WORTH A SHOT
pairing: hockey!travis 'teacake' meacham x bartender!female!reader
summary: because teacake is determined to stay sober, he can’t party with his teammates after the semi-finals. so, you devise a plan to let him join the fun without consuming any alcohol.
tags: [is this fluff? is this smut? idk but it’s super horny, so MDNI!!] [hockey player au] [travis is one year sober] [hockey team celebrating their win at a bar] [body shots] [alcohol consumption] [lowkey body worship lol] 3k words
a/n: thank you, @holawdw for putting the idea of hockey player!travis into my head. I will never forgive you. also, for this...
The bar is…wild.
It’s that time of night where the music gets racier, laughter gets louder, ties come off, and hair is raked through. You’re usually swamped working alone at this point, sweat beading down your back as you pour drink after drink from behind the counter.
But tonight, it’s a different kind of rowdy.
Neon lights sweep across the dance floor, illuminating the entirety of the Kansas Bucks men’s hockey team in your bar.
After snatching a win at the semi-finals—thanks to a beautiful assist by their new left defensemen, Travis Meacham—the boys decided to pop in for a celebratory drink. Which turned into two. Which, turned into…well, you just heard somebody loudly suggest body shots.
Now, normally, this kind of thing is against the rules. But tonight is a slow one, with most of the usual patrons choosing a bigger sports bar to go to after the win, and you don’t see a reason to deny this team much of anything right now.
So, you turn and a handful of shot glasses from the shelf, snagging a fresh bottle of tequila, too.
“Hey, could I get a glass of water?” A voice calls behind you.
“Sure thing, do you want—” you start, but freeze when you look up to see who just sat down at the bar.
He smiles, white teeth flashing in the lights. His bleached hair is parted down the middle, falling over his forehead in frizzy, crimped waves.
“…Ice?” you finish lamely.
His brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and your stomach does a little flip.
“Ice? Nah. Well, just—whatever you got’s good. Thanks.”
You nod, swiping a glass and filling it quickly from the tap.
“Hey, great assist tonight by the way.” The words tumble from your lips as you set the glass down in front of him.
His eyes flicker with interest as they meet yours again. “You saw the game?”
His jacket gapes a little off his waist, the width of his shoulders filling it out as he reaches for the glass.
“I always turn the TV to local sports.” You motion to the TV in the corner of the bar. As if he couldn’t see it for himself.
“Shit, seriously? That’s cool.” His gaze lingers on you for a second before he clears his throat, then shifts on the barstool to hold out his hand. “Hey, I’m Teacake, by the way. Well, Travis, technically, but everybody calls me that. Or Tea.”
You smile, setting down the glass you were holding and reach out to clasp his hand in yours. But when you look down at your hands, you forget entirely how to introduce yourself.
His hands are so big that his palm practically engulfs yours, and his long, blunt fingers brush your wrist, warm against your skin.
“How we doin’ on those shots?” Someone calls.
You jump, the music swelling back into your ears, and you drop Teacake’s hand. Looking up, you find Gus now standing at the bar. He’s tall and lean, with black hair that’s shaved down short. You recognize him as the team’s right winger.
“Y-yeah! Yeah, got ‘em right here,” you say, flashing Teacake an apologetic look before flipping open the tequila bottle and pouring eight neat shots, all in a row. The liquor gurgles from the spout, splashing right into the glass bottoms without spilling a drop.
“Jesus, you’re really fast at that,” Teacake muses under his breath, and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile.
Gus turns around to face the bar, then cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Body shots!”
An answering chorus of whoops and cheers echo through the bar, and you shake your head in amusement. This is definitely a bad idea, but hey—it’s not every day you win the semifinals.
“We’re celebrating you tonight, man!” Jamison shouts over the music, coming up behind Teacake and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. A few of the girls fill the gaps between the stools in front of you, a cloud of sparkling tops and perfume. “What’dya say, girls?” he says, turning to them with a charming grin, sweaty brunette curls sticking to his face. “You wanna show our boy, Teacake, a good time?”
