male reader x ted lasso smut drabble . . .
the steam is thick in the shower, clinging to ted’s mustache and curling his already-damp hair. his richmond jacket hangs open as his chest rises and falls a little too fast. your hand is still on his cock, slow and deliberate, and ted presses the back of his head against the cool tiles like he’s praying for divine intervention.
“aw, heck,” he breathes out, voice cracking just slightly. “you keep that up and i’m— liable to give a whole new kind of motivational speech out there.” you smirk, thumb teasing over the tip. “maybe that’s what they need before a big match. a coach with… passion.”
“passion’s one thing,” ted says, his words broken by a shiver as your thumb brushes just over the slit. “but i reckon if i walk out there red in the face and wobbly in the knees, they’re gonna start worryin’ about their coach’s cardiovascular health.” you lean in, lips brushing against his ear. “you’re still thinking about the team? that’s dedication.”
“or foolishness,” ted mutters with a weak laugh, his hips twitching slightly toward your hand. “gimme a second to— holy moly— pull myself together here.” you slow your movements deliberately, feeling his muscles tense under your palm. ted’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist— not to stop you, but just to anchor himself as he cums over your hand, his body trembling. he was squirmy now. sensitive. “ted,” you whisper, “think you can give your big speech without stuttering?” he lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “not if you keep talkin’ like that, i can’t.”
“guess you’ll just have to try.” you pump him a couple more times just to make him feel a slight bit of overstimulation and then, you step back with a grin. ted immediately grabs the knobs of the shower, bracing himself as he tries to regain his composure. his cheeks are flushed, his mustache damp, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. “alright, coach,” you tease. “showtime.”
“showtime,” ted echoes absentmindedly, tugging his jacket closed and straightening up like a man about to walk the gallows.
—————
the richmond locker room is buzzing. cleats clatter against the floor, banter ricochets off the walls, and all eyes turn as ted strides in. or rather... tries to stride. his gait’s a little… off. “alright, fellas!” ted claps his hands, his voice a touch too high. “big day! big game! big ol’ opportunity to show the world what we’re made of.” sam tilts his head. “coach, are you… okay? you look— hot.”
“hot? well thank you!” he chuckled. “nah, in all seriousness, that’s just, uh— team spirit!” ted pats his cheeks like he’s trying to cool them down. “i’m all fired up, y’know?” your eyes meet his from across the room, and you bite back a grin as he shoots you a look equal parts pleading and warning. “right, so,” ted continues, pacing too quickly. “we’re gonna get out there, play with heart, play with grit, play with— I dunno— play with somethin’ that rhymes with grit! bit? wit? you get the idea.” isaac squints. “coach, you’re sweatin’ more than usual.”
“pre-game adrenaline, big guy!” ted chirps, tugging at his collar. “now let’s huddle up before i melt like an ice cream cone in july.”
as the team gathers around, you catch ted’s hand brushing against the hem of his jacket, adjusting it nervously. he doesn’t dare look your way again, but the tips of his ears stay red the whole time.
“BELIEVE on three!” he calls, voice cracking ever so slightly.
“one, two, three—BELIEVE!” the team shouts.
as they head for the pitch, you linger for a second, shooting ted a glance over your shoulder.
“you’re trouble,” he mouths silently, the corner of his lips twitching into a grin. you just wink.
