Chapter 2

Warning: lemon scene between two boys

He didn't believe it first - the audacity, the nerve, the sheer balls it took for him to actually invite Marc over to his place, to have him enter his room, to breath the same homely air he breaths, to meet his parents, his sister - basically pull him closer to a bigger part of his life. The notion makes him grin, and he wonders if he'll be able to to stop himself from doing so before Marc got to this place.

Not enough time, apparently, as the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of his partner in comic.

"I'll get it!" he yells while storming down the three floor apartment serving as the Kurtzberg residence. Muffled curses are heard from the disturbed elder sibling's room, but he pays no heed.

He stops dead on his tracks upon reaching the door, taking a deep breath and tugging on his usual clothes. The hunched figure of Marc greets him, his head low but his face bright with a hopeful smile, a small grey gym bag slung on his slouched shoulders.

"S-sorry, I didn't know if it's going to be a sleepover. Mom told me I shouldn't cause trouble, so I packed just in case."

Marc berates himself for not calling up instead. He manages to craft that quick lie upon seeing the confusion on Nathaniel's face as he greeted him. Clearly he wasn't expecting any luggage to accompany the home invasion. But he was just so excited to be able to spend more time with the redhead that he just grabbed everything he could and shoved them in the bag.

"You're a dork. You did't have to bring your stuff." Nathaniel teases with a laugh. Marc manages to prevent a frown from forming. So it's not a sleepover?

"We got extra towels, my clothes will fit you just fine, and my mom just spoke to your mom to tell her you're spending the entire weekend with us. You already left your house then, though."

Nathaniel pulls him in when he noticed the writer's still in a mental suspension. The smile Marc got plastered wriggles into a stupid grin, making him curious, and at the same time amused.

They both managed dinner without any eventful turn, dodging questions of interest from Nathaniel's parents, his sister choking the poor boy to death after deciding he simply looks too pretty to pass for a high school boy, and the all-in-all pleasant family atmosphere Nathaniel has.

"C'mon." Nathaniel invites him up, with a rather giddy tone.

Marc obliges with a quiet excitement of his own. On his way up, he detects a hint of pink on Nathaniel's cheeks, something he's never noticed before, and it becomes even more apparent when they entered his room. The single yellow light source is coming from the edge of a bed-less mattress fortified by pillows, and blankets. Beside the blaring desk lamp are stacks of papers, notebooks, comic books, and charcoal, colored and graphite pencils. It's clear he didn't bother tidying up, but beyond the posters sticking on the walls of an average boy's heroes, it's a charming abode, and Marc couldn't help but like him even more because it.

"Sorry - a rather crude place, I know."

"It's nice." Marc beats him to whatever description he's going to use on himself. "I don't have a table in MY room either."

Nathaniel smiles at him before closing the door.

They both find a place on the king sized mattress, and wordlessly begin their work.

Nathaniel's first to become conscious of the boy, sitting on the bed he had been using forever. The way Marc kneels so gracefully, and keeps everything about himself into that little space he occupies is terribly adorable, and within that brief moment.

They managed to switch into their sleeping wear right before they settled in earlier - Nathaniel into a lose oversized orange shirt with faded prints evident of years of use, and a a baggy cut-off cotton shorts that drapes his legs just above the knee. Marc looks surprisingly, in the words of Adrien Agreste, "less conservative" under a boxer and lose tank-top pair, the latter failing to protect even a quarter of the young writer's thighs.

"You got an idea?"

Marc asks him, pulling him out of the staring feast.

"Huh?"

Marc chuckles, "Your tongue is poking out - that usually means you're thinking about something."

Considering that that something involves the contemplation of whether Marc's legs are as smooth as they look, Nathaniel shakes his head furiously to answer the question and at the same time to force away the blush.

Marc shifts from his position to stretch out, arms going for the air and legs unfolding forward. He wiggles his toes to get the circulation going. The sight makes Nathaniel's mind reel in so many directions. He's got to take his mind somewhere else, preferably a good distance away from any part of Marc's skin, which gives him limited options as the majority of the boy's complexion is currently exposed for his eyes to devour.

