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"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!"

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"Then go shower with Lonnie!"

The wretched stink of oil clogged in her nostrils may be making Catra want to both simultaneously puke and pass out, but that doesn't stop the high pitch of her yowling as she makes life incredibly, impossibly hard for Adora. Catra doesn't have the brute strength necessary to break Adora's bear hug, which isn't fair. It isn't fair that Adora's gotten taller than her, or that she's been able to pack on more muscle than Catra. Slipping out of her grip used to be easy; used to be just a matter of going limp and sliding out of her arms and scampering away. Scrabbling for her freedom should not be this hard.

"I haven't even gotten undressed!" Because Adora knows she'll make a break for it if she's allowed to. Catra doesn't care how ratty and matted her hair gets, she doesn't care if she's stuck covered in motor oil for the rest of her stupid life. She has already suffered her two showers this week, and she won't be forced into another. "You can't just throw me in there!!"

Catra's always kept her feet on the ground when wrestling Adora, but that was back when they were the same size. Now -- she has to improvise, and both of her legs wind around Adora's, locking tight around her knees. Brute strength doesn't count for much if you can't move, and if they both fall over because of this -- Catra's willing to take that hit.

You'd think Adora would be intimately familiar with all of Catra's dirty tricks by now, and yet, amazingly, she still hasn't run out of ways to surprise her. As made evident by the way Adora loses balance and topples to the floor, shrieking as she goes. And yes, this means taking Catra with her-- though the impact of her back against the tile startles her into momentarily loosening her hold.

"No!" she cries out at the feeling of Catra's weight lifting off her, and lashes out with both arms to grab hold of her mid-scamper. That split-second of freedom has allowed Catra to reach just far enough that now, when Adora pulls her back down against her, she ends up with her face pressed to Catra's stomach.

"Give it up, Catra! I'm not letting go until you shower!"

Catra is up in a flash of movement, the bandages on her feet providing much-needed traction against the smooth floor. She's almost free, but Adora - stupid Adora - manages to grab a fistful of her shirt and the fur underneath and yanks her back down, and Catra screams with both the burn of pain and the injustice of it all.

"Let me go!" Her voice is getting hoarse from screeching, but that does not deter her. Her legs kick, clawed toes digging into the meat of Adora's legs as she shoves her hands against her head, trying to push herself off of her. She doesn't care what parts of Adora she digs at or scratches, and only years of friendly gamboling keeps it so that it's her palms nearest Adora's eyes instead of deliberately blinding her. The feel of Adora's face on her stomach, pressing into her as she struggles is -- is -- is something else entirely, heats her in a completely different way and fuels her desperation to get away; to fling herself up onto the pipes that cross haphazardly around the Fright Zone and run until she reaches a quiet, dark corner where she doesn't have to see Adora's stupid face or her stupid hair or hear her stupid voice or feel her stupid hands--!

She tries to move back enough to be able to knee Adora in her stupid dumb throat, but her grip is too tight and her arms too strong and Catra yowls loudly, the sound reverberating and echoing off the walls, in aggressive frustration. "I had my showers this week!" sure she'd tried to get out of them both, and she'd barely stayed under the cold spray of water long enough for it to soak through to her skin, but she'd still done it. "You can't make me do this! Why do you hate me?! Let go of me!"

(Later, in Catra's future, when someone snarls a certain accusation at her ("Adora didn't run away from the Horde. She ran away from you."), this struggle of theirs? Will be one of the memories that makes it ring true.)

"Stop being so dramatic! I don't hate you, you just stink!"

This isn't fair. Catra's got four sets of extremely sharp claws, and Adora's got nothing to retaliate with, her hands full just trying to keep her in place. If she doesn't find a way to turn the tables--

Wait, Adora realizes, a moment of clarity among the screaming and chaos: she does have something to retaliate with.

Steeling herself with a quick breath, she cranes her neck, and purposefully nuzzles her face into Catra's sensitive stomach.

"Then stop smelling me!"

How is it Adora's problem if Catra stinks??? She doesn't have to be there. She doesn't have to do anything about it. She just needs to leave Catra alone and--

--The noise that comes out of her throat is an unholy howl as Adora nuzzles deeply into her stomach, each small twitch of her head sending sparks straight through to her crotch and buckling her knees. Catra's hands scrabble at Adora's hair, grabbing indiscriminately to yank and pull as hard as she can.

