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They should have realized that things were going to be different when all Eggsy had to say upon being told of the rarely-invoked Kingsman provision that the new Arthur is the man (or woman) who kills the last Arthur was to mutter, “'it's the Necromonger way.’”
The year that followed V-Day saw some remarkably common sense-based changes at Kingsman, not the least of which included an expansion of support staff and the inclusion of on-site daycare for those knights, agents, and staff with children to mind. But even with these changes, positive though they were, Eggsy still clearly relied on Merlin and the older knights for guidance when he was out of his depth, and the oft-contradictory advice he received was starting to show in his choices. Knights began grumbling about odd assignments that the young Arthur gave out, support staff wondered why their rota was skewed, and so on. Percival finally stepped in and said something to young Eggsy, who “took it under advisement” and locked himself in Arthur’s study for a day and a half before finding Merlin and begging him to help. The shining wetness in the young man’s eyes and earnest pleas to “help me, Merlin, I can’t fucking do this” cracked some of the glacial ice around Merlin’s black heart, and he agreed to do something.
So Merlin did what he did best, and went for his ace-in-the-hole: he called a secretly-healed and very much forced-into-retirement Harry to come in and fix things.
And in hindsight, he really should have known things weren’t going to end well for anyone when after informing Harry of Eggsy’s assignment to the man’s coveted position of Arthur (and the likely implosion of Harry’s desire to lead the organization), the man simply blinked and said, “well of course he’s Arthur. ‘You keep what you kill. It’s the Necromonger way.’”
***
“Eggsy.”
“Yeah Rox?”
“Why the fuck are you sending me to Peru? And with Gawain? Do you not love me anymore? Am I not enough for you? Are you mad that I told you the wing shoes were fucking hideous?”
“I’m sendin’ you to Peru with Gawain because you’re aces at sneaking into shit, and he’s aces at blowin’ shit up.”
“Those are not mutually beneficial skillsets, Eggsy!”
“Well fuckin’ excuse me for thinkin’ you could plant the bombs that Gawain’s got while you search for the intel! Now go do your fuckin’ job and I’ll buy you a round when you get home!”
Eggsy clicked off the receiver on his phone more sharply than he intended, and huffed into his leather chair. Being Arthur was simultaneously the best and worst thing he’d ever done. And the headaches…
Still, he often supposed, it was better than being back at the crappy estate flat with his mum and Dean. At least this way he got a fancy new place for his mum and the baby. And Dean… well he’d scarpered after the fight at the Black Prince. Apparently getting half of his teeth knocked out had taught him that Eggsy was no longer to be trifled with. But the paperwork associated with being Arthur was incredibly boring, and the decision-making required was positively mind-numbing. He missed the action and adrenaline he’d felt on V-Day, but the ache he still felt from losing Harry and seeing the world’s population get culled was enough to make him want to hole up with a bottle of scotch until the sun set.
Eggsy wasn’t sure what he had felt for Harry in the beginning, if he were honest. He thought at first he’d simply seen him as a surrogate father. But as time wore on during training, and the various meetings he always had with his mentor came and went, Eggsy found himself drawn to the man. He wanted to be like him, dress like him, speak like him. And God, how he loved hearing the man praise him when he did well. The shivery burn down his spine was decidedly not familial, but it made something in Eggsy need to hear it again. Now, Eggsy was sure he was simply in love with a dead man’s memory, having polished the remembrance until no flaws stood out, and idolizing something he could never have again. Praise from Merlin or the other knights didn’t elicit the same kind of joy he had felt, though their shame or disapproval was still very cutting. But nothing could give him the lowest of the lows he had felt like the fight just before Kentucky. When he fucked up as Eggsy, it wasn’t as bad. But when he fucked up as Arthur… well, Percival had been very clear that the removal process for a piss-poor Arthur was painful and usually lethal. And behind it all, he could hear the disapproval in his head from the last fight he’d had with Harry, echoing about the room as Percival calmly spoke at him. And it were those echoes, lingering long past Percival’s exit, that spurred him to ask Merlin for help.
