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big guns, pointed at my heart

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It’s after a home game about a month into the season when Travis looks up just in time to see Patty rip her shirt off, and thinks “I am perfect boob height on Pats.” Her brain kinda shorts out a little, and she realizes that she’s like, staring. She’s not sure why— she’s seen Patty shirtless before. This is just the first time she’s thought about being face-first in there. It’s a weird thought to have.

Travis doesn’t have the biggest boobs, so it’s maybe like, envy? And Travis is pretty short, so that’s just like, where her eyes go. It’s probably a normal reaction to having a lady-bro who’s such an amazon.

Patty’s wearing a grey Nike sports bra. Normal locker room attire. But there’s a dark patch of sweat at the band, and Travis can see her nipples kind of, and… it’s a look.

Maybe it’s little bit small on her— you aren’t supposed to have cleavage in a sports bra, right?— Patty should probably get resized.

On the other hand, Travis has never seen anyone look so good in a sports bra in her life. Should she get the same one?

Because Patty looks so good. Like, she’s wearing team-issued sweats and Adidas slides, and she’s just thrown a hoodie on, not even bothering with a shirt underneath, and she still looks like a babe. It makes Travis want to go root through her closet for a pair of matching slides, and a hoodie in as close to the same shade of beige as she can find— but maybe Patty only looks so good because Travis knows how sick her body is underneath. Maybe that was the whole point, knowing someone was a total rocket but having it all covered up, so it was like a little secret for you to carry around with you, remember when you least expected it. The whole outfit probably wouldn’t look as good on Travis.

She watches Patty grab an old spice deodorant out of her bag, and catalogues it along with the messy half bun her hair is thrown into and the way she tucks her sweatpants into her socks.

Travis wants to be friends with her so bad. She knows she does this, gets low-key obsessed with her friends, to the point where she wants to know what shampoo Patty uses so she can buy it, wants to borrow her clothes, do the same workouts. Make her laugh all the time. She kinda thought the desperation would go away once they were actually friends though.

“Teeks? Hello?” Simmer is snapping his fingers in her face, “What the fuck are you thinking about?”

And Travis is this close to saying “Patty’s boobs” before she remembers where she is and why that’s a bad idea.

Everyone likes boobs, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything. Even gay guys like boobs. She’d never thought much of it. Like, checking out the Sears catalogue lingerie section, rewinding that one scene in Titanic— that was normal shit to do when you were a kid.

 

It’s not until later that she thinks, oh, maybe it actually did mean something.

She’s in bed, getting off before she falls asleep. She has PornHub up on her laptop, and she’s watching some dude with a surprisingly pretty dick fucking some girl’s massive tits and all of a sudden she’s thinking about Patty’s tits in that sports bra, and Travis is the dude, shoving her dick in there, squeezed on all sides by soft skin and sweat and the damp edge of the bra, and then Travis is coming so hard that she’s not thinking about anything at all.

And like, it’s maybe a little more than a girl-crush to be getting off thinking about tit-fucking your bff.

She thought she’d been on enough teams, been around enough lesbians to know that she just— wasn’t. Lesbians were great, she loved lesbians. And as much as she had sometimes wished she was one, some fucking tall dude with stupid hair and a stupid face would always turn up, and it was like, yep, still straight.

Lawson was the tallest and stupidest of them all, so she dated him for a year and a half; she calls him before she can think better of it, because despite being exes, he’s still her best friend. Bros and hos or whatever.

She’s feeling a little frantic by the time he picks up, and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, “did you think I was a lesbian? Like, when we were dating?”

“Um, hi TK, hello to you too…”

“Yeah, yeah, hi-how-are-you, so— did you ever think I was a lesbian?”

Lawson snorts. “Is that a trick question? You literally wanted to suck my dick all the time.”

“C’mon, I need you to take this seriously!”

“I mean… yeah. You play hockey. You have a snapback collection. I thought you were gay until the moment you fell on my dick…”

Travis laughs a little hysterically at that.

“So, what brought this on? Are you having a late-in-life realization?” asks Lawson.

“Fuck you, it’s not late in my life.”

“Yeah, but, you know what I mean. You good?”

“I mean, maybe? I dunno, shit’s weird and confusing.”

“Your face is weird and confusing.”

 

And shit doesn’t get less weird and confusing.

She basically can’t be in the weight room with Patty anymore.

When Patty works out she gets this angry bitchy focused look on her face, and she gets so red. It’s maybe worse because Travis has actually seen Patty naked a whole bunch. Like, she can just go back into her memory banks or whatever, and pull up any image she wants. And all Travis can think about is how far down that blush goes. And how overwhelming it would be to straddle her ribcage and look down and see that grumpy red face looking up at her, like she was embarrassed and pissed off, but into it too.

