Today has been a rough day, so I wrote some trash. This is part 1 - ends nice and clean. I'm debating a part 2 to...finish the job, so to speak, if anyone is interested in that.

There is this concept that blondes have more fun – 95% of my evidence gathered in my blonde life says that's a lie. Fun is usually a mystical illusion that hangs out in dark alleyways, and I have to bribe it with cheese.

I've spent most my life grappling with the concept of what it means to be free. 'Freedom' is this intangible concept, but pretty much the idea is always boiled down to one short phase: Freedom is doing whatever you want to do. That's pretty much it, tied up with a neat bow, stored on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase so that I can look at it, but don't touch.

We can look, but don't touch.

We can be seen but not heard.

We should be working, not playing.

We should be smiling, not frowning.

Frowning makes wrinkles, and wrinkles are bad for business, Adrien. Smile Adrien, Pose Adrien, Move Adrien, Sit Still, Adrien, Do it again, Adrien.

"Adrien!"

I blinked, my eyes taking a moment to focus. I glanced down to see a stranger adjusting the pants I have on, and I found myself trying to swallow a laugh as I realize how desensitized I've become to someone messing around with my body. Perks of the job I guess. I don't remember when I learned to turn it off, exactly, but I do remember one day just being so frustrated by the amount of people that were poking and prodding me that I squeezed my eyes shut with the force of a bear trap – throwing my mind to weird, empty places. Things I couldn't ever imagine getting to do in my actual life – Otherwise known as fun things.

At least that's how it used to be - until the past couple of years. Nighttime was for almost nothing but freedom now, so I spent most of my days thinking about the cool air of Paris, rushing against my face as I moved through my city. The starts, the scents – the feeling of being alive. Visions are blurs of red, flashes of lips, wisps of dark pigtails bobbing nearby.

I grimaced as a comb was tugged through my already massively gelled hair, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Adrien!" I directed my attention to where my name was called again, seeing a slightly agitated look in the photographer's eyes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I sighed, striding over to where the set was ready to go. These ridiculously baggy pants contrasted with the weirdly cinched belt that was resting right up on my natural waist. We were selling scarves, so of course I was currently shirtless because fashion. My fingernails had been painted what I guess was supposed to be an edgy, glossy black of some sort, matching the dark black of my damned balloon pants. One more assistant darted over to adjust the scarf around my neck, making sure it had the casual elegance of someone who never wore a scarf for practical reasons. I took my place. As soon as the first flash popped, my body went into muscle memory fluidity, and I effortlessly slid into my motions. My brain had already departed the station again, high tailing it after my Lady and her wind kissed cheeks, red and flushed from movement. I let my brain wonder, my body move.

A bottle of water was pressed into my hand as the crew reviewed a few of the shots. "Alright crew, we need to switch out the scarf and adjust the waistband. See if we can get them to sit a little lower, show some more tone so we can do some stretch poses."

I sipped my water, standing patiently as the scarf around my neck slipped off to be replaced with a dark green number. I stood a moment more, then realized a pair of petite hands trembling close to my waist band. I blinked, adjusting my gaze to focus on the assistant.

"It's fine, I promise. I'm used to it, so no need to – Marinette?" I spluttered on the water bottle I was holding, my eyes skimming taking in the flushed cheeks and downcast eyes of Marinette, her hands still paused. I coughed into the crook of my arm, trying to regain some composure. "Marinette, hi!" I breathed, a grin creeping onto my face. "When did you start here?" I gestured to the studio, which basically served as my home away from home.

"I…Last week, summer internship. I wasn't expecting to take of your pants!"

I blinked, her eyes darting up in panic as she seemed to register what she said. "I don't mean yours specifically, I mean men's pants. I thought I'd just be helping with basic things, not-"

"Pants! Come on guys, let's get him adjusted so we can go!"

She blanched, and I couldn't keep in the chuckle. "I can fix them myself," I whispered, feeling for the belt buckle nestled in the fabric of the pants, which proved a harder task to do one handed. I glared at the water bottle I was holding, contemplating just dropping it. The heft of the scarf was like a giant fur entity on my chest, and I had no clear view of my feet or chest.

"Assistant, you're hired to assist. Get with the assisting! We don't want to mess up his nails," hissed from across the room. Marinette flinched, and something in me flared.

"Give me your hands," I mouthed as I set the bottle of a small table nearby. I held my hands out with the palms up, and she hesitantly slid hers over mine. I took a sidestep so she was in front of me, my body blocked partially by hers. Guiding a classmate's hands to your belt so she can help you unbuckle it feels strangely intimate, and I felt a heat rise in my neck as she helped me fumble with the buckle.

"I can do it," she whispered finally, her fingers trembling as she managed to loosen the belt. "You're going to chip the polish."

"No really, Marinette, you shouldn't have to."

"This is my part of job. I mean, it's not something I thought was in my description, but I'm going to do my job." Her voice was resolved, her hands sliding to my hips and hesitantly pulling the bunched elastic down from where it rested at my natural waist.

"Crouch, let me see," she was instructed, and I realized for the first time I was actual acutely aware of a person's head being near my crotch. "Lower them more to his hips, and buckle it back up. We're going to go into some stretches, use the scarf as if we're part of your body."

