Chapter 2: The Good Old Fashioned School of Lover Boys
The first day back at school after a suspension is always the worst. Not only do you have teachers looking at you like you're the most disappointing piece of shit on the planet earth, you also have people asking you left and right where the hell you've been all week.
Die for months at a time, no one gives a shit. Get suspended for a week, everyone's suddenly curious. "Where've you been, Kenny?" Fixing the hole in the roof and insulating the attic, where do you fucking think? Never ask when he actually has an interesting answer, like a cabana in Satan's courtyard or some shit.
As it stands, Kenny gets really uncomfortable around his schoolmates even on his better days, which he usually solves by hanging out behind the school and smoking a cigarette until he's placated enough to go back in.
Today, though, as much as he wants to do that, it's club rush in the plaza. This school has dozens of clubs, seemingly for everything you could ever imagine, and part of not getting chucked out of here for good means finding two that don't make him want to pluck out his eyes and commit mass homicide.
To set the scene: it's lunchtime. Pan in on young Kenny McCormick, walking around with Kyle-his good friend, his confidant-who has taken advantage of his access to the microwave in the AP Physics lab and is spooning some sort of delicious smelling soup into his face while they browse through the tables.
"I'm glad you're doing this," Kyle says as they pass the robotics club table, where a couple of kids are wrestling with a tampered Roomba.
"Why?" Kenny snorts as he adjusts his bag over his shoulder. He's got his giant book in his bag, and he's not doing a bang-up job of making too much sense of it.
"Because if you got kicked out of school I'd've kicked your ass," Kyle shrugs, stopping to add a crass pseudonym to the Young Republicans Club roster.
"Ah," Kenny nods. "Aren't you tabling for debate club or some shit?"
"Nah, Cartman's taking care of that," Kyle shakes his head.
"Young Ivy Leaguers?"
"Wendy territory, I'm afraid," Kyle supplies with another shake of his head.
"Aren't you in Mathletes?"
"No, dude, I'm not a nerd," Kyle says very frankly and it makes Kenny laugh. Kyle's good about making people laugh when they need it, and Kenny's been in dire need for weeks now. "So, what's your verdict?" Kyle asks as they complete what feels like their third round of the tables.
"Ugh, I don't know, man," Kenny grimaces. He never was great at shop, now that he's had a week to think on it. It's a fucking miracle he didn't fall off the roof this week or die of tetanus or something. He's not going to go out for any sports, because God only knows how little he wants to die from an impacted spine after being tackled. That and he's not particularly skilled at sports to begin with anyway.
His problem is that he has no interests. Not really, at least. He likes nudity, and he really likes watching movies, but he lacks a passion, as it would seem. He doesn't have things he likes to do, except have sex and watch movies and eat pizza and chips and stuff.
It makes his chest hurt. He used to want to help people, to save them and help make the world a better place, but how are you supposed to help people when you're too fucked up to function yourself? Once upon a time he thought he could keep himself separate from how awful his family is, that he could grow and be someone better if he tried. Something happened though and now he's just a useless sack of shit like the rest of them… except Karen. Karen's still got time to be better than all the rest of them put together.
"What about drama?" Kyle suggests through a shrug.
"Ha!" Kenny barks out a laugh. "Fuck that noise, dude, seriously."
"Why?" Kyle raises an eyebrow now. It's a challenge, Kenny realizes, and groans. He always loses those. "Dude, it's better than the alternatives. At least you know people in that club, and it's not academic or anything. You'd probably be really good at it, dude."
"The fuck makes you say that?" Kenny scowls now, folding his arms over his chest.
"You're a dramatic fuck," Kyle supplies offhandedly, rolling his eyes when Kenny glares at him. "Are you kidding me right now? You're going to sit there and tell me you're not dramatic as shit? You dressed up as a superhero until you were, like, eleven or something. You were always making a big deal about your super power being that you're immortal, which you got Butters to believe for like a week, remember? The list goes on, dude. I don't want to, but I'll name every last goddamn thing."
Kenny does actually consider this for a moment before he realizes that Kyle will talk forever and decides against it.
"I'm not dramatic," he insists instead.
"You punched Gary in the face for no reason," Kyle points out then. "Stupid, reckless, and immature. Also dramatic as fuck."
Kenny gives Kyle a hard look, even though he knows it's useless because Kyle is relentless about this kind of thing. He falters and folds his arms over his chest, "Fine…" he trails off before proving Kyle's point. He whines a little bit and bouncing up and down, "I don't wanna be in drama club, though, dude."
"More than you don't want to be expelled?" Kyle raises his eyebrow and puts a cap on his thermos. "You could always run Key Club with Gary," he offers and pulls a spectacularly derp-worthy face that makes Kenny roll his eyes and shove him with his shoulder. Fucking Kyle and his fucking… fuck.
