DEUCE | Art Donaldson & Patrick Zweig
summary ⇝ Art has been so stressed about his match coming up against his ex best friend and denies it completely, you’ve begged and begged him to relax before he agrees, until someone interrupts.
warnings ⇝ language, unestablished? relationship, kissing, smut! 3sum, softdom!art, mean!patrick, oral (M & F), masturbation (M), handjob, cum eating, spitting, rough sex, unprotected sex, riding, spanking, minor ass play, groping, scratching, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, not much aftercare, mdni.
read part 2 here
note: this one is a little 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓎 also is shorter than most of my fanfics, more porn than plot
Tomorrow Art would be playing against Patrick Zweig, his old time best friend and part time rival. Art told you he didn't worry for his match, but you saw the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion and the bags under his eyes grew darker. You told him to take a sleeping pill when he slept but he said he was getting enough hours of sleep, you had to act like you didn't feel him constantly moving around at night, tossing and turning.
"Art, I really think you should relax today. I can book you an appointment with a masseuse to help your muscles, or, y'know, you could sleep," You chewed on your bottom lip after telling him this, Art sighed, stopping his upper body exercises in the small gym.
"It's fine, honey. I'm fine. I feel totally relaxed," He gave you a tight lipped smile before he picked up the orange resistance band and began to pull at it. You watched his eyes glaze over in focus before sighing yourself, pushing off the wall and leaving the room.
You knew better than to press further. Art was stubborn and determined, traits that made him both a fantastic athlete and a frustrating partner at times. You loved him dearly, but his single-minded dedication to his sport often left little room for self-care. As you walked away, you couldn't help but worry about the toll this match against Patrick was taking on him.
The evening passed slowly. You busied yourself with mundane tasks, trying to keep your mind off Art's impending match. The air in your shared apartment felt thick with unspoken concerns. Art, still in his workout gear, moved from one exercise to another, the rhythmic sounds of his routine creating a steady background noise. You watched him from the kitchen, your heart aching for the man who pushed himself so hard.
When dinner time rolled around, you called out to him, "Art, dinner's ready." He nodded, wiping sweat from his brow before making his way to the table. You had prepared his favorite meal, hoping it would bring some comfort.
"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, sitting down and picking at his food. You could tell his mind was elsewhere, probably on tomorrow's match and the strategies he needed to employ.
"You're really worried about this, aren't you?" you asked softly, trying to meet his eyes.
Art sighed, finally setting his fork down. "It's not that I'm worried, exactly. It's just... Patrick and I, we go way back. This isn't just another match. There's a lot of history there."
You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. "I know. But you can't keep pushing yourself like this. You're going to burn out."
"I know you're right," he admitted, squeezing your hand. "But I can't help it. I need to be at my best."
"I understand," you said gently. "But you need to take care of yourself too. How about we go for a walk after dinner? Get some fresh air, clear your mind?"
Art considered it for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, that sounds nice."
After dinner, the two of you strolled through the nearby park, the cool evening air a welcome change from the stuffy apartment. The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot was soothing, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It was enough to just be together.
Eventually, Art broke the silence. "You know, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, pursuing this career so intensely."
You looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, it's all-consuming. I love it, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on other things. Important things."
You stopped walking, turning to face him. "Art, you have a passion and a talent that's incredible. But it's okay to have doubts. It's okay to want more than just your career."
He looked down, his expression thoughtful. "I just don't want to let anyone down. Not my team, not my fans... not you."
"You could never let me down," you said firmly. "I love you for who you are, not for what you achieve. And I'm here for you, no matter what."
Art pulled you into a tight hug, resting his chin on top of your head. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."
The walk seemed to have done some good, and by the time you returned home, Art appeared more relaxed. He took a long shower while you prepared some chamomile tea, hoping it would help him sleep better. When he emerged, you handed him a cup, and he accepted it gratefully.
"Let's try to get some good rest tonight, okay?" you suggested, leading him to the bedroom. He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.
As you both settled into bed, you reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. The room was plunged into darkness, the only sounds the faint hum of the city outside and Art's steady breathing.
"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.
"I love you too," you replied, snuggling closer to him. "We'll get through this, together."
That night, Art's restlessness seemed to ease. He still shifted occasionally, but there was a sense of calm that hadn't been there before. You stayed close, your presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of his thoughts.
