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Kenny is hungover as shit, and by lunchtime he still doesn't have an appetite, so he sits out in the courtyard smoking miserably, the other guys gathered around him with their bag lunches. Kyle and Cartman are fighting about some stupid bullshit that isn't worth listening to, and Kenny really wishes they would shut the fuck up. They get so goddamn shrill when they really get into it, and Kenny feels like he's got at least three rusty nails stuck in the back of his head. He rubs his hands over the hood of his parka to check and make sure that's not actually the case, but there's nothing there, just wet snowflakes. It's cold as fuck, starting to snow pretty hard, and most of the kids are inside, but Kenny's friends insist on following him outside during his smoke breaks. Half the time he'd rather be alone, but he is sort of glad that they care enough to keep him company, even when he's this hungover.
“Holy shit, look at Butters,” Stan says, glancing across the courtyard. Butters is walking around without a coat, looking kind of like a zombie, the bags under his eyes visible even from ten feet away.
“Fuck, he looks almost as bad as Kenny,” Cartman says.
“Fuck you,” Kenny mutters, unenthusiastic about defending his appearance. He knows he looks like shit. He was up until three in the morning last night, drinking and watching a Cheaters marathon with his mom. They chased his father out a few nights ago after he gave her a black eye, and neither of them has been sleeping too well since. Even Karen sat up with them for awhile, though she wasn't passing the vodka bottle. They won't let her drink, and fortunately she doesn't really want to. She's the only McCormick with half a chance at something resembling a future.
“Heya, fellas,” Butters says when he wanders over. His shoulders are pushed up to his chin and he's shivering, his almost neon-blond hair looking darker than usual, kind of greasy. Kenny drags on his cigarette, feeling sorry for the kid, as usual. He'd never admit it to the other guys, but ever since they dressed Butters up as Marjorine he's kind of thought of Butters the way he thinks of his sister: a fragile little thing who needs to be protected by someone. Just not by Kenny, who couldn't protect shit if he tried, not even his mom. His father will be back next week, like always.
“What the hell happened to you?” Kyle asks. “Did someone beat you up and steal your coat?”
“Oh – oh, no, nobody beat me up or nothing,” Butters says. He looks embarrassed, an emotion he's usually not capable of. “It's just, uh, well, my parents found something of mine and told me I wasn't welcome in their house no more.”
“Found something?” Stan says. “What the hell was it?”
“Wait, are you saying you're homeless?” Kyle says, gaping.
“W-well, yeah, I guess I am, until I can learn to stop being such a deviant,” Butters says, staring at the ground. “But I don't really know how to learn that, so until then I'm sleeping in that shed out by the rec center, and, boy, I'll tell you what, it's pretty cold in there.”
“Holy shit!” Cartman says, barking with laughter. “Butters is homeless!”
“Shut up, fat ass!” Kyle barks. “It's not funny.”
“Here,” Stan says. He takes his scarf off and wraps it around Butters' neck, and Kyle actually pulls off his ushanka and puts it on Butters' head, which makes Cartman laugh even harder.
“Gee, thanks, fellas,” Butters says, sniffling. “That's awful nice of you.”
“You guys are such fags,” Cartman says.
Kenny elbows Cartman hard enough to get him choking on a Cheesy Poof and sticks his cigarette between his lips so he can pull off his gloves. He hops down from the stone table they're all sitting on and takes Butters' hands, putting the gloves on him one at a time. Butters just stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his eyes watery with gratitude. Kenny shrugs, his fingers already feeling iced over without the gloves. It's mid-January, everything whited out with snow, the sky thick with gray clouds.
“If you guys are waiting for me to give him my jacket you can fucking dream on,” Cartman says.
“So what the fuck did your parents find that made them throw you out?” Stan asks Butters again. Butters fidgets, wringing his hands and chewing on his bottom lip.
“Do you guys happen to remember that one time, in fourth grade, when there was a switcheroo with a copy of Lord of the Rings and ah-another film?”
“Backdoor Sluts 9, yeah,” Kyle says. He shudders. “You're just lucky you weren't standing out in the parking lot with us when our parents got there, fuck.”
“Oh? You fellas got in big trouble, too?”
“No,” Stan says, wincing. “They didn't know you were the only one who saw the video, and – they – said some things. It was pretty fucking disturbing. Anyway, uh, what does that have to do –”
“Oh, my God!” Cartman says gleefully. “Butters is obsessed with porn and his parents found his collection!”
Kenny laughs, and stops when Butters' cheeks, already pink from the cold, turn bright red. Stan covers his mouth to hide his snicker, and Kyle grins at him. Cartman is falling over with laughter, wiping at his eyes and pointing one fat, gloved finger at Butters.
“W-well,” Butters stammers.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kenny says. “They threw you out of the house for having porn? I keep mine in the bathroom next to my sister's Seventeen magazines.”
“Yes, well, not everyone possesses your family's particular level of class, Kenny,” Cartman says.
“They couldn't just throw away the porn and ground you or something?” Kenny says, ignoring Cartman. He's become pretty much immune to jokes about his family over the years.
“Well, they said it was the last straw,” Butters says. He's still blushing hard, and Kenny would bet that there's more to this story. Butters' parents might be infamous assholes, but their assholery stems from being severely overprotective, and they don't seem like the types who would punish Butters by turning him out into the world, away from their obsessive gaze.
“Man, fuck that,” Stan says. “It's freezing out already, and there's a big snow storm coming. You can't just live in a shack behind the rec center until they come to their fucking senses.”
“Want me to have my mom call them?” Kyle asks, and Cartman snorts.
“Go ahead and be proud that your mom is an advocate for porn, Kyle,” he says. Kyle glares at him.
“At least mine's not an advocate for being a whore,” he says.
“Ey!” Cartman shouts, jumping on Kyle. They proceed to roll around in the snow, biting and kicking at each other, while Stan tries to break them apart. Kenny ignores them and turns to Butters.
“They probably weren't serious,” Kenny says. “Just go over there and apologize –”
“No, I don't think I can do that,” Butters says. He won't meet Kenny's eyes, which definitely means he's leaving something out. Kenny groans and looks over at Kyle, who has managed to pin Cartman and is trying to punch him in the face while Stan holds his fists. Nothing has ever infuriated Kenny more than tales of Butters' parents and their irrational expectations. He's not sure why it's gotten to him so much over the years, except that he can relate to having a shitty childhood, albeit in a completely different way.
“Well, you can crash at my house,” Kenny says. “My dad got kicked out again, so we have a little extra food.”
“Do you mean it?” Butters asks, brightening. He's still shivering, looking incredibly pathetic in Kyle's hat, Stan's scarf, and Kenny's gloves, which are too big for Butters' little hands.
“Sure,” Kenny says. “My mom's on a binge right now, she won't even notice. You've seen my house, though.” He shrugs. “I mean, if you'd rather stay with Kyle or Stan, I wouldn't blame you.”
“No, I think I'd like to stay with you,” Butters says, stepping a little closer. “Your house ain't too bad.”
Kenny snorts and rolls his eyes. He looks over at the other three, who are panting now, Kyle and Cartman still trying to swipe at each other while Stan holds them apart.
“Whatever, assholes,” Cartman says, wiping snow from his jacket. “Have fun giving this homeless bum handouts. I'm going in, it's fucking freezing out here.” He walks off muttering to himself, a crumpled Cheesy Poofs bag and other remnants of his lunch left lying on the snow.
“Butters, are you seriously going to stay at Kenny's house?” Stan asks, shooting Kenny a nervous look. “I mean. I could talk to my mom –”
“Thanks, Stan, but Kenny is my buddy, and I-I'd love to stay with him.” Butters gives Kenny his big, dumb, oblivious smile. “We are buddies, right, Kenny?”
