Work Text:
It started when Eggsy killed the kingpin of a Colombian cartel. Killed the man, poolside, at the man’s multi-million dollar private villa, nestled far up in the Eastern hills edging along Bogota. Killed him poolside, while wearing the tiniest pair of swimshorts ever before seen, after the man had finally had enough Tequila and let his guard down to swim lazily over to Eggsy, sliding his hands right up to the hems of those tiny, white and blue shorts. The glasses-feed recorded Eggsy’s shy, coquettish laughter at the man’s touch. Showed the kingpin, dark eyes shining and cheeks flushed with too much tequila and too much closeness. The man leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of Eggsy’s very bare inner thigh. Gymnast thighs, the video recorded, as they wrapped quickly around the man’s neck and twisted, a brutal, hard yank. There was a cracking sound. The kingpin slipped under the surface of the pool. Eggsy left, undetected.
Yes. Harry Hart knows that’s exactly when it fucking started.
Little discussed secret: Merlin and all his devious, clever, insidious handlers and techs are voyeurs of the highest order. Blood, guts, gore, international intrigue, dashing escapes– if it’s lurid, they love it. Honeypots are the best of all these, for Merlin’s department. The worst of all for the knights.
Because the handlers know how to be discreet, of course, but they also know how to do the exact fucking opposite. Percival accidentally looked in the mirror while naked on a sting in Germany? Every handler and tech had seen the footage twice, printed out poster-sized HD stills, and tacked them up all over the department before Percy even had a chance to set foot on the plane for home. Bors ended up burning all his clothes off in a mistimed explosion? Footage sent to everyone with clearance in the entire building by end of business and prototype flame-retardant boxers shoved under Bors’ office door every day for a week.
Merlin pretends not to know about it. Merlin pretends not to be able to stop it. Merlin is a goddamn enabler.
Harry tells him this, three days after Eggsy comes back from the “Short-Shorts Mission” as it’s coming to be known by everyone. “Everyone, Merlin,” Harry snarls, feeling a peculiar pressure building behind his eyes. It’s like a sinus headache but more persistent and all-consuming. “Since when, exactly, does our housekeeping staff have clearance to know about the mission, much less watch the footage?”
Merlin gives him the biggest, smarmiest, most shit-eating grin Harry has ever had the intense displeasure of seeing. “Oh, it’s discretion you’re worried about, is it, Arthur?”
“Of course it is, what–”
“You’re sure it’s not the wardrobe department you’ve got a tiff with, then?” Merlin’s eyebrows are as arched as his tone.
Harry tries to say something in reply, but it’s difficult when the flush is rising up his face so hotly it’s making his ears sting. He breathes very evenly, and glares at Merlin, and tries to pretend to misunderstand the man. Only, Merlin isn’t fooled. He –as always– knows everything; knows how Harry’s felt about Eggsy from the beginning, how stupidly gone Harry is for a man half his age.
Well, almost everything.
He leaves Merlin’s office without a rejoinder, suffering the sound of the man’s dreadful chortling as he goes.
–
After five days, Harry’s beginning to lose his composure. Any time Eggsy so much as passes anyone in the halls at HQ, they titter at him or wink. Over the French press in the lounge, Harry hears unclever murmurs about what various Kingsman employees would ‘let Eggsy do to them with those thighs.’ His chest gets an uncomfortable burning feeling in it, which he chalks up to heartburn from too much coffee. He’s not sleeping well, and his afternoons are spent in a haze of paperwork and international conference calls, and not, not, not thinking about smooth, muscular legs and a stranger’s hands running up the insides of them much too fucking high, and how Harry should–
He drinks more coffee, and pops antacids, and repeatedly reminds himself to unclench his jaw, because gentlemen do not grind their teeth.
Eggsy himself only makes things worse. Harry watches as he grins and winks back, and ducks his head and fucking blushes at the attention sent his way, as though he’s flattered but also confused about it all. Harry wants to know both more and less about that. He wants to drag Eggsy into the nearest empty room and show him exactly–
But none of this is new, really. Harry’s been aware of these feelings since the train test during the Lancelot candidacy trials. Maybe before. He’s had long experience at ignoring the bolt of lust that shoots through him any time Eggsy’s blue-green eyes catch his own. He’s less practiced at ignoring the twist in his stomach whenever the younger man smiles at him, but he fakes it well enough to get by with everyone but Merlin. (He hopes.)
