(Y/N) POV:

"Why'd you want me to watch me practice scoring?"

"I don't want to exactly... I'm trying to figure something out."

Curiosity glitters in his eyes, body already seeming broader, bulkier with all the added padding, a nondescript plain jersey underneath.

"I don't wear my hockey jersey to practice." Hand dragging it up over my thighs, eyes full of blazing heat, mapping out the skin his touch bares, fingers bunching into the fabric, gripping it above my waist.

"No? Why not?" voice lofty, though it hitches at the drag of his other hand to the waistband of my shorts, fingers hooking into the fitted material and dragging it down without preamble, fingers digging into flesh instead. Grip bruising as he stares at me. Gaze darkening.

"It's for competitions. It's for matches."

"It's a sign of your victories." I muse.

The fire in his eyes flash stronger, a searing heat that blazes that burns where it drags over me, lingering over the sight of his uniform over my body.

"And right now what does that make you?"

"Oh~ calling me a victory? I would take having me as a win too." I muse, the corner of my lips curving upwards as I look at him.

"Like the bra you left at mine... it makes you..."

"A trophy? I guess that's a title I can live with."

That same jersey's tucked away back into his locker.

This jersey might not have his name and position sprawled across the fabric, but it doesn't cling any less to his body. A second skin and all that padding to prevent ice burns and harsher injuries.

So many layers to add to the bulky stance that with the height the skates gives cuts a taller figure that towers when he skates towards me. Crowding, demanding, seizing the space. Claiming it for his.

"What're you trying to figure out doll? I thought you had me down to the t."

"I do. I'm trying to figure out something..." hand waving vaguely around him, in his direction.

"About the technicality behind it."

"Since when did you wonder about hockey technicalities?" surprised bemusement in his words, head tilting in curious, lazy appraisal. As if trying to figure me out.

My hand shoves at his chest, the touch makes him skate backward, another nudged shove towards the rink's open mass of ice.

"And what're you going to do?"

"I'm not going to defend your goals. I'm going to watch."

And I skate back to the outskirts of the rink, not stepping off the ice but veering completely out of his reach and range, feeling his stare focus on me with a hint of curiosity that keeps his eyes lingering before he shrugs. A loose rippled motion at odds with the way he sharply cleaves across the ice, veering in and out, warming up before he sets up a few obstacles to stand in as players.

My eyes trace the movement of his skates—focused on the dip and weave of his body as a moving figure. Needing to map out across the ice with the visual right there in front of me how it is he moves.

Remembering that when he had raced me, full lips upturned with triumph, it'd been because he'd been able to cut across the ice with agility and speed. A force of movement that barrelled across the ice with a sharp lethalness that made me wonder how it'd happen when he added the extra weight of his uniform. With his hockey stick and playing to score.

How would that all affect his speed.

Could he keep it all the same then?

Watching from the edge of the ice how he doesn't just skate across and weave wide around the obstacles, Jimin veers dangerously close, cutting past them by mere fractions of an inch, body twisting away and keeping control of the puck all the whilst. Hockey stick twisting to the side to change the angle of his movements that keep me from being able to guess his next move.

The moment I almost guess the next move, it twists and morphs into another. Something spontaneous and recklessly different and dizzying about never once sticking to a pattern I can distinguish or recognise.

Body gravitating closer to somehow view his movements by being not an onlooker or someone on the margins, but someone he was skating by. I wanted to watch the motions his skates went through by being up close to them.

Moving nearer towards the patterns and different sequencing of his movements, his pace sharp and quick—and yet...

Yet he doesn't falter physically, eyes widening briefly with surprise when I skate into his direction—a sudden obstacle that blocks the path he's veering towards. Lips curling up and eyes bright— sharp with adrenaline, puck shot between the loose stance of my legs, his body surging towards me.

And some part of me... some part of me that refuses to let Jimin see but a part of me tenses when his speed doesn't slow, still streamlining forward, spine tensing and bracing myself to twist away when his hand darts out to snag me around the waist. The momentum twists my body into a spiral, a sharp burst of adrenaline that makes my breath catch in my lungs before watching him grin at me. Mirth in his beckoning eyes.

Triumphant and smug at having caught me off guard, albeit slightly.

"Didn't enjoy the view were you were? Had to get closer?" words lilted with a lofty airiness that never fails to just rankle that part of me, skin feeling taut and a flash of ire. Because Park Jimin is the furthest thing from soft and airy—all smug grins and maddening smirks and tight grips and rough.

Park Jimin isn't soft—pillowed cheek, face smoothened out with sleep and a drowsiness that slowly tilts his body against mine, sinking heavier. Quiet eyes, withdrawn, lost in his head. Inviting me over because he didn't know how to say no because saying no meant he'd have to say why.

...Park Jimin isn't soft.

Chance, rare encounters don't count.

Cos Park Jimin is this. Infuriating soft lilt that's honeyed and smug and dripping with a cockiness that I can't stand to hear yet it rings in my ears. Though that voice is laced with a heaviness that drips each syllable with a thick rasp and cadence that feels like a low reverberation against my skin.

That Park Jimin is a different entity—somewhere further than the one in front of me.

"I needed a different view than the one I was getting."

"My front is a better view." He agrees with a lazy grin, pace slowing as he circles round. Dipping closer and then weaving back away.

"Wrong. The back view is."

His smile deepens.

"Didn't know you had a preference—"

"Cos I don't have to see that stupid grin all the time."

The flash of bewilderment morphs into a scowl, twisting the inviting curve of his mouth. Eyes sparking with outrage.

"Don't kid yourself doll—the face is what you like to see. I didn't hear you complain about it anytime I was between your legs."

Whatever retort sits on the tip of my lips, a flushed pool of heat that ripples under my skin, pulses through my body is cut short by the way the upturn curled smirk morphs into something delighter and sharper. Jagged smirk that's all too amused, all too knowing of the words about to spill from it.

"But don't worry doll—I enjoy the view just as much whether it's from the front or back." Eyes seeming to lie in wait for mine to flit up to his before he winks.

Smug annoying piece of—

"Park you're such an ass—" hole. The insult cut off.

"So you admit you like the view from behind and now it's okay to obsess with my ass out loud?" words tsking and teasing, a lilted airy quality to his words even as that damn stupid smirk deepens, pearly teeth flashing with mirth.

"Don't put words into my mouth—"

"Just my dick?"

Finger flipping him off, the laughter that ripples past his lips laced with amusement.#

"I'll bite your dick off."

"Ooh kinky~"

Teeth snapping at him.

"Won't be when you're moaning in pain."

"I like it a bit rough doll~"

Irises growing darker, head tilted down to look at me.

"And as I've learnt so do you."

[......]

Hand trying to catch me, glimmering smile all sharp and gaze entertained as he reaches to grab at me, twisting with a lurch from him, skating backwards. Stare holding mine all the while.

"Running away doll?"

"I got what I needed."

His head tilts, mischief still lingering in his expression.

"But I'm right here. Haven't dragged me off to some corner to have your way with me."

My lips twitch.

"At least you get one thing right. But I'm done. All good." Shoulder rising and falling in a loose shrugged motion.

Incredulity flashing and a contemplating gleam that for some reason... I don't know which reason, but it straightens the curve of my spine in response to it. Something dangerous in its lazy silent stare.

"If you say so."

"Won't drag me away into some corner?"

I barely get a few paces in before the quick glide of skates across the ice and hand snagging at me, voice low at my ear, words eliciting a shiver down my back. Body unconsciously shifting the slightest bit to his with the sudden strong flash of heat that skims across my skin. That heat feels an awful lot like the low cadence of his voice.

"Oh absolutely."

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

There's a filter of glances I can feel occasionally skimming my side, my face, tracing me, watching me, following me even from their set distance. A set of eyes that look but the figure never approaches.

"Didn't peg Park down for someone who'd steal glances." A voice muses beside me, lofty with a quiet consideration, a faint tinge of amusement when my head turns towards him, lips quirking up at the corners as he tilts his head towards the cluster of hockey players gathered together.

"Oh?" as if I haven't felt them, even though I haven't turned to acknowledge them.

"You'd almost miss it... if you weren't searching for it yknow?"

"And why are you searching for it Kook?"

"Oh I'm not... I just find it fun to see how obvious it becomes."

"What does?"

"That the two of you are sleeping together."

My head turns to look where Kook's gaze has settled briefly.

Catch the end of a glance before it skims away... as if it'd never settled in the first place.

My lips twitch.

"If anything it'd be Park making it obvious. I don't mix my profession and pleasure."

"No? Sure?" eyes glittering with tease, that one word, that one syllable purposeful, knowing.

I shrug my shoulders.

"I suppose occasionally if he's not being a pain in my ass I consider sharing the rink. Big enough for the three of us."

"Three? If that's a—" face twisting with the beginnings of a grimace.

"Me, Park and his ego."

The expression melting into one that scrunches with laughter, nodding approvingly. Hand brushing down my spine and then back up, squeezing my shoulder.

Voice adopting a soft sigh, meant to be laced with understanding.

"Your sacrifice and generosity is noted. Valued. At least it saves us all the hassle of those complaints you both used to file. How'd you manage to get him to give it up this time?"

"Easy... I don't. I drag him off it." words lilting as I turn my head to murmur the words to his ear. Gaze flitting down to stare at me with amusement.

Grin widening.

Amused and proud.

"Jeon!" a voice calls out, sharp and low and authoritative—heads turning slowly to it.

The hockey captain gesturing over towards the front.

His voice and expression void of the hostility or embedded harshness of the hockey players.

Something that's amicable in the friendly murmur when Koo skates forward with a final squeeze to my shoulder, Namjoon stepping back and aside to let Kook take over the space, standing in the centre so that both teams' gazes are directed to him.

"Okay—we're going to get right into today's session. This session and the next is going to be led by my team and it requires you to work in pairs."

Unbidden now—my eyes snag onto Park's, a curling, coiling sense of satisfaction and something else to see that his gaze had already settled there, that he'd been waiting for mine to find his. Lips curling up at the corners of his mouth.

My head tilts; an amusement filtering through me at the thought of what the next two shares sessions entail, that silently impassive look that flashes with a curiosity, a wariness at my own makes my lips twitch.

What a treat you're in for Park.

"There might be a slight unevenness of numbers but ideally you're working with someone from the opposite team. Pick someone you can work with because you'll work with them next time. Today's session is about building awareness of your partner. Break off into twos first." Words rapped out with easy command, eyes scanning the way the two teams mingle, slow...slow cracks in the divide... barely there... but it's almost...almost possible.

The hockey players don't drag their skates as much as they did the very first session. The distaste and pettiness... that's still there though.

I wait for the crowds to disperse and break off first before skating towards Park, meeting him halfway, a lopsided grin on his face.

"I'd say you're getting used to me if you wanna partner up."

"It's you because Namjoon's automatically paired with Kook. Otherwise what I'd do to be partnered with someone so—"

There's a wariness and on edge look to his expression, a brief clench of his jaw before he waits expectantly for me to continue.

"Someone so?" words sounding testy.

"Big. When your partner's someone with Kook's build... to work with someone just as bulky buff—"

"You don't complain about my muscles or strength." Words half-grumbled, half-bitten out, somewhere in those words is a satisfaction that makes his eyes flash with goading. Daring me to contradict him.

As if he doesn't know... as if I don't know what it does to me when his arms grip me, when his hands drag down and his weight presses me too the surface, hips sharp and rough and unrelenting.

I clear my throat slightly when the dark depths of his eyes intensify. A silent charged heaviness.

"You'll be needing that strength."

The look in his eyes turn to a questioning that's answered mere moments later.

