Chapter Text
“News from the Runeterra Hockey League that all the people and pundits are discussing,” said a feminine voice, the podcast Tayl and Jack marking 44 minutes into its runtime on a Wednesday afternoon in August.
“The decision to expand the league out to Zaun last season has been met with its fair share of criticism,” the voice continued, “but in the wake of the protection deadlines this morning at 8AM Void Standard Time, the criticism seems a thing of the past. Today, every team in the RHL was expected to put eight of their twenty-three person roster under special protections - seven skaters and one goaltender - and the newly-formed Zaunite Sumprats are allowed to draft anyone the teams do not place protections upon, going one by one across the teams until they select twice from each club.”
It was a hot and crusty day in Zaun. The voice was played out of car speakers, headphones, television speakers in the background. It contended with car horns and air conditioning units that creaked and groaned against the strain of comforting the inhabitants of homes, vehicles, restaurants. People listened with a wide range of interest - from the impassioned to the disdainful, eyes widening and rolling in equal measure.
“So the list is out as of this morning, and we wanted to break it down for you guys - who the most intriguing people on the list are for the Zaun Sumprats to take. Starting with - I think - the most shocking thing on the available list, Violet Wickett from the Ionia Ironfists is not being protected!”
“She’s proven herself unable to win,” another, lower-pitched voice put in, met with derision or passionate agreement from the thousands of listeners, “that much we knew.”
“Maybe she just hasn’t had the right team around her.”
“The right team - don’t give me this ‘right situation’ crap, Taylor. It’s not like we’re dealing with someone in her second year in the league. Wickett has been on that team for twelve years - she’s had her chance, she’s on the wrong side of thirty.”
“I love her game. When she’s on the ice, the team instantly gets better at defence, she can shut down passing lanes, and she’s a bona fide shotblocker.”
“Taylor, don’t make me read her resume again, okay? I keep this in my front pocket-”
“Oh boy, here we go-”
“Just in case - I’m talking, Tay - just in case fools like you try to test me on Wickett, because I’m so tired of watching her lose, okay? Drafted late in the second round because she was a big question mark in college, worked her way up the bench until she was on the second unit, second in Rookie of the Year race, lost to Kiramman, which-”
“Save that for later, Jack.”
“Oh, we’re doing a segment on it?”
“Save it for later.”
“Okay, okay. So she loses to Kiramman for Rookie of the Year. Doesn’t make the playoffs that year - not her fault, the Ironfists were a dumpster fire. Can’t pin the next two years on her, but then-”
“The contract.”
“-She signs a multi-year deal with the Ironfists, big money, and they promote her to captain.”
“Promoted a player in their fourth year to captain. Lots of pressure early in her career, that’s all I’m saying.”
“It’s a sink or swim league, Taylor. Anyways. The Ironfists make it to the playoffs in 2014. Wickett: 0 goals, 2 assists, swept by the Lone Stars in 4 games. 2015, Wickett: 2 goals, 3 assists, swept by the Lone Stars in 4 games. 2016-”
“-gets hurt.”
“Takes a slapshot to the face mid-game three, comes back in game five. 6 goals, 4 assists, loses in 6 games to the War Horses. That was the only difficulty the War Horses had in the playoffs that year.”
“That was the year Akali went nuclear.”
“Yeah. So gets hurt-”
“If Wickett doesn’t go down that series, the Ironfists win it.”
“Well, sure.”
“It was heading that way.”
“Sure. But anyways - 2017, 2018, 2019, doesn’t make it to the post-season, three year drought. Comes back in 2020, and she plays well, finally gets out of round one, only to get swept in round two by the Lone Stars in 4 games. Wickett’s stats are great - 4 goals and 2 assists in 4 games. 2021, faces the Lone Stars in round one-”
“-gets hurt again, yeah.”
“-busts her knee cap, they lose in 5. Has to go for surgery in the offseason. Last year, she comes back late in the year, the Ironfists manage to make it to the playoffs and lose in a barn burner of a first round series - 7 games, lost the last one on the road.”
