(Y/N) POV:

"We're really doing this?"

"We're doing this." A wide infectious grin tugged wide across Kook's face as we both step out onto the ice, eyes glittering with excitement, body already buzzing with adrenaline as both Coach Seo and Coach Kim stand on the other side of the rink, their smiles encouraging but an alertness in their expressions. A similar eagerness too. Clipboards ready. Rink emptied and booked out for the skating team to go through the preliminary checks for our routines. Ice pristine.

To see the first formed routine we'd been working on.

Another, slightly bigger-scale competition, coming up soon.

"Getting as much practice as you can get performing in front of judges. It gives you more exposure to other competitors too. Some that aren't coached through an institute for the sport."

"And after these competitions we can work towards the beginning of the competitive season at the end of autumn."

"And with luck and talent—which you both have, we'll be looking to get you qualified through the International Skating Competition this year."

Eager glances exchanged with brimming smiles, far too contagious to be contained, pitched squeals and laughs and gripping his hand back tightly. Because we both know what that competition is for. What it's a stepping stone and entry to... the Winter Olympics. That was where every and any figure skater wanted to be.

It was getting credit and recognition for your work, for the reputation you spend autumn and winter building the year before... the Winter Olympics...

"You think we have a chance Coach?" Jungkook's eyes are bright and thrilled at the prospect.

The unshakeable confidence the Coaches look at us with instil a firm strength in me, makes my spine straighten because they look at us with the assuredness that they already know we can.

"The world won't know what's hit them."

"We've both seen your choreography in parts, so we're excited to see the whole thing put together."

"Mixing contemporary and classical?" brows rising as they exchange curious glances, eyes flickering with interest.

"For our main routine."

"Been practicing the different styles? Letting your playlists randomly shuffle?"

"Absolutely." Kook grins.

"I don't think I've seen someone go from sensual to heavy rock head-banging so quickly." I laugh, eyes alight with mischief as I share a glance with Kook.

There's a soft laugh as Coach Seo shakes her head at us, head tilting towards the ice.

"Best to be on your toes. Practicing different moves according to different music... you never know what you could get for your freestyle segment."

Coach Kim's eyes gleam with sharp-alert assessment.

"Maybe we should test it out. Keep their blades and minds sharp."

"Let's check their choreo first." Coach Seo laughs, body tilting to lean against the railing, posture poised and eyes attentive and sharp.

There's something unconsciously engrained into their movements as ex-professionals. A grace and control and strength that carries and ripples through each movement.

There's nothing but razor focus in their eyes as they watch me and Jungkook take up our opening positions.

Brief point jotted down.

"We're going to do one run-through with the music and then one slowed down without okay?" Coach Kim calls out, already holding the remote for the speaker.

I nod towards them, eyes already searching out Kook's; silent, unspoken synchrony that's long since settled into our skin but still... before every performance, every trial, every competition, every training my eyes search his out.

Solace and grounded.

Shared understanding and trust tethering the two of us together.

"Just like we practiced." Murmurs it quietly.

Unwavering assuredness as he nods at me.

The first move feels like a falter, a moment as the music settles. I already know that it'll take time, but the music and sequence will meld seamlessly with us. But that first step, I skate half a beat behind, the error lost in the way Jungkook matches his pace to mine, slowing down half a beat so we remain in timed sync as we move to each other. Circling slowly.

It's four minutes of constant movement. It's four minutes where we become each other's shadows and skin, where we're solely just extensions of one another, tethered by the movements that are only torn apart by the ripple in the music.

But this piece...

This piece is rough around the edges, far from polished and perfect, it's in its early stages... but it already personally feels like it could be more.

That this piece is different to the others we've performed.

That with this one we're both stepping into unknown waters and relishing in the uncertainty, floundering and grasping to find our footing... knowing we're not there yet but we will be.

It's unharnessed, it's in the stages of being nurtured and practiced and slowly eased into for so long that this... this is the first time it's really shown. This is the first time we get to share it, this piece, this performance with someone other than ourselves, other than the ones who've created it.

It's mixed feelings and thoughts I have for it.

Because it's fragile and new, there's some part of me that wants to hold onto the routine for a little while longer... to keep it to ourselves until it's been developed further, there's also a giddiness to share what we have created.

And when those four minutes, infinite and short, come to an end, our breaths break from their restraints, deep and rasping inhales as sweat trickles down the side of our faces, heats our bodies as we stare at one another. Eyes alight.

Clapping draws us upright, heads turning to face the Coaches, a myriad of emotions flitting across their faces, too quickly to grasp onto a single one.

But the curled lilt to Coach Kim's lips and the short nod from Coach Seo is proud as we skate forward.

"We'll go without the music now." Coach Kim states.

There's only a shared nod before the two of us re-take the positions we'd started in.

It's harder... immediately noticeable, it's harder to follow a rhythm we haven't entirely internalised yet. But there's still the same flow, the same synchrony—albeit faltering without the music to guide it as fluidly.

It's the same routine but without the music, we're left to envision it playing inside our minds, matching up with the counts and beats we keep track of in transitioning between moves.

It's difficult.

But as we're performing the sequence I realise... maybe it's meant to be harder.

Because the routine is far from perfect.

Because we're still from calling it ours, our bodies and minds are still learning it.

There's a charged expectation that makes the air buzz once we come to a still. Glances exchanged even as I gratefully take the water Coach holds out to me.

Lungs and cheeks burning with heat. Even as the cold of the rink begins to brush against heated skin, tries to cool and calm the rapid thump of my heartbeat that echoes in my ears.

"First impressions..." Coach Kim begins.

"Impressive. It's got the potential to be phenomenal." Coach Seo asserts.

The beginnings of elation bubbles up.

"Right now... right now we can see where it's going to be by the time the season begins."

"We've come up with a few ideas, but it'll get implemented into a long-term plan for how to prep you by the time competitions start." Their eyes sharp and focused, also burning with the same determined gleam that mirrors our own.

"Do we have a starting point Coach?" Kook asks, eyes flitting to both of them at turn.

Some part of him sounds like a captain, seamlessly falling into the leadership role, nudging him lightly in the side. A hand snakes around my waist to squeeze tightly, wide grin stretching across his face.

"We'll break it into the first and second half of your free skate program. First the orchestral, classic piece."

We nod.

If there weren't lyrics to skate to, if there weren't words to resonate with, if there weren't emotions to build on that meant we needed to be all the more connected with the music. We need to create the story that connects us to the music and both halves of the program together.

"There's a few points we'll go through during the training sessions and some lifts I want to have you guys try out for me." Coach Kim adds.

"We'll model it and then help you through it... but I'm excited to see this as a finished piece." Coach Seo enthuses, eyes bright with that elation that bubbles and fizzes up.

Contagious.

Brimming up and spilling over in my own veins.

"You can tell the ballet training's helping. How many sessions are you doing?"

"Once a week." I answer.

Once a week, stripped down to leotards and fitted training clothes, standing in front of a barre and mirrors. Once a week undergoing the same rigorous training that the ballet dancers did on a daily. Once a week to help push flexibility and a sharper execution of the more precise moves that needed to be just as much elegance as they were strength.

"Let's make it three every second fortnight. It'll add to the performance."

Not too strenuous. Not wearing down our training.

"I want you to alternate. One extra dance lesson every fortnight, one extra ballet lesson the second fortnight."

"Trying to make dancers of us Coach?"

"Your prodigy will be poached at this rate." Kook laughs, warm-tease and praise entangled together, nose scrunching as he looks at me, bolstering me up.

"Lies and flattery JK. I'm not the one the dance crew would love to have on their team."

The coaches shared amused glances.

"Well we don't give up what's ours. And we definitely don't give up the talent we've scouted so your careers aren't going to be as dancers..."

"You're making your name as figure skaters, you have been all your lives... let's take it to the next level."

Next level.

[......]

🏒: Awake?

❄️: No

❄️: Go away

🏒: Ouch ice princess

❄️: I mean it...

❄️: Go away

❄️: I'm trying to sleep

🏒: I never stopped you??

❄️: I'm not being a booty call tonight

🏒: I could be the booty call

🏒: It's not offensive

🏒: I've seen you stare

🏒: I don't put in all that effort

🏒: Not to be appreciated

❄️: ...

❄️: Yet you can't keep your eyes off me in the gym

🏒: Your body is meant to be appreciated too

🏒: It can be a mutual appreciation

❄️: Not tonight Park

A few beats of nothing. Finger already reaching up to lock the screen, to shove the phone under my pillow, back underneath dark depths. Willing my brain to shut off, feeling far too jittery and awake but sex... sex didn't feel like the outlet I needed.

I just needed to shut off.

And relax.

And sleep.

Before the few days of competitions coming up, I know I need to rest. To let my body recuperate and recharge between training.

I know that.

But residue adrenaline seems to cling to me regardless.

My phone buzzes, lights up with the message notification just after I lock it.

Swiping it open again, twisting to get more comfortable.

Willing sleep to come.

🏒: Feeling okay?

The message makes me feel touched rather than eliciting its usual response of snark, words falling away in my mind before they can form a text, before they can make a comment about being okay and not wanting sex were perfectly hand in hand. That not everything boiled down to sex.

❄️: I got an early wake up tomorrow... need to sleep

🏒: And you know I'd keep you up all night~ 😏

A soft laugh muffled against my pillow, eyes rolling at the cockiness in the text. In the drawl I can hear if he was to say those words.

❄️: I was going to say sleep well but I hope you wake up with blue balls

🏒: Ouch

🏒: Cold words ice princess

❄️: 🤷‍♀️

[......]

Three days.

Three days of competitions.

Scouting out other teams. And feeling the same interest and assessment being reflected back in countless faces, some slightly familiar, others entirely new to the competition.

But new talent in these competitions aren't to be taken lightly.

Not when they're competing on the same level.

Which means on the baseline... everyone has the same base standard of performance and skills, of technicalities and execution of spins, lifts and jumps.

There's other students too from our university.

Other figure skaters who are competing in the male and female singles, soloists but first... teammates that we go to support in the stands.

There's something different about familiar faces in competitions, even inter-university ones, that feels like camaraderie and sportsmanship intertwining. That feels like competition and appreciation at the same time.

There's no doubt about it that any one who competes in the same category as us are our opposition. But there's also no doubt that watching the other pairs skate, watching them from a spectator's view but with the shared knowledge and talent for the same sport... it's getting to admire and gauge the level of skill we could be going up against. It's a mixed feeling.

That doesn't mean I don't enjoy watching them. Even if some moves intimidate... they also impress.

Something just as exhilarating in getting to see others perform their routines.

A cheer tears itself past my throat, hands curved around my mouth as I cheer on Ari. Female soloist. One of the younger students on the team, first year just having enrolled a season ago. Younger too.

There's a sense of pride and a strong, strong surge of affection as I look at the bright glittering happiness on her face, that sense of accomplishment at the flawless rotations she slows herself out of before coming to a still, hands outstretched above her head.

Feeling a connection, an echo of that happiness just by watching her.

Cheering and clapping loudly, watching as her eyes flit over the stands, sparkling brighter as she spots familiar faces. Before she spots us.

Waving.

That's our teammate.

"She did so well! I don't think I've gotten to see her skating practices much after starting training again."

"You did help the pre-university students a lot you know." Jungkook murmurs, head ducking low so he can be heard clearly, lips against my ear.

Smile curling up against skin.

"Hardly."

"You did. You couldn't be on the ice, didn't mean you stayed resting, stubborn as always." Grinning as he waves at Ari, gesturing for her to join us in the stands, the next competitor already stepping onto the ice, a brief exchange of words between them we're too far to hear but it's amicable and competitive—a flash of both sides of the coin as a skater. Competitive. Appreciative.

"You try being—" words cutting off abruptly, heads almost knocking together harshly as I turn, words sour.

No.

Never.

"Let me bench you Captain for even a week's of sessions and see if you're not sneaking out onto the rink."

"Touche. But you don't get that power~ Captain's privilege and right to bench teammates...especially stubborn ones at risk to themselves." brows quirking with amusement.

Something warm and understanding having flit across his gaze before it melds with tease.

I tug Ari into my side as she appears, her voice breathless and excited as she looks at me.

"You did great out there Ari!"

"I can't wait to see you and Captain skating later! Did you know there's a new mixed pair that're competing today—"

[......]

Victory tastes like sweat. Tastes like the salt on my lips and the tang of exertion. It feels like shared rushed breaths and bodies too hot but pressing close, clinging to one another after the performance, not knowing where his body heat begins and where mine does, the two melded together.

It tastes like exhaustion, in wide yawns and drooping eyes, the good type of fatigue, that lingers even after having washed off the sweat and heat and exchanged it for warmth.

It feels like fingers clasping at my waist to tug me into a hug then the same arms wrapping around me, nose burrowing into skin and a drowsy voice proud and soft in equal measure.

"We did it (Y/N)."

"We did... you did good Cap'"

"You too twirly."

[......]

"Sometimes I feel lucky... almost unfairly lucky that I snagged you as a partner Captain." I lilt, undoing the laces of the skates slowly, easing one off my foot then the other. Watching as Jungkook pauses, a questioning lilt to his hm?

"Being the ace's partner..." I elaborate.

The undignified snort makes my head jolt up. Derision at my words.

But also easily brushing off the words I've said.

Makes me contemplate chucking the skate at his head.

"Here I am, heart on my sleeve and you!" Indignant.

"Bullshit... heart on your sleeve... you've never had a filter about anything. I always get too-honest confessions from you." grimacing with distaste.

