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It took about ten seconds after Rozanova walked in, switched on the shower two down from hers, for Shane to start getting wet. Not from the water, of course she was already wet from the water, but she could feel something hot and slick between her thighs when she moved.
Shane wasn’t usually one to prolong a shower, especially in public. It’s not like she was embarrassed by her body. She worked hard on it, into making it a machine for winning at hockey. If that came with some bulk to add to her natural height advantage, all the better. But she never felt at ease naked, especially in public, surrounded by shorter and slimmer girls who would chat with their butts and boobs out like it was nothing. But looking at Rozanova, Shane forgot about rushing through her rinse and just stared.
It was like a compulsion. She actually couldn’t stop looking at her, eyes trailing over her arms, the cut of her abs, even, scandalously, over her chest and butt, her strong thighs somehow still elegant despite all her bulk. Shane knew the rules of communal showering and had since before she grew pubic hair, but with just the two of them there she couldn’t help herself.
Shane was no stranger to hot girls. She wasn’t sure she was attracted to them, felt shy around the kind of girls on her team who had been out and proud from age 14 on. She couldn’t imagine being so confident in anything so personal. She’d had crushes on boys before, but mostly older guys she was too shy to talk to. So she figured that maybe she was asexual or something? And just wasn’t interested in sex at all. Certainly, when she tried it in her bedroom by herself she didn’t really like it.
She’d felt flustered around girls before, usually the older, popular ones who were still really nice to her, but she’d never thought of it as attraction until she saw Rozanova casually lathering up her pubic hair and felt it between her own legs like a lightning strike. Rozanova wasn’t looking at her, obviously, wasn’t doing anything outrageous except lazily touching herself, comfortable and easy enough in her own skin to do it in public.
Shane felt her pussy clench and throb and turned away quickly. And then snuck a look over her shoulder. She couldn’t even look back between Rozanova’s legs without feeling a little faint. Lightheaded. Probably because of the hot water or something.
She missed the lingering once-over that Rozanova gave her when she turned back around.
“Wow, Hollander. Nice tits,” Rozanova said, and Shane sputtered around the mouthful of water she’d just inhaled. They’d spoken a couple of times off camera, and she remembered racing her on the stationary bikes, right after they got drafted. She knew Rozanova spoke her mind, famously, but she’d never been quite that… straightforward before, and definitely not with Shane.
“Wh-- What,” she said, sputtering a little in the water because she turned her head so fast. It wasn’t even a request for clarification. She just couldn’t believe Rozanova had said that to her.
“They’re big,” Rozanova said, like that was a normal thing to say to another girl, even turning in the spray so she had a better view. Shane had heard that Rozanova was kind of a freak sexually, but only with guys. She was Russian for god’s sake. There’d certainly been enough pap shots of her coming out of clubs with a pretty boy on her arm to confirm that she liked men. So what did Rozanova mean? Shane wasn’t sure now that Rozanova wasn’t just complimenting her, like she’d heard girls do to each other in bar bathrooms, hyping each other up. Maybe this was just Rozanova being nice in the only way she knew how? Cultural miscommunication? Maybe they talked about each other’s “tits” all the time in Russian locker rooms.
Rozanova’s eyes met hers, dropped back down to her breasts, and then flicked back up. She licked her lips.
Shane’s arms came up instinctively trying to cover herself up, which was ridiculous because she was naked and Rozanova was right. They were big.
“You can’t just say that to someone, it’s rude,” Shane said, still clutching at herself and feeling the extra boob spilling over the sides of her hands. Idiot.
Rozanova rolled her eyes, then took a few steps closer and took one of Shane’s wrists in each hand and pulled them away, down by her sides. Shane was too startled to stop her, even though she could, she totally could have, except for how Rozanova didn’t pause once she let her go. She stepped even closer and cupped one of Shane’s boobs in her hand like she was weighing a fruit at the grocery store.
“Usually we’re having small tits from working out all the time. But yours are big,” she said conversationally, squeezing lightly like she was checking for ripeness. She brought her other hand up for the other one, and jiggled them a little, looking satisfied with herself.
Shane couldn’t move or speak through the ringing in her ears and the insistent throbbing between her legs that was making itself known worse than ever. It was starting to drown out the voice in her head that told her this was an insane thing to be doing. She just stood there stupidly, letting this girl she barely knew grope her, kind of roughly now, pinching her nipples between her big, square fingers. Or, maybe not roughly, she reflected, gaze focused on Rozanova’s mouth because she couldn’t quite manage to look her in the eye. Not rough, but careless. Like Shane was a toy for her to play with, not a living, breathing woman.
It was making the heat between her legs worse.
Rozanova hummed, using the grip she still had on Shane’s tender, slightly sore breasts to steer her out of the shower spray, pressing her up against the wall. Shane shivered at the cold at her back, and then again when Rozanova pinched her again, sharply, drawing her attention again.
