A/N Actually the first bit of fic I wrote for the film, so I feel like the characterization is a bit off since I had only seen the movie once at the time. Eh. We all start somewhere.
Firsts
When the scuffling died down and the lads finally got things sorted, introductions were in order for their new friends. Several unimaginative boys tossed out 'Fang' and 'Bruiser', for an Irish Wolfhound and Bulldog respectively. The more level headed ones spouted out real names, like Edward and Voltaire.
He scratched his Doberman behind the ears and said, 'Moira' because fate had brought them together.
He had always pegged Harry as one of the more straight-laced ones, so when he patted the little terrier in his lap and said 'Mr. Pickles', he was sure he was having the rest of them on.
It was the first time he realized that there might be more to Harry than a blank stare and a cold smile.
Moira was getting bigger every day, and thankfully, had a sharp mind to lend itself to her sleek body. She stayed close to his side when he jogged the grounds, only straying when he had given her leave to do so.
Her ears pricked up and she halted without permission, making him sigh. She might still be a pup, but he had high expectations of her. She had the good graces to look at him before she bolted for the trees, prompting him to give chase.
What caught her attention from so far away became evident soon enough, by the mad yapping of Harry's little terrier. He still couldn't quite call the creature Mr. Pickles, even in his own mind, without shaking his head. The small dog yipped and danced up on his hind legs, unable to move forward without facing the jaws of a remarkably viscous looking Schnauzer, and the much larger, and slavering, German Shepard in his path.
Moira backed the terrier, ears flattening and teeth barred.
The boys the dogs belong to don't notice, too busy kicking the shit out of Harry, who was curled up on the ground. He covered his head and stayed down, not making a sound even when their steel tipped boots struck his ribs. He hadn't been doing poorly in their martial training, so for whatever reason, he had decided not to fight back.
"Fucking poufter."
"Nick saw you in the shower, trying to look at his cock, you sick freak."
"What was Nick looking at then, I wonder?" The sound of his voice made them stop immediately. The deeper register of his voice had caused some confusion in the group in the past, allowing him to fool the others into thinking he was one of their instructors.
They caught sight of him quickly, but before they could relax knowing they were in no real danger, Moira pounced. She tossed the Schnauzer into the air, and Mr. Pickles took it upon himself to bring down the distracted German Sheppard.
He cursed, springing into action after the dogs. He got one good hit in before the boys recovered from their shock in order to defend themselves. Unlike Harry, his martial scores had been average, at best. He didn't imagine he would hold out long against the two heavy weight pillocks in front of him, but he could give it a shot.
When a right hook sent him sprawling, he finally noticed Harry wasn't on the ground anymore.
One boy went down, knee kicked out and bent into a new shape, screaming all the way. The other went sailing through the air, limbs flailing, until he landed heavy on his back, wind knocked out of him. The Schnauzer and the Sheppard ran into the trees, highly encouraged by Mr. Pickles' mad yapping and Moira's barks.
Harry hauled him to his feet so quickly the world tipped a bit and he had to clutch on to him a moment. It was, all in all, not a bad place to be.
"You all right?"
"I think I should be asking you that."
"I'll be fine."
Harry pulled his arm over his shoulder, supporting him though his dizzy spell had passed. Moira, limping but head held high, took the lead on the march back to the main building. Mr. Pickles pranced circles around them, every bit a conquering hero, parading for the masses.
They shuffled along in silence for a bit, before he had to ask.
"Were you really looking at Nick's cock in the shower?"
"'Course not, I was checking out his arse."
For the first time since he arrived there, he realized that he was not alone.
He was covered in bruises and he stuck to soft foods due to the ache in his jaw, but it was the best meal he had eaten in a long time.
Harry had decided to start sitting with him during tea.
"Merlin."
Harry stood behind him, hands on his shoulder, mouth obscenely close to his ear. It was the first time he had said the name and meant it as his.
He was caught up in his reflection, the new suit, though well fitted, was still a foreign entity in his eyes. Harry's face was over his shoulder in the mirror, a familiar point to cling to.
A knock on the dressing room door had Harry stepping back, hand sliding down the seam of his jacket. He exited the room before Merlin could return the favor of acknowledging his new position by calling him Galahad.