“Don’t know what everyone’s so tickled ‘bout,” Eggsy admits to him at the end of that fifth day, over afternoon tea in Harry’s office. He’s not got another mission scoped out until next Tuesday, and so they’ve been able to carry out this daily ritual. “I know posh birds and blokes like a bit of rough, but I’d’ve thought neck-snapping was a bit more ‘rough’ than even a bunch of stuffy spies would go for, yeah?” He grins a little at Harry as he says it, and Harry pretends very hard to be dead inside, only lifting his eyebrow calmly.
“I imagine it has less to do with the murder and more to do with the method, yes?” He supposes smoothly over the rim of his tea cup.
And Eggsy (but oh, fuck him) blushes again, looking somehow cocky and pleased at once. He leans back in his chair across the desk from Harry, and stretches those long, muscled, trouser-clad legs out in a faux-showy flex. “Guess those years of gymnastics just keep paying off then, yeah?”
Harry wills himself not to look at the alluringly framed v of Eggsy’s legs, not to imagine stripping off the fine bespoke cloth clinging to those muscled thighs, revealing the unmarked skin underneath, right at the creases of his legs and– “Hmmm,” he hums, nonplussed, pretending desperately that his cock isn’t thickening, isn’t tightening his own trousers beneath the desk,.
Eggsy snorts a laugh into his tea and then brings up Roxy’s latest operation in Italy. The rest of the visit passes very slowly.
—
It is exactly one week later, during the Round Table briefing, that Harry loses his battle. It’s the first full meeting since the “Short-Shorts Mission” and it seems that no one really cares about Geraint’s successful shutdown of an assassination on the British Prime Minister, or Lancelot’s brilliantly executed recovery of some sensitive national secrets in Italy. No. All anyone seems to give a proper damn about is Eggsy’s mission, which Merlin saves the recap of til the very end.
With a truly wicked glint in his eye, the wizard plays the footage again for all of them to watch: lets them all see Eggsy’s barely clothed hips widen as the kingpin swims up to him and puts his big, inelegant hands on the agent’s legs, slides them up proprietarily until they are toying with the edges of the shorts. They get to see, as though from Eggsy’s eyes, as the man licks his lips and then lowers his head down to Eggsy’s skin as if to kiss, as if to bite and then–
Crack.
“Oh good show,” Caradoc enthuses brightly as the dead man slips into the water and the footage ends.. “Better every time I see it.” There’s avid murmurings of agreement up and down the table.
“Aye, a well-completed mission by Galahad,” Merlin agrees, fiddling with his clipboard to avoid the fire of Harry’s gaze. “Seriously, a fine job, Eggsy. You are proving yourself to be–”
“–a neck-snapping spy with the thighs of a god,” Bedivere cuts in teasingly (though his eyes drift down to the table’s edge, following the line of Eggsy’s body as he says it). Eggsy is flushing and grinning like always, and almost everyone at the table is laughing, and Harry suddenly sees red.
“Enough,” He bites out as he rises from his seat, his voice as wintry as his stomach is boiling hot. The noise falls into abrupt silence as all the knights look quickly to him, startled, Eggsy especially so. “I would remind you that this is a professional meeting, and we are a professional organization. If you have all gotten so lax in your positions as to find a simple honeypot mission this enthralling, then perhaps some basic retraining is in order for each of you!” The knights blink at him almost as one, some of their mouths falling open slightly. Even Merlin eyes him owlishly behind his glasses.
Harry hears himself, knows how he sounds, but he can’t stop it. “Now, since it seems we’ve covered all relevant topics for the meeting, we’re finished here. I trust next week’s debriefing–” He spears Tristan with a look, knowing the man’s penchant for shitty puns– “will be much more productive. Dismissed.”
