A/N: If you made it this far, great! The action is finally going to begin, I swear.
There is definitely a difference between my Kenny and the Kenny I read in most fictions. I love how Kenny is portrayed in most of the stories I read, but I wanted to write him a little differently. Don't worry; he is just as kinky as you would expect…this story just doesn't know it yet.
At times I feel ready to throw this thing out, but honestly I am too in love with it to give up. So my OC is boring? Ok, so what, she doesn't have special powers or come from planet X. I guess I could have used Wendy or Bebe or any female character, but it will make sense in the end why I didn't.
This chapter takes place a couple weeks later. Butters' birthday (canon) is September 11, and I stuck with that fact.
Warning: Boy-on-boy scene inside. Not a lemon. More mature themes than previous chapters. Just an FYI.
Finally: I don't own SP or characters, or any of the songs mentioned. They all belong to their respective owners. I own Ren and this story.
I flop down on my bed, sweaty and exhausted from a 7-mile run. A glance at the clock on my desk tells me that I have two hours before I have to meet Butters. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my pullover and set the alarm to go off in 20 minutes. Sprawling on the bed just feels too good after physical exertion. I drift off, half-dreaming about ninja penguins, lost in that weird state between awake and asleep.
The sound of Stan and Kyle's door slamming jerks me from the strange train of thought. I sit up, momentarily unhinged. The boys' voices come through my wall with more clarity than I would have expected.
"God damn it, Stan! I told you I'm not fucking ready! My mother would probably throw me a fucking party or something and I just can't take that right now. I'm not scared that they'll disown me, I'm just not ready to-"
"Not ready to admit it to yourself, Kyle? That is some fucked-up shit right there. Three years, Kyle. What exactly do you want from me?"
I hear tears in Stan's voice; by this point I'm fully awake and curious. I can't help it, this nosiness. I like to think I'm just interested in people, but what it really comes down to is that I get a secret thrill from hearing snippets of others' private lives. I derive an aberrant sense of comfort from knowing that the people around me live with secrets and tribulations.
"I want…I want…you. But…this isn't some silly high school crush. It's…"
"It's what, Kyle?" Stan's voice drops several decibels; it is so soft, I can barely hear it. I leap from the bed with a mission in mind. As I pull my makeup box out from under the bed, the room next door goes silent. A zap of adrenaline courses through me, barely blunted by a rational voice somewhere inside me. Leave it, the voice says, but I ignore it as my racing heart drowns it out. I find two compacts and, using a metal nail file, pry the mirror out of each.
With the box back under the bed, and the mirrors laid out on the rug, I grab a near-empty carton of juice out of the mini-fridge and pour the dregs into a promotional mug sitting on Lexus's unused desk. After grabbing a second empty from the tiny blue recycling bin in the corner, I cross over to my desk and rummage through it for a pair of scissors and some tape. Settling on my knees in the center of the room, I begin to work. My hands work on autopilot as I let my mind wander.
I reach for the milk carton on the coffee table. Malcolm will be pissed if I let milk spill everywhere. When I pick it up, it feels strange, like it is empty, but…not empty. I inspect the carton closely and find that it has holes cut in it, and a mirror-no, two mirrors- inside. He chooses that moment to walk in.
"What is this, Mac?"
"That, my dear, is a periscope." He looks shaken, but he remains composed and keeps talking. "You can use it to see around the corner, see what's going on in rooms without being in them."
"But…why?"
My brother rushes over and lifts me in his arms; I don't protest because he already knows that even though I'm still small, I think 10 is too old to be carried around like a baby. He just forgets sometimes. "It's for playing detective. Let's go spy on Fiona. I'll show you how it works."
The old terrier is asleep on her bed, oblivious to my presence outside the door. She reaches her hind leg up to scratch near her neck, and jolts awake. I can't help but giggle when she starts to lick herself, even though she would do this even if she did know she had an audience.
"That's so cool, Mac. You know everything."
I finish taping my crude project and move to the desk, scooting the chair aside. I pull three hardcover textbooks off the shelf, stacking them on the left side of the desk where it meets the wall. Using the chair as a stepstool, I climb up on the desk and stand on the stack of books. Perfect.
