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Your Starter for Ten

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Your Starter for Ten

 

The very same instincts that made Eggsy Unwin popular with his gymnastics teacher have saved his life countless times in countless firefights by now, so he tends to trust them. They'll also probably be what gets him killed, somewhere along the line, but the point is that leaping before you look has served him well so he'll take his chances.

And contrary to some of his life choices and sometimes his face, he's not actually stupid. He knows when someone is interested in him. He's learned the little tells, the tension and the atmosphere that come before that person suddenly and ‘unexpectedly’ finding an excuse to make contact, and then conversation, and then it's an invite round for pizza and Call of Duty or drinks and a film, depending not exclusively but usually on the gender of the invitee. Netflix and a complete lack of chill.

Harry Hart ain't exactly your Netflix and Chill sort of bloke though, is he? And Eggsy probably wouldn't feel half as strongly about him if he was. He's dinner and the theatre and ruining your life on ridiculously expensive sheets, or fucking Primark ones with Boston terriers printed on them, Eggsy's not quite sure which he'd put his money on and either way he's not quite as sure how to go about it.

But he is going to go about it, because it’s quite obvious that Harry isn't, for whatever reason, even though every one of Eggsy’s very reliable but not always self-preserving instincts are telling him that he wants to, that he wants Eggsy at least half as much as Eggsy wants him. It buzzes between them constantly and Eggsy’s nerves are getting frayed waiting for whatever is going to happen to get the fuck on with it and happen.

He's passing through on his usual route back from the training rooms - because all of his usual routes take him by Harry's office, he's not going to lie about it - and sees the lights on. It's almost nine, every tosser with even a slight life has gone home and  That's the decision made, just like that. It's fate,or something, so Eggsy knocks before he has a chance to second guess it. Classic parkour thinking: you see your opportunity and you commit to it before self perseveration kicks in. If you hesitate, you're fucked.

“Come in?”  Harry sounds pretty unbothered by having someone drop in on him at this time and Eggsy isn't sure if that's because he's exceptionally well trained and confident or selectively dim. “Eggsy! To what do I owe the pleasure at this hour?”

“Come from the gym. I wanted to talk to you, and… what are you still doing here?“

Harry has an amount of things spread across his desk that Eggsy can't immediately make any sense of. A soldering iron, random lengths of wood, a palette of mixed up epoxy with a lolly stick and other bits and bobs laying too flat for him to really get a look at.

“It's not work related in the slightest, if that makes you feel any better. Do help yourself to a drink. I'd offer but I've just reached a rather fiddly part.”

I’ve got some parts you can fiddle with. No. Focus.   “Yeah, good idea. You want one?”

Harry indicates the glass by his elbow with a glance and his eyebrows.

“I'll top you up.”

“Much obliged. I won't be long.”

Eggsy pours them both drinks from the decanter on the trolley - whiskey, at work, martinis seem to be the party drink although to be honest what kind of workplace lets you drink whiskey in your office either?  It makes Eggsy feel more like a 1950s news reporter than anything else and he doesn't even like whiskey, but taking the edge off his nerves and having something to do with his hands seems like a good idea. They aren't shaking, surprisingly, but then, he feels a bit like he might be dreaming. He's not really about to spout his feelings at harry and start fuck only knows what, that's not real life. They're well off the edge of the map on this one.

Whilst he pours more whiskey for Harry, he takes the opportunity to see what he's working on but it doesn't make a lot more sense up close. A wooden square, and some wiring, and then Eggsy's mouth abruptly dries out because he notices that Harry has got his collar unbuttoned, his cuffs neatly turned up to his elbows to bare the tension in his forearms as his long fingers fiddle with a length of wire. He squints at the exposed end of it over his glasses and trims a minuscule amount from the end before threading it back through the wooden frame, hands quick and precise, unfaltering.

Eggsy’s nervous excitement finds something far more interesting to do with itself. Heat pools at the very base of his body as he quietly watches the instinctive flicks and twists of Harry's fingers, the muscles of his wrists bulking and turning as he moves. Those hands. The things Eggsy has imagined those hands doing to him, with him, on him…and if he plays this right, that could be so soon, although he can't really believe that. Harry scrubs his fingertips into a cloth that's laid on the desk; Eggsy's cock stiffens just enough to press into the front of his trousers and he has to swallow heavily before he can speak.

“What… are you up to?”

“Some time ago I was having trouble finding shadow boxes that were exactly to my specification, and I succumbed to the lure of  ‘if you want a good job done, do it yourself’. I'm afraid i might be something of a perfectionist.” Yeah, you think. “ I find it easier to concentrate here than at home, and I've just bought a gorgeous specimen of vul… you didn't come here to talk about butterflies.”

He didn't, but maybe he should. Eggsy's got all the time in the world for listening to Harry talk about his interests, particularly if he says things like gorgeous specimen in a tone Eggsy is so close to being able to hear about himself, in the way harry sings his praises just on the cusp of professionalism.

The other day he called him a damn fine agent. Who talks like that? It’s got to be deliberate. Eggsy had been a heartbeat off telling him he was pretty damn fine himself and maybe he should have, maybe then he wouldn't be sitting here in the conspicuous quiet,  psyching himself out of what seemed like such a brilliant idea when he walked in, his cock three quarters hard in his trousers at the sight of Harry concentrating on mounting that tiny little light fitting when he could be mounting him.

Right.

“Yeah, nah, look.” Eggsy sits up straight, re-squaring his shoulders. “I'm gonna be blunt because that's what I'm good at and if I do anything else you'll know it's bullshit straight away so why waste the effort. be a waste of both our time.”

“Appreciated.”

“Harry,  I'm not going mental, am I? you’re… you like men.”

Harry pauses minutely but he doesn't look up, his eyebrows raise just a touch and then something calm but otherwise unreadable settles on his face.

“Almost exclusively.”

