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The Things Gentlemen Don’t Do

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“Manners get a gentleman a long way.” - The No.480 Rule of a Gentleman

“Man up and go down.” - The No.486 Rule of a Gentleman


They’ve been back at HQ an hour or so from Valentine’s mountain death bunker when Merlin turns to Eggsy and says, “One of us is going to have to go to Kentucky and claim Harry’s body.”

Eggsy won’t lie; he startles a bit at that. ‘Cause he might have just saved the world - and bummed a princess, which is something he never imagined he’d get to tick of his bucket list - but he’d kind of thought that the Kingsman would have already had someone on that and would have already had Harry’s body. Knowing that Harry’s body was potentially still flat out on the pavement in front of that twice damned church while Eggsy was making time with a princess kind of takes the lustre of out the moment, you know, and leaves him with a bit of an off feeling in his gut.

Harry deserves - deserved - better than that.

And yeah, it probably should be Merlin who goes, because Merlin and Harry actually had a decades long history of working together as colleagues and friends and shite while he knew Harry for basically no time at all. But it’s Eggsy who says, “I’ll go,” and Merlin who says, “I figured you would,” because it’s possible that Eggsy still has some feelings about Harry and his death that he needs to work out, and its also possible that Merlin knows that. And so that’s all that’s said on the matter, and Eggsy gets on the jet for Kentucky to bring his mentor back home.

Naturally, that’s not all there is to the matter.


Eggsy hasn’t seen any official numbers yet on the aftermath of Valentine’s attack, but he’s going to go out on a limb and say that - if the church was any indication - America is probably going to fair the worst, given their fondness for guns and their distaste for gun legislation.

Also, he and Merlin blew up their president and a good chunk of his executive with Valentine’s head fireworks - and man, was that guy bonkers, because who puts fireworks in their neck explosives? - so they’ve got that to deal with as well.

But whatever, it’s his theory, and it seems pretty well supported when he finally gets to the morgue that Harry should be at, and finds it a complete shitshow. And yeah, he gets that this is basically a public health nightmare or whatever, but after he’s asked the third person about Harry and gotten a, “haven’t seen anyone like that,” Eggsy not really in the mood to be charitable.

“About six feet, brown hair, bloke in an expensive suit,” Eggsy says, and leaves off the handsome he would have added ‘cause this is Kentucky, and also ‘cause Harry is dead, and so the fact that Eggsy found him attractive doesn't mean shite now, does it. “He would have been right outside the church, bullet to the brain,” Eggsy says instead to the morgue attendant, but it’s the harried looking paramedic who answers instead with a terse, “Tall guy, posh suit, brown hair, head wound, found outside the church?”

“Yes,” Eggsy says, and tries to remember that they’re all having an awful day, and that he can’t shock any of them with his ring just because he wants to.

“We took him to Chandler,” the paramedic says, wiping sweat and a little blood from his brow, already turing back towards the door as he finishes, “That sonnabitch was lucky - bullet barely even grazed the brain, for all it bled like a stuck pig.”

Eggsy suddenly wants about a swimming pool’s worth of scotch, and to sit down.

He goes to Albert B. Chandler Hospital instead.


See, the thing is, Eggsy watches a lot of action movies and tv, as JB’s name would indicate. And the thing he’s noticed, in 24 and all the rest is this - they never check the body. Jack Bauer is probably the least guilty of this, but the rest - heroes and villains alike - just seem to shoot the guy, expect him to die, and then turn stupidly around without checking, and end up with a knife in their backs for their trouble when it turns out the guy they shot wasn’t quite so dead after all.

Staring at Harry’s very much alive body in a Kentucky hospital, Eggsy is forced to concede that yes, this might be that kind of movie after all. ‘Cause, as the nurse who thankfully knew who he meant the first time - a small miracle - tells him, Valentine’s shot hit the upper left temple and ripped through the skull, but at an angle where it completely missed the brain. It’s basically a really deep graze that - to steal the paramedic’s term - bled like a stuck pig, and made it look much worse than it was. Which is something that Valentine would have known that if he’d taken the time to check the body, but Valentine was squeamish around blood, and Gazelle was busy with Valentine, and no one checked.

Yeah, it’s definitely that kind of movie. Looking at the rise and fall of Harry’s chest, Eggsy can’t find it in himself to complain.

