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The Muse

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‘Harry I know you get off on this Eliza Doolittle – Henry Higgins crap but do we really have to spend our Sunday on this?’ says Eggsy already ratcheting up to something like petulant even though it’s barely past noon, ‘can’t we just go to the gift shop and get an overpriced bit of cake in the café and then you can take me home and fuck me like one of your French girls.’

Harry steers Eggsy round a group of American tourists, smiling placidly at a woman with steel grey hair and a scandalised expression, ‘paint me like one of your French girls, darling, paint me. And do be quiet, you’re disturbing the carefully maintained social order.’ 

‘You love it,’ says Eggsy, grabbing Harry’s hand and doesn’t he just, this opportunity to take out the lovely boy who’s 20 years too young for him, who he’s managed to tie down with money or sex; he knows what the usual punters at the National Gallery are thinking and it sends a giddy little thrill down Harry’s spine, getting to wheel him out and show him off. Although, the shine is slightly taken off the whole experience by Eggsy’s whining.

‘We don’t have to stay long,’ says Harry, walking up the stairs and heading towards the Central Hall, ‘indulge me.’

‘I’d rather indulge you with your cock up my arse,’ says Eggsy, definitely not using his inside an art gallery voice. Harry valiantly tries not to go bright red and pulls Eggsy along. To give him proper credit he does follow with the minimum of fuss.

Eggsy heads straight past the Degas and Manet, pauses briefly by Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, eyes wide, before stopping in front of Monet’s The Thames Below Westminster.

‘It still looks like that sometimes,’ he says quietly.

‘The past is a foreign country,’ says Harry, ‘but not always.’

Eggsy leans his head back against Harry’s chest, sighs, ‘go on then, show me something else.’ 

Harry takes them past Italian portraiture, ignores Eggsy’s, ‘he’s a bit of alright,’ at Moroni’s The Tailor, into the room housing Veronese’s Four Allegories of Love. He stands behind Eggsy again, turns him on the spot to take in the whole room which is blessedly empty.

‘The Four Allegories of Love,’ Harry says, pointing them out in turn, ‘Unfaithfulness, Scorn, Respect and Happy Union.’ He turns them again, one hand on Eggsy’s hip, the other over Eggsy’s shoulder, to face Unfaithfulness, ‘this one is a love triangle, you see how she passes a love note?’ 

‘Are you trying to tell me something Harry? Are you slipping it to Merlin on the side?’

‘I think Merlin would strongly object to the very suggestion. Now, shut up and listen.’

Eggsy makes a scoffing noise but allows Harry to turn him again, ‘this one is Scorn, Cupid beats the man in the centre and you see the two women there? They represent carnality and chastity because love encompasses both desire and devotion.’

‘I know all about desire, Harry,’ says Eggsy, pressing his arse back against Harry’s crotch, tipping his head back, fluttering his lashes.

‘You ought to learn some respect,’ says Harry, stolidly ignoring Eggsy’s attempt at provocation, ‘for me, for the art,’ he gestures expansively to the room at large.

‘He’s being respectful, is he?’ says Eggsy, pointing at the next painting, ‘by averting his eyes?' 

‘That’s the general idea.’

‘Right then,’ says Eggsy, turning, spinning them himself through a few halting steps of a waltz so they face the final painting, ‘this the happy ending?’ he asks, eyebrow quirking at the potential innuendo.

‘Quite,’ says Harry, not rising to the bait, ‘Venus and Cupid preside over the happy couple with the olive branch of Peace, the laurel wreath signifying Virtue and the dog, Fidelity.’

‘That what JB represents? Fidelity?’

‘No, JB represents laziness and an over production of drool.’

‘Oi! Don’t talk about my dog like that!’ says Eggsy indignantly but he goes up on his tiptoes for a kiss, deep and totally inappropriate for a public place. A giggling shriek breaks them apart as a gaggle of school girls on a tour crowd through the doorway. Eggsy looks utterly unrepentant while Harry feels his cheeks go pink.

‘Come on, Harry, enough allegory, time to take me home and show me exactly how much you love me. Maybe do a few sketches, I'd be well good at life modeling.’

Rushing home at three in the afternoon for a shag is something Harry thought was relegated to the past, until he met Eggsy, ‘oh, go on then,’ he says, smiling and grabbing Eggsy’s hand to pull him through the thronging crowds of tourists and out of the gallery.