The next morning, you woke to find Art already up, dressed in his gear and looking more focused than he had in days. There was a determined glint in his eye that made you believe he was ready for the match.
"Feeling better?" you asked, stretching and sitting up.
"Yeah," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think I am."
"Good. I'll be cheering for you," You said, giving him an encouraging kiss. You grabbed his racket and headed for his car. Once there, you packed all his equipment in the back. He drove the car this time, to the stadium. You two had gotten there earlier, for many reasons like him relaxing before the match and for him to get last minute practice.
He told you he was going to the sauna for an hour or so, you told him you'd wait outside, on the small bench as you decided to flip through a magazine. As Art headed towards the sauna, you found a small bench outside and settled down with a magazine. The warm, humid air from the sauna seeped out, creating a comfortable ambiance despite the anticipation buzzing in your mind.
Flipping through the magazine, you tried to distract yourself with celebrity gossip and fashion trends, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Art and the upcoming match. You couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at your insides, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the glossy pages in front of you.
Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you anxiously waited. You checked your watch every few minutes, unable to shake off the nervous energy that pulsed through you. Finally, just as you were starting to wonder if you should check on him, the sauna door creaked open, and Art emerged, white towel around his waist, his muscles shiny with sweat and his blonde hair darker and sticking to his forehead.
He called your name, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. You looked up from the magazine, your eyes meeting his intense gaze. "Yes?" you asked, your voice coming out softer than intended, laced with a hint of curiosity and a touch of anticipation.
He licked his top lip, his gaze scanning the room briefly before locking onto yours. "I realised I really do need to relax," he admitted with a sigh, pondering how to phrase his next request. "Come here, please?" His voice was soft yet tinged with a hint of longing, inviting you closer with a subtle urgency that stirred something deep within you.
You swallowed, placing the magazine neatly next to the pile of his disregarded clothes on the bench, before standing up and slowly walking towards him. "Yes?" His forefinger found the neckline of your shirt and hooked inside, before abruptly pulling you in making you yelp out in surprise. "Art?!"
"Shh-h-h, someone could hear you," He waited for you to stand up straight, after nearly being curb stomped by the sauna bench and turning to face him. His voice dropped to speak softer. "Help me relax?"
"Art, I-I don't—," The words got caught in your throat when you felt him pick up your hand and gently kiss your fingertips, lips moving to graze over each knuckle before they were on your wrist. "Anyone could walk in."
"They won't," he murmured against your skin, his lips lightly grazing the soft flesh of your forearm. "Please?" His plea was soft and earnest, his voice laced with vulnerability. You let out a gentle sigh, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, before tenderly moving your hand from his lips to cup his jaw.
"Only because it's getting hot in here," You smirked, Art's eyes shone at your words before his fingers moved to help you peel away your shirt that was becoming damp with moisture. He waited until you were fully undressed, clothes a disregardment, scattered around on the bamboo floor, before kissing you.
Your body was still somewhat dry while Art's was slippery against yours, dewy with sweat. His one hand cradled the back of your neck as you pushed your tongue between his lips, happily obliging to feel you against him. He let out a groan, signalling he wanted more, he needed more. Using little control, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed down on them, forcing you to sit on the bench.
Your lips broke apart before Art smashed them together again. Your fingers went to the white, fluffy towel and began to pull at it, falling apart to reveal his cock, hard and pulsing. "You really are needy?" You murmured, Art whimpered to ensure your questions.
You pressed a hand against his pec, letting it slither down and collect little moisture before your fingers found the tufts of hair below his belly button, following the trail until you reached his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base and slowly pumping your fist.
Art let a gasp, swallowing his moan at your actions. "Sit down, Art," You told him, he basically threw himself down, now kissing you shoulder to shoulder, your hand wrapped around his cock while his left hand squeezed at your thigh and his right curling at his side. "This helping?"
"Yeah, mmm, yes," He groaned, slowly but surely failing to kiss back as you squeezed his cock harder, making his mind go fuzzy. "Please don't stop."
His head fell back, lips parting as he panted and moaned, the crown of his head resting on the wall. Your lips took action down the column of his throat, tongue lapping up at his sweat. You sucked a path down to his shoulder, before allowing your teeth to graze the skin there.
"Art, I want to ride you," You said softly. Art was quick to shift his hips, snapping out a trance so you could slide onto his lap.
