Chapter 4: An Itch to Scratch

Kenny wakes in his bed, hoping it was all just a dream. Cross-faded making out with Butters, getting hit by a truck… any other normal human being would be able to brush it off as nothing but a hazy fantasy, but Kenny wakes with that token soreness in his bones and too-stretched feeling that comes with regenerating, and knows that it was all real.

Shit.

He rolls over and checks the date on his phone (which somehow inexplicably always ends up back beside his bed unscathed)—Saturday, October 29th.

Kenny shoots up in his bed, soreness be damned.

He's been gone for an entire fucking month? He just died, though. He didn't go to heaven or hell or anything—just blinked and there he was, awake again. He's never been dead that long without actually having gone somewhere.

Not like he was exactly itching to come back. With deaths like these sometimes he stalls as long as possible, but when you're in nothing but blank space it's hard to find ways to keep himself busy. Then again, around this time of year it's way harder to stay dead—all that hocus pocus witches brew shit about this being the time of year when the spirits of the dead walk the earth or something.

He screws his eyes shut—it's his birthday on Monday, on Halloween of all the fucking days. He's not entirely fond of the fact that he'll be seventeen, but considering he can't keep to the alternative…

Kenny rolls out of bed. If indeed it's Saturday, that means he has work in an hour. He pulls on some clean clothes, stretching the soreness out of his body as he goes downstairs to grab a little something to eat before he heads off.

Karen's the only one downstairs when he enters the kitchen. She's reading a magazine and eating Cap'n Crunch out of an old Tupperware. "Hey," she says, not looking up. Of course she doesn't. It doesn't matter how long he's been gone, as far as anyone's concerned he's just 'made himself scarce'.

"How goes it in the land of Oz?" he asks through a yawn.

"Fine," she shrugs. "Where've you been?"

"Around," Kenny shrugs back, grabbing a box of poptarts out of the cabinet and wrinkling his nose. Apparently, in his absence, Kevin has taken the opportunity to stock the fucking cabinet with nasty cherry poptarts. Who does this shit?

"Whose bitchass…" he mutters, but takes the poptarts anyway, rolling his eyes and shoving one into his mouth. He'll save the other one for later.

"Off to work?" she asks.

"You know it," he replies through a mouthful. "Where is everyone?"

"I don't know," Karen shrugs again. "I just live here."

"Yeah, you and me both," Kenny gives a somewhat embittered laugh, and doesn't bother sticking around to give Karen an easy 'just kidding' or whatever. He just makes his way to the garage, grabs his bike, and heads to work.

It's definitely fall, but it's nice outside. He can feel the familiar nip of impending winter in the air and wonders suddenly just how hard Kevin's going to make him fight for the truck once it starts getting snowy.

He goes his normal route, which takes him past the Stotches' house: a fact he so conveniently forgets until he sees Butters outside, raking the front lawn without a shirt on and almost loses his balance in the most gracious manner.

Butters sees him, Kenny knows he does, but he keeps on peddling. He can't talk to Butters right now—blocking an entire night from your memory doesn't work if you're hanging out with the guy you made out with. It's just not done.

When Kenny gets to work, he's met with a wary look from the gal on shift before him. She's older, missing a few teeth, and she looks like the last person you'd want to meet in a knife fight, but she's usually pretty cool to Kenny. He suspects it's probably because she worked as some fortune-telling gypsy in a past life or something and knows Kenny's not of this world or something stupid.

"Hey there, Hazel," he says cautiously. She's already got her purse over her shoulder, like he's three hours late instead of three minutes. She just glares at him and pushes past him, not even offering any greeting or goodbye.

"Nice to see you too," he mutters before going to sit behind the counter. He's set up a little dvd player with the tiny TV. He knows Hazel's not too fond of it, but the boss hasn't told him to get rid of it, so fuck it.

He grabs a DVD off the shelf, Shaun of the Dead, and pops it in. He already anticipates a pretty slow day, he might as well keep himself busy.

Anything to keep the hard lines of Butters' torso out of his mind.

He goes about his business: emptying the drop box, scanning in movies, putting them back on the shelves… you know, things he actually gets paid to do. He keeps the movie on as background noise—it's one that he's practically got memorized anyway, and if anyone objects he can say he's keeping in the holiday spirit. Zombies and horror are Halloween-type things, right?

Kenny is looking over a newspaper by the time Butters comes in. He refuses to look up, even though Butters chirps out a greeting. He feels like seeing a movie, or at least going to the theater or something to keep out of his house, so he scans through the dismal little timetable of movies in the calendar section of the paper.

There's an old horror movie double feature playing on his birthday, Dracula and Frankenstein back to back.

"Hey, Kenny?"

Kenny purses his lips and tightens the grip on the back of his neck, still not wanting to look up. He doesn't need a fucking conversation right now, he doesn't need to see Butters' stupid, dorky face—he needs 1930s special effects and black and white film reels and, just… not this.

He sighs, long and heavy, "What, Butters?"

"Uh," Kenny hears Butters shift awkwardly, "I-it'd be nice if you looked at me, maybe?"

Kenny screws his eyes shut. It's the stammer that gets him; he knows he's powerless against it. He looks up, hopefully pokerfaced, and raises his eyebrows up as high as they'll go.

"What?" he asks, more curtly this time, and tries very hard not to flush when Butters bites his bottom lip.

"Jeez, I just wanna know if you're okay," Butters mumbles a little to himself, drawing patterns over the wooden counter with his fingertips. "You disappeared after, uh… after Red's party."

