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Vanilla

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The first time they have sex it’s sudden and frenzied and utterly ungraceful. Their mouths are slick and salty with sweat, their teeth clacking together when Eggsy manoeuvres Harry around until his back meets the wall. Harry has his fingers twisted into the fabric of Eggsy’s sports shirt. Eggsy’s hands are clenched around his head tight enough to hurt, but it’s a vague and distant pain. Muffled by the dizzying smell and heat of Eggsy’s damp mid-workout body lined up against Harry’s.

They’re pressed so close together that Harry thinks they might melt into one.

Both of them are still out of breath from the sparring session, their chests heaving in sync. Eggsy is gasping into Harry’s mouth—words, Harry realises, Eggsy is gasping words. “You fucking tosser,” and variations thereof, and then Eggsy’s forehead is braced on Harry’s shoulder and both of his hands are dipping into Harry’s tracksuit bottoms. The palm of Eggsy’s hand is rough and warm against the head of his dick, the fingers of his other hand jittery around its length. Harry bites down on the inside of his cheek when Eggsy cups his balls, rubs the pad of his thumb along the underside.

Eggsy gasps, “Oh, oh, fuck, fuck,” as though he is the one on the receiving end of a hand job here. Harry slides one hand down to the small of Eggsy’s back, and Eggsy goes, “Shit, Harry, you’re such a fuckin’—”

His breath hitches when Harry works a dry finger into him. Harry curls the fingers of his free hand around Eggsy’s chin to pull his head up and then they’re kissing again, sloppy and almost desperate.

They shamelessly rut against each other until Harry swallows a moan and lets his head fall back, comes undone under Eggsy’s skilled insistent touch. Eggsy shoves his own trousers down and wraps his come-coated hand around his dick to bring himself off, gasping, pushing back against Harry’s fingers, shuddering as he comes in spurts on Harry’s skin.

Harry’s still trying to catch his breath when Eggsy sinks to his knees to suck their come off Harry’s soft dick. He licks and sucks and kisses until Harry’s body almost seizes up with too much too much too much. He utters a heartfelt “Fuck,” and pushes Eggsy’s head away more roughly than he means to.

Eggsy laughs breathlessly. He looks up at Harry—eyes bright, lips wet and puffy—and says, “Can’t believe you been denying me this for so long.”

Harry touches his thumb to Eggsy’s cheekbone, watches Eggsy lean into the touch a little, and thinks, me neither.

 


 

The second time they have sex (third time if you count Harry jacking Eggsy off in the shower right after the first time, Eggsy keening into his ear, hands scrabbling for purchase on Harry’s slippery skin) is a little less fraught with urgency. There’s still a certain sense of impatience in Eggsy’s actions, though, the same restless impatience that rendered Harry speechless last time.

This time Eggsy is in his lap, steadily grinding down as he kisses Harry. His fingertips are dancing along Harry’s face and throat, feather-light fleeting touches that leave Harry aching for more. Make him wish they were in a bed and Eggsy could touch him like that everywhere, would never have to stop touching him like that.

One of Eggsy’s hands is tugging at Harry’s tie, the other pulling ineffectively at his belt, and Harry can’t help but choke on a laugh. He says, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Eggsy gives him a sharp look.

For some reason, I fuckin’ knew it, you ain’t that easy to get rid of after all, echoes through Harry’s head. The memory makes his stomach waver uneasily.

“Well, you got two hands too, innit?” Eggsy says. “Why don’t you help me out a little here, instead of being all…” He waves a hand around.

Harry catches it and, without overthinking it, guides it to his mouth, watches Eggsy’s jaw go wonderfully slack as he sucks two of Eggsy’s fingers down.

“All what?” he asks innocently, and Eggsy says, “Fuck you,” and slides that same hand into Harry’s hair and kisses him again, hard and wet.

They end up rubbing off against each other like teenagers, Harry coming before Eggsy does, his mind cloudy with the noises Eggsy is making, the feeling of Eggsy rocking against him, of Eggsy’s hands roaming hungrily under his shirt and rubbing his cock through his trousers.