“Sure.” Kenny throws his cigarette into the snow amongst Cartman's debris. “But like I said. If you want to stay with someone else, I don't give a shit. Just thought I'd offer.”
“Nah, I think it'll be fun!” Butters says.
Kyle and Stan exchange a glance, and Kenny pretends not to notice. They head back toward the school, and Kenny sleeps through most of the rest of the day, his appetite finally returning after fifth period. He goes to his locker to get the half of a candy bar he'd been saving for a hunger emergency and finds his gloves taped to the front of his locker, along with a note:
Thanks a bunch, Kenny, but my hands are plenty warm now! I've got pockets in my pants, after all! I'll see you after school. Your pal, Butters
Kenny snorts and takes the gloves down, stuffing them in his pockets along with the note. He's not sure how someone like Butters has survived the ravages of South Park without becoming a cynical asshole like everyone else he knows, but he feels a little thankful for it as he scarfs the rest of the candy bar down.
*
When school lets out, Kenny is feeling hungry again, and tired, ready to crash on the couch and stare at the TV, maybe with a beer. He thinks about getting Butters drunk and grins at the prospect. It'd probably be pretty hilarious.
He meets Butters out on the front steps, and sees that Butters must have returned Stan's scarf and Kyle's hat, too. He's shivering hard before they even get out of the school parking lot, and he refuses Kenny's parka when he offers it.
“B-but if I take that, you'll be cold, Kenny,” he says, looking at him with wide eyes.
“I'm used to it,” Kenny says, unzipping. “My house doesn't have heat. By the way.”
“Oh, really?” Butters looks a little nervous about this, as if he'd been looking forward to not being cold. Kenny shrugs his parka off, hating the feeling of being without his protective shell more than being cold, and he wraps it around Butters' shoulders.
“We run the oven for heat sometimes,” Kenny says.
“Well, isn't that clever!”
Just walking through his neighborhood with Butters as his side feels kind of wrong, though Butters doesn't seem perturbed by the junkyard-style front lawns or the mysterious shrieks in the distance. Kenny leads him into the house and immediately begins searching the kitchen for food. Karen is at the dining room table doing her homework, and she looks up when she hears Kenny searching the cabinets.
“There's some rice,” she says, and Kenny groans. If he never eats another grain of fucking rice again it'll be too soon. “Who's that guy?” Karen asks.
“You know Butters,” Kenny says, though they've never really been properly introduced. Most of the people Kenny brings back to the house are just there to get fucked or high or both, a variety of girls and guys who will avoid Kenny's eyes at school the next day. The only people he won't do this with are Stan, Kyle, and Cartman, because he secretly respects Stan and Kyle's opinion of him and because Cartman is too nasty to fuck and too much of a shithead to waste pot or booze on. He decides as he locates and opens an old can of artichoke hearts that Butters needs to be on this list, too, because Kenny wouldn't want to fuck up their friendship, or fuck up Butters generally. Anyway, it shouldn't be an issue. Butters, except for his apparent love of porn, is the most innocent person Kenny has ever met.
“Want one?” Kenny asks, offering Butters the artichoke hearts.
“Oh, sure, thanks!” Butters says, as if Kenny has just handed him a cracker loaded with caviar. The artichoke hearts are chewy and bitter-tasting, but between the two of them they eat the whole can, both of them starving. Kenny can hear Butters' stomach growling.
“If my mom doesn't bring home a bucket of chicken, I'll make us some rice,” Kenny promises, and Butters nods.
“So, what should we do?” Butters asks, bouncing on his heels a little. Kenny would bet that it's been awhile since Butters went over to a friends' house after school. His parents probably make him come home and immediately finish all of his homework before starting on his chores and then cooking them dinner, and, anyway, he doesn't really have many friends.
“We could get high,” Kenny says. Karen groans, and Butters' eyes get wide.
“I-- I don't know about that, Kenny,” he says, fidgeting. “I was thinking maybe we could play a board game or something.”
Kenny rolls his eyes. “Fuck that. Hey, I know what we could do.”
He pulls Butters into his room and shuts the door. Butters walks around and takes inventory, as if there's really anything to see except peeling posters, empty bottles and full ashtrays. Kenny wishes he'd cleaned up a little, so that Butters didn't have to see the full extent of his depraved lifestyle, but Butters doesn't seem perturbed, just begins shuffling through the drawings that litter Kenny's too-small desk.
“Wow, Kenny, did you trace these?” Butters asks, holding one up in astonishment. Kenny snorts. Pretty much all of his drawings are pornographic.
“No, I drew them myself,” he says. He'd be embarrassed if it was anyone but Butters, who withholds judgment by default. “It's, like. My hobby or whatever.”
“You sure are a great artist!” Butters says, and Kenny laughs.
“Yeah, well, you're biased. And speaking of that, here.” He digs his rather extensive porn collection out from under his bed and dumps the magazines onto his desk, covering up his drawings of gang bangs and chicks with dicks. Butters makes a kind of choking sound and jumps back.
“Kenny–” he says, his hands going to his mouth.
“Since you lost your stash, I thought you might want to look through mine,” Kenny says. “There's actually some pretty cool vintage stuff in here.”
“But I'm supposed to be learning now not to be a little deviant,” Butters says. “I don't think those are going to help.” He turns away from the porn, shaking a little.
“Jesus, man, there's nothing wrong with looking at porn,” Kenny says. “I mean, I know my opinion probably doesn't mean shit to you, but the way I see it, we're programmed to be obsessed with sex, and everybody is, most people just aren't willing to admit it.”
“Ah, I don't think everyone's obsessed,” Butters says, his fingers twitching. He slides Kenny's parka off and hands it to him. “Thanks, but I guess I'm done with this.”
“Trust me, everyone is obsessed,” Kenny says. He grabs the parka and throws it on his bed, fighting the urge to hide inside it again. “And everyone wants to get high all the time, too. Some people just let themselves do it, and others don't.”
“I don't know about that,” Butters says. He sits on Kenny's bed and casts a nervous glance back at the desk. Kenny groans and pushes the magazines out of the way, digging out his drawings.
“Fine, well, you seemed to like these,” Kenny says. “These are porn, too.” He sits beside Butters on the bed, his heart beating a little faster as Butters flips through the drawings with shaking hands. Kenny has never showed them to anyone before, and he's been working on drawings like this since he was about eight years old.
“But these are – art,” Butters says. He squints and brings one closer to his face, then gasps. “Oh – oh, golly, Kenny, is this girl –”
“Yeah, she has a dick,” Kenny says. Butters gapes at him and Kenny shrugs. “It's not the weirdest thing I'm into.”
Butters continues to stare at him, mouth hanging open, and Kenny is kind of surprised that he's really this shocked. He must have been looking at some pretty fucking vanilla-ass porn. Of course, considering that this is Butters, he shouldn't be surprised, but if Backdoor Sluts 9 is what got him interested, then he's seen way more hardcore stuff than chicks with dicks.
“Quit looking at me like that,” Kenny says. He gets up to get a cigarette, but Butters grabs his arm and pulls him back down, his cheeks turning red the way they did in the courtyard at school.
“You like boys who dress up in girls' clothes?” Butters asks, his voice very soft. Kenny shrugs.
“I like a lot of things.”
“Me too.” Butters chews his lip, his grip on Kenny's wrist tightening. “Me too, Kenny.”
Kenny raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Like this, sorta,” Butters says, looking down at the drawings again. The one he's holding is of a boy in a ripped cheerleading uniform, jerking off.
