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Don't Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

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It doesn’t slip out on purpose. He’s three sheets to the wind, celebrating his twenty-fourth birthday after returning from a recon mission in Sri Lanka, which means he’s jet lagged, too, and anything he says should be taken with a grain of salt. His mum’s on the other side of the room talking to Roxy for God’s sake. If he’d meant to say it, he would have waited for a more appropriate moment.

Though, he’s not sure there will ever be an appropriate moment for accidentally calling Harry daddy.

The moment it’s out, there’s an elongated pause where Harry stares down at him, and then Eggsy—face burning with embarrassment—immediately turns and flees. Or at least he tries to, but Harry hooks his hand into the curve of Eggsy’s elbow and keeps him right where he is.

“‘M sorry,” Eggsy tells him, eyes downcast, feeling worried that Harry is mad at him.

Harry knew his father for fuck sake. He has a metaphorical boatload of issues over his death and it’s the reason they even know each other.

There’s a sickly rolling in his stomach as he thinks about what might happen. Harry could have him booted from Kingsman or he could tell Eggsy’s mum and strong arm him into getting therapy. He has no idea, and the uncertainty sits heavily inside him.

It’s silent between them for what feels like forever, just Harry holding his arm, while Eggsy quietly panics himself into an early grave.

“Did you mean it?” Harry asks finally, his voice even and unreadable.

Eggsy could lie, could laugh it off as a joke, grab another drink, and go find Jamal to talk to and forget the exchange ever happened. But Harry trained him in the art of lying; during training, he’d hooked Eggsy up to a polygraph and blasted him with uncomfortable questions until he was able to beat the machine. Though Harry isn’t a machine and Eggsy suspects Harry would see straight through it.

So, Eggsy scratches awkwardly at his nose and decides to bite the bullet.

“Not literally,” he mumbles quietly and he feels Harry’s gaze on him, heavy enough that his knees seem as though they’re about to buckle.

“Of course not,” Harry replies smoothly, seeming to already understand. “But as someone to care for you.”

Eggsy really can’t deal with this conversation in front of so many people, though—from a subtle glance around the living room—he knows no one is paying them any attention.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Eggsy says instead of anything that would give him away, and he shakes off Harry’s hand—the one still on his arm—and heads for the back door, needing to step out onto the patio to catch his breath since it feels as though all the oxygen has left his body in one fell swoop.

He offers casual smiles to party guests when they glance his way, but no one stops him, just lets him grab a glass of some ridiculously expensive champagne that Merlin had brought—a case of the stuff, no less—and slips outside without bothering with the outdoor light.

He shuts the door behind him and draws in a breath of night air that’s cold enough to mist in front of his face. The London light pollution offers enough coverage to see the basics, though Eggsy only takes a few steps and sits himself down on the hip-height wall, separating the patio from the garden. He swings his legs over so that he can face away from the flat and swallows down his champagne in one quick gulp.

He sets the glass on the wall beside him and lets out a long, soft sigh.

His face still burns, heart thrumming in his chest at the thought of Harry knowing far too much about it—more than he already does. Harry’s the least judgmental person he knows—behind Roxy, of course—but it’s something huge and terrifying, and Eggsy isn’t ready to lose Harry after all they’ve been through. He thought he’d lost him once before—more than once even—and it had hurt no less each time.

He can’t even remember when the feelings for him started; it was never a conscious decision to like him, and he never woke up one morning thinking today is the day I fall in love with Harry fucking Hart. No, it’s been a gradual realisation, between sitting at Harry’s bedside in the medical wing at HQ and sparring with Harry in his downtime and sharing late night drinks because Eggsy’s had a bad day and Harry knows without even having to ask.

And over casual conversation, while asking Harry to pass him a serviette, he’d slipped and punctuated his sentence with daddy of all the fucking things to say. He’s a disgrace to himself and the Kingsman way; subtlety had gone straight out the window, rolled down the road, joined the M25, and had been splattered onto some poor bastard’s lorry windshield. At least that’s how it had felt at the time.

