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all the tables turn

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Harry Hart has terrible taste in men. And women. Anybody he goes to bed with, really.

It’s not that he is a bad judge of character; you don’t survive Kingsman without having good instincts about people. He is perfectly capable of maintaining healthy interpersonal relationships with others (well, Merlin). He has relatively good friends (again, Merlin).

It’s just that he has a tendency to be attracted to the more vicious kind of people. Merlin describes Harry as having a danger kink the size of Russia, with a healthy side serving of masochism. It comes with being a Kingsman, to a certain extent, but Harry’s tastes are extreme, even for their kind.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise when Eggsy smiles at him and the predator inside Harry cocks its head in consideration.


In Eton, when Harry’d just turned fifteen, he’d bumped into Isaac Walters, a seventeen year old upperclassman well-known to prefer using his fists than his words, terrifyingly cold but irresistibly handsome. The kind of school legend who inspired fear and lust simultaneously. 

Harry hadn’t been scared of Isaac, had hardly even been interested in the idea of him. Harry’d been busy coming to terms with his obsession with physical power, learning martial arts in an attempt to make sense of his hunger, not to hurt or destroy, but to be hurt and destroyed, to endure that power, to overpower it entirely. He’d been distracted by it, vaguely planning a future in the military, perhaps the Marines, when he’d ran face-first into Isaac.

With nobody to witness them or stop them, Isaac had shoved Harry against the wall, his dark hair falling into his blue eyes, a low watch your fucking step hissed against Harry’s ear, wrenching Harry’s arm up so hard that it fractured, and oh, it all came together at that moment.

Harry liked violence. Liked having it aimed at him.

He spent weeks in a cast, reorganizing his thoughts, his ideas of who he was and what he wanted. What he liked.

A week before summer term came to an end, his cast gone since weeks ago and stronger since then, Harry had waited until nobody else was there to watch and had shoved Isaac up against the wall, kissed him until Isaac bit down and Harry’s lips tasted of blood.

Isaac had looked down at Harry, a crooked smile on his lips flecked with Harry’s blood. “Well, aren’t you interesting.”

Harry, his lips burning and tasting of copper, his blood hot under his skin, had felt a thrill shoot down his spine at the idea of battling that violence and coming out on top of it. He wanted the fight, and he wanted the victory even more. 

Merlin—who was at Eton as well, had seen Harry delirious with blood on his lips—dubs that as the awakening of Harry’s psychopath fetish.


So Harry first thinks it’s about strength, about how he likes strong people who could beat him in a fight, but he quickly finds out that he’s wrong. He doesn’t have time for the weak, yes, but he doesn’t have time for the strong if they’re not as fierce as he likes them to be.

Which comes to the conclusion: Harry Hart doesn’t like nice people. Or, more accurately, he isn’t sexually attracted to them. 

However you word it, it’s still a rather damning description of how his sex life is going to pan out.


By the time Harry is proposed as a candidate for Kingsman, a few things become very clear: he definitely has a taste for dangerous people, he has no interest in being submissive for them, and Merlin is definitely keeping score of how often Harry turns a fight into a fuck.

Kingsman teaches Harry to hide his claws in bed. He learns how to feign sweetness and submission, how to seduce with a gentle hand and a kind voice. One month before the final task, Harry struggles through and conquers his NLP training by forcing himself to be a gentleman at courting, rather than an animal in rutting season. He becomes perfectly capable of slow, soft sex. 

He just has trouble enjoying it. 

Harry likes people who could kill him at any moment. He likes fucking people who have knives against his throat; he likes a good hard cock inside him while he's held down and taken like a bitch in heat. He likes it rough, he likes being rough, and when he becomes Galahad he has a whole new world of danger to seduce him.


When Harry is decades into his knighthood and leaning against the wall outside the police station, he knows what he likes. He likes the hint of teeth against his cock during a blowjob. He likes his partners enthusiastic, willing to bite him back when he left his teethmarks on their skin. He likes the fight, the push and pull, the relentlessness of sex with a predator.

He doesn't care for gentleness, for whispered promises of love and adoration. He doesn't want commitment. He doesn't want a partner who needs to be handled with care, and he hates clinginess the most of all.

Understandably, Harry has never had a relationship that lasts for more than four months. The only ring he wears is Kingsman's, and he's fine with that.

When Eggsy walks out of the station and looks at Harry, there's not even the slightest consideration in Harry's head, not a single hint of attraction. Even when he proposes the boy in good faith, half-motivated by guilt and half-motivated by curiosity, Harry thinks of Eggsy as an interesting boy with some true potential. There's no ulterior motive.

Not yet.


Seven months after waking up from his medically induced coma with a brand new scar on his temple, Harry sits in Arthur’s seat and watches Eggsy stroll into the briefing room, his smile bright and wide in the late afternoon sunlight, and Harry allows the hint of a smile to ghost his lips in return. He'd be lying through his teeth if he said that he hasn't grown rather fond of Eggsy ever since he recruited the boy.

"How was Budapest?" Harry asks.

"Was nice," Eggsy says with a shrug, pulling his chair out and plopping down in the way he seems to do just to dare Harry to teach him some manners. "Would've been nicer with you there, though." And the cheeky bugger winks.

"I do regret missing the part where you used your explosive only to practically bring the entire building down on your head," Harry says, because watching Merlin yell structural integrity, for fuck's sake, Unwin into the comm unit had been nerve-wracking at the time, but was only hilarious in hindsight. "I do believe it was one of the most entertaining missteps I've ever witnessed."

"Oi, shut it." Eggsy hardly seems offended. If anything, he looks delighted that Harry's amused by his fuck up. It's fascinating, how Eggsy seems perpetually happy no matter what Harry does or says. "Reckon you don't know the fun in playin' the risks. Bet you never fucked up a mission 'cause you were havin' fun or shit."

They're supposed to be debriefing, but Eggsy has a way of making Harry take his time, slowing the process of letting Eggsy go home. "On the contrary, I've compromised my fair share of missions during my career."

Eggsy lights up even more. "Shut up. You? The great Harry Hart?"

"Once," Harry says truthfully, even though he really shouldn't, "I went to bed with an assassin who ended up drugging me and leaving me handcuffed to the bed."

"Oh my god," Eggsy says, grinning.

"She ended up stealing my kill right in front of me," Harry reminisces. "I think that was about the time Merlin started losing his hair. I ran into her a few years later, and I almost blew the mission because we were in bed the whole day. I believe I gave Merlin an ulcer for that."

Eggsy laughs. It's a brilliant sound, full of good humour and sheer joy. "Fuck, that's insane, Harry! You fox, you. You ever see her again?"

"MI6 reported that she was executed by the Soviets, a long time ago." Harry takes a long sip of his tea in the sudden shock of sombre silence, taking stock of Eggsy's gaping mouth, the beginnings of an apology in the shape of his lips. Harry savors the moment before continuing, nonchalantly: "Of course, she sent me a postcard after she faked her death and got married to a fellow in the Maldives."

Eggsy huffs, the mirth back in his green eyes. "Fuck off, you almost had me there."

Harry chuckles, the sound escaping him before he can think twice about it. "You could ask Merlin for more of my misadventures. I'm sure he needs an outlet to vent." Merlin enjoys slaughtering Harry's reputation mercilessly. Harry's learned to take it as his due. "I believe he knows too much about my private life for his own comfort."

There's a small pause, a span of a heartbeat where Eggsy tilts his head the slightest bit, a considering look on his expressive face. For all that Eggsy tends to be an open book, always so terribly earnest, Harry finds the boy's thoughts an indecipherable code. It's as if Eggsy's written in a different language, open for anybody to see but understood only by those who speak his tongue.

"Why ask Merlin when I can ask you?" Eggsy asks, relaxing back into his seat.

"I do have paperwork to do, after this debrief," Harry points out, lifting an eyebrow to remind the boy that they're both still on the clock.

Eggsy's fingertips tap against the oak table, his smile a sliver of warmth. "Then tell me at dinner. We can go to the Italian place 'round the corner, yeah? After you're done. I'll wait."

"Alright," Harry agrees, because it’s been a while since they had a meal together, and he’s only two hours away from finishing the godforsaken paperwork. ”Then we'll make this quick."

He doesn't think much of the whole thing until the debrief is over, and Eggsy is standing to go refresh himself in dressing room three. Eggsy leans in close, a warm hand settling onto Harry's, giving it a brief squeeze. Harry catches a whiff of sandalwood before Eggsy says, "see you at dinner," and walks out the door.

The warmth of Eggsy's palm and fingers, calloused and smooth, lingers on the skin of Harry's right hand, a phantom touch that triggers all of Harry's inner alarms and wakens the realisation that he might have just signed himself up for a date.


"What are we doing?" Harry asks, his salad neglected on its plate in front of him.

Eggsy pauses, setting down his soup spoon. “What, you mean after dinner? I was thinkin’ we could grab a pint and you could tell me more ‘bout how you drove the hair off of Merlin’s head.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry says, and he should be more bothered by how easy it is to sit across from Eggsy and share meals with him, share parts of himself that have been gathering dust over the years. He should be, but he’d rather just enjoy his caesar salad and upcoming rigatoni. “Eggsy, why are we having dinner together?”

“You askin’ ‘bout my intentions?” Eggsy waggles his eyebrows, and Harry shouldn’t find that charming at all. “Relax, Harry. It’s just dinner.”

Harry’s look of skepticism must be very obvious, because Eggsy almost chokes on his mouthful of soup, his laughter tumbling out of him, after a glance at Harry’s face. Eggsy quickly dabs at his mouth with a napkin and grins up at Harry. 

“This is just for fun, Harry. We have dinner. You tell me off for my shit table manners. I ask you about your glory days. We grab a pint if you’re up for it.” Eggsy’s ankle presses against the outside of Harry’s shin, a warm shock of contact even through Harry’s trousers. “It’s nothin’ complicated. Don’t think too much ‘bout it.”

Harry looks back down at his salad and decides Eggsy is right. Bonding between mentor and protégé is not that unusual. Dinner. A drink or two. It’s all quite possible between colleagues. Or an employee and his superior. He’s overthinking it.

“Hey, can I try your salad?” Eggsy doesn’t even wait for a proper reply before stealing a forkful, and this lapse in etiquette must be addressed.

“Eggsy, for goodness’ sake—”

Harry lectures Eggsy on proper table manners all through the appetizers and pastas. It’s a familiar topic between them, Harry’s mild rebukes and Eggsy’s cheeky retorts all a very comfortable give-and-take. It’s probably the best dinner Harry’s had all week.


They both end up drinking five more pints than they should. Harry tells Eggsy about how he once almost shot Percival’s ear off because he’d been too sloshed to aim correctly.

“Can’t believe you went out on the field drunk,” Eggsy says, his words slurring a little. “Merlin would have me balls shot off.”

“He might’ve tried to shoot mine,” Harry says, his tongue traitorously eager to share. “And I’ve done loads of missions drunk. I was pissed when I did my second honeypot. I still remember Merlin threatening to castrate me.”

“Woulda been a right pity if he did,” Eggsy says with what might have been a leer if he were less drunk. “Honeypot’s a shit mission to be drunk for, though. What if you can’t get it up?”

Harry blames the alcohol for when he admits, “That might have been the idea.”

Eggsy goggles at him. “You takin’ the piss, right?” After a beat of silence, Eggsy says in awe, “Shit, you ain’t. Fess up, how’d that happen?”

“The target was a mild-mannered heir to a throne and he wanted to, as he put it, ‘make sweet love’ to me.” The memory, however faded, still makes Harry a little ill. “Honestly, I almost stabbed him just for that.”

Eggsy laughs and laughs and laughs. “I take it you ain’t much for the whole gentle love-makin’ schtick, then?”

“I would have rather set him on fire,” Harry says, appalled by the fact that Eggsy just said love-making out loud. He’s also appalled by his inability to stop talking. “Really, just because I have manners does not mean I am a shrinking violet in bed.”

“You are fuckin’ brutal,” Eggsy says gleefully, like it’s one of the most wonderful things on earth to be. He holds out his half-empty glass for a toast.

Harry clinks his glass against Eggsy’s. “My boy, you have no idea.”


His first honeypot assignment had been a mafia man who liked his boys feisty and eager. Harry had let the man fuck him over the coffee table in a hotel, ringed fingers digging into Harry's throat, holding him down. In return, Harry had snarled in Italian, his own fingernails digging into the Sicilian's wrist, demanding harder, faster, I want to feel it tomorrow

Harry had later came back to HQ, his suit impeccable and hardly a hair out of place, the necessary intel in his hands. Nobody knew that he had come drying on the insides of his thighs underneath his trousers, bite marks on his shoulders. 

He’s sure that Merlin noticed how Harry smiled when he touched a finger to the red fingermarks on his throat, though.


After their third dinner together, a quiet hole-in-the-wall Japanese place Eggsy’d discovered by pure chance, Harry and Eggsy end up back in Harry’s living room.

“See, it’s good, right?” Eggsy’s cheeks are flushed pink, his tie loosened around his neck, and Harry could almost taste the sandalwood and honey of him in the hollow of his throat.

Instead, Harry takes another sip of the martini Eggsy just made and hums an acquiescing noise. “It’s not terrible.”

“Fuck off,” Eggsy laughs. “I can hear the silver spoon up your arse.”

“I’ve had more interesting things up my arse,” Harry says, just to see Eggsy choke and splutter. It’s one of the most satisfying sights he’s seen, Eggsy with his red cheeks and wide eyes, the flush creeping down his neck and disappearing under his shirt collar. 

There’s the faraway sensation of Harry’s inner predator raising its head, sensing the potential of a hunt.

“Like what?” Eggsy asks, his lips tilting into a sly grin, and Harry realizes that he’s looking at those lips, has been observing the plump, bitten redness of them for some time, and forces himself to look Eggsy in the eye. Eggsy’s eyes are green, guileless and eager, so soft in the amber lighting, and Harry feels like he’s been doused with cold water. 

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Harry quips. He’s been leaning the slightest bit forward from where’s he’s been sitting in his armchair, and he corrects this as casually as he can. He leans back, away from the pull of Eggsy’s bright eyes and his disappointed pout, and assesses himself with a much more sober head.

He’s been flirting with Eggsy, of all people, and he’d hardly even noticed. The decreasing distance between them had felt so natural, so innocuous, and when Eggsy’s brushed his fingers across the back of Harry’s hand, Harry had relished the warmth and thought nothing more of it. In fact, he might have even looked forward to a firmer touch, the closing of the distance between Harry’s lips and Eggsy’s nape.

This is a very bad idea.


“You and Eggsy,” Merlin says in an incredulous tone. “I can’t say I didn’t see it coming, but I’m still surprised.”

“How could you have seen this coming?” Harry tries not to sound petulant about this. “I didn’t see this coming. Nobody saw this coming.”

Merlin, the smug bastard that he is, takes another gulp of his coffee and gestures for Harry to sit down in the only other available chair in Merlin’s office. Harry sighs and sits, because he recognises an upcoming comeuppance when he sees one. 

Merlin sets his mug down on his desk. The very gesture reeks of smugness. “Harry, the boy has been trailing after you like an infatuated pup ever since day one. There’s a pool going on regarding when you’re going to give in and fuck the daylights out of him.” He pauses. “Which we’ll pretend I didn’t just tell you about.”

