ShinyMachoke
Hitmonchan Defense Squad
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/they
A03
Fanfiction.net
Summary
Takes place a couple years after the show's finale, and Mark Beaks and Gyro Gearloose are in an established relationship. Mark wants to propose to his chicken love, but keeps getting cold feet (and it's not just because he never wears shoes)
Rated Teen (13+) for mild sexual tension
Mark Beaks was no stranger to being sneaky. Sure, he made nearly every waking moment of his life a public spectacle, but when it came to things he truly coveted... well, he wasn’t above some underhanded methods.
But today, the billionaire CEO had a different motivation for secrecy. And if he played his cards right, begin this scheme with Gyro Gearloose as his boyfriend and end it with him as something more.
Mark arrived at The Harborview early, just to make sure everything would run smoothly. Any other time, he would have picked his boyfriend up, but he asked that they meet up at the restaurant, in order to keep up the appearance of a casual date. He fidgeted with the tiny black velvet box nestled in his pocket, trying to quell his nerves.
This’ll be simple. A piece of cake. Nothing to worry about. He’s seen me at my worst, he loves me, I love him, he...
Then he arrived. And Mark’s resolve all but collapsed.
It wasn’t the first time that Gyro had gone without his signature hat, vest, and bow tie and dressed more (as Mark put it) like a normal person. And perhaps it was Mark’s own frantic state of mind clouding his judgment, but he found Gyro Gearloose unfairly gorgeous.
The lanky scientist wore a silk burgundy button-down top with short sleeves, the exact shirt that Mark had gotten Gyro for his 40th birthday several months prior. It was the first time Mark had seen Gyro wear his gift since that day, and he could have sworn that the chicken’s pale feathers stood more vibrant against the dark red garment, almost glowing. The shirt lay untucked, accentuating his tall stature. Charcoal grey pants and shiny black shoes completed the ensemble. Mark’s mother mentioned before that her son’s partner could make a stunning model if he just fixed his posture and altered his sense of style. For once, Mark agreed with her assessment. He suddenly felt rather underdressed in his orange and white striped polo, khaki shorts, and bare feet.
However, that handsome bastard had the audacity to wear slacks with a tail opening, the robust plumage billowing behind him like black and white ribbons. The sight of it left Mark’s throat dry and nerves frayed.
“Well, Marcus,” Gyro said. “Shall we head inside?”
“Y-yeah, sure, right!”
Dammit! He’s making this so difficult! Stupid, sexy Gyro!
The two birds entered the restaurant, and were met with a bright, spacious interior that opened to a sprawling veranda. A spread of teak wood furniture occupied both the indoor and outdoor spaces, each table containing a vase filled with sea glass pebbles and decorative driftwood. Woven cushions in hues of muted neutrals, toasty browns and soothing blues laid upon the chairs and longue furniture. Overall, The Harborview had a cozy, beachy ambiance without coming off as too kitsch.
“Quite the open floorplan,” Gyro commented dryly.
"Yeah babe, but wait’ll you see where we’re headed.”
To Mark’s relief, Gyro seemed oblivious to how few other patrons were present. Just according to keikaku.
Before long, they were greeted by a prim, matronly hound with curly blonde hair tied in a bun. She promptly guided the couple to their table, leading them to a secluded balcony overlooking Duckburg Bay. Sheer drapery held by a rattan lattice header shielded them from the western sun without spoiling the view, while sand-colored curtains hung loosely in the entryway, lending the two privacy without cutting them off from the rest of the restaurant.
Mark suggested that they order appetizers instead of having a full meal, due to recommendations from the restaurant’s “Yap” reviews. He didn’t have much of an appetite for a variety of reasons, and both he and Gyro were fairly light eaters.
For the next hour, Mark was able to unwind and just enjoy the company of the brilliant man he was lucky to claim as his boyfriend. The two proceeded to discuss their current projects, their technobabble incoherent to anyone but each other. The conversation eventually turned to topics such as the cringy try-hard memes Mark came across, and how Boyd was doing with his various Junior Woodchuck activities and volunteer work. Mark adored how Gyro’s features softened when talking about his robot son.
