What ho? A Kenny chapter? Well, spit in my mouth and call me Sally, howdya like that? No real explanation for it other than "that's just how it happened".

All mistakes are my own, take it up with my agent. :P

"Dude, why the hell do you need to borrow Chicago?"

Wow, Stan picked the most spectacular times to be a pain in the ass.

"Drama club's putting on a production this week and I get extra credit in my English class if I go," Kenny shrugged.

"Why do you want to watch it?"

"So I know what it's about when I go," Kenny groused out. Jesus Christ, Kyle was no better in the ass-pain department.

Stan and Kyle looked at each other in that way that only two total gay-wads look at each other when they can't make sweet passionate love to each other at the first possible second. Kenny sighed and blew his bangs out of his face. Man, his hair was getting dirty. He probably should have showered after the other day with Butters, but there was no hot water at his house and cold showers were no fun for Kenny McCormick.

"Dude, can you two stop eye-fucking each other and just give me Chicago?"

Stan frowned but stood, assumedly to retrieve the movie.

"It's just… it's Shelly's copy and it's, like, one of her favorite movies."

"I'm not going to jerk off onto the shiny side and put it back in the case, Stan."

"Ew," Kyle muttered as Stan left to go find the movie. Kenny sat in Stan's seat and looked down at his homework.

"You're helping him with trig?"

"Yeah, dude, it's not hard," Kyle shrugged. "You could even do it if you tried."

Kenny looked at the graph in front of him, paired with the equation below it, and may have felt his brain hemorrhage just a little bit. Kyle rolled his eyes and started in on a lengthy explanation… because Kyle was really bad at knowing when people just didn't give a shit about what he was saying. When Stan came back in the room, Kenny was fully prepared to grovel at his feet in thanks for freeing him from Kyle's inane drivel.

"So, I texted Shelly and she says you can't take it," Stan said as he fiddled with the DVD case in his hands, "but no one's using the TV or anything, so you're totally welcome to watch it here."

At this Kyle scowled.

"No way, man," he said. "You told me you needed help with your homework and that's what we're doing. Kenny, watch it here tomorrow or something."

"Dude, Kenny wants to watch it," Stan raised an eyebrow, "no one said we had to."

"Stan," Kyle said very frankly, "have you ever seen this movie?"

"Yeah, it was okay," Stan shrugged.

"Okay?" Kyle asked, obviously offended. "Look, Stan, 'okay' doesn't get you six Academy Awards."

"Are you making that number up? I swear you're making that number up."

Kenny blinked and scooted his chair back to get this all in frame—the ping-pong arguments were his favorite kind, when he could just sit back and watch words bounce from one party's mouth to the other's.

"Kenny, will you just take the goddamned movie?" Stan finally shouted and threw the case right at Kenny's chest.

"You guys have popcorn?"

"What? No! Watch your shitty movie and leave us alone."

"It was not shitty!" Kyle snapped. Kenny just rolled his eyes and left for the Marsh's living room. The McCormick family didn't have a DVD player, but thankfully they were about as self-explanatory as could be.

Sex in the opening number—major points already. Chicks in short skirts, dancing around in an epileptic fit of glitz and glam? Well, Kenny wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the glitz and the glam, but murder? That was definitely a big plus. Christ, how was a high school putting on this play without Kyle's mom shitting her pants?

The front door opened and out of the corner of his eye, Kenny could see Mrs. Marsh stumble in with an armful of groceries.

"Stan, I'm home—oh, hello there, Kenny."

"Hi, Mrs. Marsh," Kenny replied absently, too fixated on the size of Queen Latifah's tits really to be bothered with too much else.

"Hey, mom," Stan said as he and Kyle exited the kitchen. Stan moved to help his mom with the groceries while Kyle immediately took a place on the couch beside Kenny.

"Aw, goddamnit Kenny!" Stan cried.

"Language, Stanley," his mother chided half-heartedly as she shed her large winter coat and hung it by the door.

"But mom, Kenny's stupid need to watch this movie made me lose my math tutor," Stan whined as he took the two large grocery bags out of his mother's arms and walked back toward the kitchen.

"Well, if you're so concerned, Kyle can just spend the night," Mrs. Marsh sighed and looked at the screen. "Oh, you boys are watching Chicago? I thought that was Shelly's movie."

"It is," Kyle replied, "we're just watching it because our school is putting it on as their winter show and Kenny's English teacher is offering extra credit to whoever goes to see it."

"Oh, that's nice," Mrs. Marsh smiled. "Stan, don't you and Kenny have the same English teacher?"

