boxitup | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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?

Hold still? Hold still?

That's like, the worst instruction to ever be given, and Catra would be prepared to scrabble away if it weren't for Adora's hand burning into her waist.

"What're you doing--" her decision to remain in place is justified, all of a sudden, with the wet press of Adora's tongue, and Catra's demanding complaint chokes into a guh as her body at once tries to both curl into and flinch away from the entirely new sensation. It jerks her onto her knees, lifting away from Adora's leg and her mouth even as her back bows, hovering her just above Adora as her chest heaves. Her nipple feels colder now in the air, and Catra's not sure if that's the reason for the shiver that runs down her spine, or if it's the half-second-old feeling of something slick and hot dragging against her. It still tingles, an intoxicating indication of what it might be like if she lets Adora keep up with it, and Catra's already made her choice when she looks down at her with wide, dark eyes.

"--Do it again," she rasps breathlessly, hands flexing on Adora's chest in belated remembrance of reciprocation. It's just that initial surprising jolt that took her off-guard, she tells herself determinedly, tensing in preparation. Just like the mouth thing - if she gets past it, it's bound to be really good.

Edited 2020-07-27 10:23 (UTC)

As it turns out, Adora doesn't have it in her to just play it off. Catra's sharp, full-body flinch and the ringing silence that follows engulf Adora's face with itchy, awkward heat, and she swallows, scrambling for an apology. "I, uh-- I just thought..."

It's hard to find the words with Catra towering above her, hair strewn every which way and pupils round and dark like inky pools. Backlit by Etheria's web of moons, she's a striking, gorgeous, untameable thing, and Adora's tongue grows clumy and weighted and dumb the more she looks up at her.

And-- once she gets out of her own head enough to really take her in, she's able to pin down just what that look in those mismatched eyes means, even before Catra opens her mouth. So her fumbled apology, as luck would have it, was never even needed at all.

"Oh," falls from her mouth uselessly, once, then again as Catra's words affirm it: "Oh." Her face lights up in a giddy grin, quickly slanted by nerves, as her eyes dart between Catra's face and her chest.

"Well-- don't pull away, then," she says with a tiny, half-hearted huff, and this time wraps her arm fully around Catra as she leans back in-- kissing softly against her nipple first, before allowing her lips to part and drawing her tongue out over the rough, textured flesh.

Don't pull away, Adora says. Like it was Catra's choice.

"It was reflex," she insists defensively, lips turning down. "It's not gonna happen again."

Except it does, almost immediately. Adora's arm is the only thing stopping Catra from jerking fully backwards as Adora's lips press and drag against her, sparking somehow more than her fingers had done. Catra sucks in a ragged breath that sounds somehow high-pitched in her ears, and then Adora's tongue is on her again; pressing smooth and warm and frictionless, and as expected it's almost too much of a sudden rush to bear.

But bear through it she does, because -- because she has nowhere else to go, pressing back into Adora's arm and breathing heavy lungfuls of smoke-tinged air as her hands spasm on Adora's chest, like she can't decide whether or not to push her away. Catra's more practiced at keeping quiet than Adora, more experienced in clenching her jaw shut and exhaling harshly to keep from giving herself away in the darkness of their dorm, but it's harder now. Even after the first shock passes, it's not like the sensation diminishes at all; rather, she's forced to adapt to it, her front teeth closing hard on her lip as her hips bump forward against Adora's stomach, seeking relief for the need pulsing in time with the drag of Adora's tongue.

"Keep going," she urges, voice straining as it croaks up through her tightened throat. See, Adora? She's not pulling away. She's totally got this.

Edited 2020-07-27 13:10 (UTC)

Adora's no stranger to making Catra squirm -- she's had years to map out each and every weak spot, and Catra's own penchant for playing dirty has ensured she's never been above exploiting them, herself. Gotta keep the playing field level, after all.

