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The loud clanging of slot machines, music, and general hum of voices muted as the velvet curtain closed behind him. Ahead of him a woman sauntered, showing him the way with the sway of her hips, and he strolled after her, one hand in his pocket, the other rolling a lucky chip between his fingers.
Or a detonation device, but it wasn’t likely he’d have to use it.
The woman, Tilde he reminded himself, sashayed past two guards standing with guns blatantly showing, to move aside a new curtain and usher him forward into the private parlor.
“How about a kiss, Tilde.” He smiled, flashing his teeth and letting all the confidence he’d used to wear on the street sing in his voice. “For luck.”
She rolled her eyes, but he’d already seen the spark of surprise that he’d remembered her name, so he waited for her to lean in, brushing her lips across his cheek.
It gave him time to survey the room, seeing several of the players he’d expected, a couple of people he’d been briefed over (enough to recognize them as basically unimportant) and one surprise.
A surprise that was pointedly looking away from him, though not for long. The only empty seat was across from him, and Eggsy slid into it before turning to order a drink.
Of course the spy was here. He hadn’t run into the older man in several missions, he should have known. Theirs wasn’t a new acquaintance. The bomb that almost destroyed half of Cardiff, the drug smuggling ring in New Zealand, the unspeakable mission that’d taken them through thirteen countries and finally came to an end in Budapest.
He should have known.
But there was no time to focus on the silver fox now, no matter how bloody dashing he looked. He was on a mission. There were games to be played, traps to be avoided, and a flash drive that could destroy the lives of some rather important people to be won.
***
The flash drive had already been handed off hours ago, but part of a job well done (and his cover) involved staying at the resort for the rest of the night. He’d done the public bit, a dip in the pool, a few drinks at the bar, and now he was headed back to his room.
It’d been odd.
No, that was an understatement. It’d been fucking weird.
There were a few times he’d been in a bind and he could have swore the man across from him had given him signs. Eyes purposefully darting to one player or another, a subtle headshake to keep him from going in too deeply when he wound up losing a hand he’d otherwise been almost guaranteed to win.
Then his rival had headed off someone that surely would have been trying to get his hands on the flash drive, leaving him a window to make his drop.
In other words: he could have sworn the man had helped him.
It wasn’t anything to lose sleep over, but the thought didn’t simply go away as he settled in for the night, gun comfortingly at hand as he drifted off.
***
“So, the prodigal son returns.”
The grin naturally stole across his face as Eggsy stepped up to the counter, hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie. Later he’d find his way to a pub and meet up with some of his mates so he could talk shit and pretend like he had a boring job of standing around all day and doing drills, but for now he could completely relax by harassing his barista and ordering an annoying cuppa at a posh little shop that was a bit off of his beaten path.
Other than the girl working the counter the place was rarely busy, and the few people that frequented were always hard at work minding their own business. He saw it as a personal challenge to liven the place up.
“Hope you ain’t been crying for me, can’t bloody take the tears and all.”
The eyeroll he received was paired with a slight smirk as Roxy looked up at him. “I started crying the minute I saw you out the window. Unfortunately I couldn’t get anyone to take my shift.”
He took his hands out of his pockets so he could brace his elbows on the counter, resting there while he shook his head. “Still can’t figure out why you ain’t gone and got some other job. You’re bloody well better than this.”
“I’ve told you, it’s an internship of sorts. I have to prove I can manage a coffee shop before I can be trusted with anything more complex I suppose.”
“Speaking of compl-”
“We switched our seasonal menu since you’ve been here,” she interjected quickly, but she knew as well as he that it was a moot point. A valid attempt, but not worth it in the long run.
“Nah, I’ll have my usual.”
“And what was that again? I can’t seem to remember it.”
“A mocha with an extra shot of espresso with the milk steamed to 57 degrees. Precisely.”
There was a certain measure of venom in the glance shot his direction, but for the most part he knew he was safe. “I regret ever meeting you,” she muttered as she punched at the till and then gave him his total, knowing by now it was pointless to argue when he shoved a tenner at her and refused to accept any change.
Actually, if he gave her less she’d probably wait until he added to her tip. According to her his kind of orders were the actual worst.
“No you don’t,” he said cheekily, “you regret ever complaining about this bloody drink to me.”
“True. I try to get some sympathy and what do you do? Ask to try it to see if he had a point.”
