Chapter Text
Seaworthy is... disgusting.
The docks are slick with rain and foul-smelling algae, and the floor of Catra’s establishment of choice is sticky with spilled ale and cider. She casts a slow gaze around the dimly lit room. The clientele is no better, as unwashed as the tankards they drink from. Disgusting.
Catra loves it.
Not a straight line as far as the eye can see, no polished captain’s badges, no cold click-clacking of decisive steps through metal-plated corridors.
There is filth in the Fright Zone as well, of course, but it always seems deliberately left in places one is not supposed to venture unhindered. You can practically see the line between where the sanitary staff has cleaned and purposefully didn’t.
“In position. Got a visual on the target yet, Force Captain?” Lonnie’s voice comes through Catra’s earpiece.
Catra taps the earpiece twice with her claw. No. Disguise or no, she can tell none of the current patrons of the Tavern are Princess Glimmer. Even so, she does a quick scan of everyone around her, just to be safe. Shadow Weaver still hasn’t forgotten how she lost Ad- the Princess three months ago. No room for fuckups.
From under the brim of her hat, Catra’s eyes trace every silhouette in the room. Too tall, too tall, too slim, too many legs, too—
Oh, no.
This figure, too, is taller than Sparkles has any right to be, too muscular, too pale, too fucking— Catra swallows. She can’t think it.
Unthinking, she has brought her left hand to touch the scar on her right palm. Shit.
The Princess is leaned over the bar counter, speaking intently with the bartender, who happens to be tall and intriguingly scarred, with upper arms larger than Catra’s waist. A co-conspirator? Catra wonders, cursing herself for wishing desperately that that’s the case. Yeah, that’s definitely a conspiratorial arm touch. And giggle. Blushing can be conspiratorial in a certain light, probably.
Inexplicably, Catra wants to run out the door and not look back, mission be damned. She looks down disapprovingly at the cider in front of her, naming it a traitor for being served by the woman who is currently hitting on—
Focus.
A deep breath.
Another.
Either way, Catra decides, the bartender is being far too friendly with known leaders of the Rebellion.
The Princess is wearing what Catra supposes passes for a disguise if you’re completely incompetent and lack any sort of recognition skills. Those pristine white leather boots have “Princess” written all over them, and that long, blonde hair looks like the softest thing in the entire room. It definitely—, Catra stops herself. I can’t think it. I can’t think it.
She’s seen the princess a number of times (Seven. It’s seven times, not that Catra’s keeping count) since that disaster three months ago. The first time was… bad. It was only two days later, and Catra had found herself looking straight at Adora through the shimmering Sea Gate in Salineas. Four gashes still ran down the Princess’ cheek, and in a mortifying instant, Catra had realized her hand was still unevenly bandaged by none other than the enemy she now faced. She’d stubbornly left it that way, refusing to think on it too hard. Of course the Princess noticed. And of course Catra had managed to make the situation worse by instinctually ripping the bandage off.
Even now she closes her eyes in embarrassment, gripping the cider in front of her. What is it about Princess Adora that turns Catra into a stumbling, babbling, dumb mess?
She’d hoped the worst was behind her after that mortifying ordeal, but no. Catra had only started rolling down the hill of humiliation, and gravity was doing its job. After that, they'd met twice on the battlefield.
It’s strange, how something that has always seemed to natural to Catra had now started working against her. Of course she and Princess Adora should gravitate towards each other during combat, they are nemeses. It’s only natural that their goal should be to face one another. It’s always been something Catra has valued, something she’s looked forward to, even.
Catra isn’t the sentimental type. She’s not. This isn’t about hurting someone who’s offered you kindness or dressed your wounds, if she’d been that soft she wouldn’t be Force Captain today.
No. It’s something much, much, much, worse.
With every swipe of her claws, every drop she’s spilled of her enemy’s blood, there is regret. Not at the hurt she’s causing, not immediately, anyway, but rather at what she’s not causing instead.
Take two weeks ago, for example. She’d had the Princess pinned to the ground in the Whispering Woods, panting and bleeding, both of them near exhaustion after a drawn-out fight. She could feel the trembling in the Princess’ muscles, could feel the heat of her breath. Without warning, Catra could, with unsettling clarity, picture a much different scene when she looked down at the Princess beneath her. After months of it, it shouldn’t surprise her and yet it did, slowing her reaction and letting the Princess slip away.
Every time they’ve met, for three months, Catra has had to shake unbidden images from her mind. She can see everything change with such clarity: every swipe of her claws a caress, every pained sound escaping the Princess’ lips alluring to her ears. They are nothing but two bodies moving with singular purpose and why can’t it be pleasure?
Why can’t her hands, that could outline the exact shape of Adora’s body from memory alone, why can’t they touch that soft skin without the intent to rip it? Why can’t they close around that pale throat at Adora’s own urging, for no other reason than let’s see if we like this?
