Work Header

all the riches you've surveyed

Chapter Text

Eggsy’s only just grabbed a booth, waiting for his mates to show for a proper knees up, when he walks in, dark coat and brolly hooked over one arm. Right from the start, it’s immediately obvious the bloke isn’t from around here. His suit’s too expensive and too well tailored, his haircut probably costs more than what Eggsy’s mum gets on the dole, but really, it’s just his bearing that makes him stand out the most: too upright, too confident with his place in the world—that is to say, too superior to everyone else in the room.

Eggsy wants him.

And the thing is, it’s not like he’s one of those types who gravitates towards money nor is he looking for a sugar daddy. Usually, he’d rather punch arrogant smug pricks than let them come down his throat, but.

But there’s something about this one. Maybe it’s how the bloke has got legs for days and a trim waist that’s accentuated by that beautifully cut suit. Maybe there’s something about those thick rimmed glasses that paradoxically scream prim and proper and come fuck me up at the same time. Maybe it’s how even though he obviously doesn’t fit in, he still moves with such fluid ease and self-possession, he makes it seem like his surroundings simply don’t live up to his presence.

And all the while Eggsy’s letting his fantasies go a bit wild, the bloke’s managed to grab the bartender’s attention and order a pint. The pub’s crowded tonight, and it’s standing room only. Well, save for the table Eggsy’s got.

Suddenly Eggsy finds himself the focus of that heated gaze, zeroing in on him like a spotlight. He’s paralysed as the bloke walks up to him, and this close, Eggsy can see he’s got eyes as brown as the Guinness in his hand. Warm, surprisingly engaging eyes—no, smouldering. Eggsy can’t look away, is thankful for the table that masks his semi, even when he shifts a little to ease some of the pressure.

“Good evening,” the man says, and oh, if his appearance didn’t already do it for Eggsy, his voice, rich and smooth, would have done. “I apologise if I’m disturbing you, but would you mind terribly if I joined you? Space seems to be at a premium tonight.”

There’s absolutely nothing untoward about the man’s words or even in the way he delivers them, but the way he looks at Eggsy is something else altogether, like he’s starving and Eggsy’s a feast spread out before him.

It takes a few moments for Eggsy to summon his wits to reply. What he should be saying is that the seats are taken, that he’s expecting people soon, or that maybe the bloke ought to go fuck off to his own posh VIP club if he can’t wait his turn. What comes out of his very dry mouth is, “Uh. Yeah. Sure, take a load off.”

Eggsy winces at his choice in words and the man smirks, and, yeah, that slip didn’t go unnoticed. There’s something very economical and elegant about the way the man leans his brolly against the edge of the table and then smoothly slides into the booth across from him. Eggsy finds himself sitting up straighter under his scrutiny, feeling like he’s being critically and thoroughly measured. Normally that sort of thing would piss him off, but instead, his heart’s racing, trying to make a running leap for his throat, and his skin is tight and flush with heat. He grabs his own pint with a clammy hand and takes a long pull in an attempt to slake his thirst and ease the way he suddenly feels awkward and uncouth.

“Thank you,” the man says after having spent an eternity watching Eggsy fidget. “My name is Henry DeVere.”

The boldness catches Eggsy so off-guard it takes him a few precious seconds for the name to fully sink in, and when it does, he's struck by how such a posh prick name seems so at odds with the man himself, though Eggsy can’t say for sure why, so he just answers in turn: “Eggsy Unwin.”

“Eggsy,” Henry says, infusing it with more syllables than it’s got, says it like he’s really savouring it like a piece of quality chocolate, and really, Eggsy’s got to stop with food metaphors. “Well, Eggsy, I promise I won’t bother you for long. Car trouble, you see. I thought I’d grab a drink to pass the time while I wait for my recovery service.”

“It’s not a problem,” Eggsy says and tries to shrug casually. “Just surprised you’d even…” but he cuts himself off there, him and his big mouth.

Henry tilts his head a little and prompts, “What?”

“Uh.” Well, he’s already stepped in it. “Step foot in a place like this. Don’t seem like your usual watering hole, guv.”