"Aw-awwww!"

"Well, a little extra credit couldn't hurt, Stanley," Mrs. Marsh called to her son as she sat on the arm of the couch, presumably staying to watch only for a minute before she went to cook dinner. She slid into the empty seat beside Kenny not too long after.

"That's right, Mrs. Marsh," Kenny said quietly, "let it consume you." Kyle snorted.

"Hey, mom, what are we—aw, son of a bitch!"Stan cried upon seeing the threesome on the couch. "Mom, you need to make dinner!"

"Dude, make dinner yourself," Kenny replied automatically. Half-naked ladies on the screen=aneurism.

"Just order a pizza, Stanley, for goodness sake."

Kenny heard Stan heave a sigh and could practically see him pinch his nose as he grabbed the phone off the side table, even heard a low 'goddamnit' as he left to find the take out menu.

Stan ended up being more than his share of pissed off that he had to go see the play. They were sitting a few rows from the back of the theater, just behind Craig and Tweek, who were also there, Kenny presumed, for the extra credit. Kenny pushed this out of his head and focused on Stan, telling him to forget about Kyle for a night and enjoy the dancing girls onstage.

"Like you used to!"

"What do you mean 'used to'?"

"You know," Kenny shrugged. "Before you fell madly in love with Kyle you used to love dancing girls. Remember, Stan? Remember the days of tits and pussy and—"

"Dude, shut up," Stan wrinkled his nose. "Wendy and I broke up, like, a few months ago. I'm not ready to move on."

"Fucking Kyle doesn't count? That's cold."

"We're not fucking."

At which point Craig whipped around and gave them a cold lingering glare of death.

"I don't care who you shitbags are fucking—shut the fuck up."

"Would you calm down, Craig?" Kenny sighed. "Christ, the show hasn't even started."

"What the fuck ever, I don't want to hear about the depraved shit either of you gets up to when no one's around, especially you, McCormick."

"Maybe you won't give a shit once I suck your dick," Kenny shrugged, leaning forward in his seat so he was very, very close to Craig's ear. "You'll find there's very little to complain about after I've had my depraved way with you."

Craig pushed Kenny's face away and moved, along with Tweek, to find another seat. Kenny looked over at Stan, whose eyebrow couldn't have been closer to colliding with his hairline.

"What?" Kenny snapped. Stan shrugged.

"Interesting," he muttered. Kenny rolled his eyes and sunk in his chair as a perky little bespectacled girl came out on stage to tell people to turn off their cell phones and enjoy the show.

The first few minutes passed without much interest—the girls were way more covered up than the ones in the movie—and Kenny found himself wondering how Butters was going to perform in front of so many people with such a bad stutter.

But then he was onstage and, Good God, whenever this play was supposed to be taking place—the twenties or something?—yeah, that was totally where Butters belonged. Hair slicked back, suspenders, a bowtie… yes, he looked like a doofus, but at least it wouldn't have been anachronistic in the twenties.

Kenny watched Butters move around onstage and, dorky or not, he was… Fuck, he was good-looking. Just a few altercations to the costume and Kenny would've cast him as the lawyer guy without any hesitation.

"Dude, are you fucking ogling Butters?"

"No," Kenny said very quickly. Because that wasn't. suspicious. at all. Stan just looked at him in that stupid way he did and muttered in that stupid voice of his.

"Interesting."

The only reason Kenny kept sneaking up on Butters was that moment of revelation on Butters' face, the moment between sheer horror and annoyance when Butters realized that it was Kenny and gosh did he like Kenny… Kenny at least imagined that Butters' thought process sounded something like that.

"Good show tonight."

Butters let out a little yelp and spun around, fully prepared to wreak havoc on an attacker with his car keys. Kenny felt a warm fuzziness coat his insides when the smaller blonde registered who exactly had scared the living daylights out of him and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Anyone tell you that you probably shouldn't sneak up on people in dark parking lots?" Butters asked lightly, kind-of-sort-of amused behind those heavily lidded eyes. Kenny bit his lip and smiled.

"I figure I should start building up a tolerance to mace," he shrugged.

"Hooray for rape jokes," Butters muttered under his breath. Kenny's smile widened as he approached the car, hands in his jacket pockets as he searched his brain for something new to say. Luckily, Butters went first.

"That's real nice that you came, though, Kenny," he gave a small smile. Kenny smirked and leaned on the driver's side door.

"You kidding?" he asked. "You don't just give me a hand job, ignore me all week, and expect me not to come to your show."

