Hey guys, big stuff coming up. So... ye be warned.
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The funny thing about being an adult and having responsibilities was that time started whizzing by after a while. When the time had rolled around, Butters had started tutoring kids through South Park Elementary to supplement a little bit of income (in spite of Kenny's best efforts to convince him that he didn't have to); Kenny had started taking on more and more hours at the shop, filling in for his boss when he couldn't be there and taking on his responsibilities when his wife took a turn for the worse. Butters had gotten almost everything from his parents' house, and aside from weekly family dinners his mother made him attend, he tried not to see or talk to them. Deciding that, since they'd resumed a more… physical relationship, both Kenny and Butters agreed that it would be prudent to set some boundaries. This meant that Butters had taken to setting up his own space in Kenny's rather unused basement.
He'd gotten himself a bed, some space heaters, a desk, and even a little TV for when he couldn't sleep and he needed some Home Shopping Network. He'd plastered the walls with some old posters he'd found, some from school and others his mom had once asked him to take down in his formative teenage years, had brought in a few rugs to make the place a little more homey, and when all was said and done, Butters was very proud of himself. Kenny had been so impressed that he'd felt the need to congratulate Butters on his accomplishments with a fantastic bout of marathon sex. This, of course, had ended with them both exhausted and panting on Butters' cheap hundred-dollar Craigslist mattress, pretending that this wasn't going to become a regular occurrence.
But even if they were fucking on a regular basis, Butters didn't quite consider what they had to be a relationship. He'd had relationships by now, a few actually, and knew what it took to make one. This wasn't one.
If this were a relationship, Kenny wouldn't say 'nothing' when Butters asked what was bothering him. If this were a relationship, Kenny would've shared things with him, because Butters had spent his life making it abundantly clear that people could trust him with anything. Emotionally, Kenny and Butters were about at the exact same place they'd been nearly six months ago.
That wasn't a relationship: that was just fucking someone you used to know.
Fuck, they used sex for everything, especially to avoid fights. Kenny using cold water to wash his dishes turned into Butters sucking his dick right there against the kitchen counter; Butters putting things away in their improper places turned into Kenny fucking him right against the wall; Kenny's tendency to obsess over every little scratch his son managed to get, Butters flippant attitude toward strangers touching Patrick (who, at eleven months old was proving to be quite the people person), all of it always ended in sex. Not exactly healthy, but… goddamn it, Kenny sucked like a fucking Hoover when he was angry and he had a collection—a fucking collection —of vibrating tongue rings.
No, this wasn't a relationship, so Butters didn't hesitate to tell his mom that, no, he didn't have any plans for Christmas and would be happy to spend it with his family.
"Oh, honey," Linda had said in that pitying tone. "We thought you were going to spend it with Kenny… your father and I are taking a cruise to the Caribbean that whole week."
Apparently, working steadily over the last two decades, his father had accrued enough vacation time and enough wealth to swindle his way into taking vacations every few months. Most of these vacations included opportunities to wear kitschy Hawaiian shirts, socks with sandals, and oversized sunglasses. Butters didn't realize that, in coming home, he'd effectively branded himself 'cat sitter' for the rest of his natural born life. It was kind of shitty, Butters wasn't going to lie.
Kenny, however, couldn't stop laughing.
"What the fuck does your family even do on Christmas?" he asked. "Is it just the three of you sitting around and staring at each other?"
Butters rolled his eyes as he laced up his ice skates. They were at Stark's Pond, taking Kenny's nieces ice skating like Kenny had been promising they would for the last three weeks, and Butters had come along because, unlike Kenny, he actually had some semblance of grace up on the ice.
It really gave the phrase 'gayer than Peter Pan in a pair of ice skates' a whole new meaning.
"Usually it's me an' my mom goin' to midnight mass," Butters replied and stood, brushing the snow off of his backside and sliding out onto the ice. The older girls were already out on the pond, laughing and shrieking as they lost and regained their balance, while the little one sat back with Karen and Patrick on a bench. Kenny pushed himself up and skated out on shaky legs into Butters' open arms.
"You—fucking Christ—" he interjected as one of his skates slipped out from underneath him. Butters caught him before he could fall and stood him upright. "Thanks. You still go to midnight mass with your mom?"
"Well, not in recent years, no," Butters shook his head, skating a little further back. "But I figured I was gonna do it this year, because she told me last year that my dad stopped goin' with her while I wasn't here."
"Maybe that's why they're—shit —maybe that's why they're going on a cruise this year," Kenny offered as he started to get the hang of the skates. "Fucking rich people."
"We're not rich," Butters frowned, skating now in actual circles around Kenny as he tried to adjust.
"This is their second vacation this year," Kenny pointed out. "And they always go for a long fucking time. If that's not rich… I can't even finish that, because that's fucking rich."
"We're comfortable," Butters iterated.
"They're comfortable, baby," Kenny corrected through a smile. "You? You're poor as shit."
