JIMIN POV:

With her it's never been just a game. With her it's never remained within the safe territories of rules and taking turns and playing fair. With her there's no sportsmanship when the cutting harshness of her blades against the ice are harsh with the force and want to scour those same lines across my restraint. Until I'm nothing but reduced down to pure want, blades cutting past any sense of reasoning or logic.

With her there's never been logic or rationality. So when I head back to the rink to get some extra individual practice in...when I see her the choice has never warred between fight or flight. It's always a fight. Something about the pure rage and crackly heat of her ire and anger and competitiveness has fuelled the pulse of my beat, quickened it until it damn well might wrench itself out my chest. But that's a rush, a sear of adrenaline and amusement I'll take so long as she befalls the same fire that licks at my spine and sets my blood alight.

When I arrive she's skating slowly. Setting her own pace and easing herself into it. It's a searing pride I take in skating all over that ease and control and contentedness she so meticulously maintains until hell breaks loose.

When I arrive, bodies orbiting to one another, it's not a natural gravitation by any means, it's a clash of different worlds, different spheres, different centres coming into harsh clash with one another, threatening to burn up in each other's space, crowding closer because I can't resist the urge and stay away from it. Knowing full well that doing so will leave me burned, swallow me up in the hungering, angry flames of lust and frustration.

And even if she doesn't want me there initially anger and annoyance melts to give way to the very thing that tethers us, that has us on knife's edge with one another, pushing and pulling, tugging for that control, that victory to hold over one another. It's competitiveness that has ire melting to a familiar gleam I know all too well. Game on.

What starts off as racing each other, blood singing with adrenaline, skin buzzing and alight, bodies moving swift and hard across the ice, with taunting her at the space between us that try as she might she can't close changes. A shift in the air. From the crackle-buzz of adrenaline and amusement, from bubbling breathless laughter where (Y/N) rushes across the ice, trying to match her speed to my own, body a rushing shadowed silhouette that hurtles across ice, kicking up cold shards of it as she tries to out-skate me, to speed past me but falling short.

Cheeks flushed with adrenaline and anger—eyes glittering with it, a dangerous combination of attraction and desire that wells up in steadily mounting waves, increasing every time I look at her, every time she veers close enough that I can almost taste the tremble of her breaths, taste the sharpness of her words and the pride in her tone when she doesn't back down.

"Again."

"Again."

What turns into a race, into a competition shifts.

It turns from a fast-paced roaring and singing of my blood to the slow luring, winding trap of more delicately precise and elegant twists and whirls across ice that have my skates dragging to a slow lurch. Body twisting to track (Y/N)'s movements, the circling movements

Weaving in and out and around, figures of eights, elegant sharp twists and turns that propel her body further and closer—playing and toying with the razor focus I watch her with, something in the air shifting...changing. There's a tug that's so visceral it feels like my feet will stumble and falter, as if the ground underneath my skates has been wrenched away and still I try find some purchase as I follow the lure of her skating. Of the patterns and shapes and lines she weaves a web around me with, entangling me further in it, skating towards her until we're a hairsbreadth apart and the heat of her body rises up to brush against the flared temperature of my own.

Feel that blistering arousal bubble up, splintering across skin and burning trails through my veins and limbs, making my bones ache with the sheer want of it. Holding her gaze, all the whilst measuring her steps, her pace, watching as her eyes drift from mine as she twists into another elegant whirl, body spinning from mine. Skating forward to slot myself into her space, into her orbit as her body twists out of the turn, eyes briefly widening with surprise to find me there. Skating further into her space until our bodies are flush, until that dizzying, persistent tug that draws me, reels me to her doesn't ache with the force of trying to keep the desire at bay. Of trying to resist.

But still she doesn't still—still it doesn't force her to a stop, using the closeness, using my body, my proximity to her, hands gripping at me, a sudden clamp of strength that roots me where I stand to propel herself, touch turning fleeting, lighter as it skims against my side in its tease. Winding her limbs to mine, body turning to follow hers, hand tugging at her wrist, skating backwards once my hand's secured at her limb, tethering her to the same heat that engulfs me. Dragging her into it. Because if I burn in it, then surely... surely the very least is that she gets a taste of that torment too.

Voice rasping when it finally forms words, eyes darkening at the sight of her, breath rough when she leans in, her hand coming to settle at my chest.

And using it to guide my body backwards, steering the two of us to the edge of the rink, bodies stilling, painfully alert, against the edge of the barriers.

"It seems like Park, you like watching. Like me making your mind spin. No?" words lofty, contemplating.

Breath hissing sharp, eyes flitting downwards to see her lips curl triumphantly. A proud smugness to her smirking mouth.

But if it burns her too, if that torment makes her spin too... then why deny it?

"And if I did? If I do?"

Her body brushing against mine, pressing itself into my space, keeping me against the edge of the rink as I meet her gaze head on, and she's confronted with the raw unhidden intensity of both our warring wants in clash with one another. See it pooled in her eyes, see that tangible coarse desire darken her gaze. Legs widening to welcome the heat of her body scalding through the layers of clothes, body coiled tight, ungiving and hard against the softness of her own.

The raw arousal that sears through my consciousness is so tangible, so visceral in its intensity that I can see it as a winding snare that entangles the two of us together. See it burn flaming-white when her eyes linger on my mouth, tracking the trace of my tongue against my lips, see the slight flutter of her lashes and the clench of her jaw as she steels herself against whatever poisoned, damned attraction the two of us spiral into.

Groan rough when (Y/N) presses her weight to me, slotting herself closer, leg between my own, thighs clenching on either side of hers, caging that weighted press there, fight the urge to rock my hips down, to alleviate the knot tightening in my gut—even if doing so would spark some relief, modicum and the barest of it, against the roaring of my blood. Losing that fight but seeing how it affects her in turn.

But damned if I lose to her, to lose to the saccharine stickiness of her words that try tilt the scales to her favour, try to tilt the balance, the control to her hands so she's holding the reins. Eyes flinty as I stare at her, mouth curving deep with promise that if she's game then there's no way I'm going down without dragging her into the very depths of the blaze itself.

Feel my pleasure, my arousal rush southwards, feel my thighs ache with the effort and restraint of holding back when she looks at me, leaning inwards—breath hot against my skin, my own ghosting along her jaw, lips hovering close to hers.

Lips curving with amusement when she settles her hands on either side of me, body crowding to mine but it's my fingers angling her jaw just so—fingers crooking against skin, hard and firm but barely there at all.

"I think...I think I have a solution where we both win."

Words hot against her skin. If she can snag me in the heated attraction that courses liquid-hot through my veins, then two can play at that game.

The proximity making my head spin with the wait of her yes, with the echo of my hungering want in her own eyes, that need to be reflected back.

"What could you possibly offer me that makes me win?"

You have no idea doll.

And the lilted intrigue, the toying fraying control I see dwindle in her eyes is all the answer I need.

And all the answers when I crush my lips to hers.

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

There's only the briefest, faintest fraction of an instant where surprise stills her before it all melts and disintegrates—so sudden, so quick that it might have been imagined. Not sure of anything except how different how her mouth feels bruising against my own. Any fantasy, dark, forbidden, stifled down and suffocated, could rear its head and still somehow imagination can't have actualised this. The hard unyielding pressure of her lips against my own, feverish and taking with a desperate hunger that I grip her with, groaning against the soft fullness of her lips.

But even the soft fullness of her mouth denies me its compliance, lips pressing back just as hard, hands curling tight against the edge of the rink and the drag of her thigh where she hitches it higher, harder against my length. Tugging a broken guttural sound—hoarse with need and lust, fingers sprawling heavier against her jaw, dragging down to curl against her throat, keeping her face angled to mine, even as my hips grind down, arousal splintering across the line of my spine.

Kissing her is nothing like I could imagine because even in the darkest, blistering vision of stifled fantasies I couldn't conjure the exact feeling of resentment that laces the hard pressure of her mouth against my own, couldn't envision how smugness tastes in the curl of her tongue briefly sweeping against my lip, a fleeting distraction from the sharp bite of her teeth sinking hard into my bottom lip, a smirk pressed to my parted mouth.

The sting of her teeth not soothed over by the sweeping, teasing touch of her tongue that briefly curls against my own, hot and branding against the parting seam of my lips, gripping at her tighter, hand trailing up to her hair, snaking into the bound hair to tug the hairband free, hand snaking into her hair, tugging hard to angle her mouth further, the curve of her throat arches, lips bruising her own with the shape and feel of my own, teeth sinking hard against her lips, swallowing the hissed curse with a curled grin, mouth feverish as it chases the need for a softer curve of her mouth. Something she all too well denies me.

Something that makes the lust in my blood burn as it courses through my veins.

When she tugs herself back, tongue brushing across her bottom lip, it's to release me from the caged press of her body that'd been crowding my space. Skating backwards and twisting away with a sudden abruptness that's disorienting all of a sudden.

"Keep up Park~ I didn't think you were this slow." Voice mocking, skating backwards, a slowed pace as she watches me push off from the edge of the rink, a quickened rush of speed as I hurtle towards her with a sharp grin. Voice carrying across the ice.

"Oh I think the one thing that's crystal clear to you doll is that I'm far from slow. You, however..." quickly gaining distance on her when she twists with a sharp grin and skates off to the main exit of the ring, skates clambering off and guards shucked on... a quick seamless movement that's more than second nature, steps lighter. Noiseless, rushing treads that move from me. The few seconds it takes me to find purchase on solid ground and tug on skate guards... she's already ambling back, retreating further and further with a lazy cockiness, head barely turned over her shoulder to shoot a glance at me.

"Can't keep up? How do you think this'll end if you're already fumbling over your skates to get to me?"

The taunt makes my skin prickle. Pace quickening to rush after her, hand not managing to snag her back, to tug her bodily towards me, body veering to hers before I realise as the door swings shut behind us that I've followed her into the skaters' locker rooms. That in that moment, in blind want and attraction I don't realise just how blindly I've followed her, amusement making her eyes narrow as she drags them slowly over me.

"Why? Can act like you want to fuck the enemy but can't stand foot inside a space you'd never see otherwise?"

Words that are kerosene to bubbling, liquid fiery want, stepping closer and closer, the air tangibly thick and cloying...near suffocating with the weight of our lust it bears. Thickening with every step.

"Didn't realise you were the type for a quickie in the locker rooms."

"I'm a lot of things you won't realise. Besides, do you really think that I'll let you the pleasure of taking me to bed? You're lucky I'm letting you touch me."

"Doesn't sound like that's a complaint. When you were the one who couldn't get close enough to me on the rink. When all you want... is me wrapped around you." insinuation heavy in my voice, the words drawled, hanging suspended...weighted in the distance between our bodies that I close. Press those words to skin, positions reversed now. Hands grasping for her, curling possessive, hungering and wanton at her hips.

My hands tighten their grip on her, a bruising touch as I tug her forward. A rough force in trying to meld her body to mine, lines and dips of our bodies unyielding to one another. But still I tug her close, a harsh yank of my hands to fuse together hard and soft, the curve of my mouth crooked as I look at her.

"And yet...can't seem to keep your own away can you doll?" Smugness bleeding into my voice. Watching as the trail of her hand against my front stills. Palm dragging upwards before her fingers curl into the front of my jacket to yank me forward, body tugged to hers, grinning when I see that flicker of heat that makes the fire in her eyes burn hotter, voice a lilted croon, saccharine honey that slowly drags itself down my skin. Sinks in.

"Like I said Park... you're just about tolerable when you keep that mouth shut. Open it and... everything becomes ruined."

"Oh I think you'd enjoy what my mouth can do. And exactly how it could ruin you in ways more than one." Feeling her gaze flit to my lips, focusing briefly on the curve of them before just as quickly her eyes skim away, leaving pinpricks of heat where they skim and graze.

"I don't know if you'll even get a second time... I don't know if you deserve the pleasure of knowing how I taste."

There's nothing gentle or careful about the way my lips bruise hers, mouth crashing against the proud smirk etched on hers, determined to wipe it off. A sharp frustration that's pressed to the curve of her mouth. There's no gentleness in the way she stumbles back as my body pushes forward, steps fumbling and hands harsh against hers, the clang of metal where I twist to pin her against the lockers. Fingers curling into the curve of her waist, memorising the way the softness of her body is malleable to my touch–moulding to it in a way our words never do. But the harsh contrast of our bodies, that sizzling, crackling ire towards one another wells up regardless, spills itself into the rough groan wrenched from the back of my throat when her fingers sink into my hair to yank me into her, my own retaliating by dragging a hand down to grip at her hip, lower still to band around the back of her thigh, hitch her leg up and in it make for myself a space between her thighs. Body slotting to hers.