The first day I moved in, I noticed a hole in the wall above my desk; a perfect square about six inches to a side, nestled right in the corner. Not wanting to get a damage fine at the end of the year, I called the Resident Advisor to look at it and make note. He called Resident Life and finally returned with an explanation for the hole. The building was originally built for steam heat, requiring pipes to run through the entire building. The holes were cut so the pipe could run across several rooms. When energy auditors inspected the place, though, they estimated that the natural gas required to heat the entire dorm would cost over 50% more than electricity for central heating, so the idea was scrapped before the piping was even installed. Some builders must have gotten lazy and neglected to repair some of the walls.
Lucky me. I never even thought about the stupid hole in the wall again, until now. Angling the periscope so that it fit right through the hole, I brush aside the guilt that makes a valiant attempt to crush me with its weight. I close my eyes. These are my close friends we're talking about. It only takes a moment for officiousness to win. I feel my eyes widen as I peep through the hole and study the reflection of the next room.
I'm not sure what I was expecting to see, but it wasn't…this. Stan, wearing only a pair of plaid boxers, is sitting astride a very naked Kyle's back, kneading the redhead's shoulders. Kyle is facedown, tangled curls spilling to the pillow and obscuring his face. Through Stan's rapt expression, I can't decide if he is trying to hurt Kyle or make him feel good.
The adrenaline that teased me earlier is back full-force; my heart pounds and my breath comes faster. This is wrong. I know this is wrong, but I can't tear my eyes away. Stan shifts his body and brings his lips to meet Kyle's flawless back. Kyle sighs and turns his head to the side, giving Stan the opportunity to rake a hand through the auburn waves covering his ear. I watch as the smaller boy gently kisses a line from ear to shoulder, and can't help but think that even though Kyle is slightly taller, the boys have nearly the same build. Their similarity in size paired with their striking difference in appearance makes them a beautiful couple. Kyle opens his green eyes and looks over his shoulder flirtatiously as he smiles at his lover. Stan moves to let him flip over on to his back, and the boys meet in a passionate kiss, each holding—
"Well, hi, Ren, I-I thought we were gonna meet at my room at eight." Butters' unexpected voice startles me, and I slip on the stack of books as I turn toward him and try to hide the bulky periscope behind my back. "Whatcha doin' up there? Oh, hamburgers, did you see a spider? I saw a huuuuuge black hairy spider in my room yesterday, he was kinda fuzzy and cute but scary and Cartman swatted him with a shoe before I could…hey, what's that?" I'm positive I'm about to throw up vital organs. Before I can speak, Butters is crossing the room to Lexus's desk and grabbing at a pink, sparkly teddy bear. "Aww, he's cute." I bend down to put the periscope between the desk and the wall and hop off the desk, thankful that my stomach is no longer threatening to expel my entire insides.
"I guess he's my roommate's. I never see her, but more pink and sparkly stuff appears in the room at random intervals. It's kind of odd. And there's no spider—just a lot of dust on top of the bookshelf. I can't stand dust." I'm going to hell for lying to this innocent boy. Screw my voyeurism, deceiving Butters is an unforgivable sin. "I lost track of time, Buddy, I'm sorry. Give me ten minutes and we'll go. Are you ready to have your first dinner as an 18-year-old?"
"Oh, boy, I sure am! I just love Bennigan's!" His speech is so full of exclamation points. If he is this excited about Bennigan's, I wonder how he will react to the Lady Gaga tickets I tucked inside his birthday card.
-XXX-
"I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance!" The windows of the Saab are down and the sunroof is open, filling the car with frigid air and serenading the night with our silly rendition of "Bad Romance." Being with Butters is just fun. I can act as silly as I want and know that he won't judge me; he is usually busy acting even sillier himself. He seems to be missing the gene that stops us all from doing what we really want for fear of embarrassment. I look over at the little blonde and smile. I really hope he is okay with what I have planned.
The song ends right as we pull into Bennigan's. I use the side entrance to the parking lot, counting on Butters' excitement to keep him occupied so that he doesn't notice the other familiar cars in the spaces. Pulling the car into a spot surrounded by other empties, I smile again at Butters.