You grab a knife and slice into a fresh lime, the tart smell filling your nose, the sticky juice spilling over your fingers as you try not to look up at him.
“Hey, hey,” Travis says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”
A shadow falls over your cutting board, and you look up to see one of the girls shimmying herself up onto the bar top.
“Where do want it, Tea?” The girl asks coyly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Here?” She brushes her hand over her cleavage, and the boys crowd around, eyes eager, drinks hooked lazily in their hands. Her hand travels lower, circling the flat stomach peeking out under her top. “Or here?”
He swallows hard, then opens his mouth to say something, but she turns over her shoulder to you before he can.
“Hand me that, would you?” She says. The neon lights catch in her lashes, and she smiles.
You reach over to hand her a tequila shot, but she stops you, one manicured finger pointing beside you.
“No, I meant the bottle.”
Wordlessly, and a little reluctantly, you hand her the tequila bottle, as well as a pinch of margarita salt, and a fresh lime wedge. When she turns back to Travis, a chant starts up from the crowd.
"Tea-cake, Tea-cake, Tea-cake!”
The team’s bellows are so loud, they temporarily drown out the music. Everyone crowds in even more, and even Landon, their shy goalie, grabs a hold of Teacake’s jacket and shakes him a little in anticipation.
Travis raises his big hands, motioning for them to stop. A small smile tugs on the corner of his mouth, but he shakes his head, and the cheers dies out.
The girl on the bar starts to pout, her bottom lip slick with lip gloss. “You’re not any fun.”
“Oh, me?” Teacake asks, pointing a finger into his chest. “I’m fun. I’m huge fun! But look—” He fishes something out of his pocket, then holds it out proudly. “Fourteen months sober.”
He’s holding a sobriety coin. It’s a smooth, slightly tarnished bronze, but Teacake holds it like its treasure. It winks under the flashing lights as he weaves it between his knuckles in a practiced motion.
Gus groans. “That’s right. Sorry man. I forgot. I didn’t mean—”
“Nah, man, you’re good.” Teacake says, with a little shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, he holds out his hand for the drunk girl still perched in front of him. “Shit, here, let me help you down. And it’s not that I don’t want to, okay? Your tits look good. Great, I mean! They look great. Seriously.”
She looks up at him, then, and flashes him a small smile, turning back to her friends. You recognize that look. Pity.
It makes your stomach twist.
Travis is a fairly new addition to the Bucks. Apparently, after spending a short time in the slammer for something stupid, his childhood hockey coach decided to give him a fresh start. Saw his potential. Saw his heart.
He’s got more to prove than the others because of this, though, and you recognize that earnest desire to succeed. It matches your own.
Maybe that’s why you find yourself leaning over the bar in front of him and saying, “You know, you don’t have to drink alcohol in order to do a body shot.”
Travis looks over his shoulder at you, and his lips part in surprise. Like, he almost can’t believe you are speaking to him again. The rest of his team still stands around, but they aren’t listening anymore.
“There are…other ways.” you continue, mouth suddenly dry.
He twists towards you, wide shoulders taking up your vision as he leans over the bar, meeting you halfway. “Oh yeah?” His hair flops in his face as he tilts his head. “What other way are we talkin’ about here?”’
You smirk to yourself, then plant your hands on the sticky bar top and level his gaze.
“Oh. Oh, shit. You mean off me?” His eyes widen and he glances at the girls, then back at you. “Trust me, these girls don’t wanna—”
“I bet they would,” you interrupt with a shrug you hope looks casual. “But I wasn’t talking about them.”
He lets out a quiet, stuttering laugh. “Are….are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’ right now? You want to do a body shot off me?”
Landon, Gus, and Jamison all turn around sharply in unison. It’s honestly kind of impressive for three guys as drunk as they are.
“Wait, what did he say?” Landon asks.
