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The fluorescent lights of the hotel corridor hummed a tune only the sleep-deprived could hear, a sound that had been the soundtrack to Hilary Knight’s life for over two decades. It was a sound that usually meant the end of the post-game media scrum, a temporary halt to an endless cycle of bus trips and the lingering ache of muscles pushed to their absolute limit. Tonight, it meant something else entirely. In her pocket, a small plastic rectangle felt impossibly heavy.
Marie had slipped it into Hilary’s palm during the handshake line, a move so practiced, so seamless, that anyone watching would have seen nothing more than a lingering squeeze between two captains who respected each other. But Hilary had felt the sharp edges of the plastic, the silent promise it held. Her body, already singing with the dull pain of a hard-fought 3-2 loss, had responded with an entirely different kind of ache.
Hilary bypassed her own room but the elevator ride took easily twice as long as she could stand anyways. Hilary avoided her own reflection in the polished mirrors. She didn’t want to see the tired lines around her eyes or the way her jaw was still tight from the game. She just wanted to get there.
The hallway carpet swallowed the sound of her footsteps.Despite her annoyance from minutes ago, she stood before the door for a full ten seconds. This was always the weirdest part, a patch of liminal space. One reality on one side of the door and another on the other. The keycard worked with a soft click, indifferent to her hesitation.
She stepped inside, and the room was already filled with Marie. It was in the scent of her citrusy lotion, the faint, musky smell of hockey gear that never truly left a player, and in her very presence, sitting cross-legged on the far bed, phone in hand. She looked up, and her soft blue eyes found Hilary’s in the dim lamplight.
Marie was wearing a white crop top that showed off the carved lines of her abdomen, and soft grey shorts that hugged the powerful muscles of her thighs. Hilary’s mouth went dry. She’d seen those legs a hundred times, chasing a puck down the ice. She’d felt them, too, clenched tight around her ears, shaking with the force of an orgasm. The memory was so vivid it was like a physical touch.
“Hi,” Marie said, her voice casual. She put her phone down on the nightstand and swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing.
Hilary didn’t answer with words. She started shedding layers, her movements efficient and sure. Her team jacket, heavy with the weight of the loss, hit the chair. Her shirt followed. Her sneakers were toed off near the door. This was a ritual as old as their rivalry. No shame, no hesitation, mostly just impatience to begin.
Marie met her halfway, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She didn’t kiss Hilary. Instead, she stopped her with a hand on her bicep, grip firm. Her eyes swept over Hilary’s exposed torso, over the sports bra and the skin still flushed from the shower and the game.
“What do you want today?” The question was polite, almost formal, but the rasp in her voice and the way her gaze lingered betrayed the heat beneath.
Hilary let her own hands settle on Marie’s waist, her thumbs tracing under the hem of the crop top where the skin was warm, smooth. She slid her palms up Marie’s back, feeling the shift of muscle, the clasp of her bra. The truth was, there was an idea that had been haunting her all day. During the pre-game skate. During the second intermission. During the awkward, post-game interview where she’d had to praise her teams performance while justifying their loss.
Hilary took a breath. “Uh, did you… did you bring your strap? Can you fuck me?”
Marie’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes darkened. She gave a slow, deliberate nod.
“I wanted, uh…” Hilary faltered, the words catching in her throat. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, a world-class athlete, and she couldn’t form a coherent sentence about sex. It felt like being seventeen again, when she'd been all awkward limbs and bluster while facing down this enemy-shaped girl who made her think wild things. Marie, bless her, didn’t push. She just tilted her head and leaned in, capturing Hilary’s lips in a kiss.
It was their first of the night, and it was always spine-tinglingly good. Marie took charge instantly, bit at Hilary’s lower lip, just hard enough to make her gasp, and then pulled back just enough to whisper against her mouth, her accent thick. “You have to tell me. I think you want more than just me to fuck you, yeah?”
Marie’s hands tightened on her biceps, grip verging on bruising in the most delicious way. Hilary pressed her face into Marie’s hair, hiding the blush she could feel creeping up her cheeks.
“I wanted to try,” she mumbled into the soft dirty blonde strands, “I mean, I've never done it before but um, you fucking me in my...well- my-” she paused, gritting it out from between her teeth, “ Ass. Anal, I wanted to try it with you. If you want it.”
The words hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable. For a beat, there was only the sound of their breathing. Then, a low groan rumbled from Marie’s chest, and her grip on Hilary lost any give at all.
“Yes,” Marie breathed, the word a puff of hot air against Hilary’s collarbones. “Yes, I want.”
