"Ey, Bobbert! The usual? Nice catch you got there!"

The short redhead patted the catgirl leaning on his shoulder as the stall vendor started folding a box of takeaway. "Party night, man. Drunk as she was, it was too easy. Can you do me a chicken box as well, I might need some meat for the road." It didn't take a minute before the vendor had filled and packed two boxes of the oiliest noodles in existence, one with assorted veggies and one with chicken strips in it. The redhead tipped and carried his dinner and his drunk date to one of the nearby skiffs.

"Can you stop telling people we're fucking?"

"Are we not? You're really not making it easy with that outfit of yours, kitten." The nasal redhead was gone, replaced by a deep and direct sultry. Catra hadn't noticed when they had lifted the keys to her skiff from her, nor did she offer any resistance as they helped her climb into it. She really was too easy.

"So uh, we doing this?" she slurred out as they climbed in after her and shifted back to their casual green self. Shuffling around like the sexiest shrimp in existence, she managed to pull one strap from her shoulder. "I've always wanted to do it in a car . . ."

"You're drunk," was the curt response as they climbed in after her and closed the door. Despite that, they still reached over, straddling her and almost lying down on top of her, that criminally pretty face inches away from hers, eyes darting around behind her. She leaned in, eyes hazed over, taking a deep breath of that alluring musk.

". . . you smell different." It was like a pothole, a stair where you didn't expect one. Their irresistible smell was nowhere to be sniffed, just a normal zesty vanilla.

"I know." They clicked her belt together and got back up, starting up the engine and punching in coordinates, she assumed to Brightmoon.

"But I liked your old smell." She wasn't sure why she told them this. It turned her on, and she absolutely didn't want to tell them things like that - even though they definitely knew already.

"I know." They kept a hand on the rudder as they steered out of the parking lot, then let the autopilot take over. When they leaned back in their seat, they had a casual, tired expression, looking forward to some takeaway dinner and a soft bed. '9 to 5 Evening #1'.

Slowly, looking at their face and begging for them to look back, Catra spread her legs. The skirt covered enough, but she knew how to flash it if she needed. Without even looking at her, they took out one of the boxes and placed it between her legs.

"I got you a fork, I doubt you can use chopsticks right now." They opened the other box and started spinning their chopsticks with an impossible deftness. She looked at them, dumbfounded.

"Double Trouble."

There was the slightest of delays before they answered. "What?"

"I'm not here for trashy takeaway."

"Mh. No, here's the thing. It's cheap, it's fast, I know, but he always manages to roast the noodles just right for the oil to-"

"Shut up!" On cue, they froze up, the only movement left the trembling of a noodle in the wind. Catra rubbed her forehead with her paws, words slipping away like sand from an alcohol-drenched sieve.

They took an exasperated breath, already knowing where the conversation was headed. "Catra, listen-"

"NoOooh. You, you listen. You . . . you've been using me. You know I love Adora, and you know I still lust after you, and you know I have no idea how to deal with that, and you've been using that to, to, to uuuh play with me. And it's fun, I get it, I'm hilarious and stupid and repressed and so, SO easy to toy with, but I've had enough people getting into my head, okay? And, and . . . nnngh!" Another flash of white. She dug her fingers into her hair and groaned. It was short, too short. What was that haircut even? Short white mohawk?

Double Trouble looked at her impassionately. Without a single excessive movement, they packed up their boxed dinner and put it back in its plastic bag. Out of nowhere, they pulled out a tiny red pill. Roughly pulling her head back, they shoved it in her mouth and pressed a hand over it. Still too confused and horny to panic or struggle, Catra looked up at them sheepishly, into those cold, lime eyes.

And then she yelped up, clawing in a wide arc around her and barely missing them as they jumped back. Screeching and hyperventilating, she spit it out overboard and started retching, trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

"Double Trouble what the fuck!" she managed to shout between bouts.

"Cayenne peppers. Keeps you grounded." They could've been announcing the weather.

"You know I can't stand spicy shit! Also, don't just stick stuff like that in me, holy fuck!"

