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Christmas, as Luka often has to explain to his friends, is a bit different on the Liberty.
There’s certainly room for a Christmas tree on the deck of the houseboat, but for the past several years, Anarka Couffaine has opted for a different decoration: a seven-foot-tall Krampus figure, complete with giant horns, bells, and a whip.
Luka long ago decided to just go with it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to explain to people when they visit.
Worse, his mother keeps changing her mind about where she wants to put the statue. First it was by the ramp of the boat, then over by the lounge chairs. On Christmas evening, as Luka climbs up the stairs toward the deck of the boat, he wonders where the statue will be lurking this time.
He also wonders if Chat Noir will be visiting. It seems that Chat has made a habit of visiting during the holidays, and now, Luka finds himself hoping that they’ll get to spend a few minutes of Christmas together.
Deep in thought, Luka emerges onto the chilly deck and immediately gives a little jump. It’s the damn Krampus statue, of course, now watching over the staircase.
He sighs and pats its furry shoulder. “Joyeux Noël, Krampus.”
A moment later, a dark figure lands on the deck of the boat, startling Luka again. Before he can wonder is this another Krampus, the newcomer lets out a yowl and leaps about a meter into the air.
It’s a little impressive. Krampus has never made Luka jump that high—but then, Luka doesn’t have cat-themed superpowers.
“Salut, Chat,” Luka says. “Do you like our Christmas decorations?”
Chat curses in what sounds like several different languages. “What is that thing?”
“Krampus,” Luka says. His mouth twitches as he tries to hold back a laugh. “You’re not a fan?”
Chat stares at Luka with wide eyes full of betrayal. “Why, Luka?” he says. “Why would anyone have this—this—”
“It was maman’s idea,” Luka says. He pats Krampus’s furry shoulder again. “He’s been a member of the family for several years now.”
Chat leans on his staff, contemplating the statue. “Does that mean we have to invite him to our wedding?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Hm.” Luka pokes one of Krampus’s clawed hands. “He could maybe be a ring bearer.”
Chat grimaces at the statue. “Super.” He turns his attention back to Luka. “I’m not interrupting your holiday, I hope?”
“Of course not,” Luka says. “We already ate and opened presents. I just…came upstairs to see Krampus, I guess. And to look for you.”
Chat’s eyes widen. “You—you were looking for me?” He frowns. “And this?”
Luka laughs. “You shouldn’t disrespect Krampus. He’s a traditional Christmas figure, the same as Père Noël.”
Chat scrutinizes Luka. “Why does it sound like you’ve given this speech before?”
Luka sighs. “You’re not the first person to ask about Krampus.”
“Well,” Chat says, “I guess he’s a good conversation starter for dates. Have you shown your Krampus statue to any cute guys or girls, lately?”
Luka regards Chat for a moment, forming his response. There are times, like now, that Chat gives him emotional whiplash—thirty seconds ago, he was joking about marrying Luka, and now he seems worried that Luka might be seeing people. Luka can see the anxiety in the crease of Chat’s forehead, can hear it in the uneasiness of his voice.
Apparently Chat is just as confused about this thing between them as Luka is.
“Just one,” Luka finally says, smiling. “But I don’t think he’s a fan.”
“I can’t blame him.” Chat’s ears droop slightly, even as he pastes a smile on his face. “Krampus is a little scary.”
“Chat,” Luka says. “I was talking about you.”
“Oh!” Chat says, and his tail stands up straight. “Y-you—you think I’m cute?”
“I’ve kissed you twice,” Luka reminds him. “And before you ask, no, Krampus traditions don’t involve kissing.”
Chat’s cheeks are already flushed from the cold, but they turn bright red at Luka’s words. Luka wonders if maybe he’s been too forward. “What a pity,” Chat says. “So, what does Krampus do?”
“Usually he whips naughty children with a birch branch,” Luka says.
A sly smile overtakes Chat’s face, and Luka immediately regrets his answer. “Got a branch?” Chat asks.
Luka clears his throat. “You’re a superhero. I doubt Krampus is interested in you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Chat says. “Tell me, what else does Krampus do?”
“Sometimes he throws children in a basket and carries them to hell,” Luka says, cringing. He’s pretty sure this isn’t how flirting is supposed to work.
“If you swap hell for your room, I’m in.”
