Chapter Text
The day after what he'll soon start referring to ominously as “vibrator-gate” Eggsy Unwin loses his mind. He's faced down a speeding train and Russian interrogation techniques without giving in but ten days into being wound up and deprived by Harry he actually cracks.
He's been distracted, almost subdued in his preoccupation pretty much the entire time and it's only getting worse. Typically, it was sensible of Harry to do this when they had nothing on but admin - because Eggsy increasingly accepts that this was not as spontaneous as it appeared - so his one track mind won't be a danger to anyone so much as an amusing inconvenience, at least for Harry. Harry, who preens under the the extra attention because Eggsy can't take his eyes off him, each glimpse of Harry at work making him fumbly and stupid, putting him off even the simplest tasks with twinges in his belly and an ache in his groin.
All he can think about is Harry's absolute command over his whole ability to orgasm, or not, depending on whether he’s pleased him. When will he do it again? When will he stop? Will it not be until he's trained his boy to come or not come on command, at the click of his fingers? They'll be at it for years at the rate Eggsy’s going.
He's not worried about his desperation showing because he knows Harry likes it: he sees him looking when he shifts about and feels himself going pink; the quirks of lust and pride at how thoroughly he's got under Eggsy’s skin. Eggsy suspects he probably thought he'd give up quicker than this but fucked if he's backing down now, Harry should have known that.
So he shows his obedience in the most upfront, most Eggsy way he can possibly think of: he asks for more, obviously.
They're barely in the door and it's been a long, boringly easy day, the kind that has harry shrugging out of jacket and tie the moment he's in the house, toeing his shoes off - Eggsy still struggles to believe he does that, but the proof is in front of him and in the minute creases in a dipped crescent at the heel of his shoes, more pronounced on the right and always covered by his trousers when he's standing - whilst Eggsy opens the back door for JB. It's all wordless, heated, neither breaking the obvious tension with the usual pleasantries about dinner or a drink, and then Eggsy is taking Harry by both hands and backing decisively towards the stairs.
So far, Eggsy’s left it to Harry to instigate and it occurred to him sometime around lunch that this, combined with his slow progress might be seen as a lack of willing and that Harry might give up, go back to normal and of course that's exactly what he wants, except he doesn't. Harry follows him gamely up the stairs, letting himself be pulled into the bedroom and into hurried kisses full of teeth, cupping Eggsy expectantly through his trousers. He’s not to be disappointed.
Eggsy pulls Harry's shirt from his shoulders and strips out of his own, yanking his undershirt off over his head between kisses and looking impatiently from Harry’s mouth to his eyes. His move made, he guides Harry’s hands to his hips, makes himself pliable and soft for Harry to take from. Harry backs him against the wall right beside the door and Eggsy just lets him.
It's not a seduction. It's an offering of sacrifice.
“I don’t mind,” he says to Harry’s predatory expression, which only makes him hotter under the skin, and he’s rewarded with a dirty smirk.
“Magnanimous of you.”
“No, I mean like…” He knows that Harry knows exactly what he means, and he’s going to make him say it. He's sweating already. “I don’t mind how this finishes.”
It’s going to hurt. He’s hot and tense and if there is such a thing as a mood in which he might be able to maintain stony composure whilst Harry does his damndest to make him come - and he really doubts it - this is not it. But that’s not the point. The point is he’s so gone for how Harry reacts to getting to torture him like this: no pain but all the control, Eggsy’s pleasure literally in his hands to dispense or withhold as he sees fit, that it doesn’t matter.
“You're a delight when you're like this.” Harry kisses down his neck, over his collar, not lingering enough for Eggsy to feel anything other than the fact he is quite definitely moving downwards, which shoots a bolt of excitement straight to his prick. “You're doing so well, too. Progress every time. You might not notice it, but I do.”
Eggsy huffs, what was going to be pith coming out as a sigh as the encouragement curls around something in him and strokes just softly. As if he could deny Harry anything, when he’s looking at him like that.
