One shot called sweet-and-sourdough heart by fragileizy
NONE OF THESE STORYS ARE FROM WATTPAD THEY ARE FROM A WEBSITE (NOT APP) CALLED ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN!
Enjoy <3
There are many things that Multimouse is. She's Paris's sweetheart, constantly on billboards and magazines as the friendliest face there is. There are many people who claim to be her biggest fan, loving her and needing her to be at any important event. People look to her, children wave when they see her jumping across the city roofs, and babies squeal when they see her— it's perfect. The moment that she transforms and the piece of hexleather covers her face, the city is enthralled by her personality, her looks, her demure smile and her quiet voice. She is the sweetheart, the small little princess, protected by her mysterious and intuitive knight.
Multimouse is also jealous.
It happens. It does. She's not the only superhero in the city— her best friend, her partner, her boyfriend is also someone who defends the city from Akuma attacks on the daily. Viperion is nothing except determined to keep the cities from turning into an absolute warzone to the civilians who live in it, spending so many more hours doing it than her. Turning back the clock for him is as instinctual as it is for her to spend her time calculating every option and every rebuttal in record time. It pays to have the ability to multitask.
And with that... Viperion is considered Paris's knight. She may be considered sweet, friendly, a pure confectionary dole whip topped with strawberries— but Viperion is not. Quiet, focused, with a startling set of fangs and flashing eyes, Paris is convinced that Viperion is the less approachable of the two. And that was fine. People not approaching him was fine— she's always been the one to deal with the aftermath of Akumas. Helping and directioning citizens out of harm's way has always been her specialty, if nothing else. Viperion licks at his wounds he's sustained during the fight while she makes sure to get any victims to safety with the help of a commissioned team created to help calm post-Akumas, practically no one ever approaches Viperion for anything.
He's silent. He's reclusive. No one ever goes up to Viperion for autographs, too scared of anything in those liquid golden eyes to ask otherwise. They shirk, they dip their heads, out of respect and awe at the superhero who seems to know everything with his powers of intuition, and generally don't go looking for trouble when he's around. And yet all he does is smile, looking up at her with molten golden eyes and a gentle smile when she's done talking to the Akuma victim and the commission agent, padding back up to him on the edge of the sidewalk where he sits until they can both move again.
Except today. For some reason. It's Valentine's Day, and Hawkmoth has made no attempt to be kind on this holiday, trying to send out the most saddened and emotionally-devastated Akuma yet— they're exhausted. Fighting an Akuma about the depravity of love and how they 'just wanted a kiss' from Multimouse is just completely and totally exhausting.
People love her.
A little bit too much.
And Multimouse wants nothing more than some peace and quiet with her loved one after this fight and hide away from fans who think she's single and isn't going to reject them. She wants to cozy up with her boyfriend and leave the rest of this behind— to hide into his shoulder as they watch episodes of their favorite anime while he tries his best to toss popcorn into her mouth while they're both in the dark— but of course there's another obstacle.
She's about to start cursing and flailing.
People usually leave Viperion alone— why now? Neither of them were expecting this, especially not her. And neither of them expect Multimouse to slap Viperion's ass on complete accident in front of the news reporter who's been twirling her hair for about twenty minutes, now, pretending that her microphone isn't upside down as she 'interviews' him, asking if he's free for a date.
This... doesn't happen.
Ever.
Oh, gooseberries. What just happened?
Even though the two of them are covered in hexleather— a magical fabric that she can't for the life of her find a single scrap of fabric that matches the color, let alone durability— her fingers ring like she's cracked her bare hand against concrete. There's a blush across her face, she feels it, but refuses to mention it at all as the reporter continues, completely unaware of what's happened between the two of them. Viperion, too, continues like nothing has happened at all— he'd moved, a bit, with the way she'd hit him. The only indication it had actually happened. She'd recoiled herself, eyes wide and a squeak coming out of her, but they humor the news reporter for just a bit longer before Viperion decides it's time to go. By the time they leave, Multimouse hears the way the reporter murmurs under her breath about how it was so silly of her to not record their interview, even though the conversation had been nothing except small talk, and Multimouse barely realizes she's dragging her boyfriend by the collar and into her bedroom until it's too late.