Luka groans. “I keep walking into these jokes, don’t I.”
“You’re making it pretty easy, yes,” Chat says. His hand rests on Luka’s shoulder, spreading heat through Luka’s chilled skin. It occurs to Luka that he’s probably not wearing enough layers—he’d only planned to be on the deck for a minute, so he hadn’t worn more than a thin hoodie. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I don’t always think before I speak.”
“Thinking doesn’t seem to help me much,” Luka says wryly. He fights the urge to move closer to the heat emanating off Chat’s body. “Your hand is warm.”
“And you look like you’re freezing,” Chat says. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a coat?”
Luka shrugs. It’s a clear December night, with no wind or snow, and he’s too focused on Chat to notice the cold. “I don’t mind.”
“And I didn’t come by to flirt, I swear,” Chat adds. “I just wanted to wish you a Joyeux Noël. Or a happy fourth night of Hanukkah.”
“You’re not…” Luka hesitates, since he has a feeling he knows what the answer will be. “You’re not celebrating at home?”
He’s still not positive that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste are the same person, but he’s gathered that their home lives are similar enough. And if Chat’s night is going anything like Adrien’s—well, he’s welcome to stay at the Liberty for as long as he likes.
Earlier that night, Luka, Marinette, and their friends had tried to visit the Agreste mansion to wish Adrien a Joyeux Noël. That attempt had ended like most attempts to see Adrien: with failure. And while Luka hates the idea of Adrien being locked up in his room by himself on Christmas, what else can he do? He’d sent him a text, and Adrien had responded, but it’s not like Luka can break into the mansion to see him.
Even though it means that Chat’s identity might be compromised, Luka secretly hopes that Chat is Adrien. Because that means Adrien was able to leave the house and spend Christmas with someone, if only for a few minutes.
“Right,” Chat says quietly. “I…celebrated earlier, if you can call it that.” Luka watches as Chat’s entire body deflates, back hunched, his hand slipping from Luka’s shoulder. “Last year was a lot better. My friends all came over to my house for a while, and—and that was fun. But this year, my father didn’t let them come over.” He snorts. “Probably because I didn’t run away this time.”
Ah. Yes. Luka vaguely recalls a story about Adrien sneaking out last Christmas and worrying his father, which somehow resulted in an akumatized Père Noël. Definitely not the strangest Christmas that Luka has witnessed—it’s impossible, really, given the Couffaine family’s antics—but it’s certainly another piece of evidence to put in the Chat-is-Adrien column.
Part of Luka feels bad for speculating about Chat’s identity. He knows that Ladybug and Chat Noir’s safety depends on civilians not knowing who they are. Except, well…call Luka selfish, but he’d kind of like to know who he’s been kissing.
“I’m sorry, Chat,” Luka says. He tentatively reaches down and takes one of Chat’s hands in his. “So it was just you and your father?”
Chat squeezes his hand lightly. “And a few other people. But it didn’t last very long—he went back to his work after a few minutes of celebrating.” His voice wavers a bit as he adds, “I ended up eating dinner alone.”
“Oh, Chat.” Luka steps forward and wraps his arms around Chat in a hug. Chat’s body heat travels through his clothes, warming his frozen skin. “You should have come here sooner. We would have been happy to have you.”
Chat returns the hug. “I—I didn’t want to impose.” He pulls away, a lopsided grin on his face. “And wouldn’t it be kind of weird if a superhero came by to celebrate Christmas?”
Luka raises an eyebrow. “Not any weirder than our Krampus mannequin.”
“I’m cuter than that,” Chat mumbles.
“Yes, you are,” Luka says. He absentmindedly brushes Chat’s hair out of his face. “Do you want to come downstairs? We’ve mostly cleaned up, but we still have some dessert left over.”
Chat presses his cheek to Luka’s palm. “Hm. I do like dessert.” He pulls away, forehead pinched with a frown. “Are there a lot of people down there?”
“Just maman,” Luka says, “and she’s passed out in her room. Juleka’s over at Rose’s.”
“I…guess I could come downstairs for a few minutes,” Chat says.
Luka wonders why there’s a touch of hesitance in Chat’s voice. Is he reluctant to be alone with Luka? Or is he still worried that he’s unwelcome?