Kenny looks over to where Gary and a few of the church kids are excitedly talking about feeding the poor or cleaning up state parks or some shit. God knows he doesn't need that in his life. He glances at the drama club table, where Butters and Red are trying to incite passers-by and failing miserably. Kenny sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He feels a little bad for them—being in plays and shit isn't so bad, maybe. In fact, somewhere deep down Kenny thinks it could actually be cool.
And if not, he can always work lights or something.
With a resigned sigh, Kenny walks over to the table, knowing full well that Kyle's going to follow him and stand there and watch him sign a piece of paper (like he's fucking six or something) and shoves his hands in his pockets. His gut clenches when Butters and Red look up at him. They appear to be confused.
Kenny can't say he blames them.
"Uh, hey guys," he says and shifts his bag on his shoulder again. "Um… what's the deal with this? Or whatever."
Butters gives him a look, and for a brief, mind-fuckingly frightening moment Kenny locks eyes with him. He knew his eyes were big and round and blue, but fixed below a furrowed brow in a scrutinizing glare they look like they could pierce right through Kenny.
He doesn't like it.
"Really?" Butters just asks, and Kenny sighs and screws his eyes shut. Fine, Butters really doesn't have a reason to believe Kenny wants to do this, he'll admit that, but Kenny doesn't need to be any more discouraged than he already is. He feels about three feet tall right now, and he doesn't like it.
Butters doesn't cut people down, not like this.
"Look, don't give me a fucking hard time," Kenny just sighs and runs his fingers through his hair."You know I have to do this, and drama seems… cool enough."
The words burn. Oh, how they burn.
"All right, jeez," Butters draws back now, which leads Kenny to believe that he may have really just been expressing genuine curiosity at Kenny's interest, not passing judgment.
Shit.
"Sorry," he mutters. He doesn't bother with a lame excuse, mostly because he's sure Butters wouldn't believe it anyway. "So, can I join?"
Butters glances over at Red, who's got her legs crossed and eyebrow raised and actually is giving Kenny a look that makes him feel like a piece of shit. Kenny folds his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to draw the strings of his hood shut and hide.
"'course you can," Butters beams then and pushes a sign-up sheet and a pencil across the table. "Our meetings are usually on Tuesdays at lunchtime in room 309, but we're havin' one after school in that same room, just to welcome new members an' have a little fun. Once we get auditions set an' start rehearsals we'll set up the regular afterschool meetings. Sound all right?"
"Better than expulsion," Kenny mumbles and signs his name, the third on the page, and hands the pencil back to Butters. Their fingers brush, at which point Kenny's life turns into an eighties teen movie and his heart speeds up a little.
He's actually a little disgusted by himself right now.
"Anything else?" Red interjects harshly, and Kenny realizes he's been staring at Butters a little too long, and Butters is giving him a look.
Okay, paranoia aside, that's definitely a very… understanding look.
"Jesus, Red, cover your bitch up, there's kids around," Kyle shoots back, but Red just rolls her eyes.
"Would you pipe the fuck down, Broflovski?" she shakes her head. "He was rude first, you sanctimonious piece of shit."
"Oh, hold up, 'sanctimonious'," Kyle holds his arms out. "Tips at Hooters are for big tits, not big words; start honing your skills now."
Kenny has to drag Kyle out of a literal line of fire as Red starts crumpling up fliers and throwing them at Kyle's head. He doesn't get the chance to go sign up for Auto club, which he's kind of down for until he sees that Fosse is the headlining member at the table and changes his mind. Fosse's the kind of dick who never grew out of being a total tool, and age has only made it worse. Kenny's gotten into fights with people like him and Bill, who ask Kenny if he's 'some kind of queer' when they catch him smiling or whistling at his locker or something.
It's not only annoying, but Jesus Christ, a guy can't whistle?
Kenny and Kyle part when they come to Kenny's art history class. It's taught in the art room, by the art teacher (who's this old hippie from Portland who somehow ended up in this fucking redneck stretch of the Rockies), but without all the fun art stuff. It's only Kenny's first day, and already he's bored.
What should he care about some old painter from Italy, anyway? Knowing this shit isn't going to pay his rent when he gets older. He takes to doodling in his notes, something he's always done. After years of practice, watching Disney movies with Karen and Adult Swim with Kevin, he likes to think he's pretty good. Not professional or anything, but he can draw a chick with a nice rack like nobody's business.
He has last period off, which means he's the last one left in class as everyone rushes off. Truth be told, he'd spaced out a little and had temporarily forgotten how to be awake for the last ten minutes of class, which usually ends up in a detention for him. He's never had the art teacher, Ms. Epstein is her name he thinks, but she doesn't yell at him for dozing off, and is in fact preoccupied with the doodles at the bottom of his rather sparse notes.
