Okay folks, here it is: the last chapter. I had to get it out now because I'm in the throes of finals week and I have two papers to write and I wouldn't have been able to focus if I hadn't left this somewhat finished. I may write an epilogue, I may not. Depends on how cynical I am by the time I'm done writing essays.

A big thank you to everyone who's stuck around and read, as per. I enjoy the hell out of feedback, even if it's just a quick line to tell me that you're enjoying the story. If you're not, then you've probably already fucked off and started reading something else by now.

Also, long chapter is looooong.

"Butters, Charlie Brown is on!"

There was a time when Butters would have dropped whatever he was doing and immediately run down the stairs at that. It was his favorite Christmas special (if one could even have a favorite in the first place), and if he'd missed it even a year ago he would have found himself a whole heap of disappointed. He'd always felt a sort of connection to Charlie Brown, like they were kindred spirits or something. Always with the bad luck and the insecurities, always taken advantage of… the similarities were actually kind of depressing, actually.

As it stood, Butters was now perfectly content with laying face down on his bed, hoping that this pain in his chest was indicative of a looming heart attack because, seriously, absolutely anything would be better than being back here. In South Park, in his house, in his room, just… here.

"Butters?" came a knock on the door. It was his mom, Butters knew, all decked out in her emerald green dress and bright red cardigan. She'd been wearing it all day, like she did every year on Christmas Eve, and once upon a time Butters would've brought his kitschy old reindeer sweater out of mothballs and joined her in the revelry.

Then again, once upon a time his parents hadn't all but kidnapped him and brought him home against his will.

"Sweetheart, I know this isn't ideal," his mother began as she sat beside him on the bed and placed a hand on his back. "But you don't know what you were getting yourself into. There's all sorts of creepy crawlies out there… who knows what could've happened if you were just walking down the street at the wrong time. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you again. Neither of us could."

Butters shifted his face out of the bosom of his pillow and looked over at her contemplatively. He'd been forced into faking his death only once—the whole Marjorine incident that, to this day, he still didn't like talking about—but that had been enough for his parents. After they'd managed to get it through their heads that Butters was, in fact, not demon spawn, they'd kept an extra-close eye on him. Then, of course, there had been the time his mom had tried to drown him and had had to live with the thought that she'd killed him. Butters supposed the first was probably harder on her, but he couldn't be sure. He was pretty sure that, if and when he had kids, he'd never be able to live with the thought that one had died, at his hands or anyone else's. He couldn't imagine what his parents must've felt either time, although one situation gained a little more sympathy from Butters than the other, if he was being honest.

Long story short, he knew he should've pretended to off himself before he left. Then at least he could've guaranteed that he never had to come back to South Park, and if he'd ever wanted he could've at least come back on his own terms.

Of course, then he would've been a registered dead man, literally, and that was no good.

"I made gingerbread," his mother said softly, pulling him out of his thoughts (though it was more the mention of gingerbread than her). "Would you like me to bring you some with some apple cinnamon tea?"

Butters grumbled and buried his face back in the pillow. She'd have brought him some regardless of his response anyway—he didn't much feel like wasting words on her right now. It was just a good thing that his dad hadn't decided to tag along on this little visit to his room, because Butters wasn't sure he'd have been able to hold in his anger if he'd shown his face. He'd been actively avoiding the man for the last week now, which was a much easier task when he had work and Butters was free to roam about the house at his own leisure. Unfortunately, he'd had the day off today, which, aside from a quick jaunt to the store around noon, had pretty much confined Butters to his room.

It wasn't so bad when his room smelled like Christmas, of course, all spicy and warm when his mother reentered with her tidings of apology and pity. Butters didn't quite want to sit up though, not even for his favorite tea and favorite cookies. They'd just taste like crap right now, because everything was crap right now and Butters didn't even know why. It was the kind of thing that made you just want to plop down in a dark corner and cry until it all blew over, which was odd. Normally his parents just made him mad—they never made him so mad that he couldn't breathe.

They hadn't even made him cry good and proper since he was twelve, and yet there he was, all breathless and crying.

"Sweetheart, we're going to stop by the Testaburgers' Christmas party," his mom said softly, brushing at a few strands of his hair. "I'm sure Wendy would love to see you… and Bebe too. They've been calling for you all week, honey."

