A/N: Posting this here because it didn't get much love on Tumblr, and there isn't enough Cartman/Butters on this site. This is mostly a humor fic, but it's rooted in deep Cartman/Butters feelings.


"I need you to drive me somewhere tomorrow."

Eric takes a giant bite of his cheese danish after saying so, and Butters waits for him to finish chewing before inquiring.

"Well, sure," Butters says. School doesn't start for two weeks, and he's not grounded at the moment. "But - how come?" Usually Eric prefers to do the driving himself, because Butters drives like a 'faggy old lady,' according to him.

"'Cause I'm gonna be all fucked up from the anesthesia," Eric says, and he pops the last of the danish in his mouth.

"Anesthesia?" Alarmed, Butters wants to grab for Eric's wrist, but they're in public, at Eric's favorite bakery, and public displays of physical affection are strictly forbidden. "What do you need that for?"

"So I won't be awake during my enlargement procedure."

"Oh, Eric! You're really going to do it?"

"Yes, Butters. This is my lifelong dream, okay? It's the only thing I want more than ten million dollars. Ever since that bullcrap in fourth grade, with the chart-"

"Eric, you've grown up a lot since then," Butters says, and he blushes when this makes Eric glower more menacingly. It's true, though: back then Eric was the smallest, but now he's almost a full six inches when he's - erect. Just thinking of that word makes Butters blush more deeply. He still calls his a fireman, or a wiener if he's feeling naughty.

"It's bullshit, Butters," Eric said. "Have you seen what some of those unworthy assholes are packing? In the locker room, I mean? Have you looked?"

"Well - no," Butters says. He tries not to look. In a lot of ways he's real fond of wieners, but something about looking at anonymous ones, or even wieners that belong to his school buddies, makes him nervous and kind of scared. He's mostly only been interested in Eric's, and the thought of that special little guy being pierced by a surgeon's knife is almost enough to make Butters feel like the strawberry tart he just ate is going to come right back up. "I wish you'd think about it a little more before you make such a big decision," Butters says, cautiously. Eric isn't often looking for his opinion, but hopefully he knows by now that Butters takes a very personal interest in his wiener.

"I've been thinking about it for the past nine years!" Eric says, pounding the table with his fist. "And now I'm eighteen, so I don't need parental consent. I'm doing it, Butters, and you're gonna be fucking glad about it when it's done, believe me."

"Why'm I going to be glad? I like it how it is!"

"Only because you've never experienced the raw power of an eleven-incher."

"Eleven! But you always said you were gonna get ten!"

"Well, fuck, Butters, if I'm having my dick cut open I might as well go for the glory."

Eric looks queasy for a moment, and he grabs for his hot chocolate. Butters feels panicked, but he knows there's nothing he can do. Once Eric makes his mind up about something like this there's no talking him out of it.

After eight o'clock that night, Eric isn't allowed to eat or drink anything but small sips of water. He's very cranky, and Butters hopes he'll give in and order a pizza so that he'll have to cancel or at least reschedule his surgery, but Eric doesn't even suggest it. Butters is no longer allowed to spend the night at Eric's house – that's been forbidden since the blindfolded surprise-in-the-mouth incident in fourth grade – but he stays for as long as his curfew allows, trying to distract Eric from his hunger with sex. It isn't entirely selfless; Butters wants to enjoy his last night with his old friend, and he gives Eric a lot of loving oral attention, almost breaking into tears at times.

"What if it tastes different after?" Butters asks when they're both spent, lying together in the dark and watching the final minutes of Butters' curfew creep closer. Butters can hear Eric's stomach growling, and it's breaking his heart – this whole thing is.

"I'm still gonna have the same skin," Eric says. "Why the hell would it taste different?"

"Weh – well, where are they gonna get the extra skin from? T-to cover the bigger parts?"

"Fuck if I know, maybe they grow it in a lab or something."

"Eric! Haven't you researched this?"

"I researched the best penile enlargement doctor in Denver, sure. So I'm in his hands. Jesus, don't worry." He pinches Butters' ass. "You're gonna thank me, you'll see."

Butters just sighs and stares down at Eric's spent cock. It looks very small when it's soft, like a little egg in a nest. His balls, however, are uncommonly large. Butters has always enjoyed the juxtaposition.