"Those're neat," she says with a smile when Kenny comes to. "Have you ever taken an art class with me?"
Kenny feels like that's something this woman should know, whether or not he's been her student before.
"No," he just shakes his head and shuts his notebook.
"Well, those were quite good then," she gives him a smile and goes back to her desk. "We have a cartooning club on campus. Did you know that?"
He did. He hadn't recognized anyone at the table today, which was almost enough to get him to sign up just based on the fact that he's not entirely fond of the people he already knows. He knows he's not good enough at it to be in a club fully dedicated to it, though, so he refrained.
"Um, I'm not that great," he says and slips his notebook back into his bag.
"Well, the only way you improve is by doing," Ms. Epstein shrugs. She grabs a pen out of an obviously hand-made ceramic mug and starts jotting something down on a sheet of paper. "We meet here on Thursdays at lunch. Some Fridays we go to the Macaroni Grill in Littleton and make group projects on their paper table cloths. It's a small group, but we'd be happy to have you."
Kenny feels a weird pull in his stomach, and suddenly wonders if this is what it's like to have a supportive adult in your life.
His parents used to be supportive, used to let him take singing lessons and shit, but then he got too big for that and they got into too much trouble and suddenly it wasn't "what do you want to do" but "this is what you have to do".
"Uh, thanks," he says and takes the paper from her. It's the information she's just relayed, plus her email address.
"If you have any questions, or just want to talk, I'm here," she says with a smile. "There are some things in life you can't discuss with anyone but an artist."
Kenny's not entirely sure of what that means, or what any of this means, really. All he knows is his stomach is empty and he and Kyle have sixth period off and that he said he'd take him to Sonic. He tosses out another thank you before he goes to meet Kyle down in the main office, where he's waiting behind a line of students to sign himself out.
"Hey, man, how was computers?" Kenny asks. Okay, it's AP Computer Science, but he already feels like enough of a tool asking Kyle about how his class went. He doesn't need to make it worse.
"Ugh, it can suck my dick," Kyle mutters. "Everything this wad is teaching us I already know."
Kenny nods, wondering how it must feel to be ahead of the curve. He's never been ahead of anything in school, and now it's probably close to hopeless.
He sees the dean only a second too late, and instead of hiding behind Kyle he sort of just awkwardly squishes against him.
"Hello, Kenny," the dean smiles, and if it's not malicious in its amusement, it's in no way genuinely kind. "How are your classes treating you? Sorry I couldn't fit you into any with your friend Kyle here."
"They're fine," Kenny says, careful not to give him too much attitude. He doesn't think he can handle anymore suspensions. His dad was running out of things for him to do by the end of the week, so he just had him get him more beers and that had ended in a few nasty spats that Kenny's not too keen on thinking about at the moment.
"Find any clubs to join?" the dean asks, still smiling.
"Drama club," Kyle pipes up, because somehow Kyle's still a little protective of him even though he's far from needing it. "He's going to one of their meetings after school."
"And cartoon club," Kenny chimes in and pulls Ms. Epstein's note out of his pocket. "Thursdays at lunch."
"Ahh," the dean grins as he looks at Ms. Epstein's note, looking genuinely impressed. "Very nice, McCormick. Those'll be good for you. Creativity, all that good stuff. Good. I'm excited to see the results. Maybe I'll stop by that drama meeting after school, say hello."
The dean pushes the note back into his hand, gives both him and Kyle a smile, and walks back toward his office. Kenny lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and scratches his head under his hood as Kyle signs himself out.
"Fuck," he says just as Kyle moves aside and he can sign his own name. "Fuck it, I didn't want to go to that."
"Dude, calm the fuck down," Kyle rolls his eyes. "You'll go, you'll sit in the back, it won't be a big deal. Jesus, what is with you lately?"
"Nothing's with me," Kenny scowls as they make their way out of the office and that's the end of that. That's the nice thing about Kyle: he's quick to drop shit you don't want to talk about. He's not like Stan, who exhaustively badgers you with bullshit questions until you break down and tell him something stupid just to get him to shut up.
Kenny eats his weight in tater tots and cheeseburgers, downing it all with a strawberry milkshake that he makes Kyle swear he'll never mention. By the time he's done he's full and sated enough not to care that he's going to have to sit through some drama club fuckery for who knows how long.
When he gets to the classroom, he looks to be the last one there. Wendy and Butters are at the front of the classroom, Wendy standing and Butters sitting cross-legged up on a desk, and stop talking when he comes in, looking directly at him like he's got daisies growing out of his ears.
He hates this. Oh, god, how he hates this.
He takes a seat beside Stan, who's sitting close to the back of the room at least, before hugging his bag close to his chest and sinking low in his seat. Stan gives him a curious look, which Kenny meets with a shake of his head and a 'don't ask' sort of face. Gary's sitting on the other side of him, which makes Kenny's gut twist unpleasantly, but he tries not to think on it.