But then again, maybe he had a different reason for saying his name.
He took to the books and research with such voracity, that when he lifted his head from the vast library at his disposal, he was shocked to find several days have gone by.
Moira was less than pleased about his sudden lack of physical routine, body wound up with unspent energy when he finally tended to her.
Harry appeared, cuppa in one hand, Mr. Pickles in the other. He passed the tea to him first, then dropped the terrier in his lap. The little dog took a couple of turns, scoping out the landscape, before taking a vested interest in his crotch and sniffing more than a little invasively. Harry picked up Moira's lead, not acknowledging his dog's behavior.
"I'll take her with me on my run, shall I?"
Harry hadn't stopped in his physical maintenance at all, if anything, he had pressed harder with his training now that he was a Kingsman. Moira jumped up, delighted at the prospect of going out.
"Please, I've almost tracked this damn painting's sale history- once I've got it down-"
"Say no more."
It was the first, but certainly not the last time, Harry took on dog walking duties.
The first time he got shot, he passed out with his head in Harry's lap, getting told that once he was back on his feet, he would be joining him on his daily exercise routine.
Merlin kissed Galahad for the first time on a stage, with a small, private audience watching. The thespians whose garb they stole were knocked out and tied up in the boot of a company car out back.
They had needed a way into the event, and as the evening's entertainment was the best they could do on short notice. It wouldn't have been half a bad kiss, if Galahad wasn't murmuring instructions against his lips rather than just enjoying the moment.
Harry made up for it that night by kissing him for the first time. They were supposed to be heading farther into the shop to debrief with Arthur, but this was worth a few moments tardiness. Except Harry seemed to want to make it quite a large delay, what with one of his hands sliding down the knot of his tie and ruffling the lines of his suit by clutching the lapel. His other hand cupped the back of his head, keeping their mouths pressed close.
He grasped Harry's hips, not wanting to let himself get swept away or seem uninterested in progressing this.
The sharp tap of Oxford's against the floor had them pulling apart, hands straightening the others clothes in order to prolong whatever contact they could.
He finally caught Harry alone two weeks after their school boy make out session in the hall. Well, mostly alone. Mr. Pickles was in Harry's lap, the very place Merlin wanted to be, getting absently pet by his master while he read.
"Riveting?"
"You recommended it."
So he had.
"Harry."
He lowered the book and Mr. Pickles raised his head.
He could only stare at them, completely unsure of what to do next. He sighed, no particularly witty comment or smooth line coming to mind. "Oh, fuck me." This was going splendidly.
The book snapped shut, and Mr. Pickles leaped to the ground as his master stood.
"With pleasure."
Well, that couldn't have gone better if he planned it.
Mr. Pickles and Moira were shut out of the bedroom, much to their confusion.
Harry always had a certain economical grace which did him many favors in fighting, but Merlin quickly found made him a little too efficient at undressing. Harry was already peeling off his suspenders while he was just setting aside his jacket. He had one shoe off and Harry was down to a pair of dark blue silk boxers, which seemed to match the color of his tie.
Did he always coordinate that? Merlin would never be able to function properly again knowing Galahad advertised his day's undergarments on his chest.
He gave up on keeping up with the undressing, sitting at the edge of his bed and just watching Harry. Not only was he out of his clothes in record time, he was hanging them up properly too.
When he turned around and saw him there, still in trousers, suspenders and undershirt, he frowned.
"What is it?"
"You could stand to be a little less efficient."
He was startled a moment before his face faded into a smile. "Time wasting was always.. frowned upon."
Not exactly a lesson he had learned from the Kingsman who trained them. His own history had to have instilled it in him somewhere.
"Am I a waste of time?"
The smile was gone in an instant, his eyes completely serious. "Of course not."
"Then come here and slow down."
He might regret that comment later (his favorite word for Harry would, of course, become tease) but right in that moment, it was what he wanted.
Someone else's hands pushing away his suspenders, rough fingers brushing over his ribs as his shirt was pulled away. Soft, open mouthed kisses along his collarbone. He might not have made it on to Harry's lap this time, but the wonderfully comforting presence of the man above him on the bed was just as good. Knees steady on either side of his waist, he hovered over him, taking his time to learn the contour of his nose and the edge of his lips.