The knights sign off the comm links or rise somewhat mulishly from their seats immediately, all very subdued. Harry can feel his pulse beating too quickly and he’s thrice damned because he can’t stop his own mouth from saying, “Agent Galahad, stay behind a moment, if you would.” At those words, he sees even Merlin beat a rather hasty retreat. The absolute arse.
Once the room is empty, Eggsy approaches him, looking guilty and more than a bit worried. “Er…yes, Arthur?” He says, hands jammed in his pockets, positively ruining the line of his suit.
“Eggsy,” Harry says, and then stops. His own hands are pressed against the tabletop, because if he moves them, he’s going to do something he really shouldn’t.
“Look Harry,” the younger man implores earnestly, taking another step closer. “I’m sorry about all that, yeah?”
Harry blinks twice at that, trying to process. “Why on earth should you be sorry?”
There’s a pause as Eggsy pulls his left hand out of his pocket to scratch uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “Well, I didn’t do much to stop them from going on about it, really.” He shrugs, self conscious. “Wasn’t really thinking about how unprofessional it was. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, all right?”
He tilts his head up to look at Harry askance, seeming thoroughly chastised, the line of his jaw cocked in a half-grimace. His hair looks ludicrously soft in the overhead light, his broad shoulders sloping down nearly in a slouch as he apologizes for things that are not (entirely) his fault.
Fuckity fuck, Harry ‘The World’s Biggest Hypocrite’ Hart thinks, before he steps forward, slips a hand under the younger man’s chin, and presses their mouths together hard.
He’s glad when Eggsy makes a startled noise, as it covers up the moan that rattles out of his own throat. Eggsy’s lips are warm and slightly chapped, and Harry feels like sparks are setting off as he drags his own lips against them, feeling hungry and hot, and wondering what body parts Eggsy is going to use to snap his neck.
They’re suspended there for a moment, with Eggsy completely frozen and Harry too much of a coward to deepen the kiss and far too much a coward to pull away. This is a horrible idea, Harry supposes, already addicted to being this close to the younger man, to being able to feel the very faint afternoon stubble of Eggsy’s chin against his hand, to touching him this way.
The heat in his stomach is finally beginning to curdle into something resembling rational thought, when Eggsy’s body suddenly goes loose and sways towards Harry slightly, and he lets out a quiet, breathy little sigh. Harry feels the exhaled words just as much as he hears them: “Yes, Harry.” It’s more than enough.
In an instant, the kiss melts from chaste into something filthy. Harry bears down, his tongue sliding in to tangle with Eggsy’s own, to stroke across his teeth and try to steal the breath from the younger man’s lungs. Harry brings his free hand to Eggsy’s hip and spins them, pressing them back into the table. His licking kisses find a sensitive spot on Eggsy’s soft palette, and the younger man moans into the kiss, his hip jerking in Harry’s hold the tiniest bit.
It’s like Harry’s blood has been set on fire. Months of avoiding, of restraining, of refraining evaporate into thin air with the heat he can feel radiating between them. He’s probably going to be angry with himself later, he thinks, as he crowds in closer against Eggsy, slotting their hips together and rolling down against him. Eggsy breaks the kiss as his head fall back in a shudder, the long line of his neck a new, inviting target.
Then there’s no room left for anything resembling second thoughts as Harry surges forward, pressing his lips against the smooth skin right above Eggsy’s collar. He slicks wet, open mouthed kisses into the pliant flesh, unable to stop himself from scraping his teeth along the corded tendons he finds. Eggsy’s hands fly out to grab at the labels of his suit when he does it, and he yanks Harry forward harder, grinding up with a soft little noise that makes Harry’s own cock ache, his whole body feverish.
“This is not how I’d intended–” Harry finds himself near-growling as he sucks what will undoubtedly be a hickey into the soft skin where Eggsy’s jaw meets his ear. Good.
Eggsy lets loose a distracted laugh that melts into a sinful moan, his fingers scrabbling up to tug at Harry’s tie like he’s not sure whether to loosen it or just hold onto it as an anchor. “Did you intend?”
The words draw Harry up short, and he pulls back to meet Eggsy’s gaze. The blue-green eyes are glazed, pupils already blown wide with lust as he looks back at Harry, his face flushed and open.
