Author: Regency
Title: Let's Meet Again
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Pairings: eventual Eggsy Unwin/Harry Hart, temporary Eggsy/other, implied past Harry/other
Contains: banter, swords, shits & giggles, (a bit o' in-character kinkshaming?), and Tinder nightmares (references to attempted non-con)
Summary: AU. Eggsy's love life these days is just one extra-long post on Let's Not Meet. Tonight's Tinder hook-up is no exception. That is, until Eggsy tries to make a quick escape from the creep with a latex fetish and runs into an honest to god knight. Yeah, he might be wearing a bespoke suit instead of armor, but that sword he's carrying? Shit's real as it gets.
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 was having a shit night.
He'd left home early to meet up with the fit rower he'd been chatting with on Tinder for the last couple of days. They'd agreed to have a pint at the rower's local close to UCL. Eggsy'd dressed nice for him, sent his rower a couple of nice selfies of his abs under his polo, and then made for the Tube to get to his date. He got to the spot. It wasn't too posh. Was sort of nice, actually, filled with college lads and pretty birds with high ponytails and circles under their eyes from studying and partying both. Eggsy didn't stick out like too much of a sore thumb. It was all right.
HottenhamLad36, though. That was his Tinder Name. HottenhamLad36 was odder (and older) in person than he'd seemed via text. He had these eyes. They were sort of piercing in all his pictures-that was why Eggsy'd swiped right on him. He liked a bloke with the lights on upstairs and Hottie (for short) had attention in spades. Only it was the sort of focused attention that ran to unsettling right quick. He had one of those smiles that was a touch too wide for the look in his eye and his laugh was all kinds of calibrated. One ha, two has, three has, done.
Twenty minutes after sitting down over a plate of fish and vinegar chips, Eggsy was about ready to make an excuse about having to get home his three nonexistent kids when Hottie kissed him.
Eggsy would say this for Hottie. He was good with his tongue. Aggressive in a way that would have had alarms blaring had Eggsy not downed three pints to shut up the paranoid voice in the back of his mind telling him to parkour out the gents' window and run home. Look, Eggsy hadn't pulled for a good few months and he was getting edgy. There weren't many guys up to have him come to theirs because he lived with his mum, his kid sister, and his shitty bloke's bloke stepdad. Forget that he barely earned enough to go halfsies on a Nando's much less somewhere more stylish. Pulling in his own neighborhood was suicide with Dean's goons lurking. Hottie hadn't looked down on Eggsy's circumstances and he'd had some nice things to say about Eggsy's face...and his abs, and his skin. All in all, Hottie had said everything right.
And now he knew when to stop talking and get to doing.
After that, he didn't have to try all that hard to get Eggsy into a taxi with him. They were pretty busy going at it and the driver didn't seem to care other than warning them off leaving stains on the seats. They were hot and heavy at it by the time they reached their destination, some pretty swank digs on Savile Row Eggsy had no business in, but Hottie wasn't sweating it, so Eggsy wouldn't either.
They made it far as the storeroom of an unmarked storefront before things started to get dicey. They'd stumbled, attached at the lips, through a darkened store full of what must have been clothes. Eggsy smelled wool and cotton, shoe polish and starch. It was shaping up to be the fanciest place he'd hooked up yet.
He and Hottie (Eggsy still didn't remember what name he'd given) ended up exchanging spit-fisted handies on top of a glass checkout counter. There wasn't a thing different from what Eggsy did to himself except for it being another bloke stroking him off the way he liked, all filthy and slow, till Eggsy nutted like a geyser all over Hottie's hand, shirt, and jeans.
It had been a while...
Just when he expected Hottie to throw a shit fit, he'd laughed, calling Eggsy eager in a voice that made his spent cock twitch. Yeah, he was eager all right. Hottie licked both their fingers clean and kissed Eggsy till they were both sticky and loving it. Hottie begged off more, promising to get himself changed and come back for round two.
Eggsy wiped himself down using some Kleenex he found beside the till. He felt wrong sitting in an up-rent store with his junk out. He looked around for somewhere to put the soiled tissue before shrugging and shoving it in his pocket. He'd carried worse trophies home from a date. The only trophy Eggsy wanted from Hottie was date number two. Hottie was exactly the pressure valve Eggsy was looking for now that home had got too hot and work was slow in coming. Just a good time, no strings, no fuss, no rush. He could finally exhale.