"Mousey," he groans. "Come on. Don't you want to go do something?"
It's dark out. She can see the constellations of the sky through the latch to the patio, her little sunroof that she tries to follow around throughout the day with her plants. She's never been able to keep them alive for more than a couple of months, always overwatering when she thinks her plant is withering without gentle care— but now, there is no purpling sky. There is nothing endless, dark night— as dark as Viperion's hair, as dark as her hair, with twinkling bright stars as beautiful as his eyes. They've been here for hours, and she has no idea how she'd gotten to last this long without peeling everything off of him and finishing this the easy way.
"We're already doing something."
"Don't smile at me like that, you know what I meant."
"Am I hurting you?"
"Of course not."
"Am I being too much?"
"No," he wheezes, as she continues to drag her fingers down his chest. "You're never too much. But you are teasing, Mousey. Can't you pay attention to what's behind you?"
Oh, she knows what he's talking about. There's something insistent against her ass, something hot and warm and something she can feel through her thick hexleather— something that makes the feeling in her legs wash out. But she's busy, straddling his abs and doing her best not to rub herself all over him and make herself come just like this, instead finding it fun to watch him hiss when her gloved fingers tease the showing skin on his chest.
He has grooves against his suit that aren't the hexagonal textures of their fabric, but he has plates, too. Like a shifting snake skin, his abs are made of slightly denser material that makes almost a thick sound when she knocks against it. His chest plate, too, made out of the same material— she's a little upset that her superhero costume doesn't come with claws so she can rake them down his chest to watch the lines create patterns across his suit, but this is fine, too. He feels like nothing but heat underneath her hands as he squirms, trying his best not to bite his lower lips into a bloody mess as she teases more and more.
But she's the Mouse. The Cat Miraculous, the only Miraculous to have a set of hexsteel claws, is the only one that can rip open suits just with the fingertips. Chaos and entropy and things. It's hard to wield something as deadly as the Cat Miraculous— and she would definitely not use it for something as indulgent as this.
She's the Mouse. And the Mouse has a couple of tools at her disposal.
"Not yet. I'm just trying to calm down first— I don't like it when people talk to you and flirt with you," she sighs. "I'm sorry, Vai. I'm being really bad."
"You're not being bad." Oh, gooseberries, she loves it when he looks at her with that dopey smile of his. Even though his eyes are nothing but magma and heat and liquid, there's something soft in that smile when they make eye contact. Just so that she knows that he's okay with this. With her driving him crazy with no release, for hours and hours, all because a girl came close to him.
"I feel like keeping you here forever so that no one does that again," she whispers.
"Good girl, Mousey," he murmurs— he shifts his hips, pressing his hips up and into her crotch, sending color at the sides of her vision. She warms at his words— the way he makes it rumble in his chest, the way it feels like velvet against her skin that's hidden away by hexleather. "But you don't have to feel guilty about that. I like that, you know. I like it when you're possessive, it's cute."
Cute. Cute. She doesn't want to be called cute. She wants to be attractive— she's tired of being the sweetheart. The confectionary frosting. The vanilla. The gentle, appeasable Valentine's Day chocolate. She wants people to take her seriously when her brow furrows, when something hard sets on her jaw. She wants Viperion to look at her and see it. To see how much she wants to tie him up here and let him struggle underneath her for hours.
Valentine's Day.
The two of them are supposed to be spending time together— which, they are— but probably not like this. Watching the way his eyes fill with gold, his breath catches when she squirms, and how those ridiculously large fists of his continue to open and close. She's so thankful that no one is home, that her parents went to have their yearly romantic walk together around Paris as they redo their first date from all those years ago, because it gives her the opportunity to do this.
Knowing Viperion's mother, she's probably heading to the precinct to give the Akuma victim a frown and a scolding or two for behaving inappropriately with Multimouse. She might even cause another Akuma herself, knowing her tendencies to go overboard, and yet her son is completely unbothered, so much more focused on the way he's helpless to gentle touches.
It's strange. She doesn't know if she wants Viperion to be the one caging her in, or giving in to indulging herself for the first time in years. After all, he's here, in her bed, prime to letting her do whatever she wants, and all she can think about is how happy she'd be if the roles were reversed instead.