Now, almost a week later and no change in sight, Eggsy was sure that Merlin was simply biding his time until a new, more “proper” Arthur took his spot, and Eggsy was sent back to the reject pile with an amnesia dart to the neck and a boot-print bruise on his arse. A knock at the door simply added to the throbbing in his temples, and Eggsy sighed as he put his "Arthur" persona back in and bid whomever enter.
"You're well aware I don't require you lot to knock," Eggsy said, almost as proper as any Kingsman blue blood.
"A gentleman always knocks, Eggsy," came the wry, whiskey-smooth voice that haunted Eggsy's waking moments (and his dreaming ones too). The young Kingsman stated as the long lines of Harry Hart stood in his doorway, a smirking Merlin visible behind the wool-clad shoulder. He looked good, Eggsy realized. A touch of grey at the temples in a way only achieved in a salon, an eyepatch covering his left eye with white starburst scars barely visible behind it, and a roguish gleam in the chocolate of his right eye. He was a touch leaner, his face a bit more etched, but to Eggsy, Harry looked like sin and savior in one.
"Harry," Eggsy breathed, "what the actual fuck.”
Harry all but glided into the room; if there were any lingering balance issues from his clearly non-fatal injury, Eggsy couldn’t see any. Behind him, Merlin came in and closed the door, taking a seat in one of the butter-soft leather chairs in front of Arthur’s desk.
“Nor, my boy, does a gentleman swear at his companions as a greeting,” Harry said, standing by the other chair facing the young Arthur’s desk. “May I sit?”
Dimly, Eggsy could see Merlin roll his eyes at Harry, and the youth nodded jerkily. Processing this was proving rather more difficult than he always had secretly dreamed it would be. In his regular nightmares, he watched Harry die. But in the very darkest, worst of them, he watched Harry come back, just to be snatched away when dawn’s light woke him into reality. But this… This was a real Harry, in front of him. Merlin had never featured in Eggsy’s nightmares about this, and the men in front of him were kind enough to give Eggsy a few moments to compose himself.
“Merlin…” Eggsy trailed off, finally looking at the older wizard.
“You said you needed help, lad. Here’s help.” Merlin’s tone was unusually sincere, something Eggsy was sure he’d not hear again for some time.
“Are you here to kill me then?”
Harry looked alarmed, and shook his head. “Good Lord, no, Eggsy. You’re not the first Arthur to come into this position underprepared. There’s an entire role dedicated to being Arthur’s… ‘right hand’ so to speak. His assistant, advisor, bodyguard, really whatever the current Arthur needs to fulfill his role. Or hers, now that young Lancelot has joined the organization. Chester King dismissed his Guinevere years ago, even before your father attempted the trials, so you wouldn’t have met them during your tenure here as a recruit. No, Eggsy, I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to be your Guinevere.”
“Thank fucking Christ.”
***
Eggsy was certain he was going to murder the man, if he didn’t fuck him senseless first.
Harry, while incredibly competent, was an utter fucking wanker about literally everything else not Kingsman-related. He’d moved back into his house at Stanhope Mews, with little regard to the fact that Eggsy had already moved in to it as well, had reclaimed his office (though he graciously let Eggsy keep his own fledgling newspaper collection on an unoccupied wall), and had generally reverted to being Eggsy’s mentor in everything but name. And while Eggsy could barely stand the regular occurrence of kindly-worded and smugly-delivered lectures (“legs crossed Eggsy, you’re not a heathen” or “a kiss to the back of the hand to linger no more than a fleeting touch Eggsy; don’t try to molest the poor girl’s fingers”) he was decidedly not unhappy with how things were beginning to unfold between them in other ways.
