JIMIN POV:

I peel myself up and off the sheets after a few minutes, heading into the adjacent bathroom to clean myself off, hear the quiet groan of contentment behind me, lips twitching at the sound. It doesn't take too long to head back, already expecting (Y/N) to be half-dressed and ready to leave... not expecting this. Clutching at a damp towel for her.

Thinly veiled amusement filtering through me as I watch her eyes flutter shut heavier and heavier, steadily staying shut for longer and longer, body a loose sprawl against the sheets, breaths light and even with the beginnings of sleep beginning to tug at her.

For someone always so riled up and fire in her words and gaze... this is different. This is a different person entirely and for a few moments it's distinctly uncomfortable to associate that fired up seething skater to the drooping figure on my bed.

Rounding the bed, a mixture of bewilderment and uncertainty flitting through me. She never stays. It makes no sense for her to.

And yet she's falling asleep. I can't just kick her out in the dead of night.

My knee's barely sunk down onto the edge of the bed, hand moving to gather up discarded clothes, to straighten out the sheets, when (Y/N) stirs slightly, eyes flashing open with a sudden jolt of awareness, alert cognizance seeming to flood her gaze as she bolts upright. That instance of alertness sinking more and more into her gaze, but she doesn't catch my hand reaching out to nudge her back, a light half-shove that has her sprawling, face twisting to catch my eyes, tossing the towel at her.

There's a scowl on her lips as she begins clearing herself up, hand dabbing at skin and even though our needs have been met, even though there's a familiar weighted contentment tugging at my every limb, I can't stop my gaze from flitting over her as if trying to remap the shape and silhouette of her body, of every line and curve to memory as if it's not been branded there through constant reinforcement and touch.

Voice sounding weary and half-mumbled, laced with the familiar drawl, brushing off the notion of finding myself lost in the sheets and her again. But with how exhausted she looks, eyes fluttering lazily and sluggish, slow blinks as she slowly seems to gather herself.

The abrupt motion of flinging the towel at me, catching me off guard, grimacing as I toss it aside, hearing the drawn out taunt in her voice, somehow not at its full intensity with how she's half-focused.

"....you're needy—" voice making me pause briefly as I round the bed.

"Gods do you ever shut up?" I groan, sinking down into bed, body stretching out languidly. Twisting briefly to get comfortable, drawing the blanket half up over me. Foot nudging at her to get her to just stop, just for a moment just to turn off for a second.

Foot shoved back, hand carding through her hair, tousled from my touch, a soft groan to herself as she grumbles.

"I'll be out your hair, let me dress." The loose sloped curve of her back, posture tilted inwards, head tilting loosely into her palm before she shakes her head to straighten up. Moving to clamber out of bed, body so visibly tired.

I only question the choice for half a second before my body moves on its own, arm looping around her waist and tugging her back, body sinking into the bed beside me.

Feel her body stiffen, mind whirring with doubt and questioning it before I shake myself free from it.

It's nothing.

She's tired. I've got a bed.

There. That's (Y/N), that glower returning in full force as she twists to shoot me a hard look, yanking her back as she moves to wrench herself upright.

This scowling, riled up expression I know. Lips twitching as I sink into the sheets, eyes fluttering shut, arm remaining loosely slung over her, feeling the stiff lock of her body under my touch, feel a bit of that tension settle in my spine.

"Park—"

"Just... don't bother." Stop just going... for one moment. Always pushing, pushing, even though she's worn out, even though I'm worn out.

"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." I groan.

"You just got into bed. I need to—" argument seeping into her voice.

"Need, need, need... just sleep already." Thinking that if I twist away to burrow into my pillows then maybe somehow it'll muffle the indignation and protest in her voice, already doubting my words and decision multiple times in the span of a few seconds as she twists.

Swears muffled against my pillow before I twist back, already so done with the frustrating conversation.

"I don't need you to stay. It's late. We're both tired. Leave in the morning. Simple as." It's not as complicated as her words are twisting it into becoming. I hadn't doubted the movement until she keeps protesting at it. See her twist away and sink down into the bed without another complaint, lips quirking at having worn her down.

But I should know better, the sheets suddenly wrenched off me, skin feeling abruptly cool, chilled by the cold air that's left to seep in, that brushes against my skin now that my body's cooled. Immediate to yank it back to cover me up too, shuffling under the sheets, gaze hard and trained on the curve of her back when she speaks.

"Get me my shirt." The quick swipe of it to toss it at her is enough to make my skin feel cool, quick to slide back underneath.

"Demanding aren't you ice princess."

The sheets and blanket rustling and shifting as she shuffles further away, the blanket stretched out, gripped on either end by the corners, bodies as physically far as possible as they can be from one another. Distaste and half-regret at having offered an easy way for both of us to get sleep.

But it's weird. It's... not normal. It's odd to have her in my bed and for no apparent reason... it is for a reason, it's because it's too late to tell her to leave. Especially when she was falling asleep.

But that sleep seems to evade both of us, the stiffness in her posture, the unnatural stillness so rigidly enforced that I just know she's awake too as the minutes stretch out long and endless.

Slips away even though the reason I'd told her to stay was because it was clear she was exhausted.

I shouldn't underestimate how stubborn though. Stiffness leeching away at sleep, frustrated until I finally move forward, the firm I'm fine dissonant, such blatant firm lies.

Resigned as I shuffle forward a bit, body inched closer, sinking into the bed and under the blanket without clinging to the very edge of it.

Arm slowly wrapping around her.

Perhaps sleep had been evading me is because I know what it feels like to have her body pressed close. I can work with familiar. That stiff awkward heightened awareness of one another is something entirely unfamiliar. Something that keeps both of us awake.

It's odd to feel her so close. But at the same time I know the outline of her body that my own doesn't press to but is near enough to recognise all the same.

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

And the crackling embers of fire that'd begun to quieten flare a bit, twisting around to face me but our bodies are shadowed in darkness, our expressions and this weird discomfort shrouded with it.

This way she can't see how awkward it makes me feel.

This way I can almost pretend it's just someone else, someone else that's stayed after a hookup. But talking... that familiar angry curl of heat that crackle between us lingers.

How can something be unfamiliar and familiar at the same time? How can it be foreign and known in the same instant?

Slowly her body loosens. And in turn that stiff discomforting tension ebbs from my own.

"....this was a one off."

"A one off."

Next time just walk her to the damn dorms if it'll mean sleeping without a stranger in your bed.

But she's not a stranger, she's just not familiar either.

­-------------------------

The obnoxious blaring of a repetitive ringtone wakes me, groaning as I burrow further into my blankets, eyelids weighed shut with how heavy and drowsy my body feels. Brain slowly stirring awake faintly even if my body refuses to wake up, curling further into the warmth, trying to will the sound out of existence.

But the sound doesn't cut off.

Pestering and annoying.

Hammering at the edges of my hearing until it worms its way into my consciousness, groaning as I twist away from it, body pressing closer to the soft warmth, fingers reflexively tightening to remain anchored to it. Burrowed into it.

Body twisting to fumble for my phone, its obnoxious ringtone dissonant to my ears. But there's something distinctly unfamiliar about it, something unrecognisable about the piercing loudness of it that it tugs at the weighted heaviness of my eyelids, forces them open in slow, sluggish blinks.

Eyes struggling to adjust to the half-shadowed room, the weak, weak trails of sunlight filtering in telling me that it was too early for an alarm to be going off, twisting roughly and freezing abruptly when my body pressed back to that soft warmth again. Mind still dazed with sleep but not enough to mistake the warmth for sheets and pillows, body re-flushed against one another.

The figure in front of me stirs, roused by the sound, fingers searching absently, and the sudden jolted jerk of her body upright sends an elbow hard into my side, groaning as I fall back, twisting away—sheets too entangled around two pairs of legs as she tries to free herself.

Sharp hissed breaths and a low rough fuck slipping past her lips.

The sound so familiar, the voice immediately distinguishable that it sends my body's system to flare awake, eyes flashing wide open.

Right.

A cold sense of ice flooding my veins, cold water dousing the sleepiness and forcing it aside as I twist back, watch her fumble for the phone, answering it.

Voice panicked and harried.

"Fuck... sorry, sorry you've been calling for so long. I fell asleep late."

The indecipherable voice on the other end of the phone.

Watching as she twists up, shoving the sheets aside, shirt ridden up and baring the long curved expanse of her legs, of her thighs as she scrabbles out of bed, almost toppling out in her haste and urgency to get out of bed.

"Can you—" voice pausing as she listens, a guilty edge to her voice.

Uneven with sleep and still groggy.

"Can you bring me some spare running clothes? There's still a few pairs in your bottom drawer."

The call ended hastily.

The sight is a punch to the gut. Stomach clenching painfully, mind still disoriented and still my eyes skim over her, throat dry with words and discomfort and awkwardness.

I asked her to stay but what do I say now that we're awake?

It can't have been long since we fell asleep in the first place.

Barely day.

Voice rough and uneven, hoarse and cracking with sleep as I twist to burrow back into my pillow, wrenching the sheets back, trying to ignore the warmth that clings to them. Determined to ignore the heat of her body that lingers in my bed.

"Didn't mean to wake you."

"Looks like you didn't mean to wake either." Voice slurred with exhaustion, eyes weighted heavily, blinking slowly as I look at her move away from the bed, quiet mutters under her breath before a knock sounds at the door.

Alarm jolting through my body, the surprise still lingering in my quickened pulse when she wrenches the door open and yanks the person on the other side of it inside.

Slightly bewildered, entirely discomforted by the sight of Jungkook standing at my door. Eyes barely flitting to me as he shoves clothes at her with exasperation.

"We have less than ten minutes (Y/N) to get to the trail."

Shirt yanked hastily off and discarded, snatched up before a glower is directed at me, body twisting to shield her from sight, glaring eyes fixed obstinately at me, unimpressed and resigned.

A shielded wall of height and muscle blocking her from sight though I've seen it all.... Shit.

