boxitup | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

"Catra! Stop it, it's for your own good! Ow!"

At the end of a long day of training, Adora is tired, sore, and wants little more than to take a shower and throw herself onto her bed. Wrangling a furious Catra into the showers with her was not on the agenda tonight, until a bot that hadn't been fixed quite right (thanks, Kyle) sprung a leak and sprayed them both with motor oil.

Now, the issue with Catra is that she's willing to shower exactly twice weekly, and both opportunities have passed. But Adora is not going to let her walk around reeking of motor oil until Monday. She's got her arms full of Catra and she's not letting go, no matter how Catra squirms, scratches, bites. In the ten minutes since she's initiated this endeavor, Adora has barely made it two steps into the showers, but her dedication to the cause and can-do attitude have always been cited as two of her strongest points as a cadet.

As they struggle and yell, Lonnie steps around the two of them on her way to the sleeping quarters, and offers Adora a sympathetic nod: "Good luck."

Adora grits her teeth.

"Look! In the time you've spent throwing your tantrum, Lonnie's already finished showering! We could've been done here!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah, that's about what she expected. Right down to the thread of desire that pulls taut within her, Adora's whimper crystal clear to Catra's ears and just not enough.

(She really can't wait to get those private accommodations.)

She sits back up, releasing Adora's neck unceremoniously and resting on her haunches over Adora's thighs, hand still in place on her crotch. Catra's sharp eyes dart around, looking for anything at all to use; but their bunks are austere as ever. The only things available are the blanket, and Adora's pillow.

"Pick something to shove in your mouth," she instructs in a hiss, pressing her fingers pointedly down, feeling them slip between the crevice of Adora's thighs. She's forgotten her nails already, but they're standard-issue shorts; they shouldn't get torn up too easily. (And she can already imagine how Adora must feel beneath them, slick and hot; can imagine the glide of her across Catra's fingers, wetter than Catra's ever gotten herself. She wants that, too - wants every bit of Adora - but that's too risky in a dormitory bunk. Catra doesn't know if it's just her sensitive nose, but the scent of pleasure isn't exactly a subtle one; and again, they really cannot get caught.) "Use the pillow."

Catra's brusque, commanding tone sends Adora's heart into a gallop, and her hips cant towards her hand as if pulled by invisible strings. Catra can get bossy, that much is nothing new-- but this is different. Her words are a warning, burrowing under Adora's skin, carrying heat and thrill. It feels undefiable.

... That doesn't mean she likes the order, though.

"What? I don't wanna put my pillow in my mouth!" she whispers harshly in response -- because she's being good, see, still regulating her volume. "I'll just use my hand, it's fine!"

Catra's ears flatten, and her hand stills on Adora for a moment before she removes both of them. Once again, she leans forward; grabbing Adora's hand with one of hers to place it pointedly against her mess of hair, and tugs at the pillow with the other.

"It's the blanket or the pillow. Pick one." Her eyes are narrowed into annoyed slits, her tail flicking with agitation, because as frustrated as Adora thinks she is -- Catra has been frustrated for longer. All of Adora's touches, her fingers stroking into her fur, her thumbs brushing the sensitive curves of Catra's body. All of the things she does, every day. Her cocky laugh when she's winning, her confident stride, her smarmy grin. Everything Adora is has frustrated her like this for an entire age by this point, and the bottom line? Adora is not getting off unless her hands, both of them, are on Catra. "Or I'll stop."

Edited 2020-06-16 14:43 (UTC)

Okay, Adora accepts with a swallow. So Catra wasn't kidding, neither about shoving something in Adora's mouth nor about the very specific placement of her hands on her.

It's kind of sweet, actually, how Catra insists on her hand in her hair. Adora's in no position to give it voice right now, but the thought does tug on the edge of her lips, and she curls her fingers in that thick dark hair, thumb grazing the base of one ear.

"Blanket," she answers, less to do with any real preference and more for the sake of being as contrary as her situation allows. And because moving her hands, as she's come to understand, is no longer an option-- she tilts up her chin and opens her mouth, waiting for Catra to place it there.