Soon, our robot son, Mark thought, smiling with optimistic warmth. Since reuniting with the boy by means of dating his creator- and learning about both of their deeply troubled pasts- Mark felt all the more determined to do right by Boyd, feeling shame in how he originally treated him as a novelty to exploit and not as the unique, kind-hearted child he truly is. Mark awaited the day Boyd would once again refer to him as his dad, but he understood that the little android would make that choice on his own terms.
The meal was finished and the conversation lulled. At the moment, Gyro rested one hand beneath his chin, content to silently observe the shimmering ocean horizon. A gentle sea breeze ruffled his feathers, now dappled gold by the late afternoon sun streaming through the lattice header. Mark always admired how Gyro kept his fluffy bangs so immaculate. The parrot imagined his own hair to be a mess by now, thanks to how often he ran a fretful hand through it (which his mother would have chastised him for, had she been present).
The time is perfect. Do it now.
Mark swallowed thickly. He reached inside his pocket, rubbing a thumb across the tiny box so fervently he wondered if any velvet fibers would remain on its surface by the time he made his... declaration. Not that it mattered, it was what’s inside the box that had him on edge. A barely audible whine escaped Mark’s throat. This would be so much easier if he had the attention of a vast audience to flaunt to.
Do it now.
The stuffed mushrooms and bruschetta felt like cement in Mark’s stomach. Needing a distraction from the unpleasant feeling, his thoughts turned to how one would refer to a meal like this. Brunch was a time between breakfast and lunch, so maybe this counted as a lunch-dinner. A dunch? Mark bet he could make #dunchdate go viral. He grabbed a napkin, intending to clean his fingers so he could fish out one of his phones without sullying its screen, but instead opted to tear the napkin into tiny bits. He then began to slide the papery pieces back together like a do-it-yourself puzzle.
Now.
He peered discreetly at the rooster sitting across from him, still idly watching the horizon . For the first time since the date started, Mark noticed that the first few buttons of Gyro’s shirt were undone to just below his collarbone. Any further would reveal the tuft of black plumage draped on his sternum. Further still would show how the majority of the feathers covering Gyro’s body were creamy white with black tips, giving him a speckled appearance reminiscent of vanilla bean ice cream. Mark ground his beak. He had the sudden mysterious urge to just call it a day, pay the bill, and take his boyfriend home to his swanky penthouse where he’d hungrily tear off that shirt, not caring if it ripped (Mark would buy Gyro a million button shirts if he so desired), bury his beak in those silky feathers and give them a thorough preening, rove his hands over the chicken’s lean body, reduce his beautiful mad scientist to a ravaged, moaning heap...
“You’re fidgeting. Is everything all right?”
Mark’s racing thoughts screeched to a halt. He met Gyro’s gaze, finding the chicken’s expression unreadable. Mark just grinned and leaned back, flinging his right arm over the back of his chair.
“Oh yeah, just preoccupied with, y’know. Stonks. Dividends. The usual.” He traced his left index finger along the rim of his cocktail glass, jostling the ice cubes inside. The clinking noise helped ground him somewhat.
“Hm.” Gyro steepled his fingers and lowered his head. The sunlight reflected off his glasses, giving him the appearance of a scheming anime villain. He sighed deeply. “Listen, Mark. There’s something important I need to discuss with you.”
Mark wobbled his glass more frantically, but otherwise kept his composure nonchalant. “Sure thing, chicken-boo. What’s up?”
Gyro smiled briefly at the pet name before becoming stern again. “Well, first of all, stop that.”
Gyro snatched Mark’s hand, holding it firmly. Mark took a moment to observe how small and dainty his grey hand looked cradled in Gyro’s gaunt grasp. Gyro then loosened his grip just enough to allow his bony fingers to completely envelop Mark’s. The parrot wondered if his boyfriend could detect his racing pulse.
Gyro gazed deeply into Mark’s large yellow eyes.
“You stole from me.”
Mark’s innards turned to ice. His chair scuffed audibly as he pushed himself forward, his free hand grasping the edge of the table.
“Dude, what the hell?” he protested. “I haven’t since... no? Gyro...”
“Let me finish,” Gyro interrupted. His thumb gently stroked Mark’s knuckles, the soothing gesture conflicting with his grave demeanor. Mark pouted in indignation, though he sensed his raised hackles begin to relax.
