Archive of Our Own

Adrien wakes with the dawn, with the sunlight that casts gold over his face and on his eyelids, making them glow in the waking light. He knows at once that he's not at home. His bed isn't this small, and more to the point, his bed at home has never had a sleeping Marinette in it. He smiles, cracking his eyes open, and looks down at her.

She's draped over his chest, her lips parted slightly, her breathing slow and deep and even. Her eyes are closed to show him the perfect curve of her long lashes, her hair draped loose and shining over her shoulder; her hand lies over his heart, her fingers clenched tight in his shirt, like she's trying to make sure that he can't leave without waking her up.

His shirt. Adrien's eyes go wide as he realizes –

He's not transformed. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt and his overshirt, the same thing he wore to class yesterday, the same thing that Marinette always sees him in.

There's absolutely no reason for Adrien to be in her bed with her.

If she wakes up, he's screwed.

Adrien licks his lips, considering his options, and then he lifts his head as high as he can without moving Marinette at all and looks around for Plagg. He's not on the pillows, or the rest of the bed. If Adrien could raise his head a little more, he could maybe see the top of Marinette's mannequins, but he already knows that this is doomed to fail. Plagg is either somewhere below them, in Marinette's room, or downstairs, in the kitchen or in the bakery, going through the fridge and looking for something to eat.

Adrien is going to kill him. No cheese for a month.

He glances down at Marinette's sleeping head.

Strike that – no cheese for a year.

On the off chance that Plagg is still somewhere in earshot, Adrien gently cups a hand over Marinette's ear and hisses his transformation phrase, but nothing happens. He drops his head back onto Marinette's pillow and mouths vicious curses at the ceiling. Of all the days for Plagg to pull one of his disappearing acts – Couldn't he have done this last night, when Adrien was alone at home and bored out of his mind? He would have welcomed something to do, even if it was 'play hide and seek with the ancient kwami of destruction who should bloody well know better by now'.

He can only think of two options, and both are terrible for his nerves. He can wait for Plagg to decide to come back, hoping Marinette doesn't wake up in the meantime. This option isn't as bad as it sounds – her parents aren't home, and it's dawn on a Saturday. Adrien's heard stories of Marinette sleeping straight through until noon before, so there's a good chance Plagg will get bored and come back before she wakes up. But Adrien will be anxious every second, jumping at shadows and distant noises in the street, and in her position, she might sense the tension in his body and wake up because of it. Or, he can try to slide his shirt out of her hand, or take the shirt off altogether. Somehow. He would have to be so, so slow and patient to avoid waking her up. Adrien pictures it in his head, pictures inching his shirt out of her grasp and holding his breath every time Marinette so much as flinches or breathes faster, and he winces. He doesn't think he's that patient.

He glances down at Marinette's face, sleeping so content and peaceful that she looks like the most beautiful dream, and he feels a ferocious wave of tender affection fill him up to bursting. She'd been so tired last night that her head started drifting to the side almost as soon as the movie started. Only his arm thrown around her shoulders had saved her from toppling into the wall. He'd coaxed her to lean on his shoulder, instead, and there she'd slept until even the credits had long since finished playing.

Adrien knows he should have left her in her bed and gone home to his. But she'd smelled so good, and she was so comfortable pressed against his side...

Five more minutes, he'd promised himself. Ha. He'd be surprised if he'd lasted more than two.

This isn't the worst place in the world to be trapped, Adrien thinks. And if he'd had to pick anyone to learn his secret – besides Ladybug – Marinette would be first on his list, no thought required.

So. That's that, he supposes. Adrien refuses to do anything that might wake her up. Hopefully Plagg will slink back with his tail between his legs before Marinette wakes up, but even if he doesn't, this isn't the worst thing that could have happened.

Adrien tightens his arm around Marinette's shoulders, tucking her more securely into his side, and closes his eyes. He pictures his physics textbook open to the last chapter they'd gone over in his university lecture, and makes a game of trying to remember the formulas and what they're used for, the people who came up with them and their accomplishments. All the while, Marinette sleeps quietly on his chest, the slight weight of her head against his chest oddly soothing.

He moves on to his literature homework after that, but it's harder to keep that stuff in his head, and Adrien finds himself drifting more than once. The bed is warm, and so is Marinette, and part of Adrien recognizes that he's never been so cozy in all his life. He's fighting it, but even he can't fight off sleep forever. His thoughts grow slower, moving through his head like thick honey, and his whole body relaxes into the bed...