So now he’s stuck outside of his own birthday party, utterly ashamed, and trying not to imagine all the terrible ways it may go in the morning when he has to face Harry again.

But as Eggsy has long since learnt, plans very rarely go right, which means the door at his back quietly opens and shuts, leaving someone else in the garden with him. There are two very measured steps and from that alone Eggsy knows who it is.

“Go back inside, Harry,” he says, because the last thing he wants is to start a scene outside. His neighbours already have no qualms with judging him from his looks alone. He doesn’t need to give them anything that can be used against him later.

Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t get the hint as he takes another step forwards, enough for Eggsy to feel him lingering at his back.

“I believe we have a conversation to finish,” Harry tells him and Eggsy knows there’s no way he’s that dense.

“I left to spare us both the humiliation, Harry. Let sleeping dogs lie.”

“This dog is snoring loudly for all to hear,” Harry rejoinders and Eggsy drops his head into one hand, temples aching with a tension headache that threatens to bloom.

“Harry, seriously. I’m not fucking joking right now.”

“Neither am I,” Harry tells him, voice inexplicably close, as though he’s leaning in to murmur it in Eggsy’s ear, but Eggsy’s too afraid to turn his head to look. Though he doesn’t need to when a warm nose casually brushes against his ear and Harry murmurs, “Tell me, Eggsy.”

Eggsy drops his hand away from his face, fingers clenching as he refuses to give in.

Harry,” he stresses, half ready to sprint down the end of the garden, scale the fence, and call for the nearest taxi to take him anywhere but there.

A hand on his shoulder pins him down, makes his heart skip a beat, and he lets his eyes slip shut as he tries to block everything out—the noise of the party still carrying on, unknowing, inside the flat, the embarrassment that’s eating away at him, the feeling of Harry’s thumb as it swipes a line of heat across his skin, even through his shirt.

“Eggsy, my dear boy,” Harry says, followed by the faintest pressure of lips against the thin skin of his throat, where his heartbeat taps out a hurried, unsteady beat.

He knows Harry isn’t playing him. Harry wouldn’t do that with something like this, not when Eggsy is all but cracked open for Harry to pry his way inside. He curls his fingers against the sharp edge of the brick wall he’s sat upon and, ever so slowly, tilts his head, just enough that he knows Harry will feel it. He’s offering more skin to Harry, who is smart enough to know when to take what’s given.

Eggsy shuts his eyes tighter as Harry’s warm mouth moves across his neck, his kisses chaste and not much more than the dry brush of skin against skin. But as simple as it is, it flips Eggsy’s stomach and he swallows thickly when Harry slides his hands down to his waist, holding firmly enough that Eggsy has no issue about leaning his weight into Harry as he offers everything he has left.

“Oh, Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, pulling back just enough that his words aren’t muffled.

Eggsy should have more resolve; he did better than expected in his torture training, but he topples like a tower of cards the minute Harry shows him affection.

He spins where he sits, though not quick enough to take Harry by surprise, and Harry lets Eggsy frame his thighs with his knees, keeps his hands low, and goes willingly when Eggsy twists his fingers into Harry’s hair.

It’s not precise; anything but, to be honest. But it’s real when Eggsy pulls Harry in to kiss him properly, to slide their mouths together and taste Scotch on his lips, like he always imagined he would. Harry is gentle, slows him down with an experiences hand on Eggsy’s jaw and Eggsy can’t get enough.

“No idea,” Eggsy says, drawing away just long enough to speak. “No idea how long I’ve waited.”

Harry pulls him in for a new kind of kiss, the sort that’s dirty and wet and makes Eggsy’s toes curl in delight.

“Perhaps I do,” Harry tells him when he pulls back. “Perhaps you are not as alone in this as you first believed.”