“Yes,” Harry murmurs back, surprised at fierceness with which the response leaves him. He’d never admitted to himself before, but there had always been plans in his mind– plans to wine and dine Eggsy, to date him, to hold him. He’d just been…waiting. For what, he doesn’t know. This, apparently.
Eggsy seems satisfied at the answer, his swollen lips curling up in a heated smile. “Well, if I’d’ve known all it took was a pair of shorts to get you moving, I’d have tried it ages–mmf!”
Harry doesn’t let him finish, can’t, before he’s surging up to catch that puffy mouth in another bruising, wet kiss. “It wasn’t that,” He grits out between damp bites and licks.
“Oh no?” Eggsy manages to say back, the hint of a put-on pout in his voice, somewhat detracted from by another filthy moan that curls between their lips.
“They were fucking amazing of course, you vain thing,” he huffs, and it’s true, the way they pulled tight across his hips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. “But that wasn’t– isn’t–”
For once, Harry finds himself at a loss for words. Instead, he slides his hand down Eggsy’s heaving chest to press firmly against the younger man’s groin. Eggsy’s cock is a hard, hot weight in Harry’s palm, and he can’t help but stroke it roughly through the material as Eggsy’s hips arch up, the breath leaving him an a keening sort of groan.
He bites down on the soft skin of Eggsy’s earlobe as he buries one hand in his blonde hair, the other moving to deftly unbutton and unzip Eggsy’s trousers. There are faint whines coming from the back of Eggsy’s throat, and he moves to begin undoing Harry’s tie in earnest now, but Harry bats his hands away. “Let me,” He manages, his voice already rough with how badly he wants the younger man.
Eggsy lets out a surprised yelp when Harry suddenly moves his hands around to scoop Eggsy’s firm arse and lift him up onto the conference table. Again, Eggsy moves as though to reach for Harry, and again, Harry bats his hands away, pushing firmly on the center of the other man’s chest until Eggsy is lying back against the mahogany table, his legs dangling off the edge, his expression a mix of lust and amusement.
“Bossy,” Eggsy chirps, grinning slyly, and then squeaks when Harry tweaks a nipple through his dress shirt. His hips jerk up into Harry’s own though, and Harry lets out a hum of interest, filing the information away for later. For now, he’s got a goal in mind, and he won’t be distracted from it.
Leaving one hand pressed in the center of Eggsy’s chest, Harry uses the other to finish undoing the trousers. Lust crackles through him, settling into his balls as Eggsy shifts his hips restlessly with the movements. With a few well-placed tugs, Harry has Eggsy slacks and boxers shimmied off his hips, his cock springing free with a wet slap against his stomach. Eggsy jerks at the sensation of it, combined with the feel of his bare arse sliding against the high-polished shine of the table beneath him.
He hears the younger man babble something about the housekeeping department, but Harry is too busy looking to truly listen. Eggsy’s cock, still bobbing against his stomach, is a dusky purple, curving up gently to a mushroomed head already slick with precome. It’s fucking gorgeous, is what it is, and Harry feels his mouth water and his dick throb at the way it rises from between two creamy, muscled, unmarked thighs.
Unable to help himself, Harry leans down and lick a broad, wet stripe up the crease of Eggsy’s thigh, a thrill running through him when the younger man let’s out a thin cry at the move, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the tabletop. Eggsy’s skin tastes musky and clean and Harry knows immediately he will never get enough. He swipes his tongue along the other crease as well, putting one arm across Eggsy’s hips to keep them still.
“It wasn’t the shorts,” Harry declares again, as though there’s been no pause in the conversation. He touches his free hand to the inside of Eggsy’s thigh, letting his knuckles brush against the already tightening balls, living for Eggsy’s needy little squirm. “Here,” he says, stroking his fingers against the soft, pale skin, feeling the the flesh prickle up under his touch.
He waits until Eggsy looks at him, lifting his head up off the table, and blinking blearily, already looking fucked out and wrecked. He holds the other man’s gaze with his own, hopes Eggsy can see everything Harry needs him to in his own expression. “He was going to kiss you. Bite you, maybe.” Eggsy gives a dazed hum, encouraging, and it’s sweet and hot and perfect. “Mine,” Harry says, and it comes out almost as a snarl, clawing it’s way through the thick, possessive heat that’s been sitting, molten in his stomach for a week.