And then a truck backfires in the street. Marinette startles so badly that she jerks away from Adrien and would have crashed into the wall if he hadn't yanked her back toward him with the arm he'd slung around her shoulders. He lifts his other hand to slap it over her eyes, but it's too late – her eyes are wide open and staring at his face, her pupils shrunk all the way down to tiny pinpricks. She's panting, too. The truck must have scared the hell out of her.

Shit.

"It's okay," Adrien says, keeping his voice low and soothing. "It's just me."

Marinette doesn't say anything. She continues to stare at Adrien as her breath slows back down to normal, and then her pupils start to slowly expand and return to their normal size, but still she doesn't say a word. Her hand is still clenched in his shirt, the fabric twisted tight around her fingers, so Adrien couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to.

(Not that he ever wants to – but that's a thought Adrien's trying not to let himself think. He's had enough of impossible loves, thank you very much.)

"Hey," Adrien whispers, rubbing his thumb over Marinette's arm. "You okay?"

Slowly, her eyebrows press together, scrunching her forehead as she looks at him in vague confusion. "Chat?"

Adrien hesitates. Can he lie to her? Is there some kind of story he could tell her to explain why Adrien's in her bed?

It's too late, though, because she then says, "But Adrien. Chat-but-Adrien? Really?" She laughs quietly, her body shaking very slightly with her breath, and lets her eyes drift closed again. "Come on, brain, you can do better than that. This is a very nice dream, but why couldn't it have been the one where he eats me out until I cry?" She sighs and nuzzles into him again, completely unaware of the way Adrien has tensed up in every muscle.

There's a very faint, high-pitched ringing sound in Adrien's ears and his whole body is so hot that he wouldn't be surprised if he'd spontaneously started sweating. His head is an empty wasteland of ??? as he desperately tries not to picture it and fails completely.

Holy shit he's going to die.

That –

His mind bombards him with fantasies: Marinette, her tank top pushed up to her neck as Adrien lays a trail of hot and hungry kisses down the perfect curve of her breast until he reaches her nipple, licking it into his mouth as she arches beneath him and cries out his name; Marinette laying flushed and naked and beautiful before him as Adrien buries his face in her stomach and breathes in the scent of her skin and then sucks a bruise into the smooth and soft skin just under her belly button; finally, finally getting to put his mouth on her and devour her whole as Marinette twists and writhes and begs him to let her come again and again and again, until she begs him to stop –

What does Marinette smell like? Is it like the scent of green and growing things that he can smell very faintly under what's left of her shampoo? Or is it muskier than that? What does she taste like? Would she look him in the eyes as he goes down on her, shove her hands in his hair and direct him, use him to get off, or would she squeeze her eyes shut and let him please her?

(Until she cries, she'd said with a sleepy, dreamy yearning in her voice, and the memory makes another hot thrill run through his entire body.)

Adrien's dick is pressing so hard against the zipper of his jeans that he's going to have an imprint of his boxers on his skin. He wants that more than he's ever wanted anything in his entire life. Any of it. All of it. Whatever Marinette will give him.

Belatedly, he realizes that he's panting. His heart is pounding so hard that Adrien can hear his own pulse in his ears. Adrien puts his hand over the one that's still clutching his shirt, pressing her fingers gently into his chest. "Do you mean that?" he asks; it comes out so deep and gravelly that Adrien's shocked by the sound of his own voice. He swallows and tries again. "Marinette? Do you – "

Do you want me? is what he'd meant to ask, but it's so pathetic that he can't actually get the question out. He wants so badly for it to be true that he can't face the idea of being rejected. If she says no, it will kill him.

When had Marinette stolen inside his heart and made a home for herself there? Or had she always been there, and Adrien was just too stupid to see her past the overwhelming fire of Ladybug?

"Hmm," Marinette sighs, nuzzling her cheek against his chest. Adrien can feel his cheeks burning like a traffic light. "Adrien-kitty. My favorite dream..."

She can't possibly be awake. There's no way she would ever say any of this out loud if she were conscious. And that means that Adrien is possibly the biggest asshole in the entire world right now for not somehow stopping her from talking out loud. But God, what he wouldn't give for this to be real – for Marinette to want him awake as well as asleep, for her to be brave enough to put him where he belongs and take what she wants from him.

Adrien looks up at the ceiling and stares at it for a minute while he gets his rampaging emotions in check, because he doesn't want his voice wobbling when he talks to her in case that wakes her up more. When he's sure his voice isn't going to break on him, Adrien turns his nose into Marinette's hair and whispers to her. "Shh," he says quietly, hoping that his voice is a pleasant and soothing murmur at the far edge of her dreams. Adrien rubs the hand still on his chest in small, calming circles. "Go back to sleep."

Where the hell is Plagg?