I nodded, taking a large gulp as I felt my pants slide down on my hips thanks to the hands of Marinette, whose face was still oddly close to my crotch. I willed my body to go into its not reacting phase, which was a lot harder (pun intended) said than done as she worked to finished the buckle and secure my pants once more.

"Perfect!"

She nodded in response to the feedback, her face almost as red as the scarf I had worn when I first started. She quickly slipped off to the side and out of site, and I found myself unable to call after her as the flash from the camera began again in full force.

I tried to slide my brain back into fantasy Adrien land, but that particular section was currently undergoing renovations that mainly focuses on the sensation of Marinette's hands and they slowly tugged at my pants, the feeling of her nails just noticeable through the fabric as – oh God, maybe it was sheer luck these pants were so baggy.

I hadn't intended things to as they had the rest of the day, but every spare moment I paused to take a breath, my brain was flooded with blushing Marinette now. I tried to tell myself it was just my starvation for human contact – which, true or not, did not give me permission to inflict my lusty desperations onto a classmate. I groaned from my perch, having learned already that leather isn't as forgiving as other fabrics when it comes to certain thoughts. I stretched against the roof I had taken perch on ( a very certain roof because I'm a masochists I suppose), letting the cool air whip around me. The night was clear, and I sighed, trying to ponder what to do in this situation. I'd see her again at work, I couldn't escape that. Or school.

I heard the sound of a door creak, and I quickly shifted so I could just peer over the edge of the roof I was on. She appeared in a fluid movement as she pulled herself up the ladder, her loose hair caught in the breeze. She was dressed in nothing but a pair of pale pink shorts and a tanktop, one of the straps trailing down her shoulder. She walked the short distance to the railing, paused, then took a seat in the small lounge chair, facing away from me. I could see the top of her head, and her body as she laid back. For her to see me, she have to turn her head all the way upside down, but I kept quit just in case.

I watched her for a moment, feeling inherently dirty at my spying. She seemed to be worrying over something from the way she'd occasionally shift her body, more so confirmed from the soft groan she gave as she dug her palms into her forward. She seemed to be muttering, but those were lost to me as the breeze carried them the opposite direction.

She was still for a moment more, my breath catching as I watched her trail her hand down to the waistband of her pants. She paused, then tentatively slid her fingers under the fabric, sliding her leg up as she did so.

Sher jerked her hand away no more than a moment later, quickly jumping from the chair and pacing the balcony.

I quickly and quietly pulled myself back, biting back on obscenity as I realized just has sleezey I had been being. If she had actually gone on to touch herself, was I just going to be a creep who sat and watched while rubbing myself?

Or I could I just be a sleezy jerk on the balcony and we could do it together? I laughed harder on my joke than I'd meant to, and I cursed as I heard a soft voice ask, "Is…is someone there?"

To say I hadn't talked to Marinette as Chat before would be a lie, and it seemed best to come clean now rather than be eaten by my guilt. I quickly dropped from the small section I was occupying, landing with a fluid grace on the balcony.

"Evening, princess," I purred, plastering on a grin as I straightened myself, trying to casual pose to hide certain uninvited guests.

"Chat Noir." Her eyebrows furrowed just slightly, a minimal pout curling on her lips. "Any particular reason you're on my balcony at 1 a.m?"

"Isn't seeing you reason enough?" I teased, thinly veiled honestly present. I grinned.

She sized me up, hands resting on her hips. "It doesn't normally warrant a visit…"

"It's the purrfect weather for a chat!" I wiggled my eyebrows under my mask, plastering on a dopey grin, hoping to break the ice.

Relief washed over me as she rolled her eyes, grinning. "Fine. I was awake anyway. So what's new in the world of Paris's best kitty cat?"

"Pets," I blurted.

"What?"

"Pets. Paris's best kitty cat is severely lacking in the pet department. I get no love," I sighed dramatically, dropping down to take the seat she'd just been in. I tried to block out the memory of what she'd almost done in the chair as I glanced over at her.

"That's being a tom cat," she joked, but she obliged me by running her fingers against my scalp, which helped to appease my need for touch.

I wasn't fibbing when I said I was no stranger to the balcony, and I did occasionally wrangle some head rubs from Marinette. This wasn't anything new. That was all based on a quick passing acquaintance sort of thing, and it wasn't like we were strangers. I knew Marinette well. Which was why any transition to "let me touch you" was a rather large obstacle when I was Chat. It wasn't as though I could ask her to take off my pants without it sounding weirder than it did earlier.

"You alright?" she asked, her fingers stalling. I opened my eyes, realizing I had squeezed them shut pretty hard.

"Just had a lot on my mind today."

"Me too," she murmured, resuming her massage to my scalp. I grinned, some secret part of me hoping she'd dwelled about what had happened today as well.

I blinked, realizing she'd stopped abruptly. I opened my eyes, looking up to find her face flushed as it had been earlier.

"Marinette?"

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, covering her face with her hands. "I wasn't trying to look, I just -!"

Confused, I glanced down – a large laugh escaped, the pure absurdity of the scenario coming to a rather literal head as once again my body betrayed me. "Why are you embarrassed?"

"I just – I wasn't trying-!"

"I think at this point, you don't really have to," I admitted, glaring down at my body. It had betrayed me.

"What do you mean?" she groaned, and I gently pulled her hands from her face.

"You have a way with your hands," I explained, grinning widely. "So much so, it leaves in impact."