Adora gasps as she's pulled down, and her whole body is as stiff as a log. But Catra is... soft, for the first time tonight. (For the first time since Octavia caught them-- she doesn't know why she can't stop thinking about that.)
Adora tries and wills herself to relax, scrunching her eyes shut, breathing deeply through her nose. The muscles in her back are knotted up so tight that even Catra's careful touches ache, making her hiss. It's like trying to work the tension out of a rock.
But she doesn't want to pull away, either. Being held, being doted on -- she's not usually so greedy about those things, but tonight, her worn body and frayed nerves are desperate for it. She loops her arms around Catra's waist, buries her face against the soft fur of her chest. This is good. She needed this.
She can almost forget that Catra's asking her questions she doesn't know how to answer.
"We're training to be soldiers," she protests quietly, after a palpable moment of contemplative silence. "It's not about being happy."
no subject
Adora tries and wills herself to relax, scrunching her eyes shut, breathing deeply through her nose. The muscles in her back are knotted up so tight that even Catra's careful touches ache, making her hiss. It's like trying to work the tension out of a rock.
But she doesn't want to pull away, either. Being held, being doted on -- she's not usually so greedy about those things, but tonight, her worn body and frayed nerves are desperate for it. She loops her arms around Catra's waist, buries her face against the soft fur of her chest. This is good. She needed this.
She can almost forget that Catra's asking her questions she doesn't know how to answer.
"We're training to be soldiers," she protests quietly, after a palpable moment of contemplative silence. "It's not about being happy."