“You'll do that for me? Give your pleasure up willingly, rather than making me take it?”
Eggsy hadn’t quite realised what he was offering, but it’s true.
“That’s… it is what you’re getting of on, isn’t it?” He takes a deep breath as Harry drops down to his knees and starts on unfastening his trousers. He can do this. “- About seeing me all fucked up. That I’ll let you do it, even when I know you’re going to ruin it? That I want you too much to say no?”
A flash of uncertainty, suddenly, perhaps coinciding with the moment his own desperate arousal is exposed to the room and he can’t hide, but Harry hmm s appreciatively against the side of his cock and if the feeling of his breath wasn’t enough to send Eggsy reeling back into the wall, tightly wound as he is, then the molten gaze Harry tips up at him would be.
“What does it feel like?” Harry's voice is thin, dreamy, but… what?!
“You ask now ? You mean you've never done it before?”
Harry shakes his head softly in response and Eggsy absolutely has the time to be incredulous, for that, no matter how hard he is.
“You were just like, oh I know what I'll do, I'll see if I can make Egg spunk without actually coming? Then I'm gonna keep doing it until he actually bursts something or explodes or..? Whatever,. you'll be laughing on the other side of your face if my cock falls off.”
“I read about it.” There's a tweak in Harry's voice as he breathes the words against Eggsy’s hipbone between kisses that may just give away that it was not something he stumbled upon in innocence. Eggsy flushes hot with pride at the thought of fulfilling some undiscussed fantasy and can’t for the life in him think why Harry doesn’t just tell him these things when he seems well aware Eggsy will bend over backwards for any little thing that might make him smile.
For things that make Harry hard, he’ll go all out.
“It feels like…do you really want to know?” He knows he does, but he can stand for a bit more of Harry’s soft treatment.
Harry sits back, adjusting his trousers across his lap to make room for his reaction to Eggsy talking him through it, and Eggsy wants to see his cock suddenly, wants to touch it... Christ, how long has it been since they've actually fucked? “Oh, definitely. It's incredible to watch. ”
“Oi - I didn’t say stop.”
Chastened, Harry continues to nuzzle at the root of Eggsy’s cock, trailing his fingers down under his balls to just caress him, not enough to distract him from talking.
“It’s hell, Harry. It’s like when you're about to sneeze and someone surprises you and you can't, and then the sneeze doesn't go away it just kinda stays here,” he puts two fingers to his forehead. Just above the bridge of his nose. “Like when you drink a slush puppy too quick and it's like aagh. You need to come but you can’t because you already have but you haven’t because your boyfriend’s a sadistic old wanker, so it all just stays pent up and - ugh. But you like it, yeah? ”
Harry fairly moans and Eggsy feels that breath against his balls where Harry’s petting and kissing at him to spur him on.
“Eggsy, my dear boy, if you knew just how much I was enjoying this I fear you'd never let me put my hands on you again.”
“What, you like keeping me like this? Don't I get to come anymore?” He's not sure how long he could play that game for, but the words spark something deep and dark that's fanned by the heat in Harry's eyes in response.
“Of course.” He wraps one hand, gently firm, around the base of Eggsy’s cock and puts his lips against the head, barely anything but enough that Eggsy can feel the warmth and the tease of his tongue when he speaks. “But only when I want you to, when I say you can. Otherwise you know what will happen.”
Eggsy groans and drops his weight back into the wall, knees weaker by the minute. “I want to earn it.” He swallows, with some difficulty, “I know you'll make it worth it. If I'm a good boy for you.”
“You’re always a good boy for me.”
It's ridiculous, how Harry can talk to him like that when he's about to suck Eggsy off: like he's going to make him a fucking sticker chart and put it on the fridge. Weirder still, Eggsy thinks he could get into that, like if Harry would give him a gold star whenever he does something truly filthy, a little reward for being Harry's slut and doing as he's told...
