Author's Note: The eponymous chapter! This is where the story would've ended... it's where the prompt ended. But we couldn't leave it so unfinished, could we?

Kissing Marinette during his nightly visits to her balcony was becoming second nature.

"Hey." He'd greet her first with his voice, and then with his lips as they met hers.

Or, "How's your project coming along?" His mouth would ask while his lips would perform soft ministrations on her neck, causing her to gasp in a way that he found utterly delightful, and increasingly addictive.

And "Goodnight."

Oh. Goodnight.

In that word alone lay untold opportunities for lips to meet, and tongues and teeth sometimes even.

His sweet classmate wasn't shy when it was just the two of them.

And well, Adrien Agreste may be a shut-in anti-social recluse but Chat Noir had no fears. And no boundaries.

This time, they had made it indoors, under the hatch and to his favourite place in the world: her bed.

He was sitting up at the top of her bed, surrounded by a monstrous cat pillow—

"Aww, look at that, my two favourite kitties together," she had cooed. An innocuous statement to most ears. But he took it as a declaration of war.

Adrien had lifted up the head of the offending cat pillow and mimed slicing its head off with a single claw. "There can only be one."

"Nooo!" She lunged towards him. "Not Mr. Tiger! He's my favourite."

And as she landed on his lap, exactly where he wanted her, his other hand reached forward to tickle the skin of her stomach revealed by her short tee.

"HA" —she snorted—"Chat!"—she tried again—"I'm very ticklish!"

He was very aware. He fully intended to take advantage of it. Her body was splayed against his as she writhed about helplessly.

"Please—"

Oh yes. It was time for begging. He paused to let her catch her breath.

"Who is your favourite cat?" He demanded an answer.

Her laughter turned to hiccups which turned to her mouth being pressed into a stern line. She looked at him, the little furrow between her eyebrows for her serious face totally undone by the twin indentations in her cheeks. Her face was red from being out of breath. She opened her mouth, and he gestured for her to continue, raising both hands up away from her vulnerable sides and exposed stomach in the age-old expression of innocence.

She began, "Now, Mr. Tiger—"

And he pounced again. "Don't be having another cat's name in your mouth while I'm with you!"

Marinette keeled over in laughter as his fingers did their worst. He grinned to himself. Who knew tickling her could be so much fun?

Three rapid knocks from the floor reverberated into the room.

He stilled.

And the sound had her stopping in an instant.

"Marinette, can you keep it down?" It was her father.

She called out loudly towards the closed hatch, "Yes!" It was a little breathy. From laughter. It was completely innocent! Just a teenage girl and a teenage superhero. Sitting in the most welcoming place in the world. Which happened to be her bed. Just having some laughs. Well, some one-sided laughs.

"It's getting late. Your mother and I are sleeping."

Adrien mouthed to her, "Will he come up?" but she shook her head quickly in response.

She called out loudly below, "Sorry, Papa! I'm watching a show."

He pressed both of his hands together and bowed his head in his own silent apology.

"Maybe save the comedies for a more reasonable time of the night?" came her father's suggestion.

"Sorry, Papa!" she repeated.

The sound of her father's footsteps diminished as he went back down the step ladder.

He was so absorbed with listening to the fading exit, hoping to prevent the reappearance of Weredad, that when Marinette threw one of her pillows at him, it hit him in the face.

"Meowch." He grumbled. "Right in the whiskers."

"No more tickling!" she declared, her voice whisper-quiet.

He grinned sheepishly at her. "Alright." He opened his arms wide to her. "Your Kitty is very, very sorry. Please come back?"

She rolled her eyes and settled herself within his arms. That evening, the kissing was very respectable. Very polite. Platonic, even. If you could kiss someone goodnight on the lips and feel your stomach muscles clench in anticipation in a platonic way. He willed his fingers to unfurl from the tight fists he hadn't realised he had been clenching as he hopped his way onto her balcony. And began the solo journey home.