"I want to touch you everywhere so that everyone knows you're mine," she continues, trying not to think about her hands being tied above her head, two of his fingers teasing the space between her thighs as she whines and sighs. "I want everyone to know that Viperion is mine."
"I am yours."
"No, no—" her voice goes soft, cooing, touching him gently on the jaw to make him look at her. His pupils are widening into discs, barely any gold left as she looks him over, something of a 'fuck, that's hot,' pouring off his lips as she does. "Mine. Mine. Branded with my teeth. I don't want girls to talk to you. Isn't it stupid?"
He winks at her, just so that she knows that he's not taking her words seriously. "Not at all. I like you being so possessive."
Well. That's a blessing, if she's ever seen one.
So she does. It's hard to do much because she doesn't want to get up and get a hair tie to keep her hair back, but it was important for her to remove the pins in her hair. The hexsteel pins that kept her hair in place, two giant buns that served as an artistic's representation of mouse ears, are out so she could use it to cut into his suit. Each press of the pins into his suit had made a gasp catch in his throat, his eyes blow out wide, and his mouth go slack as his suit had peeled— she could hear it all with her super hearing. But now, with her hair down, she can barely do much without locks of it getting into her field of view— she whines to herself, trying not to pout too hard, not wanting to peel away and look for something to keep her hair back as she bruises the side of his jaw with her teeth.
He bucks into her, trying to catch purchase, trying for any type of friction that no doubt will alleviate him in his suit. But the hexleather rope is impossible to get out of, and he knows this, his hands fisting at them, trying to snap them off.
But isn't he a vision. Viperion, the darkened Knight of Paris, reduced to fluttering eyes with every kiss and teeth mark she presses into his neck and teases his skin with her gloved hands, turning into nothing but purrs. It's not a real purr. But it is something between a moan and a groan, like a rattle, a deep noise that she's obsessed with, something that she wants to hear ringing in her ears for the rest of her life.
"I mean, y-you can do all of that," he wheezes again when she squirms on top of him, his eyes blowing out so that there's no gold left, "you can do whatever you want to me, but— but do you have to do that when I'm like this?"
"Like how?" she cocks her head. "Do you not like this?"
She likes this. She likes how he looks. His hair looks wild and unkept from how many times she's pulled and combed her fingers through it, kissing him senseless until his eyes glazed over. She's made sure to keep him comfortable by letting him put his head on the pillow he uses in her bedroom whenever he stays over, but nothing much after that— she doesn't let him move his hands at all from where they are, tied to her bed posts. Nothing serious. Nothing complex. But to make sure he can't move at all, she's used the rope from her tail, tying him into place and not letting him move an inch, using sturdy knots to keep him from wrapping his thick arms around her and using her the way he so desperately wants.
Hexleather is unbreakable, after all, and that's exactly what her rope tail is made out of. The only way to tear through hexleather is to use hexsteel... her pins have done such a good job making sure she has access to his pale and wonderful skin underneath his suit.
"I like this," he whispers. "I really like this."
"Good." She shimmies forward, just enough to each over and trace her fingers over his arms. He's huge. By now, her boyfriend has sure to have stopped growing taller, but the end result is that he's massive, just massive— his arms are thicker, stronger, than would ever be available to her— he takes after his father. Apparently. That's what he always says whenever someone asks how Anarka, of all people, was able to raise a behemoth like him, while his mother is just as short as her. Even Juleka, his sister, is uncannily tall, like a perfect mannequin with incredible proportions that are so helpful during modeling clothes. They're proportionate in height, Juleka and her brother, but Viperion obviously has more muscles to pack it, which it makes sense. They've been fighting Hawkmoth since they were thirteen— Viperion has sure shown the hardened muscles in stride.
Delicious.
No wonder so many fangirls salivate over him on the internet. And she was definitely one of them before they started dating— dreaming of his gloved hands fisting through her hair and pulling. She's obsessed with the size of his arms, and how he strains against the rope, triceps flexing under her fingertips as she continues to trace them.
She's obsessed with the way he bucks up his hips, too, trying to get her attention again.
"Let me touch you, Mousey."
"Not yet."
Something strangled catches at the back of his throat. "But, I—"
"Please? I've always wanted to have Viperion in my bed. Let me enjoy this moment, Vai." She rips into his suit some more, holding the pin delicately between her fingertips.