The relief was so potent it was dizzying. Marie took her by the hand, they're fingers lacing, and led her to the bed. She gave Hilary a gentle push, and Hilary sat, then lay back, her legs hanging over the edge. Marie began to methodically strip Hilary of her remaining clothes; the sports bra, her compression shorts, her socks.
When Hilary was completely bare, Marie paused, her gaze roaming over her until Hilary whined, “You too. I want you naked too.”
A small smile played on Marie’s lips. She obliged, shrugging out of her crop top and unclasping her bra. Her chest was small and perfect, all of it a landscape of hard-earned muscle. She shimmied out of her shorts, leaving only a pair of dark boyshorts. Then she turned, crossing the room to her suitcase. In the process, giving Hilary an unobstructed view of her back, the powerful shift of her shoulders and glutes as she bent over to dig through her luggage. She muttered a soft curse in French as she rummaged. Hilary, propped up on her elbows, watched, her body thrumming. She could feel how wet she was, a slick, insistent heat between her legs. The sight of Marie, so concentrated and so undeniably hers for these few hours, was intoxicating.
Finally, Marie straightened, a small black bag in her hand. She came back to the bed but didn’t open it yet. She simply dropped it onto the nightstand and crawled up the mattress, moving to straddle Hilary’s hips. The feeling of Marie’s weight settling on her was grounding, comforting. Marie was dense, but her frame was narrower than Hilary’s despite all efforts to bulk up.
Marie leaned down, her hair brushing Hilary’s collarbone, and kissed her again. This one was slower and deeper. Hilary’s hands roamed, mapping the familiar territory of Marie sides, the hard curve of her shoulder blades. Marie moaned softly into the kiss, a pleased, easy sound. Then she broke the kiss to smile down at Hilary, a genuine, goofy grin that made Hilary’s heart do a funny little flip.
Hilary grinned back.
Marie began to trail kisses down Hilary’s body—along her jaw, her throat, between her breasts. “It will be easier,” she murmured against Hilary’s stomach, “if I make you come first. Relax you.”
Hilary could only nod, her head falling back against the pillows. Marie settled between her thighs, her movements unhurried, almost lazy. She pushed Hilary’s legs wider, her touch firm and sure. And then she lowered her head. The first pass of Marie’s tongue was impossibly light, a slow, languid glide through Hilary’s folds, teasing. Hilary’s hips stuttered, and her hands flew to Marie’s hair, her fingers tangling in the soft strands.
Instead of increasing the pressure, Marie seemed to move even slower. Her tongue was a feather, tracing every contour, swirling around Hilary’s clit without ever quite making direct, firm contact. Hilary’s breath hitched, her grip tightening in Marie’s hair, a silent plea for more. The soft chuckle she felt against her skin told her Marie knew exactly what she was doing.
Time seemed to stretch and warp. Hilary was a bundle of frayed nerve endings, every muscle coiled tight. A sob escaped her throat, a sound of pure desperation. Finally, finally, Marie gave her what she needed. She closed her lips around Hilary’s clit and sucked, hard and deliberate.
The sound Hilary made was high and reedy, a frantic “huh, huh, huh” that would have mortified her in any other context. But this was Marie. This was the one person who had been systematically dismantling her control for half her life. It wasn’t long before Hilary was rocking her hips up, her hands fisted in the sheets, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as she came, the pleasure washing over her in a hot, intense wave.
Marie stayed there for a moment, pressing wet kisses to her inner thighs, before kneeling up. She reached for the black bag on the nightstand. Hilary watched, her breathing still ragged, as Marie took out the harness and a sleek, silicone dildo. She buckled the straps around her hips with practiced ease. The sight of the dark toy jutting from her hips sent a fresh jolt of arousal through Hilary.
“You look so good,” Hilary breathed, the words honest and awed.
Marie’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she met Hilary’s gaze. “How do you want it?” she asked, her voice soft. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Hilary said, her own voice raspy. She rolled over, pulling one pillow under her hips and one under her head and settling onto her stomach. She felt the bed shift as Marie moved behind her.
A gentle hand caressed her flank, and then she felt Marie’s fingers testing her folds, sliding through her wetness. “So wet for me,” Marie murmured. “Can I fuck you here first?”
Hilary moaned into the pillow, pushing back against Marie’s hand. “Yeah, Marie, fuck.”