"We'll be combining a mix of hockey drills and figure skating partner work into these two sessions. Whether you play as a team or as a duo or as a soloist—everyone works in practice with someone else. Someone who watches and observes, someone who keeps you on track... someone who's your extra eyes on the ice. That's what your partner will be."

I eye Jimin warily, a slow once-over.

A soft snort and a nudge at my side that's a jolt of force that jostles me.

"Don't gotta worry about my eyes being on you then." A smugness, an easy admission that his eyes had been tracking me.

"Oh I'm not worried about that~ the eye-fucking's really noticeable. I'm wondering whether I can trust your ass to handle mine properly."

A glint of ire and crackling tension both entangling. A grin that's too sharp around the edges. A tilted angled cursory glance that's thorough and brief all at once.

"With an ass like that? I'll protect it like my own." Laughter laced into his words, my own mouth quirking before I press my lips together, smoothening my expression out into impassiveness.

"Shame... I don't think the padding's doing it for me the way it does for you."

"And what does it do for me?"

"Gives some illusion of bulk."

"You little—"

"Yet I've never heard a complaint about my assets."

"I'll hand you your assets to you when I outskate you."

"Put your money where your mouth then Park. Bet on it."

"What's the prize?"

"I'll be generous—I'll let you decide. If you win."

Eyes sparking with the thrill of the challenge.

"You're on."

[......]

"Keep your eyes on the every movement. You should be able to mirror them or at least stay in sync with them at the end of the next two drills." Kook yells out, voice rippling through the motions every duo is split off into practicing. Pausing at the end of his own to do a few rounds, veering in and around the partnered pairs to observe, voice dipping lower as he speaks to them.

Something like distaste settles in Coach Choi's face—rotten bastard.

And pride glows in the fierce approval of Coach Seo's.

"Toy boy doing okay keeping his hands to himself?" Kook teases in a lofty light voice, lips at my ear as he falls into pace beside me, glancing briefly back to monitor Jimin. To watch him carefully.

Calling out an adjustment that must elicit some reaction because there's a wide grin curving across Kook's face.

"Of course~ don't you know? He can look but he can't touch. He's meant to be keeping his eyes on me, not his hands."

"Yet I wouldn't hear a single complaint then." Skating motion mirroring my own, skates pushing off on the right, each step, each glide in mirrored ease with one another.

"Park—I want you to quicken your pace and remain half a step behind (Y/N) now... you've been fine keeping up with her, I want to see you be her shadow."

"I am."

But there's no trace of amusement or mischief in Kook's words or voice as he shakes his head, veers slightly to the side to increase the distance from me, to drop further back to be in line with Jimin instead. Head tilting in curiosity to watch.

"You're mirroring her. Mimic her as if you are her."

"I'm not a figure skater."

"We're not hockey players. Adapt Park." A blunt unwaveringness to his words, that stares at Jimin with a silent assessing sharpness. As if in that instant he's trying to gauge whether he's even able to. A distaste towards the strict no the hockey players had enrolled into their very profession... a stiffness... an unwillingness that's frankly dragging them down.

Even as Jimin drags his pace and rolls his eyes... he acquiesces.

Something that not every hockey player does. Begrudging but listening.

A half-scowl when he realises I'd been watching.

"What?"

"Nothing... nothing..."

Eyebrow quirked at me in silent prompt. Expectant and waiting for the actual words sitting on the tip of my tongue, spilling off just as easily.

"Know how to follow orders well don't you~" before my skates cut a quicker pace, veering off the languid pattern of circles and loops he'd been tracing...following.

Skates briskly turning on the ice to catch a moment of him floundering and the look on his face is immediately all worth it. Expression playfully sharp and rough around the edges. The sudden rush of skates in quick haste, brisk motions after my own, eager to remain in sync but eyes glowing with challenge and firm resolve to best the task—to not let me slip away and let him in turn slip up.

Almost...almost close enough when his skates come to a harsh brake, chips and flakes of ice that are kicked up as his blades sink into the ice. Gouge a mark there. Just half a beat behind like Kook had said.

Flourishing it in front of me.

"There's a difference in being on the ice and in being in you..." tilting close enough to murmur the words, jagged and laced with the sharp exhale of his breath... tilted close before his head tilts back with a triumphant grin. Eyes full of goading fire.

"On the ice I took orders from someone leading the task." Words drawled out.

"In bed there's no orders if you want me to take the lead."

"And in—"

"In bed there's no order is there? Doll likes being a pillow princess. Likes me taking the lead."

I feel a flash of heat sear through my skin even as a different heat, riled and pushing back crackles at the drawled cockiness there.

"Well.. if you want it I suppose you gotta earn it somehow~" shrugging unabashedly at him.

But before he can say another word- another voice is calling out.

"Okay—head back towards the centre."

And that voice the hockey players listen to.

A ripple of anger and frustration that pierces its way through the teasing, the taunting, provoking words.

Because this sense of blatant refusal to Kook was emphasised all the more by the way they behaved towards their own captain.

As if Kook's words and instructions seem to fall on deaf ears on the next few hockey players when he was trying to bolster them along, to nudge into actively engaging with the drill.

Reading the tenseness that silently betrays the loose movements of his body as he stands next to Namjoon. Both of them authoritative and leaders for their teams—equals in every right that put them at the front of their sport.

My fingers curl against my side, shoulder jostling hard against a hockey player I veer past, unbothered to turn around towards the hissed curse.

It bothers me enough that I don't look at the figure that comes to stand slightly to the side, the partner that right now reminds me of what sort of mentality his teammates have.

The low hum of chatter and voices mingling that it blurs over Kook's voice. Jaw tightening, eyes focused on Koo, reading the unspoken slight edge to his expression. Continuing to explain the next drill that introduces the hockey element to it. Voice remaining steady even though the slight twitch to his fingers, the restlessness in the twitch of his skate before it plants hard against the ice betrays his annoyance. Read it in his body language even from where I'm angled off to the side.

His silent frustrations makes my own well up, clawing its way up my throat and burning hot through my skin, bleeding harsh and jagged around the edges.

"Fucking assholes." Words hard enough, loud enough that the few hockey players near me still.

Their eyes trying to pierce holes into me.

A slight movement in my periphery, my gaze skimming to the side to stare hard at the hockey players.

"What?"

"What did you just say?"

"So you are hard on hearing? Because a captain is giving instructions, but your mouths are running."

"You fucking—"

My hand motions around their faces, staring at them, uncaring of the glowered anger and wounded egos that stare back with red-rage in their eyes.

"Whatever you've got to say you say after my captain's done talking. We stay shut for yours don't we?"

Lips parting to speak, my fingers miming a shushing gesture.

Turning hard from them.

Eyes staring at the front, focusing on what Kook has to say.

"Got something to say too?" I ask without turning, voice hardened with an edge towards the intensity of the stare that grows exponentially from my other side.

A laced amused lilt to his words.

"Can't say I disagree~ some of them need to be cut down to size."

And for once.

For once... it doesn't sound like he's unanimously on his team's side.

In supporting them.

In sticking with them.

And the feeling that ripples through me is unknown and unfamiliar.

Staring at him—as if realising on another level that Park Jimin might not be all that bad.

[......]

"Once you get your eyes off your Captain maybe we can try those trust exercises." A voice murmurs, honeyed and drawn out at my ear and when I turn he's close, too close for how I can read the intensity of his stare, the simmering embers in them that just add the slightest edge to his voice.

"Jealous he can keep my eyes on him without trying? Unlike...someone." Head tilting at him.

A single brow that rises in silent challenge. Question. And the answer in his expression too. Not believing my words for a second.

As if he knows that for all the reasons that I can't stop—that we can't stop whatever addiction we build on desire and lust, on mutual attraction and ire, on that clash of just being in the same space competing against one another...

He knows all too well how I look at him.

And he knows whatever way I look at him now, reading it as easily as I read him.

A transparency that veers on almost being too much.

"When you're working with me—I'll be the only one you're focused on." A confident motion in the loose shrug of his shoulder.

"You sound confident—that's good." Taking a step to the side, one that's mirrored with ease. Each in sync motion, albeit small... but he takes the small wins, the small accomplishments with a gleaming pride and widely curved grin. A sense of puffing and preening at himself as he does so.

"I'm confident." Words assured.

"Don't get cocky though—the ice will bruise that ego too soon then~" words lilted, stepping to the side, his actions in mirrored movement—almost to show in the subtler movements that he can follow pace, can stay in time to me.

Eyes skimming over the others rather than moving to start practicing properly with Jimin.

"What're you looking for?" curiosity lacing his words.

My eyes search out Kook. Watching his and Namjoon's heads angled close, discussing the motions first. Moving to execute them second.

It's curiosity that has me reading into their body language, both their postures tall and powerful—demanding the space around them in their own rights. There's a strength there. A different type of cohesion in watching two captains—that battle of wills easing for their momentary partnership. Truce there instead.

Absently I wonder if that's how Jimin and I look to Koo. That that clash of personality and frustration and competitiveness morphs into something else entirely because of whatever happens off the ice... that maybe it effects the tolerance I have of him now.

I wonder if there's a temporary respite for the sake of it—body twisting to look at Jimin, his eyes already trained on me, meeting mine with an unwavering assuredness of his own capabilities when he tilts his head to the side. An invite and question both to move out further across the ice.

"What trust exercises are we going to do?"

"Real basics. Can you catch me if I come rushing at you at full speed? Can you catch me if I choose to fall? Will you be responsible for managing both of us on the ice if needs be?"

Each question feels more weightier than the last, but it's the final one that my lips linger on. It's the final one that has me looking at Jimin with an assessing stare, trying to gauge whether that capability and faith I have in Koo—if even a fraction of it will be... could be extended to Jimin.

"Easy."

"No... don't get big-headed... can you? More importantly... will you?" words stressed out.

Because it wasn't something I could gamble a chance on. Not on something that was light-hearted ease and something he assumed because he was strong.

It wasn't just as light or easy as Jimin's voice makes it sound.

It wasn't a trust I was willing to hand over just because he sounded confident about it.

That same wariness that had been in Kook's gaze flitters through me now, an echo of a nervous heartbeat—uneven and light.

Something shifts in Jimin's countenance, in the loose languid way he holds himself as he straightens. The motion almost imperceptible had I not been carefully looking at him, searching for it.

"I'll catch you."

...

"(Y/N). I'll catch you."

Words so firm, so resolute... that it leaves no trace of amusement there, or tease.

And it takes a few moments for it to sink in, nodding to the grounding firmness of his words, reassured by them that I realise—did he just?

Yet there's no mistake about it. Words sinking in hard. Deep.

No mistaking them. Mishearing them.

And eyes sharp and focused as they look at me, hold a proffered hand out, palm outstretched towards me.

Close enough his fingertips could brush against me, but he waits for my own to reach out, scepticism slowly chipped away by the steadfast expression in his eyes. Not a trace of laughter in his expression.

Fingers lightly entangling with mine. Brief enough that they tug me forward.

"I'll catch you doll but you gotta jump first."

[......]

Eyes alight with sparked adrenaline, flaring with giddiness and bolstering assurance.

"Told you." slightly breathless, faintly winded with how many times my body had barrelled into his, lungs winded and seizing, cheeks stinging with the biting cold but finally. Finally his arms manage to snag me before stumbling into him, before the momentum of rushing at the quickest speed I could physically go sent the two of us nearly toppling onto the ice multiple times. Body crashing into his hard. The force merciless and the clash leaving the air knocked out of my lungs, bones slamming and teeth knocking hard inside my own mouth.

