#((Sit in for the long haul on this one because it's over 10000 words.))

[mc-lukanette]

Elf Preservation (continuation)

(original/first chapter)

[AO3] [FF.NET]

Luka was surprised when he was not only allowed to deliver presents again, but that there was no sort of punishment for the fact that he'd both been found by and interacted with a human. Apparently, Santa just hadn't told anyone, and was even the person to suggest that Luka go with him again next year for Christmas.

He didn't really get it, but didn't complain either. Most people rolled with whatever Santa said without question, and Luka supposed that he somehow managed to be a good enough assistant.

Besides, he had a promise to keep, and it kept ringing in his head since the take-off to go around the world: "If I can make it happen, it’ll happen."

He told Marinette that they'd meet again as long as it was in his power to do so. No matter what her reason was for wanting to see him again - whether genuine interest or mild curiosity - he wanted to see her too. He couldn't explain it, but she was special, and there was an allure to her that had him looking over the side of the sleigh to try and spot her house when they arrived in her city.

He considered what he might do if Santa refused to let him go into the house. Plead? Beg? Explain the promise? Offer not to tell anyone that he secretly feeds cookies to his reindeer if he lets him see Marinette?

As they landed on the familiar house, Luka's mind was still racing with options when he suddenly heard Santa ask, "Why don't you take this one again?"

Luka blinked, needing a moment to register that, then turned with a confused look on his face. "What?"

Santa didn't reply at first, though clearly noticed that Luka had a thousand questions playing in his head that he was resisting asking. Smiling at him, he finally answered, "Let's just say that I owe Marinette a favor and leave it at that, hm?"

Luka wasn't sure how to take that, but knew that Santa wouldn't lie to him. He was also reminded of what Marinette had implied when they first met, referring to how she was "used to magic." He was getting more and more interested in her by the second, hoping that it didn't look too apparent by how quickly he hopped off the sleigh.

"Thank you." It was really all he could say, not wanting to pry when he'd been told not to. Santa merely gave him a nod in return, leaning back to take a breather and relax.

Luka walked to the back of the sleigh, then opened his arms for the sack of presents to jump at him. Once it did and he had it slung securely over his shoulder, he navigated himself off the roof and through the window of the house.

He noticed immediately that Marinette had decorated the room differently the year before. The furniture had been moved and the tree had been put in a different spot. She'd even changed the color of the lights, though it didn't make things feel any less warm because of it.

He paused to take in the view, then headed for the tree to put the presents underneath, not wanting a repeat of last year where he'd delayed getting everything set up and got a non-verbal scolding from a sack of all things.

Taking out the gifts one by one, he began sliding them under the tree and making them look nice resting there. He hummed last year's melody while he worked, more for the happy memories it brought than any sort of need to fill the silence. Given that the Christmas tree's lights were on, he wasn't concerned that Marinette wouldn't be home.

Sure enough, he heard footsteps not too long after, and he may've hurried a little to finish setting all the presents under the tree. He checked them over once more, then stood and turned to greet, "Hey, Marinette."

"Hey!" She smiled, having just walked into the room. She approached with a wave, eyes unfairly bright and happy. "You really came back!" Then, dread washing over her face, she asked, "It wasn't hard, was it? Did you get in trouble?"

He smiled back, his heart warmed by her concern. He also noted idly that she was more dressed up than before, though it made sense given that she knew he might show up, so she sported casual wear instead of pajamas.

Answering her questions accordingly, he replied, "No and no. It was actually easy; Santa let me come back here."

"Wait—" She blinked a few times, processing that. "He let you? Do you mean—"

"He figured it out." Luka shrugged, then grinned sheepishly and turned his head to the side, reminding her of the earrings she'd given him.

Marinette gasped, then pounded her forehead lightly with the heel of her hand, whining, "Oh, Luka, I'm so sorry! I didn't even think about that!"

"I didn't either," he pointed out gently, amused when she sunk down to the floor in misery. It was probably the one time he'd feel taller than her. "But it's okay. He didn't tell anyone and he was the one who suggested that I come back."

She peeked up at him, surprised and wordlessly questioning the decision.

He rubbed the back of his head, simply explaining, "He said he owed you a favor?"

Her eyes lit up with recognition at that. She looked away, tugging at one of her earlobes, and he noticed that she still didn't have any earrings on. He'd originally presumed that she hadn't been wearing any last year due to being in pajamas, but now he could be sure that she either didn't have any or chose not to wear them.

"That—that makes sense," she replied. "I never said he had to pay me back, but—well—I'm glad you're here!"

He nodded in agreement. "I'm glad I am too."

She beamed, then pushed herself up and glanced back at the kitchen. "So, do you want any cookies again? I could do a different kind if you're afraid of it being boring."

"You don't have to make me anything," he gently insisted. "I didn't come back for that."

"I know." Though she said that, her smile widened significantly. "Still, it's a long sleigh ride, isn't it? And it must be hard bringing enough food for one person, much less two, and you need food. I don't want you to starve or even just be hungry, so I want to make you something—ah... well, I guess sweets actually wouldn't be that filling, but—"

He giggled. "Elves actually aren't that crazy about sweets anyway."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide like he'd just said something insane. "What? Really?"

"We don't mind eating sweets every now and then, but almost all the sweets are for Santa." He grinned playfully. "I guess it just became a note we play every time we cook that says we'd have to share with him if it's something sweet."

"Oh." She looked positively fascinated. Had he known that she'd get so enthused over a simple fact about his species, he would've spoken up about it last year. "So, how about something savory then? It doesn't have to be anything big, but..." She looked around, her eyes eventually settling on the TV. She brightened up, asking, "How about a movie?"

"A movie?" He promptly realized how dumb echoing her sounded. "That sounds great. I'd love to."

"Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly. "We could do sandwiches and popcorn! Oo, what would you like best?"

Her positivity was contagious. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he followed her out into the kitchen, though he nearly bumped into her when she abruptly stopped to turn to him.

"Wait," she muttered, "so—those cookies I made for you last year..."

"Like I said, we do have sweets every now and then," he reminded her, "but I guess I didn't have them that much until a while ago."

She tilted her head, then turned to continue her walk around the kitchen. "What changed your mind?"

He watched as she pulled out a loaf of pre-sliced bread, which he thought was strange - considering that her parents were bakers - until he remembered her 'Safety Hazard' apron. He had to debate whether he really wanted to answer her question, but smiled when he acknowledged mentally that she deserved to hear it.

"...It was when you baked me some, Marinette."

The way her face heated up was both satisfying and left him feeling abnormally happy.

"W-wh—" She cleared her throat, fussing far too much with opening the clear bag covering the bread. "—t-then, was marshmallow even a flavor you thought you'd like?"

"Honestly," he began, reaching a hand up to ruffle his own hair, "it was just the first thing I thought of while I was looking at you... after you asked."

She turned away to stop looking at him, but he didn't have to see her face to know how she felt. Being as quiet as he was, it was rare for him to have such an effect on people.

It was nice, having someone who genuinely enjoyed his company and reacted in such a way when he spoke up.

As Marinette pulled out various ingredients for sandwiches, Luka removed his gloves and joined in to help her. He may've been shorter than her, but he was still tall enough to handle anything on the counter. It was also the least he could do since she was already letting him hang around her house.

If their arms brushed every now and then, they didn't make any mention of it, though he would've caught her blushing again had he looked up.

Given the sliced bread, it only made sense that she opted for bagged popcorn rather than making her own, though he didn't mind and wouldn't have wanted her to go so far out of the way anyway. They conversed on the way back to the couch upon the realization that they hadn't agreed on what to watch, and what started as a joking suggestion from Marinette to watch a movie featuring "his people" became very real very fast when Luka saw her scroll past a few strange-looking characters on the TV screen that clearly were supposed to be elves.

They started with just one, but it soon became a whole marathon, the two going through movie after movie while Luka was critiquing the whole way through about the things they'd gotten wrong. At first, it was just an easy way of telling Marinette more about elves, but as Marinette began to giggle at his more biting critiques, he took to being more dramatic about it. He'd gasp in offense when the movies "insulted" his elf kind, clutch his chest, and pretended to walk out at least once.

Marinette's laughter was easily his favorite part of the whole thing. It was warm and bubbly, and she'd even start giving off critiques of her own if she remembered something he'd said before about elves. By the time the last movie had hit, they were both at the movie's non-existent throat, and it was easily the most fun he'd had all year.

It made it all the more sad when Marinette went to look for another movie and noticed that their time was running low; they didn't have to part yet, but they definitely didn't have time for another movie.

Luka sat back, looking down at the empty box of popcorn and the empty plates that once contained their sandwiches. Glancing up, he said gratefully, "Thanks, Marinette."

She tilted her head at him. "For what?"

He shrugged. "Everything? Being you?" He stared back at the now-blank TV screen. "I'm just glad you're letting me be here and hang out with you."

"Why wouldn't I? We're friends, aren't we?" she asked, though began to blush after a few seconds. "I-I mean, unless that we just me assuming things, in which case—"

"No, we're definitely friends," he insisted, "as long as you want that too."

"Of course!" she replied immediately, the offended tone making him chuckle and reminding him of their Christmas movie roasts. "You're really nice, and funny, and you're so—I don't know—different? From everyone else I've met? Not in a bad way, obviously, just..."

She trailed off, and he imagined that his expression assured her that she didn't need to ramble. His words followed suit, "I feel the same way about you."

Her smile was soft, her eyes almost sparkling at him. They remained there for a moment, just enjoying each other's company and the warm Christmas lighting around them.

Then, Marinette's gaze drifted down over him, then just barely above his face. "...Hey, Luka?"

He went to ask her what was on her mind, but stilled as her hand seemed to - almost unconsciously - reach upwards to hold a strand of his hair. "Marinette?"

Her expression was a mixture of thoughtful and curious. "Do you mind if we do something before you go? It might be a little boring for you."

"I don't mind. What is it?"

"Well..." She smiled hopefully at him. "I'd like to take your measurements."