In the cab Eggsy slouches with his legs spread and a hand slightly too high up on Harry’s thigh to be decent. On the doorstep, he plasters himself to Harry’s back and murmurs, ‘is this where you invite me in to look at your etchings, Harry?’

‘Quite possibly,’ says Harry, taking Eggsy’s hand and pulling him through the front door. They make their way to the bedroom, snogging messy and awkward on the stairs, through the living room. Harry unzips Eggsy’s hoodie, pulls his polo shirt off, halfway up the stairs. By the time they reach their bedroom Eggsy’s lost his shoes, one sock, he’s shirtless and his jeans are open. His lips are red and bitten, his eyes sparkling. He trips out of his jeans, boxers, bounces down on to the bed, hand on his cock, a deliberate tease. Harry steps up to him, still fully clothed, rests his hand on Eggsy’s ankle, rubbing slow circles into his skin. He pulls off Eggsy’s remaining sock, stroking up his calf, thigh, a light brush of fingers over the crease of his hip, making Eggsy arch off the bed and moan, only half put on.

‘Come on, Harry, don’t be a tease,’ says Eggsy, laughing at the tickle of Harry’s fingers at his side.

Harry gets down on one knee on the bed, holding himself above Eggsy, faces close, so they’re breathing the same air. This close he can see how flushed Eggsy is, his green eyes are liquid with desire, eyelashes damp, clumped together as he looks down, rolls his hips into the heat of Harry’s body. His cock is reddened, drooling on his belly, leaving smears on Harry’s jacket. Harry presses himself down slowly, all that time in the gym not going to waist, giving Eggsy a firm thigh to grind against as he kisses him, soft and deep, pulling on Eggsy’s bottom lip with his teeth. Eggsy groans and this time none of it is feigned. Harry gets up, off the bed and Eggsy sits up to follow him but Harry puts a hand to his chest and presses him back to the sheets.

‘Touch yourself for me.’

Eggsy quirks an eyebrow at him but gets himself comfy, lets his legs fall open, licks his palm, takes a hold of his dick with a leer and starts wanking himself off, all lewd, raw sexuality. Oh, the callous exhibitionism of youth.

Harry just smiles at him shakes his head, fond, ‘does the word subtlety hold no meaning for you, darling?’ 

‘Thought you wanted a show, old man?’ 

‘There is something to be said for maintaining a bit of mystery,’ Harry pulls one of Eggsy’s legs down, leaves the other knee bent, two fingers under Eggsy’s chin to tip his head back with a quick kiss to his lips.

‘Stay like that, darling, slowly,’ and Eggsy does as he’s told, works his cock with slower strokes, eyes hooded. 

‘Ain’t you gonna touch me?’

‘Oh, I will, dear boy, just not quite yet.' 

Harry pulls a chair to the side of the bed; goes to their dresser, pulls out his sketchbook, a box of charcoal. 

Eggsy’s voice is ragged but he still manages to sound exasperated when he says, ‘fuck off, Harry, I didn’t actually want you to draw me,’ but he doesn’t stop the movement of his hand on his dick.

Harry sits down, looks his fill of his gorgeous boy; Eggsy looks decadently classical, like a Greek god, but not cold like marble, he’s very much warm and alive, rolling his eyes as Harry sweeps the charcoal down the paper. Harry watches as Eggsy settles back into the pillows, lets the hand not on his dick fall off the edge of the bed, tips his head back further, eyes closed.

Harry draws the curve of his thigh first, strong and firm. Harry loves to bury his head between those thighs. Eggsy is breathing harder now, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his abs as Harry smudges his thumb on the paper, marking the shadow between Eggsy’s thighs.

‘God you’re beautiful, my gorgeous boy,’ breathes Harry, further gone than he thought.

‘Yeah?’ says Eggsy, cracking his eyes open, turning to Harry, lips parted, ‘like to look at me, do you? Can’t believe you’ve got me in your bed?’

‘Of course I like to look at you. Every day I go to my knees in thanks. What are you thinking about?’

Eggsy’s eyes have closed again, bottom lip caught between his teeth, ‘you fucking me, opening me up with your tongue and your fingers. Love your hands, Harry, you’ve got such big, strong hands, want them on me all the time.’ 

‘Is that right?’ says Harry, pressing the sharp edge of the charcoal to his sketchbook, cutting the strong line of Eggsy’s jaw to the page, ‘I’ll fuck you when you come for me, darling.’

