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He’s always known he was weird. If he had to guess, his… preferences had made themselves present in middle school, when everyone’s voice were cracking and they all had too much pent-up energy. He would fool two boys into fighting each other, by some trick or another. He liked to watch people fight. Liked to watch as they calculated how to take the other person down, liked the sound of that fist-to-face smack. Liked to see someone win.
Eggsy had a sort of thing about people who could beat the utter shit out of their opponents in combat. He also had a thing for blokes in suits. These… things of his had long predated his time in the Kingsman, however he’d now been spending the last three or so months studying under Harry, who seemed to be the ultimate king of looking good while practically ripping a blokes still-beating heart from his chest. The bastard could probably pull some fuckery like that off without spilling a drop of blood on himself, and Eggsy wouldn’t even have been surprised. The thing is, Eggsy’s libido and his unconventional interests aren’t just voided because Harry’s old, or possibly even trying to be his father figure; no, those things barely scratched at his growing attraction to that arsehole. All his fault, anyway, for trotting around in that suit and saying smoothly, lowly into his cheek, ‘Eggsy, watch closely’ before killing a man in a crowded room without so much as a glance from the partygoers, or, ‘Eggsy, take note’ just as they round a corner into a squad of finely-tuned, armed killing machines. Eggsy’s mouth goes dry as he stands back and watches Harry end the existence of ten men within forty seconds. If his slacks are a bit tighter too, well, that’s his own little secret.
And so through a series of situations that definitely involved Eggsy not shooting his dog, he’s got his eyes glued to the video feed from the inside of that bloody church in Kentucky. He’s worried. He’s not entirely sure what to expect, but now Harry’s got his iron sights pointed at a blonde bird’s forehead, and shit, he just shot that woman in the head. The rest of the church has risen from the pews and begun going for each others’ throats. Eggsy has not a fucking clue as to why, but he’s bet that’s what Harry’s doing there. Suddenly his fear is replaced with something a bit darker. Eggsy feels the familiar increase in heart rate as he leans in for a better view of the screen. He’s never seen the normally elegant spy lose control so violently before. His breath comes shorter and sharper as he watches Harry beat the living hell out of assailant after assailant. He’s not trying to disarm. He’s not trying to immobilize. He is not trying to spare any lives. Harry is utilizing his entire potential for killing, and things are bloody in that Kentucky church. Eggsy pulls in a long breath and feels his heart pounding in his chest, his neck, his dick. He can feel the blush on his own face, his warm ears and too-tight jeans rubbing him just right as he watches Harry’s limbs move with power and precision. He’s tempted to indulge himself, but can’t quite gather a cohesive thought through his laser focus on the small screen in front of him. Harry’s just snapped a man’s neck and used him as a body shield. He’s not slowing down. He’s stepping over twitching corpses without so much as glancing at the floor.
Kill after skilled, bloody kill, Eggy’s gone under a spell. He wets his lips. His dick had become quite evident, straining stiffly against the denim of his pants. He hears the cracking of bones and the squelch of opening flesh in his head as Harry makes kill after kill. He slid a shaking hand across his thigh and cupped his throbbing arousal, releasing a breathy groan as he gave it a long squeeze. Without so much as glancing away from the scene in front of him, he opened his jeans and pulled his prick from the confines of his trousers. He had to catch his breath as Harry pulled some wicked move having to do with pulling apart a handgun and stabbing a bloke in the damned throat with it, feeling his cock twitch in his hand at the sight. Eggsy inhaled sharply through his nose and began to stroke himself slowly. Without thinking he pulled his hand above the table and spat into it, groaning at an indecent volume as he sped up his pace, feeling the drag of his own long fingers and wide palm across his length. The contact was more than he could handle, and the heat in his gut was tightening dangerously. He tugged his jeans a bit further down his hips to allow himself to spread his legs. Everything felt hot. The kind of wank that makes you feel like you need to piss the whole time, except you love it. Eggsy’s familiar with the difference between a bored wank and the kind you can’t help, when you feel like you’ve got no choice but to drop your zip and indulge in things. This is one of the latter. Harry is down to the last man, the preacher, and Eggsy’s been on the edge of release since his mentor had fired the first shot two minutes ago. He’s teetering, teasing himself, keeping himself from coming and missing something when his vision goes white. The fat preacher is dead, gored through the skull, and the video feed has switched to the front of the church where Valentine has a gun trained on Harry’s forehead. A jolt of adrenaline jumps from Eggsy’s chest, but just as his hand stilled, dick forgotten for a moment, Harry is jumped from behind by a bleeding, limping southern man with a gun. Valentine fires, too late, and Harry’s already got the man’s pistol. He takes three rapid shots; one to the man’s temple, one in Valentine’s eye socket, and one straight through Gazelle’s stomach and into the guard behind her.
Eggsy’s shoved over the edge, orgasm damn near knocking the bloody breath out f him as he releases onto the bottom of Harry’s desk and on his carpet. He hadn’t even been touching himself when it happened. He’s panting, wiping the sweat from his forehead as Harry finishes off the guards on screen. His mind comes back to him enough to guiltily tuck himself into his trousers and go back to base.
It’s two weeks later and Eggsy’s just witnessed a routine Harry style ass kicking, and as per the usual he’s shifting uncomfortably and trying his best to look into the brightest parts of the room for a chance to reduce the radius of his blown-out pupils. Another trick he’s been taught by his mentor. Eggsy thinks hes just about gathered himself together when Harry walks past him to check the hallway when the older man’s gaze drops for a moment to Eggsy’s erection, which isn’t nearly hidden in these damned tailored pants. He watches Harry’s face for a reaction, a warning, something, but all he gets is a knowing smirk as the other spy reloads his pistol, leaning to whisper in Eggsy’s ear before swiveling into the hall for round two. Eggsy’s still recovering just inside the door frame from Harry’s words.
“You’re a little fucked up, aren’t you, Eggsy?”. He could feel Harry’s smile against his ear.