Work Text:
Colorful Language
“So,” Nathaniel said, leaning against the railing of the bridge, waving his ice cream cone in the air. “How long do we have until the movie starts?”
Alix was on one side of the artist, already halfway through demolishing her ice cream cone. Marc was on the other side, staring out into empty space with his ice cream all but forgotten in his hand.
“30 minutes,” Alix said. “Plenty of time.”
“Alright.” Nathaniel rolled his head around, feeling the joints in his neck pop. “Quick walk to the park, then? Marc?”
The writer didn't respond.
Nathaniel tilted his head. “Marc? You in there?”
“Knock knock,” Alix said, rapping her knuckles against Marc's back. “Anyone home?”
Marc blinked. “Oh, what? Sorry, I was lost in thought.”
“We're gonna take a walk in the park,” Nathaniel said. “You up for that?”
“Sure,” Marc shrugged, twisting his wrist to check the time on his watch.
The writer instantly regretted it when the top scoop of his ice cream slipped off the cone from the movement and plummeted to the ground.
“Marc!” Alix shouted, but it was too late.
The trio watched in horror as the ice cream fell, almost in slow-motion, splattering across Marc's leather boots in an explosion of vanilla-chocolate doom.
“No,” Nathaniel gasped.
Alix covered her mouth with her hands.
Marc looked down at his newly decorated boots, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, gee darn it,” he muttered, handing the rest of his cone to Nath. “I'm gonna go ask Andre for some napkins.”
Alix and Nathaniel didn't move, staring slack-jawed at the writer.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Alix whispered.
Marc squinted. “That...I was going to get some napkins?”
“Not that.” Alix shook her head. “Before. What was that?”
“Oh.” Marc hunched his shoulders. “Sorry. I got a little upset and may have lashed out too much.”
“Marc.” Nathaniel's face was completely serious. “As your friend and platonic artist husband, I feel the need to tell you that you've got to learn better swear words.”
Marc blinked. “But it's mean,” he said. “It makes me sound like a delinquent.”
“Well your current vocabulary makes you sound like an 80-year old grandmother,” Alix deadpanned. “Besides, I curse all the time!”
“Yeah, but you're...you.”
“So?” Alix crossed her arms.
“We're not saying you have to become a habitual swearer like Alix,” Nath said. “But it wouldn't hurt to...try and expand your list of curses.”
Marc sighed. “Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. Where do we start?”
Nathaniel handed Marc's cone back to the writer. “Let's start with common ones,” he said. “Can you say 'shit'?”
Alix snorted. “You sound like you're trying to teach a toddler.”
“Shut up.”
Marc shuffled between one foot and the next, mumbling something under his breath.
Alix grinned. “You'll have to speak louder than that,” she prompted.
Marc pulled his hoodie over his face, knees locked together. “I can't do it.”
“That's okay,” Nathaniel said. “If you don't want to-”
“No, I want to,” Marc interrupted. “I just don't think I can.”
“Let me,” Alix said to the artist, approaching Marc. “Hey, Marc. Repeat after me.”
“O-Okay.”
“Sh...”
“Sh...”
“...it.”
“...”
“You gotta say it.”
“I'm embarrassed.”
“It's just me and Nath, Marc. No one's gonna judge you.”
“....shit.”
“You did it!” Alix bounced on her toes. “You did a swear!”
Marc stuttered, face turning beet red.
Nathaniel laughed at Alix's enthusiasm. “How do you feel?”
Marc made a sound like “hegreheghghgggg”, using his hoodie to hide his face from the rest of the world.
“Okay, okay,” Alix said. “Let's try some more.”
~oOo~
Eventually they remembered there was movie to get to and headed out.
Marc had managed to steal what was left of his cone back from Nathaniel and was currently walking down the sidewalk while Alix tried to coax him into saying more swear words.
It was...kinda fun, actually.
He'd never really seen himself as the kind of person to swear, too shy and nervous. He didn't have the cool, rebellious demeanor that Alix had or the more easygoing, walk-by-his-own-rules personality that Nathaniel had. He cared too much about what other people thought of him. If someone said something even slightly hinting towards mean to him, you could bet he'd be thinking about it and crying hours later.
But no one was here to judge him, in fact, Nathaniel and Alix were encouraging him to step out of his shell. It was thrilling and terrifying, like a roller coaster but with far less risk involved.
“Alright,” Alix said. “Say crap.”
“Crap.”
“Good! Now how would you use it in a sentence?”
Marc faltered. Several example sentences came to mind, but all of them sounded too mean.
“Come on,” Alix prompted. “This is a safe space. No one's gonna judge you.”
