Author: Regency

Title: The Leap

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin/Harry Hart

Contains: a different first meeting, drunken antics, Merlin's sterling commentary, UST and not nearly enough sex for all that this sounds like the start of a rather good porno

Summary: AU. After a few too many drinks, Eggsy slips into a friend's place to crash for the night, not realizing that it wasn't his friend's balcony he'd climbed, but Harry Hart's. Harry, just back from a difficult mission, is in for a rude, handsome, very nearly naked welcome home.

Author's Notes: My side in an old fic swap with Plinys on Tumblr with the following request: "i accidentally broke into your house/apartment because my friend lives next door to you and i was in the area, drunk, and i thought i was climbing into the right window and falling asleep on the right couch (and i did wonder when my friend got two cats but i didn't question it) so now i'm hungover and shirtless in your living room so um hi howya doin" au?

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters recognizable as being from Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015). They are the property of their actors, producers, writers, and studios, not me. No copyright infringement was intended and no money was made in the writing or distribution of this story. It was good, clean fun.

Eggsy Unwin is good burglar. Ask his mates, he can break into anything with a door or a window, no matter how high. He can make a dead leap for six feet and jump clear twelve and his climbing's top notch, no question. But his aim gets a little hectic when after a pint or two or five.

"Worth it though, innit," he murmurs to himself as he winds down the deserted street he's half sure he's supposed to be on. It's not too bad at this hour, bit wobbly, though, he notes as he stumbles into another street lamp. "Shit."

A light on somebody's top level cuts on and he swears again, trying to make his stupid feet push him down the lane. This ain't his neighborhood and he can't afford another mark on his spotty record.

His mate Ryan got a come-up off a rich auntie of his that died and he moved to the nice side of town to stay in her old place. It's not too shabby at all, but Eggsy and his stick out like a sore thumb.

All these places look alike. Everything's clean as a picture. Pisses him off a bit, nothing's like that.

He staggers into a front door with rattle, waking somebody's dog, and half the block.

"Fuck me."

He moves quicker, squinting one rolling eye to get the earth to stand bloody still a minute so he can pick out Aunt Honoria's eggshell walk-up from the beige one next door. The fuck's the difference? "Knew I shouldn't have gone back for that last 'un." His friends had opted to come back and startup Mario Kart without him since he wasn't in the mood.

"Who's out there!" shouts some shadowy bloke in a posh accent. That sends Eggsy running as best he can and taking the nearest corner, hoping it ain't an alleyway. It's a dead end all right, end of the Mews, but there's a possible escape route a few houses there. The one at the end has a balcony and flowers in the window box. Looks familiar enough, he supposes, and takes a running leap.

He misses. It hurts like a motherfucker landing on his right ankle wrong.

There's definitely somebody coming round the way, though, so he sucks up the pain from his bum ankle and leaps again. Doesn't get as much air this time, does he, but it's enough to snag the railing and pull himself over.

'Course the balcony doors are shut tight like a certain tosser is trying to keep him out.

"Ryan!" he hisses at the gauzy curtains obscuring his look in. He's pretty sure those hadn't been there before. Ryan's been boxing his old aunt's stuff up to send to his cousins in Shropshire since they want it, he doesn't, and he was named sole beneficiary of the house. (He was Aunt Honoria's favorite.)

"Ryan!" he hisses, ducking down to the ground since that is definitely a cruiser passing by the turn-off. Eggsy knows he's in no state to take out his lock picks and have luck so he falls on his old tricks, the combo that'll get most doors to give. Yank, pull, twist, twist, shove. Working at that locksmith one summer earned him more than spare change and not a few dates.

The door falls open under his shoulder and him along with. He squirms into the darkness just in time for the coppers to turn on the flashing lights on him shoving the door closed. He's breathing hard, flat on the floor. To hell with Ryan leaving him like that.

"Ryan!"

There's no answer. He tries again.

"Ryan! Jamal! What the fuck, bruvs?"

He wants out of the dark but he knows better than to turn on a light. He make to crawl through the shadowy room and plum bangs into some kind of table.

Crash.

