Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

YellowHaired, BlueEyed Bunnies	By : ginger240 Category: +S through Z > South Park > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2650 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own anything from South Park and do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
(A/N): I didn't expect to get two chapters done in one weekend, but I figured if I wanted to hook people onto this story, I should give them a little extra on the first day, right? If you have any requests, comments, questions, don't hesitate to ask or tell or whatever. This story is definitely not set in stone and the plot is coming out as I write the story soo ideas are defintely welcome Haha... Enjoy!

Every summer, since as long as I can remember, I have worked at an auto mechanic shop to earn some semblance of an income. I knew my parents couldn’t really afford to support me, so I decided to stop the vicious circle and actually make something out of my life (And, if by chance I happen to have kids, I didn’t want them to end up in the hell hole in which I was brought up). I ended up making enough money over the course of many years to buy myself a beat-up, old, blue pick-up truck by the time I had my driver’s permit. Every birthday and holiday since, my group of friends has pitched in a little bit of money and hard labor to fix my truck little by little.

One summer, Craig, Cartman, and Stan helped me smooth my baby’s body out every day until we could finally get it repainted. It doesn’t look as good as new, but it sure as shit doesn’t look like someone took a sledge hammer to it. My weekends were spent under the hood of my truck at the shop I worked at, spending hours trying to fix it up the best I could. Eventually, with a shit ton of help from my friends and co-workers, we got my truck to get from point A to point B without breaking down, spewing smoke out of the engine, tires falling off, or refusing to start. And now that it isn’t an embarrassing piece of shit, I drive it everywhere I can; including driving to and from school and practice with Butters riding shotgun.

Speaking of which, that’s exactly what I’m doing right now. Track practice ended five minutes ago and I still haven’t asked Butters if he wants to come to Token’s party tonight. We’re on our way to Butters’ house, silently and comfortably listening to Modest Mouse, warming our hands against the heat vents. (Token and I just managed to get the heat working again in my truck last month.)

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Butters shivering slightly with his fingers pressed flat against the vents and his hood drawn tight around his head and face. I frown silently to myself, reach behind the small space behind his seat, grab my orange parka, and toss it over his small frame. He jumps slightly, snapping his head to the left to stare at me before grinning, mumbling a tiny “thanks” through the fabric of his hood. I laugh when he zips the parka all the way up to cover half his face, reminding me of when I used to wear my parka just like that. We drive amicably for another five minutes before I reach my hand out to turn the music down a notch as I turn into the Stotch’s driveway. This is my last chance.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight?” I ask nonchalantly.

“Oh, um, well, I dunno. Why do ya ask?” His response is muffled, but, after years of speaking like that myself, it sounds crystal clear to my ears.

“Token is throwing his party tonight. You should come with me.”

Butters has thrown both hoods back by now and there’s still a slight blush to his cheeks. “Aw, geez, Kenny. I don’t think my parents will let me,” he states, slumping in his seat just a fraction.

I lean over so my face is directly in front of his and allow a devious smirk to slip onto my face before saying, “Fuck your parents, Butters. How old are you, now? Here’s what we’re gonna do: I’m going to come inside with you, you’re going to completely ignore your parents and go to your room with your bags and wait for me there, while I tell your parents that you’re spending the night with me and they’re going to accept it as it is because they, for some fucked up reason, trust you with me. Understood?” Butters has a tiny grin on his face by the time I finish and he can’t help but let out a nervous, but highly amused giggle.

“Yessir. Oh, hamburgers. I hope we don’t get caught.” I laugh at his comment and give him a look that says ‘Since when have I ever gotten you in trouble?’ before turning the truck off. Butters hurriedly grabs his things from the bed of the truck as I walk up to the door and open it. As soon as we walk into the house, the warmth bombards us pleasantly and I close the door promptly to keep the cold air outside. Mrs. Stotch pokes her head out from the kitchen and greets us with a cheerful hello while Mr. Stotch waves his hand from his position on the couch. I steer Butters towards the stairs and give him a tiny push before I casually walk into the kitchen to grab the hot cocoa Mrs. Stotch always has handy for me when I drop Butters off. I smile gratefully as I take a long sip before I move to sit down at the kitchen table.