My fingers tug the sheets over me, swallowing a quiet groan when she briefly flits into my line of sight, eyes raking over her sports bra and running shorts, the sight enough to make a familiar pressure tighten low in my gut. The stirrings of arousal making my skin warm.

"Next time I won't go easy on your ass." Jungkook mutters, half-shoving, half-nudging her to the door as he yanks it open, eyes scanning the clothes still discarded around the floor.

Voice calling out, a different intensity to it when it's still half-clouded with sleep and a low breathy laugh.

"Don't wank off and ruin my clothes Park. Hands off."

A disgusted retching sound as the door closes that makes my jaws tighten.

"Weren't a complainer few hours ago." I grumble, sinking back into my sheets, steadfastly willing away the faint tendrils of arousal, twisting to get comfortable again, re-sinking into sheets and pillows that cling to residue warmth, that have me rolling into them, grumbling as I straighten out the pillows, sprawling wide across my bed.

Feel that dull pulse where her elbow had jammed itself into my side, scowling into my pillows.

"Never again."

And just as abruptly as the night had twisted on its axis, just as abruptly had the words, the offer slipped past my lips, just as abruptly it all fades. No remnant or proof that it'd existed.

And that was more than fine.

Ignoring the fact that her clothes still scattered my bedroom floor, spoils of a night that'd been... different.

Odd different.

Weird different.

Never to be repeated again different.

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

"You had a girl in here?" surprised as he walks in, watching me shove the clothes aside, an unsettling prickling heat at the back of my neck. The door swinging open, the electronic lock beeping a very short heads-up before Tae steps into my room.

"Why are you so surprised? It's not like you've not ever brought anyone back."

"You have a problem sharing bed space!"

"I do not!"

"First Joon hyung won't let me hug him or hold his hand when we all bunk over at Yoongi hyung's and then you! Picking up that nasty habit from him." grumbling as he ambles in, swiping up a pillow from the bed before staring hard and assessing at the sheets.

"They're changed!"

"It's not nasty..." Joon protests.

"Don't you like me hyung?"

"Of course I like you Tae! I run hot and having someone close doesn't sound all that great." Grimacing at the thought, lingering at the threshold to my door room. A curious glint in his eyes, briefly flitting around before examining me instead.

I snort.

"Charming. This might be why you have issues getting a partner."

"I know what I want. I don't find the point in beating around the bush, playing games if neither of us really match. Or click."

"Awww don't worry hyung you'll find the one you want to cuddle with. Then you'll know~" Tae lilts, voice a low coo, entirely having moved past the disappointment of being cuddle-less in bed. Staring at the bed for a few beats longer before flopping onto it, starfishing across with his hands curled around a pillow.

My foot nudges at his side, a half flailed wiggle before he sprawls wider.

"Don't you have laps to swim?"

"Don't you have cardio? And I don't mean the fun sexy kind of workout cardio."

The snort that tumbles past Joon's lips is amused, brows raised as his mouth quirks despite himself. Grinning wryly.

"So who's the unfortunate girl?"

"Why would she be unfortunate?" I protest, scowling at him, watching the dimpled indents deepen as he shrugs his shoulders, moving to sink down on the edge of the bed.

Head tilting towards the hastily shoved pile of her clothes, a stinging sense of heat flaring under my skin at the thought of how bad it'd be if he knew who it was.

"She didn't even stay long enough for her own clothes? Must've scared her out of bed."

Tae laughs, the sound slightly muffled against the sheets, grinning as he twists to peer up at me.

"Mystery girl ran off commando down the hallways? Nah... someone would've seen that."

"Unless she left early." I grumble under my breath, the words caught and thrilled delight sparking to mirthful life in Tae's eyes.

"Did you hear that Joonie hyung?"

"Hear what?" I brush off.

"Did you?"

"Sound disappointed dare I say~ what did you do to make her run out without her clothes?"

"Unless she left in his... should be pride then isn't it?" Tae muses, the two of them sharing mischievous, playful glances. Eyes glinting with tease.

"Cut it out." I grit out, body locking up with a defensiveness, a prickling sense of unease, swallowing down any truth that might slip past my lips without realising.

Because talking to them it's just so easy that it could slip out unbidden.

"Who's the girl?"

"No-one." The retort blunt.

"Answered too quickly. Who's the girl Jiminie~ who's the girl that you've been having—" Tae teases, a playful lilt to his voice as he straightens up, twisting to prop himself up on an elbow, eyes dancing with mischief.

There's a thin line between fuck and hate.

But Joon doesn't know that it's (Y/N). Neither does Tae by name or by face but Joon's too astute, too sharp and intelligent for his—for my own good and he'd piece it together far too quickly. And Tae doesn't know it's an ongoing thing, that I haven't been able to fuck her out of my system. That the casual fucking is with a person I can't stand otherwise.

"No-one! Just no-one. Just a fuck. Since when were you so nosy Tae?"

"I've always been up in your business." He shrugs.

"Yeah well... it's just a casual thing here and there. Not enough to—"

"...to get her name. Please tell me you didn't invite a stranger to bed." Joon looks half-despaired, half-bewildered by the prospect.

"I know her name." I shrug.

There's resignation in Joon's eyes, lips quirking slightly before he shakes his head.

"I don't care. Are you coming for lunch?"

"Feeding me before making me sweat it all off seems like a twisted form of torture Cap'."

"Going to treat me to lunch too hyung?"

"You owe me lunch after that bet, Jimin didn't throw up until he got off the rink and into a toilet stall."

"Hyung!"

"But hyung that was Yoongi hyung and me who lost... so we lose together! Whatever happened to teamwork!"

A rough snort as Joon swats at the foot poking, prodding at his side.

"Guess it goes out the window with two dongsaengs threatening to drain me dry when I fill their stomachs."

"Comes with the job description."

"You don't even play ice hockey!"

"Am I not on your team? Is that what you're saying? You're throwing me aside?"

"What? No! Tae you drama queen!"

A twist as he burrows back into my sheets. Entirely at home.

"Just say you don't love me and go!"

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

"Are you coming to grab food?"

"Nah I'm going to practice some more—"

"And then Lee wonders why he can't beat you off the team? You could wipe his ass clean off the ice in your sleep." Jackson grins, shoulder nudging against my side as he skates past slowly, looking just as ruddy and flushed and sweaty as the others, helmets clutched in hands as one by one, they all filter off the rink, clambering off. Large divots in the rink where hockey sticks had careened into the pucks, taking with it chunks of ice out of the smoothened out surface.

"I thought you were all about rooting for the underdog?" though his warm, easy grin and praise makes that sense of worth grow, validated by my teammate. The hours of practice, sweat dripping down my skin, the tightness in my lungs because there's no air to breathe that isn't clouded with heat and exertion, body buzzing with adrenaline.

"If the underdog shows promise. See—Lee is decent, but his attitude drags it all down. You're nothing on the ice if you can't trust who you share it with." Jackson shrugs, clambering off carefully, tugging off one skate then the other, groaning as he slumps into the nearest seat besides the rink.

"That being said... you could do with some rest and yknow... being a normal student and spending time drinking, losing money in shit poker games... the usual."

"We're not normal. Your usual type of college students get to go out and do that... we swear off the booze and drugs, the late nights as much as we can..." the sporting profession demanded nothing but perfection and your body to be in prime condition. You couldn't give the same standard of performance if you were indulgent and lazy, nor was it allowed to compete with any form of drugs or substance abuse... and falling down that path of indulgence to the point of beginning to ruin your body from the inside out... even without the signs—that was more easily done than realised. It was too much of a slippery slope to even consider.

"You're beginning to half-sound like a prude."

"Oh fuck off." I laugh, hand darting out to whack at Yugi, watch him sidestep easily, grinning wide as he lets his helmet fall to a seat with a heavy thunk.

"No-one will sleep with a prude. Even if it's a guy in hockey kit."

"Cos people are tripping over themselves to fall into bed with you."

"More than any action I've seen you getting. Having a cold spell hyung?"

"You'd wish wouldn't you?"

But his eyes are narrowed with careful, quiet scrutiny, an intensity that's not like the razor focus during games, nor the taunting gleam when we practice... this is different. It's disconcerting.

"Who is it then—"

"Please don't. I don't need to know who you're sleeping around with. That goes for the rest of you. Parading your conquests and oversharing in the changing rooms." Grimacing as he looks at us, head shaking as his lips linger on the notion of it, so utterly displeased by it, by the others for it.

The more... displeasing traits of hockey culture were ones Namjoon didn't hide how uncomfortable and distinctly apart from the mentality it made him. And every single time it never fails to make me feel admiration and respect for a captain because he leads the team without bending to try feign interest or that he has the same mindset as them. A leader doesn't bend.

That's a leader.

"Why not? Half the fun's in sharing how easy it was—"

It feels like swallowing dirt. The mocking grinned triumph in Bambam's voice, in the way that his words only elicit a jeer from one of the other players.

"That's disgusting."

Eyes rolled as Bambam stares at me.

"Like we said prudish are we... star centre?"

"Yeah his body's a temple and all." Yugi joins in, lightly ribbing but the way he immediately, automatically aligns with him, the two of them peas in a pod. Two sides of the same coin.

"You're saying it now but what is it Coach says?" Jackson nudges, adopting a saintly expression even if the words he echoes had been harshly drilled into our minds, all the force and finesse of a drill sergeant barking orders. Over and over. A mantra to follow.

Apparently not everything Coach said was law.

"Worship your body, look after it... revere it."

"Not one of those shitty motivational sayings again—"

"It works! You're a sportsman worth your salt if you've got two things. Talent and a strong mind. Talent alone does shit all." Namjoon intercepts, words cutting through the spiel before it veers off again.

Sometimes... sometimes... sometimes a part of me wonders, and then immediately feels guilt because they're my team, how Namjoon has the patience of a saint to tolerate half the bullshit they come up with on the regular. How often enough I find myself internally envision bashing my head in against a surface.

Wait don't think surfaces—

"That's why Lee struggles. His mind is strong. But somehow it can't process the very fundamental basic. Ice hockey is a team sport. No-one or everyone shares the spotlight." JB muses, quietly filtering into the conversation, eyes flickering with a silent admonishment that has the jeering expressions stilling, barely constrained... barely but they somewhat bite back the words and comments just itching to escape.