Darn you, Adrien.

It's that stupid blonde's fault.

Then again, he couldn't curse young Agreste completely. It was HIS idea that they're there in the first place.

"Actually," Nathaniel begins, "We got a lot of work in for the night, so I was thinking a little creative exercise is in order."

"Interesting," Marc comments, pulling his legs up again so he can rest his chin on his knees, "What do you have in mind?"

Before he could allow his eyes to trail down the back of Marc's thighs completely revealed and threatening to allow him a peak of his underwear due to their nonexistent length, Nathaniel reaches out to push the boy's knees down and force him to sit cross-legged. The clueless boy doesn't resist, and adjusts his legs beneath him.

"I'll try to draw you," Nathaniel says, "And you'll try to write a poem about me. Then we'll comment on what the other had worked on."

As soon as Nathaniel gives out those terms, Marc's eyes grow wide, almost to the point where Nathaniel suspects they'll be popping out of his head. Then his expression shifts to that of discomfort, among a myriad of emotions that suddenly wash over the boy. The reaction greatly perplexes Nathaniel, but he doesn't reflect on it. If there's even the possibility that Marc wouldn't like it, then they shouldn't do it.

"Okay," Marc manages to say before Nathaniel could retract the suggestion. "S-sounds... fun?"

Nathaniel blinks at him for a moment, before making a counter offer. "Although it is also getting late. Shall we call it a day instead?"

"Nonononono, it's fine, that idea - we should try it."

Before his suspicion can get riled up because of that stutter, Marc has already started a new page in his notebook. Nathaniel eventually follows suit after observing Marc a moment more just to make sure nothing's wrong.

Marc's mind is a whirlwind of emotions, which he begins to express in complicated statements, all with clear and sensible monologues about his beloved artist, none with actual heartfelt content. But he continues to scribble as the textual reservoir of his mind throws at him word after word after word of empty platitude, all jotted down with haste, with panic, and with fear. At a deeper corner of his mind, his subconscious is struggling to reach the 'Marinette' button – he could really use some sass right now from the one girl who understood him. But that particular subconscious is being held back by the spur of emotions, and before he realizes, he's already on the 13th page. Taking a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he pulls his notebook closer to hide his contorted face, hoping that the artist before him isn't capturing any of the ugliness he's showing.

As much as he dreaded to do so, Marc glances up at Nathaniel to see how he's fairing.

The redheaded artist is his same calm and collect self, with the same pinpoint focus, and with the same tongue poking out of his mouth. He makes sure, elegant strokes on his sketchbook, and switches sight between his work and his model. There's a small hue of red on his usually pale cheeks, indication of enjoyment and of slight embarrassment. Taking a peak at Nathaniel's work, Marc sees himself slowly materialize on white and black streaks, the slender contours of his face, the bump of the skin courtesy of collarbone, his Adam's apple, the twinkle in his eyes – so much life in the single picture, and it's not even complete yet.

Nathaniel catches him peaking, and he gives a small grin.

"Ah, sorry, I'm not yet done. Can you hold that post for another…"

He instantly ceases his request as he hears the stifled sobs and sniffles suddenly coming from the boy who has pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them.

"So lame, so lame, so lame…" his negative mantra reverberates despite his muffled voice.

The clueless boy stares at his small ball-form, unprepared for the sudden spilling of emotions from the lad. He reaches out, but Marc raises a hand at him.

"I'm sorry," Marc says, voice garbled, "Can you give me a sec? It… it'll pass."

"What will pass, Marc?" Nathaniel asks, holding the hand that was just raised to stop him.

Marc pulls away like his touch was static, and Nathaniel couldn't help but feel the sting of that reaction.

"Just – please."

"No." Nathaniel says, unwilling to let the rejection affect his stance.

"I'm not a good writer, okay?" Marc suddenly snaps, revealing a face drenched with tears and snot and drool, and contorted with an expression of pain Nathaniel has never seen before. "I'm not…"

"Marc," Nathaniel tries to say something, but only ends up whispering the boy's name.

