Okay, I'm used to write first in Spanish and then translate the fic to English, but as I've been outside my country for a month and speaking in English 24/7, I'll give it a try… I'm writing this in English first and then I'll translate it back to my mother tongue, if you are interested.
I found "Miraculous: Les aventures de Ladybug et Chat Noir" around May, but I got bored after a couple of episodes. Yeah, you can kill me slowly now, because I've finished the first season just last week and I'm a mess. Astruc, give me the Christmas Special, s'il vous plaît!
The whole idea of this fic is based in one of Daninha-chan's drawings on DeviantArt (the one in the cover). All credits to the artist! You can find the original picture here: art/Kiss-Art-Challenge-Marichat-11-634465187.
Ah, one more thing, just in case… they're older than in the series. I don't know how much… but definitely older.
I hope I'm doing this right… tell me about every tiny mistake, please, I'm trying very hard to improve!
Bienvenue! Je suisDrake Rhapsody, I don't know enough French to translate this fic but I present you…
BLINDLY.
"Don't turn around"
Despite the pain, Chat Noir's trademark smirk crept over his face.
"You know I won't" he said, green eyes fixed on the wall.
He swore he heard her smile.
"Just in case." She replied with a hint of amusement in her voice.
"You trust me, don't you Myla-aaaahhh"
"Sorry"
"'m fine..."
The room was small but they always picked that one. The walls were covered with a yellowish-golden paper that reminded them of the trees during the autumn, and all the furniture, including the headboard of the king-sized bed was wooden like the inside of a small cottage. The curtains on the windows made them feel hidden, concealed.
Safe.
At first, it wasn't meant to be a love nest, despite Chat Noir's jokes about that. It wasn't even meant to be a place to stay until morning. No, that small room was meant to become their little pocket in the middle of the hustle of Paris, a hideaway where they could tend to each other's injuries without the risk of their identities being discovered, even by themselves. A place to recover and then be on their way.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
The catlike hero of Paris suppressed another groan when a wet cloth dabbed in one of the gashes of his back, cleansing and disinfecting.
"Sorry" she said again and Chat Noir shook his head slightly.
"Don't be." His hands clenched in his lap, griping the smooth fabric of his suit that had been unzipped and taken off to his waist, keeping his forearms still in the sleeves. "Not your fault."
She sighed and the young hero knew she had opened her mouth to say something but had closed it immediately; she was feeling guilty again.
He felt a sudden need for turning around, hug her, and tell her that nothing that had happened was her fault, that he was the only one to blame, and that he would take that blame gladly if that meant he would be able to protect her one more day.
"Ahhhhh, shit."
Another stinging sensation erased the idea from his mind. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, breathing slowly to ease the pain.
"How bad is it?" He asked when he was sure his voice wouldn't tremble.
He didn't want to make her feel guiltier.
"Bad enough." Came the quick answer. "You'll need stitches."
He cursed under his breath but pulled a big grin on his face, despite knowing she couldn't see it.
"I'm in your hands, Bugginette"
Normally she would have scolded him about calling her names. He would have cracked a few puns and everything would have been ok.
But Ladybug remained quiet, and Chat felt the feather-like touch of her fingers following the scar tissue of his past wounds, reading him like an ancient manuscript. He shuddered unintentionally and her hand left his skin.
He heard soft footsteps moving away and back again. The mattress moved slightly under him and her hands returned to his back.
"Ready?" She asked. He nodded. "Do you want to bite into something?"
"Nah, I'm a strong boy with nine lives. I can bear it."
Silence.
Then, the rustle of her hands searching for the appropriate material. He could hear the click of a lighter disinfecting the needle she was going to use.
Then, her hand. Bared, soft, caring.
If not being able to see her was the price of feeling her in such an intimate way, then so be it, he wouldn't complain.
Her fingers glided over the swollen edges of the first slash and pinched them together.
Chat braced himself for the pain.
Push.
Sting.
Pull.
Repeat.
"Aaaahhh..." He groaned, doubled over his own lap, back almost flat, muscles hard as rocks.
Push.
"Sorry"
Sting.
"D-don't... aahh shiiiiiiiiit"
Pull.
"Sorry..."
Repeat.
It wasn't the first time that they had lived a scene like this. They have gone through many battles, endured many wounds and bore many scars.
Both of them knew how the other reacted to pain.
Both of them knew how to heal each other, how to soothe each other.
Yet they didn't know the person under the mask.
That was their first rule.
Push.
Sting.
Pull.
Repeat.
Her miraculous had worn off faster than his that day, when they had barely made it through the door of the small room, no questions asked by the owner. That's why she was the one at his back, where he couldn't see her. She wasn't hurt; he took good care of that. Her kwami was resting somewhere else, leaving them alone.
"Sorry" she mushed again when he groaned a little bit louder. "I'm sorry, kitty..."
She hated seeing him like this.