So far, so good, in as much as that he's not twigged the line of conversation and booted Eggsy out of his office. He's still fiddling with his project but Eggsy isn't absolutely convinced he's still doing anything useful to it.

“Right. So do I. Well,  not exclusively… maybe not even often but it happens, right?  You knew that, didn't you?”

“I'd inferred. Pleased to hear I was correct, though.”  

Eggsy tries not to get his hopes up. Pleased could mean a lot of things and the assumption didn't necessarily translate that Harry had figured Eggsy was arse over teakettle for him, although if he’s missed it somehow they might wanna get that head injury reexamined. “Yeah, don't get nothing past you. Anyway. The thing is up until …” He breathes out heavily. In. Starts again. “I've never really thought about blokes unless the opportunity presented itself, spur of the moment you know? Never fancied a man and really wanted it to go somewhere.”

“And now you are.” Harry reflects it as simple fact, and leaves Eggsy nowhere to go.

What the actual fuck.

“Yeah.” Eggsy can't help giving him a  near sneer of affronted bewilderment. He knows Harry knows. In his guts or his bones, like the instinct that tells him he'll land a jump. “Look, are you being awkward on purpose because you're hoping I'll bottle it and give up, or are you actually completely fuckin’ oblivious?”

He expects a sigh, in return. He can almost hear the spiel before it starts.

This was a terrible idea. There's no way Harry doesn't know, so Eggsy is exactly torn between believing that he's politely ignoring the issue or, on his better days, that Harry is simply waiting for him to step up to the mark and say something, to prove himself worthy. Well, here he is sticking his neck out, and the longer he stands there in silence the stronger the urge to rein it back in, to fully turn into a snail and disappear in on himself where Harry can't be looking at him so wearily.

Harry puts his screwdriver down, and Eggsy cringes in on himself only internally, keeping his jaw firm and his head up whilst he's withering, fronting it out.

Harry's answer is none of the options he is expecting.

“Come on, Eggsy.” Gentle, coaxing. “I know you can do better than that for me.”

An unanticipated whimper almost wrings its way out of Eggsy’s throat at that; at that tone he's never heard Harry use with anyone except him, encouraging and admiring at once. His stomach performs a slow flip, or else the rest of the world completely inverts itself and his stomach is the one thing stays exactly as it was. Because now it's absolutely clear that Harry does know what he wants to say; he has this opportunity to spare them both this if he isn't interested, if Eggsy is dead wrong, but there he sits, patiently waiting for him to spit it out, and the look on his face, now Eggsy looks at it properly… is actually something like hope?

He's been waiting for this . And oh, is Eggsy going to make sure it was worth the wait.

The worst is over, there's only so wrong it can possibly go from here and the rush of that makes him brave. He tosses back the rest of his drink and puts the glass down a little harder than he intends to.

“Alright, here you are. Right. Harry, I've got feelings for you. I ain't ready to say exactly what, don't think either of us are ready for all that yet, but they sure as fuck ain't just friendly, you get me? I’m not sure how gentlemen are supposed to do all this …” he waves a hand around, as though for some reason Harry's office is the most appropriate end to his sentence, “but I think we should get together.”

“Do you.”

It's not really a question, also not the sudden blurting of reciprocal undying lust that Eggsy was hoping for but all the while it's not get out of my office or I'm disappointed in you, Eggsy he'll take it.

“Don't you? I've seen the way you look at me, Harry, and I don't think I'm going nuts. And I know you probably ain't into casual but I ain't chatting about a quick fumble in fitting room two. We can… date, spend time together, whatever…” he stands up, because Harry has and that seems like what he should do: trust the instincts, don't back down. “...or we can keep it on the down low, I dunno. But I know you, and I know you don't always want me to go home when I come round for dinner and sometimes I don't wanna go home neither.”  He's said more than he meant to, and at the same time nothing of any value at all - all the real intentions hidden away under his uncertainty - but Harry is stepping forward, closing the crackling, heavy gap to nothing, his eyes dark and shining, until he's standing close enough that Eggsy has to look up to see that glimmer in his eyes.

“How brave you are.” Harry runs his thumb across Eggsy's bottom lip, his other hand slipping into the small of Eggsy’s back, sticking his clean t-shirt down to his nervous sweat.  His voice is a rumble, a secret that makes Eggsy wants to shiver. “Quite remarkable.”

Is it now? Can it really be now? Eggsy’s thought about this so much that the moment is steeped in surrealism, only distinguished from all the times he has dreamt it by the awestruck suspicion that for once he may not be about to be startled awake by a dog licking his face or a toddler kneeing him in the ballsack. Harry is actually going to kiss him.

He knows that it’s real this time because there's more detail to Harry. Closer than they've ever been - and they're needlessly close pretty often, now he dares examine it - there's high definition to the creases at the corners of his eyes, to the coarser texture to the grey hair at his temples and Eggsy is surprised to find that turns him on a bit, although he probably shouldn't be.  Eggsy can feel the heat coming off of him, smell the faintest remainder of his aftershave; all the little details his imagination never filled in like how he isn't even quite smiling and yet he looks happier, Eggsy thinks, than he's ever seen him. The smile on his own face comes right up from his heart, and now that he knows - he knew before, but now he knows - he doesn't want to wait any more.

“You gonna kiss me, then?”

Harry almost laughs it. “My dear boy, I was starting to think you'd never ask.”

It happened so many times in his head that by the time it's happening it's already familiar, like in dreams when you just automatically accept that you can fly or you're the an attache to the president of Russia, who's also a squid. Like this otherwise unfathomable thing is totally normal. Harry is kissing him and he's kissing back like they've done this every day for lifetimes, but with a rising tide of urgent need, because they haven't.

They just should've.