I place the mug onto the table top and fix my eyes on Mrs. Stotch before saying as sweetly as I can, “Mrs. Stotch, would it possibly be alright if I have Butters over for the night? We haven’t had a slumber party in forever and I was just wondering if…” I let the rest of the sentence fade off as I look pleadingly up into her face before dropping my gaze to my cocoa. Shyness and innocence gets you everywhere with Mrs. Stotch. I know I’ve gotten my way before she even opens her mouth because her face lights up like Christmas came a month early.

“Oh, that would be wonderful, Kenny!” she exclaims, obviously pleased that she’s getting her son out of the house for the night. I grin back at her before grabbing my still hot mug of cocoa to take up to Butters’ room.
When I reach his door, I open it without knocking and stop dead. There, with his back towards me, in the middle of his room, Butters has stripped off the many layers he wore for track practice, leaving him standing in his tiny Hello Kitty boxers and knee-high, white tube socks. If I didn’t want to bang him before, I certainly do now, as I imagine those sock-clad legs wrapped around my waist. I clear my throat with a clearly amused and hastily hidden lust-filled look on my face, enjoying the way Butters squeaks as he whips around to face me. I walk in the room completely and kick the door shut before casually sitting down on his bed to continue sipping at my hot cocoa. Butters still hasn’t spoken, although the blush that’s spreading across his cheeks speaks volumes. I look him up and down once before shaking my head in amusement and to clear the images flashing through my mind.

“Hello Kitty boxers, Butters?” There is laughter in my voice that I can’t seem to keep out and Butters glares at me momentarily before turning around again to walk towards his closet.

“For you information, Kenny, I really like Hello Kitty. And I don’t care if people laugh at me,” Butters states while shifting through the clothes in his closet.

“It’s cute. You should just wear that to the party,” I say quite sincerely, though I’m quite sure Butters thinks I’m making fun of him because he huffs loudly and continues his search in his closet.

“What’re you wearin’, Ken?” His voice trails out from the closet and he’s on his hands and knees, ass in the air and I suddenly can’t breathe.

I choke on my words for a second, tilting my head to the side to get a better look at his ass. I finally manage to mumble, “’M not wearing anything special. Pair of jeans, a hoodie, and shoes are all I need.”

Butters finally comes out of his closet with an armful of clothes. He unexpectedly drops them right on top of me and tells me not to move; apparently he needs my opinion on all of the outfits he’s picked out. What is he, my girlfriend?

The first set of clothes he puts on are a pale magenta fitted tee with a Hello Kitty zip-up hoodie thrown over top. The hoodie is all white with red cuffs and draw strings, the black markings of the kitten’s face and little yellow nose positioned near the top center of his chest. On his legs are tight-in-all-the-right-places jeans that sit low on his hips. He swivels around 360 degrees and holds out his arms with his head cocked to the side, all innocence and blue eyes.

“Wuddya think?” he asks excitedly, waiting for me to answer.

“Too many clothes. Next.”

He pouts, but strips off his clothes again, putting on outfit #2: cut-off, white-washed jeans that come just above his knees and cling to his hips as if they’d fall off at any moment, with a short sleeved, bright blue hoodie (that had a picture of that little cat in the lower right hand corner), and a plain white tee-shirt underneath. He repeats his early “what do you think” pose and raises one of his eyebrows.

“Keep the jeans, lose the hoodie and tee-shirt,” I say immediately.

He grins widely and grabs a tank top and hoodie that’s laying halfway down my shin and shimmies into them after removing the aforementioned hoodie and tee. The tank top is a pale yellow and matches perfectly with the gray and yellow hoodie he picked out to wear with it. He doesn’t spin around this time or even ask for my opinion before he gathers the rest of the clothes that are strewn across my lap, throwing them back into his closet.

“What, I don’t get to say if I like it or not?” I whine a little at him with a small pout on my face.

He giggles before replying, “I already know you like it, Kenny. Now, come help me do my hair.”

I give him a ‘What the F…’ face before complying and following him into his bathroom, disregarding the half finished, now cold cocoa on his nightstand. We spend at least another ten minutes fixing half of his bangs into a small, bright yellow barrette on one side of his head and fixing the other half of his bangs into two bobby pins: one black and one yellow.

