Many things about the secret spy world are odd; receiving assignments to shag people for intelligence information is high on that list, though not at its top. What makes it particularly weird is when Eggsy and Merlin’s Harry—Arthur, now, with a scar across his temple and a bad eye—passes Roxy the briefing material for her next honeypot mission and tells her it might require extra study.
“And I know—” His face falters, with a hint of softness peeking through, enough so Roxy gets a taste of what it is that her friend loves so much about this man “—it’s probably not at all to your personal tastes, but as you’ll see, I’m afraid you’re the only knight who could do it. I apologize, Lancelot.”
He’s said this each time he’s hooked her up with some boozy hedge fund manager with a taste for meddling in international politics and no taste at all for men. Roxy has fucked them all with the cheer and enthusiasm expected of a socialite and the cunning and finesse of a Kingsman agent, only rarely having to imagine someone else; she can fake an orgasm beautifully, of course, but if she’s going to be put to work with disgusting people, she wants to genuinely come if possible, and there is a buxom redhead who works under Merlin and looks amazing wearing nothing but thigh-highs.
Nonetheless, Roxy whistles when she opens the file and skims the summary: this particular would-be petty arms financier has a fondness for, as the page states, “receiving anal penetration from women via sex toy.”
“This is outside my current experience, sir. The—the anal part, at least.”
Harry looks up at the ceiling for a moment, a shy sixteen-year-old trapped in the body of a man in his fifties, and Roxy grins.
“I feared as much. Unfortunately, he is both particularly psychologically susceptible to sex work—as you may read in more detail later—and particularly repulsed by the thought of an actual penis breaching his anus.”
“Someday that will fail to surprise me,” Roxy murmurs as she scans more of the summary. Domineering, heavy-handed with women, yet vainglorious and easily taken apart. “A beautiful stereotype, sir.”
“Indeed.” Harry smiles at her and drains the last of his glass of water. “You’re dismissed, if there are no immediate questions; hopefully the file, once you’ve read it in full, will answer. And I believe Merlin may be able to assist you with preparation for—for toys and such.”
Roxy bites the back of her hand to stop any laughter from emerging as she gets to her feet. “Of course, sir. I’ll see him with any questions on that point.”
She waits until the end of the normal workday before swinging down to the tech suite in the basement. Merlin, for his part, starts grinning like a rabid wolf before Roxy can even finish explaining the mission, and by the time she’s done, he’s brought out a box from somewhere in the depths of his desk.
“Harry told me last night.” Merlin pushes the box in her direction. “This should be a dildo and a harness, roughly your size. If you need it refitted, say so.”
Roxy runs her fingertips over the box. “This is stupid to say, sir, but what I really need is to practice.”
“I’m not a huge fan of fake cock.” As Roxy sputters, he continues, “Not, I know, that you were propositioning me.”
“Indeed.” He lays his fingers over hers, a warmth that steadies the fluctuations of her throat. “I know it’s not your favorite, least of all the target.”
“Fucking a man up the arse is a far cry from eating out a pretty young woman, sir.”
“If you truly don’t want the men we can—”
“No, I’ll fuck them, sir.” Roxy’s fingers tremble under the weight of his. “I like men well enough. I’ve just never played with one’s arsehole.”
“You don’t need to follow this advice if you don’t want to, Roxy, but I do have a tip if you’d like to hear it.”
“Please.” Her heart has begun to thud loudly enough that she’s sure Merlin can hear it.
“Your best bet might actually be to ask Harry himself for a test run.”
Roxy raises an eyebrow and slowly untangles her fingers from Merlin’s. “Are you offering your own man to me? The very self-same man who issues all my missions?”
“It’s daft, I know. This whole business is daft from top to bottom, if you haven’t learned that already.”
“I learned that when you tried to drown me, sir.”
Merlin laughs. “Top form, Lancelot.”
And because she cannot let this particular piece of absurdity lie, for either personal or professional reasons, Roxy presses forward. “You’re serious about Harry?”
“He’s taken a number of false cocks up the arse for Kingsman in his time, he’s surprisingly patient despite his pain-in-the-arse reputation, and I personally vouch for his ability to satisfy his lovers, even the women.” When Roxy makes a questioning noise, he clarifies, “I’ve watched him with plenty of women both on and off the clock.”