I lift the skate in the air, above my head, eyes narrowing with warning as he raises his hands in surrender but still laughs.

"We're a team!"

"I thought it was an unfair advantage... the only thing unfair is I know too much, I've seen too much..."

"Hey! I don't shame you for the times I've walked in and seen you—oh my eyes." Shaking my head desperately to dispel buried repressed memories, scowling at him.

Tossing the skate at him.

But it misses.

I know it does.

And he makes no attempt to avoid it.

"Good thing you're not a pitcher with that aim... see this is why you suck at bowling too. Got no direction..."

"Jungkook you prick!" lunging forward for him.

Ace or not, he doesn't get to insult my lack of finesse—

-------------------------

"Really? Really, really?" I ask incredulously.

"If you ask again I might just cancel it." Coach Kim threatens.

"Yeah you look too happy for the team to get a four day weekend." Coach Seo's voice teasing, almost deceptively light.

"Maybe we haven't been working them hard enough."

"Are we going soft?"

"No, no... that's not it. Not at all..." I ramble.

"Thank you Coach, we'll spend our break well." Jungkook cuts through the rambling, stilling it with a grin and a shake of his head before it dips into a small inclination, a bow to the Coaches. In deference and respect, the rest of the team all falling suit before there's a rush to clamber off the ice as if any second they'll rescind their offer, call in their teased threat.

Delighting in the long weekend break following the series of competitions, everyone rundown, ready and in need of a long rest. A long weekend to unwind and do nothing or anything. Anything and everything but skate and train for the next few days.

Consecutive days off like this are rare and far in-between anyways. Uncommon enough so that when they do happen it creates a brimming excitement, makes the air fizz with anticipation and eagerness, everyone quick to split off into changing rooms to sluice off the last training session for the rest of the week clean off our bodies. Countless conversations and chatter intermingling, plans being made, eyes alight with giddiness.

The changing room buzzes with it, with the excitement of four unplanned days to relax in. Everyone hurried to get out even though now there's no training to be rushing to or from. It's a giddiness that wells up, that has everyone spilling out of the changing rooms and rinks, clearing them out, leaving them empty shells of ice.

There's no need to ask where we're going. Kook's already waiting outside. Hair damp and tousled, hastily dried but not entirely. The sight of it makes my fingers itch, leaning over in habit to yank the hood over his head to cover his hair up. His own head tilting forward to make it easier rather than doing it himself, fingers briefly carding through damp strands. Eyes rolling good-naturedly at the slight fussing before tweaking the edge of my own hood.

"You never learn."

"I'm pretty sure my mum sent you to do the fussing for her."

"I'm not your babysitter JK... besides Mama Jeon would never wish bad on me." I lilt.

"Wish bad—hey! Your mum loves me... I'm the one always sticking my neck out for you." he laughs, face scrunched into a half-huffed pout, looking indignant at the thought.

"Someone's got to keep your feet on the ground and your head from inflating—with great power comes great responsibility and Mama Jeon knew it was a task only I could—" yelping as I dart away at the hand that snags me round my front, tugging me back into him, his other hand poking and pinching at my side as he scowls huffily.

"Don't you Spider Man me! I'm the one who got you into the films, using them against me?" breaths wavery against my skin, hot against my neck, making me squirm, screeching at his fingers poking and prodding, skimming across where he knows I'm ticklish, hand at my ribs as I twist to tug myself free.

"Sorry...sorry..." pitched volume and uneven breaths, eyes damp as I manage to pull myself free, his own face scrunched with amusement and satisfaction, hand loosening from around me.

"Good. No discussion... you can't use my films against me and both mamas love me better." He says with an air of smugness around him.

"Next time I call Mama Jeon I'll let you listen in." grinning back at him.

He grumbles something underneath his breath, fingers tugging at my jumper to steer me down the route that leads us towards the dorms, the sky is still bright. The idea of already being done for the day, for the next few days, is unusual... heading back to his dorms without the usual sneaking around the two of us do... even more unusual.

"You know this problem would be solved if we'd found a flat already." I grumble as we step into his room, toeing off my shoes. Bag and jumper tossed aside, furrowed scrunch accusatory as he swipes them up to hang up instead, watching with thinly veiled resignation as I make a beeline for his bed. Diving face-first into the thick duvet and pillows, a groan of relief and appreciation as I stretch out across his bed, making myself at home.

"I might ask Hobi hyung to ask his friend."

"The one whose brother's in real estate?"

He hums in response, padding around the room, much slower to get into bed, a lazy ambling as he rifles for his laptop and charger, tossing his phone down next to me. It lands with a dull thump.

"He helped Hobi hyung get that flat... there'll be one we could get near uni... I'm kinda tired of sharing facilities."

"Someone mess up your laundry again?" lips quirking as I turn to peer at him.

The scowl that flashes across his face is genuine ire.

"It's not hard to separate colours into dark and light. Or you know... do it in your own load." Grumbling as he pads over before sinking down abruptly, mattress jostling slightly before he yanks at the edge of the duvet to get me to roll off it, both of us clambering underneath instead. They're still cool, not comfy or warm enough yet.

The common sense thing to do is—

"Aish! Your feet are cold! Get them away!" squirming from me, one hand balancing the laptop, the other shoving me back even as I cling onto him, trying to burrow closer, arms wrapping around him. Clinging with a koala hold. Feet shoved between his legs, against his own to warm up properly, hair damp against his throat and collarbones, feeling him squirm and fight against it. Trying to detach me from him, to dislodge my hold.

"You're an octopus... get off!" half-laughing, half-whining.

"But I'm youuuuur octopus Koo, won't let me warm up?"

"No!"

"But my bed is always open to you too... warm me up muscle bun." I wheedle, laughing as I feel his muscles strain and struggle.

But really...

If he really wanted to...

There's no way he wouldn't have tossed me out of bed already, lips curling up at his feigned or half-hearted attempts to free himself.

"You're not a great bed warmer."

"Ouch... I'll have you know no-one's ever complained if I've warmed their sheets." Batting my eyes at him.

A low groan as he tosses his head back to tear his eyes away.

Then cursing when his head thumps into the headboard, glaring ruefully at me before yanking my hand and tilting it to his head to rub at the sore spot.

Then softening as he tilts closer, body curling to mine.

He's significantly more muscled and stronger and broader. Just buff.

But like this he curls smaller, body curved around mine, head tilting to the touch, fingers brushing through his hair and gently carding through. Smoothening out half-tangles where he'd dried his hair roughly. Easing them out.

Quietly melting with a soft appreciative sigh, the sound exhaled gently.

"Maybe it's the aftercare—" he mumbles before blinking at me.

Grin smooshed against a pillow.

"Oh wait... not your style is it?"

"Pillow princess treatment's just for you Koo~"

My fingers briefly still once the words have left my mouth.

Different body pressed close, head pillowed against my lap, eyes drooping, and lips twisted with a quiet misery and depreciation. Voice and mind weighed down with the struggle of having an off-day. Of lips moving frantic and almost desperately, body tight with tension and then all of that slumping when I'd drawn back and realised... this isn't it. A wrongness at being used as a way to forget. Quiet low exhales and eyes fluttering open and shut but slowly...slowly tension easing out his posture, loosening the set of his shoulders and the line of his spine. Fingers carding through blonde hair. Voice for once void of snark and mischief but somehow missing it because this voice was weighed down. Finding that... his voice... when it mellowed and softened out... just before sleep was a voice I'd never heard from him. Was one that sank into my skin.

Is it? Just for Koo?

When the sight of his face melting into relief, into contentment and then slowly...slowly slipping into sleep, head against my lap, body keeping mine from moving.

"...stop moving." Voice heavy and sleepy, eyes still shut but a quiet low complaint before his head turns to press into my thigh, before his cheek presses to me again, arm slung over my legs, hand curled at my calf, asleep but his grip tries to hold on. A sleepy press of fingers curling reflexively before loosening once the movement stills. Breaths even and deep.

A nudge to my hand and fingers at my wrist nudge my hand into moving again.

"What happened to being your pillow princess? You're not making me feel very pampered you know." He sniffs imperiously, shooting me a look of judgement.

It makes my lips curve up.

Distracts me from my thoughts. Tugs me out of them.

Free hand coming to pat at his cheek, cooing at him, despite the way he sighs with dismay.

"Oh does pretty Koo feel neglected? My bad princess."

He harrumphs.

"Pillow prince... princess.. does it matter?"

"Order me dinner before you start pulling out the pet names." Kook laughs.

Voice soft and low and full of tease.

"Besides aren't you Park's ice princess?"

Unlike the name... I feel a tinge of heat warm my cheeks at the tease.

------------------------

It should be worrying.

How much we're creatures of habit.

Eyes flashing open when the alarms we'd turned off don't ring obnoxiously, eyes flaring wide as I fumble for my phone, all but scrambling out of the duvet when a low groan and a hand yanks me back, arm slinging back around my waist.

Complaint hoarse and rough with sleep.

"Off remember?" words bleary and heavy, his own eyes cloudy with sleep but having remembered quicker, drawing me back under the duvet, the brief panic ebbing away before I curl back under the warmth. Tucking myself back up and re-shuffling closer to him.

Okay bed.

It should be worrying how hard it is to switch off after being switched on, full energy, max capacity for days for the series of competitions. There's no noise, save for the din of people still moving around and heading off for their own training, but the sounds are muted... distant... on the other end of the door and away from these four walls.

It should be slightly more worrying how easy then we do forget. It is worrying how easy it is to fall into bad habits with eating and sleeping, the first stab of guilt of heading out of campus for breakfast that wasn't calorie-counted, athlete-catered and nutritionist approved to eat food that came without the prickle of stares I just knew every single athlete has felt at least once in the canteens and food halls.

It should be slightly worrying that the first thought after a heavy meal, is stifle the quiet whisper that says to work it off and instead to re-pile into bed, drowsy and stomachs full and lazily taking in the shows we'd let pile up to catch up on. Episode after episode easily merging.

That we fall into a cycle of resting, napping, watching shows, bodies half-sprawled over one another, because is there somewhere more comfortable than Jungkook to lie down and scroll aimlessly through socials or read webtoons, or in turn be used as a pillow, a mattress, head flopped back lazily against my stomach and phone clutched overhead as his fingers move in quick frantic pace as he tries to beat his high score.

It should be worrying that as creatures of habit and structure and schedule, it's easy to fall away from it all.

It should be...

"We're only ever going to be college students once." Brushing off the concerns easily, posture and expression all softened with a slumped contentment and relaxation, everything that usually screams captain, authority, focus drained away now that the rinks have been deserted for two days already. A lack of hurry or urgency to get back onto the ice, to skate now that the first batch of competitions are done.

It gets intense when its like this... when it's constantly gogogogo for days on end to get those few days after as a respite, as a point to crash.

"Wanna go out dancing?" Kook asks, perking up with interest.

"With Hobi! He's been so busy recently."

"I keep you company!"

"He's a better dancer~"

"You take that back!"

"He's a pro dancer!"

"You saying I can't dance?"

"I never said that!"

"Are you replacing me as wingman?"

"No!" I laugh, watching his face flit through indignation and betrayal. Poking at my front.

"Good." Just as abrupt as he tugs my phone from my hand mid-text, quickly finishing it off. Voice eager as he sends a voice note.

"Hyung! Come out with us... (Y/N)'s boring and I think she needs some dance lessons from you but? Come out with us? Our treat this time! Which means (Y/N)'s treat!"

"Hey!"

"Are you going to back out? That's mean. After all the things hyung does for us." Laying on his words thick, words prompting, questioning. A smug knowing grin as he sprawls back, tossing the phone back towards me. The spam of emojis and texts that follow sealing my wallet's fate.

All at the cost of the smug scrunched toothy grin that curls up wide.

-----------------------

"How about we go bother Hobi hyung?" Kook asks, hair damp and tousled as we step outside. My fingers itch out of habit, leaning over to yank the hood over his head to cover his hair up. Eyes rolling good-naturedly at the slight fussing before tweaking the edge of my own hood.

"And if Hobi's busy?"

"He's not, I've got his training schedule." Phone angled towards me, grin curling wider as he taps his finger at the screen, pointing out the empty slot.

"He has an early morning tomorrow!"

"We could bother him and then leave... not always gatecrashing to sleepover you know."

"He has a flatmate!"

"Who I'm sure would tell us if we were bothering him. Or Hobi hyung will." Shrugging loosely.

"You're a bad influence."

"You love it."

I nudge at his side, shaking my head.

"Mama Jeon would be so ashamed of you leading me astray. Down the path of being an unbearable guest. Forcing our way into Hobi's home."

"My mama loves me."

"My mum doesn't love you." I tease.

"Lies! I'm her favourite!" he exclaims hurrying up after me as I step forward a few paces. Hand reaching out to tug lightly at my hair before it drops to tug me back by my jacket hood, laughing with a bright gleaming smile and scrunched nose when it makes me stumble back so he can overtake me instead.

"Yet Mama Jeon sends me care packages."

"And your mama sends me them too." triumphant and smug.

And care packages from home always, always included something for Jungkook regardless of the one my mum sent to him regularly. An extra bag of snacks, a jumper in his size, an extra scarf around the colder months. Or a followed up phone call that aegi I've sent an extra big portion of homemade protein bars so make sure Kook-ah gets them too.

The thought of home brings a sudden pang of homesickness. A wistfulness to maybe have used these four days to make a short trip back home to visit.

Wondering how everyone was.

Already missing so much of my little brother's life, already missing being a part of home—miles stretched out between us.

