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“Are you sure this isn’t… illegal?”
Marinette’s obvious attempt to collect as many cupcakes in both her hands as physically possible ceases, and she turns to him, raising an eyebrow. Adrien can't help but run his hand through his hair until it catches on a cat ear on top of his head.
"Yes, Chaton. I'm sure that taking from the free food served for the attendees of the Fashion Week — while being the attendees of the Fashion Week — is not, in fact, illegal," she smiles.
“I mean, obviously, but…” Adrien shuffles a black boot on the polished tiles of the conference hall. “I dunno. I wasn’t really invited.”
He’s trying to explain the obscenity of eating at a fashion event, without explaining the obscenity of eating at a fashion event. He’s doing a thoroughly terrible job at it, he thinks.
But Marinette just huffs and continues picking out the most mouth-watering delicacies. “Of course, you were invited. You’re my plus one, and thus, obviously, rightfully entitled to any sweets your heart desires.”
“Obviously,” he deadpans, and decidedly ignores commenting on her being the sweetest of them all.
She looks back at him over her shoulder, a teasing lilt to her voice. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“It isn’t about not believing you—” he tries to explain, but a cupcake promptly shoved into his mouth stops him.
He blinks rapidly as he bites and takes the remainder of the pastry away from his mouth. Marinette flashes such a shit-eating grin at him that would make Plagg jealous.
“How is it?”
Adrien chews the bite experimentally, savouring the strawberry sweetness on his tongue. It’s good, really. Good enough that it makes him want to close his eyes to enjoy the experience fully — but he can’t do that.
Not right now. Not right here.
His eyes dart around the conference hall, taking in his surroundings and waiting for the first disapproving glance, the first twitch of paper-thin lips. Because even if consciously he knows no one in the colourful crowd is paying attention to him, even if no one is going to reprimand him for indulging a little, he can’t help the instinct. This setting is not a natural habitat for Chat Noir, the superhero of Paris, but it is the one and only for teen model Adrien Agreste.
Unfortunately, teen model Adrien Agreste does not, under any circumstances, indulge in sweets.
“These are almost as good as Papa’s, and you aren’t enjoying them,” Marinette pouts, having already taken two bites out of her own cupcake.
Adrien swallows with a barely-there smile.
“Yeah, they are tasty!” he tries, but if the frown on her face is of any indication, Marinette isn’t having any of it.
One of her hands still full with the pastries, she grabs onto his arm with the other and promptly drags him under the ivory tablecloth. It’s as if the wrinkles and splotches that are bound to appear on her hand-sewn dress from scooting under tables are the least of her concern right now. She folds the ample hot pink bobbinet decorated with glittering sequins out of the way and settles on the floor, practically snuggling up to Adrien’s side.
“I bet you think this is also illegal,” she grins, her voice a hushed whisper.
“Oh, I know for a fact that this is illegal,” he can’t help but chuckle.
Her face hovers only centimeters from his — it would be so easy to lean in and kiss that self-satisfied smile that curls up the corners of her lips off of her face — but he doesn’t do it. It’s a privilege to just admire Marinette Dupain-Cheng from close enough to count all the freckles under her extravagantly sparkling makeup. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment.
She does it for him, anyway.
She presses the frosting of a cake against his nose and watches the immediate change of his expression with barely restrained laughter. “You were staring.”
Of course, I was.
“And I just think, you should be eating instead,” she adds. “These things are heavenly.”
Not bothering to wipe his nose, Adrien takes one cupcake from her hand. “Oh really?”
Stray hairs dance in the filtered golden light as she nods her head eagerly. Her eyes are sparkling with zest and the curve of her lips don’t leave an ounce of doubt in him for taking it for what it is: a mission she has her mind set on.
And Adrien… Adrien is never one to hinder her missions.
With a confident motion, he smears frosting all over her face.
Marinette sputters and swats at his shoulder as she tries to recover from the unexpected attack, but there is no time. Adrien leans in and kisses the frosting off of her lips.
His shoulders relax completely and his smile grows wider when her flailing hand comes to rest on his neck as she kisses back without delay. Despite its comforting familiarity, the motion still leaves him breathless.
“You were right. It’s heavenly,” he murmurs against her mouth.
A finger poking at his cheek makes him draw away just enough to peer down at her from under his lashes, but Marinette’s grinning true and wide as she accuses, “That was a sly move, mister!”
“Can’t help it. Looks like you were right, I really can’t get enough of this,” he whispers mischievously before diving right back.
Despite his Herculean effort, her skin doesn’t get any cleaner in the trail of his sloppy-sugary kisses all over her face, though. She loops her arms around his neck, as if trying to take control of the situation; but all she does is meet his eyes with a look warm enough to melt one more of the icy daggers his father used to glare through him.
“For the record, I’m glad that you tried the cupcake. You deserve to try new things, and quite frankly, it’s no one else’s business where and how you do it,” she says. But then she bites her lip as if doing her best to keep the grin that rounds up the corners at bay. “There might just be one tiny exception to that. Sir, are you aware you’re kissing Adrien Agreste’s girlfriend?”
He makes his eyes widen in a mock-surprised cat-like gesture as he remarks, “What a pity Adrien Agreste couldn’t make it today to do it himself then.”
Marinette nods along, her fingers playing lazily with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, it’s really a shame. No such thing as a calm stroll around Fashion Week with your girlfriend if you want to keep your distance from the world of fashion for good. I guess it’s the price you pay for having once been a dashing supermodel.”
The way she articulates ‘supermodel’ — with the distinct intonation he used to jokingly refer to himself for weeks after the reveal when he could finally share this delightful inside joke with her — makes warmth pool in Adrien’s chest. It also makes it impossible for him not to lean down and nuzzle her nose, even if that only helps to spread the remnant of the frosting more evenly. “Good thing you’re an expert with loopholes, m’lady.”
“Good thing we have four possible permutations to show up to events as,” she returns, beaming.
He cups her cheek in one hand and trails a delicate thumb over the vacancy of her mask. It isn’t the imaginable best sensation in the whole wide world, but it’s a close second to the feeling of his lips curving into a smirk and ghosting along hers.
She’s right, it’s a good thing. But also a stupid thing. And additionally—
"Are you sure this isn't illegal?"