Damian was falling into her through his fingertips, the whole of him tremblingly held against the entirety of her. They might have been that way for an hour, or half a second, or a lifetime before the pencil hit the floor in a tinny clatter.
Inhaling sharply, Damian recoiled as Marinette hurriedly grabbed the fallen utensil. When she popped back above the desk he was steadfastly looking away.
In a halting voice he said, “Yes. You caught me.” Then he cleared his throat and met her eyes, no trace of uncertainty in them. “The random nature of your style makes it difficult to anticipate or counter. Accordingly, I would benefit from sparring with you.”
And Marinette would benefit from any activity that involved his body on her body. Or her body on his body. She wasn’t picky. Sparring was unexpected after all, you never knew who would end up on top and in control and who would end up on bottom locked into submission. And both outcomes had a certain appeal…
Which was the whole point of sparring! To prevent such unexpected and dangerous outcomes in a real fight! Ladybug couldn’t afford to lose after all!
So, really, Marinette was simply being logical as she nodded along with Damian’s plan. This was the sensible choice, after all, to defend Paris. A noble goal, defending Paris. Oh and of course the rest of the world, since the backlash of Hawkmoth’s wish would affect everywhere and everyone. Marinette was like a mini-Superman. Only one with a team, although he did have his cousin Supergirl and kid(?) Superboy, even if he looked pretty young to have a full grown son.
And Ladybug most certainly wasn’t attached. So maybe she was more like the Batman, who had Robin and Nightwing, and possibly others depending on which news outlet you trusted. Metropolis’ Daily Planet suggested he had at least three or four, but Marinette was more inclined to trust the Gotham Gazette for obvious reasons. Vicky Vale probably knew Batman much better than Clark Kent. Unfortunately, Batman wasn’t exactly giving press conferences and there was no centralized way to get in contact with the various heroes capable of making a difference in Paris.
Marinette would know, she’d tried after all. The whole experience left her with the impression that some kind of organization would be very useful, a league or something, maybe even a central building and some financial support to do things like keep watch, to keep track of all these different heroes. Honestly, even just a league would be pretty helpful. Well, that was somebody else’s problem. She had Hawkmoth to handle. And handling him would be much easier with a serious training partner. Particularly one more dedicated than Chat.
“This is my number.” Damian broke her from her ruminating with the press of a scrap of paper onto her palm. Somehow he’d removed the pencil from her fingers and used it without her noticing, clearly she needed much more training.
His hand was lingering atop hers, separated by a thin slice of paper and nothing else.
Marinette and Damian’s eyes met. Hurriedly, she jerked her hand back, crumpling her fingers around the paper as Damian pulled his hand back to his side awkwardly.
“I should write down mine!”
She flipped to an unused page in the back of her sketchbook and gave him her information before quickly tearing it out and passing it over. Damian pocketed it in a swift motion, not looking at it.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “What are you drawing?”
Danger! Marinette couldn’t give him any hint that she moonlighted as MDC, but she couldn’t outright lie either since he was close enough to see her design.
“It’s, um, it’s for the fashion blog?”
“You run a blog?”
“No! I mean, I just do intern things and provide ideas is all, haha, yeah.”
“This,” Damian put his finger on the paper, his immaculate nails tracing the edges of the jacket that he would someday be wearing lightly, “seems to be more than an idea.”
“Haha!” Marinette burst out, “Um, that’s so, you’re so nice to say that! I’ll just put it away though,” she reached for it only to find his fingers splayed out across the book.
Slowly, he slid it away from her. The entire time, his eyes never left hers. It was like he was asking permission, silently giving her the chance to stop him any time she wanted. But Marinette didn’t want to stop him.
Marinette hadn’t shown her sketchbook to anyone. Not even Adrien or Alya. Telling Alya she was the guardian had been less intimate than this slow excavation of her soul. Dating Luka had been less terrifying than watching her sketchbook slowly slide across the table under Damian’s hand. And despite Lila’s best efforts she hadn’t even cracked open the spine of her book.
Damian ran a finger down the aforementioned spine. Marinette felt a shiver go down her own. The paper crinkled as he lifted the first page and looked at her drawing of the hoodie and pants combination she’d envisioned him wearing under the jacket. His expression was inscrutable, impossible to decipher. The tips of his fingers brushed down the paper, as if wiping away all preconceptions about it and revealing the clothing for the first time.
His touch must have been feather-light and delicate because the pads of his digits weren’t even pressing into the paper. That was good, Marinette realized, since otherwise she’d need to banish him for putting her designs at risk of smudging. Not that they would, Marinette used quality materials that only smudged when she intentionally blurred a line for effect, but accidents could happen.
Still, Damian was taking a great deal of care not to damage anything. And his fingers were so purposive, somehow Marinette knew there would be no accidents. Not from him.
