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“Come with me,” Adora says. Polished lanterns shimmer from behind her head, throwing out patches of blue light that bathe her in a muted glow. Her outstretched fingers curl invitingly, and a semi-formed dimple flickers at the corner of her mouth.
Still, Catra is confused. “What?”
The First One laughs, and shakes her hair behind her shoulders. Reaching out her hand, she twines her fingers into Catra’s, glossing the side of her palm against Catra’s nails. The touch is warm, intimate and familiar, and Catra’s tail curls unconsciously around Adora’s ankles. “Come with me,” Adora repeats, and tugs her hand gently.
Catra shakes her head. “I don’t like where this is going.”
"It'll be fun, I promise."
Catra bites her lip. Looking away, she swings her gaze around, casting it over the walls dripping with greenery. Vines bejewelled with flowers tangle around the corners and columns, sneezing out pink pollen that dusts the windows in a pale blush. The one closest to Catra snakes along the length of the ballroom, a florid mixture of cerulean petals and silver-white buds that offset neatly with Adora’s scarlet dress.
Despite her girlfriend's enthusiasm, Catra resists the urge to sigh. Balls and dresses had never been her style (and rightly so; life at the Horde had been hard enough without the social mores of dance etiquette) and this one is glitzier than most. Ice sculptures adorn nearly every corner, slowly melting into teardrops that trickle into basins below. Chandeliers carpeted in light glimmer from the ceiling, dangling precipitously off slender golden cords. A loud band plays in the corner, serenading an even louder dance circle, and tables upon tables of food groan under the weight of a hundred slimy delicacies.
Catra wrinkles her nose in distaste. Why would you make a cake that drips? Who would even want to eat that?
"Come dance with me," Adora smiles, butting back into Catra's thoughts. She squeezes her hand again, and something trills behind Catra’s ribs, but it isn’t enough to change her mind.
"Dancing isn’t really my thing."
"I'm not taking no for an answer."
"Get ready to eat those words."
"Oh, come on," and then it's one warm hand leading another, and Catra feels the smooth silk of Adora's dress gliding beneath her palm. There’s a challenging gleam in Adora’s eye, one that Catra was never able to resist, and she unconsciously lets herself follow, slackening her posture and relaxing her grip.
Somewhere along the line, her fingers end up resting on Adora's hip, and their free hands interlace somewhere between their shoulders, hips swaying to the beat of the music. Adora drops her head into the crook of Catra's shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to her neck, humming a quiet tune that skitters along Catra's collarbone. Catra responds elegantly by flushing from neck to hairline.
(thankfully, Adora doesn't comment, though she's sure the teasing will be merciless once they're back home)
(she’s right)
"Hey, guys!" A voice calls out from somewhere behind Catra, accompanied by the musical tinkling of magic. Pink sparkles trickle down against her ankles, and Adora lifts her head up in delight.
"Hey, Glimmer! What's up?"
"Why are you guys dancing by the desserts? The dance floor's over there."
Catra imagines rather than sees the pout on Adora’s face. "Well, I wanted to go,” Adora says, “but someone was refusing to move. Three guesses who." She knocks her head lovingly (if a little too hard) against Catra's —their eyes rattle, but Adora can’t resist a chuckle, and Catra’s lips twitch upwards.
"You can't tell, Sparkles," Catra says to the girl behind her, "but I'm scowling right now. None of this is consensual."
"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Adora chides. Her grip tightens, squeezing their fingers softly, hips still rocking in time to the music. A spark of something colourful blooms inside Catra's chest, catching the air in her throat, but she swallows it down and squeezes back, muffling a smile against the scent of Adora’s hair.
(she didn’t think she could be this happy; didn’t think she could feel this full).
She tucks her claws into the curve of her palm and grazes her knuckles against Adora’s waist. It’s a simple, almost mindless, gesture, reflexive like a raised hackle or the purr in a throat. It makes her warmer, and it soothes the fullness in her chest (Adora, she knows, doesn’t mind it; she can’t see her face, but she feels the puff of breath as Adora giggles against her shoulder).
“Do you guys like the ball?” Glimmer asks. She reaches out to straighten one of Catra’s hair clips, and the cup of juice she’s holding sloshes dangerously.
“It’s not bad,” Adora replies, eyeing Glimmer’s cup warily, “though there really isn’t much to do here. Just food and dancing.”
“Balls are always going to be like that,” Glimmer responds. Another tinkle, and Catra sneezes as a small globe of light brushes against her nose (somewhere, even above the din of music and laughter, she hears Bow coo in excitement). “We just have to find our own way to liven things up.”
