Chapter Text
Damian walked through the streets of Paris at a sedate pace with the bare essentials, in no particular hurry as he made his way to the address written in his sketchbook. He hasn’t been to France much, not since his days with the Shadows, and even then he only stayed in this particular city for the rare surveillance mission.
It’s different somehow, he mused. Father had taken him and the rest of the family for a ‘pleasure jaunt’, while he touched base with the European branch of the Justice League. For the sake of a cover story, he publicized it as a family vacation and encouraged everyone to take a few days to themselves before they made fools of themselves for the local and international media houses. Not something he was looking forward to, so he would make the most of these next few days.
Soon, he found himself at the entrance of a secluded park, the metal plaque translating to Solitude’s Grace in English. It was relatively new and was constructed to convert an old parking lot into a small and intimate park, at least when compared to others in the city. Plentiful flora, Edwardian columns, and street lamps providing him with a sense of being stuck in time, a romanticized feeling.
He made his way in, taking a deep breath as he did so. With the way the park was constructed, its distance from the busy tourist sites, and the muffling effect of the surrounding hedge fence, the park is quiet and comforting. He sets out on a stone path, occasionally passing by others who seem to find the same relief he does in being alone. He sighs this time, heading further in to find a place to sit. If there’s one disadvantage to this place, it’s that everyone wants a seat to themselves, and he didn’t feel like sitting next to someone on the off chance of them trying to make conversation.
As he goes, the overcast sky breaks somewhat and opens over an occupied stone bench, revealing a girl who appears to be around his age. At that moment, were he a different kind of man, he would have called a sight like this a chance from fate. As he got closer, he saw that she was cute, quite pretty in fact. Her legs were clad in washed-out skinny jeans, white polka-dotted converse and a white vest to tie it all together. Her hair was pulled into twin tails over her shoulders, shining like silk in her temporary spotlight. The sudden light reflected off of her pale skin and emphasized her silhouette with a divine halo.
However, what truly captivated him was her presence. She exuded a relaxed and casual atmosphere, flipping through a small sketchbook, occasionally jotting something down tongue stuck out of a focused grin. In that instant he saw the scene before him as a moment of indulgence, a moment to enjoy a hobby and unwind in nature.
A familiar feeling spread through his chest as he observed her, fingers twitching. He knew what this feeling was, he knew it very well, little as it happened.
He watched her lean onto her palms, seeing the relaxed curve of her spine as she tilted her head up to look up at the gap of sunlight as it moved over to him, and then her eyes, a stunning blue that widened slightly as she caught sight of him. He saw the way they brightened and knew that she felt as he did, too. He changed direction and made his way to the mysterious beauty.
His breath stuttered in his chest as she stood to make her way to him as well. With every move she made he found her all the more beautiful.
The tilt of her smile, the roving of her eyes up and down his form, the sunlight providing a fading halo as she moved toward him--
“Salut,” he said at the same time she said, “Hello.”
“Oh, désolée,” she stammered over his own, “My apologies, I’ve--”
They both fell into silence before she abruptly started laughing, and heavens, if he thought that she was pretty before then seeing her so expressive was like waking up to a dream.
“Amazing,” he murmured to himself, and patiently waited for her to regain control.
“I’m sorry,” she said in English, her accent pronounced. “I’ve been speaking to tourists all day for the past few weeks. I’ve formed an unfortunate habit.”
“There’s no need for apologies, I believe. Also, if I may say, I think the lady speaks beautifully.” He bowed with an arm across the waist.
“My name is Damian. This may seem brusque, but I have a request to make of you, should you deign to hear me out.” Her eyebrow quirked at his polite speech but it didn’t last as she looked at him more seriously.
She observed him for a moment, a brief period that seemed to stretch on for minutes as her eyes pierced through his.
“Well, as long as it’s reasonable. And,” she paused, gazing intensely at his...shoulders?
“And, if you grant one of mine.” She grinned brightly and clasped her fist in her palm.
