Hi there! This is actually not a stand-alone work, but an alternate version of the scene at the end of chapter 6 of my story Sparks, that is quite a bit more sinful than the original. If you don't want to see Adrienette getting a bit frisky, then this is not the scene for you. It's still pretty tame, considering, but racy enough to be outside my comfort zone. This is my first time sharing something like this, so please, be gentle.
If you would like to context for this scene, please read the whole story here: s/12388277/1/Sparks It is still a work in progress, though; at this point, I am working on chapter 8 of probably 9 or 10 chapters.
They were alone.
Despite looking forward to this very thing all day, Adrien found himself wishing that their friends would come back. Now what? He looked at Marinette, who was watching him with a faint blush staining her cheeks.
"So, what now?" she asked.
"I make sure that you're ok, like Alya said." He grinned. "I don't think I want to get on her bad side."
"No," Marinette laughed. "I don't think you do."
And just like that, the sudden awkwardness between them had vanished.
"Here, let me see." He'd knelt on the floor next to the chaise, and gestured to her side.
Marinette's eyes widened comically. "See?"
"Well, someone has to check on all of that. It looks like that someone is me."
"I am going to kill Alya."
"No, you won't. I'd have insisted on it, regardless, Bugaboo."
"Oh, fine. Just, turn around for a moment, ok?"
Adrien turned, and tried to ignore the soft rustling sounds behind him, as well as the grunts and hisses. Undressing was clearly painful, but those sounds still made him shift and adjust himself uncomfortably.
"I guess so."
He turned back to her, and saw that she'd removed both her shirt and her bra. She was sitting on the chaise with her back to him, carefully holding her shirt over her breasts. There were faint lines marring her flesh, just above the wrapping, where her bra had been, and he itched to trace those lines with his fingertips. Instead, he reached for the tail of the bandage and began to unwind it.
"I did some reading on rib fractures, after I left you with Alya last night." The task was surprisingly erotic; he spoke mostly to distract himself from it. "I should have gotten you some ice, as soon as we got to my house. And we shouldn't have wrapped this."
"No. That was common practice at one time, but now, they say it's better to leave them unbound."
"Mm-hmm. Also, while you're healing, you should either cough or take a deep breath at least once an hour, to keep your lungs from collapsing."
They lapsed back into a charged silence, each of them hyper-aware of the other. Marinette felt every brush of his fingertips against her skin down to her very toes. She tortured herself by wondering what it would feel like if he touched his lips to her instead. His hand brushed her side, and she shivered at the contact.
Adrien tortured himself by forcing himself to continue unwinding the bandage, as clinically as possible. This was even worse than it had been the night before, when the immediacy of his worry had kept his desire in check. Even the angry bruising that spread over much of her torso was not enough to distract him. As more and more of her smooth skin was revealed, he decided that perhaps he had made a grave tactical error. It would have been safer to allow Alya to do this, after all. But, it was too late to change things, and—Dieu merci—he was almost finished. He tugged the last of the bandage away, and threw it into her wastebasket.
"Here, turn toward the light." His voice was gruff, and he winced at the sound of it. "I need to see."
Marinette shifted closer to the window, and he gritted his teeth at the sight of her battered body. The ragged scrape on her side was still covered with gauze, and he carefully peeled it away to peer at it, grateful that it hadn't stuck.
It wasn't pretty. The broken skin was red and slightly swollen, and still seeping blood in places. It looked almost like a skinned knee, or road rash. Whatever she'd landed on had abraded her skin through her suit in a wide swath, from her hip to just below her breast. At least the abrasions weren't deep. He cursed, and she turned to look at him from the corner of her eye.
"That bad, huh?"
"Bad enough." The soiled gauze followed the bandage into the trash, and he pulled fresh supplies from his bag.
Marinette looked at him in surprise. "You came prepared!"
"Of course," he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to carry first aid supplies in his school bag. He pulled out a small box of latex gloves, and frowned. "I should have done this first."
"You're really not messing around."
He shrugged, glancing at her face for a moment. "I want you to be ok." Once he had a pair of gloves on his hands, he pulled a new sheet of gauze from its sterile packaging, and spread a layer of antibiotic ointment on its surface. Then he pressed it carefully to Marinette's side. "Here, hold this for a minute."
She shifted to hold her shirt in place with one arm, and reached across herself to hold the gauze with the other.
He pulled a roll of medical tape from his bag, and set about taping the gauze in place. Once he'd secured the top, Marinette moved her hand out of the way, and returned it to holding her shirt. When he was finished, his hands lingered over smoothing the tape, and he fought the urge to let them wander. With a sigh, he stripped the gloves from his hands, and tossed them into the trash, along with the wrapper from the gauze. Then the remaining supplies went back into his bag.
When he looked back at Marinette, he saw that she had turned to face him, but had not put her shirt back on. She was still clutching it to her chest.
