miraculous sins

ladynoir

DRUNKEN HOOKUP

While it shouldn't have been surprising that Master Fu would find a type of alcoholic beverage that worked on Miraculous holders at some point during his hundred-odd years spent as one, discovering the effects of the bottles he'd left in his kitchen was still leaving Chat... unbalanced.

Both literally and metaphorically.

He didn't have a whole lot of experience with alcohol, so he couldn't say for sure whether the gentle euphoria hazing his vision was a common thing or not, but he wasn't complaining.

"Man... what did they put in this stuff?" Ladybug wondered, squinting at the bottle's label as she sprawled out on the rush mats next to him. It wouldn't do her much good, seeing as the 'label' amounted to Master Fu's hasty scrawl of 'WINE' across a parchment wrap, but she was biting her lip like that, and Chat couldn't find the breath to tease her for looking.

The problem with drinking with Ladybug were threefold, he was starting to find:

One, when everything was already soft and hazy around him, her sly, crooked smiles only magnified the effect.

Two, because everything was already so dreamy, that dreaminess reflected back on her—from her kittenish pouts to the way she arched when she stretched to the way her giggles echoed between his ears.

Three, if keeping his eyes off her was hard when he was sober, it was nigh impossible when he wasn't.

At this point, he could only hope that his love-drunk smile could pass off as just-plain-drunk, because it really wasn't going anywhere.

After a good thirty seconds or so of searching the browned paper for any trace of an ingredients list, Ladybug set it down with an unsteady thump and the verdict of, "Ecstasy, that must be it."

"I think that's a feeling, not an ingredient," Chat murmured once her voice had stopped stroking silk-cotton-velvet over his nerves. Though he was starting to suspect that whatever they'd ingested was closer to magic moonshine than whatever their absent master had labeled it as, so maybe they were both right.

Ladybug rolled out of her slouch, approaching him on all fours, only to pause and wrinkle her nose at him in confusion. "No? It's a... a... hmmm..."

"It's... what?" he prompted when it looked like she'd forgotten what ecstasy was, exactly. Her shoulder moved under his hand, which was the moment he realized his hand was on her shoulder.

Huh. How'd that get there?

She blinked at him once, twice, then blurted, "Drug."

"...What?"

"Party drug," she said, like that would clarify anything as she crawled over to him and then, well, on top of him. He reclined back onto his elbows to accommodate her as she added, "It makes people happy. And cuddly."

"Oh," Chat said around her head, and spat a lock of her ponytail out of his mouth. Then, "No, you're a party drug."

It certainly felt like he'd been hit with something hard when she collapsed on top of him, though maybe whatever he got a hit of was less ecstasy and more anticipation or arousal.

Or, you know, just Ladybug.

Ladybug with her glassy blue-eyed smile and Ladybug with her lean and solid and tantalizingly supple curves clothed in patriot-red and midnight-black. Ladybug who smelled like sweat and alcohol and perfume and herself, and who might taste the same if he tilted her chin up and kissed her.

Ladybug who buried her nose in his neck and let out a sweet trilling noise before telling him, "You smell go-od."

Chat snorted. "I haven't showered in two days."