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Marcille twisted her hair over and over around her finger, tying it into knots with her thumb before rolling it off and starting all over. There were three knots that hadn’t slipped out on their own, but she wasn’t paying attention to them, not really.
All her attention was on her.
Falin Touden was already on the ice, smiling sweetly at her teammates as if she didn’t stand a head above most of them, with shoulders twice as broad and- and. God, she was really just a beast of a woman. Marcille absently wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand. It was dry—for now—but she didn’t trust herself to not drip blood onto her championship hoodie. She’d already ruined her favorite practice shirt just last week when Falin had body checked one of her teammates into the wall with enough force that the practice scrimmage had been called off while she apologized profusely.
Not that Marcille was into violence or anything, but. There was just something about Falin—who so looked the part of the gentle giant—baring her fangs and taking advantage of her own strength that made Marcille feel… Heady.
Some of Falin’s teammates glanced over and Marcille straightened quickly, going back to her mostly unnecessary task of polishing her skates as slowly as physically possible. Someday she would work up the guts to say something to Falin—or at least just meet her eyes—but that was not today.
Marcille only looked up when enough time had passed, and sure enough, no one was looking her way anymore.
It was better this way, she told herself. Just admiring. After all, from a distance, Falin couldn’t not live up to her fantasies; the same way she could never be as perfect up close.
“Falin!” Marcille called, ignoring the fact that it was the first time she’d ever said the name out loud. “Falin, wait!”
Falin was already halfway down the long hall that led straight outside from the lockers, moving steadily with no signs of slowing. But she’d left a bag behind—Marcille recognized it by the little ramen shaker charm and the red dragon plush keychain—and Marcille couldn’t let her leave without it! What if it had something vital in it, like… an epipen, or tampons or something?!
Falin didn’t turn around until Marcille was already practically on her, but by then it was too late for Marcille to pull back, and the outstretched hand that had been meant to snag the sleeve of Falin’s hoodie to grab her attention was suddenly grabbing something else instead. Something soft and solid and-
Marcille’s hand was on Falin’s chest, and both of them were staring at it, frozen.
Marcille was the first to jerk away, making a noise reminiscent of a whistling kettle. Instead of acknowledging any of that with words, she just shoved Falin’s bag out in front of her, waited just long enough for her to take it, and took off.
It wasn’t a good idea to skate with her eyes closed, but Marcille didn’t really care. She knew the routine by heart and she could deviate from it however she wanted when she was just messing around.
It was nice, sometimes, to take away the bright lights and icy glare of the rink and just focus on her movements and the swish-thwock of her skates on the ice.
Or at least: it was, up until she opened her eyes and found an all too familiar face on the other side of the acrylic shielding.
Falin was there, her eyes unusually wide as she watched Marcille skate, a soft flush high on her cheeks.
Marcille’s skates caught in her shock, sending her in a stuttering stumble down to the ice.
Marcille stared at the white, wet ice under her quickly freezing palms. It was easier, in her mortification, than looking back up to meet Falin’s gaze.
But Falin, it seemed, didn’t care about Marcille’s embarrassment or dignity or anything like that. “That was beautiful,” she said instead, as if Marcille wasn’t five-fingers on the ice. “I’ve been looking for you. It’s Marcille, right?.”
Marcille could only drop her head and nod.
Humiliating first impressions aside, Marcille was horrified to discover that Falin was in fact every bit as perfect as she appeared. She was quiet often, but not shy. She would seek Marcille out after practices—that Marcille still stayed to watch, because such a rewarding habit was hard to break—and smile at her and ask about her day. Some days she’d watch Marcille skate, that same awed look in her eyes every time.
Marcille hated to admit it, but they were getting closer, and sometimes she wondered if Falin felt a little nosebleed-y when she looked at her, and she thought about how much time she’d wasted watching from afar and thinking that something more would never be possible.
The worst part of it all was that now Marcille felt greedy. Now that Falin had interjected herself into Marcille’s life when Marcille had been perfectly content to simply sit back and observe, Marcille suddenly felt entitled to hope for more, and more, and more. And Falin just kept on giving it like it was nothing.
A little attention here and there was one thing, but it went from a wave towards the bleachers from the ice to the warm weight of her slumping into Marcille’s space. From How are you? to What do you do off the ice? Want to do it with me?
When Marcille mustered the courage to reach out and twine her fingers around Falin’s clunky hockey gloves, it didn’t even cross her mind that Falin might pull away. Of course, she didn’t. No matter how much Marcille took and took, it seemed that Falin was always willing to give it, and the endless possibility of that made Marcille dizzy.
One of these days, she was going to slip up and want a little too much.