Rozanova was already looking at her, and they made eye contact. Her eyes were heavy lidded, pleased. Cat who got the cream. Shane’s head was swimming, and she had to press her thighs tight together or she was gonna do something embarrassing like fall over.
A smile played over Rozanova’s face, a half twist of her lips.
Rozanova pinched both nipples at one and held the pressure for several long hot squirming seconds while Shane tried to decide whether she wanted to get closer or pull away, settling on just moaning, shockingly loud and slutty, like something out of the one porn video she’d watched on her family computer, parents away and door locked tightly behind her.
“Hollander the slut,” Rozanova said, another bolt of lightning jolting through Shane. “Who would have thought? You’re always such a nice girl. Canada’s sweetheart.” She enunciated the last phrase carefully, mockingly, not at all like they did during the World Juniors broadcasts when she was playing the American team.
Shane flushed, and made an effort to refocus from the throbbing in her core that was getting heavy enough to eclipse her other thoughts. She tried again to cover herself up, grabbed Rozanova’s wrists to try to pry them away, which worked for about one second.
Rozanova let go, which truthfully Shane hadn’t expected. She also hadn’t expected Rozanova to tug her hands away, transferring her grip to one hand and pulling Shane’s wrists up and over her head, pressing them firmly into the tile.
She kept them there for a second then leaned in, nosing up close to Shane’s ear, then said, “Leave them,” and let go. For some reason, Shane did leave them. She would move them, for sure, once she figured out how to breathe again.
With her hands over her head, Shane’s breasts were even more on display, hanging heavy and ruddy where Rozanova had been handling them. Her nipples were hard and poked out in front of her like an invitation. An invitation Rozanova took immediately, dropping her head forward to land between Shane’s breasts.
She sighed happily, and burrowed closer, cupping Shane’s breasts so she could motorboat them properly. At least, that’s what Shane thought it was. She’d heard the girls she played with who slept with guys complaining about it and how juvenile it was. How silly it made them feel.
Shane didn’t feel silly. She was so far out of her head and into her body all she was thinking about was Rozanova’s hot breath on her skin, making her shiver all over. Shane moaned, helplessly. She’d never felt like this before. Coming hadn’t even felt like this.
She didn’t even realize she had been moving her hips, hunching them up into the air for whatever little friction she could get, until Rozanova huffed a laugh and grabbed her by the hips, pressing her back into the wall again and stilling them. It made Shane stand up straighter from where she’d been slumped, making her tits jut out again.
She didn’t relax her arms from up over her head, even though they were getting a little sore now.
Rozanova hummed, releasing her hips and cupping Shane’s breasts again, pushing them up like she was wearing a bra, creating cleavage. “Arch your back,” she said, then pinched her nipple sharply when Shane just stood there.
Shane jumped and tried to refocus from the way she wanted to push into Rozanova’s hands, wanted more pressure, more friction, something, and arched her back. It felt awkward, like her hips were too stiff, and Rozanova rolled her eyes and reached around, dragging one hand up Shane’s lower back until her abs were clenching and trembling, and she was bent into a more pronounced arch. Her lower back left the wall and her breasts stood out proudly from her chest. Like one of pin up girls that people got tattooed on their arms.
“Better,” Rozanova said, and lowered her head to take one of Shane’s nipples into her mouth.
“Oh fuck,” Shane said, whined, trying to push against Rozanova harder, get more sensation, something. Anything. No one had ever touched her like this. She hadn’t even had her first kiss yet, for all that she was an adult now. “Please, please,” she babbled, not even knowing what she was asking for.
Rozanova ignored her and took her time, alternating between breasts until both nipples were wet from Rozanova’s mouth, ultrasensitive when she blew across them. It felt like her nipples were connected to her clit, on the same nerve. When Rozanova sucked, bit down gently on her nipple while fondling the other one, she felt it in the pit of her stomach, simmering higher and higher. Water was drying across Shane’s body but she could feel that she was so turned on, come was starting to drip down her inner thighs.
She was whining, begging, saying Rozanova’s name over and over and still she hadn’t moved, just held still and let Rozanova feast on her. Take her fill as she liked. Used Shane’s body as something to give herself pleasure. It felt important to stay just as she had been placed, Rozanova’s hands on her like a brand, shaping her how she wanted.
The throbbing was getting worse. She kept clenching, thinking muzzily that maybe she could see why people liked putting things inside themselves, if this is how they felt beforehand.
And then Rozanova looked up, caught her eye again. Took in the way her chest was heaving, her arms trembling from being held above her head so long. The way her hips had stilled even though she wanted to hump the air like a rabbit.
She smiled, warm and genuine. Then she rolled both of Shane’s nipples roughly, and said, “Good girl,” into the skin of Shane’s right breast and bit down, hard.