“And the bloke does! I don’t know what the milk being steamed to 57 degrees has to do with fucking anything but it’s bloody aces.” There was a certain degree of passion in his voice as he spoke, one that he’d deny if she ever pointed it out. No one should be as attached to a beverage, especially a non-alcoholic beverage, as he was, but it was far beyond the swill at any other cafes he’d been too by leaps and bounds. Who knew, maybe she actually did put some sort of addictive substance in it.
There was a certain amount of noise from the machines as she turned this or that and steamed the milk, finally pouring the milk in and stirring it to infuse the chocolate throughout.
“You’re idiots, the pair of you.” As she spoke she continued to work, adding in a dollop more of the foam to the center before outlining it with chocolate and then adding a slightly larger ring. Taking her thermometer for the milk she began sweeping it from the center to make spokes before bringing them back in, finally setting his mug before him with a flower pattern adorning the top.
“Ain’t nobody you like better though, yeah?”
“You’re a prick.” She stated it with a tone that sounded absolutely matter of fact, and not for the first time he acknowledged that if she wasn’t such a good mate he’d actually be tempted to hit on her, despite leaning quite a bit more heavily towards blokes. Instead he distracted himself by picking up the mug, letting it warm his hands for a moment before taking a quick sip and letting out a moan of appreciation, not even bothered by the scandalous look one of the other customers tossed his way. It was bloody worth it.
“Fucking hell, Rox, you did it again.”
She was cleaning up, and didn’t bother responding, but he saw the smile curling in the corners of her lips. “And thank that other bloke for me. For figuring this shit out in the first place.”
Now she did look up. “Really? If you’re that enamoured why don’t you thank him yourself? I’ll give you his mobile.” She snorted at the look on his face. “What? You’re the one who’s had a life altering experience because of him. And it’ll do him good to get a text from a guy as fit as you.”
She was already pressing the button on the till to have it send out a burst of receipt paper which she ripped off and started writing on, passing him the note despite his hesitation. “He’s a bit older, but he’s a decent sort. Just send him a thank you if nothing else, I’m always telling him he needs to talk to more people. And trust me, I’ll ask him if you’ve texted. And if you haven’t?” She gave his drink a pointed look and then smiled, her teeth somehow more fearsome than a shark’s in that moment.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied, the words coming out of him unintentionally as his survival instincts kicked in. He glanced down at the paper before pocketing it, the name and number already memorized by the time he tucked it away.
Harry.
***
He hit send and then wiped his palm across the knee of his trousers, hating how nervous he felt. It was just a bloody thank you to a complete stranger, about something as ridiculous as a coffee, and yet he’d still been anxious with the message, typing and retyping it until every character was perfect,.
Roxy gave me your number so I could thank you for teaching her how to make a proper mocha. I didn’t realize being so precise would make that much of a difference, so thank you.
It seemed like ages before his phone buzzed again, and in the meantime he’d typed up and submitted a report and starting filtering through some of his civilian emails that he didn’t keep up with all the time. The little icon telling him he had 3,781 unread emails was daunting, but just by getting rid of the spam ones the filter hadn’t caught he was cutting that number down quickly.
When his phone finally did buzz he almost jumped out of his skin, staring down at the device as if it were going to bite and waiting a moment before finally swiping across the screen to read the message.
She’d mentioned someone else was ordering it with those specifications, I’m glad I could be of assistance.
And that was it.
He stared at it for a moment, making sure that he’d worked himself up for a single sentence, and then something happened. Underneath the message, on Harry’s side of the conversation, a new bubble appeared.
…
The sign of a message being typed.
After staring at the screen until it went black he resisted throwing the stupid thing across the room, mostly because he didn’t want to have to fix the wall while he was on leave. He picked up his phone again, swiping across to see the same three dots, and tried to tell himself he wasn’t waiting for another text but just needed to text someone else.
There was a half formulated text to Ryan and Jamal, asking them if they were free to meet up at the pub, when his phone buzzed in his hand and an alert dropped down from the top of the phone.
I’m afraid I can’t take complete credit for it, however. Someone else taught me the trick about the milk, though they were ordering a vanilla latte if I recall correctly.
Wait, are you a barista too?
Not anymore. I served my time.
Yeah? So what do you do now?
I’m a tailor actually.
