"I don't--" Adora's stroke along her side steals her next breath, and Catra's hands flex again as her body shudders. She hates every second of it. "I don't want--" and then Adora's thumb brushes down against her hip and something inside her burns, drying her mouth and she just -- she wants Adora to-- to--

"Stop touching me," she croaks, trembling from the effort of resisting. But the motions continue, and with the next stroke along the dip of her hip she sinks down, folding over Adora's head as her fingers slide to press against mussed blonde hair. She wants Adora there. She wants Adora everywhere. She wants Adora. "I hate you. Go away."