"What if you're too big for me?" he asks, very softly. He glances at the digital clock on Eric's bedside table; he's going to be late. If they ground him he'll risk not being there for Eric during his surgery.

"You'd be surprised what the human anus can handle," Eric says. "I've seen videos."

"You've shown me those videos," Butters says, and he sits up, frowning. "That's not the point, Eric, gosh darnit! I – I'm happy with the way things are. Doesn't it feel – I mean – am I not, uh. Tight enough for you? When you're in there?" Butters' face is very hot, and it's spreading down to his chest. One thing he loves about his relationship with Eric is that they don't have to talk about all this very much. They've always just done it, and Butters prefers the natural approach to a lot of discussion.

"Look, Butters," Eric says, and he sits up, too, taking hold of Butter's forearm. "I know you feel all lucky and shit that I give you the honor of experiencing my dick – my pre-enhancement dick, let's say – but we're going to college next year, okay? You think you'll always be satisfied by such a small dick? You won't. It's scientifically proven!"

"But I am satisfied by it!" Butters says, starting to cry. He wants to say more, to accuse Eric of doing this because he wants to attract more and better partners in college, and to remind him that he has seen big, scary wieners in porno movies and so forth, and they just look like Halloween props to him, meant to frighten.

"Enough!" Eric says. "Stop wibbling. Get dressed. You'll see – dammit, and this is about my self, uh, confidence and manhood and all that shit. Not about your anal pleasure."

"Well, alright," Butters says. "Fair enough." He slides out of the bed, taking a sad last look at Eric's dear little fireman before Eric yanks the bedsheets up over it.

Butters picks Eric up early the following morning, and he sleeps on the way to Denver. In the hospital waiting room he allows Butters to give him a hug before the doctors take him back for the surgery.

"Oh, Eric," Butters says, trembling in his arms. He's not sure what else to say. He wants to get down on his knees and beg Eric to reconsider, but not with all these medical types watching.

"Alright, alright," Eric says. He pats Butters' back as he pulls away from him. "Jesus," he says. "I can't wait until this is over and I can fucking eat something."

"Yes," Butters says, sniffling a little, and he stands there watching as the doctors take Eric away.

The surgery takes two hours, and Butters tries to read magazines and the book he brought (Swordswelter, a gay romance he's borrowed from Kyle), but he can't concentrate on anything. When Eric's doctor emerges Butters jumps out of his seat. The doctor takes Butters back to Eric's recovery room, where Eric is groggy and moaning. Butters hurries to him, glancing at the blanket over his legs. The mound of bandages over his crotch makes him look like he's got a diaper on under there.

"Can you see it?" Eric asks when Butters brushes his bangs off of his forehead. "Does it look real?"

"It's covered up, Eric, it's healing. Oh, geez, I'm glad you're alright." He kisses Eric's face, though the nurse is watching. Eric seems too out of it to care.

"'Course I'm alright Butters, Jesus, people get this done all the time."

"Do they?" Butters sniffles and takes Eric's hand. "Does it hurt?"

"Neh," Eric says. "I feel like shit, though. I think I'm hungry. Can I eat?" he asks the nurse, who confirms that he should most certainly eat once he starts taking his pain pills. She gives Butters a lot of instructions about how to care for Eric during his recovery, and Butters begins to wish Eric had let Liane come along. He won't be with Eric all the time, though he wishes he could be, especially while Eric is all fragile and hurting.

"Can't we tell your mom what you did?" Butters asks as they're driving away from the hospital, headed toward the nearest McDonalds.

"Yeah, Butters, sure," Eric says. "And then we'll tell your dad, too, so he can know the exact dimensions of the cock his son is taking."

"Eric!"

"Well, Jesus, Butters - of course I'm not telling my mom! I don't talk to her about my dick! God!"

Eric is in a bad mood even after he's been placated with McDonalds, and halfway back to Denver he throws up all over Butters' car.

"That's okay," Butters says, rubbing Eric's knee. "Ah - you want me to pull over?"

"No, Butters, I'll just ride like this, with puke all over me-"

"Okay, okay!"

By the time they reach Eric's house Butters feels like he's been in the car for days. Eric can't really walk, but he refused crutches at the hospital. He uses Butters as his crutch instead, leaning on him until Butters can barely walk himself.