The softness of her curves are giving even if her words and sharp eyes aren't. Teeth catching at skin, sinking hard against the crook of her neck, feeling the erraticness of her pulse flutter under the harsh pressure of my teeth. Tongue flicking over the blooming red over skin, tasting the faint tang of salt on her skin, the scent of her dizzying on my senses. Mouth dragging a line of open-mouthed kisses against skin, fingers tugging at the tight fit of her clothes to drag the hem of her top up and off when her hand stills me.

"You first."

"Why? Can't wait to run your eyes all over me?"

"If I take my clothes off first I don't know if you'll be able to last long enough to even get inside me." Words mocking. Accompanied with the deep set of her mouth curved into a smirk.

"Bold...pitiful words doll... sounds like it comes from experience. Why? Not been fucked well enough? Not gotten satisfied?"

"Keep running that mouth Park and I'll make sure only I get off. Use you like a toy and throw you aside." Words sharp vitriol, heavy with a promise she intends to follow through.

"You're all talk doll. Will you still be saying the same when the very name you hate is the one you'll beg for?"

"I don't beg. Certainly never to you Park." Words vitriol, hissed with a sharp venom I feel prickle my skin, scour at flesh and bones and fuse with arousal that sets my veins alight.

Fingers tugging impatiently at the hem of her top, feel that distance when she tilts her head back, eyes sparked with a fury and challenge and haughtiness, hands dragging her top up and off, letting it fall to the side, letting my eyes drink her in with a starved thirst that desperately feasts on the sight of her.

Her own hand reaching to pluck at the front of my top, disinterested sweeping eyes that despite their unaffectedness leave sparks in their wake. Lips curled proudly, even as her eyes flutter minutely at the tightening grip of my hand at her waist, fingers sinking hard into soft flesh.

"You're not the first I've had in the locker room...don't go thinking you're special now." Words a murmured croon, eyes glinting with amusement, darkening irises glittering as she takes in my reaction, the minutest hitch of her breath when I press her harder against the lockers, metal hard and ungiving against her skin, my grip even more so.

Teeth catching at my jaw, trailing lower to press a biting kiss against the column of my throat, tasting the hammering of my pulse under her tongue and teeth, under the wicked curve of her mouth lilted into a smirking insufferableness against the line of my neck. The pressure of her teeth is hard... curved amusement, tongue flicking slow and teasing, doing nothing to ebb the sharp pulse of pain-pleasure, nothing to soothe because if we're both drowning then it's consciously, harshly aware of every sensation. With the intent to make the other ache more.

The admission of her words makes my blood burn hotter, eyes clenching shut at the thought of her barely a hallway down from the hockey changing rooms—someone else pleasuring her and her sounds contained within the space. A white-hot flash of raw unbridled lust that makes my spine tighten, a rumble of a sound trying to break free from stubborn clamped lips where her lips press an open-mouthed kiss to the aching mark her touch threatens to leave behind. A false lull to the roughness of her touch.

"And here I was thinking we had something." I goad, words mocking, rasped low against her, body pressing harder to hers, dissatisfied with the layers between us.

My hands move to curl at her hips, fingers slipping under the waistband, delving clean under fabric, nails dragging slow, rough, wanting against soft giving skin, watch her hand dart out to still my movement, a questioning tilt to her head. Drinking in the sight of swollen lips with no little satisfaction, her mouth branded and shaped by my own, the flushed kiss-bitten redness to them inviting my teeth to sink harder against the fullness of her bottom lip. To tug out a broken rough sound from the back of her throat. Words murmured between slick breaths, bodies hovering close to one another, her hand nudging me back. Taking me in.

"Don't go thinking you're special. Besides... I'm not the one with so many layers on. I'm not one to waste time...so how about you get a move on Park?"

My touch lingering... aching and only drawing back when she gives the front of my shirt a tug, eyes dragging lower, lingering. The weight of her stare scouring past the layers of fabric. And suddenly I'm impatient to feel her hands map out the sprawling weight of her touch down my front, a sense of smugness and pride seeping into my expression when her own pace briefly falters. When instead of tugging off the rest of her clothes she watches me, a tight, almost imperceptible, clench to her jaw when I let my shirt fall to the side, feeling her eyes flash– a spark of heat as they linger on my torso. Knowing full well her attention's drawn to the tattoo she says nothing about. Eyes trailing lower, mapping out the line and dips of my torso, the sharp lines that years and years... hours on hours have been dedicated to maintaining.

But where there's pride in flaunting what my dedication has carved into my body, somehow the sight of her body bare renders me still. Eyes flitting feverishly over her, unsure where to linger first, where to drag, feel the arousal in my gut pool thicker– a weight that makes the coil in my abdomen tighten. Because if all the attraction, all the want was with just her, without ever having seen her– what feeling did I give to the dizzying rush of blistering lust and desire that scalds and burns itself through every crevice of my body, leaves my skin feeling stretched taut and my body near trembling with fraying restraint. From the urge to press hard and tight to her and be buried in her.

There's no preamble, no teasing and drawing out a snare we've both known the inevitability of being entangled up in. Her hands tugging at her clothes, discarding them without a care, confidence and knowledge pooling in the darkening of her pupils as she takes in my reaction. Visceral and tangible and unguarded. There's still wicked delight at letting my hand drag from her thigh to her centre, fingers circling her and finding that hate it though she might, the subtle circling of her hips and the frustrated low exhale of her breath, eyes dark and furious... that she's attracted and turned on. Infuriated by the smirk that tugs wider at my lips.

And if I'd been driven insane by lust and attraction before... the feeling only amplified by the forced close proximity of training with her... I didn't know how I was to ever look at her and not feel that spark of a match setting a blazing inferno alight. How I was meant to look at her, see the same proud gleam to her eyes and sharpness to her smile and not see her like this.

"Didn't know it does things to you to get pinned against a locker doll." I don't know who it belongs to, I don't recognise the number across it. It's not the same I've committed to memory because of the person wearing it. It's not hers. Mocking and jeering and painted across the inside of my mind. And even though I loathe the attraction, loathe the way it drowns out conscious thought and reason– enough to have me here like this... I file the realisation away, watching her eyes glitter, irises darkening.

"Would you rather I took you against it instead?" a curl of full lips turned up with a teasing lilt, gaze boring into me, scouring past the layers of clothes in futile attempt to see into the very depths of dark, stifled fantasies. Fingers dragging slow, lips hard against hers, the hungering heated press of her mouth to my own reminding me that this blistering arousal, this want wasn't one-sided, tugging out a quiet groan, almost stifled, muffled as if she won't dare grant me the slightest satisfaction of hearing any pleasured sound from her.

That can't do.

"Fantasised it enough?" words a low croon.

Lips curling against her jaw when a moan's wrenched from her throat, fingers twisting hard and fast, thumb dragging rough circles against her nub, feeling the tight clench of her thighs between my hand, the sprawled weighted pin of my other hand that tugs her thigh open, eyes dragging down her front to drink in the sight of my fingers working themselves in and out of her.

For every taunting, mocking word she's given, the staccato breaths, rough and uneven compensate for them now– not a balm to her abrasiveness but a fuel to my own, lips curving deep with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction to see the sharpness in her eyes falter, fingers curling tight against my wrist but doing nothing to tug my fingers away, hips grinding down and rocking into the touch. Rough, deep motions of my fingers that drag out broken sounds and muffled cries she can't bear giving me full gratification of hearing. Even now... even like this.

Hand hitching her thigh open, body pressing down, hips flush with her own, fingers drawn away, body arching as her grip on my wrist tightens for a brief moment before it falls away. Hand reaching between us, dragging slow against where my own arousal's visible, fingers curling to squeeze—relishing the involuntary buck of my hips, the hissed curse as I rock into the touch before easing back.

(Y/N)'s body pressing back against the locker, a cocky smirk playing on her lips, unabashedly letting her gaze travel lower until I'm entirely divested of clothes too, frustration splintering across skin in sharp hot-white pinpricks of lust, groaning low.

"Condom."

A brief moment where it feels like this is how it ends—teetering on that precipice she's pushed me towards with no solid ground, nothing concrete underneath. That this is how it ends—aching and unsatisfied just like she'd said before she's tugging the locker door open, briefly rifling through it.

Tossing the package at me, body so keyed up and thrumming with impatience that the curl of my own hand against my length has sharp, stinging desire buzzing through my veins, hand dragging across, trying to ease the aching want that pools thicker and heavier.

The slight tilt of her head, the curved angles of her body on full, proud display, the stance of her legs widening slightly, hands sprawled against the locker door, darting forward to grip at me when my hand grips at her thigh and yanks. Anchoring her leg up, hips grinding deep rough circles against her centre.

Nails curling tight against skin, harder still at the first nudge, hips slowly circling, hearing her steeling a breath, the sound petering out into a wavery quiet keen as I sink into her, slower at first and then at the dragging sting of her nails against my skin, the sharpness of her breath do I rock forward. Length sheathed inside her in a quick, deep thrust, groaning as I bottom out.

"Do I want to know why you knew there were condoms?" words tight, gritted out with a tenseness that's in the coiling of my limbs, tightening further by the breathless grin—sparked with amusement as she looks at me through lowered lashes.

"You don't need to know. Just like I don't need to know whatever you do in your locker room. There's nothing more than just this Park." A reminder, one that makes my spine tighten, the next thrust of my hips rougher, deeper- lips hard against her own. Lips pressing against her jaw, teeth catching at skin, trailing lower, hands keeping her body pinned against the locker door, gripping tight at the soft pliancy of her thighs. Fingers sinking in harder with every thrust, swallowing down the half wavering sounds that tumble past our lips unbidden to soak into each other's skin.

Every drag of my body against hers, the tighter grip of her hands curving against my shoulders, teeth at my jaw, trailing down my throat—intent to leave harsh blooms of colour where the feverish heat of her mouth trails.

The heat of her body is a burning press against my own, where lines and curves are pressed flush to one another, weight pinning hers to the locker, head dipping lower to lathe a trail across her collarbone, down the curve of her breast, teeth sinking hard against her, lips tugged into a wide grin at the moan that slips past her lips unbidden. The way her hands tighten, gripping me harder to her, legs moving to lock around me, anchoring me to her, pinpricks of heat that makes my skin burn hotter and hotter. Head ducking to mouth at skin, tasting the faint tang of salt, eyes dragging over the tautness of her body, the arch of (Y/N)'s spine, her eyes fluttering shut at a harder thrust.

"Eyes open doll—can't bear to look at the guy making you feel this good?" words a goading whisper, lips curling with triumph at the flash of heat in her lidded gaze, heat winding its tighter noose at the way her tongue flicks against her bottom lip, sweeping against it before she speaks. Voice raw and rough.

"Maybe if I pretend it's someone else I might feel a lot better." Words a taunt. Accompanied with a wicked glint in her eyes, her hand trailing down, nails circling slow and then hard against a nipple. Revelling in the hiss of breath even as her thighs tighten around me at the sharper snap of my hips driving myself deeper, harder into her.

Using the leverage of her body pinned up and open to rock my hips deeper, deep circling grinds that tug out sounds she can't bear to surrender to me, but they slip past swollen bruised lips regardless. Where they were twisted with displeasure they melt to part with a soft groan, thighs trembling as she locks them tighter. Tugging me deeper into her, hips rocking as she meets each thrust with a downwards grind of her own.

Hand skimming up from the crease of her hip to the dip of her waist. Up and dragging against the curve her breast before gripping at her jaw, hard, angling her face to mine, words a rasp against her skin.

"Maybe you wish you could doll. But after this you'll hate that you won't be able to forget."

And there's a primal delight I take in the glower on her lips that can't stay long no matter how much she tries. There's a blistering aching torment in aching, wanting, hungering to be the reason her displeasure melts into blissed ecstasy, throat bobbing as she swallows heavy, my mouth pressing to her pulse. Leaving a stinging bitten mark behind.

There's vicious satisfaction in seeing the way a retort dies on her lips and in lieu of a response, the tight band of her legs tug me closer, hand dragging down my front, nails teasing cruelly at one nipple then the other, head dipping lower to drag her lips slow against my collarbone. Her other hand drags down my back, nails leaving stinging trails of heat, digging in harder for purchase when my hips rock further to hers, when my hands adjust my grip on her... tightening as I hoist her further against the door before pressing harder to her. Body pressed hard to hers, swallowing the waver of her breathing, tongue sweeping against her bottom lip. Messy against hers where she meets the hunger of the kiss with a searing intensity that engulfs me from the inside out. Tongues battling for control, refusing to relent control to one another, chasing the curl of her tongue with my own sweeping through the crevices of her mouth.

