A/N: Leopold is a regular Picasso…
A/R: Your call.
Eleven: Tattoos
By PDOTL
This was the life, Kenny thought while he watched as Butters stared, focused solely on his arms, his tiny tongue slicking out just a tiny bit. Currently they were alone, sitting on a picnic blanket under an oak tree. The sun was shining, a gentle breeze was blowing, and Butters, armed with a big brown marker, was happily tucked between the elder's legs, drawing Kenny secret, awesome tattoos. Under his breath he was singing a song that sent his warm breath fluttering against Kenny's neck. Ah, Life was good as a fleshy canvas.
"Kisses?"
"No, Kenny, I'm not finished yet!"