Once Butters is done getting ready for the party, we rush back down the steps and out the door, tossing a goodbye over our shoulders to his parents, bounding straight into my truck. It takes me three minutes to get back to my house and even less time to change clothes.

By the time we arrive at Token’s house, it’s already 7 o’clock and the party is obviously well underway. I pull my truck up behind Stan’s massive black SUV and jump out of the truck, slamming the door shut before locking it. Butters is right on my heels with a huge smile on his face, eager to get in and party. I grab his wrist and pull him into a run up the front lawn and straight through the front door where we literally run right into Cartman.

“AY! Who the sh- KENNAY!” Cartman yells at me, crushing me in one of his iron-gripped hugs. He drops me after a couple of seconds of me gasping “Can’t Breathe!” and shoves a cold beer in my hands. He does a once over on Butters before a shit-eating grin slides onto his face and I can only imagine what he’s thinking about. I chug half of my beer within the time it takes Cartman to look Butters up and down and open his mouth to speak.

“Butters, Kennay, let’s go do some mother fucking shots now that everyone is here,” He slightly slurs out and I vaguely wonder how much he’s drank or smoked. He turns around and walks towards Token’s kitchen, which is where I assume everyone from our group is, and I follow him draping an arm around Butters’ shoulders. Butters fits snugly against my side, wrapping his arm around my waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. We make our way into the kitchen just in time to see Craig do a body shot off of Tweek, the room exploding into laughter and cat-calls. My eyes widen momentarily, but not out of shock from seeing one of my very male, good friends do a body shot off of the very male other, but out of wonder: body shots don’t usually start for another hour or so. Are we really that late?

I spot Kyle and Stan hovering over the island, pouring Burnett’s Blueberry Flavored Vodka into nine shot glasses. I steer Butters towards them, eyeing the shot glasses like a predator eyes its prey. I spot mine (We each painted our names onto our favorite shot glass) in between Butters’ and Tweek’s glasses. My name is written in bright orange paint and under it is a little drawing of a skull and cross bones that Tweek helped me paint. The vodka is almost spilling over the sides of my glass while the vodka in the glasses on either side of mine is a little over half way filled. I smile a little: Butters and Tweek were always the light-weights. Glancing over the shot glasses, I’ve come to the conclusion that the level of alcohol in each glass is directly linked to how much the person who owns the cup has already had to drink. Aside from mine, only three other glasses are filled to the brim: Stan’s, Kyle’s, and Clyde’s. Cartman’s glass has a thin line of space between the brim of the glass and the liquid, and Craig’s and Token’s are two thirds the way full.

I take my shot glass and pass Butters his while the rest of our crew surrounds the island. The shots are passed out and on the count of three and a ‘cheers’ to another kick ass party courtesy of Token, we all down our shots in one go. The liquid burns as it slides down my throat and leaves a trail of fire into the pit of my stomach.

I look at Stan, who has the bottle of vodka clutched in his left hand, and say, “Another round,” before finishing off the rest of my beer, chucking it across the room into one of the open trashcans that litter every room of the house. Stan and Kyle slam their glasses back onto the counter besides mine and Butters’, refilling all of them to the very top. I turn to look at Butters, handing his shot glass (his name in hot pink letters and the face of Hello Kitty underneath) to him.

“You sure you can handle a whole shot, baby boy?” I taunt him with a challenging smirk on my face.

Butters narrows his eyes at me and takes the shot from me replying with, “You sure you can handle me?”

My smirk widens and I clink our glasses together, downing the shot before leaning forward so my lips were right next to Butters’ ear, whispering, “Oh, I’m absolutely positive I can handle your pretty little ass.” I slide my arm from around Butters’ shoulders and walk towards the game room think of just how unsure I am if I really could handle that ass.

Little did I know that I would be tested that very night.

PS!

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=370209478235&ih=024&category=155205&rd=1&ssPageName=WDVW
This is the Hello Kitty Hoodie that Butters ends up wearing if anyone’s curious.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

YellowHaired, BlueEyed Bunnies