My Body Is Yours - ch. 1
(intro to a larger fic I'm working on. The title is a joke from future chapters, I haven't written yet. Hopefully posting this gets the ball rolling on that)
>> model catizen
Friday
Marinette was already out on the balcony by the time Chat dropped by. He landed with an exaggerated flourish, dropping into a bow. She just giggled and ruffled the hair between his cat ears.
“My Princess is in a good mood tonight, it seems?” he purred as he rose.
Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed his wrist. “I just had a fantastic idea, and I absolutely need your help for it,” she said, pulling him towards the skylight.
Chat smiled as he followed her through, and down the ladder into her room. Strewn about were an assortment of fabrics, organized in a way he knew only Marinette could decipher. Chat had been in here on countless occasions, snacking on macarons while she finished a last-minute commission, so he knew this was actually relatively tame.
“I need a model,” she declared, leaving him by the mannequin, and moving to rifle through a drawer. “I have been working on some designs for a male body type, and I am unfortunately not a shapeshifter. So, I thought, who better than Chat Noir himself, to model the clothes that I can’t?” she was grinning, only slightly mischievously. Chat could see the genuine excitement in her eyes.
“Umm, I’m flattered,” he started, unsure how to respond. Sure, he could model. Hell, that was his entire job as a civilian. But he did have a few questions. “I’m not sure why you're asking me, though. You know, I can't really take the suit off without compromising my identity. Besides, aren’t you friends with that famous model guy? Agreste, was it? Isn’t that, like, his job or whatever?”
“Adrien,” Marinette snorted. “Yeah, right. I only just recently managed to start acting like a human around him. I don’t think fitting and dressing him would be good for my health right now.”
“Huh? Why not? Isn’t he a good friend? I’m sure he’d be happy to model for you,” Chat was quite confused now. He really wouldn’t mind modelling, but why was she asking Chat, and not Adrien? And what was that about her health.
“Chat,” Marinette deadpanned, locking eyes with him. “You do remember Buttercup, right? The boy I was so head over heels for, I had to write up a confession beforehand, and practice with you? And even then, I couldn’t get myself to actually confess? That Buttercup?”
Chat managed to nod, even as his heart began beating faster, and his palms grew sweaty. “Uh, yeah. Buttercup. Right, so… Wait. That was Adrien Agreste? The guy you were, uh, in love with?”
“Uh huh. It was kinda obvious,” Marinette said, moving back over to him now, holding a tape measure. “Honestly, I assumed you already knew. I mean, you’ve seen my walls. Did you really not notice? But forget that, I'm over him now. Hopefully. More importantly, I need to take your measurements. I have a design I’ve been really excited to try on-”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Chat took a short step back, grabbing Marinette’s hands. He was still reeling from the revelation, but she seemed entirely unconcerned by it. He supposed it made sense; as far as she was concerned, what did Chat Noir have to do with Adrien? Still, he needed a moment to process. “Like I said, I can't take off the suit. I really don’t think I can be a model for you, Mari.”
“Pshh,” Marinette waved a hand. “Your suit’s so skin tight it's basically a second skin. Don't you worry, you’ll work perfectly. The whole point is that I’m tailoring the clothes to fit you, you know? That’s what these measurements are for.” She brandished the tape measure in her hands.
Chat’s mind was still trying to keep up with everything, but he swallowed and slowly let go of her hands. For one thing, Buttercup was Adrien? Marinette liked him? He thought back to all the times she stuttered around him, or blushed at the most random times. He was slowly putting a picture together in his mind.
“Okay, fine,” he conceded, mind at once blank and cacophonous.
Marinette eagerly began her task, starting all the way at the bottom, with his ankles. She moved from one to the other, then back again to double check her values. Chat made to relax his posture, as he was used to during fittings; as Marinette’s fingers slid over his calves, however, he found it nearly impossible. He was hyper aware of each point of contact. She pulled the tape taut, and it was all Chat could do to stay still.
Moving up his legs, she reached his thighs. Her hands dragged lazily over his form, and Chat couldn’t help the goosebumps rising on his skin under the suit. He was just glad she couldn’t see them.
As she worked, his mind kept circling back to her previous admission. No wonder she acted so differently around Chat and Adrien. It was all so obvious in hindsight. He’d been so sad that she couldn’t be at ease around him as Adrien. His heart clenched slightly every time she’d stutter out an excuse and make a getaway. He bit back a bitter laugh. He’d been so proud that he’d gotten her to open up around him as Chat. Really, she’d never actually opened up; he’d just been too oblivious to recognize why she was nervous around Adrien.