Harry cooked for them both, and though Eggsy offered to clean Harry had declined in favor of hiring a twice weekly maid service. Harry had begun selecting Eggsy’s suits and accessories both at home and at the shop when he was due for something new, under the auspices of “helping their Arthur look more the part.” Eggsy turned in and collected their dry cleaning, but the heavy black card he paid with was Harry’s. When Harry would suggest dinner out, Eggsy was simply informed of Harry’s choice of restaurants, and was rarely given the option to select his meal or accompanying drinks. Harry took care of all of it, with the same kind of aplomb he took care of everything else. And Eggsy was in heaven.
Work meant Eggsy and to be in charge, and though it was his name on the documents, all of Kingsman knew that it was Harry’s hand writing the name. Mission success rates soared, and while the changes Eggsy continued to implement of his own design were positive ones, they were able to find much more broad success with Harry dropping gems of guidance here and there. It became a routine of theirs for Eggsy to receive something, read through it, draft a response, and leave it overnight. The next morning, it would have subtle corrections or revisions, and usually those that were made were much more efficient or took factors Eggsy might have missed into account. It was making everyone happy.
“Arthur, what if you…” became a sort of rallying cry of Harry’s that the other agents and staff would hear weekly, and with it would come the next round of changes. Some broad, like having all agents and staff put in a portion of their pay for a fund to be used for the families of recruits and staff who died in the line of duty or training, to some smaller ones like Eggsy implementing a once-monthly potluck family dinner which became an instant success among all of Kingsman. And though some tried to abuse it, by going to Harry directly rather than to their young Arthur, Harry would defer to Eggsy, and pointedly suggest that the person seek out Arthur instead of Guinevere.
But work also meant that it was Eggsy’s arse one the line, and when missions went poorly (as some were simply meant to do), or when they lost a non-knight field agent because of a careless inspection of gear that would have otherwise revealed the flaw that caused the young woman her life, Eggsy took them personally. And hard. The turning point came when they lost Bors, an older man with a large family, to a natural accident in the Chinese province in which he’d been working. It was an accident truly; even the mark he was supposed to be tailing had died when the remote village they operated out of was buried in a mudslide from an unseasonably large rain. But Eggsy took it like a punch to the gut from one of his stepfather’s former mates.
When he finished the toast, he stood, let the knights, agents, and staff know he was going home for a day to think, and that they’d need recruit recommendations by week’s end. Harry found Eggsy at home an hour later, piss drunk and curled into a corner of Harry’s library, unseen but for the shaking afghan about his shoulders. Harry simply gathered him up and they spent the evening in quiet, Harry’s touch a balm for a frazzled Eggsy.
Things changed then, Eggsy knew. Where Harry had once been a guiding hand, now he was the touchstone that kept Eggsy grounded when he needed it the most. He was there at Eggsy’s back when some of the more conservative Kingsmen became upset by modernization. He was there when Eggsy enrolled Daisy into the newly opened Kingsman daycare as the first of the “tell your family about Kingsman” initiatives Eggsy had managed to implement, keeping Michelle from having a breakdown and watching the young girl bloom with friends. Harry was a bulwark for Eggsy, and hadn’t asked for a single thing in return, and it was beginning to make Eggsy nervous. Where he’d come from, tit for tat was the law of the land. No one did anything for free, and Harry seemed hell-bent on working up a debt that Eggsy couldn’t ever repay.
And the part that made Eggy want to tear his hair out was knowing how much he craved it: the guidance and the praise, and all of it from Harry alone. Oh, the others could chatter his ear off about what a good job he was doing now, or how wonderfully he’d bloomed under the guidance of someone more experienced, but it paled to when Harry would say something rare like, “well done, my boy” or the rarer still “I knew you could do it, Eggsy.” In Eggsy’s waking dreams, no longer did he see Harry die in front of him; now he saw Harry standing over him, warm brown eye gazing into his own needy green, and the words that echoed about were no longer those of disappointment and anger, but words like “darling” and “my good boy.”
Eggsy was, in a word, fucked.