But finally... after countless times... after countless attempts... of knocking into him, of the timings being mismatched... of that embedded hesitance that had my own steps faltering and veering past him or to the side or harshly braking just at the last moments...

Too hesitant to let myself be caught in the last moment.

Until I'd finally taken the plunge, mind mentally bracing for our bodies to crash into the ice, or for his hands to slip away at the last moment—worse still to catch me, to manage a grip only for it to loosen, only for it to let me stumble. And for that teasing smile to curve into a jagged sharpness—a ringing amusement I can hear in the mocking lilts scattered about the ice. Gaze flitting uncertainly.

Until he'd called out.

"Your focus is meant to be on me. I'm the only one you're skating to. Eyes here." Words a mixture of tease, of a harder, deeper focus that tugs my eyes to meet his. Unwavering stare confronting me.

Until I'd taken that leap of faith—eyes sparked with triumph.

One I realise.... Isn't one-sided.

Because it mirrors the giddy exhilaration bubbling through my veins.

In the wider span of things—trusting Jimin with this, with catching me and making sure neither of us tumble isn't a massively significant feat. But... somehow in this moment—in seeing him look at me with triumph and for once it's shared.

Somehow it feels significant regardless.

"Guess you did."

"I caught you."

"So you did."

"See~"

"Don't get all puffed up over that now Park." Hand patting his chest, grin wry as I stare at him, grip slowly loosening, jolted out of that suspended moment when the sound of skates on ice lace together with the loud, raised voice of the coaches calling everyone back towards the centre moments later. Voices cutting through the noise of everyone practicing.

"I think I earnt it." he sticks to his words, an exaggerated tilt of his head as he motions for me to move.

"You also thought it was too basic. Stick to one side Park. Are you smug you completed a basic? Or smug that I trusted you to?"

[......]

The hockey team does everything the way it always does. Skates dragged, complaints and grunts of sound and overarching it all—the icing on this cake is the way Coach Choi enables it. A simmering frustration that bubbles under my skin the more I notice it. Each practice session grates on the nerves, on the senses. Because it brings with it a constant sense of unease—because even now they don't start or continue fluidly. The undercurrent of tension between teams still existent. Still there even if there's such a large wave of effort from our team and begrudging reluctant participation from theirs.

Eyes sharply veering towards the Coach before they slip away, not before catching a sneered expression, hearing the disdained scoff as I step forward, skating towards the centre. Kook stepping aside and back, hand squeezing my waist in encouragement, eyes bright as he nods and moves to flank me from behind.

Silence and order called towards the front, the Coaches stepping away to give focus and authority away easily. Handing it to me.

Eyes watchful and observant but bolstering and confident in their assuredness of letting me lead.

"Okay—today's session's continuing on with the last. But it'll be led by (Y/N) today."

"A girl's leading it?"

"Sure she can?"

"Skate back to your team and your si—"

"If anyone has anything to say about my capabilities then rest assured boys I can beat your asses into the ground with today's session" words cutting through their jeers and comments, staring down the few that'd been prominent, loud and vocal about it.

But it wasn't just today, it'd been countless sessions.

Seemingly futile and worthless when invested into these boys.

"And if Coach Choi you are unable to discipline your whining boys complaining every single session then allow my Coaches to—because they can and will." Staring at the cluster of them, nothing other than irritation that glowers and grows as I stare at them. Watching their expressions flit through a myriad of emotions—anger, venom, embarassment, defensiveness.

Anger colours his skin with blotchy red. Barked command that has them straightening. That has Coach Kim's lips sporting an amused smile.

"Like you'll be able to lead us today?"

"I don't know about you boys but I train with athletes, I train with men and women. So—if you can handle that then listen up, if you can't and you're too weak-willed then by all means leave." words daring them to.

Whether or not they left with fury or refusal to train under me today... them leaving the ice would only mean one thing—that they weren't cut out for it.

A grim satisfaction that ripples through me when it's met only with hardened silence, skates stationary.

Lips melting into a grin as my eyes drift away, head inclining towards Namjoon before briefly scanning the rink.

"Same partners as last time. Today—" my eyes linger heavy on the cluster of hockey players that'd prompted the jeers.

"We work on learning to assist. Something that surprisingly has been lacking in teamwork."

Because it's come from noticing that and that there's this weird sense of disconnection within their team despite it being a team sport. Some sort of unspoken level of hierarchy or respect, some sort of divide that exists between the main hockey team and the mass of 24 that seem to be made of substitutes or players that tagged on and swapped out.

There seemed to be a sense of abrasiveness that veered between competitive and tension between the players at time. The only time that seemed to settle when the combined consensus of the team meant that distastefulness and tension turned towards... against us. Directed at us.

An odd irony in the fact that they're more put together when they all collectively work against us—each shared practice session bringing more resistance and fussing and arguments from them than us.

My eyes drift round the skaters, lips curled up with pride. Because we learnt and supported as a team. Regardless of how we competed on the ice.

And then they skim over Jimin, his head tilting up as he stares at me. A gaze that confronts me with all its unwavering confidence.

Full lips, pearly sharp smirk as his eyes spark.

Ready to assist.

[......]

"You need to balance your partner... they should be able to rely on your strength without checking. You should have their backs."

There's some sceptical glances being exchanged. Wariness and glances exchanged, each athlete sized up and down—appraising the other with an assessing sharpness, none spared to them.

My own gaze flits warily at Jimin.

"We can manage our partners easily but what you're saying is they could handle us?" a ringing sense of disbelief in one off the hockey players, bordering near 6" of lean muscle, lithe and tall. His eyes scanning me with an intensity, doubt etched clear into his face.

"Name?"

A rakish grin that does nothing but only cement the fact that hockey players' heads are full of hot air—expression meaning to be suave, but it falls far too short.

"Yugyeom."

"Height?"

"5"11"

"Weight?"

"70kg"

"There's other ways to check my body—"

"Muscle percentage?"

"75%" a boasting edge to his words, listing them with a pride as if intending to wound the prides of the guys on the figure skating team.

As if they don't have a similar percentage or higher rather.

Because figure skating takes more muscles, more strength, more active use of muscles than ice hockey.

I shrug.

"Regardless of weight, muscle mass or height— we're able to handle our own body and our partner's... the question is will you?"

"You're telling me you can manage your partner?" a grating sense of his words that rankle my skin, a hand at the low of my back as Kook steps forward again.

A proud gleam in the sharpness of his smile.

"Without a doubt—but it's your turn to prove it."

"Be careful." Words murmured, head angled to mine.

"Shouldn't I be saying that considering you're trained to lift me not Namjoon."

"I'm not lifting Namjoon." He laughs before he nudges a shoulder at my side, a hint of cautiousness in his gaze.

"But be careful if Park does do any semblance of a lift—I'll be there to make sure nothing happens." A firm promise in his words. A security without a doubt. A net without fail.

And a hesitance, a carefulness that never quite leaves his gaze even as he skates back, circling round in a weaving motion, large and wide as he does an examining sweep of the players before centring himself at the front once more.

A wariness that's only bolstered once his eyes meet mine, finding resolve in them, gaze turning steady.

A wariness that's not just for me, but a cautious protectiveness for his entire team. A sharper assessment in his stare, not partaking in the next drill but watching, skates skimming light and hovering around any pairing that seems unsteady, that seems like they won't have his skater's backs the way he himself would.

[......]

"Are we going to get to practice?"

"Wait—" eyes skimming distractedly past him, more focused and intent on making sure everyone's postures are correct—gaze sweeping over them.

Moving forward towards the nearest pair. Calling distractedly over my shoulder.

"Practice your starts and stops Park—I'm going to make a round."

"You're going to hurt both of yourselves if your stance isn't right." Finding it easy to adjust the figure skater's posture, hands gripping his arms and angling them correctly, skate nudging between his to widen the space slightly.

"If—if at any point you think you can't support the other's weight then make sure to stop the manoeuvres well in time." meeting a gaze that's slitted and sharp, head tilting as he looks at me.

"I think I'll manage."

"What position?" no jersey or uniform to signify it today.

"Well if you're asking for what's in bed then—" eyes glinting with sharp mirth.

Hand at an arm to bay the flash of anger that ripples through my teammate's expression.

"You'll never get close enough for that. What position do you play?"

"Offence."

"So you should be quick on your skates and your timing should be impeccable."

And somewhere in those words, he picks them for praise, a noticeably prouder expression on the sharp features, straightening as he nods.

Somewhere it makes the sharp glittering scathing expression that had been there recede to give way to proud assuredness of his talent.

It seems easier than expected.

Because circling around I realise how easy it is to get them to feed and fuel off their egos, their own sense of worth, their need to prove something. Their need to feed off of it rather than them needing to prove it to me specifically. The dismissiveness towards a girl, to someone not to the rank of captain seems to momentarily dissipate in front of the puffed up egos and self-worths they're set on proving.

I fight back a grin as I circle around the pairs.

Fight back the pulse of amusement that seeps through my body, that falters slightly at the sharp scowled discontentment on Coach Choi's face. Almost as if he despises seeing his students listen and try. Even if it's a scrap of them.

Even if it's a constant work in process to get them to work and play nicely.

But what their Coach doesn't seem to realise that it's not them doing it prove it to us. To me. To the figure skaters they're paired with.

Rooted in it all is a stubbornness, that irrational pride and arrogance that rears its head, that makes them need to prove it when the exercise is something that's greeted with the unflappable confidence and assuredness they find in the figure skaters' gazes. In their rivals turned momentary partners.

And their Coach doesn't realise that somehow—it's easier to get them to do exactly what the session was for, because their self-esteem demands it in their eyes, not me.

My skates come to slow when I finally reach Koo and Namjoon, reading the strength in both their postures, both of them turning as I approach.

Lips automatically curling up at the sight of the easy scrunched grin when Koo's eyes meet mine, hand reaching out to snag around me and tug me to his side. Automatic and unconscious.

"Both captains managing well?"

A sheepish smile gracing faint dimples as Namjoon looks at me. The sight of it—the first unrestrained warmth from the other team without thought.

It makes my smile soften.

"Jungkook's fine—more than fine. I just—I can handle my weight, my self, my movements on the ice—but something's not clicking when I try support Jungkook."

"He is a big bulky skater." I admit, pride colouring my voice, hand patting at his chest before stepping forward.

Sizing the two of them up with a carefulness. Trying to get a read on both their physiques and how to pair it well.

Because realistically both had the capability to easily handle the other's weight.

Without a doubt.

Eyes lingering on the bulging swells of thick biceps, over a broad chest. Muscled, well-built, generous proportions and muscles.

"Let's do it this way. Do you feel it's easier to support a figure if they were to collide with you? Or do you feel if you went colliding into anyone, let alone Kook, you'd both be steady?"

Because Namjoon's physique might rival Kook's—but he was significantly buffer than the rest of his own hockey team. Broad bulk.

He probably supported better—

"I'd be able to keep the two of us on ice." He nods confidently.

"How much can you lift Namjoon?"

Eyes skimming back to his arms.

His hand drags across the back of his neck wryly, lips curling up, confidence quiet in his voice.

"My own body weight and then some."

A low whistle, approving and renewed interest as Kook looks at him.

"Based on sizes—you can handle Kook... what'll work for you two is a paired move that uses both your strength."

Eyes flitting to me, understanding clear in them. Fingers loosening as he moves to step towards Joon—eyes contemplating and scanning, already mentally mapping out breaking down the step.

Namjoon's in good hands.

And I say as such.

Vice versa too.

"Aye aye Captain~" words teasing and fond when I step back, shooing me off, head tilting to the further end of the rink.

