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The university arena smelled like winter had been murdered inside it: shaved ice, rubber mats, the faint ozone of the Zamboni, and the sharper bite of ambition. Shu stood at the edge of the rink barrier in her pale-pink coat, collar turned up against the cold, violet eyes narrowed to slits.
She had come to pick Rinne up after practice like she always did on Thursdays. A quiet ritual: Shu would finish her last pointe class across campus, trade her satin slippers for heeled boots, and walk the twenty minutes through snow-dusted paths just to watch the final minutes of Rinne’s drills. She liked the way Rinne looked on ice: all reckless grace, long limbs cutting impossible angles, laughing like the world couldn’t touch her. Shu liked being the only one waiting by the boards when Rinne finally skated over, helmet tucked under one arm, cheeks flushed, asking in that low, teasing drawl, “Miss me, princess?”
Today was not like that.
Today, Rinne had decided (because of course she had) that the team’s usual off-ice warmup wasn’t “fun enough.” So she’d dragged the entire forward line out onto the player tunnel carpet, dropped into deep, dramatic Cossack squats, and started doing the most obscene hip circles Shu had ever seen outside of a pole studio.
Black leggings. No cup. Nothing left to imagination.
The first-year college girls who always lingered after public skate hours had materialized like sharks smelling blood. Phones came out. Whistles. Someone actually wolf-whistled. A girl in a cropped hoodie yelled, “Goddamn, Captain, warn a girl before you serve cunt like that!” And Rinne (Rinne, her Rinne) had just thrown her head back and laughed, dark-red hair spilling loose from the bandana, before dropping into a full side-split just because she could.
Shu had felt it like a slap.
Every exaggerated roll of Rinne’s hips, every flash of the thick outline straining against grey fabric, every second Rinne spent basking in the attention like it was oxygen, had carved something raw and ugly into Shu’s chest. Possession. Jealousy. The kind that made her molars ache.
She waited by the exit tunnel anyway, arms folded so tight her nails left crescents in her palms. Rinne bounded over eventually, still riding the high, sweat cooling on her throat, cyan eyes bright and oblivious.
“Hey, love! You see that new hip-check drill coach made us run? Nearly took my goddamn head off—”
Shu didn’t answer. Just turned on her heel and walked.
Rinne followed like a confused bloodhound, helmet dangling from two fingers, skates clacking over concrete. “Shu? Shu, baby, what’s wrong? Did I forget something? Anniversary? Your birthday’s not till—”
“Get in the car, Rinne.”
The words came out flat. Cold enough to frost glass.
────୨ৎ────
Shu’s silence in the passenger seat wasn’t new.
Rinne had tasted it before, usually after she’d done something spectacularly self-destructive: the night she’d blown an entire month’s scholarship money on a single poker game in some off-campus basement, or the time she’d skipped three consecutive unit rehearsals to chase a rumored underground street-hockey tournament in Osaka, coming home with a split lip and a grin that said it was worth it.
Every time, Shu had frozen her out exactly like this: regal, untouchable, terrifying.
But this felt different.
This felt personal in a way that clawed under Rinne’s ribs and stayed there.
She drove with both hands on the wheel for once, knuckles pale, eyes fixed on the road even though they were still parked. The engine ticked as it cooled. Snow had started to fall outside the garage windows, fat lazy flakes that melted the second they touched the windshield.
Rinne tried again, softer.
“Shu… can you at least tell me how bad I fucked up on a scale from ‘I left the toilet seat up’ to ‘I accidentally burned your childhood ballet photos’?”
Shu’s answer was to unclip her hair, letting the long pink curls spill down her back like she was preparing for battle. The motion was slow, deliberate. A ritual. Rinne knew it well; Shu only let her hair down completely when she was too angry to keep it contained anymore.
Rinne swallowed. “Okay. Somewhere between arson and war crimes. Got it.”
Still nothing.
Rinne exhaled through her teeth and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel. The black bandana slipped forward over one eye. She didn’t fix it.
“You know why I hate when people look at you like that?” Shu finally said. Her voice was quiet, almost conversational, which somehow made it worse. “It’s not because I think you’d ever actually do anything. You’re too stupidly loyal for that. It’s because I know exactly what they see.”
Rinne lifted her head, cautious.
“They see the girl who walks into a room and makes gravity feel optional,” Shu continued, staring out the windshield at the falling snow. “The one who laughs like she’s never lost anything in her life. The one who could have anyone she wanted if she just crooked a finger. And I have to stand there knowing I’m the only one who’s ever seen you cry after you lost a bet you couldn’t afford to lose. I’m the only one who knows you still sleep with the stupid little swan keychain I won for you at that summer festival because you’re terrified of forgetting how to be happy.”
