Chapter 5: Rose Tints My World (Keeps Me Safe From My Trouble and Pain)
It's no secret: Butters Stotch is a slut.
Well, maybe it's a secret to some people, like his folks. He doesn't think they could handle knowing that he likes boys, much less that he's done stuff like fucked them in the bathrooms at school, or sucked off three of them in one night.
Gosh, that had been a long night... at some party Bebe took him to over the summer. He'd danced with a handful of guys that night, and out of the three he'd gone down on in the upstairs bathroom, only one, the last one, had gone to reciprocate. With all the excitement and the stimulation (combined with the amount of mystery punch he'd pumped in himself earlier that night), he'd ended up barfing right on the guy's head—coating the poor guy's head in booze, bile, and spooge.
Needless to say, he has not touched tequila since.
He can't help it, though. He thinks he just has a predisposition for it—he likes making people happy, and he really likes sucking dick. Everyone wins.
And he really can't get over just how happy Kenny looks after he does it. He likes when Kenny smiles, and it's nice not to have him be a jerk for a few minutes, since he's not even a jerk to begin with. Not really.
A little scared, but not a jerk.
Butters yawns as he shuffles into the bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror and winces; he didn't sleep well last night. He's got bags under his eyes and pillow marks on his face, and there's a general grogginess about him that he isn't too fond of. He opens up the medicine cabinet to wash his face and brush his teeth, moving seamlessly through the routine. Butters isn't one of those kids who lazes around on the weekends. Friday nights still find him going to bed at a reasonable hour and waking up around eight on Saturdays to start in on his chores.
Sometimes he wishes he had a brother or sister, just so he wouldn't have to do so much around the house, but he usually likes it—between this and school work, he doesn't have too much time to goof off or waste time, and that's all for the best.
He can get kind of… strange if he's left to think for too long.
Butters pulls on his Saturday clothes, his ratty old jeans and his gym shirt from a few years ago, and heads downstairs. His parents are already at the table, each eating breakfast and engrossed in their own separate sections of the newspaper. Butters is left to make his own food, like he always is, and settles on some eggs on toast. He prepares his food and sits down at the table silently. He's been told several times not to interrupt his folks while they're busy, and reading the paper is very busy business for them.
Plus, he's already grounded for breaking curfew on Halloween a couple weeks ago. After sucking off Kenny behind the theater he'd had to pull off to a deserted street and, uh… relieve himself, so to speak. He'd walked in his front door four minutes after his curfew, which was worthy of four weeks of punishment. "One week for every minute," his dad had said.
Seemed logical, Butters couldn't help but think as he'd trudged up the stairs. Even now he knows he should've waited until he got home to do what he needed to do.
He couldn't help it, though. The way Kenny just melted under his touch, all those noises he made, all the brief touches and the glazed over satisfied smiles… it was all Butters could do not to reach into his pants mid-blowjob and finish himself off right along with him.
Plus, Kenny McCormick lives up to his reputation—he has a very nicely shaped penis. Butters still gets a big dopey smile on his face when thinks about it, even though he's seen it a couple times now. Truth be told, Butters would get down on his knees and worship that cock all-day-every-day if he could.
"Butters," his mom inserts, bringing him out of his thoughts with a blush. "Sweetheart, it's impolite to grin at the table if you're not even going to let us in on the joke."
"Oh, uh," Butters coughs a little, "S-sorry, mom."
Joke. That boy's dick is no joke, Butters will tell you.
He fights a laugh this time and instead shovels as much food as he can into his mouth before they can get suspicious. His dad pulls out a list of chores from his pocket, and puts it on the table for him.
"Try to bag those leaves a little better than you did on that math test, hmm?" his dad says without looking up from his paper. His mom laughs at that, like it's the most delightful thing she's heard in years, and Butters feels his face flush. It's just pre-calc, so it's nothing too crazy… He'd gotten an A-minus, only because he'd made a minor, yet continuous error at the end of each of his problems.
It was a stupid mistake, though. He supposes he has the taunts coming.
"I will," he says and gives a reassuring smile. He starts on the chores inside the house first, the sweeping and dusting and the vacuuming and all that stuff that his mom used to do but decided to pawn off on him when she found out she could. She and his dad just stick Butters with housework and go off on what they call "Date Days", when they seek to rekindle the fire, as they like to say.
"Remember, Butters," his dad says as they're heading out the door, and Butters is washing the window beside it. "No TV, no computer and no phone calls."
"A-about that," he interjects. "I-I was gonna work on my college applications today, a-an' for that I'd n-need a computer—"
"Oh, no you don't," his mother wags a knowing finger at him. "Butters, you still have another two whole weeks left of your punishment. If you need to use the computer, you'll do it at the library like everyone else."
The South Park Library has three archaic computers, all of which just recently got an upgrade from dial-up internet. They crash about every couple of hours, and if Butters lost his application to NYU he would actually cry.
"And if this is going to be another speech therapy ordeal, then I'm not so sure we're ready to put money into another sinkhole," his dad shakes his head. "Finish your chores, and when you're done with that go upstairs and finish your homework. When we get home tonight, we'll talk about college."
