Yeah. Bad move, Adora. She can feel Catra's fingers poking around inside the biggest tear, in a numb kind of way, and it's not a fun sensation. Neither is the sound of her clothes ripping, a reminder that she has to make her way back into allied territory like this. (There's She-Ra, but Adora doesn't have the energy, the focus, to think about transforming, even with her bracer attached.)
At least any lingering embarrassment about being exposed in front of Catra hardly matters now, compared to everything else. Her body still twitches under Catra's claws, more in response to the stimulation than the dulled agony of her wounds, with only the occasional quiet hiss making it out from between her teeth. But then Catra is touching her stomach--no, stroking it--and Adora actually misses the pain, biting down on her tongue to avoid gasping, or worse.
For all the good it does. A few seconds later, worse happens anyway, when Catra's lips press against hers. Adora's eyes go wide, and she moans in surprise; not expecting the (relative) gentleness. Or... any of it, really. What was that?
It doesn't matter. There's no time. No time to process anything except for what's happening Right Now, at this exact second--that's Catra, with a hand on her jaw, looking straight at her, speaking in that voice, all of which combines to make Adora feel like a very, very cornered mouse.
"You're--asking me?" She knows Catra isn't big on asking, especially when she thinks she has the upper hand. Obviously, this person--even if she's happy to almost tear them limb from limb--is important to her. Really important. An unfamiliar jealousy blooms in Adora's chest, knowing that someone else has gotten this close to Catra (while using her face, no less), and not her. Not that Adora ever could have, or would have. Would she?
... Wouldn't she?
"Yeah. I guess we're doing this." What's one more stupid decision at this point? The bitter feeling makes her sound huffy, almost demanding, as she stares back at her. "... Just tell me what you want, Catra. You know I'm no good at this stuff."
Self-deprecation. That should make her happy. The fact it's true, and Adora is desperately grasping at whatever straws she can pick up, is just a bonus.
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At least any lingering embarrassment about being exposed in front of Catra hardly matters now, compared to everything else. Her body still twitches under Catra's claws, more in response to the stimulation than the dulled agony of her wounds, with only the occasional quiet hiss making it out from between her teeth. But then Catra is touching her stomach--no, stroking it--and Adora actually misses the pain, biting down on her tongue to avoid gasping, or worse.
For all the good it does. A few seconds later, worse happens anyway, when Catra's lips press against hers. Adora's eyes go wide, and she moans in surprise; not expecting the (relative) gentleness. Or... any of it, really. What was that?
It doesn't matter. There's no time. No time to process anything except for what's happening Right Now, at this exact second--that's Catra, with a hand on her jaw, looking straight at her, speaking in that voice, all of which combines to make Adora feel like a very, very cornered mouse.
"You're--asking me?" She knows Catra isn't big on asking, especially when she thinks she has the upper hand. Obviously, this person--even if she's happy to almost tear them limb from limb--is important to her. Really important. An unfamiliar jealousy blooms in Adora's chest, knowing that someone else has gotten this close to Catra (while using her face, no less), and not her. Not that Adora ever could have, or would have. Would she?
... Wouldn't she?
"Yeah. I guess we're doing this." What's one more stupid decision at this point? The bitter feeling makes her sound huffy, almost demanding, as she stares back at her. "... Just tell me what you want, Catra. You know I'm no good at this stuff."
Self-deprecation. That should make her happy. The fact it's true, and Adora is desperately grasping at whatever straws she can pick up, is just a bonus.