It is no secret whatsoever that despite her varied and copious complaints about it, Catra loves to be touched by Adora. It's obvious, right? She lets Adora pet her all the time, grumbles about it with token protests but always winds up dozing and purring against her. So Adora really, really shouldn't be surprised about how insistent on having her hand in her hair Catra is, or by how she tilts the tiniest bit into the graze against her ear.

Of course Adora has to choose the blanket, and really Catra shouldn't have even bothered giving her an option. She rolls her eyes, but shifts her weight from knee to knee as she extracts enough of it to drag up, to... Adora's... mouth...

...Her brain might have short-circuited at the sight of Adora's chin tilting up, her lips parted and waiting, and -- and, wow. That is not something Catra had imagined before, and she feels her legs try to press together instinctively against the sudden drop of arousal, except of course. Adora's there. Between her legs. Waiting for her. Listening to her. Doing what Catra's telling her to do.

She doesn't have to look at herself to know her pupils have blown to circles, and for some reason now she can feel every rough thread of the blanket as she tugs it up to Adora's mouth, and she can feel the puff of Adora's breath against her skin, and she can feel the dry drag of Adora's lips against her fingers, and it turns out that gagging her best friend might be something that Catra really, really enjoys doing. Or maybe it's just the feeling of control it gives her; the rush of power.

"Not a bad look on you," she jibes; because she has to say something, has to goad somehow, because Adora's face is just-- and her eyes are just-- and Catra's just--

Catra can't stop looking at her, as she places her hands on Adora's shoulders and glides them over the durable fabric of her sleeping shirt, claws scratching over the Horde symbol emblazoned above her heart. She doesn't stop until she's cupping Adora's breasts - the very same ones she's eyed enviously in the locker rooms - and stroking her thumbs across the tops, searching for and then honing in on the stiffening bumps of her nipples, rubbing against them. That makeshift gag had seriously better work.

While Adora's been dimly aware of the growing tenderness in her breasts, of her nipples straining against the fabric of her top, it's not until Catra touches them that she realizes just how sensitive they are. How much they're aching to be touched. The sensation, even muffled by the barrier of clothing, sends little sparks down to her stomach, and Adora's-- really trying, okay, swallowing down the thrumming in her throat, breathing harshly through her nose. She's being quiet, even if she has to bite into the sheet, its texture coarse against her tongue.

Adora's thighs are tight around Catra's hip, and her back arches, pushing her chest out into her hands in a silent demand for more. Her own hands-- she keeps forgetting them, leaves them twitching and trembling against Catra-- find some initiative of their own, one threading softly through her hair, the other sinking tentative fingers into the fur of her lower belly.

She loves it, she decides immediately. The softness of Adora's breasts when she presses her fingers into the curves, the arch of her back; when she swallows so harshly, blue eyes determined, trying to keep herself restrained.

Catra shifts herself down, pressing onto Adora's leg and it's -- not good enough, it's not right. She's in a bad position, a bad angle or something, because when she rolls her hips it's only a fraction of the sensation she gets from her own hand, and she knows that's wrong. That has to be wrong. The way Adora makes her feel just from her fingers curling into the fur of her stomach is hot and electric, and Catra wants that.

It has to be the position.

She moves her weight back onto her knees, leaning back down to graze her teeth against Adora's ear even as she scrapes her nails against her hardened nipples before pinching them between thumb and forefinger, rolling them as best she can through the fabric. She's better balanced this time, the blessing of having her hands on Adora's chest, and she takes a second just to listen to her. Just to breathe her in.

"Bend your knee for me." She whispers the command so quietly it might have been a ghost of the words, but she's so close she knows Adora will hear her clearly. Her tail drags up one of Adora's legs in demonstration, urging her, and Catra's already shifting so that she can straddle and press against that thigh when it rises. Because it will rise, she's sure; Adora wants this too, after all.

Catra is rough, and that's not fair-- she's making it harder on Adora on purpose, making her hiss and grit her teeth until her jaw aches. She wait for the slightest lull in Catra's touches, then quickly releases the sheet from between her lips to chastise: "No claws."

(And she takes the sheet right back into her mouth without even being told, because rough or not-- teasing or not-- she's not ready for Catra to stop.)