“Eggsy’s attraction to me isn’t the problem,” Harry says, because really, it isn’t. Eggsy is young and brilliant and gorgeous, and he’s hardly kept his adoration for Harry on the down low. On the other hand, he’s hardly ever made a concrete gesture of interest towards Harry, and Harry’d been content not to worry about it. Until he’d seen Eggsy asleep on his couch, his trousers wrinkled, the solid length of his warm, pliant body available for the taking, and Harry’s cock had twitched at the very thought. “The problem is that I might be attracted to him.”

“That’s the part that surprises me,” Merlin admits easily, his shoulders coming up in a shrug. “He isn’t exactly your type. Not as mysterious, for one thing.”

“The day I see Eggsy as mysterious is the day I’m too old for this job,” Harry says dryly.

Merlin snorts. “Not as psychopathic, for another.”

Harry should probably feel insulted by that insinuation. He doesn’t.

“I resent the idea that I’m only capable of being attracted to that particular demographic,” Harry protests on rote.

“Harry, remind me how you met your second girlfriend.”

“She broke two of my ribs while I was undercover and then immediately propositioned me when she discovered that I wasn’t actually part of a human trafficking ring,” Harry recites obediently. “Merlin, I could hardly fault her for that. And she was phenomenal at hand-to-hand combat.”

“Remember Melbourne?” Merlin asks.

Harry groans. “One time, Merlin. One time.”

“The point is, Harry, you have a tendency to sleep with people who should probably be in a psychiatric ward. Or in maximum security prison. And Eggsy is a vast improvement, compared to that.” Merlin raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

The chagrin is overwhelming. “Merlin, you’re not supposed to be approving of me having a relationship with the boy.”

Merlin has a pitying look on his face. It’s a look he wears distressingly often when he’s speaking about Harry’s sex life. “Harry, you dumped your MI6 boyfriend because he was, in your words, ‘getting clingy.’ You dated him for a month. And yet, you haven’t complained even once about Eggsy in the year or so you’ve known him.”

“I haven’t slept with him,” Harry says, because that must count, somehow. 

Merlin turns to look at his computer screen in a clear sign of dismissal. “Then maybe you should change that.”


It’s not that Harry’s opposed to the idea of sleeping with Eggsy. Moral dilemmas and age differences are hardly Harry’s problem; as long as his partner is of age and willing, he has no scruples of taking them to bed. 

Friends with benefits, open relationships, monogamous relationships. Harry can accommodate Eggsy however the boy wants. There’s no reason for Harry to say no if Eggsy asks.

It’s not like Harry particularly wants to say no.

It’s just—

Harry wants to say yes, and he doesn’t understand why. Eggsy is kind, a protector of the weak, gentle in a way Harry can only be when he has a mask on. And as much as Harry is genuinely taken to Eggsy, he doesn’t know if he can take this boy to bed. He doesn’t know if Eggsy will welcome the teeth at his throat, the bruises Harry will lovingly press into his smooth skin.

He doesn’t know if he can handle Eggsy rejecting the bloodlust that Harry thrives on.

Worse, he doesn’t know if he can handle the disappointment if Eggsy doesn’t measure up to his desires, if he peels the boy’s layers away and fails to find a predator ready for a challenge.


The thing about Eggsy, though: the boy lives for a challenge. 

Harry has just loaded the dishwasher after dinner when he hears the pounding on the front door. He picks up his Glock and hides it in the folds of his robe as he makes his way to the front hall, his free hand ready to activate his glasses and contact HQ if need be.

“Harry, I know you’re in there,” Eggsy’s voice says, muffled through the door, and Harry feels the tension seep away. He sets the Glock away and goes to let his guest in.

He opens the door to find Eggsy, in his suit and without glasses, standing on his doorstep.

“I take it the mission in Norwich went well?” Harry asks, beckoning Eggsy inside. Eggsy complies, toeing his scuffed oxfords off and slipping his suit jacket off with a gusty sigh. 

“It was rough,” Eggsy grumbles, his hand running through his hair obsessively, fluffing it up. Harry ignores the temptation to reach out and grip Eggsy’s hair and pull it. To watch that pale neck arch back in surrender. “No civilian casualties, but was a near thing. Little girl almost got killed.” Harry can read the weariness in Eggsy’s shoulders, and the possibility that Eggsy wants comfort from Harry suddenly knocks the world off its axis. “Don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

“Then what do you want to do?” Harry asks, feeling wrong-footed and terribly anticipatory all at once. He’s not sure if he wants to know the answer.

If Eggsy asks—if what he needs is a gentle hand to soothe him, then Harry can’t say yes. 

Eggsy turns, leaning his shoulder against the wall, and it would be so easy to trap him, to box him in with Harry’s arms and take him right there and then. Harry’s limbs have already betrayed him, his feet only a scant few inches from Eggsy’s, his left hand flattened against the wall, treacherously close to Eggsy’s shoulder. He’s close enough to smell sweat and gunpowder.

“I was thinking,” Eggsy says, his voice lower, rougher, and in this moment Harry knows there is no other answer than yes, “that you might wanna fuck me til I forget me own name.”

Then Eggsy reaches forward and tugs Harry over by the belt of his robe, crushing their lips together, and Harry takes Eggsy by the shoulders and slams him against the wall, keeping him there as he urges Eggsy to tip his head back, coaxing him to open up and let Harry plunder his lovely, lush mouth.

The growl that bubbles up from Eggsy’s throat deserves a bite to the lower lip, and Harry instinctively bucks his hips against Eggsy’s when the boy bites back in retaliation, leaving what will probably be a prominent mark on Harry’s neck. 

“C’mon, Harry,” Eggsy says, having undone Harry’s robe and impatiently scrabbling at his pyjama buttons. “If you don’t fuck me right now I’m goin’ to Merlin’s.”

“You’re such a cheeky little shit,” Harry tells him, and he hopes he doesn’t sound half as fond as he feels. “Just for that, you’re not getting fucked properly on a bed tonight.”

“Should I be prepared for carpet burn, then?” Eggsy asks mock-coyly, fluttering his eyelashes at Harry in such an outrageously coquettish move that Harry grinds his thigh down hard against Eggsy’s cock, straining against his bespoke trousers, and enjoys the sound of Eggsy moaning, loud and unashamed. 

“Carpet burn is too generous for a tart like you,” Harry tuts, and grabs Eggsy by the back of his neck, manhandling him a few steps to the right and up the first two stairs before shoving him down so that he’s sprawled on the staircase.

Eggsy whines, all desperation and hunger, and the sound is so wanton that Harry can feel the precome slipping out of his cock, staining his briefs. “Oh fuck, you gonna do me right here? You gonna fuck me right on the stairs? Do it, I want it. Give it to me, Harry, fuck me—”

Harry tugs at Eggsy’s trousers, and Eggsy helpfully undoes and shoves them down before Harry can rip them. Eggsy’s underwear is also tugged down, leaving his bare arse up in the air, his back arched with his elbows on one of the upper stairs. Harry shoves Eggsy’s shirt up as far as it will go, so that it bunches up under Eggsy’s armpits and Harry can admire the lines of Eggsy’s back.

“Tell me, Eggsy, would you really want someone else’s cock in you?” Harry leans down to mouth wetly at the small of Eggsy’s back, feeling the restless shifting of muscle under his lips. “Am I a means to an end, just another fuck to fill your tight, lovely arse?” 

“Your mouth, Jesus,” Eggsy huffs breathlessly. “Fuck, Harry, if you don’t wanna do it, I’ll go rub one out in the loo with Mr. Pickle and sleep on your couch. Like hell I want anybody else—how the fuck am I supposed to get it up with someone else when you’re so fuckin’ hot? Christ, Harry, I’m all yours, so fuckin’ wreck me already—”

Harry straightens, spits on his fingers, and pushes one into Eggsy in one smooth glide, enjoying the flex of Eggsy’s thighs, the ripple of his back muscles, the dimples of his back wet with Harry’s saliva. The inside of Eggsy’s arse is hot and loose, not enough for Harry’s cock to slide into him, but enough for another finger to go in immediately, and the boy’s arse looks suspiciously clean for somebody who was mired in a three-day job in Norwich.

“Did you prepare yourself, before you got here?” Harry asks. He scissors his fingers, stretches Eggsy’s hole nice and wide. “Were you that confident that I’d say yes, that I would take you to bed and fuck you so hard you’d feel it for days?”

“Took a shower at HQ,” Eggsy says, his voice hitching when Harry’s fingers slide in deeper. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

“How flattering.” Harry withdraws his fingers, enjoying Eggsy’s whimper at the loss, and spits on them one more time. He plunges three fingers in, and Eggsy moans, wriggles his plush arse back, craving more. “Did you bring protection?”

Eggsy looks back at Harry, and he’s the very picture of debauchery. His face flushed, lips swollen, his pupils blown to the point where his eyes look black, his hair damp with sweat. His voice is rough with lust when he says, “‘M clean and you are, too. Was hopin’ you’d dirty me up proper.”

“Been snooping around my medical files, I see,” Harry says, curving his fingers up until Eggsy shouts, his spine arching even more, clenching down on Harry’s fingers, and the thought of Eggsy clenching down on Harry’s cock is the breaking point of Harry’s patience. He shoves his pyjama bottoms and underwear down, hissing in relief when his cock bounces free, and positions himself carefully, his right foot on the first step, anchoring Eggsy with one hand on his hip and wrapping his other hand around the staircase railing. “I’ll have you pay for that.”

Eggsy shoves his arse back against Harry’s cock, ready to breach him, and says, “Nobody likes a man who’s all talk and no cock, Harry.”

Harry is going to fuck the bloody cheek out of him.

He shoves his cock into Eggsy’s arse in one rough slide, hissing at the tight heat swallowing him in, and he can feel Eggsy keening, scrabbling against the stairs and pushing back, demanding more. 

“You gorgeous creature,” Harry says, pulling out a little before snapping his hips forward, admiring every shudder that runs down Eggsy’s back. 

“Oh fuck, Harry, fuck me, Christ,” Eggsy pants. “Harder, please, fuck me harder—”

Harry obliges. He fucks Eggsy like Eggsy’s charging him by the minute, as if they’re on a bullet train and they’re two minutes away from their destination. It’s not the most comfortable position, and Eggsy’s knees and shins and elbows are going to be a mess of bruises, but the angle allows Harry to hit Eggsy’s prostate on nearly every thrust, and Eggsy’s a babbling, incoherent mess. It’s absolutely fantastic.

Eggsy clenches and screams around a particularly brutal thrust, and Harry’s going to have to clean the come off of his staircase later, but right now he’s dizzyingly close to coming and cannot care less about housekeeping. He leans forward and wraps his right arm around Eggsy’s waist, his left hand still clutching the railing, and hauls the boy upright, bringing him closer, right against Harry’s chest, and fucks him as hard as he can. Eggsy whimpers when Harry so much as skims his prostate, twitching in sensitivity, and Harry’s going to have to exploit that some other time, milk the boy until he cries, and the thought abruptly shoves Harry off the edge.

He comes so hard that he has to bury his mouth into Eggsy’s shoulder, biting down harshly into the shirt and the flesh underneath, muffling his groan of satisfaction. He rides out his orgasm like that, breathing in the scent of Eggsy, sex-drenched and sweaty, listening to him gasp for air.

Slowly, Harry detaches himself from Eggsy’s back, releasing him so that the boy falls down onto his elbows, wobbly and breathless. He pulls out of Eggsy, watching his hole flutter and pearly drops of come well up.

“I take back the all talk and no cock comment,” Eggsy rasps, laughter bleeding into his words.

“Mmmm.” Harry isn’t really paying attention. He’s rather occupied with the drop of come oozing out, slowly dripping from Eggsy’s arsehole down towards his balls, and there’s the distant thought of since when did I want to have someone cry during sex?

Alas, Harry’s spunk dripping out of Eggsy’s arse takes precedence over Harry’s sudden possible addition to his proclivities, so he stops thinking and sits on the stairs, leaning forward to lick away the trail of come.

“Oh fuck,” Eggsy squeaks, his elbows wobbling but not giving out, very nearly crashing face-first into a stair. “Oh my fucking god, Harry, are you serious—”

Harry ignores him and spreads the cheeks of Eggsy’s arse apart, taking a second to appreciate the view before proceeding to shove his tongue into Eggsy and lick every drop of come out of him.

Eggsy swears and whines and moans like he’s being filmed, loud and filthy, and Harry eats him out until his jaw aches and he can hardly taste himself anymore. He presses a wet kiss to the skin where arse meets thigh and sneaks a hand around to discover that yes, Eggsy is hard and leaking.

“Aren’t you insatiable,” Harry says, and his voice comes out predatory and fond at the same time, which is a feat he wasn’t aware he could be capable of.

He absentmindedly bites the pert flesh of Eggsy’s arse, worrying red marks into the skin with his teeth as he jerks Eggsy off in rough strokes, pausing to rub a fingertip into his slit and twisting his fist around the head every so often. He feels Eggsy’s entire body go rigid, teetering on the edge of release, and he bites into the meat of Eggsy’s arse, definitely hard enough leave a mark and hopefully enough to make Eggsy feel it tomorrow, humming at the sound of Eggsy wailing through his second orgasm of the hour.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Eggsy manages to gasp, slumping sideways to avoid sitting on the come splattered all over the stairs. “What do they call it, ‘gent in the streets, beast in the sheets?’”

“We’re on the staircase,” Harry reminds him.

“Then maybe you should be a gentleman and take me to bed,” Eggsy says, his trousers around his knees, his shirt wrinkled and hair mussed, leaning closer, every inch of him ready, willing, challenging, “and show me what a beast you are.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Harry says, and bites Eggsy’s lower lip.


Harry wakes up an hour before his alarm to discover his cock halfway down Eggsy’s throat.

They still manage to show up thirty minutes late for work.


“You won Percival nearly two hundred quid, by the way,” Merlin says when Harry walks into Merlin’s office.

“Excuse me?” Harry responds, which is his way of saying I know what you mean but I’m going to make you explain it anyway. 

It’s unfortunate that Merlin knows Harry too well to fall for that.

He shoves a manila folder into Harry’s hands and shoos him out. “Tell your boy toy that if he can’t walk straight tomorrow, I’m pulling him off the Warsaw mission.”

Harry tries for indignation. “He’s not my boy toy.”

“That’s not what Eggsy said,” Merlin says smugly, and shuts the door in Harry’s face.


“You’re not my boy toy,” Harry says, because he respects Eggsy more than that, even if anybody who walks into his office right now to see Eggsy under Harry’s desk might beg to differ.

Eggsy pulls off of Harry’s cock with a pop. “I was kinda enjoyin’ it.”

“Of the many things you can call yourself, ‘boy toy’ is hardly one of the favourable choices,” Harry points out, cupping Eggsy’s jaw and squeezing lightly. “Your mother will have my head if she hears you call yourself that.”

“Scared of me mum, Harry?” Eggsy grins. 

Harry presses his thumb into Eggsy’s mouth and presses down on his tongue in rebuke. A spike of pleasure runs through him when Eggsy seals his lips around the digit and sucks at it. “Only rightly so.”

Eggsy hums a happy noise of assent around Harry’s thumb, then bites down, causing Harry to dig his other fingers into Eggsy’s jaw. Green eyes full of mischief peer up at Harry.