Hand dragging from her hip to the inside of her thigh to her centre, fingers toying with her slick nub, circling where I'm sheathed in her, feel the tremors in her thigh, feel the tight coil of muscles under the softness.

"Ambitious aren't you? I've had better fucks Park." Words hissed, accompanied with the drag of her fingers skimming up my back to curl against my nape, anchoring my eyes to her—daring me to consider looking away. But I don't know if either of us could wrench our gazes away from the hypnotic hate-attraction that pools in her eyes just as thick and weighted as in my own.

A frantic urgency begins to bleed into her movements, the twisting arch of her body futilely trying to tug herself away, fingers stained with slick arousal, feel her body tremble under the caged press of my own. The peak that she's trying to stave off, the peak she's trying to beckon from me by tugging me closer. It tugs my lips up, quirked and breathless even as I rock my hips to hers, drive myself deeper and deeper, the slow drag of slick skin against my own, her body flushed exertion, making the heat of her body hotter. A brand against my own, breath shuddering as her teeth catch at my shoulder, biting down hard.

Hard enough that it makes breath hiss through my teeth. Hard enough that my hands grip at her tighter in retaliation, determined that if (Y/N)'s going to leave marks of how this infuriating lust burns away at logic... then I'm not the only one walking away unscathed by it. Hard enough that the trembling of her exhales only fans the heat that seems to pulse—a stinging sensation of pain-pleasure as she grips at me, body shuddering as the waves of pleasure come to crest. The harsh arch of her back pushing her chest flush to mine, thighs locked tight around me, gripping me in their hold. The waves of her pleasure a reeling beckon to my own, thrusts erratic, harder, deeper until that tight band of pressure low in my gut snaps.

Hips rocking forward, bucking deep, rough grinding circles as I bury myself into her, body trembling with the sheer intensity of pleasure that splinters over every crevice, every line, every particle and nerve cell of my body. Drowning me so thoroughly in it, in the pleasure that seems to mount higher and higher, body jerking forward, breaths ragged in the space between our lips.

Somehow... somehow as we take each other in, eyes dazed and glittering with arousal and pleasure there's only that winding knotting feeling of every infuriating feeling and conflicting emotion of annoyance and attraction reaching an all too new peak.

Somehow it makes my blood burn that the lust in my veins doesn't immediately suffuse at the sight of her, that alongside annoyance, arousal claws at my skin. Leaves it feeling raw.

Voice low and throaty, words grit out.

"Don't kid yourself princess. You won't get fucked better than this."

Her eyes are dangerous waters but there's never been restraint or limits.

And when they threaten to drown me in the liquid fire that pools in her irises, that blackens her pupils and makes the curve of her mouth twist into its mocking, snide lilt, I don't know if I can stand to stay in close proximity and not crush my mouth to hers to wipe the damning sight off.

Feel her arms unravel, bodies retreating, hands squeezing tight once before they fall away from the softness of her thighs, a visceral jolt of smugness at the sight of her legs trembling as she straightens up. Bodies still close enough that her hand brushes against me as she reaches up to push her hair away from her face, the rise and fall of her chest rapid and uneven.

My words hang weighted between us even as she sinks back against the locker, body dewy with exertion, skin slick and damp... a different labour that our bodies have bared the fruit of, the buzz of release still making my lungs shudder. And yet she doesn't retaliate.

There's something more provoking about the quiet assessment of her gaze scouring at me. Dragging over the lines of my body.

A slanted smirk that's dismissive, hand at my chest, a faint drag of her fingers trailing down before she gives me a shove. Putting space between us.

Unbothered and uncaring of her clothes scattered on the floor around the two of us, body bare and faint splotches of colour that'll deepen with time.

But she doesn't spare me a backwards glance as she moves towards the showers, the sway of her hips mocking. The curves of her silhouette drawing away, words ringing out as she calls out.

"See yourself out Park. There's only so much I could've tolerated of you."

And I don't know if what I'm left feeling is amusement or disbelief. Whether what I'm feeling is snubbed.

Her words still ringing in my ears. And a curl of a smirk tugging at my lips when she retreats from view but the taste of her skin slick with exertion still lingers on my tongue.

[......]

The next time I see (Y/N), days later, her eyes snag mine briefly before they drag a slow cursory glance of my body, looking at my uniform. Gaze turning heavier. Lingering.

The past few days a blur of training and practice and spending time with the team and somehow—somehow in those past few days (Y/N) is nowhere. There's no reason for our skating to overlap without shared practice and even in those moments, those familiar fights for the biggest rink, can't happen because she's gone and mass-booked the rink for days on end. Not there when I eventually get a slot, nothing left behind but patterns on ice that could've been anyone's skates carving their trail there.

The next time I see her every moment of our last interaction, face to face, and the way it'd ended, skin to skin, bodies entangled come flooding through my mind. An impassiveness greeting me that makes me wonder—well and truly if I'd imagined it. If it'd all been a product of attraction and tamped down lust bubbling up into a fantasy that had me gripped in every instant of it.

Watch her gaze tear away from me when she senses my eyes narrowed onto the sight, hockey stick tapping against the ice, the sound making her twist away.

But not before for a few instances her gaze drops to the curve of my mouth. And the pleased lilt to it. To the drag of my tongue whetting my bottom lip.

Words left purposely on the tip of my tongue that I don't need to say. That she won't hear.

But she doesn't need to. Because I wonder if my words ring in her ears the same way her pleasured moans flit through my hearing. Or if she remembers it with just as much raw clarity as I do.

And whether she's more frustrated or turned on by it.

The flash of heat in her eyes is indecipherable.

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

"You're working with another pair today. Find another duo to be practicing today. Groups of four should be enough to be running some basic hockey drills. What we pride ourselves on is teamwork." Coach's voice rings out, a gruffness to it, eyes flitting to Coach Seo—daring her to provoke, to combat his words.

There's an exasperation in her eyes that she keeps well concealed, a mockery in the strong levelness in her words. In its monotony.

"Yes... let's see what teamwork drills can teach us today." Not even bothering to spare him a glance, a solidarity given in the way Coach Kim stands beside her, not in challenge or competition but as an equal.

It's a disorienting difference to the proud aloft brashness our Coach Choi holds his own with.

There's no chance to choose, to make a decision because the small distance that had been between (Y/N) and my body is furthered, skates pushing off in a brisk pace towards Jungkook, his eyes lighting up and finding her immediately.

Body slightly angled to let her skate to a still next to him, several paces behind her when I come to stop beside Namjoon, a clear divide thrumming between the two sides. A sizing up as my eyes drag over the figure skating captain, taking in the tall confident way he holds himself with and the loose drape of his arm over (Y/N) before he tilts his head in challenge. Unthreatened by the confrontational stare.

"Took your time."

(Y/N) has the nerve to pat his arm complacently, words placating and slow, eyes settled on him. Entirely dismissive.

"I won't make excuses for my... partner Kook but he's quite slow on his feet. Quite slow to get his game on."

Lips thinning at the faux softness to her words. At the insinuation in them that rings clearly in my ears despite the murmured quietness she'd uttered them with.

Beside me, in my peripheral, I watch Joon's brows rise. Impassive and silently gauging.

Hand extending out to her.

"Well he's solid in practice." The words meant to ease the sharpness before it can settle.

But even though (Y/N) takes his hand, a firmness to her own grip as she takes his, her head tilts.

Cursory and examining.

"Shame... I've yet to see it myself."

"Like you've been excelling in practice." Words containing a sharp tightness to them.

Realising a beat too late that it only serves to make the corners of her mouth quirk. As if my words, my voice doesn't deign an amusement worthy of a glance, of that insufferable smirk.

"Don't be bitter Park. Just cos I can handle your big boy stick better than you." words crooned. And this... this is the first instant she makes eye contact with me, eyes flashing with unshed laughter and amusement that glitters in her eyes, fuel to a fire she's steadily... readily pouring kerosene into. Ready to let it flare.

It makes my skin itch with how easily she worms under it.

It makes my blood buzz with the flare of heat that every interaction with her brings, fingers curling against my side.

"I don't know... I don't think you could handle my—" words cut off with the jab of an elbow against my side, the faint curl of a smile ghosting along lips and exasperation in his eyes as Joon darts me a glance.

"Good to see you keep the boys on a short leash... shall we?" deigning me a final lingering glance, a different flicker of heat in her eyes as she narrows her gaze at me. But her words... her words are a flare to the stifled annoyance that sparks to life at the mocking taunt. Twisting away with Jungkook to skate towards the front to grab equipment.

There's a pride in his eyes as he falls in step beside her and then the sharp welling bubble of a laugh that spills from his lips as he nudges her, pride clear in his movements even if I can't see his expression.

Jaw clenched tight. That tension only locking in further at the weighted drag of breath that tumbles past Joon's lips. The faint wariness in his eyes.

"Somehow I'm not looking forward to this group practice today."

"Join the club Joon. I can't believe that I'm saying this—but I can't wait to get off the ice."

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

"Skate five paces then pass." Namjoon's voice calls out, a steady authority in it that's almost disorienting to see Jungkook follow, skates pushing out with a quick briskness that somehow... somehow has got the edge on (Y/N)'s usual skating edge. Remembering glittering furious eyes snag to me and rush after to not keep up... Jungkook's pace is different. Seamlessly following through, controlling the puck he weaves in and out with the hockey stick, a sharp swiftness as he sends it careening across the ice to Namjoon.

If Namjoon hadn't been one of the quickest on his skates, if he hadn't been sharply watching the movement it might've made him wobble as he rushes a few paces forward to receive the puck- knocked further than either of us expected with the momentum of his aim.

"(Y/N) skate forward." Words ringing out, a clear gauging of the space on the rink as she weaves around Jungkook to move into place, circling and weaving in and out the obstacles with a growing ease, a different flair to her movements that's similar to Jungkook's. Each twist and glide is meant to draw attention—that's the only reason why my gaze fixates on her, tracking her figure across the ice, to the sharp intensity in her stare as she focuses on the puck, darting forward to intercept it. The movement slightly weighted down by the padding, but she reaches it, nonetheless.

A muscle in my jaw ticks, teeth clenching when I think of how much more effort the drills we're made to do have, how much more difficult. Annoyed at the way that (Y/N) and Jungkook are picking up on basic drills.

Maybe that's the problem, eyes tracking her as she circles back, sharing a high five and proud brash grin with Jungkook... maybe it's too easy.

Skating forward in a sharp sudden glide to round them before moving past, nudging aside the obstacles to create a greater distance between them. Shoulder nudging against Joon's before speaking.

"We're amping up the drill now that you seem to know the very basics of it. We're going to switch up to the actual drills we do—not child's play that the two of you are so impressed with yourselves by."

A smugness in watching their grins tighten around the corners. Harden.

Brows rising at the complaint brimming on (Y/N)'s lips, her posture stiffening and straightening up. Unconsciously making her stance sharper. Though whether it's on the offence or defence I can never tell.

"What? You didn't think you'd actually accomplished the drills we do. Look around princess... can you see any of your teammates actually getting anything right?" words scathing, tinged with a mockery as her eyes glint, body jerking forward before a hand tugs her back. Unspoken communication in the way Jungkook's body remains firm and unyielding, a level grounding impenetrable wall of thought, somehow in its silence speaks in the masses.

"Jimin-ah..." murmured in a low quietness, in a half breath.

Head tilted slightly, eyes flitting to his—sensing the warning and exasperation in them.

"Oh come on Joon... do you see how smug they're getting over a basic drill?" voice low enough that it doesn't carry, doesn't get overhead over the sound of skates against ice, against the sound of hockey sticks and pucks and the loud calls of the other players.

"You're digging your own grave. And mine." Eyes flashing.

"Because we're going to make it impossible for them to get this?" because I will make it impossible for (Y/N) to get this?

"Because... I don't know what you're going to do if... if they do. And... I don't know what I'm going to do when it gets to verbal blows between you and (Y/N)."

I tap my hockey stick against the ice. The sound hard. Rough.

Lips curling into a grin.

"Ah I'm too above that."

"Are you?"

[......]

Fury.

That's the word to describe the look of hard, molten lava in her gaze.

It shouldn't be so attractive to hear every hissed curse and sharp snap of her words—fuel to my amusement, to that bubbling sense of triumph as I look at her, eyes dragging over the flush on her skin that's exertion and frustration both, damp with how hard she's pushing herself to get this drill right.

