Soundtrack: One Foot In Front of the Other – Emilie Autumn

Almost six months ago, Kevin lost his job at the paper plant a couple towns over. Instead of feeling like shit for a while and going out to look for a new one, he took off their mom's credit card, the last of a six pack of PBR, and their dad's truck. This all occurred two days after Karen burst into tears while watching The Price Is Right and confessed to the family that she was going to have a baby.

It fell to Kenny to pick up the slack – something that he'd never been asked to do before. Being his mom's favorite had its advantages, mainly that he'd never been asked to do much of anything. He dropped out of high school a year before he would have graduated, on an infatuated chase after a cute girl.

That was really where everything had gone to shit for him, because he'd had no idea that she belonged to a local gang, and that she intended to draw him into it. Kenny tumbled right into the chaos. He peddled drugs and sampled the merchandise. He ended up dead more times that he could keep count of, and more than a few times woke up with new scars and ink in his skin.

It took him years to get out of it, and even now his old buddies still come calling, asking for favors or threatening him for money.

So he'd never really worked, exactly, when Kevin ditched the family and stole just about everything he could.

And with his spotty criminal record, lack of a high school diploma, and tattoo on the side of his face, nobody was really looking to hire him.

So Kenny went for his last resort.

He hit up the arcade where he used to hang out with Stan and Kyle, before they shipped off to college and started new lives in better places. He approached the manager, and prayed like hell that his hunch would be right.

"Hey, Butters?" he'd said.

Butters had turned around and smiled at him. He wore a short-sleeved button up shirt, and little red bowtie. "What's up, Ken? I haven't seen you around here lately."

"Um," Kenny said, "I'm looking for the manager."

Butters pointed to the nametag on the breast pocket of his shirt and said, "You're lookin' at him. What can I do you for?"

"You're the – nevermind," Kenny replied, and took a deep breath to steel himself, "Look, I need some help. My family's in a tight spot and I – I need a job. I thought maybe I could like – clean up? Like a janitor or something?"

"Well, I already got a cleaning guy," Butters said, and Kenny's gut sank. Butters looked thoughtful for a moment and went on, "But I could use another pair a' hands to work the concessions. Could you do that?"

Relief washed over Kenny – he could have kissed Butters in that moment – and he answered, "Yes, God, of course. When do you want me to start?"

"Tomorrow night I'm short a guy," Butters told him, "We'll need to order you a shirt and bowtie, but we can get you a spare set for now."

And that was how it began – how Kenny, ex-gangbanger, weight lifter and dropout extraordinaire ended up working the concession stand in the tiny arcade in the heart of South Park. He knew that he'd been given a second chance, a little hope for redemption, and so he made sure to make his appreciation known. He never showed up late, always worked hard (even when he'd rather have watched some porn and read some comics), and even volunteered for extra shifts – though that was mostly because Karen's doctor bills needed paying and he was the one to do that.


"How's your sister doin', Ken?" asks Butters. He shifts down the blinds in the front window while Kenny sweeps up the debris of the day – candy wrappers, stray quarters, and regular gunk that makes it way around the arcade. Closing time is Kenny's favorite part of his shifts, in part because he enjoys the happy feeling of knowing he'll be going home to his bed, but also because he gets to be alone with Butters.

They mess around sometimes.

Well, a lot.

Kenny grins a little when Butters bends over to pick up a quarter and his slacks tighten against his ass.

"Quit lookin' at my butt and answer the question," Butters scolds.

Kenny chuckles and says, "She's about to pop, but her doctor says she and the kid are in good shape. It's weird. You know. That I'm gonna be an uncle."

"Is that why you've been so sad lately?" asks Butters, "Now, don't get me wrong, you do real good work, but I think you've been draggin' a little and I was…well, I was wonderin' if you're okay, is all."

Kenny's face falls and his stomach drops. He replies, "I'm sorry, uh, I'll try harder."

"That wasn't the point, and you know it, mister," Butters snips back at him.

