(Y/N) POV:

I'd rather have a bumbling hockey player skate over my bare foot than admit that maybe... just maybe... perhaps... mayhaps... perchance I know Jimin better than I'd like to. That maybe is a consequence, a backfired effect of sleeping with him, of being so close physically at some stolen parts of some stolen days that something is just... off.

Something's off in the way that he just seems to be different to the guy I've been falling into bed with. Which in itself is weird enough to admit that the guy I've been fucking is different to the rough brusque hockey player whose skating leaves jagged wounds in the rink. That has a permanent scowled discontent on his face and weighing down the breadth of his form.

I shouldn't know that. And yet somehow I do.

And I know it because it feels different to the type of energy he channels on the rink, it's not competitive or antsy and needing to burn off energy, it's not riled up and ready to go, skates a moment's notice from shooting across the ice. It's hostile and angry and wound up to a point it'll implode if triggered.

"Watch where you're going!" barely missing when I sidestep him, eyes widened with surprise at the sudden rush of force that'd come bulldozing its way across the ice, that this close and I'd had to sidestep to avoid being skated into the ice itself, a flash of irateness in his eyes and the ugly twist of a sneer, cold and cruel.

"Don't take up space that's needed then."

"I'm sorry what?" incredulous and disbelieving, voice tinged with a sharpness as I whirl around to look at him, watch as he barely turns to even deign to spare me a look, eyes hard flints of ice when I catch sight of them as he turns. A tightness to his posture and expression, the air around him seeming to burn and crackle with sparks of hostility.

"What's got his skates in a twist?"

"Might be a blueballs situation, why... did you turn him down or something?" Kook laughs, voice low in my ear as he skates up beside me, following my line of sight before it flits in a quick, sharp twist to scowl at him.

"One if that's not what it looks like. And second he's being an asshole." grimacing at the thought. Because leaving him turned on then walking away didn't look like that. This was a different something.

"Is he ever not? Besides isn't being like this your thing?"

"My thing?"

"Your thing, his thing." waving his hand generally, gesturing over at me.

"Trying to be infuriating to each other." he elaborates.

"I do not. I'm a model of good sportsmanship. Even with jackasses who chase after a piece of rubber that's a health hazard!"

"You're going to have to let that slip up go (Y/N)."

"Everyone saw Kook!"

"You've fallen on the ice before! That's a given with an ice sport."

"I fell in front of everyone Kook. Those stupid smug bastards and their stupid coach too." it didn't matter to fall in the first place, neither did it matter because he was right. In figure skating we'd amassed more bruises, scrapes and cuts than something we could give an amount to.

But falling in front of them? The heat on my cheeks had been anger and prickly defensiveness at seeing the way it'd elicited a few laughs, had made their Coach's eyes glimmer with mockery.

There's a faint, tiny quirk to his lips, a small twitch before it smoothens over impassively but not before I've already caught sight of it, whacking him again.

"Koo!"

"Slip ups happen. Besides at least it wasn't purposeful-- didn't he even try help you up?"

"He was bent over laughing at me! He wasn't bending down to help me!"

"...I tried put a positive spin on it."

"One day he's almost crying with laughter at my expense now he's a being a piece of shit."

"Ah don't worry about it... you know the hockey players have more attitudes and airs than the prima donnas they say we are." eyes rolling at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

"You could say that again." I grumble, tugged into Kook's side as he slings an arm around me to tug me to him, nudging me forward after a brief consolatory squeeze, grin still etched across his face.

"So how about you ignore prima donna over there and we get off the ice, grab some snacks and keep apartment hunting?"

"Such a romantic-planning on spending the night with me?"

"It's your turn to bring out the spare blankets-you keep ruining my laundry with your sneakiness of bringing snacks into my bed." And I know I shouldn't tease, I know I shouldn't perhaps eat snacks that could crumble or make a mess in the first place... but there's something awfully endearing as it is amusing seeing the way he puffs up in indignation, nothing like a Captain's irateness there... not a trace.

Just Koo.

The same puffy glower that he'd had at our first sleepover as kids when he'd discovered an open packet underneath the blankets we'd been setting down, the sparkling shininess of his eyes turning confused and accusing. Maybe he's just too easy to rile and get a reaction out of.

"Can't eat snacks!"

"It's a sleepover!"

"It's gonna make a mess!"

"I'll brush it off-see?" hand hastily swiping at the blanket to get rid of errant crumbs before he saw, though even under the fairy lights strung up so meticulously it shouldn't be bright enough to see but he does.

"Eomma! (Y/N)'s making a mess on my blankets!" lips slightly wobbling, accusation in his eyes as he points at me when his mum peeks past the flaps of our blanket fort, expression melting into a smile. Fond and all too knowing.

Looking at her imploringly.

"Kookie it's fine-"

"Yeah Kookie!"

"She's eating them! Cookies! All over." Looking so upset by it that it makes me shuffle closer, gently tugging at his pj sleeve.

"Okay 'm sorry."

"...."

"M sorrryyyyyy Koo'" head smooshing to his shoulder, peering up at him.

"...." Turning away with a huffed pout even though the upset's melted off his expression. A small tiny... tiny twitch to his lips.

"You're cleaning up! Dibs not it!"

"I'm a lost cause Kookie you know that."

"A helpless case." He retorts, another nudge to move me towards the rink's exit, the two of us pausing when Coach Seo calls out.

"I'll see you both for practice, I've booked Studio B."

"Yes Coach." Our voices echo together, seeing her nod before she tilts her head off towards the rink, silent encouragement to leave now that practice is over.

Eyes watchful until they flit and change direction, turning glacial within a moment when they settle on Coach Kim and the way he's ordering his students into position immediately. Their swiftness and his barked orders combined makes it blatantly apparent that they can't wait to force-steer us off the ice to take over immediately with their own practice.

Something that is unspoken dismissiveness of us as we clamber off the ice, barely veiled anger-if that, in Coach's eyes as she watches the hockey team set up.

Briefly before I clamber off the ice, before I leave, my eyes flit back towards the angry figure, posture still bristling and radiating with the force of his mood.

Asshole.

If I'd had any mind to message him or meet him, it's gone now.

The blunt misdirected force of his inner anger channelled out towards me leaves me feeling angered by becoming the target for it instead.

He can clear his head and get it out his ass then come find me.

Zero points Park.

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

"Want to?" offer there, suspended between us.

My eyes flit briefly over him as I side-step him, stepping past, hand easily tugged away from his own reaching out to curl around my forearm. His body is flushed, sweating-perspiration gleaming on his skin, darkening the blonde at its roots. My gaze flits to the exit he'd come out of.

"What was that?"

"Want to get out of here?" eyes full of suggestive intent, a flicker of heat toying at the edge of his voice, makes it drop slightly lower.

"And why would I want to do that?" eyes skimming in low appraisal. Chin jutted out.

His stare is sharp, the cock of his head confused almost...

Oh Park.

"Not in the mood?"

"Oh, I don't want to be doing anything of the pleasurable sort after the way you've acted like a dick."