Thank fuck, Henry doesn’t seem to be offended. There’s even an amused little smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “What do you think my usual is?”

“Dunno,” Eggsy says, then can’t help but cheekily add, “Some place a bit more classy. Tufted leather cushions and the like. Too many throw pillows. Someone playing some piano cover of Air Supply.”

Henry laughs, and Eggsy flushes with the pleasure of it, because his laugh is wonderful, almost reluctant, and Henry seems to shy under his own lack of restraint, opting instead to slowly rotate his glass between his long, graceful fingers. “You’re not altogether wrong, but I also find something rather intriguing about places like this too.”

“Yeah, what’s that then?”

“The people, for one,” Henry says, gazing right at him.

His cock’s gone full on hard now, but Eggsy just raises his brows sceptically, makes a show of looking around the room and its inhabitants, all locals, most of whom would, given half the chance, roll Henry over in a dark alley for his ring, watch, and wallet alone. “Really.”

“Maybe just the one, then.”

There’s no mistaking that for the come-on it is. Eggsy ain’t exactly subtle when he’s on the pull, but the boldness that comes from Henry, a supposedly sophisticated, proper gentleman, is unexpected. And incredibly hot.

But Henry goes on speaking, like he’s not just rendered Eggsy completely stupefied. “And this excellent pint of Guinness, for another,” Henry says, holding up his pint and taking a salutary sip. A look of genuine pleasure flickers across his expression, and Eggsy feels quite perverted for imagining that face in all kinds of other scenarios. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s a rare indulgence.”

“What, a pint?” Or seducing young men, he almost adds, which is maybe too on the nose for some lighthearted flirtation.

“Calories. Harder to keep off the pounds when you get to be my age.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about. You look well fit to me,” Eggsy says, because his brain to mouth filter has been turned permanently offline, and so has any attempt at playing it cool, because he can’t help but give Henry another once over, from the breadth of his shoulders to the way his eyes now gleam behind his glasses.

“Thank you, Eggsy. I have to work hard to keep up with young, lithe bodies like yourself.” It would almost be a benign compliment were it not for the way Henry conducts his own appraisal, the way he lets the molten desire shine nakedly in his gaze when he meets and holds Eggsy’s eyes.

Forgive me, Ryan and Jamal, Eggsy thinks as he goes for it. When opportunity knocks and all. “Your car’s not too far from here, yeah? It’s a bit of a rough neighbourhood. Probably wouldn’t be a good idea to leave it alone for too long, busted or not.”

“I confess the possibility hadn’t occurred to me, but I do believe you’re probably right,” Henry says, making a good show of thinking it over seriously, and oh, how Eggsy can’t help but start to grin.

“I can walk with you, if you’d like. Posh bloke like yourself could attract the wrong kind of attention in places like this, you get me?”

“Here I thought I was attracting just the right kind of attention.” Henry arches a brow, but his eyes are playful now, and yeah, they’re on the same page alright, bless. “If it’s not too much trouble. You didn’t have other plans?”

“They’d understand.”

“Well, then in that case.” Henry takes another pull from his drink, and for a moment, seems genuinely regretful to leave the rest behind, but he stands up and reclaims his brolly before turning to Eggsy expectantly. “Come along, Eggsy.”

And yeah, Eggsy scrambles up from his seat to follow.

It’s only a drizzling sort of rain coming down outside, but Henry opens up his brolly and holds it up over the both of them anyway. It makes the short walk to his car both awkward with the height difference, and tense, the way they’ve both got to huddle in close, every brush of their bodies swaying into each other weighted with a breathless anticipation.

Finally, Henry stops behind a sleek little Jaguar, and Eggsy would have almost been distracted by its beauty were it not for the way Henry grabs his shoulder and presses his back against it. Eggsy goes easily, even if the metal beneath him is cold and wet, because Henry plasters himself hotly across Eggsy’s front and leans down and their mouths meet.

Eggsy immediately opens his mouth to the kiss and Henry licks right into him, and Eggsy just feels himself going near boneless in his hold, breathing in Henry’s light cologne and the scent that is just him underneath it. The way Henry just surrounds him, hovers over him, holds him, even still holds up the brolly over them, feels so safe.