“You know, Chat,” Luka says, leading him downstairs. As they move toward the room below, heat slowly seeps back into Luka’s fingers and face. “I would have invited you over if I knew you didn’t have plans. I enjoy your visits.”
Silently, he worries that was too blunt. Or too formal. I enjoy your visits. That doesn’t tell Chat how Luka really feels—or that Luka is kind of hoping he’ll kiss him again.
“Oh,” Chat says. Luka glances over his shoulder to find him rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I was kind of worried that these visits bother you, actually.”
“Bother me?” Luka repeats, incredulous.
“I can be a little over-the-top.”
“I don’t mind,” Luka says, smiling. “Like I said, I like having you here.”
It’s hard to tell in the darkness—the only source of light in the room is some Christmas lights strung along the walls—but it looks like Chat is blushing. “I…um, I like being here,” Chat says. Clearing his throat, he claps his hands together. “So! I believe I was promised some dessert?”
“I’m beginning to think you have a sweet tooth.” Luka closes the door behind them and climbs over a pile of empty boxes to reach the kitchen counter. “Also, I’m sorry for the mess. I was just starting to clean up when I went upstairs earlier.”
Chat’s eyes rake across the room, likely taking in the scattered scraps of wrapping paper, the opened presents, and the pile of scissors, tape, and ribbon by the couch. (The Couffaines tend to do their gift wrapping last-minute.) Then Chat frowns. “It looks like someone…fired a confetti cannon in here?”
Grimacing, Luka brushes a pile of confetti off the kitchen counter. “Yeah. Maman did.”
Chat’s mouth twitches. “I guess she really likes Christmas?”
“She really likes cannons,” Luka corrects. “But most of them are illegal, so she makes do with the non-lethal ones.”
At that, Chat bursts out laughing. He doubles over, cackling so hard that a tear slips from his eye. “I’m sorry. I’m just…this ship doesn’t have cannons, does it?”
“No,” Luka says flatly. “And that’s only thanks to a very long conversation with Roger Raincomprix about public safety hazards.” He sighs. “I promise, this houseboat is safe. Mostly.”
Chat snorts. “It’s nice and warm, at least.” His eyes stray to one of the space heaters in the corner, and Luka can’t help but wonder if Chat is heat-seeking like an actual cat. “I expected it to be a little colder, since it’s a boat and all.”
“Space heaters,” Luka says. “And a stove. We just have to watch the carbon monoxide levels. Oh, and…” Luka hops over another pile and grabs a blanket off the couch. “We have blankets, too. You can have this one, if you want.”
Chat chews on his lip. “You look like you need it more than I do.”
Luka shrugs. “I just thought, cats tend to like warmth, right?”
“Oh, that’s true,” Chat says. He winks. “But occasionally something cold catches my eye.”
Luka feels his cheeks heat. “Is that so?”
“Uh.” Chat fiddles with his tail, eyes darting around the room. “You keep the blanket for now. I’ll steal it from you later if I’m cold.” He peers at Luka. “Or we can share.”
“We have a few blankets,” Luka says. “So I could get you your own, if you don’t want to share.”
Even as Luka says it, he hopes that Chat will say no. He and Chat had cuddled together once, back on Halloween, and Luka hasn’t been able to forget the feel of Chat’s head on his shoulder, the weight of his body curled up next to Luka’s. Luka would much rather share a blanket and hold him close.
“We’ll see,” Chat says.
With a nod, Luka sets the blanket on the couch and makes his way back to the kitchen counter. Grabbing a knife, he uncovers the leftover Bûche de Noël made by the Dupain-Chengs. The half-log sits in a mess of crumbs and icing, sliced carelessly by Luka’s family earlier, but it still tastes just as good.
“Ooh,” Chat says. His body presses against Luka’s side as he peers at the cake. “Did the Dupain-Chengs make that?”
“Yeah,” Luka says, as he cuts a piece for Chat. “Marinette dropped it off earlier.”
“That’s nice,” Chat murmurs, though there’s something strange in his voice. “Did any of your other friends visit?”
Oh. Of course. Luka’s talking to someone who just spent most of Christmas by himself.
“Usually we wouldn’t have visitors,” Luka says, “since everyone’s spending the day with their families. But, well…” He sighs as he scoops Chat’s piece of cake onto a paper plate. “We were trying to visit our friend earlier. Adrien Agreste. You might know him?” Luka glances sideways at Chat, gauging his reaction.
