In this chapter, somebody admits to being gay, somebody doesn't really care if he's gay, and somebody gets exploited. The second pairing appears!

I don't really like the Stan and Kyle conversation, but who am I to say it sucks. Decide for yourselves. I like the Pip part though, I think that complex he has about his relationship with Butters fits into the show canon pretty well considering Butters basically replaced him. Also, leave some feedback! I got like 40 views on the last chapter and 2 people responded. You can do better! ;) ~ CrisisOmegs


Butters, still reeling from shock, nestled his head in his crossed arms. He didn't want to get up from this bed. He hadn't behaved himself again, and everyone was going to be awfully sore at him. Especially Eric.

That brunet was, as others put it, an asshole. He was always double-crossing people, and he was always scheming. There was never a moment when you could be absolutely sure that he was telling you the truth, because later he would pull an ulterior motive out of his sleeve and reveal, oh, surprise! He was lying, tricking you! And Butters was stupid enough to believe him every time.

But, even if he was mean to Butters, he still came to him when he needed help. He'd ask him the favors he wouldn't dream of asking the others, who had stopped listening to his plans years ago. If Butters played his cards right, he would get a thank-you when everything came to fruition, or maybe even one of Eric's elusive smiles. When he looked into Eric's face, bright with intelligent, cunning thought or ecstatic with anticipation, and Butters knew that he could do something to help him, well…

He felt like he was worth something. He felt like somebody genuinely needed him. The feeling was intoxicating. So he stuck around long enough to essentially become Eric's bitch, and when a devious smile spread over the larger boy's slightly pudgy face and he pulled Butters close to whisper his next plan in his ear, the blond felt his weak body shiver with happiness. Yeah, it wasn't a very healthy relationship, and if they ever got together, Butters doubted it would get any healthier. Frankly, Eric probably wasn't even gay.

But he gave Butters something, something to look forward to. That was all Butters needed from anybody, from his parents, his friends, and it was something he rarely received.

Stan had given him something. So what did he do?

He brought his legs close to his body, mumbled to himself while the black-haired teen apologized profusely, gathered up his copious books and pencils, god why did he have to bring so many, and he ran.

Yes, he liked Eric, he liked him a lot. But that wasn't why he ran, even if that's what he told Stan. Butters knew how unrealistic it was to even fantasize about the brunet, and how could he disappoint him if there was no mutual affection to start with? Butters was resigned to keeping his feelings bottled up inside, and he often wondered if he was truly in love with Eric. Or if his judgment was constantly clouded by his pathetic and ever-present need for affection.

Butters Stotch ran from Stan's room because he was afraid. He had kissed the school's star football player, manly man extraordinaire, who was in reality every bit as gay as he was. If the overly-passionate, lustful kiss Butters had received was any reflection of the other teen's sexuality.

He was tired and worried and he was going to spend the rest of first term suffocated by Stan's very presence for at least forty minutes a day unless a miracle happened. He couldn't imagine the moment when he would sit by Stan's side tomorrow, and scribble notes on the lined paper in his light purple chemistry notebook. It would just be so, so… wrong. Butters had done something wrong again. It must be his fault, his stupid, baby-faced, pathetic fault, the fault of his mustard colored hair and his despicable eyes which were the color of those blue slushies pumped with artificial sweetener. And where the hell was his Hello Kitty pen? How did anyone expect him to stay calm when he couldn't write in baby blue ink?


Stan was lying silently in his bed, legs straight out and one arm tucked behind his head. His other hand twirled a certain teen's pen between his fingers.

His erection had finally subsided when Butters ran out the door with his face flushed in embarrassment.

He frowned and brought the gel pen close to his face.

"Hello Kitty," Stan asked. "Did Butters actually run away because I'm a terrible kisser?"

No answer.

He sighed heavily and placed the writing utensil next to his alarm clock before smothering his face with a pillow.

"Fuck you, Hello Kitty."


Stan spent his entire Saturday moping. Shelly came in around one to get him out of bed, mostly by screaming in his ear, but he warded her off and complained of a mind-numbing headache. Which wasn't too far from the truth, considering that needle in the back of his head had been forged into a sledgehammer overnight.

