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It's supposed to be a secret, Catra's made that much clear. And Adora gets it, of course! Totally gets it. It's not like she'd want to tell anyone about Catra grinding down against her the night before, her hip between her thighs, her hand on her breast, her teeth on her neck. That's-- that's just between the two of them.

But the fact that it's just between the two of them makes it all the more exciting, and Adora's been having a terrible time keeping a lid on her giggly energy all throughout the day. She's accumulated at least six counts of stop it, idiot from Catra by the end of dinner, just because she can't hold back her grin whenever they lock eyes, or when they touch.

Like in their afternoon sparring session, when Catra'd knocked her over and pinned her to the ground, and Adora's heart fluttered right up to her throat and all she could do was laugh and Catra blushed and that's. Definitely not acceptable cadet behavior, she gets that.

But she just can't help herself.

She makes her way through dinner in record time, practically buzzing in her seat in anticipation for the day's end. And just as soon as the two of them have finished eating, she latches onto Catra's side, bumping their shoulders and elbows together with a broad, eager smile.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Race you to the rooftop."

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The sound of Catra's voice alone when she asks her that makes Adora's breath hitch, and the tightening of fingers over her breasts thickens that gasp into a whine. Adora's hands dart to Catra's waist and cling there, the muscles in her thighs closing around one bony knee.

"I just-- wanna learn everything," she answers, her fluster making her fumble. She bites her lip, exhales. Then, stopping to refine it somewhat: "Like what other things I can do with my mouth."

Because-- Catra'll get mad if she tries it again, probably, but that full-body shudder she gave when Adora ran her tongue over her ear still lingers in her mind. She wants that. She really, really wants that.

"My-- my stomach?" she squeaks out, instinctively caving under Catra's touch -- hand-to-skin, no barrier between them. Her body's reaction, tensing and fidgeting beneath the press of knuckles, is at clear odds with the words that leave her mouth: "No, why would I? It's just... my stomach."

Catra heard that hitch, and oh she likes this voice. She's gonna practice it, and then use it on Adora to mess with her whenever she wants. It'll be a nice reminder of these activities to distract her from anything else she's doing.

"Uh-huh," Catra purrs low, practicing holding that tone already. It's pretty easy, with Adora's body reacting under hers; her stomach flexing under Catra's hands, her fingers pressing in at Catra's waist, her thighs clenched tight around Catra's knee. "Just your stomach."

Her knuckles reach the bottom of Adora's shirt, and Catra's thumb hooks around the fabric. And then tries to tug it up. Only -- Adora's kind of. Laying on it. And she's heavy. So the shirt's kind of stuck on her, and Catra's attempts at shifting it aren't doing her much good.

Catra gives it another tug before huffing, ears drooping down in annoyance. In all her wildest imaginings, she'd never pictured Adora's clothes getting stuck.

"Don't just lay there." The purr is totally gone, traded for petulance. "Sit up a little, or something."

Adora's eyes widen, glancing between Catra's scowling face and her hands. "Oh, are you-- you're taking it off. Okay."

She sits up, the instinctive urge to follow instructions kicking in first, followed closely by hesitation as her arms furl over her chest. She peers behind Catra's shoulder at the doorway through which they came -- and she knows this was her idea, and that she chose this spot specifically for the isolation it guarantees, but...

"-- Nobody else ever comes up here," she mutters, half to herself and half seeking affirmation. She just needs a bit of reassurance, okay? And once Catra offers it, that's all it'll take for Adora to lift up her arms.

Edited 2020-07-13 09:10 (UTC)

"I'm not taking it off, stupid." Catra rolls her eyes, tugging insistently at the shirt. Still, her ears do twitch back to listen with a concentrated press of her lips; and she really can't hear anything else over the sound of the machinery pumping and grinding away. "We've been coming here for how many years now? And we've never seen anybody else up here. Nobody wants to bother putting in all that effort just to hang out in some smog."

Which says a lot about how desperate the two of them have always been to carve out their own personal spaces together. Not even Shadow Weaver has ever followed them out here.