I shouldn't be focusing on the way her throat looks with every ragged inhale and exhale, shouldn't be focusing on the way her hair is somehow still meticulously tied back and I shouldn't be focusing on the way her lips look when she curses me, words low and rough and almost... almost for a brief moment imagine how they'd feel pressed to skin.

It's pure fury that she looks at me with as she straightens up yet again, breath laboured slightly but refusing to back down. Refusing to surrender and give up on the drill. A sharpness in her words as she twists away from me, voice dropping lower as she straightens up beside Jungkook—heads angled close, voices quiet.

It's fury then it's dismissive entirely. It's a sudden flash of hot, hot emotions in her stare before it becomes a hardened ice out. As if all that emotion gets passed underneath a solid wall. The feeling smoothened out from the prickliness of her posture as if it'd never been in the hard set of her limbs in the first place.

"We should wind down with a different drill." Words low as Joon rounds me, skating past to restart the drill, walking (Y/N) and Jungkook through it. The words aren't uttered as captain at the moment. But purely and solely as a group mate, watching as Jungkook's hand drags across his face, dabbing at his forehead.

I give him a lopsided shrug.

"Can you see her backing down? Neither will I." eyes glued to the way she curls her hand tighter around the hockey stick, looking moments away from hurling it across the ice or at me. Whichever might inflict more damage on the hockey stick.

"Okay. Follow through with me, we're going hard left first, the two of you to crisscross one another and swap positions by the end.

"Okay... follow through with me. We're going hard left and then when Jimin passes the puck forward I want you two to keep it between you two and away from us. Simple enough?" and though there's no mirth or derision in Joon's voice when he says it... I see the moment the challenge flares to life in their eyes.

See the moment that whatever hadn't shifted into place—locks there now.

A faint trepidation trickling down my spine as I move into position, eyeing the newer hardness to their postures, bodies locking down as they slip into the formation they've picked up from me and Joon.

"So. Just need to keep it out of your reach?" Jungkook reiterates, a contemplating glint in his eyes.

Rolling his shoulders as he adjusts his grip on his hockey stick.

A faint furrow between my brows.

Stance steady and alert. Eyes narrowing onto him.

"Sounds easy right?" I reply, a glance flickered towards me. A ghost of a smile that's sharp around the edges.

The sight of it makes my hackles rise.

Body tense slightly at the look.

No response given before Joon's voice rings out.

A sudden snap of motion as they skate forward in unison, in sync despite the distance in their bodies and the fact that they veer outwards and away from one another. Puck taken into swift control by Jungkook, Namjoon's body falling into step right beside him, the hard clash of hockey sticks as they fight for control over the puck.

Body twisting with a sharp sudden clean cut of movement, puck sent sliding across the ice and directly into (Y/N)'s orbit.

The feeling of competitiveness heightening as I rush after her, skates pushing me quick across the ice to be on her tail, body ducking closer, hockey stick striking against hers. The sound harsh but the ringing laughter that spills out makes my skin spark, eyes flashing to her face to see the at ease expression on her face. The sudden sharp veering motion as she skates hard left all of a sudden, not speeding up...not changing momentum but using her agility to her advantage to veer away. Puck slipping from my grasp, from my reach the moment I've caught upto her—lips curled triumphantly.

Eyes flashing.

"Keep up Park—it's easy enough no?" words carrying over the ice, eyes entirely fixed on Jungkook- a deeper level of ease in the two of them then somehow there is between me and Joon.

Out manoeuvring us to the final point where the curve of my hockey stick clashes hard with (Y/N)'s, intercepting the puck by pure force, refusing to surrender the victory to her.

But where I'd thought it'd be enough—she gives as good as she gets... and then some. Battling for control over the puck before she sends it skimming across the ice—away from all of us... skating away with a quick twist of her skates, the movement effortless. Her eyes blazing when she lets out a loud yell, pumping the hockey stick up and letting it clatter to the ice when Jungkook surges forward for her.

The sheer force that they collide with should've sent the two tumbling to the ice if it isn't for the way their bodies steady one another and he whisks her up with a bright laugh, eyes sparked with giddiness.

"That's my girl!"

My lungs burn, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins as I straighten up, feeling Namjoon brush against my side as he skates towards me.

A tightness to his eyes but his lips are curled up.

"Guess that smugness is rightly earned." Voice clear, eyes taking in the two of them. Their celebration drawing eyes from others in the nearest vicinity. Tugging smiles and glowers alike.

"What do you mean?"

"You said... earlier. That they were smug over a drill. I guess I can see why they can be. They out smarted us."

It's a begrudging...infuriating thing to even consider accepting in my own head but Jungkook's good at it. That there'd been this effortlessness to his movements that made me feel wound up by. That he and (Y/N) had managed to do the drill, that the glow on her face had turned triumphant and giddy and the curl of her lips not as sharp but just as provoking and maddening regardless.

It's a begrudging thing to admit to myself... let alone Joon.

"Lucky fluke."

"No... I don't think it is." Joon muses, an assessing tilt to his head as he takes the two in.

"There's something they did—something different about the way they move that managed to let them out manoeuvre us... and we've been doing this drill for years."

"It's them. Cos like you said no-one else is doing well at the drills. But it's also because they're figure skaters."

"Come off it Joon—what edge do they have over us?" defensive and sharp.

There's confusion in his words too.

Not entirely sure himself.

"I don't know yet."

[......]

In hindsight, maybe Coach Choi had underestimated how much of a divide this was going to wedge between the two teams again.

In hindsight, eyes catching onto the grim smile on his lips, maybe Coach Choi knew exactly what he was doing when he posed the small group training.

In hindsight, maybe Coach Seo shouldn't have been unflappably calm—her eyes tinged with anger as she takes in the clear division between the groups, hockey players working against the figure skaters. The figure skaters at strong, full clash with the hockey players.

The original pairs we'd been divided into for the past sessions have disintegrated. And it's easier to fall back into old habits, its easier to fall into synchrony with teammates than it is with someone whose eyes and lips pool with challenge and competition and just like that... that urge to one up her, to beat her makes my blood buzz.

Coach Choi stands on the edge of the rink, watching as the rivalry between the two teams drives a wedge into the very purpose of Coach Seo putting us together in shared practice in the first place. A sharp cruel gleam in his eyes as he watches it all begin to crumble.

"Your Coach is an asshole." Words sharp, skating up beside me, hockey stick clashing against mine, the force enough to jolt my balance but not to topple it.

Eyes flashing with annoyance, a harsh defensiveness bleeding into my voice.

Immediate. Instinctive.

"Watch your mouth."

"Why? He's an old bastard. A fool wasting everyone's time."

"It was your Coach who suggested this whole mess in the first place." Lips curling into a sneer, eyes narrowing at the unrepentant tone in her voice. The disrespect towards my Coach and by extension our team... me, makes anger sear through me.

"And did you see her ever make us do anything that even if I had to fight you every step of the way for that didn't help?"

"I didn't need to learn how to do lunges on ice." Words snapped back.

Her eyes gleam.

"And yet... yet you spent hours dedicating yourself to learning a skill to what—prove yourself to me? Why Park—need my approval do you?"

"Fuck off. The last thing any of us need is a prancing skater's approval." The words fall short because something triumphant flares to life in her gaze, steels her voice into a low roughness, words stirring a faint heat of anger and lust.

"Yet you looked at me after we'd fucked for approval. Why? Did you need me to tell you how good it was—when really it was..." leaning in to my space, voice dropping lower. A dangerous whisper.

So she does remember. She does think about it. But it brings a stinging sensation with the cold beguiling lilted quality of her voice.

"Adequate at best." Words a cold brusqueness that's disarming for a few moments. Before sweeping waves of incredulity, disbelief flit through me, prickles of anger beginning to spark. Refusing to back down, twisting so that I'm facing her. Head angled close to hers, voice a low rumble.

For someone who's been just as eagerly ignorant of that moment of weakness. Of temptation that's been stifled away, shoved away from the forefront of my mind—she drags it back to the front.

"Is that what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night? Then by all means doll... because the way I remember it you looked like you couldn't get enough." Eyes blazing. The stream of memories and images that flit through my mind in quick succession are only proof to my words.

Remembering with a sharp clarity just how exactly she'd looked as she'd clutched at me, how she'd looked reaching her peak and how she'd looked when there'd been nothing but a dark snare in her gaze, dragging me further into her.

A sardonic laugh bubbles up my throat, spills easy past my lips.

Lips curling deep.

"If I remember right you were the one who wanted me. You were the one who couldn't keep your hands off me. Do you do that to every average guy you want pinning you to a locker?"

Sharp eyes hold mine but there's a self-satisfaction that bleeds into my voice, makes it dip lower, watching her gaze sharpen, dip lower to the curve of my mouth before she wrenches it away. But not before I see the molten weight in her eyes.

"And yet you were the one who came looking for something more weren't you? You were the one who couldn't keep away."

And it's no longer just about that moment where I'd been transfixed by her skating, no longer just about that moment where the air had shifted, and it wasn't just teasing, and it'd become something more... something weighted and charged and just waiting for the trigger that was inevitably approaching. It's no longer just about that time on the rink, that one off. It's about the sex.

It's about the sex that from the looks of it neither of us are willing to accept has lingered in memory nor that it was something we'd both wanted at the moment. Something neither of us would accept now. Or ever.

And right now that crackling pit of fire and frustration morphs into something headier, something dangerous and intoxicating and dizzying. Because that fire morphs into something that roars and burns and blisters skin.

"So it was all me?" voice challenging. Sharp and laced with a guttural heaviness.

"You started it. I gave it an end. Although now... now it seems maybe it didn't end for you. Maybe once wasn't enough."

Words thrumming with an electric charge that I feel makes the air crackle and thicken with it, her tone provoking, riling.

And I linger on her words, eyes lingering on the curve of her mouth, lingering on the heat in her eyes that reel me closer, threaten to drag me into their burning depths, lingering on the closeness of her body—close enough her breath is hot where it ghosts along my skin and if either of us moved the most fraction amount it'd have our bodies brushing against one another.

It's a wonder that restraint comes now—it comes ironclad, holding back every thrumming nerve cell that buzzes with adrenaline and lust, stops me from closing the distance. All too aware of the rink being full. All too aware that this... this is just another one of those games.

"Well you know where to find me if you can't... resist."

"Is that an offer?"

"It's a reminder."

(Y/N) POV:

"You're back early." Are the first words Kook gets out, rubbing sleep from his eyes, blinking droopily up at me, hand brushing hair from his face, lips curved fondly at the sight of him straightening up. Mind slowly waking up and body sluggishly stirring from underneath my blankets, shuffling upright. Voice hoarse with sleep.

"How do you know? I could've been gone hours and you've slept through because my bed's comfy."

"I set an alarm... in case." Voice droopy and heavy, head absently tilting to his phone on my bed side table.

"In case you needed to..."

"Take you off the ice. Never done any good in overworking." Eyes still blinking slowly, drawing back the blankets in invite before he stills. A slow blink. Then another.

Then a grin tugs at his lips, eyes sharper and more alert as he straightens up. Simultaneously tugging me closer and leaning into my space, amusement bleeding into his voice.

"Guess you weren't practicing—who left their calling card?" words teasing and playful, finger poking at the low of my throat—the touch making my skin pulse with a dull ache, rearing back and tugging down the neckline and staring at the darkening mark left behind on my skin.

Lips parting then clamping shut.

Biting down on my tongue hard enough it stings.

Fucking Park Jimin.

"Go on... tell me, tell me. Who managed to draw you away from the ice? Tell me you left a more visible mark." Words ringing with laughter as he slumps back into my bed, watching me with unveiled amusement in sparkling eyes. A wide toothy grin tugging his lips wider as he looks at me.

"I..."

"Must've been a solid fuck if you had to shower it all off before coming back—you love your bathroom." Eyes astute, now scouring over me with a careful scrutinising intensity, catching sight o my damp hair.

"Shut up—it was not that good. I just thought might as well."

"Ah! Glad we're not denying there was someone... but who!" impatience making his eyes glitter.

I don't know if I can even bring myself to say his name, a bitter poisoned taste on my mouth at the thought of verbalising it aloud.

Because if I do... then it most definitely was real. Because if I do—then somehow, somewhere I've lost.

But Kook looks at me with amusement and tease ready on the tip of his tongue, eyes boring into me, refusing to let up.

And the moment his name is uttered on my lips, I watch his face go slack jawed, blinking owlishly. As if he can't quite believe it, can't process it.