"I'll stay here," Butters replied softly. Somehow he got the feeling that they weren't the people he needed to talk to right now.

His mom patted him on the back and kissed him on the top of the head.

"I put some ham in the fridge for you," she said. "Please eat."

Butters nodded but didn't reply as she shut his door. He didn't want to talk anymore. He wasn't even sure he could think anything anymore, so he just listened to his parents shuffle around downstairs and ultimately leave the house about ten minutes later.

He sat up and rubbed at his good eye. The house was completely silent for a change, and it was actually really disconcerting. Usually the dishwasher or the dryer were running when he was alone, and when he wasn't alone either his mom was humming as she puttered around and cleaned the house or his dad was talking animatedly along with Bill O'Reilly or something.

Nothing now, though; Butters was completely alone.

"God fucking damn it!" he shouted and threw his pillow across the room and buried his face in his hands. This wouldn't have been so damn horrible if he just knew what the hell was making him feel this way. He had been crying and moping around for so long that he literally could not remember what had started the whole thing. Maybe he should have gone to the party with his parents. At least if he'd gone to hang out with the girls he might have been able to forget about how shitty he was feeling.

He rolled off of the bed and grabbed the mug of tea off of his dresser. It tasted good, he knew it did, but even with a cookie it wasn't satisfying. Butters paced around his room for a good long while, sipping and nibbling as he ran through a few ballet positions in his steps. Then he found his feet scuffing at the carpet in a familiar way, tapping through a few long gone by routines, and came to the conclusion that he never should've stopped dancing. Even though he felt like someone had his chest in a vise, even if it felt like he'd never be quite all right again, somehow dancing to a tune in his head made it all feel a little okay. Granted, he couldn't move too much in his room without knocking anything over anyway, but it was still nice. He grabbed the empty plate and mug and ran down stairs to deposit them in the dishwasher. Then he figured that if his mom left him food, he may as well just open up the fridge and get it over with. He grabbed the plate of ham, saran-wrapped with a post-it adhered to it.

A smiley face.

"Jesus, she's so fucking weird," Butters muttered to himself and grabbed all the accoutrements for a sandwich.

It was times like this, eating a ham sandwich all alone in his kitchen, when Butters wished he'd had a brother or sister. He always liked to think that he would've been a good big brother, someone his little sibling could come to in times of distress and in turn Butters could have another someone in this house to help take the heat off of him when he did something bad. (or when his parents were being just plain freaky). Sometimes he liked to imagine what he or she'd be like, if he'd be close enough to him in age to the point where they could've been pals, or if she'd be one of those happy accidents who was years younger than him, that Butters would've spent most of his time babysitting, braiding her hair, or painting her nails.

Then he remembered what Kenny said about his brother and sister and kind of shied away from the thought.

Kenny. When had Kenny said that? He knew he'd said it, he could recall his face doing it, lips forming perfectly around the words, but he couldn't quite place the setting. He wanted to say they were eating, but when had he and Kenny ever gone out to eat? His memory was kind of fuzzy from the last few weeks and all, though he was starting to think that had to do with the fact that he wasn't eating or sleeping too much, but everything before that was still pretty clear. Then again, he had basically condemned himself to solitary confinement; he was just going a little crazy was all.

Nothing new.

Fuck, he hated being back in this town. He hated feeling this alone.

Butters went to wash his plate in the sink and start the dishwasher, because if he was going to be here alone he was going to have a little background noise, damn it. Though, he did suppose that that was what the TV was for. He shuffled out to the living room and flopped down on the couch, grabbed the remote and clicked the TV on like it was the biggest chore he'd had to do all day.

The Rudolph special was on now. Butters had always liked this one too, but mostly because he always thought he'd like to live on the island of misfit toys. They didn't seem like the kind who'd judge him, mostly because he was like them and he always had been. A train with square wheels, that's what he was. For the most part he looked all right, but there was just that one part of him that made him different… useless, even.

Butters jumped up and yelp when he heard a knock on the door.

Who the fuck was knocking so loud on Christmas Eve? Butters didn't care if he was an adult now, didn't care how old he got—he could be forty-four and he'd still duck behind the couch and hide when someone knocked on his door like that. He kept quiet, hoping that whoever was there would assume that no one was home and just go away.

The knock sounded again, more abrasive this time with a resounding "Butters!" to accompany it.

"Come on, Butters, I heard you scream."