Kenny groans, but when he looks at Butters, he thinks that maybe it would be okay to talk to him. He's not like Kenny's family. If he feels bad, they'll shoot back another ten reasons why they feel worse than he does. Butters never does shit like that. He actually listens, and after he does he'll do whatever he can to make Kenny feel better.

And truth be told, it might be nice to have somebody's arms around him right now.

"My mom's not been feeling too good," he answers, "She – fuck, Butters."

Butters crosses the room, carefully stepping over the pile that Kenny has swept and asks, "What? What's goin' on?" He rubs Kenny's arm and gives him a look that makes Kenny sigh.

"Don't tell anyone else," Kenny quietly says, "The doc found – shit. She's got breast cancer, dude."

"Oh my God," Butters whispers, "What – is she okay?"

"They think she'll be okay with surgery," Kenny says, "Get the tumor out. But it's gonna cost an arm and a fucking leg to have it done, and that's with insurance, which we don't have."

"I've been tryin' to get you fulltime," Butters says, "You get benefits and everything with that. I wasn't gonna tell you until we got it done for sure, but it's only about one step from official."

Kenny backs up and stares. He feels his chest pinch and his stomach writhe, and he says, "Are you for real? Butters, you – fuck."

Butters glances back behind him at the windows, whose shades are all closed, before he places each of his hands on Kenny's shoulders. He stands up on his tiptoes and kisses Kenny right on the lips. And Kenny falls right into it. He's still tense, and his gut hurt and his head is spinning, but Butters is like an anchor, keeping him grounded and feeling safe.

Butters' tongue tastes like peppermint. His smell intoxicates Kenny, a combination of pine-scented soap and cheap body lotion. It's a comforting smell, the kind that Kenny could wrap himself up in and fall asleep under. He heaves Butters up and sets him down on one of the gaming consoles. For here, he has easier access, and untucks Butters' shirt, tugging it up and struggling with the buttons. As soon as it's open enough to see chest, Kenny leans down and kisses Butter's skin there, running the pad of his thumb over Butters' nipple.

It's funny – he never imagined ever doing this, least of all with Butters.

He hadn't even imagined ever admitting to anybody beyond anonymous men (to serve as his one night stands) that he's attracted to guys, but Butters wheedled it out of him within a month of working at the arcade.


Kenny gulped back the lump in his throat as Butters sliced open a new package of cups to set out for the sodas and cheap, watered-down coffee. His pants always shifted against his ass in the most incredible way. Kenny didn't know it was possible for a guy to have such a magnificent ass, but here it is, and he can hardly ever stop staring at it.

"Ken, can you help me? I got too many cups in my hands," Butters asked.

Kenny ducked down to help him, and found Butters without any cups in his hands at all. Before Kenny could respond at all, Butters inquired, "Ken, can I ask you a personal question?"

"I guess so," Kenny returned, and scratched a hand through his blond hair.

"Do you like boys?" Butters said plainly.

"Do I what?" Kenny was suddenly hot and uncomfortable under his shirt collar. Nobody had ever asked him that seriously before. He'd never had to defend himself – be it because of his full body of tattoos, affinity for Playboy and lifting weights – but nobody ever questioned his sexuality.

Butters repeated, "Do you like boys? I hate to be rude, but I've caught you lookin' me up about four times today."

"You – what?" Kenny managed hoarsely.

"It's okay if you do, you know," Butters went on, "I like boys too, but I guess most people already assume that about me. Do y'think it's the sweaters?"

Kenny found his mouth dry but still answered, "Yeah, the sweaters are probably why."

"Damned by my great taste in sweaters," Butters sighed, "So?"

And Kenny confessed what he had never confessed to a single person in his life before, "Yeah, I like guys."

"Good to know," Butters smiled at him and, with a wink, kissed Kenny's cheek.

He was – hypnotized.


"Ah, Jesus, Kenny," Butters sighs out, and grips Kenny's hair with both hands, tugging him in closer, urging his tongue to run over the sensitive places on his skin. Kenny peels back Butters' shirt and tosses it onto the arcade floor, and kisses down to Butter's navel.