They leave, and Butters feels an icky sort of thing in his insides, a big ball of tar and gunk and yuck. He hates that he went to speech classes for so long only to come out of it with a recurring stammer. He doesn't get it—it's way better at school, but every time he tries to tell his parents that, he trips over his words and ends up proving exactly the opposite.
It figures. He's not exactly in the business of doing things right.
Except giving head, that is. That's the only thing that, without a doubt, he is any good at. Everyone tells him so, so it must be true, right?
Kenny thinks he's good at it, anyway.
He takes the trash to the bins out front, noticing with a smile that among the kids playing outside and enjoying the autumn day, Kenny is riding his bike. He's riding it around in circles in the middle of the street, then in figure eights, and popping wheelies when he realizes he's gotten the attention of a few kids from down the street.
Butters smiles and folds his arms; Kenny has been riding around these parts a lot more lately, and even if he doesn't even actually come to knock on Butters' door, Butters knows it's because of him. He walks over to join the crowd, nothing if not amused at the fact that Kenny is totally into the fact that a bunch of eight year olds think he's cool.
He's right in the middle of a gearing up to go off a jump that the Johnson kid set up for him when he spots Butters, and loses his focus mid-air. He lands with the least amount of grace Butters has ever seen, and when he doesn't get up right away he immediately goes to help him up.
"Nice one," Butters chides good-naturedly as he hauls Kenny easily to his feet. "Y'okay?"
"Fine," Kenny mutters and tears himself out of Butters' hold. Butters feels a little stab in his gut at that, but it's understandable. He did just fall off his bike in front of a bunch of kids—that had to be embarrassing.
He's limping a bit when he goes to grab his bike, though. Some of the kids are laughing, so Butters tells them to get lost before he grabs the bike from Kenny and gives him a wordless, friendly smile. He tosses his head toward his house and Kenny nods, pride probably hurt more than anything.
"Are you all right if I leave the bike out here?" Butters asks as they get to his front door.
"Are any of your little twat neighbors gonna steal it?" Kenny grunts and rubs at his elbow.
"Nah, they mostly steer clear of me," Butters shakes his head and props the bike up behind the roses, just to be safe. "I got an ice pack if you need it. Heck, even got a couple if you're banged up that bad."
Kenny looks like he's about to refuse, but then he accidentally knocks his knee against one of the chairs at the dining table and hisses.
"Okay," is all he says as he sits down, and Butters fights a smile. He grabs an ice pack out of the freezer and wraps it in a towel before handing it to Kenny. He puts it on his knee and winces.
"You get banged up anywhere else?" Butters asks as he grabs some cleaning supplies from under the sink. He may as well be productive while Kenny's sitting there, healing up. Something tells him that Kenny won't mind.
"I think I landed on my handlebars," Kenny coughs a little, holding his stomach and grimacing.
"Shoot," Butters frowns, "You need to go to the hospital, or somethin'?"
"No," Kenny shakes his head. "No, I'm fine, dude."
He opens his eyes and gives Butters one of those looks—the one that makes Butters grin like a lunatic when no one's watching him. Kenny so often looks at Butters like he's something to be oogled at, and Butters does not understand why. He's got an awful farmer's tan and buck teeth and these big eyes that make him look like a bushbaby instead of a person, not to mention the way his hair is getting a little too long and messy-looking or how his arms are still kind of freckly from the summer.
"Um, do you want somethin' to eat or drink?" Butters asks, grabbing at the back of his neck, that is undoubtedly all red from being outside so much this week.
Kenny just shakes his head and moves the ice pack to his elbow.
"Are you bleedin' anywhere?" Butters asks now.
"I'm fine, dude!" Kenny snaps, and Butters draws back a little.
Crap.
He supposes he can get a little pushy when it comes to making sure people are okay. He figures it's probably pretty annoying. He shifts and leans against the counter, fiddling with his fingers in the way that makes his mom smack his hands down and his dad call him names. It is a pretty bad habit, but they're not here right now and he can't help it.
"Sorry," Kenny says then, out of nowhere, and Butters shifts again. He doesn't know why Kenny apologizes to him so much—Butters knows he doesn't mean anything by it.
"It's all right," he just shakes his head and grabs the kitchen cleaner and a sponge. "Say, I gotta do some chores. You're welcome to stay an' all… I'd kinda like the company."
Kenny looks like he's considering this for a moment, and Butters is entirely ready for him to say 'no'. Instead, Kenny just stands and hands the ice pack back to Butters, rubbing at his elbow still as he looks over what Butters is doing. Or, rather, needs to do.
"You have chores?" he asks, and Butters finds himself nodding.
"Every Saturday," he says. "It's my responsibility to keep this house from turnin' into a pigsty."
"Your responsibility?" Kenny's eyebrows pinch together. "Like, your parents don't help or anything?"
"Well, if I'm gonna live here, I gotta do my part, right?" Butters shrugs. "Plus, I kinda like it. Reckon it gives me somethin' to do."
"You don't, like, watch TV or anything?" Kenny asks now, gingerly pulling himself up onto the counter.