His half-written text to Ryan and Jamal was all but forgotten as his thumbs tapped away at the screen instead.
Oh? Do you work at that Kingsman place across from the cafe? Seems like there’s a lot of people that come over from that way.
You’re quite observant, aren’t you. I don’t believe I caught your name earlier.
Don’t believe I gave it. I go by Eggsy though.
An interesting moniker, but I’m prone to believe that it’s fitting. Roxy’s complaints indicated that you’re a fairly colourful fellow.
You lot talk about me often?
After he hit send he wished he could take the message back, knowing he sounded like a bloody idiot, drawing himself farther up on the bed and settling against the headboard while he waited for a reply, breathing out a sigh of relief when it didn’t take too long.
Only when the weather’s nice and there’s nothing else to complain about.
He snorted and rolled his eyes, fingers already busy typing out a comeback.
***
Oh you’ve got kids?
“Unwin, you’re here!” Second Lieutenant Shah called. Eggsy had no idea why the man was involved with anything covert, he always had a faint aura of anxiousness about him. “We thought your transport was going to be in an hour ago.”
He lifted his hand in recognition. “You know how Dawson is, he always thinks he’s spotted a fucking tail. We drove in bloody circles until I thought I was going to be sick and he finally managed to remember how to get here.”
Still, it wasn’t good to keep his superiors waiting, especially not when it was time for a briefing. Quickly he turned off his phone and tucked it away, squaring his shoulders as a man standing guard opened the door and nodded at him to enter.
The Major-General was standing when he entered, bracing her hands against the table and peering down at some file or another. She was slight, but he knew better than to mistake her small stature for weakness. Her hair was pulled back in a sharp bun without a strand out of place, and if he had the nerve to check he knew he’d find her shoes glowing from polish. She looked up as the door closed, regarding him for a long measure before speaking.
“At ease, Unwin. Have a seat while you’re at it. I’ve got a mission for your unit, and it’s not going to end prettily I fear. What do you know about our embassy in Brussels?”
***
Those sorts of meetings were exhausting. They took forever, as it was one of the few times when privacy was guaranteed, and the details were drilled into him. Just that part was bad enough, but knowing how many lives hung in the balance, dependent on him and his platoon finding the right information with enough time to inform the troops, was daunting.
Death or life was all part of the job. He knew that, he accepted that. He’d known all of that since he’d sat down with an officer and discussed going into a Reconnaissance Operator specialization. Once they’d seen him in action they’d started shuffling him and his unit to whichever base they needed them at, using their information gathering skills wherever they could and sometimes requiring more, if they thought he’d have the best shot at getting a job done.
Still, high pressure situations were a different matter, and this one in particular, where the slightest mistakes could devastate thousands of families, meant that he was tenser than usual. He could handle it, his platoon could handle it, but it was with a slightly different mindset that he met Dawson, getting in the car and heading to his next rendezvous point.
Finally he had a chance to get his phone back out, looking forward to a message from Harry even though they’d only been texting for a few days, needing something to distract him before he had to focus solely on the mission.
Apparently he’d gotten a reply fairly quickly, almost immediately after he shut off the phone, and it was one that he had to read twice to make sure he’d understood correctly.
Two of them in fact. Both are out on their own though, and I normally only see them a couple times a year. We get along well enough though.
And then, close to thirty minutes later, another text had come.
Roxy didn’t tell you, did she. I’m sorry, I thought you were aware of my age.
It probably seems odd, now that you know. It was nice getting to know someone else who appreciated the finer aspects of coffee is all.
I understand. Good luck.
Eggsy stared at the phone for a minute before tapping back a reply furiously.
What the fuck are you going on about? What do I need luck for?
Dont be a bloody dickhead Harry I was in a meeting
His thumbs were poised to type out a few more choice words when finally the familiar “...” appeared to let him know Harry was working on a reply, though it still felt like an eternity passed before it came through.
I believe I misunderstood the situation.
Youre bloody right you misunderstood the situation
I aint going to stop talking to you just because youre older than me or because youve got kids
Figured you had to be seeing as anyone my age ordering like that would just be a wanker and roxy wouldve told me that
I shouldn’t have doubted you Eggsy, I apologize.
Thats fucking right
“Everything alright, sir?”
“What?” He looked over to see Dawson glancing over at him with concern before returning his attention back to the road. “Oh this? Yeah, just a bloody misunderstanding.”