Butters stuck out his tongue and caught Kenny again before he could fall. Okay, sure, anyone walking by would have mistaken them for a couple (or, as Linda Stotch had made clear dozens of times over the last few months, just really good friends without any sexual agenda whatsoever), but anyone walking by could go fuck themselves.
Or the sentiment's more polite equivalent.
"Uncle Kenny, why are you so slow?" Ashley called, and Butters knew it took every ounce of strength within Kenny not to give his automatic "fuck off" response. Butters pulled him up to standing, and told him very softly to ignore Karen's incessant jibes from back on the bench.
"Why's everyone being such a bitch today?" Kenny asked back, all hushed like he and Butters were coconspirators, them against the rest of the alleged bitch-ass world. It's stuff like that that makes Butters want to kiss him, right out in broad daylight.
It's also apparently stuff like that that gets them both nailed in the side of the head with crudely made snowballs.
"Fuckin' kids," Kenny muttered and looked over his shoulder. Ike was waving at them, now standing by the bench with Patrick in his arms as Karen took to playing a game of hide-and-seek with Olivia. Butters just flipped Ike the bird and grabbed Kenny by the hand, pulling him along and making sure he didn't fall. Not that it was an easy task, mind, since Kenny had the grace of a newborn foal in general, but Butters was more than willing to keep that pretty face out of harm's way.
"Uncle Kenny!" Madison skated over and grabbed onto his other hand. "Uncle Kenny, wanna see me do a figure eight?"
"Oh, honey, I'll watch you do anything as long as I don't have to do it too," Kenny laughed and grabbed onto Butters' coat when he slipped again. Madison gave them a calculating stare when Butters laughed and pulled Kenny close to him.
"Are you two guys boyfriends?" she asked. Butters and Kenny looked at her, both with utter surprise as she tossed her light brown hair over her shoulder and folded her arms. "It's okay. My friend Kiara has two moms."
"Oh, I bet your dad loves that," Kenny snorted and leaned his forehead against Butters'. Butters looked out of the corner of his eye at Madison, who was staring at them a little expectantly, and pecked Kenny on the lips.
"Yeah, sweetheart," Butters looked over at her and draped an arm around Kenny's shoulders. "But keep it to yourself, all right? We're not gonna talk about it quite yet, all right? You good at keepin' secrets?"
"Yeah, I am," Madison nodded and then gave them a rather facetious grin. "You guys don't look like you are, though."
At which point, Kenny jabbed Butters in the side and attempted to skate away on his own. This, of course, turned out with Kenny face-down on the ice, followed by a barrage of laughs coming from all sides. Butters skated over and crouched beside him, telling Madison to practice until he could get Kenny up and running again.
"Y'okay, hoss?" Butters asked, offering a smile and a hand.
"I'm fine," Kenny grunted and pushed himself up onto all fours. Butters kept his snide comments to himself, but one look was all he needed to know Kenny knew exactly what he was thinking. "'the fuck are you telling her we're boyfriends for?"
Butters raised his eyebrows and folded his arms, popping his hip in the way he'd seen most of the tired caricatures of gay men do back at school as Kenny got himself standing again. He gave Kenny a few more seconds to retract the statement, but when it became very apparent that that wouldn't be happening he gave up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
"Well, it was obvious that there was somethin' goin' on between us an' I thought 'boyfriends' was easier than explainin' what a fuck buddy is at such a young age," he just said, which only made Kenny roll his eyes and stop skating.
"Don't fucking do that," he said.
"Do what?" Butters asked, voice all lofty and high like he didn't know what he was doing. Kenny sighed and ran a hand over his face.
"We're not… fuck buddies, dude," he said tightly. He was already tired of this conversation and they hadn't even had it yet.
"We're not boyfriends, we're not fuck buddies," Butters posed and began skating again. "Tell me what we are, Ken. Tell me a-an' I'll be happy to say it."
"Man, I don't fucking know," Kenny groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know I like having you around the house, and that you're the nicest guy I know, and that you totally put up with all of my shit that you don't have to, and… I don't know. I don't like the connotations of the word 'boyfriend'."
"Oo, 'connotations'," Butters said, eyes wide and nodding his head. "Four syllables. Good for you."
"Fuck you," Kenny laughed. "Dude, it's a weird word and it's a weird thing to be. I've never liked it, you know that."
"It's just a word, Kenny," Butters sighed and stopped skating right in front of him. "I-if you don't wanna be boyfriends, that's fine. Just gimme somethin', all right?"
"God, everything's so fucking black and white with you," Kenny sighed. He was fiddling with his lip ring, which meant that he must have been having some internal war for the ages up in that brain of his. Butters just huffed and stared at him, halfway between wanting to slap him and wanting to hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that he'd stick by him no matter what.
Because he would. That was the horrible part.