Physically if Eggsy could collect his thoughts for a moment it would be exactly how he expected, partly because kisses are never that distinct, really, unless they're awful which it most definitely is not, and because whilst some might look at Harry Hart and think he'd kiss with finesse, teasing and controlled, Eggsy knows him better than that. Its demanding and ragged and wet, no hesitation or uncertainty, like he's got seconds on the clock to drink down Eggsy’s entire being.

It's exactly how he wants it.

It takes only a few moments for the hunger to turn into real heat, to build up from wanting to kiss to cement the reality of the change between them to kissing for want of being able to get any closer - for the moment, but they're working on it, bodies flush and hot, Harry's breath quick and heavy against Eggsy’s teeth and hands starting to grip where they were just holding, pulling Eggsy’s t-shirt into a bunch in the small of his back that stretches it tight across his chest.

He's getting turned on, because of me. Kissing me is making him hard. He wants me.

And that's where his lack of planning has him momentarily  unstuck, because Eggsy might not quite have dared think that far ahead. Well, he's certainly thought about it, but not in the practical sense, because there's a big difference between having fantasized about him and Harry in every possible configuration and actually having a think about how it might go in reality, with a setting and a time frame and Harry's erection pressing into his hip.

There isn't anything he wouldn't do for Harry. He'd die for Harry, no question about it, so he wouldn't have jinxed them or got his hopes up by planning out the exact mechanics of how they'd get off, and god he wants it. Maybe he thought he'd have time to think it over if and when it became relevant, except that was clearly bollocks because either he was going to get let down with a heartbreaking bump or they were going to unbottle months worth of mutual longing and how slowly did he think they'd be taking it, with that out in the open? Fucking dense, sometimes, is what Eggsy is.

But he's a quick learner. He’ll think on his feet. What matters is Harry backing Eggsy until he's almost sitting on the front edge of the desk, pawing at the gap where his shirt rides up when he bends, biting at his lips, surprisingly earnest now the seal’s been broken but if Eggsy’s own lust is mutual, no fucking wonder.

“Fuck, I've wanted this.”  Eggsy doesn't doubt it; he can feel it through Harry's fingertips, through his lips, in his heart. “Thank you. For - I should know better than to doubt you by now. But thank you for having the courage.” One press of lips to Eggsy's forehead that is distinct in its sincerity, and then it turns softer again, trailing down. His hand ushes through Eggsy’s hair and settles on the back of his neck, so hot it makes Eggsy feel like his spine’s melting. ”To give us this.”

“You could have said something, you knobend…"

By way of softening his disagreement Harry scrapes his teeth over the inch of skin between Eggsy's earlobe and the hinge of his jaw. “You know it had to come from you.”

“Did I?” It's hard for Eggsy to think logically with shivers of excitement coursing down his body to his balls with every fresh touch of Harry's teeth, his tongue, his breath hot and his voice molten in Eggsy's ear.

“We both did.”

Eggsy knows he spends too much time in the easy parts of his head. Gives up too quickly, doesn't push himself . He thought he'd got better, with Harry's gentle guidance and encouragement, but he's still got so far to go because as soon as he really thinks about it, he knows the point Harry's going to make before he even starts, but he lets him say it anyway because he's rumbling the words against Eggsy’s skin between open kisses, hands everywhere., and he could be reading the fucking Friday Ad and it’d be making Eggsy’s cock throb.

“Imagine, if I'd seduced you.” It's very generous of him, if he's calling Eggsy's ham-fisted blurting a seduction, but he'll take it.  “I'd have wondered forever if you went along with it for fear of disappointing me.”

“This ain't ‘going along with it’, Harry.” Eggsy puts Harry's hand on his cock over his jeans, on the hot press of it through his straining zip, quite unnecessarily, and that first conscious touch is heavenly. Christ this is going to be good.

“No, it is not, and I can't tell you how pleased I am about that.”

Eggsy smirks, and then loses it on a gasp as Harry pulls his zip down, relieving the pressure on Eggsy's aching cock and making it worse all at once. He's shy, suddenly, not ready for Harry to see him bared although that's stupid because he wants Harry to touch him, to look at him, every day forever. That fear is quickly blown out of the water by the gravelly, approving little huff Harry makes when he first gets his hand around him, only a glancing stroke on the way to pulling Eggsy’s boxers down his hips and keeps talking.

“If I'd made the first move I'd have been open to all sorts of allegations.”

“You won't now?” Stupid to challenge him, probably,  but Eggsy reckons the doubts have been put to bed already and Harry’s gentle, sultry speech is making him want to join them. Besides, it’s nice to hear they're on the same page, that this is a thing people are going to know about.

“I can defend myself in good conscience and I suspect that's just going to have to be good enough. They won't be able to make me doubt myself, and that is the main thing.” Something quivers, ready to melt, at the idea that Harry just wanted reassurance, to know truly that he was wanted, which is also hilarious because that implies he’s not seen a mirror in years and really, with that hair? Harry pulls back to peel Eggsy’s top off over his head and immediately dives down to groan into a kiss against Eggsy’s collarbone at the way Eggsy’s touch-hungry hands feel over his back. “But for me to have put you in that position …that would have been wildly inappropriate.”

Harry is Kissing along the top line of his shoulders, mouth open against his skin, sucking hot on Eggsy's neck to make the skin prickle, and Eggsy doesn't try to stop himself gasping; he enjoys it, wants harry to keep doing it. It occurs to him - suddenly, stupidly - that Harry might be every bit as good at this in real life as he painted him in fantasy. It didn't really matter, he'd have loved him anyway, but oh, fuck.

“So maybe I want you to be wildly inappropriate,” he manages.   Maybe I can think of a few positions you can put me in , except he can't really, because his brain is very much with his body in the moment and refusing to think more than a few seconds ahead, not providing Eggsy with anything more decisive to do than bite his lip and try to look something like seductive whilst Harry strips him naked on his desk.

Harry catches on quick enough. Of course he does.

