Stan's always liked Butters. What's more, he doesn't particularly like it when people are unkind to him, mostly because Butters is the nicest human Stan has ever met and he doesn't deserve any of the shit he gets. Doesn't mean he doesn't indulge in a few good-natured ribbings from time to time (which Butters takes in stride, the poor bastard), but for the most part he openly calls people out for being dicks to him.

Sometimes, when Kyle's bogged down by schoolwork and Kenny's in the middle of one of his disappearances, and his family is just annoying enough, Stan will go over to the Stotch's and hang out with Butters for a while. They can't watch TV or anything, because Butters isn't allowed to during the day, so mostly they do homework or play cards, which isn't awful.

It's not great, but it's better than hearing his parents shout at each other, and it's a nice change of pace from Black Ops.

Butters is also the least competitive person he knows, so it's actually kind of fun playing games with him (whereas Kyle has been turning into a monster since the chutes and ladders years).

When they get into drama club, though, Stan starts going over to run lines with Butters, or so they can go over choreography. In later years, when Wendy appoints Butters stage manager, Stan comes over and helps him make prop lists and write in lighting cues and blocking. Soon, he's spending more time with Butters than he is with Kyle.

Not that Kyle cares too much—he's too busy with AP classes and shit anyway.

"Not that you're bitter or anything," Butters says and stuffs a handful of dead leaves into a big black trashbag. It's Saturday, which is when the Stotches leave to have fun and 'be adults' while they stick Butters with the yard work. They're in the back yard right now, where Stan's only just plopped himself down by a pile of leaves in an attempt to be petulant and annoying enough for Butters to pay attention to him.

Butters grabs a spare pair of ratty gardening gloves out of his back pocket and tosses them at Stan, "Make yourself useful, hoss."

Stan scowls, but dons the gloves and moves to help anyway.

"I'm not bitter," he finally says. "I'd rather hang out with you anyway."

And it's kind of true. Kyle's kind of a dick when he's under pressure, and something about junior year, in spite of the fact that they're only about a month and a half in, is just so demanding that Kyle can't be bothered to be a decent human being right now.

He helps Butters bag the rest of the leaves without much conversation between them. Butters hums as they work, even throws a handful of leaves at Stan's face when he starts getting particularly broody. Stan retaliates by throwing some back, which makes Butters laugh and shake his head and wipe at the dirt on his face.

Butters is attractive. Stan is not dumb. He's kind of got chipmunk cheeks, but he's got a nice jaw and weirdly straight, bright white teeth that make Stan a little jealous, but they look good on him. He's also got a nice body, from what Stan can see, under his ratty gardening jeans and baggy, grass stained work shirt.

"You like him, don't you?" Butters asks, and Stan snaps out of his thoughts just like that.

"What?"

"Kyle," Butters says this time before he repeats, "You like him, don't you?"

"Wh—no!" Stan sputters through a nervous laugh. "I don't—I don't… like him. That's stupid."

"Stan," Butters gives him a look now, and Stan just kind of falters and pulls off his gloves.

"I don't know, dude," he sighs. "Just, like… I think I miss him? And I'm just getting that confused with—" he swallows— "with liking him."

Butters just smiles at him and inches over close to him.

"D'you like boys?" he poses, smiling still, and Stan's thinking he's probably more amused than he is actually curious. Stan just shrugs and pulls his knees up close to his chest. It's getting a little warm under his clothes all of a sudden.

"I don't… I don't know," he admits. The closer Butters gets, the more Stan can smell the sweat and grime of his long day in the yard. When girls get this close to him, he usually smells perfume and fruity lip stuff and nice things. Butters definitely smells like a boy, and Stan's kind of digging it.

"Y'like me?" Butters asks then, and Stan is becoming increasingly more aware of how fucking close Butters is getting to him.

"W—" he's caught a little off-guard. "I mean, I guess you're all right." He offers and, shit, Butters is practically on top of him.

Okay, he's actually probably a respectable enough distance away but Stan's brain isn't exactly in ship shape right now, especially when Butters asks, very plainly, "All right enough to kiss?"

Suddenly, Stan's mouth is very, very dry.

"Uh… sure?"

"I won't unless you want me to," Butters says quietly, frankly, like Stan's going to deny him something simple and stupid he could live without.

"Uh, I—y-yes, please?"

Butters pauses at that, caught off-guard as he turns to give Stan a long, hard look. He focuses his stare intently, flicking his tongue out to just barely wet his lips, and Stan actually can't help it. He leans forward and kisses Butters firmly, right smack on the mouth. The smell of Butters' sweat is overwhelming, and Stan sucks it and the dirt and the leaves into his nose on the tail end of a gasp. Butters' lips are softer than Stan expected—fuller and more practiced, too.

He thinks he might like this.

Crap.

"Uhm," Stan mutters as he pulls back, breathing a little more heavily than he probably should. "Fuck."

"mm, s'that good or bad?" Butters hums, and Stan actually pulls away to look at him on that one. He looks a little dazed, like he's been waiting to do that for a while, and Stan gets to wondering.

"Good, I think," he replies. "Look, dude, if you've got a crush on me or whatever, like… it's cool, but I'm not. Down? Or whatever?"

