"That's really how you sleep?"

Eggsy's aiming for light, or whatever might pass for the normal tone of voice of a bloke who just found his mentor nude but for an open dress shirt. It's not like Eggsy can see anything, even, not the way Harry's sitting, bleary-eyed and mussed from sleep.

Yes, Eggsy's aiming hard for whatever the heterosexual response to this is. He's a damn good actor, comes with the job. If only he could summon enough oxygen to his brain to think of what character to play. Something he learned once suggests blood is needed for that, and since he's pretty sure he's harder than he's ever been in his life he doubts any will be free for a while.

Harry blinks at him, then down at himself, unfazed. And why should he be. Just two blokes sharing a house, totally platonic like. Thirty years and fifteen feet and straightness separating them.

Fuck, if he stands up Eggsy's bolting.

"No, but it's how I slept last night," Harry muses. Right, then. Eggsy feels guilty all of a sudden, which is a bitter mix with his still very present arousal (Harry's still right there not wearing any pants). Harry's just off a mission, the kind with long hours and less fighting than watching. He's tired. And Eggsy is barging into his room to say something about something he's already forgotten and not letting him continue resting.

And about to poke his eye out from across the room. Fuck, but he looks gorgeous. His hair is long past loose and crossing into rare curling territory, his endless toned legs all on display, his broad chest scarred and solid in full fucking view-

"Did you need something?" Harry asks, and Eggsy blinks.

"Um," oh god how long has he been staring Harry is giving him a look "breakfast is ready," he says when the light smell of eggs floats in and saves him. Harry looks a lot more awake, now, but still adorably mussed and not entirely put-together yet.

Harry smiles at him and his knuckles go white on the door frame as he thinks oh, god, that's worse, because there's Harry loose and naked and smiling at Eggsy from his bed in the morning and wouldn't that be nice to see more often, fuck he is so far gone. He thinks he ought to smile back, make some joke or something, but probably he just looks spooked. Then Harry yawns and rubs his eyes. Eggsy is transfixed. He realizes Harry hasn't told him to leave yet when Harry levels him with a contemplative stare.

"Eggsy," he says, all warm and honey-sweet "come here."

He says it like he's not sure Eggsy will do it, which is ridiculous because Eggsy would have gone to him if there were alligators and Valentine and the Grand fucking Canyon between them. Even so he hesitates at the foot of the bed, the edge of decency, unsure how far his invitation gets him. Like Harry's some kind of emperor and you need special permissions to get each extra yard nearer past a certain point. But Harry just watches, and Eggsy takes the next bold step and doesn't die, so he takes another, and another, until he's standing in front of Harry with his heart pounding in his ears and his fingers burning to touch.

And Harry...doesn't do anything. He only keeps watching when Eggsy can't resist anymore and drops his eyes. He drinks Harry in starting from his toes, takes his time trailing up Harry's obscene legs, forces himself to breathe even if it's a bit shaky at the proud swell of Harry's cock, traces the crisscross of marks old and new along his skin up to his dark nipples, to his inviting collar bone, his wet, red lips.

"You've done wonderful things for my ego just now," Harry says as those lips quirk a bit.

"Harry."

"Ah, my apologies, I don't mean to tease," with that Harry stands, and Eggsy's stuck looking up at him utterly and completely at a loss, close enough to feel the heat rising off his bare skin, to smell sleep and sweat and day-old expensive cologne, almost to fucking taste him. But for now, his eyes stay staring into Harry's, hoping, waiting.

Harry doesn't make him wait long.

"Would you like me to kiss you, or would you like to skip it and just fuck?"

That about does it for Eggsy's legs, they give up the ghost and leave Harry to catch him about the elbows, concern clouding his otherwise confident expression. "Jesus Harry," he manages.

"Eggsy?"

Eggsy finds his voice rather quickly "Fuckin' kiss me."

That smile is back, softer and fonder and Eggsy won't be getting his feet back under him any time soon.

"Ah," Harry says, his voice so, so warm, and Eggsy's heart swells in his chest at the sound of it, fills with a break-neck daredevil bravery. But Harry doesn't address whatever he's thinking, only murmurs "of course," before shifting, supporting Eggsy with an arm around his waist and tilting his chin up with his free hand and kissing him with no further warning.

Eggsy's glad for the stupid, awful, no-good dress shirt then, as it gives him something to grab hold of and use to drag Harry flush to his body. Harry doesn't know how to pull his fucking punches, it takes him no time at all to have Eggsy trembling in his arms, clinging and desperate while Harry bites and savors and takes no fucking prisoners.

Harry's hands have migrated under his nightshirt, resting on his back under the rucked-up fabric. Then he drops one to Eggsy's arse, drags his hips in and fits them together so it's nothing but Eggsy's damn lounge pants between their cocks, and Harry's fucking smirking as Eggsy squirms with how much he's dying for this.

"Darling," he says, and Eggsy fails to hold back the shiver the endearment brings "you sleep in far too many clothes."

And Eggsy? He's never heard truer words in his life.