Marie teased her for a moment longer, sliding two fingers inside, making Hilary clench around them. But she withdrew too soon, leaving Hilary feeling achingly empty. Then she felt the blunt head of the strap-on press against her entrance. Marie pushed into her in one slow, hard thrust that stole her breath. Hilary buried her face deeper into the pillow, her hands gripping the edges as she adjusted to the fullness. Marie paused, giving her a moment, her hips making small, minute movements where she was buried deep.
Once Hilary’s body relaxed, stopped its instinctive clenching, Marie began to move. She pulled out and pushed back in, setting a steady, punishing rhythm. Hilary squeezed her eyes shut, letting the sensations wash over her. The drag of the toy against her walls, the sound of their skin smacking together, the feeling of Marie’s hands on her hips, holding her in place. She could feel herself spiralling upwards, the coil of pleasure tightening in her belly, her body gripping the strap tighter and tighter.
Then Marie’s hand smoothed over her ass, her voice a low murmur. “Now?”
Hilary’s response was frantic, muffled by the pillow. “Yes, please. Now.”
Marie stilled, pulling out slowly. She helped Hilary raise her hips higher, arranging the pillows more firmly beneath her. Hilary heard the click of a bottle cap, and then the cool, slick touch of lube as Marie spread it over her asshole. A blush bloomed across Hilary’s cheeks, a mix of vulnerability and excitement. She felt so exposed, but it was a familiar feeling with Marie, a trust forged over years of stolen moments.
Marie let out a moan as her fingers traced the tight ring of muscle. Hilary’s breath hitched in anticipation but Marie took her time, just touching. Learning this new part of her before she returned with slick fingers and began to work her open. Hilary focused on her breathing, trying to relax. One finger, then two, dragging shallowly inside her. It felt weird, a strange pressure, but it was also hot, knowing it was Marie.
“Go a little deeper,” Hilary gasped. “I want to know how it feels.”
Marie made a choked sound and complied. She began to pump her fingers in and out, hooking them in further each time. She used a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure shooting up Hilary’s spine. It was stupid good, better than she’d imagined.
“Another,” Hilary demanded. “Add another.”
Marie did, and the stretch was more intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into a deep, throbbing pleasure. She was so wet she could feel her own slickness coating her thighs. Marie asked one last time, her voice strained. “Are you sure, Hilary?”
Hilary let out a breathless laugh. “I’m sure. I want-…just fuck me, Marie.”
Marie’s response was a shaky exhale. She spread more lube over the strap, and then Hilary felt the head press against her asshole. The initial push was a sharp, intense stretch; too much, too fast maybe and undeniably uncomfortable. Her body tensed instinctively. It was only Marie’s hand, stroking soothingly up and down her back, that kept her grounded, that stopped her from calling it off.
“Breathe, chérie,” Marie whispered. “Relax for me.”
Hilary let out a long, slow breath, and as she did, Marie pushed past the tight ring of muscle. The discomfort was sharp for a moment, but then it shifted, melting into a deep, full feeling. Marie was inside her, in a way no one else ever had been.
“Move,” Hilary breathed, her face pressed into the pillow. “Fuck me but slow.”
And Marie did. She started with shallow, tentative thrusts, letting Hilary get used to the sensation. Hilary felt stretched out, finding something shockingly good about the feeling of something hitting this deep. She pushed back against Marie, encouraging her, and Marie’s movements became deeper, more confident. She was fucking her now, gentle still but with muscle behind it, her hips tapping against Hilary’s ass. Hilary lost all track of time but eventually, Marie’s breathless voice cut through the haze. “Are you close? Do you want to come now?”
“Yes,” Hilary whimpered. “Yeah, god, make me come. Please.”
Marie’s fingers, wet with lube, skimmed over the place where Hilary’s ass was stretched around the strap, then moved down to find her clit, swollen and sensitive. It only took a minute or two of Marie’s expert fingers, combined with the deep, steady thrusts, before Hilary’s body tensed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she came, hard, her entire body shaking with the force of it.
Marie pulled out almost instantly, uncomfortably abrupt, but she was immediately back, her fingers returning to Hilary’s clit, rubbing gently as she murmured praise in French. Hilary felt boneless, utterly blissed out, but there was still a simmering under her skin. She wanted more.
“Fuck me again,” she slurred, turning her head to look at Marie over her shoulder. Marie paused, looking hesitant, “My pussy. Please.”
“Are you sure?” Marie asked, her concern so genuine it made Hilary’s chest ache.
“I’m sure,” Hilary insisted, high on endorphins. “I want you.”
