Title: Something Wicked This Way Comes
Author: Daisy
Fandom: South Park
Setting: Woods Around South Park
Pairing: Mike "Vampir" Makowski/Firkle
Characters: Mike "Vampir" Makowski, Firkle, Pete, Michael, Henrietta Biggle, Pet OC: Edgar Allen
Genre: Romance/Horror
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 2398
Type of Work: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Blood, Blood Rituals, Witchcraft, Unbeta'd
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Mike Makowski didn't expect this when he'd gone into the woods that evening, but instead he found out a new truth about the youngest goth.
AN: Found a bunch of Halloween AUs and I'm dying to write some. Like, literally super dying. I love fall and Halloween and all of that, so I'm super stoked to write some good ol' fashioned fall/Halloween AUs. Of course, Firkle and Mike are my first thing I write, but I really dig them as a ship and there isn't much for them. xD So I'm contributing! Also sharing headcanons. ; u; Here we go~
Prompt: I thought you were joking about being a witch but holy shit, you actually practice witchcraft, that's so cool and also kind of intimidating?
Something Wicked This Way Comes ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Firkle had first told him that he was a witch, Mike had laughed (nervously) and tried his damnedest not to believe him. Everyone knew the kid was a little messed up, a lot different, that he spent more and more time up at the cemetery the more his friends left town for college. The woods became a lair of sorts for the quiet, standoffish goth, who did things nobody really cared to acknowledge. It was on the tip of everyone's tongue, but they were too afraid to go against someone who could curse them. Nobody knew when the boy had turned to the craft, but there was a level of fear in their hearts when it came to him that kept their big fat mouths shut.
Of course, Mike had never been the kind of person to look down on someone who was different. While he was health-conscious, kind and helpful, he was also a believer in the occult. Somehow, he didn't pin Firkle to be the type to grab for witchcraft when he was lonely, but he supposed this was South Park. Stranger things had happened.
It wasn't until one evening that Mike was walking into the woods with his camera strapped to his side, his only true desire being to photograph a few animals for his mother, that he saw what was irrevocable proof that there was a witch in town. A mysterious trail of feathers and (worryingly enough) blood had him walking off the marked path and into the thick of the dead bushes and trees. Snow crunched beneath his heavy black boots, and as he walked along, snapping occasional pictures of the dead space around him, Mike was on edge. The harsh cold around him had his throat dry and cracked, and he was sure if he spoke, his voice would squeak.
With the sunset painting the sky in beautiful purples, pinks and oranges, dripping from a pale blue, to yellow, and beyond, everything was starting to go dark and the branches of trees overhead turned to sinister claws scrabbling at the sky. He pressed on despite this, slipping the camera into his trench coat's pocket and rubbing his arms a little. Something was pushing him deeper into the woods, and he knew he needed to figure this out. Whoever it was, the town deserved to know, didn't they?
Mike didn't know when his eyes had closed, but the sound of a crackling fire and quiet chanting brought him back into the present. Blinking brown eyes open, he peered into the clearing from behind the thin tree he'd found himself pressed to, gasping slightly at what he saw.
Firkle, in all his glory, wore little more than painted on black jeans and a black sleeveless shirt with a hood. The hood was down, for now, as he chanted with his face turned towards the sky, eyes closed and hands fisting what looked like the chain of an amulet. At first, Mike couldn't make out the words, figuring he was speaking in some other language, but then the words hit him like a physical blow to the chest and he gasped out loud.
Apparently he'd been heard, because icy blue eyes focused on his hiding spot easily and his heart was hammering so hard in his chest everything around them could probably hear it. The wheezing cry that left him when the no-doubt pissed creature took a step closer to him wasn't exactly the manly warcry he'd wanted, but he hardly looked intimidating as he fell into the snow on his ass. Scrambling back, his shoulder blades hit the rough bark of a tree that he didn't remember being there, and he looked up as a wave of darkness surged above him. One hand fisted in his black t-shirt and lifted him up enough to level their eyes, and Firkle's narrowed.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Mike?" Seething, the slightly smaller male grit his teeth a second, forcing his free hand into a fist and making the silent threat obvious.