~ ∘˚˳°✧°˳˚∘ ~

The third year Luka showed up at Marinette's house, she was already waiting for him in the living room, sitting on a chair a few meters away from the tree. His brows rose in surprise, but she just gave him a smile, waving her hand vaguely at the sack over his shoulder as if to say, don't worry, I'll wait.

He returned the smile, a small skip in his step as he made his way to the tree. He noted that she'd clearly been waiting for him for a while, a quarter-full mug of hot chocolate in her hands that definitely wasn't emitting any more steam. The delightful fuzziness in his chest he got every Christmas wasn't due to the holiday itself, and he was very much aware of it.

Kneeling down, he reached into the sack of presents, pulling out the first gift his fingers touched. He was suddenly conscious of his abilities to set down the gifts - considering Marinette was watching - but he knew she wouldn't judge him if it wasn’t perfect.

As he went to place the first gift down, he stilled, seeing that there was already a singular gift under the tree. He briefly wondered if maybe the sack had been messing with him and spit out one of the gifts itself, but then he noticed the sticker.

To Luka, From Marinette

He paused, rereading the words twice before turning to Marinette. She was glancing away, smiling innocently, but he could see the way she tried to hold herself together even with her legs very subtly vibrating in excitement. He turned back to the gift, then debated with himself before setting it off to the side, trying to get Marinette's presents under the tree first.

He'd never be able to focus otherwise. Their conversations from last year were already replaying in his head as he wondered what she could've gotten him, or...

"I'd like to take your measurements."

what she could've made him?

Once he'd finished placing all of her presents in a nice-looking order, he picked up his gift, hesitating at how beautifully Marinette had wrapped it. He tore quickly but carefully - not wanting the clean-up to cause any problems - then opened the box that was inside.

Before he could even ask, her voice confirmed, "I made them for you," and his heart skipped a beat.

Clothes. She'd really designed and made him an entire outfit. The color was different than he was used to wearing - elves usually wore specific colors depending on where they were working - but that didn't make it bad; in fact, he loved her choices. He probably spent a good minute just looking and feeling at the fabric, moving everything around to see every bit of them while trying not to disturb Marinette's expert folding.

"You really like them?"

He looked up at her. It was obvious that she already knew his answer - her smile was far too wide for her to think anything else - but wanted to hear him say it anyway. Knowing that it'd be answer enough for her, he asked eagerly in reply, "Can I try them on?"

She beamed, immediately directing him to the nearest room that he could use to change. He knew from the past times he'd been there that she had a full-body mirror in her bedroom, so he avoided getting too lost in admiring the clothes as he put them on so he could be properly surprised in front of her.

After he was fully dressed, he set his other clothes off to the side and left to join Marinette outside the room. She nearly squealed at the sight of him, then hurried for her bedroom, apparently having the same idea that he did with how she encouraged him to follow. They went into her room together, the full-body mirror blatantly moved so that he could see himself as soon as possible. He approached it, Marinette looking him over while tilting the mirror appropriately.

He had no idea how she'd done it. The clothes were comfortable, both in warmth and in how they fit him, and the combination of blue, white, and black was something that felt strangely right. He knew nothing about fashion, but he knew he looked good and that any person would find it hard to come up with any critique on it.

"This—Marinette, I don't know what to say." He shook his head, realizing that wasn't entirely correct. "I mean, it's amazing, I love it, but I haven't done anything. I wouldn't even know how to accept this."

She giggled, walking over to stand next to him and smile at his reflection. "Wearing it is already a good start."

He nearly pouted at her - he knew that she knew that wasn't what he meant - but settled for smiling back and turned back to the image reflected in the mirror of them standing next to each other. He was already used to the height difference, though now he could actually see himself standing next to her using the mirror. He wasn't dense enough to ignore the slight pang in his chest that he wasn't taller than her like what one might expect from what was "conventional," but...

he also noted that both of them looked really happy despite it, and it made him feel weirdly lucky.

As he cherished the thought, his mind registered a familiar shape off to the side of the mirror. He glanced over, eyes widening at the actual guitar resting against the wall.

Marinette looked at the mirror, noticing his shifted gaze, then followed it to the guitar. "...Oh." She laughed, wandering over and kneeling to point at the signature along the base. "Jagged Stone gave that to me. Apparently it's the something-something anniversary of me working for him - I'm pretty sure he made it up as an excuse - and he insisted that I have it. I told him over and over that I had no idea how to play it, but—" She gestured to the guitar for emphasis, as if it were showcasing Jagged's complete refusal to back down.

Luka could only nod, feeling somewhat embarrassed that he couldn't provide any commentary on the matter. He shifted in place as he stared at the guitar, trying not to be obvious about admiring the intricate design and professional quality of the build.

"Do you play guitar, Luka?" Marinette suddenly questioned.

Okay, maybe he wasn't as subtle as he thought. "Hm?"

"The first Christmas we met," she began, "you said that you didn't have any instruments with you when I asked you to play your tune for me, so I thought that meant that you played a few but just didn't have them on you?"

He was surprised she remembered something so insignificant, but answered anyway, "Yeah, I only make instruments I know how to play." He added with a smile, "Guitar's my specialty though."

"Would you like to play this one then?" she asked with a big grin, clearly trying to suppress any excitement and failing spectacularly.

"Really?" He approached, tilting his head at the fancy guitar. "Would that be okay?"

"Oh, absolutely!" She took care in picking the instrument up - despite her haste - then offered it to him. "Jagged would be so sad if this just sat here and collected dust!" She paused, considering, then corrected, "Plus, even if he didn't, it's mine now since he gave it to me and I'm saying that you can play it."

He chuckled, reaching out to take and settle the guitar into his arms. "Hard to argue with that."

She moved around him to sit on her chaise lounge, staring at him expectantly. It was cute, and he followed suit by sitting down next to her, only turning enough attention to the guitar to make sure it was tuned.

He was confident enough in his abilities that he didn't feel nervous playing in front of her. Music was his element, and she already seemed to like his style when he was simply humming, which was more than enough reason not to worry. Even just having a guitar in his hands brought a certain sense of familiarity and comfort, though it wasn't the same kind of feeling he got with Marinette.

As he tested the strings once more to confirm the sound was correct, he caught sight of the signature again and admitted quietly, "I... actually don't know who Jagged Stone is."

He didn't know why he said it; Marinette had spoken the name so casually as if he should be expected to know it. There was just something about her that made him want to tell her whatever came to mind.

"Wh—really?" she asked. Catching herself, she held her hands up and insisted, "N-not that there's anything wrong with that! I'm just—"

"Surprised," he supplied. "It's alright. Santa makes sure we have stuff to do in our spare time but it's from all over. We all speak English since that's the original Claus language, but we get to learn two or three more depending on where we are in the workshop." He figured it went without saying that one of his was French. Stroking along the guitar, he played a quick melody and added, "Anyway, we only get a few notes from everywhere, and we don't always have time to listen to the whole song. We're kept really busy and—" He hesitated, debating on if it sounded like he was complaining. Deciding he didn’t want to stop short and leave her wondering, he continued, "—there are a lot of elves. It's why I'm glad I don't make things like toys."

"It's a lot to deal with?" she guessed.

"Yeah."

It felt strange to say it out loud; he'd never done so before. It was easy to forget such thoughts when he was with Marinette because he was so far away from the workshop, but that was only for a day (excluding all the timewarping). Even while riding with Santa in the sleigh, he was still reminded that it wasn't forever and he'd eventually have to return.

He didn't hate working there, but getting to make and test out instruments was the only part he liked. There was no such thing as "peace and quiet" when it was Santa's workshop, and almost all the elves were lively and social with each other, chatting while they worked to keep themselves energized. Luka was glad for them, but it meant constantly hearing a bunch of songs that didn't go together. When everyone tried to be close with everyone else, no one was truly close, and Luka preferred a smaller, tighter group of friends; not that he had any as an example though.

His family had always been different, he supposed, but he was just the right amount of different for it to be inconvenient. His mother actually enjoyed all the chaos, always moving and having more energy than probably any other elf in the whole workshop. Juleka, his sister, while not actively engaging with the other elves, enjoyed that she was never the center of attention and could be quiet without anyone caring, as they believed her to be invested in her work and respected that.

He didn't have such luck, and meditating was the only way to gain any sort of temporary silence; the book that taught him how to do it had been in a different language, but it had pictures and he'd figured out the rest eventually. It was just the life of an elf, and he imagined that he'd used to it eventually.

Maybe.

"...Anyway," he said suddenly, flashing Marinette a hopefully-reassuring look. Getting his hands in place to place to play, he added, "Any requests? I don't know that many songs, but if you can play one for me first, I can—"

His voice choked off with a gasp as Marinette threw her arms around him, his body going stiff in surprise. His left hand's grip on the guitar slipped, causing the neck to drop awkwardly against his chelidon. He didn't even notice, too focused on the warmth and gesture that'd caught him entirely off guard.

"M-marinette?"

"Sorry," she whispered. "You... you looked so sad."

Had he? It'd shown on his face? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Don't apologize." She squeezed him in reassurance. "I—I'd just never thought of it like that."

"Like what?"

He heard her breathe like she was about to speak, but then she hesitated. "...Promise not to laugh?"

"I—"

"No, I know you wouldn't. I'm sorry."

She sighed, but her voice was lighter when she spoke again. "...I actually wished I could be an elf when I was younger. Getting gifts on Christmas always made me so happy, and I wanted to be able to give that same happiness to all the other kids my age." She hugged him tighter, the lightness fading into sorrow. "I never thought about how elves must live, trapped on the North Pole with so much of the world being a mystery to them, being non-existent to people who don't believe in them. Santa and Mrs. Claus could go out if they wanted by traveling, but it's not that easy for someone like you, working with other elves because you have to and not being able to leave even if you want to."

Luka couldn't bring himself to react, barely managing to do so much as breathe. He'd never had someone so easily able to feel out his worries like that, and she'd voiced things that he'd always thought about but never said.

Despite being surrounded by people, he was lonely. He didn't want the company of dozens of others that he could barely put care to remember the names of; he wanted a connection.

He wanted Marinette.

