Rating: M
14: Kiss Along the Hips
His first love bite was fading.
It was only a faint discoloration, now, a slightly darker pink than the healthy (tantalizing) flush of her skin.
It dug at the primal, irrational parts of him, the ones that said, 'she no longer bears your mark, so she is no longer yours.
It was silly. Stupid.
She'd never been 'his.'
But, when he'd been able to see that little physical proof of their first kiss, that had been all he could think about, the highlight in his every fantasy — Marinette with his mark, his kiss, his claim branded into her skin like ownership.
No one could own Marinette, but fuck if the thought of her only ever doing this with him didn't make his blood run hot and cold and—
He wanted to have that again.
Marinette objected.
"K-K-Kitty, st—ah! Sto— wait—"
She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled hard.
The wet noise of his mouth parting from the skin of her collarbone stuck under his skin like a drug. The pain pinpricking his scalp only added fuel to his fire. He let out a heartfelt groan, hips grinding into the bed of their own accord.
"Chat."
"Wh-… Wha—…" he panted, barely able to see straight for the chemical concoction of Marinette flowing through his veins.
"C-c'mon," she panted right back, eyes glazed and chest brushing up against his collarbone with every inhale. "Do you re-really want the entire world to know you've been k-kissing me?"
There's a strange cadence to that question that he can't parse, something self-deprecating mixing with the arousal, but he's having trouble forming coherent words after hearing 'want the entire world to know' in that rich rasp that he'd turned her voice into.
He'd done that.
He had.
Him.
Adrien Agreste.
Chat Noir.
He'd done that.
Did he want to let the entire world know he'd some way, somehow, been given the opportunity to kiss Marinette Dupain-Cheng nearly senseless?
Yes, hell yes, fuck yes, please oh god oh fuck yes.
She must have read his answer in his eyes from the awkward position she held his head in, because she blushed darker and opened her mouth.
She hesitated, then said, "Well." And she shifted her gaze to the side, the first hint he'd seen all night of the shy schoolgirl he knew out-of-costume. "I happen to like having you as my dirty little secret."
Her rasp darkened into something downright filthy on the last three words, eyes sliding up to meet his, and the combination left him breathless, antsy, frantic, helpless desire searing him from head to toe.
His mouth crashed into hers only slightly by design, lust-addled and feeling like he'd completely lost any self control he may have ever had.
She arched, moaning into the kiss, sweet and fluttery and feminine and so utterly satisfying it had him begging for more, pushing her deeper into her bank of pillows, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand and sliding his other up her body.
He caught his claws in her nightshirt, dragging it up to expose the soft, delicate, sweet-smelling skin of her hip and stomach, and wrenched himself away from her mouth.
He paused there, distracted by the stars swimming in his eyes, then by the ones glittering in hers, then by her wetly glistening cherry-red lips, then the flushed skin of her throat, its lean, graceful lines and vulnerable state.
His gaze dragged lower of its own accord, to the dip of her cleavage to her covered-but-unbound breasts, her nipples pushing up against the fabric of her nightshirt and shifting under it with every breath she took. Below that hypnotic sight, the material of her nightshirt was bunched up over her ribcage, revealing—
Oh, right.
He released her wrists and slid down her lithe form, bringing both his hands to her hips.
She clutched at his shoulders but failed to even attempt to push him away, and he took that as permission to hook his thumbs in her sleep shorts and pull them dangerously low on her hips.
Her thigh jumped up to block him from removing them entirely; pointlessly, seeing as they were as low as he needed them to be already, but he took that as a signal to let go and cradle her now-bare hips instead.
"What-" she squeaked, face scarlet, hands clutching at his leather-clad shoulders even tighter.
His shifting of her clothing had revealed the tips of the 'V' where her thighs met her hips, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths and swallow a few times before he could speak.
"I'll just have to leave a mark where the world won't see it, then," he said. He couldn't recognize his own voice, it was so far gone, his smug leer nearly overpowered by unsteady, helpless desire.
He got to see her eyes go wide in the split second it took him to start sucking the lowest point of the 'V' he'd revealed.
"Ah!" Marinette nearly shouted. She clapped her hand to her mouth and arched, writhing against his grip, and he could only hold her tighter, instincts screaming at him to just take her already.
Musk, salt, sweat. His mouth watered, tongue laving to taste. He tried to set a rhythm, a pattern, suck, lick, suck, bite, but her hips twitched and jumped with every touch, breathy little moans punctuating her heavy panting, and he couldn't keep track of anything any more.
He drew back an indeterminable amount of time later, the sound of Marinette's high, frustrated whine following his retreat. He looked up to check on her—
—and nearly choked on his tongue.
She was flushed all the way down her chest, the rosy top of a breast visible over the hem of her V-neck, eyes glazed, teary at the corners, lips bitten raw and left lust-slack, hair curled into ringlets at the edges and stuck to her temples with sweat, hands tangled in her wrinkled sheets…
"A mark for you alone, Princess," Chat croaked, trying not to be too obvious about the way he was cataloging the picture before him.
He was pretty sure he was failing.
He was also pretty sure he'd seen less suggestive sights in hentai manga.
Fuck, she looked like sex.
She…
She kicked him in the ribs.
He rolled off her, ardor cooling enough to let him think that he may have, possibly, taken this just a little bit too far.
"You are a very bad kitty." she said, stiff and frustrated and confirming his vague fears.
He winced. "I'm—"
"You can show yourself out," she informed him, still bright red and ravished. She wet her lips. "And don't come back tonight."
Tonight?
He blinked at her.
"Tonight?"
She pointed up at her trap door, not looking him in the eye. "Yes, tonight. You are on a twelve-hour ban. Now, out."
And with that, she rolled over, away from him, dragging her quilt over shoulder as she did so.
He looked at her exposed ears and neck, both just the right shade of bright pink to match her new blanket cocoon, and decided to show himself out.
He was not looking forward to the trip home.