JIMIN POV:

"This'll get the ice skaters laces in a knot. Coach's booked the main rink for extra group sessions in the upcoming fortnight." Bambam grins, eyes glinting with amusement before his gaze flits over the timetabled sheet, the central rink blocked off for hours. Scattered group practices across mornings and afternoon sessions to continue preparing and practicing for regional qualifiers.

The ante of the upcoming season looms closer and closer, growing larger with every practice and that electric anticipation of pushing past regionals to compete at a national level this season has a buzzing adrenaline coursing through everyone's bodies. Eyes sharp and alert, a new hardened focus carved from the excitement of an intense competitive season.

There's a hum of chatter, of assent as the other players surge closer to examine the sheet, my eyes flitting over the periods of space between practices, mentally cataloguing where to sort out individual practice and gym.

"We still have our weekly session." Jackson points out, head tilting towards the sheet.

A dismissive, scathing sound at the back of Lee's throat makes my eyes snap to him, catching the look of disappointment and dismay flit across Joon's features.

"Play nice Lee." Jackson retorts, eyes flashing with a mix of light amusement and reproach.

"With those talentless—"

"You'll be surprised how many of them are much more tolerable than you Lee. Some of them are better to look at that's for sure." JB grins good-naturedly but there's a bite to his words regardless, his comment draws a few jeers of appreciation and echoed agreement.

And despite myself I feel my lips quirk, twitching at the corners. A ghost of a grin before it can appear.

Some of them are better to look at—one specifically comes to mind. But it's not the image of her skimming swift and precisely on the ice that's conjured. It's those enthralling fire-blazing eyes rooting my gaze to hers and the phantom brief heat of her body pressed to mine.

"Not to mention—there's talent on that team Lee. It's why they hold their own repute at the uni." Namjoon says, words firm.

But there's no denying the unspoken words he doesn't say but everyone hears loud and clear too.

So earn your keep on the ice, on the team too.

There's a hard firm authority in his stare, silently challenging, daring and just like that Lee's lips thin. Clamp and his gaze hardens.

But he doesn't speak. Words swallowed whole by Joon's firm stance, by the way his eyes sweep over the rest of us. Gauging, searching, assessing.

"I don't care what reason this rivalry matters so much to you. But because it clearly does—earn your reputation so that when you do clash, you have proof to back your words when we win the regional qualifiers."

A strong assuredness in his words, a confidence in sharp eyes that rake over the team, over every single player.

He doesn't need to raise his voice to broadcast how easily he holds everyone's attention, he doesn't need to flaunt or boast his talent or merits when it's there clear as day for anyone and everyone to see.

And just like that he silences the talk about the figure skaters—turning attention back to the matter at hand, focus rooted to our captain as he speaks.

"You're responsible for your own additional training, try to get some smaller group practices in. Don't overwork and then beat yourself up over straining a muscle closer to qualifiers." Eyes flitting to me briefly, a ghost of a smile breaking through the levelled authority. Eyes briefly narrowing in warning before they skim away, scan the rest of the team.

"We'll practice our plays and stats and gameplay. I'll hold a team meet closer to the end of the first week."

A chorus of voices ring out, the collective huddle of players fanning out across the ice at his say-so, skates swift as they cut through ice to spread out across the rink.

Falling into formation, subs already slotted in as the opposition team, a lazy scrutinising slowness as both sides size the other up.

Joon skates up to me, shoulder nudging mine, prompting me into a slow skate as we move towards our side of the rink.

"I feel targeted. I felt that was targeted. Should I be offended?"

"That I'm keeping an eye out for you early on? And for quite a few of you I know will be a pain in my ass later on if I bench you?" a grin tugging at his lips, a quick deftness as his hockey stick clashes against mine, jolting my balance, laughing as he skates ahead in wide, large strides. Covering the ice quick.

Where hockey players are known for a swiftness on the ice, a sharp fluidness that only plays to our advantage, there's an additional advantage in the way Joon's strides are broad and wide, in the way that swiftness is transformed into an efficient sweeping movement of the ice. Working well to his advantage as defence.

"You bet your ass I wouldn't sabotage my position—especially if it means sitting out to watch Lee take my spot."

There's a faint frown that flits onto his face, head turning briefly.

"His attitude keeps him benched most of the seasons. It can't work if you're not a team player. And Lee... Lee plays for himself."

I nudge my shoulder back against him.

"Which is why I'll be at my prime cap', won't put you into that tough spot of having to have him play for me."

Dimpled indents briefly appear.

"Good. Now. Get to centre and take that first play off him."

My hockey stick clinks against his, the sound of blades swift on the ice as he moves towards the back and I skate towards the centre.

Greeted with the hard firmness of Lee's stare, the dislike clear there.

My body tightens. Coils with an anticipation as my stance firms, straightens. Shoulders set and hockey stick angled.

Hand reaching up to tug the face cage down, readjusting my grip.

The start sound of a whistle is sharp and harsh, what's harsher is the pure force that my hockey stick collides with Lee's, the hard brunt of force meeting force at the signalling of the game beginning.

Wrestling for control for the puck that's between us.

And a firm resoluteness that I will not back down to him.

No matter how much he tries to wrestle it from me.

[......]

"Again! And pass, skate three paces and—manoeuvre."

"Defence fall into line, push back at the shooters advancing. Don't let them get that close."

"Good defence Captain!"

"My wings go harder on the offensive. The puck should not pass through to the other team."

"Skate hard and fast. Should be in reach of the lines within seconds."

A drill sergeant. That's our coach.

A sharp brutal efficiency trained into us every single session—the hard quickfire of his instructions, his orders loud and clear over the ice, echoed and amplified by the speakers as he assesses the gameplay of our team from behind the rink barriers.

And this—this rush of burning air in my lungs, in the sweat-slick skin and heat pressing in from every angle, trapped in the weight of padded uniform and countless layers—this in that cold fleeting brush of air for those few blissed seconds before a new play, a new clash of hockey sticks warring for the puck and the rush of blades far too quick for the mind to process but our bodies instinctively fall into.

"Good shot Park. Lee where's your head at?"

It's this—this rush of adrenaline and giddiness and searing pride in the game we play, in the conscious awareness of the other players behind me, a personal flank of guards and arsenal at my disposal to support my shots and passes and in turn ready to fall back and find that they know my next move without a signal being needed.

That's teamwork Lee.

It's also this—the loud hollers and yells, the words of encouragement and manoeuvres entangled together, the loudness of the team as we play is just as much as part of it all as the unspoken understanding of each other is.

I can see Yugi and Bambam veer closer into my line of sight, skating into line and falling into formation, ready to receive the puck from me, bodies angled to both receive and to defend the ice if I want to take a shot.

That even though they can be ruthless against me in smaller group practice, that when and if it comes to it each player is hard and standing his own before anything—they have my back now.

And watching the puck careen clean and sharp into the net, to see Yugi straighten as he grins—the curve of his mouth stretched wide even behind his face cage as he twists and pumps his hand up.

Eyes finding mine.

"Solid pass Park!" words hollered to me across the small distance, a matching grin tugging at my lips as I skate backwards, skating back to the centre.

The ire in Lee's eyes all the fuel to my growing sense of triumph—that buzzing sense of excitement and adrenaline coursing through my veins. An intoxicating enthralling feeling of my body brimming with energy and eagerness, instilled with every successful shot and pass—this. This is why I'm on the team Lee.

We all might have to prove ourselves constantly on the ice—but it's as much for us, for our talent and our play and out skills as it is for the team.

[......]

My skin burns with the sheer level of heat radiating off it—all of it not entirely from exertion alone. Anger threading through my plays, turning my moves slightly jagged and uneven, blades harsher against the ice. Kicking up hard chips of ice that leave the rink uneven and damaged.

Breath wavering in uneven hot exhales of frustration, fingers tightening achingly hard against my hockey stick. Gripping it tightly to resist the urge to either punch Lee or throw the hockey stick across the ice in defeat at how badly the training session is going.

The extra slot Namjoon had gotten us to fill out the Friday evening now seeming to have amounted to nothing—no correction of strategies and techniques, no efficient, productive practice.

As the hours dwindle and the session worsens—the buzzing high of a strong day of training comes crashing and burning down.

That same frustration begins causing cracks, and dissatisfaction makes those cracks widen, makes moves turn sloppier, turn jagged and fuelled by anger rather than by carefully thought out planned movements.

"Lines are getting sloppy—stay in formation offence." Voice calling out from behind, the sound of skates as Joon moves forward, weaving past the team to stand in front.

Removing himself from the line up so he can watch the rest of the team play—hand impatient as he tugs of his helmet, dark eyes sharply assessing.

A tightness settled in his jaw as he watches the gameplay worsen, orders sharp as they ring out across the ice.

"Bam going too hard on the offence—stay in mirrored position with Yugi. JB skate centre to cover the goal."

"Kim and Han try support Lee's tactics." A sharpness in his voice, posture tight.

And the more we try, the worse it seems to become.

It's not a slump—it's a mess disintegrating further and further as rank and positions crumble and it becomes a shoddy display of skills and teamwork.

And that eagerness, that thrill, that buzz is what we were all playing for... what I was playing for.

Not this one-sided deeply rooted hardened anger that has his footing and plays turning sloppy, turning into more reckless, unplanned moves that neither his team nor himself can predict the outcome for.

Lee sees the ice rink as a battleground, as a warzone he fights on alone. He sees it as something for his own personal victory.

He forgets his team are there to support his game and in turn need that same support returned.

That's where Lee falls short.

And it's one near-miss too many that I finally snap, weaving past the reckless, aggressive swipes of his hockey stick to tug the face cage up, tugging off my helmet and glaring as we come to a halt at the whistle, pushing forward to move towards him.

"The fuck are you playing at Lee? Do you practice or is it all being created in your head as you play—you're going to knock someone off the ice."

"I know how to play Park."

"Do you?" voice hard, taut with tension and thrumming anger, a fury bubbling inside at the way he seems utterly unrepentant for the reckless plays, for the way right this instant his team—our team playing on the same side as him look exhausted and run down and on-edge. By the way he'd been playing. By the way he did everything but be a team player.

