"I guess," Adora admits, reluctantly. As if she doesn't know that. As if this very moment, with her curled up into Catra and Catra's hands stroking at her back, is anything more than pure, indulgent selfishness.

She and Catra have always been selfish like that, when it came to each other. No matter how many times Shadow Weaver tried to pry them apart, insisted that Adora would be better off for it. Adora wouldn't give this up for the world. Catra's closeness, her warmth, the slow rhythm of her breath. Her smell, fresh from the shower, the soft fluff of her fur. Even that raspy note to her voice when she's scolding her.

Adora's arms tighten their hold, and she presses herself closer.

"Does it," she begins sheepishly, clunkily, having to reach deep inside to produce the words-- "Does it feel good?"