Butters keeps to his word too. He fumes through the last fifteen minutes of his shift, rides his bike home, and locks himself up in his room without a word to his parents. He doesn't even change out of his vest before he grabs his book off of his nightstand and wrenches it open to where he last left off.

This is a good book, okay? He can finish a good book in record time if no one bugs him. It's taken him a good two weeks now to get through this book, and it's because Kyle refuses to talk to Stan (or Kenny for some reason), and every time Butters goes over there, they end up screwing around.

Not that that isn't fun or anything, but it's a really good book.

Like there's a bat signal in the sky ("BUTTERS IS OFF WORK, HURRY!"), his phone buzzes not two seconds after Butters finishes the first paragraph. A request from Kyle to come hang out.

Butters screws up all his hostile annoyance and declines before he returns to his book.

Kyle at least doesn't pester him. He can take a hint, unlike a lot of other guys Butters has slept with in the past.

He gets about another chapter ahead before his mom comes knocking at his door. He looks over and realizes that he's still fully dressed for work, shoes and all, and at her scrutinizing glance kicks off at least those before offering her a smile.

"I'm making tea, would you like some?" she asks.

"Sure, mom," he gives her a light smile and goes back to his book.

When she doesn't leave, he looks back over at her and asks, "Everything okay?"

"I should be asking you that," she folds her arms over her chest. "You looked upset when you came home."

"I'm fine," Butters shrugs and lays the book flat on his stomach. "Just itchin' to finish this book is all. And someone dropped a watermelon today and decided to hide it behind one of the stands, so… that was annoying."

"Well, a job is a job," his mom sighs. "At least no one died."

Butters shuts his eyes and nods, "Yeah. Thanks mom."

She leaves and returns with a hot mug of tea a few minutes later. She kisses him on the forehead, tells him to take off that atrocious vest, and tells him that dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes.

That's more than enough reading time, Butters thinks to himself, and settles in to his fluffy pillows and thick duvet, feeling more relaxed already.

It doesn't last five minutes though, because his phone buzzes again and, "I swear to God, Kyle, I'm gonna smack you in your stupid face."

It's not from Kyle though, it's from Kenny.

Kenny, who knows Butters likes him now.

Kenny, who hasn't really talked to him since graduation.

Kenny, who's sweet and loving and asks things over text message like, 'have you evr been in love'.

Butters' face lights up and he sets his book back down on his stomach, responding with shaking hands, 'What brought this on?'

It's not another minute before he gets a response, 'can i come over'

'If you want to talk about Bebe, find someone else. I'm reading.'

'not abt Bebe, can i still come'

Butters ignores the perfect opportunity for innuendo and replies, 'Sure. You could probably stay for dinner too if you wanted.'

He doesn't get a response back, but the doorbell rings not long after and Butters bolts down the stairs to get it before his dad can, but he's too late. Kenny stands like a straw man in their doorway, momentarily unable to form words as he and Butters' dad look at each other.

"Uh," Butters breaks the silence. "Hey, Ken."

Kenny turns an earnest set of blue eyes on Butters and smiles broadly. "Hey, Butters," he hums back, and Butters' stomach makes a funny twist. Butters cocks his head up the stairs and Kenny follows, big bulky work boots that have to be too hot for summer tromping along behind him. When they get into his room, Butters shuts the door and leans back against it, not quite wanting to look Kenny in the eye.

"So," Kenny breaks the silence, and Butters nods.

"So."

"I, um… I brought you something," Kenny fishes something out of his threadbare sweater (it's way too hot to be wearing that, Butters thinks). It's a flower, slightly crushed from being stuffed into a pocket, a rich purple one that makes Butters' muscles seize.

"Kenny that's a columbine," Butters smacks his hand exasperatedly to his cheek. He explains upon seeing the bemused knit in Kenny's brow, "That's the state flower, it's illegal to pick those."

"'the fuck, really?" Kenny turns the flower to face him now, looking at it like it's done him some kind of wrong. "How in the shit do you regulate that?"

Butters rolls his eyes and plucks the flower from Kenny's hand. It's a nice gesture, at least, and it really is a gorgeous flower.

"Wait," he pauses then, "Wh-why're you givin' me a flower?"