“It'd be an abuse of a position of power,” he murmurs and oh, this could turn into a game so easily. A good one, if the blown coal of Harry's eyes is anything to go by. Yes. Eggsy stares him down.

“Still ain't hearing anything I don't like.”

The look Harry gives him back blazes, almost like he wants to fight him. “You're incorrigible.”

“I dunno what that means.”

“Yes you do, you don't get away with playing dumb with me.” Harry almost growls it, and fuck, that sets a firework of heat off in Eggsy's core. This is what others don't often spot in them together, this hunger,  this chemistry, as unevenly matched as they may appear. It's always been there. He knew it. Harry knew it, and had just been waiting. “You're obscene.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

“And so you should.” And that's enough talking for Harry, apparently, who pulls back to unfasten his buttons and shove his shirt off his shoulders.  Eggsy follows quickly with his hands, smoothing over Harry’s exposed skin, feeling up his muscle. His body is hard and sculpted, lean but full. Obviously he had to be in good shape, but the least Eggsy has ever seen him in is an undershirt, so he'd allowed there might be a bit of middle aged softness around the tummy at least… not that he'd have minded, Harry's stupidly gorgeous and Eggsy ain't particularly fussed but Harry's body is amongst the most solid he's had the pleasure of getting his hands on. Fucking score.

“Fuck me, you're fit.”

“Kind of you to say. And I have every intention.”

Oh, so that's how it's going to go down. Good, yeah, Eggsy’s arousal-drunk and stupid with happiness and relief, doesn't fancy trying to take control of the situation when he's so wound up he'd have trouble recalling his full name if pushed. Harry's been doing this for years, he knows exactly how to make it good, and Eggsy trusts him with that. Trusts him with everything, and he's coiled way too tight to want anything to slow down now, it's too close for anything but a sprint finish.

Eggsy kicks his trainers off without breaking eye contact, waiting to see where exactly this goes next. He doesn't want to lose that feeling of a meeting if equals to the fact he's not got much experience: he’s a grown man, he knows what he's doing. He's a consenting, active participant and he wants Harry to know that he wants . “No, but.” He really must get out of that habit: everything a challenge, although it seems Harry only enjoys it. “You're fucking gorgeous. Can't believe I'm actually getting my hands on you, yeah?” And those hands go to help Harry with his belt, with the soft - cotton, not silk, huh - boxers he finds underneath; with the erection that slaps back against the skin of Harry's stomach when Eggsy pulls his pants down his legs.

“Jesus, Harry.” Eggsy knew he wouldn't be small, nobody swaggers around like Harry does without the goods to back it up, but he's so hard he’s going purple, veiny and thick and straining like it's going to go for Eggsy on its own if Harry doesn't get on with it. “That's indecent .”

“Well, imagine how I feel about it. But that's what you do to me.”

He'd imagined it, but hearing him say it like being hard because of Eggsy is a usual state of affairs, like he's been going around feeling dirty and guilty about getting sprung for his too-young colleague and it's just an inconvenience he's got used to, makes a shudder cascade down Eggsy's back. He can't get any harder but his cock jerks and he goes in for another kiss as though that will stave off his need for a while, shut his brain up, stop him over thinking about Harry getting hard watching him because after all this, their first time does not end with Eggsy spunking himself before he’s touched, thanks. Harry moans against his lips and yanks himself back, throwing a drawer open and scrabbling around in it to produce a pump dispenser of lubricant.

Eggsy raises the sharp arch of an eyebrow at it, at Harry, at the sudden convenience.

“You a fan of a lunch break hand shandy or was you planning this?”

“I'm a relentless optimist.”

“You're an actual pervert.” It comes out a little awestruck. Eggsy's fantasised about Harry as a debauched, sexual creature under that neatly pressed exterior but he didn't really imagine he might be so close to the mark. He was prepared to deal with whatever the reality of Harry in bed turned out to be, if he got that far, but the fact they’ve made it nowhere in the vicinity of a bed and are snogging three-quarters naked with some serious intent says quite enough.

“Are you under the impression those things are mutually exclusive? Besides, if I might have been inclined towards a little self indulgence, who's to say that wasn't because i was thinking of how this might unfold?”

Just like that, Eggsy is on fire.

It goes in a blur. Harry’s tongue is in his mouth as he hitches Eggsy's left leg onto his hip and gropes along his crease; he tastes sweet enough that Eggsy has the sudden delirious realisation he must take sugar in his tea. Wonders what the hell kind of grown adult does such a thing but then realises it's so classically Harry he's not even surprised. Even whilst Harry is feeling for his hole, probing without much success, Eggsy's filing that away so that he can surprise him by making it just right when he brings him tea in bed and Eggsy has got it so, so bad. He's fucked. Utterly fucked.

Not half as fucked as he's about to be.

He's shaking as he bites off a last kiss and lets Harry pull him around and bend him over his desk instead , fighting his nerves and the instinct to put his legs together and squirm away. No sense being shy; he can feel the want coming off Harry in beams and he already knows this won't feel so alien the second time, the tenth, the fiftieth; the sooner he gets used to it the better.

Harry kisses his back, and his voice has sobered, because he’s a spy and a decent man even when he’s so hard Eggsy can feel the threat of him on the back of his leg when he stoops over to fuss at him. “Don't be nervous, Eggsy, I'll take good care of you. I promise.”

He doesn't doubt that. Harry treats him with the kid gloves, the soft soap; part of how he came to be vividly daydreaming an entire relationship rather than just quickly sucking each other off to get whatever the hell was going on out of their systems was noticing how much Harry spoils him with fondness and thinking about how good he'd make it. Never really thought he'd get that, but here there are, and Harry's every bit as lovely to him as he expected. Doesn’t stop Eggsy shaking and shifting his weight to see if he can do this without spreading himself quite so wide open.

