Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2464826.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      South_Park
  Relationship:
      Kenny_McCormick/Butters_Stotch
  Character:
      Kenny_McCormick, Butters_Stotch
  Additional Tags:
      Mutual_Masturbation, Angst, Dirty_Talk, Swearing
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-10-17 Words: 3184
****** way out ******
by deadboy
Summary
     It can be surprising who you find on Omegle on lonely winter evenings
     at 8pm.
Kenny got a text from Kyle maybe an hour ago and he’s just now decided he’s not
replying. It’s not Kyle’s fault that he’s not stuck in South Park, that he's
going places and learning new things and meeting cool interesting people who
aren’t uneducated rednecks and who have vocabulary ranges that are colourful
for reasons not related to cursing. For the most part Kyle’s stayed true to his
promise to Kenny that he wouldn’t let them lose touch just because they’re a
few states apart now and Kenny can be nothing but grateful for that, because
Kyle is a guy in a million and the first person you would pick to have as a
friend, while he’s always been a little too quiet and rough around the edges.
Still, a text telling Kenny about the surprising warmth of Rhode Island despite
it being almost December isn’t helpful when he's under thin bedcovers in a room
with a broken window, wearing two t-shirts and three pairs of socks and pyjama
pants, bored out of his mind.
Kenny sighs, clicks on a bookmark in his browser, doesn’t bother to turn the
volume down as a woman with Botox-pumped lips rides and bucks on the armrest of
her couch, boobs flapping violently, moaning obscenely at the sensation of
probably absolutely nothing. It looks ridiculous and uncomfortable and pretty
embarrassing, Kenny notices, as he wonders whether all the porn he watches
usually looks like that. He sighs again, clicks away to somewhere else. Before
his cam blinks into consciousness, Kenny shuffles up, tries to flatten his
toothbrush hair. His skin doesn't get much less translucent when the webcam
adjusts to the light and Kenny misses the pink tint to his skin that felt
embarrassingly lobstery in the summer. His eyes are thin and dark so he rubs
them, blinks rapidly, twists round without really moving so that the yellowy
glow of his light is cast on his better, softer side.
In the next minute, Kenny is faced with upwards of fifteen grainy, inadequate
dicks and he considers more strongly than he has before why it is that he
doesn't just shove his own member onto the screens of lonely horndog strangers.
Maybe it's because, despite the alcohol and the arguments and the meth labs and
the occasional bouts of violence, he was raised properly. He likes to tell
himself that, anyway, and he'll remember it for the next time his mom needs to
hear it too. 
He disconnects instantly every time, pretty much, unless there’s a particularly
nice dick or pair of tits or sometimes even a pretty face. He waits a couple
seconds sometimes, just to see if anyone can take their hands off of themselves
long enough to compliment his face but he gets bored waiting. There’s one guy
he gets talking to for a while, almost thirty, with dark eyes and a lot of
hair, who he only stops for because he gruffly mumbles out, “Hey, Twinkie”, at
his own laptop and Kenny thought he meant it like a quirky pet name. By the
time he realised, he’d already committed to the guy by laughing a wide smile.
The guy kept on about his blowjob lips for a while, and Kenny teased him by
keep smiling at things that were corny and not interesting, and he got his dick
out for him but then the guy went from calling him his Twinkie to his Piss
Panther pretty quick and Kenny disconnected without readjusting his cam.
There are a few of mom-aged women he encounters who try to entice him by
showing off their lips straight away, right up close to the camera, pulling out
their boobs and dragging their nipples towards their screens, kind of like
they’re milking themselves as they do but they just look like the porn lady who
didn’t seem very real so Kenny doesn’t get how that’s supposed to be hot.
Anyway, after a couple of runs of rehearsed moans and fake-husky purrs over his
“big boy cock”, it turns out they don’t care about what he’s got, they just
want him to lavish them with words to make them feel young and wanted and his
energy’s not in it and Karen’s just down the hall and the disconnect button is
too big and close and tempting.
