Hi guys! This chapter jumps back ahead to the time of the prologue, just so you're aware. Don't want anyone getting too confused.
A big thank you to all of you who're sticking around, even when things are slowing down. Your patience and love is much appreciated.
And now, an interlude...
Kenny likes to think he's pretty good about sharing his kid with Butters. It's not like he ever really had a choice anyway—the fucker had all but swooped in and gotten all chummy with him right from the start.
God, he's their kid, their kid, he's always been their kid. Butters has just as much of a claim on him as Kenny does. Kenny sees them in the kitchen every morning, eating breakfast, both ready for the day when Kenny's only just rolled out of bed, looking just as much the part of father and son as Kenny and Patrick do. Truth be told, Kenny loves waking up to that. He never thought he'd say it, but it's true.
"'morning, dad!" Patrick greets him brightly through a mouthful of cereal.
"'morning, sweetheart," Kenny yawns and rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he shuffles past the table to the cupboard. He's compromised with everyone over the years, and the general consensus on sugary cereals has been that he's allowed to keep Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Honey Nut Cheerios, and Life in the house, even though he doesn't much care for any of those. His boyfriend and his son are both somehow of the mind that shredded wheat and Raisin Bran are gifts from God that should be cherished and savored. Call him old fashioned, but Kenny really doesn't think he should have to hit up his fourteen-year-old niece for a bowl of Froot Loops when he goes to visit her and her sisters.
He settles on the Honey Nut Cheerios, deciding to pretend they're big and sugary and colorful and exactly what he wants so his son won't think he's a total fuckwit for wanting to eat children's cereal. Not that Patrick doesn't have a multitude of reasons to think he's a fuckwit anyway, but Kenny's all about limiting the opportunities on that front. He sets his bowl down on the table, gives Butters a kiss on the cheek, and sits down to eat.
"What're you boys up to?" he asks when he realizes that he must've walked in on them talking about something, or they wouldn't have gotten so quiet so fast. Kenny had resigned himself to the fact that they'll always have their own thing, and to be fair he and Patrick have their own thing too, but it wasn't nearly on the level of laughing and talking over soggy, fibrous cereal.
"Nothing," Patrick shrugs. Then Kenny remembers that, shit, Patrick's suspended from school with nowhere to go. He scratches at the back of his head—he can't leave him home, and he sure as shit can't take him to work.
"I'm gonna see if grandma will watch you," Kenny decides through a yawn.
"Which grandma?" Patrick asks very cautiously, which only makes Butters roll his eyes and Kenny snort.
"Grandma Carol," he replies. "Why?"
"No way," Patrick shakes his head. "Grandpa's there and he always tries to throw baseballs at my face."
"That's called playing catch," Kenny says very frankly.
"It's dangerous!" Patrick exclaims and brings his cereal closer to himself. Kenny highly doubts that. Stuart may be a total dickweed, but he did enjoy a good game of catch with his boys. Kevin had been more inclined to that kind of thing when they'd been kids, while Kenny had preferred video games and looking at Playboy over actual interaction with his family. Patrick was in the same boat… God help everyone, minus the porn.
"Maybe Grandma Linda can take you," Butters chimes in. That sends a chill right up Kenny's spine. All of Patrick's grandparents are legitimately insane, Carol and Stuart definitely included, but he doesn't know why letting Patrick hang out with Linda for a whole day rubs him in entirely the wrong way. She's helped them out a fuck of a lot over the years, and as much as Kenny hates to admit it, she's come to love Patrick like he' actually her own blood. He knows he shouldn't hold her insanity against her, but… at least when Patrick's with his parents, Kenny has a vague idea of what's going on.
"What would you do with Grandma Linda?" Kenny takes to asking with a curious frown.
"I don't know," Patrick shrugs again. "Probably go to get yarn? Or books? Oh, maybe she'll get me the new Amazing Spiderman!"
"You've got enough comic books," Butters says very pointedly, only to be met by looks of scorn from both Kenny and Patrick. He rolls his eyes and scratches at the back of his head. "Maybe you should go with Grandma Carol. Grandma Linda spoils your butt."
"Nuh-uh," Patrick shook his head. "She totally doesn't. She just makes me sit on her couch and watch the news with her while she knits. Can't I go to Aunt Karen's?"