"I got nothing, Nate, nothing." Marc tells him with a shaky voice, "Sure, I can fabricate the story that you want, the type of action and thrill that puts readers on the edge of their seats, the kind of cliffhanger that sets fans wanting for more, but that's about it. I don't have any talent. I'm useless, Nate. I'm nothing compared to you."

"Stop saying that!"

"It's true!" Marc's broken voice croaks in his attempts to scream at his friend, and while Nathaniel is anywhere but amused, it at least softens the anger in his heart.

He has seen Marc break down right before an impossible deadline. In the middle of finalizing their last few pages, Nathaniel would feel the sudden shaking of the table because of his hic ups, and see the boy crying. They wouldn't talk during those moments. They would just keep working, because they both knew it was all about pressure, the stress, and fear of failure, and all other emotion that can overcome any artist.

This is different. This is not one of those times.

"How can you say that when everything I've been able to draw is all thanks to you? Marc, you inspire me."

Nathaniel doesn't know if Marc understood what he just said, but the boy just furiously starts shaking his head, aimlessly repelling any attempts of the latter to comfort and assure him. But the artists persists .

"No, you don't understand."

"What don't I understand, Marc? Tell me, please. What's going on?"

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"I don't want to lose you!"

His voice is clear and sharp this time, and causes the redhead to freeze and stop his advances towards the taller boy.

"Why… would you lose me?" Nathaniel asks, still wide-eyed, heart thumping at the sudden statement.

Marc's arm does little help in removing the wetness of his face, though he rubs them across his riddled features just the same. Afterwards, he takes a few deep breaths to calm his emotions, and hands Nathaniel a notebook from his backpack.

"Your notebook?" Nathaniel asks the obvious. Marc merely nods.

And then he pulls out four more just like it. Thick piles of overused pages compressed in black, leather-bound covers, and there's a total of five of them in Nathaniel's hands.

"I filled those up within a week." Marc's voice is saturated with the aftermath of the sudden outburst. He sniffs, and manages a shy, desperate smile at Nathaniel.

"What have you been writing about?"

"You." Marc's reply comes quick and sure, and without any hesitation. Whatever it is holding him back, it's gone now.

"Me?"

"Yep. Every single page, meant for you. But every single page, a failure. I've tried a lot of things, Nate, I studied all sorts of styles. I even went to that webinar class thinking this is just writer's block. But it's not writer's block, Nate."

Nathaniel can feel another wave of emotion from Marc, but it's not the same overbearing rush he just had earlier. He's not about to have to have another breakdown again, the redhead could tell as much, but all the same, he can sense it.

"I… I can't write anything about you because whenever I try to, all I could think about is how much I love you."

Nathaniel can only feel the heat on his cheeks as Marc concludes his statement with a faraway look like he has already placed a considerable distance between them, like Marc knew how this was going to end and that this ending has been well accepted.

Marc pulls the hem of his shirt after realizing his arm did little to actually dry his face, but his tears are still pouring.

"I should probably go, huh?" he says, still sniffling.

When Nathaniel doesn't bother answering, Marc has taken it as a sign that he should. He turns around and starts putting things back in his bag. But before he can even squeeze all his notebook back in, he feels ruffled movement from behind, his friend moving towards him and before he knew it, a pair of slender arms has captured his entire figure, the owner's face suddenly landing on the crook of his neck.

Marc freezes on the spot, all the blood instantly rushes to his face, and all the heat all over his body with the sudden warm sensation. He can feel Nathaniel inhaling on his skin and his lips grazing on the sensitive part of his neck.

"You're not going anywhere." Nathaniel whispers in a husky voice.

The surety of rejection is instantly shattered after that command. Marc's instinctive reaction is to sit stiff, and allow the redhead to keep him place. As Nathaniel's head moves to allow his chin to rest on Marc's shoulders, he starts going through the sketchbook he had in his hand. Marc follows where his fingers are pointed, and he sees images of him, the first being in the familiar setting of the school canteen.

"This is you when we first met - by the cafeteria more than a year ago. Only one tuna sandwich left, and we had an impromptu staring contest to see who gets it. You won, and I was so mad, not because I didn't get the sandwich, but because I was so distracted at how cute you were."