"I don't want anything," Kenny said, frowning as he tried to skate away. This, of course, just ended with him flat on his ass again. Butters crouched, not to help him, but to continue looking at him like he was some geat puzzle to solve. As a rule, Kenny was generally impervious to that look, but something about it coming from Butters seemed to crack his resolve and make him cave. What was worse, it appeared that Kenny understood that Butters knew what this look did to him, enough at least to say "don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" Butters blinked, attempting an air of innocence that only seemed to earn him a raised eyebrow and a very, very cold hand to the face that threw off his balance and pushed him back onto the ice.
"Look, I don't know what I want in terms of a fucking Facebook status, all right?" Kenny said, brow furrowed as he came close to Butters. "I just know that I want you around, and that I like having you around, and that you have the finest ass I've ever seen—"
"Thanks," Butters rolled his eyes.
"Would you just shut the fuck up and listen to me for a second?" Kenny groaned and rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ… you're more than just some guy I fuck, you know that."
"But not a boyfriend?" Butters nodded and pursed his lips. "That makes sense."
"Goddamn it," Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're so fucking dense sometimes. I want to be with you. The word 'boyfriend' just kind of… rubs me the wrong way."
Butters paused, a frown etched into his face as he pushed himself up off of the ice (most of himself wet and numb now), and said "A-at the risk of soundin'… what was it, dense? At the risk of soundin' dense, can I say: it's just a word, Ken. You wanna be boyfriends, but you don't wanna call each other boyfriends. That's what you're sayin', right? You'd rather sit here arguin' semantics for the rest of our lives than bite the bullet a-an' admit you wanna be my boyfriend? Pardon my F-french on this one, b-but that's fucked, Kenny."
"Fuck, dude, this isn't exactly the time or the place," Kenny managed to push himself back up onto his feet.
"I agree," Butters shrugged.
"Then can we—" he was cut off by the sound of his cell phone blaring in his pocket and gave Butters a look. Apparently, he'd just lucked out of getting an earful. Butters stuck out his tongue again and started skating in small, tight figure eights, looking from Kenny's nieces to Kenny, to Ike and Karen, and all over again. Normally, Kenny would've told him to fuck off and stop being a show-off by now.
Except whoever was on the phone with him looked to be delivering some deeply upsetting news. It was at that point that Butters stopped showing off, much to the dismay of Kenny's nieces, and skated back over to him.
"No, of course," he heard Kenny reply. "Yeah. I understand. I'm… I'm really sorry."
"What happened?" Butters whispered softly. He hated when people got these kinds of phone calls and they didn't even have the decency to repeat whatever the person on the other line was saying. Privacy was way overrated anyway.
"Yeah," Kenny said, still on the phone as he tried to swat Butters' question away. "Yeah, it's all made up and waiting for you. Just… take it easy, okay? We'll see you soon. Yeah… yeah, you too."
Kenny shut his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, looking a little like he couldn't process what had just happened. Then he turned over to Butters with this vacant look on his face and folded his arms.
"I guess Bebe's grandma just died," Kenny said, like he was announcing that she'd lost her dog or something. "She's getting the okay from her professors to take her break early and she's flying out tonight."
"O-oh my God," Butters put a hand over his heart. "Is she okay?"
"She was crying, so no, probably not," Kenny shook his head and pushed the hood of his parka back so he could run his fingers through the back of hair. "She's staying with us tonight and then bringing Patrick with her up to her grandpa's tomorrow morning with her parents."
"Yeah," Butters nodded. He knew Kenny could give a crap about Bebe's grandma—no, that look of despair on Kenny's face was due to the fact that Patrick would be away from him for the first time in the last eleven months. He pulled Kenny into a hug and gave him a little kiss just under his ear, on that little spot that under other circumstances drove him absolutely insane.
"I think… fuck, I think I'm gonna go home," Kenny pulled away, wobbling as he let himself slide back toward the bank of snow. "You should stay and skate with the girls. Since Karen can't, I mean. They shouldn't be out here alone."
Butters rolled his eyes and skated over to where Kenny had just fallen back into the snow.
"Why the hell wouldn't I come with you?" he asked and flopped back down to take off his skates. If Kenny wanted to protest, he certainly didn't make that much fuss to do so, and in fact looked a little bit like he almost maybe wanted to smile. Butters knocked one of his knees against Kenny's and smiled back in the way that you're supposed to do when you're being a loving and supportive friend.
"Uncle Kenny, what are you doing?" Ashley asked as she and her sister skated over. "We were gonna do a fabulous ice princess dance for you and Uncle Butters."
Butters felt his cheeks color a little. Yeah, he'd been around a lot for the last few months, but that hardly qualified him to be anyone's 'uncle', right? He'd accepted the fact that he wouldn't ever be someone's uncle in the way that Kenny was, and tried to tell himself that he was cool with it.
Only hearing it was just a little overwhelming.
"I-I'm just Butters, girls," he said, looking over at Kenny out of the corner of his eye.
"Yeah," Kenny nodded, speaking more to himself and Butters than the girls as he laced up his boots. "Uncle Butters sounds like someone who makes little kids solve puzzles in the nude in his basement."