"Come on," she cajoles, ears and attention turning back to Adora. "If anyone is dumb enough to climb all the way up here, we'll just tell them we were wrestling." Catra shrugs confidently. "It's happened before."

"Right! Just a bit of friendly wrestling. Nothing to see here." Adora sucks in a breath, nods decisively once, and loosens her arms from around her. They'll be fine. Catra's not even taking her shirt off. "Okay."

"Relax, Adora." Catra puts real effort into not rolling her eyes again, and fails to keep herself from doing it. She's pointedly careful when she grabs the bottom of Adora's shirt with both hands, fingers curling into the fabric to pull it up without accidentally tearing it. And she stops once she's got it to Adora's sternum, just below her breasts, only the slight edge of the grey undershirts they all wear peeking out. "See? You end up like this all the time."

Well. Maybe not quite like this. But Adora's shirt does often hike up a bit when they're grappling, and it's kind of an issue. One that Catra can finally take advantage of, as she presses her palms against Adora to get her to lay back down.

"Uh-huh. All the time."

She doesn't have it in her to sound properly convinced, but if there's one thing stronger than these sudden jitters, it's her desire to be touched. The sky is growing dark around them, machinery-smog surrounding the rooftop like a veil. Soon, it'll be hard to make out anything except for what's right in front of them. So-- they'll probably be fine, even on the off-chance someone does decide to climb up here.

And Catra's palms are warm against her bare skin, urging her back down. There's no part of Adora that can say no to that.

So she ducks forward to press a quick kiss to Catra's lips (an apology for Catra, reassurance for herself) before letting herself fall back against the roof, arms looping over the back of Catra's slim shoulders, now.

"See? I'm relaxed." The edge of her smile waves slightly: so don't stop, please?

Adora does not sound convinced and she certainly is not relaxed, but her shirt is up and she is laying down - so Catra's still winning.

"Sure you are," Catra scoffs. But. Look. She has what she wants - which is Adora's bare stomach exposed to her, and they're in a place where she can touch it - and she's not going to let the opportunity pass her by. She's already stroking her fingers along the warmth of Adora's skin, running along her ribs and down her sides, watching every twitch and jump intently. Adora's skin is so smooth, the fine hairs of her body barely even perceptible. Nothing at all like the fur that covers Catra from head to toe. Maybe that's why it feels so much better to run her palms up the defined muscles of Adora's stomach, and then slowly back down; tracing the tips of her nails around them. There's nothing else to get in the way.

The twitch at the tip of Catra's tail announces her intention well before it even registers in her mind. She is -- absolutely going to put her mouth there.

Her tongue finds her lips again, wetting them as she shifts, splaying her hands on Adora's stomach to keep her down. Catra only has to move a little to comfortably reach Adora's navel, her thick mess of hair shifting along her back as she leans down. Now's a good time to practice that deep, husky purr, she decides.

"So we're just licking each-other anywhere, right?" Nailed it. It comes out just the way Catra wants it to, low and almost rasping along the sides of her throat. She holds true to it for a moment, pressing her lips to the skin above the belt of Adora's pants, tasting the heady scent when she drags her tongue there; and then the deliberate point of her tongue becomes the flat of it, licking a quick and slobbery trail up and over the length of Adora's abdomen all the way up to the edge of her shirt, eyes glittering bright and grinning with amusement.

Because she has what she wants, but it's not fun if Adora's all tense and worked up. Catra knows her, knows she's going to spend this whole time freaking herself out if Catra doesn't do something to jarring to shock her out of it. And besides - Adora licked her ear. She totally should've been expecting something like this.

Edited 2020-07-13 16:14 (UTC)

Catra's voice washes over her skin, just above the swirling need in the pit of her stomach, and Adora shivers all the way down to her toes. Anywhere, she says, and Adora's brain screeches to a halt, images of Catra's mouth all over her threatening to overheat it. She sucks in a breath, just about managing a whimpered little "where?" -- before Catra goes ahead and demonstrates.