He'd just hopped off the counter to poke around in the racks when he heard Hottie's tread returning from the rear of the store. Eggsy hurried back to his previous spot in case he wasn't supposed to move about too much. Hottie had all the snob trappings, but this definitely wasn't his store. The sign out front read est. 1940 and Hottie was 28 if he was a day.
Eggsy was just about to go looking for him when Hottie swept out of the backroom like a bat in a church tower: fucking traumatizing. He was dressed in black (maybe? it didn't quite look right in this light) from the top of his head to his feet. Only his eyes and lips were visible through his shiny mask. Not even his hands were bare. When he sauntered further into view, his suit creaked and stretched around his frame. Light seemed to bend around him and his eyes cut right through Eggsy. He was wearing fucking latex. Shit.
Eggsy broke out into a cold sweat and not the good, fuck yes, fuck me kind.
Like, listen, Eggsy appreciated a bit of leather and silk now and again. Felt good against his skin and all, but the latex body suit including hood? Not his scene. Felt a little too budding serial killer for his blood. That thing spoiled Evan Peters on American Horror Story. Made him look mental and like he'd slit me throat mid-orgasm. Eggsy hadn't been able to get his rocks off thinking about him since. That fucking latex suit is ruinin' my sex life.
"I'm not really into whatever this is."
"Come on, it'll be fun." Hottie ran his hands up and down Eggsy's chest, which might have been a turn-on if not for the cringey noises the suit made as he moved. Eggsy squirmed out from under him.
"Not happenin', bruv. That's not my thing."
Hottie reached around Eggsy to the counter below and withdrew a length of dark-colored rope. Eggsy swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He checked his pockets and realized he must have dropped his phone at the pub or in the taxi. Fuck fuck fuck.
"How do you know until you give it a try?"
Eggsy tried not to flinch as Hottie came close enough to loom over him. He hated intimidation at the best of times, but anybody trying to use their height advantage over him was sure to get his back up. He was alone, nobody knew where he'd got to or when he'd be back. No way was he playing Hottie's game anymore.
"Listen, I had fun an' all, but I'm gonna head out. See ya around or whatever."
Eggsy dodged Hottie's grabby hands and retraced his foot steps to navigate the shop and find the front door. It was his poor luck that Hottie knew the place better and beat him there.
It just figured he wouldn't take fuck off for an answer.
Harry had had a weekend of shit nights.
First, his planned holiday of hedonism with a former lover was abruptly terminated by an untimely summons from Merlin. Second, he was assigned the most galling, asinine errand in the docket: to retrieve Richard III's legendary sword. The final blade wielded by the fallen Yorkish king at the Battle of Bosworth Field. Apparently, in all the clamor to ensure Richard III received a proper royal burial at last, his accouterments had been...mislaid.
If eBay qualifies as a port for safekeeping. Honestly. If anything, Harry was perturbed that he wouldn't be bedding down with some familiarly gorgeous creature who knew exactly how to make his toes curl. Two days and all he had for his trouble was a bloody sword. An important one, to be sure, but it certainly wouldn't keep his bed warm.
Harry tucked the sword, sheathed majestically in its cowhide scabbard, farther under his greatcoat, and made his way on foot back to Savile Row. He needed to walk off the adrenaline since it didn't appear he was going to be working it off any other way. Though, he grudgingly acknowledged, the impromptu joust with his cat burglar's minions had let him work off a head full of steam and sexual frustration. Nothing compared to what Jim was capable of, sadly, but then very few were capable of that.
Harry was nostalgically recounting their past rendezvous when he came upon a fight at the end of the street. Savile Row was typically deserted at this hour save for Dagonet's assistants who could be seen moving about the showroom through the tinted windows. Unlike its street mates, Kingsman operated around the clock, at a low ebb in the evenings and high tide throughout the day. For those reasons it was unexpected to find unknown persons wandering the street after dark, much less two of them locking horns.
A young man of indeterminate age dressed in an ostentatious black and gold jacket was engaged in a poorly-matched scuffle with a man of similar age wearing...if Harry didn't miss his guess, that was latex. It takes all sorts, doesn't it? The fabric was hell to tailor, which was about the extent of his interest in it.