“Naughty,” Harry chides, slipping his thumb out of Eggsy’s mouth as Eggsy climbs out from under the desk.

“I’ll show you naughty,” Eggsy says, straddling Harry in his chair. “I can be your baby, if you’re into that kind of stuff. Call you daddy and all.”

Harry makes a strangled sound and helps Eggsy undo his trousers. “I’d rather you not.” Then he discovers that Eggsy isn’t wearing anything under those trousers and makes an entirely different animalistic sound. “You little tart.”

“We could go with that,” Eggsy says agreeably, kicking his trousers off while still hovering above Harry’s lap, as if he doesn’t know Harry is moments away from just yanking him down and fucking him blind. “Bet Merlin would have a field day with that one.”

“I was thinking of something more practical,” Harry grits out, his hands kneading Eggsy’s arse with bruising force. He’s very aware that Eggsy is still sore, and it just makes him want to bruise him more, mark him down to the bone.

“What, like, significant other?” Eggsy’s voice wobbles and collapses when Harry presses his thumb in, rubbing at the very inside of Eggsy’s rim. “Fuck, Harry—”

Harry guides him down so that Eggsy’s sitting in Harry’s lap, his bare thighs bracketing Harry’s clothed ones, their cocks pressing together. He wraps a hand around both of their cocks and watches Eggsy’s mouth go slack, his reddened lips parting into a choked gasp.

“I said practical, not politically correct,” Harry says.

Eggsy’s breath shatters as Harry pumps their cocks, his grip slightly unstable, unable to fit both of them perfectly in his hand. Eggsy corrects that, wrapping his own hand to cover the area Harry’s fingers can’t reach. Eggsy says, “Lover?” Then, “Nope, don’t think I can say it with a straight face.”

“I was thinking of the more obvious,” Harry grunts, pressing his thumb deeper into Eggsy's hole. “Partner would work nicely.”

“Oh hell no, it just makes us sound like we work together, and you’re my boss, so it’s weirder.” Eggsy squirms, and Harry withdraws his thumb to land a light smack on Eggsy’s arse, prompting a whine to hiss out between Eggsy’s teeth. Two rough jerks later, Eggsy comes all over their shirts and hands. The wet slide of Eggsy’s come around their cocks brings Harry closer to the edge, and when Eggsy whimpers in oversensitivity and bites down on the shell of Harry’s ear, Harry swears and comes, spilling over their entwined fingers. 

They pant together for a while before Eggsy suggests, “Boyfriend, then?”

“A tad juvenile, for my age.” Harry says. “But acceptable, I suppose.”

Eggsy says, “Sweet,” and leans in to kiss Harry’s hairline, careful not to dislodge Harry’s glasses. The scent of sandalwood and honey is dizzyingly strong. Eggsy looks down at Harry and smiles, bright and happy, like Harry’s the light of his life, something Harry’s never been for anybody else before.

I’d very much like to keep you, Harry thinks. It’s a dangerous thought.

“I’m your boyfriend now, then,” Eggsy laughs, and the sound reverberates down Harry’s spine, warming him.

“Very much so,” Harry says, and thinks mine.


On Harry’s thirty-fifth birthday, his lover taught him how to switch his grip on his gun during a melee so that he could alternate between using it as a firearm and a blunt weapon. He’d watched her do it before and had asked her to demonstrate it as a birthday gift.

“You’re one of a kind, Hart,” she pointed out. 

“Says the person who won’t even say my given name in bed,” Harry replied, watching her sharpen a knife. She never sat with her back towards a door. “You’re always ready to leave.”

“Was there really anywhere for me to stay?” She was tall and dark-skinned, somewhere from the wilds of Peru. Harry’d never asked for her past.

In retrospect, that was probably an indicator that he didn’t want her future, either.

“What if I want you to stay?” Harry asked.

“You want many things,” she said, her things always packed neatly in a rucksack at a corner of the bedroom, her words just as precise and honed to kill as her hands. “Keeping them, you’re not very good at.”


“You’ve gotta show me how to do that move,” Eggsy says, gesturing vaguely at the gun in Harry’s hand, mimicking a twirl of his wrist, letting Harry know exactly what Eggsy is referring to. 

Harry tucks the gun back into his holster, his pulse still racing from the rush of the fight, the bloodlust curling in his veins. He takes care to step over the bodies of the mercenaries who ambushed them to step closer to Eggsy, crowding him against the wall of the alleyway.

“I’ll show you, after we leave Barcelona,” Harry promises, his thumb against the corner of Eggsy’s mouth, watching Eggsy’s pupils dilate as he slides his thumb across Eggsy’s lower lip, pressing down where it’s been split, still bloody from a fist to Eggsy’s jaw. Harry’d made sure to break the offending knuckles against the concrete, had shot the man in the mouth when he screamed. 

Eggsy whines at the pressure on his wound. “We’ll be late to the negotiation.”

The negotiation that they came to Barcelona for is the furthest thing from Harry’s mind, at the moment. Right now, he sees Eggsy, flushed and disheveled. Eggsy, who moved fluidly in the empty spaces between blade and flesh, his movements complementing Harry’s as they moved in tandem, a waltz full of bullets and blood. It had came as easily as breathing, leaving his left side open, a honey trap for an enemy with an army knife to come running, trusting Eggsy to put a bullet through the threat’s head.

Harry hasn’t been in a proper fight, the kind where he’s outnumbered and surrounded, the kind that leaves him standing undefeated and hungry, ever since Valentine’s bullet grazed his skull. His blood feels too hot, like he’s burning up inside out.

“Then we should make this quick,” Harry says, his forehead against Eggsy’s, the blood roaring in his ears.

Eggsy laughs against Harry’s mouth, bucking his hips up against Harry’s, and the hard length of his erection rubs up against Harry’s. “And they say I’m the reckless one.”

They rut like that, impatient and raw and driven by the smell of gunpowder. When Harry slots his mouth over Eggsy’s, licks at his bloodied lips and bites down on his tongue, the taste of copper is the final push he needs to come.


“Perhaps I’m a little too old to be coming in my pants,” Harry says, later.

Eggsy smirks. “What if I’m not wearing any?”

“That is a terrible habit of yours,” Harry mutters, and spends the rest of the day staring at Eggsy’s arse in his trousers, trying to see if the boy is bluffing or not.


Harry and Merlin do their final briefing for Eggsy’s deep undercover mission together, spending two hours covering all the possible ways the mission can go wrong. They double-check strategies and test Eggsy on his new cover before they deem him satisfactory and conclude the meeting to send Eggsy off to Zürich.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Eggsy says, standing from his seat and leaning over to press a quick kiss against Harry’s lips.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult,” Harry says, resolutely ignoring Merlin’s smirk, which he can’t see but he can definitely feel aimed his way. He wouldn’t be surprised if Merlin is recording this. “It will be a relief to not have you kicking me in your sleep.” 

Eggsy snorts. “At least I don’t hog the covers.” 

“I do no such thing,” Harry lies. Eggsy laughs and leans over again to press his lips to Harry’s temple, as if he can’t help himself. He lingers, just long enough for Harry to breathe in the scent of honey and spice, then moves away, straightening up and strolling towards the door.

“I’ll see you two after I kick some arse, yeah?” Eggsy says with a wink and exits the briefing room.

In the ensuing quiet after Eggsy’s departure, Merlin clears his throat. Harry’s fingers clench reflexively around his cup of tea. 

“Yes, Merlin?” Harry asks, because he might as well get it over with.

“Galahad’s mission will take at least two months,” Merlin says in his casual voice. Merlin’s casual voice is never good for Harry’s blood pressure.

“I’m quite aware,” Harry sighs. “I know this might have escaped your notice, but I was right here for his mission briefing today. And for the briefing yesterday. And for the one before that, as well.”

Merlin hesitates, then places his tablet face-down on the table, which is a sure sign of a conversation that Harry cannot have while sober. Harry tries not to groan, but a small hiss of petulant air escapes his throat as he reaches over to pour himself a glassful of brandy.

“You’ve been in a relationship with him for six weeks,” Merlin says, unperturbed by Harry gulping down the liquor like it’s water.

“Why are you even keeping track of my personal life,” Harry says. It’s more a complaint than a question.

“You kept your glasses on while you had sex with Eggsy in dressing room two,” Merlin says dryly. “Part three of the trauma recovery process is reconnection and integration.”

Harry refills his glass. “Perhaps blunt force trauma will help.”

“Like how your first ex introduced himself to you?” Merlin drawls, and Harry winces, because he really just did walk right into that one. “You were so smitten with him even after he gave you a concussion. I thought you had a brain hemorrhage.”

“The concussion was my mistake for letting my guard down.” Harry’s been through this countless times before. “And I was impressed at an impressionable age.”

“He left quite an impression on your skull,” Merlin counters.

“Could we stop talking about my past relationships?” Harry enquires, looking at his empty glass. He isn’t quite sure when he finished it. Where is the tequila when he needs it, he wonders.

“Which brings us back to the matter of your current relationship with your boyfriend,” Merlin says with a subtle emphasis on the last word. “Who will be gone for longer than the amount of time you’ve been fucking like rabbits and has somehow still not moved in to your home, despite the fact that he’s been there every day for the past month.”

Harry doesn’t have to be reminded of these things. He’s very well aware of them, and so is Eggsy, for that matter. Eggsy’d fucked Harry to the point where Harry can’t even shift in his seat without vividly reminiscing about last night, the way Eggsy’d refused to let Harry turn to lay on his stomach, his teeth nipping at Harry’s nose, saying I won’t see you for a while, let me remember what you look like.

They’re comfortable with where they are. What they are. They’d hardly been worried about the long separation; never even discussed cohabitation. At a standstill for six weeks running, one foot in the doorway and the other still outside. Eggsy is always just as ready to leave as he is ready to invite himself over for dinner. 

“What exactly are you suggesting, Merlin?”

He remembers coming on Eggsy’s cock, the drag of its blunt head against his prostate, the sting of Eggsy’s teeth against his collarbone, and how Eggsy had laughed shakily, kissing Harry over and over, his words sweet against Harry’s mouth. You’re so gorgeous, you’re the most incredible bloke I’ve ever seen, try not to break too many hearts while I’m gone, alright?

Merlin raises his eyebrows, and Harry wonders if it would be possible to induce hair loss in those areas as well. “Don’t act obtuse, Harry.”

With a sigh, Harry pours himself another drink.


It’s been four weeks since Harry’s heard Eggsy’s voice, and he’s gotten used to listening to the boy chatter endlessly during sex, so much so that it feels strange to have an orgasm in silence, now.

At least, that’s what Harry tells himself when he pulls up Eggsy’s last mission feed and undoes the front of his trousers.


Seven weeks after Eggsy leaves London, Galahad’s handler reports a code red.

Galahad’s last transmission is a single word: Hemlock. It means his cover’s been blown and he’s on the run, on his own without backup. Protocol dictates that a compromised knight will attempt to contact Kingsman as soon as he reaches one of three designated safe houses, from where he will await extraction and further instructions.

Protocol also dictates that if the knight does not make it to a safe house and is unheard from for twenty-four hours since code red, two other knights will be assigned to recover him, with additional personnel assigned at Arthur’s discretion. 

Thirty-eight hours since Galahad’s last transmission, with Lancelot and Gawain poring over all available leads in Zürich and Harry pacing restlessly behind Merlin’s desk, Merlin swears and says, “This is bad.”

Harry takes one long look at the image of Eggsy, bound to a chair with blood spilling from his nose and mouth, his shirt torn and bloodied, and walks out to take the jet to Switzerland.


Lancelot guns down another guard, her aim precise and her feet steady as she makes her way through the wide, open space of the industrial complex, following Merlin’s directions towards the basement level. Harry follows her down the stairs, his blood buzzing, the world drowning in white static except for the sound of Merlin’s voice in his ear saying, “The blueprints indicate that there’s only two rooms fitting the approximate dimensions of the room we saw in the video feed. Lancelot, take the second hallway to your left, second door. Arthur, first hallway to your right, second door.”

Harry rounds the corner with his firearm up, ready to pull the trigger, but the hall is empty. Between his first step towards the metal door and his hand reaching the doorknob, he hears a scrape and a shout, the sound of a fist against flesh, and the rage settles. Consolidates.

He opens the door and levers his gun at the man standing over Eggsy’s prone form on the floor. His voice pleasant when he says, “Please move away from the boy. Towards the wall, if you will.”

Julien Denzler, one of the executives of the company that Kingsman had been investigating for allegations of human experimentation, carefully backs away, his hands raised. Harry remembers his profile: quick to be angered, paranoid, and a possible sadist. Thankfully, of the many disgusting things the man might be, an expert in torture is not one of them, and when Harry carefully kneels down with his gun still trained on Denzler to roll Eggsy onto his back, he notes that there is no notable permanent damage to be seen.

“Thank fuck,” Eggsy slurs, his nose most definitely broken, which Harry files away with a sense of detachment. He tucks away the sight of Eggsy struggling upright, an arm around his torso as if shielding his ribs, and then his eyes stop at Eggsy’s undone trousers. 

“Eggsy,” Harry says, and his voice is calm. It’s perhaps the only calm thing about Harry right now. “Did he touch you?”

Eggsy’s eyes follow the aborted gesture of Harry’s left hand to the front of his trousers, then they flick back up, slightly unfocused and groggy. The answer comes out slow. Hesitant. “Been groped worse at clubs.”

That's not a no.

There’s a flurry of footsteps behind Harry, and then Lancelot’s voice, relief bleeding through her words. “Galahad! Can you stand?”

As Lancelot carefully tucks Eggsy’s right arm around her neck, leaving his left arm tenderly cradling his side, and helps him to his feet, Merlin’s voice crackles over the comms. “Gawain has finished evacuation of hostages. He’s heading to the extraction point at rendezvous Delta.” A beat. “Two vehicles ready.”

“Lancelot, please take Galahad to the extraction point and take the first vehicle with Gawain. I will follow shortly,” Harry says, rising to his feet, his eyes on Denzler.

Hesitation weaves its way through her voice. “Arthur?”

“Before Galahad loses consciousness, please.” The fury forges itself sharper at the thought of Eggsy, his skin bruised and his bones fractured by a hand that isn’t Harry’s. “And please close the door on your way out.

A moment of silence—then there’s the shuffling of feat, the low sound of Eggsy’s groan, and the click of a shut door. Denzler looks at Harry and blanches, for good reason.

“I do suggest that you cease recordings from here,” Harry says, advancing towards Denzler’s cowering form.

“And I suggest you start with his kneecaps,” Merlin says. Then the line goes dead.

Harry smiles. It isn’t a very pleasant smile. 

All he can think of is Eggsy’s right eye swollen shut, his cheek bleeding from a shallow gash, his shirt torn open, the vulnerable, pale expanse of his stomach mottled with bruises, the indent of the tip of a shoe marked near his sternum. He thinks of Eggsy’s trousers, undone, the button ripped off, and he widens his smile to show his teeth.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” Harry says. The rage is a hum under his skin, growing louder, hotter. “I do not take kindly to others laying hand on what’s mine.”

He aims for the left kneecap first.


Eggsy’s eyes flutter open in the infirmary almost twenty-four hours later.

“How do you feel?” Harry asks, setting aside his remaining paperwork and standing from the chair he’s occupied since last night. He settles carefully on the edge of Eggsy’s bed, his hands deliberately clasped together to refrain from touching the boy.