After a moment, the inventor continued. “What you stole, Marcus, is my heart.”
Gyro raised his hand so that he lightly held Mark’s slender digits by the fingertips. A flicker caught the puzzled parrot’s attention. His feathers rose and fell in a ripple when he realized what he saw; a gold band fitted with a colorful bismuth stone encircling his ring finger. Mark’s vision blurred as he took in the unique geometry of the metallic gem. His breath hitched.
“I want you as my husband,” Gyro said softly. “And to be Boyd’s definitely real father.”
The tightly wound spring that had been coiled inside of Mark for the past several hours abruptly snapped. Sheer elation seeped into every cell of his body. He let out a hoarse chuckle, followed by a flood of laughter. He clutched his belly and covered his eyes, tears threatening to spill out.
“Stole your heart?” he guffawed. “And that little sleight of hand trick? Really, Gyro?”
Gyro’s beak hung agape, speechless. Before he could utter a response, Mark, still hysterical, suddenly fell out of his chair. Gyro immediately stood up.
“Mark! Are you oka- awk!”
The billionaire grabbed Gyro’s left hand but remained on the floor, one knee firmly planted on the ground. The peals of mirth subsided yet he trembled with giddiness.
“You had me at the first half, not gonna lie!” Mark exclaimed. “Hella smooth, Gyro, way better than the lame speech I had planned!”
Gyro blinked, dumbfounded. “You mean...?”
Mark dug into his pocket. Deciding to forgo the rigmarole of presenting the ring, he deftly opened the velvet box and plucked said ring out. “Let’s be hubbies, GG.” He made a sound similar to a slide whistle as he slipped the ring onto the digit of the flummoxed scientist.
Eyes wide and beak tightly shut, Gyro examined the ring. An intricate pattern of interlocking gears were etched into the silver band. A black obsidian gemstone stood as the centerpiece, its facets gleaming green and purple in the early evening light.
“Oh... Mark,” Gyro said in a wavering tone.
He helped Mark to his feet. Both birds wore broad, beaming smiles. Mark clasped both hands around the small of Gyro’s back, while Gyro laid a palm flat between Mark’s shoulders, bringing him close. He stroked the parrot’s striped cheek, eliciting an involuntary trill from him as he leaned into the touch. Mark tilted his head, closed his eyes, felt his fiancé’s warm breath on his parted beak...
“Hooray, I have two dads!” a youthful voice chirped.
Startled, both adults quickly pulled apart, and found a certain childlike android grinning up at them.
“Boyd!” Gyro exclaimed. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Boyd bounced in place as he answered. “The nice lady up front let me in on account of me being an honorary VIP of Waddle. See?”
He presented a very official-looking laminated card attached to a lanyard he wore under his sweat jacket. Yet another gift from Mark, the jacket was a tea green color with embroidery in the shape of cherry blossoms decorating its sleeves and pockets. He also wore denim shorts and, as always, went shoeless. Unaffected by temperature changes, Boyd enjoyed wearing whatever he liked regardless of the weather.
Gyro adjusted his glasses. He stiffened as a sudden realization occurred to him.
“Wait, an honorary Waddle VIP?” He turned to his fiancé. “Mark, what’s going on? Where’s the fanfare? The paparazzi?”
Mark smirked as he stood behind Boyd and placed both hands on his small shoulders. “Well, Gyro, you hate that kind of attention, right? So I pulled a few strings.”
“Oh, oh, tell Dad all about your plan!” Boyd said, looking up at Mark expectantly. Gyro crossed his arms and glanced pointedly at the two parrots, but remained silent.
“Aaaaall right, so here’s what I did,” said Mark, brushing his knuckles against his polo. “First, I scoped out a place neither of us had been to before. The Harborview is a bit Martha Stoat for my tastes, but it seemed like a decent enough place. Then, I picked an inconspicuous day of the week for our very casual date.”
“A Tuesday,” Gyro stated.
“Yup! That way you wouldn’t question why the place is practically deserted.”
“And I presume there’s a reason I would have questioned it otherwise?” Gyro strummed the surface of the table, other hand on his hip. Mark bit his lip, finding the chicken’s sassy pose intensely attractive. Not allowing himself to be distracted by his future husband, he continued with recounting his ploy.
