JIMIN POV:

Every practice has built up to this point—to winning the first step that maps out the rest of the year and charts out our trajectory going forward from these heats.

Everything, every effort has been for these matches, watching as other teams skate swift and harsh on the ice, the brutally efficient movements of each team operating like a well-oiled machine.

There's some of the team who've gone back to the lockers, who've gone to grab food.

But there's a similar, if not more, intense look in Namjoon's eyes as he watches each match aptly, eyes narrowed and trained on the sight of each tactic, each strategy, each ploy. There's a similar watchfulness in some of the other players, in JB's assessing stare as he focuses on the defence line of the teams, in the way that Yugyeom and Bambam are discussing, voices low and hushed, but an avid curiosity to scout out potential oppositions.

"The team's got a weaker left side—it leaves them open." I mutter, watching as the team closest to the rows we're sitting at skate forward, a clear exposure on their left that they're not even aware they're leaving wide open every time their two defenders fall forward—leaving a clear line of sight to the goal.

But the other team sees it and exploits it—a swift quickness in the way the offence line intercept the puck and pass it between them before one of the players makes a clean shot at it from the left, the puck sliding clean through the net.

Loud cheers and groaned despair mingling together as the crowd cheers their teams. My eyes fixed on watching the way the centre operates with the rest of the team, gauging out the dynamic of the team, how crucial it is to their gameplay.

The team with the exposed left side are also weaker in teamplay—there's something not as certain or trusting in the moves they make between themselves even if they individually are adept players on the ice.

But the game's not about being an individual—it never has been. If you can't work well as a team, it won't matter how excelled you are as a lone hockey player, the sport just isn't designed for a solo spotlight.

"We're on in two games after lunch—let's get everyone back into the locker room." Namjoon mutters, pushing himself upright once they reach half-time, eyes scanning over the other teams as he stands, his words pushing the rest of us into motion.

Falling into sync with the familiar pattern of team—a wicked gleaming conspiration shared between Bambam and Yugyeom before they fall into place beside me, a friendly nudge and sharp grins.

"Ready to knock them clean off the ice hyung?"

"I trust you two to keep my back covered when I do."

"Without a doubt." Unwaveringly certain, a trust shared in the familiarity of it all, tugging the door open to pass through first, head tilting over his shoulder briefly.

"Let's go clean and hard and fast. No mercy." Bambam enthuses, lips quirked.

"No mercy." I echo with a grin.

We're here to not just win qualifiers... we're here to make a mark. And that meant leaving an impression, leaving behind the solid certainty that when we won it was because we were formidable opponents, that truly—truly our team was one they wouldn't have stood a chance against.

To mark our victory clearly.

There's that familiar electric buzz of adrenaline and eagerness shared between the team once we've all gathered in the locker rooms, a solidarity and strength shared in the coloured jerseys we all wear under matching protective gear. A unity in the way that when I look at our team, when I look at the offence and defence and goalie—I know they without a doubt have each other's backs and my own. And I have theirs.

There's a buzzing excitement that only swells with anticipation as the time draws closer to our own match, the triumph of yesterday's victory pushing us on stronger, that same pride and wild energy harnessed in the sharp brightness in Namjoon's eyes.

"Everyone in good form?" a ringing chorus of yes Cap' answering his question, turning the corners of his mouth upwards, a firm solid nod as he looks at all of us.

"We've won one match, we'll win this one." An assuredness in his words that's above and beyond the tone of gloating or boasting, simply a confidence that he holds so firmly it can only raise our spirits further. That has loud cheers echoing and filling the space of the locker room, a dimpled grin curving across Joon's face.

"Don't get cocky though. Play as we always do, and we'll be fine. Don't pull a Lee—" a sharp hard look briefly skimming to beyond the cluster of the main team, pinning down a single sub player with a firmness.

Namjoon doesn't pull rank, if at all, but when he steps up as captain there's something so satisfying about it, a smile curling at my lips.

"And we'll be good to go. Don't retaliate if the opposition play dirty—we don't need a single injury at the very beginning. These qualifiers are the beginning if we want to go nationals and then for the Asia cup."

"Did you scout out any strong oppositions?"

"There's a few that we'll study up on before tomorrow's game depending on who makes it through from the other heats. I had Coach get copies of the matches, so we'll watch them tonight." Shoulders set and secure, a gleaming hunger for knowledge—for examining and picking apart the opponent's plays and teamwork so well and so thoroughly that when the time would come to face off in the third day of qualifiers, we'd be set, and we'd know everything we could about them.

And rather than claim exhaustion or post-match fatigue, rather than dwindle in the back and already ease themselves away from the idea, a distaste for the attitude of some of the substitute players, there's an increase in the buzz.

Because Joon doesn't say it with the possibility we'll lose. He's waiting to examine the team we'll be up against in the third round of qualifiers. He knows we'll get through.

And that confidence... that unshakeable faith—that's what moves us forward. That's what makes the team get together with an electric anticipation that leads our steps, confident and strong, when we step onto the ice.

[......]

I sense Yugi and Bambam's movements behind me without having to twist to check, somehow so attuned to the sound their skates make across the ice, somehow able to distinguish it from the unfamiliar sound of the opposition as we veer in and out of the web each team tries to entangle the other in.

An unspokeness in the way I can gauge their next move with a brief glance to the formation they've fallen into, a crisscrossing motion as they pass the puck swiftly between them, my movements seeming simply as an aid as I clear the centre for them, their movements precise and harsh glides on ice, faces set with determination behind their protective headgear.

To the outside eye, to the audience in the crowd, to the opposition skating on the same ice alongside us—to them it's as if there's nothing more than pure determination hardening each motion that Bambam and Yugi take, in perfect synchrony with one another and almost... almost as if disjointed with me. But I know them better. They know me better. I know this play. That until the very final moment I have to be in the midst of it without actually interfering with the smooth play, the swift sound of the puck hitting their hockey sticks and gliding back and forth, almost near violently quick—it's in this that I skate ahead, veering past the defence, trying to gauge an in for them to pass through.

Spotting an opening in the right defence as he veers forward when Bambam's skates pick up speed, a gleaming smirk visible behind the mouth cage as he rushes forward, eyeing the slither of gap created and without faltering in speed, without needing to gauge the force or precision sends the puck careening directly towards me.

Intercepting it easily as I skate towards the goal, angling the hockey stick to block off any interception before a swift burst of force, of the hockey stick against the puck sends it shooting straight through the slither of gap between the goalie's legs. Shooting hard into the net.

A wild roar of noise, two jubilant cheers and brash grins and hands slinging around me as Bambam and Yugi close the distance—eyes holding the same breathless exhilaration as the one that burns in my lungs and makes each breath sharp and each next breath eager for more.

Skating round in a sweeping circle as I draw back towards the centre.

Eyes flitting to the score, a grin tugging at my lips.

The gap between the two teams' scores increasing after the second half.

Joon had been right, of course he had, and he'd picked up on the fact that when rushed the defence line tended to go towards the bustle of it rather than stick firm to protecting the goal. The same thing that he and JB were relentlessly doing, a largely impenetrable wall of defence around Jackson, quick hard efficiency between the two as they shot the puck back towards us.

In the same way that Jackson had noted that the goalie, though unintentionally, seemed to shield his weaker side but because of that often left his stronger side unguarded and open for a fraction of a shot here and there.

"Going hard?" Yugi asks as he skates back, passing by.

In response I hold up my fingers briefly into two numbers. 1. 0.

Gameplay 10.

A more elaborately played out slower strategy to build momentum for successive points in quick consecutiveness, one after the other.

Break down their defence.

And let's take this win home.

[......]

Minutes slip like quicksand in a game that threatens to be neck and neck, in a game that threatens to end in a tie. Qualifiers don't end in ties. They don't end with anything but clear cut victory. One team's triumph and another team's loss.

They don't end like this, and we don't go out like this.

"Okay—I know it's been a close game. But hold out. Hold out to use the most of your energy and effort towards the last ten. Don't lose focus. We're not losing. We play the game so when we win we leave an impression."

"It isn't a gamble?" one of the substitutes asks hesitantly.

Coach Choi looks on, face impassive but I know some part of him in his own way is silently gauging out Namjoon's confidence, trying to see if it's a bluff, or feigned confidence.

If anything, despite taking in Coach's stance or expression, Joon faces us.

Eyes hard and lips curved into a grim, sharp smile. That's all competitive hunger.

"We won't win by scraping by. We'll win because we're damn well more than capable of it."

My body buzzes with a restless energy, eyes scanning the line of defence where JB and Namjoon's stances steady, turn solid as they watch the puck reach their end of the rink, watching with a careful assessing sharpness at each move of the hockey sticks—focusing on the equipment rather than the players. Players can lie, players can feint, but the movements of the sticks moving in tandem, circling and trying to fake a play—that they pick up on.