That thought in particular struck him harder than anything else had that day, though he knew he'd prodded at the idea in his head for a long time. Even beyond filling a void, he'd fallen hard for her and couldn't deny it even with all of the obvious problems it presented.

He also wished the atmosphere hadn't been so sad so he would've been able to properly enjoy the concept of her actually being an elf and growing up with him, but that wasn't as important at the moment.

Realizing he'd been quiet too long, he managed to get a grip on himself, shifting and finally letting the headstock of the guitar fall onto the chaise lounge so he could turn more easily towards Marinette. He had too many words in his head for her, but managed to settle on a quiet, "Thank you. I'm sorry I brought the mood down."

She stiffened, then pulled away and put her hands on his shoulders. "You don't have to apologize for that; you can't help how you live or what you think about it. Besides, I want you to feel like you can rely on me whether you need it or not."

He smiled fondly at her, hoping his look wasn't too intense. "I definitely feel like that now."

She smiled back. "I'm glad." Her hands lingered on his shoulders until she seemingly noticed that they were still there. She pulled away, blushing in embarrassment and adding hurriedly, "A-and sorry for hugging you out of the blue like that."

He giggled. That was the third time she apologized in the past five minutes, and the second time she'd apologized specifically for hugging him.

"I don't mind at all," he assured. Still riding the emotional high from her hug, he insisted, "You can hug me whenever you want."

She blinked rapidly, raising a hand to her mouth in thought. "R-really?"

He nodded. "Really."

She looked him up and down, as if to check that he really meant it. Just to make sure she understood, he turned further towards her, though it was slightly awkward with the guitar on his lap.

He wasn't expecting her to hug him right away, but his body reacted even while his mind froze. He finally set the guitar aside, leaving him free to turn towards Marinette completely and hug her back. They took a few seconds to fully adjust, but it was total and complete comfort the whole way through. Part of him almost thought it was for the best that he wasn't with her for the whole year; he'd never get anything done otherwise.

Then, Marinette suddenly gasped, breaking the hug with an, "Ah, I know!"

Luka watched as she got off the chaise lounge and hurried over to her table, a small set of drawers resting on it. She searched it from top to bottom, then checked the middle drawer again and brightened, seeming to find whatever she was looking for. She also picked up a sanitary wipe and scrubbed at something that was attached to it, though she was turned too far away for him to see clearly. When she finally did walk back to him, he could only see a hint of white peeking out from her closed fingers and that the object seemed to be rectangular.

"Here," she said, holding it out and opening her fingers for him to see. "It's an MP3 player. I know it won't block out everything, but it's full of songs, and there are a lot of Jagged Stone ones in here already."

He was familiar enough with the concept of an MP3 player; it wasn't where he worked, but there were more tech-savvy elves who made them. He just couldn't believe that she—

"Oh, and don't worry!" she told him with a wave of her free hand. "I was planning on getting a new one anyway, so you'd be doing me a favor! Besides, I figured you probably couldn't take those clothes, but an MP3 player is more subtle, so you'll still have something of mine to keep with you!"

He simply sat there, staring at her and probably looking silly doing so.

She seemed to realize something, pulling back and hiding the device in her hand again. "U-um, gosh, that makes me sound really selfish, doesn't it? Like I'm only doing it so you'll remember me more, or like I'm only giving it to you because it's used? I swear I'm not, it's just—"

He stood up, walking over and placing his hands over hers. "Only you would worry about sounding 'selfish' when you're giving me a gift." He laughed, positive that it was too warm not to be noticeable. "I'll take it. I'll carry it with me wherever I go."

She beamed, though acknowledged a moment later, "Oops, that's right! You'll need both chargers; one for the MP3 player and one for the wireless earbuds. Um, give me a moment." She hesitantly pulled back from his grip on her hands, then gestured at the guitar as she assured, "I swear I still want to hear you play if you don't mind—um—setting up again?"

He smiled to assure her that he didn't, already walking back to the chaise lounge to sit down and get the guitar back in his lap. He could only hope that his playing didn't come out too much like a love song, or at least that Marinette wouldn't notice if it did.

She was too much; sweet, thoughtful, and extremely adorable. He loathed the very concept of time itself, wishing he could stay in the moment with her forever. He didn't care whether she returned his feelings or not; they were both smiling and happy, and he wanted it to stay that way. She'd done so much for him, giving him gift after gift, and he—

Luka paused, no longer paying as much attention as Marinette pulled out a small drawstring bag and began slipping the objects inside. He realized just how much she'd done for him, or more specifically, how much he hadn't done for her. He didn't doubt that she enjoyed having him around - they wouldn't be here if she didn't - but...

“They’re Santa’s gifts for you, not mine.”

His brows furrowed with concern at the memory. Marinette had given him multiple gifts and he hadn't done anything in return. They were supposed to be friends, yet he'd missed two of her birthdays without making up for it, never even giving her a Christmas present that wasn't from someone else. Playing her music was a start - he'd already hummed her a melody the first time they met too - but it wasn't enough and couldn't make up for what she'd already given him.

Already musing over the matter, he decided that he'd definitely get her something next time. He didn't know what, but it'd be something meaningful and full of thought.

She deserved that and so much more, but he'd settle on the gift for now.

~ ∘˚˳°✧°˳˚∘ ~

For their fourth time meeting up, Marinette greeted Luka with a full-on hug that he eagerly returned. Despite the chill from the window behind him, it was too warm in her arms to care; she was even wearing extra layers than usual.

When he pulled away, he noticed a smile on her face that he immediately recognized. Grinning, he noted, "You look like you have an idea."

She somehow smiled even wider, replying, "I left your clothes where you changed last time. Get changed and meet me in my room?"

Her voice shook slightly at the last sentence, a mixture of anticipation and nerves. Whatever she was planning, he figured it must be different actually telling him about it, regardless of how eager she was in planning it.

He smiled back, hoping it was enough to assure her that it'd be okay no matter what. "I'll see you there."

She hurried to her bedroom after that, Luka having to force himself not to rush putting her gifts under the tree. Her excitement was too contagious and he didn't want his work to come out sloppy because of it. Still, he ran to change the second he was done, cherishing the feeling of the clothes made by Marinette's hand for him and him alone.

Needless to say, he missed it over the entire year, though didn't miss how the outfit was noticeably warmer than he'd remembered, as if it'd been just taken out of a dryer before he got there.

Once he'd tucked away the little gift box he'd brought into the deep pocket of his outfit, he left the room to meet Marinette in hers. He saw her sitting on her chaise lounge, some type of clothing held tightly in her hands as she practically bounced in place.

She stood up as they made eye contact. "Hey," she greeted.

He was very curious now. "Hey."

She walked over to stand across from the mirror, holding up the fabric while looking at him expectantly. He approached, getting in front of her and watching her reflection to see what she was doing. The fabric in her hands matched colors with his outfit, and his only guess as to what that meant was confirmed as she slipped it onto his head; it was yet another gift for him.

Regardless, she had to be excited over something specific about it, so he let her put it on him without a word. He noted that it was a beanie, loose but comfortable, Marinette leaning to his side and hunching over to get a closer look at it, struggling a bit at first due to wearing gloves.

Though he was briefly distracted by the way her tongue stuck out in her focus, he felt and saw the fabric slipping partially over his ears. "Marinette?"

"That's not uncomfortable, is it?" she asked, voice filled with hope.

He shook his head, then turned his head to the side so he could see the effect through the mirror; the pointed part of his ears was completely covered, making him look as if he were just a short human.

"You can go out with me now," she said softly.

Luka whipped his head back to look at her, eyes wide. She blushed in realization, then flailed her arms in reassurance.

"Outside! You can go outside with me!" she corrected. "See, it was just—um—"

She took a moment to breathe and he let her, his heart still pounding too hard from what he'd thought she'd meant.

Now calmed, she explained, "I... I couldn't stop thinking about what happened last time we talked. I know I can't magically fix everything—" There was a brief shift in her expression that made him feel like there was something deeper to what she'd said. "—but I wanted to give you the chance."

"The chance?" he echoed questioningly.

"Yeah." She smiled sheepishly. "To get out; to be somewhere that's not here or the North Pole. It's late, the entirety of Paris is basically asleep, and even if someone saw you, the elf part of your ears are covered. You don't have to if you'd rather just stay inside, but... I thought that—maybe—just knowing you had the option is nice."

She was making it impossible for him not to fall harder for her, and he really liked it. He couldn't imagine what luck he must have, or maybe it was all of his bad luck finally leaving him instead. He didn't really care; he was happy and she looked happy to be there with him.

"That sounds incredible," he admitted. "Could you lead me around? Can we go right now?"

"Yes!" She paused, then added quickly, "Um—to both of those."

He chuckled, but realized belatedly, "Oh, I should probably ask Santa—"

"No!" she protested. She pouted, insisting, "You want this, don't you? Consider it your Christmas present."

"Elves don't get Christmas presents. We get birthday presents, but—"

"Details." She waved dismissively. "Anyway, if Santa wants to go on about owing me a favor, then fine, this is part of the favor."

Brimming with twice as much confidence as before, likely since he'd answered positively to going with her, she strolled up, pulling a set of gloves out of her pocket and handing them to him. He was smiling too much at her energy to argue, slipping on the gloves and wondering if she'd made them for him as well.

Scratch that, he was sure she had.

The moment he had both hands gloved and they were ready to go, she took one of his hands in hers, gently tugging him along to lead him to the front door. He happily let her lead him, feeling almost childish for how excited he was at the prospect of just going outside, but...

It was Marinette. He knew she wouldn't judge, so he let himself smile.

They didn't let go of each other's hands even after they were out the door.

—————

It took Luka a full minute or so to fully take in the sights while they walked. He'd only ever seen Paris and its Christmas scenery from up in the sleigh or from a rooftop, and while both views were nice, it was something completely different to be actually down on the ground, seeing it from the point of a normal person. All the Christmas lights were on, contrasting the dark sky, and decorations were hung just about everywhere they could be placed. Mrs. Claus changed decorations at the North Pole every month, but it was different seeing a whole city decorated.

He didn't realize how long he was staring at everything until he saw Marinette staring fondly at him in his peripheral vision. She seemed embarrassed to be caught, blushing and turning her head away from him.