“Every person here? A Waddle employee. Told them I was rewarding them for all their hard work. And that part is, admittedly, not too far from the truth.”
“And Mr. Mark booked every other table so it wouldn’t get crowded!” Boyd piped up. He then turned to Mark. “Oh, since you’re going to be my father again, you need a name that’s different from Dad’s! How about... Dad+?”
“Ooh I LIKE that!” Mark said, eyes shimmering. He scooped Boyd into a tight hug. Gyro furrowed his brows but didn’t express any objection, especially seeing how happy this parental title make his fiancé.
Boyd practically vibrated with excitement in Mark’s arms. “I am ever so glad!”
Gyro addressed his charismatic creation, smiling at his enthusiasm. “So, you were in on this scheme too, eh? Did you happen to be involved in choosing the ring’s design?”
“Of course! Just like I helped you with Dad+’s ring!”
It was now Mark’s turn to be stunned. Gyro and Boyd shared a knowing smirk. The little robot may coincidentally resemble Mark, but he was definitely Gyro’s boy. How fitting that their son just so happened to possess traits from both of them.
“Welp. Guess that makes sense,” Mark chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.
“I do appreciate your accommodations,” Gyro said to Mark. “Even if you hadn’t proposed to me today, I felt emboldened to take the initiative. And I had a wonderful time.”
Boyd took both of his parents’ hands, admiring the rings adorning them. His cerulean pupils dilated by several pixels. “When you get married, can I be the ring bearer?”
“Of course, Boyd,” Gyro answered with a cheerful lilt to his voice.
“Can I be the flower girl too?”
“You can be anything you want, kiddo,” Mark replied, ruffling Boyd’s hair.
“And can I be the best man? And the wedding singer? And bake the cake? And...”
Gyro stooped to Boyd’s level, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Look, sweetheart, I know you’re excited, but we have plenty of people in our family who’d be more than happy to fill those roles.”
Mark frowned quizzingly. His eyes then widened at the realization of what Gyro meant; the inventor was considered a member of the Duck/McDuck clan, ergo, Mark was marrying into this strange, expansive family. Most of them tolerated him at best, though a few, like Daisy, regarded Mark with curt congeniality. And that pink girl accepted Mark’s status as Gyro’s boyfriend whole-heartedly (despite his threatening her life years ago. Talk about awkward). However, Mark held a mutual disdain for the family’s illustrious patriarch, Scrooge McDuck, and he wasn’t a fan of that conniving little green nephew either.
He hadn’t even considered the planning involved for the wedding itself. Money was of no issue, of course, it was everything else. Everyone else. Should he even bother sending an invite to the father he stopped speaking to over a decade ago?
So Mark Beaks did what he always does in the face of uncertainty; pull out a phone, strike an impromptu pose, and take a selfie.
“I was wondering when you’d do that,” Gyro said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
“Mind if I take one with all of us in it? I won’t announce anything online yet, promise.” Mark knew his beau despised candid pictures taken of him (which Mark never understood), so he always asked permission first.
“After we finish what we started.”
Gyro wrapped his arms around his fiancé and pulled him into a deep kiss. Fleetingly, Mark wanted to immortalize this moment, to show off to his sycophantic followers and seething haters alike. But if there was one thing Mark learned since taking Gyro Gearloose as his beloved partner, it was the value of restraint, to savor these clandestine moments with the man he once considered to be his rival. Once their kiss broke, Mark nuzzled into the crook of Gyro’s neck, nipping at the exposed feathers that have tantalized him so terribly, enjoying the chicken’s nasally laughter.
“Over here, fathers!” Boyd called.
The little robot sat perched upon the balcony railing, swinging his legs to and fro. The sky behind him blazed orange and gold, making a perfect backdrop for a photo op, not to mention his precarious position bringing him closer to his dads’ heights (and of course, Boyd would be in no danger even if he fell). Gyro strode to his side, running his fingers through Boyd’s mussed-up hair in an attempt to fix it. With no warning, Mark rushed in, grabbed Gyro by the waist, and yanked both members of his little family into a spontaneous embrace.
“Hashtag: dunchdate!” he announced as he took the picture, Gyro caught in a moment of bafflement while Boyd made a victory sign.