"Now go practice your own move. Best be as prepared—the example after all if you're leading training today." A bolstering sense of adrenaline and challenge, competitiveness flickering friendly fire when Jungkook grins.

My eyes finally search out Park, watching his gaze trace over the others, watching with an impatience that flashes to me when I skate towards him, voice drawing his attention back.

"Ready?"

"You're the one keeping me waiting."

"Aww~ but you were such a good boy." The praise underhanded, poking light fun at him.

A flash of fire in his eyes and brows rising.

Voice dipping lower.

"I'm not the only one who likes praise in bed."

Before his hand snags me impatiently to tug me further back onto a cleared space of ice to practice on.

Eyes full of heat that deepens when in practicing I move to adjust his stance, his hands' firmness on me, counting us into each step, into broken part of the movement.

Words lilted and brushing close to skin.

Tauntingly close.

Hand dragging his more firmly to band across my back so that it pans over my back, dragging it lower to settle at the base of my spine.

Darkened eyes that take me in with sharpened interest, full lips parting to flash a pearly grin, voice dipped low.

"Like that?"

"Just like that."

JIMIN POV:

"You're getting along better with (Y/N)." Namjoon observes, hand dragging a towel over his head. The changing room deserted save for the two of us.

Fingers carding through tousled hair as he glances at me, a curved grin that dimples his cheeks. Relief in his eyes. Warm pride too.

"What?" thoughts coming to a grinding screech, eyes darting up.

Pausing in getting dressed.

"You're getting along better with (Y/N)." he repeats with a dryness to his words.

"Am I?"

"Well the catfights have stopped... you don't claw at each other at the first opportunity you both get."

Was it...noticeable?

And whatever Joon reads in my gaze is already too much, a disarmingly lightness in his stare that somehow puts me slightly on edge.

He didn't make captain for not noticing the changes in his players.

But realising he's noted a difference between the dynamic I share with (Y/N), between whatever we had and whatever this is now that we share...

"Aren't you glad Cap'?"

Deepening dimples.

Nodding, towel slung around his throat.

Reaching for a clean shirt.

"Oh trust me, no-one's gladder than me... I'm not the only one... Jungkook's noticed it too."

My fingers curl into the towel I'd been dragging down my front.

"Has he now?"

My tone makes Joon's eyes flash with curious amusement, flitting to dart me a glance before he's dragging a shirt overhead. Tugging it on.

"I've noticed as your captain—obviously he's noticed it as hers. Besides we're mates... did you think I wouldn't notice that you've gotten... tamer...is that the right word—no, I meant..." backtracking when I scowl at him.

Laughing quietly when I flick my towel at him.

"Tame? Tame?!"

"That goes for both of you!" laughing disagreement as he shakes damp hair at me, countenance more puppy than big, intimidating captain.

"As in you both seem to have settled—I thought I'd never see Park Jimin outgrow his little rivalry."

"It is not little—every single year she tries to best me at competitions." Words hissed out with a sharpened edge, an immediately flaring competitiveness that's nowhere near quashed, nowhere near stifled or forgotten. That rears its head at Joon's wording, a glinting flash of amusement, hands raised in surrender. Grin widening.

"Guess not."

"Oh I'm definitely beating her this year too. I'm going to wipe that annoying smirk off her face." Words hot and laced with a firm roughness, yanking on my clothes.

Riled by the thought of the same words from her lips, though from her they'd sound condescending.

"She could've won last year—it was a close call." Joon points out, finishing dressing, bag dragging over his head to band across his chest.

"But who won?"

"You but—"

"Exactly Joon~"

"You're impossible you know..."

"And she won't forget it."

Eyes rolled and shoulder nudging into mine, jostling me forward as we walk towards the changing room's door.

"I changed my mind." Abrupt and sudden.

"What?"

"I think you need the rivalry to keep you humbled. (Y/N)'ll knock some sense into you after... after I have."

"We're on the same team!"

"Not when we're practicing. We'll do a gym session tomorrow together." Grinning wider.

A groan spills from my mouth at the thought.

Namjoon was made for the gym... his physique a testament to the product of practically living in the gym—near impossible to drag him out once he was there.

Huh...

The gym was to Joon what the rink tended to be for me.

Eyes dancing with delight, sadistic delight—already revelling in working me to the brink of hell tomorrow.

An endlessness stretching out.

"We can work on weights and bar pull ups after the main core training!" an excitement imbued in his voice that I can't relate to, muscles and limbs already flashing with a phantom ache of what tomorrow could hold.

"I hate weight training with you."

"That's not very nice. Tae loves doing weights with me."

"Tae has ridiculously bulked arms for a swimmer."

"You're the one that told him to."

"...cos he looks great, his physique's great." A grumbled admission though it colours with pride, betraying and all too bolstering and supporting.

[......]

"So's yours. Come on Jiminie~ it'll be fun~" voice wheedling and soft, batting dark lashes at me from underneath dark curls, smile stretching wide and boxy when I huff, sprawling back with a groaned dismayed fine.

Sold out by Joon.

Who grins, dimpled puffed cheeks around food, shrugging his shoulders indolently as he leans back against the sofa.

"Oh it'll be fun—we can even drag Yoongi hyung with us."

Dark unimpressed eyes staring blankly at us, lips thinned.

"Funny." He deadpans, unrepentant as he toes at Tae's ribs, nudges at him to dislodge him from his sprawl, to send him toppling with a kicked nudge. Lips twitching with silent laughter though his eyes flicker over to Tae when he groans dramatically, fingers rubbing through curls.

"You big baby."

"Hyung! You kicked me off your couch! What happened to doors being open for us?"

"You ruin it by trying to get me to do extra workouts. As if we don't have our own routines and practices and catered workouts to do."

"Oh but hyuuung it's not the same than it is to workout together. You burn more calories if you workout with people you like."

"Who said I liked you?"

"Oh hyuuung—"

"Ah hyung give us all a break. Tae's moping means he starves more. Means it'll cost us more for that post-workout meal."

Yoongi hyung's lips twitch, a flash of amusement that lingers in soft, dark eyes—warm and teasing as he watches Tae pout and huff all across his floor. Hand latching onto his ankle when hyung stands, koala-wrapping around a leg and refusing to let him take another step.

"Tae-ah let go." Voice dry with laughter pressed into each syllable.

Laced into his very tone.

"No! Say you'll come with us hyung~" a wheedling lilt in his voice, wrapping himself tighter around him.

My mouth quirking into a wider grin, staring at the failed attempt of hyung trying to dislodge the mass of koala-swimmer with no success.

"Just say yes hyung." I laugh.

"Go on hyung~ Joon adds.

Eyes shining with amusement. Knowing full well that siphoning off Tae is more than effective to rope either of us in.

Already surrendered to the wheedle and lilted voice in a heartbeat.

Not that I'd had much choice—not that I'd have really denied working out with Joon.

"Fine... fine. But I'm working out what I want to. And you do your routines." Words cemented with a finality.

"Of course!"

Hyung's eyes narrow on the grinned figure peering up at him.

"...you're going to do it with me anyways aren't you?"

"Of course!" Tae echoes again with a boxy grin.

And fond exasperation lingers in hyung's eyes.

[......]

"For someone who hates working out—you've got a solid pair of biceps hyung." I note, watching him adjust the weight in his arms, the noticeable flex of muscle as he continues to lift the weights slowly. Measured and controlled. Stance firm and set steady.

"Basketball's all about the arms."

"And the legs."

"And the hands~" a playful edge to Tae's voice, laughter strained slightly, muscles rippling as he lifts alongside him, grinning wide at Yoongi's blank stare that looks right back at him in the large wall mirror.

"Shut up Taehyung-ah." He huffs out a laugh, lips curling as he lifts the weight, eyes steady and even though Tae grins, even though there's laughter and an ease that ripples through our small group—I notice more than one pair of eyes flicker to him in silent assessment. Specifically to his left shoulder.

More than aware, more than cautious, more than actively wired to help if he needed it.

But apparently it seems those glances aren't as subtle as we think.

Voice dry as he sets down the weights, the back of his hand dabbing at his forehead, breathing sharp.

Eyes flickering with something deeper.

Dabbing at the sweat at his skin.

"The weights actually help train the shoulder yknow?"

My eyes dart away.

Watching my own form instead.

"No-one said anything hyung." voice light and natural, eyes flitting slowly—unrushed in turning away, unphased at being caught out if his voice is anything to go by. It's hard to tell whether he flushes, skin coated in perspiration and a rosy hue on the high of his cheeks from working out.

"Sure you didn't. But also who's the hyung?" amusement colouring his tone, eyes darting up to see his lips tug into a gummy smile.

"You are." Three voices echo dutifully.

Gumminess deepening. Widening.

"Exactly. And right now hyung's saying to put down the weights to practice at the pull up bars instead."

It's not amusing to us in the slightest, nothing but matter of factly in the way he says it, easy and light but I'm already setting down the weight, a teasing nudge as he passes by to move towards the bars.

"Got everyone wrapped around your little finger hyung-ah?" I tease.

"Nothing little about me Jimin-ah." A sharp cocky retort. Glimmering dark eyes that flash with laughter.

That laces into the low timbre of his voice.

"Keep telling yourself that hyung." teasingly waving a hand over his head, swatted away lightly.

"We're the same height."

"I'm taller."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"I am! I'm quicker too!" laughing as I sidestep him, a pace and a half ahead of him as I reach the pull up bars first.

The muscles in his arms flex slightly as he grips the handles of the pull-up bars and a competitive, sharp flash of goading in his eyes.

A flash of gums and teeth.

"Speed isn't the same as stamina."

And I could swear that I could hear those exact same words with a honeyed laughter, goading and provoking for all the wrong, or was it right, reasons entirely.

And his hands curl around the handle, lifting himself up fluidly.

[......]

"Is that Jeon?" Namjoon's voice colours with faint surprise, eyes skimming past to stare at the area we'd vacated. Staring impressed at the bulk of the figure lifting weights, muscles bulging near obscenely. Yet what gets me is the look of unflappable control, sweat beading at his temples but the gritted determination and the sheer weight stirring something sharp inside.

"Kid's got good form." An easy acceptance, eyes following the tone of surprise to stare.

"You call that a kid? He's a tank." Tae scoffs, incredulous.

A part of me bristles.

"He's not a tank—"

"I think he could rival Joon with his uniform on." And a hot-white flash of riled anger sears through me at the reminder that he'd worn a hockey uniform, stamped across with my position and had torn through the ice with a vicious determination to try tear a new one into me. Without even speaking.

"Okay now we're just exaggerating..."

"Damn."

My eyes track the quick movement of his reps, a glower as he dips into low squats, the weighted bar behind his shoulders, fingers curled against the metal, powdered grip as he stares hard at his own reflection, a sharp razor focus there.

A disgruntled sound as I shrug.

Begrudging and unwilling entirely.

Stupid Jeon. With his stupid muscles. And his stupid weights.

"I suppose to be lifting your partner so much you've got to have the right strength." A faint sense of admiration colouring Joon's voice before he moves over towards him, calling out towards him with an easiness that makes his gaze flit in the reflection.

And I swear it's quiet amusement and laughter that flashes briefly in his stare when our eyes make contact for the briefest of seconds. The corners of his lips quirking upwards even as he straightens, slowly setting down the weighted bar before turning to Joon.

Distant enough I don't hear what they're saying.

Though I read the looseness in Jungkook's posture, glower deepening at the way at just standing there he's almost ridiculously big.

Stupid Jeon with his stupid build.

Jungkook's grin sharpens.

Eyes flitting away with a casualness- a looking in passing by. Head briefly angled to say something to Joon, an offer that he shakes his head to, Joon's loose shrug an easy smile almost unsettling because it's to Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook. Thorn in my side.