"Since when has that bothered you princess?"

"Oh, it doesn't... I know exactly what you are to me Park. Quick pleasure. That doesn't mean for a decent lay I'll let you be an absolute prick to me first."

"Playing hard to get?" brows rising, though his eyes flicker with confusion, an entangled mix of the lingering threads of whatever had been playing on his mind and the question as to why I'd say no.

"I don't play around Park. Either it's a yes or a no. Right now-it's a no. So go back to practicing. You could do with that."

In ways more than one.

Maybe it wouldn't have bothered me as much before. Maybe a few weeks back this is exactly the sort of thing he would've said whether or not we were sleeping together.

But right now-it infuriates me.

And right now I know I won't take it. I refuse to take it.

If he's got a problem, then he needs to learn to deal with it properly.

There's a moment where his eyes refuse to leave mine, searching and intent and then a low rough exhale of breath before his posture stiffens. Straightens.

And in mirrored sync, my own does the same.

A silent stand-off.

One I refuse to back down from.

And it's clear whatever's on his mind still chips at him, in the same irate way his hockey stick taps at the rink, chipping away at the ice.

"Fine."

But that's the thing.

It's blatantly obvious that he's not.

[......]

"I just wanted to say--" the words are hedged carefully. Mixed with a soft... meekness that's unlike anything I've associated with Jimin. So unlike him. Unlike the hockey player who'd been lashing out just yesterday.

My head tilts as I stare at him.

Partly intrigued. Mainly just waiting. Brows rising as I look at him. Expectant.

"Go on."

"I was... I was a dick. And you didn't deserve that." The words hushed, tinged with something I almost can't place because they come from him. A hint of shame creeping into his voice, bleeding into the softened posture that's not posturing or trying to be macho or cocky. Contrite... huh.

"I didn't." I say firmly.

A frustrated low sigh slips from his lips. But somehow... somehow I can tell it's not directed to me, it's directed towards himself. An angry displeased quiet sound.

"I'm... I'm sorry (Y/N)." Eyes flitting to me, slipping away just as quick.

And I wonder whether it's the act of apologising that comes to him so difficultly or whether it's having to admit to himself and to me that what he did was wrong.

It's such a stark cry from the hockey player I've always been infuriated by. It's startling almost to see a more... human side to him, to see him apologise and realise he'd acted out of order, out of line.

It's almost eye-opening to realise that maybe something... maybe a scrap of decency exists. The shame in his eyes tinged with guilt as he looks at me.

He could've apologised by text.

But he chose to do it in person. He chose to not hide from it.

You're full of surprises aren't you Park?

Something inside me unloosens, a bit of the tension easing from my spine as I straighten up further. Eyes taking in the unconscious way his body is slightly slumped.

Surprise flitting in his features as his head jerks upright.

"Being a dick means I won't want anything to do with yours... is that understood Park?"

"It is." Nodding, chagrined and apology flitting in his eyes. Hand rubbing at the back of his head ruefully.

Voice softer. Soft enough I almost miss the words.

"I really am... sorry."

Something inside me... a tiny molecule of warmth seeps in.

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

"Is there something going on I don't know about?"

"Don't know what you mean." I shrug as Kook rounds the machines to look at me, adjusting the weights I'm meant to be training with, lowering the setting down, dark eyes intense in the way that's purely and solely when he's in focus for training together. When he's spotting me.

"Park over there looks like he's going to bust a nut. How long's the blue-balling going for?" an amused grin tugging at his lips, softening the intensity of his stare somewhat.

"I'm not blue-balling him."

"No? Cos either he's pulled something or he's going to break."

My eyes flit over, turning a few moments later, a spark of curiosity and amusement filtering through me at the thought. In seeing it confirmed with my own eyes brings no little amount of satisfaction.

To find his eyes already intently fixed on me, to see that his eyes darken, brown eyes turned black with want, to find that his eyes draw feverish lines as they trace over me.

To find that when I look at him and he sees me look back, something wanton burns in his eyes, makes the lines of his body seem tenser, stiffening under my cursory glance.

There's a tension that thrums through his body already, muscles tightly coiled and skin gleaming with sweat, blonde hair darkened at the roots, pushed away from his face, every feature sharper, harsher, more prominent.

It makes the hard line of his jaw seem sharper, watch as a muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares at me, the way his eyes have turned narrowed as if gauging which one of us breaks first.

But it's Jimin who looks away first, an angry sharp exhale of breath that even though I'm not close enough to hear, or feel, I already know what the sound feels like when it's pressed to skin, already know that it's sharp and low, trembles with slipping restraint.

"Guess his temper's cooled and now he's just too petty to ask."

"Not taking the first step?" Kook asks with a grin, squatting down beside the machine to test the pull in the hip abductor machine, testing how easily or not the machine gives.

"Sometimes the fun's in the waiting game Kook."

Sometimes... a big-headed hockey player needed to be taken down a notch or two. And be reminded the world didn't begin and end with him.

He'd needed to know. And even though it's been days since he'd acted like a prick, since he'd apologised for it... there just hasn't been the time for sex. Too bad Park.

A grin as he shakes his head at me before there's a squeeze to my calf to nudge me into trying it out. Every muscle from my lower back down my hips, core, thighs and legs all flexing as I push them outwards, the weights at the end of the machine testing at my strength. Forcing me to engage my muscles, a brief check to see that Kook's already nodding, a curl of a smirk that's taunting and all too smug before he adjusts the weights quick. Adding to them.

"If there's no burn then how do you know you've been doing it right? You did that one too easily." He remarks, words coy and amused.

I laugh, a sharp short sound, exhaled as I roll my eyes at him and adjust my stance, Hands curled loose around the handles at either side before I push my legs outward, the weighted mass making the push heavier, pushing until it pins my legs open wide, slowly drawing them to a shut again.

Open, shut, open, shut.

"You're all about the good sort of pain aren't you JK?" I simper with a sweet pitched lilt, eyes fluttering as I look at him, feeling that burning pulling sensation of exertion, feel it make my skin prickle with heat as I continue the set of hip abductions, the stretched pull in my muscles demanding. Strengthening my core muscles and pushing them further.

If this had been a different set of exercises for it then it'd have been a weighted belt at my torso during squats. Different cycles, different variations all for building up my core further.

"You know me too well~" a lilted laugh, words easily rolling off his tongue as he straightens up, silently counting through the reps, a mixture of sharp focus in intense eyes and curled amusement tugging at his lips.

"I also know that Park really can't stop staring. You're almost making me feel sorry for the guy."

"Don't go picking the wrong side JK." I warn, grinning up at him, even though my breath labours, wavering under the strain, the flex of muscles as my hips are pushed to stretch further, eyes flitting to the weight.

"I know my side~ I said almost." A wicked grin back.

Conspiratory and shit-eating.

Fully supporting of whatever way this dynamic plays out, in whichever way it plays out.

"Sometimes you're on your own side. Working to your own self-interests and personal gain Kook?"

"What on earth could I benefit from babysitting your ass to make sure you work out?" he raises his eyebrows at me.