Kenny frowns curiously at this, but comes back with a, "Yeah, so?" People don't remember when he dies. They never do. Sometimes he gets to thinking that they might, like when Karen hugs him a little too long when he's just gotten back or something. Then he tries to talk about it and they just blow it off and… fuck, he's just learned not to get his hopes up about it.

"That was a whole month ago, Kenny," Butters supplies very frankly, all hushed like he knows he sounds like an insane person. "I was—heck, I was worried about you. Not 'cause of what we did or nothin', but… you're—I mean, you're my friend, right?"

Kenny shuts his eyes again and brings his fingers up to rub at his temples. Friends. Of course he's friends with Butters. Butters is friends with everyone.

"Yeah, dude, we're friends," he says. He has to do it. He has to nip this thing in the bud right here, before Butters gets any ideas. "But, dude? Like, that's all we are, okay? What happened that night isn't happening again."

Butters sighs and deflates a bit at that, leaning on the counter and hanging his head. He's been thinking about it too, then. Not that Kenny's had much time to think about it, mind, but there's something about the way the ghost of Butters' lips against his skin still haunts him. It's made even worse by the fact that he can see them, right here in front of him, all ready and waiting to be kissed again.

Fuck. Kenny wants to kiss him again.

Really, really bad.

"Kenny, I gotta tell ya," Butters begins on a slight laugh. "I-I'm not a real good drunk. I mean, I get real friendly, an' I get kinda slutty… I think I made out with just about every person at that party at least once. I'm real sorry you got caught up in the line of fire and all, but, uh… it wasn't anythin' personal, all right? Reckon I'm just a teenage boy, y'know?"

He finishes on one of the most earnest and charming smiles Kenny has ever seen, and it makes Kenny's chest swell a little bit.

He doesn't get people who give him earnest or charming anything very often.

"Well," Kenny coughs and scratches at his nose. "Okay then."

"Um," Butters starts in again, color rising in his cheeks just a bit. "I did like it, though."

"You would," Kenny shoots back, looking back at the newspaper. "You're gay."

"All right," Butters says a little too definitively for Kenny's tastes and pulls the paper right out from under his nose. "Just 'cause I'm gay doesn't mean I'm ready to lick the face off any guy I see. Just like I don't see you desperate to suck the lips offa Debbie Berkshire."

Debbie Berkshire is an unfortunate-looking girl from North Park that gets way too much flack from the guys in school for having a little extra lip hair and braces. Kenny can't say he hasn't partaken in the razzing a time or two, even though he knows he shouldn't.

"Look, dude," Kenny sighs again. "I'm not into it, I already told you."

"Okay, if you're gonna play it that way," Butters says a little too high and a little too exhausted. "Let's not forget who was grabbing whose junk, Kenny. Now, I don't mind, 'cause you're a pretty nice-lookin' fella an' I like you enough, but you're makin' so much outta somethin' that's just not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?" Kenny parrots back, incensed entirely. "Dude, I grabbed your dick and I'm not gay. That's kind of weird."

"Oh, you're right, a straight guy grabbin' my dick—that would be weird," Butters nods gravely before lowering his voice. "Gotta tell ya, I don't think that's ever happened to me, though."

Kenny goes bright red when he says this, and just like that Butters looks like he knows he's gone too far. He rights himself and starts kneading his knuckles together.

"O-oh," he says softly. "I'm real sorry. That just came right on out, didn't it?"

Kenny feels a little like he's been punched in the gut. Yeah, he knew Butters kind of knew, but hearing it… god, he doesn't like hearing it. Putting words to it and having Butters right here makes it all way too real for him.

"Are you actually here to get movies, or are you just trying to piss me off?" he asks, scowl fixed on his face. Butters hangs his head once more and smacks his palm to his forehead.

"Yeah, Kenny," he nods. "I'm in here apologizin' to piss you off. Good eye."

"Can you go now?" Kenny just comes back. "Like, that'd be awesome if you could just, like… fuck off for a bit."

"Kenny," Butters groans now, throwing his hands up like the fed up little queen that he is, "I'm not trying to be a jackass."

"You just come by it naturally, then?" Kenny shoots back.

"Fuck, Kenny, liking guys isn't a big deal!" Butters yelps, fed up entirely. "I-I admit it's a little scary, but… gosh, it doesn't have to be."

The words hit Kenny hard, to the point where he doesn't think he'd be able to come back with anything if he tried. Butters senses this and keeps going.

"You're just so upset a-a-an' angry all the time," he swallows now, wetting his lips and looking determinedly at where Kenny's hands rest on the countertop. "An' I don't know if it's 'cause you feel alone, or if you think no one's ever gone through this or what, but it's obvious it's makin' you unhappy. An' when someone I care about is unhappy, I wanna help 'em. I-I wanna help you, Kenny."

"Dude, maybe I don't fucking want your help!" Kenny exclaims, fire licking at his insides now. "Did that ever fucking cross your mind that I don't want this to be a thing? Not everyone's as gung-ho about being a fag as you are, okay?"

There's a moment of silence, during which Butters gives Kenny a very firm look up and down before he folds his arms over his chest. "Fine," he says lightly, though a little more quietly determined than Kenny would like. "I just wanted to help. Honest."

"Yeah, well," Kenny shrugs. "Fuck your help. I don't need it. The only reason anything happened is because we were drunk, and you need to stop making a federal case out of it."

"All right," Butters shrugs back. "Will do. You're missin' out on a heck of a lot of fun, though, I gotta tell ya."

"Will you just pick a movie and get the fuck out of here, shithead?" Kenny groans and smacks his head on the counter. He cannot deal with this right now. He actually cannot.