Harry was very good at slowing down, seeking out the pulse point on his neck, nosing across his shoulders before slowly kissing down his chest.
He took his time appreciating the unwrapped man above him. Harry's constant training made well defined muscle contours under his fingertips. His hands skirted around the waist of his boxers, more and more curious for the one last thing to be unveiled.
"You said-"
He shut him up with a kiss, not liking being called on his hypocrisy. Harry smiled against his mouth, lowering himself down so that his erection brushed against his trouser clad thigh. He brought up his own hips, prompting a startled moan to slip out of Harry's mouth. He wasn't going to bother trying to move him, so he just clutched the man's silk clad ass and held him in place. The taut feeling beneath his palms told him the other man was struggling not to start grinding against him.
He gave into his greed and pulled the silk boxers down, which were quickly gotten fully out of the way by Harry himself. Before he could do anything with the new found nakedness, hands reached to undo his trousers, distracting him with light brushes against his straining cock.
Harry only bothered getting his vestments down to about his knees before his mouth descended on him.
Merlin twisted his hands in the duvet, having a difficult time getting a comfortable grip on the thick material.
"Jesus Harry- slow-"
The inescapable heat of his mouth was used against him, trapping him in a tortuously, wonderfully drawn out experience. Harry's lips barely moved, teeth only becoming a nuisance when his hips bucked uncontrollably while his tongue did the devil's work trying to drive him mad.
He moved his hands, gripping Harry's shoulder tightly, blunt fingernails doing their damnedest to break into his skin.
"Fuck me, Harry."
Bless the man for staying at his task and trying to answer at the same time, the sound of his attempted speech vibrating in all the right ways against his buzzing nerves. His mouth slid along the full length of his aching shaft before releasing him.
"I said I am fucking you."
"What? I..." He could hardly register the incredibly sincere look on Harry's face. "Oh for.. drawer, left side."
He didn't need to be told twice, and all Merlin could do was close his eyes and bite his lip as the other man crawled across his body to retrieve the lube.
He pushed and did as much undignified shimmying as he could muster to get his legs untangled, and by the time he was free, Harry was back in place, though this times up on his knees.
He was till frustratingly (and wonderfully) together enough to warm the lube between his hands before pulling up Merlin's legs and beginning to prep him with his slick fingers. He clutched back at the covers, eyes fixed on the jutting and weeping cock of the man that was about to fuck him. He barely grasped at his threads of self control while Harry diligently stretched him with his fingers, maintaining himself by the knowledge that he was finally going to get fucked by the man he had been wanking too ever since he had seen him soaking wet after their sleeping quarters had been flooded.
His strained breathing and the slick sounds from Harry's hands were the only thing reaching his ears.
"Fuck, are you always so quiet?" It was a difficult trait to notice about the man, considering the noisy world they lived in. Still, it was almost a little disconcerting to see it extended to the bedroom.
"I want to be able to hear you."
He took the hint, regardless, finally slicking up his cock and pulling Merlin's knee up close to his side.
He watched Harry's face as he slid into him, cataloging the tremble in his lip and the deepening flush in his face and across his chest. His mind was left a second more of clarity before his hips starting moving, pulling him away from conscious thought and into the deeper, carnal whirlpool of pleasure.
"Fuck Harry," he could barley get his tongue to cooperate. "I want to hear you."
The moan he got in response sent a tight pull to his balls, and a rush of warmth low in his spine.
"You're so fucking tight." The husky words were barely identifiable as Harry's voice. "Been wanting this- so long..."
How long had Harry been wanking under the covers, thinking about him? Or was it after they had started missions?
Harry's hands kept his hips pinned, meaning he controlled the pace. He didn't stop him from stroking himself though, and the tension low in his belly could only hold so long before he was crying out, spilling over his own hand, cum managing to fleck against Harry's chest.
"Fucking beautiful."
"Someone should let the dogs outside."
Harry's eyes were closed, head resting against his chest. "Yes, you should."
It was the first time he hit him with a pillow, but it certainly wasn't the last.