Archive of Our Own

It was probably cruel, the way the Boston Terriers were playing with their food. But then, Cryz had never claimed to be kind, leaning against the goal post as her team skated circles around the San Francisco Scorpions defense, smiles written on their faces from the other end of the ice.

There were sixty seconds left of the third period, and Cryz could feel the crowd's excitement, the stamping of feet and the screaming to fire the puck towards the Scorpion's hapless goalie. That was probably cruel too. Cryz didn't know their goalie well - a last minute trade before the playoffs, but it hadn't paid off, and now the Scorpions were down 6-2 in the second game against. If they lost the next game, Boston would win the cup, and the glory, and hot babes. The hot babes was an added addition on Cryz's part.

45 seconds to go. She watched Ramsey Walker finally get control of the puck, and Cryz swung herself into position against the net. Cryz could practically taste the sweat beading off Ramsey's forehead as she came hurtling towards her, her team mates and the rest of the Boston crew skating after her, everyone shouting conflicting passing orders. Ramsey flicked the puck to a team mate, who promptly shot it back to her, and then she was close - too close for comfort.

"Fuck you," Cryz said under her breath, and heard the puck hit the post, misjudged by a millimeter.

The whistle sounded, and the crowd exploded into celebration, steins of beer flying as the roof was almost lifted off in celebration. Ramsey screamed in despair so loudly that it almost popped Cryz's bad ear, and Cryz straightened up, focusing not on her team mates, but the girl throwing a tantrum in front of her.

A nicer person would have comforted her. Too bad Cryz wasn't a nice person. Ramsey had tears in her eyes, the whites already turning pink with frustration, and she turned away, shoulders shaking. Cryz tipped her head back, basking in the screams of the crowd, and then her Captain was skating towards her, shoving Ramsey out of the way like an annoying fly.

"We did it baby!" Captain Prezniek screamed, slamming their helmets together like clashing antlers. "Going all the way to the cup!"

Cryz laughed, throwing her arms around her Captain as several others of her team mates skated into view, cheering and whooping. Hands slapped all over her body, praising her, worshiping her.

"Don't tempt the hockey gods," Cryz warned Prezniek, someone's hand groping her ass.

"I fucking love the hockey gods," Prezniek said, and, and smacked a kiss on Cryz's cheek. "I love the gods and I love my goalie and I love this team!"

The final word was screamed into the huddle, and Cryz and her team mates screamed back, before delving into barks like a pack of dogs. Cryz headbutted people without even looking at them, and then skated back into the crease to kiss both goal posts too. The metal was cold even through her gum shield, and she thanked them until her voice was hoarse.

They just had to win their final game, and then they'd be champions. Just one fucking game. How hard would it be?

They insisted on doing a handshake line, because this was the finals and they wanted the women to appear ladylike and not animals. Each member of the Scorpions wore a facial expression akin to an innocent man on the way to the scaffold, and Cryz shook each of their gloved hands in turn, smiling and muttering "Good Game" under her breath like it was an insult. It wasn't a good game. It was a dirty game and they all knew it, and Cryz was itching for more. Boston never played nice. San Francisco never played fair. That was how they liked it.

Cryz had always wanted to play like the boys, where they got to have proper fisticuffs, and even goalies got to throw a few punches, shoving players up against the boards. It was cruel, to deny the women's team the same pleasure. Cryz missed the taste of blood in her mouth.

Ramsey Walker was next in line. She’d taken off her helmet, long brown hair loose around her shoulders from where she’d pulled out her scrunchie. There was a permanent crease between her eyebrows from frowning, and she glowered at Cryz like she’d personally ruined their chances at the playoffs.

"Good game," Cryz said, reaching for Ramsey's hand.

"Eat shit and die," Ramsey replied, her bare hand cold around Cryz's own.

Cryz laughed, knowing that nobody could hear them. The crowd roared around them, and her heartbeat thundered, still not over the adrenaline. She thought she might explode out there on the ice like a dying star, goalie gear flung into the stands, knocking fans over.

"Room 87," She said, not bothering to lower her voice, and Ramsey rolled her eyes.

"Disgusting," She said, pushing herself away on one skate, effortlessly smooth. "You're a fucking pervert."

"You love it," Cryz called after her, and then there was another of Ramsey's team mates, the redheaded one that hadn't invited Ramsey to her second wedding. Her glove was firm against Cryz's hand, and Cryz smiled until her cheeks hurt.

It took a while to get rid of everyone. They couldn’t go out on the town – not in San Francisco’s territory, so they raided the hotel bar and tipped the waitstaff double. It was a celebration of a win, but it was also something they couldn’t say out loud, the anticipation of the cup. The knowing that it was close enough to lift above their heads.

Everyone had come out to watch them win, parents included, but it was embarrassing to get drunk with your family. Cryz still managed to down several beers whilst her mom wasn’t looking, and her brother William kept sliding her vodka cranberries when her father wasn't paying attention. It felt like being a teenager again, sneaking drinks at an aunts wedding, huddled underneath the table with William, giggling until they couldn't breathe.

“This is insane,” William said, when they went outside for some fresh air. It was a private space, but Cryz could hear the roar of the city, and the hundreds of fans, everyone drunk and waiting for the end. It had been a long painful season, with injuries and straight losses, and trades that didn’t work out. Cryz felt like she’d been clawing her way to the playoffs for months.

“I know,” Cryz said. “I’ve seen people dressed up as me.”

In all her wildest dreams, Cryz never thought that she'd see people repping her jersey. In fact, she never thought they'd even sell her jersey - goalies never sold as well as star players. And yet she could walk into any sports store, and see her name and number hanging on the wall, along the likes of Fluery, and Binnington, and Nurse. It got rid of the internal critic, for a little while.

 “How are you surviving?” William asked, passing over his cocktail can. Cryz took it gratefully and took a long slug.

“It’s my job,” She said, leaning against the balcony. They weren’t the only ones outside – Zoe Harlowe was arguing on the phone with someone, but not loud enough to overhear. “You get used to it.”

“I couldn’t do it,” William said. He joined her against the balcony, even though Cryz could tell her was freezing, the tips of his ears pink. He’d put on weight since the last time she’d seen him, making him a comfy figure to press her arm against. He looked good, she admitted. He was growing up. She missed the kid who let her dress him up in Ramsey's clothes, draw over his face with make up.

“You can’t even skate,” Cryz said, and William huffed, little brother until the end of time.

“I can.”

“Badly.”

“I’ve taken girls on dates to the rink,” William said, “Only fell over a couple of times.”

“Ooh impressive,” Cryz grinned, “Learning from my playbook, are we?”