That voice. Something in Butters' mind couldn't quite place it, but it drove his hand to the doorknob like an involuntary reaction. Like his body knew something that his brain didn't and assured him that whatever was on the other side was a good thing, worthy of happiness and celebration. He wrenched the door open and felt his entire body come to a grinding halt.

Kenny McCormick.

"Oh, hell no," he scowled and attempted to slam the door in Kenny's face. Of anyone, Butters was ninety-nine percent sure he didn't want to see him either.

"Butters, please—" Kenny said as he threw himself against the door.

"No!" Butters grunted as he tried with all his might to shut the door. "I'm mad at you, McCormick!"

And he was. Kenny had disappeared as soon as they'd gotten to L.A.

That's right.

"Butters, come on!" Kenny pleaded as Butters got the door to shut. "I just wanna talk to you."

"Why?" Butters shot back. "Gonna come in and finally tell me why you left me?"

Everything was coming back to him—the bus ride and the hotel, the conversations and the stupid jokes, Wendy, the dead woman, the… fuck. The sex. Butters slumped against the door and felt the air rushing in and out of his lungs in short, uneven spurts. He couldn't—he couldn't breathe right. Panic shot through his chest and out to the tips of his fingers, moving through his veins like icy shards at a million miles a minute. Kenny wasn't at his door, couldn't be at his door. It was impossible.

"Butters," Kenny called through the door. "Dude, just breathe, okay? You're fine."

All Butters really wanted to do was tell Kenny to go fuck himself, but he was too far in now. All he could do was slide to the floor and whine like an injured dog.

"Butters," Kenny said again, calmer this time. "Butters, just listen to me, okay? You're fine, baby. You're… you're all right."

Butters felt his chest tighten at that because goddamn it why was Kenny at his door saying sweet stuff like that? Normally Butters was opposed to terms of endearment as a general rule, but there was something in the way that word sounded on Kenny's tongue. It wasn't half-assed, it wasn't condescending, and if definitely wasn't because he couldn't remember Butters' name—it was just because. Just because he cared. He cared and he meant it.

"Please," Kenny begged once more. "Butters, I just want to talk to you."

"You left me," Butters croaked, voice thin and broken sounding because, fuck it all, now he was crying. Wasn't that just aces.

"I can explain," Kenny said, promised. "If you open the door and let me in, I'll explain, okay? Please, I'm cold."

"You didn't bring a sweatshirt?" Butters asked, caught off-guard.

"No," Kenny replied back. "You still have mine."

Butters looked down and saw that, indeed, he was wearing that said same garishly orange hoodie.

To say he was conflicted would have been an understatement. Wendy and Bebe both would've told him to forget it, to tell Kenny to fuck off and be done with it after what he'd done to Butters; hell, Kenny probably would've told Butters the same thing if it had been anyone else. But Butters…

But Butters really wanted to open the door, to listen to everything Kenny had to say and kiss him all over his face right out there on the front step until neither of them could feel their lips anymore. He wanted to kiss Kenny in front of anyone who might be watching, in front of the whole goddamned world if he could, because the world may as well know at this point. With any luck his parents would catch wind of it and kick him out once they realized he was still a pillow-biting, shirt-lifting queer.

Butters, however, being the sensible and pragmatic human being that he was, opted for a happy medium, which started with him opening the door.

He gulped when he saw Kenny sitting on the other side, exactly as Butters had been moments before. They were already too close, so close that Butters could feel the heat radiating off of him. Kenny was the first one to stand and Butters quickly followed. He really wanted to throw his arms around Kenny more than just about anything right now, but instead took the sweatshirt off of his shoulders handed it back to its original owner.

"Is that Kyle out there?" Butters asked, noticing his ever-practical Volvo glinting in the driveway. Kenny nodded and turned to wave… a signal, as it so happened, for Kyle got back into his car and drove off without a moment's hesitation.

"That was bold," Butters said as they moved inside. He shut the door behind them and locked it. "What if I don't forgive you?"

And to both Kenny's and Butters' surprise, there was no hint of mirth behind the words. He turned to look at Kenny, who was zipping up the sweater and shoving his hands in his pockets, and sighed. He was just so fucking attractive it hurt sometimes—he was still the only person Butters knew who could pull off orange and still look as good as he did.

Kenny sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, and then looked up at Butters with that stupid charming smile on his face. Butters wasn't going to last very long if he kept looking at him like that.