Butters snorted, but mostly attempted to keep his reaction to himself just in case the girls caught on and asked him to explain.
"What are we supposed to call you, then?" Madison asked, that knowing look behind her eyes again.
"Just call me Butters, girls," Butters gave a little smile as he pulled on his snow boots.
"But you're—" Ashley began only for Madison to put a hand over her mouth and frown at her.
"I wasn't supposed to tell you, remember?" she whispered.
"It's just Butters, girls," Butters laughed and stood. He held out a hand for Kenny, which he took, and pulled him up to standing. They walked back up to Karen and Ike, Kenny making up a feeble excuse for their early departure if only because Karen would make a big deal of the truth and Kenny didn't really feel like dealing with that right now. Kenny assured Karen he'd give her a call later and left without saying much else. Butters could only offer her a little shrug before he went to follow Kenny, Patrick wriggling and making idle protests of 'no-no-no!' in his arms like he didn't appreciate the fact that Butters was carrying him.
They drove back to the house without saying much of anything, their only soundtrack being Butters' iPod stuck firmly on its Christmas playlist. After about the third Bing Crosby song, Kenny switched off the entire system entirely and stared fixedly ahead. For the most part, Butters didn't take things like that personally. When Kenny got into one of his moods, it was just kind of expected that he was going to be a pissy little fucker until further notice.
When they got back to the house, Kenny immediately went to put Patrick down for a nap while Butters went down into his little cave to curl up with his computer and watch TV. He probably should've tried to talk to Kenny, but he really, really hated when things got so tense between them. It didn't happen too often, but it was always palpable, the only thing between them besides the sex that wasn't half-assed.
He got about fifteen minutes into a History Channel special about Nostradamus before he decided that whatever was on Bravo would better serve his purposes and fell asleep to one of his favorite episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker. He was only vaguely aware of his dream, which definitely involved Kenny, poor and dirty, begging for cash on what his brain had pieced together as a street in Brazil (but what actually looked like a Disneyland, It's-a-Small-World rendition of some fictional street that didn't actually exist). Butters wasn't entirely sure of what had gone down from there, only that he woke at the exact moment he and dream-Kenny had started running from a vicious gang of drug lords. He felt an unbelievable air of calm wash over him when he saw Kenny beside him, crouched down and looking at Butters like he was crazy.
"You were thrashing, I figured I'd wake you," Kenny said and climbed onto the mattress so he could stretch out beside Butters.
"How long have I been out?" Butters rubbed the sleep from his eyes and attempted to stifle a big yawn.
"Beats the shit out of me," Kenny shrugged and rolled over just as Butters sat up to see which episode in the perpetual marathon of Matchmaker was flitting across the screen. He flopped back down and let Kenny cuddle into him entirely.
"Two hours," he said as he started playing with Kenny's hair. "What've you been doing?"
"Cleaning?" Kenny yawned in response, like he had the option of being wrong. Butters just hummed and kissed him on the top of the head.
"That means I have to go up and actually clean, doesn't it?" he asked, laughing when Kenny grabbed his nipple ring through his shirt and twisted. They kissed after that, slick and lazy that ended in Kenny sucking on Butters' tongue like there was no tomorrow. Butters didn't stop him when he undid his pants, or when he leaned down and took him into his mouth, and he sure as fuck didn't stop him when it became apparent that this was going to be the only thing they were doing. As much as he loved fucking or getting fucked by Kenny, he was a master of oral sex, and not appreciating it would be not unlike spitting on the Mona Lisa and loudly wondering 'why the fuck this smug bitch thinks she's so much better than everyone'.
They emerged from the basement a while later, partially because they were done but mostly because they heard Patrick crying and Kenny wanted to get a few good hours with him before Bebe took him up to Loveland the next morning. Butters started making dinner, even though they hadn't been to the store yet this week and there really wasn't much to scrape together.
"It's gonna be sparse tonight," Butters sighed as he flopped down next to Kenny and Patrick on the couch. Kenny looked over at him, one eyebrow high on his forehead as Patrick followed his dad's gaze to look at Butters too.
"Dude, trust me," he said. "Your worst is far superior to the 'best' I'm used to."
"Well," Butters retracted, folding his arms across his chest as Patrick wriggled out of Kenny's arms and into Butters' lap. "I wouldn't call it my worst."
"Then shut the fuck up," Kenny shrugged and pushed a kiss to Butters' cheek. Then he ran his fingers through Patrick's hair—though still scant was starting to come in at a quicker and quicker rate seemingly every day—and rested his head on Butters' shoulder. Patrick looked at the both of them with a big smile on his face and ducked forward to slide into the space between their bodies. Then, like he'd just delivered the punch line to a joke, looked up at both Kenny and Butters and started laughing.
"Jeez, what a dork," Butters snorted and let Patrick grab his fingers. "You like hangin' with your dad, huh?"