Marc sighed. “This tastes like crap,” he said, motioning to his ice cream cone. “I mean it doesn't! It's not bad, actually, it's really good and Andre's ice cream is amazing and I didn't mean to say that oh gosh heck I'm so sorry-”
Alix started cackling. Even Nathaniel had a wide grin on his face. Marc, however, was dying of shame.
“You're doing great!” Alix had tears in the corners of her eyes from how much she was laughing. “I'm, ha, I'm proud of you, Marc.”
Marc bit his lip. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“My turn,” Nath said. “Think of the people you don't like.”
The writer gave him a puzzled look.
“People that make you mad, people that you hate, you've got to have at least one,” Nathaniel encouraged.
“Well,” Marc said. “I don't really like Hawkmoth.”
Nath blinked. “Okay. Yeah, sure. That works. Now what words would you use to describe Hawkmoth?”
“He's....”
Nathaniel and Alix leaned forward eagerly.
“A bad person.”
“We know he's a bad person,” Alix said. “Think about what swear words you would use.”
“Yeah,” Nathaniel said. “Like, 'he's the fucking worst' or 'he's a dick'.”
“Um....” Marc furrowed his brow. “He...looks like he has a condom for a mask.”
There was a beat of silence.
“AHAHAHA!” Alix doubled over, clutching her stomach with one hand. “Oh my-oh my god, he does! What the fuck!”
Nathaniel took her ice cream cone as she passed it to him and fell to her knees on the sidewalk, wheezing.
Marc blinked. “Alix?”
“Condom face Hawkmoth! HA!”
“Is she...” Marc looked up at his redhead friend. “Is she okay?”
Nathaniel stepped over his friend's body. “She'll catch up to us, let's keep going.”
“Hey!” Alix grabbed his ankle. “No leaving me in the dust.”
“Then keep walking,” Nathaniel scolded.
Alix scowled, jumping to her feet. “Bitch.”
“Asshole.” Nathaniel shot back.
“Dick,” Marc said.
Nathaniel and Alix stopped to stare at him.
“I'm sorry,” Marc immediately backtracked, looking panicked. “I thought we were just practicing saying mean things to each other, I didn't-”
“You're fine,” Nathaniel interrupted.
Alix looked confused. “Wait, which one of us is the dick? Or are we both dicks?”
“I didn't think that far,” Marc admitted. “And I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, I love you guys.”
“Marc, you're too sweet,” Alix said, placing a hand over her heart. “But you need to learn how to tell people when to fuck off, okay? Nath, you still have my ice cream. Give it back.”
The artist started speed-walking away.
“NathANIEL-” Alix took off in a run after him. “GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKER!”
~oOo~
After hastily finishing their ice creams, the trio made it to the movie theater just barely in time for it to start.
It was an action movie, at Alix's request.
Nathaniel was sandwiched between Alix and Marc, only half paying attention to the movie since whenever something surprising happened Marc would clap one hand over his mouth and grab Nathaniel's hand in a death grip with the other, which was the most heart-racing part of the whole experience.
The artist had already seen the movie, so he didn't really need to pay attention. And he had to admit, watching his crush react to the movie was much more entertaining than what was happening on the screen itself.
Marc was transfixed, watching with wide eyes as the protagonist bickered with one of her lackeys about something.
“Well, I wasn't the one who dropped the ball, asshole!” The lackey spat, crossing her arms and striding out of frame.
“I wasn't the one who dropped the ball, asshole,” Marc mouthed back, barely above a whisper.
Oh my god he's practicing swears.
That's really cute.
Nathaniel couldn't form words to express how proud he was of Marc at this moment. Was he getting a little teary eyed?
“Tell your squad to suck a dick and get in formation,” the protagonist shot back. “We're heading out.”
“Suck a dick,” Marc whispered.
Nathaniel had to cover his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing. Oh, this was so much more entertaining than the movie.
~oOo~
“How was the movie?” Marinette asked Marc in the art class the next morning. Alix, Nathaniel, and Marinette were all working on putting together their own boards for some history presentation their class was having. Marc was helping Nathaniel glue the final pieces together.
“It was great!” Marc gushed, grinning widely. “There was this guy that did like a triple backflip over an evil robot and then sliced it in half with these knives he had strapped to his boots-”
Nathaniel tried to hide his smile behind his palm, resting his chin in his hands as he watched Marc talk to Marinette, who was nodding and listening with full focus. After all, it wasn't often the shy writer broke out of his shell to talk about his interests, especially not to such an excited extent. He'd come a long way from the first time they'd met in the art room.
Alix nudged him in the ribs. “You're making that face again,” she whispered.
Nath blinked. “What face?”