It's just her stomach, and Catra-- Catra's probably just being gross on purpose, but there's nothing to prepare Adora for the way her tongue feels in that moment. It drags up her body too fast for any part of her to be able to process it, running through her sharp and abrupt like an electric jolt -- coarse and warm and wet against already-straining muscles. Adora can't help the jerking of her shoulders and hips any more than she can help the startled moan that ripples through her, and by the time she catches herself it's far too late, Catra's chin propped up on her chest with a predatory grin.

"Catra," she groans through grit teeth, scowling against the tidal wave of heat surging from the base of her throat. She half-twists onto her side, as much as Catra's weight on her will allow, and her heart pulses with the acute realization of just how trapped she is. Oh, she's never going to live this down.

"'Stop licking me, Catra'," she mocks, pushing Adora back down with a snicker. Like the jerk of Adora's body and her (loud, woah) moan didn't sear bright and hot through her, quickening her pulse and roiling in her blood; or like her own hips didn't nudge forward towards her, over-eager with anticipation. But seriously, who would've thought the day would come where Catra wasn't immediately scolded for getting her tongue involved in things? "Man, you should see your face."

All flushed, eyes dark and narrowed, her eyebrows drawn and her jaw tight and teeth gritted with annoyance. It pulls sharply at the heat coiled in Catra's core, and her tail gives a long flick from base to tip behind her. She looks just like she does whenever Catra's pulled a dirty trick in training, except better, and it's just. So viscerally satisfying. Catra loves it when she has Adora beat.

Only problem is, the idiot seems to have forgotten - again - that she has hands she ought to be using. Her arms are still stupidly wound around Catra, which is such a complete waste. Adora could be doing so much better right now, and Catra rolls her shoulders to dislodge her.

"C'mon, don't make me go through this every time." She flexes her fingers on Adora's skin, and -- ugh, her muscles don't have any give at all to them. It's way more appealing than it should be, and Catra would really like to get back to running her tongue all over them. "I know you haven't forgotten how to use your hands already."

Edited 2020-07-15 15:58 (UTC)

"It's-- it's because you keep distracting me!" Adora shoots back, her blush deepening. She scrambles to rearrange her hands, stroking unevenly over Catra's sides and stomach as she searches for a place to settle, and finally coming to a stop above her breasts. Then she pauses, frowning-- "You know, it's not fair you can pull my shirt up, but I can't do it to you."

And she pokes Catra's tummy, cruelly sealed away under her leotard, to illustrate her point.

Adora's hands tickle, which is the truly unfair part of it. Maybe if they were against her bare fur the uneven and stilted movements would be way more tolerable - maybe the heat of Adora's palms would be hot and energizing, maybe it'd feel as good as it did the other night, when Adora had stroked along her waist and hip and she'd rubbed her face all into Catra's stomach.

But the fact is that, yeah. There's clothing in the way. And it drags uncomfortably under Adora's uncertain hands, catching on Catra's fur and hitching her breath as she squirms back with the entirely wrong kind of shiver. Regardless of how ticklish it is, pressing backwards onto Adora's leg to avoid her hands is still great, and each reflexive tense and squirm drags those heart-pounding sparks into her nerves as she shifts against her. The confusing conflict of input even has her back arching slightly into the tickle of Adora's hands as they pass over her ribs, and Catra releases a shuddering breath when they finally find home on her breasts. Finally, when she pushes her chest out, there's some welcome contact there.

Then Adora just has to go and poke her, and Catra hunches down to bristle in protest.

"Don't do that," she complains. Adora'd just figured out where her hands should've been, and then she had to go and ruin it. Can Catra not get two minutes of competence out of her? "Is it seriously that big an issue for you?"

Edited 2020-07-17 14:17 (UTC)

"Yes," Adora answers, as stern as she can sound through her grin. "Massive issue, Catra. I need it."

In Adora's defense, she doesn't mean to tease. Not at first, anyway-- but with Catra wriggling and rubbing against her like this, how can she be expected to just stop? How can she not rake her hands up and down Catra's stomach, knowing full well the kind of squirming it'll incite?

"Lemme see your fuzzy tummyyyy."

