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Boredom

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Catra gets bored easily.

It's a well-known fact about her, the way her interest flits from topic to topic until she stumbles on one that engages her. She finds meetings inexcusably tedious, usually saying her piece and then leaving, electing to read the minutes later instead. She loathes waiting rooms or lines or any kind, and she cannot stand parties.

Her friends know all this about her. So really, it's not her fault if she isn't paying attention to Scorpia's closing remarks to her guests. It's admirable, really, that she's controlled herself for this long. They should have known better.

"Catra," Adora hisses, face adorably crimson, squirming in her seat.

"Yes, princess?" Catra asks, taking another sip of wine. At least the drinks are decent.

"Can you not?" Her wife pleads, hands clutching at the fabric of that very white dress, the perfect color to go completely translucent if it gets just a little damp.

Catra flicks her tail, brushing it just a little more firmly against Adora's panties, eliciting a delicious little gasp. "Princess, angel, light of my life," she says, grinning, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Adora shoots her a glare that has ruined nations, spelled the doom of countless tyrants, and brought the greatest empire the galaxy has ever known to its knees.

Catra smiles back.

The best part about this is that, as much fun as Adora must be having right now, Catra knows her wife needs more than this to come, needs firmer pressure, the rough texture of her tongue or the press of fingers inside her. The soft, feathery touches of Catra's (now slightly wet) tailtip can only ever be an infuriating hint at the real thing.

It's still more than enough to make Adora whimper, just loudly enough to draw a sharp glance from Glimmer, whose look of concern turns to exasperation when she sees Catra's tail pushed up under the hem of Adora's dress.

"You're going to pay for this," Adora hisses through clenched teeth, and the promise in that threat sends a wave of anticipatory warmth down Catra's spine.

"Oh, princess," she whispers, pressing a quick kiss to her wife's cheek, "I'm counting on it."


The walk back to their guest room in Scorpia's palace is quick and quiet. Catra walks ahead of her wife, making sure to emphasize the sway of her hips, drawing her down the hallway with every step. Adora doesn't speak, and Catra doesn't need to turn around to know the look of calculation that must be playing across her face as she plans her revenge. Maybe she ought to be worried about the punishment her wife has in store, but if there's one thing Catra has learned since the end of the war, it's how to accept the consequences of her actions with dignity.

So it's with dignity that she holds open the door to their room, and it's with dignity that she brushes the tip of her tail against Adora's thigh one last time as her wife passes by.

Catra slips inside after her, turning around to close the door and make absolutely certain that it is locked. Thankfully Glimmer catching an eyeful at the dance means she'll know better than to teleport in on them either.

By now, Catra's intimately familiar with the telltale signs of magic, the crackling charge in the air that raises the fur on her neck, the slightly sweet taste that briefly fills the back of her mouth, so she's not at all surprised to turn around and see She-Ra towering over her, face stern.

"You didn't think I'd let you get away with that, did you?"

She-Ra's voice is pitched a fraction lower than normal, the way it always is when she's transformed. Catra remembers coming to the delicious realization that there is nothing physically different about Adora's vocal cords like this, that the change is entirely due to the power and confidence her wife feels in this form, raw strength dripping into her words.

That strength is almost enough to make her give in right away. Almost.

"If you wanna do anything about it, you'll have to catch me first."

Catra moves to dart away but she's stopped training since the war ended, and She-Ra is physically incapable of being out of shape. Once, Catra could have easily evaded the lasso that wraps around her waist, when she was all steel and fire and anger, made to dodge and cut and kill. But she's soft now. Easy. Made to be caught, and held fast, and touched.

So, yes, there's a touch of shame, of humiliation as Adora reels her in, presses her up against the wall. But it's utterly overwhelmed by the joy of her wife's proximity, the contentment of a life without war, and the searing heat of being helpless under the gaze of the woman she loves.

"I wonder," She-Ra says, mouth quirked up into the arrogant smirk that never shows outside their bedroom, that no one but Catra is privileged to see, "what happens to kittens who tease their owners?"

And that's filthy, but it's good, and Catra twists her head to look away from that overpowering gaze, whimpering. Adora turns her face back just as easily, holding her steady. "Well, my love? Any ideas?"

Catra whines. Adora isn't playing fair, pinning her, calling her kitten this early, rushing through the intricate dance they do to let Catra feel like she's being convinced, to let her preserve a little shred of dignity before she gives in completely.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Adora says, releasing her harsh grip on Catra's jaw. "I suppose that means you're leaving it up to me to decide. Good girl."

And oh, that scrap of praise is cruel, because how is Catra supposed to fight back, to tease, to show that she's not just a complete pushover when Adora is praising her like that, drawing her inexorably down into that soft, purring headspace where she's nothing but an obedient pet?

It's crueller still when She-Ra pushes a broad thigh between her legs, pulling an open-mouthed moan from the smaller woman. Adora shushes her, strokes her hair sweetly as she rocks her thigh forward again.