G gave her and Patty a speech at the beginning of the season about how they could talk to her about anything, because she’d been through all the shit they were dealing with, and all that other captain shit. If any of the guys gave them a hard time or was a creep in the locker room, she wasn’t going to let that slide. Travis never thought that she’d be the one who was a creep in the locker room.

 

She manages to avoid hanging out for almost a week, until an overtime win on a Friday night means that she absolutely can’t get out of getting shit-faced with the team.

They cram into slightly too few booths, and Travis manages to sit with the old guys; she thinks she’s doing a pretty good job of being chill and not thinking too much about her boob-shaped problem, until Simmer slams down a pitcher on their table and announces, “Oh my god, Patty’s picking up!”

“Our little baby’s all grown up…” Coots mimes wiping a tear from his eye.

Travis cranes her head to see— if Patty actually is picking up (and Travis isn’t convinced, no matter what Simmer says), she needs to see it. She doesn’t really stop to interrogate why exactly it is that she needs to see what Patty looks like when she’s into someone, when she’s kissing someone, so fucking badly.

And well—

Of course Patty’s gay.

Obviously that’s no problem.

It had just honestly never occurred to her that Patty might be.

Every lesbian Travis has ever played with has had a terrible haircut, rainbow printed something, somewhere. Crocs and too long shorts. It’s like they all imprinted on Crosby at an impressionable age, probably all have her posters still up in their childhood bedrooms, and decided to copy the fashion sense too.

Patty doesn’t have terrible hair— she has great hair, if a little greasy. Travis wants to pull it. In a sex way, for sure, but also in a stupid playground pigtail way.

And now Travis is stuck wanting to absolutely murder the pretty brunette Patty is now making out with in the corner.

“Fuck, ow!”

Travis looks back to the table and sees Coots clutching the back of his head.

“Sean, you cannot watch Patty picking up,” says G.

“Well it sounds gross when you say it like that!”

“That’s because it is gross.”

“I gotta take a leak.” Travis pulls herself out of the booth and heads to the bathroom to chill out. She hasn’t stood up in a while, and she feels drunker than she thought she was.

When she gets to the bathroom it’s mercifully empty. She splashes some water on her face, and just stares at the mirror. This is her face. This is who she is. She knows how to be what guys want. Or at least, how to be fun and cute and down for whatever. She doesn’t know how to be what Patty wants.

A tiny blonde girl stumbles into the bathroom and Travis jumps a little bit. The girl looks startled for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. It’s a nice laugh, but it fades a little when she sees the expression on Travis’s face.

“Hey, whoever he is, he isn’t worth it.”

Travis chokes out a wet sounding laugh. “Thanks.”

The girl keeps talking as she heads into a stall. “Seriously, no dude is ever worth it. I once dated a guy who didn’t own plates— he just ate all his food out of mugs or beer glasses.”

When she comes back out, she turns her back to Travis and says, “Zip me up?”

Travis pulls the zipper of her jumpsuit up past a tattoo that says something about love and time, and the band of a red lacy bra; she holds her ponytail up so it doesn’t catch on the zipper teeth, and Travis can see the soft little hairs at the nape of her neck. She smells amazing.

Fuck, Travis loves drunk girls in bar bathrooms so much. FUCK. She loves girls so much.

“Oh, hey, hey. It’s ok! Do you need me to go get someone?”

“No, I’m good.” She tries to smile, and it must work at least a little bit, because the girl squeezes her arm and heads back out to the bar.

As Travis walks back towards the team she sees that Patty has returned to the booth, squeezed between G and Coots. They seem to be having a pretty serious discussion, and Travis freezes when she hears her name over the noise of the bar.

“She’s really not queer at all?”

“Nah, Teeks is all about the dick.”

“Ew, Sean.”

He shrugs a bit, “What, its true! You were here last season.”

G rolls her eyes. “She’s one of those girls who really seems like she should be a lesbian, but unfortunately for you, isn’t.”

Travis wants to cry. It’s the stuff everyone on every team she’s played on has been saying this whole time. And— she just didn’t even realize.

She steps closer and makes eye contact with G, who says, “Eh, speak of the devil.”

Patty snaps her head up from where she had been studying her beer glass and turns bright red.

Travis leaves as soon as she can. 

 

The next day at practice Patty keeps giving her these sad eyes across the ice. Or, she still has her massive bitch face, but Travis can tell it’s like, a sad bitch face.

It’s just— what is she supposed to say? I have a crush on you? I can’t stop staring at your boobs? Travis thought she was incapable of feeling shame at this point. Shamelessness is kind of her thing, but she can’t be shameless about this.

Travis basically runs out of the locker room as soon as practice is over, drives home so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get a ticket.

She’s barely been home for 10 minutes when someone starts banging on her door. It’s Patty of course. Her hair is still wet from the shower, and her sweatpants have a huge rip in them, and she looks so good.