"Stop it! Adora! Get off me!"

"Ow, ow, ow--!" Okay, that hurts, but Adora still can't suppress the victorious thrill that runs through her at the tangible shift in Catra's struggling. How it's suddenly just that much more desperate, her voice spiking in pitch, the kicking of her legs a lot less controlled and a lot more twitchy.

If she has to sacrifice a few hairs on her way to victory, so be it.

"What's the-- ah-- matter, Catra?" she retorts, only wincing once through it as Catra grabs fistfuls of her ponytail. Her nuzzling continues with newly-honed resolve, each word muffled into Catra's shirt as she angles her chin up and down, back and forth. Catra's scent fills her nostrils, the oil and her sweat and just-- her, and it makes it a little hard to breathe, but Adora's not stopping. "Something bothering you?"

Stupid Adora's voice and stupid Adora's chin, rubbing into her and making her arms tremble. Stupid Adora, making the next noise out of Catra's throat a high-pitched groan instead of a shriek.

"Get off," she repeats; and her voice croaks as she shoves her hands against Adora's head again, trying to push her away. It isn't fair, that she has these weaknesses - isn't fair that Adora knows about them. Isn't fair that somewhere along the line Adora's bones had strengthened and her jaw had sharpened into the dangerous tool it is now, isn't fair that her voice had changed from whiny and bratty to something that now grates on Catra's nerves all the way from her spine to her stomach. "I mean it, Adora!"

"Oh, did you want me to stop? I can stop," she replies, as breezy as one can hope to sound through grit teeth, with one's face buried against their best friend's stomach.

"Promise me you'll get in the shower."

"Yes--no---" Stupid Adora, putting everything together like that! Yes she wants her to stop, no she won't promise to get in the shower, yes her shoves against Adora are growing weaker with every rub. "--Ugh! Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

Catra's fit is shrinking more and more into a little baby tantrum, which Adora is almost in a position to laugh at, except she's still very much on the floor and aching all over. So, maybe in a bit.

Still, the more Catra's protests weaken, the more her own confidence grows. It's hard not to relish in the effect she has on Catra, knowing full well that anybody else who'd even attempt touching her like this would be dead in a matter of seconds.

"Because I liiiike you," she coos, this time barely having to force it. One of her arms, tight around Catra's back, shifts just the fraction of an inch needed to scritch at her waist. "Come on, just a quick little shower? We'll be done before you know it."

Adora's fingers scratching against her waist drags a whine from her, and Catra's hands flex as the urge to massage them against -- something, literally anything, seizes her nerves.

She cuts it out quickly, turning the press of her palms against Adora's head into another shove. But it weakens, again, as the combined sensations against her stomach and waist shiver through her; and eventually she whimpers, hips canting forward the slightest twitch before she melts into Adora's hold.

It's not fair. It's not fair, and it's stupid, and nobody else in the Horde has these weak points. Why does Catra have to be stuck with them?

"No," she protests weakly. "I don't care. Let me go."

Oh-- Adora definitely shouldn't do anything to acknowledge that, but she's pretty sure she just heard Catra whimper. It inspires a flutter of warmth in her own belly, and she lets out a quiet, stuttering breath against Catra, feeling her sag against her in turn.

The death grip she's kept her locked in is gradually softening into a full-on snuggle, and if nothing else, Adora's glad the other cadets have all already retired to their bunks.

"Catraaaa," she calls softly, caressing a path along her side. "Pretty please? For me?"

Her thumb dips to brush at the spot between hipbone and stomach, stroking sweetly with a promise: "I'll pet you all you want, after."

"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."

Catra crumples around her, burying Adora in her smell and warmth, and it's stifling enough that her lungs have to strain for breath, now-- but at the same time Adora can't bring herself to protest. For a moment, she can't bring herself to do much of anything. Catra's just, all over her, and all around her, and even thoughts of the shower slip from Adora's mind.

"What in the world are you cadets doing?"

"Ah! Gah!" Adora lurches upright, forcing Catra down onto her lap with the harshness of the movement. "Nothing, Force Captain Octavia!"

From outside the door, Octavia looks down at them with her hands on her hips and a disapproving scowl. Adora can't even begin to imagine how they must look like now, and the thought makes her swallow, face rapidly gaining heat.