The pin is her seam ripper. Viperion's suit is her last-minute runway project she needs to tweak. She has enough strength to pull it off, and enough creativity to make it look good. After all, Viperion is the perfect art project already, and she definitely has something in mind for what the finished piece should look like.
But it takes a moment to get the suit to go lower than his sternum. Her pin is small, not made to rip into giant sections of costumes like that Cat's claws are supposed to, so it's genuinely difficult. There's a push, and a pull, and she needs to be careful with the tip end so it doesn't accidentally knick her thumbpad as she tries to cut into it more, but she flexes and pulls as hard as she can, finding success with a smile when ripping all the way down to his left thigh. He hisses when his skin pebbles from her gentle teasing, blowing against his skin to get him to shiver. What a beauty. Pale, beautiful and perfect skin, perfect for her flat teeth to follow down to his Adonis belt and have her way with him.
Ah, but the star of the show is that cock of his, giving a firm slap against his hip and tensed stomach as she pulls the hexleather off of him enough to reach him— mmm. She likes that. She likes how he's aching for her, and she can tell he's desperate by the way he groans— his reddened head with dollops of precome leaking out of him, almost startled when she grips him at the base with gentle fingers. She's tiny, with equally small hands— she can't get her fingers to quite touch her thumb when she wraps a hand around him, and the thought is so drooly that she has to adjust her sitting position so she doesn't get overwhelmed. He hisses when she smears the beads on his flared head, giving his cock a good pump or two, just to get him to stop squirming against the rope that keeps him tied.
"Please, Mousey—"
"Please, what?"
"Stop teasing."
It's not every day she has the ability to fold a man twice her size and tie him up, with such a proportionately large cock between her fingers. This isn't conventional— this isn't her dream or fantasy— much more interested in the way he'd snatch her up and have his way with her, given the chance to, but she certainly sees the appeal of it as his eyes lose focus when she gives him another good squeeze. She likes the way he's caught off guard by everything she does, as if he's purposely letting himself not think ahead and live in the moment instead. This is a luxury, a delicacy, one that she has no doubt she'll enjoy. It's different. It's not normal for them.
Viperion would've had her pressed into the mattress by now, a firm hand clamped at the back of neck to keep her from squirming too much as he fucked her. And that— that— that is completely and totally the exact thought makes her head turn into creme brulee. The thing she dreams about the most is his weight on top of her, manhandling her, whispering sweet and gentle nothings about how much he loves her and how perfect she is for him as he punishes her lower body with sharp, stinging slaps to the thighs and fucking her hard enough for her to the stars.
But this is good. This is perfect, too.
"Did you like her talking to you?" she murmurs, as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She situates herself between his legs, bracing her arms against his thighs, just so she can suck him off properly. She likes the way she can feel his heartbeat in between her fingers, surging with blood and heat— she milks out more beads as she gives him some more pumps, entranced by the transparent liquid that starts to leak down her knuckles.
"You know I don't mind it— ah— when Parisians—" he holds back an expletive, even though it looks like it cost him, as she gives him tentative and gentle licks. "We're superheroes for the city. They should— Mousey— be allowed to talk to us."
"Was she pretty?"
"I have no idea."
"She seemed pretty interested in you," she teases. "Asking you all sorts of questions."
"Y-yeah. Trust me, I remember."
"You remember her?"
"I remember what happened."
"What was her hair color?"
He grits his teeth. Viperion has fangs, pretty ones, fangs that she knows feel so nice against her skin whenever he catches her on the way of leaving the shower, always nipping and biting and leaving pinpricks against her upper thighs— now all they're good for is piercing his bottom lip so hard that he might end up making himself bleed. "Brown?"
Wrong. Black.
"Her eye color?"
"Green?"
Wrong. Brown.
"What was she wearing?" she asks, gently, like a whisper, before licking a long stripe from balls to tip.
"Mousey, this game is way too difficult with you doing this— holy shit—"
She pouts. "Don't curse, Vai."
Something hardens in his eyes. "I'm going to get this rope off of me and I'm going to fuck you."
"You're cursing."
"Oh, I'm going to fuck you so hard, sweetheart. Your cunt is tightening up just thinking about it, isn't it? You're thinking about it. I know you are."