"You ready?" I ask, pulling up the collar of the gearshift to put the Saab in reverse and setting the handbrake.
"Oh, boy, I'm so ready!"
Butters walks to my side of the car as I grab my bag and double check the front pocket, making sure the birthday card is there. We link arms and find the entrance; I can see our table already set up, the chairs occupied by our friends. Butters looks confused as the hostess lets us wander unaccompanied into the seating area, but doesn't complain; instead, he starts telling me a story about his last birthday celebrated at the restaurant. When we are about ten feet from the table, a loud chorus erupts.
"SURPRISE!"
Butters looks frightened, then surprised, then overjoyed. He claps his hands and jumps up and down twice, then throws his arms around me and kisses me on the cheek. He is speechless, which I think is probably a first for Butters.
Three tables are pushed together to form an "L" in the corner of the restaurant. In attendance are Wendy, Cartman, Bebe, a girl I haven't met named Rebecca, Tweek, the strange Craig, Stan, Kyle (how did they get here so fast?), the stylish African American boy (who is called, of all things, Token) and a guy I remember as Clyde. We take our seats and peruse menus as everyone takes turns passing Butters birthday cards and leaning across the table to ruffle his hair or pat him on the back.
"My god, every single thing on this menu has meat," I say to no one in particular.
"Oh, shit, Ren." My eyebrows shoot up; it's unlike Butters to curse, no matter how mildly. "Son of a biscuit! I totally forgot you were a, whatchacallit, a vegetarian."
"It's okay, Butters. I'm really not that hungry. Besides, this is all about you." I find something called "Apple Pecan Salad" at the bottom of the menu and decide it will do. This night is for Butters, and I could care less if I eat right now anyway. I'm still a bit high on adrenaline and quite frankly sick to my stomach with guilt. I argue with myself for a moment, wondering if I should just confess, but decide to revisit the inner altercation later when it doesn't eat into Butters' birthday celebration.
A whiny voice pipes up from the other end of the table. "You know, this day should actually be called 'Kill a Terrorist Day' because-"
"Eric!" Wendy spits. "Not tonight. This. Is. Butters'. Birthday. You keep your racist comments to yourself."
"I'm just saying, I think Butters would be honored to have such a special day for a birthday." He turns to shout down the table, wanting to know if Butters has the same twisted definition of "special day". "Hey, Butters!" The blonde is too busy choosing an entrée to hear him, so he starts to shout again. "HEEEEY, BU…Oh, look what the stray cat dragged in. What, didja hear that someone else was payin', Kenny?"
"Fuck you, Cheesy Poofs for brains." I can't quite place the familiar voice, so I turn to see who has just arrived. The breath I am inhaling never makes it past halfway. Standing ten feet to my right is the red hoodie boy from the dance, hands in pockets, blonde hair falling in his eyes.
"Hey, McCormick, where the hell have you been?" This from Kyle.
"Yeah, what have you been doing? I haven't seen you in like three weeks, man," adds Stan.
Bebe speaks next, almost under her breath. "More like who have you been doing?"
"Agh! Hi, ngh-Kenny!" Tweek twitches as he waves. Craig looks at the newest guest from under his pulled-low hat and flips him the bird.
Kenny doesn't get a chance to answer; Stan excitedly gets up from his chair and gestures needlessly toward me. "Holy shit dude, it's been like a month since school started and you still haven't met Ren!"
"Yeah, don't you want to meet the person who is paying for your dinner, trailer boy?" I catch Wendy's eye and we share a disgusted glance over this classic Cartman asininity.
"Ren, this is Kenny." Stan is now on our side of the table, smiling crazily. I briefly wonder if he has had a few drinks. "Kenny…Ren."
Kenny takes my hand in both of his and squeezes it. It feels like he is squeezing my insides.
"Oh…we've met." Kenny is responding to Stan, but looking at me. Before he releases my hand, I get the gap-toothed smile. Unfair. At this rate, I'm going to suffer adrenal burnout and need three days of sleep to recover.
