It was times like these that Chat Noir felt what he has to be. Wild and free and passionate and unhinged. The reckless and rough hunger for destruction he felt in himself emerge. That's why he could never be with her.
In all other aspects of his life he was a changed man, because of what she had shown him and all he'd felt. But no matter how hard he tried, his baser instincts, his carnal desires, were a raw reflection of the man he was under.
If she wasn't with him, he might had shrunken away to leave a cold void around his skin, as if he had become detached from reality itself.
The bond he had shared with her had been like a bridge out of his fortressed mind, it allowed him to set foot outside it's protective compound and explore the sun-warmed light on the other side. Now, no matter how many people surrounded him, he felt alone.
He had excused himself with a call if he needed help, leaving his Lady after their patrol, that night. He had gone back to a dark, isolated rooftop, where the darkness swirled all around him, tendrils of inkling bleak reminders of his solitude. That was the only place he could show this side of him.
And Chat was letting himself do all that.
Humiliating noises of desperate pleasure tore past his lips as he sat, his head thrown back as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.
He imagined his Lady, no matter how hard he tried no other girl, even Kagami would not grant him the same release. He pictured her in dirty, perverted images that almost scared him. He would growl against her lips when their hips ground each other.
He imagined his face pressed firmly into the side of her neck as the rumbling growling purr erupted from the back of his throat. How her legs would tremble with the pleasure he was giving her. Sparking desire back into it and causing him to groan.
The ongoing cries slowly filled the void that refused to ever let up.
The noises she made sent electric shocks to his groin. It only got worse with every touch, building and pulsing harder with every bump of his hips against her, her wails of ecstasy ringing in his ears as he mercilessly pounded into her.
By the time he got to her, her body was loose and sloppy.
His was panting harder in ecstasy as he perceived the truth. He felt vile even as he stroked himself furious and hard in the darkness. He had no doubt in his mind that she was a virgin, she deserved far better than what he imagined for her.
She was everything.
But no matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to imagine himself making love to her tenderly, it just wasn't in his nature.
The outrage drained Chat Noir rather than skating over his skin. It travelled, it filtered it yet strangely enough. He had decided he couldn't act upon it. He wouldn't do that to her, she didn't deserve to feel love that way, she didn't deserve ferocity. She deserved gentleness and feather light kisses and slow, profound love.
So there he sat, in a dark place as he moaned like an animal in heat, imagining every dirty fantasy he had suppressed during that week. His body tensed and a strangled cry was ripped from him as he found release, his eyes squeezed and mouth open as ragged breath escaped him.
And just like that he collapsed, bit by bit he flighted to catch his breath. The feelings of guilt quickly overwhelmed him. He knew he was a sick man.