Chapter Text
“Would you like to hear about how James and I started dating?” he says casually.
They meet through Kingsman, naturally.
James is already Lancelot by the time Gawain sponsors Julian for the Percival position, and he’s already settled in it, has been for nearly three years.
The current Percival (old and balding and eager to retire, because he just can’t meet the physical demands of the job any longer) oversees the selection of his successor silently from three steps behind the man the recruits learn to call Merlin. Julian doesn’t like the old man much, and it seems he doesn’t like Julian, either. Still, he’s determined not to embarrass his sponsor by getting eliminated early.
It seems like the man dislikes the cheerful Lancelot, too, so Julian takes solace in that. It’s really just a fluke that the current youngest agent ends up watching over their train test, because his recruit was out after practically having a meltdown during the written test, though he never paid much attention to the recruit in the first place. In fact, he didn’t even seem bothered, as he strolled in the room and decided to stay, that his choice wasn’t still in the running. Maybe he knew he’d fail, Julian thinks, glancing over at the handsome man. They’re watching Kay’s recruit try and fail miserably at keeping quiet.
Lancelot catches his look with a slow smirk and gives him a wink. It’s disconcerting, especially because this man - whose name he doesn’t and might never know - is only a handful of years older than him. Really, Julian knows he’s the youngest recruit (just by a year and a half, thank you), but he’s not a child.
He tells the man as much later, when Lancelot stops him in the hall to congratulate him and Gawain on his success so far.
“I never thought you were,” the man says. “I’ve got my money on you, by the way.” He winks again before disappearing down the hall.
Julian ignores him.
He’s significantly harder to ignore once Julian is Percival.
There are meetings at headquarters.
(“You’re very efficient, you know,” Lancelot says, leaning against the wall outside of the conference room. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been doing this for a while.”
“I do my job,” Julian says dryly. “Don’t you have yours to get to?”)
Meetings at the tailor’s.
(“Lovely cut. Classic colors, too,” Lancelot says. “Though I much prefer lighter shades myself.”
“This fitting room is taken, you know.”)
And worst of all, missions together.
“You have to be a bit flexible to use the moves I use,” Lancelot says, breathing just a little heavier than usual. He flips a mercenary over his shoulder and absently shoots him directly in the heart. It would almost be impressive if not for the innuendo.
“Noted.” He pistol whips the other mercenary before delivering a shot of his own.
This is almost the norm now, and if he wasn’t busy dealing with a drug ring right now, it might bother him just how little it bothers him anymore. He’s used to the politely lewd comments, to the looks, to the compliments, and to brushing his own attraction off. There’s a list of good reasons why he shouldn’t reveal his own feelings.
Lancelot could be joking. Maybe he’s like this with the other agents. (He’s not.)
He could just want sex. Julian doesn’t do unattached sex. (Neither does he.)
Their personalities clash. Badly. (They compliment each other, actually.)
If they broke up, it could affect their work. (Their relationship lasts for twelve years and only ends in death.)
On their sixth mission together, their target’s safe is rigged to blow. Julian manages to get in and out of it without setting the explosives off, but then, as they leave the room, Lancelot trips a wire not even Merlin knew was there, and Julian can see the blast coming out of the corner of his eye, and they’re fucked.
He tackles Lancelot out into the hallway, kicking the door closed and hoping they were far enough. There’s no thought behind his actions. Only a throbbing GetToSafetyOhFuckGetDown propells him.
The blast leaves their ears ringing, unable to grasp what Merlin’s saying or even if he’s saying anything at all, but Lancelot is aware enough that he hauls Julian up to his feet and drags him to their extraction point. (The mission is a bust in some respects, but they do have what they came for even if the target knows they have it.)
He’s aware of an ache when he wakes up - an ache that encompasses all of his right side. When did he even fall asleep? He opens his eyes slowly, shutting them quick when the light burns. Kingsman staff check him in a rush.
It’s only when they push someone away from his bedside that he realizes there was a hand in his. Through blurry eyes he can see Lancelot, disheveled and bruised and generally looking like shit. The doctors block him in their work. He finds out that he has burns and bruising on that side from the blast.
The man sits back down as soon as they leave. There’s silence except for the beeping of the machines.
“Why?” Lancelot says finally.
Julian looks at him. “Why not?”
“I thought you hated me, honestly.”
“You’re an arse. Also a colleague of mine. I wasn’t going to let you die.”
“Do you hate me?”
It’s so fucking serious that Julian can’t not-answer again. “No.”
“Just don’t swing that way?” Lancelot offers.
“You’re a handsome arse, Lancelot,” is all that comes out of his mouth, and well, he’s going to blame it on the painkillers.
“James,” he says softly before smirking. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Julian.”
His smirk softens. “If you want me to stop, Julian, I will.”
“There’s plenty of reasons why we shouldn’t.”
“Oh?”
“Plenty.”
“Will you go on a date with me, Julian?”
He stares at the idiot next to him. Didn’t he just say they couldn’t? But then he feels the warm hand clutching his, sees the wonder - the affection - in the man’s eyes. “Yes.”
James grins. “Good. I’m looking forward to it, Jules.”
“Julian.”
“Jules.”
(He finds out later that he’s not the first man to risk his life to save James’, that the first man to jump in the way of an explosion died, that James can’t shake the guilt of getting the position even though that man earned it. Julian just holds him, because he can’t promise he won’t do it again.)
“You really di’ love ‘im a lot,” Eggsy says, his eyes intense in their gaze on Julian.
“I still do, very much.”