Chapter 3: Father, Why Do These Words Sound So Nasty?

Kenny has spent the better part of the last two weeks ignoring Stan. This works out to his advantage most of the time, since he can just pass off that he's studying with Kyle and Cartman in lieu of hanging out with Stan because, "sorry dude, can't fail out of my classes."Stan gets it, for the most part, even if every time Kenny ducks behind a trashcan or the nearest available fat kid he gets this look of pained loss on his face and trudges off the other way.

Butters catches him doing this on several occasions, but since Kenny's doing his damndest to avoid him too, he evades being scolded. Mostly, he hangs out with Kyle and Cartman. They're pretty safe bets, always smoking or having arguments behind the gym… Kenny thought it was weird at first, but he sort of sees it now. They're both dangerously smart, probably the smartest guys in school, and cool as they are around Stan and Kenny, they're each the only one that's on the other's level. They're the kinds of guys who thrive not only on intellectual stimulation, but winning. That's what their conversations are: a fucking chess match, only with a lot more hostility and about the same amount of swearing.

Kenny doesn't mind it. He's content to listen to them tear at each other's throats while he tries to make sense of his books, occasionally reading more complicated sentences aloud until they start making some semblance of sense.

It's difficult, but he actually kind of likes it. It stretches his brain in new and interesting ways, ways that he never thought possible. Feeling smart is kind of cool.

He gets most of his stuff wrong, but that's because, as Kyle says, he's not used to it yet.

Today Kyle and Cartman are arguing over the finer points of vectors or some stupid math shit while Kenny stares at one of the pictures in his art book. School ended a while ago and neither Cartman nor Kyle has taken notice that Kenny's waiting for a ride home, so he just looks at his book instead. This particular piece is straight out of pop art, according to the book, and Ms. Epstein said they might not even get to it, but Kenny thinks it's way cooler than Rembrandt or whoever.

He doesn't look up until someone casts a shadow over his book—and this someone happens to be the owner of a very bright yellow pair of converse. Kenny sighs and leans back against the wall, "What do you want, Butters?"

"Nice to see you too," Butters clips back, a little impatient as he folds his arms across his chest. "Know what today is?"

"Our anniversary?" Kenny deadpans as he returns to his book, pausing only to light another cigarette—his third of the afternoon.

Butters rolls his eyes, "Auditions, Kenny." When Kenny stares blankly back at him, Butters sighs and braces his hands on his hips. Okay, it's way fun to annoy Butters. He gets all flustered and huffy and Kenny would think it's kind of cute if he thought guys were cute.

Which he does not, right?

Right.

"Kenny, you said you'd help," Butters pleas desperately.

"Oh," Kenny frowns, taking a deep drag and blowing it in Kyle's and Cartman's direction. They've stopped fighting and are now paying full attention to him and Butters. "I only said that because I thought 'help' meant, like… stay the fuck out of your way."

"Why in the hell would it mean that?" Butters asks, genuinely confused.

"That's what it means in my house," Kenny shrugs, which gets another eye-roll from Butters and a couple of amused snorts from Kyle and Cartman.

"Butters why the fuck are you trying to corrupt Kenny," Cartman scoffs. "Can't you see he has enough problems as it is?"

Kenny flips him off and shuts his book, though not before marking his page. He doesn't get up though, just keeps staring up at Butters. He feels in the mood to be particularly difficult today.

"Gotta tell ya," he says with a shake of his head. "I'm not really feelin' the whole drama thing today."

It's a dick move, but now he's just kind of eager to hear how Butters will get him to go. Plus, any chance to incense him further is just aces in Kenny's book.

"Fine," is what Butters says instead, though he doesn't exactly have a look of defeat about him. "If you don't wanna help, don't. Would you please just come talk to Stan?"

Kenny feels Kyle's field of energy shift beside him, going from light and humming to stark and anxious in the blink of an eye.

"What's wrong with Stan?" he asks, and Kenny looks up to see a disturbed-looking scowl twist at his lips. Cartman's looking at him too, and both he and Kenny turn to look at Butters at the same time. Butters shifts a little, gathering that he's said too much, and starts immediately playing with his fingers.

"Uh, gee," he shrinks a bit, "Well, that's really between Stan and Kenny, isn't it?"

"Fuck it," Kyle shrugs, like it's no big deal as he goes go grab his bag off the ground. "If he's upset, I'll talk to him. That's what best friends are supposed to do or some shit, right?"

