JIMIN POV:

Apprehension. Nerves. An unusual, unwelcomed flutter of anxiousness when there's the sound of knocks at the door, crossing the distance to tug it open.

Left ajar, eyes skimming over (Y/N) with a brief pulse of surprise even though I'd been the one to invite her over.

But that brief feeling is shoved aside, casted away easily, readily at the sight of her. So easily discarded when she stands at the threshold of my room, brows rising when a few lingering beats of silence pass. Hand leaning against the door to nudge it open wider, no hesitation as she moves forward, hip nudging me aside to step into a space that until now had been entirely and wholly untouched by her presence. By this entanglement of lust and need and mutual frustration.

"For someone inviting me into the privacy of his room, you take your time letting me in in the first place Park." The slow drawl of her words taunting molten honey, sticky sweet and in equal measure I loathe and crave it.

It doesn't take long, snapping out of stillness to shove the door shut, a quick slam, a smirk curling at her lips, twitching there with amusement as she turns her head to look at me.

"And now he's impatient." As if amused.

Fingers tugging off the thin jacket she'd been wearing, my eyes immediately snagging onto curves that her top clings to, eyes dragging over the thin straps and the swell of her breasts to the dip of her waist. To the way the fabric ends, mere inches above her hips. One shoe shucked off then the other. A small slither of skin above the curve of her hips, over the waistband of leggings she easily drags off curved thighs—a rough groaned sound at the sight of her bent over to tug one ankle free then the other. More and more skin bared as she strips.

An unspoken confidence and lure in the movement, in the way my body immediately, viscerally reacts to the sight of her in front of me, boxers feeling tighter. Arousal pooling heady, strong in my veins. Mouth drying slightly as she straightens, an impatience and haughtiness in glinting eyes.

"Park." Name sharp on her tongue.

It makes my mind immediately react, head tilting to appraise her.

"What's the problem?" I ask.

"If you message me a time to get to your dorm, I expected you to have at least started stripping." Eyes rolling at me as she stares at my clothes, a flash of heat in her eyes when I acquiesce to the brusqueness of her tone, a lazy grin curling my lips upwards as I tug my shirt up and off, letting it fall to the floor. Watch as the focus in her gaze sharpens. Drags leisurely over skin in a way that leaves stinging trails of heat in their wake. But I know the stinging trails of heat her nails leave too.

"But then how else do you get to ogle at me?" I laugh, but the sound is rough even to my own ears, heavy and weighted with anticipation, with desire when the intensity of her gaze lingers, skims lower to rest at my waistband.

"I've got better options for wanting eye candy Park." Fingers toying with the waistband at her hips, yet to slip off the last offending layer that'll bare her lower half entirely to me.

"Is that your way of telling me I'm sweet? Or that I'm too pleasing to the eyes?" I lilt, fingers skimming over my front, a half hissed sound, rasped and rough as my hand drags down over my bulge, the grounding pressure of my palm doing little to either alleviate the ache, doing little to gratify it.

"Funnily enough I thought you were the one desperate to taste me." Her voice is level, even if the intensity in her eyes flares hotter, searing as it lingers on my hand.

"And I thought you said I'd never get to." Even though the thought of it, the fantasy prominent and heady lingers at the forefront of my mind.

"I don't know if I could stand the sight of you long enough to let you between my thighs." A contemplation in the slow croon, backing up towards the bed, gaze never drifting from me. This is just another room, another space... and yet the want crackles heavily, veins buzzing with arousal as I look at her, tracking the sway of her hips, the confidence in her sharp pinning stare, the quirk to her mouth. Amused and goading.

"Yet when you begged for more that didn't seem to be a problem. In fact, you wanted me to remain between your thighs. Buried in you."

A flash of want, of arousal that's neither confirmed nor denied in the molten depths of her stare.

"For such an impatient, desperate booty call the fact you're not already in me..." a ragged sigh, laced with exasperation even though there's want lingering in the remnants of her words that trail off.

Suddenly any reason, any excuse to hold myself back from lunging for her, for burying myself in her scent and skin, into the curves of her body evaporate. The taunting dragging out of seconds disintegrates with every step forward, with the way that with every step the air seems to crackle, thicken and swell with mutual want and just as mutual is the disdain for any fabric left.

Fingers skimming briefly against my hip before she plucks at the fabric, lets it snap back against my skin.

"Off."

"Always so demanding." Even as I acquiesce, hands dragging down fabric, shucking them off until every inch of me is bare, hand darting out to catch her wrist, gripping tightly when her hand moves forward to curl around my length.

"Arms up." Watching the way her eyes gauge, testing as she waits, a slow extending of her arms, something so innately entrancing about the movement, something so elegant and poised even in that small gesture... and that same poise disintegrating when my hands drag at the fitted material, tugging it up and off her, eyes raking over her as more and more of her is bared, fingers reaching for the clasp of her bra. Leisurely tracing curves, thumb brushing over a bud, watching it stiffen under my touch, watch the subtle arch of her back when my fingers tug. A soft exhale. A quiet shudder of breath as she pushes into the touch.

Fingers skimming, tracing, slow and unrushed because I know what it does to her patience, what it does to her resolve, what it does to her as every inch of control and restraint crumbles in front of my eyes. Hand skimming lower, featherlight traced patterns that are maddening to her, an impatient sound, fingers curling tight around my wrist.

Her touch certain as she guides my hand lower, bypassing the final layer of fabric, head tilting back with a throaty groan when my fingers dip lower to slick heat, a rough flick against her nub. Watching my hand under the fabric before I drop lower, hand tugging hard at the fabric, unsatisfied until I see her, see her entirely, teeth scraping against her hip. A jolt of movement.

Rile her up slowly, watch her crumble quickly.

"Desperate enough to be on your knees?" she goads.

"I don't think you've forgotten I had you kneeling first."

"I might've kneeled but who was it falling apart?"

"Oh doll I don't intend to kneel to make you fall apart. I intend to take my time very slowly with you. One benefit of inviting you to my dorm."

"And what's that?"

"It has a locked door." Voice lofty and quiet, soft with a murmur, teeth dragging slow against skin, fingers brushing against the side of her thighs, feeling the way she unconsciously shifts. Not parting them but still subtly shifting to the touch.

See her eyes gleam as she looks at me.

"And what does that change?"

"Well it won't begin and end with a door this time—this time there's no interruptions."

[......]

The twist of her body on now ruined sheets, fingers clutching tightly at them in lieu of my body has a desperate coil of lust burning stronger, heady and demanding—rough thrusts that bury myself deeper into her, the tension in the curve of her spine stiff, the tight clench of knuckles and bitten lips as she trembles under me but refuses to give me the satisfaction I'm craving.

"I thought no interruptions meant—" her breath wavers, staccato uneven exhales that tremble past swollen lips, reddened with pressure, with the way her teeth sink in harsher.

My fingers flex and tighten, gripping tighter at the crease of her hip, dragging down, palming at skin, dragging over her thigh, fingers trailing inwards to tug at her, bodies pressed together.

"Meant what doll?" breath sharp against her skin, teeth and lips pressing biting kisses against skin that drift from her collarbones lower, to the curve of her breasts, lips colouring harsh undeniable pleasure into skin.

"Meant that you'd fuck me properly. Like you had the time to. Or is being quick a shortcoming—cos you can't last longer?" the taunt is sharp, jagged and cuts into skin in the same likeness that pleasure does, leaving stinging trails in the same way her nails dig harder against my shoulder, against my arm. The provoking maddening lilt of her voice infuriating, the way she looks at me with a lidded gaze, pushing herself up on her arms even as her back arches—all harsh angles and curves, leg locking around my lower back.

All taut muscles and soft curves, all sharp taunting words and sweet shaky breaths. She's a contradiction.

But one I've been far too entangled in, the heady pull of everything she stands for, everything she is, everything I loathe to crave but do.

"If you wanted me to lay you on my sheets to do missionary maybe you should've stuck with boys of a vanilla taste." I murmur, voice rough and low against her skin.

"I never said anything about being vanilla—I just wonder if you can lost longer~"

"You can barely handle me now."

"Oh Park it's sweet you think you can turn it around." Fingers dragging from across my shoulder to curl her hand around my nape, to tug harsh at the strands of hair that slip through her fingers. Clutched with a hard grasp.

"It's sweet you think you could do me better if I did turn us around."

Her eyes glitter with challenge and mirth, with a hard consuming intensity and hunger that's all too familiar because when I see myself encased in dilated pupils, it's to see the same visceral want pools in my gaze too.

"I don't think you'll be able to handle me on top."

"I think you enjoy being under me, below me." The taunt not lost in the way her eyes flash. Riled and provoked. Each reaction steadily more and more easily tugged out of her, control and restraint and haughtiness melting... crumbling to give way to this ire and fire.

"I think I need to put you in your place Park. Need to remind you that I'll always come out on top. This... this changes nothing." Cockiness in the sharpness to her words, punctuated with a wavered exhale.

"Nothing? Doesn't seem that way when you're always so desperate and ready whenever I message."

"Yet you message first—so what does that say Park? What does it say about your desperation and me being the answer to them?" she questions.

"I'm just getting you out of my system."

"I'm very much in your system if you can't get enough of me." And she's burning her trails through me.

Hips rocking back to meet each thrust, leg tightening to draw me deeper, further into her, lost in that heady snare of lust and arousal, in the way she takes over to guide the rhythm, the pace, each grinding buck of her hips dragging me deeper, encasing me in her. Intent to make me lose myself in her.

The sudden switch from being fucked into the sheets to dragging me into losing myself makes my skin burn hotter, the tight clench of her thigh and the resultant groan it elicits from the very depths of my chest has a satisfied, loose smirk curling against her lips. Pushing herself up on her arms, her gaze dragging over me before stilling where the two of us are joined, fingers skimming down her hip and thigh to toy with where my length buries itself in her, the brush of her hand and the way her fingers settle to brush messy circles onto her nub causes her to tighten. Body stiff and taut with a pleasure that makes me rankle because it's a pleasure she's giving herself, mind flashing hot-white with the blind ecstasy that numbs every other feeling at the way I can feel her clench around me, can feel her tug me closer to lose myself in her, fingers replacing her own.

"Then I'm doomed aren't I?"

The slow grin that tugs at her mouth, that tugs me closer, tongue brushing past loose, lax lips to thrust into the heat of her, a laziness to the curl of her tongue, as if she's staking claim knowing it's already hers to leave. The twist of my own tongue chasing heat, chasing the quiet moans she swallows down but still they spill past the curl of her mouth, tremble against my mouth as my teeth sink harsh against her lip, tugging.

"Well I think that's the only right answer you've ever given Park."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Guess there's a tiny bit of brain and not just... brawn." But even then, even then the way that she says is sceptical, her eyes skimming over me with a slow rakish intensity that's at odds with the dismissiveness in her eyes.

As if she gauges whether either are evident.

Even the way she looks at me, the way her stare alone provokes the fire under my skin to burn me from the inside out, the way without words she fuels that blistering hunger and lust and makes it grow.