"You get off on the pain. You're a sadist who wants to torture me."

He grimaces.

"It's training, get your head out the gutter (L/N)." he sighs before leaning forward, words hushed and low.

"Besides you being made to sweat is very, very unsexy." Blunt and blasé.

"I'll have you know that there's at least one hockey player who finds it a turn on-" body falling into a steady patterns, hips contracting, squeezing each muscle tight before I will them to loosen with each push of my legs working against the weights.

Watching a glower burn in his eyes as his attention's distracted, body shifting to angle closer to me, words rising in volume as he glares at someone past me, behind me. It's a sudden shift. From focus and assessing. To furious and hard.

"If you'd like to keep your jaw working, I suggest you pick it up off the floor first and take your eyes off her." Words sharp with protective anger as he calls out, voice carrying over. He doesn't care for who listens. But his posture screams intimidation. That towering bulk turned stiff. He doesn't even move towards the person, takes a half-step, body jerking forward in the slightest, but it has the effect because a flash of anger and hard satisfaction flits in his eyes.

I don't even get to turn, curiosity stilled, because he's uttering my name, low and firm. Shaking his head slightly, the anger in his gaze only softening around the edges.

"I got your back. You don't need to turn to give him any satisfaction."

"I'm guessing it wasn't Park."

"Another prick."

"You're really sexy when you're angry."

Fire melting into coolness. Quirked lips and a tilt of his head.

"Do I need to be worried that practice and training together might end in wandering hands?"

I grin at him. A feeling of warmth that seeps into my bones, that counters the sharp prickles of heat that working out brings. Warm, warm because he does have my back.

"Oh JK~ you have my consent to get handsy with me when we're done here."

"That's only because we have ballet together."

"Enjoy~"

[......]

I don't expect Jimin to actually approach.

But there's something so stiff and coiled up about the tension in his body, flushed and sweating as he steps out the gym, eyes flickering to where JK's gone ahead slightly.

Body pressed to my back, twisting us to angle us away from the doors, voice low and lips hot against my ear, against the slither of skin underneath.

Is against skin.

"Quickie?"

This close... this close I can feel that if he turns, I can make out the indent, the outline of his length, semi-hard against the curve of my backside.

Lips tugging upwards, head turning, the dark depths of his stare dragging me closer, body rocking back briefly.

Watch the flash of heat burn his irises darker, swallow them up with want. Hand darting out to grip my waist tight. Fingers squeezing in warning. Tugging me away rather than closer.

A shuddered exhale.

"Don't-I can't take teasing right now." words grit out, as if they're wrenched out of him. As if he's been driven past games right now. And that no resolve, no restraint remains.

A flicker of contriteness.

Swallowed up by the tingling amusement that bubbles its way up, a quiet laugh as I shake my head. Hand clasping his to draw it off mine before I move away entirely.

Eyes flitting to see that some space ahead Kook's stopped to wait for me.

That even from this distance he can see.

"No can do Park. I've got a class."

"You just finished working out."

"And I've got more to do."

Eyes narrowed.

As if he's trying to gauge whether it's a truth or a lie.

I lean in closer, fingers crooking under his chin to tilt his face slightly.

"Going to have to wait pretty boy."

"Trying to soften the rejection?" an amused low drawl to his words, the cadence of it does something to my insides.

It does something else to my insides when rather than be displeased, he takes the comment in stride seamlessly, eyes full of unabashed want, a glint of smug satisfaction despite the so-called rejection.

Maybe a few weeks ago his face would've twisted with disdain for the words.

But right now-right now his gaze turns briefly lidded, a flicker of heat, want, amusement, impatience before it steels itself into something harder.

A simmering wait in them.

Fine. I'll wait.

"Practice doesn't wait. Definitely not for something as mild as a quickie." Lips curling up, stretching wider.

"I guess if it's not mild then I'll have to wait."

"Good boy."

The flash of fire and heat doesn't go unmissed, but neither does the rise of his brows-amused at the lilt in my voice rather than aggravated or turned on by it.

"I think we both know well enough that we wouldn't be fucking if you thought of me as a boy." Confident and assured.

Why does that smug countenance look briefly attrac-

"Touche." I admit.

"Your dorm?" I murmur quietly, eyes flitting past him, reading the mixture of buzzing impatience and amusement radiating off Jungkook's body. A buzzy restlessness because we had practice and Coach Seo just had this presence that unconsciously made you want to perform better, be better. So turning up alongside her definitely wouldn't cut it.

"Inviting yourself over?"

"Well I don't think something quick is going to settle it. Do you?"

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

"Fuck you looked good working out." Hand impatient as it shoves his door open, immediately crowding me against it, stumbling into the ajar threshold with me still pinned under the weighted grip of a hand at my hip, his own flush to mine. Immediately steering the two of us inside. Door shoved shut.

"I thought we established that when you fucked me in the gym after my last session." Words muttered between bitten kisses, hands rough and quick as they map out and grip at curves, harsh enough it makes me hiss against his lips, teeth sinking into his full bottom lip in retaliation.

"That was you coming onto me. But this time-" hands dragging at my shirt, too impatient to draw off every last layer, squeezing tightly, harshly at my waist before drifting lower. There's the sound of something tearing, but in that haste, in that blinded single-minded need it doesn't register to him. And the feel of his lips chasing skin, leaving stinging scrapes of teeth in his wake makes the thought quickly erase itself from mind.

"This time..."

"This time I don't know how I held back."

"The gym does have larger bathrooms."

"It's not the same. I didn't want a quick fuck after all that torture. I wanted to make it last." Voice rough, eyes darkened with lust. A blackened desire that makes my veins burn, makes my body scorch with heat.

"But with how desperate you are-what's the chances you'll even last long enough Park to get in me?" breath hitching at the way his hands grip turns bruising at my hips, twisting me towards the direction of the bed. Half-stumbled, half-staggered movements, fingers at the waistband of his shorts, under his shirt, tracing the sharp prominent v-line downwards, nails scraping against skin.

"I've waited too long to not get to fuck you now." hands impatiently skimming over my body, the two of us stumble backwards, teetered off balance when he presses closer, back against familiar sheets, body pressed into his bed. Pressed further by the way Jimin crowds closer, hands dragging down layers, still half-entangled around my legs before he's already pressing closer, grip rough as he pins my body with his. Weight pressing down, hand reaching down between us, legs angled open and kept open even as my body jolts, back arching at the press of two fingers sinking into me without preamble. Hissing out his name, fingers scrabbling for purchase at his wrist, something so entirely different about the way this position has me feeling utterly pinned and held into place by the weight of his body tilted to me, a looming cage of muscles and sinew, a hand sinking into the sheets beside me as he works his fingers in and out, sharp, punctuated thrusts and twisting motions that has my thighs beginning to tremble. A faint clenched tightness to my core that ebbs slightly when his fingers ease out, a throaty groan at the back of his throat at the sight of arousal staining his fingers, slick with it. It's dizzying to know that's the effect he has on me. And dizzying to know how much it turns him on.