Jamison gestures towards you with his glass. “I think the bartender’s doing a body shot off Tea.”
At that moment, the song changes. It turns into something with a deep bass, and a sexy tempo that sits low in your hips, humming up your spine.
“Ohhh yeah. Yep, this is happening!” Gus shouts. “Clear the bar top!”
A blur of hands grab their drinks from the ledge before you can blink. Gus sure knows how to command a room.
Travis rubs his neck. “I don’t know, man. I’m trying to get better at not getting talked into shit, you know?”
Jamison scoffs. “What’s the harm in this, T? You’re not the one drinking!”
A cheer runs through the crowd, and in a matter of seconds, the boys have Teacake laid out on the bartop like your personal offering. He’s scoffing, batting their hands away, lips twisted in disgust as they try to rip up his shirt.
“Ah—okay, what the hell, man? Jesus,” he hisses. “Can take off my own damn shirt…”
Getting a knee up on the counter for leverage, you climb up onto the bar top with him, and man, that really makes the crowd go crazy.
You seek out his eyes underneath the neon lights as your knees find their place on either side of his hips. His jacket is gone, leaving his chest heaving underneath a mussed white T-shirt, and his tongue darts out over his bottom lip as his gaze meets yours.
He blushes, but doesn’t look away, so you turn to the girl from before, who’s standing on the ground watching.
“Can I see that?” You ask. She hands the tequila bottle up to you, clearly a little chagrined she didn’t think of this first. “Thanks.”
Snatching a pinch of salt from the counter, and a fresh lime wedge, you lean back on your heels and look down at Teacake.
He’s so wide and broad underneath you, your knees almost ache from being spread so far, planted on either side of his ribs. His chest is warm through the cotton shirt, brushing against your inner thighs.
The rest of him is just as good, from the sliver you can see. His stomach made up of strong muscles under a thin layer of fat you just want to sink your teeth into.
“There’s no fucking way this is happening,” he mutters in awe.
“Why not?” you ask.
“Why not? I mean—look at you! You’re, like, insanely hot and shit.”
You smile. “So are you.”
And he is.
You raise your head to look at the crowd. They’re all gathered around, awaiting your next move as the song’s tempo picks up.
“Where should I put the salt, boys?” You yell over the music.
A chorus of suggestions rise, each one more risqué than the last, but you turn back to Teacake and move down his body.
“I think…” You tilt your head, pursing your lips. “Here.”
“Jesus,” Travis hisses, dropping his head back against the bar as you swipe the lime across the sliver of skin just above his waistband, then sprinkle salt over the gleaming strip. “Are you sure you—”
“Hold this for me, would ya?” You reach up and press the lime wedge peel against his mouth, muffling his words.
Slowly, under your watchful gaze, his lips part and his teeth accept it.
“Atta girl!” Jamison shouts. “Show him who’s boss!”
Gus cheers, slinging an arm around one of the girls. “Finally, someone who knows how to shut Tea up!”
Travis’ nostrils flare as the lime invades his senses, his pupils dilated and fixed on you. The swinging lights skitter across his lashes, painting his freckles in gold.
“Good boy.” You murmur, smiling. “Now pull that shirt up higher.”
The boys whoop so loudly the vibrations travel through your kneecaps planted on the bar. They crowd around closer, slamming open palms into each other’s chests, slinging drinks around.
You’ll have to stay late cleaning this place up. But, considering the view in front of you right now, it’s so worth it.
Teacake scoffs against the lime at your order, but his lips quirk. The veins in his hands flex as he reaches down and grabs his shirt and drags it higher.
The glass bottle feels slick in your sweaty palm, salt chunks digging into the pads of your fingers in the other, and your heart hammers against your ribs as you stare down at him.
Lick. Shoot. Suck.
Easy.
But as his shirt lifts, revealing hard pecs beneath warm, soft fat, and a chestful of dark hair, your mouth parts on an exhale. He’s so big, and so warm. Like a damn furnace underneath you right now.
