Catra's voice washes over her skin, just above the swirling need in the pit of her stomach, and Adora shivers all the way down to her toes. Anywhere, she says, and Adora's brain screeches to a halt, images of Catra's mouth all over her threatening to overheat it. She sucks in a breath, just about managing a whimpered little "where?" -- before Catra goes ahead and demonstrates.

It's just her stomach, and Catra-- Catra's probably just being gross on purpose, but there's nothing to prepare Adora for the way her tongue feels in that moment. It drags up her body too fast for any part of her to be able to process it, running through her sharp and abrupt like an electric jolt -- coarse and warm and wet against already-straining muscles. Adora can't help the jerking of her shoulders and hips any more than she can help the startled moan that ripples through her, and by the time she catches herself it's far too late, Catra's chin propped up on her chest with a predatory grin.

"Catra," she groans through grit teeth, scowling against the tidal wave of heat surging from the base of her throat. She half-twists onto her side, as much as Catra's weight on her will allow, and her heart pulses with the acute realization of just how trapped she is. Oh, she's never going to live this down.