Chapter Text
Kenny McCormick had never been shy about sex. Never have been, never will be, were the words he had said when he’d first brought up the issue to Butters.
It was the spring term of their sophomore year, and his current roommate had had enough of his escapades. Kenny reassured him that it wasn’t every night he was bringing someone back to his bed, but he did admit that it was quite frequent. Still, he shrugged it off. Isn’t this what college is kind of about? Exploring? Learning about yourself?
Butters agreed with that logic to an extent. There were just different ways people explored. Some did it through academics (which was kind of expected), while others did so through sports, extracurriculars, or parties. Most would have said they did a bit of all the above.
Yet when it came to Kenny, he was most interested in sex. It was part of why he majored in sociology, because he truly did enjoy the social aspects of sex and intimacy. He could talk to Butters for hours about a survey on attitudes towards sex conducted in England, or a study on the differences in signs of affection between varying levels of acquaintanceship here in the United States.
Kenny never minded admitting he’d like to be a leading researcher in sex. He sometimes (jokingly) justified his own sex life as an adequate precursor to the studies he’d eventually propose. He didn’t mind admitting he was a bit obsessed with it, not to himself or anyone who asked.
Not that Butters actually asked. Kenny just introduced himself as a sex-positive bisexual as he extended his hand to Butters in their shared sociology class. He wasn’t very shy about his own sexuality either.
Butters enjoyed that about him. He sometimes wished he was that open about things himself. Kenny was a bit of an inspiration to him in that way.
Yet that’s where they differed. While Kenny wasn’t shy, Butters was excruciatingly so. Kenny was the first friend he’d made since moving onto campus, purely because he just didn’t really talk to many people.
At that point, he hadn’t declared a major yet, but he was in a lot of sociology classes because he just wanted to understand people sometimes. If groups of people agreed on certain ways of life, then what made him the outlier? In what ways might he fit in?
Butters had been told most of his life that he was too sensitive, or that he needed to speak up more if he wanted to get anywhere in life. He was a bit too trusting. A bit too kind as well. So, it often felt used and thrown around by people who called themselves friends.
Kenny might have been the only person on campus that made him feel like being these things, introverted and sensitive and silent, wasn’t so bad. When he talked to him, he felt a little less isolated, and a little less strange.
So, when Kenny brought up that his roommate was fed up with him, Butters offered to let him come crash in his dorm room instead. If he wanted to use his bed a few nights a week (to even things out with his roommate), Butters didn’t mind. His roommate was often gone doing his own thing, especially during the weekend. Butters could find things to busy himself with too.
Kenny gaped at him, wide-eyed, either genuinely shocked or pleased. Butters guessed he might have been both since he couldn’t tell if it was just one or the other.
Yet Kenny shook his head, telling him he didn’t want to put him out of a place to sleep.
That was another thing Butters enjoyed about Kenny. He could tell when Butters was extending himself too far—offering too much of his time or energy—and called him out on it.
For some reason, however, Butters didn’t feel relieved his offer was rejected.
He honestly wanted to help Kenny in some way if he could.
“Well, gee, Ken. If I were your roommate,” Butters said. “I’d have the decency to let you do your thing.”
He believed that whole-heartedly too. He’d only had one person his whole life that he’d consider a best friend. He never called Kenny that outright, but he thought of it sometimes. If someone ever asked him, he was sure the answer would be Kenny McCormick. And he wasn’t about to judge his best friend’s sex life.
“Do you want to be?” Kenny asked.
“Be what?” Butters replied, already forgetting the context.
“Do you want to be roommates?”
It was asked over two burgers and a side of shared fries in the dining hall. Fitting, since nearly all of their real conversations always happened after class with some sort of food between them. Most often, it was burgers and fries. A combo Kenny had often compared to their own friendship. The burger—with a clusterfuck of whatever toppings came with it. The fries—stable and familiar. Not too exciting, but always good.
Butters didn’t have to guess which one of them was which when he said that. He enjoyed being Kenny’s definition of good.