“So, Harry’s alive,” Eggsy tells to Merlin when he calls him to arrange transport, and Merlin says, “Thank god. I would have made a terrible Arthur,” and Eggsy decides that Merlin is also kind of off his nut, but in the best way.

And then it’s just a waiting game - waiting for Harry to wake up from the drugs the staff gave him for pain that knocked him out so they can get back to the plane and back over to HQ where Harry can heal again in peace - so Eggsy takes the seat by the bed and makes himself comfortable, ‘cause he ain’t going no where ’til Harry wakes up.

He left Harry alone in Kentucky once. He won’t do it again.

“You’re wearing my suit,” Harry slurs as greeting, perhaps an hour after Eggsy’s sat down, still groggy from the drugs, and Eggsy’s not much for sappy shite, but bloody hell, it’s a beautiful sound.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I saved the world in this suit while you were off here napping,” Eggsy shots back, ‘cause there’s no reason to let Harry know that, fixing the collar obnoxiously and sending Harry a wink he never would if Harry wasn’t so out of it, “I think that makes it my suit, don’t it mate?”

“You make me proud,” Harry says, this warmth in his eyes that Eggsy’s never gotten from anyone else, before the drugs pull him under again, and Eggsy’s left with a warm feeling in his chest, and a stiffness in his trousers.

Yeah, Eggsy’s got a problem.


‘Cause here’s the thing, from that very first second when he came out of the police station, a free man without a charge to his name and saw some posh bloke standing on the wall who told him he was the reason for all of it, Eggsy was sort of expecting that particular scenario to end with him on his knees and a hand threaded through his hair as he put his...other oral skills to use.

‘Cause, look, at that point Eggsy didn’t know about the spy shite, and in the real world men like Harry don’t get tangled up with guys like Eggsy unless there’s something in it for them. And so he’d been waiting for it when they got that drink, when they ended up in the tailor’s shop, and the bunker subway car, but those hands, lethal and elegant, had never made their way to any part of Eggsy’s person, and instead Eggsy had ended up with a job offer that had changed his life.

But the real problem isn’t that; that he’d expected to end up a whore and ended up a spy, ‘cause he’s pretty pleased with how his life is right now, thank you very much.

The real problem is - Eggsy really wanted to be on his knees, with those hands threaded through his hair. Still does, in fact.

“Cause yeah, when you’re from where he’s from, and you’ve got a guy like Dean in your life, you don’t exactly advertise that you’re just as into blokes as you are birds. It’s one thing to be a cocksucker, but an entirely different thing to be a cocksucker, if you get his drift, so it’s info that Eggsy doesn’t exactly toss around. But yeah, he’s no novice to the fun men can have together; he knows what the weight of a cock feels like in your throat, the split of one in your ass and the thrill of rough hands on your cock as you bite and kiss and rub one out with a bloke in a dark alley.

The point is, Eggsy knows what he likes, and damn, does he like Harry. Harry, in his three piece suits and his damn glasses, is the kind of bloke that makes Eggsy want to use teeth when he kisses and sink to his knees and use all the dirtiest tricks he knows on his cock just to see if he could make Harry lose some of that damned control of his. And not like in the church, where Harry had been out of control but still all lethal elegance, but the kind of loss of control where his hair is falling into his eyes ‘cause he can’t stop his hips from fucking Eggsy’s face.

It’s possible that Eggsy has given the subject some thought, though that had ended when Harry got shot, ‘cause he’d figured it was moot then.

Except now Harry’s alive, and his boss, and also thinks of Eggsy as some kind surrogate son student type figure. Eggsy’s no expert yet, but he feels like ‘fucking your former trainee whom you think of platonically’ might be one of of those things that gentlemen don’t do.

Yeah, Eggsy thinks as he watches Harry sleep on the plane back to HQ, he’s got a real problem. But, he also thinks, Harry’s alive, and that’s all that matters, and he’s a Kingsman now, and so he’ll keep his little problem to himself, and it’ll all be fine.

He’s a gentleman now.

He can handle it.


Ok, he thinks, after kicking the shit out Dean and his bloody goons in a nice homage to Harry, whom he’s sure Merlin will show the feed to later and possibly critic his technique because they’re all kind of nuts, now he’ll be a gentleman.

“You stole my line,” is all Harry says when Eggsy goes to visit him in the infirmary, and Eggsy just roles his eyes at him and tells him to, “Eat your pudding,” which Harry does with prim elegance.