The worst thing was that every time he finally got himself to stop thinking about what happened, his mind would trail off in bliss for a moment before he'd think, gee, I have to do my homework, and then Friday's encounter would replay itself word for word. Him having a boner. Butters looking like a total Melvin. Butters looking cute. Butters looking, well, kinda sexy. Butters looking scared.

Then Stan would just bury his face in his bed sheets and his thought process would repeat itself in a never-ending cycle. It was like being water boarded, except even more horrifying.

And if he wasn't reprimanding himself for what he did to Butters, he was imagining the disgusted look on Kenny's face if he ever found out that Stan tried to jack off to him.

When Kyle called at eight to ask him when the hell he was coming over, Stan finally got out of his slump and changed into something mildly presentable. He grabbed his PS3 controller on the way out, silently cursing himself for choosing to buy the red one. He remembered when he and Kyle went out to buy controllers together, since they didn't want to have the same color. There had only been red and pink at the store, and Kyle had obligingly purchased the latter. Maybe if Stan had bought the pink one, Kyle would react better when he came out of the closet. Maybe if he'd made one slip-up, like an obvious gay one, that Kyle could point back to and say 'oh, ok, that makes sense', Stan would feel better about coming out.

Obviously, he was planning on doing that tonight. He couldn't have Butters spilling the beans before he got a chance. God, he hated that annoying little fag with his soft, sky blue eyes and silky blond hair. As much as it was Stan's fault, he hated that Butters was the guy he shared his first kiss with. He desperately hoped that Kyle would not only be apathetic towards his sexuality, but be comfortable enough with it to give him some advice. Some needed advice.

Because Kenny wasn't his personal chauffer, Stan prepared himself for the walk to Kyle's house. The night sky was pitch black, and the wind was surprisingly cold. He settled further into his cocoa jacket before awkwardly jogging his way to Kyle's front door, shivering. It was so dark out that Stan couldn't tell whether there were clouds above him, but if there were then South Park may be covered in an early layer of snow. In fucking September. He huffed and he saw wisps of his own breath curl around in the air and disappear.

As always, he grasped the doorknob and entered without knocking. After being best friends with someone for nearly sixteen years, that's usually how things end up. He shivered at the temperature change, waved a casual hello to the Broflovski family, and made his way into their finished basement. Kyle hadn't had one like this when they were kids, but when they turned thirteen the Broflovski's home went through some major renovations. The basement was transformed from a dingy cellar into what was essentially Kyle's own personal bachelor pad. It was equipped with a PS3 and a huge couch that was probably from the 80's, judging from the bright colors and strange patterns. The carpet was a gentle brown while the walls were a darker shade of the same color. In a household filled with boys, Kyle's mom had given up on interior decorating for the most part, so anything adorning the walls was lazily pinned there with a tack.

Kyle looked up from the television when he heard Stan's footsteps, and grinned widely.

"Hey, dude! You brought your controller, right?" The redhead looked at his friend expectantly. Stan whipped it out of his coat pocket.

"How could I forget?"

He walked over to plug the controller into the console, and sat back on the 80's couch with Kyle. Stan basked in the calmness of it for an hour, lazily shooting Kyle's character in the back, head, and stomach. He smirked as Kyle groaned in dismay, half-heartedly shoving his best friend in an effort to distract the better player. He needed this, he needed this bliss before he made a move that could seriously put a wedge between the two of them. When Kyle's assassin fell to his death in a lava pit for the fifth time, Stan hesitated.

GAME OVER. CONTINUE?

"Are you gonna kick my ass again, or is this getting too easy for you?" Kyle asked sarcastically. Stan's sea blue eyes were glued to the screen. He felt his grip on the controller tighten considerably. When Kyle noticed the sudden tension, he glanced at his friend in concern.

"Um, dude?"

"Kyle, I really need to tell you something. Because of, uh, something that happened last night."

Kyle's expression changed, shifting from slightly worried to annoyed.

"Aww, man, you didn't rip on Butters did you? I know for a fact he wouldn't make any moves, he's so not like that. Are you feeling guilty because you made him cry or something?" Kyle rolled his eyes like he was fed up with Stan's bullshit.

Stan frowned, furrowing his brows. He stayed silent for a second before dropping the controller and turning to face his super best friend.

"Dude, I'm gay."

"Jesus, Stan, and you told me you wouldn't—what?"