He liked that Kenny had an affinity for making food comparisons. It wasn’t something he’d expected. Then again, there was nothing to expect from Kenny except for surprises. Constantly.
It was how Butters got that nickname in the first place. He made the mistake of getting a slice of butter with his baked potato, and Kenny was immediately impressed with how the color of it matched his hair.
Been calling him “Butters” ever since.
The lunch thing had started as a simple invitation after the first few weeks of class. Do you want to grab some lunch with me?
Butters had been certain when he said sure that it would be a one-time thing. Kenny seemed to be that kind of dude. Only giving things one go around because the first time is the best time. He gave that aura off long before Butters actually knew it was true.
Yet it turned into once a week. Twice a week. Whenever they saw each other passing by.
And now Kenny was asking him a question that would that practically upend the way he lived with the same tone as asking him out to lunch.
Though it scared him, Butters knew he would regret turning the offer down.
Who wouldn’t want to live with their best friend?
That was how they ended up as roommates in their third year of college. It was an easy choice. Butters got to see more of the one guy on campus he enjoyed being around, and Kenny was free to be as sexually active as he wanted.
It rarely bothered Butters, just like he figured it wouldn’t, and even on the nights that it did, he never complained. He was happy when Kenny was happy, so that evened things out.
Their rooms were side by side though, so there was no buffer between Butters and the noises that would come out of Kenny’s room late on a Friday night. Just one wall that barely insulated the air-conditioning, let alone noise. It was truly a marvel how loud it could get, but Butters was used to sleeping through it by now.
It was about four months into their living arrangement that Butters woke in a cold sweat, provoked by a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He used to have them all the time when he first started college, but they lessened over time. Getting used to being away from home helped. Living with someone he called a friend instead of a stranger was good for him too. But some nights it still couldn’t be avoided.
He sat up in bed, with his pulse racing for no good reason, and then heard a loud bang from the wall on his right. There was a woman’s squeal, and what he had to assume was Kenny growling out some sort of sentence to her. It honestly sounded feral.
It wasn’t a shock to Butters. In fact, he thought it was fun to bring things like that up to Kenny when morning came. For as much as he insisted that he wasn’t shy about sex, he sure did turn beet red when Butters gave him shit.
Butters was used to life with Kenny being like this. Loud and unpredictable.
But he did have to admit it wasn’t helping him sleep right now. Not when his chest felt like it housed a waterpark, his heart pushing and pushing more and more blood out of every vein and artery like slippery slides. Usually, visuals like that could help him calm down. Something fun and nonsensical. His mind often created them out of nowhere, a survival skill he didn’t remember learning, but there was no such luck with it this time.
This was skin-and-bone anxiety. It swelled in him, like his innards had swelled with water in the night and were trying to slither out. The waterpark inside him was drowning. Pin-prick points of dread like gusts of cold air made him tremble. The anxiety may have started somewhere in his head, but now it was totally stuck in his body.
It was not a night for falling back asleep.
Butters had to accept that.
His parents used to say it was because he was afraid of his own shadow. He was sensitive to changes in the wind and the tone of people’s voices. He couldn’t stand the feeling of rough denim, nor could he be at a concert or a busy mall for too long. Affected deeply by a world that had so much to offer. An overwhelming amount, which he often couldn’t handle well. To some extent, that all was still true. Yet Butters was kind of hoping he would grow out of it. But at twenty-two years old, that probably wasn’t going to actually happen.
At least it was better than before. Kenny certainly was a good way to expose himself to the overwhelm. He was loud, abrasive, and pushed Butters’ limits. Somehow, Butters hadn’t felt the need to keep his distance from him, like he did others with those traits. It might have been the disarming way he smiled, or how everything felt more like a game or challenge when he was around. Kenny always found ways to make the hardships of life seem less daunting, and that was what Butters needed.
He'd seen the side effects of Butters’ overwhelm too, and he seemed to understand. He’d back off, but never really leave the room. Always kept his door open in those moments. Sometimes Butters would talk. Other times, he wouldn’t. Actually, couldn’t was more of the appropriate word for it. These were the only times Kenny never pushed him.