William laughed, and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. It was cold as balls out here, like the world had been carved out of ice, sparkling and sharp. It made Cryz's back molars hurt.“Speaking of playbooks-“

“No,” Cryz said, knowing what he was going to say before he even said it. “Don’t talk about her.”

“She’s not dead,” William said. “I saw her score on you.”

“She had one lucky goal,” Cryz said, turning away from the cold wind, cheeks smarting. She should have smuggled out more alcohol. “Did you see that final hit though? It was like she was aiming for the posts.”

“Maybe she was.” William said.

“No,” Cryz said, suddenly frustrated, because Ramsey would never fucking do that. “She couldn’t do that. She wants to win.”

“So do you.” William pointed out.

“And that’s why we’re not friends anymore,” Cryz said bluntly. “We can’t be.”

William was looking at her with an expression she didn’t like. She tipped back the stolen can of vodka cranberry and tried to drink as much of it as she could in one go, throat bobbing. William sighed, and looked over at Harlowe, whose voice was rising in peaks and troughs. There was some French slipping in to her conversation, she must have been speaking to her girlfriend. Lucky bastard.

Cryz finished the can and crumpled it against the metal railing. Some horrible little part of her wanted to lob it into the distance, but she refrained. “You just don’t get hockey like I do.”

“I guess I don’t,” William admitted, and held out his hand for the trash. “I’ll take it inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“It’s not that bad,” Cryz said, but handed over the can. “I’ve had worse out on the pond.”

“Only crazy people skate on real ice,” William said. “I’ve read Little Women. I know what happens to Amy.”

Cryz snorted with laughter, and William grinned too, tongue between his teeth. Suddenly they were kids again, not adults, fully grown. Fuck, when did they grow up?

“Go inside,” Cryz said. “Don’t stay out here for my sake.”

“Thank god,” William said, stamping his feet to get the feeling back into them. “See you.”

Cryz watched him wander back inside, heading back to their parents who were enthusiastically gesturing to a older Russian couple. Cryz didn’t want to think about what they might have been talking about. Embarrassing their daughters? Naming their children after flowers?

She looked up at the sky, and wished she could see the stars. It was one of the reasons why she didn’t enjoy living in the city, the sky was dark but the buildings were illuminating dull yellow, ruining the night. She wanted to buy a cottage in the middle of nowhere, with a private rink, and space to maybe own a horse. She looked good in a cowboy hat.

Harlowe finished her phone call, and, realising Cryz was still there, pretended to lob her phone into the bushes. Cryz laughed, turning towards her. Harlowe was tall, with a mullet almost as good as Cryz’s own, and a year-round tan that made her look effortlessly summer.

“You good?” Cryz asked. “Need me to take out a hit on someone?”

“My girlfriend is doing my head in,” Harlowe said, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. “Why did I decide to date a French Canadian?”

“Because you’re in love,” Cryz teased, and Harlowe groaned, the way women in love could only groan.

“I am,” She said, rubbing her temples. “It’s awful.”

“Is she coming to see you play?” Cryz asked. She liked Harlowe’s girlfriend, who had Cryz’s fondness for board games, and a hatred for all things hockey.

“She arrived as we were just going out on the ice,” Harlowe said, then grimaced. “She doesn’t like the hotel.”

“Why not?” Cryz asked, confused. “This place is great. Did you feel the towels?”

Harlowe laughed. “Of course you only noticed the towels.”

“They’re so fluffy,” Cryz protested. “I’m going to take them home with me.”

“Don’t pay a fine for hotel theft,” Harlowe said. “I remember the great shampoo heist of 2024.”

“I’ll be sneakier next time,” Cryz promised. “My suitcase won’t leak.”

“Oh my god, Coach Brooke's face,” Harlowe said, and snorted. “Your luggage going round the carousel, and none of us wanting to touch it. Didn’t Prezniek only agree to move it with gloves?”

“And she put it upside down in my trunk so it spilled everywhere,” Cryz said. “My back shelf is permanently sticky and smells of vanilla.”

“There are worse things to smell of,” Harlowe said. “Remember Kel’s soy sauce disaster?”

"How the fuck did she even do that?" Cryz demanded, and Harlowe laughed. "Seriously. Sometimes if I stand too close to her, I can still smell it."

"She's a woman of many talents." Harlowe said. "Count yourself lucky that the shampoo smelled good."

“True,” Cryz admitted. “The women do enjoy the vanilla-mobile.”

“Women,” Harlowe said, and then sighed, looking down at her phone. She rubbed her thumb across the screen like she was playing with a worry stone, the black mirror reflecting her own face back at her.

“Does she really hate the hotel?” Cryz asked.

“Yeah,” Harlowe sighed. "She hates the room, and the food, and the staff, and anything else you can possibly imagine."

Cryz couldn't imagine turning her nose up at a hotel stay. They still felt exciting even after all this time, figuring out how all the buttons in the room worked, the random shows or movies that played on the television. She always ended up watching Con Air, but never the beginning, only the middle and end. It was just one of those hotel quirks.

“Should I just rebook?" Harlowe asked. "I mean, we’re only going to be here for what, two, three nights?”

“But you’ll be away from the team,” Cryz said. “Unless she stays somewhere else and you stay with us. You could always sell your current room to pay for the new hotel, share with one of us.”

“But then will she get upset that I’m sharing a room?” Harlowe asked. “I don’t want her to think I don’t want to stay with her. She's the one calling the shots.”

“You’re seriously asking me for relationship advice?” Cryz asked. "Me? Prezniek once said she wouldn't even ask my advice on kitchen tiles."

“God, I know,” Harlowe tilted her face towards the empty sky. “You only date girls to sleep with them.”

It was true, and it stung. Cryz hadn’t dated in – years. She couldn’t remember the last time someone stayed the night. People knew her as a goalie, and an easy lay, and someone who wouldn’t mind if you never called again.

“Never done me wrong so far.” Cryz said, and Harlow didn’t notice the bitter note in her tone.

“Maybe I will take your advice,” She said, still staring upwards, like maybe the constellations would offer some advice. “Never date. Never fall in love. Just happy by yourself.”

“Exactly,” Cryz lied, and went inside to get another beer.

By the time that Cryz was in the elevator to her hotel room, she was drunk and merry with it, leaning against the wall of buttons and humming to herself. She couldnt stop herself from swaying slightly, and when she checked her phone, there seemed like hundreds of goodnight messages from the entire team using the worlds most ancient Whatsapp stickers.

I LOVE YOU ALL <3 WOOF WOOF + LICKS , Brooke Hanlon had last messaged, before there was a polite message from her boyfriend saying he'd tucked her into bed.

Just one more game. Just one more game and then they’d be Champions, the Walter Cup almost in touching distance. Cryz was refusing to accept that there was a chance that the Scorpions could ever win tomorrow – she’d practically etched it down that Boston were going to be victorious. How could they not? They had the best goalie in the fucking league.