"Sounds like you're angling for deputy captain~" I laugh, though that bitter taste in my mouth, the acrid taste their words had brought is chased back by the harsh steer away from their train of conversations.

"Not a position." Joon rolls his eyes, a faint dimpled smile.

"Besides... if the team plays its part it doesn't really need captaining either—"

"Bull." Jackson's bluntness and proud grin as he stares at him is a feeling I share all too well in.

"You're a great Cap'." Yugi echoes.

"Now oh great Captain... mind getting rid of some obstacles off the ice—these ones I didn't pre-book or ask for." I laugh, hand gesturing to the rest of the team, watching them half-heartedly glower at me, just as dishevelled and gross after a long session.

Already the longer and longer the break between me getting back on the ice stretches the more acutely aware I become of how sticky and discomforting the feeling of sweat trapped under countless layers feels like. The longer I'm not on the rink, away from the cool air and from being surrounded by it, the more I become aware of how overheated my body feels.

"You heard him. Clear off." Joon waves them off, stepping back onto the ice and in the motions of pulling his helmet back over his head, sharp intense eyes peering at me as he grins, lazy and challenging.

Hockey stick tapping twice against the ice, a lazy slow skate backwards.

"Aren't you going too?"

"Figured if you're intent on staying, we test out some defence. See how good your skills really are."

One to one.

Head to head.

"Getting cocky?"

"I know I could knock you onto your ass. You should be lucky we play on the same team."

I raise my brows, skating forward onto the ice, tugging my helmet over my head, the only thing visible from the mouth guard is the sharp eyes staring me down unflinchingly. Hard and focused.

The familiar thrum of challenge and adrenaline a heady mix that buzzes through my veins.

"And if I knock you onto your ass?"

"If you don't—" he counteracts, gesturing for me to shoot the puck his way.

"If you don't then are you earning the number and position on your back?"

Goading. Provoking and riling with a harnessed expertise of knowing just which buttons to press.

"Just as much as I'll wipe the rink with yours."

The clink of hockey sticks nudging together, a brief camaraderie, a moment of respect before it all dissipates.

Training to be better by training to push.

And when it comes to push... shove.

[......]

The hand held out towards me feels almost mocking, the smug curl of the dimpled grin, breathless and proud tilted down towards me where he leans forward. Proffering the hand out to me to help me up after having knocked me down in the first place.

Hand slipping to grasp at his, fingers tightening before he tugs me upright, skates steadying immediately as they re-find their purchase on the ice.

"Had enough?"

My words are uneven, laced with a waver that belies exhaustion and that tight feeling in your chest you get when your lungs burn from trying to swallow down air far too much and far too quickly.

"I think I'm bruised." I grimace, rubbing my hip ruefully, the point of impact where my body had hit the ice. And even with protective gear there was always, always the chances of bruises and scrapes. Ice hockey was a roughhousing, physical, intense contact sport.

This was a given.

The bruises and scuffs and injuries sustained from matches were no less than spoils of victory, no less than glory for a victory, for a win that was well-earnt.

But these ones—he looks far too smug to have caused, to have given back more than I did in the first place. A ruthless smugness.

"Means you worked out well."

"Who on earth says bruises are a sign you worked out well??" I ask incredulously.

"It means you don't hole away and stick to mainly solo training, it means you got your hands dirty for once Jimin-ah." Hand patting solidly at my back, grinning and dishevelled. Proud gleaming effort.

"I get my hands dirty plenty." I grumble.

Harsh and quick to tug off the outer layers, helmet drawn off first.

There's something different about getting to breathe air that's not confined or recirculated within the confines of the mouthguard. There's something so exhilarating about that first rush of cold air that brushes against sweat-slick skin and hair and is unrestricted.

"It wouldn't hurt to play dirty against your own team every now and then."

"Doesn't sound like good sportsmanship to me."

"It isn't good sportsmanship to play foul with your team when you're on the same side, but I mean in drills and practices that puts you up against Lee."

My brows rise, lips twitching, trying, failing to control the grin that curls up at the blunt brusqueness in his voice directed towards Lee.

"Oh~ not very captainy to not like all your players."

"Never said I was a saint. Besides... Coach sees something in him, he must've had the talent to land the team and this university... besides. Better to get it out your systems than leave it to fester like poison. That backfires in the long run."

Eyes sharp and full of both understanding and a nudge towards not perhaps having that forcefully imposed blankness around Lee.

And even that most often crumbled and was torn down by the repetitiveness of Lee's behaviour and lack of sportsmanship on the rink.

He had too much pride and attitude for a team sport—just like the others he needed to know when it was time to put himself aside and play as part as something much bigger than just him.

But right now with his uniform's outer layers tugged off and cast aside, looking back at me with the same dishevelled state I know I'm in... it's the way that when Joon grins, dimpled and goading it almost seems to silently egg me on. Joon's never been one to push for arguments or conflict, not as a friend, not as a captain but he damn well doesn't believe in just taking shit.

The thought makes a grin curl my lips.

Proud and amused.

"So what I'm hearing is if I knock Lee onto his ass—"

"Then maybe he'll learn a bit."

[......]

"That's not one of mine."

"I didn't realise you were a) keeping a tally and b) keeping such a close eye on where you might've left a few marks."

"Don't flatter yourself Park, it's never suited you. A lot of things don't. I'd recognise my handiwork... that's not nearly good enough to be my doing."

"That's cos it's not—it's Namjoon's." I grit out, the sensitive shudder the scraping press of her teeth elicit, lips and tongue melting from their smirk against my collarbone.

"Oh didn't know you swung both ways. Captain satisfying you and giving you a hard time~" laughter mocking and soft against my skin, soft puffs of breath that makes my skin heat, when that same teasing lilt and laughter brushes against the bitten-slick mark, stifling a quiet groan as her hands rake down, leaving the faint pressure of her nails as they skim down my ribs, brushing over ink before mapping out my torso, my abdomen under her touch. Muscles shifting to bunch and contract, tensing under the teasing weight behind the lightness of her touches.

"Far from... Joon's hard on my ass but I don't swing that way." I manage to brush out, distracted by the way her eyes gleam as she slowly lowers herself down, mapping a trail down my torso, hand curling around me, a loose gripped hold that's torturously evasive, keeping me on that teetering point of not enough and yet the fraction of friction her palm brings sparks sharp rough pleasure down my spine, hips rocking into the touch, her gaze lidded. Taking in the way she knows how to have me wanting.

It's dangerous that knowledge in the wrong hands. And the thrill in her eyes is the satisfaction of knowing just how to.

"But then again there's something so assertive about a Captain isn't there? Nothing like a man in charge that quite gets me going." The slow heat of her mouth, lips curled into a generous smirk before parting, sinking down around me.

The words don't process immediately. Not when every nerve cell is burns alight when her throat constricts around me as she swallows, tongue curling and brushing against me and hand gripping tight at my thigh, the hard press of nails leaving a stinging pleasure that only adds to the fire under my skin.

Fingers reaching to entangle roughly, harshly in her hair, tightening as they sink in to her hair, messy and unbound and so ruined when gripped between my hand. There's something so visceral about the sight of her hair, tousled from fingers having gripped at it, that's such a far cry from the sharp, cold elegance and haughtiness... something about looking at her and knowing I did that.

The next snap of my hips is rough and uneven, driving myself deeper into the heat of her mouth, arousal turning headier, heavier when the uneven, quick pace, the rough jerk of my body driving my length past slightly swollen lips... when it makes her throat tighten as reflex before relaxing, the tight pressure before it gives way brings a rapidly approaching spiral of pleasure. One that winds tighter and tighter around my gut and threatens to snap, control of it, of the need to spill down her throat, torn between that sensation and the thought of my pleasure streaked across her skin.

But she makes the decision, a rough hoarse quality to her voice when she speaks. Lips slick.

Fingers replacing her mouth, hand gripping me tightly, thumbing over the tip. The pressure staves off the pleasure from reaching its peak, spilling over, it forces it back and the gleaming mockery in her eyes, the laughter and sharp wickedness pooled there makes my breath waver, makes my hips buck forward, though it gets nothing. Nothing but the upturn of her mouth, something sharp about the lazy smirk that makes my skin prickle with frustration, already feeling taut with arousal.

"But then you'd know nothing about that would you? You'd roll over if I asked wouldn't you~ look how desperate you are."

My fingers tighten in her hair in retaliation, a sharp tug that tilts her head back sharply, lungs shuddering with uneven breaths before she staggers upright, my fingers loosening from her hair, hand dragging down her back before gripping her hip. A sharp tug forward that makes her lips hover close to mine, face angled down towards her.

Breath sharp and words hard.

"Care to test that idea out?" mouth inches from hers but staving away from crushing my lips to hers, the heat in my veins liquid fire, burning with frustration as her grin deepens.

"What's it worth to you star player?"

"Just want to figure out who'd roll over. And if you think I'm desperate... doll you don't want me to return the favour."

"Do your worst Park."

My lips quirk.

"Unlike you I'm used to being best... but I'll try."

[......]

"Fuck... fuck, stop... stop. Stop teasing."

"Why not doll? I thought you wanted me to do my worst." Tongue brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, watch how with every flick of my tongue her thighs tremble, jolt as they unconsciously try to clamp down and close, head buried between her legs.

"Fuck you Park."

"Oh I don't know if I'll bother getting to that. Or asking you."

"Did you—" breath hitching, words stuck in her throat as a cry's torn past bitten lips, hand tightening its grip at the sheets, twisting them tightly between her fingers.

"Lost your words doll... look at that. You do know how to keep that mouth shut." Taking in the sight of her teeth sinking in harsh at her bottom lip, the way her eyes clench shut, shuddering with a laboured breath.

"I swear I'll—"

"What? You'll leave? Cos you know where the door is. I just think..."