The feeling had been building inside Shane for a while, and abruptly it peaked, heat rolling through her, making her hunch over and groan, legs shaking while she tried not to fall over. Rozanova grabbed her hips and pressed them back into the wall, hard enough to steady her, making the heat peak higher and her brain go completely blank. For a good ten seconds there weren’t any thoughts in her head at all, just flat out pleasure blocking everything else out. It didn’t feel anything like masturbating on her own. It was in a different galaxy.
When she came back to herself she was leaned back against the wall, her arms still somehow over her head, propped up against Rozanova, who was looking at her with her pupils blown, expression unfocused and tongue sticking out just a little between her teeth, gaze roving over Shane’s face like it was a show for her. Her breast throbbed where Rozanova had bitten her, in time with the throbbing between her legs.
Shane couldn’t even spare a stray thought to be anxious or puzzled by what Rozanova saw there, just stood there panting for a few more seconds until Rozanova gently pulled her arms down from above her head, rubbing her arms to work the sensation back into them while Shane remembered how to stand upright.
She also remembered where they when she heard a door open close enough that she jolted out of whatever fugue state she’d been in and remembered that they were in a public shower, at the practice facility where they’d just filmed a fucking commercial as the two new faces of the league. They both froze for a long second, waiting for footsteps, but there were none, and Rozanova relaxed.
Shane did not.
She shoved Rozanova back from her like she’s been burned, into the shower spray. She sputtered for a second before she closed her mouth and glared at Shane, who did her very best to glare back, even though she wasn’t sure how it looked on her face right now. She didn’t feel very severe.
“What the fuck was that, Rozanova!” she whisper-yelled at her, taking a step back, and then another two for good measure as she considered Rozanova’s reach, and how ready she looked to get back to what they’d been doing.
“Why do you keep asking stupid questions, Hollander. Everybody says you’re the smartest at hockey, but all I’ve seen is these dumb questions. I want to fuck you,” she said bluntly, following Shane into the next shower and pressing up against her properly, chest to chest then all the way down their bodies.
“I just made you come without even touching your pussy. I know you would like it,” she continued smugly, knee nudging just barely between Shane’s, the vaguest suggestion of touch.
Shane shuddered, stopped moving for a fraction of a second. Rozanova took advantage of her distraction to grab her wrist and drag her hand down, fuck, between her legs, to where her blonde curls were soaked through with slick. She cupped her hand around Shane’s, letting her feel how hot and swollen she was, how wet, and then let her go.
Shane kept touching for a moment longer then pulled her hand away, like that even mattered at this point. Rozanova didn’t shave, and her pubic hair was soft and smooth, not prickly like the stubble around Shane’s pubic area, irritated from shaving it with the razor her mom bought for her. All the girls on her team shaved.
She could feel the wetness on her fingers, and for a fraction of a second wanted to bring it to her nose to smell. Shove her fingers in her mouth and lick the slick off them.
Then she gritted her teeth and hissed, “Not here” and turned tail and ran, out of the showers and into the dressing room, where thank god she was alone. She felt like she needed to get her breath back, like she’d just gotten bag skated by her coach. Her head was full of Rozanova, of the way Rozanova looked at her, touched her, tugged her out of her own head as easily as breathing.
She flung her locker open and roughly toweled herself off, not letting herself linger anywhere, even when the rough fabric brushed painfully over her sensitive breasts. The bite mark still throbbed. Rozanova hadn’t broken the skin but she could see the individual, slightly crooked shapes of her teeth. It would probably bruise.
She couldn’t even bear to do more than swipe between her legs, which meant that she still felt wet and messy when she was bent over on one leg, trying to tug her stupid skinny jeans over her still-wet feet. By the time she was mostly dressed, she had already worked out what she was going to say. It was stupid, what they’d done. She wasn’t even really gay? Probably? And beyond that, hooking up was a ridiculous risk to run, especially considering their positions in the league. She was so focused on her little speech that she didn’t notice the sound of wet feet behind her.
She did notice the sharp sting of the towel cracking against her ass though, and overbalanced, tipping off the bench and sprawling on the floor, still half-caught in her too-tight jeans.
“Wow,” Rozanova drawled, standing over her. Apparently that was her favourite word today. She was holding a towel in one hand, idly twirling it like she was thinking about smacking Shane with it again. She had another towel wrapped around her waist, but it would be ridiculous to expect her to do the decent thing and wrap it around her chest, too, Shane thought, resentfully. Rozanova’s tits weren’t as big as hers but they were definitely there, perky and cute and probably also fun to grab.
“Don’t get up, I don’t want you to break something,” said Rozanova dubiously, turning away and opening her own locker. Shane took her advice because she was suddenly feeling a little lightheaded again watching Rozanova get dressed. Her backside looked as good as her front. Shane swallowed, hard, when she bent over a little to put her underwear on and flashed Shane just the smallest, briefest glimpse of her pussy from the back.