At the cost of the stamina and cohesiveness of the team he was playing on.

I can see the anger in JB's expression, the tightness in his shoulders as he breathes hard, dabbing at his face with his sleeve.

At the way his jaw ticks, eyes boring holes into the back of Lee's head.

"I know how to play. I know my plays. I know my strategies."

"Does anyone else? You're playing with a team Lee—it's the only experience you might be getting these days but if you don't fix up I don't see that changing."

His teeth grit hard. A grinding of his gums.

But I can't hear the lack of awareness or care in his voice without feeling it yank at the anger brewing and bubbling away at me inside.

It scours at already frayed strands of patience and restraint.

Fuelled by the similar looks of anger and frustration on everyone else's faces.

"If people can't keep up then that's something they need to work on—"

"Enough Lee. Your plays are sabotaging the strategies and gameplays we've all been working on building for qualifiers." Namjoon cuts through, voice resolute and firm.

"Captain—"

"No—you need to fall in line Lee. You're not playing with the team, you're not listening to a single order nor playing as we practice—I'll bench you for the next group practice if you keep it up."

"Captain!" voice rising, pitched with anger and defiance.

"Fuck off Lee. You wasted our time, you won't waste our chance at qualifiers." I spit out harshly. Wishing he had been benched entirely.

"That's not you to decide—"

"That's my decision and Coach's. But I'll give it to you straight Lee—keep playing like this and I don't see you doing more than watching the beginning of the season."

The tick in Lee's jaw becomes more pronounced, the tight sneer on his lips as he swallows down the words he wants to spit out.

A resigned unyielding nod.

"Fine."

"Practice's over. Get some rest."

But the call to cut practice doesn't come with the same exhausted tinge of breathless satisfaction. It's laced with ire and irritation. It's with the same dissatisfaction that hours—just like that have slipped away. Wasted.

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

"You're joking."

"What?"

"Coach Seo's booked the spare rinks this week as well as the main rink for the later sessions."

"What do they need so many rinks for?"

"So they can have all the time and space to whirl around pretending like they're actually doing something as important as qualifiers."

There's disdain and anger and ire all laced into the increasingly irate postures of the hockey players as I make my way towards them—reading the tension in their spines and set shoulders as readily as I know they could read me.

Peering past Jackson's shoulder, eyes skimming over the scheduled sheet for the ice rinks this week.

"Rinks A-C to are booked out? They're the second biggest ones we have."

"They're only being used by like four skaters at a time—that's wasting resources."

"Resources we need."

The strap of my bag digs in hard, fingers tightening into it as I tug it closer to me.

With a few failed or not entirely successful practices—that drive to work harder, train harder continues to bubble and mount—a weighted pressure that begins to bear itself down on my shoulders.

We needed to win qualifiers to be able to compete nationally during the second wave of the competition seasons. We needed this win so we could push the team further and harder in terms of making it in the winter sports industry.

Which meant we needed the rink more than whatever the ice skaters were doing on the ice.

Because it should be a build up towards qualifiers, towards that final stretch of the last few days- it should be all about locking down final practices to cement down strategies we've been implementing and incorporating into our games. It should be about maintaining the momentum we're working at and keeping it level so that when it comes to the series of qualifier matches we're able to push past that... all of that is dragged to a halt. It's forced to pause—eyes skimming over the countless practices booked.

It shouldn't be staring at a timetabled sheet telling us exactly and precisely how many restricted hours we had.

"Let's talk to Coach." JB turns, moving away from the door.

"I'm going to head to the gym and get the evening training done now." Trying to brush it off even as a familiar coil of irritation winds itself around me. At the rink being taken.

The haughty proud smirk already searing itself across my vision, branding itself across my mind with a maddening taunt that infuriates me.

But even as I move to leave to the gym, my feet track me somewhere else.

Heading for the smaller rinks, that spool of frustration winding tighter and tighter the more rink doors I walk past, and they're occupied—the heat in my veins mounting hotter and higher when I reach Rink C and there's only one... one person on the ice.

See eyes flit over me, quick and brief, before turning back to adjust the suspended harness and wires that are being lowered down.

A voice over the speaker cutting me off before I can even move forward, before I can even say anything.

"Do the wires look low enough Kook?" voice clear as day.

A testing tug of the harness straps, head tilting upwards—gauging the strength of it before he gives a thumbs up towards the direction of the controls and lights booth.

"It's just two of you using the rink?"

"Clearly. The rink's booked, you're going to have find another place to practice."

"You're wasting one of the second largest rinks for two of you?" I repeat, a tinge of anger bleeding into my voice, that feeling all the more twisting round my gut when the sound of skates and a honeyed voice rings out.

"Park~ can't bring yourself to stay away?"

Body twisting towards the saccharine drawl, towards the sticky sweet croon of words, a body briefly brushing past mine, a whirl of skates and movement before she skates to still beside Jungkook.

"I didn't know you were using this rink."

She hums, noncommittal.

"Sure you weren't. And yet—you haven't left." She muses, a faux coyness in the feigned geniality of her smile, a contradictory glint in her eyes.

"Wasting a rink on two skaters isn't fair. The hockey players need the rinks more."

A flash of conspiring grins, a soft huff of laughter and amusement in both their eyes.

"Acceptance is the first step in solving problems." Jungkook muses, arm sloping round (Y/N)'s shoulder, a lazy grin stretching across his face.

And though she pats his arm, the look of feigned consolation is directed towards me.

"I know you need a lot of time on the ice Park—but you're going to have to wait your turn. We need the rink, and we booked it."

"I need it more—" irate despite falling right into that baited trap, teeth grinding together at the triumph that flits across her face. The immediate urge to oppose her twisting to trap me in the honeyed lilt of her mouth. Gaze briefly snagged to it. Knowing how it felt to feel that same smirk pressed to skin, to lips—

"Maybe one of the baby sized rinks Park—so you can practice alone. This rink is ours." A finality in her voice, a goading loftiness that knows full well what it does as she winds her fingers into the very tight snares impatience and frustration wind around me and yanks at them.

Feel my voice dip, turn harsher and deeper and ragged.

A slow dragging stare that rakes the entirety of her body, lingers at the brash angles and lines of her frame that stand confident and so self-assured.

"Whilst I know you struggle to skate in straight lines doll and that's what the extra space is always for but you can't overbook all the main rinks."

"Pity... sometimes a girl doesn't want to be able to walk in a straight line let alone skate one." Mirth, challenge and heat all interwoven and swimming in dark enticing depths, lashes fluttering as she returns the gaze. A quicker, skimming sweep that I feel like the quick brush of hands against skin.

A stifled groan forced down before it even thinks of rearing its head. Frustration blending with attraction. Not now.

Yet (Y/N)'s gaze shows she knows exactly what she's doing.

And so does her friend. Expression shifting from mild disgust to reproach to exasperation all in the span of a few seconds.

"I swear to god if I don't get anything but clean lines and curves (Y/N)—"

A ringing laugh, I've heard lower and breathless against my skin.

"Don't get your skates in a twist Koo, it'd take some guy to leave me that impressed."

A blatant taunt. A challenge.

Mirth curving her mouth with wicked threat.

And the fluid sweep of her legs skimming into a spin round Jungkook to wind round him, almost mockingly familiar to that time, eyes fixated to the movement subconsciously. Unintentionally.

Narrowing.

A hand at his waist. Slotting there.

"Strap me up Koo." Lips grinning, slipping into his orbit of space as she dismisses the conversation. Ends it.

With a conflicting whirling mix of lust and annoyance bleeding into my veins. Coaxing the heat to flare higher. And for a different reason than the one I'd entered the rink for.

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

Bit by bit. Day by day. Slowly at first then a rapid disintegration of nerves and jitteriness and a buzzing thrum of energy that continues to bubble under my skin.

Hours on hours spent on the ice—all of them blurring together, a mix of group and solo practices. Rink, gym, rink, rink, gym. Over and over—always pushing, pushing yet veering back, dragging myself back from ever reaching that point of teetering towards exhaustion or the very real possibility of burning out because I'd exhausted every nerve in my body.

But still that antsy energy remains—clawing for an outlet.

The rush of ice a cool balm against heated skin and burning breath- lungs shuddering with rapid, uneven exhales and shuddery intakes of cold air swallowed eagerly down. That shift from those warm, almost sticky, balmy afternoons and evenings being chased away by the cool dip of climate inside the rink, always within skating reach past the double doors.

A chasing race that I don't even get to nearly see (Y/N) in—the two of us trying to book slots, each pushing, pushing, pushing for more, more, more—

"Rink closed?" voice sharp with fury and indignation as I move towards the central rink.

Body locking up at the voice but somehow—somehow unsticking, steps following the despaired groan and thud of a foot hitting the door.

Then a softer hissed curse.

"Something got your knickers in a twist doll?" bag hitting the floor with a thud, letting it slip off from my shoulder once I read the resignation in her body. The tightly wound anger.

A whirl of her body- head snapping to the side to glare at me, ire making her eyes burn and her irises glow with the intensity of her glower.

"It was you." voice hissing. Accusing.

My lips quirk.

"Doll I didn't even get a chance to ruin them yet."

But she doesn't take the bait—doesn't lean into it the way I want her to, the twist of her lips sharp.

"Dream about ruining me? Fantasise it? Shouldn't have ruined the ice and maybe I'd have let you indulge."

"It wasn't me—if you can't tell I didn't come here to find you, I came to get some solo time on the rink." Eyes narrowing, a familiar snap and crackle of embers sparking as I look at her, coiling around at the mockery in her voice, the weighted honeyed thickness to it—a syrupy croon of words that slip past the thinning press of her lips. If only you knew how much I'd fantasised.

"Well I beat you to it, but someone's left the ice too shit to skate on." That indignant fire flaring again as she peers past the doors again, scowl deepening.

I move forward- peering past her, over her shoulder, to look at the ice. A bit roughed up but not too worse for wear.

"Can't skate on anything but pristine smooth ice? Always so demanding aren't you?"

"Can't skate if there's some bumbling fool who's taken big chunks out of the rink." She corrects with gritted teeth.

"Pity."

