Her hand at Catra's ear, that one's easy -- a show of intimacy familiar enough that, even caught up in the heat of it all, Adora can replicate it with only the slightest hitch in her movements. She knows this. Knows how Catra likes it when she scratches at the base, or drags her knuckles up the fuzzy back, or pinches the thin cartilage between her forefinger and thumb to rub at it.
It's grounding, to have this one kind of touch tonight that isn't alien. It boosts Adora's confidence, makes her other hand bolder, too; groping and squeezing at Catra's breast the way Catra had shown her just before. (Catra's breast-- it's small, and soft, and she's never touched it before except maybe on accident, and she likes it. A lot. Likes the way it yields beneath her fingertips when she presses them in.)
It takes her a moment to notice Catra's mimicking her, and Adora can't help but reel at the realization, just slightly. Their bodies match in places and differ in others-- Adora's never going to know how Catra feels when cold water hits her skin, or when she rakes her fingers through her fur.
But this, she knows, this feels the same for both of them-- she's sure Catra must feel those same little jolts when she rolls her nipple beteeen her fingers, scratches with the back of her blunt nail. She can tell from the way her thighs quake against her own with that same hungry tremor, from the way she, too, has to breathe in sharp spurts through grit teeth.
Something about-- just knowing they're the same, for all of Adora's cluelessness and clumsiness. The way their hands and hips move in tandem, Catra feeling her, needing her, matching Adora's own need. It makes Adora lightheaded-- her blood pounding hot and uncontrolled through her veins, her whole body straining just to keep it together.
The ball of crackling tension in her gut has stretched into a pillar; she can feel it in the backs of teeth. She doesn't know how much more it can grow before she can't take it, what will happen to her once she can't, but-- Adora doesn't want to stop. The room catching fire couldn't get her to stop. It's more than her own want, now-- it's about giving all she can to Catra.
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It's grounding, to have this one kind of touch tonight that isn't alien. It boosts Adora's confidence, makes her other hand bolder, too; groping and squeezing at Catra's breast the way Catra had shown her just before. (Catra's breast-- it's small, and soft, and she's never touched it before except maybe on accident, and she likes it. A lot. Likes the way it yields beneath her fingertips when she presses them in.)
It takes her a moment to notice Catra's mimicking her, and Adora can't help but reel at the realization, just slightly. Their bodies match in places and differ in others-- Adora's never going to know how Catra feels when cold water hits her skin, or when she rakes her fingers through her fur.
But this, she knows, this feels the same for both of them-- she's sure Catra must feel those same little jolts when she rolls her nipple beteeen her fingers, scratches with the back of her blunt nail. She can tell from the way her thighs quake against her own with that same hungry tremor, from the way she, too, has to breathe in sharp spurts through grit teeth.
Something about-- just knowing they're the same, for all of Adora's cluelessness and clumsiness. The way their hands and hips move in tandem, Catra feeling her, needing her, matching Adora's own need. It makes Adora lightheaded-- her blood pounding hot and uncontrolled through her veins, her whole body straining just to keep it together.
The ball of crackling tension in her gut has stretched into a pillar; she can feel it in the backs of teeth. She doesn't know how much more it can grow before she can't take it, what will happen to her once she can't, but-- Adora doesn't want to stop. The room catching fire couldn't get her to stop. It's more than her own want, now-- it's about giving all she can to Catra.