But she's never had her like this. Shaking and twitching so much that Adora has to continuously follow her breast with her mouth, and the way her voice sounds, so raspy and paper-thin like it just might tear halfway through her throat.

It makes Adora feel hot. Really, really hot, from the base of her stomach all the way out to her fingers and toes. And it gears her into a sort of hyper-focus, arm locking into a steel grip ground Catra, lips and tongue relentlessly pursuing the pink peak of nipple no matter how she tries to twist away.

But Adora's persistence does nothing to subdue Catra's squirming, and even as Catra urges her on she keeps angling herself away, the fuzz on her chest chafing the skin of her face. She's not as mindful of her claws as Adora would like, either, the tips poking out as she nudges against her. Adora stubbornly pushes on, ignoring the pinprick-sting on her breast and the graze of fur against her tongue-- until her face scrunches up of its own accord and her breath hitches, and she angles her head just in time to not sneeze directly on Catra.

"Guh," she sniffs, eyebrows tweezed together. "Your fur got in my nose."

And before Catra can say something snippy back, Adora grabs hold of her by the shoulders, and forces her onto her back on the roof. Not so roughly that the impact would hurt, but sternly enough that she wouldn't just wiggle out of her hold. As much as she liked Catra's looming form above her (and she did, she did, a lot), she likes not getting a mouthful of fur more.

"Too bad we don't have a blanket here," she teases, pinning Catra into place with one hip at either side of her. "Could've helped keep you still."

She's-- kidding, at first, but then her gaze catches on her discarded shirt and Adora finds herself reconsidering the weight behind those words. A grin sprawls across her lips, slow and wolfish, as she picks the garment up.

"... But this'll do," she continues, voice edging lower. "Put your hands up."

No matter how she moves, Adora's mouth follows her. Catra's back drags along the rock-steady line of Adora's arm, cold air glancing against her for a split second before the heat of Adora's tongue licks over her, fervently following Catra's instruction, and she buckles at the waist again. It's hard, to keep herself aloft; but Catra tries, okay, barely recovering from each jagged shudder before Adora's tongue drags another from her, and her hands have long since begun kneading mindless encouragement against Adora's breasts. Her hips press hard and insistent into whatever they can reach; sometimes bumping uselessly in a frustrating self-tease, sometimes sparking white-hot to match the fire burning through her from Adora's tongue, and it's more than Catra thought she'd ever deal with. More than she thought could even exist.

Not that she's doing much thinking at all in the moment. There's just Adora, everywhere, and the pressure low in her gut and deep between her thighs, building to intolerable heights without relief in sight. It's frustrating, it's mind-fogging, and Catra doesn't ever want it to stop.

When it does, the whine-tinged groan that leaves her mouth has been dredged up from the very depths of her soul. Adora keeps doing this, keeps stopping as soon as Catra starts falling into that pleasurable haze, and Catra is thisclose to shoving her own hand down the front of her leotard and finishing it off herself.

Adora's complaining about her fur and Catra doesn't care, her lips curling back in aggravation; but before she can gather enough thoughts to snap something out, she's on her back and Adora's pinning her with her hips. The wet patch on Catra's chest is tickling in the cool air, her tail is lashing uselessly by her own legs, and Catra loses Adora's words in the rough timbre of her voice; deeper than she's ever heard it before, dangerously laced with the self-satisfied smugness she is used to.

It shouldn't make the heat pulse between her legs, or her eyes flash with surprise right before they narrow with stubborn challenge. Adora hasn't beaten her at anything, Adora doesn't get to act like she's winning.

But maybe Catra should be listening to what she's saying? Instead of feeling her throat dry at the sharpness of Adora's grin, or her skin ache with yearning at the flex of Adora's body when she reaches for her shirt.