Catra is, for a short moment there, undecided on whether to stop this. Adora is on the verge of tickling her, forcing her muscles to jump and tense under the stroking of her fingers, and it's kind of not horrible? She can feel her skin prickling and fur rising to press against the tight fabric, which is gross and sets her nose to wrinkling as she clenches her jaw; but the tingling skitters along into every part of her, teasing in every place her uniform rubs, and that's the bit that makes her flinching jerk against Adora's leg feel so good.

But Adora is teasing her, so Catra slaps her hands down hard and fast on hers to knock her away, face heating. That stupid grin and annoying mocking coo -- and calling her fuzzy. So she has fur, so what! It's not as big a deal as Adora makes it out to be!

"No way!" Her voice cracks into an indignant squeak on the objection, bristling as she grabs for Adora's hands to wrestle her. That's their usual way of settling things, and Adora's shirt is already up so it's not like Catra can get distracted and lose. "It isn't like you 'needed it' last time!"

"We were in our sleepwear last time!" Adora shoots back, and yes, she's realizing now this is the big drawback to this brilliant plan-- they can talk all they want, but there's so much in the way. Part of her is nervous still, telling her she shouldn't push too far, but the all too vivid memory of Catra's fur over her bare skin is enough to drown it out.

It felt good, intimate in a way she never knew possible, and Adora just-- wants.

Adora keeps up with the wrestling for only a moment, yielding readily. Rather than struggle, she takes Catra's hands in her own, pulls her closer, links her fingers through hers.

"I really liked feeling you against me," she says, eyes bright with earnestness. "I miss it. Pretty please?"

The strain of struggling against Adora is a welcome outlet for some of the tension built up in Catra's body. Up until Adora just gives up and holds Catra's hands instead, tugging her down to hover over Adora once more. It feels nice, to have their fingers linked - sets off that series of dumb warm swoops and flutters in Catra's gut.

It's honestly very stupid, how much more susceptible to Adora's pleading it makes her.

Catra groans, pushing up against Adora's hands to raise herself up and sit back on her haunches. Then tugs their linked hands, pulling her up as well.

"Fine," she bites out, covering the weird fluttering with irritation. "But only because it feels better, okay? And you have to take yours off, too."

Because if Catra reaches behind herself and undoes the zipper that runs the length of her spine, she's going to end up a whole lot more uncovered than Adora currently is, and that's just - that's not fair.

Adora's stomach flips and her heart bobs, a fresh coat of pink dyeing her cheeks with anticipation. "Yeah! Okay. It's a deal."

She ducks in to press another kiss to Catra's lips -- a surprisingly easy habit to fall into -- and then pulls back with a smile. Her hands relinquish their hold on Catra's, but rather than reach down for the hem of her shirt, they brazenly snake around to Catra's nape. "Let me help you," she offers, a little too eager for her practical reasoning to really sell: "So you don't get your hair stuck in the zip."

You'd think she'd be past this already, but Catra's throat still dries, proximity and the kiss that was so casual - like Adora could almost do it any time, any place, without even thinking about it - digging in under her guard. Adora's way more likely to snag the zip on Catra's hair than Catra is, but right now with the warmth and weight of her arms around Catra's shoulders and the tingle she's left on her lips? Letting her do it seems like a really, really good idea.

"Hurry it up then," she urges immediately, rolling her eyes like she's doing Adora a favour by allowing this. Catra leans into her, as much as an excuse to be close as it is to wind her arms around her and slip her hands up the back of Adora's shirt, hiking it up already. It's almost like a hug, except it's decidedly not, and Catra tries to pretend that her heart isn't insistently thrumming to match the lightness in her stomach. "You're so slow, I could've had it off already."

"Just a secooond," Adora sing-songs, nuzzling into Catra's cheek as her thumb eases the zip further down. She's hardly dawdling, just being careful -- because she really doesn't want to end up pulling on Catra's hair, and because, well. This closeness is nice, the two of them wrapped up in each other's embrace. It'd be a shame to rush it. No, she'll take exactly as long as she needs.