“I hope it gets cleared up before the next mission. It’s always difficult going into one if things aren’t right with people you’re close to.”
It was surprisingly decent advice from the man, and Eggsy nodded. “Thanks.”
Hey look im getting called away on business so ive got to cross the channel so i might be out of range on your phone
Dont want you to get a shit ton of fees or something but i aint ignoring you
He was just about to board a plane when a new message finally pinged his phone.
Actually I sometimes travel for work myself, so I have an international plan.
“Oi, Unwin, what you grinning for?”
***
Roxy is a fucking genius
Dont tell her I said that
My lips are sealed. Are you there now?
Yeah she’s helping another customer
Ask her to tell you about the first time she made a “London fog.”
If you can get her to tell the whole story it’s worth it. Trust me. She ruined my favorite tie.
Eggsy looked up at the woman in question, watching her craft her latest work of art that would probably be consumed within the hour. He’d barely been home an hour before he’d left for the cafe, just managing to shower and unpack a bit in that time. The mission had been intense, weeks of sifting through data seeking out the vital information that would tell them where to go next, following leads that took them out to the countryside.
They’d finally located a target, not their initial mark but a lesser known terrorist that could lead them to their actual mark, and they’d gone into non-stop surveillance, constantly on duty or sleeping as they tried to go from being on the same page to one step ahead, then two.
This time he had been strictly reconnaissance in the background by the end, no field work, no bursting into a place to try to take someone into custody. But he’d done his duty, and it had felt good, but it was good to be on leave again, mandatory after his debriefing even if it was only a few days.
So coffee was a must.
Roxy had finished with her customer and was busy wiping down her machines, a prime time to approach her as no one had come in in the past several minutes.
Wish me luck
He pocketed his phone and moved to the counter, grinning at Roxy as she glanced at him.
“So, what’s this I hear about you making a London fog?”
“I never should have given you his number.”
“Oh?” He took a drink, mischief dancing in his eyes for a moment until her expression smoothed out into one of innocence.
“You and Harry seem to be chatting quite a bit lately.”
“I guess. The job keeps me on the fucking move so it’s not half bad to have someone to text now and then.”
“Now and then?” Now a wicked little smirk was pulling at the corners of her lips, the very image of the cat who had gotten the cream. “Harry was in the other day and he was on his phone just as much as you were just now. I’d never even seen him glance at his phone before for something not work related.”
Her words intrigued him, and it took all his training not to show how much, but he suspected Roxy still knew what he was trying to hide. Still, while he had her on the topic, “how old is Harry anyway?”
She wiped at the counter absentmindedly. “I’m not sure actually. I know he has kids in uni, two of them, and they’re younger than me. I wouldn’t worry too much though, he’s obnoxiously fit.”
“I ain’t asking about none of that shit!” Even to his own ears his protest sounded a bit too hasty, but there was no taking it back. “Stop bloody trying to distract me, what’s all this about the drink you fucked up?”
She gave him a knowing look, and even after she began her tale he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d somehow lost.
***
Just once I wish work would send me some place that didnt have shitty food
Id kill right now for some bloody fish and chips
And a local brew that didnt taste like piss
That’s the joy of preferring Guinness, you can normally find it somewhere. I thought you had a recommendation for local restaurant?
The recommendation was either a cruel joke or theyre just used to this shit
I thought about ordering some vodka just to fucking destroy my tastebuds but Ive got to go back to work
Just sending the texts back and forth was a good distraction as he wolfed down his food, needing the sustenance but trying not to gag.
“You texting your boyfriend again?”
He didn’t even bother reacting to the ribbing anymore. It was his platoon’s current favorite speculation and joke, harassing him about his phone addiction. There was a nugget of truth in the mix, after all, it was rather impressive (or horrifying) to see the sheer volume of texts from the past several months between him and Harry.
There was nothing he could say to convince them nothing was going on, and the more he thought about it, the less he was sure he wanted there to be nothing more to it. It was a ridiculous notion, he’d never met the man or even seen a picture of him, but he was accustomed to waking up to texts from Harry or sending some himself over breakfast, chatting with him throughout the day, and messaging him before one of them vanished to sleep. He didn’t let it interfere with his work though, and it wasn’t like he was addicted.