Rinne’s throat worked soundlessly.
“I have to stand there,” Shu said, voice cracking on the last word, “and watch them want pieces of you that I bled to earn.”
The confession hung between them like incense.
Rinne had spent years building a mythology around herself: the chaotic gambler captain who didn’t give a damn, who treated life like one long roulette spin. It was armor. It was easier than admitting that every reckless thing she did was a scream into the void that had swallowed her childhood: parents who gambled away the family home, a little brother she hadn’t seen in six years because foster care had scattered them like cards, the constant, gnawing terror that if she ever stopped moving, stopped betting, stopped laughing, the luck would finally run out and she’d have nothing left.
Shu was the only person who’d ever seen through it.
Shu, who had grown up in a glass tower of expectations: daughter of a famous prima ballerina mother and a concert pianist father, every step of her life choreographed before she could walk. Shu, who had learned early that perfection was the only armor thin enough to let love through. Shu, who had chosen Rinne anyway, chaos and all, and never once asked her to be less.
And Rinne kept forgetting that was a miracle.
“I’m sorry,” Rinne said. It came out rough, scraped raw. “I keep thinking… if I make enough noise, maybe the past can’t catch me. And then I look up and realize the only thing I’m actually running from is hurting you.”
Shu turned then. Her eyes were wet, but her mouth was steady.
“I don’t want you quiet, Rinne. I don’t want you small. I want you to remember that when you put yourself on display like that, you’re putting us on display. And I’m greedy. I don’t share.”
Rinne laughed once, watery and broken. “You’re the greediest person I know. You once threatened to cut a corps girl’s pointe shoe ribbons because she hugged me too long after a charity gala.”
“She smelled like Chanel and desperation,” Shu muttered. “And her hand was on your ass.”
Rinne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a grin. “You’re terrifying when you’re possessive.”
“You made me this way.”
“Yeah,” Rinne breathed. “I did.”
Another long silence, softer this time.
Eventually Rinne reached sideways, slow enough that Shu could stop her if she wanted. She didn’t. Rinne threaded their fingers together over the console, calloused palm against delicate one, and squeezed.
“I’ll wear the ugliest sweatpants in existence from now on,” she promised solemnly. “I’ll warm up in the locker room with the guys. I’ll—I’ll even let you pick my practice outfits. Just… don’t ice me out forever, okay? I wither without you.”
Shu studied their joined hands for a long moment.
Then she sighed, the sound of a storm finally breaking.
“Take me home, idiot,” she said, but her thumb stroked over Rinne’s knuckles, gentle and forgiving. “We’re not done talking. But I’m tired of sitting in this freezing garage.”
Rinne started the car with shaking hands, relief flooding her so hard she almost forgot how to shift into reverse.
As they pulled out into the snow, Shu added, almost too quiet to hear:
“And for the record… the only person allowed to get hot and bothered watching you stretch is me.”
Rinne’s grin came back crooked, sheepish, hopelessly in love.
“Noted, princess. Loud and clear.”
────୨ৎ────
The McDonald’s sat on the edge of campus like a neon confession booth for sinners who repented with french fries. Rinne pulled into the lot at 11:47 p.m., tires crunching over half-frozen slush, and chose the spot farthest from the security lamps, the one tucked behind the dumpster where the light barely reached. Old habit. She always said the dark made the food taste better. Shu knew the truth: Rinne liked places where nobody could see her drop the mask for five minutes.
Engine killed. Heat still blasting. Snowflakes melted the instant they hit the windshield, sliding down in slow, obscene streaks.
Rinne didn’t speak. She just reached into the back seat, grabbed the two paper bags like they were sacred relics, and settled in. Seat reclined with a mechanical whine. Legs spread wide, knees knocking the door and the console, claiming every inch of space the way she claimed the neutral zone. Then she began.
The first burger came out of its box like a striptease in reverse. Rinne peeled the paper slowly, deliberately, letting the steam curl up between them. The smell hit first: beef fat, melted cheese, that specific McDonald’s char that no homemade burger ever replicates. She brought it to her mouth, paused just long enough for Shu to notice the way her lips parted, the tiny flick of tongue wetting them, then took an enormous bite.
A low, involuntary sound rumbled out of her chest. Not quite a moan, but close enough that Shu’s spine straightened.