“It puts images in my head,” Roxy admits, because the idea of Harry Hart in a crisp suit applying himself to her clit in the meeting room while she reads through mission briefings is both new and not unwelcome. “Thank you, Merlin. With your blessing, I’ll ask him.”
Merlin’s smile is soft. “It’s not truly mine to give, but thank you for your thoughtfulness, Roxy.”
Roxy wants to get it over with, run straight from Merlin’s office to Harry to ask if he will let her peg him for the sake of international security. Instead she decides to wait until tomorrow and look for Eggsy instead, whom she eventually finds in the gym, pummeling a punching bag with great gusto.
“Merlin suggested I shag Harry for sex practice,” Roxy tells him once he’s finished and strolled over to her. “I have to peg a mark for a honeypot next week and I’ve no clue what I’m doing.”
Eggsy’s face breaks into a lascivious grin. “You’ll never be able to fuck another soul, Rox.”
“Please.” Roxy adjusts her ponytail to give her hands something to do. “He’s the one who will be getting all the pleasure out of it.”
“Well, yeah, mate, but don’t fight it when he wants to pay you back.”
Eggsy’s been gone on Harry since the first moment they met, to hear him tell it, and Roxy believes that. He’s also been fortunate enough to be invited to Harry’s bed, with and without Merlin, from time to time since Arthur’s resurrection and has largely kept his mouth shut about it all—something Roxy takes as a sign that whatever filthy hijinks her coworkers get up to, they’re at least taking the sex seriously.
“So you don’t...mind, then?”
“What, you shagging the ever-living fuck out of our boss for the good of Kingsman and all?” His laugh is perfectly cheerful, gentle despite the obvious amusement he’s getting out of the situation. “Nah. Not my place anyway. Harry fucks who he wants. Give you a tip, though, if you want it.”
“Merlin’s tip was to shag his lover, so yours can’t be any dafter.”
“He offers you a massage, you take it. You want those hands everywhere he’ll put ‘em.”
“Thanks, Eggs, but that’s maybe a bit more romantic than I’m aiming for.” She runs her fingers through the bits of sweaty hair beginning to flop over his forehead. “This is a hit and run.”
“Right,” he agrees, massaging one of her wrists, “but I’m just saying. Don’t have to be Marvin Gaye or nothing, just real good physio.”
Roxy kisses his cheek, inhaling the scent of his sweat and allowing it to ground her nerves. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
She’s waiting outside Harry’s office in the shop at 9:05 AM, having insisted that Eggsy and his smirks go along to the estate on his own. From the voices that drift through the closed door, Harry is in discussion with Merlin, which makes Roxy both smile and want to flee to something nice and reassuring, like the firing range. She takes in a deep breath before knocking.
It’s Merlin speaking, not Harry. Roxy can’t decide whether his presence will help or harm her, but she opens the door anyway and begins speaking before she can think about it.
“I’m sorry to disturb, sir, but I have a question about yesterday’s mission briefing I wanted to ask.”
Merlin, draped across the back of Harry’s chair, has a shit-eating grin on his face. Harry himself merely nods.
“Probably wise, Lancelot, given how quickly the day can turn into a morass around here.” Harry prods Merlin’s leg with a capped pen until he straightens and heads for the door, patting Roxy’s shoulder on his way past.
“I don’t know if Merlin told, you, sir, but he had a suggestion for me I need to run by you,” Roxy tells him once the door has shut behind Merlin.
“Yesterday I listened to perhaps sixty percent of what Merlin told me, so I can’t be sure. Judging by your embarrassment, he did not; I’m getting the sense that I’d probably remember this topic of conversation.”
“You would, sir.” Roxy clenches a fist rather than rub her sweaty palms across her pantsuit. “There’s no good way to say it, so I’ll apologize now for the crudeness. Merlin offered you as a practice mark, as I’m—inexperienced—with the maneuver I need to know for the mission. If you’re willing, I’d appreciate it.”
Harry snorts. “You do handle it better than Eggsy did when Merlin offered our arses to him.”