“You're very beautiful, you've got no call to be self conscious.”

He isn't, really. If anything the way Harry is staring at him spread out is only making him hotter. It is embarrassing but he's had things up his arse before: fingers, mostly, his and others, and a vibrator once but he hadn't really liked it, hadn't bothered again. Never the whole nine yards, and he's shocked that he cares of what Harry thinks of him there laid out for him more than he cares about that. So far, anyway.

“Oi - you just gonna look at it all night?”

“Absolutely not.”

One slick fingertip strokes over and then prods at Eggsy's hole, pressing on him softly. He could hear him warming the lube up, rubbing it between his hands but it's still cool and a bit uncomfortable, Eggsy's body seizing down desperately to try to fight Harry's finger entering even though he wants it.  It's hard and rough but wet enough, no sharpness to scratch him and Eggsy wonders if Harry ever thinks about this when he files his nails down, and rides the wave of satisfaction that comes with knowing that if he does it at his desk, he will now. The thought times nicely with an odd wiggle of Harry's finger which Eggsy belatedly realises is a second being worked in, flexing back and forth to open him up.

Not so bad. It's more awkward than uncomfortable: Eggsy privately reckons that if it weren't for the need for all this palaver a lot more lads would be up for a bit of it, but he has the prospect of Harry Hart’s lethally skilled hands starting to make it something hot and interesting, promise and sensation combining to make him squirm and want to tilt his hips into the feeling. His cock pulses, thickening out and stiffening up fully again having been a little deterred by his nerves -  blood diverted to the burn and prickle of his cheeks - and that sensation combining with Harry’s gentle touches is definitely something he could go for more of. There's more give in his muscles now, two fingers able to move without any pain, probably room for a third but Eggsy doesn't really want to wait for that in case he's wrong.

“Alright. I'm ready.”

“You might well be.” Harry leaves a slight tone of question in his voice and carries on, like he's got nothing better in the entire world to be doing than fingering Eggsy's arse. And then it occurs to Eggsy that of he's been waiting for this all this time - and he'll need to ask how long, exactly, that is at some point - it's quite possible that Harry is enjoying every second of this as much as it feels like he is.

It's about then that Harry feels over Eggsy's prostate and sends that deeper shiver flying through his belly, and he must feel something or see Eggsy's response because he hones right in on it, not pressing but just laying his finger against it so that Eggsy can feel that swoop of pleasure when he squeezes, and that's lovely. “ Fuck, Harry.”

“There?”

His answer’s just a groan but Harry gets the message. Then Eggsy stops pushing himself to relax and really relaxes, and actually starts to savour the sensation of Harry's fingers in him rather than tolerating it for the sake of progress. A harsher warmth builds around the end of Harry's fingers, the promise of bliss; a glittering hollow sensation that begs for something to fill it and Harry's fingers do, on every forward thrust, but for perhaps the first time Eggsy's body asks for more and deeper and he's writhing.’, breaking a sweat, wriggling down to get Harry to push harder and flex his fingers and shifting his hips gasping against the varnished wood of the desk.

Harry does something, twists or presses or crooks his fingers or something; Eggsy is struck with pleasure so high and sweet and sharp he almost feels sick from it, then again, and again,  and then it never quite fades away. The flares on each thrust get brighter, hotter. His cock is hard and dripping, and despite himself he's whining, and every time he responds favourably Harry makes these breathless little noises of areciation, like he can't quite believe his luck, wringing out every little sound he can get Eggsy to make. It's no effort to give those reactions to him: Eggsy's overwhelmed with a deep burning need he doesn't recognise, a needling under his skin that he doesn't know what to do about. Yes, he does.

“Harry, fuck . Now. Fuck me, come on.”

“Can you come from this?” Harry ignores him, asks offhand like that's likely but of course , of course Harry has made boys come just by fingering them like this. Eggsy shakes his head. Not that he's ever really attempted it, maybe it's possible -  feels like it could be - but tonight isn't the night to try. “How about with some help?”

And then Harry's other hand is around Eggsy's prick, slick and hot, quick little pulls just over the head that join up the bright points of pleasure in his back, his arse, his balls, turning them into one supernova that makes his legs tremble, knees threatening to give out and he can barely hear Harry over his own pulse thundering in his ears.

“There you go, that's it. Good boy.”

Before Eggsy can process how that makes him feel he's locked up and hit with a blinding flash of physical ecstasy, coming over Harry’s fist and  against the underneath of the desk. Oh, says the voice in his head, matter-of -fact in its stupidity, and Eggsy suspects he may have made a far more stupid noise out loud because his mouth’s open and dry, but Harry doesn’t tease him or wait for the explanation, or apology,  he’s trying to heave in enough breath for. He just laughs out a pleased “mmm,” and presses a kiss to Eggsy’s sweaty back and doesn't even stop.

He doesn't press on Eggsy's prostate again until the worst of the aftershocks have gone through him but Harry’s fingers still move gently, keeping Eggsy loose whilst his body spasms. When he eventually withdraws them it's only to squeeze more lube onto them and push that up into Eggsy, more and more until he's sloppy with it and Harry's fingers are making the most humiliating slick sound as he works them in and out of him, until the pinching stops altogether.  It must feel different to him too, somehow, because that is when Harry soothes the small of Eggsy's back with his free hand - still slippery- and takes his fingers away in a quick, decisive slide.

Eggsy spins round before Harry can start up again. Not that it didn't turn out to be lovely and all - he’ll have time for amazement later about the fact that he got fingered like it was a fucking year ten school disco and came -  but he's losing his nerve and he's got ideas that require him not being a mindless whining puddle dripping off the edge of Harry's desk for the next fuck only knows how long.

