The bartop is sticky in the late afternoon heat, flies and bees buzzing lazily over the small bowls filled with sliced lemons, limes, and pineapples. Eggsy idly watches a bee try to make her (Is it a her? Roxy told him once that most worker bees were females, he thinks) way under the little net umbrella that covered the fruit as he waits for his drink.
Hawaii really is as beautiful as he’d always heard. He never thought he’d have the chance to see it up close and personal, not like this, standing at a beachfront bar perched on a long strip of white sand on Oahu. There are a couple of girls with surfboards making their way to the waves, and just as Eggsy thinks he might give it a go and see if he couldn’t persuade one of them—or both of them if he’s honest—into giving him a lesson or three, a movement at his elbow signals his drink is ready.
“Ta,” he says to the bartender, and blinks at the icy blue…whatever it is. He said he wanted something cold, but… “What the hell is this?”
“You said cold, and it’s a Blue Hawaiian. Ten bucks, friend.”
“Jesus, mate, that’s a tourist ripoff, that is,” Eggsy says. The bartender just smirks, so he sighs and digs into the pocket of his board shorts, pays him and turns back to the beach. The girls are out in the water, one of them riding the curl of a wave that is barely taller than her head, shooting out the side and flipping over the white foam crest before disappearing under the spray.
Eggsy thinks it looks like fun. And with 24 hours off the grid before he’s picked up to go home, he may as well make the most of it. The mission, such as it was, was fairly simple, and Eggsy’s confidence had grown leaps and bounds in the last six months.
He still wishes Harry had been here to see it.
The sand is hot under his feet as he hop-skips back to his blanket. It’s probably time for more suncream, too, so he slathers it on and stuffs it back into his bag before shoving the whole lot onto the rack of the bike he’d hired for the day. As he tightens the straps a furtive movement behind a coconut palm has him whirling around on high alert. There’s no one except a man just rounding a corner at a rather brisk pace. There’s something familiar about the back of his head, the dark hair threaded through with silver; something about the tall, straight back and long-legged, graceful gait that makes Eggsy’s heart pound heavy in his chest.
Eggsy follows him before his better sense kicks in, and he pulls up short and ready to fight when the man is waiting for him in the alley, casually leaning against the wall.
“Hello, Galahad,” Harry says, and lights a cigarette.
“Hello to you, Galahad,” Eggsy says.
“When I woke up in Kentucky, it was dark and I was still bleeding,” Harry says, and spears a piece of fish with his fork. They’re in a quiet little café eating fresh tilapia and drinking chilled white wine, and Eggsy thinks of all the surreal things he’s seen, this has to be the most surreal of them all. He can barely eat with Harry sitting there across the table from him, candlelight playing across his tanned face. He looks, well, damn good, if Eggsy is honest.
“I managed to make it to hospital. Fractured skull, a shot that left a groove in the bone over the top of my head. The gore was impressive, I have to say. As was the swelling. It’s not surprising everyone thought I was dead; I thought the same for a moment or two.” He chews a bite and washes it down with a sip of wine, as casual as if he were discussing the weather. As if he hadn’t let everyone think he was dead for six months.
“Still doesn’t explain why the fuck you’re here,” Eggsy points out. “And not back on Saville Row with Kingsman.” Back with me.
“Well, you have to admit it was a singular opportunity,” Harry says. “To be thought dead. A ‘get out of jail free’ card, if you will.”
“Kingsman isn’t jail.”
“No, but it’s a heavy responsibility. I’m getting older, Eggsy. I’m fifty-one. I needed…” Harry leans back in his chair and runs his hand over his mouth and chin, seemingly struggling with words. “I needed a break. I needed distance.”
Eggsy considers this for a moment. “Nah, that’s bullshit,” he finally says. “You’d have got a break if you wanted one. Or even retire or something.”
“I wanted time to sort things out. And there it was, handed to me on a silver platter. By the time I was out of hospital, it was done. Excellent job, by the way. Top notch work.”
Eggsy can’t help it—even his building annoyance with Harry’s little stunt can’t really stand up to that sort of praise, and especially not from someone he thought he’d never see again. Christ, it’s just so good to see him. “Yeah, well, you missed the hard work, of course. Fucking lazy, if you’re asking me.”
Harry sighs and gives Eggsy a wry smile. “Never going to cure you of that language, are we?”
“Nah. And there’s no we—wait, unless you’re gonna come back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But, you’ve just told me you’re alive! What did you expect—“
“Eggsy, do you honestly think I’d have let you see me if I didn’t wish it?”
Eggsy throws his napkin on the table, ready to argue. But he takes one look at Harry’s calm, appraising expression and realises he knows Eggsy better than he knows himself. “No. I know you wouldn’t. So what gives? Just trying to scare me to death?” The joke falls flat even to Eggsy’s ears, and he winces.
Harry smiles then, and it’s fond, wistful. “No,” he says. “I simply wanted to talk to you. I was surprised to see you, standing right there in front of me after so long. I have missed you, Eggsy.”
Eggsy’s mouth goes dry at that, all of his protestations and objections turning to ashes.