"Ah," Butters grabs the back of his neck and shifts. "Not when I'm grounded."
"Oh, shit," Kenny says and puts up his fist, "Rebel yell, dude. Right on."
Butters smiles a little at that and goes to stand in front of him, drawing patterns on Kenny's knees with his fingers. The one knee he banged up is significantly hotter than the other, and it makes Butters frown a little.
"You sure you're okay?" he asks, and Kenny kind of gives him a breathless little nod.
Butters has had Kenny's cock in his mouth four times already. He's getting better about not freaking out and running away when Butters touches him, but a boy touching him is still enough to get him all squirmy and anticipating—it's real cute. Kind of like Stan was when he and Butters goofed off a couple of times last year. Butters has always been really good with squirmy boys—ask Tweek. He grins and leans up to kiss Kenny then, taking his hand off of Kenny's knee and going to thread his fingers through his hair.
He pulls back and gets a warm feeling at that dazed look in Kenny's eyes, that one that says he still can't believe that the world hasn't collapsed in on itself. Butters remembers that feeling: when you've only just admitted to yourself that you want this thing, something people think you shouldn't want or have, and you get it and the world not only doesn't end, but feels a thousand times better… Butters remembers what that's like, and remembers that it doesn't go away for a while.
Heck, it still happens to him from time to time.
"You want me to kiss and make it better?" Butters mutters through a smile, lips moving against Kenny's as he strokes a thumb over his cheek. Kenny nods wordlessly, and Butters grabs his wrist. He leads him upstairs, because as big a jerks as his parents are, he doesn't think he could put his mouth on someone's privates in their kitchen.
He does have a little shame, slut or no.
When they get to his bedroom, Butters doesn't even bother shutting the door before he tackles Kenny back onto the bed and starts kissing him all over. He's not exactly looking his best, but Kenny doesn't seem to mind.
He's also not as hesitant about touching Butters when they kiss now, which is a good thing.
You can't be afraid of something that makes you feel good—that's just nonsense.
Butters settles on top of him and presses their bodies together, bringing Kenny into a slow, teasing kiss. He likes teasing Kenny. Butters likes getting him to admit he wants him, or at least his mouth. He rolls his hips against Kenny's, grinning when he feels the beginnings of an erection in Kenny's pants.
"Feel good?" Butters breathes, and Kenny just brings him back down into a kiss in response. Butters indulges him for a bit, sighing a little when he feels Kenny's hands on his side, trailing down and slipping his hands into his back pockets. He likes Kenny touching him, even if he's not sure what exactly is so alluring about his old gym shirt and ratty old pants.
Butters falls into it, hard—he always does when people pay him attention, and he's a sucker for anyone who likes his ass as much as Kenny appears to. He rolls his hips into Kenny's again, both of them hard and panting. Truth be told, Butters could stay up here well into the afternoon, humping lazily against Kenny until they're both whimpering and begging for more.
He hears his watch beep, though, and is effectively pulled out of his trance. Crap. All this making out with a gorgeous guy on his bed when there's a laundry list of chores to do… he's got responsibilities after all.
"Shoot," he mutters and attempts to pull back, but Kenny holds his hips firm against his and thrusts up again. Butters hangs his head and moans. Kenny feels nice against him, real nice, and he knows he'll get carried away if left to his own devices.
"Kenny, please," he groans on the tail end of another thrust. "Please, I got stuff to do. I-I'll get you off, but—"
"Dude, shut up," Kenny says softly as he keeps rolling his hips. "This… this is good, right?"
Butters nods, maybe a little too emphatically, so he hides his face in the crook of Kenny's neck as they grind against each other and waits for Kenny to tell him 'that's enough, we're done here, nice seeing you, bye,' but it never happens. Instead, Butters somehow finds himself flat on his back, Kenny on top of him (sitting right on his erection, of course) and kissing the living daylights out of him.
"Jeez," Butters pants out a laugh. "You're pretty riled up."
Kenny pauses for a second, looking around at the situation he's gotten himself into, and colors further beyond the pink tinge of arousal on his cheeks. He looks like one of those people who's just woken up from sleepwalking, five miles away from his house with a bag of pork rinds in his clutches.
"Guess so," Kenny nods and looks back at Butters. He's got something between determination and fear on his face as he reaches down and runs a hand over Butters' chest. "I do owe you, though."
Butters screws up his eyebrows, "Owe me? What for?"
Kenny snorts and shifts his hips in an eye-crossing, toe-curling manner. "You've blown me, like, four times or something. I've gotta get you back sometime."
He's nervous—Butters can feel it. His hands are shaking, he keeps swallowing back his own spit, and he's starting to remind Butters of a frightened cat.
"Oh no," Butters finds himself shaking his head. "Kenny I-I don't believe in that. Owing someone sexual favors? Makes it sound like a chore. Sex is supposed to be fun, y'know? I reckon I don't like the thought of people touchin' me 'cause they think they have to. A-an' anyway, I like suckin' you off."
Kenny's brows pinch together in a frown, "So you're telling me that you'd keep blowing me, even if I never wanted to touch you back?"
