Kingsman Revese Bang

Harry lets out a deep breath, one he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Perhaps. But maybe after this season. If I disappear, god only knows what trouble my mother will cause?"

"Why is she so bent on making your life miserable? Other than you being bent, of course."

Harry chuckles at the witticism. "My brother is happily wedded and he has a lovely family. When it had become clear that I had no plans to marry and produce offspring of my own, my mother decided that my brother's wife wasn't suitable and started a campaign to have my brother divorce her and take custody of their children. I'd put my foot down and banned my mother from residing at or visiting the family estate or any Hart property where Peter and Elizabeth were staying.

"Peter is entitled to his happiness and I adore Elizabeth and the children. They don't need to suffer my mother's poison." Harry grimaces, thinking of all the ways his mother could ruin that family.

"So ye make yourself her target. That is an impressive display of fraternal solidarity."

Blushing at the praise, Harry changes the subject. "What about you? What keeps you in bespoke suits these days instead of threadbare Gunner jerseys?"

Merlin chuckles. "Ah, yes, those god-awful jerseys. Would ye believe me if I said that they'd been hand me downs? They only thing I could afford as a poor university student?"

"Maybe, except you had an awful lot of them. If I recall, you even had a few you looked like you'd slept in."

"Maybe I still sleep in them?" There's a glint of devilry in Merlin's eyes. "Or maybe I sleep in nothing at all?"

"Are you teasing me?"

"Maybe?"

Harry shakes his head. "I like you, Merlin. But if that's an offer, I'm going to have to turn it down."

"Why?"

Harry sighs. "You are going to be my arm candy for the next few months. It's not going to be a real relationship."

"And sex will just complicate things."

"Exactly." Harry grimaces and shrugs, feeling like something out of a Victorian novel.

"You're right, and it's been a long time since I've fallen into bed with a man on the first date."

"This hasn't exactly been a date, more like an after-action report." Harry bites his lip, feeling a bit foolish.

But Merlin doesn't seem to care. "So I guess I'm not going back to your place and you're not coming to mine tonight."

"Afraid not."

They sit in contemplative silence, but Harry doesn't mind. Merlin is a good looking man, with a profile right off of an ancient Roman coin and he enjoys looking. But Harry does wonder if he's being an idiot for turning down what Merlin had so delicately offered.

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Harry has some willpower! Merlin really does have that amazing profile, after all.

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Oh my god, I'm SO here for fake relationship AUs! Can't wait to see the rest of this!

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[Merlin's name here is Raff]

Harry blinked again, unable to believe that Rafferty was on his doorstep, just as he'd longed for not an hour past. Raff was wearing threadbare jeans and a faded indigo t-shirt under a canvas bag slung casually across his torso as if he had every right to walk around London looking positively edible, and Harry's indignation lent him strength; he got one hand around Raff's warm bare forearm and tugged him into the house.

Raff didn't even bother looking around, no doubt having already divined that Mr. Pickle — as relieved to be out of the kennel as Harry was to be home early from Luxor — was taking one of his epic naps in the back garden; he focused those brilliant eyes instead on Harry's befuddled face. "What will it take, Harry?" he asked. "Do I have to tap-dance naked to get you to listen to my contributions at the Round Table meetings?"

"Try it," he invited, resolutely not letting himself sink into the image. "What's —? I'm sorry I wasn't wearing my glasses, but my shoe-phone is charged and I didn't hear it ring."

"No," Raff sighed, very much Merlin at the moment, and Harry went even dizzier realising that all of that formidable intelligence and undeniable magnetism was in his house, where Harry was wont to eat garbage, watch terrible telly, and wank madly to the thought of him. "It's as I said at yesterday's meeting: I've designed a new network with better security and am updating all of the knights' home terminals." Those long fingers that had held Harry so securely and tenderly and insistently in encounters past tapped at the bag resting against his hip.

"You personally?" Harry asked lightly, ragingly jealous already.

"Mmm," Merlin said, which could have meant anything; the faint pink flush on his cheeks wasn't an answer either, given that he had his head ducked down to peer into the depths of his bag. It struck Harry again how well the shaved head suited him, the way that unabashed sleekness stopped camouflaging how much of a weapon he was, six plus feet of muscle and sinew and fiendish brilliance. "Upstairs?"

"Yes," Harry said, feeling his heart thump like a bass drum with each step Merlin took that got him unwittingly closer to Harry's bedroom.

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It struck Harry again how well the shaved head suited him, the way that unabashed sleekness stopped camouflaging how much of a weapon he was, six plus feet of muscle and sinew and fiendish brilliance.

