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aidanchaser · 1 year ago

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Close Your Eyes [Remix]

Remixed from @jennagrinsoverml's fic Close Your Eyes (E). I had to go the extra bit to double the smut because I wanted to make some pussy eating jokes.

Thank you @ccboomer for beta reading and @mlsquaredance for organizing! I had so much fun with this remix in particular.

They’d begun with kisses and worked their way up from that, but Ladybug was getting tired of being backed against brick walls and plaster chimneys. If she was going to rut against Chat’s thigh and smash his face against hers, she wanted to be smashed against something with a little bit of give.

“I know a spot,” she’d said.

He’d quirked an eyebrow, but he’d followed.

She led him onto her very own rooftop balcony. As she draped herself over the patio chair that she so often sat in to sketch, he asked in a wary whisper, “Isn’t this Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s balcony?”

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her face cool and even tried for an alluring smirk. “It’ll be fine,” she promised him. “You can pull the table over the trapdoor if you’re worried.”

He rocked back on his heels, still clinging to the railing, like it was a threshold he wasn’t ready to cross. But his hesitation was brief, dulled to nothing by the longing stretched out between them.

He tugged her small, round table over the trapdoor to ensure that they wouldn’t be interrupted, though she knew for a fact no one was going to come for them. Her parents were visiting family, and her bedroom would remain unoccupied, at least until this was done.

No sooner had the base of the table crossed over the hinges of the trapdoor than had Ladybug pulled her Chat back into her. They tumbled onto the hammock-like seat in a tangle of limbs. She hardly noticed the way his legs dug into her side and his hands scrambled for purchase as she settled beneath him, focused on nothing but drawing his taste onto her tongue like he was her first sip of sweet wine.

He found his place eventually, lips locked with hers, hands gripped onto the frame of the chair over her head, and legs draped over either side of her, forcing their hips flush. Her hands slid down his back, finding and squeezing the base of him, drawing him against her. He moaned into her mouth as she inhaled sharply and suddenly his lips were gone—not gone, just drifting down her cheek, her neck—his breath was hot against her skin where her hair and suit left just enough room for his lips to press and his breath to burn warm and heady.

“Chat,” she whispered, breathless. The overhang provided a semblance of privacy, but she didn’t dare be loud.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured into her neck.

“You are touching me, you silly kitty,” she said. “I wish you were kissing me.”

“I want to touch you properly.” His whisper turned into a whine, keening into the space behind her ear as she rolled her hips up against his in an effort to bring him back to her.

“There’s nothing proper about this.”

His hands slid down to her hips, pressing them into the pale pink-striped canvas and his lips pulled away. His green eyes were serious as he looked down at her, and she wondered what on earth he was thinking.

“My lady,” he said, voice painfully serious, “I would like to engage in some cannibalism this evening.”

It took a moment to strike her, but when it did, she burst into a loud, brief laugh, entirely out of her control. She pressed her wrist into her mouth to stifle her laughter, and when she finally had control of her breath again, she managed, “You are ridiculous.”

“That’s not the word to describe me.” He pouted, but she smirked.

“And what’s the word to describe you?”

“Horny out of my fucking mind.”

She could tell. She tried again to push up against him, but his hands were firm. “That was six words,” she said, hoping to score at least one victory point.

And it seemed like she’d won. He collapsed back against her. His hands trailed loosely up her sides, against her arms, drawing her hands up and over her head. She leaned up for a kiss, but he turned his head at the last moment, and she only caught the corner of his mouth. His lips found her neck once more and he breathed, “Please, my lady.”

And oh mon dieu, how could she ignore a plea like that?

“On one condition,” she said.

“Anything.”

She reconsidered. “Two conditions.”

“Of course.”

“You wear a blindfold.”

“Kinky,” and his breath seemed to travel down her spine in a course of sparks and shivers. “What’s the second condition?”

“You let me return the favor.”

He went very still. She could no longer feel his breath on her neck and for a moment she wondered if she’d fully stopped his heart and her Chat was no more.

Then, in the most breathless whisper, so quiet she could hardly make it out, “You don’t owe me anything—”

“I want to.” She used his stillness to slip her wrist out of his grip; she slid her fingers up through his hair and pressed her lips against his ear. “If you’re going to eat pussy tonight, I want a taste, too.”

His laughter was buried in her neck, but she felt it reverberate through her bones, and a grin split her face. It was rare that she could turn the tables on him when it came to jokes, so she relished the moments when it worked in her favor.