His fingers flew to your arousal, massaging at your aching clit to get your hole to relax. "That feels good."
Your fingers pumped his cock still, only at a slower pace. It twitched and throbbed, especially when the pads of his fingers moved and found your hole, feeling you drip onto his fingers. His eyebrows drew together in focus, fingertips breaching your pussy, sinking into it.
You ignored the initial pain of the stretch, humping your hips to sink onto him further. His fingers worked faster to relax your hole before they pulled out, too eager to have you around his length. He grabbed his cock and nudged the pink tip at your entrance, feeling your hands stabilise yourself on his shoulders, and drop onto him, both letting out a moan.
You bent your legs, for leverage, hips bucking into his to get friction while his hands grasped your hips. "You feel so good around me," He gasped. You nodded at his words, lips finding solace on his skin again to kiss his flesh.
It was pure bliss between the two of you, in the warm, sweaty room. Moans and wet sounds bouncing off the walls.
The door suddenly ripped open, a gush of cold air fanned your back. Your head whipped around to see what it was, or rather, who it was; Patrick Zweig, standing in all his naked glory.
Your hips didn't stop their movements, even though Art stiffened at the intrusion. A wicked grin cracked on Patrick's face at the sigh. "Huh. World renowned tennis star getting fucked like a whore in the men's sauna before a big game," Patrick whistled. "Who would've guessed?"
"G-Get out, Zweig," Art said, words stuttering from pleasure.
"No, no. I don't think so. I think I'll just sit here and enjoy the show," You watched him sink down onto the opposite side of the room, brown eyes looking from your face that never left his view, to where you and Art were connected at the hips. He couldn't help the stiffening feeling between his legs, not caring for his cock to slowly harden, and out in the open.
Perhaps you should've stopped and ran out in shame. Perhaps Art should have begged you to stop instead on having his fingers dig deeper into your hips, his own bucking up into yours. Perhaps you should've looked away when you saw Patrick take his own cock in hand and fist it, matching the same pace you fucked Art.
Perhaps it was all the reason you came too quickly, mouth falling open as moans tumbled from your lips, getting Art's thighs coated in your cum. You felt him curl up, his own high nearing. He slammed you down on his cock, before filling you up.
"Aw man," Patrick chuckled, though it was slow and rugged with lust. "The show’s over and I barely started jerking off." He sighed, throwing his hand up, no longer touching himself.
You turned to tuck your head between Art's neck. Panting from your labour. "What do we do?" You whispered to him.
"Wait until he leaves."
He did not. In fact, you heard the floorboards creak with Patrick's weight, until you felt a presence behind you. "Hey, Art," Patrick spoke. "You gonna move over so I can try her?"
Your heart dropped, at first in surprise before your mind mulled over scenarios. Art's eyes shot up and glared at Patrick, who just stood there and smirked. "Excuse me?"
"C'mon, man. It's not like it's the first time we shared her," Patrick had to bring up the one night you three shared in college, the one you never spoke about again. You didn't hate that night, in fact you used to think about it often, but Patrick grew to become a major prick thereafter, forcing you to forget about it.
Art stayed silent, until he sighed. Using his hands, he moved you to look at him. "You can tell him no."
You took in a breath, chewing on your bottom lip. You stared into Art's eyes, looking, searching for any sort of plead, or hesitation, but got none. Did he want to share you? Would he be willing to? "I don't mind," You whispered. "But if you don't want to, then we don't."
Art pried his eyes away from you to stare at Patrick, a multitude of emotions, ones that didn't look all too pleasant. "Only this once."
Patrick let out a grumble through his chest, happy you two agreed. Perhaps it would change the way on court. "You got it, hermano," Patrick slipped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you off Art's lap to stand, back pressing against his chest.
His one arm was wrapped around your shoulders while the other was snaking it's way down, tips of his fingers brushing along your tummy in the ticklish area that had it convulse, until they pressed into your pussy, collecting the residue from both you and Art. When he was satisfied with what was gathered on his fingers, he brought them to his lips and let out a groan at the taste of both of you.
"It tastes so good. You should try," He don't give you time to protest before reaching down to collect more cum before shoving his fingers in your mouth, having you choke and sputter until your tongue licked away at the salty liquids. "God, if that's the way you suck my fingers then I can't wait until I feel you suck my cock."
His fingers left your lips, hand moving down to grope your left breast, squeezing at the flesh.