Eggsy can’t find the right words to say in reply, so he instead hooks a hand behind Harry’s head and pulls him back in, keeping him near just because he can. Harry doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, even steps closer, presses Eggsy’s thighs open wider to crowd against him.

Eggsy wants him with every fibre of his being. Wants Harry to crowd over him in the wet, dewy grass, wants Harry pressed to his chest against the garden fence, wants to be held down on top of his mattress upstairs and fucked within an inch of his life. He wants Harry to care for him, wants Harry to be his daddy.

A noise escapes him at the thought and Harry uses soft hands to tilt his head and trail his mouth towards Eggsy’s ear.

“Tell me what you want, dear boy,” Harry says, mouth hot against Eggsy’s jaw, and that alone has his cock straining at his fly.

Jesus, Harry,” Eggsy complains, throwing his arm out for balance.

However, he’s not careful enough to watch for the glass still resting beside them and it topples with a light clink before shattering completely against the paving slabs.

Eggsy jerks back at the sharp sound, though Harry keeps his hands on him and stops him from toppling backwards off the wall.

“I want to get the fuck out of here,” Eggsy hisses at him. “Away from this party so’s you can fuck me proper.”

“That would be rude, Eggsy,” Harry tells him, but he does take a step back, glass crunching unheeded underfoot. “What did I tell you about manners?”

“I asked nicely,” Eggsy says, trying to distract Harry away from the fact that he’s right by following it with a breathy exhale of, “Daddy.”

Eggsy has seen Harry snap before—during a mission in Magaluf, because seriously? Magaluf? And another time at HQ when Eggsy had rolled in with a broken collarbone and a gunshot wound to the thigh—but it’s not something he’ll tire of. There’s a fire in Harry’s eyes that says the next few minutes are probably going to blow his mind, and then Harry’s grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his feet.

When Harry begins dragging him to the shadowed end of the garden, Eggsy almost thinks that maybe they’ll hop the fence after all and hail the nearest taxi. But instead, Harry tucks him into the furthest corner, crowds in over him until all Eggsy can see is darkness, but can feel the long line of Harry’s body, and kisses him as though he means it. Well and truly.

“Say it,” Harry orders as he begins leaving a messy mark on Eggsy’s throat, possibly high enough that collars won’t hide it. Eggsy knows what he means.

“That you’re my daddy?” Eggsy teases, earning a sharp pinch of teeth, but Eggsy’s cock twitches and he whines high in his throat when Harry grabs his leg, tucking his hand behind Eggsy’s knee and pulling it up, letting Harry rut forwards and drive him half-mad with the perfect amount of pressure right between his thighs.

“You want me to take care of you?” Harry asks, even as one of his hands drops between them, unfastening Eggsy’s trousers with a skilled ease that Eggsy envies.

“Daddy, please,” Eggsy pleads and his whole world narrows when Harry gets his hand on him, stroking and teasing his foreskin as he rubs at the precome around the tip of Eggsy’s cock. “Tell me I’m good.”

Harry doesn’t even falter as he tucks his nose below Eggsy’s ear and tells him, “You’re so good for me, aren’t you? Always doing as you’re told. Always Daddy’s favourite.”

Eggsy bites at the nearest thing he can get ahold of, which turns out to be the lapel of Harry’s jacket, but he sinks his teeth in without remorse because he really doesn’t have the brainpower to do much else.

“Are you going to do as your told?” Harry asks. “Are you going to come when I tell you to?”

Eggsy can’t do much more than nod, but it gets the point across and Harry’s hand picks up speed. Eggsy should be embarrassed by how easily Harry gets him worked up, but it’s been lingering in his fantasies for a long while. Having Harry do filthy things to him and to getting to call him daddy is not how he pictured his night going, so he reckons he can cut himself some slack.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Harry’s the one who’s going to tell him when he can come, and something hot and thrilling tingles down his spine. If there’s a repeat performance at a later date—which he damn well hopes there will be—they’re going to have to explore Eggsy’s control issues, because he would gladly give everything up for Harry.

