Chapter 9: Left Here On My Own (I'm Gonna Hurt Myself)
Butters' chores take him much longer to do on his own.
Then again, he remembers someone once telling him you're apt to move slower when you're down in the dumps. He can't help it, though—his Saturdays just aren't the same without Kenny hanging out, stealing kisses while they dust his mom's knickknacks and things like that.
He liked hearing Kenny's voice while he did things around the house, liked how Kenny's hands felt on him, all timid and uncertain, but still so sure of what they were doing, what they were making Butters feel. And now all of a sudden it's gone, and Butters is back to feeling… odd again.
Even when he tries to talk to Kenny at school, he just avoids him. Butters is used to being avoided, and it's not the first time he's been ignored, but it still hurts… especially when he—jeez, as stupid as it is, he was starting to think that Kenny liked him. Like, like-liked him, in exactly the way that Butters is only starting to understand himself.
Kenny hates him… God, he must. Butters is the one who let this go as far as it did, and all because he can't keep his mouth off a guy. There's his problem right there: he's nothing but a no-good dirty slut. He's actually surprised it hasn't driven more people away from him before now.
Except, Kenny's a slut too. Of anything, Butters thought that would be something that bonded them together, not something that would make Kenny drop him like a hot potato. Unless, of course, Butters is far too much of a slut for Kenny. That's possible, right?
Or maybe Butters made Kenny realize that he doesn't like boys after all. Butters did his best to make Kenny feel good, but maybe it wasn't enough. That would figure—he's kind of a dismal specimen of man and he's not entirely sure of why anyone would ever come to him for sex to begin with.
He's not worth anyone's time.
He can't even wash dishes properly; how's he supposed to be appealing to others as a well put-together human being?
"Oh, Butters!" his mother exclaims, running a finger over the bottom of her roasting pan. "What on earth are you thinking over there? There's grease still caked on this pan."
"A-aw, gee," Butters stammers. His head is just not in it tonight. God, how worthless can you get if you can't even manage to wash a dish properly? Isn't that functional person 101? "I-I'm real sorry, mom."
"Not as sorry as I am, young man," his mom just shakes her head as she rolls up her sleeves. "If you're just going to sit here like a bump on a log and pretend that you're working, you can just go to your room and stare at the wall until you decide you want to be productive, young man."
Butters nods his head and heads toward the stairs without a word. She's got a point: nothing's worth doing if you're not even going to do it right. He's gotten better at concentrating on what he's doing over the years, but every once in a while he just can't do anything without making a total fool out of himself.
He passes his dad but doesn't say anything—there's not really much to say, and he knows whatever his dad can say will make him feel awful. He just goes upstairs and lays down on his bed, perfectly content to stare up at the glowing stars on his ceiling until he falls asleep.
There has to be some parallel universe out there where Butters doesn't suck at everything he does. Maybe there's even one where people kind of like him and want to be around him. The one he got dropped into is kind of awful, and he doesn't much like a whole lot of it.
Butters' phone rings then and he's brought back into the real world, this world, the one where he's just a sorry excuse for human life.
"Hello?" he answers.
"Hey, dude." It's Stan. He's been calling Butters more and more ever since Gary got kicked out of his house last week. It's not that Butters doesn't like Stan or doesn't want to hang out with him or anything, it's just that Butters kind of misses Kenny and he doesn't feel like doing anything other than being sad.
"Hey there, Stan," he says, not bothering to put the usual happy lilt in his voice. Everything is just pretty sucky today.
"I'm fucking bored, wanna come over?" Stan offers rather bluntly. "I moved my Xbox up into my room and I got a giant thing of root beer and some Snacky S'mores."
Damn it. Root beer is his favorite, and he's been known to take out a whole box of Snacky S'mores if he's not careful. Video games aren't really his thing, though, and the thought of sitting on Stan's bed and eating himself into a sugar coma while Stan plays Assassin's Creed or something is not sounding like a fun and interesting night.
"I think I'm just gonna stay in tonight," Butters sighs. "I'm kinda feelin' a little down. I-I don't think I'll be too much fun."
"I'll suck your dick," Stan offers.
Well, there's no sense in being rude.
