"Hey! I'm serious." Indeed, between forty seconds ago and now, Adora's decided she very much is. "You move around too much, and you were like half a minute away from stabbing me in the boobs." She makes a broad-palmed gesture at the twin sets of little red marks along her chest, to illustrate.

Catra's tugging her down, but Adora refuses to yield-- she's not getting kisses anywhere if she's going to be a brat. Adora doubles down, cementing her hold against Catra's wriggling and leaning the whole of her weight onto her.

"I want you with your hands up," she repeats, reaching behind her own back to grab Catra's arm and pin it to the metal sheeting. Part of her's tempted to whine, I let you gag me with a bedsheet, be fair-- but she knows Catra well enough to recognize the kind of approach she needs to take here.

"You can give me what I want, or I can head back into the barracks and get ready for a good night's sleep. Pick one."

Unflinching, sharp-toothed. The way Catra's ultimatums always are.