He was well aware that whatever was between them was something that was either going to end spectacularly awfully, or would become something that neither could really name. Harry seemed to be doing his damnedest to make sure Eggsy was never truly sure of where he stood, except for where harry wanted him to stand. And God, how he loved it. Someone telling him what was expected of him, without yelling or violence, was so incredibly soothing and he didn’t know why. So Eggsy did what he did second-best when confronted with a problem, and he Googled it.
It took some refining, but when “what do i do wen i like like my older male boss friend and i feel good wen he tells me im a good boy” finally struck gold on something not pornographic, Eggsy spent two solid hours reading about Daddy/son relationships. And when, after those two hours were up, he was startled out of his incredibly focused research by a new message alert on the Kingsman messaging app on every phone and screen they owned, Eggsy nearly dropped his phone.
>IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE RESEARCHING THESE THINGS, USE YOUR PERSONAL PHONE OR AT LEAST USE INCOGNITO MODE. - MERLIN
A few moments passed and then another message joined the first.
>TRY HERE.
With it came a link to what Eggsy soon discovered was a much more reputable website, though with far less imagery of doe-eyed young men gazing longingly at nude, buff older types. All in all, Eggsy spent a solid week or more looking into the nebulous world he found online, and came to a small number of self-realizations. The first, and probably most important, was that he was very much head over heels for his Guinevere. The second, and least startling to an already-suspicious Eggsy was that he was at the very least bisexual, because while he definitely had had a good time with ladies in the past, the photos he was seeing of older men in suits and ties was doing just as much for him as Princess Tilde’s lovely backside ever had. The third was the most shocking to the young Arthur, though given the way things had been unfolding, not the most unexpected. He didn’t just desire Harry; he desired the kind of relationship with him that only showed up in Eggsy’s dreams, or in internet forums. He wanted someone to take care of him, to keep a hand on his neck when he needed calmed down, and someone to croon praise into his ear when he was good. He needed Harry to be his rock. His keeper.
His daddy.
And hadn’t that realization been fun. It had hit like a cold splash of water, this startling clarity of need. Eggsy had spent several minutes trying to talk himself out of… that word. And when he tried coming up with something else he could conceivably call Harry in this hypothetical relationship, he kept coming back around to it. Daddy. It settled in his chest like a weight, but the more he thought about it, the weight wasn’t the lead anchor he thought it might be. It was the weight of a blanket on a winter’s night, something comforting and protective, the kind of weight that settles on your shoulders when you put on a wool coat for the first time. And though Eggsy was still very skittish about this sense of submissiveness, he knew that when he thought about it, it felt like home.
So when Eggsy finally returned to work with things settled internally, he only had to deal with Merlin’s occasionally eagle-eyed knowing glares, and Harry’s continual nonchalantness in the face of Eggsy’s self-realization.
So, you know. Fucked.
But Eggsy was well used to thinking on his feet, so using his newfound knowledge to his advantage came as easily as breathing. And his fledgling plan to suss out Harry’s interest in him was working beautifully.
Eggsy had spent a better portion of his life categorizing and reacting to every single nuance and body movement from the men in his life. First, as a child trying to figure out why his father occasionally twitched at a loud noise outside, and later trying to stay safe around the volatile firework of Dean Anthony Baker. His therapist had said it was a coping mechanism to abuse, honed out of a natural human reaction into something focused and pointed. And with just the right amount of forethought, Eggsy was able to learn exactly what it was about him that made Harry tick.
It was easy to see that the day Eggsy forgot a tie at home in his rush, Harry was both annoyed by the forgetfulness, but unable to stop staring at the bit of white throat and small mole that Eggsy’s open collar presented. Another day, swapping out his tastefully curated cufflinks, courtesy of Harry’s discerning eye, for something a bit more flash that he picked up on the internet, caused Harry to twitch just a tiny bit. Wearing his trousers cut at the hip rather than the waist, or slouching just a bit in his seat, Eggsy was able to see and catalogue all the ways he was making Harry squirm. And it was as if someone had handled Eggsy the key to the treasure map that was Harry Hart.