“I suppose it’s only fair,” he finally said.

The trouble, they found, as they often did in their rooftop and back alley makeout moments, was logistics. The lounge chair Ladybug had led them to worked wonderfully for stretching out and kissing lazily. It was poorly suited for arranging lips to lower lips.

His hands found her hips once again and this time he picked her up off of the chair and dropped her onto the table.

“Oh—” she gasped as she he knelt between her knees and looked up at her with his eager, mischievous green eyes. There was no trace of hesitation in them and she could not help but wonder if he’d done something like this before.

He unfastened his lengthy, tail-like belt and handed it to her. She bit down on her lip, but took it reverently, as if it were his very soul bared to her.

It had taken her a long time to recognize her Chat’s sincerity. He joked so often and about so much that she had not realized that the way he loved the world was the same as the way he loved her, and that he loved her as if she were his world.

It had taken her a long time to realize that he was her world, too.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked, as if he was the one who was uncertain. She trailed a hand through his hair, gloved fingertips grazing against the base of his leather cat ears and he leaned up into her touch.

He pressed his mouth to her thigh and murmured, “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”

She swallowed. Then with more care and grace than she had ever taken with anything, she fastened his belt over his eyes. Once she was sure it was snug, she whispered, “Spots off.”

His hands found the fastener of her pants so quickly that she had a flash of panic that he could still see her, but she reminded herself that her Chat would never betray her trust that way.

He tugged on the waistband of her pants, and she threw her weight back on her hands to give him leverage. She kicked off her shoes, and he pulled her pants over her ankles and down to the floor. She pressed up on her hands again so he could tug off the last barrier between him and his goal, but he didn’t take it. Instead, the soft leather pads of his gloves slid along her thigh and up to the elastic edge. He pressed his nose up against her and took in a long breath, then let it out just as slow.

She shivered and her abs and arms trembled as she held perfectly still. Then he pulled, and she was bare.

His lips pressed again into her thigh and he nipped gently at the sensitive flesh. She bit back a yelp tangled in a moan. His lips curved into a smirk against her skin and he moved closer, only to nip again.

He was such a tease.

But before she could complain, his hand splayed across her hip and his thumb angled down, pressing into her clit. He was careful with the claw-like tips of his gloves and she wondered if the tips of his gloves were the very reason he had decided to be intimate with his tongue instead of trying something simpler first.

She sucked in a breath through her teeth as his thumb rubbed against her clit. Her head tipped back and her gaze flooded with stars. They twinkled overhead, winking at her wonton display. Then they disappeared as her eyes went wide and her vision faded into stars of her own. His tongue slipped between her like a needy kiss and she fell back onto her elbows. She no longer saw what was above her, but instead her mind was turned toward him, toward his warm breath against her skin, the faint scrape of claws against the back of her thigh, and the pads of leather pressing into her muscles.

She bit down on another moan as his tongue slipped up to take the place of his thumb. He was so careful with his teeth and claws now, nothing but soft and pliant, and in turn, she went soft and pliant beneath him.

He sucked gently as she drew breath, and as she exhaled his tongue turned flat against her. The rhythm of it was uneven, yet they kept pace with each other. She was unsure if she followed him or he took his cues from her, but they moved as one, ramping up as her breaths quickened.

And then he pulled away and the chill of the evening took his place. But before she could even whine a complaint, his knuckles dragged against her slit and she fell back fully, splayed out on the table and gasping. Her hands groped for purchase and as if he sensed her need, one of his hands slid into hers, fingers between fingers, palm to palm, and she gripped him as if she were falling and he was the ledge that would keep her from dying.

She pushed up into his hand at her waist, tight and taut and holding onto the ecstasy of his smooth leather knuckles against her swelling folds for as long as she could until it swept out of her like the ebbing tide. Her grip relaxed, but his hand did not slow. His knuckles still dragged across her, pressing, massaging, and she twisted beneath him with a moan.

“Chaton,” she murmured, voice uneven and breathless. “Chaton, please.”

He granted her a brief reprieve, withdrawing his hand only to plant another kiss. She whined and tipped her head back and hips up. Her vision spun with vertigo and she bit back the instinct to call for Tikki, to save herself from falling by transforming into Ladybug. She had no need for heroics here. She was in safe hands. She trusted these hands.

But she was going to lose herself if he didn’t give her a break.