Rinne chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, throat working. A bead of grease clung to the corner of her mouth. She caught it with her thumb, sucked it clean without breaking eye contact. The motion was lazy, pornographic, and utterly unselfconscious.
Shu forgot how to breathe for three full seconds.
Rinne noticed. Of course she did.
“Still not hungry?” she asked, voice husky from the heat of the food. She held the half-eaten burger out like a dare. “One bite, princess. For me.”
Shu’s fingers curled against her thighs. “I ate at the studio.”
“Liar,” Rinne said softly, fondly. She took another bite instead, bigger this time, letting melted cheese stretch in a thin golden string before she severed it with her teeth. A tiny smear stayed on her lower lip. She left it there.
The second burger followed the same ritual. Rinne unwrapped it like silk. She ate with her whole body: shoulders rolling slightly, head tilting back to take the weight, a soft exhale through her nose every time the flavors hit. When she licked a drop of special sauce off her thumb, the sound was wet enough that Shu felt it between her legs.
The fries came next.
Rinne dumped half the large container into the lid of the box, sprinkled extra salt from the little packets because she was a monster, then dragged one perfect fry through the puddle of milkshake she’d already started on. She ate it in one smooth motion, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, pure bliss.
“Fuck, that’s good,” she whispered to no one and everyone.
Shu’s pulse was loud in her ears. She could feel herself getting slicker with every second, the lace of her panties clinging uncomfortably. She pressed her thighs together and tried to look anywhere else, out the window, at the dashboard, at the stupid pine tree air freshener, but her gaze kept snapping back.
Rinne knew. Rinne always knew.
She fished out a chicken nugget next, crispy, golden, obscene, and held it between two fingers like a cigarette. Turned it slowly, studying it the way Shu had once watched her study a poker hand that could make or break them.
“Open,” Rinne said quietly.
Shu’s lips parted before her brain caught up.
Rinne leaned across the console, slow enough that Shu could have stopped her. She didn’t. The nugget brushed Shu’s bottom lip, leaving a faint trace of grease. Rinne’s thumb followed, smearing it, pressing just enough to feel the softness there.
“Good girl,” Rinne murmured, voice rough. “Now watch.”
She bit the nugget in half, chewed, swallowed, then licked the crumbs from her lower lip with deliberate precision. Her tongue was pink and wet and entirely unfair.
Shu’s breath came shallow and fast. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the ache that had started the second Rinne moaned around that first bite. Her nipples were tight against the lining of her bra; every shift of fabric felt like torture.
Rinne took a long pull from the milkshake, throat working, a tiny drop of pink clinging to the corner of her mouth. She didn’t wipe it away. Instead she offered the cup to Shu, straw glistening.
“Your turn.”
Shu wrapped her lips around the straw and sucked. Sweet, cold, creamy, and underneath it all the faint salt of Rinne’s mouth. She swallowed and felt it slide down like liquid sin.
Rinne watched her throat move and made a low sound, almost a growl.
“Careful, love,” she said, voice velvet and dangerous. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll eat you instead of the rest of these nuggets.”
Shu’s answer was barely a whisper. “Maybe I want you to.”
The air in the car went molten.
Outside, the snow kept falling, soft and silent. Inside, the only sounds were Rinne’s deliberate chewing, the wet click of her swallowing, the soft hitch in Shu’s breathing every time Rinne licked salt from her fingers like she was tasting skin.
They still hadn’t left the parking lot.
They weren’t going to for a long time.
────୨ৎ────
The milkshake cup sat forgotten in the cupholder, condensation dripping down the side like sweat.
Rinne never once looked away while she finished the last nugget. She licked each finger clean with deliberate slowness, tongue sliding out far enough for the overhead light to catch the silver ball of her tongue piercing every single time. The tiny metal sphere flashed like a warning. Shu’s breath hitched audibly on the fourth finger.
When the box was empty, Rinne crumpled it one-handed, tossed it into the bag, and finally, finally leaned across the console.
She moved like a predator who’d already won and just wanted to enjoy the moment before the kill.
Seatbelt click.
Her hand, large, calloused from years of gripping hockey sticks, cupped Shu’s jaw. Thumb pressed just beneath her bottom lip, smearing the faint trace of milkshake still there.
“Tell me to stop,” Rinne said, voice low, steady, lethal, “and I will. But if I start, princess, I’m not stopping until you’ve forgotten every single girl who ever looked at me tonight. Until the only name you remember is mine. Say yes.”
Shu’s answer was a tiny, trembling nod and a whispered, “Yes.”
Rinne’s grin was sharp enough to cut glass.