Dressing slightly more modern, or wearing a splash of bold color like the peacock feather socks he found at Topshop? Harry would stare, a mixture of what Eggsy now identified as lust and annoyance.
Eggsy slipping the occasional drop in accent, or slang word? Harry would roll his eye, but there would be a fondness in his relaxing body language that Eggsy knew to mean that he was happy that Eggsy was still himself under it all.
Wearing the collar open on his dress shirt, or recalling something sexual he’d done previously? Harry’s eye would darken, and though Eggsy could tell he was lusting after the boy, there was something almost possessive in his gaze.
And Harry responded beautifully in return. When Eggsy wore more youthful things, Harry bought him silk and linen versions, taking care that his boy would have the best version of them. Silk and wool socks with garish colors and silly imagery arrived unbidden in his wardrobe, or his nickel-plated Batman cufflinks from the corner boutique would be replaced with tasteful precious metal versions of the same.
When Eggsy spoke with his natural accent or regular speech, Harry’s own slightly Northern accent would come back from under the RP he used daily.
And when Eggsy had spoken about Tilde, or any of the other men and women he’d been with, Harry’s hand would inevitably find it’s way to the back of Eggsy’s neck, a warm weight with almost forgetful fingers stroking the skin just below his collar. It would be for only a moment or two, but it was enough to make Eggsy smile inwardly.
Gotcha.
Roxy, who had taken one look at Eggsy during this subtle game of cat-and-mouse and given him a withering look, finally joined in on giving him suggestions on how best to bait Harry next. And it was in one of her rare moments of pure evil that Eggsy knew he’d finally gotten his answer from Harry.
They were at yet another fundraising ball for Kingsman; a good portion go their backers had been killed or blown up on V-Day, and while their estates still helped fund world peace, Eggsy had determined that seeking out new sources of revenue couldn’t hurt. Roxy had agreed to attend on Eggsy’s arm, and several of the other agents and knights had come as well. HQ had been transformed into something out of a silly romance movie, and Eggsy and Roxy had entirely too much fun whispering silly criticisms and commentary about the entire affair. But Eggsy played his role of Arthur expertly, and more than one patron was charmed by his heroic legacy and roguish sass. But when Roxy stiffened and veered him into the path of a man roughly Harry’s age, Eggsy knew something was going on.
“Lord Warrington! How lovely to see you this evening. Have you met Arthur?” Roxy’s voice dripped saccharine sweet, and Eggsy knew she was plotting something.
Lord Warrington was a handsome man, Eggsy could see. Salt and pepper hair, a pointed face with mischievous grey eyes. When he greeted Roxy, his accent spoke to a posh Dublin birth, and his clothing suggested old money. He was an ideal patron for Kingsman, if judging by outwards appearances counted.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Arthur. I knew your predecessor, but I never truly got along with the man. I do hope you and I will be able to have a much more… warm relationship,” said the man, grasping Eggsy’s hand in his own. His handshake was strong, and he leaned in far closer than Eggsy might have liked to continue speaking.
“And please, call me Aidan.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Aidan. Forgive me, but I don’t seem to know all that much about you,” Eggsy responded. The man’s cologne was subtle but spicy, and Eggsy couldn’t see or smell much beyond Lord Warrington’s close presence. It was almost overwhelming, but Roxy was still there, with her hand delicately on his elbow. It wasn’t the same as Harry’s anchoring presence, but it was enough, for now.
Lord Warrington spoke at length about himself, his business interests, and hobbies. Roxy was finally called away by another patron, and Eggsy found himself being slowly maneuvered out of a side door towards HQ’s gardens. He dimly knew that he wasn’t going to be in any difficult trouble; he wasn’t a trained Kingsman for nothing. But the oddly melodic voice of Lord Warrington, combined with perhaps a drink too many, were making it difficult for Eggsy to put on the alpha bravado that Arthur was expected to bear. It also didn’t help that Lord Warrington’s hands kept making their way towards Eggsy’s shoulders, as if he were a child to be petted coddled.