"Well I certainly didn't decide to fuck you on the regular because of your thoughts—you and I both know we disagree."

A stuttered waver of a laugh, the flutter of her lashes when my thumb brushes against her nub, lips against the swell of her breast.

"Disagree? We clash because you're too stubborn to hear reason."

"I'm stubborn? Yet you're the one who keeps fucking with the schedules."

Her eyes glimmer with triumph.

"Don't be bitter cos you're too slow."

"And here I thought you liked it hard and fast."

Her legs tighten around me, a lazy cockiness in the sprawl of her body across my sheets.

Fingers skimming over her skin to trace her curves, eyes heavy with pleasure as she toys with a stiff bud, gaze turning darker when her touch turns to me. Body jerking forward, hips unconsciously snapping forward, grip bruising on her skin as I curse, the scrape of nails against skin, dragging against my sternum makes that heady twist of pleasure tighten its noose.

"Fuck you—"

"I think that's your job."

[......]

The waver of her breaths are still unsteady when I draw back from her. Her body a map of coloured splotches that mark where my hands and lips have lathered attention to.

Something so dizzyingly arousing about the sight of her, thighs slick and all ruined mussed hair, something viscerally carnal about seeing her usually put together appearance dishevelled, and skin dewy with exertion.

I slump down onto the sheets, groaning as I sink into them, body half twisting to track the movement of (Y/N)'s legs, still feeling how they were locked around me, as she picks up discarded layers to redress.

Neither rushed nor slow as he draws each layer back on, tousling sex-mussed hair with a self-satisfied gleam in her eyes, barely flickering her gaze over to me.

"Door's that way." I gesture with a lazy wave of my hand, watching amusement glimmer in the curling uptilt of her mouth. Pleasure still making my skin buzz, mind blank save for the loose limbed relief it brings.

"Oh I'm well acquainted with doors don't worry Park. You might've satiated my preference for it at times. Doesn't mean you started it."

Despite having just been with her, having just fucked, there's something about the lightness to her tone that makes a coiling pressure threaten to rewind, a hunger that threatens to reignite. To surge forward to pin her against that door that she's about to leave through.

"Don't start things you can't see through doll. Like I said—locked door." I drawl, propping myself up on my hands, watching as her eyes spark. A flash of fire.

"Too bad I don't have time to test just how easy it is to turn you on. Got a schedule." Moving towards the door to unlock it, drawing it open. Her eyes searching as she ducks her head out.

A final brief glance before she leaves. The click of the door final.

Groaning as I slump back onto the bed.

"Fucking menace."

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

My fingers tap impatiently against the edge of the rink, body antsy and locking up further as the minutes tick closer towards my practice slot and yet the figure on ice keeps skating, eyes glowering as I stare hard at the curved figure I know all too well.

Finally snapping as I clamber onto the ice, pushing hard and fast as I skate forward. Rapid and jagged movements, kicking up chips of ice as my skates screech to a halt, hand snagging her wrist to twist her around.

Watching the glimmer of mirth in her eyes, feel it only amp up when she tilts her head back to look at me. Amused.

"What's the problem Park?" too nonchalant and unbothered.

"The problem is that it's my turn to practice."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, I still have two minutes." Eyes flickering to her watch then back up at me.

"You're messing with me aren't you?" I scowl.

"So easily done isn't it?"

"Just get off the ice."

She tugs her wrist free, skating backwards then sideways, twisting around me in a quick looping motion that makes me twist to catch her gaze, scowling when she repeats it, skating literal circles around me, far too entertained by watching me turn, steps feeling heavy next to the sharp twist of her body brushing against mine.

"I still have just under two minutes. So I suggest Park you respect the rink rules. You're intruding on my time." before she pushes her skates back, drifting away with a clean cut movement that's infuriating with how its at odds with the jumbled antsiness in my own head.

It's infuriating how she holds the specifics of the two minutes, skating slow circles around me, veering close only to skim away with the light twist of her skate turning outwards with a slight tilt of her body.

It's infuriating but knowing that to reach out to grasp her, to have her slip easily through my fingers, to chase her hard and fast, to lose because that glimmer in her eyes is testing waters I don't know the depth of.

But somehow... somehow despite knowing the intent of her maddening, infuriating taunting swiftness of her skates veering in and out of my reach... still my body twists to follow her rhythm, to try quicken pace to snag at her.

And the amusement pooled in her eyes are fuel to fire, to the frustration welling up under my skin, that feeling of restlessness surging up even as I move because I need more, my mind and body need more, need the numbing aftermath the buzz of adrenaline brings, after all the energy's been drained of my body, after it sinks into my limbs and turns them loose.

Looking at her, skates kicking up big chunks of ice as I catch pace to her, but only as she's stepping off the ice, precisely seconds over her two minutes, body darting forward to snag her around the waist, the two of us nearly stumbling as my body careens into her, momentum jolted to a stop because my body meets hers, (Y/N)'s hand darting out the last moment to grip tightly at the rink's edge.

"Need something Park? My two minutes are up, and I'd hate to be getting complained against when all I'm trying to do is get off the rink." Snark clear in her voice, even without turning I know the glimmer that must be in her eyes.

"Since when do you care about complaints?"

"Since a certain hockey player seems to be full of them and hot air."

"And when haven't I put my money where my mouth is?"

"I reckon if you'd started doing that then that's paying me for my time. Calling me a prostitute? I'll have you know you'd never be able to afford me."

"I don't need to throw money at you to make you throw yourself at me."

"And when was the last time that happened? Early morning jerk? Late night fantasy? Cos it'd never happen when you're awake."

"No? You'll never get desperate enough that the next time you won't care if that door had been unlocked, you wouldn't have cared if they'd have heard you?"

"I think if anything you'd have had the problem with someone hearing me? Cos door locked—I wouldn't have cared."

"No?"

"Actually—"

"Actually... door locked I would've wanted the rest of your team to know that the one that makes their star centre player a mess is someone he despises. That he hates my guts but can't stop fucking me."

"They'd just think I got lucky with someone willing enough to have sex in the changing room."

"Exactly. Lucky. But then again—you're lucky enough to hear me, to have me... you're the one who's all too willing. I don't think the others deserve to hear just like that. Changed my mind."

Fingers tugging my hand off, amused glimmering eyes turning to appraise me, at the flushed closeness of our bodies.

"Can't stand to keep your hands off me?"

"I was just trying to catch you." with no idea what the end goal was going to be.

"And now that you have... caught up?" words lingering on the tip of her tongue, dangling with an entice that winds itself closer to tighten the near immediate feeling of arousal bubbling through my veins. I loathe the way my body reacts so easily, so readily because of her.

"I'm thinking there could be another workout I'm all willing to do."

"Unfortunately this workout isn't available. She's got a date with a man who knows where and how to use his hands."

A sneer curls my lips, a vicious twist that briefly flickers through me. Brushing off the way the amused dismissal stings some part of me that craves her taste on my tongue.

"You sure have a lot of false complaints doll. Cos you didn't seem to want my hand to leave between your thighs." But the words backfire, reminding me all too intensely of how her thighs feel clamping around my hand, how she feels when my fingers sink into her—

A visceral flash of heat that sears as she holds my gaze.

Clearly I'm not the only one plagued with that reminder.

Voice slightly uneven when (Y/N) speaks.

"I could think of something else you could be doing between them but now's not the time." a wavering resolve but it solidifies itself when she speaks, the sharp intensity of her eyes scouring away at me, refusing to succumb first.

Is it shameful that I crave her? Or is it surrender to the greed and lust burning their trails to carve their force in my veins.

My hand falls away, a step back and then another, skates easily finding purchase on the rink.

Not this time. This time she'll come first.

Whatever twisted snare I find myself trapped in by the heady pull of desire and attraction—that feeling... that feeling should be as mutual as the ire that crackles between us, at opposite ends, so starkly different and harsh, jagged words that only intensify every single time we've been together... she should feel it too.

This time (Y/N) you'll message first.

Two can play the same game you're desperate to win.

"When you decide you know where to find me. Now if you don't mind—you've overstayed ice princess."

And without turning away I skate back, a glimmer of a smirk curled at my lips, twisting away to scour hard deep tracks into the rink, battering rough jagged edges that chase every remnant she'd been there.

My turn now.

[......]

It's boredom I tell myself.

Boredom nothing more.

Just... boredom. That makes me stay, watching two figures skate around on the rink.

Just... boredom. And far too much time on my hands clearly, because if it's going to be wasted because their coach overrode the booking I'd made—because if my extra individual skating time was being reallocated to a different rink, different time... then that was the only reason I was staying to watch.

Just to see.... Just time and bored and because clearly I had both now that the drills I wanted to run through had been cancelled for... this.

Watching as (Y/N) skates towards Jungkook, the hard scowling mistrust and warning glares he'd shot towards us completely dissolved as he watches her intently, tracking her every moment but with a sharper precision than the time I'd simply rushed after her.

That'd been crackling, it'd been fire playing with fire simply to see who would burn first.

This... this is different. This is a sharper assessing stare, watching her every movement and the motions, the barest fractions of them, that (Y/N) twists her body with and somehow knowing and gauging her next move before she seems to transition into it.

Body slotting closer as she lifts her leg up in a split, a quick fluid motion as he skates under the extended line of her leg, twisting and standing, grasping her to spin her around. And it all happens too quick to process. It all happens in the blur of a few moments.

It's so—

I twist away, fingers fumbling for the buzz of my phone from the depths of my gym bag somewhere.

Hastily answering it.

"Jiminie!"

"Taehyungie—missed me?" voice teasing and light, that brief pulse of surprise, of shame, of intrigue—of boredom melting at hearing his voice.

"Busy?"

"My slot got cancelled because—"

"Of some skater or another—" he deadpans.

"Yes! This time their coach—" annoyance beginning to colour my voice, shot down immediately.

"Is a plague on your talent... yes, yes... busy?" lamenting slow and drawn out before his voice perks up.

"....no." reluctant to admit it, even though no one knew that I'd lingered in a moment of boredom, of wasting my time.

"Wanna get food? And the arcade?"

"Sounds like you're asking me out on a date."

"And if I am~" voice simperingly sweet and lilting, a honeyed laugh that rings louder, obnoxiously so when I make a disgusted sound at the back of my throat, lips upturning despite myself at his laugh.

"Hmm... buy me dinner and it's a green flag."

"Only if you pay for the games. Sharing the cost is a bigger green flag. Healthy partnership and all." He laughs, voice full of faux-seriousness, my head nodding along as if I can see the boxy wide stretch of his lips.

"Want to annihilate Yoongi hyung at the basketball machine and have him grumble about the technicalities of real basketball being a harder skill to master?" I add.

I can hear the ding going off in his head, lightbulb going off and the mischief in his voice.

"I reckon we invite Yoongi hyung and dinner's sorted too."

"Such a gold digger." I tease.

"What can I say? It's my colour."

A pause and then.

"Hyung loves me more." and then the sound of the call ending before I can argue.

[......]

