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"Merlin didn't give me any details whatsoever, so I’m just as blind as you are here,” Roxy says as she pushes the doors to the dining room open. “All he said was for us to come round asap.”
She barely falters when they both notice Harry sitting at the head of the table, just plasters a smile on her face and nods a greeting towards him and then Merlin, who’s stood in the corner of the room, mostly focused on whatever’s on the screen of his tablet at the mo. Eggsy’s not as clean with his entrance as she is; he stumbles when he meets Harry’s eyes, and then pulls himself together a second too late, filing in behind her.
“How odd,” Merlin says, peering over the rim of his glasses. “Arthur’s on time but not Lancelot.” He doesn't even mention Eggsy, and Eggsy stiffens up - he’s not that hopeless. Mostly. He still glares at Merlin as he dishes out three thin, confidential and adult-looking manila folders, nodding when Roxy poises over hers questioningly.
Eggsy flips his open and leans back in his chair, thinking distantly about how apparently Harry’s tagging along this time. It’s been a while since they’ve been on the same mission together; he’s gotten awful busy once he took Arthur’s spot.
“Galahad.”
Eggsy stops thinking, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. “Yes, Merlin?”
“Are you paying attention?”
He shifts. “No, Merlin.”
Merlin sighs, and it’s kind of admirable, how his face practically reads I’m not up for this bullshit today, Eggsy. “You’re going undercover at a casino,” he says, apparently a repetition, “and the owner is one Troy Parfum.” Eggsy tries not to ask if that’s French for scent; he’s kind of pretty sure it is, and Merlin would probably produce some small weapon from his tablet and stab him with it. “Word about him running an underground prostitution ring has been circulating for years now, but new evidence has come to light and we need you to track him down. Yard will take care of the rest.” He mentions the Yard with disdain, and even Harry looks slightly annoyed. Eggsy will never understand the rift between the organizations, but he’s smart enough to know not to ask.
He blinks. “That’s it?”
He wishes, very quickly, that he hadn't asked that, because with Merlin, that’s never it. Merlin just sighs again and cocks his head, like Eggsy should know this front and foremost.
“Right,” Eggsy says quickly. “Got it.”
To avoid doing anything else stupid he finally looks down at the couple of pages in his folder. There’s Mr Parfum’s profile and a snapshot of his face, and, ew. He literally looks like the stereotypical nasty douche who’d run a prostitution ring. When Eggsy becomes uncomfortable of looking at him he flips the page.
There’s a profile on said page, too, but there’s no photo attached. It belongs to someone named Allen Brady. Allen’s an escort. Eggsy squints.
“Who’s this?” he asks, flipping the folder so Merlin can see. Merlin barely even glances at it.
“That is your undercover persona,” he says. It’s punctuated from a bleepy noise from his tablet. Eggsy blinks, and looks back at the page, reads it over again.
“I’m a bleeding escort?” he gasps a second later, when it really dawns on him. “What, there was literally no other persona?”
“Not just an escort,” Merlin corrects him, and Eggsy’s pretty sure his heart just fell out his arse. “You’ll be Arthur’s escort.”
Actually, now his heart just fell out his arse. “Pardon me?” he does not screech, and Harry’s still appraising the page in his folder, his eyebrows raised. Roxy’s face is pressed between the pages in hers, her shoulders shaking.
“Sir Gerard Eaton,” Harry reads. “Well. It’s certainly a mouthful.” He looks much too calm. Eggsy’s mouth drops open perpetually. Roxy won't quit trembling, and a small snort escapes her a second later, which just makes her curl further into herself. “Pleasure to meet you, Allen.”
And then he smirks at Eggsy, the bloody prick. Eggsy flushes from head to toe. “Stop taking the piss,” he says, has to clear his throat afterwards because it comes out embarrassingly high-pitched, and then, “Merlin, be serious. Do we have to?”
“It’s a short mission,” Merlin replies immediately, like he was expecting exactly that question. He doesn't sound gleeful, even gives Eggsy a little shrug, like he’s kind of sorry about it even. It’s not much but Eggsy guesses it’ll do. It probably has to. “And I needed a pair. Roxy already got the rule of an heiress.”
Heiress. Eggsy’s pretty sure he really means that Roxy doesn't look enough like prostitute material, wherein Eggsy doesn't look enough like anything that could be at this casino that’s not a prostitute. He could throw a right fit, but it won't change anything, so he just sighs and slaps the manila down on the table. He can still poke at it. “Right then, but why’ve I got to be the escort in this pairing, huh? How come I can’t be the billionaire and Harry the escort?”
Harry says “absolutely not” as Merlin crosses his arms and says, thoughtfully, “you know what? That is a brilliant idea, Galahad.” Roxy just claps her palm over her mouth and gives him a death-stare (stop making me want to laugh here, you wanker.) He grins back at her lazily.