“…I’d love to see the gardens if you’ve the time, Arthur. I think it would be a lovely thing, to take a stroll about with you.”
“Are you actually this cliché and villainous, Aidan, or did someone put you up to this?” The ice-cold tone of Harry Hart was unmistakeable, and Eggsy turned with eyes that begged the older man to come up with some kind of excuse to leave without losing a patron of the organization.
“Villainous, Hart? Me? Hardly. The boy followed me out here like a good little pup. Not my fault if he simply hasn’t been… broken in yet.”
Harry started forward, but Eggsy stopped him with a raised hand, and turned to face the Lord. Lord Warrington opened his mouth, and Eggsy cut him off, all Estate and with no trace of Arthur left in him.
“Look, mate. I fuckin’ followed you out here because I was tryin’ to be polite and all. Kingsman ain’t got as many patrons any more, yeah? But you’re bein’ creepy as fuck all, and the more time I’ve spent listenin’ to you, the more I think you and Chester Fuckdick King would have gotten along aces. So here’s how it’s gonna play. You’re gonna go back inside, beg off sayin’ you had too much to drink, and I’m gonna go back and do my fuckin’ job. Yeah?”
“Shut your mouth, little boy. You’ll speak when spoken to by your betters, you-“ Lord Warrington was cutoff by the crunching of his own nose as Eggsy’s well-manicured fist came sailing into it courtesy of a haymaker.
“Yeah, no. You ain’t better than me, and I sure as fuck ain’t your little boy. Ponce git.” Eggsy straightened out his suit, and turned to Harry. “Guinevere, I’m heading back inside. See this man to the door, please. He’s clearly had too much to drink and should be escorted home safely.”
Harry nodded deferentially, though his good eye was still trained on the now-bleeding Irishman.
Eggsy returned to the ballroom and was immediately accosted by Roxy.
“What the actual fuck, Rox. Why did you make me meet that guy?”
“Because I knew he’d be the same kind of creepy twat he always is. And I know Harry well enough to know he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you all night. Come on! We’ll miss them!” Eggsy was dragged then by Roxy, back to the door to the garden balcony. Eggsy could hear the tell-tale sounds of someone being punched a few times.
“Up now, Lord Warrington. We’d best deliver you back to your car.” Each word from Harry’s mouth seemed to be punctuated by another punch or slap. Roxy stood wide-eyed at the excessive violence, and Eggsy smirked a bit. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the first fight he’d seen of Harry’s, back in the Black Prince. He was just as beautiful now as he was then, but there was something warm in Eggsy’s gut knowing that this was because of Eggsy alone.
“You’ll be sorry Hart, when I pull all funding from this corrupt little organization of yours,” said Lord Warrington, though the words were slurred a bit.
“No, I won’t. And for the record, he’s my little boy, and I don’t share.” Another, more solid punch was heard, and with a thump, Eggsy and Roxy could see the shape of Lord Warrington laid flat upon the balcony stones, knocked out. They scrambled away from the door and back into the ballroom, but neither was in any state to do much. Roxy covered her mouth with her hand and looked at Eggsy with large eyes.
“So… So you’re his little boy?”
“I…” Eggsy couldn’t finish.
“Well, he’s coming back over here, so I’m going to go… over there. Good luck!” Roxy dashed away, giving Eggsy a last hopeful glance. The young Kingsman half-turned as he heard Harry’ approach, but stopped when the warm palm of Harry’s hand rested on his nape.
“Come along, Arthur. There’s something that needs your attention.”
“Of- of course Guinevere.”
Harry led Eggsy from the ballroom, and through the maze-like hallways of HQ until they were in Arthur’s office. Eggsy had had it redone a bit after he had taken the job because he couldn’t stand to be reminded of Chester King, but it still oozed Old World Money. Now, it was like a haven; one of the few places in HQ that wasn’t actively monitored or bugged, it allowed Eggsy more privacy than almost anywhere else on Kingsman’s estate.