I let my eyes skim over (Y/N), drinking in the tightness of her posture and the increasingly irateness of her temper.

Leaning in closer, head ducking closer to hers, lips brushing a hairsbreadth away from the shell of her ear. Bodies not touching but the heat of hers threatening to seep into my bones regardless.

"You seem awfully high-strung doll."

"There's competitions. And this was meant to be my time alone." A frustrated tight waver of breath, eyes staring resolutely ahead. The curve of her jaw tightening with anger, tightening further as I lean in closer, fingers itching to grip her waist and tug her back into me.

"Is that all you do in your time alone? Just pace across ice? Don't you let loose?" I ask.

A short disbelieving laugh.

This time her eyes flit to the side, acknowledging that closeness even if her body remains tightly coiled—refusing to surrender to it first. To that damning heady pull.

"Don't just ever let anyone help you unwind?" words lilted. Dropping softer.

"Coming from the guy whose been hogging the rinks and bulldozing through those group practices—what happened there Park? Decided the best way forward was charging across the ice?"

"We've got qualifiers in days." A flicker of tension searing through me, the conscious reminder of it threatening to sink all the more heavily into my bones.

"And we have actual competitions—you don't see me tearing up the ice for it."

"Oh believe me doll when you start leaving your track on the ice—I'll know."

"Why? Keep such a close eye on me?"

"Hard to take it off sometimes."

Her grin widens. Sparks. The irateness turns into curious, gleaming sparks.

"Admitting you're attracted?"

"I tend not to be in denial of something I want. It's so rare that you could be it, that you could satisfy it."

At least I'm not you—at least I'm not a coward, at least I know how to say it out loud.

"I thought it was because you couldn't be satisfied with just one time that I let you fuck me."

"As I remember it—you couldn't hold yourself back from wanting it. More than I had."

"But you want me now. What are you willing to bet that if I was to check you'd have a hard-on?"

A laugh rings out, slips easy past my lips. The sound amused and mocking, fingers curling against her waist to press tight, leaning into her.

"So confident in yourself?"

Body slotting to hers, pressed flush to hers from behind, hips briefly rocking against the curves of her own. Fingers sprawling tight, heavy, demanding.

Voice throaty and dipping lower.

"Wrong." I murmur low. Body feeling that minute, subtle press of hers briefly pressing back before she tilts her head.

"You know what I'm confident in?" I ask.

"I bet that if I wanted, I could make a mess of you before I even take off your clothes." Voice dipping lower, a hushed rumble of words that hover briefly between us. Dangle there. Remain suspended within her reach.

"What are the stakes?" eyes holding mine, that same fiery competitiveness flaring to life, the same way interest makes her lips quirk at the corners. A hungry gleam of a smile that threatens to devour me whole, threatens to take her time in tearing me apart.

"What are you willing to gamble? Because if I—when I do, you put that cocky mouth to work."

Her head tilts back, the luring curve of her mouth too wickedly pretty not to kiss, a competitive spark to wipe the smugness off them. Fingers gripping her jaw, tilting her head back hard, angling her mouth to mine.

"I thought you hated my mouth open." She whispers, goading and hushed, eyes glinting even as her gaze drifts to my mouth.

"I do—only ever running that mouth for no good reason, might as well put it to use."

The soft ring of laughter is derisive, a taunting bubble of sound that makes my body pulse with a visceral want, thrumming with need to both swallow down the sound and to be the reason it's erased, to hear it dissolve into pleasure.

"And when I win I'm going to make you ruin your uniform. Make you soil them like a teen—unable to control himself because he couldn't handle me."

The slow rock of her body pressing back, her own fingers loosening around her bag, letting it fall to the ground with an echoing thunk, the push of her hips setting her flush to my own.

"You wish."

"You'll see." She whispers.

My fingers tighten at her jaw, tugging her mouth closer to mine, the bruising press of my lips slotting to her

It's the sharp taunt of her mouth that tugs me closer that fraction of a distance, fingers angling her jaw, grip briefly tightening and crushing my lips to hers. A low frustrated groan of impatience at her muffled between the heated seam of our mouths. The grin that curves her lips silently provoking even as she pushes back, mouth just as harsh and hot and feverish.

There's no surrender in either of our mouths, in the scalding heat of her mouth bruising against my own, sinking harder into a kiss that demands and takes my breath, the press of her tongue sweeping of my lips, the harsh sting of teeth at my bottom lip and the huffed quiet sound of amusement that's lost before her tongue curves through my mouth.

Body turning to face mine, the hard grip of her hand tugging me closer, kiss biting and bruising, lips feeling swollen and hot against hers, against the feverish exhales of shuddered breath, swallowing down the harsh groan wrenched from my throat before she tears her lips away.

Dark gaze glittering with thrilled mirth as her hand skims down my front, lower and lower, thumb ghosting along where suddenly—where slightly the front of my sweatpants feel tighter.

"All it takes is a kiss to get you turned on?"

In response, my fingers skim from her jaw, trail across her nape before my hand grips tight, angling my face closer, nudging a thigh between her legs.

Body weight pressing forward so that (Y/N)'s pressed back, against the double doors to the rink—all they'd need is a click and push to send the two of us tumbling through towards the blast of cool air. It's only two doors that keeps us from it and a part of me, a great part of me, takes delight, takes cocky thrill in knowing that I could have her here.

My body presses more firmly to hers, hand skimming down, dragging down the curves and dips of her body to settle both hands at her hips. Squeezing tight at curves, body leaning closer, so my head is angled to hers but rather than let my mouth slot to hers I drink in the small minute shifts in her expressions. So aptly focused on her, on the way she swallows down a moan, throat bobbing, lips parted as trembling breaths slip past. Focused on the way her eyes pool with liquid arousal, turning them molten and thralling.

Stupid attraction.

"And you're not? Like I said doll I don't deny when I'm attracted. I just hate that it's you." I admit, fingers dragging lower, digging tighter into curved thighs, dragging a hand inwards, from her hip to the inseam of her sport leggings, the material soft and slippery under my touch. Thin enough that when my hand settles on the inside of her thigh, fingers gripping tighter, I can feel the heat of her body, of her core radiate off her, can feel her thigh as if my hand's pressing to skin directly. Almost.

"Don't worry—you're the last person I wish I'd wanted to fuck."

"You still want to." I correct with a grin.

"Fine. I hate that I need to fuck you to get you out of my system. I hate that of all people it's you. I hate that right now I can't decide which one is the better win for me." Words corrosive and harsh, punctuated with jagged uneven breaths.

"Maybe you want me to have you like this. Maybe you want me to make a mess of you." I murmur, voice a low croon. A triumphant curve to my mouth as I watch her press kiss-swollen red lips together, watch her eyes flit through a series of emotions, a series of thoughts and half-truths.

"Maybe I still don't think you're up for it." words slipping out in a low hushed challenge.

The sharp intake of breath and then the breathless smirk curving her mouth up.

Thigh slotting firmer, harder between the apex of her thighs, fingers gripping at supple curves to tug her leg wider, to settle between them.

Hand hoisting her leg up, feeling it lock around me, tug me closer until her hand at my chest is the only thing that keeps my weight from entirely sinking onto hers.

Fingers skimming from the curve of her thigh, feeling the muscles under my touch shift before dragging up to sprawl against her hips, delving under the loose hoodie, curving into soft flesh.

A tight, warning squeeze.

Voice a low rasp against her skin.

"You're such a brat."

"You're all talk."

Instead of answering, instead of falling for every dangled bait of taunt and tease, my hands grip her hips tighter and tug her forward, thigh rocking up to press firmly against her core at the same time as my hands yank her forward. The harsh friction of fabric against fabric, of firm muscle rocking up against her core tugs a sharp keen from her throat.

Lips curling deep at the sound even as it fans the flames already setting my skin and veins ablaze.

There doesn't need to be words when the silent provoking gleam of her eyes is maddening enough, the rock of her hips tilting into the touch, the sharp press of her nails briefly against my chest, raking down before she tightens her grips. Fisting the front of my shirt.

The curve of her body pressing forward as she sinks closer to the touch, the slow grinding motion of her own hips bucking into the touch—jagged breaths and half-swallowed sounds that she refuses to let slip past her lips.

"That stupid mouth—can't keep it shut and now you decide to keep those sounds from me? You don't play fair doll." Breath hot, voice tightly rigid, fingers curving tighter, harder against the softness of her skin, gripping her firmly to draw her into every rock of her hips, body pressing closer to press my thigh firmly against her core. Feel the slightest trembles in her thighs where (Y/N) presses her legs shut, head tilting back as her lashes flutter, eyes almost slipping shut before they blink open. Pupils darkened slightly, eyes sparking a sear of arousal so deep and sharply at the low of my gut, feel my body coil with tension as I look at her, eyes dragging over the way she looks—hips rocking in slow circling grinds, so subtle that they might've been missed except for the fact that she's getting wound up.

Fingers briefly skimming down, past her waistband, skimming down across her leggings to drift towards her centre, feel her body jolt when the tips of my fingers drag down to find her nub. A keened sound torn from her throat, fingers gripping my wrist even as she rocks her hips down to the touch with an impatient, wanting sound.

"Cheater..." thighs tightening around my own, fingers clutching at my wrist almost hard enough to ache, her other hand tightening impossibly further into my shirt, tugging me closer, the accusation sharp against my jaw.

I tilt my head back to drink in the flash of indignation flitting through the pleasure that's settling into her features, into the flush growing on her cheeks and the quiet trembling motions of her body wrought with a tension that continues to bubble and grow.

See it mount to a peak—the tight unrelenting pressure of my thigh rocking up against her stilling. And then easing back. Watching fury flash in her eyes even as her hand yanks me closer.

"Don't you dare."

"Dare what?"

"You don't get to stop now."

"I thought you wanted to win. I thought you said you were going to win." I goad. Watching the dark intensity of her eyes deepen, watch as pleasure-lax lips twist into a glare. Feel the arch of her back push her closer to me, chest flush with my own, hips pushing up. My hand at her hip gripping harder to pin her back.

Delighting entirely... thoroughly in seeing the warring confliction in her eyes, in the way her body still tilts to chase a touch, a peak—a release, a pleasure that threatens to ebb back, body close but thigh not pressed to where she needs it most.