They walk along the beach back to Harry’s small house after dinner, which edges out of the trees and up to the sand. The sun is just starting to set, a fiery orange staining the sky from horizon to horizon, and Eggsy walks alongside Harry Hart, content.
He looks him over once again. He looks strong and somehow more relaxed, as if all of his limbs had gone slack once the weight of Kingsman had been removed. The scar from his wound is barely visible under the fringe of his hair, well-grown back in, if a bit short. Eggsy kicks the sand as he walks, and the roar of the waves is a constant hum in his ears.
“Mum and Daisy have come to live near the shop,” he finally says. “I’ve got your house.”
Harry’s eyebrow rises. “Well, of course you do. As it should be. And I assume they’re doing well?” It’s a very polite question, and Eggsy can feel the strain of that politeness as a six month gulf suddenly opens between them.
“Yes. Daisy is countin’, up to ten. Also climbin’ anything she can get to. Don’t know where she might have got that from,” Eggsy says, and laughs.
Harry chuckles, too, and Eggsy wraps himself in the sound. “I remember the first time I reviewed security footage of you free running around your estate. I expected you to fall and break a leg, or your head, at any moment. About gave me a heart attack just to watch it.”
“Me?” Eggsy says, and puts a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded, Harry. You have so little faith in me.”
“Well, I didn’t know you then. I know better now.”
“Damn straight,” Eggsy says, and goes to elbow Harry in the ribs. Before he connects, though, Harry smoothly dodges out of his way. Eggsy is delighted. “Oh, that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” he asks, and reaches out to see if he can land a hit on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry gracefully ducks and lands a quick tap on Eggsy’s upper chest. Harry grins as he connects, and Eggsy laughs. “Well then, come on, old man, let’s see what you’ve still got.”
Harry turns to face Eggsy then, a smirk on his face and his hands half curled. Eggsy swings first, just trying to clip him, but Harry ducks and reaches out with a leg to sweep him off his feet. Eggsy’s able to jump, just barely, before he straightens up and steps into Harry’s space, gives him two quick, hard jabs in the meat of his shoulder, and takes off running down the beach.
“You little shit,” he hears Harry shout after him, and he can hear Harry’s pounding footfalls on the sand as he runs. Eggsy glances over his shoulder and Harry’s running hell-for-leather after him.
It’s amazing. Eggsy can feel the burn of his lungs in the salt-tinged air, Harry running right behind him in the fading sun, their harsh breath barely sounding above the waves. They run until he can almost feel the heat of Harry’s touch behind him, his long stride eating up the distance between them— something Eggsy had almost forgotten from the days when Harry would run with him on the estate. In a moment that intuition of touch becomes reality as Harry wraps an arm around Eggsy’s waist from behind and pulls him backward with him onto the sand.
They both hit hard enough to make them grunt, the impact throwing sand in their faces, and Eggsy can’t help it, he breaks down into helpless laughter right there on the beach. The entire situation is insane; half the world too far gone, Kingsman trying to save the other half, and Eggsy having dinner with a dead man in Honolulu.
This apparently is that kind of movie. What the hell.
They’re lying next to each other, chests heaving, Harry still chuckling and trying to brush the sand out of his hair.
“We really could use you, Harry,” Eggsy says, and looks up at the now blue-black sky, scattershot with stars and endless as the sea beneath it. Eternity, without beginning or end. Like he is, like Harry is. Kingsman isn’t what they do, it’s what they are. Harry can’t shake that, not ever. And he can’t shake Eggsy, connected as they are. “I still need you,” he adds, and he can’t look Harry in the face as he says it.
But Harry says nothing, just works to get his breath back as he lies on the ground, before he reaches out to twine Eggsy’s fingers in his, the sand rough between them.
Harry’s little house is white and open and airy, and Eggsy feels right at home as soon as he walks in the door.
It feels like Harry, here. Elegant and understated. Not as posh, not without all his money still locked away in a Kingsman account, but still exuding that quiet something that made Harry more – something more than just a Kingsman; more than his training could possibly account for. Harry’s a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. Not an act, not a ploy. Just who he is, through and through.
It’s that innate consideration that leads Harry to offer Eggsy his bed, a massive thing of soft comforter and piles of pillows, looking like a giant marshmallow in the middle of Harry’s room.
“You’re welcome to stay here,” Harry says, as Eggsy stands silent on the threshold. “Unless you want to go back to the hotel.” The offer seems casual, but Eggsy can detect a little tremor under the words, a deep desire for Eggsy to stay that he won’t fully admit to. Not that Eggsy has any intention of turning him down.
“That’s kind of you, Harry, really, but I’m not turning you out of your bed.”
“You won’t be,” he says, and Eggsy snaps his head around to look at him in surprise. “No, I’m sorry, I mean that I don’t sleep much. So you rest, and I’ll wake you in plenty of time for breakfast before the plane lands.”
Eggsy wavers. “I’ve only got about 12 more hours, and I’d really rather spend them with you.” He tries, but can’t suppress the yawn that fights its way out of his throat.
“Three hours, and then I’ll wake you, how about that?”