"Maybe I should've made a trip back home." Though it'd have been out the blue, outside of the term-time off we had anyways. But homesickness can creep up on you, can strike sudden. And the thought that we had two more days but now they weren't enough bleeds into the wistful pang of my voice.

"Iseul-ie's gonna have grown." Kook hums, nodding with understanding. Just as much an elder brother to the little brother we'd both left behind.

"Just as long as he reaches to be your height one day I'll think he'll be happy."

A boyish gleam, fond and affectionate, face looking younger as he grins at me. Head slightly angled before mockingly his hand tousles my hair, purposefully messing it up, hand hovering over my head.

"Yeah between me and you—I think he wants his brother's height."

"He's my brother!"

"But I'm the one he wants to be like." Tongue stuck out childishly. In retort I swipe the beanie off his head, rushing away with it. Leaving him rumply and tousled and behind as I rush away,

That pang of ache melting as soon as it had reared its head.

Maybe because a bit of home's always with me.

Bunny and toothy and scrunchy.

[......]

"Spells trouble to see both of you at my door."

"Seokie I missed youuuuu." Barrelling forward to squeeze him in a tight hug, stepping into the hallway of his apartment. Arms wrapped around him, his own reciprocating immediately, a tight squeezy hold as he sways side to side with me.

"Hi snowflake."

"Now why don't I get a cute nickname Hobi hyungie?"

"You're hyung's little Yeti."

Glower accompanied with a twitch of lips.

"I like that one. Yeti~" teasing as I turn my head to peer over my shoulder at him.

Fingers poking my waist in retaliation before Hobi tugs him into a hug, hand fondly tousling his hair, carding fingers through to smoothen out the rumpled state of them anyways.

"My little snow monster and snowflake... how come you're not tearing up the rink?"

Stepping aside to wave us in, closing the door behind us before he follows us into his living room.

"We missed you. And when you're both not being captains lost in the zone I figured I should make use of time to make sure you get out... touch some grass, you know—the usual." Grinning before making a beeline for the long couch, sprawling out with a sigh of relief at how comfortable it is, eyes lazily sweeping over his flat.

It looks different in daylight, the difference never fails to throw me off.

No wonder he can always fit in so many people during pre-games or house parties.

All this space—

"We've gotten a few days off..."

"After the competitions! I've waited to watch them with you—make a proper thing of it!"

I feel a flush of warmth colour my cheeks, feel my lips curve wider at the genuineness of his enthusiasm and eagerness.

Watch the way his eyes are bright, heart-shaped smile making my own pulse with happiness, a soft thud-thud at the unfailing way Hobi's always there to support us.

"Been monitoring us? How captain of you hyungie." Kook teases but there's a spark that makes his eyes glitter. An unspoken admiration and awe for the dancer, silent respect and a tinge of bashfulness at Hobi's giddy reaction.

"I just like seeing my dongsaengie's doing so well! Acing their sport, their competitions. Korea's prodigy couple."

"Ew."

"Yeah what she said—hey why ew?! I'm a catch!"

"Objectively sure sure... my pretty bun." I soothe, lips curling with amusement. Smile growing all the wider at Hobi's own grin.

"But I've dealt with all your messes and fluids... we're too close... it ruins the spark we have." I sigh lamentingly.

Hobi pokes at my side, a faint squeeze of his hand at my waist.

"That's why we have chemistry. It's all the right moves, all the right steps, perfect rhythm." A lilted honeyed cadence to his voice, tugging at me to draw me upright.

Body twisting to recline against him instead.

Allowing myself to be manoeuvred to lean against him, head settling against his chest.

Koo tugged unceremoniously into his other side so we both sandwich Hobi.

Quick and eager to pull up our competition videos.

"You're subscribed?" curiosity in Koo's voice, peering over his shoulder. My eyes follow automatically to his voice, fluttery soft affection making butterflies in my stomach.

"It's a fan account! You don't win competitions for years and not gather a following—I'm a very big fan." He enthuses.

My cheeks warm at his unwavering praise and confidence, watching him rather than watching with him. Eyes flitting over his expressions—taking in the mixture of serious attentiveness, that hardens his jaw and gaze, to the way each minute shift in his expression softens his features, makes them glow.

And he's so vocal about it afterwards, cheering loudly. A flushed giddiness that's entirely different and not from the applause and cheer post-performance, feeling the same exhilaration as if we'd just straightened up at the end of our performance again.

"Besides gotta check up and monitor the rhythm and everything." Mock serious but heart-lips stretched so wide it's impossible to feel anything but pure joy at the sight of him.

He's our number one cheerleader, the biggest pushing force cheering us on, urging us on, keeping us going. An infectious enthusiasm mixed in with pride that radiates off him whenever he watches a performance or helps with choreographing a sequence that helps play into a more fluid rhythmic sequencing—combining lifts and jumps with the range of genres we dabbled in but Hobi... excelled in.

And hearing his validation, his approval makes the taste of victory linger further, longer, bubbly and light on the tongue.

"So were wondering if you'd come out with us—"

"To celebrate! Absolutely!" not wasting half a second in agreeing.

"Free this weekend?"

"Any time! We can head out this time—you guys can crash here if you want."

"We've not even gotten to meet your flatmate but I'm pretty sure he must be sick of us." I shake my head.

"You can invite him too you know... we could pay for drinks and a night for being so loud—for (Y/N) being so loud all the time."

My leg kicks out when he approaches the sofa.

"I'll ask but he's not a club person usually... doesn't like the whole strangers grinding on each other vibe." Hand waved vaguely at the prospect.

"How else do you find a one night stand?"

"The campus is pretty big enough to casually sleep around and not worry about bumping into them after." A loose shrug.

My foot nudges at Hobi's side, seeing the slightly guilty grin. The loose laziness in it.

"That works for everyone. It's rare to find the time to date and train. It's one or the other."

"Some of the campus couples make it work... you know like Bok Joo from the Weightlifting team." A tall, powerful, soft giant.

"With the swimmer?" I hum in response to the question.

"She's the ace of her team but she's got her love life sorted at the same time." finding something incredibly admirable about her, about the effortlessness, the easy happy-go-lucky, easy-going personality and the dedication.

"But you've got to be willing to give up your decompressing time... you've got to struggle to find the balance first." Hobi points out, shaking his head.

Passionate and driven as a captain, as an athlete, as a competitor and as a performer—where did it leave time?

"....although hyungie (Y/N)'s got a casual lay on the side." Kook drawls out, teasing and lilted.

This time my foot connects with his knee. A soft groan of pain and betrayed look, returned tenfold as I scowl at him.

Hobi's eyes gleam however—latching onto the small interaction and pouncing, twisting as he looks at me.

"Must be good enough to keep around. You usually go to clubs to pick up someone."

"Don't we all?" pointedly staring at him, a grinned acceptance as he shrugs his shoulders.

"But it's rare enough to find someone who's good enough in bed that you do give it another go." He points out.

I think briefly of bitten full lips and that obnoxious smirk, of hands that grip with an assured confidence, breaths ragged but laced with the same desire that winds its noose tighter...tighter...

"Do they treat you good in bed?" voice laced with a faint edge of concern.

"Good enough to bring 'em back." I lilt, brushing off the worry on his face, hand patting at his arm. Unable to help the brief squeeze, peering at him from lowered lashes as my lips curve up.

The intent in them read before I speak, a matching flash of playfulness in Hobi's gaze.

"Though with how you're going Hobi... I might find myself whisked into your arms instead~"

"As if I'd let a pretty dancer out of them~" hand tugging me closer.

"So... club? Then you can test out if (Y/N)'s sense of rhythm is a thing or not."

"Can always come to the studio—though you guys are great dancers—when we thinking?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"Where are we headed?"

"That club downtown with the good shots—"

"Euphoria." Hobi's eyes gleam with shared conspiration and enthusiasm.

----------------------------

"I think that's the most fabric you've ever worn." Words teasing and light as Kook appraises me, a sweeping gaze that skims me from head to toe, eyeing the way the fabric clings, a gleam of amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Besmirching my good character Kook-ah? How shameful." I tut, watching him fiddle around with the makeup still scattered across the dresser before choosing a sparkly shadow, glossed lips curving up into a grin.

"I've seen you too close to naked on a regular and naked more times than I can count—I'll take whatever clothes you're wearing and thank my stars for them." He laughs, nose scrunching slightly, fiddling with the shadow before tilting his head.

"Do my eyes?"

"Oh Koo I'd do you in any way you'd want..." his eyes roll even as he sits down on the edge of my bed, leaning back when I step closer, slotting myself in the space between his legs. Leaning down closer to him.

"Your eyes are so pretty." I sigh wistfully, watching doe eyes flutter shut as the brush sweeps over his eyelids, dusting them golden. Sweeping the brush gently over his slightly twitching eyelids before they smoothen out, a soft sparkling sheen left behind on his skin.

Continuing the sweeping touches of gold skimming across his cheekbones, swapping out the brushes seamlessly, thumb brushing over it despite myself—almost so sure that the golden glow is him and if I touch... I'll turn golden.

"My golden boy. Pretty golden bun." Eyes skimming appreciatively over him.

"Though pretty doesn't begin to describe you Koo." I sigh.

A peek from lowered lashes.

Lips curling up.

"What's your game woman?"

"No game—"

"Yeah you got none." He deadpans easily.

Finger poking at his cheek.

"Can't I admire beauty? That if you take away the sweat and Spartan and the amount of times you've dropped me then yeah... you could pass as easily decent."

"How generous of you." words dry, eyes fluttering shut at the sweep of my brush across the high of his cheeks, an unconscious gesture as he stills further.

"Just as generous as my clothing?"

"Maybe more generous with the lack of coverage you've got going on."

"At least even if I don't score some action I'll still be the hottest eye candy on your arm."

Kook snorts, an ugly, unattractive sound I hiss to him under low breath, swatting at him lightly.

"If you're still the "hottest" eye candy on my arm then the night failed."

"I've got your back Kook. I take my wing woman duties very seriously." Pride lilting my voice.

"Yet I feel like I'm going to be looking after your drunk ass aren't I?"

"Consider it an honour to have anything to do with my ass in the first place."

"That's my training routine." Brows rising with a haughty challenging gleam.

My lips curve up.

"It's my body with the results. Watch it pay off."

Hand patting at the curve of his own with an almost placating lightness, though in skinny jeans I know that I'm not the only one who'll have noticed how good his ass does look. And the particularly straining stretch of denim across his thighs.

"Although you can cash in on that hard work I've put into helping you with yours."

Taking full preening credit as well as mutual satisfaction in knowing the confidence that he has in his body is instilled in the same way I'm confident in my own skin because of him.

Athleticism wise—we know that our bodies bear the fruits of our labour, of our efforts and of our training.

Objectively—Jungkook is one of the most attractive guys I know, I've met and perhaps the only one I've gotten to see transition from baby-faced to man.

But had there been a different dynamic, a different closeness or just friends and not training partners maybe somewhere, in a different world, where we were leading different lives and doing different things without being far too aware of each other's bodies—long crossed a "limit" then maybe Jungkook would've been the guy I wouldn't have minded finding in a club. Or meeting by chance.

Sigh—alas.

I know too much.

I've seen too much.

"What're you sighing at?"

Not realising the sound had slipped out.

Lips twitching as I step back, adjusting the neckline of the dress, the sweeping cut of it providing a generous look.

"Just thinking that if we weren't skating partners or friends maybe you'd have been lucky to find a catch like me at the club"

"If I didn't know you're the crackhead type anyways I'd still see you and run the opposite way." He retorts easily. Words lilted with laughter.

"Takes one to know one."

Kook grins at me, the scrunch softens the effect of the makeup, of golden glittering skin and smudged eyeliner.

"So crackhead—wanna dance?"

"Took you long enough to ask." Hand reaching to grip his. And to tug him out of my dorm room.

JIMIN POV:

"We're gonna be in so much trouble."

"Oh loosen up."

"Have you got an early training session on a Sunday? I think the fuck not."

"Ditch it."

"What?"

"I'm not letting you ditch my pretty ass on the sidewalk before we even get to the club."

"How did I even end up getting dragged out by you two?"

"Cos you love us and you don't trust our drunk asses to make it back home."

"Your home... I don't think I can get woken up at 3 in the morning again."

"Sorrryyyyy hyung... that's why we're taking you out. We'll be your tab for the night."

Dark eyebrows lifting up, lips curling with a dangerous sharp edge to it. The resulting smirk foreboding.

"You can't take it back now Tae-ah."

The boxy grin falters slightly at the glittering amusement in dark, dark eyes.

"Of course we won't! We're both paying it off." Hand silently gripping my forearm tightly, a laugh bubbling up at the slight flare of panic that Yoongi hyung's silent amusement elicits.

A quiet gumminess I almost miss his smirk soften into as he turns to gesture down the small stretch of road left to cross, the club's entrance in sight.

"Not pre-gaming this time?"

"We're going hard. I heard there'll be some students off campus also here so who knows~" a rich lilt to his deep voice as he digs an elbow slyly into Yoongi hyung's side, latching onto him when he spots the quirk to a subtle smile, playful.

"Don't live too on the edge Taehyung-ah, I'll drain your bank accounts."

Laughing softly as he steps forward towards the club, our paces catching up to fall in line with his, the resonating bass thuds of the music seeming to reverberate into the very walls of the club, into every particle. Immediately drowning us in it and dragging us into that familiar buzz of alcohol, music and loosened inhibitions.