There's an alertness sparked in my veins, body coiled and ready to shoot across the ice within milliseconds, watching the hard line of defence push back and briefly—ever so briefly, Namjoon's eyes flit up and catch mine, an almost imperceptible nod of his head before he and JB cohesively push forward. Forcing the offence back, stealing the puck from them, a sweeping motion that sends the puck skittering across the ice, skates shooting forward hard at the open as we tag the puck back into play. A clean pass to Bambam who skates forward, weaving circles around the opponent's defence, a silent pass just before he shoots and Yugi's stick slams against the puck and the hard force of it sends it airborne before it knocks into the net.

And that victory that'd threatened to dangle and rest on a tie—it gets tugged back firmly into our grasp.

[......]

"You can drink tonight. But I want you all sober and heads screwed on tight when we start training after a three-day weekend. You've earned it boys." Coach Choi says at the end of the three-day qualifiers, stance tall and straight with pride. A gleam of approval in his eyes that rake over us all, that unconsciously makes our own bodies straighten to mirror.

There's a giddiness in the team, an electric bubbling, welling surge of excitement that soars with loud raucous cheers, bodies clustered close and bottles clinking once Coach leaves, toasting and cheering to success, to nationals, to being the selected team to represent ice hockey in Seoul.

There's a body nudging against mine, an equally exhilarated grin that greets me as Joon sits down next to me, bottle clinking against mine before he's drawing down a deep gulp, face bright with pride and excitement.

"We got through."

"You knew we would. I knew we would." The team's spirits are infectious, melding with the air, with the low bass of music someone turns on and the loud cheers and toasts being made around, every single team member in celebration of making it past the first wave of competitions but making it past whilst carving a name—a standard.

"Don't tell the team—but I had my own share of nerves." A conspirator grin, every worry and stress long since having melted off his face. Thumb brushing over the neck of the bottle, a loose grip on it as his voice drops lower.

My leg knocks against his, threatens to jostle the bottle from a lax grip, a startled reflex to tighten his hold, a half-glare shot at me briefly.

"You'd be insane if you didn't. I know we're a damn good team. I know we've won qualifiers before—that doesn't mean the next season is guaranteed as ours. That doesn't mean our victories are written in stone."

"The ones written in ice melt anyways." Joon grins, a familiar sight, slanted lips and dimples.

"Touché. Tell me my poetic captain—what are we going to carve into the ice next?"

"Training. Loads of it. I think I'm going to draw up schedules to train the subs more too and talk to Coach Choi about—"

Another nudge to his knee stills the cogs churning in his head, forces his train of thought to falter briefly as he looks at me.

"Just saying our names or wins would've been enough Joon. I don't want to hear the captain in you for the next three days."

His brows rise, grin deepening.

"Only if you manage to keep off the ice for three days."

"...."

"Thought so."

"I could if I wanted."

"Sure about that?"

"Yup. I don't want to though. Three days off."

He snorts with laughter, shaking his head at me, a nudge to my side. Beer sloshing as he leans forward to grab some food.

"Are you trying to overshadow your captain? Cos even my dedication doesn't mean I'll turn down three days off when Coach Choi barely gives any to begin with."

"He'll crack down afterwards though." Already seeing and knowing just how the first training session after three days off was going to be, how sudden and stark the difference would be from coming in with the high of winning to a more intense programme waiting.

But a part of me was thrilled at the prospect, of learning and training and getting to practice and create more strategies and plays with the team, to go full force as the training schedule got amped up in intensity.

"Take the win then Park. Three days to do nothing and eat your weight in food and drink."

"Somehow I can sense an and in there." Eyes narrowing to the excitement gleaming in his eyes.

But he just grins.

Raises his beer in toast.

"I'll keep you on your toes don't worry."

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

"Something's got you into a good mood."

"Winning a competition does that." A breathlessness that's oddly contagious, a gleaming smile that refuses to let the flutter and pace of her heart settle, the quick thudding pulse of it felt against my skin, a dewy gleam to her skin that's exertion and giddiness. That refuses to let the triumph dampen from the glow of her features, that same roaring fire now blazing as she basks in her victory.

"What competition was that doll? Cos you excel at being a brat."

A ringing laugh, all mirth and amusement, all glittering eyes and provocation that dangles on the tip of her tongue and curves her mouth into a deep enticing smirk.

It makes my mouth ache to wipe it off.

"You mean that you fantasise about me being mouthy at you and I excel at making you turned on? Sure—but that's not really a win. Not when you're so easy." Fingers trailing up my chest, a featherlight touch that still elicits sparks, hating how easily my body seems to respond to her touch. How my body curves forward when her hand fists into the front of my half-zipped hood and tugs me closer, nose brushing against my own, gaze dancing with taunt.

"I'm the easy one? Says the one whose ready to be fucked against the nearest surface."

"It's convenient. I'm a woman with simple needs."

"Somehow I doubt that doll. I haven't had to be inside you for a long time to know your needs—" a glower.

"Glad you can accept them for what they are." I lilt, voice dropping lower, fingers skimming to angle her jaw up, tilting her face to mine, thumb sweeping across her bottom lip, a harsh drag against soft giving flesh. Feel her breath, the heat of her mouth, the taunting flick of her tongue before she tilts her head back, lashes lowered but holding the silent examining stare that strips me bare before her eyes, in the same way I can already feel my gaze do to her.

"Because your needs aren't simple are they?"

Her eyes spark. A challenging ember of heat in them. A heat that threatens to grow into roaring flames.

"All I want is to get fucked. Doesn't get much simpler than that."

"So you'd be happy with just any lay? Tastes run quite vanilla?" a taunting hard edge to my words, remembering all too well just how much fire burns in my lungs when I press my body to hers, when I grip her tight...tight...tighter because there's this gnawing ache to be even closer, even further, even deeper into her.

A curious fiery contemplation in her eyes—wondering whether to divulge or not, wondering at what cost to divulge before her lips curl deeper, a goading smirk, a wicked snare in the delight her face flashes with before she tilts back, all too willing to welcome my body crowding against hers, an arch to her back when my hand drags down her back, lower down the curve of her ass.

"I don't know Park—are they?" a challenge in the low drawl of her words, daring... inviting me to find out, to find the answer to that assumption.

"Besides... if I take the effort to bother finding someone who fucks me better, it won't be hard to do."

My body presses harder to hers, fingers digging in tight, vacant hand dragging from her hip, to waist, palming roughly at her breast before dragging upwards, snaking into hair, that for once is already unbound, already loose—fingers entangling eagerly, quickly into loose strands and tightening my grip. Nails pressing to her scalp, skimming from her nape upwards before I tug hard, forcing the already tilt of her head into a more pronounced arch, teeth against her throat, laugh reverberating low against her skin.

Teeth dragging against the curve of her neck, lips stilling when she arches her back with a quiet whimpered sound, eyes fluttering. I repeat the touch, lips skimming slow and purposefully down her throat, a tell-tale hitch of breath, teeth nipping harder at skin, revelling in the faint tremble of her breath, in the way it makes her body push flush to mine, pressed back all the more harder, fingers dragging to the crease of her hip, toying with the waistband of her fitted sweats. The material clinging to the curves of her hips and thighs.

Despite the frantic bubbling need that continues to claw under my skin, despite the fact that attraction and lust drives us back to one another, learning something new—learning her body, learning the sensitive spots that make her arch just so and to make those quiet keening trembles of breaths... all it does is add fuel to that fire that burns in my veins, that makes arousal splinter across skin, that makes every breath burn—sharp and near painful when it's desperate to swallow down every sound she makes, when every sound she does make brands itself in every press of my lips against hers.

And that bubbling sense of triumph that's sunk into my bones, that giddiness at winning qualifiers, that same exultation makes me all the more eager to taste against her, to feel the same triumph in learning just how to make her writhe, to claim another victory. To know just how to get under her skin this way too.

Fingers skimming past the waistband, dragging light against her hips before dipping lower, lips dragging a slow path down her throat, teeth sinking in harder against her collarbone, revelling in the breathy sound, the sharp keen as her fingers drag through my hair. Tightening her grip.

"I wouldn't be so sure doll. I've not even got your clothes off and you're already needy." The harsh tug of her fingers in my hair makes a sting of pain-pleasure spark, a low groan as I tilt my head to hold the almost angry gleam to her eyes.

The way her mouth curves, a sharp smile.

"Remind me who texted who? Remind me who on what should've been three days of bliss without a single hockey player on the ice... I found one at the rinks regardless?"

"..."

"What happened now? Cat got your tongue?"

"Somehow I don't think kitten is the word that fits you doll. Far too cold for it aren't you ice princess?"

The drag of her fingers against my scalp, the hard press of nails to skin and the sharp stinging kiss to my lips, bruising and hard is an indication that perhaps... perhaps the term wasn't a bad choice before her lips quirk into a grin against my own, the slow sweep of her tongue coy in a way the teasing gleam in her eyes is far from.

"Oh? Don't want me to warm you up?" lashes fluttering as she bats her eyes at me coy and demure, the sharp hunger in her grin all too wicked, all too promising, all too much fuel to the lust winding its snare, blood shooting southwards.

