Sountrack: Plastic Stars – Freezepop

It is a damn fine afternoon, Kenny thinks to himself as he boards down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding Sheila ("You watch where you're going with that skateboard, young man!"). Sugary runoff from his cherry popsicle slips down his hand, and he has to push up the sleeves of his hoodie as he keeps rolling to avoid getting it sticky.

The weather is perfect. It's May, the temperature just shy of eighty, and not a cloud in the sky. A light breeze tickles the hair on the back of Kenny's neck as he speeds along, thinking about the plastic baggie of pot in his pocket and the joint that's begging to be smoked at the sanctuary of Stark's Pond.

Kenny screeches to a halt at the park. He pops his board up into his free hand and wedges it under his arm, and tromps across the grass, where he finds a bright green patch to plop down and finish his popsicle. He flicks the stick aside into some weeds when he's done, and laps up the red residue left on his hands.

Yeah, this is the perfect spot. There are just enough trees to block him from view, and just enough wind to clear out the scent of smoke before anybody can get suspicious. Kenny pulls out the flask of Jack Daniels that he swiped from Kevin's sock drawer this morning and opens it up to take a swig –

Only then, he hears something. Before a drop of alcohol touches his tongue, he screws the cap back on and tucks the flask out of sight, climbing to his feet. His worn-out heavy boots clunk in the grass as he follows the noise.

And the closer he gets, the more it sounds like…crying.

Kenny knows that he should probably leave. Nobody comes to Stark's Pond to cry if they want somebody to find them, and he'd be better off finding a new spot to enjoy his afternoon.

But fuck it, he's curious now.

"Hey?" he calls tentatively, shifting his skateboard's weight under his arm, "You okay out there?"

The crying stops. For a second, Kenny thinks that the crier really must not want to be found, but instead, he hears a familiar voice call back, "I'm fine. Go away, Ken."

"Butters?" Kenny echoes. He doesn't even remember the last time that he saw that kid cry. Sometimes Kenny wonders if he and the guys made fun of him so much that Butters pretends not to give a shit anymore. But he definitely gives a shit about something right now.

Kenny finds Butters in a nearby clearing, parked on a fallen tree. His chin is on his knees, his bright yellow shoes dirty with grass stains and mud, and his whole face is red. He wipes his nose on his t-shirt when he sees Kenny and lifts his chin. His voice wobbles, but he says again, "Go away."

"I wish I could've brought you my popsicle or something," Kenny says, "You know, to cheer you up or whatever. But I ate it. Um…but I have these, if you want." He reaches into the pocket of his baggy jeans and pulls out a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels – a munchies treat that he was saving for after smoking that joint – and takes a couple steps toward Butters. He sits down a couple feet away from him on the log and goes on, "I think you need them more than me."

"That's okay," Butters says, and pushes them away, "Seriously, Kenny, I'm fine."

"You're so full of shit," Kenny tells him, and pops open the bag of pretzels. He sticks one in his mouth and offers the bag again to Butters, who pushes it away a second time. "Suit yourself," Kenny shrugs, mouth full, "People don't just cry 'cause they're fine, you know. You can talk to me."

"No I can't," Butters frowns.

Kenny can't remember the last time he was even this close to Butters. He looks older, tear tracks aside, though his face is still pretty round, and his eyes are still big and glassy. He's kind of – cute, in his own weird, Melvin-y way.

Kenny takes the flask out again and uncaps it, "You mind if I drink?"

"That's fine," Butters says. He shuffles his feet in the dirt. He won't look at Kenny at first, but after Kenny takes his first swallow, he asks, "Can I have some?"

Kenny's brows shoot straight up on his forehead, but he passes the flask and says, "Sure, be my guest. Tastes like piss, though."

Butters doesn't seem to care. He tips the flask back like a seasoned alcoholic and chugs, though it's only an instant before he jerks the flask away and sputters. He coughs up Jack Daniels and spit into the dirt. Kenny claps him on the back and whistles, "Dude, you gotta take it easy. I don't have a chaser or nothing with me. You even ever drunk liquor before?"

Butters wheezes and shakes his head.

"You wanna try again?" Kenny asks.

Butters nods. As soon as he catches his breath, he holds the glass flask up to his face, scrutinizing.

"Try a quick little sip," Kenny suggests.

Butters hesitates, but obeys, and then hands the flask back to Kenny. He mutters, "It does taste like piss."

"You feeling any better?"

"Not really," Butters says.

"I can roll us a joint too, if you want," Kenny offers, "But I'm betting you've never tried that, either."

Butters says, "No," and shuffles his feet again before he asks, "Ken, why are you being so nice to me?"

Kenny shrugs, "What, am I usually a dick?"

"No," Butters says, "But the other guys are."

