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Hockey is not Root’s favourite sport. That title goes to Shaw-watching. Even restricted to more conventional choices she’d probably rank it below football at least.
Though her opinion changes somewhat when it’s Shaw playing hockey.
“Yeah! Go Sameen!” Root shouts, hopping up and down and pumping her fist in the air. So maybe she’s a bit more enthusiastic than the other spectators at the Friday night recreational league game. But she’s only matching the intensity of Shaw’s game.
The other players are mostly soccer moms and other suburban types. This doesn’t stop Shaw from playing like she’s competing for the Stanley Cup and an Olympic gold medal all at once.
“Kill her sweetie!” she yells as Shaw slams one of her opponents into the boards. When play stops and Shaw skates over to the bench, Root notices a woman beside her eying her warily, and a man nervously hovering between her and his children. “Heh,” she laughs awkwardly. “I just get so into it,” she says, shrugging and pulling her jacket open a bit wider to show off her I’m Rooting for Sameen shirt.
“You wore that stupid shirt again?” is the first thing Shaw says to her when they meet outside the locker room after the game. But she’s smiling, and has a sort tired but satisfied look on her face.
“I know how much you love taking it off me.” She closes the distance between them, and grabs Shaw by the waist. Shaw leans into her grip. Root suddenly becomes very aware of Shaw’s presence. Of the smell of her body wash, the way her still damp skin seems to glow, the way the zipper of her hoodie is just a bit lower than normal and she doesn’t seem to be wearing very much under it.
Then one of Shaw’s teammates passes them and waves at Shaw.
Root feels an irrational flare of jealousy when Shaw returns the wave. She waits until the teammate is out of sight, then slips her hands from Shaw’s waist into the back pockets of her jeans and pulls Shaw flush against her body. “Mine,” she growls softly as she nips at Shaw’s ear.
Shaw hums in a lazy, agreeable, content sort of way.
Root reluctantly pulls away, forcing herself to disengage before she gets carried away. She takes a moment to unabashedly stare at Shaw. To memorize the sound she just made, her heavily lidded eyes, and the way her breathing quickened just a little at Root’s possessive gesture. She files these things away for later, when they’re somewhere more private.
“Y’know,” Root says as she gently traces the outline of a bruise from a high stick to Shaw’s face, “I’m not sure this is really what Harry had in mind when he suggested you take up a hobby.”
“Closer than last time, probably.”
“Oh?” Root says, intrigued. She’s never heard this before and she’s always eager to learn everything she possibly can about Sameen Shaw. “What was that?”
A little smirk plays at Shaw’s lips. “You,” she says. She hands her stick off to Root, swings her bag up onto her shoulders, and walks off towards the exit. (Root is a gentlewoman, but the one time she tried to carry the bag that’s almost as large as Shaw, she nearly toppled over from the weight. So now she carries Shaw’s stick.)
Root spends a moment admiring Shaw as she walks away, then jogs a few long strides to catch up.
The walk home isn’t a long one. Still, they stop at a diner along the way, Shaw being too hungry to wait. (“For actual food, Root.”)
From time to time, she steals a fry from Shaw’s plate while she’s distracted by her burger or making periodic checks of their surroundings. Not because she’s actually hungry. Just to provoke a response from her. Usually it’s an adorable frown, an eye roll, or even a cute little growl when she’s feeling especially hungry.
Tonight, however she gets just the tiniest hint of a smirk from Shaw. This brings a different sort of satisfaction. Knowing she’s probably the one person who could not only get away with stealing food right off her plate, but amuse her by doing it.
Root becomes distracted by the way Shaw’s fingers play with the zipper of her hoodie. She slides it up and down as she chews her food, always letting it end a fraction lower than where it started. Each little move revealing ever so slightly more skin.
Wait.
Sameen doesn’t fidget like this.
Root should know, she’s always watching her, noticing and memorizing every little bit of her. She cleans her weapons when she’s feeling restless. Idly plays with Root’s hair or fingers sometimes, when they’re in bed not cuddling.
Not this.
This is on purpose.
Root forces herself to direct her gaze back up to Shaw’s face. She finds Shaw looking right back at her, looking maybe just a little smug.
Now, normally Root is absolutely shameless about staring at Shaw. But this is Shaw taking her own game and turning it back on her. She isn’t going to just give in. And she knows that in some way, Shaw would be a bit disappointed if she did.
So she steals another fry from Shaw’s plate and pops it in her mouth. It’s a pretty blatant cover-up, so Shaw naturally sees right through it.
“Take a few more. You’re going to need the energy for what I’m planning to do to you.”
“Aww. It’s so cute how you think you’re gonna be the one in charge.” She says this in the most sickeningly sweet voice possible, even reaching across the table to pat her on the arm.
Shaw doesn’t say anything, but from the competitive fire dancing in her eyes, Root knows they’re definitely both going to win this round.