“Why don’t we go prank Scorpia?” Catra nudges Adora’s shoulder. “I’ve got a great idea involving Perfuma, some plastic flowers, and a couple matches I swiped from Sea Hawk.”
“You can’t prank Scorpia at her own ball,” Adora chides. “This is her first ever Princess Prom too. It’s a big deal for her.”
“This is Scorpia we’re talking about —she’ll probably find it funny! Besides, it’ll be a short prank; I got Mermista to lend me her fire extinguisher.”
“No, Catra.” Adora’s weight settles more comfortably into Catra’s shoulder, her eyes slowly closing. “Let her have her night.”
Catra pokes her tongue out. “You never let me have any fun.”
Adora doesn’t respond, choosing instead to hum quietly to herself. Still, it isn’t a denial, and Catra responds by digging her nails into Adora’s hips, eliciting a sharp hiss from her girlfriend. Adora bolts away, puffing out one cheek in an annoyed pout, and levels a sharp glare at Catra.
Adora opens her mouth (probably to scold her) when suddenly there’s a high-pitched yelp behind them. There’s the murmuring of gossip in the crowd, the clanging of colliding chandelier drippings, and then an audible crack as something important snaps and something heavy crashes to the ground. A large plume of dust is thrown into the air, along with a small deluge of crystal shards.
“Glimmer...” Bow can be heard crying out weakly .
The Queen of Bright Moon sighs. Her head, which had turned at the initial shout, shakes in abject disappointment. “Dammit... I can’t believe he actually went through with it.”
“What happened?” Adora asks.
“Oh, Scorpia bet him two hundred gold coins that he couldn’t swing across all the lights in one go.” Glimmer takes a sip from her cup, fingers tapping irritably against the side. “In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have left him alone when he said yes.”
“Oh. Ok.” A sharp inhale. “Follow-up question—”
“Don’t ask, I don’t know why. They’ve got some sort of daredevil rivalry going on, and I’m starting to lose track of who’s being dared to do what.” Glimmer tilts her head up, pointedly ignoring the distant groans for help. “I know last week, Scorpia got dared to run through the castle blindfolded in under five minutes.”
“Did she make it?”
“Barely. She stung a couple guards along the way, and nearly shoulder-barged Bow off a balcony, but she won thirty gold coins off him.” Glimmer rubs the back of her head as she turns back to the fallen chandelier, where the dust cloud has slowly started to settle. Bow’s groans of pain can still be heard, punctuated with the rustling of glass and the occasional mumble for help. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I better go sort that out. If he broke his left leg again, he owes me fifty gold coins.”
“What if he broke his right?”
“Then he owes me a hundred.”
“Clever.”
“Ah, well, he’s not very bright sometimes. If he’s going to stress me out like this, I’m at least going to get paid.” She dips her head. “I’ll see you two around.” Catra feels a hand on the back of her shoulder, a single sisterly squeeze, and then it’s music and magic and fluttering pink spots, and they’re finally alone again.
Adora turns Catra in a wide circle, stretching out her arm to graze the greenery around her. Thorns and hyaloid petals tickle her fingers as they pass through, draping her hand in sandpaper and silk. At her touch, flowers bloom with the scent of barley and fruit, and she tightens her grip, tugging her girlfriend a footstep closer.
The couples nearby move away, shuffling down towards the appetisers. They laugh amongst themselves, but their eyes occasionally flick back to the dancing heroes, smiling as their saviours plucks daisies from the wall.
(after so many years of combat, they deserve a reprieve to themselves)
With them gone, Catra drops her weight more comfortably against her back paw, and Adora’s chin falls back against Catra’s collarbone.
A moment of contented silence passes. The song has changed —what, three, four, five times? Still, their feet move to the rhythm of something else, attuned only to their hearts and Adora's tuneless crooning.
"I think it's cute when you sing,” Catra whispers.
"Oh? You’ve never told me that before.”
“Well,” Catra’s eyes drop to the tiled floor, “don’t get used to it.”
“Mmm...” Adora murmurs. She can feel the heat radiating off Catra’s cheeks, the flush of blood pulsing through her neck. Still, she says nothing, just holds her tighter and presses their lips together.
(they glide together in a languid waltz, awash and alive with sunlight. their shoes slide, their bodies tesselate; Catra feels the sutured seams of her heart, and kisses Adora back)
Another moment passes. The music that lilts in the background pauses, and people begin peeling away from the dance floor, flocking with their platefuls of chatter to the desserts table. Smoothing down the hackles on Catra’s neck, Adora leads her away, gliding them towards a secluded corner. A dark blue vine twines up the wall, pinpricked with stars and the silvery sheen of moonlight.