"How's training going hyung?" I ask, watching with amusement as Tae tries to wrestle control of the BBQ grill, watching as he tries to flip the cooking meat with a pair of tongs, forgoing gloves in his enthusiasm. Watching as hyung pauses, tugging the tongs away, glove-clad hands expertly quick.

"Official season doesn't begin until October—pretty much the same as winter sports... so we're training, partnering up against different teams and formations. Playing matches with other universities." He's been in and out of contact the past week, playing away with a competitive university.

"Scoping out the competition."

"More like... it's getting to scope out their plays and learn them."

"Oh?" eyes flitting back to him, reading the quiet contemplation in his eyes, in the small furrow of his brows.

"Why be thrown off by their plays and let them stay their signature moves. Steal it. Use it better." A loose, casual shrug of his shoulders, a curled smirk playing slightly at the corners of his mouth.

"Huh... I'll tell Joon hyung that."

"Tell Joon hyung what?" his voice filters through as he arrives, dropping down into a seat besides Yoongi hyung, grin dimpled and wide when Tae exclaims loudly and surges forward for a half-hug, half-collide.

"Yoongi hyung was saying he poaches other teams' tricks to use on them."

"Smart. Sneaky smart."

"Got to stay two steps ahead of the game Joon-ah." An easy grin curling his lips, batting his hand away lightly when he offers to help.

Somehow Yoongi hyung is just aware of movements, so easily able to spot a darting hand or sneaky fingers trying to swipe a bite, a gumminess to his lips and fond exasperation in his eyes after the nth time he shovels a piece of meat into Tae's parted mouth, watching him hiss as his tongue burns, chewing loudly.

"I've never thought about pulling an uno reverse card with gameplays. Is that why you called me too hyung? To share your advice o wise one?"

"To split the bills cos those two won't." grumbling good-naturedly but his smile is affectionate, quick as he starts portioning meat onto our plates, reluctantly, so he acts, as he accepts a lettuce wrap from me, shovelling it into his mouth, muffled complaint but chewing regardless.

"Not a team player off the rink Jimin-ah?" Joon scolds laughingly, accepting his fate as he shuffles forward, reaching for a bottle of beer.

"Not a strict diet then Captain?" I tease, watching him down large gulps of beer, my own fingers shying away from accepting the bottle, staring at it longingly... contemplating. Debating whether whatever hangover I might have would be worth group training tomorrow.

"What Coach doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides I can hold my drink and practice fine tomorrow." A dangerous wager in his eyes, a gleam of challenge and competition accompanied with deep dimpled indents and a playfulness in the low murmur of his voice.

It's then that I take in the fact his hair's still damp from a shower, slouched in hoodie and joggers, a flush to skin that comes from a long hard practice session and lingers for a while after the adrenaline melts away.

"And made up for it today it seems."

"Gotta stay in shape to keep the team in shape."

"Hear hear!"

"Joon's right." Yoongi acquiesces.

"Hyung doesn't need to be captain to know~ he keeps the team going anyways." Tae crows with a boastful pride, grimacing at the taste of the beer that lingers after a hesitant sip.

"Yah are you drunk already?" a faint tinge of pink on Yoongi hyung's cheeks, eyes flitting away from him, brushing over the compliment.

"Nah—he's got a loose tongue even without alcohol inside him. Drinking to hangovers tomorrow during practice?" bottles clinking.

"I've got it off. Good luck—Namjoon doesn't go easy."

Even though it's resigning myself to a tougher practice tomorrow, already doomed and aware of the churning nausea accompanying the quick fast paced rough tough sessions group practices tend to be... I drink to that miserable day regardless.

"Jimin-ah can hold his own. Got full faith he won't throw up on the rink."

"Bet you cream bread that he does."

"Bet ice americano for two days he throws up once he gets off the rink."

"Nah—I know him. Bet dinner... I'll let you guys split it, that he manages." His bottle raised in good faith and shared commiseration in their faces as we clink.

I'll drink them under the table and skate.

[......]

"Qualifiers was child's play! Yugyeom, Bam—I want you guys to go hard and keep in connection with Park. My opposite team's offence line; Lee, Han and Kim, try break their line and formation."

"Namjoon will be working his team's plays, I'll be leading the other's." a sharp steely glint of razor focus in Coach's eyes as he skates towards the team that the subs make up. But there's a steadfast unwaveringness in Namjoon's stance, in the way he looks entirely unfazed by being head to head essentially with our coach.

"We're playing to test out gameplays and find areas of improvement." Namjoon begins, standing firm at the front as his gaze skims over both teams.

"We're finding weaknesses. Any points in formation that can be exploited, turned against them." Coach's voice is determined. Hard and firm.

And I can't help notice the difference between him and Joon; the different stance Joon takes with his words and instructions, bolstering both teams and looking to us.

Sometimes... sometimes Coach looks past us.

The twist of nausea intensifies briefly, a strong flash of it before it ebbs away.

Maybe it was the beers.

A tiny part of me whispers it might be something else.

Someone else.

"Communicate clearly." Joon adds, skating towards his team, seamlessly falling into line with the rest of us, melting into the cluster of figures because he's one of us.

....somewhere....

Maybe... somewhere... Coach isn't.

He's above. Leading and guiding and instructing the team with an iron fist.

But he knows what he's doing.

He'll get us to the Asia cup.

We just need to follow through—even if after that session our bodies feel battered and exhausted.

Drained.

"We have shared practice early tomorrow morning."

The dull pulsing throbs of achy, worn limbs protest at the thought as Coach mentions it before disappearing into his office.

The session having gone on long after the usual training hours, everyone's faces and bodies bearing the same expression of being so bone weary tired and drained.

"You worked hard guys—I'll talk to Coach about a free afternoon tomorrow so you can rest up. Get hot showers, rest up." Namjoon calls out, forgoing heading to the showers himself, looking just as run through as the rest of us, helmet set aside as he moves towards the office, an encouraging nod directed towards us before he closes the door behind him. The low intonation of his voice muffled. Distant.

"Worst comes to worst, we end up spending time skating about. Nothing like a cool down exercise after the hell Coach put us through today." A voice filters out, met with low murmurs and echoes, the team splitting off as some head off to shower, others too exhausted to wait heading out to go to the dorms instead.

There's nothing more I want then a hot shower and then the boneless weightless sprawl of my body against my bed.

The message waiting however flickers a tiny flame low in my gut.

And small as it is, it should be easy to ignore had it not been for the offer in them itself.

Need a hand winding down? Showers are empty ;)

.....

At least I'd still get a hot shower out of it. And none of that time wasted waiting.

[......]

My head tilts back, a rough grunt of pain at the hard tile against my skull, the breathy, mocking lilt of my name makes my abdomen tighten as her hand continues to work itself over me, a tight grip her hand encircles me with before loosening as I buck into the touch. A torturous glide of skin to skin, slick with arousal and water, the heat of the shower battering down over our bodies, eyes lidded as I turn towards the smirk already curled against (Y/N)'s mouth.

"I thought you were in a rush." I grit out, hips bucking up into her touch, knowing already its futile, her fisted hold loosening, fingers brushing against the underside of my length, skimming tormentingly slow against me. But my body reacts without thought, hips rutting forward in desperation for the pleasure she forces my body away from.

"I am."

"Then why are you—" voice rough and trying to bite back the groan that slips past my lips when (Y/N)'s thumb brushes over the tip, the glide eased by the way pleasure beads, fingers hot and wet with water, making the need in my veins blister.

"Why am I what?"

"Teasing me?"

"It's remarkably easy to. You're really easy Park." Tease in her voice, in the heat of her breath against my throat before she draws back, water trailing rivulets down curves, plastering hair to her skin, the lidded weight of her stare damp with the water that clings to lashes, makes her gaze darker. Heavier.

"Easy how?"

"I thought you'd be too worn out from practice. But looks like you hold out for me? For a quickie in the showers~"

"You messaged." But I gave in.

"Just say you were waiting for it. it'll make your desperation right now look... understandable." The mocking lilt to the low croon of her voice is provoking, just as slow and purposeful as the movement of her hand.

"I'm not—desperate."

"Can't seem to stop trying to fuck my hand. Got a better grip than you do on that hockey stick of yours."

"I handle my stick just fine."

A ringing laugh brushed against my shoulder, the stinging press of a kiss that's more tongue and teeth, lips not lingering, a wet trail of heat where water and the press of her lips brush over my shoulder.

"Doesn't seem like you're very good at handling anything at the moment Park." Eyes raking over me, hips jerking forward when her fingers twist, dragging out a low moan from my throat, my hand reaching out to retaliate, to grip at her, to tug her closer, to rut further into her touch but she evades pressing closer, amusement glittering in the depths of her eyes.

"How sweet—if you think you could handle me right now, looking seconds away from begging. "

As if you'll last long enough." Before she relents, no longer the torturous slow laziness her hand works over me, no longer the touch slipping away when I rut forward, bucking forward harshly into her touch, hand gripping hers to guide the pace, quick and hurried, urgent and frantic with a slither of desperation that maybe... maybe she'd be wicked enough to draw back one more time.

And when I spill into her hand, when the proof of how wrecked I feel, steps uneven, body shuddering for breaths that wrack my lungs as I straighten up, my hands grip her for purchase. Tight indents of fingertips at her hips, breath sharp as I look at her, find myself, ruined, mirrored in her eyes, see the corners of her mouth quirking up with smug satisfaction.

"See. Easy." The words blunt, rough with arousal that darkens the depths of her eyes.

That makes a different heat lick at skin, desperate to have her more wrecked but she slips away, curves dripping with water, stiff nipples pert to attention, gaze heavy but her smile coy.

"Thought this was meant to be mutual." I start, words ragged but hunger pooling in my veins with the intensity of arousal and for the want of having (Y/N) worse, to have her teetering over that same torment she's propelled me over, blinded with lust and falling apart because of her touch. Because of the honeyed words of lust she's murmured rough against my skin.

It's her turn. And it's my turn to return the pleasure doubled.

"It is. I'm just not as easy to get. Besides... you look like you need me more than I need to get off. And that'll be enough."

"Enough to what?"

The heat of her body drawing away all too soon, watching, tracking the motion of her body retreating, stepping away from the large shower, fingers gripping a towel.

"Leave you wanting more."

But before she slips away, before she ducks out of reach, my body almost jerks forward, desperate to tug her back regardless, to bruise her skin with my touch, my lips, to leave her writhing and wanting, to draw her to the edge and to leave her there.

I don't like the way the addiction seems to be all the more intense, desperate with the lust, frustrated that it's me she ruined so easily. That despite messaging first, the pleasure and release is something wielded over me, held over me.

I don't like that when she looks at me, it's with the look as if she's won something.

And I can't bear surrendering a single victory to her, even one she thinks she's gotten and one I haven't relented to her.

(Y/N) POV:

The sound of loud thuds in heavy, perfectly timed unison thumps through the walls, seems to echo and resound, fill the air entirely of the large studio. The figure skating team split off into two, both coaches leading a session each.

Each breath, each movement, each limb and each body is in perfect unison with one another, bodies jumping and twisting 90 degrees every time Coach Kim counts down from 3.