"I'll leave now," Butters says and hangs up. He doesn't bother telling his parents he's leaving. It's eight o'clock—his parents will be heading to bed soon and probably won't bother to check on him. They like to leave him alone after they punish him, even if it's something like sending him to his room for the night. Maybe they know the toll isolation takes on him.
He slips on his shoes and opens up his window. It's December now, and it's starting to get a little cold and icy outside, so he grabs his jacket and slips it over the sweater he's already got on before he climbs out his window. He lands softly on the grass below and promptly heads off toward Stan's house.
Part of Butters wants to get caught—getting caught would mean that his mom had come into his room to apologize, to talk to him, to at least acknowledge him at the very least—but he knows he won't. He could just as easily have snuck out of the house to kill himself and they wouldn't even notice he was gone until Monday morning when they would go to wake him up for school.
Stan answers the door when Butters gets there. His hair is all messy and he looks like he just woke up after sleeping for five days straight. He's in his pajamas, and smiling at Butters like a fucking lunatic.
"Looking for a good time?" he asks facetiously. Butters sticks out his tongue and steps inside. They head up to Stan's room, where Stan shuts them in and sits down back in front of the TV to resume his game. Butters grabs a bottle of root beer and the box of Snacky S'mores and proceeds to make a nest out of the unruly tangle of blankets next to Stan's bed.
"Thought you were gonna suck me off," he says, twisting the cap off of his root beer and taking a long, satisfied sip.
"I'll get to it, fuck," Stan shakes his head. "I have to finish this first." He guns down someone on the screen while Butters shoves food into his face and gulps down soda in a way that would make his mother have a heart attack.
"You all right, dude?" Stan asks after a few minutes, still not taking his eye off his game. "You've been off for a while."
"Yeah," Butters shifts. He's not so sure that he wants to go into this right now, especially when there's promise of fellatio on the horizon.
"Come on, dude," Stan says, poking him in the side in an attempt to jostle him into talking. Butters smiles a little bit and squirms, because if Stan's asking it means he wants to know and he actually cares about what happens to Butters.
"I don't know," Butters just shrugs. "I guess I'm just lookin' for somethin' to do now that Kenny's not… well, now that he's decided we're not doin' this anymore." He's actually really sad about it, now that he thinks on it. Not that he could ever say that or tell Kenny or anything, because that's just flat-out needy, and that's one of his worst qualities. He really does rely much too much on other people to validate him when he knows that he shouldn't.
"I know how you feel," Stan shakes his head. "Kyle and Gary are in a bunch of the same classes, and now that Gary's staying there it's like they never have any time to do anything but hang out with each other… which is weird. Meanwhile, I guess I'm just supposed to sit here and play with myself until someone decides to stop being a raving twat and talk to me."
"Exactly," Butters nods and raises his root beer in a toast. "I'm just… I-I reckon I liked doing stuff with him, y'know? Not just touchin' each other, either. I liked him."
Stan just purses his lips and gives a tight, fed-up nod. "Ditto times, like, a thousand, dude." He pauses his game then and sets down his controller, looking over at Butters like he's expecting him to say something. When the silence perpetuates he hangs his head and takes Butters' hand out of the box of Snacky S'mores. Butters' heart speeds up when Stan threads their fingers together and starts tracing over the outline of veins on the back of his hand.
"Why do people suck?" he asks then. Butters laughs a little and shrugs, "I couldn't tell ya."
Stan smiles and moves the food out from between them so he can tug Butters close to him. Butters is just desperate enough to buy into it and snuggle close to him. Stan is warm and solid and he's not afraid of boys, which is a quality Butters really needs to start looking for in his sexual partners.
"You want me to kick Kenny's ass for him next time I see him?" Stan asks. Butters laughs a little at that, but shakes his head.
"No, nothin' like that," he says. "Not his fault I'm unappealing."
"Oh, fuck you, dude," Stan scoffs. "You're hot, get over it."
Butters whines and hides his face in the crook of Stan's neck. Stan pokes him in the side again and holds him closer. Stan's always trying to get Butters to think better about himself, which Butters doesn't quite get. He doesn't need to be coddled, but Stan usually follows it up with kissing him or cuddling him or something nice.