"Well," Butters contemplates back. "I-I reckon I'd stop doin' it if I thought it was a lost cause. But I don't want you doin' anythin' right now just 'cause you think you should."
His erection is starting to go down anyway, so maybe this is best. He shifts out from under Kenny and stands, looking at his watch.
"Dude," Kenny just says, and Butters looks over at him. Somehow his sweater got unzipped, revealing a worn Stray Cats t-shirt, and his hood is down around his back. Kenny's got wild hair, not quite as bad as Tweek's, but it's all shaggy and frayed and looks not unlike the straw on a run-down overused broom.
And Butters would bet more than anything that he likes when people pull on it.
"What?" Butters just asks, visions of Kenny turning into an unabashed slut dancing around in his head as Kenny reaches out and pulls him down on the bed again. He kisses Butters this time, a little more timidly than before. When he reaches down to grab Butters through his jeans, he doesn't run away or flip out. He keeps moving his hand, gaining confidence in his movements every time Butters makes a noise or thrusts up against him.
"Kenny," he mutters. "I mean it, I-I'm fine if you don't wanna touch me, but please don't make me come in my pants. I-I don't like it."
"No?" Kenny grins against Butters' cheek. "Guess we'll have to do something about that, huh?"
Butters' breath hitches when Kenny undoes his button and fly and slips his hand into his pants. He hides his face in Kenny's neck when he starts touching him, slowly at first, getting surer as he goes. Then it occurs to Butters that Kenny's never had his hands on another guy before (at least, that's what he's come to gather), and starts making little noises of encouragement to help him along.
Then Butters, not one to keep his hands unoccupied for too long, makes quick work of Kenny's fly and button and dips his hands into Kenny's underwear, wrapping his erection in a loose fist and pumping slowly. He's not as practiced at handjobs—normally he just sort of sinks to his knees and gets down to business, but this is nice. Sometimes he forgets how good it can be to just touch someone and let them touch you and take it a little slow.
"Shit," Kenny mutters, voice high and desperately turned on, and it makes Butters' chest feel good. He likes being able to do this to people, so much so that it makes him whine and hide his face again.
It doesn't take him very long to come. Kenny's hand feels good on him, even gets him to inadvertently suck a hickey into his neck and buck up into the touch, like he's never had a guy's hands on him before or something.
Guys have touched Butters before. He's even had sex a couple of times—like, the kind with someone's cock in your ass and everything—and each time it's just been about… it seems kind of redundant to mention, but it's just been about sex. When Kenny touches him, it's more of an exploration than anything, like he's making a map of Butters in his head.
Kenny comes too, groaning and bucking up into Butters' hand. It makes Butters grin even more broadly than before. He can't help it, though.
He loves making guys come.
"Fuck," Kenny laughs after a second and goes to grab the box of tissues off of the dresser. He grabs one and tosses the box to Butters. Butters laughs as it hits him in the chest and flops back on the bed, cock softening and still hanging out, and gives a happy sigh.
"How come you look like you just got the best handjob ever?" Kenny asks.
Butters lets out a ridiculous giggle and asks, "How do you know I didn't?"
Kenny barks out a laugh, "Fantastic. Just remember to put in my obituary that I'm known for my incapacitating handjobs. I demand my legacy be known."
Butters laughs a little harder than he probably should, but hey. The boy does give excellent handjobs.
"I just don't get 'em real often is all," he says and tucks himself back into his pants before he sits up. There's a little spot of wet on his shirt, but he doesn't quite mind. He runs the palms of his hands over his knees before he stands and zips himself up.
Something seems to have stopped Kenny in his own tracks, mid-zip as it would appear, and now he's just staring at Butters, long and unblinking. It's kind of unsettling. Kenny's face is thin and kind of hollowing out now that it's losing its last layers of baby fat, and his eyes are all sunken and tried looking. It's not unlike being stared at by a ghost, Butters would imagine.
"What?" he asks, feeling the blush return to his cheeks.
"Nothing," Kenny shakes his head and finishes readjusting himself. "Um, I was gonna go get some pizza. You wouldn't wanna blow off your chores and come with me, would you? My treat, if you want."
"'the heck are you talkin' about?" Butters laughs a little. "Kenny, I'm not lettin' you buy me food."
"'scuse me, who's the one with the job here?" Kenny interjects very frankly and moves to grab his sweater off of the bed. "And I think I can spare a buck fifty for a slice of pizza for you, dude. I'm not a man of extravagant means, but I can spot you on a slice of pizza."
Butters laughs, a little more uncomfortably this time, and shifts.
"Ah, that's really nice of you an' all, but I should really stay here an' finish up everythin'," he says with a resigned smile, and then gives Kenny a light smack on the arm. "Reckon I should buy you a slice of pizza for not runnin' for the hills after touchin' me."
"Fuck you," Kenny colors and shoves him back, a little embarrassed. Butters laughs softly at that and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him into a kiss. He likes kissing Kenny, because Kenny's an awful good kisser and it's even better since he's gotten over his hang-ups about Butters being a guy… at least in the kissing department.