Fanfiction.net
Summary
Takes place a couple years after the show's finale, and Mark Beaks and Gyro Gearloose are in an established relationship. Mark wants to propose to his chicken love, but keeps getting cold feet (and it's not just because he never wears shoes)
Rated Teen (13+) for mild sexual tension
Mark Beaks was no stranger to being sneaky. Sure, he made nearly every waking moment of his life a public spectacle, but when it came to things he truly coveted... well, he wasn’t above some underhanded methods.
But today, the billionaire CEO had a different motivation for secrecy. And if he played his cards right, begin this scheme with Gyro Gearloose as his boyfriend and end it with him as something more.
Mark arrived at The Harborview early, just to make sure everything would run smoothly. Any other time, he would have picked his boyfriend up, but he asked that they meet up at the restaurant, in order to keep up the appearance of a casual date. He fidgeted with the tiny black velvet box nestled in his pocket, trying to quell his nerves.
This’ll be simple. A piece of cake. Nothing to worry about. He’s seen me at my worst, he loves me, I love him, he...
Then he arrived. And Mark’s resolve all but collapsed.
It wasn’t the first time that Gyro had gone without his signature hat, vest, and bow tie and dressed more (as Mark put it) like a normal person. And perhaps it was Mark’s own frantic state of mind clouding his judgment, but he found Gyro Gearloose unfairly gorgeous.
The lanky scientist wore a silk burgundy button-down top with short sleeves, the exact shirt that Mark had gotten Gyro for his 40th birthday several months prior. It was the first time Mark had seen Gyro wear his gift since that day, and he could have sworn that the chicken’s pale feathers stood more vibrant against the dark red garment, almost glowing. The shirt lay untucked, accentuating his tall stature. Charcoal grey pants and shiny black shoes completed the ensemble. Mark’s mother mentioned before that her son’s partner could make a stunning model if he just fixed his posture and altered his sense of style. For once, Mark agreed with her assessment. He suddenly felt rather underdressed in his orange and white striped polo, khaki shorts, and bare feet.
However, that handsome bastard had the audacity to wear slacks with a tail opening, the robust plumage billowing behind him like black and white ribbons. The sight of it left Mark’s throat dry and nerves frayed.
“Well, Marcus,” Gyro said. “Shall we head inside?”
“Y-yeah, sure, right!”
Dammit! He’s making this so difficult! Stupid, sexy Gyro!
The two birds entered the restaurant, and were met with a bright, spacious interior that opened to a sprawling veranda. A spread of teak wood furniture occupied both the indoor and outdoor spaces, each table containing a vase filled with sea glass pebbles and decorative driftwood. Woven cushions in hues of muted neutrals, toasty browns and soothing blues laid upon the chairs and longue furniture. Overall, The Harborview had a cozy, beachy ambiance without coming off as too kitsch.
“Quite the open floorplan,” Gyro commented dryly.
"Yeah babe, but wait’ll you see where we’re headed.”
To Mark’s relief, Gyro seemed oblivious to how few other patrons were present. Just according to keikaku.
Before long, they were greeted by a prim, matronly hound with curly blonde hair tied in a bun. She promptly guided the couple to their table, leading them to a secluded balcony overlooking Duckburg Bay. Sheer drapery held by a rattan lattice header shielded them from the western sun without spoiling the view, while sand-colored curtains hung loosely in the entryway, lending the two privacy without cutting them off from the rest of the restaurant.
Mark suggested that they order appetizers instead of having a full meal, due to recommendations from the restaurant’s “Yap” reviews. He didn’t have much of an appetite for a variety of reasons, and both he and Gyro were fairly light eaters.
For the next hour, Mark was able to unwind and just enjoy the company of the brilliant man he was lucky to claim as his boyfriend. The two proceeded to discuss their current projects, their technobabble incoherent to anyone but each other. The conversation eventually turned to topics such as the cringy try-hard memes Mark came across, and how Boyd was doing with his various Junior Woodchuck activities and volunteer work. Mark adored how Gyro’s features softened when talking about his robot son.