They kiss, and it's nice. It's different from kissing Kenny, but Stan's lips are nice and soft (the product of an addictive chapstick habit) and it gets Butters to wondering how Gary couldn't want kisses like this forever. Stan's kisses are always comforting.
And then suddenly Butters is hit by the realization that he's really… really horny. Like, problematically so. His body went from a lot of messing around to nothing at all—it was like hitting a brick wall and it's left Butters all wriggly and wanting to be touched.
"Stan," he says softly when he pulls back. "Stan, you got condoms here?"
Stan raises his eyebrows and gives Butters a hazy look of confusion. "Yeah?" he returns. "Why?"
"Lube? Or hand lotion or somethin'?" Butters asks, lips moving slick against Stan's. He climbs on top of Stan's lap and wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him again. Stan's responsive too, slipping his hands down Butters' sides and grabbing his ass.
"You wanna…?" Stan huffs as he pulls away and runs his tongue over his lips. Butters just nods, kissing him again.
"Fuck me," he pleads softly. "Please? I need it, Stan. I need it so bad."
Stan whimpers at that and rests his forehead on Butters' chest, taking a few deep breaths, in and out.
"Have you ever done it before?" he asks, and Butters nods.
"Yeah," he says. "Once or twice. Have you?"
Stan shakes his head, "Gary never wanted to… Are you—I don't wanna hurt you, dude."
"You won't," Butters shakes his head, sliding his lips against Stan's, the insistent need humming in his blood driving this forward more than anything. "You've never hurt me in your life, Stan. You're always good to me. Please."
That's all it takes to set Stan in motion. They shift up so they're on the bed, Butters flat on his back and Stan hovering above him and—God—nothing on the planet should be so nice. Stan wants him, wants to kiss him and touch him and love on him and make him feel good. Butters likes feeling good, and is very bad at getting there by himself.
Stan pulls back Butters' layers one by one, and soon Butters is half naked and panting on Stan's messy bedspread. Butters just gives him a look and returns the favor. Stan's like a kid in a candy store after that, pinning Butters back down and kissing him all over, like he hasn't gotten to do this to anyone in a long time.
And maybe he hasn't.
Butters is beyond hard in his pants now, pulling Stan's hips down to him and grinding against him. Stan seems to get the hint and soon they're both naked and fumbling awkwardly together. Stan's a mass of solid muscle above him, somehow rough and soft at the same time.
"Stan," Butters says softly as Stan's tongue flicks over one of his nipples. "Stan, do—d'you have any lube? Y-y'never answered."
Stan looks up at him a little dazed, before nodding vaguely and pulling a tiny tube out from under his mattress, along with a length of condoms. It looks like it's never been opened. Butters takes it and gives Stan a questioning look.
"Oh," Stan's eyebrows pinch together. "I got it… I thought Gary would want to, y'know… but he never did."
Butters just nods and brings him into another kiss, quick and not at all the drawn out tender one Stan's going for.
"Lay on your back," he hums softly. He sees something flash behind Stan's eyes, a brief moment of terror in which he's unsure if it's him or Butters who will be getting something shoved up his butt. Butters just smiles and nips his chin, "I was gonna get myself ready. Unless you want to."
Stan looks from Butters to the lube and back again, like he's trying to solve one of the world's last and greatest mysteries. He then takes the lube from him and opens it, a little clumsily but not without purpose. He slicks his fingers as Butters wriggles out of his pants, sighing as the warm air of Stan's room hits his erection.
"Let me know if I hurt you," Stan says imploringly, and that's a little strange. Butters isn't generally in the business of bedding guys who give two shits about whether or not they hurt him. But he and Stan are friends—good friends—the kind of friends who help each other and remind one another that new things aren't scary, just… new.
Stan probes his fingers a little awkwardly, Butters making sure to whisper little words of encouragement every so often.
"I'm trying to find the spot, dude," Stan explains when Butters tells him that he's done enough, that they're good to go.
"Stan, you don't have to," Butters attempts to reason. "I don't need y—" his voice dies in his throat the second Stan presses against it. Stan seems to get the gist and hits it again, and again, and suddenly he's got Butters shoving a pillow over his face and mewling like he's never felt anything so good in his life.