Then reaches out to pinch me hard on my arm.

"Ow! Kook what was that for?" hand whacking his away, lips twisted into a scowl as I look at him, the sound jolting a bubble of laughter from him, then another. Pealing giggles as he tosses his head back, blinking at me.

"I had to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"You pinch yourself for that!"

"I had to make sure you weren't fantasising."

"I do not fantasise about Park Jimin!" cheeks flushing an angry hot.

His eyes glint, lips quirked with mischief.

"Just checking it wasn't like the time with—"

I lunge for him, hand clasping over his mouth, watching his eyes shine with laughter, body shaking with muffled giggles as he squirms under me, hands snagging at me and then—eyes holding mine, licks my palm.

It really shouldn't faze me anymore, but I still jolt back and drag my hand down the front of his shirt.

Trying to lean back when his hand tugs me forward again, eyes shining with curiosity and excitement.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me in what twisted dimension you fell through that you decided to fuck your sworn enemy."

"I don't know." I moan, face planting against his shoulder and sprawling into him, squirming at the teasing pokes of his fingers.

His laugh makes his body shake, amusement clear as day even as his hands come to cradle me, tightening his grip when I move to just drag the blankets over my head and hide away.

"You're not escaping this!"

[......]

"I can't believe you slept with the enemy." Words full of disbelief and laughter, rapidly swallowing his mouthful of food down, eyes brimming with teasing, mischevious delight.

"Stoooop. I can't believe I let him touch me. I can't believe I had sex with him and liked it." Words tinged with a disbelief, a ringing dissonance as my mind whirs, failing to catch up to the present, still being dragged back over and over to the haunting memory of what'd transpired between us.

"There's a first time for everything. Guess it made him a bit more tolerable–"

"Are you kidding me Kook? I've never loathed the idea of seeing him more. Can you imagine how smug he's going to be that annoying piece of–"

"Couldn't have been all too bad if you–"

"That's the problem Kookie. I thought I'd just play around and see–" a strangled noise wrenched from my throat.

"Was it something you didn't want?" Voice softer. Lighter but in no way weaker or diminished. And when I lift my head I'm surprised to see the protective hardness in his eyes, lips tight around the corners.

Breath shuddering out me as I shake my head quickly.

"It wasn't anything like that Kook. I just I can't believe I enjoyed it. Or that we fucked in the locker room."

A twisting grimace melts the sharp protectiveness from his features, replacing it with a resigned look before he reaches out to flick me on the forehead. The sting of it making me jolt out of my reverie.

"So you had sex. You didn't profess lifelong feelings of admiration or devotion to the hockey player. You'll live."

I fight the urge to faceplant into the table, struggling against the urge more and more as my stomach churns at the implications this could have.

"What if he's broadcasted it to his team? They're all insufferable."

There's a glimmer of tenderness in his eyes, not entirely overshadowed by the anger there too.

Hand slipping into place quick to intercept my head and the table.

Voice level and soft. A dangerous quality to the quiet quality of it that reminds me that this person isn't just captain, he's also someone entangled in this rivalry just as much as me.

"Don't forget years of bad blood. Or that it'd look more bad for him than you."

"Why?" Brows rising.

His lips curl.

"For them we're not worth the ice beneath their skates."

A flash of anger ripples through me. Though the sharp intensity in Jungkook's eyes disdains the emptiness of the words that ring out hollow for us.

"And it's not bad for me because?"

"If you went and told everyone they'd say you took him down a notch or two. Because you eat guys like him for breakfast." Words bolstering and just the encouragement I'd needed.

That even in the anger and resentment towards the hockey players, Jimin wouldn't admit to something that would broadcast that moment of temptation as a weakness for him. But it makes my skin itch with anger. At the reminder that under it all, despite it all, Jimin was the very person who'd been at my throat from my very first year here.

And it'd been that same person who I'd lost resisting to.

My fork stabs harshly at the food on my plate, scowling hard. A newly found resolve coursing through me.

Pointing the fork accusatory at Kook.

"It never happened. I most certainly didn't sleep with Park Jimin. I definitely didn't enjoy it."

Kook's eyes glimmer. Warm and teasing and playful.

"Whatever you say. Is that for your sake or for me to remember?"

"Both. It certainly won't happen again. With Park of all people. I've had better sex."

"Oh ouch. You definitely cut him down to size." Hand pressed to his chest in faux sympathy, feigning as if wounded by the words.

"Don't even get me started on the size of some guys..."

"I've heard every graphic detail of your sexcapades. Not at the dinner table."

"Oh I've heard about what you've done on a dinner table before." I tease, watching his lips twitch.

"You weren't the only one." Ringing laughter bubbling out, infectious as his eyes crinkle, nose scrunched. Looking all too delighted with himself.

[......]

"Listen you can sleep with whoever you want." Eyes much more serious as he stares at me over food a while later.

"But? There's always a but." Fork poking morosely at the food, appetite threatening to dwindle. Coming in dips and spurts—mind still stuck.

"No but—though I doubt with the way Park was staring at your ass—" lips quirking before his eyes soften, despite the fact his words make my own mouth twitch into a small smile.

Leaning forward, hand gently nudging my plate to me.

"You can sleep with whoever you want. And who knows maybe you'll fuck the stupid out of him."

"Not fuck him stupid?" I laugh before shaking my head. Seeing the crinkles at his eyes as he grins at me.

"It's a one-time thing. A lapse in my excellent judgement..."

"Which we all have." He indulges with a smile.

"I won't be fucking him any time soon. If he wants it—well he better learn how to ask nicely."

"Beg for it?"

I toss a piece of cucumber at him, eyes flashing with amusement.

"We both know how much more you're into that."

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

Ignoring it is better. It's the only way forward.

Ignore Park Jimin.

Forget whatever happened.

Remember he's always trying to best you, trying to undermine you, trying to outdo you.

It seems all easy when it's a list. When it's been categorised and sorted away. It's all well and good when the entangled mess of my mind is sorted out into clear, simple facts and rules.

It's all easy in hindsight. It's all well and good to fall into a rhythm and flow that's as easy as breathing. To fall into the intensity of practice and training. To fall into rhythm after having sat out the end of the major competitive season. To push myself up and forward because the last thing I can do is fall into complacency. Because that's when the intensity softens...and you're not pushing yourself anymore.

There's no crutches, no safety nets and certainly no space for the mistake that that moment had been.

It's all easy. Until shared practice over half a week later. When the blur of days and familiarity of focusing on myself, on training, on the reprieve with friends is all ripped away. And the strong wall of defence that'd been enacted into place falters at the flash of heat, different and unmistakable, the moment I meet eyes with Jimin.

Because I could all well pretend it was a mistake. Pretend it never happened. But it's clear he hasn't fallen to pretence.

And I don't know if that makes me the stronger one or him.

....me. Definitely me.

Faltering at the dark weight of his stare.

....me.

I refuse to be pulled into that all over again.

Losing once to the attraction was enough ruin.

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

"I know the winter season for figure skating is over. But that doesn't mean the competitive season ever finishes. I want you all to have solo practice just as much you're giving to paired practices." Coach Kim says once we've all clustered together after skating practice, sweat beginning to cool on my skin as I bunch over, drawing in deep breaths. Everyone else in similar states of flushed, gross disarray.

Coach Seo skates forward, handing out towels and waters, lungs feeling tight after the countless moves and sequences we've practiced over the hours.

"We've booked out the smaller rinks for solo practices so make sure you pick your slots before you leave. There's a few weeks before small inter-city competitions begin and it's good practice."

There's the sound of complaints and chatter, though it's all tinged through with the pulse of excitement and adrenaline that picks up the mood and when I straighten, Coach Seo moves to hand me water. Lips quirking with amusement, eyes sparked with the same brimming elation at the start of smaller competitions stirring up competition amongst each other and just as unwavering support too.

"That means we don't slack in the spring and summer season between nationals. We keep the momentum going year round."

"Coach are you doing private mentoring?" a voice calls out, eyes flitting to both coaches for the response.

"Private mentoring. You know Rinks D and E have the harnesses, so we'll have mentoring and smaller group practices there. If you're training for new skills—we go through it first." Words firm and ringing with an authority that no-one considers refuting. Both Coaches staring out at all of us with an unwavering intensity.

Because it might be smaller competitions than what we're all training for, but the Coaches don't shirk away from getting practice on a rink that's unfamiliar and in getting to see other skaters, to scout out competition or skills.

And their first rule...their unwavering rule. Never run a skill without running through it with them in practice until they're satisfied with it.

Even tired and aching and ready to scour away the intensity of today's practice off, there's that familiar tingle of excitement that seeps out to warm every crevice of my body with it.

Eyes finding Kook's as he grins at me, stepping closer beside me and entirely unrepentant as he lifts my sleeve to dab at his face, laughing when I wrench my hand away.

Leaning in for my hand to towel at his flushed skin, voice also breathless, trembling with exertion.

It's easy and familiar to push through with practices. It's easy and familiar to fall into the intensity of the training between the biggest competition seasons. It's easy and familiar to find that the waver of my breaths, tired and laboured, are echoed in every other skater.

It's demanding and wholly consuming. But it's easy because this is what we've wanted.

And it's worlds easier than shared practice with the ice hockey team. Where the mundaneness of it all is corded through with the heavy charged energy and clash between Jimin and me.

This... this skating is a breath of air untainted by mockery and taunts and skating around an issue, an attraction that neither of us are willing to surrender to first.

"Grab food after showers?" voice rasping and heavy.

I nod.

"Book hours with both coaches? I want to try—"

"A triple spin and Salchow?" grin giddy and breathless with adrenaline, eyes sparking to life with an eagerness that makes my stomach coil with fluttering nerves and adrenaline.

"Ready to try it with me?"

"So we can eventually pair it together? Hell yes." Words sharp. Glittering. Enticing.

"Wanna bet I'll land the sequence first?"

"What's it worth to you Cap?"

"I choose the next move we learn." A promising intensity in his eyes, the curve of his mouth deepening. The waver of his breath beginning to steady.

Voice against my ear.

"And the next training schedule."

My eyes flash with the challenge, all too aware of the Spartan training that awaited right from the early ungodly hours of the day if it was upto him.

And he knew all too well that'd be reversed if I won. Favouring later training sessions.

"Oh you're on."

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

The very sight of the cocky grin on his lips infuriates me. And that morphs into anger, into challenge, into competition. Into the dismissive way he looks over me and Kook when he tilts his head to Namjoon. Wipes away clean any other thought I might've had. A familiar stirring of anger pulsing to life at the sight of him.

Whatever struggle I have with that conflicting clash of annoyance and attraction melds, shifts. Whatever base attraction I have to the very person who I fight over the ice for melds into pure blistering sharpness when he goads and taunts our talent on the ice as if I haven't seen him fumble and trip his way through basic figure skating moves.

That now for him it's chance, it's prime opportunity to turn the tables and try out-skate, outsmart us.

"I'm going to punch him."

"You're not." The words more amused than anything.

"I'm going to whack him with his own hockey stick."

"Kinky."

"Shut up Koo it is not!" a laugh threatening to well up and pierce through my frustration and anger.

"You're not going to hurt him. Not on the ice." Words firm but his head ducks closer to mine, lips against the shell of my ear in a conspiratorial hush.

"But... if you wanted to you know... hit him. I'd turn the other way."

"Be blind to my faults?" lips curving up despite myself.

"Keep a lookout! You always have to have a lookout!" he says, fingers teasing at my waist, hand sprawling against my front to tug me back and away from the direction where Jimin stands next to Namjoon—his eyes sharp glints of fire as he looks at me. The full curve of his mouth deepening when he feels me stare, a crooked smugness to them.

I twist my gaze away, scowling, before leaning in to Kook's side. Patting his arm.

"That's true love right there."

"You best believe it~"

And I let him tug me away, tug me away from lurching across the ice to wipe that infuriating smirk off Jimin's face—feeling heat burn against my back as I leave.

"Take a picture Park—it'll last longer." I call over my shoulder, words hard but not as sharp as I intended because the next instant Kook's grabbing my hand and tugging me forward into a sharp quick skate, eyes alight with amusement.

"Race you?"

"Go!"

[......]

"Okay this time I really mean it." I hiss, words sharp. Lungs burning with exertion, feeling my skin prickle with more than just heat as I glare across the ice. Looking at the intricate obstacle course set up for the four of us and the ease with which Namjoon and Jimin had run through it—missing on us. Lost somewhere.