“This is a habit of his, sir?”
“Merlin is far more generous than national stereotypes about the Scottish would suggest.”
“He likes to share what he loves,” Roxy remarks, deciding against softening her impertinence with a “sir.” She’s rewarded by the glint of Harry’s eyes behind his glasses.
“I’m free this evening after eight, Lancelot.”
Roxy swallows at the reality now staring her down before smiling. “Might we meet somewhere that’s neutral grounds, so to speak? No offense to you, sir, but I think I’d like to keep the professional separate from the personal.”
Harry laughs. “There’s a guest bedroom area off the infirmary. Kingsman is rarely hospitable to strangers, so they’re never used.”
“Shall we say eight fifteen? Shall I give you an earlier time than I’m really planning to be there to ensure you arrive on time?”
“I’m going to skin Merlin, you, and Eggsy for good measure.” Harry tosses a pen lightly at her head, and Roxy smiles as she plucks it from midair. “Eight thirty, and you may tattle to Mother Merlin if I’m late.”
Harry actually arrives at 8:28, not two minutes after Roxy herself has entered the large, plain bedroom and begun contemplating its king-sized bed and grey linens. The box, the contents of which she tried on the evening before in front of her own mirror, rests at its foot, and Harry nods at it as he goes to the side table and pours two glasses of wine from the carafe the housekeeping staff has so thoughtfully provided.
Roxy accepts a glass from him and takes a sip as Harry pulls a bottle of lube and two condom packets out of his suit jacket pocket and places them on top of the box.
“There, we’ve both made our offerings.”
They stand in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the room and one another. Roxy has rarely been alone socially with Harry for more than a few minutes at a time, and unlike Eggsy, her heart does not immediately pound in response to his presence. He is beautiful, that she has no problem admitting, all gently chiseled lines and a softer, pillowy face, his eyes warm and brown and looking her up and down in much the same way she’s doing to him, and when he turns for a moment to put his glass on the table, she looks at the curves of his arse and feels a brief shock of lust.
Yes, this will do.
Roxy decides to sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Harry slides off his jacket and begins undoing his cufflinks with those much-heralded fingers, and as he rolls up one sleeve of his dress shirt she sighs and leans back up against the pillows, kicking her loafers to the floor. Her legs ache from kickboxing with Percival earlier in the afternoon, and she stretches and massages her calf, her eyes fixed on Harry as he rolls up the second sleeve and turns back toward the bed.
“May I?” he asks, nodding at the space next to her, running long fingertips along the rim of his glass.
“Of course.” Roxy takes another sip of her wine and smiles as the bed dips beneath his weight. “Truthfully, I didn’t really know you took women. In any sort of recreational sense, that is.”
“My heart seems to love men more, true.” He takes position next to her and drinks. “My prick isn’t as discerning. Hard to do fieldwork and have a preference, sexually, but romantically…”
“I like women, you’re not wrong when you say that at briefings,” Roxy admits, massaging her thigh now with one hand while balancing her wine glass with the other. “But I’m willing to play with both.”
“You’re an exemplary agent, Roxy, you and Eggsy both.” It’s the first time in weeks that he’s called her by anything other than her codename, and Roxy's heart leaps at the warmth he manages to imbue those two syllables with. “And while I don’t know you personally so well as Eggsy and Merlin do, I think you’re an exemplary woman as well.”
“You’re a good boss,” she tells him, since it’s the truth and this situation can hardly get any more awkward. “Eggsy doesn’t kiss and tell, but he says you’re nervous, sometimes, about Arthur. We didn’t know Chester much, but you seem at least as good as he was. And a better man.”
“Chester wasn’t always a rat with a stick up his arse,” Harry says, and Roxy turns toward him because this might be the first time she’s heard anyone speak of the old Arthur—the Arthur that did not betray them all—in the year since V-Day. “He proposed me, because my family was suitably blue-blooded and I was suitably hot-headed, and he taught me rather a lot. Unfortunately, he does not take to change well, and he has a positively Roman attitude toward buggery.”
Roxy smirks. “It’s okay to have your prick up an arse, but not a prick up your arse?”
