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The Very Definition of a Mistake

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Eggsy seethed as he cuddled the tiny pug in his arms, just as soaking wet and shivering as he. He cooed and kissed, never noticing Roxy stripping his bed. It was only when she opened the foot locker between them that he finally came to attention.

"No spare sheets?" Her thin precise eyebrow arched quizzically.

"You're lookin' at 'em." Without bending down, he pulled the laundry bin out from beneath his bed with his toes. Roxy said nothing and tossed the sopping sheets in. "J.B. took a pee on the others."

She was mesmerizing to watch as she left the room without saying a word. Roxy reminded him of a duck. She was sure, precise, calculating atop the water but always busy busy busy on the inside, beneath the surface. The petite wannabe assassin made her quick way into the bathroom and soon emerged, her arms loaded down with a fluffy white mass. She took the puppy from him, wrapping J.B. in one of the immense towels. Eggsy was gifted the other.

Bathory, her poodle, slept soundly on the floor beside her bed, breathing heavily as Roxy laid the tiny pug next to her. The two snuggled into each other instantly, Bathory resting her head upon J.B.'s minute frame, like a blanket. She fought back a smile, having to resort to biting her bottom lip, lest her awe betray her. They were always watching. They needed a spy. A ninja. A killer. Not Snow White, fawning over tiny animals and drooling over some failed Prince Charming concept. Her face became a stone again before she turned to face him.

He was shirtless now and once again, her lip was three seconds from giving the game away. In the far background, she searched. Charlie, Digby and Rufus had retired to their beds. Two were fast asleep, leaving only the potato-faced blonde.

He sneezed. Sleeping people cannot sneeze.

On the other side of Roxy's bed was Amelia's, but they both knew sleeping in her bed was not an option. She was dead. He stepped out of his sopping pyjama pants, leaving a sole pair of equally drenched boxers.

"I mean, it's not like I've never slept on a bare mattress before. I'll be alright." He shrugged, perpetrating that same bravado. Like a five-year-old proudly proclaiming he's not afraid of the dark.

"Or you could share mine," she spoke, her volume low enough to not wake the others.

He froze for a moment. His eyes themselves were the first thing to meet hers, that same sly smile creeping across his face.

"Just for tonight." Eggsy's brow rose further. "Besides, it's just sleep. I can't imagine any world in which Kingsmen never slept in a ditch side-by-side or had to share some ghastly hotel room on a mission." He pouted out his bottom lip as he nodded – as if to say "Well that makes complete sense."

She turned around for a bit as he changed into a dry pair of boxers. Spare pyjamas weren't really a thing for intelligence recruits in their twenties. Their sleeping wardrobe was simply there, folded on their individual beds when they returned to the dorm following dinner. This evening's selection had been different than last night's, leading her to suspect it was strategic. Will we be given bulletproof pajamas one night? Fireproof? Glow-in-the-dark?

Her mind was a wandering mess, missing Eggsy as he crawled into her bed, occupying a miniscule amount of its left hand side. Oh, Tiny Roxy, he found himself thinking as he slid in beside her. He'd left the majority for her and the space between them was expansive. How was she so small and yet so terrifying? So fierce and yet, leave him so much room? She was warm against his skin, which was still frigid from the unexpected shower.

The room was almost dead silent and it was pure murder. To lay there. To listen to Hugo's clock ticking. Amelia had been treating her white noise machine as the Holy Grail, but she was gone and so was it.

They only wanted one sound. One single sound to break the awkward silence of struggling to not say anything. Eggsy laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, steely and gray. She instead chose to roll over and face the wall. It had been an intentional decision – her claiming one of the beds closest to the wall. Since Amelia had passed, she now had only one neighbor. Roxy hated people in her business, in her space. But not him. Not now.

For whatever reason, she wanted him near. Merlin had mentioned something about having "high aspirations" at dinner tonight, and the thought made her want to wretch. She hated heights. Well, not heights themselves – just the prospect of falling from them. All her life, any moderate fall for an average sized person was a possible death sentence for her. What on Earth could he have meant? Were they going to die? Amelia was already dead.

The hopeful spy couldn't relax with him beside her, a little bit too hot as always, her thoughts wavering between graphically erotic unprofessionalism and their own impending mortality. Laying her hand across her own chest, she felt like it may burst apart. Quickly, she sat back up.

"You o'right?" He mumbled, removing his right arm from where it had been draped over his own eyes.

"I can't sleep," and her feet made a disappointing slap against the floor as she used this excuse to instead depart from their shared bed. "I'm just certain at some point they're going to make us bungee jump or put us on a plane. Look what a bit of water did," she spoke softly and quickly, gesturing to Amelia's empty bed. Roxy furiously grabbed a few items from her bedside table.

"You're too smart for one of their traps." As J.B. awoke for a second, cocking his head to the side, Eggsy seemed to mimic the gesture, trying to read her. "What could you be afraid of?"

