Title: It's Just The Cold
Author: Donnie
Fandom: South Park
Setting: The Park
Pairing: Mike Makowski/Firkle Smith
Characters: Mike Makowski, Firkle Smith
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: K
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 418
Type of Work: Daily Drabble
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Fluff, Teasing, Slight Innuendo
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Firkle insisted it was the cold, but Mike knew better.
AN: So, I found this prompt on Tumblr and couldn't deny that it would be perfect for Mike and Firkle. I'm pretty psyched to be writing more again, so I think this will be a fun little drabble. I hope you guys enjoy!
It's Just The Cold ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Are… Are you blushing?" Mike asked, eyes wide as he stared at the goth nestled into his side. Firkle's head immediately ducked down and he covered his face with his hands.
"What? No. I'd never-" But Mike's smug grin only made him frown more, looking away with rose stained cheeks. There was no hiding it at this point, and that made him angry. Kicking at the snow at his feet, he decided that that would be his best cover.
"Did I, Mike "Vampir" Makowski get the ever-stoic, hardcore, badass Firkle Smith to blush?" The absolute pride in the faux-vampire's tone only made the goth beside him groan. He was going to kill someone. The kids in the park looked like good targets. Sitting on the bench with Mike was obnoxious now that he was caught in the act.
"No! It's… It's just the cold. It's fucking seventeen degrees out, Mike. It's cold out here." While he had aimed for menacing and an end to this conversation, his crossed arms, pouty lips, and huffy attitude only made him look adorable.
"Huh. It's the cold, is it? Not the fact that I told you 'Your face is freaking adorable and I bet the rest of you is, too'?" God, Firkle wanted to scratch out Mike's eyes right now. He couldn't believe that Mike was making him come to terms with feelings in public. He ought to reach over and stab him just to end this stupid charade.
"N-no." His voice cracked. His fucking voice gave him away, and his blush only seemed to grow up to his nears and down his chest. For a guy that could walk around in a thin button-up shirt, he sure was red in the 'cold'.
"Of course, it's the cold." Mike finally acquiesced, sensing that much more of this teasing would end in bloodshed. Kissing the top of Firkle's head, he pulled him in closer. "Would you like to go back to my lair and warm up?"
"Stop calling your basement your lair, Mike. It's lame." Firkle whined, huffing again and shoving his face into Mike's chest, ignoring the buttons digging into his cheek. "But yes. Anything to get out of this." This cold? This situation? Mike wasn't entirely sure, but he stood anyway and wrapped an arm around the other's waist.
"To my lair, then." He winked, carefully guiding the little goth alone the path to take them to his house.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: