11Even Chat had to admit he was obsessed. He couldn't exactly explain why. Perhaps it was just a morbid fascination. For all intents and purposes, he shouldn't want anything to do with her. They were enemies, both on opposite sides of the law and caught in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. But damn, was a fun game it was.
Each night, they would take up their masks and enter the world. One would search the roofs and streets of Paris while the other waited to be found. Chat never knew which roll was his until the game had already begun. Not that he particularly cared. Each night ended the same way; with the thief on the run and him hot on her heels. It was what kept him coming back night after night. The thrill of a good chase. That rush of adrenaline that often led to bruises and a deep ache in his muscles that he treasured. She knew just how to get him going, too. Her hot breath on his neck. Light fingers that grazed just a little too close to where they didn't belong. Lips that begged for a kiss but pulled away before he could dare to.
A dark temptress wrapped in blue and black. That was his thief. His Ace of Spades.
No, it wasn't love. Ask him a million times, and he would tell you his heart was held in hands of red. And it was true. He loved his lady with every fiber of his being. He would lay his life down for her in a heartbeat. He was her sword and shield. She would barely have to breathe and he would follow her every whim. But those fierce bluebell eyes never looked at him with the same longing he felt. It was a painful truth he needed to live with each day. He understood why things had to be this way, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.
So he allowed Spades to distract him from it all. And in return, she allowed him to catch her.
It was always a pleasant surprise when he landed his claws on her. She'd fake a slip or lead herself down a dead end, and suddenly he'd find himself on top of her. Even still, she never made it easy for him. They'd scuffle, she'd put up one last semblance of a fight, and he'd pin her down. The struggle was just another part of their game, another step in an intricate tango. In the end, she'd submit with the slightest shiver. And Chat relished every second of it. Their eyes would lock, lit with unspoken promises and understanding.
She was his prey, now. And like any good cat, he'd toy with the little bird he caught.
He was gentle in his torment of her. Kind and cruel. He'd hold her in place while he explored her every curve. Bite without breaking flesh. Mercilessly taste her sweetness. She'd writhe under his machinations, and he'd drink in her moans. God, did he love how she sang for him. All the while, Chat would watch the way her chest rose and fell. Listen to the little whines she'd make. He knew her limits. He would take her to that edge, then slow before she broke beneath him. Control would shift. She would lead their dance. Her fingers would dig and pull at his hair, stroke every inch of him, and oh how he'd purr for her. She would pay back his torments in kind, hold him on the edge of ecstasy just as he did her. He would beg and mewl while her sinful lips kissed him. When she was ready, she would give him control, again, and he would lead them both down that spiraling road to bliss.
In those quiet moments afterwards, Chat couldn't help but second guess their game. How much of this was just that? Could they really walk away and pretend that none of it mattered? That they didn't yearn for one another? He would watch as his thief tried to regain her breath, tempted to pull her close just to listen to her heartbeat. He would wonder why she indulged him, why she always surrendered when it terrified her to do so. It wasn't as though he had never hurt her.
Not that he had meant to. There were times where his gift of sweet misery had been too much for the thief. His teasing and taunting had called up old demons in her, and their game stopped at her cries of terror. He was quick to release her whenever it got to that point. He hated seeing her so broken and scared; hated knowing that he had caused it. He'd stayed at her side, waiting for permission to come closer again.
Each time took coaxing, but he held her once the scare was over. Then Chat would kiss away her tears, let her sob into his shoulder, and apologize over and over again. He'd let his chest rumble in a true purr. It was an odd quirk his Miraculous provided, more of an embarrassment than an actual asset. But if it helped soothe the girl in his arms, it couldn't be all bad.
Parting ways was always awkward for them. They made it a point to never say goodbye. They would dress in utter silence, sparing brief, sidelong glances at one another but never lingering. Before long, they were both off in opposite directions. Chat would return to the golden cage he called home and shed his mask. He'd ignore the scolding he got from the little black creature that floated out of his ring. A plate of cheese would be set out to quiet the nagging before the tired blond crawled into his bed. It would be hours before he actually fell asleep, the two girls in his life running through his thoughts. Locked in an ever-constant battle for his attention.
He loved Ladybug. The words were like a mantra to him. He'd tell himself over and over that his lady was his world. And as much as he cared for the white-haired thief, she couldn't replace the heroine in his heart.
He'd tell himself that lie until he was certain he believed it. And even still, as he fell asleep, it would be an entirely different set of blue eyes haunting his dreams.
Obviously, this little piece isn't exactly canon. I felt like writing something for Valentine's Day and well... I regret nothing! Enjoy the sin, people!