Kyle stared at him, waiting for a reiteration. But Stan refused to give him one.

"You heard what I said."

Kyle's neon pink controller fell to the ground as his jaw went slack. He quickly tried to recollect himself, diving down to reclaim it, but when he whipped back up his body was stiff and he was holding the controller backwards. Nevertheless, he still responded with a determined look on his face.

"Okay," he said, nodding firmly. The combination of shock and open-mindedness brought on a hilarious expression on the redhead's face. Stan felt a grin creep its way onto his mouth.

Stan looked at his friend curiously and then started laughing. He covered his mouth with his hand in an effort to keep the conversation halfway serious. Kyle, embarrassed, turned the controller around but still retained his firm expression.

"I'm serious. I don't care. Honest," he sputtered. "I just didn't expect it. Since you, uh, expressed interest in tits."

The two super best friends just looked at each other. At the same time, they broke into a smile and Kyle patted Stan reassuringly on the back. They both laughed for a while before Stan spoke.

"I sort of expected you to be a little angry," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Not that I think you're an asshole or anything. But I mean, it's, well, weird. Right?"

Kyle played with one of his fiery curls before responding.

"Well, only because you sort of date girls. Namely Wendy."

"I kinda, uh, used her. To look straight."

Kyle frowned disapprovingly.

"Stan…"

"What? Cut me a break, I'm pouring my heart out here."

"That's not really fair, she liked you a lot!"

"Well I thought I liked her too! Until I was eleven."

Kyle sighed, but continued smiling.

"Water under the bridge now, I guess. As long as you don't try anything like that again."

Stan bit his lip.

"About that... Remember how I told you something happened last night?"

Kyle shouted in disbelief.

"No, you didn't! Not Butters! He's like, the most naïve kid I've ever met! Stan, what did you do to him?"

Stan winced and recoiled from the outburst.

"Look, all I did was make out with him. And, you know, feel him up a little." Kyle opened his mouth to yell again, but something about the image of Stan groping an innocent Butters made his face turn green. "I swear, that's all. Aw, dude, don't be grossed out!"

Kyle suddenly looked very, very tired.

"Ok, first off don't describe anything," he demanded. "I'm no homophobe but that's definitely not a pretty picture. Second, what were you thinking? Butters is not the type of guy you make out with and leave without saying good-bye."

"Hey, you're making it sound like we slept together and then I snuck out in the morning to make him feel like a whore," Stan retorted. "And furthermore, he's the one who walked out afterwards."

"So not the point."

"… I know. But… What do I do?"

"You've got to apologize. No other option. You're going to be working with him for the rest of first term."

"Gee, who was it who convinced me to ask Wendy to partners, hmm?"

"Hey, you brought this on yourself."

"Ugh, I know!"

Stan covered his face with his hands and leaned back into the couch in anguish. He heard a stifled laugh to his right.

"Kyle, what is so funny about this?"

Kyle started giggling uncontrollably, and smiled deviously.

"I'm sorry, man. It's just, do you wanna trade controllers? Pfft. I think this one suits you better."

Kyle held out the candy pink controller and waved it in front of Stan's face teasingly.

Stan scowled and tried to hold back a grin in spite of himself. Kyle always seemed to know what he was thinking. He smacked the controller out of the redhead's hands.

"I would so beat you up right now if it wouldn't be completely gay for me to wrestle another guy to the ground."

The two ended the night cracking up hysterically as they swapped gay jokes. The best part was that Kyle was treating him no differently. There were no awkward moments as his best friend tried to avoid insulting gays, and there were no questions about if Stan had ever thought of Kyle in, well, that way. Making out with Butters had brought a slew of new problems to the table, but it helped Stan fix one of the worst ones he had.

He wouldn't think he'd ever say it, but, in a way… He was almost grateful for what happened Friday night. Almost.


As it neared seven on Saturday night, Pip excitedly picked out his favorite CDs to listen to for when Butters came over. They had become close ever since they'd come out at around the same time. Ok, Butters came out and then Pip followed suit. But they'd both been practically ostracized by half the school's population, so they made it a point to hang out together. And contrary to popular belief, they weren't attracted to each other in the least. Simply put, they were much too similar, even in looks.