“Wickett was brilliant in that series, though.”
“Yeah, but she missed the game winning goal by a mile. So what do you have when Wickett’s your best player - great defence, but twelve years in the league and she’s sniffed the second round one time, and been utterly stuffed by the Lone Stars most of her career.”
“I think the Ironfists and Wickett are just moving on from one another - that’s what I’ve heard, anyway. Change of scenery, change of pace.”
“She was born in Zaun. But if I’m the GM of the Sumprats-”
“Thank God you’re not, Jack.”
“- If I’m Mel Medarda, or if I’m coach Sevika, am I really looking at Violet Wickett as the answer? Do I want a defence minded forward as my first selection in this thing?”
“So that’s why I bring Violet Wickett up,” says the first, feminine voice, “because there’s two things that have defined Vi her entire career. How hard she plays as a forward, especially on defence, and her rivalry with Caitlyn Kiramman.”
“See, if I’m Mel Medarda, I’m not even giving Wickett another glance. I’m taking Kiramman with my first pick and grabbing from the end of the Ironfist’s bench.”
“That’s what makes this so delicious, though, Jack. Mel Medarda can get both of them.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“It’s not impossible!”
“Stop it. They hate each other. Every single time Wickett has been squashed in the playoffs it’s been at Kiramman’s glove. They made it obvious how they felt about each other in their rookie year. A twelve year rivalry doesn’t just disappear because you both don the same sweater.”
“Let’s look at the numbers, Jack.”
“Stop it!”
“Let’s look at them! Kiramman’s biggest knock on her is her lack of defensive awareness, right? People don’t like how she can’t defend passing lanes or how she doesn’t hit-”
“That’s true, by the way. She’s got some of the lowest checking numbers in the RHL per minute.”
“Okay, sure. But you know who has one of the highest checking numbers? Violet freaking Wickett. What’s Vi’s biggest criticism?”
“Clutch goal scoring.”
“Kiramman has scored more game winning goals in the regular season and playoffs combined than any other skater in the same time span. The woman’s a lethal sniper in big moments. Imagine their powers combined.”
“They’d need to squash the beef if that were to happen.”
“Oh, please. You don’t think they can be professional?”
“I was at those Lone Star-Ironfist games, alright? Those two girls hate each other. There’s a professional rivalry, there’s actual hatred, and then there’s what Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet Wickett feel for one another. If they were to get into the same locker room, it’d be instant toxicity.”
“Okay, okay. But if we’re going to play the history game, your girl Kiramman hasn’t exactly been the queen of playoff wins either. She’s never gotten out of the second round, and if she isn’t playing against Vi’s Ironfists, she flounders hard. We all remember 2017, up 3-1 against the Wild Cats, Kiramman has four separate wide open chances to score, gets hammered all four times. Hell, the rest of the league seemed to figure out how to beat her after 2016 - hit her because she won’t hit back.”
“It doesn’t help that the enforcers on the Lone Stars don’t really seem to see her,” Jack mutters.
“Yeah - it’s not hard to see her as a bad teammate. I don’t really know how else to explain why her teammates have never had her back.”
“I know that everyone wants to talk about Wickett being the big story because a team didn’t protect their captain in the expansion draft, but it’s genuinely crazy that the Lone Stars are just giving Kiramman up. Rookie of the year, nine time all-star, top scorer in the league three times, top ten every single season except her rookie year.”
“Still, Mel Medarda can snatch up two blue chip players and be in amazing shape for the Zaun Sumprats’ first ever season in the RHL.”
“So, that’s the other thing - what you’re saying makes sense, Taylor. I get it. But Mel Medarda is a first year GM running a brand new franchise, and Sevika is a first year coach with zero prior experience in coaching. Do you really think they’d invite the dramatics of having both Kiramman and Wickett on their team in their first year?”
“Why not? Why not give it a shot?”