“Alas, Arthur would have to be a few decades younger to take on that role,” Merlin says, and Harry stiffens up. “Alright, you’re free to go,” and like schoolchildren, they close their folders and push their chairs back. “Also, Lancelot, Galahad?”
They pause, looking up at him expectantly.
“Go take a bloody nap or something. You both look like shit.”
Roxy near drags Eggsy out of the room as he yells, “you’re welcome for saving the world a fucking day ago! Rox, lemme go -”
He’s right, though - when Eggsy arrives home after what feels like weeks of having missed it, he spends some time with his mum and Daisy, grabs a bite too, and as soon as he lays down on the bed - just to soothe the ache-y bits in his back for a mo, he tells himself - he passes out. He nearly yells when he catches sight of himself in the loo mirror the next morning; shit was putting it way too lightly.
A good nap comes in handy for a lot of things, it seems, as he really finds out the next evening, eyeing Harry from across the shop. He’s just stepped out of changing room one in this bloody suit (obviously), but it’s different from the usual black ones he sports; it’s got the literal aura of fit-as-fuck rich bloke who totally has a slew of pretty escorts, and when he straightens up and adjusts the cufflinks, Eggsy’s sure had he pulled another all-nighter again he would have collapsed at the sight.
There’s something to be said about needing to collapse while watching someone fiddle with the sleeves of their suit. He squeezes his eyes shut and scrubs his palms down his face, sighing heavily.
“You alright?” comes Roxy’s voice. He drops his hands and glances over at her; she’s in a short black dress, hair done up like some 1920’s actress. The earrings she’s got on look sweet, but Eggsy’s, like, fairly certain they’re secretly knives or summat. She looks aces though, he has to admit. “Cheer up, Allen, you’re going to have a brilliant time.”
She grins when he glares at her. “You too?” he asks, and she just gives his arm a friendly squeeze, let him know she’s teasing. “Looking nice.”
“Thank you,” she says, glancing down her torso. “I feel a little out of my zone, but oh well. You’re looking dapper as well, by the way.”
He doubts it; his suit is plain black, decorated with shiny lapels and a bowtie. He kind of feels like an escort - probably reads like one too. “Thanks,” he says instead, and tugs on his cufflinks to straighten them out, more to make himself feel better in the suit than anything.
If he thought the suit was the only thing that made him feel like an escort, he was wrong. The casino is filled to the brim with well-dressed socialites, most pairs involving some older lad oozing money and a young thing on their arm. Eggsy wrinkles his nose at first until Harry slides a hand around to cup his waist and he realizes -
- he’s basically the exact same thing.
“Cripes, this is worse than I thought it’d be,” he mutters, and Harry gives his waist an idle squeeze, looking elsewhere. “What next? Do I call you daddy now, maybe?”
“Don't you dare,” Merlin says into his earpiece, “I can hear you”, as Roxy pitches in with“I’d rather die without hearing you say that.”.
“Rude. I rather liked the idea,” Harry says. Eggsy rolls his eyes and scans the room.
“So, like, is there any idea where this Parfum bloke will be hanging?” he asks, keeping his voice as low as he can without looking like a suspicious mouse or the likes to an onlooker.
“He should be at one of the tables,” Merlin replies.
Eggsy glances around. Nearly every table comes with a group of men in stark black suits. It’s like sixth form all over again, without the tattered Converse and instead London Fog. “Wow, that was a brilliant lead, Merlin, good job.”
“Don't get cheeky, boy,” Harry says suddenly, pulling him in close to his side, and, oh. Eggsy certainly wasn't expecting that; he probably looks like a helpless damsel, falling clumsily next to prim and proper Harry. “He has a neck tattoo. How’s that for a brilliant lead?”
It’s better, yes; Eggsy remembers seeing the eight-point star near his jugular in the snapshot from the manila yesterday, and although he wouldn't put it above Americans to get stupid things like that tattooed on their damn necks, not many people present at the moment would do that. Maybe they have eight-point stars under their double-breasted vests and their floor gowns.
“Alright,” he says, squaring his shoulders back before looping his arm through Harry’s, gripping his bicep with one hand, gripping his wrist with the other. He can feel Harry stiffen up ever so slightly and grins to himself, too pleased at finally catching the wanker off-guard. “Let’s see if you can play a hand of cards as well as you can do literally everything else.”
“That wasn't much of an insult,” Harry mutters, but still lets Eggsy play up the cute and bubbly boy toy façade by dragging him to the nearest pool table, wedging his way in between two identically-dressed men.
Identically-dressed men. Here. They’re all identical. Except Harry, he muses mentally, who still stands out, not in a bad way, but in an I’m better than all of you way. He shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts.
