In which Alya is losing it, Nino is super chill, and Marinette's parents are freaking awesome.
Then, Adrien and Marinette get cleaned up before bed. Not a whole lot going on here, really.
Hello, lovelies. :) This is a superfluff chapter in which we get some serious Adrienette bonding time. I haven't really edited, as usual, so please feel free to point out any glaring errors. Thanks!
As a side note, if anyone ever feels like creating some art to go with any of my stories, you would have my blessing. My creative gifts do not extend to fine art in any form, so while I would love to post drawings to go with my work, I'm pretty sure my 8 year old could do a better job of it than I could.
Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
Nino sat slouched in Marinette's desk chair with his hands folded over his chest.
He'd allowed his eyes to half close, and overall, his posture could easily be mistaken for indolence or apathy. It was neither. On the inside, he was coiled like a spring and he itched to be doing something. But of the two people in the room, he figured at least one of them ought to be calm and rational.
His eyes tracked Alya as she reached the far end of Marinette's room for about the 30th time, spun on her heel, and paced back towards him with her fingers threaded through her now unruly hair as she muttered to herself in agitation. He sighed when she neared him, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
"Alya, babe. You got to chill."
"Chill?" She finally stopped pacing to glare at her boyfriend. "It has been hours since we saw Mari swing away with an untransformed Adrien and all we have is one measly text from Adrien saying that they're alright and will be back 'later' and now it's later but they're both entirely off the radar and we have no idea what's going on and soon Mari's parents are going to get suspicious that they haven't seen her since we came upstairs, like, four hours ago and I'm running out of excuses and I'm worried as fuck and I don't know what to do and you expect me to fucking CHILL?!"
Nino took in her whole tirade with a raised brow. "You done?"
"Yes." She flopped dejectedly into Marinette's bean bag chair, sliding way down into it. "How are you so calm?"
"I'm not, but you were freaking out enough for the both of us."
She scoffed, but didn't argue the point. "Where the hell are they, Nino?"
"I don't know, babe."
"Do you think they're ok?"
"I hope so." He ran a hand down his face. "I think I liked it better when I didn't know who was behind those masks."
"You and me both." She closed her eyes and tipped her head back to rest on the bean bag beneath her. "So, what—" She cut herself off as a knock at the trap door preceded its opening, and Sabine's face came into view. "Er, Sabine! Hi! Uh, Marinette is just out on the, uh, balcony! I'll just—"
"Have a seat, dear." Sabine came fully into the room, followed by Tom. "We've come to let you kids off the hook."
Nino and Alya shared a bewildered glance. "O-off the hook?"
"We should have come up and sent you two home a long time ago, but after that last report, we kept expecting them to show up at any time." Tom dragged a hand over his face, unconsciously echoing Nino's earlier gesture. "But they haven't come back."
"B-back?"
"Marinette, and Adrien." Sabine smiled kindly at their twin looks of shock. "We know who they are, and we know that now you do, too. It's sweet of you to try to cover for them, but with us, it just isn't necessary."
"But, how did you…?"
"Oh, we figured it out ages ago." Sabine waved her hand through the air dismissively. "But that's not important right now. We need to know what's going on, and why they haven't come back this time. Gabriel's assistant has called three times now, so we know they aren't at Adrien's."
Tom cleared his throat. "Judging from what we heard downstairs, you haven't heard from them, either?"
Alya blushed, knowing she was the one they'd heard, and shook her head.
"No, not for a few hours. I got a text from Adrien shortly after we came upstairs, but that was it."
Both Tom and Sabine straightened with interest. "You got a text from Adrien?" She asked, hope evident in her voice.
"Yeah. He just said that they were ok, and would be back later." He pulled his phone from his pocket, and brought up his messages. "Here, you can read it."
Tom reached over to take the phone from Nino's hand, and held it so that he and his wife could read it together. "There's really nothing to go on, is there?" He said, disappointed.
Nino nodded. "We thought they would be back by now, too, he replied.
"Well, what do we—"
Alya's phone buzzed with a text message notification, rattling against the surface of Marinette's desk, and all four of them jumped. Nino grabbed it from the desk, and tossed it to Alya.
"It's from Marinette!" She unlocked the phone excitedly, then deflated as she read the message. "She says 'We're both ok, but things went kind of sideways, and I am going to crash at Adrien's tonight. Please tell Maman and Papa that I will be home tomorrow, and I will explain then.'" She looked up, taking in the varying expressions around her, and shrugged. "That's it."