When he feels a little pull starting in his stomach, he pulls the pillow off his face and whacks Stan in the shoulder with it.
"Stop," he pants as Stan starts laughing. He pushes into it again, getting Butters to whine, "You're gonna make me come, stop it."
"Oh fuck, really?" Stan asks as he retracts his fingers, eyebrows in his hairline now. His dazed and curious face is kind of cute, cute enough for Butters to launch forward and pin him to the bed with a rather primal little growl. He grabs the condoms and tears one off, tossing the rest somewhere on the floor with his pants. Stan gets the hint and shucks his pajamas, discarding them in a similar fashion.
Butters rolls the condom over Stan and lubes him up a little bit more, just for good measure. Stan looks a little confused until Butters climbs on top of him and positions himself so that he can sink down onto Stan's cock, inch by painfully slow inch. It hurts, yeah, but Stan looks lost in it and, truth be told, Butters likes it when things are a little painful. He's used to being uncomfortable.
There's a few moments where Butters and Stan just sit there, Butters all the way down and Stan panting and groaning and trying to keep his hips from twitching, fused together and chests heaving against one another. For a moment everything else in the world blacks out and it's just them, together, wanted and needed and loved by each other and it's all that Butters can do not to choke on relief.
Stan would miss him if he wasn't around—even if it's only because they fuck around once in a blue moon—and with that Butters starts moving. It's awkward and fumbling at first, since Butters has never tried doing this and Stan's just beyond thrilled that his dick is inside someone else. Eventually, they fall into a rhythm that has Stan slamming up into Butters in just the right way and Butters letting loose these strings of dirty words that leave Stan whimpering and thrusting even harder.
Stan comes first, wrapping his arms around Butters' neck and pulling him down into a kiss. Butters follows quickly, the friction of being caught against Stan too much for him, and shoots all over his and Stan's torsos.
They don't disconnect for a few minutes, just lie there and kiss each other lazily until they start cramping up and have to move.
"Wow," is all Stan says when Butters rolls off of him. "That was awesome."
Butters lets out a breathy laugh next to him and rolls back over, cuddling up to Stan's chest and not even minding that they're both a little sweaty and sticky. Stan smells like sweat and sex and wraps his arms around Butters' shoulders. He's nice and cuddly, and what's even more is that he likes being nice and cuddly, and Butters appreciates when he gets affection from other humans.
"You think we should clean up?" Stan asks after a little while. Butters chuckles a bit and nods. "Cool. You can have first shower if you want."
Butters just looks at him for a second, searching his face before asking, "You don't just wanna do it together?" He doesn't know that he can be alone right now—he doesn't like the idea of being alone in general, but he gets the feeling that he's going to plunge back into those weird feelings if Stan says no.
Stan gets a little lopsided grin on his face and sits up. "That wouldn't be weird?" he asks. Butters just shakes his head.
"We just had sex, I think we crossed whatever weirdness bridge that is a long time ago," he says and sits up too. He's pretty tender, and it's probably not exactly going to be a picnic walking around tomorrow, but it's nothing he can't handle. Stan shrugs, satisfied with this, and looks down at their messy stomachs.
"Goddamn, you come a lot, dude," he laughs and then grabs Butters' hand. They shower together, kissing lazily in between cleaning up. Stan gets this nervous look on his face every time Butters winces or shifts uncomfortably, and Butters has to reassure him multiple times that it's okay, that it feels good.
They go back to Stan's room, clean and a tired. Stan loans Butters a pair of pajamas and huddle up under Stan's blankets, wrapped around each other.
"Butters?" Stan says softly.
"Yeah?"
"This is super gay, so don't tell anyone I said this," he starts, which is always the best way to preface something, "but I'm stoked that we're friends."
"Is that 'cause I let you stick your penis in my butt?" Butters asks, eyes shut and on the brink of sleep.
"Mostly," Stan snorts. "I don't think people let you know how cool you are, though. So I'm letting you know."