With a nod, Marie grabbed something from the nightstand bag—a wipe, Hilary thought, in her hazy state—and quickly cleaned the strap. Then she was lining up again, pushing into Hilary’s cunt, which was still wet and relaxed from her orgasms. It felt different now, heightened. Hilary felt looser, more open, and Marie seemed to fill her completely.
Marie’s pace was relentless, and Hilary was helpless to do anything but take what she’d asked for, her muffled whimpers and moans swallowed by the pillow. Marie was talking now, her voice a low, filthy litany.
“You sound so good,” Marie said, her voice strained. “You looked so good earlier too, stretching so wide, getting so wet for it. I love doing this for you. I love making you come.”
It was a lot to take, with Marie’s fingers pressed hard against her clit, and in no time Hilary shattered again, trembling and spent.
Afterwards, Marie pulled out and dealt with the strap, dropping it off to the side of the bed. Then she turned her attention back to Hilary, pulling her over and spooning her from behind, and Hilary felt the last of her energy drain away. At some point, Marie had lost her underwear, and now her bare skin was pressed against Hilary’s back.
Marie pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “Did you like it?” she asked, her voice quiet.
Hilary let out a breathless laugh. “Could you not tell by the fact that I came my brains out?”
Marie laughed too, the sound vibrating through Hilary’s back. They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound their slowing breaths.
“Did you come?” Hilary asked, her curiosity piqued. She’d been so lost in her own pleasure she honestly couldn’t remember. She knew Marie sometimes could with the base of the strap hitting her just right.
“No,” Marie admitted, and Hilary could hear the faint blush in her voice. “I was too worried about you, if you would like it… I wanted to get it right for you.”
The admission was so unexpectedly touching, so quintessentially Marie, that it sent a warmth spreading through Hilary’s chest that had nothing to do with sex. She twisted in Marie’s arms, rolling over to face her and press their lips together.
“Let’s change that then,” Hilary whispered against her mouth. “What do you want?”
Marie’s gaze was soft, almost shy. She shifted, hitching a leg over Hilary’s hip and manoeuvring so she was straddling Hilary’s thigh. “Like this,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I want to come like this, on you.”
Hilary smiled, her hands coming up to cup Marie’s ass, guiding her movements. Marie was so wet, so warm against her skin, that Hilary thought she could probably come again just from this. But she was content to focus on Marie, to help guide her hips as she began to rock, seeking friction.
“You were so good,” Hilary murmured, her lips brushing against Marie’s ear. “So patient with me. You made me come so hard, Marie.”
Marie shuddered, her movements becoming more erratic.
“You felt so good,” Hilary continued, her voice a low hum. She knew her face was tomato red but she also knew how much hearing her talk got to Marie. “in my cunt. I was so full of you. I liked it so much.”
Like Hilary expected, that was all it took. With a sharp cry, Marie’s body went rigid, and then she was shaking against Hilary, her face buried in the hollow of Hilary’s throat as she came.
They lay like that for ages, Hilary running her hands up and down Marie’s trembling body, feeling the aftershocks wrack her. It felt good. It felt right. This thing they had, it wasn’t a replacement for the life she had with Britt, nor was it a cheap substitute for the life Marie had with Laura. It was just this, the ever-rotating mix of rivals and friends and lovers.
Hilary didn't know how much later it was when she felt Marie stir. She shifted away, her movements slow and languid, and the loss of her warmth made Hilary blink her eyes open. The room was darker now, the city outside the window a smear of indigo and distant lights.
Marie stood up, her silhouette a study in graceful strength against the window. She stretched her arms over her head, a catlike motion that pulled the muscles of her back taut. Hilary watched her, the post-coital haze in her mind giving way to something quieter, more contemplative.
“I’m going to get a washcloth,” Marie said, her voice soft in the quiet room. “Don’t move.”
Hilary had no intention of moving. She felt boneless, pleasantly sore, her body a map of Marie’s touch. She heard the water run in the bathroom, and when Marie returned, the cloth was damp and warm. She knelt on the bed beside Hilary and began to gently, methodically clean her up. It was something just to the left of sexual, not platonic but instead of turning her on, it just made her feel looked after. Marie wiped the sweat and lube and slick from Hilary’s thighs, from between her legs and when she was done, she tossed the cloth toward the bathroom and slipped back under the covers.
She didn’t immediately pull Hilary close. Instead, she lay on her side, propped up on an elbow, looking at Hilary in the dim light. Her gaze was searching, intent.
“You’re quiet,” Marie said.
“Just processing,” Hilary replied, her own voice a low murmur. She turned onto her side to face her. “That was… a lot.”
“In a good way?” A flicker of uncertainty crossed Marie’s face.