"As you wish," Butters gives him a mocking bow. He bites his lip again when he sees Kenny hasn't looked up and sighs. "Look, I'll—I'll go. Sorry I came in in the first place. I'll, uh… I'll see you at school on Monday."

Kenny doesn't look up, he can't—not when Butters goes quoting good movies at him like they're the best of friends. He keeps his head down until he hears Butters by the door, fumbling with his keys. This proves to be a mistake, since Butters takes to dropping said keys on the floor and bending over to pick them up all slowly and provocatively. That little rat bastard.

Kenny wants it. He wants it more than anything he's ever wanted before, wants to grab Butters by the back of the shirt and drag him back behind the counter. He's not entirely sure of what he'd want to do once he got him there… naked sounds like a good thing. Naked would be fantastic.

He realizes Butters is looking at him now with an amused sort of smile, so he promptly draws the strings on his hood and slides back down behind the counter. Because he can't look at Butters right now.

"See ya later, Ken," comes Butters teasing little farewell. Kenny curls up in a ball on the floor, waiting until he hears the bell on the door and the distinct sound of a car starting and pulling out of the little parking lot. He's all red—he knows it—and suddenly he's overcome by the overwhelming sense memories of what it felt like to be close to Butters, to be pinned below his solid frame, to be kissed so tenderly and thoroughly… just like you'd imagine someone like Butters to kiss.

Shit, he's going to get hard if he's not careful.

He rights himself and sits back up on the stool, popping in a copy of something boring and erection-killing, right out of the documentary section. The rest of his day goes pretty much like this, watching World War II specials every time the thought of Butters' dick in his hand pops back up into his mind, or alphabetizing the foreign movies when he thinks of how good Butters' lips felt against his, how he needs to do it again just to be sure.

He can't, though. Kenny can't risk messing around with a guy, especially if he liked it as much as his brain is telling him he did. What if he stops liking girls altogether? What if he forgets how to sleep with them? What if all the skill he builds up sucking cock depletes his pussy-eating prowess? That can't happen, okay? That's one of the only things he's actually really fucking good at beyond everyone else.

Kenny sighs and puts his face in his hands. He's bombarded by all his dreams, all his sick, indulgent fantasies, all the porn he's ever lied about watching… he wants it. It's wrong, it's fucking sick and twisted and wrong, but that only makes him want it more.

God, why can't this shit just be simple?

Kenny can't help it—it plagues him for the rest of the afternoon and well into Sunday. He even agrees to go to church with his mom that morning, which he doesn't think he's ever done willingly. Butters is there with his parents too, sitting a few pews ahead of Kenny and his mom. He's in this light blue shirt that buttons down and looks all fancy and shit, with khakis and a belt and shoes that didn't come out of a clearance bin.

Kenny looks like shit in comparison, though he doesn't know why he's surprised. None of the nice things his dad or Kevin have fit him—Kenny's too lanky and reedy to look like anything other than a vaudeville clown in their clothes. He has one nice shirt, a polo that Kyle loaned him once that he never wanted back, and his nice pants are actually the only pair of jeans he owns that don't have holes in them.

He's a right fucking mess compared to Butters and he knows it.

He toys with the idea of going to confession after the service, but Butters catches him, ready to say 'hi', and Kenny promptly runs the other way.

His avoidance continues until Monday morning, when he can no longer lock himself in his room under the pretenses of not feeling well.

It's Karen who gets him out of bed. Actually, she comes in to wake him up with two piping hot toaster strudels on a plate and a glass of orange juice in her hands. Kenny looks at her, puzzled for a moment, before she sets the plate and glass down on his bed and says, "Happy birthday."

"No shit," Kenny grunts and sits up. They're the toaster strudels that have the squeezable icing, and the thick, volatile red jelly in the middle, and the nice flaky crusts. The orange juice is actually Tang, which is cool because Kenny actually likes Tang. His stomach gives an anticipatory growl, one that makes Kenny grin from ear to ear.

"Who sprung for the strudels?" Kenny asks, still not wanting to eat them quite yet.

"I did," Karen smiles and sits down beside him. "Um, Kevin might have found them last night, but I saved those two for you. I tried to write a one and a seven on them, but I fucked up, so… I dunno. Happy birthday."

Kenny smiles and envelops her in a hug. Karen's the only one who ever remembers his birthday right off the bat. His mom will remember probably sometime around noon, his dad probably his mom tells him, and he'll be lucky if Kevin remembers at all.

There are few better ways of starting off a morning than with Tang and toaster strudels. For a little while, Kenny lets himself relax in a little bubble of happiness, where everything is sugar and artificial fruit flavoring and simple. Karen also comes in later, after he's done getting dressed, and hands him a pair of false vampire teeth and a cape.

"The fuck is this?" he asks.

"Halloween costume," she smiles back. "You didn't think I'd let you go through your last Halloween in high school without a costume, did you?"

Halloween is pretty big at Park County High… a bunch of small town kids with nothing better to do? Some kids spend all year on their costumes. People like Cartman do, anyway. Last year he had an elaborate Doc Oc costume, complete with working mechanical arms. God only knows what he'll pull this year.

Kenny used to love Halloween costume contests. He's managed to put together a few pretty good ones in his day, but in recent years all the revelry in him has died. Dressing up and shit is gay, after all.

At least, that's what everyone tells him.

"The undead," he mutters as he ties the cloak around his neck. "How appropriate."

By the time he gets to school, he's already feeling like a jackass. His costume isn't much of anything, and somehow all these girls are getting away with being dressed in close to nothing on school property. It's maddening, especially when Bebe passes him at his locker, all done up in something that involves a gravity defying corset, and gives him a wave and a wink.