"Ah, I-I don't know if that's a good idea," Butters offers, which predictably only makes Kyle's defenses fly up as his face contorts into a scowl.

"Why the fuck not?" he demands, and Butters jumps back a bit, shaking his head and kneading his fists together that makes Kenny's heart kind of hurt. He puts his book back in his bag and stands, drawing his hood tight and crossing his arms.

"Just leave it, dude," he shrugs, which only makes Kyle's eyes bug out as he indignantly shouts, "I will not just fucking leave it. What the fuck did you do?"

"I didn't do shit, calm down," Kenny rolls his eyes. "Don't worry about it, all right?"

"Yeah, Kyle," Cartman snorts. "If your girlfriend's on her rag, you'd better leave her be anyway."

Bless the powers that be for Cartman's dickishness Kyle's notoriously short fuse. While Kyle turns and starts laying into Cartman, Kenny takes Butters by the arm and pulls him away in the direction of the theater.

"G-gosh, Butters, n-nice g-g-going," Kenny bites as soon as they're out of ear shot, which makes Butters throw his hands off of him and give him an unexpectedly hard shove.

"Fuck you!" he shouts, "My stammer's n-not that bad."

It's a weird moment, one that finds them both silent and not quite looking at each other as they realize that they've both taken it a little too far.

"Sorry," Kenny says first, at which Butters shrugs but says nothing. Kenny wonders if it's because he's mad, or if it's because he can't speak without proving himself wrong. Either way, Kenny feels like a twat and apologizes again before he and Butters walk in silence to the theater. Shit, Kenny's not used to being around people who take this stuff to heart.

Butters doesn't wait for him before he goes to take his spot in the audience, where Kenny presumes he's going to audition people. Stan's on stage with Gary—Gary doesn't act, Kenny found out, but builds sets. Apparently he's quite the carpenter, which doesn't surprise Kenny, since he goes off to build houses for people in Mexico every spring.

Except now Kenny can't hear another person tell him that Gary's good with his hands without wanting to pour bleach on his brain.

He heaves a sigh and goes up to join them on stage, tapping Stan on the shoulder and feeling a tug of guilt in his gut when Stan looks at him with a resigned sort of discretion. He undoes his hood and looks between Stan and Gary.

"Sorry I'm a dick," he says. It seems like the right thing to say, and it makes Stan slip into an easy smile and clap him on the back.

"It's cool man," he grins. "There were more graceful ways you could've found out."

"And, like," Kenny shifts, looking to Gary now, "I know I'm not supposed to, like, say anything, so… don't worry, I guess."

Gary smiles at that, looking like he wasn't so worried about this, but is still grateful for the words. "Thanks, Kenny," he says and tucks a pencil behind his ear before going to talk to Wendy about something he's got sketched on his clipboard. Kenny and Stan look at each other for a moment, both shifting and unsure of what to say. Kenny has about a thousand things he could ask, that he actually kind of wants to ask, but he doesn't want to arouse any suspicion. Though he suspects that, of anyone, Stan's his safest bet to talk to about whatever it is that he's going through.

Kenny scratches his head underneath his hood and wets his lips, "So, is he, like, your boyfriend or whatever?"

"What!" Stan yelps before he catches himself and pulls Kenny backstage, out of earshot of everyone else in the theater. "Dude, what happened to discretion?"

"I didn't use names!" Kenny flies to his own defense, but folds his arms over his chest. "So, is he?"

Stan's cheeks tinge pink as he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet. Kenny almost laughs, because he looks not unlike he did when Kenny first asked him a similar question regarding Wendy when they were kids, and he gets the same answer.

"Not exactly," Stan says and scuffs his feet on the black floor, and elaborates a little further, "We fool around and stuff, but boyfriends is too risky with his family and everything. Like, hooking up is good for now, you know?"

Kenny nods. He needs another cigarette, but knows Butters will gore him with a piece of plywood from the shop if he leaves now. He doesn't know why he lets himself feel so threatened by Butters, honestly, but there it is.

He pulls one of his drawstrings into his mouth and starts chewing like crazy. The thought of Stan and Gary doing all sorts of stuff is permeating his mind, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. He doesn't want to talk, doesn't even want to be around Stan anymore, because he knows exactly what the fuck is going to come out of his mouth if he dares open it.

"You guys touch each other's dicks?"

