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A Marriage of Inconvenience

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“There,” Harry says, “what do you make of them?”

After an hour of this game, it’s simple enough for Eggsy to follow Harry’s gaze through the mingling throng of half-soused party-goers to a man in a right awful suit. The woman on his arm is decked head to toe in current-season Sorbier, which means money’s not his problem, just taste.

“Arranged marriage.” Eggsy plucks a fresh flute off a passing tray. “Like a business deal. Your money, darling,” he drawls in a damn good impersonation of Madame Livschitz, a woman he met about a half hour ago and whose current target is trying to dodge her via pâté, “my fashion sense.” He drops the accent on a gulp of champagne. “‘Cept the old man’s a stodgy bastard, and he quit puttin’ out when she did.” He winks, and knocks back another mouthful.

“Tristan,” Harry says, mildly.

“It’s a party.” Eggsy tips back the flute and drains it. Of all the shit Kingsman’s put him through, who knew it could get boring. “I’m blending in. You see anyone in here looks like they passed up a free drink?”

“Perhaps endeavour to mimic the inebriated masses rather than join them.” Harry glances at his watch. “It would seem our friend will not be making an appearance here tonight as anticipated. Might I suggest we move on to the restaurant?”

Eggsy gives scanning the crowd one last go. Intelligence on the target was worse than spotty; the descriptors and hints they got were so vague more than a dozen potentials cropped up every time he turned around. Merlin claimed this mission would be a good opportunity to hone his spycraft, work on blending in for real, but he’s pretty sure both him and Harry are grasping at straws. He cleans up nice enough but it’d take more polish than even Kingsman could muster up for him to move through the upper classes as smooth as Roxy.

“Yeah,” Eggsy sighs. “Lost cause here.”

Outside on the promenade, the cool night air quickly dries the thin layer of sweat on Eggsy’s neck. The suit makes him looking fucking amazing, but bulletproof wool ain’t the breeziest getup. Eggsy ruffles his hair to get the wind through it, tipping his face up to stare into the solid blue dome of the city sky. The bright lights still drown out the stars, but here the bustle of Prague’s nightlife is distant white noise. His mum would probably love it here. “Nice out, innit?” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets as they walk.


“You’ve probably been here loads, yeah?”

“Not as often as I’d like,” Harry admits readily enough. That’s the way Harry handles small talk--short quips and admissions that don’t amount to much at all. Three months Eggsy’s been an active agent and he knows as much about Harry Hart now as he did when the old dog turned up not so dead after all. “Keep an eye to your six.”

“Allow it, come on. It’s clear.”

“There is in fact a homeless man in the alleyway to your right.”

Eggsy grins wide. The bubbly’s done a bit of a number on him, but it’s more than that. More than the flush bank account too, more than the nice little place he set up for his mum and the baby. He cranes his neck to get a look at the alley as they pass. “Suppose he’s onto us?”

“Staking out his claim on the evening’s leftovers, I believe,” Harry says without either a hitch in his step or a glance to the shadows. “Really, Eggsy, do pay attention.”

“Don’t think it’ll do him much good. Pretty sure I ate a whole tray of those and I’m still starving.” Still, it’s at least a seven minute walk to the restaurant, and keeping an eye out passes the time. If his gaze strays a few times more to Harry, well, that’s alright too.

The restaurant is a grand sprawling thing half-open to a cobbled plaza, obviously a new addition but made to look old and respectable with carved stone and rich dark wood. Happy to let Harry take the lead with the host when they enter, Eggsy runs through the training Merlin had such a good time drilling into his head: sites, both likely and not, of egress and ingress, along with environmental factors and a whole lot of other fancy phrases about how to get his arse out of a place in a hurry. Most of it he’d already had a good grasp of anyway, and some practical application even, as Merlin liked to say, but the stuff about the people doesn’t come as easy. He’d had time to watch and learn in the ballroom with Harry calling out requests, but on the fly he can’t be certain if that lady with the three-diamond necklace and matching bracelet is with her husband or her brother, or if that mid-50s banker lingering at a table for six is scamming the boss or sleeping with her.

”Kindness is not a weakness, Eggsy,” Harry said once, out of nowhere as far as Eggsy could tell. Might’ve been an apology over that business about refusing to shoot his goddamn dog, but Eggsy thinks of it every now and then at times like these, squinting at the banker trying to suss out whether he’s skimming from the company pot or not. Either way, he’s not the target, and far as Eggsy can tell, neither is anybody else in here.

“Sir,” says the host as he comes to a stop at a small table near the middle of the room, arms outstretched to invite them to sit. “If this will do?”

“I had hoped for a touch more privacy,” Harry says easily.

The host gives notable pause. Eggsy steps closer to Harry’s side. “Think he means romantic, guv,” he says, smiling big and wide. Quieter, like he’s a touch shy about it, he adds, “It’s our anniversary.”

To help the guy along, Eggsy gives the big booths near the back a good long look, the ones with the high-backed seats all done in buttery leather and candles already burning on the tables. He doesn’t exactly jump when Harry’s hand slides down his back to settle low at his spine, but he can’t say he was expecting it either.

The host says, “Right this way, sirs,” and sweeps off. He makes a beeline to the booth straddling the restaurant proper and the outdoor colonnade, neatly tucked away in one of those little alcoves that always seem to crop up when spies are about. Harry’s hand stays on Eggsy’s back the whole way.

“Sick,” Eggsy comments as he settles in with a menu. Aside from a corner off to the left, they’ve got a great view of pretty much the whole place.

“Quite,” Harry agrees, and instead of picking up his own leather-bound behemoth of what’s on offer, slides close to set his hand over Eggsy’s on the menu and peruse the page. Despite how stuffy that ballroom had been, he still smells nice, fresh like he’d just shaved now instead of early this morning. “After all the exertion today we should get some meat into you. Would you like that, darling?”


“Ah, yes, how lax of me. Might I?” Harry asks. Eggsy shrugs; his time at Kingsman started with him not having a clue what Harry was on about, and that’s pretty much how it’s stayed. “You’ve more than likely had quite enough of champagne. A mature vintage is called for, something with a fine body to it....”

With perfect timing, the waiter appears at Harry’s elbow the moment his eyes lift from the wine list. Harry orders what sounds like five fucking glasses, each one with a price tag that would feed half Eggsy’s old block for a day. It’s not like Eggsy resents the money Kingsman’s got to throw about, not one bit when it’s lining his pockets too, but--

“Seems a bit steep, don’t it?” Eggsy says, eyeballing the last vintage Harry selected. “For a ‘89, I mean.”

“Nonsense,” Harry says, and looks him square in the eye. “Your education is worth that and more, don’t you think? Not to mention I believe you’ll quite enjoy that one. As shall I. It’s hardly the youngest on the list.”

“Sure,” Eggsy ventures cautiously. Something’s up for sure. Harry’s awful close, the heat of his leg pressed in a long line against Eggsy’s. “I suppose.”

Harry declares, “Exactly so, my dear,” and this time takes up Eggsy’s hand along with the menu. “Now, about the main course.”

Harry starts in on grass-fed beef and demi-glace, complete with what sounds suspiciously like a market investment summary, while Eggsy stares at the long fingers wrapped light and warm about his own. When Harry doesn’t start tapping morse code against his palm to warn him of some sort of impending throw-down, Eggsy rechecks the restaurant. Pretty much the same as when they came in, save the banker’s finally left and the couple by the second street entrance have moved on to the terse silence stage of their argument.

