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Marinette’s only a little surprised when Luka shows up at the bakery. They’re closed already, the sky just beginning to darken and the streetlights just beginning to come to life to cast a soft glow on the city. Her parents are long in bed, getting rested for their early morning order tomorrow. She’s been up sketching designs in her notebook and secretly hoping he will come.
He forgoes knocking and texts her instead when he arrives, mindful of her sleeping parents. She takes a breath to calm her nerves as she welcomes him inside. He’s carrying a nondescript paper bag and Marinette’s heart picks up pace.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” she admits breathlessly when they make it into her bedroom. He sets the heavy bag down carefully and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He cracks a small smile.
“I’d hardly deny you anything, Marinette.”
She flushes and wonders how he’s always able to pull the red into her cheeks like that. Biting her thumbnail she says, “You didn’t seem too keen on the idea before.”
Luka shrugs. “I’m trying to stay on Tom and Sabine’s good side is all. Sneaking into their daughter’s bedroom while they’re sleeping seems like something that might ruin that.” He finally pulls the bottle of wine out of the paper bag, holding it up for her to see. “Not to mention the alcohol.”
Butterflies fill her stomach at the sight. “Thanks for doing this, Luka,” she says, sincerely. Most of her friends have been casually drinking for months now, ever since they turned sixteen. Her…not so much. Tikki had assured her once that she really didn’t need to worry about her Ladybug duties since the miraculous magic would be able to take care of any tipsy or drunk feelings she might have before transforming. But something had still held her back. What if Tikki was wrong or it didn’t work like that? What if she let Paris down because she wasn’t in her right mind? She just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.
The pleading and begging of her friends was starting to wear her a little thin, though. She figured at this point it was like a Band-Aid, she just needed to get it over with and find out what all the fuss was about. If Tikki, the most responsible being she knew, thought it would be good for her to loosen up a little, then she was probably right. One or two drinks tonight with Luka, whom she trusted more than anyone, would be enough to satisfy the curiosity. Then she could simply tell her friends that drinking wasn’t for her and have all this nonsense be over with.
“Of course,” he says, smiling again. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t want to have your first drink with all your friends. Why me?”
Marinette groans. “You’ve seen how they are. I love them, but they can be a little overbearing. I trust you to let me experience this in the way that I want to.”
Luka’s eyes soften at her words and he looks towards the ground hiding a pleased smile. “It makes me happy that you trust me,” he admits after a moment.
Marinette shakes her head fondly and takes an earnest step towards him, linking her hands together in front of her. “So, I was thinking…we could go out to the balcony?”
Luka nods and grabs the bottle. “Do you have some glasses?” he asks. “I didn’t bring any because I was scared I might drop and break them.”
“Let me look,” Marinette says and gestures towards the balcony. “I’ll meet you out there.”
Rummaging through the cabinets, she manages to find a few dusty wine glasses. Her heart is thrumming in nervous anticipation, but when she makes it back out to the balcony, Luka is standing there with the slight breeze rustling his hair and his eyes overlooking the city and something warm and happy settles in her heart instead. “Got them,” she says, holding out the glasses for him to see. He raises an eyebrow at her as he pulls a bottle opener out of his pocket and gracefully uncorks the bottle. He pours a splash of the deep red liquid into each glass before setting the bottle aside.
He takes one of the proffered glasses and raises it up to her, murmuring, “Cheers, Marinette.”
“Cheers,” she says, maintaining eye contact as she takes a small experimental sip. She has to resist the urge to spit it back out when the liquid flows over her tongue. Luka chuckles at the pinched up expression on her face.
Mainette wrinkles her nose. “I haven’t been missing out on anything,” she says under her breath derisively.
“It takes a bit to get used to,” Luka admits, trying to stifle his laughing. “Although I’m not quite sure your friends have been drinking to appreciate the complexity of the flavors.”
Eyes sparking, Marinette says, “Oh and you do?”
Luka brings the glass up and swirls the liquid around while taking a careful whiff. “I’m getting hints of cherry and pepper,” he says, in fake seriousness.
Marinette snorts and his face cracks, just a fraction, giving him away. They giggle uncontrollably and Marinette takes a step closer and leans in to take her own whiff out of his glass. Luka sucks in a small breath when she looks up at him with bright eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. “Are you sure, Luka? Because I’m getting hints of a full-bodied oak finish.”