“Seriously?” Kenny says with a laugh. “Damn. No wonder your parents threw you out. Not that they should have, but, you know, considering the way they are.” Everyone in South Park knows the story of Butter's father getting exposed as a closet queer and his mother going psycho and trying to kill Butters when she found out. They pretty much rival Kenny's parents for the worst ones in town.
“Kenny?”
“Yeah?”
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to get sore with me?”
“Sure.” Kenny can't imagine anyone actually getting angry with Butters, ever. “What is it?”
“Um, well, I.” Butters sighs heavily. “Oh, geez, I hate to say it, but I wasn't being totally honest with you fellas when I told you why I'd gotten thrown out.”
“Your parents didn't really find your porn?”
“No, they did, but they found something else, too.”
“What?” This conversation is actually making Kenny a little bit hard, and he shifts to hide the evidence, feeling guilty.
“They found some things in my closet,” Butters says, growing so fidgety that Kenny has to hold onto his arm to keep him still. “Some, some girly-type things.”
Kenny's eyes bug out. “Whoa.”
“Ah – do you remember when you guys dressed me up like a girl back in fourth grade and I went to Heidi's slumber party?”
“Uh, yeah.” Kenny has actually beat off a couple of times, guiltily, to the thought of Butters in blond pigtails and a frilly little dress, fingers in his wet mouth, yelping like a girl while Kenny fucked him, his dick slapping against his belly. Best of both worlds. Kenny shakes himself out of the fantasy and coughs, taking in Butter's broken expression, his watery eyes.
“Well, I never really managed to shake that, either,” Butters says.
“Shit,” Kenny says in a whisper, equal parts astonished and impressed, though he also just feels bad. Butters probably hasn't been able to shake a lot of the crazy shit they did to him as kids, though they can't really be blamed for the Backdoor Sluts 9 incident.
“So my parents are real sore at me,” Butters says, looking like he might cry. “They said they feel like they don't even know me no more, and that I shouldn't come back until – well, I told you. Until I'm their son again and not a stinkin' deviant. So how do I do that, Kenny, how do I quit being like this?”
“Uh.” Kenny blinks a couple hundred times, trying to drag his mind away from the mental image of Butters closing his blinds and dressing up like a girl, humming to himself as he ties little green bows in his hair, a porn magazine open on his bed while he jerks himself off. Kenny imagines him whimpering, fantasizing about getting fucked, then gets up and paces for a minute, thinking about having a cigarette, though maybe he needs something stronger.
“I don't want to be like this, honest!” Butters says. “'Specially if it makes my parents so sore they don't want to look at me no more – I just like it, not all the time, but sometimes it, well, it feels kinda nice.”
“Butters,” Kenny says, whirling on him. He holds up a finger. “Don't ever let anyone change you. Not even your parents.”
“Wh-what? But they're my folks, they know what's best –”
“Bullshit they do. They want you to be something you're not, all the time. Nothing's ever good enough – don't you get that? And, and.” Kenny stands in the middle of the room for a few beats, arms at his sides, feeling kind of stoned, though the last of his hangover has left him.
“And I think you're perfect,” Kenny says. Butters blinks at him a few times, then sobs, but he's smiling.
“Aww, shucks, Kenny,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “You don't gotta say that just 'cause I'm down on my luck.”
“I'm not just saying it. Butters, look at what I've been drawing. I wouldn't want you to stop – doing what you've been doing – 'cause I think it's fucking awesome.”
Butters' blush deepens. He toes at the carpet, and glances at the drawings as if to make sure they're still there.
“You do?”
“Fuck yes!” Kenny says, throwing out his hands. “Hell – do you know why I got into this stuff in the first place? 'Cause when you walked into the classroom after the guys had dressed you up like a girl I kind of wanted to – bone you. And then later, after the girls gave you that makeover or whatever – shit, I wanted to bone you even harder.”
Butters stares at him for awhile, his mouth open wide enough to give Kenny wicked thoughts. Kenny clears his throat and feels his own cheeks heat up. He crosses the room and snatches the drawings out of Butters' hands.
“Anyway,” he mutters. “Yeah. I know nobody cares what I think, but I think it's pretty fucking cool that you've been doing that all this time. It's like you – you know exactly who you are, and people keep trying to tell you that you need to change, but I don't want you to.”
Butters is silent for awhile, and Kenny is afraid he'll go running off into the snow, night already falling outside, but then he stands up and fidgets with the hem of his fleece sweatshirt.
“I-- I do care what you think, Kenny,” he says, his voice very soft. Kenny sneaks a look at him. He seems kind of scared, like he needs someone to hug him. Kenny shrugs. He hears his mom's truck out in the driveway.
“Let's go see if she brought any chicken,” Kenny mutters, and Butters follows him out of his room.
His mother doesn't have anything for dinner, just makes a beeline for her bottle of Popov, but Kenny is so dazed by what Butters told him that he almost doesn't care. He grabs one of the beers his father left behind and drinks it while he watches Karen make rice, Butters leaning beside him at the counter.
“Here,” Kenny says, pushing the beer into Butters' hand. “You need this more than me.”
“Oh, gee, Kenny, I don't know – ”
“Just drink it, Butters.”
Butters makes a seasick face, and winces after his first sip of beer, giving Kenny a betrayed little look. Kenny takes the beer back and shakes his head, laughing.
“It's an acquired taste,” he says before taking a long pull. He notices Butters watching his throat bob as he swallows and almost chokes.
“God, Kenny,” Karen says. “I've never seen you with a friend who doesn't want to get drunk.”
“Stan and Kyle don't want to get drunk,” Kenny says. It's his biggest issue with them. They'll drink at parties on occasion, but just a couple of beers, which might as well be half a wine cooler as far as Kenny is concerned.
“Yeah, but you don't bring them over to the house anymore,” Karen says. “You only bring your trashy friends here.”
“Those people aren't my friends,” Kenny says, muttering. “Just stir the fucking rice.”
“Don't boss me around like I'm mom and you're dad!” Karen shrieks, suddenly livid. “Just 'cause I'm a girl, I have to stir the rice?”
“You're the one over there fucking making it, so I guess so!” Kenny shouts.
“Ah – I'll stir the rice if you guys want me to,” Butters says.
“Whatever,” Karen mutters, stomping off into the living room, where Kenny's mother is staring at the television. Butters grabs the still-swirling wooden spoon and begins humming while he stirs, looking obscenely happy. Kenny stares at him for awhile, then kills his beer and gets another.
“I just love cooking,” Butters says. “I'm in Advanced Home Ec this year and we cook fun stuff all the time, like cookies and broccoli casserole.”
Kenny's stomach growls at the mention of food that's not rice, and he walks over the stove to hover at Butters' shoulder while he stirs.
“I know you're in Home Ec,” Kenny says, already beginning to feel a little buzzed on his empty stomach. “Everyone makes fun of you for it. I wish I could be in it with you, though. I loved Home Ec in elementary school.”
“Well, why don't you take it in high school?” Butters asks.
“'Cause I don't want to get my ass kicked. I guess you're braver than me. No, I know you are.”
“Oh, bull-hockey, you're way braver than me! You're always going on cool adventures with your friends and doing – selfless acts.”
Kenny says nothing, just turns the heat down when the rice starts to boil and puts the lid on the saucepan. He reaches around Butters to punch twenty minutes into the oven timer and when he pulls back Butters is staring at him like he still needs a hug. Kenny pats his shoulder.
“Hungry?” Kenny asks.
“You betcha!” Butters says, and Kenny laughs.