Adrien cranes his neck again, hoping that by some miracle he'll spot his kwami flying back to him, licking his chops, completely unconcerned about all the trouble he's caused –

But there's nothing there. Of course there isn't. He's a walking, talking curse of bad luck, after all. What else had he expected?

Frustrated, Adrien lets his head drop back onto the pillow again in exactly the same spot. There's a soft wumph of air that echoes in his ears, far louder than he would have ever expected, even though he can name every force and the interactions between them that made it happen.

Adrien freezes, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, his arm an iron bar around Marinette's shoulders. Please, he prays. Let her sleep for a little while longer.

But the weight of her head is lifting from his chest. Adrien glances down to see her eyes cracked open, staring at her own hand on his chest. He holds his breath, because there's still the outside chance that she's still asleep with her eyes open, like she was before –

Slowly Marinette looks up at him, horror in the reluctant way that her eyes drag up his body. Her face is pale and her hand trembles on his chest. She knows who she's going to find and it terrifies her. The thought makes his chest ache. What has he ever done to scare her like this?

"This isn't a dream," she says faintly, her eyes begging him to tell her otherwise. "Is it."

Adrien shakes his head.

She drags a harsh breath through her nose before she speaks again. "And that means – oh my God – " Marinette scrambles to get away from him, jamming her back into the wall in a flurry of limbs. Adrien doesn't try to hold her. She covers her mouth with her hands, staring at him with wide, panicked eyes. "That means I said all of that to your face," she whispers.

Adrien has no idea what to say to make this better, but he has to try. "Marinette – "

"Oh no no no, I'm so sorry," Marinette says, tumbling over him in her panic, waving her hands around like she's trying to take flight. "Adrien – or Chat – I – Please, I'm not – I – "

Her breath is starting to come quick and shallow between her words in a way that Adrien doesn't like. He sits up, carefully reaching for her flailing hands, and in a moment of pure desperation he presses them to his chest again.

(Where they belong, some stubborn part of his mind insists.)

She's silent now, her huge eyes flicking between their sandwiched hands and his face. "I promise everything's okay," Adrien tries.

"I told you I wanted you to eat me out until I cried," Marinette whispers, her face going slightly pale. Adrien swallows hard as the fantasies return for a second time, of her laid out before him like the most deliciously depraved dinner he could feast on over and over again until she couldn't take it anymore –

Fuck. His dick had just gotten the picture and was starting to lose its rock-hard stiffness, and now it's back, huge and hot and nearly painful in his jeans. Adrien shifts his hips, trying to hide the wince he knows Marinette won't take well.

But she hasn't even noticed him drifting, because she's still talking. "And then – " She laughs incredulously. "And then I said I wanted to sit on your face, because this isn't embarrassing enough – "

When had she said that?!

His mind obligingly serves up the image of Marinette, completely naked and kneeling over his face, her wet and glistening pussy inches away from his panting mouth; in his mind's eye, Adrien looks up her body, up her lean and toned stomach and the sweet and intoxicatingly round swell of her breasts hanging heavy as she braces herself against the wall, the flexing muscles in her thighs and biceps and shoulders, and then up to her face, where she's looking back down at him with a bashful and nervous excitement, her lip trapped between her teeth –

Adrien whines very softly in the back of his throat as his eyes flutter from an overwhelming surge of sweet, delicious lust. This isn't fair. His heart gives one huge thump and then starts beating hard, hammering against his chest. Marinette glances down at her hands, still trapped under his, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. God, she must be able to feel that; does she know it's for her?

"You're killing me," Adrien says, licking his lips. His voice is even deeper and more wretched than before, if that's possible. "You're going to kill me, you know that? Marinette – " He shuffles closer to her, holding her hands in place, because he thinks he might die if she stops touching him now. She watches him come closer, her mouth parted slightly, her pupils dilating – Does that mean what he thinks it means? "Please? Can I?"

"Can you what?" Marinette asks warily.

It's not no. But Marinette can be nervous – and Adrien will quite literally cry if she shies away from him again.

"What you said," Adrien says, his thumbs running restlessly over her hands, staring at her intently. He licks his lips again. "You know. I want that. I really, really want that. Can I? Please?"

Marinette's eyes go wide again, her pupils growing so large and dark that they swallow much of the beautiful blue of her irises. She searches his face as Adrien gives her his best begging eyes, and she hesitates for a long, long moment, long enough that Adrien is sure she's going to say no. The hollow ache in his chest at the thought is so much deeper than he thought it would be –

But then Marinette laughs, very softly. Whatever she sees in him makes her mouth curve in a smile so smug and sensual that Adrien damn near swallows his tongue.

Where did sweet, awkward Marinette learn that? And how can he get her to do it again?