Harry seems to be on the same page as far as that's concerned, at least: he looks  slightly unhinged, open mouthed and dark eyed and ragged, and Eggsy has never seen him so beautiful. He's no less hard than before all the attention was on Eggsy: harder, if anything, if that's even possible, shining slick at the sight of Eggsy spread out for the taking, and before Eggsy can act on the impulse to get on his knees and lick Harry rolls a condom on. That’s unexpected, for some reason, but the sight of it makes reality punch Eggsy in the guts, the quick one-two of excitement and fear. This is happening. A couple of hours ago they were still just dancing around each other, all flirtation and innuendo and fond little looks that might, might just have been friendship and wistful thinking and the worst case of foot in mouth in Eggsy's entire existence - and fucking hell, has Eggsy Unwin said some stupid shit in his life - and now here they are, sealing the deal. The first night of what they're both hoping will be many, many to come and more to the point Harry fucking Hart is about to put his cock in him.

Harry sits back in his chair and beckons Eggsy up to straddle his lap.

“Lazy git,” Eggsy laughs softly, feeling better about his own nerves because if anything Harry looks like he could climb out of his skin with that heady blend of excitement and uncertainty, like he wants to eat Eggsy whole but isn't sure he’s going to do it right .

“If I have you over that desk your feet won't touch the floor.” Well fuck, Eggsy’s heard worse threats, but it's too real now and the thoughts of Harry fucking him roughly over a table is nerve wracking as well as hot. He had a pretty decent shower but it's not like he was expecting things to pan out quite like this and he knows there are things you need to do, he's thought plenty about doing this sort of stuff one day. Just not that it would be tonight, now, with Harry looking at him like he's a gift he's waited years for, and that makes him want it enough not to worry.  He came not five whole minutes ago surely, but he never really went soft with Harry's fingers in him and now the sight of Harry naked and intimidatingly hard, ready and waiting for him is more than enough to get him the rest of the way. “Besides. I want to get to look at your face.”

Harry kisses him again, and it's only been a little while but it's still so new it makes Eggsy’s stomach flip over, and the press of their bare legs as Harry supports him into position is more real, more intimate somehow than having his fingers in him. There's so much lube Eggsy's skin slips when he moves, strangely cool and he's surprised he's not dripping. Harry guides him then, unspecifically with his hands so that Eggsy doesn't really feel how he's being moved, only that they're forehead to forehead, sharing breath,  and Harry is pressing up between his legs. The heaving of their nervous breathing brushes them together even before he lowers down - this is it - and the head of Harry’s cock glances off Eggsy’s hole, catching on him, and sliding along his arse crack, and Eggsy whimpers.

Harry's too big. Not that Harry would let anything bad happen, Eggsy knows that to the very depths of his heart, but there's no way it won't hurt, and he’s already so overwhelmed he’s not sure how he’s going to deal with that. Pain he can take, obviously, but the idea of having to try and put on his game face and take it when it's already been so much, so new, he just wants so badly to just get off with Harry, hot and quick and easy, not … fuck, he can feel it in his throat, tensing up like he’ll fucking cry.

“Eggsy? Is this too much for you?” Harry kisses down the side of Eggsy’s neck again. How is it that even when Eggsy’s having a fucking crisis he’s so amazing? How’s he being so patient when he’s so hard? And it still feels good, to be held so close, to have Harry’s teeth scraping against his throat. Fuck it, Eggsy wanted this so badly. Wants it so badly. He's just got to sort his head out.  “We don’t have to- I should’ve-”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine.” Eggsy’s not fine, and Harry’s a spy, and not a complete arsehole. Of course Harry knows. “Just give me a minute. We can…”

“Eggsy, look at me.” Harry fixes him with a look that stops the worry before it can turn into tears, thank fuck. He lets him squirm so they're not lined up but doesn't dump him off his lap, just pulls the top half of Eggsy's body close to rest their foreheads together again between absent, reassuring kisses and Eggsy resists the urge to bolt out the door bollock naked: Harry doesn't seem exactly deterred.  “There’s no rush.” His shuddering breath out says maybe there is a rush, but Eggsy gets what he means. Of course Harry would see straight through Eggsy giving it the big ‘I am’, maybe wasn't even expecting to get as far as they did. “Show me what you like. What you’re comfortable with.”

And the way he's looking at him, with so much… Christ, the word he wants to think is love. He doesn't dare but that what it looks like. All Eggsy can do is kiss him.

Kissing he can do just fine, and Harry doesn’t hurry him to pack it in and get him off: he’s just as into it as before, accepting Eggsy’s tongue, biting on his bottom lip that way that makes heat shock down Eggsy’s back. Their naked bodies slot easily together, Harry’s cock settling naturally into the furrow of Eggsy’s arse, which feels alarming for a second but once Eggsy realises it's not going to just find its way into him of its own volition he relaxes about it being there, shifting his hips so that Harry can be comfortable like that, and Harry groans.

Eggsy shifts his hips again, feels Harry's cock slide along the trench of his arse crack and Harry makes a noise like he's in pain, except his face and his sudden vice grip on Eggsy’s hip bones say different. He moves him, just gently suggesting more than forcing him to repeat the motion and hissing in pleasure as his cock slips against Eggsy's skin.

“Is this alright, what I'm doing now?” Harry gives another thrust to illustrate his point. “Just this, not inside?”

Eggsy's nod is almost frantic. For an instant in his head it was doomed before it started, some imaginary version of Harry that  bares no resemblance to the man he's sitting on kicking him to the curb because Eggsy wouldn't let him fuck him. But in reality less it's less an emergency stop than braking round a bend and now they're full throttle again, lips and teeth on mouths and throat and pectoral, whatever they can reach without interrupting the delicious friction of Harry's dick rutting through the lube dribbling down Eggsy's crack.

When Harry stops biting at him it’s only to say “Jesus, you've got a gorgeous arse,” and then carry on.