People don't go to clubs to make sensible decisions. Even the choice of going, whether or not it's to hookup, it's to let loose.

Though why I let Tae decide that a Saturday night when there's practice tomorrow and—

Ah. Because no-one else has practice on a Sunday.

No coach is as harsh in cracking the whip, a dictator controlling our very limited time off—weekends not spared by him.

And if that didn't say enough—the almost too quiet week of not a single figure skater on ice disturbing the focus, disturbing the team practices and booked slots and—no trace of a curved figure twisting lithely on the ice—

"We get it. Your booty call's got better things to do. So why don't you just drink. And move on." Voice at my ear, raised louder to be heard over the din.

My head twisting with startled surprise to face the voice.

Amused grin curling his lips up and dark eyes just somehow knowing.

"Hyung it's not—"

"Careful Jimin-ah, I'd almost say it's pining." Before he steers me forward towards the bar, flagging down the bartender.

The vile mix of whatever alcohols have been whirled together pour themselves down my throat when I toss the glass back, grimacing at the harsh taste that makes my eyes sting. Makes me splutter, coughing at the way it makes the inside of my throat burn, a similar distasteful expression on Yoongi's face. Pinched features almost forcefully straightening themselves out before he slams the glass down.

Eyes sharper with steely resolve.

"So drink up and just find another one." An easy grin curling his lips upwards, head gesturing to the people dancing, reluctant to join himself as he takes his perch on a barstool.

"Not going to join?"

"Not yet—let me get that tab of yours started." Head tilting as he gestures and orders a whiskey. The fancy expensive shit kind.

My eyes roll as I shake my head at him, narrow onto his grinning face.

"Go on—drain us dry."

"Cheers." Whiskey glass raised in mocked salute.

That hovering worry that practice—practice tomorrow—practice— lets itself slip to the back of my mind as I turn towards the electric heady buzz of music and alcohol.

I could do that.

Tae's eyes brighten when he spots me. hand reaching to yank me close, laughter infectious and ringing in my ears.

Easy.

[......]

The first instant my eyes catch on her, it's not with the immediate realisation that I know her, drawn to the swaying lure of her body moving in time with the music. An ease within her own skin, with every beat that spills out the speakers and ripples across her body with each enticing swayed tilt of her hips, the beckon in her waist that begs my hands to clasp at the dip before skimming them up to trace the curves that the dress is moulded to. A second skin.

The first instant I see her, it takes a few moments to realise, to place that the curved silhouette my eyes are snagged on in the first place is because I know that outline, I've felt my hands map it out.

Eyes dragging upwards to catch a glimpse of a face cast with shadows but lit up with laughter and intoxication– that wild cocktail of it brewing in her eyes, a beckoning call to anyone near enough to feel its pull.

And it's inescapable that pull once you've felt it. It's impossible to resist once you've tasted it.

A brief glimpse of her, body twisting in time to the music, pressing back to a body with the ease of someone so confident and assured in her skin, so aware of the lure she has that the body pressing to hers is simply yet another gravitating close.

There's no sense of how much time's passed since entering the club and there's no sense of how much time passes, mere seconds or stretched out moments where my eyes drink in the shadowed outline of her body dancing along to the music before it's lost in the bustle. The sight of her is lost.

Body filtering past others, trying to chase the glimpse of her, the alcohol heavy on my tongue but eyes weighted with the intoxication of needing to see her, to be the one pressed closer to her.

And now that I have seen her, it's not easy to focus on any other face. Blurred shadows and features that I can't distinguish but (Y/N)... she sticks out. Striking and alight.

Her body a hypnotic lure under the strobe of lights casting dark shadows and glowing streams of coloured light to skim over her skin. The moment I realise, everything in my head came to a grinding screech, her eyes bright, head tilted back as if to soak in the music that pours out, the press of a body to her front, hands skimming down her side, sweeping touches that show he knows her body and the planes of it as much as she knows his. Fingers threaded through belt loops to tug the press of muscle into her, laughing with unrestrained delight, eyes lidded as Jungkook looks at her. Realising that the body pressed to her is someone she knows. Someone who shares in that bubble of space and air that she captivates and controls. Seamless movements and fluid synchrony with each other's bodies.

Something swirls in my gut at the sight. Something sharp at the sight of hands roving her body with the slow lazy indulgence that my hands itch to, that my hands know how to do better.

Even in shadows and lights, even with other bodies pressed close, the shared space buzzing with desire and adrenaline, with lust and intoxication... There's something around just the two of them that's palpable, this crackling tethered aura that draws eyes to them, that keeps them there.

No inhibition, no restraint... nothing but fluid ease and confidence, both of them feeling the music, feeling it with one another.

A body jostles against mine, arm slinging around me, voice in my ear.

A glass nudged into my hand, clinking noisily before Tae downs his, tugging me further into the crowd, snapping the focus on seeing her, just seeing her—losing her to the cluster of bodies.

"I know you're a hockey player, but I know you can dance." He cheers, a loose rippled motion of his body as he tugs me by the wrists, drink sloshing against my wrist.

Laughing as he tugs me closer, eyes bright with laughter, hair mussed and curls beginning to cling to his temples.

Flushed as he tugs at me until I relent, body mimicking his, falling into rhythm, loud hollered encouragement pushing my moves to be more fluid, unrestrained.

Free and wild and loose in a way that being a hockey player isn't.

Feel the press of someone joining us, a hand slung around a girl as Tae grins at her, head angled as he welcomes her advances, gripping her waist to tug her closer.

An unashamed confidence in every move.

Uncaring and free.

But I don't care for the body that presses to me, light eyes full of invite as she angles her head, hand reaching to guide mine to hers.

There's not a single splutter of a dim flame, there's no spark of heat or attraction to the woman trying to draw me to her to dance.

Because even with the almost detached acknowledgement that objectively she is attractive, just not to me.

Slowly easing off and turning, drawing deep pulls of the glass I'd still been holding, hoping for the alcohol to slip more easily down my throat, weaving past the cluster of bodies that I'd been dancing near.

Glass set down heavy against the bar counter.

Turning to sit at a barstool, leaning heavily against it, eyes sweeping over the dance floor with a disinterested gaze. impatiently trying to catch a glimpse of (Y/N) now that I'd seen her, the image of her trying to burn itself onto my retinas but the brief sight of her not enough to.

Skin buzzing with an impatience because now I know she's here, an unexpected but very welcomed realisation.

But... but... did I seek her out?

Do I go find her?

The decision is made for me, watching when Jungkook moves towards the bar, the loose slope of his arm slung around her waist, steadying her stumbling slightly on her heels, a laughed grin shared between them. Watching as she waves him off to sink down at the bar. Content to sink back, a brief flicker of relief as she gives her feet some rest, hand smoothening down the skirt of her dress. My eyes unwittingly drawn to the curve of her thigh, skirt ridden up.

A flicker of arousal and satisfaction at the unspoken knowledge that I know the marks between them will have just begun to fade. Faint remnants of touch left behind as a reminder.

My fingers toy with my phone, replacing the glass with it.

🏒: Busy?

The lazy glance to her phone, to the slight way her body straightens to attention tugs at my lips, watching her raptly as she toys with answering. A private smile that I'm not shared in until my phone buzzes.

❄️: Too busy for a booty call

🏒: What if I come find you?

❄️: You'll be searching for a while

🏒: Underestimating me?

❄️: Or~ someone's feeling cocky

A languid turn of the drink in her glass, swirled around before she takes a slow sip of it, eyes on her screen.

🏒: Gimme 10?

❄️: I wouldn't rate you a 10 no...

My eyes flit up with surprise and incredulity, half-rising off my seat when I watch her lips curl into a playful smirk, watch her tilt her phone up, angle it.

From where I can see her I can only see her side profile, can see the sloped curves of her silhouette, the way her legs cross over one another at the bottom, heels dangling. Can see the way her mouth upturns and her head tilts.

Buzz.

A selfie. Angled just so that this time I can get a full view of her front, the slightly darkened weight in her eyes, full lips damp from the drink she's been sipping at...and then lower... lower over the front of her dress. Throat feeling suddenly tight, mouth drying at the sight of the low-cut.

The glimpses I had gotten of her dancing had been shadowed, had been obstructed and she'd been too far out of reach...

This—this she wanted me to see.

❄️: Or will you even last 10?

The more I stare at the photo, the more my skin begins to burn, the heat under it flaring to life. Boosted by the liquid desire and slight inebriation that courses through my veins.

One minute.

Two minutes.

The ground's not felt steadier all night as I make my way towards her, slowly brushing past other patrons, drinkers, slowly...slowly making my way towards her.

Seeing the moment she senses someone approaching, her eyes tracking me from the bottom up, lips already curled into a loose grin when she meets my eyes. Hunger flashing. Visceral. Recognisable. Because it mirrors my own.

"Getting a bit obsessed aren't you Park?"

"Don't think I'm the only one~"

"Oh?"

"You're out for the night and you're messaging me." voice lilted with smug confidence.

Instead of being caught out, she leans back further into her seat, head tilting.

"You messaged first... would you rather I leave you hanging?"

"No."

"So really I should be hearing a thanks."

I snort, hand reaching out to brush over her forearm, the loose slope of her arm, skimming over bare skin before drifting down again to curl loose against her wrist. Tugging her forward.

Up and off the seat.

Heels adding to her height, to the length of her legs, a different lethal grace in the fluid movement of her body straightening, of her stepping briefly close to me, legs brushing, wrist encased by my hand before she twists it free. Gaze sharpening.

"Where are you going?"

A hand brushing at my hip, tracing the waistband of my jeans before dipping underneath my top, nails skimming a light burning trail up the side of my waist before the touch slips away.

"Like you said I've come to a club, you're not the only one here—so come get my attention then."

...

It's different to how she might've said it weeks ago. How it sounds on her lips now than it might any other moment. When right now there's nothing about it that mocks– it's demanding, it's knowing, it's assured I'll do damn well more than get just her attention.

And the sway of her hips beckon.

A flash of competition.

Challenge in the curve of them.

One I won't back from.

-------------------

Giving up on a challenge– impossible.

Giving up on a challenge issued by the sharp-tongued skater? Unthinkable.

There's a pull that's just as visceral for her as it is for me, from weeks of tiptoeing and circling one another in this push and pull game of attraction-lust-want-urge... and knowing that she's just as susceptible to it as I am makes playing the game so much easier.

....is what I think.

Is what I thought.

But all I can hear is the heavy pulse of music echoing and resonating in my skin and bones with the same roaring urge of want-want-want, of the desire that pools under my skin and seeps into every crevice, every limb.

And all it feels like every single move is a damnation, something that makes my skin prickle with sharp arousal, eyes glued to her, drawn down the silhouette over her body, mapping her out with the feverish intensity that I need to with my touch. Hungering for it.

Lust that coats the inside of my mouth, entangles with the taste of alcohol slipping down my throat, adding to the buzz that makes my mind entangle in a mess of thoughts-fantasies-phantoms.

And by the time I reach her, by the time I manage to seek her out, eyes scanning the intertwined bodies to pick apart hers– she's already dancing with someone else. Face vaguely familiar as someone I'd seen around campus, someone I'd seen her with before.

But where there's synchrony and innate ease with her and Jungkook- where their dancing is mirrored halves coming together in a way that twists my stomach... this one jabs itself in a harsh, forceful motion.

Because she surrenders control to the guy she's dancing with. Eyes alight as she tilts her head back to murmur something to him, something lost just to the space of lips against skin.

The hands that guide her body are confident and assured. In his own movements, in his own body and the way it draws out the sway, sultry and drawn out, against him. Chest pressed to her back, hand snaked over her hips and front, over curves that he moulds to the broad sprawl of hands gripping at her.

Watching with a burning flame that grows, snarling heat that ripples through my skin, spreads across flesh and bones, sears its path through blood, hot and furious and wanting. The feeling that wells up is strong enough to pierce through that hazed fog, sharp and stinging as I watch hands guide her body to move in time, in fluid motion, in sync with the guy pressed to her, grinning lips pressed to her ear—murmuring something to her that makes her lips twitch briefly.

The spitfire sharp coldness of her tongue and gaze never surrenders so to see it is disconcerting. Unnerving almost.

It shouldn't really make the relentless urge underneath my skin flare anew with a different intensity, different urge, different want altogether. Wondering how she'd look if she'd danced with me.

Knowing already it'd be a different hypnotic magnetism that ultimately I'd surrender to too. That when it came to attraction and lust and growing need of the pleasure we drew out of one another... it was teetering on the edge of a very steep precipice, where its bottomless depths remained unknown yet all consuming.

The same way she's consumed by the music now, the same way I want it to filter through my body with the same headiness until I'm lost in the lights, lost in the shadows, lost in the music, lost in her, out of my mind with its ecstasy. With its drug-like high that everything about being near (Y/N) does to my senses.

There's a moment where her eyes find mine, dark and wicked, and so confident and delighted in her assured knowledge that she knew I'd be looking at her, that I wouldn't know how to begin to look away when I'm the one who followed her back onto the dance floor.

Go on. Come dance.

Body feeling adrift and stationary amongst the music, amongst the thudding heavy pace of a song that only intensifies the sultry weight of the air, charges its crackling intensity to a new height, something that's more cloying. That coats the inside of my lungs liberally.

Drawn into the music, body moving in time to it but not with her, her eyes full of rich laughter as she laughs– the sound noiseless, lost to the music but I can hear it.

And still– in her ease and her movements she dares me... but when her eyes meet mine, she looks almost disappointed that I've taken too long– moments too long for her.