He turned another page. Slower, his eyes lingering on the pants and hoodie combination she’d drawn out. They flickered up to contemplate her once, a deep look that drank her in as if he hadn’t seen her in years. And then he looked back down. He didn’t swipe his fingers across the page this time. Instead he let them trace the edges of the paper, framing the drawings. When his hand reached the bottom he dragged it up and placed his palm flat against the very edge of a pant leg, the outfit framed in the precise ninety degree angle of his thumb and pointer finger.
“This appears to be my size.” He said it as if it meant nothing, no inflection at all.
It was that sudden retreat that made Marinette realize his voice had slowly picked up timbre and tone as they’d spoken (and done other things). But that was all gone now, he was back to the emotionless cadence he’d used when she first entered the room. Marinette hadn’t realized how much she’d miss it until it was gone.
But none of that was as important as covering his realization!
“Is it! Haha that’s so funny! I must have subconsciously drawn it that way without realizing, wow silly me what a mistake! I’ll just take that back and fix it right away!”
Damian’s hand didn’t move as Marinette grabbed the edges of her sketchbook, still pressing down on the center of it.
“Do you want me to let go?” There was a hint of inflection back, something Marinette couldn’t quite identify, it was so faint.
“No.” The word was out before she realized she’d said it, before she could capture it on her lips and prevent her mouth from betraying her.
“Then I won’t.”
Damian deliberately used his free hand to gently peel Marinette's away from the sketchbook. His fingers ran over hers carefully as he went one by one, unwinding each from the book. He moved as if he were blind, his hands taking in every corner of hers and winding around the crevices. The brush of skin on skin as he curved around the base of her thumb was… mildly… distracting.
So it really wasn’t her fault that she didn’t notice when he turned the next page! After all, he was clearly exploring her skin for the sake of distracting her so he could peruse her designs at his leisure!
His index finger traced the lifeline on the center of her palm idly, running down to her wrist before looping back up to twist her hand down and rub across her knuckles. He did so slowly, almost as if he weren’t consciously aware of it as his eyes remained glued to the page and her design. Marinette suddenly couldn’t quite remember what she’d been worried about. His fingers were very relaxing. It was like all of her tension was draining with each rhythmic motion, lulling her into a trance as she watched him turn the page.
Clearly a distraction technique! Nobody could just ignore this kind of egregious skin to skin contact!
However, knowing and resisting were two very, very different things. And Marinette found that her hands were rebelling against her brain, insistent on remaining in contact with his firm warmth. They didn’t even mind the way he handled her, twisting her hand about as he explored the tips of her fingers, his own fingers lingering over the calluses and needle pinpricks, little pieces of evidence and badges of her work. Her hands felt distinctly stripped. Along with the rest of her.
Which is why Marinette didn’t prevent him from turning the page to see the designs inspired by Kory. The miniskirt and Jagged jacket were first up, the clean lines dissected under his gaze.
“I recognize this.”
His hand had stopped moving. Now it was lightly holding onto her wrist, ready to spring into a trap at any moment. Marinette realized she had a lot of choices in her hands. She could remove her wrist from his light control, testing to see if he would tighten his grip reflexively. She could deny his words, or pretend not to have heard them. Being deaf seemed to work for Adrien after all, and that had defused a whole lot of awkward moments between the two of them. And while Marinette wasn’t deaf, she could certainly pretend.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
But, for a wild moment, Marinette wanted to be more courageous, more willing to confront the oncoming confrontation instead of pretending it wasn’t there. And for a moment she realized just how juvenile all her scheming, all her elaborate plans to ensnare Adrien really were. For a moment she wanted to be grown.
To be a confident, mature young woman capable of acting like Damian (he might be younger than her, but in this he was clearly more mature). To have the same kind of purpose he did, cutting away all the drama and endless circling. To just reach out and grab what she wanted.
(as for what she wanted… Damian’s hands. On more than just her wrist. And then the rest of him.)
It was painfully easy to imagine how it would happen. Marinette would just need to muster up the confidence.
The confidence to roll her hand over and grab onto his wrist, to pull him into her orbit until he revolved around her, to drag his head into her ocean and see how long he lasted submerged in her, to casually vivisect his secrets the way he was doing to her right now. To be courageous, decisive, and bold, everything she wasn’t.
Everything she wasn’t sure she was ready to be. Marinette felt like she was in a dark alleyway, freshly transformed, staring out at the sliver of light where just beyond was some awful akuma destroying Paris.
It was usually Chat, for all that he had his flaws, who had the straightforward gumption to simply drag her out into the fight by dint of his careless offense. He dove in recklessly so that she didn’t have to, as much as it often backfired. But that was the thing about diving off a building or coming into close quarters with a sentimonster or facing down Hawkmoth, starting was always the hardest part. Once she was caught up in the current of things, it wasn’t difficult to simply keep going.