Except the only other place to look is Butters and Wendy. He's not so sure he likes this.
"All right," Wendy finally continues, "This is really just a meeting for everyone to just sort of get to know each other, and for us to talk a little bit about what we do."
While she rattles on about the importance of the dramatic arts, Kenny takes a look around. This is the saddest collection of people he's ever seen, with the exception of Bebe and Red, of course. Annie and Heidi are sitting off to the side, plus a lot of girls from North Park that he's seen around. A lot of bespectacled girls who aren't quite out of their awkward stages yet, who probably talk loudly and at length about the different obscure TV shows they watch.
Nerds. Kenny is surrounded by nerds.
"—So, in the interest of getting to know everyone," Wendy continues, "I'd like to just go around the room and have you guys say something quick about yourselves. Your name, your grade, why you're here, and an interesting fact about yourselves."
There's a slight intake of breath from some of the younger members (and a groan from Kenny that's quickly stomped out by a swift elbow to the side, courtesy of Stan) that makes Butters give a little laugh.
"You guys are afraid of public speakin', you picked the wrong club," he gives a wry smile and, rather infuriatingly, catches Kenny's eye. He holds his gaze for a second too long, a look of absolute knowing behind those eyes, before turning to pay attention to Wendy.
"Hi, I'm Wendy Testaburger and I'm a senior," she grins proudly. "I'm here because I love how much fun we have in this club and how many great people are back for another year. I'm ASB president, I run the Young Democrats chapter on campus, I'm in debate club, and I've also been on our school's academic decathlon team for the last two years. As you can imagine, I've got a lot on my plate this year, so I'll pass it off to my co-captain here..."
Kenny feels a pleasant stir in his gut when Butters beams at her and then turns his smile to the rest of the room and waves, which he quickly stomps out and fixes his face with a scowl.
"Hi, I'm Butters," he says and folds his hands in his lap. "That's what everyone calls me, so don't bother askin' me otherwise. I'm a senior, an' I'm here 'cause I watched way too many Gene Kelly movies when I was a kid."
Kenny can't help it; he laughs at that. He's watched every movie they stock at work at least once, and Singin' in the Rain is definitely one of the ones that he liked way more than he thought he would. He realizes then that people are staring back at him and he quickly pulls the strings on his hood. Butters doesn't stop looking at him, though, until Wendy mentions that he forgot to include his interesting fact.
"My interesting fact was that I watched a lotta Gene Kelly movies," Butters tosses back. "Some of us like bein' efficient when we answer questions."
There's a low rumble of laughter when Butters sticks out his tongue at Wendy, and Kenny feels his cheeks color. He thinks he might actually kind of like Butters right now—only that's stupid. Of course he's always liked Butters. You can't not like Butters; that's what's so goddamned infuriating about him.
Even as other people introduce themselves, Butters keeps letting his eyes dart back to Kenny. Kenny only knows this, of course, because he can't find it in himself to look anywhere other than Butters.
And just like that Kenny sees it. He thinks Butters might know. Like, know—if not about the sexy dreams then at least that Kenny's not normal. He may be dumb about a lot of stuff, but Butters is very adept at feeling out people from what Kenny's gathered, and that's the scariest fucking thing Kenny's ever seen.
He doesn't even realize that Stan and Gary have already gone, that it's now his turn to stand up and talk, and his mind's a blank. What's his name again? Grade? What's a grade? Interesting? He's not interesting.
"Don't just sit there like a bump on a pickle," Butters chides as Stan prods Kenny to his feet. Even when he's chastising, Butters has the biggest smile on his face, and Kenny begs his brain harder than ever to refrain from offering up "I think I might like to try sucking cock" as his interesting fact.
"Um, I'm Kenny," he gives an awkward wave.
"Undo your hood, we can't hear you," Butters gives a belligerent little frown.
"Yes, projection, darling," Wendy rights her spine and thrusts her chest out, voice booming more loudly than usual.
"Gotta see that mouth a'yours," Butters grins then, and Kenny feels his breath catch.
Oh… oh, what an asshole.
Grudgingly, he unties the strings on his hood and opens it up, but won't pull it down. He'll be lucky if he can keep a fucking erection at bay with Butters staring at him, smiling like this.
"I'm Kenny, I'm a senior, and I'm here because I'd be expelled if I wasn't," Kenny comes out with it quickly, like pulling off a band-aid. "Stotch method: interesting fact and reason all in one."
He plops back down and refuses to speak for the rest of the meeting. Well, that's his plan, at least. Stan kind of destroys that when he leans over and whispers, "Okay, you really need to chill the fuck out with being a dick to Butters."
"I thought I was," Kenny mumbles back, looking fixedly at the seat in front of him.