Twisting in sync in quick half-pirouetted turns, balance steady and cores engaged, the familiar ankle weights adding that laden weight so that when we'd practice and train without them on ice, we'd be swifter, sharper because we'd learnt, we'd trained to perfect our movements with them.

The warm up is centred by Jungkook, body seeming to guide the perfect cohesion half of the team works with, in this moment every skater twisting fluidly, pulses having slightly quickened by it. A familiar warmth to skin as we finish up, not a single, uneven breath slipping past anyone's lips.

"We're going to do a mixed obstacle course. It's designed for a full body workout and some stamina training."

A quiet groan swallowed down before it's heard.

The sharp focused gleam in Jungkook's eyes and the affirming nod by Coach a nail driving into a coffin.

Spartan training.

There was nothing else to call the constant go-go-go of reps, constantly one after the other, stolen breaths of reprieve between each station we all circulated around, the thumping bass seeming to grow as my shoes, alongside six others, thump in side-to-side box skips, jumping over a significant height, the muscles in my thighs and shins burning with the familiar sear of not daring to stop for a second, pushing forward past the beginnings of sweat beginning to bead on my skin, at the flush that makes my cheeks burn, following the countdown that everyone else is working with.

There's something boot-camp about these sessions, the paired skaters split off to train together, though most of the activities is about building individual strength, it all leads down to testing and practicing paired stamina and resistance. How long we could withstand one another as extensions of ourselves, weights melding together to become one unified body, a mixture of balancing exercises and training to bear one another's weight because partners supported and shouldered it as easily as their own. So my weight was Jungkook's to support and his was mine. Though that comes easier, relatively so after the Spartan course to easily accept my partner as me, having been tethered together for the near entirety of our whole lives—there's not been a single instant where one of us has even for the tiniest fraction of an instant doubted the trust we wholly put into one another.

So when he steps forward, flushed and sweating but eyes bright with enthusiasm and giddiness, with a lazy grin as he steps forward, a fluid twist of a movement before he's lifting me up, twisting me overhead to steady me between two hands, my stomach pressed to his touch—I know without a moment's doubt he'll balance me as long as I trust him. Core engaged and legs delicate strong lines, arms lifted above my head. Every single bit of the balance comes down to that one point where Jungkook's hands hold me, lift me.

But this... this comes as easy as breathing.

So does the timed endurance as Coach Kim walks around, making small, minor adjustments to stances, to the lifts of the other paired skaters. And when he calls out for time, the next move we transition into is just as practiced. Measured.

Hours and days and weeks and months and years go into maintaining trust, in maintaining the balance between two bodies.

There's years of constant practice because mastering it once isn't enough. A skill, a lift, a move can't be mastered and then forgotten, then cast aside. Constantly practiced and reinforced until it's muscle memory. And even then... even then keep practicing. Coach's voice echoes into the space as well as my ears, filling out as he examines all of us, the move a twisted loop of my body before it's cradled by Jungkook.

The amused grin as he tilts his head up to me, the angle of his head indicating how utterly at ease he is.

Hands cradling me to him, head angled down to look at him, grinning back,

"So—how's life?" he starts conversationally, words drawled out with amusement colour his voice.

"At the moment it's going... it's going." I laugh, hands adjusting their grip at his shoulders briefly before his hands drift from the back of my thighs to the low of my back, the movement and placing indicating that he's going to support my body as I tilt back in an arch.

"3...2...1." Body tilting back in a deep arch, tilting away from him, eye contact broken but his hands remain firm and steady even as the world turns itself upside down, eyes catching similar poses and stances being taken by the other skating pairs, watching them with curious contemplation.

The type of lifts and moves spoke in masses about the genre and style and confidence of each pair, of their trust in one another.

My willingness to bend over backwards, my entire weight balanced by his hands and to know on ice it'd be the same pose but as he moves, as we skate—I put my entire trust into him. I put my body into his hands.

There's no one I'd ever trust like that.

His voice still carries, breaths even and regular—entirely unaffected by the moves we're working with.

"Just going? Sounds like you're not being pushed enough."

"No, no I didn't say that!" protest quick to my lips, laughing when with a firm tug he draws me back upright again, legs locking around his waist, hands free to briefly brush over sweat-damp hair and push it away from his face.

"No?"

"No! You won't let me have one moment of being still."

"Nope! If you've got time to be still—then we're clearly not doing enough. Movies? Afterwards?"

"Oh Koo~ wanted to take me out? All you had to do was say." I lilt playfully. Jolting at the hard pinch to my thigh that makes me yelp, jerking forward towards him.

"I can take Hobi hyung." he threatens.

"Abandoning me for a captain? Is it cos my rank isn't enough?" feigned dramatics in my voice, a rumbled laugh I feel press into my skin and sink in with how closely we're pressed together, bodies entirely flush.

"Hmm... your rank might be low enough that I'll get Captain hyung to buy dinner."

"Ooh! That place that does the sharing platters!"

"Sounds like you'd abandon me so quick for food if it came from hyung's wallet."

Unrepentant as my heel digs into the low of his back, a hissed bite of my name.

"Like you haven't done that before."

"A man has to look after his stomach and his own."

"I am your own!"

[......]

"You'll have to train with us! We do choreo practice too you know? I am a dancer!"

"Weren't we too loud? I thought your coach would've given up on us by now and loaning out two of the largest dance studios for us to do workouts in."

"Nah our coaches love noise. That's the sound of a well-oiled machine. A team that trains together, stays together."

"That should be a slogan." I enthuse.

Kook grins, nudging me in the side, the three of us falling into a slow, easy pace.

"Guess that makes us a great team."

"Are you speaking as a captain or as a duo cos I think you're a tiny bit biased Jungkook-ah~" Hobi teases but the heart-shaped grin stretching across his face and the glittering fondness in his eyes as he ruffles his hair is unmistakeable. Proud of him.

"Both. I'm allowed to be biased—you love your team just as much!"

"I do... even if it empties my wallet on occasional team dinners."

"Now hear that JK? Empty out your wallet willingly!"

"Nothing tastes better than free food!" he retorts, a light shove as I make move to tug at his jacket, fingers caught easily before they can delve for his pocket.

"...want me to buy dinner?"

And the conspirator grin Kook shares with me is pleased and smug and utterly delighted that the way we wanted it to play it out, it does.

"A man has to look after his stomach and his own."

He's doing both.

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

"Sometimes I feel like I get in the way of the eye-fucking." Kook grumbles, voice low and taut with effort as he continues to lift weights, a look of tight focus on his face, etched hard into his jaw and the narrow press of his lips.

Eyes catching mine in the large wall mirror opposite him, brows raised slightly as his gaze flits briefly to the side and past me, from where he'd caught the fleeting stare in the first place.

"You could never. Consider it foreplay." I laugh, adjusting my stance to mimic Kook's posture, to steady my weight evenly across both feet, the belt wrapped tight around my waist, securely tugged into place by said muscle bunny himself—the muscles in his chest seeming all the more prominent as he lifts. Strained focus scoured into his features, even as his gaze flits to me, scowled disgust flashing over his expression.

"I don't need to be part of whatever this is. It's almost as bad as seeing you in clubs except this time I know how much you hate Park's guts and how much you want him in your guts. It's too--" The words low, laced with the roughness of his breaths as he continues to regulate his breathing, slowly drawing the weight up, posture straightening up to full height, steady, though he trails off with a shudder. Eyes dark and flashing.

I don't turn, I don't acknowledge the fact that all it'd take is the slipping of my eyes away from Kook and towards the intense dark ones I've felt flit over, the ones I've already glanced back and been caught by, a glimmer of a smirk flashed briefly across full lips before Park's gaze drifts.

I don't turn to confront what I can sense.

I don't admit to the words Kook mutters, words low under his breath. Slowly lowering the weight back down again, sweat gleaming on his skin, beading against his forehead, as his brows rise.

"But what else does a wingman do? I play the flirty stranger to chase off advances at the bar when you're not interested. To drag you home with me instead." I lilt, continuing to lift the dumbbell, laughing softly when Jungkook moves to round me from behind, hand at the low of my back, pressing against the belt.

"Deep breaths, try going lower in your squats as you go down."

"To get a good look at my ass?"

A snort of laughter brushes against my nape.

"And deny Park that right?" he teases, eyes flitting over to hold mine in the mirror, taking a step back to watch my posture.

"You would." I say.

"I would." He agrees readily.

"You'd love that." Kook adds with a grin, mischief glittering in his eyes.

"I would." I nod, sinking down carefully into a squat, the weight balanced carefully between my hands, steady footing before I straighten up from the squat again.

"Do you want me to?" he adds, breaths sharp and slightly uneven but his gaze is earnest and focused, still sharply aware and focused on spotting me, though the tone of mischief doesn't melt from his voice.

"Maybe just make it harder for him."

A grimace, a twitch to his lips.

"I don't think you need my help with that but sure."

Stepping slightly angled, his main focus still remaining on seeing me through the rest of my reps, steadily increasing the duration I stay in each squat, regulating my breaths by counting them through with me. The low constancy of his voice murmured encouragement, almost immediately handing over his bottle of water, his breaths evened out now.

"Weights feel balanced?"

I hum in response, breathing slightly laboured but regulated, a hand at my back signalling me to stop before Jungkook switches out the dumbbells, setting a heavier one down between my legs, gaze entirely unbothered.

"We're starting up lifts training again, you'll need the extra muscle mass."

"I'm not the one lifting you."

I couldn't if I tried—his entire form, every limb, every sinew of him pure strength. The lifts he could do, the lifts we were planning this season... would put us in an entirely different level.

A ripple of laughter, low and amused, grin widening as he shakes his head at me.

"You're not. But more muscles—"

"Make for better form, make for better strength in each movement." I parrot back, having heard it countless times, having heard it every single time I was wavering or close to tapping out for the session, that nudge, that image of attaining perfection in our moves, in our execution of our routine... he knew exactly how to make me go harder. That nudge to just... keep going.

I know as a partner, as a member of the figure skating team I appreciated it, it cemented his captainship in unwavering encouragement and dangling, reachable goals that any one of us could grasp. I know as a skater I valued it, that nudge, that drive.

I know my body hates him for it on days when sessions and training was long and the stiffness in my muscles wasn't quite eased away, too drained to do more than a quick shower rather than soak into heat and bath salts to scour away the fatigue. That consequentially come back to bite me in the ass the next day, next to a guy with a shit-eating grin and none of that weariness.

Right now I don't know whether I'm feeling appreciation, or the beginnings of tomorrow's exhaustion given that this is just midway of the full body training program he's working us both through. Adjusted variations, still the same intensity.

"Deepen each squat and hold. Spread your legs a bit more. Widen the angle of your thighs." He instructs, words brisk and attentive, eyes fixed on my form.

A thunk of something suddenly being dropped, hard and heavy against the ground, picked out from the quiet din of the gym.

A brief glance at the mirror, past Jungkook's form makes my lips twitch. Curl upwards into a grin.

Catching the heat flash viscerally in Jimin's eyes, his gaze fixed just as focused on my form, gaze skimming down the line of my spine to linger at my hips, to fix on the sight of me lowering into a squat, following Jungkook's instructions.