When the rice is done, they eat it in front of the TV, out of plastic bowls that they hold in their laps. Kenny takes the bad spoon that Kevin bent after he saw the Matrix, not in the mood for an argument with Karen about who has to use it.
“This sure is yummy,” Butters says when Terrance and Phillip goes to commercials. “I sure do appreciate you having me for dinner, Mrs. McCormick.”
Kenny's mother looks up from her drink and narrows her eyes at Butters, leaning forward a little.
“Just who in the hell is that?” she asks, only now realizing that there is a fourth person in the living room.
“My friend,” Kenny says, not looking up from his rice, which he's eating as quickly as possible, McCormick-family style. It's a habit all the siblings developed early, learning that if they didn't eat fast the other members of the family would snatch things off their plates.
“Why's he eating our food?” Kenny's mother asks.
“'Cause I offered him room and board for twenty dollars.”
“Kenny, I don't have –”
Kenny elbows Butters hard before he can continue, and Butters makes a little noise not unlike those Kenny imagined him making while wearing his dress and bows. Kenny bites down on his lip to keep from grinning to himself. He's on his fourth beer now.
“Well, where's this twenty dollars?” Kenny's mother barks. “I told you kids you gotta start chippin' in, 'specially now that your father's gone.”
Kenny scoffs as the idea that his father is actually “gone,” not just laying low until he decides to stumble back into the house and face plant on the couch.
“Spent it already,” Kenny says.
“On what?” his mother asks, outraged.
“Condoms and pot,” Kenny says, and Butters coughs on his rice. “What does it matter?”
“You sound just like your goddamn father!” his mother says, and Kenny can feel Butters flinch beside him. He scoots closer so Butters will know that it's okay. If Kenny's father were here, that'd be another story, but Kenny's mother is all talk. He stares at the television, ignoring the death stare his mother is giving him, and eventually she gets bored with it, turning back to her drink.
After eating, Kenny brings Butters back to his room, and he can tell he's a little rattled. He feels guilty, and pissed off, because he's sure Butters is wishing he'd gone home with Kyle or Stan now.
“It's better than sharing a bed with Cartman, right?” Kenny says as he takes his boots off, trying to smile.
“Oh, heck yes!” Butters says. He sits down beside Kenny on the bed and tucks his hands into his lap. “Eric Cartman is an asshole.”
Kenny laughs and bumps his shoulder against Butters'. “I like it when you curse,” he says. Butters smiles.
“I like it when you say naughty things and the teachers ask, 'What did you say?'” Butters says. Kenny grins and pulls on his parka, cinching the hood tightly enough to muffle his speech.
“Pussy-farting ass muncher,” he says, and Butters laughs hysterically, falling back onto the bed and shaking with giggles. “Piss drinking sheep fucker,” Kenny says, and Butters laughs harder, his face turning pink.
“Geez, Kenny,” Butters says, his shoulders still bouncing, hands folded over his stomach. “You've always been so naughty. What's it feel like?”
Kenny shrugs and loosens his hood so his mouth isn't covered. “Feels natural,” he says. “The same way being good feels to you, I guess.”
“I'm not good,” Butters says, his face changing. “I'm real bad, even when I try to be good, I always mess it up.”
“No, you don't.” Kenny takes both of Butters' shoulders in his hands and pins them to the bed. Butters gasps but doesn't move, his pale blue eyes getting wider.
“Butters,” Kenny says. “Wake the fuck up. You're the only good person in this whole town. Maybe the fact that you'll never realize that is part of it, I don't fucking know. But it's true.”
Butters says nothing, just looks kind of spooked, so Kenny lets go of him and turns away, sitting up and staring across the room at the porno magazines that have spilled over the side of his desk. Butters sits up behind him and scoots close. It's pitch dark outside, the snow coming down in a thick white curtain, wind howling through the pine trees. The room is starting to feel icy already. Half the time Kenny skips school it's just because he can't imagine climbing out from under his blankets and facing that chill.
“But, Kenny,” Butters says, putting an arm around Kenny's shoulders. “You're good, too.”
“Butters.” Kenny gives him a look. “You just said I was 'naughty.' You know I'm no good.”
“You can be naughty and good, too, I think,” Butters says. “If you weren't good, why would you let me stay here with you when I've got no other place to sleep?”
'Cause I want to fuck you while you're wearing a dress, Kenny thinks, but then it doesn't seem true, despite his old fantasies. He wouldn't really want to see Butters like that, fetishized and debauched. Butters is too good for that.
They spend the rest of the evening stretched across Kenny's bed, drawing. Kenny draws a picture of South Park High School in flames, then when Butters looks over at it and seems distressed, he draws himself and Butters standing outside at a safe distance, then Stan and Kyle beside them, then Cartman jumping off the roof with his ass on fire, which makes Butters laugh a little under his breath. Butters draws a pony running through a field with a smiley-face sun in the sky.
“I'm no good at this,” he says, comparing his childish sketch to Kenny's black, curling flames.
“It's a dumb thing to be good at, anyway,” Kenny says, shoving his picture away. “When I go to school, all I do is hide in the back of the class and draw. It's not like I'm ever going to make any money off of it.”
“You could!” Butters says. “You could draw cartoons, I'm tellin' you, Kenny, you're real, real good!”
“Yeah, but you have to go to college if you're going to get good enough to get paid to draw anything, and that ain't happening.”
“Well, it might,” Butters says, pouting. “You could get a scholarship.”
Kenny laughs. “For what? Drawing come-soaked orgies while failing Geometry for the third time? I don't think so, Butters.” Kenny rolls onto his back and shrugs, realizing suddenly that he's not drunk. Butters just stares until Kenny looks over at him, and Butters blushes. He's shivering.
“Want to go to bed?” Kenny asks. “It's getting cold in here.” He pulls his hood up again and cinches it tight around his face. “I could get one of my dad's old sweaters for you.”
“That'd be swell, Kenny,” Butters says. “I am a little chilly.”
Kenny comes back with the cleanest one he can find. It's way too big, says WEST VIRGINIA across the front, and Butters looks ridiculous in it, but also kind of cute.
“I'd get you a sleeping bag,” Kenny says, “But we don't have one. You can sleep out on the couch, or in here with me.” Butters steps closer, looking queasy at the mention of the couch.
“Ah – I'd rather sleep in here with you,” he says, blushing. “If you don't mind too bad.”
“I don't mind. C'mon, let's start warming up the blankets before we freeze to death.”
“Aren't we gonna brush our teeth and wash our faces?”
“Oh – yeah, sure. Sometimes I forget to do that. C'mon, you can use my toothbrush.” He half expects Butters to recoil at the offer, but he just grins.
Kenny goes to bed feeling cleaner and more sober than he has in a long time, and also warmer, with Butters close by under the blankets. The snow is still coming down hard, and the TV is still blasting out in the living room, though Kenny is sure that his mother has passed out on the couch by now. Eventually, Karen will turn the TV off and throw a blanket over their mother so she doesn't freeze to death in the night. She's good about doing things like that, and Kenny has someone else to take care of tonight.
“You know what I always wished for?” Butters whispers when Kenny has turned the lights out. There's only one pillow, and Butters is so close Kenny can smell the cheap soap on his skin and the toothpaste on his breath.
“What?” Kenny asks.
“A brother or a sister, so we could have secret talks at night! Do you ever have secret talks with your brother or sister, after your mom and dad go to bed?”
“Not really. My brother and I used to have to share a bed when we were little, and it sucked. He was always stealing the blankets, and I'd wake up freezing.”
“Oh, gosh, well, I'd never do that to you!”
“I know you wouldn't, Butters.”