Harry holds Eggsy as he comes, shuddering like last time, moaning into Harry’s mouth. He holds him for a little while afterwards, too, until Eggsy sits up and pulls a face.

“Gross,” he says. “We need to stop doing this at HQ.”

Harry nods and kisses the side of Eggsy’s face because he can.

 


 

Fucking Eggsy for the first time is like a religious experience. Harry is almost certain he would not have been able to handle it sober. As it is, he isn’t sober. Not drunk either, but tipsy enough to be making all the noises and saying all the things he managed to hold back before. Eggsy seems rather partial to it; when Harry stays quiet too long for his liking, he kicks at Harry’s back with his heels and breathes, “Harry, Harry, let me hear you, fuck.”

Eggsy is maddeningly tight around his fingers. He’s even tighter around Harry’s cock, which is one of the reasons why Harry can’t even consider moving for the first few minutes he’s inside. Another reason is the breath-taking view of Eggsy like this, spread out across Harry’s bed, his broad chest heaving and his ab muscles contracting as he holds himself up with his legs wrapped high around Harry’s sides. Harry can feel his thigh muscles quiver under his hands.

Eggsy’s cock is flat against his belly, flushed dark and wet at the tip, and suddenly Harry wants it in his mouth so bad. He tells Eggsy that, tells Eggsy he wants to taste him, but he can’t because his cock is buried in Eggsy’s arse and—fuck, Eggsy looks so beautiful like this, all loose and flushed and ready for Harry to take him.

“You been holding back on me,” Eggsy says. “I like you foul-mouthed.”

“I am always foul-mouthed,” Harry says, offended.

“Not like this,” Eggsy protests. “‘Fuck, Eggsy, I wish I had your cock in my mouth’? Pretty sure I woulda remembered you sayin’ something like that.”

“Just you wait until I whisper it into your ear during a debriefing,” Harry says.

Eggsy narrows his eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“Perhaps I would,” Harry says, rocking forwards ever so slightly, watching Eggsy’s face twitch. “Would you like it if I did that? In front of Merlin? Lancelot?”

“F-fuck,” Eggsy says when Harry thrusts into him a little harder. “I’d probably get to my knees and suck you off right there.”

Harry hears himself groan. “With everyone watching?” he asks, pulling back.

“I don’t give a shit,” Eggsy says. He arches his back and moans deeply when Harry drives into him hard, Eggsy clenching around him almost unbearably tight. Eggsy’s heels are digging into Harry’s back, and he’s got his head tipped back, mouth obscene, eyes half-lidded, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as Harry thrusts into him again.

Harry thinks about it, Eggsy shamelessly moaning around Harry’s dick, not caring who hears him, who sees him.

“God, you, you’re,” he’s saying, and he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. He cups Eggsy’s face, can’t kiss him easily from here, can’t lick the precome off the head of Eggsy’s dick from here—why are they even in this position? Because Eggsy wanted it; had hinted at it all night long, had talked about it while stroking Harry through his trousers in the taxi back home from the pub. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me,” he’d said, pushing his ass back against Harry’s crotch while unlocking the door, and.

“This is torture,” Harry says.

Eggsy raises an eyebrow.

“I mean this, this fucking position, come here, let me kiss you—”

Eggsy pushes up on his elbows to meet Harry’s mouth. Harry’s pleased moan turns into a low whine when Eggsy lets himself fall back into the pillows.

“Alright, get outta me, I have a plan,” Eggsy says, prodding Harry’s side with his toe.

The plan is Eggsy on all fours, Harry fucking him harder than he’s ever fucked anyone before. None of the boarding school boys and girls of his teenage years, none of his honeypot mission marks. Not even the Percival he’d been involved with for a while back in his early thirties, the Percival who’d frozen to death on an undercover operation in Moscow; his only notable partner to date.

Then again, none of them had been quite like Eggsy.