Eyes still examining Jimin when I speak.

"I know we've talked about your dom tendencies Kook-ah but there's a time and place to try get me underneath you."

A smirk toying at my lips, threatening to grow wider at the tightness in Jimin's posture, in the way even if he doesn't say, his body reacts regardless. A stiffness, a hunger in the way his gaze burns heat through my clothes, still trained sharply on me.

So entirely unfazed and used to me, it doesn't deign a reaction out of Jungkook.

"Follow the instructions (Y/N). If it doesn't make you ache then you've not done it right."

"That's what he said."

"That's what she said."

He mimics with a deadpan expression that melts into one of laughter, sparked amusement in his eyes as we laugh, speaking at the same time as me. So attuned, so aware of nearly every word that comes out of my mouth, nearly beating me to the punchline.

Rolling his eyes when I set the dumbbell down, straightening up at the end of the final set of reps, skin feeling hot, fingers trailing playfully up his arm.

"Going to make me ache Koo?" batting my lashes at him, the sweet lilt of words melting into a shriek when he grabs at me, sudden and abrupt. Yanking me to him to lift me up, laughing when my hand darts out to grip at his shoulder, even as my body flops easily in his arms. Not for a moment doubting him.

But this time... this time when I catch Jimin's eyes, past Jungkook's shoulder, there's a tense, dark appraisal in his eyes. Brows lifting when he catches my gaze, head angled. Almost scrutinising, the weight of his stare scouring. Something about the sight of him sweaty and flushed from his own workout paired with the dark lust in his eyes, there's a flash of heat that sears through me.

Amused and smug at having riled the reaction out of him.

Turned on by the sight of him. Because something about the way he looks, breaths uneven and gaze heavy, stiff stance and yet the desire's so easily read in his eyes.

Dammit Park.

This is too much of a two-way street.

[......]

"Like giving a show?" the words sharp, rough against skin, fingers impatiently dragging my shirt up and off, the touch of his hands skimming across already flushed, overheated skin sparking where his touch burns.

"Not as much as you might've enjoyed watching it." head tilted back, fingers fumbling for the lock, the impatience of his hands makes a heady warmth pool low in my gut, body crowding against mine, pushed against the door. The wood hard and cool against heated skin.

"Except I wasn't the only one it was for was I?" body pressing harder against me, the full unhindered intensity of his glower making his eyes darker.

"Sounds awfully like you're jealous Park." My breath wavers, head tilting back at the press of lips against my pulse, a sting of pain-pleasure where his teeth sink harsh and sudden, a throbbing pulse of heat where his mouth leaves its claim behind.

"You wish." The words guttural against my skin, laced with arousal.

"Quite the opposite. I don't have time to balance your fragile ego and your just about standard dick game." I taunt, feel his lips still against my skin. Feel him draw back.

"Just about standard?" incredulous, voice pitched with surprise.

"It's not doing wonders." The words rolling off my tongue.

"It's not—" he echoes.

"Really Park? Are you my echo or is your vocabulary limited to solely what I say?" amusement laces my words, head tilting to peer into the glowering depths of his eyes.

Sneering lips and eyes flashing with an unimpressed hard stare as his lips thin, words swallowed down.

"They do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so I guess that makes sense." I muse.

"Don't flatter yourself doll. The day anyone imitates you is the day—"

"A day that comes daily when you're with a good team. Not much of a team player? Or not much of a team? Just boys messing about on the ice?" the grip of his hand at my jaw is rough and tight, forcing my head back into an arch, the scraped press of teeth and tongue against my skin lathing deep bruising claims into the tilted line of my throat.

His voice low, lips brushing against my skin, the press of his teeth almost warning, daring me to continue, fingers keeping their grip hard, body slotted firm against my own.

Hips rocking forward in a harsh grind, slow against my own.

"I don't play or fuck like a boy..."

"Yet all you're doing is playing games."

The thumb at my jaw brushes against my skin, slow and leisurely, his other hand at odds with its impatient, harried movements, fingers slipping underneath my waistband to tug down the fabric impatiently, barely a moment's breath or space between our bodies—pressing closer the moment we're both bare.

"I was playing the games? I was the one trying to get a reaction out of you at the gym?" words laced with an undertone of a rough bite to his words, a sharp edge that drags the depth of his voice into an even lower, raspier depth.

"I was training, if you couldn't stop looking that's your problem."

"Training to—" catching the edge to my voice, the way my words trail off, an insinuation hanging between us.

"See how quick you'd unravel. But given that you're still not in me, I don't think you're all for that speed you boasted so much about." Words and breath stolen from my lungs when his hand abruptly loosens from my jaw, yet the phantom press of his fingertips don't, his hands dragging down my sides to hook my legs around him, hands against my thighs careless, rough. Their grip tight, unyielding.

The first grinding rut of his hips when he sheathes himself in me is slow, measured... near taunting with the control that seems to slip between my fingers, hands finding purchase in the taut muscle of his shoulder and the sweat-darkened blonde strands of his hair instead. The first thrust is slow, painfully intense in the way it makes my breath ache in my lungs, feeling every sensation so thoroughly, the indented grip of his fingertips, the press of muscles caging me harder. The second thrust is a hard, rough snap of his hips, length burying deep, sheathed to the hilt with a suddenness and intensity that wrenches a moan past my lips, that makes my fingers sink hard into the muscular breadth of his shoulder, makes my fingers tug hard—a broken hiss exhaled against my skin, hands clasping tighter in retaliation.

"Funny... something I remember about my speed—is you couldn't keep up."

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

"It's double booked." A voice calls out from behind me, low and level and when I turn to it, the glower on my face melts a bit. Recedes.

Recognising the hockey captain.

"Double booked for how long?"

"The next four hours at least. And I don't think the ice will be in good enough condition for you to do a late night practice, we're a rough bunch of guys." An apologetic quirk to his lips, rubbing the back of his head ruefully.

It's then I take in the padding he's got on over his clothes, the hockey stick clutched loosely in his hold.

"Ah... group booking." Wincing at the thought of how ruined the ice rink will be afterwards.

"We've got university matches coming up."

I nod, turning away from the rink, dejected, mind resolving to try grab one of the smaller rinks to practice individual turns on instead.

"We've got our own skills assessments coming." Words sighed under my breath, bending down to slip the skating guards back on over the blades, half crouched to undo the laces and clamber out of my skates entirely.

"Sorry—I did check with Coach Choi, and he never mentioned that the rinks might be in demand more..." a contriteness to his words, a genuineness that makes me pause as I move to turn away, the sharpness of his eyes gentler. Voice void of the sneer and rough goading taunt that the other hockey players seem to be instilled with.

I can't help the soft disbelieving scoff at the back of my throat. Read the tenseness in his posture, shoulders set more firmly.

"No offence Namjoon but I don't think Coach Choi has our best interests at heart wouldn't you agree?" moving to brush past, surrendering the large rink for today's practice, deigning to settle for the other rinks... maybe I could call Kook and we could get some practice in the harnesses and—

"A Coach wants best for his team."

"Right, right. Except my Coach isn't petty enough to try sabotage booking space for it. She's got decency."

[......]

Coach Choi is an asshole.

But he isn't a match for Coach Seo who upturns the whole booking schedule to reallocate fair timings and openings for the rink for both teams to have access to.

Then... then it's a racing game.

And Park might've flaunted his speed on the ice, but it isn't quite the same as snagging the prime booking slots before he can, the prime time of early Monday morning and late Friday afternoon when the ice has been reset and ready for the beginning of the week and weekend. When it's pristine and untouched, unmarred by the brutal gashes the hockey players leave the rink with.

The pristine ice... that's my time now.

And what better time than on a clean slate, cleared rink to begin practicing choreographed skills again?

[......]

The end of a shared training session leaves gashes in the ice that I can't entirely blame the hockey team for, the practice hockey stick I'd been given clutched tightly in my hand, gripping at it harder, refusing to relinquish its hold immediately when Jimin reaches back for it. Eyes narrowing slightly at the standoff, hand tugging at the stick to draw it out of my grip.

Fighting the urge to shove the hockey stick and the puck right up his ass—

"Let go~ don't be a sore loser. We're not doing any more rematches. Though calling them that is an insult." Words coy and honeyed with laughter, eyes sparked with amusement. That damn smirk on his damn mouth so infuriating to look at, to see it curl wider across his face, pearly teeth gleaming with mirth.

"You can't pull a play I don't know."

"Can't I? Isn't this all meant to be a learning experience doll? You can't learn if I don't show you—"

"What learning happened in the time you were just whacking the stick out of my hand and stealing the puck?"

"You learnt to have a better grip. Although even a loser has to admit when the game's over." Hand wrenching the hockey stick out of my grasp, laughing at the scowled displeasure on my face.

"I didn't know hockey players were dirty cheats."

"I didn't know skaters were miserable losers."

[......]

"What's the hype about?" I ask, stomping back onto the ice, skates pushing forward to half-skate, half-charge across towards the centre of the rink, the obstacles beginning to cover the ice a cluster of mess that just rankles me further. That adds to the annoyance that'd been stewing away after the practice session. That hadn't quite let me unwind afterwards. Furious as I tugged my skates back on, stomping down the steps and onto the ice.

"What?" Jimin turns, confused as he looks at me.

"What's the hype about? Ice hockey is such a..." I trail off uncertainly, not sure how to word it, not sure what name to give to a game that's so celebrated by their coach, that brings in the masses in a way similar to football or rugby does. It's different to sports that celebrate and showcase individual talent. It's different from figure skating—worlds apart from it even though both happen on ice.

"Such a..." eyes narrowed with scrutiny.

My hands raised in mock surrender, a laugh welling up at the sight of sharp-eyed examination directed at me as Jimin comes to a still. No longer weaving around setting up obstacles and getting the goals out and set into place.

"It's... busy." It's a clustered sport, it's countless of players all rushing around one small puck.

"What?"

"Like the people who come to watch ice hockey...they all sit around cheering for you to beat a piece of plastic around the ice with wooden sticks."

"First of all it's made of rubber. Second we don't beat it around, it's about scoring goals, it's about teamwork, it's about control and speed and skill—why do you even care?"

"I don't." the nonchalant bluntness makes his brows rise, staring unimpressed at me.

I shrug at him.

"You don't care about figure skating, I can't even begin to pretend to care about a sport that has such assholes on the team."

"We're not assholes."

"Park your whole team is a bunch of assholes whose egos are too fragile that it needs to be soothed by roughing it out on the ice with a stick. You're assholes because you can't see any other ice sport as one worth the time to even know about it." The words are driven by the sneering attitudes, the amusement and disdain and dismissiveness that every hockey player seems to be made of.

"Ice hockey isn't about male ego... it's about being part of a team! It's about being part of something bigger than just yourself ice princess." Words vehement and protesting, eyes flaring with an impassioned fire and rejection of the perception I see his sport as.