“The 'I'm-so-in-love-”
Nathaniel slapped a hand over her mouth before anyone else could hear here. “Shut up,” he hissed, face red.
Alix pulled his hand away from her face. “I was just being honest,” she said. “You're the one that's making doe eyes!”
Nathaniel scowled. “Fuck off, Alix.”
Marc, apparently hyper-tuned to swearing, turned to look at them with a curious expression. “What's going on?” He asked, an innocent smile on his face.
Nathaniel had one hand over Alix's mouth, and Alix was in the process of biting at his fingers to get him to move his hand. “Nothing,” he growled, as Alix managed to get half of his hand between her teeth and was gnawing at his knuckles.
“Well, we have to get back to class,” Marinette said, grabbing her board and walking out the door. “See ya.”
“Right,” Nathaniel said. “We're doing presentations today and-OW! ALIX!” He pulled his hand away from the pink-haired gremlin, who grinned triumphantly.
“Here,” Marc started grabbing papers for Nathaniel, organizing them so the artist could put them back in his bag. “I'll help you carry some of these to class.”
“You two go on ahead,” Alix said. “I still need to fix up something for my board.”
Between the two boys, it was fairly easy to get the board and papers into the classroom. Nathaniel set it up at his desk while Marc tried to organize some of the table props. Most of the class was already there, waiting for Miss Bustier to arrive.
Nathaniel caught a glimpse of blond hair in the corner of his eye and sighed.
Fucking Chloe.
The blond-haired brat was walking up the steps. Apparently she was getting bored of shouting at Sabrina to fix up her poster and was choosing to 'critique' other people's presentations.
Chloe caught his eye. “Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “For an artist, you sure made a pitiful sight with this cheap ramshackle excuse for a presentation.”
Nathaniel scowled, but didn't speak, hoping that Chloe would get bored if he didn't show any reaction and leave her alone.
Instead, Chloe turned her attention to Marc, who was straightening one of the props with careful precision. “And look at that,” she sneered. “You made your boyfriend help, too! You know, this isn't a group project. If Miss Bustier found out she might give you a big fat zero for breaking the rules.”
Marc gave a quick glance in her direction. “Fuck off, Chloe,” he said, before returning to fixing the props.
The entire classroom went still.
Chloe and Nathaniel gaped at the writer, who blinked innocently back at them. It was only when his eyes moved to the rest of the classroom's shocked faces that he realized what he said.
“Oh,” Marc's face went beet red. “Oh, no. I am so sorry-”
“He's right,” Alix cut in. “There's no rules that say someone can't help set up the presentation, only that you can't have someone else make it for you. Like how Sabrina made yours.”
“I-Excuse me?” Chloe turned with fury to the spunky girl.
“Do you need me to say it again?” Alix placed her hands on her hips. “You're a cheater.”
“You can't prove anything!”
With this new drama in the classroom, Marc's slip up was completely forgotten. Nathaniel turned to the writer only to find that he was no longer working with the presentation and had instead curled up underneath the desk, hoodie over his head and face tucked into his knees.
Nathaniel smiled and ducked under the table. “Hey,” he said.
Marc looked up at him. “Tell me I didn't just swear in front of your class,” he whispered.
“Uh....Chloe deserved it?”
“Oh god.” Marc buried his head back into his knees.
“No no no,” Nathaniel crawled forward. “It wasn't a bad thing! You actually sounded really cool!”
Green eyes peeked over ripped jeans. “Really?”
Nathaniel grinned. “You seemed super confident and like you didn't care about Chloe at all. It was badass.”
Nathaniel heard a small chuckle from inside the huddled mass of his red jacket.
“And hey,” he continued, feeling a little braver. “As your platonic art husband, I have to admit I'm proud.”
Marc snorted. “As your platonic writer husband I have to say that hiding under the desk together might make your class think we've got something more than platonic going on.”
Nathaniel's heart jumped. He was feeling a little daring, a little eager, almost. “Well,” he said, grinning. “Who gives a shit what they think.”
The class was still arguing overhead. Apparently Miss Bustier had walked in while Chloe was trying to convince the class that Sabrina doing her presentation wasn't actually breaking the rules or some shit and things were only getting louder from there.
But here it was quiet. Here it was just the two of them, and even with all the yelling overhead, it felt comfortably silent.
Nathaniel reached for Marc's hand, giving it a little squeeze. Marc scooted closer.
They didn't say a word, but there was a quiet understanding in the way Marc leaned into Nathaniel's side and Nathaniel wrapped his arm around Marc's shoulders as they waited for the class to eventually stop shouting.