Eggsy buries his head between his forearms and sobs out one last moan as he comes. Harry finally understands the expression his orgasm exploded from him as his own orgasm explodes from him.

Eggsy makes a weak noise as Harry pulls out. He ties off the condom and, after a moment’s consideration, lets it drop to the floor.

“Harry, what the fuck,” Eggsy mumbles.

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it on the bed,” Harry defends himself.

“Just get down here. And take the covers with you, will ya?”

Harry obliges. He curls around Eggsy from behind, Eggsy twisting his head to kiss Harry over his shoulder. “This was the plan,” he says sleepily. “You kissing me like this. That was the plan.”

“Complaining, are we?”

Eggsy shrugs. “Pretty sure I won’t be able to walk tomorrow, so nah. You were fine.”

Fine,” Harry says. “I am not fine. I excel at everything I do.”

“You were acceptable,” Eggsy says teasingly. A shiver draws through him as Harry half-spitefully touches him where he’s still loose and wet with lube. Harry kisses the back of Eggsy’s neck, fingers him idly until Eggsy swats his hand away.

“Fuck off,” he mumbles. “Let me sleep.”

Harry stops fingering him, doesn’t stop kissing the back of his neck.

 

He wakes up to Eggsy deep-throating him, which is also a near-religious experience. After a lifetime of atheism, Harry’s sure been having an awful lot of near-religious experiences lately.

Eggsy pulls off his dick. “You sleep like a fucking log,” he says. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

As a matter of fact, no one has ever told Harry that. Merlin, possibly, but he probably shouldn’t be thinking about Merlin when Eggsy is settled comfortably between his thighs and has one finger up his arsehole.

“Finish what you started,” Harry says, and Eggsy huffs, takes him into his mouth again, sucking him down with reinvigorated fervour.

Harry drifts off again before he comes.

 


 

Eggsy arrives at HQ wearing a plug, and Harry fucks him with it in one of the washrooms until Eggsy has moaned himself hoarse and comes without even touching his dick. Then Harry jerks himself off, watches his come paint Eggsy’s lower back, the globes of his arse, the backs of his thighs.

Merlin walks past them when they come out of the washroom. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, and keeps walking.

 


 

“Hey, so,” Eggsy says, scratching the side of his face. “I been thinking.”

“Oh no,” Harry says as he stuffs one last pair of socks into his suitcase.

“Shut up. OK, so we’re obviously at a crossroads in our relationship.”

Harry’s chest seizes up.

“We really gotta decide,” Eggsy says. “Alright, when you come back from Russia, are we gonna go full-on hardcore BDSM with whips and stuff, or are we gonna do some vanilla shit at some point? I’m down with either, by the way.”

“Shitting hell, Eggsy,” Harry says. “I thought you were going to propose. Or suggest moving in with me.”

“I live with you already,” Eggsy says. “I never actually moved out after you came back from the fucking dead. In case you haven’t noticed.”

“Yes, well,” Harry says. “I meant move into the master bedroom with me.”

“I sleep in your bed all the time. I sleep in your bed more often than you do,” Eggsy points out. “’Cause you’re a bloody workaholic and the only bloody agent who speaks Russian.”

“But still,” Harry says.

“And you come back from Russia with a cold every time,” Eggsy says. “Every single time, Harry. D’you have any idea how irritating it is to—”

“Vanilla shit,” Harry says.

Eggsy cocks his head to the side.

“I’m going with the vanilla shit option,” Harry clarifies.

“Oh,” Eggsy says, and he smiles, widely. Harry is never going to get used to this boy’s smile. “Good, ‘’cause I already bought candles and rose petals.”

“You said you were down with either,” Harry says.

“Yeah, well,” Eggsy says, his smile turning smug and a little predatory, “you ain’t seen the new toys I bought yet.”

 


 

Harry comes back from Russia with pneumonia.

“Shit,” Lancelot says, wrapping a steadying hand around his elbow. “You alright, sir? Harry?”

Harry coughs miserably at her.