He only draws back to hastily tug off his clothes, eyes tracking the stretch and ripple of muscles as his arms are drawn overhead, tossing the shirt aside, hair rumpled and the stamp of ink across his rib stretched taut, each line and ridge of his abdomen. Tracking the sharply etched v-line of his hips before he's tugging off his shorts. The quick fluidity of his motions makes my gaze skim over him just as hurried, eager to have him press close again. To feel the same outline of his body pressing... pinning mine.

Fingers impatient as they tug at the strap of my bra, a harsh yanked motion that suddenly makes it loosen, snap. The scrap of fabric clutched tightly in his grip, a flicker of surprise melting into wicked satisfaction. A grinned smirk as he tosses the fabric aside.

"What the fuck Park? I liked that bra." I grit out, frustration at odds with the impatient hunger that bleeds into his movements, eyes rolling dismissively as he tosses the now useless piece aside.

"I'll replace it."

"It was expensive. That was-"

"I don't give a shit how much it was. It was in the way."

"That was--"

Lips bruising, harsh and desperate against mine. Uncaring in the way the sharp hunger of his lips bruise as they meld to mine, taking the pleasure with the sharp sting of his teeth and the sweep and thrust of his tongue as it slips into my mouth. Stakes its claim on every breathy, stifled sound. Swallows it.

Silencing the protest, fingers yanking harsh at his hair, nails against his scalp, kissing back just as harshly, furious and frustrated, body twisting on the sheets, trying to push up to slot to his but the clamped vice of his hand at my hip keeps me pinned down, keeps my lungs seizing with air, stolen breaths and the tight burn of oxygen as his body keeps my legs pinned up, baring myself to him.

"Do you ever just shut up? Always got some complaint or the other don't you princess? Even if you just lie there there's always a complaint."

The words stir a feeling of fury and challenged, riled up at the thought, the suggestion that I just lay there. Passive and receiving.

Hand curling against his nape to tug his mouth closer, hand slipping between us to drag down his sternum, fingers tracing the lines of his torso before skimming lower. No preamble, no build-up, a tight squeezing grip that has him bucking forward in a harsh jerked motion. Eyes darkened with lust and widened with surprise.

"Ever thought I have complaints cos you're not satisfactory?"

"Bullshit."

"Because you're not meeting the right standards--"

There's no chance to goad, to provoke the glint in his eyes further, there's no chance for more even though suddenly that's all my senses are filled by. More, more, more.

The tight grip of his hand at my jaw, angling my throat in an arched pronounced curve, mouth burning-hot against my skin, the hand at my hip pressing me harder against the sheets. Something commandeering in the dark heat of his eyes when his head rises up, the sting of his mouth pulsing at my neck, an intensity that stills the taunt at my lips, head dipping lower to drag down my throat, over my collarbones. Inching lower...lower.

And when his length slowly sinks in, tauntingly slow at first, before a sharp, sudden thrust sends him burying himself into me, a punctured harsh cry torn from my mouth, the sound shudders in the space of air between our lips, eyes fluttering when the tight grip of his hand demands my gaze to flutter open, to focus on him.

"Not satisfied with the quality?"

"Might have to test it out again."

The gleam in his eyes is all too acquiescing, the next rolled thrust of his hips harder, body jostled against the sheets.

"Test it out until you're sick of it princess."

[......]

"You ripped my clothes!"

"Whoops."

"I can't even-Kook pick up, pick up... come on..." words muttered under my breath, phone pressed to my ear, eyes drifting past to scowl at Jimin, watch the way the shit-eating, smug grin on his face deepens with pride, fingers toying with the broken straps, dangling the scrap of lingerie on his fingers with the gleam of someone revelling in the spoils of his victory.

They're spoilt alright.

"I can't go out like this!" words hissed out, the endless ringing of the phone spelling doom, a tight pit of gnawing uncertainty... what do I do... I could've managed without the bra but how do I leave with torn leggings? Staring at the gaping hole with a sense of misery and dismay.

"Your friend not picking up? Shame." Sounding in the least bit repentant even as I ball up the torn, useless fabric and lob it at his head, watch him briefly examine the tear before his lips twitch. Far too busily examining the lacy scrap of fabric in his hand.

"This is all your fault. I can't walk out your room with torn clothes! I can't even get to Jungkook's room without flashing someone because a certain impatient player can't control his brute strength."

"We both know you have a strength kink."

I snort.

"It's certainly not getting fulfilled by you. That kink feeds itself if I'm with Kook-I don't think you've seen the man... though with how you're always busy eye-fucking me I can't say I blame you."

A scowled flash of displeasure that briefly mars the smug look on his face.

"By all means then doll-use your muscle man to get out of here."

"He's not answering!"

"Your Captain must tire easily if he's already in bed asleep. Or he sleeps like the dead."

"Or... he's out dancing." I groan, fingers swiping quickly through Hobi's socials, catching sight of the countless updates, the selcas and clips... damn it that looks like fun.

And I'm stuck here without clothes or a way to leave.

I glare at Jimin.

Eyes narrowing.

"Are you trying to pick a fight Park? When this is your fault?"

"Just saying- so how are you getting back?" veering the conversation away, a flicker of amusement glinting in lazily appraising eyes. The drawled tone of his voice suggesting that he's purposely avoiding leaning into my words... but they're taunting, nevertheless.

"I-you made the problem now you solve the problem!"

"...."

"Fix it Park!" words blunter, jagged around the edges, his amusement only fuelling the sense of frustration and dismay as I stare at him. Watch as he stretches languidly across the bed, the lazy, slow movement satisfied and... preening, a slowness in his words that's intentional... purposely drawled out, a heavier rasp in his voice that sends tingles down my spine, the same fleeting skimming pressure as fingers against skin.

Something tossed at me before he speaks.

"Guess I'm all you've got then."

Fingers curling tight into the tee-shirt I've caught, eyes flashing with ire at the sight of his grin widening as he sprawls comfortably across the sheets.

Eyes flickering to my phone.

I don't have a choice.

And leaving his dorm room parading about in ripped clothes and scraps is damning, it's telling... it's creating a walk of shame when I've nothing to be ashamed of. The ogling... that I could do without.

....

I'll have to stay for the night.

But admitting it, with that shit-eating grin, makes me want to claw the look off his face. The sight of the lines down his back proof... red-lined reminder of where my nails had dug in. Had left their proof.

"You ripped my clothes and now I have to wear yours."

A roll of his eyes as he continues to look at me.

"You weren't complaining when you begged me to get you naked."

"It cost me 50!"

"...I'll buy you a new one." Words drawn out, as if takes the entirety of the meagre scrap of patience he's had to muster up.

"You bet you fucking will." I grumble, tugging the shirt up and overhead.

And even though... even though I've spent countless times melded with him, limbs entangled and touch mapping each other out, there's something disconcerting about the fact that I don't feel his warmth in the shirt-it'd been tossed and discarded, it still has his scent to it. It smells like Jimin.

Something disconcerting about the way it feels odd on my skin, the fabric worn and smooth, clinging to curves in a way it highlights muscles and breadth on his body.