[......]

"He's amazing, isn't he?" (Y/N) enthuses, admiration clear in her voice and gaze.

"He's alright."

The thing is—is that she doesn't it to rile a reaction out of me. I realise that when her eyes flash with surprise, a dawning comprehension that makes the glimmer of her eyes dangerous, thrilled.

"He's got with his hands—" marvelling at her partner, watching him with a rapt attention that just rubs against me the wrong way, distracted from our supposed partner work to ogle at him instead.

"And yet whose hand was between your legs?" my voice mutters, low and sharp against her ear, circling around her with a briskness that makes her twist to follow the motion. Startled surprise and a flash of heat that melds into something richer and deeper and oh.

"Park." Word hissed out with warning and a sharpness that cuts at skin, a heated firmness that makes my eyes flash to hers. Gaze skittering around.

"Oh, now you want to be quiet. You weren't exactly quiet on—"

"For fucks sake Park. What's gotten into you?" eyes narrowed as she scrutinises me, eyes piercing into me.

"Nothing... nothing. Although for someone who's all about building cohesion in teams—you're doing a shit job if you're fixated on the same guy."

"I don't say shit when you're prattling on how great your team is or how brilliant Namjoon's drills are."

"That's different."

"How? How is it any different?" incredulous and questioning. Eyes staring at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

How is it different?

They're both our captains.

So why is it different?

"...you idolise the guy. He's just doing the same as everyone else." words muttered under my breath.

A mixture of sharp pride and disparage looks down at me somehow.

"If that was the case then he wouldn't have been captain. And somehow you wouldn't be in a pissing contest with someone who doesn't even know you're competing against him."

"Are we going to do the partner work or not?"

"Touchy, are we?" eyes glimmering with amusement, letting the topic drop with a triumphant quirk to her mouth. Knowing full well that the sharpness that bleeds into my tone is all the more telling for her.

"(L/N)."

Her hands rise with feigned surrender, expression alight with laughter.

"Calling me by my last name? It's like you want me to drag you into bed."

"Given how well you react to doll I didn't realise that card was on the table." circling around her to mirror the displayed pose that Namjoon and Jeon are showing to the rest of the group.

"You really know how to get under someone's skin don't you Park?" the tease off my lips making the curve of her mouth seem to sharpen.

"Isn't that how you--" I begin.

"Like a parasite." she deadpans.

"A parasite? A parasite? Listen here--"

"What you're going to do is a trust fall but on ice. Given that every single person on the rink are trained professionals the very basics of it should be—don't let your partner fall, don't let them slip because they won't be using their skates at all to dig into the ice."

"Got that Park?"

"Child's play."

"Careful. Your team's going to eat your words."

And I realise as I've caught her, eyes bright and lips curved wide with approval, breath wavering slightly and posture loosening as she realises my arms remain steady around her, is that she hadn't said it for me. She'd said it for my team.

And for all the teasing, she'd trusted me to catch her.

[......]

"You could improve your form." Words stinging and sharp despite how soft and quietly they're said, eyes flashing towards the figure standing next to the machine. Another run in. Somehow the hours of quiet practice, of just focusing on myself... by myself had been ruined. By Jeon of all people. Not even the figure skater I'd have been fine with—my eyes flit over him.

He's not waiting for me to be done because there's machines either side of me free.

There's something amused and entertained in the way his lips curve up when my head tilts to the voice, expression flashing with disgruntlement.

Hands flexing and curling tighter into the overhead bars, drawing them back down in a sharp, hard fluid motion that makes satisfaction ripple along the coil of my muscles.

"You don't want to do that. And over-exert the muscle." A flash of disapproval, hand half-reaching out and falling away with a shrug when I scowl at him, feeling the slow trickle of sweat trail down from temple to cheek in that sharp silent stare-off.

One he breaks away from and one that doesn't get to feel nearly as satisfying as it should because he tilts his head in a lazy motion towards my arms.

My hands curled tight.

His own loosely shucked into the lows of his sweats' pockets.

Something about the lazy way he stands that makes the line of my spine stiffen in both defensiveness and unconscious show of how an in-training athlete looks like.

"I know how to do my workouts thanks." words blunt.

But a ghost of a smile flickers across.

"I know you didn't mean it but I could swear it's the first time anyone but Namjoon's shown manners. Even sarcastically."

"What do you want Jeon?"

"I came over cos I was curious what sort of training you guys do. But maybe I'll give some advice."

"And what advice could you give me Jeon?"

"Touchy are we?" grin widening.

Stepping back as if to show there's surrender in the movement. Stepping away.

"I didn't mean me... you seem to—listen somewhat to (Y/N). She can give you pointers." My grip falters in the midst of another drawn out pull of the weights drawn over head and back—

Something knowing in his words, his voice, his expression.

My face smoothens out.

"And what does that mean—"

"Easy. You seem to like watching us—her practice. She'd say the same. A strained muscle's too common. Why bother flexing in front of me? Not the one you want to impress with those muscles am I?"

There's a brief flare of something sharp and tightly wound but then it takes a few... several... long moments to realise there's nothing malicious in his words. Nothing save for light-ribbed tease and a flare of glimmering knowledge that he remains, mostly silently, entertained by.

"I'm not trying to impress her." I shoot back, the words falling too short, too late.

"No?"

"No!"

"Huh."

Something so vague and flat about it but before I can say, fingers unfurling and limbs slowly loosening as I lighten my grip—

"Alright then Park. See you around the rink."

And for some reason I'm left with a feeling of something... just something worming its way into my mind. The sight of the loose grin making my insides twist with a defensiveness, riled for a reason I don't know.

I don't go to the rink to see (Y/N).

Not as often as Jeon's words insinuate.

And I go to purely watch and understand figure skating as a sport with its technicalities. That's all.

Why're you bothering trying to understand figure skating anyways? You don't care for it.

....

But (Y/N) does.

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

🏒: Wanna come over?

❄️: Can't be bothered

🏒: Want me to come over?

❄️" Who said the door would open?

🏒: I can be very persuasive...

🏒: Besides...

🏒: You only have to open the door

🏒: I'll be more than willing to take you against it

❄️: Dunno~

I search the messages for a flirty playfulness there and yet not, it almost feels mundane in the stilted, drawn-out short responses, all of it one-sided right now.

🏒: You like doors

❄️: I do

🏒: But

🏒: You know what I like better?

❄️: ...what?

🏒: Being let through yours

❄️: 🙄 I told you Park...

🏒: be over in 20

❄️: I didn't say you could

🏒: 20

🏒: maybe I'll be quicker 😉

When I knock on the door, tugged open a few moments later, amused resignation on (Y/N)'s face as she looks at me, brows rising as she gives me a glance over.

"Not very seductive."

"I didn't realise you were expecting me to look a certain way~ why?" voice lilting as I take a step forward, but the door's barely open and her body's angled in such a way—leaning against her doorframe with a laziness in her eyes that only decreases distance and space by that one step...and nothing else.

"I but if you've made bold claims about doing said things against this door, I expect you to make an effort for it... you don't get just a free pass into my dorm."

"What will it cost? I came empty handed."

She tuts at me, a quiet clicking sound with her tongue as she lets her eyes skim up, down, up again.

Settle on my face, quiet, long, drawn-out contemplation if she toys with the idea of letting the door shut again, of letting it close on my face.

"Shouldn't turn up to someone's door uninvited and empty-handed... terrible manners Park."

"You never brought anything to mine--"

"I came over." words simple, the slope of her body languid, relaxed, eyes lazy.

"The least you could've done is made me want to jump your bones on sight." a sighed murmur.

"And how would I have done that?" stepping closer, a slight shift in the way the door's angled slightly more open, invite there.

"Dunno-- your grey sweats usually do some good."

Her eyes trace downwards, a slow leisurely trawl that lingers at the low of my torso. Dips lower.

"Black sweats don't cut it?" amused as I stare at her. A light fluttered exhale.

"Nah-- I think... I suppose they just might." head angling at me and the door drawn open, fingers curved against the wood as she steps aside to let me pass, body brushing against hers, fingers against the waistband of my sweats, my own curling around her wrist.

"For someone who wasn't very eager—you're quick with the action aren't you?" eyes drifting low to where her fingers brush in a teasing motion before they fall away with a loose smile.

"You must be turned on if any touch seems to get you ready." words musing, the loose, relaxed outline of her body slow as it turns to retreat, padding back into her room. The drawn back duvet and the rustled sheets, the mound of pillows that have a dip where she'd been leaning against it...

She'd been in bed.

Dressed for it too.

Loose comfortable clothes, phone still on from where it'd been set aside.

"Oh. You weren't joking—I can go." I shrug, moving to backtrack out the room, ready to turn and leave her to her comfort, her space, watching her settle back into bed.

"You're here now." a sloped shrug, shuffling as she gets comfortable again.

I dither uncertainly, wondering what to do.

A sense of floundering. Hesitance.

Did I stay...? Do I walk into the room...?

Do I... what?

"Park I can hear those cogs turning from here. Just stay." eyes rolled, a soft sigh as she flits her eyes up from the phone to me.

"And do what--?" there's a different sense on being here for a purpose other than hooking up. It's somehow also different to when I'd invited her to my dorm room and not been in the mood- too stuck in my head for it.

It's different even though it's somehow the same, positions reversed, a mirrored sense of deja vu and not...? Because she'd opened the door, she'd let me in, and she'd told me to stay... she'd opened the door even though for her the intention hadn't been sex in the first place.

It's different because this time I'm in a space I don't know what to do in. Eyes sweeping over the inside of her room, mapping out and cataloguing features and details I hadn't noticed the last time I'd been in here.

The last time I'd been in here it'd been a very different mood.

Seeing her stretched out comfortably in bed, burrowed under her duvet and staring at me with an impatient expression makes me feel slightly... lost.

Unsure as to how to react.

A deep impatient sigh.

"For someone who'd invited themselves into my bed you somehow don't know how to get in."

Head tilting to gesture to the side.

"In bed?"

"Yes Park. Get in."

The bossy tone makes my lips twitch, moving towards the bed, reluctance melting once I get to sink into the mattress, the duvet a thick cloud I drag over me, comfort sinking in quicker than I thought. Something about the bed, cosy and oh so easy to burrow into, that makes that hint of awkwardness fade.

An awkwardness that's one-sided I realise, reading the amusement in her eyes when she glances at me.

"What?" defensive and staring back at her.

"Nothing...nothing... for someone who's seen me naked is lying in bed next to me clothed really that difficult for you?" (Y/N) asks curiously.

"No! It's just—I don't... we don't do this..." pointing vaguely between us.

The upturned quirk of her mouth turns more and more entertained.

"If it's awkward you can go. If you want to stay you can watch a movie with me."

And quietly...silently... I try get a read on her.

The lazy curve of her spine, sunk into the bed, the languid stretch as she curls up, eyes blinking slow and even.

She's relaxed—somewhere between drowsy and not.

"If you're tired—"

"I'll go to sleep. Since when did you become such a...?"

"It's weird, okay?" the admission spilling easy at the questioning curiousness in her eyes.

A foot nudges at my side, then firmer.

Laughing when I move my leg out of reach.

It's weird because there's no buzzing mass of thoughts in my head distracting me, there's no haze of mind where I'm just there—curled up on my bed, fingers in my hair.

Unbidden my gaze flits to her hand.

"It's only what you make it Park. If you're gonna be stiff as a board, I'll toss you out my room and you can do the walk of shame right now back to your dorm."

