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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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Now Catra's laughing. Why is Catra laughing? The only reason Adora doesn't retaliate by shoving harder is that it'd knock Catra off the bed, and that'd hurt.

"Getting off from where?" she shoots back, her rising panic making her forget volume control and driving her very close to yelling. "I don't know what you're saying!"

"Shh!" Catra is quick to slap Adora's hand over Adora's own mouth, covering it quickly with her own to keep it in place as she hisses out warnings. "Shut up, you idiot! You're going to wake everyone up!"

Her ears strain to pick out the sounds of breathing from the rest of their squad. Thankfully, the only one who seems to have stirred is Rogelio; who also sounds like they roll back over with a disgruntled rumble, and fall back asleep.

Only then does Catra move Adora's hand away from her mouth, and in that long tense moment she'd really hoped she might take up thinking again. You know, as maybe something of a hobby? But instead she's very distracted by the rapid fluttering of Adora's pulse under the fingers she has pressed against her wrist, and the tension obvious in the line of her shoulder, and how Catra can feel the warmth emanating from her body like a furnace. (Or maybe that's just Catra's own body heat. Too hard to tell, not worth figuring out.)

"What's your problem?" She demands, keeping her voice to annoyed whispers. "Why are you being so weird about this?"

Because Catra thought she'd made it pretty clear like, ages ago, that she'd be more than willing to help Adora with these things.

Edited 2020-06-14 01:22 (UTC)

"Mrrph, mmph!" That's the extent of the reply Adora can give with Catra clamping her own hand over her mouth, the jerk. Although upon being reminded of her surroundings, she can't help but acknowledge Catra was right -- so Adora stops trying to speak over the barrier of her palm, and resorts to quietly fuming.

At least until her mouth is free.

"I'm being weird? I'm being weird?!" She's regained enough awareness to keep her voice down, but Catra's infuriating effect on her is already wearing away at her restraint. Adora can't help it-- she feels like she's losing her mind.

"You're the one who started looking at me all funny, and-and touching my leg, and laughing at me! How am I being weird?!"

"You're the one who's freaking out!" It's not the first time they've had heated arguments in the dark of the dormitory, and it surely won't be the last. If only Adora could be actually relied on to keep her voice down during them.

And Catra really just -- can't believe what she's hearing. She started this? She was only trying to be considerate!

"It's not even that big a deal!" So she tells herself. "But if you wanna do it by yourself, fine. Just do it in your own bunk, and get out of mine."

She punctuates the statement by releasing Adora's hands with a push, and she's serious about Adora getting out of her bunk. It's bad enough to imagine Adora grinding into her own hand on the bunk beneath Catra's - she might actually die if she did it right next to her.

"Ah-- buh-- hey!" Catra doesn't get to push her away mid-argument like that, that's not fair. Adora shuffles back closer, a determined scowl on her face. She's not leaving Catra's bed before she makes some degree of sense of this whole situation.

"Do what by myself?"

Catra actually fully expects Adora to leave; to get back down into her own bedding so that Catra can take advantage of the illusion of privacy on her own.

But instead she just shuffles closer again, in the world's most frustrating example of giving mixed signals.

"Get off," she enunciates with exasperation, rolling her eyes. It's like Adora needs it spelled out for her or something, seriously.

Adora's frown pinches deeper, her gasp offended. "--No! Don't be mean, I'm trying to talk to you!"

The look on Catra's face is the very picture of incredulous.

Adora... Catra knows she's an idiot, but surely she's not this much of one? There is a moment of silence, wherein Catra is seriously reconsidering her choice of best friend (--like she ever had any other options).

"No, Adora. I mean get off?" She raises an eyebrow, and when it clearly doesn't click, elaborates: "As in, get yourself off?"

She knows a lot of terms for it, actually, and she didn't even have to try to pick any of them up. A lot of the actual Horde soldiers don't bother to keep their voices quiet when they talk about it, and the other senior cadets weren't very subtle when they started picking it up. Adora must just call it something different.

Catra's wealth of dubious knowledge is put to the test now, as she sits up and racks her brain for the terms Adora might be using. "You know, 'ringing the doorbell'? 'Rubbing one out'? The 'three-knuckle shuffle'? --Are you seriously not getting this?"

Edited 2020-06-14 06:46 (UTC)

Adora sits up, too, refusing to fall behind. Her arms cross over her chest as she tries to study Catra's face in the dark, to garner some idea of whether or not she's just messing with her.

"--Okay, you're just messing with me. None of those even sound like things!"

'Ringing the doorbell'? What does that even mean.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Catra cannot believe it's come to this.

Time for the last-ditch charades. Adora had better understand after this, because there is a hot and embarrassed flush on Catra's cheeks already. (She seriously. Seriously cannot believe it's come to this.) She holds up her hands, showing them both to Adora; and then deliberately lowers them, sliding one on top of the other between her own slightly parting thighs, to rest them over her crotch. And then raises both eyebrows in pointed question. Does Adora get it, yet?

Adora watches Catra's hands in deep concentration, dead set on discovering whatever answer they may hold. But she-- she expects Catra to wave them around, or something, not trail down her underwear-clad body and come to rest-- there.

Adora's face feels like it's burst into flames, and the ball of tension in her lower belly tightens. She tears her gaze up to look at Catra's face, wide-eyed.

"Wh-what?"

Catra

is going

to die.

And it's all the fault of the single braincell Adora must have rattling around inside of her otherwise empty head. Because nobody, nobody could be this clueless.

And Catra is done with being patient.

"If you're not going to help, then get out of my bunk." It's not even about Adora any more, Catra's tone turning sharp and bitter from her embarrassment. The only thing she knows how to do is dig herself deeper; to pull at her own wounds. "I am going to be getting myself off up here. I don't care what you do."