Cryz let herself into her hotel room and flopped face-down onto the bed. She managed to kick off her trainers without the use of her hands, and then peeled off her socks using her toes, because she’d always been a freak like that. The room was cold from the AC blasting, and Cryz rubbed her face against the pillow. She was tired, but not enough to sleep, heart still stuttering.

She rolled over and turned on the television, scrolling through random channels until she found MTV music. She’d visited England in the mid-season break and she enjoyed how little adverts played, and when they did, they were calm and pleasing to the senses. It made her want to pay for ad-blocker on the television at home, but it was too expensive. If they won the cup, she could afford it.

Cryz blearily watched two music videos for some sad man with long hair before there was a knock at the door. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, room tipping slightly, and padded over to the door, peering through the keyhole.

Ramsey stood there, arms folded. She’d changed out of her uniform to a pair of black pants and a red shirt with long sleeves, like she was about to take part in a Christmas photo shoot for miserable elves. She looked annoyed, like Cryz had forced her to come.

Cryz opened the door, leaning against the frame and giving her a sleazy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Shut up and let me in,” Ramsey snapped. “What if someone sees me?”

“They’d be shocked,” Cryz said. “Scandalized. Perturbed.”

“That’s not the correct usage of perturbed.”

“God it’s so sexy when you correct my English,” Cryz said. “Tell me again about metaphors and similes.”

Ramsey rolled her eyes and barged past her into the room like she owned the place. She kicked off her shoes, toed them neatly into line, and then whirled around, like Cryz was an idiot. “Close the door.”

“I thought the neighbors might like to watch.” Cryz said, but shut it anyway.

It was the first time they'd been alone in months. Cryz still cringed the last time they'd seen each other outside of hockey - a multiple team party that they both didn't know the other was going to. Ramsey had walked in on her chatting up one of the Yellowthroat rookies. There had been a lot of accusations that night.

“Nice goal earlier.” Cryz said, shaking away the memory.

“Fuck off.” Ramsey said, bristling.

"Not the goal post one," Cryz said, rolling her eyes. "In the Second Period. When you almost knocked my head off."

"Should have aimed harder," Ramsey said. "Then you'd shut up for once."

"You try and give a girl a compliment-"

"Oh my god," Ramsey said, and yanked Cryz forward by her belt loops. "Come here."

She kissed Cryz with a clack of teeth, and Cryz melted easily against her, hands rising to fist into Ramsey’s dark hair. It had been so long since Ramsey had grown her hair out, not since they were teenagers, and Cryz hadn’t realized how much of a thing it was for her. She pulled on the ends, and Ramsey’s breath hitched.

“You taste of beer.” Ramsey said, but didn't move away. Instead she kissed Cryz again, tugging on her bottom lip with teeth.

“If you won a game, you’d taste the same.” Cryz said.

“I don’t drink beer.”

Cryz butted against her forehead playfully. “Of course, you’re all champagne and cocktails-“

“You’re such a dick-“

“Sipping gin and eating caviar before a game-“

“Jesus Christ,” Ramsey said, and walked Cryz backwards towards the bed until the back of her thighs bumped against the frame. “How do I make you stop talking?”

“You could put something in my mouth.” Cryz said innocently.

“Like a ball gag?”

“I was thinking your cock.” Cryz said.

“I didn’t bring anything with me,” Ramsey said, and then paused. “Did you seriously bring your bag with you?”

"You should always be prepared," Cryz said, and shot finger guns towards her. "Always stay strapped."

Ramsey pushed her onto the bed with a disappointed expression, and Cryz grinned, spread out like a damn fine snack. Her shirt had risen up, exposing her stomach and her happy trail, and she saw Ramsey inhale.

"Like what you see?" Cryz said. “More hair than your boyfriend?”

“Fiancé actually,” Ramsey corrected, irritated. “You liked the Instagram post, I know you saw the announcement.”

“You’re not wearing a ring.” Cryz said.

“You know I don’t wear jewelry on the ice,” Ramsey said. “None of the girls do.”

Cryz rolled her eyes. They might not wear rings on the ice, but they all wore chains, gold, silver, in Mallory’s case, leather. How hard would it be for Ramsey’s fiancé, whatever his name was, to buy her a necklace she could wear? A chance to show that he'd claimed her?

"Who proposed to who?" Cryz said.

"Why do you care?" Ramsey asked.

Cryz shrugged. "I don't know," She admitted. "But everyone always tells me the details, don't they. About how magical it was, and all that bullshit."

"I proposed," Ramsey said, matter-of-fact. "Happy?"

“No. Is he even here?” Cryz asked, tilting her head to one side. “I couldn’t smell him out on the ice, unless he's stopped wearing that awful aftershave.”

“Fuck you,” Ramsey said. “He had an important work event.”

“You’re on the cusp of winning a cup-“

“Yes and he was busy,” Ramsey interrupted, “Are you happy? If he was here, I wouldn’t be in your fucking room.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Cryz said, and the words hung in the air, memories of the Winter Classic dancing across Cryz's mind.

Neither of them spoke. Ramsey shook her head, like clearing away a bad thought, and ran her hands through her hair. The music channel had switched to something upbeat, a girl with curly red hair enthusiastically dancing towards the camera. It was ruining the mood slightly.

"Where's the bag?" Ramsey asked.

"In the wardrobe," Cryz said, motioning with her head.

"You hid it away then?"

"I didn't want some poor unsuspecting maid to find it," Cryz said. "I do have a heart."

"I find that hard to believe," Ramsey said, and walked over to the cupboard. Cryz sat upright to watch her, admiring the smooth slope of Ramsey's neck, and the way she shouldered open the cupboard like it owed her money.

Ramsey whistled through her teeth, pulling out the chequered tote bag that had followed Cryz from teenage years to adulthood. It was battered at the edges, and peeling slightly, as much a part of Cryz as her moth-eaten bag of goalie gear.

"Insane," Ramsey said, opening the bag. "How did you get it through airport security?"

"TSA Pre-Check fears me," Cryz said, and flexed her arm muscles.

Ramsey was already pulling out the black harness, o-ring glinting in the light. Cryz hadn't brought all her kit - she wasn't an idiot, but there were a good range of dildos, and a bullet vibrator that she’d used last night.

"Who else were you planning to fuck?" Ramsey asked bluntly.

"Your Captain looks keen," Cryz said. "Think she'd agree to some girl-on-girl?"

"My Captain is trying to get pregnant," Ramsey said, in the voice of someone saying trying to catch an infectious disease.

"Shit, seriously?" Cryz said, sitting upright. "Mallory’s trying to get knocked up during the playoffs?"