Harry guided Eggsy into the office with a hand at the small of his back, and left Eggsy standing in front of his won desk, while Harry paced. He finally turned, all leonine grace, as he looked at Eggsy.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Harry. He didn’t do nothin’. I am capable of takin’ care of creeps like that. Always was,” Eggsy said wryly.
“I know. And I am immensely proud of how you handled that situation. Lord Warrington always has been, as you say, a creep.”
Harry crossed the room to Eggsy, and settled his hands on Eggsy’s shoulders.
“But I also know that he can be incredibly hurtful with his words. So please tell me, are you alright?”
“I’m alright, Harry. Honest. ‘Sides, I meant what I said. Pieces of scum like that ain’t better than me. Never have been, never will be, posh upbringing be damned.”
Harry smiled and relaxed a bit, his hands squeezing Eggsy’s shoulders. The young man tried not to lean into the touch, though he could tell by Harry’s expression that the older agent wanted him to do so just as badly.
“And the rest? Did you mean that too?” asked Harry, hesitantly. His good, chocolate eye was dark and searching Eggsy’s face as he spoke.
Eggsy swallowed and nodded, his brain vainly trying to stop the words that could ruin everything from leaving his lips.
“I ain’t his boy, daddy. I’m yours. Always have been,” with that, Eggsy closed his eyes. He heard Harry huff a short sigh above him, before he was crushed to the man’s wool-clad chest.
“Oh my sweet, sweet dear boy. You have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say that. My precious lad.”
Eggsy clung to Harry, rubbing his face against the soft jacket Harry still wore. In turn, Harry’s large hands stroked and cradled Eggsy, rubbing blindly through his now-mussed hair, and helping him slip the glasses from his delicate features.
“Eggsy, I know we need to talk about this, but right now, just for tonight, I want you to be mine.”
“Anythin’. Anythin’.”
“I want you to follow me to the chair, and I want you on your knees. Can you do that for daddy, sweetheart? Can you be good for me?”
“Fuck yes, Harry. Daddy, yes, I can be so good.” Eggsy trailed after Harry once the older man let him go, and stumbled to his knees in front of his now-seated beloved. His mind was reeling, but he knew that more than anything, this was what he wanted. It felt right to be here, gazing up into the lustful gaze of Harry Hart. And Eggsy intended to show his daddy just how good he could be. His hands went to Harry’s leather belt, and made short work of the buckle and trouser snaps. Eggsy put some of his youthful experience to work and took down Harry’s zip with his teeth, and dove nose-first into the opening.
Harry groaned as Eggsy’s mouth found his already hard and leaking cock. The young Arthur wasted no time, taking Harry deeply into his mouth, his tongue laving at either side of the length. Salt and musk and sweat assaulted Eggsy’s nose, and turning his eyes upwards, he could see Harry staring down at him through his long eyelashes. The older man was possessed, muttering words of praise, as his hands fisted themselves on the armrests.
“So perfect, yes. Such a perfect mouth, sweet boy. Just like that.”
Eggsy hummed in joyous response, and greedily took Harry as far as he could fit. his own hands were behind his back, and he moved one just long enough to grasp Harry’s left hand and guide it to his golden-brown hair.
Harry wasted no time, fisting a great handful of strands in his fingers and moving Eggsy’s head up and down slightly, enjoying the young man’s attentions while guiding him further. Eggsy pulled back, paying special attention to the sensitive head. As he swirled his tongue in a counterclockwise motion, Harry spoke again.
“Look at you, Eggsy. Look how well you take daddy’s cock. Like you were made for this. When I’m done here, I’m is going to split you open over that fine desk and make you cry for it. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Eggsy could only whimper around Harry’s cock in response, eliciting another groan from the older man. Harry took his other hand and stroked Eggsy’s jaw with it, before grasping the young man’s face and beginning to thrust more earnestly into his mouth. Eggsy let him use his throat, breathing when he had the chance, and listening to the soft sounds of pleasure Harry let loose with every thrust. His own cock pressed painfully into the seam of his trousers, but he knew instinctively that Harry wouldn’t want him trying to relieve the pressure himself.
