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Slightly Breathless

Summary:

Donald, Mickey, Minnie, and Daisy entertain the visitors at Disneyland. Backstage, Donald and Mickey entertain each other.

Work Text:

The California asphalt radiates June heat like a griddle, baking the scent of popcorn and sunscreen into the air.

 

Mickey Mouse's giant gloved hand waves wildly above a cluster of sunhats, his falsetto "Hiiii pals!" piercing through the screams of the Rocket Rods rushing overhead.

 

Beside him, Donald Duck's bill quivers in mock outrage, stubby wings flapping as a tiny boy pokes his belly – "Hey!" Donald squawks, the performer inside the suit expertly modulating his voice to a high, nasal pitch.

 

Minnie Mouse twirls her polka-dot skirt, coaxing a shy toddler into a photo, while Daisy Duck strikes a diva pose for a gaggle of giggling girls, her feathery tail feathers bobbing. Sweat soaks the performers' undershirts beneath pounds of polyester and foam; Mickey's head feels like a sauna, the eye mesh fogging with every breath.

 

"How come Pluto barks?" a kid demands.

 

Mickey crouches, plastic smile unwavering – "Oh, he’s just a silly pup!" – his voice straining cheerfulness through the stifling mask. Donald’s answering honk sounds slightly breathless.

 

The shift-end chime is salvation. They wave exaggerated goodbyes, disappearing through an unmarked door labelled CAST ONLY into sudden, blessed dimness and stale AC. The heavy headpieces come off with gasps – Mickey’s performer, a wiry man with damp brown curls plastered to his forehead, gulps air. Donald’s performer, taller and broader, wipes sweat from his stubble with a forearm. Minnie and Daisy’s muffled voices echo as they head towards the water cooler down the corridor.

 

Alone in the narrow hall, Donald shucks his bulky tail piece with a groan. Mickey peels off his gloves. Without a word, they crash together, the thick fabric of their torsos muffling the impact. Donald’s performer yanks Mickey closer, their damp necks pressing, mouths meeting in a desperate, salty kiss that tastes of exhaustion and relief. Mickey fists handfuls of Donald’s sailor shirt, their sweat-slicked cheeks sliding together, breath ragged against each other’s skin, hidden deep in the park’s humming belly.

 

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