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Luka’s cheeks hurt, he was smiling so much.
Marinette had lit up like a kid on Christmas--literally; she was 16 and today was Christmas Eve--when he’d proposed that they visit one of the traditional Parisian Christmas markets that evening. She’d loved the idea, bouncing on the balls of her feet on the ground floor of her parents’ bakery when he’d asked.
Luka had figured the night would be chilly with temperatures hovering around negative two degrees Celsius. So he was amused and glad that Marinette had bundled up for their Christmas market wanderings with an ugly reindeer sweater with a fringe. The night, as expected, was freezing cold, so he was pleased that she’d dressed appropriately, not to mention cutely.
Marinette was an adorable girlfriend; every day Luka found something else about her that he liked. Like the way she wrinkled her nose when she was thinking, or stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she was sewing, or the way she’d been so endearingly excited when he’d offered the outing this evening.
“Eiffel on Ice” was a little, winter village that had sprung up beneath the lit-up Tower for the season, transforming the usually beautiful park into a winter wonderland. Marinette was flitting from chalet to chalet--tiny, wooden houses dusted with snow and strung up with lights--offering any number of wares.
“Ooh, Luka!” Marinette squealed, and Luka hastened to catch up to her, having just taken a picture of her rosy-cheeked smile on his phone. He put his phone away and pulled up to her side. “Look! They have chocolat chaud!”
By the time she’d pointed out the goods, Luka had already pulled his wallet out. “Want to split one?” Chocolat chaud was easily his favorite drink.
“Please!” Marinette said, beaming from ear to ear. She clapped her gloved hands, her breath leaving her in a thick, white puff of condensation. “That’d be great! Thanks, Luka!”
Luka paid for an eight-ounce cup of the traditional French hot chocolate before shoving his wallet into his pocket, careful to keep an eye out for pickpockets. He handed the cup over to Marinette, watching as she inhaled the steam gently wafting off the cup in one long inhale before taking a quaff of the rich drink.
“Mmmm.” Her humming noise curled Luka’s toes. “You try it!”
Luka gladly accepted the cup from her and took a sip. The bittersweet chocolate coated his tongue and warmed him from the inside out. He offered the cup back to Marinette, who told him to hang onto it.
All Luka wanted to do was tuck her into his side, but she was off again, as cheerful and excited as a puppy. He swore he could see her tail wagging as she threaded through the crowds. Luka knew she could take care of herself, but he was happy to watch out for her as well. As she pointed out a chalet with savory crepes, Luka smiled to himself.
The market was a gastronomical treat, boasting culinary staples like cheese, sausages, and savory tarts, as well as chocolate, candies, gingerbread, and barbe a papa--or cotton candy. Neither Luka nor Marinette had eaten dinner before they came, and both of them were looking forward to sampling the wares.
Marinette settled upon a French onion soup served out of a heavy, traditional, copper cauldron. She’d offered to pay for dinner while Luka covered everything else, an arrangement he was glad to uphold. He chose an Alsatian sausage and a crepe filled with cheese and mushrooms. They settled onto the grass below the Eiffel Tower and began devouring their food.
Luka moaned as he sank his teeth into the fluffy crepe, the tangy flavor of the cheese exploding on his tongue, only grounded by the earthy taste of the mushrooms. The sausage was also ridiculously good, tasting of ground pork with notes of cinnamon and a multitude of other spices Marinette would have been better equipped to identify.
Luka had wolfed half his meal down by the time he even thought to turn a guilty gaze to his companion. “How’s the soup?”
“Mmm, delicious,” Marinette said, having finished more than half of her own food. “Very oniony, very beefy. Salty, but not too much, and the cheese is great.”
“Those copper cauldrons must have something to do with how good the soup tastes,” Luka said, cocking his head. He finished his sausage and wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Maybe?” Marinette said, picking up her styrofoam bowl and sipping from it directly. “Whatever the reason, it’s the best French onion soup I’ve ever tasted, so I’m not complaining!”