"'Went sideways'?" Tom asked, frowning. "What does that mean?"
"At least we know that they're safe, right?" Sabine replied.
Marinette turned off her phone, and tossed it on the coffee table in front of the couch. She knew that there was no way that one text would satisfy them, and she didn't envy Alya the job of passing that message to her parents. She cringed. It was probably going to involve some groveling to Alya, and she couldn't even begin to image how she could get out of it with her parents—at least not without telling them everything.
Perhaps she could tell them the same thing that Adrien had told Nathalie?
Nope. She and Adrien were supposed to have been in her room, nowhere near the akuma. She shouldn't have been able to leave without walking right by her parents.
So much for keeping her secret. She'd started the week with a perfect record. (Except for Alya, but Marinette wasn't counting her.) Now, the official count was up to three, and it was about to grow to five.
She sighed, and leaned carefully back against the cushions, wincing when her still-battered body protested the movement. Her miraculous cure might have corrected all of the new damage, but it hadn't done a thing for the original injuries.
Injuries that were only about 48 hours old, even though that night felt far away.
She heard the door open and close again softly. "Adrien?"
"Yeah." He came to stand near the end of the couch with a stack of clothing in his hands. "I don't know how she did it, but Nathalie found some clothes for you to change into."
Marinette blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Mm-hmm," he hummed, holding up a small bottle. "She even found you some shampoo and stuff, so you won't have to smell like me."
"I kind of liked smelling like you," she laughed, but it turned to a groan as she sat forward. "I don't know if I can even manage a shower tonight." She gestured to her side. "It isn't easy to do, currently."
"Shit, I completely forgot that you were hurt." He dropped the bundle on the end of the couch, and sat on the table across from her. "How are you feeling?"
"Sore. More than anything, though, I'm just exhausted."
"We should change your dressings, at least. And, maybe I could help you get cleaned up?" A blush crawled up his neck, and over his cheeks. "N-not anything weird, I just know that I've been looking forward to a shower, and thought that you might feel better if you had one, too—"
"Actually, kitty, that—that sounds wonderful." She could feel the heat of her own blush, but his offer was just too good to pass up.
"Really?" He looked stunned.
"I want a shower almost as badly now, as I did two nights ago." She reached out a hand, and twined her fingers with his. "Besides, I trust you. And I'm still not keen to let you out of my sight."
He smiled warmly at her, and pulled her to her feet. Standing between the couch and the table as they were, they found themselves face to face and they froze there for a moment, simply staring at one another.
Adrien stepped to the side, scratching self-consciously at the nape of his neck. "I'll, uh, go get the bandages and such, if you'll grab the clothes?"
"S-sure," she replied, feeling incredibly awkward.
"Right." He stood there another moment, then seemed to remember that he was supposed to be doing something. "Er, right." He nodded, and turned away to move toward where he'd left his bag.
Once his back was turned, Marinette pressed her cool fingers to her heated cheeks, and wondered what had possessed her to accept his tentative offer.
She'd just agreed to let Adrien Agreste help her shower.
Dear God.
Adrien stalked to his bag, and started pulling things out, mentally berating himself.
He'd almost kissed her.
He'd suggested helping her with her shower before thinking things trough, but once the words were out, he hadn't wanted to take them back. He just wanted to make things easier for her, but he'd realized too late how his offer might sound. Thankfully she hadn't shrieked at him for being a pervert, or slapped him for his presumption. To his surprise, she'd even accepted. Her words had warmed him, And he'd stood and helped her up without another thought.
Until their proximity had registered, and he'd found himself staring down into her big blue eyes, their bodies so close that a deep breath would have brought their bodied into contact. In that moment, he'd wanted nothing more than to fold her in his arms and kiss her.
Good grief.
Sure, she was his girlfriend, but she was exhausted and injured and he was supposed to be helping her, not seducing her. There would be time for…other things, later.
Still, he couldn't help thinking about the fact that he was going to be in the shower with her, his hands in her hair and on her body, and his body couldn't help responding. He had to get it under control, or she'd take one look at him and kick him out of the bathroom.
"Get it together Agreste," he muttered to himself, gathering the things he'd taken from the bag. He didn't know how he was going to manage this, but he needed to figure it out, quick. She was already in the bathroom, waiting for him, and he was determined to go in there and help his partner—without making a fool of himself.