When the next connection rolls through, he just stares at the stranger’s cam
feed a little curiously, not realising he was still gripping himself until the
tube of his fingers loosens slightly. It’s a guy, he realises not-immediately,
with thick thighs stretching at pale purple underpants, patterned with what
look like clouds and rainbows and stars. Kenny wonders where the hell adult men
would have to look to find those. He sees smallish hands hover in front of the
cam for a moment and he doesn’t register the thin black text on the blank white
canvas beside the small webcam boxes until the hands wave at him hesitantly.
Stranger:Why howdy, sexy mister. :) I’m Leo.
Kenny’s heart stops for a long, long time and he just hopes that his family
forget about him forever until he’s a skeleton and not a corpse with his cock
out and a limp hand hovering near it. He snaps his pyjama pants back up, winds
the cam back up onto his face. It’s an awful angle.
“Uh…Butters?” Kenny asks slowly, awkwardly, already knowing that it is but
having no idea what else he could possibly say right now. Butters hasn’t moved
his own camera up yet, Kenny notices when he checks, but there seems to be more
room in the colourful trunk area than there was before. Kenny gives a short,
gusty chuckle at that. Me too, Butters, he thinks. (Although, kind of not
quite.)
“H-hey there, Kenny!”
Kenny would shake his head if Butters couldn’t see - he almost does anyway –
because the kid sounds like they just happened across each other in the street
on a weekend or something, not groping their own dicks whilst feasting their
eyes on the sorry sight of each other’s. Last time he saw Butters was at
Cartman’s grand going-to-college party. He can’t remember that much of it,
because Stan had just left a few days ago for San Diego and Kyle was busy
packing and he couldn’t imagine any day where he didn’t get a stupid scheme
pitched to him by text from Cartman. He does remember that Butters’ parents
were out of town so the kid drank three red cups of champagne and passed out
half-naked on the bouncy castle. Someone took him home at some point, Kenny
wandered home about 3am and Butters is somewhere in California now, studying
something like events planning or business or maybe catering.
“So, um. Does everybody call you Leo now?” Kenny asks, because it kind of suits
Butters in the way it suits a toddler but not in the way it suits a football
scholarship college student. He supposes that if you’re called Butters, though,
you don’t really think about much except not being called Butters.
“Mostly! The professors call me Leopold, or Stotch, and I introduced myself to
one guy as Butters but then he forgot so I’m Leo to him too.”
The kid still hasn’t moved his goddamn camera up to his face and as Kenny’s
eyes linger a little – completely innocently – on the bare legs and stretchy
boxer shorts he notices Butters’ hand resting limply in his lap, his fingers
twitching a little, ghosting over his cock. Kenny’s not sure if that’s an
absent-minded thing, or something he’s doing to prepare himself for in a moment
when he disconnects with Kenny, or if he wants to do this thing with Kenny.
“Uh, nice,” Kenny nods, overcompensating with the motion a little as he
recognises the heavying pause following Butters’ words. “So you’re enjoying
college then? Making friends and getting plenty drunk and stuff?”
Jesus Christ, he sounds like a middle-aged uncle.
“Yeah, I haven’t had any alcohol – except a couple of root beers, we get warned
about underage drinking and all. We could ‘forfeit our place at the college if
we endanger its reputation in any way’. But everyone I’ve met is mostly nice, I
don’t always hang out with the same people, I just kinda…unwind in my room.
Like now, you know?”
Kenny gets a sad wave skitter through his chest at this, because Butters is
also one of the first people you’d pick as a friend, if you’re going on
kindness and patience and obedience alone. He knows that even Cartman has a new
crowd of friends at his internship, though he still can’t quite imagine Cartman
having a relationship of any kind with people he didn’t bond with at a naively
young age over fart jokes and cartoons and toys. Kenny tries not to consider
that maybe he’s just a bit bitter over the whole thing because he can’t think
of anything to say to anyone he works with and he’s not half as sociopathic as
Cartman or nerdy as Kyle or moody as Stan. He hates to think of Butters being
like that too, the same as him.
“Oh, oh, and how’s everything down in ol’ South Park?” Butters chirps
excitedly. Whenever Kenny talks to Stan or Kyle or Craig or someone else, they
ask about South Park in the way you ask family members about a boring cousin.