 

Merlin wants to keep him overnight for observation. Harry objects, of course, but Merlin pulls the Arthur card and so Harry is stuck in the infirmary. He sends Eggsy an angry smiley face about the whole bloody situation. Eggsy replies with a video of him featuring one of his new toys.

It’s Merlin’s fault that Harry has to rub one out in a hospital bed, and Harry won’t forgive him anytime soon.

 


 

Eggsy insists on celebrating Harry’s discharge (“Eggsy, it was one night.” “I don’t care, we’re celebrating.”) with a rim job, after which Harry is so exhausted he sleeps for ten hours.

Harry’s hands are being handcuffed to the headboard of the bed when Merlin calls for an update.

“No, he’s doing great. We’re taking the term ‘bed rest’ very seriously,” Eggsy tells Merlin. He hangs up the phone and rides Harry, after which Harry sleeps for another eight hours.

 


 

Eggsy spends almost two months in Libya on a mission. When he comes home, Harry pushes him back against the front door and sucks him off right there.

“We are gonna do the vanilla shit at some point,” Eggsy says, voice rough, and Harry nods, kisses Eggsy so that he can taste his own come.

 


 

“No, really,” Eggsy pants, collapsing next to Harry after fucking him so hard Harry could swear he was this close to seeing God. (Yet another near-religious experience.) “Vanilla.”

“Definitely,” Harry agrees, slinging an arm around Eggsy’s waist. “At some point.”

 


 

“God, look at you,” Harry says. His throat feels dry and he’s running out of things to say, but he keeps going. “It’s like your mouth was made for this.”

Eggsy moans around his cock.

“My beautiful boy,” Harry says. “My beautiful slutty—”

Eggsy moans again, loudly.

“You’re such a good little slut for me,” Harry says, keeping his voice low, “look at you, you look so good like this, such a filthy fucking—”

Eggsy keens, Harry’s cock sliding from his mouth. He presses his forehead to Harry’s thigh, his shallow breaths tickling against the underside of Harry’s scrotum.

Harry touches the top of Eggsy’s head. “Did you just come?” he says, amazed.

“Gimme a second,” Eggsy says, eyes closed. “Just a second, alright?”

Harry strokes his hair.

“OK, dirty talk is definitely going on the list of things to do more often,” Eggsy says after a while before resuming the blowjob.

 


 

“Love your mouth,” Eggsy murmurs, eyes half-lidded, his cheeks still flushed from his orgasm, “love your cock, your hands—” His thighs clench around Harry’s cock a little tighter.

“Fuck, I love you,” Eggsy sighs, and Harry comes in the tight hot space between his thighs, comes harder than ever before, speechless and panting for air. He has to brace his arms on either side of Eggsy’s head to keep himself from crumbling down onto him.

 


 

Harry comes home with a persistent headache. A hot shower doesn’t make it go away. Neither do painkillers. Reading hurts his eyes and looking at the television or an iPad screen for longer than a few minutes makes it feel as though there’s a fucking knife sticking out of his forehead. (Been there, done that, would not recommend.)

He lies on the sofa, scowling, and waits for Eggsy to arrive.

“I’m in an extremely foul mood,” he calls out when he hears the front door slam shut, just to warn Eggsy.

Eggsy’s laugh echoes through the corridor. Harry prepares to hate him for the span of an evening, but then Eggsy pads into the living room, tie gone, undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand. Harry likes it when Eggsy does that. He tentatively decides to hate everything and everyone but Eggsy for the span of an evening.

Eggsy perches on the edge of the sofa, leans down to kiss the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Worst mood ever,” Harry reminds him.

“Wanna take it out on my arse?” Eggsy asks him.

Harry winces at the thought of rigorous movement.

“Want me to ride it outta you?”

Harry contemplates this offer.

“Suck it outta you?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder.

“Poor baby,” Eggsy says in a mocking tone. A light shiver runs down Harry’s spine at the word anyway. “Wanna go shoot some baddies together? I know for sure we got some underground cells somewhere. We gotta have ’em. Merlin won’t lemme see them, but—”

“Too much noise.”

