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The chiming of Eggsy’s incoming call isn’t a surprise to Harry - he’s been away for 6 days now and even he’s starting to feel the itch of missing his partner’s voice, though he would never admit it. He lets it ring once, twice, three times before picking up, clearing his throat as the call connects.
“Eggsy,” he states matter of factly, a statement rather than a question.
“Hey, babe,” Eggsy sighs, and Harry imagines the relief easing from his body at the sound of his voice. “How are ya?”
“Very well, thank you. And yourself?”
“Good, yeah. Dead tired, though. Fuckin’ jet lag is still kickin' my arse.”
Harry snorts at that, rolling his eyes at his husband’s dramatics. He’s always had a flair for it, and Merlin often teases that he learnt from him. He flushes at the memory but continues to deny the allegation. “Well, Tokyo is a rather long way away. It’s not a surprise that you’re exhausted.”
He hears Eggsy hum in agreement at that, and it turns into more of a grunt as he hears the man shuffle on what he assumes is his hotel bed. Harry pictures the scene against his better wishes - Eggsy, his beautiful Eggsy, toned and tanned and stretched out on the duvet like a spoiled feline as his eyes flutter to fight to stay awake. It sends a delightful shiver down the older’s spine.
“What’s the time where you are?” Eggys asks after a few moments of silence, in which time Harry had wandered into the parlor of their home and poured himself a generous finger of scotch in a glass tumbler. He glances at his watch, flicking his wrist so his shirt sleeve rises, and grunts.
“Quarter past seven in the evening. Which means it’s quarter past three in the morning for you.”
It’s Eggsy’s turn to snort now, as more shuffling rumbles through Harry’s ears. “Why do you know that? Nerd.”
“Forgive me for keeping tabs on my husband.”
“Aw, you’re keepin’ tabs on me? How sweet, Arthur.” Harry rolls his eyes again, even though he knows Eggsy can’t see him.
“Was there a point to this call, Eggsy?” he attempts to snap, but it comes out sounding a lot more shrill than he intended. A soft chuckle, more shuffling, and then a sigh.
“Just missed ya, babe.”
Harry’s heart clenches and his eyes twitch. “I miss you too, my dear.”
“Yeah?” Eggsy asks, suddenly breathless, as if Harry hasn’t been aching for his return since the moment he stepped onto the Kingsman jet at the HQ’s airport. “How much?”
“Is this your attempt at flirting, Mr Hart-Unwin?” Harry tuts, sipping at his amber drink and fortuitously catching his own reflection in the mirror. ‘God, I look old’ he finds himself thinking. The grey strands surrounding his hairline are creeping further and further along his scalp, and his eyes are dim and sunken. Nothing compared to the thick quiff of dirty blonde and bright, lively green that his husband flashes.
“Am I that obvious?” said husband’s voice rips Harry from his thoughts, and he notices there’s a coquettish lilt to it.
“You’re the most open book I’ve ever met,” Harry says honestly. His eyes flit down to his thin, straight mouth and imagines Eggsy’s full lips curling into his boyish grin. He lets his eyes close, desperate to hold onto the picture.
“So,” Eggsy blows out through an exhale, his voice seeming a friction thicker. “What d’ya miss about me?”
Harry feels ridiculous in the situation, but fights his urge to terminate the call in embarrassment to clear his throat and tell his husband what he wants to know - what he loves to hear.
“Your eyes,” he starts truthfully, keeping his eyes shut as he pictures the man’s face in his mind. He hears Eggsy splutter - part surprise and part amusement - knowing it wasn’t what he was expecting, or asking for. He doesn’t stop him, though. “Their colour and their vitality. Just looking into your eyes gives me all the energy I need for the day.”
“Babe…”
“Your hair,” Harry resumes, cutting his husband off. “How soft it feels under my touch, how good it feels when I run my hands through it. How you practically pur when I do so.” His fingers twitch around the glass tumbler in his hand as he lets his mind imagine it, the metaphorical flood gates opening. In the distance, a breathy laugh.
“I do love it when you play with my hair.”
“Mm, I’m aware. You like it even more when I pull it, however.”
“Fuck yeah, I do.”
Harry huffs. “Tart.” All he gets back is a noncommittal hum; not agreeing and not disagreeing. Just acknowledging. He continues. “Your lips.” Eggsy’s small gasp flows through Harry’s ears like a live wire. “The shape of them. The fullness of them. How they feel against mine.” His free hand rises instinctively and brushes his fingertips along his own mouth. “On my neck.” The hand travels down, feeling the thump of his pulse. “On my chest.” Again, he follows his words.
“Wish I was touchin’ you right now, love,” Eggsy interrupts, breathless now. “Would roam my hands all over ya.”
“Hm?”