The younger boy flushed bright pink and Kenny couldn't help it—he had to kiss him.

Butters' lips were soft between Kenny's… kind of like a girl's lips but without all that sweet crap they insisted on wearing. He ran his fingertips over the back of the smaller boy's neck, up his neck, and along his jaw and—stubble? Facial hair. Of course Butters had facial hair. Why… god, why was that such a weird thought to wrap his head around? Kenny pulled back but kept his fingers on the jaw before him—angled and long and covered in new croppings up of stubble.

"O-oh," Butters muttered. "I ha-haven't really had ti-time to shave this week, so I just didn't bother this morning. Kinda added character anyway."

"It's not bad," Kenny decided aloud. "Just a little surprising. And seriously, this is all you have after a week of not shaving?"

"We-well, yeah," Butters shrugged and leaned against his car. Self-conscious.

"No, it's not a bad thing," Kenny laughed. "Just… a week without shaving and I get kind of…"

"Scruffy?"

"Homeless-looking."

"Ah."

"It's cool, Butters," Kenny smiled. "Some guys are just hairy. Ever seen Stan in a swimsuit? Horrifying."

Butters let out a little laugh and smiled weakly. He was tired—after a show like that, who could blame him?

"Maybe I should drive you home," Kenny said, not bothering to mention that Stan had given him a ride there and had left not two seconds after the show was over. "You look way too tired and it's been really icy out lately." Butters looked up at him as though they'd never met before, wary of the young man before him, and attempted to unlock the driver's door. When it proved that he was too tired to do even that, Kenny grabbed the keys from him and escorted him to the passenger's side.

"Do you have a license?" Butters asked. Kenny rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I have a license," he sighed. "I just don't have a car. Now get in the passenger's seat before I put you there."

"How'll you get home?" Butters wondered aloud as he moved to meet Kenny's demands.

"Well, being that it's a Friday night, I figured a sleepover might be okay."

"Are you kidding?" Butters whined. "I was—I just… Kenny, I'm sleepy!"

"Which is why I'm driving you home," Kenny said as he got in the car. He started the engine up and let it run for a few minutes. It really was too fucking cold in this goddamn town.

"I don't want to sex tonight."

"Or form coherent sentences, apparently," Kenny smirked and backed out of the parking space. He drove in complete silence to Butters' house, and even though he was lonely and would've loved to talk, Butters had fallen asleep and he was way too peaceful-looking to disturb. He waited all the way until Butters' car was in the driveway, all shut up and whatnot, to wake the smaller boy and ask for the key to the front door. Even if he and Butters got married and retired to South Beach to open up a drag club, Kenny would still count the night he slung Butters over his shoulder and carried him up to his room as the gayest thing he'd ever done or would ever do.

He set the sleeping boy on his bed, the key upon the bookcase beside the door, toed off his shoes, pulled Butters' very forcefully from his feet (fucking nerds and their double-knots), and pulled the covers over both of them. He almost didn't even care that Butters would wake in a few hours and yell at him to leave.

Walking home in this cold was going to be hellish to the nth degree, but he'd deal, because it was Butters and Butters was his friend… his adorably handsome friend who had no problem with jerking him off. No problems, at least, as far as Kenny could tell. Maybe he was reading way too far into it—

"You're in my bed."

Kenny rolled over to find Butters' gaze locked firmly upon him. Kenny tried to brush it off with a smile but knew he wasn't doing a very good job of conveying any form of nonchalance. He brushed at Butters' bangs with his fingers.

"You want me to leave?" he asked softly. Butters sighed and shook his head.

"Just stay on your side," he said. "Don't want my parents getting too suspicious."

Kenny smiled. Sleep came way too easily after that.

Maybe it was because of the ridiculously comfortable mattress, maybe Butters had chickened out in the middle of the night, or, hell, Kenny could've honestly just fallen. The point was, somehow he ended up on Butters' floor the next morning without a clue as to why. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and saw Butters, freshly showered, sitting at his desk and browsing facebook. Kenny smirked and snuck up behind him, taking good care to plant a kiss on his stubble-free cheek.

"Hey, Kenny," Butters laughed. "How'd you sleep?"

"I woke up on the floor," Kenny shrugged. "I've had worse Friday nights." Butters rolled his eyes and swiveled around in his desk chair. Kenny had to keep his tongue in his head at the sight—Butters, hair still a little wet from his shower, in a plain white t-shirt and baggy jeans. Son of a bitch, there'd been plenty of air in his lungs before. Butters followed Kenny's gaze and blushed.

