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In hindsight, Eggsy should have seen it coming. He prides himself in being quick on his feet, sharp of tongue, and always one step ahead of his target. Nothing slips past him; he recalls and reacts to every word, every detail, every inflection in the voice of whomever may have the pleasure of his company. In this instance, it’s Harry Hart, primly insisting that it’s high time Eggsy started dressing the part as he turns up his nose at Eggsy’s beloved Jeremy Scotts and flashy gold tracksuit. Eggsy disagrees. He and Harry are like night and day: Harry is pure elegance, refinement, and poise, and he might as well be obscure British royalty, for all Eggsy knows. Eggsy, on the other hand, is rough around the edges, a little rash, knows he has a temper and likes it.
But still, Eggsy should have seen it coming.
“One does not pop one’s cherry in dressing room two.”
But now it’s too late, and Eggsy is shoved up against the damask wallpaper of dressing room one, not sure if the cause of his rapid, erratic heartbeat is his antecedent encounter with Valentine, or Harry’s solid, warm palm placed firmly against his chest, pinning him in place.
Eggsy figures it’s the latter, and plucks up enough courage to ask, in his signature tone skirting the line between impudent and obnoxious, “You come here often?”
Harry removes himself from Eggsy’s chest with an exasperated “tsk”, turning to the door.
“A gentleman must be prepared for anything and everything, you realize,” he says, sliding the door’s brass lock closed with a resounding click. “A gentleman must never be caught off guard.”
“What are you on about?”
Harry turns to Eggsy and looks at him for a moment, deep and mesmerizing. It’s the same look he’s given Eggsy many times, a look that he imagines is one of pride and comfort, and it makes Eggsy’s heart begin to thump even faster, so hard that there’s no way Harry can’t hear it. The object of being a Kingsman, the first, most crucial rule, is that one must never let their opponent know what he or she is thinking, but in this moment, under Harry’s scrutinizing gaze, Eggsy feels terribly transparent.
He swallows.
He watches as Harry’s eyes flick to the motion, following the upward, downward motion of Eggsy’s throat. When his gaze returns to Eggsy’s, his pupils are blown. He glides over to Eggsy, still plastered up against the wall, all smooth elegance and grace. He sidles up to against him, pressing his umbrella firmly to Eggsy’s chest, effectively locking him in place. His warm breath, faintly scented of first-pick Earl Grey and the caraway breath mints he insists on carrying at all times, curls against Eggsy’s ear, and they’re so close he swears he can hear Harry’s heartbeat, almost as erratic as his own.
“Shall I speak plainly, or would you prefer I maintain strict professionalism?” Harry asks, the room gradually rising in temperature.
Eggsy counts one, two, three heartbeats before responding, with a pathetic hitch of breath, “Plainly.”
A salacious smile curls on Harry’s face, devious and absolutely breathtaking.
“What does a Kingsman strive to protect, Eggsy?” he asks, breath still tantalizingly tickling the hairs on the back of Eggsy’s neck.
“The Crown; the country; and the legacy of excellence of Kingsmen past , present, and future,” Eggsy recites quickly.
“And what,” Harry asks softly, sliding his knee between Eggsy’s legs, parting them gently, “Must a Kingsman be willing to do to protect such things?”
Eggsy’s head thumps backward against the wall, eyes fluttering shut in a desperate attempt to maintain control. It’s a test, Harry would never think the things that Eggsy has thought, want the things that Eggsy wants, and Eggsy knows it.
“Anything and everything within his or her power, and the power of the organization,” he breathlessly quotes.
“Do you know what ‘honeydicking’ is? Terribly improper terminology, in my opinion, but no matter,” Harry asks, still the absolute definition of cool control.
Eggsy pauses. Roxy has told him about her own honeypot missions, how she’s slid up to her target in a quietly glamorous bar, wound herself around him like a coquettish, slithering snake and lured him into bed, nights where a usually dissatisfying fuck would be punished with a fatal bullet and a subsequent acquisition of the necessary confidential information. She hates the term “honeypot”, and has always called them “in-and-out” missions, a bawdy, tasteless reference to both the act of fucking and quick murder.
“A Kingsman of your particular talents and attributes usually has a very singular target demographic,” Harry continues, “A demographic expecting physical compensation that, statistically, has rarely been a previous experience of most Kingsmen. Do you understand what I mean?”
Eggsy’s breath catches, and he finds himself unable to find the right words.
Harry sighs.
“Have you ever been fucked, Eggsy?” he asks, posh accent and all.
Eggsy groans, the room suddenly too hot, the situation suddenly too much too fast all at once, and he feels tiny, traitorous rivulets of sweat run down the line from the back of his neck to the curve of his spine. He shakes his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in a desperate attempt to hold back the multitude of pathetic, unprofessional noises he wants to make.