"She's planning her cycles," Ramsey said, rolling her eyes. "The minute this is over, it's goodbye Captaincy, hello cribs."

Cry realized she'd been given a vital piece of information about the Scorpions, but held her tongue. The Scorpions Captain, Mallory, had played in the League since she was eighteen, and been the Captain for four years. Prezniek would scream with delight if she knew her enemy was planning to retire over something so stupid.

It wasn't that Cryz didn't like babies. She was first on call for babysitting duties, and her favorite team events were family ones, teaching the toddlers how to stand in the net and save a goal. But the idea of getting pregnant, at the prime of your career, ruining your body for a helpless infant? It sounded like a death sentence.

"What about you?" Cryz said.

"What about me." Ramsey said.

"Got any… plans, anytime soon?" Cryz asked. Her heart was trying to crawl out of her ribcage and into her throat.

Ramsey looked at Cryz like she was a complete idiot. "Fuck no," She said, and unzipped her trousers.

Cryz watched Ramsey shimmy out of her black pants, exposing smooth white legs. They were less bruised than Cryz - Ramsey didn't have to stop missiles with her body every night, but there was a scar on her knee from last years surgery, the skin pink and raised.

"You need tattoos," Cryz said.

"If we win, I'll get a tattoo."

"Of what?" Cryz said, delighted. "My face, on your ass?"

"Of a scorpion, dingbat," Ramsey said, slipping the harness up over her thighs and adjusting it on her hips, the straps so tight they were cutting into her skin. Cryz’s stomach churned.

"My face would be better," Cryz said.

"Poulin doesn’t even have a tattoo of Laura," Ramsey said. She was looking through the bag, testing the weight of each dildo. “I’m not getting yours.”

Cryz knew that Ramsey would never get a tattoo in her entire life, even if she won a million cups. Cryz pulled off her shirt, throwing it to the corner of the room, and then lifted up her hips to pull down her jeans, kicking them away from her. Her lucky pants were grey with too many washes, and she pulled them down too, until she was completely naked and waiting.

“How did you get that bruise?” Ramsey asked.

She was slipping a dildo through the o-ring, navy blue silicon with ridges. The last time they’d used it, it had been Christmas, an away game in California that had given Cryz a tan even in the depths of December. They’d fucked in Ramsey’s apartment, Ramsey bent over the sofa as Cryz made her beg for it.

“How do you think?” Cryz said, admiring the mottled purple bruise on her thigh like a galaxy. “Someone fired a puck at me.”

“Who?”

“Are you going to fight for my honor?”

“No, I’m going to shake their hand and buy them a drink,” Ramsey rolled her eyes. “I hope they aim for your head next time.”

She climbed onto the bed, kneeling above Cryz like a beautiful kinky angel. Somewhere along the lines she’d taken off her top and bra, and her tits were perfect, full and round with the nipples flushed. Cryz reached out to her wordlessly, and Ramsey came to her easily,, straddling Cryz's body and ducking her head to kiss her.

It was the easiest thing in the world, to kiss Ramsey. Cryz cupped Ramsey's face in her hands,, and kissed her until her mouth went numb. It felt like being a teenager again, in love and hopeless about it.

“What do you want?” Ramsey said, her breath hot against Cryz’s mouth.

“I want you to fuck me,” Cryz said, and watched Ramsey’s pupils dilate. “I want you to knock me up.”

“Cryz-”

“C’mon Ramsey,” Cryz said, and wet her lower lip. “You’re a smart girl. See if you can.”

“You’d be the worst mother.”

“I don’t care,” Cryz said, even though she agreed. “I want you to get me pregnant.”

Ramsey inhaled sharply and then ducked her head into Cryz’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against her skin. Cryz ran her fingers down Ramsey’s spine before pushing them underneath her shirt so she could feel her properly. Ramsey had soft downy hair on her lower back, and it was something that Cryz loved about her, something secret that only Cryz knew.

“Please,” Cryz said.

“I hate it when you beg,” Ramsey said, her voice quiet.

“That’s why I do it.” Cryz said, and Ramsey huffed out a laugh.

Then she knelt upright, staring Cryz down. Cryz didn’t know what she was thinking, and then Ramsey forced Cryz’s knees up to her chest, exposing her cunt to the cold hotel room air. Cryz blinked at being on show, and hooked one arm around her legs to keep herself steady.

“Good girl,” Ramsey said quietly, and pressed her cock to Cryz’s entrance.

“I’ll be a good anything,” Cryz said, dropping her head back against the pillow. “I’d be a good carnivorous slug if you wanted me to be –“

Ramsey pushed herself inside of Cryz, punching the air out of Cryz’s lungs. Cryz hadn’t been fucked in a while, and she whined like a dog, as Ramsey’s hips pressed against her, feeling every ridge of Ramsey’s cock. It wasn't the biggest one they owned, but it had been expensive, hand wash only and discrete purchasing. Cryz felt herself clench around it, her pussy drooling.

“Fuck,” She gasped out, and Ramsey shook her hair out of her face so she could study Cryz, like she was figuring out a play on the ice.

“Tell me you want me.” Ramsey said.

“I want your cock,” Cryz said. “Fuck me. I can take it.”

Ramsey thrust forward, and Cryz tried to keep her eyes open so she could watch Ramsey, that determined look on her face as she fucked Cryz. She always knew how Cryz liked it – was mean when Cryz needed it, was soft when Cryz wanted it.

Ramsey’s hand dropped down and teased one of Cryz’s nipples, and Cryz arched off the bed with a moan, clenching hard around Ramsey’s cock. Even her toes were curling, her body reacting before she could stop it.

“Your tits are tiny,” Ramsey said, and groped one of them. “Mouth-sized.”

“You’re hardly – Dolly Parton,” Cryz said breathlessly, as Ramsey tweaked her other sensitive nipple. “Fuck.”

“At least I wear a bra.”

“Fuck wearing a bra,” Cryz said. “Hate them.”

“You’re so unprofessional.” Ramsey said, and slid her hand to Cryz’s belly, pressing down like she was trying to feel her cock from the outside. Cryz whined.

“Just fuck me.” She said, and Ramsey complied.

She slammed her hips against Cryz, and Cryz hiccuped in pleasure, her cunt throbbing between her legs. It hurt in the best kind of way, the way that Cryz liked it, and she dropped her head back against the pillows, unable to hold herself upright anymore.

“Such a pretty girl,” Ramsey said, the nicest thing she’d said in years. “Look at you.”

Cryz keened. She didn’t feel like a pretty girl – she didn’t feel like a girl full stop most of the time, but something about Ramsey saying it made her go crazy. She wanted to be a girl for Ramsey. She wanted to be anything she wanted.