There's something entirely satisfying in seeing the warring conflict in her eyes even if it means my own pleasure is prolonged. Something so wholly thrilling about seeing desire make her words crumble and disintegrate.

There's something sharply arousing at seeing her sharp-tongued words dissolve into a slew of breathless half-sounds that slip past her lips even though they're bitten red and swollen further from the effort of trying to hold them back.

"I think—" voice wavering, trailing off as I rock my thigh up to press firmly against the apex of her own.

"You think?" I echo, voice tinged with a taunt that she doesn't miss.

"I think right now—I want you to be a man of your words. And then—then I don't care. I'll make you beg even as I'm giving you everything you want."

"You've changed your tune. You've changed your priorities doll."

"Are you going to get me off or not?"

"It'd kill you to ask nicely wouldn't it? But then again I wouldn't expect it from you either." Fingers curving tighter at her hips, the next jerked tug of her body to mine, the harder grinding press of my thigh pushing further against her eliciting a broken moan, a sharp keen of breath that trembles as here grip tightens on me. Eyes fluttering shut as her head curves forward.

The increasingly erratic buck of her hips rocking down in messy circling grinds as she curves to the touch, her breath near feverish hot, lips pressed to my shoulder where she can't quite muffle the whimpered sound in time.

Neither can she hide the expression that flutters across her face, voice gritted and tight against her ear.

"Face up." The rough demand that has blown-out pupils turning to me, lips going lax when I press mine to hers, hard and unrelenting. Swallowing down the slew of sounds with the slick press of my tongue sweeping through the crevices of her mouth, chasing the curl of her mouth.

Demanding because I need to see what (Y/N) looks like as she reaches her peak, the arch of her back as her body goes still and taut, chest pushed flush to my own and her hand pressed between the two of us. Because the sight of her usual taunts wiped clear from her face, pleasure overwhelming her, thighs trembling as they press hard and firm to cage my own between hers, hips moving in unsteady jerked grinds to ride off the rest of the peak. Hands near bruising at her hips, refusing to let up pace because she's done.

We're done when I'm done.

Feel the way her body arches with sensitivity, feel the tremors in her thighs as she tightens her grip on me, swallowing down jagged breaths, breath trembling against my skin as her fingers tighten and loosen where they clutch my shirt. Softer sensitive sounds of pleasure spilling past her lips as my hands continue to guide the unsteady movement of her hips rocking against my thigh—drawing out the peak of pleasure into waves that make her lips part—silent and head tilting back.

Mouth hot against the column of her throat, feeling the way it bobs, tongue and teeth skimming down the expanse of her neck.

The hot flush of her body pressed to mine.

"Changed my mind. That mouth of yours is much better when you can barely get words out." Fingers dragging down the curve of her spine and backside.

"Oh? Guess you don't want to know what it does when I put it to—what was it you said? Better use."

Breath and voice sharp when she speaks, tinged with humour, laced into the uneven waver of her breathing.

My fingers tighten.

"I didn't say that. Now... my turn."

Her body's still bracketed by mine but (Y/N)'s gaze drifts—veering past me, over my shoulder to scan the empty hallway leading down to the rink.

A glimmer in her eyes, mischief, amusement, dark arousal and then finality, hands drifting away from me, body pressed back against the doors, a sudden jolt of movement where the doors are shoved open, and she steps back easily.

A ringing enticing bubble of laughter, wickedly delighted as she eases back, watching me stumble forward, balance teetering and wrenched from under me at the sudden shove of the doors giving.

Her eyes a beckoning lure.

"Keep up then."

And she steps backwards into the shadowed emptiness of the seats surrounding the rink.

(Y/N) POV:

The tremble of my thighs is a reminder, an all too acute awareness of the pleasure that still sends tingles and jolts of desire coursing through my veins.

Steps feeling wobbly, trying to will a steadiness into my steps as I draw back from Jimin, leading him further into the shadowed, dark space of the open seats, the stretched out space of rows.

Eyes holding his, snagged to his by the pure rawness of desire pooled heavily in darkened irises, swallowed whole by the look of lust and want, the outline of his bulge prominent in the light grey sweats. The slow movements somehow intensified all the more by the way he stares at me, gaze pinned on me as if despite wearing clothes, the weight of his stare drags down in heated trails against bare skin.

"Not thinking of running are you?" voice a soft hushed murmur.

"Run? Where?" pace slowing.

Watching him grow closer, watching him move forward until his body is close enough to my own, until he's close enough that when his hand reaches out, it needs little space to reach out to tug at the front of my hoodie. Pulling me to him with a firm, hard movement of his hand curling into fabric.

This time—this time when his hips are flush to my own, this time—there's the noticeable press of his hard-on against my thigh before he rocks his hips forward in a rough, messy grind.

This time the press of his hips hard against my own are a proof of the desire pooled in his veins.

"It turned you on to get me off?"

"It turned me on to have you holding yourself up by holding onto me as I got you off. It turned me on that you couldn't bear to look at me pleasure you."

My lips thin, clamp down before I reach down to tug his hand off me, fingers curled tight at his wrist, feel the strain of strength before his grip tightens to tug me closer, voice and breath harsh against my skin.

"It turns me on knowing every time I'll get you off you'll hate how much you think about it afterwards."

"Don't get cocky Park—you think of yourself a lot."

"You'll think of me a lot the next you want to get off and knowing I gave it to you better than you've ever gotten." The words spill from his lips with a proud curl of his lips, eyes gleaming—smug at the prospect.

"You've got a lot to prove if you think you're the best I've ever gotten. Subpar at best. Just about good enough to get you out of my system but that's it."

A different intensity pools in his eyes, a competitiveness that stems from a bruised ego, from a taunt that riles up the fire in his eyes to a roaring strength, that tugs at that vicious riled angry-wanting-aroused gnawing mess of feelings. Hand curled tighter, the nudge of his body moving forward prompting me into motion.

A harder tug as he sinks down onto the open seats, sprawling against them—the movement threatening to pull me onto his body, across sprawling tensed thighs. Across the inviting sprawl of his lap, across thick muscles that the fabric of his sweats seem to mould to.

But instead there's that teetering moment of where his hand directs me to, a sharp hunger in darkened brown irises, pupils dilated and the sharp roughness of his voice.

"Sometimes doll—you really don't need to be talking. Sometimes you need the words fucked right out of your mouth." Anger threading through the words, dragging the depth of his voice into a deeper rasp that I can feel against my skin, that I can feel pool arousal low in my gut, thighs clenching slightly.

"Do it then Park. Fuck my mouth stupid."

Watching his body sink back, a cocky sprawling confidence there, brown eyes glowering.

"On your knees then doll. Time to do your part."

Taking sharp satisfaction in watching me sink down between parted legs, watching me kneel against the sprawl of his stance that widens, an invite to the prominent bulge that my eyes are dragged to now.

"It doesn't look like I'm the one that needs to unwind. Something got you all wound up Park?" Fingers ghosting along the inner seam of his thigh, against the soft material of the sweats, feel the shift of muscles under the featherlight touch. So responsive. So sensitive. So riled up.

"Been wishing it was my hand wrapped around you in all that solo time?"

"Fuck... your mouth." A throaty groan of impatience and lust both.

"Oh? That could be arranged now."

"A bet is a bet." He reminds md, eyes dark and heavy.

"I'm sure now that it's come to it I could return the favour."

Fingers skimming up to the waistband of his sweatpants, not before grazing across the bulge in his sweatpants, feeling the tension in his body, the small buck of his hips and then a hissed curse.

"Sensitive are you? Don't think you'll last long."

"Last longer than you." He grits out with a determined set to his jaw, fingers gripping tightly to the edge of the seat.

"I don't think so." Fingers circling around his bulge, feeling the way his body jolts slightly, hands skimming up to let my fingers hook into the waistband of his sweatpants, hips rising to help tug them down his thighs, eyes dragging over taut muscle.

His legs angle open slightly, as much as the restraint of the sweatpants tugged low across his thighs allow, head dipping lower to mouth across his front, mouthing against the straining tightness of his boxers.

Thumb brushing over the faint dampness there, only emphasised all the more by my mouth ducking lower across it.

"Watching me ride your thigh really got you worked up huh?" Hand reaching to draw his length out, fingers circling the tip, the glide of my palm across him eased by the arousal that steadily builds. Punctuated with sharp staccato breaths.

Feel a coil of pleasure at the sight of Jimin rutting up into my touch, hips bucking up off the seat as he looks at me through lidded eyes.

"You're enough to wind anyone up." He bite back, head tilting back but even so he doesn't turn his gaze from me. From this angle he looks down at me, a mix of haughtiness and control mixed with arousal that makes his gaze darken and his body wind tighter.

"Good thing I'm exactly what you needed isn't it? To wind down?"

The slow glide of my encircled hand curving around him, mouth ducking lower to part around him, not waiting for an answer– the only I'm searching for is the rough low groan that shudders through him as I sink my mouth onto him. Throat relaxing as I dip lower, taking him deeper into my mouth, tongue curving around.

One of the hands that'd been gripping so tightly at the edge of the seats dart out, fingers gripping tightly at my hair. Hand tightening on and tugging me forward with a harsh buck of his hips that sends him deeper and further into my mouth, a reflexive swallow that has him thrusting deeper with a trembling groan.

Fingers briefly trailing down muscle before my hands settle to grip at his thighs, tugging out rough sounds from equally swollen lips, dark consuming stare pinned on me, that I can feel even as my eyes flutter shut with pleasure, tongue flicking teasingly. Feeling every jolt of his body, the tightness in his muscles as they strain between holding back and giving in. Mouth going lax to sink lower and deeper around him, arousal spilling onto my tongue.

Fingers that grip tighter at pinned back hair, fisting harsh before he yanks my mouth forward into a sudden rough thrust that he meets with the sharp snap of his hips. A stilted broken groan as I swallow around him, fingers curving tight into skin.