“Do you have any malaise regarding this situation, Eggsy? If you feel any inkling of discomfort or unease, tell me immediately and we can come to a mutually satisfactory next step. We, the organization, I mean, could find a suitable alternative candidate, if you so wished. ”
Fuck it, Eggsy things, and throws caution to the wind, because there is no way he’s bloody passing up a situation he’s fantasized about for months.
“Fuck, no,” he whines, “Just do it. I- I want you to do it. Please.”
Harry smiles, eyes black with lust and teeth sharp white, looking ready to absolutely devour Eggsy, a vision straight of out Eggsy’s most filthy fantasies.
“A gentleman never disappoints,” Harry whispers, tossing his umbrella to the side and pressingly himself flush to Eggsy. His lips slam to Eggsy’s, a well-controlled finesse behind each deceptively filthy slide of tongue and clack of teeth.
Eggsy whines as Harry’s hardness brushes his thigh, insistent and hot within his absurdly well-tailored corduroy trousers. Reclaiming his boldness, he trails his hand down to cup at Harry, rubbing how he imagines Harry would like, firmly squeezing and rolling his palm as Harry continues to ravage his mouth.
Harry growls into Eggsy’s mouth, grabbing his thick forearms and pining them above his head. It’s only from this close that he can see the extra height Harry has on him, and the severe and solid stance that he poses. While Harry doesn’t possess Eggsy’s thick muscle and stocky build, he makes up for it with quick, elegant motions and bone-breaking efficiency.
“A gentleman does not tease,” Harry chastises, and bites down on Eggsy’s lower lip. Eggsy’s eyes flutter shut and he groans desperately, tasting the faint sting of metallic salt on the tip of his tongue. “I wanted to be the first,” Harry continues, unzipping Eggsy’s jacket and, with an almost smug flippancy, tossing it onto the floor. “I wanted to be the first to have you. I know you thought about it; that’s always been your one weakness. I’ve been doing this for quite some time, Eggsy, and let me tell you this: I know want, I know need when I see it. And you, dear, sweet Eggsy, are absolutely desperate for it.”
Eggsy’s voice, lust-raw and cracking, rises to a needy whine, hips grinding against the air in search of any friction. Harry looks at Eggsy’s tight black joggers and almost feels sympathy.
Almost.
He pushes Eggsy down, who willingly drops to his knees and looks at Harry expectantly, hands gripping his heels like he’s been doing this all his life, dropping to his knees to suck cock in tailor shops all around England. The thought of Eggsy doing this for others, the thought that he will be doing this for others, makes something sour and ugly flare in Harry’s stomach. He chooses to ignore it, and instead presses his thumb into the clotting bite-mark on Eggsy’s lower lip.
“You’re going to suck me off, get me hard so that I can fuck you, would you like that, Eggsy?” he asks, pressing open Eggsy’s mouth with his fingers.
Eggsy, the cheeky fucker, takes Harry’s index and middle fingers into his mouth, slick and wet with anticipation. With what little finesse he has left, Harry unfastens his slate-grey trousers, which pool to the floor around his feet as he pulls out his cock, blood-thick and pearling liquid at the head.
Eggsy gives a first tentative lick, tasting the wetness shining on the tip. He licks up the side, then the other, and then from the base to the tip, slow, teasing drags of his tongue that remind Harry how impish and cocky his agent is.
“It’s not as hard as I thought it would be,” Eggsy says delicately, pressing a chaste kiss the the tip, “Sucking cock, I mean, not your actual cock.” Harry’s eyes squeeze shut and Eggsy, feeling more bold, takes him down as far as he can, until tears prick at his eyes and his throat protests. Coming up for air, he laves at the head in lazy, wet swirls, looking up at Harry with wanton, lust-blown eyes.
“It’s perfect, exactly what I thought it would be… I knew it would be long, you’re a pretty tall bloke and it’s thick… and pink like your cheeks after you've been runnin'.”
Harry’s hands tighten in Eggsy’s messy brown hair, white baseball cap lying forgotten on the floor.
“I’d think about it inside me,” Eggsy whispers, moving further downward to lap at Harry’s balls, “How it’s going to feel when you’re fucking me, you holding me down on the floor of the fuckin’ pub or down on my bloody uncomfortable bed in the dorms and just pressing into me, making me take it… And I would let you, I’d be so good and let you fuck me however you wanted, however hard and fast you wanted, you could do it,” Eggsy babbles, lost in his lust and drooling over Harry’s cock.