Her body squirms against the mattress as Catra shifts on top of her, the chafe of fur against her bare stomach and legs ticklish and tingling -- and she watches her with transfixed eyes, understanding enough to discern a purpose from her repositioning even without knowing what.

And then Catra gives her next order, which Adora is coming to realize she likes-- like-- a lot, and she obligingly drags her heel up the mattress, angling her knee. Catra's thighs clamp greedily around it right away, her heat seeping through the material of her underwear, and just like that, it clicks. Adora doesn't even have to think. Her leg moves on its own, pushing up against Catra, grinding readily into her.

She makes a face at the reprimand, almost tempted to rake her nails down her bare skin just to be contrary, but obliges anyway; curling her fingers in at the knuckles to keep the tips of her fingers away from Adora's body.

But she's getting what she wants, her ears twitching at the sound of Adora's heel dragging, and when she moves her hips back Adora is there, directly against her, and she exhales a shuddering breath that contains the last quiet vestiges of a moan against Adora's neck.

"Adora," she wants to do -- something, with her mouth, so she presses it against Adora's skin in moves that could have been called kisses were they not so filled with nips of teeth and drags of tongue. Her hands move down, knuckles sliding against the defined muscles of Adora's abdomen, and then Catra has to move one to brace herself on one arm against the mattress; so she can press the backs of her knuckles against Adora's pubic mound, imagining the blonde curls there as she inches her own knee in place, thinking of the slick heat Adora would be rubbing against her were it not for the shorts. It just makes her roll her hips harder into Adora's leg, every inch of her alive and craving. "Adora, you have hands." Because right now, it kind of seems like she's forgotten they exist and it's unfair, because Adora's always touching her and always driving her mad but right now she's not even using them, and Catra needs her to. Can she be blamed for being a little frustrated, a little harsh, when she demands: "Use them."

Catra's bitten her before. Licked her, too. Mostly just to be a jerk-- like during their playfights, or as part of Catra's attempts at escape while Adora was dragging her to the showers.

She can't believe how wholly, utterly different it feels now, fuelling the fire between her legs and making her toes curl. She doesn't get how Catra's doing that -- how, after those years spent as close as any two people could be, this somehow feels even closer.

Their bodies rub together in a clumsy sort of harmony, Adora doing all she can to catch up-- to feed into the friction as much as she takes from it, matching the rolling of her hips to the rocking of Catra's own. And then Catra's hand presses against her, too -- a harder, more focused pressure, and Adora's teeth nearly tear through her blanket.

It's so much. She's so focused on moving against Catra, clinging to Catra, and keeping her moans trapped inside all the while-- that she's actually startled when she's reminded of her hands, throwing her off-rhythm.

Right. Her hands. She should-- oh-- where should she--?

Face flushed, Adora spends a moment just kind of awkwardly petting around, hoping Catra will give some indication of where and how her hands should settle. Finally, her hand in Catra's hair comes to rest fully over the back of her ear, while the hand at her stomach has moved up to cup one breast. And she looks up at Catra with big, nervous eyes, searching her face for signs of approval.

Edited 2020-06-17 16:53 (UTC)

Adora's hands are clumsy, and shaking, and they're still the best things Catra has ever felt. The fur she disrupts with her fingers remains raised with the prickle of gooseflesh, and Catra shivers into it; leaning herself into Adora's touch, urging her on. Adora's touched her before, innocent pets and strokes, and somehow - for some reason - this feels. More. And Catra's teeth close down on her own lip as she pushes back hard onto the movement of Adora's leg, feeling white-hot sparks burning through her nerves, and she wishes she could feel Adora just -- all over, without their stupid clothes in the way.

The length of her ear is the wrong place for Adora's hand to be, but Catra doesn't know where the right place is and it's -- fine, anyway, not bad -- so she just nods jerkily at Adora's questioning look, unable to talk now for the knowledge that the moment she opens her mouth, she won't be able to control what else comes out. (And she will not be the one who ruins this for them.) It's difficult enough as it is, when Adora's hand curves on her chest and Catra's thighs tense hard around Adora's leg in a sudden vise grip, to turn what would have been a sharp gasp instead into a controlled exhale. And to then relax and resume in a juddering, ragged movement against her, feeling the edge of climax approaching.