She pouts harder. "You're not going to convince me to untie you. Even if you keep saying words I like."
Even with his cock leaking, blistering red, Viperion drags his tongue across his teeth to make it clear to her that she's nothing but prey. "And you know why you should keep me tied up. What happens if I get out of here, hm? What happens, Mousey?"
She swallows. "You're going to eat me out?"
He grins. "Maybe. But you definitely don't deserve it— you're being a horrible superhero right now with how you're edging me on. After all, a pretty girl like you knows better than to tease me like this. The moment I get off this fucking rope you're getting spanked."
Her eyes narrow, trying not to smile. "You won't be able to."
"Try me."
Good luck, but that's impossible. Hexleather can't be broken, he knows that. None of her hairpins are close to his hands, either, so he won't be able to use her pins to get out of the knots she's made. He's completely at her mercy, which, poor guy— but the way he stares, the way he's firm with his declaration— all of it makes her shiver. So she turns back her attention to his stomach, nipping him on his ab, ignoring the way his hips press up to get her focus back onto where it matters— her body is already stinging with the idea of him spanking her, using her, not letting her go until he's through. But she won't give up yet. "You really weren't paying attention to her the reporter at all, were you?"
"I was busy thinking about you," he hisses when she tongues at his slit, making her all the more dopey and soft at the confession. The girl was attractive, and she knows that, but it must've been hard for him to focus. "That little show you gave is all I can think about."
"Do you think she noticed?"
"Mousey," he gasps. "Who cares about her? I don't even remember what she looks like, just— if you won't untie me, please keep going."
Fine, fine. He bucks his hips again as she slips him into her mouth, sinking him all the way until her eyes start to burn. He sighs, choking on something when she peels his suit away from the inside of his thigh so she can cup at his balls. He's strung up, tight, and nearly face-fucks her on accident when she teases him with two knuckles at his perineum. She can't smile, even though she wants to, so she settles by pressing in her fingers just enough to stimulate, and he can't do anything but shout.
"Fuck!"
She'd scold him, if she wasn't busy having something in between her lips. Instead, all she has is a hum at the back of her throat as she pulls more and more of him into her mouth.
She likes sucking him off. She likes the power it brings, to have someone like Viperion to fold over like cards, focus on nothing except the way she keeps her teeth away, letting him fit himself as much as possible into her mouth.
"Just like that Mousey, holy fuck, Jesus— I'm going to make a fucking mess out of your mouth—"
There's a bit of a vacancy at the back of her neck as he pistons up, continuing to dirty talk her until there's nothing but white noise between her legs. There should be a hand against her neck, holding her down, making sure that she doesn't move away as he makes sure she swallows around him instead, but she can make do with this. Besides, with the way he's groaning, she's so much more interested in helping him out this way. This is so nice. It's not often she gets to surprise him, not now that he's realized that she's intensely in love with him taking the lead, so she makes sure to appreciate the moment by hollowing out her cheeks.
He goes completely quiet when she does, the chants and groans disappearing under her breath with a good suck. Oh. Hm. She might've broken him.
She licks, too, squeezing him at the base while turning her attention to his head, working him up till his stomach is tightening up and his hands are starting to strain in the wrappings she's made with the rope. His face, pinched, behind that domino mask— he almost looks like he's hallucinating as she bobs her head, over and over again, oscillating between deepthroating and giving gentle licks to his slit as he can do nothing but moan.
He's straining so hard against the rope that it looks like it's starting to burn.
His muscles flex as he squeezes his fists, opening and closing, pink wrapping on his black and turquoise suit. He hisses, trying his hardest not to succumb and end up spilling in her mouth and cursing himself out as he raises his hips to meet her— she's been teasing him for hours. She's certain that if she just uses a hint more pressure he's going to come, right at her fingertips, and she loves the idea.
"Mousey, Mousey—"
She looks up, letting him out of her mouth with a wet 'pop'. "What's wrong?"
"Don't stop— wait, Mousey—"
"Stop what?" she grins. There's a bridge of spit connecting her stick to his cock, and she breaks it with a swipe of her tongue that his Viperion's eyes sharpening into something ethereal as he tracks her mouth. He's on the hunt for her, somehow, trying to convince himself that he has the upper hand. As if she literally doesn't have him tied up in the way she wants him.