“What do you think, Eggsy?” Harry asks, hand moving all the while. “Do you think you deserve to come right now?”

Eggsy clutches at Harry’s back and nods again, pulling away from Harry’s jacket to speak.

“Been good for you, Daddy,” he reminds Harry, “but it’s your decision.”

“You’re right,” Harry tells him. “So maybe it’ll do you some good to wait.”

He slides his hand out of Eggsy’s trousers, even as Eggsy hovers along the edge of orgasm, but he doesn’t have time to complain about the bollock-ache it gives him before Harry’s kissing him like it’s all he can remember how to do.

“Perhaps you need to show me how good you can be,” Harry suggests and the only thing that pops into Eggsy’s head is the thought of dropping to his knees.

Which he does without a second of hesitation, staring up at Harry as he says, “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry actually seems affected by that, which Eggsy takes great pleasure in, and he quickly unzips Harry’s fly and slips his hand inside. Harry grabs his wrist as Eggsy guides his cock out through the front of his trousers and Eggsy pauses, waiting for what he has to say.

“Careful,” Harry warns, which is fair enough. Eggsy’s caught his own knob in his zipper enough times to know to be gentle.

He nods and repeats, “Yes, Daddy.”

He curls his hand around the base, keeping the cold metal teeth away from Harry’s skin, and slowly moves in to lap at the head of Harry’s cock. Harry must enjoy the feeling because his erection twitches against Eggsy’s tongue, obviously wanting more. And who is Eggsy to deny him that?

He wraps his lips around the tip of Harry’s cock and sucks gently, bobbing just enough to get used to the sensation before trying to take more. It’s wet and messy as he manages to drool everywhere, even managing to slick up his own knuckles as he holds Harry’s cock steady.

In the shadows, it’s a little difficult to see anything clearly, but he knows Harry’s watching him and as Harry tucks a hand behind Eggsy’s head—not rushing or trying to choke him, just to touch him—Eggsy stares up and reckons he probably makes a right sight indeed.

His own cock is still hanging out of his trousers, hard as ever and probably making a mess over his jeans. But he ignores it, focusing on Harry as he takes more of him in, his throat opening up as far as his gag reflex will allow. With his free hand, Eggsy gently palms Harry’s bollocks, pressing a finger to his perineum and feeling Harry start to come apart above him. He feels powerful knowing he can undo all of Harry’s careful manners with just a few eager touches.

“Would you prefer to spit or swallow?” Harry asks, which is a ridiculous question and Eggsy doesn’t bother replying, knowing that if Harry cares about it enough, he’ll decide for him. After a long, pointed pause, Harry says, “Very well. You can be a good boy and swallow.”

Eggsy’s done it before with other guys; it’s not too terrible, but sometimes the consistency gets to him. He doesn’t think Harry will care too much if he does end up spitting anyway.

He wonders if Harry will give him warning beforehand, just as his jaw begins to ache from bobbing in the same position. He can feel the damp dirt against his knees and his left foot has pins and needles, but it’s all easy to ignore when Harry pets his head so gently, puts love and care into the gesture.

“Open up, my dear,” Harry tells him, which is the only forewarning he receives before he feels Harry’s cock pulsing against his tongue and then there’s the warm, bitter taste of come in his mouth.

He swallows, then swallows again because he’s not sure when Harry last tossed himself off, but it feels like the load of a man who’s been backed up for at least a week. It coats his tongue, but he doesn’t care, just keeps suckling the last of Harry’s orgasm out, until Harry gently urges Eggsy’s mouth away.

“Such a good boy, Eggsy,” he praises and there’s a swelling of warm happiness in Eggsy’s chest. “Aren’t you?”

Eggsy nods and Harry hooks his hands under his arms and tugs him back to his feet, steadying him as Eggsy’s leg slowly regains feeling in it.