"That wasn't a trap. It was a test and she made a simple mistake. One of millions that happen every day." She spun from him and marched towards the bathroom with the few plastic bottles in her hand. Maybe another round of her nightly routine would convince her brain and body it was time for bed. Bed. There was no time for other ridiculous things. It's a job interview, she told herself before disappearing fully into the loo.

Eggsy sighed and gave up hope when he heard her start the shower. It was just the Career of a Lifetime and she didn't seem like the kind of person to risk it over a shag. Maybe he'd completely misread her. Pulling the blanket back up, he begrudgingly decided that sleep was fine for now. Fuck, it was necessary. The fog of slowly drifting off and the exhaustion of training started to slowly wrap around him. Slowly, even the sound of her shower faded from his consciousness. He was nearly asleep. Since Dean had moved in, sleep had always been a double-edged sword. If he slept too lightly, he got to listen to his mum get fucked. On the occasions he managed to get ahold of some pills and actually find deep sleep, he would be unable to intervene if Dean went off. He'd rather chainsmoke on the stairs than hear his lecherous ginger stepfather grunt and huff or awaken to his mother missing another tooth. But now, he was finally sliding deeply into unconsciousness. It was glorious.

However, Eggsy awoke when he felt the weight of the bed shift. Even his half-asleep brain knew the being next to him was far too light to be Dean or his mum. "Daisy… no no…" he grumbled, rolling over expecting to see his tiny half-sister, having yet again crawled out of her play pen and into his bed.

His eyes opened, suddenly keenly aware that he wasn't at home. He snapped back into the steely gray dorm to which Harry had taken him. He was in intelligence training. And there was a half-naked woman on his bed.

Roxy's hair was wet and no longer in its tight braid. His surprise increased as he came to the dimly lit realization than she was wearing only a towel. In the background, she'd left the shower running, coating the entire room in a fuzzy, ambient sound. His eyebrows were the first appendage to rise, this time in disbelief at what he beheld. A sly, half-smile began to tiptoe across his face as he sat up. She didn't speak and he lifted a pensive hand to his face, looking her over.

"Wow," he whispered and her stone face finally broke to a tiny, gratifying grin. Roxy was the first to lose their staring contest, finally looking down towards his hands on the bed. They were mere inches from her, but it felt like miles.

"You're welcome to decline." There wasn't a spare second for her to continue before he pressed his mouth harshly against hers. Always a bit rough, he'd been told. But she was one of the first who didn't wince as he gripped tightly onto a generous handful of her hair.

"I'd 'ave to be mental to say no," his voice was almost a whisper against her neck. He reached his free right hand around her, pulling Roxy onto his lap. She laughed at the lowest possible volume, hesitating to break their union for a moment.

"Be quick. Be quiet. And don't finish inside," she commanded him between his kisses, pressing her forehead against his for the split second their eyes met. He nodded, grinning. The towel had now drooped to her elbows, her arms wrapped in ecstasy around her competitor, still lost in the fury of making out and foreplay and the first time a boy makes you feel fifteen again.

And he leaned back a bit to behold her, grateful for every petty crime and errant mistake that led him to that police station and Galahad and this room.

"My days, Rox, you've got beautiful fuckin' tits," he whispered. His right hand slid upwards, taking its counterpart of her own left breast, kneading. Eggsy continued the brutal, tight grip on her head and she kissed him even harder. Her damp towel smacked the gray concrete floor beside them. The room had always been a bit chilly, but it was now hellishly frigid and her skin shrunk back. Tiny soft goosebumps covered her arms and back and stomach, but his fingers were warm lost within her. Feeling the tiny bumps raise along her skin, Eggsy reacted quickly and immediately; wrapping his arms around her, she was suddenly beneath him.

Roxy was grateful for the spontaneous comfort of both Eggsy and the blanket. It took a lot to block out all of her anxious thoughts. And finally, mercifully, her brain was just fucking quiet. No thoughts, just the simplicity of her senses. The heat of his chest pressing against hers, the ecstasy of being able to feel him breathe; the room's darkness save for the individual overheads a few recruits had activated. She could barely see him, which meant she needed to focus more, kissing him and running her thumbs along the fierce jawline she'd never admit had first attracted her. There was still very little sound in the room, just their ragged breathing and the showers she'd left on. His breath fell onto her tongue and lips and somehow, even over the community toothpaste, he tasted just a bit like gin. Where did he find gin?

She was desperately grateful for the more pronounced and forceful warmth pressing firmly against her between her legs. He was every definition of the word rough, with all the sharp edges and brutality that came with it. His tongue was a welcome intruder against hers, kissing her much too hard. She caught herself daydreaming for only a moment, wondering if the situation were different, if he was the kind of boy who even bothered with more intricate foreplay or simply dove right in?

If they weren't in a packed room of others, would he bury his tongue within her innermost sensitivities? She wanted more than anything to grip his head between her thighs, to scream his name. She craved the freedom to suck his cock at her leisure; but she would rather die than risk waking any of the nine other occupants. Eventually, someone would need to use the loo.