"I don't know," Kenny's gaze flits down to his filthy boots. His ratty jeans are covered in grass stains and dirt, and his cheeks are pink and more freckly than usual, which makes Butters think he's spent his day rolling around in a field somewhere, seeking council from the broad blue sky as he so often does during summertime.

"You don't know?" Butters parrots back, and Kenny stuffs his hands back in his pockets, fist closing habitually around a pack of cigarettes.

"I mean—I do know," Kenny rolls his head from side to side, expending the excess energy that his hand won't allow. "I just don't know how to say it."

Butters' cheeks flare up; if he opens his mouth to speak, he knows his tongue won't wrap around the words properly, like he's seven and not seventeen. A stew of anticipation and nerves churns in his gut, paralyzing him as he watches Kenny's eyes flit through whatever he's trying to say.

"Um," he finally says. "I guess… I know you like me."

Adding now to the brew in his belly, a lead weight settles deep within him. Of course that's what this is about. A flower to soften the blow.

"You're great, but not that great."

Butters has been preparing himself for this conversation for years.

"I like you too," is what Kenny says instead, though, and Butters' entire body seizes.

"Wh-what?"

"I like you," Kenny says again. "Like you like me."

And Butters finally snaps back into himself.

"Like I like you," Butters murmurs, staring at the flower. "I don't just l-like you, though… you know that."

Kenny lets out a long breath and stares down at his feet again.

"I know," he admits. "But, like… I don't just like you either. You're my best friend, and I tell you everything. And I didn't realize that you don't tell me everything, and that was weird."

"I do tell you everything," Butters hops to his defense, but there's no bite behind it, no meaning, because above all he knows that he doesn't tell Kenny everything. Kenny doesn't know that Butters used to give Tweek handjobs in the locker room during gym to calm him down, or that he once let Craig suck him off when they were both drunk in Token's basement; he doesn't know about the boy who lives down the street from his cousins in Florida, or the guy who lives next to his aunt in Hollywood.

"I'm sorry," he sighs then and lets the flower hang by his side, twirling between his fingers. "I didn't want to mess this up. You don't even like boys all that much."

"You know that doesn't mean jack shit to me," Kenny shoots back, eyebrows furrowed. "I like you more than I like dudes, Butters. It doesn't matter what is or isn't attached to you, I—you're just, like, totally beautiful and great and I just… I don't know."

Butters lets the words soak in, weight shifting back and forth as he twirls his flower still.

"Is this only because I slept with Kyle?" he asks then.

"Not… exclusively," Kenny grabs the back of his neck, the sleeve of his sweater riding up to reveal just a hint of his inky tattoos.

Butters wants to lick all of them with his mouth.

"If no one had told you," Butters wets his lips. "A-and if I'd never said anythin', would you've ever given me a second thought like this?"

"That's not the point," Kenny gives an exasperated roll of his eyes.

"What is?" Butters shrugs, lifting the flower back up to sniff at it. "This isn't just a 'gee, I wish I could fuck him' thing, Kenny. It's… I don't know, I wanna go to the movies with you, an' go to museums an' plays with you—don't make that face, I know you love doing that stuff—and I even might think about having babies with you sometimes and –Jesus, Kenny, it's so much more than anything you could say to me right now. So, sorry if I don't wanna just fuck around with you."

"Who said I wanna fuck around?" Kenny asks, keeping his voice low. "Dude, you think I'd be this fucking jacked up if all I wanted to do is fuck around? I care about you. Like, real bad. And maybe I haven't known it for as long as you have, but don't be an asshole and tell me I can't care about you like that."

"Aw, Jesus," Butters boxes in his ears with his hands and crouches down beside his dresser. This is exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries so, so hard to push all of this out of his head.

He just wanted to finish his book tonight.

That's all.

"Hey," comes Kenny's soft voice, and when Butters opens his eyes Kenny is right there in front of him, on his knees and wrapping his long fingers around Butters' thick wrists.

"You're okay," Kenny gives him a reassuring smile and runs his fingers through Butters' fine hair.

They're so close together that Butters can feel Kenny's warm breath—stale cigarettes and spicy gum—fanning over his lips, mingling with his own. Kenny's hands slide from his wrists to cup softly at his jaw, and like that he pushes their lips together.

Butters melts against it, dropping the flower onto his carpet and grabbing clumsily for any part of Kenny he can get a hold of. Kenny's lips are still rough and chapped, but warm and malleable between Butters'. That's all either of them let this first kiss be, and when they pull back and finally look at each other, they're both out of breath and smiling timidly.