“You drive me insane,” Ramsey said, her cock pounding Cryz open. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“I’m a goalie,” Cryz gasped, “It’s my job.”

“You’re the worst goalie I’ve ever fucking met.” Ramsey said, and dropped her body weight down against Cryz, burying her face in Cryz’s shoulder as she fucked her. “The worst.”

“Didn’t – Didn’t Chloe take out your front teeth?”

“I got over it,” Ramsey said, and sucked on Cryz’s earlobe. “I’m a – big girl.”

“So big.” Cryz said, because porn dialogue was hot. “Biggest cock I’ve ever had.”

“God you’re annoying,” Ramsey said, “How do I shut you up again?”

“Bite me,” Cryz said, and Ramsey needed no further prompting, sinking her teeth into Cryz’s shoulder. Cryz didn’t even care that people would see – it’s not like she’d turned up to a game with bite marks before. She wanted Ramsey to keep biting her. She wanted Ramsey to eat her up.

“Happy?” Ramsey said, and Cryz shook her head.

“I want-“ She started, as a spark of pleasure exploded in her belly like a firework. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah?” Ramsey said, grinning. “What do you want?”

“Please, please, please-“ Cryz begged. “Ramsey-“

“I’m going to get you pregnant,” Ramsey said breathlessly, “I’m going to knock you up and you’ll never play another hockey game, you’ll just be fat and pregnant and useless in my apartment.”

Pleasure flooded through Cryz’s body, hot and embarrassing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ramsey said. “I’m going to fill you up until you can’t take anymore.”

“Please,” Cryz whined, and Ramsey flicked her nipple

“Make those tits bigger,” Ramsey said, a little cruel. “Put you to work.”

Cryz was so close she was going to die. Her clit was throbbing between her legs, Ramsey’s cock pounding into her so hard that the bed was rocking with it. They both knew how to work a strap, but Cryz could write a love letter to Ramsey’s cock, her thighs trembling.

"What else - will you do to me?"

"You're going to be mine," Ramsey said. "I'm not going to stop."

“I’m going to cum,” Cryz gasped, “I’m so close, don’t stop, please-“

Ramsey, best player in the goddamn world, did not stop. She fucked Cryz in the exact same rhythm, one hand on Cryz’s chest to play with her tits as she did so, and Cryz closed her eyes as her orgasm hit her like a puck to the skull.

She may even have blacked out a little, shuddering around Ramsey’s cock as it milked every last drop of pleasure out of her body. She was sweaty in every crease, and she desperately reached out to Ramsey, grabbing her by the neck and pulling her down to a wet-mouthed kiss.

Ramsey kissed her back, pressing her forehead against Cryz’s own. Her cock was buried so deep inside of Cryz that she could practically taste silicone in her mouth, and Cryz dug her nails into Ramsey’s skin because she didn’t know how else to deal with the pounding in her brain.

“Ow.” Ramsey said, “Get your claws off me idiot”

“Shut up,” Cryz mumbled, and when she opened her eyes, Ramsey’s green eyes were boring into her. “Stop staring at me, creep.”

“Fuck off.” Ramsey said bluntly, and tipped her head back. She studied Cryz for a moment, and then leant back to drag her thick cock out of Cryz’s sensitive cunt.

It hurt, being empty. Cryz pressed her thighs together tightly, imagining Ramsey’s cum flooding out of her, staining the hotel room sheets. They needed to buy a dildo that you could fill up, she thought dizzily. Make a real fucking mess of things.

Ramsey collapsed down next to her, cock standing straight up like a rudder. Cryz reached over and flicked it, and Ramsey elbowed her in the side.

“Don’t play with it.”

“You sound like my mom.” Cryz said.

“Oh my god, you’re disgusting,” Ramsey said, and began to unfasten the straps of the harness. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“I didn’t realise you were Melanie’s number one supporter.” Cryz mumbled. All the energy had been drained from her body, the adrenaline from the game and sex and alcohol and being near Ramsey leaking out of her. She forced her eyes to stay open, heart stuttering in her chest.

“I love Melanie.” Ramsey muttered. “She’s a nice lady.”

“She’s in room 71 across the hall, you can tell her in person.” Cryz said. “She wants to buy you a wedding present.”

Ramsey went still for a moment, and then continued taking off the harness, wincing as the straps came undone. Cryz waited for her to say something, anything, but instead she was completely silent, methodically removing everything. Cryz wanted to reach over and touch the red indents marking Ramsey's hips.

“She still likes you.” Cryz said. “My Dad too. You could-“

“I don’t care.” Ramsey said bluntly. She kicked the harness off the bed, but didn’t move, laying beside Cryz, the two of them breathing in sync, bare chests rising at the same time. Cryz looked out of the corner of the eye at Ramsey, who was staring up at the ceiling, her lips flushed.

“Do you want me to get you off?” Cryz asked.

Ramsey hesitated for a brief second, and then shook her head. Cryz saw it as an invitation, the beginning of a hockey play, and sat upright, running her hands through her sweaty hair. It needed a wash, desperately. Not that Ramsey hadn’t seen worse.

"Come on," Cryz said. "You know I'm good with my hands. You saw those saves today."

"I don’t like it.” Ramsey said. “You know I don’t-“

"Do you like it when your fiancé goes down on you?"

"I don't want to talk about him." Ramsey said, and Cryz hooked her leg over Ramsey and straddled her, staring down at her flushed face. Ramsey had the look of a girl who needed to orgasm.

"Does he finger you?" Cryz asked. "Does he fuck you?"

Ramsey's cheeks had gone pink. "Yes."

"Do you enjoy it?" Cryz asked. "Do you cum?"

Ramsey glared at her. Cryz had the upper hand and they both knew it.

"Please," Cryz said. "I haven’t eaten pussy in months.”

“Who have you been fucking besides me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Cryz said, and Ramsey's eyebrows furrowed. That dent in her glabella was going to become permanent.

“Seriously.” Ramsey said, settling her hands on Cryz’s waist. “Who are you sleeping with? Your teammates?”

Cryz had one firm rule, and that was no fucking teammates. Not that she’d want to fuck any of the Terriers anyway – they felt like a pack, and you didn’t fuck litter mates. One of the perks of being a goalie was that you were too crazy for casual sex between players.

“I hook up with strangers in bars actually,” Cryz said. “You’ve been to Boston. Seen the sights. Cathedrals great this time of year."

“I can’t believe you go to dyke bars.” Ramsey said. Her body was soft and warm underneath Cryz, and Cryz gently ground their hips together.

“I don’t think you can use that word.” She said. “Straight girls aren’t allowed to say slurs.”