Kenny falls asleep easily, his stomach growling. He can hear Butters' stomach gurgling unhappily, too, and he knows he won't be able to keep Butters here for long. He doesn't have what it takes to take care of anybody, especially not someone like Butters, who needs a softer, warmer world than the one Kenny lives in.
He wakes up a few hours later to the sound of the window rattling, and when he opens his eyes and peers across the bed, he sees that it's not the window rattling, it's Butters' teeth chattering. He's curled up tight, shivering, the blanket pulled up to his chin. Kenny is cold, too, even though he's wearing his parka in bed as usual. He's used to it, though.
"Hey," he whispers, poking Butters' shoulder. If Butters loses his ear to frostbite or something, Kenny will die of guilt. Butters opens his eyes and moans a little, shivering harder.
"H-hey, Kenny. I didn't s-steal the b-blankets, did I?"
"No. C'mere." Kenny unzips his parka and reaches across the mattress, drawing Butters toward him. Butters moans again, happily this time, and he scoots forward, pressing his face to Kenny's chest. He's small, and Kenny's parka is big enough for the both of them. Kenny wraps the flaps around Butters' back and zips him into it, trying not to get turned on by the way Butters is squirming against his chest. He rearranges the blankets around Butters' back once he's closed into the parka, already feeling warmer himself.
"Gosh, you sure are warm," Butters says softly, nuzzling at Kenny's chest like a puppy. He slips his arm around Kenny's waist inside the parka and squeezes up closer. Kenny is half-asleep, and all he knows is that this feels really good, having someone else hiding inside his parka with him for once, Butters' breath hot against his neck. He drapes his arm around Butters' back and puts his hand over Butters' head, to keep him warm there, too. Butters sighs and tangles his legs through Kenny's.
"So warm," he murmurs again, and then he starts snoring in soft little pulls. Kenny buries his face in Butters' hair and shuts his eyes. He's going to be screwed when he wakes up with morning wood, but for now he doesn't care. He sleeps better than he has in years.
*
Kenny has weird dreams about being shipwrecked on a deserted island and wakes up to an icy blue dawn, his mouth dry and his breath coming in visible puffs. Still, he doesn't feel as cold as he usually does in the mornings, and he laughs when he looks down and remembers why. Butters is bundled up inside his parka with him, still sleeping deeply, his mouth open and wet at the hollow of Kenny's throat. Kenny is so warm inside the parka that there's sweat gathered under his arms, and his t-shirt feels like it's stuck to him. He tries to go back to sleep, but he's thirsty, and he's also got a raging morning boner that is jammed against poor Butters' innocent little thigh. Kenny shifts, trying to make it less obvious, and laughs when he realizes that Butters has one, too.
Butters moans and tips his head up to blink sleepily at Kenny, who half-expects him to be horrified and try to squirm away. Butters just smiles slowly and flushes, his hand moving on Kenny's back.
"Boy, Kenny," he says, his normally chirpy voice deeper from sleep. "I sure did sleep good here inside your coat." He curls his legs up a little, and Kenny's boner pulses with interest as Butters' thigh slides between his.
"Sorry I'm hard," Kenny says, figuring there's no point in beating around the bush. "It's nothing personal."
"Hmm?" Butters doesn't seem to know what Kenny is talking about. He closes his eyes and rubs his face along Kenny's jaw, making something jump inside Kenny's chest. It's boner-related, but not entirely. Butters smells really good, clean but tinged with sleep. Kenny doesn't want to move, and Butters doesn't seem to be in a hurry to escape his parka, so Kenny plays with the fine hair at the back of Butters' neck, wondering where the fuck this could possibly go. Butters shivers and laughs a little, squeezing his eyes shut as if he can't stand how happy he is. Kenny never wants to let him out of his coat, wants to just carry him around like this all the time now, Butters' legs wrapped around his waist inside the coat, his smile pressed to Kenny's neck.
"Did you sleep okay?" Kenny asks, not sure what else to say with his fingers rubbing up and down the back of Butter's neck.
"Oh, yeah, I had a real good sleep." Butters scoots down further into the parka and puts his ear against Kenny's chest, sighing. "I could hear your heartbeat all night long, even in my dreams."
"Shit," Kenny says, not sure how to handle whatever's happening to him. He pets Butters' hair and thinks about that day when Butters walked into class dressed as Marjorine. Maybe it's inaccurate to say that Kenny wanted to bone him then, though he did develop the desire to bone people at a pretty early age. His first reaction was more like sympathetic panic, because Butters had looked so soft and scared.
"I hope we have a snow day today," Butters says, his voice muffled by Kenny's shirt. "I hope you don't mind me saying so, Kenny, but I feel like I could just lie here and cuddle with you all day long."
Kenny laughs, but he feels the same way. He kisses Butters' forehead, instinctively, something he's never come close to doing to anyone before, despite his long list of partners. His mother must have done it to him once, a long time ago. But he's not exactly feeling motherly toward Butters at the moment, boner still raging. He can feel Butters' heartbeat against his chest, and it quickens as their legs shuffle for position under the blankets, socked feet brushing together.
"Hey," Kenny says, tipping his head down so that his nose is touching the tip of Butters'. He never noticed before how big and pretty and trusting Butters' blue eyes are, or maybe he did, but just didn't think it would ever have anything to do with him.
"Want to live in my coat?" Kenny asks, smirking. Butters giggles, and Kenny can't not kiss him. He gives Butters one soft lick across his lips, then pulls back a bit, waiting for a reaction. Butters is pink-cheeked and doe-eyed, his arm winding more tightly around Kenny's waist.
"Well, I sure would like to live right here, Kenny," he says, pushing their noses together again. "I – I guess it's only fair to tell you: I think you're awful, awful handsome."
"Jesus," Kenny says, laughing, though he feels like he's had his heart ripped out. He's not sure why something this good and simple and sweet should hurt, but kissing Butters again dulls the pain, and the little noises Butters makes as his lips part for Kenny's tongue pretty much erase it. Butters tastes a little bit like his name, and that's as far as Kenny can get with putting a word to it before he's rolling on top of Butters and framing his head with his elbows. Butters pants and stares up at him, his eyelids still a little heavy from sleep and his breath coming fast.
"Want me to get off of you?" Kenny asks.
"N-no, please," Butters says. He actually grabs the front of Kenny's t-shirt with both hands, inside the parka. "I – I think I want you – s-stay on me, Kenny." He looks panicked at the thought that Kenny would move off, so Kenny lets his weight drop down further, and he moans into Butters' mouth when Butters' hips begin to twitch up against his in what feel like involuntary spasms. Kenny answers with a very decisive drag of his hips, and Butters whimpers when their erections rub together. The heat between their legs is swampy inside the parka, and when Kenny rolls his hips again, he watches Butters' eyes roll back.
"Oh, f-fuck," Butters whispers, so sweetly that Kenny laughs and kisses him hard. It doesn't take much to get Butters to come, just three successive rolls of Kenny's hips and some hot, biting kisses. Butters cries out in what sounds like pure surprise at first, pulling so hard on the sleeves of Kenny's t-shirt that he can hear the seams ripping, then Butters just pants out a few astonished moans, trembling under Kenny's weight as his dick twitches until it's spent. When Kenny leans down to kiss him again, his mouth is incredibly wet, and Kenny is pretty close to coming, too, just for the sounds Butters is making and the way he clings and shakes.
"K-Kenny," Butters says when he seems to have regained himself a little, his eyes watery as he stares up at Kenny. "Wh-wh-what was that?"