"Well, dad likes hangin' with him, so it's not a problem," Kenny said and kissed Patrick on the top of the head. Patrick was at the incessant babbling stage of his babyhood, at which point he thought he was making sense and communicating with the adults around him but was in fact, with the exception of the words uh-oh, no, and mama, speaking complete and utter gibberish.
Except when he said the word 'daddy' and smiled up at them, they both paused. Patrick had been able to string together the two syllables for as long as Butters could remember, but until now he'd never said it with the clear understanding that he'd just displayed. Kenny looked at Butters and gave a laugh.
"Holy shit," he grinned, eyes wide like it was the most amazing thing he'd ever heard. "Did he—"
"He did," Butters laughed and stood to go check on his macaroni noodles. "Congratulations, you're officially 'daddy'."
Kenny laughed again and pulled Patrick into his lap so he could push a kiss to his cheek. Butters couldn't help his grin as he kept hearing Patrick's emphatic repetition, 'daddy-daddy-daddy' over and over again. He'd been calling Bebe 'mama' over Skype for the last month and a half, and Kenny, against Butters insistence that he didn't, had been taking it about as personally as a guy could.
"Wait, what the hell?" Butters heard Kenny ask. He turned around and saw Patrick, red in the face with that pending temper tantrum look, trying to wriggle away from Kenny and reaching for Butters, still repeating his mantra of 'daddy-daddy-daddy' as Kenny attempted to keep him in place.
Daddy.
Patrick was calling him 'daddy'.
Oh fuck.
Butters could only imagine his face—all guilty, deer-in-the-headlights as Kenny looked at him with a strange mix of realization, hurt, and utter desperation on his face.
"Kenny, I—"
"Are you fucking serious?" Kenny asked, and Butters knew it was more of a question directed at the universe or God or whoever than him, but… Kenny was looking at Butters not unlike he'd looked at Eric Cartman when he'd taught his Furby to say 'Butters is a butt pirate'.
Oh God.
Oh Jesus.
Butters had broken Kenny's Furby.
He watched as Kenny put Patrick down on the couch and, truthfully, his first instinct had been to run. He didn't have a brother like Kenny did—if a fight broke out, he was going to lose on sheer ineptitude, not to mention lack of fighting spirit.
"Eleven months," Kenny said, voice dangerously low as he left Patrick's range of hearing. "Eleven months of giving a hundred and fifty percent to that kid, and you're 'dad'."
"Kenny, I know you're upset," Butters replied softly, tentatively reaching out to put his hands on Kenny's shoulders. Kenny just threw him off and, like he realized he was already getting carried away, fisted his hands in his hair and pulled.
"No," he said very frankly. "Know what, Butters? You don't know. Know why? Because you're not his fucking father!" Kenny shouted the last bit, making Butters retract even more and look down at the floor. He knew Kenny was upset, but he also knew that no matter how mad he got, Kenny wouldn't ever hurt him. Kenny was very aware of himself in that respect, that he could be rough without meaning it, just because that was the way he'd been raised, because that was how people in his family were with each other. Butters knew that Kenny would never hurt anyone like that.
Of course, there was knowing, and then there was seeing the way Kenny was wriggling, the way he was biting his lip and getting all red in the face like he wanted nothing more than to hit the thing closest to him.
"Kenny, I don—I don't think this is my fault," Butters said very softly.
"I know it's not!" Kenny snapped back. "God fucking damn it, you think I'm just some idiot piece of fucking white trash who can't put two fucking coherent thoughts together?"
"No," Butters squeaked out and shook his head, still not looking at Kenny.
"And don't look away like I'm gonna fucking hit you if you make eye contact with me!" Kenny shouted again. "I'm not my dad, asshole."
"I know you're not," Butters replied, chancing a look up. He knew Kenny wouldn't hurt him, Kenny just had a very emotional face and Butters didn't want to see how hurt he was. He hated that he could hurt Kenny like that, even if he still wasn't entirely sure that this was his fault. Patrick was crying now, screaming at the top of his lungs like babies did when they sensed that something was awry. Kenny looked Butters dead in the eye, almost as though he was daring him to go tend to Patrick before he could. As a result, Butters didn't move, and Patrick went on crying.
"Well?" Kenny posed, gesturing to the front room with his arms. "Aren't you going to tend to your son?"
And there was something in the way he said it, something so filled with scorn and hatred and accusation that something inside Butters just snapped.
"What the fuck is goin' on up there, huh?" Butters pointed at Kenny's head. "You think I sit around tryin' to get him to call me 'dad'? I'm twenty-two years old, you think I want some kid callin' me 'daddy'? Why the fuck do you think I stopped sleepin' with women? So I wouldn't become the dead-behind-the-eyes, mopey dickhead piece of white trash you've turned into, you angry Irish shithead."
Kenny was stunned, and for a moment looked a little like he was snapped back into himself, like he'd open his mouth and apologize, unsure of what came over him, and everything would be back to the way it was.