"I don't know, Adrien," she says, curling her fingers into his shirt, her smile edging into a smirk. "If you can't talk about it, I'm not sure you should be doing it."

Adrien lights up all over, excitement swirling through his whole body. He's fucking delighted at the way she's teasing him now, and the smirk on her face is so unfairly attractive that only his pride is keeping him from melting right into her bed.

But he also refuses to let her have the last word. She wants him to talk?

Adrien can do that.

He licks his lips again, thinking about what he wants to say and how he wants to say it. Marinette's eyes flick down to his mouth. Yes, Adrien thinks, recalling his earlier fantasies. That. That's what he wants. "Can I go down on you?" Adrien murmurs, shuffling a little closer to her. He's close enough that it feels more comfortable to curl over her, using his height to surround her; Marinette has to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eyes. "I really, really want to go down on you. I can't stop thinking about it."

Marinette's eyes are widening with every word, her lips parting in surprise. Her breath is unsteady, too.

"Please." Adrien's begging and he knows it. He's never cared less about his pride and dignity, not when he thinks that this might be doing something for Marinette. Her cheeks are pink shading into red. She looks like a rose coming into bloom. "Fuck, Marinette, you said – " He has to close his eyes and breathe through the pure heat that burns under his skin at the thought. "You said you wanted me to eat you out until you cried and I thought I was going to come in my pants." Adrien opens his eyes again and moves closer, closer, until Marinette's backed into the wall and their hands on his chest are the only things keeping them apart. "Can I? Will you let me? God, I want to ruin you. I want to still be tasting you tomorrow – "

Marinette makes a high-pitched whining noise in the back of her throat and lunges in and kisses him, her mouth already hot and hard against his. Adrien kisses her back, his eyes drifting closed, and then he drops her hands, takes her head in his and kisses her the way he's dreamed of kissing her, deep and wet and filthy. She kisses him back with the same energy, with the same desire and greedy desperation, and with tiny hitching moans in the back of her throat that he's absolutely going to jerk off to later –

And then Marinette pushes Adrien back a little and looks up at him, her eyes dark and mysterious pools. "I'm going to come in my pants if you keep talking like that," she says, her voice unsteady.

His mouth falls open. Jesus Christ, that's hot.

Adrien scoops her into his arm and tumbles her down on the bed, bracing himself over her with his hands on either side of her head. Marinette's laying beneath him with her hair in a riotous mess around her face, her red lips a siren's call that Adrien can't resist; he ducks down and kisses her again, taking pleasure in the way that she instantly opens her mouth for him and lets him all the way in, her fingers curling into his hair, in being surrounded by the smell of her and welcome and wanted in her space...

Adrien could kiss her forever.

Reluctantly, he breaks away to let them both breathe, but he's not willing to stop touching her; he changes targets to the smooth underside of her jaw, making his way toward the soft, delicate spot behind her ear. Marinette shifts underneath him, like she's trying to get closer. "Please," he says in her ear, and then he licks it. "Please let me go down on you."

Marinette squirms, rubbing her thighs together. "You're doing this on purpose," she accuses; her voice is weak, her breathing heavy. Adrien hides his smirk in her neck. Fuck, she smells so good. He opens his mouth and traces the muscle there with a firm, pointed tongue, working his way down toward her collarbone in curious little licks that make Marinette jump every time.

"Yes!" Marinette cries, arching a little. "Yes, oh, Adrien – " His name is a moan. She grabs his shirt and yanks him down on top of her, between the legs she spreads to cradle his body. "Just do something, kitty," she hisses in his ear.

Adrien nestles into her as easy as breathing, like this is exactly where he's supposed to be. He can feel every part of her pressed up against him. She's barely wearing anything. Her pajamas are so thin that her breasts are right there, moving against his chest as she breathes, and her nipples are hard enough that he can feel them, too.

Marinette wants him. He's barely done anything and she wants him and she said yes –

Adrien will remember this moment for the rest of his life.

He considers getting Marinette to say it out loud, because Adrien thinks he might enjoy that, too... But on second thought, Adrien thinks that he might enjoy that a little too much.

Next time.

(Please, God, let there be a next time.)

"Okay," Adrien says softly, pressing one last firm kiss into her neck that makes Marinette sigh. He pulls back to smile at her, tucking some of her unruly hair behind her ear. "Come here." He tilts his head a little to meet her mouth at an angle and kisses her again and again, deep enough to make his head spin, until there's nothing but the taste of Marinette and the pretty little moans she can't hide and the incredibly distracting way that her hips are rolling in shallow, uncertain waves against his stomach.

He slides his hand down the side of her throat, thumbs the divot between her collarbones and spreads his hand wide over her sternum. His thumb and his little finger are resting on her breasts. God, she's so soft.