"I-it's a nice night," she commented weakly.

He chuckled at the attempt of distracting him. "Yeah." He glanced down their hands, still linked together. "It is."

Looking at anything except him, the blush still on her cheeks, she observed thoughtfully, "There really aren't any people around tonight." She dared a glance at him, a slight smirk on her face. "Maybe you don't need that beanie after all?"

She pretended to reach for it with her free hand. Luka ducked out of the way in dramatic fashion, placing his free hand protectively on the beanie to keep it on his head. She laughed, dazzling him once again with the sound.

He continued walking with her, feeling the beanie a moment longer to make sure he hadn't accidentally shifted it, then followed up on what she'd said. "You were right about Paris being asleep. It's like the whole city is, except for you." He raised a brow at her, curious but also teasing, "Are you nocturnal, Marinette?"

She pursed her lips in thought, eyes drifting up to look at the night sky. The former shyness she showed slowly turned into a bout of playfulness. "Not really. At least—I didn't use to be. I wasn't a morning person, but I wasn't a night owl either; the only time I stayed up late before was by accident, like if I got lost working on something or got really inspired."

He tilted his head at her, now even more curious. "What changed?"

A soft hum sounded at the question, Marinette raising her free hand to rub her chin in a gesture that was clearly her pretending to think. He squinted, half-suspicious, then leaned forward so she was in his peripheral view.

She peeked down at him, then turned her head fully towards him, answering, "...It was when you visited me for the first time."

He straightened in surprise, his hand accidentally slipping from hers as he earned another laugh out of her. The words not only struck him, but felt weirdly familiar in a way that took him a few seconds to realize: she was echoing his words from when he'd told her that he didn't have many sweets until he had her cookies.

He wasn't sure what his face looked like - though it felt plenty warm at the thought that they'd done similar things while he was crushing on her - but she must've enjoyed it with the way her smile widened.

"You're blushing," she teased, as if she had a right to do so despite earlier.

"So what?" he challenged shamelessly, not bothering to deny it.

She nudged his arm with hers, her hand slipping back into his slowly enough so that he could pull away if he wanted to. He wasn't so daring as to consider it romantic on her part, but knowing that she was that comfortable around him was heartwarming enough for him.

"You're so refreshing, you know?" she asked, leaning over slightly to meet his gaze better. They were about to cross the street when she looked off to the side and gently pulled him to a stop, pointing down the sidewalk. "Hey, can we go this way instead?"

He glanced down the way, half-suspecting that she had some sort of plan. "Sure, I trust you." He waited until they'd turned and headed down the path she'd suggested to continue their conversation. "So... refreshing, huh? No, I didn't know."

"Because you're different from the other elves so they've never said anything?" She stretched the words out dryly. "Classic case of jealousy."

"You're spoiling me, Marinette," he accused fondly.

"Good. Feel spoiled." She squeezed his hand for emphasis. "It's your Christmas present."

He dug his free hand into his pocket at the mention of Christmas presents, pressing the gloved tips of his fingers and thumb into the corners of the box inside. "And the gloves and beanie weren't?"

"Your second Christmas present then," she corrected. "I count clothes as one full gift." Leaning over, she added with a hint of concern, "By the way, the MP3 player I gave you still works and everything, right?"

"Yeah, it's great," he answered immediately, jumping at the chance to compliment her back. "You have amazing taste."

"I know~"

He had to convince himself that he was just imagining that she gave him a once over when she said that.

They walked a little longer, Marinette's gaze occasionally flicking up to the buildings they were passing. He kept feeling tempted to look, but forced himself not to in case it would ruin whatever she was thinking about.

When she glanced up once last time, she brightened and finally came to a stop, tilting her head at the building behind him. "Have you ever seen a music shop before?"

"Hm?" He caught onto what she was getting at and turned, needing to take a step back to properly look over the building next to him. He knew what a music shop was - even if he didn't, the words said more than enough - but he'd only ever been able to glimpse the symbols in the shop titles if he leaned off the sleigh and squinted.

Marinette released his hand, walking over and leaning against the glass. "What do you think? Selling CD, instruments, and other music-y things? Would you want a place like this, if you could?" He blanked, and she grew sheepish in response, adding, "S-sorry, is it weird? I thought maybe it'd be nice to think about, but if it just makes things more sad—"

"No, I mean—it isn't weird, or sad," he assured, just happy to be thought of. Since the opportunity to think had presented itself, he took a few more steps back, careful of the sidewalk's edge as he did so. He let his mind wander as he took in the shop, trying to piece it all together even with its lights off and figuring that a little fantasizing wouldn't hurt.

After a moment of thought, he explained, "I'd still want to make instruments at least. I don't know if it'd be everything I do, but... I'm good at it. I enjoy it." He shrugged. "I've never really gotten the chance to try anything else."

She nodded in understanding, and it was hard not to include her in his little fantasy when she was posed in front of the shop like she wanted to be. It was almost cruel, asking him to dream and then standing there like the absolute beauty she was.

He took a few more minutes to stare at the building, admiring the way the owner - or whoever had decorated - had hung the lights like staff lines. Candy canes and wreaths were a poor substitute for notes, but he nevertheless appreciated the effort.

Once he was satisfied, he turned his attention back to Marinette and considered how to approach their walk again. He debated on whether it'd be appropriate to take her hand again when he remembered that she'd happily slid her hand back into his earlier. Given that, he had no problem doing the same, offering his hand out and smiling when she graciously took it.

"I don't have a lot of experience with music myself," she admitted as they continued walking. "I just know a lot of people who are into music." She paused, then glanced at him curiously. "Do you play the drums?"

"A little." It wasn't one of his favorites, but he could play it decently enough if he was in the mood.

"Well, a friend of mine plays the drums. He always wanted to be in a band, but couldn't find all the members he needed for it." She raised her free hand above her head. "Big guy, but kind of that looks can be deceiving type; he's a total softie. I bet he'd like you."

Luka was half-tempted to imply that she was trying to set him up with someone, but settled for joking, "If he doesn't accidentally step on me first."

Marinette gasped in offense, then pouted and pushed against him just enough to make him stumble. "You are not that short!"

He laughed, quickly regaining his balance and giving a one-armed shrug. "To him, I'd probably seem like it."

"Still." She huffed. "You're not allowed to joke about that. I like your height."

That caught him off-guard, and he stumbled without Marinette giving him any sort of push. She was already holding his hand, so she helped steady him.

"Luka?" she called with concern.

He looked up at her, blurting out immediately, "You mean it?"

She blushed at his directness. "Y-yes? Why, did you not expect me to?"

"It's not like that. I know you enough by now, but—" He frowned, eyes darting around as he struggled to find a way to explain how he felt.

She smiled sympathetically, gently tugging on his hand to bring him back to reality. He let her, and they continued walking down the path.

"Since I'm a fashion designer, I deal with models all the time," she began, "because they're always the one who have to wear the clothes I make. They're basically the spitting image of perfection: tall, hair that never tangles, camera-ready smile, the works. It's not like they're all bad, but I know they're not all angels either. I'm polite enough to all of them since it's my job, but I still think things that I just never say out loud." She glanced up at the sky, seeming to reminisce. "My parents always raised me not to judge people based on appearance or where they came from, and to judge them based on how they act instead. I've always believed in and followed that." She laughed, adding, "I mean, that's kind of standard, isn't it? It's one of those things that just sounds right."

He looked at nothing else but her as she talked, anticipation building in his chest while he wondered what she was leading up to.

She paused for a minute, rubbing her face with her free hand while she gathered her words. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter but no less genuine.

"I... guess I cheat in a way," she admitted. "Because I do judge people on appearances, but only the appearance I've built up in my head after I really got to really know them. There are some really stuck-up models that I can't stand, and I think they're some of the ugliest people in the world, but then there are friends I have who I've heard people snidely whisper about behind their backs, and then I don't get it because I look at my friends and think they should be the ones modeling my clothes instead."

His gaze briefly flickered down to the clothes he was wearing, then up to the scenery around them. He didn't know exactly where they were, but they'd apparently left all of the buildings behind at some point, now standing near the center of a large area with small Christmas trees all around it. The lights were all gentle shades of white and yellow, strung around everywhere to the point where it was almost too bright for him to handle. Still, it brought a sense of calm to the atmosphere, with the bonus effect of making Marinette almost seem to glow.

She brought them to a stop, her hand releasing his and then raising up to rest on the top of his head. He looked up at her, noting how she wasn't condescending to him, but rather admiring him.

"Maybe it's a visual thing for me, because I see patterns and design wherever I go," she supposed, "but no matter what it is, it doesn't make it any less true." Her gaze turned soft, smile widening. "I meant what I said during movie night, Luka. I think you're really unique, and only in all of the best ways. I guess it's a little weird to say that I like your height, but... it's a part of you, so I like it. Too many people carry the traits or posture or designs of other people because they're not comfortable with themselves, but you are. You're 100% Luka and it's obvious in everything you do. You carry everything about yourself like it's really yours. I love that." Apparently, she couldn't make eye contact anymore and averted his gaze, dropping her hand from his head but remained smiling. "P-plus, your size is perfect for hugging, or maybe that's just me?"

"...It's... it's not," Luka replied, his voice was perhaps too quiet for her to make out; judging from how she blushed though, she must've heard it or at least felt it in his reaction.

She was too much, and his heart was doing flips in his chest. It wasn't like being around the other elves where they were playing a bunch of songs that didn't go together; with Marinette, it was only one song, and it was loud without being piercing, blocking out everything else so all he could hear was her. It occurred to him belatedly how they could've not met so easily had he just not delivered presents to her house, or left before she'd seen him, and the thought was painful. Maybe it was the high-intensity emotions that always came with Christmas speeding things up, or maybe it was just her being as amazing as she was, or maybe it was a combination of both.

It didn't matter to him either way. He was in love with her, and he was certain of it. Factor that in with the lighting and mood, and he knew the moment was perfect.

He dug his hand back into the pocket, the box still comfortably waiting there. Gripping it gently, he looked up and called out, "Marinette?"