“You’ve earned this now,” Harry tells him before leaning in to kiss him softly at the same time that he wraps a hand back around Eggsy’s cock.

He hasn’t softened in the slightest and he really doesn’t suspect it’ll take long; he can already feel his body beginning to tense, readying for the sensory overload. Harry licks at the inside of his mouth, clearly tasting himself, but if he’s bothered by it, it doesn’t show. Instead, he sucks on Eggsy’s tongue and has Eggsy bucking into his hand.

“Tell Daddy how much you want this,” Harry says after a long kiss. “Ask me nicely if you can come.”

Eggsy muffles his groan of frustration with Harry’s shoulder, but then he leans into him, tilting his head up so that he can whisper into Harry’s ear.

“Want this so much, Daddy. Want you to make me come and see me be good for you again. Please.”

He suspects it’s the please that does it, but Harry kisses his chastely on the cheek and murmurs, “Come for Daddy, Eggsy.”

Eggsy clings to Harry’s back, one leg raising off the ground as he leans his weight into Harry and comes as though it’ll never end. He comes and comes, and he’s certain that the only reason he doesn’t float away is because Harry is holding him tight.

Harry,” he whispers. “Harry, fuck.”

As he slowly comes down from the high, the realisation of what’s happened hits him and he hopes he hasn’t gotten come all over Harry’s suit because he’d been hoping to keep everything discreet. But he really doesn’t care the moment Harry pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully cleans his hand off, like the perfect gentleman as always.

Eggsy doesn’t even try to pull away from Harry, but Harry curls an arm around Eggsy’s waist anyway and rests his chin against the top of Eggsy’ head. The both of them are breathing hard enough that if they were to head back inside already, it would be clear that they were doing more than just chatting.

Eggsy knows they need to make their way back inside before anyone begins to suspect anything, but for the moment, they slowly get their breaths back and Eggsy savours the feeling of Harry so close. A few long minutes later—with great regret—Eggsy takes a small step back and begins to tuck himself away, straightening his clothes the best he can. He doesn’t know how he does it, but now his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, it looks as though Harry doesn’t even have a hair out of place. It’s entirely unfair.

When they’re both as decent as they’re going to get, Harry leans in for a final tender kiss, and then leads Eggsy back towards the patio, his hand curled against Eggsy’s elbow.

However, as they get closer to the house and the inside lights, Eggsy realises that maybe Harry isn’t as well put together as he’d originally thought. There’s an obvious flush high across Harry’s cheeks and Eggsy takes great pleasure in it. It may be the only indication of what they’ve just done and he rather wants to keep it for himself.

As Harry reaches for the door handle to head back into the party, Eggsy grabs his arm and carefully drags him away to the side of the house where there are more shadows to hide within.

It’s easy to back him up against the garden gate and drag him in for lingering kiss, smoothing his hands down the front of Harry’s suit as though to shove away the creases.

“Does this mean things will change?” he asks Harry, needing to know the truth, but Harry cups his face with one hand and strokes the apple of his cheek with his thumb.

“No, dear boy,” he says. “We’ll have to disclose our relationship with Merlin of course, but I doubt it’ll be any surprise to him. There isn’t much that gets past him.”

Eggsy nods, hope growing in his chest.

“Our relationship?” Eggsy asks and Harry nods.

“I doubt he’ll appreciate it if we tell him I’m your daddy, so perhaps it is best if we just tell him that we are now partners.” Eggsy snorts at the image of ruining Merlin’s day with that fact and a conspiratorial grin breaks out across Harry’s face. “Though we could always disclose that at a later date if we need to wind him up.”

“Deal,” Eggsy agrees, leaning in to kiss him one last time. “But more importantly, what did you get me for my birthday?”

Harry stares at him in mock-disapproval and says, “You cheeky boy.”

To which Eggsy responds, “But Daddy wouldn’t have me any other way.”

If Harry’s small smile is anything to go by, it might just be true after all.