Her fingers trailing down my nape, raking lower, a press of nails that even over fabric I can feel the intent in them, the promise in the fleeting skimming touch to leave marks.

And when my hands drag the fabric lower, palming against soft curves and muscles, hoisting her up, bare legs locking around my waist and eyes flashing with pure unbridled arousal, her fingers bunch into my shirt, the lazy enticing taunt in her eyes a damning beckon I don't know how to resist. So I fall into it, pretending that as I kiss her smirk away I don't know how it tastes when it melts and parts. I fall into it pretending that this isn't an addiction, fingers gripping tightly at her thighs, hungering to leave marks behind, mouth dragging down swollen lips to the curve of her throat, revelling in the way when her breath trembles she tries to stifle the sound.

But if this addiction, this growing lust, this burning want has proven is that as much as I hate the sight of that goading smirk, I thrive on tugging pleasured sounds from it, wringing them from her until that smirk falls and leaves a breathless ecstasy there instead.

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

"You got—" Tae gesticulates, hand waving absently and generically in the direction of my neck, a glimmer of amusement that makes his lips curl with a familiar boxiness.

I don't bother tugging at my hood, don't bother drawing up the zip to draw the hoodie around me properly, grin curving my mouth even as I pluck loosely at the neck of the fabric.

"This thing? Nothing compared to the ones I left behind on her—" a glimmering amusement bleeding into my tone as well as that bite of heat that sears through my body at the reminder of teeth at my skin, moan muffled against me.

"Glad the hate sex is going oh so well. You're welcome." A leisurely languid sprawl as he looks at me.

I snort, watching his eyes spark with satisfaction, leaning back in a sprawl across the couch, hair tousled and damp.

"Should I be thanking you?"

"Absolutely. You don't seem as pissed after sessions anymore."

"Probably cos he fucks it out his system no? Didn't take you for one to be fraternising with the enemy." A low drawled tease even if there's nothing but good-natured ribbing in his tone, slumped across an entire couch, form a languid sprawl of limbs, head pillowed against multiple cushions.

His lips quirks at the corner of his mouth, upturns with amusement.

"Whatever works. Don't need to go out looking for a lay."

"Because the hate sex I'd suggested—not gotten it out your system yet huh?" Tae's brows rise, eyes searching, gleaming with mischief and he tilts his head to the side. Assessing. Curious. Entertained.

A flicker of heat sears through me, shrugging loosely.

"Doesn't seem like it no."

"More like Jimin finds it convenient too. Doesn't even need to leave the rink to get his needs met." But there's a deeper scouring intensity to hyung's eyes as he looks at me, a lazy appraisal that's somehow more thorough and full of intent. It's void of the blasé tone in Tae's voice.

"Jealous hyung?"

"Please—basketball players or at least I'm known for being good with my hands—I haven't heard complaints." And whilst there's a glimmer of cocky pride there, there's also a lazy contentment too. Perfectly relaxed at the pace his own life's going, without mess or fuss.

Tae snorts, tossing a cushion at him that he catches all too readily. Adds it to the amounting pile under his head, briefly adjusting himself to get more comfortable.

"I hear you hyung. Your hand's been keeping you plenty of company." Winking conspiringly at me, a half glance that has laughter bubbling and welling up, egged on by the brief scowl and roll of eyes.

"Brats. Don't know how she can stand you long enough to sleep with you." a low mutter, a slowly drawled question as his eyes flit over to me, curious and wondering. Roped in slightly to the conversation.

"I'm the brat?" I echo incredulously, remembering all too well how many times I'd muttered that against her skin, her lips. How many times she'd grinned in revelled pride of the term, eyes wickedly sharp.

"She's only tolerable until we get off. Then I go back to questioning every choice when she opens her mouth again."

"And so you go back to being a pain in her ass all the same." Hyung retorts, a gumminess to his grin—refusing to let me bask in satisfaction.

There's a lazy contentment in the sprawl of the three of us scattered across two couches, the nudge of Tae's foot against my side.

"How're you taking your three days off?"

"Like an itch that can't be scratched. I think I'll head to the rink later." I muse, the days off a reward but it does little to settle that antsy need to be on the ice, to skate, to move—do something... anything. To do maybe a certain figure skater too.

"You mean you'll go back for sex." Hyung deadpans.

"Yoongi hyung! What happened to discretion?" I laugh, the thought of it flitting through my conscience, mind seared with a plethora of images that have branded themselves into the forefront of my mind.

"It went out the window when you decided to get down and dirty anywhere."

I shrug.

"Campus is game. We are too." decisively unbothered about where—rather the benefit of having endless gyms and rooms on campus fuelled convenience, fuelled the possibility of where we could meet, where we could get off and leave.

[......]

🏒: Locker room?

My phone buzzes a little while later.

If you can hold out another hour.

🏒: Can't persuade you now?

You want it—you wait.

And I don't know whether the bluntness of the message sparks a stronger feeling of frustration or arousal—the two entangled together.

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

"Do we really need to do this?" a dismay bleeds into my tone, eyeing the filling up rink as the figure skaters begin to cluster. Steps lingering.

"Schedule hasn't changed for the weekly sessions." JB says a grin on his face as he tries to nudge me forward.

"But now that we've won qualifiers don't we need to get our heads on straight? What's this session going to do?"

"Park I've learnt one thing. The figure skaters don't bite unless you push. And even asking nicely doesn't get it mostly." Jackson laughs, an easy grin on his face as he moves forward.

"So push doesn't come to shove and just play nice." Namjoon adds, dimpled smile as he begins shepherding the rest of the team forward, eyes catching mine and narrowing slightly in warning, head tilted as he stares hard for a few lingering moments.

"I play nice."

"You look seconds away from getting knocked on your ass most days."

I stare hard at him, watch the dimpled indents deepen as he grins wider.

"I do not!"

"I don't want to be the one sitting through a lecture when one of you inevitably gets a complaint filed for a fight that blows up."

My lips twist into a scowl, gaze drifting past him as I turn, moving to clamber onto the ice.

It's almost shameful to admit that just by her silhouette alone I pick apart (Y/N) from where she stands besides the other skaters. It's almost... but not quite, knowing how many times, fleeting and quick, I've gripped those curves and dragged her closer to me, how many times I've been tugged in retaliation to be pressed hard against those same curves, tugged into the crevices of her body.

I might despise sharing the ice with her, I might despise these sessions wasting the actual productivity that I could be getting from having individual training on or off the ice instead, but I don't despise... I despair at the fact that the attraction, twisted and hungering and maddening, only grows.

And that slowly... slowly sight alone is enough to send a visceral brand of heat down my spine when she turns, eyes scathingly dismissive and the corners of her lips quirking loosely.

Head tilting in angled beckon as if that's all it takes to have me crossing the ice to her side. As if there's no shame or sense of pride or worth there.

I tilt my head back, stance firm and hard as I stare back at her—a challenge shared between the silent electric confrontation as we size each other up, refusing to cross the distance first. Refusing to be guiled or lured by the loose angled curve of her hips, the added length the skates give to legs I'm all too acquainted with. A silent weight hangs suspended between us, the tip of my skate tapping against the ice in the same way she had to me and watch her eyes flash—a mixture of mirth and taunt, brows rising before she turns back with a dismissive shrug as if to say your loss.

But I'm all too aware of her presence even as the coaches step forward to break down this week's session—Coach Choi's glower and dismissiveness bleeding into the way he cuts through Coach Seo's words. I wince at the sight of the cold hardened glacial stiffness in her posture and eyes, the way her jaw ticks. A boastful cockiness in his words.

And some of that fire in (Y/N)... some of that stiff coldness from her coach has embedded itself in her, remains there when the task is delegated and rather than move, that same cold, freezing fire burns as she turns to stare at me across the ice. It's there in the defensive set of the figure skaters' shoulders, in the line of their spines—an unwillingness because they can't and won't stand there willingly watching their coach be diminished.

"What're you all waiting for? We're doing hockey drills—I know your pupils might be largely individual competitors, but it doesn't hurt to learn teamplay does it Seo?" eyes cutting, voice low and challenging.

The rise of her brows and the tilt of her head as she meets his stare head on sends a trickle of anticipation to dance down my spine, a cold that seeps in—my eyes searching out Namjoon, watching the way he watches with a tenseness, skates poised to push forward to get his team ready and moving.

Voice low and getting the team into motion.

"Set up drills."

But none of the figure skaters move.

"Skaters move." The orders barked out in a way that instinctively has us moving quicker, moving in immediacy to the sharpness of the words. We've trained to that voice. That no nonsense hardness.

And his lips deepen into a scowl, coach's expression full of fury.

"Don't know how they expect to do well and perform to win if they can't listen to simple instructions—" a scathing dismissiveness.

It's not their coaches who speak.

It's their captain.

My body stills at the sight, rooted there with surprise and incredulity as their captain—Jungkook speaks up.

Cutting through Coach Choi's words.

No-one does that.