Because the unspoken challenge shifts in her gaze.

Fine, if you won't... I'll find someone. There's damnation in her eyes, sparked with heat and a sharp snare that dares me to look away. Watching as she twists, movement lithe, controlled, her body presses to another, a face I don't recognise, a face she doesn't care to familiarise with because he welcomes the press of her body, the confident assuredness of her hips moving slow and deep, moving in time with the thudding pulse of the song that pours out the speakers. The ripple of movements condemning me from not taking when I had the chance because now she's out of reach, head tilted back, the arched line of her throat gleaming under the strobe lights, lips and tongue wanting to press marks into skin, to take the delicate chains at her throat and tug with teeth. To taste the headiness of her skin and lust against her.

But a nameless guy... to enjoy something she dangles within reach... no. Something—no everything in me recoils instantaneously and so wholly at the thought.

There's an instant where her eyes flit up and then... still. Where they flare to life with a different sort of intensity that makes my stomach twist and blood roar, and I don't know what it is I feel at the spark of visceral heat that sets her eyes ablaze once they meet mine. Where stretched out across the dance floor, bodies away from one another, no direct path or line of sight to her but even so my eyes skim greedily, hungering over every glimpse that I can catch of her. Watch the way her head tilts the slightest angle as if in slow scrutinising appraisal of me.

Every swayed move, every purposeful tilt of her body, the arch of her back malleable and pronounced under the guy's hands that draw her back, hand tracing down her abdomen and dipping lower, skimming past the curve of her hips, down the clinging fabric to her thigh. Fingers tracing bare flesh, the curved outline of it and I want—fingers curling hard against the glass, tossing back the shot and feeling its heat burn through my lungs and settle in the churning heat of my stomach, gut twisting itself into harsh knots as I watch her. Dragging me forward without control over limbs. Because it should be me. Because all night it should only be me.

Because try as I might I can't look away.

There's beckon in the silent sharp narrowed intensity of her eyes, in the sharp upturned quirk of her lips even as she rocks her hips back, purposeful slow sways that push into the touch, guides the hand at her thighs, her curves, across the fabric that moulds itself to her body, a second skin.

There's lure and there's a cockiness in it.

Almost as if testing and goading—eyes full of confident assurance that I know you can't look away.

And heady though it is, it's automatic to not give in even though I know I'd want nothing more. There's no way I fall into it so easily, so readily, as if the hold she has doesn't grow, as if I don't care if she's stupidly smug because that smirk melts under the press of my own lips chasing hers, fast and hard.

Hand reaching for her waist, twisting her away with a quick yanked motion, drawing her out of his arms and into the press of my own. Hand snaking around her hip with a tight gripping possessive flare of something that just can't stand the sight of her entangled up with another man, with another body. Scowling even as my body presses close, an easy lazy grin curling at his mouth, brows raised... uncaring as he looks at the way I press against (Y/N)'s side. Breath sharp against skin and voice low, mouth lingering at her jaw before turning.

"She's already got company bud."

Grinning lips and gleaming eyes.

Unfazed.

"You're looking right at him."

My lips twist, a clawing viciousness that bubbles its way up my throat, the curled amusement at her mouth—gaze flitting to my side. Almost assessing.

Feeling the tightening flex of my fingertips at her side.

The sultry beat of the music slows. Almost as if to drag us into its thickened, honeyed headiness.

My hand brushes over hers, thumbs skimming patterns across her knuckles in beat to the music before an abrupt dip in it has me tugging her closer in a swift motion, lips twitching at the flash of surprise that briefly flickers through her gaze, eyes tracking each step back I take. And with it each step forward I draw her to take towards me. An abrupt change of pace as the music quickens. Sparking enthrall and enticement under skin, coursing through veins.

"You're slow on your feet, Park. I like a guy who's quick about it." something weighted passing through her eyes, passing through the closeness of our bodies as I tug her closer. Pressing into her side just as much as I draw her body flush to my own. Feeling the weight of the gaze of the face, only vaguely familiar, staring with thinly veiled amusement.

"Been playing games from the start with me doll?" voice low against her jaw, feel the small, almost imperceptible shudder. A smug thought that maybe that he should've seen.

Watch the tilt of her head as she grins at me, mouths close enough to brush.

"If you're only starting now then you're already losing Park."

Body jolting forward at the way my grip tightens, tugs her closer, every sense attuned to the way her body shifts as I turn to face her, but rather than steadying herself, she tilts into the motion, eyes shining with amusement and something akin to satisfaction. Pressing closer to me, hand against my chest, brushing over my top to skim upwards. Fingers looping through a chain to tug me into her, pushing her body into an arch, hand at the low of her back, pressing harder to push the arch into something more pronounced. Eyes dropping to linger over her chest, eyeing the neckline, at the proffered expanse of skin that draws me, lures me to lather marks over the sensitive skin. Knowing full well how she already looks with marks scattering her body where my touch has lingered. Has stopped because I know it draws out soft quiet breathy sounds and keened moans.

"I said 10 didn't I?"

"What did you want me to do? Put on a show for you for every single moment of it?" voice lilting.

"Maybe."

"But that's exactly what I was doing. A girl's gotta do something to keep busy Park. 10 minutes is plenty for me—" words trailing off as her head tilts to the side with a lazy laugh, eyes flickering away to glance back at the guy—an impatient harsh sound spills from my mouth, hands gripping to twist her away, one hand at her hip, the other at her jaw—angling her gaze back firmly to me.

"And what exactly could you do to me in 10 that...lesser might not recover from?"

Hands tightening with warning because if she intended to go back at all after just this dance, if she thought we were done when we were far from beginning...

And then her face's turning back to me, her eyes are refocusing and her gaze flits to the clasp of my hands before her mouth curls with something akin to triumph.

"Like I don't think it'd even take ten to get you spilling in that– is that leather?"

"Like it?" lips curling up, her train of thought distracted as her eyes drag lower, refocusing, reassessing, scrutinising...examining... as if taking me in for the first time... as if she's trying to be subtle about the... ogling.

"Didn't get a proper look when you were eye-fucking me at the bar?"

"Different because–" her hand skims over the waistband, brushing over the side of my leg, the muscles in my thighs unconsciously tightening. Flexing.

"It's different to just enjoy the sight... it's another thing to get to touch."

"Could've been doing a whole lot more than touching if you weren't out tonight."

"Guess we were meant to end up fucking one way or another."

And all the whilst our bodies gravitate closer, hands snaking over her hips, tracing a path down here back, over fabric that maps out the dip in her spine, that stretches taut over the curve of her ass, that if my hand drifted lower would brush against the back of her thighs, directly against the skin.

All the whilst while we tiptoe... dance right over a line that feels more and more blurred because... she's... tolerable... if I've sought her out to dance? If she invited me back to the floor?

"You'll be all talk if what you do in the bedroom you can't do right now." even though it's clear she likes what she sees, what she feels. Testing waters we've both waded too deep into. Playing with the control she knows neither of us have enough resistance to hold out on tonight. Fuelled by the buzz, of whatever high and rush that being just us brings. That even at the beginning of giving in, we're spiralling for an end we both know is coming.

"Is that why you've been dancing like that? Because you want me to dance with you the same way I fuck you?"

"Can you do either properly?" eyes alight with taunting fire.

My hands grip tight at her waist, yanking her closer to tilt my head closer, height adjusted just so but not enough– fingers dragging up to grip her jaw tight, to tilt her face backwards. Leaning forwards into her, noses brushing, mouths skimming one another. Scorching where they touch.

Wine-red. That's the colour they look like.

And when I place that... I want to know if they taste like it too.

"Night's young doll... why don't you find out?"

[......]

It's easy to forget whatever this is when it's hazy around the edges by alcohol and the nameless crowd that just as easily lets for these few moments, bodies pressed close, flush to one another– be just another precursor to what we already have.

Surrounded by blurred bodies and faces I can't distinguish from each other, unable to pinpoint features save for the fact that the air crackles with the electric charge of adrenaline, with a mindlessness in dancing and letting loose. In losing yourself to become part of that nameless mass.

It's easy to forget that nothing exists on either side when by dancing with (Y/N), we become part of that nameless pleasure and feeling, dancing simply by feeling. Bodies responding to one another. Driven solely by attraction, by that tether that yanks me to her just as furiously and wantonly that reciprocates, that tugs her closer.

An entangled motion of limbs, clothes barring us but still feeling every inch of her body with the intimate knowledge of what it feels when she moves against me like that, each sensual move akin to a more controlled motion of what it feels like to fuck her. Bodies in tandem, in rhythm... but not usually like this.

This is how she looks. Eyes heavy and face tilted back, fingers skimming from the curve of her waist to trace the underside of her breast, to drag leisurely upwards. Over bare skin to tilt her chin upwards, fingers gripping her jaw to angle her face close to mine.

Hands gripping her waist and hips, twisting her around so I can see her, see her properly rather than the tilted angle of her head peering up at me.

And if that'd been dangerous...this is lethal.

Lashes fluttering against skin as I peer down at her, head angling closer, thumb dragging from the curve of her jaw to press to her lips, soft flesh parting under my touch, under the rougher pressure, the flick of tongue against skin, the blackened gaze of pupils that dilate slightly. Hazed but cognizant irises that reflect me back in them. As if the sight of me consumes them. I like that.

Whatever she reads in my gaze, thought or otherwise, she banishes with the tilt of her body pressing closer, with the way her eyes linger heavy on my lips, wanting to trace them out, bruise them with the force and relentless hungering want of her own.

Fingers curling loose into my jacket to tug my body more firmly into hers, demanding that closeness to be limb to limb, line to curves, heated flesh to hers, eyes dragging down to follow the curled smirk that slowly spreads across her lips, that brushes against my thumb so that when it draws away it's stained by her lipstick. Stained by the shade of promises and pleasures and everything in between. As if she can't fight whatever... whatever that snare is called. Whatever its hold is. A noose, a web, a trap.

My body rounds hers, a circling motion akin to the constant ones we weave around one another, ground sturdier than the fluid slipperiness of ice yet something... something wrenches my body off its axis, drags it with wild abandon to her, skimming around her side, fingers trailing over her waist before my body presses to hers, presses to the curve of her spine and her backside, heat seeping off her body—scorching in its heated invite.

But whatever she gives...she doesn't give easily. Doesn't surrender her body to the loose rhythm of the music, doesn't surrender it by pressing back against me. The slow brush of her hips taunting before she puts a slither of gap between us. Head turning to glance at me, lips curling up when my hand curls tighter at her hip, tugging her back against me.

"Didn't think you had it in you to know how to dance." she murmurs, featherlight soft. Dangerous hushed whisper, the quiet nature of it drawing me closer simply to hear her, simply because the hushed enticement is too much to resist. Because even whispers are siren calls. And I don't know how or when the pull started... just that I don't know how to pull away from it now.

"Why? Is brawn and muscle all I am to you?"

"I don't know about muscle--" she lilts with taunt, breath hitching—the sound unmissed even in the bass of the music, in the pulsing music that ripples through blood and flesh.

My body presses harder, fingers digging into fabric, lips hot against the curve of her shoulder, teeth tugging at the thin strap. Tongue flicking against skin, mouthing along the sloped curve, feeling the way her breaths betray her. Feel the way she presses back, even as I draw away slightly. Lips quirking up.

"Yet when I pin you down you know don't you doll? That if I wanted, if you wanted, I could keep you like that as we fucked. Sometimes... sometimes I think that's all you'd want."

"It's not." voice light, wavery. Spilling empty, hollow lies that her body reveals, tracing the curve of her throat, the bobbed swallow with my eyes. Gaze dipping lower to her neckline, wanting nothing more than to press biting kisses into the proffered curves.

"No? Wouldn't want that? Shame."

"Why would it be a shame?"

"Because I would do pretty much anything to see you writhe and not be able to move." the words rasped into skin.

The visceral image it paints liberally in my mind, a groaned need in the sound that wrenches itself out my throat. That had she been turned around I'd have felt the quiet exhale pressed to my skin instead. Body guiding hers to move, low amusement as my laugh brushes against her shoulder, mouthing at her skin before my hips brush against hers. Before I draw her to move back against me, hips flush with one another. Rutting against the curve of her backside, feeling the near-painful constraint of leather against the way arousal flares to life, heady enough to make my head pulse. Length hardening at the way she responds with a tilt of her head angled back, pressed to my side– that all it'd take is for her to turn her head and that same lipstick shade could mark my mouth as hers for the night.

"It'd cost you."

"What?" Cos for that I'd pay whatever damned cost she'll put to it. Because I know she'll hold it to me... but the sight of it, the thought of it... sends all my blood rushing south. Makes me dizzy with the thought of what it'd feel if she surrendered her body to mine, if that fight and push for control, that game of push and pull's aftermath when it imploded.

Something else flickers in her eyes, something alongside the lust, the pooled need. Something else– something indecipherable and so something out of reach. An emotion and thought that's intangible... that I can't reach out for to grasp. Because it's lost to the music. It's lost to the way she pushes her hips in an intentional motion just so, wavering laugh that crackles with desire.

"I don't know yet." (Y/N) finally says.

My eyes drift lower. Gaze turning heavier.

Teeth scraping against her jaw, tongue flicking against the brief sting it leaves behind before my mouth ducks lower, breath sharp against her skin. Voice rippling with control that frays around the edges and quickly begins its disentanglement.

"Tick tock."

"Night's young–" she echoes.