But Marinette wasn’t some perfect caricature of a superhero. In the daytime? She was just Marinette, an ordinary girl. With ordinary fears, like confessing to her crush or fighting monsters. Even if she wanted to be more. What exactly more was, she wasn’t certain.
And she couldn’t just force her wants on someone else! Particularly if she weren’t certain about them!
So Marinette did the sensible thing, the safe thing, the thing she always did. Even if it took her (a lot) longer to get there than it usually did.
“Oh? That’s so interesting! Because you know I was just drawing things I’d seen before haha! I’m so glad you think they’re recognizable, that probably means I’m doing a good job!”
Marinette ended her desperate word vomit with a grin that forced her teeth together. Something that would prevent her from speaking.
“Kory was wearing this. It only arrived today, you couldn’t have seen it before.”
“Well I sometimes see things before they arrive! Because, um, I have to be ready to blog about them right away?”
Damian didn’t look like he’d picked up on her indecisive lie. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He was turning the page to the next outfit. One of her kwami themed items for Kory. Specifically the Trixx outfit, the one designed to fit her like a second skin and match her otherworldly skin tone in certain places to give the impression it was a nude color.
“This is also new.”
“Well, like I said I sometimes see things before other people! No big deal! Nothing miraculous at all about it!”
“You drew comparisons between her skin color and the dress.”
“I did?” Marinette glanced at the page where, damningly, she had. “I mean, obviously I did since it would be weird if I didn’t include the drawings with the right model. It’s important to get the right look down, that’s all.”
Damian gave her a long look. “You didn’t for the hoodie. Or the pants and jacket.”
“Ummmm, I was going to! I just didn’t have time, and now that you mention it I probably should go back and fix that right away.”
She reached for the sketchbook only to find her wrist caught in his trap. His fingers were precisely long enough to completely and comfortably circle her wrist, as if they were made for grabbing onto her. They were also the exact right size to fit in between the bones of her forearm and her hand, it was as if her wrist was made for him.
Not that she wanted him to shove her against a wall and twist her wrists above her head and press himself into her and then slowly, delicately, pin his lips to hers. The thought didn’t even cross Marinette’s mind, actually. In fact, the only thought that crossed her mind was rolling her wrist out of his hand, reversing the grip so that she was the one in control, she was the one shoving him against a wall, she was the one twisting his wrists above his head and pressing herself against him and pinning his lips with hers.
Ah, if she were thinking about doing something so bold at all! Which she wasn’t! The thought never even crossed her mind, actually!
“Donna said both these looks were new this morning. And based on the contents of the room,” he said while finally looking around at all of her scattered work materials, “these were probably created last night.”
“Every design room has this shade of orange!”
“And yet not every designer matches the color scheme to Kory’s,” he paused, searching for the right words while his eyes bored into her and his grip on her wrist remained tight, “alien complexion.”
Marinette was about to protest when he pulled her wrist forward. Surprised, she didn’t stop him. And the fact that he ran the fingertips of his free hand over hers had nothing to do with it!
“These aren’t the hands of someone who draws for a living. I would know, art is my hobby. These are the hands of someone who creates.”
“Welllllll,” Marinette tried (honestly!) to free her wrist. Damian didn’t allow it. Instead, he simply laced his free hand’s fingers into hers to prevent her from wiggling free, a technique so advanced that Marinette had absolutely no defense and could do nothing but let his hands hold tight to hers. She’d probably require demonstrations of that move later, lots and lots of demonstrations due to the complexity of the maneuver. Hands-on learning too of course…
For the purposes of finding an appropriate counter! Hurriedly, Marinette squeaked out, “Every intern wants to be a fashion designer someday, and there are lots of alterations that need to be done!”
“Kory arrived last week. She met with Audrey Bourgeois and designers on the first day, spent the second pestering Dick to ensure I would accompany her to see various tourist locations, spent the third forcing Dick and I to tour the city along with Donna, spent the fourth dealing with her sister, and spent yesterday, the fifth, at the photoshoot. The color of her skin is unique, and yet this room contains the exact shade of tanned orange to match. A shade you could not be familiar with unless you’d seen her on the first day or yesterday.”
“I was with Audrey!” Marinette quickly interjected. “I was there on the first day!”
It was nice to be able to mix in the truth for a change, Marinette felt some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she relaxed a little.
“Certainly a possibility,” Damian replied with a nod. “But the only people invited to that meeting were all high level fashion designers, Audrey’s most trusted cadre. Crucially, Kory never mentioned an intern being there.”
Marinette had the sudden realization she’d made a terrible mistake.
Because there was no intern there. MDC was. And MDC was very circumspect. She didn’t join the meetings in person, she got them live streamed to her loft and only communicated through type. The only person in that room who knew MDC’s real identity was Audrey, to everyone else she was just a black screen on the livestream.