"I assure you Mr. Choi that we know full well how to work as a team. We know full well to win. We know full well how to listen to our coaches." A towering stance as he stands firm, not at the front of his team but surrounded by them, comfortable and confident from where he stands.

Not Coach. He doesn't address him as coach. And tells him his orders count for nothing.

And that—that Coach Choi picks up first.

Lips parting to speak, stepping onto the ice when Jungkook moves forward.

It's an automatic flank-- (Y/N) standing just as firmly alongside him, stare cool and cutting, dragging down over Coach Choi as if truly searching for something and then abandoning the miniscule effort needed for it.

"Coach we're going to go for some laps."

Coach Seo's lips curling into a smile brings chills even if there's nothing but pride in her stare.

"Are you sure Choi can't persuade you to stay?" a glimmer of mockery there.

We might be compelled to play niceties, to play along in whatever this group training is meant to bring—but at this moment their Coach doesn't care for it.

Because Coach insulted her team, her efforts, their efforts.

And there's no going back from it.

Even Namjoon's faltered. Staring as Jungkook skates round Coach to clamber off the ice, a shared understanding between his coach and him before he moves off. A hardness to his spine, to his posture. The dismissively cool look (Y/N) shoots is unimpressed, settling briefly on me before her head tilts almost in mock invite. Dare I her eyes goad.

"Team fall into line." Coach Choi barks harshly, body near trembling with rage as he straightens up, tries to skim over it, the force of his anger directed towards us instead.

An intensity in his eyes that promises that the session we do is going to be hell on our stamina.

And just before she leaves (Y/N)'s eyes spark.

[......]

"Fucking pricks. Can't listen and we end up suffering."

"Coach Choi's not going to let this go. Training's going to be hell for a while."

"Stupid fucker thinks he can answer back to Coach, and it won't backfire."

"Captain can you talk to Coach?"

Training was hell and right now my body aches, heat suffused in my veins in a way that makes my body feel gross, drenched with sweat, uniform clinging to my skin, prickling discomfort where all I want it to peel each layer off.

Fishing out a clean change of clothes, fingers tapping at my screen to check how long training had gone for, a few texts lighting up the screen.

Dinner? I begged hyung to cook.

He's got out the good stuff.

Changing rooms?

My fingers tap out replies, an exhaustion in my bones that comes from a ruthlessly hard session, adrenaline wearing off, leaving behind that aching need for nothing more than hot water pouring down and battering away the stiffness.

Running a bit late—good to wait?

An almost immediate reply.

Hyung's a night owl. We'll wait.

Before clicking onto another message.

What if I'm too tired?

Then I'd say you're getting out of shape.

Then a picture. An empty changing room and the sight of discarded clothes.

All the heat that'd been burning my skin, all the roaring of my blood rushes south.

The insinuation and invite clear.

She's hell on my stamina.

But practice can only improve it.

[......]

"Got some nerve to say I'm out of shape when you seem to be the one who likes being pinned against a wall so often." Bodies slick with heat.

Her nails rake down my back, a moan slipping past her lips that tremble as they curl up in a triumphant smirk. Curling into the feverish scorch I feel radiating off my body, heightened all the more by the way sweat gleams on her skin, makes the curve of her throat all the more inviting. Just as dishevelled and flushed from practice.

A hard, deep thrust that drives me deeper and deeper into her, groaning at the clench of her thighs as she rocks her hips down, in the way when I press closer, the stiff pertness of her nipples brush against my chest, a spark of delirious heat elicited by the friction of her skin against mine.

"You're welcome."

"What for?" voice gritting tight, a different heat, a different burning, gnawing intensity to the fire in my veins, to the need clawing viciously at me, that drives me deeper into her, thumb brushing harsh and merciless to her swollen nub, hand between her legs, where I rock my hips harder. Sheathing myself into her, reckless abandon in the way each thrust punctures broken moans past our lips, a frenzy in the way her back arches and her nails sink hard into skin. Leaving trailing blazes of heat down my back.

"Keeping you in shape of course." A breathless snark to her words.

"Don't give poor excuses. Someone's got a thing for walls."

"Someone's got a thing for being challenged. Or maybe—it's just so easy to get you to want to prove yourself." Eyes fluttering even as her lips quirk, even as her breath hitches, body pressed harder to the wall, each thrust a deep snap of my hips, desperate to puncture her lazy smile with a keened moan.

"Always got some smartass comment to make don't you?"

"Better than your dumbass ones." Fingers dragging up my back to curl against my nape, lips close to mine, but she doesn't bother closing the distance. This close I can read the glimmer of taunt in her eyes, this close I can feel the way that despite it all, her back arches at a harder thrust, thighs tightening—feeling the tell-tale tremble as her legs lock around me, trying to keep me buried deep in her.

"Should really just gag you." the idea making my hips jerk, makes a low groan shudder in my throat at the thought, of each sound muffled, each word stifled, every word she wants to say pooling in dilated pupils blown wide with lust and want.

"Oh? Then how will you hear me moan for you—oh Park..." a mocked, whined out keen of words, an exaggerated breathlessness to her words, an arch of her throat and lips parting with an imitation of how pleasure must seem like.

But it only serves to make an angry viciousness claw at me, sink its sharp weight into me and twist where they

But it only makes an angry viciousness claw at me, sink its sharp weight into my gut and twist hard, it only makes my hands tighten at her hips, drawing back, eyes scouring her, a hardness to my jaw, to my mouth as her laughing eyes look at me. Gaze glimmering with mischief and tease and a grin far too languid and at ease that at the next snap of my hips when it makes that expression falter it makes the corners of my mouth tug up.

"Say all you like doll—I know very well what you sound like when you're overwhelmed. In fact—can barely make sound can you when you've been fucked hard and well enough." Goading with the knowledge that despite it all, despite the twisted rivalry that pushes us to go head to head—I still know what she looks like when she falls apart, I know what she sounds like when she reaches her peak and when I first bury myself into her.

"So maybe you haven't been fucking me hard enough."

"Just say you like it rough doll. Why waste time?" a sharp cry slipping past her lips, head dropping forward, lips trembling against my shoulder when a hand drags up from her hips to entangle in her hair. A hard tug to arch her throat for me, teeth harsh against skin and words guttural. Forcing her head back, eyes falling open and lips going lax.

"Oh I intend to hear every sound—can't have a single one being faked now can I?" a rough sharpness in my voice that bleeds itself into movements, into the way my fingers sink harsher into skin—a carnal want to leave the embedded touch of fingerprints behind on the curve of her hips, on the softness of her thighs.

And despite the heat of her tongue sweeping messy and rough through the crevices of my mouth, despite my hands having mapped out her curves feverishly countless times—there's a ringing taunt in my head that I know I have to remedy soon.

I need to know what she tastes like.

But teeth at her throat, skimming lower, sinking harder to muffle the deep groan she tugs out from me, body clenching tight around me—the faint tang of salt against my lips and tongue... I was already beginning to.

(Y/N) POV:

It's different to see a performance played back, it's different to see Jungkook and me on the ice and somehow not entirely feel like I'm looking at me—something almost like an out of body experience to watch me, know it's me and somehow get to see myself perform as an onlooker, as someone behind a screen.

I curve closer to Jungkook, sides pressed together as he fiddles with his laptop before sinking back against the pillows, reclined against them as we watch the intro to our performance, watch two figures step onto the ice before the camera zooms in.

There's something so innately familiar about the look of determination on our faces, something about it that makes my eyes just focus all that much more, watching the two of us step into position—ready to execute our piece for the inter-university competitions.

"Look you're doing that thing where your eyes narrow." Pointing it out with an inked finger, a grin on his lips as he spots the habit, the unconscious scanning look sweeping over the audience and rink—mentally mapping out the space.

"And you're doing that thing with your jaw." I retort, foot nudging against his, at the unconscious mannerism, at the slightly subtle shift in his posture, something in him just clicking where he truly steps into performance mode, the slight clench to his jaw that makes it pronounced, eyes dark and heavy but in comparison sweep in a much more thorough and slow appraisal of the space, head bending towards mine to murmur something. Eyes flitting over both our skates, the two of us making sure there's nothing wrong before our bodies melt seamlessly with the music. Shifting into skating partners, into extensions of one another.

"Shhh shh..." he hushes, eyes raptured and focusing on the screen the moment the opening bars of the musical piece begins. Something more rooted in traditional performative pieces, veering towards the classical even if more and more the two of us were broaching into various genres of music to perform and skate to.

There's something inherently satisfying though about watching our bodies move with a graceful fluidity, bodies intertwined and connected, each move blending seamlessly with the other, our individual moves and turns, each twist and leap pushing us closer to one another—a chase that's all grace and agile and bubbling building speed and haste. That urgency translated into a hand snagging around my waist, hands dropping to my hips to twist me around, spinning out into a series of pirouetted turns across the ice, pushing myself further and further away.

Something so satisfying about seeing us perform, post-performance, without any of the jitters or nerves or performance anxiety and knowing with a certainty we nailed the moves and executed our piece flawlessly, the moves timed and measured to the tempo of the classical piece.