You know, stuff like that.

Kenny screws his eyes shut as Stan flies forward and socks him on the shoulder, "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Just a question!" Kenny insists, even though he knows he's turning red. Why would he care if Stan and Gary have had their cocks out in front of each other? Those are not heterosexual concerns, Kenneth.

"Not that it's any of your goddamned business," Stan says very plainly, looking a little bashful, but as determined as ever, "but yeah, we have."

Shit. Kenny's got all sorts of dirty thoughts cropping up now, despite the fact that it's probably the most polite sex ever. 'Would you mind too terribly if I came on your face?' 'I certainly wouldn't, dear chap, in fact I wish you would.'

Kenny bets it's a disgusting display of civility and, gay or not, that's not okay.

"You like it?" Kenny asks then, unable to keep his goddamned mouth shut, apparently, and it makes Stan color even further and grab at the back of his neck.

"I kind of really do, dude," he says. "I mean, it's not like it is with girls, but I've only ever been with one of those, so… I don't know, it makes sense to me right now, you know? Not like I couldn't be with a girl again if I wanted, but, like… Gary's cool."

"Not cool enough to tell Kyle about, though," Kenny hears himself saying before he can stop himself. He has to veer this away from sex before he asks something stupid, like if sucking dick is as awesome as his subconscious wants him to think it is. It makes Stan get this guilty look on his face, and okay Kenny feels kind of bad about that, but, y'know…

Diversion successful.

"I haven't told anyone," Stan says softly. "Neither has Gary. You and Butters are the only ones who know, and that's because you've both walked in on us."

"Maybe you should rework your attempts at discretion," Kenny quirks an eyebrow, and Stan flips him off.

"It's not that I don't want to tell him or talk to him about it, it's just," Stan takes a breath. "What the fuck am I supposed to say, you know? He's got other shit on his plate and it's, like, a fucking conversation we have to have. Like, I know him. It's going to be exhausting."

Kenny nods, because he can definitely see Kyle locking Stan in a room and bombarding him with questions until fucking Judgment Day. At least Kenny can take solace in the fact that Kyle's about three thousand times worse than he will ever be.

"Um, well," Kenny shifts now. "I'm cool… or whatever. As long as you're happy, y'know?"

This appears to be exactly the right thing to say, as Stan gives him a broad, relieved smile and pulls him into a hug. Kenny thinks he probably means these words, too—Stan's his friend, and he wants his friend to be happy. There's nothing fundamentally wrong with being gay or liking guys or whatever in general.

Kenny doesn't have to like it to be okay with it… or something like that. Stan's happiness means more to Kenny than the paralyzing fear he gets every time Butters smiles at him or something stupid.

Shit. Kenny was kind of way fucked up to him, wasn't he? He starts gnawing harder at the drawstring of his hood, praying for parka season to come early. Those are so much easier to hide in than just plain sweaters.

Kenny goes back out into the audience, taking a seat right beside Butters, who's jotting down notes on the inside of his script and jiggling his leg nervously. There's something deep down inside Kenny that wants to put his hand on Butters' knee to get him to stop, to stroke his thigh with his thumb until Butters relaxes into his touch and gives him an easy smile.

Kenny shakes himself out of those thoughts fast. He sinks into his seat and props his feet up on the chair in front of him, looking at Butters' loopy, cramped writing squeezed into the margins of his script.

"I'm an asshole," he says, which doesn't do much apart from getting Butters to shift uncomfortably. Kenny bites his lip a bit and continues, "A big, monster, gaping asshole, so don't listen to me, okay?"

Butters laughs a little at this and looks over at Kenny, the hurt behind his eyes slowly turning into a look of forgiveness. Butters is way too quick to forgive, Kenny's always thought, but it works out well for him at least. He grabs the script out of Butters' hands and looks over what they're working with.

"So, what are we doing?" he asks, and Butters snatches the papers back.

"I'm markin' up the m-m-m," he quiets immediately, color creeping up onto his face as he shrinks into himself. Kenny looks back over at the script, to where Butters has written all over a large block of text.

"Monologues?" Kenny offers, and Butters sighs and nods.

"Fuck," he mutters and starts fiddling with his fingers. "I c-can't—I can't t-turn it off n-now."

"Shit," Kenny feels his entire resolve soften and checks to make sure no one's right behind them or anything. "Shit, I didn't mean to upset you that bad. Fuck, I'm really sorry, dude."