They kiss again; this time Kenny licks softly into Butters' mouth, and Butters lets out a soft, pitiful whine that makes Kenny break away with a laugh.

"I like the way you kiss," he states and rests their foreheads together. "I could definitely get behind doing that."

"Yeah?" Butters' voice cracks through a laugh, and apparently it's so endearing that it gets Kenny to wrap his arms around him and kiss him again. Butters falls out of his crouch, legs splayed out as Kenny scoots forward to press them close together.

He could be this close to Kenny for the rest of his life, he thinks, and never ever be discontented again.

Then Butters' mom calls up the stairs for dinner and they spring apart. Butters swallows the lump in his throat and tells her to hang on as he scrambles to his feet.

"We should maybe talk about this," he says.

"Yeah," Kenny nods back.

"Definitely somewhere that's not here," Butters tosses his head down toward the general direction of his parents. Kenny nods and hops up, straightening out his sweater and Butters' hair before he asks, "Come with me?"

They tromp downstairs, where Butters informs his parents that he'll eat his dinner later, that Kenny needs his help and he'll be back in a little while. His dad doesn't question it, and his mom says she'll try to save him a plate in the microwave, but Butters' heart is hammering too hard for him to care.

Kenny takes his hand initially to lead him away from his house, but now that they're far enough away and walking in stride with one another they're still joined there, and Butters' stomach gets all bubbly and warm.

"Y'know we're holdin' hands?" he asks. Kenny looks down to where their fingers are laced together, and gets a little pinker in the cheeks.

"Guess so," he gives Butters a smile.

"We haven't done this since we were little," Butters lifts their hands up, examining them. Kenny's fingers are long and spidery; Butters' are thick and strong, and for a minute Butters worries that he's squeezing Kenny's too tightly.

"Yeah," Kenny hums and kisses their fingers where they're slotted together. It's totally cheesy, but Butters has always been a sucker for cheesy stuff like that.

He assumes they're going to Stark's Pond, but Kenny leads them right past it. They continue on until they get to Stan's house. The windows are all dark, and before Butters can ask just what it is they're doing there, Kenny walks over to the gate and undoes the combination lock on the latch.

"Uh," Butters finally says when they're in the back yard. "All right, I'm stumped. What exactly are we doin' here?"

Kenny wordlessly points up to the tree house in the giant tree behind Stan's house.

The tree house that has been there for at least ten years.

The tree house that used to groan and creak under Eric Cartman's weight.

Butters remembers the summer that one of the planks on the trunk of the tree gave out under Eric and sent him thundering back down into the grass. He'd broken his arm and no one had really used it since—at least, not to Butters' knowledge.

"No," is all Butters says.

"Oh, come on," Kenny tugs him closer to the crude structure. "Stan and I fixed it up a couple summers ago, it's nice in there now."

"No way in hell is that thing strong enough to hold the both of us," Butters shakes his head, feet planted firmly in the grass.

"It holds me, Kyle, and Stan's big ass, don't worry," Kenny grabs onto the (admittedly) new-looking rope dangling from the platform above. "This is the way up now, though, just in case fatass ever tries to rain on our parade."

"Or me," Butters gazes up as Kenny swings back and forth on the rope. "I've got the upper body strength of a newborn, you know that."

"Well, maybe there's a rope ladder up there too," Kenny considers lightly, pausing in his wriggling around to peck a light kiss to Butters' lips. "I swear, it's nice. We put Shelly's old mattress up there."

"God, did you just make it into a sex cave?" Butters chuckles to himself, still apprehensive.

"Well, it's a tree house, not a cave, so," Kenny glances up, "no."

"Just shut up and climb before I change my mind," Butters smacks him lightly, and Kenny grins broadly. He's got some of the pointiest canine teeth Butters has ever seen on another human.

Butters would like to lick those too, he thinks, as Kenny scrambles up the rope and onto the platform. Sure enough, he lets down a little rope ladder and has to reassure Butters with every tentative step that he takes that he's not going to break anything, including himself.

It takes him entirely too long to reach the top, but once he's there Kenny gives him a congratulatory kiss, and wow, okay, Butters could definitely get used to those.