“Because you’re playing with nuclear fire, here, Taylor.”
“Jack, everyone is expected to suck when you’re a brand new expansion team. There’s no pressure to compete at all that first year. Both are on expiring contracts, so if it doesn’t pan out, you can just say adios after the season’s done and be rid of it. Call it a one year experiment.”
“It’s a lot of money to be carrying for one year if it goes nuclear.”
“Everything I’ve heard about both Coach Sevika and Mel Medarda is that they’re risk takers and rule breakers and they’re not afraid to get their hands dirty in the slightest. If I were them, and I had a legitimate shot to grab two top of their field skaters, I would roll the dice.”
“Well one thing’s for sure - it would make our jobs incredibly exciting.”
“No doubt. Well, we’ll keep all you listeners updated. In the meantime, we’ll see in the coming days if the newly formed Zaun Sumprats have what it takes to make a legitimate-”
Run at the Cup.
August Part One: No Protection
Each person holds so much power within themselves. Sometimes they just need a little nudge; direction, support, coaching.
-Pete Carroll
The phone call that changed everything couldn’t have come at a more embarrassing time.
Vi Wickett had been told that she needed to rest her knee in the offseason, the second surgery she’d had a week after the Ironfists had been eliminated from the playoffs requiring a lot of recovery time, staying off of it and letting the swelling vanish, letting her muscles warm back up to being used and abused in such an extreme way. The stability of it had been permanently damaged, she’d been told, and careful management and monitoring would be required for the rest of her professional life. An image of her dad had discussed retirement with her for all of four seconds before her hard glare from the hospital bed had left Vander going quiet, mumbling the rest of his eloquent argument underneath his breath.
“What are you trying to prove?” Vander had asked, bad tempered, glaring down at the linoleum of her private hospital room.
“Nothing to anybody,” Vi had said, had lied. She’d shifted in her bed, fidgeted with her hands, ran her tongue along the missing teeth along the side of her cheek - lost it when she’d taken a hard slapshot to the face, requiring twelve stitches and false teeth that she forgot to put in more often than not.
The knee thing kept her sidelined for the first half of her summer off, having to stay in her five bedroom penthouse in Ionia that was already listed on the market. She’d seen the writing on the wall, and was a student of RHL history - no team spent 12 years with one player, turning 32 and with two major knee surgeries, and thought to keep the ball rolling much further. Vi had enjoyed her time as an Ironfist, appreciated the fanbase that passionately defended her when things had gotten thick and the criticism had been hot and heavy - calling her the ultimate glue guy, the hardest working forward in the league.
In the years past, the defence had gotten less passionate, shifted to younger players on the team - the Kai'Sa's and the Sett’s that showed up with quick hands and natural gifts and scoring abilities that Vi would never possess, no matter how much later she stayed at the rink than them.
So she’d opted for the easiest way out. With one year on her contract, Vi had met with the management of the team - Brian had been the GM of the Ironfists her entire tenure, and was in just as much of a hot seat as she was. For her, saying goodbye to a team meant moving across Runeterra and maybe being paid less on a new contract. For Brian, it would mean losing his job, maybe never being hired in the business again.
“I want to say,” Vi had said, knee in a thick brace and stretched out in front of her in his spotless purple office, her eyes dry and tight and focused on him, “I know that you had trade offers, and I appreciate how much faith you had in me.”
“I’ll do my best for you, Vi,” he replied, his high, nasal voice warming her slightly. Vi had always found it annoying, but now, with the Ironfists so close to being in her rearview mirror, she realised she’d miss it.
“I know.”
“We’ll take you off the protection list, first. See if Zaun picks you up. If not, though, we’ll try and get you to a good situation, maybe a team with a shot at the cup.”
“Sounds good,” Vi said, and her eyes watered a little. The Ironfists past 12 years had been rife with coaching hires and fires, trades, free agent signings - the only constant had seemed to be Vi and Brian, Brain and Vi, trying to work out the magic combination of personnel and talent that would make them a contender.