There's no pace set because whatever slowly bubbling pleasure that could've been built– there's no time nor patience for that. There's nothing but clawing impatience and franticness between us, whether that was with his thigh between my legs, rocking up hard against me, or the way right now there's wild abandon in blown-out eyes that stare at me from a hooded gaze, breaths laboured and sharp– my own caught tight in my lungs. Wavery as I draw myself off, gulping down air before he's nudging at my mouth, voice a low rasping demand that makes my stomach reflexively tighten.

The nudge the only warning I get, mouth parting and going lax, eyes skimming up his torso– a flicker of disappointment at the shirt.

But before I let my mouth dip lower around him, my fingers grip tighter at his thighs in warning- a lazy brush of lips and tongue against his tip. A cursed hiss of breath– soft and quiet, almost as if he doesn't dare let me hear it.

"Want my mouth or my hand?" fingers loosely curling around him, slow, unrushed motions of my hand moving over him. Tugging out the answer between wavering breaths.

"Mouth." The answer said with a tight jaw and bobbing throat. Patience and senses fraying. Disintegrating as my fingers tighten slightly, mouth easing back slightly.

"In my mouth or my hand?" A sharp groan of impatient visceral need in his movements, in the rough frustrated sound that spills past his lips.

"Mouth." The word growled out harsher, angry.

I let my head tilt the slightest, a smile tugging at swollen lips.

"Next time– next time I want your mouth then." Wondering if that mouth could do anything else but be cocky, than be so full of himself and his worth.

"Deal just– just fuck. Let me fuck your mouth." Bargains spilling easy between us now that there's some sort of mutual benefit to whatever this deal is now.

"What do you say when you want something? Ask nicely Park." I say, goading lilt to my voice, despite the slightly hoarse quality to it. Fingers loosening further, threatening to slip away entirely when his free hand darts out. A tight grip on my wrist before his hand drags across the back of my own, tugging my fingers tighter around him and encasing them with his. A flutter of lashes, a lazy intensely hungering sweep of his gaze skimming down, lingering at slick lips.

"This isn't about being nice to one another. You and I both want something. We give it to each other. I gave, now you give." It's nothing less than what I'd expect, it's nothing short of amusing to hear the impatience bleed into the roughness of his voice. Something... something about how easy he is to get a reaction out of makes the desire pool heavier. Entangles with this moment, kneeling between sprawled out thighs but yet– he's the one waiting and wanting. The hand at the back of my head sprawls heavier, a rutting buck of his hips, mouth parting with a lazy grin. Breath ghosting along his length.

"Fair enough. We didn't decide to fuck to be nice." Before my hands squeeze as I let my mouth sink down, relinquish a tiny fraction of control to the guiding motion of his hand pressed tight and firm, an ache in my jaw as my lips part to swallow around him, tongue curving and flicking; tugging harsh unbridled sounds of pure pleasure as his eyes darken impossibly. Something so satisfying at seeing him visibly unravel. Small breaths as I take him in further, inching down. Grip only tightening once he's buried to the hilt, sheathed entirely into my mouth, the contractions of my throat around him causing pleasure to lance at skin, prickling with a heat that flares back to life with an aching vengeance, hips unconsciously shifting– hands feeling the strain of muscles under their touch.

An unspoken pass of power, of control, albeit briefly, as I tilt my head up to look at him, the movement and pace of his hips rocking upwards and tugging me forward, using me for his pleasure, to chase the peak he so desperately been teetering towards. Hands gripping hard enough that briefly I wonder if mine would ever leave their mark.

Uneven staccato breaths, lungs burning as I swallow down air– a small reprieve before the snap of Jimin's hips drive him deeper into my mouth, hand in my hair tugging me to each thrust, mouth parted and eyes drinking in the way his expression changes with pleasure. The way his face flushed and skin gleams; a similar heat coiling in my veins.

And then that brief, brief moment where he stills, draws back.

Mouth parting in provocative invite.

"Go on then..."

Swallowing heavily around him when he spills down my throat with a rough groan of my name, moan choked around him, fingers tightening, untightening, tightening and then going lax. Falling away as his chest rises and falls, the tension in his body at odds with the way he sinks back, both our breaths uneven as I draw off, tongue brushing against swollen, bruised lips. Throat tight and voice hoarse. A stinging tinge to my eyes that I blink back as I sink back onto my knees.

A trembling feeling of arousal washing anew across my body. Pleasure making my hips briefly rock, coiling spools of desire that wind tighter and tighter around my gut.

Not enough. Somehow this isn't enough.

"That mouth." He rasps, the low depth of his voice sounding just as wrecked as my own.

"Didn't fuck my mouth hard enough to ruin it." I lilt, throat feeling slightly raw.

There's a look of incredulity, disbelief and sharp gleaming amusement in his eyes as Jimin looks down at me, knuckles tight as he grips the seat's edge, body a loose sprawl, an invite if anything.

"There's time to fix that."

Plenty of it. To lead each other to ruin.

"No need to sound obsessed Park– someone will think you've got an oral kink."

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

"No I don't need to know about this mutual oral fixation you've both got going on. First you're at each other's throats for being pole opposites... I don't want to know what kinks you share."

"As if you don't know my kinks already."

"I didn't need to know Park Jimin has the same fixation with your mouth that you do with oral."

"First of all– I didn't even get oral, second thing... if his mouth can crack all those dumbass comments then maybe he can put it to better use you know?"

"I'll gag you."

I bat my lashes at him, grinning as his face twists with scowled displeasure– already reading the words on my face before I even get to voice them.

"Don't threaten me with a good time Koo."

He makes a gagging sound, shoving me away from him, pushing me back a slight distance and speeding up to increase distance between us.

"Noooooo don't abandon me..." see his eyes flit to the side as he observes me, a faint twitch to his lips as he rolls his eyes and obliges, pace slowing to let me quickly hurry against his side, pressing close to him.

"What would you do without me?"

"Have a really shit career as a soloist. I don't like performing alone." I sigh.

He hums in agreement, letting my weight sprawl against his side, posture unfaltering as we continue to walk down towards the rinks.

"You'd be lost." he agrees with a grin, laughing as I elbow him.

"What! Who else would hear your disgusting fantasies about Park and still train with you?" Kook laughs, eyes gleaming with amusement as his face tilts to look at me.

"I don't have fantasies– they're not disgusting! I just said that I wouldn't have minded if he'd have gone down on me." incredulous and offended at the shudder that he exaggerates all the more.

"Stop right there– I know I know everything about your sex life. I really, really don't need the visual of Park in my head. We still have those group practices together and I'd rather not know what you got upto against the rink doors."

"What? Never done worse on campus– you liar, cos I remember the time you told me about the gym..."

"It was empty– no-one else was there... I wasn't at the risk of someone walking down the hallway!" he refutes with a faint glimmer of pink dusting his cheeks but a laughing scrunched grin as he pushes the doors open, body angled aside to let me pass.

Hand darting out to tug at my bag strap, the sudden gesture making my feet backpedal, stumbling back into him, head tilting to scowl at him. The nicety of the previous gesture lost with the wide-stretched grin curved across his face as Kook looks at me.

"Point being– you might have a thing for potential exhibitionism."

"I bet Park does– always getting up in my face and making a big show about how he thinks he's a better skater... he has a thing for causing a scene... especially in front of his teammates."

There's a low hum of assent, a similar distaste on Kook's face as we walk down the hallway to Rink C.

"That team is toxic. They all get off on causing a shitshow- they just don't know when to back down or where the limits are."

"Their coach doesn't help. Can you imagine if we didn't have Coach Kim? One of the best male figure skaters to teach us? Their coach doesn't begin to match." there was definitely an influence of their coach on their mentality. The way he was around Coach Seo, dismissive and unwilling to accept her as an equally authoritative figure... as a fellow athlete... It was disgusting. To imagine a scenario where Coach Hwan might've been our coach... the thought makes my skin rankle.

"You get douchebags but there's a different level when it comes to Coach Hwan." the sound of a zip being slid down, of his upper jacket being shed off, discarded as he tugs his bag off from across his chest.

"I know he barely focuses in group practice– but if he bothered, he could actually see the few hockey players that might try put the effort in... they could learn. It could help them."

"Speaking like a true captain. You can say that the hockey players are just as shit when it comes to actually making the time worth it."

A loose shrug and an easy grin as Kook opens his bag to tug out his skates, knee nudging against mine to prompt me into movement, to draw my own out.

"I'm trying to be nice. Can't guarantee how long it'll last."

"I'll give it one session with those 97 liners on the offence... you'll be eating your words."

"The only thing I want to be eating is dinner at that new bistro– so skates on (Y/N). We need to perfect that lift before we can start actually practicing it in sequence."

"Aye aye captain."

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

Practiced, familiar hands move confidently as Kook helps strap the practice harness on, the larger, more extensive support connected and suspended from wires that connect to the machinery next to the sound booth.

There's a deftness in his fingers as he tests the strength of the wires, firm tugs to see if it'll hold before he smooths out the harness straps across my shoulders, looped round underneath my bust and secured upwards.

"Not too tight?" even as his fingers slip under the straps to check for how tightly it clings– not too tight that it's a constricting band round my lungs, nor too loose that when the system is switched on that the bands give way mid-jump, mid-lift.

"Feels secure. You've strapped me in plenty of times Koo– it's done perfect." I reassure, seeing that tiny glimmer of sharp concern and assessing scrutiny diminish once he's checked again, stepping back to rake a thorough sweep down my front. From the harness wires that are carefully suspended over me, the harness wound around me and the ties on my skates.

Everything meticulous and in place.

"Can never be too careful. No loose skates, no tangled up harness wires– we're practicing lifts and turns, there's no such thing as too careful." a familiar warm care in his words, brows unfurrowing as I lift my hand up to briefly cup his face, fingers skimming down and poking at the soft curve of his cheek.

"I'll be careful. I know I'm in safe hands Kook– I trust you more than I trust me. Besides, you'll be operating the harness and keeping an eye on me."

A fond smile, lips curving up.

"Damn right I will. We're not having any other injuries if I can help it." firm determined resolve in his voice before he skates backwards.

Eyes still holding mine even as he skates backwards, a seamless glide of movements as he drifts towards the edge of the rink.

A wide grinned encouragement as he steps off the ice.

"We'll go through some basic skills to warm-up first and then move to twists."