"I- I was just taking pictures-"
"Taking pictures?!" Mike was pretty certain that he'd never known the true definition of fear before, not until this moment, the pure rage in Firkle's eyes enough to have him simpering out his answer in a whimpy whine.
"N-not of you! Not of you! I w-was taking pictures of the deer!" Not that there were any right now, but he couldn't help that; he may have just scared any around them off. Brown eyes went even wider as he watched a sizeable octopus slowly gliding down the arm that headed off with the fist in his shirt, and he gazed up at Firkle with a slackened jaw. "Wh-what is-"
"He's a coconut octopus." Came the suddenly calm voice, and as the first two tentacles touched Mike's temples, he gave a shuddering sob of fear and clamped his eyes shut. With six remaining appendages wrapped around a bared arm, the witch was able to close his own eyes and let Mike's thoughts fill his head. There were plenty of 'oh God's and 'oh shit's scattered about, but his story checked out, for the most part. After all, there would always be something he wouldn't say. "And he's the only reason you aren't dead-" The thought he gleaned next made him chuckle dryly, "Or turned into a frog, right now. I'd thank him, if I were you."
"U-uh… Th-thanks…?"
"Edgar."
"Huh?"
"His name is Edgar." Firkle stressed, and the octopus, somehow, looked almost offended. It was oddly comical, and he had to stifle a nervous giggle.
"Thank you, Edgar." Putting on his biggest Vampire Voice, he bowed as much as his current position would allow, and he swore up and down that the damn animal mimicked the motion before disappearing back wherever it had come from. "H-how do you do that…?"
"...Witches never reveal their secrets. Which reminds me," Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his switchblade and moved to sit on Mike's groin (for a lack of better seating), "Do you intend to tell anyone about this?"
"M-Me? Tell an-an-anyone?" With the knife pressed to the soft palate underneath his jaw, he couldn't seem to think quickly enough to stop his mouth from saying the first thing that burst from his lips, "No, no way! I'd never even think of doing something like that, not in a town like S-South Park." Oh, there he went, stuttering because he was scared, "I mean, it's actually really co-cool that you, uh. That you actually practice the craft! I mean, I… I think it's really intimidating, too, but like. Uh… If you, you know, let me go and…" Now, his eyes had fallen to the hand fisted in his shirt, and then up to the body of the kid bowed over him, and he gulped.
"And what, Makowski?" This was a hushed growl, something private and only for them to hear.
Suddenly, Mike's mouth and throat were so dry he was certain he'd never be anything but parched ever again, and his lover jaw quivered for a moment. Their positioning, the younger's hips over his, was really finally settling in, and he couldn't fight the need to moan softly at the demand. If this could get any more embarrassing, he hoped he'd get struck down by something slightly painful but mostly quick and painless.
"And… M-maybe I'll help you. A… A witch needs a coven, right? So… If any of the movies-"
"Most of the movies are wrong."
"If any of the movies are right, then you need about four witches to make a coven, at the least. Right?" When Firkle didn't move a muscle, he simply continued, "So… With us, there would be two, and I'm sure that we could find some other kids that would be interested."
"...So, why would you want to help me?" Raising a brow, the blue-eyed boy tipped his head to the side and his hand holding the knife wavered for a moment. That was all the pseudo-vampire needed, it seemed, as he gripped it carefully and tugged the smaller man closer. Pressing a kiss to his lips, he took the stunned response as quiet acceptance, because he wasn't dead, yet. Considering he continued to live on, even when the goth above him began to kiss back, melting into his body and replacing the knife in his pocket, well, he figured he hadn't really made a bet he couldn't win.
"Because I like you." Mike finally whispered between them, his breath hot on Firkle's lips, the younger's eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones for a moment before those eyes popped open and his gaze was locked.
"You like me." The way it dripped poisoned honey would have usually set off a thousand alarms, but the way the firelight behind Firkle lit up his frame, the similar fire in his eyes, it was rather distracting.