Mouth dipping lower, thumb replacing where my tongue had been, fingers slick with her arousal, easing them in with my tongue, the slow thorough thrusts and twists breaking the harsh jagged silence, the splintered sounds of desperate wanton need spilling from lips that have begged, threatened and cursed. Each sound laced with pleasure spiralling to an almost pained peak before it ebbs away. Before my touch recedes.

"If you can walk in a straight line to it, feel free." The words goading, teeth scraping against the inside of her thigh, feeling the tremors under my touch, feel the way her hips buck up when my breath ghosts along her, inner thighs slick with arousal, tasting it on my lips and tongue, leaving their touch on the sensitive flesh.

"You know what Park? You're a bastard."

"Doesn't feel as fun? When I play the same game with you? Don't be a spoilsport doll." I lilt, lips curling into a grin against her skin, eyes raking over her spent body as I straighten myself up from between her legs, propping myself up on my hands, watch them sink into the sheets on either side of her face. Watch the way her chest rises and falls unevenly, the gleamy flush to her skin from being so worked up, so close to a peak she's been denied more than once. Watch the way her throat bobs as her head lifts off the pillows, eyes full of venom but also dazed, pupils blackened with lust.

"You're... you're—"

"Did we reach such a monumental point in history? Can't think straight either?" mirth and an unmeasurable amount of satisfaction at seeing the way her lips part, the way she tries to bring words to the tip of her tongue, but they fall away before they can spill out in their jagged torrent.

"I don't know..." (Y/N) manages, words drawn out with a breathlessness that makes that feeling of arousal steadily begin to sharpen, viscerally aware of the fact that without the friction of the sheets to rut against or my hand around my own length, there's no modicum of relief. And hearing the way her voice dips, uneven and unsteady—the feeling of satisfaction and want entangle messily. Headily.

"Maybe we've... reached a point where actions speak louder than words."

Thighs tightening around me, hand entangling in my hair, a harsh yank that makes my scalp sting, the pinpricks of pain melding into a pleasurable wave of heat, the tightened grip of her hand keeping me anchored between my thighs. Hips rocking up to my lips and tongue, keeping me there as a source of her pleasure, only good to get her off.

Because the only words we've ever shared are sharp and cutting, always goading and taunting... but the actions... the actions aren't any better. There's a visceral satisfaction that comes from knowing that my touches, my body is what she needs, what her own body twists and tries to chase, hands gripping tightly, leaving harsh stinging lines of their intensity against my skin.

But maybe actions are better because they don't betray the way my breath wavers when her legs lock around me, the way the fierce intensity in her eyes entangles with the clouding haze of lust there. That to reach that edge I keep pulling her back from, she's had enough. But the tightening of her legs are what betray that thought. The uneven rise and fall of her chest, the sporadic clench of her muscles and the way I can feel the small trembles pressed closer, hands banded across her thighs. Tightening when her hips rock messily against my mouth, the taste of her on my tongue, pleasured cries as she reaches a peak that she takes from me.

It's far too dangerous to read into the intensity of the pleasure that has her sinking against the sheets, body stretched out in a satiated sprawl, legs still angled open as I draw myself up. There's something too weighted to read into in realising that she got off harder because she used me for her own pleasure, to make herself feel good.

And I wonder if it's as dizzying as the same rush that I get buried in her when she's spent, and one wave has barely ebbed before another stronger one begins to build. When her body is all harsh taut curves pressed flush to the lines of my body, when in those last moments of frantic urgency and everything disintegrating around us, senses falling away save for the way she feels around me, under me, the way she feels when I'm in her and her hands are clutching me tightly... harshly... breaths laboured and rough against skin, barely slumping into one another before drawing back.

Trying to steal air back into lungs.

There's something almost too—

"Condom?" breathless, fingers against my abdomen, nails trailing down, relishing in the jolt my body gives, jerking forward.

Drawing back briefly, eyes skimming over her.

"You good to go? Looks like you're easy to tire out." I tease.

"What've I told you before Park? Between the two of us I'm not the one who'll have a problem with stamina."

"Doesn't the entirety of your training last for what a few minutes or something on the ice?"

"I bet you could beat that Park... all about the speed aren't you, even if that means—"

"You really know how to get under my skin don't you doll?"

"I mean you're not under mine, so I've got to—"

Breath hitching at the first slow roll of my hips slowly teasing my length against her core.

"Got to be a brat so it gets fucked out of you?"

Eyes rolling before she looks at me, dark weighted contemplation briefly flitting through her gaze.

"Depends—is it working?"

"Well I'm wondering if fucking you will keep you quiet or ending it like this." Drinking in the minute shifts in her expression, the brief flutter of her lashes, the way her head tilts back further, the sharp hitch of breath all the more prominent with the exposed line of her throat.

"If you end it then that's your bad." My fingers skim from the curve of her hip down to the inside of her thigh, squeezing hard at one of the darkening bites left behind.

Length rutting up against her, the torturous restraint of not sheathing myself into her immediately, watching as her hips unconsciously chase the touch, trying to draw me into her, hand gripping tightly at my bicep, nails gripping tightly.

"Doesn't seem that way..."

"It'd be worse for you Park." She breathes out, but there's no conviction in her words, a desperation in the way her body shifts restlessly on the sheets, surrendering to the need first when her leg hooks around me. An impatient hard yank to press our bodies closer together, lips against my jaw so that when I slowly push in I can feel the way her breath wavers against my skin.

Hands feeling unbalanced even as they settle heavily on the sheets, body hovering close to hers, almost dancing, toying with the distance that remains, feeling the electric crackle of attraction buzz in the heated air between us.

"Too stubborn to admit what you want? For something that's meant to be mutually beneficial you don't seem to realise that keeping quiet at the wrong time means you lose out (Y/N)."

Wrong time to stay quiet.

Nothing wrong with admitting it.

Yet it seemed to be... it seemed wrong to be the first one to bend, to want, to accept that the feelings of want were so tangible, so prominent.

"I don't lose—"

It's satisfaction when each word slips from her tongue, evades her, when that frustrating habit of always trying to have the last word is lost in bruised lips fighting for control, hand tugging me closer, teeth harsh against my bottom lip.

It's not losing—it's a mutually beneficial levelling it comes to at the end.

(Y/N) POV:

The buzz of my phone is inconspicuous. It doesn't demand attention. it lights up briefly somewhere on the end of my bed. But it doesn't draw me away from continuing to stretch in front of the large floor length mirror, eyes monitoring myself as much as the mirror allows for.

It's a brief flash and it's gone.

Fades from attention.

Until—

🏒: *photo attached*

🏒: Don't want them back?

❄️: After what you must've done to them—burn them.

🏒: You make it sound like a witch hunt.

❄️: No need for name calling. Just say you're intimidated by me as a woman and go.

🏒: But witch isn't quite the right word I have in mind for you—

❄️: Istg Park not all of us have time to play Wordle in our little to no free time

🏒: 🙄 once a brat always a brat

❄️: Somehow I thought that was a kink of yours

🏒: What? Brat-taming?

❄️: Don't have the authority for that sort of dynamic Park. I meant handing me the reins.

🏒: 🖕 I'm not the one always making demands and wanting them done. You = needy brat.

❄️: Touché

The photo's rough and quickly taken, scattered clothes that I hadn't quite managed to snag up before the dawn run the entire figure skating team had gone on. Nor had I gone back for them.

It'd be too weird too. To go back to a room I'd rarely started to frequent only to have at the last moment in some moment of ill decisions taken as a result of sleep-deprivation. There was no other reason for it. My mind had been holding onto the very last vestiges of coherency. There's no other reason I'd stay the night. And with Park of all people.

It was too weird to process it. So there was just an easy foolproof away around it.

That one off was just that.

And with the night gone.

There was no proof beyond the fleeting memory of it that it had in fact occurred.

That was if Jungkook would just let me.

And now Jimin too.

"Oh my god. What were you thinking?" laughter lacing Jungkook's voice several hours later, the brimming curiosity in his eyes quelled for some time, forced to head to the front to lead the early morning run the team was doing. Not the right time or opportunity to slip back and ask the questions I could see sitting, waiting on the tip of his tongue.

"I wasn't thinking. Haven't we established that?"

A snort as he nudges me forward down one of the canteen's lines.

Voice dropping lower, careful of our surroundings.

"You don't tend to use your brain for rational decisions. Just ways to plot up methods to make Park's life to pass with at best—a few popped veins."

"You're making me sound like one of your villains from the Marvel films."

"Hey! Don't knock Marvel—their villains are very developed characters you know! You're just—why do you hate his guts so much?"

"He's insufferable! An asshole!"

"And why do you want him in your guts then?"

A falter, lips twitching at the blasé tone he sports, brows raised as he looks at me questioningly. Wondering what pulls the two together when it's clear that we both exist as polar opposites.

"...might not seem it on the ice but he's got... good enough game."

A grimaced expression of distaste flickers over his face, reaching past for a hefty portion of grilled meat, piling it alongside the steadily mounting tray. Eyes narrowing in slight focused examination of my own tray, a quiet discontented sound before he nudges me aside, hip jostling me, his own balance steady, my tray wobbling. Disaster avoided cos it's not laden.

"How many times have I told you not to skimp on the proteins and the carbs?"

"....carbs are harder to burn off."

"You're not trying to burn it all off! You need the balance of it!" brows furrowing, a quiet searching intensity before the weight in his eyes solidify.

Lips scowling.

"The canteen only serves balanced meals for athletes. But if I have to monitor you—"

"I'll eat!" I quickly acquiesce. Knowing full well if he did start focusing just as intently on my nutrition, it'd be a whole new level to the Spartan training and intense assessments he made without saying.

He was settling so assuredly in his role as captain.

I just hadn't quite predicted how that was going to backfire on me at times.

The look of soft scold melts and his lips briefly quirk, eyes warming—the brief disparity forgotten. Moved on from.

"Besides... with all that fucking around, loading up doesn't seem like such a bad idea does it?"

"Jeon Jungkook! We are in public!"

"Being in public's never stopped you from being freaky and—"

Dodging and sidestepping me easily before I can step on his foot, to shut him up.