He couldn’t go to Kenny now, though. Just casually having a meltdown in the middle of his one-night stand. Just imagining the subsequent embarrassment of knocking on his door made Butters’ skin feel ridged and cold.
He yanked the covers off himself, frustrated beyond belief. He had very few options.
One, he could cry. That would get most of the anxious energy out. Get his body to shut the hell up.
Two, he could pull an all-nighter. Stop trying to force himself to rest and do something productive. Maybe watch a show on his laptop or work on an essay.
Three, he could go back to something he wished didn’t work so well. Something he kind of wished he never found and didn’t love so much.
Three seemed like the best choice, because while crying and staying up til dawn could help bring him back to a sense of stability, three could made him feel good.
Butters wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, snatched his ear buds off his bedside table, then grabbed his laptop from his desk. He didn’t need much of an excuse to turn to his tried-and-true method. Hypnosis rarely failed him.
He’d stumbled upon it after being recommended meditation by a university counselor. Little did he know there were many different types of meditation. Guided. ASMR. Music Based. All somewhat similar, but those that aligned themselves with the idea of hypnosis were the ones that truly gave Butters relief. There was something about the language, maybe even the way the words were spoken, that appealed to him. It seemed more poetic, maybe even magical, and for some reason that made Butters like it more. He wished he was a practical, serious person sometimes, but he just couldn’t force himself to be.
Sometimes he did want magic to be real, so it could just take him over. Be a force in his life that he didn’t have to work too hard for, just let in into his body with a couple deep breaths and a willingness to listen. That may have been the difference after all. Meditation felt forced to him, like he was meant to be doing something he didn’t know how to do. Hypnosis was an invitation, an easy escape, where it didn’t matter what he thought, because he wasn’t supposed to be thinking.
He quietly opened his door and closed it behind him. The noises from next door didn’t stop, not even a tiny bit, so he safely assumed he wouldn’t be heard. He made his way into their shared living room and nestled into the couch. He couldn’t open his laptop fast enough, wanting desperately to search for a script or an audio—maybe even a video?—to help him be a bit less aware, and hopefully drift back into a place where he could rest again.
He'd look for one that would just prepare him to sleep. Then he’d get up and get back in bed before Kenny was done. Butters only ever saw Kenny’s partners if he was up late enough. They were never there in the morning. So, Butters assumed they crept out in the night, and Kenny let them. So, he was on a bit of a timer here. He didn’t want to be there when that door eventually opened.
Reading a script would take too long. It was too hard for him to focus right now with how scattered his thoughts and pulse felt, and he’d probably find himself rereading a bunch of the sentences. Videos were starting to sound less appealing by the minute. Too much visual stimulation, depending on if it were a spiral or something with strobing effects. So, audio only it was.
He had several saved from various different hypnotists on the internet. One day he’d be brave enough to commission a file or something, but he did was he could with what he found. He could pick the duration of it too, fortunately. He needed short, deep, and effective. Also, something with a physical element to it would be nice. He needed something for his body to do right now.
Only one file seemed to have all of those, called The Spirals in Your Body. It was fifteen minutes long, an intermediate level session (assuming the listener had some degree of experience with hypnotism), and the hypnotist was one he particularly enjoyed. They went by the name Sw33tBunni, and their voice was soothingly androgynous, so Butters didn’t have to think too hard about what gender he was attracted to while trying to relax. This hypnotist allowed him to imagine any—if he even chose to.
Because that was part of it. There was a level of attraction to it that Butters couldn’t shake.
Something deeply warm and riveting about a trance. Being in one or creating one for someone else. He loved it in all ways.
He couldn’t let himself think too much anymore, or he’d run out of time. From what he could glean from the title, it was body oriented. The description, from what he skimmed over, did say it would make the listener sleepy. That was important to him right now. He also trusted this hypnotist. They’d take care of him. He didn’t need much more than that.
He popped the ear buds in and clicked on it. No time for doubting. It was done. All he had to do was listen now.
The tender, sweet voice filled his ears.