"Yeah, and I'm not the other guys," Kenny says. He scoots a little closer, and nudges Butters with his shoulder, "So what's eating you up, man?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Butters tells him.

Kenny pops his neck and answers, "Hey, that's cool. You don't have to tell me anything. But if you want, we could go back to my place and watch some movies or something. I could just keep you company. You like old horror movies at all? That's pretty much all I've got in my room, and they're all on tape, but it's better than nothing, I guess. I think I have Big Daddy, too."

"I don't like scary movies," says Butters, in a way that suggests he thinks he'll hurt Kenny's feelings with this information.

"Old ones aren't like ones we make now," Kenny tells him, "They're like, totally hokey and fun. But we could find something else if you wanted. Or I could leave you alone, like you told me to forever ago."

"No," Butters quickly says, "I want to hang out. If you really want to."

"Sure," Kenny says.

They both stand – Kenny collects his pretzels and skateboard, and Butters puts the cap back on the Jack Daniels and slides it into Kenny's pants pocket. This time, when Kenny offers him a chocolate pretzel, Butters shyly reaches in and takes two, chewing carefully as they venture back out toward the street.

When the sun wholly hits their faces, Butters turns to Kenny and asks, "Does it look like I've been cryin' real bad?"

His cheeks are still pink, and his eyes are red. Kenny goes with honesty is the best policy and tells him, "Yeah, a little. But it'll go away."

The walk to Kenny's place isn't far. He sees Butters stare at the wrecked front yard, at the rusted-out truck missing its tires sitting in the weed-ridden grass, the bald patches in the lawn, the cracks riding up the driveway, the missing shingles. Kenny doesn't mind, though. He learned a long time ago not to be embarrassed, because he'd be spending a hell of a lot of time being that way.

The only one home is Karen, who's sitting on the couch in the living room. She waves at Kenny and Butters when they walk in, but is mostly attached to the television. Some anime plays on the screen…that's been Karen's thing, lately.

Kenny leads Butters up to his bedroom. That's a wreck, too. He just has his twin mattress on the floor, covered in old Batman bedsheets, a mess of clothes on the floor, posters ripped out from 1980's playboys coating his walls, and the ancient television set and VCR that he bought at a Goodwill.

"So this is what I got," Kenny says, pointing to the tape collection stacked next to the TV.

"Are those Star Trek tapes?" Butters asks curiously.

Kenny feels his cheeks turn pink and he answers, "Yeah. Don't tell the guys, you know they'll rip on me for it."

"I won't," Butters promises, "Can we watch that?"

Kenny agrees, and sticks the tape into the VCR player. He has to rewind it, and tells Butters he can help himself to the pretzels while it takes its sweet time. When it starts to play, Kenny scoots back onto his mattress and pats the space next to him. Butters mashes his knuckles together before he sits down, and eventually scoots back with his back against the wall.

They don't talk much during the episodes. Mostly they just polish off the rest of the pretzels, and then spilt what's left of the Jack Daniels (though Kenny still has most of it).

"You know," Kenny remarks, "Spock and Kirk are totally fucking each other. I'm just saying, that's not a platonic gaze."

What he doesn't expect is for Butters to start crying directly after he says that.

"Whoa," Kenny says, and mutes the TV, "Are you okay? Um, what did I say, 'cause I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings or something."

Butters sniffles and hides behind his hands. Just faintly, Kenny hears him say something underneath his fingers, but he has to ask, "Can you say that again, dude?"

Butters moves his hands just a little and asks, "Do you think it's wrong to like boys?"

Kenny's brows lift. He answers, "Well, shit, if it is, then I'm fucked. I literally just jerked Craig off in the boy's bathroom at school on Thursday. And I liked it."

"You – you did?" Butters wipes his eyes and licks his lips and sits up a little.

Kenny nods, "Yeah."

"I like boys too," Butters finally whispers, "I don't – don't want to."

"Why not?" Kenny asks, "Boys are nice. I mean, girls are too. Like, girls are all soft and they always smell good…but boys, they're like – it's hard to describe, but I really like it. I can…show you, if you want me to." After all, Butters isn't bad-looking. He actually looks kind of nice, with his blond hair and big hands and shoulders that have gotten much broader in the last year. They'd probably be nice to hang onto.

"W-what do you mean?" stammers Butters.

Kenny replies, "I could kiss you. If you wanted."

Butters turns bright pink, and his eyes go as wide as saucers. It takes him a while to respond, and when he does, he has trouble getting the words out, "I – I think I'd – um, yeah. I – I would like that."

Kenny smiles and leans in. He hears Butters take a small breath right before Kenny presses their lips together, and his heart beats just a little faster. Butters lips are full and taste like flavored chapstick, behind that the taste of chocolate-covered pretzels and something good, something that's just distinctly him.