…and a lamp. It sounds-sounded hella expensive. He didn't even know Aunt Honoria had any lamps left like that after the cousins started making demands.

"You gotta be shitting me." He wishes he was drunker. That'd make up for this.

He half stumbles round till he bumps into a wall after smashing his knee on something sturdy made of marble. He's limping by the time he's found a hall lit by some moonlight filtering through even more windows. Was there all these windows last time?

He stumbles past some more locked doors till he finds the stairs and manages not to tumble arse over teakettle down the lot by the skin of his teeth.

The downstairs is as silent as a tomb. "Tossers kept hoppin' without me." They might have said something about trying out Club Scorpio as he was chatting up the barkeep with the brown eyes. He can't recall them so clearly now. Maybe they were green.

"Not even a game o' Mario Kart for my trouble." The flashing lights have gone. Not even the heavy footsteps of a patrolman outside the front door now. Eggsy's here all on his own. Probably what he needs anyway.

His bladder throbs a reminder that he needs more than that. Shouldn'ta had that fifth. He stumbles past some wicked furniture in the den he doesn't remember from their Call of Duty tourney last week. It's like Ryan went posh and hired a decorator with shit expensive taste.

Shrugging because Ryan's welcome to all the ugly he can buy, Eggsy goes to take a slash in the second unlocked room he finds after the kitchen. Thank fuck it's the bathroom. He relieves himself without embarrassing himself any further. They ain't never letting me live that down. They never will. He's going to wash his hands when he spots the stuffed dog.

"That's a stuffed dog. Why's…?"

The fuck kind of sick shit is this? Ryan and Jamal know how Eggsy gets about animals. They wouldn't do that for a joke, would they? Takin' the piss.

Eggsy hisses and goes to rub the little red terrier gently, pulling back slightly when he realized it was still soft like it'd been up kept.

"That's well creepy, bruvs."

Eggsy'll give them grief about it first thing. He yawns. Right after he sleeps this bender off. He wants to get back to his bright and early to make waffles for his little sister and his mum since Dean's out of town on 'business'.

He stumbles back into the living room with its overdone everything and sheds his clothes down to his pants. It's nothing his mates haven't seen so he doesn't worry about digging up a blanket. He's still sweating from his leap upstairs.

Eggsy curls up into a ball to sleep and nods off. It's been some kind of day.

…

It's been some kind of day for Harry Hart, too. He's just back from Vladivostok where someone's Moreau-esque human experimentation had taken a ghastly and inhumane turn. Harry is going to need at least a weekend free of human interaction to recover his equilibrium.

"You did what you had to do, Harry," Merlin murmurs in his ear, voice quiet in deference to the hour and the stress-induced pounding in Harry's temples.

"It shouldn't have had to be done."

"No, it shouldn't have," Merlin soothes, because the more frightening of them he may be but Merlin is also the gentler when it counts.

"I'm going to be a monster for days," he apologizes, "a bear with a sore head."

"That's all right. I can't tell the difference."

Harry pulls out his house key as the cab draws up outside his front door. "Very funny. To bed with you, then. I'm not the only one who's been awake for three days straight."

"Yes, father."

Harry sniffs, tongue in cheek. "Good night, child."

Chuckling, Merlin signs off and Harry disembarks with a nod to his driver. The first aberration he notes is the dark smudge on the face of his home, above his head but within his eye line on the base of the balcony. Motor oil? Grime of some kind. Gutter sludge, perhaps. His senses thus alerted, Harry continues his approach on the off-chance he's being watched. He taps his glasses to zoom in on the balcony door. Tampered with. Closed firmly but not locked.

He taps his spectacles again but refrains from speaking. He gets a yawn for his trouble.

"Something the matter, old boy?" When Merlin is in flannel and wool, they're old friends more than colleagues but his friend isn't who he needs. Merlin reads this in his silence, moves quickly to key into his feed. "Intruder alert, perimeter compromised. Alarm engaged. Inner room and armory secure. Do you request backup?"

Harry hums softly in the negative, makes a show of picking his front door key from the ring and inserting the key, body angled away on the off chance it's rigged to blow. It doesn't.