Their first date was at a self-serve frozen yogurt place where they could pick any combination of flavors and sauces and toppings. Marcille got a mango-vanilla swirl yogurt with strawberries, bananas, and a cookie crumble. Falin got… a monstrosity.
Marcille wasn’t sure what the flavors were, but one was vivid purple, one was brown, and both were nearly invisible under the mountain of carelessly picked toppings Falin had piled over them. Falin kept commenting on how her brother would really love this kind of thing, and Marcille could only stare in disgust (or was it awe?) as the pile grew.
When Marcille first met Laios Touden (who she already knew of on account of the whole being a world class rugby star) she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or unnerved. He was eating when Marcille walked into the Touden sibling’s house, Falin just behind her. But he was not just eating.
Laios was sitting at the counter looking vaguely shrimp-ish with how far he hunched his massive frame down towards his plate. He looked to be some horrifying percent purse muscle, but he had the decency to have it hidden under a layer of fat. In that, the Touden genetics seemed to be quite strong.
But what really caught Marcille’s eye when Laios looked up, looking part feral dog at the sudden intrusion, and she was forced to witness what was on his plate.
There seemed to be… pasta, of some kind, and sauce (a lot of sauce… sauces?) and maybe cereal on top? There was something green that Marcille couldn’t confidently name as a vegetable, and a powder that Marcille worried was protein powder. On the edge of the plate were some dragon shaped chicken nuggets, one with its head bitten clean off.
Those damned Touden genetics.
Marcille had a dream one night that she was at a wedding. She was the bride and there was someone waiting for her at the altar, but before she could reach them, a giant red dragon swooped out of the sky, ate them whole, and took their place. Dream Marcille said her vows, traded rings, and kissed the big red dragon on its… snoot?
To say she woke up confused would be an understatement, but she couldn’t really be bothered to examine it any further. After all, she and Falin had had their first sleepover that night, and while nothing had happened, Marcille blinked awake to find herself cocooned in the solid warmth of Falin’s strong arms, the heat of her body searing against Marcille’s back.
Marcille couldn’t help herself. She wiggled around in Falin’s arms, marveling at the way she slept right through it, and turned to face her.
Falin’s eyes were closed, which wasn’t all too different from the sleepy way she looked most of the time or the way they crinkled shut when she smiled- Marcille looked elsewhere. Falin’s downy hair, soft and pale around her face. Her straight nose and perpetually pink-tinged cheeks. The pink of her lips.
Marcille thought about morning breath and permission and other unimportant things like that for a second, but in the end, all paths led to Marcille scooting up and planting her lips on Falin’s, so that was exactly what she did.
Falin woke up kissed, and Marcille blushed but didn’t shy away. Falin just hummed lazily, happily, and pulled her back in for more.
All thoughts of morning breath were put aside, and questions of permission easily dismissed. Anything they regretted not having done during their night together, they took their sweet time with in the morning sun instead.
Marcille was concerned that she may have awoken a beast when she first kissed Falin. Since that day, she’d been impossible to sate. If Marcille thought she’d been greedy before, it was nothing compared to the new Falin. The second she was off the ice, her hands were on Marcille: squeezing her knee, stroking her thigh, petting her fingers. She was insatiable, and Marcille was- Marcille was not much better.
That’s what had them there in the first place, squeezed against the wall in the gap between two stacks of empty lockers after everyone else had gone. Marcille’s leggings were tight around her thighs, but not so tight that Falin’s hand didn’t fit between them.
Marcille, on the other hand, had plenty of space to maneuver with Falin’s sweatpants dropped to the floor around her heels, her legs spread enough to make Marcille feel caged in the best way.
“We shouldn’t-” Marcille gasped weakly, as if they weren’t closer to cumming than they were to putting their pants on and taking this somewhere private. Falin didn’t dignify her with a response, but she did bite her lip hard enough to sting the next time they kissed, which was good enough.
Marcille’s left skate was so polished it could be a mirror. Her right skate, not so much. She had gotten distracted halfway through, her hand going through the motions while her eyes and mind remained glued to the ice. Or rather, to Falin on the ice.
As a figure skater, Marcille knew plenty about speed and power, she just… didn’t think she’d ever get used to seeing these kinds of displays of them, especially not from her very own girlfriend.
She sniffled in the rink’s blasting cold, and then immediately dabbed a knuckle against her nose, just in case. It appeared her shirt would be safe another day.
Just a few months ago she’d been sitting on these same bleachers, watching the same woman, making up dream worlds in her head. Now she was living those fantasies. She knew exactly how Falin looked under the helmet and shoulder pads and hefty gloves. She’d felt her hands and lips and skin. She’d shared her nights and thoughts and meals with her.
The awe and admiration hadn’t gone anywhere, sure, but there was much more to it.
One of these days, Marcille was going to slip up and say she loved her.