"Well, try harder," Stan insists. "He doesn't deserve it, especially when all he is is fucking nice to you, okay?"
"What about Joseph Smith over there," Kenny nods. "He's the one I punched in the face."
"My face is fine," Gary insists, though not with the slightest ounce of sarcasm that Kenny expected after having been friends with people like Kyle and Cartman for so long.
"Gary can take care of himself, dude," Stan scowls.
"I'm autonomous," Gary agrees with a nod.
"Butters doesn't deserve the crap people put him through, and he's really bad at not taking it," Stan mutters. "He's a good guy. That's not a fucking invitation to see who can take the biggest shit on him, okay?"
"Okay, okay!" Kenny practically yelps, which only draws more attention to him and prompts Butters to cross his arms and loudly ask if he has anything he'd like to share.
Butters can't take shit… yeah fucking right.
Wendy and Butters launch into a discussion about their wintertime play, which turns out to be A Charlie Brown Christmas. Upon hearing this, Kenny is ready to declare this the gayest thing he's ever heard and leave, but Stan catches him and pulls him back. They end the meeting by posting audition sheets at the front of the room, and Kenny moves to duck out before the rush.
"Hey, you want a ride home?" Stan asks.
"Yeah, I'll meet you at your car," Kenny nods and slips out of the room before Butters can get to him or anything. Goddamn it, that fucking dick dean didn't even show up. He just put himself through all that shit for nothing on top of everything.
Rather than go wait in the parking lot, he heads to the bathroom up on the fourth floor, since that's the one that's always deserted, and pulls a joint he squirreled away in his pack of cigarettes.
Anything to take the edge off this fucking afternoon. He lights up and takes a deep drag, holding it in as long as possible to diminish the amount of smoke he lets out when he exhales. He takes another, and another, repeating this process until he's pretty sure he'll be good and gone for a few hours. He licks his fingers and puts it out before slipping it back into his pack—Kevin usually gives him pretty crap stuff, but he switched the good stuff out of his sock drawer for a bag of the cheaper stuff… Kevin's such a crap dealer that he doesn't even realize.
He sits there for a few minutes, or it might be longer, he's not sure, before he decides he's okay to reenter society. Then he sits there for a little while longer because he's not at the point where his legs want to work quite yet. He really is about to get up though when he hears the door open and a two pairs of shoes squeaking along the tile as they shuffle in. Kenny lifts his feet up, hiding just in case some nefarious deeds are about.
"He's waiting at the car, isn't he?"Kenny hears the familiar tones of Gary's voice echoing off the tile walls.
"Dude, just chill," that's Stan, and soon to follow are the very unsubtle, unmistakable sounds of lips on lips that, if Kenny hadn't just smoked, would've made his mind explode.
He peeks out through the crack in the door and sees Stan sandwiched between Gary and the wall, arms around Gary's neck and looking to be enjoying the ever-loving fuck out of macking with him. It's one of the strangest sights Kenny's ever seen. He'd always thought two guys kissing would be slow and sensual, like girls got when they kissed sometimes, but this is… This is two guys kissing. Gary's got Stan against the wall and Stan looks not unlike he's trying to fuck Gary's mouth with his tongue.
Even with the delay from the pot, Kenny's getting astonishingly hard. He realizes this of course and is hit soon (or maybe not soon) after by a wave of overwhelming nausea as his heart starts slamming against his ribs.
Fuck, this is not okay. Not okay at all.
Quietly, Kenny attempts to pick up his bag and slip out of the stall unnoticed, but he's apparently not doing a very good job of it. He attempts to push the stall door instead of pull, and when he finally manages to get out of there, he trips over his shoelaces and knocks right into the wall.
"Kenny, what the fuck!" Stan shouts as Gary flies back and goes to duck behind him a bit.
"What do you—" Kenny begins. "Me? What about you! I'm not… tonguing Donny Osmond in a school bathroom. Jesus fucking Christ, have some goddamned dignity."
"I'm kind of starting to think you don't actually know my name," Gary interjects with a frown and Kenny rolls his eyes, resolving to take off again, only to bump right back into the wall.
"This bathroom's a fucking labyrinth, I swear to god," Kenny mutters and goes to push the out of the bathroom with his entire body, only to find out, once again, that he is apparently lacking an ability to work doors.
He stumbles back out into the hallway, coughing a little as he makes his way down to the parking lot. Maybe someone's still here and will give him a ride out of the kindness of their hearts. Either that or he can call Kyle again. Kyle's picked him up under worse circumstances.
And he can tell Kyle just exactly what his super best friend or whatever the fuck is getting up to when he thinks no one's looking. Maybe Kyle could talk some sense into him or something.