"It doesn't seem like that. It seems a lot like your team is full of players too full of shit and too much leeway to run their mouths at others." Whatever curiosity might've gnawed at me disintegrates in the face of the clash of his words against mine, of his insistence to remain so utterly blind and lost in the world that revolved around his position as the star player.

"Our Captain keeps his team in check. Can't say that for yours with how you all stormed off to throw a tantrum together. Great teamwork there." The words sneered, feigned approval in the slow drawl of his words, pushing back because he can't see his team for what they are.

"My Captain knows his worth, knows his team's worth."

"And yet none of you are worth all this trouble our team goes through trying to teach you drills."

"There's a difference in teaching and being condescending bastards!"

"We're the condescending ones? Have you ever seen how snobby you guys look when you act like we're bumbling fools for not being able to do a party trick? You can skate on the ice and you're trained to occasionally do a jump here and there. So can show animals."

"That's why we can't any of you seriously. Because if you still think it's about doing party tricks then you've had your eyes closed this entire time."

"Yours are never open during our sessions."

"If you get the stick out your ass for once then you'd listen to figure why I'm here."

"Not to piss me off?" though now that the fuse has been lit under my skin, now that he's become a lit match to fuel, the flames and anger and frustration drags me into their scorch, desperate to burn me whole in them. And at this point I'm so sure that sparks are flying off and if he's to push or prod then they'll catch fire too.

"Oh please pissing you off is always a win. It's not worth the effort to come back to do."

"Then why are you here? Didn't lose enough today? Came back because a sore loser doesn't know when to quit?" the goading scorn in his words a surefire way to make my body rankle, torn between whether twisting around and storming off the ice is better, if somehow I can manage to do that I can stop myself from wanting to wrangle him. But if I turn and leave then somehow, somehow I'm losing voluntarily, I'm admitting defeat by conceding to the smug attitude and the cocky quirk of his mouth.

Every word he says seems to make my skin itch and the conceited lilt to his words, that low murmured drawl as he forgoes the rest of the rink to move forward to me, body seeming broader and more imposing in the practice padding.

"You only got one thing right Park."

The self-indulgent grin deepens. Stupid Park with his stupid fuck-me smirk. Stupid stupid.

"What would that be?"

"I don't know how to quit." Body tilting close enough to teeter both of us towards that heady precipice, close enough that my fingers could reach out to draw the padded, strapped on uniform off his body.

Close enough that the heady pull that's become messy and wanton tugs... tries to draw me closer but I weave past him in a quick slip the side to brush past and weave easily past the obstacles to look back at him.

"I don't know how to quit. So how about you teach me those plays. And you do a better job at it this time."

"Reckon you could beat me now? I went easy on you before doll." Skating forward, unfaltering in his pace as he continues to set up the rest, occasionally weaving close enough to loom close, to tilt towards me in a taunt of testing restraint, testing waters that we wade deeper and deeper into—drowning in that inescapable desire that makes fucking him a poisoned lust that drives itself deeper into my system.

And the next time he veers close enough my fingers curl into the straps of his padding to tug him closer, his smooth unfaltering gliding motion stumbling, a brief falter to his skates as he balances himself.

"I thought you'd remember I don't like it easy."

[......]

Sweat pours down the sides of my face, jaw grit tight as I skate in pace to Jimin, having gotten a read of his pacing, the way his skates twist and glide, weaving in and out of the obstacles. A part of me itches to just overtake him, to weave into his way and hit the puck away from the slow, languid control he toys with it, eyes flittering over to me with a lazy smirk curled across his lips; amused by the furrowed glower as I force myself to hold back.

But a greater part of me whispers the satisfaction of sweet, sweet victory when I steal the puck from him after playing him at his own play. I can keep pace, I can stay slow and steady and fumble around as if I'm not surefooted on the ice, as if I can't tell the lazy slow game of cat and mouse he seems intent on playing.

I can see it through Park.

The frustrations of previous losses, of having stolen the puck away only for a solid brunt of force to shoulder into me, to send the puck careening away with a sudden slam of his hockey stick clashing with mine makes my skin burn, scorched hotter by the incessant need to one up him no matter what.

"Do you always play so slowly?"

"I thought I'd adjust it to your capabilities."

And I know he's trying to wind me up, know he's trying to add fuel to fire, to make me snap, to lunge forward only for him to weave circles around me. I know cos he's already done that.

"Your sense of humour is unmatched Park."

He grins at me and without the usual helmet hiding the full weight of his smirk, there's no obscuring the gleam in his eyes. The mirth glittering there. There's no hiding the slight flush on his face, the faint beads of sweat at his temple, making some strands plaster messily to his face.

"Glad you have enough sense to know—"

"Cos if your jokes are as in piss-poor taste as your teaching then I can see why you make people laugh." At you.

And bingo.

The lapse in focus mixed with the glower that twists his face paired with the brief... brief loosening of his fingers around his hockey stick, skates moving slower and—

The look on his face, surprise and bewilderment before challenge lights up his face, something akin to thrilled delight and amusement sharpens the narrowed focus of his eyes as he darts after me, a bubble of laughter welling up, triumphant and cheering as I steal away the puck, stick sending it careening it forward and skates pushing to rush after it quick, quick, quickly after the slow languid pace I'd been forcing myself to remain at.

There's a giddy infectious feeling of satisfaction that makes my body push further, weaving past the obstacles he'd set out earlier and careening for the goal, hearing Jimin right behind me, hearing the heavier motion of his skates and his hockey stick veering in and out of my peripheral makes me all the more aware, all the more sharply attuned as I twist away. A twirling motion that manages to let me slip away at the last moment, a yelled whoop torn past my lips when the puck goes sliding into the goal, when the clash of Jimin's hockey stick against mine comes too late.

Whirling around, grin stretched wide across my face.

Gross and sweating and winning.

Victory.

"How about that Park?"

"...nice trick doll."

Reluctant but admitting. My point Park.

[......]

There's no frantic tugging at clothes, there's no desperation bubbling up to tug Jimin towards me, to have him crowd my space and breath in the same way I do to him. There's a buzzing in my skin that comes from adrenaline, just as worn out and dishevelled, just as sweaty and flushed, blood singing with that rush that comes after being on the ice and wearing myself out on it.

A different rush of endorphins buzzing through my system as I draw myself off the rink, slipping on the skating guards and moving off the rink, holding onto the hockey stick, hearing the slower heavy thud of his steps behind me.

There's no sharp burning want that wells to the surface when I look at him, lazy breathless grins curled on our lips, breaths still uneven and ragged, eyes raking appreciatively over the way his shirt clings to him, near obscenely, with sweat, moulding to the broad outline of his torso and muscles. The way his skin gleams with perspiration.

There's a moment of blistering heat that echoes through me but it's easy to fight off the urge. For now. Basking in the glow of my victory even if it'd spurred on a competitive head to head race to steal the puck from one another.

A mutual unspoken understanding there as I turn around to continue walking up the stairs and away from the rink, past the lines of seats.

Splitting off at the different locker rooms. No rushing steps behind me.

But my phone buzzes as the door closes behind me, pausing in the motion of stripping off to shower.

🏒: Dorm tonight?

❄️: Gonna make me work up a sweat?

🏒: More than I just did ;)

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

It's new this... pattern. Still forming, still novel and unused to it but it slowly forms... it tries to slowly form. A pattern that's still weaving in and out of orbit and space with an unfamiliarity until the sheets become somewhat familiar, until the way they feel between fingers, feel against skin as I'm pressed to them, fucked into them. And it's not a regular nor frequent pattern, rather the newness of it makes those details burn themselves into memory. An odd night here or there where time has dwindled down to just those stolen moments, after long, long days of practice and training. It's new to not be pressed close with a feverish intensity that's heightened all the more by the knowledge that we don't have time, that it's a quick fuck before both of us split, drawing on clothes, breaths ragged and bodies satiated and the glowers satiated for the time being.

It's odd. To be in a room that's so wholly Park that a part of me locks up knowing that there's that control of it being on his turf, his space, his bed. But stepping into his space, knowing a part of me, a tiny part of me or the memory of having him on his sheets will leave a tendril of arousal and lust even after I leave his room, it leaves just a part of me feeling oh so smug about it.

It's new and odd and almost uncertainty that threatens to make me falter if it's not for the hand that yanks me closer with the same turned on desperation that I feel bubble and well up in my veins, that makes tugging at his clothes, fingers hard and wanting against muscles and sinew and body rocking to meet his, thrust for thrust.

It's a fuck that happens here or there behind closed doors that guarantee just a tiny bit more privacy.

But it's just that. It's sex with the convenience of a locked door that doesn't have the threat of being shoved open.

"Practice? Or calling your next booty call?" I ask with a satiated grin, body slumping back into the sheets for a few moments reprieve, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure jolt through my veins, skin flushed and breaths burning slightly in my lungs. A pleasurable ache between my thighs, body sprawled on sheets that I've twisted between my fingers, stretched out with a quiet groan. The idea of him fucking someone else after makes a bubble of amusement well up, breaths ragged.

Beat that.

"Just the team. Wanting to know if I'm free." the words muttered, the languid sprawl of his body beside mine, not touching, the uneven rise and fall of his chest stirring preening delight in me. I did that.

"Don't mind me." slightly breathless, allowing myself a few more moments before I push myself upright, fingers carding through rumpled hair, body slipping off the sheets to bend over to grab discarded clothes.

Hearing the low whistle behind me, giving him the finger without turning around. Unfazed as I draw my clothes back on, eyes flitting briefly to see that he's looking at me, tracking each move with a lingering intensity in dark dilated eyes.

"I wouldn't mind you at all if we have a redo." a lazy curved indulgence stretching his lips.

"I would mind."

"Got somewhere to be?"

"I think you do." watching his eyes linger on his phone screen, the incessant buzzing drawing his gaze back.

Lazy appraisal in his eyes.

"Want to fuck later?"

I shrug, drawing my top back over my head, watching his eyes sweep over the expanse of my torso, over littered marks before they're hidden from view.

"Careful Park, you're beginning to sound needy."

"That's not what it looked like a while ago."

"Needs met." an easy rebuttal to the coy heat in his words, moving towards the door, the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, brushing past to tug the door open first, a cursory sweep that makes me snort, nudging him aside.

"Guilty secret much. No-one's going to bat an eye... it's not the first time I've visited the guys' dorms."

"Oh? Who–"

"Besides if anyone asked, there's no way I fucked a hockey player." I dismiss, slipping out of his dorm room, the emptiness of the halls not a surprise for early afternoon.

A bite to his words, easily retaliating.

"Oh don't worry doll, as if I'd be caught with a skater."

"Figure skater."

"You do have a decent figure." he acquiesces with a lilted murmur as if the words are dismissive.

"Can't seem to stop leaving marks over it though." already moving to walk down the hallway, knowing that if I took the stairs up I could drop by Jungkook's room, hand already tugging my phone out of my pocket.

Moving down the hallway, barely hearing the quiet click of the door closing, hand drawing the phone to my ear, fingers smoothening over the rumpled fabric.

Impatient much Park?

"Are you free Koo?"

"Did you ever consider I might be busy? And that'd be the question to ask."