The tree house has been revamped, that much is certain. Kenny's handy with tools, and even though he still refuses to take shop classes ("because I will fucking die Butters"), he's learned enough through working odd jobs with his dad and brother to have made it nice and sturdy. They both have to walk on their knees once inside, but sure enough Shelly's old pillow top mattress takes up most of the far wall, bare except for a few pillows.

"You guys went all out," Butters whistles and sits back on the bed. "Aw come on, is that a mini-fridge?"

"Bet your sweet ass," Kenny grins as he roots around in it, extracting two beers. "Thank Christ for extension cords, or we'd be fucked."

"Or just sober," Butters offers. Kenny sticks out his tongue and sits down beside Butters, slotted warm against him, and hands him one of the cans. They pop the tops at the same time and take long, grateful drinks in silence.

"Wow, that tastes like crap," Butters hisses.

"It's all Kevin will buy me," Kenny knocks against Butters' foot with his boot. "None of us are generally all that picky."

Butters grins and takes another drink. "Now, be honest," he says. "How much dried come and vagina juice am I sitting on right now?"

A laugh explodes out of Kenny, and Butters is grateful. At least he can still make Kenny laugh—that much hasn't changed.

"I can't speak for my comrades, but I've never fucked anyone up here," Kenny confesses. "Mostly we needed the mattress up here because Stan would get so drunk that he wouldn't be able to climb back down."

"Charming," Butters rests his head back against the warm wood. It's stuffy in there, but nothing too unbearable. He still reaches over to prop open one of the wooden hatches, though. It's not quite dark yet—it probably won't be for at least another hour and a half.

When he sits back in his spot, Kenny pulls him into a kiss, beer already sour on his tongue. Butters doesn't mind so much, nor does he mind when Kenny pulls off his super market vest and toss it on the floor.

"Wait a sec," Butters pulls back. "Kenny, don't—if you're not ready to do anything—"

"Hey," Kenny pouts softly. "That's usually my line."

"Well?" Butters raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Kenny presses a kiss right to the center of his forehead.

"Are you ready?" he asks back, and Butters meets his eyes.

"I mean it, Kenny," Butters continues softly. "Don't do this to me if you'll just walk away later."

Kenny sets their beers down and presses Butters back into the mattress, warm weight against him.

"Butters Stotch, I couldn't walk away from you even if I wanted to," he says so softly that Butters almost can't hear him. He presses a light kiss to Butters' lips, "You mean so much to me, Larry."

Butters rolls his eyes as Kenny laughs way too hard at what isn't even a funny joke. "Leopold, you jackwagon."

"Right, Leonard, that's what I said," Kenny snorts into Butters' neck, and Butters pinches him on the side.

"Such an ass."

And then Kenny silences him with a kiss, and he gets way too hot after that. Kenny's fingers brush over a patch of skin just under his work shirt, right through the fine trail of hair leading into his pants.

They go slowly, kissing between periods of roaming hands and mapping out more than they could memorize in one night. The beer colors both of their cheeks, makes them less apprehensive, makes it easier for both of them to shed their clothes when curious hands come caressing.

Kenny is the first to get naked all the way, two parts exhibitionist and one part eager, while Butters still has his pants and boxer briefs halfway on. Kenny's cock is hard and beautiful, nice and dark against the rest of him, shining at the tip with arousal.

"God, I wanna suck your cock so bad," Butters breathes (though Butters blames it mostly on the two sips of beer he's had) and Kenny grins.

"I wanna see yours first," Kenny kisses down Butters' chest, and like that he pulls the rest of his clothes off.

And they're naked together. And it's sort of wonderful and a lot frightening. Kenny is thin and lanky, pale aside from the tattoo on his left arm: the outline of a skull, empty eye sockets boring straight into Butters, with the words 'Memento Mori' in big Gothic letters on a banner underneath.

"Wow," Kenny sits back for a moment, marveling silently. Then he draws the back of one knuckle up the length of Butters' cock and praises, "You're so fucking hot."

"Oh, god," Butters squirms against the barely-there touch, and groans when Kenny takes him into his hand.

"What can I do for you?" Kenny murmurs against Butters' cheek, nipping and licking over what baby fat still remains there.

"Mm, fuck me," Butters stretches languidly into the touch. Warm though it is, his nipples are hard as rocks, and gooseflesh pimples his skin.

"Yeah?" Kenny grins. "You got lube?"