And it wasn’t going to do any good to dwell on it, not when he hadn’t even met the guy.
Don’t torture yourself with that swill, at least dream about a nice whisky. See if they have some sort of chocolate pudding. Sometimes they’re sickly sweet at restaurants but they’re normally edible, and you won’t be able to taste anything else after that.
***
There was a certain heaviness that came with a kill order. Killing was part of the job, and it wasn’t something that he had a problem with.
However there was a distinction between killing during a mission when a man was rounding a corner with his gun drawn and going into a mission knowing that if you couldn’t capture someone (which was so distant a possibility it was barely a scribbled footnote that capture was even an option) then you were to kill them so that their knowledge could not fall into enemy hands. It was premeditated. When the time came he knew he could pull the trigger or snap the man’s neck with no hesitation as it was his duty, but for now it was a dark stain in the back of his mind.
It was better to just deal with information in times like this, so he spoke into his headset, partially to check it but mostly just to have another voice ringing through his head other than his own. “Run me through the details again.”
“You have this memorized better than I do.” It was an age-old gripe, but it was normal, and therefore calming in it’s own way as he triple checked his gear. “The target has a meeting with Gruber at his club to sell the codes. The time of the meeting is unknown, all we have is that it is at some point tonight, though it could be as early as 1800 today or as late as 0700 tomorrow. Unfortunately the building being used is under tight surveillance, and there are guards for the surrounding buildings. There are holes in the security for those buildings, and that is the weak link in the chain. You’ll be stationed in a building diagonal to the cafe, a library that closes at 1700. There’s a clear line of sight and significantly less security than the building directly across. Do your best to be undetected and silence any that you must, and you will be stationed on the third floor in one of the study rooms. We will have men in the surrounding areas and on the street, and if there is a definite and clear way to capture the target as they enter the area, we will take it. If he makes it to the meeting location he is yours to silence as necessary.”
Listening had allowed him to make his way through part of the ride to his drop point, eyes closed, body loose as he relaxed for one last time before his stakeout began.
Still, he could feel a certain air of tension within his team, so he cracked an eye open. “You all know we can do this shit in our sleep, right?”
“Prefer not to,” one man quipped. “Prefer doing gingers personally. Sir.”
There was a quiet moment before the groaning began, but the tension lessened as they drew closer to their mark.
***
He’d been in position for several hours, and still there was no sign of their target. Thankfully he wasn’t alone, his platoon all on alert, all monitoring. It meant he could take shifts, making sure there was no movement around Gruber before settling back, keeping himself calm.
There were different schools of thought regarding phones in the field. There was the normal school of thought, which would tell anyone that under no circumstances should they have their personal phone on them, and then there was his own. The one that told him it was scrambled, and the scrambled line scrambled, and that there was a certain calming factor that he didn’t want to think too much about whenever he saw he had a new message.
His thumb hovered over the home button for a moment as he tried to tell himself not to check, then the screen lit up dimly anyway as a new message arrived.
Sorry for the late reply, something came up with work so I’ve got an all-nighter tonight.
An allnighter for a suit?
Beauty comes at a price.
He rolled his eyes at the phone, once again checking his scope before going back to his phone and sending off a quick message.
Youre actually an idiot aint you
He’d barely hit send when he heard it. It was a minor noise, no more than a whisper of fabric, but it was enough that he was in motion before he thought about it, ghosting over to the door to the study room as he watched the handle turn silently.
His heart thudded in his chest, a quick staccato of beats as scenarios flashed through his head. He’d been spotted. An unexpected cleaning. Someone was patrolling before the meeting. Something vital had been left behind in the room.
Then there was no time to think as he flew into action with the door’s movements, striking to disable.
He’d caught his opponent off-guard, probably the only thing to save him as the intruder moved like a force of nature, fluid but strong, turning his attacks aside and launching his own. He was faster than the man, but still hard pressed enough that it took a minute to recognize him in the chaos of it all.
There was enough enigma surrounding the man that he retreated slightly, panting, eying the older man warily. “What are you doing here?’
The man, Mr. DeVere he’d once heard him called, had never struck him as being an enemy. Not outright. A rival, but one that was friendly enough if he thought about some of their past encounters.