They don’t really want to know, they don’t care now they’re not there but they
kind of have to ask anyway. Kenny in turn hates being asked, because they
always ask about him after they’ve talked for fifteen solid minutes about their
new friends and the cool thing their college town has and all the job prospects
they have even now after just two months at college. The only thing he ever has
to respond with is how nice everyone at his job at Taco Bell is or that his
sister’s doing really well at school. It makes him feel like a fly stuck in a
really old out-of-date tube of ointment.
His eyes catch Butters’ thighs again and has no idea how they got so thick or
if even they’re really that thick, and he wonders if they’re warm and soft and
tender, but he just kinda really wants them clamped anywhere around his body
right now. Butters’ tentative fingers continue to skim and Kenny’s own hand
jumps back inside his pants. It’s now he also notices the almost-silence of the
house, just its routine humming, either an amalgamation of all their running
appliances or just the life force of the wood and bricks themselves.
He can feel everything.
Fuck it.
“So, Butters – Leo…” His new name - his real name, Kenny guesses - sounds a lot
like a question. “You haven’t moved your camera up yet.”
“Uh, right, Kenny, I sure haven’t…”
Butters’ words are the same, his manner the same, his voice pretty much
unchanged from the days before high school, even, but everything is also so
different. The words are from Butters’ very own old-fashioned dialect but he
says them like an adult, as an adult, in a less perpetually excited and willing
voice. He seems hesitant, guarded, cautious. It’s like Butters is playing
himself, rather than being himself, but Kenny’s not sure if he’s playing Leo or
Butters. Kenny would stop, right there, at the slight sense of uncertainty but
Butters’ fingers glide together just then, becoming one thick digit, fluidly
lapping between his legs.
“Should, um. Should I move mine down again too, so they’re the same?”
“Ohh, you sure should, Kenny,” Butters breathes and it’s so fucking sexy Kenny
can’t associate it with Butters.
“Yeah, fuck, fuck, okay,” Kenny replies hurriedly, mimicking Butters’
breathlessness as he jerks the camera back down on its pivot. He lifts his hips
to get his pants and underwear down, his laptop seesawing on his thighs as he
manoeuvres. He didn’t get that much softer than a semi the whole time they were
talking, fucking Butters and his hand and his tiny cartoon underwear, but now
he is so hard and burning in his bones with it. When Kenny’s still again,
laptop repositioned beside him, he looks back to Butters’ cam box in the chat,
mouth scrabbling to half-form an order but Butters has already shucked his
pretty boxers – Kenny can still see them in the background - and it’s like
there’s a vice around his dick.
Butters isn’t long, but he’s very thick, and Kenny can see the other boy’s
fingers having to squeeze just a little – but enough to drive him mad, Kenny
bets – so that his finger and thumb touch to make a perfect circle. Butters
does some slow strokes with just the ring of his thumb and forefinger and Kenny
wants that thing in his mouth so bad. He stuffs his first two fingers in his
mouth, wetting them clumsily with his tongue as he watches and gives long,
swift strokes with his own curled fingers.
“Fuck, Butters,” he moans around his fingers, speeding up a little. He shifts
back, his head lower on his pillow, hitching his knees back and spreading his
legs.
“Would you let me suck your dick?” he whispers as Butters gathers speed. “Fuck,
I’d suck your dick so hard.”
“Uh-huh,” Butters moans as he lays back, switching arms so that he’s pulling
and stretching his smooth dick with the hand closest to the computer and Kenny,
using the other to bounce his balls with little flicks of his fingers. Kenny
groans loudly and long.(His family will get it, he reasons somewhere in the
back of his mind. He puts up with all their shit so it’s the least they can do
and if he’s honest he doesn’t care because he just needs thisso bad.) He hasn’t
felt as close to anyone since everyone left as he does right now, fucking up
into his closed fingers whilst he watches Butters start doing the same in
another state, his supple ass moulding with the mattress as he pumps back down.