"Oh, w-well,—" Kenny was on his lap now "—it's laundry day a-and thi-this—" sucking and licking at his neck now "—is the only thing I really have to w-w-wea—oh god."

"Tell me, Leopold," Kenny began, too eager for his own good. "What kind of porn do you have on that computer of yours?"

"I-I don't have any," Butters muttered. Kenny snorted and licked a thick stripe from his collarbone up to just under his jaw.

"You're seventeen-years-old and you have your own computer—don't lie."

"Ke-Kenny… my pa-parents."

"Like I've never had to hide from someone's parents before," Kenny smiled. Butters whined and pulled him into a kiss. There was something so ridiculously satisfying about breaking down Butters' resolve. Kenny gripped Butters' damp hair in his hands and gave his hips a little thrust forward.

This made something in Butters' brain snap. Kenny soon found himself sprawled out flat on the floor, pinned there (because Butters pinned his fucking wrists above his head) as the younger boy just went to town on him—biting, kissing, licking, thrusting, stroking, and ohsweetmercifulgod, how was this kid still a virgin?

"Wanna know why I don't watch porn anymore?" Butters breathed in Kenny's ear, voice soft and low and husky and Kenny could definitely get used to hearing that sound forever.

"Why?" Kenny asked. He needed to hear more—it was a vital necessity. Absolutely vital.

"Because I couldn't stop once I started," Butters replied and nipped at Kenny's earlobe.

"Ever think you might be a sex addict?"

Butters didn't answer, just ground his hips against Kenny's and smiled. Kenny took advantage of the moment and flipped them, taking extra care to sit right on Butters' hard-on. Butters groaned.

"Fu-fuck me?"

Kenny's heart may have stopped just a little bit. Not enough to send him into cardiac arrest, but Butters could be responsible for his first death in months if he wasn't careful. But there he was—all earnest and red in the face, chest heaving and blue eyes wide. Holy shit, he was serious.

"I—what happened to taking it slow?"

Butters rolled his eyes.

"Suck me then?"

Kenny blinked.

"Fuck yeah, I can do that."

"Been hanging out with Butters a lot lately."

Fuck. Kenny had been hoping that turning up at Kyle's house on a Saturday morning, dopey-ass grin on his face would just go unnoticed. Kenny got laid on a fairly regular basis—it was not odd to see him with a stupid smile on his face, and it was because of this that Kenny didn't bother looking away from the big screen TV on which his character was totally fucking annihilating Stan's. Kyle, meanwhile, was on the floor in front of them, spread out with all his books from his genius classes, and seemed to expect an immediate answer anyway.

"Yeah, so?" Kenny shrugged, mashing his fingers into every button possible. He could feel Kyle shrug from where he sat. The shrug: the key to male communication.

"He's a fucking Melvin," Stan supplied when Kyle was unable to come up with a viable argument.

"He's actually kind of cool," Kenny said.

"How the fuck is he cool, dude?" Stan asked. "I mean, he's a nice guy and all, but… such a tool."

"Dude, don't hate just because you can't make a new friend to save your life," Kenny quipped. "You've been stuck with this fucking nerd since we were crapping our pants. I happen to be a citizen of the world, and thus enjoy expanding my horizons."

Stan paused the game long enough to deliver a swift punch to Kenny's stomach. Even with the wind knocked out of him, Kenny still found it in himself to laugh. Then the front door opened and in strode Cartman, fresh from a weekend debate club meeting. Kyle still held it against him—debate club had been his thing, and then Cartman had to come in and drive him out.

"Ahh, Kenny," said Cartman imperiously as he tossed his bag right on top of Kyle's books and shoved the blonde aside. "How kind of you to keep my controller warm for me. You truly are a brave and decent human being."

"Fucking fatass," Kyle and Kenny muttered simultaneously as Cartman and Stan resumed the game.

"Cartman, what do you think about Kenny spending all this time with Butters?"

"What, that faggot?" Cartman scoffed. "Butters is probably sucking his dick or something 'cause chicks won't do it without diamonds."

"You don't have to buy a girl diamonds to get her to go down on you, fatass!" Kyle snapped.

"Yu-hunh," Cartman snapped. "That's what my mom told me."

"Well, she would know," Kenny muttered. Kyle and Stan laughed.

"Yeah, well I guess all you have to do for faggots like Butters is get 'em a pearl necklace," Cartman shot back.