“Well, shit, excuse me, Mr—”

“Shooting baddies, I mean,” Harry says. “Guns. Noise.”

“Ah,” Eggsy says. “Thought you meant I was making too much noise. I was about to retract my offer to give you a massage.”

“You never offered to give me a massage.”

“Well, I was about to offer to give you a massage, but then I was about to retract my offer because I thought you was complaining about me makin’ too much noise.”

“Never, darling,” Harry says. “You know how much I love to hear you scream.”

“I don’t scream,” Eggsy says, indignant. “No one screams in bed. Jesus, Harry. If someone’s screaming, you are most definitely doing something wrong.”

“I don’t do things wrong. My ex used to scream in bed.”

“Your ex froze to death in Russia. He made bad life choices all around.”

“Hey, now,” Harry protests. “That’s my ex you’re talking about.” He adds, “Just you wait until I’ve made you come three times and am milking your fourth orgasm out of you via prostate massage. Trust me, you’ll scream.”

“Oh,” Eggsy says, eyes wide. “That sounds both excruciating and amazing. Definitely going on the list.” He leans down to nuzzle Harry’s cheek. “So, speaking of massages…”

 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Harry mumbles into his pillow, eyes slipping shut when Eggsy’s thumb digs into a tension spot right under his shoulder blade.

“What was that?” Eggsy’s hands move to the other side of his back.

Harry lifts his head. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he repeats. He lets out a low, rumbling breath when Eggsy finds another spot.

“No I ain’t,” Eggsy says. “Not on purpose, at least. It’s just that you’re always proposing something filthy, is all.”

Me proposing—you asked if you could fist me once,” Harry says.

“Didn’t say I ain’t never proposed filthy things,” Eggsy says. “Also, I really do not understand your aversion to fisting, it—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Harry says loudly.

“Ugh,” Eggsy says, leaning forwards to reach the tense muscles in the curve of Harry’s shoulders. “Fine.” He’s straddling Harry’s naked back, and the shift in position makes Harry’s cock stir against the mattress.

He ignores it, lets his eyes fall shut again. Loses himself in the feeling of Eggsy’s hands working over him, Eggsy’s weight on top of him. The soft sounds of Eggsy’s breathing.

Eggsy pours some more massage oil onto his back, works his way down again. Once he’s reached the base of Harry’s spine, his hands slowly start moving upwards again.

“Lower,” Harry mumbles. “Please.”

The ‘please’ earns him a kiss to the nape of his neck. Eggsy starts kneading his arse cheeks, working away tension Harry had no idea was there. Eggsy’s thumb grazes the sensitive spot where arse cheek meets inner thigh, and Harry’s breath catches.

“Sorry,” Eggsy says.

“Keep going,” Harry says. “Please,” and he doesn’t know why he’s begging, but Eggsy seems to like it. He makes a pleased noise, his fingers sliding into Harry’s crack.

Eggsy fingers him open slowly, taking his time—taking more time than necessary, coating his fingers with lube several times, keeping one hand on Harry’s neck, rubbing circles with his thumb.

Harry’s entire body jerks when Eggsy’s finger brushes against his prostate.

“What was that you said about screaming?” Eggsy says, and Harry says, “I will fucking kill you.”

Eggsy laughs, giving him another teasing stroke—Harry twitches, moans, “Eggsy, I swear”—before retreating. “How’s your headache?” he asks, and Harry blinks, says, “Huh.”

“Magic fingers,” Eggsy says, wriggling them, and Harry briefly considers reconsidering his life decisions. Very briefly.

“Alright, so what do you wanna do?” Eggsy asks.

“Well, you just spent about half an hour prepping me,” Harry says dryly. “Seems like a shame to let all that hard work go to waste, doesn’t it?”

“Ugh,” Eggsy says. “You are so utterly unromantic. Calling foreplay ‘prep’.”

He gets off Harry. It feels odd, Eggsy’s weight no longer pressing him down. Sad and cold. When Eggsy comes back and presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder and pushes at his side, inviting him to roll over, Harry resists.