"I won't hold you back. I'll hold your padding as you go." Words disgruntled, eyes flashing with disdain as he looks at the goading look on Jimin's face, the way his lips part, mouthing out words silently.

What? Can't handle it?

"Not tempted to whack that stupid smug look off?"

"Oh I am... but someone's got to pretend to hold the other back. And we know it wouldn't be you."

I should be more annoyed that Kook's managing to make me smile when I feel bubbling frustration but there's a resigned smile curling at my face as I turn my head to look at him.

See the quirk of his lips that betray the fact that he knows exactly what he's doing.

But there's still that sharpness to his eyes too. That familiar edge that I know all too well. And that even if he's better at controlling it, hiding it in a way I've never been able about the way Park Jimin gets under my skin... I can tell he's annoyed too.

Gaze hard as he looks at Namjoon.

"I don't give a shit about playing friendly on the ice with the hockey players as long as they keep out of our way about it. I figured Namjoon would've knocked the idea away. Guess not." Looking slightly disappointed by the thought, lips twisting and thinning when Jimin skates up.

Fighting the urge to brush off the flakes of ice his sharp stop kicks up.

Lips curved all the more goading... especially up so close.

"Giving up? We can run through the basic drill if it's too hard." And there's nothing but taunt broadcasted clear as day in the soft lilt of his words.

Something about the sticky sweet beguile in his tone that claws at me hard and infuriating more than his usual voice.

"No one said anything about giving up."

"It seemed like it's too much. Maybe I shouldn't have pushed Joon to do this drill. It can get a bit complicated. For untrained skaters."

"For novice players wouldn't you say Park? Besides... I think we got this down." A firm confidence in Kook's voice that in turn instils that in me, hardens the line of my spine as I straighten beside him.

"Because the last thing either of us are untrained skaters."

There's a strange glimmer in Jimin's eyes. As if he's searching exactly what buttons to press, cataloguing every reaction he manages to elicit out of me but also out of Jungkook—a sharp curiosity there.

"So—one more run through? For the novices instead?" words drawled out slow, dismissive.

As if he couldn't care less- as if there's nothing more to see. As if we're a show that's stopped entertaining him after our countless tries.

The thought stirs a fiery resolve, winds it tight around my limbs and makes my posture sharpen.

Words hard.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble for the experienced asshole."

The look in his eyes sharpen.

"Oh doll surely you can be more creative than that?" before he's skating backwards, holding my gaze all the whilst, circling back to talk to Joon.

"Remind me again how you had sex with the guy who you can't stand?" confusion and dismay in his voice.

I nudge my arm against him. Moving to skate forward.

"I have no clue. Something inside me must've been broken."

"Common sense maybe." Words huffed but he skates back alongside me.

Shares the same hardened resolve in his eyes as he looks at me, head angled as he taps his hockey stick against the ice.

It takes only a few moments, if that, to realise the pattern he'd briefly dragged out over the ice with his hockey stick.

Quick and hard.

The gesture non-verbal, not gesticulated with his fingers for once, but the gesture all the same regardless.

An imperceptible nod before I focus on the ice, mapping out the way Jimin and Namjoon seemed to operate—hard on the offence to try keep the puck from reaching either me or Jungkook and if it did... then they tended to go divide and conquer.

But two can play them at their own game. All the faltering, all the slip ups, all the more opportunities to figure out how they operated as a duo. So that this time... we'll get it. I can feel it.

"So. Just need to keep it out of your reach?" Kook asks, the competitive gleam in his eyes all too familiar, a pulse of adrenaline courses through me at the sight. At the way my body immediately rights itself, posture and stance ready, eyes holding his.

Adjusting my grip and shooting off at the sound of Namjoon's voice—consciously aware of exactly where Kook is and how he's moving. Attuned to his pace and movements, attuned to his presence despite the distance the two of us push out, skating in opposite directions.

Passing the puck between us, body thrumming with alertness, so attuned to Kook's presence but also sharply aware of Namjoon and Jimin. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, heady and electric, when my hockey stick comes to collide with Jimin's, a bubble of laughter, amused, as I hold his gaze, lips quirking, puck somehow... kept within my control.

If it'd been figure skating then there'd be no one on the ice save for me and Jungkook. Ice hockey is new but the practice of weaving around one another, of finding our momentum in the ice, of skating to a matched, synchronised pace and rhythm goes into years of learning each other better than perhaps we know ourselves.

It's not figure skating but it's easy... easier now to envision Namjoon and Jimin as nothing more than the intricacies of the sharp glide and turn of our skates—our careful timings matched around the two as if they're invisible.

Because when it's on the ice—only me and Jungkook exist. Only the strength between our partnership, our duo exists. And it's following that unguided rhythm that tunes my body to every beat of his that has the sharp spin of the puck careening towards him, blades twisting quick and the sense of victory bubbling up, giddy and infectious. Making my lungs soar and burn with elation, arms winding around Jungkook with a laugh as he lunges for me across the ice.

Hockey sticks clattering onto the rink and bodies whirling together.

This. This moment of being airborne and cradled by him and the coolness brushing against our cheeks- this is what I know.

The glittering brightness to his eyes and triumph in his voice.

"That's my girl!"

This. Is what I know.

[......]

This... this is also what I know.

Harshness bleeds from my voice at the dismissive way Coach Choi dismisses Coach Seo and when that in turn is echoed in Jimin. Eyes hard ice and words sharp and cutting. Prickling.

Gaze flinty and pinning me, a dare, an invite, a poisoned lure that I feel myself tugged towards, fingers itching—whether with the urge to shove him away or tug him

Harshness bleeds into heat. Sharpness melds into something scouring and heated, eyes and words dragging over me with a rakish intensity that makes my blood boil. Not entirely sure what feeling wells up more dominantly. Whether it's anger and frustration, at the dismissiveness of the Coach. Or whether it's irritation directed both inwards and outwards at the fact that when Jimin's eyes spark—embers of heat in them it drags up a heated memory I want nothing more than to shove into the dark recesses of my mind.

There's a dangerous sharp intensity in his eyes when his voice becomes hard, cutting... that clash of fire against fire is an instantaneous spark– hungering embers that with each breath we spend in conflict, in clash with one another fuels embers to gain heat and burn as flames. Those same flames lick at my spine, skim across my skin before suffusing with the heat seeping off my body.

The hardness of his stare scours at me, body thrumming with a tightly coiling tension that seeps into my bones. Unable to resist the temptation of leaning towards the fire that burns in his eyes, that spills from his lips as an angry torrent. Unable to resist the urge to goad, to taunt him about a memory that's branded itself on the inside of my mind. Because if I remember it– then there's no way I won't make sure it's seared across his too.

"Yet you looked at me after we'd fucked for approval. Why? Did you need me to tell you how good it was—when really it was..." leaning into his space, invading it. Voice dropping lower. A soft murmur of words shared only between us, ghosting along his skin– so at odds with the way our breaths had been harsh and hard against one another, swallowed into skin and lips.

"Adequate at best." voice turning firm, hard. A wicked pulse of delight at the way his expression flits– the way the heat in his eyes burns to a roaring stronger intensity, face angled closer. Breath hot. Words pooling under my skin at the way his eyes drag over me, scouring past layers with the confidence and cockiness of someone who knows he knows the line and curves of my body.

With this closeness, with the sharp grating roughness of his words I can feel my spine tighten, feel a pulsing throb of heat.

"Is that what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night? Then by all means doll... because the way I remember it you looked like you couldn't get enough."

But his words bring with the strong wave of arousal, a sharper wave of incredulity and disbelief, skin thrumming with a tautness as I look at him, remembering the dark blown-out haze of his eyes and the clamp of his hands, feel their phantom grip even as my fingers itch with the urge to tug him close and remind him just how much he'd wanted it himself.

"If I remember right you were the one who wanted me. You were the one who couldn't keep your hands off me. Do you do that to every average guy you want pinning you to a locker?"

A flintiness seeps into my voice, smile curving but it's hard around the edges.

"And yet you were the one who came looking for something more weren't you? You were the one who couldn't keep away."

Because he was the one who'd looked at me as if he wanted to meld our bodies together once more, he was the one lips a hairbreadth from crushing against my own. He was the one who didn't draw back.

If this was the beginnings of an addiction, of a snare, of a trap then it was him who took the first taste of it. I might've cornered him against the rink, but it was him who broke first.

But neither of us can look away– I can't fight the fire in his eyes that's molten liquid arousal through my own veins, I can't fight the way his gaze makes something inside me coil tight and makes my core clench.

There's this tiptoeing heaviness that feels all too soon someone's going to lose their balance and fall headfirst into that gaping cavern of lust and heat and temptation.

But it wouldn't be me first.

"So it was all me?" voice challenging.

"You started it. I gave it an end. Although now... now it seems maybe it didn't end for you. Maybe once wasn't enough."

Maybe once wasn't enough for either of us. But I'll be damned if I admit it first.

"Well you know where to find me if you can't... resist." I add, words slipping past, an offer, a lure, a temptation.

Because Park Jimin would crumble first.

"Is that an offer?"

"It's a reminder."

That if resistance was futile then he knew exactly where I was if he succumbed to temptation. To his defeat.

[......]

[......]

It's easy to resist temptation if everything's poured into training.

But it's not as easy to resist when forced into the shared proximity of the rink during practice that pushes us onto the rink together. That goads us with the strengthening intensity of the snare we've set each other... especially now we know how it feels, how strong that desire is.

It's not as easy to resist when his lips are threatening to ghost along my skin, words skimming across the curve of my jaw, laced with a crackly sharpness that leaves sparks of heat in their wake.

It's not as easy to resist when I can feel the weight of his stare, heavier now, can feel it track me across the ice, with all the intent of wanting, yet waiting for me to succumb to it first.

It's not as easy when even in hard stares and mocking smirks I can feel how they felt pressed to my skin.

It's not as easy to resist the urge to whack the thought out of my head, bubbling laughter welling up from beside me, words low and teasing.

"What's wrong? You've got a new expression on. I can't tell if it's I-want-to-throttle-Park-Jimin or if it's a get me out of here look."

"It's both." I say, dismayed by it, lips twisting at Kook's own grin, wide and unabashed, eyes glinting with amusement as he nudges me forward.

"Just do what you always do."

"Which is what?"

"Knock him onto his ass. Clearly it's a turn on for him." laughter ringing out as he skates away with a quick, elegant twist, darting away to leave me alone on the ice. The sound of approaching skates making my body coil instinctively.

"Partner can't wait to get away from me?"

"I can't wait to get away from you." I retort, turning slowly, eyes catching sight of the twitch to full lips that quirk up in a crooked smirk.

Words lofty.

"Now we both know that's a lie."

"Is it? I don't willingly choose the company of a person who can't keep up with me." Relishing in the way his eyes flash. A visceral tangible heat in them. Made all the more heavy when he leans in, the distance increased as I skate back—watching with thinly veiled amusement at the way his brows rise. The way he smoothly skates forward to close a distance I make, toying with him, watching him close it seamlessly.

Perhaps not realising that in doing so he's following me, keeping in pace with me on the ice.

But the sharpness of his smile, that doesn't reach the heat of his eyes, deepens with amusement.

"How far do you think you can run?"

Hearing the unspoken question in it that neither of us voice. Do you really think you'll out run this?

"Well one thing figure skaters learn is endurance." Words thrumming with pride, skating backwards and twisting away to head towards the front of the rink, the other skaters falling into disarrayed jumbled order—though it's still very clear where a divide lies... there's some hockey players that maybe aren't so intolerable.

Eyes snagging to the united front Jungkook and Namjoon make, even though I know for a fact that Jungkook spends every shared practice running circles around Namjoon, poking and prodding boundaries and limits and that their practice is just as competitive. It's two captains proving their worth. Sans the being at each other's throats in the same way I am with Jimin.

Because something... something about him just rankles me. Rubs me off the wrong way. Makes my skin itch with the urge to wipe the damned smirk off his face.

I don't wait for a response as I skate towards the side, feeling the brush of an arm against me and the low rich drawl of words murmured before he skates past.

"It's that what this is? A test of endurance?"

Words lingering in my mind even as he skates towards the other hockey players, welcomed with wide grins.

Words ringing in my ears. And even though I can feel his stare come to settle on me, even though I can feel the pinpricks of heat where his eyes bore into my side I refuse to turn and give him the satisfaction.

The insinuation in his words veiled, almost lost if I hadn't known what to be looking for.

And I feel a stronger wave of sharp certainty that sinks into me.

He wasn't going to get into my head like this.