He's pretty sure that if he opens his mouth, his tongue will roll all the way out and hit the floor.

Hell, maybe this holiday is exactly what he needs.

Kenny heads out back behind the building to where Kyle and Cartman are smoking their morning cigarettes. Neither of them are in costumes, and are in fact hunched over a pile of notes that have way too many indecipherable math-type things on them for Kenny to care.

"Where're the costumes?" Kenny asks as he lights up.

"Dude, too busy," Kyle mutters. "We've got a calc test first period."

"Great," Kenny nods and leans against the wall behind him. "Well, now I feel like a giant, throbbing tool."

Cartman looks up from their book, about to come back with something, but just ends up laughing way too hard at Kenny's minimalistic getup.

"Look, Kahl," he wheezes. "The Count can help us study for our math test."

Kenny flips him off as Kyle looks up and starts laughing too.

"You guys are dicks," he says a little too loudly and goes to sit against the wall. It's better than the alternative, though, he supposes. He's already seen Stan today, dressed as Indiana Jones (five o'clock shadow included), while Wendy's donning a Wonder Woman outfit, and Butters is dressed up like some retarded version of Harry Potter, prancing around in some billowy cloak and wielding a wand like this is a totally normal thing.

At least his ass is well out of sight underneath his costume. It makes his daffy hound dog face a lot easier to dislike when it's not perched on top of that body. Kenny's only gotten a glimpse of it, and already it's up there at the tip-top of his spank bank. Which is awful. He shouldn't be jerking off to a guy raking leaves.

In fact, he should be off right now, burying his face in Bebe's cleavage. She'd let him—hell, she'd encourage it, even.

All he wants to do is get at Butters, though. To tear through all that ridiculous costume and run his tongue along the lines of his stomach and chest. He wants Butters all flushed and panting beneath him, finds himself wondering if he could incapacitate Butters with his mouth as easily and as thoroughly as he's done with girls.

"Is sucking dick gay?" he finds himself asking, and he's met with immediate silence. Kyle and Cartman are both looking at him like they've just seen a ghost, both too stunned for a brief moment to even come back with anything.

"Not if you're a girl," Cartman finally supplies. "Otherwise yeah, that's pretty fucking gay."

"Uh, you have photographic evidence that you've had a dick in your mouth, fatass," Kyle jumps in. "You're straight."

"Kyle, I was a small child, warped by the pressures of society," Cartman insists. "Kenny's almost a full-grown adult."

"The pressures of society," Kyle mutters and shakes his head. "Do you hear yourself talk? I swear to god, you're retarded. There isn't a human being on the fucking planet who hasn't ever had gay thoughts before."

"That wasn't the question, Kyle," Cartman shoots back. "The question was 'is it gay', and yes, it is gay."

"Sucking dick doesn't make someone gay," Kyle argues. "Gay-for-pay is a thing. It's not a fucking disease you get from having someone's dick in your mouth. Being gay is something totally different."

"Again, Kyle, not the question," Cartman points out. "A guy sucking another guy's dick is a homosexual act. One does not have to be a fudge-packing queer to do something gay, like suck another guy's dick."

"This is even less comforting than I thought it would be," Kenny mutters.

"Dude, it's 2012," Kyle says. "Shit's not black and white anymore. If you wanna suck dick, you should suck dick."

"I don't want to!" Kenny snaps. "I was just thinking out loud, fucking Jesus H. Christ. A guy can't just think out loud anymore?"

There's a pause before Cartman pipes up with, "Not about sucking dick, no."

"Look," Kyle says, sliding down so he's sitting beside Kenny now. "It's just like anything else. You don't really know that you'll like it until you try it."

"Kyle, what the fuck!" Cartman exclaims.

"Dude, will you shut the fuck up for a minute?" Kyle shouts back before turning to Kenny again, a look of concern on his face. "Kenny, if you're gay—"

"I'm not!" Kenny snaps.

"Okay," Kyle's hands fly up. "Okay, you're not. That's cool. But, like… experimenting or whatever totally doesn't count."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle," Cartman sighs from beside him.

"Fuck you, that's perfectly legitimate!" Kyle snaps again. Luckily, the bell rings and Kenny doesn't have to listen to anymore of this. He heads to homeroom and keeps the fuck away from Butters and Stan, resolving instead to take out his science book and start reading.

He's fucked as far as schoolwork goes. He's a month behind, and even though his teachers are positive he couldn't have been pissing from school for a whole month, they still expect him to make up his work in a timely manner. Kenny can't exactly explain it, but he sort of wants to do it, just to prove that he can.

He doesn't think there's enough time in the world to make up that much work, but he wants to so fucking badly.

For the most part, he gets through the day relatively unscathed. His art history teacher looked a little concerned about him, told him that he could take as much time as he needed to finish his assignments (but that he did need to finish them, mind), but for the most part he gets about what he expected, which is a big fat nothing.

He goes to find Kyle after fifth period. Advocate for 'experimenting' though he may be, Kyle has a car and takes him to get food. Food trumps uncomfortable conversations. He'll take Kyle's questions as long as he gets to stuff his face with greasy pizza.

Kyle is down by the main office, playing Angry Birds on his iPhone and looking particularly perturbed.

"What's up, dude?" Kenny asks.

Kyle shrugs, not looking up from his game, which means Kenny's supposed to go sign out before Kyle talks to him. He must not have done well on that math test if he's this pissy.

When Kenny comes back out, he and Kyle start walking in silence back to his car. It's not until they're actually buckling themselves in that Kenny rolls his eyes and says, "Do you wanna put on your big boy pants and talk about it?"