Butters' eyes fly open at that, and soon his rounded face is pinched into a frown.

"A-aw, jeez," he stammers, looking worried now. "Stan, I reckon you're real nice, a-an' you're a real great friend, but I-I was just messin' around."

"Oh," Stan feels a little better about that, surprisingly. He relaxes a bit and looks down at his hands. "So, you wouldn't, like, want to do it again or anything?"

Butters grins at that as he pulls his gloves off, "Nah, I wouldn't go so far as to say that." And then he's grabbing Stan's chin and tilting his head so they can kiss again. Stan finds himself going along with the motions, letting his jaw drop open when Butters drags his tongue along his bottom lip, and biting back sounds when he licks inside his mouth. Butters is weirdly confident about kissing, Stan can't help but think, but not… not in that cocky way most dudes are when they talk about what they've done with girls.

Butters kisses like he was born to do it, and born to do it with guys.

Stan pulls away a second time, smiling when he sees that happy, blissed-out look on Butters' face.

"Shit," Stan laughs a little, knowing full-well how pink his cheeks must be. "You're a really good kisser, dude."

"Yeah?" Butters grins, like this is the best compliment anyone could ever give him, and Stan nods. Butters actually tackles him back into the grass for that, now seemingly determined to live up to the standards Stan's only just set for him. He climbs on top of Stan, straddling his waist and framing his head with his forearms as he goes in to kiss him again.

He's strong enough to keep Stan pinned to the ground, which shouldn't be as surprising as it is, considering how much yard work and dance and stuff that he does. Stan can feel himself getting hard in his jeans as Butters' hands start wandering over his chest and arms. He bucks up against Butters' ass, hidden underneath baggy denim though it is, desperate for some sort of relief for the rapidly building pressure.

"Ah," Butters laughs and pulls away. He's hard too; Stan can feel it against his torso. "Ma-maybe we oughta move this upstairs? My neighbors are kinda looky-loos," he mutters and ducks to kiss Stan one more time before hopping up to his feet and holding out his hands. Stan takes them and lets Butters haul him to his feet before they both make a mad dash for the house.

"Dude, how long are your parents out for?" Stan asks as they run up the stairs to Butters' room.

"Usually they don't come home 'til around four or five on Saturdays," he answers as he shuts the door gingerly behind them and turns to lean his back against it. He's pink in the face, though that could just as easily be from the sun as it could be from Stan.

"Uh, can we kiss again then?" Stan clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. "I think I have to be home for dinner later."

Butters laughs a little at this, eyes bright and smile big, and Stan wonders just how someone can be so genuinely happy all the time without falling apart at the seams. He pushes off the door and walks over to Stan, coming to stop just before him so he can rest a hand on his cheek. Butters is only a little shorter than him now, but because he's just finished a growth-spurt and Stan's kind of in between those at the moment.

"I'd like that," Butters answers through a bashful grin before he brings his arms up to wrap around Stan's shoulders and pushes their lips together. Stan moves so that they're pressed flush up against each other. He can feel Butters' erection through layers of clothing and it's making him lightheaded.

Apparently it's taking its toll on Butters too, who's moved so one of his legs is hooked around Stan's and, good fucking god, he's doing it so he can grind into him.

"Fuck," Stan pulls back, "You wanna, like, get on the bed or whatever?"

Butters doesn't say anything, just nods and pulls Stan down onto the pristinely made bed with him. He toes off his shoes, and Stan follows suit before pulling Butters in again, this time venturing to kiss down his jaw and over his neck. He can't linger too long, because there's dirt and sweat and they're both a little gross, but he does push his fingers up Butters' shirt and touch.

Butters is remarkably solid under everything, and Stan can feel the outlines of muscles under his hot, sticky skin. That's it: Stan has to take his shirt off. He has to.

He removes the offending garment and tosses it across the room, only to get his first real eyeful of Butters. Fuckin' A, he's got a nice body. He's defined where you're supposed to be, and he's got freckled shoulders and a tan and good god, he's way too good looking for how much shit people give him. Stan reaches out to touch him again, skating his fingers over Butters' nipples and grinning a little when he hears a sharp intake of breath.

When Stan goes for his pants, Butters doesn't say a goddamned thing, just leans back on his elbows and lets Stan unbutton and unzip and get him completely stark naked. Stan's mesmerized for a good long while after—he's never seen another guy naked before, not in this context. Butters's dick his hard and curved straight up, all flushed and wet at the tip and practically begging to be touched. Butters smiles when he catches him staring and gives him a once over.

"'the hell, why do you still get to be dressed?" he asks and sits up so he can pull at the hem of Stan's shirt. "I mean, I reckon I'm kinda slutty an' all, but you're slackin' off over here, mister."

Stan laughs a little and concedes, pulling his shirt up from the back and over his head. Butters licks his lips then, looking at Stan like he's not entirely sure of what to do with himself, before reaching down to Stan's pants. He runs his fingers over the skin just above the top of his belt, and it makes Stan's head loll back as a keening moan escapes the back of his throat.