"Are you busy Koo?" playing along.

"Nope I'm free." the chirped words making my lips twitch.

"Want to do something?"

I can hear the sounds of rustling and movement in the background, the familiar clack of fingers typing.

"I can set up a Marvel film." knowing full well already that he has. Also having a very good hunch of what film it'll be.

"I'll take a detour and grab snacks."

"Make it–"

"Carby."

[......]

It's late.

Late but I'm still awake, mind buzzing and restless. Far too awake for the steadily ticking clock that inches closer and closer towards pre-dawn.

I groan, twisting into my pillows, burying my face in them.

Knowing I needed to be asleep because there was an early morning run the entire team was going on but mind refusing to switch off, brain turning against me and keeping me wide awake no matter how many twists and turns I do to get comfortable, no matter how much I feign sleep with the intent that maybe I'll confuse my brain and trick it into shutting down for the remainder of the night.

It's late. And I'm awake.

It's an impulsive decision to reach for my phone to thumb at a familiar name, typing out a message. It's impulsive but a part of me hadn't quite been expecting a reply to buzz back a few minutes later.

❄️: Awake?

🏒: So this is what a late night booty call looks like.

❄️: You in or not?

🏒: Won't say no to being in you ;)

❄️: I'll be there in 20.

🏒: Make it 15 or I'll get started without you.

Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe I shouldn't have. The dorms quiet, steps noiseless and so well practiced at sneaking in and out of the male dorms at questionable hours.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Thumb lingering on the message before sending. The quiet sound of the door being tugged open, a dim glow of light barely filtering out, half-shadowed grin that's amused, fingers that curl around my wrist and tug me in without preamble.

"Couldn't resist?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"All I'm hearing is you want me to tire you out." grin lit by the dim glow of lights, eyes easily adjusting to the darker room as he locks the door behind him. Body turning to face him, watching the lazy sprawl of him leaning against the shut door, gaze lingering at the sight of him shirtless. Gaze drinking in the swell of muscles at his biceps, the muscled breadth of his shoulders and the toned definition of his pecs and abdomen, the low slung sweatpants riding low on his hips.

Maybe I'd never had time to focus or commit the detail to memory, but my gaze lingers unwillingly at the sharp v of his hips that trail down underneath the fabric of grey sweats, mouth drying at the outline of his bulge, slightly more prominent.

Eyes wrenching away with a prickling feeling of being caught out when his hand drags low to briefly cup his bulge, unveiled delight and sharp sharp interest in dark eyes when I tilt my head up.

"See something you like?"

"Maybe."

"Not sure?"

"I don't think I got a good look."

"Oh? What's stopping you?"

"Clothes are in the way."

"You're smart enough to know that could easily be solved."

A flash of heat that wells at the soft, hushed murmur of his voice laced with thinly veiled tease as he looks at me, waiting, expectant and unrushed. But that lack of urgency in his posture, in his eyes only threatens to stir its intensity in my own movements, body moving forward, crossing the small distance to reach out to touch.

The same feverish trail of hands mapping out his body under my touch, that heat briefly quelled by the satisfaction of feeling him react to my touch, the sharp intake of breath when my fingers skim down the line of his abdomen to toy with the waistband of his sweats. Feeling the fabric snap back against skin, the brush of a finger briefly delving under fabric.

"I doubt you messaged because you wanted to toy around." voice grit tight as if he's already struggling, fingers curling tight where his hands ball up tight on either side of his legs.

"Far from it. I just need—"

"Finally admitting it huh." A breathless laugh laced into the words and as I draw my hands up, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats and boxers, dragging both down, I'm confronted with the full weight of his stare, looking down at me, dark lidded gaze expectant, the sharp bob of his throat pronounced.

"I've never denied I have needs."

"Sure but it's always want, want, want with you ice princess isn't it? Always so demanding and now look at you. So eager to get fucked that you're on your knees for it."

"I would be careful Park. I don't need you kneeling to be the one in control of how this night ends." Fingers curling loosely around him, working him to full hardness, feeling the way he stiffens under my touch, rocking forward into the slow brush of my palm that steadily quickens until my lips are sinking around him, wet heat around his tip, arousal and slick heat smeared over his length as I lower my mouth around him to draw him deep.

It's practiced ease to know how to have him bucking up, rocking into my mouth with abandon feverish want, it's easy to know just how to rile him and draw him to the edge, fingers working over his length to work him deeper, throat constricting around him as I swallow. Fingers darting out for purchase to entangle in my hair, tightening their grip to tug me forward, to try draw me deeper, head tilting up to peer at him. Hear the harshness of his breath as he groans, sheaths himself deeper into my lax mouth, briefly... briefly surrendering the idea of control being grasped between tight fingers, hand gripping tightly at his thigh, nails pressing hard to the thick muscles there.

It's a deeply satisfying feeling to know I know just how to make him desperate.

Tongue curling around him, moan reverberating around him as his fingers tug harder, the biting sting of pleasure-pain makes my eyes flutter, doesn't shatter the eye contact but clouds it with the heavier, growing feeling of lust that begins to settle, heady and heavy in my core.

Fingers unconsciously drifting down, hips rocking low against nothing, the urge for my thighs to close around something dissatisfactory, even worse is the feeling of his hand loosening from my hair only to grip my jaw tightly, the pressure of his fingers pressing hard.

The rough warning on his tongue dangerous and daring.

"Don't you fucking dare. You came over for me to get you off. So it'll be me making you feel good."

In retaliation my teeth scrape just against him, a brief ghost of pressure, swallowing hard around him and hearing him hiss, vitriol in the roughness as he tugs me off him, hands impatient as he tugs me upright only to drag me back, hands drawing off clothes, discarding them, body moving closer and closer to mine until I'm compelled to move back, crowded by his body, by the angry heat off him radiating in strong waves.

A rough shoved motion that sends me stumbling back, back hitting the sheets, scrambling up on them, hand looping around my ankle to yank me back towards the edge. Something so intensely scouring in his eyes, something so darkly hungering as his body looms over mine, looking down at me, fingers tightening their hold on my ankle, dragging upwards before he sinks down onto his knees. Hands rough and impatient as he nudges my thighs apart, hands hurried to draw off every layer before they're just as impatient, fingers gripping tight, indented hold as he pins my legs open.

There's a tendril of heat that winds its noose around me, swallowing hard as I push myself upright, balancing myself on my forearms, fixated on the dizzying sight of him kneeling between my legs, mouth inching up towards the apex of my thigh, eyes fluttering with every bitten kiss he marks my skin with, trailing up towards my core, feeling myself clench around nothing. Thighs pinned open and kept there, hands tightening in warning when they feel that reflexive urge, legs trying to close.

"But guess you were desperate."

"I didn't come for you to run your mouth Park..."

"Not even if it's to use on you?" words goading, breath fanning across skin, lips hovering so close, fingers tightening their grip, a carnal want sitting heavy in the darkened pools of his eyes.

"Then get a move on." I hiss out, body unconsciously coiling up with anticipation though the first brush of his lips against my core makes a jolt run through my veins, a low laugh reverberating against me, the slow brushing tease of his tongue flicking against me before his teeth pinch, taking my nub between them, a harsh suck that sends my back arching harsh off the sheets. Fingers gripping tightly at them as a cry's torn past my mouth.

There's no preamble, no build up to the influx of pleasure my body's wracked with, breaths caught in my throat and every snide remark swallowed down, disintegrating into desperate moans that spill from my lips, hips rocking up to chase the rough twist and thrust of his tongue tugging pleasure out of me, spilling to stain his lips and tongue with it.

"Always so impatient. Always so bratty." He groans the words against me, the low cadence of his voice sinking into skin, one hand loosening its grip only to trail fingers up towards the crease of my thigh, to thumb messy circles against my nub.

"Don't pretend like I don't turn you on. That you don't want me to just roll over for you."

"I don't. That mouth of yours—"

"Does a better job than yours."

The sharp scrape of his teeth elicits a stinging pleasure that makes me cry out, mind going blank at the sensation, at the hot pinpricks of heat that burns my skin, eyes clenching shut at the feeling.

"Don't be so sure."

The curl and twisting thrusts of his tongue makes my hips cant forward, chasing the pleasure, feeling it tighten around my gut, splintering across skin and pushed over to a peak relentlessly, groan muffled against me as he buries his tongue further. Refuses to relent even as my hand darts out to grip his hair, to push at him, legs trembling as my back arches, twisting on the sheets. There's a smirk curled against his mouth, wicked delight that makes him push, unyielding, one wave of pleasure not getting to ebb before a stronger wave begins to crest, hands clamping down on my thighs to keep them forced open, hand fisted into his hair trying to tug him away, but he presses closer, buried between my legs.

That sense of being boneless, sinking heavy against the sheets, mind spinning at the shudders that wrack my body, breathing uneven and shaky, eyes trying to blink the haze out of them, feeling the pressure of his mouth ease away only to dip to suck a harsh violent mark against the inside of my thigh, so close to my core that it makes my legs tremble.

Body feeling so tightly strung and wound up even as I slowly come down from that high, fingers slowly loosening from the sheets, from his hair though that pleasure, that arousal flares to life with a dull pulsing want at the sight of swollen lips, slick with my arousal staining his mouth and skin, curling into a deeply satisfied smirk.

"Good enough? I can go again if you're not quite satisfied—" lips lowering down, mouth brushing slowly against me, feeling my hips twist.

"No. Get up." Words sharp, rough on my tongue.

Brows raising in question as he draws back, thumbs brushing over the indented pressure his tight grip have left behind, satisfaction flashing in his eyes and when he stands, his hand finally... finally cups around himself, hissing with pleasure as he ruts into his touch, chasing a modicum of relief, gaze trained on me.

Slowly sinking a knee down to clamber onto the bed, to crowd against me, body inching back but for every slither of space created with each shuffle, it's erased by the press of his body leaning closer, caging mine against the sheets.

"Moving away after telling me to get closer? You're sending mixed signals."

A startled hitch of breath and then a low throaty groan when my leg bands around him, locking around the low of his thighs and twisting the two of us around, hand settled over his sternum, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat quicken, feel his body coil tight, stiffen under my touch, irises turning darker.

A low rasping laugh that tumbles against skin as I lean closer, fingers skimming down his pecs, toying with a nipple, feel it stiffen under my touch, feel his hips buck, trying to push closer to where I straddle him, the jerked thrust when my fingers drift lower, nails tracing out the tattooed letters across his rib, mouth brushing against the sharp line of his collarbone, teeth and tongue tracing skin.

"I could get used to the sight."

"Why's that?"

"Maybe there's some moments I wouldn't mind letting you top me in."

"That's almost sweet how delusional you are Park if you think this is the first time I've topped you in anything. Need to keep pace—can you?"

"Try me." A challenge, a confident gleam in his eyes, raking appreciatively down my front, a lazy hunger that brushes against my skin even without his hands touching me.

My fingers brush over the lettering, inch lower to settle over his abdomen, feeling the muscled ridges under tense under my touch as my hands skims lower, hips pushing back and finally... finally a hand darts out with impatience and need, gripping my hip tightly as his own buck up, hard arousal pressing to the inside of my thigh, slick with arousal, the touch makes my core clench, makes my thighs unconsciously press closer.

