suzie_shooter (suzie_shooter) wrote,

Fic - Returning Serve (The Musketeers, AU)

Title: Returning Serve
Pairings: Athos/Porthos
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 2,656
Summary: Tennis AU. Sequel to 'Holding Serve', for evilmaniclaugh. It has kissing in the rain, and massage-leading-to-hand-jobs. What more could you want?


As his second round match ground into a fifth set, Porthos experienced a certain sense of de ja vu. On the plus side he had the confidence that came from just having won a five setter, and with clear skies above, had a reasonable expectation that this match at least could be wrapped up in one day.

But as the shadows lengthened and his opponent stubbornly refused to relinquish his serve, Porthos started to wonder if the match was ever going to end - although it wasn't until he glanced up at the players' box and noticed that Athos had slid in to sit next to coach Treville that he realised just how late it must actually be getting.

He knew Athos had been commentating on the Centre court matches that afternoon, and if he was here that meant they'd all been wrapped up. Porthos glanced up at the clock and was surprised to realise it was gone nine pm.

Sitting down for the brief respite between games - both players having once again retained serve - he allowed himself to glance back up at the box. Athos, hidden behind sunglasses in the last rays of the evening sun caught the look and gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

Porthos looked studiously down at the grass, draping his towel over his head to hide the smile he couldn't stop from tugging at his lips. With Athos' work commitments there weren't many of Porthos' matches he could come and watch in person, although they were at least normally travelling to the same places on the tour.

He wondered what whoever was commentating on this match was currently saying. As Porthos' ex-doubles partner, the cameras were bound to have picked Athos out by now. Their relationship was something of an open secret, albeit in the closed world of the tennis circuit. The commentators would almost certainly be aware of it, while the general public wasn't - although there'd been plenty of speculation over the years. They'd never really made a conscious decision to hide it, just with everything else they'd had to contend with, it had seemed less important to address.

Porthos bounded into the next service game with renewed energy and held to love, to the enthusiastic approval of the crowd - only for his opponent to hold his in turn. This went on for the next twenty minutes, and with no fifth-set tie break and the light rapidly fading, the end finally came with more of a whimper than a bang, and a suspension of play at nine-all, final set.


"I don't fucking believe it." Porthos slumped back against the wall of the changing room and groaned, pulling a hand down over his face.

Athos, having nipped quickly down from the stands to come and find him, leaned back against the lockers and smirked. "You're making a habit of this."

"Piss off." Porthos laughed, and shook his head. "Come on, let's go. I'll shower at home."

"Want me to call for a car?"

"Nah, let's walk. It's a nice evening."

They made their way out through the grounds, Porthos obligingly stopping to sign autographs whenever people asked, ignoring Athos' good-natured complaining that at this rate they'd never get home. Athos' muttering stopped abruptly when one eagle-eyed group recognised him as well and demanded selfies. He conceded with a show of reluctance, mostly because Porthos was cackling at him, knowing he was secretly pleased.

They finally escaped and made their way through the quieter back streets to the rented house. There was little traffic here and the air was heavy with the scent of summer roses, the heat of the day reflecting back up at them from the warm tarmac. They walked side by side, fingers occasionally brushing but not quite liking to hold hands in such a public space.

Upon reaching the house Porthos immediately shed his clothes in an untidy trail up the stairs and into the bathroom. Athos followed him, picking them up again and grumbling all the way, knowing both that Porthos wasn't taking the slightest bit of notice of him, and was also beyond training. Which wasn't going to stop him bitching about it.

Athos dumped the clothes in the laundry bin and followed Porthos into the bathroom, sitting on the closed lid of the loo to carry on talking to him, whilst watching him washing through the hazy condensation on the shower screen.

"You could come and join me you know," Porthos grinned, sticking his head round the side and flicking water at him.

"You could hurry up and come and eat," Athos countered, although he was certainly tempted. Porthos naked was a sight to behold: Porthos naked and wet was enough to make him weak at the knees. Not to mention hard somewhere else.

Porthos just rolled his eyes and ducked back behind the screen, although immediately turned round and pressed his cock obscenely up against the glass.

Athos snorted. "What are you, twelve?"

"Inches?" Porthos called back, and grinned triumphantly as he caught Athos' muffled laughter.

"I'm going," Athos told him, getting to his feet. "If you're not down in five minutes I'm eating your portion."

"Promises promises," Porthos shouted after him, still grinning.