“Like shit,” Eggsy croaks, his voice hoarse. “You got the kids out?”

Harry measures the beat of Eggsy’s pulse thrumming below his jaw. “We rescued the civilians and have made sure to leave them under professional care. They’re going to be fine.”

“Good.” Eggsy regards the ceiling above him for a while, his jaw set in a line that Harry recognises as apprehension. It’s a look Eggsy never wears well. 

It's moments like these that make Harry wish he understood the language Eggsy’s DNA is written in. If only he could read Eggsy like a favorite book, pluck the worries from his head and give him exactly what he needs. 

"Eggsy," Harry prompts, his voice soft in the quiet of the infirmary.

There's a sense of Eggsy deflating, his breath escaping him in an angry hiss, and the boy looks terribly out of place in a bed that is not Harry's. "I fucked up proper, this time, didn't I."

The flat tone in Eggsy's voice flicks a switch in Harry's brain. This is Eggsy awaiting to be berated, to be condemned.

"You didn't," Harry says.

"Blew my cover like Valentine's fuckin' head fireworks." Eggsy chews at his bruised lips, and Harry can't stop himself from reaching over and easing Eggsy's lower lip away from his teeth. From there, it's so natural to brush his fingers against his cheek, to cradle Eggsy's jaw gently in his palm. A small whimper escapes Eggsy in an exhale when he melts into the touch, leaning into Harry's hand. 

It makes Harry want to break him. 

It makes Harry want to protect him.

"Merlin found you by hacking into every closed circuit in the area and running facial recognition on all the security footage," Harry says, stroking a small circle into the skin at the corner of Eggsy's mouth with his thumb. "They were about to perform a potentially fatal experiment on several dozen children. You risked your cover and safety to save them, and you did save them. Those children are alive and unharmed because of you. That's hardly a fuck up."

Eggsy looks at him, his eyes going soft after seemingly deciding that Harry's words are genuine, and reaches up to grip Harry's wrist, turning his face to kiss Harry's palm. "Fuck, I missed you."

It's terrifying, how easily Eggsy says such sweet things. How strongly Harry wants to keep him. 

He feigns bemusement. "It was strange to not have anybody kicking me in their sleep, I must admit."

"I missed having you hog the covers," Eggsy confesses, smiling, and Harry feels himself fold like a house of cards, collapsing in on itself.

"You should move in."

Eggsy blinks up at him. "What, me? Into your house?"

"I believe that's what I just said," Harry says, casually. As if he doesn't want to drag Eggsy away from the metaphorical doorway, to lock the door behind him and keep him, to make him stay. As if he doesn't want to say don't you ever leave me.

"Huh." A grin slowly blooms on Eggsy's lips. "Thought you'd never ask."


They debrief in the infirmary a week later, when Eggsy's nose is on its way to healing without problem and his concussion is mostly gone. Eggsy is polishing off a chocolate monstrosity that Roxy smuggled into the infirmary for him--which both Merlin and Harry are both pretending to have not seen--when he finally finishes reading the post-op report. Specifically, the extraction details. More specifically, the extent of damage done to Julien Denzler, both pre and post-mortem.

"You know," Eggsy says, sounding incredibly conflicted over the new onslaught of information, "I thought blowin' up the heads of half the royal family was overkill."

Harry hums a noncommittal sound from where he's sitting on Eggsy's bed, his right side pressed against Eggsy's left as they both sit propped by the raised bed. He's still trying to figure out if Percival's report is genuine or if the man copied and pasted the plot for a Bond film.

"But then there's overkill and overkill. Harry, seriously. What the fuck."

The incredulous tone in Eggsy's voice snags Harry's attention, his hand automatically lowering his tablet as he turns to look Eggsy in the eye. "Excuse me?"

Eggsy sets aside his snack and gives him an unimpressed look. "Ever heard of disproportionate retribution?"

Harry has, in fact, heard of it. Multiple times. From Merlin and two different Kingsman-affiliated mental health professionals over the past week. He's quite sure Merlin didn't really mean it seriously. If anything, he seemed quite smug that Harry took his advice to heart and started with Denzler's kneecaps.

"I needed to blow off a little steam," Harry says, and he sees Eggsy's lips twitch, as if caught on the verge of smiling at the familiar quip.

Eggsy persists, even though his resolve to scold Harry is obviously crumbling. He brandishes the report in its manila folder at Harry. “Some of this was real fuckin’ rank, you know.”

“He hurt you,” Harry says.

“Part of me job, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Eggsy, my boy,” Harry says matter-of-factly. “Against all logic and reason, I am inordinately fond of you. And I do not share very well.”

A hot flush steals across Eggsy’s face, his jaw dropping open before it clicks shut again as Eggsy’s ears turn red. It takes him two tries to clear his throat before he says, “I told you, he didn’t touch me or nothin’ too bad. Done a lot worse on honeypots, yeah?”

“As you so love to rub my face in it, you do happen to be my boyfriend, and I do not take kindly to those taking my boyfriend captive.”

"Fuckin' ruthless, you are." Eggsy shakes his head in amazement as his objections to Harry’s treatment of Denzler drain out of him, and part of Harry relaxes at the ease with Eggsy accepts Harry's brutality. How he doesn't even flinch when Harry ghosts his fingers over fading bruises and still-tender ribs, even when they both know Harry is infinitely more dangerous than Denzler could ever be. 

"You could stand to take a lesson or two," Harry says, leaning his weight slightly into Eggsy's side to remind him that he's jesting. 

"I'm still not shooting my dog," Eggsy says. "You'll have to put up with both of us in your house."

"Two of you to shed on my floor and slobber over me. I'm already regretting this." Harry represses a smirk when Eggsy pokes him in the ribs.

"Oi, I don't shed. And don't pretend you ain't happy to have a pretty young thing warming your sheets, babe." Eggsy winks.

Harry notes that Eggsy hasn’t denied the slobbering part and sighs. “Call me that again and I will have you sleeping on the couch."

Eggsy smiles bright and warm, with all the affection in the world, like Harry threatening to banish him from the bedroom is adorable. He’s probably going to be calling Harry such unmentionable endearments on public comms. Harry should feel more indignation and less fond resignation, but he knows better than to fight losing battles.

“I’ll have you sleep on the couch with me, then,” Eggsy says, laughing, and when he drags Harry in for a kiss, Harry goes willingly.


The day before Eggsy is discharged from the infirmary, Harry sits in Merlin's office and waits for Merlin to stop laughing. He sits for about five minutes before he decides to interject between Merlin’s chortles.

"I'm so glad that you see the gravity of the situation," Harry says through his teeth.

“The great Harry Hart,” Merlin wheezes, “thwarted by a toddler.”

“I was more concerned about Eggsy’s mother.” Harry has never felt as old as he does now. “Merlin, she’s a decade younger than me. She’ll have my head.”

“I’m telling Eggsy to have his glasses on so that I’ll be able to see your face when you introduce yourself as his sugar daddy,” Merlin says, and then starts laughing all over again. He probably thinks he’s hilarious. Harry is going to assign him as Ector’s handler for the next three weeks while Ector spends extended periods of time in close-contact with highly flammable materials. Ector’s pyromania is in the running for number one source for Merlin’s ulcers.

The other source in the running, unfortunately, is Harry himself. This is probably Merlin’s version of well-deserved karma.

“She was already uncomfortable with me as his employer.” That re-introduction had not gone very well. He can only imagine how much worse it will be when she realises that he’s responsible for shredding Eggsy’s virtue to filthy, ragged bits all over Harry’s house and parts of HQ as well. Not that Eggsy had much virtue to begin with. “Now she’s going to know that I’m his boyfriend. It’s bound to be a disaster.”

Merlin’s breathing is finally back to normal. “You’re perfectly capable of charming the good sense out of people, Harry. Relax. I’ve never seen you so twitchy before.

“I’ve never had to meet my partner’s family before.”

“First time for everything,” Merlin says, dismissive. “You used to sleep with a CIA interrogator. Surely this can’t be as bad as that.”


It is that bad. 

“Please don’t cry,” Harry says to a wailing Daisy perched on his lap, wiping at her tears and snot with his handkerchief. They’re sitting in the living room, waiting for Eggsy to finish packing, and Harry can hear Eggsy and Michelle arguing upstairs in Eggsy’s room. It’s a fairly one-sided argument.

“Eggsy, baby, he’s not forcing you to do this to keep your job, is he?” Michelle’s raised voice echoes through the house, her concern about Harry hearing her lob accusations against his character completely forgotten.

“Mum, please, it ain’t like that.” Eggsy sounds embarrassed but patient, willing to explain. “We’re both doing this ‘cause we want to.” 

Harry’s almost tempted to go wait outside, because he feels like an intruder in a private space, a voyeur listening in on something he shouldn’t hear. He’s been listening to Eggsy defend Harry’s honor for nearly an hour, and the only reason Harry stays put is because Eggsy’s still recovering from his fractured ribs and is in no shape to be carrying his luggage down on his own.

Harry straightens at the sound of footsteps on the staircase, too light to be Eggsy’s, and braces himself for—well, anything. 

Michelle enters the living room, her shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat. As if sensing her mother’s presence, Daisy’s wailing tapers off into sniffles and hiccups, her eyes on Harry’s face. Harry runs his best approximation of a soothing hand down her back before Michelle lifts the toddler up, settling her against a firm shoulder.

“I wish you weren’t taking him,” Michelle says, her mouth setting into a grim line. “First with your, well, agent thing. And now…you.”

“Eggsy is not the kind of young man to be taken anywhere he doesn’t want to go,” Harry says.

Michelle blinks at him. “Are you saying he wants to be your kept man?”

“I can’t keep him if he doesn’t wish to be kept,” Harry says, and the bitter taste of those words surprises him. “He’ll leave me when he wants to.” 

For a good minute or so, Michelle stays standing, staring at Harry with her eyebrows furrowed. Then she mutters a small, revelatory, “Huh,” and retreats to the kitchen with Daisy in her arms. A little later, she emerges with a cup of tea and offers it to Harry. It’s a touch too sweet for his taste, but he recognises it for the olive branch it is and thanks her for it.

They both wait in silence, Harry on the couch and Michelle in the rocking chair with Daisy on her lap, until Eggsy hollers for Harry to carry his luggage down.


“I was kinda hopin’ for a shag, now that we’re here and all,” Eggsy grumbles as they sit on their couch, slumped into Harry’s side with his head tucked into the hollow of Harry’s throat. On the television screen, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie attempt to kill each other with terribly executed movements.

“No strenuous activity until your ribs are healed,” Harry reminds him, running a hand down Eggsy’s side carefully. "Unless you want to explain to Merlin why you won't be field-ready next month."

Eggsy burrows harder into Harry's chest. "Ugh. This sucks." Harry can hear him pouting in the silence, which shouldn't be possible. "Not even a blow job?"

"Darling, if you don't stop talking, I'll tie you down to the bed and force you to sleep there while I sleep in the guest room," Harry says pleasantly. "We're only watching this dreadful movie because you insisted. Focus."

That makes Eggsy quiet down, settling into a warm heap sprawled across Harry and the couch while Brad Pitt admits that he can't kill his wife after all. It's very dramatic and emotional, as opposed to when Harry had discovered that his boyfriend was also a part-time terrorist. It had been a shame to chuck him out of the window and send him to prison with two broken legs. Tristan, who'd been there to witness it, had avoided Harry for almost a full month, unnerved by what the more sensitive man dubbed as "ruthless pragmatism," which was a roundabout way of saying "cold-blooded." Merlin, on the other hand, had never let Harry live down the fact that his one attempt to date a civilian had gone up in flames.

Harry runs a contemplative hand down Eggsy's ribs and feels Eggsy relax into the touch, breathes in the clean scent of sandalwood and honey. Eggsy sighs against Harry's throat, a hot brush of air that prickles at Harry's senses, like his entire spine is coming alive, and Harry thinks of levering a gun at Eggsy's temple, of balancing loyalties like the moment he'd aimed and pulled the trigger at Mr. Pickle. It wouldn't happen, not with Eggsy as Galahad and Harry as Arthur, but if he had to choose--

"But what if you fingered me?" Eggsy blurts out.

Harry sighs. He turns the movie off.


"I can't believe you actually tied me to the bed and still didn't fuck me." Eggsy sounds both infuriated and amazed all at once, rubbing absentmindedly at his wrists while Harry serves breakfast. JB patters behind him, ever hopeful for a slice of bacon. "And you slept in the guest room even when I offered to blow you. Who even does that?"

"Someone who isn't interested in sending you back to medical," Harry replies, fetching a vial of ointment from the cupboard that he keeps in case of emergencies. He pours a generous amount on his fingers and gestures for Eggsy to hold his hands out. "I didn't tie you that tightly," he murmurs, rubbing the ointment into the red marks around Eggsy's wrists. "You should have been able to get out of those knots fairly easily, if you were that uncomfortable."

Harry looks up from Eggsy's wrists to see the boy's eyelashes flutter closed, a dull flush rising on his cheeks. "Wasn't that uncomfortable," Eggsy says, his eyes on Harry's fingers tracing around his wrist.

Harry rubs his thumb firmly against the red skin on Eggsy's wrist, and Eggsy whines, a filthy, drawn-out sound that reverberates down Harry's bones and makes his prick twitch. 

"Fuck, Harry," Eggsy whines, pleading.

For one breathtaking moment, Harry wants to throw Eggsy onto the dining table, finger him open, and fuck him so hard the table gives away. Just take him and take him until Eggsy is more broken than whole, utterly ruined and utterly Harry's. 

Then Harry breathes out, lets the moment pass, and presses a kiss to Eggsy's left wrist, hunger curling in his lower belly at the sound of Eggsy’s breath hitching. ”Not yet."


Harry spends the first half of the next three weeks persuading Eggsy to not molest Harry in his sleep--he's fairly sure Eggsy wants to be tied down as punishment now--and the second half of them in Guatemala City as a favor to an old friend. During the scant moments of privacy he has, he thinks of Eggsy, with his red wrists at the breakfast table, eager and willing in only his low-slung pyjama bottoms and nothing else. 

He thinks about it what it means, that he’s even considering it at all.


Harry’d been in blackout for the duration of the Guatemala situation, only transmitting every twenty-four hours to Merlin, so by the time he’s back in London, he hasn’t seen or heard Eggsy for ten days. 

Which explains why, after Harry comes back from HQ and steps into the house, Eggsy slams him up against the door and starts kissing him like his life depends on it.

Eggsy’s tongue is wet and slick, a welcome invasion in Harry’s mouth, and he tastes of lemon and sugar, bittersweet in a way that makes Harry’s insides clench. He grabs Eggsy by the hips and drags him closer, feeling the warmth radiating from Eggsy from where their chests are pressed against each other, separated only by Eggsy’s teeshirt and Harry’s shirt, his jacket already open. Eggsy smells less like sandalwood and more like a familiar scent that is decidedly not Eggsy, and he forcibly pulls back to stare at wide, green eyes.

“Have you been using my shampoo?” Harry asks.

Eggsy makes an unhappy noise over the loss of Harry’s tongue in his mouth. “You ain’t pissed ‘bout me usin’ your posh shampoo, yeah? Didn’t use much, I swear.” He tries to go in for another kiss but Harry presses a hand over his mouth, preventing him from getting any closer.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, and it feels like the world is falling apart, the taste of Harry’s favourite tea on Eggsy’s tongue, the scent of Harry’s cologne and shampoo on Eggsy’s skin. 