Still, Adora reaches the end of the line before long, right at the base of Catra's tail. She can't resist dipping over to stroke against it, humming her approval as it flicks, before bringing her hands back up -- her fingers, of course, raking through Catra's fur all the way. She stretches her arms up overhead, allowing Catra to repay the favor by prying her shirt off, before hooking her fingers under the fabric that still clings to Catra's front and peeling it away, leaving it all crinkled and bunched up at her waist.

And just like that, they're both that much less clothed. Adora swallows, a smile wobbling onto her lips. "Well, I'd say that's fair," she estimates, eyes flicking up and down Catra's body-- and then she leans forward and pulls her into a hug again, this time under no guise of practicality. Just to feel.

She rubs against her, taking in Catra's softness and warmth; the caress of her fur, the lean firmness of her muscles underneath. Her hands begin to roam across her waist and back without awaiting Adora's command, eager, hungry. Comfortable familiarity glowing with a fresh spark under this still-novel intimacy.

"... Yeah. Much better."

"Great." Catra says dryly, not a little bit annoyed and not even surprised when Adora pulls her back in. It's kind of a relief, actually, because Catra wasn't expecting to feel so -- exposed, with the top of her leotard gathered low on her waist. It's not like they're unused to being undressed around each-other or the other cadets, and Catra doesn't especially care about the fact that they're out in the open air, but something about the fact that it was Adora who undid the zip (--way too carefully, like she was worried the thing might somehow break if she moved it any faster), and Adora who pried the clinging fabric away from her chest and dragged it down her arms makes it feel different.

It was definitely a contrast to the way Catra had ungraciously yanked Adora's shirt up and over her head, that's for sure.

But Adora's hands are moving now, after the tease of the slow drag of her thumb and the stroking at the base of her tail, and Catra decides to just not worry about it. Instead she opts to worm her hands up between their bodies, her nails scraping up under the tight grey fabric of Adora's undershirt to blindly press her fingers against the skin of her breast, exhaling hard as Adora's hands at her back send a shiver through her. "Now can we move on?"

Edited 2020-07-24 04:27 (UTC)

Adora's hands come to rest over Catra's breasts in a mirroring motion, and it's-- incredibly hard not to notice the gap in their positions, what with Adora's undershirt still on, and Catra wearing nothing under her leotard. If Catra were in her place, she surely wouldn't complain: her hands have full, unhindered access, and she can drink in the sight of her without interference. And it's safer, less vulnerable, to still have something concealing her own bare body. (As if the wrestling excuse could still help them now. As if there's any excuse that could help them now, if anyone were to see.)

But Adora's not Catra, and Adora wants them both on equal grounds, even if it means forfeiting her advantage. Even if it means sharing in that vulnerability.

"You-- you should take that off, too," she says, gesturing to her undershirt with a bow of her head. "Fair's fair."

That gets Catra's ears perking back up, from where she hadn't even realized they'd fallen. She wasn't going to complain about it yet - she's pushing her luck already as it is, with how skittish Adora keeps getting - but she's certainly not going to turn down the offer.

It still feels weirdly nerve-wracking to pull away from the cover that Adora's body affords, which is -- ugh. They literally shower together. It must be all of Adora's worries about someone finding them getting to her, Catra decides stubbornly. Because it'd just be way too ridiculous if Catra were feeling so strange from Adora, what - taking her clothes off too gently, or something?

Please.

"It feels good," she assures, because Catra will die before she gives Adora any more excuses to freak out about being half-naked on the roof. And despite the discomfort, 'good' is still an understatement; Adora's hands feel pretty great on her bare chest. Every breath moves her against Adora's fingers and palm, the faint thrill of welcome sparks present in each rise and fall of her chest. Honestly, it's distracting enough to makes it Adora's fault when the sharp edge of Catra's thumbnail catches on the band of her undershirt, nicking a slice into it as she bunches the fabric up.

That's... not gonna matter, right? Not if Catra quickly leans forward to kiss her before Adora realizes what's happened, sealing their mouths together before any complaint can escape. And certainly not if she slides her hands under the now-slack halves of the top, cupping Adora's breasts and rolling both her nipples between each thumb and forefinger to distract her. She has more undershirts just like it, okay, it's fine.