“Sir?” asks the dealer at the head of the table, eyes immediately skipping over Eggsy and landing right on Harry. Rude. Her hands have paused on the stack of cards, waiting.
“Mm,” Harry hums, glancing around the table, “deal me in, then.”
Eggsy watches with growing irritation as Harry easily sweeps the game his way, even though he’s sure he should have just known Harry would be aces at this as well. It’s just a thing. He sighs resignedly on the fourth hand and tips his head back, palms over his mouth like he’s yawning as he sneaks a look at everyone. No one looks like Parfum, and no one has a neck tattoo. He nudges Harry’s elbow, nods for them to leave.
“Sure got invested in that, didn't you,” he asks flatly as he takes Harry’s arm again, strolling past a couple more tables. It’s hard, really hard - the place is swarming, and you can only look at a few people’s necks in one sweep around without looking suspicious.
“It’s been a while,” Harry replies, uses his free hand to straighten out his jacket. “Wanted to test my skills out, see if they’re just as good.”
Just as good. Eggsy wonders, briefly, how they got good in the first place, but then Roxy’s voice is filtering through the earpiece. “Found him, he’s at table three, near Roulette, near the fire exit.”
Eggsy’s head darts up but Harry looks up calmly, less like he’s just been bitten in the arse by a cat, as Eggsy may as well have looked. He sees the fluorescent exit sign first, then drags his eyes down, sees Roxy pressed in between a group of people at a table.
“Ah,” he says, tips his chin her way. It takes a while to wedge through the throng of people, and all the while Eggsy has to avoid touching Harry’s hand with his own in fear his palms have gotten sweaty from the nerves. Roxy seems relieved when they finally appear at the other end of the table, catching Eggsy’s eyes as Harry perches onto a chair before glancing to Parfum.
“In, sir?” the bird wearing the casino’s apparent uniform asks Harry; she too ignores Eggsy. Eggsy tries not to glower, and then tries not to yelp when Harry pulls him down on his lap.
“Yes, please,” Harry says. Eggsy hears it almost distantly; he’s busy studying Parfum, who actually has an incredibly ugly tattoo on his neck. Why the fuck - “blow, darling.”
Eggsy blinks, twists around and nearly falls off Harry’s lap. He doesn't in the end, although he sort of wishes he had; Harry’s hand is up, two classic dice sitting on his palm. Christ. He freezes until Harry squeezes his waist with his free hand.
“Oh,” Eggsy says, “right, then,” and then blows over the dice gently. He’s pretty sure his blood pressure is high enough at this point that any doctor would deem it unsafe. “Go ‘head now, love.”
He has this paralyzing fear that the die will turn up with the most unfortunate numbers but Harry just smirks and tosses them.
Six, and six. Eggsy barely feels surprise anymore, just grins and kisses Harry’s cheek before he can really think about it. A ripple of oohs and ahs go around the table.
“Ain't you a lucky little babe,” says the bloke on Eggsy’s right, giving him a wink that seems more lecherous than congratulatory. He’s wearing a suit and a cowboy hat. Americans are so fucking odd.
“S’pose I am,” Eggsy tells him, smiling blandly. He hopes it’s enough of a hint.
Cowboy doesn't take the hint. “What’s your name, eh?” he asks. Oh, God, he’s not even hot. Eggsy doesn't have time for this.
“Er, it’s Allen,” Eggsy says. The cowboy has leaned forward, his hat obscuring the view of Parfum. “If -”
“Did daddy tell you that you may tell people your name?” Harry murmurs suddenly, just loud enough that only Eggsy and cowboy can hear.
And Merlin and Roxy, naturally - Merlin makes a particularly worrying noise in Eggsy’s ear, and across the table, Roxy chokes on her drink. Three blokes with the air of old money immediately turn to her, asking, in order, “are you alright?”, “do you need something, miss?” and “you like fingers, babe?” She replies, in order, “yes, thank you,” “no, thank you,” and “give me your fingers and I’ll break them all, babe.”
Eggsy looks away from that fiasco to see cowboy has disappeared from his side. “You’re a sick man, Hart,” he says lowly, watching Parfum watch Roxy and her crew of wannabe suitors.
“If not for me, you would have been on a horse halfway to Texas right now,” Harry says back, just as low. Eggsy snorts. “You ought to thank me, Allen.”
“What if I wanted to be on a horse halfway to Texas right now?”
“You are a downright terrible actor.” Harry moves his hand from Eggsy’s waist when Parfum stands from his chair. Eggsy can’t help but miss the warmth there on his hip briefly, before remembering - not right now, this is definitely not the time to be getting pine-y. He stands up too, albeit a little quickly, turning around to fiddle with the lapels of Harry’s suit so Parfum won't notice. “And now you’ve gone on to messing about with my suit.”
