One Perfect Year at Stevenson High

Chapter 33

CW: Underage drinking and poor choices

If Adora's lips were magic, then Catra was under their spell. She sat on the stairs, suspended in time and rendered helpless by the impossible softness of Adora's mouth on hers.

Is this happening? she thought. A kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight inside of her, their delicate wings fluttering a nonsensical rhythm against her heart.

This is actually happening.

Like the enchanted thing it was, the kiss seemed to both stretch on for eternity and be over too soon. Catra felt Adora's weight shift back, pulling away, and her heart fumbled over itself as it called out for her to stay.

Everything about this was a bad idea, but that didn't mean she wanted it to stop. So, as Adora drifted away, Catra leaned into the space she left behind. She cupped a hand around the back of Adora's neck and pulled her in again.

And Adora stayed.

This time when their lips found each other, Catra kissed Adora back. She kissed her properly and deeply, drinking her in. Adora smiled against her mouth as she sank back into the embrace, her fingertips brushing against Catra's exposed waist as she did so. Did she mean to do that? Catra wondered. Or was it an accident? Either way, the touch sent Catra's mind spinning.

They moved against one another, greedy in the way they grasped at the other's clothes and limbs. Stay close, their hands demanded. Stay with me. Each desperate kiss was followed by another. Adora placed one hand on the step next to Catra's hip and used it to hoist herself up so she could brace the other on a higher step behind Catra's head. She pressed into her, forcing Catra back against the angle of the stairs. It wasn't comfortable at all, but Catra wasn't about to complain.

Catra had spent so long wanting this. She had lost years to pining in secret, never daring to hope that Adora could ever feel the same way. And now it was happening — it was actually happening. And yet, as they sat tangled together—lips on lips and hands everywhere—a voice hissed in the dark recesses of Catra's mind: why did this have to happen now?

When Adora pulled back a second time, breathless and heavy-lidded, Catra let her go. The taste of her lingered on Catra's tongue; too much vodka laced with something sickly sweet. Adora looked up at her through the soft fan of her lashes, and Catra could see the way she swayed perilously, thrown asunder by far too much drink. When she smiled, Catra wanted nothing more than to melt back into her. But when Adora tipped her chin, dipping in for another kiss, Catra knew she couldn't let that happen.

With a gasp, Catra hoisted herself up to the next step, wrenching herself away from the dangerous temptation of Adora's lips.

"Adora, stop," Catra breathed. She pressed a palm to her chest and willed her heart to calm down.

"What?" Adora sounded wounded. "But why?"

"Because you're drunk!"

Adora's expression fell and her bottom lip trembled. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Squirming all the way out from under her, Catra stumbled to her feet. She rushed down the stairs, but Adora caught her hand.

"Catra, talk to me," she pleaded. "What's wrong?"

Self-sabotage was like second nature to Catra — she always knew exactly how to take a good thing and fuck it up. Later, she would wonder why she couldn't just let herself be happy. But in this moment, as she gazed down at Adora with her big blue eyes and perfect mouth, Catra set her expression into a mask of practiced dispassion and yanked her hand back.