Miming his lips shut by clamping them together. But the shit eating grin returns full force as he weaves his way forward, moving towards the tables to set down his tray, sinking heavily into the spot besides Hobi.

"Nutrition, nutrition, nutrition!" he exclaims approvingly, nodding towards our trays.

The phrase changes. Based on situation.

"It's interchangeable! That's the beauty of a strong saying!"

"You repeat words three times!" I laugh.

"It used to be safety, safety, safety." Kook remarks.

"Then it turned into repeat, repeat, repeat! Bet you think I'm not as half-bad in our practices." Kook nods at me, looking as if he's never made us practice until our limbs were putty.

"You two brats under my leadership? I'd either sort you out in no time or recognise my loss where I see it."

"Wipe your hands off us?"

"Take my fun where I can—"

"Talking of taking fun where you want (Y/N) has such an interesting story about that don't—"

Quickly falling back to avoid the sudden lunged swipe of my hand reaching over the table to fist into his hoodie and yank him forward. Hobi's eyes sparked with interest.

"What've you been upto (Y/N)?" words lilted and full of laughter and curiosity.

"Nothing!"

"The question hyung is who she's been upto~"

Another buzz of my phone.

Koobun🐰: If you're not busy fucking...

Buzz.

Koobun🐰: DON'T ANSWER THAT IF YOU ARE I DON'T NEED TO KNOW

Buzz.

Koobun🐰: But if you're not—studio?

Personal Dumbell🏋‍♀️: On my way

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

It's easier to forget or will yourself to forget much, much more easily if it's mutually avoided all together. Brushed over.

It changes nothing.

It doesn't change the fact that most days for nearly most my time I want to whack the stupid ass look off Jimin's face, maddened by the gleam in his eyes that can mean more than one thing now. Whether it's just to piss me off, that conflicting clash of personalities and sports or whether it's because that gleam means he's wondering something.

Words low, almost lost, when practice is dismissed. Hand held out for the helmet I tug off my head, grimacing at the way heat makes my skin pulse with discomfort, sticky and gross.

It feels like you're breathing from within a locked cage.

But this cage presses in from every angle.

And you can't feel the cold air of the rink properly.

One of the biggest rush of endorphins and adrenaline through my veins comes from that sensation of cool air brushing against skin, of the cold chasing and tracing each movement.

It's stifling to wear the helmet, ill-fitted as it was, fingers pushing hair back impatiently from my face, grimacing at the way it'd been impossible to have my hair tied back in a neat bun for it, the space not allowing for what's habit.

Hair out of face at all times.

It's an unnatural feeling to have it in my face, mussed and unkempt as I push it back hastily, rough motions of my fingers against my skin.

"You look like—" words trailing off.

But there's more said in the silence than there is in if he had chosen a word, a comment to make. Somehow the silence is more insinuating and judgemental.

"It's your stupid helmet. Which—when was the last time you gave it a clean?"

He scowls.

"I keep my uniform perfect."

"Yeah well we both know your standards of perfect aren't the same as mine are they? Giving your practice kit a good scrub wouldn't do anyone harm." Shoving the helmet back into his grip.

Not sure why I'd even bothered to stay after our group practice had ended. Why I'd even let his words rub me the wrong way that I wasn't the type made to endure ice hockey drills and practices. Why stupidly, foolishly... for no reason whatsoever the words had stuck and so had I, snatching the hockey stick and the helmet from his hands before stomping onto the ice, loud clacks of skates harsh against the rink before I'd whirled around to shoot him a fuming glare.

"We go again."

Eyes dancing with fire as they look at me.

Slow and intent clear as his eyes scanned me.

"You keep coming back for more."

For these stupid drills. For the stupidly good sex.

"Don't kid yourself Park—we're in the same boat."

Cos so do you.

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

"I meant what I said—all of this lasts what? Minutes? If that."

"Like I said this performance is better than anything you could do to me in minutes."

"So sure about that?"

"Park it's almost pitiful how confident you are in your skills against a timer compared to what we can do with the same amount of time and with a pair of skates."

"Okay prove it."

"I don't need to..."

"All talk and no show?"

My eyes narrow at the taunt in his words, in the way his lips twitch, full lips curving up to reveal the pearly white grin that my eyes linger on a beat too long.

"Far from it. Just don't feel bad about your... inadequacy and those minutes you tend to waste." Pushing back away from the rink's edge, skating backwards towards the centre.

A scoffed retort that I don't quite hear over the glide of skates against ice, eyes catching the subtle way his body straightens from its slouched lean against the rink's barrier, surprised when he moves to clamber onto the rink, deciding to step onto the ice rather than watch from beyond it.

There's something both riveting and intense about the way even a the stretch of distance on ice, there's something commanding in my own posture and then the power I feel when something that shifts in his expression, the similar playfulness hardening into razor sharp focus. Attentive.

"Try keep my attention for a few minutes. Let's see what the fuss is about." He calls out, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, my fingers fiddling with the speaker's remote, contemplating what piece of music to start with. I'd plucked it up when he'd first stepped into my way to block my way off the rink, almost as if to make me glare at him. Unimpressed at the obstacle blocking me off.

"As if you'll be able to look away." i call back, fingers fiddling with it for a few moments before a strong loud burst of noise makes Jimin involuntarily flinch, the small movement making me grin. It's a slow classical piece, something about the way he'd somehow expected the piece of music to be old timey, somehow expected it to be as it is in his eyes... mundane.

How little you know Park.

The disinterest in his eyes isn't hard to pick out, not from a hockey player, not when their whole perception and understanding, and dismissal, of the sport comes from assuming that it's no different to... playing prima donna ballerinas on ice. It's like he can't help himself and the look stings, makes me feel irate. Brows rising at the sight.

And he'd called it so easy to execute the moves. Struggled for hours to manage even one.

Basic was it Park?

Pride stung by the immediate dismissal, by the way he misses the first beat of the sequence, eyes rolling scathingly, bitter anger flitting through me.

Well try look away now Park. Catching briefly, the sight of widened eyes, the centre of his focus shifting. As it should.

The negative, demeaning stereotype associated with figure skaters and dance or playing at ballerinas stems largely, if not wholly, from voices such as the hockey coach, from people just as outdated and backwards and with a lack of awareness or appreciation for the technicalities and difficulties of the sport.

It's people like them who spend time with like-minded people and a narrow, uninformed mindset grows. Thrives when it comes to belittling.

There's no little sting associated with that attitude directed towards us. So in every movement, in the control and precision this sport demands and needs, there's that strong-willed insistence that I'll be damned if Park belittles my sport and worth. If he looks away and doesn't have to pick his jaw up off the rink afterwards.

Pretentious asshole. Words muttered into the whispers of my consciousness.

But somehow—somehow his awareness, his rapt attention doesn't detract from my own focus. And even though I'm aware of his presence, aware of the way his gaze tracks every movement, it doesn't make my attention waver in the slightest.

There's something scathing about the whole 'looking pretty' that tries to reduce everything we do to a two dimensional existence, to a backhanded comment about it being all about appearances.

There's nothing pretty about bruised bleeding feet from training in ballet, there's nothing pretty about the bruises earnt from practicing lifts off the ice, the harsh falls and there's certainly nothing pretty about maintaining your weight with such needlelike precision because especially as a duo, every move lies on the balance we have together. That means staying in a certain percentile around my weight because Kook's trained and executed lifts after having found the balance and way to steady both our weights together.

There's nothing pretty about blood, sweat and tears poured into a livelihood, into a passion that breaks you before it makes you.

Looking pretty is only what you see Park.

It only gets to look pretty because there's control and strength in sharpness and elegance. It's pretty cos I poured my life into reaching that stage where every move should be ruthlessly elegant and powerful.

The first slow casual spin twisting quick and sudden into a more powerful move. Lips curled grimly and proud. Try look away now Park

That the slow...slow... slowly building tempo is a false lulling start before I twist sharp and sudden, the line of my leg extending upwards, the control in keeping it suspended behind me and the quick twisting motions of my body spinning seamlessly.

It's quick and hurried, every breath barely melting into the other before my body is already transitioning from one move to the other, every inch of my body perfectly contained in each movement because it's timed to the slowly building tempo of the music pouring out the speakers.

Simultaneously, it's keeping my body moving quick, one move flitting to the other, something about it that makes his gaze sharpen with focus, feel its intensity grow as he watches, tracks my every movement on the ice.

The rink itself, ice in its very nature is slippery, is unsteady for the unpracticed but the seamless glide of it under my skates has never felt anything less than solid. It's nothing like the violent way the hockey players leave gashes in the ice, take deep big chunks out of it, ruining its seamlessness with harsh jagged movements.

It's not the same.

Speed isn't stamina. Brute force isn't trained control.

Not once do I feel the weight of his gaze flit away, I know he can't look away, pride bubbling and welling up, strong as it surges through me. This is what being on the ice does.

Try look away...

Over the classical notes pouring into the rink, over the ice, over my body and each motion I don't hear the movement of his skates pushing him closer, don't realise it until my eyes catch the sight of him closer, between the blur of a move as I twist into a series of pirouetted spins, pace quickening.

It never fails to take my breath away how easily time melts away on the rink, no conscious awareness nor grasp of it, yet each second brims with an electric energy, a strong wave of control that dares its onlooker to wrench his eyes away, knowing that even if he wants, he can't look away.

Pride that melds with satisfaction beyond words when I come to a stop, skates resting against the ice before I move forward, fingers nudging under his lax jaw, nudging it shut. Grinning at the sight, at the way his eyes seem to widen slightly, not having realised I'd stopped or that he'd been caught gaping.

There's not even the slightest feeling of being out of breath with this level of movement, breaths even and light.

"You'll catch flies." I say, smug.

"It wasn't that impressive." Jimin tries to brush off.

"So you admit that some part of you that isn't entirely douchebag material allows you to appreciate skill."

"Yet you have no problem sleeping around with me if I'm such a douchebag."

Touche.

"Awww don't bring yourself so low Park, might be hard to get back up." Eyes flitting lower, a curious tilt to my head that, nothing but mischief and trouble on my mind, words goading and provoking.

