Work Text:
When the transformation wears off, it's the greatest relief you've felt yet, Chat's hands reaching blindly for you and ripping your favorite shirt in his haste to get it off of you. If you had any brainpower left to spare, you might be irritated, but there are more important things to focus on.
His mouth is hot against yours, the concrete wall rough and unyielding (and grossly kinda damp?) against your back. There's a small voice squeaking frantically in the darkness nearby - "This isn't you, Ladybug! It's the akuma! Listen to me, you can't do something you'll regret, you're not thinking straight!" It's probably Tikki, you dimly realize, but you couldn't give less of a shit. There's a quick flash of green as Chat releases his transformation, his kwami's voice joining the protest.
"Oh, gross! What are you two doing? And right in front of me, too! I can see in the dark, you know!"
"Plagg, fuck off," Chat growls, before you get a grip on that baby-soft hair and tug him back to your searching lips.
The kwamis thankfully make themselves scarce, and Chat is hoisting you up, grinding against you in uneven, unpracticed thrusts. But what he lacks in grace he makes up for in enthusiasm, and you're quite happy to meet his hips with your own erratic movement, desperate for contact.
You feel like you're burning up in your own skin, a heat churning low in your belly that only grows more torturous as his hands run feverishly against your sides, your stomach, the backs of your thighs, venturing into territory you never thought Chat would be brave enough to tread.
This is certainly not how you pictured losing your virginity. Pitch black, in some sort of moldy storm drain in the middle of a school day, water of questionable cleanliness soaking through your ballet flats. With Chat Noir of all fucking people.
But what the hell - you're adaptable. You can work with this. You have to, or you'll fly apart at the seams. You need Chat and you need him right goddamn now.
"We're wearing way too many clothes," you mumble against his mouth, and he moans his agreement as you slip a hand up the back of his civilian shirt, finding a flawless plane of beautifully marbled muscle that shudders under your touch. He's always been such a ridiculous, pun-loving dork, but lord is he toned to perfection.
It's the first time you've ever been this close to Chat Noir while detransformed - hell, it's the first time you've ever been this close to him, period. Or any boy, for that matter.
"What are we doing?" Chat breathes, the words sending a tendril of lucidity back into your hormone-addled brain.
It's a fair question.
The origins of this tryst are a little hazy in your mind at this point. Something about a lovesick akuma, maybe? You vaguely remember Chat Noir getting struck by something, only seconds before it hit you too. There was a fight, or... there was something you and Chat Noir had been in the middle of doing - something important, like.... save-the-world important - before you'd dragged him underground with the sole intention of climbing him like a tree.
"Is this really happening?" Chat gasps into your ear, his hands pausing, holding you still like he's second-guessing this, like something is worming its way into his brain and making him doubt. "Didn't you... not want me? Not like.... not how I've wanted you. You- don't you have someone else that you...?"
He sounds so torn, so vulnerable, and for just a moment you feel a flash of anxiety. You're not sure if it's because you're scared of what's about to happen - about what it'll mean for the two of you - or if you're scared he's going to stop, leaving you empty and wanting.
Whatever it is, it's quickly overridden by your crushing desire to find out what the skin of his collarbone tastes like.
Honestly, how this started doesn't matter. How you may or may not have felt before doesn't matter. Nothing matters but getting this boy's pants unzipped as quickly as possible.
"My lady-"
"Just shut up and touch me," is your brilliantly eloquent response as you kiss a path up his neck, one hand sneaking down the front of his jeans to grab the hardness you find there.
Chat lets out a strangled noise, his hands spurred back into action, pushing your bra up and out of the way in retaliation. His palms are warm and impossibly large as they splay across your chest, your heartbeat skittering wildly at the touch.
After a frustrating amount of fumbling, you're able to get his jeans unzipped one-handed, your other hand occupied with turning Chat Noir into a blubbering mess. His ungloved fingers reflexively knead your chest, making it hard for you to catch your breath. Unthinking, you speed up the motion of your hand, reveling in his bitten-off whimpers, desperate to hear him lose control.
This lasts for only moments before he's jerking away, trying to escape your grip. "W- stop-" he manages to choke out against your neck, his breath coming out in hot puffs that make you go shivery all over. "Slow down or I'm gonna-"
You let him go, but only because you want to start working on your own jeans. Chat slumps against you in relief, and you can feel the way he trembles, a thrill running through you as you think about how close he is to completely unraveling. You wish it weren't so dark in here - you want to see his pretty green eyes, want to take in his unmasked face, want to see his mussed hair and find out if he dresses like a goober or just talks like one.
Zipper down, you're finally, finally wriggling out of the tight denim, a cry escaping you as his hand immediately slides down between your thighs, cupping you right over your underwear. Mindlessly, you rut against his palm, mentally berating yourself for putting panties on that morning, cursing the thin strip of fabric that's separating you from him.
"Hurry," you beg, and you can barely recognize your own voice for how needy it sounds. "Minou, I need you-"
Chat takes his hand away and hefts you up again, readjusting his grip, his strong arms shaking with nerves. He shifts closer, and you wrap your ankles behind his back, urging him to press right up against you. You can feel something hot and solid settling between the juncture of your legs, your last shreds of coherency slipping away with the rest of your doubt.
You want this. You want him.
He's positioning himself, tugging your panties aside, and you're pulling him in for another kiss. Before you can find his lips again, just as you're about to get the relief you're so desperately seeking -
You're both doused with cold water.
Not figuratively. Literally.
"Tikki!" you shriek, dropping from Chat's hold as he splutters and coughs. "What the hell!"
The little red bug glows faintly in the darkness, just bright enough for you to see the flat, unimpressed look on her face, empty pail hanging from her tiny grip. "Really, Ladybug? Really? No protection? In a sewer? With Chat Noir? Nothing seems weird about this?!"
"Whatever. You're not the boss of me."
"No," Tikki concedes, "but I'm recharged now and I can transform you against your will. Don't make me do it, young lady. Now come on, we have an akuma to beat."
"And then you and the boy can have a really, really awkward conversation about whatever just transpired here," the other kwami - Plagg? - pipes up gleefully. Chat groans and clutches at your hips, but before you can become overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him, he's enshrouded in green light and skintight leather once more.
"Me - ow!" Chat says, and honestly that does more to douse your arousal than the cold water did. "Does involuntary transformation have to hurt so much?"
"Nope," Tikki chirps, an evil glint in her eye. "More fun that way, though. Let's go, Ladybug. You can kiss Chat Noir all you want after you've broken free of the akuma's spell, 'kay?"
Cursing vehemently under your breath, your thighs still shaking and pulsing distractingly, you give the tiny luck god your most scathing look. "Fine. Fine. Spots on."