"I was asking to be nice," Kenny says when Butters pulls away. "Dude, you seem like you could use a break from your parents and your house and shit. Just blow it off. You're already grounded. What else can they do?"
"Mm, extend my sentence?" Butters hums and licks over the bruise he made on Kenny's neck. "Heck, I only get myself into this kinda thing 'cause I break the rules to begin with. You think a fella would learn by now, right?"
He laughs, just because it's easier than facing up to the gravity of the situation. He's got an obedience problem—he always has—and not that it matters much in the case of his parents, since he's got less than a year left living under their thumb, but he supposes it'll be a problem for when he gets a job and stuff.
"Yeah, you're a real live wire," Kenny snorts and pulls away, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Come on dude, chill with me for the afternoon. Nothin' but a little bit of good ol' fashioned teenage rebellion. Pizza, maybe the arcade, and then home. I'll even help you clean up when we get back, if you want."
"Kenny, I—"
"Be a normal kid, dude," Kenny nods. "It's the right thing to do."
Butters gives him a long, hard look before he rolls his eyes and sighs.
"Fine," he says and pulls his dresser drawer open. "But I'm gettin' my own pizza."
"Sweet," Kenny grins and sits down on the bed, looking around the room as Butters starts changing. He shucks his pants first, opting for a better-fitting pair of jeans, before tugging his shirt over his head and attempting to decide on a shirt to wear for pizza.
"Whoa," Butters hears as he pulls open another drawer, and looks over to see Kenny staring at him.
"What?" he asks.
"You're, uh," Kenny makes a gesture that vaguely represents a body builder or something. "You're fit, dude. I mean, not like, scary fit or anything, but, like… you've got arms and abs and stuff. I just totally wasn't expecting that."
Butters flushes and pulls a shirt over his head, a Spring Awakening one that his aunt sent him from when she saw the play in LA, and slides shut his dresser drawers. He goes to put his dirty clothes in the hamper and straightens up a few things before he turns back to Kenny, who's hanging over the edge of the bed and rooting around in the drawers below.
"Dude, what good is a captain's bed if you're not even going to hide your porn in the drawers?" Kenny asks.
"'cause that's the first place my mom'd look," Butters says, like it's obvious, and goes to his closet. He pulls down an old dufflebag and tosses it onto the bed, right next to Kenny. "She'd never look in an old bag."
It's not just his porn in there, either—it's everything. It's his supply of condoms, his lube, this funny box of macaroni that's shaped like penises that Bebe got him for his birthday… Kenny is, of course, enthralled.
"Dude, can I, like… borrow one of these magazines?" he asks and then looks up. "I promise, I take good care of other people's porn. Shit's sacred."
Butters laughs a little and gives him a nod. He's more than willing to share his porn with the less fortunate—he gets the feeling that Kenny will warm up to the idea of liking boys if maybe he has some good masturbation material on the subject. Then again, he can't presume to know.
"Here," he says and walks over to where Kenny has a smattering of magazines splayed out for all the world to see. He picks one out, his favorite actually, and shoves it into Kenny's hands. It's all worn and used-looking, but it's a good one. "Do you want any DVDs or anythin'? I got a few that're pretty good."
"No place to play 'em, dude," Kenny shakes his head and starts flipping through the magazine. Butters gives a sympathetic nod and goes to put the bag in his closet again. He straightens out a few more things before Kenny all but pushes him out the door. Butters barely has time to grab his jacket.
"Aw jeez," he mutters as they walk out to the sidewalk. The lawn is carpeted with crunchy brown leaves, and it's actually making Butters a little twitchy. He can hear his dad 's voice in the back of his mind, asking what kind of life he's going to have if he can't even manage to walk in the front door by ten o'clock, let alone find time to rake a few leaves. His fingers itch, "Lemme just grab the rake—"
"Dude, shut up," Kenny rolls his eyes and gives him a nudge.
"Kenny, I got responsibilities," he practically whines. "I can't just mess around. Tha-that's what gets me into trouble in the first place."
"Messing around," Kenny parrots, eyebrow raised and looking at Butters like he's an escaped mental patient. "Dude, how the hell did you even get grounded? You don't do jack shit."
"I do too," Butters frowns, a little indignant. "Just 'cause I don't got a fake ID or shoplift or nothin' doesn't mean I don't mi-misbehave. Why, just two weeks ago I broke my curfew."
"You broke your curfew?" Kenny echoes back again.
"Yeah," Butters gives a firm nod. "Halloween."
"And you got grounded for that," Kenny looks like he's trying to piece together the logic behind this. Butters gives him a moment before Kenny just shakes his head and keeps walking. "Goddamn, I thought myparents were shitty."
Butters frowns and jogs a bit to catch up, "Aren't they?" There's a faint outline of a bruise on Kenny's right cheek, one that Butters knows he didn't get from a baseball or a door or whatever bull he's been feeding people. He used to get those bruises too.
"Well, yeah," Kenny frowns a little, "Not like that, though."
"Ah," Butters nods and shrugs. "Well, I did break the rules."
"Still, dude," Kenny shakes his head. "That's pretty fucking harsh. My parents don't give a shit about that kind of thing. They wouldn't care if I stayed out all night—in fact, I know they don't."