“Good form,” is all Merlin says, and Roxy chimes in with a, “But you need to stop dropping your left shoulder,” and so Eggsy goes and spars with her to show her just how much he’s not doing that, and life moves on.

Yeah, Eggsy thinks, all those complicated feelings buried nice and safely away, he can handle this.


And, for a while, he does. Harry heals, and takes over Arthur’s chair. Merlin - mostly only in the field - and Roxy and the rest of the Kingsman start calling him Arthur, but he’s still Harry to Eggsy, because the last Arthur hated him right up to the moment when Eggsy poisoned and killed him, and it’s an association that Eggsy isn’t exactly dying to make with Harry. Harry never calls him on it though, so he figures he gets it, and is cool with it.

But yeah, Eggsy moves his mum and his sister into the house the Kingsman have provided from him; one block away from Harry’s, and when he’d asked all he’d got was a “its close to the shop,” from Merlin, but it’s a nice place, and he hasn’t seen his mum this happy since his dad died, and anyways, it’s not like being close to Harry is a great hardship for him anyways. His problem is rather the opposite, but even that’s fine - he meets with Harry, gets assignments, saves the day a few times, and if he utilizes the willing women he meets in the course of his work as an outlet for his...Harry related feelings, that’s something only he knows, and it hurts no one, so Eggsy decides it’s working for him.

And then he gets his first honey pot assignment, and it starts working for him less. Because, Swedish princesses aside, it turns out Eggsy’s not quite in the proper age bracket for honey trapping yet. He’s just a bit too young for the female marks they’ve had so far; the stereotype of women preferring older men is based in some reality after all, just as the one about men preferring younger women - needless to say, Roxy has already had a few honey pot assignments.

Gay men, on the other hand, seem to be exactly the demographic that Eggsy falls into. And hey, Eggsy's fine with that, because he hasn’t got fucked in the longest time, and if he gets to do so and steal some intel from a - pretty decent looking - millionaire at the same time, then Eggsy’s on board.

But there’s something in Harry’s eyes when he gives him the assignment that sets Eggsy’s nerves off. It’s not disgust, or anything like it - it’s one of the Kingsman’s worst kept secrets that Merlin and one of the tech guys have been engaged in a part internet part real relationship for years, and Harry’s clearly cool with that - but there’s something in them when Harry looks at him as Merlin describes the guy - fifties, greyish brown hair, brown eyes, property millionaire. It’s something that Eggsy has no name for, and no frame of reference for, and that alone would worry him.

Add in his...problem, and yeah, it puts his teeth on edge, just a little bit.

“Don’t mind him,” Merlin says after Harry and Roxy have left, barely looking up from the schematic of the guys room that Eggsy needs to get into on his computer, “He was never fond of the honey pots. An old romantic our Harry is - figures sex should be about emotion and not a weapon in our arsenal.”

And yeah, Eggsy’s not sure if that’s it or not, but it sounds true enough, and as mentioned, Merlin and Harry have actually known each other for years and years, so Eggsy figures Merlin would know. So he pins that look he saw being on that, and lets its stop weighing on his mind. The mission itself is easy enough - Eggsy puts on his very best chav get up, because men or women, the high class all like a bit of the rough, positions himself at the bar of the guys favourite club in a way that expresses he’s open for business, and waits.

Twenty minutes and a teasing hand job in the car later, and Eggsy is getting fucked in the guys room, just as planned. And it’s a nice room, not that Eggsy’s any judge - all dark greens and greys, with a dark wood four poster bed and a mirrored ceiling over it that Eggsy is currently getting a great view of himself getting fucked in right now.

Eggsy doesn’t get it - he likes to look at his partner during sex, see that effect he’s having on them, not watch his own face as he gets fucked, but hey, not his place to judge the kinks of others. At the worst he’s going to have trouble looking at Merlin for a few days, because the guy wanted to fuck with his glasses on, and Eggsy doesn't know how to turn the recording off, so right now because of the mirrors Merlin’s getting a nice streaming video of Eggsy getting fucked - but Eggsy’s not too worried, because Merlin is a mate, if the Swedish princess incident proves nothing else.