There’s the wet sensation of tongue against skin, Eggsy laving a hot, damp open-mouthed kiss against Harry’s palm, his words muffled as he whines, “I missed you, Harry, please—”

Harry shushes him, presses his lips to Eggsy’s hairline and regroups himself, breathing in, his nose buried in Eggsy’s hair.

“Go wait for me in the bedroom,” Harry says. 

Thankfully, Eggsy doesn’t argue. He detaches himself from Harry, his erection obvious in the confines of his jeans, and saunters upstairs, a subtle sway in his hips meant just for Harry. 

It takes Harry a minute or so to take his oxfords off and finally make a decision.

He walks into the bedroom to find Eggsy sitting on the edge of the bed facing the doorway, his feet bare, still in his teeshirt and jeans, his eyes dark and hungry. Harry closes the door behind him and leans against it, allows Eggsy to take a good long look at Harry, still very much dressed in his suit and still hard in his trousers.

“I’ve thought about it,” Harry begins, “but I’m afraid I’m not exactly interested in bondage.” Eggsy raises a playful eyebrow at him, his mouth opening for a doubtlessly cheeky remark, so Harry continues evenly: “I think that’s not exactly what you’re after, either.” He thinks of Eggsy, pliant under his touch, his face flushed at Harry’s praise, his eagerness to please. “Eggsy, do you trust me?

“Yes,” Eggsy breathes within a heartbeat.

Harry pushes away from the door, takes a step toward the bed. Stops. “On your knees, darling boy.”

For a moment, Eggsy doesn’t move, and there’s the gaping, open-wounded sense of having made a terrible mistake, Harry’s self-confidence wavering for the first time in decades. 

Then Eggsy slides down from the bed to the floor in a single, fluid motion, gracefully settling down on his knees, his back straight and his hands clasped behind him. His eyes are bright and cheerful as they peer up at Harry, his posture not even the least bit shy or uncertain. He’s still as lethal and dangerous as a Kingsman can ever be, even on his knees. A submission voluntarily granted. The faint upward curve of Eggsy’s lips is a puzzle piece slotting in, the completion of a picture that Harry’s been anticipating for a while. It centers him, gives him the push to take the extra steps to stand in front of Eggsy.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Harry promises. He’s never made this kind of promise before, but right now he means it with a terrifying certainty. “If for any reason you need me to stop, you say Excalibur. Are we clear?”

Eggsy’s smile widens. “Yes.”

“Repeat what I just said.”

“If I need you to stop for any reason, I say Excalibur.”

Harry finally lets himself trail his fingers down Eggsy’s cheek, trace the curve of his jaw, press against Eggsy’s pulse-point. He watches Eggsy’s eyes go half-lidded, feels the pulse under his fingertips speed up. He could easily tip Eggsy’s chin up, coax those plush lips open, and push his cock in, down the boy’s throat, could easily fuck him like that until Eggsy’s voice is hoarse tomorrow, his lips bruised and tender. He could so very easily wreck this boy.

And yet all Harry wants to do is indulge him, spoil him in return for the staggering faith Eggsy has placed in Harry’s hands. 

“I think I like you on your knees,” Harry says, and means something else entirely.

“What about on my back?” Eggsy asks, mischief glinting in his eyes even when he’s darting a coy look up from under his eyelashes, and he’s just asking for it, really. 

Harry taps the underside of Eggsy’s chin and tuts. “I like you in many ways, but right now I want you naked, my boy. Off with your clothes.” 

Eggsy starts with pulling off his teeshirt by the hem in one smooth tug, arching his spine a little for show after dropping the article on the floor. His jeans, he undoes and tugs down, slowly revealing the base of his thickening cock, and Harry attempts to sound chiding when he says, “I see your horrid habit of forgoing underwear still needs fixing.” 

“You like it,” Eggsy says, entirely too smug, keeping his eyes on Harry’s face as he eases his jeans down, maneuvering carefully so that he can kick the jeans off while still in a kneeling position. Harry shrugs his jacket off, tosses it over the stool in front of the full-length mirror by his closet, and undoes his cufflinks while he watches Eggsy’s cock bob against his stomach, fat and already leaking pearly drops of precome from the tip. 

Harry takes his time unbuttoning his shirt, observes the way Eggsy’s jaw clenches in impatience but how his posture doesn’t falter, how his cock twitches when Harry slips the shirt off and throws it over his suit jacket. How the tip of his tongue sneaks out to lick his lower lip when Harry walks back closer, stopping so that the erection straining against his trousers is less than an inch away from Eggsy’s mouth. 

“Show me how much you missed me, darling,” Harry says.

Grinning, Eggsy leans in and nuzzles against the bulge in Harry’s trousers, then expertly undoes Harry’s trouser button with his mouth. Then, he unzips Harry with his teeth.

“Have you been learning new tricks while I’ve been gone?” Harry manages between all the blood leaving his brain and the tightening of his stomach when Eggsy nudges Harry’s briefs down cautiously with his chin and mouth.

“Old trick, actually.” Eggsy pauses to press a wet kiss to Harry’s hipbone. “Been savin’ it for a special occasion.” 

He frees Harry’s cock and presses a reverent, open-mouthed kiss to its tip, his eyes slipping closed as he enjoys Harry’s taste, hands settling on Harry’s thighs so he can steady himself, sway closer to lick from root to crown, lapping at the precome beading from Harry’s slit. Harry’s fights to keep his hand steady when he pets at Eggsy’s hair, kneading gently at his scalp while Eggsy swallows him down and moans around his prick. 

Eggsy's mouth is all soft, wet heat and suction, his tongue a teasing pressure against the the frenulum, swirling around the head when Eggsy isn't busy nosing against the dark thatch of hair at the base of Harry's cock, showing off his inherent lack of a gag reflex. Harry's knees don't buckle when Eggsy hums deliberately with Harry's cock down his throat, sending a bolt of lust up his spine, but it's a close thing. He hasn't had sex with Eggsy for well over two months, and now with Eggsy looking up at him, maintaining eye contact while he bobs his head and takes Harry down the tight, hot channel of his throat, Harry isn’t quite sure he’ll last as long as he wants.

Eggsy introduces the faint, sharp sensation of his teeth against the underside of Harry’s cock and Harry is suddenly too close to the edge, his breath hissing out of him as he summons every ounce of self-restraint he has not to come then and there.

“Stop.” Harry pulls Eggsy’s head back by his hair, shuddering when Eggsy gives one last hard suck before relinquishing Harry’s cock with a whine. “Up on the bed, on your back.”

Eggsy blinks up at him for a few seconds, then smiles sweetly, the kind of smile reserved for when the boy’s been especially devious, and Harry wonders if he’s missed something. With a near-feline grace, Eggsy rolls back to the balls of his feet and rises to his full height, his smile turning sly as he turns around, his arse facing Harry while he crawls on all fours up the bed, and Harry can’t breathe.

“Like what you see?” Eggsy purrs, wiggling his bum to emphasise the black plug nestled between his cheeks before collapsing onto the mattress with a wink.

“You,” Harry breathes, “filthy,” he takes a step closer, kneels onto the bed, “gorgeous,” and prowls over his boy who’s giggling up at him from where he’s lying on the bed. “tart.” He punctuates the last word with a hungry kiss, biting down on Eggsy’s lower lip, tugging at it until Eggsy whines, then relenting and dipping down to tangle his tongue with Eggsy’s, makes the kiss as dirty as he can, all spit and teeth and tongue. Eggsy arches up beneath him, searching for friction, but Harry presses a palm on the flat of his stomach, keeping Eggsy flat against the mattress until he’s done with the boy.

By the time Eggsy’s a dazed, aching mess, leaking liberally onto his stomach and his words slurring with lust, Harry is satisfied and a little more in control of himself. He shimmies out of his trousers and briefs, tossing them to the floor without a sideways glance, his eyes riveted on Eggsy's glazed eyes, his spit-slick lips. He makes his way down Eggsy’s body, taking his time with licking at Eggsy’s nipples into hard, sensitive nubs and lavishing wet kisses down his throat and sternum and navel. He sucks what will be a splendidly noticeable mark into the inside of Eggsy’s inner thigh, and bites another mark over a sweat-drenched hipbone. 

“Harry,” Eggsy begs, his hands clenching at the bunched up bedsheets beside his head, and begging has never sounded sweeter than it does from Eggsy’s bruised mouth. 

With one last lingering, open-mouthed kiss and the scrape of his teeth against the inside of Eggsy’s ankle, Harry lifts both of Eggsy’s legs and places them over his shoulders. He takes care to pull the plug out slowly, the wet sound of it popping free obscenely loud.

“You insatiable creature,” Harry says chidingly, admiring the black silicone toy, the thick girth of it almost exactly the same as Harry’s cock. “Been enjoying yourself without me, haven’t you.”

Eggsy hooks his ankles together behind Harry’s head and whines. “Harry.”

“Why would you need me when you’re already doing so well on your own?” Harry asks. “I should just let you fuck yourself on this instead of my cock.”

“I wanted you to fuck me as soon as possible,” Eggsy blurts. “I missed you so much, Harry, you promised—”

Harry leans down and kisses him, a slow, indulgent press of his lips to Eggsy’s, shushing him. “I know. I promised to take care of you.” He sets the plug aside and reaches for the lube on the bedside drawer, slicks himself up. Presses the tip of his cock to Eggsy’s hole. “I’ve got you, my boy.”

Eggsy is slick and open when Harry thrusts in, the damp heat of him still intoxicatingly perfect, just as Harry remembered. He pressed Eggsy’s legs down, opens him up more and grinds his hips in slow circles, going as deep as he possibly can, and Eggsy chokes on a gasp, scrabbles at Harry's bare arms, latching onto his wrists. "Oh fuck--"

Mindful of Eggsy's still healing ribs, Harry rocks in and out in small, maddening increments, dragging his cock against Eggsy's rim, feeling Eggsy clench around him with a strangled whine. It's the slowest sex they've ever had, Harry barely moving, each inch of movement magnified, sparking hot under Harry's skin. Eggsy squirms beneath him, wordlessly pleading, but Harry shakes his head and resolutely keeps a steady, honey-slow pace. He makes sure to drag his cock against the Eggsy’s prostate on each lazy thrust, and Eggsy’s flailing hands eventually settle, one tangled in the sheets above Eggsy’s head and the other between his teeth, muffling his cries.

Eggsy’s always been exceedingly vocal, whether it be through swearing in increasingly creative expletives or talking incessantly about how much he likes Harry’s cock or moaning wantonly for more. While Harry’s resorted to gagging Eggsy a few times, this is the first time he’s seen Eggsy trying to stifle his own voice. 

Harry misses that voice.

“Let me hear you,” Harry says, dropping down to his elbows, trapping Eggsy’s cock between their bellies, and pressing their chests together to lick a wet stripe on the back of Eggsy’s hand. “You’ve never been shy before. Don’t start now.”

“Nngh, shit,” Eggsy hesitantly takes his hand away from his mouth, lets it rest next to his other hand above his head. His flush goes down his throat and collarbone, all the way down to his chest. “Never went like this before, oh fuck me—”

Eggsy’s voice goes high-pitched and breathy, so utterly desperate that every hitch in his voice, every gasped syllable is indecent beyond words. “God, you’re killing me. Harry. Harry, fuck—“

There’s none of Eggsy’s usual demanding, cheeky brattiness in his voice. His arms stay stretched out above him in surrender. He’s exquisite, like this.

“Jesus. Harry, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” Harry says against Eggsy’s mouth, then kisses him.

He swallows down the sound of Eggsy’s keening, measures Eggsy’s heartbeat through where their chests are pressed together, feels Eggsy clench around him as Harry fucks him through orgasm. Eggsy shakes and shakes until he’s a pliant stretch of limbs, warm and relaxed around Harry’s cock. Small half-formed whimpers fall from Eggsy’s lips as Harry buries his face into Eggsy’s shoulder, feeling his gut tighten, his blood boil until he’s burning, turning to embers. When he comes, it’s almost a relief. Almost like free-fall.

After what seems like hours, Harry gets his breath back and lifts his head up, turning to lazily mouth at Eggsy’s jaw, feeling the breath puncture out of his boy in a wounded noise. His cock slips out of Eggsy when he sits up, and Eggsy whines at the loss, weakly attempting to drag Harry closer again with his legs around Harry’s neck, shifting his hips in a plea for Harry’s softening cock.

“I’m not that young, darling boy,” Harry says, untangling Eggsy’s legs and settling them down onto the bed, dropping a kisses on both knees. “Stop squirming so.”

Eggsy immediately stills, his muscles going lax and melting onto the sheets beneath him. He’s beautiful with his legs splayed open, his come smeared on his stomach and Harry's leaking out of him, face flushed and breathless. Harry draws a finger down the mess on Eggsy’s stomach and traces a line downwards, feather-light on Eggsy’s spent, twitching cock, and circles around Eggsy’s hole.

“Harry,” Eggsy says, voice wavering. 

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” Harry says. He pushes in two fingers and crooks them just so, strokes right over Eggsy’s prostate.

Eggsy spasms, a small shriek erupting from his throat as Harry fingers him relentlessly, soft, insistent touches alternating with harsh thrusts, the wet squelching sounds of Harry knuckle-deep inside his own come complementing the sound of Eggsy’s whimpers. Harry takes his time memorizing the arch of Eggsy’s spine, the quivering of his flanks, the plumpness of his bitten lips. Observes how Eggsy’s cock slowly stiffens, fattens and leaks over Eggsy’s come-stained stomach. He listens to Eggsy’s words disintegrate into incoherency, his voice a continuous melody of guttural moans and whines, and Harry wants to break him into pieces and rebuild him by hand.

He settles for taking Eggsy apart slow and steady, watching Eggsy’s pupils dilate to the point where there’s only a thin rim of green left in his eyes. Feels Eggsy go taut, a string ready to be plucked and snapped. 

“Let go,” Harry says. Twists his fingers and presses hard. “I’ve got you.”

Eggsy wails, his voice breaking into sobs, making an even sloppier mess of his stomach even though his cock stays red and firm, still wanting. Harry keeps teasing and pressing against Eggsy’s prostate throughout the aftershocks, driving Eggsy straight from one orgasm into the chase for another, and Eggsy’s sobbing, his voice breaking as he slurs, “I can’t, Harry, I can’t—”

“You can. Trust me, darling.” Harry leans down to taste Eggsy’s tears running down his cheeks, presses a kiss to a wet cheekbone. “I have you.” He covers Eggsy’s body with his own, breathing hot against the jut of Eggsy’s Adam’s apple as he drives his fingers in, over and over. “I have you.” 

He sinks his teeth into Eggsy’s throat, and Eggsy comes with an open-mouthed, filthy keen that shivers down Harry’s spine. He closes his eyes and breathes in the smell of sweat and sex, and the sandalwood buried beneath it all.


Eggsy’s taking a while to come down from the last orgasm, so Harry nips to the bathroom and starts running hot water into the tub, sprinkling bath salt liberally into the rising water. He then runs a cloth under the tap, wrings it out and brings it back to the bed, starts to wipe Eggsy methodically, starting with his stomach and between his thighs. By the time he’s cleaned most of Eggsy’s spunk off of his skin, Eggsy’s eyes are losing the glazed look, blinking with more alertness as they focus on Harry. 