Their entire relationship was summed in a single gesture - Vi’s large hand encapsulating Brian’s tiny one, giving him a firm pump. She limped out of the office for the last time, focusing on breathing and not meeting anyone’s eyes - feeling the stares of lingering, wistful nostalgia on her broad shoulders and muscled back.
The fans had adoringly called them the Vironfists, when she’d been a goddess, when she’d slam a body into the boards and hear lustful cheering, powered by the crowd and her youth. She’d felt immortal.
Caitlyn Kiramman had changed all of that - over and over and over again. Stolen what she’d seen as her time, her chance. Worse, she’d stolen it not by being malicious or vengeful or petty - just by being on a better team.
The rest of her summer had been milling around the penthouse, halfheartedly packing for a destination she didn’t know yet, messaging her agent for rumours, to see if the Sumprats had made any inklings of grabbing her with their first expansion draft pick. Her agent was a prickly bitch named Elora, only seemed to work when the sun went down, but she was as hard working as Vi herself was. Whenever they spoke, Elora seemed to be fiercely excited by the prospect of negotiating a new deal with a new franchise, rather than going to Brian every time Vi’s contract was up and naming a number.
“Brian gave me a great decade plus,” Vi reminded Elora over the phone, packing her small collection of books into a plastic tote, spines facing towards herself.
“Brian is a turd,” Elora muttered, “I told him that you needed a scoring wing on that team for six years, and he only gets one when he’s ready to say goodbye to you.”
“He did good by me. Never steered me wrong. That’s rare in a GM.”
“Brian never gave anyone a challenge. Now, if we get you to Zaun,” Elora groaned, “Mel Medarda - she’s going to be fun.”
Vi shook her head, sighed, and told Elora to call her as soon as she’d heard anything.
Other than throwing shit into plastic boxes and checking in with her contacts once a day, Vi focused on healing and idly scrolling through a subfolder of contacts in her phone, thumb hovering over names. Being injured and recovering always gave room in her schedule for… other activities, things that might help keep her in some semblance of shape, though not really in a hockey related context.
Beth, Birch, Byldrid, C, Carey-
Vi scrolled back and hovered over C, frowning at it, wiggled her thumb until the single letter blurred into a fuzzy black shape. She lifted her thumb off of the letter and exhaled slowly through her nose, laid her phone flat on her chest, staring up at the ceiling.
Pressing that letter was inviting a lot - a lot - back into her life.
It was better to focus on healing, not hookups. She had so many contacts to check in with, so much to pack up. She should focus on that. She should really, really, focus on that.
“Oh fuck,” gasped the woman as she pressed her forehead deeper into Vi’s blood red pillows, Vi working the cock deeper into her with a shallow thrust, her fingers stretching out to grip onto dark, silky hair, Vi’s own cloth-covered tits bouncing harshly with the movement. The woman was wearing her shirt, too - her jeans, sinfully tight and dark blue - pulled around her knees in their haste to act on the text message that Vi had sent 37 minutes ago. Using the long hair as a rope to leverage against, Vi thrust deep, bottoming out inside of her guest, pressing her hips forwards and feeling her guest push backwards, quivering against her. They pushed against one another as her guest keened, gasped, and broke, gushing around the black silicone, drenching the red sheets.
Vi sighed, smacking one ass cheek as she tugged on the dark hair, being rewarded with a gasp and an annoyed Vi.
“Right,” Vi said, “sorry.”
“Sure you are,” came the clipped, quiet accent. A hand came up to tap at Vi’s wrist, and Vi relinquished her hold on the hair, slowly pulling out as her guest worked her way forwards, turning around to pull her jeans back up her hips.
Fingers brushed dark hair out of her eyes, and Vi was looking into the face of Caitlyn Kiramman.
“Was it good for you, baby?” Vi cooed, earning an eye roll from the taller woman in response.