There's something gratifying about it too—about knowing that we did our best, watching... monitoring Jungkook's precision, a stronger surging wave of admiration for the way that not even for an instant do his hands waver nor does he hesitate. There isn't the fear that he can't lift me or that he needs to prep to build towards a lift that has my body arching back, arms extended as his hands remain sure on my waist... there's no waver there because years we've spent familiarsed with each other's bodies and skin. Long since attuned and intimate with the way his body feels supporting mine, long since known and felt his moves as an extension of my own, our sequencing so perfectly synced.

"The harness really helped—your core's so engaged." Kook points out, leaning forward to tap at the screen, at the controlled arched tilt of my head, the curve of my body held steady by his, a smooth twirl on skates as he lowers me.

"You're in top form." I murmur, eyes far too focused on the way Jungkook uses my arms, hands skimming up to my shoulders to give him the momentum to propel himself forward, spinning away in an effortless series of turns that in the whirling mix of adrenaline and giddiness doesn't hit as strongly as it does now—enraptured by the clean cutting form gliding on the ice.

"Good start to the competitive season?" he asks, a smile in his words, eyes only drifting away once the performance comes to its end, positions coming to still. Skates gliding to a stop.

"Great start. Got to scope out the competition too."

He hums in response, sinking back once the clip comes to a pause, head tilting to look at me from underneath tousled hair. Dark doe eyes bright with a similar glowing contentment.

"There's some duos I haven't seen compete before, but the pace and bar gets raised every year, so we'll be up against."

"Wouldn't be fun otherwise would it?" lips curling into a grin, flopping back heavy to sink against his side, tugging his arm to extend it out so it acts as a headrest, tilting to him.

A glimmer of exhilaration in his eyes, a laziness in the sprawl of his body and a looseness in the curl of his smile—infectiously pleased.

"We did well." I murmur.

"We won." He adds pointedly, eyes turning a fraction bit intense, scouring and knowing. Any insecurities or anxieties I'd had about stepping back onto the ice post-injury faded away, chased away by the surety I'd felt skating, performing, competing. All of it wiped clean by the validity winning brought—I was good enough, even more—I was a worthy competitor.

"Told you there was nothing to worry about... now me slipping on ice or stumbling would've been a bigger problem." He points out with raised brows, the arm behind my flexing and tensing as he purposely tenses and puffs himself out. Grinning when I pat his chest, feeling the muscles shift under my touch, feel the toned definition even with my hand over his tee.

"Because you're such a big buff man." I sigh.

"Because you're oh so graceful too Koo. Big, buff and elegant." I add, fingers drifting teasingly—he realises the movement too late, hand darting out to try grasp my wrist before a yelp slips past his lips, squirming when my fingers teasingly pinch a nipple, body jolting as he tries to get away from me, regretting letting me sink against his side, one arm effectively immobile.

A hand darting out to wrench my wrist away, lips parted, and sheets rumpled and half pouting, half glaring but all huffing—the faint scowl softened by the way he jerks back when my fingers wriggle teasingly.

"I know it's hard to keep your hands off me—must be a possessive streak as my partner..." he teases with the faint beginnings of a grin curling at his lips.

"But try not to have your way with me in my bed." A lilting teasing amusement colouring his words, tugging his arm free and grinning at the twisted jut of lips at losing the cushioning support for my head, shrugging unrepentantly as he snatches his laptop up. Socked foot nudging at my side to jolt me into moving, into leaving his bed.

"Accusing me of seducing the captain?"

He grins.

"You said it. Wouldn't make me be any easy on you when we're practicing."

"Not even off gym day?"

"Gym days." And he snorts at the incredulity of the question, staring at me as if I can't even as a joke have possibly entertained it, another nudge from his foot against my calf.

"So go sleep. I'll come wake you in the morning."

"My personal alarm clock? I should be flattered."

"Don't. It's so I know you won't run off somewhere else."

"Where could I possibly go?" eyes wide and hand on my chest, looking shocked at him.

His eyes roll, flicking idly back to his laptop screen as his fingers tap away—undoubtedly searching for a movie to end the night with.

The injustice to consider kicking me out before then.

"Hiding behind another captain."

My lips curl.

"My hero—Hobi wouldn't wear me out."

"Then you're still blissfully unaware of hyung as a captain. Go on—take a few lessons—" goading and taunting even as he sinks back, a prickle of challenge and taunt there dancing in his doe eyes, mischief and experience too.

It makes me falter briefly.

Moving to sink back next to him.

"Oh? Want to watch through everyone else's performances to help make notes? By all means—"

I backtrack off his bed, staggering upright with a lurch, shaking my head.

"No no... shouldn't disturb the captain. Night Koo—see you in the morning."

His laugh follows as I reach the door and as I turn I watch him already sink back into his pillows, the comfortable sprawl of his body a misleading detraction from the focus already sinking into his gaze, a subtle shift that's already erasing the amusement from his eyes.

Waving distractedly at me.

"Night!"

And quickly, I tug open his door, eyes flitting down the corridor before easing myself out.

Door clicking shut behind me.

Smile still curled at my lips.

It's as I'm leaving the dorm building that a familiar voice stills my steps, head turning towards the voice.

A lazy curiosity in the half-shadowed face, a slow leisurely movement of steps growing closer to me.

"Didn't think I'd be meeting you here doll."

"Lucky you then." I retort, stepping aside to let him pass through to the boys dorms, watch as rather than stepping aside, his pace falls in mimic of my own, standing opposite me.

"I'm not opposed to a booty call~ though... you didn't message." Head tilting at me, eyes lingering as they drag down my front and then back up again. A lazy indulgence purposely trying to stoke that familiar coil of heat, that flushed warmth that turns hotter and hotter.

"Oh? Weren't the one I messaged then." I reply, voice sticky sweet, watching his brows rise. Something dark and sharp flickering through his expression even as the corners of his mouth upturn.

He doesn't need to say but I read the tightening of his smile, the sharp intensity and interest the flashes in his gaze as he takes a step closer.

"Why? Does that bother you Park?"

"Maybe. I thought we were mutually exclusive in this... arrangement." Fingers tightening around his bag, smoothening down the strap across his chest.

The gesture unwittingly drags my eyes to linger, at the outline of his broad torso that I can see despite the hoodie, that maps out the breadth of his shoulders and chest and the swell of his biceps despite the fact it doesn't cling.

It's because of this arrangement that my eyes linger—knowing full well how he looks underneath, how firm and solid the definition of his torso is, having felt it countless times in the past week and a bit, pressed hard and caging against my own.

And when my eyes flit back up, there's a different sharpness there, a gleam I know all too well.

"Mutually exclusive in fucking around with the enemy?" I echo.

"Don't have another do you? That you haven't told me about."

My brows raise, surprise and bewilderment briefly flitting through me.

"If I'm exclusively sleeping around—that defeats the purpose Park of convenience don't you think—"

"Another enemy."

I pause.

Stare.

Watch the glimmer of heat in his eyes, the way his irises seem darker, stare weighted and pinning me, another step closer, close enough that when his hand reaches out, his finger crooks under my chin, tilting my face up to look at him.

Voice dropping lower, softer. A murmured hush that has his eyes dropping to linger at my lips.

"Oh. That'd bother you huh? Sleeping around with enemies." I lilt, lips curving up with amusement, watching the heat of his gaze flare hotter, sharper, piercing.

The air crackles with a thickly charged energy, a rooted weight of where his eyes focus on my lips, unsure as to whether to surge forward or retaliate, whether it's best to use his mouth to silence mine or bite back.

"Rather... I'd want to know." A heaviness lacing his words, a thickness that makes the depth of his voice seem deeper. Lower.

A brief suspended moment where his fingers briefly tighten, body close enough.

And then the moment breaks, that bubbling tension ebbs away before it reaches its peak, before it makes need flare.

And then a rough exhale, fingers tousling through his hair, lopsided smirk and low lidded eyes that skim over me fleetingly, stepping aside.

"That's it?" hating the way my voice faintly trembles, the closeness of his body almost seeming to elicit an automatic response of want, that infuriating feeling of being attracted even when he smirks, eyes glinting.

Fuck you Park.

"Well like you said—didn't get a text. And well—it's late and my bed's calling for me." A rakish intenseness in his eyes that darkens, all too aware of what awaits, and the lack of invite makes amusement flash as his lips curve deeper. A dismissive smirking taunt.

That turns the tables on—

"And your hand too. Make sure it gives you some proper attention and action yeah?" the corners of my lips quirking.

Watching the heat sear his gaze before the smirk melts into the beginnings of a sharp glare. See the spark and—

I lean closer, closing the distance once more. Head angled to his, lips brushing close to his ear.

"And when you do, when you get off and it feels half-assed—it'll be because my touch was better."

Two can play the game Park.

I hadn't even wanted sex, wouldn't have had the thought of it flit briefly through my mind had Jimin not purposely tried to stoke the need but if he tried to leave me wanting, I was going to leave him impatient for more.

