moist carrot cake

Marichat May Day 17: Balcony Visits

Cliche Balcony Make-Out Scene: Round 2!!  No clever twist on this one folks, ‘cause this is just classic.

Naturally, this is for @marinette-buginette, because enough is never enough!  (At least when it come to Marichat, and making out on the balcony.)  Her work is both wonderful and extensive, go read it!


Marinette climbed onto her balcony, and turned to take the plates from Chat Noir so that he could follow her.

“I’m sorry again about maman, Chat,” she sighed, passing his plate and fork back to him and settling on her lounger.  “She thinks she’s funny.”

“That’s because she is funny.”  He sat next to her and speared his fork through his slice of moist carrot cake.  “Your mom is great, Mari.  Your dad too, for that matter.”

She rolled her eyes as she swallowed a mouthful of her own dessert.  “I still can’t believe they invited you to stay for dinner, and then made you cook it.”

“They didn’t make me do anything.  I had as much fun learning to make quiche as I did learning to make flowers.”  He paused to consume another bite before continuing.  “This cake is awesome, by the way.   Your mom was right about having the frosting with cake under it.”

“Yes, well.  Don’t tell her that.  I generally try to avoid telling either of my parents that they are right about anything.”

He chuckled.  “You’re lucky.  Honestly, I’d be over here every day if I could.”

Marinette shifted on the lounger, bringing her leg up and tucking her foot beneath her, to eye him thoughtfully.  It had been strange, when he’d assumed she would be mad at him for his imperfect flowers.  She’d wondered at it then, and she wondered at it now.  And these were not the first hints she’d had that all was not well.  Who expected him to be so perfect all of the time?  “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not very happy, when you’re at home?”

“I don’t know,” he replied flatly, his expression shuttered.

She scooped another bite on her fork, but didn’t lift it from the plate.  “I, um…I’ve noticed that you’ve been spending more and more time here.”

He stiffened.  “I can stop, if it’s a problem.”

“No! Chat, that’s not what I meant at all.”  She set her unfinished cake on the large wooden spool that she used as a table, so that she could grip his arm.  “I love it when you’re here.  I’m just a little worried that perhaps the ‘stray’ thing is a bit too apt.”

“Hmm.  Or maybe I just like being here.”  He stuck more cake in his mouth.

Chaton—”  He stuck his finger in the frosting and smeared it on her cheek, near the corner of her mouth, and she spluttered a laugh.  “What the—Chat, what are you doing?”

“Whoops.  Looks like you’ve got something on your face,” he quipped, gazing at her innocently.  Then he made a show of looking around the lounger, and on the table.  “Oh dear, no napkins.  But don’t worry, I’ll clean you up.”  He caught her wrist, much like he had earlier that afternoon, and leaned forward to slowly kiss the smeared frosting from her skin.  “Isn’t this reason enough for me to be here, Princess?” he whispered, his face so close to hers that he could see her pupils dilate.

She brought a hand to his jaw and stroked her thumb over his skin.  “This might be why you’re here now, Chaton, but it’s not what brought you here the first time,” she murmured.

Chat pressed his forehead into hers, closing his eyes against the temptation in her blue ones.  “Don’t ask questions you don’t want me to answer, Princess.”

Her breath caught.  “Chat, I—”

“Just kiss me, Marinette,” he begged, speaking over her.  “We’ll figure the rest out later.”

She studied him for a moment, and then nodded.  “Later,” she breathed, sliding the hand at his jaw to the back of his head, and closing the small distance between their mouths.  Heat blossomed between them.  His arms came around her body, lifting her into his lap, and her fingers speared eagerly through his hair as she angled their heads to deepen the kiss.  He felt her tongue slide along his lower lip and he opened to her, slipping his own tongue into her mouth with a groan.  She tasted like the cake they’d just eaten, sweet and decadent.

Dimly, he wondered how in the hell he was going to survive seeing her at school without being able to touch her, but the thought was swept away in a tide of sensation.  He gave himself up to the pleasure of her mouth on his, leaving tomorrow to take care of itself.