"'Stop licking me, Catra'," she mocks, pushing Adora back down with a snicker. Like the jerk of Adora's body and her (loud, woah) moan didn't sear bright and hot through her, quickening her pulse and roiling in her blood; or like her own hips didn't nudge forward towards her, over-eager with anticipation. But seriously, who would've thought the day would come where Catra wasn't immediately scolded for getting her tongue involved in things? "Man, you should see your face."

All flushed, eyes dark and narrowed, her eyebrows drawn and her jaw tight and teeth gritted with annoyance. It pulls sharply at the heat coiled in Catra's core, and her tail gives a long flick from base to tip behind her. She looks just like she does whenever Catra's pulled a dirty trick in training, except better, and it's just. So viscerally satisfying. Catra loves it when she has Adora beat.

Only problem is, the idiot seems to have forgotten - again - that she has hands she ought to be using. Her arms are still stupidly wound around Catra, which is such a complete waste. Adora could be doing so much better right now, and Catra rolls her shoulders to dislodge her.

"C'mon, don't make me go through this every time." She flexes her fingers on Adora's skin, and -- ugh, her muscles don't have any give at all to them. It's way more appealing than it should be, and Catra would really like to get back to running her tongue all over them. "I know you haven't forgotten how to use your hands already."