"That was you coming in your pants, as far as I could tell," Kenny says. He leans down to lick and kiss Butters' neck, hoping that he's not trying to tell Kenny he's never had an orgasm before, though considering the way he was brought up it might not be too outlandish to imagine that he spent all those hours looking at porn only to let his boners die in frustration. Butters moans and tilts his head to offer Kenny better access to his neck, pushing his hand inside Kenny's hood to pet his hair.
"Oh – Kenny – you feel – so nice, oh – " Butters is murmuring mindlessly while Kenny continues to grind down onto him, slow, because he wants this to last forever. He feels like he's never been this warm in his life.
"Hey," Kenny says, lifting his head when he's too close to hold off much longer, his hips moving without his permission now. He wants to try to draw Butters' eyes when they're like this, with lots of cartoonish markings and red pencil to denote how overwhelmed by pleasure he is, getting hard again inside his come-drenched underwear.
"Kenny," Butters say softly. His hands have gone limp and they're thumped against his chest, twitching.
"I should tell you," Kenny says, his eyes falling shut as his balls tighten up. "You're so – fucking – cute, ah – I can't decide – if I want to plow you or put you in my pocket."
Kenny curses when he comes, burying his face against Butters' neck and still grinding down against him as his dick empties out. When he's finished he feels like he's been drained of not just come but blood, and everything else inside him, like he's weightless, a deflated balloon on top of Butters, who is kissing his face. Kenny gets about two seconds of pure, undiluted happiness before he recognizes the hard edge of hope in it and starts to worry about how this will inevitably end.
"Gosh, Kenny," Butters whispers. "Are you okay?"
Kenny snorts, not lifting his head. Fuck if he'll be going to school today, whether or not the snow storm canceled it.
"I'm okay," he says. "I'm good."
"That face you made, it looked like you were hurt or something."
"You made that face, too, man."
"I did? Oh, geez, well, for a minute there I thought it would hurt, but then it was like, gosh, I don't know. So good I could hardly stand it."
"Yeah, that's called an orgasm. Didn't you notice all that white stuff everywhere in your porno magazines?"
"White stuff?" Butters shudders. "Do you remember when we were kids, and you guys were playing detectives, and Eric made me give him a semen sample?"
"Oh, yeah." Kenny snorts. "I was the good cop." That was his idea. He remembers rubbing Butters' back a lot, and telling him it was going to be okay.
"Well, that took me a long time and didn't feel very good, so I haven't really tried it since then," Butters says, and Kenny lifts his head to frown at him.
"You're kind of fucked up," Kenny says, tucking a strand of bright blond hair behind Butters' ear. "Aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Butters says, looking crushed. "Being that I'm a deviant and all."
"I'm a deviant, too," Kenny says. "Obviously. You want me to teach you about sex?"
"Well, I don't know, Kenny," Butters says. He's staring at Kenny's mouth, then into his eyes, then back at his mouth. "I just liked – kissing you – a whole lot." He sits up on his elbows and glues his mouth to Kenny's, clumsy and eager. Kenny pins him again, licking Butters' lips apart and swallowing down his encouraging whines when their tongues brush together. He never really got the point of kissing before, but apparently this is it: finding someone who moans like getting kissed is saving his life.
They roll onto their sides eventually, Butters still inside the parka, both of them starting to smell like sweat. Kenny feels bad for dirtying up such a clean boy, but then again, he probably is saving Butters in some way. Maybe Butters will go off to college a little less fucked up because of this. Kenny hates the thought of some other asshole putting his hands on Butters, someone who wasn't there from the beginning, who doesn't know where all his weirdness comes from. But that's how it will go: Butters will leave town with Kyle and Stan and Cartman and everyone else, and Kenny will still be here, in this house, thinking about the morning when he dry-humped Butters through his first real orgasm.
"Should we put the radio on and see if school's canceled?" Butters asks when Kenny has been dozing for awhile, Butters' hair tickling under his nose. Kenny grunts and reaches over onto his bedside table to fumble at the radio switch. He tunes it with Butters still clutched against his chest under his other arm, and wonders how bad it's gonna hurt to finally let him go.
Kenny is half-asleep as the announcer on the news station says that all area schools are closed due to the storm, snow still piling up outside and more on its way. Butters cheers a little and kisses Kenny's cheek to celebrate.
"Hear that, Kenny?" he whispers in Kenny's ear. "We can spend the whole day making snow forts and drinking hot chocolate – oh, well – do you have any hot chocolate here?"
"No." Kenny sighs and unzips the parka, but Butters doesn't move out of it. "You should go over to Kyle's. He always has that kind of shit at his house."
"You'll come with me, won't ya?"
"Sure." Kenny groans and rolls onto his back, away from Butters. He wants a hot shower, but the water heater has been broken for almost a year. Sometimes he showers at Stan's house, which is always embarrassing.
"Kenny?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you sore at me?" Butters asks, his face hovering over Kenny's. He looks worried, and kind of scared. Kenny cups Butters' face in his hand and strokes his cheek with his thumb until he smiles.
"I'm not sore at you," Kenny says. "C'mon. Let's clean up and go over to Kyle's."
They take an ice cold shower together, too uncomfortable to get aroused until afterward, when they're drying each other off with thin towels, teeth chattering. Kenny gives Butters' half-hard cock a kiss while he's helping him dry his legs, and looks up into Butters' face to see how he feels about this. Butters just giggles like he's charmed. He's irresistible like this, naked and shivering, scrubbed clean, and Kenny wants to pin him to the wall, but it's too cold for that, so he just hands him a clean pair of his own underwear. They're too big, and they hang around Butters' hips as he puts on the rest of his clothes, along with some accessories donated by Kenny: one of Kevin's old coats, Karen's pale blue snowflake scarf, a mauve ski cap with ear flaps and tassels that might have once belonged to Kenny's mother, and a pair of Karen's mittens.
"Why is he wearing all my stuff?" Karen asks as Kenny heads for the front door with Butters following. Kenny's mother is still passed out on the couch, and Karen is sitting on the floor under a mound of blankets, watching TV.
"You're not going out today, are you?" Kenny asks.
"Fuck no," Karen says, pulling the blankets up higher. "Too cold."
"Fine, then he's borrowing your shit."
"Weirdo," Karen mutters as they walk out of the house, and Kenny isn't sure if she's talking about him or Butters, who looks pretty dorky in Kenny's little sister's things, but it's all Kenny had to offer, and Butters seems perfectly pleased, beaming around at the snowy landscape.
"Oh, boy, it'll take them awhile to clear these streets!" Butters says as they tromp through Kenny's neighborhood. "Maybe we'll even miss another day of school."
"Tomorrow's Saturday," Kenny says.
"Oh, right." Butters laughs at himself and takes hold of Kenny's hand. Kenny grins at him, giving Butters' mittened hand a squeeze. He feels like an idiot, walking past the neighborhood meth lab, holding his little admirer's hand, but he can't make himself stop.
"Today's gonna be the best day ever," Butter says, his cheeks already going pink from the sting of the wind. Kenny wonders if he says that at the start of every day. He probably didn't when he woke up in that shed behind the rec center.
"Best day ever," Kenny says, and it's scary because it might be true.
By the time they get to Kyle's house, they're not holding hands anymore. Ike lets them in, still in pajamas. Stan and Kyle are still pajama-clad, too, sitting on the floor with their backs to the living room couch and playing some stupid racing game on Gamesphere. They acknowledge Kenny and Butters with grunts, their eyes on the game and their thumbs smashing the controllers. Kenny dumps himself onto the couch and Butters drops down beside him, Ike resuming his position on the other side. There's a smell of pancakes wafting through the air, and Kenny can hear Kyle's mom talking on the phone in the kitchen, his father typing on his computer in the office that adjoins the living room.