"Yes." He answered breathlessly, looking up with what the younger male considered an insane amount of fondness on his face. Reaching up to gently rub his thumb over solid cheekbones, he was shocked to see an almost shy reaction, Firkle's head tipping down and his eyes closing. "You're beautiful, e-especially like this." All powerful and terrifying, mysterious and open, in his element completely; it was like he was a God. Something about that made him shudder and the evidence very much pointed to Mike being incapable of lying with his indecent crush settled into his lap.
It took Firkle a few seconds longer than he would have liked to truly react, and his knee-jerk reaction had been to slice up a pretty new smile in the other's neck. Instead, however, he found himself dragging the other in by a fistful of hair and kissing him hard enough to taste copper between them. Mike wasn't sure whose blood it was, but the clack of teeth as the younger invaded his mouth was enough to have him giving a whiny moan.
Just as quickly as he had come, however, Firkle was gone, completely out of his lap and back over at the fire between one blink and the next. Mike didn't know how long he sat there like an idiot, looking at his folded knees, the way his body had slid down the tree until it was mainly touching his shoulders. This whole evening was turning into more than he'd ever bargained for.
"Are you coming, or not?" Firkle finally called, his voice both a whisper and deafening all at once.
While some indecent part of himself wanted to groan that no, he wasn't, and he very much would have liked that they got to that, he wouldn't force the younger man to do anything he wasn't ready for.
"Yes, yes of course." Getting up was something much easier said than done, what with the blood in his system rushing away from his brain. It left him a little dizzy as he nearly leapt to his feet, wobbling a little and leaning back on the tree again to keep from falling. The second he found it in him to move again, he was on like an obedient puppy, all wide eyes and cautious smiles.
"If we're going to induct you into my coven," And it most certainly would be his, "Then we need a few things." Drawing the slightly taller male to his knees before him, Firkle licked his lips, producing the knife from his pocket once more and priding himself on the gasp from Mike when the blade popped up. "First, a blood pact."
"Bl-blood?" Now, Mike looked uncertain, but all it took was the slant of the smaller's eyes and he was looking down, "H-how much?"
Taking his own hand, Firkle held it open, palm up, and cut a neat line diagonal from beneath his pointer finger all the way to the edge of his palm. After making sure Mike watched him lick it clean, he gestured for the other to give him his opposite hand, and allow him to copy the motions. This particular ritual would be the most painless, in the long run, but he wasn't sure if he should quite voice that particular opinion right now.
"It just takes a little." He finally spoke, his voice breathy and mind trying to focus on just what it was that he would need to say after. A simple spell would be all it would take, but it was putting it together that would really take some thought. As he spoke the words, he pressed their bleeding palms together, the blood mixing as his eyelids slid shut. Mike, for lack of better knowledge for what to do, closed his eyes as well and tried his best to repeat what Firkle said.
The delay didn't seem to dampen the spell's power, however, and Mike was honestly blown away by his wordsmithery. It wasn't until he felt this odd pull in his gut towards the smaller that he had to ask just what the spell he'd uttered meant.
"You're kind of… Inducted, now." Firkle explained hastily, his hand still clasped in Mike's, "We'll be the start of a new coven, now that my friends are all out of town. If nothing else, we'll have a fifth when we get back together for important holidays."
"Important…" Blanching at the thought of Michael, Pete and Henrietta returning to find him practicing witchcraft with Firkle, the elder stumbled back and placed his bleeding hand to his forehead for a second. This was suddenly catching up to him, and it was too much. "Jesus Christ, Firkle, what did you talk me into?"
"I told you. Last I checked, you have ears." Firkle's mirthless laugh was more manic than he was willing to admit to, and as he slipped over and took the other's injured hand, he licked it slowly. Shivers ran up and down his spine as he watched the way those blue eyes blossomed black at the taste.
"I- I need to go."
"You'll be back."
What Mike wouldn't admit to readily was that Firkle was right. After his hasty, stumbling retreat, he only stayed away for a full sixteen hours before he was seeking the younger goth out once more.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: