Fic -- Duel -- The Musketeers (2014) -- Athos/Porthos -- 18
Title: Duel
Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)
Pairing: Athos/Porthos
Word count: 1,000
Warnings:
Rating: 18
Disclaimers: I do not own this show but I would love to own Tom Burke
Beta:
Summary: Spoilers up to 1.04. Athos's duel has an interesting result.
Duel
With the usual polite nod Athos handed his pistol to Porthos then stripped out of uniform and accoutrements until he was dressed simply in breeches and a shirt. His face may have been immobile, but his stance exuded confidence as he approached the Duke of Savoy and adopted the en garde position.
Porthos wasn't used to the noble sport of dueling. He was more accustomed to a free flowing scrap in the street, a kill or be killed kind of justice. This fight was clinical; it began with both combatants in absolute control, calculating their moves in a high action game of chess where defence was everything. One quick flick of the rapier would end the contest and Porthos knew that Athos had no intention of being careless, despite losing out on body weight and ending up on the floor a couple of times.
But it wasn’t only the soulless display that was bothering him. Something else entirely different was preying on his mind. Never, under any circumstances, had Porthos considered a time when his unorthodox relationship with Athos could become a problem. He was no more attached to the man than he was to Aramis, he told himself. Athos was his brother-in-arms and occasional give or take lover. Nothing more.
In the past he'd seen soldiers fall in love and laughed at the nonsense as they declared themselves married to one another. Marriage was for duty and child rearing, not a fuck against a tree, post battle, when there was no one prettier close at hand.
Athos and he had just fallen into a habit, that was all. They got drunk and got naked then took it in turns to offer up their mouth or backside. So what? He’d never had issues with bedding one of his comrades. He loved having a regular outlet for his desires. He loved fucking. He loved being fucked. What could possibly go wrong?
It turned out to be the play of muscle under skin that was the hair trigger to his loss of control. Not that he could see any exposed parts of Athos, but he knew the damn muscles were there, hidden under loose clothing, stretching and reaching and thrusting as the man worked up a sweat. The flutter of excitement low in Porthos's belly was a telltale sign, as was the tingle in his balls and, thanking God for the coverage of his leather jerkin and cape, he felt himself harden to full extent as he watched the sword fight progress toward first blood.
It didn't help matters when Athos began to lose his cool, letting loose a series of vicious lunges and cuts with his rapier as Savoy defended himself with his dagger. Floored and defeated the Duke looked half the beast who'd begun the duel and his eyes gave away the truth that he knew he only had himself to blame. Bullish old bastard, thought Porthos with not one iota of compassion as the man picked himself up off the ground. The Duke of Savoy was cruel enough to have been a part of the massacre and, most likely, would have delighted in leading the slaughter.
Athos wiped the perspiration from his brow, breathless but brimming with satisfaction, and Porthos clapped him firmly on the back, elated despite his growing predicament. "I'm glad it was you. I'd've cut his bloody head off," he muttered.
Brotherhood within the regiment was the strongest of all bonds and the two musketeers were exchanging a look of understanding when Treville pulled Athos to one side.
"Your duty was to win, not start a war,” snapped the Captain. “You could have defeated him in a way that allowed him his dignity. Go and apologise."
Athos reacted in the way any good musketeer would when reprimanded by a senior officer, but Porthos could almost taste the anger bubbling beneath the surface. He'd never been a follower, in fact he'd always prided himself in being an impetuous type, prone to rushing off at the drop of a hat, hell bent on his own plans, but right now he found himself charging through the corridors of the palace, chasing after Athos.
Grabbing the man by the arm and waylaying him before he reached the Duke's suite of rooms Porthos pulled Athos into a poorly lit service passage and shoved him up against the wall. "Not thinking of making any bad decisions I hope."
"Depends what you mean by bad decisions.”
As Athos fought to free himself, Porthos, aroused by the struggle, leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth, taking both of them by surprise at the audacity of the move. After a moment's hesitation Athos gave in, threading the gloved fingers of one hand into Porthos's hair and dragging him closer to deepen the kiss. His free arm snaked around Porthos's waist pulling him tighter until Porthos moaned, hips thrusting forward as cock rubbed against cock.
Summoning up every ounce of self restraint, Porthos stepped back a pace. "Go and apologise to Savoy," he said in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. "I'd rather have you in bed where I can take care of you proper than slung in a prison cell and up on a murder charge."
"I was never going to kill the bastard. I may suffer from murderous intent, but I rarely carry it through." Athos smiled and let his hand rest momentarily on Porthos’s arm. "That display of affection was a little risky to say the least."
“We’re Musketeers.” Porthos grinned. “We live for danger.”
“Do we?” Athos raised an eyebrow in amusement and his fingers slid provocatively downward from Porthos’s arm to his crotch.
"Get that apology over and I'll show you exactly how affectionate I can be." More aroused than ever Porthos's voice was a low rumble which roughened even more as Athos caressed him in a most intimate way. "Go, damn you. Save it for later."
"Sooner rather than later I hope," said Athos, straightening his uniform and replacing his hat before heading for Savoy's quarters.
And as Porthos leant against the wall, allowing his breathing to return to normal, he swore he heard a cheerful whistle echoing down the corridors.