Only this was actually happening, and Butters realized only a little too late that he may have been out of line.
"Dude, what the fuck, that's not cool," Kenny said, a little more hurt surfacing on his face. Only this time, Butters didn't feel that familiar sinking stone of guilt in his gut. He was glad Kenny was hurting, glad that he'd made him feel even remotely as awful as he'd just made Butters feel only moments ago. It felt… good.
"Well, if the shoe fits," Butters just shrugged. That seemed to renew the fire behind Kenny's eyes.
"You're fucking kidding me," Kenny spat. "After all this, you're giving me shit? Yeah, that seems pretty fucking fair."
"Oh, why don't you go knock back a few with the boys before you try and put me in my place, darlin'?" Butters shot back, shaking his head. "You'll never have the fucking stones to hit me sober."
Kenny was gone after that. Butters wasn't entirely sure how the events had transpired exactly, since most of what happened after the words had come out of his mouth had been drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the feeling that his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Patrick was still crying, even harder now after Kenny had slammed the door. Butters went to pick him up off of the couch and tried to soothe him, but it wasn't working.
He couldn't have known what they'd said, right? He couldn't have known that one stupid, little word had turned Kenny into an anger management case and Butters into every catty gay stereotype ever. God, and if he did, at least Butters prayed that he didn't think it was his fault.
Not that babies could process abstract ideas like culpability, but still.
"It's okay," Butters tried to say, even tried to hum some of that songs that Kenny always used to sing him to sleep, but it didn't work. Eventually he wore himself out, no thanks to anything Butters had attempted, and fell asleep, sucking his thumb, in Butters' arms.
Butters tiptoed up the stairs and down to Kenny's room, only instead of putting him in his crib he put him on Kenny's bed and curled up beside him. Patrick stirred a little at that and snuggled underneath Kenny's favorite blanket, a giant fleece throw he'd found at a garage sale a couple years ago. The dank smell had long since worn off, and it now smelled exclusively of Kenny. Butters always found himself curling up underneath it when he took naps on the couch because, even though they shouldn't have been, the faint smells of cigarettes, spearmint gum, and guy all soaked into the fibers of that blanket never failed to comfort him. Kenny's smell always comforted him, though, ever since he could remember.
Apparently, it worked for Patrick too.
Butters hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep, face buried in Kenny's pillow, until his cell phone started ringing at top volume. Butters answered it as quickly as possible, careful to look and make sure Patrick was still asleep.
"Hello?"
"Hey sweetheart," Bebe answered back. "Uh, I keep trying to call Kenny, but he's not answering. My plane landed half an hour ago and he's supposed to be here to pick me up. Tell me he just forgot his phone and not the mother of his child."
At which point Butters felt his face scrunch up in that way it did when tears were inevitable and all you could do was wait. He started crying and immediately told Bebe everything, paired with a lot of sobs and hiccups and shit, he didn't think he was actually this upset.
Except how couldn't he be. He'd been awful.
They both had been.
"Honey, don't even worry about it," Bebe said, very obviously frazzled but with that 'nothing-I-can't-handle' attitude that made poor, sad saps like Butters wonder just how in the hell she actually managed to operate on such a highly functional level. "Annie goes to school up here, it's the weekend, she'll be able to give me a ride. Take a few deep breaths, go watch some TV, I'll be there in a few hours and we'll talk, okay?"
"O-okay," Butters nodded and hung up, drawing his legs up and resting his forehead on his knees as he let himself cry for a little while longer. Her fucking grandma had just died and she was still going to sit there and listen to his problems.
Jesus, maybe he should get back into the business of sleeping with women.
He spent the next few hours downstairs, ass glued to the couch, eyes glued to a showing of Titanic, and hand glued to a pint of rocky road ice cream that he'd bought in some weird anticipation of feeling like absolute shit. Around one in the morning, Butters' phone rang, this time with the familiar sound of Kenny's self-assigned ringtone of James Brown's "Hot Pants."
"Hey," Butters answered, wanting nothing more than for Kenny to sound as utterly devastated and broken as Butters felt.
"Hey, yeah," came Kyle's tired, nasaly voice. He must've had a cold or something. "I'm gonna need you to come scrape this fucking mess off of the floor of my basement because I'm not doing this shit again."
"What?" Butters asked, sitting up now.
"You know," Kyle gave a sardonic laugh, "it's fucking shit like this that I try to warn him about and he never listens to me. Now he's cross-faded as fuck and dry-humping my drunk-ass boyfriend in my basement. Because you're a total fuckhead."
"Hey!" Butters snapped. "Don't you turn this i-inta somethin' that's my fault."
"It is your fault, Butters," Kyle pointed out. "You basically told him he was his dickhole dad, and it's not your fault? Grown the fuck up, Butters."
Butters could hear Kenny in the background, singing his name and speaking some gibberish language that Butters couldn't understand. Butters stood, a little disparaged at the fact that he'd apparently eaten an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting, and went to grab the car keys off of the hook.