Butters makes a soft noise and shifts closer into Kenny. He puts his hands on Kenny shoulders and huffs out an exhale through his nostrils as Kenny licks along his lower lip. Before Kenny can press his tongue inside Butters' mouth, Butters pulls back, breathing heavy.

"Do you want me to stop?" Kenny asks, and realizes that his breath is coming out quicker, too. It feels weird. He's not used to feeling like this when he kisses somebody, like – it matters if he can kiss them again or not.

"No," Butters says, "No, I just had to breathe. Please kiss me again."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Kenny laughs, and ducks forward to capture Butters' lips in his again. They kiss harder, and Butters mewls a little when Kenny's tongue slides against his own. He grabs onto Kenny and pulls him down, pressing their bodies up against each other.

Kenny splits away when he needs to breathe and remarks, "You're hard."

Butters turns even redder, but still mumbles, "You are too."

"I could do something about that for you," Kenny suggests, "I could – jerk you off, or I could, um. Give you a blow job. Only I've never tried that before, so I might not be good at it."

"I want that," Butters manages, "Can we try that?"

Kenny rears up and straddles Butters' legs. He smooths his palms over Butters' thighs, over the soft fabric of his worn jeans. He feels along the hard shape of Butters' erection through the denim and Butters whimpers. Kenny closes his hand around it and gropes, only for a few moment s before he fumbles with Butters' fly and pulls down the zipper.

He gently tugs Butters' jeans down to his knees, and glances up to look at Butters' face.

"Hey," Kenny says, "It's okay to be nervous. I am too."

Butters nods to this, and scrunches his fingers into Kenny's sheets as Kenny pushes his hands inside Butters' striped briefs, moving them slowly down his legs, and revealing his cock where it rests against his abdomen, flushed, and leaking a bead of precome at the tip. Kenny's mouth goes dry and he feels hungry looking at it. He can't help but lean down and lick a strip up the shaft.

Under his tongue, Butters squirms. He gasps out, "Jesus, Kenny," and his hips flick up of their own accord.

Kenny chuckles and takes the head of Butters' erection into his mouth, suckling softly.

Butters moans, and Kenny feels a renewed enthusiasm to give the best blow job ever, despite the fact that this is the first one that he's ever even given. He holds Butters' hips down, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin covering his hip bones, and starts to suck him in just a little bit more. It's easy enough until about halfway down the dick –

And then, Butters thrusts up with a cry.

Kenny gags.

"Sorry," Butters says, "S-Sorry."

"S'okay," Kenny says, and scrutinizes Butters' erection, "I just haven't gotten the hang of it yet. And why didn't you tell me you were packing such a huge wang?"

"I don't like being boastful," is all that Butters can manage.

He holds Butters down and tries again, taking him down. He can't make it all the way, so he gives up and starts humming, like he likes it when Bebe's done it to him, and moves his mouth up and down over him. Butters cries out, and tangles his fingers in Kenny's long hair.

It doesn't take him long to come, although it surprises Kenny, and he sputters little, wiping come onto the corner of one of his blankets as he sits back up and swallowing the rest.

"Man, I sucked," Kenny laments.

"I'll say," Butters jokes.

Kenny gives him and look and busts out laughing before he crawls back up and bounces his head back against the pillows beside Butters. He brings him in for a kiss. When Butters pulls away, he wrinkles his nose and remarks, "You taste like my come," and then after a beat, "Do you want me do anything about yours?" and points down to the tent pressing against the front of Kenny's baggy jeans.

"If you want to," Kenny says, "It'll go down in a bit if you don't."

"Can I try – just using my hands?"

"Sure," Kenny says.

He lies back and let Butters swing his legs over, straddling Kenny like Kenny straddled him before. Butters undoes Kenny's fly and dips his hands under the elastic of his boxers. He grips Kenny's cock with both hands, tongue tucked between his teeth in concentration, and begins to move them. It's clumsy, but Kenny groans and gives himself to it immediately. He leans against Butters and pushes sloppy kisses against his neck.

Kenny comes only a handful of minutes later, and gropes next to his mattress for a dirty t-shirt to mop them both up.

"Shit," Kenny says, "That was fun."

Butters swallows a knot in his throat and says, "Yeah."

"C'mere," Kenny says, and makes grabby hands for Butters to lie next to him.

Butters does and Kenny loops his arms around Butters' neck. He asks, "This okay?"

Butters timidly responds, "I – are we cuddling?"

"Sure looks like it," Kenny replies.

"You don't mind?"

"I'm kind of digging it, actually," Kenny says. Butters smells like the same shampoo that Bebe uses, something fruity and sharp, and clean, plain soap, and shaving cream, and laundry detergent.

Butters pauses at that, but then queries, "Does that mean we can do this again?"

Kenny kisses him and grins, "Sure thing, boss."

"Can we keep watchin' Star Trek, too?"

"Even better," Kenny says.

They kiss again.