All Kingsman agents made it a point to be aware of the goings-on proximal to the shop for surveillance purposes. Neither of them were a regular presence in the area that Harry could see. The taller one was non-descrip in the Oxbridge-educated, well-to-do fashion Harry had long since learned to see through. The shorter, though no less well-proportioned, one was coarse of manner and speech and spitting mad for one reason or another. He was also bleeding. His knuckles were bruised. Harry was going to have to intervene.
He observed their tussle for a minute more from the shadows, taking in the larger man's obvious physical advantage and the younger man's impressive repertoire of foul language. When it seemed that the boy might actually be losing, Harry thought it best to step in. He'd only have to break the man's door down later and Merlin got so tetchy about property damage since the latest round of budget cuts.
"Pardon me for prying, but what seems to be the trouble here?"
The younger man answered first, still attempting to shake himself free of Latex's grasp, "I was just leaving."
The man regrettably attired in navy blue (really? was black out of stock?) latex paused in his efforts to draw his unwilling playmate back into the dark store. He looked as Oxford as Harry's ilk, as Oxford as his friend did not. His grasp on the boy's arm was too tight to be ignored; he had no intention of setting his quarry free. Harry tugged his cuffs into their proper place. He truly hated his upper-class peers at times.
Harry looked to the more...elaborately dressed man attempting to keep the boy in place. "And I presume you were hoping to stop him?" Harry let his gaze drop from the tight neck of the reflective catsuit to the stretch of the fabric across the man's chest to the prominent bulge between his legs. A torn mask hung from the collar of his ensemble. He boasted a well-split lip.
"We were having a bit of fun. You know how it is."
Regrettably, Harry knew very well. He eyed the younger man staring balefully at the pavement below. He seemed very sure he was in for a rough time of it. "Are you still having fun?"
He shook his head, bright eyes flitting between Harry and his captor as if assessing which of them was the worse threat.
"I thought as much. I'm afraid it appears your fun has come to an end, sir. Let the boy go."
"He's hardly a boy." That much was true. They were probably closer in age to one another than either was to Harry, yet it was the youngest man's anxious fidgeting setting off Harry's guard dog instincts. It gave him the air of someone younger than even he appeared to be.
"And he's hardly consenting. Be a gentleman and let go."
"He came willingly."
"And then he obviously changed his mind. Perhaps you weren't entirely forthcoming as to your expectations for the evening." Harry surreptitiously tapped his tortoiseshell frames to take still images for Merlin's dossier. Kingsman didn't much concern itself with the sexual proclivities of its Savile Row neighbors, but those inclined to force themselves on others needed dealing with in the short order. Harry would be only too happy to take the case.
"What's your name?" he asked of the young man clearly weighing his avenues of escape.
He looked between them again. "Gary," he finally declared.
The name didn't suit him.
"Gary? You said your name was Eggsy."
That did suit him, though Harry didn't like how possessively it was spoken or how freely Latex had given away Eggsy's private information. Intelligence operatives prized discretion and this fellow didn't even have the decency to be discreet. Hardly any decency at all. Harry grimaced at his get-up. Hardly any taste, either, prospective bed mates aside.
"Eggsy-if I may call you Eggsy?"
"Yeah, 's not much of a secret now, is it?"
"So it isn't." He smiled placidly in the hopes of instilling trust. Eggsy's eyes widened. "Would you go stand over there? I'd like to have a word with your friend, and then I'll see you home."
"He's no friend o' mine, bruv. Give ya my word on that."
Harry nodded attentively "Of course." He gestured toward the bright lamps of the Kingsman storefront. "That's my workplace, just there. Tell them I sent you. Help yourself to a drink if you'd like."
Eggsy yanked his arm out of Latex's increasingly shaky grasp to glare at his former captor. "Good luck, mate. Better your head than mine." With that parting shot, he darted for Kingsman at top speed. There was a moment when Harry was sure Eggsy would take his leave altogether, but he supposed curiosity must have got the better of him, because after his minute hesitation, he went inside.
Harry turned to his rude compatriot in navy blue. "Well, points for style, if nothing else, but I'm afraid that behavior just isn't going to stand."
"What are you going to do about it? My father owns this store and it was founded by my great-grandfather in 1940." Pathetic highborn posturing set Harry's teeth on edge, but in fairness he was very good at it himself. Some might call it a gift.