That in mind, Eggsy stops thinking so much and actually lets himself enjoy getting fucked. He’s not kidding when he says it’s been a while, and the guy - James but call me ‘Jim’ - is a pretty decent fuck - nice cock and the hip strength behind it to make it a fuck that Eggsy’ll feel for at least a day or two. And, as an added bonus, ‘Jim’ looks enough like Harry that Eggsy can let his imagination run wild a bit. Can imagine that it’s Harry above him, Harry’s cock splitting him nice and open, Harry’s breathing that stutters as he fucks into him, hair falling onto his forehead as he finally loses that iron control.

It’s a thought that gets him moaning like a two bit whore, long and deep and just a little bit desperate, that gets ‘Jim’ to fuck him even harder in response. And at the same time there is a faint ‘crunch’ in his earpiece, like the cracking of glass, but then ‘Jim’s’ cock jams into his prostate again and Eggsy comes like Valentine’s bloody head fireworks, making sure any moans he lets out in no way resemble Harry’s name, and he forgets all about the sound as he comes down off of that lovely high.

Honestly, Eggsy thinks he could learn to like this honey pot business if they’re all as much fun as this one. But he’s still got work to do, so as soon as ‘Jim’ is out Eggsy’s up, dressed and, with Merlin’s steady voice in his ear, into the safe and out with the intel in less than 10 minutes.

“Good job,” is all Harry says to him when he returns to HQ with the intel, but that warmth is there again when he says it, and that other thing is gone, and Eggsy’s too damn glad to look into it anymore.

And then Harry says, “We should get you another suit,” and Eggsy considers his plans of going home and finally figuring out what Pretty Woman is about over spending an afternoon with Harry in the tailor shop, and yeah, safe to say, Eggsy doesn’t end picking the movie. Instead he spends a few hours sneaking looks at Harry’s ass at the shop, and then a lovely diner occasionally staring at Harry over candlelight at a much nicer restaurant than he ever would have gone to before, where he and Harry discuss, of all things, old spy movies and pop music.

Eggsy doesn’t end up watching Pretty Woman.

And that’s that for ‘Jim’ the millionaire in Eggsy’s mind, and if he avoids Merlin for a few days, it’s just out of common curtesy. And then that too ends a few days later when Eggsy’s having trouble with his new phone and so he goes and finds Merlin in his tech cave at HQ, bent over his work table with a magnifying eyepiece on, a micro welder in his hands and an iPad with a cracked screen on his table. “Harry broke his iPad,” Merlin says instead of hello, not even looking away from whatever he’s welding together under the magnifying glass. “I’m going to swap out the screen once I’m done this.”

“Cool, I guess,” Eggsy says, not particularly sure why he should care, before getting to the actual point of his visit, handing his iPhone over to Merlin, “Can you do anything about the shite battery on this thing?”

“Sure, leave it here,” Merlin says without looking up, and Eggsy does, and leaves and doesn’t give another thought to Harry’s broken iPad.


Occasionally, it occurs to Eggsy that most of the Kingsman probably don’t have to babysit their siblings when their mum’s decide to go out for a girls night. Ok, well, to be fair, most of the Kingsman are ridiculous loners with no family because a partner is probably going to wonder why you’re disappearing at all hours of the night and coming back with bruises if you work as a tailor, and so most of the Kingsman are solitary by necessity. And yeah, if Eggsy’s got to choose between that and babysitting his sister, he’ll take babysitting any day.

Except he can’t get Gracie to stop crying, and he’s tried everything. Her pacifier, bouncing, rocking, stories, you name it Eggsy’s tried it and Gracie is having none of it. So, at his wits end, he scoops her and her diaper bag up and takes her for a walk. The air helps a little bit, but its a short reprieve because by the time they’ve gotten to the next block, Gracie is wailing like and air raid siren again, and Eggsy’s a bit worried they’re going to disturb some people. And then a door opens and Harry is standing there, and Eggsy realizes that his subconscious has walked him to Harry’s, because his subconscious is an arsehole.

Harry, to his credit, doesn’t waste time asking him what he’s doing there or why; the wailing baby in his arms answers both of those. Instead Harry simply holds his arms out for Gracie, and Eggsy sticks her in them with a speed born of desperation, and then he watches in awe as Gracie and Harry regard each other for a moment and then Gracie hiccups once, and stops crying.

It is entirely possible that Eggsy is once again hit with the urge to get down on his knees and thank Harry with his mouth. Given that Harry is still not into him, and holding his baby sister he refrains.

