Adora's eyes go wide, and her heart stutters in her chest like a faulty exhaust pipe, and she feels Catra's voice as much as she hears it, pulsing in her core before rippling outward.

She can't remember the last time she heard Catra plead like that. Really mean it, really need her, not just as a precedent for another joke or dirty trick. But here in this moment, Catra is vulnerable, bare, and hers-- and Adora can't believe how good it feels to be needed, the thought alone enough to clamp her thighs together and flood her body with all-new heat.

How could she not oblige her?

With a soft groan of effort, Adora reaches down her free hand, grabs for Catra's hip and bends it up; with the same motion, she shifts her own body lower, driving her knee between Catra's thighs in a hopeful approximation of the night before. Her fingers and mouth at Catra's chest are momentarily neglected as she pushes forward in an experimental rock -- and oh, the friction flares throughout her with lightning-intensity, her whimper just barely stopped behind the closed gate of her teeth. Oh, it's good.

But it needs to be good for Catra, too.

"--Like this?"