"I'm sure that's not true," Butters shakes his head, because it can't be. How could anyone not care about whether or not their kid came home? Butters knows Kenny's parents drink a lot, and do drugs and stuff, so maybe… maybe that's it. Maybe the drugs make them feel like they don't care when they really do.
"Nope," Kenny just says very frankly. "It's pretty much the only they're not a pain in the ass about."
"Oh," Butters finds himself pouting, not entirely sure that he's understanding this conversation. "Well, if they're not pains about that kinda thing, what else is there?"
"Uh," Kenny grabs the back of his neck, and in that moment Butters knows he's hit a nerve. Kenny's face gets all screwed up and twitchy and he looks a little like he's debating whether or not he should share whatever horrible things are making his eyes flash like that. Butters is about to retract his question, but Kenny gets to opening his mouth first.
"I don't know," he says. "My dad flicks lit cigarette butts at me because he thinks the way I dive out of the way and yell is funny. And then he tells me that only cock-sucking ladyboys get all fussy about that kind of shit and tells me to go clean out the gutters or some shit before he gives me something to really cry about…"
Butters is silent for a second before he comes up with, "Well, you're neither a ladyboy nor a cocksucker as of now, so you have that at least."
Kenny smiles a little at that and looks at the ground as they keep walking. "Shitty parents, man," he says.
Butters nods, "Shitty parents." Then, in an eternal blow for optimism, says, "At least you got your brother an' sister, though, right? I mean, at least you sorta got built in friends."
Kenny laughs in that really awful way that makes Butters want to curl into himself and never go out into the world again. It's a laugh that's meant to make him feel like a dumbass, and that's exactly what it does.
"Dude, you don't know how siblings work, do you?" Kenny asks as they jay-walk across the street and into the more central part of town. "The nicest thing my brother ever did for me was get me a band-aid when my dad split my lip open when I was six. He's a fucking twat. He eats all my food, hogs our truck, and chipped my tooth the other day, see?"
Kenny bares his teeth and pulls down his bottom lip. Sure enough, one of his front teeth has a little chunk taken out of it. Butters wants to ask if the bruise and the tooth are related, but decides against it. Another time, maybe.
"What about Karen?" Butters asks. Karen's in his intro to computers class. She sits next to Butters in the back, and they always play around in photoshop and exchange music via Butters' extra USB drive.
"She's just… I don't know, dude," Kenny sighs. "Like, sometimes I just think she stopped needing me to be her big brother, you know? She must've seen me in real bad shape or something, 'cause she just, like… suddenly knew."
"Knew what?" Butters asks after Kenny's been silent for a few seconds, though he gets the feeling that he's not going to get a very satisfying answer.
"That I'm just as fucked up as everyone else in our goddamned family," Kenny says, though, and it gets caught in his throat like he's… like he's about to cry. Butters wants to throw his arms around Kenny and never let him go, because Kenny doesn't cry. He's just not that guy. Heck, Butters isn't even that guy.
Kenny quickly shakes it off and pulls his hood tight as soon as they get to the pizza place. It's reasonably packed for this late on a Saturday morning. Butters checks his watch—okay, it's almost noon, and he does remember being a kid with nothing better to do than hang out and eat pizza with his friends.
"What kind do you like?" Kenny asks, voice soft so only Butters can hear.
"I told you I'm gettin' my own, mister," Butters replies just as softly, and sticks out his tongue for good measure.
"I know," Kenny says as he takes out his wallet. "Just a question."
"Uh-huh," Butters snorts and follows suit. "What good's a question like that?"
"This is how I make friends," Kenny replies dryly. "Answer carefully, because if you answer pineapple, anchovies, peppers, or mushrooms, we can no longer be friends."
"You don't like mushrooms?" Butters laughs a little.
"Unless I'm going to trip motherfucking balls if I eat them, no," Kenny sticks out his tongue and shakes his head, like he can't imagine anything more disgusting. It makes Butters laugh a little harder, and revel in the gagging noises Kenny makes when he orders two slices of veggie pizza, which is heavily laden with mushrooms and peppers and a whole litany of other things that make Kenny grimace when he takes his first bite.
Kenny orders two slices of meat lover's, which prompts Butters to ask, "So what was your first clue that you liked cock again?"
Kenny gives him a half-hearted shove and twists his face into a little frown that Butters wants to kiss right off his face. It's sort of awful—Butters has pretty much resigned himself to the fact that he's never going to have a significant other while he's in South Park, but he knows he's an intensely affectionate person and it's kind of hard to keep sex and affection separate for him. He doesn't want to be Kenny's boyfriend, really he doesn't, it's just… kissing and stuff is the only way he's ever able to make people feel better, since no one wants to listen to him talk or anything like that.
They find a table back in a hidden corner that's all tagged up and etched into and eat mostly in silence. Butters has never been a quick eater, mostly because his mom always told him that that's how little boys grew up to be big and fat like Eric Cartman, which his father always followed up with stories of his cousin Dan, who got so big and fat that no one wanted to marry him and he ended up dying alone in his apartment when he was thirty-three, and no one found him for three days.