"Tell me something, Art. How rough do you fuck her—ooh no wait, how rough does she fuck herself on you?" Patrick asked, eyes flirting to Art who just glared at the brunette, knuckles paling as he gripped the bench. Patrick smirked at the silence he got, from both ends.
He roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, he clicked his tongue in fake pity.
"Poor thing, not treated right?"
"I'm treated just fine," You told him. "Thanks."
"Hm, we'll see." Patrick basically threw you forward, hands seizing your wrists behind your back, having you at a near 90 degree angle, face close to Art's. Patrick used his foot to nudge open your legs. You felt the tip of his cock brush your folds, before he abruptly shoved his entire length inside you, he wasn't as long as Art, but he was more girthy.
Your face screwed in pain, giving you no time to adjust before his hips snapped against yours, fucking into you at light speed. "O-Oh, fuck," You whined, head falling forward from pleasure.
"That's what I thought. Needed someone to fuck you right," Patrick chuckled, taking one hand and slapping your ass, making you howl in pain. Patrick's brown eyes found Art's, who was still glaring at him, yet he had a blush on his cheeks. Patrick smirked. "Take notes."
"If you only fucked her to be an asshole, then you can stop." Art growled, anger sizzling in his chest.
"Nope, just doing it correctly." Patrick nearly fell forwards when he saw a sliver of movements on Art's end. His tongue swiping to wet his bottom lip as he gave Art a shit eating grin. "You bastard. You getting off to watching your old best friend fuck your girl? Dirty, dirty boy."
Gasps and moans clashed in your throat, getting the strength in your neck to look up where Art was, indeed, fisting his cock. Your mouth salivating at the sight. "L-Let me help," You stammered out, letting your lips fall open. Art gently grabbed your head and positioned it lower, sighing when he felt your tongue lap out and lick his tip.
It was so contrasting, the way Patrick was manhandling you, tip nudging that one sweet spot deep within you while his fingers slapped, scratched and groped your ass and Art's gentle caresses on your hair. It was like heaven and hell, all in a sauna, perhaps you were limbo.
"You're squeezing me so tight, baby. I'm so close, gonna let me cum deep in your pussy?" Patrick moaned. Words slurred from drunken pleasure.
"Patrick—." Art warned, a damn near growl escaping his chest.
"Nuh uh, man. I can't pull out now."
"Patrick—."
"Fuck!" Patrick moaned, his movements sloppy as he spilled his seed inside you. Panting as he caught his breath.
He was quick to pull out before dropping to his knees. He grabbed your ass cheeks and spread them apart before he dove his face inside, tongue rolling against your clit.
His own cum spilling from you and onto his nose and top lip. That man ate you out like a starved man.
Art's hips jerked before he was cumming in your mouth, fingers tightening slightly in your hair as your name fell from his lips.
"Gonna cum," You moaned, words coming out unclear as your mouth was still full of Art's cum. You couldn't get the energy to swallow, it slowly dribbled out your mouth, along with your drool and back onto Art's cock, Art couldn't lie and say it wasn't one of the hottest things he's seen, not even phased that you didn't swallow.
Patrick grabbed your hips and pushed you further down onto him, mouth open as you came on his tongue, hips rolling on his face. He swallowed most of it. He stood up, with some of your cum in his mouth and his own spit. His hands still kept your ass spread, pursing his lips, he allowed for the concoction to dribble onto your neglected asshole.
He didn't do anything to penetrate it, only using his forefinger to spread the liquids from your asshole to your pussy, leaving you wet and sticky all over.
Patrick stood back, allowing for you to hobble towards Art and sit down on the bench next to him. "Let's make a bet. If I win, I get to fuck her again."
"Get the fuck out of here," Art spat, grabbing a towel to help clean you. Patrick just chuckled before grabbing his own towel, wrapping it around his hips before pushing the door open and leaving.
Art turned to you, his voice softer.
"Hey, you alright?"
"Yeah," You smiled meekly. "Just promise me this, you'll win."
Anyways, this was inspired by the beautiful sweaty sauna scene:
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In ur version, does Batman or Superman even approve of Kon and Tim being together?
Lol sorry I’m sure you intended this as an art prompt but instead I used it as a silly little writing exercise.
Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »
Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?
« Bruce Wayne
That depends.
Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »
On what?