He paused in front of the not-quite-closed door, and tapped gently. "Marinette?"
"C-come in!" She called softly, her voice unusually high.
He pushed the door open, and he stopped in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. Every thought about maintaining his composure flew out the window.
"I, uh, thought that maybe we could keep our under things on?" She stared at the ground and kicked at her discarded pants with a toe, tugging the hem of her navy blue tunic-style top down over her thighs self-consciously. "I mostly just need help with my hair, and maybe my back, anyway, and I thought it would be less…weird?"
"Yeah," he said, and winced when his voice cracked. The tunic might have been just long enough to cover her panties, but it did nothing to hide her long, well-toned legs. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, that's, uh, probably a really good idea." He came fully into the room, and put the gauze, tape and antibiotic ointment on the counter next to her change of clothes. He heard her turn on the taps and began unbuttoning his shirt, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. She hadn't thrown him out yet, even though she must have understood his reaction; he didn't want to push his luck. He dropped his shirt on the floor, and moved his hands to the button on his jeans. They followed his shirt to the ground, and he finally made himself turn, praying that she wouldn't notice that he was already rocking a semi.
Marinette was transfixed. Never mind that she'd seen his well-sculpted ass in tight black leather nearly every day for the past two years. Or the fact that she'd been admiring it in perfectly tailored Agreste jeans for just as long. Nothing prepared her for the experience of turning just in time to see him push his jeans down from his waist. The denim slid down as he bent away from her, pulling his white undershirt taut over his shoulders and revealing his backside covered only by tight black boxer briefs, with the Agreste label printed in silver around the waistband. His jeans dropped to the ground with a soft shush and he stepped out of them, but still she stared. It wasn't until he turned around, and she suddenly found herself staring at something else encased in tight black spandex that she jerked her eyes up to his face.
She'd expected to see humor and perhaps desire on his face, since he'd caught her ogling him so blatantly. The desire was there, certainly, but she didn't expect to see uncertainty or raw vulnerability there with it. It grounded her a bit, and helped her embarrassment to fade, to know that he was feeling much the same as she was. She tugged at her shirt. "Can you help me take this off? It's still painful to do on my own."
He nodded, and stepped forward to grasp the lower him in his hands, being careful not to brush her skin as he carefully lifted it up and over her head. She raised her arms with the shirt, and it came easily off over her head. She winced a bit as lifting her arms still hurt, but it was less painful than crossing her arms and lifting the shirt herself.
"Wow."
He dropped her shirt to the floor alongside the rest of their discarded clothing, and she resisted the urge to try to cover herself under the heat of his gaze. It's just like wearing a swimsuit, she reminded herself. And she was lucky—not only was she wearing a cute matching bra and panties set, but they were also navy blue and would not become transparent when they got wet.
He cleared his throat again, and gestured to the gauze still covering her side. "May I?"
She nodded and turned, giving him access to the tape. He removed it gently, and pulled the gauze away from her skin.
"It looks a little bit better, I think. It's less red." He tossed the soiled gauze into the waste bin, and held a hand out to the large shower. "After you, my lady."
Adrien's shower had two separate shower heads, at right angles to one another. One was mounted directly to the wall, but the other was on a hose, and could be taken down. Normally the two sprays would intersect, but Marinette had already turned them so that she and Adrien would each have their own stream of water. She stepped in under the fixed shower head, and hissed when the spray hit her side. "It still stings," she said, grimacing.
He stepped in behind her, and pulled the glass door closed. "Maybe we can leave it uncovered tonight, and let it dry out? It'll be less sensitive once it scabs over."
"Maybe. My clothing will still stick to it, though." She sifted under her stream of water, allowing it to run over her head. She reached up to work the water through her thick hair, but he brushed her hands away.
"Here, let me. That's why I'm in here." He took the hand shower down from its bracket, and turned her away from him to make sure that her hair was thoroughly wet. Then he replaced the shower head, and reached for the shampoo. "Damn. We left the stuff Nathalie found for you out there."
Marinette shrugged. "I don't care. I liked using your things, before," she admitted. "The smell reminded me of you, even before I knew that Chat was you."
"Yeah?" She could hear the smile in his voice, and the snap of the shampoo bottle opening. "You knew what I smelled like?"