“Now,” Harry says, his hands on Eggsy’s shoulder and thigh, rubbing circles into warm skin. “I’m taking you to have a soak in the bath with me. Then I’m going to cook you dinner and we’ll eat on the couch and watch whichever movie you like. Then we’re going to bed. You’re not to be wearing any clothes until we wake up tomorrow morning, and neither of us are going to discuss work or anything outside of this house until then. How does that sound?”

The contented noise from Eggsy’s throat and his outstretched arms is a definite yes. 

“Spoiled,” Harry chides as he lifts Eggsy into his arms, bridal style, and carries him to the bathroom, smiling fondly into the kiss Eggsy presses against his lips.


When Harry wakes up to Eggsy burrowed into his chest, his soft hair tickling Harry's chin from where he's tucked his face into Harry's neck, he takes a deep breath and thinks about last night.

Eggsy, as Harry had suspected, took to being doted on like a fish to water. He melted under every soothing touch, sighing happily while Harry cleaned him in the bath, lathered all over with soap and purring against Harry's chest until the water was lukewarm. He'd eaten Harry's pasta without complaint, nibbled garlic bread that Harry fed him, licking Harry's fingers afterwards. They'd watched Amelie, Eggsy curled up naked on the couch, cuddled against Harry's bare chest and absentmindedly rubbing Harry's pyjama bottoms between his fingers. 

It was a like a lovely dream, Eggsy soft and warm, basking in Harry's care, preening under lingering touches and kind words. Harry had enjoyed it. Spoiling Eggsy unspooled a liquid warmth in his chest, made him want to give everything Eggsy could ever ask for. To keep this sweet creature and never let him leave.

But it's just a dream.

Harry's going to wake up. He will want to gift Eggsy with things he cannot give, will inevitably crave hurting the boy more than pampering him, eventually tire of the boy just like he had grown bored of his other lovers. Perhaps Eggsy will tire of him first. They're not going to last. They were never meant to last. Harry's never even thought of it, even for a second, but—

Eggsy snuffles against Harry's throat and Harry's heart tumbles from his chest to his stomach.

There's still fifteen minutes until the alarm rings, so Harry slips out of Eggsy's grasp, resisting Eggsy's sleepy, low whine, and pads into the bathroom. Closes the door behind him.

"Shit," Harry says to his reflection. He says it again for good measure. "Shit."


"Last night was fun," Eggsy comments and steals a bite of Harry's toast.

Harry forgets to reprimand him in the wake of the sudden lack of oxygen in his lungs. "Was it, now."

"Mmm," Eggsy hums appreciatively. He leans down from his chair to feed JB a sliver of bacon. "But let's keep it for once in a while, yeah? Me brain nearly melted out of me ears. I ain't gonna survive that shit if we do it too often."

Harry can breathe again. "Alright."


He drops Eggsy off at medical for a scheduled checkup and then makes his way straight to Merlin's office. Merlin’s barely greeted him when he announces, “I need a mission.”

Merlin blinks up at him, then hands him a manila folder. 

That went much more easily than Harry’d expected. He says so to Merlin’s face, and flips the folder open. It’s in Japan, for roughly three days, mostly light recon. Excellent. He’s about to turn and take the next jet out when he realizes who else is assigned to come with him. 

“I need a different one,” Harry says, snapping the folder shut.

“A different one where Eggsy isn’t coming along with you?” Merlin probes, his eyes narrowing. “You’re many kinds of fucked up, Harry, but you were never the kind to run from a problem.”

“I’m not running,” Harry says. “It’s a tactical retreat.”

“You need to formulate a new strategy, then, because your current one is shit. Why are you trying to avoid him?” 

Harry looks down at the manila folder he’s crumpling in his hands and tries to straighten it out again, affecting nonchalance. “I just need some time.”

Exasperation floods Merlin’s voice. “Then spend that time with the boy. He’s the one who asked for this,” he says, indicating the folder. “So you two could have some time alone.”

“A paid vacation,” Harry says. “You’re growing soft on him.”

Merlin sighs, like Harry’s daft and he’s growing quite tired of it. “I’m his friend, Harry. Believe it or not. He’s a good boy.” Almost too good for you is the unsaid sentiment they mutually agree on. “If you’re already tired of him, just end it now. Don’t drag it out. He deserves better than that.”

“I know he deserves better,” Harry says, and his words taste like acid. Like the truth.

The tone in his voice has Merlin frowning in concern, then his eyes going soft with understanding. “Harry.”

“I’m not tired of him.” The office is deafeningly quiet. So quiet that Merlin should probably be able to hear how Harry’s voice shakes just the tiniest bit, how much Harry hates himself for falling for a boy he doesn’t know how to keep. How much he hates to admit it.

“Then what’s the problem?” Merlin asks.

“It’s Eggsy,” Harry says. His usual eloquence escapes him. “As you’ve pointed out, he’s a good boy.”

“And you’re a bad man, is that it?” Merlin takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. He replaces his glasses and takes a fortifying sip of his coffee. “Harry, just because you have a taste for psychopaths doesn’t mean you’d be incapable of dating a, well, mentally stable person for once. Stop overthinking it.”

“Merlin, I’m going to ruin him.” Or ruin myself, Harry thinks.

“Maybe that’s what he wants,” Merlin says. “You two really should talk about this at the resort I booked you into. World-famous hot springs, they say.”

Harry clutches at his manila folder, tempted to throw it into the rubbish bin, or even better, at Merlin’s face. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Then tell him so,” Merlin says, and it’s utterly unfair, how all the fight leaves Harry at that statement. How he doesn’t have the courage to go say no to Eggsy’s upturned, earnest face. “Now if you’re quite done, you have some paperwork to finish before I send you off on that honeymoon of yours.”

“I thought you were supposed to work for me,” Harry complains.

A sly smile stretches across Merlin’s face. “That’s what the Arthurian legends would like you to think.”

“You’re a menace,” Harry grumbles and makes his way to leave.

“I’m your friend, even more than I am Eggsy’s,” Merlin says, making Harry halt and turn back, his hand on the door handle. There’s not even the slightest trace of mockery or ingenuity in his voice or face. “And Harry, you deserve to be happy.”

But what if my happiness comes at the cost of Eggsy’s? Harry wonders. What then?


“So we probably should go check that bookstore again tomorrow afternoon,” Eggsy says, then pops a piece of sushi into his mouth and makes an indecent noise. “Fuckin’ hell, this is really good.”

“We could go in the morning,” Harry says, observing how Eggsy’s skin looks soft and golden in the amber light of the restaurant. He ignores the rising want to taste Eggsy’s skin and chews on some splendid raw tuna instead. It melts on his tongue, rich and creamy, but it’s disappointing compared to what he knows Eggsy tastes like. “After we confirm that our intel is correct, we should be able to have lunch and perhaps go sightseeing.”

“Afternoon,” Eggsy corrects, his lips curving upwards. “I ain’t lettin’ you out of bed til I’m done with you, you fuckin’ tease.”

“Is that so?” Harry asks, and damn him for so easily caving to the quirk of those lovely lips, for letting his legs fall apart without hesitation when he feels a sock-clad foot slide from knee to inner thigh over his trousers. He keeps his voice as level as possible. “Then I do hope you do your best,” and there’s the ghost of pressure against his crotch that makes his voice go lower and wanting against his will, “and keep me—”

The rest of his words are abruptly cut off when the arch of Eggsy’s foot curves against his cock, pressing down shamelessly, and Harry snaps his mouth shut.

“Oh, believe me,” Eggsy says, his smile full of hunger. The wicked creature. “I’m keepin’ you.”


“God, I could get on my knees and suck you off right here and now,” Eggsy purrs, leaning against the hallway wall while Harry unlocks their room door. He’s been saying things like this ever since they immersed themselves in the hot springs, running his filthy mouth non-stop while he sat across from Harry, narrating every single dirty thing he wanted to do to Harry in pornographic detail as they kept their hands off each other, mindful of the other resort guests milling about in the water with them. Harry’d done his damned best to not make a spectacle of himself and sport a full erection in the public bath. It was a small mercy that none of the other guests seemed to understand English.

“The floor here wouldn’t be kind to your knees,” Harry says, taking a moment to admire the picture Eggsy makes, his yukata tied together loosely so that there’s a pale sliver of chest, hair carelessly tousled and half-dry, skin still flushed from the hot steam of the springs. There’s a relaxed grin on his lips, just on the right side of sharp and predatory, and it sends a pleasant shiver down Harry’s spine.

“Baby, I ain’t gonna be kind to you when we get inside,” Eggsy says, his teeth catching on his lower lip as he dips his head and give Harry a sultry look up his lashes, and Harry’s cock twitches at the sight. “Right tease, you are.”

Eggsy’s still miffed over the fact that he’d come up to Harry’s office yesterday, given the stamp of approval from medical to be approved for duty—and some more forceful sex—and hopeful for a quick shag before their departure to Japan, and had instead learned that Harry would be too busy with paperwork for that kind of distraction. It had been a weak excuse—Harry’d just needed one night to regroup before facing extended time alone with Eggsy again—and Eggsy’s been wheedling him about it the whole day, since the jet left England until now.

“What did I say about calling me that?” Harry turns the knob and opens the door, but he doesn’t move into the room just yet.

Eggsy pushes off the wall, crowds against Harry, and Harry lets himself be forced back a step and then another, lets Eggsy turn him and shove him up against the door, closing it with Harry’s back. 

“I can’t help it, you’re so gorgeous,” Eggsy says lazily grinding his hips against Harry’s. “Gotta beat off the competition with a stick, I swear.”

“I’ve no idea what competition you’re talking about, darling,” Harry says, his words spilling out of him involuntarily at a particularly vicious grind, the pain-pleasure of Eggsy biting down on a collarbone. 

“So fucking hot,” Eggsy growls. “Fittest bloke on the continent, you are. Course I have competition. Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?” He kneads at Harry’s arse through the thin cloth of the yukata, his touch more possessive than ever. 

“Trust me, my boy, you have no competition,” Harry says, and drags him in for a kiss.

They stumble to the two futons at the far end of the spacious room, both sitting with their legs entwined and devouring each other’s mouths until Eggsy shoves Harry off onto the tatami mats.

“Sit there,” Eggsy says, his voice raspy with lust, yukata starting to slide to reveal the hint of a bare shoulder. He repositions himself so he’s facing Harry, his feet flat on the futon and his knees bent, leaning a back a little with his hands planted behind him. He undoes his obi with one hand. “Hands on your knees.”

“You can’t be serious,” Harry says, his blood too hot under his skin, his mouth aching to bite down on Eggsy’s neck. Still, he obeys, settling into a comfortable sitting position and keeping his hands where Eggsy can see them. 

“Nobody’s ever said no to you before?” Eggsy asks, arching his back so that the yukata starts to slide off his shoulders, the edges parting to reveal Eggsy’s nipples, pink and hard under the ceiling light. Eggsy’s head rolls back, baring his throat, his knees spreading apart so that the cloth slips off of his legs, pooling around him, under him. His lovely cock juts out, precome slipping down its mouthwatering length, and Harry has to clench his fists from where they rest on his knees. 

“I’ve rarely had to ask, before,” Harry says, and judging by the way Eggsy raises his head to smirk at him, they both know that he isn’t really answering the question. 

Eggsy leans back on one elbow, the length of his bare body on shameless display for Harry, his free hand snaking down the the span of his stomach slowly, slowly. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Harry is only inches from Eggsy’s futon, an arm’s length away from that red, leaking cock. All he needs to do is lean over, and take, because who is Harry to deny himself what is willfully offered?

And yet—

“No touching,” Eggsy says breathily, shooting Harry a playful, warning look. 

Harry grits his teeth and doesn’t move.

“If you wanted to touch me so bad, you should’ve done that earlier, you know?” Eggsy says, tipping his head back again as he wraps a hand around his cock, his entire body flexing at the touch. “I’ve been gaggin’ for it since you sprung me from the infirmary, and you wouldn’t even give me a handjob, you fuckin’ wanker.” Eggsy’s hips roll in slow circles, his cock fucking his fist. “And yeah, my ribs might’ve been a mite tender, so I won’t blame you for that, but fuckin’ Guatemala, Jesus, are you tryin’ to kill me with blue balls?”

“For the record,” Harry says with a dry mouth, “I did prevent what would have most likely become World War III.”

“You brilliant bastard,” Eggsy laughs, collapsing onto his back and still pumping his cock with slow strokes. “God, do you have any idea how much I fuckin’ missed you? Seven goddamn weeks, couldn’t even hear your voice or shit, wanted you so bad.” 

Eggsy snatches a pillow with his free hand and shoves it under his head to get a better look at Harry, fists tightly clenched and cock tenting the fabric of his yukata.

“Fuckin’ Switzerland,” Eggsy pants. “Didn’t even have the freedom to get lube. I’d suck me fingers thinkin’ of you while I jerked off.” He plunges two fingers into his mouth, moaning around them like he’s auditioning to be a porn star, and Harry makes an angry noise in his throat. The wet sounds of Eggsy sucking his fingers and his other hand smearing precome from the tip of his cock down to the root are a seductive, torturous symphony. 

“Is that all you did when you thought of me?” Harry asks, and there’s nothing sweet or kind in his voice. Just lust and hunger. 

Eggsy pulls off his fingers with a wet pop. “Course not. Thought of your mouth on me, sucking me.” He pinches one of his nipples, shuddering with a groan of pleasure, before trailing his fingers down, down, down. “Fucking me.” He presses his fingers into the tight pucker of his arsehole in one slow push and Harry swears out loud, his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms so viciously that he’s going to have permanent imprints at this rate.

Harry’s so hard that it’s starting to hurt.

“And then fuckin’ Guatemala,” Eggsy whines. “Had to get something to fuck me instead of your nice, fat cock." He twists his fingers inside him at cock, letting a long, unabashed moan roll from his throat. "Got the plug and fucked myself in our bed, wishin' you were there. Fuck, Harry, I've been fantasizing for weeks about when my ribs got better. I was waiting for you to fuck me so hard I'd feel it for days, wanted to walk funny with your come all plugged up inside me so you'd just bend me over and fuck me again whenever you wanted." 

"Fuck," Harry hisses, his control fracturing at the image of Eggsy in his suit, that black plug in his arse, wet and loose and ready to sit and bounce on Harry's cock any minute.

Eggsy talks faster, his hand on his cock speeding up, his fingers thrusting harder into his arse. "Kept thinkin' 'bout havin' that plug up me arse and your cock down me throat, stuff me both ways, fuck me raw. Shit, I wanted your cock in me arse with that plug, stretch myself out til I was so full, wanted you to wreck me so bad--"

With a particularly vicious twist of his wrist around the head of his cock, Eggsy throws his head back and screams through his orgasm, his fingers inside him as deep as they'll go. His spine arches entirely off the futon, toes curling, and Harry almost comes just from the sight alone.

Harry unclenches his jaw and breathes through his nose, counts backwards from ten to zero in Italian. He uncurls his fingers a little, and realizes that his hands are shaking.

"If you're quite done," Harry says, and his voice is shaking, too.

Eggsy laughs, breathless. "Should make you go to sleep just like that, teach you a right lesson." 