When he gets to the parking lot, he sees Bebe by her car, sunglasses down over her eyes and she talks with Wendy about something or another. She must see Kenny though, because she gives him a wave, and when Kenny waves back Wendy looks between the two of them and gives Bebe a little knowing shake of her head before heading off to her own car.
"Hey there, stranger," Bebe smiles as Kenny comes up to her. "Need a lift?"
"Dang, girl, you can read me like a book," Kenny gives her a hazy grin that makes her look over the tops of her glasses and laugh.
"Son, you high," she tsks as she opens her car door, "Get in before you hurt yourself."
Kenny gives her a little salute and ducks into her car, buckling in for safety of course, and starts in on a long internal debate over whether or not he should tell her about what he's just seen. She'll probably think it's funny, gasp-worthy even, and it'd be all over the school by tomorrow because she's got an even bigger mouth than Kyle about shit like this.
Somehow, Kenny doesn't think Stan or Gary would appreciate this very much.
Oh god, he just saw Stan and Gary making out, didn't he?
Kenny sinks low in his seat and pulls the drawstrings of his hood nice and tight. He doesn't want to be part of a world where Stan makes out with guys… least of all guys like Gary. Somehow this makes everything more real, like if it could happen to Stan then it could definitely happen to Kenny.
God, this is fucked.
"You okay?" he hears Bebe ask. There's a bit of delay before he remembers to nod his head and kicks his feet up on the dash.
"Got a lot on my mind," he manages, and Bebe nods.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" she asks, sympathetic, and Kenny replies with a loud, adamant, "No way in hell."
They get to Kenny's house after a stretch of driving, during which Bebe hooks up her iPod and lets Kenny pick what they listen to. She's got an impressive collection of AC/DC, which Kenny appreciates in a woman, and puts on 'Big Balls' just to be an ass. That, and he likes the way she rolls her eyes and smiles when Kenny gives her a cheeky grin.
She's really fucking pretty when she's pretending she's not amused.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?" she says when she rolls to a stop outside Kenny's house, not at all bothering to hide her smile. Kenny's smile broadens as he leans up to peck her on the cheek, and he's almost giddy when she maneuvers so that her lips are sliding gently against his.
Maybe he just needs to focus on this for a little while, y'know? Making out with a pretty girl in her car. Kenny brushes his knuckles up Bebe's side and over the swell of her breast before unabashedly copping a feel. He laughs a little when she does, and wraps his arms around her as they kiss some more. Her chest is pillowed warm against his, and Kenny gets to wondering how two dudes manage to cope with the lack of tits between them.
Fuck. Now he's got Stan and Gary back in his head, all rough and tearing at each other's mouths just as Bebe reaches down to grab at his dick through his jeans.
Fuck, he can't do this—not with two dudes polluting his head like this. He tears away, not knowing if he's disgusted or confused or if he's just high as a fucking kite.
"Sorry," he mutters and opens the door. "I can't right now. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Um, yeah," Bebe pulls a little frown, not upset so much as it is curious Kenny thinks, but he doesn't want to dwell. He gives her a wave and makes a bee line for his front door. His and Kevin's truck is in the driveway, so that means he's still home on top of everything else, which is just… fucking great.
Kevin is apparently not having the same problems as Kenny. If the topless, bleach blonde girl straddling his lap on their shitty couch is anything to go by. She doesn't have any clothes on, just a cheap leopard print bra with black lace and the panties to match and Kenny knows he's staring but he actually cannot help it. His brother always manages to find the trashiest girls in the fucking state, and it's a wonder he doesn't have a bunch of little pissheaded children running around a trailer park somewhere.
"The fuck are you looking at, cockface?" Kevin pulls away from his place in this girl's chest, and Kenny shakes his head.
"Don't call me by my slave name," Kenny just shoots back loudly, because he thinks he's funny sometimes and it's absolutely lost on this family most of the time. Only he can't deal with this shit right now, so he doesn't bother to stick around for a verbal sparring, just heads up the stairs.
He accidentally ends up in Karen's room, where she's sitting in a beanbag chair and reading through an issue of Cosmo Kenny lifted for her the other day, which prompts him to shake his head and play it off like he meant to do it. Karen doesn't like that he smokes, but Kenny suspects it's only because she doesn't like being the only sober person in a room. He can't say he blames her.
"Are you okay?" Karen asks, and Kenny figures he must be looking about as disturbed and sick as he feels.
"Kevin has a girl downstairs," he grabs at his stomach and sits on her bed. Karen rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
"I know," she says. "I think he brought her home last night. I didn't even catch her name when I got home before I ran up here with my hands over my eyes. Is she wearing clothes yet? She wasn't when I got home. I've seen things, Kenny. Very big, very fake things."
Kenny throws his head back and laughs, because Karen is funny. Funny like he is, in the way that Kevin and their parents don't like.