They ate their supper in the tiny courtyard garden; it was still light enough to see by but bats were flitting to and fro over their heads and stars were coming out in the eastern sky. To the west though, dark stormclouds were gathering, and they eyed them suspiciously as they lingered over the last of the food.

Porthos had pulled on a clean grey t-shirt and blue shorts, his hair was still damp from the shower and his feet were bare. Athos was in jeans and a cotton shirt, his sunglasses pushed forgotten to the top of his head.

"Uhh." Porthos stretched out his arms with a wince, working out the kinks in his shoulders. He'd played - and won - a doubles match that morning as well, and was feeling the ache in his muscles.

That match at least had been an uncomplicated affair won in straight sets, neither he nor Aramis dropping serve at all. It just seemed to be his singles matches that were proving ridiculously complicated. It would have been funny if he hadn't been so tired.

He stifled a yawn, and Athos slid a hand onto his thigh.

"You okay?"

"Mmmn." Porthos nodded, a second yawn catching him by surprise. "It's just been a long day."

"Bed, then?" Athos suggested, with a hint of a suggestive smirk.

Porthos took hold of his hand and squeezed it. "Definitely," he grinned. "Although I'd quite like to just sit here for a bit if you don't mind? It's - nice. To just be quiet like this?" He made the suggestion a little hesitantly, not wanting Athos to think he was turning him down in any sense - but Athos smiled fondly at him and leaned back in his chair.

"It is nice," Athos agreed, letting his head fall back and staring up at the circling bats. "We should do this more often. Why don't we?"

The answer came in a distant rumble of thunder, and before another minute had passed big spots of rain were falling on them. They gathered up the supper things hastily, half-laughing as the rain got harder, the drops cold and heavy on their sun-warmed skin.

The scent of rain on the flagstones and flowers was heady and Porthos paused in his clearing of the table and pulled Athos to him, kissing him impulsively while the rain continued to pelt down on them. Athos kissed back, wrapping his arms around Porthos and leaning into his warm body. They were both soaked by now, shirts sticking to them and Athos' hair was plastered across his face.

When they started to shiver they finally stumbled inside, still kissing, and abandoning the dinner plates to their fate.

Porthos laughed ruefully, looking at the rain pouring down the window like molten silver. "Ah, the British summer. Here's hoping it's dry by tomorrow." The recollection that he still had a match to finish made him tense up again, knowing the rest of the winners from his section of the draw would have the day off to rest and practice.

He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, and looked round as Athos slid an arm round his waist.

"Come on," Athos told him quietly. "You need to be getting horizontal."

Porthos yawned again and nodded, too worn out to even make a joke. He let Athos lead him upstairs, and sagged down onto the bed with a groan.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Athos asked with quiet concern, unbuttoning his shirt and taking his shoes off. He came to sit next to Porthos on the bed, helping him lift his t-shirt over his head and frowning in concern as Porthos winced again.

"I'm fine." Porthos shook his head. "Just a bit stiff." He smiled, waiting for Athos to pounce on the innuendo, but Athos was still looking at him assessingly. "What?" Porthos prompted.

Athos said nothing, but moved round to sit behind him, and a moment later Porthos realised why as gentle hands came to rest on his bare shoulders. The simple touch alone made him realise how tense he was, and Porthos made a conscious effort to relax. Athos knelt up on the bed behind him, methodically starting to work out the knots in his muscles.

Porthos groaned again, this time from approval, and Athos bent to kiss him on the shoulder.

"Lie down," he instructed. "Let me do this properly."

Porthos did as he was told without argument, wriggling out of his shorts and pants and lying full length on the bed. Athos discarded his own shirt and settled at Porthos' side clad in just his rain-spattered jeans, picking up where he'd left off and massaging his way unhurriedly down Porthos' back.

By now Porthos was almost purring with pleasure as Athos' fingers worked out the tension in his muscles and soothed his weary body with a deft and loving touch.

Athos didn't stop at his back, but carried on down and attended to Porthos' legs, stroking firm hands down his thighs and massaging the tightness out of his calves.

By the time he'd finished, Porthos was lying in a limp and happy daze, and Athos bent down to press a teasing kiss to the curve of his arse. "Better?" he asked.

"You're amazing, and I think I want to have your children," Porthos told him, rolling over and smiling up at him.

Athos shook his head, smiling back and running his fingers idly over Porthos' chest. "Idiot."

"So..." Porthos looked up at him hopefully. "Does this massage happen to have a happy ending?"