There's a moment of silence before Kyle comes out with, "Did you know about Stan and Gary?"

Kenny stops. Everything. He stops breathing, he stops thinking, he thinks he may have even gotten his heart to slow down to almost nothing. If he's talking to Kenny about it, he hasn't told Stan he knows yet.

"Um," Kenny clears his throat. "Do… do you?"

Stupid question.

"What the hell is going on?" Kyle yelps and starts out of the parking lot. "First you're talking about sucking dick—"

"I'm not doing that, by the way," Kenny interjects, because that is a fact and Kyle likes facts.

"—Then I see Stan and Gary coming out of the fourth floor bathroom like they just had the best sex of their lives or something," Kyle finishes and scowls. "You knew about this and didn't even fucking tell me?"

"I'm under strict orders not to," Kenny says very carefully. "'cause if word gets around that Gary likes cock, his family might disown him or some shit. Apparently Mormons aren't on the up and up with their sons liking dick. I don't know."

Kyle frowns, but doesn't say anything else for the time being. They pick up a pizza and drive by Kenny's house. When it appears that no one's there, they park in the driveway and take the pizza into the kitchen, where they eat off of paper plates and drink Diet Rite out of Dixie cups. Kenny takes off his stupid vampire cape and chucks it into the pile of dirty laundry in the corner by the back door.

Kenny's not even one bite into his pizza before Kyle decides to go on with his musings.

"I mean," he begins again. "I'm his best friend. Why wouldn't you tell your best friend you're getting some? I don't care that it's with a guy, you know? I mean, sure I think Gary's kind of a smarmy douche, but hey. If Stan's getting laid, I'm all for it."

Kenny narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything. He's got too much on his mind to dissect this, so he just offers a casual shrug and a grunt of vague agreement so he can eat in peace. He won't tell Kyle that he's being an over analytical twit, or that envy really brings out the green in his eyes. He'll leave it to Cartman to capitalize on Kyle's pain.

"Hey, wanna come watch horror movies with me at the theater tonight?" Kenny asks through a mouthful of pizza. "Old monster movies, it should be good."

"Nah," Kyle shakes his head. "I've gotta get a head start on that paper for my AP English class. I'll take you to the theater if you want, though."

Kenny nods and scuffs his shoes on the linoleum floor. He supposes this would be when it's nice to have friends who know when your birthday is. Yeah, Kenny kind of keeps it to himself, but someone knowing and going to the movies with him wouldn't be so bad.

"Yeah, dude," Kenny just nods. "Thanks."

They finish eating, after which Kyle kickstarts Kenny on his make-up work and they each take turns dicking around on Kenny's old PSP.

"By the way," Kyle says as he concentrates on the game. "Is there something you were trying to talk about earlier? Like, that you didn't want to talk about in front of Cartman? 'cause I don't blame you."

Kenny purses his lips, tapping the end of his pencil on the inside of his AP government book before he shakes his head.

"Just a dream I had," he supplies and goes back to his book.

"Oh, fuck," Kyle laughs. "Dude, if I had a fucking crisis every dream I had where I sucked another guy's dick, had my dick sucked by a guy, sucked my own dick… they'd've locked me away years ago."

"Seriously?" Kenny asks, perking up a little at this. "So you don't think it makes someone gay, then?"

"Dude," Kyle looks at him now. "Everyone's a little gay. So you had a dream you sucked someone off. Big deal. Not like you're gonna go out and start playing pocket pool in the boys locker room or getting guys to suck you off in the bathroom between classes. What's a little homoeroticism between friends in a dream? Like, who cares?"

Kenny purses his lips and nods. He almost wants to ask Kyle what's got him so shifty and cross-legged now, but he refrains. It makes him feel a little better—better than anything else on the subject has, anyway—so he decides not to think on it anymore. It's a little relieving to know that it's a normal thing, actually. Like, his infatuation with Butters might stop now that he knows he's not some big eight-legged freak now.

When it comes time, Kyle drives Kenny to the theater. Kenny thanks him, both for the ride and for the advice and tells him he'll see him at school tomorrow. He goes to the ticket booth to pay for admission, and is actually kind of stoked since it's way cheaper than a regular ticket for a new movie. He has enough money for popcorn and M&Ms now, which makes him happier than just about anything. Old horror movies, popcorn, and candy. There is literally no other way he would rather spend his birthday.

He gets a seat toward the back of the theater. It's not impressively crowded—he recognizes a few of the older people in town who come in to rent movies, and a couple kids from the middle school who have nothing better to do (and who somehow think they're above free candy, the little pricks). He doesn't know why he's surprised when, two minutes until the start of Dracula, one Butters Stotch walks in all alone, tub of popcorn and box of candy in his hands, and sits down in the row right in front of Kenny.

Kenny shuts his eyes and sighs. Butters didn't see him. There's no way he could've seen him, otherwise he'd have sat right next to him. Kenny takes as sip out of his large root beer and sinks low in his seat. Butters will not ruin this for him, damn it. Kenny will sit here and watch these movies in peace, whether Butters likes it or not.

They're laughing at all the same things, though. Every bad piece of dialogue, every shoddy effect, every single thing that can be taken out of context to mean something else, they're both on the same page with everything. It's kind of unsettling. Kenny doesn't have too many people who share his sense of humor—Karen comes the closest, and she often gives him looks of deep concern when things that make him laugh take a turn for the strange.

Butters seems to like all the weird things that make Kenny laugh, though. So when they take a brief intermission between the two films, Kenny leans up in his seat, right beside Butters' face.

