When they kiss, it's a dream.
Chat's shoulders follow the same lines that Marinette has memorized from a distance, and his eyes are a green that she knows as well as the red of Ladybug's suit or the dusky rose of a Parisian dawn.
He's hard and soft all at once, the leather of his armor warm but stiff underneath her palms. His lips are full and smooth, and he smells faintly of clove oil. The first Marinette can attest to experience, but the second is a half-formed, fanciful thought.
Would you know me? she whispers into his human ears, fingers carding through feathery locks of hair.
Would you still like me? she asks him, and it's something she doesn't have the guts to do in waking even with the suit on.
But in her dreams, Marinette is brave. And in her dreams, Chat pulls back just far enough for the planes and angles of his face to become dizzyingly familiar but no less dear.
Oh, Marinette, he says. Always.
His lips curve into a smile shy and sweet, and then dissolves into nothing at all as Marinette jolts awake. Her bedroom is still and quiet, her ragged breathing the only sound cutting through the darkness. The blinking numbers on her clock tell her it's half past twelve, but she's sure that she'll get no more sleep tonight.
Because it'd been Chat Noir's voice coming out of Adrien Agreste's mouth. Or rather: Adrien's voice and Chat's body. There had been no distinction at all.
note: Archived from AO3. Originally done for marichatweek 2.0 on tumblr.