suzie_shooter (suzie_shooter) wrote,

Fic - Holding Serve (The Musketeers, AU)

Title: Holding Serve
Pairings: Athos/Porthos
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1,900
Summary: Quick tennis AU for evilmaniclaugh, because the Tsonga match was giving us Porthos feels, and the only person who gets more Porthos feels than us is Athos...

"Fuck. Fuck it." Porthos hurled his kitbag into the hallway and slammed the front door hard enough to make the glass rattle. He threw his racquets down after his bag, and, feeling he might not have made his feelings on the matter entirely clear, shouted "Shitting fuck!" at the top of his voice.

"You know, that probably counts as racquet abuse," said a dry voice, and he looked up to find Athos leaning in the doorway to the kitchen with his arms folded.

"Do you know what happened?" Porthos demanded, as if there'd been any question over the fact that Athos had been following his match point by point from the commentary box monitors.

Athos nodded. "Unlucky. You were making a good comeback before the rain came."

"One game. One more pissing game, and I'd have had him!"

"Well, now you get to finish him off tomorrow."

"And God knows when that'll be. They'll probably shove us on after the main matches, just in case I fuck up my service and it goes on for fucking ever. Which it probably will now."

"Don't say that," Athos said sharply. "You'll be fine."

"I'm supposed to be playing bloody doubles tomorrow," Porthos complained, ignoring him. "They'll probably schedule both games at the same time. And I'll fuck that up too and Aramis will hate me as well."

"Nobody's going to hate you," Athos said soothingly, too used to Porthos' energy spilling off court in heated rages to be worried. They were like summer storms, over as soon as they'd blown in. He put his arms round Porthos and hugged him, feeling the moment the tension went out of him.

"God I could do with a drink," Porthos groaned. Athos raised an eyebrow and he could have bitten his tongue off. "Sorry. Sorry. That was tactless. I'm a twat."

Athos had been his doubles partner for years until a well-publicised drinking problem had driven him out of the game and into re-hab. He'd been dry for three years, largely thanks to Porthos' unwavering support, and now made his living as a commentator, where his chequered background combined with his clipped tones and occasional sharp wit made him immensely popular.

"Hold that thought," Athos said now, and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back holding out a bottle of beer. "One. You can have one. You need to be on top form tomorrow."

Porthos just looked at him. "What? I figured you'd need one," Athos sighed. "I've not touched it, okay? I do have some willpower left. Just clean your teeth before you kiss me." He grinned and Porthos finally smiled back, ignoring the beer and pulling Athos into his arms, kissing him hard.

"I love you," Porthos murmured.

Athos smirked. "Prove it by holding serve against Bonacieux tomorrow."

"Hey! Not fair." But Porthos was laughing, and finally picked up the bottle of beer, holding it against his forehead for a second before pulling off the top and taking a long drink.

"Fuck, that's better." He followed Athos into the living room, toeing off his trainers and shedding his jacket as he went. They were sharing a small house in the suburbs of Wimbledon, rented for the duration of the tournament - although there'd been a few moments in the game today when Porthos had started to think he wouldn't be needing it for the second week.

"Have you spoken to Aramis?" Athos asked, wondering whether Porthos' doubles partner was aware their schedule for the next day might have been fritzed.

"Last I heard he was hooking up with one of the ball-boys. Long-haired, wide-eyed and not nearly as innocent as he appeared, if you ask me. D'Artagnan was it? Something like that."

"Tell me 'ballboy' is a just figure of speech," Athos pleaded.

Porthos snorted. "It's okay, he was at least nineteen. I think Aramis was quite keen to discover his ball-handling skills though."

Athos put his face in his hands in mock despair, and Porthos nudged him, grinning. "How about we have an early night? You can take my mind off things. I'll only worry, else."

"You should eat. Properly. And then get some decent sleep, and - "

"And be up early to train, I know, I know." Porthos drained the rest of the beer and wiped his mouth with his hand, stifling a burp. "But I'm too wound up to eat, and I'll just lie there thinking about all the ways I could fuck up tomorrow." He rested his chin on Athos' shoulder and gave him puppy-eyes until Athos shoved him off, trying not to laugh.

"Fine. But if you're knackered tomorrow you don’t get to blame me."

"Think of it as motivating me," Porthos suggested wickedly. "What's the saying the English have? Keeping my pecker up."

"I don't think they mean it literally," Athos sighed, but he didn’t object as Porthos dragged him upstairs.

They took turns in the bathroom, and Athos was lying on the bed in a towelling robe when Porthos emerged stark naked and walked across to throw the window wide open.

Athos watched him, thinking about how lucky he was to have him, not just after everything they'd been through, but at all. On top of being the sweetest man Athos had ever met, Porthos had an incredible body and wasn't in the least shy about showing it off. In point of fact -

"Do you really need to give the neighbours that much of a show?" Athos asked acidly. "We'll get complaints."

"Complaints!" Porthos turned to look at him indignantly, then grinned. "I've never had any complaints yet." Athos had to concede he had a point. The front view was just as enticing as the rear, and he felt his own cock stirring in anticipation.