Thought when it came to the choice between the two of them, people chose Butters. It was just how it worked. Both of them were scrawny, petite blonds, nearly the same height. Both of them stuttered when they were nervous, and both of them were relatively naïve. And both of them were gay. And people always chose Butters.

But they still liked spending time together, obviously because they could relate. So Pip looked through his music collection and selected some nice songs, his favorites from ABBA and Pat Benatar, to listen to while they chatted or watched a cute movie. Pip had those kinds of musical tastes, the 80s hits that everyone else was sick of. He couldn't help it.

The doorbell rang downstairs and he skipped out of his room to get it before his foster parents could. As soon as the door opened, Butters shouted something about having a serious discussion and immediately bounded upstairs. Pip stood confused for a moment before following his friend, now excited.

"Why, Butters, what ever is the matter?"

"Oh golly, Pip, you're n-never gonna believe what happened to me last night!"

They sat on Pip's peach-colored carpet, the British boy hugging a frilled pillow, smiling and eager to hear the story. "Love is a Battlefield" buzzed through the air. Butters' eyes were dead serious and he whispered even though there was no one else around to hear them.

"I-I had my first kiss!"

Pip's heart sunk.

"W-what?"

"Yeah! I-it really happened, Pip! Shucks, I'm k-kinda scared, it was crazy!"

Butters kept spewing details about what happened. And with who. Pip clutched his pillow harder, trying to use it for comfort. Butters seemed genuinely upset about this first kiss of his, while Pip secretly seethed. This always happens. Always.

Why did Butters have to come out before he did, so then it looked like Pip just copied him? Why did everybody like Butters, just a little bit more?

Why did Butters get to be kissed before he did?

Look at him, he's positively gushing about last night. He says he was scared, but I don't believe it for a second. He probably liked it. It's not fair. Why does Butters always have Lady Luck by his side?

Pip stared longingly, ears barely hearing Butters' rant, at the other blond's features. He wanted that face. He didn't understand why it was so much better than his, but apparently everyone else did. He wanted Butters' face. And he wanted Butters' vocal chords, too, to finally be done with his fugly Brit accent.

Can't I just be one step ahead of him? Just once?


Cartman waited until the last possible second to have that Limey freak come over and do his homework for him. He put out a mug of tea for the Brit, because all Brits love that shit and he was going to need the caffeine to get through all of Eric's English and math. Hey, he might as well take advantage of the situation; Pip was a good fuckin' student.

Pip came later than he expected, and the two ended up meeting at six on Sunday evening.

"Took you long enough," Cartman spat. "Whatsa matter, get into an accident driving on the wrong side of the road?"

Pip stood bashfully at the doorway, his hat sliding down his face slightly as he blushed.

"Oh, my apologies, Eric," the blond responded. "M-my foster parents were quite busy for most of the afternoon, you see."

Cartman grunted indifferently as he remembered how similar the Brit was to Butters. He regretted making the tea; the scrawny kid was enough of a pushover that he hardly needed any convincing to get him to do bitch work.

As Pip sat down and took out his things, Cartman grasped a bag of Cheesy Poofs in one hand a Pepsi in the other. He saw the Limey glance up at him several times, and figured he had about fifteen minutes before Pip started bitching at him for not getting busy.

Fifteen minutes passed.

"I say, Eric, would you like to assist me in this chemistry work?"

Called it.

"No," he said bluntly. He reached for another Cheesy Poof to find that the bag was now empty. He huffed and brushed it off the table onto the floor. Pip eyed his actions nervously.

"W-where would your mother happen to be tonight, Eric?" the blond stuttered.

"The fuck should I know? Jesus, don't get on my case 'cause I'm making life hard for my mom or some shit. You stutter just like Butters does. Nag." Cartman leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and smirking.

Then Pip broke down. No really, he just broke down. There were tears flying out of his eyes like nobody's business. The Brit started really sobbing, gasping for breath between bouts of crying. He held his arms out to his sides like he didn't know what to do with them. Cartman looked on, slightly confused but mostly amused.

"What's got you down, Pippy?" Cartman said lazily, bringing the Pepsi to his lips for another sip. Juicy gossip had been kind of his thing ever since middle school. It was basically information trafficking.

Pip wiped some of the tears off his face with his sleeves, but for the most part kept crying. He hiccupped like a desperate little girl before answering.

