Work Text:
It all starts because of Tumblr.
Catra comes back early from another failure of a date. Her fifth in the last month, but who’s counting? (She is. She’s got a whole bujo layout devoted to the fail dates, so she doesn’t fall for their sweet talk a second time. She’s already gone through one red Sharpie Pen.)
She’s back earlier than she should be, and so maybe that’s why her roommate’s laptop is open with no sight of Adora hunched over it. The usually crisp white sheets on Adora’s bed are rumpled, her laptop left hanging off the edge of the mattress, a familiar blue background snatching Catra’s attention. The shower sounds from the ensuite they share with the room next door, the screensaver isn’t protecting Adora’s privacy, so—Catra snoops.
The first few pictures on Adora’s dash are innocent, if a little racy. Black and white shots, carefully composed to hint at nudity without being blatant. The sinuous curve of a hip, the lush swell of a breast. Artsy photography stuff—she’s seen a bit of it when she used to sneak glances over Adora’s shoulder.
(Before.)
Then she finds the treasure trove. More black and white pictures, but these are full of rope, leather, and metal. Decorative and functional bondage. Women teased to the brink of orgasm and left waiting for release, their bodies full of tension even in a still photograph. And the gifs … well. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Adora’s in the shower.
Beyond the bondage shots and the gifs of women in pleasurable agony, there’s a much simpler picture that shows up twice. A tap over the #ilovethis tag shows Adora has reblogged it multiple times on her own curated blog. The picture is of a woman in profile, kneeling next to another, head on the other’s lap. A silver chain is the only bright spot in the photo, running from the kneeling woman’s neck to a ring set in the floor.
Catra commits the image to memory.
By the time Adora finally returns, worn flannel pants and a threadbare tee over damp skin, Catra has curled up on her bed, one hand splayed over Adora’s laptop screen. “Hey Adora,” she purrs, grinning at the startled look on her face. Adora plays innocent well—bright blue eyes wide in shock, lips pursed in an ‘o’—but Catra now knows better.
(Oh, she suspected. Before. But now she knows. For sure.)
“Catra!”
“You’ve been keeping secrets from me, princess,” Catra says. “How very naughty of you.”
Adora sputters and throws her hands in the air. The scent of her hibiscus body wash floats towards Catra’s nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Catra shakes her head. “Don’t lie, Adora, and don’t play stupid. It doesn’t become you.”
Arms crossing over her chest, Adora leans against the doorway. “It doesn’t become you either.”
Catra taps her nails against the lid of Adora’s laptop. “You rushed off so quickly to shower, you left your computer open. It was very educational. Far more than your efforts in the classroom have been of late.”
A red flush heats Adora’s pale cheeks. “Shut up!”
“Make me.”
Adora’s wide blue eyes skip around their room, landing everywhere but on Catra, until her shoulders finally slump. “Okay. Fine. You found my secret, but it’s not like you can tell anyone.”
Not that Catra was planning on telling anyone (this is something she’s going to keep and use for herself), but she’s curious as to why Adora thinks she wouldn’t tell. “And why won’t I?”
“Because!” Adora rakes her hands through her hair, which hangs loose and damp to her shoulders, instead of back in its usual ponytail. “I saw your profile! On those sites. I could blackmail you too.”
Catra is a little surprised and a little pleased to hear Adora has such a thing in her. (Or that Adora thinks she does. Whether she could is a different story.) “Go right ahead. I wasn’t going to share your secret, Adora.” She scratches her wrist, pushing down her own burst of nerves. “I’m hurt you think I would do that. But let’s back up a step, okay?” Time to turn on a little charm. “I know you’ve had a really hard time since DT ended things.”
(Hard time is putting it lightly. Adora’s in a world of trouble: grades slipping, that pesky knee injury still not fully healed, and she’s been on the edge with everyone.)
“Don’t mention them,” Adora snaps. “They have nothing to do with this.”
They do, actually. DT and their interfering, fuck-things-up-for-fun, ways is what’s led to this mess. To the point where Catra and Adora’s friendship (and maybe a burgeoning attraction) broke. But Catra brushes that aside for now—she has something more important to chase. “Alright,” she agrees easily. “Either way, you’ve had a hard time since winter break. I bet some stress relief would help with that, wouldn’t it?”
Eyes narrowing, Adora scans Catra’s face, looking her up and down several times, as if looking for the lie. “I guess,” she finally says. “Why?”
Catra caresses the lid of the laptop again. “I could use some stress relief, too.” She comes at her goal carefully, knowing Adora has to come to the conclusion they will both benefit from what she’s about to propose. “You’re single. And somehow I’m single, despite being a fantastic catch.” She rolls her eyes. “So, let’s use that. We can fuck without feelings getting attached.”
(Can she? Probably not, considering how hurt she was when DT crashed into their—Adora’s—life. But this is her chance, and by the stars, she’s going to seize it.)
Adora twirls strands of damp blonde hair around two fingers. “What’s in it for you?” she asks after a long moment of silence.
Catra has to stuff down her excitement; she’s so close she can feel what it will be like, to have Adora kneeling in front of her. She pastes on her genuine, imperfect smile, one canine tooth poking against her bottom lip. The tentative smile she greeted Adora with when they first met in this very room four months ago. “You want to submit, I want to top. It’s not that hard, princess. We would both benefit, and without the annoyance of trying to find a real relationship that incorporates such desires.”
Adora chews her lower lip. Another tell, and this time, the silence drags out for a good two minutes. At last she nods to herself, peels away from the doorway, and drops into her desk chair. “Can I think about it?”
Gotcha.
“Of course. You can even text me, if that would be easier,” Catra offers, still feeling gracious.
She can afford to be; she’s watched Adora enough to know how close Adora is to giving in.
Catra knows this is going to happen.