Catra's ears flatten, and her hand stills on Adora for a moment before she removes both of them. Once again, she leans forward; grabbing Adora's hand with one of hers to place it pointedly against her mess of hair, and tugs at the pillow with the other.

"It's the blanket or the pillow. Pick one." Her eyes are narrowed into annoyed slits, her tail flicking with agitation, because as frustrated as Adora thinks she is -- Catra has been frustrated for longer. All of Adora's touches, her fingers stroking into her fur, her thumbs brushing the sensitive curves of Catra's body. All of the things she does, every day. Her cocky laugh when she's winning, her confident stride, her smarmy grin. Everything Adora is has frustrated her like this for an entire age by this point, and the bottom line? Adora is not getting off unless her hands, both of them, are on Catra. "Or I'll stop."