Hilary reached out, her fingers tracing the line of Marie’s jaw. “In a very, very good way.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “Thank you. For… you know. For being careful with me. For making it about me.”
Marie’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “I always want to be careful with you, when we’re like this.” She took a breath. “And tonight… especially tonight because I think about how much you trust me. To let me do that. To let me be the one.”
The sincerity of it hit Hilary right in the center of her chest. Trust was the currency of their entire strange relationship. The trust to know this would end when they left the room. The trust to know the hits on the ice weren’t personal. The trust to be this vulnerable, this exposed, with a woman who was, in the most dramatic situations, her enemy. Hilary thought back to that first time, a decade and a half ago, in some anonymous hotel room at a World Championship. It had been brash and awkward, the two of them trying to press bruises into each other one second and fumbling with a bra clasp the next. They were so far past that now.
“I do trust you,” Hilary said before Marie leaned in and kissed her. When she pulled back, she settled against Hilary, laying her head on Hilary’s shoulder. Hilary wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. Marie fit perfectly against her, her head tucked under Hilary’s chin.
They lay in silence for a long time. Hilary could feel the steady beat of Marie’s heart against her ribs. In the space, Hilary’s mind went back to the game from earlier.
The Victoire had played a hell of a game, Marie had played a hell of a game. Two goals, one assist, a stunning display of skill that had left Hilary’s own line scrambling more times than she cared to admit. On the ice, Marie was a phantom, all deceptive speed and impossible angles. Hilary had a feeling that the goal she'd made in the third, a quick shot from distance that nudged in right between the goalies shoulder and the net would end up on highlight reels for the next of forever. She was just so impossible on the ice and then off the ice, she was… well. She was Marie. A force of nature with a quiet smile and an accent that could still make Hilary’s stomach clench after all these years.
“Are you thinking about the game?” Marie’s voice was a whisper, barely disturbing the quiet.
“Yeah,” Hilary admitted, her fingers tracing idle patterns on Marie’s arm. “You thinking about it too?”
“Always,” Marie replied simply.
Marie shifted, propping herself up on her elbow again. Her hair was a mess around her face, and there was a faint crease from the pillow on her cheek. She looked younger, softer. “We have an early flight,” she said, stating the obvious. Her eyes held a familiar, bittersweet glint. The night was waning.
“I know,” Hilary said. The words felt heavy, marking the end of this temporary truce. Soon, she’d put her captain’s jersey back on. Marie would too. And they’d be back on opposite sides of a divide that felt as wide as an ocean.
“You know Laura is going to want a play-by-play, right?” Marie said, a hint of a smile in her voice.
Hilary snorted. “Just please wait till you’re off the bus, you Montreal girls have the biggest mouths.”
Marie’s smile widened. “And Britt? Does she ask?”
“Britt doesn’t have to ask,” Hilary said, a warmth spreading through her chest at the thought of her girlfriend. “You know what she’s like. She usually texts me something like, ‘Hope you had a good, competitive game,’ with a winky face after I play you guys.” Hilary privately thought it was Brit’s way of saying, ‘I hope you got what you needed.’
“That’s nice,” Marie said, face scrunching up with amusement. “Laura always tries to look smug but she’s not too good at it.”
Hilary laughed, she could picture it perfectly. “That sounds about right.” And then a second later she sighed and said, “I should probably go”
Marie nodded, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Without a word, she rolled over, giving Hilary space to move.
Hilary sat up, her muscles protesting in the most pleasant way. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet on the cool carpet. She began the process of reassembly. Her socks, her shorts, her bra. Each piece of clothing was another layer of armor, another step back into her other life. Marie watched her in silence, her gaze heavy.
When Hilary was dressed, she stood up. She looked at Marie, still tangled in the sheets, her hair a blond halo against the white pillow. The urge to crawl back in was overwhelming.
“I’ll see you at the next one,” Hilary said, the words a familiar promise.
Marie’s lips curved into a slow smile. “wouldn’t miss it.”
Hilary slipped out of the room and into the quiet, humming corridor. The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the world they had created inside. Hilary stood there for a moment, the silence pressing in. She felt sore, and satisfied, and just a little bit empty. But it was a good kind of empty. A clean slate.
She walked back to her own room, the fluorescent lights overhead seeming a little less overwhelming now. Her phone buzzed as she was unlocking her door. It was a text from Britt.
Hope you had a good game ;)
Hilary grinned as she typed back a quick reply.
You have no idea. Then, But if you have time to call, I can tell you about it.