Kenny remarks just over Butters' fly, "You know, I think you're the prettiest guy I've ever met."

"Really?" Butters whines, "Because you're the prettiest boy I've ever met, too."

Kenny laughs and dips down to unzip Butters' slacks.

"I'm serious," Butters insists, "You got these big blue eyes, and I – I could live on your chest, I'll tell you what, mister. You already know how nice your cock is, but I feel like that's probably worth mentioning too. A-and your whole body's covered in art."

"Some of them are gang tattoos, Butters," Kenny says, one brow lifted.

Butters mirrors the expression and assesses him before he responds, "Well, they're the prettiest gang tattoos that I've ever seen."

"They're the only gang tattoos that you've ever seen," Kenny points out.

Butters gives a little kick to his thigh and scolds, "Just take a compliment."

Kenny rolls his eyes but doesn't argue anymore. He pulls Butters' slacks off and lets them fall to the ground. Underneath, Butters wears tight briefs patterned cartoon sock monkeys – the man takes almost as much pride in his underwear as he does his sweaters. Kenny rubs his hands over Butters' already half-hard cock through the fabric and presses a line of kisses just above the elastic waistband.

Butters moans and tugs up on Kenny's hair. He stammers out, "That feels r-real good."

"I'm about to make it feel even better," Kenny murmurs, and slowly pulls Butters' underwear away from his body. He leans into Butters' erection and kisses the tip, laving around the head in slow, languid laps. Butters thrusts up against his mouth and lets out a long groan.

Kenny has never met another guy that tastes as good as Butters does. He's like a drug, all of him, the way that he makes Kenny feel. Every time they kiss and touch, Kenny falls into a trance, and need swallows him whole. He's never wanted anybody in this way, and it makes him feel strange – knowing that Butters, Butters fucking Stotch, has this much power over him.

Kenny takes Butters' cock into his mouth inch by inch. He's gotten better at this in the months that he and Butters have been messing around. At first he could barely fit half of Butters' erection in his mouth, and now he can get almost all of it.

Butters thrusts shallowly up into his mouth, careful not to be too rough, and says, "I need more."

Kenny pulls off and undoes his bowtie with clumsy fingers.

"Careful with that," Butters says when he tosses it aside, "That's company property."

Kenny tries not to laugh as his shirt follows. He dips his hand into the front pocket of his work slacks and pulls out a packet of lube (he's never been caught unprepared for sex in his life, even at work) before he discards the pants and wriggles out of his threadbare plaid boxers.

Butters looks him up and down through heavy-lidded eyes. He loves the way that Butters looks at him right before they fuck, like he's hungry and Kenny's the only person in the world that can feed him. Nobody has ever looked at Kenny like that – he's not exactly the most attractive man. Despite lifting weights and working out, he's made out of angles. Tattoos cover his body from head to toe, literally. He has too many facial piercings. He's a weird, skinny, scarred-up thing, but Butters still finds him attractive. More than that, Butters thinks that Kenny is the prettiest boy he's ever met.

Kenny's cock bobs heavily between his legs as he steps toward Butters. He wraps Butters' legs around his thin waist for support and rips open the packet of lube. He squeezes it onto his fingers and leans forward to kiss Butters as he presses the tip of his first finger inside.

Kenny used to be bad at this part, too. If he felt like having a guy in his bed, typically he'd opt to be on bottom, simply because it was easier not to have to worry about hurting another person. He'd topped only a couple times when he and Butters first slept together, and Butters coached him through every part – it was nice.

Butters moans under Kenny's touch when Kenny finger rubs against his prostate. Kenny works Butters open with gentle hands, working from one finger to two to three, and finally withdrawing.

Butters complains quietly, "Now I'm all cold."

"I'll warm you up in a second, just you wait," Kenny replies, and he pecks a kiss to the tip of Butters' nose. The action turns out to be more tender than he meant it to be, and makes his chest tighten with that weird feeling that tells Kenny that Butters has far more control over Kenny than is comfortable. For a long moment, they look each other in the eyes.