“Fuck you.” Ramsey said. Her eyes were focused somewhere on Cryz’s stomach, the scar of her appendix removal. “How do you do it?”

“How do I do what?”

“Go there.” Ramsey said. “Touch people.”

“Well, when a dyke and a dyke love each other very much-“

“You don’t love anyone.”

Cryz blinked. Ramsey still wasn’t looking at her, eyes distant. Of course Cryz loved. How could she not? She even told the goal posts that she adored them after a win, for Christ’s sake.

“I love people.” Cryz said. “I love my family. I love my team, I love my Captain -“

“Let’s not get into semantics,” Ramsey said, and dug her thumbs into the warm skin of Cryz’s hips. “You wanted to get me off. So do it.”

“You have such a way with words,” Cryz said, and kissed the soft hollow of Ramsey’s throat. “When was the last time someone ate you out?”

“I don’t know,” Ramsey said, tilting her head back for more, and Cryz knew she’d won. “You were the last.”

“It’s been ages.” Cryz said. She kissed a freckle on Ramsey’s collarbone. “It was – February.”

“Happy Valentines Day to me.” Ramsey muttered.

Cryz continued kissing her way down Ramsey’s body, licking the sweat that had collected underneath Ramsey’s breasts. Ramsey mumbled something that may have been disgusting, but didn’t shove Cryz’s head away.

“Did he even get you anything for Valentine’s day?” Cryz asked.

“Don’t talk about him,” Ramsey said. Her breathing had picked up, chest rising up and down.

“Is that a no?”

“He got me… a card.” Ramsey said eventually. “And earrings.”

“What were they like?”

“Why do you care?” Ramsey said. “You’ve never paid any interest in jewelry.”

Because we’re in competition, Cryz thought. And I have to win.

"Tell me." She said.

"They were diamond studs," Ramsey said. "Nice. My mom liked them."

Bile rose in Cryz's throat and she swallowed it down. She almost wished she hadn't brought it up, a vision of Ramsey's mother floating across her mind, the same sour expression as her daughter.

Cryz bit Ramsey, on the center of her chest where she was ticklish, like a dog unable to deal with its frustration. Ramsey made a small noise at the back of her throat, and one hand rose to play with Cryz’s hair, running her fingers through the short brown tufts.

“You need it cut.” She said. "Your ends are split."

“I’m growing it out for playoffs.” Cryz said, and peppered Ramsey’s tits with kisses and little sucks. “Boys grow beards, I grow a mullet. And my pubes.”

“God you’re so fucking gross,” Ramsey said, and shoved her forehead. “Just eat me out already.”

“Oh, now you want it?”

Ramsey glared at her. Cryz grinned, pressed one final sucking kiss to Ramsey’s nipple, and then wriggled further down the bed. She could feel Ramsey’s eyes on her, glittering green, like a snake. She’d always hated playing hide-and-seek with Ramsey as a kid, some innate fear of peeking into a hiding spot and seeing those green eyes staring back.

Cryz missed the old Ramsey. Sometimes she didn’t know if she liked this new one.

She rubbed her face against Ramsey’s stomach, nosing her belly button, the hardness of her abdominal muscles. Ramsey was made for playing hockey. She’d been shaped and molded and formed into the best player, her parents working her over the potters wheel until she was perfect. She was everything Cryz wasn’t.

Cryz tried to shake the thoughts from her mind, settling between Ramsey’s spread thighs. She was neatly trimmed, like a swimmer, and Cryz pressed a kiss to the center of her cunt, inhaling the sweat and slick of her.

“If I leave bruises, will he notice?” Cryz asked.

“What do you think?” Ramsey said, and Cryz bit her hard on the inner thigh. “You fucking – bitch.”

Cryz sucked at the mark, eyes fluttering shut as she imagined the look on Ramsey’s fiance’s face when he saw her, when he noticed the bruises littering her body. Would Ramsey lie, and say they were hockey injuries? Would she tell the truth? They both knew that would never happen.

“God you ruin everything,” Ramsey said, and Cryz buried her face between Ramsey’s thighs. “You – fuck-“

Ramsey’s cunt was hot and wet, and her whole body shuddered when Cryz swirled her tongue around her clit. Fucking Ramsey was like trying to tame a wild animal, one day she’d enjoy something, and the next, she’d panic and bite you. Cryz wrapped her arms around Ramsey’s legs to bring her closer, and if Cryz had any shame, she’d blush at the noises she was making, the hunger she felt.

Cryz liked eating pussy. She liked making people feel good, and she just plain liked pussy, the taste of it, the scent of it, being up close and gross and personal. It was one of her virtues, she thought to herself. A sign that this was her calling in life.

Cryz took a breath for air, then kept going. She began to trace the letters of the team with her tongue, B – O – S – T –

“If you even think,” Ramsey said with gritted teeth, “That you’re going to write the words Boston Terriers on my pussy, I will kick you in the head like a horse.”

Cryz snorted, abandoning her game. “You know the alphabet then.”

“You can’t ever fuck me normally.” Ramsey said. “You’ve always got to be weird.”

“You’re sleeping with a goalie,” Cryz pointed out. “Who in their right mind decides to do that job?”

“Maybe kicking you will give you some brain cells back.” Ramsey said, and Cryz let her tongue go flat so that she could lick Ramsey’s cunt from base to clit, the exact amount of pressure that Ramsey had always loved.

Ramsey stopped talking and dropped her head back against the pillow. Cryz tried to hide her smirk, and continued with the long slow licks, taking note of the way Ramsey’s legs were trembling around her head. It reminded Cryz of being a teenager again, the two of them locked in Cryz’s bedroom, learning how to take each other apart.

Maybe that’s why they crashed and burned too easily. They were too young to really figure out why.

Cryz felt Ramsey cum against her tongue, a sudden rush of slick, filling her mouth. If you had a cock, I’d let you jerk off onto my face, Cryz thought, and didn’t let up the pressure. Ramsey whined underneath her, fingers wrapped so tightly around Cryz’s hair that she was going to cut off circulation.

“You’re killing me,” Ramsey said breathlessly, and Cryz shrugged.

“That’s my job.” She said. “Killing those Scorpion playoff dreams.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ramsey said.

“Okay,” Cryz said, and sucked Ramsey’s clit into her mouth, lips shaped like a circle to get the most direct pressure. Ramsey almost jumped off the bed, and it was a miracle that Cryz managed to pin her down, nails digging into the muscle of her thighs.

“You-“ Ramsey said, “I just came.”

“And you can come twice.” Cryz said, pressing her tongue against the underside of Ramsey’s clit to see her twitch again. “Promise.”