“After all,” Harry concludes, “it is our anniversary.”

“That is what you’re on about!” Eggsy laughs, slumping back in the seat. “Oh c’mon, it got us the table, yeah?” He winks. “Works every time.”

Harry doesn’t agree, doesn’t praise his clever little trick or even crack one of those small secret smiles that say he’s amused by Eggsy’s cheek but isn’t about to encourage it one bit. Eggsy’s own smile wavers, then freezes square in place as Harry deftly lifts their hands from the table, bringing Eggsy’s to his mouth as smoothly as his courtly romance namesake.

“Caution in the field isn’t confined to simply an awareness of your surroundings,” Harry says, his tone stern but his breath soft and warm against the back of Eggsy’s hand. His gaze lifts, his eyes hooded as he peers at Eggsy over the rims of his glasses. “You’ve told a lie, Eggsy, and now that lie must be truth.”

The cool night air had chased away that bit of a buzz, but now it rushes back all at once, bubbling up in two bright spots of heat on his face. Harry’s grip is firm; his lips are gentle. Eggsy hopes to hell and back Merlin’s not tuned in to either of their feeds. “You ain’t serious.”

A pause, then Harry lifts his head and smiles. “I’m rather afraid I am. I won’t have your palate ruined by second-rate sausage.”

“The grill is an excellent choice tonight,” the waiter weighs in, appearing out of fucking nowhere to line up a whole slew of big-bowled wine glasses on the table while Eggsy chokes on a breath, “with our most talented chef at the helm.” He clears his tray and stands by expectantly.

“That’s that, then,” Harry decides, and folds Eggsy’s hand in both of his. It’s not the first time Harry’s ordered for him, given that Eggsy’s never had much chance to sample fancy dishes with names longer than most addresses and Harry’s talent for finding flavours and textures Eggsy didn’t even know he’d like, but it’s the first time Eggsy’s been light-headed from the heat crawling up the back of his neck and down his chest as Harry rattles on. He reaches for the sweating glass of ice water in front of him and downs a few healthy gulps. Harry strokes the back of his hand with a thumb. He reaches for the wine.

“Pay attention to the aroma,” Harry instructs, same as if they were seated at his kitchen island for a lesson. “As with all things meant to be savoured, allow the scent to first fill your mouth, then the wine.”

“My arse,” Eggsy mutters into his glass, but Harry’s watching expectantly, one eyebrow raised. He gives the wine a little swirl and breathes deeply.

“Let it linger,” Harry says as he takes a sip, fingertips light against the inside of his wrist. “Swallow too quickly and the nuances of the experience are lost.”

Eggsy doesn’t choke on his thirty-fucking-quid-a-glass wine, but it’s a near thing. He swallows without tasting much of anything and sits back in the booth. Harry watches him expectantly.

Eggsy shrugs. “S’alright.”

“All right?” Harry echoes. He sighs and smiles again, a gentle little quirk of his mouth. “I’ve been very remiss in your education. Enthusiasm makes up for a great deal, but there's no substitute for proper technique.”

Harry’s got a lot of looks he’s turned on Eggsy one time or another--Eggsy figures by now he’s seen the whole show from fond indulgence to bitter disappointment--but this one’s new. It’s got a little bit of everything in there, words wrapped up on the slant of his gaze and the set of his mouth that Eggsy can read as easy as Harry picks notes out of wine. It’s the kind of look that says it’s their anniversary and he’s in love, and it’s too fucking convincing.

“Ain’t so bad.” Eggsy plops his elbow on the table to gaze right back at Harry while his guts twist up in knots. “I mean, look what you got to work with, yeah?”

“Trust me when I say I’ve looked quite closely. I know when you’re trying to get a rise out of me,” Harry says, all proper like he hasn’t been telling Shakespeare-level dick jokes since they sat their asses down. “Elbows off the table, please.”

“That’s it? ‘Elbows off the table’? I thought we was having an intimate moment.”

“The first of many this evening,” Harry promises with another one of those looks, significant and unfamiliar. Eggsy’s jaw goes tight.

His rescue--of a sort--comes with the reappearance of the waiter and their first course--their first fucking course. Eggsy already knew they’d be here for a good few hours, but the steaming hot bouillabaisse set down in front of him drives home the point that it’s a few hours stuck here with Harry teaching a lesson about cover stories while trying to keep an eye out for anyone looking dodgy.

“This one next,” Harry instructs, pushing a wine glass close with the tips of two fingers. “And do let it sit on your tongue for at least a moment this time.”


The hotel is as old as the restaurant pretended to be, with fancy, metal-gated lifts and narrow hallways made cramped by dark, busy wallpaper. Eggsy squints at his key in the dull yellow light, then the door Harry’s turned to. “Is that me?”

“Indeed it is,” Harry says as the door swings wide. “Come along.”

Eggsy steps hesitantly over the threshold in Harry’s wake. “Hold up. Don’t think I need a tour,” he says, then as his heart starts to creep up into his throat. “Harry, what’s on your key?”

Warm lamplight fills the dark. There’s a dining space off to Eggsy’s right, a few couches further in, then the king-sized bed tucked deep to the left. Eggsy spots their suitcases beside the dresser, then the french doors on either side of the bed, one set with the curtains pulled back to show the courtyard outside. Harry’s by a closet loosening his tie, his jacket already hung neatly on the gentleman’s valet.

“Harry, your key. You can’t mean--”

“Our room seems more than acceptable, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry says, smoothly stripping off his tie. “I’m going to freshen up before bed if you’d like to use the facilities.” He starts in on his cufflinks.

“Hang on a minute,” Eggsy says, and Harry merely lifts a brow. “Now I know you ain’t serious. Me and you? Sharin’ a--”

Harry sharply lifts a finger, cufflinks curled securely in his palm, to tap the side of his glasses. Eggsy takes another quick glance around. The mission isn't so critical he figures there’s bugs in the lamps and someone three buildings over with a pair of binoculars trained on their windows, but he gets the point--doesn’t mean it ain’t there.

“--a, a bath?” he finishes, face scrunched.

Harry sets his cufflinks down in the tray and crosses to stand in front of Eggsy with three long strides. “Did you latch the door?”

Eggsy gives a quick nod.

“How fortunate this suite became available so soon given our change of circumstance,” says Harry, his tone measured and meaningful as he looks Eggsy square in the face again. Eggsy’s pulse spikes when his hand lifts, like he means cup Eggsy’s cheek maybe, or the side of his neck. “Separate rooms would hardly do.”

“Alright, alright,” Eggsy says, turning away from Harry’s heavy gaze to fling his jacket over the back of a couch. His toiletries bag, neatly packed according to Harry’s exacting standards, is right at the top of his suitcase. “Thanks for gettin’ that, y’know, straightened out.”

“Not at all,” Harry says as Eggsy heads for the bathroom. Hell, if he were bugging the place, he’d absolutely buy it as a brief lover’s tiff.

Through the second set of french doors Eggsy pauses, then lets out a low whistle. He’s seen plenty of impressive things since Kingsman became his life, lots nice and some not so. This one’s pretty fucking nice. The tub’s one of those big, claw-footed deals set near the middle of the room, another valet and a table laden with soaps and oils nearby, with the sink immediately inside the entryway and the toilet tucked discreetly behind a half wall. He puts his bag on the counter--granite, he thinks, midtone to balance the lighter stone tiles on the floor--and sets about loosening his own tie and collar.