"Aunt Karen works today, baby," Kenny said and rubbed at his temples. "Unless you want to sit at the diner all day with her 'til dad can pick you up."
Patrick perks up at this, all giddy at the thought, and Kenny knows that's it. Try as he might, he's actually the worst at denying Patrick what he wants. He relies on Butters for discipline almost exclusively, which isn't the greatest system, but Butters has such a better way of going about it.
"All right, get your butt ready and let's go call Aunt Karen," Kenny yawns again. Patrick gives a giddy whoop and darts from the table, forgetting entirely to put his dish away before he ran upstairs to get ready. Butters smiles and decides to let the infraction slide.
"Hey, come put your dish in the sink," Kenny calls. There's a pause in footsteps before he hears them coming back toward the kitchen. Okay, so Butters wasn't perfect with discipline. He was better at the big things, but he'd spent so much of his childhood being chewed out for the little things that he mostly can't bring himself to deal with them. Kenny's better at that kind of thing anyway—not too confrontational, but just enough to let Patrick know that he's still in the game.
"You talked to him for a while last night," Kenny remarks as he goes to wash the dishes. With hot water, he recalls, since he's done it improperly one too many times and Butters has threatened to start wearing shirts that make his nipple ring visible on several occasions.
"He wanted to know more about how this happened, so I talked to him," Butters shrugs.
"You tell him everything?"
"I left out the part about finding your collection of vibrating tongue rings, but yeah, for the most part," Butters shoots back through a smirk. Kenny snorts and turns around, looking at Butters like he likes to do every once in a while, just to make sure he's there, that this is actually their life. It's surreal sometimes, knowing that he's actually this happy all the time… this coming from someone who has the ability to die and come back to life.
Not that he does anymore, mind. There'd been an incident with Patrick playing on the train tracks a few years ago that had ended in Kenny getting plastered onto the front of a freight train; he'd only been gone for three days, but after seeing how red Butters' eyes were when he'd come back, or how Patrick had stared at him with a knowing look, he'd vowed he'd never do that to them unless it was absolutely an emergency.
Kenny shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about that now—all he wants to think about is how fucking lucky he is to have a partner like Butters.
"So, you like my vibrating tongue rings, huh?" he asks, the slightest hint of flirtatious amusement on his face. Butters looks back with that wry little smile and sits back in his chair.
"You know I do," he says as Kenny approaches him and cups his face in his hands. They kiss for a moment, Kenny sliding his tongue alongside Butters' and teasing at the roof of his mouth with one of those said same rings, left over from a quickie the night before right after they'd put Patrick to bed. Butters pulls away, a little pink in the cheeks and looking just about as dazed and enraptured by that stupid piece of jewelry as he has for the last eleven years.
"He'll never be up there for that long," Butters warns, even though it's half-hearted and soft. It only makes Kenny's smile widen as he sinks to his knees and undoes Butters' pants.
"He takes forever to get ready," Kenny says and gives Butters a few firm tugs. They don't have time to engage in as much foreplay as they once would've liked, but Kenny figures it's just a little morning head in the kitchen and resolves himself to not give a fuck. He switches on the ring and takes Butters' half-hard dick into his mouth, sucking long and slow, just to get him revved up. Butters sighs and gives a few shallow thrusts, before, as expected, the fact that they're never, ever alone rears its ugly head.
"Dad!" Patrick calls from upstairs, accompanied by a quick succession of footfalls that only offers Kenny enough time to pull away and switch his ring off and Butters to tuck himself back in his pants. They've both managed to cover up their erections by the time Patrick is standing in the doorway to the kitchen in nothing but a Doctor Who shirt and his smiley face alien underpants. He cocks his head at the sight of his dads and frowns.
"What're you doin' down there, dad?" he asks. Kenny gives a cough and hugs his legs to his chest.
"I fell off of my chair," he supplies quickly. Patrick pulls a face that could possibly convey disbelief, but Patrick doesn't know too much about what his dad's do aside from kissing and occasionally playing grab ass when they think he isn't looking, so Kenny's pretty sure they're safe.
"You should be more careful," Patrick frowns. "My mom says that if your ears hurt, it could mess with your balance and you could fall over. Do your ears hurt, dad?"
"No, sweetheart, my ears don't hurt," Kenny gives a slight laugh and, deeming that it's safe to stand, does so. "What's up?"