Soon, our robot son, Mark thought, smiling with optimistic warmth. Since reuniting with the boy by means of dating his creator- and learning about both of their deeply troubled pasts- Mark felt all the more determined to do right by Boyd, feeling shame in how he originally treated him as a novelty to exploit and not as the unique, kind-hearted child he truly is. Mark awaited the day Boyd would once again refer to him as his dad, but he understood that the little android would make that choice on his own terms.
The meal was finished and the conversation lulled. At the moment, Gyro rested one hand beneath his chin, content to silently observe the shimmering ocean horizon. A gentle sea breeze ruffled his feathers, now dappled gold by the late afternoon sun streaming through the lattice header. Mark always admired how Gyro kept his fluffy bangs so immaculate. The parrot imagined his own hair to be a mess by now, thanks to how often he ran a fretful hand through it (which his mother would have chastised him for, had she been present).
The time is perfect. Do it now.
Mark swallowed thickly. He reached inside his pocket, rubbing a thumb across the tiny box so fervently he wondered if any velvet fibers would remain on its surface by the time he made his... declaration. Not that it mattered, it was what’s inside the box that had him on edge. A barely audible whine escaped Mark’s throat. This would be so much easier if he had the attention of a vast audience to flaunt to.
Do it now.
The stuffed mushrooms and bruschetta felt like cement in Mark’s stomach. Needing a distraction from the unpleasant feeling, his thoughts turned to how one would refer to a meal like this. Brunch was a time between breakfast and lunch, so maybe this counted as a lunch-dinner. A dunch? Mark bet he could make #dunchdate go viral. He grabbed a napkin, intending to clean his fingers so he could fish out one of his phones without sullying its screen, but instead opted to tear the napkin into tiny bits. He then began to slide the papery pieces back together like a do-it-yourself puzzle.
Now.
He peered discreetly at the rooster sitting across from him, still idly watching the horizon . For the first time since the date started, Mark noticed that the first few buttons of Gyro’s shirt were undone to just below his collarbone. Any further would reveal the tuft of black plumage draped on his sternum. Further still would show how the majority of the feathers covering Gyro’s body were creamy white with black tips, giving him a speckled appearance reminiscent of vanilla bean ice cream. Mark ground his beak. He had the sudden mysterious urge to just call it a day, pay the bill, and take his boyfriend home to his swanky penthouse where he’d hungrily tear off that shirt, not caring if it ripped (Mark would buy Gyro a million button shirts if he so desired), bury his beak in those silky feathers and give them a thorough preening, rove his hands over the chicken’s lean body, reduce his beautiful mad scientist to a ravaged, moaning heap...
“You’re fidgeting. Is everything all right?”
Mark’s racing thoughts screeched to a halt. He met Gyro’s gaze, finding the chicken’s expression unreadable. Mark just grinned and leaned back, flinging his right arm over the back of his chair.
“Oh yeah, just preoccupied with, y’know. Stonks. Dividends. The usual.” He traced his left index finger along the rim of his cocktail glass, jostling the ice cubes inside. The clinking noise helped ground him somewhat.
“Hm.” Gyro steepled his fingers and lowered his head. The sunlight reflected off his glasses, giving him the appearance of a scheming anime villain. He sighed deeply. “Listen, Mark. There’s something important I need to discuss with you.”
Mark wobbled his glass more frantically, but otherwise kept his composure nonchalant. “Sure thing, chicken-boo. What’s up?”
Gyro smiled briefly at the pet name before becoming stern again. “Well, first of all, stop that.”
Gyro snatched Mark’s hand, holding it firmly. Mark took a moment to observe how small and dainty his grey hand looked cradled in Gyro’s gaunt grasp. Gyro then loosened his grip just enough to allow his bony fingers to completely envelop Mark’s. The parrot wondered if his boyfriend could detect his racing pulse.
Gyro gazed deeply into Mark’s large yellow eyes.
“You stole from me.”
Mark’s innards turned to ice. His chair scuffed audibly as he pushed himself forward, his free hand grasping the edge of the table.
“Dude, what the hell?” he protested. “I haven’t since... no? Gyro...”
“Let me finish,” Gyro interrupted. His thumb gently stroked Mark’s knuckles, the soothing gesture conflicting with his grave demeanor. Mark pouted in indignation, though he sensed his raised hackles begin to relax.