“My name is Marinette. Enchanté, Damian.”
He nodded and nodded back to her bench. She nodded in return and soon they sat facing each other.
“I’ll be honest, this is a little weird, you think? At least, if you’re thinking what I’m thinking.” Marinette started, fidgeting as she spoke.
“Then I believe great minds think alike, Marinette. This is rather forward of me, but I would like you to pose for me.” He held up his sketchbook and opened it to a few of his drawings of people, animals, and landscapes. She looked at them all with an appreciative gaze that had him inwardly preening.
“In that case, may I have your measurements in turn, as well as some quick poses?” Damian’s face went carefully blank and he stood up to make a quick escape. She jumped a bit at his sudden movement and appeared confused before her eyes widened as she interpreted his reaction to her last sentence.
“Wait, wait, not in a gross way, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m so sorry!” She squawked as she flailed her arms in a panic, a blush overtaking her face. Idly, he wondered if she was trying to take flight with all the flapping she was doing.
Still, he could admit when he jumped to conclusions. Well, actually he made the rare exception now and again, but she didn’t have to know that.
He looked her in the face and after a tense silence, raised a single brow as though to say, “Well?”
“Designer! I’m a designer, I make clothes, graphic art, and accessories! I’m not trying to harass you I swear and I’m so sorry that I even made you think that way and I’m so sorry I made you get up to run as if you were in danger, but it’s not if, you really thought you were in danger of being with a weird sexual harasser and--” her face was starting to get to an alarming shade of red.
“Stop,” he snapped and her mouth clicked shut. He nearly sighed out loud as he saw how she almost bit her tongue in her hurry. His frustration quickly faded as he saw her retreat into herself, quickly becoming distracted.
It’s truly artfully done, he thought, I would think she was posing on purpose if I didn’t know any better.
He would make a few changes to her posture and fix the lighting, but other than that he would take her as is in a heartbeat. Everything about her was urging him to commit her form to paper, an immortalized vision frozen in time.
“I, um,” she sighed, gaze averted. “That happens more than I like, unfortunately. I, it’s, um,” she sighed again.
“I also would like to apologize for jumping to conclusions. Propositions tend to come my way, unwarranted, so I was quick to assume,” he said stiffly.
“Can we move on, please? I don’t, uh, know the specifics of your proposal anyway.”
“Of course,” he said curtly. “I only use my drawings as a personal form of enjoyment, and rarely show it to others beyond close personal friends and family. As well as ensuring that your image is safe and protected, I would also like to pay you to be my model, even if it’s only for a few hours at most.”
Marinette nodded slowly and he committed the change of shading to her features as she moved to memory along with her thoughtful expression.
“I don’t have a problem with that, but would you mind if I do your measurements after, sitting still for a long time makes me feel sluggish and I don’t like to walk around trying to wake myself up in public spaces.”
“Not at all,” he assured. “If that’s the case, I wouldn’t mind you taking your sketches first, switching out would be more beneficial to you at the end.”
“Why that does sound nice, but it might just make me feel bad,” she said teasingly. Seeing his confused frown, she giggled.
“I can tell just by looking at you that you’re practically dying to get me posing for you,” she grinned at him, eyes sparkling.
“Tch, since you insist,” he said without trying to fight her on it because she was right. During their entire exchange, he’d been drinking in her every detail like a depraved loon.
“If you would gather your things, in that case? I don’t know how much longer I can wait until I get my hands on you.” Hearing this, she blushed and began to stutter.
“Oh, uh, yeah, gazebo by the lake, middle park of, um,” she quickly looked down as she grabbed her jacket and backpack.
Without any lingering qualms, he leaned over her to look at her face more closely.
“Yes, that’s exactly the face I want to see,” he rasped with dark eyes.
“Ok, I’m ready! Let me lead the way, native, and what not!” She laughed nervously as she hurried to the center of the park.
Damian grunted and slung his satchel over his shoulder and easily matched her stride.