She hated seeing him like this because of her.
But there was nothing she could say that would stop him from sacrificing body, mind and soul for her.
For her.
Chat Noir uttered another strangled noise and his forehead came in contact with the mattress, eyes firmly closed, teeth bared and jaws clenched together.
Tears prickled the corner of her eyes but she blinked them away and focused in her work, steady hands stitching flesh and skin as if it was just fabric.
Push.
Sting.
Pull.
Pull.
Pull.
The thread got stuck. Biting her lower lip, she yanked, already feeling his pain.
"Fuuuuuuck..." He wheezed, and an iron fist crushed her heart in her chest.
Her hands roamed his back again, soft, tender, and the pain was forgotten for a moment.
"I'm almost done, kitty." Came her voice, soft, soothing. "Just hold on a little bit longer".
He kept his eyes closed, forehead buried against the mattress and hands hidden in his sleeves, clenching the fabric for dear life. She did yet another two stitches before removing her hands from him.
The pain of his wounds left him trembling, doubled over his own lap, forehead pressed against the covers.
"I think I've just lost one of my nine lives…" he whimpered, his voice coming out of his mouth like a faint sob.
The coldness of a wet cloth pressed against his bloodied skin made him gasp, muscles quivering and pulling the skin around the stitches. He cried softly, wishing he had lost consciousness long ago.
"Shhhh..." She breathed mouth very close to his marred skin.
Then he felt it.
A kiss.
She was kissing his back, kissing the red skin beside his wounds.
"I got you, mon chaton" she whispered, and he felt how the places she roamed begun to relax.
Slowly, he uncurled himself, her hands holding him straight from behind. Every movement of the muscles caused a stitch to pull his skin, but as soon as the pain started to flare, she would extinguish it with a kiss. Every pained whimper was answered by the soft brush of her mouth over him. Her lips where everywhere, from his lower back to his shoulder blades and the back of his neck, following his spine and caressing his ribs.
"Close your eyes" she whispered in his ear, and her mouth graced his earlobe.
"M'lady…"
The next groan wasn't one of pain; He felt the light scrape of her teeth over the point where neck meets shoulder. He let his eyelids fall and her voice overwhelmed him from behind.
"I trust you" she said, and another kiss was pressed against his pulse.
The mattress shifted and suddenly she was in front of him, kissing away pained tears, feeling the edge of his mask with her lips, drawing a path from his forehead to his closed eyelids, his cheekbones, his nose…
And finally, she claimed his lips.
He needed to hug her. He needed to take her face in his hands and kiss her back, hungrily, desperately, carelessly. But his arms where still tangled in his sleeves, and so the only thing he could do was move his mouth with hers while keeping his eyes from opening.
He would gladly spend his days deaf, blind and silent if only she were to kiss him again like she was doing.
After a while, she broke the kiss, leaving him breathless. She didn't go away, moving instead to his jaw, his neck, his collar bone…
"Oh, God..."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
His Miraculous was ringing somewhere beneath the sleeves.
And with that, she was gone.
"Ladybug?"
He could hear her breath, somewhere to his right, where the door was.
She was going to leave.
"Bugginette, please…"
"You're going to de-transform."
"I don't care."
"But I… your identity…"
"Then close your eyes" he blurted and she stood silent. He managed to free his right arm and reached for her with a shaky hand "Please…"
Nothing.
Not even a tiny sound.
And when he started to think she'd run away, he felt her fingers entwining with his.
"Okay."
At first, that room wasn't meant to be a love nest, but then again, they weren't meant to be more than partners.
They weren't meant to fall in love with each other.
With a gust of wind, Plagg leaves his ring and he's Adrien again. Simply Adrien.
Sadly, his lady would never know.
"Chat" she called, her hand caressing his knuckles, finally free from the leather glove. He pulled her softly to the bed, to him. The mattress sinks again and she's straddling him, embracing him, running her fingers through his hair and caressing the marred skin of his back, so tenderly he couldn't feel the pain anymore.
God, he loved her.
His fingers left her hips and glided over her sides, reaching out until they found her face. He let his thumb feel the soft skin of her lips before asking:
"C-can I…?"
It doesn't matter how many times they have lay next to each other. It doesn't matter how many times their lips had found new trails through the valleys and depressions of their bodies. It doesn't matter how many times they have been together, he would always ask.
As if he still doubted whether this was a dream.
He felt her cheeks moving to enlighten the room with a smile. A smile no-one could see.
"Kiss me, Chat" she whispered.
And he, who had long devoted his life to her, obeyed blindly.
Blindly.
Huh.
That was a pun he should've said out loud.
So…
What do you think? Was it romantic enough for you?
I'm not moving from this point, at least for the moment. I tried to keep it rated under T, I hope that's what it is now. I'm still not comfortable writing smut, sorry…
See you all on the reviews (I hope)!
Drake Rhapsody