"It's okay, kitten. I know how needy you get. You just can't control yourself when you're in heat, can you?"

Magikats don't have heats. Adora knows that. It's a myth, an assumption ignorant people make when they see her feline characteristics, an excuse to strip away her agency and cast her as a desperate, wanton animal who needs to be fucked and is willing to degrade herself to get it.

It's baseless, offensive nonsense and it makes Catra so fucking wet when Adora uses it on her.

"You can't control yourself," Adora repeats, "so I have to control you instead. Isn't that right?"

Adora keeps asking those fucking questions, like Catra has any ability to respond right now with that thigh grinding against her.

"Why were you trying to be so bad, hmm? Were you trying to provoke me? Did you want to be punished?"

Truthfully, Catra hadn't been thinking that far ahead. Master strategist she may be, but tonight she had just been bored and wanting to touch her wife, to tease her a little bit and see what happened. Of course, now that Adora's raised the idea, she can't help but agree it sounds wonderful, and she makes a pathetic noise of assent.

"That is it, isn't it? You were craving my hand on your ass. Or was it the paddle, or that old whip of yours? Well, which is it?"

Stars, those questions are going to be the death of her. Adora halts the rocking of her thigh after this one, indicating she expects an answer this time.

"Yes," Catra whimpers. "Anything."

Adora laughs at that, low and dark and wonderful. Catra shivers, fur standing on end as she tries and fails to push her hips forward against Adora's iron grip, chasing friction.

"But kitten," She-Ra says, voice oversweet with condescension, "how can I punish you when you're being so good? So sweet for me?"

"No!" Catra says desperately, unwilling to let the delicious prospect of pain be taken away from her so soon after being suggested.

"No? You don't agree?"

Too late, Catra understands the rhetorical trap she's fallen into. To get what she wants, what Adora made her want, she needs to go against every sweet, submissive instinct in her body, every part of her that just wants to be praised and coddled for her obedience.

Adora can be crueller with a gentle word than Catra ever could with all her vitriol. Stars, she loves this woman.

"No," Catra manages, gathering her thoughts. "I'm, I'm not a good girl. I was being bad. I deserve to be punished." The humiliation burns through her, and it's almost too much, too pathetic for her to stand. She feels flayed open, on display for Adora, utterly vulnerable and small and desperate.

But it's only almost. She finds her word, feels it in her mouth and on her tongue, takes comfort in the power it grants her, and sets it aside. She can do this. Her insecurities don't sting like they used to, and the arousal is far, far stronger than the tiny spark of distress at the state Adora's reduced her to. And whatever this is, whatever game Adora is playing, she knows she's giving her wife exactly what she wants. Doing what makes her happy. At that thought she feels a sudden rush of pride, knowing that she's playing along, that she's strong enough to overcome her anxieties and enjoy playing the game Adora's dreamt up for her. That fierce pride bleeds into her, mixes with her humiliation and embarrassment in an intoxicating cocktail of desire and submission and raw, intimate intensity.

She feels Adora's grip relax slightly, and refocuses herself on the woman towering over her. She-Ra's electric blue eyes are touched with gentle concern, a silent question on her lips. Are you okay?

Catra sends a reassuring smile back, and mouths the word green. She watches the concern fall away from Adora's face, replaced with the determination and smug satisfaction in her absolute control.

"No," she finally says, shaking her head "I don't think so."

Catra squirms in desperation, barely managing a half inch of movement before Adora's grip tightens once more, holding her in place. "But-" Catra stammers, unsure of what to say, how to prove she deserves to be punished. "I was teasing you, I was trying to—"

"Shh, that's enough of that." She-Ra silences her with two broad fingers in her mouth. The interruption, the casual dismissal of her protests makes Catra's head spin, thoughts fuzzing out and growing indistinct as the fire within her burns brighter. Instinctively, she starts to suckle on Adora's fingers, earning an approving "good girl" that only sends her down, down deeper into submissive bliss.

She-Ra curls her fingers slightly, stroking along the roughness of Catra's tongue as her thumb rubs small comforting circles into her cheek.

"It's true, you were teasing me tonight, trying to rile me up. But that doesn't make you bad." Catra whimpers again, and it must sound something like agreement because Adora rewards her with renewed pressure between her legs.

"I already told you it wasn't your fault. And I already told you it was okay. You didn't do anything wrong. You're still my good girl."

Even when it means she isn't getting what she want, receiving reassurance, absolution from Adora still wrecks her. Catra lets her eyes flutter close, luxuriates in the warmth of approval, forgiveness. Maybe she doesn't need to be punished so badly after all, not when this is the alternative.

"You were just being needy for me," Adora continues, dropping her voice to an intimate whisper. "And kitten? I love it when you're needy."

She-Ra slips her fingers out of her mouth and Catra opens her eyes again, gazing up at her wife, waiting patiently for guidance. She doesn't bother closing her mouth.