“Fuck me like this,” he mumbles into the pillow. Then, after a beat, “Please.”

“You are being awfully polite tonight,” Eggsy says. There’s the sound of a condom wrapper tearing. Harry’s stomach twists warmly in anticipation. “You need a favour or something?”

“Just want you to fuck me,” Harry says truthfully.

“Yeah, I got that part.”

Eggsy goes quiet as he rolls on the condom.

“Wait,” Harry says when Eggsy straddles him, the tip of his dick sliding against the small of Harry’s back. “No condom. I wanna feel you come inside me.”

“But condoms are so convenient,” Eggsy says.

“I wanna feel your come inside me.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Harry.” Eggsy gets off him again. “Fine, I’ll go drown my fucking cock in lube for you, alright.”

“Much appreciated.”

Harry waits patiently until Eggsy has returned to his rightful place, slotted warmly and heavily against Harry’s back. Eggsy braces himself on one forearm next to Harry’s head, pressing light kisses to Harry’s cheek and ear and the side of his neck as he guides himself inside.

Eggsy’s smell is everywhere, Harry realises. Even the scent of the massage oil can’t drown it out. Eggsy’s smell has slotted itself into its rightful place in Harry’s house, in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the mattress, the covers, the pillows.

Eggsy sinks into Harry, slowly, his other arm coming up to rest next to Harry’s head on the other side. Harry is enveloped by Eggsy—Eggsy’s smell, Eggsy’s body heat, Eggsy’s everything. Eggsy is everywhere. He’s still peppering kisses to Harry’s skin, rocking shallowly into him, the position not allowing for proper thrusting.

Eggsy’s fingers are brushing through Harry’s hair, and Eggsy is mumbling things, words. Harry is not entirely sure what he is saying, but he can hear his own name in there, can hear words like, “so good,” and “fuck,” and “love you.” He hums, pushes his hips up to meet Eggsy’s movements. Eggsy lets out a shuddering breath.

“Fucking hell, Harry, I ain’t gonna last long like this,” he says, his voice rough.

“Don’t need you to last long,” Harry says. “Just want to feel you come inside me.”

Eggsy laughs shakily, pushes himself up onto his hands. His next thrust is slightly deeper, and Harry closes his eyes, lets Eggsy fuck into him, listens to his increasingly heavier and faster breathing and the words he keeps whispering.

Fuck. So good.

Harry.

Love you.

And Harry knows that—feels warm and safe and loved, feels it to his core, feels it so much his eyes are welling up with the intensity of it. Fuck, he loves Eggsy, loves him so much it hurts sometimes.

And Eggsy loves him right back.

How did we get this lucky, Harry thinks, reaching for one of Eggsy’s hands to thread their fingers together, meeting Eggsy’s thrusts as much as possible. Eggsy gasps, ruts into him harder, is starting to lose it.

“Come on, Eggsy,” Harry says. He sneaks a hand between the mattress and his stomach, finds his throbbing cock, strokes it insofar as he can. He thumbs the head, doesn’t want to edge himself, not now when Eggsy is so close to coming. “Come for me,” Harry says. “I want to feel you come.”

Eggsy gasps, “Harry.”

“Want to feel your come drip out of me,” Harry says. “Want to feel it when I wake up tomorrow, want your come to dry on my thighs—”

Eggsy’s teeth dig into the curve of Harry’s shoulder as Eggsy rides out his orgasm, hips stuttering. Eggsy stays where he is, on top of Harry, inside Harry, and Harry can barely move his hand but it doesn’t matter, he’s so close from Eggsy fucking him, from Eggsy’s smell, Eggsy’s body heat, Eggsy’s everything. His eyelids are prickling. Eggsy’s name is on his tongue as he comes.

Eggsy slides out of him, off him. Curls up close to him. “Pretty sure we just came the closest to vanilla we was ever gonna get,” he mumbles. “Whaddaya think?”

Harry hums.