"Hey," he said and Butters may have had to fight a smile at that.

"Hi," Butters looked at his feet and scuffed his socks on the carpet. Part of him couldn't believe his mother had never ripped up the ugly burnt orange atrocity.

"You really mad at me?" Kenny asked and Butters shrugged.

"Don't rightly know," he said. "I got a reason to be, don't I."

"Yeah."

"Damn straight, I do!" Butters shot back. "That wasn't a question. I know I got a reason, fucker."

He recoiled instantly and slumped just a little bit when he saw Kenny's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. Fuck.

"Sorry," he said softly. Kenny just shook his head and leaned against the staircase. He didn't look nearly as grungy as he had a few weeks ago. Then again, Butters guessed he didn't either, since he now had full access to a shower and soap. Kenny always looked scrappy, though. He looked different… newer, maybe? People couldn't look new. That was stupid.

"I fucked up," he heard Kenny say. "You wouldn't even be here if I hadn't… if I hadn't left you there. I wouldn't have let your dad bring you back here."

Butters looked back at the floor and folded his arms.

"Been spendin' time at the rumor mill, huh?" he asked. "Kyle's just a Chatty Cathy, ain't he."

"Yeah," Kenny gave a slight laugh.

"Why'd you leave me?" Butters asked softly, though with enough conviction to let Kenny know that he expected an answer. Kenny just pursed his lips and took a deep breath, in and out, through his nose.

"I didn't—" he started, faltered, and then started up again. "I didn't mean to."

Butters frowned at that and braced his hands on his hips, looking off to the side and laughing a little like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Because he couldn't.

"So, what" he said. "You just woke up back here one morning and that was that?"

"Yes!" Kenny exclaimed, perking up excitedly like Butters hadn't just slathered on the sarcasm like it was going out of style. "Dude, I know it sounds weird, but yes."

"Well, good thing that's all sorted out," Butters rolled his eyes. "Christ, Kenny, you think I'm a moron?"

"No, no," Kenny said and approached Butters with his hand outstretched before him like some crazed conspiracy theorist. "Think about it: can you remember when I left?"

"No, 'cause you left while I was asleep, y'dickhead!" Butters shouted and slid down the door again, pulling his knees to his chest. "I woke up at Wendy's a-and you were just gone!"

"Butters—"

"You have any idea how bad I just wanted to talk to you?" Butters' voice cracked. He was pretty close to crying again, but he wouldn't give Kenny the satisfaction.

"You… Jesus, you woulda talked me out of staying with my aunt. Y-you woulda told me that she woulda t-te-… that she'd tell my dad I was there. You wo-woulda told me I was an idiot."

"I'd never tell you that," Kenny said, crouching beside Butters and taking one of his hands in both of his. "Butters, think about it: does any of this sound like anything I'd do?"

Butters was about to shout back something mean-spirited, all to make Kenny hurt as much as he'd been hurting, but he'd waited a second too long and was now caught up in thought. He made the mistake of looking Kenny in the eye (Jesus, he had nice eyes) and now all he could think about was how much Kenny made him smile, how good he made him feel, how much they made each other laugh like the immature little kids they'd once been together.

How fantastic it was to kiss him when everything felt like it was falling to complete and utter shit. How Kenny felt so warm and right against Butters in such a basic way.

"If you didn't mean to leave me then where the hell did you go, huh?" Butters asked softly and Kenny made that face, the one with that smile that meant he knew he'd won. He ran his fingers through Butters' hair and kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For everything. For leaving you, for letting your dad bring you back—"

"Oh, darlin', you couldn'ta helped that if you'd tried," Butters laughed and rested a hand on Kenny's face. "So don't go thinkin' it's your fault. To tell you the truth, I-I think I'd rather have you save here with me back in this… god forsaken shithole than have you run down on the pavement and left for dead in L.A. or somethin'. Anythin' happened to you, I don't know what I'd do."

Something flashed behind Kenny's eyes that made Butters if he'd said the wrong thing. Just as he was about to apologize, Kenny sat down beside him, hip to hip, and ran his fingers through his hair. He was sitting on Butters' good side, but his arm was obstructing his face. Butters never would've even known anything was out of the ordinary if he hadn't heard Kenny's voice a second later, all broken and tight and sounding not unlike he did when they were younger.

