Harry may go on and on about the merits of good behaviour, of conducting oneself like a proper gentleman, but he certainly, in Eggsy’s opinion, fucks like a champ. The dichotomy is amusing as hell which is why often times whenever he could, Eggsy riles Harry up – not that that’s always easy to do because the man has the patience of a saint, but it’s a fucking delight to see all those layers peel away like onion-skin when he’s balls-deep in Eggsy’ arse. Fuck being a gentleman, anyway: Eggsy likes sex to be as messy and visceral as possible.
Often, he’s able to goad Harry into bending him over the desk in his study after one too many vodka martinis by way of a cheeky remark. The amount of alcohol Harry consumes is directly proportional to the amount of self-control he’ll be losing invariably during the course of the evening, and Eggsy makes sure to ply him steadily with the stuff until his words lose their sharp crispness and his touches start to linger.
And Harry’s a wonderful drunk, walking with the kind of rolling gait that makes Eggsy’s mouth go dry at the sight. He doesn’t even have to be naked for Eggsy to be gagging for it: alcohol pulls Harry’s eyes low and heavy-lidded and Eggsy has to swallow down the stifling urge to suck his dick. Tonight is that kind of night, and because they’re both in a celebratory mood after a job well done, Eggsy finds himself in Harry’s study, trousers pulled down to his ankles, his bare arse lifted in the air.
Someone ought to turn up the heating, Eggsy thinks muzzily, because it’s a little bit cold in the room, quite frankly. He’s actually feeling a little woozy right now with his cheek squashed flat against the redwood finish of Harry’s desk though that minor point of discomfort is negligible, all things considered.
Harry, behind him, begins to palm the swell of Eggsy’s arse before giving it a hefty squeeze. Then he spreads him open with two fingers, parting Eggsy’s cheeks without warning so that cool air hits him where the sun don’t shine and Eggsy’s hissing and wriggling his arse over his open palm. “Yesss,” he pants, fogging up the desk with his moist breath. His skin makes a squeaking noise when he lifts his head to look over his shoulder, at Harry eyeing his hole with such singular focus Eggsy’s prick leaks out a drop of precome.
It ought to be embarrassing, but Eggsy’s neither shy nor ashamed of his body; he knows what he likes, and he knows for a fact that Harry knows that too. With Harry, no movement is ever wasted, but when he’s fucking, Eggsy’s noticed he likes to take his time.
Tentatively, Harry presses the pad of a finger over Eggsy’s rim, rolling his thumb in a slow circle until Eggsy starts to pant and tighten his grip on the edge of the desk. He leans over Eggsy, pressing his chest to the arch of Eggsy’ back, dragging his finger back and forth over the crack of Eggsy’ arse until Eggsy sighs and drops his forehead forward on the desk with a soft thump. Eggsy’s sure this isn’t something they teach you at public school but he’s grateful Harry’s learned the finer points of fingering someone’s arse enough to be a fucking pro at it. Then again, he’s Harry Hart; there’s nothing he doesn’t know how to do extremely well.
Eggsy’s vaguely aware of the soft snickt of the lubricant being uncapped somewhere behind him. A minute later and Harry’s working him open with a finger, bullying past the stubborn knot of resistance until Eggsy widens his stance and lets himself be fingerfucked, rolling his hips to chase the slow simmering burn. It’s good, so fucking good that his eyes slip shut when Harry presses a tender kiss to the side of his neck. He shudders as a second finger is pushed inside him, slick with lubricant and just as dexterous as the first; his dick jolts when Harry curls both fingers forward to brush his prostate, then Harry’s really fingering him now, good and proper like he needs it, getting Eggsy ready for his cock.
“Fuck,” Eggsy breathes. “Fuck, fuck, yeah, work that arse open.” Behind him, Harry chuckles ruefully, squeezing him on the hip as the movement of his hand slows down incrementally. He pulls out both fingers, leaving his hand splayed at the base of Eggsy’ spine before pressing his nose to the back of Eggsy’ ear.
Eggsy can smell him, this close: the expensive cologne, the limes he took with his martinis, a hint of gun metal underneath the mineral scent of his skin. He startles when Harry gives his arse a particularly smarting slap, the bite of his signet ring stinging his skin. The hand leaves too soon for his liking; he hasn’t been nearly as naughty as he would’ve liked to be because this is not that kind of night. Tonight, he just wants to be fucked; his prick is so hard he could pierce brick with it.
“On your back, Eggsy,” Harry says, with just a hint of a quiver in his voice, “I want to see your face when I’m fucking you.”
Eggsy doesn’t hide his smirk though he obeys the order, kicking off his trousers before heaving himself onto Harry’s desk. The laptop and carafe of tea Harry dutifully sets aside, and then he’s arranging Eggsy how he likes him, curling his hands around Eggsy’s ankles to prop them on his shoulders. Eggsy leans back on his elbows so he can watch Harry take out his cock. He’s still in his suit, the tie somewhat askew after Eggsy had climbed on top of him on the sofa and wriggled his arse against his clothed cock. There are lines in his face that take longer to disappear nowadays but they smooth away into a soft smile when Eggsy toes him on the cheek.
“Quit teasin’ me Harry,” Eggsy tells him, voice edging close to a whine. He licks his lips as Harry turns his ankle toward him to kiss it, soft and lingering. “Fuckin’ give it to me already. Been waitin’ for all night for it.”
“Eggsy,” Harry says patiently, a gleam in his eye that Eggsy both love and hates. “What did I say about asking for things nicely?”