"You wouldn't," Harry hisses.

"I won't," Eggsy confirms, raising his head and smiling with post-orgasm bliss. "But I ain't gonna make it easy for you, either. Get naked and come here." He makes a lazy come-hither gesture, and Harry's almost tempted to ignore him, just drag Eggsy closer by the ankle and fuck into the tight, damp heat of him.

Instead, he stands and undoes his obi, lets it fall to the ground as the yukata parts to reveal his hard, leaking cock. He lets Eggsy get a good look, watches the boy lick his lips in anticipation. Harry feels a thrill of want run through his blood at the twitch of Eggsy's soft cock.

"How would you like me?" Harry asks, cocking a challenging eyebrow at Eggsy, and Eggsy smiles and thumbs at his bruised lower lip. Taps his chin with a forefinger.

"Right here, sittin’ on me face."

Harry moves without thinking, his yukata falling behind him with one smooth roll of his shoulders, walking up the length of Eggsy’s sprawled body and placing both feet on either side of Eggsy’s head.

“Great view,” Eggsy says. “Get down here, gorgeous.”

Harry falls to his knees onto the white futon, his legs bracketing Eggsy’s face, his arse just above Eggsy’s mouth, Eggsy’s hands supporting him, spreading him open. Harry leans forward and rests his hands on the edge of the futon, shudders at the hot breath brushing against the opening of his hole.

“No touching yourself. Just want you coming on me tongue, yeah?” Eggsy presses a slow kiss to Harry’s taint, licking a long, languorous stripe all the way to Harry’s fluttering hole. “Ain’t gonna fuck you til you come for me.”

“Might want to use that mouth of yours for more than talking, then,” Harry snipes.

“Mmm, maybe I should,” Eggsy hums, and then starts kissing Harry open. 

It starts off with just his lips, pressed against Harry’s hole again and again, each kiss longer than the last, soft and wet against where Harry’s vulnerable and wanting. Then there’s the gentle flicker of tongue, kitten-licks against Harry’s rim, Eggsy’s breath hot and maddening against Harry’s oversensitive skin. Eggsy’s fingers are digging into Harry’s arsecheeks and he wants them to leave marks, wants Eggsy to mark him, keep him, and it’s such a terrible thought, such a tempting thought. Harry feels Eggsy lick into him, push that wicked tongue of his all the way inside, and he claws at the futon and moans, choking around Eggsy’s name.

Eggsy laughs, his tongue still inside Harry’s arse, and Harry’s entire world wobbles on its axis. 

Harry’s legs are trembling with the effort to not give out and smother Eggsy entirely, his blood singing, an electric current running through his entire body. And what he wouldn’t give to give in, give himself over entirely, let Eggsy keep him for the rest of time. To have this laughing, beautiful boy forever.

Then Eggsy’s fingers tug Harry down, a moan reverberating from Eggsy’s mouth up Harry’s spine and straight back down to Harry’s cock. It’s like all of his strings are cut loose; Harry doubles over and buries his face into soft cotton and groans, his arse resting on Eggsy’s face, riding his tongue in small, helpless grinds of his hips, spreading his legs as much as he can to give Eggsy more access. He can feel how wet and open he is, the filthy, smacking sounds of Eggsy sloppily kissing Harry’s hole making Harry leak all over the pillow and futon. 

He’s so close to the edge, he just needs one more push, one touch to his cock—

“Eggsy,” Harry breaks. Begs. 

Then there’s the the pressure of more than just a tongue inside Harry, a finger adding to the stretch, curling, crooking just right, stroking over Harry’s prostate—and Harry comes so hard his vision whites out.

After the world resettles, Eggsy dislodges Harry and sits up, pulling Harry upright. “You alright?”

Eggsy’s face is flushed and smeared with spit, eyes bright with mirth, and his cock is red and leaking, hard against his stomach. He’s smiling, not with the sharp edge of lust, but with the warmth of affection, and it turns Harry’s stomach upside-down, makes him think, wildly, that he’s been ruined. He won’t ever relearn living without Eggsy laughing into his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. 

Eggsy leans in and kisses him, and Harry groans at the musky tang of himself on Eggsy’s tongue, presses closer to lick every hint of it from Eggsy’s teeth.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” Eggsy says, pulling Harry onto his lap, and Harry goes willingly, positioning Eggsy’s cock and sinking down onto it, relishing the stretch and burn. “Fuck, Harry, I missed this, missed you so much—”

Harry bites down on Eggsy’s lip, lifts his hips and slams down, silences Eggsy the best as he can. Rides him hard and fast, the way they’ve always done, until Eggsy’s coming inside of him, his come slipping down Harry’s thighs as they pull up a blanket and fall asleep, too tired to clean up. 

Only when Eggsy’s breathing in the soft inhale-exhale of the deeply unconscious does Harry bury his mouth into Eggsy’s hair and whisper, “I missed you.”


When Harry wakes up, Eggsy is spooned up behind him, three fingers exploring the inside of Harry’s arse.

“You’re still full of my come,” Eggsy says, like it’s a legitimate reason to finger Harry awake. Like it’s an irresistible temptation. 

“Then maybe you should fill me up some more, darling,” Harry says pointedly, shoving his arse back.

He can feel Eggsy smile against the the nape of his neck, and it’s awful, how Harry is so charmed by Eggsy’s laughter in bed. How deeply he has waded into an emotion that has never belonged to him before. 

Eggsy’s cock nudges between his cheeks, the tip pressing against Harry’s rim. His teeth scrape the back of Harry’s neck. “Maybe I should.”


They grab a very late lunch and head over to the bookstore, browsing through narrow aisles and foreign titles while they keep an ear out for the owner’s phone calls, checking the layout of the quaint store to see if there’s a hidden room somewhere on the premises.

“Funding a terrorist organization with stolen books, though,” Eggsy grumbles. “Lame.”

“They’re antiques worth thousands of dollars,” Harry reminds him. “A first edition of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms could cost more than fifteen-thousand pounds, if it’s in pristine condition.”

“Fifteen grand for a book,” Eggsy marvels glumly. “A bloody book.”

“Some people pay great prices for the things they love.” Harry observes the alignment of the back shelves along the wall, then winces at his choice of words. At least Eggsy isn’t facing his way, too busy running his hand over old volumes of poetry collections.

“It’s called appreciating the finer things in life, Galahad,” Merlin’s voice cuts in over the comms, and Harry belatedly realizes that Merlin’s just been present for Harry’s monumental cock-up. 

Eggsy snorts, sliding a hand to the back of a shelf in search of a latch, hidden compartment, anything. “Sorry, guv, but I ain’t buyin’ that shit. Might sound sweet at first, havin’ somethin’ that special, but I bet you get tired of it real fast. Not like you gonna read the same book over and over again.”

“Not all of us tire of such things so easily,” Harry says, unease creeping across his skin.

“Don’t you?” Eggsy asks distractedly, and Harry’s heart stops.

It starts beating again at double-time when Eggsy mutters a small, “Oh,” and with a small click, the bookshelf swings open. 

Then a shrill alarm starts to ring, the store owner’s angry voice approaching them, and Harry’s swinging his umbrella at the first man charging through the hidden door.


Nearly nine hours later, they collapse onto their newly made futons, their suits a little charred. 

"This was supposed to be recon," Eggsy mutters.

"You set a bookstore on fire," Harry says, too weary to sound accusing about it. "While there were priceless books inside."

"So we got the important ones out, yeah? Handed 'em off to the extraction team and all. First edition of Alice in Wonderland. Can't fuckin' believe it."

They both lie there, facing the paneled ceiling and breathing in and out in unison until Harry is compelled to point out the unfortunate truth: "It's almost midnight."

Eggsy sighs. "Fuck."

"We should at least eat something before we sleep," Harry says, reluctant.

"I can't move," Eggsy whinges. "Do they have room service? Get room service. I'm too tired to have sex with you; there's no way I can go get food."

"You get the phone and order, then."

They both lie there, unmoving. Until Eggsy's stomach growls, at which point the boy pushes himself upright and grumbles all the way to the room phone. "We're going back home tomorrow and I still haven't had you fuck me til I can't walk straight. And there's no way it's happening tonight."

"We'll think of something," Harry says, his heart sinking.

They're going home tomorrow afternoon, and then they'll have all the time in the world. Living together, working together, sleeping together. The kind of domesticity Harry's never been able to sustain. 

All the time in the world for this to fall apart.


“I’ve always wanted to join the mile high club,” Eggsy wheezes, his face pressed against the paneled wall of the jet’s restroom. He’s still speaking in full sentences, which needs to be rectified immediately.

Harry grunts and kicks Eggsy’s feet farther apart, fucks him until Eggsy forgets how to even beg.


“This isn’t going to work out."

Merlin sets his mug of coffee down at Harry's outburst and groans. “You didn’t talk to him at all, did you.”

“I can’t do this," Harry says, pacing to the far wall of Merlin's office and back, and he feels a little like a caged animal, trapped against his will. 

“Oh fucking hell,” Merlin sighs. “Get your head out of your arse, Harry.”

Harry laughs, sharp and angry. His lips still sting from how Eggsy bit into them before they had disembarked the jet, licked into Harry’s mouth tasting of blood and disaster, the sweetest ruin. Eggsy is going to be the death of him. He knows it down to the very marrow of his bones, and it hurts to even think of how madly he adores this beautiful boy, another terrible ending just waiting to be fulfilled. “Do you think we’ll actually make this work? Do you think I will spare any part of him?”

Merlin looks at him, his lips pursed tightly, fingers drumming against his knee in a measuring, thoughtful rhythm. When he finally speaks, there’s a pensive note in his voice. “If you’d asked me this maybe a year ago, I would have said no.” He cocks his head to the side. “Now? I think this is the best shot you’ll ever get.”

“You’re only saying this because he’s the only partner I’ve had you approve of,” Harry says, exasperated.

“And he’s the only one you’ve wanted to spare from yourself,” Merlin says, and the truth of it is like a slice across Harry’s abdomen, like being gutted. “Harry, I know you’re allergic to commitment, but this isn’t something you walk away from scot-free. You end it now? Both of you get hurt.”

“He’ll still get hurt, if I try to keep him,” Harry says, because Eggsy’s very nature is nothing like Harry’s. Eggsy and his gentle, loving hands carrying Daisy. His reassuring smile and voice, supporting Roxy fifty feet in the air. Eggsy, who does nothing but spare others.

“I think you overestimate what a horrible person you are.” Merlin stands up, makes his way to the coffee machine to refill his mug. He keeps his back towards Harry to continue. “And you underestimate Eggsy.”

“Even so,” Harry protests, “there are so many ways this can go wrong.”

“That’s how relationships usually are.” Merlin turns, smiling over the rim of his mug. “Besides, it’ll be worth it, if this goes right. Won’t it?”


Perhaps Harry is growing a little soft, his age catching up with him. It’s a rather repulsive thought, but it’s worth consideration. 

How else does he explain the occasional urge to gentle his kisses until there’s no hint of teeth, just Eggsy’s helpless moans and tongues soft and wet in each other’s mouths? How else does he justify the fleeting need to have Eggsy pliant against his bedsheets, to worship him with his mouth and spoil him with his hands? A younger Harry Hart would never have let such ideas linger in his head.

A younger Harry Hart would not have let such helpless yearnings unfold through him in the darkness, melded to Eggsy’s back, a hand over Eggsy’s beating heart. 


Eggsy comes back from a mission in Moscow with a bouquet of red peonies and ground laurels. He presents it to Harry with a flourish in the briefing room, kissing Harry’s cheek before settling into his customary seat, ready to debrief.

“Is there an occasion I wasn’t aware of?” Harry asks, pleased but wary. 

“Nah, just figured I’d surprise you.” Eggsy shrugs. “Been your boyfriend for almost five months now and I haven’t taken you out on a real date before.”

“We go out for dinner three times a week, when we don’t have work,” Harry says on autopilot, his mind tripping sharply over the fact that he’s been in a relationship with Eggsy for more than four months. It’s the longest relationship Harry’s ever had. 

“Doesn’t count,” Eggsy says. “There’s the new Emma Thompson movie out tonight, and we both know you want to watch it. Dinner at your favorite Indian place, movie, then maybe you’ll let me go to second base, hmm?”

“Back to secondary school tactics, I see.” Harry allows the fondness to bleed through. Almost five months. It’s not impossible to think of this stretching into six months, to a full year. To more things than Harry would have ever believed himself capable of. “I suppose I’ll say yes, if only for Emma Thompson.”

“Damn right you will,” Eggsy says, and Harry can’t help himself. He hauls Eggsy over by his necktie and kisses the cheeky smile right off of him.


Second base, by Eggsy’s standards, apparently, is having Harry fuck his face in the alleyway behind the movie theater and then getting almost caught by a patrol car.

“Merlin could’ve bailed us out,” Eggsy says, entirely too cheerful for someone who almost got arrested with a cock down his throat.

“You and your exhibitionist tendencies,” Harry growls, shoving Eggsy, still in his suit, down onto the couch. He straddles the boy, his knees bracketing the sides of Eggsy’s face, bends down to undo Eggsy’s trousers. “You liked it, didn’t you, when we were almost seen. You naughty, incorrigible creature.” 

Eggsy writhes when Harry frees his cock from his briefs, his fingers scrabbling over Harry’s zip. “Didn’t hear you complainin’ when I asked if I could suck you off right there on the street.”

“How could I ever refuse you?” Harry asks, then doesn’t bother to hear a reply and swallows Eggsy down in one go.

Eggsy swears and gets a hand around Harry’s cock, leaking and hard for the past twenty minutes it took for them to return home. “Yeah, blame it all on me. Pretend you ain’t a fuckin’ beast in bed, like you don’t fuck me so hard I sprained a hamstring keepin’ up with you.”

Harry pulls off of Eggsy to retort with, “That was your fault, for insisting on such an extreme position. I warned you.” Then he cuts off Eggsy’s incoming retort with a well-timed application of suction.

Eggsy grumbles unintelligibly and sucks the tip of Harry’s cock into his mouth, mouthing at it just so that Harry feels the need to buck his hips and yet not providing any relief at all. In retaliation, Harry uses his teeth, just the barest hint of sharp pressure near the head of Eggsy’s cock. 

Fuck!” Eggsy yelps, dropping his head away from Harry’s cock, and promptly comes in Harry’s mouth.

Harry swallows reflexively, then bends his neck to stare at Eggsy. 

“What?” Eggsy says, panting. He’s flushed a deep red, his eyes wide and dark, his suit rumpled. He looks like something Harry could keep. “You’re not the only one who likes it when it hurts.”


It doesn’t occur to Harry until the next day to look up what red peonies and ground laurels mean. 

Devotion, Google tells him. Perseverance

Harry isn’t quite sure what to make of that. Possibly, Eggsy picked a random bouquet without a second thought to its floriography. Best not to ask, lest that conversation take an unfortunate turn and delve into Harry’s feelings for the boy.


Two weeks later, Harry wakes up and doesn’t recognize his surroundings.

He breathes in, holds his breath and listens for any sign of other people in the vicinity, then lets out his breath when he doesn’t sense anybody else. He’s lying on his side on the floor of a clean, white-tiled room with his hands cuffed behind his back. His glasses are gone, as is his suit jacket, and he’s fairly sure his grenade lighter is no longer in his trouser pocket.