What a perfect description of Merlin! I can't wait to read this - I really wanted to write this art prompt and I'm excited to see what you're doing with it.

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I still feel bad for sneaking in and grabbing this prompt from you! But Harry insisted this would be the perfect opportunity to wear his little pirate costume . . .

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Please don't feel badly, you were fast on the draw. And I've signed up to write an extra for this after the stories are posted.

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anarchycox

i am so excited and thrilled for this

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Yay!

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I love the retro Merlahad vibes, OMG. And the reference to the shoe phone got a chuckle out of me.

Merlin and Harry play off each other really well! I can't wait to see the rest of your work!

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I have to admit that I LOVE the look on Harry's face when he mentions the shoe-phones from the good old days, sort of wistful and sort of deprecating. Thank you for the very kind words!

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thenerdyindividual

A young at the back of the room uncrosses his arms at Dean’s announcement, and is glaring so hard at the man’s head it’s like he’s trying to shoot lasers from his eyes. Dean either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He glances over his shoulder and beckons the young man over. The young man steps forward but it’s with such a mulish expression Harry is surprised anyone can ignore it.

“This is Eggsy.” Dean announces and gestures to the young man.
“Not to be rude,” Harry says politely. “But I am hardly interested in adopting one of your lap dogs.”
“He ain’t a lap dog. More like a feral cat, hey Muggsy?” Dean asks, “He’s the best thief we got.”
“If he is the best thief you have then why trade him to me?”
“Frankly, I’m hoping you and your man,” here he jerks his chin in Merlin’s direction, “Can knock some sense into the bastard. Insists on working freelance, barely brings in enough to cover the cost of feeding him. Given your, let’s call ‘em tastes, thought a pretty young man with a bit of an attitude might spice things up.”

Harry takes a bit of offense to that. He and Merlin are quite happy in their marriage thank you. They don’t need a young man good at sucking cock invading their bedroom.

Still he is quite nice to look at. Strong jaw, clear blue eyes that are dark with anger, blonde hair just peeking out of his cap. Perhaps he and Merlin can admire him like a piece of art.

What interests him more though, is the thieving. A skill for getting into and out of places now that could come in handy.

“If he barely covers the costs of his upkeep, what makes you think I would want to take him? Disregarding the comment about mine and my husband’s taste, of course.”
“Because when you do finally get him to bring in a score it lasts for months.”

Edited 28/5/19 22:27 (UTC)

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Oh wow! I love this! I'm excited to read the rest!

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This was one of those art prompts that I craved fiercely while knowing I couldn't do it justice, but you obviously can!

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Oh my god, this seems like an awesome setup! I'm so here for this!

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evisersia

Their residence in London is an old Kingsman property purchased just after World War II. It’s an unassuming residential hall that at one point was a block of flats, but has since been converted into a safehouse of sorts. It reminds Harry of time spent on a similar property in Scotland a lifetime ago-- more freshly unearthed memories that he clings to. The decor and location has Merlin’s predecessor all over it, and has since been untouched.

Harry isn’t sure how it escaped Merlin’s modernization spree of the late 90s, but it’s a double-edged sword.

This place has no particular memories of the man attached. It’s a bit easier to get up each morning, but at the same time it makes the loss all the more glaring. Harry continues to yearn for anything to replace the memories of Merlin’s final moments that are burned into the forefront of his mind.

He aches for work.

Despite appearances, Harry has never considered himself to be a man of leisure. He’s lived his life moving from one assignment to the next with few periods of downtime in between. Rebuilding is slow business, and with the Statesmen handling the cleanup of the latest mess, Harry has little to do but brood.

Eggsy insists it’s grieving, but Harry knows his mind. He’s wallowing.

Merlin wouldn’t want him to live his days in a black mood. He’d want Harry to get on with his job and his life. It’s apparently what both he and Eggsy had done after Harry’s own supposed death.

Harry just can’t seem to let go. Perhaps it’s because he’s only so recently gotten his memories back, or perhaps it’s just some defect in his character, but this time, there is no shoving it all back into the box.

He wakes up more often than not with tears on his cheeks. Worse even, are the days he wakes up hard with Merlin’s name on his lips. Harry’s dreams are fragmented memories mashed together with no rhyme or reason. Stolen kisses and hurried encounters in dark hallways play between gunfights and explosions, lazy Sunday morning fucks mixed in with wry insults and banter as Harry fights his way through bunkers and mansions. The tears he can wipe away, but the way he aches at the ghost of Merlin’s touch is always slow to fade.