Butters just laughs a little and bends over to put his face between his knees. He's taking deep breaths, in and out, and Kenny just sort of awkwardly pats him on the back, not letting his hand rest on him too long but still trying to be at least a little comforting.

"Just, uh," he looks around again, "Just breathe. Um, anything you want me to do?"

Butters shakes his head, just keeps breathing and grips a bit at his hair.

"It's cool, dude," Kenny just continues with his pats, "It's all good. You'll, uh… you'll be okay."

This continues for a few minutes before Butters sits back up and, even though a little red in the face and pink-eyed, he looks like he's got his bearings again. He looks at Kenny and says softly, "Thanks, Ken," and it makes Kenny's heart seize.

He's not used to being quite this useful, to be honest. He's hardly ever able to comfort Karen anymore, if only because she's a big girl and disillusioned now, and the only way he's ever able to make anyone else feel better involves sex.

This is strange, but not in a bad way.

"You don't have to stay," Butters says earnestly as he looks down at his script. "But, uh… we're havin' a sorta get together at Red's house tonight. Her parents are visiting her grandma in Fort Collins this weekend, so she's havin' a shindig of sorts… You should stop by."

Kenny blinks.

"Like a party?" he asks.

"Not a party," Butters shakes his head. "A kick back, I think she calls 'em? I dunno. Stan brings alcohol sometimes. We just kinda hang out… Gary got us to play charades while everyone else was drunk once. That was kinda fun."

In all honesty, it sounds mind-numbingly lame, but Kenny will actually take any excuse he can to get out of his house.

"Sounds good, dude," he says and stands. "You sure you don't need be for anything? I'll help out if you really need it."

"Aw, it's all right," Butters waves him off. "I was just gonna have you organize people's papers an' stuff. I can keep tabs on it, you go an' read about Roy Lichtenstein. I'll be fine here."

He offers Kenny a big smile and waves him off, telling him that they'll be at Red's around eight, and okay, it gets Kenny kind of anxious. He's been to parties before, but they were just that: parties. They were loud music and people grinding on each other and having sex in spare rooms and lots and lots of booze. This sounds like a group of people who genuinely enjoys being around each other. He's been around them for a little while now, and they all seem to be the types who don't give too many fucks about life, who seem to be on the planet to enjoy themselves.

Kenny used to be like that, free and easy and ready to laugh. He wants to think that he still is sometimes, even though he knows he isn't. Free and easy people don't spend hours at a time kicking themselves because they got hard thinking about getting fucked by dick.

He gets a ride home with Kyle, who's sort of hanging out near the theater, obviously waiting to see if Stan will come out, even if he'd never admit it. He looks a little bothered, but Kenny doesn't want to point it out, especially if he's employing the Kyle Broflovski "Let's be ridiculously unaware" method.

Kenny may be sexually repressed, but at least he's aware of it, and tries to beat his desires into submission.

So far he's been unsuccessful.

When Kyle drops him at home, Kenny is happy to see the truck there. He darts inside and up to Kevin's room, where the fucker is of course passed out cold on his bed. Kenny looks over to where the keys rest on a pile of dirty clothes and jacks them as quietly as possible.

If he's going to be around a bunch of happy people tonight, he's going to need some liquor. And for that he needs the car.

See, the part of having a fake ID in a small town that totally sucks is that everyone in town knows he's not fucking twenty-one. Shit, his brother isn't even twenty-one. What's even worse is that he and Kevin have been run out of just about every other town around this goddamned place, so now the nearest fucking place he can buy booze is goddamned fucking Buena Vista. Because Kevin systematically refuses to remember his fake birthday and ends up getting run out of every fucking store he goes into.

If it's going to take him upwards of two hours to get liquor and come back, he'd better just get it done.

He has to go to one of the older liquor stores, one that doesn't have the new ID scanners. The guy at this place always gives him a funky look, even though he can flawlessly recite his fake birthday, fake middle name, and is very adamant that it was indeed Bush the first who was in the White House at the moment of his birth. The guy is always wary of buying it, but he never calls Kenny out, so… score. He gets a big 32 pack of Bud and a handle of some mediocre vodka. He also makes a mental note to grab his pipe and his stash before he leaves too, just because that's the only thing Kenny can think to contribute to a party.

Even though this isn't really a party. Or something.