She hooked one arm under Shu’s thighs, the other around her back, and lifted her clean over the console like Shu weighed nothing. A soft gasp escaped Shu as Rinne settled her sideways across the driver’s seat: back pressed to the door, legs draped over Rinne’s shoulders, skirt already rucked high enough to be meaningless. The steering wheel dug into Rinne’s spine; she didn’t even flinch.
Rinne took her time pushing the pink skirt the rest of the way to Shu’s waist, letting the soft fabric drag over overheated skin. Pink lace panties clung, absolutely transparent with arousal. Rinne exhaled a reverent curse.
“Jesus Christ, look at you,” she murmured, tracing one thumb along the soaked seam, pressing just hard enough to make Shu jerk and whine. “You’ve been dripping for me since the fries, haven’t you?”
Shu tried to answer. Rinne silenced her with a single arched brow.
“Hands on the headrest. Don’t move them unless I tell you.”
Shu’s fingers flew up and gripped the leather so hard her knuckles went white.
Rinne leaned in slow, nose brushing the inside of Shu’s thigh, breathing her in like she was the most expensive drug on earth. Open-mouthed kisses followed, teeth grazing, tongue flicking out so the cold metal ball dragged icy trails across tender skin. Higher. Higher. Never quite there. Every kiss left a wet mark and a promise of bruises tomorrow.
Shu’s thighs started trembling uncontrollably.
Rinne hooked her fingers in the waistband of the lace and peeled it down inch by torturous inch, letting the fabric cling to every fold, letting cool air kiss slick, swollen heat. When the panties were finally off, she flung them onto the dashboard like a battle standard.
Then she just looked.
Spread Shu open with both thumbs, slow and reverent, studying her like she was staring at the Stanley Cup for the first time.
“Pretty is an insult,” Rinne said, voice rough with hunger. “This cunt was sculpted for my mouth. And this,” she stuck her tongue out deliberately so the silver piercing caught the light, “this little piece of metal? Got it the day I decided I was going to ruin you so completely no one else would ever be enough.”
Shu’s broken whimper was the only reply.
Rinne descended.
First stroke: tongue completely flat, dragging from entrance to clit in one long, filthy glide. The cold metal ball rolled slow and deliberate over Shu’s clit like a glacier over fire. Shu’s back bowed so hard her head knocked the window with a dull thud.
Rinne hummed, pleased, and did it again. Slower. Letting the piercing press, drag, circle. Then she sealed her lips around Shu’s clit and sucked, hard, while the piercing stayed pinned right on the hood, vibrating every time Rinne growled low in her throat.
Two fingers slid inside without warning, thick, calloused, curling instantly into that spot that made Shu see stars. Rinne rubbed tight, ruthless circles in perfect sync with the flicks of her tongue.
Shu’s hands left the headrest and flew to dark-red hair.
Rinne pulled off instantly, lips glistening, eyes dangerous.
“I said headrest.”
She bit the inside of Shu’s thigh hard enough to bruise, then soothed the mark with a slow lick, piercing cold against the heat. Shu sobbed and scrambled to obey.
Rinne rewarded her instantly: tongue fucking deep inside, piercing bumping the sensitive rim with every shallow thrust, nose grinding against Shu’s clit. Then she switched, long slow licks that let the metal ball roll from bottom to top, over and over, before sealing her mouth again and sucking so hard Shu’s hips tried to levitate off the seat.
She kept varying it, cruel and perfect: Broad, flat licks with the piercing dragging like ice. Rapid fluttery flicks right under the hood while the metal stayed cold and unyielding
Sudden hard sucks that trapped the piercing against Shu’s clit while Rinne shook her head side-to-side like she was trying to devour her soul. Shallow tongue-fucks where the ball clicked rhythmically against Shu’s entrance
Every few strokes she pulled back just to spit on her, watching it mix with slick before diving back in like a woman possessed. The car was filled with wet, obscene sounds: slick fingers pumping, Rinne’s low filthy growls, Shu’s broken pleas, the faint metallic click of the piercing every time Rinne’s tongue moved.
Shu was babbling now, incoherent, thighs shaking so hard the whole seat creaked.
Rinne locked cyan eyes on her, dark-red hair falling into her face, and did the thing that always destroyed Shu: pressed the flat of her tongue piercing directly against Shu’s clit and hummed, deep, filthy, vibrating straight through the metal into Shu’s nerves.
Shu shattered.