"You really," he began through a frustrated sigh. "You can't fucking remember anything, can you."

Butters frowned, watching the holiday commercials flashing across the TV, as he tried to piece together what Kenny could've possibly meant. What the heck was there to remember?

"I remember that you have a nipple ring," Butters finally decided on saying. He'd only seen a flash of it once, and it certainly hadn't been an off-putting discovery. "Though, if you enjoy having someone's tongue and fingers all up in your business as much as you appeared to, you might consider switching sides."

Kenny laughed and shook his head, wiping off his face (he hoped) before Butters could see.

"I don't know why I expected you to," he said. "No one ever does."

Then it clicked. Butters looked away from the TV and gave Kenny one of those looks.

"Oh, Kenny," he said. "Is this the dying thing? Y'know, I never even bought that one. Just gotta let those things go. You're eighteen, for God's sake."

"Never fucking mind," Kenny shook his head. "Forget I said anything."

"And how'd you die this time?" Butters smiled and let his head loll back against the door. This was, apparently, the wrong approach.

"Don't fucking patronize me!" Kenny snapped. "You don't like it when people do it to you, what the fuck makes you think I want to hear it?"

Butters felt his stomach turn inside out and he tossed out an immediate apology. Kenny wasn't the type who took a little good natured ribbing to heart like that.

"What's wrong?" he asked, jumping back when Kenny pushed off the floor and stood. He looked a little like he was going to start pacing, then thought better about it, and just decided to sit on the back of the couch. Oh, Butters' mom would have a fit if she were here to see this… but something told Butters that this wasn't the time to politely request that Kenny find somewhere else to brood.

"What's wrong," Kenny nodded, parroting like he hadn't expected Butters to say anything else. "What's wrong is I fucking kill myself, literally, for everyone and everything and no one fucking believes it."

"Kenny," Butters tilted his head and stood, approaching Kenny like he would a skittish deer. "It sounds really frustrating and all, but… Seeing someone die is something you'd just remember, all right? A-and I promise that if I ever, god forbid, see you die, I'll never forget it. I don't think I could."

Apparently that was also the wrong thing to say, because Kenny just groaned and thrust himself backward, his legs still hooked over the impeccably placed doily draped across the back of the couch. Butters braced his hands on his knees and nudged them apart just a little.

"Suicide attempt, or just a case of the dizzies?" he asked and Kenny attempted to kick him.

"Go fuck yourself," he squirmed as Butters, smiling, lifted his legs and started unlacing his boots.

"My mother will kill you if she catches you wearing boots in this house," he said, tossing one boot toward the door, and then the other.

"Leave me alone," Kenny scowled and righted himself, contorting until he was laying down on the couch like a normal human being. Butters sat on the armrest and folded his arms.

"So, how did you die this time?" he asked, amending that he really wanted to know when Kenny glared at him.

"A car was going to hit you," Kenny answered curtly. "You were texting and walking, which, by the way, if I ever see you doing again you're a dead man… I pushed you out of the way."

"That was noble of you," Butters nodded. Kenny nodded back.

"Looked at your knees lately?" he asked. Butters raised his eyebrows, because what kind of a question was that? Not that he wasn't used to questions out of the blue, but who sat around just looking at their knees like they had nothing better to do? But now he was at least curious so he rolled up his pajama bottoms and scowled. They looked like they'd been scraped up a while ago, bruises around the wounds yellowing and long since tender. He frowned.

"I don't have any depth perception, Kenny," he explained away. "I fall and bump into stuff and get hurt all the time. Not the first time I've woken up with weird injuries."

"Of course not," Kenny sighed and sat up. "Look, I'm just kind of tired. You think I could crash here? I don't want to go home right now."

"Yeah, sure," Butters nodded and started toward the stairs, pausing to let Kenny get up and follow. "You don't wanna spend Christmas Eve with your family?"

"You didn't either," Kenny shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Kevin's home. I don't feel like dealing with him tonight."

Butters stopped at the top of the stairs and let Kenny keep walking down toward his room. That would explain why he'd been acting so weird; if Butters had a brother, and he'd done to him what Kevin had done to Kenny and Karen, Butters didn't imagine he'd have too much to say to him either.

"Jeez," he said and caught up with Kenny outside his room. "You all right?"

