Catra's nose wrinkles at the touch, but despite her sullen glare she still tilts her face into Adora's hand. She isn't as demanding or pathetic about it as Melog is, but Adora just splashed water into her face. Catra deserves compensation.

"You'd better," she grumbles, hand slipping up from Adora's arm to press against the back of her neck. Catra's not waiting; lifting herself the few inches it takes to seal her lips against Adora's, sulky and petulant with the nip of teeth, adrenaline still burning in the scrape of her nails against the back of Adora's shirt.