Lips lilted, words coy.

"Wonder if you have a problem in getting it back up again?" I murmur.

"Have you been left unsatisfied?" full lips twisting into a scowl. The faint feelings of bewilderment in his eyes morphing into a stronger, more intense wave of annoyance, something bitter twisting Jimin's features when he reads the amusement shining in my eyes and know full that I'm purposely goading him. That I haven't been left unsatisfied. But the taunted words are enough to do exactly what I intend them to.

"Just wondering if you could go more than one round—" I shrug loosely.

There's something maddened and riled in his eyes, in the way his body slightly stiffens, posture hardening. It's as if our temperaments can't even help but clash, words turning jagged around the edges.

It's just so easy to get under his skin, it's also infuriatingly just as easily reciprocated, his words and silent glances worming their way under impassiveness to leave me riled, skin buzzing.

And it feels like being knowing fools stuck on a cycle that somehow we both already know the outcome of.

An older, interwoven pattern of taunts and jabs, of words prickling and stinging meant to elicit a reaction—the more visible the better.

I know that. He knows that. Yet why haven't I been able to build a resistance to it?

"Well with the right person in bed I can... I don't know the person in mine seems to wear out quite easily. Quite subpar performances." The shake of his head despairing, the heat that burns through me harsh in its intensity, the sharp knowing words that I know how much I affect him sitting on the tip of my tongue. But actions speak louder don't they? Biting them back despite the triumph in brown eyes alight with the small victory of retaliation.

Didn't like that did you? his eyes ask.

"I don't do anything subpar. Not even a subpar player." Before I skate round him in a quick circling motion, swift and quick.

"Besides don't you know Park~ there's something so much more satisfying than what you could give me in a quickie." Hear the movement of his skates behind me.

So easily lured aren't you?

"And what's that?", hear him moving closer to trace and remap out the weaving patterns I'm etching into the ice. The rough sound of skates betray how his own movements are harsher, scouring the ice over the slow, wide spins I had made, none of the same quick elegance or swift efficiency.

I stop suddenly. Spinning around abruptly to face him but having misjudged the distance between our bodies almost cause him to topple into me, almost nearly toppling to the ground together. Something must snap quickly into place, some part of those quick reflexes from training, habits and practice snapping into place. The quick deftness of it makes me aware of just how instinctive it is for practice and routine to push its way to the forefront. Seeing it in his sport. Left foot twisting at an angle to suddenly come to a stop whilst balancing his weight. Before the full force of it slams into me. But whilst it holds him back from careening into me, his body still jolts into mine, still collides, the momentum of his speed coming in collision with my own stationary figure, balance wobbling at the force that still hits me, hand darting out to grip at something for purchase. Fingers curling tightly into fabric, a hand jerking at my forearm and tugging me upright. The wobbly tilt of our bodies pushed closer. Briefly eyes flitting uncertain and stiff. A moment of eye contact, too close, the air too absent of the heat that usually fills it when we're in such close proximity and for a moment... for a fraction of that moment that teasing lure briefly wavers. Tilting towards an unknown stiff quiet appraisal before my lips quirk.

Fingers loosening their tight grip to pat at his chest consolingly. Trying... failing to ignore the muscles underneath, trying to will them from my mind because I know exactly how his bare torso looks and feels under my touch.

Focus.

"Hate to break it to you Park but I can barely handle the idea of occasionally being your hookup, don't go falling for me now." words uttered are blasé, dry and amused as they spill from the tip of my tongue, watch Jimin snort back a laugh as he looks at me.

The thought so utterly impossible and nonsensical that the jibe spills easily from my lips, diffuses whatever weird fizz of energy briefly... briefly for a micro-fraction of a moment exists then fades entirely. But his reaction only proves what we both know. Not before hell freezes over and even then it's impossible.

"Getting too comfortable with getting the occasional invite to my bed are we? Deluding yourself I'd want that?" voice wry, brows raised as he appraises me.

"You'd be blind to not be deluded." Words assured.

A slow skated push to move back half a step, away from Jimin but unconsciously his fingers tighten. A quick tug back.

But our bodies in such close gravitation, in such near proximity to each other is nothing but a promise that spells trouble and ruin. A temptation neither of us have been able to deny since the first time of succumbing to it.

"I'm not blind—if I was then there'd be no way I'd get into bed with someone who infuriates me so much. Being easy on the eyes... that makes it just... about—" he drawls.

I try not to focus on the low depth of his voice, particularly when he's this close, particularly when if my mind drifts—it'll turn to the way the low drawl of his voice is something I've felt against my skin.

Not bearable but fuel to the attraction, the barbed words and cutting tongue fuel to the lust, not to tolerance.

What does that make him? What is he?

The question is brief, sudden and half-formed as it flits through my mind, passes by just as quickly as it came.

"I've never heard such a backhanded way to hear that I'm attractive. Took you a lot of effort and thinking did it Park?"

"Not as much as it's taking you to admit that you might have something for being praised." he muses.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

You'd have to learn to find out.

The flicker of curiosity doesn't go unmissed, as if he's intrigued by the possibility of it and how it plays into the dynamic of taunting-fucking-goading-fucking. Curious if praise does turn me on.

Only one way to know for sure Park.

[......]

"Changing rooms empty?" skin flushed slightly, frustration lacing the low jaggedness of his voice, failing at having managed to execute a single move when he'd been intent and stubborn on trying to land one.

"Depends."

"Can you keep up doll?" though the rough breathlessness of his voice, laced with the sharp edge of annoyance meld together. Promise nothing short of rough.

"I'm slowing down for you."

"Manage to keep pace doll and you might just manage afterwards too." insinuation and intent both clear.

"Don't bore me Park. Slow and steady wins the race? Where'd you learn that saying?"

"Patience doll—never learnt that either?" words smooth and drawn out.

"Sounds like you think second best is okay..." a commiserating smile, feigned and hollow.

Just like now.

"That's the spirit!" the cheered words even emptier.

Body coiled up slightly with silent laughter.

But whatever amusement and unspoken taunts he reads in my eyes, the quirk of my mouth deepening into a brief smirk before I turn back to leave the rink.

He knows what trap we weave for one another.

He knows just as well as I do that whatever pull we have is driven by our own confidence and assuredness that we can pull away whenever we want.

So to hear the near noiseless glide of skates quick behind me, barely managing to keep ahead before a hand grips my wrist tightly and he skates past, wrenching me alongside him—I wonder if he realises he's losing.

Losing to get trapped in something that's laced with sharp words muttered against skin, leave their indents and marks by touches and traces.

And it must be easy to follow.

But it's easier to lure.

[......]

Fire can't be fought with fire.

So both burn in it.

That's what it feels like.

Liquid, icy fire that burns its trails across skin, etches its paths through our veins, turns the loud thundering of my pulse that quickens with every teasing touch, each whispered filthy word, each tilt of his body, hand skimming only to flit away.

Eyes dancing with amusement, revelling in the effect he has.

Fire can't be fought with fire.

But what if you intend to be burnt in it? Consumed by it?

A teetering precipice that the two of us skate the very fine, fading line of it.

Veering too close, the brush of our bodies before I'm moving past without a glance, the twitch of my mouth hidden, back to him but feeling his eyes track my movement, feel his stare trained to the low of my back and then dragging lower.

Find him staring hard at me when I turn slowly, feel his eyes sharpen with focus.

"Something the matter Park?"

"...nothing." The word tightly contained, rolls off his tongue hard and tight as if he has to bite back the words he really wants to say.

But he's never been one to hold back what he's thinking so it makes me wonder if the tight clench of his jaw is the betraying tell of him trying to reign himself back, whether it's the struggle of holding back.

I don't know how long it's been since I stepped onto the ice. I'd intended to practice.

But seeing a training course set up on the ice instead, recognising the line of his silhouette immediately, what better way to waste my time now that I can't practice than squandering his? Especially what better way rather for him to train than be just the right obstacle in his path.

And it's evident now, in the flickering stirrings of angered frustration, in the tight sharp line of his jaw, all the more prominent as the muscle in his cheek ticks, steps purposeful. Skates a heavy clunked line angling for me, a frustrated half-sound that ripples in the air as I purposely twist away from his reach, ducking away before his fingers can even find something to grip on, grip at, to tug me back into his line of immediate reach. Wonder how the hard coil of his body would feel, all tensed up and angry, against me.

It's so easy... so wonderfully easy to provoke a reaction I want out of him.

And it's like he doesn't even know. Doesn't realise. Just how he plays right into my expectation, how he plays into feeding my silent amusement as his frustration visibly grows.

"I don't have time." words blunt.

"So you thought you'd book up all the times I could be practicing."

A flash of gleaming amusement.

"You snooze you lose. Got to stay sharp doll. Not... fall back so easily before the competitive season begins. That is if you have one."

"If I didn't have one you wouldn't be so desperate to try one up me with the number of wins."

"Sorry—" the word so foreign and entirely scathingly light.

"Remind me again what the tally is for that."

My jaw tightens.

"...."

"I'm winning doll. If you slack off and miss a whole season—I wouldn't have the balls to act like I was still at the top."

The gritted determination I have only intensifies, a flash of heat so visceral it burns every nerve cell of my body all at once, all at the same time.

"I don't think you have the balls to hold your own without your whole team." Words slightly cutting, pushing back against a sore wound that he has no idea his taunt hits. Too close to personal comfort.

Cos when push comes to shove, words hitting just a bit hard, even though I know he doesn't know, even though he has no reason to know... it still stings. Cuts.

It's a flash of frustration and I almost wish I could swallow the remark back, see the way it makes something in his eyes harden before it morphs into a crackling heat.

Something familiar and not at the same time.

Words rough.

"Kitten got claws?"

"I'll bite your dick off if you don't keep your mouth in check." I grit my teeth, feel that prickle of defensiveness meld into something different, something that's so easily riled by just the taunt in his words, in those stupid nicknames.

"Kinky. Though I think if you did that then you'd miss it just as much."

"Cocky much?"

