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“She can’t seriously be asleep.”
“Kinda looks that way.”
Adrien looks down at the sleeping form of his friend. She had surprisingly been the first eliminated in their game of Mario Party--upon finishing the game, Alya and Adrien realized that Marinette had made a beeline for her sleeping bag and, in Alya’s words, “passed the fuck out.”
“Wow. Smh, Mari. Who invites people over for a sleepover, then falls asleep at…” Alya pulls out her phone and checks the time. “10:22!”
“Should we try to wake her up?” Adrien suggests, but Alya just shakes her head.
“It’s impossible,” she says, nudging Marinette with her foot a couple times to prove it. She doesn’t even stir.
“Damn.”
“Yeah, the girl sleeps like a rock,” Alya says fondly. She walks over to the couch and plops herself down. Not knowing what else to do, and feeling a little bit awkward (being awake when your host is asleep is weird), Adrien sits down next to her.
The room is illuminated solely by the light of the TV, a soft multicolored glow. The Wii lobby music plays at 6% volume. Adrien has a couple of hours to kill before he will want to sleep.
“So… what now?”
* * *
“Okay, truth… or truth?”
When Alya had first suggested the slightly modified party game, Adrien had been confused, then skeptical. She considers it a personal victory that a mere hour later he was now so excitedly grilling her.
Marinette accuses Alya all the time of only liking this game for getting dirt on people. And maybe that's a tiny bit true, but whomever she's playing with also gets her embarrassing secrets, so really it’s an even exchange.
“I'm gonna go with the truth,” Alya says. Adrien takes a minute to think up a suitable question.
“Hmmm… Alright, I got one. Do you plan on getting any piercings?”
“Oh hell yes,” Alya responds instantly. “I want a belly button piercing the second I can get away with it. As for anything else… not sure! Good question.”
Her back gives several satisfying pops as she stretches, hands clasped together over her head. When Alya turns to Adrien, it’s with some surprise that she registers his eyes lingering where the small t-shirt she wore to bed has hiked up to reveal her stomach.
Well. That was interesting.
“See something you like?” Alya drawls, because it’s 12:30 a.m. and she’ll be damned if she passes up a chance to use such a ridiculous line. She’s expecting the usual groan or eye roll she gets from Marinette.
“No! I mean--yes? Fuck, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to stare.” Adrien claps his hands over his mouth immediately.
“Whoa, whoa, hey. It’s alright, I’m not upset.” Alya scoots up next to him and places a hand on his knee in what she hopes is a calming manner. He takes his hands off of his face, which is a start, but still doesn’t look at her.
“Sorry.”
“It’s not even a problem, my dude.” At Adrien’s disbelieving look, she continues. “Do you know how many times I’ve been shirtless around Marinette? That girl is not subtle. If I was bothered by a friend checking me out, it would have come up a loooong time ago.” Finally, some of the tension leaves his shoulders, and Adrien lets out a relieved sigh.
“Okay.”
“...so you admit you were checking me out?”
“Alya,” he groans.
“What? Inquiring minds need to know!”
(Plus she kinda wants to hear him say it, but whatever).
After all, it’s not like she’s never thought about it. Him. Adrien.
When you've got really cute friends, sometimes your mind wanders. No big deal.
She leans up against Adrien and nudges him with her shoulder. He’s looking down at his hands, playing with that silver ring he always wears. Finally, after a few seconds, he peers up at her through his eyelashes, and with a blush to rival Marinette’s, he says
“Okay, okay. I was… maybe checking you out a little.”
Even though it's at her own behest, his confession lights an ember of satisfaction in the pit of her stomach.
He really is adorable when he’s all flustered, Alya thinks.
And then, almost an afterthought:
I wonder if he’s ever kissed someone.
* * *
“Sure you wanna do this?” she asks, hot breath spilling over his lips, only inches from his face.
He hesitates. There are a million reasons he shouldn’t. But there’s one other thing Adrien knows that rings more true than any of them.
He is very tired of making responsible decisions.
Adrien nods. Alya flashes him a mischievous smirk, showing just a hint of teeth.
“I’ve actually been thinking about this for a while,” she says. He’s given no time to contemplate that startling admission when Alya leans down and kisses him. At first, Adrien isn’t sure what to do - can only think wow, her lips are really soft - but then her hands are moving, one slides up his spine to clutch at his back and he arches into her, the friction and warmth lighting him up from the inside out. She kisses him again and again--when she finally draws back for a breath Adrien’s head is spinning, and he lets slip this wordless little whine of discontent that even he can immediately tell is mortifying.
But Alya just giggles and leans over him again, gently resting her forehead against his. He thinks that the fondness in her eyes as she looks at him is the most wonderful sight in the world.
“You,” she says, lips just barely brushing his (he’s incredibly tempted to kiss her), “are incredibly cute.” Her voice is unguarded and sweet as honey. Adrien feels warmth blooming in his chest; he’s half sure this is a dream, but there’s no way he could imagine this.
“Alya.” To his surprise, it comes out low and scratchy, almost a Chat Noir drawl. He can’t read her eyes, but he also doesn’t miss the way her gaze flickers briefly down to his lips. It gives him the brief boost of confidence he needs for his next line.
“Can I kiss you again?”
Alya grins triumphantly.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
Alya kisses Adrien like she’s conducting a symphony - and she was more than enjoying figuring out what kind of noises he made. Uneven, panting breaths are a constant underscore to the more satisfying sounds she’s able to draw out of him. Adrien is very vocal about what he enjoyed, she finds. Hungry, open mouthed kisses elicit these wonderful little moans and sighs of contentment, and the way his breath hitches as she brushed her lips down his neck was going to drive Alya crazy. The sound he makes when she first sweeps her tongue into his mouth is downright filthy and fills her head with a plethora of bad ideas.