"Can I play with my cousins, you think?" Patrick asks, hopeful.
"They're all in school," Kenny shakes his head and goes to usher him toward the stairs. "They aren't nasty, paint-wielding little boys."
"I'm not nasty," Patrick mutters as Kenny gives him a little smack on the behind so he'll hightail it up the steps. Patrick sticks his tongue out at that, but doesn't argue, just trounces back up to his room.
"One day," Kenny says and walks back to Butters, who's now washing his own dish in the sink. He wraps his arms around his middle and continues with, "One day we'll be able to fornicate in our kitchen in peace."
"Until then, I'll take a rain check," Butters says and turns around in Kenny's embrace. He kisses him in a way that makes Kenny dizzy, though that could very well be due to the fact that Butters is palming him through his sweats. Normally they'd find themselves back in the laundry room, frantically fucking until their throats hurt from holding in their shouts. They resolve themselves to making out for a few minutes against the fridge before Patrick is in the doorway again, clearing his throat and tapping his foot like this is the biggest inconvenience of his life.
"Dad, come on," Patrick whines and looks over at them. "Dishes don't take that long. You guys are dawdling and you tell me never to dawdle."
Kenny snorts and kisses Butters on the cheek.
"Call Karen for me?" he asks. Butters rolls his eyes and mentions something about bitch-work before he agrees. Kenny sticks out his tongue one more time, and Butters presses a kiss to it before Kenny bounds up the stairs to get ready.
He comes back downstairs a few minutes later, after pulling on some clean jeans and switching out his tongue rings, only to be greeted by a sardonic text from Karen on his phone about sending his ward to do his dirty work (a mere cloaking device for how delighted she'd be to have Patrick spend the day with her), and gets Patrick into the car without too much fuss. They drive silently for a few minutes before Kenny's curiosity gets the best of him.
"So, what did you and dad talk about last night?"
"He said that he came back after he was away at school, and that you already had me but he didn't care. Then he said that you guys realized you were still in love and that you wanted to be a family."
"Well, your dad would say that," Kenny laughs, quite possibly with a little too much sarcasm behind it, but come on. Of course Butters would wrap it up all nice like a fairytale. Of-fucking-course he would.
"Don't call him that."
Kenny looks over at Patrick, who's sitting with his arms folded and the biggest scowl Kenny's ever seen on that face.
"What are you talking about?" Kenny asks.
"He's not 'my' dad," Patrick returns curtly, like this should be very obvious and Kenny should be embarrassed that he even needed to ask.
"You call your mom 'your' mom all the time," Kenny frowns.
"'cause she's mine!" Patrick exclaims, wild-eyed and flailing now. "Dad's yours and mine. And you're mine and dad's. So don't call him 'mine' 'cause I don't like it!"
There's silence in the car for a few moments until they come to a stop. Kenny attempts to lay a comforting hand on Patrick's shoulder, but it's of no use. Patrick shrugs him away and turns further toward the window.
"He said," Patrick sniffles, "He said you guys realized you were still in love and that you wanted to be a family. That's what he said."
"I know, baby," Kenny says softly. His chest is all weird and full and how can a human being so small have an effect this big on one heart? It just didn't make sense. "I know what he said, but… y'know, things aren't always as simple as dad makes them out to be."
"But they are!" Patrick insists, still petulantly turned away. "We're all here now, and we're a family, and we're happy, so it has to be true!"
"Sweetheart, just because things turn out fine doesn't mean they're not complicated."
Patrick shifts in his seat, and Kenny knows that if he could see his face he'd be able to see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He's posed a conundrum, something his son had never encountered before. Patrick knew complications—he was a McCormick, for God's sake. That, along with having two dads, came with about three thousand complications on their own. Patrick finally looks over at Kenny and squints, obviously intrigued.
"Why was it complicated?" he asks. "Because you're both men?"
Kenny barks out a laugh and says, "Trust me, that was the least of our problems."
"Why?" Patrick asks again, more insistent this time.
"Because," Kenny began only to peter out. They'd pulled into the parking lot behind Kenny's work anyway so that they can walk to the diner. Butters is always insistent that they walk as much as possible, being the strange brand of health nut that he is. Kenny knows that it's because of his dad's heart attack a few years ago, but he figures it's the least he can do to comply with his wishes.