Silently, she gripped him inside his boxers and he sighed against her confident smile. He'd never been a man to treat patience as a virtue and made quick work of his entrance. After locking her ankles around his back, for the first time, Roxy winced.. He loved every single second, every sensation. There was gutter trash. There was basic. There was class. Then there was Roxy. Taut and tone and clean, like the girls he'd seen in the magazines of his father's. His mum had hidden them in the closet, beneath his dusty uniforms and dog-eared spy novels.

Roxy drew tightly around him, wet as he crashed into her yet again and again and again and this had to be what it felt like to fuck a Princess. His name was on her lips, but she cried it out so softly, he could barely hear her over this shower and the pounding within his ears. Her soft, barefoot heels dug into his ass, separated only by the thin material of his boxers.

"Eggsy…" her voice was ragged against his lips again. This time, she dug the heels of her feet into him, almost painfully.

"Call me Gary."


Her dignified tongue carried the final syllable of his name out for as long as she could, almost involuntarily, when her thighs shook and she came. He expected sound, some sort of reaction. The recruit continued to fuck her as she pressed her perfect forehead hard against his chest, slowly exhaling. Enjoying. "Oh my God," and her orgasm didn't wane, washing over her repeatedly. He slowed now – a woman coming beneath him powerfully, violently and completely quietly was a sight to behold. Her doe eyes widened as she watched him repeatedly disappear within her.

And finally, a loud breath escaped her throat as she seemed to finally find reprieve from her own orgasm. She relaxed, looking a bit exhausted and worn. Eggsy ceased now, smirking in accomplishment, but still hard inside her.

Roxy looked up at him, still with that cocky and arrogant, yet somehow intriguing smile and met his lips with a quick kiss.

Lifting her ass, she slid back a bit on the bed and Eggsy's heart fell a bit when he found himself no longer inside Roxy.

"Wot?" and her petite hands pressed against his chest, turning him over onto his back.

And it was his turn to relax and tense and come, and he happily took in the spectacle of her riding him. She was glorious and powerful and unlike very garbage minge that had come into his life before, her hands grinding into his chest as harshly as she ground her majestic pussy against him. Like a warrior queen riding into battle.

As he slid his rough, calloused palms along the softness of her hips, he saw someone or something move across the room. Near Charlie's bed. "Shhhhit..." he sighed, more to himself than her. He didn't dare bring it to her attention, and instead gripped her harder, thrusting upwards and she smiled.

"Do it again," she cried out breathlessly. And he did and she smiled again. And again. And again. Roxy came again and as she spilled out onto him and the bed, Eggsy identified the moving figure in the corner of his vision. She shook, oblivious, grinding furiously against his cock. She reached down, harshly grabbing his head and bringing him up to her for a kiss.

Charlie looked up from his pillow, half-asleep. Across the room, Eggsy's smile was as big as it had ever been, Roxy moaning and rolling her body on top of him. Lifting up his hand behind her back, the pleb held up two fingers, shooting Charlie a V before she leaned back onto his palm, finishing her raucous second orgasm. And she kept sliding along his magnitude.

Galahad's hopeful recruit snapped to attention with barely enough time to scoot back and away from within her, spending himself against her thigh and the sheets. Knackered, he rested his sweating forehead between her breasts and she wrapped two exhausted arms around his head. Her lips were soft against his damp hair.

"I am…" he exhaled harshly. "I'm gonna 'ave to write Harry an incredible thank you note for picking me." She kissed his forehead. "I don't think I've ever written one before in my life." She chuckled and climbed off of him.

Her glistening back soon returned to the bed next to Eggsy, whose chest was still rapidly rising and falling.

She bemoaned aloud, suddenly placing an embarrassed palm against her face.

"I won't really tell 'im, I don't wanna risk the job."

"Oh, it's not that."

"Then wot?"

"I just realized we could have just used my spare sheets for your bed." And Eggsy smirked again.

"I guess we could 'ave," and he tucked his capable hands behind his head, shrugging his shoulders in a show of accomplishment, "but we didn't." She rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, reassuming her place facing Amelia's empty bed.

"Oh my God..." he chuckled. "Goodnight, Eggsy."

When she awoke several hours later, the tiny digital clock near the bathrooms read 4:02 in the morning. She was alone in the bed. The shower was off. Rolling over, she saw a bit of the sticky white mess still matted onto the sheets, testifying none of it was a dream. Eggsy, however, was back in his bed, lest anyone catch the two. She sat up to grab her pyjamas off the floor and saw that her foot locker was empty; her recent bedmate having taken the spare sheets for his own use. She slid back into bed, taking one final glance at Eggsy. Her anxiety returned. Another test awaited her. Would she make a mistake?

Of course. She just had.


During their written exam the next morning, Eggsy would catch himself looking at the back of prim and proper little head, waiting for her to turn around. Then, days passed as he waited for her to even mention it. And she never did. Not on the plane. Not during any of the events of V-Day. Never to the Princess. Simply never.