Chapter Text
“For your next stage of training, your endurance and speed will be tested,” Merlin announces. “Be at the Kingsman pool facilities in a half an hour. Leave your things in the adjoining locker room. It’s right past the lake, can’t miss it. Dismissed.”
Nodding, the recruits file off, some already packing towels and swimsuits into bags. Merlin’s already set out Kingsman-issued swimming gear on their beds, and Eggsy’s wondering if he'll ever be allowed to wear his old clothes again when Charlie manages to catch his eye and sneer.
“You know how to swim, Eggy?” Charlie asks. “Shame. I’d love to see you drown.”
“And I’d love for you to choke to death during supper tonight, but we can’t have everything, I suppose.”
“Leave him alone, you lot,” Roxy snaps, already swinging her things over her shoulder. “Can you not be a prat for ten seconds, or is it in your job description?”
“Oooh," Charlie's mates sneer, all in unison.
“Roxy your girlfriend, Eggy?” Charlie then mocks. “Or do you prefer the other sort?”
“Fuck off,” Eggsy retorts, turning away.
“Let’s walk together, then,” Roxy says lowly, as the group lets out a bout of snickers. “I’d rather warm up a little beforehand. Unless…you want to see Galahad?”
Eggsy shakes his head, heading for the door. “I’m seeing him later this evening.”
“You know we’re not supposed to interact with our sponsors.”
“You didn’t say anything about that when I was sneaking out to visit him—“
“Because he was in a coma, Eggsy.”
“What, you’re worried about me wheedling answers out of him? Cheating?”
“Of course not,” Roxy snaps, as they exit the mansion and start walking to the pool. “I just think, well, of you getting caught. Charlie almost found that little stash of Twinkies and wine last night—with Galahad’s note in his handwriting. You think he wouldn’t report you and try to get you kicked out? After you made it to the final six?”
“He would,” Eggsy agrees, with an irritated sigh. “He has it out for me; he’s such a—” His impending rant about classist pricks is interrupted by a ripple in the middle of the lake. “Do you see that?” He points, just as the water’s surface is disturbed again. “What’s that?”
“The Loch Ness Monster lives in Scotland.”
“Rox! You’re—oh.”
Eggsy stops right in the middle of the path, Roxy nearly bumping straight into him, as he watches Harry climb out of the lake. He’s only wearing swimming trunks—red, like his robe—and curls. Eggsy’s never seen Harry without his fancy pomade, dark brown hair smoothed back or in a careful part, so this disarray makes Harry look…softer, almost gentler. And stripped of his suit, Harry could be a regular bloke, someone Eggsy could approach on the street—
Except, of course, there’s no mistake that Harry isn’t an ordinary man—his stomach and chest have both faded and vicious-looking scars, with toned limbs and pecs that can probably shatter steel. Even when recently dragged from a coma, Harry looks as if he’s ready to grab a Kingsman umbrella and go rough up some bad guys.
“Galahad, looking good,” Eggsy comments, winking, hoping that Roxy and Harry won’t pay attention to his flushed cheeks.
“Feeling good, Eggsy,” Harry replies dryly, looking amused. At the corner of Eggsy’s peripheral vision, he sees Roxy roll her eyes.
“What are you doing in the lake?”
“It’s a lovely day,” Harry replies mildly. “Shame to waste it in the indoor facilities. I presume that’s where you’re both heading off to?”
“Yes, sir,” Roxy says. “Training.”
“Well, best of luck.” Harry inclines his head in Eggsy’s direction, smiling. Eggsy wants to say something in reply, but can only sort of give an awkward jerk of his head and smile back, trying not to look at Harry. It’s hard, though. Harry’s trunks are so bright red that it’s almost like a magnet, or a sign that screams danger danger. Not to mention that since Harry just came out of the lake, they’re clinging to his thighs and—
“Eggsy, come on, we’re going to be late,” Roxy calls, already strolling down the path, and without looking back, Eggsy runs after her.
“Where are my fucking clothes?”
There’s a riff of laughter coming from the showers, and Eggsy wants to storm in and confront those pricks, but he’s too exhausted from Kingsman’s brutal underwater obstacle course to bother.
“That dickhead,” Eggsy mutters, kicking half-heartedly near his empty locker.
Roxy shoots him a sympathetic look, already dressed with a towel around her shoulders. “Do you want to tell Merlin?”