“I’m easy to miss?”
“No you aren’t.”
“Very easy to miss?”
“No,” Damian said again, losing his patience, “you are not.” Then he pulled her hand up so they could both look at the light calluses and evidence of pinpricks. “You spent last night sewing and working with fabric. In this room.”
Marinette couldn’t even think of a lie, this was bad!
He pulled on her wrist, gently forcing her to stand until they were eye to eye. “You designed an outfit specifically for Kory’s skin tone, why?”
Marinette was confused. And aware the only thing between the two of them was the painfully small table with her sketchbook on it. “Ohhh! Well,” her free arm went windmilling about in the way it always did when she was overly excited, “you know I just happened to have the right shade lying around so I made some last minute alterations, nothing major really, and that’s it! It was so simple I didn’t even remember doing it until you reminded me just now, what a coincidence!”
Damian’s eyes went to her work table, where there were several different shades of bronze-orange fabric draped haphazardly. Marinette followed his gaze and, with her foot, shifted the incriminating bit of evidence out of sight. Damian merely arched an eyebrow in response, silently chastising her. It intensified his haughty demeanor, making his cooly neutral expression seem like a superior one.
Marinette had the sudden urge to ask him what the punishment for lying was, and if he doled it out personally or not. An urge she suppressed! She needed to stop this line of questioning before it got (more) dangerous!
So she did the sensible thing, since words weren’t really working. Marinette was just an ordinary girl, and ordinary girls couldn’t conjure up miraculous solutions to their problems. There was really only one choice left, one thing this ordinary girl could do to take control of the situation. So she shoved the table out of the way (carefully ensuring her sketchbook landed safely on the pile of discarded orange fabrics) rolled her wrist to reverse the lock he had on her, and then jerked his arm forward with her newfound control.
Damian gave her a look of surprise before tumbling forward, but this time Marinette wasn’t planning on getting up close and personal. Yet. Instead she stepped backward and stomped on his foot as he fell forward, forcing him to his knees as he couldn’t keep up with the sudden motion. Once he was there she didn’t give him time to collect himself, stepping forward with one foot between his legs so he had nowhere to go. Her hand retained his wrist, holding it up at an angle so he couldn’t exert the force necessary to escape. And her other hand grabbed his shoulder so his head didn’t fall into her… stomach.
Her hand might have been a little slow getting to his shoulder (not out of indecisiveness, Marinette was not a girl known for being indecisive after all) so she had to shove him back a little. Just a little! And the whiplash didn’t look that bad. But of course she had to check, that was just sensible. She might have hurt him unintentionally after all, and it was her duty as a superhero to investigate and ensure the health of civilians as necessary!
It was nothing but duty that guided her fingers to check if he’d rattled his jaw (it was so square!). And she was just being thorough, ensuring that the incredibly straight line of it was still straight the whole way through. Her slow pace, letting her fingers drift up the underside of his chin where the incredibly soft and smooth surface of his skin reacted to her calluses in a way that tingled, was entirely professional. Same with checking his chin for divots, and his cheek for bruising, and his forehead for lumps, and his hair for…
Marinette’s fingers paused. His head was tilting backward, causing her fingers to tumble back until she was cradling his head. His hair was so fluffy! The darkness of it contrasted against her brighter skin tone emphasized how it wove through her hand and somehow managed to suck her in until she was twisting hair around her hand in a gentle fist just to stay afloat. And his hair wasn’t even that long! This was dangerous!
She didn’t have time to consider the dangers of such unexpectedly enticing hair, because the reason he’d tilted his head back was so his eyes could meet her eyes and suddenly Marinette had Thoughts.
From this angle, the blades in his eyes were held aloft for her. And Marinette didn’t mind that.
Dangerous thoughts.
She didn’t mind the sight of Damian on his knees either. She had the sudden urge to tighten her grip and take a half-step forward, eliminating all space between him and her. To see if she could teach him to beg.
Very dangerous thoughts!
He spoke up at her with gritted teeth. “That was an unexpected angle.” He shuffled, adjusting his stance so he could stand.
“Stay there!” Marinette commanded. She’d been steadily losing control of the earlier conversation, and that couldn’t happen again. And if they were going to have this conversation, she was going to do it from a position of strength.
Looking down at him kneeling in front of her she felt… strength (and nothing else!).
Damian did as she commanded (good boy), and waited for her permission to keep moving. She wasn’t planning on giving it.
Because being positioned literally above him gave her a metaphorical advantage in the conversation that she needed to maintain her confidence and nothing else!
“I have a secret.” That seemed like a pretty good place to begin, right? Simple, easy to understand, and attention grabbing. “In the daytime, I’m Marinette. An ordinary girl.” And a solid second sentence. Very straightforward. Now she just had to figure out how to phrase the rest of it.
“You are MDC,” Damian interrupted.