"Shut up," she groans, pointedly winding her arms around Adora's back to keep her hands away and to urge her down, to her lips or her chest Catra doesn't care. Adora knows better than to think Catra's going to just do whatever she says. This isn't even a secure pin, Catra could break out of it easily if it weren't for the addictive feeling of her pelvis rocking into Adora's body when she shifts, testing Adora's stability. "Can you just get on with it before one of us gets so old they die up here?"

"Hey! I'm serious." Indeed, between forty seconds ago and now, Adora's decided she very much is. "You move around too much, and you were like half a minute away from stabbing me in the boobs." She makes a broad-palmed gesture at the twin sets of little red marks along her chest, to illustrate.

Catra's tugging her down, but Adora refuses to yield-- she's not getting kisses anywhere if she's going to be a brat. Adora doubles down, cementing her hold against Catra's wriggling and leaning the whole of her weight onto her.

"I want you with your hands up," she repeats, reaching behind her own back to grab Catra's arm and pin it to the metal sheeting. Part of her's tempted to whine, I let you gag me with a bedsheet, be fair-- but she knows Catra well enough to recognize the kind of approach she needs to take here.

"You can give me what I want, or I can head back into the barracks and get ready for a good night's sleep. Pick one."

Unflinching, sharp-toothed. The way Catra's ultimatums always are.

Edited 2020-07-27 16:30 (UTC)

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."

Edited 2020-07-27 17:25 (UTC)

It wouldn't be Catra if she didn't immediately call her bluff, Adora knows, but god-- does she have to make it that difficult? How is she supposed to stand by her words now, when the drag of Catra's knuckles has her hips bucking and an all too needy moan filtering past her teeth? She thinks of last night, how intoxicating it felt to have Catra's fingers work against her as she rubbed against her knee, and she-- she's supposed to say no to that?

Catra's a jerk.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Adora releases her hold on the shirt, letting it flutter back onto the roof. A sigh as she settles above Catra, willing the muscles in her thighs to unclench.

Then, with her freed hand, she grabs Catra's other wrist-- yanking it back from between her legs and planting it, too, beside Catra's head. Adora's face is bright red, but her jaw is set and her brow furrowed low, determination etched over the adrenaline and want.

"Won't I, Catra?" She leans in closer, chest grazing chest-- but not quite so close that Catra could seal the distance between their lips. "You really wanna test that?"

There's something different about it this time, when Adora moans and jerks into her knuckles. Something hotter, something that seizes Catra's body and acts without her. Her hips try to lift, struggling to match Adora's movement, but all she earns for the instinctual effort is a pleasant-but-not-satisfying grind of pressure low against her pelvis.

She needs Adora so, so badly. If she can get Adora to just shift down a bit, then her weight will be right where Catra needs it; but she doesn't even get a chance to try, because Adora - the jerk - is grabbing her wrist. Catra manages to struggle against this one, twisting her arm and shoulder to try to break Adora's grip, but Adora is the one person in the entire world who can keep Catra from wriggling away.

It isn't fair, and Catra hisses at her for it as her wrist meets the unyielding metal, meeting Adora's eyes with a stubborn glare. She tries jerking her arms again, testing Adora's hold; but she's strong and she's heavy, and she's got that stupid steeled look of determination set across her face. The one she wears when she's Serious, Catra, and actually follows through with it.

Catra's tail lashes again, and she growls when she tears her eyes away, conceding. Adora's close but she's not close enough, and Catra wants to arch her back into her but that would be -- giving in, or something. It'd be like admitting how much she wants her.

"Whatever," she grumbles. If this is what it's going to take to get Adora to stop screwing around... "It's your loss anyway, genius."

Edited 2020-07-28 11:19 (UTC)

"Thank you," Adora harrumphs, reaching back for her discarded shirt to bind Catra's wrists together. It's a good, firm knot -- she paid close attention in those lessons. The same as she does in all of them, really. Bet Catra would've thought twice before calling her a nerd if she knew just what that knowledge would be used for. "Was that so hard?"