"Sit down, we just ordered," I manage to say. The words sound unnatural, the awkwardness compounded by the fact that I feel absurd about my attraction to this boy who is essentially a stranger. The only free chair is the one directly to my right. I reach under the table and squeeze Butters' hand; I'm sure he doesn't completely understand, but he squeezes right back as Kenny scoots the chair even closer to mine and sits. He folds his legs under him and sits on his knees, like a little kid, and leans so close to me that I can feel the warmth he exudes even though we aren't touching. I give him a sidelong glance and he smiles again. I squeeze Butters' hand once more; this time too hard.
"Ouch! Ren, whadja do that for?" I give Butters a pleading look, but Wendy, Bebe, Kyle, and Stan are all looking in our direction with amused smirks. I feel a flush start at my chest and creep up to my cheeks. Kenny reaches across me to place a card in front of Butters, and when his arm brushes mine, I lean back quickly. Kenny looks wounded.
I'm generally protective of my personal space, but it doesn't take long for most people to become part of my "safe zone." For instance, the manner in which Cartman is a "close talker" bothers me, because he does it not out of social ineptitude or clueless friendliness, but as a form of condescension. However, I know he is just insecure and fairly harmless, so when he puts his arm around me or gets in my face, I don't freak out. Guys like Butters, Stan, Kyle, Tweek…I know them and trust them, so I'm fine with them. Wendy and Bebe could come sit in my lap and I would be fine, even though it seems that girls tend to invade other girls' personal space much less often than boys do.
At that moment, however, Kenny is pure sex. I didn't shrink from his touch because I felt he had violated my personal space. I did it because I so badly wanted him in my personal space, wanted to grab onto him and anchor him there for…ever.
Ugh, did I really just think that? I interrupt my own cheesy rom-com moment by grabbing my bag from under my chair and sliding out, using the escape route between my chair and Butters' to avoid any other physical contact with Kenny. "I'll be right back, guys," I say to no one in particular, and speed walk in the direction of the ladies' room.
A leaky faucet drips a tattoo on porcelain and the scent of generic soap so strong I can taste it takes a chokehold on my senses. The fluorescent light hums intermittently as it flickers. I put my hands on the ledge of the sink and lean forward, closing my eyes, careful not to let my forehead actually touch the mirror. I stay like that until I hear the door open, then busy myself with rummaging for my cosmetic case. When I look in the mirror to reapply my eyeliner, I see Wendy's reflection behind mine. I turn to face her and lean against the counter, cringing as the waistband of my skirt sponges up cold leftover puddles from sloppy hand-washers.
Wendy tries a half-smile. "I had to escape. Eric's out there making up a song about Butters…and it's a typical Eric song, if you know what I mean." A hint of a blush covers her cheeks, but I can't tell if it is a true blush, or an angry flush waiting to happen. She walks over to the counter, checks to make sure it is dry, and lifts herself up and backwards so she is sitting on it next to me, facing the stalls. With a sigh, she continues, chin in hand. "You know, I dated Stan for a long time when we were younger. And I dated Token. And for a short time, Craig, but that is a story for another day. But you know what?" I turn to look at her. "It has always been Eric. You would think that we hate each other, that we are polar opposites, and those things might be true. But…I also love him. It's astounding how much I love that bastard. I really wish I could make sense of it."
Wendy and I are friends, but we have never shared this kind of "girl talk." I once assumed that that only stemmed from the fact that Wendy didn't "girl talk" with anybody, but I must have misjudged her. I have to hide my surprise, not that she is in love with Eric, but that she is confiding in me. Before I can give her a helpful response, she jumps down from the counter and changes the subject.
"When it comes to Kenny…don't listen to anyone but Kenny." I draw my eyebrows together to let her know she isn't quite making sense. "Kenny used to be…well…Kenny has changed a lot since his dad left and his mom cleaned up, but it's not my place to tell you his family's story." She looks at me, a challenge in her eyes. I try to return with an innocent gaze, but it doesn't work. She grins at me. "It's written all over your face."
I can't uphold the "who, me?" act any longer. I look down, pressing my palms to my eyes, and give in to the giggle. When I look up, Wendy is laughing, too, one arm wrapped across her stomach. I push away from the counter and crane my neck to survey the damage; the wet spots feel worse than they look so I press a paper towel to my butt and shrug. Still snickering, we exit the room, leaving the damp and washed-out room for the warmth of the restaurant. I run directly into Wendy's back as she stops short. Kenny is right outside the door, pacing, intently watching his feet. When he looks up, Wendy says, "Hey, Kenny," and makes a beeline for the table. I freeze, probably looking like a deer in headlights. Idiot Ren: 2, Composed and Normal Ren: 0.