Eventually the class ended up marching Chloe to the principal's office, leaving the two in an empty, quiet room.
“Don't you have a class to be getting to soon?” Nathaniel asked.
Marc sighed. “I don't want to go,” he said, the hint of a whine in his voice. “It fu...it fucking sucks.”
“Fucking sucks indeed,” the artist murmured, burying his pout into the shoulder of Marc's soft hoodie.
~oOo~
“Are you...are you more than platonic husbands now?” Alix whispered across the table of the Art Room to Nathaniel. Marc was at the back of the classroom, well out of earshot and talking to the art teacher, Mr. Carracci.
“I don't know,” Nathaniel whispered back, eyes wide. “I think so?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Well we never actually said anything, but now we hold hands and stuff and that's cool-” Nathaniel jerked away from Alix as Marc finished talking with the art teacher and started heading back to their table.
“So,” Marc slid into the seat next to Nathaniel. “I showed him the pages we have, and he says this issue should be good to go for the final touches.”
“Sounds great!” Nathaniel helped Marc reorganize the papers he had been carrying.
“So,” Marc said. “Any news on what happened with Chloe?”
“Well, the school's cracking down on her for not having actually done any homework for the past several years, and the Mayor is trying to keep the whole thing from becoming a public scandal but word's spreading fast.”
“About time someone knocked Chloe off her high horse,” Marc grumbled, absentmindedly chewing on the end of his pencil. “Fuckin bitch.”
“Oh?”
Marc turned to Nathaniel, eyes gleaming. “I like to think that I'm a nice person, but when it comes to Chloe-she's a motherfucking bitch ass that can choke on a dick and die for all I care.”
“A shit stain on the side of the school,” Nathaniel agreed.
“A fucking disgrace.” Marc was grinning widely now. “A goddamn trashcan of a human-”
“Marc and Nathaniel.”
Marc stopped mid-sentence, face instantly losing his color as he turned to face Mr. Carracci, who was looking at them both with a stern face.
Nathaniel snapped his mouth closed.
“I understand you two boys have some pent up feelings regarding Chloe,” the teacher said. “However, as a teacher, I cannot excuse this kind of behavior in my classroom. If you're going to talk, I suggest you do it outside of the school grounds.”
Marc swallowed, eyes wide.
“We're sorry, sir,” Nathaniel squeaked. Mr. Carracci was by no means an intimidating person, but the look on his face made the artist want to shrivel like a raisin in the scorching heat.
“We'll be heading out now,” Marc said, voice a little shaky.
Quickly and a little shamefully, the two packed up their things and left the classroom, the rest of the art club's eyes fixed on the two as they exited.
“Well,” Nathaniel said, once they had left the school grounds. “That...uh...”
Marc shoved his jacket sleeve into his mouth. Nathaniel could barely hear the writer's muffled screaming.
“I kinda feel like shit,” Nathaniel admitted.
Marc put his arm back down. “Mr. Carracci was mad at us,” he said, eyes wide.
Nathaniel tried to console his crush. “He wasn't mad, he was just...disappointed in us.”
“That might be worse, though!”
Nathaniel grabbed Marc's hand. “Well, for what it's worth...I appreciated what you said. You cussed out Chloe with me.”
“Well, what are semi-platonic writer husbands for?” Marc said, smiling.
Nathaniel laughed. “We're semi-platonic?”
“I mean,” Marc ducked his head. “I think so.”
Nathaniel smiled. “Hey,” he said. “Do you think semi-platonic writer husbands cuddle and watch movies with their semi-platonic art husbands to forgot the absolutely mortifying thing that just happened?”
“I think they do.”
~oOo~
Whatever they were, it probably wasn't even platonic anymore.
Nathaniel woke up from an evening nap with Marc half-slung over his body, snoring softly, and thought that he probably should have come to this realization sooner.
“Hey,” he whispered, running his fingers through the writer's silky black hair. “It's time to wake up.”
Marc buried his nose into Nathaniel's side. “Fuck off,” he mumbled.
Nathaniel laughed. “You should get home soon.”
“Nooooo.”
“Marc, I have to do homework before bed.”
Marc stirred at that, blinking up at Nathaniel with bleary eyes. “But I want cuddles.”
Nathaniel grinned. He might not be able to refuse his not-platonic writing husband, but he could at least tease him a bit. “What's the magic word?”
“Lucky Charm.”
“The other magic word.”
“Fuck.”
“The 'other' other magic word.”
Marc sighed. “I want cuddles, please.”
“Alright.” Nathaniel wrapped his arms around Marc and settled back down. Marc gave a satisfied hum, pressing his nose into Nathaniel's collarbone.
Schoolwork could wait a little longer.