"Just about more than enough wouldn't you say?"

I don't want to­—I refuse to, but the tiniest twitch to my lips are betraying, are an immediate give away to someone who's so intent on always getting on my nerves that he can read tells, he can spot the discrepancy when I crumble so easily.

Stupid Park.

With his stupid observations.

That he does with his stupid eyes—dammit.

"Don't make bedroom eyes at me."

"We don't need a bedroom doll."

[......]

"Yah!"

"(Y/N)!"

I twist towards the sound, body jerking back from Jimin's, gaze slipping away to search immediately for the source of the voice, already placing it, head tilted in quiet question.

Immediately greeted... confronted with an exasperated stare. Rolling his eyes at me, voice pitched loud across the ice as he calls out to me.

"What is it JK?"

The stare hard and unimpressed. Looking intently at me, eyes narrowing. The slow angled tilt of his head and the way he doesn't move forward, foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

A flood of realisation, red-white fear pulses through me at the stare looking at me, a captain's stare, jolts my body into movement.

Shit... I forgot... I'm so sorry!"

Whatever teasing lure had been winding me closer and closer disappears within moments of ice-cold realisation that floods me. Almost tripping over my skates as I rush forward. Hear the protesting sound behind me, barely acknowledging it as I race across the ice, almost fumbling as the tip of my shoes bump into the edge of the rink, hand darting out to steady me. Quiet piercing stare softening around the edges.

"Get your ass to the studio before me." Words a mix of amusement and warning.

"Are you seriously pulling the Captain card? It was a last minute decision we both made for this practice—"

Exasperated, shooting him a frantic stare.

A loose shrugged motion.

"Don't be late~" Already moving off, a brief glimpse of the scrunched grin tugged wider as he turns to look at me, catching sight of me fumbling to yank my skates off, hobbling after him, balance teetered as I tug off one skate, fingers yanking impatiently at the laces for the other.

"Jungkook wait!" hastily rushing after him, grabbing at my skates before running to catch upto him, hand trying to grasp at his forearm to wrench him back, to gain leverage to tug myself forward and past him.

Feel the amusement pour off him, the kind of amusement that makes my skin prickle with heat cos I know, and I can already begin to hear the teasing that'll come the moment we're out of earshot and practice.

His figure is a sizable distance away before my pace quickens further, rushing to brush past him, eyes catching his own alight with laughter before he rolls his eyes, hand entangling with mine to tug me along with his pace. The two of us breaking into a light jog.

"Do you need to check your calendar to see if your practice clashes with any booty calls?" words dry as we move down the hallway, approaching the studio door.

Another different flush of heat.

"I don't—" I didn't stay to fuck him, there was so much more gratification in seeing just how much I could wind him up, how much my actions could begin to get under his skin, make his frustration fray the quick swiftness of his moves to make them jagged and impulsive, darting out to grab at me. Eyes dark with scouring heat.

But why'd I stay if there'd been no... reason to?

Huh.

Maybe getting a rise out of Jimin was more entertaining than I'd consciously been aware of.

Barely managing to half-shove, half-nudge Kook aside to dart into the studio seconds before him, the door getting wrenched back open behind me and his laughter low and quiet.

Body straightening once I notice that Coach Kim's inside, head turning at the sound of the commotion, an easy smile on his face once he spots the two of us.

"Just on time. Did Jungkook have to grab you off the rink again? I don't know what you'll wear out first, another pair of skates or the rink." Shaking his head at me.

"You know how she is Coach. Loses track of time on the rink." A teasing jesting tone to his voice, a sly dig of his elbow at my side even without turning to face me, grin curled wide across his lips.

A hard stare shot to him as Coach turns to finish syncing his phone to the sound system.

"Jungkook." The word hissed out, his name low and hushed.

"Don't worry (Y/N)... your dirty secret's safe."

"Why didn't you tell me Coach was leading our extra practice?"

A shit-eating grin.

"Surprise."

[.....]

"We should go dancing again sometime!" Hobi enthuses, breathing hard as he dabs at his skin with his towel, eyes catching mine in the mirror, the two of us out of breath. But even so there's a level of measured breaths in each inhale and exhale he takes. My breaths feel as If they're wrenched out of me, hastily trying to swallow them back down again to try breathe.

"I forgot how hard you can go."

Heart shaped lips grinning.

"Careful (Y/N)~ your words are awfully suggestive in the wrong context." He laughs, breath shaky but the sound rich and strong with amusement.

"Well—I don't doubt those dancers hips leave anything lacking when it comes to strength and stamina."

The words hold true from experience with a few hookups from the dancers on the university programme. Dancers—they had a different level of crazy stamina, an entity unto themselves.

In the large wall-to-wall mirrors I catch his gaze flicker with interest, his smile lazy, punctured with the slightly less rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Aware of it but not of who.

Though I couldn't say either. Not for some. Not what a blurred night of drinks and that haze of being accepted into the prestigious sports university could do. Not when it's been years.

But the experience holds true.

"Why don't you get a few old faces to help out then?" words teasing. Light.

There's a few... but a rare few couples on campus if that. There's far too much dedication and focus invested into the sports. There's only so much time, only so many hours in a day, only so many weeks before seasons. And is it given to your worth, your talent, your livelihood and passion or is it given to committing to a relationship. The few scarce couples that there are on campus that I know of... it takes so much consistency and effort, so much open communication and understanding that at the end of their sports come first before they can give time to one another. There has to be such a strong foundation of understanding for that, or it'll never work. We all have our own failed experiences as testaments to it.

Besides what's easy light fun is just that. A brief relief. A good release. That's it. As if any of them exist in my present as anything beyond fellow athletes.

It's easy to read the joking tone in his voice, the way it makes his voice lilt with that sweetness that's just so Hobi. No loose ends that tether any of us.

"I want to learn from the best." The undefeatable, unchanged truth of it.

A flush of warmth softens Hobi's eyes, the slight pink of his skin a flush that's got nothing to do with dancing with me for the past few hours.

"Aish—trying to get me to stop by sweetening me up?"

"Nope." The 'p' sound popping.

"Cos you know I'd help you without all the sugar you know."

My smile curves up.

"Still can't take a compliment Hobi~ you're the best on your course. I've never seen someone be able to adopt and absorb other styles with their own. Why would I learn from someone else? Anyone else?"

"Wouldn't a ballet dancer be more suited cos I know a friend who has a friend whose cousin did ballet and they could help I'm sure—"

"Hobi." His name firm and stilling the eager helpful ramble, squeezing his arm appreciatively. Smile deep as I look at him.

Because he would do that too. He would ask, he would go out and beyond his way and reach to help a friend.

Just as quickly and eagerly he'd taken up the offer to run through some routines, far too easy for him, but ones that helped me get into practice with the motions and sequencing steps to regulate that fluidness. To help it be all the more seamless in my skating.

Tugging him into a half-hug. Sweaty and clothes sticking uncomfortably. But he has no qualms about wrapping me up tightly, tugging me into a full squeezing, half-swaying embrace.

I suppose at some point you become desensitised entirely to other people's sweat.

I grimace to myself, wondering just how long ago I must've become desensitised to Jungkook's.

"I've already got my weekly ballet practices; I want to get a feel for different types of rhythm and styles I can do with skating. You know—break away from stereotypes a bit."

"So you're telling me you don't like proving the stereotype that you in your training and performance leotards are a sight for sore eyes?"

"Well when you say it like that--" the beginnings of what could be a bad idea or a very good idea connecting its links in my mind.

And he knows me so well, reads the intent in my eyes without them even needing to be worded, eyes glittering with delight, with encouragement. Words pitched with delight. Loud laughter ringing in the studio. Filling it now that the music's been switched off.

"Is this for the someone you've been seeing?"

"I'm not really seeing someone, we're not dating or anything--"

"Unless you're blindfolded during the sex I think it counts as seeing someone."

"That might make things easier." I muse.

Though there's something about the idea of the lack of sight, the entire absence of it that makes a tingle of heat skim down the line of my spine at the prospect.

But something about being driven insane not knowing how he's looking at me, but there'll be the absence of the smirk—though I've felt it countless times against my body, felt that damning smirk press to skin.

Or maybe the mental image of Jimin lying there blindfolded, lips twisted with a harshness and body taut with tension, unable to see where my touch is going to drift, where my body is in position to his own.

That image makes my skin heat.

Makes Hobi's eyes spark with a brighter gleam, grin mischievous. Dare I say... approving?

"Doesn't seem like you're too fond of the guy, willing to fuck, not willing to see him all the time?"

"Just enough to get off."

"Damn. Are you this cold with your hookups now?"

Ice princess.

The stupid nickname comes to mind, whispered in the quiet, low drawl of Jimin's voice.

A faint involuntary quirk to my mouth that doesn't go unmissed. Eyes narrowing at the sight.

Fingers lightly poking at my sides, loose hold around me tightening to still me from squirming away entirely.

"Or is that what it is? Some sort of kink? Into being mean to each other?"

I raise my brows.

"Kink shaming?" though there's not that depth to whatever dynamic we have to know the entirety of what kink or turn on the other has.

Though it's never vanilla, it's everything but vanilla. It's not the sickening sweet slowness that neither of us have time for, it's quick, it's barrelling towards pleasure, it's being blinded by lust and so whatever we share, quick and rough, pressed into skin is all that we need from one another.

Though the image that Hobi's words unknowingly elicit makes me think of how long I could rile him up like that, maybe the next time I was at his dorm—

"The last thing you'll hear from me is kink shaming."

"Cos hope on the streets, Jay in the sheets." I tease.

But with his whole captain demeanour, with the way his personality flits from sunny warmth and heart-smiles in a way that's just Hobi to the intensity of his eyes pinning you as he watches, examines every line of my body when I dance in front of him, whenever he's monitoring me and Kook... whenever he's leading training. It's a different person entirely. A seriousness in furrowed brows and a tightly coiled body, arms crossed over his chest and counting down the beats that's just Captain Jung—huh. Maybe it was a captain kink.

But I wasn't attracted to neither Kook nor Hobi in the slightest. Even though they were attractive.