She reached forward, sliding her hand along his scalp and down to the nape of his neck. She tugged gently and he obediently fell away. She followed, sitting up once more. She stroked his hair as he leaned his cheek against her thigh. She could not see his eyes, but his lips glistened in the moonlight.

She wanted so badly to peel back the makeshift blindfold. She wanted so badly to see him, to let him see her properly.

But there was nothing proper about this.

She trailed her hand down from his hair to his cheek and brushed her finger along his lips.

“May I return the favor?” she whispered.

For an answer, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips. He pressed his kisses along her wrist, the inside of her forearm, up until he hit the cuff of her jacket. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, his ears seemed to go flat with disappointment as he reached the end of her bare skin.

She pulled him up onto his feet and into a kiss. She moaned as the familiar taste of him melted into the new taste of her own musk that still lingered on his tongue. His hands pressed into her hips, pulling her up against him and her breath hitched as his leather-clad thigh slipped between her legs. She rolled her body against his as she had done so many times in her suit, but bare and exposed like this was a fully new thing. She felt her face grow hot and heat flush into her shoulders and pool in her gut. She was glad for his blindfold. He could not see how properly embarrassed she was even as she rolled her hips into him.

And even though she was supposed to be returning the favor that he had granted her, he seemed more interested in letting her chase a second high against his body as he pulled her tighter against him. His lips again moved past hers, this time to her ear where he nipped gently and another chill went through her body.

“Mon minou?” she murmured into his ear.

He hummed and it was like her entire body reverberated in time with his tune.

“Are you stalling?”

And he went very still, the way he had when she had first suggested they make this an exchange. She recalled his delicate refusal and pulled away from him to get a better look at his face, but his gaze was still hidden from her. She pressed her palm to his cheek and thumbed gently at the leather restraint.

“Chaton, you can tell me no.”

He turned into her palm, pressing another kiss into her skin and this time she waited it out, waited for him to say what was on his mind.

“I don’t want to tell you no,” he finally murmured.

Her heart surged and it took all of her self-control to stay still, to wait for him to finish, for him to name whatever it was that was still holding him back.

“I’m just… nervous,” he finally admitted.

She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Her Chat would give and give, but she knew how hard it was for him to accept something for himself.

“I was nervous,” she said, “but you took care of me. I’d do no less for you.”

“Ladybug is never nervous.”

“Oh, Chaton, I’m nervous all the time.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, long and slow, then he pulled away to murmur, “You should dress before you turn back.”

Her heart ached to lose contact with him, for however brief, but he was right. Even the possibility that he might recognize Marinette’s shoes was too much to risk.

She pulled her pants back on and slid her feet into her ballet flats before whispering, “Tikki, spots on.” As the flash of light faded, he yanked his belt down to his neck.

His eyes were so bright in contrast with the dark night and the dark leather looped around his throat. She surged in for another kiss and he stumbled back. He fell against the balcony railing, back bowing in a fine curve as he sank into her arms. She recognized the trust he was giving her, but she still waited for him to confirm.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked again.

“I am,” he whispered into her mouth.

Though she was reluctant to do so, she stepped away from him again and called on her Lucky Charm. She expected a scarf or a blindfold to fall into her hands so that she could do as she wanted and take all of him without his mask or leather between them.

Instead, what she got was a square foil packet, no bigger than the palm of her hand.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she sighed.

A smile tugged on his lips. “Tikki approves, at least?” he said.

“Yes, but how are you going to detransform now?”

“The better question is how am I not going to? It seems like I have full permission from the universe to bare all my most delicate parts to you.”

“Chat—”

His hands closed around hers and he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Just close your eyes, my lady. I trust you.”

She pursed her lips, but sank down to her knees. She looked up at him, taking one last moment to memorize the wary smile on his lips, the messy, chaotic swoops of his golden hair, and the way his eyes glinted with anticipation and masked mischief.

Then she closed her eyes and leaned against him. The smooth, cool leather of his thigh against her cheek vanished in a flash of light, brilliant even behind her closed eyes, and it was replaced by rough denim. She fumbled for the button of his jeans and tried to will her embarrassment to return to the pit of her stomach. Everything he had done to her had felt deliberate; she felt like she was a teenager again, fumbling in a dark closet and not truly knowing anything about what she was supposed to do.

But she wasn’t a teenager anymore. She had some ideas, even if she’d never actually done this before.

She found the bulge in his pants rather easily, once she started looking. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. He’d been buried nose-deep into her for so long, it was a wonder he hadn’t come already.