“It will do,” came the response, as Kiramman launched herself from Vi’s bed, leaving her on her knees with a dick softly bobbing. Vi glared, hastening to remove the harness and pull her own yoga pants up, her knee twinging with the movement as Kiramman moved out of the bedroom and back towards the living room, no doubt collecting the items that she had discarded violently upon entering Vi’s penthouse.
“Running away so soon.” Vi called mockingly, venom in her voice, “no time for a cuddle?”
“You knew what this was about when you texted,” Kiramman’s voice floated back. Vi finished pulling up her pants, pausing to look at the knee brace for a moment before choosing to walk out of the bedroom without it. Wouldn’t do good to show weakness to the enemy.
“Usually, you aren’t quite that eager,” Vi replied, pausing to lean against the wall as Kiramman pulled on her leather jacket, pulled her messed up hair out of its ponytail to re-do it.
Kiramman was tall and willowy, deceptively built. Vi had felt the ropy muscles across her frame enough when she was slamming into her on open ice, felt them even more intimately when she was running big fingers across her washboard abs. Kiramman could skate for an hour without pause and could fuck for an afternoon, which were two traits that Vi had been surprised by- frustratingly in the first instance, pleasantly in the second.
“Yeah, well,” Kiramman said, pulling her phone out to check for new messages, putting it away quickly. Offseason habit - every RHL player in the league was panic-checking their phones, trying to get a handle on trades, hirings, firings. She ran a hand along the sleek tail of her hair, exhaled quietly, lowly, and stuffed her phone into her pocket.
“This was,” Kiramman began, and then shrugged, turned to leave.
“You always had the better team,” Vi called, and Kiramman paused, slowly turned around. It was an old argument, a familiar argument, but this time, Kiramman’s eyes were murderous, angry. It made Vi take a step back, even as a bolt of something shot through her at the look on Kiramman’s face.
“Shut the fuck up,” she snarled, and with a blink, she was slamming the front door shut.
“Touched a nerve,” Vi murmured, “okay.”
Later that night, Elora told her that Kiramman wasn’t being protected, either - that she was just as up for grabs as Vi was for the Sumprats. Suddenly, the prickly demeanour made a lot more sense.
“But - that doesn’t - she’s one of the best shooting defensemen in the league!” Vi spluttered.
“I know. But apparently, management at Piltover doesn’t agree.”
“Wow. That’s - there’s no way they’re not taking her, huh?”
“Two schools of thought on it,” Elora mused, “and the only thing everyone seems to agree on is that Mel Medarda doesn’t really talk about her plans. Coach Sevika is also similarly impenetrable - the two of them are tight lipped and intimidating to journalists. One school of thought is that they want to build around you as a hometown hero type - bring you back home to Zaun, build around your strengths for one season, see how you play out. That’ll be really good for us.”
Vi couldn’t see it - not with one bad wheel and with 12 years in the league on her, a lot of miles on her odometer.
“The second?”
“They build a high scoring, fast paced team around Kiramman and Ashe- both of the Stars and Wanderers are passing there. Beat everyone by running up the score on them.”
That seemed more like it - skaters like her, defensive minded grinders who hit first and had shit hands, were dinosaurs - things that were going extinct. Everyone in the RHL wanted younger and faster, not beaten up, old, slow and without a single trophy to show for it.
“Well,” Vi said, sighing, “I guess I’m not going home.”
“Don’t give up your big dreams yet, big girl. I have a feeling that Mel Medarda might be willing to zag completely. If you and Kiramman were both on the ice-”
Vi’s blood froze at the thought.
“No way. We’d be at each other’s throats the whole time. She has to see that - it’s all anyone talks about when we play.”
“But if you found a way to squash that,” Elora said, excitedly, “you’d be a natural fit. The league’s best sniper and best hitter on the same squad. Could be something really special.”
Vi hung up soon after, lying flat on her bed, leg elevated to promote blood flow. There was no way they’d allow that to happen. No way this hotshot GM would be willing to roll the dice - not when Vi and Kiramman were such a powder keg.