That semblance of control only regained by the way his eyes seem to darken, gaze narrowing at the sight.

Huh.

"Got a thing for your fucks being in your clothes? Seems oddly... soft."

"Oh trust me the last thing I'm getting is soft at the sight."

"You're disgusting."

"You've changed your tune."

[......]

🏒: *sent a photo*

❄️: What do you want now? More to tear off?

🏒: Now there's an idea~ are you offering?

❄️: You still owe me for ruining it.

🏒: No appreciation for ruining you though?

❄️: Oh fuck off

🏒: I'd rather fuck you

❄️: Always got one thought on your mind huh

🏒: Only got you on my mind doll

❄️: 😐

🏒: So... I can keep it then?

❄️: I can't use it anymore

🏒: *sent a photo*

❄️: On your bedpost? Really?🙄

🏒: Got to frame my trophy don't I?

❄️: More of a spoil with how you ruined it

🏒: Don't worry doll I'll make it up to you😉

❄️: Until I get a replacement or you pay for it...

🏒: I could work for it~

Left on read

[......]

🏒: *sent a photo*

🏒: I fixed it.

❄️: Looks like a shitty job of it to me.

🏒: I sat there. And I sewed the strap back!

❄️: You know how to sew?

🏒: Duh

❄️: Just didn't think you knew how to do anything except act like a dick.

🏒: Act *with my dick I think you meant 😏😉

❄️: 🙄 there goes the brownie points

🏒: Do you want it back or not?

❄️: ...just give it to me in practice

🏒: In front of everyone? Making a show of it are we?

🏒: Is that... 👀

🏒: Something you're into? 👀

❄️: I take it back. I have an image to keep up. And respect.

🏒: Cold words ice princess

🏒: I like it 😏

JIMIN POV:

Sports isn't a test of physical strength as much as it's a constant war against mental strength. Sports isn't a test of how much you can do physically... it's how much you can push yourself.

And then it's how much you can be pushed.

It's not just stamina and strength.

It's endurance.

And sometimes that endurance is how much you can take from a person pushing and pushing and pushing... pushing to test how much you can take before you break.

"Park! Again!" the harsh order is a whip cracking across my back, body aching and sore, desperate for a moment's reprieve, just moments to breathe.

There's something akin to frustration and desperation that bubbles up, impatient and frayed, no longer able to keep it at bay.

"Can we just-stop Coach? I need a break."

The glowering flash of fire that roars to life in his eyes is stronger than the crackling bark of his commands.

"A break? You don't get a break until I say Park. So if I say you're running shooting drills until every single puck we have is shot right into the goal-what are we going to be doing?"

Breathe...breathe...

Swallow down the bitter exhaustion.

"Shooting every single puck into the goal... sir."

"So, keep going."

There's something far too much, far too intense, far too demanding about a one-on-one session with Coach. Far too much everything because all that focus and drive and hard push comes down to one person, it becomes the entire team's expectations and stamina to rest solely on the person on the rink with Coach.

Some part of me dreads these sessions, rarer than our regular group sessions because ice hockey isn't a sport trained best for as individuals. But these sessions... they feel like they're always a test. Of will, of strength, of how much you can take as an individual and therefore how much you'll be able to take and support for the team.

That's the only reason I can think of.

To the near dictator style level of training, Coach is all harshness and tough... tough love. He's snapped orders and radiates a demand to listen, to follow, to go through the motions of the intense training until he says we're done.

Or until we physically can't.

"Does taking you away from the team leave you as a sissy ? Where's the focus at? Where's your strength?"

"Are you meant to carry the team, or the team carries you?"

"Dead weight?"

Every mistake, small or slight is pinpointed with a ruthless intensity, with a cutting jab that doesn't just hurt, it's meant to maim or strike deep.

And it does.

Every sharp word cutting and scouring away at me, getting into my head, making me falter, slip up on small mistakes.

There's no place on the team for small mistakes.

Maybe it's a small mercy that I'm not making these mistakes in front of the team, in front of Lee. they can't see that right now I'm letting them down. That I'm far from being the star player they boast me to be.

Right now... I'm far from that title and praise.

And in this session, I need to earn it back. For me. For the team. For Coach.

I need to prove I'm worthy.

[.......]

"Again."

"Come on Park-play like you mean it."

"If you're not built to be a centre then why don't you just give it up to Lee?"

"It's my position Coach." The words grit out with fire and a rage that burns as it tears itself out my throat, a vicious tightness in my gut at the thought.

"There. There's the fire. Now bring it to the ice."

But somehow... somehow his words have dulled part of it. And it doesn't claw its way to the surface as much.

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

For the first time in a long time I don't feel arousal or desire or want flare to the surface at the sight of (Y/N). Already regretting saying yes. Already regretting leaving bed to open the quiet, discreet knock at the door. Already regretting a thousand mistakes, adding this one to the list.

"...wrong time?" hedging the words carefully, eyes flitting over me even as I step aside on autopilot, feel her body brush past as she enters.

"Nah... just... almost bored me waiting." lips dredging up in a smile, though there's no amusement behind my words, words sounding heavy and weighed down.

(Y/N) shoots me an odd look.

Tugging off her zipped up jacket, letting it fall to the side, voice wary and slow. A side glance as I bypass her to sink back onto the bed, confusion flitting through her eyes.

Staring up at her expectantly.

"Isn't this the part where you take your clothes off?"

A tilted examination as she looks at me.

"No, I don't think it is. This doesn't feel like a sex vibe."

"No?"

"Feels like I've come at the wrong time vibe."

"I said you could come."

A flash of amusement in her eyes, something briefly taunting and sharp.

"I didn't realise I needed an order to." voice dropping briefly soft, a hushed murmur full of intent before she shakes her head.

"I meant-this doesn't feel like a hookup vibe... I'll leave."

"Nah just give me a minute..."

"I know we're still working on your stamina but that'd be extremely disappointing Park if all it took was a minute. Wouldn't be worth my trek here." sinking down on the edge of the bed, hands sinking into the sheets and mattress, body tilted back as she watches me lazily. Slowly.

No intent.

No desire.

No rush.

Nothing.

Just-looks at me.

And it's disconcerting how much it feels odd... wrong to be in the same orbit of space, in such ... behind locked doors but doing... nothing.

Her teasing makes a smile ghost along my mouth.

"Now we both know you've not been left disappointed."

She makes a noncommittal sound at the back of her throat, a half shrug.

Those eyes. That stare.

There's something far too much about her stare that tries to strip me down, strip back and see...

Something about them that unnerves me to know that when they're not full of fire, or lust, or pleasure or anger... or some mixture of all of them-I don't know what to do, I don't know how to respond, I don't know how to look at her and be confronted with whatever she sees.

[......]

It's easy not to be confronted by it, if the look changes.

Surprise flitting across her features when my hand reaches out to tug at her shirt, fingers curling into her, a hard sudden movement that forces her body to twist, hand darting out to settle flat against the sheets for purchase.

"Park..."