Chat’s eyes are slightly wide, his lips parted in surprise. “Really?” he says. “You—you were?”
Luka smiles and nods. “We figured he might appreciate the company, since his father is always so busy. But Gabriel wouldn’t let us in.” He inhales deeply, trying to quell his irritation. Even as he exhales, though, his hand tightens in a fist around the knife he’s holding. “I’m still angry about that. And—well, actually, Marinette and I considered climbing over the mansion wall anyway. But there was ice, and I was afraid Marinette would break her neck, and Marinette was afraid I would break my guitar, so we—”
“Wait,” Chat says. His hand comes to rest on Luka’s, and Luka realizes he’s been sawing angrily at the log. “Why did you have your guitar?”
“Well, we were all planning to sing some carols,” Luka says. He sets the knife down. “That’s the thing. We weren’t even asking to be let inside. Just the front steps would have been fine. But apparently Christmas cheer is forbidden at the Agreste mansion.”
“Sounds like it,” Chat murmurs.
“Yeah, I…it’s…” A growl escapes Luka’s lips, and he presses a hand to his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get so worked up. I just—I keep thinking about how Adrien must feel, alone in that mansion with a father who hates the holidays, or happiness, or something, and…and…”
“I’m sure he appreciates your concern.” Chat’s fingers stroke the back of Luka’s trembling hand. “It seems like you’ve got a lot to say about the Agrestes.”
“Because I’m angry,” Luka mutters. “I just—I don’t like how Adrien’s father treats him.” He risks a glance at Chat. “From what you’ve said, he sounds a lot like your father. And I hate that both of you are so…” He sighs. “It’s a holiday, Chat. You shouldn’t have to sneak out in a superhero suit just to spend it with someone.”
“Can you…” Chat trails off, pressing his lips together. Then he tries again. “Would you mind playing some of those carols for me?”
“I’d love to,” Luka says. He hands Chat the paper plate. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go grab my guitar.”
He’s grateful for the chance to think about something else. Music will get his mind off his anger toward Gabriel Agreste—and off the fact that he still doesn’t know if he’s talking to Adrien right now.
On one hand, it’s easy for Luka to say how he feels about Adrien’s father when he’s not sure if Chat is really Adrien. On the other hand, the ambiguity is frustrating. If this is Adrien, why doesn’t he ever flirt with Luka without the mask? And if it’s not Adrien, then why has this random blonde boy decided that he’s interested in Luka?
It doesn’t make any sense, and normally, that wouldn’t bother Luka. Except, well—he’s falling for Chat. That’s become clear enough. If Luka just wanted to be friends with Chat, he wouldn’t have wandered onto the deck earlier in the hopes that Chat would appear and kiss him again.
Although Luka’s tried to control his emotions for these past several weeks, he can feel the song inside his heart growing restless. It’s faint, but it’s the same will-they-won’t-they tune that finally soured his feelings for Marinette. And he doesn’t want that. His feelings for Chat are sweet and uncomplicated. He doesn’t want questions or doubts to disrupt that.
At the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter. Luka wants to be there for Chat regardless of who he is under the mask, and regardless of whether or not Chat is interested in starting a relationship. Deep down, though, Luka is afraid his heart will end up getting hurt.
A minute or two later, Luka reenters the living room carrying his classical guitar. Chat is sitting on the sofa, scarfing down his slice of cake, but he perks up and sets the plate down when he sees Luka.
“Is that a classical guitar?” Chat asks, wiping crumbs from his face.
Luka nods and sits down next to Chat. “I don’t play it as often as my electric one.”
“Right,” Chat says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play classical before.” He clears his throat. “Um, not that I’ve seen you play that often, but—sometimes you’re sitting in that chair on the deck—oh, and sometimes I see your band practicing…”
Luka laughs. “Classical guitar isn’t exactly Kitty Section’s aesthetic, no.”
He quickly adjusts the tuning pegs on the guitar, and then he begins plucking the tune of “Il est né, le divin Enfant.” At first, he looks up from the strings and watches Chat—but Chat’s gaze is too intense, and Luka finds himself looking down at the strings even though he doesn’t have to.