Kenny eats like he hasn't done so for days, which Butters thinks might be a little true.
"Not hungry?" Kenny looks up.
"Slow eater," Butters supplies and eats a mushroom plain, just to make Kenny pull a face again. He likes hanging out with Kenny, he decides. He's nice to him, and that's more than Butters can say for most people.
He doesn't have time to say anything about it, though, because somehow in spite of their attempts to hide they are soon joined by Stan and, surprisingly, Gary.
"Hey, fellas," Butters beams as Gary slides in next to him, and Stan next to Kenny. Gary looks a little more reticent than Stan, like he doesn't think they should just be sitting there without asking, so Butters turns up his smile a few more watts and looks at Kenny out of the corner of his eye. He looks a little uncomfortable, but Butters gives him a little kick under the table and has a hard time not laughing when Kenny's face screws up and he kicks him back.
"Gary, I thought you an' your family fed the homeless on Saturdays," Butters just says, and Gary nods.
"We do," he says, "But my little sister got sick so I decided to stay home and watch the Sound of Music with her."
"And no one suspects you're a fag?" Kenny asks quietly, through a mouthful of pizza. It makes Butters frown a little. He knows Kenny's not doing it to be a jerk, because (again) he's not a jerk, that he's doing it to distract from the fact that he and Butters are eating pizza alone together on a Saturday afternoon after just having had each other's hands down their pants, but that still doesn't make it okay.
Thankfully, Gary doesn't respond, just shrugs and runs his fingernails through the etchings on the table.
"Kenny," Butters says, and there's a warning tone to it that makes Stan look at them both curiously. He catches Butters' eye and smiles knowingly, which makes Butters sigh and clap his hands over his face. Stan's a good guy, but he can be kind of a, to use a McCormick favorite, twat sometimes. Especially when it comes to his old friends.
"So, Kenny," Stan says, a little smug. "Butters is pretty good at sucking dick, right?"
"Aw, Stan," Butters groans at about the same time as Gary lets slip an, "Oh, Jesus Christ" (which he never ever does).
Kenny, on the other hand, has gone sheet white. He looks at Stan intensely, more intensely than Butters has ever seen him look at anyone before. In fact, he wouldn't be at all surprised if Kenny just up and threw everything off the table and ran out the door.
"Dude, it's cool," Stan just says when he realizes that Kenny's not ready to discuss anything remotely relating to Butters' ability to suck dick. "Lots of guys get their dick sucked by Butters. It's not a big deal. I did."
"Me too," Gary nods. It sounds like a conversation they would have if Butters wasn't in the room, but people don't generally take into account any of his feelings on the subject. Not that he minds, it gives him the chance to look at Kenny and give him a reaffirming nod, hoping for a moment that this will at least placate him.
"I said I'm a slut," he shrugs. Kenny shakes his head like he's snapping himself out of a trance and taps Stan on the shoulder so he can get out. Stan lets him, and though he does attempt to ask Kenny if he's okay, he never gets an answer. Kenny's long gone and out the door by the time Butters can even think to follow him.
"That was weird," Stan frowns a little, and jumps when he realizes that both Gary and Butters are glaring at him. "What?" he asks, like he couldn't have possibly done anything wrong.
"Stan, what the hell?" Butters whines as he sits back down. "You don't just do that."
"I have to agree," Gary shakes his head, though he's still calm as can be.
"Hey, he called you a fag first," Stan points out, a little incensed.
"Stan, I'm a Mormon," Gary replies very frankly. "I've been called much worse for much less."
Stan looks between Gary and Butters, begging for at least one of them to be sympathetic to him, but it doesn't happen. "Guys, come on," he says. "It's Kenny. Y'know, fast cars and fast women? Come on, it's a little funny."
"Even if it was, you don't just do that!" Butters exclaims. "Heck, how'd you feel if I… if I told your dad all the kinds of stuff you get up to when no one's lookin'? I mean, you'd never do that to Gary, why would you do that to Kenny?"
"Whoa, dude," Stan frowns, but Butters barely hears him before he barrels on.
"Y'know, just 'cause someone fools around with someone doesn't mean they're ready t'go announcin' it to the world," he continues, and he can feel his words start running together like they're apt to do when he's just plain mad. "It's his decision if he even wants anyone to know to begin with, an' you bein' his friend an' bein' in a similar situation, I think you'd have half a mind t'keep your mouth shut until he said somethin' himself."
Butters stops, satisfied with his tirade, and sits back with a cross of his arms. At the very least, Stan and Gary have both been stunned into silence. Butters can't quite help it, though. He likes Kenny enough to want him to be happy, and have everything happen on his own terms, and he knows Stan well enough to know for certain that the boy knows better.
"He's right," is all Gary says when he turns to Stan. "I mean, not everyone takes to this kind of thing so elegantly." He gives Stan a pointed look that shuts him up almost instantly. Butters sighs, because if no one is going to go look for Kenny, he figures he'd at least better. He taps Gary on the shoulder, who's all ready to move out of his way, but they're soon joined by Eric and Kyle, who have their arms full of food and books respectively.