He’s good at that at least.

And then, as he steps further into Harry’s house he spots Harry’s tv and what’s on it, and he can’t help but ask, eyebrow raised just a little bit, “...Are you watching My Fair Lady?”

“It was on,” Harry says, with a look that Eggsy is pretty sure is best described as ‘sheepish’ but Gracie is cooing happily in Harry’s arms and Eggsy could care less if Harry was watching some show about ballet or taxidermy - still weird, he doesn't care how much he wants to jump him - or like, ballerina's who do taxidermy or whatever, because Eggsy would sit quietly and watch it no matter what. And so, that’s how Eggsy finds himself of Harry’s couch, with Harry - and Gracie on Harry’s lap - spending a night watching My Fair Lady. And it’s a lot nicer than any plans he would’ve have for the night, as he sits and just enjoys soaking up Harry’s presence as Henry Higgins makes Eliza Doolittle talk about the rain in Spain. And then, at about the point where Henry Higgins is an arsehole and Eliza moves out Eggsy turns to check on Gracie, cause she’s been quite for a while, and the sight he finds makes his heart stutter.

‘Cause there’s Harry, super-fucking-spy, fast a-fucking-sleep with Eggsy’s sister equally asleep on his chest, her little fists curled into his sweater.

Eggsy’s a little worried his heart just stopped. ‘Cause up ’til now, he figured this thing of his about Harry was a sex thing, solely based on Eggsy’s desire to jump Harry’s bones and relieve him of his bloody control. But right now, Eggsy wants to be able to watch movies on the couch with Harry and go to dinner and talk about stupid things with Harry and then also be able to go home with Harry and jump him, and Eggsy’s self aware enough to realize that he’s moved into a whole ‘nother level of ‘having a problem.’

‘Cause now he knows what Harry looks like asleep with his baby sister conked out on his chest, and Eggsy’s afraid that image is never going to lose the clarity it has now, never going to dull and fade as it’s meant to with time. Eggsy’s pretty sure it’s going to stay just as crisp and fresh as it is now, in front of his eyes, a preservation of the moment Eggsy realized he wasn’t just in lust with Harry, but rather in that other four letter L word.

On screen Henry Higgins asks for his slippers, and yeah, Eggsy feels for Eliza Doolittle.

Eggsy is so fucked.


So, Eggsy and Roxy flirt. They flirt a lot, because they end up seeing each other a lot, and because after you’ve parachuted out of a plane and believed you had no parachute together you tend to bond, and their particular bond happens to take the form of flirting. What her hair would look like on his pillow, his hands and what he can do with them, what her legs look like wrapped around some guys neck, what kind of ‘equipment’ he’s packing; it’s all fair game and harmless, because honestly, for all that Eggsy thinks Roxy’s attractive - because he’s got eyes after all - he’s not looking for anything but friendship there. Apparently another side effect of surviving Kingsman training together is a brotherly-sisterly thing, and that’s just fine with Eggsy, because he’s got enough problems being in love with Harry to worry about being into anyone else.

Also, there’s the fact that Roxy’s far more into birds than blokes, which is why the free time that Eggsy spends with Roxy ends up being massages and junk food and movies instead of anything more scandalous, and that’s fine because Eggsy wouldn’t trade that time for the world.

So when Harry asks him, casually after they’re done the debrief on Eggsy’s last mission, “Any plans tonight?” Eggsy answers, without a second thought, “Roxy’s back in town from that Russia thing - figured I spend the night with her.” Because Eggsy hasn’t seen Roxy in a month, and its not that he wouldn’t take another mission tonight - he’s a Kingsman, of course he would - but he’s also not about to give Harry an opening all the same, “Back tomorrow at 8 am at HQ?”

“Make it ten,” Harry says agreeably, but Eggsy can see that something look in Harry’s eyes that he can’t place but that set him on edge before with ‘Jim,’ even as Harry’s voice stays light and pleasant, “Good work on the Danish case.”

And Eggsy would push, he really would, but after figuring out exactly the magnitude of what he wants from Harry, he just can’t, because he’s afraid if he pushes too hard he’ll spill the beans and that’ll be the end, and so instead he just smiles at Harry and says, “Thanks - see you tomorrow at ten,” and Harry smiles back, and it’s small but a real smile, and Eggsy makes his escape like the coward he is around Harry and tries to put that look out of his mind.