"Is everything okay, hon?" Liane asks from the couch. Butters is embarrassed to see that she's reading the last novel he borrowed from Kyle; he leaves them at Eric's house until he's done, because he could never bring that sort of thing home.

"I'm fine, Mom," Eric says. "I just got kicked in the balls really hard."

"Oh! Do you need a Tylenol?"

"I've got some already," Eric says. He actually has much stronger pain killers, and almost as soon as Butters lowers him into the bed, he's asleep. Butters spends the rest of his afternoon watching over Eric, his eyes wandering down to the diaper-like bandages at times. He imagines a kind of King Kong lurking behind them, something that will pound its chest and charge him when unleashed.

Over the next few weeks Eric is often grumpy and hissing with pain, and Butters does everything he can to try to make him feel better. He brings Eric treats, spending almost all of his allowance on goodies from the bakery and bags of fast food. Eric mostly stays in bed, and his mother doesn't get suspicious or ask him if he needs to see a doctor, because Eric generally spends the last two weeks before school starts sulking in bed, mourning the freedom of the summer.

Finally, on the Saturday before school starts, Eric gets the okay from his doctor to remove the bandages. He's allowed to do so himself, at home, and encouraged to come in for a check up if he spots any irregular swelling or bruising. Butters is on the verge of tears as he helps Eric unwind the smelly bandages. He's kneeling down to do so while Eric sits on the bed, and he's afraid of the moment when he'll come face to face with Eric's new largeness.

"Whoa!" Eric exclaims, beaming down at it while Butters inches away, still on his knees. "Look at that, Jesus Christ!"

Butters looks, unable to take his eyes away. Eric's new wiener hangs almost six inches while soft, arching over his balls as if they're an inadequate pillow. It's fatter, too, and raw-looking, all pink.

"Damn," Eric says, and he touches it tentatively. "Well." He looks up at Butters. "Want to try it out? I can't do full on fucking for another week, but you could lick it."

"Ah - okay."

It's already growing as Butters approaches, walking on his knees. He knows he won't be able to fit that in his mouth. One thing he loved about the old one was that it fit his mouth just right, so Eric could really give it to him without choking him.

"Be careful around the scars," Eric says when Butters' tongue sneaks out to lap at the tip. It tastes the same, though tainted by the cottony bandage.

"Do you wanna maybe wash it first?" Butters asks, backing away.

"Oh, shit," Eric says. "Sorry, B-butts. I was getting ahead of myself - yeah, whoa, that fucker smells like - like it's been out in the woods chopping down trees for a few days, you know what I mean? Lumberjackin' it?"

"Uh," Butters says. "Sure, yeah, I guess I can see that."

Butters assists Eric in the shower, and it would be kind of nice, cleaning him, all anointing-like, but just the weight of the thing in Butters' hand is daunting. It's grown to its new full length under his ministrations, and it would be comical in its enormity if Butters didn't have to contemplate fitting it inside him.

"Goddammit!" Eric says when they're back in his room. He's at his desk, measuring himself with an old Wellington Bear ruler. "Ten and a quarter inches. I told them I wanted eleven!"

"I think it looks plenty big," Butters says from the bed, glumly.

"Whatever," Eric says, and he tosses the ruler onto his desk. "Let's try it out." He walks to the bed, moving awkwardly, as if his center of balance has shifted. Butters supposes it could just be due to his persisting erection, which is quickly pointed at Butters' face.

"I don't know if I can open that wide," Butters says when the swollen fireman's helmet bumps his lips.

"Just try," Eric says. He's breathing hard, shaking a little. "Jesus Christ, just the - the sight of it. It makes your face look small."

Butters closes his eyes while Eric rubs his monstrous wiener on his face, smearing precome in places. Butters has always liked this, but it's a whole different ballgame with the size change. Just being in the room with this thing is making him claustrophobic.

All he has to do is lap at it a little and Eric comes, and Butters is very glad when he spurts out the same amount he has always has, more or less. He'd feared a fire hose type situation.

"Did it feel as good as before?" Butters asks as they sink down to the sheets together, Eric still panting.

"Totally," Eric says. "Especially after two weeks, shit!" He opens his eyes, allowing Butters to nuzzle at him; at least this part is the same. "I usually only have to put up with that no sex crap when you're grounded." He reaches down between Butters' legs and frowns when he feels that he's not hard. "What's up with this?"

