Rating: M
19: Forceful Kiss
His eyes were downcast as he crawled through her window, avoiding her gaze.
"Listen, Princess—"
That was as far as she let him get.
She smothered the flow of words with her mouth and hauled him deeper into her room, dismissing whatever he was going to say in favor of feeding the seething flames in her abdomen.
If it was still important afterwards, he could tell her then. Right now she had needs.
Her mouth parted against his, stroking and nibbling and coaxing and demanding to be let in. His response was delayed, slow with shock, but he opened to her with a soft, rumbling groan against her lips all the same.
She wasted no time in taking advantage of it.
She followed her mental map of the most sensitive areas of his mouth and tongue, needing needing needing to draw a reaction from him, needing to hear him, to feel him respond to her after the night she'd had.
The damn cat had promised to love Ladybug, so why wouldn't he kiss her?
Chat struggled to match her, still dazed and more reactive than anything else. Gloved hands clung to her waist, claws scratching at her skin just beneath the hem of her shirt.
She pulled him tighter against her, shuddering, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and scraping her teeth over it. The moan it dragged out of him went straight to her core. She gasped, tripping over her feet, dragging him with her as the intensity of it resonated in her bones.
He caught her, hands on the backs of her thighs sliding up, up, up, up over her backside, up over the small of her back, up over the curve of her waist, up over the swoop of her shoulder blades, grasping her biceps and holding her tighter as he responded, tongue touched to hers for only a brief moment before exploring her mouth.
It was slow, gentle — far too gentle — but she whimpered and shuddered anyway, opening up wider, hips jumping at the way he slowly, oh so slowly took her mouth.
It wasn't enough. His reaction still wasn't enough. He still didn't want her enough.
She switched directions, going from aimlessly pulling to shoving him backwards until the backs of his legs hit her lounge, then shoved harder to force him down onto it.
The damn cat had promised to love Ladybug, so why wouldn't he kiss her?
He'd had the perfect moment today, in an abandoned corner during a stakeout. He'd had her pinned against a chimney, faces only inches apart and the distance shrinking, and he'd—
He'd backed away.
He'd backed away, stammering excuses and leaving her intensely frustrated, wondering what she'd done wrong.
He was happy enough to kiss Marinette, so why wouldn't he kiss Ladybug?
She crawled over him on the chaise lounge, never once breaking the kiss, taking her insecurity and frustration out on him now that she had him both willing and where she wanted him.
Chat let out another groan, lower and huskier in timbre than the last, his side of the kiss finally beginning to match hers in heat. She drew back and hovered, needing to take stock of him and what she'd accomplished in the last minute or so.
For a moment he chased her, a whine escaping his throat, then fell back against the pillows of her lounge, panting. Her partner was flushed, blinking eyes slightly blown and unfocused... until they fell on her. Her belly clenched, thighs flexing under the heat of that look.
"Th-that was," he puffed, swallowing hard as his hand went to her hip in a steadying motion. "That was quite the welcome, princess."
He was wisecracking. It seemed she hadn't kissed him hard enough.
She ignored the hand on her hip and dove back in, relishing his surprised gasp, greedily chasing its source, tangling her hand in his hair so she could move his head to a different, better angle.
She kicked off her shoes, the soft thumps of them hitting the floor ringing in her ears like a gavel, order in the court, order in the court, but there was no order, just him and her and the electric pressure that was building in her bones.
Three akuma attacks spent watching him strut his stuff had left her burning in a hopeless and futile way; left her with a longing that congealed into an empty, restless ache in her bones once she was alone. She couldn't get rid of that ache no matter what she did. It just sat and simmered, distracting her and making her slow and irritable, causing her to snap at her friends and family over nothing and keeping her awake in the worst of ways.
Yet so much as a look from him and the ache would burst into desire once more, making her want to trace the contours of his mouth with her tongue when he was close, making her want to chase his body heat when he moved away, making her want to beg kiss me touch me take me please anything whenever his lips curled in that sinful smirk.
Dealing with it was beyond her. Knowing how was beyond her.
Control was a half-remembered thing of the past. She could only want him, want him desperately and want him now.
In the now, her lungs began to burn enough for her to pull back again and catch her breath, lips tingling in complaint of the loss.
This time there were no wisecracks from her kitty, only shuddering pants and swallowed hums.
Good.
She sat back, straddling him. His body was fever-warm between her thighs, hard muscle shifting with every breath. She took a sharp breath of her own, mouth going dry at the feeling of him through the thin fabric of her leggings.
Well, her leggings and his suit.
His goddamned suit.