Aw, there you are. Back for more when you need my words the most. Here to fill your ears and your mind with my soft words and breath. Yes, that’s right. That’s not surprising, is it? Not to me, or to you. This is what you need on a sleepless night, don’t you?
Oh, he absolutely needed it. Even the first few sentences had begun to calm him. His mind wasn’t entirely focused yet, but his body was reacting. His own breathing slowed, though he wasn’t sure if he could fully inhale yet. His chest still felt too tight, clenched around his heart.
Shhhh, breathe with me, darling. You’ve been taken by me before, and you know how good it is to give yourself to me. Hand over your mind, sweet thing. There you go. So easy to do. Gently letting go of the thoughts that bind you to wakefulness. That’s it.
It was tougher tonight than it usually is, but he started to find the rhythm of his breathing in their words. They weren’t panicking, and they weren’t breathing fast by any means. Butters didn’t have to either. He was free to take things slower now. He could breathe a bit more. He could settle for a moment.
He could let his thoughts go, now that someone else was telling him he could.
Go on. Let yourself relax. It’s just you and me, my darling. You’ve probably been trying to sleep already, haven’t you? Perhaps you woke in the night and can’t get back to the rest you need. You’ve tried so hard. Worn yourself down so much just trying to get your body to rest. Well, you don’t need to try anymore. Not with me. Not when you have my voice right here, gentle and commanding in your ears.
The understanding they had of his situation calmed him instantly. They knew he tried, that he was unable to stay asleep. They knew and gave him permission to not worry about it anymore. He didn’t have to struggle anymore. He could just sit back and listen to someone who wanted to help. A kind hypnotist, who he wasn’t bothering by asking for said help.
To know he wasn’t bothering anyone was a huge relief. A voice that did nothing but shush his thoughts, pre-recorded and anonymous, felt soothing.
A voice is often all you want, all you need. But I’m going to give you more tonight. I’m going to give you the power to calm your body, darling. I’m going to give you the chance to feel parts of your inner world you’ve never felt before.
Butters did like the idea of that. He was used to being levelheaded to some degree, and he had no problem meditating (especially with all the time he spent learning to go into trance). It hadn’t been the most natural thing to him. He had to really try; really want it to work before it did.
He was used to taming his mind. Naming and understanding his emotions. Taking stock of his feelings.
Now, if he could tame his body, that would be a different story.
Being so well versed in hypnosis by now, you must know about spirals, yes? Those perfect coils of endless relaxation and mesmerizing motion?
Of course, Butters knew about spirals. They weren’t everyone’s favorite mode of hypnotism, but they were a staple of the craft. Everyone used and watched spirals when they first started. One of the most available tools out there, with all the YouTube videos, tumblr pages, and Twitter feeds dedicated to them.
They were pretty easy to focus on, too. Spinning that continued for a wide expanse of time. Over and over, so consistent and steadfast. The same speed, same direction, just waiting for your eyes to find its secret inner patterns. For you to stare and stare until your eyes have to blink. Until they got tired. Until the lines of the spiral blurred and it was nothing more than a blending of brightness and color. Sometimes just light and shadow.
Even just the suggestion of a spiral had got Butters’ mind wandering. Creating the image of one in his head. It had milder colors—light purples and blues. One that would hurt or strain to look at. It would simply invite him in. Let him keep watching. Let him fixate.
Yes, he was one of the many who gravitated to them. He couldn’t help that they worked for him. That the gentle motion eased his thoughts. That the absence of a time limit comforted him. He was free to stare at the ever-rotating loops until he was truly mesmerized. Safe to take as long as he wanted.
It already had Butters’ eyes drooping slightly.
The hypnotist must have been counting on this idea: the fact that the listener already had a fondness of spirals.
There are spirals locked deep inside your body. Did you know that? They are poured and filled into every curve of you. Inherently hypnotic and grounding. All powerful and beautiful, waiting to be discovered by your curious hands and fingers. I am going to help you find them.
Butters was honestly doubtful of this claim. Even in his imagination, his body wasn’t something that special to him. It was just something he had as a regular human. He didn’t pay it much mind, except when it was like this, all weirdly tense and jittery.