Chat is silent as Luka makes his way through “Noël nouvelet,” “Patapan,” and “Un flambeau, Jeannette, Isabelle.” After the fourth song, Luka glances up to find that Chat’s head is tilted back, his eyes closed, a serene smile on his face.
Luka smiles to himself. He’s tempted to set his guitar down and drape the blanket over Chat. He looks so sweet and peaceful like that.
When a few moments have passed without music, Chat cracks an eye open. “Do you have any more?”
Luka blinks, a blush heating his cheeks. He hopes Chat didn’t catch him staring. “Of course.”
He frowns, thinking for a second, and then plays the first five notes of a major scale. His fingers quickly remember the rest, moving through the intervals and chords of the lullaby. The notes ring sweet and pure in the air, and as Luka plays, he can’t help but feel that there’s something intimate about this concert for one. Playing carols next to someone, in a cozy room on Christmas—isn’t that something lovers do?
Luka makes eye contact with Chat as he plucks the last chord of the song. He pulls his fingers away from the strings and lets the sound echo in the air between them.
Chat blinks. His eyes shine in the glow of the Christmas lights. “Your playing is beautiful, Luka.” He quickly swipes a hand across his face. “I mean, I would have loved to hear everyone sing carols, but that was…” He shakes his head and stares at the fake fire flickering on one of the space heaters.
Luka smiles and strums a few chords, needing something to do with his hands. “Hm. I guess I should have tried to climb over the mansion wall, after all.”
Chat hums in agreement. A moment of silence passes, and then he yelps. “I—I mean, yes, I’m sure Adrien would have appreciated your playing as much as I did. Or, uh, maybe even more. I don’t know him that well, but I mean, assuming he has any taste at all…” He wrings his hands and stares at Luka with wide eyes. “I meant to ask, what was that last song? I didn’t recognize it.”
Since it’s Christmas, Luka decides to be generous and ignore Chat’s slip. “Tàladh Chrìosda,” he says, playing the first few notes again. “It’s a Scottish Gaelic carol. I don’t know how often it gets sung in French.”
Chat leans forward, his tail curling behind him as he does. “How does it go?”
“You mean the words?” Luka asks. He laughs helplessly. “I don’t really know them. I just know the tune.”
“Right,” Chat says. “That makes sense.”
“Did you want to hear me sing?” Luka teases.
“Uh. Maybe?”
“My guitar playing is better,” Luka says, setting the guitar aside. “But maybe I’ll sing for you another time.”
Smiling, Chat moves closer, until his legs are pressed up against Luka’s. “I’d like that.” Hesitantly, he wraps his hand around Luka’s wrist and presses Luka’s palm to his cheek. “Hm. Seems like you’re still a little cold. Maybe you need something to warm you up?”
“I guess I could make coffee or hot chocolate,” Luka says. “Do you want any?”
Chat squints at him and slowly lets go of his hand. “Sure. That is…exactly what I meant.”
“Did you have something else in mind?” Luka asks, raising his eyebrows. “We have tea, too.”
“N-no,” Chat says, shaking his head. He reclines on the couch, arms folded across his chest. “I could go for some hot chocolate.”
It’s not until Luka is standing over a pot at the stove that he realizes what Chat meant by something to warm you up. He groans. “I’m so sorry.”
“What for?” Chat asks. He’s fiddling with one of the space heaters now, clearly searching for a way to turn it on.
“You plug it in,” Luka tells him. “There’s an outlet behind the sofa.” He gives the hot chocolate a gentle stir. “And…I just realized you weren’t asking for hot chocolate.”
Chat grunts, dangling over the back of the sofa as he tries to plug the heater in. Luka tries not to stare too much at his ass, but—well, Chat is wearing a skintight suit, and Luka is only human.
Finally, Chat sits back down on the sofa. “Well, it’s true that I wasn’t thinking of hot chocolate,” he says, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around himself. “But hot drinks are good, too.”
Once the hot chocolate is done, Luka ladles it into two cups. “Do you want whipped cream?”
Chat raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Luka says, retrieving the can of whipped cream from the cupboard, “that your dentist probably hates me for indulging your sweet tooth like this.”
“Wrong!” Chat exclaims. “I’ll have you know, I’ve never gotten a cavity in my life.”
Luka stares at Chat in disbelief. “How is that possible?”