Vi turned to look at her cell phone, scrolling up and down with her thumb, the C blurring in her vision with her wiggling thumb. Maybe Kiramman would know more. Maybe Vi could feel her out, see what she thought about the two of them-
“Nah,” Vi said, locking her phone and tossing it aside. There was no two of them - not until one of them felt full to bursting and needed a quick nut.
There was no way that Mel Medarda could possibly be that stupid.
They'd met on the ice, which most people would have been able to guess. The Ionian Ironfists had a reputation as a hard hitting team, defence over offense, winning low scoring games with a combination of excellent goaltending and great defensive awareness. The schedule that year - Vi and Kiramman's rookie year, it turned out - had made it so that the Piltover Lone Stars and the Ironfists had met several times in the first few months of hockey.
Vi had been on the bench, the Ironfist's newest addition, being forced to prove herself by playing in the junk minutes of games - only seeing ice time when games were too far out of hand for her to impact them. Even still, her coach and teammates had liked her hustle, admired how hard she'd worked, and her determination to improve had moved her slowly but surely up the bench, a starting position in her sights.
Kiramman, meanwhile, had been flying around the ice, put in as a starter immediately. Her dark hair was fanned out from under her helmet, flowing behind her as she pumped her long legs to chase after plays, snagging passes on the blade of her long stick and controlling the puck with ease, dark blue eyes scanning the ice, analyzing before making the perfect play or winding up the ultimate shot.
Vi had been on the ice when Kiramman had scored the first game winning goal against her - the first of many. She'd seen the play - a Lone Star forward had snagged the puck from behind the Ionian net, flung it out to the blue line where Kiramman had caught it with the blade of her stick, shifted herself down the blue line, wound up. Vi had hustled to get there, diving forwards on one side as the telltale slap echoed throughout the rink, the puck just barely missing her hip.
The goalie's water bottle flew upwards in a spiral as the Piltover crowd roared its approval, the red light behind the Ionian net flashing red. Kiramman nodded in satisfaction alongside the loud BWOOOOOOO of the goal horn, skating backwards as her teammates moved towards her, tapping gloves against hers, shaking her shoulders with muted excitement.
Vi had sat up from her position on the ice, shaking her head. She had clambered to her feet, skated to the bench, watching Kiramman over her shoulder. The goal scoring celebration was usually more exciting than that, more jubilant and flashy. But Kiramman just smiled, a little hollowly, and her teammates, too, seemed less than enthused.
Vi kept watching as she skated to the open door of her bench, stepping into it. Suddenly, she was aware of Kiramman staring back, eyebrows raised.
Vi had grinned at her, and Kiramman had jerked her gaze away.
Their two squads had met three more times during the regular season, and each time Vi had been closer and closer to the starting lineup. She'd proven herself skilled at killing off penalties, invaluable on the power play as someone who was willing to dig the puck out of the corners and make the difficult pass, and matched up against Kiramman a lot. Vi would body up on her, driving her tall frame into the boards, knocking her stick off of the puck, posting up in front of her to harass and poke and prod and knock her off of her game.
Kiramman didn't say a word to her the entire time, eyes glazed over in a vague determined expression, a slightly angry tilt to her brow.
Their last game of the regular season, Vi hit Kiramman so hard she collapsed in the corner of the rink, stick and one glove flying. Vi gripped Kiramman's jersey as she fell, slowed her enough so she didn't hit her head, and then chased the puck down the ice for the five on four opportunity. Kiramman was slow to get up, and by the time she had managed to make it down the ice, the Ironfists had scored. Vi was celebrating with her teammates and so had missed the initial reaction to her hit, but when she turned to look, eyes seeking the taller skater, she found Kiramman sitting on the bench, eyes locked forwards, a teammates hand resting on her shoulder pads, patting awkwardly.