“How did you even get here so fast?”

“I got Provy to give me a ride. I told him I’d bake him cookies if he got me here in under 20 minutes.”

Travis gives her an incredulous look. “You can bake?”

“I mean, I’m obviously not going to do it.”

Nolan kind of stomps past Travis into the kitchen. She stares out the window for a moment, and then sighs loudly, turns back to Travis, and stares expectantly.

“Um, do you want a gatorade—“

“Teeks, what the fuck is going on? Why are you being so fucking weird?” Travis makes a sort of choked out groaning noise.

Nolan sags a bit, looks back at the floor. “I mean, it’s whatever. Just, if you like, don’t want to be my friend any more— let me know, and I’ll just, fucking. Leave you alone I guess.”

Travis can’t help her reaction— “God, Patty, of course I still want to be your friend, I’m like, obsessed with you.”

Patty gives her an extremely dubious look. “So obsessed with me that you decided to ignore me for a week and a half?”

And there’s the worst thing. Travis has never been someone who’s cared about her friends thinking she’s clingy. Fuck, she just wants everyone to know how she feels about them. She’s so stupid. This is so stupid.

“No, I mean, fuck, I like you. I LIKE-like you. Like, I want to hold your hand and cook you dinner and like, sit on your face like you.”

Patty bites back a startled sounding laugh, before her mouth settles into a soft oh of surprise. Neither of them say anything for a minute. Travis’s hands are sweaty. Is it always this hot in her apartment? She feels like she can’t breathe properly.

“Cook me dinner?” Patty raises an eyebrow.

“Ok, buy, BUY you dinner.”

“This isn’t some weird pity thing right? I know you heard G talking about my stupid crush on you last night. I thought you were being weird about that maybe.”

“Of course not, what the fuck? And anyways, I just heard the part where everyone was talking about how straight I am. Which like, they’re wrong about I guess…” And Travis mostly lives her life either five steps ahead of or behind everyone else. She’s confused or she’s confusing people. But she suddenly has the feeling of the past few moments of conversation slamming into her like a body check. “Wait— your crush on me?”

“Yeah, why do you think we were talking about you? They were trying to like, lower my expectations.” Patty smirks. “I mean, it’s you, my expectations were already pretty low.”

“Fuck off.” Travis tries to sound pissed but it’s kinda hard when she’s grinning so much.

Patty’s grinning a bit too. 

“So— you have a crush on me.” Patty nods.

“And I have a crush on you,” Travis says, more to herself. She doesn’t understand why they aren’t kissing yet, but she can’t make herself move closer, do anything about it. It still feels like something she’s not allowed to do. Patty’s not making a move either, just smiling softly, red-faced. Looking stupid hopeful.

Travis says, “Ok, I will buy you whatever takeout you want for dinner if you kiss me first.”

Patty snorts, but walks forwards and kind of backs her up against the fridge. Travis feels wild, feels like she did when she was a kid waiting at the top of a rollercoaster, other kids crying around her but she never felt anything but giddy excited can’t-wait-can’t-wait-can’t-wait.

She’s practically bouncing on her heels when Patty finally slides her hand around the back of Travis’s neck and leans down, presses their mouths together softly, pulls back. Leans in and kisses Travis again, slower, wetter, deeper. She can feel Patty’s hips pressing her into the fridge, her tits pressing against Travis’s. It’s the best. Travis pushes back.

Patty lets Travis move her backwards until she’s sitting on one of the kitchen stools, so that they’re the same height. This way it’s easier for Travis to get her hands in Patty’s hair, shove herself between Patty’s legs, get a hand under her sweatshirt. Her brain is white noise; her hands feel magnetized to everywhere on Patty’s body.

Patty breaks away and leans back to pull off her hoodie. She’s not wearing a shirt underneath, and this time Travis can stare as much as she wants. Patty smirks a little, and Travis pulls her back in, breaths into her neck, gets her hands all over Patty’s tits, and goes for it so hard she’s kind of worried about knocking Patty over. This is better than she imagined, and she imagined it a lot. It feels addictive to squeeze, and to rub Patty’s nipples with her thumbs, try to get her to make noise.

Travis never thought getting to second base in her kitchen at one in the afternoon would feel like a fucking religious experience.

 

Later, when Patty’s sprawled on Travis’s couch in sweatpants and a sports bra, surrounded by empty takeout containers, Travis sets down her chopsticks and half eaten bento box and knee-walks over. She reaches down and cups one of Patty’s boobs, feels the weight in her hand, and squeezes a little. “I am literally going to write poetry about your tits.”

Patty sighs. “Please don’t.” She pulls Travis in for a kiss, and, well, Travis is pretty easy to shut up when it comes down to it.