Surely this deserves an actual fucking medal. He’s got to be in the good books for ages.
“I do want it noted that this comes under cruel and unusual punishment and as such you are in breach of at least two international conventions, off the top of my head…”
“Four,” corrects Harry, unfazed. “And I doubt it’s the first time. Are you sure you're ready?”
Perhaps they're both suddenly struck with the image of Eggsy tied to that bed yesterday, squirming, tears on his cheeks and come sticky on his stomach as Harry had bullied him into wanking out a third, dry, entirely unsatisfying excuse for an orgasm.
“No.” Eggsy nudges Harry with his foot. “Crack on before I change my mind.”
So Harry does, and those first heavenly warm, wet kisses up the shaft if Eggsy’s cock are enough to reassure him that he’s made the right decision even if he’s going to hate them both for it later. It’s blissful, soft reprieve from the nagging of his nerves and Harry works him smoothly, taking him in his mouth fully but he doesn’t keep it up long enough for Eggsy get too tense before he swaps to his hand and pulls back.
“How're you doing?”
“Good, yeah.” It could be the understatement of the century. Eggsy’s body is singing, and the knowledge that this is unlikely to end well for him doesn't seem to be deterring it in the slightest.
“Tell me when you're getting close.” Harry has never once, in Eggsy’s relatively brief but quite extensive experience, minded a mouthful of spunk so he's got something planned, for sure, but his voice is kind. Eggsy thinks he's probably won himself a little mercy by volunteering. “A little before the point of no return, ideally.”
“Okay. M’good.”
Eggsy revels in what he can whilst he's still warming up, before he's in any danger of orgasm catching up with him quicker than he can react to. He savours the wet drag of lips and tongue, the way Harry watches his reactions so closely to allow him just the right amount of push and pull so that he can take Eggsy as deep as he needs without choking. It’s not flashy but skilled in a way Eggsy wouldn't have imagined, before: Harry reading his responses to the very twitch so that Eggsy gets what he wants before he has a chance to know he wants it.
But he can't allow himself that. He has to prove his restraint. Still, he’s collected enough that he can allow his hips to loosen, shifting to chase down the best sensations, like Harry’s tongue rubbing beautifully on the underneath of his cockhead.
Harry gives him a pointed look - mouth stuffed full, happily drooling around Eggsy’s cock - to remind him he's supposed to stop him before it goes too far.
He doesn't want to. He wants to just carry on enjoying fucking into Harrys mouth until he comes down his throat, whoops, too late, what's he going to do about it? But more than that - and it’s a startling epiphany that he can want anything more than he wants to come at this second - he still wants to please. So he errs on the side of caution, buys himself time.
“I'm getting close…”
Harry pulls back from him, counts slowly and deliberately down from three, out loud, and then returns to sucking him off with a reassuring squeeze of Eggsy’s arse. Eggsy’s cock twitches but the pause is just enough to claw him back from the brink, and Harry goes easy on him, stroking softly to give him a moment’s recovery and murmuring “Good. Again. Keep going”
Right. Eggsy breathes deep and straightens his back. Alright, he can do this. Predictable. Controlled. He just has to be able to hold on for a few seconds at a time and then… well, presumably once he's proved he can do it Harry will finish him off properly.
If he proves he can do it. Because he's not been doing terribly well so far, has he? The combination of promise and threat makes the layer of excitement low in his belly roll, and it stays twisted. He’s not far off, and Harry’s no longer letting him off lightly: he’s all rolling tongue and heavy eye contact as he goes in for the kill. Perhaps Eggsy will just neglect to tell him this time, or tell him when he’s already coming so that if he tries to pull of again Eggsy’ll just spunk all over his smug fucking face.
“Harry.”