“Shit,” Kenny breathes, skating his fingers over the head and spreading
stubborn pre-come all over the rest of himself. “Shit, Leo, get on your hands
and knees, show- show me your ass while you pull yourself off.”
Kenny hasn’t talked to anyone this much in one go in months, both in quantity
and in the intimacy of the content. It’s exhilarating, and he’s not sure if
that just because it’s been so long or because it’s like this when you’re close
with anyone or, weirdly, because it’s Butters. He squeezes his eyes tight shut
as his dick seems to constrict and pulse. He wants and needs so badly to come,
through his whole body, everywhere, with someone else, but he also never wants
this to end.
As Butters continues to work on himself, hard and fast and completely
indulgent, his ass bobs into Kenny’s screen so hard that Kenny thinks - hopes,
really - that it will just emerge through the glass into his face. Kenny
focusses all of himself that is controllable and conscious on the kid in front
of him and growing little gasps and moans materialise from Butters’ full,
parted lips.
“You have such a perfect ass,” Kenny strains, voice creaking as he pushes the
words out of his chest and up his throat. “I would suck your dick so hard, and
I’d eat your ass, all of it, and – shit- if you wanted I’d fuck your ass too,
that’s if you wanted.”
Butters emits a quivering moan, stops leaning on his one elbow and tips further
forwards, keeping himself upright by his forehead digging into the mattress.
His tongue slides over two fingers and he traces them over his entrance, not
dipping them in, but brushing and teasing. Kenny whimpers weakly, holding
himself and his sheets tight and racing towards the end. His teeth are plunged
deep into the underside of his lower lip and he doesn’t have a voice left to
use but he’s intent on Butters’ hands, torn between which to focus on, until
Butters starts bucking forcefully, balls slapping into his pink cock, and he
comes hard, across the mattress, onto the floor a little, everywhere,
indiscriminately.
Kenny can’t muster anything but gruff grunts as he gets closer, watching
Butters’ hand at his ass continue to flutter gently, until he feels himself rip
and unfold from the centre of his stomach as his voice floods back, allowing
him to gasp into the crisp air of his bedroom, arching into his hand as he
rides his orgasm out, feeling like he can’t ever stop.
Kenny’s not sure what to do then, in the glow of white from his laptop screen
and basking in the warmth of his orgasm. He’s only done this before a couple of
times but with strangers it’s easy to disconnect and forget about them after an
awkward ‘thank you’ and shuffling out of view. He can’t do that with Butters,
because Butters is sweet and his friend and seems (or used to seem) pretty
fragile and sensitive. Kenny wishes Butters would say something because he did
most of the talking, which still wasn’t that much, and his chest is tight from
not getting a reaction, no feedback, of sorts.
Butters has his bright underwear back on, plus a My Little Pony t-shirt for
luck. He’s kneeling in front of his computer, but not comfortably, in a raised,
hovering kind of position. Kenny can only see the bottom half of his face –
mainly his chin, because his mouth keeps shifting in and out of view.
“See Kenny, it’s been real good catching up with you and all, I just…it’s just
there’s all this college work, you know? I have to get it done or my tutor will
be mad and I’ll get grounded and that’s no good in college, I need to be able
to leave my dorm to eat! I’ll, um. I’ll e-mail you, Kenny. Or text. Bye…”
Kenny has chance to flick a wave at Butters before he crackles out of view. He
closes his laptop, slides it somewhere under his bed and decides tonight he’ll
sleep with the light on. He curls into himself, for warmth, and tucks the
covers under every edge of himself for extra. Later, restless and not sure of
how much time has passed, he sighs and tosses over a little, gropes around the
floor blindly with his stiff hand for a while until he locates his phone. He
decides he’ll reply to Kyle now. It’s the least he can do, really: say he tried
to keep up the contact with future President Broflovski, even if Kenny himself
is the world’s biggest bore nowadays and he’s probably aggravating Kyle more by
texting than he is helping him or brightening up his day or something. He’s not
too bothered by that thought, though. It’s human contact, at least.

u lucky asshole broflovski. its fuckin freeze-ur-balls-off season here as
usual, gdm south park. still, i hear its p cold in cali rn too.
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