Edited 2020-07-24 17:34 (UTC)

The sudden give of her undershirt registers, just briefly, but Adora doesn't get the chance to dwell on it. All at once, Catra's hands are on her naked breasts and her mouth has claimed her own, and it is wholly and utterly impossible to think about anything else.

Catra wasn't kidding -- it does feel good, her fingers pressing directly into the tender flesh of her nipples, Adora gasps out at the sensation, and the sound catches halfway through her throat, thickening into a moan before she can help it. (She's-- wow, really glad they're not doing this in their sleeping quarters.) Her hands only lower to allow her opened undershirt to slip off, and then she quickly repositions them over Catra's breasts, eager to return the favor.

She closes in on her nipples, the same way Catra's done, seeking them out from between tufts of fur. The perked little peaks fit easily between her forefinger and thumb as she pinches and rolls them, matching Catra's pattern and speed as best she can. She does break it up after a bit, letting go to instead drag the plush base of her thumb over the roughened flesh, when her own chest gets so sensitive it threatens to ache -- hoping Catra will follow her cue, as well.

All the while, she breathes shallowly through her nose as their tongues swirl together, more and more noises spilling from her mouth into Catra's own at her deft, confident touch. Adora's first instinct is to try and hold them in, but it's a futile effort, with her mouth wide open and Catra's fingers so skilled at what they do. Any attempts to swallow the sounds down only results in them coming out garbled and squeaky and strange, her throat straining, her head growing hot. It uses up her breath, too, and before long she has to break the kiss, resting her forehead to Catra's cheek as she swallows fresh mouthfuls of air.

She's totally gotten away with it, and Catra smirks into the kiss even as she drags her tongue smugly against Adora's. She didn't realize it would be so easy to distract her with this, or that Adora would be so quick to give in - which, like, of course Catra's going to snicker at that almost immediate moan, huffing her laugh against Adora's lips before redoubling her efforts.

Her shoulders are still shaking with that laughter when Adora's hands come up again, cutting off abruptly into a sharp, surprised noise as her fingers finish searching through her fur and close around her nipples. Catra's own hands jerk as her hips stutter in response, rolling down to seek the pressure and friction of Adora's leg. Practically sitting on Adora like this doesn't make for a good angle; it's just enough to take the needy edge away from the demand that's been building low in her core this entire time, each move of Adora's fingers adding to the slick heat smouldering between Catra's legs.

Giving herself in to the moment isn't a conscious choice Catra makes. It's just that Adora's lips and tongue and mouth are familiar, now, and Catra doesn't have to think to kiss her. Doesn't have to think about her hands on Adora's breasts, either; doesn't have to wonder how a flick of her thumb feels or a drag of her palm, because Adora is following her, showing her each pleasurable sensation in turn. All Catra has to do is feel, and that's such an easy thing to do when every nerve in her body is sparking and singing, and she pushes closer; her body feeling alive in every point of contact with Adora's flushed skin. They're finally getting somewhere with all of this.

--Adora's skin grazes across her nipples, and a high-pitched noise of protest escapes Catra's throat when that's it, and Adora breaks their kiss to pant against her cheek. The fact that she's light-headed herself, her breaths coming shallow and uneven, escapes Catra's notice: because Adora can't just take this away from her. Not when Catra's feeling so good, not when every bit of her is craving and wanting.

"Adora," she groans, bumping the side of her head against Adora's in frustration, ears flicking down. Catra's not dealing with it if she's choosing now to flip out about her top, she can't. Her hands turn on Adora's breasts, the flat of her palms covering across her nipples as she presses the tips of her fingers into the base of each curve, squeezing light but insistent. "Why'd you stop?"

"Just..." air, Adora goes to explain, chest still heaving beneath Catra's hands, but something gives her pause. Her eyes flicker downward as a new idea dawns, and the remainder of her answer is lost with her swallow.

"Hold still," she says instead, anchoring Catra in place with one hand at her waist. Then she bends down and bows her head, heart pounding, to push her tongue out against Catra's nipple.

If-- if she doesn't like it, she can just pass it off as a joke, right? It's not that weird?