"Butters, are you still kicked out?" Stan asks after he's beaten Kyle in the race and gloated, Kyle slumping over onto his side in defeat, yawning. They both look like they just woke up. Kenny is pretty sure they've been fucking for years, but that's their business. He's always done his best not to be jealous of what they have.
"Oh, yeah, I'm still kicked out," Butters says. Kenny gets the sense that his pout is a little put on, and wonders if Butters really got explicit marching orders from his parents. Maybe he just got fed up and left.
"So, you survived Kenny's house," Kyle says, arching to grin back at Kenny. Kyle is already wearing his hat, probably sleeps in the damn thing, and he's got a drowsy, just-got-fucked sort of look on his face. It makes Kenny want to put that look on Butters' face as soon as possible, though he's not sure if he could bring himself to take the virginity of someone truly innocent.
"I sure did!" Butters says, leaning against Kenny on the couch. "Why, Kenny was just the best host I've ever had, I tell you." Butters has pulled off his mittens and unbuttoned his coat, but he's still wearing the scarf and hat. Kyle looks back and forth between them for a moment, and Kenny doesn't like the smug little grin that fits across his lips, but maybe Kenny has been looking at Kyle and Stan like that for years and this is some kind of payback. He's just glad Cartman isn't here.
"There's a bunch of leftover pancakes in the kitchen if you guys are hungry," Kyle says, and he hasn't even finished the sentence before Kenny and Butters have leapt up from the couch.
There aren't only pancakes but some bacon and orange juice, and Kyle's mother insists on making them both hot chocolate. She's always felt sorry for Kenny, and used to make his costumes for him when he had to do school plays. She can be pretty nosy and has severely irritated Kenny with questions about his parents in the past, but as he helps himself to a second plate of pancakes and bacon he's ready to swear his undying loyalty to her.
"And what are you boys going to do with your snow day?" she asks.
"Oh, boy, all kinds of fun stuff!" Butters says. "Maybe build a snow fort, and have a snow ball fight, or make a whole bunch of snowmen –"
"Jesus," Kenny says, looking up from his plate. "You make it sound like it doesn't snow here almost every fucking day."
"Now, Kenny," Kyle's mother says, tapping the back of his head. "Watch your language while you're in my house. If I were you boys I would use the day to catch up on my schoolwork, but I suppose it won't kill you to have a little fun during the daylight hours!"
She bustles out of the kitchen, and Kenny and Butters take the opportunity to clean out the rest of the leftover food and have a second cup of hot chocolate. Kenny feels like he's going to burst from fullness by the time he walks back into the living room, and Kyle's house is so warm he has to unzip his parka and push down the hood. He has absolutely no desire to get anywhere near the snow today, and he flops down on Kyle's couch to stare at the TV, Butters hurrying to join him. Butters pushes his coat off and sits on top of it like it's a cocoon he just hatched from, still wearing the hat and pulling on the ends of Karen's scarf. Stan and Kyle are watching Die Hard 2 and Ike is asleep. Kenny is grateful that none of them seem to want to do much with the free day except languish indoors.
"So what are you going to do, Butters?" Stan asks while they stare at the TV, all of them crammed on the couch now, Stan in the middle, Kyle and Ike to his right and Butters and Kenny to his left.
"Well," Butters says. "I don't really know."
"You can't just stay at Kenny's forever," Kyle says. He sounds like he's close to falling asleep himself, his head dipping toward Stan's shoulder.
"Yes, he can," Kenny says, though he knows Kyle is right.
"Yeah, but that's crazy," Stan says. "You need to talk to your parents, Butters. Promise them you won't look at porn anymore if you have to."
"You can always go over to Kenny's house if you want to look at porn," Kyle says, smirking.
"Ah – I suppose that's true," Butters says, fidgeting. Kenny hates the thought of Butters being imprisoned inside his parents' disappointment again. He slides an arm around Butters' shoulders, and Stan and Kyle raise their eyebrows in perfect unison, which makes Kenny laugh.
"Oh – oh, I should mention, too, fellas," Butters says, settling against Kenny's side. "Kenny's kinda my boyfriend now and all, so if you see us kissin' or something, that's why."
Stan and Kyle are silent for a moment, staring at Kenny and waiting for a rebuttal, but Kenny just leans over to give Butters' nose a wet kiss. Butters beams at him.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Kyle mutters, and he puts his head on Stan's shoulder.
"Don't tell Cartman," Kenny says.
"Duh," Stan says. He rests his cheek against the top of Kyle's head, and nobody talks for the remainder of the movie.
*
The rest of the day passes like any Saturday would: hours in front of the Gamesphere, funny videos on Kyle's computer, Ike disappearing for awhile and coming back stoned, talking about Carl Sagan's Cosmos. Kenny has done it all a million times before, but never with Butters hanging on his shoulder, wearing Kenny's mother's knit hat, and never without wishing that he was drunk. It takes him until four o'clock in the afternoon to even want a cigarette, and he slips out onto the back porch to smoke, staring at the woods behind Kyle's house, the pine trees creaking with the weight of the snow. It's still falling, but softly now, glittery and wet. Kyle follows him outside, wearing his boots and coat over his pajamas. He walks over to stand beside Kenny at the porch railing, and Kenny offers him a cigarette as a joke. Kyle just rolls his eyes. He's a good boy: two beers per party, and smoking kills.
"So," Kyle says, staring at him. "Butters. What, um. The fuck?"
"Not all of us came out of the womb with our best friend's dick in our mouth," Kenny says. Kyle scowls and shoves him, his face getting red, from the cold or embarrassment, it's hard to tell.
"Are you seriously telling me that you – care about him?" Kyle says. He looks a little queasy at the prospect, but Kenny knows it's only because Kyle can't imagine really caring about anyone but Stan, who is like the sun to Kyle's orbiting planet.
"I care about him," Kenny says. "I always cared about him more than you guys did."
Kyle snorts. "Oh, really? Even when you were throwing a ninja star into his eye?"
"Jesus, I was nine years old, and I didn't think it would hit him. You guys were the ones who cared more about staying out of trouble than helping him."
"Well, fine, we were kids, we were stupid, but I do care about him now. I feel bad for him and everything. So, you know. You're not just getting off on – fucking with someone really naïve, are you?"
"Fuck you," Kenny says, but he mutters it low, pretending the accusation doesn't sting.
"Well, you've fucked like, half the people in our grade, according to you," Kyle says. "And – I don't think Butters would be cool with just being another one of those people. He – uh, well, me and Stan have always thought he kind of likes you. Whenever you don't show up for school, he's always like, 'hey, guys, where's Kenny, have you heard from Kenny, oh, gee golly I sure do hope Kenny is okay!'"
"He doesn't talk like that," Kenny says, though he kind of does. He thinks of Butters worrying about him and feels guilty. He never thought anyone noticed if he didn't show up for school. Even his teachers have given up on caring.
"Just don't fuck with him while he's all vulnerable and stuff," Kyle says. Kenny looks over at him and sniffs with annoyance. He takes a last puff on his cigarette and throws it out into the yard.
"Butters is the only person in this town who's worth a damn," Kenny says. "You're right, he shouldn't be hanging around with me. But I don't see anyone else stepping up to give him what he needs."
"What exactly does he need?" Kyle asks, looking a little queasy again.
"Somebody who doesn't think he's a joke," Kenny says. "And maybe a good ass pounding, too."
"Goddammit, Kenny!" Kyle says. Kenny laughs and heads for the house.
"I'm not kidding," he says. "Some people just need to get fucked, to loosen them up a little – you'd know, huh?"