"Oh - just, I was nervous, I guess." Butters clamps his thighs together around Eric's hand. "Can we just cuddle?"

"Fine," Eric says, but he doesn't look appeased. Butters pets him until he's napping. He's trying to remain calm, but he feels like his whole world is irreversibly altered. He supposes it is: he's going to have to get used to this new fireman sooner or later. Eric might be a little selfish when it comes to sex, but he won't like it one bit if Butters can't get hard for him.

It does begin to grow on him throughout the week, especially as a kind of after school snack, something that eases the stress of the day, though it's mostly just being in Eric's bed that does that. It's not the wiener-related activities that Butters looks forward to much as the kissing and their little chats, all the coziness that he once never would have expected from his time with Eric. As they got older Butters realized that Eric was craving acceptance as much as he was, and that he would take it in the form of physical affection, whether it was watching Butters come in his hand or allowing Butters to kiss his neck and whisper that he smelled good.

"Well, tonight's the night," Eric says on their first Saturday together as high school seniors. They're watching I, Robot on TV in Eric's basement, and Butters swoons toward Eric when he reaches under Butters' shirt to rub his stomach.

"The night for what?" Butters asks, afraid that he knows.

"Anal sex," Eric says. "At last." He has a look of maniacal excitement in his eyes that makes Butters' stomach drop.

"Eh- Eric, you know you have to be real careful with me-"

"Duh, Butters!" Eric presses his face to Butters' cheek, staring deeply into his eyes. "It's like you've been re-virginized, in a way," he says, his voice trembling.

"Oh - sure." Butters wasn't this nervous when Eric took his actual virginity. It was just last summer, in Eric's bed, and Butters was begging for it, squirming on two of Eric's fat fingers. Eric was the one who'd been reluctant. It took Butters a while to figure out that he'd been afraid his wiener would not prove satisfactory.

"We might have to work up to it all weekend," Eric says as he unbuttons his pants. "But we should at least try to get the tip in tonight."

"Sure," Butters says, trying not to let his lack of enthusiasm show. He's had several bad dreams that Eric's Frankenstein dick comes apart inside him, and in his dreams he's pulled out stray limbs, an ear.

Once they're both undressed and under the quilt that they use for cover during basement sex, Butters begins to feel more optimistic about this endeavor. He's got Eric's finger inside him, Eric's tongue in his mouth, and he has missed having sex this way, wrapping his thighs around Eric's hips and falling open for him. He's into it until he feels the first press of the artificially fattened head.

"W-wait a second!" He puts his hand on Eric's chest, his heartbeat going from fast to slamming. "Ah - I don't know, Eric, it feels, um, you know. Too big."

"Well, of course it's gonna feel that way at first! Jesus, you'll never get used it if you don't try."

"But what if I just don't want that thing in me?" Butters asks, rushing the words out. His eyes sting when Eric's narrow.

"That thing, Butters?"

"Well - um, you know, it's not you, not really, not like the old one was!"

"What the hell is this?" Eric asks, sitting up. "It is so me, I paid three thousand bucks hard earned bucks for it! Do you know how long it took me to siphon that out of my mom's retirement fund? You think that kind of high level accounting is easy for a non-Jew?"

"I'm sorry," Butters says, and he starts crying harder, because he really didn't want to ruin things. It's just that he wants that over-sized wiener in him even less. "I just - you wouldn't want to do something I didn't like. Would you?" Butters has been afraid to ask. Eric huffs and yanks the quilt away from Butters, wrapping it around himself.

"Why the hell can't you just be happy for me?" he asks. "This is the realization of a dream, Butters. This is what dicks are supposed to be like!"

"Mine's not like that," Butters says. "Does that mean you don't like it?"

"Ugh, God, your dick is fine. Quit trying to make this about you!"

"It is about me, Eric! It's our sex life!"

"Boys?" They must have been getting kind of loud; that's Liane, shouting from the top of the basement stairs. "Everything alright down there?"

"Yeah, Mom," Eric says. "Butters was just going home."

"Eric!"

"I said Butters was just going home." Eric turns away from him, scowling at the TV. Butters dresses while crying. He feels empty, lonely already, but he's not going to stay if Eric refuses to respect his feelings on this issue.