Butters is the first to shift. He pushes himself up just enough to give Kenny a long kiss and tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear, careful to avoid prodding at Kenny's piercings. He says, "I think I'm ready to be warmed up."

"Yes, sir," Kenny says, relieved to be rid of the seriousness of the moment. He pours what remains of the lube over his cock and positions himself. In gradual thrusts, he enters Butters, letting heat and pleasure swallow him whole with each little twitch of his hips.

Butters crumbles in Kenny's arms as soon as Kenny is fully seated inside him. He clings to Kenny's shoulders and tosses his head back against the shooting game console with a weak moan. His fingernails bite into Kenny's skin, but Kenny still waits for Butters' slight nod before he draws himself halfway out and thrusts back again.

Butters swears when Kenny thrusts again.

"Fuck, Kenny," he cries.

Kenny flushes with heat. The way Butters says the words turns him on even more, and he thrusts just a little harder the next time. And then faster. Harder. His hips work in a feverish rhythm, driving Butters back against the console enough to hear a smack each time.

"Shit, you're gorgeous," Kenny tells him – and he is. Kenny likes few things as much as he likes seeing Butters all spread out in front of him, legs thrown open wide, cheeks pink and eyes glassy. It's hypnotizing to Kenny to watch his own cock pound inside him, and watch the way that Butters quivers and melts, and how his muscles work underneath his skin.

Butters just whines in response.

The noise prompts Kenny to wrap his hand around Butters' cock where it rests against his abdomen. He works his palm over it as he drives inside Butters. Kenny's losing it, and he's losing it fast. He gasps out, "I'm gonna come."

Out of politeness, Kenny pulls out right before his orgasm and comes onto the console with a cry. He only stops working on Butters' cock for a brief moment, but takes it back up again. With minutes, Butters comes too, onto Kenny's hand and his own abdomen.

And for a second, they sit in the post-sex haze, slumped against the game console and crunched into a tangle of limbs.

"Damn," Kenny finally breathes, and backs off so that Butters can stand again. He stumbles when his feet hit the floor and Kenny catches him, giving him a little kiss to the forehead. He glances over at the console and lets out a loud bark of laughter before he comments, "We're gonna need to Windex the shit out of that before we leave."

Butters laughs, too, and starts gathering his clothes from where they're scattered across the immediate area. Once dressed, they do the rest of the closing time chores – sweeping, wiping down the counters and the console screens. Kenny pays special attention to the shooting game to make sure that it's as sterilized as humanly possible before he ducks into the back room to drop his bowtie into his locker and grab his backpack.

"Hey," Butters says, when he emerges, "I was thinking, d'you think you'd wanna come over?"

"Right now?" asks Kenny.

"Yeah," Butters says, "I got some blankets and a neglected Netflix account. We could watch cheesy scifi movies and cuddle."

"What about your parents?" Kenny asks – despite the fact that they're both twenty-three, each of them still lives at home.

"They're in Vail for the weekend for a skiing getaway," Butters shrugs.

"Why didn't you say so earlier, dude? We could've fucked on a real bed," Kenny chuckles.

Butters turns a little pink and answers, "We can still do that," and he pauses before he adds, "but I was worried that you might not want to."

"Of course I want to," Kenny says, "I – Butters, I don't know what the hell we're doing, but I can tell you that you make me feel real nice, and I actually like being around you. I, um, care about you."

Butters' face dissolves into an ear-to-ear grin and he loops his arms around Kenny's neck to kiss him. When Butters pulls away, one of Kenny's lip rings is stuck onto his lip, and they laugh awkwardly while Kenny untangles them.

Yeah – Kenny genuinely doesn't know what this is, but he knows that since being hired at the arcade, since coming out to Butters, since kissing and fucking and laughing with him, he feels better than he has in years and years. For once in his life, he feels like he might be on the right track. He's going to have health insurance to take care of his mom. He's going to be an uncle.

And whatever this is, he has this too.