"What walk of shame—if anything I'd walk out with—"

"Walk of shame cos no game, no win tonight, Park. Not scored." eyes glinting, voice taking on a teasing edge that trickles like honey, a warm heat that threatens to deepen into something more.

"Guess I'm not leaving then."

Brows rising with amusement before her gaze drifts back to her phone, a few moments before she angles it to me.

"Want to watch then?"

....

"Sure."

[......]

"If you want me to leave—" I begin, words softer, quieter in the dark now that she's turned off the lights. The phone the only source of light that casts a dim glow across her features. Catching the way her eyes roll.

"If that was the case I wouldn't have opened the door." Eyes slipping away from the brief fraction of contact they make with my own, refocusing on her screen even though the show's paused. Not sure whether it's the lighting that makes her cheeks seem a fraction pink.

Lips tugging up as I grin at her.

"Say less." I tease.

"I will kick you out." Words containing a biting edge, eyes flitting up to shoot me a half-scowl.

"No you won't... you invited me in." I retort, watching her eyes flash—the glow of her phone making the intensity of her eyes seem heavier.

"Guess you couldn't resist." My voice lilts. So easy to tease her.

"Park—" her voice warning, leg reaching out to kick me. My hand curling around the back of her leg, gripping tightly. Fingers digging in before tugging her closer, the motion pulling her leg over my side, body pressed closer, her hands pressed tight between our bodies.

"No need to hide it doll—just say you like me in your bed whatever way."

"Careful Park...all that attention's going to go to your head." my lips twitch.

Amusement flickers in her eyes—that much more noticeable with how much closer her body's pressed to mine.

"You never complain when all my attention is on giving you head."

The phone's glow makes her eyes gleam. Gaze sharp.

"Why don't you test that out in the morning?" not sure whether the offer is in invite or in taunt. Whether that means she wants me to stay or not.

"Is that an offer?"

Words gauging the depth of her own. Whether or not she means it.

Her eyes spark with a goading challenge.

Leaving the question vaguely unanswered.

Instead her response roots itself to the matter of that dynamic between us.

"It's to see whether that mouth is all talk and no show."

"You're on." Gaze dropping down to hers.

[......]

It's cold on one side of my body. Blanket twisted around to cocoon the body pressed to mine, heat seeping into one side where (Y/N)'s body had pressed close in sleep.

Blinking at the darkness wrapping us up further into the warmth of her bed.

The dim light long since darkened, phone fallen somewhere between our bodies.

Twisting slightly to try blink at the time, the glaring harsh light of a phone illuminating, piercing the weighted drag of my eyes blinking hazily at the blurred numbers.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep.

But it'd been so comfortable. And unconsciously her body had curled closer and closer. Had ended up pressed to my side.

I move to leave when I realise how late it's gotten. Slowly drawing myself out of bed, easing myself away from where she's still tucked half over me when she stirs.

A plaintive complaining sound muffled against where she's curled up before she twists. Burrowing into my side, cheek pressed to my shoulder.

"Just going to—" I whisper, voice hushed against her, careful to not wake her as I ease myself out slightly, trying to adjust her, trying to coax her onto the mattress.

But instead the wrapped figure of blanket and warmth only presses closer. Draped over my side, warmth seeping into skin, chasing away the faint chill where the blanket had been tugged away and instead wrapped around the figure that mumbles against my skin.

Freezing at the brush of lips against my throat.

The light, feathery touch sparking a fluttering feeling that's nameless in the dark.

"...warm... 'm comfy..." protest mumbles in the sleepy brush of lips against skin.

The slight shuffle of movement, body unconsciously stiffening under the draped hold.

"Nooooo... stay."

Body loosening, limbs unwinding under the drowsy mumbled insistence. So easy to relent to when sleep tugs me back down, arm brushing down her side before wrapping around her back. Keeping her tucked to me, pressed to me as my head tilts closer. Sheets rustling, tugging and easing the blanket back over both of us, limbs intertwining further.

So... so... easy to just—

[......]

The sound of the electronic keypad being used makes my eyes flare open, alarm at the sound of the dorm door being unlocked.

My body jerks upright from where it's entangled with (Y/N)'s.

In the suddenness to move and untangle my legs from hers I stumble out the bed, body lurching with alarm. Disoriented as I move to leave the bed, foot getting caught and tripping. A heavy thump as I fall to the ground just as the door's pushed open.

Dishevelled and unfocused, peering over the edge of the bed as a figure enters the room. Shucking off shoes before padding into the room.

Figure approaching the bed, grinning as he spares me a glance. Smirk all too knowing as he takes my place on the floor, staring up dazed.

Not bothering with speaking a single word to me before he bends over the bed, hand shaking Fei awake. The movement gentle and familiar.

Drowsiness mixing with a hot-flare of something sudden and sharp and something that yanks at my insides.

Voice hushed and soft.

"(Y/N)... (Y/N) wake up. We've got practice." Voice quiet, hand brushing against her side and coaxing her up, sleepy blinks as she peers up at him. Entirely unphased to waking up to him.

Confusion filtering through her expression as she peers at the empty bed, gaze turning back to Jungkook.

"Alarm didn't go."

"Didn't set it?" fishing around for her phone.

But she's already tilting to face-plant against his chest, burrowing into him when just minutes ago she'd been burrowed into me.

"Need a hand getting up Park?" holding out an outstretched hand, his other arm wrapped around (Y/N).

Scowling at him, feeling all sorts of rumpled and dishevelled, not quite awake, not quite focused, something hot and discomforting twisting my insides. Feeling like I'm looking in from the outside at the intimate familiarity, not entirely sure why something stings.

"I'm fine." I grouse.

Shoving myself upright, yanking the sheet my foot had caught the edge.

"Not running late are you?" Jungkook asks as he tilts his head down, amusement curling his lips into an entertained grin.

My eyes briefly widen with alarm before a bit more awareness sinks in.

"Nah not until later."

"Don't mind me taking (Y/N) then." Not a question, not an offer, hand drawing her upright with a fond laugh, stumbling steps and groaned protest before she shuffles towards the bathroom.

And even when the door clicks shut behind her, I can't drag myself upright and immediately leave. Stuck on the sight of Jungkook moving around her dorm room, rifling through her drawers and tugging out sports gear for her.

Flitting about her room as if it's his.

Snagging her away from me as if he was with her.

Again... that same smirk toying at his lips as he stares at me still on the floor.

"She doesn't usually kick her... distraction out of bed quite so literally."

"I'm here aren't I?"

"Lock the door after yourself will you?"

[......]

Cockblocker.

Fucking blue-baller.

Smug captain.

Showing off how well he knows (Y/N) and—

Curses and frustration bleeding into the rhythm of the set stride I run in. Pace in sync with the figure that runs beside me, breathing sharp and dissonant.

Scowl deepening when I realise I hadn't been able to make true on my words, hadn't been able to wake up and then wake her up the way I'd wanted to.

Tossed out of the sheets and warmth with the same suddenness of suddenly being thrusted under a cold shower.

"You're really out of it aren't you?" words laced with laughter, voice laced with an unevenness that comes from running lap after lap alongside me.

My head snaps to the side.

"What?"

Laughter stretching boxy lips wider.

"Wow... you're so stuck in your own head. But that's not your good daydreaming look... that's your pissed off at the world look."

"I'm not pissed off at the world just—"

"Just?" prompting, grin widening.

"A guy."

"Why? Stopped you from getting some?" Tae crows with laughter lacing his words, easily quickening his pace to match the increase in speed. Frustration making my jaw set.

Annoyance shooting through me at the flash of memory of smirking lips and eyes sharp with a cockiness, with a knowingness.

But had it been annoyance that he'd put an early stop to however the morning might've gone if we'd woken up by ourselves. Or had it been annoyance that he'd entered and ruined however the night had ended—something new and comforting and entirely not-sex.

Was it really being blue-balled?

I grunt in response, lips pressing tight and continuing to run.

Is it really about the sex—

"You're never this hung up about a good lay... she must be quite the—"

"Fuck buddy."

"Good thing you're exclusively fucking or this—" he waves a lazy hand over me.

"This would be a whole lot more of a mess."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Just... it's not your usual one night stands... it's... good? That you have someone you get to unwind with. Purely physical." Something approving in his stare.

Purely physical.

Door opening in invite, body slouched with a laziness and contentment, eyes flitting to stare at me eyeing the distance between our bodies, glancing away just as quick because the angle of our bodies are much closer now. Shuffling closer. Hand still gripping the low of her thigh- fingers absently squeezing the side of her leg.

Purely...physical.

"So why don't you just hook up later?" cheeks ruddy with countless laps, the back of his hand dragging across his forehead, wiping at the sweat on his skin.

Staring at me as if there's no difficulty in reaching that conclusion.

As if it's that easy to solve that problem.

"Yeah... I'll try grab a time later."

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

❄️: Did you get to your dorms? Or do I need to alert campus security?

🏒: Haha... I don't know whether I should be touched or whether you're teasing

❄️" Can't it be both? Didn't even see you to my front door~ reading the tease in her messages, hearing them with that same soft voice that turns just about lilting.

🏒: And you call yourself a buddy.

❄️: *fuck

🏒: Is that's all that's on your mind? Get it out the gutter doll

❄️: So you're saying fucking you is dirty.

🏒" Nothing about us fucking could be clean

❄️: How about next time you clean up the mess between my legs?

🏒: Didn't know you were booking a cleanup service

❄️: 💀

❄️: Not as much as...

❄️: When I'm between your legs I don't leave a mess

Lust-blown eyes, swollen lips stretched around me and damp eyes blinking wetly up at me. Groaning around me as she takes me deeper, each contracted swallow dragging every bit of spilled pleasure down her throat, tongue stained with me before she closes her mouth. Draws herself up off her knees.

My gut coils with an all too familiar heat. Eyes clenching shut and breathing hard before I thumb out a message, another buzzing through.

❄️: Don't tell me you got hard that easily

🏒: Shouldn't you be flattered?

🏒: And... no

A photo.

Eyes frozen on it. Skin burning at the sight.

A short audio.

Words breathy and amused.

"Maybe that'll change things quick."

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

It's predictable in a way that it's always been but this time it's seeking her out for a different reason entirely.

Not quite sex I'd sought her out for.

The last group practice still lingering somewhere in the recesses of my mind, rearing its head, tugging my steps down towards the rink from the gym rather than heading back to the dorms. Tugging my skates on before I'd headed out towards the rink. Knowing she'd be there and finding her right where I'd thought.

Watching as she skates around the ice, blade cutting patterns into the rink. Lithe twisting motions as she spins—body airborne and then landing.

The image of her being lifted and caught countless times by Jungkook flashes across my eyes. But he's not on the ice with her.

He's not here.

The beginnings of an idea beginning to thread itself together.

Quietly moving towards the rink.

Lips silently tugging up with a flash of mischief and anticipation of noiselessly moving across the ice to get to her.

Slinking up behind her soundlessly.

My hands move to grab at (Y/N), hands gripping at her waist and leg—but the sudden lurch of movement, so utterly unexpected by the way she twists harsh at the touch makes my own falter. Hands adjusting to steady my hold on her before a stinging sensation makes them fall away.

The sharp swat to my hands makes me yelp, falling away from around her. Her body twisting and landing steady even as surprise flashes across her face before it morphs. An expression of questioning displeasure staring me down, somehow making me feel smaller even though with the skates it boosts the height difference.

"And what do you think you're doing?" such seriousness in her voice, looking utterly unimpressed at me as she stares at me. Glancing up and down and with raised brows.

"I was just—"

"I know I consented to letting your hands touch me, but did I say you could toss me however you feel like it?"