She tilted her head at him, then glanced at his hand in his pocket, curiosity joining with the fondness in her expression. He pulled the present from his pocket and held it out to her, opening his hand fully to let it rest in his palm.

She stiffened in surprise, blinking a few times before pointing at the little box. "For me?"

He nodded, smiling because of course it was for her; not because she was the only one there, but because the gift was specifically designed with her in mind.

Her hand raised, hesitated, then slowly came down to rest on the box. Luka brought his hand up and set it down over hers, briefly making eye contact as he insisted gently, "I couldn't ask you why without ruining the surprise, so just know that you don't have to wear them if you can't, or even if you just don't want to, okay?"

Her brows arched up in surprise, but she nodded, now seeming even more curious than before. He let his hand drop back to his side so she could properly take the box, and she turned it around a few times to really take in the gift. She even smiled at him, as if to thank him preemptively for the present.

He found himself holding his breath, trying not to hope or set any expectations and reminding himself that she might not like it.

Then, the lid came off, and she immediately dropped it as she saw the contents of the box. Luka hurried and caught the lid before it hit the ground, his eyes darting up to search her expression, noting the wide eyes and parted lips.

Inside the box was a pair of rose gold earrings, shaped and with the pink flower he'd occasionally seen in the clothes she wore painted right in the center. Only able to stand there and wait for her to say something, he took the time to explain, "That flower always seemed special to you, so I... wanted to get you a different way of wearing it." He gestured to it, grinning sheepishly at her. "I know it might not be perfect; I had to draw it when I got home and then pass it to one of the jewelers to make. We're allowed to ask other elves for specific gifts and it's considered impolite for them to ask questions, so they just got right to work." He turned his hand up to look at his gloved palm, chuckling as he added, "I felt bad making them do all the work when you always put your whole heart into making me gifts, so I tried to help where I could even if I wasn't great at it."

She gasped, finally tearing her gaze away from the gift to look at him. "Y-you did?" she asked breathlessly. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"A little, but—" He stopped when she grabbed the edge of his glove with her free hand, pulling it off and putting it in her pocket so she could inspect his hand and fingertips; she’d even removed her glove to be as precise as possible. He smiled like a fool, continuing, "I'm alright now. It healed up pretty quickly, and I was just happy that I could do a little bit of the work."

Despite him saying that he was okay, she didn't release his hand. Her eyes were misty, her hand turning his palm back down so she could grab his hand by its fingers. She took a step towards him, closing a distance that was already lovingly close, then leaned forward and brought his hand so close to her face that she could've kissed it if she made the effort to.

She exhaled, and he blushed at her warm breath against his fingers. After a few seconds of relaxed silence, she told him, "I ended up having to give up my old earrings. There... wasn't as much use for them anymore." She shut her eyes, clearly overwhelmed. "But I couldn't just replace them; they had too many memories to replace with any old earrings. My friends offered to buy me new ones a long time ago since it seemed like a shame to not have earrings while my ears were still pierced, but I always rejected them."

She stared at him meaningfully. He swallowed.

"Thank you, Luka," she whispered. "I-I love them. They're perfect. Of course I'll wear them."

His heart leaped in his chest. "Really?"

She nodded eagerly. Though, despite saying that, neither of them moved from their positions, Marinette still holding his hand in hers and him never pulling away from it. They were in a trance of sorts, lost in each other's gaze and the intensity of the moment.

Then, Marinette dropped his hand, though only to take the one that still held the lid of the box. She guided it to her other hand, Luka sliding the lid back on to keep the earrings protected.

Neither of them knew who moved first. Someone must've had to, or maybe it was both of them, but the result was that they were suddenly kissing each other, with Luka raised up on his tip toes and Marinette leaned down to meet him halfway. She had the present clutched delicately against her chest, her other arm snaking around his waist while he had his hands on her shoulders.

He never, even in his wildest dreams, imagined being able to kiss her, yet they were there and the lingering taste of hot chocolate and marshmallows from her lips confirmed that it was real. As close as they were and for as long as it was, he realized that she had a strong scent, like she'd made sure to shower, dry, and dress for the cold weather just before he'd gotten there.

It only made him kiss her more, and she responded just as fervently. It was as if they'd both wanted it for the longest time and didn't think they'd get it, now taking advantage of the opportunity as much as possible.

Luka shuddered as he felt Marinette's hand move slowly up his back. He responded eagerly, slipping his hands past her shoulders so he could wrap his arms around her neck. She hummed contentedly, her hand leaving his back so she could slip her fingers underneath his beanie, her nails briefly tracing along the outside of his ear. He whined into the kiss, though certainly not protesting, then relaxed as her fingers went further to run themselves through his hair.

He was cherishing the feeling, far too happy to care about anything else, when the kiss suddenly broke with a soft click, followed by Marinette gasping.

"A-ah, I... I'm sorry!"

He opened his eyes, blinking dazedly at her. He worried briefly that she was apologizing for kissing him, but then he felt the beanie being pulled back over one of his ears; he could only guess it'd shifted when her hand drew further back into his hair. His head and heart were pounding from the thrill of the kiss, and he noticed that Marinette's cheeks were flushed red even as she looked around to make sure there hadn't been anyone around to see him.

"M...marinette," he managed, still a little out of breath.

She met his gaze, her blush reddening further. She brought her free hand to her face, her lips pressed together in contemplation before turning into a nervous yet silly smile. "I-I guess... we should go home and talk?"

He could only nod. Their conversations had already been personal, but it only made sense to talk about that back at her house, especially because he was still waiting for his brain to start working again.

Marinette turned away, paused, then looked back at him and shyly extended her hand out, her other hand still holding his gift to her chest. He reached out, paused, then switched his gloves around and took the hand offered to him with his ungloved one so they could start the walk back.

Naturally, they held hands the whole way.

—————

Luka sat back on the couch, taking a deep breath as he waited for Marinette to finish making hot chocolate. He'd offered to help, but she'd insisted that he sit and relax for a while.

"B-besides, your smile is really distracting."

He grinned to himself, reaching up and removing the beanie from his head so he could admire it. They'd ditched their gloves and shoes earlier for the sake of comfort, so he could properly feel along the fabric and appreciate Marinette's talent. He knew they had a serious talk coming up, but he couldn't help feeling as calm and content as he did, even sighing in delight at the memory of their kiss.

He looked over as he heard footsteps and saw Marinette emerge from the kitchen, two cups of hot chocolate in her hands. As she headed towards him, he noticed a shine on her ear caused by caught light from the Christmas tree, his breath briefly catching as he realized what it meant.

She was really wearing the earrings.

She sat down on the couch slowly so as to not spill the drinks, then offered him one. He gratefully took it with one hand and set the beanie onto the table with the other, positively beaming at the sight of her earrings. His big smile must've made her grow sheepish, what with the way she averted her gaze, so he cupped both hands around his cup to steady himself with the intense heat.

It didn't take long for Marinette to speak, "So, what do we do now? I really like you, Luka, but... I mean..." She looked over at him, more easily maintaining eye contact this time. "Have you ever heard of a relationship between a human and an elf?"

He racked his brain, trying to think of anything even close to that, but came up empty. "No. Maybe it happened a long time ago, but I guess elves don't interact with humans enough. I just got lucky because I was helping Santa out." He stared into the hot chocolate, watching the marshmallows idly float around. "And I can't - I wouldn't - ask you to give up your life for me."

"I wouldn't ask you to give up yours either!" she countered. "I know you don't have it as nice, but it's still uprooting your entire life. You'd still have to learn how to live here and constantly hide your ears."

"I wouldn't mind doing any of that," he argued. When she stared at him in surprise, he added, "But I wouldn't want you to have to deal with that."

"What?" She tilted her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You having to teach me everything," he explained, "and supporting me until I'd figure out how to live like a human would. We'd have to think up a fake story for how we met if anyone asks, and I know you don't care about my height, but—"

"You've thought about this a lot," she said, though fondly rather than accusingly.

He shrugged, taking a larger sip of his drink and swallowing one of the marshmallows in the process. "It was the only thing I could think about on the way back."

It was a half-truth; he'd been wondering about it for a while, even before they'd kissed. There was a part of him that'd fantasized about staying with her, even if it was strictly friendly on her end, and the requirements were similar regardless.

Marinette giggled. "You're too sweet." Despite her happy tone, she was frowning and staring off at the wall not even a minute later. "What about rules?"

"Rules?" he echoed.

"Of the North Pole. Are there... rules to elves deciding they want to leave?"

"I—" He paused to think. "...probably not, but only because we can't really leave in the first place."

"Because it's the North Pole," she supplied.

"Yeah."

Troubled, Marinette looked down at her cup, slowly moving it in a circle to watch the liquid swirl around. She took a thoughtful sip, then sighed, admitting softly, "I know you were worried, but... I wouldn't have minded dealing with all that."

"Huh? You—" He cut himself off, remembering what he'd said earlier about not wanting her to deal with all the problems that came with staying with her. He still didn't want to trouble her, but it made him happy knowing that she'd accept him even with all the troubles that came with it. "...Thank you." Then, recalling that he too had something he hadn't properly responded to, he told her fondly, "I really like you too, Marinette."

He knew that she already knew that, but he could tell that the words filled her with emotions regardless. She gripped her pants with her free hand, taking a shaky breath, then seemed to consider finishing off her hot chocolate before simply setting it down on the table.

"I guess we're both bad at being selfish," she admitted.

He could only nod. At the very least, he couldn't stay now without having said good-bye to his limited family. He tried to imagine explaining the situation to them, but his sister would probably call him a fool for bothering coming back in the first place and not prioritizing his happiness, whereas his mother would roll her eyes and chide him for not stealing a reindeer to make it back to Marinette (how would it make it back without him anyway?).

It was his fourth year knowing Marinette, but their meetings were annual and he couldn't predict what could happen in her future. It may’ve not be against the rules for him to stay, but more because it hadn't been something anyone had really thought of; not technically against the rules, but not allowed either.

