Chapter Text
I. Spa Day
Eggsy had a couple of hours to kill before he was due for a new mission brief with Harry and Merlin in UK HQ at 3pm. He was already at the mansion and didn't think he had enough time to pop back home for proper tea with his little sister Daisy, so he set about in search of Roxy, maybe make good on his promise of giving her freerunning lessons around the trainee obstacle course.
His plan was derailed when he caught sight of Harry coming out of one of the mansion's private quarters wearing nothing but a fluffy white robe and a pair of Kingsman-issued cashmere slippers.
Harry Hart - now Arthur, the CEO/CFO/Chief Badass of Kingsman, walking around HQ, in nothing but a bath robe.
Eggsy approached him warily; Harry had ostensibly made a miraculous recovery from Richmond Valentine's poorly aimed gunshot, with a scar above his left eye the only cosmetic reminder post-coma, but one could never be too careful. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that brain damage had spurred an early onset of mild dementia.
"Ah, Galahad," Harry says and gives Eggsy a warm smile, "thought I might head in for a quick spa session before our meeting later this afternoon."
Eggsy blinks at him, about 90% sure now that Harry had gone mental. "I'm sorry, a what? To where?"
"The Kingsman day spa, Eggsy. Surely you - ah, of course," Harry realizes, "You and Merlin were so busy with the clean-up after V-day, no one was available to give you the full tour of our facilities here at HQ. Kingsman estate houses a full-service spa. It's not available 'round the clock unfortunately. Agents who request spa services are often called away on missions by the time the estheticians are available to book appointments, so it takes a bit of luck with the timing to get a session in." Harry stops mid-speech at Eggsy's obvious confusion.
"Eggsy," Harry says slowly, eyes glinting with mischief, "you've never had a spa day, have you? Then you absolutely must join me! It's by appointment only but I'm sure they can squeeze you in. Being Arthur's got to have some sway around here, despite what Merlin would like everyone to believe. Come on, I'm sure they've got a spare robe for you."
"Err thanks Harry, but I'd rather hang with Roxy and do normal... pleb stuff," Eggsy mumbles, slowly backing away, trying to push back against the proverbial silver spoon that's been slowly wedging its way up Eggsy's unwilling arse since the day he met Harry Hart.
"Nonsense! We can head to our meeting together afterward. It works out perfectly."
Spa day?? Eggsy makes a mental note never to put forth any of his mates from the estate, loyal and born fighters as they are, as candidates for recruitment. He would never live this down. There was no turning back from this.
"Come along, Eggsy. If not for the learning experience, then how about for shits and giggles?"
Eggsy surrenders, because it's Harry and because - did Harry just pout at him?!
"Yeah, alright."
+
Eggsy's eyes roll back as far as they can go as soon as he's slumped down into one of the plush leather chairs in preparation for their - you have got to be takin the piss - manicures.
"Harrrry," he whines, "the fuck are they gonna do to me??"
"Oh hush, Eggsy. It's just a quick nail trim, then a bit of shaping and buffing. Certainly nothing too far off from basic care and maintenance," Harry huffs.
When Eggsy finally settles down and stops fidgeting at the unfamiliar sensation of being pampered, he gets comfortable enough to lay his head back and close his eyes. He admits grudgingly that the hand massage and heated mittens (!) in particular are not actually terrible. Better than being tortured for information at least.
Or is it?
Eggsy snaps his eyes open when Sonya, his … cosmetologist … starts working on his feet. A giggle escapes from his lips when she buffs away the calluses and Eggsy dissolves into full out laughter once she begins the foot massage. Eggsy splashes water everywhere each time he pulls his feet away from Sonya's grasp when it gets to be too much.
"Galahad, you cannot possibly be that ticklish," Harry scolds. "Perhaps I should add tickling to your next training module on withstanding torture and interrogation."
Eggsy pouts and wipes the laughter tears from his face. "Wanker," he hisses at Harry.