Naturally, that doesn’t work, like at all, as Roxy ends up demanding of him over beer and pizza, “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” Eggsy denies, and then at Roxy’s ‘yeah, that’s not gonna fly look,’ he takes a drain of his beer and confesses, “It’s just...Harry just had a weird look on his face when I said I was spending the night with you.” And then, because he’s a smart guy, but he just doesn’t get it, and Roxy’s better at this than he is, “He can’t have any problem with us being friends, can he?”

“Did you say it like that - that you were ‘spending the night with me?’” Roxy asks, eyebrows raised in a way that Eggsy knows means she’s judging his intelligence, just a little bit.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s what we’re doing,” Eggsy says, gestures with his beer towards the pizza and the movie - Pretty Woman, which Eggsy has taken in about 10 seconds of given his state of mind; Richard Gere wants to build ships or something? - and the guest room that Roxy’s got all made up for him because he’s always too drunk to make it home after these night, and asks with some confusion, “What of it?”

“Men,” Roxy says, with some exasperation, smacking him on the shoulder hard enough he thinks it might bruise before she says, with a powerful roll of her eyes, “He thinks you’re here having sex with me, you moron.”

“What?!” Eggsy startles, spitting out some of his beer as he stares at Roxy like she’s gone mental ‘cause she has as he’s quick to deny that, “No he doesn’t. Harry doesn’t...”

“Think of you that way?” Roxy picks up from where he’s trailed off, worried about giving away too much, but the kind look in her eyes tells him that she already knows before she says it, “You mean like how you don’t think of him that way?”

“Is it that obvious?” Eggsy asks, trying to hide his mortification in his beer and aware he’s failing miserably, because yeah, he’s that guy, the intern with a crush on his boss, and that’s enough to make him want to get out the amnesia darts and start self-injecting.

“He hasn’t noticed, if that’s any help,” Roxy says kindly as she hands him another beer, and Eggsy takes it with a rather pathetic level of gratitude before he says, with a sigh, “It’s really not somehow.”

And then, because he does still have dignity, and you know, and functioning grasp on reality, Eggsy try to get the conversation back on track as he reminds Roxy after another sip, “But fine, I’m gone stupid over him, but that’s my problem. Harry treats me like a student or a friend not like...whatever.”

“Yes,” Roxy says, eyebrow raised to dangerous levels again as she asserts dryly, “Because Merlin takes me to fancy restaurants and gets me tailored suits and stares at my ass basically nonstop.”

“...That was sarcasm, right?” Eggsy says, the beer and the mortification making him a little slow, before he latches onto the next salient point forcefully, because this one he would have noticed! “And he does not stare at my ass!”

“How are you even a spy?” Roxy sighs kindly, waving her hand dismissively at him before she shakes her head and says, with a look that Eggsy knows only promises bad things, “Look if I could prove it to you would you believe me then?”

“If you could prove it I guess I’d have to believe you,” Eggsy says with some exasperation, unable to believe this is the direction the conversation has turned, “But how the bloody hell would you do that?”

“Ride into work with me tomorrow,” Roxy says, with a gleam in her eyes that Eggsy is pretty sure he should be afraid of, “I’ve got a plan.”

And Eggsy, who is drunk and embarrassed says yes instead of the no he should have said, and the night ends with him being entirely pissed, and still not having seen Pretty Woman. He wakes up with a splitting headache hating his life, and Roxy naturally wakes up pain free and looking like a million pounds, because Roxy actually is evil sometimes.

Still, after some water and a paracetamol Eggsy’s about as ready as he’ll ever be to face the day, and it isn’t until he and Roxy are in the lobby of HQ with Harry on the stairs waiting for them that Eggsy remembers he, in his drunken state, agreed to whatever Roxy’s plan is, and he starts to sweat a little bit.

And then Roxy turns to him, and with a wink that only he can see, fixes his collar and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, the gesture smooth, practiced and, for lack of a better term “wifely” and Eggsy, whose got a great view of Harry gets to see that damned look bloom on Harry’s face again, stronger than ever before, and this time tinged with something Eggsy might call defeat.

“That,” Roxy whispers into his ear, tone heavy with satisfaction, “is what jealousy looks like on a man.”

