When my little ginger moved to Moulinsart, I observed him unpacking his things and noticed among his clothes, a Scottish kilt.
"What is it, lad?"
He blinked while I showed him the garment. "Oh,this? A kilt.
"I know very well it's a kilt, lad. But what are you doing with one?"
Blushing with an adorable pink, he explained it.
"It was from my trip to Scotland. My clothes were in tatters after an accident and a nice
man gave me this along with a shirt."
I had seen several men with kilts in my youth and remembered admiring their strong, muscled legs. My mind was already working, imagining how it would fit in Tintin. I came behind him and hugged him. I approached my mouth to his ear.
"Oh yeah? And why I didn't know that?"
"Er…I forgot? I mean…I thought it had no importance at all…it's just a Scottish kilt, I'm in Belgium now."
I rubbed mu beard in his neck.
"Well…what prevents you to use it…privately?"
"Archie…?"
"Wear it. Do it for me."
I saw the blood covering his face. He gave me a soft smile and began to strip off his plus-fours and soon was just in his underwear.
"Take it off too. You know…a true Scottish man wears nothing under his kilt."
He did so. He leaned to grab the kilt, a bit too much. I slapped his lovely butt.
"Stop being a tease and wear it."
It was a stunning sight. The kilt reached just above his thighs; his legs weren't too manly but I liked them soft, with a few hairs here and there.
I sat on the edge of the bed and patted my knee.
"Come here, Tintin."
He smirked and sat on my lap. My hand reached on his ass under the kilt, feeling the soft, familiar curve. He sighed and captured my lips in a kiss.
Barnacles. That damn kilt was the beginning of my wild fantasies. I know I would never be able to concretize them. But a man can dream.