Maybe it was just assertiveness and assuredness was attractive. Appealing.

So anything but Park. Until that switch flipped.

But even so—it hadn't been an entire tilt of control in his favour. There was no way any part of me, self-worth, pride and that grappling clash of being on top, being number one, of being so infuriated by the thought of him having any semblance of hold that I can't let go, that would let me. I won't let go and give up that tilt of control.

When I know I can, if the attraction is strong, if the tension and anticipation fizzes and bubbles up to it then I can.

I just don't think Park Jimin is someone I'd envision that with. I'd rather have him skate over my foot than entertain that possibility.

Hell—I'd rather be stuck in those stupid group skating lessons in utter painful silence with him, doing the most mundane and menial tasks that baby skaters would get bored of than give up entire control. Hand the reins over.

"That's awful. Please don't ever say that again." Hobi grimaces, hands unravelling to half-nudge-shove me back gently, lips thinned as he stares at me with disbelief.

"Why not~ I know we're not a campus, campus but there'd be rumours if you were a dissatisfactory lay. Dance Captain has his own swarm of on-campus fans."

A quiet flicker of flushed satisfaction. The deep curve of his mouth stretching wide, fingers skimming lightly over my shoulder.

"There it is again—charmer. I can see why Kook needs to push hard. You'd skate circles around him.

The ugly snort of mirth that slips from my lips is entertained at the prospect.

"Me? Skate circles around Kook? He's got me right where he wants me. As if he'd let me off."

"But that's how teams work. You push him, he pushes you. Occasionally—I push you both."

A resigned grin tugs at my lips.

"Guess it is."

"And (Y/N)..."

"Yeah Hobi?"

"....try out a blindfold. You'll be surprised." Eyes gleaming with experience.

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

For a moment... for a brief, brief miniscule moment the sight of the bed makes me briefly falter, the sight of it still new enough, attention only managing to land on it for but a few moments before the familiar press of hard muscles and hands, impatient and hurried, clasp at me from behind, snaking round my front. One delving under fabric to trail upwards, fingers toying over fabric, working one peak to stiffness then another. The harsh drag of his nail raking against my nipple, circling and toying before a sharp tweak of his fingers has me bowing forward into the touch, a harsh jerked motion before I can even process it. The sound that leaves my lips wanton, morphing into a keening moan when his other hand divests the barrier of underwear to move quick, practiced fingers down to my core, teeth against skin—a primal, vicious grin of satisfaction at the betraying arousal he finds between my legs.

"For someone who has quite the mouth on her, you seem to like it better when I'm pushing you around."

"Look at yourself Park—do you really believe you could?"

The tight pinched twist of his forefinger and thumb at my chest yanks a broken sound of pure want from my lips, the sting harsh and rough, its pleasure heated, making my skin begin to feel like livewire.

"Look at you. Not even in you and you're so easy aren't you? Such an easy win." The words rough, sharp against my skin, the triumph in them riling.

"As much as I'd like to say that maybe an easy win is all you'll ever get, can't say I agree."

"Never do. Always got some smart comment don't you?"

"Just fuck me." The words grit out, the hardness in it crumbling at the press of his thumb brushing rough, tight circles onto my nub and his fingers, stained with arousal, slowly sink in, barely adjusting to the sudden way my legs clamp harshly around his hand, the way my body adjusts to take the deepening thrust and curl of his fingers sheathing deeper to the knuckles. A brief moment where the air trembles around me, my hand clutching tightly at his forearm, nails digging into skin.

"Bossy."

"Oh don't worry Park I know you need a firm hand in bed don't you~" the wavered laugh punctured by the sound that threatens to escape but pure force of will makes me swallow it down when his fingers curl, stilling the taunt in my voice.

"Yet you crumble when I get just fingers in you." the words a mocking taunt, breath hot against my ear, teeth sharp against my skin, lips pressing a scorching open-mouthed kiss, tongue briefly lathing over the stinging sensation left at the crook of my neck, teeth having sunk down at the same instance that his hands turn rougher, sharp and quick.

"Going to have to do better than that."

"Going to do you better." Words promising.

"Got some sort of personal best to achieve?" the words trembling on my lips, the jibe falling short with the way my breath shudders, a keening sound wrenched from my throat, head bowing forward, fingers clutching tightly at his forearm, nails digging into skin, a heavier wave of lust pulsing through me at the sight of his hand underneath fabric, the sight of prominent veins trailing from the back of his hand that's disappeared from sight to his forearm that half-bands around my torso. Keeps me pressed back into him, fingers working me to dizzying pleasure without preamble or tease. Rough efficiency. Someone who knows now how to make me arch under his touch. How to make me crumble.

Finger fucking me rough and quick, lips smirking against my skin, against my hair, words low and guttural, laced with the same sharp arousal that I feel beginning to splinter me from the inside out. The proof of his own rutting against my backside, rough grinding circles that pushes his length against me, his other hand skimming down my front and moving to grip my hip to tug me back to meet each circling motion flush to his body. Using me for his pleasure and my own. The thought of it makes my head spin. That the sight alone can make heat flood my stomach, makes my core tighten around his fingers, thighs clenching at the intrusion of fingers working me to a peak.

"I always have a best to beat. Especially if it comes to besting you."

Teeth sinking in harsh against skin, mouth hot against the crook of my neck, tongue lathing over the stinging sensation but nothing to soothe over it, leaving heat in its wake, breath fanning across skin, pressing himself flush to me, hand clasping to keep me from twisting back.

"You're going to have to keep trying."

Though if this is how his efforts go, if this is how he tries to best his own then by all means...

My thighs tighten around his hand, nails harsh against his skin, a broken shuddered sound when his thumb presses harsh and the hand that'd been at my hip drags back up. Rough drag of skin against skin and fingers moving past to twist harsh at the same time his other hand bucks up, fingers sheathing into me. Back arching in a taut curve, hips rocking restlessly, his name a salty tang on my lips, feeling sore and the faint metallic on my tongue makes my teeth loosen from their clamped hold on my bottom lip.

"With pleasure."

And it might've been the first time anything between us has been given the feeling aloud. Admitted.

My mind buzzes with that rush of endorphins that each prolonged wave of pleasure brings. The uneven feeling of my breaths wavering with every inhale and exhale as my body slowly comes down from its high.

All too aware of the matter at hand pressed flush to my hips, words ragged and laced with sharp arousal.

"Fuck doll I could have you like this all over again."

"Don't need a hand?" the words playing on my lips with a lazy loose smile, feel his teeth drag slow against my skin before his touch recedes slightly.

The unevenness of his own breaths is surprising, so is the way that when I tilt my head back the darkness of his eyes have blackened and that his gaze is already fixed on me, intently drinking in every shift of my body, in the way my body still trembles in the loosening hold of his banded arm around me.

In answer his lips quirk, a flash of pearly teeth and that—that crooked tilt to his grin, questioning why it is that when he grins my eyes are briefly... briefly snagged to the slightly crookedness to his grin.

But the intent in his eyes are drowning with desire.

And the unsteadiness of my footing makes the nudged-shove towards the bed make me stumble, legs still feeling loose-limbed.

Laugh low and smug.

"I could do with more than a hand." His own hand dragging down my spine, resting just above the curve of my ass, the touch weighted with intent.

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

🏒: Busy?

❄️: Practicing on the rink.

🏒: Think you could manage to share?

❄️: Don't think that benefits me.

🏒: I could make playing nice play in your favour doll.

❄️: ....what could you offer?

🏒: Maybe this time you could actually stay upright when we're doing drills.

❄️: Who said I'm sharing the rink? And who said I want to do your stupid drills.

🏒: Still stings huh? Tripping up over the puck.

❄️: It's a health hazard!

I catch the twitch to my lips even if his words make my skin sting with the reminder of the memory.

Eyes flitting back to the screen.

🏒: Don't worry doll I'll catch you if you fall 😉

❄️: Do girls actually want to play at being your damsel in distress?

🏒: Kink-shaming some good old role play?

❄️: We could try that...

🏒: O h ?

❄️: Maybe I could role play for you Park...

🏒: Keep talking

I toy with my phone for a few moments, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and I know he can see that I'm typing something, waiting impatiently.

Laughing softly at the sight of the emoji that appears.

🏒: 👀

❄️: Maybe next time I could play the role of someone who'd fall for the bullshit. Or of someone who actually likes the entitled prat vibes.

🏒: ....

🏒: You don't have to like me to let me fuck you... I thought we established that. Just a few hours ago~

🏒: Need a reminder?

❄️: Horny prick.

🏒: Bingo.

🏒: ...so? You game?

Left on read.

[......]

"You did not leave me on read." Words hissed as he bypasses me, clambering off the ice with a flushed face, just having finished practice. Body blocking me off from stepping onto the rink to swap over, practice times having been slotted close.

"Got to keep you on your toes... can't have you thinking I'd drop anything to be a quickie."

"That's exactly why we're doing this." Touche Park.

"I wasn't free." Lies.

"Bullshit." The word blunt, eyes scouring.

"Too much effort to get up and leave the comfort of my dorm." I admit.

His brows rise, gaze glinting. Voice low and hushed, the words stirring a thought that threatens to cross barriers. Tilting forward to murmur them to me before he finally steps aside to let me pass.

"Oh I don't mind visiting yours."

And the closeness of his body lingers even as the sound of his skates mark his retreat.

(AND SCENE SCENE! THIS CHAPTER WASN'T MEANT TO BE THIS LONG BUT I CAN'T HELP MYSELF AND I CAN ALREADY FEEEEEEEEL WHAT Midiiplier IS GOING TO SAY BUT I SWEAR I TRY KEEP THESE ONES A BIT SMALLER... A BIT MORE NORMAL SIZED. BUT OPJFEOPWJFEWOP LOTS OF STUFF TO COME—ANYONE NOTICED ANYTHING BETWEEN (Y/N) AND JIMIN~? THERE'S SO MUCH TO HAPPEN BETWEEN THEM, SO MUCH TO CHANGE~ CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER ALREADY!! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3