He eventually settled on saying, "I wish I could stay," knowing that said enough without saying much at all. He set his hot chocolate down beside hers, staring at the two cups before looking over at Marinette. "I can't ask you to..." He stopped short. "Marinette, if you find someone else—"

A flash of hurt flickered across her expression. "Luka."

He winced, but she took his arm before he could respond, pulling and guiding him onto her lap. She took his face in her hands, then brought him in for a quick kiss.

The hot chocolate tasted so much better from her lips.

She held the kiss for a few fleeting seconds before breaking away, promptly pouting at him. "I could say the same thing to you."

He felt the same flash of hurt that she had, immediately regretting what he'd blurted out. "I'm sorry."

"No, I know you just..." She stroked his face with a thumb, smiling sadly. "I know you care. That's what I love about you. I get that you don't want me waiting on a yearly meeting for my—" She blushed, dropping her gaze. "—boyfriend."

He broke out of the sad mood enough to blush as well.

Marinette shook her head, quickly getting back on track. "But I want you, okay? I'll wait, and maybe we'll figure something out eventually, but—well—" She took his hands in hers, peeking up at him shyly. "I can't imagine not kissing you when you come back next year."

Getting emotional himself, Luka let out a breathy chuckle. "I can't imagine breaking up with you when we just got together."

She nodded vigorously in agreement, arms raising for a hug that he immediately accepted. They squeezed each other, their remaining time suddenly seeming so short.

"I'll do whatever I can, Marinette," he told her. "I want more of this; more than just Christmas."

"If you can make it happen, it’ll happen?" she asked softly, echoing their first meeting together.

He smiled. "Yeah."

Once they’d properly cherished the moment, she placed her hands on his shoulders. He obeyed the wordless order by pulling away, but she kept him firmly in her lap.

"For now, there's still some time left," she reminded him, bringing a hand back up to his face. Brushing the back of her fingers along his cheek, she added, "I don't know how much I'll need from you to hold me over for a year."

Her voice was still sad, but there was a playfulness there that made him feel like he could smile more genuinely. He leaned in, reflecting her earlier actions by taking her face in his hands. "I planned on giving you everything anyway, Marinette."

Hours later, he'd leave for the sleigh with her love in his heart and a bittersweet smile shaped by kiss-bruised lips.

~ ∘˚˳°✧°˳˚∘ ~

Luka spent a year looking for answers and ultimately found nothing. He'd searched for everything he and Marinette had talked about - an elf having a relationship with a human, and any rules on elves leaving - but there weren't any records about such things. He wondered if maybe a relationship between an elf and a human had happened, but no record had been made or it'd been purposefully kept under wraps. He also figured he might've been overthinking it, as it was like every relationship between elves were carefully cataloged; it wouldn't have been fair to the ones who chose not to get together with anyone at all. As for rules, he couldn't find any; he knew his mom would've known all the rules since you have to know them to break them, but she'd never heard of a rule saying that elves specifically couldn't leave. Still, Luka imagined it was an unspoken rule, and he was also the best instrument-making elf the workshop had, so would they really be willing to part with him anyway?

He wasn't sure. The days leading up to Christmas were chaos while he searched further for anything confirming that he could leave and be with Marinette. Even his sister and mother had been acting strange, though he knew he hadn't told them anything about Marinette.

Still, they'd hugged him before he'd gotten on the sleigh with Santa.

The ride around the world felt both long and short at the same time; short because he was dreading telling Marinette that he hadn't found anything useful, and long because Santa was taking a different route. The latter was something Santa did every year, but it was particularly strange this time around.

Luka used the MP3 player Marinette had given him to pass the time while he gathered his thoughts. He supposed that no one could technically do anything if he just chose not to go back; he was important, but certainly not needed. It was selfish, but it was also very in-character for someone who was "Anarka's son" and he was living a life he never asked for otherwise.

Of course, he also had no way of contacting Marinette from the North Pole, and thus no way to ask her if that would really be okay. What if someone came back to look for him and tangled her up in his troubles? He'd hate that more than only getting to visit her once a year.

He wasn't any closer to coming to a conclusion by the time they got to Marinette's house, and he quickly realized that it was their last stop of the whole trip.

Luka glanced at Santa with a raised brow, then down at the roof.

He could hear the shrug in Santa's response, "Might as well save the best for last, hm?" With a pat on the back so forceful that it nearly knocked Luka off the sled, he added quickly, "Good luck, Luka!"

Luka mentally dismissed the idea of questioning it, his mind already having too many thoughts to deal with. He got the sack of presents as always, then descended down from the roof and through the window, climbing in with care.

Marinette had rearranged the tree and decorations, as always, though Marinette herself was nowhere to be found. He knew he was technically late due to the different route, so perhaps she'd gone off to occupy herself until he arrived? Hoping that was the case, he walked over to the tree and knelt down, setting the sack to his side like always. Once he'd opened it up, he reached inside to grab the first present.

His fingers touched nothing.

He stiffened in shock, then tried again, outstretching his arm as far as it would go. Maybe the sack was just messing with him?

Yet, he still couldn't find a single present, and patting at the sack - in hindsight, he probably should've done in the first place - revealed that there was definitely nothing inside. He didn't understand; why would Marinette not get him any gifts, and why would they stop there in the first place if there wasn't?

His thoughts were cut off as he heard a sharp gasp from behind him. He shot up - half in surprise, half in excitement at the voice's familiarity - and spun around to see Marinette standing there. She was dressed in some mix of casual and nightwear while her hands were clasped over her mouth, eyes wide as she stared at him.

He blinked, thoroughly confused at the reaction, then searched nearby to see if maybe something was wrong. He couldn't see anything off, though the sack had apparently made itself scarce while he wasn't looking.

Regaining some of her composure, Marinette moved one hand away from her mouth and silently pointed to her back. He tried to look at his back over his shoulder, but when that failed, he reached behind himself and blindly moved his hand around.

He jumped a bit when he felt something that definitely wasn't fabric. He struggled to grab hold of it, as it had apparently been stuck to the fabric somehow, but he eventually managed to snag a corner and slowly peel it off.

He held it out in front of himself, needing to rotate and flip it in order to properly read what it said.

His heart skipped a beat.

To Marinette, From Santa

He glanced up at Marinette, his mouth agape, and was now able to see the beaming smile on her face. She couldn't hold back anymore, rushing towards him, and he quickly threw the note aside so he could spread his arms out for her. She hugged him tight, spinning him around before leaning down to bury her face in his shoulder.

"I asked for you this year," she whispered.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Santa knew that he'd wanted to leave. His family knew because they'd been told. Marinette hadn't received any other presents because she'd wanted nothing else but him.

He shook, overwhelmed with emotion. How was she the solution to everything for him, all the time?

Marinette pulled away from the hug after a solid minute, though that still wasn't long enough for him. She blushed, embarrassed as she explained, "S-sorry that I look like this, by the way. We're b-boyfriend and girlfriend, so I thought that maybe I should dress up, but then I thought that it might be romantic if I dressed up like I did when we first met, or like I did when we watched our first movie together, but then I heard the window and—"

"Marinette..."

She paused to look at him attentively, stopping her talking just long enough for him to reach up and pulled her down to his level. He kissed her, slowly at first and then more greedily as he realized that he was finally with her for the whole year and not just Christmas. Marinette was surprised at first, but it didn't take her long to start kissing him back.

Their height difference seemed so small when they were kissing, and once their legs started getting tired, they simply moved to the couch to continue. They both knew there were serious things to think about, like fake backstories, different headwear to hide Luka's ears, and what their living situation was going to be like...

But for now, it was enough for them to just enjoy the moment.

[notapaladin]

don’t confess none of your sins, pt 1

this is 1000% @bleed-peroxide’s fault for tagging me in a meme to post a line from a fake WIP, because i immediately uh...failed step one. and steps 3-10000.

Teomitl shows up late one night at Acatl’s house with illegal pulque and an offer. After some hesitation, Acatl takes it...eagerly. There’s porn in this!

Also on AO3. Part 2 is here

-

Teomitl was in his courtyard. For a long moment, all Acatl could manage to do was stare at him, the image stubbornly refusing to compute in his head. This late at night, this early in the morning, Teomitl should absolutely be at home sleeping off the banquet they’d been forced to attend, instead of sprawled lazily under Acatl’s cedar tree with his eyes gleaming. He was still wearing much of his finery, though he’d had the sense to wash the paint from his face and switch out his gold-hemmed cape for a plainer one. Acatl, still in his own regalia with his skull mask tied to his belt, felt overdressed and off-balance in comparison.

He dragged his eyes up from where they’d settled somewhere around Teomitl’s broad shoulders. “Hello, my student who does not live here.”

Teomitl shrugged carelessly, which didn’t help. There was a faint, hazy smile hovering around the corner of his mouth. “...I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me at the banquet.” It seemed inadequate. They’d both been at the banquet, but there hadn’t been a chance to exchange more than long-suffering nods. Teomitl had been sitting with his brothers, smiling tightly at whatever they’d been saying; once or twice Acatl was sure he’d seen a pleading look thrown his way, but his own irritation at their seating arrangements hadn’t left him with much ability to effect an intervention. Quenami had been particularly annoying with his regrettable tendency to open his mouth and have words come out.

Teomitl waved a dismissive hand. “I saw you sitting between Acamapichtli and Quenami, trying not to knock their heads into the soup bowls. That doesn’t count.” He bit his lip, looking suddenly shy. “I thought you could use some cheering up after that.”

Something fluttered traitorously in his chest. He hadn’t thought Teomitl would notice, never mind care. The boy had his own worries, surely, even if he disliked the other High Priests nearly as much as Acatl did. And here he is, thinking about me. “And you think you can do that?”

Long lashes flickered as Teomitl looked up at him, smug as a well-fed jaguar, and Acatl had to swallow roughly as he nodded at him. “Mm.”

He took a breath, willing himself to stay calm even as the breeze brought the faint scents of the banquet back to him—incense, perfume, spiced food. That hazy smile was back, and it was wreaking serious havoc on his nerves. Sternly, he reminded himself that Teomitl was his student, a youth of imperial blood, a proud young warrior—and that he, Acatl, should absolutely not be noticing the light in his eyes. Besides which, Teomitl really had some gall to invite himself in like that. “...How?”