"Shut the fuck up, fatass!" Kenny shouted. All three of his friends turned and looked at him with the utmost curiosity. Kenny shifted in his seat but made no other sudden movements—if there was one thing you learned when hanging out with these guys, you definitely never broke a poker face if you could help it, and if you did, you denied the fuck out of it. It probably would've been a lot easier to keep cool if he didn't still have the taste of Butters' dick on the back of his tongue.

"Butters is way different now," Kenny decided to explain quite, quite calmly. "And it's not cool to call him a fag, dude. He's got feelings."

"Ha!" Cartman barked. "Pretty soon you'll be sucking his dick right back, fucking fag."

"God, why do you care?" Kenny groaned. "I know you're all fucked up 'cause you never had a dad or whatever, but that doesn't mean you can terrorize the crap out of other people to make them as goddamned miserable as you, you pathetic sack of shit."

Cartman locked eyes with Kenny, seemingly stunned out of a retort. His mouth opened and shut a few times, trying to form around something good to say, but nothing came. He sighed, laid a hand on Kenny's shoulder, and gave a sad, remorseful squeeze.

"Wow, Kenny," he said softly. "You really opened my eyes there. Really changed my perspective on life. Now, tell me, when Butters blows his load all over your face does glitter come out or do you boys add that afterward and just use it as make up for when you go out to the clubs?"

Kenny punched Cartman in the eye. And yeah, that was probably a mistake seeing how Cartman had at least 150 pounds on him easily. Kyle had to dive out of the way as Kenny and Cartman threw punch after punch, grappling on the floor until Kenny had the upper hand and Stan was actually able to pull them apart.

"What is wrong with you two?" he shouted.

"He started it," Kenny spat venomously as he moved to touch a tender patch of flesh on his cheek. Cartman had a black eye and a split lip. Win.

"Yeah, and he's not being any more of a dick than usual," Kyle said very plainly. "But we all let him do it, call him a fucking fatass, and move on."

"Yeah, dude," Stan jumped in. "It's, like, the natural order of the universe or whatever." Kenny scowled and wrenched himself out of Stan's grip, but didn't move to launch a second attack. Instead he smoothed out his sweater and pants, adjusted his underwear, which had ridden up his asscrack mid-fight, and pretended that his three best friends weren't staring at him like he had herpes of the face.

Yeah, that wasn't working too well…

"What?" he snapped.

"Dude, are you okay?"

"Fine," Kenny said lightly. Kyle quirked an eyebrow.

"You're obviously not," he said in a tone all too similar to his mother's. Stan stared at him with a look of utter concern, with a look of knowing. It was really starting to creep Kenny out.

"You know you can tell us anything, right, dude?" he asked. Ugh, it was mom-Stan and… mom-Kyle?

"Shit," Kyle said, "you're not cheesing again, are you?"

Kenny gave what had to have been the biggest eye-roll in recorded history.

"I need a cigarette," he muttered and left out the front door. He stepped off of the Broflovski stoop and walked down the snow-covered sidewalk with no destination in mind, with no intention of returning. Plus, lighting up back there ran the risk of Kyle's mom finding out that he was smoking, and that was the last thing Kenny needed. He took a deep drag and sighed.

Something about the acrid smoke making home in his lungs had always pacified Kenny. Be it from tobacco or pot, Kenny enjoyed smoke in all its carcinogenic glory. The only thing he enjoyed more than a good smoke was sex, and being that he'd just had a bit of that… never let it be said that Kenny didn't enjoy variety in his life.

Fuck, why had Kenny let Cartman get to him like that? That and the play last night… Stan probably knew something was up. God, why the fuck did Kenny care? Why did he care if his friends knew that he was… that he was… fuck, what was he?

Kenny took another drag of his cigarette and sat down on a bench. Christ almighty, this is why Kenny avoided thinking for too long a time… it only led to trouble and self-doubt and Kenny never doubted himself. Most of the time. But the implications of screwing around with Butters, enjoying it (oh, God in heaven did he enjoy the fuck out of what they did), and wanting nothing more than to run right back to that little blonde's room and never leave—

Kenny's phone buzzed in his pocket and immediately he moved to retrieve it. How did his heart sink when Bebe's name popped up on the screen? He flipped open the phone and read the text that popped up on the screen.

parents r out. cum over? ;)

Kenny flicked his cigarette butt into a pile of snow in front of him and typed a hasty response. Yes, Bebe's offer would be a spectacular distraction from this… whatever this was. He pulled his hood over his head and made his way over to Bebe's side of town, already eager to forget every Buttery thought that'd ever crossed his mind.