Oh, Eggsy thinks, as Roxy steps away like she hasn’t got a care in the world and Eggsy barely notices because he can’t make himself look away from Harry, oh. ‘Cause it would make an awful lot of sense if that look is jealousy, and if that look is jealousy, than that means that Harry was jealous of Jim the honeypot and jealous of Roxy because Harry wanted to be the one that Eggsy went home with and fucked.

Oh, well now this changes everything, doesn’t it?

Oh, now Eggsy has plans for tonight, you can bet on that.


When Harry answers the door that night in one of his casual sweaters, slacks and a glass of scotch in his hand, Eggsy’s pleased to see his eyebrows rise in surprise. Maybe it’s because Eggsy’s all decked out in the suit that Harry got him - the first suit that Harry got him - or maybe it’s because he gave Roxy and Eggsy both the night off and he expected him to be with her, but either or, its a good first step, ‘cause it means he’s got no idea what Eggsy’s here for.

Eggsy thinks he’s going to enjoy educating him.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, recovering fast, default manners kicking back in fast as he gestures into the house, “I wasn’t expecting you. Please, come on it.” And then, once they’re inside Harry says, gesturing to the suit, “I didn’t imagine I’d see you tonight - you don’t have plans?”

“Date tonight, if everything goes the way it should,” Eggsy says, and it isn’t really even a lie, merely a...misdirection, because that look that is now undeniably jealously flashes in Harry’s eyes for a second before he clamps down on it, but oh, that second was all that Eggsy needed.

“I noticed there weren’t any rules about...fraternization between Kingsman,” Eggsy says and his tone is phrased in query even though it isn’t really a question he’s asked.

“Honestly, I don’t believe they were ever needed,” Harry says, voice just a little too level to be natural, taking a sip of his scotch, and Eggsy can believe that if all of the agents before were like Arthur, the classist prick, “You and Lancelot shouldn’t worry about breaking any rules.”

“Thanks, but I ain’t asking about Roxy,” Eggsy says matter-of-factly, perching himself on the arm rest of Harry’s couch like he owns the thing.

“No?” Harry asks, and for all that it’s polite inquiry, Eggsy can see the genuine curiosity in Harry eyes behind the manners, and its that looks he feeds on.

“Roxy’s aces, to be sure, but she’s just a friend, and more interested in the female persuasion than me, if you catch me,” Eggsy says, shrugging his shoulders in a ‘what are you gonna do,’ sort of way.

“Ah, I see,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow in acknowledgement before he takes a slow sip of scotch, which Eggsy is pretty sure is to try and mask his confusion, ‘cause Harry’s a brilliant guy, but if he’s not into Roxy then this whole conversation must be a bit out in left field for Harry right now.

“How'd you break your iPad screen?” Eggsy asks instead, voice deliberately light and he's sure it sounds like a non sequitur to Harry, but Eggsy finally put Merlin's little clue together, and its actually really quite important to his plan.

“Pardon?” Harry inquires, blinking once, and takes what Eggsy might call a ‘defensive’ sip of scotch, and if Eggsy were a better man, he might let him off the hook right now, but honestly after everything, Eggsy’s not about to just make it easy on the man.

“Your iPad screen,” Eggsy says, looking up at Harry as he continues calmly, “Merlin said you broke it after my mission with Jim. And see, I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now, I’m thinking I remember hearing a sound like breaking glass while Jim was fucking me.” And then, to Harry’s frozen face, as bland as if he was inquiring about the fucking weather, “So I was wondering how you broke your iPad screen.”

“I...don’t remember. I must have dropped it,” Harry lies, and awfully, especially for a spy, and yeah, Eggsy is going to owe Roxy all the favours in the world, because that look was one hundred percent jealousy, and Harry totally wants to fuck him.

“Really,” Eggsy says, raising one his own eyes in mock scepticism as he goes on for the proverbial kill and asks the question they both know the answer to, “So then you definitely didn’t crack it watching Jim the millionaire fuck me on Merlin’s glasses security feed.”

The look on Harry’s face - desire tinged with a little desperation, mixed in with the look of a trapped man - makes it all worth it.

“I..can only apologize for the breach of privacy...” Harry manages to stumble out, desperately out of character for a man as articulate as him, and Eggsy figures he can let him off the hook and really get this show on the road now.

“I ain’t looking for an apology,” Eggsy says simply, cutting Harry’s ramble off, “I’m looking for an answer.”