He thinks that if this were anyone else, he'd be nervous. This is Butters, though, and he's probably the safest person you could find in South Park. So, when Butters starts unbuttoning his pants, Stan kind of just lets him do it; when Butters touches him, he groans a little too loudly and lets him start working in long, even strokes; when Butters leans up to kiss him again and tell him how good he feels in his hand, Stan listens and falls back against the bed so he can hide his face in his hands.

When he feels Butters' tongue lave over the head of his cock, Stan lets out an "Oh, holy fuck" before Butters sucks him into his mouth and starts bobbing his head.

If he were in the business of thinking right now, Stan would get to wondering how Butters went from zero to sixty so fast. As it stands, he can't focus on anything except the slick sounds coming from where Butters' mouth is working over him. Butters is unsettlingly good at this—he knows just when to suck and just when to use his tongue and it's making Stan's breath quicken and hips start to twitch.

"He-hey, dude," Stan pants. He doesn't finish, because Butters takes it as a cue to press Stan's hips into the bed and suck harder, and Stan comes all down Butters' throat. He tries to thrust up and ride it out, but Butters has got him pinned, so all he can do moan and groan and thrash around as Butters bobs his head and drags this out for all its worth.

When he pulls up, Stan's a little mesmerized by the sight: his cheeks are red, his lips are big and puffy, and he's smiling like he's the one that just got amazing head.

"Jesus, dude," Stan sits up, still a little shaky because what in the fuck just happened, and Butters meets him with a kiss. He can taste himself as Butters licks into his mouth and decides he doesn't really mind it. That was fucking incredible, and he just hopes that whatever he gives back is satisfying enough.

He reaches down and closes his hand around Butters' erection. It's… fuck, it's kind of big. Like, he doesn't want to say anything, but goddamn. Maybe that's why he never lets anything get to him—Stan would walk around with the biggest shit-eating grin in the world if he was walking around packing this.

Stan starts moving his hand and floods with relief when Butters' eyelids flutter and he rests his forehead on Stan's shoulder. The angle is kind of funny and, yeah, okay, Stan has a dick in his hand, but he likes it. Kind of a lot. He likes the feeling he gets when he makes Butters moan, or when he feels Butters wrap his arms around his shoulders and squeeze him tight. He even likes the low, desperate noises Butters makes when he tries to thrust up, but their weird position prevents it.

And he definitely likes hearing the heavy drawl of "Fuck-fuck-fuck" repeated over and over into his neck. If he can reduce someone like Butters to nothing but a string of monosyllabic obscenities, maybe he's not so bad at this.

Butters comes with a sharp cry all over Stan's hand, bucking up and taking it out on a little part of Stan's neck, sucking and biting, and fuck, there's going to be a hickey there now, isn't there.

They sit there, breathing heavily against each other for a few moments before Butters grabs a few tissues from the box beside his bed and hands them to Stan.

"Thanks," he mutters, and wipes his hand clean before he tosses the used tissues into the wastebasket nearby. Butters is kissing him now, up his neck and jaw and over his cheeks. Stan likes it, so he starts kissing back, shifting so that they can lay back on the rumpled bedspread and—

Fuck, is this cuddling? Stan's not sure. All he knows is that he falls asleep on Butters' chest and wakes up when Butters prods him around quarter 'til four.

"I gotta shower before my folks get home," he mumbles, voice scratchy with sleep. "And you gotta get out of here before they ask why I let my friends sleep naked in my bed."

"Oh," Stan pushes himself up and rubs at his eyes. "Totally. Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"S'alright," Butters yawns and rolls off the bed. "I did too." He pulls on his underwear, boxer briefs with hearts on them, Stan now sees, and braces his hands on his hips as he offers Stan a smile. "That was fun," he says.

Stan gives a lazy smile as he nods, "Yeah, it was." He rolls off the bed to zip himself up and find his shirt. Butters walks him downstairs, still only in his underwear, and pauses by the front door. He bites at his lower lip, still swollen and red, and leans up to peck a kiss to Stan's lips.

"Uh, so Wendy asked me if I'd go up to Denver tomorrow and get some of the props we still need for the play," he says. "If you're not busy, I could maybe use a hand."

Kyle's got an essay due on Monday, so it's unlikely he'll be down to do anything tomorrow anyway. Stan smiles, "Sure, dude. That'll be fun."

Butters beams and opens the door, moving so his partial nudity is at least obstructed by it as Stan walks out.

When he gets to school on Monday, he greets Kyle by his locker and asks how his paper went.

"Fine," Kyle rubs the sleep out of his eyes. "AP English Language will probably be the death of me, even though it's not even fucking December yet." He pauses to take a sip from his cup of coffee before he looks at Stan and cocks a brow, "Jesus, what're you smiling for? It's Monday, for fuck's sake."

Stan doesn't bother with an explanation, just gives Butters a nod and a wave as he walks by them in the hall. Butters shakes his head as he passes, though it's very clear that he's smiling just as broadly.

Kyle doesn't notice, but then, Kyle doesn't notice a lot of things.

This is sort of a supplement to a new fic that I'm writing, I guess? Mostly I've just been dying for Stutters and needed to get it out.

Title from the song Toy Boy by Mika.