Not That Kind of a Proposition

That boy again.

Harry let out a controlled breath and scanned the crowd. He had recognized the laughter even before he spotted the boy on the other side of the banquet hall. This night, said boy had attached himself to a lesser lordling—for the life of him, Harry couldn’t remember his title—simpering like an idiot and batting his lashes at everyone who looked at his way.

It was the fourth (fifth? sixth?) time Harry had seen him at a gathering like this. He was always impeccably clothed with just enough overkill to make himself the center of attention. This time, the overkill was the first button, opened to reveal a peek of the hollow of his throat and just enough chest hair to make him indecent to be at this particular club. 

Harry wasn’t sure if the boy’s purpose was to simply be eye candy or just a means to raise a scandal, but he pulled it off effortlessly as always. He was good enough to fool the patrons but not good enough to fool Harry.

”Oh bloody hell, just bed him already,” Merlin grumbled into his ear. ”You’ve been lusting after him since the first time you saw him in Reno. Just fuck him out of your system, man.”

Harry snorted under his breath. Merlin was more than well aware that Harry couldn’t answer without raising too much suspicion and took advantage with way too much glee.

”I swear, Harry, if you make me stare at his arse or lips the whole night again, I’ll replace your Lagavulin with piss.”

Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to cover his mouth. ”Don’t be absurd,” he said, exasperated, while pretending to discreetly blow his nose. ”You know just as well as I do that it’s suspicious how often he pops up at the same events we monitor.”

”Figuring that out by the swell of his arse, are you?”

Harry gritted his teeth so hard it hurt and took a small sliver of pleasure for the way Merlin swore. For some reason, grinding one’s teeth while the glasses were on and transmitting resulted in a surprisingly unpleasant feedback loop. It was a very handy way to shut Merlin up. Not that it lasted long, though.

”Oh fine, whatever,” Merlin grumbled. ”Stew in your sexual frustration then. It makes you delightfully impatient in poker.” There was a minute pause and then Merlin snapped, ”Target on the far right. The man wearing the hideous emerald jacket and stupidly expensive wristwatch.”

Harry was on the move, Merlin’s disapproving fashion advice a low murmur in his ear. He stumbled drunkenly against the target and slammed his elbow into the wall and as he apologized, he attached a small, wireless transmitter on said ’stupidly expensive’ wristwatch.

When Merlin affirmed that the transmitter was working and the line was good, Harry nodded to himself, straightened his cuffs, and returned to the banquet hall. The young man was nowhere to be seen and Harry told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

Perhaps he was just a high-end escort whose duties required him elsewhere. Why on earth would Harry bother his head with it?

It wasn’t like Harry couldn’t find eager bodies to warm his bed. He just… didn’t really see the point. Kingsman required a lot of him and he found it too exhausting to bother explaining his sudden departures, his paranoid checking of exits, his extensive collection of legal and illegal weaponry, and last but not least, his various bruises and scars to a complete stranger. 

Kingsman didn’t have fraternization rules but falling into bed with a colleague was always risky. It had the chance of going well—Lancelot and Percival were a perfect example—or end in a complete disaster that posed a risk not just for the involved parties but everyone around them. Harry should know. He had been present when Chester King and his ex-wife had passed each other at a tarmac while changing planes. 

No wonder Arthur called her Morgana.

So no, finding willing bodies to find a moment of relief wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that none of the candidates Harry had recently eyed possessed the mischievous grin, a certain dip at the hollow of their throat, or an unmistakable lilt in their laughter—

Shit.

Merlin was right. 

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead to relieve an impending migraine. Perhaps he should proposition the boy and bed him, like Merlin suggested. Perhaps that would clear his head.

In the end, he didn’t but had him followed instead. It turned out that the boy—who went by the name Eggsy for some godforsaken reason—took care of his little sister and their mother who seemed to be concentrating more on drinking and trying to find a new husband than acting like a proper mother. It was quite possibly what drove Eggsy into prostitution. And the longer Harry watched his act, the more certain he became. Eggsy was far from stupid and he was quite skilled in jumping from a thug to a polished upper-class companion, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still a prostitute.

What was interesting, however, was how often they seemed to end up at the same venue. Harry wasn’t sure if it was coincidence or if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, dangling that damn tempting creature in front of his nose time after time.

Sometimes, he was sure Eggsy was keeping an eye on him but every time he tried to catch him in the act, the boy was fully immersed in whoever he was trying to woo that night.

For some reason, it made Harry unreasonably irritable.

Harry had just downed his subpar martini when he heard the laughter again. He sneaked a peak from the corner of his eye and saw Eggsy practically sitting on a man that slouched in his chair as though he were a common thug lazing in the park. Except the said man wasn’t a common thug but Arnold Greaves, a gangster and a serial killer, someone Kingsman had tried to catch for several years now.

”What the bloody hell?” Merlin muttered. He was in the field as well, coordinating their batch of young recruits scattered around the venue, undercover as waiters. ”Does your boy have a death wish?”

Not my boy, Harry wanted to say but he was too busy trying to get a read of what the boy was doing. Under the pretense of almost rubbing himself on Mr. Greaves, Eggsy’s fingers were doing…something. 

Harry narrowed his eyes and zoomed his glasses in and blinked.

Eggsy’s fingers were busy, lifting a small envelope of papers right from Arnold Greaves’ pocket.