And when I step back, there's a moment where his hand nearly darts out before he reels back the temptation, scowling as he brushes past me, fingers harsh against the entrance code.

2-1 to me Park.

[......]

🏒: Fuck you.

❄️: :) didn't get a good night's sleep?

❄️: Why? Hand didn't help?

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

There's a glowering disdain in Jimin's eyes when I step onto the ice, movements turning harsher, faster, angrier as his face briefly cuts to look at me before he skates away. Weaving in and out of the obstacle course, skates kicking up shards of ice. Wincing at the deep gashes it leaves into the rink—already ruling it out as unstable. I couldn't practice on that mess of deep gashes left behind the hockey team—not in this state.

And it makes an anger thrum through me at the sight, at the fact that I can't use the rink now because he's left it in disuse.

Skates tapping against the ice, not bothering to veer closer because the ice is damaged, streaks of colours that match the hockey uniform and the indents left behind, deep gashes that scour at the smoothness of the rink that should make for an easy glide across it.

And when he skates forward, harsh and abrasive, eyes full of fire and frustration that's in the hard clench of his jaw and the sharp angle of it, there in the thinning of full lips pressing tight and words a low guttural near growl of it, it makes that anger flare with a different heat. Threatens to morph the heat into a blaze that burns low in my gut.

Thighs clenching tight at the low rasping roughness of his words. Laced with a jagged breathlessness, fuelled by the flush and gleam of sweat and exertion on his skin, darkening the blonde of his hair.

"Too busy for your games (L/N)."

"Evidently. Trying to beat out your frustrations on the rink cos you couldn't beat one out with your hand?" voice lofty.

A sharp rough sound, eyes darkening.

The heavy clutter of his hockey stick against the ice as he leans forward, breath sharp and hot.

"If you're here to wind me up—"

"Thought I'd help you wind down. Practice doesn't seem to be going well." I muse, leaning against the railing, watching with a tightening coil of anticipation as his body in turn leans in, breath sharp and rough. Uneven as it skims against my skin.

Rough words slipping from beckoning lips.

"I'm more than a little frustrated."

My eyes drag down, the lower half of his body hidden behind the railing edge, but even so the insinuation lingers.

Fingers drifting out to angle his face, featherlight touch that turns firm, lips curling up at the way his eyes darken. The way I can feel the tick in his jaw, the tightness there.

"Well so am I. Some brute hammered at the ice and now I can't skate on it. Going to compensate me for my time Park?"

It doesn't matter that there's a barrier between our bodies, not when his eyes seem to flare and his voice, dangerously soft and abrasive, skims against my skin and throat, words hovering there even without a physical touch.

"I might. Get to the changing rooms." The demand sharp, wanting and full of raw lust.

And when I take a step back, he doesn't follow, doesn't round the railing to clamber off. Not immediately.

Brows rising as I look at him.

"If you're not there when I get started, I won't let you watch as I get to finish either." My voice full of ringing taunt and challenge, mouth twitching at the rough groaned sound before his skates move, hard and rough.

His touch, just as much so, hand curling tight at my wrist and yanking me towards him. Uncaring of the stumble when my body's forced to jolt forward to his.

Impatience in the roughness of his movements, a rough nudged shove to get me to move in front of him, body close enough he's almost flush to me. Body close enough that the moment the door's swinging shut behind us, his body's bracketing mine. Fingers curled around my waist, tight and hard enough to leave the phantom ache of them when they'll retreat.

"How about I get you started—" hand pressed low and sprawling against my front, dragging lower as he presses to me from behind.

The offer sending heat down my spine, hips pushing back against his.

"And you finish me off." I say, voice sharp and wavering.

The smirk in his words is mocking.

Presses briefly to the curve of my throat.

Goading.

"Been doing it for years haven't I?" every rough altercation, every head to head, every confrontation, every competition, goading and riling with it.

Flaring a competitive heat in my veins.

Hand reaching back to palm at him over his sweats. Grinning, breathless, when he lets out a throaty groan, hips jerking forward.

"You wish. Keep it up and the only thing you'll be doing is coming first. Right into your pants. But at least there'll be one race you won huh?" a laugh bubbling out, trembling as it morphs into a keen, hand tugging me back, hips flush to my own and fingers brushing over my core.

And instead of words his fingers tug out the response he wants to hear.

Hoarse and rough and thighs clenching down around him.

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

"Koo I can't—" I wheeze out, hands dropping from the bar, shoulders aching and protesting, still feeling the ache of the weights as if my hands are still curled tightly onto the training bar.

"Two more reps." He says firmly, hands drawing mine back up, trying to nudge me into taking hold of the bar over my head.

"My arms..." I protest.

"Will be in excellent form." He promises, trying to coax my hands into unfurling to grip at the bar once again, to continue the final reps of the weighted lifts.

"I don't need visible muscles. It doesn't count for my aesthetic as a skater." I protest, watching as his eyes glitter with amusement, fingers easing away to poke at my arms, laughing at the soft yelped protest as I slump back into the seat, thighs still astride.

"You won't bulk up... but you don't just need a strong core—you know that." Gaze pointed, stepping closer into the space between parted legs, crowding closer as he leans in.

Tousled sweat-damp hair falling forward, equally flushed and sweating, breaths calmer as he helps me through my reps.

"I know but you're amping up the weights!" I accuse, watching the bunny toothy scrunched grin tug at his lips, far too endearing and soft for someone who's ruthless in maintaining our training schedules. The firmer of the two of us in keeping resolutely fixed on a training programme we both were undergoing.

"I am not—only slightly. Only cos your last reps were too easy."

My breath wavers, uneven inhales and exhales as I stare up at him, gaze full of incredulity. Hand flopping as I swat at him, batting at his side.

Watching his grin, slightly guilty, far too pleased and bolstering.

"Because I'm getting used to the training you decided to go full Spartan and make it harder?"

"You said you hate things being easy!"

Laughing as I try to kick at him, hand curling around my calf and nudging it aside, sprawling heavier against the reclined bench, staring up at the weighted bar with a sense of doom approaching.

"I like being able to feel my arms!"

"You also like boasting about your muscles when they begin to pay off—make your mind up (Y/N)." grin unapologetic, eyes all too knowing.

"....2 more reps."

"2 more reps." He echoes, lips tugging wider, hands falling to the bar overhead, patient and waiting, body still curved close.

Waiting until my arms reach out, still feeling the tremble in them, the ache that'll settle if I don't soak in bath salts and hot water.

Fingers curling tighter around the bar, his own only dropping away when I give a nod, breaths wavering before I steel myself.

Stance adjusted, legs widening to settle on the rests, body angled on the bench before he steps back.

Eyes monitoring. Watchful and all too careful, spotting me as I take the bar, arms pushing it upwards and off and away from my chest, holding it for the counted beats he measures out before lowering it again.

A repeated set of motions that makes my body burn with heat, with exertion, eyes remaining focused on keeping my posture steady, on keeping my arms outstretched and evenly spaced.

"Four more." Kook murmurs, voice level and measured—keeping my pace controlled, each lift steady, hand outstretched and body poised to move forward at the final 2...1.

There.

He's there.

Hands immediately lifting the bar, steadying it so my hands can fall away, setting it onto its rack before twisting for a bottle.

Unscrewed and ice cold as he hands it over.

"See. Wasn't so hard." The praise laced with a faint warm tease as I push myself upright, skin feeling hot, clothes sticking to me in a way that only Jungkook managed to push and make me sweat for.

Body hunching over, trying to grab at my towel, skin feeling gross, strands of hair clinging to the skin of my nape, against my temples.

"I'm tapping out."

"What? No!" the whined protest pitched louder, sensing as he drops down in front of me, hands squeezing at my calves. Both a ploy to get me to turn my head up to face his gaze but the grounding firmness of his touch a massaging pressure that tugs a rough relieved groan at the touch.

"We still have core to go—we always do core together!" hearing the pout in his words, the implore.

It's damaging how readily I crumble for that voice, for the pout. It's detrimental to my own time off when I end up getting roped into more thorough workouts just because there's something about the disarming scrunch of his grin or the hopeful gleam in big, big eyes that makes it oh so hard to say no.

It's futile now to get to such a point in my life where he knows how thoroughly effective his strategies are, having wielded them against me for the near entirety of our lives.

"Jungkook..."

"I'll let you use my bath and salts afterwards."

"...."

"...I'll pay for brunch the next time we're out with Hobi hyung."

"...you're a sadist Jeon." I hiss, already surrendering, glaring at him as I tilt my head up, angled to the side.

Watching him beam.

Grin crooked.

Head ducking lower as he tries to draw me up so we can switch positions, so I can slump onto the ground instead.

Voice low and teasy.

"Don't you like it when it's not easy... the taste runs beyond just training no?"

My eyes widen, hand clamping over his mouth, gaze flitting about as his eyes crinkle, amusement in his expression.