She came with a scream that fogged the windows even more, hips grinding desperately against Rinne’s face, pussy clenching so hard around Rinne’s fingers it hurt. Rinne didn’t stop, kept licking, kept curling, kept that piercing rolling mercilessly until Shu was sobbing through a second, smaller orgasm that left her limp and gasping and crying real tears.
Only then did Rinne ease off, pressing soft kisses to trembling thighs, licking her lips clean, the silver ball glinting like a trophy.
She reached for her phone while Shu was still twitching.
Click.
Perfect angle: Rinne’s face buried between Shu’s thighs, tongue deliberately out so the piercing flashed, dark-red hair wild, Shu’s ruined pussy front and center, swollen, dripping, utterly owned.
Rinne turned the screen.
“Lock screen for life,” she rasped, voice absolutely wrecked. “Caption’s simple: ‘Sorry, this tongue and this piercing only get hard for one pussy. The rest of you can keep dreaming.’”
She leaned in one last time, pressed a gentle kiss directly to Shu’s oversensitive clit, letting the cold metal rest there for a second so Shu jerked and whined like she was dying.
Then Rinne smiled, slow and devastating.
“Your move, princess.”
────୨ৎ────
Rinne’s left cheek is bright red.
Five perfect fingers, Shu’s handprint, blooming like someone spilled merlot on snow.
She’s grinning anyway, wide and stupid and delirious, steering one-handed because her right hand is still sticky and smells unmistakably like Shu’s cunt. The windows are fogged to high heaven, the interior of the SUV basically a crime scene of lace panties on the dash, empty fry containers, and one very smug hockey captain who keeps licking her lips like she’s chasing the taste.
In the backseat, Shu is sprawled across the leather like a deposed monarch.
Coat open, skirt still rucked to her waist, thighs trembling, hair a wrecked pink halo. One arm flung dramatically over her eyes. The other hand pressed between her legs like she’s trying to hold the aftershocks in. She looks exactly like a Renaissance painting titled Offended Princess Who Just Got Eaten Out In A McDonald’s Parking Lot And Is Mad About How Much She Liked It.
Rinne catches her eye in the rear-view mirror and winks.
Shu makes a disgusted little princess noise and flips her off with the hand that isn’t currently keeping her soul inside her body.
“You’re insufferable,” Shu says to the ceiling.
“Mm. You came so hard you said my government name,” Rinne sing-songs, drumming her fingers on the wheel. “Pretty sure that’s a binding contract now.”
“Delete that photo or I’m breaking your phone and your face.”
“Already set it as my lock screen, babe.”
Shu sits up just enough to glare death rays. “Rinne Niki you absolute—”
Rinne turns the music up. Some obnoxious victory anthem she plays after shutouts. The bass rattles the empty milkshake cup.
Shu flops back down with the long-suffering sigh of someone who knows she picked this chaos gremlin for a reason and is furious about it.
The slap mark stings in the cold air every time Rinne smiles, which is constant. She keeps glancing back every three seconds like she’s afraid Shu will vanish if she doesn’t check.
They’re ten minutes from the apartment when Shu finally speaks again, voice small and dangerously sweet.
“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
Rinne’s grin falters for the first time.
“…Love—”
“I mean it. You don’t get to eat me like a happy meal in a fast-food parking lot, take photographic evidence, and then crawl into my bed smelling like sex and fries.”
Rinne’s knuckles go white on the wheel. “Shu—”
“However,” Shu continues, sitting up fully now, coat sliding off one shoulder, violet eyes glittering in the streetlights, “if you carry me over the threshold, draw me a bath, and spend the next two hours apologizing with your tongue again, this time on a mattress that doesn’t smell like hockey gear, I might reconsider.”
The car swerves slightly. Rinne corrects it with a strangled laugh.
“Fuck. Yes, ma’am. Anything. I’ll even use the good bath salts. The lavender ones that cost more than my sticks.”
Shu lies back down, satisfied, one leg kicked up on the headrest like a spoiled cat.
“And delete the photo,” she adds.
“Never,” Rinne says cheerfully, accelerating through a yellow light. “But I’ll make it worth the emotional damage. Promise.”
Shu snorts, soft and fond despite herself.
The slap mark is still glowing when they pull into the underground garage.
Rinne kills the engine, turns in her seat, and looks back at the wrecked, beautiful girl in the back who owns every piece of her.
“Ready to be carried, princess?”
Shu lifts her arms like a toddler demanding uppies, haughty and ruined and perfect.
“Don’t make me wait, peasant.”
Rinne laughs, loud and bright and helplessly in love, and gets out to open the door.
The night isn’t over.
It’s barely even started.l