"I didn't think you were a horror film type," he says. Butters smiles a bit, still dressed in his costume from earlier in the day, and turns to look at Kenny.

"I'm not," he shakes his head. "But my folks said I should go, since I think they wanted the house to themselves tonight. Even gave me some extra money for popcorn and candy." He holds up big, brightly colored box and asks, "You want some Nerds?"

Kenny chuckles lightly and rests his forehead on the seat in front of him. He can't believe he's about to do this, but… He grabs what's left of his popcorn and candy and hops over the seat so he can sit beside Butters. He holds out his hand and tries to fight the warm feeling in his gut when Butters smiles and pours a little candy into his palm. Kenny, in turn, offers Butters some M&Ms, which he takes gladly, even though he's 'not a fan of chocolate so much'.

"Ugh, it's warm in here," Butters mumbles and sheds his cloak, revealing a perfect replica of what Kenny can remember of the Harry Potter uniform. He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt a bit, using

"Okay, dude, I've been fucking wondering all day," Kenny starts in, "Doesn't Harry Potter wear red or some shit? Like, who are you supposed to be?"

Butters looks over at him and laughs a little, before saying very seriously, "I'm a Hufflepuff."

Kenny blinks.

"Isn't that, like… the super gay house or whatever?"

"No!" Butters jumps to defend. Kenny listens vaguely to Butters go on and on about how he got 'sorted' on some website over the summer that was apparently the 'legit' test instead of all the other ones he's been taking on the internet over the last eight years. Apparently Butters' aunt lives in LA, and there's a store there where you can get stupid shit like Harry Potter costumes, and it makes Kenny roll his eyes and sip loudly at his root beer.

"So you are a Hufflepuff," Kenny says. "You know the whole point of Halloween is to dress up as something you're not, right?"

"That doesn't explain why you're all dressed up as," he pauses for a second, looking Kenny up and down, "I don't know, like a scruffy-lookin' Nerf herder."

Kenny tosses his head back and laughs way too loudly for the people around him.

"Star Wars?" he asks. "That's where we're going with this?"

"Yup," Butters nods, lips stretching across his teeth in a broad smile. Kenny feels that pull in his chest again, the one that makes him want to bury his face in Butters' neck, to kiss his lips and bite his jaw and suck on his neck until he gets him to blush and beg for more. Butters looks over at him just as the lights dim again and he's never been more grateful. He's got that hazy look in his eye, he knows he does.

They get a few minutes into Frankenstein before Kenny starts realizing just how unlike the book it is. He's not sure if he's upset or not, but he does feel the need to lean over to Butters and say so. They're a little too close together already, but when Butters turns to respond, they're practically… they're almost—oh god.

"Y'know," Butters says softly, breath ghosting over Kenny's lips. "If you wanna kiss me, you can. You don't have to go through the song an' dance of pretendin' you read a book."

Kenny can't respond further than, "I did read it," on the tail end of what he knows is a pout. It makes Butters grin.

"Maybe," he continues then, still whispering. "Maybe you don't wanna kiss me," he says, looking around to make sure they're the only ones in earshot, before licking his lips and shifting a little closer. "Maybe you want me to kiss you. So you don't have to worry about wanting to kiss me."

Kenny feels a tight noise escape his throat as his stomach goes sour. He could tell Butters to knock it off and he knows that'd be the end of it, probably forever. If Kenny told him to fuck off sober, Butters would leave it. He's about to do so, and in fact this is what he is actively telling his brain to do.

So he has absolutely no idea why he finds himself nodding. It makes Butters grin, though, and cup Kenny's jaw in his hands. He leans forward and pushes their lips together softly, and just like that Kenny feels a little jolt of electricity fly through him as all the things he was trying to forget about Red's party hit him hard.

Even sober, he likes the way Butters' lips fit against his, how kind they feel, how sure they are. He knows he's in a movie theater, that there are definitely people who could easily turn around and see what's going on, and maybe that's what gets him to pull away initially, looking at Butters all wide-eyed and… and fuck.

Fuck, he is scared.

What if he gets caught and it gets back to his parents? Suddenly he becomes their faggot son, takes on a whole new personhood as far as they're concerned. People start talking, the word 'gay' starts getting thrown around, and Kenny's not. He's not gay. Just because he wants to kiss another guy, that doesn't make him gay.

That's what Kyle said, right?

He coughs a little and turns back toward the screen, all blushing like a fucking virgin or something, and sinks low in his seat. There are so many things wrong with what's going through his head, but he can't be bothered to care right now. All those things he shouldn't be doing? Butters makes him feel at least a little okay about doing them…

Okay enough not to want to shoot himself, at least.

"Kenny?" Butters whispers, and Kenny just shakes his head.

"Not here, dude," he mutters. He hears Butters snicker just a little bit and grabs the cloak from the back of Butters' chair, draping it over his crotch and just praying for an erection-killer. Butters just sinks low beside him and gives him a smile.

"You got wood?" he whispers softly. "From just a little kiss?"

Kenny scowls and shifts, but says nothing. Butters laughs a little more at this, "Sheesh, no wonder you're so pent up. Just kissin' a boy does that to you—"

"Dude, shut up!" Kenny has a hard time concealing his own laugh. Butters' grin doesn't go away, even when he leans over and presses a light kiss to Kenny's jaw.

"What are you doing?" Kenny asks.

"It's like those old Tootsie Pop commercials," Butters whispers, kissing Kenny's cheek and the corner of his mouth before going to breathe in his ear, "How many kisses does it take to get Kenny to spunk his shorts."