That was a bold move, so bold in fact, that it bordered on insanity. Harry took a surreptitious glance around and started inching closer, well aware that he was risking his cover for the night.

Which was when everything fell apart, of course.

”Arnold Greaves!” someone boomed. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed as Eggsy twitched on Greaves’ lap—not enough for him to notice but to Harry, it was enough to get him murmur an urgent, ”Merlin!” under his breath.

”Lord Hurst,” Greaves greeted him, jostling Eggsy. The envelope slipped easily out of his pocket and vanished inside Eggsy’s jacket in a flash. ”This is my plus one for the evening,” Greaves continued.

”Oh, indeed,” Lord Hurst said with a slow, unpleasant smile. ”I believe we’ve met.” His voice was hoarse and something about it commanded attention.

Eggsy flashed him a confident grin. ”I don’t think so. I’d remember a gentleman like you.”

Lord Hurst cocked his head a fraction. ”Oh, Eggsy, Eggsy, Eggsy… You really should’ve considered who you were dealing with.”

Harry saw the moment Eggsy realized he was royally fucked. And that settled it.

”Get him out of there,” he snarled, barely remembering to scratch his ear to mask his command.

Merlin swore a blue streak under his breath but he was already on the move. Lord Hurst took a step forward but before he had the chance to do whatever he was planning, Merlin stepped in front of him.

”Eggsy,” he snapped with as stiff an upper lip as Harry had ever witnessed. ”What the bloody hell are you doing here? You should know Mr. DeVer doesn’t appreciate you running around on your own.”

Eggsy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then swallowed and said defiantly, ”I’m not running around, am I? I’m trying to—”

”The only thing Mr. DeVer asks of you is that you keep your head down and your arse up,” Merlin hissed and continued, ”You don’t need to impress him with anything else.”

”You’re DeVer’s toy and tried to act out?” Lord Hurst chortled. ”You’re in deep shit, boy.” He gave Eggsy an unpleasant smirk and jerked his head. ”Best run along then.”

His face flaming red, Eggsy stood up and started walking towards the doors, Merlin’s hand on his shoulder. To a passing observer, it might have seemed like Merlin was gently guiding him, but Harry knew the truth: one wrong move and Merlin’s fingers would find certain pressure points that would result in horrible spasms and searing agony.

It took Harry some time to get his racing pulse under control and calm his mind enough to continue with his mission. It took him even longer to suppress the urge to step outside and call Merlin to check in on Eggsy.

After the incident, Eggsy stopped going out. Or, well, he tried but apparently, Mr. DeVer’s reputation as a ruthlessly possessive bastard was rooted deeper than Harry had anticipated and the news of the altercation spread like a wildfire. After a couple of nights that ended up in gentle but firm let-downs, Eggsy stopped trying and Harry didn’t see him around anymore.

He tried telling himself he was glad but rolled his eyes at himself at the same time. He hadn’t made it to one of the oldest surviving knights by wallowing in self-denial and he knew that sooner or later, he’d have to come face to face with Eggsy. The nagging voice in the back of his mind that sounded a lot like Merlin reminded him that it would also be the only way to get Eggsy into his bed.

So, after making sure Eggsy’s mother and little sister were away for the day, Harry straightened his cufflinks, took a breath, and knocked on the Unwin’s door.

It was opened by Eggsy who clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.

”Hello, Eggsy,” Harry said and gave him a cool once-over. He wasn’t a fan of the most outrageous of Eggsy’s outfits but really, almost anything was better than the low-hanging jeans and the glitter-adorned baseball cap.

”Who the fuck are you?” Eggsy asked, incredulous and not a little scared, even though he covered it well.

”Considering that I saved your life several weeks ago,” Harry chided flatly, ”A little gratitude would be nice.”

Eggsy narrowed his eyes. ”DeVer?”

Harry let a small smile touch the side of his lips. 

”Well, fuck you,” Eggsy spat.

Harry tilted his head and raised a brow. ”I beg your pardon?”

”You have any fucking clue how hard it was to get that close to Greaves? I worked my arse off—literally—to get to him and you just…waltzed right in the middle of it and shot my chance to hell!” He emphasized his point by jabbing his finger right in the middle of Harry’s chest. 

”First, I saved said arse. Second, why on earth would you want to get to Greaves?” Harry asked in surprise. ”I’m sure that despite your somewhat questionable manners, you have no problems finding company.”

Eggsy scoffed. ”It’s not about company, you pompous twat. Greaves killed my dad, I was trying to take him out.”

That made Harry pause. He gave Eggsy a long look, took in his physique with a clinical eye, appreciating the build and muscles that told of power over aesthetics, and held his gaze that met his own with an unwavering intensity. Eggsy’s eyes contained a challenge and Harry let himself revel in it.

It had been a long time since he’d last met someone like Eggsy.

Finally, he let out a deliberate breath and said, ”I have a proposition for you.” He realized his mistake when disappointment flashed in Eggsy’s eyes. ”Good God! Not that kind of a proposition. A real job. Tell me, have you ever heard of Kingsman?”

Eggsy frowned. ”The fancy-ass tailor shop?”

Harry grinned. ”It might be just a bit more,” he said and turned to go. ”Come along, Eggsy. Let’s see if we can’t make a ’fancy-assed tailor’ of you, shall we?”