“To what question?” Harry asks, and its a genuine query because Harry is close, but still not quite there yet.

And then Eggsy drops to his knees in the ridiculously expensive bespoke suit Harry had tailored for him and says, close enough to have his breath brushing against the bulk of Harry’s half-hard prick, “I was wondering, if I pulled out your cock right now and let you fuck my mouth, would that be one of the things that gentleman don’t do?”

Harry’s prick is like iron against his cheek.

Eggsy thinks Harry’s there now.

“Probably,” Harry says, slowly, because Harry actually is a goddamn gentleman. But the heat in his eyes means that Eggsy feels pretty confident its not going to stop him from getting blown. Still, manners making the man at all, Eggsy’s still polite enough to ask, “You gonna let me do it anyways?” instead of diving right in.

"God damn you, yes of course I am,” Harry says, like he’s dying to tell Eggsy to get the hell on with it already but he’s just too damn polite, and yeah, Eggsy doesn’t need to be told twice.

Harry’s a nice big boy, long length, thick girth, the kind of cock that your throat remembers the next day, and bloody hell, no one can say that Eggsy doesn’t love a challenge.

But Eggsy’s not looking for technique - he wants hands in his hair and for Harry to goddamn use him, and so with his hands on Harry’s prick he tilts his face up and says, in his most obnoxious tone, “You gonna fuck my face, or am I gonna have to do all the work?”

And Harry finally, finally threads those damned hands of his through Eggsy hair, and gives him exactly what Eggsy’s been fucking gagging for since the moment he laid eyes on the man.

Harry fucks his throat until his jaw aches, until his hair is flopped down onto his sweaty face, and control is the last thing anyone would associate with him.

Eggsy fucking loves it.

And then, without so much as a choked warning, Harry comes down his throat, and Eggsy swallows like a champ, because Eggsy is a goddamn gentleman.

But of course, so is Harry.

“A gentleman always returns the favour,” Harry purrs, before he shoves Eggsy up against the wall, sinks to his own knees and swallows Eggsy down all in one smooth move, because of fucking course Harry Hart doesn't have a gag reflect.

Eggsy feels like the fact that he comes down Harry’s throat in about thirty seconds flat can be excused by the fact that he’s been waiting for this since basically the moment he saw Harry at the police station.

If the way Harry seems to be trying to count his teeth with his tongue is any indication, Harry doesn’t seem to hold it against him.

“I feel like we scandalized your dog,” Eggsy says, after he’s got two brain cells again to scrape together, voice raspy from the weight of Harry’s cock.

“He’s seen worse,” Harry dismisses, before he asks, query entirely lacking in seriousness, “So, now what do you propose we do?”

Eggsy rolls his eyes fondly at him, and yanks him down to the couch before his knees give out. And then, because Harry was the one who brought it up back way at the beginning, he asks another question he’s pretty sure he knows the answer too already, “Is it in any way possible that at the end of Pretty Woman they fall in love and decide to be together forever and have lots of sex?”

“How is it possible you’ve seen My Fair Lady and not Pretty Woman?” Harry says with a level of exasperation that Eggsy feels is inappropriate for a man who just had his brain sucked out of his cock, but given his own sated mindset, he let’s it slide and lets Harry finish, “Yes, it’s a hollywood movie, of course that’s how it ends.”

“Excellent,” Eggsy says, tone facetious, but the query is entirely serious, “I say we do that, and also occasionally save the world. Sound good?”

“I rather think I could bear it,” Harry teases, and his eyes are so damn full of heat and something softer that Eggsy rather thinks he can place that he can’t help but crawl into his lap and kiss and kiss and kiss him, with teeth and tongue in a way that gentleman certainly don’t kiss.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

They can be gentlemen later.




Somewhere, between having a great deal of sex and saving the world, Eggsy finally gets around to watching Pretty Woman.

Apparently Julia Robert’s character was a hooker. Learn something new everyday he supposes. They definitely fall in love though, and now Eggsy wants to get a piano.

“I feel like putting this one on the list was a bit telling in retrospect,” Eggsy says, from his position laying across the couch with his head on Harry’s lap.

Harry shrugs, before he threads one of those hands of his through Eggsy’s hair and messages his scalp absentmindedly, in the way he knows Eggsy loves and says, “To be fair, they fall in love in Nikita as well.”

Yeah, it’s definitely that kind of movie.