"My great-grand-uncle was one of the original founders of Kingsman Tailors in 1897. He was also seventh in line for the throne, as are my cousins. If you'd like to continue comparing our pedigrees, I can assure you you'll come up quite short."
"You don't want it with me, old man." He produced a knife from someplace where it must have been ingeniously concealed as his suit left nothing external to the imagination. Why would a man with good intentions need such a deadly weapon?
Harry tapped the hilt of the sword resting unseen against his hip. "You're quite the rude little thing, aren't you? Accosting young men who refuse your advances-"
"He wasn't refusing them earlier." Harry cataloged the letch's physical weaknesses reflexively. His grip on his blade was poor; he was obviously not trained in its use. His center of gravity was too high and his stance was too narrow, leaving him vulnerable to a sudden body strike.
" 'Yes' before is not yes for good. 'No' right now is refusal enough. It isn't a conditional statement begging for persuasion. And violent persuasion..." Harry's gaze hardened into a glower. "Not to mention, interrupting old men attempting to put you in your place. Using this place of business, I'm sure without permission, for your liaisons. You're an ill-mannered, ill-bred parasite." Harry smirked and drew his sword. "Your father will hear about this."
Eggsy had done as he was told for a change. He'd gone to Kingsman and spoken to one of the young women in tweed and cashmere, saying there might be a fight and some posh twat in a suit had sent him, could he please have a drink he was having the shittest night. The first woman he met-Roxy as she'd distractedly introduced herself-had pushed him toward a Waterford decanter older than Eggsy's nan and told him to help himself. She'd vanished into the bowels of the shop along with all the other milling assistants. Nobody was paying attention to Eggsy amid all the flash clothes and shit costly accessories. Nobody had looked at him funny. He sat himself down and didn't touch a thing, save two generous fingers of top-shelf brandy, just in case they changed their minds.
That lasted two whole minutes before his curiosity got the best of him and he crept back to the door to see what had become of his white knight do-gooder in his greatcoat. He was half-expecting to see him laid out on the pavement. That would have been normal. Eggsy was not having a normal night, however, and whoever this fucker was, he was no normal knight. Or maybe he was. The sword he was thrusting at the pushy tit in the rubber onesie was pretty convincing.
And then he saw that said pushy fucker had a knife. A knife. Bad enough that he'd wanted to truss Eggsy up without asking first, he'd had a knife on him and all? Eggsy shuddered.
Rubber onesie fucker, let's not meet again.
His knight pirouetted from a clumsy swipe of Hottie's big knife. He'd shed his coat, revealing a trim figure in pinstripe. He was quick for a man his age; the lenses of his glasses and the blade of his sword flashed like lightning under the lamp light as he darted in to strike. Hottie was on the defense, leaping backward, managing only the odd offensive stab at the other man. Bet the rubber's hell to move in. Eggsy's knight fought with style that made his heart thunder. He wasn't afraid of him or for him, whoever he was. It wasn't fear that was doing this to him.
"For fuck's sake, Harry." Eggsy spun around to see a man easily as tall as Eggsy's knight and bald as a light bulb (his head gave off about that much glare) scowling at the scene. He only spared Eggsy a passing glance as he strode out the front door to join the fray.
Roxy met Eggsy at the window wearing a bothered look.
"Who's Harry?"
Roxy smiled thinly and pointed to the man in the thousand-pound suit flourishing a long sword in the street. He'd stuck to landing glancing blows on Hottie so far. He could have killed him, but for some reason he was still alive. "That's Harry."
"Does he usually go around strapped with a sword?"
Roxy opened her mouth and nothing came out. Finally, she shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised, actually. He's known for being something of a drama queen."
"Looks like a king to me."
Roxy snorted but wouldn't say why when he asked.
The other man, the Scottish one in a jumper, came at Hottie's back in flying rugby tackle and took him down hard. Eggsy winced in sympathy. Harry popped up with a set of zip ties, his sword stowed safely in its scabbard. The two of them grabbed Hottie up and hoisted him back into his store by his wrists. Eggsy didn't expect he'd be seeing Hottie again. He didn't think he'd want to, at any rate.
"Who's the other one?"
"That one's Merlin."
"That his real name?" he inquired, skeptical.
