Titolo: A thousand kisses deep
Fandom: The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck (la Saga di Paperon de’ Paperoni)
Personaggi: Scrooge McDuck (Paperon de’ Paperoni), Goldie O’Gilt (Doretta Doremì)
Conteggio Parole: 1372 (LibreOffice)
Note: inglese!, NSFW, what if legata agli eventi di A little Something Special e, conseguentemente, a The Prisoner of White Agony Creek. Si, ci mancavano solo i paperi nella mia vita, ma ho sempre adorato la Saga di Don Rosa, e letta Qualcosa di veramente speciale ho *dovuto* cedere. In inglese perché così m’è uscita, perché pensavo che tanto in italiano non avrei trovato niente (guess what? Mi sbagliavo!), e perché a chiamarli Scrooge e Goldie avevo meno l’impressione di scrivere P A P E R I C H E S C O P A N O. AIUTO. Notare come ho fatto di tutto per non nominare sembianze anatrine, thank you very much XDDDD.
You live your life
As if it’s real
A thousand kisses deep
Goldie’s voice rang, unperturbed, like a fine silver bell. Scrooge had expected the passing of so many years to leave a faint croak in its tune, like a crease in a bedsheet, yet time apparently had no power over it – and neither did Scrooge himself, as it had left him gaping, quite ungentlemanly, like a goddamned fish.
“W-well what, woman–” he managed, unsuccessfully trying to hide the quiver that was bubbling from his stomach up to his voice.
“I hope you didn’t actually think your lust would simply go poof! over the years, because seriously, Scrooge, you must have a very strange idea of how you guys work down there–” she chuckled, as she climbed down from his desk with a faint clack of her heels and put the ruffles of her skirt back in place.
“Shut yer trap, I’m practically dead!” he blurted out. The embarrassed frown on his face quickly turned into a bluish-tinged grimace as he realised how self-demeaning that must have sounded.
“– besides, considering how you stayed practically a virgin after you left White Agony Creek…” she purred, giving his words no notice whatsoever.
“I didn’t—I never—!”
“Oh, my dearly beloved,” she threw her head back laughing “I’ve had plenty, and you cannot lie to me, no matter how hard you try!” and placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself.
“I can tell,” she breathed into his ear, her voice suddenly softer “because there is no way I would forget, ever.”
Close to his chest, Goldie gave him a long, unflinching look. Her eyes had not changed – that liquid, warm blue that even his dreams could not get quite right… Scrooge felt his knees give out from under him. He tried to speak – God forbid he’d make less of a fool of himself, of course! – but his blood was boiling froth in his veins. Funny how just talking to her still seemed like hay fever and sunstroke all at once – even lifting her up on his desk to stifle his moans against the ribs of her corset was, somehow, less fatal.
“Cat got your tongue, or is being a blabbering old coot your pastime of choice?”
“And here I was,” he said, half-sneering “thinking blabbering old coots were a particular fetish of yours!”
“My idea of a fetish is a healthy young man I can pistol-whip at will… you, on the other hand… I guess I’ll just have to make the best of it, since you’ve one foot in the grave – your words, not mine!”
There was absolutely no doubt that Donald had inherited Hortense’s bad temper, heavily spiced with an abundance of occasional McDuck idiocy, he realised, in the exact moment he felt Goldie’s presence stir the air, his stomach dropping to the ground.
She just went up and kissed him – the wench! the nerve! – leaving him to stutter in a pool of his own sweat. He protested and roared as she left his office with a sway of her hips, teasing and patronising at the same time. He would have their heads for this joke, those meddling serpents he had for relatives, who managed to give him the only thing he’d ever—
Scrooge shivered. As soon as Goldie had left the room, something of her lingered still, something not quite like perfume – a slightest trace of incense, perhaps, more like a feeling of her, rather than a real smell. His heart knocked hard against his ribcage, sucking all the blood from his face, her kiss on his lips like a second skin.
“Ah, blast it!” Scrooge sprung to his feet and ran for the door, almost smashing the glass pane in the process. His frenzy burned a trace through the carpet, and Ms. Quackfaster froze on the spot, not knowing whether to laugh her head off or call Mr. Donald back for his own sake.