Nathaniel whispers the story in his ear, and then turns to the next page showing Marc bending over and reaching out to an alley cat

"This is when you tried to pet a little kitten." Marc feels Nathaniel's cheek rub on his, telling him the redhead is smiling, "It was black with green eyes, and hissing at us even while you pet it. You said it reminded you of Cat Noir. I said it reminded me of Adrien, then we both wondered if they were one and the same person."

Marc feels a smile form on his face as he looks at the picture, and remember their little banter of such possibility. The smile steadily grows with each picture, each page showing a different story, each story spoken in soft, delicate whispers that keeps sending delightful sensations on his skin. As the stories progress, he finds himself leaning deeper and deeper into Nathaniel's arms, until finally, he's completely snuggled up in his embrace.

"Notice anything in the picture?" Nathaniel suddenly asks.

"You didn't draw the mouth parts?"

"That's right. Much like you, I didn't know where I was at. I can draw, sure, but the one person I'd love to draw, the one person I love – I just can't draw him right." Nate tells him, and then closes the notebook shut before throwing it away. Marc quirks an eyebrow at the sudden brashness, and is pulled to a different position this time, facing the blushing artist.

"Until now."

Nathaniel's sky-colored eyes drills through his emerald ones. He pulls his hands away from the young writer who seems stuck basking under his sharp stare. Slowly, Nathaniel leans forward, closing his eyes.

"I'm going to complete my drawing of you." He whispers before claiming Marc's lips with his own. The chaste beginning lasts far longer than Nathaniel anticipated, but he couldn't complain when he could feel Marc returning the kiss with a tad bit more enthusiasm. He slightly smiles under the kiss, and then pulls away.

Marc opens his eyes to see Nathaniel licking his lips clean. He's gotten rid of the pink lip gloss, and Marc is sure his lips are raw and bare right now, something the young redhead is clearly appreciating.

"I love you, Marc." Nathaniel tells him with such tenderness and affection Marc was certain he'd fall to the floor had they been standing. The comfy setting of the mattress made that unnecessary however, as it finally dawns to the young raven-haired boy that his feelings have just been reciprocated.

"You do?" Marc asks, another wave of tears threatening.

"I do. Now don't start crying again, okay?" Nathaniel teases, leaning his forehead on Marc's and begins wiping the boy's face.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I love you that way too – crybaby dork."

"I… I want…"

Marc stutters while looking at Nathaniel who couldn't help but smile at such cuteness. He runs a hand through his jet-black strands in the hopes of soothing the boy.

"I want to complete me poem of you.."

"Sure," Nathaniel tells him sweetly, "let's work on t-mf!"

Nathaniel is muffled by the sudden attack from the boy's lips. The timidness a split second back is immediately replaced by a hungry passion as Marc starts kissing him aggressively. He yelps under the kiss and attempts to return the same aggression, but he finds himself being increasingly dominated by such pure drive from the taller boy.

Nathaniel groans helplessly under the kiss as he finds the pressure of Marc's lips more and more pleasurable by the moment. Cupping the narrow shoulders of the redhead, Marc gently guides Nathaniel down on the mattress, said boy still fumbling over the realization that in the most literal of senses Marc is being on top.

Really didn't see this coming.

What's even more surprising is that he's growing to want more and more of it.

Marc seems to have read his mind. He gives Nathaniel a short reprieve of breath – to take some air in and allow his lover the sight of crimson tendrils scattered atop a completely flushed, murky-eyed and clearly pleased face. Despite having the same ocean-water orbs retain their piercing glare, Marc still soaks up such a rare vision beneath him and decides Nathaniel looks absolutely erotic like that.

A grain of sweat glistens on the redhead's neck, and Marc leans down to lick it, eliciting a quite gasps from the boy. Nathaniel closes his eyes shut as Marc's tongue has begun trailing licks on his neck, down to its curve, and on to his shoulders. The licks turn into nibbles, and Nathaniel relishes on the wave of pleasure echoing across his entire body.