Athos looked innocent. "This is a strictly therapeutic and medically recommended massage this is. I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Pretending he hadn't noticed the fact that Porthos had been half-hard from the moment he turned over, and that his cock was visibly swelling even as he spoke.

"Athos!" Porthos protested. "Don't be mean."

"You should get some sleep," Athos told him seriously. "Plenty of rest. Conserve your strength. Think calming thoughts."

Porthos reached up and pulled Athos down into his arms and Athos finally cracked and grinned at him. "No?"

"Touch me," Porthos whispered gruffly, and Athos felt himself getting hard just from Porthos' tone of voice.

"Say please," he said, determined not to give in easily to Porthos' demands however much he wanted to, mostly because he was in a contrary mood.

"I said, touch me." Porthos worked a hand down the back of Athos' jeans and cupped his arse. Athos let out a breath, suppressing the urge to climb on top of Porthos and start rutting wildly against him. Instead he pulled away, sitting up before Porthos noticed he was as stiff as a board himself.

It didn't work: Porthos immediately reached out and ran a teasing fingertip along the line of Athos' erection under the denim.

"You touch mine, I'll touch yours," Porthos smirked. "Deal?"

"You think I'm that easily bought?" Athos retorted, but even as he spoke he gave in and let his hand drift down to wrap around Porthos' rigid cock.

"Hmmn." Porthos closed his eyes and pushed into Athos' touch, content to have got his way.

Athos gazed down at him, stroking him firmly with a slow hand and watching the smile that played about Porthos' lips as he savoured the feeling.

Porthos opened his eyes and caught Athos watching him. He grinned and Athos ducked his head, looking away with a slight blush to concentrate on what he was doing. Porthos' breathing was heavier now, and he was starting to buck helplessly into Athos' fingers, his cock slippery with pre-come.

"Athos." Porthos called his name quietly, and Athos looked round. "Kiss me."

Athos did as he was bid, then let his mouth linger softly against Porthos' lips, until the flicker of Porthos' tongue against his own made him crush forward instinctively, kissing him again, and harder.

Porthos reached up and gently untangled the sunglasses Athos had forgotten about from his hair, tossing them to the bed and framing Athos' face with his hands to kiss him all the deeper.

Sitting up with reddened lips and flushed cheeks, Athos returned his attention to Porthos' cock, jerking him faster now and loving the breathy, needy noises Porthos was giving. Athos was fully hard himself, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the seam of his jeans, and the feel of Porthos throbbing in his hand was only making him more desperate to come.

Athos could tell Porthos was close, his stomach was taut and his breathing was ragged, and he was biting his lips with the effort to make it last. Athos smiled at him, slowing the movement of his hand a little, twisting his palm just so and rubbing the ball of his thumb over the head. Porthos made a stifled noise and Athos' smile grew broader.

"Come for me," he murmured encouragingly under his breath. "Come for me Porthos."

"Fuck." Porthos surrendered and came explosively all up his stomach and chest, three long streaks of come splattering over his skin. Athos kept a hand snugly round his cock until it was over, then let his fingers trail through the mess until Porthos grabbed his hand.

"Your turn," Porthos growled, and released Athos' wrist to unzip his jeans. He squirmed round on the bed until he reached a better angle, then carefully drew Athos' cock out of the slit in his boxers and wrapped his fingers tightly around the shaft.

Athos leaned against Porthos' broad shoulder as Porthos jacked him off quickly and efficiently, knowing Athos would be too far gone and impatient to want to mess about. It was barely any time at all before Athos gave a groan and clutched at Porthos' arm, spurting his release over Porthos' ribs.

"You bastard," Porthos laughed hoarsely.

"Well, you were already in a mess," Athos pointed out, gradually getting his breath back. "Didn't want to get my jeans dirty, did I?"

"Serve you right if I rolled on you," Porthos told him, climbing off the bed with a grunt to go and clean himself up. When he came back Athos was beneath the covers, minus his jeans and Porthos lost no time in climbing in with him.

"Busy day tomorrow," Porthos yawned, nuzzling him for a kiss. "Match to finish. Arse to kick."

"Do you think next round you could manage to finish a match in one day?" Athos suggested dryly, taking him into his arms.

Porthos snorted. "Easy for you to say. Still, at least I'm getting the most out of the experience, eh? Not everyone can say they've played every day at Wimbledon."

"Certainly nothing wrong with your stamina," Athos agreed mischievously, and turned out the light.

Tags: fic, the musketeers
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