"Do you need help getting that back on? I promise not to look."
She blushed, and he fully expected her to say no.
She surprised him.
"S-sure." With one hand, she awkwardly tugged the shirt away from her body, trying to do so without moving her arms from their strategic position.
His gaze on hers, he rose up on his knees in front of her, just between her knees, and stilled her fingers with his. He pulled the shirt away from her, and without breaking eye contact, he began to turn it, in order to pull it over hear head.
Adrien was acutely aware of her sitting in front of him, completely nude from the waist up. He could just see the curves of her breasts in his peripheral vision. He kept his eyes locked on hers, though, and if his hands shook as he lifted the shirt over her head, neither of them cared. He tugged it gently down over her head, and pulled them hem all the way to her hips while she slid her arms through the sleeves.
Somehow, this experience was even more sensual than unwrapping the bandage had been. Adrien's hands lingered on her hips, then slid across the chaise on either side of her body. His eyes drifted down, over her parted lips, and took in the way the t-shirt fell over her breasts. Her shirt was not sheer, but he could see that her nipples were hard beneath the soft cotton. He lifted a hand to touch her, but paused just shy of the peak of her breast. He glanced at her face.
She nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide, and his hand continued its journey. He touched her lightly at first, swirling his fingers around the taut bud experimentally. Her breath hitched, and her eyes closed as she swayed forward. Emboldened, he rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then spread his fingers from the middle, out over the fullness of her. He flattened his hand, rubbing his palm over the sensitive bud in a circular motion. She gasped, arching into his hand.
Then she was on him, her fingers sunk into his hair on either side of his head, and her mouth moving hungrily on his. Clearly, she had tired of being a passive participant.
He kissed her back, licking at the seam of her lips with his tongue. She opened to him on a gasp, and he plunged his tongue into the warmth of her mouth. She curled her tongue around his, then bit gently down on his lower lip. His fingers flexed on her hips, and he sat back on his heels, pulling her from the edge of the chaise and onto his lap, so that she straddled him. Their new position brought their bodies flush together, so that her breasts pressed deliciously against his chest and her heated core rubbed along his length. They both gasped at the intimate contact, and Marinette moaned his name against his mouth.
He slid his hands from her hips to her ass, and squeezed, bringing her more fully against him. She moaned again, clutching at his shoulders and rocking instinctively against him. On a gasp, she moved her mouth from his, and began to kiss her way across his jaw and down his throat, her small hands pulling the collar of his shirt away to grant access to more skin. When she reached the juncture where his neck met his shoulder, she nipped him gently with her teeth.
"Mon dieu, Marinette." He slid his hands to the small of her back, and up under her shirt to the naked skin that he had so wanted to touch earlier. One hand slid around to her waist on the opposite side, and the other he moved straight up her back to urge her away from his neck and back to his mouth. He kissed her again, wildly. His hands seemed to have minds of their own, roaming over her back, down to her ass, and then up again. He brought them to her waist, and then up, under her shirt to her breasts, and cupped the full weight of them in his hands. She broke the kiss on a gasp, and he took the opportunity to catch one hard nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue through the fabric of her shirt. She clutched at his head, holding him to her, rocking against him again, riding the ridge of his shaft. He shifted to her other side, paying the same attention to that nipple as he had the first. In a flash of inspiration, he began to experiment with his teeth, just as she had at his neck. His creativity was rewarded with a gasp. She continued to rock, her head thrown back, and her back arched. Her breath came in short pants.
"Adrien! Dieu, Adrien, don't sto-oh!" She shuddered against him, her body shaking as she came. Finally, she placed her hands on either side of his neck, and pulled his forehead to hers. They were both breathing heavily, both fighting the haze of passion that had claimed them. "Merde, Adrien." She laughed shakily.
Adrien misunderstood her comment entirely, and it doused his ardor as little else could. He groaned, wrapping his arms around her back and burying his face in her neck. "Dieu, Marinette, I am so sorry! I didn't—"
"Don't!" She sat back from him, forcing him to look at her. "Don't you dare apologize for that. It was—It was amazing. You didn't do anything wrong."
"I never meant—"
"What if I did?" She smiled, and her bold expression was 100% Ladybug. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. "I have wanted that for a very long time, Adrien Agreste. Perhaps I ought to apologize to you?"
He laughed, the low sound making her belly flutter. "Never. I've wanted that for a long time, too. I was just too dense to realize that it was you I wanted."
She smiled like the siren she was, and dipped her head to kiss him gently. "I love you, you naughty kitty."
He laughed again, thinking that he could get used to this—all of it—very quickly. "So, does this mean that we're together now?"
Her smile widened. "Yes, I think it does."
And there you have it. Thank you for reading! I welcome constructive criticism, and of course comments are greatly appreciated.
I should be back soon, with an update on Sparks, but no promises on when. Akuma fights are darned hard to write, but that's where I'm at. Until next time!