My cheeks heat slightly, chagrined by the way she stares me down, hands on her hips and cocked to the side. A disapproving stare in her eyes.

Eyes lingering on the way my hands stay at my side.

Nodding.

"We keep the hands off the goods Park."

"Jeon lifts you all the time—how hard could it really be?"

Brows rising higher and higher. Disbelief and disapproval etched clear into her features, in the click of her tongue as she shakes her head slowly at me.

"Oh Park--" words disparaging, pitying.

"All he needs to do is keep the both of you balanced. That's what you said in practice." finger pointing accusingly at her.

"There's a difference in keeping me balanced and tossing me cos you felt like it."

"I wasn't tossing you! I was going to lift you."

"Unsuccessfully!"

"I can lift you!" indignant and put out at the thought that (Y/N) didn't think I was somehow capable of it. Wasn't somehow able to lift her off the ice when plenty of times I've had her in my arms, plenty of times when that same doubt she displays now had been carnal appreciation, nails digging into my arms, into my shoulders.

"Can you?"

"I can prove it!" though I don't know why the thought of her dismissive scepticism rankles.

Entrusting herself to the big bulky figure skating captain near recklessly but I—who was so sure that I'd not drop her, when I'm intimately familiar in an entirely different way with her body, hands already branded with the mould and dip of them to my palms and fingertips...

"Not without step-by-step guidance you won't be."

"You're micro-managing me?" incredulity bleeding into my voice when she examines my posture, hands adjusting the way my hands rest at my side, of all things, before they drag up to grip at my shoulders.

"I'm fixing your posture—it's like hockey players have a permanent slouch I swear." grumbles it, fingers curling into my shoulders. The grip tightening before loosening, skating around me to stand behind me.

And I feel her breath warm against my nape as her hands clasp my shoulders, voice close enough that it feels like it's against skin.

"Shoulders back." hands adjusting them with me, feeling them straighten, posture straightening at how close she feels from behind me.

"Good. Back straight." posture taller, steadier on my skates as I straighten, acquiescing to the firm, quiet instruction.

A tinge of something pleased entering her voice, her tone.

"Already seem steadier—can you feel it?" a hand nudging at my back, trying to jolt me into movement but I twist around, feel her hand drag down my front to press against my abdomen, fingers curling reflexively before they splay across.

"Feel what?"

"Tighten your core."

And my muscles clench under her touch, her eyes dipping low as if to track the shift of them through the shirt.

My voice turning lilted, eyes flashing up to look at me.

"Seems like an awful lot of touching and feeling me up doll~ not enjoying the sight as much as you would've hoped though?"

"Well, if you're getting your hands on me without asking—then the least I can do is enjoy retaliating."

"Oh, I'm not complaining."

"I can tell—are you flexing Park?"

My muscles shift under her touch, the slow purposeful drag of her fingers dragging lower, tracing and exploratory before they fall away. Something about her hand brushing against my abdomen, body behind mine that makes heat seep down my spine, spark from where her breath ghosts my skin, the heat of it dipping south.

"Are you feeling me up?"

"Feeling you down—can't tell your top from bottom? Where's your focus at Park?" a chiding, admonishing tone light with laughter.

"At least you're past the denial stage... we've moved onto acceptance."

"What? In this five-stage process of—"

"Sleeping with the enemy~"

"You're not an enemy."

My eyes skim over her.

Head turning to look at her, incidentally, angling our faces close.

"No?"

"To be my enemy you have to be the only one who makes me feel so strongly in how thoroughly I'd end you."

"And what you have is—"

"Oh, you're not at the level of enmity Park. Nor would it be smart to make me one. You're--"

Rival. Competitor.

Eyes skimming down to my lips, lingering heavily there, feeling the weight of her gaze as if her fingers trace my bottom lip.

"You're--" lingering and hesitating, dithering on choosing exactly what it is I am, what it is we are... what it is we have.

"A... trainee."

"I am a skilled hockey player. A professional on the ice."

"What you are is unskilled at figure skating. You don't grab someone into a lift ever!"

"Jeon does! He--" feeling defensive and prickly, unskilled my ass. Words echoing in repeated dissent.

"Has had years—a lifetime of practice on and off the ice with me, with knowing how to lift me and with knowing how to fall with me. A few practice sessions don't mean you can lift me."

"I bet I could." words vehement, defensive. Riled and confident

"We'll see. Now... when you hold your partner you hold them like they're a part of you."

There's a weightiness in her words, feel them sink in despite the very feel of them ghosting along my skin in a featherlight caress of heat against my nape, close enough that her body could so easily press to mine.

But the distance is a torment she toys and relishes in inflicting on me.

"How do I do that?"

"You remember that if you fall, I'll fall. That in a lift, however small, I'm trusting you to have my back." and when I turn my head, her eyes are sharp with a scouring intensity.

Something deeper and heavier and more charged and weighted than any glance we've ever exchanged grows now. A long stare, eyes unwavering from mine, unflinching. Boring holes into skin, eyes rooting mine to hers.

"You can trust me." words firm.

Watching the flickers of uncertainty and trepidation get snuffed out. Vanish.

Resolve and trust settling in her gaze instead.

Something about it is so intense that it almost makes me want to break eye-contact. But her eyes don't allow it.

Something about that look of resolved trust makes me stare back.

Gazes broken by the soft curl of her mouth upturning.

"So... ready to give me a whirl?"

[......]

There's something in the anticipatory wait for her next instruction, hands adjusting their grip—adjusted by hers to make sure that my grip is just right, eyes sharp with focus as she looks down at me, lips curled with a flicker of mirth and something heady.

Something in her eyes that makes my fingers curl and grip a fraction tighter. A quiet exhale that's almost unnoticed.

"And when I say you're going to lift me."

"Just up?"

"Just up. Going to lift me up into your arms and twist me so I'm facing you."

The angled tilt of her head straightening as I nod, her body straightening. Poising with alertness.

Something that fizzes and bubbles, crackles and pops and wells up in a strong sudden surge of something else entirely when I read the surrendered, the willingly proffered trust and pliancy of her limbs to manipulate and lift to my touch.

"Ready doll?" words brushing against her nape. And it'd be so easy—the slightest of tilt to press my lips to her nape. Feel the soft shiver that brushes down her spine, controlled in the perfectly poised lines of her body.

"I'll count us in." a murmured answer.

"3...2...1 and lift."

Feeling the way her muscles contract and shift, feel the control and poise and yet the way her body's far from coiled up as I lift her. Hand gripping tightly at her waist and thigh.

Gripping tighter to ensure she doesn't fall. Feeling the tense line of her thigh, muscles under the giving curves.

Not realising I've held my breath in until it shudders out, triumphant and relieved, hands holding her steady, the arched tilt of her head back draws my eyes to the curve of her throat, the delicate fluttered movements of her arms, leg stretching out in an elegant line.

Somehow something so small, so mundane as a lift of just holding her transformed into something more by (Y/N). in turns holds herself. Trusting the two hands gripping her to keep her steadied, weight surrendered entirely in the trust.

Something that in turn shifts the air between us, it morphs into something sharp and focused. The same familiar buzz of adrenaline under my skin, body coiled alert and ready. Skates angled to keep both of us steady.

And it feels different.

It is different somehow, I realise.

A different awareness sinking in. A shift in something when her head tilts, her grin contagious. The arch of her leg elongates, drawn out as she in turn holds and twists herself—suspended and airborne, only supported by the grip of my hand at the crease of her thigh and waist. And yet... yet alongside the flicker of heat at the sight of curves stretched out and on display, the pure visceral physical reaction to the effortless athleticism... there's a different type of heat, a sort of warmth, that seeps in. Makes my skin warmer. That makes my fingers curl into her, makes my own lips curve up into a wide grin as I look up at her.

"Told you I could do it."

"Okay easy big boy. We both know you can lift me. But it's different to lift me yknow?"

Hand skimming to grip mine, a fleeting squeeze of pressure as she grins—mischief alight in her eyes, in her expression. So different to the look in her eyes that I'm used to, that just seeing it makes something inside me lurch even as my skates remain steady and unwavering on the ice. Planted firmly.

"Are you ready to put me down?" voice tugging my attention to the quirk of her mouth, hands easing her down—her balance immediately found as she twists to peer at me over her shoulder. Something contemplating flickering in her eyes. As if assessing and gauging.

Reaching a conclusion as she moves, pushing forward slowly.

"Already done with practice?"

"Actually Park let's see how well you can do if I skate to you?"

Apprehension briefly flitting through, eased away by the assuredness in her own gaze. A confidence that somehow even if I screw it up, she won't.

"What do you want me to do?"

"All I want you to do is lift me up. Hands on my stomach. Grip me from there."

"What if you skate too quick?"

"Than I guess you're my crash mat."

Moving further down the ice, a sizeable distance between the two of us. A nervousness I shake out of my hands, fingers curling and then stretching, stance adjusting, unconsciously hunching slightly until a laugh rings out.

"You're not going to tackle me—I'm not one of your hockey players. All you need to do is count to 3—3 for 3 paces and then on that lift me up. Simple?"

It sounds simple enough.

Shoulders rolling out as I straighten.

Eyes pinned to her.

Ready to track her movement across the ice.

A softer lilt to her voice when (Y/N) speaks again.

"We're not doing anything that'd sabotage me. Baby steps—all I'm adding in is the movement." Words rooted with a grounding firmness that it reminds me—that this side to her, so easily slipping into a guiding instruction is an echoed mannerism of her captain, her skating partner.

Reminds me that this side of her is a different level, a different type of confident and assured because not only is her partner the captain but she's his right-hand... she takes that charge, that role and responsibility in guiding and instructing with a different intensity but same force. It's how she'd stood her ground during that training session.

It's how she looks at me now.

"Okay."

Her eyes flare with a sharp brightness.

A hard gleaming focus.

I echo her.

"Okay."

And the whirl of motion of skates gliding clean across the ice, body suddenly within reach, hands snagging onto her. Firm as I grip her front, use the momentum and the counted pace of three to measure her speed across the ice. To be prepared for the way when she reaches me she doesn't slow and my hands find their purchase on her front, palms across her abdomen, fingers against her waist. Gripping her firmly and lifting her.

Feel the way her muscles contract underneath my touch, feel the slightest shift of her body... feel the way her core muscles are tight, and her limbs are controlled in their elegant lines.

The way that when I slowly turn, her arms stretch out overhead, the curved arch of her torso pushing and testing against the clasped hold I have on her. The arch of her body seems almost to be a pliancy that the press of my thumbs to the low of her ribs coax, that the curl of my fingers moulded to the dip of her waist demands for.

It's meant to create a sense of pliancy for anyone watching I realise. As if the power and control all rests on the person holding her... as if her limbs surrender to the control of her partner. Her body entrusted to them.

And for these few moments it's entrusted to... me.

"What you're going to do is two slow turns. Can you feel the way my weight doesn't shift during the movements?" (Y/N) asks, eyes skimming down. Tracking my slow turns and me in turn tracking the way that between each turn her body shifts to angle itself differently. Torso bending into a deeper curve backwards. Tautness in the position.

And then another shift. A ripple of fluid movement before her leg lifts up.

Hooking around my side.

The shift in position angles her thigh open, eyes dragging unwittingly across the inside of her leg. The mischievous glimmered dark heat in her gaze both a warning and an alarm bell in how it shifts her expression into something thrilled. The leg that she'd drawn around my side, banding across tighter. Her calf and thigh pressed flush to my body. A belted grip before her hands draw mine off her body—fingers lacing together and used to lower herself from the lift before she twists off me. For a few moments her body's curved around mine. The next it's twisted and landed on the ice behind me. (Y/N)'s breath shudders with delight. Mine tremors with the sudden movement, breath rushing out my lungs. The exhilaration behind me a quick flutter of warmth that brushes against my nape, my own exhale wavering as I twist to look at her, fingers tightening where they're still laced before falling away with a giddy laugh.

