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Banking On It

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Eggsy’s the wet-behind-the-ears nephew that no-one’s ever met – convenient – of the gang that they’re trying to entrap, and Harry’s his kidnapper. When the goons release Eggsy, that’s when they get them. It’s not the best plan they’ve ever had, but it doesn’t need to be, because the gang aren’t particularly high level – more of an everyday mission, as it turns out Valentine wasn’t your standard working week, even in Kingsman. They’re not transmitting from the glasses because they’re not going to need back up, and because Merlin’s currently watching over Roxy diffusing a bomb elsewhere and he hates having to monitor too many feeds at once when something like that’s going on.

Anyway, all of this means that Eggsy has to be in his best suit and tied up, legs and arms apart, against a giant circular door to an underground bank vault.

It’s Harry doing the tying, and that’s fulfilling, oh, about seventeen of Eggsy’s wildest fantasies right this very second.

Harry is fastidious as fuck, obviously, and a gentle crease of concentration appears above the bridge of his glasses as he looks down at the rope fastening Eggsy’s wrists to the mechanisms of the bank vault door. It’s done in some sort of boy scout/Winchester bloody College/1940s way where the knot looks complicated but Eggsy can actually slip out of the binds with ease (essential for when their adversaries arrive). However, Eggsy feels as if he can’t escape, feels pinned down and spread out and vulnerable and completely at Harry’s mercy.

He’s got to focus, he tells himself. He can feel a flush of embarrassment rising in his cheeks. Not alright, not for this situation.

Harry must, must be able to see the outrageous distention that Eggsy’s erection is creating at the front of his trousers that he can do absolutely nothing to hide in his present position, but he’s politely not saying anything about it.

For the last time, Harry checks the fastenings at the wrists of Eggsy’s outstretched arms – Harry knows what he’s doing, it seems, so there’s no need for him to touch Eggsy any more than the light, brief trace of his fingers that occasionally brush the inside of Eggsy’s wrists.

He tries to remember his training. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

Then Harry’s down on his knees (jesus jesus jesus) before efficiently moving to each of Eggsy’s spread apart ankles in turn and pulling the not-knots tight. It’s so quiet down here Eggsy can hear Harry’s breathing – it’s been calmer – and he keeps having to scrunch his eyes shut from how much he wants Harry to touch him properly.

Then Harry, careful precise Harry who would never do anything improper or accidental, pushes himself back up to standing height and, on his way there, catches his hand on Eggsy’s heavy, jutting cock, just for a second.

Eggsy has to breathe in once, hard, in a rush. Harry meets his eyes, expression warm and unequivocal.

“Do that again,” Eggsy manages, but he doesn’t get the tone right because he’s choked up and it comes across as vaguely threatening. The metal door behind him is chilly, but his back is prickling with sweat under his shirt.

“I'm terribly sorry,” says Harry. “I didn't mean to do that.”

Harry looks at Eggsy as if he wants to slap him. It isn’t malicious. It’s something deeper and better.

“I know that was on purpose,” Eggsy says quietly, looking eye-to-eye with Harry with the kind of smug heat he’s learned from him and grins in a way that he hopes projects the sentiment fuck me, go on, actually grow some balls and fuck me, it’d be glorious. “Do. It. Again.”

“What?” Harry says, startled.

“Not ‘what’, ‘pardon’.”

And yes, that’s shocked him, and that’s all Eggsy wanted to do to Harry really, shock him and get one over him, preferably by getting one over him, and then maybe they’ll all be able to move on with their lives.

And that’s when Harry, achingly slowly and deliberately, drags his hand across him – the blunt edge of the signet ring first, then the searing drag of his palm, then the slight scrape of his perfectly trimmed fingernails flow over the fold of the front fastening of Eggsy’s trousers.

Eggsy groans so low he feels as if he’s been winded and yeah, he was going to be in the Marines, he can run a mile in full pack in under six minutes thirty but can he withstand Harry Hart’s undivided attention? Can he fuck.

“Get back on your knees,” Eggsy tries. “You looked good down there.”

Harry laughs (he just fucking laughs) and says, “Be quiet. And absolutely not”.

Then he takes his hand again, a hand that has killed and saved men, and wraps it around Eggsy’s cock, still through his trousers. He gropes him, there’s no other word for it, and Eggsy’s never wanted it so much in his entire life.

It’s at this point when they hear a small group of men approaching from the corridor’s nearest corner.

“I’m going to get the gun and put it your mouth now,” Harry tells him low and urgent in his left ear. “It’s not loaded and I can’t fire it. But I need you to get your lips around the barrel. Can you do that for me?”

Eggsy moans and has to force himself to stop.

“Galahad, the mission,” Harry growls at him, but Eggsy can see he’s got more colour in his cheeks than is usual. “You can’t afford to be coasting through these.”

So Harry gives him the gun and Eggsy takes it, lips covered in spit and stretched around it and the criminals arrive and he has to stop feeling like he’s so turned on he’s going to die.

So that’s how the gang find them, looks shady as fuck, obviously. Harry takes the gun out of his mouth and Eggsy says (in a posh, scared voice) that he’s been given Viagra by this evil man and thank you for saving him.

Then they spring into action, dispatching the goons in a few minutes. It’s not easy aiming straight with a semi, but Eggsy’s training has prepared him for it.

(It’s not in the training programme or anything, but Eggsy’s training has prepared him for it, what with a sharply suited Harry Hart always looking on and all.)

It’s a hitch-free mission when you look at the outcomes, yet they're avoiding making eye contact with each other when they go to escape the way they came in.

Climbing up the ventilation shaft, Eggsy dares to imagine a future where at the end of every mission, Harry is there, waiting for him. He looks down at Harry, who is below him on the ladder. Harry raises his eyebrows as if to say what are you waiting for?, but his sternness soon breaks into a broad, inviting, mission-accomplished smile. It makes Eggsy’s cock ache.

Kingsman is about many things, but one of the things it’s about is, you know, cufflinks and pocket squares being just so, and there’s something deep inside Eggsy about how fucking hot it would be to mess it all up. But Eggsy has a funny feeling Harry Hart wants to teach him a lesson about laying traps and waiting. About slow burn.

So Eggsy turns back around and keeps going up, deciding that he is willing to wait for his reward.