But not even he could kid himself that their kiss on his next visit on a Friday night after his patrol with Ladybug was in any way platonic.

When he popped down the hatch into her bedroom, she yelped from the hot pink desk chair she was sitting on and her phone sailed into the air, landing with a thunk above her onto her bed.

Curiously, he picked the offending object up and was greeted with photo manipulated images of himself. Catsuit wide open, abs out and about. Along with other... bulges, the skintight leather suit leaving little to the imagination.

"It doesn't really do me justice, don't ya think?" His lips slid into an easy smirk.

Marinette was an adorable shade of red. As she stood up and met him on the bed, trying to snatch the phone back off him, he could swear there was literal heat emanating from her face. He leaned back into his favourite position (on top of Mr. Tiger who was admittedly, kind of comfortable for being a second rate cat) and Marinette crawled towards him, reaching her hand up to follow her phone encased in his claws, just out of her grasp.

Longer limbs and all.

Helpful in tussles.

And maybe other things.

"Why are you so embarrassed, Marimouse?" The nickname slid off his tongue.

Her eyes sank to the hem of her nightie as she rocked back onto her haunches - this one was pale lavender and hemmed with lace. The crawl towards him in the bed revealed glimpses of a matching panty underneath. Two straps held the sweetheart neckline onto her frame. So delicate.

"You know you get the real thing, right?"

She turned away from him. "You're not here every night."

"What's that?" He cocked a hand around his ear. "Did you miss me?"

His father had flown him to Milan for a shoot last weekend - unexpectedly cutting into prime Marinette time. He'd told Ladybug that he'd be gone but what he really wished he could do was tell Marinette. But he couldn't have her connect the dots between his civilian and superhero identity with the same conspicuous absence. And when he came back he had to play catch up with all the fencing, and tutoring and piano lessons that he missed. He'd gone almost an entire week without seeing her. Well, without her seeing him. Seeing Chat.

He missed her.

And when she finally replied - leaving him hanging long enough to realize how much he wanted her to miss him back - her answer did not come quite in the form he expected. She planted her hands on his thighs, fingering the muscles in his quads as she held him. (All those somersaults you know, and leaping off of buildings - they helped a guy get some leg definition.) Then she leaned forward, and kissed him.

She didn't come here to play. Her kiss was open-mouthed and hungry. She started sucking on his bottom lip and he felt himself quiver under her assault. Her phone dropped with a soft thunk onto the bed as he let it go in favour of twirling his claws through her loose hair. God, he loved it when she let her hair down. It was raised at the back from the pigtails it had been in earlier at school.

The hardest part of being Chat Noir was probably talking to the girl that starred in all of his fantasies at school every day and pretending that it was normal.

That, and his cock.

When she was kissing him. And her fingers on his thighs moved around. Inching their way upwards.

Oh God.

He deepened this kiss further, and removed one hand from her hair to trace the curves along the side of her body to rest along her bottom. He gave it a gentle squeeze - and when she tore her lips away to let out a breathy moan - he took her response as encouragement and began to tenderly knead the curve he found there, careful to keep his claws as out of it and away from her delicate undergarments as possible.

Maybe the hardest part about being Chat Noir was being hypersensitive of his claws. And wishing that he could touch her bare skin without the leather super suit to act as a barrier between them.

She slipped her tongue into his mouth.

Nope, scratch that, it was definitely ah, his throbbing body part.

He greeted her tongue with his own, taking the time to enjoy the many different ways their tongues could meet in each other's mouths. He leaned back as she rocked onto him to sit herself onto his lap - both of them eager to deepen the kiss. Her body rocked against him and he didn't know if she knew she was driving him absolutely mad. Her hips rolled side to side and her tongue danced in his mouth. His blood pounded in his veins, trying to match the pace that she set. Her fingers found their way to his cat ears and a soft stroke of them had him almost groaning.

He had to do something or he'd finish the race before her.

And that would not do.

So for a moment, he let his lips travel away from hers.