It’s... pretty here, Catra has to admit. Even if the starched collar of her shirt presses uncomfortably against her throat, and her claws itch inside their claustrophobic shoes, even she has to admit there’s something to be said for the twinkling of lights in the wall mounts, and the pirouettes of colour in the greenery. She unfolds her hand from Adora’s, tucking both of her palms against Adora’s waist, and presses her lips into Adora’s hair, into that ridiculous poof she insists on keeping.
It smells like soap, the odd lavender kind they use on Bright Moon; a far cry from the musty odourless pastes they stocked in the Fright Zone.
Closing her eyes, she tunes out the chattering around her. Vaguely, she feels Adora lift her hand and rustle around beside her ear, fiddling with something on the wall nearby. A dusting of pollen falls onto her nose, and she fights the urge to sneeze.
The music in the background resumes, striking up a bright, jazzy number. It’s slow but energetic, all burnished brass beats and warm copper voices, threaded through with woodwinds and the percussive ting of a hi-hat.
(it’s entirely out of time with Catra’s own metronome, but she can’t bring herself to care)
There’s a grunt beside her head. What is Adora doing? In her mind’s eye, she pictures the scene beside her: Adora pressed against her, fumbling in her dress and heels, fingers tangled into a vine that’s just out of reach. She chuckles quietly, and is rewarded with a petulant hrmph against her hair.
Finally, she hears the stiff crackle of a stem breaking, accompanied by a quiet exclamation of delight. Something threads into her hair, tucked firmly behind her ear, and she opens her eyes to see Adora’s teasing grin, fingers nestled back against the small of Catra’s spine.
“There’d better not be a flower in my hair,” Catra warns. Her voice, tinged with exasperation, softens at the snicker that Adora lets out. “There is, isn’t there?”
“It’s pretty!” Adora reaches her hand out, twiddling Catra’s ear between forefinger and thumb. A low purr sounds unconsciously from Catra’s throat, and she nuzzles against Adora’s touch. “It’s a cat’s eye.”
Catra’s retort comes out almost automatically. “Actually, that’s a cat’s ear.”
Adora freezes, her fingers faltering against Catra’s hair. A smile twitches at her lips, wriggling at both corners, as her cheek muscles visibly fight to gain control.
Catra’s gaze is deadpan.
A second passes. Two seconds. Three. Then an ugly snort brays out of Adora’s mouth, and she muffles her laugh against her sleeve. “Did you just make a dad joke?”
“I think I’ve been spending too much time with Bow.”
“I’ll say. His dads will be over the moon.”
“Oh, please don’t mention this to them. They don’t need any more encouragement.”
Adora chuckles. “No chance.”
Catra says nothing, only rolls her eyes and sighs a defeated sigh. Still, she can’t help the tingle that runs pleasantly down her spine.
Slowly, Adora’s giggles subside. Their echoes imprint softly into Catra’s sternum, working to unknot some of the tension locked inside. Even now, months after the fall of Prime, years after she last trembled under Hordak’s gaze, she still finds it hard to believe that things might finally be over. That the muted lanterns shining overhead aren’t the harsh light tubes of the Fright Zone, or the fluorescent spotlights of Prime’s ships. That the plates of food heaped behind her aren’t boxes of ration bars, or culinary delights appropriated from extinguished worlds.
That the reason why she’s here is just to have fun, with a suit, shoes, and a beautiful girl, dancing in the company of people who she can now call friends. She pats her thigh gently, fingering the spot where she would have once strapped her holster, and the absence of a stun gun warms her.
A lonely crimson bud dangles on a vine in front of her. As if coaxed open by Adora’s laughter, it slowly blossoms into a flower, unfurling crinkled cyan petals shot through with gold streaks. Catra watches it open and smiles, reaching up to clip its stem with her claws.
(when Adora feels something being pushed behind her ear, she presses her grin deep into Catra’s shoulder. she remembers how she had felt when a flower was first put into her hair, and marvels at how much has changed)
Her job complete, Catra folds her claws back and brushes her knuckles against Adora’s hips, suppressing the purr that thrums in her throat. Her tail curls as she feels Adora press kisses into her shoulder, and the quickening of her heart does little to soothe her flushed cheeks.
When Adora lifts her head, Catra knocks their foreheads together. The flowers in their hair beckon towards each other and Catra closes her eyes, content to just move in the music of the moment. Wafting in the air is laughter and singing and joy, a hundred conversations woven into an invisible net, and it wraps around her, blankets her, tickles the tips of her ears and skitters over the rim of her shoulders. It shimmers against her in waves, warm and sweet, and blooms perfumed cat’s eyes into the curves of her heart.