"Spiffing," Kenny shot back and walked right over to the bed without preamble. He flopped down face down, like Butters had done earlier, and it looked a little like he was going to just fall asleep like that. Then he rolled over and muttered something about feeling like he was going insane.

"You and me both," Butters sighed and went to lie beside him. "He say anything to you?" Kenny just shrugged and stared up at the ceiling above them.

"Apparently he doesn't care if I'm queer anymore," he said. "So long as I don't hit on him."

Butters made a little noise of disgust in the back of his throat that made Kenny laugh as he brought his fingers up to Kenny's hair in an attempt to smooth it out. It felt softer than it had before, less frayed, less matted down with grease and oil and grime. It was actually kind of nice to play with now.

"We're all just clamoring for his seed," Butters said, which made Kenny gag just a little. "It's a good thing he knows that. Maybe he'll start booby-trapping his room so you don't have the chance to siphon it out of him while he sleeps."

"He's a meth dealer, not a 1920s villain," Kenny laughed a little bit before he practically melted against Butters, molding to him almost entirely as he drifted off to sleep. Butters buried his nose in Kenny's hair—no soap, no sweat, no nothing… just Kenny. It was one of those smells that made Butters' heart skip a beat in anticipation. He held Kenny for a while, letting him snooze against his side until he had to readjust to let the blood flow back into his arm. Kenny made a noise of protest, but Butters just shushed him and pecked him on the lips.

"Scoot up to the pillows," he said. "Let me spoon you good and proper."

Kenny nodded and sleepily obeyed as Butters went to grab a sweater out of his closet.

"Can I be the little spoon?" he asked through a yawn, and Butters laughed.

"I'll be your big spoon any day, darlin'," he hummed happily and slid back into bed behind Kenny. It wasn't ideal, being that Butters was a good few inches shorter than him, but any chance he had to hold Kenny against him was automatically aces in his book.

They woke like that a few hours later, Butters only coming into consciousness when Kenny started shaking with sleepy laughter.

"What?" Butters yawned.

"Dude, you have the biggest hard-on," Kenny rolled out of Butters' arms and started laughing. Butters wasn't entirely sure of why it was so funny, since the way Kenny's hips were tilted ever so slightly off of the bed indicated that he was in the same predicament himself, but he laughed all the same anyway.

"I… I don't get it," he finally admitted when Kenny started laughing harder.

"Me neither," he gasped between laughs, and if Butters didn't know any better he would've said that Kenny was high off his ass. He just let Kenny keep laughing, though, and may have rolled his eyes when Kenny almost fell off of the bed.

"Do you," Kenny started once his fit was contained enough. "Do you ever have those moments of realization, like… you knew you wanted something, but you're only just now realizing how ridiculous it is?"

Butters cocked his head as Kenny started laughing again.

"What's so ridiculous?" he asked, kind of peeved, but not so much so that his erection had become any less so. This was probably because he could see that Kenny was still tenting his sweats and it was getting harder and harder not to reach out and touch it. Kenny's laughter died down as he buried his face in Butters' pillows and let out a sigh. He mumbled something into them that Butters couldn't hear, so he climbed on top of Kenny, sitting on him so his hips were forced to rub against the bed, and twisted Kenny's head around so his lips were unobstructed.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I want you to fuck me," Kenny repeated, more sincerely this time, and Butters felt his gut go cold. He…

it wasn't that he…

it was just.

"What?"

Kenny rolled over under Butters and looked up at him with that unsettlingly earnest look of his. Butters could feel Kenny pressed hard against him, which didn't help him too much with the level-headedness and the thinking. He felt Kenny's hands come to rest on his sides and rub small circles over his hip bones with his thumbs. Jesus, he couldn't deal with Kenny's hands being on him right now.

"Please," he heard Kenny whisper softly. "I want you to. I want to feel you inside me."

Butters made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat and slumped forward. Truth be told, he'd only done it a few times before, mostly because he wasn't so great at it. He normally turned out to be such a spaz that he only ended up flailing on top of someone until his body had enough decency to end the charade and be done with it. But Kenny was looking up at him now, running his fingers up and down his arms, and aw, Jesus.

He unzipped Kenny's sweatshirt and tossed it over the edge of the bed, and Kenny did the same. It was too cold to take off their shirts still, and if Butters looked over at the window he would have seen that it had started snowing again, which of course meant he was going to get hollered at if he didn't turn up the heater before his parents got home.