"You're such a tease," he groans out, like he wasn't the one cursing expletives at her, saying that he'd fuck her stupid. "I can't— I need— I have to put my hands on you, I have to—"
He strains harder against the rope. The sound of hexleather squeezing hits her sensitive ears, that delicious noise that makes her shiver— she's always so more fine-tuned when she's in her own suit. His palms squeak that stereotypical noise, gentle and bright, as his fingers squeeze over and over again into his fist. Viperion might be strong, and Viperion might have super-strength, but he won't be able to get out.
It's impossible.
Not on his own, at least.
"You're not going to get out," she teases him with a smile, tracing an up-and-down pattern on his cock with just her forefinger, leaning into her palm. He jumps at her touch, at the way she traces the way he has a natural curve that she always feels when he lets her ride him. Missionary is so good with that pressure pushing up into her bladder. "You can't. You won't be able to. It's hexleather."
"I know, I know— untie me then, please, I want my hands on you so badly—"
She pouts. "You're not enjoying this?"
"I love this," he sighs, his head hitting back against the pillow to look up to the ceiling. "But it's not enough, it's not going to be enough, I need you— I just— I want— I need to fuck you."
"Not today, you won't."
"Mousey."
"You're staying there until I'm satisfied. Isn't this a nice Valentine's Day gift?"
Ah, but Viperion is nothing short of amazing, isn't he? She barely has time to make it into a promise— eyes widening as resolution sets in his eyes. She squeaks when he tries again, pulling against her rope, unpleased with her answer, only to finally break— break?— through it with a rip. It's loud. It's so loud. She pulls away with alarm, sitting up completely, as her rope snaps from the bedposts, still tied to his wrists. There's a groan escaping his lips as he flexes his forearms, trying to pull apart, something so masculine about it that Multimouse can do nothing but stare at his wrists with a dazed expression that darkens into a blush so hazy that she can't even feel the hexleather on her skin anymore.
"How did you—"
He snatches her, knocking her breath out of her when his fists encircle her arms. "That's better."
"Wait, but how—" she squeals when their roles reverse so quickly, him searching for one of her hair pins, already gripping it in the way she's shown him how. Her bangs scatter, still dazed, looking up at the ceiling with stars in her eyes as he kisses her over and over again. There's a tongue, writing letters against her teeth, as his hands slide up and down her sides and makes her shiver underneath her suit, and she can do nothing but squirm and sigh and feel how stupidly flushed her body is starting to get. He pulls away enough to let her complain. "Vai?"
"I have no idea how I did that," he replies with an exhale. "But fuck, am I happy that I did it. Did I scare you? You look a little spooked, are you okay?"
"I'm totally fine," she bites her lip. "That was..."
"Attractive?" he raises a brow. "Wait, actually, god I have to come before anything else, I fucking won't last long— I might as well just come all over your suit, at this rate, you fucking tease—"
"Hey! Cursing!"
"Sorry," he grins. There's nothing apologetic about it. Split lip and all, looking down at her with teasing fangs, a track of blood, and a wolfish smile, Viperion has officially got her to where he wants her. "Or, you know what, why don't I treat you to something special?"
She's flipped, right over onto her stomach, with a hard crack against her ass reminiscent to the sound of what she'd done to him earlier on in the day. She squeals more at the noise than the actual impact— her hexleather is safe, and sound, and keeps most of the impact away from her sensitive skin.
"Holy— oh—"
But that won't last long.
He grabs her by the asscheeks, large hands squeezing down onto her skin. She feels the pressure, even through the hexleather, how he's gripping her hard enough to hurt.
She can't see, either, with her hair falling around her like a curtain. Her loose hair is officially a detriment to paying attention to anything other than what she can hear. The only things she can see is the wall, her bed— her cat-shaped body pillow that her boyfriend loves to steal from her and cuddle with, and that somehow cute little Viperion snake plushy she'd found at a local art fair that was far too adorable to pass up on. It doesn't match her room, with all of the pinks and greens, but it's so cute and so him, that she didn't dare not buy it when she saw it.