“Bold words from the girl about to take her second sip of wine ever,” he quips. Marinette giggles again, making herself take another long drink of the wine in her glass, only wincing slightly this time as it goes down.
Luka watches her under hooded eyes as her throat works. He looks away quickly. “Did you want to sit? I have a feeling you’re going to be a bit of a lightweight, Mari. Don’t need you falling over and hurting yourself.”
“I do that well enough on my own,” she grimaces and takes yet another sip. Luka smiles and puts a careful hand on her shoulder, guiding her to one of the lounges on her balcony. She flops herself down and manages to miraculously not spill any of the wine in her glass. He joins her on the second lounge chair.
They sit in silence, carefully nursing their drinks and staring out at the city. When she’s just starting on her second glass, Luka turns to her. “How do you feel,” he asks, quietly.
Marinette blinks. There’s a pleasant warmth in her chest and a fuzzy, happy feeling in her head but she’s not sure if that’s the alcohol or Luka at this point. “I’m not sure,” she says carefully. “Good, I think.”
Luka takes another sip of his drink, but keeps his gaze on her as he does and it makes her heart spasm.
“How-how do you feel,” she asks in a much more wobbly voice than normal. It makes her frown, wondering if maybe the alcohol is to blame after all.
“I’m always drunk off you, Marinette,” he says wistfully. Her lips part in shock and her eyes go wide at the uncharacteristic boldness. He’s not looking at her anymore and she half thinks he doesn’t realize what he’s even said. She can tell the moment he does because he starts coughing than looks down at his glass accusatorily.
“Sorry,” he says immediately, setting his glass to the side. “Sorry, too much.”
Marinette takes another desperate sip of her own drink, trying to hide her red cheeks. She makes a little squeaking noise and says, “No, don’t stop drinking. You have to do it with me.”
“Maybe it would be best if I stopped. This is about your experience, not mine.”
Marinette pouts and although the world is tilting slightly around her now, she manages to scoot her lounge chair closer to his and holds her glass out to him. “Drink, Luka,” she demands.
He studies her face for several long minutes before finally he takes her glass and takes a small sip, his lips touching the glass where hers have been all night. It makes Marinette shiver. Luka notices and furrows his brow. “Are you cold?” he asks.
“No,” she denies. “No, Luka I feel amazing.” She flops onto her back, staring up at the night sky as it washes over her fully. Contentment and warmth in her veins. She giggles for no other reason than she wants to. She hasn’t felt this carefree and weightless in ages. “Luka, why didn’t you tell me how fun it is to drink?”
“Would you have listened?” he asks, laughing too.
“Probably not,” she admits. Then, “Luka. Lukaaaaaa.”
“Yes, Marinette.”
“Luka,” she says seriously. “I think you’re my favorite person.”
There’s just the smallest hitch in his breath before he responds in that annoyingly clam voice, “You’re my favorite person too.”
“Good,” she says. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he takes another drink from her glass, finishing it off with a flourish.
“There,” he says, refilling the glass and handing it back to her. “Last one,” he warns and she nods obediently taking a sip and relishing how easy it goes down now. Maybe a little too easy.
Time feels a little funny after that and she’s not quite sure when it happens, but soon enough the next glass is empty. They’ve forgone the other glass, preferring instead to just share the one between them. Luka’s eyes have steadily gone darker and darker and Marinette’s been watching the change in fascination. His words have started tangling together just as much as hers and she’s not quite sure when he took her hand and started tapping beats on it but she’s loathe to bring it to his attention in fear he might stop.
Her stomach is starting to feel hot for reasons other than the alcohol and she’s trying desperately not to squirm in response to his touch. Under his breath she can hear him humming some pretty little tune she’s never heard before and he looks so ruggedly handsome with his hair a little longer than usual and the bright flush to his cheeks. Marinette is starting to forget about all the little things that keep holding her back from just confronting the obvious tension sitting between them. They all seem so silly and stupid now.
His calloused fingers brush a tender spot on her wrist and she whines under her breath. The sound makes his eyes darken even further if that’s possible. Then he smiles a little and the look is gone completely when he asks, “Ticklish?”
Frustration and her dwindling inhibitions make her respond boldly, “Why don’t you come over here and find out.”
Luka’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead and she can see a number of conflicting feelings cross over his face. “I-“ his face twists up into a grimace. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You didn’t think the drinking was a good idea either, but you were definitely wrong about that,” she challenges. “This is the best I’ve ever felt.”