"Fucking – shut up," Kyle says, his cheeks blazing now. There was never any question in Kenny's mind that Kyle is the bottom in the relationship, and he's beat off to the thought before: all the tension draining from Kyle's normally wound-tight body as Stan drives into him, holding Kyle's legs out in a wide 'v' around him. But probably it's nothing like that. Probably they kiss and whisper softly, Kyle's legs wrapped around Stan's back the whole time. Still, Kyle's definitely the bottom.
"Just – be nice to him," Kyle says as he follows Kenny back into the house. "You're kind of a big deal for him."
Kenny doesn't bother to tell Kyle that Butters is kind of a big deal for him, too, because Kyle wouldn't believe him. They go back into the house and kick the snow from their boots on the indoor welcome mat. The central heating warms them up in seconds, and when they go back into the living room Kyle's dad is making a fire in the fireplace. Butters is on the sofa listening to Ike rant about Carl Sagan and Stan is sitting on the floor, giving Kyle a meaningful look, as if to ask him if he had the talk with Kenny.
"Technologically advanced civilizations usually destroy themselves quickly," Ike is saying as Kenny sits down beside Butters on the couch. "It's only a matter of time for us."
"Oh, gosh!" Butters actually looks worried. Kenny slings his arm around Butters' shoulders to calm him down, and Butters kind of melts. Ike blinks at them slowly, then frowns.
"Is everyone in this town gay except for me?" he asks.
"Yes," Kenny says, and Butters giggles.
Kenny and Butters are allowed to stay for dinner, and Stan stays, too, no invitation required. Butters finally takes his hat off at the dinner table, and his hair is full of static, sticking up at odd angles like it always seemed to do when they were kids.
"You boys certainly were lazy today," Kyle's mother says as she brings a bowl of pasta to the table. Kyle and Stan are still in their pajamas, and Ike's eyes are still red-rimmed as he begins shoveling garlic bread into his mouth. Ike is only twelve years old and he's already a sophomore in high school, just one grade below the rest of them. He's a genius, but also the biggest pothead Kenny has ever met, which is saying something, considering that half of Kenny's extended family could contend for the title.
"It's a snow day, Mom," Kyle says. "You're supposed to be lazy."
"Give the boys a break, Sheila," Kyle's father says. "They've all been working hard in school this year, and pretty soon they'll have college to think about. Butters, Kenny – do you know where you'll be applying?"
"I think I'm going to go to college in someplace warm," Butters says, and Kenny glares at Stan and Kyle when they look at each other and snicker behind their hands. Kyle will go to some Ivy League school and Stan will go to the closest community college, not caring about the school's reputation or what he'll study. Kyle needs to freak out over school and his someday career because of the way he was raised, and also to give himself some kind of purpose in life, something to work for. Stan was handed Kyle on a silver platter in his infancy and is already comfortable with his purpose in life, which seems to be receiving Kyle's worship. They'll have an apartment together where they'll play video games and fuck like criminals. When they fight Stan will roll his eyes dismissively and Kyle will feel like everything he ever held between his ribs has been ripped out. He'll sob during the makeup sex. Kenny can see it all now, across from them at the dinner table in Kyle's childhood home, passing the salad.
"Maybe California, or Florida," Butters says, looking dreamy as he imagines a place without snow. Kenny wants to hold him in his lap, to zip the parka around him again. Kyle's parents are staring at Butters like they feel sorry for him, and Kenny is getting pretty sick of their pity.
"Well – what do you want to study in college?" Kyle's mother asks. "Medicine, law – you should pick a school based on these things, not the climate."
"Oh, I don't know," Butters says, smiling down at his plate. "Maybe something like – cooking? I sure do love cooking."
"Then you should go to a culinary school!" Kyle's father says. "Like Le Cordon Bleu -- I think the one in Boston is supposed to be very good."
"Boston, geez, I don't know, I think that's too cold," Butters says, shaking his head.
"If you're a serious student you have to be willing to sacrifice your comfort for your education," Kyle's mother says, pointing her fork at Butters, who wilts.
"I suppose that's true," he says, fidgeting.
"Hey," Kenny says. He pokes Butters' shoulder. "I bet they have awesome cooking schools in Hawaii. 'Cause, you know. They're all fat and shit, the natives."
"Kenny," Kyle's mother says, frowning, but he ignores her. Butters gives him a little smile that's worth a million fire-lit pasta dinners.
"Hawaii, yeah," Butters says. "That'd be pretty warm!"
After dinner, Kenny is stuffed and sleepy but ready to leave. He wants to get away from this world that he can't relate to, even if it means leaving its comforts behind, and he wants to get Butters away from it, too. Butters has all the same advantages that Kyle and Stan do, technically, but he's missing something important that they've always had. It's not the same thing Kenny is missing: Kenny always fit in at school without trying, and he got so sick of old people telling him he was going to break a lot of hearts someday that he hid his face inside his parka until high school, when he decided he was ready to go ahead with the heartbreaking. But Butters is missing something big, too, standing on a cracking sheet of paper-thin ice like Kenny always has been, while Stan and Kyle and even Cartman are on mile-thick icebergs. Whatever, anyway: they're all still stuck here in the cold, in the snow, and if Butters wants to get the hell out Kenny is all for it.
"Boston," Kenny mutters as they're walking home. "Christ."
"I don't think I'll be going there," Butters says. He's bundled up in his borrowed winter things again, keeping close to Kenny as they trudge through the snow. "And if – if I went to Hawaii or someplace, would you come with me?"
"Sure, Butters."
"I – I'd cook for you every night, I'm real good at it, and even if you weren't in school with me, well, I'd teach you everything I learned!"
Kenny stops walking and stares at Butters, whose eyebrows arch like he's waiting for a punch.
"You remember when I hit you in the eye with that ninja star?" Kenny asks, his heart pounding. He's been thinking about it since Kyle brought it up; it was a mostly repressed memory. Butters looks down at his feet.
"Well – yeah."
Kenny grabs Butters' shoulders, and he looks up, the tassels on Kenny's mother's hat bouncing. He looks like he doesn't want to think about it, and Kenny wonders if Butters had a crush on him even back then.
"Have you got a scar?" Kenny asks, leaning in close. They're under a street lamp, halfway between the nice neighborhood where Kyle lives and the shithole that Kenny inhabits. He puts his nose against Butters' cheek and examines the inside corner of Butters' eye, where the ninja star struck. It's a miracle that Butters didn't lose his eye. Kenny should turn him free now so that he doesn't lose anything else.
"Just a little thing," Butters says, sounding nervous, his breath coming fast. "Y-you can barely see it."
"I'm sorry," Kenny says firmly, trying to demonstrate sincerity rather than sentiment. He licks over the corner of Butters' eye, and Butters gasps softly, his lashes tickling against the tip of Kenny's tongue.
"Geez, Kenny," Butters says. "I'm not sore at you or nothing. That was a long time ago."
"Look at me," Kenny says, and Butters does, blinking up at him shyly. Kenny kisses him over one eyelid, then the other. The night is silent around them except for the whisper of the snowfall, a sound like a paintbrush at the edge of the world, filling in the delicate details of the landscape. It's dark outside of the ring of streetlight they're standing in, and the town feels empty, everyone huddling inside homes more comfortable than the one they're head back to.
"I'm glad you have two eyes," Kenny says, because he doesn't know how else he could articulate it, the knee-deep regret he feels at almost having cost the world one of Butters' perfect eyes. Butters just stares at him, unblinking, his lips parted.
"That was the worst day of my life," he says. Kenny touches their foreheads together.
"I know," he says, and then they're walking again, holding hands.