Catra thinks she knows what to expect when their hand fists in her top, when the taut line of their arm and the graze of their knuckles sparks a blaze within her. Anticipates teeth and pain and a fight, and she hears her blood roaring in her ears as she's pulled down, curling her fingers on their chest to press the weight of her body down onto the tips of her sharpened claws; feeling them sink in shallowly, the threat keeping her in control.
But what she gets is not what she expected, and Catra freezes at the change. At the firm press of somewhat chapped lips against hers, at the awkward drag of them. It's too soft, it's too insistent, it's too -- filled with caring. It reminds Catra too much of what it had felt like to have a kind hand on her shoulder and warm arms around her; of a smug smirk and playful tussling.
It feels just like how Adora used to be.
Panic grips her and Catra shoves up and away from them with both hands, her ears flat and her eyes wide and the need to get away overriding. Her ears and her tear ducts are the two things she can't control and they take every opportunity to betray her, laying flat against her head in fear and watering respectively. Because she was expecting it to hurt but she wasn't expecting it to feel like swallowing needles. Wasn't expecting her chest to rise and fall so rapidly with quick breaths, wasn't expecting the unbearable searing pain in her heart to return so abruptly without any anger or hate to guide it.
--Just whose form had they been in when Adora had kissed them like that?
But it turns out they're shoving her at the same time as she's pushing, and their uneven momentum causes her footing to fail. (It's definitely that. Definitely not that Catra's legs are weak in shock.) She falls back ungracefully, and Catra's glad for the burst of agony as she lands right on her tail with a choked cry. It clears her mind in a flash of white, jars her out of her panic. She has enough time to feel the unpleasant vibration of her bones as her claws scrape against the hard clay earth, and she grabs a fistful of the grit just as Adora yanks her.
The slam of her back into the crate is a welcome difference, knocking the wind from her and creating bursting light before her eyes. The sudden hit of adrenaline screams in her veins, and though Catra's pinned, limp; she laughs. The sound gurgles up from her chest as her lungs struggle to recover, and then comes high-pitched with breathlessness as her shoulders shake, and she'd toss her head back but when she does she only hears the dull, reverberating thunk of the metal as she wheezes on the inhale. She sounds crazy. She feels crazy, like hysteria's just one sweet touch away.
It's lucky then, that they don't give her another. That the pop and rip of the seams of her uniform is such a raw show of strength that the instincts the Horde's trained in her won't let her ignore it. Adora's body is familiar and hot and feels like fire against Catra's, and she craves her; arching into the painful grab of her fur, relishing in the clarity and sharpness it brings to her mind even as she jerks her hips forward in the tight space, grinding into Adora as best she can. She needs that pain, needs it to center her as her mouth is devoured, and now it is teeth and tongue and the fight that she'd wanted. Catra makes sure it is, bites at their lips and tilts her head to seal her mouth firmly against theirs, licks into their mouth and presses back against their tongue with the roughness of hers, tasting them fully. Tasting Adora fully. And it, more than anything else, causes Catra's legs to shift; her stance widening so that when she next juts her hips forward, she's met with a surge of electric tingling that starts from her crotch and shoots all the way through the rest of her body. It gives her the strength to raise her empty hand and fist it roughly in Adora's hair, her fingers gripping around that stupid ponytail and hooking into its taut base without care for the scrape of her claws, so she can force Adora against her mouth more harshly; so that when the next roll of her hips tightens her throat with a short, sharp noise, it's lost in the battlefield they've created between them.
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But what she gets is not what she expected, and Catra freezes at the change. At the firm press of somewhat chapped lips against hers, at the awkward drag of them. It's too soft, it's too insistent, it's too -- filled with caring. It reminds Catra too much of what it had felt like to have a kind hand on her shoulder and warm arms around her; of a smug smirk and playful tussling.
It feels just like how Adora used to be.
Panic grips her and Catra shoves up and away from them with both hands, her ears flat and her eyes wide and the need to get away overriding. Her ears and her tear ducts are the two things she can't control and they take every opportunity to betray her, laying flat against her head in fear and watering respectively. Because she was expecting it to hurt but she wasn't expecting it to feel like swallowing needles. Wasn't expecting her chest to rise and fall so rapidly with quick breaths, wasn't expecting the unbearable searing pain in her heart to return so abruptly without any anger or hate to guide it.
--Just whose form had they been in when Adora had kissed them like that?
But it turns out they're shoving her at the same time as she's pushing, and their uneven momentum causes her footing to fail. (It's definitely that. Definitely not that Catra's legs are weak in shock.) She falls back ungracefully, and Catra's glad for the burst of agony as she lands right on her tail with a choked cry. It clears her mind in a flash of white, jars her out of her panic. She has enough time to feel the unpleasant vibration of her bones as her claws scrape against the hard clay earth, and she grabs a fistful of the grit just as Adora yanks her.
The slam of her back into the crate is a welcome difference, knocking the wind from her and creating bursting light before her eyes. The sudden hit of adrenaline screams in her veins, and though Catra's pinned, limp; she laughs. The sound gurgles up from her chest as her lungs struggle to recover, and then comes high-pitched with breathlessness as her shoulders shake, and she'd toss her head back but when she does she only hears the dull, reverberating thunk of the metal as she wheezes on the inhale. She sounds crazy. She feels crazy, like hysteria's just one sweet touch away.
It's lucky then, that they don't give her another. That the pop and rip of the seams of her uniform is such a raw show of strength that the instincts the Horde's trained in her won't let her ignore it. Adora's body is familiar and hot and feels like fire against Catra's, and she craves her; arching into the painful grab of her fur, relishing in the clarity and sharpness it brings to her mind even as she jerks her hips forward in the tight space, grinding into Adora as best she can. She needs that pain, needs it to center her as her mouth is devoured, and now it is teeth and tongue and the fight that she'd wanted. Catra makes sure it is, bites at their lips and tilts her head to seal her mouth firmly against theirs, licks into their mouth and presses back against their tongue with the roughness of hers, tasting them fully. Tasting Adora fully. And it, more than anything else, causes Catra's legs to shift; her stance widening so that when she next juts her hips forward, she's met with a surge of electric tingling that starts from her crotch and shoots all the way through the rest of her body. It gives her the strength to raise her empty hand and fist it roughly in Adora's hair, her fingers gripping around that stupid ponytail and hooking into its taut base without care for the scrape of her claws, so she can force Adora against her mouth more harshly; so that when the next roll of her hips tightens her throat with a short, sharp noise, it's lost in the battlefield they've created between them.