Completely oblivious to her employee’s surprise, Scrooge finally reached the entrance to his bin, cool air frosting all the hairs on his face. Goldie was still going down a few steps, her gown raised in her hand like a shimmer of stars, straight and exquisite as the young girl she used to be. He almost stumbled spectacularly in his haste to get closer, and finally, finally wrapped his arms around her, the way he should have done long before, her curls in the crook of his neck, her back pressed against him – was she so brittle, so inconsistent, once, beneath her bodice?
“Scrooge,” and Goldie paused, relieved that he could not dare to look at her face “are you dying, or just insane?”
He didn’t answer, but bent over and kissed her for dear life, some stupid apology fumbling from his lips to hers as he dragged her back to his office, not noticing how Goldie eased bonelessly in his grasp, more in satisfaction (fifty years it took him!) than actual surrender – might as well let him believe to be the leading man for once!
The scenario unfolding before Ms. Quackfaster’s eyes upon her boss’ return was either extremely surreal, or taken straight out of a third-rate romance novel, because the mass of cloth and gaiter limping through the entrance looked a lot like a very out-of-character Mr. McDuck actually carrying Ms. O’Gilt in his arms, a sight that quickly persuaded her to leave her post for the day.
The door shrieked on its hinges and thundered shut behind them. Deaf to anything but the dark buzz of Goldie’s blood, so close to him, Scrooge dug the tremor of his hands in the folds of her dress, and they both crashed into his desk, every device on it shattering to the ground. A pile of paper he had forcibly sat Goldie on slanted dangerously, eventually swishing to the floor. She tipped forward as Scrooge held her breathlessly, clinging to her as if she could vanish. Her hands plunged into his hair, Goldie let him kiss her, open-mouthed and desperate, his touch curling to caress every inch of her over the thin layers of clothes. She moaned, low and throaty, as he dotted her neckline with kisses and God knows what other nonsense. She shuddered bone-deep as she realised, in a white-hot wave of pleasure, how the need to be touched was driving her mad – Scrooge drew a thin line over her buttocks with the tip of his fingers, making her shift and gasp. No more words were needed, though, when he tangled his hands in her skirts and lifted them up, the hem of yellowing lace swirling furiously under his urgency – he half-smiled, a lump in his throat, because he remembered that gown and its gleaming silk, the glint of all of its sequins, some now lost, its fabric faintly musty with the scent of old dresses kept for grand occasions. How much of that time was gone? Goldie intercepted his eyes, resting her forehead against his temple, drew a puff of breath to murmur his name, maybe, and just that was enough to make him lose control. Her voice hitched slightly, and Scrooge had to grip the edge of the desk hard, overwhelmed with the memory of a dirty barrack and his own face stricken with grease, Goldie sucking his bloody lip while he took her in a rough trust, not knowing if he wanted to break her apart like ripe fruit, or break every bone in her body or kiss each one of them, or maybe everything at once.
Afterwards, Scrooge sighed incredulously, leaning against the desk into the lush flower of her skirt, hands laced behind Goldie’s back to keep her sitting. Half-kneeling on the floor, mind desperately racing because that’s what he called ‘shoot first, questions later’ and now what in the world was he going to do with—
He swallowed and moved aside – above his head, Goldie was watching him with a preadory, fluttering look. Now he’d done it, he thought distractedly, as she climbed down.
“And how would you feel if this blabbering old coot asked you to stay for dinner?”
“I’d be delighted. No canned beans, this time around!”
“And what about staying a while longer…?”
A/N Aug. 6th, 2016, 6:05 pm. It turns out they reprinted The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck here in Italy, a couple of months ago this year. Comic-wise, it was the only Disney-verse thing I’d ever loved as a kid, given that it was the furthest thing from conventional duck universe storytelling I’d ever read. It kinda all went downhill from there – I managed to find The Prisoner of White Agony Creek, which was never published outside Uncle Scrooge before, here. I have tried to keep my dignity intact since then (anthropomorphic ducks, self? You serious?), but then I found A Little Something Special (a PDF of which you can read here) and I could not get it out of my head, so I stopped restraining myself any longer. So well, here it is. I personally find it a little stiff (ah-ah. No pun intended), and perhaps a little out of boundaries, as it were XDDD, still, it’s the longest thing I’ve written in over a year, regardless of the language, so I’m happy that my inspiration hasn’t flatlined completely, and I hope my English is acceptable! Please do point out any mistake you can find, you’re going to help me immensely ;__;! The title is from a Leonard Cohen song.