“No, it’s just Charlie being petty. ‘Sides, I have others.” Though growing up pinching pennies had drummed into him the value of clothes—and how if he lost a jacket at school or needed a new pair of jeans, he and his mum would have to tighten their belts for a while. Annoyed, Eggsy sighs. “I’m just going to head over to the dormitories and take a shower there.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“It’s okay, Rox, go beat the others to supper. Save me a seat?”
“Will do.” Roxy pats his arm. “Don’t worry about them; they’re just jealous.”
Eggsy scoffs. “Ugh, whatever. I can’t wait until our next test; the sooner they’re gone, the better.” He wraps a towel around himself and waves to Roxy as he heads outside.
He hears the pattering of water and wonders, shit, is it raining?, but looking up, there’s no storm clouds or rain drops. He feels wetness at his feet—not dripping, but flowing underneath and around his feet. When Eggsy looks down, water’s trickling in a steady stream on the ground, and he follows the trail up the slope of the concrete when—
He sees Harry. Behind a concrete wall. With zero modesty. Showering.
This is the part where Eggsy should turn away and pretend he never saw him, but instead, he freezes in place, fingers clutching at his towel.
He’s lying if he says he’s never thought of Harry in that way—thought of Harry pulling him into the dressing room and kissing him hard against the trifold mirror—thought of Harry coming to the range and pulling him up against his back to help him shoot—thought of Harry opening the door of one of Kingsman's utility closets and helping him out of his stupid tartan suit—
Just then, Harry looks over his shoulder and winks at him.
Flushing so dark red that Eggsy can probably be used as a space heater on a cold day, he flees.
When he reaches the dormitories, Eggsy strips off his swimming trunks and reaches for the tap. Water—perfectly hot—pours down his body. Eggsy sighs, looking over his shoulder at the empty room. Privacy was a luxury at his flat, but at the very least, it had a private bathroom. Sure, the showers were communal in army training, but Eggsy still didn’t like standing naked beside people who made rude comments about him every day—including in the shower.
And there’s another thing, too, about the lack of privacy…
Eggsy again checks behind him to confirm that the room is empty, before taking a hold of his cock with a soapy hand.
Closing his eyes, Eggsy’s mind drifts to coy lasses and curly-haired lads and both, as he slowly begins to move his hand up and down—
And sees Harry arching his back, eyes closed, as water runs down his bare chest and wets his damp curls. Unconsciously, Eggsy mimics this, throwing his head back and trying not to gasp too loudly in the empty room. He mentally tracks the water down Harry’s chest and back and thighs, watching fat droplets roll down bare skin—slightly tanner than he’d thought, despite Eggsy’s assumption that Harry wore suits all the time, with alternating silver and tan scars. What would it be like to run his fingers over those, to ask about each one, to press his lips against them after each story?
He increases his strokes, imagining getting in that outdoor shower and reaching for Harry’s cock, not his own. Smirking up at Harry, eyes coy, asking, “Need a hand with that?” as he jerks his own hand, roughly. Harry throwing his head back, eyes closing, breath coming out in shallow gasps, as his other hand grabs Eggsy’s shoulder for balance. Harry’s grip tightening, nails digging into his skin as Eggsy whispers sweet, filthy things about standing out in the open and wanting to be noticed and not being such a gentleman after all. Eggsy’s breathless laughter cut off by Harry’s lips crashing onto his. And Harry shuddering and shutting his eyes tight and pressing harder against Eggsy’s mouth as—
Eggsy comes with an embarrassingly loud shout, clapping his left hand over his mouth too late when the burst of “Harry” escapes his lips. Looking down at himself, startled, Eggsy watches come run down his legs and drip onto the floor, slipping down the drain with water and soap. He’s breathing heavily, mind still fuzzy, a remaining image from his fantasy belatedly playing out in his head—him and Harry clutching at each other, limp and laughing underneath the spray, sharing a last, strangely slow, sweet kiss…
Leaning his forehead against the wall, Eggsy breathes, “Shit.”
As he turns off the shower, hearing the remaining water drip onto the tiles, Eggsy snatches a towel off one of the hooks, refusing to look at his state in the mirror. Instead, he’s going to change, get supper, maybe study a little before bed, and—
Harry Hart is standing in the doorway, curls still damp from his shower and in a white-button shirt, buttons undone at the top. Eggsy can see a hint of a smirk on his lips.
“You called?”