On Thin Ice

Chapter 4- under your skin

JIMIN POV:

With her it's never been just a game. With her it's never remained within the safe territories of rules and taking turns and playing fair. With her there's no sportsmanship when the cutting harshness of her blades against the ice are harsh with the force and want to scour those same lines across my restraint. Until I'm nothing but reduced down to pure want, blades cutting past any sense of reasoning or logic.

With her there's never been logic or rationality. So when I head back to the rink to get some extra individual practice in...when I see her the choice has never warred between fight or flight. It's always a fight. Something about the pure rage and crackly heat of her ire and anger and competitiveness has fuelled the pulse of my beat, quickened it until it damn well might wrench itself out my chest. But that's a rush, a sear of adrenaline and amusement I'll take so long as she befalls the same fire that licks at my spine and sets my blood alight.

When I arrive she's skating slowly. Setting her own pace and easing herself into it. It's a searing pride I take in skating all over that ease and control and contentedness she so meticulously maintains until hell breaks loose.

When I arrive, bodies orbiting to one another, it's not a natural gravitation by any means, it's a clash of different worlds, different spheres, different centres coming into harsh clash with one another, threatening to burn up in each other's space, crowding closer because I can't resist the urge and stay away from it. Knowing full well that doing so will leave me burned, swallow me up in the hungering, angry flames of lust and frustration.

And even if she doesn't want me there initially anger and annoyance melts to give way to the very thing that tethers us, that has us on knife's edge with one another, pushing and pulling, tugging for that control, that victory to hold over one another. It's competitiveness that has ire melting to a familiar gleam I know all too well. Game on.

What starts off as racing each other, blood singing with adrenaline, skin buzzing and alight, bodies moving swift and hard across the ice, with taunting her at the space between us that try as she might she can't close changes. A shift in the air. From the crackle-buzz of adrenaline and amusement, from bubbling breathless laughter where (Y/N) rushes across the ice, trying to match her speed to my own, body a rushing shadowed silhouette that hurtles across ice, kicking up cold shards of it as she tries to out-skate me, to speed past me but falling short.

Cheeks flushed with adrenaline and anger—eyes glittering with it, a dangerous combination of attraction and desire that wells up in steadily mounting waves, increasing every time I look at her, every time she veers close enough that I can almost taste the tremble of her breaths, taste the sharpness of her words and the pride in her tone when she doesn't back down.

"Again."

"Again."

What turns into a race, into a competition shifts.

It turns from a fast-paced roaring and singing of my blood to the slow luring, winding trap of more delicately precise and elegant twists and whirls across ice that have my skates dragging to a slow lurch. Body twisting to track (Y/N)'s movements, the circling movements

Weaving in and out and around, figures of eights, elegant sharp twists and turns that propel her body further and closer—playing and toying with the razor focus I watch her with, something in the air shifting...changing. There's a tug that's so visceral it feels like my feet will stumble and falter, as if the ground underneath my skates has been wrenched away and still I try find some purchase as I follow the lure of her skating. Of the patterns and shapes and lines she weaves a web around me with, entangling me further in it, skating towards her until we're a hairsbreadth apart and the heat of her body rises up to brush against the flared temperature of my own.