He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when in walks Harry, naked to the waist with a towel knotted low round his hips. Really fucking low. Eggsy’s hand slows as Harry starts the water filling the tub.

“Do carry on,” Harry says, plucking a bottle off the table to inspect.

Eggsy picks up brushing again, maybe a touch harder than before. He tries to keep his gaze steady on the mirror but it strays every time Harry shifts, the light warm and flattering on the broad, bare span of his back. Eggsy’s thought all along that Harry was well fit, but it’s one thing to see him buttoned up in a suit and another to see exactly what he looks like underneath it. He spits and rinses, then gives his face and neck a quick wash. He’s gone warm again with the steam.

The water stops while he’s patting dry. He freezes, face in the towel and skin prickling at the soft noises of Harry’s feet on the tile, the brush of cotton, then the quiet slosh as Harry climbs on in with a low, satisfied sigh.

There’s a bit more sloshing--getting comfortable, maybe, or reaching for one of the loofahs on the table--then, “Not going to join me after all? A bath was your suggestion.”

Eggsy drops the towel and half turns to Harry. Then he snaps his mouth shut and stages a strategic retreat to the couches. He stands with both hands braced on the back of one and his shirt half open to get some air against his skin. He concentrates on getting some into his lungs too, and keeping his hands firmly where they are until the urge to have a wank right then and there eases up along with his heartbeat.

The mission, so far as Eggsy knows it, is to find the nondescript man with the flash drive. This thing Harry’s playing at might’ve been his fault, but it’s not just Harry taking the piss, it’s an opportunity. A crash course in building a cover on the fly, just another one of Kingsman’s extreme training exercises. On the whole Eggsy’s come out the other side of those for the better.

While Harry splashes around in the tub, Eggsy gives the suite a more thorough going over. Snooping keeps his body busy and his mind distracted enough, so by the time he’s sat on a couch in one of the fluffy robes and fuzzy slippers he found in the closet, he’s feeling pretty good. He’s proved more than once that he can hold his own on Harry’s level. His mates would shit themselves laughing to see him like this, but being a gentleman the way Harry sold it got easier when he quit coming at it like a role to play.

Harry comes out of the bathroom the same way he went in, skin a little damp this time and his hair curled from the steam. He pauses near the foot of the bed, wiping his glasses with a small cloth.

“D’you know you got this little curl?” Eggsy asks, idly flicking through what’s available on the telly. He gestures at his own forehead slightly off centre. “Right there.”

“Oh? I’ve never noticed.” Harry slides his glasses on and fusses a bit with his hair. Eggsy grins. It’s pretty cute, really, the hair and the shameless vanity both. “Must be what tickles my forehead during a hard fuck. Are you coming to bed?”

Eggsy drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. There’s a reason Harry Hart isn’t married, the dickhead. He sucks in a breath and gets to his feet. “Sure, s’long as you don’t mind the noise.” He jerks a thumb at the screen, where Gordon Ramsay is insulting someone’s attempt for a risotto--it’s always the risotto. “I got invested now.”

Harry gives him a look like a shrug and casually drops the towel. Eggsy looks for a minute like a married guy would, like he’s got a right to--can’t see much anyway with the way Harry’s turned, which is a little disappointing if he’s honest about it--then busies himself with adjusting the telly to face the bed before excavating the pile of pillows and bolsters to find the actual bed itself.

Harry, dressed now in a simple pair of speckled grey boxer-briefs, climbs on in and settles down on his back, glasses neatly folded on the bedside table and eyes closed.

“I’ll turn it down, yeah?” Eggsy plops his robe in a chair and tucks his slippers beside it before fiddling with the volume. “That okay?”

“Fine, Eggsy,” Harry says, eyes still closed.

Eggsy scratches at the back of his neck. “Good, alright.” Fuck it, he thinks, and slides into bed, sitting propped up on a couple of those pillows. On screen, two contestants look like they’re about to get into it over the fish. Someone else steps in to defuse the situation; how, Eggsy’s not sure exactly because truth be told he’s sneaking more glances at Harry than the screen. He’s just lying there, one arm tucked under the blankets and the other draped across his stomach, his face a bit slack, lips slightly parted, his breaths slow and even. Aside from the curl to his hair and the scar at his temple, he doesn’t look that much different, really. Better than when he was laid up in a hospital bed for sure, but not at all like he’s more relaxed. Harry walks around all right and proper not with a stiff kind of tension, it’s easy to see now, but with a readiness that follows him even into sleep.

Feeling sombre, Eggsy flicks off the end of the show and scoots carefully down. His gaze wanders to Harry one last time before he turns off the lamp, forcing himself to turn over and quit staring. He stares at the dark shadows of the drawn curtains instead.

With a rustle of cotton and a slight dip in the bed, Harry comes to rest against his back in a long, warm line. Eggsy tenses, staring harder into the dark, ears straining, but no bullets thunk into the bed. No one comes bursting into the room. There’s only Harry’s arm slung over his waist and breaths warm on the back of his neck. Long seconds tick by.

He’s the goddamn little spoon.

Eggsy stubbornly squeezes his eyes shut. Merlin’s training has done its job making him more aware of his own body, but that’s not so helpful when he’s hyper-aware of it and Harry’s body too, the shape and heat of him pressed close. It’s kind of nice really, which doesn’t help either; there’s only so many fucking hard-ons Eggsy can ignore in one fucking day. There’s no way he’s getting any sleep tonight.

By his steady, deepening breaths, Harry fucking Hart has no problem whatsoever nodding off.


Eggsy wakes up with his morning wood jammed into the small of Harry’s back. The last bits of pleasure from his dream evaporate in an ice-cold rush; he forces himself absolutely, perfectly still. When Harry doesn’t say anything, he draws a breath to let loose with a barrage of apologies, then holds it instead. Holding still a moment longer, then one more, he finally risks lifting his head a fraction to glimpse Harry’s face.

“Morning,” Harry greets, setting down the small pamphlet he’d been reading to twist part way around. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” croaks Eggsy. Carefully, he extracts himself from an embarrassing tangle of sheets and limbs to put a bit of space between them. “Yes. I mean, uh.” He clears his throat. “You?”

“Quite well, thank you. I would have ordered breakfast, but you seemed to be having a very engaging dream.”

“S’alright! Oh god.”

Harry puts on his glasses and sits up. Eggsy catches his gaze hooking on the way Harry’s belly folds a little and looks away, feeling hot and shaky all at once. “Might I suggest breakfast out?”

Eggsy nods fast. He hasn’t been out on the pull lately, and even then it’s not like he’s accustomed to waking up alongside the morning after. What if he’d been doing more than just taking his turn as the big spoon? What if he hadn’t come to and jizzed all over Harry’s fucking back? “Lemme just--”

“Unless you feel I've been lax in my husbandly duties." Harry folds his hands in his lap and looks up expectantly. "Would you like a blowjob?"

“--shower!" Eggsy hollers, clambering free in a rush.

Harry blinks, quiet for a beat. "I'm game," he says, and flings the blankets aside.

“Fuck off,” Eggsy says, his gaze bouncing round the room and his laugh forced, sure, but convincing enough.

“If you’re sure,” Harry says, completely nonchalant.

“I’ll just be a wink, yeah?” As the bathroom door clicks shut, Eggsy sags back against it. “Jesus Christ, Harry.”