Roxy shrugged. "The only one he'll answer to."
"Huh." Eggsy looked at Roxy sidelong. "I didn't know tailors could fight like that."
"You get enough Oxford fencing champions and ex-rugby players in one building and security becomes much less of an issue."
"You a fencer?"
Roxy grinned a Cheshire grin. "Boxer, actually. Retired semi-pro."
Eggsy whistled his appreciation. "Nice. What's a bloke got to do to work at a place like this?"
Roxy shot him an unreadable look. "Make a good first impression."
Harry left Gerrold Wyndham-Moore III, Tinder name: HottenhamLad36, in Merlin's custody to see to his self-appointed charge. Eggsy was waiting with Lancelot in the shop's client waiting area. They'd exchanged brandy for tea. Harry could kill a cup of the stuff. Lancelot read his longing glance for what it was and took pity on an old man with a sword.
"I'll whip up another kettle, sir."
"Just this once?"
She matched his tired look with a skewering one. She was nobody's tea girl. "Just this once."
Harry dropped himself gingerly into the deep chair she'd vacated, mindful of his borrowed blade. Eggsy regarded him uneasily. He was used to that. Useless toffs were to be ignored, but dangerous ones were to be feared. Fair enough.
Silence reigned until Lancelot returned. With a comforting smile to Eggsy she took her leave once more. Harry finally decided to get on with things. His bed, though empty, called to him.
"Are you all right?"
Eggsy nodded from behind his teacup. A shield like any other but smaller and more delicate. Too beautiful to damage casually. Like people ought to be. "Yeah."
Harry sipped his drink and let its bitter strength soothe him. He'd need a good soak to work the kinks from his shoulders after tonight's bouts. He hadn't parried that way since university. Guns had made him lax.
Eggsy fidgeted, much as he had when in Moore's custody.
Harry lowered his tea from his lips. It was nearly empty. "Something's still the matter. Did he harm you?" He put his tea aside. "We have a staff doctor on call, if you'd like to be seen. I find she's very understanding in matters like this."
Though infrequent, from time to time agents were subject to sexual assault during the course of their duties. To ensure the most thorough recovery possible Kingsman had seen fit to employ a full-time physician specializing in injuries of that nature in addition to a therapist with the same qualifications. He acknowledged that as one of Arthur's better decisions.
"Why've you got a doctor on call for a tailor shop?"
Harry blinked. The lie came easily to him.
"We work all hours using sharp implements. You'd be surprised how much damage shears can do in the hands of a sleep-deprived apprentice cutting patterns at three in the morning."
Eggsy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It was an absurd cover story, at best, but it was the official cover story and Harry imagined he was in trouble enough without casting aspersions on its authenticity. Just the same, he'd put it to the Table to come up something, anything that might convince a discerning civilian, because the 'sleepy tailors' excuse was right out.
"My motives are entirely pure. You needn't be frightened, Eggsy. Not of me." Not for this.
Eggsy raised his cup in a blithe salute. "Figured that out when you took out your big ol' sword to scare off that creep. You was just tryin' to impress me."
Harry chuckled tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes and no. I wanted you safe because you seemed afraid. That's what I'm here for."
"You're a regular knight is what you are."
"I suppose I am." Tonight was the first time in a very long time that he had protected someone because it was the right thing to do and not because he'd been given orders. He'd forgotten how rewarding altruism could feel.
He found he wasn't as exhausted anymore. There'd be other nights to play Casanova; this one wasn't so bad a showing for Galahad.
"So, tell me about yourself. What do you do, Eggsy?"
Eggsy's body language shifted from open to defensive. "Nothing much."
Nothing at all, Harry deduced, inwardly sighing at having stepped in it so resolutely so soon.
Harry cast about the quiet shop for a way to gloss over his misstep, only to come back to the shop itself. It was peaceful. With the exception of the odd enemy incursion, and the clearly problematic scion of local tradesman, it was safer than any workplace London could offer. Safe enough for Eggsy, Harry hoped.
"I wonder, have you given any thought to becoming a tailor?"
