Catra's fingers are already deep in the fur of her chest, lathering the soap in as quickly as she can manage, when Adora decides to turn around and glare at her.

Catra just hisses back, flicking one of her sudsy hands at Adora to fling some now-dark soap her way.

"I'm working on it," she growls, returning her hand to scrub with an exaggeratedly pointed motion under the curve of her breast. Adora always thinks she knows best, she grouses bitterly. If Catra hadn't been intending on getting under the water, she wouldn't have taken off her stupid clothes and gotten near the stupid shower. "Why don't you do something to help instead of standing there and lecturing me?"