"How'd he get there?" Butters wondered aloud.
"I came and picked him up when he told me what the fuck happened," Kyle said over a little commotion on the other end. "Jesus Christ, dude!"
"Alo there, lover," came Kenny's rather drunken slur. "Como vai?"
"Kenny, honey," Butters said very cautiously, "are you all right?"
"Tudo bom," Kenny said in a very reassuring voice. "Listen, quierido, I want you—are you listening?"
"Yeah, I think so," Butters furrowed his brow. He didn't understand half of what he was saying, but he'd go along with it.
"I want you to," he began. "Go… go into my closet and—are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," Butters nodded, getting a little impatient now. "Tell me what the fuck you're gonna say."
"Okay, okay, calm down," Kenny said, like Butters was the one who was drunk off of his ass. "Listen, Kyle's being a fucking hard-on because I told Stan he has a ni—a nice ass."
"Yeah…" Butters said, waiting for more.
"He does, doesn't he?"
"Kenny!" Butters snapped. "I'm supposed to go into your closet… and what?"
"Oh!" Kenny exclaimed. "Go into my closet and… there's a loose floorboard under that box where I keep all those DVDs. Y'know, my porn?"
"I'm aware, yeah," Butters nodded. "What am I lookin' for?"
"There's more DVDs under there," Kenny slurred. "An' I want—I think you should watch them. They'll make you… you see."
"Kenny, I don't wanna watch porn," Butters whined. "I wanna know you're okay. I-I wanna tell you how s-sorry I am, a-an'—"
"Fuck that!" Kenny said, a touch of valiance behind his voice, like he was charging into battle. "I'll be fine. Stan told me he'll… that he and Kyle will house me tonight."
"The fuck I will!" Butters heard Kyle call from somewhere close by. "Get your ass over here, Butters, before I murder your fucking boyfriend."
"He's not my boyfriend," Kenny said, in that same tone that suited a general going into battle rather than a drunken idiot. "He's the father of my child."
"Shit," Butters rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll be right there, okay? Just stay put and for fuck's sake, don't do anything to Stan's ass."
"Watch the DVDs," Kenny insisted. "It's your homework, college boy. There will be… a pop quiz when you get here. And the punishment for failure will be severe."
"All right," Butters sighed.
"And by severe," Kenny interjected. "I mean that your ass will incur a severe pounding… with my cock."
"I got it, thanks," Butters nodded. "Tell Kyle I'm on my way."
Butters hung up, despite hearing Kenny's vehement chanting of 'DVDs' over and over, and ran upstairs. His initial plan had been to wake Patrick and get him into the car so they could go get Kenny as soon as possible, preferably before Bebe got there, but…
Butters' eyes darted over to the closet and, for the life of him, he couldn't look away. Figuring that Kyle could wait a little while longer, Butters went into the closet and shifted over the rather weighty box of DVDs and tapes that made up only apparently a portion of Kenny's porn collection. Sure enough, there was a loose floorboard, under which Kenny had stowed about half a dozen DVDs, all knock-offs and all in flimsy little paper envelopes. They weren't even marked.
Now entirely intrigued, Butters practically ran down the stairs and popped a random one into the DVD player. He couldn't even bring himself to sit back on the couch—just kneeled in front of the TV and watched as some title credits rolled in a language he couldn't understand.
And then there was Kenny, standing in the middle of a cheap-looking room with his hands on his hips, speaking in his painfully white-washed accent in whatever language this was, whatever language he'd been speaking on the phone.
Fuck, it was probably Portuguese. He appeared to be answering someone's questions, looking off to the side of the camera and laughing right alongside the native speakers, like he was just as funny and charming as he was in English.
And then he started unbuttoning his pants and reaching into his underwear, cupping himself with that euphoric smile on his face he always got when he first touched himself after waiting too long. Immediately Butters flicked off the TV set and threw the remote across the room.
Porn.
Kenny had been…
Kenny had been in porn.
In Brazil.
He scrambled back across the room and grabbed the remote to switch the TV back on. Kenny was on the bed now, spread out and touching himself and Butters couldn't. fucking. look. away. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he supposed came with seeing anyone you knew in this type of thing, but at least it was just him. Touching himself.
Goddamn it, Butters was getting hard.
Not that it should've been a surprise. If Kenny had been right in front of him, doing the same exact thing, Butters would've already been well on his way to ravishing him by now. He couldn't do that now, though. He had to sit there and watch Kenny jerk himself off without being able to help him out, or kiss him or, take over.
Shit, why was he getting so worked up over this? He reached into his sweat pants and gave himself a squeeze. Hey, it wasn't like he would be able to get through the bulk of what Kenny wanted him to get through with his dick begging to be touched, so he decided it would be best, in the name of science, to get himself off before he proceeded to the next scene.