“And I’d be so quiet, or you could gag me with your bloody silk ties and you’d do it, wouldn’t you? You would sneak into the dorms when Roxy and Charlie and Digby an’ all of them were sleeping, you’d press me down into the bed so they couldn’t hear me begging for it and you’d fuck me, but so much slower and quieter than I wanted it, I want it fast and hard and mean, Harry, I really do, I-”
And that’s all Harry can take, shoving Eggsy off of him and down onto the thick Persian carpet, the smooth, muscular stretch of his back stark and pale against the rich burgundy. He kneels and savagely pulls down Eggsy’s black jogging pants, using his nails and revealing the smooth, unblemished skin of his arse and legs, creamy white and flawless.
Eggsy kicks off his trainers and arches his back, presenting his round, delectably plump behind to Harry, who is very satisfied.
“Fuck me,” Eggsy whines, propping himself up on his forearms and looking over his shoulder at Harry. “Fucking do it.”
Harry’s hand comes down on Eggsy’s arse with a satisfying smack, an angry red splotch blooming on the jiggling skin. Eggsy yelps in protest.
“A gentleman is always patient,” quips Harry, who spreads Eggsy apart and assesses the winking hole, milk-white and untouched.
“What are you- Fuck, are you gonna’ toss my salad? Harry fuckin’ Hart, if you are going to actually toss my- Oh, fuck.”
Harry shuts him up with a long, deep lick, tongue wet and warm as he spreads Eggsy apart and licks, sucks, and probes at the hole, leaving Eggsy a quivering, whimpering and boneless mess. He slides in a finger, firm and deep, and Eggsy arches his back, moaning low in his throat. Harry adds another, and leans up over Eggsy, covering his body with his own firm weight.
“Look at what that smart little mouth of yours is good for now, Eggsy, all you can do is moan and whine for my cock. You’re a smart boy, but within these four walls you’re just a warm hole that wants to get fucked. Look up, Eggsy, look at yourself in the mirror, you’re positively filthy.”
Eggsy looks up and groans, because whose desperate, flushed, fucked-out face was that?
“That’s it, Eggsy, be a good boy and take it, you can take another, you’ll have to if you want the thick cock you’ve been dreaming about to fit.”
“Fuck, yeah, Harry, yeah… I’ll be a good boy for you, I’ll be so fucking good…”
Harry presses in a third and Eggsy tenses, gasping and clawing at the carpet, arching his back.
“Relax, Eggsy, relax… you’re so good, such a good, dirty little thing, you always want to pick fights and be the winner, but what you really need, what you know you need, is a good fucking. You want me to hold you down and fuck you senseless, you want me to do to you what you do to all those bloody girls who must throw themselves at you, you want me to hold you down and ram you, stain you with my cum and let it drip out of you, you want to know who you belong to, don’t you? After all, what better way to repay me? I made you, I saved you, Eggsy.”
Eggsy cries out and presses back onto Harry’s fingers.
“I’m ready, you bloody fucker, just do it, fuck me already, please,” he whines.
“For the record, I have a clean record, and you would do to ask your future partners if they do, as well,” Harry whispers and then he’s doing it, pressing into him in one long, thick, hard stroke that knocks the wind out of Eggsy in just the way he’s dreamed, he feels full in the perfect way, delightfully stretched to the point of the barest kiss of pain, bright and hot as Harry pulls out and slams back in, damp forehead falling to Eggsy’s shoulder blade.
He sets a brutal pace, slamming into Eggsy and whispering filthy, awful, delicious things in Eggsy’s ear, things that Eggsy never imagined would leave Harry’s lips, but he figures that to be as controlled as Harry is, he was bound to have an outlet.
And Eggsy isn’t complaining.
“You’re absolutely nasty, Eggsy, wanting me to fuck you while your peers were sleeping. I bet you’d love that, being gagged and pinned down to the bed, only getting fucked as soft and quiet as I’d allow, and you’d just have to be silent and let me, you couldn’t beg or moan at all,” Harry grits out, hips snapping in punctuated, merciless thrusts.
“Or maybe you’d let little moans slip out, and the others, they wouldn’t have the nerve to let us know we’d woken them, so they’d just lie there and listen to you getting fucked, taking it from your superior, and moaning like a whore.”
And at that, Eggsy’s gone, coming in sharp ropes of white on the expensive carpet, seeing stars and dissolving boneless as Harry continues to ram him, riding out his own orgasm and collapsing onto Eggsy, sticky and warm.
They lay there for a time, breathing heavily and not speaking, until Eggsy turns to Harry and presses his head into the crook of his arm.
“For what it’s worth, I’ll do the sex missions, all that shit, but it ain’t gonna’ mean nothing, you know that, right? It’s not gonna’ mean what this meant.”
And so Harry smiles and kisses him, a gentle agreement.
"Also, I really fuckin' hope these were soundproof walls."
Harry smiles and kisses Eggsy again, content to lie with him in bliss for a few moments more.