"When are we practicing lifts?"

"We'll go through some Salchow turns and axel spins– posture check them and switch. Then you good to start practicing lifts?" voice sounding faintly distant with how further back he's moved.

"Let's go!"

"Let's get it!" he yells back with a loud hollered whoop before stepping clean off the ice, slipping on skate guards as he moves to the control centre, my own eyes skimming over my form for a final check over everything.

Voice coming through much clearer through the speaker.

"I'll count you in before the harness support starts."

"Go for it cap'"

There's the steady low intonation of his voice pouring out from the speakers that surround the rink.

"3...2...1... let's start by checking the harness first. Give me some arm extensions."

I lift my arms out, stretched out over my head, then down my sides, then suspended into delicate, firm lines and angles.

"Clean lines. Any strain?"

"None." I call out, shaking my head for quick measure. Watching his eyes flit from the control centre to look out over the ice at me.

"Leg extensions, I'm going to start off with on-ice ones and then we'll suspend you in the air for them."

A thumbs-up.

Guiding me through each move with his voice filling the speakers, filling the rink– clear clarity in the guided instructions as I twist and stretch into the positions, executing simple loops and turns, the harness keeping my posture straight and poised. The support the harness provides is just to help clean up the lines and angles of my body– to help practice the form I should be in when executing the turns and loops.

And when the harness goes taut, it's second... first-nature for my body to immediately coil and tighten, muscle memory snapping into place, core tight and engaged.

Every movement even more precisely controlled and guided, the constancy of Kook's voice pouring out of the speaker a levelled instruction that keeps my head rooted in that focused headspace.

"Left leg extend it out—let's get it up by 15 degrees more... and there got it. Hold."

There's a faint heat that begins to crawl up my spine, focusing on my breathing as the harness steadies my posture. Keeps my core engaged, steady, head straightening.

"And now arms in pirouette."

"Hold for three....3, 2, 1 and relax."

The looser, gentler movement of the harness lowering me down, no longer airborne and off the ice, skates touching down and finding purchase immediately though there's no movement for a few seconds. Steadying myself.

"Wires pulling?"

A shake of my head.

"All good—no strain." I call out, wondering if he can even hear me from inside the control booth.

But the speaker gets cut off, seamlessly melting into silence and then in the next few moments the sound of skates gliding across the ice, the sound immediately, automatically recognisable and the wide grinned whoop of sound as he rushes forward.

"You've been practicing without me!"

"What on earth do you think I'm always fighting Park for?" I laugh.

Eyes rolling as he grins.

"Touché... all those arguments are paying off, your lines and silhouette is crisp and clean angles. It's perfect." He enthuses.

"So what I'm hearing is fighting Park and winning all that rink time's helped."

"You're already shaping up to be in much better form than the end of the last season—we're going to ace these competitions."

"Don't jinx it!"

"Nah—you got this. You'll be carrying the weight for both of us." Eyes sparkling with giddiness and pride, a familiar flush of warmth pooling inside at the unwavering support but also the strong confidence in his voice. Firm and proud and so, so certain.

"Don't inflate my ego either." I laugh, letting him reach out to snag his hands on me, to tug me to him, whirling us around in a quick flurry of skates moving deftly across the ice, spinning us around so that he's directed towards the harness instead.

"Keep you in line—got it... strap me in?" stretching out his arms in an exaggerated sweeping motion as he comes to still, grinning at me as I move forward to him.

"Just say you want my hands over you." I tease.

Drawing the straps of the harness closer, watching him thread his arms through, the straps needing to be adjusted to match his significantly broader, muscular frame. Hands mapping out the breadth of his chest, skimming over the toned definition of his pecs, of his biceps- taut with muscle despite the looseness set in his body. Drawing the harness securely across his chest, tugging and testing for how well it holds, for how much space it gives him to breathe, secure without restricting. Watching the roll of his shoulders as he manoeuvres himself—testing the harness himself.

My hand pats at his chest, feel the bunch of muscle as he flexes with a wide smug grin.

"You have a better rack than I do." I sigh.

"Just say you want an excuse to cop a feel then move on. And it takes time to build this 'rack'! A lot of chest days at the gym."

"If the gym gave me a better rack you'd bet I'd join you on those days too." I lament.

"You could try~ want to join me for an extra set this week?" an amused gleam in his eyes, puffing out his chest, posture broad and seeming to tower with the added height of his skates. All grinning looming height and shit-eating grin, teasing and trying to get me to fall into his trap.

"I'll pass. I need the feeling in my body to train the rest of the week."

"Damn—guess the sex hasn't been that good if you can train the next day."

The remark makes laughter bubble well up in my throat, spilling out as his words sink in. Laughing as my hand steadies itself on him, body curving forward.

A breathless buzz as I stare at the smug look on his face.

"Now whose invested in my sex life?"

"Well just because at the moment I don't want sex doesn't mean I can't root on yours."

"Even with my sworn enemy? Even if during giving him head all I wanted to do was shut him up because I can't stand the things that come out his mouth?"

Between laughs Jungkook shakes his head at me, giving me a light shove back. Adjusting and rechecking his straps.

"Well—" he begins, trailing off purposefully. Brows rising slightly. Stare pointed.

"You decided to sleep with the enemy. You deal with whatever shit form of sex talk comes with that."

"It's not sex talk. I'm just going to bring him to his knees." Fierce resolve. In whatever way. In every way.

"Kinky. There's that oral kink showing again."

"Shut up!" I laugh.

"Isn't it? Or is it about trying to bring him down because I know about those pillow princess tendencies you get—"

"Is it so much to ask for to get a good fuck without so much talk?"

"There's toys for that sort of thing (Y/N)... don't kid yourself. The arguing gets you two going." Grimacing as he makes the observation, pointed stare seeing right through me without any of the bullshit.

"Toys could get me off better."

"I'm sure they could—but the point is that you have to do all the work... and we know how much that frustrates you." a gleam of mirth in soft brown eyes. Making them seem sharper, glinting with tease and far too much knowledge, holding all the secrets and ins and outs of near a lifetime of friendship and broken barriers in them.

"I hate you."

"Awww—I'm glad you feel so deeply. The sentiment's the same—now go. My turn... go operate the machine." Another shoving gesture to move away and skate off the rink.

A begrudging skate backwards as I stare hard at him, getting only a shrug of his shoulders and an easy smile that's relaxed and teasing and content as he watches me move off the ice.

Clambering off carefully to move to the control booth—swapping places with him.

From inside the booth the entire rink can be seen clearly, in perfect view of the harness, already so thoroughly familiarised with the panel.

"Start off with some stretches for me Kook—flaunt those muscles." Voice filtering out the speaker, loud and clear.

Even from the distance I can see the roll of his eyes, the twitch of his lips even as he complies, slow careful stretches of his arms and legs, core kept engaged by the harness. Fluid movements and clean lines that's all muscle, all shaped definition and all perfection.

"Let's start off with some pointe turns. Half turns first—I want pristine footwork Koo!"

The control room operates so that whilst it connects to the speakers, it also picks up his voice from the mic sewn into the harness at his chest.

"Bossy."

"You love it. Now—clean turns en pointe, I want graceful powerful movements when we switch onto full turns."

"You want any sequence to the turns or are we just going for footwork?" voice caught by the mic but eyes searching me out, holding my gaze across the distance as I tilt my head up to look at him through the glass.

"Let's check your footwork—if you pass then I'll see how well you sequence."

"Better than you." grumbled under his breath, good-natured grin paired with the flash of competition that I can read in his posture, that at this distance I can't look him in the eyes to read but I know is there regardless.

Know it.

I've seen it.

I know full well what that look means—that fire to challenge and push himself just as much as it is to push me.

And I know that that stare across the ice is a challenge for himself and also to prove it to me—always using each other as motivation to push ourselves further and further.

And right now that same drive has him executing turns en pointe with a delicate finesse that's all swift, light movements on his skates that's at odds with the breadth and firmness of his body, of the muscle definition that at this moment is used to control each push and twist of his body, the angled point of his skate.

It's that same drive that has turns twisting into sequenced steps, elegant glides across the ice, my fingers carefully moving across the controls to keep the harness a steady constant support—keeping his torso level and straight.

Keeping a close eye on his form and posture, gauging how much extension the harness should give, how much the wires loosen to allow for more freedom in his movements.

"Show off—reel it back with some toe loops. We'll go through practicing some double twists and then good to go on finally getting some lifts?"

A double thumbs-up, voice slightly breathless, a light faint tinge of exertion in his words.

"Sure you'll keep up?"

"You tell good jokes." I say dryly, leaning down to speak into the mic.

Catching his grin widen.

"Try match me." I add.

There's confidence in his posture as he straightens up, rolling his ankles slowly, warming up the joint further as he gets ready.

"I have all these years haven't I?" assuredness in his voice. But a softer lilt to it too, one that makes my own lips curve.

Tease melting from my voice, leaving nothing but affection.

"Let's keep it going for years more."

"Let's get it!"

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

Days blur together, an amalgamated mass of practices and training, of going through old practice videos and competition footage, of dissecting each move, each figure skater, each piece of music, each style that previous winners and runners-up have been trained and excelled in. Not to change our own but to ensure that our duet, our practice, our performance will be just as refined and crisply clean cut as the performance videos that Coach Kim sends through to us. It's bookings, rink after rink, wherever and whichever one we can... it's early days and late nights and naps everywhere in between. It's cutting down and going hard on maintenance—on sleep, on eating good and clean and on pushing our bodies to the prime peak performance level without teetering over that edge and towards burn out.

We can't burn out before we begin.

And with blurring days of practice, there's little patience, little tolerance and little restraint.

With days of morning sessions, afternoons or evenings doing light trainings... in the final days right before the beginnings of the university competitions across the city, there's this mounting pressure to do it right. That pressure stronger and weighing down my shoulders all the more because it's my first competition post-injury after missing out on the last.

"You'll be fine." I've heard it from both coaches and Jungkook several times. I hear it an increasing amount more in the final days before the first heat, before the first wave of competitions.

"What if I ruin it?"

"You won't." a certainty in his words that I can't muster myself.