Catra has decided it’s all because of that damned white shirt. If it hadn’t gotten ripped where it did three months ago, if Catra hadn’t watched Adora’s breasts push against the tattered fabric with every breath, she wouldn’t… Wouldn’t what? Wouldn’t have left that shitty bandage on for two days? Wouldn’t feel ashamed every time she sees Adora’s scarred cheek? Wouldn't imagine fucking her every moment she lets her guard down?
Catra gulps down her cider and slams the cup down on the sticky table, perhaps too forcefully. Fortifying herself, she returns her attention to the bar.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit!
The Princess is gone. Of-fucking-course she is. Catra casts a frantic glance around the room. She couldn’t have left, Catra would have noticed the front door’s high-pitched creaking. There’s only one other exit except for the one behind the bar, and with no time to think, Catra makes for it, leaving her earpiece in her empty cider cup. The mission has changed.
The door isn’t locked, luckily, and swings open without so much as a creak. The light is dimmer inside, and Catra can make out rows of barrels lining the walls of a long, narrow room. A bright light sparks at the far end, followed by a soft ”Shit.”
The Princess is tinkering with something on a table, a soft whirring sound tells Catra it’s probably one of Arrow Boy’s gadgets.
Catra can move silently when she wants to, and right now, she makes her presence known only when she is just behind Adora.
”Hey, Princess.” Despite her languid tone, Catra’s heart is hammering in her chest.
To her disappointment, the Princess doesn't even flinch. She merely keeps tinkering with whatever apparatus she has stored in here.
”Took you long enough.”
Now Catra is the one to flinch. ”Excuse me?”
The Princess turns around only after carefully putting down the loose wire she’s holding. ”I could tell it was you the moment you walked through the door.”
To her shame, something sparks in Catra’s chest. She smothers it with all the will she can muster.
”I’m—” She pauses. Takes a deep breath. ”You’re no master of disguise, either.”
Princess Adora snorts, leaning on the table behind her. ”I don’t have to be, for this. You, on the other hand. You’re far too clean. Never could stand dirt in your fur, could you?”
”Y—” Catra just managed to stop herself. The words echo in her mind instead: You noticed?
The Princess sighs, and picks up a wrench. ”Go on then. You first.”
”What?”
”What do you think?” Adora fixes her with a piercing look. ”Hit me. Scratch me. Kick me. We can even use weapons, if you’d prefer.”
”What?” Catra’s mouth is dry. Something is off. She is so far away from familiar territory and she is terrified.
”I don’t see what’s so confusing, Force Captain.” The Princess sighs. ”But then, you’ve been slipping recently.”
That hits where it’s intended. Catra hisses, grabs the Princess by the collar and extends her claws.
Adora merely meets her gaze evenly, letting the wrench fall to the ground. ”Go on,” she whispers. Catra can feel her hot breath on her lips, they’re so close.
This is a trap. It has to be. There is no other explanation. Catra shoves the Princess aside, hearing her hit the ground, bringing her claws down on the apparatus behind her instead. There.
”What’d that ever do to you?” Adora rises from the floor, brushing dust off of her clothes.
”What is this? What the fuck is going on?” Catra can hear her own voice hitting a higher pitch. She doesn’t like this at all.
”What are you doing?” The Princess’ voice is even, but demanding.
”What?” Catra shoves the remains of the apparatus down onto the floor, just because.
”Why aren’t you attacking me?”
”You aren’t—”
”That never stopped you before. You’d have jumped me the second you entered the room.”
”I…”
”Why? Why aren’t you hurting me? Why have you’ve been letting me go?”
”I don’t…” Catra is backing away from the princess, unprepared and helpless against this assault.
”Just hit me!” Adora is almost screaming now. ”What are you doing? What are you planning?”
Catra’s back hits a wine barrel, and there is nowhere to run. She is yanked up by strong arms, forced to face her— enemy.
”Why? Why won’t you—”
”Because I’m in love with you, Adora!” Catra’s voice is hoarse and hateful, and that feels oddly fitting to her.
Without warning, Catra is let go of, and she slumps back against the barrel. Wide blue eyes stare at her, confused, and the Princess takes a step back.
”You fucking— You’ve done this to me,” Catra spits, ”and it’s all ruined, and I hate you, and—” She trails off, suddenly horrified at the reality of what she’s done.
For about ten seconds, there is nothing. They are both breathing heavily, both staring, wide-eyed, at each other. Perhaps there is a tremble in the Princess’ lip, for just a second, and perhaps Catra’s gaze lingers just a moment to long. Either way, she’ll have to kill the Princess. There is no way she’s letting her walk out of here now.
”So…” Adora’s voice cuts through the silence, as sharp as that sword of hers. The tremble is back in her lip, and she bites it, quickly, as if to make it stop. Her eyes are still fixed on Catra, her hands lowering to her sides. ”So what are you gonna do about it?”
For a second, Catra feels like laughing. And then…
She pushes herself up from the barrel. Without daring to even think, she takes two quick steps, grabs a fistful of blonde hair, and kisses Adora hard.