"I must have." He began to work the shampoo through her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp in much the same way that they did at a salon. She tipped her head back, leaning into his touch. "Mmmm, that feels wonderful."
"I have them massage my scalp like this every time I get my hair cut. It's one of the perks of being a model, I guess. It makes getting my hair cut every two weeks more bearable."
She raised her brows. "Every two weeks? Really?"
"Like clockwork. Father won't tolerate a 'shaggy mop', so I have a standing appointment every two weeks to keep it just so."
"I just get mine trimmed every six months or so, but this is my favorite part, too."
His hands left her hair, and she heard metal clang as he lifted the hand shower again. Warm water flowed over her scalp, rinsing the shampoo away. She must have become accustomed to the water, because she'd forgotten all about the scrape on her side until she felt the soap hit it. She hissed in a breath through her teeth and his hand and the water both left her hair.
"What is it?"
"The shampoo burns. It's ok, there's really no avoiding it."
"Oh." He went back to rinsing, and they lapsed into silence. She heard the shower head go back into its holder, and another pop as he opened the conditioner. He worked that through her hair in much the same way he'd done the shampoo, then twisted it loosely and brought it forward over one shoulder. "Did you want me to wash your back?"
"Please? I can't reach back there at all right now."
He didn't say anything, but she heard him pick up the bar of soap. She was expecting a wash cloth, so she jumped a bit when she felt his bare hands on her skin. Though he'd clearly lathered both hands, he still held the bar in both hands and its cool touch was a pleasant counterpoint to the heat of his hands. He soaped her back carefully, making sure to avoid the raw flesh on her side. Then he replaced the soap in its dish, and instead of rinsing her, he returned his hands to her shoulders and began to massage the muscles there.
She let her head drop forward with a low moan, thoroughly enjoying his unexpected ministrations. Not only could she feel him working the tension from her shoulders, but she relished the continued contact. She'd loved every minute of his hands on her, and she was delighted that he'd found an excuse to continue. She moaned again, stretching her neck to the side as he worked his fingers into a particularly tight muscle.
His hands paused for a moment, and then continued. "Is there anything else you need a hand with, other than rinsing your hair?"
His voice was low and rough, and the new quality to it made Marinette shiver. She gulped. "N-no. I can manage the rest."
"Here." He handed her the bar of soap, and then began rinsing her back and her hair with the hand shower as she worked to lather the rest of her body. She was keenly aware of his presence behind her, and while she had no way of knowing what he was actually looking at, she felt sure he was watching her every move as she slid the soap along her skin. She felt incredibly exposed to be doing something so personal in front of him, and she had to remind herself that all of the most important bits were still covered.
By the time she was done, he'd already finished rinsing her. She turned toward him for the first time since they'd gotten in, and saw that he had replaced the shower head in its bracket, wet his own hair, and was presently working the shampoo through it. His eyes were closed and his head tilted back, showing the strong lines of his jaw and throat. The water had both plastered his shirt to his body and rendered it almost entirely transparent, so that she could see clearly almost every detail of his body. As he moved his hands through his hair, giving himself the same treatment that he'd just given her, his muscles moved and shifted tantalizingly beneath the thin material.
Marinette bit her lip, feeling very much like a voyeur in spite of the fact that he was just washing his hair. She was struck again by the incredible intimacy of sharing a shower with him. He shifted back to rinse the soap from his hair, and when he finished, he wiped the water from his face and opened his eyes to catch her staring at him. Again.
Adrien had thought that wrapping Marinette's ribs two nights ago had been bad. He'd thought that unwrapping her ribs, and helping her pull her shirt on yesterday afternoon had been agonizing. Neither of those experiences had prepared him for sheer erotic torture of running soap-slick hands over her bare skin, while listening to her low moans as he'd massaged her scalp and shoulders. He thrilled to touch her so freely, and yet he didn't dare let his hands stray beyond the boundaries she'd set no matter how badly he'd wanted to. He drew it out as long as he could, but his resolve was weakening. He was only human, after all, and even covered in bruises, she presented a temptation he was finding hard to resist.
Finally, he handed her the soap and rinsed her off before turning his mind to getting himself clean. Washing his own hair provided enough of a distraction that he was able to get his unruly body back under control. At least until he opened his eyes and met her wide-eyed blue gaze. She was obviously finished, though she still held the soap in one hand. She glanced to the shelf behind him, and nibbled at her lower lip thoughtfully. Then she set the soap down and took up the bottle of conditioner.
