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Storkules approached each day as if it were a gift, but there was nothing that could compare to the gift that was Donald Duck.
Not just Donald himself, steadfast and true adventurer that he was. But Donald in his arms, reciprocating his kisses as the sun set behind them, trading in one gift for another.
But never before had Storkules been more aware of his own strength than when Donald was in his embrace. He who could raise cities, clean the Augean stables in a day, and challenged the Cretan Bull to wrestling matches, feared he was not built for the gentle touches of a lover, that he could not mimic the soft caresses that Donald bestowed upon him.
He did not voice these worries, for fear of losing Donald’s love after so many years of longing for it.
And his concerns were hardly omnipresent, not when the day’s adventure might distract him. Everything was strange and new to Storkules in Duckburg, from the Super Market with its endless rows of meats and packaged delicacies, and the sweetest ambrosia Llewellyn introduced to him as “Pep!”, to the dark, indoor theaters that discouraged audience participation.
But sometimes on these outings, Donald was slip his hand into Storkules’ and he would remember all over again how easily he could harm his beau.
Storkules cherished their every moment together, but the time they spent in each others company and no one else’s he valued more than anything.
It was here, with Donald’s mouth on his own and Donald’s hands on his chest that, even with all of Storkules’ fear, he felt more love and reverence than he ever had as a member of his father’s pantheon.
But this bliss made him forgetful.
He traced circles on Donald’s back as they kissed, fingertips drifting up, beneath his shirt.
Donald sighed against his beak, sending Storkules’ mind spinning. Thoughtlessly, he pressed down harder on Donald’s back.
Donald broke the kiss with a gasp, and Storkules’ heart lodged in his throat.
“Friend Donald, are you alright?” he asked, sitting up and cradling Donald in his lap. He felt as though he’d been doused by Chione’s freezing rain, chilling him to his core. “Have I harmed you?”
But Donald only looked perplexed, resting his hands on Storkules’ forearms. “No, I’m fine,” he said, and Storkules knew Donald would not lie to him.
Storkules gathered him close, sighing with relief. “That is good to hear. Please know, I would not be able to forgive myself if I were to injure you in any way.”
Donald allowed the hug to continue for another moment, before gently pushing away to look Storkules in the eye.
“Have you been worrying about this the whole time?” he asked.
“Er,” Storkules said, for he did not lie. “Perhaps.”
Donald sighed, smiling softly as he reached up to caress Storkules’ cheek. “I’m not gonna break just because we’re dating now. You used to throw me in the air on a regular basis, I think I can handle making out on a couch.”
Storkules reached up to clasp Donald’s hand in his own, nodding in acquiesce. “As usual, you are right. Forgive my overreaction, dear Donald. I treasure you more than Helios does his sun, and would rather suffer death on a dozen sharp blades than allow you to come to harm.”
“I love you too, pal,” Donald said, and his smile was a gift all on its own.
Clutching Donald’s hand to his chest, Storkules reached out to cradle his cheek. “May I?” he asked. “My Pythias?”
Donald covered Storkules’ hand with his own, smiling wry and warm. “You may.”
Somehow, this kiss was sweeter than all that came before.