Reluctantly, Adrien draws away from her mouth, but he stays close – he can't bear to move too far away. "Can I – "

Marinette growls, shoves him up another inch, and rips her tank top over her head and flings it somewhere off the bed. He'd known she wasn't wearing a bra, but he hadn't expected to just – for her to be so suddenly half-naked, to be faced with the breasts he's been thinking about for the last hour. He stops thinking. His hand hovers over her chest as Adrien stares at her, his mouth open. Her breasts are small, falling slightly to the side, drawing a teardrop shape that makes Adrien's hand itch to cup them and feel their weight on his palm. Her nipples are tight, crinkled little roses several shades darker than her mouth.

Adrien realizes he's been staring when Marinette shifts uneasily beneath him. His tongue is so thick in his mouth that he has to swallow before he can speak. "God, you're so pretty," he says. Adrien wants to say something else – write odes to the glorious expanse of skin she's bared for him, or a poem that will somehow capture the lovely flush that is slowly spreading down her chest as her body heats up – but he can't think. He can feel the pulse beating in his dick. He's so hard that it kind of hurts to move.

That's not going to stop him.

Marinette tugs on his shirt. "Can this come off, too?" It takes a second for her request to register, and then he shakes his head, hard, and rears up on his knees. He yanks his overshirt off, and then the t-shirt, so fast that he hears a seam rip. It makes her giggle, but by the time Adrien throws his shirts somewhere and looks back at her face, she's not laughing anymore. She's very obviously checking him out, chewing on her lip as her eyes wander slowly and thoroughly over his chest and abs.

He knows he's hot. It's hard not to overhear people talking about Chat in his suit. There's a difference between that kind of shallow and thoughtless objectification and Marinette's very frank and honest enjoyment of his body. Her hungry eyes make him want to preen.

Every time Marinette does something that reminds him she's actually into him thrills him down to his bones.

Adrien shuffles back a couple of inches and lowers himself down again, watching for any objections. They never come. Instead, she runs warm, welcoming hands over his shoulders and down his back as far as she can reach, pausing to trace curious fingers over his collarbones, his shoulder blades, and everything in between.

The glorious expanse of Marinette's skin feels even better against his own. She's so warm and so soft, her breasts pushing and pressing against him; he can even feel her nipples moving against his skin with her breath. God. Adrien groans, ducking down to kiss her collarbone. There are a number of faint freckles scattered over her shoulders like stars, and he follows them down her chest as they fade into her skin, making sure to kiss each and every single one, until he reaches the swell of her breast. Curiously he trails his fingers down the side of her breast and underneath.

She moans, pressing closer to him in a restless movement. "Do that again."

Adrien locks eyes with her and does it again, slower, keeping his touch light and delicate. Goosebumps sweep over her skin and fade away again, and she arches into his hand, pressing his fingers into her skin. She's so soft and sensitive here that Adrien is terrified to touch too roughly, as if he could break her, but Marinette grabs his hand and forces him to cover her entire breast with it. "Stop teasing," she tells him, a faint plea in her words.

He manages a grin, as though he'd intended to tease her all along, and looks down at her breast in his hand. He likes the way that she fits under his palm, with a sweet natural curve that feels so, so good to touch. He lifts her against gravity, and the weight is thrilling, too, sending sharp zings down his spine and in his stomach; when he squeezes hesitantly, Marinette moans, and he looks up to see her watching his hand with wide eyes.

He experiments, then, and finds that the soft skin where she's most sensitive is underneath and between, and if he's gentle there, she squirms and her breathing grows heavy – but when Adrien tries sucking on the inner swell hard enough to leave a mark on her skin, Marinette cries out, her hands flexing restlessly against his shoulders. He covers her other breast with her hand, and it's a struggle to coordinate his movements between them, but it pays off. She's panting, her eyes huge and dark and beginning to become unfocused, like she can't think past what he's doing to her.

His dick is so hard that he can feel the individual teeth of his zipper pressing against him. Cursing inside, Adrien reaches down and fumbles his jeans open, groaning with the relief from pressure. That's good enough. He returns to Marinette's breasts with newfound enthusiasm, closing his eyes and listening to her body, to her moans that are growing ever louder and higher-pitched, to the restless movements of her hips against his abdomen, to the way she's beginning to lightly scratch his shoulders with her blunt nails in her desperation –

And then Marinette spears her strong fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and yanks his head up to face her. Adrien groans, his eyes opening reluctantly to look at her. Marinette looks just as wrecked as he feels. God. No one's ever done that to him before – he had no idea how good it could feel, like there's a direct line between his scalp and his dick that bypasses his brain.