The next scene was… a little harder to watch. Kenny was on his hands and knees throughout most of it, a guy railing into him from behind while he sucked another guy's dick. This is only difficult because Butters, when he imagines Kenny in this position, in this scenario, Butters is at the very least the guy getting his dick sucked. Mostly he likes to imagine himself as the guy fucking into Kenny, though, because he actually loves when Kenny lets him do that, because—
Because he was the only one Kenny had ever let do that. And there was this stranger, fucking Kenny without abandon, like his scrawny ass was something to be abused and not something to be loved and cared for like the wonderful gift from God that it was.
Butters registered the key in the lock of the front door about a second and a half too late, and there was Bebe, yelling and covering her eyes like she'd just seen horrors unspeakable. Honestly, with those fake, tight moans Kenny was making and the gratuitous black leg hair of the man pounding into him, she wasn't too far off.
"They say, what," Bebe began, "Bad things come in threes? Grandma dies, ride ditches me at the airport, see said ditcher in cheap foreign porn. Glad I got it all out of the way in one waking period."
"Di-did you know about this?" Butters asked, gesturing vaguely to the TV, where Kenny was now on a bed, legs thrown over this strange man's shoulders and moaning like it was the best thing he's ever felt. Butters took a little bit of satisfaction at the fact that the sounds were fake, contrived for effect. Kenny didn't moan when you fucked him like that—he grunted and swore and thrashed like he was about to be sent to Valhalla when you did it just right, and this guy obviously didn't know jack shit about doing Kenny right.
"I think so," Bebe replied, though she looked to be unsure as she came to sit on the floor beside Butters. "He mentioned he did a lot of fucking to make end's meet while he was in Brazil. I never realized that this was what he meant. Where did you find these?"
"In his closet," Butters sniffed and sat back. "He told me to watch 'em."
"Ew, why?" Bebe wrinkled her nose and leaned forward to further inspect the screen. "Jesus, he looks so fucking gone."
"Whaddya mean?" Butters asked.
"Well, look at his face, hon," Bebe pointed out when the camera came back up to focus on Kenny's face. "He's on something."
"Aw Jesus," Butters breathed and looked away. He could deal with seeing the sex, but Butters had known too many tweakers and crystal queens at school that had been swindled into doing shit like this for money. The thought of anyone taking advantage of Kenny really just made Butters' gut burn with fury. He knew Kenny was tough and that he could take care of himself, but the one or two times he'd seen him high—high-high, like on heroin or cocaine—it had been a lot of Butters taking care of him until he came down.
"Butters, are you okay?" Bebe asked. "If it's upsetting, God knows we don't need to keep watching it." She emphasized the point by clicking off the TV and started rubbing her hand over his back.
"Why—" Butters hiccupped. "Why the heck would he—I don't get it."
"He needed money," Bebe shrugged. "He's got a more flexible moral code than most of us."
"But he j-just le-left me," Butters felt his jaw seize up. He took a deep breath and focused and attempted to continue. "F-for that?"
"No," Bebe shook her head and brought Butters into a full hug now. Butters could feel how worn down and tired she was, just from the way her skin smelled and how limply she held him. Butters pulled back and ran his fingertips through his hair. He felt electric, over-stimulated by everything that had transpired over the last few hours, and even though he knew for a fact that he was tired, he wouldn't have been able to sleep if he'd tried.
"Was it re-really s-so bad w-w-w—" Butters clapped his hand over his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. His stammer hadn't been this bad in years, not since he'd locked himself in his room the weeks anteceding Kenny's disappearance and had tried to lie to his mom about why he wasn't eating.
"Sweetheart, he didn't leave you because he thought that would be better," Bebe yawned, trying to keep herself engaged. "You're not… you're not the only person who got left here."
"What're you talkin' about?" Butters frowned, watching as Bebe rolled to her feet and grabbed her bag off of the floor.
"Honey, I love you, but I'm tired as fuck," she yawned again. "So I'm gonna lay it out for you and then go upstairs and crash. He left you before you could leave him. Happy? Now go frolic."
He left...
Before Butters could leave him? When the hell had Butters left him? If anything, Butters had pledged his undying devotion—had made it clear that had he was in fact overcommitted when Kenny had, expectedly, started pulling away.
"Wait a second," Butters stood as he made to follow Bebe up the stairs. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"
"Butters," Bebe turned around, obviously way more tired than she was letting herself believe. "How about you go find him, and ask him."
"I can't," Butters muttered and leaned against the doorjamb into Bebe's guest room. "He's crossfaded off of his ass at Kyle's."
"Oh good, then he'll tell you anything you want," Bebe yawned again and went down the hall. Butters watched her disappear into Kenny's room, only to see her reemerge a few moments later, pushing Patrick's crib back into her room. "I'll keep an eye on him for you while you go. Vaya con dios."
Butters jumped as Bebe shut her door right in his face. He stood there for a moment, watching the door, debating whether or not to slam his fist against the wood and tell Bebe to tell him everything she knew right that second. But he didn't. Instead he just took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed.
"Guess I'm goin' on an adventure."