She plants her lips in the crook of his neck, feels him shiver and roll his hips beneath her. A quick swipe of tongue and just a hint of teeth draws a shuddering sigh out of him.
“Alya.”
She stops.
“Remember the no marks rule?”
“I wasn’t going to-”
“Fuck the no marks rule.”
* * *
They do a great job keeping any marks both minimal and below the collar line until the very end. It’s meant to be a quick kiss, right below the jaw where you’d take someone’s pulse. And it is. But then Alya leans back into a more comfortable sitting position, does a little stretch, and glances over at Adrien.
He’s just… looking at her, with this expression of open adoration plain on his face. Alya is pretty sure her heart skips a beat or two--which, damn it, should not be happening. He definitely blushes when he catches her stare, but he doesn’t look away or hide his eyes. Just keeps looking at her like she personally hung the stars in the sky.
It’s about then that Alya gets a very bad idea.
“Hey Adrien? I just got a terrible idea,” she says. Since the idea involves him, Adrien’s signing off on it is obviously a requirement. “I think you’re gonna like it.”
She tells him.
He likes it. A lot.
Adrien’s eyes glimmer with mischief in a way that Alya’s never seen before, and she’s willing to bet that hers isn’t the only heart racing. When she leans over to press a kiss (more than half smile) to his nose, her hair falls around them like a curtain. For a second all she can see is a flash of green eyes and white teeth as Adrien lets out a tiny giggle; then she shakes her head and the dim light of the kitchen shines in.
One of Alya’s hands comes up, fingertips brushing over a smooth jawline before moving down to trace the curve of Adrien’s throat. The part of her brain telling her just kiss him silly is about to win when she has an even better idea.
“Hey, Adrien--what do vampires give cute boys?”
He looks at her, bewildered. Alya gives him a toothy grin.
“Love bites.”
* * *
Once her eyes have adjusted to the light, Alya takes a moment to look them over in the bathroom mirror. They look… well, she looks great, obviously. She thinks Adrien looks pretty fucking fantastic, but this is mostly due to her involvement in his current state of complete dishevelment.
His lips are bruised a pretty purple from over an hour of kissing. Shirt collar has an extra two, maybe three inches of circumference from her tugging it down (Alya would have asked him to take it off, but she didn’t wanna freak him out) and perfectly reveals the constellation of marks she’s left on his skin. Some are small, red marks that will probably fade come morning. Others are not so small, already starting to darken into a bruise. Adrien’s collarbones and lower neck received the most attention, but the important part was that everything was easily covered up by a buttoned shirt.
...Or it would have been, if not for the sizable and very obvious hickey she’d left right below his jawline.
Adrien, who has also been checking out his appearance, catches her eye in the mirror. He quickly turns away, studying the corner of the Dupain-Chengs’ bathroom like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“I think it’s a good look for you,” Alya says slyly. His attention is suddenly on her again--wow, that’s a blush--and she’s not even bothering to hide the affectionate smile that’s been ambushing her so often tonight.
“R-really? I look like a mess.”
“Yeah, a hot mess.”
“Oh my god.” Alya just laughs and pats Adrien on the arm. With a bit of effort she hops up onto the countertop of the sink , putting her at a more even eye level with Adrien. She picks up the bottle of liquid concealer she’d pilfered from Marinette’s room and gives it a few good shakes.
“I mean it, though,” she says. “Being a mess isn’t always a bad thing. It’s three in the fuckin’ morning! There’s no one awake to complain if you look disheveled and cute.”
Adrien gives her a wry grin.
“I guess you’re right,” he admits.
“That said, I don’t think Nathalie will agree with me, so we should probably get this concealer on you before one or both of us passes out.” Alya uncaps the concealer and pulls out the brush. Putting her left hand on his shoulder (for balance), she leans in and goes to work.
Five minutes, two coats of concealer, and a generous application of powder later, the deed is done.
“Well, it’s not my best work, but I think this should do.”
Adrien opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a massive yawn.
“Whoops,” he says, shooting Alya a sheepish look. “Guess I’m more tired than I realized. Thank you, though.”
“Yeah, we should probably get to sleep. I think it’s like, 3 a.m.”
After gathering up all the makeup supplies, making sure to leave no trace, Alya shuts off the light. She and Adrien pad through the inky darkness of the hallway and back to the living room, to their mess of blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags.
* * *
Adrien is on the very precipice of unconsciousness, seconds from falling into a deep sleep, when the sensation of a hand alighting on his shoulder drags him back to the waking world.
“Hey.” When Adrien opens his eyes, Alya is sitting right next to him.
“Alya?” he mumbles.
“The one and only.” She’s using that voice again, soft and low and unguarded, so affectionate it’s almost dizzying, and Adrien can’t help the tiny startled inhale (too quiet to be called a gasp) or the way his heart starts to beat faster in his chest. “Move over,” she says, and begins to unzip his sleeping bag.
“I… what?”
“You seem like you’d be a good cuddler,” she says. A pause. “I mean, if you’re okay with it, that is.”
Adrien has never been more okay with something in his life.
Within seconds, Alya slips into the sleeping bag behind him. While Adrien had found out firsthand how warm Alya is earlier in the night, he’s still unprepared when she loops her arms under his and presses herself into him.
When Alya gives him a little squeeze and lets out a happy sigh, Adrien is pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven. He suddenly understands how people can spend hours cuddling.
“Goodnight, Alya,” he whispers, and his voice is ridiculously soft and tender but Adrien can’t bring himself to care. He’s almost starting to think she fell asleep when Alya shifts and presses her lips to the back of his neck in a quick butterfly kiss.
“‘Night, Adrien,” she mumbles back.
* * *
They both fall asleep smiling.