He became preoccupied thinking of ways to shift and coordinate her body to the scenery, which is why it felt like no time at all when they reached the gazebo.
It was a brown, humbly crafted structure that matched the atmosphere of the park, with its rose hedges wrapping around the fencing and lacquered benches and railings. He and Marinette walked up the steps together and soon he was pulling out his sketchbook and turning toward his model in a hurry.
“If I may?” He held out his hands and waited for her approval. Marinette set her things down next to his and took a deep breath before whispering a soft okay.
He slowly approached her lightly grasped her shoulders, gently pressing down and her body folded to sit on the bench behind her. He let go, trailing his hand to her wrist and bending her down, down, down, until she was leaning over an empty space bracketed by her forearm. He backed away slightly, turning her head to gaze at the invisible person beneath her. Finally, he lightly pulled her lower lip into a subtle opening as if she were helpless to give in and close the final distance for a kiss. He traced her cheek and that blush from before rose, a new sight in the different lighting and he memorized it.
Done with her head and torso, he told her that he was going to touch her legs, and she gave the ok again. Carefully, he curled both legs in the same direction, spreading them somewhat and planting one foot down as though it was going to push her up and let the other loosely rest at a comfortable angle.
Stepping back he saw the image he desired, but somehow better. The sky had turned a pale bluish-gray that gave Marinette, posed as she was, a fragile halo.
He grasped his sketchbook and began.
An hour later, on his fourth sketch and her third and final pose, it started to rain.
Marinette, leaning against the bench with her head tilted a bit over its edge, gasped as the cold water pelted her face out of nowhere.
Damian cursed, rushing to grab their things and move them to the center of the floor and the rain began in earnest.
He’s kneeling as he puts them down, so when his new model leans over him to grab at her backpack, he looks up at her on instinct and gets a face full of a wet jamila .
Marinette is only somewhat wet from the pouring rain, but the sky is still bright with that bluish-gray from earlier and provides a backdrop of faint light to reflect off the few raindrops that are trailing from her bangs, dripping off her dark, fluttering eyelashes to roll down freckled cheeks in mimicry of tears that leaves him ensorcelled.
“I have a towel in my bag, could you…?” She makes a vague gesture for him to move and Damian is distantly aware that his expression is akin to that of a slack-jawed moron. He rose up to his full height, and he feels that he can’t help his next words.
“Sincerely, you become lovelier and lovelier the more I look at you,” he reverently intoned as he stared into her eyes, watching with rapt attention as her own stare focused on him.
“It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one feeling this way,” she said. “From the moment I saw you I couldn’t help but memorize the way you looked then, underneath a circle of dappled sunlight.” She licked her lips, blue eyes darkening to a silvery hue.
“I really,” her eyes begin to run a trail from shoulder to shoulder, down his chest and stopping at his waist.
“I really liked your posture when you bowed earlier,” she said in a breathless whisper.
“Is that so?” He matched her tone, watching her appraise him.
“With the proper shirt, I could really emphasize that, give you a mandarin collar and make the cuffs round themselves out, three holes, one for the cufflinks and the other two to anchor the embroidery. A pale grey with geometric patterns to call attention to the rigidity of your stance and will allow others to make note of your impeccable discipline.”
“Thank you,” he said and found that he meant it. “For agreeing to this, I mean. Today has been so…”
“Magical?” She guessed.
“Fulfilling.” He watched as a small rain droplet trickled down her cheek and brought his hand up to wipe it away.
“I never thought a day like this would happen,” he continued. “To think I met my muse an ocean away from home.”
“Muse? Me?” Marinette said in wonder. There was that blush again, delicately framing her freckles in a pink hue that spread all the way up to her ears.
“Indeed,” he said. “ After all, no other person has inspired me as swiftly as you did.”
“Likewise, Damian.”
They stood there together under the gazebo until the rain settled completely. They parted in opposite directions, longing but reassured with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be separated for long.
In the space between them, lightning flashed above and thunder rolled quietly in the distance.