Kenny gets back to South Park with time to spare before he's supposed to be at Red's. This means that he locks himself in his room and smokes the rest of a joint he's had hiding in the bottom of his sock drawer. It's boring, but boring is what happens to you when you're just kind of unable to bring yourself to do anything. He reads through a little of Frankenstein, which he's only just started reading over the last few days, and can't bring himself to stay awake, despite how good Butters says it gets.

He sleeps until Kevin comes in and demands the keys back. It's almost nine, and Kenny's still a little faded, so he somehow negotiates his way into Kevin dropping him at the party before he goes and does his trashy strip joint crawl with his buddies.

He also thinks that Kevin might have swiped some of his beers, but he doesn't care. He's already bringing warm beer to a party—it's obvious he doesn't give two shits about what these people think of him.

Butters opens the door, like he's been waiting for Kenny all night, face all pink and smile all big as he pulls him inside.

"I told those assholes you'd come," he says, still grinning. Then his eyes drift down to the case of beers and handle Kenny's carrying and he starts laughing. "Cheese an' crackers, fella, this ain't a town social!"

Butters appears to already be tipsy, which Kenny sort of likes. He sounds like a hick on his best days, but there's something about liquor that makes his accent all thick and sugary, like syrup.

Kenny likes it a lot, actually.

Butters pulls him into the kitchen before Kenny's brain has a chance to piece together a response, still feeling groggy and sluggish from the weed and the nap, to where a group of the senior drama members are all congregated.

Someone has given them wine coolers.

No one is safe.

"Man, I thought you guys drank at these things," Kenny scowls and puts his beer and vodka on the little island counter they're all standing around. Stan looks a little like Kenny's just placed before them a pot of gold and immediately moves to hug him. Gary looks a little more hesitant, but seems to get that Kenny's at least trying to be social.

"What the hell, McCormick?" Red asks, motioning to the alcohol with a wine cooler in hand. Kenny just shrugs.

"I'm attempting to buy your love," he supplies, and grins when Butters starts giggling beside him.

"And thank god for that," Bebe smacks the counter and goes to Red's fridge, ransacking and coming up with a bottle of cranberry juice. There's only about ten of them here, so Kenny may have overdone it just a bit, but Bebe starts mixing up cran-and-vodkas like they're going out of style, while Stan starts stowing the beers in the fridge.

And somehow things just kind of escalate from there.

Annie has a crush on Clyde, so after she has a little bit to drink, she calls and invites him over. Since Clyde doesn't go anywhere without Craig, Tweek, and Token, they're soon up four. A couple of kids heard that there was a party going on at Red's and just invited themselves over, bringing along more booze and some crazy-loud iPod speakers. Red's drunk enough not to care at this point, and welcomes people in as they come.

Kenny kind of hangs back in a corner with Gary (the only person, by now, who's still sober) and Stan, beer in hand and not nearly feeling it as hard as everyone else is. Then again, he's been drinking steadily since he was thirteen. He's still got a little head buzz from earlier, and it's mixing strangely with the alcohol.

Either that, or the fact that Red's living room has somehow turned into some psychotic dance orgy that looks very claustrophobic and hot and sweaty and somehow Kenny's just not feeling it. Again, he's pretty sure he's at some weird point of being cross-faded that's really fucking him up.

"You okay, man?" Gary asks, snapping Kenny out of his thoughts. He looks over at Gary, who's standing a little too close to Stan for it to be considered innocent, and nods.

"Yeah, I think I need to lie down though," he says and hands Stan the rest of his beer. "And, uh, maybe take a step this way or one of you go dance or something if you don't want people getting suspicious."

He leaves before they can reply, making his way to the stairs and stomping up a little too loudly because walking up the stairs is taking forever and okay, yeah, maybe that weed was a little stronger than he thought.

He's never been in Red's room before, so he doesn't know quite how to navigate this, and of course he ends up in her parents' room. Whatever, he figures this is at least safe—no one wants to fuck on someone's mom and dad's bed.

Plus, there's already someone passed out on top of the pretty blue comforter—a very blonde someone with an impeccably sculpted ass. At this point, Kenny doesn't care that he's about to pass out face down on a bed with another guy. Butters appears to be out and, if the way he was downing those cran-and-vodkas earlier, he's probably gonna be out for a while.

He flops down on the bed and earns a disgruntled whine from Butters, who bounces a little in answer to Kenny's flop, and it makes Kenny laugh a little.