Butters squirms a bit, but says nothing. Stan will get mad if he tries to say anything against it and he doesn't want that right now. He just wants to lie here with the smell of Stan's shower gel in his nose and the rise and fall of his chest lulling him into sleep.
ooooooooo
It's two days until the play. For the life of him, Kenny can't understand why anyone would come to a play on a Wednesday night, but he also can't imagine why anyone would come to a play at all, so… there you go. Even though he doesn't have a part, even though he's basically just there as decoration half the time, when he's called into the Dean's office for a check-in, he's told he has to go.
"I'd hate to think you're not participating in all your activities, Kenny," the Dean shakes his head. He wouldn't really hate it—he'd love to kick Kenny out of school, and the closer they get to graduation, the more and more satisfaction the dean would take in expelling him.
"Hey, have I fought once this year?" Kenny asks. "No, I'm too busy. Mission accomplished."
"There is no need for rudeness, Kenny," the dean warns. Kenny folds his arms over his chest and sinks in his chair, but apologizes all the same. He's been on edge the last few weeks, and he's not an idiot—he knows it's because he stopped seeing Butters. It was difficult at first, not seeing him or calling him or anything, but it's getting… easier isn't the right word, because he's cranky and irritable as shit and it's because he's not happy.
He's not.
He's not happy.
There are very few things in his life that make him happy, and being with Butters was one of them. Even if they weren't boyfriends or together, or even having sex, he liked being around Butters. He's one of those people who just gets Kenny, and he doesn't have a lot of those people in his life.
"Now, the club advisor has informed me that you've skipped the last few weeks of meetings and rehearsals," the dean says. "Is this true?"
Kenny shrugs, but nods when it becomes apparent that the dean is in no mood to play games. Kenny's not really in the mood for it either, come to think of it. The dean just eyes him warily and then, like he's a human being or something, gathers that… maybe Kenny doesn't need to be berated. He just nods and lets him go without much else, and Kenny, while stunned, is grateful.
And it gets him to go to drama club after school, which means it's probably a way more effective tactic than anyone would give it credit for.
Everything is hectic in the theater when Kenny gets there. It's only a few minutes past three thirty, but Butters already has everyone working. Stan's up on stage with Gary, helping the crew out with placing the sets, while Butters and Wendy are in the audience, both looking a little flustered.
Kenny knows how to get that look off his face. He's pretty damn good at it, too.
He doesn't even realizing he's walking over toward him, like something caught in a tractor beam, until he's sitting right next to Butters and both he and Wendy just sort of turn and look at him like he's a ghost.
"Uh, sorry I'm late," he says.
Butters keeps looking at him, giving him this horrible little stare that simultaneously conveys both how glad he is that Kenny's there, and how pissed off he is at him for flat out ignoring him over the last two weeks.
"Thought you weren't gonna show," he admits. Kenny just shrugs, figuring it's inappropriate to confess that he almost didn't. It's rude to tell someone that you've been avoiding them because you have an insatiable urge to kiss their face in public.
"Anything you have for me to do?" he asks. Butters just jolts a bit, like he's been caught in his thoughts, and nods, tells him to go help Bebe paint the backdrop, and goes back to talking to Wendy without another word.
Okay.
Okay, that hurt a little.
He grabs his stuff and hops up on stage, giving Stan and Gary a little wave before he joins Bebe and Annie in painting the winter exterior backdrop, which is just some white hills and a sky and some snow falling.
"Hey, Kenny," Bebe gives him a smile and hands him a fat brush and a tin full of paint. "Haven't seen you around much lately."
"Yeah," Kenny frowns and starts tentatively painting a patch of blue on a blank part of the canvas. "Just really busy and everything."
"Is everything okay?" she asks. "Like, everything's okay with your parents and stuff?" She's genuinely concerned, Kenny knows… she always has been. Sometimes, when he didn't feel like going to Stan's or Kyle's, he'd go to Bebe's. She was always sympathetic, always let him talk, and even let him nuzzle her boobs after they started fooling around. Even now, with paint all over an old pair of jeans and her hair tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head, she still manages to look warm and inviting. He could tell her anything and it would be okay.
"My parents are fine," Kenny shakes his head and sighs. He looks over his shoulder, to where Annie has been called away to help paint the dog house, and turns back to Bebe, leaning in close. "Can I tell you something?"