"You're not even gonna tell me, are you?" Patrick frowns accusingly as he grabs his bag and gets out of the car. Kenny moves to follow him quickly, because Patrick's been taught to walk with a purpose and he's just a fast little fuck in general. Kenny grabs him by the arm before he gets too far and, when Patrick shoots him a dirty look, starts fixing his hair.
Fuck, he's become such a fucking mother.
"What, dad?" Patrick snaps this time. "You just told me dad lied to me and now you're not gonna tell me the truth. That's fucked."
"Don't fucking swear," Kenny shoots back. "It's rude."
Patrick rolls his eyes and shrugs out of Kenny's grip again, stalking silently down the street toward the crosswalk. Yeah, he and Patrick had a different dynamic than Patrick and Butters did, but he'd never been flat-out rude. Kenny had been under the impression that he had a good few more years until he would have a teenager on his hands.
Then it dawns on him.
"Wait a second," Kenny runs to catch up with Patrick, who's mashing the crosswalk button like his life depends on it. "You're upset that I'm your real dad, aren't you?"
"No," Patrick snaps, even if he's about as terrible at hiding his emotions as Butters is. "I'm not. You're both my dad."
"I know that, but," Kenny takes a deep breath. "I won't be upset if you wished Butters was your real dad anyway."
It's a lie. It's such a fucking lie. If Patrick says he wishes anything even remotely close to that, Kenny is going to be nothing short of devastated. He knows it's not uncommon for a kid to be closer to one parent than the other, but Kenny's just… God, the kid's his flesh and blood, something Kenny never thought he'd ever have, and he can't even be the favorite? It was sort of the shittiest of situations.
Patrick seems to realize this too, that Kenny's actually spinning bullshit and that the wrong answer was going to hurt his feelings or some shit.
Fucking feelings.
"I don't care who's my real dad, honest," Patrick says and moves to hug Kenny tightly around his waist. Kenny's chest got all full again, because having his kid hug him would never not be awesome. Patrick pulls back first, rubbing at his nose and looking up with a sad sort of smile. Kenny sighs and ruffles his hair again.
"You remind me of him, if it's any consolation," he says.
"Can we not talk about it?" Patrick sighs and looks back at the light for a few seconds. He doesn't hesitate when it turns green, obviously eager to get off the subject and just go sit in a diner with his aunt for a few hours.
Then that old familiar feeling washes over Kenny and snaps him into action instantaneously. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls Patrick back up onto the curb not a second before a giant truck sails through the red light and almost collides with a smaller blue Civic. Kenny can feel Patrick's heart racing where his back is squashed against him, can feel his chest rising and falling in rapid succession where his hand his holding him secure. Over the years, Kenny's had to learn how to think creatively, how to save people without sacrificing himself. He liked to think that he was getting better at it, the only exception being the one time a few years ago that they don't speak of.
"Shit," Kenny breathes. "You okay?"
"I think so," Patrick nods, gulping back the rush of anxiety that comes from a close encounter with death.
"Good," Kenny says and turns Patrick around without warning, crouching before him so he can glare good and proper. "How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?"
"I would've saw—" Patrick attempts to wriggle away, but Kenny holds him fast. He's got serious reservations about being too rough with Patrick, because Kenny's been that kid, the kid who comes to school with bruises he has to explain and flinches he pretends not to have, and he doesn't ever want his kid to be in a comparable situation.
"No, Patrick," Kenny asserts, more firmly this time. "When I tell you that you have to be careful, you have to fucking listen to me. I'm not messing around."
Patrick tears away, successfully this time, and stalks off across the street. This, of course, almost gives Kenny a heart attack because the orange hand is fucking already blinking, for shit's sake. Kenny runs after him, catching up only when he's on the other side of the street, and tells him to wait as he doubles over to catch his breath. This body's only a few years old, and already it's giving him problems. Shit like this makes him seriously wonder how in the fuck everyone else makes it through their lives with just one.
"It's a crosswalk, dad, don't keel over about it," Patrick says dryly, and Kenny decides that he's going to have a serious talk with Butters about allowing their son believe he's clever.
"I won't," Kenny says. "You will."
"Right," Patrick nods in the way that little kids do when they're just beginning to understand sarcasm. "Your superpowers."