Chat grins. “I have good teeth.”
Turning back to the hot chocolate, Luka sprays whipped cream on top of Chat’s cup. “Oh. That must be why you have such a beautiful smile.”
He glances up to find Chat stuttering and avoiding his eyes. “Th-that—oh—uh, thank you. You know, you…also…”
“I know my smile’s not as nice,” Luka says.
“Quoi!” Chat says. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Luka says, as he carefully carries the two mugs over to the sofa. “I had an ex who told me that my smile was too wide, and that when I didn’t show teeth, it was a little…reptilian.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Chat says. “I love your smile. And your laugh. And, well. A lot of things.” He smiles shyly. “You know, I can personally vouch for how nice your lips are.”
Luka laughs as he sits down and hands Chat his hot chocolate. Rather than take a sip, though, Chat immediately sets the mug on a nearby box and tugs at the blanket, adjusting it so it’s draped over both him and Luka. After some maneuvering, Chat ends up sitting curled against Luka’s side, with his legs draped across Luka’s lap and his face pressed to Luka’s shoulder. The blanket wraps around the two of them, cocooning them in warmth.
“Oh,” Luka says, as a purr rumbles in Chat’s chest. He’d thought he imagined it on Halloween night, but there’s no mistaking it—Chat definitely purrs. “This is comfortable.”
Chat hums, taking a sip of hot chocolate. His hair tickles Luka’s neck. “It is.” His body shifts against Luka’s with a sigh. “I wish I had this more often.”
Luka doesn’t respond right away. He wonders: what part of this does Chat wish for? The warmth and quiet? The company? Luka himself?
“What do you mean?” Luka murmurs. His free hand strokes Chat’s hair, fingers brushing against his neck.
“I don’t know,” Chat says. “Just…this.”
“Well,” Luka says. “Unfortunately, Christmas only comes once a year. But I’m available for cuddling year-round.”
Chat laughs. “That’s good to hear.”
They sit together in silence after that, sipping hot chocolate and enjoying each other’s presence. Luka wishes he could just go ahead and kiss Chat—but that’s not how they do things. Each kiss has to have a game, an excuse, and Luka doesn’t want to scare Chat away by straying from that.
Eventually, Chat glances up at Luka, his green eyes sparkling. “So, you ruined my last attempt at being smooth. Mind if I try again?”
Luka struggles to maintain a straight face as his heart pounds, racing to the beat of yes, yes, finally. “Go ahead.” He takes a sip of hot chocolate, and as the thick sweetness coats his tongue, he somehow knows that this is going to end with a kiss. It’s the flavor of something sweet—somehow, that taste always leads to Chat’s lips.
“You see,” Chat says. He pauses to lick his lips. “The music and the hot chocolate—those are nice gifts.”
Luka glances down at Chat. “I wouldn’t call them gifts, exactly.”
“And I feel bad,” Chat continues, “because I didn’t bring a Christmas present for you.”
“I think your présence is enough, Chat.”
“Even so…” Chat stops, eyes widening. “Wait, was that a pun?”
Luka feels his face flush. He’s never been that good at wordplay, and he’s always been reluctant to attempt a play on words around Paris’s pun master. “It was an attempt?”
“That was a pun,” Chat says, grinning. “You know, I was going to offer you a kiss as my Christmas gift—”
“I’d still like that,” Luka says.
“—but now I’m pretty sure I’m obligated to kiss you.”
“Oh?” Luka says. As he takes in the dot of whipped cream on Chat’s nose and the chocolate outlining his lips, he can tell that this kiss is going to be another sweet one. “Well, I wouldn’t object to a last-minute Christmas present.”
“Last-minute?” Chat says, raising an eyebrow. He leans closer, until his lips are just centimeters from Luka’s. “Luka, I’ve been thinking about this all month.”
And then their lips are pressed together—and of course Chat tastes like chocolate and sugar, his lips sweet and warm against Luka’s. The kiss makes warmth bloom in Luka’s chest, as if a tiny fire is glowing in his heart.
Their mugs clink against each other, and it occurs to Luka that they should probably set them down, except he doesn’t want to end the kiss sooner than he has to. So Luka does his best to hold the mug steady, even as Chat kisses him more insistently, making his thoughts fuzzy and light.