Eggsy looks at the cloud-like bed, then at Harry’s kind eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and is asleep almost before Harry closes the door, his face buried in a pillow that smells so familiar his chest aches.
When Eggsy wakes, it’s pitch dark. He throws off the covers and pads out to the living room, where he can see Harry sitting on the wide verandah, the tip of his cigarette flaring red. The moonlight throws a glimmer across the water, the cover of palms creating an atmosphere of dappled light and shadow across Harry’s face.
“It’s only 1am. I was going to give you another hour,” he says.
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep any more, knowing you were out here. I’m still just … I can’t believe it. We really did think you were dead, Harry. There was a retrieval unit, but when they couldn’t find you, we assumed you’d been picked up by locals or something.” Eggsy sits down next to Harry and reaches out for his cigarette, plucks it from between Harry’s long fingers, and takes a drag. Harry’s face is unreadable as he takes it back. “We really did try.”
“I knew you’d be looking. I chose to hide. I don’t blame you for not finding me, but I’m sure you blame me for not coming back. I’m sorry, Eggsy. I never intended to hide from you forever, if that helps.”
“From me, or from Kingsman?”
Harry drops the cigarette and grinds it out under his toe. “From you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. Christ, I don’t know. But I saw you there, and before I could even think of the ramifications, I just—“
Eggsy stops him with a hand on his cheek, thumb caressing the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Later,” he says, and presses a kiss to Harry’s mouth, gentle and chaste, just enough to tell Harry he means it. He pulls away to see Harry’s eyes have closed, lips just slightly parted. His skin is warm under Eggsy’s fingertips, and Eggsy can feel his heart beating in his throat.
“I’d be lying if I told you I’d never thought about it,” Harry says, and turns his hand to kiss Eggsy’s palm. Eggsy shivers despite the warm sea breeze.
“Then don’t think about it,” he replies, and covers Harry’s mouth with his own.
Harry walks them back to his bed, shedding clothes along the way like breadcrumbs. Eggsy’s not got much to lose, and he drops his tee shirt and shorts in a pile by the door. He watches Harry unbutton his shirt and relishes the little smirk Harry gives when he catches Eggsy watching him. He can’t wait to touch Harry any longer, so he steps forward and pushes the buttery soft linen shirt off of Harry’s shoulders, trailing fingertips along Harry’s skin, softness over hard muscle. It’s a delicious combination that Eggsy explores with his lips and tongue, relishing the gasp he hears when he lightly nips Harry’s collar bone.
There isn’t much space for words, not when Harry is trying to touch Eggsy everywhere, devouring his mouth, his hands on Eggsy’s back, his chest, his arse. It’s fine with him; if Eggsy could crawl inside Harry’s skin and live there, he would. It’s a desperation he feels too keenly, the knowledge of his departure weighing heavily on his heart as he pulls Harry back with him into the pillows.
“Gorgeous,” Harry murmurs, now bracketed on his elbows above Eggsy’s body, and as he settles himself between Eggsy’s knees they both gasp a bit at the contact.
“Not bad yourself,” Eggsy says, and tries not to come on the spot from the feel of Harry’s cock against his own, their legs twined together and the tickle of hair on his stomach. “Spent more time than healthy staring at your shoulders in those suits. Fuck, but you’re well fit. Christ, Harry.” Eggsy draws his hands down Harry’s back until he can grasp his arse in both hands and pull them closer together, their cocks sliding against each other as Harry swears and drops his forehead to Eggsy’s shoulder. His breath is hot on Eggsy’s skin, a searing burn that Eggsy will remember even more than his cock sliding in the hollow of Harry’s hip as they begin to rock together.
It’s barely any time at all before Eggsy can feel the heat of orgasm coiling in his stomach, Harry thrusting against his skin and whispering in his ear, words so low Eggsy can hardly hear them, snatches of things like “yes” and “fuck” and “finally.” Harry’s got one arm wrapped under Eggsy’s armpit and around his back, holding them close. The friction of their cocks barely slicked by sweat and precome is almost too much, too intense for Eggsy to process until Harry sucks in a sharp breath and comes in a hot flood over Eggsy’s stomach, his body trembling. That’s enough. The shock of seeing Harry undone pulls him over in a moment, his orgasm like an expanding star, hot and bright and overwhelming.
“I need you,” he says again, a conversation they never truly finished. “Harry. Please.”
Eggsy wakes up in the first blush of dawn, takes a shower and gets dressed, and watches Harry sleep, his hair still a dark smudge against the white pillows. Eggsy’s medal, the one Harry gave him as a boy, clinks a bit as he pulls it over his head and coils the chain to rest on the pillow next to Harry’s head.
“You know where I’ll be,” he whispers. “Come find me.”
Two months later the bell rings when the door of the shop opens. Eggsy stops arranging ties on the rack (ugh, his turn to run the shop this month, but at least it’s some downtime) and tries not to think of Harry, shaking and glorious above him. He pushes away the vision and turns to the door to help whomever has stumbled in today.
It’s Harry. In his hand he has Eggsy’s medal.
“I think you mentioned needing someone,” he says.