Eggsy rolls his eyes but indulges him. He lets his voice soften around his vowels as he coyly runs his fingers across his hole – parting his arse cheeks just so so Harry could see where Eggsy wants him to put his cock, where Eggsy is ready and aching to be fucked, where he’s eager to be stuffed full. Christ, his dick is so hard just thinking about it. He wants Harry to just get on with it but maybe he isn’t drunk enough.
“Please,” Eggsy says, just on this side of breathless. “Please ‘Arry, please fuck me.”
It takes Harry a few seconds to get on with the programme, the corner of his lips tightening as he takes his cock in hand and gives it a few pumps. It’s a long and luscious curve, beading with precome at the tip. Eggsy loves riding it into the mattress, loves that Harry’s cock fills him nicely and perfectly. Harry slicks himself up easily with lubricant, a few generous strokes that leave Eggsy panting and urging him forward with his heels digging into Harry’s shoulders.
“Come on then,” Eggsy urges, head lolling across the desk. He keeps himself spread with two fingers until Harry grabs his wrist and pins it above his head. Eggsy is naked from the waist down, but Harry looks like he’s about to fuck him with his clothes on: suit and tie and glasses, product keeping his fucking hair from wilting. He guides his cock to Eggsy’s hole, and Eggsy doesn’t need instruction to slide forward and lower himself onto Harry’s cock, inch by slow inch until Harry is buried to the root. Eggsy closes his legs around Harry’s waist and starts moving against him, and it’s uncomfortable at first - Eggsy tenses every other time Harry bends forward to meet him halfway - but Harry’s got a way of fucking into him in short choppy thrusts that make him feel tongue-tied and shaky all at once. Sooner rather than later, he’s babbling and bobbing his hips, head falling back as Harry pounds into him with all he’s got.
“Fuck,” Eggsy gasps. He lifts his foot to Harry’s shoulder, affording Harry’s cock a better angle. Like this, Harry’s hitting Eggsy’s sweet spot every time, making Eggsy’s cock push out a few drops of precome. Eggsy wraps his fingers around Harry’s tie, tugging him forward for a wet, trembling kiss. His head rolls back again for the nth time as Harry works himself deeper, every thrust starting from the tip of his cock and ending at the root. Posh repressed bastards certainly knew how to fuck, or maybe it’s just Harry Hart, Eggsy thinks as he’s fucked within an inch of his life.
Harry grabs the backs of Eggsy’s knees and pushes his legs back, spreading him wide until Eggsy moans, feeling totally surrendered. Eggsy glances down to watch Harry’s cock disappear inside the greedy clutch of his body, and nearly sobs in desperation when Harry widens the berth of his thrusts and starts an easy rolling rhythm.
“Eggsy,” Harry whispers tenderly, tipping Eggsy’s chin up. “Eggsy, look at me.”
Eggsy blinks, whimpering as Harry kisses him through every deep thrust. He can hardly think, or breathe, his hands loosely spread next to his ears with how full he feels, impaled up to the throat with Harry’s cock stirring him up. He throws his arms around Harry’s neck, clamps his legs around his waist, bites gently at his ear. “Wanna ride you,” he pants. “Come on, Harry. Lemme ride you. I’ll be so good. Please.”
It’s the please that does it, spoken in the soft sweet way Eggsy knows gets Harry every time. “Very well,” Harry grunts after a protracted moment, “Since you asked so nicely.” He says it with a bit of dryness but hefts Eggsy up with hardly any effort at all and starts walking them backwards toward his armchair, cock still buried in Eggsy’ arse.
Eggsy moans with each step he takes, and once they’re settled in Harry’s favourite seat, lets gravity do all the work for him; he adjusts himself in Harry’s lap and keeps his face tucked into Harry’s neck where the musk of his cologne is the strongest, then moves his hips to find the angle that works best for them, riding Harry until Harry groans and clutches at his arse, kneading it in time with every upward bob of Eggsy’s hips.
“Eggsy,” he murmurs.
“Harry, shut up and just fuck me you dirty bastard,” Eggsy whines. He’s almost there, and when Harry pulls out all the way, he whimpers at the slow, hot drag of his cock before letting out a shout once Harry shoves back in. This time, Harry takes Eggsy’s painfully hard cock in hand and starts to stroke, his free hand cupping Eggsy’s spine.
“Are you going to come, darling?” Harry asks, as if Eggsy’s not squirming like some fucking rentboy on his fat prick. Eggsy nods, shuddering as Harry runs his thumb over the sensitive underside of his cock.
“Let me see you come, then,” Harry whispers. He slides his hot mouth across the shell of Eggsy’s ear and says, “Let it all out,” and that’s precisely when Eggsy comes, violent and with a hoarse shout. His orgasm rips right through him, makes his muscles flutter and tighten around Harry’s still stiff prick. He’s sweating like a whore in church by the time his senses come back to him and he blinks fuzzily as Harry rubs a hand over his damp back.
“Good boy,” Harry says, failing to notice that Eggsy’s come all over his suit – there are thick splatters across his chest and Eggsy smirks before dragging his finger through a spot of come and licking his finger clean. Something in Harry’s expression changes, a darkening of the gaze perhaps, as he takes Eggsy’s wrist and keeps it captive in one hand. A curl of hair is out of place and Eggsy reaches forward to push it neatly back from his face.
“My turn?” Harry asks, and Eggsy doesn’t quite miss the quiet jolt of Harry’s cock inside him, like a promise. He hasn’t come yet; again, the patience of a saint. Eggsy hums and rolls his hips, slowly, lazily, hooking his knees on either side of the armrests, burying Harry as deep as his body can possibly allow.
There’s a nice fullness to it; the burn is almost as satisfying as the slow incremental stretch.
“Have at it, then,” Eggsy says cheekily, grinding his arse over Harry’s cock. “Let’s see you make me come a second time, yeah?”