But the thermostat was all the way downstairs and he wasn't going to do that.

He did, however, scramble off of Kenny and hang over the side of the bed so he could grab an old shoe box from underneath. He pulled out a condom and a small bottle of cheap lube he'd gone to buy a long while ago, back when buying sex stuff still made him pink in the face, and tossed them on the pillow beside Kenny.

His hands were shaking.

God, why were they shaking?

"Ke-Kenny, I'm not so sure this is a good idea," he shook his head. "Want me to ride you? I-I'm awful good at that."

Kenny sat up and brought Butters into a kiss. Oh God, that felt just about every kind of right that ever could be felt. He kissed back, tongue sweeping through Kenny's mouth, memorizing every nook and cranny that he could find. He loved Kenny's mouth, his tongue, the way his lips molded to Butters' perfectly… heck, he even loved his crooked teeth.

"Lay back," Butters whispered against Kenny's lips, their breath mingling together as Butters pushed lightly at Kenny's shoulders. Kenny grinned and wrapped his arms around Butters' neck, pulling them down so they were both lying flat against the bed. Butters kissed him again for good measure and slipped his hands up under Kenny's—Kyle's, actually, now that he thought about it—shirt. His stomach was taut and lean under Butters' fingertips, and even twitched as Butters grazed over a few more sensitive parts. Kenny thought he was too scrawny, but Butters kind of liked it.

He kind of liked everything about Kenny, though. He liked Kenny's face, his neck, his collar bone, his chest… Butters pushed Kenny's shirt up under his arms and ran his fingernails over Kenny's skin. Kenny whined and let his head loll back against Butters' pillow, his breath catching in his throat when Butters reached down between them and ran his finger up Kenny's clothed erection.

"Shit," Kenny gave a breathy laugh and Butters took it as a good sign. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of Kenny's sweatpants and tugged them down just enough so Kenny could wriggle out of them and kick them off of the bed. Butters bent down and kissed him again, a little sloppier than before. Butters was pretty sure he didn't care. He buried his face in Kenny's neck, licking and sucking as he reached into Kenny's boxers and wrapped his hand around him.

"Jesus," Butters said softly, looking up. "You're real hard."

Kenny gave him a look almost as though to say 'uh, duh', but didn't bother to voice the sentiment. He just thrust up into Butters' hand and sucked his lips in between his. Butters whimpered when he felt Kenny's hands on his backside again, only this time Kenny had returned to free Butters of his pants and undies. Butters quickly leveled the playing field, ridding Kenny of his boxers and running his fingers up Kenny's legs, over the inside of his thighs. He reached over to the side and grabbed the small bottle off of the pillow.

"You have lube?" Kenny asked with an air of surprise as Butters cracked the top and flipped him off, squirting a liberal amount of the thick liquid onto that finger and the rest. Kenny laughed. "Leopold Stotch, you cheeky little fuck."

"You're pretty mouthy for someone who's about to get his ass fucked, mister," Butters gave a wry smile and ran one of his slick fingers up Kenny's erection. As expected, that was about the most effective method of getting Kenny to shut his mouth he'd ever seen.

"Ha-have I ever told you how much I love it when you curse?" Kenny asked, and Butters moved his fingers down to tease around Kenny's entrance.

"You sure this is okay?" he asked.

"Christ, you wanna fuck me or not?" Kenny laughed, instantly silenced when Butters pushed a slippery digit inside of him. This was the part Butters loved, seeing someone so collected come apart at the mercy of his fingers. Whoever had done this to Kenny before obviously hadn't known what they were doing… either that, or they were terrible at reading facial cues. Odd, being that Kenny had one of the most expressive faces out there. Again, probably to make up for spending most of his childhood masked behind that stupid parka. He had to communicate somehow.

It occurred to Butters that they may not even be alone anymore, being that they'd fallen asleep and all, but it wasn't likely he'd get Kenny to be quiet; Kenny was spectacularly awful at keeping quiet, especially once you found his prostate. He made thick, guttural noises deep in his throat, grabbed at the top of Butters' headboard, and bucked up for more. It made Butters smile.

"You like this this much," he began. "And you only suspect that you're half-gay?"

"Shut up," Kenny whined, his face blushing bright red, and clenched around Butters' fingers. That was all the hint Butters needed. If his parents were home, if they could hear any of this, Butters was past the point of caring. He needed this—they both needed this.

