A Masked Getaway

Chat Noir

Over the years, Adrien could honestly say he'd tried everything to get Ladybug to look at him. He'd tried being devoted; he'd tried being aloof. He'd brought her gifts and roses, he'd treated her to ice cream, he'd let her win at pool...yet, he could never get her to look at him in that way. That way as in how she was looking at him right now.

Her eyes had grown to the size of saucers as she studied him like a piece of fine art. Even in all his years of modelling, he'd never seen such an intense stare, she looked like she wanted to cover him in apple sauce and cook him on a spit. It hadn't made him feel uncomfortable. On the contrary, he felt desirable, almost as though this was the meaning of his life, his heart betraying him by beating faster.

He was positive he loved Marinette—damn right certain, in fact—but he couldn't deny that if Ladybug threw herself at him right now he wouldn't have the willpower to say no. It wasn't that he was fickle or a lothario, but this was the woman who'd given him his teenage awakening and it was Ladybug for crying out loud—she was hot!

They made their way down the footpath and towards the bar. After quite the day of food, using the Paris gold card to the max, they had decided to go lighter that evening and head to the bar. Cocktails and appetisers were calling his name and he would be a fool to deny them.

The cobbled path, once again, was a deadly accomplice in their walk and as Ladybug stumbled for what felt like the thousandth time, he reached out and slotted her arm through the crease of his elbow, holding her up and supporting her the way he always had.

Her heels were deadly, bringing her up to his nose in height. They were most guys' dreams, attached to long, smooth legs, ones created from hours of running over rooftops and taking part in extreme parkour. Her body was exquisite, the superheroing doing wonders for all areas—her dress showing off her toned physique in every possible way.

The dress itself deserved a place in the Louvre. The halter neck plunged gracefully halfway down her chest held in place, he guessed, by some sort of tape. The back was bare, every muscle teasing him as she moved around, and a small gold chain hung from the back of her neck to her waist, swishing side to side with each step. His fingers twitched to hold it down in the correct position, to gently stroke down her back and feel her bare skin under his touch.

His fingers had been uncontrollable in their search for her bare skin most of the night, after years of being stuck behind the gloves it was refreshing to connect skin-to-skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked, holding her tightly to his body and revelling in the feel of her arm through his.

"Yeah," she sighed, "I'm just not used to wearing such high heels."

"They look good though."

Her girlish giggle assaulted the midnight air, cutting through it with preciseness in a need to cause harm. As powerful as Ladybug always seemed, in this moment she was so young and carefree, and exactly how she should be. It didn't matter how much they saved the world, it didn't matter how convoluted the plans were that she made, she was just a young adult trying to live her best life regardless of the situation.

They were young adults on vacation, and they needed to start acting like it.

Since his mother died, he'd been wrapped up in cotton wool because of his father's ridiculous need to protect him, and it was his time to act his age too—he'd just turned nineteen, and he needed to live like it. They were going to eat, drink, and party...adding in a couples massage somewhere along the way along with some other couples stuff.

He loved Ladybug. He loved Marinette. And whatever he could get from either of them he was going to take. Obviously not at the same time—but if Ladybug wanted him, he'd be a fool to say no.