His restricted search for air continues as Marc escalates the action to lofty heights, and those playful nibbles gain teeth and suction. The sound of misty breaths turning into desperate pants from Nathaniel excites the young writer and surges him on, resulting into several more areas marked on the redhead's neck and shoulders.

"Darn it… Marc…" Nathaniel finally manages to say, though the name part ends up sounding more like a pleasured moan.

The boy snaps back from the urges, and pushes himself up to appreciate his handy work. Red swollen spots all over his partner's sensitive skin. Still a bit delirious from the make-out, Nathaniel glares at Marc who is bearing a childish smirk.

"You… dork…" Nathaniel pants, face now completely colored with the same shade as his hair. "Could've put it… on places… people can't… see"

"Good idea."

Marc makes a swift movement to put himself between Nathaniel legs, said boy yelping at the sudden position they're in before he could even completely recover. Any opportunity for protest was quelled before they were even raised as the raven-haired boy pulls up his shirt to reveal a vast spread of unblemished skin. The insecurity immediately kicks in and Nathaniel immediately crosses his arms over his bare chest, throwing accusing glares at the hungry teen on top of him.

"I'm skinny." Nathaniel says with quiet virulence, looking away.

Marc pulls his chin so their eyes could meet. "You're perfect." He whispers to him.

Both blush and heat seem to have scattered to different parts of Nathaniel's body, evident as the boy reluctantly removes his arms so he can put them around Marc's neck instead and pull him for a kiss. His lips don't last long on his as once again he starts to trail craving markings down his body. Nathaniel arcs his body up as the foreign touches began to spread. He bites his lips to prevent a moan from escaping as Marc begins grazing through his thighs with both hands, exploring their length and softness, and going as far as the edge of his buttocks.

"God, Nathe, you're so smooth." Marc says in a drunken husk, lips still plastered and leaving spots on Nathaniel's chest.

"I don't need a commentary!" Nathaniel hisses with eyes shut and gritted teeth.

"You feel so good to the touch."

"I swear to God, Marc!"

Minutes pass into deeper, wider ministrations that have left Nathaniel with more love marks than he has undiscovered moles, and Marc finally detaches his mouth from the boy's skin, leaving him once again in a tangle of half-naked limbs covered by a bad choice of lose clothing. That signature glare of his never faltered during the entire ordeal, which isn't a good thing for him because from now Marc will be associating such look with everything sexy.

"I think we should stop for now." Marc says, throwing himself on the spot beside the still recovering boy.

Nathaniel registers the comment with mild annoyance, looks down at all the hickeys all over his body and throws the glare at Marc.

"Oh, you think?"

Marc's giggle perplexes the redhead. He leans towards him and puts a gentle peck on Nathaniel's nose.

Nathaniel just sighs and shakes his head before giving him a similarly affectionate gesture, still not believing that he was at the receiving end of such an unexpected storm. Marc reaches up for Nate's neglected shirt and works to put it back on his partner. He lets the scent of untainted fabric conditioner play in his mind as the soft fabric cascades on his partner's body. After that, he pulls Nate in a tight embrace.

Nathaniel presses a chaste kiss on Marc's collarbone, making the writer shiver. While it frustrates him that it's the only thing he can manage after getting so much… pleasurable damage, Nathaniel decides they've both have enough for one night.

"How's that poem coming?" Nathaniel asks, while breathing in the scent of Marc's skin.

"No dice."

"Really? After all that?" Nathaniel asks with a chuckle.

"I got a title out, at least. Something that's been screaming in my head over and over again when we were…um,"

"Making out?" Nathaniel fills in the blank for the suddenly innocent teen.

"Yeah, that."

The young artist laughs at him. "So? What's the title?"

Marc leans down and kisses Nathaniel on the lips before answering: "Mine."

The end

Thank you very much for reading

Author's notes:

So, this is me, experimenting on a different writing style, and a new genre. I've never written anything with romance between two boys, and I'm so glad I got to encounter these two. Please do tell me what you think.

Also, I fell in love with the show on the get-go, particularly with the main heroine and hero, both positively breaking conventional images of selfless devotion and heroism.