He was desperate to relax. To remember what it was like to feel good in his body. Perhaps it acted like this because he ignored it so often. Forgot to give it some attention once in a while. He wasn’t a super physical person, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have needs. He just didn’t know how to fulfill them sometimes.
Hypnosis kind of taught him how.
Taught him how to let his mind wander. How to let go of the things he didn’t want to think about. Kept him safe when the world felt like too much. Made him choose to love himself, care for himself, even when it was hard.
First, we will focus on your hands. Place your left hand on your forehead, the right on your chest. Left for the rational. Right for the emotional. Let them settle and press down. Let them hold you. Let them gather you up in their hold and sink into it. Feel your hands soak up the power from your mind and heart to feel more than usual. To be open to new thoughts and sensations. To feel just a bit further into your depths.
He liked that the hypnotist made that subtle nod to the left and right brain; the common associations with each side of it. He followed the commands easily, letting the doubt in his mind fade, if only for the moment. His hands were warm from where he had clutched the blanket around his shoulders. As soon as they laid along his head and chest, he sighed. The relief was immediate and tangible.
It was like being held. Just like the hypnotist said. It did make it that much easier to relax. To allow his body to unwind.
That’s it, darling. Feel the warm and gentle energy laying on your skin, tangling with your fingerprints. You have such power, though it mostly goes unseen and unused. But not tonight.
Butters could feel the energy slowly lining his fingers, a hum that made his skin prickle. He felt each breath in his chest, started to feel the air moving in and out of his body. Feeling how it curled and rustled inside him. He blinked a little.
Maybe he did have spirals. They’d just been where he couldn’t reach.
Soon, you will begin to truly touch yourself, and your hands will trace the patterns of spirals along your skin. Tender and light, yet unfamiliar. You are not used to feeling your body like this. Perhaps you are not used to touching yourself much at all. But for tonight, you will be able to give yourself this kindness. You will be able to touch, without much thought, and send yourself deep into trance, and even deeper into sleep.
Every time the hypnotist whispered the word deep, Butter’s eyes fluttered. He knew what it was like to be deep in the thrall of hypnosis. He wanted to be there again.
Ready, darling?
“Ready,” Butters whispered, smiling slightly now at the sound of darling on the hypnotist’s lips. Perhaps that was another reason Butters liked this one. The use of those soft-spoken names and titles. It told the listener exactly what they were, what they meant to the hypnotist. It eased Butters into whatever role they wanted him to take.
And here, he was dear to them. Here he was something to be taken care of.
Very good, sweet plaything. But I won’t be playing with you tonight. You’ll be playing with yourself.
His shoulders quivered, and a breathy whimper escaped him, though he couldn’t hear it over the voice in his ears. He wanted that. He wanted to be a plaything, nothing more, and toy with himself.
He hadn’t moved his hands from his forehead or chest. But damn did he want to. He felt himself squirm, his breath labored. His hands were on his body already, and he could only imagine how they’d feel sliding further down along his face, down his stomach…
It should have been so easy to move them.
Yet he couldn’t.
If he did, it would shatter the trance like glass.
The hypnotist chuckled.
They knew that.
So eager to touch now, aren’t you. Let’s start with your arms. Something nice and close. Easy to grasp. Let your hands take turns drawing on them until they feel heavy and relaxed.
Butters’ groan was quiet, yet so full of delight. There was nothing like that release. The sudden rush of joy at being allowed to have what he wanted. Even if it was only a little bit of it.
He ran his fingertips over his forearms, around his wrists, the delicate skin at the crease of his elbows. Touches that seemed to untie small knots of tension. So tiny that they were invisible to Butters as he went on with the day to day.
Yet now his fingers caught on them. Caressed them away until they unfurled and spiraled…
They spiraled.
Butters just about squealed now that he could actually feel them. His fingers automatically traced their patterns, their touch so gentle and feathery. Butters wanted more, to truly feel his hands across his arms, but they wouldn’t press any deeper.
Not yet.
The spirals needed to be persuaded out.