"Not long enough for what I want to do to you because I wouldn't be opposed if the night lasted forever."

"Careful Park... you might start sounding romantic." the word dripping off her tongue with a mocked disdained laugh that's teasing, that makes my spine tingle.

Voice lofty.

Romance isn't what I think of when I see her.

Romance isn't the hard ice of her words cutting, nor the touch of her body melding to mine with heated fury. Romance isn't dressed like sin and the ache of my mouth to draw off the layers regardless.

The sound of my laugh rings in my ears before it melts into the music.

"The only swooping off your feet I intend to do is cos your legs are wrapped around me."

But then the pace of the music slows and so does the pace and rhythm of our bodies against one another. The song changes, almost as if goading us with its slowness, compelling our pulses to calm and our breaths to try level even if the tension in the air is charged, a weighted taste that sits on my tongue. Coats it.

Even as my words dangle between us, (Y/N)'s eyes rooted to mine as if what lingers suspended is hypnotic. Makes the air fraught as if it'll shatter any moment.

And then her hand is gripping my wrist. Hard enough to bruise, eyes glittering with unfathomable depths in pupils blackened with carnal need.

"How badly do you want me?"

And her own answer, the unspoken words linger. Make the air swell thicker.

Cos I want you to want me as much as I do right now.

"I want you like crazy." the admission hushed, laced with the brush of tongue against the shell of her ear, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin beneath her ear, breath hot against skin. Mouth pressing a lingering open-mouthed kiss against her skin just to feel her shudder. Revelling in it.

It's a crack.

In the tension.

In the fog.

In the haze.

To hear the words murmured back.

"I want you too."

That the insanity of it all– is not just mine alone.

---------------------

The bathroom door closes with a finality, a shoved motion that's only a fraction of the impatience burning its way through my bloodstream, stronger and headier than the alcohol. Drunk and intoxicated on the fantasy of what it'll be like to be pressed to her without anything or anyone barring the closeness. Lips pressing hasty rough kisses against one another, breaths sharp and the sound of each kiss soft and slick, rushed along with the harried pace of hands reaching for one another. Body pressing hers against the edge of the sink.

Hands pressing bruising prints into her hips, dragging the skirt of her dress up roughly, mouth tearing itself away from hers as her dress is bunched around her waist, dropping to the ground between legs that spread wider with invitation, that teeter slightly unstable on heels as I grip at her thighs and tug them open wider. Settling between them, kneeled between the sight of curved flesh, soft to the touch, even though I know about the muscles under it. Even though I know full well what it feels like to have those thighs clamping shut, trying to twist away from the pleasure that my hand or mouth between them give.

"Impatient are we Park?" a lilted rough coo, breathless and sharp with desire, words laced with prickling want, eyes heavy as she looks down at me, hair spilling past, falling forward with the tilt of her head before her eyes flutter shut. Clenching tight when my fingers smoothen up her thighs, palm travelling up the inside of her leg, thumb brushing over the apex of her thighs. Lacy black fabric that does little to hide and everything to show, feeling the way she jolts at the harsh circling press of my thumb to her nub, teeth sinking into her lips, but it does nothing to stifle the wanton moan that spills out. Hips jerking forward.

Lips curling up with delight at the sound, at the way she staves off seeing me even though the pleasure is visible on her body, in the way her fingers curl loose against the edge of the sink, body shadowed with red lights, that make seeing every expression difficult—but not when I've become accustomed to it.

Not when I know that already she's so wired up, so keyed up on lust, drunk on the sensations that even the briefest of them have her reacting.

"I don't do a build up to the foreplay."

"Like edging yourself? If it took you that long to build up enough courage to get the chance to put your hands on me?" words lilted with a mocking softness that's unlike the jagged sharpness of her smile and stare, the cockiness of it that just winds a tendril of frustration and annoyance round my gut. Getting even by drawing out a shuddered exhale when my fingers skim over the clinging material over her core, feeling the way her body reacts, thumbing harsher at her nub over the fabric.

"What was that?" I taunt.

Fingers slowly circling...circling...all it'll take is for the fabric to be pushed aside for my fingers to be against her heat.

"When I can tell it did things to you to dance like that didn't it? Knowing you're being a fucking tease."

"A turn on." Words corrective, laced with the soft stutter of breath, smile loosened and lax with pleasure, eyes deep pools of enticement as she peers at me from under lowered lashes.

"Oh I bet you did... but no one else gets to see you like this do they? Only my mind and body you fuck around with isn't it doll?"

"Didn't know you had a jealousy streak."

"Don't delude yourself doll... I'm not in the habit of sharing. So everything for them was to see—I get to taste... I get to touch."

"So what're you doing not putting your mouth to its one good use?"

Fire blisters under my skin, curled wisps of heat that skim down my spine at the amused haughtiness on her face, that won't do.

"Don't forget doll me being on my knees doesn't mean it's me who's surrendering."

Her eyes glint.

"Wouldn't dream of it Park." Voice lofty and the words a mocked lilt. Honeyed sharpness.

"Gonna let me have a taste?" words whispered hushed against skin, drawn out slow, lips featherlight as they brush against her, slowly... slowly—

My teeth sink in against her inner thigh, a sudden clamp of teeth and tongue that yanks out a startled cry from her mouth and when I press my lips against the sting, lathing over the skin, thumbing at the mark I can't entirely see under the lighting but one I know with certainty will remain does my mouth inch upwards. Lips closing around her nub over the lace, over the steadily ruined material, teeth tugging. The sharp sound is fraught with need, trembles as her hips buck forward harshly.

"But you do dream of me don't you? Bet you've dreamt of me like this more than once... am I getting to your head doll?" words murmured low, brushed against her skin of her thigh, skimming up in a trail of stinging nipped kisses before my fingers hook into the fabric to draw aside.

The faint tremble to her leg as I grip the back of her thigh, hoist a leg up and over my shoulder, the angle pushing her hips back against the sink, an arched curve to her body as she teeters unsteadily. The press of her heel against my back when her back curves, keened moan at the press of a finger, then a second, easing into her, setting a quick rough rhythm of uneven sharp thrusts that punctuate the distant muffled bass of music with the sweeter rougher sounds that spill from her mouth with abandon.

Mouth at her nub, tugging at it between my teeth, sharp jolts of pleasure that wrack her body before my tongue chases the taste of her to spill on it, brushing against where my fingers are working in and out in uneven thrusts and curls. The hand that's free grips at her thigh, fingers digging into muscle and flesh, hard enough to bruise, hard enough that tomorrow she'll see exactly how the night panned out.

A voice, slurred around the edges, somewhere between the border of tipsy and drunk filters through the banging on the door, bodies freezing in tandem with a feeling akin to déjà vu and not at the same instant. No rippling fear dancing down my spine and threatening to pierce through the thickened fog of desire. But it doesn't slow my motions, doesn't stop the twist of my fingers as they angle just so—there. The unbridled moan and choked sound of my name and a curse on her tongue, a shuddered wanton sound that I pride on having drawn out.

It takes a few moments to realise the voice is calling (Y/N)'s name through the door, past the bass of the music that seeps its way through the gaps.

Eyes flitting up, watching a face shuttered with pleasure dazedly blink, turn towards the sound, breaths ragged. Fingers slowing their pace but not easing away. She tries to draw her leg down out of unconscious response, my hand gripping at the back of her leg in warning, in refusal. Body still angled open for me.

"I don't need an answer—but caaaaaall if you need a rideeeeee... come back to mine remember..."

Voice uneven around the edges when she replies. Wavering when my fingers sink back in deep. Hard.

"I will." Two syllables strained and requiring all the willpower she has to stay steady. The press of my grin against her skin makes her eyes flash wide open with alarm and threat and warning. Heeding none of it as my lips brush against the inside of her thigh, pressing slick kisses as my mouth inches upwards, lips smeared with her arousal—that teetering edge of her release only staved off momentarily.

A keened sound, pitched and airy and then clamped lips. Fingers yanking harsh against my hair, entangling further into it as she grips at me, twisting her hips back but it only pushes her further into the sink, back arched as she glowers at me. Fiery lust and condemnation in her gaze. the intensity of her glare forcibly stiffened when my teeth tug. Tongue chasing the taste of her to spill on it again. The push of her hips rocking forward with a helpless buck, a jerk-reaction to the sensation, head twisting away from the door to muffle the sound.

Ears drowning out any noise save for her... because she's all I can focus on... all my senses narrow down to the pleasure my touch is giving her and attentively drinking it all in, feeling the way her balance wobbles, hand brushing down her calf and gripping tighter at the leg hooked over my shoulder, face between her thighs.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I dimly register that she's speaking again voice pinched taut and losing control, mouth curling triumphant against her, thumb pressing hard. Then I register her hand tightening in my hair, the sharp near-painfully pleasured keen of breath,

"Oh fuck—"

The arched tension in her body betraying her, hips pushing forward, rocking into my touch, words petering off with a strangled waver of breath before the voice filters through somewhere in the dim distance. Too far, too out of mind and too—everything but important to even register.

Mouth against her core, tongue and teeth working out sounds that grow in volume, spill with abandon, with a reckless headiness that's uncaring... that just like every single moment since our eyes met, since we've begun the dance, the pull, the game of cat and mouse—though neither are mouse, neither surrendering to being prey.... Both hunting and circling one another.

It's a build up and a spiralled unravel of watching her dance and needing every single instant to have been my body against hers, my body pressing to hers, hands gripping tight at her hips and rocking my own to hers, feeling the music pulse and filter through my veins, seep in with the same headiness that arousal has from the moment her eyes connected with mine... and unnoticeable to everyone else the air shifted—turned heavier with the blooming tendrils of lust. That she only drew out further and further.

And it shatters when she spills over my tongue and fingers, drawing out the pleasure in ebbing waves that flare strong and inescapable. That even with knees that ache with the cold bite of tiles under them that even then the tightness in my pants, the way desire crackles between the two of us and the way her hand drops to the collar of my jacket to fist into and yank me up. The way her legs wobble and her mouth is harsh and angry and still crackles with pent-up need that the night hasn't even begun to satiate. Her mouth punishingly hard against mine, teeth sinking into my bottom lip, tongue curling against mine as I groan against her. Hands curling at her waist and leg, hooking it up to press my hips to hers.

So she can feel what her sounds, her pleasure does to me.

"You fucking prick. You did that on purpose."

I realise she's talking about the voice on the other side of the door.

Her mouth brushes mine, teeth sinking in hard as my mouth upturns with smug satisfaction.

Swallowing the hiss I make with a sweeping flick of her tongue.

"I was using my mouth—didn't mean you had to for anything but letting out those noises."

A glittering sheen of sweat pearls on her skin, invites my gaze to her throat, the uneven harshness of breath and the slick heat of her skin under my touch, impatient and wanting to drag the dress off her body. To taste the faint tang of salt off her skin.

"Fuck you Park."

"Actually I believe that's your job."

There's something that wars in her eyes, a myriad of thoughts that battle for victory, the dark gleam of them enticing more than warning, drag me closer, hand inching down her hip to toy with the hem of it, nails briefly skimming against her skin just to feel her jolt.

The heavy hammering of a fist against the door shatters her stare, though the closeness of our bodies, the unevenness of her breath... all of it ignores the fact that on the other end of the door is a mass of noise and people and--

"Let's go to mine." Tracing circles on sensitive skin and—

"What?" my eyes narrow in on her. Stare.

"My dorm's closer."

"What?" not sure if I've heard her right.

"Come back with me to mine." Fingers plucking at my shirt, loosely tugging with the confident ease of someone who's perfectly assured where exactly the night is ending, in whose sheets...

"Yours?"

"Did the music make you hard on hearing? Because I rather prefer if you're hard—"

"Fuck off..."

"That's not the plan though Park... if I wanted to get myself off tonight I wouldn't have bothered replying to your text. Besides... isn't getting me off the only thing you're go—average at?"

"If all I am is a sex toy then you could be ending the night just as capably alone can't you? And if I was average... you said it yourself, could've found someone more suited to your needs to spend the night with." my voice rasps, the words crackling with ire and challenge. With heat and goading taunt.

As if I haven't had her twisting and arching under my touch, for my fingers and tongue.

As if there's anyway this night ends with anything but her under me. Or on top.

The semantics I'm not too fussy about. The technicalities of it something to be sorted out later.

Mind still clouded with the lingering traces of alcohol, very clearly, because it sounded like (Y/N) had invited me back to her dorm. But the fog doesn't cloud any other sense, doesn't detract from how her hand curls loose around my wrist, the other skimming up to pluck lightly at a necklace.

Light enough touches that I feel all too aware of—feel that bite of metal already warm dig slightly into skin. Feel the way her fingers curl, heat melding to heat, flesh to flesh as she draws me with her, walking backwards, my hand fumbling for the door, reaching past her to wrench it open.

Before the club draws us back into its cocktail of headiness—in its vibrancy and bass and inebriation and uninhibited recklessness. But it's already too late for us I suppose.

Because a cocktail of those sensations pulse through my veins as if directly injected into them.

And as if everything else fades... recedes into the background, into the blurred recesses of my mind, I can't focus on anything save for the curl of mischief enticing as it leads me further out, out, out—into the night, air nipping at skin where it's chilled, music and sounds pouring out, spilling out with stumbled heels and rich laugh—as if trying to entice us back. But all I tilt to is her.

Not sure how we get back, how or where time goes from between the chilled road to the inside of a taxi to the press of her door—shoved against it with a coy smirk and a hand tightening in my jacket and hungered smirk chasing the quick heat of my own, tongues slick against one another, chasing... fighting for dominance, for control. Even like this the two of us too proud to relent, to give in, to surrender it willingly or easily or readily to one another.