My lips brush against her jaw, slow and purposeful. But we've never been slow.

And the change in pace throws her off, breath quiet, a shaky exhale when my teeth skim across skin, a sudden harsh pressure of my mouth at her throat, dipping lower to begin to suck a mark into her skin. Tongue and teeth working a claim onto a slither of skin.

The arch of her throat and the harsh swallow is a testament to the increasing knowledge that (Y/N)'s so receptive, that even more so-some things... some things I'm still learning about her.

Fingers sinking into my hair before she tugs my lips away, tugs at me until my lips are hovering over hers, the dark brewing intensity of her eyes a luring beckon, her gaze flitting down to my lips.

"Don't play games." Words a sharp soft murmur, equally dangerous, equally warning, equally damning because that's all that exists between us. Games.

Lips ghosting along hers, taunting her with that slither of space before our mouths slot together before she tilts closer, body hovering over mine, my own readily sinking back to draw her closer, further down into me, over me.

"And if I do?"

Leg swung astride me before she's half-straddling, half-hovering over me, thighs splayed on either side of me and it'd be so easy to let my hand skim down her front to between them...

Drawn forward, closer, her hair's tied back loosely, a winding strand of it brushing past her cheek as she tilts her mouth to mine, inches away, thumbing at my bottom lip, something dark and wanting flashing in her stare.

"Then expect to lose."

[......]

"Stop stop..."

Immediately I'm drawing back, lips slipping from hers, hands stilling where they'd been inching up her top, eyes dazed as they flicker to the slightly cognizant ones in front of me, lips mussed and breaths shaky. The hand that had been curled into my shirt now rests flat against my chest, a nudged shove as she pushes me back. Creating distance where her hand had first been trapped between our bodies.

"Did I--"

"We're not doing this."

Dimly through the increasing fog of lust her rejection sinks in. And then slams in hard.

"No?"

"You're not into it."

"Yes I am."

"No, it's-- you're using me to forget. And to get off. You're using this as a distraction."

"I'm not." knuckles grazing her skin, across the underside of her breast, nails skimming against her bra.

A flutter of her lashes, a quiet intake of breath and then her hand pushes against my chest, pushing at me until there's a bigger gap, a bigger distance, weight shifting off her, twisting to sink onto the bed, to sink back, sheets against my back. Avoiding her eyes.

"So, what if I am?" I relent.

A dry wry laugh.

"Well, that is an ego boost I'll tell you." not sure if she's being genuine or whether she's feeling stung by it.

"Not many people make a good distraction." I offer, staring obstinately at the ceiling.

"Trying to soothe a bruised ego? You're not one for trying to soothe wounds. Giving them that's a different thing..."

"I wasted your time. My bad."

The sheets rustle as she twists, leaning forward.

My eyes flit to slightly stretched neckline, gaping where I'd tugged. A faint redness where my mouth had been. Eyes flit away because now that we've put a stop to it, the desire and want ebbs away quicker than it should've.

Not having been into the idea of it really in the first place.

"How about this time instead of lying or trying to distract me you spit it out. What's got into your head Park?"

...

"Nothing."

"Okay who's gotten into your head?"

"No-one." blunt, sharp.

"Okay." her remark is easy, unbothered as she looks at me for a few more moments then with a deep despairing sigh shuffles backwards, scooting onto the bed. Eyeing me with trepidation and regrets and resignation before she pats her lap.

Hm?

"Do I need to spell it out?"

Patting her lap again.

I stare at her, brows raised.

...fine.

A slow shuffled scoot before I unwillingly, uncomfortably let my head ever so hesitantly... sink down to rest against her lap.

I know... I'm very well acquainted with her legs, with her thighs, the thought makes my lips quirk but there's something so different about... resting my head against her lap.

Cheek pillowed against her thigh.

Stiff...stiff..stiff... I don't realise when I become relaxed.

The fingers brushing over my hair ghost along at first, tentative and hesitant until they eventually sink in, carding through softly... carefully... the touches just as alien and foreign and different to her as they are to me.

"Big complainer aren't you?" a soft amused murmur, a hushedness in the quiet breaths, fingers skimming to my jaw and then poking at my cheek.

"I never asked you to say."

"You never told me to get out."

"Smart ass. Always got quite the mouth on you."

"You're never complaining about my mouth."

I roll my eyes, head not even having turned to face her, a weird disjointed silence falling.

There's never been silence between us because we've never been in proximity long enough to have anything shared between us that leads to silence.

The two times she had stayed over was different. Somehow silence can be different.

That one was charged with the post-buzz of sex, of the discomfort strangeness of adjusting, trying to adjust, to a space that temporarily wasn't mine alone.

This silence is quiet outside.

But it does little to deafen the cacophony of noise, of a voice overlapping imbued with the same sharp disappointment, different words, cutting jabs tossed at me, spat out with no mercy, no gentleness, no guidance. Just harsh jagged words.

But then that silence is combated.

Broken by the sound of noise coming out from her phone's speakers.

Phone angled in hand as her fingers still, unmoving, as they focus instead on whatever show she's put on.

A few minutes later, the phone's angled so that if I want, still half-curled like this, I can see her phone too. Watch alongside her in what's companionable silence. A silence that's chosen. And in it, it begins to slowly...slowly quieten the roaring pulse of accusation that echoes through my mind.

A long, long while later... an episode blurring into the next when her fingers hesitantly sink back into my hair again, this time growing more purposeful, in brushing through strands, sweeping them away from my face, a repetitive lull induced by the slow pattern of her ministrations.

A quiet faint sound that I realise long moments later comes from me, the sound worn-out, relieved. It's easy to quiet my mind once I find an off-switch in the mindlessness of watching the show, absent-minded and lost in the way it's easy to follow, so it's easy to forget the disappointment and blame inside, it's easy to silence Coach's reprimands still ringing in my ears.

My eyes flutter lazily, blinking more alerted when I realise that I'm not in bed alone, having forgotten, that all this time I'd been sinking more heavily against (Y/N)'s lap. There's silence in my head. And there's silence between us.

And it's... it's comfortable.

To have the voices real and haunting shut off.

Nails skimming as they scratch lightly at my scalp, a different warm seeping pleasured contentment that sinks into my bones, that unconsciously makes my head tilt into the touch with a quiet sigh.

"Want to talk about it?"

"What's to say there was something to talk about?"

"..." she waits me out, her eyes watchful, finally flitting away from her phone to peer at me, a slight tilted appraisal, brows lifting as if to say really? Nothing?

"Just had a bad day at training."

"We all get those." She shares with a confiding quietness, a tilt to her lips that's a bolstering smile, void of its usual mirth and taunt.

The fact that she admits it readily rather than using my admission of words to twist around me makes my stomach twist. Lurch before it settles.

"Yeah?"

"Don't flatter my ego Park... it won't do you any good. But you gotta work for perfection. You gotta work to be better, to be the best. It's not handed over."