"That was idiotic, what you just did there."

This is an amateur incursion at best, he thinks. Merlin sighs, guessing at his response.

"Motion sensors indicate no movement for the last two hours. Based on our biometric security sensors, your intruder is either lying in wait or he's fallen asleep on the chesterfield."

Harry pushes his door open and steps inside. The darkness persists. His entry way is lit by the odd streetlamp and a light from his open bathroom door. Harry sets his umbrella aside and brandishes his sidearm, moving slowly toward the entrance to the sitting room. The rug on the stairs is slightly askew.

Merlin chimes in, "Intruder entered through the balcony and came below. Look alive, we've got movement."

Harry swings round the entryway as the light switches on, momentarily startling Harry back into the hall to preserve his night vision.

"The fuck are you?"

Harry squints past the lock of hair that's fallen in his eyes to the swaying shirtless man wielding a Ming vase at him. That had been his mother's. He narrows his eyes in reproach.

"Who the hell is this, then? Taken up with a toy boy, Galahad?"

Harry doesn't hiss in reply but it's a near thing.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my den?"

"Your den? This is my best mate's den. 'Re you one of the cousins?"

"The cousins?" Harry cants his head in puzzlement but doesn't lower his weapon. This wouldn't be the first time a combatant tried banter for a distraction.

"Ryan's cousins. One 'o Honoria's brood. Didn't like it much when he got the digs and they got the dirt." The man shrugs, still holding his largely useless vase aloft. Now that Harry's eyes have adjusted to the golden light emanating from the nearest lamp he can see that his intruder is not only shirtless but largely naked save for a pair of snug shorts. Not even socks. He's well under two meters of muscle and speckled and scarred skin. He's also discomfortingly handsome.

"You sure you didn't place an order and forget to pick it up?" Merlin quips, still notably tapping away at his terminal. Now that's he awake he's no doubt gotten drafted as handler in place of a minion running on fumes. His friend is a far worse workaholic than Harry and Harry hasn't had a vacation since he turned fifty.

"I'm afraid you've confused me for someone else and my home for someone else's."

The young man, and he is quite a bit younger, narrows his eyes and raises his chin in blatant challenge. "Prove it."

"I had the keys to the front door."

"I got in without 'em."

Harry blinks at him, impressed and unwilling to show it.

"He has you there." He's going to talk to Merlin about his useless commentary later on.

"You're holding my mother's Ming vase. Put it down, if you please."

"Put down the gun. Why've you even got a gun? Nobody's supposed to carry one around without a license to kill."

Harry cocks a brow and permits a smile to twist his lips. "What makes you think I don't have one?" The strange boy gulps. Still doesn't put down the vase. Harry swallows a sigh. He would like this resolved sooner rather than later; he is, after all, very tired. "As I've said, you've obviously broken into the wrong house for your cat nap."

"Oi! I had an express invitation. My mate said I could come and go as I please."

"Yes, to your mate's home. Alas, this is not the right address."

"Don't know if I believe that."

"What, pray tell, is your mate's name."

"Who wants to know?"

"The man who owns this house."

"You sure you ain't one of the cousins?"

"My parents were only children, as am I. No cousins. Don't make me ask again."

"Name's Ryan."

The name rings a vague sort of a bell. "Ryan?"

Merlin is on it. "Ryan Aldridge. New owner of the property two doors down. Nephew of the late Honoria Aldridge."

"Ah, Ryan Aldridge."

"Yeah…" His posture grows wearier though less poised for a fight his musclebound form promises would be difficult.

"You wanted the house two doors down. I'm afraid you've arrived just short of your goal. I take it alcohol was involved."

His quite suddenly abashed intruder lowers the vase back to its original position on the end table. "Mighta been."

Merlin intones, sounding rather bemused as well as sympathetic, "Look at it, like a wee pup who's pissed the rug."

Once he's lowered his gun, Harry taps his glasses frame once to mute the man. That'll be enough of that. He's convinced by now that his nearly naked interloper means no harm.