Eggsy sets his hand on Harry's shoulders and grinds down, rubbing along the formless, almost sticky latex of his cock and he almost wants to tell him to take the rubber off but that's probably not sensible and he can't find the breath anyway. They can talk about all that later, about what they're doing and how they're doing it.  Eggsy even harbours a suspicion Harry might be the type to make love if the mood struck, and it will, when they get round to unearthing the deep veins that these feelings spring from, the barely unspoken volumes that have lead them here but for now, they need to let off a bit of steam, take the pressure off. It's been building long enough.

Eggsy picks his own weight up and rides.

“That’s it. Oh, you pretty thing. That's beautiful.” Harry's eyes track down his chest, skittering, blown, over Eggsy’s body to where he’s rock hard again.  He doesn't really know why it feels good, the rub of Harry's cock isn't touching anything too wildly wonderful but it's quick and desperate and filthy, and knowing that Harry wants him so much that this might be all it takes makes him all hot with vain pride.

Harry curls a lube-tacky hand around Eggsy’s cock and encourages him to thrust a bit more, stilted little kicks of his hips that make the chair slide on its wheels as they kiss clumsily between gasping, shuddering breaths, as Eggsy tries to push into Harry's hand as well as back over his cock. It’s not exactly easy: the right angle is precise, Eggsy’s thighs are getting tired, he can't rut down hard enough without the risk of catching Harry wrong and hurting him and Harry can't do much of the work to get what he wants from his position sprawled in his desk chair.

Harry grunts out a noise that is definitely more frustration than enjoyment and stills Eggsy with his hand on his hips, glancing almost frantically around for a better place, a better way to do this and coming up short. Neither of them thought this through.

“On the floor?”

It sends a bolt of heat straight up Eggsy’s spine. Yes Harry. On the floor like you're too desperate to stop and take me anywhere better a nd the thing is, he does. He bears Eggsy down onto his back on the office carpet and covers him, mouth desperate on Eggsy’s neck and jaw now he can reach again, tongue hot in his mouth and making shocks of pleasure kick off all down Eggsy’s back.

Eggsy wraps his legs around Harry's hips but that spreads him too wide, doesn't give Harry that nice fold to rut into and Eggsy has never wanted anything more than he wants Harry to come just from humping against him, quick and filthy. He can feel how badly Harry wants it, not just in the throb of his prick but in the clumsy grasp of his hands, pulling at Eggsy’s hips to turn him over.  He rolls over obediently to flip face first into the carpet, his hand underneath himself, offering his backside up and just trusting Harry to know what's okay.

“Oh, that’s perfect, my darling. God, you’re… just perfect.” 

He's too molten to hold them both up. Harry's weight presses him from all fours to a writhing curl on the carpet, bracketed in by Harry's arms around him: one flat around his chest to hold them tight together, the other working down under him to take a hold on his cock, as much protecting it from the floor as anything. Eggsy lets Harry pull him close and roll their weight to the left, sprawled awkward and bruising but Harry’s body against his back is searing hot and somehow the unforgiving hard reality of the office floor only adds to how weirdly good it feels, grabbing and rutting at each other, moaning and panting and rubbing off like even Eggsy hasn't done in years. Harry moans Eggsy’s name like he’s dreaming -  like he thinks he’s dreaming - and the blaze of heat in Eggsy’s core engulfs his heart.

Harry’s firm thrusts brush over wet, sensitive skin and prickles of bliss bloom out all over the insides of Eggsy’s thighs, through his hips, up his back and over his shoulders where Harry keeps putting his mouth, trying to kiss but only half managing it, his hand motionless on Eggsy’s cock whilst he humps at him. The skin on Eggsy’s shins is starting to pull but it's drowned out by the rest of it: Harry’s loose, wet grip on his cock; the slapping of Harry's hips against his arse, so close to what they're playing at that it almost doesn't matter that Harry's cock is only sliding in the lube between his cheeks and not actually in him.  One slip and he'd be fucking him. He wouldn't do that, surely, even in his desperation Eggsy can't conjure a version of Harry who'd do that, but a genuine slip and he'd be rammed up Eggsy’s arse to the hilt, and would that feel good? HIs fingers did. Would Harry be able to stop, in this state? Would Eggsy want to stop him? He can just imagine how the fat ridge of the head of Harry's cock would scrape against the place inside his fingers found so easily, pound into it and not stop when it got too much...

Eggsy turns his face and whines into the carpet. Harry takes his cue like he’s snapping back to reality, suddenly, tightening his hand to work Eggsy’s cock in time with his thrusts, or try to but he’s too absorbed in his own need now, too far gone, and Eggsy doesn’t even mind.

Harry is a man nothing if not entirely composed of contradictions so Eggsy fully expected he might fuck a bit like he fought,  but. .. he's an animal. Eggsy has never felt more desirable, more wanted in his life, even if it hurts a little bit. It's nothing he can't handle, not like it would have been if Harry's cock was in him, like he must be imagining it is, gaze fixed on Eggsy writhing under him, bucking into his hand.

“Shit, shit,” Harry’s grip pinches and he grunts the curses when he’s coming like it’s a terrible inconvenience for him to have to stop, and Eggsy wants to tell him that it’s okay, because the feeling of Harry thrusting himself out of rhythm, cock pulsing, is it for him.  He puts his hand over Harry's, which has fallen still in concentration, and guides him to catch him up, jerking himself lightning quick, only for a few seconds and then he's coming again, in fat splatters on Harry's carpet.

He swears he feels Harry actually twitch at that, and then he gives a far more satisfied sounding groan. Yeah, that’ll do. That'll fucking do .

Harry pulls back from him whilst Eggsy’s still shuddering, with a quick kiss to the back of his shoulder, and flops onto his back on the floor next to him. His hand twitches, trails awkwardly up his own chest and then drops back to the floor and Eggsy knows in that moment that Harry has at some point in his life been a smoker. More than casual, he reckons.

