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Adora stays the night the fifth time they do this. It's one part concession, two parts progress, but the former is the only reason either of them care to acknowledge. Adora, because Adora never seems capable of grasping her own miniscule steps towards what Bow calls ‘human emotions’ and ‘genuine friendship’ and, all of Etheria forbid, ‘relaxing’ – usually all while Adora grits her teeth, counts to twenty-seven, and reminds herself that he doesn't need to hear the Horde’s words for those concepts. Those are for her to carry and him to – hopefully – never learn. They mostly boil down to ‘princess shit’ which Adora thinks is at least a baseline accurate description. Her whole life boils down to that same ‘princess shit’ now, which would be funny if she had any more of an idea what she was doing.
Case in point: staying the night with Bow. The first time, she'd frozen up on her way out of his bed and he'd ended up carrying her back to her own room, singing under his breath all the way. That had been…nice in a way Adora can't quite quantify. It also hadn't been something she'd even considered repeating.
The second and third times, she'd grabbed her clothes and practically bolted for the door, pausing to stammer out a quick apology both times because it's not as if it's Bow’s fault she’s off-balance. Bow has never asked her for anything more than she's willing to give, and for that Adora supposes she's grateful.
The fourth time, Bow put his foot down and told her she could put her clothes on, but he didn't want her going anywhere without aftercare. He'd told her she could think of it like the cool down from a workout, if it helps.
(It helps, but that's not why Adora stays this time. It's just finally occurring to her that she can.)
“So, are we gonna talk about this?” Bow asks.
Adora props herself up on her forearms and looks over at her friend. His cheeks and biceps are appealingly flushed, the way they get after a particularly intense workout. She shakes her head.
“Okay, good talk,” Bow reaches over to pat her on the head. She laughs, and the tension breaks, and they are just two friends enjoying each other post-spar.
It doesn't have to be anything else when what it already is, is good.
When she sleeps next to Bow…she still has the nightmares, but she doesn't drown in the shadows like she does when she's alone. He strokes her back as she sobs into the pillow and he doesn't ever ask why.
They don't have to talk about this or anything else; they did, once. That first time before she froze. He asked her if that was her first time, gentle and friendly and so Bow about it that Adora almost felt bad for the lie. The choked out ‘yes’ that she knows he didn't believe, but if he thinks she's a lying whore, he doesn't ever say.
Adora's actual first time was a blur of shadowy tendrils and crooned reassurances that she was doing so well, that she was destined for great things and this was the price; later, the warnings came and Adora learned sex as protection, not just for herself but for the Magicat curled up at her feet, surely not oblivious to what happened all around her but playing at sleep just the same.
If Adora was good, this would stay hers alone and Catra would never have to feel the tangled shadows curling around her half-resting form and pressing into her deepest wounds.
In the worst nightmares, the shadows come for Catra and Adora watches as if from a distance, her place on the bed and empty void, her body no longer a shield against the night.
When she wakes up in tears to find Bow watching her, a mug of cocoa in his hand and a soft expression on his face, she almost wants to tell him.
Are we going to talk about this?
They never do. Adora lets herself sit next to him and pretend, for the moment, that this is all sex ever has to mean.
When he bends to kiss her exposed shoulder, she thinks she might be starting to believe it.
Bow calls himself her friend and means it. When Adora says it back, her voice doesn't shake.
Good talk, she thinks as she fishes the marshmallow from her cocoa and plops it into his open mouth. He laughs
Good sex. Good friend.