After a moment, the inventor continued. “What you stole, Marcus, is my heart.”
Gyro raised his hand so that he lightly held Mark’s slender digits by the fingertips. A flicker caught the puzzled parrot’s attention. His feathers rose and fell in a ripple when he realized what he saw; a gold band fitted with a colorful bismuth stone encircling his ring finger. Mark’s vision blurred as he took in the unique geometry of the metallic gem. His breath hitched.
“I want you as my husband,” Gyro said softly. “And to be Boyd’s definitely real father.”
The tightly wound spring that had been coiled inside of Mark for the past several hours abruptly snapped. Sheer elation seeped into every cell of his body. He let out a hoarse chuckle, followed by a flood of laughter. He clutched his belly and covered his eyes, tears threatening to spill out.
“Stole your heart?” he guffawed. “And that little sleight of hand trick? Really, Gyro?”
Gyro’s beak hung agape, speechless. Before he could utter a response, Mark, still hysterical, suddenly fell out of his chair. Gyro immediately stood up.
“Mark! Are you oka- awk!”
The billionaire grabbed Gyro’s left hand but remained on the floor, one knee firmly planted on the ground. The peals of mirth subsided yet he trembled with giddiness.
“You had me at the first half, not gonna lie!” Mark exclaimed. “Hella smooth, Gyro, way better than the lame speech I had planned!”
Gyro blinked, dumbfounded. “You mean...?”
Mark dug into his pocket. Deciding to forgo the rigmarole of presenting the ring, he deftly opened the velvet box and plucked said ring out. “Let’s be hubbies, GG.” He made a sound similar to a slide whistle as he slipped the ring onto the digit of the flummoxed scientist.
Eyes wide and beak tightly shut, Gyro examined the ring. An intricate pattern of interlocking gears were etched into the silver band. A black obsidian gemstone stood as the centerpiece, its facets gleaming green and purple in the early evening light.
“Oh... Mark,” Gyro said in a wavering tone.
He helped Mark to his feet. Both birds wore broad, beaming smiles. Mark clasped both hands around the small of Gyro’s back, while Gyro laid a palm flat between Mark’s shoulders, bringing him close. He stroked the parrot’s striped cheek, eliciting an involuntary trill from him as he leaned into the touch. Mark tilted his head, closed his eyes, felt his fiancé’s warm breath on his parted beak...
“Hooray, I have two dads!” a youthful voice chirped.
Startled, both adults quickly pulled apart, and found a certain childlike android grinning up at them.
“Boyd!” Gyro exclaimed. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
Boyd bounced in place as he answered. “The nice lady up front let me in on account of me being an honorary VIP of Waddle. See?”
He presented a very official-looking laminated card attached to a lanyard he wore under his sweat jacket. Yet another gift from Mark, the jacket was a tea green color with embroidery in the shape of cherry blossoms decorating its sleeves and pockets. He also wore denim shorts and, as always, went shoeless. Unaffected by temperature changes, Boyd enjoyed wearing whatever he liked regardless of the weather.
Gyro adjusted his glasses. He stiffened as a sudden realization occurred to him.
“Wait, an honorary Waddle VIP?” He turned to his fiancé. “Mark, what’s going on? Where’s the fanfare? The paparazzi?”
Mark smirked as he stood behind Boyd and placed both hands on his small shoulders. “Well, Gyro, you hate that kind of attention, right? So I pulled a few strings.”
“Oh, oh, tell Dad all about your plan!” Boyd said, looking up at Mark expectantly. Gyro crossed his arms and glanced pointedly at the two parrots, but remained silent.
“Aaaaall right, so here’s what I did,” said Mark, brushing his knuckles against his polo. “First, I scoped out a place neither of us had been to before. The Harborview is a bit Martha Stoat for my tastes, but it seemed like a decent enough place. Then, I picked an inconspicuous day of the week for our very casual date.”
“A Tuesday,” Gyro stated.
“Yup! That way you wouldn’t question why the place is practically deserted.”
“And I presume there’s a reason I would have questioned it otherwise?” Gyro strummed the surface of the table, other hand on his hip. Mark bit his lip, finding the chicken’s sassy pose intensely attractive. Not allowing himself to be distracted by his future husband, he continued with recounting his ploy.