"You've kept me in that rope for two hours," he groans, leaning down to nip her against the shoulder and to rut. She's heard the noise of his teeth scraping against hexleather before, but it always makes her feet twitch whenever she hears it. "Jesus Christ. You deserve so much more than spanking at this point."
He's so sensitive to time. She would make the joke, with a tease and a laugh, but she's busy hiding her face in the pillow he's been using as he cracks his hand against her again— oof. Just the sound is enough for the strength in her knees to liquify, for her to turn into nothing but puddles against her own duvet. There's no use in fighting him over this because she wants this, and wants to pretend that she doesn't have superstrength either. If she isn't careful with her hands on her bedframe, she might accidentally bend the metal bar, just because she's too busy thinking about how it turns her on to be underneath him. It's so good.
"Vai, oh— oh my—"
"I'm keeping that promise," he murmurs, nipping at her exposed neck as she shudders. His hips slot against hers, something hot and insistent pressing up against her ass that's unfortunately covered in hexleather. If only she could just... "Payback for teasing me for so long."
He brings the pin up to her neckline, making sure not to tangle into her necklace, and starts to rip it down her back. He's unzipping her from her suit, right down the middle of her back, tracing her spine with the pin as if he's holding the zipper between his fingers. Oh. Oh! The pin is gentle against her skin, more ticklish than anything else, grazing her like a gentle touch, far different than the actual tearing noise of her suit. The rip is loud— annoying— aggravating to her sensitive ears as he tears all the way down her own thigh. He holds her still with a gentle and firm hand on her shoulder, keeping her down and away from it so she doesn't get injured.
All she can do is whine.
He kisses every vertebrae he can spot with her back curled in, testing out her sensitivity with the side of his fang. She flinches at it, jerks at his touch, heart racing into her mouth as that instinct of being caught in a predator's mouth starts to rippled up from her— delicious.
He peels her suit away from between her legs, teasing her folds with the textured skin of his glove. She's sensitive, too, from all the teasing she's given him throughout the day, so it's no contest at all to how easy it is to sink a finger inside with absolutely no hesitation. The sounds she makes— the squelch— is enough to get her to steam red underneath her mask and whimper.
"Please, please, please—"
"I can feel you through my suit," he groans. "So fucking hot."
Which, okay. Yes. She's running a little hot, considering she's been licking and sucking him for two hours, so she might be running a low-grade fever. They're still in their suits, which means that they're full of hot blood and energy to go for a long while. They've never actually... done it in their suits before, but she knows that whenever Viperion catches her in her civilian form and refuses to detransform, there's absolutely no mercy. He's so hungry for her. For her, for her skin, for her lips— he's obsessed with her lips and mouth, always telling her what he wants to do to her— nothing about it ever is simple.
"You're so wet, beautiful."
"I've learned my lesson about teasing," she squeals out, when there's a textured thumb against her clit making her see stars. "Please— okay— I get it—"
"Have you?"
She's babbling. She's desperate. "Yes. Definitely. Absolutely. I promise."
"Why is it that I don't believe you, Mousey?"
"No, no, I promise—" she squeals again. "Oh— gooseberries— ahh— please just—"
"What is it?"
"Please fuck me. Please fuck me. Please, please please— I'm fine, I'll behave, I promise—"
But clearly that isn't enough, is it? Of course not. Her promising means nothing if she keeps following his fingers whenever he tries to pull away, eyes rolling and lashes fluttering when the thumb at her clit makes her eyesight go wonky. There's no point in hiding her desperation. He understands. He knows just how desperate she is when she lets him work her, desperately, up until she's about to come from this alone.
She whines when he pulls his finger away from her. "What— no—"
"You said you're going to behave. Stay still."
Okay. She can do that. She's good at listening to orders. After all, Multimouse is very good at listening. She has the best ears for it, too.
He's tall enough to reach for the lube in the nightstand, large enough to barely move away from her in order to grab for it, holding her by the hip as if he's worried she might scamper off. He's always smiling at this little lube bottle, the one in the shape of a bear, finding it hilarious that the top of the cap is supposed to be in the shape of the bear's hat. It's cute. It looks like a bottle of honey, especially since the color inside is that golden lovely hue that she associates Viperion's eyes with, but she barely has time to look at it before it disappears from her field of view and she hears him pouring a couple of beads against his length.