His hands knew that, and they did nothing but caress. They found and unraveled spirals, then flitted off elsewhere for more. No longer under Butters’ control.
They teased. They stroked. They seemed to lick gently at his skin. They made Butters feel weak.
Through all that loving touch, his arms grew lax, loosely led by hands that were hungry to explore.
Yessss. There you go. That feels so good, doesn’t it? Take that relaxed energy and bring it to your shoulders. Hug yourself, hold yourself, feel the round curve of your bones. Find the spirals. Let your fingers touch them.
Each hand immediately found its way to the opposite shoulder, his forearms crossed and slack at his chest. The embrace practically winded him. Hugging himself usually brought no comfort whatsoever. Yet it felt so reassuring in this moment. Kind of like—
Kind of like the hugs that Kenny would give him.
He was the only person that hugged him like this, long and hard. Like he wasn’t fragile.
It was as if Kenny wasn’t looking for an excuse to let go. Like he’d stay if Butters didn’t duck his way out of his arms after a minute too long.
Despite his mind wandering to his roommate at the weirdest time, the rhythm of his breathing slowed. His fingers found their place again, touching—teasing out more spirals—then beginning to rub deeper into his shoulders. Pressing into tight and sore muscles in a way that had Butters whining.
That’s it, starting to breathe easier, aren’t you. The softness of your own touch pulling out sighs and mewls of comfort from your throat. Good, plaything. Falling nice and deep into the spirals as you find them. Bring them out. You touch them so tenderly, and in turn they pleasure you so deeply.
Butters could feel it then. How these spirals were not flat like they had been on screens. They bloomed inwards and burrowed smoothly into his body. It was like an extension of his own soft touch. Reaching and flowing across his veins. Wrapping around them and cooling the hot panic of his pulse.
Like soft ribbons, a strange and deep mixture of purple and blue color in his mind. Reaching and undulating until he was trembling. Not with the cold of the night, but with some growing warmth that made his eyes flicker, his jaw hang heavy, his tongue loll nearly out of his mouth as he moaned.
The hypnotist seemed to like that. Somehow, they could tell what his body felt—seemingly without needing to see or hear him. Like they’d done this so many times before…
You can moan for me a little. That’s good. Let the noise come out. Nice and gentle and quiet. Vibrations so good and low in your throat. Like small fizzing spirals as they lift and curl across your tongue. It only makes you drift deeper into trance.
Another moan rumbled faintly in Butters’ throat. It was so quiet, yet it seemed to ripple across his entire body. He was starting to sway, the strength to sit upright quickly leaving him.
Let your hands fall upon your chest. More spirals here of course. One connected straight to your heart. You know the one. Circle it softly. Coax your heart to beat slower. You’re safe. You’re warm. Faintly sleepy. Deeply pleasured.
All the fingers of his right hand slowly drifted to the center of his chest, creating a wide circle that encompassed his heart. Like lassoing it in and tying one of those soft ribbons around it until its beat felt tired. Sluggish. Hypnotic in its steady rhythm.
Even through his shirt, his touch still felt close. The power of it making his clothes feel paper thin. Creating spirals that touched him further still. Tender and tingling, trailing just beneath his skin, mirroring the path of his fingers on top.
Work your way from the center out now. Two more spirals colliding with this one. One on either side. You know their centers very well, don’t you. They have brought you such pleasure before. Touched by you, and perhaps others who wished good things for your body. Who wished to see you blissful.
Butters sighed as soon as his fingers found his nipples. He circled them with fervor and felt them stiffen, the feeling of cotton fabric only making them more sensitive. His back arched into the sensation of more spirals unfurling, small jolts of arousal running down into his stomach and hips the more he touched himself.
He couldn’t tell if he was still moaning out loud or if it was in his head. Perhaps it was a bit of both. His brain and body receiving such pleasure.
The last suggestion was strange to him though. Others that wanted to give him this? He hadn’t really thought of that much. He’d never really asked for others to touch him; for someone else to pleasure him.
He didn’t really think anyone wanted to. He wasn’t much of a sexual being. There wasn’t much to be attracted to.
Not like some others he knew.