And again. “Three, two, one.” There’s the cool air against his cock, the steady count back from three, just giving Eggsy long enough to get his act together before getting back to it. Harry pets at the back of his thigh and hums encouragement around him. He sounds so pleased , and Eggsy trembles with it. He almost wants this bit over with so he can lap up the attention he's earned himself.
“Wouldn't-” Eggsy sucks in a hiss as Harry's tongue swipes over the head of his prick, no doubt tasting exactly how hard he's trying. “Wouldn't have such trouble if you weren't so fucking good at that.” Talking helps. Forcing himself to concentrate enough to form actual words helps distract him... or it does until Harry thanks him for the well deserved compliment by sliding all the way down on Eggsy, until his nose is pressing against skin. “ Shit. Fuck.” Eggsy’s cock twitches in the grip of Harry's throat. It's incredible and he can't stand it but he can't make himself stop, and he's rocking his hips, a little rougher and faster than he wants to until Harry pulls back of his own accord.
But Harry gives him the benefit of the doubt: he hasn't warned him so Harry doesn't stop and he really could just thrust in and take, hold Harry by the hair until he chokes on Eggsy’s come at last, make him swallow it down with his cock still shoved down his throat.
“ Harry , fuck, I-”
“Three, two, one.”
But this time the tide doesn't retreat as far, there's barely a break in the build up of pleasure crashing into him and Eggsy’s right on the edge as soon as Harry’s mouth touches him again. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights it, sweat prickling at his back and tingles starting through his hips.
“Please, I need-”
“One more. You can do one more, I know you can.”
Sometimes he feels he can do anything when Harry talks to him like that. At the very least he's going to give it his best shot and if he fails harry will know that he really tried and be proud of him for that, for the miles he's come since giving up on anything that looks a bit difficult, so he nods. Proper fucking Boy Scout, Eggsy Unwin - always tries his best.
Heat sears through him at the idea he might succeed this time before Harry sucks him in again and it's only a couple of seconds before it's too much, knowing what he can have. He just has to wait the count of three out and then he'll get to come. He can do it.
Eggsy can't quite speak, he's too far gone, but he manages to squeeze at Harry's shoulder in warning and Harry pulls away.
“Three, tw-”
“ FUCK.”
Eggsy knocks his head back on the wall with a loud thunk but it's not enough to distract him, too late to stop the pleasure cresting and bubbling over, despite how hard he squirms away from it, even though Harry’s not touching him. By the time he realises that's hopeless - that his come is splattering weakly onto their carpet - and leans into it, there’s nothing left to feel.
The pleasure retreats back to sit in his core, waiting as if ready to strike but all the strength to even consider it is already spilled out of him. Eggsy’s knees buckle and he slides down the wall, falling into a graceless heap where his trousers bind him about the knees.
Harry stares at him - pupils blown, mouth wet and open and a splash of Eggsy’s come gleaming on his upper arm - for a few dumb seconds before he pitches forwards to wrap him in a cuddle and press concerned, reassuring kisses against his lips.
For the first time, Eggsy he sees a hint that was perhaps always there, had he been able to get his mind off the strain in his balls long enough to notice: underneath sadistic glee, it pains Harry to leave him unsatisfied, to see him squirming and glaring at him when he should by the way of things be grinning stupidly, spent, in Harry’s arms or babbling shit about how great he is at whatever or how good he makes him feel.Well, good, so he should. Anyway, it doesn’t seem to be enough to put him off the boner he’s got about it but he can wait. Eggsy can’t quite bring himself to think about what he wants to do about that yet. Can’t quite bring himself to move, or even open his eyes now he’s let them drift shut: he’s just exploring the sensations in his body, tracking down all the lost pleasure to where it’s tingles in his limbs and heat in his belly.
“Are you alright?”
Eggsy can feel himself shaking in Harry's hold.
“You're a fucking prize wanker, Harry, an actual legit fucking tossbag and I hate you.”
Harry kisses his hair and pulls him closer still.