Eggsy got to be a staple at the Kingsman shop in the following months. He saw Harry plenty and Harry's suits twice as often. The man went through a couple a fortnight. What I'd give to have that kind of money to burn. Never mind that Eggsy still didn't know what a traveling tailor did to destroy so many suits. They came crumpled in the bottom of garment bags, smelling of char and iron. They came ripped through with knife tears. They came riddled with bullet holes (these seemed to worry Dagonet's assistants the most). All of it worried Eggsy. These're the first tailors I've met and not a one of them acts like it. He didn't say a word about it. The non-disclosure agreement he'd signed had been iron-clad.
Eggsy was just a glorified gofer in nice castoffs at first, clothes courtesy of Roxy and Merlin and his job by Harry. He sorted suits for mending, cleaning, and disposal. Harry had more suits be tossed in four months than any other bloody client all year. Harry consequently also had more fittings. Eggsy hadn't missed one yet, and this time it was his turn to do the measuring. His apprenticeship was in full swing.
"Eggsy!" Harry strode into Fitting Room #1 dressed casually. Casual for Harry was tailored slacks and a sports jacket, a button-down with no tie and his top buttons undone. Eggsy was a sucker for casual Harry.
Or any Harry.
Having somebody swing a sword to save your arse would make you mates if nothing else did. Harry was at least that to Eggsy.
"'Ey, Harry. Saved any lucky chavs lately?"
Harry feigned a sigh. "Alas, no. It would seem they're in short supply at the moment. Maybe in summer."
Eggsy smiled and shook his head. Still the drama queen.
"Up you get, you know the routine."
Tutting playfully, Harry shed his jacket. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you only wanted me for my body."
Eggsy fumbled with his tape measure, suddenly unaccountably glad that Harry was so fussy about how he laid his clothes. It gave Eggsy a second to get his breathing under control without being watched. Eggsy had been trying for months to conceal the fact that he was a little into Harry. It's not like it wasn't understandable: Harry was hot (Eggsy's type), older (Eggsy's type), tough (Eggsy's type), and gave a shit what happened to Eggsy in a pinch (Eggsy's pipe dream). Harry was sort of the full package. But Harry was also his client and sort of his boss. Besides, you didn't just come on to a guy Harry's age. You had to feel them out first, and Eggsy was more than up to the task.
"You've got perfect measurements, mate. No matter how much I fuck up, you'll come out looking perfect. Why'd you think I picked you for a guinea pig?"
"Because you wanted me for my body," Harry hazarded without an ounce of self-doubt. Not that he had anything to worry about.
Eggsy turned his completely professional eye to examining Harry on the stool where he'd be measured for his new summer suit. "Let's see you, then."
"Pardon?
"Do a little turn. Make it worth my pain and suffering." He wagged a bandaged finger that had earlier run afoul the sewing machine.
"I'm not much of an exotic dancer. A waltz is more my speed."
"S'ppose it's age before beauty, innit?"
Eggsy circled Harry's place on the raised platform, making contemplative noises like he hadn't scrutinized Harry end to end the night they met. Harry was tall with legs to spare. Lean bordering on whipcord thin but strong. Long fingers, limbs, and neck. All jawbone and brown eyes. Not hard on the eyes, either. A silver thread run through any fabric would bring out the grey in his hair. Warmer colors brought out the warmth in his cheeks. Summer was for lighter fabrics and shades, time for something cool.
They fell into silence as Eggsy moved from measure to measure, re-positioning Harry to get at some of the more awkward angels . Harry was patient and accommodating, only speaking to offer pointers when he could see that Eggsy was having difficulty. That was another reason Eggsy had picked him out for his first suit form: Harry wanted him to succeed while some of the other more stuck-up patrons and tailors were frothing to see the back of him someday soon. Eggsy planned to show him that his labor and faith were in good hands. As well as his body, if Eggsy got that far.
He was measuring the distance from the center of Harry's back to his fingertips when he realized he was being watched. Being watched at Kingsman wasn't a new development; the sheer amount of surveillance an apparel store required was well intimidating, but the employees were usually more circumspect. At least, Harry was, but the older man was making no attempt to disguise his observation of Eggsy today.
Yeah, Harry got him all hot under the collar because he was hot. Because he was powerful and regal and rich, but more than that it was how he looked at Eggsy like Eggsy was the only other person in the room, whether he was or not. They could be in fabric storage with shop's majority owner, Chester King (another one who didn't care for Eggsy), and Harry only seemed to have eyes for Eggsy. In a showroom full of valued customers, Harry would make his excuses and find his way to Eggsy's side behind the counter every time. Harry was always there and Eggsy was starting to think he meant something by it.