"Fuck, you know he doesn't know her name either," he says. "God, it's probably something like Trixie or Chastity or something."
They laugh for a bit, both incapacitated by it, and somehow Kenny ends up behind her, braiding her hair. It's only something he ever does when he's drunk or high and he needs to do something with his hands to keep himself occupied. Not that he wants to brag, but he can braid the fuck out of hair. Regular, reverse, French, fish-tail… he is the master of braids.
"Good God," Karen says as she flips through her magazine. "Do guys really like this kind of thing?"
"Probably not," Kenny responds through a yawn, still hazy and not at all in the mood to discuss what men do or don't like to do in bed. Because he doesn't care. At all. "Why do you care?"
Aside from the fact that she is a heterosexual teenage girl.
"No reason," Karen shrugs, lets a few beats pass before she turns and confesses, "There's this guy from North Park who asked me out tomorrow night. Just wanted to know what I'm in for if it goes anywhere."
There's something that goes sour in his stomach and effectively kills his entire buzz when he realizes that even his little sister is thinking about sex.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Kenny stands, abandoning a braid halfway through, "Is fucking all anyone can fucking think about right now?"
"Whoa," Karen frowns as Kenny grabs his bag off the floor. "Dude, are you okay?"
"I'm fucking fine!" he shouts, which prompts Karen to shout back, "Don't yell at me, asshole!"
Kenny flips her off before he leaves her room and tromps back downstairs, where Kevin and Ellie fucking May are squished against each other, mostly naked and grinding like there aren't two minors in the house.
It's like a bad film sequence that Kenny can't escape. Sex-sex is the only thing the world wants to throw at him right now, and it's like he's being punished for not seizing an opportunity with Bebe in her car. He blows right past them and out the door, determined as almighty fuck to clear his head before he goes nuts. He never thought he'd say this, but he's so fucking tired of sex that it's not even funny. It's painful to think, and he actually sort of hates himself for doing so, but he feels downright suffocated by it. The things he enjoys, the things that make him a normal red-blooded American boy, are the things he's not getting; the things that pollute his mind and leave him hard and aching with want are the things that would have him lynched by certain members of his family.
He finds himself in Tweak Bros. He's not sure how long ago he left the house or what even drove him here, aside from the fact that they have good coffee and delicious muffins that are the size of Kenny's face.
He orders a large coffee and a blueberry muffin, and he's never been happier at a prospective dinner. He thanks Tweek kindly, giving a slight bow and a tip of an imaginary cap as he turns to find a table to sit at.
The tables are all mostly empty, except for a few. Butters is sitting by himself at one, and once he sees this, Kenny can't let it go. He can't sit somewhere else, no matter what his brain tells him. He's feeling that weird mix of irritation, anger, and regret (but only when he remembers that Stan told him that he's been too mean to him). Butters looks up from the book he's reading and catches Kenny's eye with a smile. Kenny rolls his eyes when he gives him a little wave and, instead of stalking out of the store without a word, walks over and asks if he can sit with him.
Fuck, he must be high.
Butters looks a little taken aback, but nods anyway.
"Sure, Ken," he says, and Kenny plops down rather unceremoniously with his mug of coffee and warm muffin on his little white plate. His stomach is rumbling and he doesn't much care that Butters is looking at him like he's crazy. He's had a long day, okay?
"What?" he asks when he looks up and sees Butters looking right through him, smile on his face and grabbing at the back of his neck. Butters just shakes his head and looks back down at his book.
"Nothin'," he says, smile still not gone from his face. "Had an interesting afternoon, huh?"
"Yeah, really fuckin' enlightening," Kenny shoots back suddenly and slams his muffin back onto his plate. He doesn't want to eat anymore, especially not when Butters glances back up at him with a serious look in his eyes.
"You know you can't say anythin' about it, right?" he asks Kenny softly, and when Kenny just gives him a blank stare back, he shuts his book and leans forward on the table with an imploring look on his face.
"Kenny, this is serious, all right?" Butters says softly, a hint of urgency to it. "I know you don't care about this kinda thing, but you can't just go around outing people—especially Gary."
"Why especially him?" Kenny scowls. "What the fuck should I care if people know he sucks Stan's cock?"
"Because!" Butters flails a bit, trying to get him to hush up. "Gary's Mormon. They take that stuff real seriously, okay?"
When Kenny rolls his eyes, Butters takes a wadded up napkin off the table and throws it at him.
"At the very least," he continues, "It's a general rule that you don't just go and out people, all right? It's rude."
Kenny's about to snap back, but then remembers Stan's plea for him to be nicer to Butters. It'd probably behoove Kenny to heed Stan's words. Stan's on the football team; he could take Kenny down in an instant if he really wanted. Fuck, if Gary could make him go down as hard as he did, there's no question Stan could annihilate him.
