A Breath Of Life || Part Two
Pairing(s) : Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi
CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour.
Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more. Spoilers for the film.
The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon, the applause was rapturous.
And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands.
The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her.
After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you.
When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own.
It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream.
You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.
Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised.
You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious.
When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.
You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine.
Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world.
You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered.
Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens.
You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.
When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door.
The sight of him takes away your breath.
In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.
Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt.
His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.
Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness.
But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach.
For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi.
If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.
But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves?
It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.
You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves.
But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.
You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.”
Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.
“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”
As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.
“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“
He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.
His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.
You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.
“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“
Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?”
As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.
“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”
That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.
You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content.
“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.
“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says.
You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?”
You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.
Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.
“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.”
After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back.
“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders.
“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.”
The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.
A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you.
But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.
It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made.
So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly.
This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.
You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.
As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss.
When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing.
“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.
You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.
“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.”
No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something.
“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially.
“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.”
“Then tell her.” He says, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it.
“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.”
His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”
You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.
The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.
“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.”
And just like that she’s gone again.
Tashi’s question catches you off guard.
You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights.
You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.
You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV.
“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward.
Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare.
“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.”
“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.
Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face.
“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?”
“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.
Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?”
Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver.
“I’m going to keep dominating.”
You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further.
When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.”
You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.
When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.
Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips.
The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know.
“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?”
She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.
“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.”
All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh.
“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe.
Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach.
“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.”
You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet.
The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles.
When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze.
Right now you have both of them.
“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.
“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.
You take it, letting him draw you inside.
When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress.
All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.
Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless.
Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front. He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open.
Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.
She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression.
You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple.
You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi.
It’s such a terrible idea- an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them.
If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them.
Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones.
Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs.
You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.
When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair.
Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.
You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.
Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.
But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.
Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her.
You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago.
Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear:
Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise.
The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you.
“Yes.” You whine impatiently.
Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth.
But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.
You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to.
You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.
Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself.
As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content.
Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release.
But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.
It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core.
“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force.
As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:
“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.”
So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means.
Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”
You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.
“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.
He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.
“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.”
He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one.
“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria.
Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.
You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them.
Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.
An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.
His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.
You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.
When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair.
Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you.
Without each other, there is no survival.