Her lips curve in that irrepressible, self-satisfied smirk. That thing ought to be a weapon for what it does to his insides. "You like that, kitty?"

Adrien looks at her, flushed from the way he's been feasting on her, her dark hair tangled around her face, her lips red from biting them, the bruise he'd left as if to say I was here, and considers and discards three separate jokes to hide his feelings. But even Adrien realizes that would hurt Marinette, and that's the last thing he ever wants to do. "I like everything about you," he says, too raw and honest to be anything except the absolute truth.

Impossibly, Marinette moans at that, dropping her head back to show him the long line of her throat and how it goes on and on and on – Yes, he'd just explored it with his mouth, but what if the other side tastes different? What if she likes it better? Would she let him bite her? Or – God – would she want to bite him? His mouth waters at the thought of carrying the mark of her teeth on his body, claiming him for everyone to see.

"Oh, Adrien," Marinette sighs, or it could be a long, drawn-out groan, and then she lifts her head to look at him with the softest, greediest eyes he's ever seen. "I need to sit on your face. Right now."

His dick pulses hard at that. "Fuck, yes," Adrien says, scrambling out of the way so she can push him down onto his back. She moves up his body on her knees, biting her lip to try to hide her hesitant and delighted smile, and runs her hands down her stomach to hook her thumbs in the waistband of her tiny pink pajama shorts.

"Help me with my shorts?"

"Like you have to ask," he says, grinning at her. He smooths his hands over her stomach, tracing curious fingers around the edge of her belly button, and continues downward to lay his hands over hers on her waistband. He lets Marinette curl his fingers into her pajamas and gathers them in his hands as he slides them down her hips, taking in every inch of skin as it's exposed to his intent eyes – the smooth and pale skin of her lower abdomen, the crease between torso and leg that points inward, the faint trail of hair that quickly grows thicker and darker and looks so soft that he's dying to pet it...

It's then that Adrien realizes she's not wearing any panties.

This whole time, she's been completely bare under her tiny shorts, and nothing was stopping him from sliding his fingers up her legs and finding out exactly how warm and soft and wet she was –

Adrien swallows, his mouth dry. Why is it that every little thing about Marinette drives him absolutely fucking insane?

They have to work together to get her shorts over her feet without Marinette kneeing Adrien in the face – Adrien is very aware of that possibility, because after all, this is Marinette – but somehow they manage it with only one instance of Marinette listing dangerously to one side before she slaps a hand on the wall to brace herself.

And then she's wholly and completely naked, kneeling over his chest with her hands burning spots on his pecs, looking down at him with shy, uncertain nerves. Adrien lets himself touch the skin that calls to him like a siren's song, sliding his hands from her round, muscular thighs to her hips to rub his thumbs over the jut of her hipbones. Marinette's small, but right now she looms over him, seemingly vulnerable in her nakedness – but there's a core of rock-hard strength in her, hidden under a surprisingly firm set of abs. She's going to destroy him, and he's going to enjoy every second of it.

He scoots down a little to get his head off the pillow, so he can lay flat, and from his prone position Adrien grins at her with all of the shit-eating energy he can summon up. "Coming?"

The tilt of Marinette's head is dangerous, as is the narrow look that she gives him. "I'd better be."

But no matter what she thinks of his wordplay, it gets her moving. Adrien keeps his hands somewhere near her waist, in case she falls, but Marinette doesn't need the help; she walks her knees up to his armpits and then carefully over his shoulders, one at a time.

Her pussy is so cute. The outer lips fold shyly over what lays inside, hiding nearly everything from view. They flare wide open near the top of her slit, where her clit lies, and the glimpse it gives him of her inner labia is wet, glistening with her arousal. Oh God, he can smell her, wild and wet and animal in a way that plugs right into his dick and turns off his brain.

Adrien wraps his arm around her hips and pulls her down, ignoring her startled squeak, and he feasts.

He traces the seam of her lips with a curious tongue and then licks his way back up in quick, short strokes, pressing a little further in every time, gradually opening her up to his mouth. She tastes just like she smells, wild and warm in a way that has nothing to do with her body heat; she's electric on his tongue, sparking shocks and rolling waves through his core that echo right into his dick. Marinette's moaning, high and tight in a way that sounds shocked. Adrien's going to take that as a compliment.

It's not enough, though. He wants to make her scream.

Adrien slides one of his hands over her ass to help support her. Fuck, her ass is perfect, round and firm and so sweet that he can't help rolling it in his palm to feel the swell of it. He can't help grabbing a handful and squeezing. It's so disgustingly good that he does it again, and that's even better, like her ass was made to be right here, tucked in the curve of his hand as he unabashedly continues to grope her.