"May I?" He nodded mutely, and she slid one hand under the hem of his tee, blushing. "C-can you take this off?"
His brows shot up in surprise, and he looked down to see that the shirt clung to him rather revealingly anyway. "Y-yeah, sure." He peeled the shirt off and dropped it on the built in bench, next to his razor.
She was biting her lip again, and surveying him in a way that made his toes curl against the tiles beneath his feet. Her eyes finally made it back up to his face, and she smiled. "You are so incredibly beautiful, Adrien. Here, turn around, and crouch down so I can reach."
He did as she bade, feeling entirely unsteady. This had now officially gone beyond him helping her because of her injuries. She was doing for him as he had done for her, apparently just because she wanted to. And for her to call him beautiful affected him in a way that such compliments never had before. She wasn't a designer or a photographer or even a fan, who wanted something from him. It was an offhand, honest compliment, given just for its own sake.
Her fingers speared through his hair, and he mentally shrugged, letting go of his tumultuous thoughts for the moment. He was willing to follow where she led. He dropped his head back, and allowed himself to simply enjoy the feel of her hands in his hair.
When she was done, she rested one hand on his shoulder, silently asking him to stay. He did, and she scooped up the soap and began to run it in soothing circles over his shoulders. "Stand up?" She asked softly, tapping his arm. He stood, and she continued to swirl the soap over his back, working her way ever downward. When she reached his hips, she applied a gentle pressure to one side. "Turn?" She asked, and he turned to face her. She reached for his hand, and slowly ran the soap up the inside of his forearm, her brow raised in silent question. He nodded, and she resumed her earlier pace, her hands working in tandem, lathering one arm from wrist to shoulder, and then the other.
She brought her hand to his stomach but paused with her fingertips just a breath away from his skin, and looked up to meet his eyes. "C-can I?"
"Yeah," he breathed. Her fingers finished their journey, and brushed him just above the band of his underwear. His skin jumped beneath her fingers, and his breath hitched.
"Sorry!" She jerked her hand back and peeked again at his face, her near-constant blush deepening.
"It's ok. It…tickled a bit."
Marinette nodded, and slowly pressed her hand forward until it was flush against his skin, with her fingers spread out over the taut muscles of his stomach. Then she brought the other hand up with the soap, and began to wash his belly as she had the rest of him. This time, her hands worked steadily upwards, her touch lingering now more than it had before. When she finished, she put the soap away and pressed him back to stand under the stream of water. When she'd rinsed all of the soap from his body, she tilted his head back to rinse the conditioner from his hair.
At that point, there was no more reason for either of them to stay in the shower, even though he hated for it to end. He shut off the water, and pulled towels from the shelves nearby. After passing one to her, he stepped out of the way, and began to towel off. When he was as dry as he could get with wet underwear on, he left the bathroom to get completely dried, and dressed.
He had no idea what was going on behind those blue, blue eyes of hers. She'd touched him intimately, and while it had been both sensual and erotic, it had not been specifically sexual. He had no doubt that she'd been as aroused as he was. Yet, she hadn't done anything to escalate the encounter into something more. For his part, he had enjoyed every moment that her hands had been on him. He didn't even care if they did nothing more than go to sleep, despite the fact that he was now almost painfully aroused. He could always see to things for himself, later. For now, he'd be satisfied to just hold her as they slept.
I was originally planning to write only one more chapter after this one, to kind of wrap things up, but I think I'm going to write a bonus sin chapter. Because, let's be honest here, there's no way that two horny 17 year olds would have just gone to bed after that. It will be its own, self-contained chapter, though, with no important plot points, so that anyone who wishes to skip the naughty stuff, can do so without missing anything. Other than sin.
Also, since starting this fic, I've realized that I messed up the timing. I'd thought that season one took place in year one of Lycee, making them 15, but apparently they were in college-making them 13. Should I just go with it, or should I go back and adjust the story to sync up with the correct timeline? I kind of don't want to bother, but the discrepancy is making me twitch. Thoughts?
EDIT: Apparently, I had their ages right the first time, lol. They are definitely supposed to be 17 in this fic, regardless of how old they are in the show. ;) Thanks for the input, guys! I'm going to adjust the time lapse by a year, but otherwise leave it alone. :)