“What was that?” Harry calls.

“I said I’m starvin’!” Eggsy yells through the door, then shoves off it to go drown himself in the shower.


The streets of Prague are as gorgeous in the daylight as at night, and just as lively. He keeps as close an eye on all that’s going on as he can, but he’s distracted again and again by his hand gone all sweaty and hot in Harry’s. Harry’s got very nice hands, strong and soft all at once, long-fingered and capable and always, always with his nails neat and clean. Most of this Eggsy knows ‘cause Harry put him through the paces of tidying up the mess of his own hands months ago, not because Harry’s been holding his damn hand ever since breakfast.

But Harry has, and Eggsy’s practically disgusted with the waves of delight radiating from his gut. He’s not sure what’s worse, those or when he gets all nervous about it, like Harry’s going to care he’s got sweaty palms or something.

“Do pardon the stickiness of my fingers,” Harry says, though he’d requested a grand total of three warm flannels at the cafe to meticulously wipe his hands so they’re no such thing at all. “I simply couldn’t resist the temptation to feed you those strawberries myself.”

“Harry, Jesus,” Eggsy mutters, his face going hot all over again. His whole body going hot. People had stared.

“Indulge your doting old husband his pleasures,” Harry says, striding on up the stairs like a bloody peacock. He doesn’t slow as they draw near the doors, but of course the doorman clears the way like they’d rehearsed it. It’s only the fact that Eggsy’s quick and light on his feet that keeps him upright when Harry comes to an abrupt stop right smack in the middle of the lobby.

“Now,” Harry declares, “we have a couples massage booked--”

Eggsy’s eyes bug straight out of his skull, he’s sure. He’s gonna die if he has to strip down to his shorts in front of Harry. He might’ve survived the humiliation of having fruit rubbed on his mouth and pushed past his lips, but there were limits. Especially when trying to give as good as he’d got by letting his mouth close around it whole as Harry plucked the stem away didn’t make Harry give up the act. He’d just watched sweetly and went on like he wasn’t being a fucking pervert as Eggsy tried not to choke on the juice flooding his mouth.

“--but I’m afraid I’ve some business to attend to in preparation for tonight. You’d best head on up, as I believe Tomik is already waiting. Lunch should arrive promptly at noon.” Harry glances briefly at his watch. “I’m not at all sure how long I’ll be.”

“Tonight?” Eggsy echoes. He’s missed something reliving his doting old husband’s obsession with his mouth and trying not to get sprung. “What’s tonight?”

Harry lifts a long-suffering eyebrow. “Right, right,” Eggsy says. “Yeah. Tonight.” He still hasn’t got a clue.

“Looking deeply forward to it,” Harry says, and leans in all casual to place a lingering kiss on Eggsy’s cheek. His hand smooths down the whole length of Eggsy’s arm to end just at his wrist, the light touch feeling somehow more intimate than the kiss. “Do try to enjoy yourself without me in the meantime.”

“Sure I will,” Eggsy drawls, “got somebody in my room already waitin’, I’m good.”

“Cheeky,” Harry says, and fucking slaps his arse the second he turns to go. He whips around, fishing for a retort and grinning like a loon, but Harry’s gone, strode halfway across the lobby already. A woman over by the lift is giving Eggsy this look like it’s cute as all get out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Eggsy mutters, and takes the stairs.


Tomik is a goddamn genius. He bossed Eggsy straight out of his clothes right off and fifteen minutes after he got Eggsy onto the table it’s like he’s somehow melted all Eggsy’s bones. Eggsy’s a fucking puddle, that’s what he is.

“Make sure you tell the other Mr Hart,” says Tomik, his magic fucking fingers digging into the back of Eggsy’s thigh. “Then he’ll leave me a big tip.”

The pressure feels so good all Eggsy can muster up is a huff of a laugh. “Pretty sure he’ll tip good anyway, bruv.”

“All I’m saying is don’t let him sign the receipt until he sees you. You’re going to be as buffed, polished, and butter-soft as those shoes over there when I’m done with you.”

“Sure I will,” Eggsy blissfully agrees. Cover story or not, it doesn’t usually bother him when people assume Harry’s his sugar daddy. It happens all the time when they’re out together, especially if he’s not trying to come off as posh, and besides it’s kinda the truth. That’s not to say he’ll give a pass to anyone making remarks, but here it feels good to mumble in half-confession that Harry’s gonna love to see him come out of this glowing.

“I don’t think I’d ever let him out of my sight if I were you,” Tomik chats on, his hands skipping lightly over Eggsy’s bum to press into his lower back. “My girlfriend says I’m jealous. I don’t know, she’s probably right. But she’s so gorgeous! And she’s smart, and kind, and who wouldn’t want to run away with her, am I right?”

Eggsy shifts a bit, trying not to think too hard about how all those words are a fair description of Harry. Harry’s also a bit of a prat sometimes and not exactly nice, but kind, yeah. Never been anything but to Eggsy, even when he was disappointed and angry and yelling in the middle of the loo. “Sounds like you’re in deep.”

“Yeah,” Tomik sighs. “I wouldn’t change it for the world. Not even for a rich woman. I don't say that to judge. The way you talk about your husband I can tell, so I know you understand. You wouldn't change a thing either, would you.?”

Eggsy clears his throat. “No, ‘course not.”

“Maybe I could try to be a little less jealous,” Tomik says, thankfully not pausing for an answer as he starts working out his jealousy aloud whilst working slowly and steadily at a stubborn knot in Eggsy's shoulder. Eggsy isn't much the jealous type, but sometimes he thinks Harry might be. If that show at breakfast had been the real thing, it'd have been all about Harry being the luckiest person in the room and wanting everyone to know it. “I think she might love me even then.”

“Probably,” Eggsy grunts.

“It’ll feel better in a few minutes, just hold on. Did it change when you got married?”

“Did what change?” It’s been less than twenty-four hours, he thinks, and yeah, a whole fucking lot has changed. And in a day or two once they’ve got their man, everything’s going to go right back to the way it should be.

“Anything,” says Tomik. “The way he looks at you in the morning. The way he kisses you goodbye for the day. Does he say he loves you more or less now that he’s your husband?”

Eggsy swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. “Got the soul of a poet there, don’t you.”

“I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“You should,” Eggsy says, straight off.

“Who asked who with you two? It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Y’think so?”

“Oh sure,” Tomik says, working his way down Eggsy’s arm. “A man who looks like that and leaves such careful instructions on how to take care of his lover? A man like that has a romantic streak a mile wide. I bet he got down on one knee in the middle of a candlelit dinner on a private terrace...”

Despite himself, Eggsy ends up picturing the whole thing as Tomik goes on and on. Spy or no, Harry is not a subtle man. Downright enigmatic sometimes, sure. But Harry Hart doesn’t do small gestures. He says what he thinks and does what he wants, and somehow manages to pull off being all gentlemanly while he’s at it.

So what if Harry meant that bit about the blowjob this morning, too? Like if Eggsy had shrugged, said sure, why not, would Harry have got down on his knees? Would it have been the tidiest suck-off of Eggsy’s life, handkerchief at the ready, or would Harry go at it like he fights, efficient and thorough and goddamn graceful with a dick in his mouth?

Or, what if Harry was surprise nasty? Not like one of those freaks who put out ads looking for scally lads wanting to sniff trainers and shit, but the sort of bloke who just doesn't hold back. For all he knows, Harry likes it full-tilt with sweaty, jizz-covered James Bond level marathon fucking.