Luka took his time with the rest of his crepe, deciding to enjoy it rather than stuffing his face quickly. “Thanks for dinner, dear heart.”
“You’re welcome, lovely,” Marinette said, kissing his cheek. Her breath smelled heavily of onions, which made Luka laugh. “What’s so funny?”
“If I kiss you, you’ll taste like onions!’
She slugged him in the shoulder in mock outrage.
After finishing the chocolat chaud between them and disposing of their dinner dishes, Luka and Marinette strolled arm in arm down the gangway, peering at the booths filled with plastic tchotchkes and glass ornaments. Luka purchased hot, roasted chestnuts and pain d'épices--spice bread with honey--for the two of them to share as an after-dinner snack.
Marinette scarfed down the spice bread, accidentally smearing drops of honey on the corners of her lips. Luka laughed and took her hand in his. “Here, hold still…” He leaned forward and kissed the honey away, smearing the amber substance on his lips as well.
“Luka,” Marinette said, her voice bordering on a whine. “Now we’re both sticky messes.”
“Is that so bad?” Luka said, poking her in the hip through her long, thick sweater, before chomping down on some chestnuts, enjoying the cinnamon-sugar coating. “I’d rather be a sticky mess with you than with anyone else.”
Marinette’s cheeks glowed like apples, and Luka found himself even more head over heels. He loved that he could still have that effect on her, that he could make her blush and fidget with the hem of her sweater, that he could show her just how much he loved her.
He kissed her cheek, and she laughed, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away a little. “You’re getting me even stickier!”
Marinette was surprisingly strong, but she knew her strength and never shoved him more than he could handle. Luka admired that about her--their give-and-take relationship, the literal push and pull. She was always touching him and expressing her love through physical means.
“How about a vin-chaud?” Luka offered, and Marinette laughed.
“I’m sixteen, Luka, I can’t have spiced mulled wine.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and Luka’s breath caught in his throat with how cute she looked.
“They have non-alcoholic drinks as well.”
Marinette shook her head. “I think I’ll pass, thanks. I’m pretty full from all the food we ate. You can get some if you like.”
“Nah.” Luka shrugged. “I was just wondering if you wanted some.”
Marinette took his hand and tugged him back towards the main thrust of the chalets. “Let’s go look at the souvenirs.”
Luka happily followed, popping the rest of the chestnuts into his mouth one at a time. As he chewed, indulging in how the nutty taste contrasted with the sugar, he spotted barbeque marshmallows, an intriguing culinary pursuit.
But Marinette was a girl on a mission. She was leading them towards a booth they’d passed at the very beginning with tiny, glass sculptures. She brought Luka there and gestured to them. “Which one do you want? My treat.”
Luka raised his brows. “I thought you’d paid for dinner and I was paying for everything else.”
“This is a present for you, silly. I should be the one to pay for it.”
Luka considered that, rubbing his chin. “I think you should pick one out for me. But I want to pick one out for you as well--and pay for it.”
“That’s fair, I guess,” Marinette said, nodding. She stuck her hand out, and Luka shook it. Marinette liked to seal deals with handshakes.
Marinette took a long, long time picking his out, but Luka knew what to get her almost immediately. He waited for her to pick his out, curious to see what she’d choose.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked, beaming at her as she plucked up one of the minuscule sculptures--a flame.
Marinette huffed. “I can’t decide between the flame, the music note, or the cactus.”
“A… cactus?”
“Sure,” Marinette said, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. Luka wanted to capture that tongue between his lips, but he held off. He was curious as to her reasoning. “A music note is the obvious choice. A flame because you’re warm and you light up my life. And a cactus because you’re hardy and take what life throws at you no matter what without requiring a lot of care. Even though I want to take care of you, you hardly let me.”
Luka blinked at her. “I was just going to get you a ladybug.”