“Every person here? A Waddle employee. Told them I was rewarding them for all their hard work. And that part is, admittedly, not too far from the truth.”
“And Mr. Mark booked every other table so it wouldn’t get crowded!” Boyd piped up. He then turned to Mark. “Oh, since you’re going to be my father again, you need a name that’s different from Dad’s! How about... Dad+?”
“Ooh I LIKE that!” Mark said, eyes shimmering. He scooped Boyd into a tight hug. Gyro furrowed his brows but didn’t express any objection, especially seeing how happy this parental title make his fiancé.
Boyd practically vibrated with excitement in Mark’s arms. “I am ever so glad!”
Gyro addressed his charismatic creation, smiling at his enthusiasm. “So, you were in on this scheme too, eh? Did you happen to be involved in choosing the ring’s design?”
“Of course! Just like I helped you with Dad+’s ring!”
It was now Mark’s turn to be stunned. Gyro and Boyd shared a knowing smirk. The little robot may coincidentally resemble Mark, but he was definitely Gyro’s boy. How fitting that their son just so happened to possess traits from both of them.
“Welp. Guess that makes sense,” Mark chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.
“I do appreciate your accommodations,” Gyro said to Mark. “Even if you hadn’t proposed to me today, I felt emboldened to take the initiative. And I had a wonderful time.”
Boyd took both of his parents’ hands, admiring the rings adorning them. His cerulean pupils dilated by several pixels. “When you get married, can I be the ring bearer?”
“Of course, Boyd,” Gyro answered with a cheerful lilt to his voice.
“Can I be the flower girl too?”
“You can be anything you want, kiddo,” Mark replied, ruffling Boyd’s hair.
“And can I be the best man? And the wedding singer? And bake the cake? And...”
Gyro stooped to Boyd’s level, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Look, sweetheart, I know you’re excited, but we have plenty of people in our family who’d be more than happy to fill those roles.”
Mark frowned quizzingly. His eyes then widened at the realization of what Gyro meant; the inventor was considered a member of the Duck/McDuck clan, ergo, Mark was marrying into this strange, expansive family. Most of them tolerated him at best, though a few, like Daisy, regarded Mark with curt congeniality. And that pink girl accepted Mark’s status as Gyro’s boyfriend whole-heartedly (despite his threatening her life years ago. Talk about awkward). However, Mark held a mutual disdain for the family’s illustrious patriarch, Scrooge McDuck, and he wasn’t a fan of that conniving little green nephew either.
He hadn’t even considered the planning involved for the wedding itself. Money was of no issue, of course, it was everything else. Everyone else. Should he even bother sending an invite to the father he stopped speaking to over a decade ago?
So Mark Beaks did what he always does in the face of uncertainty; pull out a phone, strike an impromptu pose, and take a selfie.
“I was wondering when you’d do that,” Gyro said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.
“Mind if I take one with all of us in it? I won’t announce anything online yet, promise.” Mark knew his beau despised candid pictures taken of him (which Mark never understood), so he always asked permission first.
“After we finish what we started.”
Gyro wrapped his arms around his fiancé and pulled him into a deep kiss. Fleetingly, Mark wanted to immortalize this moment, to show off to his sycophantic followers and seething haters alike. But if there was one thing Mark learned since taking Gyro Gearloose as his beloved partner, it was the value of restraint, to savor these clandestine moments with the man he once considered to be his rival. Once their kiss broke, Mark nuzzled into the crook of Gyro’s neck, nipping at the exposed feathers that have tantalized him so terribly, enjoying the chicken’s nasally laughter.
“Over here, fathers!” Boyd called.
The little robot sat perched upon the balcony railing, swinging his legs to and fro. The sky behind him blazed orange and gold, making a perfect backdrop for a photo op, not to mention his precarious position bringing him closer to his dads’ heights (and of course, Boyd would be in no danger even if he fell). Gyro strode to his side, running his fingers through Boyd’s mussed-up hair in an attempt to fix it. With no warning, Mark rushed in, grabbed Gyro by the waist, and yanked both members of his little family into a spontaneous embrace.
“Hashtag: dunchdate!” he announced as he took the picture, Gyro caught in a moment of bafflement while Boyd made a victory sign.
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