“Oh god,” Eggsy groans.

“It’s not that bad,” Tomik says. “Sea kelp is full of antioxidants, and I promise you’ll love the scalp massage.”

Eggsy’s head jerks up. “What?”

“Your facial.” Tomik waggles a jar of green goop at him. “Roll over.”

“Listen, I promise I’m not--” Eggsy hides his flaming face in his arms. “I mean--” The flimsy sheet covering his arse isn’t going to hide a damn thing.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tomik says. “Perfectly natural response.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eggsy moans.

“Sorry Mr Hart isn’t here to appreciate it, I bet,” Tomik says, winking.

Eggsy’s going to die, and it’s all Harry’s fault.


Lunch turns out to be a gourmet burger and thick chips so crispy and fresh Eggsy could cry. There’s even a good English stout to go with it, and between the food and the warm glow from Tomik’s pampering, it’s no surprise he ends up falling asleep. He wakes when the creeping light of the late afternoon sun reaches his eyes.

“Harry?” he calls, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up. He mostly expects to find Harry sat on a couch reading, but the suite’s empty. He goes to rinse his face, calls room service to come collect the dishes, then finds his glasses.

“Tristan, hello,” Merlin greets after the third try. “Have you something to report?”

“Checkin’ in. You talk to Galahad?”

“I have.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes. “And?”

“Adjustments have been made to your invitations to the ball tonight. It’s no comment on your skill, but Lancelot is pleased about that, by the way. At least it’s one less complaint for me to deal with.”


“Yes. Your tux should arrive shortly; seems Galahad has quite the memory for your measurements.”

“Merlin, what ball?”

“The one you’re attending tonight as Mr and Mr Harry Hart.”

Eggsy drops his head into his hands. “Heard about that, did you?”


“Look, Merlin--”

”No, no. Whatever it is, no. I have no opinion outside the swift and effective conclusion of your mission.”

Eggsy sits up, taken aback. “You don’t?”

”Not one I’m ever going to say aloud.”

“Shit. Merlin? Merlin! Shit.” Eggsy whips off his glasses and tosses them on the bed. A fucking ball. He really is Eliza.

He’s never been to a ball before, and after hearing Roxy go on, he’s in no hurry to. If last night’s party had been boring, this was bound to be a thousand times worse. He’s pretty sure dance cards aren’t the convention, but who knows when some bored aristocrat might decide it’s high time they were back in style.

The tux arrives just in time for Eggsy to have worked himself into a proper state over the dancing. It’s not that he can’t dance. He’s actually really good at it, and he even kind of likes it. It’s satisfying, in a way, knowing exactly where to put his feet and when.

No, the problem is that he’ll be dancing with Harry.

A card drops to the floor as he starts unpacking the boxes in self-defense; if Harry comes back and he’s not ready, he’ll be getting a talking-to for sure. Naturally the card reads, in Harry’s neat, tight hand, Dearest, accept my heartfelt apologies for my long absence today. If you would be so kind as to please meet me tonight at the time and place below, I promise to make it up to you.

With a cherry on top, Harry.


A taxi promptly delivers Eggsy to Prague’s Obecni Dum for seven sharp, then drives away without waiting for payment. In keeping with the theme of the week, the Municipal House is huge, old, and fuckin’ impressive. Outside is as expected, bright lights and red carpets and valets, and a slow trickle of guests making their way to the entrance. Eggsy joins the flow, one eye out for Harry and one for the most unremarkable mark in the whole fucking world.

“This way, sir,” prompts a footman, ushering Eggsy off to the gentleman’s queue for announcement. It’s all a bit much in his opinion, but not surprisingly, nobody’s asking. The only thing he gets asked for is his invitation, which the herald glances at only briefly before declaring, “Mr Harry Hart the younger, Gary Hart,” and he’s shoved off into the crowd.

He gets his bearings quickly enough, clocking exits and the like while scanning faces. He notes three potentials before his gaze lands on Harry standing at the top of a short stair, hand in a pocket posed just so. Harry’s bloody gorgeous in a tux, legs up to his fuckin’ neck and sleek all over from the precise wave in his hair to the way he descends the stairs with his gaze steady on Eggsy.

“Mr Harry Hart the younger,” says Harry, holding out a hand. “What a lovely ring that has to it. Might I have the first dance of the evening, Mr Hart?”

“Sure, yeah,” Eggsy says, his mouth gone dry as he takes Harry’s hand to lead him to the dance floor. “Mr Hart.”

They take up a spot amongst the other waiting couples, Eggsy turning easily to place his hand low on Harry’s back and Harry’s coming to rest on his shoulder. He focuses on the a low, anticipatory buzz of the crowd rather than the frantic beating of his heart. Twice he glances at Harry’s face only to find Harry’s gaze still trained directly on him instead of checking out the crowd. Eggsy straightens his shoulders slightly and risks a half step closer.

“So,” Eggsy says, eyeballing the orchestra on stage, “been waitin’ long?”


“Nobody interestin’ about?”

“Not a soul.”

Finally the conductor makes his appearance. Eggsy breathes deep, preparing himself for the first strike of strings. Everything feels exactly like he’s about to jump out a plane.

Right as the music starts, Harry leans close. “You look very handsome tonight, Eggsy.”

Eggsy figures for sure now he’ll fuck up the lead, but his hands are light, his form excellent, and Harry flows into step effortlessly. Bit by bit he relaxes. “Ain’t lookin’ so bad yourself.”

“Why thank you,” Harry says, his small smile reaching deep into his eyes as they dance on. Eggsy grins up at him then draws him a bit closer, then a bit closer still when Harry leans in and down, near cheek-to-cheek without either of them missing a step.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” comes Harry’s voice soft in his ear. “No wonder I married you.”

Without a second thought--or maybe even a first--Eggsy says, “S’not all I’m good at.”

“Well that makes two of us, doesn’t it,” Harry says, and slick as shit pulls off a duck and a twist that ends with him leading, Eggsy pulled in so close he’s practically straddling one of Harry’s thighs. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“N-not at all,” Eggsy says, having to work a bit more at following than it seems Harry did, but it’s fine. More than fine. Harry looks amazing, he smells amazing, he fucking feels amazing, Eggsy’s gone and got sprung in the middle of the fucking dance floor, and--

“Shit. Harry.”

Harry makes a low noise. His hand is practically on Eggsy’s ass.

“Harry, we need to go. Right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Harry says. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Merlin, you there?”


“Galahad’s six, by the lady in the red dress.”

“ Shit,” Harry says, at the same time Merlin says, ”Got him. That’s definitely the drive. Well spotted, Tristan.”

“Left,” Harry says, pointing. “The back, out the kitchen.”

Why Harry’s sending him to the kitchen he doesn’t know, but he goes, moving casually through the crowd with an eye to the target. He really is the most average looking man possible. Eggsy’s got to give him credit for finding imaginative employment--it’s not everybody who decides to turn their absolute unremarkableness into a career as a profitable underground courier.

But either anonymity has made the guy cocky or he just ain’t that good. He doesn’t see Harry until it’s too late to do anything but make a run for it. Eggsy takes off at the same time as Harry, following the exit arrows down half a dozen corridors before bursting out the back into a cobbled delivery square. He spins around, spots nothing, then does a quick jog around to see if the target managed to make it to the street.