It's embarrassing, honestly, how little she needs from Adora. But she's so - she's so here, with her hair actually spilled out on her pillow that Catra tugged askew; with her pink lips tight around the fabric stuffed willingly in her mouth; with her blue eyes darkened and wide, her body squirming under Catra's and rocking with uncontrolled vigor into her.

Catra hardly even needs her to do much but she wants it anyway, and she arches her back to press her chest into Adora's hand, demanding. She has the faint thought that this position is entirely conspicuous; that if anyone were to look over at Adora's bunk, there'd be no mistaking what the two of them were up to. But the thought vanishes in the next drag of herself up Adora's thigh, and disappears for good on the downward roll. The only thought she has left is that her hand is wasted on the mattress, and that she can still be braced perfectly well on her elbow while her fingers grope at Adora's breast - and so that's what she does, mirroring the slides and presses of Adora's fingers, copying her move for move. Go on then, Adora. Show her what you like.

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.

Edited 2020-06-18 14:16 (UTC)

--She was wrong, actually, about Adora's hand? The one on her ear? Because once Adora remembers how her fingers work, the first stroke along it feels as good as it always has, and the part of Catra holding on to deliberate thought crumbles and falls away the same way it always does when Adora pets her. Her head lolls into the scratches and rubs, and she really - she can't-- she has to part her lips to breathe, long draws of air, and clench her jaw quickly shut when Adora's hesitant touch on her breast turns confident. Catra doesn't even reach the realization that Adora's clued in, just folds down into her at the first pleasurable press of her nipple between Adora's fingers, her own trembling as they mimic the movement. And Adora's fingers roll the sensitive nub, and she feels the stiffness of Adora's as she copies her and the jolt of her hips into hers (or is that Catra's into Adora's?) and something about Adora has -- changed. Catra has neither the presence of mind nor the will to pause long enough to think about what it is, is just falling under the warmth of pleasure Adora's steadily building in her, and she has just enough rationality left to know, to know, that she's not -- she's not going to be able to keep quiet at the peak of her release.

She manages one desperate, quiet gasp for air; and then she pushes her body up, dragging across Adora's, and she -- just needs -- she has to bite on something, but one of her hands is trapped spasming between Adora's crotch and her own thigh, and the other she won't remove from Adora's breast, and she -- she

She doesn't have time to think too much about it, lifting her chin to grip the blanket draped across the side of Adora's chin between her teeth, feeling the line of Adora's jaw against her cheek as her body clenches, and spasms; and there's a short, choked noise that she hopes, dearly hopes isn't audible beyond their ears as Catra pushes back into Adora's hip, onto Adora's thigh, into Adora's hand, and shudders against her as her mind completely blanks under the wash of hot pressure, undulating against Adora's body with every wave that her orgasm brings.

--She'll be embarrassed about this later, about how easily she came apart from Adora's barest touches when her own are often unsatisfactory, but right now? Right now this is the most intense, most full-body climax she's ever reached, and Catra's going to be riding it as far as it'll take her.

Adora's eyes go wide as Catra presses the whole of her to her, belly to belly and chest to chest, her face so close that it makes her heart lurch. She can tell that something's different, something's happening, because Catra's hungry rhythm altogether dissolves into a series of uncontrolled spasms. And Adora wants to ask, are you okay, what's going on, but she doesn't get the chance to, because-- because Catra's all over her, and she can feel each shudder and jerk that runs through her body as if it were her own, and her trapped hands twitch against Adora just so.

It happens before she can help it, the tension in her finally hitting its peak, and Adora's scared -- she's never felt anything with such intensity, she doesn't know what to do, and her hands cling to Catra's shoulders and hair like a lifeline. She doesn't have the presence of mind to watch the noises she makes, but that's okay, because her throat dies just then; every muscle in her body knits together tight, as tight as it'll go, and colors burst in front of her closed eyelids as everything inside her unravels. Everything, everything, from the top of her head to her fingers and toes, dissolves from the inside in a great deluge of spark and flame. It's-- everything.

When the colors have faded and Adora opens her eyes again, the room around her is little more than blurry blotches in the dark. She blinks rapidly, then finally releases the blanket from between her teeth, throwing her head back to drink in mouthful after mouthful of air. Her lungs burn, needy, grateful.