He takes a big chunk out of his muffin and stuffs it in his mouth, chewing it while he hopes that Butters will stop staring at him.
This is not happening, though, so Kenny looks at him again and, after swallowing, takes a gulp of coffee before finally coming out with, "I'm sorry."
Butters perks up at this, blinking his big blue eyes in an entirely infuriating way, and, honest to god, his cheeks turn an impossibly bright shade of pink.
"Wha-what?" he stammers a bit, and Kenny shrugs, picking at his muffin again.
"I guess I'm a dick to you," he says. "I should stop, so I'm sorry."
"Oh," Butters pouts a little and sinks back into his seat. "I-I reckon no one's ever apologized to me for somethin' like that before, but… thanks?"
"I aim to please," Kenny raises his mug and takes another sip before offering, "Also I'm pretty high."
The buzz may have worn off, but weed, as a rule, makes him way nicer than normal. Butters looks at him for a long hard second before he's caught up in a fit of giggles and buries his face in his hands.
"That explains a lot," he says. "I was wonderin' why you weren't bein' followed by your regular little black raincloud."
Kenny flips him off, but it makes Butters laugh a little harder, so he doesn't make too much of it. He works slowly at his muffin and coffee, not wanting to finish and be left without an excuse to not go home. He and Butters don't talk for a while, Kenny focusing on his food while Butters returns to his book. Eventually it makes its way into Kenny's mind to cock his head and see what he's reading. It's Frankenstein, which Kenny thinks he's probably supposed to be reading for English class.
Then it hits him.
"Dude, you're in a bunch of my classes now, aren't you?"
Butters doesn't look up from the book, just smiles and says, "Yup. You're quite the academic this year, aren't you?"
"Okay!" Kenny flies forward, fully getting Butters' attention now. "That fuckhole dean knows I'm friends with Kyle and totally dicked me out of being in the same classes as him so I won't cheat or something. Fucked, right?"
"Totally," Butters gives him a long, exaggerated nod.
"But you—you're pretty good at this shit, right?" Kenny asks. Butters smirks now, drumming his fingers on the table as he gives Kenny a calculating look.
"Kenny McCormick, are you propositioning me?" he asks.
Kenny pales at this, completely frozen. If there was any doubt leftover in Kenny's mind, it's gone now. Butters Stotch knows, and fuck.
Fuck.
He's flirting with him.
Butters is flirting with him.
And Kenny's not entirely sure of how to proceed, because Butters is not... he's got… it's just—fuck, he's not a girl. It'd be different if Butters was a girl. Kenny knows how to handle that. He'd toss out a charming smile and lean forward, maybe knock his boots against Butters' shoes under the table, except goddamn it Butters is not a girl. He's got a pretty face, yeah sure okay fine, but his jaw is all angles and he's got these broad shoulders and big hands that are all square and rough-looking. They're all covered in calluses, the backs all marred by cuts and scrapes and scars… kind of like Kenny's are.
Suddenly Kenny finds himself wondering how these rough hands might feel against his skin. He likes the feeling of soft hands, smaller hands, but there's just something about the way Butters' sit against the table that leads Kenny to believe that they know their way around another person's body, and it's making his mouth more than a little dry.
"Hey there, Space Ranger, see somethin' you like?"
Kenny is pulled instantly out of his head, all hot in the face as Butters starts laughing again. "Sorry," he mutters, and Butters jut waves a hand and moves to put his book back in his bag.
"Don't worry about it," he says absently, still amused as ever when he looks back up at Kenny. "I'd better get goin'… can I give you a lift?"
"No," Kenny answers very suddenly, leading Butters to raise his eyebrows and Kenny to shake his head. "Sorry, I just meant…" say nothing about your erection, Kenneth. Nothing. "I'd rather walk tonight. Thanks, though."
"Okay," Butters frowns skeptically as he stands. "You sure you'll be all right?" He slips on his bomber jacket and slings his bag over his chest, which almost prompts Kenny to reply with a 'no, no I won't be you asshole'.
"Yeah, fine," he nods instead. Butters gives a little shrug before he raises his hand in a wave.
"See you at school tomorrow, then," he says through a smile and leaves, stopping at the door to turn and give Kenny what has to be the most genuine, "Be safe" Kenny has ever heard. He replies by giving a salute and waits until he sees Butters' headlights flip on through the window to draw his hood tight and smack his head on the table.
It's not the first boner he's gotten in public because of Butters Stotch, and he's a little horrified when he realizes he's already accepted that it probably won't be his last.
Thanks to everyone who read and/or reviewed! I'm super stoked for this story. I'll try to stay a little more on top of updates, I promise.
Chapter title comes from Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen.
Last chapter title (and title of the whole fic) comes from Blame it on the Girls by Mika, but I totally dorked up and forgot to mention it.