They both laugh at that, because it’s hard not to laugh at the absurd elephant in the room that draws ever more closely around them. A few more minutes of conversation pass, Roxy drinking until she feels her gut beginning to unspool with pleasant heat, Harry’s eyes growing brighter and more twinkly in the room’s half light. When they place their empty glasses on the bedside table, Roxy turns back to face him and reaches out to brush a hand against his cheek.
“I don’t want this to be romantic sex, exactly.” She’s the one who needs the practice, so she supposes that makes her the one in charge of setting the mood. “But I can’t exactly bear to just slam into you like you’re only a rent boy, especially not when I barely know what I’m doing.”
“We can platonically kiss, if you like.”
“Not platonically,” Roxy murmurs, sliding her lips over his. They’re warm and soft, confidently pliable beneath hers in a way Roxy has always found attractive, particularly in men. “Sexually.”
“But not romantically,” Harry agrees, leaning in to return the kiss, his lips moving modestly but certainly and opening easily at the lightest prodding of her tongue. He rubs a thumb along her chin, and a shiver rolls up Roxy’s spine. “Should I—shall I touch you at all?” A hand brushes her upper arm. “Usually I grope, arses and flanks being my specialty.”
Roxy rolls him gently onto his back and slides herself between his legs before cupping his head in both her hands and kissing his mouth again. As their tongues brush she moves one hand to his side, stroking until she feels the flesh beneath his shirt twitch in response.
“Sure,” she whispers into his mouth before resuming their kissing, and her cunt throbs as Harry takes her arse in both of his hands.
It takes another five or so minutes of their groping and kissing before Roxy feels hardness digging into her stomach, and then she pulls away from him with a brush along said cock. Harry swears.
“Shirt off,” she advises him, drawing her own blouse over her head. By the time she’s emerged Harry is shirtless and working on the zip of his trousers and Roxy follows suit. “Not too shabby,” she murmurs as she unzips her trousers and kicks them to the floor.
“Thanks,” is the wry response as Harry shucks his own pair. “Pants off as well?”
Roxy tilts her head in mock consideration. “Might as well,” she tells him as she reaches to undo the clasp on her bra.
“Very pretty, Miss Morton,” Harry says as she slithers back between his legs, now wearing only her knickers. His cock bobs up against his stomach, head glistening with precome. “Do you like what you see?”
“Oh, this?” Roxy strokes the head of his cock and watches as Harry tilts his head back against the pillows. “Well enough. Proportional.”
He chokes back a laugh. “A pleasure to serve.”
They kiss for another minute, short and deep bursts, Roxy grinding her clit against Harry’s cock until the edges of her vision begin to blur.
“Pass me the box,” she says eventually, sliding back down and reaching for the waistband of her knickers. She removes them as Harry drags the box and the condom packets up to the head of the bed and rolls one onto himself. “Very clean.”
“I hate cleaning spunk.” Harry watches as she draws harness and dildo from the box. “Need a hand?”
“The internet was pretty helpful about this bit, at least,” Roxy replies as she tightens the straps. “You can do the honors, if you’d like.”
Harry considers the six inches of vaguely flesh-toned silicone before him and grins as he opens the second condom packet. Before Roxy can say much, he’s got the condom in his mouth and his mouth on the tip of her cock, and it figures, she supposes dimly, as he steadies himself against her thighs, massaging his fingertips into her skin, that a Kingsman agent has no gag reflex.
“Nice trick,” she murmurs as he comes up for air and eyes the now-sheathed dildo.
“I taught Eggsy how to do it on me once,” he says. “It’s easy enough once your throat is used to it.”
“I can’t deep-throat yet,” Roxy says, palming the bottle of lube. “If I get it, though, I’ll come to you for advice. Get on your stomach for a bit?”
“A man of my experience ought to set up a sex instruction shop, really,” Harry remarks as he obeys.
“You could take over seduction classes from Merlin.” Roxy finds her eyes drawn to the heft of each arse cheek and ghosts her fingertips over the flesh, smiling as she feels the shiver run through Harry’s body. “This part I think I will enjoy.”
“I’m proud of my arse,” Harry admits into the duvet as Roxy massages more firmly. She works for two or three minutes before slicking up a finger with the lube and eyeing the arsehole itself. She teases the rim, watching as Harry takes in a breath and arches up off the bed.