With the thumb of his free hand, Adrien follows the path his mouth just took, tracing her folds gently, gathering a little of her natural lube as he goes; then he spreads her open, just enough to see what he's doing. Marinette whines softly. When he glances up, her eyes are fluttering, her mouth open as she pants. Adrien doesn't think he was meant to hear that.

Adrien closes his eyes and presses on her ass, bringing her closer to his mouth; between that and his thumb spreading her wider, he finds that he can reach deeper inside of her. The smell of her, the taste of her, surrounds him. She's everywhere, overwhelming. It's like there's nothing in the entire world except Marinette, clouding all of his senses, imprinting the essence of who she is on his body. Maybe he'll smell like her for the rest of the day – maybe he'll rub his hand over his face and get a whiff of her, and he'll remember this exact moment, his face buried in her pussy, her moaning loud in his ear, her thighs trembling, her hips twitching in uncertain little motions against his face. Adrien wants that. He wants to smell like her, belong to her, be claimed by her –

He groans and opens his eyes again to look up Marinette's body; he watches her watching him, her eyes huge and dark, nearly mauling her own lip between her teeth as she braces her weight against the wall. She's holding most of her weight away from him. She's probably worried about crushing him. That would explain the shallow, choked motions of her hips, too. Adrien hates it. He doesn't want her holding herself back. She's not allowed to be separate like that – he needs her here. With him.

He backs off a precious inch, licking her taste from his mouth. "Marinette, you said you wanted to sit on my face," Adrien says, staring up at her hard so that she knows he's serious. "So sit on my fucking face."

Marinette whines, her eyes fluttering, and she grinds down against Adrien's mouth, pushing her whole pussy over his chin and mouth. Adrien moves fast and gets his tongue in the right place to draw a warm, wet line over her whole slit and his own thumb. "God, yeah," he moans. "Just like that." It's a garbled mess of words, but she seems to get the idea. She does it again, her ass flexing in his hand – what he wouldn't give to be able to somehow watch as she fucks his face – and Adrien rides the rocking of her hips, straining to keep his tongue in the right place.

He spreads her open again, less gently than before, and this time his tongue glides over her entrance and then further to something that makes her jolt and cry out. Adrien snaps his eyes up to her face. Marinette's mouth is open, her eyes clenched shut. She's panting, her breasts heaving in a really distracting way – if only he had more hands! – and it's clear that he's hit on something she likes.

Where was that? Softly, softly – Adrien lightly draws his tongue over the whole area until he finds a slight protrusion that makes Marinette gasp and shake and open her eyes again to stare down at him.

This must be her clit. Safely buried in her pussy, where she can't possibly see his face, Adrien lets his smile turn just a little bit wicked. He leaves his tongue very soft and wide and laves it over her clit, and Marinette moans, all high and desperate, shaking like a leaf. She's wet enough that it's starting to smear over his mouth and chin.

Adrien really, really likes the way she's staring down at him, like she can't believe this is happening.

He keeps his tongue very gentle and slow and constant, moving over her clit in ceaseless waves of motion, and it's weird, but really cool, to feel her clit pulse and grow larger and harder under his tongue, like a tiny dick. Her entrance is slick and hot as he traces a curious finger around it and rubs all along her labia, and she whines; he can feel her clenching tight, which traps the very tip of his finger inside of her.

Inside of her. God. She's so warm, and so wet that Adrien thinks his fingers could slip inside of her by accident if she tries to fuck his face again.

How much warmer must she be on the inside? The thought makes Adrien groan, long and loud, and on the inhale he breathes in Marinette, the smell of her that he already associates with pure sex, and he presses the rest of his finger inside of her slowly, making her wait for it, making her grind down against his face again, chasing his hand and mouth. Marinette feels so good around his finger, so hot and wet, so tight and slick; her pussy is absolutely swallowing him, tightening down on his finger and then relaxing again in waves just like the shallow rocking of her hips against his face. She's using her whole body to fuck him – the muscles in her stomach and thighs and in her core and the ones deep inside of her, too, the ones that are trying to eat his finger alive.

Fuck. He might let her. Adrien fucks her with his finger, trying to keep the rhythm she's setting with his hand and his tongue, but he keeps getting distracted. He can't get over how wet she is – the taste of her is spilling over his tongue and dripping down onto his chin. He can hear Marinette trying to say his name in broken little fragments of words, but every time he licks her, she breaks off to moan. It's funny, but it also makes him feel powerful, and hot all over, like his skin's too tight.

