Catra does glance down, and does see those red pricks all around Adora's chest, and -- is she supposed to feel bad about them? Because actually she's just rather proud. Try explaining that away; Adora's not going to be able to shower around anyone else until those've healed up.

Adora can't see the agitated lash of her tail settle with a satisfied swish, but she probably does see the smirk that threatens to take over Catra's lips. It's why it's so easy for Adora to yank her arm down: distracted by the urge to rise up and plant more marks along Adora's skin, preferably with her mouth this time, Catra totally forgets to grip her hands around her own wrists to lock her arms in place. It's kind of embarrassing, actually, how little fight she puts up, and Catra's smug smirk disappears with the narrowing of her eyes and thinning of her lips. Distracting her with that was cheating, Adora.

"You're the one who dragged me up here," Catra points out. She's still got one hand on Adora's back, and she trails it back around to her front; the tips of her nails threatening to mark lines as she strokes across Adora's hip and down to the band of her pants, turning her hand so her knuckles can drag over and down her crotch as far as she can reach. "No way you're gonna bail on me now. So come on already, let me go--" she tugs her arm, refusing to admit to the curl of heat that rises under her skin when it doesn't budge "--and let's finish this."