"Of course," she frowns now, sitting down on the drop cloth and patting a place beside her. Kenny joins her, and as they both start painting a bank of snow, he comes out with it.
"I think like dick."
She's silent for a second, though her brush hasn't stopped moving. She looks up at him after a few beats pass and assesses his face, concluding that the proper reaction is to drop her brush and pull him into a smiley hug.
"It's okay," she laughs softly. "It happens to the best of us."
This catches Kenny slightly off-guard, enough so that he pulls back and just sort of looks at her, "Would it kill you to at least pretend you're surprised?"
Bebe covers her mouth as she laughs. "I'm sorry," she says. "You just… you talk in your sleep. Sometimes it's really entertaining."
"Fuck you, I do not!" Kenny exclaims, eyes all bugged out as he smacks her on the arm.
"Kenny, the amount of times I've heard you narrating you getting your ass fucked is astronomical," Bebe enunciates. "I thought you knew… oh, if I'd known you were upset about it, I would've talked to you a long time ago. So you like dick, big deal. Dick is wonderful. I love dick."
"Whoa, okay," Kenny puts his hands up. "I get it. Nothing wrong with loving dick. What we're all failing to acknowledge is the fact that I still like tits and pussy too."
"Again," Bebe shrugs. "Happens to the best of us." She polishes off that last with a little wink and returns to her task of painting snow. Kenny is, however, left a little stunned.
"Wait, what?" Kenny asks. "Bebe Stevens, if you like eating pussy and I'm just now hearing about it, I'm going to be pissed."
"Why?" Bebe scowls. "You're just telling me that you like sucking cock. Do you realize how many years of our lives we've wasted not having sex parties in my basement? So many years, Kenneth."
Kenny laughs at that and hides his face in his hands. He's suddenly bombarded by images of Bebe doing some very naughty things with other ladies that makes his dick think this is an appropriate time to have a party.
"How're you holding up?" Bebe asks then, patting him on the back.
"I'm pretty fucked, actually," Kenny lets out a laugh and sits up. "Apart from not wanting my family to find out that I'm a no good faggot, I'm kind of failing pretty hard at it."
"Kenny, you're not a faggot," Bebe rolls her eyes. "Y'know, that's the worst thing about being bisexual—no one thinks it's real. It's like it's impossible for people to wrap their heads around being able to be attracted to both. People are fucking dumb—if they can only have one, they want to impose it on the rest of us. The ultimate dick move."
And Kenny's suddenly hit by it, the fact that he is attracted to both, that he's had both, and that he'd never be able to choose between one or the other for the rest of his life. If someone told him that he couldn't ever play with a pair of tits again, he'd kill himself; if someone told him that he couldn't ever suck dick again, he'd probably go on a murdering spree.
Because he does like both. He likes boys, but he still likes girls. Being with a guy hasn't made that go away.
"You're fucking amazing," he tells Bebe then, coming forward and pulling her into a kiss (making sure, of course, to squash her chest against him as he does) before he gives her a smile and shoots up to his feet. He's overcome by a sudden burst of happy energy, and instead of jumping around like an idiot or doing cartwheels or something, he channels it into finishing the backdrop. Between them, he and Bebe work fast, and when they're done Wendy even compliments it.
Kenny's feeling pretty good about his life, as a matter of fact, until he's sent to the prop room for some fake Christmas trees and I subjected to one of the worst things he's ever seen. He's not two steps in before he hears the two very familiar voices of Stan and Butters, whispering like they're afraid of being found.
"I just wanna take a nap, Stan," Butters sighs softly, high and whining like it's something he'll never be able to do again.
"Man, you're gonna drop dead if you keep going like this," Stan mutters back. Kenny listens as he moves quietly around the room, looking for them. As it turns out, they're curled up in the far corner of the room, obstructed by high piles of boxes and a lot of crap that's making it very hard for Kenny to spy properly. From what he can see through a small gap in a stack of boxes, Stan is sitting with his back against the wall, while Butters is nestled back against him, eyes slipped shut as Stan pets over Butters' soft hair way… way too lovingly.
It actually makes Kenny's blood boil a little bit.