“Gagging for it,” Harry whispers, and she pushes in. His groan is magnificent, she has to admit, and sets something stirring in her own loins. She pistons gently in and out, watching the scars on his back ripple with pleasure. He speaks after about two minutes. “Another.”
Roxy lubes up a second finger and presses into the heat of Harry’s body. His moan is louder and deeper, and his fingers dig into the sheets.
“Sweet Jesus, yes.”
“Beautiful,” Roxy murmurs in response, drawing her free hand across the flesh of his arse. “You’re right; this is quite stunning.” She pistons the fingers up his arse slightly faster as she massages the dip of his back just where the cheeks begin. “Rich and full, for a man.”
Harry’s undulations increase as time passes, and he whimpers as she teases with her thumb, running it along the rim as her fingers scissor him. His skin shimmers with sweat already.
“Let me know when you want more, finger or cock, however you please.”
Harry’s response is a groan, bucking back up to take her fingers in further until he’s on his knees with his arse fully in the air.
“Finger?” she asks, cupping a cheek with her free hand and squeezing.
“Cock. If you’re ready.”
Something that’s part excitement and part horror jolts up Roxy’s spine. She lines herself up with his hole, removing her fingers to plant one hand at the base of his spine for balance, and then leans back for the lube and coats her cock until it drips onto the sheets.
Incoming, she almost says as she rests the tip against Harry’s hole. She chooses something slightly less absurd instead.
“That’s it, take it now.”
Harry takes the first two centimeters in with hardly a hitch, his breath ragged.
“Fuck—yes, Roxy. Yes.” His shoulders are already heaving, and Roxy is once again mesmerized by the play of skin and scar shifting back and forth as his muscles move. “More.”
She pushes further, hardly daring to breathe herself as she watches Harry’s arse eat up four or five further centimeters, until she is halfway in.
“Please,” Harry whispers, his voice straining. “Please thrust.”
Roxy pulls out, almost all the way, nearly losing her balance, and thrusts back in, her fingers scrabbling along Harry’s arse. She exhales across his back.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, leaning to put her lips closer to his ears. “This cock is only borrowed, after all.”
He laughs, choking slightly on his own exhale as she pulls out and thrusts in a second time. “I like it hard, so don’t—Christ—worry.”
She does love the feel of his arse beneath her hands, the weight of it slippery with sweat and overly warm, grounding her as she presses down. Without her own flesh entering him, it’s harder to judge how far she is or is not thrusting, but as she gains momentum, Harry’s moans only increase.
“You do take cock beautifully,” she murmurs, and Harry’s groan in reply makes her cunt twinge. “Very professional. And I can’t stop staring at your arse, watching it eat up this piece of silicone so desperately.”
“I need it.” Harry moans into the duvet. “God, I do, God—”
“So desperate you’ll take even fake cock.” Roxy’s got a solid rhythm now, and if her thighs are already beginning to burn with the effort, well, so much the better. There is no such thing as too much exercise in Kingsman. “I do like a bit of sluttishness in a man.”
“A lot—of sluttishness.”
Roxy laughs. “Good.” Her harness is slapping his arse now, occasionally brushing her own skin underneath it against his, and her cunt throbs at the friction it’s creating. “Taking you like a dog with a false cock up your arse—dare I call you a cock slut?”
“Guilty.” Harry’s gasps are broken; he’s begun arching back to meet her thrusts. “So—very guilty.”
She strokes his arse as she speeds up further. “God, so very pretty. So very desperate, all of a sudden, and so very pretty. I appreciate the view.”
Harry’s only replies are grunts and muttered oaths as she continues thrusting. He’s got the sheets in his fists; his hair is curling up with sweat now shining everywhere, and those broad shoulders jerk with each drag of the dildo across what Roxy assumes is his prostate, not that it’s hard to hit with six inches of silicone up his arse.
“That’s it, Harry. My beautiful desperate little cock slut, that’s it.”
He arches back into her next thrust and lifts one hand out of the sheets to grab his cock. “Please—”
Roxy places one hand on the head of his cock alongside his own hand; they begin stroking in tandem.
