She knows she's said it, but is Adora seriously that worried about doing this wrong?
The brightness of her eyes is obvious when Catra's crack open to peer at her through the space between her arms, looking for all the world like she's just been given a glowing report - and that familiar soft, warm feeling melts in Catra's stomach in response.
Adora really is such an idiot.
Catra can't look away from her, though her eyelids flutter and a noise rises in her throat as Adora's fingers press around her - and then in, Catra's lips parting to let the whimper through.
It feels so good, the pressure of Adora's fingers pushing on her in a way that Catra could never do. (Or -- can't do while she's in the Horde, where her claws are too valuable a weapon to dull down or trim.) But even if she could, she's sure it wouldn't feel this great; she's sure she wouldn't feel every muscle in her core tensing under the movement of her own finger, or her body flexing down instinctively to try to take it in further, to bring it deeper into herself.
"'s--" her throat is too thick to speak, and Catra has to swallow to clear it. Even then her voice comes out deep and rough and haggard on the edges, and her hips lift incrementally up only to shift back down in the same motion; leaving her breathless as it rubs Adora's finger inside her. "--good. It's good. You--"
it's not like Catra to dish out compliments. Everyone else is always falling over themselves to praise Adora, so Catra never really needs to. Her support's always in the form of a congratulatory elbow, or an excited shove, or the proposal of a risky climb to burn their giddy energy up.
"--You're doing good." But if it's really what Adora needs to hear, if it'll keep her looking like that - like Catra's giving her everything she wants in the world - then she'll do it. Without even a second thought. Anything to keep those delighted, eager eyes on her; anything to keep that beaming, awkward grin.
And anything to keep her moving, too, because Catra's body hasn't stopped those tiny, instinctive rocks into her; her muscles tensing and flexing under and around Adora's fingers, urging her to keep going.
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The brightness of her eyes is obvious when Catra's crack open to peer at her through the space between her arms, looking for all the world like she's just been given a glowing report - and that familiar soft, warm feeling melts in Catra's stomach in response.
Adora really is such an idiot.
Catra can't look away from her, though her eyelids flutter and a noise rises in her throat as Adora's fingers press around her - and then in, Catra's lips parting to let the whimper through.
It feels so good, the pressure of Adora's fingers pushing on her in a way that Catra could never do. (Or -- can't do while she's in the Horde, where her claws are too valuable a weapon to dull down or trim.) But even if she could, she's sure it wouldn't feel this great; she's sure she wouldn't feel every muscle in her core tensing under the movement of her own finger, or her body flexing down instinctively to try to take it in further, to bring it deeper into herself.
"'s--" her throat is too thick to speak, and Catra has to swallow to clear it. Even then her voice comes out deep and rough and haggard on the edges, and her hips lift incrementally up only to shift back down in the same motion; leaving her breathless as it rubs Adora's finger inside her. "--good. It's good. You--"
it's not like Catra to dish out compliments. Everyone else is always falling over themselves to praise Adora, so Catra never really needs to. Her support's always in the form of a congratulatory elbow, or an excited shove, or the proposal of a risky climb to burn their giddy energy up.
"--You're doing good." But if it's really what Adora needs to hear, if it'll keep her looking like that - like Catra's giving her everything she wants in the world - then she'll do it. Without even a second thought. Anything to keep those delighted, eager eyes on her; anything to keep that beaming, awkward grin.
And anything to keep her moving, too, because Catra's body hasn't stopped those tiny, instinctive rocks into her; her muscles tensing and flexing under and around Adora's fingers, urging her to keep going.