“Through your hair.” Harry feels silly when he runs his own fingers through his greying hair, but stuffs the burning feeling of embarrassment into a far off room and locks the door. “Along your cheeks.” He follows along, letting the unstated instructions guide him. “Across your lips, let ya suck on one of them.” Harry can’t fight his next shaky intake of breath, and he can tell Eggsy is smirking when he speaks again. “Are you touchin’ yourself, babe?”
“In a way,” Harry croaks, blinking his eyes open and staring back at a very different man than the one he glared at earlier. He looks wrecked now - his cheeks are rouging and his eyes have darkened, but they’re wide with vivacity and conceal the bags underneath them. “Just…where you’ve mentioned.”
Eggsy curses under his breath, and then there’s more movement on his end of the line, impossibly alike the sound of someone pushing their trousers down to their thighs. “Fuck, is- there’s video call on these things, right?” They both know there is, but it’s just a line instead of asking outright for what they both know they were going towards, isn’t it? Harry doesn’t get to answer before the request for his video blinks into his vision.
“I do hope we’re on a private line for this,” is all he says when, finally, his eyes fall upon his husband for the first time in almost a week. He’s facing a floor length mirror, not dissimilar to himself, and is sitting at the edge of a plain bed with his trousers discarded in the corner of the image. Eggsy snorts and smirks, in exactly the way Harry had been imagining him to.
“‘Course we are. Christ, I’ve missed your face.”
Harry has half a mind to shoot back with some funny line, but instead he says, “And I yours.”
“Show me?” Eggsy asks, and for a moment a flash of confusion crosses Harry’s face. “How you were touchin’ yourself. I wanna see.” Harry sighs, feigning annoyance, and tries not to smile when Eggsy grins.
“Alright,” he offers, placing his glass on the coffee table before straightening his posture and closing his eyes.
“No,” Eggsy barks, though there’s no anger behind it. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to see yourself how I see you.”
“Eggsy…” Harry grumbles, the humiliation creeping along his spine uncomfortably.
“Please. For me.”
The older sighs minutely, but forces himself to look at his reflection. He’s rewarded with a soft hum of approval reverberating through his ears.
Harry starts how he did just minutes ago - cards his trembling digits between his strands, scratching at his scalp for good measure and letting a groan fall from his mouth. He trails downwards, tracing the angle of his eyebrows down to his cheeks. From there he follows his cheekbones down to his lips and ghosts across them, barely touching as they part.
“Down to your neck,” Eggsy directs, nodding when the man does so. “Can’t wait to leave some marks there when I get back. Have purple and red all over your throat.” Harry gulps as he outlines his Adam’s apple, descending until he reaches the knot of his tie. “Undo your tie, babe.” He does, throwing it onto the coffee table along with his long forgotten scotch. “And the first few buttons of your shirt.” He does. “You got cufflinks on today?”
Harry fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course I do.” Eggsy chuckles.
“Which ones?”
“The paisley double knots.”
“The ones I bought for you when we were in France?”
“That’s right.”
“And then I took you out for a candlelit dinner and fucked you against the door of the villa,” Eggsy retells with a smug look on his face.
“Indeed.”
“Good holiday.”
“A fond memory, yes.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Can you blame me?”
“I suppose not.”
“Exactly. Take them off.” Harry does, letting them join the forming pile of discarded items.
“I suppose I'll undo those buttons now, yes?”
“Cheeky,” Eggsy bites, but nods. “Yeah. Then the rest of your shirt.”
Harry follows the instructions with dutiful diligence, untucking the crisp material so it hangs by his sides. “Off?” he asks, ready to push the garment from his shoulders.
“Nah, keep it on.”
Harry watches as Eggsy catches up to him, tossing his navy and pink striped tie onto the bed next to him and fumbling with his own shirt buttons. He, however, does remove his, and Harry focuses on the video feed rather than his own reflection to rake his eyes down the toned flesh on display, the ripples of muscles and pert nipples.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, revelling in the way his husband blushes.
“Says you. Belt next.” They continue like this, exasperatingly slowly, until both men gaze at each other with their respective trousers open and splayed in a fashion that forces attention to their growing erections. “Ridiculous,” Eggsy says, “that we make each other hard over somethin’ as simple as this.”
“You started it,” Harry retaliates, but nods in agreement. “It shouldn’t be a surprise, dear. You know what you looking does to me.”
“I do.” A beat, and then, “fuck, Harry, I want you to touch yourself. Can you do that for me? Will you?”
“Of course.” The brunette palms at his cock through his boxers and lets himself moan brazenly, a pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He watches as Eggsy does the same and lets his mouth hang open, silent, but the man shakes his head.
“Don’t watch me. Watch yourself, babe. Want you to watch as you bring yourself off.”
“Christ, Eggsy,” Harry protests, but settles his focus onto his own, much less aesthetically pleasing face.
“That’s it. Take your cock out, love. Wanna see it. Give it a few pumps.”
The agent does as he’s told, gasping at the spark of pleasure that jabs at his groin. He lets Eggsy’s words roll over him as he strokes his length, collecting precome from the slit on each upstroke and using it to aid the downstrokes.