With an attempt at the same delicacy he had shown her, she tugged open his jeans and slid her hands beneath the waistband of his briefs. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to open her eyes for a glimpse. She just imagined that they were as black as his suit and pulled them down, freeing his cock.

It bumped against her cheek, but she ignored it. Instead, she pressed her lips against his hip and felt the firm, unyielding line of his pelvis. She would commit a litany of crimes if it meant she could see how those lines drew into a V at his waist. Longingly, she trailed one hand up his stomach, beneath the cotton of his T-shirt, and gauged the shape of his abdomen. The leather bodysuit left nothing to the imagination, true, but there was still so much she hadn’t yet considered. She wished desperately to touch him with her own bare hands, and she felt guilty that she’d hesitated at all when he’d suggested they try this. Now she couldn’t believe they had waited this long.

His breath hitched as she reached his pecs and her fingertips grazed his nipple.

He reached for her wrist and gently guided her hand back down to his groin. She was reluctant to follow his lead, but there would be times other than this. There would be time to explore each other fully later, someday, when they were free to do everything without masks or blindfolds.

She wrapped her hand around his member and rolled her wrist as she moved from tip to base and back. He moaned under her touch, so she repeated the movement. Again, she wished her hands could be bare, but she contented herself with what they had, and what they had was one lucky condom.

She unwrapped the foil and carefully unrolled the rubber over his dick with the same twisting thrusts. This, she knew how to do. Someday she’d have to thank Alya for that one sleepover they’d spent putting condoms on bananas for practice and arguing about how it could possibly be sexy.

Finally, she put her mouth over his head. She wasn’t entirely sure how to mimic the twists of her hand that had seemed to work so well, but she hollowed her cheeks and pressed her tongue to the underside of his dick and lowered herself down. She felt his hips thrust up against her and one hand went to the back of her neck—nothing tight, just steady and firm.

With one hand, she held his hip, more for a guideline of where she was in space since she couldn’t see, and with her other, she sought his other hand. She found it clenched tight against the railing and she slid her fingers over his knuckles. He relaxed beneath her touch, but as she pulled her head back and let her tongue linger over his tip, his grip tightened once more and he barely restrained a moan.

She listened for every hitch in his breath and doubled down when she caught it. He groaned when the head of his cock hit the roof of her mouth so she did it again and again. He choked on his own breath when she pressed a kiss to the base of cock and sucked gently, so she peppered those kisses along his length. He whined, “Ladybug,” as she bobbed on his cock from tip to hilt, so she did it again and again and again until his every breath was, “Ladybug, Ladybug Ladybug,” inhale and exhale, constant, like a fervent prayer.

And then she felt the tendons in his wrist flex and his hand tightened in her hair. Everything about him went rigid and he came. She stayed still, mouth firmly around his cock, until, slowly, his hands unwound from her hair and his grip on the railing relaxed. He sagged backwards and she pressed a kiss to his pelvis once more and nuzzled his thigh the way he had nuzzled hers.

His hand tightened again in her hair, pulling her up and she came obediently, rising to meet his lips with hers and though she could not see him, he guided her all the same. They kissed long and slow, and she and he both, hands working as one, pulled the condom away.

“I wonder,” she murmured between gentle kisses, “if I use my miraculous power, would the Lucky Charm reset you to full hardness?”

He laughed into her mouth and that was how she knew that this had all gone well. There was nothing changed between them, just something new and warm and delicate.

They fell into the chair together, legs hooking around each other. Her boot nudged against a laced sneaker and the cuff of his jeans. His bare hands trailed against the scale-like pattern of her suit. Her lips and his lips brushed against each other as they settled and stilled.

“Are you going to change back?” she murmured.

“Can I enjoy this a moment more?”

She stuck out her lower lip in what she hoped was an exaggerated pout. “I thought you were nervous.”

“Only because this was all I’ve ever dreamed about. Maybe I’m not ready to let it go yet.”

She thought about teasing him, asking if he kept a body pillow of Ladybug that he clung to at night, but that would be unfair of her to mock him after he’d been so vulnerable with her.

He nosed gently at her neck and breathed in, long and slow, and out in the same pace, almost like he was settling in for a nap. She trailed her fingers lazily through his hair, like she might if he were a cat curling up on her chest. She was surprised to find his hair as silky as it was when he was transformed. She had always assumed it was the magic that made his hair so perfect.