And whilst essentially I'd heard the same thing, phrased differently, by Coach, it's different to hear from someone who's not a hockey player, someone who hasn't seen the aftermath of how crap I'd felt, ashamed of the way I'd slipped up time and time again after all that coaching, all that specialised individual focused time Coach put aside for me... she doesn't know, she doesn't care. And somehow that makes it okay. Somehow it makes me feel okay.

That perfection isn't a one-day target.

That it's not without its downs... that is something that Coach hasn't ever told me.

And it's never been with this easy acceptance. It's not spat out harsh and disappointed. It's factual.

Like she knows it to be true and it's as easy for her to accept as it is to know the discipline and demands a sport requires.

It's odd... to see her for a moment. And be... jealous? Is it jealousy? That feeling?

Of (Y/N)?

"That also means you can't always fuck it out your system?" fingers tightening slightly in my hair, a slight tug that sends a tingle of heat down my nape, down my spine even as my head tilts up to look at her, expression blank. Steadfastly ignoring the fact that this way, head angled over to peer down at me, my own tilted up, there's a different sense of something that I can't decipher-I won't decipher.

"No?" lips quirking slightly.

"Nope. Fucking to let off some energy that I can do. But being a pity fuck so you feel better? Nope."

"You're a heartbreaker."

"Good thing you don't have one then." Hand patting my chest briefly before she draws the phone back up again, thumbing at the screen to press play again, sensing my eyes flit to her as her own roll.

"Something you want to say Park?"

...thank you?

"Your lap isn't as comfortable as your tits might be."

A snort of laughter.

"I don't hand that right over to just about anyone."

"So it could be negotiable?"

"In your dreams Park."

"Trust me if I'm dreaming and you're in it, it won't be something that... tame."

"No?" curiosity piqued in her voice, eyes flitting for a split second from the screen to me. As if in indulgence.

"No."

Her fingers loosen their slight gripped hold on my hair, nails skimming across my scalp that makes my skin tingle and body melt for a different indulgent pleasured warmth at the feeling, a buzzed tingle that fans out.

And my hand reaches out to tug her wrist, to angle the screen back so I can watch too.

Unspoken sparks that crackle between us but both of us feign indifference to.

Just as readily as I feign ignorance to the feeling that this... this isn't normal.

And not being at each other's throats-even less so.

[......]

"What're you doing sneaking around?" a voice asks, disembodied and from somewhere behind me.

I twist sharply. A brief flail contained but not quite if the amusement in dark eyes is anything to go by, gaze skimming over me with unveiled curiosity.

"I'm not sneaking." I bite back defensively, unconsciously shoulders hunching and tense until a glint flickers in dark brown eyes, brows rising with challenge.

"No? You just like hanging around dark corners around the rink? Sounds..." he trails off, amused taunt filtering into the low depth of his voice before he turns, already somehow knowing where my gaze had flitted to.

"Well Jimin-ssi..." the formality a mockery, a hundred percent ringing with amusement, both highlighting that we were from different worlds, different circles, different lives... that well and truly we didn't know each other. It's a taunt and fact both.

Lilted.

"Being a body she fucks doesn't mean you're hanging around (Y/N) trying to watch her so unless you have an actual reason this is a closed practice."

"I..."

What am I doing here?

Why am I here?

And his words ring briefly in my ears, echo in my head.

But my mind also flickers through a blur of memory in the same moment.

Stiff body, stiffer posture, eyes heavy with sleep. Lidded gaze unfocused and tired. No complaint as I nudge her to lie down, blankets tossed haphazardly, eyes weighed down with fatigue, bodies fumbling to just tug at whatever comfort was nearer, pillows, blankets... hand curling around her waist and pressing closer to the warmth her near-asleep figure is imbued with...the barest, slightest shift at some point where my eyes are too laden, and my brain is clouded with sleep... body pressing closer. And the soft outline of her body slotting to mine.

"I came to watch (Y/N) practice."

A slight angled tilt to his head.

A provocation.

A question.

A curiosity.

"You've come to watch her... practice?"

"Can I?"

Why did you ask him?

But it seems to appease whatever quiet scrutiny had been in his eyes, the sharpness of them not receding but melding with something indecipherable, something that makes a knot tighten in my stomach. A taut pressure for something but I don't know what.

Nor why it gets under my skin. Makes it tighten with anticipation and tense almost as if I'm expecting something more, something sharp and derisive.

"It's... it's different. I don't really get to see what a proper skating practice looks like outside of hockey."

Calculating. Assessing, he's going to say no, he's going to say no, and my body locks up, skin already warms, prickles with embarrassment-

A lazy goading grin.

"I don't think you've seen a proper practice on ice either way Jimin-ssi." The formality dangling in front of my eyes before it drops, before something sharp radiates in his stare.

"You stay as long as you're out of the way Park." The switch makes my skin buzz with renewed, heightened awareness of the control and confidence he exudes. Sharp stare battling, winning its space in holding authority on the rink.

Something about his voice that makes me feel equally antagonised, equally infuriated.

And I realise I didn't get to answer before he's moving past to clamber onto the rink, her name loud and bright on his voice.

Body immediately twisting to his.

There's something invisible yet so, so prominently there between the two, something I can't put my finger on, something I can't exactly find the word to describe immediately.

It's almost... mortifying to walk down further, sinking into a seat and before she even notices, she wouldn't have even known had it not been for the low murmur of something Jungkook says before her eyes flit towards the seat.

"Oh." Something heady and soft and dangerously enticing.

"Didn't check the schedule Park? Rink's booked." Victory laced into the amused-soft-murmur-croon of her voice.

It's first-nature, immediate instinct and response to just bite back. Words slipping easy on my tongue.

"You can only pre-book a fixed number-"

"Of practices consecutively. I'm well-trained in the loopholes Park. But competitions don't wait for anyone. They certainly don't make exceptions for someone I can just about stand the sight of."

Jungkook snorts.

The sound uncharacteristic to me but something in (Y/N) softens, elbowing him in the side without batting a lash though there's something good-natured there, an unspoken communication and understanding that doesn't even require eye contact because I know that even though both of them are examining me, they're also speaking to one another.

It's odd.

It's synchrony and grace. And power.

It's odd to think that the two could be combined. It's odder to see that grace and power combined works.

What they have... it's unlike the synchrony that we have as a team.

It's different. It's deeper.

It looks stronger.

Whatever synchrony they share off the ice is somehow a watered-down version of this. Unspoken ease and fluidity in their movements, bodies twisting and curling with precision, pressed close and gravitating towards one another with each move. As if their centre of orbits were one another.

And it's pure power contained in each graceful movement. Something sharp and lethal in the way their bodies are in utter, entire control and surrender to one another.

Is that what it feels like to be in sync? Is that what it feels to be a team?

Something hollow and discordant at the thought of a larger group dynamic but nowhere near this polished, this practiced, this at ease.

And something... something reckless about surrendering control so heavily to someone else.

I watch as (Y/N) circles and weaves patterns around him, using his body as momentum to propel herself up, twisting into a quick flurried series of pirouettes.