But the huffy twist to Adora's smile fades as soon as she finishes the knot and leans back, taking in the sight of Catra underneath her. Oh-- this is a good look on her, too. She blinks down at her sprawled-out form, wide-eyed, before her smile broadens-- slowly but surely-- into a grin.

"I can't believe you let me tie you up," she marvels, with just a hint of a chortle. "You must want this pretty bad, huh?"

Catra definitely won't like that-- so she's sure to offset it by leaning back over and reclaiming her nipple between her lips, sucking down hard.

Edited 2020-07-28 18:43 (UTC)

Catra sulks the entire time, baring her teeth and bristling in answer to Adora's smug question as she finishes tying her knot. She's done a good job of it; Catra's wrists are firmly bound together, Adora having taken full advantage of the stretch of her shirt so that Catra can't. Which is the smart thing to do, really. Otherwise she'd be slipping out of it the moment Adora wasn't looking.

She could still bite through it, tear the shirt to shreds. A part of her wants to, to make a point; especially when Adora laughs at her, and Catra feels the humiliation of it roiling in her blood. It's worse because Adora is right, because Catra laid there with her fingers lightly intertwined and waited for Adora to pull the fabric over, between, around, and under; locking her wrists together properly, the way any dangerous hostage should be contained.

Ugh. At least Adora's taking Catra's strength seriously. She's not sure how she would've handled it if Adora'd insulted her with a flimsy hold.

She still balks when Adora calls her out, jerking her bound hands back to her chest defensively. She opens her mouth to snap a denial out, and gets as far as a hoarse and pitched "I do NOT--" before Adora's mouth descends on her, and Catra's lame retort cuts into a sharp cry as Adora's lips brush electricity through her and she sucks. It's painful in its intensity, Catra's back jolting up to alleviate the pull but it doesn't, and it hurts but it's hot and it's good. The confused whine scrapes through Catra's throat before she can kill it, her fingers spasming tight around each-other as her teeth bite on her lip to ride it through, her hips pressing up desperately into Adora's weight. Does she want more of it? Does she want less? She doesn't know, but if Adora stops again Catra is sure she won't survive.

Edited 2020-07-28 19:29 (UTC)

"Mmn?" Adora releases her mouth with a soft, wet pop, tilting her head to meet Catra's eyes. "You don't what?"

She looks up at her with gleaming eyes, intently awaiting an answer, as her tongue flicks out against her breast again.

Adora is actively trying to kill her.

That's it, that's the only explanation for why she would release the suction of her mouth and ask Catra questions, like she's supposed to have a brain left during this?!

But Catra's stubborn, enough to rally herself to croak out a fresh starter, a "Don't" that ekes out in a deep rasp that's also lilts with complaint, because -- she is, right? She's complaining about something, even if she can't quite manage to connect to what because Adora's tongue flicks over her, so light over the nipple that's been made more sensitive by the hard pull, and Catra whimpers in the back of her throat - a short noise that isn't as much of a protest as it should be - as it soothes and reignites the sting of the stimulation. Her body tries to judder away, but she's really and truly trapped - and only now belatedly realizing that was Adora's point. And she just let her do it, like an idiot.

Catra's making some really, really nice noises. It's a world of difference from the night before, where she kept them all bottled up with enviable restraint -- now they're spilling out, strained and trembling and precious, and Adora giddily drinks them up.

"Don't what?" she presses, before sucking down again. Now that she's gotten the hang of it, it's easy to fall into a rhythm-- kiss, lick, suck. Swipe her tongue across and back, then swirl it in a circle, teasing the stiff mound with the very tip of her tongue. Her hand at Catra's side joins in, too, cupping her neglected breast and quickly closing in on the nipple. She matches the movements of her mouth with her fingers as best she can: stroking, flicking, pulling. And paying rapt attention, all the while, to what kind of noise each touch draws from Catra's lips, how sharply it rocks her hips against her.

"Come on, Catra. I'm aaaall ears."