Kenny feels every muscle in his body constrict at that, and comes to the horrifying realization that the answer is somewhere along the lines of "Not enough." He takes Butters' cloak and shoves it back into his lap before he leaves the theater, abandoning the rest of his popcorn and M&Ms entirely. He can't be in that theater anymore. If he even so much as smells Butters' soap on his skin, he's going to come in his pants like he's fucking thirteen years old.

He takes out a cigarette and goes to stand in the back alley, far from anyone who can harp on him for smoking underage. He'll probably go back in, he just… he needs a break. A mental break. A little time to process the fact that he wants to do things with Butters, and Butters is apparently all for this.

He'll go back in when this little black hole in the pit of his stomach stops swallowing up everything in sight, when it stops telling Kenny what a horrible human he is for wanting something so… so—

"Kenny, are you all right?"

Kenny looks over to see Butters standing a little ways away, cloak draped over his shoulders as he chews at his lip and plays with his fingers. Kenny sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. His hood is down around his neck, and something about the way Butters looks up at him makes him want to pull it over his head and draw it shut.

"I'm, uh," Kenny flicks a bit of ash off the end of his cigarette, "I'm fine, dude."

"I can get a little," Butters pauses to laugh a little and grab at the back of his neck. "Gosh, I guess I can get a little forward, huh?"

"Hey," Kenny shrugs, curling into himself a little. "You know what you want. That's… that's good."

He hates the way Butters looks at him so firmly, like he's looking right through Kenny in a way that no one else can. At least, in a way no one else has bothered to try. He steps closer to Kenny and timidly reaches out to brush his thumb over Kenny's cheek bone.

"You had an eyelash," Butters supplies quickly when Kenny gives him a look. "Kenny, I know you don't believe me, but wantin' whatever the heck it is that you want isn't a bad thing. Y'know, I want a phone that was made in this century," he pulls out his archaic dinosaur of a cell phone, "Doesn't make me a bad person for wanting it. It won't make me a bad person if I get it."

Kenny doesn't bother telling Butters that being a 'bad' person isn't what concerns him. Butters is trying to be nice, so Kenny just smiles and thanks him, and most definitely doesn't sigh when Butters grabs at his free hand and starts scanning his eyes over his palm.

"What're you doing?" he frowns when Butters starts tracing over the lines with his fingertips.

"My aunt reads people's palms for money at parties an' stuff," Butters says. "You know you got a broken up life line on this hand?"

"I don't know what that means," Kenny shrugs, and Butters gives him a goofy, lopsided grin as he shrugs back.

"Me neither," he confesses, and upon seeing Kenny smile back leans up and kisses him again. Kenny whimpers a bit, caught off guard, and drops his cigarette onto the gravel under their feet.

"Y'know smoking's bad for you?" Butters mumbles against Kenny's lips. "Makes you taste like an ash tray."

"Ugh, spare me," Kenny rolls his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. Butters doesn't go back to his lips, but instead takes to kissing his neck and face instead. It feels good—way too good for Kenny to tell him to stop. He doesn't want him to stop, anyway. He likes how Butters' hands are all big and warm where they rest on his sides, likes how his fingers play with the bottom of his shirt or occasionally dip into his back pockets.

He'll hate himself later. Necking with Butters behind the movie theater feels way too good to turn back on it now.

Kenny almost whimpers when Butters pulls away, figuring it's over and now he has to drive home with a hard on and a neck that smells like Butters' spit. He's pretty sure he's going to have the best jerk-off of his life, though, so—

Holy shit.

There's a set of very deft fingers working at the button and zipper of his jeans. Kenny opens his eyes and looks Butters dead in the eye as he dips his hands into Kenny's underwear and closes his erection in a loose fist. Kenny tosses his head back against the wall and lets out an embarrassingly loud whine that makes Butters giggle a little bit and shush him.

This is all going at about a million miles an hour, and Kenny can't say he's upset about it. Butters' hand feels amazing on him—it's the only thing his brain will actually allow him to process. Butters then gives him a little kiss on the lips before… oh god, before he sinks down to his knees and, all too easily, closes his mouth around Kenny's erection and starts to suck.

Kenny's logic and reasoning sort of just short out from there. Butters' mouth is hot and wet around him. He knows just how to move his tongue and bob his head to get Kenny to groan and whine (though he works hard to keep it quiet when he recalls just where they are). Fuck, Butters is good at giving head, better than any of the girls who've ever done it for him. Kenny fists his hands in Butters' fine blonde hair and tugs, thrusting up possibly a little too eagerly when Butters hums around him. Butters pulls off and coughs a little, looking up at Kenny with a pout on his swollen, red lips and giving a little indignant, "Hey."

Kenny doesn't have time to apologize before Butters' mouth is on him again. This time, though, Butters pins his hips to the wall with his hands and goes at it a little quicker.

"Fuck," Kenny mutters and tugs Butters' hair again, trying to issue a warning, but Butters just whines again and that does Kenny in. He comes hard into Butters' mouth, a desperate, throaty noise escaping him as Butters swallows him down.

He's left a mass of shaky flesh as Butters tucks him back into his jeans and stands. His lips are all big and puffy, and his big blue eyes are looking a little glazed over. When he leans up to kiss Kenny on the lips again, Kenny indulges him for a few seconds before he realizes what that weird taste is on Butters' tongue and pulls away.

Butters laughs. Of course he does.

"Okay there, hoss?" he asks.

Kenny nods, even though he's not entirely sure that that's the right answer. He thinks he's okay, but then again, he never thought 'okay' would include just having had a guy's mouth on his dick. Still, he opens his eyes, still breathing a little heavily, and gives Butters a look.