He withdrew his fingers and grabbed for the condom. His fingers, as it turned out, were far too slippery to do any good, so Kenny had to take to the task himself. He ripped open the flimsy foil packet and tossed it to the side. Butters may have gone cross-eyed when Kenny rolled the condom down onto him. He grabbed bottle again, slicking himself up as Kenny watched, all open-mouthed and glassy-eyed. Then they caught each other's gaze and looked at each other for a few moments, neither sure how to proceed.

"Haven't really done this much," Butters confessed and grabbed a pillow. He gave Kenny a light smack on the hip so he'd lift up and let Butters prop him up for easier access. "I'll try not to—I mean, I won't hurt you or nothin'."

Kenny just rolled his eyes and brought Butters into another kiss before he flopped back onto the pillows. Butters swallowed the lump in his throat and lifted Kenny's knees, positioning himself, and, with a deep breath, pushed in.

Kenny took a minute to adjust, and Butters made sure to whisper a few words of encouragement and kiss him all over his neck and face, but otherwise he was pretty gone. He waited for what felt like years before Kenny gave him the okay to move, but before he got that, Kenny pulled him down close, lips to his ears, and whispered.

"I'm alive, I'm here… make me feel it."

Butters didn't need to be told twice, even if he wasn't entirely sure of what Kenny was talking about. He just chocked it up to the simple fact that people said weird shit during sex. He captured Kenny's lips in his as he pulled out almost all the way and thrust back in, hard enough to jolt Kenny out of their kiss and make his face contort in a rather pained expression.

"Shit," Butters said and moved to pull out again, but Kenny stopped him. "I'm real sorry. Look, this was a bad idea. Lemme just—"

"Fuck, shut up," Kenny whined and fisted his hands in his hair. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not—"

"It feels good, you twat," Kenny shook his head. "Just… build up to it, okay?"

"Right," Butters nodded. "Can I go again?"

Kenny nodded and rocked his hips up against Butters. It took a few minutes, but they managed to establish a rhythm. Butters was still having a little trouble not being too eager, but Kenny seemed to be adjusting well. He was meeting each and every one of Butters' thrusts with matched enthusiasm, and good Lord, that face he made when he hit his prostate. Butters hoped it was one of those things that would stay in his memory forever, because it was way too gorgeous to forget.

As Butters' thrusts picked up pace, Kenny looked less and less like he was still on this plane of existence. His hands had moved from Butters' ass to his hair and now to the headboard, which Butters only realized he'd started doing to keep from moving any further up the bed.

"Shit," Butters gave a laugh and stilled for a second.

"Don't stop," Kenny whined, still thrusting back against Butters.

"Don't wanna send you sailin' through the wall," Butters murmured, resuming his arrhythmic thrusts as he bent down to press a kiss to Kenny's sweaty forehead. A few more minutes and Kenny was arching off of the bed, flushed all across his face and neck, and clenching around Butters. Butters reached between them and began jerking Kenny in time with his thrusts, absolutely reeling when Kenny came with a groan. He was quick to follow, any noises he could've made swallowed in one of Kenny's kisses.

They lay there for a moment, panting spent against each other, until Butters rolled off of Kenny and tossed the condom into the trashcan beside his bed. It was silent for a little too long, but Butters wasn't sure he minded too much. He didn't feel like he had to talk with Kenny; they could both just sit there and be comfortable with each other and that was that.

"Y'holdin' up okay?" Butters finally asked, just to make sure Kenny hadn't fallen asleep on him, and was met with a warm, satiated hum.

"You want to get out of here?" Kenny asked languidly, and Butters took a few moments to realize that he was talking about the entire town and not just their current location.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Didn't work out great the last time. Haven't ruled it out. You?"

Kenny nodded and rolled over.

"I wanna get the fuck away from these people," he said. "For good this time, if possible."

Butters hummed a little agreement and rolled over to look at him. He laughed when he saw the streaks of come soaking through Kyle's shirt. He wasn't entirely sure of what this warm feeling was in his chest, only that it surfaced whenever he was with Kenny whenever they were like this. He grabbed one of Kenny's hands in his and sighed.

"Just… Look, if you promise to stick with me this time, will you keep to it?"

Kenny pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't put me in a position where I have to save your ass and you've got a deal."