One mistake, one chanced encounter, one time when the tension had teetered and toppled into dangerous waters didn't mean that now I knew how it felt to briefly drown... that I'd willingly wade into those waters again. That just because I'd gotten a taste and seen its aftermath colour my skin in blooming marks that took their time to fade that I was ready to re-colour them.

And by the time we move back to practice as pairs again—I hold his eyes, taunted by the heat in his gaze but refusing to surrender to them.

Lips curling at the absence of spare hockey uniform padding and hockey sticks.

Our turf today.

The memory of last practice all too clear in my head. Of trying to push hard, to try push us to an edge, to a defeat that neither Kook or me had been willing to even consider.

For all that shared practice is about trying to ease the growing bad blood of the rivalry, to ease the tension between the two ice sports, there was little change happening in the visible divide between the coaches. Coach Seo was formidable in her own right but she was willing to extend the hand of amicability. And those efforts were being rebuffed in front of the students by Coach Choi; something about him, about the dismissive attitude towards our coaches, towards us—he wasn't fit to be in a position to lead if all he was creating was a stronger foundation for the clash between the two teams.

And even now as Coach Seo calls out instructions for basic movements, steering far and hard away from any lifts, that could work in pairs there's always, always that moment where after the figure skaters split off at her word... the hockey players don't.

A strong wave of irritation towards the hockey players for disregarding her word, teetering on that edge of outright disrespect to her that makes my blood boil.

That heat in my veins flaring stronger when he skates up to me, an ambling slowness that's entirely different to the taunting quick swiftness he'd goaded me with when—

"You take your time." I say shortly, eyes skimming over my skates habitually. Checking that the laces are secured and bending down to double-check regardless.

The habit trained into my consciousness, only feeling ready once I straighten, turning to find Jimin slowly drawing his gaze back up, a quirk to the corner of his mouth, a lazy appraisal that makes my stomach twist and annoyance to flare.

"I know the view's great, but these practices aren't to take in the sight."

"Shame. I can't think of a more productive way to spend these sessions."

"I can. I don't stay for the babysitting."

"What do you stay for?" stepping closer to me, my eyes skimming up to his, holding them.

"Well the first thing is respect for a coach who deserves it. The second is maybe I enjoy seeing the way all you big bad boys fumble about on ice when it comes to doing anything slightly basic for a figure skater."

Amused by the reaction it elicits, by the way it makes the lazy smirk fade. And for full lips to thin, pressing tight. A brief tick in his jaw.

"A pity I can't entertain you. A pity for you I can keep up."

"I'll be the judge of that." Eyes easily slipping away before I turn to push space between us, his eyes drinking in the distance between the two of us. Staring hard and intently.

It almost tugs at my lips when I realise that out of pure stubbornness and competitiveness Jimin keeps up with the figure skating based practices. That purely out of his determination to not lose to me, to try win one over me... he keeps up. For that sake and that sake alone.

"But yes... a lot of things are a pity when it comes to you." I can't help bite back, welcoming that familiar feeling of his eyes burning as they hold mine, unwavering, lips twitching with amusement at how easy it is to rile a response from him. just as hard as it is for him to do the same for me.

An impassiveness that smoothens over my features, a feigned neutrality that I keep up until I can't.

But something about him makes me irate today.

The attentiveness of sharp narrowed eyes fixated onto every move, following with a wilfulness to try execute this simple move better than he had the lunge.

The intensity in his eyes is something akin to the feeling of a predator sizing up prey, eyeing up his next hunt. But rather than making me feel cornered, it makes me stand taller, eyes scrutinising carefully, words ringing out across the ice to adjust his posture. Watching the lingering sweeping drag of his gaze between moves. As if he's not just sizing me up, but scouring past the layer of clothes in thorough reminder. A coiling heat that I tampen down. Ignore.

It shouldn't be so distracting to note the way his skin flushes and gleams with exertion, sweat beading at his hairline and temples, making the blonde of his hair seem darker by the end of the session. It shouldn't be so distracting to look at all that padding and know that underneath strong corded muscle lines his body.

It shouldn't be so distracting, but it is.

And it hardens my resolve further against the slippage of my words, of my attraction to him. It won't be me.

And I wonder how many times I'll need to say it, to remember it, to resist the pull that we're both circling around.

"Good enough for you?"

"Why? Trying to impress me?"

"Believe it or not doll my world doesn't revolve around what you think of me."

"Sure about that?" words provoking. I see the expression in his eyes shift, a different intensity to his stare, head angled to look at me.

The tilt of his head draws my eyes to the curve of his jaw, the half-lidded eyes he appraises me with.

"I am. Are you?"

"Sure about what?"

"That every thing you say and do doesn't circle around one thing."

That entangled web of lust, attraction, frustration and competitiveness. There's not just one thing that tethers whatever messy snare drags me closer to him, for all that I resist it.

Because if I don't think about it, it's not real.

If I don't give into it, I don't lose.

If I don't acknowledge it, then it's a passing thought that'll be stifled away.

"I thought you just said I'm not the centre of everything you do." Lofty as I turn away.

A flicker of satisfaction flitting through me.

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

In, out, in out, extend your leg, measure your breathing, twist and hold.

Skate twisting to transition into one pirouetted spin, then another, a fluid blur of movement as my body twists, knowing just how to get the momentum right to push my body into one pirouetted loop then another, leg extending out, foot pointed.

Breaths meticulously controlled and each inhale and exhale measured to the timing of the movements... the movements timed to the rhythm and control of my body.

Twist, twist, extension, arms up, face up, turn, turn. Hold.

Every movement, every extension, every limb of my body attunes itself to the rhythm of the loud thud of my heartbeat ringing in my ears, the count between each move unspoken but distinctly clear. Attuned to my own body with an ease that only grows more and more with each passing year, with more practice.

There's something exhilarating about skating over the ice and knowing that only I exist on it in this moment in time. The endlessness of the rink stretched out across, surrounding me from every side isn't daunting, isn't consuming. Instead it's mine to take and claim and skate my touch, my talent, my passion all over it. Trails left behind even after I'll step off the ice.

There's more and more confidence settling back into my bones. Assuredness in the way that my body seems to grow stronger and surer of each move, some as easy as breathing, some where I twist and turn airborne and land—knowing the technicalities, knowing the steps but still landing them... executing them. Feeling my skates land sturdy and stable on the ice still makes my stomach twist and flutter, heart skipping a beat. There's still some moves that landing right makes elation bubble up.

Not sure how long passes in the constant repetition, in practicing out moves, testing the limit of how many moves I can execute in a sequence—sweat clinging to every crevice of my body, feeling hot and thirsty when I come to still.

Hunched over, drawing in shuddering breaths, skin feeling sticky hot, letting myself crumble to the ice, hands against the cool surface, feeling the ice warm under my touch, feel the trails of where my blade, and countless others, have worn away at it.

Feel my breaths, ragged and uneven, settle, drawing in deep lungfuls, measuring out my breaths, slowly pushing myself upright to skate towards the edge of the rink.

Snagging a bottle of water, cool as it slips down my throat.

Ears catching the familiar sound of skated feet moving down the steps, slow and careful. But the sound brings with it an inkling of doom, of knowing that the contentment and giddiness of having the rink free and undisturbed has suddenly become ruined.

"One might begin to think I've scared you off the rink doll." The words sudden, smooth and lilted with a softness that belies the intensity of the gaze that looks me over as I turn.

"One might begin to wonder why a hockey player seems to have been searching in the first place." Fingers toying with the remote, contemplating whether to drown out his voice with the practice music I was going to begin playing to perform a routine with or to indulge him. Not even bothering to look at him. Eyeing the remote, thumbing over the volume button.

"Not searching... but you notice when the thorn in your side suddenly eases up." A scepticalness in his words, a scrutinising once over as if trying to peel away layers to read my mind. To see if this was some sort of twist, or trick. If in not having been at his throat all week because we'd not crossed paths is some elaborate ruse he's trying to expose.

"Don't get used to it." I warn with a ghost of a teasing smile, lips quirked at the corners, continuing to rotate my shoulders, extending my legs, slowly stretching despite the sudden intrusion to my practice. Twisting back towards the rink again.

"Warming up to lose again?"

My gaze flits to his.

"No time to play Park. Some of us have got practice."

"And yet—all that practicing and couldn't win a single race." There's more intent in his words. A roughness lacing the low timbre of his words that makes me wonder if he'd sought me out on the ice. To be infuriating and in my face about it all.

"Not every race requires speed Park. Some races are stamina and skill."

"And you excel at those?"

"Can't say I'm perfect but I can say I'm more practiced."

"What skill do you have that's practiced. Learnt? So easily done?"

Feeling his presence behind me, hearing the quiet slip of skates on ice as he keeps a slow ambling pace behind me, in no rush to push forward to skate beside me.

But this way... his voice follows.

It follows as if trying to catch pace, to catch me off pace, words slowly drawn out.

"Apart from figure skating? Or winning? Or being better than you on the ice and off it." words dipping into dangerous territory. Knowing full well the intent behind me words, knowing full well that insinuating what had transpired between us is taking that first step towards a trap I can see. And still wondering ignorantly towards it.

Or maybe that's where the fun is. In the thrill of goading him. Of knowing he'll push back...relying on that guarantee that the weighted charge of countless things that hang over the two of us... something splinters, something threatens to drop.

With the promise of dragging me down with it.

"Two things you severely oversell yourself for doll. You're always trying to keep up with me. On the ice. Off the ice." Stepping closer, still space between us but I feel the air fizz with an electric prickliness that clings to every particle, saturates my breath as I draw it in.

It shouldn't be so easy, it shouldn't be so quick. But something... something in that messy force that keeps us in orbit of one another has changed since that moment.

And it shouldn't drag itself to the forefront of my mind at the mere sight of him, at the mere sound of his voice that drops lower—dragged out so I can hear the smirk...I can hear it and... damn it.

Watch as the fullness of his lips part into a wider smirk, pearly teeth glinting with unspoken mirth at having gotten me to turn first. And it feels like that despite nothing having been done or said, it feels like a small victory to him. Albeit small but a victory regardless.

"Bad memory doll? Or did it really leave you unable to forget it?"

"The way you run your mouth Park—it seems like that's what's been bothering you all week? Made you slip up in practice. Made you come find me."

And it's different somehow. To not scrabble for a victory, to not try win this. It's different because it's not the winning I relish in, it's the not losing, watching the brown of his irises darken, pupils blacker, gaze heavy. Silence lingering, a taut tether of it that stretches out further from just the two of us and extends out to the rest of the rink.

It's different because somehow, somewhere we both know we're losing but it's something neither of us are willing to admit, willing to confess, willing to surrender to one another. Because admitting it, voicing it, accepting it, means that someone has to buckle first.

And I'd meant every word when I'd told Jimin that figure skaters had endurance and stamina.

I could hold out better. Definitely. ...surely.

Because it's easier to point out his crumbling control than it was to verbally admit to my own. It's easier, haunting my mind though it is, to remember the closeness of his body in practice, veering close in silent test of that heavier pull of attraction. Intensified because now that we'd gotten a taste... not that I knew how much of that desire spilled out, how much of it made the pleasure all the more dizzying and enthralling and heady.

It makes my frustration flare to life when he steps closer, jaw clenching tight, lips sealing shut, stifling the quiet intake of breath, swallowing it down when he leans closer, a stiffness bleeding into my posture at the brashness that gleams in his eyes.

It's dangerous that look in his eyes. That look in his eyes promises and forewarns. It tells me that he intends on dragging me down right alongside him.

"Maybe it did. Maybe I'm not the one who has a trouble accepting it. Even to yourself I bet you can't believe that we let it happen."

Leaning closer still, something charged in his stare, silence becoming thicker.

"Maybe I wasn't satisfied with a one off." A loose shrug of his shoulders that's at odd with the electric charge that clogs the air, makes sparks crackle and pop, close enough that if he wanted to, if I wanted to, it'd be so very easy to let the distance close. To press my mouth to his and chase away the goading curve of his lips, to silence the low timbre of his voice that makes my skin pebble and flush at the same time.

I could... maybe I almost do.

Maybe I make the mistake of letting my head tilt an inch forward, fighting and losing against that visceral tug of attraction. Maybe I lose something, maybe it changes something, because it satisfies something in his gaze. It's a silent admission to myself that I'd been able to pick up the unspoken change in his gaze because it's one of the things about him that rankles me, that in turn rankle him too. The unspoken depths we gauge from looking—figuring exactly what buttons to press.

Because his eyes spark with something like delight, it stretches his lips into a grin, lazy and amused.

Draws back.

Looks at me.