"You're good at that," he says, and Butters flushes a bit. "Like, really fucking good."

"Ah, well," Butters looks down at his shoes. "I reckon I've had a bit of practice."

"No fucking kidding," Kenny laughs a little and thunks his head against the wall again. He can see Butters' erection straining at his slacks, and he knows that the polite thing would be to return the favor in some way. From the looks of it, he's as big as Kenny remembers though, and Kenny's not mentally prepared to deal with cock he doesn't think.

He does kind of want to touch it, though, so he brings his finger up to the outline in his pants and runs his fingers softly over it. Butters whines and grabs onto Kenny's arm.

"Oh God," he mutters softly. "Ke-Kenny, y'know, you don't have to, uh… o-oh, jeez."

Butters leans his forehead against Kenny's shoulder as Kenny teases Butters through his pants. It's weird, feeling another guy's cock in his hand, even if it's separated by layers of clothes. He likes what he's doing to Butters, though, how his breath is getting all short and his eyelids are getting all fluttery.

"Kenny," Butters moans and grabs Kenny's wrist. "Kenny, i-if you're not comfortable touchin' me, that's all right. Just… please don't make me come in my shorts," he whines desperately. "I gotta wear these pants for a presentation tomorrow."

"Oh," Kenny says and retracts his hand. "Uh, sorry, dude."

Butters just gives him a breathy little smile and draws his cloak shut over his front.

"It's all right," he reassures him, and leans against the wall beside Kenny. "I'm probably gonna hang out here for a second. Reckon you should probably head home, though. It's gettin' late."

"Ha," Kenny runs his fingers through his hair. "I'd rather shack up in this alley than go back there, dude."

"Ah," Butters nods. "I know the feelin'. Parents suck."

Kenny snorts, because anyone who ever tries to empathize with him doesn't really fully understand the scope of what he's talking about, but he figures he should be at least a little nice to the guy who sucked his dick.

"No shit," he nods vaguely and looks over at Butters again. He's got a happy smile on his face, he knows he does—it's that smile he always gets when someone sucks him off. He can't help it, really. Sex puts him in a good mood. He doesn't want to ruin it by talking about his dickhead parents.

"You good, dude?" he asks, and Butters nods. "You drive here, or…?"

"Oh, I drove," Butters says and pushes himself away from the wall. "You wanna ride home?"

Kenny shakes his head, still fidgeting against the wall. He walks with Butters to his car and gives him a little wave as he drives off. He's feeling a little lighter in his chest than he was earlier. He just got a blowjob. From a guy.

And the world didn't end.

He flips his hood up over his head and gives a languid stretch toward the sky. He's actually pretty fucking chuffed right now, though he does remind himself that he wasn't the one doing any of the touching. Still, though, it's good. He practically skips on his way home, offering everyone he passes a great big smile. This frightens some of the moms who are still out with their kids, of course, but Kenny doesn't care.

He feels good. For the first time in a long time, he feels good. He's even foolish enough to come back home, all grins and warm regards to the pathetic lumps of human on his couch, the ones who didn't just get the best head of their lives.

"Good evening, my fellow Americans," he salutes and walks past his dad and Kevin, watching ESPN. He gets about two steps away from the stairs before Kevin gives him a whoop.

"Goddamn, dude, who the fuck you just stick your dick in?"

Kenny's face falls as his dad and Kevin look over at him expectantly. He's not a fan of talking about this shit with these two—even if he'd just gotten sucked off by a girl, he wouldn't want to divulge. Kevin and his dad can get kind of gross about this stuff. They don't have any regard for human beings on their best days, and if another person is willing to fuck them, they're obviously worthy of utterly inappropriate talk. Like, Kenny can get graphic about the actual act when he's talking to Kyle or something, but… he loves women. And he doesn't understand treating someone you're sleeping with like shit.

"I'm kinda tired," Kenny tries to insist. "I'm probably just gonna go to bed."

"Aw, shit," Stuart shakes his head. "You porked the fat one with the hairy lip, didn't you?"

"Nah, he wouldn't do that," Kevin snorts and turns back to the TV. "At some point it's just like fuckin' a big fat guy with no dick. Even he's not that fuckin' desperate."

Kenny's eyebrows fly into his hairline and he wishes he could plug his ears without being made to feel like he's five. He's actually come to hate the sound of his dad and Kevin laughing, if only because he knows that it never comes from a good place.

"Either way," Stuart continues, still chuckling. "Wipe that goddamned smile off your face. No one needs you prancing around here like the fairy queen of the fucking queers. Get upstairs before I come over there and whoop it outta you, boy."

This twists Kenny's heart up enough to get his smile to drop. He grabs at the back of his neck and trudges up the stairs. He's never gone from so happy to so utterly disgusted by himself so quickly. He shuts himself in his room and locks the door before he collapses on the bed. He can smell Butters on his neck still. It makes his insides stir up all warm and pleasant.

Only then he remembers that his dad basically just threatened to hit him for smiling like a fag. God save everyone if Stuart found out that he got his dick sucked like a fag too.

Kenny buries his face in his hands and rolls over onto his side. If it hadn't been so fucking good, Kenny could just write it off and that would be that. But it was good. And more than that, Kenny got to feel Butters' dick again, and it wasn't… unpleasant. He wants more than anything to do it again, to get to a point where wants to take Butters' cock out of his pants and play with it until he can make him come.

That shouldn't make him want to crawl under his covers and cry as much as it does.


Hey guys! Thanks for reading and/or reviewing. You are all awesome-socks and you make my life amazing.

Title comes from Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

I felt it was appropriate.