"Shut u--" Catra can't stop the shivers and jerks of her body, her hands trying to twist in their bonds so she can grab anything to hold onto; anything at all to grip tight and dig her claws deep into, to give her something to feel grounded with as she gasps from the abrupt return of the suction. "--Shut up."

Instead she can only writhe under the wet movements of Adora's mouth, her hips gyrating in an eager bid for Adora to just. move. down. She can't hold anything, and there's nothing even for her to bite. Her hands are trapped against her chest, held there by the sole fact that moving them means displacing Adora, and there is literally nothing Catra can do to redirect any of the heated tension sparking like a thousand live wires in her skin.

Adora's hand cups the small mound of her other breast, and the eager, barely-there whimper that Catra can't even hear over her ragged breathing opens way to something of a keen; Catra's head bumping back against the roof as Adora's fingers work on her, the specifics of her actions completely lost in the constant thrumming of electric desire taking over her body.

Giving in isn't a conscious choice that Catra makes. Pushing up from her shoulders, jutting her chest out into Adora's mouth and hand and no longer shuddering away isn't her decision. Neither is her eyes scrunching closed, her mouth opening to suck in shallow pants of smoggy air as her head tilts further back, lifting her chin to arch her back up as far as it can go. Her neck and shoulders ache in protest, tense and straining in the unnatural position, and Catra doesn't care about them at all; doesn't care about her hair tugging underneath herself either, as the minute space opened up beneath her drags her lower back and very base of her tail against the metal sheeting.

Forget arguing, she needs Adora now more than she ever has before. Adora's always been there for her, Adora's always looked after her. It's been years since Catra was so pathetic that she whined any sort of genuine plea for her, but Adora still comes running when Catra fakes it; still gets fooled in training simulations by a pseudo-cry, still rushes in to help. Surely she'll go for it now, surely she'll do what they'd promised they'd do and take care of her.

It's shamefully easy to lapse into that tone, Catra's closed-off whimpers having already made way for the needy, desperate edge.

"Adora." Her name is a plea in and of itself, the same way she's always been able to make it, rising high-pitched and whining as she rolls her hips to feel the friction of the roof on her back. Catra hates that she's resorting to this, hates how genuine the need in her voice is, the way it hasn't been in a long time; and hates the whiny moan that stutters out after it as Adora's tongue and fingers flick over her in unison. But Adora's clearly enjoying a power trip, and it's obvious that playing into it is the only way to get her to do more. So that'll be enough, right?

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?"

Wow, Adora really does get off on that. It's kind of hilarious, actually, how she groans so quietly; Catra's ears twitching towards the sound as she stifles the urge to laugh. She'd be offended, but she's kind of proud, in a weird way? It's warm and tender in her chest, soothing down the humiliation -- because Adora responded to her right away, reaching immediately to pull Catra's hip up. Catra might be the one on her back, she might be the one who's tied up and shifting eagerly into Adora's hand, but even now she's got Adora wrapped around her little finger. She could probably make her do anything she wants, and that knowledge feels... thrilling, in its own way.

It's a win for Catra. Because she's not being weak, when she parts her legs readily for Adora's awkward knee or when she rubs her chest insistently against her stilled fingers. She's just giving Adora what she wants, when she whines low in her throat, her shoulders pushing impossibly further against the roof to grind herself firmly against Adora's leg. It's not a good angle for her, but the tensing of Adora's body when she rocks into her makes Catra's thighs clench anyway, her stomach rolling down to tilt her hips in search of the best point of friction for herself.

A noise of denial is about the smartest reply Catra can manage, her eyelids fluttering open to look at Adora, a tremor running through her body as she finally - finally - manages to graze the almost throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs against Adora. Even as her eyes squint and her lips purse against her own quiet whimper, it's no trouble at all to keep her gaze soft, vulnerable; pleading. Giving Adora what Catra's certain, now, she'll respond to. Catra could totally get off like this, now that she's managed that one brief spark. It probably wouldn't even take her very long; especially not if Adora keeps rocking into her.