"I was just--" She attempts some frantic measure of damage control, petting her tousled hair hastily into place. "Getting Catra to her shower. You know how that goes." She scoops Catra up with both arms, lifting herself onto her feet and taking her with her. "We were just going in! Yup. Nothing to see here." And she plants Catra by the nearest stall, twisting the tap to get the water running.

For a moment, panic freezes her. This is why she hates Adora touching her, this is why she hates her in-built vulnerabilities, this is why she hates being petted--

She should have heard Octavia coming from a mile away. She would have, if Adora had kept her stupid hands to herself.

She falls into Adora's lap with a yelp, jostled into a sharp gasp that brings reality back to her bones. She hates being caught off-guard, she hates having her weaknesses exposed. Still, she only hisses when Adora picks her up. Fighting with her in front of other cadets is one thing; doing it in front of a Force Captain will get her sent directly to Shadow Weaver for reprimand.

"Doesn't she have anything better to do than spy on cadets?" She keeps her voice low, because there aren't many escape points in the bathrooms and she's already bruised from training and then scuffling with Adora. Octavia is big and lumbering and stupid, but Catra's only any good against her if she's got enough room to dodge. "Force Captains really have it easy."

She only doesn't move from the stall because Octavia is still glaring with her one good eye, and Catra hisses at her again; baring fangs as her fingers spasm with the release of her claws. She'll scratch that eye out too if Octavia keeps using it like this. The sound of the running water doesn't help her frayed nerves, and it's only the protection that being near Adora offers that keeps her from running for it. Octavia wouldn't dare bust up Shadow Weaver's favourite - and Catra finds herself inching closer to her for just that reason.

Edited 2020-06-13 01:35 (UTC)

Adora shifts to move in front of Catra as Catra shrinks behind her, forming an instinctive barrier between her and Octavia. Her body is rigid, shoulders pushed back, eyes alert. She keeps her lips sealed while Catra grumbles, unwilling to risk it, and after a long moment of scrutinizing them with her one good eye, Octavia seems finally content to leave them be.

Adora's jaw is tight and her heart is pounding. From the shock of the interruption, but more than that, from the memory of Catra's body against hers: warm and malleable and trembling, and how close that felt to-- something. She doesn't know what. But it definitely felt like they were on the brink of something.

It doesn't matter now. Adora heaves out a sigh, pulls the hairband from her ponytail, and sets about peeling away her mess of a uniform -- stained with oil and sweat, and soaked through with water from the shower floor. It's the filthiest she's felt in a long time. Even the sensation of the fabric dragging across her skin on the way down is enough to make her grimace.

"Come on," she mutters to Catra. "Let's just get this over this."

"Do I have to?" She whines, but quietly; as she's shucking off her uniform. It's fine, she could still wear it. Even though the feeling of the oil on her palms as she throws off her shirt makes her gag (and then turn momentarily green, as she huffs in a great big mouthful of oiled air), and even if it's sunk through to her fur underneath. "It's so cold, Adora."

And that's fine for cadets like Adora, who have smooth skin across their bodies and dry off quickly. Less fine for cadets like Catra (--of whom Catra is the only one), who are covered in fur that retains the frigid water for long enough to chill her to the bone. The nervous anticipation of it is enough to kill any lingering sensations Adora's face and fingers might have instilled; right now, all Catra feels is a terrible sense of dread.

She still holds off on removing her leggings and underwear, crossing her arms against her bare chest with a shiver. There's still a chance Adora might change her mind, if Catra looks at her sadly enough with big, round eyes. It's worked once or twice before.

Adora shucks off her uniform one piece at a time, dropping each one onto a growing pile on the damp bathroom floor. It's fine. It's all going in the wash bin as soon as she's finished, anyway.

She keeps her back turned to Catra all the while -- not that there should be any embarrassment between the two of them after a lifetime of communal showers, but somehow Adora feels awkward. Stiff. Can't quite bring herself to meet her gaze.

She only glances back at her once, briefly, before going in, and the pleading look on her face yields a sigh from Adora's lips. She's exhausted and stressed and-- guilty, though she can't quite rationalize why. And she's done fighting with Catra.

"You can do what you want," she says, and steps under the water.

Edited 2020-06-13 12:59 (UTC)

Her victory doesn't feel like a victory, and Catra's ears dip down with it. That variety of resignation means there's a hidden repercussion somewhere; like not being allowed to slip onto Adora's bunk after lights out. It means that Adora really wants her to do something, and Catra's letting her down.