Luka loses track of how many kisses there are, exactly; all he knows is that Chat’s Christmas gift is definitely better than hot chocolate.
At some point, Chat haphazardly wraps his arm around Luka’s neck and tugs him closer. Luka surges forward, seeking yet another kiss—and that’s when Chat’s elbow hits his arm, knocking Luka’s hot chocolate all over the blanket.
Chat jerks away, his ears flat. “Merde!” he hisses, staring at the chocolate covering the blanket. “I—I’m so sorry.” He jumps to his feet, and hot chocolate sloshes out of his cup, dripping onto Luka and the blanket. “Oh, mon dieu. I—I’ll go get towels.” Cursing quietly, he sets his mug down and scrambles toward the kitchen.
Luka sets his mug down as well, carefully extricating himself from the stained blanket. “It’s fine, Chat,” Luka says. He stands and joins Chat at the kitchen counter. “I don’t mind.”
Chat groans and blots a paper towel against Luka’s hand, wiping away the hot chocolate on his skin. “I’m so stupid. Joyeux Noël, Luka! I ruined your blanket and spilled hot chocolate on you!”
“Don't worry, Chat,” Luka says, grabbing his shoulder. “We can wash it.”
With a sigh, Chat tosses a wad of paper towels onto the counter. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” Luka’s hand slips down Chat’s arm, fingers lightly brushing his wrist. “So…do you have any more presents for me?”
Chat laughs. “You still want another kiss, after that?” He shakes his head. “I’ll probably set your houseboat on fire or something.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”
“Of course not,” Chat mutters, shaking his head. “Isn’t there anything else you want instead?”
“Well,” Luka says, taking Chat’s hand. “You could take Krampus off our hands. I’m tired of being scared shitless every time I go upstairs.”
“Are you suggesting I try to destroy your Krampus statue?” Chat says. “Absolutely not. That thing’s cursed. I’m not risking it.”
“In that case,” Luka says, “I think I’d like another kiss.”
“Right. Um, sure.” Taking a deep breath, Chat leans forward and presses his lips to Luka’s, quick and chaste. “Joyeux Noël, Luka.”
Luka blushes. “Joyeux Noël, Chat.”
He’s already memorizing the taste of this particular holiday kiss. That’s three now: peppermint, pumpkin, and chocolate. Chat’s lips really do taste sweet every time.
“Oh,” Chat says. “Apologies. I think I got some whipped cream…” He points at Luka’s face. “I’ll just—uh…” He swipes a gloved finger across Luka’s nose and pulls it away with a bit of whipped cream on it. “Sorry.” Smiling sheepishly, he licks the cream off his finger.
Luka squeezes his eyes shut, sure that his face is as red as Père Noël’s suit. Then he opens them and sees that there’s still some whipped cream on Chat’s nose, too. “You’ve still got some on yours,” Luka says. He mimics Chat’s motion, wiping the whipped cream off with his finger and licking it off.
He’s not really a fan of whipped cream, but apparently Luka Couffaine will do many things for the sake of flirting with Chat Noir.
Chat buries his face in his hands. “You—um, I—I should probably get going before someone at home notices I’m gone.” He lowers his hands from his eyes, just enough to peer at Luka. “Thank you for the hot chocolate, Luka. A-and…everything else.”
Feeling emboldened, Luka leans forward and kisses Chat’s forehead. “Have a good night, Chat. I’ll see you around?”
A squeak slips out of Chat’s mouth. “Certainly! Soon. I’ll…uh, I’ll be back soon.” He takes a quick sip from his mostly-empty mug of hot chocolate and hastily trips toward the door. “Bonne nuit, Luka.”
Luka watches him from the counter. “Do you want me to walk you out?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Chat gives a tiny bow, his tail lashing behind his back. “Off I go!”
He wrenches the door open and scrambles away, much like he did Halloween night, when he first kissed Luka. Luka smiles and takes a sip from the dregs of his mug, pretending it’s Chat’s lips he’s tasting instead.
A few seconds later, Luka hears a yell from up above.
“Chat?” he tentatively calls.
“I changed my mind!” Chat yells. “I’m throwing Krampus overboard!”
And so, Chat’s Christmas visit ends not with a kiss, but with the sound of Krampus plummeting into the cold, dark Seine outside.
Luka does not look forward to explaining that to his mother when she wakes up.