the toes of his boots.
"You wanna maybe skip out on the football game tonight?" Kenny asks and looks up. "Maybe we could grab some pizza and go to a movie or something."
Butters is caught off guard to say the least. In all the years they've been screwing around, he doesn't think they've ever done either of those things by themselves, let alone both together on the same night.
"Why?" Butters asks, and Kenny shrugs.
"Well, A: I don't think I could sit on those fucking metal bleachers right now if I tried," he says, which gets Butters to laugh. Only that seems to flip one of Kenny's switches and get him to natter on, "And that, dude. I want you to laugh and be happy, and everything in your life is just shitty right now. You like pizza and movies way more than you like football games, and I want to do whatever will make you feel good."
Butters blinks, still not getting it. "You want to do what makes me feel good… with me."
"Right."
"Even though I could do it on my own," Butters attempts to puzzle out, and Kenny nods.
Butters thinks that's about as warm and fuzzy he can feel right now without busting wide open. He gives Kenny a grin and says, "I think I'd like that a lot, Kenny."
He thinks he might like Kenny a lot, too.
Hey everyone! So I have had this floating around in my documents for about two weeks and I'm just getting around to posting it.
Title and top lyric from the Beatles classic "Octopus's Garden"