Breath catching in my throat, trapped there, when the sheer height and distance it seems to push (Y/N) at when Jungkook grips her and twists her away, supporting the turned leap across ice, feeling all but that she'd been tossed with how sudden the move had been, with how near careless it'd felt, as if he'd barely registered what he was doing before it'd occurred.

But it's not a mistake.

It's not a miscalculation.

If anything...

It's the exact opposite.

He knew exactly how much force he'd need to propel her further on the ice, how clean the lines and strength of his arms needed to be to help keep her airborne for longer before he's skimming fast of the ice, fluid and quick in a way that I'm not, in a way that hockey players aren't.

But how do they communicate.

The silence is deafening because save for the sound of skating blades on ice there's no words spoken between them, no music to transform the movements into a sequence but still there's a seamlessness that's unlike the harsh practiced clash of players and hockey sticks, of adrenaline and sweat and yelled out orders and passes.

They have a synchrony, they fit, they meld with one another without it all. Without the force.

And even though they're tethered orbits, gravity centring them to one another... it's watching them that I realise it's far from twirling and playing about on the ice.

Wincing hard when during a lift (Y/N)'s balance teeters and she slams hard onto the ice, body instinctively jerking forward before freezing when in the next instant before I can blink, before I assume Jungkook can stop, she's already twisting herself upright, quick and poised as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't almost tumbled head-first onto the rink.

That even though it looked like it'd hurt, she shows no signs of it. And I realise with a start... they don't have protective gear. The training clothes they're both wearing are anything but protective or padded.

The only gesture checking in on her that I pick up from them is minute, is a hand brushing over her side, eyes flitting and searching before steadying her more securely. The two of them skating together, his arm wrapped around her. Grins breathless.

Not even winded by the twisted fall.

"If you get injured milk it. There's always the chance of a free pass or the other team getting a penalty. Use it to your advantage."

Coach's words... and not just his but every coach that's trained ice hockey pulls for that angle, to pull favour from the crowd, to use it as a way of gaining advantage over the other team even for a few minutes.

This-this is unlike anything we've ever been told. Anything I've ever done. Recalling all too easily how many times I've done that. Stayed on the ice, barely winded at times and my team mates having rushed close, loud and argumentative. Demanding a penalty.

Huh.

It's startling to realise there is a difference only after finally watching. Finally actually seeing.

it's only seeing do I realise how much it'd been near impossible to look away.

Eyes trained on (Y/N) to drink in the figure of sharp elegance, all lines and curves and control.

It's hard... impossible to look away from her as she skates.

A hypnotic tug to her, not realising that I'm on the edge of my seat in just watching her practice. There's something about the way the two work that's both intriguing and confusing and new and entirely unfamiliar.

Their entire focus narrows to just each other. The rink massive. But somehow narrows to becoming just their space.

And even though the rink is mine too... it feels at a distance, right now... it's just theirs.

[......]

My thumb brushes over a bruise. A soft hiss as her eyes flit to me, tracking the movement before I hitch her leg up higher, feel it come to hook around me, body pressing against hers, pinning her more firmly against the locker door.

There's something starkly different about the heat pouring solely off her body, skin flushed and dewy before I even get my hands on her, each layer peeled off, skin-tight against her, before it's discarded, the rise and fall of her chest already uneven from training. Her skin a scorching heat wherever my hands drag across, one that coaxes the flames under my skin to burn fiercer, curling low in my gut as I take her in. Take in taut curves arched slightly to press flush against me, fingers tugging at my clothes so that they can graze against skin instead.

"Didn't realise training hurt." The words low, a quiet murmur. Fingers circling the bruise once again, knowing already that the mark will darken.

"Don't start worrying Park... it's a good pain." Voice breathless, words hitching on a sharp inhale when the push of her hips rocking down pushes her flush to my length.

"Like it to hurt?"

"Like to feel it afterwards, otherwise clearly there wasn't enough effort."

Training? Or this?

Both.

"Got a pain kink?" eyes glittering as they stare back at me, weighted and lidded, pupils darkened.

Voice keening as I slowly push myself into her, slowly, slowly rolling my hips to sheathe further and further into her, stilling halfway-the impatience makes itself known in the harsh dig of nails at my shoulders, the buck of her hips rocking downwards to draw me in, the tightening vice of her legs locked around me.

"I just think-if I can't... if my body can't remember it afterwards, then clearly it didn't leave an impression. That's not a kink Park... that's just making sure I'm getting a good time out of it."

Hips rocking down to sheathe me deeper, the pressing tightness of her legs pushing me deeper, moans entangling together, lips pressing a hard stinging smirk to my jaw.

My fingers circle the bruise once, twice, thumb pressing against it to relish in the quiet hiss of breath, the way her eyes glimmer darker. Heavier.

"So if you do your job right... I shouldn't be able to feel how hard Jungkook was on my body."

My hands drag from her hips downwards, curving around the back of her thighs, a bodily tug to draw her lower body away from the locker door, to tug her hips flush to my own, groaning low against her skin at the keen of breath, at the way her nails dig in harder, leaving a stinging heat where they sink their mark into skin.

A sharp snap of my hips as I draw back before burying deeper into her again.

And the lazy curl of her mouth is triumphant.

As if she knows what it does to me.

But does she? Do I even know?

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

"Thanks."

The look she gives me is confused and... put-out.

"Well if you say it like that I feel like I've done a job or something... way to make hooking up sound..." she says, grimacing at my tone, pausing in towelling herself off.

There's something unguarded briefly that flickers in her eyes, hair tousled messily and falling around her face, such a far cry from how perfectly maintained it is usually... how put together she always is... that seeing her like this stirs a faint something briefly before it ebbs away. Hand pushing her hair from her face, eyes boring into me.

"I didn't mean for the sex. That's mutually beneficial." I lilt, already more dressed than she is yet I still step closer to her, aware that all it'd take is for my body to shift slightly to press to damp skin.

My voice drops softer.

"I meant..." words trailing off uncertainly, curiosity piqued in her stare.

"...for the other night... you know..." words dropping quieter.

Her eyes clear slightly.

And maybe I imagine the way they soften imperceptibly.

But then she shrugs.

Voice light.

Continuing in drying herself off, reaching for her clothes, at ease, something in her shoulders melting away as she dresses.

"Don't know what you mean." Voice light. Easy.

But her eyes show she does know what I mean.

That shared moment, that shared space, that moment of leaning on her not forgotten.

By either of us.

And it alters the axis the two of us exist on. Slightly. Barely.

But they tilt slightly.

(AND SCENE! WHEW! I'M TRYING TO KEEP THE CHAPTERS SHORT AS I PROMISED BUT STILL FULL YOU KNOW? Midiiplier ALMOST... ALMOST AT THE TIPPING POINT~ AND THINGS ARE BEGINNING TO C H A N G E AND WOIEGEWIOGW I'M SO SO EXCITED FOR IT, SO SO READY FOR IT!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! THIS CHAPTER WAS MAINLY JUST JIMIN X MC BASED BUT YOU'LL START SEEING MORE OF THEIR FRIENDSHIPS TOO~ LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! ENJOY!)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3