"We're in public." I hiss, his voice veering on a fraction of almost too loud, too audible.

His brows rise, a slight tilt of his head as he grins.

And then the brief stare off, something wet and damp against my palm, hand jerking away, dragging it down my top to wipe off the saliva.

"Kook!"

"That's disgusting. Tasted like metal." He grimaces.

"Stop getting your tongue on me then—"

And his eyes glitter.

Dangerously so.

And I know the next words are going to be damning, shoving him back and surging forward, head close to his.

Voice a hiss.

"Don't you dare."

"Why's that—oh." His eyes veer past me, something amused shining in his eyes, the tug of a grin and a low playfulness.

"Someone's staring at your ass." He mutters.

My head twists back, scowl already on my face when the teasing humour in Jungkook's words sink in.

When I find the pair of eyes trained on me.

See the dark heaviness grow in his gaze once our eyes meet, lingering unabashedly on my legs, on the curve of my back.

Lips quirking.

Turning back to face Kook.

"Can't keep the admiration from his eyes." I sigh, lamenting it.

A scoff, a twisted grimace.

"More like he'll pop a boner if he stares long enough?"

"Oh? Reckon I should've done some squats then... would've given him a proper view"

There's a half-heated glare on Jungkook's face. Expression slightly pinched, scowling when he tries to lean past me.

Hand settling on the low of my back.

"I thought you approved."

"Not you getting stared at like a piece of meat."

I snort, patting his chest consolingly.

"Don't worry it's entirely consensual. Though knowing he can't keep his eyes off—" I trail off, watching that protective edge soften around the corners. Watch it morph into thinly pressed lips and an unimpressed stare. Shoving me back off him.

"In that case don't even think I'll let you leave for a booty call." Voice faux-scolding.

"Oh he definitely has to wait. I'm not abandoning you mid-training." Patting his cheek before easing back, straightening to move aside. A firmness in my own tone.

The thought of it not even being a notion I even briefly entertain.

I adjust the weights, never failing to be impressed at how effortless it seems to be for Jungkook, for how easily and eagerly he pours his efforts and focus into training.

That the muscles aren't just for skating, for an aesthetic—they're for him.

And yet—watching the lines of his body tense and coil, there's an appreciation there too, for knowing that all that strength effortlessly lifts me too.

"Putting on a show for me?" I ask, leaning closer, watching the tight clench of his jaw, the shudder of breath as he exhales, sweat gleaming at his throat, beading at his temples, see the way his lips tug into a grin so easily, words tight.

"I know you appreciate a good one."

"You know me so well."

"Those arms—" I sigh when he finishes his reps, a slight consciousness even as his lips twitch, tugging at the already baggy sleeves. Scowling at the sight of them.

"I happen to like those arms. Strong and dependable. Perfect for swooning in." I huff, patting the curve of his bicep, fingers unable to stop the faint squeeze, feeling the tight bunch of muscles shift—flex a tiny bit.

"Just say you have a thing for feeling me up and move on." Eyes rolling.

"Well if I have such pretty arm candy what else am I meant to do?"

"I'm the arm candy?"

"Well you're the pretty one." I say firmly.

His grin turns softer, that faint edge of consciousness melting away.

Smile turning scrunched. Toothy.

"Sweet talk will get you almost anywhere (Y/N)."

"Out of core?" I hedge carefully. Sweetly.

"Not a chance."

[......]

"Just come by the gym to get a good look?"

"You look—" words strangled, frustrated.

"Annoyingly good in sportswear."

"Oh~? Why? Like it when I bend down—"

A rough hissed sound, a sharp curse and fingers digging hard into the curve of my thighs, dragging lower before they rake up to cup me from behind. A tug of movement that presses me firm against him.

"I could. Bend you over right now."

"Funny. Don't feel like giving you another show now—can't have you taking too many liberties can I?"

An impatient sound, breath hot against my skin.

"Won't let me take you from behind?"

"I know the view must be great from behind if it's all you seem to stare at but Park—" I lean in closer, lips tantalisingly close to my own, just the tiniest fraction of a gap from me. But I keep the distance.

Voice soft. Lilting. Murmuring quietly to him what's nothing but an echo of words already said.

"The view from the front is nothing to miss either."

There's a pause, a contemplation that's sharp breaths and deep pooling want. There's a pause that's dark scouring intensity and fingers tightening.

A low rumble of a laugh.

Voice soft... scathing.

"Good point. Even if that mouth—"

My teeth scrape against his bottom lip, sink in hard enough to elicit a hiss, a tightening grip in warning.

"Is enough to make you beg."

There's challenge in his eyes.

"We'll see."

[......]

"You're wearing too much."

"You're the one whose always padded up. Need it to soothe your bruised ego?"

[......]

"Hurry up."

"Why? You can't seem to keep pace with me anyways doll."

[......]

"You're so loud." Hand clamping down on his thigh, fingers digging hard against into tight muscle, drawing back and off, lips swollen and slick. The sound of his moans seeming to ring out in the empty changing room.

"Can't help it." he grits back harshly. A coil of arousal and pride searing down my spine at the unfiltered admission of his words.

"Awww—" I lilt, eyes narrowed as I sneer at him, gaze lidded, lips parting to speak when his fingers tighten in my hair.

A choked sound of surprise and pleasure when he bucks his hips forward, rocking himself into my mouth, a sharp snap of his hips that makes me swallow heavy around him, groan reverberating around his length.

"That got you quiet didn't it?" voice shaking, raw as he grows closer to his peak.

In retaliation my fingers sink hard against his thigh, my hand tightens around his base, pulling off with a jagged breath. Glaring up at him.

Watching with growing amusement, jaw still aching, as his peak is stilled, pushed back, hips jerking with sensitivity and dissatisfaction.

"Did I say—"

The tip of his length pushing past my lips, eyes heavy, blown out pupils, implore and want and need all entangled heavily in his stare, hips rocking forward to try alleviate pressure, to try reach that peak.

Mouth only sinking down around him at the keened promise, the slew of words, honeyed, pleasured promises in them.

"I'll let you make all the noise you want afterwards."

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

"Is that what you want? For them to walk in to see you being fucked like this?"

"What happened to the ice princess? Where are those smartass words now?" voice full of mocking taunt, gaze dropping heavy to my lips, watching my teeth sink harsh into my bottom lip, already feeling swollen, the pressure of teeth making them tingle and ache. A heat licking down my spine, sparks shooting across skin when his mouth brushes against mine—a scorching taste of embers and want. My teeth sink in harsher, trying to stifle a moan, eyes fluttering as my fingers curl tight into his shoulders, sends another wave of pleasure and arousal to course through my veins at the way his hand tightening at my leg, keeping it hitched up and splayed open, pinned hard against the inside of my thigh.

"Got to keep quiet doll—don't want anyone to hear do you?" voice low, filled with crooning delight, eyes glimmering with mirth.

"I think you like that idea more than you'd like to admit... you want them to hear." I murmur, words taut with the tension I feel make my body arch, push unwittingly to his touch.

"No. I don't share." A bite of possessiveness there.

"It isn't sharing though is it? It's all about your petty ego." I goad.

A harder thrust that jostles my body, hands clamping tightly at my hips, fingers digging in with a ferocious intensity that claws at me from the inside, hips snapping forward. Feeling the way my thighs tremble even as I tries keep my arms steady, eyes glowering and full of taunting, provocative fire as he holds my gaze in the mirror. Daring me to look away.

A ripple of a laugh that trembles behind me as Jimin's hands grip at her hips, feel them rock back to meet the sharp buck of my hips driving deeper into her. Eyes goading. The curl of her mouth deepening.

"No? So you don't want them to hear me getting fucked and wish it was them instead? Or is it the opposite? The last thing you want is for them to know their centre star—" the words dripping with amusement, laced with a breathlessness, the tremble of my fingers before they tighten around the edge of the counter, feeling how close I was, body arched and tautly strung, pressure and pleasure mounting. An uneven waver to my words as I keep my gaze rooted to his.

"That their centre star is desperate to fuck what was it—a prancing skater that he couldn't even go any further than his own team's private showers?"

There's nothing as satisfying about watching Park Jimin's composure falter. There's nothing as satisfying as getting under his skin. Nothing as satisfying at looking at him and knowing that this—this is what I do to him. And he hates that I can.

And I can see it, read it in the dark glower of his eyes, in the way his lips part to curl into a lazy sharp smirk that's jagged around the edges.

Unfortunately he knows my body far too well too.

Knows that as his hips pick up pace, setting a harsh, fast rhythm that has my body jolting forward, that moment when I break eye contact, when my torso curves forward, fingers gripping the counter tight... that moment I know he's won. He knows he's won. Tugging out broken sounds of pleasure because words evade my tongue, mouth parted and hair falling forward—a futile shield now that he knows how to make that tether snap.