Kiramman had always been a shoo in for the Rookie of the Year trophy, but Vi's play had made some noise late in the season, forcing the voters to recognize that she was good - maybe even a future great. Comparisons to past legends in the RHL flew left and right, heated arguments on social media and sports talk shows and podcasts erupted. What do you value, they'd say, hustle and defense or scoring? The two of them became symbols that were on opposite sides, Vi the blue collar late round pick that had to work for everything she'd been given, Kiramman the white collar hockey royalty that had been selected first overall and was living up to her expectation.
The race, Elora had said, was tighter than any had been for years. She had been ecstatic - Vi's name was on everyone's lips, and she thought there was a real chance that Vi would swoop in and win it over Kiramman at the last moment.
Kiramman wore a dress to the end of year awards ceremony - a strapless red thing that showed off the dip in her back and her ropy muscle. Vi wore a suit and tried not to stare. Kiramman made small talk with a few of the executives and coaches, nodded politely at some players, took her seat beside her teammates. Vi couldn't help but sneak little glances throughout the speeches, her palms soaked through with sweat, clenching at her slacks.
"Our rookie of the year award," began Commissioner Davis, "recognizes the player who exemplified talent in their first year of play. It solidifies that its recipient is one to watch out for in the future, one who will make this league and its fans all the better for their talent and leadership. This year’s Rookie of the Year goes to-”
Vi felt the hands of her teammates pull and push her, Elora’s shaking hand slowly lifting a glass to her lips in her peripheral.
“Caitlyn Kiramman, of the Piltover Lone Stars!”
The room erupted into applause as Kiramman unfolded herself from her seat, back muscles shifting as she glided towards the stage, the hands of Vi’s teammates becoming sympathetic, whispered ‘fuckin’ Lone Stars’ and ‘you’ll crush her next year, don’t worry’ surrounding her. All she could do, though, was stare at Kiramman ’s back.
The contact labelled C in Vi’s phone was clicked again, asking for a timeline that Kiramman was going to be in Ionia for, how much free time she had while she was down here. Before Elora had told her about Kiramman’s upcoming status, Vi had assumed that Kiramman was in town to visit potential sponsors, maybe do a camp or two. Now, though, with her future unsure, Kiramman was more likely than not scouting places to live, seeing if the Ironfists needed a goal scoring defenseman with excellent hands and great vision - and her hockey playing skills weren’t so bad either.
The joke rattled around in Vi’s head in her empty penthouse, making her chuckle to herself in her empty rooms. The brace on her knee drove her crazy, itching to get onto a rink - any rink - and do basic drills, start figuring out how best to improve for the upcoming campaign. The C in her phone got back to her - in town for a week, enough time for some distractions - for both of them - from the dead air that came from sitting around in the offseason and waiting for news.
They were athletes - they didn’t wait. They went out and took what they wanted.
They met up in more neutral ground at Kiramman’s insistence - whenever Vi suggested her penthouse she was rebuked forcefully - and Kiramman did her the service of not making her kneel too much, eyes on her brace whenever they discussed logistics. Instead, Kiramman was riding her strap, face and chest bright red, breasts heaving under the dingy motel lights as Vi clenched the bedspread and grit her teeth against the ministrations against her clit. Kiramman held a little pink remote with a thin wire leading underneath her harness, twisting the controls on it up and down in time with her frantic thrusts.
The sight of Kiramman flexing her ropy muscles and the veins in her neck popping out as she stretched downwards and shuddered on Vi’s cock was enough to make Vi arch her hips and cum, soaking the inside of her harness. Kiramman was still wearing a t-shirt, her ballcap dishevelled and hanging off of her ponytail as she pushed flyaways out of her eyes and twisted her lips at Vi’s half-clothed form.
They left the hotel room separately, each in their own disguises - Kiramman with a long leather jacket, a cap, and sunglasses, and Vi with her t-shirt and jeans, aviators on her face, piercings in her ear and nose, and a backwards cap with her number on it. She signed a few autographs when Kiramman beat a hasty retreat, answered a few questions with a wink, accepted some bewildered sympathy regarding her non-protected status in the Ironfists. Her leaving a motel didn’t exactly fall out of line with her off-ice perception, anyways.