That was when he saw the phone on the floor out of the corner of his eye. The screen was cracked, which sucked, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
Phones were information. Information was as good as gold. If he was the reason anything leaked he was through, and there his phone was, laying on the damn ground like a beacon because he’d been a dumb shit who’d brought his phone with him and had had it out when he’d been taken off guard.
In a perfect world he’d be able to disguise that he’d seen it and pretend to be calm while sneaking off with the phone. In the real world the other had been following his eyes, and he had no time to think, only time to react. He dove for it, snatching it up before Mr. DeVere could get to it.
It was only after it was in his palm that he realized the phone wasn’t his, and it was then that he finally got actual words to come out of the older man.
“I’ll have to ask you to give that back. It’s nothing to do with business but I do have a personal attachment to it.”
“Just answer the question, what are you doing.”
“The same thing that you are, I’d suspect. We seem to be drawn to similar situations.”
The phone didn’t buzz or vibrate, doubtlessly set to be as silent as his, but the screen, despite being broken, flickered to life in his hand. It was instinct to look, instinct to memorize the text before he realized he’d done it. What took time was connecting the dots as he read words he’d just seen on a different screen.
Words he’d just sent.
“Wait a fucking minute. Harry?”
The older man’s eyes widened slightly as the spark of recognition blazed into his eyes.
“Well shit.”
The man he’d been texting for weeks seemed remarkably calm other than the words hanging in the air between them, then Harry spoke again.
“Merlin, I think it’s time to contact the Queen.”
***
He'd never before seen the Major-General speechless. Somehow that fact stuck out to him, almost more so than the fact that they were on a video call with none other than the Queen.
Then again, it was probably just his brain’s desperate attempt to process the past few hours. Harry had looked genuinely shocked, then had simply said “I beg your pardon,” before he'd knocked him out. How he'd managed that was still a bit fuzzy, but he'd come to in a room with Harry pacing by a window, talking into a phone.
There had been little time to talk after that. After a few concerned questions about his well-being a video conference had been set up with his superior officer and the Queen, who was vaguely explaining that nothing was to leave the room but that Harry, and the organization he worked for, could be trusted. Should be trusted. That there was no reason for any concern if they spoke to each other and that, as a matter of fact, it might be beneficial for the two groups to be on cordial terms and to have a pair of liaisons.
It was all going too fast, and he stayed remarkably quiet throughout, something that seemed to almost concern the Major-General once the Queen left the video call. Harry, DeVere, whatever his name was, was telling her something about transportation and apologizing for knocking him out, and then the window was closed and the room fell to silence, with just him and the other agent of some sort in the room.
“Well, tonight was unexpectedly eventful.”
Eggsy knew he needed to respond, but actual words escaped him, fleeing into the far corners of his mind as he tried to come up with something to say. When they finally left his mouth they weren’t the ones he was trying to find, but they were the necessary ones.
“Did you know? When you were texting me. Did you know who I was?”
In the chair beside him the older man took a deep breath. “I can honestly say I didn’t. And for the record, I don’t think Roxy did either, which actually speaks very well as to your ability to conceal your profession.”
The room lapsed into silence. It was almost too much, that the super spy or whatever Harry was was the same man he’d been talking to for months, probably the person he trusted the most that didn’t know what he did for a living.
The silence was broken when he snorted, and at Harry’s startled look an actual laugh burst out of him, almost as if pulled out by a sense of hysteria. “What, it’s fucking funny,” he managed as the laughter finally subsided to mere snickers. “Ain’t it? Here we are, sitting on our arses like bloody idiots without a word to say between us and we’ve been wearing our fucking thumbs out for months texting.”
A small smile was twitching at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “I wasn’t quite sure it was you until you spoke like that just now. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Eggsy.”
***
“There should be a corridor just ahead of you to the left. Heat signatures show two individuals in the room now.”
Two wasn't part of the plan.
Two meant that either their mole had betrayed them, or that someone else was onto them. Neither option was a particularly good one, but there was no time to go back and sort things out. It was time to roll with the punches, and hopefully, hopefully they would come out ahead.
He raised his gun and turned the corner, seeing that the door was already ajar, light filtering in, the sound of frantic babbling pouring from the room.
Then Eggsy lowered his weapon and stepped into the room.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop traumatizing my informants, Mr. DeVere.”
Harry turned to look at him, blinking innocently though a wicked smirk lurked in the corners of his lips. “Oh, is he one of yours, Mr. DeVere?”