Teomitl grinned at him, fast and bright and wicked; he was so dazzled by it that he almost missed the rustle of fabric as Teomitl reached under his cloak to pull out a stoppered jar. Expertly, he popped the lid off, and the smell of strong pulque hit Acatl like a fist. “I brought this.”

Acatl stared. For a fleeting moment he wished desperately that he was sitting down, the better to absorb the shock. “...Are you drunk?” It came out in a squawk. ‘Scandalized’ was too mild a word—for a nobleman or a priest to be drunk in public meant death, and even in private the punishments would be severe. How Teomitl had managed to make it all the way to his courtyard undetected was a mystery he didn’t want to solve. And as for why...to cheer me up? Really, Teomitl? Reckless—irresponsible—have I taught you nothing? He firmly tamped down the part of his mind that also seemed to be finding it touching.

It was made more difficult by the fact that Teomitl—who, now that he looked with a discerning eye, was a tad flushed—was frowning at him as though he’d had the nerve to take offense. “I am not! I think…” He studied the jar for a moment. “I might be a little tipsy. But I am not drunk. I think I’d be much more wobbly on my feet if I were drunk.”

He turned his face away, folding his arms across his chest and hating himself for being unable to repress the smile that was making its treacherous way across his lips. It was hard to stay angry in the face of such sincerity. “Hmph. I should confiscate that.”

Teomitl cocked his head like a bird. “Are you going to?” He didn’t sound particularly worried by the prospect.

“...No.” He should. He knew he should. But Teomitl was looking up at him, and he was weak.

And now he was smiling knowingly and raising the jar to his lips. “Oh. Good.”

Knowing it was a bad idea even as he did it, Acatl made a terrible decision. “But if you’re going to drink that, you’ll do it inside.” Where nobody except me will see you, and I’ll never tell.

“Mmm,” Teomitl murmured.

But he didn’t move, and so Acatl crossed the distance between them and held out a hand. “Come on���oh.” Teomitl was hauling himself to his feet with a worrying sway; instinctively Acatl reached to steady him, and for a dizzying moment all his world narrowed to the feel of the man in his arms. He was deliciously warm, muscles like stone under the soft cotton of his cloak, and when he half-leaned against his shoulder the scent of alcohol burned through Acatl’s lungs.

He exhaled, trying to force his head to clear. At least one of them should be sober. Sober and focused and not—not enjoying this, gods. He’s my student. He’s not for me. I have to remember that.

Teomitl seemed determined to make it hard. His voice was a teasing huff in Acatl’s ear. “I can walk, you know. But if you want to carry me, I wouldn’t mind. Just don’t spill the pulque!”

He took a breath, pushing down his sudden awareness of his own heartbeat. “Let’s just go in.”

Teomitl’s assessment of his own state turned out to be surprisingly accurate; though he wouldn’t be making any sudden movements, he was still steady enough on his feet to follow Acatl into the darkness of the house. The moonlight streaming through the window caught the edge of a high cheekbone and the curve of his mouth, and Acatl couldn’t look away from him as he murmured, “You’re right. This is much better.”

And then he sat down on the mat, tugging Acatl down with him before he could pull away. Acatl made a noise he refused—even in the privacy of his own head—to term a squeak as he hit the ground, managing at least to arrange himself into a vaguely dignified sitting position. An objection hovered on the tip of his tongue, only to flee in the next heartbeat along with his thoughts.

Teomitl pressed against him from shoulder to hip, bare skin like a brand where it met Acatl’s. It was just possible to make out the motion of one hand lifting the jar of pulque to his mouth; the sound of his swallowing sounded very loud in the stillness. It was almost a shock when he hummed contentedly and breathed, “I don’t know about you, but I’m happy.”

“You.” He wet his lips and tried again. Teomitl’s fingers were just barely brushing against his thigh, and his veins felt like they were on fire. “I’m sure that’s just the pulque talking.”

Reeds crackled lightly under the weight as Teomitl shifted; it was all the warning he got before a head came to rest on his shoulder and Teomitl’s voice sounded from just under his ear. There was no trace of a slur to it, but the purring drawl was somehow worse. “Maybe it is. Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think it’s because I’m here with you.”

Acatl inhaled, closing his eyes. It didn’t help; the air was full of the mingled scents of alcohol and Teomitl’s skin, and with his eyes shut there was no distraction from how close they were. His blood thrummed relentlessly through his veins. Stop. Stop saying things like that, Teomitl. You make me want what I shouldn’t. “It’s the pulque. Trust me. You’ll regret this in the morning.” He set a hand on Teomitl’s arm, intending to put space between them, but something in his brain seemed to be confused at this very simple objective because he wound up squeezing lightly at his bicep instead. Teomitl really had very nice arms.

“Hmm.” It was a thoughtful sort of sound; when he looked into Teomitl’s face, he found him smirking wickedly. “I might regret drinking. But I won’t regret this.”

He swallowed, dropping his hand. “Regret—what?”

“Getting to see you like this.” Teomitl’s voice was hushed, as though he shared a great secret, but his eyes were alight with what could not be desire. “You are very...very handsome, Acatl-tzin.”

“I am what.” His voice cracked midsentence, making his face flame, but it was a drop in the ocean compared to the pulse-pounding heat of Teomitl’s words in his ears.

There was a hand on his knee, scattering his thoughts. Teomitl lowered his voice to the barest whisper. “You really have no idea what seeing you in your regalia does to me, do you? It’s devastating.”

Empty flattery, came his first reaction, but he knew he was lying to himself even as the words crossed his mind. Teomitl was never anything but honest, and it knocked the air from his lungs. He’s drunk—but that was a lie, too. He knew he should move—should pull away, take the rest of the pulque from Teomitl’s hands, put the boy to bed and make sure he’d be alright in the morning—but he was frozen to the mat. “Ngk,” he said intelligently.

The hand slid slowly, inexorably upwards, scorching a path over his skin. Where fingers curled around to the soft skin of his inner thigh, he could feel callouses where no one had ever touched him before. All awareness of anything else in the room faded away; there was only this hand on him, Teomitl’s solid presence the weight at the center of his world. Then the sloshing of an open jar caught his attention, and he registered that Teomitl was holding it out to him with a hot little smile. “Want some, Acatl-tzin? It’s quite good.”

I shouldn’t. I absolutely should not. But… But there was Teomitl all but draped over him, shamelessly roaming fingers starting to trace a meaningless pattern on his thigh, and his heart was hammering frantically against his ribcage. Only his own reflexively clenched fists were stopping him from—well. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he started touching Teomitl in return, but he knew it was something he wouldn’t come back from. He wasn’t sure it was something he’d want to come back from. I am High Priest of Lord and Lady Death. I am a servant of the gods, a keeper of the boundaries. And I…

Warm hands. A sunny smile. A body that moved like a jaguar through his mind when he closed his eyes to sleep. The knowledge that this was something he could never have, as untouchable as the heavens.

He snatched the jar from Teomitl’s hand and took a swig.

It burned. It burned, and he almost choked, but he made himself swallow anyway. The sensation faded from his mouth and tongue after a moment, but he could still feel it burning on its way down his throat. He took a breath and felt dizzy, but he wasn’t sure if that was the pulque—surely one sip couldn’t affect him so much?—or something within his own head. Tizoc-tzin would have me killed for this, came the thought in his head. Drinking with his young, impressionable brother, even in the privacy of my own home? My head would roll before I even had time to put the jar down. He thought he should probably be more afraid of that, but somehow the fear seemed far away. When he blinked, the world sharpened.

“Do you like it?” Teomitl’s smile was sweet, but his hand was still resting midway up Acatl’s thigh.

He had to clear his throat twice before he could manage words. “I—I do.” Maybe the pulque was hitting him already; his limbs were starting to feel distinctly unreal compared to the anchoring pressure of Teomitl’s hand.

“Good. Oh…” Teomitl tilted his head, eyes sharp. “Hold still.”

He froze.

He stayed frozen as that hand came up, calloused thumb impossibly soft as it brushed against the corner of his mouth. His breath ghosted against it, the only indication that he was in fact still breathing. He could almost taste his skin. Teomitl was smiling at him from entirely too close, voice taking on a teasing lilt as he murmured, “You’ve got something...here.” When he drew back, there was a tiny droplet of pulque clinging to his thumb, and he held Acatl’s gaze as he licked it away.

Duality save me, he thought, but he knew the Duality wasn’t listening. There wasn’t a god that could help him now. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, in his gut, in the first stirrings of shamefully sharp arousal. “Teomitl,” he whispered, wide-eyed. It seemed to be the only thing he could say.

“Doesn’t it taste good, Acatl-tzin?” Teomitl’s tone was almost—almost—innocent, and Acatl might have been fooled if it wasn’t for the wicked smile on his face.

“I…” He’s enjoying this. Taunting me—no, worse. Toying with me. His face burned, and he wrenched his gaze away. Arousal be damned, he wouldn’t throw himself after someone who viewed it as a game. “Hrmph.”

Teomitl didn’t seem to notice his irritation. Strong fingers plucked the jar of pulque out of Acatl’s unresisting hands, and he sloshed it about meditatively to check how much was left. “Hmm. I think I’ll have some more.”

He didn’t look. He didn’t want to see. But he could feel the heat of Teomitl’s body still pressed against his side, all lean and solid and strong. They were so close together that he wasn’t sure which of their heartbeats he was feeling, though his own seemed fit to escape his chest. And then he heard Teomitl swallow, and the satisfied near-moan that escaped him pulsed through Acatl’s veins and straight to his cock.

Against all his better judgement, he looked back. Teomitl still had the jar to his lips, head tilted back as he took another long gulp. Moonlight outlined the curve of his cheekbones and the line of his nose, turning his short hair to black ink where it sank into the strands. A thin trickle of pulque was escaping the seal of his mouth, outlining the curve of his throat as it descended. Acatl felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He must have made a sound, because Teomitl cast him a sly, sideways glance as he lowered the jar and wiped his mouth off on his arm.

“I could feel you staring at my drink. You must be thirsty, Acatl-tzin. Want to finish it off?”