She let out a cry of disapproval, which quickly turned into a mewl as he kissed her neck. She became putty in his hands. Instantly, her body softened as she arched back, allowing him access to her skin. Greedily, he took the opportunity and showered her neck with kisses. Some short. Some lingering. Some nibbling. The latter action elicited moans of increasing volume and hearing such sounds escape from Marinette's lips was fast becoming his new favourite pastime. Her fingers slapped across her face in an attempt to muffle her pleasure. With a ragged breath, she asked. "Could you...bite me, Chat Noir?"

His grin was positively animalistic.

"If you insist."

He started nibbling her neck and smiled through his attentions as her breathing got louder. Swapping the edge of his teeth for his lips, he started sucking on her skin. Her breath came out in short gasps. "Chat…" His name left her lips like a plea. He sucked harder and he felt her body tense on top of him. She clutched at his hair, her fingers skimming his cat ears, spurring him on. When he was done, she was breathless. Her eyes looked large in the dark, a dusting of pink scattered across her cheeks and nose as she looked down at him.

"You're my Princess." He pressed a closed-lip kiss to the place he had just kissed, his mark of possession blossoming like a shadow across her neck. Marinette was panting. Her hair was mussed. Her lips were swollen. A single spaghetti strap had fallen from her shoulder, exposing a freckle he didn't know she had there.

He wondered whether it was the man or the animal in him that took pleasure in knowing that he had reduced Marinette to this desperate state of desire.

"I'm yours," she repeated after him. A breathless confirmation.

She wrapped her arms around him to kiss him again.

And again and again.

The mark he saw on Marinette's neck the next day at school was positively sinful.

No amount of make-up could hide it. And a weekend of recovery had barely dulled it.

He knew it was an injury. Technically, a bruise. But, at the time, she had cried out in such pleasure. And afterwards, she insisted that it didn't hurt.

And something in him absolutely swelled knowing that it was his.

He didn't miss Alya's raised eyebrows at it when Marinette ran in, a second before the bell rang like she usually did, a new accessory adorning her usual outfit.

In response to her unasked question, Marinette shrugged, and swept a pink scarf she had brought self-consciously around her neck. In the middle of a heat wave. "My outfit needed an extra accessory today."

Alya opened her mouth to respond but the shrill bell calling home period interrupted her.

Adrien turned his head back to the front of the classroom.

Nino nudged him in the side, "Have a good weekend?"

He tried to wipe the smirk from his face. "It was great. Friday night was especially memorable."

"No way, you ended up getting your hands on UMS IV already?" Nino asked in awe.

Sure, he'd go with that. "Yes."

Daring to look behind him once more, his eyes caught her blue-eyed gaze. She turned an adorable shade of red again and broke eye contact immediately.

Alya nudged her. "Hey girl, isn't that your favourite game?"

"Yes." She swung the pink scarf around her body as spoke and fiddled with it before seeming to give up with a sigh.

Inclining his head towards her, Adrien suggested in the most un-flirty tone he could muster to a girl he was definitely flirting with, "Maybe we could play it together sometime?"

"Only if you're okay with being trounced." She smiled at him - an unexpected challenge in her eyes.

But this was Marinette. So he laughed. "I like girls who can beat me up."

Marinette turned bright red at that, and spun around, the pink scarf she'd just fixed the position of trailing behind her sudden whiplash.

A whisper from his side, "Dude, are you flirting with Marinette?"

Alya looked at him like he was about to be the subject of an intense interrogation.

"Is it working?" he whispered back to Nino. Then called out "Present!" as the teacher called out his name.

Nino and Alya exchanged a wordless conversation that involved furious eyebrows, a facepalm and what he was pretty sure was a death threat from Alya aimed towards his general vicinity.

He shouldn't flirt with her as Adrien.

He really shouldn't.

A few names later, her own "Present!" squeaked from behind him.

But it was just too much fun.

Author's Note: Boy better watch his flirt or he'll let the cat out of the bag. Heh.