Eggsy moans, strokes his prick faster, rubbing his palm over the head, ‘fuck, Harry, get over here and fuck me now.’

And as if his body is moving without his permission Harry abandons his sketchpad, is on the bed, over Eggsy, pressing their foreheads together, ‘come for me, Eggsy, go on,’ he says, low, and Eggsy arches up, pressing himself into Harry and comes all over his stomach, Harry’s jacket. 

Harry traces patterns in the come on Eggsy’s belly while Eggsy comes back to himself, ‘urgh, you’re rank!' says Eggsy, flexing into Harry’s fingers, ‘you gonna fuck me now or what?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ says Harry, sliding off the bed to pull his clothes off, cock so hard it’s dripping and Eggsy’s eyes go wide when he drops his boxers because he knows it strokes Harry’s ego and Harry can’t bring himself to mind.

He grabs the lube from the bedside table, throws it at Eggsy, ‘open yourself up for me.’

‘Piss off, Harry, are you gonna be doing any work or what?’ but he still spreads his legs, again, two slick fingers pressing into his hole, all for Harry. When Eggsy has three fingers inside himself and his cock is halfway to hard again, Harry moves over him, his own fingers circling Eggsy’s where they disappear into his body. Eggsy moans, ragged and wanting, ‘come on Harry, you must need to come, you’ve been waiting so long, you can come inside me, Harry, go on, fill me up, please.’ 

‘God your mouth, you terrible boy,’ Harry grits out, pulling Eggsy’s fingers from his arse, slinging his legs up on to Harry’s shoulders and fucking into him in one long thrust. They stay like that, pressed together for a moment, eyes closed, just holding each other until Eggsy rolls his hips and all Harry’s tightly held control goes to shit. He thrusts into the hot clutch of Eggsy’s body, pressing bruises into Eggsy’s hips as he moves.

‘Yes, Harry, go on,’ gasps Eggsy, holding on to Harry’s neck, scraping his teeth over Harry’s collarbones. 

Harry opens his eyes, hadn’t realised they were closed, looks down at Eggsy, sweaty and writhing, covered in his own come and, Harry notices with a hitch to his breathing, smudges of charcoal, Harry’s fingerprints pressed to his hips, the inside of his thighs. And it’s that, seeing Harry’s marks on his lover that tips Harry over the edge, hips stuttering as he comes hard, vision going black.

Harry shifts his weight off Eggsy, kisses him thoroughly before tucking two fingers back into his hole, pushing his come back into Eggsy’s body. His fingers find Eggsy’s prostate and Eggsy moans, ‘you’re a filthy pervert, Harry Hart, you like marking me? Holding your place?’

‘If I could spend my life buried in your beautiful arse dear boy, I would,’ says Harry, crooking his fingers to watch Eggsy’s eyes roll back in his head, ‘can you come for me again, Eggsy? Just like this?’ and Eggsy shakes his head but his lip is caught between his teeth, again, breathing through his nose, his whole body going tense like a bow string, clenching down on Harry’s fingers as he comes over his stomach.

Harry finds a flannel from the bathroom, cleans the sweat and come and charcoal off Eggsy’s body, dopey and pliant after two orgasms, before climbing back into bed, pulling Eggsy against his chest, nose in Eggsy’s hair.


Harry attempts to listen to whatever tedious thing Merlin telling him about budgets in Harry’s office a few days later while Eggsy lolls about on the couch in the corner, waiting for Harry to be ready to go home. Merlin keeps losing his train of thought, trailing off into silence as he shifts from foot to foot.

‘Is something the matter, Merlin?’ says Harry, eyebrows raised.

Merlin shakes his head, ‘no, Arthur,’ eyes flicking between Harry and Eggsy and the wall above Eggsy’s head. Oh. Oh.

Above Eggsy, framed very tastefully is a charcoal drawing of a male nude. In the drawing the figure has one arm dangling in a far camper stance than Eggsy is currently falling into but he’s otherwise mirroring the pose too closely not to be doing it on purpose. The model in the drawing has one of his knees drawn up, hiding anything too salacious from the eyes of viewer, but the curve of his other arm and the tilt of his chin leave little to the imagination. Underneath the sketch are two scrawls that might be the letters H.H. and a title, Galahad the Pure.