She shivers reflexively as Adora steps under the spray, flinching back as a few droplets fling themselves her way.

"I'm not doing it again on Monday," she bargains. She'll skip some training to stay clean instead.

"Uh-huh," Adora answers listlessly, already busying herself with the act of rubbing shampoo into her hair. At this point, Catra can make all the disclaimers she'd like. She's happy to leave those problems for future Adora.

...

Catra whines again, but uncrosses her arms to remove her last items of clothing. She has to change anyway, after Adora's little stunt towards the end of their wrestling, but that doesn't make her kick at the pile of her dirty clothing any less miserable.

She doesn't bother turning on another tap, instead stepping up close to grab Adora's arm and tug her slightly out of the water. She'll wash, but it's going to be one sad limb at a time and she's going to use Adora as a warm barrier up until it becomes logistically impossible to do so.

So that means yes, she is intending on hiding her face in the back of Adora's cold water-covered neck and pressing against her to stretch her arms in front of them, blindly searching for the shampoo dispenser to start scrubbing the grease off as the water pours onto her fur.

"I'm going to kill Kyle," she groans unhappily. And she really is, what did she ever do wrong in her life to get stuck with him on her squad. "This is all his fault."

This is far from the first time Catra's used her as a human barricade between herself and the cold shower water, but it may well be the first time it makes Adora jump, coupled with an audible gasp.

God, what's wrong with her?

Scrunching her eyes shut against the wave of heat scaling her neck, Adora makes a grab for the shampoo dispenser, and sharply thrusts it into Catra's grappling hand.

"Can you not stand so close? You're greasy."

And the brush of her chest against Adora's bare back has somehow, despite the familiarity, become impossible to bear.

Now that's just insulting. (And -- sends a really sharp pang of hurt through Catra's chest. Adora doesn't usually flinch away from her.)

"What's with you?" As ever, when she's hurt she turns to snapping, drawing back to scowl even as her ears flick rapidly to rid themselves of the water that's been splashed onto them. It's the only reason she sees the red flush growing over Adora's skin, and Catra's defensive aggression stalls for a moment as she takes that in, along with the streak of motor oil that her chest had left on Adora's back.

With a sigh of annoyance, she reaches back out - carefully - to pump an excess of soap into her hand. And with that same frustrated attitude, begins to smear it over Adora's back; scrubbing against her skin with the palms of her hands. That's the problem, right? So she'll fix it.

"There's nothing with me, you're just filthy, and I'm trying to get clean."

She breathes a subtle sigh of relief when Catra steps back, though it's quickly ecliped by a pinch of guilt at her stomach. Now she's upsetting Catra. This isn't what she wanted, why is she being like this, why is her heart beating so loud--

Catra's hands press to her back with little warning, and Adora's shoulders hitch up to her ears. But she really has no room for complaint this time. Because this was the issue, right, and now Catra's working to amend it.

She should just-- relax. Exhale slow and heavy through her nose, will her shoulders into sloping back down. She'll mutter a "thanks", too, before going back to tending to her hair-- give herself something to focus on, and put her hands to work.

It's good to keep occupied. Get her mind off Catra's hands.

The word filthy dropping from Adora's mouth just rubs her the wrong way, and Catra's claws drag on Adora's skin for just a brief moment before she catches herself.

Oh well. It's not like Adora's not used to Catra's moments of inattention. And not like she's not covered with marks from their scuffling. What's a few more scratches?

Her hands move quickly across Adora's back, trying to get everything to do with this shower done with. She's unceremonious with her scrubbing, using just her palms to swiftly rub away the grime. It's the same the entire way down to Adora's waist, Catra's palms pressing in circles as she lathers the soap. She does the small of her back, the curve of her hipbone - and the rest is for Adora to do.

Not that Catra hasn't thought, a lot, about her hands rubbing down further on Adora's body. The shower is just the absolute last place she can think about it in. All she wants is to get everything over with quickly so she can leave, which is why without a word her hand darts out to once again pump an overzealous amount of soap onto her palm. Most of the oil is along her chest and neck, so maybe she'll be able to scrub most of it out before having to douse herself in the water. She's going to try it, in any case.

Edited 2020-06-13 17:59 (UTC)