Those are the days where he can barely get the food in the puppies’ bowls before he’s stumbling down to the basement floor. The room is soundproof, and the boxing bag hanging in the far corner is a welcome distraction.

Sometimes he trains for hours. Sometimes, Eggsy or Tequila join him.

Sometimes Harry just stands in the middle of the room and curses Merlin for being a stupid noble bastard until his voice goes hoarse.

Sometimes, Harry can almost pretend that he’s moving on.

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Oh my, this is just exquisite, it breaks my heart. I can't wait to read more of it.

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evisersia

Thank you so much!

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Harry's grief is so visceral - this is stunning.

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evisersia

Thank you! I've been nervous about how emotional the piece is and if it was coming through.

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Oof, this hits right in the feels. Poor Harry!

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evisersia

I feel bad. I was a bit rough on him for this one. Thank you!

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The letter from Kingsman Artists arrives, express delivery, along with a pile of bills and a box of crap from Amazon that Eggsy doesn't remember ordering.

Dear Mr. Unwin:

Attached please find a letter dated March 23, 2019, from your record label. Despite our best efforts on your behalf, they have elected not to renew your contract. Given your lack of viable production in the last two years and your poorly attended tour, Kingsman Artists has elected to follow suit and is terminating its representation, effective today. This termination does not impact your financial obligations to Kingsman for any work performed prior to this date, nor does it void Kingsman's rights to any income stemming from music sales of works you recorded or performed prior to this date.

Best wishes in your future endeavors.

/s/ Chester King

Eggsy sniffles and blows his nose into the expensive stationary. He does the gross thing and admires how the snot and blood decorate the embossed logo before balling the letter up and tossing it towards the basket across the room. It falls short. Way short.

What a fucking metaphor for my life.

His brain itches and he needs something to make that stop. There's a bottle Jack at hand, not even half-empty and Eggsy easily fixes that, swallowing until the numbness takes over. The problem is that the numbness quiets the music, too. Maybe that's why Eggsy hasn't had a song worth singing in three years.

He'd started drinking to quiet the voices that had screamed at him to run as far and fast as he could when he'd been about to sign that record deal – the one that gave him millions of pounds in exchange for his soul. All he has to do is to write the kind songs that the label tells him are sellable, keep quiet while the technicians Auto-Tune the Welsh and London out of his voice, and never, ever do anything that would destroy the fantasies of all those millions of teenaged girls and middle-aged housewives who watch his videos and buy his music.

The last three years have been spent denying the truth about the very things that make him who he is, all for that most elusive of prizes – stardom.

And now, he has nothing left. No career, no management, no music. Eggsy doesn't know what he even sounds like anymore. All he can hear is the over-produced tones of a characterless voice singing words that have no meaning.

The itch is getting itchier and Eggsy finishes the rest of the Jack before reaching for the box he keeps on the table next to the couch. Except the box is empty. Even the silver razor blade and matching straw are gone – one of the groupies at the last party he'd had a few days ago must have helped herself to it before they'd left. And the white powder lingering in the corner of the box isn't remnants of the last bag of blow, but simply fouling tasting dust.

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Oh, Eggsy, honey.

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Aw, poor Eggo. You capture his sadness and pain so well!

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mmouse15

Wow. That's powerful.

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kyele

Tequila casts another admiring look at Eggsy’s check, then throws his hands in the air and spins in celebration. “You’re a star now, Eggsy!”

“I’m not worrying about rent for the next few months, and that’s for certain.” Eggsy tucks the check away, still bemused. “And I guess takeaway’s on me tonight.”

“Fucking swell,” Tequila beams. “I want a curry. Oh, and garlic naan! And maybe a cola, since you’re buying – ”

“Forget takeaway,” Ginger Ale says, sliding a hand down Eggsy’s pants and batting her eyelashes at him theatrically. “Darling, what sexual acts do I need to perform to get onto your next production?”

“Oi now,” Eggsy says. “It’s not my production, it’s Hart’s production. I just happened to be on set the day he walked through. That’s all.”

“Yes,” Ginger Ale agrees. “And now, because of that, you’re – what did the article say?”

Tequila picks up the latest copy of the British Video News, England’s leading (and only) trade magazine for the adult video industry. “‘Newcomer ‘Eggsy’ Unwin is rapidly becoming the brightest star in the erotic firmament’,” he reads, “‘sure to be the darling and the delight of audiences in decades to come – particularly if he continues to star in such excellent vehicles for his unique mixture of innocence and sensuality.’”