How he can feel it as I clench around him, body slumping forward but he doesn't stop—hips snapping harsh, deep thrusts that push himself further into me, hand settling on the low of my back, a weighted hold that keeps me curved over. Sounds muffled against the counter, feeling my legs tremble as one peak barely ebbs before a stronger wave grows, that mix of pain-pleasure where it almost starts to feel like too much, too soon—

"Have you seen Jimin? I sent out a group text for practice—" a voice filters through, body freezing, teeth sinking hard enough into my lip to bleed, body going taut.

Tight with a tension that's mirrored in the way he stills, buried deep, but the tension and lines of his body harsh. The pressure of his hands tightening. Rougher.

Feel my body tremble and ache even as my mind comes to freeze, thoughts and pulse coming to a violent lurching stop. Heart hammering in my throat.

"Shit... shit..." a hissed roughness of words almost too quiet to hear.

My arms waver as I push myself upright and this time when my eyes flit to the mirror, there's a similar startled, stilled expression frozen on his face. Staring hard at the mirror but not really seeing—body tensing further when more voices join. Grow louder as they cluster into the changing rooms—just meters away from the enclosed space of the private bathroom.

"Give him some time to read the text—he's probably asleep."

"Yeah I haven't seen him since lunch."

"We could still practice even if he's a no show."

The sound of voices don't dissipate, don't fade until long ticking moments stretch out, bodies drawing away, a quiet sharp intake of breath muffled against my skin as he draws back, and I lean away.

Whatever fantasy, whatever sharp prickling amusement had been there ebbs, morphs into a more abrasive, sharply piercing stiffness that sets into my posture, makes my body tense.

We could've gotten caught.

And the realisation, the numbing reality of it that it didn't matter how caught up in the moment we were with it, we could've gotten lax, we could've been in the changing rooms like we had been countless times—and they could've seen...

"I'm going to go."

A jerked nod, fingers pushing through his hair, a harried expression on his face. An equally stunned expression that's taken root there, watch as he steps back, turning to grab clothes for himself. Dressing in haste. Silent, tense, teetering haste.

"I'll... I'll go out first. Make sure no-one's there then text you?"

I nod.

Adrenaline still buzzing in my veins but beginning to ebb when he waits a few more minutes before slipping out, door clicking shut, a deep exhale as my fingers sink into my hair, pushing it away, tugging slightly at the ends.

A different sort of jitteriness at how suddenly overwhelmingly real it'd become.

How something we'd kept under wraps, hidden away because a part of us couldn't admit it to one another, to ourselves that sleeping together had just made the attraction and want all the more messy... to nearly get caught in it has my heart hammering loud in my chest.

And as the minutes wear on and I redress, I will the shakiness from my breaths to settle, with each layer drawn back on, recompose myself.

A close call.

We hadn't been caught.

But a sense of unease threatens to linger at the possibility, at the thought that any one of the hockey players could've found us. And that feeling of vulnerability it brings—a feeling that tries to sink into my skin, body slipping out the door and easing myself away from the changing rooms the moment my phone buzzes with the greenlight from Jimin.

A deep lungful of breath, relieved and shuddery.

Too close.

[......]

Jungkook finds it hilarious—doe eyes shining with tears as he tilts his head back, loud laughter ringing out in my room as he tries to catch his breath. Fingers swiping at tears that have fallen from laughing as I sit there, cheeks burning, glaring at him.

"It's not funny!"

"You're telling me you nearly did get caught?"

"If I hadn't heard them and—"

"Just after you mocked Park for trying to want his teammates to hear?" brows rising.

My cheeks burn hotter.

"Well if that isn't ironic." He muses. Eyes glittering with more unshed laughter.

"Fantasising about something and actually getting caught having sex are two very different things!" I retort sharply, the mortification of the near-encounter still lingering in my veins, a residue flush still warming my cheeks as I huff and twist away from the sight of Jungkook's amusement, lobbing a pillow at his head.

His face appears from behind it, pouting as he rubs his head, a grimacing shake as he looks at me.

"Yeah maybe getting caught for public indecency on campus wouldn't have done well for you. We still live on campus dorms."

"Maybe this is the universe's sign to move already." I grumble, flopping back against my blankets, glaring hard at the ceiling.

"We've put out our details haven't we?" he shrugs, foot nudging at my calf as he clambers up, hands nudging, nudging until I'm rolling over with a huffed mumble of sound, body sinking into the bed beside me, the mattress dipping before he tilts his head to rest against my shoulder.

The laptop discarded on the carpet, barely having finished from the task when Jungkook had finally prodded—reading the mortified silence in my expression and poking holes in excuses that crumbled when he stared hard and intensely.

"But still." I grumble.

"We'll find a place. We're not staying just about anywhere, and the move isn't because of your... mild exhibitionism kinky tastes you share with Park. It's cos when we move it'll be time." amusement petering off into a softness at the inevitability... just the next step for us.

"So I'm sure it's safe to wonder around campus... just maybe keep an eye out for training sessions if you have to have a quickie in the lockers." Words meant to be somewhat encouraging... but it makes me groan, eyes clenching shut. Trying to banish the memory of it from my mind. But it lingers. All too soon for it to fade.

"Kill me now Kook. I don't think I can go back to fuck him there again." I groan, twisting as I burrow into his side, watching him turn, eyes holding mine. Quiet amusement in doe eyes but an incredulity in his words, staring near disbelievingly.

"But a part of you still might?"

"Not right now—the wound and trauma's too fresh!"

"You're unbelievable."

"I'm a menace to campus facilities."

"Which sport student isn't?" an eye roll, hand reaching out to brush over my hair, a soft soothing motion before he rubs at my back, shuffling closer.

Voice softer, gentler.

"Remember you didn't get caught—"

"But we could've."

"So could any other student on campus. It was a close call, but the bathroom was locked." Somehow gauging that the traces of vulnerability come from the fact that it was one thing to be seen, it was another to be bare and utterly exposed in front of people who had a longstanding rivalry and resentment.

"And if... if..." he begins, voice careful and measured.

"If it had ever been that one of them had seen you... I'd gouge their eyes out for you." a steely vehemence that's laced with sharp protectiveness.

I slowly peer out of the burrowed huddle against him, easing back to find that when he tilts his head down to peer at me, his arm bands more firmly around me, our bodies half-entangled as he looks at me, levelled and unwavering.

"You'd do that for me?"

"I'd do a lot worse for you."

My lips curve up, the final remnants of that mix of embarrassment-vulnerability-fear melting into solace-comfort-promise-reassurance, tilting my head up to brush a kiss to his jaw, lips lingering there before I re-tuck myself into his more solid embrace.

Soothed and reassured by the steadiness of his heartbeat as I shuffle closer, hearing a soft sigh, hearing the smile in it before he grasps blindly for the edge of a blanket, briefly dislodged before he tugs it back up to drape over the two of us.

"Love you Koo."

A soft waver of breath, the tilt of his head as his chin tucks over me.

A quiet hum.

"Me too."

My lips curve into a smile against his collarbones.

"You love you too?"

A quieter laugh.

"I do love me too. But I love you too."

And he tugs the blanket further over us, shielding us away in a warm cocoon that might eventually become too hot to remain burrowed under but right now... right now it's perfect.

And the soft wavers of his breaths as he sinks beside me, body relaxed... it's perfect too.

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

There's a similar flush of pink on Jimin's cheeks—reminded of the moment, the position we'd both been in the last time we'd been together. The tinge of heat colouring his cheeks, but it doesn't make his eyes tear away. It doesn't make the silently brewing heaviness of them dim.

And despite the way the last time had suddenly ended that moment between us, the visceral reaction his body can elicit from mine is far from erasable from a single instant.

A careful, intently focused stare as he looks hard at me, looks at me as if his stare alone could swallow me whole into dark irises.

But no words are exchanged. Nothing's said.

A heated crackling moment which teeters close to a point but never spirals into it.

And a finality that sinks into his eyes before the corners of his mouth quirk into a slanted grin. Lopsided and familiar. Maddeningly infuriating. Holding a card to his chest he has no intention of revealing just yet, skates pushing off as he twists and leaves.

[......]

🏒 : My dorm. 30 mins.

❄️: I don't even know where that is.

🏒: 7th floor, room 13.

❄️: ...seriously? What's gotten you giving up your bedroom?

🏒: If you want to keep fucking against cold locker room walls just say so.

❄️: Well no...

🏒: Then stop whining and get up here.

❄️: 🙄

🏒: 😏

(AND SCENE! SCENE SCENE! AHHHHHHHHHHH THE PLOT THICKENS—THIS IS WHERE IT ALL GROWS AND ADIAFIAFIQF I'M HERE FOR IT! Midiiplier COURTESY OF MY LOVE MWAH THANK YOU FOR THE INSPO AND TEXTS AND JUST EVERYTHING! HOW WAS IT!! I'M SO, SO EXCITED COS THERE'S JUST SO MUCH AND IWJDFOWEGWG I CAN'T WAIT!! ALSO SEVEN HAS ENDED ME AND FUELLED A LOT OF THIS CHAPTER! BUT ALSO KOOK IN THIS IS THE BEST I LOVE HIM! LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3