He's also got a dick on his cheek, drawn in what looks to be eyeliner and filled in with lipstick, which gets Kenny to laugh even harder.

"They branded me, I know," Butters mutters into the covers, giggling himself. That makes Kenny laugh even more, which gets Butters to laugh more and roll over onto his back, holding his sides as his cheeks pull up and—oh.

Written in big black letters on his other cheek is the word 'Faggot', underlined hastily and way too many times. Kenny wonders if Butters knows that it's there, or if he thinks someone just drew something else. Another dick, maybe.

"Fuck," Kenny mutters and reaches out to trace his fingers over it. It's cheap eyeliner, stuff that smears as Kenny's fingers run through it, so at least it'll come off easy, but "Goddamn. That's fucked up, dude."

"What?" Butters asks, looking over at him now. Kenny frowns and shakes his head before he rather ungracefully rolls off of the bed and stumbles into the master bathroom. He looks around for a washcloth or something, and by some miracle of god finds make up remover pads, whatever those are. They look like baby wipes. He comes back over to the bed and sits cross-legged beside Butters.

"Sit up, dude," he says. "Lemme get it."

"Why?" Butters pouts, even though he follows orders. "I think it's funny."

"There's some proportional errors," he says, swiping first the word off his cheek. There's a phantom left of it, angry red marks that are just barely there, but they'll go away. He then grabs Butters' chin and tilts his head so he can get at the other side. "As an arteest of high regard, I can't have you walking around with disproportional dicks on your face."

Butters laughs, and just like that Kenny realizes how close they are, how intimate this is. His blood runs hot, his fingers burning where they touch Butters' chin. His lungs have stopped working, his breathing has fallen out of synch. Suddenly he can feel Butters' breath ghosting across his lips, smelling like sweet and liquor and like him.

And then Butters' mouth presses soft over his, lips sliding over Kenny's and molding to them like that's exactly where they were meant to be. Kenny's gut is on fire, his brain his slamming against the confines of his skull. He pulls away a little, feeling Butters' breath on him again, cooling at the warm saliva on his lips, and, throwing caution to the wind, ducks forward to do it again.

Before Kenny can even process it, he's laying flat on his back with Butters on top of him. Butters is hovering over him, forearms braced beside Kenny's head as he swipes his tongue along Kenny's lower lip. God help him, his jaw just sort of falls open, leaving Butters to lick cautiously into his mouth.

Kenny can't tell if it's just the booze or the weed talking, but he really likes this, and he's starting to wonder what made him so scared. Kisses are just kisses, and Butters is apparently really good at giving kisses.

Kenny brings his hands up to cup at Butters' angular jaw, marveling at how soft and smooth and fucking warm his skin feels compared to his own. He can feel heat coming off of Butters like crazy, radiating off of him and making Kenny way too hot under his clothes. He rips away from Butters' mouth for a few moments so he can pull his sweater over his head, sighing with relief when the air hits his skin, and promptly dives back in.

Some part of him knows he shouldn't be doing this, that this is all wrong and not what he's supposed to want, but he's getting hard in his jeans as Butters' mouth moves from his lips to his jaw and down to his neck. He thinks Butters might be giving him a hickey, but he's not sure, and nor is he in the business of caring. Butters is hot against him and it's driving him wild.

Then it happens—he starts getting handsy. He reaches up to cup at Butters' ass through his jeans and practically groans right alongside Butters. It feels about as perfect as it looks, and it makes Kenny want to weep with joy just a little bit. Perfect asses should not be allowed to exist. They just should not.

He's beginning to think this isn't so different after all, and starts touching Butters just like he'd touch a girl. He smoothes his hands over his sides and down the backs of his legs. He avoids the chest, just because he knows he'll be disappointed, and instead goes right for the crotch. Except—

Kenny throws Butters off of him then, scooting across the bed and nearly falling off in the process, while Butters huffs and looks confused as all hell.

"Wha-what's wrong?" he asks, dazed. Kenny just shakes his head.

"You—" he begins, pointing vaguely in the direction of Butters' crotch. "Your dick," he finally comes out with, and Butters' eyebrows pinch into a little frown.

"Yeah?" he asks, still catching his breath. "What about it."

"You've got one," Kenny argues, and doesn't really feel like telling him how fucking huge it felt, just in case he's too drunk to process this properly and he's just feeling things.