Harry comes banging out the door a moment later. He glances around the empty square. “Slippery bastard. Merlin?”


“Back inside,” Harry says, holding the door open. “We’ll search the place top to bottom.”

”Percival and Lancelot are on the ground. I’ll keep you apprised.”

“Much appreciated.” Harry rests a hand lightly on Eggsy’s arm as they head in. “As much as I would love to continue our evening, duty calls.”

“Right.” Eggsy turns to the stairs. “I’m on bottom.”

“Oh my dear boy, if only,” Harry says, and with a sad shake of his head, continues down the hallway to the ballroom. Eggsy rolls his eyes at Harry’s back; he’s still about as subtle as a club to the head, but worse than that, he’s gone and made Eggsy like it.

Eggsy spends the next hour systematically searching every inch of the place. Updates come through Merlin; Harry’s got nothing, and neither do Percival nor Lancelot until suddenly Merlin says, ”We have the drive. The courier claims his contact was a no-show. Percival will ascertain the truth of it, though initial intelligence suggests that is correct. You may both stand down.”

“Just like that?” Eggsy asks.

”Just like that. Head back to the hotel. And for god’s sake, both of you take off your glasses first. Please.”

“Perhaps if he felt less of a need to periodically check the archives,” Harry says when they’re reunited and on their way in a taxi.

“Don’t tell me that,” Eggsy groans. “Do not tell me that.”

“Why? Haven’t had a wank with them on, have you?”


“I have,” Harry says, perfectly matter-of-fact. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me.”

“I don’t think I needed to know that.” Eggsy pauses for dramatic effect. “Yeah, pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Which? The wank itself or the fact that Merlin saw it?”

“You know,” Eggsy says, following Harry out of the taxi and into the lobby again, “you’re kind of a pervert.”

At the lift, Harry sighs. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Three, please.”

“Sir,” says the attendant.


Eggsy takes one last spin round the suite to make sure he’s got everything. The tux is all folded up ready to go back to the shop, which Eggsy’s actually a bit sad about. There’s nothing to stop him from getting one made if he wants it, but he liked the way this one felt.

“It’s far too wide in the shoulder,” Harry says, spotting Eggsy lingering near the boxes. “We’ll have it adjusted once we’re home.”

“It ain’t a rental?”

“Of course not. Why on earth would you think I’d put you in a rental for a mission, Eggsy? Be serious.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, ’course. Thanks.” Eggsy looks back over the boxes. Last time he’d had a suit made for him, Harry hadn’t been alive to see the first time he wore it. “Really, Harry. Thanks.”

Harry smiles his small smile and disappears into the bathroom. “My pleasure.”

Flinging himself down on one of the couches, Eggsy lets his legs sprawl wide, knee bouncing. He’s back in trackies for the trip home, loose and comfortable for a nap on the jet since he didn’t sleep so well last night.

Before he can change his mind, he scoots to the edge of the seat, hands clasped between his knees, and says good and loud, “Okay, look. I know we was just pretending, Harry, but--”


Eggsy looks up to find Harry heading his way. “I said, I know we was just pretending--”

“Yes,” Harry says, and leans down, one hand braced on the back of the couch and the other gentle against Eggsy’s cheek. Eggsy looks up at him, guts all in knots and a caged bird where his heart used to be. “We were.”

Eggsy near holds his breath when Harry’s mouth touches his. Harry kisses soft but not shy, a little bit of tongue right off like he could be a tease but he’s not that either. He presses in when Eggsy pushes him for it, good and firm with his thumb restless against Eggsy’s cheek. Eggsy leans back, trying to pull Harry down on top of him, but Harry goes to his knees still kissing him instead, crowding in until he’s got both hands on Eggsy’s face.

Eggsy ends up clutching at Harry’s collar just like in the movies, Harry pinned tight between his legs. Kissing’s just kissing sometimes, nice and all but not electric. Harry’s got him all lit up inside, close to shaking he wants so bad to get closer.

“We ain’t pretendin’, right?” he asks when Harry’s kisses move to his jaw, then his neck. A little tingle there goes straight to his dick, and fuck, he’s so hard he aches. “Harry, I ain’t pretendin’ no more.”

“I’d hoped not,” Harry says, one of his hands sliding up under the hem of Eggsy’s polo, pushing up until Eggsy lifts his arms and lets him haul it off. Harry doesn’t dive back in right away, his gaze on his hands as he runs them down Eggsy’s bare arms, back up over his chest. “If it’s alright with you, Eggsy, I’m going to strip you out of these clothes and then I’m going to lay you down on that bed over there to quite literally put my mouth all over you. What do you think?”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Eggsy swallows an unsteady breath, laughing a bit. “What’ve I got to lose?”

“Not a thing.” Harry rocks back onto the balls of his feet, then stands, drawing Eggsy up with him with a light touch. It’s like they’re back on the dance floor until his hands smooth down Eggsy’s back to his waistband, then slip under it, pushing it down a few inches. He’s looking at Eggsy’s face the whole time, keeps on looking when he slides his hands around to pull the band wide and drag the whole works carefully down past Eggsy’s cock. He sinks to one knee, pulling Eggsy’s clothes all the way down to his ankles, and then he lets out a slow, measured breath. “What a sight you are,” he says, reverent.

“Harry, Jesus,” Eggsy says, flushed all down his chest.

“Just a moment, please. It’s rather lovely down here.”

Folding his arms and shifting his weight to one side, Eggsy says, “Thought you was gonna kiss me s’more?” He gives his cock a look since it’s right there in front of Harry’s face and all.

“Right,” Harry says, and stands up. He gathers up Eggsy’s hands on the way, leaving Eggsy to toe his way out of his socks and the heap of his clothes, then starts walking backward toward the bed. It’s a bit silly, but it’s nice too, and Eggsy can’t wipe the grin off his face. Especially not with Harry smiling back at him.

“Is this our honeymoon?” Eggsy asks, when at the foot Harry turns and presses him onto the duvet, the pillows still crooked and blankets wrinkled from his earlier nap. Harry settles down beside him, setting a hand on his chest to keep him in place. “Shoulda made you carry me.”

Harry just starts kissing him again, hand stroking first his stomach, then his hip, and doesn’t budge an inch when Eggsy tries to pull him closer. The stroking gets kind of aimless when Harry scoots down to make good on his word, acting like he absolutely means to land at least one kiss on every body part. They’re not quick little pecks, either, but full-on open-mouthed tonguing like Harry’s tasting him, like he’s one of those expensive wines to savour. Harry even goes after his arm, starting at his wrist, the inside of his elbow, and then his fucking armpit right where the muscle curves.

By the time Harry makes it to his hip, his bloody toes are curled so tight he’s got a cramp. There’s a little spot of wet right where his dick is curved up tight and hard against his belly, and for a minute he’s sure Harry actually is a tease because it doesn’t look like he’s planning to get anywhere near it. But seems he’s just working his way along like he’s got a map, sucking kisses to the soft inside of Eggsy’s thigh, then suddenly it’s his balls Harry’s got his mouth on and Eggsy kicks a bit, surprised.

“Sorry,” he gasps out, fisting both hands in the duvet as Harry lays a whole fucking line of those same sucking kisses straight up his cock, “oh fuck, sorry.”

“For what, exactly?” Harry murmurs, pulling away from the head of Eggsy’s dick with a bit of shine on his lips. Eggsy groans. “For being an absolute delight? What a silly fucking thing to apologise about.”