"But then again... that's all a maybe isn't it. Not a fact... not like this is."

Of all the things I expected... the booking slip he holds up triumphantly... isn't it.

Watching as the full curve of his mouth parts, all pearly teeth and taunt.

"You've been hogging the rink doll—now I think it's time you let yourself off the rink. You know where the exit is."

I snatch the booking slip out of his hand, a brief moment where his grip briefly tightens on it so I don't immediately get to tug it out of his hand, before it loosens and I tug the paper to me, eyes skimming down to the timed slot and confirmation.

"It's not booked." But one glance at it tells me that he has. That he'd booked the 6 o'clock slot.

"Practice starts at 6. It's not 6." Eyes skimming up to him. His finger taps at his watch.

"Think you'll find it is. Shouldn't have wasted your time just standing around doll." An infuriating smirk curling his lips, shifting the grinned amusement to a sharp prickly smirk that's goading.

"You wasted it!" whirling accusingly at him, watching as he skates a slow, large circle around me, a slow unrushed movement now that the rink's his to take.

Hand crumpling the booking slip.

"I didn't tell you to give me your attention. Could've blasted your music the entire time." he calls out.

And it's only then that I realise, consciously drawn to the fact that he's right. That this entire time I've been clutching the remote for the speakers.

That had I wanted to I could've drowned him out. Blocked out his voice.

That... I let myself get caught in this push and pull, into that messy entangled tether that only becomes more knotted, more complex the more we veer into each other's space. That now that same tether gives a mocking yank as he looks at me. Eyes glinting.

Mirth shining in them.

"Guess maybe you can't stay away."

And all these maybes are nothing but a toying use of the word, nothing more than a thinly veiled truth that teeters in and out of reach, just within grasp should either of us choose to clutch it.

And even in the unspokeness of it... I've never heard anything more clearly.

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

"Just fuck it of your system if it's that bad." Kook laughs, head tilting back to rest against the sofa, drawing another blanket over our laps as he wrestles for control for the remote. Tugging it out my fingers, going lax at his words, eyes flitting over to him.

Nose scrunched and grin all toothy, smile alit with amusement as he looks at me, full of tease before he even says anything else.

"With someone else?"

"With him. Don't worry I fully trust you'll be at his throat all the same. Sex doesn't change the world. It's just getting pleasure. It's just feeling good. Letting off some steam." Shrugging his shoulders loosely, other hand rifling through a bag of crisps, the sound of crunching filling the silence as I turn his words over. Once, twice, thrice... many times. On a loop. Constantly.

"What if he's annoying me as we have sex?"

There's a glimmer of laughter in Kook's eyes that bleeds into his voice, fighting back a grin.

"Then you get yourself off and leave him hanging. Treat 'em mean, keep them keen!"

"I don't want him keen!" I laugh.

"You know what I mean... it'll mean he'll want more. You get to have a good time... you stop complaining during movie night and the tension might slightly... slightly dull." Holding up his fingers to indicate how miniscule of a change it'd make. Grin widening.

"Might wipe that insufferable look off his face."

"It might~ or if you need to take him down a notch or two... I'm sure you've never lacked a number of ways. This'll just add to your list."

"Ah Koo... hold me in such high regard." I sigh, tilting my head to slump against his shoulder, tugging the blankets more comfortably around me, lips curled into a grin at his words. At the easy acceptance in them.

"Of course I do—wouldn't have settled for less for my best friend. There's a level of criteria you need... now will you stop hogging all the blankets and hand me the cupcakes."

There's only brief reluctance before I take the one he holds out, nudging it against the back of my hand until I let myself reach for it.

Sensing the words at the tip of my tongue even as I peel away the cupcake case.

"We work our asses off. The last thing I need is you to deny yourself the simple pleasures of life. Food. And movie nights with way too many snacks. Eat up (Y/N) and shush..."

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

I'd steeled myself to take the first step. To not let the words and thoughts and memory haunt me.

It's almost amusing that of course Park Jimin has to best me at that and decide to do the same thing. Reaching the same conclusion. Body slouched against the wall opposite the locker room, head tilting up with a lazy appraisal.

A flicker of something heady and strong flaring briefly. A visceral gut reaction to the very sight of a curling smirk and narrowed slitted eyes.

He pushes himself away from the wall but doesn't move forward.

"We need to talk."

"Do we?" I ask, hitching my bag up higher across my shoulder, adjusting the strap of it as I make a move to leave the locker rooms, path intercepted by his broader, taller stance blocking my way.

"I think we both know we need to." hand nudging at my shoulder, body crowding against me, forcing me to take steps back, his other hand reaching past to push the door to the locker room open, eyes sweeping past my shoulder to take in the emptiness. Confirming that it is before he gives another nudging move, firm and unwavering.

"Forcing your way into the locker room? It was an invite last time. Don't mistake that for a free pass to shove your way whenever you feel like it." voice hard, head tilting to meet his gaze, surprised at the sharp intensity of it, the twist of his lips that form a scowl.

"Finally acknowledging that then? I didn't take you for a coward doll."

"I'm not." lips thinning with annoyance.

His hand drifts from my shoulder down to my upper arm, fingers curling hard, body leaning in to mine, a brash gleam in his eyes that's all too done with it all.

"Then what do you call running at every opportunity? Can't even bring up anything about that day without you bolting off the ice. I didn't think anything could... guess there's a first time to be wrong." a loose shrug of his shoulder but there's a simmering tension in his eyes, a goading hardness that makes my cheeks flush.

Instead of accepting what he's said, I tilt my head back further, wrenching my arm from his grip, watching the ghost of an amused grin flash across his lips before he returns the gaze. Confronting.

"I do not bolt. Been trying to corner me Park? I'm pretty sure there's rules against accosting people in their locker rooms. Against you being here now. Against you trying to pick a fight on the rink."

He laughs. A ringing unamused sound, a flash of fire burning in his eyes.

"There wasn't a problem with me here last time. What rules did you break to get me in here last time? What do you call it when you're picking a fight? Or do you work by your own rules?"

"You could call it that." words evasive.

His eyes narrow. Head tilting appraisingly.

"Well I'm fine with that. With playing by my own rules too then."

There's a dangerous weight in his words, in the lowering timbre of his voice, in the hushed rasp of his words that promise his own rules in this messy game that's threatening to flare, to start up again.

"And what game are you intending to play?"

"Oh we're not playing. Until you listen first."

I tug my shoulder strap straighter, body instinctively straightening as I feel his eyes drag and scour at me, limbs coiling up with a defensiveness.

"I don't think I have to. I think the next time you need to talk... you wait until someone actually wants to."

"I would say my locker room is an open invite for a conversation, but I don't have the patience for this slow game you're trying to play. I know exactly what I want. And what I want to say."

A confident brashness in his words that's resolved. Firm.

It makes my limbs tighten, a thrum of anticipation and curiosity, but also a spark of heat with the steadfast direction he determinedly steers this entire conversation towards.

I don't know whether to admire his confidence, his firmness in saying what needs to be said or to let my eyes drag over him, to let my head tilt back. But doing that will confront me with the lockers that haunt pockets of deep, stifled thought and unbridled want. It'll give validation to the lust that bubbles through my veins, that has his touch still lingering on my arm even though I've drawn back.

I don't know if I relish the victory, the triumph because there's something so sharply appealing about being stark about his want, about talking it through. I don't know if that makes me want to competitively flare back without words.

An action speaks a thousand words.

So what thousand words would tugging him to my body speak?

What thousand words would silencing his words say?

There's a glimmer of amusement and exasperation in his stare. Flitting briefly through the heat.

"Hear me out doll."

"Why should I?" The retort is quick to my lips, pure instinct to clash.

"I think... listening to me for once doll might just turn out in your favour as well."

"And what is it you have to say?" Reeled in by the dark brewing intensity of his eyes, words dropping into a soft murmur. The hushed words bringing with it a charged silence where his eyes simply hold mine, scouring them, gaze boring into the depths of my own to peel away layers to try to find at the heart of this lust and attraction and clash lies a shared want.

"I think it'd be beneficial for us both if we just let it happen. I'm not ashamed to admit that fucking you felt good. Better than good. I'm not ashamed to admit I've thought about it a lot of times when I'm alone."

His dark glittering eyes are nothing but inviting, almost hypnotically so, to their bottomless depths, to the stare that's full of hunger and lust, full of desire, gaze sweeping over me, lingering on my lips before dragging up again.

Sharp eyes telling me... daring me to imagine him, to draw the image of him to mind, a jolt of heat searing through me at the way the fullness of his mouth stretches into a grin, sharp and promising.

"Not ashamed to admit you'd want more? That once wasn't enough?" I ask, fingers curling against the front of his shirt briefly before letting my nails drag slow down his chest. Feel the shudder, see the heat flare in his stare. Hand gripping my wrist tight, hard to still its taunting downwards trail.

"Not ashamed to admit that if you don't stop the games then I won't be playing anymore either doll." Words a dangerous rasping whisper that leaves my blood thrumming and skin sparking.

"And that once won't be enough to fuck the brat out of you." Words goading, heated, pressed against the shell of my ear, fingers tightening their grip as he tugs me closer.

"You wish. If I can fuck the arrogance out of you and have you begging my name then it's clear I'll have won."

Because winning is a clear cut crystal definition. Because it gives shape and fire to whatever proposition he's bringing to me. Because it makes his eyes gleam with a voracious hunger and excitement that makes my stomach coil.

"And if I have you begging my name first?"

"That's a victory you can fantasise about Park... the next time you're alone and desperate."

"That's the thing princess... the next time I hope I shouldn't have to be alone." Words clear.

"Are you fucking with me?" voice clear. Soft and lulling. Gauging still. The mixture of disbelief and amusement might linger in his eyes but it doesn't bleed into the low rasp of his words.

But it doesn't stop the tightly coiling knot low in my gut, the way heat pools under my skin at his words, at the clear cut clarity of his words.

No beating around the bush... though there never is when it comes to him.

"I intend to fuck you. If you can get the words to your tongue that you want me to."

"This doesn't change anything. If I say yes."

"When you say yes."

And that damned confident assuredness is in equal parts infuriating and attractive in this moment.

"Don't think for an instant this makes you tolerable. Or that I'll stop skating you clean off the ice."

A low soft laugh.

"As if."

His hand moves to snag at my wrist but my hand darts out first, settles against his chest. Fingers tapping against his sternum. To keep him from getting his way. To keep my head level and clear. To know that if this happens it's both our ways happening. See the mirth flicker in his eyes. Gaze flitting down.

"As if sex means I'll take pity on you and give you a win here and there." I add.

Watch a glower twist his lips, grin turning sharp and brittle around the edges, fingers curling around my wrist. Loose but bracketing enough that he encircles my wrist. That his hand encloses it.

"Didn't like the sound of that Park?"

"I don't need a single thing from you to be the better skater. To win."

My brows rise.

"Keep telling yourself that Park. If it helps you sleep better at night." Smirk curving my lips at the flash of challenge in his eyes, that competitive fire that's so easy to rile. That this does nothing to lessen... if anything is fuel to it.

"I know I'll sleep better knowing that when you're desperate and alone you'll be fantasising about what you want to do but have to wait to."

His eyes narrow, even as he catches onto the words.

"Why wait?"

"Why not? I'm not tripping over myself to bend over every time you can't keep it in your pants."

"All I intend to do is get into yours." A rakish grin. Prickly and fiery.

A ghost of breath where my head tilts and his gaze flits. Rooted to the curve of my mouth stretching triumphantly.

"Good luck."

But even as I say it, I wonder, silently, to myself, the thought stifled far from my eyes betraying me... if I'd need that luck just as much.

An angled tilt of his head, lips barely ghosting along mine but the heat from them makes my own ache, remembering the branding shape of his full lips pressed hard against mine.

"Just try keep up doll."

Whether that's skating, or the deal, for this promise of casual sex despite being at each other's throats... it's not distinguishable.

It's all of it at once.

And we're our own undoing.

(AND SCENE... I GENUINELY AM TERRIFIED FOR THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE IT KEPT GROWING COS I HAD SO MUCH TO SAY AND SO MUCH TO HAPPEN BUT I'M SCARED I DID A TRASH JOB AT IT! Midiiplier WAS THE BOOM WORTH THE OVERDUE WAIT?? THIS CHAPTER WOULD'VE BEEN WRITTEN AND FINISHED DAYS AGO IF IT DIDN'T CONTINUE GROWING! GAHHH LET THE SPICE TRULY COMMENCE NOW! BUCKLE UP!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3