Eggsy looked up at Harry from the floor where he was measuring his inseam. "Have I got sauce on my collar?"
"A bit," Harry confirms with such convincing candor Eggsy has to check his reflection in the tri-fold mirror. No sauce.
"Ha bloody ha."
"Don't begrudge an old man his folly."
"You're not that old."
"Old enough to know when someone's keeping something from me." He beckoned Eggsy back to him. "I think you've been trying to tell me something for a while now. What is it? You can tell me anything."
Eggsy fiddled with his tape measure. There were still at least three numbers to take down.
"Eggsy?"
"I can't just tell ya anything. I can't take it back once I do, and I like things the way they are. Don't want it to change."
His face went all soft with concern. Eggsy hated making him worry. "It doesn't have to."
"It has to."
"You can't frighten me off with anything, you know. I've a sword. It's very handy."
"Merlin says it belongs in a museum."
Harry sniped, "Merlin is a busybody who should let me have my fun."
Merlin was a busybody. He was also Kingsman's beating heart. He was good. Everyone here was. A bit mysterious for Eggsy's taste, but worth sticking with.
"Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say..." Eggsy bit his lip and switched tacs. "I'm digging that whole gay Terminator look you were working that night." The night they met, the one that was still changing Eggsy's life.
Harry arched a speculative brow but was otherwise impassive. "What makes you think I'm gay?"
Eggsy hadn't actually given it much thought. He'd heard Merlin talking about Harry's ex Jim and just...assumed. Fuck.
"...Wishful thinking?"
Harry ah'd knowingly and stepped neatly off the footstool.
"Then, let me make your wish come true." He brought Eggsy's hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back of his fingers. He had the balls to seem sincere about it, too.
"You go for all that chivalry stuff, huh?"
"Yes, I am a fan of said 'chivalry stuff.'"
Harry turned over his hand to kiss his pin-callused fingertips with a hint of sharp, preying teeth. Eggsy was looking forward to finding out how those teeth felt elsewhere. Everywhere, even.
"So what's a chivalrous knight do for his damsel-in-distress after she's all saved?"
"After he ensures his damsel, or rescuee, if you prefer the gender neutral term as I do, is well, he offers them a choice."
"I like choices."
Top or bottom was the only one he was fussed about at the moment, and he could go either way.
"I can arrange for a taxi to ferry you home."
"Bit late for that." Months late. And hours too early in the day. It wasn't gone lunch yet. "What's behind Door #2?"
"I can invite you back to mine, if you like."
"You got any fetishes I should know about? Ball gags or humblers or somethin' hidin' in the closet?" He was only partly joking. Eggsy had been doing some research these many months now that he could afford to have a flat of his own. He knew a bit more about what he didn't like. Surprises made the top of the list.
Harry's brows ascended toward his hairline, but his smirk was a dead giveaway. Harry had struck him as the kinky sort of buttoned-up right off. Thank god I read that right.
"Hm, I'm afraid I'm all out. Just the standard silk ties, candle wax, and cock rings at present."
Eggsy might have whimpered at that. "I like cock rings."
Harry hooked his fingers over Eggsy's belt to haul him flush against his ridiculous, washboard chest. Tailors aren't fit like that. They just aren't. He could not give less of a shit so long as he got to lick every toned muscle personally.
"And I like your honesty. So, tell me, Eggsy. What will it be?" Harry brushed their lips together, flicking his tongue lightly along Eggsy's cupid's bow. "A drive to yours or to mine?"
A drive to nowhere sounded amazing. Why go somewhere more private when you were already there?
As if reading his mind, Harry inclined his chin toward the mirror. "Cameras. I don't think we're at our photogenic best yet, but give us time. Where to? Your choice."
Eggsy brushed a loose thread from the cuff of Harry's impeccably tailored shirt. It was a no-brainer, and since his brain had dived south a few minutes ago, thank god.
"How could I turn down a night with a knight?"
Merlin appeared belatedly at the door to supervise the fitting just in time to hear his pun. He rubbed his eyes and groaned in noisy exasperation, "Harry's found one as bad as himself. God help us all."
But as far as Eggsy was concerned, a knight's help was more than enough.