Kenny rolls his eyes, because Patrick totally knows that this is a legitimate thing. When Kenny had last died, he'd come back in the middle of the night to find Butters wide awake with that depressed kind of insomnia. After a tearful reunion, Kenny had gone to check on Patrick, who'd also been wide awake with what could only be described as eager anticipation. When Kenny had asked why, Patrick had sat up and cupped his hand over his mouth, like he was whispering the secret to life itself.
"Did I keep daddy safe for you?" he'd asked.
If he didn't know, then at the very least he had a vague intuition that his dad couldn't die. Either that, or he just hadn't given a fuck that Kenny's ass was gone. For all Kenny knew, the little bastard had danced on his grave.
"Did you even want me?"
And there it was. Kenny looks up and sees Patrick's face contorted in a determined scowl, like he's going to get to the bottom of this if it's the last fucking thing he does. Kenny stands up again, eyebrows pinched together in a curious frown before he says, "Of course I did. Dad didn't tell you how much I wanted you when your mom told me she was having you?"
"He did, but," Patrick sniffles and just like that he's crying. "Then he said how sad and tired you were all the time a-and I—why would you want me if I made you so sad?"
"Oh, baby," Kenny says in that pitying parental tone he'd prayed he'd never adopt and pulls Patrick close to him in a hug. "Baby, you've never made me sad a day in your life. Circumstances and situations, sure, but you've never done anything but make me happy, okay?"
Patrick nods and buries his face in Kenny's chest. Fuck, he's never wanted his kid to feel anything remotely as horrible as not being wanted, even if he's only been feeling it for the last few hours. With a new sense of determination, Kenny drops Patrick with Karen much more quickly than he'd originally intended. She gives him a world of grief for running off so soon, but Kenny has bigger problems. He kisses Patrick goodbye, offers Karen a friendly flip of the bird, and runs all the way back to his car. Panting and wheezing, he speeds back home to let Butters in on exactly what their kid had gathered from their little talk the night before.
When it becomes apparent that Butters isn't down working in the basement office-type room, and that he's finished washing up and doing his morning tidy of the living room, Kenny takes the stairs two at a time and stalks down the hallway in gigantic strides until he comes to their room, the door of which is open just a crack.
"Oh, son of a bitch," Kenny rolls his eyes and pushes the door open. Butters jumps, face all pink and eyes all glossy, because the fucker's been all spread out on their bed and pulling his pud like he doesn't have a ready-and-willing boyfriend to do it for him. Whatever's been on Kenny's mind is suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that Butters hasn't stopped moving his hand, and that his glazed-over pleasure face his now drawn up in a smile. Fucking kinky bastard actually gets off on being caught.
"He-hey, darlin'," Butters laughs as Kenny just stands there and watches him for a few seconds.
"So when did we become this couple?" Kenny asks as he strips himself of his sweater and pulls off his boots.
"What couple?" Butters asks and props himself up, his hand working slowly over himself. Good, that means he's only just started. Kenny laughs a little when Butters tells him, "Slow down, you're takin' all the fun out of it" and pulls his shirt over his head in as sexy a way as he can manage without making a total fool of himself. He trips a little over his pants as he pulls them off with his socks, and wonders why being sexy evades him when he's around Butters. That awkward teenage eagerness has worn off around just about everyone, at least it had back when he'd slept with other people, except Butters. Something about Butters still just made him all jittery and yearning like a fucking fourteen-year-old. He leaves his boxers on, since Butters hasn't removed his shirt, and crawls onto the bed to bring Butters into a heated kiss.
"What're you thinking about?" Kenny asks before he catches Butters' bottom lip in between his teeth.
"Threesome," Butters replies breathily. "You, me, Mila Kunis? Circa Black Swan."
"Hot," Kenny grins and moves to remove Butters' hand from his dick. "What are we doing?"
Butters makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Kenny pins both of his wrists to the bed, denying him of any contact down below whatsoever. He's obviously thinking about it right now, becoming engrossed in both fantasy and the overwhelming urge to rub up against something.
"Come on," Kenny whispers and teases a lick over Butters' upper lip. "You've gotta tell me if you want me to touch you."
