She doesn't expect the tender dab at her face, and Catra doesn't know any more if there's any time at all between one flush on her cheeks and the next.

It's strange, to be handled so gently. Of all the things she had ever imagined with Adora - and she had imagined plenty of things - this was. Certainly not one of them. Catra wasn't a person who got soft touches.

Her breath catches as Adora's hands smooth across her shoulders and down her arms, pleasant tingling following all the way; and she's distracted for a moment by the thought of this but without the towel, just Adora's hands on her, and she forces herself to focus on the deep gouges her claws had left in the wall above the bath instead of wandering down the rabbit hole.

She doesn't realize she's lifted her arms until she does it, and the coldness of her palms drives home the bonus realization that somewhere after Adora's gentle handling of her hair she'd stopped working on her tail, too distracted by silly nice feelings to finish drying it out. It flicks behind her in a rush, hiding the evidence of her complete distraction. Adora's got more than enough on her already from this; she doesn't need to know about that, too.