***
Eggsy wakes up cross and too warm for Harry pressed up against his back, cuddling with intent. He wants to tell him to bugger off, to see how Harry likes it when he doesn't get what he wants, but Eggsy is weak and Harry's hands are lovely, fumbling around with the boxers Eggsy fell asleep in to get at the enthusiastic curve of his erection.
A combination of dread and arousal shocks through him: it’s not like he doesn't know exactly what the name of the game is now, and that itself sends a shudder down his back that ends in a twitch in Harry's palm.
Brilliant. He's got him trained like a fucking dog, shivering with excitement at the chance to please.
They are going to have to have some words about the fact Harry is a prize fucking weirdo. He's a bad influence.
Harry scrapes his teeth against the patch of skin behind Eggsy’s ear and the tingle of pleasure spreads out down his neck, creeps across his shoulders and brings a sweat out on his chest. Resigned, he loosens up, letting Harry know he’s awake and getting as comfortable as he can, although Harry’s too close up behind him for Eggsy to turn to face him. With just a few strokes his cock is leaking, desperate to rut into whatever touch it’s offered, begging Eggsy’s brain to let it hope: however stoically Eggsy wants to maintain his put-on frostiness, his body is on Harry's side, still, after all this.
He can stop it, of course. He has a safeword, and though really it should mean ‘stop everything’ he has a suspicion that they're working with enough intuition for it to be taken how he means it: used at the right moment, in this context, it would mean the exact opposite. Don’t stop. Don't make me do it again. He may not even need that: if Eggsy said honestly that he didn't want to play - as opposed to spitting a bunch of swear words at him in the sharply doused heat of the moment - Harry would pull him into a hug, congratulate him on doing so well, and thank him for indulging him. Make him come properly with that startling efficiency, like he knows cheat codes, like Eggsy’s body was tailor made for him to play with.
So imagine what he'll be like if Eggsy sees it through, now. He kicks the covers down off his body. It’s too hot for all that.
“Hands up,” murmurs Harry into the back of his neck, and Eggsy stretches both arms over his head to grip around the bedstead. He can smell his own sweat on his skin already, sharp and fresh, which won’t put Harry off at all because he’s a dirty old sod like that, especially when the pose is designed to show Eggsy’s muscle off as well as keep his hands out of the way. He’s not stupid. "Mmm, that's it. Beautiful."
Eggsy basks in the simplicity of it and sighs. He can feel Harry’s breath against the hairs on the nape of his neck, thrilling promise spreading out under his skin as long as he doesn’t think about what Harry might do to spoil it. Instead he starts to think about what he can offer in exchange for being allowed to feel orgasm again; what Harry might demand of him, and in no time at all that has him squirming, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping against the inside of his bicep.
Harry snakes his lower arm under Eggsy's head, pressing up close so they’re skin to skin more or less from shoulders to knees and Eggsy becomes suddenly aware that Harry is naked. He does not sleep that way. Harry’s cock is insistent against the small of Eggsy’s back, trapped between them, a cooler spot where it’s wet at the head and Eggsy is getting fucked today, he knows that much.
Harry grabs Eggsy’s leg and pulls it back over his lap to roll Eggsy part way onto his back, half lying on top of Harry, spread out for him. Only once he’s got him laid out, twisted to give Harry all the access he wants, does the hand return to stroking him off, and that’s bliss. It’s slow and steady and Eggsy could almost go back to sleep, safe in Harry’s hands, if it weren’t for the frantic excitement gnawing at every inch of his body. The stupid thing is, he already knows what's going to happen and he still can't help himself and he whines in frustration but his hips don't stop shifting, chasing it.
The hand he’d forgotten about moves in the edge of his vision and Eggsy worries, abruptly sobered, that Harry is getting cramp or a dead arm from it being trapped under him but then he bends it quickly to play across Eggsy’s chest and scrape nails over his nipples, pinching, stopping to roll and squeeze and that little bite of pain sends a jolt straight to Eggsy’s cock.