On Sunday he goes to church with his parents and prays for a solution to this problem. At school on Monday, Eric avoids him and Butters feels worthless. He's holding back tears at lunch, hoping no one will notice, but of course Stan does.

"Dude, what's wrong?" he asks.

"What's Cartman done now?" Kyle says.

"N-nothing," Butters says. He nibbles at his sandwich and glances over his shoulder at the table where Eric is sitting between Kenny and Craig. He's laughing about something, looking very carefree.

"Oh, Jesus," Stan says. "Is this about his operation?"

"Stan, I am eating," Kyle says.

"It's just not what I'm used to!" Butters says. "I thought I could get used to it, maybe, but the truth is I don't even want to try! I want his old fireman back." Butters puts his sandwich down and grabs a napkin, blotting at the corners of his eyes.

"Did you just call his dick a fireman?" Kyle asks, his lip raising a little.

"Cartman broke up with you because you don't want to have sex?" Stan says. "That's so lame, dude, I'm sorry."

"It's not that I don't want to!" Butters says. "It's just - I don't want to have sex, um. With that."

"Are you seriously surprised?" Kyle says. "He's so shallow. To put it kindly. We're seniors, just - try to forget him."

"Do you think Kenny might let him put it in?" Butters asks, leaning over the table to whisper. Kyle groans and holds his soda can over his face, recoiling.

"No way," Stan says, but he looks uncertain, like he's concerned that this might happen, too.

Throughout the week, Butters keeps a close eye on Eric and Kenny. They're definitely spending more time together, but it might just be because Eric wants to avoid Butters, who never really bonded with Kenny the way he did with Stan and Kyle, or Eric. Kenny always seemed a little bit like the personification of those over-large wieners in porn movies: crass and fearless, out there for all to see, often sticky.

"Hey," Butters says when he finally works up the nerve to approach Kenny at his locker. Kenny is fixing his hair in the little mirror that he keeps on the door. He's very good-looking, tall, and he has one of the biggest naturally occurring wieners in the senior class, according to Cartman, who has kept careful tabs on all of their classmates' sizes over the years. Butters' average-sized one falls between Craig's and Kyle's on the current version of the master list.

"'Sup, dude?" Kenny says, still focused on his hair. He has lots of girlfriends and boyfriends, sex partners of all ages. He calls himself pansexual, and Butters wants to look up what that means, but he can't do it at school and certainly not at home, where his parents vigilantly monitor his Googling.

"Um, I was just wondering," Butters says. "If, if. Um. So – have you seen Eric's new wiener?" he blurts, and this finally gets Kenny's attention, his eyes sliding from his reflection to Butters.

"Oh, yeah," Kenny says. "I think he's showed pretty much everyone by now. That shit's fucked up, man."

"It is?" Butters feels he should defend the new wiener, even after all the trouble it's given him.

"Yeah," Kenny says. "What'd they even stuff it with? That junk they use in fake boobs?"

"I don't know," Butters says. "I been kinda afraid to look it up. S-so you're not, um. Personally drawn to it?"

Kenny bursts out laughing, and Butters turns bright red, looking down at his shoes. He scowls when Kenny taps him on the chin.

"Hey, sorry," Kenny says. "Just - nope. I'm not trying to move in on your man. But didn't you guys break up?"

"None of your damn business!" Butters says, trying to get angry enough to hide that he's again on the verge of tears. He runs away.

A few days later Butters is walking to his car after school when Stan waves to him, running to catch up.

"Hey," Stan says. "I just wanted you to know – I talked to Cartman."

"You did?" Butters says, mortified. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him that it's not always easy when the person that you're with doesn't like the same sex stuff that you do, but if you love them it's so totally worth it. You don't even miss the sex stuff. Much."

Butters stares at Stan for a moment. "Kyle doesn't like your sex stuff?"

"No, he –" Stan goes pink across his cheeks, his eyes narrowing. "Who said we were talking about Kyle? Maybe, I – maybe I'm talking about Wendy."

"But you love Kyle."