Another sarcastic mumble from them. Out of nowhere, they had managed to apparate a small carton of some milky drink, a chocolate milk offshoot by the branding. Without unnecessary questions, she snatched it and started chugging it down.

"I have some more if you ever need them."

"Fuck off. Where do you even get shit like this," she tossed the empty drink overboard and reached out for another one. Just as inexplicably, they apparated a new one.

"If you have to know, it's a sex store. Hold up, let me help you with that." Before she herself realized what was going on, they had unbuckled her, holding her head overboard and her hair back as the milk mixed with the alcohol in her stomach and started coming back up.

A couple awkward minutes later, she was once again empty, slowly sipping another carton of choccy milk as she leaned over the railing. Despite how shitty their methods were, she had to give it to them that they worked.

Having assured themselves that she wasn't going to fall overboard, Double Trouble turned back to their seat, but was stopped as a tail wrapped around their leg and tugged them back. They sighed, rolling their eyes. "I told you already, kitten, you're too drunk for this."

She longingly stared at the nighttime treeline, the familiar Whispering Woods whistling by far below them. "Then at least hold me, you bastard."

They hesitated for a moment. Froze up, unreadable as usual - but, drunk as she still was, she was starting to get a feel for what was going on inside them. Slowly, carefully, those impossibly slim hands slid around her, holding her waist close, a thin, bony body pressing up against her back, awkwardly intimate, warming up at her touch. It slowly dawned on Catra that they, Double Trouble, the great deceiver, manipulateur extraordinaire, trickster of the century . . . had no fucking clue what they were doing either.

"So . . . lead guitar, huh. I kind of wish I had been listening, now." They didn't breathe. There was no heartbeat, either. Just the odd warmth against her back, her own reflected back on her. What were they thinking, now? Anything her single-bodied mind could even comprehend? Her hand slid down to lay on theirs, whether intentionally or not she knew not. "Promise to play for me some day."

"You're gonna cry, aren't you." Just as she was about to deny it, Catra felt the tears swell up in her eyes. Damn trickster, they still knew her better than she did herself.

"Yeah. And you're gonna fucking hold me through it, because you're an asshole and you make me care for you."

"Can't argue with that." They shrugged noncommittally and moved back, just enough to let her spin around and press herself against them, the railing pushing into the small of her back. She pressed her head against their chest, holding steady while the world was spinning around her. She listened in to their steady breathing, their calming heartbeat. It was kind of awkward - she knew they didn't need either, that it was a show to put her at ease. But she was still drunk enough to fall for it, to lie to herself and believe she was enough to call life into their alien body. She took a deep breath, their unmistakable scent. It wasn't arousing, this time. It was almost innocent. It was what they smelled like the first time they'd met, before she had started paying them. It smelled like the Horde, like home.

". . . for the record . . . that's not why I'm doing any of this." A clawed hand rose from the small of the lizard's back and awkwardly felt around their face before settling over their mouth.

"Just shut up already. I've been lied to enough."

Instead, their long fingers gently prodded into her hair, scritching ever so softly. They wanted to say more, to calm her down. Could they even? If anyone could make her feel safe again, it was going to be them. Adora often held her close, calmed her down and tried to ground her when she had flashbacks. Adora, who still summoned that sword in her sleep, blindly swinging at the memories of soldiers and clones, bruising Catra and their bed. Adora, who was taking care of their kid right now. Finn was safe. The rest she can figure out later.

When was the last time she had felt this safe, Catra wondered. She thought back, far back, to a different set of black nails playing with her hair. There was something about a badge.

". . . I need to lie down."

They helped her sit down like a sack of potatoes. It was a bit trippier, not seeing the horizon on a shaking skiff, but it was better than standing on her weakened knees. An easier reason to puke to deal with. They lied down as well, a single smooth motion. She had stopped questioning how their body was held together. Instead, she pawed closer to them, nuzzling against their chest.

". . . so . . . you're sure you don't wanna do it?"

"Yes. You're still drunk."

Catra nodded awkwardly. "Aight." And then she passed out.