"How do you know?"

"We sat out one competitive season. That doesn't get rid of years of practice and experience."

"I know but what if I've lost my rhythm—what if I ruin it for you?"

Hand squeezing at my shoulder, gently tugging me forward, head ducking down to draw my gaze up to meet his. Eyes warm and knowing.

"You won't." Kook repeats firmly.

"If... if we slip up, we slip up. If something happens and we don't perform our best then we'll have more competitions—this is the beginning of countless seasons, there's more than one chance."

"You won't hate—"

"(Y/N)." the way he says my name makes me pause, brown eyes dark and serious, voice soft and firm.

"I've got your back. But I know you'll have mine too. And worst comes to worst—we practice more." a quirk to his lips as they tug into a grin, head tilting as he looks at me.

Soothing away nerves and fears so easily, so confidently—eyes holding mine and containing an intensity that doesn't let my panic linger. And holds only confidence in us.

That's all.

A reminder—that it'll always be us performing together. It's us going onto the ice together. Not him alone. Not me alone. We share whatever happens.

"We're going."

"I'm staying."

"Absolutely not."

"There's still an hour before the next booking."

"I don't care. That's enough for today. We're done. You're not getting onto the ice until we have our run-through with Coach Seo and Kim."

"Jungkook—"

"(Y/N)."

"Kook just—"

A hand swipes at me, arm slinging round my front, a heavy banding weight as he tugs me back, hand sprawling round my front to keep me anchored to him, weight pressing to my back.

"Noooooo—unhand me brute!"

"You're going to get off the ice, shower because I can't stand the smell and then we're going to get food."

My hands whack at him, trying to tug the pinning band of muscle around me, head twisting back with indignation.

"You're no bouquet of roses Jeon!"

"No one wants to be—smell too strong." Nose wrinkling at the thought.

But despite trying to tug myself free, his grip only tightens before he's skating backwards, grin wide and unrepentant and entirely too proud. Twisting so that he's nudging me off the ice first, body flanking mine, blocking off access back to the rink.

"You shower and let me get some more sequencing down."

"Stubborn. Not happening." He grouses, grumbling under his breath with a look of resignation, nudging me forward until I have to take a few steps forward to let him clamber off the ice.

I linger, holding back, trying to still his movements, tilting my head up to look at him.

"I've still got energy."

"Go burn it off with your booty call." Jungkook deadpans.

"I'm not going to him first."

"Why? You've both been up each other's space a lot these past few days. What's another round?" he grins, arm slightly loosening once he's seen my focus drift.

"I went to him last."

"So? Is this another thing? You're fuck buddies but you won't ask for sex?"

"Trust me there's nothing buddy-buddy about the sex."

"Point is­—why are you both being difficult about it? It's mutual, it's sex, it's—huh. Maybe you won't have to ask." When my phone chimes and goes off with a message. As if he knows with certainty it's Jimin even before I tug it out.

A smug I told you so look on his face when I do.

Gym locker room.

Kook peering past my shoulder, a soft snort.

"How romantic."

"It's convenient."

"That the gym will be on what was going to be our walk back to campus. You can do your walk of shame later." Amusement in his voice, still moving forward towards the exit.

Eyes catching sight of the message I send back.

Showers.

"Don't like getting down and dirty?"

"I'm already dirty. I don't mind going down. I need a shower anyways—why bother making a separate mess?"

A retching, gagging sound.

"Keep certain details from my ears please."

"Shut up—you'll hear about it in a lot more detail later."

No barriers, no restrictions, no possibility of withholding anything from each other.

"I'd rather not hear about it over dinner?"

"Then how about dessert too because I'm a wholeass—"

"A mess. You're a mess—now just go." Shoving me aside and away from him.

"Ordering it to my dorm?"

"Mine." Paths diverging as he splits off from me, shooting me an exasperated look over his shoulder.

"If you're late the food will go cold."

My eyes spark as I grin at him.

Hitching my bag more securely across my front.

"I'll be fucked, showered and sitting in your bed to watch Marvel and eat dinner as it's hot."

"You're not getting into my bed with food."

"We'll see."

"It's a no (Y/N)!"

"Love you."

"Hate you... now go get that dick!" he suddenly cheers, drawing straggling eyes to me, cheeks flushing as I stare hard at him.

Hearing his cackled laugh even as he walks off, leaving me standing at the entrance to the gym.

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

"You took your time."

"Already worked up a sweat before I got here?" discarding my bag without preamble, continuing to peel off layers, back still to him but hearing his voice approach, hearing the lock click and the low deep laugh. The private shower room at the far end, secluded and tucked away but even so... leaving it open for those few minutes had coiled a thrumming anticipation and nervousness, one that abates and leaves only bubbling desire. There's always that tug, that visceral push and pull of attraction, lust, ego and competitiveness that drags us closer, that has these games winding us deeper and deeper into their snare.

"Needed some way to burn off steam."

"Does that mean you're all tired now? Came to enjoy a show?" bending down as I peel off my leggings and underwear, a discarded jumble of clothes that I nudge aside.

Feel a hand brush against my hip, squeezing tight, body pressed to mine from behind, fully clothed but the definition of his body all the more pronounced by the way his top clings to his torso. Feel his hips rock against my backside, feel his bulge rut against me. Fingers clasping at damp skin tighter.

"You're giving one that's for sure doll. What if it'd been someone else?"

"Then I'd hope whoever it was would've been a better lay than you."

There's a rasp in his words, dragging them into a lower, headier rumble of intonation that I feel press against the curve of my ear and trace down to press against my shoulder. Breath hot, the sting of teeth harder.

"You could hope."

"Tend to shower with your clothes on?" I ask, fingers reaching back, head tilting to stare into molten dark brown eyes that are already fixed on me, turn darker as I let my head tilt back, fingers reaching to sink into his hair, blonde tousled locks that my fingers tug harshly at to draw closer, inviting the sharp, stinging biting kisses he leaves over my skin.

"Impatient."

"Don't have time for pleasantries." Turning in the circle of his hold, feel his hand slip to rest at the low of my back before skimming lower, sprawling with a lazy, hungering grin.

My own hand pressing at his chest before dragging lower, hooking into the hem of his t-shirt to drag it up, letting it fall to the ground.

"Agreed."

"You always need help getting clothes off?"

A soft laugh as he draws back, tugging off his clothes with the same impatience that claws at me as it does him, the same blunt urgency that'd been in his message, that seems to well up and bubble all the more stronger these days. All that frustration and impatience bleeding into a franticness, into a hurried urgency, fingers tugging at clothes and bodies pressing closer.

So this... this hungering stare that darkens his eyes and swallows his irises, the carnal want that makes the curve of his mouth sharp and enticing, this tug that he seems to test its pull of before he takes steps forward... this is a game I don't have time to play.

Slower steps quickening as I step into the shower, hands twisting the water on, directly underneath the hot spray of water that pours down, head tilting back into it, fingers pushing hair back, tugging it open.

Hands, hot and scalding—even more so, slick with water as he steps under the shower spray, pressing closer so he's invading my space, invading breath as parted lips press to my own. There's nothing slow or unrushed in the way my mouth presses to his, urgent and harried but spurred on further by the bruising hardness of his lips slanting over mine, face angled close to me,, body pressing firmer and harder against my own and fingers leaving their imprints where they grip at my waist and hips.

Grinning against his mouth at the urgency that bleeds into his movements, that mirrors that restless energy that claws at me from the inside and demands an outlet, echoed in rushed breaths and swallowed down groans, in teeth that sink harsh against his bottom lip and in return countered with the press of his tongue sweeping through my mouth, in the hard firmness of his hips rocking against mine. Slick skin pressed together.

This close I don't get to drink in the sight of him, don't get to drag my eyes over muscle and toned definition. But this close, this close my hands drag across his torso, nails skimming down, hard and cruel against his pecs, toying and tugging, nail dragging over one stiff nipple then the other—swallowing the choked pleasured sound with my tongue entangled with his.

This close I don't care for the build-up, for the foreplay, for anything but the way his hands feel skimming against my thigh and his fingers at their apex. I don't care for anything but the pleasure he wrings out of me with hard, precise movements of his fingers curling inside me, my own digging tight into his bicep. This—the harder relentless twist and thrust of his fingers tugging out sharp keening sounds, seeming to ring out, head tilted back, body pressed against the cold shower wall. I don't care for anything but the way pleasure bubbles and wells up and crests, thighs clenching and trembling around the hand between them.

Nails leaving indents against taut muscle, skimming up to entangle into messy drenched locks, tugging him forward, breathless as my lips chase his, groaning quietly against his parted mouth, tongues slick against one another, hand hitching up my thigh, fingers gripping tightly at me before he's easing himself in. A slow deep thrust as he rocks himself in further until he's buried to the hilt.

Lips slipping away, ragged breaths and dark eyes holding one another, irises swallowed up with lust, a shaky curse before Jimin grips at me tighter, bodies slick with hot water and pressed further, harder against the shower wall, no warning, no preamble before the pace, the intensity—everything quickens with the way need claws viciously at both of us. Gripping at him tightly, hand curled into his shoulder, lips pressing against my throat and thrusts burying himself deeper and deeper, rough grinding motions that have unbridled pleasure slipping easy past lax lips. The press of his body pinning me to the wall, legs locking around his waist, tightening with the roughness of the way his hands grip at me, moulding me to him, the way we both chase our peaks, a spiralling heady mix of pleasure and need and impatience.

"Desperate weren't you?" I lilt, voice slightly breathless, wavering at a harder thrust, back arching, pushing forward into his touch, the sharp press of tongue and teeth against the curve of my breast, breath hot as he sinks a stinging kiss into skin, voice low and guttural.

"I would've fucked you against the locker rooms at the rink if I'd known that's where you were." Words trembling, drawn out, punctuated with the unevenness of his breaths, each word punctuated with the rolling buck of his hips, driving himself deeper and deeper, lips curving into a satisfied smirk against my skin.

Head ducking lower, tugging at my bud, teeth hard against it, the lathing touch of his tongue leaving heat, mouth closing around it, drawing it to a stiffening ache.

"Who knew—who knew you'd come back begging for more?"