***
Epilogue:
Lazy mornings were actually somewhat difficult to achieve. He was so accustomed to getting up at the crack of dawn, and practically jumping into action, that even when he slept in he normally got up, showered, and was dressed in a matter of minutes.
The fact that he was still in bed thirty minutes after waking up was rare, but it was a different matter when there was a warm body spooned up behind him and lips tracing the back of his neck. They’d actually managed to have time off together, neither of them on a mission though that could change at any moment, and they were making use of every moment of it.
His thighs were still sore from the night before so he let Harry do most of the work, enjoying the almost leisurely thrust of Harry’s hips and the toying way that the arm wrapped around him sometimes moved up to thumb across or pinch a nipple and sometimes drifted down to give his cock a few long strokes.
It didn’t seem likely to end any time soon, but he was happy to surrender to the sensations, closing his eyes to focus on them or opening them to look at their reflection in a mirror that he was sure Harry used for dressing, not his own devious purposes.
He could feel a mark being left on his shoulder, one his mates would doubtlessly tease him about, but they both knew their time together was short, and he welcomed the reminder, arching his back to press his hips more firmly against Harry’s as he let out a groan. “Fuck Harry that’s--”
The doorbell rang.
The only time he’d ever heard the sound was the singular time they’d had a meal delivered, normally spending time out or grabbing take away, so the bell startled him. Harry too it seemed by the way he went still. Then slowly, deliberately, he pulled out and pushed back in. “If we ignore it they’ll probably go away.”
It sounded like a good idea to him, but now that he was distracted a bit of urgency had returned and he reached down to cover Harry’s hand with his, speeding up the pace slightly.
The doorbell rang again, and then, a moment later, Harry’s phone started ringing.
“Fuck shit.”
The only somewhat redeeming factor was how annoyed Harry looked as he pulled out and moved over to grab his phone off the nightstand, then his face went white. “Shit. I think the kids are early.”
For a moment they both stared at each other, then Eggsy jumped up. “I’ll get dressed and go out the window and double back, it won’t seem too weird if I get here a bit early. You need to comb your bloody hair or it’s a dead giveaway and for fuck’s sake put on a robe or you’ll scar them.”
Harry was firing off a quick text as Eggsy gathered his clothes, swearing to himself for at least the fourth time that the next time they had sex he was going to put them all in one place for when one of them got called away and finally giving up on his left sock altogether. They crossed paths in the bathroom, Eggsy slicking his hair down and putting on his briefs while trying to will his boner to die down while Harry just dunked his head under the faucet to cement his “I was in the shower” story and then tried to arrange his robe to cover up any signs of what they’d been up to.
“I’ll make it up to you later,” Harry promised, a promise Eggsy fully intended to make him keep as he slid out of the window and left Harry to get the door.
It was a solid twenty minutes of backtracking, which would have been complete with a stop to pick up some pastries if he hadn’t left his wallet somewhere in Harry’s house, before he showed up again. Ordinarily he just used his key but this time he knocked, proper like, and waited for the door to open.
Surprisingly it wasn’t Harry, but a girl a few years younger than he was. Marigold he presumed. “Can I help you?”
“Marigold, yeah? Hey, I’m Eggsy, nice to meet you.” He held out a hand and shot her a smile, only to have her return his greeting with a long, assessing look, and by the end of it he had the sneaking suspicion that he somehow hadn’t passed.
“Is this him?”
The voice came from behind her and a fairly tall bloke stepped up, looking down at him with the same assessing look, and the same unimpressed look at the end of it.
“I suppose so, Patrick. Well, come on in, father’s upstairs getting dressed.”
“Sorry about that, I guess I got here a bit early.”
The look Marigold gave him was one of annoyance. “Yes, well, you might as well have just stayed. We’re not blind, and we’re not idiots. The least you could have done was put the kettle on before you left.”
“Though it is good to know you’re not simply after our father for his money,” Patrick chimed in. “Or you’re a least earning it if you are.”
His ears were turning a merry red and a retort was on the tip of his tongue when Harry started coming down the stairs. “Good morning, Eggsy,” he called, “I’m glad you could make it. I’m afraid you’re all a bit earlier than I expected, shall we all go out for brunch?”
“What a marvelous idea,” Marigold replied, all smiles for her father. “And we want to hear all about how you two met.”