Eggsy collapses forward, heaving, narrowly missing the puddle of spunk and lube and the smaller one where it appears that sweat was running off his elbow.

“Err, I’ve kind of made a mess of your carpet.”

Harry snorts and nods at the raw pinkness of Eggsy's knees. “It looks like it’s got its own back.”

They lay still, silent, for a few seconds or a few minutes until they’re both breathing at a reasonable speed, and Harry taps Eggsy on the arm. There’s no explicit instruction but Eggsy manages to put together that what he wants is for Eggsy to roll over to ly by his side, so that Harry has his arm round him, and it’s pretty comfy because it means Eggsy can use Harry’s shoulder as a pillow and then they can both stare up at the ceiling like they don’t have a fucking clue how to process what they’ve just done, after all this time. Which… well. Didn’t exactly go to the plan Eggsy didn’t have.

“I'm sorry.”

Harry turns and grabs at him,  “Oh, please don't…” and there’s cold fear in his eyes. He doesn’t understand.

“No, not like-” Eggsy nudges them up to sitting, settles by Harry's side and rests against his shoulder, telling him with his body that he's not going anywhere, not having second thoughts. “I'm sorry we didn't like. Have sex.” He knows the words are wrong but the meaning just about shines through and he's too overwhelmed to try to make it clearer, coming down so fast he needs a pressure suit. His one shot with Harry - he'd actually got a shot with Harry and he'd gone all frigid on him. It’s a miracle he hadn’t just told him to fucking do one. He's trying to put himself out there like he's a viable boyfriend for a man like Harry - as if - and just shown himself up as a scared little boy. It’s gone alright, yeah, felt amazing and Harry obviously isn’t too put off but Eggsy could fucking punch himself.

A humiliating wobble shudders through his breathing, and Harry is looking at him like he's grown a second head.

“Did we not?” Harry pantomimes confusion, looking over the mess that is their bare, slick bodies, the random heaps of torn off clothing, the puddle on the floor, the knotted condom discarded as far away as he could reach without lobbing it. Eggsy knows the point he's trying to make, but like… but.  “That's interesting, perhaps I'll reconsider my application to the seminary.”

Eggsy snorts, “Prick,” slaps Harry’s shoulder and collapses into the cuddle he didn't realise how sorely he needed. Harry’s arms go around him so naturally, his hands so soothingly hot,  the sudden flash of panic turning back to bliss under Eggsy’s skin. Christ, he's a state. he needs to sort himself out. His sole regret about the location of this first encounter immediately becomes  kingsman's strangely strict adherence to workplace smoking regulations, which is probably more to do with the sensitivity of the sprinklers than a concern about getting fined. “But you know what I mean.”

Harry shrugs.

“I'm not at all upset by the prospect of, uh-” he circles his finger in the air “-if you usually top.”

“I don't usually anything.”

“Oh Eggsy , my…” The end of the sentence is just a kiss into his soaked hair so Eggsy isn't sure what he’s Harry’s, exactly, but he likes the way he says it. He'd be Harry's anything. He'd be Harry's, full stop. Already is. “It doesn't matter what we do. Or don't do. If it's with you, I'll enjoy it. We’re hardly short on other options.” The look he drags down Eggsy’s body is so lecherous it almost doesn't suit him, far too hungry and lust-heavy for someone who’s still getting their breath back from the last time they got off. His voice is a gritty, intimate rumble Eggsy can feel through his chest. “Spoiled for choice, if anything…”

Eggsy follows his gaze to the carpet burn on his knees and one elbow, red fingerprints on his hip bones that will take a day or two to turn grey-blue, and probably catch up with the blotch he can feel forming on the side of his neck. Harry’s made a right state of him, and he obviously loves it. Eggsy doesn't look like a man who hasn't just been fucked, for what that's worth.

“So. What now.”

“If you mean work wise I don't actually know. It'll be fine, but I don't know what the ins and outs are.” Eggsy sniggers stupidly and Harry ignores him. No, he doesn’t: he tries to but there’s the tiniest tick at the corner of his lips.

Eggsy cuddles into his side again, sticky and getting cold, shivering starting to threaten under his skin. It stops “But I didn’t mean - I mean. Us.”

“Some important conversations need to be had,” Harry begins, and it’s got that seriousness to it that raises a panicked flock of questions at the back of Eggsy’s head… “But some important showers need to be had first,  and then a very important night’s sleep. I'll have the left side of the bed, and I've been known to be a bit of a cuddler, I hope you don’t mind.”

“S’alright.” Eggsy feigns nonchalance and doesn't care that it's obvious he's pretending. “I sing in my sleep sometimes and if you tell anyone I'll have to kill you.”

“I'm sure I'll learn to cope.”

There’s a word, or a phrase - Eggsy’s heard it, probably from Harry but it’s hardly the time to ask for a refresher - for a question that has the answer already hidden within it. There’s stuff that needs straightening out, for sure… like his legs, fuck, his knees are killing him… but if Harry wants to talk it through in the morning, that’s sort of already told Eggsy everything he needs to know.

He remembers it half way through getting dressed, having discarded his boxers because they’re damp and he put them on inside out first and it’s be unlucky to change, with one leg in his trousers.

“Begging the question!”

“Excuse me?” Harry has made it as far as buttoning his shirt. He’s still amusingly pink, his hair’s a mess and he has the decency to look a little embarrassed about the state of them, about the whole ‘finally losing control and shagging in the office’ thing, but happily so.

“It’s… that thing where the answer to a question is already kind of… there in the question itself. Isn’t it?”

“It is, yes.” He nods approvingly, and takes Eggsy’s hand.  “Were you thinking about applying for University Challenge?”

Eggsy stares for a second at Harry’s collarbone where he’s not done his buttons all the way up, momentarily paralysed by the warmth of Harry’s hand, of Harry’s fingers between his own.

“Yeah. Something like that.”