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We're superheroes, not stars, she'd said back when they were fourteen.
The last time Chat Noir checked, superheroes didn't need dressing rooms. And yet, when he'd asked Nadja where Ladybug was and why she'd asked him to arrive at the TV station two hours early, she'd shrugged and simply pointed him down the dressing room corridor.
He passed door after door, breaths coming hard and fast, trying to speed up without taking off in a sprint. It's so quiet , he thought to himself, glancing back and forth for any cracked open doors or staff appearing out of nowhere behind him. He supposed he could always just play it off as stage fright if anyone noticed. But they'd done enough interviews with Nadja over the years to know what her co-workers were like: kind. Caring. Enough to steer an anxious superhero away from the dressing room corridor, sit him down on one of their plush couches, and hand him a cup of green tea.
But Chat Noir didn't get stage fright. And he wasn't anxious. His heart was racing for something else.
She was up to something.
Room 70. Room 71. Room 72. He halted to a stop in front of Room 73, his back to the utility closet on the wall opposite. The door wasn't ajar, nor did it have a ribbon around the handle, both of which were Ladybug's usual modus operandis when it came to luring him into her honeytraps. Regardless, he tried pushing it open.
Nothing.
Then the utility door burst open, a firm arm clamped itself around his waist, and he was yanked inside.
The edge of a shelf was wedged against his back. Something soft and warm and perfumed like vanilla was flat against his front.
"Hi," Ladybug said, hands creeping up to touch his face.
"Hi," he replied.
"I wanted some 'Chat Noir time' before we went on air."
"This couldn't have been done in the dressing room?" he asked, hands on an excursion down her hips that he didn't even realise they were making. "Or, you know, in a less serial killer-y way?"
"Thought I'd get your heart pumping a little." She shivered (despite the utility closet being far from cold) and pressed herself close enough to make him dizzy. "Seems like I did a good job."
Tantalisingly, she ran a finger across his jaw. It was damp with sweat.
He barely had time to react before she dove in and attached her lips to his pulse point.
Chat Noir's head dropped against the shelf behind him. Somehow he still had enough conscious thought left in him to bite down on his bottom lip before doing anything that'd alert anyone that might've been in their vicinity.
"Plus," she said, dragging her lips up to his chin, "no one knows we're in here. Thought it'd be best to just use the dressing room as a decoy."
He breathed out a ruined laugh. "You… you always have everything planned out, huh?"
Ladybug's mouth seared against his in a kiss. "But I'm still figuring out what I wanna do with you first."
"Don't… say things like that… just before we go on live TV."
"Why not?" She grinned at him. "We have two whole hours, chaton ."
This wasn't the riskiest place they'd had a rendezvous like this, but it was definitely the most cramped. They had always been a little too energetic, always pushing each other against chimneys or abandoned shop fronts or beams of the Eiffel Tower, but their options were limited in a space as tiny as this. When he flipped them over, pushing her up against the shelf so she'd gasp into his mouth, bottles of bleach and surface cleaner crashed to the ground.
They could handle it. Until a mop dislodged itself from the corner of the closet and toppled over between them.
"Ugh." Ladybug, legs still wrapped around his waist, pushed it away from them with one hand. It clattered to the ground, but she didn't seem too concerned. "This was a lot hotter in theory."
He raised an eyebrow. "Making out in a utility closet is hot to you? Even in theory?"
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Don't lie. You love how scandalous it feels."
He wasn't expecting it; Ladybug tightened her legs around him and brought him impossibly closer.
"It's almost like you want to get caught," he said, throat scratched raw.
"Maybe I do." She trailed her hands down his back, then paused. "Okay, actually I don't. That'd be really embarrassing."
He chuckled. At least she wasn't that far gone.
But then her fingers slipped into his belt and ran along his hipbone and ohhh my God. Maybe he wouldn't mind if they got caught, so long as she'd do that again.
"Should we use the dressing room instead?" she asked.
Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. He could've chanted it over and over and over again. Anything for her to take them somewhere spacious, with bigger walls and soft couches and lights bright enough to see her face in full view.
A hard rap on the door sliced through his thoughts.
Chat Noir's heart jumped to his throat. Just before he could say anything, Ladybug clapped a hand over his mouth. She shot him a look, pressing her ear against the door.
"Ladybug? Chat Noir?" someone said from outside. Another rap — oh. It had been on their dressing room door. People were looking for them. "Are you both in there? There's an emergency."
His eyes widened. "Emergency?" he mouthed.
Ladybug hushed him, listening hard.
"The coffee guy got akumatised," the person said. " The building's… how do I put this? The building's currently flooded with coffee. We need your help."
They held their breaths. Ladybug unwrapped her legs from around him and, ever so carefully, got herself back to her feet. Finally, after one last knock on the door and a sigh, the person continued down the corridor, the sound of their footsteps disappearing.
"Okay," she said, pushing her hair behind her ears. She was back, flush dying out of her face, going from 'girlfriend' mode to 'superhero' mode in two seconds flat. "Okay. We'll continue this later. Right now, we need to—" She tried the door handle, then stopped. "Uh. That's weird."
She jiggled it. It didn't move an inch.
"It seems like it's stuck," he said.
"Yeah, no shit." Her breaths grew laboured against his cheek. She pushed down even harder, but the handle simply wouldn't budge. "Maybe I just need to—"
With one hard push, Ladybug ripped the handle clean off the door.
They stared. At the oblong shadow around the door. At the four screw holes at each corner. At the freaking amputated door handle clutched in her hand.
"Oh no," she whispered.
"Well," he said, "I guess you didn't have this planned out."
Ladybug punched his arm.