Because Merlin thought it was just about seeing Eggsy in the shorts, just as Eggsy does, but it’s not true. Harry has survived Eggsy looking sinfully attractive many, many times in the two years he’s known the young man. No, it was the idea, the mere thought of another man biting, of another man marking what Harry realized he thought of as his. The feeling is not rational or gentlemanly, but it is all consuming, and Harry wants nothing more than to possess.
From the heated grin on Eggsy’s face, it doesn’t seem as though he minds terribly much.
It’s almost annoying to Harry, how incredibly fond that grin makes him feel– how it distracts him for a moment with the urge to hold and soothe and protect the younger man under him, and whisper stupidly sweet things to him until they both fall asleep together.
Later, he thinks firmly, as he lowers his mouth to the soft, heated flesh of Eggsy’s inner thigh, and bites.
“Holy fuck!” Eggsy yelps, his voice a high, reedy thing as the words trail off into a punched out little whine, his hips jerking hard against Harry’s confining arm. The sound sends a hot shudder down Harry’s spine, curling right through his dick, and he shifts, even the faint pressure of his suit a delicious bit of friction. Oh yes, he thinks, licking broadly at the spot he’s just bitten, and then he bites down again.
This time, it seems that Eggsy doesn’t have any words. Instead, more breathless whines and gasps fill the air as Harry sucks and bites at the perfect spot of flesh, feeling overwhelmed by the taste and smell and sound of the body spread out before him. Harry feels like he’s a starving man finally presented with a meal he’s been hungering for for days, one that he will never get enough of now that he’s had a taste.
He works methodically along every inch of Eggsy’s inner thigh, unable and unwilling to be gentle as he draws dark marks up to the surface of the skin with each sharp tug of his teeth and mouth. Each new mark Harry works into the skin makes Eggsy’s cock twitch needily against his straining stomach next to Harry’s face, which Harry pointedly ignores for endless, agonizing minutes, while the noises Eggsy makes increase in pitch and desperation.
“Harry– shit, Harry please,” Eggsy finally groans out, his breathing leaving him in gasps although Harry has yet to do anything much but mottle hickeys into the inside of his thigh. Perfect.
Harry brings up the hand he’s not using to hold Eggsy down, and wraps it firmly around the rigid length next to his cheek, already damp with precum. The low, electric moan Eggsy makes is like music– dirty, filthy, perfect music that sings through Harry’s blood and makes him want. Harry pumps his curled fingers up and down a few times experimentally, loving the way Eggsy’s hot, velvet flesh slides against his palm, quickly finding a rhythm that makes Eggsy’s hips roll with each downstroke. Satisfied, he lowers his head back down to the younger man’s other thigh, and digs his teeth into the new, untouched landscape.
The minutes blend together, Harry losing himself in the sweat-salty taste of Eggsy’s skin, the sharp tang of sex in the air, the fucked-out gasps Eggsy keeps making as his hips shift desperately under Harry’s relentless teeth and hand. After a while, he adds a slight twist on the upstroke, lets his palm tweak the slick head of Eggsy’s cock, and the result is like lightning– Eggsy’s body tenses up under him, a moan curling out of his mouth that’s suddenly low and a little desperate, his hips picking up speed in sharper, mindless thrusts. Abandoning Eggsy’s thigh for a moment, Harry leans in further and mouths at his balls instead, licking and suckling as they draw tighter and tighter up against Eggsy’s cock with each sure pump of his hand.
One of Eggsy’s hands leaves its spot from where it’s been pressed, white-fingered and sweaty against the table, to reach down and tangle in Harry’s hair. He tugs hard, and the prickle of pain makes Harry fucking growl, releasing one of Eggsy’s balls with a soft, obscene pop.