“We work well together,” she whispers into his ear as she strokes his balls, still managing to keep the thrusting at a mostly steady pace. Harry swears at the contact. “I’d take you on a mission, Arthur.”
“Christ.” Harry’s voice is hoarse. “Christ, just a bit more—”
She grabs his arse with both hands once more and thrusts in as hard as she can, dragging it back out again even more quickly. Her knees are aching against the bed and a bit of the harness is chafing the top of her thighs, but she thrusts as quickly as she can as Harry works his own cock in and out of his hand.
When he comes, it’s with a long moan into the bed. Roxy has a rare moment of wishing her cock were actually flesh, if only to feel his arse fluttering around it, but his back muscles do spasm enough to make her smile. She pulls out of him slowly, gasping from the exertion, and fumbles at the straps of the harness as Harry continues panting.
“Not bad,” he murmurs eventually, reaching for his condom. “You’ve got fucking—stamina. You’ll do fine.”
“Kingsman training coming in handy,” she agrees as the harness falls to the bed. She pulls the condom off the dildo, grimacing at its slipperiness; Harry takes it from her and gets up to bin both. She flops back against the bed and begins tracing a fingertip around her clit.
“Will you let me?” Harry asks as he comes back to the bed. “You deserve something as well.”
Roxy smirks. “Merlin said you were good with women. Show me.”
Harry adds one finger alongside hers on her clit; Roxy lets her head lean further back against the pillows and removes her hands from her cunt area. As she sinks further into the bed, Harry begins to rub.
The kissing was sweet enough, and watching Harry writhe in pleasure on the end of her silicone cock was certainly both exotic and distantly erotic, if removed somewhat from the rush of lust Roxy is used to in sex. But Harry on her clit is immediately gratifying, and as he rubs another finger lightly across her labia, Roxy knows she’s found her favorite part of the evening.
Sure enough, he’s only been massaging her for about thirty seconds when he bends to put his mouth on her, and Roxy gets an immediate jolt to the base of her spine.
His fingers wrap lightly around her inner thighs, tickling softly, as his tongue brushes across her labia. She moans as he begins to probe further. When she glances down, all she can see is his sex-mussed hair between her thighs, and that makes her clench down with delight.
Harry, in truth, eats cunt like a prince. His attention is small-scale, beginning directly on her clit, swirling down each side slowly, occasionally sliding a tongue directly into her cunt itself—and then reduplicating itself slightly faster, slightly harder, until her neck is bent back at an odd angle and Roxy’s aware of the blood and electric desire swirling through each of her limbs. When on one circuit he slides effortlessly from her clit to her cunt, with a particularly strong stab of tongue into her, her legs jerk.
“Fucking hell, Harry, please do that again.”
He obeys, just irregular enough to keep her pleasure mounting, for another minute or two before training his attention directly on her cunt while allowing his nose to brush up against her clit and massaging her inner thighs with those long fingers.
“Fuck Jesus God.”
The combination is electric. When Harry tentatively moves a hand to the area around her clit, Roxy feels another jolt in her legs.
“Please don’t stop. Don’t stop—just keep—”
She can’t finish the sentence; her mind keeps slipping out of sense with each stroke of tongue, nose, lip, finger. Harry does not stop, only applies himself all the further to his task, each part of his face and each finger working in an increasingly frantic, and increasingly intense, harmony against her. Roxy slides the fingers of one hand into his hair and grips, lightly, marveling at the feel of his sweat-streaked hair against her skin both here and on her lower stomach.
She comes briefly and intensely, legs jerking and her hands flying free from Harry’s head as a moan escapes her and her brain shudders and stops for a moment before crawling back online. Harry continues kissing her labia and massaging her inner thighs as she brings her heart rate back under control.
“More?” he asks her clit, his breath against her skin. Roxy shudders at the heaviness in her lower abdomen.
“Slowly, no clit. Maybe a finger?”
Harry’s finger enters her as he kisses up and down her thighs, his mouth leaving little spots of moisture she finds surprisingly hot. She threads fingers through his hair again, massaging his scalp as best she can as his index finger pistons in and out of her slowly and both his thumbs rub along her labia.
