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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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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.

Catra's praise feeds her -- so precious and raw, filtered out in between labored breaths and moans, and Adora's ears ring with it, her chest swells with it.

She almost thinks to say something back, but her head is empty and her jaw is tight and-- responding would risk making Catra stop, besides. It might snap her out of this trance.

So Adora's throat bobs with a silent swallow, and she doesn't utter a word, only stares down at Catra with wide-eyed exhiliration as she repeats that curling motion once, twice. Then, seeking out the spot Catra had responded so strongly to over her clothes, she traces her finger up higher, stopping when she comes upon a small, delicate nub right above her entrance.

Breathing harshly through her nose, Adora runs an experimental finger over that spot; presses down on it, just softly; draws a circle around it, intently studying Catra's reaction to each kind of touch.

The words of praise, lackluster and lame as they feel, seem to be the right thing to say. Adora's eyes brighten impossibly, and Catra's trapped in them for a moment, her lips curving in an answering smile (--they're terrible, the two of them, always feeding off each-other's excitement like this).

The moment is broken when Adora's finger flexes, jolting her with a sharp inhale that - honestly? Is definitely a gasp. It's too-loud and tinged all over with need, her jaw trembling as her hips cant low and then high; sliding herself incrementally along Adora's finger. She's right where that pulsing demand is, growing and satisfying it both at once, and Catra's tenuous grip on the conversation slips away again under the motions of Adora's exploration. Catra doesn't know the specifics, just knows that whatever Adora's doing, it's good -- until Adora finds that bundle of nerves, and Catra has a split second to think that she's never doing this alone again before she can no longer think of anything much at all.

There's too much to focus on anything else. Her skin feels tight on her body, her arms shaking over her face as Adora's finger runs over her, and Catra's body jerks again at the unexpected intense shock of sparks as she hones in on her target. Her hips lift with the press of Adora's finger, her mouth drying as she pants for shallow breaths; then Adora's finger circles around her, stimulating from all angles, and Catra's lips part wide as a full-volumed moan keens from her; so deep she can feel it heating in her chest as she bucks into the motions of Adora's hand, her muscles tensing and fluttering around her fingers.

"Adora--" Catra's legs try to part, try to give her access to all of her, but they can only tremble when the motion pulls the fabric of her underwear taut before falling helplessly back into place. It really is all up to Adora; there's nothing Catra can do to hurry her along, nothing she can do to force any change in her pace.

She can only plead, the words "--don't stop" straining from her lips as she rocks into her. She's giving in for real this time, beyond caring that the need in her voice is genuine; beyond caring about the lift of her chin exposing the length of her throat, or the arch of her back pressing her chest up in desperation to be touched. She just -- needs Adora, and there's no pretending about it at this point.

Edited 2020-08-29 17:03 (UTC)