Big things.

"Most guys do," Butters nods, looking at Kenny now like he's retarded or something. "I was about to get to yours if you'd'a let me."

"Oh, fuck," Kenny mutters and grabs his sweater scrambles off the bed. "Oh fuck, I touched your dick." He pulls the sweater back on and pulls the hood up, which makes Butters pout.

"Aw, I like your face," he says, and Kenny actually audibly yelps out a bit of nonsense at that. He can't hear that right now—won't hear it right now… not from Butters. He smacks into his door on the way out, earning a sharp intake of breath from Butters back on the bed. Kenny gets to thinking that he's not so good at this whole grace thing as he practically runs down the stairs and out the front door.

Butters. He was kissing Butters. He'd groped his ass and… and grabbed his dick.

Fuck, that's not okay.

He wishes it was snowing. He likes the snow, and when things get tough he can always just hurl himself under a snowbank and lay there until his body has the fucking decency to die.

"Hey, Kenny!"

It's Butters, of course it's Butters. Kenny turns to see him skip all three steps on Red's porch and start running after him. He's way too athletic for Kenny, too spritely and able to be drunk while still functioning like a normal human being. He catches up with Kenny easily, mostly because Kenny's stopped walking. He thinks he might be in the middle of the street, but he's beyond caring right now.

"Kenny, what the hell?" Butters asks. Luckily no one followed him. "What's wrong?"

"Dude, fuck off," Kenny just scowls and starts walking again. "I'm going home."

"Well, lemme walk with you a little," Butters frowns a bit, coming to walk beside Kenny, but Kenny shoves him away. "Cut it out, jerk!" Butters shouts when Kenny does it again.

"Get out of the fucking street, idiot!" Kenny shouts back.

"I'm walkin' with you—why don't you!" Butters counters, and Kenny finds himself rolling his eyes and crossing, so he grabs Butters by his wrist and pulls him to the opposite side of the street. Red lives all the way across town from him, which means he has a fair bit more walking to do than normal. He likes walking alone, usually, but there's something about the way his swollen lips ache or the way his fingertips twitch when Butters falls into step with him, practically radiating heat, that makes him long for the company he tells himself he doesn't want.

"Look," Butters starts in, a little hazy, but looking serious for the most part. "Look, I—I thought… aw, heck, I don't know what I was thinkin'. I'm real sorry if I upset you. It's just…"

"Fuck off, dude," Kenny just rolls his eyes.

"No!" Butters exclaims, shoving Kenny a little again. "You're just … you're so scared of somethin' that's just not somethin' to be scared of."

"I'm not scared of shit, Butters!" Kenny snaps, shoving him back. He doesn't go as far as Kenny would've liked, but that's because Butters is surprisingly solid underneath his soft golden skin and buttery soft t-shirt and jeans. He stops walking then, grabbing Butters so he'll stop too, and insists, "I'm not into guys, okay? You can't be scared of something if you're not even fucking into it."

"You," Butters pouts now. "You kissed me too, y'know. Heck, you're the one who got all grabby first—"

"Dude, shut the fuck up!" Kenny shouts. There's too much going on up in his head right now, too many conflicting thoughts and desires. He wants to punch Butters almost as badly as he wants to pull him close again and kiss him senseless. Kenny's at a loss as to what to do, so he just stands still, fists balled up and insides all twisted and gnarly, waiting for his brain to tell his body what to do. Butters regards him warily, pouting a little and, Kenny notices as he looks down, standing there in nothing but his bare feet.

He ran after Kenny and down the street after him in bare feet. Like this is Woodstock or something.

Kenny feels himself deflate a little as he chuckles lightly to himself, shaking his head and pulling his hood tight over his head as he turns to keep walking. By now, he should know better to step off the sidewalk without looking—it's an endeavor that never, ever turns out well for him, no matter how deserted the street.

"Kenny, watch o—"

That's all Kenny hears before he takes a truck to the chest. He knows he's dead before he even hits the ground, which he's grateful for.

Good. He couldn't deal with this shit anymore right now anyway.


Hi guys! Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed. You guys are awesome and you make my day.

Title of the chapter is from the song Sodomy from the musical HAIR.

Alternate chapter title was Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced from the Dropkick Murphys song of the same name. Didn't convey the proper tone, but I liked it all the same. Enough to share, anyway.

Happy Wednesday!