"Check my pants pockets," Butters points over the side of the mattress. "Why's everyone always look at me like that?" Butters rolls his eyes as Kenny roots around in Butters' pants. "Guess what we couldn't do if I didn't think about this kinda thing."

"You're fucking incredible," Kenny smiles as he comes back with a travel size tube of lube and a condom. He pulls Butters close by his hips and Butters lets his thighs splay open. Kenny squirts lube over his fingers and slides one in Butters expertly, and then another.

"Mm, I like that," Butters arches into the touch. He moans nice and low when Kenny's fingers hit his prostate, thrusting up against the ministrations. The third finger doesn't even hurt as much as it normally does, maybe because it's Kenny, or maybe because he's just been doing so much lately that he's sort of used to it by now.

Either way, it's amazing.

He feels a little empty when Kenny retracts his fingers, and has to grab the condom from Kenny when his fingers keep slipping on the foil packet. He sits up and tears the packet open, though before he does anything he does have to get this out of the way. He shifts and takes just the tip of Kenny's cock into his mouth, earning a surprised groan.

He tastes as good as he looks.

"Sorry," Butters grins up at him, "I had to. Wanna see a trick?"

"Is that even a question?" Kenny laughs breathlessly. Butters grins back at him and places the condom in his mouth, dipping down again and rolling the condom over Kenny's cock with his lips and tongue. Not the greatest trick to do with a regular, non-flavored condom, but the yucky taste in his mouth is definitely worth the look of shocked bliss on Kenny's face.

"Where in the fuck did you learn that?"

"My days in the Navy," Butters jests back, and reclines again back against the mattress. "Come on, now. I wanna feel you inside me."

Kenny doesn't need to be told twice. He scoots forward, still dazed, and moves between Butters' legs to press his cock against his entrance. Butters sighs and lets Kenny slip inside him, head pounding with the vivid reality of it all. Kenny is inside him, pressed so deep inside him that Butters sees stars.

It's way too hot in the tree house, but even though they're both sweating and the air is thick with the smell of arousal, Butters wouldn't want it any other way. He wants to keep Kenny inside him forever, a part of him, with him forever.

"Fuck, I keep getting sweat on you," Kenny pants, eyes screwed shut. "That's nasty."

"It's okay," Butters reassures him and begs over and over, "Just go."

And then Kenny starts moving and Butters loses all conscious thought. Something deep inside him takes over, makes him wrap around Kenny and move with him, an instinct that he didn't even know he had. He's had sex before—he's even had good sex before—but nothing quite like this.

They just fit together.

Kenny builds up a good rhythm, and Butters does everything in his power to match it. Kenny hits all the right spots inside him, kisses all the right spots on his jaw and on his neck.

Then Kenny falls out of it, going so hard and fast that Butters can't do anything but whine and dig his fingernails into Kenny's shoulders. Kenny brings a hand down to stroke Butters between them, but he still comes first, groaning loudly in the small space as his hand goes still on Butters' cock.

He won't let Butters finish himself off though, as he smacks Butters' hand away when he tries. It doesn't take Butters too long to come anyway, and he wraps his legs around Kenny, holding him close as he pumps his release all over his stomach and Kenny's hand.

Butters is going to miss Kenny when he's gone from inside him, he can already tell.

Kenny doesn't linger, either. It's much too hot for that. He rolls off to the side and pulls his condom off, and Butters was right—he already misses the fullness.

Kenny lets out a 'whoop' that sounds not unlike a wolf's howl, though, and Butters giggles in his post-orgasmic haze.

"You're ridiculous," Butters murmurs.

"You're sexy as fuck," Kenny returns and kisses his cheek. "I can't decide if I'm elated, or if I'm pissed. Because we could've been doing that for years."

"No, 'cause then I would've learned that condom trick on you, and accidentally bitten you instead of my cousin's neighbor," Butters stretches and turns to face Kenny. "I'd rather have bit him than you."

"Vicious," Kenny beams and comes forward to peck a kiss to his lips.

"That's me," Butters snorts. "You think Stan'll freak out if we take a nap for a while?"

"Probably not," Kenny yawns, and Butters returns. "Stay on your side, though, I'm sweating bullets over here."

Butters hums in agreement, and lets his eyes slip shut, sleep coming so much easier knowing Kenny is beside him.