Kiramman made time for her three times in five days - often at random points during the day. Once she called at almost eight in the morning, and Vi still found herself rolling out of bed, carefully stretching her knee before putting it in its brace, heading down to hail a cab to their usual spot.
“Sorry,” Kiramman said, already waiting for her, dressed in a tank top and her underwear, tapping her fingers on her thighs anxiously, “it’s - today they’re announcing-”
Vi put her hand on Kiramman’s mouth to stop the words from coming forth, understanding. Today they’re supposed to announce who was going to be on the unprotected list, and when that was done they were both in for a sea of uncertainty. Kiramman would probably be heading to Zaun, and Vi honestly wished she could be a fly on the wall for when Kiramman’s regal form stepped off of the plane into Zaun’s dusty and cracked streets. It was Vi’s home, but she had no illusions that it was a vastly different place than Piltover.
Vi, meanwhile, would be looking for an organisation that was willing to take on a cranky veteran forward with a bad wheel and too much baggage.
She tried not to hate Kiramman as she slowly pushed her back against the bed with the hand sealing the taller woman’s lips shut. Tried to push it out of her mind - the fact that she was chasing a ghost, content to eat the ice chips from Kiramman’s skates as the other woman blazed a trail through the RHL - as her hand slowly pressed downwards, feeling Kiramman’s panties, feeling how soaked through they were.
“You’re already ready,” Vi intoned, and moved the bikini cut aside to allow her access with two teasing fingers. Kiramman groaned against her palm and spread her legs wider, allowing Vi anything she wanted - everything she wanted.
It was Vi’s favourite thing about this - about them. Kiramman just - yielded . A softness that was never there when they played on the ice, a softness that Vi wondered if only she had ever seen. Ever since they’d started - whatever this was, Vi had felt that it was worth protecting - this Kiramman was worth protecting.
Vi’s fingers dipped lower, and Kiramman let out a soft gasp, one hand coming up to grip at Vi’s wrist - the one that was pressing against Kiramman’s mouth, forcing her head against the motel mattress. To Vi’s surprise, it applied more pressure, keeping Kiramman’s head restrained, making Vi’s eyebrow lift with surprise.
“Ooh,” Vi growled out, “that’s new. You want me to restrain you, Princess?”
Kiramman closed her eyes, lifted her hips, nodded.
Vi’s shrill ringtone pierced the moment, causing her to shake from her reverie, staring at Kiramman, stretched out beneath her.
“Sorry,” Vi muttered, releasing Kiramman and pulling her fingers free slowly, “offseason.”
“I get it,” Kiramman said, hoisting herself further up onto the mattress, folding her legs beneath her.
Elora’s name displayed on Vi’s Caller ID, and she felt her stomach drop as she swiped the call button. Bad news, most likely.
“Yeah?” Vi said by way of greeting, refusing to turn to look at Kiramman when someone else said that they didn’t want Vi around, didn’t need her.
Vi’s eyebrows creased, a frown fighting her features. “What?” she asked.
“No, I don’t - I don’t understand,” Vi continued, “but what about-”
Now, with shock writ large across her features, she turned to look at Kiramman, eyes wide. Kiramman met her gaze with a questioning one before her own phone began to ring from its place on the nightstand, forcing her to roll slightly to pick it up.
“That’s crazy,” Vi muttered, turning back to face the wall as Kiramman’s what? pierced the air behind her.
“She can’t be- that has to be a mistake, Elora. You’re sure?”
Vi shook her head. “No. No, I don’t care about your source. There’s no way Mel Medarda is that fucking idiotic.”
With the first pick in the expansion draft, the Zaun Sumprats select: Violet Wickett, from the Ionian Ironfists.
With the second pick in the expansion draft, the Zaun Sumprats select: Caitlyn Kiramman, from the Piltover Lone Stars.