---end
Fandom: The Musketeers (2014)
Pairing: Athos/Porthos
Word count: 1,000
Warnings:
Rating: 18
Disclaimers: I do not own this show but I would love to own Tom Burke
Beta:
Summary: Spoilers up to 1.04. Athos's duel has an interesting result.
Duel
With the usual polite nod Athos handed his pistol to Porthos then stripped out of uniform and accoutrements until he was dressed simply in breeches and a shirt. His face may have been immobile, but his stance exuded confidence as he approached the Duke of Savoy and adopted the en garde position.
Porthos wasn't used to the noble sport of dueling. He was more accustomed to a free flowing scrap in the street, a kill or be killed kind of justice. This fight was clinical; it began with both combatants in absolute control, calculating their moves in a high action game of chess where defence was everything. One quick flick of the rapier would end the contest and Porthos knew that Athos had no intention of being careless, despite losing out on body weight and ending up on the floor a couple of times.
But it wasn’t only the soulless display that was bothering him. Something else entirely different was preying on his mind. Never, under any circumstances, had Porthos considered a time when his unorthodox relationship with Athos could become a problem. He was no more attached to the man than he was to Aramis, he told himself. Athos was his brother-in-arms and occasional give or take lover. Nothing more.
In the past he'd seen soldiers fall in love and laughed at the nonsense as they declared themselves married to one another. Marriage was for duty and child rearing, not a fuck against a tree, post battle, when there was no one prettier close at hand.
Athos and he had just fallen into a habit, that was all. They got drunk and got naked then took it in turns to offer up their mouth or backside. So what? He’d never had issues with bedding one of his comrades. He loved having a regular outlet for his desires. He loved fucking. He loved being fucked. What could possibly go wrong?
It turned out to be the play of muscle under skin that was the hair trigger to his loss of control. Not that he could see any exposed parts of Athos, but he knew the damn muscles were there, hidden under loose clothing, stretching and reaching and thrusting as the man worked up a sweat. The flutter of excitement low in Porthos's belly was a telltale sign, as was the tingle in his balls and, thanking God for the coverage of his leather jerkin and cape, he felt himself harden to full extent as he watched the sword fight progress toward first blood.
It didn't help matters when Athos began to lose his cool, letting loose a series of vicious lunges and cuts with his rapier as Savoy defended himself with his dagger. Floored and defeated the Duke looked half the beast who'd begun the duel and his eyes gave away the truth that he knew he only had himself to blame. Bullish old bastard, thought Porthos with not one iota of compassion as the man picked himself up off the ground. The Duke of Savoy was cruel enough to have been a part of the massacre and, most likely, would have delighted in leading the slaughter.
Athos wiped the perspiration from his brow, breathless but brimming with satisfaction, and Porthos clapped him firmly on the back, elated despite his growing predicament. "I'm glad it was you. I'd've cut his bloody head off," he muttered.
Brotherhood within the regiment was the strongest of all bonds and the two musketeers were exchanging a look of understanding when Treville pulled Athos to one side.
"Your duty was to win, not start a war,” snapped the Captain. “You could have defeated him in a way that allowed him his dignity. Go and apologise."
Athos reacted in the way any good musketeer would when reprimanded by a senior officer, but Porthos could almost taste the anger bubbling beneath the surface. He'd never been a follower, in fact he'd always prided himself in being an impetuous type, prone to rushing off at the drop of a hat, hell bent on his own plans, but right now he found himself charging through the corridors of the palace, chasing after Athos.
Grabbing the man by the arm and waylaying him before he reached the Duke's suite of rooms Porthos pulled Athos into a poorly lit service passage and shoved him up against the wall. "Not thinking of making any bad decisions I hope."
"Depends what you mean by bad decisions.”
As Athos fought to free himself, Porthos, aroused by the struggle, leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth, taking both of them by surprise at the audacity of the move. After a moment's hesitation Athos gave in, threading the gloved fingers of one hand into Porthos's hair and dragging him closer to deepen the kiss. His free arm snaked around Porthos's waist pulling him tighter until Porthos moaned, hips thrusting forward as cock rubbed against cock.
Summoning up every ounce of self restraint, Porthos stepped back a pace. "Go and apologise to Savoy," he said in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. "I'd rather have you in bed where I can take care of you proper than slung in a prison cell and up on a murder charge."
"I was never going to kill the bastard. I may suffer from murderous intent, but I rarely carry it through." Athos smiled and let his hand rest momentarily on Porthos’s arm. "That display of affection was a little risky to say the least."
“We’re Musketeers.” Porthos grinned. “We live for danger.”
“Do we?” Athos raised an eyebrow in amusement and his fingers slid provocatively downward from Porthos’s arm to his crotch.
"Get that apology over and I'll show you exactly how affectionate I can be." More aroused than ever Porthos's voice was a low rumble which roughened even more as Athos caressed him in a most intimate way. "Go, damn you. Save it for later."
"Sooner rather than later I hope," said Athos, straightening his uniform and replacing his hat before heading for Savoy's quarters.
And as Porthos leant against the wall, allowing his breathing to return to normal, he swore he heard a cheerful whistle echoing down the corridors.
---end