He wonders if Harry knows how close he is - he must, Eggsy’s dripping on his hand, rock solid and pulsing - and then whether he’s expected to give himself up.
Eggsy squirms to roll flat onto his back, so he can see Harry’s face, and it takes his breath away how hungry he looks for him. Harry doesn't complain when Eggsy adjusts his hold on the headboard so his arms are straight up and he's just laid stretched out flat in front of Harry: he just mmm s as he smiles and doesn't stop working over Eggsy’s cock. It's still so nice, the way Harry looks at him like this… not the sweet adoration he gives him at other times but something darker, all sex and want. Eggsy moans and watches how Harry’s eyes go to his mouth and then down to where the glistening head of his cock shows over the quick movements of Harry's fist, then back up to his eyes to stare right into him as he lets Harry toy with his body without promise, the way he has for weeks, the way he’s trained him to take.
The first glimmering prickles of orgasm start out from his lower back and it doesn’t matter how hopeless Eggsy tells himself it is, doesn’t matter what he thinks to try to put himself off: he’s warm and comfortable and Harry’s touches are ecstasy. He finds himself pressing his heels down into the bed to curl up into Harry's hand, hips twitching unevenly to chase more. More… but he doesn’t need more. Time’s up.
“Ah, ah , I'm gonna… can I… “
“No.”
Harry stops moving and squeezes gently, taking the stimulation away like whipping out the tablecloth and there is the tower of crockery, wobbling like it's all about to come crashing down on him, no no no no -
Eggsy screws his face up and screams through clenched teeth and… doesn't come. Whether it's fluke, practice, fear of the consequences or sheer bloody determination his body finally obeys his brain and keeps the fucking lid on it, just for a moment, and he's simmering and sweating, balancing on his toes on the very precipice of orgasm and holding steady For just long enough to fight his eyes open and clock the look of dazed adoration on Harry's face as he realises he's done it. He's actually fucking done it.
“Good boy. Well done, Eggsy, good boy.” And oh, if Harry keeps talking like that he's going to undo all their hard work no matter how hard eggsy is trying, but he closes his hand and times his slick movements with words to drown out the horror hanging over. “Come now. It's alright, you can come for me. There you go.”
The orgasm eggsy had no hope whatever of avoiding bursts through him in a hot cascade of sensations he can't pin down: tingles and sparks and bliss and sheer bloody relief, powering through his body and zeroing back in to his cock, taking all day about it but still over way too soon and he's coming, fuck , he's coming, properly, sweet perfect release that makes his toes curl and his back arch up as his cock spurts thick ropes of it up his belly, onto his chest, over Harry’s hand and Harry works him through every drawn out second. It ends like a bolt of lightning going to ground through him, brutal and final. His cock twitches itself to empty softness and his body slowly unwinds back down into the bed, weeks’ worth of tension wrung out. He slows from strained gasping into a steady pant, and it’s the first he knows of the fact he was doing it at all.
In Eggsy’s head, under his skin is just sweet blissful static. White noise. He basks in it for - how long?… a couple of seconds? A minute? Longer? He can’t tell - before cracking an eye open to greet reality again.
Harry grins at him warmly, but somehow there's still that hint of condescension. “Better?”
Eggsy opens the other eye and squints at him.
See, that was a mistake. He could have just told him what a good boy he was, rolled him over and fucked him, and they’d have been out being reasonable clothed human beings and not crazed rutting animals by lunchtime, but now he’s given Eggsy another bloody point to prove.
Because Harry was right about something: in a good mood Eggsy can be up and running again in no time flat, but it takes him much, much longer to come a second time, once he's shot a load off. Longer than it takes Harry from a standing start, for example. Longer, much longer, than Harry needs on the end of Eggsy’s prick to get his, which could have negated the entire fucking problem in the first place... if Harry had just had a bit of patience.
It might just be about time he learned some.