A spark of righteous anger flared at the sight of the thick, indestructible material. She dragged her eyes down it and the lean physique of the body it hid, gaze settling on the long zippers of his pockets in the outer casing.
In the outer casing.
Inspiration struck. She tugged down the zipper tabs, slipping her fingers into the pockets to see if the suit was any thinner inside.
To her joy, it was. Much thinner, actually; she could feel the heat of him so much more closely there, could feel the trembling of his abdominal muscles, the erratic pulse fluttering under his skin... She swallowed and subtly licked her lips, a quiver needling through her gut as he squirmed at her touch, watching her with wide eyes.
Wanting to get at more of him, even if just through his pocket linings, she scooted her hips back to meet his.
A gasp tore out of her at the movement, spine snapping straight (she hadn't realized she was so wet), which shifted her weight and brought her attention to—
Oh.
She shifted again, wondering if she was imagining it, the physical proof of her effect on him — and he groaned, slamming his eyes shut and flexing his hands on her hips.
Oh.
A thrill of power sparked down her spine, jolted her belly, prickled her scalp. She arched in its wake, curving her back and pressing her breasts together with her biceps for emphasis on almost pure instinct.
(Almost, because she'd caught him staring before. She'd just never quite had the courage to do something like this.)
A slow, deliberate smirk formed on her face, and she watched with glee as his eyes flit from her lips, to her chest, to where her thighs bracketed his body and then all the way back up, his adam's apple bobbing.
"So," she purred, sliding her hands fully into his pockets, face warm and heart in her mouth. She made a show of licking her lips, emboldened by the way his eyes snapped to her mouth like she'd done something mind-blowing. "Just how uncomfortable does this suit get, kitty?"
His slit pupils make it very, very easy to see how wide they went in the split second before she flattened her palms inside the pockets, smoothing over taut sinew with only one very thin layer of cloth between them — and then he arched, throwing his head back on her pillows to expose the muscle jumping in his jawline, the convulsive working of the lines of his throat.
Her lungs emptied at the display of submission, exhaling on an airless laugh. Drawing her hips in a slow, teasing circle, she threw her shame and reservations out the window in exchange for stoking the heat in her abdomen, the heat in her breasts, the heat in her thighs.
He gave a strangled shout and writhed underneath her, writhed between her legs and up against the apex of them. That was all it took to melt her bravado into a sharp whimper, toes curling against the fabric of her lounge as her core tightened like a vice.
"Very," Chat choked, struggling to keep himself still. "Very, very, very — oh god — very un-uncomfort—nngh!"
He cut off on a snarled grunt when she shifted again, clutching at her hips like a liferaft.
(There was a faint thought that maybe she should put a stop to this, that they should slow down, but it was very, very difficult to hear over Chat's strangled panting and the pounding of her own blood.)
She moved her hips in another slow circle, fingers spreading, every part of her hoping to get that noise again (and again and again and again and—).
His hands left her hips to clutch the sides of the lounge cushion, back arching into the air as he bucked into her.
She gasped, rolling into the motion, vision gone with the ecstasy of him—
The world tipped. Her stomach swooped — not in a good way — and with an aborted grab at his pockets she found herself greeting her floor with a painful crash. (For the umpteenth time. They had to stop meeting like this.)
She gasped for air, cool floorboards slowly leeching heat from her skin as she waited for the world to stop spinning.
"Are you—" Chat started.
She glanced up to find him peeking over the pink-and-white edge of her lounge, only his eyes and ears visible.
"Are you okay?" he finished, chagrined, pulling up a little more until she could see the flush under his mask and the embarrassed, worried grimace on his mouth.
"Yep," she squeaked, voice not yet back to full working order. "Peachy."
He groaned and drew back to press his face into the cushion, his one visible leather ear twitching and drooping. "I am so sorry."
She exhaled a breath caught between a sigh and a laugh, and reached up to pet the top of his head. It took a few tries, her distracted fingers finding the bed and his shoulder and his neck as she did her best to ignore the surge of wanting still in her blood. But eventually she managed, finding his fluffy head and giving it a comforting ruffle.
"You're good, Chat."
He turned his head to rake his eyes over her, giving her a little smirk that said more than words ever would.
Oh, it's on, she couldn't help but think. Her fingers tightened, tugging sharp and rough at his hair as she pulled herself back up onto the lounge and onto him. Letting go, she ran them down over his shoulders and up the tight fabric encasing his arms to grab his wrists, hitching them above his head, savouring the fractional widening of his eyes.
She leaned into the pose like a cat, then met his gaze and very deliberately ran her tongue over her teeth.
His smirk dropped.
Bending down, she let her lips brush his ear and exhaled until she felt him shudder.
"But I'm better."