"I-It's not *hick* fair! Am I really so *hick* similar to him? I m-mean, he's not a bad guy, *hick* but he always beats me!"

Cartman raised an eyebrow before his eyes lit up with realization. "Oh, you mean Butters! Yeah, you fags are pretty much twins." Seeing Pip fighting to hold back tears again, he decided to wring as much info as he could before the Brit died from dehydration. "But the real question is why you freaked all of a sudden."

Pip looked at him with puffy, red eyes.

"B-Butters got his first kiss on Friday…"

Cartman's mind started working, like somebody flicked a switch. He didn't like to prod his clientele too much, lest they get suspicious of his ulterior motive; he would usually get a tidbit or something and being the incredible genius he was, figure out the rest on his own. His mouth curled into a wicked grin when he remembered that Butters had mentioned getting his homework out of the way before the end of the weekend. And the person he was assigned to do it with…

Oh, this is fucking gold right here.

By this time he'd essentially forgotten Pip, but was alerted to his presence again as Pip threw himself on the table in hysterics.

"W-why does he always get to do things before me? I-I wanted my f-first kiss before he got his!"

With his mind already working like a supercomputer and all his morals having been thrown out the window in fifth grade, Cartman came up with another idea. He looked at his warped reflection in the Pepsi can and silently asked himself, if I have Pip suck my dick, does that make me gay?

His reflection shrugged and stuck out its tongue. Whatevah, I do what I want!

Cartman licked his lips. Perfect.

"Oh Pippy," he crooned. "I know something Butters has never, ever done."

Pip lifted his head, slight hope finding its way into his eyes. He sniffed and wiped his face again, only worsening the redness.

"Y-you do, Eric?"

Cartman sneakily leaned over and snaked a massive arm around the slender blond's waist. He pulled the Brit close and laughed inwardly as he felt Pip shiver under his touch.

"I'll bet he's never gotten a handjob before," Eric breathed; Pip stayed frozen in place. "And I'm offering to trade you one for a blowjob. I'll be honest, I'm at my wit's end here. I haven't gotten a girl in months, and you," Cartman teased as Pip's face flushed crimson, "look awfully similar to one, if you hadn't already noticed."

Pip shifted uncomfortably, but was still considering the offer. Once Eric Cartman had somebody in his grasp, he didn't let go. Especially when it came to the serious business that was blowjobs.

"G-Good heavens, Eric," Pip stammered. "T-that is highly inappropriate b-behavior, and…"

He trailed off, curling his hair in one hand. Cartman rolled his eyes and grabbed Pip's effeminate wrist.

"You don't get these kinds of chances unless you're wasted out of your mind at a party, especially if you're gay in a hick town like South Park," he growled. "And you don't exactly seem like a heavy drinker. Besides, I'm fuckin' disease free, guaranteed. I always make sure after the whole AIDS fiasco." He leaned in closer to whisper into Pip's ear. "Can't you just imagine the feeling of being more mature than Butters, to have done something it'll probably take him years to do? The little fag will wait around for a serious relationship, while you can cum right here by another man's hands in the next thirty minutes."

Cartman mentally winced at the last part, since he didn't exactly want to jack the Brit off. But, in retrospect, it would be a small price to pay for a blowjob. As the years went by, Cartman had figured out that ruthlessly making demands rarely worked. It was all about bargaining, and he drove a hard one. He figured Pip would be so ashamed after the fact that he wouldn't tell anyone, anyway. Not even Butters.

After further consideration, Pip eventually gave a slight nod. Cartman smirked. Oh, the things jealousy will do to a person. Take an innocent teen and corrupt him with the promises of being better than the rest, whatever their fucked up definition of 'better' happened to be.

Cartman, still holding the other teen's wrist, stood up from the chair and led the blond into his bedroom. While the Brit was overwhelmed by the abundance of Nazi paraphernalia covering the walls, Eric took the opportunity to take off his belt and let his pants drop to his feet. The innocent Pip traced the room with his eyes before settling them on Cartman's crotch, eyes wide with horror. He pressed his feminine legs together like he was afraid of getting raped, and hesitated. The brunet pointed to the floor and snarled before the blond could make any last minute decisions.

"On your knees, Limey."