“I’m–” Eggsy bites out, his voice thick like he’s trying to speak through layers of cotton, but the urgency in his tone is unmistakable, as is the way his hips start to lose their rhythm, the measured thrusts beginning to become stilted, desperate twitches instead. “I’m– wait, I’m gonna–”
“Good,” Harry answers, and he’d like to think his own tone is calm and in control, rather than the hot, raw groan it is. He tightens his hand around Eggsy’s dick, speeds up without much finesse, and presses his mouth one last time to Eggsy’s reddened, inner thigh, bruises already rising up on the abused skin. His teeth sink in hard on an already marked spot, and Eggsy let’s out a surprised, perfect shout, his whole body shuddering under Harry’s touch as he tenses up and comes in thick, white ropes over his stomach and Harry’s hand.
Harry works him through it, not slowing his hand or easing up his bite, the movements becoming slicker as his palm is coated in Eggsy’s come. Above him, beautiful, wrecked sounds continue to wring themselves from Eggsy’s throat, the hand in his hair tugging mindlessly, too hard and perfect. Eventually, far before Harry is finished, Eggsy’s hips slow and begin to jerk in oversensitivity rather than pleasure, and Harry forces himself to slow his pumping hand and gentle his mouth into soft kisses and licks on Eggsy’s abused, lovely skin.
“Jesus,” Eggsy wheezes finally, tugging more purposefully on Harry’s hair, and Harry draws away a touch regretfully, only to be pulled up the table on top of Eggsy and into warm, slow kisses as he stretches out over the younger man, not caring in the least that their suits are absolutely being ruined.
Eggsy hums and pants into the kiss as he catches his breath, both hands now carding through Harry’s hair, seemingly determined to ruin its careful styling. Harry lets his hips rock lazily into Eggsy’s as their tongues tangle, almost painfully hard now, but also incredibly content. Eventually, when Eggsy’s breath has evened out, the younger man pulls back, his eyes shining with pleasure,
“That wasn’t half bad,” he says smugly, and Harry finds himself rolling his eyes even as a smile curls across his face.
“Do be careful– resounding praise like that might well go to my head,” He sniffs, and Eggsy laughs, his whole body shaking under Harry’s.
“Not the head I’m interested in right now, yeah?” He asks, rolling his hips up pointedly, and Harry grinds down once before he can stop himself, then pulls back swiftly. He ignores Eggsy’s confused frown as he clambers (with dignity, thank you) back down off the table, tugging the younger man upright and helping him gets his pants and trousers back up around his waist.
“Oy…are–” Eggsy asks after a moment, not hiding the hint of anxiety in his tone even as he lifts his hips obligingly for Harry to tug the clothes up the last little bit.
Helplessly fond, Harry leans forward and takes him in another kiss, trying to restrain the heat he still feels coursing through his body and his dick still heavy between his legs. “I’d like to get us home, first,” He says simply, and tuts when Eggsy glances at his watch mischievously. “We’re taking a half day.”
“Whatever you say, Arthur,” comes the reply, in a tone wicked and warm like honey, as Eggsy reaches out lightning-quick to press his palm against Harry’s groin.
“Shit– home first,” Harry growls, grabbing at Eggsy’s wrist without finesse. “This is not how I’d–”
“Intended, yeah yeah,” Eggsy cuts in, drawing his hand back without further protest. But there is heat in his gaze still, along with something soft and warm and lovely that makes Harry’s gut twist in a way that has nothing to do with arousal. Well, nothing much.
The younger man lets himself be pulled to his feet, leaning heavily on Harry for a moment as he finds his stability again on decidedly shaky legs. “Mind if we stop by my place real quick?” He asks, pressing a fleeting, teasing kiss into Harry’s neck.
“Whatever for?” Harry asks, already mentally altering his plans to include the request. He suspects he’ll never say no to anything Eggsy wants again, not that he’s ever really been able to before now, anyway.
The grin Eggsy treats him with in response is huge and bright and wicked. His hair is tousled, his blue-green eyes still intense with arousal, and Harry knows he’s fucked, in the best way. “Well, those swim shorts weren’t from the wardrobe department, were they? Thought you’d like to double-check and make sure you marked every spot you needed to, yeah?”
Oh yes, Harry thinks, as he drags a laughing Eggsy through the halls of HQ, past a half dozen startled employees, discretion be damned. Completely fucked.
How lovely.