Butters whines again before he opens his eyes and stares Kenny right in the face. They're not exactly the type of couple that holds back in this department, and Kenny's always maintained that that's what keeps them going so strong. It's okay to admit that you want to fuck someone else, as long as it ends in the two of you humping like deranged, sex-starved rabbits. Butters is one of the few people Kenny's ever met who agrees with this sentiment, and is about as unabashed about his fantasies as Kenny is about his own.
"We're here," Butters licks at his lips. "I-I'm eating her out and you're behind me just… fu-fuckin' the shit outta me."
Kenny grins and wraps a hand around Butters' erection. It's shit like that that makes Kenny as proud as ever to call this man his boyfriend.
"How'd we get Mila Kunis into our house?" Kenny laughs as Butters groans and let his head fall back at the feeling of finally—finally—being touched.
"He-her car broke down an' she asked to use our phone," Butters sighs. "She's real sweet, incidentally."
"She'd have to be, yeah," Kenny nods. "I don't imagine we're very easy to fuck as a couple." Not that they have any frame of reference, mind, since every time Kenny proposes a foursome with dear old Stan and Kyle, Butters seems keen on systematically rejecting the idea, no matter how hot Kenny insists it would be.
"What do you want me to do to you?" Kenny asks now, thumbing over the head of Butters' cock.
"Fuck me," Butters replies simply, too simply for Kenny's tastes. He retracts his hand and brings it up to hold Butters' jaw, steadying him as he goes in for another kiss. Butters moans and fists his free hand in Kenny's hair, knowing full well that the lack of hand holding him back isn't a free invitation to touch himself. If anything, Kenny finds that the deprivation offers Butters a few more seconds of desperation in which to be as creative as possible. They have a whole drawer full of nothing but vibrators, dildos, cock rings, and various other toys, all courtesy of Kenny's job, and they've used almost every single one of them half a dozen times.
Mostly, though, they're alone for the first time in what seems like forever, even if Patrick was just with Bebe last weekend, and Kenny wants to take it for everything it's worth.
"Can you—" Butters gulps. "You wanna ride me?"
"Is that gonna make you come harder than anything else?" Kenny asks, because it is, after all, one of the most important questions one should consider. He pants out a laugh against Butters' lips when he nods vigorously. "Then fuck yeah, I do."
And also because he loves the feeling of Butters thrusting up into him as desperately as he does when they fuck that way.
Kenny makes quick work of his boxers and Butters' shirt after that, flinging them so that they knock over some unidentified object on the dresser. Kenny doesn't care, and he knows that Butters won't either until everything's said and done and they've fucked themselves silly. Then he'll roll out of bed even before they have a chance to sneak in a cuddle and pick up whatever it was that fell.
Until then, Kenny ducks down and runs his tongue and teeth over Butters' chest, eliciting a needy groan from the man below him. Any more time, Kenny knows, and Butters is going to fucking lose it, so Kenny does the responsible thing and opens the drawer on Butters' side of the bed, pulling out their supply of condoms and various types of lube, again, all courtesy of Kenny's job. He's a Maximus man himself, but Butters has always attested that Wet works just fine, and that it tastes much better. Whatever, when it's Butters' ass on the line, he can pick the strawberry passion fruit cherry poppin' pizzazz bullshit—Kenny's gonna stick to the stuff that makes him feel good.
"Want me to?" Butters asks, making to grab the lube out of Kenny's hand, but Kenny silences him with a kiss. Not that he doesn't love it when Butters does this for him, Butters is just very thorough and it always takes a thousand years for him to do what Kenny can do in just a few minutes. So, Kenny squirts a generous amount of the slick liquid onto his fingers and reaches behind himself. He flinches a bit upon entry, but sighs and rests his forehead against Butters' shoulder as he works himself open at a happy ryhthm. Butters is sitting up now, watching Kenny like he's about to eat him or something, and very insistently pulls his hand away when it becomes apparent that Kenny's done stretching himself and is now just going at it for shits and giggles.
Butters fiddles with the condom between his fingers, getting it on with only a little less grace than usual before he positions himself against Kenny's entrance. They kiss, heated and sloppy and absolutely lost in each other as Kenny sinks down. When Kenny opens his eyes he's met with the most incredible sight of Butters staring dazedly back at him and they kiss again. They start moving against each other, slowly at first until Kenny pushes Butters by the shoulders onto his back, pinning him down and kissing him senseless. Butters compensates for his lack of upper body mobility by thrusting up wildly into the tight heat of Kenny's body.