The back of his clothes are quickly getting soaked, but Eggsy doesn’t notice, not with the way he can feel Henry’s hard cock against his hip or the way their lips and tongues sound sliding over each other or the perfect way his hand slides across Eggsy’s neck and thumbs his jaw.

The brolly wavers along with Henry’s focus and it lilts to the side and the rain falls in upon them, and Eggsy pulls back just slightly to breathe out, “The car, yeah?”

“Yes, car,” Henry agrees just as breathlessly, and fumbles first in finding his keys and then getting the keys into the lock. Eggsy would laugh, but he’s too engrossed with running his palms across the planes of Henry’s chest and feeling so much surprising muscle beneath them. God, Henry really is fit and all Eggsy wants to do is just strip him out of his expensive garments and admire the finery beneath with his hands and tongue.

Somehow, Henry successfully opens the back door for Eggsy with a silly chivalrous flourish and Eggsy does laugh for real as he climbs in and Henry follows, tossing the barely closed brolly into the front seat. It’s an absurdly tight space, and Henry is more limbs than Eggsy had first thought—they might have been better off in the gents, really—but then again, it’s really fucking good like this too, the way Henry presses over him, pushes him down towards the leather that smells new, covers him like a blanket as he finds Eggsy’s lips once more and drags him back under another wave of pure, mindless want.

It’s easier like this, to align their hard cocks through the fabric of their clothes and thrust up against each other in delicious jolts of friction that are too good and not enough. Their heavy breaths are harsh and loud in the silence of the car, punctuated by the creaking of leather, the moans Eggsy can’t help from slipping out.

Henry finally pulls back for air and shifts over him again, and it’s another uncomfortable, tight rearrangement of limbs and squeaking leather that suddenly makes them both laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“I haven’t done something like this since I was about your age,” Henry confesses, trying to adjust his fogged up glasses and find a comfortable angle for his knees and elbows that aren’t on Eggsy’s ribs or stomach.

“What, picking up strangers in a pub or making out in the back of a car like horny teenagers?”

“The latter. Though it's been some time since the former as well, come to think. I fear I have neither the flexibility nor flair for it as I once had.”

“You can sit back and let me do all the heavy flexing,” Eggsy offers with a salacious grin, because he’s got all sorts of plans for Henry if he’d let him.

“I think I’ve still got it in me to do this,” Henry says, and before Eggsy can ask, he scoots back to the space between Eggsy’s legs and reaches up to unbutton his jeans.

“Henry,” Eggsy breathes, “You don’t have to—”

“Oh, but I want to taste you, dear boy. I want to feel your moans through your cock on my tongue. I want to see how far down my throat you can get.”

Eggsy’s head falls back onto the seats. “Fucking hell, Henry.”

Henry takes that as concession, because he makes short work of freeing Eggsy’s stiff cock from his boxers and giving it several long, hard strokes with his broad hand, swiping at the pre-come already leaking from the tip to slick down the shaft and then back up again. The air’s a bit cold, but Henry’s hand is so hot and then his mouth is even hotter as he licks a stripe up Eggsy’s cock first before engulfing him into the slick, tight heat of his mouth.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Henry. God, that’s….yeah. Just like that.”

Henry’s right, Eggsy does moan and curse and tries to keep from thrusting his hips up or shove more of his cock into Henry’s all too eager mouth. Henry only uses one hand to grip Eggsy’s hip hard enough to bruise, with enough strength in that one hand alone to keep him pinned down as he bobs up and down on Eggsy’s cock, keeps his tongue broad and flat against the underside only to curl around the head and tease across his slit in a way that has Eggsy biting his lip to hell. The other hand cups his bollocks and rolls them nimbly between his fingers, slips back behind them to press and massage his perineum until Eggsy is panting harshly, conflicted between competing desires to shove up into Henry’s wet mouth or down onto those fingers and the way they press in relentlessly and light him up from inside.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been or how his hands have found themselves in Henry’s hair, completely dragging it out of its perfect style or even how Henry is still managing to wear his bloody glasses. His world narrows down to the pressure pooling in his groin, until he’s tugging on Henry’s hair in warning. “Henry, I’m going to, I’m going to come. You’ve got to….”