“Your fucking mouth.”
He lingers on one spot in particular in response, letting his tongue flick against her inner thigh, a tickling sensation that turns more erotic the longer he holds it.
“God, could you just—that, but on my cunt?”
Harry shifts and brings his head back over her cunt, pressing his lips directly over her entrance, kissing and sliding his tongue inside, and Roxy feels pleasure mounting up out of the mass of sensitivity.
He holds it, and holds it, and holds it, kissing her cunt, sliding his tongue in and out, all while his hands, including his damp index finger, run light teasing circles around her thighs that gradually coalesce into proper massage. Roxy releases his hair and reaches back for the headboard, digging the metal bars into her palms as her hips lift off the bed and she comes a second time, a slow, fizzing trickle up and then down again.
When she comes fully back to herself, Harry is massaging her outer thighs as well as her inner, running those deft fingers all over her lower body, and the parts of her that have not forgotten Percival and kickboxing sigh in relief.
“Eggs said I’d want your hands wherever you’d put them,” she mumbles through the heavy, happy looseness that still has a hold on her tongue. “Percy killed me today.”
“Percy beats my arse in kickboxing all the time,” Harry admits, indicating for her to roll over. Roxy obeys and groans happily as Harry begins massaging the back of her thighs. “Broke my collarbone once.”
“Little shit,” she murmurs into the pillows, and Harry makes a noise of assent. The conversation flounders into a companionable silence, focused as Harry is on her muscles and lost as Roxy is in oxytocin and the sweet, rhythmic softness of his touch. Roxy drifts in and out of awareness, eventually coming to when Harry’s touch disappears and he flops down into the pillows next to her with two new glasses of wine.
“Thanks,” she whispers, accepting a glass and slowly sitting up. “Merlin didn’t lie. You’re brilliant at eating cunt, honestly.”
Harry’s cheeks are pink; Roxy chooses to believe it’s just residual heat from the fucking and not because he’s actually touched by her praise, if only because her heart is already rather overlarge and fond of him at the moment.
“I’ve had practice,” he tells her after he’s taken a large sip of the wine. “More than my proclivity for fucking Merlin or Eggsy might suggest.”
“Well, thank you for practicing. And for the massage.” She takes her own sip before finishing. “And thanks for, you know, letting me repeatedly thrust a dildo into your arse.”
Harry coughs, spraying part of his mouthful of wine back into his glass while Roxy giggles. “Not a problem,” he says once he’s back under self control, though his shoulders still shake with his own repressed laughter. “Truly, you were fine. The mark isn’t going to want deep romance and subtlety, in all likelihood.”
“Thank God for that.” Roxy is tempted to say something further to make Harry laugh—the flash of his teeth and the fullness of his post-sex dimples are charming, even when he’s also spraying alcohol everywhere like Eggsy after one too many pints. She decides to be sincere instead. “I can’t say I’ll want to do it again anytime soon, really, but I still had fun, Harry, in addition to being profoundly grateful for the practice. And I’m glad you’re with Merlin and Eggsy. Especially Eggsy—he adores the ground you walk on.”
Harry is indubitably red now. “And we love him—Merlin and I, and you too.” He kisses her forehead, and Roxy feels bone-deep contentment sweep through her. “You are all important to me.”
“And you to me,” she replies, kissing the top of his head. “Thank you, Arthur.”
Harry’s smile draws one from her in return.
When they meet for breakfast the next morning before work Roxy does not tell Eggsy the gory details beyond admitting to him that Harry is talented and that the physiotherapy was helpful. Eggsy does not seem to mind, merely waggling his eyebrows and going off into a rapture about Harry’s shoulder blades that Roxy concurs with.
Merlin laughs at her when he sees her hobble into the meeting room for their morning briefing on legs that, despite Harry’s attention, are still sore. Precisely what is so funny becomes clearer to Roxy when Harry arrives five minutes later and two minutes late to the meeting, walking slower than usual post–V-Day and wincing as he takes his seat. Roxy waits until everyone aside from Merlin is looking elsewhere before mouthing “Sorry,” and she accepts the water accidentally spilled onto her shoulder ten minutes later with a wicked grin.