To prove her point, she throws herself back down and wriggles onto her back, glaring defiantly at Adora the whole while with her hands still in place.

(Why can't she stop herself from always trying to push Adora away?)

"Wait-- you're going to--?"

Adora's eyes are wide as dinner plates, voice high with panic. Beyond her sense of dread at the rejection, there's a sharp spike of anxiety at the realization her best friend is doing something wrong.

She grabs Catra's elbow, tugging it away.

"You can't! Shadow Weaver said--" Her voice thins as a new wave of heat flushes over her, called forth by an old, shameful memory she had buried deep down. She breaks her gaze away from Catra, whispering: "We're not supposed to touch there."

Of course it's about Shadow Weaver. Honestly, what did she expect.

"Are you always going to listen to everything she says?" They're only a few years away from being full-fledged soldiers, and Force Captains. And Adora's still hanging on Shadow Weaver's every word? Catra just -- has to scoff. It's just so... typical.

Adora has to cycle through a series of stumped, frustrated noises before she can form a response. "I mean, she raised us! And she said it was wrong, and dirty, and-- she'd know, right?"

Granted, Shadow Weaver never elaborated. But the unveiled disgust in her voice when she caught her-- the one time Adora's hands dared to venture, years and years ago-- cut too sharply to allow for any questioning. What else could she do but accept it as fact?

Edited 2020-06-14 09:55 (UTC)

"Shadow Weaver says a lot of stuff." And Adora always believes every word, ugh. Catra rolls her eyes, and jerks her chin to gesture to the rest of the dorm. "Everyone in here does it, Adora. And I'm not just talking about in this room. Haven't you heard people talking about it?"

"Well-- well, if you all use such weird terms to talk about it, how am I supposed to know!" Her voice is doing the squeaky-graty thing it does when she's freaking out again, and Adora snaps her jaw shut. Her face, her whole head is burning so hot that her ears are ringing with it, and she feels like an idiot. Catra clearly thinks she's one.

She glances out into the dark room around them, as if her teammates' sleeping silhouettes would offer answers. It's silent, completely wrapped up in shadow, and she really has no choice but to turn back to Catra. "... Everyone? Really?"

Scrubbing a hand down her face in a futile attempt to subdue the flames of her embarrassment, Adora heaves out a sigh. Her voice comes out very small, after.

"I'm the only one?"

How is Adora this stupid? She's never going to make it to Force Captain at this rate, and then Catra's going to be the only one of them actually climbing up the ranks to take over the Horde, and then she's going to have to drag Adora's dumb ass up to the top with her.

"Come here." The sigh that comes from Catra's mouth is 100% aggrieved, because Adora is freaking out again, and she reaches out for Adora with both hands; tugging her to lay down, gripping her shoulder to guide her head to rest on Catra's chest. She wasn't really in the mood anyway - was mostly just doing it to get a rise out of Adora. And talking about Shadow Weaver? Definitely not helpful.

She curls herself around her idiot best friend; leg sliding over Adora's protectively, tail winding around her ankle, arms around her back. She is so dumb sometimes.

"You have got to stop listening to her all the time." Catra's the one who actually gets punished for things, and she still ignores pretty much everything Shadow Weaver ever says to her. But Adora always just has to be the perfect one. Catra rolls her eyes, but her palm and fingers still press against the tense muscles of Adora's back, massaging into them. "When has anything she's ever told you to do made you happy?"

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."

Adora's back is so tensed up it's like a plane of rough terrain, and Catra's hand continues to knead across the sore muscles. The annoyance in her tone is at odds with the soothing touch, but that's just how she is.

"We're still people, Adora." She's not going to pretend she's not irritated by this. "Not everything we do has to be for the Horde."

"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?"

Catra just -- has to snort at the question.

"Duh. You think everyone around here would be doing it otherwise?" Seriously, Adora. She cannot believe the questions that come out of your mouth. "I can't believe you haven't noticed it. Haven't you ever seen someone coming out of a Force Captain's room? --Who isn't a Force Captain? Don't you ever think about what they're getting up to in there?"

"I don't know, strategic planning?" Heat creeps up her neck again, with that feeling of her heart lodging in her chest. Adora's fingers clench in Catra's fur, and she burrows deeper into her collarbone, shoulders drawing up.

"Don't make fun of me."

"Yeah, like anybody plans strategy in their bedroom," Catra remarks dryly. And then frowns, because -- actually? Adora probably would do that.

She sighs after that, moving one hand to Adora's hair while the other continues to knead with palm and careful fingertips. It's hard for Catra to stay tense and annoyed like this, with Adora all wrapped up in her, so she gives up on trying to hold onto it.

"Have a look around tomorrow, okay?" She curls that little bit further, so she can rest her chin on Adora's head. She has the -- weird urge to turn her face down and kiss her hair, which Catra steadfastly ignores as she stares down the curved metal panel of the bunk. They're not going to be able to stay like this all night; there's a limit to what they can get away with, and Catra sleeping by Adora's feet is toeing it as it is.

But as long as Catra doesn't forget to move before she falls asleep, it'll be fine. "I promise we'll be able to find like, fifty people talking about it before lunch." Minor exaggeration, whatever. Catra will just claim some fake ones to make up the difference and if Adora realizes, she'll just say it was a test. Easy done.

"That's way too many," Adora mutters into Catra's neck. But she likes that she's no longer teasing, at least. And her hands. They're nice. It allows Adora to relax just the slightest little bit, walls inching lower as her shoulders slump.

And now that she's no longer on the defensive, she can actually stop and think about what Catra just said.

"... Wait, so people are doing it together? That's--" Really weird, but Catra will just make fun of her again if she says it. "--Is that normal?"