Suddenly, you’re consumed by the urge to know what it’s like to burrow into his side and use that heavy arm like your personal weighted blanket. Your head swims like you’ve already slammed the shot, and—fuck, what are you supposed to do again?
Right. Lick.
You shuffle down until your face is practically level with his crotch as the song builds to the chorus. He’s wearing dark jeans, spread tight over his thick, muscular thighs. God, if you were alone right now…
But you’re not. And you have a job to do.
Slowly, you lower your body. You’re utterly entranced by the way his breath heaves once, twice, his head tipping up to look at you, and then your mouth descends—just as the beat drops.
Cheers erupt, but you hardly hear them over the blood rushing in your ears.
The harsh bite of salt invades your tongue, but you swipe it across his skin eagerly, looking for the taste of him underneath it.
With the hand that isn’t clenched around the bar top for stability, you tip the bottle just enough for a small pool of tequila to land on his stomach. His core clenches as it splashes over his body, pooling in his navel before running in rivulets down his sides.
He curses again from behind the lime, but you swoop in, slurping the alcohol off his body, letting your lips drag over the dips and valley of skin and muscle. His stomach jerks beneath the hot, velvety glide of your tongue, and despite everything, a groan escapes him.
It’s muffled under the music, you more so feel it than hear it, but it sends a thrill down your spine.
The tequila bites your taste buds, hot and bitter, but the scent of his skin is overwhelming. Warm, but clean, probably from his shower after the game, with just a hint of sweat that makes embers stir between your hips.
Hollowing your cheeks, you suck gently, intent on getting every drop, and his hand twitches at his side as if he wants to grab your hair for you.
You look up when his chest vibrates under your lips and find him trying to say something to his teammate from behind the lime. One of the boys has his phone out, filming over Teacake’s shoulder with a wicked grin.
Travis waves him away, but it’s no use, and when he turns back to you, he’s laughing from behind the fruit, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
You laugh too, heartbeat fluttering against Travis’ thigh as you slide your tongue over his abs again. The tequila is gone now, but he deserves to have a video his teammates can wave around, make inside jokes about, or threaten to show everyone at the fancy hockey galas.
Finally, you pull back and crawl up his body. He looks up at you, brown eyes wide and pupils blown. That lime still pitifully stuck between his lips, flesh part facing you. Your hair brushes his cheek and his hand flies up. You think he’s going to brush it away, but instead, he reaches up under your hair, and cups the nape of your neck.
Your heart stops. His hand is so heavy, so warm, as he pulls you down. Your lashes flutter and you try to keep from grinning in excitement as you slowly, slowly lower your mouth down to his.
His breath ghosts along your cheek as your teeth sink into the flesh of the fruit. The sour tang hits the back of your throat, but you barely feel it, because your bottom lip slides across his.
Your stomach swoops, heat pooling in your belly. It feels like, for a moment, it’s just the two of you. No music. No onlookers. And when his other hand brushes your thigh beside his hip, you nearly forget how to breathe.
The hoots and hollers coming from the boys rip you back into the present, and you pull back just far enough to take the lime from your own mouth, but you stay hovered over him, your eyes on his.
He swallows hard, and his thumb brushes your thigh again. Intentional, this time. Earnest, and almost…grateful.
“So, you still think girls don’t want to do that to you?” You tease.
“I think—” He breaks into a helpless laugh. “Shit, man, if this is what’s waiting for me at the afterparty, I’ll win every fucking game.”
“Hey,” you smile down at him with a shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”
a/n: god, I need him bad. like, badddddddddd. expect more hockey!teacake soon. (my sports romance side is coming out, if you couldn't tell)
also, if you liked this, you might like soccer player!travis (football, for her lol) by @moonstoneandmoonlight.
teacake taglist: @xoxocelestial , @s3xytosomeone , @tellcherhesgone , @another-widow , leave a comment here if you want to join!
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