« Bruce Wayne
On the subject matter, Clark Kent, Daily Planet Reporter.
Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »
Shoot. hang on
Superman (Justice League) »
Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?
« B
How many times a day does that happen
Just tell me. I can take it
Superman (Justice League) »
Not… that many…
« B
How many records are we scrubbing.
This week.
Superman (Justice League) »
Listen
You are the one who chose to make secret phones that are identical to normal phones
I don’t know what you were expecting
« B
It’s precautionary. In case they get lost.
They’re not identical. The Batcell’s haptic interface hardware is superior to the iPhone’s.
Slightly bigger too.
0.3mm.
Superman (Justice League) »
I’ll refrain from the obvious comment
But know I am thinking it
« B
So there’s a visual difference.
You have x-ray vision.
Superman (Justice League) »
If you think I’m going to x-ray my phone to figure out if the haptic interface software is 0.3mm larger than an iPhones every single time I need to send a text you are nuts
That’s you
« B
Learning memes are we.
Superman (Justice League) »
That’s not a meme. It’s a reaction image
I think
« B
Doesn’t a reaction image have to be sent in reaction to something? By definition?
Superman (Justice League) »
I dont know.
« B
I don’t either.
Superman (Justice League) »
Okay.
« B
You said you wanted to chat?
Superman (Justice League) »
Yes
And let me just preface this with:
I am about to tell you something and I need you to be, with all due respect, so normal about it
« B
Jesus fucking Christ, what happened?
Superman (Justice League) »
Nothing!! bad
Nothing bad
« B
Where are you? Can you call?
Superman (Justice League) »
Ok calm down, I’m fine, everything is fine
I can theoretically call but I think this is the kind of thing you’re going to want to sit with, on your own, for a second
Maybe 30 full seconds actually. Maybe sit for 30 full seconds before taking any action
« B
Kal El, I am catastrophizing at the speed of sound.
Superman (Justice League) »
Then I bet it will be such a huge relief to learn that all Im going to say is I have it on good authority that Superboy has something to tell you, and normally I would never breach his trust like this, but again: I cannot emphasize enough that I need you to be so, so normal. When he tells you. Which I have reason to believe he will, imminently
« B
Alfred has just informed me that Superboy is on the doorstep.
On the doorstep, Kal.
Of my home.
Superman (Justice League) »
Huh!
« B
He’s asked to speak with me in the parlor.
“In the parlor.” Quote.
I forgot we had one of those.
What is this.
Superman (Justice League) »
Well
I think there’s a chance Kon is about to be very, very brave, to your face
And—keep in mind I’m saying this as someone who thinks the world of you and has boundless trust and faith in your ability to be kind, selfless, and accepting—
If he doesnt leave that house with a smile on his face and a spring in his step I will ruin your life.
« B
Jesus.
I know you’re only threatening me because of that, thing I said. Last time.
And yet, it’s still effective.
Superman (Justice League) »
« B
Yeah.
Superman (Justice League) »
Yeah?
« B
Yeah.
Superman (Justice League) »
:)
« B
:)
I have to go meet your kid. “In the parlor”
Superman (Justice League) »
Be nice :)
« B
I will.
I know what he’s going to say anyway.
Superman (Justice League) »
Oh?
« B
He, and coincidentally also Robin, needs to work on his situational awareness.
With an emphasis on remembering to scan the environment for CCTV cameras.
Superman (Justice League) »
Ok to be fair there are a lot of cameras these days
« B
The incident in question took place on the rooftop of Wayne Tower.
Superman (Justice League) »
I see.
« B
Yeah.
Superman (Justice League) »
Yeah.
Unrelatedly are you coming over later?
« B
So you can ruin my life?
Yes.
Superman (Justice League) »
See you then :)
« B
Yes.
Wait.
It’s not weird now that…?
Superman (Justice League) »
Holidays may get awkward but I’m sure we will all cope.
« B
Okay.
:)
Superman (Justice League) »
Tell Kon I said hi!
« B
I will.
*
« B
Hey it’s Batman. I fucked up.
Superman (Justice League) »
What??
« B
Not with Kon’s thing. That went fine. But we kept talking and I mayh ave let something slip and I’d liek to apologize in advance bc I htink he’s on the way
Superman (Justice League) »
Kons at my window???
« B
Sorry.
Superman (Justice League) »
I will ruin your life!!!!!
« B
Nuts.
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