But Catra's not debasing herself for that. Adora's fingers are pressing firmly into her hip, and Catra wants those. Wants them on, around -- in her, the way she can't trust herself to manage with her claws. If she's gonna be stuck down here, relying on Adora's clumsy moves to bring her relief, then she's going to make sure it's at least worth it.

"Adora," she whines, quiet and wanting. Catra drags her hips up on Adora's leg, canting up and pressing in as she draws a deep, long breath. She can feel the rough fabric of her underwear shifting, slick and sticky, with the lift of each roll, and the thought that Adora is probably just the same, just as wet and aching, pools another wave of heat within her. Catra wants to feel her, too; and her nails scrape the backs of her palms as her hands tense, yearning to touch.

"You still wanna learn, right?" Catra's careful to keep her voice soft, rasping lightly against the sides of her throat even as it lilts with the hint of a tease. She's testing her luck with what Adora will allow as she shifts her bound hands down to the fly of Adora's pants, but she's confident she can get away with it as long as she keeps this half-act up; dragging over the seam of the zip with the sides of her fingers and pressing into her, massaging low on her crotch in example as she stills her own hips and shifts back minutely, making just enough room to create an invitation. "--Go on and put your hand down there."

Adora watches Catra twist underneath her, understanding at the very least that she needs to give her more, but unsure as to how. She tries to move in tandem, help find that sweet spot, that right angle -- and for a moment Catra whimpers and shivers so prettily that she thinks she's got it, but no, it's still not enough.

She can still give Catra more.

"Yeah, I do," Adora answers without a moment's hesitation, so eager and breathless that her voice squeaks a bit. Any hint of her earlier teasing has by now gone up in smoke, sealed for good by the whine that runs up her throat at Catra's demonstration. The contact makes her instantly, irrevocably aware of just how hot she is between her thighs, how the dampened fabric (with sweat, or something more--?) clings to her skin, and how Catra must be able to feel it now, too.

Her gaze flickers downwards, the eye contact crumbling under the sudden tidal wave of embarrassment and arousal. But nonetheless Adora murmurs, "Okay," and plants her hand over Catra's soft stomach before inching down, down, beneath the edge of her bunched-up leotard and over the fabric of her underwear.

Ah... she's hot there, too. Adora has to swallow as she rubs her fingers down to Catra's very center, then back up, timidly meeting her eyes again. "Um, how's this?"

Catra honestly can't tell how much of Adora's instant reply is her need to be a ridiculous know-it-all, but it doesn't really matter. She's struggling to keep up the submissive front, Adora's whine pulling at her, and Catra's eyes sharpen with a satisfied glint when Adora looks away first. That's more like it.

She still lets her lips part with a shivering breath when Adora's hand moves on her sensitive stomach, each and every muscle twitching and tensing under the slow pass of her palm. If it weren't for the absolutely dreadful arch she'd wriggled herself into, Catra would do something to speed Adora up; but her hair pulls unpleasantly when she tries to relax her shoulders back down, and, well. It's not the worst position she's ever held herself in. She'll deal.

It does leave her absolutely nowhere else to go, and all she can do when Adora's hand finally slips across her underwear is roll her hips as her breath catches and her own hands still. It's the first time Adora's put a hand directly there, and Catra's fairly sure her heart stops completely when Adora's fingers smooth hesitantly over her, inadvertently teasing through the sturdy garment. It's so different, Adora's fingers a direct and localized pressure rather than the general friction of her thigh, and Catra can feel herself clench in protest as Adora's fingers curl back up and away, her hips tilting to chase them as she groans.

"Don't get shy on me now," she complains, her voice tight in frustration as she pulls her hands back up to bump her fists against Adora's naked chest. And -- ugh, she still really wants to put her mouth there. "We didn't take these off just 'cause it looks good, did we?"