Fuck”. Harry kisses his balls again, Eggsy’s knees drawing up as he covers his face with both hands; Harry just pushes his legs a little wider and keeps on going down his thigh. He knew damn well going into this he’s not done the deed with anybody even close to Harry Hart’s calibre, but Harry is fucking killing him. This is some porn star level shit, the way Harry’s all over him, relentless. Like he isn’t going to be satisfied until Eggsy is a trembling, panting mess.

“If you want me to beg or something, just say so,” Eggsy says, still muffled behind his hands. “‘Cause fuck, Harry, what’re you doin’?”

“My darling boy, that would seem obvious, don’t you think?”

Harry.” It’s a whine. Eggsy knows it’s a whine and he’s so, so sorry he asked.

“No, I won’t be swayed. Come here,” he says, and with a tug he’s got Eggsy hauled halfway back down the bed, on his knees again with Eggsy’s legs slung over his fucking shoulders. Eggsy leans up a bit then drops back down again straight away, because this time Harry has gone and dived in, face shoved right up in the crack of Eggsy’s ass. There’s no mistaking the warm, wet drag of tongue or the firm, insistent push of it when Harry finds his asshole. He goes tense all over, his knees automatically drawing up again and his hands reaching for something to grab hold of. Harry gets hold of him first, long fingers curled tightly ‘round his wrists almost pulling him down onto Harry’s tongue.

“Relax, Eggsy,” Harry says, as if he’s not buried face-first between Eggsy’s legs. He starts stroking the inside of Eggsy’s wrists slowly with his thumbs. “I haven’t been teaching you to savour things for my own benefit.” A pause. “Not completely.”

As Harry presses his mouth close again, Eggsy draws in a nice big breath to let it out as slowly as he can. “Excellent,” Harry says, “again, let me feel it against my lips when you open to me.”

Eggsy says, “Oh my god,” feeling pinned with Harry’s hands at his wrists, but he drags in another lungful of air, losing it straight away on a rough noise when he can fucking feel the dirty kiss Harry tongues right past his rim.

And it goes on and on and on, sweet and steady. He’s waiting for it to hit the point where he ain’t so impressed anymore, figures his nerves have got to get used to the sensation so the pleasure’ll ease off a bit, but Harry’s got this thing where he seems to know before Eggsy does when it’s about to hit that point and he changes it just enough. Eggsy’s heart is thumping and he starts twisting in Harry’s grip; it’s not like he’s really trying to get away or anything, getting away from Harry’s the last thing he wants to do right now or maybe ever--

Fuck,” Eggsy spits, half turned over on his side. He scrubs wetness away from his eyes and tries catching his breath since Harry’s paused for a minute.

“Would you like me to continue?”

“That ain’t fair,” Eggsy says, arm flung over his face. Nothing about this is fair. He's in a state and yet-- He ain't feeling nervous or nothing, more embarrassed than anything because of course Harry comes to this like a fucking mind-reader, playing his body like a goddamn fiddle.

“How so?” Harry asks, like he’s genuinely wondering. Eggsy risks a glance down and almost wishes he hadn’t; Harry looks exactly like what he’s been up to, little curl to his hair and all.

“I’d like to,” Harry goes on, dipping his head like he’s ready for another go, but all he does is get so close Eggsy can feel when he breathes. “If that’s quite alright with you.”

Yes, Harry.”

Harry says, “Wonderful,” and yanks Eggsy straight back down the bed and onto his fucking tongue. Which Eggsy ain’t exactly complaining about, but it winds him up so tight so fast it almost hurts, muscles tensed at the peak with nowhere to go. Harry's nose is right up under his balls--his balls are on Harry's face--and he's this damn close to slapping a hand on his cock to get off except he figures Harry isn’t even close to done with him yet.

After what feels like ages, Harry rocks back on his his heels. "I've imagined this exact moment frequently in the past few days," Harry says, loosening his tie. His gaze stays on the sprawl of Eggsy’s legs while he wipes almost delicately at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You ain’t the only one.”


“Well, maybe not this exact scenario, believe.” Eggsy shakes his head and shoves up on one elbow as Harry gets smoothly to his feet. Harry unbuttons his shirt like he’s in no particular hurry, strips off his tie and leaves the shirt hanging open to go for his belt.

“I don’t suppose there’s much point now bemoaning wasted time,” Harry says, shucking his trousers and pants in one go. Eggsy’s spent a lot of time imagining the exact shape and size of Harry’s dick, not because he’s got much of a preference when it comes to that sort of thing, but because it’s Harry’s. There’s not much about Harry he doesn’t want to know.

Eggsy says, “S’fuckin’ perfect,” and sits up a little higher. He licks his teeth and swallows the extra spit built up in his mouth. A part of him had been worried Harry was gonna be hung and he'd be facing down the reality of whether or not it was worth taking a baseball bat up his arse, and sure it's big, but not so much that he isn't drooling for it already. “Want me to suck on it for ya?”

“Thank you, Eggsy,” Harry says. “Lie down, please.”

Eggsy drops back flat on the bed, wriggling around a bit until he’s got a pillow under his head. As Harry circles around, Eggsy gets his lips wet, reaching out so he can get a handful the second Harry’s close enough--

“Hey!” Eggsy sits bolt upright again. “Abandoning me already? What’s the deal?” he demands, watching Harry’s pale, perfect ass head straight into the bathroom.

“I said lie down, please,” Harry says, filling a glass from the tap. He downs half of it in one go, then shakes back his hair and breathes a deep sigh.


“Apologies, Eggsy.” Harry proffers the glass. “Would you like some?”

“Not near as much as I’d like you to get the fuck back here.”

“Well, since you asked so very nicely,” he says, perfectly straight-faced. The glass clinks on the marble counter.

Grinning, Eggsy scoots back down, legs and arms sprawled wide. His stomach twists tighter with every step closer Harry takes until he’s near panting for breath. He groans when Harry stretches out beside him on the bed, long legs aligned with his and a hand stroking low across his belly. Looking up into Harry’s face, actually seeing the way Harry’s looking back at him, he realises he’s actually got a hell of a lot to lose and it’s much, much more than he’d ever thought.

Harry says, “Eggsy--”

Whatever Harry’s about to ask doesn’t matter, it’s a safe bet, “Yes, Harry,” is the right answer.

Harry smiles and shakes his head ruefully.

“Sorry.” Eggsy clears his throat and waves a magnanimous hand. “You were sayin’.”

Fingertips touching lightly to Eggsy’s jaw, Harry says, “While I'm amenable to the idea of coming down your throat, I’d very much like you to fuck me, Eggsy.”

Eggsy hasn’t yet been on the receiving end of a charge from a signet ring or anything like it, but he’s one hundred percent sure this is exactly what it’d feel like. He can’t get a breath through the clench in his chest.

“I rather like it,” Harry goes on.

Eggsy can’t help himself; he chokes out, “You like gettin’--”

“Fucked, yes. Quite a bit. Might that be your preference as well?”

Closing his eyes, Eggsy breathes, “Fuckin’ hell, Harry.” His cock aches so badly all he wants to do is put a hand on it, but there’s no way he’s going to risk it.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Yes,” Eggsy says, surging up, a dirty thrill sparking deep in his belly when Harry rolls smoothly under him. “Yes I'll-- I'll fuck you. Y’think I’d actually say no or something?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint--”

It’s rude as all get out to shut Harry up by sticking his tongue in his mouth. For once, Harry’s not complaining.