When Stan actually kisses Butters' neck, Kenny has to turn and leave. He's got this very displaced feeling that that should be him making Butters feel better—then it occurs to him that he's been actively avoiding Butters for so long that he doesn't even know what's going on with him anymore. He could have a whole new set of issues that Kenny doesn't even know about.
It makes him even more irritated that he's annoyed with himself for not knowing what's going on with Butters, and soon he's back in the theater, gathering up his shit and leaving without so much as another word. He doesn't like dramatic swings of emotions, mostly because going from insanely happy to vengefully irate is kind of exhausting.
Stan and Butters are… what, fucking? Like, Kenny goes MIA and Gary doesn't want to mess around with Stan anymore (at least, that's what Kyle says), so they just decide to bone each other? People don't just cuddle in a prop room without penetration, Kenny doesn't care who you are. Stan and Butters are the biggest pussies Kenny knows, sure, but cuddling in public is just plain uncalled for.
He marches right into the library, where he knows Kyle has started living after school in an attempt to get his work done, and marches right up to where he's sitting and shuts his book right in front of him.
"Kenny, what the hell!" Kyle exclaims, earning him looks from all the other eggheads surrounding them.
"You and I need to have a talk about your husband," Kenny asserts. Kyle rolls his eyes and opens his book back up.
"You have approximately ten seconds to get out of my face before I club you over the head with this," he says.
"I think he and Butters are fucking," Kenny blurts out, remembering a little too late that Kyle doesn't know anything about him and Butters. Kyle just gives him a strange look, like he's halfway between believing Kenny and punching him in the mouth.
"Why in the fuck do you care?" he finally comes back with, and Kenny feels himself color ever so slightly.
"Your dick is my dick?" he offers. Kyle's eyes just get big as he's struck by the realization.
"Oh, my god, you have a hard-on for Butters, don't you?" he whispers, and Kenny immediately shushes him. "Dude, what the fuck! Him?"
"Oh, like you picked a fucking winner," Kenny scowls and flips him off. "Need I remind you how long it took the love of your life to realize he wore his shirt inside out the other day?"
Kyle glares, but backs down—at least on this point. He still seems to be a little more flustered than usual about Kenny's inklings regarding Stan and Butters and who's putting their dick where.
"I mean," Kenny continues, "I know they've both said something about fooling around before, but I didn't think they were still doing it."
Kyle purses his lips and goes back to his book. "Whatever, man," he says. "I've got other shit to worry about."
Kenny sighs and leans back in his chair, "Well, I don't."
Kyle looks up at him again, this time a little more curiously. It's always hard to tell what's going on in Kyle's head, mostly because it's so liable to switch at a moment's notice. He shuts his book again, this time for good, and leans on it as he continues to study Kenny curiously.
"You really like him, don't you?" he asks then. Kenny just nods, and Kyle nods back, chewing on his thumbnail as he does. "I think I really like Stan, dude."
"I know," Kenny says, more softly than he intends. Kyle catches his eye again and Kenny can't help but notice that he looks a little scared.
"What?" he asks. "What do you want from me?"
"I don't know!" Kenny exclaims. "I thought you'd have some grand and glorious advice for me."
"What part of anything you know about me would make you think that, Kenny?" Kyle asks.
"Man, I don't fucking know!" Kenny groans. He doesn't even know that he was looking for advice to begin with. He knows what he wants—he wants to be with Butters again, to hang out with him and kiss him and help him with his chores and suck him off and… and fuck him and be there for him when he's all exhausted like he was earlier.
For the first time in a long time, Kenny wants to be there for someone else.
For the first time since he was eleven years old, Kenny wants to be someone's superhero again.
Hello world! Short-ish chapter, but I wanted to get it done before the weekend (as usual). Still running with the slower updates over here (even though it hasn't been that long, oy...) and I can't say when I'll be back up to my normal speed again. I'm glad you guys are all sticking around with it, though-I seriously appreciate the crap out of it!
Chapter title is from We Are Golden by MIKA. This song is one of the first on any Butters playlist I make, and if you have time to watch the music video, you'll know why. :)
Thanks for reading and reviewing and everything... I know I say it every time, but it is awesome and it does mean a lot to get feedback.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