"You—"

"You did that quite well Park." Words approving.

Staring at her with surprise, shock still ringing through my system.

Because all she'd done was technically just... landed on the ice.

And I'd seen her do it countless times in passing... had seen her twist off her partner or land without faltering.

I'd seen it.

Feeling it was an entirely different matter.

"You just—"

Jaw falling slack, head still processing it. The movement too quick for it to have sunken in then as it does now—staring at her with a mix of bewilderment and awe.

Fingers crook under my chin, nudging my lips shut. A wide cocky grin on her lips.

Honeyed drawled lilt.

"You'll catch flies Park."

Grin widening.

"Especially if the small things get you this surprised~"

The flash of triumph and cockiness and smug, smug amusement fills her expression, makes her eyes glow with it, makes the curve of her mouth deepen as her laughs spill out. Rich and warm and entertained.

The surprise lingers longer than it should. Sinks in and finds its place there. Watching her move around me in a slow, languid twirl, fingers skimming to graze against my bicep. A tight squeeze. Lips at my jaw with all the wicked promise of taking this somewhere further, later.

"I'd be more than happy to test how you can lift me later."

"Seems like the bed's getting too comfortable."

"Oh far from it." eyes flashing with desire.

"I just think we can start it right at the door."

And all I can think of for the rest of the day... all my mind can seem to process—turning it over and over and over again in my mind is how she'd felt using me to execute her own move. It'd been my body, my strength, my stability in holding her, lifting her. But it'd all been turned. It'd been her control.

And the thought of it shouldn't have the visceral effect it does, burning lust and want as hotter trails of liquid arousal burning through my veins, seizing in my lungs. Hands gripping her once more, thighs astride my own. Straddling my lap and taking. My body, my hands guiding. But her pleasure that splinters over her, over the rise and fall of her chest, the clench of her thighs tightening and shifting, the hand in my hair and the mouth bruising against my own.

Every move seems to whisper it. Her control.

Even if my hands tug her down to meet each thrust for thrust, hips bucking up, a hard snap of movement driving myself deeper into her.

Her body twisting and arching back, hand gripping my hair tighter, her own head tilted back, baring her throat as her lips part with a moan, rocking her hips down in grounding circles that push us deeper and further into one another.

Wild abandon in the way she looks at me from under lidded eyes, lashes fluttering with every sharp thrust, my head falling back against the pillows, hands gripping her hips firmer, touches pooled with want. Bodies pressed flush where our hips meet and yet my hands drag upwards, eager to map out the arch of her body in the same way it had earlier. Taut limbs coiled with pleasure familiar to my touch.

"Thought you wanted the door."

"I prefer the view from here better."

Hand dragging down my front, fingertips purposeful, intentionally taunting with the way she circles a nipple, nail dragging down to draw a hiss before dipping lower to press against my abdomen. Using her grip to deepen her thrusts, hips rising up and dropping down.

Eyes drowning with lust though the way her lips stretch, parting in a breathless want for more.

Different situation, same breathlessness that ripples through my lungs. That makes the next thrust puncture a sound out of both our throats, hands drifting down to skim over her thighs. To grip them tightly.

An echo of the same firm grip from earlier.

Eyes flashing in late echo to the promise of her own before she'd used me to twist herself off.

Fingertips sinking harder into the flesh of her thighs before twisting, body pressing hers to the bed, looking down at her.

Hair fanned out across the pillow.

So entirely dishevelled.

A far cry from how she is on the ice.

Hands pushing her thighs open before I push forward, sheathing myself back into her with a slow deep rock of my hips before I bottom out. Hand dragging down to circle and toy at where we're joined, a slow thrust that pushes out a keened sound.

Pure want.

"Shame... I really like this view too."

The cocky beckoning curve of her mouth presses against mine when I duck my head to hers, tongue sweeping against the crevices of her mouth. Tongue chasing hers with the same deftness of my hips pushing into her.

Words muttered between each waver of breath.

"Enjoy it whilst it lasts." The deep sharp intent in her eyes promising to reverse it again. A reminder to both of us that the night is far from over.

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

🏒: Wanna come over?

❄️: Open door?

🏒: Not just for anyone

❄️: I'm flattered

🏒: You should be

🏒: There's something else you should be...

❄️: ...what?

🏒: Real quick about it

❄️: I've told you Park speed isn't everything

🏒: Ha.

🏒: I was going to head back and take a shower otherwise.

❄️: What's to say you can't take a shower with me?

❄️: Or is it only locker room showers you like...

❄️: And almost getting caught

🏒: So—I'll be in the shower

❄️: Gimme 10

❄️: I'll be there

🏒: Door will be unlocked

❄️: Now that sounds like a wrong message to give

And so I don't expect her to reach my dorm room before me, leaning against it. Smile tugging up at my lips as I move down the corridor, eyes snagging onto her slouched form.

"Now who's the eager one?"

"Don't flatter yourself I was just upstairs."

The smile on my lips hardens at the corners before I reach the door, hand moving past her, brushing against her side to press in the code.

"Cosying up to your captain?"

"Damn right. Now that man's built for it too." a soft sigh, a smile gracing her lips, a tenderness in her expression that's also laced with satisfaction.

As if she knows all too well, all too comfortably how cosy he is.

The word a scathing echo that briefly rings in my ears.

"So I'm a convenience huh?" lips quirking up when I push the door open and the motion makes (Y/N) stumble back, body still pressed against it. Finding her footing easily but not without a flash of a half-glare.

Body backtracking hers into the room, each step nudging her back, bag thumping against the floor before I nudge the door shut.

"Isn't that exactly why you invite me to your dorm?" words full of a tease no matter how lightly they're uttered, the angled invite of her head tilting back as I crowd closer to her, hands snagging at her waist to tug her flush to me in one firm pull.

A familiar dance, a familiar pattern that our bodies fall into even though her words stir a conversation that unwittingly we've both let be buried.

"Is it okay?" I ask, watching as her eyes flutter distractedly, fingers delving under her top to drag upwards, blinking at me with confusion, briefly pushing the amusement in her eyes aside.

"I think we both consented to these hookups Park—"

"Is it okay that I ended up staying the other night? I didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"Do you really think if I wanted to kick you out of my room, I wouldn't have?"

"Yeah but you fell asleep too..."

"I didn't mind you stayed. I probably wouldn't have opened the door at all if I'd have minded the possibility." An easy shrug. Retaliation in the form of a hand dragging down from my shoulder to trail down my front, hips pushing forward in a teasing grind.

Hand clasping her waist tighter.

Stilling the motion even though it splinters sparks of molten heat through my skin. Sends it skittering down my spine at the press of her hips pushing forward against mine.

Fingers skating upwards, knuckles brushing against the underside of her breast, lingering briefly before my thumb brushes over the curve. A soft intake of breath.

Hand dipping lower again into relatively safer territory.

"So you want me to sleepover is what you're saying?"

"Take it down a notch big boy." Laughter in her voice as she brushes her hand lower, lingering inches away from tugging down the waistband of my sweats.

"All I'm saying is I don't mind if you stay the night—it's not a big deal. It's just... sleeping."

It was just sleeping.

But we never just slept. We never stayed in each other's dorm rooms without reason. Without hooking up. And this was the second time it'd happened—it was unusual. And as rare as it had been—it lingers over my mind, clouding the dynamic we do have, something shifting in the way that she's not entirely intolerable and she might be—

"But it's—"

"We don't need to overthink it?" but then a flicker of something deeper settles in her eyes, a cautiousness in her voice even as her hips push forward at the press of my own fingers skimming down in mirrored movement to where her own settle.

"Do we?"

"If it's not a big deal... then it's not a big deal." I brush off, a low groan rippling past my lips when her hand bypasses my waistband to drag lower slowly.

"You know what is?"

My lips part. Eyes transfixed on where her hand's curled around me, underneath my sweats. Skin to skin. Hips pushing into the touch.

"I swear to god if you say your dick I'll leave you blue-balled." Words hissed with warning though her eyes dance with taunt, daring me to say the words. Voice laced with amusement more than anything.

Fingers curling tight around me in response. Mirth sparking in her eyes, flamed intent in them.

Mind blanking at the fire-hot pleasure that sparks across my skin.

"I was going to say that we hadn't made it to the shower yet or gotten clothes off. But someone seems a bit... obsessed." A laugh spilling from my lips.

"I wasn't the one who couldn't get the thought of me in bed out of your mind for how many days?"

Steering the conversation, into a lack of, by letting my own fingers skim lower, dragging the waistband down, fingers tracing over the satin hem, where it sits high across the curve of her thigh.

"I didn't want to cross a boundary."

Fingers inching to the apex of her thighs, brushing over satin before delving under. The first brush circling before pressing against her nub, eyes fixed on the way her own flutter, the way her hand tightens around me in response. Soft quiet fluttered breath exhaled. Rocking into the touch.

"What boundaries?" a lilted laughed moan, fingers tracing, teasing, taunting.

Tugs out a tight groan and a laugh laced into words that drop lower. Heavier. Already too hard to focus. But refusing to let it go any further, refusing to let pleasure blur the line until she was fine with it being blurred.

"You've got your hands down my pants. Maybe we've already fucked with the boundaries."

"Sounds like a good thing to let happen." Lips brushed against my jaw, the faint scrape of teeth, the flick of her tongue makes the heat spiral all the more quicker. But there's nothing but blazing heat and invite in the darkening depths of her gaze, nothing but luring abandon. There's also clarity there. Somehow sensing that this conversation no matter how steeped in distraction it is, the easy acceptance of it too.

Silently understood that it was fine.

What boundaries? Her touch banishes the question from mind.

And suddenly that thought doesn't plague or bother me.

It's answer easily given, it's presence easily discarded. Torn apart.

What boundaries?

Mouth bruised with hers, tongue chasing hers, tugging her closer as we backtrack towards the bathroom.

What boundaries?

Skin slick with water and head between her legs, grinning up at her, fingers snaking into my hair.

And at the first flick of tongue against her, the first sound that's muffled and blurred with the shower spray, eyes holding hers... I realise boundaries are so easily blurred.

But at this rate—the boundary we'd been worried about, that I'd thought about... wasn't one to have been bothered by in the first place.

It's just sleeping...

Right?

Not the fact that now I can tell apart the different type of flushed and pink she gets after riding out her high and from being bundled and curled close.

Or the fact that there's a different intensity in the look in her eyes when she's looking down, hips bucking as they cant forward and a different intensity when she looks at me, shadowed and dark room pressing close, and leg slung over mine.

Boundaries?

Fuck the boundaries.

We knew how to keep things separate. We knew what was okay and what wasn't.

And this—this is more than okay. Hand tightening at her thigh as I draw it over my shoulder.

(AND SCENE!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS CHAPTER WAS THE LEAST NON-SEX DRIVEN WITHOUT THE FB DYNAMICS SO!! HOW WAS IT?? IT'S ALL BEGINNING TO SHIFT AND I WANT THOSE SMALL CHANGES TO START TO BE ABLE TO BE SEEN!! Midiiplier AM I DOING IT RIGHT?? DID IT GIVE THE FEEEEEEEEELS BEGINNING? LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU ALL THOUGHT!! BECAUSE~ THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF A WHOLE OTHER LEVEL OF WHAT THEY ARE AND I CANT WAAAAAIT FOR IT!!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3