~oOo~
“Why would you put your schoolwork off like that?” Marc and Nathaniel sat next to each other on the bus the next morning, Nathaniel furiously scribbling answers onto the paper and hoping that at least some of them were right.
“You were the one that wouldn't let me do schoolwork,” Nathaniel shot back. “This is your fault, so don't berate me.”
“Sorry.”
“It's fine, look, I'm done already.” Nathaniel twirled his pen with a flourish and pushed the papers back into his bag.
Marc grabbed his arm as the bus jumped from a bump in the road. “Let's just say I owe you a favor,” he said. “I'll make it up to you somehow.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Your semi-platonic writer husband rights include not needing to make cuddles up to me. I'm declaring it now.”
“Wait, I can ask for free cuddles whenever then?”
“Probably.”
“What if I wanted to?” Marc asked. “Make it up to you, I mean.”
Nathaniel squinted his eyes. “Like how?”
Marc didn't say anything, but his eyes flicked down to the artist's lips for just a fraction of a second, so quickly Nathaniel almost missed it.
Oh, they definitely weren't platonic anymore.
Nathaniel's heart was hammering in his chest, but he nodded. “O-okay,” he said. “I could...I could maybe let you make it up to me sometime.”
“Fuck yes,” Marc breathed.
They stepped off the bus, skirting around the school building to a little alcove where they could have some privacy, and Marc pressed Nathaniel against the wall and took the chance to make it up to him.
It was a short kiss, it was rushed, it was full of nervous energy and unsure feelings and a fear of getting caught.
And then Nath paid it back in full. And Marc returned the favor again. And they kept making it up to each other until they were both giving, taking, receiving between breaths and gasps and the unsure feelings and the fear were gone.
They pressed contracts against the other's lips, owes and dues in little noises and hands that wandered rebelliously, hoping to give and take more if the other would allow it.
Eventually they parted, neither one sure who owed the favor now, neither one caring. Marc was still close enough that their breaths were intertwined, noses and foreheads nearly pressed against each other.
“Holy fuck,” Nathaniel said, pressing a hand to his lips, where he could still taste a hint of the writer's lip gloss.
Marc nodded. “Do you think we should just take the 'platonic' part out of our 'art and writer husband' title?”
“I think it's moot at this point,” Nathaniel agreed.
The bell started to ring.
“Fuck! I'm late for class!” Nathaniel pushed past Marc, stopped, then turned and pressed a quick kiss to the writer's cheek. “See you later,” he said, turning and bolting away, nearly crashing into Marinette as she raced up the steps.
Marc felt lighter than a feather, head full of cotton and electricity and lips tingling. It's a wonder he made it to class at all, so caught up in his thoughts.
Today was the best fucking day in the world.
~oOo~
Marc and Nathaniel made sure not to swear in the art room. Outside of school, however, was an entirely different matter.
“And-get this-the Mayor threatened to cut off all the school funding if Chloe got suspended,” Nathaniel seethed, walking down the sidewalk with the writer.
“Wow,” Marc said. “That fucking sucks.”
“She's the worst!” Nathaniel threw his head back, groaning. “If I ever found whatever hell-pit she crawled up from, you'd help me push her back in it, wouldn't you?”
“What kind of writing husband do you think I am?” Marc scoffed. “I'd bring cement to fill the hole, too.”
Nathaniel smiled, leaning closer into Marc.
“Hey,” Marc said, giving him a little shoulder bump.
“Yeah?”
“I fucking love you.”
Nathaniel snorted. “Way to make it romantic.”
And then Marc was grabbing his hands and turning face-to-face with him. “I mean it,” Marc said, eyes glittering so honestly and brightly Nathaniel felt the air sucked from his lungs from the brilliancy of it.
Well, shit, this was certainly romantic now.
“I love your fucking smile, and your goddamn eyes, and your fucking face, and your fucking laugh, and your fucking kisses-”
“What about my fucking fuckin'?” Nathaniel grinned cheekily up at the writer, raising an eyebrow.
Marc blinked. “Well,” his face started to redden and he looked down at the ground, suddenly shy again as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I'll...probably find out if we ever decided to...but I think I'd fucking love that too.”
The artist couldn't help but giggle a little at the absurdity of it all. “I didn't think you'd end up with such a...colorful vocabulary,” he said.
“It's the euphoria of being comfortable with using curse words,” Marc deadpanned. “Don't get used to it.”
“So it's an experimenting thing?”
“Yeah, probably.”
Nathaniel nodded. “I get it. The confidence looks good on you, though,” he said, as they linked hands and started to walk back home together.
Marc grinned. “Fuck yeah it does.”