Blackened irises and dilated pupils look up at me, swollen lips tilted into a crooked grin.

"I knew you would. Left the door unlocked—just waiting for me to get my hands on you." a proud, cocky rasp in his voice. But rather than entirely infuriate me, it also makes the desire in my veins thicken.

"You texted first—" hips rocking to meet each thrust, lashes damp with water, blinking as the sight of him blurs briefly, fingers dragging against his scalp, tugging him closer—lips hairsbreadth apart, refusing to let him close that distance, tugging his hair to angle his head back, face angled close to his. Watch lidded eyes, droplets of water clinging to his lashes, and water streaking down his skin as he looks up at me, fingers flexing and tightening their grip at my hips.

"You wanted this."

His lips curl—a slowly spreading smirk that tilts his mouth into a dangerous lilt, that almost has me tilting to it, fingers entangled in his hair, a darker blonde drenched with water that continues to pour over the both of us.

"You're a liar if you didn't want it as much. More." drawing back slightly, tip teasing at my core, watching with smug amusement as my hips unconsciously rock down, chasing the touch, chasing the press of his body entirely suffused with mine.

"I have needs to be met." Chest flush with his own, a keening moan tugged from the depth of my throat, the press of his hips against mine and a hand slipping to the apex of my thigh, cruel rough ministrations of his fingers against my swollen nub, thumbing circles against where our bodies meet.

The low rasp of his laughter dark and delighted.

"Needs. Guess I'm not a want then am I doll? Guess you just need me."

Before he slowly rocks himself back in deeper, groaning low once he's sheathed himself entirely.

A trembling electric headiness that burns its course through my veins, that makes each ragged breath taut with welling need, pleasure beginning to crest with the slower, intensely thorough grind of his hips, each thrust a slow taunt, each rougher grind making my breath catch in my lungs. Fingers pushing hair back from my face, water streaming against skin.

"Trust me I hate it." I grit out, eyes fluttering shut, head tilting back, refusing to look at the glittering triumph and amusement in his stare, can feel it in the way it rakes down my front, in the way his thumb presses hard at where we're joined, rough circles against my nub.

Swallowing hard at the pleasured sound that tries to leave my lips, hand skimming up, dragging rough against my curves before cupping my jaw. Angling my head, fingers tight and unrelenting and thumb tugging at my bottom lip, freeing it from the hard clench of teeth sinking into it.

"That's why I want to hear every noise you make—knowing full well you hate that I make you sound like that."

And I've never hated him more.

Never hated more the pleasure that peaks with his hand at my jaw and glinting dark eyes drinking me in, water pouring over us and thighs locking him tighter against me. Never hated more that my legs tremble as he reaches his own peak, fingers slipping on slippery tiles for purchase, body arched and watching as his hand curves around his length, a few erratic thrusts, bucking into his palm before streaks of his release stain my skin. Never hated more the look of unbridled lust clouding his eyes because I know it mirrors my own, even as the water washes away the proof of anything having transpired between us in the first place.

Never hated more that every barbed word and taunt further entangles us deeper and deeper into one another. And rather than dulling the attraction or quenching it—it makes it grow, twisted and entangled and messy.

[......]

"Go again?"

"I've got a dinner and muscled hunk waiting in bed for me. Pass."

"And here I thought I was special."

I snort, tugging my bag over my shoulder, drawing the hood over damp hair. Eyes flitting to him.

"Don't kid yourself Park."

[......]

"(L/N) (Y/N)... I swear to god if you've gotten crumbs in my bed I'll cancel all your bookings."

"You can't do that!"

"I'm captain—I'll cancel them."

"That's an abuse of power."

"Right now you're abusing my bed—get out!"

"The dorms are too far—"

"They're five minutes away. You'll live."

"But Kooooo—"

A weary sigh and low frustrated groan.

"Change my sheets right now."

"Yes sir!"

"Don't start—" reading the expression on my face, lips curved into a grin.

"But I've literally ruined your sheets and you're being all dom... what do I call you then?"

"Right that's it!" hand encircling my wrist and tugging me away from the sprawling comforter.

"No no... I'll behave." Batting my lashes and simpering at him, laughing at the disgusted scowl on his face.

"Take your kinky shit to Park."

An incredulous laugh before I grin at him.

"Oh but what we share is so special." I tease.

It's worth the pillow thrown at my face, a hard blow that knocks me back and nearly off the bed if it wasn't for the hand that darts out at the last moment and wrenches me back.

[......]

The weight of dark eyes glowering at me doesn't change when his body is pressed close and entangled with my own. Sharp words aren't softened because our lips crush to one another, bruising and hard—relentless at tugging out and swallowing down pleasured noises, muffled against one another because somehow... somehow letting them escape isn't a possibility either of us entertain.

"Fuck me."

"Someone's demanding—"

"I don't need any smartass comments Park. Just fuck me."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

[.....]

"Something's got you in a bad mood." Fingers slipping underneath the waistband of his sweats, nails skimming across the low of his back, relishing in the sharp hiss of breath as he bucks forward, eyes flashing with heat.

"Seeing you is enough to do that." He grits back, hand sprawling against the door, looking at me as I press closer to him, body pushed flush to his own, his other hand dragging up my torso, calloused touch rough against skin, fingers moulding to my breast, thumbing over my nipple over my sports bra. Even through the fabric, my body responds to his touch, feel his touch as he rolls it between his thumb and finger, a harsh twist that has my body jolting forward.

"Oh? I can leave if you want Park. And then I'll let you deal with your little problem alone." Hand slipping past his boxers, curving around his length, feeling him rut into my palm, a low frustrated sound at the rough friction, thumbing over the tip, fingers smearing arousal down his length, a harsher twist of his fingers to tug a broken rough sound from my mouth whilst his teeth sink into his bottom lip- swallowing down his own.

"Little? That's not what you say when I—fuck." Groan throaty and low, chest rumbling with the depth of the sound, as if the pleasure is tugged from the very depths of his chest, fingers tightening around him, an encircled fist he rocks into, that my own hand purposefully keeps the place slow and harsh. Taunting with the crackling mix of frustration and desire that makes the fire in his eyes burn all the more hotter.

That in retaliation has his hand skimming from my breast, a harsh squeezing palming motion, before his fingers reach for the criss-crossed straps, feeling out the clasp.

The feel of his calloused touch against my curves, dragging from the arched line of my spine to skim round to slowly, tauntingly circle one stiff bud, fingers moving under my shirt has a strong jolt of arousal coursing through me at the sight. Fingers faltering as I look at his hand under my touch, the outline of it visible, knowing that he doesn't even need to see to know how to make the lust in my veins bubble, a twisting coil of pressure winding tighter and tighter low in my gut, hand in response moving harder, faster around his length.

Two can play this game.

"I don't know if I have time to fuck you today Park." I tease, watching each shift in his expression, watching the way his throat bobs heavily, swallowing hard—the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a lazy grin when in turn his fingers tug—working it to a sensitive, swollen peak where the barest of touches, where the raking pressure of his nails makes my body curve forward to the touch, lips pressed hard against his shoulder.

There's no preamble, no time to even divest each other of clothes, there's nothing but quick, easy pleasure.

Fingers curving around him, the quick messy buck of his hips at odds with the slowness that I taunt him with, eyes dropping down to his sweats, to the faint outline of my hand underneath the fabric.

"But look at you—going to make a mess of my hand before I even get your clothes off?"

"Just like I did to you? Like returning favours?" voice full of goading and snark even as I feel his desperation grow in the way the pace of his hips quicken, the way his hand drops down to try guide the movement of my hand- expletives shattering the hushed sound of pleasure that we both try to stifle.

"I'll return it with interest. So when it's my turn to collect you'll pay up."

A short jerked nod.

Fingers tight at my wrist, his other hand skimming down my front, toying with the waistband of my leggings, hand delving under fabric to cup me from behind, to tug me further into him.

"Demand a lot don't you. On the ice and off it." words sharp, reminding me of the reason he'd been pent up in the first place.

"You don't make fun of my talent on the ice and expect me to not fuck you over for it. In fact—" pace slowing, faltering. An impatient half-growled sound, eyes flashing dark and dangerous as Jimin looks at me.

"You had me trying to do stupid turns."

"You're the one trying to make it sound easy. As if all I do on the ice, what any of us do on the ice is waste our time. Don't throw a bitch fit at me Park because you couldn't get a single turn."

"I don't need to know how to."

"Then why are you so frustrated that you couldn't?" a harsher twist of my wrist, fingers tightening at the base, feel his breath hot against my ear, words dropping into a lower rasp.

"So take your tantrum somewhere else. Or I'll go." Voice low with warning, head tilting to stare directly into the crackling ire pooled heavy in his eyes.

A sharp tug, hand firm and unrelenting—gripping hard enough to bruise, lips barely skimming mine but leaving heat in that brief brush of his mouth to mine.

"Don't you dare."

"Why not? It's fun."

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

"Alright... no more fun and games. This is the real thing. Ready for it?" eyes glittering with adrenaline, with giddiness and excitement as Kook looks at me, hand outstretched for mine.

The ground underneath our feet is steady but the glide of ice under our skates is seamless. Easy and second-nature, as natural as breathing to find our bodies gravitating close to one another as we skate to the centre, hands tightly entangled.

"Ready."

"We're going to ace this." I add, voice level and confident, bodies skating into position, eyes holding his—finding the same confidence and resolve in his gaze that I know he finds in mine.

"We are. This season is ours."

I grin at him.

"Let's get it!"

(AND SCENE! WHEW! THIS CHAPTER WAS SO INSPIRED TO BE WRITTEN—AND SO HERE IT IS~ I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY IT! THERE'S PLENTY OF STEAM~ AND YET PLENTY MORE TO COME... TIS BUT THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG! Midiiplier IS THE TENSION THERE!! THE COMPETITIVENESS AND CLASH BETWEEN THE TWO IS ONLY GOING TO BUILD... THERE'S SO MUCH MORE COMING!! AND PLENTY MORE RIVALRY TO BUILD AS WELL AS WORLD-BUILDING FOR OUR HOCKEY PLAYER AND FIGURE SKATER—LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3