“I’m fixing it,” Eggsy insists, tugging on the material and then smoothing Harry’s bowtie. “Just trying to be your best boy, is all.”
Harry looks away. The corner of his mouth has curled up.
Eggsy finally decides Harry’s bowtie looks impeccable and takes Harry’s arm again, stepping in close. “Can you see him?”
“He’s at the bar,” Harry says, and gives Eggsy a pat on the arse. “Go get me a drink and some info, if you would.”
Eggsy gives him a look he hopes feels like daggers through Harry’s bulletproof suit, before heading over to the bar, trying to sidle up to the counter nonchalantly. Parfum is two stools down and Eggsy sees him glance up through his peripheral vision; he looks his way too, and gives him a smile.
“Ah, you’re the good luck boy, aren't you? Parfum asks, and Eggsy pretends like he couldn't quite catch him, using the excuse to skip over the stools and lean right next to him. “The good luck boy. Back near Roulette?”
“Ah! Yeah, that would be me,” Eggsy says, and internally cringes at how chipper it comes out. “Why? You havin’ a hard time?”
Parfum raises an eyebrow, barely noticing when the bartender slides his glass of - whatever that is - near his elbow. “Your man looks real possessive, boy, should you really be making offers like that?”
“Har - Gerard? No, he doesn't really mind at all.” Eggsy waves it off flippantly.
Parfum’s eyes shift. “He looks like he’s five seconds away from cutting my throat.”
Harry can hear everything right now, so when Eggsy glances back at him, he just catches him turning back to the pool table, schooling his face into neutrality. Eggsy swallows tightly. “Me tie is probably off or the likes,” he says, shrugging and turning back to Parfum. “He’s got a right eye for whenever my suit ain't all perfect.”
Parfum says, “huh,” and stands from his stool suddenly. His eyes are still on Eggsy, so he can’t have seen someone around them wave for them, and that’s when Eggsy notices the smallest earpiece on his left lobe. “Well, I have to be on my way. Nice speaking to you.”
Eggsy gives him another bright smile, waits for him to slip from earshot, watches him disappear through the doors underneath the exit sign, and hisses, “someone definitely told ‘im something; he’s on the move right now.”
It’s look suspicious if both Roxy and Harry make a move from the same table, at the same time, in the same direction, so he waits a couple seconds before slipping off his stool and heading behind Parfum.
He’s nearly by the doors when two broad blokes appear out of literally fucking nowhere, dark glasses over their eyes, earpieces with the wires, identical plain black suits, the whole fiasco. “Excuse me, sir,” says one of them, and the other, “where are you going?”
Eggsy barely resists rolling his eyes again, and reaches behind himself for his pistol.
“Allen, love, you seem to have forgotten about fetching me a drink.”
Eggsy startles, arm dropping back to his side as Harry steps up behind him, squeezing his shoulder before peering at Parfum’s henchmen. “Is everything quite all right?”
“Your boy was going somewhere he wasn't supposed to be,” says henchman number one.
“I do apologize,” Harry says, giving a sound chuckle. “He’s been quite of it. Can’t really blame him though, I did go a pinch too far last night.”
Eggsy, and the henchmen by extension, don't get it at first, until they all do at nearly the exact same time. Eggsy’s pretty sure his face has been burned off. The henchmen cough into their fists.
“Right,” says henchman number two. “just, ah, keep a better eye on him, sir.”
“Will do,” Harry says, and then turns to Eggsy. “Come along, boy.”
They begin to walk back over to the bar. “They’re still watching us,” Eggsy mutters, adjusting his glasses.
Harry sighs, and then laughs as he faces Eggsy before pulling him in and kissing him. It’s wet and fierce and over much too soon, and Eggsy just freezes under Harry’s hands, both his body and brain.
When Harry pulls back, he reaches up and pushes back an errant lock of hair that’s fallen over Eggsy’s forehead. “Not anymore.”
“Huh,” Eggsy says dumbly, then, “huh?” before he understands and looks over to the exit. The henchmen have disappeared. “Oh. Right.”
Harry’s still got one hand over Eggsy’s hip. “Where did you see Parfum head?”
Eggsy blinks back at him dazedly, squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again. “He, uh, went through the exit. Yeah.”
“Alright.” Harry’s hand is gone then, and Eggsy misses it even more this time round. He watches Harry pull one side of his jacket back, drawing his pistol. “You and Lancelot deal with his men, while I’ll attempt to see if I can catch up to him.”
Eggsy is about to say yes but before he can, Harry kisses him once more, softer and slower than earlier, still over all too quick. “Make me proud, Galahad.”
“Yes,” Eggsy says, clearing his throat, trying to ignore how flushed he probably is at the moment. Harry smiles, and begins to head over to the exit, and Eggsy watches him for a couple more seconds before drawing his own pistol and setting out to do just that - make Harry proud.