Still, the warmth she treasures most is the one tucked close against her. Its heels click softly on the tiled floor, and its smile breathes starlight into the space between their lips. She strokes its hips softly, runs her fingers languidly along its arm, and gently touches the corner of its collarbone.
She makes up her mind.
“You know...” she starts off hesitantly, “if you still wanted to go on the dance floor...”
Adora pulls her head away, silent but with a knowing smile (and eyes that implore her go on).
“...I guess that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
“Really?”
“Go now, before I change my mind.”
“Okay!”
Taking her hand, Adora all but drags her to the dance floor, where the music thrums loudest and the people press closest. The band is playing a complex arrangement of strings and low-lying woodwinds, a soft honey-coated harmony that cascades through the ears, and Adora wolf-whistles approvingly.
“Sounds a lot better than my singing, doesn’t it?” she jokes.
Catra laughs but says nothing, choosing instead to fold their fingers tighter together.
(still, it’s obvious which one she prefers).
When they’ve found their spot, a small, somewhat secluded patch of empty floor, Adora stops, and holds out her hand. Her palm, turned upwards, runs warm and red.
“May I have this dance?” she asks.
There’s a warm-hearted roll of the eyes. “Do you have to be so corny?” Nonetheless, Catra complies, lacing her fingers into Adora’s grip.
The princess smiles, brings their hands to her lips, and then Catra’s struck with déjà vu, as one warm hand leads another, and there’s silk and the ridge of hipbone before her fingers nestle comfortably against Adora’s waist.
Adora’s eyes gleam a challenge. You ready? The music swells, all rich golden flourishes and silver-tongued melodies, and then it’s Adora leading and Catra following as their hips sway, their shoulders rock, their feet swirl in smooth coordinated steps.
(Catra thinks back to her secret dance lessons, and smiles in silent relief)
Adora pulls her in close with the click of her heels, and Catra blushes, and then Adora spins her out with a wink, and Catra’s heart thumps.
Other couples twirl around them, adorned with crinkled crow’s feet and the jovial gleam of teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, Catra spies Bow attempting a pirouette and Perfuma heaving up Frosta, with the sheen of Sea Hawk’s rapier weaving its way through the crowd. There’s Scorpia on one end, swinging around a squealing Entrapta, and Micah on the other, fingers clasped tight in a father-daughter dance. Small globes of light trickle down from the rafters, bathing the dancers in shades of lilac and dandelion, and Catra hears a sneeze as Melog wrinkles their nose.
As she watches, Catra feels a smile tugging at her lips. The scene before her, while odd, is so undeniably touching; filled with laughter and starry-eyed celebration. The band switches songs, sidling neatly into a backdrop of swing and panache that slides elegantly between Catra’s ears. There's steel to be drawn here, she can see that now, shrouded in giggles and swaddled in moonlight.
She touches her thigh again, and the absence of a stun gun warms her.
It isn’t long, however, before Catra's legs start to burn. Her steps begin to bleed into one another, and the back of her shoe scuffs painfully against her heel. She grants Adora one more twirl before touching her shoulder and pulling away, chest heaving with each breath. “Going to go... sit down,” she pants. “Tired.”
“I’m pretty tired too,” Adora agrees. “Sitting sounds good.”
+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+
Sighing, Catra carefully lowers herself onto the steps outside the palace. Wide grassy fields stretch out in front of her, brazen braided messes of hillocks and rolling knolls, carpeted in flowers and twilight silhouettes. As she sits, the arches of her feet whine in protest, and she slowly eases off her dress shoes, wincing as they rub against her chafed heels. Adora lies down beside her, and curls up tenderly in her lap.
As Catra runs her fingers through Adora's hair, she marvels at how much volume one deceptively small poof can hold.
From the nearby castle doors, a light breeze wafts gently towards them. It smells like treacle, treacle and warm caramelised desserts, and Catra's belly grumbles desolately.
"I felt that against my head," Adora giggles.
Catra shrugs nonchalantly. "The body wants what the body wants."
"You wanna go inside and get something to eat?"
"Mmm, maybe later." Catra's fingers continue to trail idly through Adora's hair. Extending her claws slightly, she lightly scratches Adora's scalp, eliciting soft appreciative murmurs. "I want to just stay here for a bit."
"Okay." Adora settles more comfortably into Catra's lap, wiggling her shoulders against Catra's pelvis. "Sounds good."