Harry follows with the same natural grace as their first dance, his legs sliding along Eggsy's as they spread wide, make room for Eggsy between them. Eggsy's whole body is on fire, and the hands Harry braces to his sides feel like they're the only thing keeping him from dissolving into a flurry of ash and sparks.

"Ain't gonna be a marathon," Eggsy warns, his mouth finding Harry's neck and leaving a mark there, bright red and damning.

Agreeably, Harry says, "I’d not expect as much,” as Eggsy fumbles one-handed for the slim tube Harry had brought discreetly back from the loo. He thanks his lucky fucking stars it’s a flip-cap, then takes it back when he accidentally squirts lube all over the inside of Harry’s thigh.

“That weren’t me,” Eggsy says, grins sheepish as he mops lube up with his fingers.

Harry’s brow lifts. “I was about to say you'll be perfect regardless, but I suppose perfection is an unreasonable expectation."

“Oh, it’ll be perfect,” Eggsy promises, bravado a balm for his nerves as he traces shaky fingertips up the inside of Harry’s leg, lingering a bit in the crease of his thigh before tucking the tips of a couple fingers tight between the cheeks of his ass. Harry’s hole is small and hot and smooth, flexing a bit at the pressure.

Eggsy’s got to pause for a minute to let the giddy thrill pass. “Go on, Eggsy,” Harry says, sounding a bit short of breath.

“‘Fraid I’ll be a tease like you?”

“Not at all. I-” Harry’s mouth goes soft and Eggsy bites his lip, almost wishing he could see as well as feel his fingers sliding slowly deeper. But the look on Harry’s face is mint. “I’m sure you’re as eager for it as I am.”

“S’what you think, is it?” Eggsy says, only half a mind to what he’s saying. He’s pretty much dying to get inside Harry already, his cock flushed hot and full, but Harry’s just as hard, shiny-wet at the tip and leaking all over his own belly. It jerks when Eggsy presses deep, fingers curled and rubbing firmly against flesh all the way out until he pushes in again, fucking Harry slowly.

Colour’s high in Harry’s face; the hollow of his throat glistens in the light. He closes his eyes in the middle of ripping open a condom packet. “Quite certain.”

“Like this, yeah?” Eggsy asks when Harry presses the condom against the hand he’s braced on the bed. He pushes back on his knees, his fingers still half-buried in Harry, and rolls it on with one hand; he’s as impressed at how smoothly that goes as Harry is, he bets, but he plays it up with a cheeky wink as he shifts back, gets ready. “I wanna see your face.”

“That’s lovely, yes,” Harry says in a slight rush. Mostly naked with his knees up and spread wide, his hard cock curved tight against his stomach, his hair all fallen out of its perfect ‘do and his body thrumming with impatience, he’s a fucking sight. Eggsy’s got to stare a minute, drink it in and bask in it until he can’t wait a second longer. He needs to see Harry completely undone.

Instead he’s nearly the one come apart, teeth grit and muscles straining as his cockhead presses against Harry’s hole, presses in so smoothly he’s barely got to work at it. In no time at all he’s buried balls-deep, and that’s the very moment the soft, forgiving flesh cradling him clamps tight. He tips forward on a rude noise, folding Harry near in half and trying to wedge himself deeper still.

“Exactly so, Eggsy,” Harry gasps, his voice pitched low and his grip tight on Eggsy’s back. His whole body rocks with the force of Eggsy’s next thrust and he says, “Again, please, faster,” even while Eggsy’s already in the middle of it. But Eggsy’s already addicted to this new sound of Harry’s voice so he fucks as slow and hard as he can, long, deep thrusts that force quiet noises from Harry’s throat.

Breathless from holding back--he’d not promised a marathon, but he’ll be fucked if he’s not going to try--he asks, “S’good, innit?” He picks up the pace before Harry replies, but he figures the hand Harry’s got on his hip, fingers digging in to pull him closer, that’s answer enough. So is the sharp, enthusiastic grunt of his name.

Eggsy’s close, so fucking close, but as hard as he goes, as tight as Harry hangs on, he wants more. He shudders at the peak of a thrust, barely hanging on. Then pulls out entirely.

“Roll over. Harry, fuck,” Eggsy says, pushing with greedy hands, “roll over.”

Harry goes as easily as before, if not nearly as smoothly. Up on his knees at first, then flat on his belly at the press of Eggsy’s weight on his back. Eggsy wastes precious little time getting back inside him, hips pressed flush to his ass and a rough handful of his shirt gathered up at the shoulder for leverage. Harry’s got none at all, stretched out long and lean beneath him, cheek to the mattress with the pillows shoved aside.

Eggsy gives it all he has, and then more, until he's a sweaty mess and Harry’s much the same. Slowing down once, twice, a handful of times let him keep going, but he’s at the end of his bloody rope. He can’t stop again. “Harry--”

That’s all Eggsy manages before he comes. Harry jerks beneath him, that fucking little curl bouncing on his forehead as he twists round, says, “Fuck. Already?”

Eggsy’s laugh is loud and ragged, broken by sharp breaths as his orgasm pulses through him. Harry all but fucking squirms, and Eggsy gives fucking him through it a go, he truly does. But it’s shallow and sloppy and not at all what Harry seems to want. He happily gives up to cram his dick back in as deep as it’ll go and get a hand on Harry instead. His knuckles burn against the sheet as he jerks Harry off but he knows he’s got it now, knows from the clench of Harry’s body that it won’t be long before come spills all over his fist. Harry’s absolutely gorgeous when he finally does lose it, his face slack and his mouth soft but his body so tight that Eggsy fucking whimpers; his dick’s still deep inside, half-hard and overstimulated.

He sets a hand to Harry’s flank and pulls out slowly, air hissing through his teeth. Harry makes a soft noise that betrays exactly how thoroughly he’s been fucked, prompting slow kisses scattered across his back where his shirt’s pulled askew. Harry relaxes into them with a small, appreciative hum. Eggsy lets his sticky hand wander, enjoying the feel of Harry’s lax and sated body.

Harry glances down after a moment, brow raised. “Perhaps this time you’d care to join me in the bath.”

“Perhaps I would,” Eggsy declares grandly.


“No reason why we couldn’t, though,” Eggsy says, stepping out of the lift with his suitcase trundling along behind him. “Just a couple days.” Across the way, Harry’s settling up their late departure with the front desk.

”Perhaps if you’d mentioned before I dispatched Kay with the jet.”

Eggsy grins. “Didn’t really have a chance, guv.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Harry says, making his way across the lobby. “Eggsy, come along. The car is waiting.”

As they cross the bridge out of central Prague, Eggsy twists round in his seat to watch the city thin. It wouldn’t be too much trouble to come back again, even if it’s not quite the same the second time around. Maybe it could even be a proper holiday, a reason for his mum to get to know Harry as more than just some bloke at the shop he can't keep from going on about.

”Your flight plan is cleared, gentlemen. ETA-- wait a moment.”

Eyes on the road ahead, Harry smiles. “See you in a week, Merlin. More or less.”

”God damn it, Harry.”

“Belize is lovely this time of year, Eggsy,” Harry says, sliding off his glasses. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Grinning, Eggsy settles back into the seat, arms tucked behind his head. “Pretty sure I will.”