Having survived the torture - fortunately Sonya had no interest in gaining Kingsman trade secrets through tickles - Eggsy holds out a hand for Harry's inspection. "Huh. Feels good, yeah?" Eggsy marvels. "Almost as soft as Daisy's."
"Mmm," Harry agrees as he reaches out to take Eggsy's hand then runs his thumb lightly across Eggsy's knuckles.
Eggsy blushes and turns their hands over so Harry's is resting on top of his, which just makes everything worse. Even without the posh hand treatments Eggsy has a habit of staring at Harry's hands - he's very expressive with them - instead of listening during meetings. Now the hand Eggsy's holding is milky white, thick veins a sharp contrast, nails perfectly trimmed at the tips of those long loooong fingers...
Eggsy is literally pulled from his reverie and escorted by Harry into the next torture chamber.
+
Eggsy suffers through the creepy sensation of cold goop being applied to his face and resists the urge to fidget and tap out a nonstop rhythm of S.O.S. in Morse code. When Sonya deems his (already perfect, fank you very much) face sufficiently covered in slime, he croaks out, "That is RANK, Harry," which he immediately regrets as he ends up with some of the slime in his mouth. "The fuck is this shite?"
"Quiet please, sir, mask has Vitamin C, not for eating," Sonya advises in her heavily-accented English, and Harry is eternally grateful to her for effectively pressing the mute button on further Eggsy invective.
Eggsy finds himself lulled into shallow sleep as Sonya goes through the motions of cleaning off the mask - after Eggsy takes a selfie cuz it's hilarious how it looks like his face is melting off, maybe he should give mum and Daisy a good scare - then applying various creams and potions through gentle massage, ending the session by draping a refreshing cool washcloth over his face. Eggsy reasons that if a pleb like him can survive these 'spa treatments for toffs' then his mum would be in absolute heaven in a place like this. He decides on the spot to gift her a spa day for her next birthday.
Harry's soft voice breaks the silence once the washcloths are lifted. "Alright then, Galahad?"
Eggsy cracks one eye open with exaggerated effort. "Aces, guv."
Harry lets that slide for now. Eggsy replaced 'bruv' in favor of 'guv' when Harry was instated as Arthur - a marginal improvement if you ask Harry, who's perhaps a bit jealous that Merlin has always been THE guv'nor to Eggsy. Harry also acknowledges that codename Arthur has been tainted for Eggsy, so Harry never insists on it. Although... Harry considers, there is another designation (which just so happens to rhyme with 'bruv' and 'guv') that Harry wouldn't mind having directed at him. He chooses not to dwell on it for the time being.
+
"So what's next, then?" Eggsy asks, stretching his arms out and yawning luxuriously like the pampered bratty twat persona he never imagined would suit him so well.
"Full body massages."
"YES, Harry!!" Eggsy jostles his way past Harry into the dimly lit room.
"- but only if you're capable of exhibiting greater control over your body than you did during that embarrassing display earlier today," Harry continues. "Kindly let Hélène your masseuse know if there's a particular area you would like her to work on. If I remember correctly you complained of a tight hamstring during your most recent check-up?"
Harry's question falls on deaf ears as Eggsy is already sprawled out on one of the padded tables, arms dangling over the edge and face smushed eagerly into the cushion at the head of the massage table. Hélène arranges a towel over him and tugs gently at the elastic of his briefs, "Off please, Mr. Galahad," she requests, and holds up the towel for Eggsy's discretion as he wiggles out of his briefs.
After settling back down, Eggsy whips his head around toward Harry's table in time to catch an all too fleeting glimpse of Harry's bare bum as Eric, the other masseur, repositions the towel over Harry. Eggsy couldn't care less about being starkers during this bit; any trace of self-consciousness about his body has been stripped away after one too many harried encounters in the Kingsman locker rooms, rushing to and from missions, live video recordings during the rare honeypots in which he has to 'gain biblical knowledge' of an asset, and endless trips to med bay where he's relentlessly poked at and prodded. No, Eggsy curses his lack of familiarity with spa etiquette, as he would have undoubtedly taken full advantage of the prime opportunity to ogle Harry Hart had he known they were to be fully naked underneath the towels. "Bollocks," Eggsy curses under his breath at the missed opportunity.