“You are so fucking annoying.” Ramsey said. “I swear to God, I don’t know why I put up with you-“

She promptly stopped talking when Cryz slid her finger inside of her, crooking it slightly to hit exactly where she liked. She was tight, her cunt like a vice, and Cryz wished they had more time to fuck. She wanted to tie Ramsey to the bed and make her orgasm over and over until she couldn’t take anymore. She wanted to edge her, and bite her, and hear her say Cryz in that breathy low voice of hers.

Thinking about it, Cryz couldn't remember the last time that Ramsey had said her name.

Cryz slid a second finger inside of Ramsey, tilting them downwards so that Ramsey squirmed underneath her, a worm on a hook. She was so wet that it was dripping down Cryz's chin, and Cryz had almost forgotten how good she tasted. She could spend all day down here, between Ramsey's thick thighs.

"Fuck," Ramsey said, "Don't stop."

It didn’t take long for Ramsey to cum for the second time, squeezing Cryz’s head between her legs as she fucked her cunt against Cryz’s mouth. Cryz let her do it – she didn’t have much of a choice, and could feel her own cunt getting wet at how much Ramsey was enjoying this. Perks of girl on girl action.

Once Ramsey had stopped trying to crush Cryz like a watermelon, she went boneless against the sheets, a flush running from her face all the way down to her stomach. Cryz sat upright, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and Ramsey grimaced from where she was laying against the pillows.

“You’re so gross,” She said.

“Don’t bite that hand that fingers you, or whatever the saying is.” Cryz said, and flopped down next to her. She could smell the sex in the air, and wondered how her parents ever pretended nothing was going on.

“How did you ever pass the English Language exam?”

“I slept with the girl who shared her notes with me.” Cryz said, and Ramsey rolled her eyes, breathing heavily.

"At least you don't have to be smart to be a goalie," She said.

"I should probably be offended at that," Cryz said.

Ramsey sat upright, inspecting herself. Cryz hid a smirk as Ramsey fussed over her bruises, already turning green and in the shape of Cryz's crooked teeth. If her fiance was smart, he could compare Cryz's gum shield to Ramsey, match them up.

“I need to piss.” Ramsey said. “You should too.”

“I'll go after you.” Cryz said, and Ramsey pushed herself off the bed.

Cryz watched her walk naked towards the bathroom, admiring Ramsey’s hockey butt, and the power of her thighs. She was still the hottest person that Cryz had ever seen, even if she was also the rudest and a stuck-up brat to boot.

She stifled a yawn with her hand, and checked her phone. The group chat had given up and gone to sleep about an hour ago, and Cryz back-read the messages, ignoring the ones that asked where she’d gone and who she’d gone off with. Cryz didn’t know how to explain what she was doing. She couldn’t put her and Ramsey into words.

She took a selfie and sent it to the group chat instead, peace signs and tongue sticking out. At least it proved she was in her own bed. Just not who she was in bed with. Maybe they’d think she was being good for once.

“Don’t take a photo of me,” Ramsey said, appearing from the bathroom with wet hands.

“I’m not,” Cryz said. “I’m not that much of a dick.”

She was expecting Ramsey to start picking up her clothes, make her excuses or insults, and run out of the room. Instead, Ramsey climbed back onto the bed and lay down beside Cryz, flat on her back like a corpse in the grave. She must have sprayed herself with the cologne in the bathroom to freshen up, she smelt like Cryz, masculine and sandalwood.

Cryz really fucking wanted to kiss her. She managed to stop herself at the last moment, heart thumping weirdly in her chest. Maybe she was having a stroke, like Kris Letang.

“Your bathroom is a fucking state,” Ramsey said. “How have you got toothpaste up the walls?”

“It exploded when I opened it,” Cryz said miserably. “The plane altitude fucked my toiletries.”

“That would only happen to you,” Ramsey said. “You’re going to have to pay an extra cleaning fee.”

“Well, when I win the playoffs, I won’t have to worry about money.” Cryz said, and Ramsey huffed.

“That’s never going to happen.” She said,and rolled over onto her side, so Cryz could only see her long dark hair and her pale back. She wanted to trace a picture, the long length of a hockey stick, or the squareness of the net. “We're going to beat you tomorrow."

“You might," Cryz agrees. "But your goalie fucking sucks, Walker. She makes Binnington look like Fleury."

"Oh my god, you bitch." Ramsey said, but Cryz could hear the smirk in her voice. "I'm going to tell her that."

"I thought our pillow talk was secret."

"You think this is pillow talk?" Ramsey said. "Discussing team mates?"

"It's getting me off," Cryz said, and Ramsey kicked back with her foot, heel connecting with Cryz's shin.

Cryz didn’t want to ask why she was still here, why she hadn’t run the moment her orgasm had subsided. Cryz wanted to cuddle her close, like the old days, but she was worried that Ramsey would remember she wasn’t meant to be here. She stared at the nape of Ramsey’s neck until her eyes blurred.

“Stop looking at me.” Ramsey said suddenly. Cryz blinked.

“How do you even know I’m looking at you?”

“I always do,” Ramsey said, and yawned. “Always.”

Cryz tried to come up with a funny retort, but sleep was creeping closer, and it felt so good to close her eyes and let it happen. She could hear Ramsey falling asleep too, the funny way she breathed since she was a kid, and Cryz loved her, loved her, loved her.

When Cryz woke up, there was a girl-shaped lump in the bed beside her. Cryz frowned, trying to remember what had happened last night, and if she should sneak away before the lump woke up.

Then she realized it was Ramsey, and sat bolt upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes like this was all a dream. Ramsey was, surprisingly, still there, naked and drooling against the pillow. The crease between her eyebrows had smoothed out, and her eyelashes fluttered as she dreamed. Cryz wondered what she was thinking about. Probably hockey.

Cryz knew she should probably wake her up, but instead she watched Ramsey for a few moments longer, drinking in the sight. It felt like being the first to wake up at a sleepover, the awkward waiting, the secret of seeing your friend vulnerable.

“Hey,” Cryz said finally, and shook her by the arm. “Wake up.”

Ramsey stirred and then groaned, rubbing her face against the pillow. “Hello?”

“It’s morning,” Cryz said, as gently as she could. “You need to go.”

Ramsey sat straight upright, almost smacking her forehead against Cryz. Cryz ducked out of the way at the last moment, narrowly avoiding her second concussion this season.

“What?" Ramsey said, alarmed. "You let me sleep here all night?”

“I passed out,” Cryz said, which technically wasn’t a lie. “I thought you would have left. You always do.”

“Oh my god,” Ramsey said, her eyes wide, “I'm such a fucking idiot. What time is it?”

“Uh,” Cryz reached for her phone, “Only 7am.”