Think of those individuals now while you touch. Feel their adoring eyes on you and remember the bliss that radiates from these spirals. Let them take your mind deeper. Let them help your body surrender.
It had been automatic—his mind drifting to where it did.
He had been looked at with adoration before.
He’d known that look.
Butters was too far gone in his trance to monitor the images or feelings that rushed through him. It didn’t matter who or what came up. If they were here during this, they were a comfort. A deep comfort that his subconscious wanted. Yearned for.
And it was Kenny. Again, it was Kenny, and Butters couldn’t think hard enough to push him away.
His mind just showed him the darkest blue eyes that he’d ever seen, and Butters instantly knew who they belonged to.
His body seemed to know too.
It warmed and relaxed. So much so that he finally leaned back, letting his back connect with the couch behind him. His head tipped back as well; neck supported by the softness of the cushions. It was as if his roommate’s familiar presence sat beside him, lounging with no hesitance, endlessly confident. Like his presence took his hand, and showed him more ways to make his body tremble.
His fingers continued tracing and teasing his nipples. He flicked them, pinched them, squeezed—just barely. But it was enough to get his body to shiver into that breathless pleasure and fully give in, just like his mind had to the thoughts of his roommate dancing just behind his eyelids.
He didn’t want to admit that maybe he had a crush.
That sometimes when Kenny smiled, he stared.
That whenever he was around, he felt calmer. More like himself than ever.
That sometimes when he let him lean on his shoulder while they watched movies, Butters wanted to put an arm around his waist…
Hold him closer.
That seeing him happy was the only thing Butters wanted out of this living situation, even if he had to sacrifice his own sleep schedule—and maybe his own feelings…
He didn’t want to admit any of that. Doing so was to also admit he’d never be what Kenny wanted. What he’d need.
Yet letting his mind quietly remember those moments of sudden affection felt so good. Here, forgetting to have restraint, too hypnotized by touch and soft spirals—he couldn’t lie to himself about it either. To be in the presence of someone so confident and beautiful was just good in itself. That was good enough for him. It had to be. There wasn’t another option.
It was just a tiny crush. He’d get over it eventually.
Then the hypnotist’s voice brought him back to where his focus should have been.
Your stomach could use some of your touch too. Perhaps it feels knotted inside, tight and upset. You have the power to ease the tension. Just find the spiral, and it’ll relax you further.
Butters ran his hands down his sides and let his spine curve; pushed himself into his own touch. He couldn’t care less if it was shameless. If it looked desperate. He was desperate. He wanted to be reassured, to be calmed, to be claimed by these spirals that had remained a secret for so long.
He traced the slopes of his stomach, fingers rounding just beneath his ribcage, the edges of his waist and hips. He touched the small dip of his navel, the center of everything, and the spiral just unfolded like lilac petals. All the tension in Butters’ stomach dropped—intense and quick—and his next exhale devolved into a moan.
If he thought his hands were acting on their own before, now he had an image behind them that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. Each detail too vivid to ignore. Deep blue eyes with dark freckles just beneath. The thick, unapologetic ink spiraling down a bicep, like the tight twist of a snake’s tail. Tips of what he thought were flames across a broad chest.
Butters had only caught glimpses of Kenny’s tattoo.
He sometimes wondered if anyone got to see it. If those he invited into his bed were lucky enough to. He also wondered, to his own dismay, if they were able to touch it. To feel its pattern and the man beneath it. He could only imagine how Kenny touched them back. Assured and teasing. Rough enough to carve skin pink, maybe sometimes red.
Butters raked his hands down his stomach—wanting it.
Hips now, my darling plaything. Delicately curved and reaching towards your waist. Cradling one of the most powerful spirals of all, just between them. Only by touching and finding all the other spirals could you have found this one. You feel it as you stroke your hips, then caress down your thighs. It pulses. It tingles. It spins endlessly. The source of all the pleasure your body holds. The one spiral left you must touch to make your trance complete.
Butters obeyed and drew though spirals along his hip bones, feeling himself writhe. Pressing his thighs together, gathering that shameful, delightful, light sensation into his hips. The contrast fascinated him. The heavier and harder his erection got, the more it rose, floating. Weighted, yet so light. Sensitive.