Dazed as I look at her even as I blindly tilt forward to chase the feeling of her mouth, a bruising pressure, against my own, mouth tingling with the weight of hers even as she darts a glance about, the hallways dim and empty of life. Empty of sound that isn't the hurried beeping of a door lock being hastily opened, door shoved and body chasing mine, steering me back into a space that I realise with a start... is hers.

She's everywhere.

Fingers in my hair, my clothes, lips against mine, against skin, against my jaw, breaths rough and uneven as they ghost along me. Steps hurried and knocking into mine as I'm steered backwards.

A startled laugh against her jaw, gripping it to angle her mouth to mine. Hand gripping her waist when she moves to toe off her heels.

"Leave them on."

"Like them?" a grin in her answer.

Reluctance falling into temptation, into haste, into greed as I sink my teeth into her bottom lip hard, tongue slowly brushing over its sting as my lips curl up against her mouth. Silent, unspoken admission of it.

Cos I won't say it first.

"I want to see them around me tonight."

"What was that you said? About swooping me off my feet?" words ringing with clarity. Eyes sharp with it.

Sharp enough that it leaves embers in its wake. And those embers flare into flames.

And those flames make the heat under my skin mount to a dizzying height.

Hand dragging down to hitch a leg up, twisting to press her briefly into—her wall, hips rocking forward. Feeling the digging press of a heel against the low of my thigh as she obliges with a wicked grin that's swollen and mussed and threatens to drag me forward again.

Addiction doesn't have to be just drugs. It can full well be the bliss and pleasure that a person brings.

Drawing back, head tilting as I look at her.

Already dishevelled.

But I want to see her wrecked, want to see her makeup ruined.

The painstaking process of putting it all on only for unbridled lust to ruin her lips, lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth, undoubtedly leaving a tinted claim against my mouth. The visceral image of those same lips stretched around and sinking down around me sends a bolt of pleasure to jolt through me.

"I guess that's easily enough proved if you can't walk straight. The thinking straight's—well that's another matter isn't it?"

"As if you don't think with your dick first—"

"If I didn't I don't think either of us would be here."

"Touché."

"Guess I better put my mouth to better use then shouldn't I?" but it sounds far from surrendering, it echoes her taunt, especially when her lips linger at my pulse, teeth scraping against my throat before lowering. And her eyes flash with the visceral recent reminder of it.

My throat arches at the press of teeth and tongue dipping lower, breath wavery exhales against the hollow of my throat, teeth at the chains. Tugging in the same way her fingers had.

Resistance where I pull back, watching the haze in her eyes turn razor-sharp with focus.

Limbs disentangling as my hips draw from hers, a brief pulse of confusion before it morphs into a darkened gaze.

"Took all the effort to bring me back here only to want a wall? Not going to give me the tour?" voice low, hushed. Ringing with amusement.

"So you can get comfortable? You wish."

"All I need doll is your bed." Voice lofty.

The shove of her hand, demanding and controlling, as it presses hard against my chest is all the nudge she needs, all the nudge I need as she presses her body close to me. Steering the two of us back towards it, fingers skimming at her shoulder, toying with the thin straps of her dress.

When her body presses to mine, the back of my legs hitting the edge of the bed...everything stills.

Something silent, unspoken... contemplative and assessing—as if gauging each other's next play, next move. My hand drags down her spine before resting at the low of her back, pressing her impossibly closer, head lowering to tug at those same thin straps with my teeth, easing it off her shoulder. The slowness of it all is disorienting, startles a breath she sucks in harshly, the bared skin providing a canvas for my teeth to sink into hard. Mouth against her shoulder, hand dragging her dress up before hers grips my fingers to draw them up. Finding a zip at her back.

Drag it down to the low of her back, feeling the dress tighten and strain briefly over the curve of her ass, curves full and fabric clinging, before it spills down the same legs I've had my face buried between not even an hour ago.

Black silhouette of lace over her breasts and centre, clinging to her as I reach to unhook it, peeling it off, discarded hastily before my mouth lowers against her curves, fingers brushing against an already stiff, pert nub, feel the jolt of her body as she tilts closer to the touch. Chasing pleasure in its taunting slowness, hissing my name low.

"Park don't fucking play."

"Isn't that why you bought me back? You want me to take my time..."

The sound of impatience is fuel to fire, flames burning hotter low in my gut at the hard press of nails against my nape when (Y/N)'s hand curls around skin and yanks me closer, lips hard and unrelenting. A kiss that's all pressure and pent-up energy that needs to be dispelled. Touch withdrawing to shuck off my jacket. The eagerness of her hands rough as she shoves the material off before reaching for the hem of my shirt to tug upwards and draw off. Nails slowly tracing the ink at my ribs, breath hot at my throat as she murmurs low and soft.

"I really fucking hate there's attraction enough." Words hissed.

Displeased.

Hand dragging down from my ribs to toy with the waistband, to thread through belt loops before finally reaching for the buckle.

The drag of leather against skin as I draw off my clothes, tossed onto the floor.

Feeling an odd sense of deja-vu even though this hasn't happened yet... thee newness of it all disorienting in the way it makes me feel off kilter, unsure to my next move until (Y/N) makes it for the both of us.

Hand hard against my chest to shove me back, the fog of drink still clouding some corners of my mind where the shoved motion teeters my balance, back sinking against sheets, pushing myself up on my arms when her hands are at my waistband. Drawing boxers off.

My hand curls around my length, a groaned relief at the constraining pressure easing, length throbbing, pulsing with need, jerking into the loose curled fist of my own touch.

"As much as I like the show, it'll have to wait."

"Not up for it today doll?"

"I had enough of a show at the club. Didn't know a hockey player could move his hips."

"Better than that guy you were with."

A flash of ire bubbles up when she speaks. Lofty and lilted. Goading.

"I don't know~ now dancers know how to use their hips. Their bodies are like ours. Made to perform."

A glower twists my lips, her words purposely stoking a fire and pouring fuel right into it. The sharpness it leaves behind an acrid taste, a feeling I need to get out of my system, a blistering glowering distaste at her words, contempt at them. Hips pushing into her touch with a harsh thrust before my hand grips her, fingers pressing tight into her wrist.

Fingers curling tighter when she tugs back, strained resistance before a harsher yank has her hovering over me, leaning into me, hair brushing skin and the mocked smugness of her mouth taunting where it hovers in the space of her head just over mine.

Feel her body hover for all but a moment before she straddles me.

Leg swinging over my hips to push her hips down in a teasing motion.

"Guess today I see your performance."

"Guess today's performance you'll feel tomorrow still." I snap back.

"I'll be the judge of that."

Though when I reach for her, her hands dart out, gripping tightly at my wrists with a fierce pressure that belies the intoxicating tipsy haze of her stare, the slow smirk that curls leisurely at her mouth, the slow brush of her hips against mine as if each movement is laced with the fogged haze of drink, as if the loose curl and sway of her body at the club lingers here. Every move purposeful, drawn out... it's no different to the toying sway of her motions beckoning and luring and inviting whatever the night brings, eyes a siren call that she knows how to wield, and I don't know how its pull grows.

Fingers tightening at my wrists before they loosen, leaning back with a grin that's sharp around the edges. Prickling.

And when my hands reach out, the low soft laugh is fuel to the heat. To the curling tendrils of lust that turn into winding snares that drag me deeper.

"You're thinking with your dick and not even a single brain cell if you think bringing you back to mine was so you could lead. I brought you back so I could fuck you." hips flush to mine, thighs astride my own, a clenching squeezing pressure of them as they press into mine, leaning down to peer at me, dark dilated eyes blown wide with lust. Fingers fumbling unfocusedly for the bedside light, her body casted in softer glows and shadows than the harshness of the club. But somehow it makes her look like sin's incarnate, hair falling forward—so far from its perfectly maintained styles that my fingers itch to sink into the unbound curling strands to entangle in the wild freeness of them. So I do.

Only registering it through the fog when she intakes a sharp breath, fingers entangled in the unruly, untamed nature of her hair, a tugged arch that her throat falls into, body surging up to press my mouth to the column of her throat. Tongue and teeth mapping out her pulse, feeling it thud erratically, wildly under my touch. Groaned want against her skin as my hands grip her hips, tug her forward, hips rocking up with a feverish buck to alleviate even a fraction of the heat simmering in my veins.

A grapple for control, neither of us willing to surrender, neither of us willing to relinquish the heady control we have on each other... neither of us really willing to accept it exists though every single time I find myself giving in to the pleasure, to the peaked high her touch, her body, her, her, her...

Teeth sinking punishingly into my bottom lip when her fingers grip my jaw tight to angle my mouth to hers, head lowered to slant her lips to mine, bruising, harsh kiss that's crackling desire that spills over the cracks of faded control. Hips pushing back down to rock into each messy buck of my own, grinding down against me, hands gripping at curves, tugging her forward, tongue sweeping against hers, swallowing rough breaths, the faint taste of alcohol lingering on her and the headier feeling of her tongue curling against mine. Lips swollen and aching and tingling when they part, eyes dragging down her front to take her in, clasped hold loosening only to thumb and tug and twist at a pert nipple.

"Condom... condom..." word muttered harsh against my lips, hips rocking impatiently even as her head falls back, hair spilling down, and her chest arched, pebbled buds begging for my lips to sink around them, to tug at them until they're aching and swollen.

"What's the rush doll? No-one's going to see us like this and I'm not going anywhere."

"No more... no more fucking around..."

"What happened? I thought you were going to fuck me."

Her eyes flash with heat and frustration, a sharpening hardening stare that turns more focused as she looks at me, glowering heat in her stare when they drop to my lips.

"Guess if you want things done right you do have to do them yourself. Even if that's doing a cocky player that can't put his agility to get things started quicker." Words vitriol and laced with sharp, piercing desire. Reaching past me to tug her bedside drawer open, hands quick and deft as she rolls the condom on, the tight squeezing grip at the base of my length punishing—smirking at the sharp buck of my hips off the sheets.

Hips slowly rocking over me, lining herself up before her hands settle on my chest, slowly sinking down with an expression of pure pleasure, lashes fluttering heavy, stare lidded.

My hips buck up, chasing each thrust for thrust, feeling her nails drag against my skin when her fingers curl against my chest, using me for her pleasure, to push her hips back down deeper, hands grasping at her sheets, at (Y/N), dragging from the crease of her hip to tug at her thigh, watching and tracing every jostled movement of her body, the way her back arches and creates sharp lines and curves, body already flushed from dancing, her breaths uneven and staccato.

"Gonna give me a good ride doll?" Words drawled out against her skin, hand curling around her nape to yank her closer, lips feeling ragged and swollen by the tight, unrelenting pressure of a frantic mouth against my own. Every breath harried, rushed, adjusting my stance, legs angled so that when she rocks her hips down the jerked snapped motion of my own pushes deep into her, angles her legs open wider. Arms banding around her to keep her body pressed to mine, feel the way her body twists but is pressed back flush to mine as I thrust upwards into her. Sharp curses and half-breaths exhaled against my shoulder, teeth sinking in bruising to leave a claim behind in muscle and flesh and skin.

That grapple for space and air as she pushes herself upright, errant strands of hair clinging to her temples and neck, (Y/N)'s eyes darkening as she looks at where the two of us are joined, a quiet moan slipping out as she brushes fingers down her front to circle around where my length buries itself into her. The sight of it makes the lust spiral into tighter circles, muscles tightening and clenching.

A sharp near-painful splintering wave of pleasure that ripples through my body, sets fire to skin, something about her that looks so lost in the pleasure... using me for her own pleasure, fingers reaching to replace hers, gripping her wrist tight to drag the slick digits across my tongue, tasting her before my own touch presses hard circles onto her nub. Delighting and revelling in the way I can feel her body react, the way her hand presses against the sheet as her body bows forward, holding herself upright. Fingers fisted tightly to clutch for purchase.

Angles and curves harsh and taut under her bedroom light, a different headiness in seeing her be undone, rocking her hips down to mine, in a space that's so entirely her but right now all she can focus on is me. And that in this room, a space entirely moulded by her... all I can feel is (Y/N). The way her thighs tremble, faint tremors that make her pace falter, makes her hips slow, hands gripping her wrists and using the angle to punctuate each thrust with sharper force when I can tell how close she is.

"Now who's fucking who doll?" words a low exhale.

"It doesn't matter if it's your bed or mine—you're just waiting for me to give you time of day to fuck aren't you?" wielding that push-and-pull attraction, that crackling desire and yanking it towards her and with it... me. Glimmering eyes fuelling the frustration that coils at her cocky words, loose smirk turning sharp, when my body stills for a few long moments, her eyes drifting down to meet mine—and then clenching shut in the next instant when my hips grind in a painfully slow circling intense motion that steals breath from both our lungs and leaves it constricting in my throat.

Because it wasn't just me.

"Trying to act as if you haven't pushed your way into the locker rooms cos you're needy. Always want some sort of special treatment don't you ice princess?" words mocking, rough and cracking under the pleasure that makes my spine arch, shift off the bed.

"If I've brought you back then treat me right." Words sharp.

Laden with pleasure. With demand.

"I will."

[......]