All frustration - all 25 years' worth - melts away as soon as Hélène's firm touch begins to knead away at the knots in his back.
"Ohhh yesssssss, very verrry nice," Eggsy drawls out in a pornographic groan, Hélène's hands working their expert magic on his neglected muscles. "Fuuuuuck me."
Harry realizes swiftly that he would be unable to survive the rest of the massage (possibly the rest of life) unless he puts an end to the symphony of Eggsy's blissful, bawdy moaning. He lifts a hand up as warning to Eric before propping himself up on his elbows.
"Galahad, quiet meditation and introspection are essential parts of the whole spa experience. We can all do without your sound effects, please have some consideration."
Eggsy, brain turned to mush, can't come up with a suitable comeback and settles for a final muffled "mmph."
The following 40 minutes of quiet meditation and introspection pass too quickly; the mission brief with Merlin looms in the distance. Harry picks himself up off the table and wraps a towel around his midsection. Eric hands him his Bremont and Harry points at it to Hélène and holds up five fingers as a silent 5-minute warning for Eggsy's massage. She nods in acknowledgement and he heads to the showers.
Harry returns, trousers and shirt on but sans cufflinks, to find Eggsy still laid out on the table. Hélène bites her lip in apology and gives a helpless shrug of her shoulders. Harry shakes his head fondly and gives her a smile before dismissing her. He understands all too well how difficult it can be to resist Eggsy, all winks and pouts and "please, luv"s.
"Eggsy."
" 'arry please just 10 more minutes I swear on me life I'll get up."
Harry sighs and moves to stand next to Eggsy on the table. Staring down at Eggsy's back - broad, muscled and slick with oil - Harry makes a decision. He rolls up his sleeves, pours a bit of oil into his palms to warm them up then begins to rub Eggsy's shoulders.
Harry can feel Eggsy tense up for a split second before whimpering, "Yesss, Harryyy." Because Hélène's hands on his back were the best thing in the world but Harry's lethal, callused, killer hands - wide enough to span the full length of Eggsy's waist when spread - they're the best thing in the entire. goddamn. universe. Fuck Merlin and the mission brief, fuck Kingsman, he'll just lie here forever, goodbye world, he had a good run, this is it for Eggsy Unwin codename Galahad.
On the third or fourth pass (who's counting? Not Eggsy!) Harry pauses with his hands on Eggsy's waist.
Suddenly his grip tightens and Eggsy is being hauled up by his waist, Harry lifting him off the table with as much ease as he handles little Daisy. Eggsy yelps and doesn't even have time to wrap a towel around himself before Harry Hart codename Arsehole is carrying him like a fuckin screaming child, down the hallway, Eggsy's face bright red and limbs flying as they pass a bewildered Eric and Hélène and - fuckin' hell - Bors and Tristan on their way to some stupid shite spa treatment room. He's deposited carelessly into the shower stall and the showerhead is turned on full blast. Harry turns on his heel and ignores the steady stream of "You fuckin wanker, I fuckin hate you, piece of shite!" following him out of the bathroom.
Harry Hart, calm and collected gentleman spy babysitter, thanks the two masseurs profusely and palms them each a crisp 50-pound note before taking his leave. He makes his way to Merlin's subterranean dungeon, trusting Eggsy to follow. He vaguely recalls telling Eggsy they would walk to the mission brief together, but decides he's dealt with enough already today; he doesn't need the sight of Merlin raising his eyebrows at Harry and his protégé walking in together, both flushed and freshly-showered, with at least one of them sporting a wide, satisfied grin.
Fin