"I think you should call your friend. It's probably best you have an escort take you where you meant to go—after you get dressed." Not that Harry isn't enjoying the view in his roundabout way. His burglar is strapping. Broad of shoulder, trim of waist, chiseled as if by an artist's intent. What biology has rendered comely, sheer gall has made beautiful, and Harry has always been a patron of the arts.

All the same, Harry makes sure to re-direct his gaze to the objects arranged in their places around the den whilst his uninvited guest gets reacquainted with his clothing. He'll have to take inventory when he isn't so exhausted to ensure nothing's gone missing.

The boy shrugs on some ghastly yellow and black hoodie that does him little justice and regrettably hides his physique from easy sight. His low-slung jeans are likewise ill-fitting. He could be a vision in the right clothing. A fine suit for a fine figure. His weary mind mourns the possibility of it, his weary body the possibility of more. He knows himself too well to suggest that all he aches for is sleep. He re-holsters his weapon.

His intruder effects a limping saunter close by now that he's back in his clothes. They suit him, add charm to his boyish looks. Harry feels old for thinking it.

"Err, I mighta broke a lamp o' yours upstairs. Sorry." The younger man plays with a white snapback before using it to cover his blonde hair.

"Might have or did?"

The boy winces, hazarding a guarded look at Harry as though waiting for him to lash out. "Did. I couldn't see a thing, it was dark up there."

Harry has already decided that it can be replaced. There are more important things. "So it was. Might I know the name of the man who successfully circumvented my state of the art security system?"

The boy hesitates for long enough that Harry wonders if he'll receive an answer. Then, he nods, even offers a hand. "Eggsy."

Harry takes it and introduces himself in turn, first name only. "I am very nearly impressed that you only managed to break a lamp instead of your neck in the dark."

Eggsy smirks, proffers the cheekiest of winks that lights up his pallid face, making him look all the younger and far too mature for his age. Mature enough to want to see again. Harry drops his hand after a polite amount of time has passed. 'Mature enough' is still far too young.

"You should see me in daylight."

Twilight would suffice for all that Harry is thinking and then pointedly refusing to think again.

"A gentleman never boasts, Eggsy."

"Good thing I ain't a gentleman, innit?"

Harry is quite sure that's what makes his accidental intruder so dangerous.

…

Eggsy subtly eyes the gorgeous bloke in the thousand-pound bespoke affair who wields a gun like Dean wields his fist and finds himself loath to go just yet. His phone's half dead but he's got a dozen texts from Ryan and Jamal asking where he's got to. Ryan's headed this way after text one dozen and two. Eggsy stows his mobile. This is his last chance.

"One more question?" he asks, sauntering up to his reluctant host where he's pouring a drink of brandy like it's brain surgery. His ankle barely hurts now.

"By all means." Harry makes an art form out of sipping, all poise and hooded eyes. That long neck and a sigh Eggsy can practically taste. Wants to just once.

"Jus' wonderin', why the hell do ya keep a stuffed dog in the toilet?"

Harry smiles like he doesn't mean to.

"Why were you breaking into strange houses at two in the morning?"

"I told ya that."

"Would you believe I'd have to kill you if I told you?" Eggsy shifts on his feet. The husky burr of Harry's voice makes something in him twitch to wakefulness. There's a thrill waiting behind that voice.

"That's Jack Bauer stuff, James Bond an' all. I might believe that."

Harry leans towards him, his snifter of brandy dangling from those long fingers like a lure. "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you." He's too serious to be joking.

Eggsy gives him a once-over and bites his lip, hungrily eyeing the liquor, the suit, and the living thrill wearing it in front of him. He swipes Harry's glass, swallows a mouthful that tastes as expensive as everything about Harry looks. It gives Eggsy courage when those brown eyes go dark, when Eggsy's heart rate kicks up till he's just about dizzy from the weight of being watched like Harry does.

"Give us a chase, old man. I'd like to see you try."

Harry takes back his glass to set it aside, grabs Eggsy by his lapels and draws him kissing close. Ruddy tall bastard. His legs gotta go on for years. Eggsy wants to climb every inch of them. "You should tell your friend you won't be coming."

Eggsy licks his lips, smirks when those burning eyes follow. "Won't I?"

He does.

They both do.