Catra's gone still in arms, and she can feel the same languid slackness to her that she feels in her own limbs. Like her bones have turned to jelly. Adora's utterly spent, and dizzy, every inch of her skin tingling with warmth, and she's-- completely overwhelmed by everything that just happened.

"Are you-- I-- what--" she searches for the words between puffs of breath, only to find her head very much empty, her thoughts clattering to the floor before they're even halfway formed.

Finally, she croaks out--

"Was-- was that normal?"

Catra vaguely recognizes the desperation in Adora's hold, and she does drag her hand out from between their chests, then; fumbling to place it atop Adora's on her shoulder, closing her fingers tight around her palm in a familiar grip that says you're okay, I've got you, we're alright; and even as she's left gasping against the blanket she'd latched onto, Catra is mesmerized by the feel of Adora coming beneath her. She wants to draw back, wants to look at her - but her arms are too weak, her body too sapped to even think about moving any further.

So she just curls against Adora, feeling every shudder and tremble, basking in them in something akin to -- awe, almost, just completely taken by the knowledge that this is how Adora's body jerks when she's overridden, this is how Adora smells when she's been pleasured (still clean, but sweatier; muskier), and this is how her heart pounds as she comes down, chest heaving, and melts into her mattress.

Catra doesn't know if that was normal, if having someone do it with you is supposed to be more intense and leave you so gratified after, but she nods anyway, her cheek dragging against Adora's jaw.

"Good, huh?" Her voice is a quiet rasp, and even if they weren't needing to be close to silent she thinks she probably wouldn't have been able to manage anything louder. Her fingers squeeze around Adora's hand, about all the effort she can muster, and she knows she's going to have to move soon before she just -- passes out, right here on top of Adora. But it can wait. She can hold out. She wants to stay here, curled around Adora like a shell, for a while longer. "Told you you were missing out."

"Yeah. Wow."

Good doesn't begin to cover it. Adora flexes her fingers and toes, feeling them buzz, still. All the twisting, uneasy knots inside her have melted away, leaving her lighter than she's felt maybe ever, like she's full of hot air. Like she could just float out of this bed, if it weren't for Catra on top of her.

She's mindful of her volume, but she lets herself babble a little, the bubbly giddiness in her chest flowing from her lips. "I feel so-- empty? Like, there was always all this tension inside of me that I could never get to go away, and now it's just, gone. I didn't know it could be gone. It's-- I mean, it's--" She gestures with her free hand a moment, before settling on: "really good."

Her cheeks are pink. She's probably being a bit silly. But Catra should know that, she thinks, know how she's made her feel.

Adora's smile curls lopsided.

"... Are you feeling that, too?"

The more Adora babbles, the more Catra feels - something. Something easy, and warm, that unfurls peacefully in her chest and pulls a smile onto her lips as she bows her head down to press her face into Adora's shoulder. She feels this way, sometimes. Doesn't know what it is, doesn't know what to call it. But it's always something Adora's done that triggers it.

(Even if sometimes, all she's doing is existing.)

"Yeah," she murmurs into her; even though it's a lie. Catra feels the exact opposite of empty right now, with that warmth tickling at something inside her and fluttering in her stomach. She'll agree with anything Adora says, especially the things that will lead to repeats of what they've just done. She really doesn't get how Adora can be saying so much, when for Catra it feels like all strength for any movement at all has been leeched from her, but she likes the sound of Adora's voice. Even whispered. She likes it when Adora talks to her, just her, and so she scrounges up as many words as she can to keep her going. "Think you'll let us do it again sometime?"

Edited 2020-06-19 07:23 (UTC)

Adora perks up at the question, heart fluttering with excitement. For how casually Catra drawls the words out, they almost make her squeal. (Catra liked it! They can do it more than once!)

"--Can we? 'cause I'd really like that. A lot."

Despite how utterly boneless she feels, a sudden rush of jittery energy floods her, and Adora has to do-- something, with herself. She's not sure exactly what, but she really, really wants to touch Catra, wants to make her understand how much this means to her. So she squeezes her tight between both arms, tangles their legs together, nuzzles her face into Catra's hair with a goofy amount of vigor. (And has to swallow a sneeze when it tickles her nose.)

