Adora's narration might not be helping her, but it helps Catra deal with the anticipation wriggling in her stomach as she lifts her arms off of Adora, no longer restricting her movement. She breathes a deep, careful breath - and the only place, really, to put her hands is just above her head; her elbows bent around her face, brushing the sides of her mask as she just -- watches, for a moment.
Adora looks excited, which is reassuring and warming all at once; and Catra's lips twitch in response to her grin, her tail brushing the roof in a couple of playful sweeps as she rambles. Catra's purr is deep with affection when it comes, continuing even through the breathless snicker that catches in her throat when Adora's hand slips beneath her underwear.
It's immediately so much more than Catra was ready for it to be, Adora's hand almost tickling as she slides it over the seldomly touched fur. But it's not ticklish. It's similar, in how sensitive it makes her feel; in how it draws all of her attention to every minor motion against her, bringing even the twitch of Adora's fingers into hyper-focus. But it's different. Instead of dancing across her nerves, it burns deep in them; feeding right through to the wet heat pulsing in Catra's core, right below Adora's cupped hand.
And then her fingers move, slipping over that centered demand and grazing over the compressed nerves above it, and Catra's elbows clamp together over her face as she sucks in a gasp of air. It's -- it's nothing like when she touches herself, and it's nothing like rutting against Adora's thigh. It's so much more deliberate, more focused, and it's-- it's Adora.
Adora, who's still talking.
"Uh-huh," Catra agrees, the noise sticking in the tightness of her throat and scraping out high. All of her focus is down on Adora's hand, and it's hard to claw back enough of it to parse her question. She gives it a try anyway. "Whenever you're doing this stuff, it just -- happens. Means you're doing it right."
...She's pretty sure, anyway. It's not like she's compared notes with anyone on it.
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Adora looks excited, which is reassuring and warming all at once; and Catra's lips twitch in response to her grin, her tail brushing the roof in a couple of playful sweeps as she rambles. Catra's purr is deep with affection when it comes, continuing even through the breathless snicker that catches in her throat when Adora's hand slips beneath her underwear.
It's immediately so much more than Catra was ready for it to be, Adora's hand almost tickling as she slides it over the seldomly touched fur. But it's not ticklish. It's similar, in how sensitive it makes her feel; in how it draws all of her attention to every minor motion against her, bringing even the twitch of Adora's fingers into hyper-focus. But it's different. Instead of dancing across her nerves, it burns deep in them; feeding right through to the wet heat pulsing in Catra's core, right below Adora's cupped hand.
And then her fingers move, slipping over that centered demand and grazing over the compressed nerves above it, and Catra's elbows clamp together over her face as she sucks in a gasp of air. It's -- it's nothing like when she touches herself, and it's nothing like rutting against Adora's thigh. It's so much more deliberate, more focused, and it's-- it's Adora.
Adora, who's still talking.
"Uh-huh," Catra agrees, the noise sticking in the tightness of her throat and scraping out high. All of her focus is down on Adora's hand, and it's hard to claw back enough of it to parse her question. She gives it a try anyway. "Whenever you're doing this stuff, it just -- happens. Means you're doing it right."
...She's pretty sure, anyway. It's not like she's compared notes with anyone on it.