"Alright, look." Stan closes his eyes and holds his hands up. "Kyle – he's not – he doesn't like – he's got some ass issues, okay? And my, kind of – whole thing is – his ass, but – look!" Stan frowns and opens his eyes, his hands slapping against his sides. "What I'm saying, and what I told Cartman, is that he knows he has to get over it if he loves you. And Kyle thinks Cartman isn't capable of love, but I've seen him with you when he thinks no one is looking. I think he loves you, Butters. He's probably just feeling stupid about doing that surgery. He'll come around."

"Thanks, but I don't know about that," Butters says. "Eric's real stubborn."

"Also, I saw him crying in the smoker's stairwell," Stan says, rolling his eyes. "But don't tell Kyle I was out there. He thinks I quit."

"Crying?" Butters says.

"Yeah, really sobbing. The goths were just standing there smoking, staring at him. It was fucking weird, dude. That's why I talked to him."

Butters drives home, trying to decide what all this means. Is he supposed to go to Eric and tell him that he's okay with not having a wiener up his butt if that means they can still be together? He's not sure he is okay with that! Eric just had to go and ruin everything. By the time he gets home he's angry, and he throws The Old Man and the Sea across the room after thirty minutes of trying to do the night's assigned reading.

He has a hard time getting to sleep that night, and when he does sleep he dreams of Eric. In the dream Eric's wiener is a literal fireman named Chuck who doesn't like Butters and tells him to go away even as Eric beckons him to lick his wiener like old times, sobbing and reaching for Butters while Chuck swipes at him with his fireman's ax.

He wakes to the sound of Phil Collins.

It takes a moment to realize that his parents aren't playing music in the middle of the night – it's coming from outside. Butters goes to the window, rubbing at his eyes. He thinks he's dreaming when he sees Eric on the front lawn, holding a boom box over his head. "Can't Stop Loving You" is blaring from the speakers, and Eric is singing along, wobbling. For a moment Butters is afraid he's done something drastic to his wiener that is affecting his posture, but eventually he realizes Eric is just drunk.

"Hey!" Butters' father sticks his head out of his bedroom window, and Butters ducks back into his room, his heart pounding. "Eric Cartman! What are you doing! You leave Butters alone, you hear?"

"Butters!" Eric screams, so desperately that Butters starts laughing into his hands. "BUTTERS!"

"Butters is sleeping!" his father says. "Now you get off my property before I call the police!"

Butters decides it's worth a grounding, especially since it will force him to make Eric wait until he's earned sex again, whatever form of sex they end up having.

"Yeah?" he says, poking his head out. Eric's eyes get huge, and he beams with relief. The boom box topples from his hands and smashes against the lawn, Phil Collins' voice dying off in a slow, eerie growl.

"Butters!" his father says. "You close that window this instant, young man!"

"No, please!" Eric says. He drops to his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. "Butters! I was wrong, I – I'm fucking miserable, I hate this thing, I'll get it undone—"

"Don't do that!" Butters says, afraid that further interference would do serious damage. "As long as it works, that's – that's something. And it ain't that bad, I just don't want it – you know." He glances at his father.

"Butters," his father says. "You get back into that room this instant, or you're grounded, buddy, and I don't mean for a just few weeks."

"He's gonna ground me for months," Butters says to Eric, who is still on his knees. "Are you sure you wanna deal with that? You could always find someone else who doesn't, um. Get grounded an- and who isn't afraid of substantial firemen and so forth."

"Jesus, Butters!" Eric grabs two handfuls of his hair and pulls. "I only did this for you, anyway!"

"You wouldn't listen to me! I told you—"

"I know what you said, but I thought you were just being nice, goddammit!"

"That's it!" Butters' father says. "You're grounded, Butters, and I'm calling the cops."

"No, I'll go!" Eric says, starting to back away. "Just, just – Butters!"

"I'll see you in school, Eric," Butters says, and he winks.

It takes them a few weeks of meeting in janitor's closets to figure out that Eric really likes to bottom, and once they do Butters thinks he should have known. Mostly he likes what happens after, when he's sitting in Eric's lap and combing his fingers through his hair, and he does like the two-handed challenge of reaching around to get Eric off while they're fucking. It's kind of sporty, like holding a bat, and there's also the added bonus of watching Eric strut around the locker room after gym class, displaying like a bird with flashy feathers. It might not be Butters' ideal wiener, but he feels proud of it, too, because, despite its flaws, it sure does draw the eye of everyone in a room.