But instead of pulling off, Henry somehow relaxes his throat and swallows Eggsy down until his nose is buried in the coarse hair and his throat muscles are fluttering around Eggsy’s cock and it’s so fucking good, so fucking good that Eggsy can no longer hold on and comes with a choked off shout.

It’s a good long while before he comes back to himself, finds Henry hovering over him, hair in sweaty disarray, lips plump and swollen, cheeks flushed. He’s pressed against Eggsy, and he’s got his trousers undone and his own hard cock out, striping it with his hand in sharp, jerking strokes between them. It’s so fucking hot a sight in and of itself, Eggsy feels his spent cock already twitching again in interest, and he can’t help but reach out and cover Henry’s furiously moving hand with his own, until he’s taken over jerking Henry off, feeling that hot column of flesh in his hand, wishing he could wrap his own lips around it as well but, yeah, this is good too. Henry groans and buries his face in Eggsy’s neck, the hard frames of his glasses digging into his skin, his panting breaths are hot and wet against his skin, little mewls slipping past his lips that are gaining volume until the whole of him tenses over Eggsy and he’s coming hotly in Eggsy’s hands, all over his fingers and spilling out between them.

“Christ,” Henry mutters when he can talk again, but that’s all he manages to say before Eggsy’s mouth slips over his and he tastes himself, sharp and bitter, on Henry’s tongue while he caresses Henry’s face and doesn’t care that Eggsy’s smearing his own come across his cheek.

Judging by the eagerness with which Henry returns his kisses, he doesn’t give a fuck either, and yeah it’s so fucking messy and more than a little bit disgusting but there’s something primal and possessive in the marking of it. They’ve got each other smeared over and in themselves, and it was so good, Eggsy wants to believe he’s permanently branded with this perfect moment.

But it’s just a moment, because the flashing yellow lights in the distance penetrate the haze of lust still lingering in the air and tosses a dose of cold, sobering reality upon them.

“The tow,” Eggsy says, and their eyes widen as they simultaneously realise the state they’re in.

It’s another comedic bout of awkwardly trying to straighten themselves out in a confined space, buttoning up, wiping away, and smoothing down. But Eggsy’s got drying come all down the front of his clothes and the back of him is still damp, and Henry, for all the way he’s managed to tuck himself back in and smooth back his hair into some semblance of style, still smells like sex, has swollen blowjob lips, and didn’t quite manage to get off all the come on his face. Selfishly, Eggsy doesn’t tell him.

Because he knows they’re reaching the end of their night and he doesn’t want the evidence of their time together so neatly and easily erased. Let Henry glance in the mirror later and see that lingering trace and let him remember Eggsy one last time.

Eggsy isn’t stupid enough to think they’ll have anything else. Men like Henry don’t look for anything more from people like him.

“Well,” Eggsy says brightly, probably overdoes it on the whole falsely cheerful act, but he’ll beat back the imminently awkward goodbye with babbling any day. “I’d say I’ve done my duty in seeing you safely to your vehicle, and neither you nor the car were harmed. I’ll count it as a win and I hope you—”

“Come home with me,” Henry suddenly says.

“—do too. I’m sorry, what?” Eggsy blinks.

“I would like, very much, for you to come home with me,” Henry says, slowly and clearly, making sure Eggsy couldn’t possibly mishear him. “I’ve been told I make a delightful breakfast.”

And at Eggsy’s continued stunned silence, Henry betrays just a sliver of nervousness when he adds, “If you’re amenable, that is.”

Something warm is beginning to spark and come alive in his chest, but Eggsy can’t put name to it just yet, only knows that it makes him a little bit lightheaded, produces a dosy smile across his lips, fills him with so much fucking happiness.

He tries to play it cool though, when he says, “Yeah, alright,” but fears it comes out as far less nonchalant than he was aiming for, because Henry mirrors his stupidly open smile and yeah, alright, maybe, just maybe, there’s something more here after all.