"Hey man," Kyle says, looking directly at Stan, like he wants to slide in next to him, but Eric beats him to it. He slides in next to Gary and Butters instead, though he looks like he'd rather be sitting anywhere else. "I tried calling you yesterday, you didn't answer."
"Oh," Stan frowns and grabs a slice of pizza off of Eric's plate. "Sorry, I was at practice."
"Fellas, if you could just—"
"Shut the fuck up, Butters," Kyle holds out a hand to silence him, which makes Gary at least bat it down and give Butters a sympathetic look. Butters shrugs as though to say "it happens all the time", because it does. "Dude, you and I were gonna chill."
"Jesus, Kyle," Eric quirks up an eyebrow. "Do you need to change your tampon or something?"
"All right, I really need to get—"
"Butters, shut the fuck up," Kyle snaps again, and Butters rolls his eyes.
"I'll go under the damn table if I have to," he mutters and starts looking for an exit route, but Gary shakes his head and looks at the floor with a grimace. Stan's watching him, and Butters sees a broad smile stretch over his face, the kind you only get when you're absolutely infatuated with someone. Butters thinks it's nice—Gary makes Stan sweeter, keeps him in check when he gets to being a jerk, and Stan lets Gary be himself, and doesn't even mind that Gary doesn't like to drink or curse or any of that stuff.
Kyle sees this smile and scowls, and just like that Butters gets it. Kyle's one of those fellas who's oblivious to his own feelings, so he probably doesn't even realize what's happening, but Butters sees right through him. Apparently, Butters isn't the only one, either. He looks down the table and catches eyes with Eric, he too only a spectator, and just shakes his head. Eric's not exactly subtle with this kind of thing, but he's just naturally sharp when it comes to people (something Butters acquired after a long period of time). Butters is just grateful Kenny left before he could pick up on that too.
"Kyle, let Butters out," Gary says very calmly and goes to rest a hand gingerly on Kyle's shoulder. He shrugs out of it, though, and just stands, harsh and resigned as he allows both Gary and Butters to slide out of the booth. "I think I'm going to go check on my sister, actually," Gary says then and gives Stan a wave. Kyle gives him a look that he probably doesn't even realize he's giving before sliding back into the booth. Butters doesn't know what he's saying, only that he's laying into Stan and giving him crap.
Butters figures it's probably hard, having feelings for your best friend and not knowing it. Probably why he's so angry all the time. Good thing Butters got out of there before Stan could open up his big mouth about Butters' blowing him or something. Kyle already isn't too fond of him—he doesn't need that adding onto whatever list Kyle may have going.
"Man, I tell ya," Gary shakes his head as they exit the restaurant. "People can sure be rude sometimes. You okay, dude?"
Butters snorts and nods, "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."
"Sure?" Gary asks, all sympathetic eyes and caring smile. It's easy to see what Stan sees in him; he's good-looking and nice as pie. Good at everything, too—probably doesn't give his parents nearly as much grief as Butters seems to give his.
"Yeah," Butters nods and gives him an easy smile. Gary nods back and gives him a friendly pat on the arm.
"Well, I'm here if you ever need to talk, dude," he says. "Sometimes a guy's just gotta hash things out, you know?"
The worst part is that Butters knows… Crap. Butters knows that if he were to break down and cry right here, Gary would let him. Not like Stan would, either. Gary would actually listen to him and offer an objective viewpoint to… well, to whatever it is that Butters is feeling.
"Thanks," Butters gives him a smile back. Gary nods again and gives him a one-armed hug, followed by a happy, "Take care."
He's gone before Butters can even exhale. He likes Gary, really he does, but his niceness can be overwhelming sometimes. Gary is one of those people who's so nice to everyone that Butters often finds himself wondering if the guy is actually genuine or not. He probably is, Butters shakes his head, but he can't help that one little inkling of doubt he has.
He walks back to his house, sighing when he sees that Kenny's bike is gone. He also cringes when he realizes that he left the door unlocked again and is just thankful he got back before his parents did. He locks the door behind him and goes immediately to speed clean the what he missed downstairs. If he works really efficiently, he'll be able to get the front yard done before four when his parents get home, and the back yard done maybe before dinner.
When Butters takes the stairs two by two back up to his room so he can get quickly back into his gardening clothes. His mom will actually murder him if he messes up his jeans. He tears off his shirt and grabs the one out of the hamper. He pauses when he sees a yellow piece of paper, torn rather obviously off of one of his legal pads, taped to the mirror he has beside his door. On it, scratched in rather untidy and barely legible letters, is a note.
"Sorry I left so soon. Shit got crazy and I have to be at work at 4.
Took the mag cuz you said I could. I'll bring it back to you later.
I'll help you rake next weekend if you want.
-K"
Chapter took longer than expected. I've been going through stuff (school stuff, mental stuff, all that crap...) but among all that, writing this fic is keeping me sane. Seriously, your guys' reviews were way encouraging this week, and I definitely needed it, so thank you.
Chapter title is from Rocky Horror again. It's a phrase that I feel actually speaks volumes upon volumes about Butters, but I won't get into that here.
Have a great week!