He hummed into her neck and it startled her. Not because it was unpleasant, but because she was so used to hearing him purr. Instead, out of his suit, he hummed through his contentment. It was a gentle tune, familiar…

Her hand stilled in his hair. She knew the song he was humming. She knew it because she had heard it one other place and only one other place.

“I didn’t compose it for keyboard,” Adrien had said, “so it might not—”

“I want to hear it,” Marinette had interrupted.

They’d been on the deck of Liberty after a Kitty Section rehearsal. Some of the band had drifted below deck. Others had gone ashore for snacks. Marinette and Adrien had been left alone.

And he’d played it for her. Only for her.

She pulled away from him and fumbled for the table. She practically fell into it; its rounded edge dug into her gut. She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, as if she could undo the memory that had struck her.

“Ladybug?” he asked.

And oh, no, she could already hear him in his voice.

“Ladybug, what’s wro—”

“Stop talking! Stop—stop—stop thinking, oh, please, please stop thinking—”

“Thinking? Ladybug, what are you talking about?”

“You can’t—you can’t know that song!” And as the words left her mouth she regretted them. Because if he knew the song, then she knew who he was. And if he knew that she knew the song, then he would know who she was.

She groaned, and it was the most unhappy groan of the evening. She pressed her head into the table. “I—I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t answer. Her heart pounded and her ears rang and she heard no sound from him. She wondered if he had leapt off of the balcony without a word. She wouldn’t blame him. She wished she could run from what she had just heard and said—but it was too late to undo what she’d done.

She turned and opened her eyes.

And there he was: Adrien Agreste, sitting on her chair, on her balcony, head buried between his knees and hands laced around the back of his neck, struggling to breathe.

She knelt beside him and tried again to apologize. “I’m sorry—”

“This is my fault,” he gasped. “I’m sorry—I never should have said—It was my idea—”

“No, no,” she insisted. “Adrien, I did this. I didn’t have to say anything. Or I could have said no. It’s my responsibility—”

“No, don’t, don’t do that.” He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. “Please, Ladybug—” He squeezed his eyes closed and wrinkled his nose. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she tried, but he hardly seemed to hear her.

He seemed to have gone somewhere even Ladybug couldn’t reach.

She took in a deep breath of her own and did her best to banish every nerve that seemed to light up her veins with fear. Her fear still persisted, and though she knew she would only be less brave without her mask, she also knew that there was no point in pretending they had anymore secrets to keep.

“Tikki, spots off,” she said again.

And now her bare hands were on his denim-clad knees. She trailed her fingers along his arm to his wrist and carefully pried his fingers loose from his neck.

“Adrien,” she whispered. “Will you look at me?”

He hesitated, and she waited. She waited until the tension in his shoulders slumped and his bare hands turned hers over, examining every vein and freckle and tendon like he was seeing it for the first time.

It was the first time, but it also wasn’t.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” he said again, voice thin.

She bit down on her lip, knowing there was nothing she could say to undo what had been done. It was his fault only as much as it was her fault. She could have kept her guard up. She could have insisted he change back. She never had to return the favor that he had granted her. There were a thousand things they could have changed to have avoided ending up here, and she wasn’t sure that she’d trade any of them.

“I’m not sorry,” she whispered back, and she squeezed his hands.

He let out a long, slow breath, as if it was losing her favor that had been his true fear, rather than this revelation of truth. “Since the beginning?” he asked.

“Imagine how I feel,” she said, “all those months pining after you when you were literally at my side, begging me to date you.”

Finally, he looked up at her, and she thought she saw a smile on the corner of his mouth. “I guess we were both a bit ridiculous.”

And she felt the double-meaning. They had both been ridiculous, pining after each other without even noticing. They had also been ridiculous tonight, thinking they would each be able to pull off this intimacy without revealing their most intimate secret. The way this had ended was inevitable.

She pushed herself up towards him and he met her in another kiss, which was, for each of them, as much an apology as it was forgiveness.

When they pulled apart, she said, “You know, I do have a bed downstairs. Like, a real proper mattress and everything.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I imagine Tikki and Plagg could find better things to do?”

They kissed again, briefly, because there was too much else to be eager for. Then they both hefted the table from the trapdoor, combining their merely human strength, and slipped down to Marinette’s bedroom, where they would be able to, for the first time, do everything the way that they wanted. No masks. No blindfolds. Nothing to keep them apart—not once their shoes, jeans, and t-shirts had been discarded.

#miraculous square dance 2023 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fic #ladynoir #ladynoir fic #ml #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic

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