“Bollocks,” Harry huffs, struggling upright to observe his surroundings. There’s a door, steel, by the looks of it, and no windows. There’s an air vent, too small for anybody but an infant to fit through, above his head, and there’s a small drain on the ground. 

Harry doesn’t feel particularly sore or hurt. Which makes sense, because now he remembers that he’d been gone out for groceries and had seen a small figure huddled over in an alleyway, as if in pain, and he’d approached to offer assistance. A small, brunette female with watery brown eyes, tearfully accepting his outstretched hand, saying she couldn’t find her inhaler, and Harry’d helped her check her bag, found it in a side pocket. She’d thanked him, then sprayed his face with it, dosing him with a potent sedative.

It’s been a fairly simple trick to fall for, now that Harry thinks about it. Maybe he is getting soft in his old age. The very thought makes him want to self-inject himself with an amnesia dart—which makes him realize that his watch is still on his wrist. And his oxfords are intact as well.

Whoever abducted him apparently has no idea who he is, then. Or at least, no idea of what kind of technology Kingsman has. Probably took his suit jacket and glasses to make him feel more vulnerable. A chance kidnapping, then, premeditated but meant for any random target who chanced to go help a stranger sitting near the alleyway.

The woman who’d tricked him couldn’t be working alone. She’d been almost the same size as Roxy, and a woman that size carrying a man of Harry’s bulk in the middle of the day would have attracted too much attention. Perhaps a getaway vehicle parked nearby, with at least one more person to help with carrying. She’d picked the perfect alleyway, too. Not completely deserted, but with so little foot traffic that there was little probability of interruption. All in all, it was likely that Harry wasn’t the first person to be kidnapped by her.

“I’m never going to live this down,” Harry says, a little irked. His handcuffs aren’t very tight; he could probably get out of them in fifteen seconds. Not that he wants to dislocate his thumb just yet. 

He stands up, makes his way to the door, and tries the knob with his cuffed hands. The door stays firmly locked.

“Bollocks,” Harry mutters again. The room is completely empty, so he sits on the floor and contemplates his next move. He could wait for somebody to come in, kill them with the blade in his oxford, and make his escape from there. Hopefully somebody comes in. He doesn’t have much in terms of a plan if they leave him to starve.

He sits there for what seems like another hour, and is starting to consider dislocating his thumb anyway so he can at least look at his watch and have an idea of how much time has passed, when he hears the faint sound of shouting and gunfire.

He stands up, presses himself against the wall next to the door so that he’ll have the advantage of surprise if a hostile opens the door, and waits.

About two minutes later, he hears Eggsy’s voice from beyond the door. “Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Ah, excellent. Harry doesn’t need to dislocate his thumb after all.

He waits for the gunfire to die down, listens for the sound of somebody trying his doorknob, and calls out, “I’d be most obliged if you could let me out, darling.”

“Harry, you alright?” Eggsy jimmies the door handle again, then makes a frustrated noise. “Shut up, Merlin. I told you, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Other than my ego, I’m completely unharmed,” Harry assures him. He doesn’t move from where he’s leaning against the wall. “Tell Merlin that I’d much appreciate it if he saved berating you until we get back.”

“Yeah, he hears you. Not that he cares what you say, since you got kidnapped while gettin’ groceries. Says you’re losin’ your touch.” Eggsy grunts, releasing the doorknob. “Okay, I’m shootin’ the lock. Make sure you ain’t standin’ in front of the door.”

Harry sighs. “I thought as much.”

There’s the concussive sound of Eggsy blasting the door’s lock, then Eggsy kicks the door open, rushing into the room. He swivels wildly before noticing Harry, and the wild look in Eggsy’s eyes fades away, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “You scared the shit outta me, Harry. Don’t fuckin’ do that.”

“My apologies,” Harry says, turning to present his cuffed hands to Eggsy. “Would you be a dear and help an old man out?”

Eggsy grumbles but obediently pulls out a pin, popping the cuffs open after a minute. “By the way, your jacket’s ruined. Sorry ‘bout that.” He offers Harry’s umbrella to him when Harry turns around again. “Got this one back, though. And this.” He takes Harry’s glasses out of his suit jacket’s pocket, pressing it into Harry’s palm. “Merlin tracked the GPS in your glasses after you didn’t come back from the shop. They’d no idea who we were.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, sliding his glasses back on. “Both of you.”

“You better be,” Merlin says, and he sounds a little off-center, not as sardonic or mocking as Harry had expected him to be. Before Harry can ask if something is the matter, Eggsy is pushing Harry out the door, guiding him outside, a hand firmly pressed against the small of Harry’s back the entire way.


Eggsy is held back at the infirmary for a few minor gashes on his arms that need stitches, so Harry fills out a quick report of his account of the kidnapping and hands it to Merlin. Harry is about to head home and get a head start on cooking dinner, since Merlin looks grimly determined to have Eggsy finish his own report before releasing him, when a thought occurs to him.

“Why did Eggsy apologize for my jacket?” Harry asks, because it’s a small detail at the back of his mind that bothers him more than it should. “And did we find out why they abducted me?”

Merlin hesitates, then taps away at his tablet. “I’ll just send you Galahad’s feed. Check it when you get home.”

There’s the unsettling sensation that Harry is missing something, here. He doesn’t question it, though, and instead nods at Merlin. “Are you quite alright?”

“Says the man who was kidnapped while getting groceries,” Merlin says with no bite. He waves Harry away, gesturing for him to go out the door. “Don’t worry about me.”

“If you insist,” Harry says, doubtful.

“Trust me,” Merlin says. He has a smug, satisfied quirk to his eyebrows again, which just makes Harry want to do something outrageous so that they’ll fall out. “It’s going to be much more obvious afterwards. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.”

There’s an inside joke in there somewhere. Harry just doesn’t know what it is yet.


In the privacy of his study, Harry pulls up the video file of Galahad’s feed from earlier today on his tablet and watches it from start to finish.

The feed begins with Eggsy entering the premises of the compound Harry’d been held in, Eggsy whispering to Merlin, Merlin relaying instructions. Eggsy sneaks through the corridors, ducking the occasional security guard, making his way through various rooms that don’t hold Harry but hold, well, other parts of people and a very clear explanation of what’s going on.

“They’re trafficking human organs,” Merlin’s voice says on the feed. “Must’ve got Harry by mistake, then.”

“This is rank,” Eggsy hisses back. The barest hint of panic seeps into his voice. “Do you think they already—?”

“It’s only been five hours since he went missing, Galahad,” Merlin says, his voice tight. “If they’ve drugged him, which is highly likely, they’ll probably try to wait until the drugs are out of his system before harvesting. Stay calm. Keep looking.”

Eggsy silently knocks out three more guards before he finally runs into the woman who had lured Harry in the first place. There are two other men in the room as well, one pulling out a pistol and the other flicking a switchblade open. The woman, leaning against a large oak desk, has a serrated Swiss army knife, her grip on it suggesting that she’s experienced in using it. But that’s not the most interesting thing about her.

The most interesting part about her is that she’s wearing Harry’s suit jacket.

“We weren’t expecting a guest today,” she says, holding out an arm to prevent the other men from attacking. She doesn’t seem to find Eggsy very frightening, which is understandable, given that Eggsy looks unarmed. 

“And I wasn’t expecting you to kidnap my boyfriend,” Eggsy says, the snarl obvious in his voice. He’s affecting Harry’s accent, his consonants crisper, vowels rounded out, polished and polite. “Where is he? And why are you wearing his jacket?”

“Oh, the handsome one we caught today?” Eggsy’s gaze moves a little to the side while she talks, pausing for a millisecond at Harry’s umbrella and glasses on the coffee table behind the woman, taking stock of escape routes in case more security guards barge in. There are two windows and another door on the far side of the room. “I was hoping to keep it as a souvenir, as a memory of our good time together.” She laughs, and Eggsy’s gaze snaps back to her. “I thought I’d have some good fun with him before cutting him open, you know? Fine specimen, that one.”

There’s a pause, a lull between her words and what happens next, filled only with the sound of Eggsy’s breathing, and then—

It’s, for lack of a better word, a whirlwind. Eggsy’s manages to draw his weapon, shoot the woman straight through a kneecap, shoot the startled man with the pistol through the eye, and vault over the desk in less than three seconds. There’s the sound of screaming, of distant shouting from outside the room, but Eggsy pays no attention, just rolls fluidly and grabs the umbrella by its tip, hooking the handle around the wrist of the man with the switch knife and twisting hard.

There’s the sound of bones breaking, of Eggsy pocketing Harry’s glasses, of the woman fighting back weakly while Eggsy shoots down the next two guards charging in and places a foot on her torso, presses down until her ribs start to snap. There’s the sound of Merlin telling Eggsy to stop. Eggsy ignores him.

“If you’ve so much as left a papercut on Harry,” Eggsy says, calm and fierce and deadly, “I’ll be the one cutting you up and putting you down a shredder, you hear me? If you hurt him, there isn’t going to be anything left of you, and I’m going to make sure that every last second of your miserable life is so painful that you wish you’d never been born.”

“He’s downstairs, ground floor, across from the main entrance. I haven’t touched him, I haven’t,” she gasps, choking around another snap of her ribs. 

Merlin prods Eggsy into questioning her some more: are there other live victims on site? Who is in charge? How widespread is the operation? Another four guards burst in midway, but Eggsy shoots them all down without trouble and reloads his gun. “We done here?”

“I’ll send Tristan and Bors to the main operation site now,” Merlin says. “They’ll get more information there. Now for the love of everything holy, stop breaking her ribs and—”

Eggsy empties his entire magazine into her.

“Jesus fuck,” Merlin says.

The feed proceeds through the rest of the rescue, with Merlin telling Eggsy off for killing her before confirming whether Harry could be released from his imprisonment without a key and Eggsy single-mindedly killing each and every guard with a brutality that Harry recognizes in his own self. At one point, Eggsy slits someone’s throat open with a fluid, savage grace that makes Harry’s mouth go dry.

The feed ends after Eggsy ushers Harry outside of the room he’d been imprisoned in—the room where they would have harvested Harry’s organs, now that he thinks about it. 

Harry’s stares at the paused screen on his laptop and thinks of Eggsy, who smiles like Harry’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen, who touches Harry like he’s something to cherish, who says Harry’s name like a secret, a prayer come true. Eggsy, who hides his teeth behind his smile. Eggsy, who sheds his sheepskin just for Harry.


There’s the soft tread of footsteps coming up the stairs, making way towards the closed study door. The doorknob turns, and Eggsy peeks his head inside. “You okay?” He enters, shirtsleeves rolled up to show his bandaged arms, tie loosened around his throat. When Harry doesn’t answer, he walks over to Harry’s side of the desk, concerned. “What—oh.” Eggsy stops and stares at the laptop screen. “You saw?”

“Yes,” Harry says, standing up so that he feels less cornered, less overwhelmed.

Eggsy looks up at him, a cautious look in his eyes. He doesn’t move from where he’s standing two feet from Harry. “And?”

“You’re in love with me,” Harry says.

A small smile blooms on Eggsy’s face, his eyes going soft and affectionate, crinkling at the corners. “Of course I am.”

“You shouldn’t be.” There’s the distinct bitter taste of terror, crawling from his stomach up his throat, making him talk before he can think. “I’m not a good man, Eggsy.”

Eggsy blinks at him, his smile diminishing, morphing into a sadder one, a kinder one. And for once, Harry can read him, every single thought, and it terrifies him. Knocks the very breath out of him. 

“I don’t want a good man,” Eggsy says, taking a step closer, corralling Harry against the wall, leaning a gentle hand against Harry’s chest, and Harry remembers how Eggsy’d viciously stepped down on a woman for even speaking of harming Harry. “I want you, Harry. Just you.”

A wounded noise tears itself from Harry’s throat when Eggsy leans in, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. “I don’t know how to keep people, Eggsy. I don’t know how to treat you the way you deserve.” He feels like he’s drowning, on the very verge of being swept away. “Darling boy, I won’t be able to spare you.” 

“Then don’t,” Eggsy says. “I don’t want you to spare me. I don’t need you to treat me whatever fuckin’ way you think I should be treated. You don’t need to know how to keep me. I meant it, the first time. Remember? You fucked me on the stairs.” He laughs, his lips brushing over Harry’s as he speaks. “I meant it, when I said I’m all yours. When I said I’m keepin’ you.” Eggsy takes Harry’s face into his hands, and Harry’s blood runs hot, thinking of what those hands can do. “I’m mad for you, Harry Hart. I wouldn’t change a thing about you, about us.”

“I love you,” Harry says, the words breaking out of him. “Eggsy, my boy, I’ve been in love with you since the beginning. I love you more than words can express.” It’s like jumping without a parachute. “I won’t be alright if you ever leave me.”

Eggsy smiles, bright and true. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that, you know.”

“Since when?” Harry asks, as Eggsy slides his hands down, framing the sides of Harry’s neck. He tries to pull Eggsy closer, one hand on Eggsy’s hip, the other cupping Eggsy’s jaw. “How did you know?”

“Since the day you came back from the dead,” Eggsy says. “Since the first time we had dinner together. Since the first date. Since you fucked me on the stairs. Because of how you look at me, and how you touch me, how you kiss me.” He kisses Harry with aching want, his mouth fever-hot, his tongue licking wetly at Harry’s lower lip with a longing that makes Harry’s heart constrict. “But for sure? When I knew that you were in just as deep as I was? After Switzerland, when you said you were fond of me.”

“You could have told me,” Harry says.

“Wanted you to figure it out for yourself,” Eggsy laughs. “You wouldn’t have believed me otherwise.”

And yes, that’s true. Harry wouldn’t have. Harry would have denied it and denied it and denied it until everything had fallen apart. The fact that Eggsy knows Harry so well, can speak the tongue Harry is written in and still love him, it’s like waking from a dream. All the hazy doubts and fears banished, concrete reality grounding him.

“I adore you,” Harry says, and now that he can say it, he never wants to stop. “Eggsy, my love, my darling boy.”

“Harry, you’re gorgeous and terrifying and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Eggsy laughs into Harry’s mouth, and Harry loves him even more. 


When they both walk into the shop the next day, Percival and Merlin both turn to look at them from where they’ve been conversing in the briefing room.

“Percy, you owe Merlin fifty quid!” Eggsy singsongs, winking at them both, curling up into Harry’s side. Percival groans, and Merlin smirks, tapping away on his tablet. A message pings on Harry’s glasses, opening up to show a you owe me from Merlin, the smug bastard.

“I’m not sure I approve of you contributing to the betting pool about our love life,” Harry says, leaning into Eggsy as Percival and Merlin take their leave.

“But babe, we wanted to know how long it’d take for you to get that I’ve been arse over tits for you all this time,” Eggsy drawls, turning and hooking his arms around Harry’s neck, and Harry bends down, ready to follow wherever Eggsy wishes to go. “Besides, Roxy told me they’re bettin’ on our wedding date. She’ll split with us, if you want.”

“We’re not even engaged yet,” Harry says. Then pauses. “Well, which date did she put her money on?”

“Is that a yes, Harry Hart?” Eggsy asks, his cheeks flushed red, his smile incandescent. He's the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen.

“As if I could ever say no to you,” Harry says, and bites down into the kiss.


Harry has terrible taste in lovers.

Thankfully, he has excellent taste in husbands (well, Eggsy).