Even though... even though barely one peak has barely staved off it's sharp edge that my hands are banding around her, gripping her to me, a twist of motion to press her encased figure against the sheets. Hands unravelling but only to find purchase on her hips, pinning her down against the same sheets she had me bucking up off, seeing the way her hair splays out across them, the way she looks up at me with dark want and unbridled need, a spiralling mix that drags us both further and further into the very inferno that makes our skin hot to the touch... that makes me so sure that her hands will leave her touch branded across my body the same way mine will hers—that the heat will drag us deeper, skin slick with exertion, lowering my head to mouth along her throat and collarbone. Tasting the tang of salt on skin without hindrance, without rush. Breaths too light and wavery against her, lungs sharp with each inhale of (Y/N).

That weight that'd straddled me, now my hands seek to press hard against her own sheets, knee nudging her thighs apart to rock up against her core, feel the sensitive keen of sound ripple against my jaw, feel her mouth part as she twists under me, mouth lowering further down to suck coloured marks into the curve of her breasts, mouth sinking around her buds, alternating, until they've stiffened and the brush of my lips and breath is enough to make her chest arch, unconsciously pushing further into the ministrations that her wavering breaths tremble as a result of.

Slick skin pressed to one another, exertion and sex and lust mingling together as I reach down between her thighs, thumb brushing featherlight against her—just to relish in the sharp jolt it elicits. Guiding myself back into her with a slow drawn-out thrust that leaves the air in both our lungs feeling punctured out, body taut as I hold myself above her.

The press of her leg locking around me, heels long since clattered onto the ground, the drag of her body incessantly tugging me closer to draw me deeper into the curved invite of her body, the angle that my hand pins her thigh open at pushes me deeper, further into her. The angle making her cry out.

There. Each rock of my hip increases in pace, turns sharper, harder, uneven and rough—blistering arousal that spills into every move, every thrust and grinding circled press of my hips flush with her own, barely drawing out before sheathing myself in a quick sudden motion.

Every thought narrows down to tasting, swallowing the sounds (Y/N) makes, when they sound like this—so, so sensitive and wound up, when every inch of her is lost in that haze, in that intensity of pleasure so strong and visceral it veers on being near painful with how it lances at skin, how her nails dig into my arm, clutching at me, the other curled tight into her sheets. Hard enough it whitens her knuckles. Hard enough that it aches as my hips rock to hers, each jostle pushing her further on her sheets, hand dragging down her front to press down on the low of her abdomen, feel her tighten and clench... a surprised, startled harsh sound when the pressure makes her feel every snap of my hips burying deep and hard.

Body pressing closer, closer, closer as if trying to meld with hers, as if doing so will somehow lessen the need that burns hotter and hotter in my veins. An inescapable wanton lust that sears through every reason and thought until all there is are the trembling exhales and sounds muffled against my skin, muffled against my shoulder, littered across my throat and collarbones in tight keening breaths and lips that press stinging bites to skin. It's in the way my hand drags at her thigh to draw her closer and in response her other leg moves to wind around me, legs locking around my waist, at the low of my back. The locked vice of her body dragging me into each thrust and snap of hips with something that's deeper with the way she angles her hips up.

The way that when she falls apart, the glazed pleasure in her eyes is a snare that drags me down into my own, bodies arched with pleasure before slumping into hers. Sweat-slick skin pressing together, weight pressing her firmer into the bed, hand gripping her hip even as I twist onto my side to draw out of her. Watch her body slump as the pleasure makes her boneless, sinking limp and satiated against the sheets twisted and rumpled by our bodies.

The rise and fall of her chest uneven. Drawing in sharp breaths of air that are deep and ragged, watch the pleasured haze in her eyes pool with smug satisfaction, my eyes tracking hers across my body to see the faint smears of colour that her lipstick has left behind, a canvas mapping every assured touch, a scattered claim of exactly what and where her mouth has lowered.

"Guess it's not sex proof."

"You should get a refund." Words rasped out even as I sink down against the sheets, my own breaths unevenly light. Though seeing her lips, letting my eyes focus on them, makes smug pride flicker through me, satisfaction so deep and visceral at seeing her lips utterly ruined, swollen and lipstick mussed, smeared at the corner of her mouth. The slight way the makeup at her eyes has smudged at the corners..

Tousled and rumpled and wrecked.

Skin dewy with pleasure and flushed exertion, breaths laboured.

Hair tousled with fingers sinking into strands, winding around them and entangled in her, yanking her closer for open-mouthed kisses, messy and without finesse.

"I don't know—I think I should test it out a few times to know for sure."

"You know I'm a phone call—a text away." Grin lazy, eyes taking in the outline of her body, the way she sinks into her sheets with a blissful ease that makes my own body loosen as I sprawl out across them.

"Actually you're right where I want you." eyeing me with an appraising intent that makes me feel like the two of us circle around something, toy with its restraint just with the thrill of seeing where and how it ends.

Out of your mind... you must be out of your mind to entertain it.

But where there's the thrill of competition that flares the fiery combatting natures of our sports... there's just as much delight, crackling and fizzing and sparking, in seeing how this plays out... unsure yet we're both too far in, too far gone to retreat, to surrender and give up first.

So it'll keep going.

The brush of her lashes against skin is slow. Indulgently content and satiated.

Uneven breaths turning a fraction softer as they begin to settle.

"And where's that doll?"

"At hand's reach to use."

Just as you are too. To use and undo. To lose within but make you lose too.

[......]

"If you're staying at least move off my sheets so I can get into bed." Words hissed, a sharp yank of motion that has me blinking dazedly, eyes flashing open, staring unfocusedly around unfamiliar walls and an unfamiliar ceiling, twisting to comply with the harder yank that compels me to move off.

Mattress shifting and the sounds of pillows being adjusted.

A soft plushness tossed at my face and words grumbled, tired and cracking with fatigue. Worn out and yawned.

"...can stay?"

"Well you're either drunk off your ass or I fucked you too well... but I don't think you'll make it back to the dorms. So just stay." Words rolling off her tongue too easily, eyes blinking blankly as if she's barely registering when sleep crowds her mind, clusters close... making her eyes droop and blink sluggishly.

"Full of hot air I see." I snort, rolling onto my front, barely feeling the bed shift before the blanket's tossed haphazardly, tugging the pillow under my head, eyes blinking slow...slow...slow...

The sight of her shuffling more comfortably under blankets that are her own, a bed that's her own, a space that's her own... and yet there's barely a flicker of unease or discomfort or weirdness despite it being the first time coming back to hers—the novelty of it not seeming to sink in yet.

That thought lingers like a warning bell in the dark drowsy recesses of my mind.

But the lull of comfort and sleep and blanket is so heavy, so enticing that I'll just let my eyes drift for a moment because I've got to—

[......]

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...

"Shut it off..." words groaned with impatience and sleep, twisting to curl away from the sound as she burrows further into blankets and pillows. Body relaxing when the blaring sound cuts off, screen too harsh to eyes that haven't opened yet—fuck. The faint brush of a touch at my side.

The dying battery and the missed call glare up at me.

Then the time registers just as my phone buzzes.

🐨: ??? practice???

Fuck.

[......]

"I've got to go." Words soft and hushed, fingers grappling to draw hers off my wrist, feel them unconsciously tighten when she registers the resistance, thumb against the inside of my wrist. Sleepy, unspoken lure back to rumpled sheets, unconsciousness and her. Not even realising when they had or that when she'd twisted to hide from the noise her touch had slipped out. Asleep and unaware as she'd reached out.

And it'd be so easy too—easy to sink back, easy to curl into warmth, to fall asleep body curled around softness and an enmity that's erased when night falls and sleep drags us under. It's easy for it to dissolve when the harshness of her tongue softens with the slight smoosh of her cheek to her pillow, deep, even breaths.

"Stay with me a little while." Words slurred and heavy, so quietly mumbled as her face turns to curl into her pillow that whilst it makes my body freeze, turn still, the outline of her body softens further as she sinks into her sheets. Face smoothened out with sleep, words lost to dreams again.

The words make me falter because (Y/N)'s everything and yet never this—never soft or unguarded or void of the sharp fire and ice that carves her. This is a (Y/N) I don't know. And a glimpse of it feels like peering at something that's guarded and not meant for me to see and yet the words are soft and faint enough that I could pretend I hadn't heard but then she shifts on the sheets and—

Buzz.

🐨: Hurry. Up. Coach is fuming.

I must be out of my mind.

Wrist twisting free abruptly, a brief pull before her hand falls away, absently feeling out across the sheets before resting against warmth, body slipping away as I twist to get off the bed.

I'm mad. Mad, mad, mad.

Mad to entertain staying.

Mad to have stayed.

Mad to have fallen asleep.

Mad to have not set alarms.

Mad to be addicted in the first place.

To a dangerous vice that made it oh so easy for time to blur when it was all lost on her, in her—

Out of my mind if I thought Coach wasn't going to hand me my ass for being late to training, wincing as I stare at the time.

Stumbling as I get out of bed, gathering discarded clothes.

An odd sense of déjà vu and yet not—because I'd seen (Y/N) do the same thing, had tracked the hastiness and rushed movements, had felt my eyes linger on her body, bare and marked and re-clothing, hiding away what'd happened and with each layer re-drawn back on, had seen the night between us be so easily shifted out of sight.

And now to feel it myself, an ugly twist of something bitter rearing its head because I didn't want—

Buzz.

🐨: I'll get Coach in the office so you just get onto the ice the second you're here

🐥: I owe you.

🐨: Don't stress...

🐨: What's a Cap for? 🫡😉

But the comfort is short-lived no matter how grounding and reassuring it is, frazzled with the sudden loss of time, startled out of sleep—mind racing because I still needed to get my gear, get dressed and run down to the main rink which was at least 15 minutes from the dorms.

"....going?"

"I've got training... shit, shit, shit!" legs fumbling as I drag on leather pants, feeling far too tight and constricting now that the haze of alcohol is gone, now that I'm late and now that I know the effort it took me to drag them on, the same effort and time's going to be wasted in hurriedly yanking them off the moment I change into gear.

A soft laugh, sleepy, drowsy, weighted with fatigue. It makes it sound softer around the edges. It's amused without the sharpness.

My eyes flit to the source of the sound, eyes skimming quick and rushed over a lazy smile, lashes fluttering as she blinks slowly up at me, watching me from the comfort of her sheets—something so indescribably cosy that I pause, leather pants tugged halfway up my thighs until a warmer, richer laugh spills out. Head tilting against the pillows.

"As much as I'm enjoying the sight and regret that I didn't get to take em off you—got a bit stuck there Park? Something catch your eye?" the leisurely stretch of her body an enviable comfort that I can't enjoy.

Blankets shifting, the curve of her waist and flare of her hip where the sheet dips down, slips over skin, drawn back over to curl back into warmth, a stretched twist back into the warmth, a contented soft sigh exhaled against pillows and sheets and not skin.

I start into motion, wrestling the tight fabric back over my thighs with a soft curse, hastily dragging the top over my head before plucking my jacket up.

Late, late, late. Coach's voice is a hard hammering that resonates inside my head, that makes the faint, faint grogginess from drinking linger and pulse with a warning reminder.

But then she's speaking, and the hammering recedes to focus on the droopy amused quirk of her mouth.

"Enjoy your dictator's training."

"It's not funny! Coach is going to fucking lose it."

"Why go out clubbing? Or—why set training days on a Sunday as well?" a lazy shrugged slope of a bare arm.

"I don't know­—fuck it was so stupid." I hiss, tugging on my shoes.

Snatching up my phone, the sound of a quiet laugh and a lazy stretched sprawl that makes the sheets rustle.

"Guess you do know you make stupid calls Park."

My hand curls around the door handle, twisting the lock open and yanking at the door.

Briefly twisting before rushing out the door.

"Oh doll stupid was the last thing from your mind when I was with you last night."

"Don't be late now Park~" is the faint voice that follows me out.

Pace quickening as I rush down the hallway, down the stairs, the steps blurring underneath my feet. And in my haste I bump into someone as I leave.

A spilled, rushed apology that's greeted with a curled smirk from a face that's otherwise shadowed under a hood, dark eyes peering at me as he steps aside.

"Running late Park?"

Jungkook.

I don't have time to spare as I quickly rush past, his own ambling, shuffling gate slow and at ease.

For fuck's sake, why do we have practice this Sunday? Why today of all days? Why last night of all nights to go clubbing?

My phone buzzes for the third time since waking when I'm yanking off my clothes to tug on my gear hastily.

Morning doesn't seem so fun when I was the fun last night does it?

Fuck's sake (Y/N). Equally distracted and amused and annoyed because I know training's going to be hell.

And just before I leave the training room... my phone buzzes a fourth time.

❄️: Hope your Coach isn't too much of a prick. No-one deserves a shit Sunday.

It's almost, almost enough to soften the blow of the rage and disappointment, cold icy features glowering, when Coach steps onto the ice and finds me in the cluster of players.

Almost.

(WHEW! THIS CHAPTER TOOK LONGER COS IT WAS THE CHAPTER—INSPIRED SOLELY AND WHOLLY BY LIKE CRAZY... YES I'VE HAD THIS IDEA HAUNT ME SINCE THEN. AND YES... THIS CHAPTER IS ENTIRELY THE CLUB SCENE... Midiiplier IF IT'S NOT DONE ITS JOB AT CAUSING CHAOS I'M HIDING AND NEVER COMING BACK OUT... BUT LET ME KNOOOOOW WHAT YOU ALL THOUGHT!! AND HOW IT FEELS!! TO SEE!! THE SMAAAALL CHANGES BEGIN—ONWARDS TO PLOT AND GROWTH AND FEEEELS!)

Borahae!

PurpleQueenie <3