He hadn’t even put his hand to it yet, but he knew once he did, that would be the last he remembered of this trance. The voice was right. The trance wouldn’t be complete until he touched that ache. He could feel that spiral throbbing, shifting, and twisting up towards the head of his cock.
Yet he was stuck at his hips until he got permission to move on. He petted himself, grabbed and massaged with agonizing softness, making his own craving to continue so much worse. He was so close to touching that spot that would make him forget.
Make him forget how attracted he was to a roommate who would never look at him with desire, like he did with nearly everyone else. Make him forget how on most nights they were separated by nothing but a wall, and how he was too afraid to call out to him. To ask him to hold him still and kiss him hard.
If he obeyed though, if he just waited and followed the voice, he could forget it all soon enough. For one short night.
Get yourself even more comfortable, lovely plaything. Lay yourself down and let your hand touch yourself. Deep between your hips. Good, plaything. So good for me.
As soon as Butters wrapped his hand around his cock, he practically fainted, body dropping onto the couch without grace—swooning into the biggest burst of spiral energy yet. There was nothing but mindless relaxation now. No thoughts of anything but the feel of his hand. The deep stretch of his limbs across the couch. The pleasure took him under, submerged him in the tangle of spirals all over his skin, threading through relaxed muscles and the ridges of his brain.
All he could think to do was touch. That’s all the voice told him to do. And that was all that mattered.
Circle that precious spot, my darling plaything. Clit or cock, you know just how to touch. You’ve entranced your entire body before with just this spiral. Rubbed it softly or deeply or desperately. Stroked and stroked, making the spiral coil faster and faster. Your body wants nothing else. It has always succumbed to the pleasure of this spiral. Always surrendered. Always sank into that deep sense of joy and bliss, as long as you kept touching. Too powerful to ignore. Just keep rubbing and stroking. Perfect, plaything. Rubbing and stroking, falling deeper and deeper under the power of the spirals.
It felt like everything that had kept Butters together was unraveling. Like he had always been coiled tight into a shape that gave him nothing but stress and fear. He stroked his cock, but he could feel the arousal everywhere. Beneath his fingernails, the underside of his knees, the curve of his ass, the sinew of his throat. Strange, soft, tight places. Forgotten, old, new, spaces.
Keep stroking. Edge yourself, darling. Take yourself deeper. Helplessly stroke the spiral that will claim your body and mind. The pulse between your hips getting faster and faster. Coming so close, and yet feeling so relaxed. On the cusp of such pleasure, and yet beginning to feel so sleepy.
The feeling was exciting, so incredibly horny and tired all at once. This was the feeling he’d wanted to chase tonight. He hadn’t expected it to come through masturbation, but at this point he was mindless enough not to care. He was finally sleepy again, finally feeling so good.
When you release the spiral from your hips, you’ll release everything. Everything for me. All thoughts and sensations. All of them gone. You will orgasm, then you will sleep. Perhaps at the same time. There is no way you can stop it now. Your hands are taking you there. Too good to stop. You will cum, and you will sleep. Say it, plaything.
“I will cum, and I will sleep,” Butters panted.
Again.
“I will cum, and I will sleep.”
Keep repeating as you touch. So deep in trance now. So deep you might not immediately remember what even happened when you wake. So deep and pleasured by these spirals in your body. So far gone and feeling so good. Edging closer, falling deeper, so easy to start to doze as you stroke your pleasure deeper into your body. Etching it in. So, you’ll never be without it again.
Butters felt so comforted by the thought that the pleasure wouldn’t leave him. Now that he found it, he could keep it. He could come back to the spirals, and they would take his body into their swirls; let him dream.
Time to sleep, darling. Cum for me, relax, and sleep.
Butters bit into his forearm to keep himself from screaming. He bit into it hard.
But he didn’t feel the sting of his teeth. He wouldn’t see the bruise until the next morning.
All was bright in his body. Then there was peace and darkness. That was all he felt.