It’s not the jar I’m staring at. Not trusting himself to speak, he grabbed the jar and tossed back a mouthful. It burned less this time, settling in his stomach with an unfamiliar warmth. He decided he liked the taste; it was a realization that made him suddenly glad that Teomitl had already drunk most of it, because if Teomitl kept playing with him like he’d been since arriving he would be deeply, deeply tempted to—drink himself insensate was his first thought, but hard on its heels came a mental image that made him almost dizzy. He could do it. Teomitl had called him handsome, had been touching him like that all evening.

My student. A member of the imperial family. But there were fingers tracing the pattern of his cloak, close enough to press over the line of his hip, and all his very good and moral objections blew away like dust in the wind. If he was going to die anyway—and if Tizoc ever found out about this he would absolutely be very dead—he might as well go all the way.

Acatl took another long swallow of pulque, feeling it burn all the way down his throat, and kissed Teomitl on the mouth.

Teomitl’s reaction was immediate and electrifying. Acatl had very little idea what he was doing, but that didn’t seem to matter; Teomitl made the kiss hot and open-mouthed and filthy, his moan reverberating into Acatl’s own mouth. Hands slid under Acatl’s cloak, making their way up his chest and leaving fire behind. Gods, yes. Teomitl scraped a thumbnail lightly over one nipple, and he had to break away with a gasp at the new discovery that he liked that.

Teomitl breathed, “Well, that took you long enough,” and Acatl felt something in his head snap.

His muscles knew what he was doing before his brain did; faster than he could think it over, he’d grabbed Teomitl and shoved him down onto the mat, seizing his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Teomitl groaned desperately into it, burying his hands in his hair like a lifeline and scrabbling at the cord holding it back until it spilled over both of them. Now it was his turn to touch, pulling Teomitl’s cloak aside to run his hands over the firm muscles that had been tempting him for months. When he pressed his thumbs in hard enough to bruise just above Teomitl’s hips, he was rewarded with an eager little whine. He likes it like that. Rough, like that. His cock throbbed.

Teomitl made a noise that might have been words; when Acatl left his mouth to devote attention to his jaw instead, moving down over his throat, he panted, “You have no idea—how long—ah!”

Encouraged, he scraped his teeth over the same spot again and felt Teomitl arch under him. It sent a shudder down his own spine, and he had to brace himself for a moment with his fist wrapped around a corner of the mat. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life. “You,” he growled against Teomitl’s skin, barely recognizing his own voice, “are trying to drive me mad.”

Teomitl sucked in a shaky breath, but the grin that flashed across his face was the same bright, confident one that had stolen Acatl’s heart. When he shifted under him, grinding just long enough to tease, it was Acatl’s turn to moan, and the grin took on an edge. “Is it working?” His eyes gleamed hungrily, and Acatl’s pulse pounded.

“What do you think?” He was done dreaming and wanting. Teomitl was offering himself on a silver platter, and he was going to take. He grabbed for Teomitl’s rear and hauled their hips together, giving the flesh a thorough squeeze as he reveled in the hard press of Teomitl’s erection against his own. Nails dug into his shoulderblades, the sting making him growl. Gods, yes. Mark me, mark me, make sure I remember this in the morning.

When he rolled his hips, Teomitl shuddered and writhed in his grasp. “Oh—Acatl-tzin.” The sound of his voice—half-wrecked already as he sobbed his name, and Acatl had barely done anything—sent such a wave of desire through him it was almost painful.

“I.” Words were the hardest thing he’d ever managed in his life, but he managed to get out “I want to touch you,” and Teomitl at least must have understood him because he was surging up, kissing him inexpertly but with great enthusiasm as he worked blindly at the knot holding his own loincloth shut.

There was no graceful way to do this in the dark; Teomitl’s knee knocked painfully into his thigh and a crash from behind them let him know one of them had managed to kick over the pulque jar, but none of that mattered when he was exposed to the night air with Teomitl spread out on his cloak like a feast under him, flushed and hard and looking at him with his heart in his eyes. “Like what you see, Acatl-tzin?”

Acatl kissed him again. It was the only possible response. Teomitl moaned into it; spurred on by the response, he cradled the back of Teomitl’s head with one hand to keep him there while he kissed a trail down his neck. The mark he’d left on the other side might bruise in the morning, but Acatl couldn’t bring himself to care about that. Far more important were the noises Teomitl was making, wordless little cries turning to gasps when he nipped sharply at the skin.

And then, though clearly no less effected, Teomitl found his equilibrium and slid his hands over Acatl’s chest and down to his stomach. He shivered at the sensation, letting out a sound that turned into a moan against Teomitl’s collarbone when fingers found his cock and wrapped firmly around it. Teomitl’s voice was breathlessly smug in his ear. “Mm, do you like that?”

It was entirely different from the scant times he touched himself, but that didn’t make it any less of a shock to his system. Pleasure built slow with each upstroke, making him shudder and rock into it. It took him a moment to realize Teomitl had even asked a question. “Y—yes…”

Teomitl arched in a motion that dragged their cocks against each other, sending sparks up and down his spine. And that clever hand would—not—stop—working him. “Mmm, good.” His fingers rippled, and Acatl muffled a groan against his neck that made his voice hitch as he breathed, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for so long.”

He still sounded maddeningly composed, and Acatl snarled at it. “Is that why you came here? Tormenting me all night?” Teasing me. Showing up at my doorstep like that, sharing your pulque, touching me— It made his pulse race, and he rolled up and into Teomitl’s hands to claim his mouth again.

When he broke away—he still hadn’t really gotten the hang of remembering to breathe while they kissed—Teomitl huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh. “Maybe. Maybe I wanted to see if you’d—oh.” Acatl had managed to get a hand between them; now he was putting it to good use. Teomitl’s cock was hot and hard and absolutely perfect in his grip, and when he rolled his thumb over the head his whole body shuddered down to his bones.

“If I’d do this?” He stroked harder, and Teomitl thrust into his fist with an inarticulate noise. “Is this how you like it?” Now it was his turn to be relentless. Teomitl’s own ministrations had slowed a bit with this new pleasure, so he could focus on devoting further attention to his lover’s skin—there was a spot just where neck met collarbone that pulled out the sweetest sounds—while he pumped his cock. I want to feel you fall apart.

When he nipped experimentally on his skin, Teomitl keened and bucked into his grasp, pulling his head down onto his chest. “Yes.” Nails scraped down his back, and he shuddered and redoubled his efforts to hear Teomitl rock into him with desperate little punched-out gasps. He was achingly close, pressure building at the base of his spine, but his lover was more important. He bit down on his collarbone and felt Teomitl jolt, voice cracking with his cry of “Duality, Acatl, don’t stop—“

He sucked in a breath that burned his lungs. “I won’t.” Teomitl was so sweet, so hot, it made his head swim. I want— He had to close his eyes, shuddering. Gods, I want to wreck you.

He’d worked out a rhythm of twisting his wrist just so, and it must have worked; Teomitl surged under him, fingers raking all the way down his spine and catching in the tangles in his loose hair, and came so hard that he had to muffle a scream with a bite to Acatl’s shoulder. It made his nerves sing; for a dizzying moment he saw white, thought he was about to orgasm, and then Teomitl whispered “Acatl” like an obscene prayer and did something with his wrist and the pad of his thumb that sent him over the rest of the way with a groan.

He nearly collapsed onto Teomitl’s chest, catching himself on his elbows and breathing hard. For a long moment, he couldn’t think. The first thought that made its way through the fog and out of his mouth was a breathless, “Fuck,” which seemed entirely unsuited to the enormity of the situation. Teomitl had removed his hand from his cock, but it lingered gently on his hip as a visceral reminder.

“Nghm.” Teomitl still seemed to be searching for words himself, but the lilting hum and the smirk tugging at his lips suggested that that could easily be a possibility, if Acatl wanted.

He wanted. Gods, he wanted. Sex and alcohol still burned through his veins, desire itching to be sated. But even the thought brought an unpleasant twinge with it that let him know in no uncertain terms that he would, at the very least, need to rest first. He breathed out slowly, shaking his head; with space to think, he realized he was oversensitive and a little sore. He hadn’t thought it was possible to come so hard your stomach hurt, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Then again...he’d been wrong about a lot of things tonight. Like the likelihood of Teomitl seducing me. With effort, he found his voice. “We should...clean up.” The sticky mess between them would be unbearably itchy if they didn’t.

“Nghh.” Teomitl did not seem to want to clean up. Or move, for that matter. He let his head fall limply back on the mat, though a hand came up to card through Acatl’s hair. It was a strangely tender gesture. “Later. You wore me out, Acatl-tzin.”

He felt his face flush at the reminder of how he’d acted. Duality, Teomitl would have marks the next morning. So would he, and he could only hope his cloak would hide them. He should apologize, he knew, but he couldn’t make his mouth form the words. Teomitl came to me. I have nothing to apologize for. “You’ll know better next time, won’t you?” He only realized what he’d said after the words were already out of his mouth, too late to call them back. Next time. Presuming there was a next time, that it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment fluke brought on by pulque and Teomitl’s teasing touches.

Teomitl’s eyes shone soft in the moonlight, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat. Then he spoke, light and teasing. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a jaguar on the mat.”

“Teomitl!” Acatl glared down at him. The love bites on his throat were already darkening, and it sent a possessive thrill through him. I did that. And he liked it. He’d thought he was spent, but if Teomitl kept teasing him… “You enjoy riling me up.”

Teomitl’s grin was sleepily radiant, eyes already fluttering shut. “You like it.”

Irritation drained out of him. He could feel the steady thump of Teomitl’s heartbeat, soothing him to sleep and making something go soft in his chest. I do. Gods help me, I do. He heaved a sigh. Cleanup could wait until later; his own bones felt like solid rock. It was far easier to simply roll off Teomitl, curl around him with his head on his shoulder—yes, that was as comfortable as it looked—and let his eyes drift closed.

In the morning, he knew they’d have to talk about this. In the morning, he knew he’d wake up with a head full of regrets and pain. But for tonight, he slept.