Adrien groans and reluctantly takes his hand off her ass so he can shove his boxers down and wrap his hand around his dick, instead. He pumps himself hard a couple of times before he has to stop. Adrien wants Marinette to come first – he wants to feel her come around his fingers and on his tongue before he loses it.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Adrien looks up to see Marinette looking down at him, still breathing hard, but she's got a smirk curling at the edge of her mouth that tells him she noticed his hand leaving her ass – and where it went afterward. Adrien winks at her and tentatively strokes her from the inside; she gasps, shuddering all over, and her eyes go so soft and hazy with pleasure that he has to squeeze himself hard to stop himself from coming.

Marinette reaches down to shove her hand into his hair, holding him tight, making him whine, and then she grinds into his face and his tongue, her clit huge and hard and throbbing against his lips; he mouths at her clit, careful of his teeth, and she cries out, her body shaking. "Adrien," she says, her voice a sob. "Oh, God – please – "

She has to be close. At this point, he needs Marinette to come almost as much as she does. He needs to feel it.

Adrien goes back to moving his tongue soft and constant over her clit, but then he presses his middle finger inside of her, too, the silky, scorching heat of her hitting him all over again. He fucks her with his fingers, listening to her tiny gasps growing louder, higher, more desperate – and all the while, he's watching her with eyes hungry for every detail, every reaction. Marinette's eyebrows are drawing together with tension, her mouth falling open in a helpless, round oh that draws attention to her plump lower lip, and her whole body is starting to flush pink all over. The defined muscles in her thighs and her stomach are flexing desperately with her every movement, her breasts literally heaving as she pants.

He did this to her. Adrien is taking her apart with hands and mouth and words, and Marinette's let him. She'd wanted this – she'd wanted him. She dreamed about this. The tight tension in his core intensifies at the thought. Fuck. He's holding on through sheer will at this point –

Adrien pushes closer, swirling his tongue over her clit, and then he wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. He tries rubbing her inside, too, like he did before, his thumb tracing soft, restless paths over her labia.

Marinette cries out again, curling over him almost protectively, and her pussy clenches down on his fingers so tightly that it's nearly crushing him. She's wetter than ever, too, gushing down his chin. Her hand's so tight in his hair that it nearly hurts.

It's perfect.

Adrien buries his face in her pussy and fists the head of his cock, sloppy with haste, his fingers trembling. He's leaked enough precome that his hand slides all the way down his whole shaft with unexpected ease, and the thrill of it and Marinette's taste and her moans and the way her pussy is trying to swallow his fingers send him flying right there. He whines, deep in his throat, his hips jerking on autopilot to fuck his hand through the aftershocks.

It's so good that he actually does white out for a second, like he's been knocked cold, like every shitty thing in his life has been driven straight out of his head by the taste of Marinette and her hand in his hair, clutching him like a lifeline.

"Oh, God," Marinette gasps. Her thighs are shaking as she pushes herself up with the hand still on the wall. Adrien feels a faint feeling of loss as his fingers slide out of her with a wet, filthy sound. She's looking down at him like he's the second coming, her eyes hooded, still panting for breath. He already misses her taste. What would she do if he licked his fingers right now? "Did you just..."

Adrien shrugs, still breathing hard. He's feeling all boneless, like he never wants to move again, even though he's too sticky to actually pull that off. He's perfectly content where he is.

He's also noticed that Marinette has yet to let go of his hair. That's interesting.

"You're really hot," he says, grinning when she squeaks and turns a brilliant crimson. "Can you blame me?"

Marinette narrows her eyes at him. "You know, I was having a hard time believing that you're Chat," she says, her voice flat. "Somehow, I believe it now."

"That is rude," Adrien says mildly, biting his lip to keep his smile from becoming completely deranged; he turns his head to kiss her thigh, keeping his eyes locked on her face. Marinette inhales sharply on a gasp that's shaky, and she looks down at him with eyes so wide that Adrien can tell she hadn't been thinking about their position until he reminded her.

Adrien grins up at her and very deliberately, he closes his teeth around the soft skin of her inner thigh and bites down – not hard enough to hurt, but enough that she can feel it. Look at me, he nearly says. He wants her undivided attention.

Marinette swallows. "Adrien, what are you doing?" she asks warily.

He can't answer with his teeth in her thigh. Adrien thinks about ignoring the question entirely, because he's sure it'll become obvious what he's planning, but – No. Instead, he reluctantly releases her thigh and drops another lingering kiss on the faint imprint of his teeth. "You didn't think I was done with you, did you? I told you. I want to ruin you," he says, smirking up at her astonished face.

And with that, he yanks her down again, ignoring her shriek of surprise, and dives back into her with mouth and tongue and breath...

It's a long time before Adrien comes up for air again.