“There!” Ginger Ale says. “There’s no doubt you’ll be getting the next plum role going around. And when Hart asks you who your costar should be, you’re going to say ‘Ginger Ale’.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to happen,” Eggsy tries. He means that he doesn’t think that Mr. Hart is going to ask his opinion on his future co-stars. Ginger Ale takes it differently. She’s still got her hands down his pants, and she takes the opportunity to stroke his dick.

“Oh, darling,” Ginger Ale purrs. “Don’t worry. By the time you’re done screaming my name, you won’t even remember anyone else exists.”

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evisersia

This looks like it's going to be fun! Can't wait to read the whole thing!

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[Roxy is a lesbian in this fic because why not?]

"I think it's very you.” Roxy leaned over Eggsy’s shoulder, looking over his profile. “The gratuitous pictures of you and JB are a nice touch.”
Eggsy laughed. “Hey, if they’re gonna be with me, they’ve also gotta love my dog.” He looked up over his phone, to where his pug was sunning himself on the carpet. “Isn’t that right, JB?”
Before the dog could respond, Eggsy was on his knees, lavishing his dog with attention.
Roxy just chuckled. "Eggsy, if you're going to be this easily distracted, we're going to be here all day!"
"Alright, alright." Eggsy picked up his dog and returned to his spot on the couch. "What do I have left to do?"
"Gender and age preferences, then you just get swiping."
Eggsy picked his phone up in one hand and continued petting JB with the other. He ticked off the boxes for "men" and "women," then set his age preferences to "25 to 55."
He wasn't sure exactly how many older folks used Tinder, but he figured it was worth a shot.
He started to swipe in earnest, looking at pictures and reading profiles. A few people caught his eye: mostly other people his age, a few guys in their early thirties.
He got a few messages, mostly women telling him how much they loved JB, which he always responded to with some flirtatious line, but ultimately never lead to more conversation than just that. There were also the occasional messages from men telling him how fit he was or describing what they wanted him to do to him. And while they certainly got his attention, he wasn't sure that these were the type of people he really wanted to be meeting in person.
After swiping for ten minutes or so, Roxy came over and sat beside him. "How's the swiping coming along?"
Eggsy shrugged. "It's alright. Mostly just people wanting g to get in my pants or who are only interested in my dog. Is that how it's like for you?"
"You get the dog people, but lesbian tinder is mostly women matching with each other and never actually sending any messages."
"Sounds miserable. Does anyone actually get any dates off this app?"
"I've had a couple, yeah. And a few of my friends at school actually met their partners through it." She shrugged. "But if it doesn't work for you, we can always try something else."

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Ooh, I'm so here for BFFs Eggsy and Roxy!

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Thank you thank you! I just love Eggo and Roxy's friendship in canon, so it's been fun transferring it to fic!

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Oh, wow! This is going to be so very awesome. I love Roxy & Eggsy friendship stories, and JB is here, too!

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Aw, thank you!

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solrosan

A little late, but I still want to play! So here's a short bit of dialogue. (I promise someone will check the English before it goes live for real XD )

-x-

“The other knights called you Lancelot, but that’s obviously not your name,” Princess Tilde said when they had once again slowed down to a walk and Roxy handed her a skin of water.

Roxy smiled. “No, Your Highness, it’s Roxanne du Lac.”

“Sir Roxanne du Lac,” said princess Tilde, and she couldn’t help frowning at the sound of it.

Roxy laughed. “It’s not a name you can put ‘Sir’ in front of, I know. It’s Sir Lancelot du Lac, or just Roxy, if you so prefer, Your Highness.”

”I think I do prefer that, but why do they call you Lancelot to begin with?”

“Lancelot is my twin brother.”

“And why do they call you by your brother’s name?”

Roxy couldn’t help that the smile disappeared and a deep frown took its place. “I have his place at your uncle’s table, my brother was one of his knights just as I am now.”

“But why do they call you Lancelot?”

“Have you ever heard of a female knight?”

”Isn’t a knight a knight?” Tilde asked, handing back the skin of water. ”I’ve never heard anyone specify a male knight.”

Roxy took the skin. She had to admit she’d never thought about it that way.

”If it’s all the same to you,” Tilde continued, ”I’d like to call you by your own name, and for as long as we’re on the road, it might be better for you to just call me by mine.”

”Your highness?”

”Roxy and Tilde will raise far less suspicion than Sir Lancelot du Lac and Princess Tilde, wouldn’t you say?”

Roxy smiled and nodded. The princess had a point, even though neither of them looked like those grand titles right now. She fastened the skin to the side of her saddle and, unsure on how to continue the conversation, suggested that they trot again for the next mile or so.

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Ahhh, this is adorable!!

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