"You're my good girl. Can you say it for me? Can you tell me that you're Adora's good girl?"

Maybe Catra should take offense to that tone. Like she's a child, like she needs thing explained to her slowly and simply. Except, right now she feels slow, and simple. Almost entirely adrift in the endless ocean of Adora's control.

"I'm," she begins, before realizing her mouth is still full of saliva from sucking on She-Ra's fingers and swallowing thickly. "I'm Adora's good girl."

"Good. Good kitten," Adora coos, stroking her fingers through Catra's hair. "I'm so proud of you."

Catra sighs. The praise feels so good, hot and sweet and right, running through her veins, warming every part of her body. She can't remember why she ever fought this.

"Now," Adora says, "I can't punish you because you didn't do anything wrong. But," she adds, grinning, "that doesn't mean I can't hit you as a reward, if you ask me nicely for it. How does that sound?"

It sounds like getting everything she's ever wanted.

"Please, Adora, please hurt me," she murmurs, barely cognizant of the words as they fall from her mouth.

"And why do you want me to hurt you?" Adora asks, cupping Catra's face softly. Catra nuzzles into the touch.

"It feels good," she says simply.

"And why should I make you feel good?" Adora asks, no challenge in her voice. She isn't asking to be convinced.

Catra knows the answer to this one. "Because I'm your good girl, and I deserve to be rewarded." After so many years of hearing it, saying it back, it finally tastes honest on her tongue.

"Yes," Adora says, leaning down to brush her lips against her wife's, "you do."

Catra melts into that kiss just like she's melted into every other they've ever shared, all the way back to their first. She hardly registers when Adora's hands slip underneath her thighs and lift her up, easily carrying her over to the bed. When Adora finally pulls away she stretches out on the sheets lazily, limply allowing herself to be moved, stripped, repositioned at Adora's whim. She's still too deep in that warm haze to answer when Adora asks how she'd like to be hit, and ultimately her wife decides for her, explaining that "I want to feel you under my hands."

Catra finds herself naked, draped over She-Ra's thighs, face down. Adora's palm on her ass and the backs of her thighs does not fall particularly hard tonight, certainly nowhere near Catra's considerable tolerance for pain, but the weight of adoration and approval behind each blow adds intensity beyond their physical force. Catra tries to count the strikes out of habit, but she quickly loses track; the hits and the caresses and the gentle, murmmered praise blend together into a ceaseless stream, the sharp pain of each strike nothing more than the peak of a wave in the current, returning seamlessly to the water, indistinguishable from the rest.

She's only distantly aware of it when Adora flips her over, presses her stinging flesh into the sheets and climbs on top of her. It isn't until she feels two fingers slipping inside of her that it registers her wife has changed back, careful not to stretch her out too much with her alter-ego's larger hands.

"Adora…" she says softly, out of simple recognition as much as anything else. The love of her life smiles down at her, overflowing with affection as she fucks the magikat into the mattress.

"Does that feel good, kitten?"

Catra nods weakly, and her wife leans down to plant a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose.

"Good. I'm gonna keep making you feel good. Just relax for me."

Relax. It's an order, and Catra obeys. She loosens her muscles, sinks deeper into the plush bed, and lets herself drift as Adora fucks her to orgasm again and again, letting reality fade and blur together into a senseless mess of safety and pleasure.

She comes back to herself when her sensitivity makes the flick of Adora's tongue on her clit too much to bear, and she tries to pull her wife's mouth away. She only manages to limply move her arm in Adora's vauge direction, but she gets the message, pulling away and wiping her mouth clean on the back of her hand. "Had enough, kitten?"

Catra stares, dumbfounded, at the sight of the most beautiful, most powerful woman in the universe, face flushed and covered in Catra's slick. She struggles to focus on making words, mouth opening and closing uselessly until she manages to say "I think you broke me."

Adora laughs, sweet and clear as the spring thaw. She stands up, patting Catra's leg reassuringly when she makes a small noise of protest. "I'm going to go get you something to drink, and then I'm going to hold you until we fall asleep. Okay?"

Catra nods before closing her eyes and curling up on herself to wait out the seconds until her wife returns. She stays limp and loose as Adora guides her into sitting position, presses a glass of water against her lips, making sure she swallows every drop of it before guiding her back down to the bed and slipping under the covers herself. She wraps Catra up in her arms, pulls her in close and presses the magikat's head against her chest, one hand tangled up in her brown hair. "Good?" She asks, quietly, the same last question she always asks before sleep.

"Perfect," Catra answers, letting the warmth of Adora's body and the comfort of her own purring carry her away. She's fallen asleep like this a thousand times now, tangled up with the one person she's always wanted, and her answer is always honest, and always the same.

Catra gets bored easily. It's a well known fact about her, that every new interest and fascination of hers has an expiration date, how they will always eventually cease to thrill her.

But not this. Not her wife.

As the last shreds of consciousness fall away and sleep begins to overtake her, Catra knows she will never be bored of Adora.