“Fuck my fucking life,” Ramsey said, throwing off the covers. She was still naked, and Cryz wanted to bury her face between her thighs again, but resisted. Any other day, she could have gotten away with it, but not this week. Not for Playoffs. Instead she helped kick the covers off, crawling out to go find Ramsey’s clothes.

“My Captain’s going to kill me.” Ramsey said, pulling on last nights underwear. “Mallory's going to use my head for target fucking practise.”

“No she won’t, she likes you.” Cryz said, picking up Ramsey’s pants. “You know she’s going to make you Captain when she gets pregnant.”

Ramsey paused, turning to her, the confusion written on her face. “What?”

“What?” Cryz said. “Everyone can see it, Ram. You’re going to get the C.”

“I’ve never even been given the A.”

“First time for everything.” Cryz said, "You'd be a great Captain. People are fucking terrified of you."

"Are you scared of Prezniek?" Ramsey asked.

"Of course," Cryz said. "She's a six foot three Polish lesbian with Daddy issues. What isn't there to be scared of?"

Ramsey didn't seem to be moving. Cryz shook the pants at her, material flapping in the wind. “C’mon. Get dressed, before they come looking.”

“I’m trying,” Ramsey said, and yanked the pants out of Cryz’s hands. “What if the team ask where I’ve been? What if my parents ask-”

“Say you were fucking my brother.” Cryz blurted out without thinking.

Ramsey turned on her. “I’m not fucking William.”

“You’re not actually fucking him,” Cryz said. “He’s a good scape goat. My parents still think he was the one who broke the basement window.”

Ramsey cringed at the memory. “You should have saved the puck.”

“What can I say, I was distracted by a pretty girl.” Cryz said.

Ramsey huffed, her ears pink, and began dressing. Cryz sat down on the edge of the bed, digging her toes into the carpet as she watched her. She was sticky in between her thighs, and still sensitive – Ramsey could probably make her cum again with just a kiss.

"Where's my belt?" Ramsey asked, kicking Cryz's shoes over. "These trousers are too big on me."

"You weren't wearing a belt." Cryz said.

"I was."

"You weren't." Cryz insisted. "I would have taken it off you."

Ramsey paused, recollecting last night, and then scrubbed her face with her hands. "I can't think straight." She said, frustrated. "This is why I can't sleep over. Nothing feels right."

She should say something, Cryz thought. She should - wish her luck, or congratulate her on making it this far, or say what a fucking good shot she was on the ice. If they were on the same team, they'd be unstoppable. But Cryz knew that Ramsey had a no-trade clause, and Boston weren't going to abandon Cryz any time soon.

"It's the Playoffs," Cryz said. "It makes everyone crazy. Harlowe's girlfriend is making her book a second hotel."

"Seriously?" Ramsey said.

"It doesn't 'feel right'," Cryz said, using her fingers as air quotes. "Just think how much that's going to cost, especially if it goes down to the wire."

"I'm so glad I don't have to deal with that," Ramsey said, and shook out her arms, as if shaking off her emotions. "My mouth tastes like shit. Do you have mouthwash?"

"Bathroom." Cryz gestured with her thumb, and Ramsey darted back inside.

The room was silent without them both talking. Cryz could hear her phone beeping with notifications, and realized she was probably getting more texts from the team, wondering where she was. She'd have to make up a story, make them all laugh. She was good at making people laugh.

Ramsey appeared out of the bathroom, visibly swallowing. Cryz grimaced, because only an insane person drank mouthwash straight from the bottle. Then again, she'd put her mouth on worse things.

“You were in my dream by the way,” Ramsey said suddenly, pulling down her shirt.

Cryz blinked out of her thoughts. “I was in your dream?”

“You were really fucking annoying.” Ramsey said, changing her mind and tucking in the hem instead. “But that’s not unusual.”

“You know me so well babe.”

“Don’t call me babe.” Ramsey said, and straightened up.

The room was quiet as they both looked at each other. Cryz didn’t know if she should stand up, or hug her goodbye, or something. They hadn’t stayed the night before starting this, always leaving early, always dipping out at the last moment. Cryz couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up with Ramsey beside her.

“Bye then.” Ramsey said bluntly.

“See ya.” Cryz replied. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Don’t wish me luck, you’ll jinx it.” Ramsey said. She was still looking at Cryz, unmoving. "The hockey gods can hear you."

Cryz looked up at the ceiling and waved. She'd never been religious - her mom was a child of the earth hippie, but she believed in the hockey gods. She knew what they could do. Ramsey huffed.

"Don't," She said. "Don't tempt them."

"I won't." Cryz promised, even though she kind of was. She figured goalies got a free pass at that sort of thing. Ramsey still didn't move, standing like a statue in the middle of the hotel room.

“We’re going to destroy you out there," Ramsey said, like she was trying to tell herself more than Cryz. "Scorpions can sting.”

“Terriers can bite,” Cryz said, the same rhetoric they’d been aiming at each other since they were eighteen years old. “I’m going to save every puck you throw at me.”

“You’re not that good.” Ramsey said, and Cryz grinned at her.

“Oh but I am.” She said. “I’m the best in the league. Look at my stats.”

“I'm not looking at your stats,” Ramsey said, and then, with no prior warning, ducked down and pressed a soft kiss to Cryz’s mouth. It was the sweetest kiss they'd given each other in years, Ramsey tasting like fresh mint and something more. Cryz felt like she’d been shot with an arrow, and couldn’t even move, struck dumb on the bed.

Ramsey pulled away, wide eyed, and then lurched towards the door, practically leaving a trail of dust in her wake.

"Wait-" Cryz said. "Hey, don't go-"

The door slammed shut, setting off a ringing in Cryz's bad ear. She raised her hand to her mouth, gently touching her lips. She wanted to get up and run after Ramsey. She wanted to drag her back to the bed, pin her down and make her talk about her feelings. She wanted to beg Ramsey not to get married. She wanted to do a lot of fucking things.

Cryz checked her phone and saw Prezniek had messaged her directly a few seconds ago:

EARLY MORNING TRAINING MY BEAUTIFUL GOALIE. HOPE YOU GOT A GOOD NIGHTS SLEEP AND ARE RESTEDDDDD

Cryz’s entire body hurt. She had bruises on her thighs, and a bite mark in the shape of Ramsey’s teeth, and her jaw ached from eating pussy. She had been fucked so thoroughly that even her ass hurt. If Ramsey actually had a working penis, she would definitely be pregnant. The thought made her toes curl.

She winced, and then paused. Was that Ramsey’s game plan the entire time? To fuck with Cryz's head and her body, so she was too messed up to play? It wouldn't have been the first time that the Scorpions played dirty. It wouldn't be the last time that Ramsey would fuck her over.

“Sneaky,” Cryz said, delighted, and began typing a message to her Captain.

END.