The blonde faces me and shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes meet mine as he smiles and bounces on his toes twice, three times. I'm suddenly not sure what to do with my arms, so I pull my bag from my left shoulder and switch it to my right. That feels unnatural, but I keep it there and cross my arms.
"I wanted to say goodbye. And thanks for doing this for Butters. He's…" Kenny runs his hand through his hair as he looks back toward the table. "He's really happy." This is punctuated with a half-smile. Blue eyes dart to the floor, to a spot behind me, and back to my own. I take a breath to say something, anything, but Tweek appears from apparently nowhere.
"Come on, -ngh- Ren! Butters wants to open his card from you!" The hyper blonde grabs my arm and starts to tug me away. I look back over my shoulder urgently and meet Kenny's eyes one last time before giving in to Tweek's excitement and giggling as we run to our table.
Butters is not-so-patiently waiting, turquoise envelope in his hands. I take my seat and nod, delighted in his expression of concentration as he lifts the flap. His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he frees the card and reads the front. When he opens it, the tickets fall and it takes him a moment to realize what they are. Butters' eyes get even brighter, if that is possible, and he flings himself practically into my lap.
"Lady Gaga! My favorite! Oh, wow, Ren, I'm so excited. This is the best birthday ever!" I hug back and smile, all but forgetting my unsettling encounter with Kenny. The cake is demolished and everyone is getting antsy.
"Let's go to Foxy's," Token suggests. Stan lets out a whoop and Craig rolls his eyes, not even bothered to flip someone the bird. Tweek, recently calmed, begins to shiver again, his big eyes unable to focus on one spot. Wendy leans over to whisper something to Bebe, and Butters tosses out an innocent question.
"What's Foxy's?" Butters' voice is cheerful as ever; I'm sure he is thinking of ice cream or bowling. With a name like Foxy's, though, this place has to be a strip club.
"Oh, you'll see. Can you follow us?" Even Kyle is on the bandwagon with this one. I settle the bill and turn to the nearest body, which happens to be Cartman. He has been strangely quiet since Wendy scolded him for the Butters song I never got to hear.
"Foxy's?" I ask, the one word dripping with a cross between sarcasm and disbelief.
"Well, we guys think it'll be funny, I mean fun, to buy Butters a lap dance. From a girl." The thick boy leans in, claiming my personal space as I have grown to expect. "What's wrong, are you afraid to go in a titty club? Afraid your lesbo tendencies will rear their dykey little heads?"
I snort at him and pat him on the shoulder, feigning cavalier sympathy. "Oh, Cartman, leave your fantasy out of this. This night is for Butters." With that, I turn on my heel and exit, leaving him and his provocative insults behind me.
-XXX-
A pop-rap song from last year plays over tinny speakers as a bottle-blonde with unnaturally large breasts pumps her hips for the birthday boy. Butters looks like he can't decide if he wants to smile, cry, throw up, or run away. I wouldn't be surprised if he did all four in that exact order. Cartman is leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a smug smirk. Token, Clyde, Kyle, and Stan are sitting with me, watching pole dancers work their magic. Wendy, Bebe, Tweek, and Craig all begged off, not wanting to end their night with strippers.
"Hey, Re-e-e-n?" Cartman whines from behind us. I heave an exasperated sigh and look over my shoulder at him. "You know, it's always amateur night here. You should ask the DJ to play a song for you and give the pole a try."
Stan, Clyde, and Token stifle snickers, but Kyle knits his brow and purses his lips in an angry frown. Nobody speaks for a minute. I rotate my whole body to face the fat boy, and assume a faux-patient expression. "Are you on crack?" I ask evenly. "Because you would have to be, to think that I would remove any of my clothing at your suggestion."
Kyle still looks pissed, but the other three surrender to their mirth. Cartman's comeback is spoken with a confidential cadence, but a volume loud enough to carry over the treble-heavy music.