“I’m going to loosen up that tight little hole of yours and fill it so deeply that you’ll feel me for weeks. And I’m going to do it again and again and again. Everyone will know who you belong to. My Eggsy. My sweet darling boy…” Harry trailed off as he lost himself in the moment, pushing his cock as deeply as he could down Eggsy’s throat before spilling. Eggsy choked for just a moment before Harry let him go to breath. He used his tongue to clean Harry gently, and when the older man softened and slipped from from his mouth, Eggsy rocked back on his knees and looked up at his daddy.
Harry’s hair was tussled, and sweat glistened on his brow. But the look of adoration on his face was one that Eggsy would keep etched into his memory forever. He knew how he must look, sloppy hair and cherry red, wet lips. And the need to come was almost overpowering, but he resisted the temptation to rub himself. Harry reached out a hand and pulled Eggsy up and onto his lap, the youth straddling Harry’s left leg.
“There’s my sweet. What a good boy you’ve been, sucking daddy’s cock like that. No one else gets to touch you like this, or see you like this, now. Only me. Go on then, my good boy. Show daddy how you can come for him,” Harry said gently, nudging Eggsy’s bound and aching shaft with his still-clad thigh.
Eggsy wasted no time in arching into Harry’s grasp, rutting his cock against the man’s hard thigh. It didn’t take him long to come, not with Harry petting his hair and slipping one hand into the back of his trousers and rubbing gently at Eggsy’s hole. Eggsy came with a cry when Harry breached him every so slightly, ruining his trousers and likely Harry’s too. He clenched down on the fingertip Harry had given him as he felt the chocks finally begin to subside, and Eggsy nearly wept into Harry’s chest at the relief he finally felt, both physically and emotionally.
They remained locked together for what felt like all night, though Eggsy knew it must have only been a few minutes. He could still vaguely register the sounds of the ball across the estate. But it was a low hum, a buzzing that didn’t matter. He felt safe and loved in his daddy’s arms, and the salty taste of his daddy’s seed upon his lips and the cooling wetness of his own release drying against his legs were just reminders of the absolute love he had felt just moments prior.
Finally, Harry nuzzled his head and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
“We should really think about finding a bed, Eggsy. Comfortable though this chair may be, I don’t relish the thought of sleeping in it.”
“Thought you was gonna turn me over the desk,” said a rough-voiced Eggsy, rather cheekily.
Harry huffed a laugh. “Perhaps another night. Right now I want to wash your hair and have you in my arms to sleep.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m Arthur then. Got me a private car and all. Private entrance, too.”
“Mmm. Call your private car and we’ll go home. Tomorrow we can talk, but tonight, daddy wants to give his baby boy a bath and get some sleep. Beating senseless foolish men who think they can touch what’s mine does tend to take a bit out of you, after all.”
“That was possibly the third-hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do, Harry. The Black Prince, and your face when you grabbed my hair just a bit ago take the top two.” Eggsy sobered a bit before looking up at Harry.
“Look, I know we ain’t exactly talked about all this yet, but I gotta be frank.”
“Here and I thought you were Eggsy.”
“Very funny, Harry. M’serious though.”
Harry motioned for Eggsy to continue.
“I fuckin’ love you. Have for ages. And it ain’t gonna stop. So… yeah.”
“Eggsy. I love you too. I have since before you were even Arthur. The worst part of my life was lying on the pavement thinking I was going to die without ever having told you how I felt. And to even consider that you might be… similarly inclined as myself; it’s beyond a dream.”
“Well, then I’d best call the car, because if daddy is having bad dreams, he’s gonna need his boy to cuddle him and make sure they go away,” Eggsy said, matter-of-fact.
“I do think you’re right, my boy. I do think you are right.”