“Just like that, babe. God, you’re so fit. Gonna make me come just from watchin’ ya.” Harry keeps his eyes trained on his own face, but can’t stop the way his eyes occasionally flicker to the view of his husband fisting his own cock in the corner of his vision. If Eggsy notices, he doesn’t say anything. “You’re such a sight, Harry. So stunnin’. A work of bloody art, you are.” The older reaches lower to fondle his balls, and the other doesn’t stop him. He groans at his touch, the familiar feeling of heat balling in his stomach.
“Christ, Eggsy, it feels so good,” he gasps, trying not to cower at his words. His anxiety fades further when his husband growls in response, clearly encouraged by them. “I wish it was your hand,” he offers for good measure, pride flashing in his eyes when Eggsy curses unabashedly.
“Me too, babe. Can’t wait to have my hands on you in a few days.”
“Neither can I, my love. I dream about it almost every night.”
“Oh yeah?” Eggsy grunts, and Harry tries not to stare as the younger’s hand picks up speed around his throbbing cock. “What happened in those dreams?”
“A lot of things,” Harry declares, knowing that this is silently what Eggsy wants - to have him tell him a load of dirty things, things he’s fantasised about, and use his voice to bring him to orgasm. “Your mouth on my cock. Your tongue in my arse.” A groan as the other licks his lips, as if he’s trying to will the taste of his husband onto his taste buds from six thousand miles away. “Your hands on my skin - squeezing my waist, forming bruises on my hips, spanking my arse cheeks.”
“Love spankin’ you,” Eggsy confesses. “Love it when I can see my handprints on your arse and when it turns red. Looks so good against your complexion.” Harry can’t help but laugh at that, and Eggsy grins back at him.
“Why, thank you, dear.”
“Touch yourself, babe. This ain’t just for me.” Harry blinks, having not even realised that he had stopped stroking himself. He continues as he was a few minutes ago, swirling his thumb around the head and letting the sensation make his toes curl into the rug beneath his feet.
“I had one particularly ungentlemanly dream, actually,” the older provides, the memory of it twisting his gut deliciously.
“Tell me,” Eggsy practically gasps, the distant sound of skin slapping along skin almost overpowering the words.
“You had me over my desk,” Harry begins to relay. “Like that time after the mission in Prague.” Eggsy nods to indicate that he remembers, and Harry picks up his own pace along his cock. “You had a hand over my mouth because I was being so loud. It was hard and fast, just how I like it. You didn’t hold back.”
“Fuck .”
“You were whispering in my ear, telling me to be quiet. Your other hand was tugging at my tie, where it bound my hands behind my back.” Eggsy’s eyes droop closed. “You were pounding into me but your whole weight was weighing me down, so all I could do was take it.” Harry moans at a particularly good twist of his wrist, and Eggsy whimpers. “You came inside me,” he says through heavy breaths, chest heaving. “And plugged me so it stayed in.”
“Fuck, Harry, are you close?”
“I’ve been close since I answered your call,” Harry chuckles, but then says, “yes, I am.”
“Shit, I’m gonna- I need to-”
“Me too.”
“Come with me, babe.”
Eggsy comes first, loud and blatant, thick ropes of white rolling from his tip and painting his bare stomach. His eyes fly open as his mouth drops, a silent scream filling the air, and he shakes with satisfaction. Harry lets the sight tip him over the edge, eyes scrunching tightly closed as his own orgasm slams into him. Hot wetness trickles down his shaft, scorching against his flushed skin, and a groan racks through his body. A full body shudder has him arching his neck as his cock gives a final spurt, and then he collapses onto the sofa behind him.
A few minutes pass, no sound other than that of their laboured breaths. Harry can still see Eggsy from where he’s facing the hotel room mirror, but from his position he knows his husband can only see the fireplace. He feels bad, so lowers his head so the man can at least gaze upon his spent cock that is quickly softening.
“Fuck,” Eggsy croaks, the rise and fall of his chest starting to even out. “That was…”
“Intense,” Harry finishes, staring at his hand still limp around the base of his cock.
“Yeah,” Eggsy laughs, his smile wide. “Thanks, babe.”
“Whatever for, darling?” Harry asks, but he knows the answer.
“Uh, the mindblowing orgasm.”
“Oh, that.”
They sit in silence again - Harry tracking his eyes all over the sight of his husband, and Eggsy smiling back at him, even though he can’t see his face.
“I should probably get some sleep,” the younger finally admits, his voice reluctant.
“You should.”
“Yeah.”
“Off you go, Eggsy. I’ll still be here when you get back in a couple of days.”
Eggsy grins this time. “Yeah.”
“Goodnight, darling.”
“Night, babe. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ends with a click, and Harry focuses back onto the room he’s in, and the drink that’s ice melted a long time ago. With a sigh, he stands, and makes his way towards the bathroom to clean off.