"It's too hot," Porthos was explaining. "Especially when you consider we're about to make things hotter." He let his eyes roam over Athos' body; his bare calves, the curve of his hip, the glimpse of hair where the robe was hanging open at his chest.

Porthos was getting hard, and made no effort to disguise the fact, standing facing the bed and letting Athos watch his cock slowly rising in front of him, wanting Athos to know it was because of him.

He knew Athos was self-conscious about the way he looked; when he'd crashed out of the game he'd at first put on a lot of weight, and then lost entirely too much and was sensitive about it. But to Porthos he was still the most attractive, sexy, infuriatingly obliviously adorable man in the entire world, and he'd never wanted anyone else.

Porthos drifted closer, idly fondling himself and smirking as Athos' growing erection emerged from the folds of his robe.

"It's like a little periscope," Porthos grinned, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

"Oi. Less of the little." Athos flicked him painfully on the arm and lay back, letting Porthos sink down over him, kissing him slowly. "Mmn. Minty."

"You're the one who made me clean my teeth," Porthos pointed out, sliding a hand inside Athos' robe and pinching his nipple. "Are you gonna take this off, or what?"

Athos sat up and let Porthos push the robe back off his shoulders, freeing his arms and pulling Athos into his lap. They kissed each other hard, holding on to each other with a kind of fierce love, that managed to be both possessive and tender, familiar and exciting all at once.

They were both achingly hard by now, and Porthos pushed Athos back down to the bed, reaching out to the nightstand only to discover that Athos had already laid out condoms and lube while he'd been in the bathroom.

"I like a man who plans ahead," Porthos growled, nipping at Athos' earlobe before sitting up and tearing open a condom with unseemly haste.

"Shut up and fuck me." Athos wrapped his legs around Porthos' hips and started jerking himself off while he watched Porthos rolling the condom on.

"Impatient little bugger, aren't you?" Porthos grinned, slicking his fingers up with lube and shoving Athos' legs wider apart.

"Thought I said less of the little"? Athos objected, but his next thoughts were lost in a gasp as Porthos' hand disappeared between his legs and suddenly there were fingers where there hadn't been fingers a second ago.

"Fuck." Athos pushed himself down onto them, letting Porthos work him open with firm, careful movements that soon had Athos shivering with need.

"Please," Athos begged, needing to be stretched by more than fingers, needing the ache of being filled by Porthos' cock, needing the feeling of being held down and fucked. "Please."

Porthos didn't need to be asked again, was already more than ready for this, the frustrated energy of the interrupted game still bouncing around inside him looking for an outlet. He worked lube up his cock with a messy palm and knelt before Athos, who hoisted his knees up immediately.

Not teasing now, Porthos settled Athos more comfortably and thrust inside him, leaning forward and propping himself up, hands buried in the bedclothes either side of Athos' chest. Athos wrapped his legs around him, urging Porthos deeper and letting his head fall back with a deep groan of satisfaction as he felt Porthos' cock start pounding into him.

With the rented bed protesting every step of the way, they fucked each other to a panting standstill, Porthos knowing Athos not only could but loved to take him at his roughest. With Athos spread beneath him he finally slowed his last strokes, drawing his hard length in and out of him with agonising slowness, knowing Athos was as close as he was and by now must be so sensitive that this would be sweet hell.

Athos was beyond speech, eyes dark and fixed on Porthos' face, lips parted, chest heaving and the most beautiful sight Porthos had ever seen. He lowered his face to Athos', kissing him slowly and intently for a long moment before arching back and spending his release inside him, shaking and exultant. Athos came seconds later, spurting over Porthos' chest in thick streaks, his hands clenched convulsively in the tangled sheets.

Gasping for breath, Porthos pulled out carefully and rolled onto his back to recover. He sought out Athos' hand with his and they lay side by side for a long while, panting and laughing.

Eventually Porthos sat up and disposed of the condom that was slipping from his softening cock. He grabbed some tissues and wiped himself down, muttering darkly about Athos' unnatural ability to never get any on himself.

"I can't help it," Athos told him smugly, wriggling under the sheet. "My cock just inclines in your direction. Think of it as a compliment. Or a compass. You're my sexual magnetic north."

Porthos snorted, climbing in beside him. "You sure you haven't been drinking?"

Athos pulled Porthos into his arms and kissed him. "You're all I need," he murmured sincerely, and Porthos hugged him tight, choked with sudden emotion.

"If I lose tomorrow - " Porthos started, after they'd been lying in a close embrace for some minutes.

"You won't."

"If I do though."

"Then I'll personally hunt Bonacieux down and cut all his racquet strings," promised Athos. "And puncture his balls."

Porthos smiled. "Tennis balls?"


Porthos laughed. "I love you. Did I mention that?"

Athos rolled over and looked down at him. "I love you too," he said quietly. "Whether you win or lose. You know that."

"I know." Porthos stroked a hand down Athos' cheek and smiled at him. "I'm gonna fucking win though."

Athos dropped down into his arms again and kissed him, grinning. "You better fucking had, after this amount of motivation."

Tags: fic, the musketeers
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