Luka swallows and interlaces their fingers together and holds their combined hands over his pounding heart. He says nothing, letting his heart talk for him instead. Marinette licks her lips, tasting the sweet liquid that lingers there and she wonders if it will taste even better if she drinks it from his lips instead. “Luka, come here,” she requests again.
Luka squeezes his eyes shut and takes a steadying breath. “I can’t,” he says gently, squeezing her hand then letting it go. It falls limply to her side.
“Why not.”
“You’re not yourself right now. It wouldn’t be right of me.”
She’s just a little too drunk to argue against his unceasing morality so she goes for a more direct approach. “Please.”
Luka groans and scrubs hands over his face. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
“Don’t you want to kiss me?”
“God, Marinette.” He stands up suddenly and begins pacing with a wild look on his face. “Of course I do. Of course I do. You’ve got to stop torturing me like this.”
In her drunken state she can’t seem to find it in herself to heed his warnings or feel an ounce of guilt. His reaction makes her feel too deliciously needy. She goes for blood, knowing the hit will land as sharp and accurate as her yo-yo does when she’s transformed. “I know I want to kiss you. Badly.”
This seems to do the trick. In a dizzying move, he’s suddenly perched over top of her on the lounge. No part of them touch, but he’s close enough that she can smell the cloying sweetness of the wine on his breath. It makes her feel dizzy.
Time hold stills for just a moment as they look at each other. Luka’s breathing hard and he eases down just a little, touching their foreheads tenderly together. It seems like for one wonderful moment he’s going to close the gap and bring their lips together, but he stops himself, hesitates.
“I don’t want you to regret this,” he confesses in the small space between them.
It makes her heart pang for him. She lifts a hand, threading her fingers into the blue strands of his hair. He sighs at the touch and she can feel him trembling. Lifting herself up slightly, she nudges his nose gently with her nose and right before their lips touch, she promises, “I won’t.”
She can feel the moment he gives in, his mouth going soft and pliant under hers. It’s clumsy at first, they way their mouths move together. She’s not sure if it’s because they’re still feeling the effects of the alcohol or because she’s not exactly experienced at making out, but she doesn’t really care. She’s wanted to kiss him for awhile now and the alcohol makes her feel so much more daring then she normally would. So, she lets her tongue trace over his lips, lets her hand pull gently at the hairs at the back of his neck, and lets him swallow up her moans.
He’s still hovering over her and she uses her leg to wrap around his and pull him down on top of her. He goes willingly and slots one leg between hers and props himself up with one arm. His other hand, now free, comes up to cup her cheek and steady the eager movements of her mouth, slowing her down until the way he’s kissing her is so tenderly, achingly sweet that she can hardly stand it.
They linger like that for a few heavenly moments, until finally he pulls back from her. She keeps her eyes closed not wanting the moment to end. His hand slips down her neck and then down her arm and then, quick as a flash, finds her belly as he begins ruthlessly tickling her.
She squeaks out in surprise, her eyes flying open as uncontrollable laughter escapes her lips. She squirms from his touch, begging him to stop.
He does finally, smirking at her and she grabs him by the front of the hoodie determined to kiss that smirk off his face.
This time it’s desperate the way they kiss. She’s making little keening noises under the skilled movements of his mouth and tongue that would normally be terribly embarrassing but are near forgotten in the drunken haze and pleasure of being kissed. Luka’s terribly good at this and she hopes that her inexperience isn’t off-putting to him, hopes she’s giving as good as she’s getting.
He’s managed to pull out her hair ties, fingers brushing through the strands of her hair. It makes her moan into his mouth and she can feel him grinning against her lips. Determined to make him feel equally flustered, she sneaks her hand underneath his shirt, touching the muscles of his stomach and feels him flinch away from the touch.
She pulls back, smirking. Luka quickly buries his face into her neck and she breathes into his ear, “Are you ticklish too?”
He shakes his head empathetically against her shoulder and she can hear the hints of embarrassment in his voice. “Definitely not ticklish.”
Marinette’s smirk drops and her mouth opens in surprise. Heat coils low in her belly at the effect she is having on him and she tentatively brushes her hand against his skin again, moving lower…
He grabs her hand, halting it. “Now you’re really torturing me,” he mumbles. A shiver runs down her spine at the feeling of his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck.
Marinette swallows. “In a good way I hope.”
Luka finally lifts his head to meet her eyes. He’s breathing roughly and she can see the restraint in the tense lines of his shoulder. “I think we need to slow down,” he practically begs.