"Well, not all of us can be Kenny." The boys' snickers swell into howls as my cheeks redden. Fucking Cartman. I start to pull a Craig and throw the fat bastard the finger over my shoulder, but Kyle grabs my hand. His frown is replaced with surprise and concern as he points to our birthday boy.
"Oh, shit," I say, watching as Butters' face falls. He gives in to a heaving sob, dropping his face to his hands. I'm halfway out of my chair when he looks up, panic-stricken. The lap-dancer finally gets a clue and starts to step back just as Butters unloads a stream of Bennigan's and birthday cake right down her cleavage. She screams and jumps away, and Butters takes this chance to jump up from the chair and run from the building.
Well, I got that part right.
Kyle and I look at each other, desperately trying to remain somber. The dancer, throwing a fit and calling for a bouncer, keeps stomping her platform-shoe-clad foot with each "Oh MY GOD!" and "What the FUCK?". Each stomp splashes her with more vomit and makes her scream "EW!" again and again. Unable to hold it in any longer, all six of us scramble up and out of the smoky room, pealing with glee at the hilarious scene.
Butters is sitting on the hood of my car, knees up, arms crossed and head down. He is crying audibly, too absorbed in his tears to hear us approach. I silently wave the other guys off, letting them know that I'll take care of the emotional Butters. All five of them look relieved as they get in Stan's car. Kyle puts his hand to his ear, pinky up, in an "I'll call you" gesture as they drive away.
"Hey, Butters," I say, climbing up on the hood with him. He moves his head so that his chin is resting on his arms where his forehead was, and studies his shoelaces. I put my hand on his back and make slow, big circles as a last few straggling sobs find their way to the surface. "Do you want me to take you home?"
"Y-yes. N-no. I-I mean, I want to go home, darnit, but I don't wanna be alone yet." He turns to me, eyes glinting in the streetlight. "Will you come with me? I-I've got Hello Kitty Island Adventure, Ren, it's so fun for sure! Or-or we can watch a movie, like Burlesque, I just love Christina Aguilera in that one. Did you see that one, Ren?"
"No, not yet, Butters. Let's go. I'll grab my stuff and we'll have a slumber party." Butters leaps off the hood, the events of the past hour apparently forgotten. He holds out a hand to help me down, and once I have both feet on the ground, gives me a hug.
"Hey Ren?" he asks, face buried in my shoulder.
"Yeah?"
Butters pulls away, keeping his hands on my shoulders. He cocks his head and regards me at arms' length. "Sure Cartman's a dummy, but you know I don't like girls in that way, don'tcha?"
I smile at his confidence. "Of course I do, sweetie." His grin takes over his whole face, causing his nose to wrinkle and his eyes to squeeze shut. "Now let's go; I have a Lady Gaga CD in my room for you so you can memorize all the lyrics before the show."
-XXX-
Back in my room, I change into a cami and shorts and cover the whole thing with a giant hoodie that Kyle lent me in class last week. I grab my pillow, purse, and phone charger, and, as an afterthought, a huge bag of grapes I liberated from the café. My hand is on the doorknob when I notice that Lexus's pink teddy bear is lying on its side on her bed. Butters must have set him there instead of back on her desk. The danger of her even coming home is low, but I don't want her to think I'm into touching her stuff. I pick him up and set him back on her desk between the vase of fake roses and the makeup mirror. Heavy little guy. He must have a voice box inside; one of those "talking" stuffed animals. I don't bother to squeeze him to hear what he says; those things creep me out.
With one last look around the room, I turn off the light, join Butters in the hall, and lock the door. I have a weird sense that I am forgetting something, or missing something, but I dismiss it as Butters and I head to his room, giggling about some boy he is crushing on. Whatever it is, I'll remember it and take care of it tomorrow.
A/N: Sorry for being a tease.
And yes, in my world, Butters is a HUGE Lady Gaga fan. Weird, because I'm not even really a fan, but it seemed right for Butters.
NO, I have never made a periscope to spy on anybody, but I did make one for a science project when I was in third grade. I spied on my hamster, Veggie. She wasn't quite as exciting as Stan and Kyle.
…aaaaand thanks….more drama to come