"You just lie there, I'll do the work." Words almost mocking, feeling the involuntary buck of his hips as my fingers circle around him, drawing him in line to my own body, hips slowly sinking down around him, a guttural curse sharp between bitten lips and fluttering eyes, his gaze heavy and wrecked as he slowly fills me.

"Would make for a change pillow princess."

"As if I've been given the chance to lie there and be pleasured. As if either of us have the time for something like that Park." A tremor in my thighs, belying my words with a faint unevenness, the stretch of my body accommodating to his, hand sprawling heavier on the low of his torso to balance myself, feeling a cry bubble up when I finally sit, straddled and hips flush to his, length buried in me.

This angle, this position has him feeling deeper, reaching further in me, sparks of arousal sharp and almost painful against my skin that feels stretched too tight over my limbs, body coiled up, a tenseness in the way my stomach clenches, his hand a tight clamp at my hip. An experimental grinding roll of my hips that has him rutting up, a half-thrust that punctures a moan from both of us.

There's something entirely different about the headiness of the pleasure that is given time to build and toy with, the fast-paced, quick fucks in locker rooms and shower stalls, in secluded bathrooms is different to the leisure of having a bed to press Jimin's body into, hips rocking up, drawing myself up, toying with him, watching the crumbling restraint in his expression, watching his lips clamp hard.

There's something different, a dizzying rush of pleasure, of control, mine to yield and withhold, hips slowly setting a pace, that slow drag of skin against skin, before my hips rock down, burying him into me with a quick fluid motion that steals the breath from his lungs, that turns every groaned pleasured sound uneven and raspy, hand snaking up to grip at my waist, his other reaching to trace curves, touch fleeting until it's not. Fingers ruthless, tormenting as they twist and tug one bud to stiff, swollen pleasure and then the other, the brush of his thumb against them making my body arch, hips pushing to meet each thrust for thrust.

Knowing how much of a hold I have, seeing how it utterly ruins the control and composure that he tries to hold onto. Seeing the way his jaw tightens, each breath increasingly uneven, the way his fingers flex and tighten their grip. But there's no such thing as complacency or control, there's no such thing as slow indulgence when both of us are impatient and spiralling towards a peak that we chase, the motion of my hips rougher, quicker, that slow taunting torment making my mind buzz with a mindless need for release. A tight wavering breath, the sharp twist of his fingers rolling a stiff bud between them, the scrape of his nails eliciting a keening cry before he seems to steady himself.

Hand moving to rest at the low of my back, a firm tugging pressure that has my body tilting closer, throat forcefully arched when his fingers snake into my hair, tugging hard. The pronounced arch of my throat, the sting of pain-pleasure as his grip tightens, keeps me anchored in place, gaze wrenched from holding his, but I can feel his eyes trained on me. Feel that sharp jostle of movement, feel him buried deeper as he angles his legs, bent and steadied against the bed. The next snap of his hips jostles me, the tight fisted grip of his hand makes pleasure race down my spine, painfully electric.

Driving himself deeper with the single-minded need to drive us both over to the edge, words a rough uneven murmur that wavers in the space between us.

"Or maybe you just look better taking me like this."

The two of us lost in a haze of want, hips rocking down, each thrust making my body arch, the gripped hold he has keeping my throat arched until suddenly his fingers loosen and my body slumps forward, choked sounds torn from my throat, muffled against bitten lips as my fingers grapple for purchase on skin, harsh against his torso, against the swell of his biceps, gripping at him.

Hurried urgency that makes it impossible to think of anything but the way he feels burying himself into me, spiking peaks of arousal that sends me spiralling off a peak, the curve of my back taut, body shuddering through waves, each stronger than the last, trembling with the feeling.

The room tilting, twisting as hands grasp at my waist, pushing me against sheets branded with the imprint of his body, reacclimating to the shape of my own. Drawing out, hand fisting his length, slick with my arousal, a sharp curse hissed out before his release spills over his touch, streaks the skin of my abdomen and breasts. Body shuddering as he hunches down over me, damp strands of hair falling forward.

My voice is ragged when I speak, the rise and fall of my chest rapid and uneven.

"For someone whose got a lot of complaints you sure like seeing me on your sheets."

"You've got a reputation ice princess."

[......]

A few moments. That's all I give myself before I pull myself up and off his bed, to redress and walk back to the dorms.

A few moments—that's all... just... a few... moments...

Eyes fluttering heavily, body sinking into the sheets, stretched out across them and just a few... moments...

The bed dips, body jolting out of that haze, eyes flashing open, slightly disoriented for all but a few moments before it seems to sink in where I am.

Groaning as I push myself upright, the hand shoving me back catches me off guard, sprawling against the sheets, head twisting to catch the wry twist to Jimin's lips.

A damp towel flung at me to wipe myself off, to clear the mess left on my skin and between my thighs, a soft hiss of sensitivity as the throbbing pulse in my core flares.

"I'm not doing another round." Eyes flitting towards the clock, groaning internally when I catch sight of the time, resigning myself to having little to no sleep for the remainder of the scant time I had left before I needed to be up.

"I'm not asking you to. What do you take me for?" a snorted dismissal, busy tugging his boxers back on, forgoing the sweats, already having cleaned up—when did he leave and come back?

My head tilts in lazy appraisal, towel moving to clean my torso, grimacing as I fling it back at him, watch him toss it aside.

"A lot of things... need me to start a list cos one you're needy—"

"Gods do you ever shut up?" he groans, sinking into his bed, the movement making the mattress dip and sink before it settles under him, the rustle of sheets and the low deep cadence of his voice when a foot nudges at my side.

"I'll be out your hair, let me dress." I grumble, shoving his foot aside, body lurching when I clamber forward only for a frustrated groan to sound behind me, an arm looping around me to yank me back, a bodily tug that teeters me off balance. Body tugged back, half-pressed to his chest against me before he gives me a nudged shove.

Arm still wound around me.

My body locks up at the touch, freezes under the unfamiliar banding weight that refuses to let me up. Twisting to scowl at him, words half-fumbled on my tongue at the way he just shoots me a look before settling into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. Grip loosening. But not gone.

"Park—"

"Just... don't bother."

"But—"

"Just stay. You can forget about it in the morning. I have to get up and lock the door after you if you leave. I'm too comfortable."

"You just got into bed. I need to—"

"Need, need, need... just sleep already." He mumbles, parroting the words, face turning to burrow into his pillow.

"We don't..." I hedge warily.

"You don't have any reason for needing me to stay—" I word out, the notion foreign and unfamiliar, the words just as much on the tip of my tongue.

A groaned slew of curses into his pillow, turning to glare at me, though this time there's more frustration and impatience than there is heat in his eyes.

"I don't need you to stay. It's late. We're both tired. Leave in the morning. Simple as." Words blunt and to the point, stripping down the messy nature of how I see it to leave it as it is. It's just easy. The next tug is impatient and jerks me back, sends me sprawling onto the pillow beside him, body twisting away with a huffed glare, wrenching my arm free of his hold, back to him.

Scowling into the pillows and sheets as I yank at them to draw them closer.

"Get me my shirt." I grit out, not turning to face him, half-twisting when he groans with frustration, clambering off to quickly snatch it up and toss it back at me, resettling into the sheets.

"Demanding aren't you ice princess." Words grumbled behind me.

And even with my shirt on, it still feels too... weird, too uncomfortably stiff, too much too different too soon too everything to know that he's right behind me, body shuffling away from his, tugging the pillow closer to me.

Quiet uncomfortable shuffling from both our ends, bodies distanced but the blanket stretched out, clutching to its very edge, every limb locked up with a stiff unease that makes it impossible to fall asleep now. The fuss to stay for nothing.

It's odd, a prickling stiffness that makes my spine stiffen ramrod because just behind me is Park Jimin. And the idea of sharing a bed, of staying for anything beyond fucking makes the boundaries turn solid and stiff, vivid in my mind, and yet... yet I'm still here. With no reason to be.

Far too long I lie there, every limb tense and muscles aching with the sheer force of will to stay stiffly on the far end of the bed, as far as I can possibly be so I can't feel the heat of his body, of an unfamiliar body, sharing the space with me.

"I don't bite you know." The words grumbled out, half-heatedly.

"I know from experience that's a lie." I retort without turning.

Hear a soft snuffed laugh, voice dipped lower with fatigue and sleep.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. I shouldn't know how Park is after I leave his room.

I don't care to know.

"I mean I'm not the monster under your... under my bed. I won't bite you if you actually lie down and not hang off the edge of the bed."

"I'm fine." Voice sounding loud, dissonant and disorienting, a soft click before the dim lighting is engulfed entirely, a darkness settling. Blanketing and heavy.

Suffocatingly so.

The silence that follows makes the edges of the room seem to press closer, to crowd the space of the bed so it feels like he's even closer, pressed right behind me.

The bed dips slightly with his movement and the arm that'd been slung around me returns, pressing close to me from behind, chest to my back, lips nearly... oh so close to brushing against my hair, against my nape. Ghosting heat that makes my spine stiffen all the more.

"You're really annoying you know that. Just go to sleep."

"Well now I can't. Being in your bed isn't an invite to touch me however you feel like it." I hiss, fingers curling tight into his forearm, tugging his hold away, half twisting but in the darkness of the room I can make out his silhouette and the faint shadows that the small slither of space in his curtains allows for moonlight and lighting to filter through.

I don't need to see his face to know that the curl of his mouth already infuriates me.#

"I thought inviting you to bed was exactly just that."

"Ha... ha. Keep touching me and I'll break your hand."

The touch withdraws but not without a rasped laugh, the feel of it brushing against me, an involuntary shudder as I shuffle slightly, curling inwards as I turn around.

"I need my hands."

"Learn to keep them to yourself then."

The distance between our bodies increase, enough so that the tension ebbs away from my shoulder, bleeds out of my posture, body unconsciously relaxing into the bed a bit more.

"You'll be eating your words."

He can't see the way my eyes roll, a small quirk to my mouth.

Just one night.

Get through this one night.

Lesson learnt. Don't do a booty call this late. Just stay awake in your own dorm room instead.

But whatever buzzing alertness had made my mind remain restlessly awake, it's been exhausted now, body loosening as my limbs unwind, that drowsy haze paired with the satiation from sex, mind able to slowly... slowly...

"....this was a one off." I mumble into the pillow.

"A one off."

(I SWEAR THIS CHAPTER WASN'T MEANT TO BE THIS LONG Midiiplier BUT I COULDN'T HELP IT, IT'S ALL JIMIN'S FAULT! AND THE CHAPTER KEPT GROWING AND THEN THINGS HAPPENED AND BUILIDNG TO THIS FELT VERY RIGHT SO I SIMPLY SCRIBED!! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK COS AHHHHHHHHHH THE THINGS TO COME, THE THINGS TO COME!!! SO EXCITED! CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER COS T H I N G S ARE GOING TO BE HAPPENING~)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3