"Fuck, baby," Kenny groans, resting his forehead against Butters' shoulder again.
"Fuck yourself," Butters gives a euphoric little grin at his own joke and Kenny has to laugh back. Butters' fingernails are digging into his hips, his dick is stretching him to that thinly veiled limit between pleasure and pain, and Kenny fucking loves every second of it. He bites down on Butters' collarbone when he falls into a rhythm that has him hitting Kenny's prostate on just about every other thrust. Butters must know he's holding back—it's hard not to when you have to get used to fucking with a kid lurking around the house who has to be half ninja or some shit—so he grabs Kenny's dick and starts stroking rapidly against his own thrusts. Kenny lets out an embarassingly loud moan and after that all bets are off. A few more thrusts upward and a couple more tugs finds Kenny coming all over Butters' hand. Butters follows quickly, throwing his head back and snapping his hips up until he's left spent and panting with Kenny on his chest.
They roll off of each other after a few minutes, Butters tossing the used condom into the trash can they've started keeping beside the bed and Kenny running his hand over his spent, sensitive cock, like he's eighteen and ready to go again. Sometimes it's just a comfort to hold himself in his hand, without an agenda, just for a few minutes.
"Patrick with Karen?" Butters asks as he rolls over and throws an arm across Kenny's waist.
"No, he's downstairs," Kenny shoots back sarcastically, "figured he'd like to hear his dear old dads fuck the shit out of each other as the cherry on top of whatever the fuck it is you told him last night."
"What'd I tell him?" Butters yawns.
"I don't know," Kenny sighs and rubs his hands over his face. "But whatever it was made him think I didn't want him or some bullshit."
"What?" Butters sits up, eyebrows knit together high on his forehead. "Kenny, honest, I-I didn't say anythin' like that."
"Fuck, I know," Kenny sits up and pulls his knees in close to his chest. He's a little tender, for obvious reasons, but Butters' look of concern is more than enough to distract him from it. "He said you said I was tired and upset all the time."
"You were," Butters points out, concern still not gone from his voice. "But I told him everything turned out fine a-an' he's gotta know that anyway—"
"Right, everything turns out fine," Kenny nods and buries his face in his hands. "And apparently now our kid thinks I didn't even fucking want him."
"But he knows you do now," Butters points out and lays a hand on his shoulder.
"You know what, fuck you," Kenny shrugs away and stands. "He loves you more anyway, so don't ever start."
"Aw, Jesus," Butters groans and flops back on the bed. They're not actually mad at each other—in fact, Kenny can count on one hand the number of times they've actually been upset with each other in the last seven years—but if there's one thing that they try to do it's get everything out in the open as soon as possible. Kenny's always the one to throw the first punch, so to speak, while Butters tries to run and hide, to sweep everything under the rug like he's his fucking mother. After a while they'd realized that no one was actually mad, things had gotten a little easier.
But only a little.
"Sorry," Kenny apologizes and crosses his arms over his chest. His parents never apologized to each other, which means that it must be the right thing to do.
"Darlin', Patrick loves you just as much as he loves me," Butters sits up and runs a hand through his hair. "You think he'd be upset, thinkin' you didn't want him if he didn't?"
Kenny falters just a bit before slumping entirely and falling back onto the bed, where Butters climbs on top of him and holds him close.
"He doesn't even know how fucking hard I fought to keep him, dude," Kenny says, his voice closer to breaking than he'll ever admit. Butters can hear it anyway, and kisses the back of Kenny's neck in a loving sort of way that makes Kenny never want to leave their bed again.
"I didn't tell him 'cause I thought you'd want to," Butters murmurs against his skin. "That's something that should come from you, not me."
Kenny rolls over underneath Butters' embrace and looks up at his earnest and boyish face. He runs his fingers through his hair, still a little damp with sex and sweat, and brings him down into a kiss. Kenny knows he could wake up next to this man for the rest of his life and still want to kiss the lips right off of his face as much as he did when they were kids.
"And if he doesn't believe you when you tell him," Butters says, "he can ask anyone in the tri-county area, 'cause you've brought down fuckin' hellfire for that boy on several occasions."
"True," Kenny nods, only to have Butters smile and kiss him again.
"You're a good dad, Charlie Brown."