"Catra," she giggle-whispers her name, with no real purpose beyond wanting to feel it on her tongue. "Catra. Catraaaa."

Adora bundles her up, and Catra finds herself having to stifle something that might have been a laugh. It comes out as a hot huff of air instead, as Adora seems to find a ridiculous amount of energy stored somewhere in her, and Catra's ear flicks rapidly as Adora's face brushes it with every nuzzle.

(And Adora's excitement and glee must be contagious, because that warmth is making Catra feel -- kind of giddy, like it's feeding off of Adora's nonsense.)

"Adora," she whispers back, letting her voice drop low into an amused rumble, her tail twitching as it tries to contribute and then gives up. Adora's just so stupid. She's such an idiot. She's making Catra feel like they're playing some sort of game, when all she's doing is laying on top of her and trying to stay awake. "Ador-a," she repeats; dragging the syllables like a toy, seeing how low her voice can go before she cuts herself off with a snigger. Adora's so dumb, she's making Catra dumb. She's gonna rile them both up and get them caught. "Go to sleep, dummy."

"Nooo," Adora lets out a whine, though it's hard to sound properly petulant with the affection and humor clinging to her voice. She sways from side to side, taking Catra with her. "But I like staying up with you."

--And she feels like she's been talking into Catra's hair for a while, now. She misses her face. Wedging her hand under Catra's chin, she insistently nudges it upward. "Hey. Hey. Look over here."

Catra's breath just comes in more and more huffs and puffs of amusement, trying so hard to keep from actually laughing as Adora rocks her. The idiot really is going to get them busted.

She resists Adora's hand at first, hunkering down further; but the silent giggles are getting to her, and eventually Catra has to let Adora nudge her face up.

"You're so stupid," she breathes; and then presses her lips together again. She manages to hold a straight face for half a second before she's grinning, because Adora's idiocy is just. Really infectious, okay. And she's just -- she's really pretty, with her sparkling eyes and goofy smile, and she's relaxed for the first time in... well, ever. Catra knew that getting off would chill Adora out, but this much? She's kind of really enjoying the change.

"Just a little," Adora lightheartedly concedes, and her fingers curl under Catra's chin to rub at the fur there.

The sight of Catra's smile makes her own widen, so much that it pushes out her cheeks, squints her eyes. She leans her forehead to hers, touches their tips of their noses together, just-- wants all of her touching all of Catra. It feels like something she's allowed to want now, after tonight. A newly opened door, that she'd never even realized was there.

Her lips come to brush Catra's cheek, unthinkingly, just an idle sort of roaming. But she likes it, likes the warm glow of Catra's flushed face beneath her lips, and Adora nuzzles into it instinctively. From her cheek to her jaw, then back up again. This is nice. She could stay like this for a while.

"... You take good care of me," she mumbles finally, paired with a quiet exhale. "Thank you."

There's nobody awake to see, so Catra lets herself lean into Adora's hand at her chin, lets the curl and rub of her fingers draw out the quiet purr from her chest. Adora's forehead touches hers, their noses brushing - and it's such a familiar, them thing to do that Catra's eyes drift slowly shut, and then reopen half-lidded in contentment.

Then Adora's lips tickle her cheek, and Catra's face scrunches in protest as the laughter tries to rise up in her again. She's too tired to fight Adora, so she stays there, squirming with every ticklish move and huffing laughs against her ear. When they have their private rooms, this is what they'll do, all the time. They'll climb up the ranks of the Horde during the day, and at night, they'll lay together - just like this - and Catra will let herself laugh as loudly as Adora can make her.

She can't stop the prick of her ears at Adora's mumble, or the feeling of accomplishment they urge within her. It's not often that people recognize when Catra's done something well, but Adora always notices. Sometimes it feels insulting, sometimes it annoys her; but right now it's just. Nice.

"We take care of each-other," she murmurs in response, nuzzling back against her. How stupid the two of them must look, just rubbing their faces together like this while Catra purrs. But it feels good, feels happy and light and. Whatever, you know? It's just the two of them right now. Catra doesn't have to care about anything else.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only