Once again, his thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of Marinette’s hands, now sliding up his thighs. He could've sworn she was deliberately caressing his hips, as she kept contact with his suit the whole way up. At his waist now, she abruptly leaned in to loop the tape around him. By this point, Chat’s muscles were aching from the tension, and he couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine.
As Marinette lingered on his waist, double checking her measurements, Chat thoughts were free to roam again. And now, she was saying she had moved on? Well, obviously not completely, if she was still concerned about getting touchy with him. But at least she was trying to move on from him. Chat couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. After all, he was in love with Ladybug. Of course, if Marinette had confessed to him, he’d have had to politely reject her, which he absolutely did not want to do. In that sense, he was glad she was moving on.
On the other hand, he was surprised at the twinge in his heart, when he realized just what this meant. Marinette Dupain-Cheng— amazing, talented, kind, smart, funny, strong Marinette— had been in love with him, and now no longer was (or was trying not to be). It shouldn’t matter. He was in love with Ladybug. But then, why did it feel like he’d just lost something precious? As though he’d been transformed his whole life, and suddenly his miraculous was ripped from his finger.
As she went along, Marinette kept making notes in the book on her desk. The slight shiver didn't escape her notice, as she moved to note down the measurements.
“I didn't know you were ticklish, kitty,” Marinette smirked as she returned to poke the dips of his waist. This earned a surprised yelp as he leapt back.
“Hey!” Chat called from behind the cover of outstretched arms. “No fair, how are you doing that? I’m not ticklish!”
His cheeks were slightly red, as he thought about Marinette’s hands on his body. He was a professional model, and so he was used to all sorts of people touching him. So, why did it suddenly feel embarrassing to have Marinette feeling him up? Nearly his entire body was covered in a magically indestructible suit, yet he felt uniquely vulnerable to Marinette’s touch. He hadn’t lied; he really wasn’t ticklish at all. Much to Plagg’s chagrin, there was usually little he could do to physically disconcert his holder. Yet, now he reacted dangerously to Marinette’s slightest touch.
“Sure, kitty,” Marinette teased. She was feeling unusually playful today, and felt the urge to pin him down and give him a good tickle. The thought of an overstimulated Chat was… enticing. Instead, she turned back to the chaise.
“Okay, now stand right here,” she gestured to a spot right in front of it. “I’ll need the height to get your upper measurements.”
Getting up onto the chaise, she waited for him to follow. She smirked as she tilted her head down to look at him. “Not often you get looked down on, huh kitty? You really are a fucking giant.” Marinette giggled, eyes trailing over his body.
Chat was past words at this point. He simply hummed, and lifted his arms, hoping she wouldn’t discover any more newly ticklish spots. Marinette proceeded to take his chest measurements, muttering to herself as she rechecked to be sure. For the first time, Chat was incredibly aware of how little the catsuit left to the imagination, as he felt Marinette’s scrutinizing gaze trail over his torso. Moving on to the neck, she met his eyes, noticing the blush that had taken up permanent residence on his cheeks.
“Little kitty’s not used to being touched, huh?” She teased. No, I’m just not used to being touched by the person who has (had?) a crush on me.
He swallowed before she moved the tape to his neck. After double checking once more, she finally got off the chaise, and went to make note of the measurements. Chat finally filled his lungs, able to breathe easily again without Marinette’s hands and eyes all over him.
“Hmm,” Marinette chewed on the end of her pencil as she contemplated the measurements. Every so often, she’d cut her eyes back to Chat and mumble something, before turning back to the book. Chat was acutely aware of her gaze, and suddenly felt very self-conscious about his looks. He realized it was not an uncomfortable feeling, though. Over the years as a teen model, he’d met his fair share of scrutinizing eyes. At this point, he’d grown desensitized to them, but he remembered how icky he used to feel when he was just starting.
With Marinette, though, he felt excited. He knew she was imagining the fabric draping across his form. He could almost see the gears turning in her head, as she contemplated what would look good on him. It didn’t hurt that he had just found out that she was (used to be?) in love with him.
“You know, your legs are freakishly long,” Marinette’s voice brought him back to earth. “You’d look really good in some high-waisted trousers. Especially with a good overshirt…” and she was back to mumbling.
Chat smiled as he imagined what Marinette would come up with. He knew just what a talented designer she was, and the idea of her designing something tailored specifically for him made him feel fuzzy inside.
As the evening wore on, Chat ended up a fly on the wall as Marinette furiously sketched out ideas for Chat’s clothes. As he watched her work, he kept remembering her unknowing confession earlier in the evening. For some reason, he couldn’t get his mind off of it, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