There’s a part of her, a new aching part that wants to refuse. To explore every inch of him. But the more sensible part of her that isn’t clouded by the alcohol knows he’s right. She sighs and watches as he pulls back completely and stands up. He runs a trembling hand through his mussed hair.
The silence that follows is awkward and Marinette busies herself with straightening her shirt and getting a handle on her rapidly beating heart.
“I’m sorry I let that get so out of hand,” Luka finally says.
Marinette makes a displeased noise and stands up too. “Don’t be,” she says. “I’m not.”
Luka’s lips purse together and his eyes slide away. “Marinette, I need to know…would you have kissed me if there were no alcohol involved?” She can see he’s bracing himself for an answer that he’s scared to hear.
The unsure look on his face makes her heart stutter. She reaches out, pulling him into a tight hug. He grabs her back just as firmly, tucking her safely and securely in his arms. “Luka. I really like you. Alcohol or no alcohol. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”
Luka pulls back to look at her and different emotions flicker rapidly across his face before finally a wide, happy grin settles in place. “Really?” he asks, almost giddy.
Marinette nods, a hot blush crawling up her face at the admission. “Maybe I could prove it to you?”
Luka makes a low noise. “Prove it how?” he breathes.
Marinette cups his face, holding him steady so she can lay a soft kiss on his cheek. “Let’s go on a date.”
“Yes,” Luka says, immediately, almost tripping over the word in his haste to get it out.
“Tomorrow then,” Marinette says, with a raised eyebrow. Luka laughs and grabs her hand bringing it up so he can kiss her knuckles reverently.
“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow first,” he says gently.
Grumbling, Marinette says, “I’m not going to change my mind, Luka.”
This only makes Luka laugh harder. He pushes her hair behind her ear and says, “I’m not worried about you changing your mind, Mari. I’m worried about you being the tiniest little bit hung-over tomorrow.”
Marinette blushes. “Oh,” she says. “The next day then?”
“If that’s what you want,” Luka replies earnestly, “then you know I’ll be there.”
“It is what I want,” she affirms, gazing intensely into his eyes, trying to put as much conviction into the look as she can to squash the lingering doubt and worry she can see in the slope of his shoulders. She knows how selfless and self-sacrificing Luka is, knows he will agonize over what happened here tonight when he gets home. Worry unceasingly that he has overstepped some line. She wants it to be abundantly clear that while the alcohol may have helped her along, it wasn’t the guiding force in her decision. They have been teetering towards this for months and she is sure now, more than she’s ever been of anything. She is ready.
Slowly, she sees him relax under her gaze and a small smile finds his lips. “It’s a date then,” he says looking pleased.
A coy smile finds he lips. “Should we seal the deal with a kiss?”
Luka blows out a nervous breath. “You’re truly trying to kill me, Marinette.” He grabs her hands in his and meets her eyes. “I promise if you still want to kiss me after our date, I’ll be happy to oblige you as much as you want.”
Marinette pouts, but acquiesces. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she promises.
“I’m counting on it,” Luka says lowly. “Really, really counting on it.” His eyes flit to her lips.
Marinette goes to retort, something flirtatious on the tip of her tongue but a yawn comes out instead.
Luka smiles gently. “Time for you to go to bed,” he says.
“But I don’t want you to leave.”
“I’ll check on you first thing in the morning,” he promises, steering her gently back to her bedroom and tucking her under the covers. “I’ll have the paracetomol ready.”
“Will you kiss it better too?”
Luka groans where he’s knelt down beside her. “You’ve got to stop that. I’m trying to be a good person here and not kiss you senseless while you’re still drunk.”
“You already did that besides I won’t be drunk tomorrow,” Marinette points out, slurring her words just slightly. Luka rolls his eyes but leans in and kisses her forehead softly.
“There,” he says chuckling when she frowns. “A goodnight kiss. That should hold you over.”
“That doesn’t count,” she says affronted.
“You said a kiss, that definitely counts.”
“I’ll show you a kiss,” Marinette grumbles, reaching out for him again. Luka gently grabs her wrists before she can manhandle him onto her bed.
“Sleep Marinette,” he insists.
She can feel her eyelids getting droopier against her will. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll sleep, but you better be here in the morning with my kiss.”
Luka chuckles fondly. “Yes ma’am,” is the last thing she hears before she drifts to sleep.