It's drippy. She hears that gentle gurgle of air bubbles as he tips the bottle over, of how it squelches just like her own body did, and she can hear how he generously covers himself from tip to base. He hums from his own touch, barely remembering to cap the bear's hat back on, before finding himself so much more interested with the way he fists himself, producing that wet slapping noise that she's familiar with.
The bed creaks underneath his knees as he shifts behind her.
He slots their hips together. Proud, insistent, there's something firm pressing up against her and how she drools down the inners of her thighs, sticky and borderline uncomfortable. There's nothing she can do but squirm, hopeful, wishing for him to move.
He does.
"Thank fuck."
He sinks into her with practically no effort at all, full and searing, stretching her walls to the brim of pain. She's full. She's fuller. She's so impractically stretched to the limit, so close to tearing, that lingering pain nothing but pleasure as she raises her hips to meet up with him as he moans. She's used to the stretch, used to the way it takes her a bit to get used to it— it's easier to deal with when he's lubed up, of course, because he doesn't drag against her walls— but it's still overwhelming. His hand up against her hip tightens indefinitely to the point of pain, her hexleather being the only thing keeping her skin from marking up into something ugly and purple. It's so easy for her skin to stain different colors when around him— she bruises so easily, with her pale-china skin— she's so thankful for her Miraculous keeping her from hurting too badly.
There's no mercy when he pistons his hip. She gets it. She does. She's been teasing him for hours— Viperion is fed up, even with his infinite patience. He moans with each meet of their skin, and how Multimouse can do nothing but enjoy it. Her stomach tightens hard enough to hurt— everything is blistering as he fills her up, caging her in with his arms.
Perfect.
He's not gentle with her, just the way she likes it. Words of appreciation flow out of him like he's finally incapable of keeping them back— telling her how much he loves her, how much he needs her, thankful for her touch and how enjoyable it is to be with her. Whenever he stops to breathe, there's a nip against her shoulder as she fists her duvet into something ugly and wrinkly that she'll spend forever trying to smooth out afterwards. It's so good, she can hardly give herself the chance to stop sighing every time they meet each other's hips.
"I want you to come first."
"No way," she whines. "That's not fair."
He laughs. "You think this is about being fair?"
"But what about—" What's the point of anything at all, if she's just going to lose her train of thought when he wraps one of his arms around her to swirl her clit with his fingertips? His other hand, too, away from the mattress where he was holding on in order to keep stable, pushing her shoulder down and to pin her to the cushion she mouths on, keeping her in place and not letting her move at all— what's the point of trying to get away from this when it's so good?
He gives her a pat. And then another one. Right on the clit, right with his fingertips, just enough to get her attention to the slight pain and the overwhelming pleasure, like he's trying to call her attention back.
"Come for me, Mousey. Right now. Be a good girl and come."
There's no fighting it at all. At this point, it's Pavlovian to respond to whenever he wants this, and whenever he wants her to come. All the teasing, the aching, the aggression over the course of the day have led up to this moment where she can do nothing but cry, fist her duvet harder, and squeeze as the orgasm that's been leading up to this finally snaps.
"I love you," she whispers, as she orgasms hard enough for her toes to curl in her boots— ah, but her voice is loud enough to ring in her ears. Everything feels slack, and tiring and sluggish— she feels how her thighs get wetter from her orgasm, and how everything feels so much less frantic. It's almost a drift, and then some, rubbing her face against the pillow to get that bare minimum of comfort, as everything is just simply nothing but euphoria.
"Good girl," he murmurs against her skin, kissing the back of her neck. There's that rattling noise again, that thick and low noise that makes everything feel so lulling, daring her to drift off into sleep. "What a good girl."
He pulls out of her.
She sits up immediately. Sticky, wet, empty without him, she turns her head over her shoulder, sending her hair billowing. "Wait, wait— where are you going?"
"Flip over for me. I'm eating you out."
"What?" she squeaks. "I just— I can't— what about you? Besides, I just came—"
"It's your Valentine's Day gift," he grins. "Well, one of them. Lift those pretty legs of yours, Mousey, the night isn't over yet— I can keep going for a long while, now that I get to control when I come. How about two more and we'll call it even from how much you've teased me?"
Oh.
Oh, sugar snaps.