It was still wet, still pink. And it didn’t get any less so when she covered it up. If you could even say that, considering the underwear was more like a string connecting two pieces of lace, Shane thought, suddenly self conscious about her own baby blue boy cut panties, with the little bow in the front. She was pretty sure they came in a pack of three her mother bought her when she moved into her billet a couple years ago. They were worn comfortable and slightly too small, and she’d never thought about them before now, comparing them to the bright red string Rozanova wore. It complimented her skin tone. Shane didn’t know people thought about things like that when they were buying underwear.
She didn’t even realize she was still staring until Rozanova cleared her throat and said, amused, “You’re drooling.”
Shane shut her mouth, humiliated, swiping at it. She glared at Rozanova when she realized she hadn’t actually been drooling, but she was already laughing at her, head thrown back a little and hands on her hips.
“It’s not like I don’t understand how I look,” she said, grabbing the matching bra out of her locker and shimmying it on. It was also strappy and lacey, nothing at all like the industrial compression ones Shane had to wear.
She didn’t continue getting dressed properly though, preferring to raise one leg onto the bench and pull on a sock, far more slowly and showily than anyone really needed to. Especially considering it was the same kind of gross athletic sock every athlete wore during adolescence. It gave Shane a great view of her pussy again though, fuck.
“So what’s your room number,” she said, casually, like she hadn’t screwed all the thoughts out of Shane’s head twice in fifteen minutes. Her butt looked great from here.
Shane refocused, tried to remember her spiel about how irresponsible it would be for them to hook up, started with, “1410, but I think it’s best if we act like nothing happened, okay?” but petered out when she actually looked up at Rozanova’s face.
She didn’t usually see her from this angle. Rozanova was a couple inches shorter than she was, and slighter, but compensated for it by getting so jacked Shane could see the individual muscles of her serratus anterior when she moved. She was a bulldozer on the ice and she’d built herself for it. She looked good like this, with Shane below her.
Rozanova was looking at her with one eyebrow raised, then looked down between Shane’s legs at her underwear, where to her horror she could see a wet patch right where she was still dripping, leaking right through, obvious. She looked back up at Shane and raised her other eyebrow.
Shane said “Fuck off,” and snapped her legs closed, forcing her jeans up and over her thighs. She knew she was blushing but couldn’t help it.
Rozanova laughed but didn’t dignify it with more of a response than that, turning away to grab her other sock, still distractingly naked otherwise.
Shane tried again, “We’re rivals, Rozanova, if we got caught both of our careers would be over before they even started. Montreal would hate my guts if they found out I was screwing Boston’s first overall pick--”
Rozanova snorted. “You don’t want it from me? I think you would like it,” she said, like it was that simple, like they were in a vacuum where sex didn’t spill out into any other part of their lives.
“What I want isn’t important, and anyway, how would you know, you barely touched me. I’m not even interested in sex,” she continued before stopping again. Bad argument from someone who would have probably given it up ten minutes ago if they hadn’t been in a public shower, but she had to try.
Rozanova was straightening up, crossing the few steps between them and getting right into her space. She ended up standing over her, one leg on either side of Shane’s hips where she was sitting on the floor against the bench. She was so close, Shane could smell the shower gel she used and could see her pubic hair curling out around the red lace. Could smell something else too, that she’d smell on her fingers, faint, if she brought them to her nose now.
“Liar,” Rozanova said, not even smirking this time. Just cool and certain. She reached out and carded her hand through Shane’s hair near her scalp.
Shane’s eyes closed involuntarily, only snapping open again when Rozanova huffed a laugh above her.
“I think you would get on your knees for me right now if I told you,” she said, softly, and tightened her hand into a fist in Shane’s hair, which flicked some switch deep inside her that made her eyes roll back in her head and her mouth drop open around a moan.
She swayed forward, mouth still open and panting and only an inch from Rozanova’s pussy when her hand tightened in her hair again, dragging her away.
Shane fought against the pull for a second, leaning into the pain of getting her hair pulled, before she snapped out of it, even redder than ever. She only looked up at Rozanova because she used the grip on her hair to angle her head up.
Rozanova had a little smile playing around her mouth but she was a little pink, too. Like maybe she was outside in the heat, even though the air conditioned locker room wasn’t warm at all.
“1410. I’ll be there at 9,” she said, and finally let Shane go, finishing getting dressed and slamming out of the locker room while Shane sat there trying to get her breathing under control.
Once it was, she stood up and grabbed her things, already running through what she was going to do if Rozanova actually showed up. They could talk about it and maybe could even end up friends? Like, look back on it and laugh someday.
If she was planning on another shower where she’d be shaving all the stubble off her pussy until it was neat and smooth and soft, that was between her and her razor.