As he expected, Marinette blanched. Her eyes went wide and white. “A l-ladybug?”
“Yes,” Luka said seriously, cupping both her cheeks in his. “A ladybug for a wonderful lady.”
“Luka,” Marinette whispered, and Luka leaned in to hear what she had to say. “Do you know?”
Did he know? Luka wasn’t sure what he knew. He suspected. Her many excuses and her strength and her build all spoke to something going on under the surface. Marinette was a brilliant girl, but even Luka would notice the disappearing acts.
“I’ve never seen you and… that person in the same space at the same time,” he admitted, pressing his cheek to hers. “So I’ve suspected for a while.”
Marinette pulled back. To Luka’s alarm, she had tears in her eyes--but she was smiling. “I wanted to find a way to tell you. But you already knew.”
Luka beamed back. “Get me the flame.”
“Okay.”
After they’d each paid for their purchases and had stowed them away in their pockets, Luka and Marinette approached the Eiffel Tower, gloriously lit up with hundreds of strings of Christmas lights. Marinette shivered in the night air, so Luka proposed something to warm them up: joining the other couples ice skating on the three hundred meter rink.
“Yes, please!” Marinette said, bouncing once more. She tugged him in the direction of the skate rental, and they took a few minutes to find the correct sizes of skates.
Luka stepped onto the ice, reminded of a time when Marinette had invited him out to another ice rink so long ago. He wasn’t worried about her leaving him this time or anytime; they’d grown closer together during the past year that they’d been dating, and Luka was secure in their relationship.
He took her hand and started gliding across the ice with her, bending his knees slightly and pushing off one step at a time. Thrust, glide, thrust, glide, thrust, glide--their powerful legs moved in tandem, propelling them in circles around the rink.
Much like he’d done before, Luka took the lead on the ice, though this time Marinette was an equal partner, skating with him as if she’d been born for it. He bent his elbow, dragging her in closer, and then pushed his arm out, twirling her away from him and making her giggle.
Tugging her back, Luka lifted her at the waist. She raised her arms, popping her foot up into the air and throwing her head back as Luka’s legs flowed over the ice. He carried her for a while, then tossed her in the air, only to catch her mid-twirl. Marinette laughed.
Luka set her down on her feet again, only to have her skate backwards, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and tugging his lips close to hers. All he had to do to close the distance was to crane his neck, so he did.
His mouth glided over hers, and she licked his lips, causing him to part them and give entrance to her tongue. His eyes fluttered closed as he and Marinette drifted to a stop on the ice. Clutching at the small of her back, he pulled her in close, molding his body to hers.
She looped her arms around his neck, her fingers tickling the nape of his neck and playing with the hair there. He groaned into her mouth; kissing her was everything he ever wanted and ever could want. And it was so good, too, affirming that he loved her and she loved him.
They slowly spun on the ice, wrapped up in each other and ignoring the hoots and hollers surrounding them from the other skaters. Luka pulled back and took a breath, only to surge forward again and pepper her face with small, fleeting kisses. She giggled, her eyes sparkling. “Luka!”
“Yes, dear heart?”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said warmly, her voice, eyes, and grin full of admiration, cheer, and love. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled shyly at him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Luka blinked at her again. “For what?”
“This.” Marinette gestured to the rink, the Tower, and the market as a whole. “Just… everything. This outing. Our date. Our relationship.”
“I’m glad you came.” Luka chuckled, playing with her sweater at the small of her back. “Going on a date isn’t half as fun without my girlfriend.”
Marinette laughed. Then she turned shy again, peering up at him from under thick lashes. “Kiss me again, Luka.”
And there it was. The words weren’t a command, but neither were they a request. They simply were, simply hung in the space between them, an affirmation of trust. She wanted to kiss him. And he wanted to kiss her, wanted it more than anything.
Luka cupped her cheeks in his hands and craned his neck down, speaking against her mouth. “Gladly.”