High above them, the night sky preens herself lazily. Her cloudy tongue, streaked silver-blue with moonlight, scuddles languidly across her fur, which ripples in shades of violet and vantablack. Small, starry songbirds, gleaming like sequins, sashay throughout her coat, swaying to the beat of cosmic music. In the distance flashes her cratered collar, and Catra tilts her head back, feeling her skin tingle under this new and charming light.
This place is nice, she finds herself thinking.
It's soothing.
Quiet.
She lets her eyes close. Soft, amorphous thoughts trickle through her mind, floating through a curtain of swing music and starlings. The air smells like Adora’s lavender shampoo and Catra smiles, and rests her tail along the length of Adora’s shoulders.
“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” Adora says.
She opens her eyes. “Hm?”
“The stars,” Adora clarifies, and points above them. She nuzzles deeper into Catra’s lap, eyes still fixed on the night sky. “They’re pretty.”
“Oh.” Catra’s gaze follows Adora’s finger. “Oh. Yeah, I guess they are.”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? About the other worlds that’re out there. About the people that we freed.”
“I suppose,” Catra replies.
(although she knows she doesn’t mean it. the back of her neck prickles uneasily, and she resists the urge to finger her scar)
“Would you want to go there?” Adora asks. “Fix up Darla, see the other planets? We could bring Glimmer and Bow, and Entrapta would want to come too.”
(oh. oh. Entrapta. she touches her thigh uneasily)
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Catra’s eyes drop to the ground.
“What if I went as She-Ra? To spread peace and hope and rebellion things.” Adora turns her head, locking earnestly into Catra’s gaze. Her tone, which was previously light and chatty, changes into something brittler, tinged with the faintest edge of desperation. “Would you come with me?”
(that’s an unfair question. that’s such an unfair question)
Catra doesn’t answer right away. Just curls her tail around her legs, wraps her arms around her sides. The tingle of starlight stills rains upon her shoulders, but it’s cold now; it feels less like magic and more like hail.
Adora seems to sense that something’s gone wrong. “I’m— I’m sorry,” she says hastily, sitting up quickly. She stretches an arm out, touching Catra’s forearm, panic (and disappointment) painted across her face. “It’s— It’s okay if you don’t want to, I didn’t mean to make—”
“Yes,” Catra interrupts, and looks up into Adora’s eyes. “Yes, I’d go with you.”
(and the smile on Adora’s face is almost worth the thumping in her chest)
“R—Really?”
“Yeah.” Her hand fumbles over the stones, and she finds Adora’s fingers, squeezes them tight. “Yeah. I want to keep you safe.”
“Oh.” Adora ears turn red, and she looks away. “You don’t need to—”
“That doesn’t matter. If you need me, I’ll be with you.”
(and she does)
(and she knows it)
And Adora smiles, and brings her eyes back into Catra’s. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“Mmm.”
Adora pulls her in close, fingers carding into Catra’s hair, and Catra lets herself follow, resting her chin in the crook of Adora’s shoulder. She feels Adora's lips press gently into her forehead, and her chest slowly unspools, filling with lace and silken strands of sunlight. When her ears swivel around, it’s to catch the tail ends of Adora murmuring I love you, and Catra smiles, and whispers it back.
A moment passes, silent and coloured with moonlight.
Then, Adora’s belly begins to gurgle.
Catra pulls away, laughing quietly.
“I think it’s time to go inside,” Adora says.
“Yeah, I think so too.”
“I wonder if they still have any treacle tarts left.”
“Surely, right? I didn't see anyone else eating them.”
"Oh, good."
Adora stands up, pulling Catra to her feet. The stars are bright, warm and full of promises, and Catra pauses to appreciate the view, her left fang jutting out towards her chin. Leaning forward, she fumbles for a moment in the dark, and then her lips find Adora’s, and the stars seem to shine brighter, and her chest seems to open wider.
“Thank you,” Catra whispers.
“For what?”
“For… For staying.”
And she leans forward again and their lips meet again, and there's the touch and florid bloom of flowers in her soul. When she pulls away, it's to feel Adora's giggle warm the space between their mouths, and something in her ribcage leaps.
"Okay," Catra says breathlessly.
"Okay." Adora's response is similarly enamoured.
"Inside?"
"After you."
"I don't think so." And then it's one warm hand leading another, and Adora feels cotton and the touch of someone she loves as they make their way slowly to the palace doors. Catra brushes her thigh with one hand and squeezes Adora's with the other, tucking her claws into the curve of her palm.
(the scar on her neck still burns a little, tugging from deep inside the base of her skin)
(but she rolls her shoulders, tries to shrug it off)
(and when she reaches the castle, and takes that first inhale, all she can notice is sugar and flowers, and the comforting perfume of lavender shampoo)