Chapter Text
Eggsy
Eggsy had just finished filming his hundredth dance cover. He was absolutely drenched in sweat from head to toe after dancing his fucking ass off for nearly two hours, and his feet were burning .
The song, Come On Eileen , had been playing on loop as Eggsy practiced his routine over and over ready to perform for the camera. He'd been saving the song for his hundredth video because he'd had the perfect routine planned for years, and he wanted to use it for a special occasion. Even though he was aching all over from the hour or so of dancing, the bouncy addictive tones of the song were making him want to dance again as he watched the video back.
He bobbed his head to the opening riffs of the song as he stared at his video-self. The framing was perfect, and he hadn't fucked up in the part he usually did; there was a particular fast beat-increase three and a half minutes into it, and Eggsy usually tripped up as the music sped up. He had to perform perfectly consecutive pirouettes, then jump into the air and split his legs in midair, before landing and switching styles. He fucking nailed it .
He closed the playback, trying his very best not to smile - because damn , he looked fucking great - and set the video to upload to YouTube after adding a caption and description. His last video had gotten nearly half a million views after it had been spread across all kinds of social media, and YouTube had sent him a congratulatory little email.
Looking at the small progress bar filling up, Eggsy knew that this video would get him more than an email.
-
Harry
"Alright, everyone, that's enough for today."
Harry rolled his shoulders back and popped his knuckles as he watched his dance students file out of the studio, all of them shining with sweat and sporting wide smiles.
He had carefully selected the students for his personal sessions, rather than letting Chester decide, as he felt that no person, young or old, could really be a successful dancer unless they truly enjoyed their work. He wanted no students who were there on obligation alone. Thankfully, every student in his studio thoroughly enjoyed dancing, and were always pleased at the end of a session.
Harry himself had primarily taken up the role of teacher at Kingsman Studios in the last few years, and so hardly had to learn new dances or routines. He was grateful for the relaxed workload, as - no matter what Merlin said - his age was catching up with him, albeit slowly, and he was simply not cut out for the more modern, faster routines.
He sighed and toed off his dance shoes, then stepped into his regular Oxfords. His dance clothes were damp with sweat and clinging to his underarms and chest, so he headed towards the changing rooms. Once he entered, his students immediately stopped talking and scattered from the crowd they had been in.
Harry raised an eyebrow. What on earth were they hiding?
Roxy, his star student, was sat on a bench half-dressed, holding an iPad, from which music was quietly emitting. She was staring at Harry blankly, and for once Harry understood the expression rabbit in headlights .
"What are you watching?"
"Nothing," Roxy replied, far too fast. Harry frowned and took a seat next to her on the bench. She locked the iPad and diverted her gaze to her bare feet.
"Show me."
She sighed and angled the iPad towards him, then unlocked it. There was a young man on the screen, dressed in drop-crotch grey sweatpants and a tight black vest top that was clinging to his chest as he moved. He was rolling his head in time with his hips as he moved around the frame of the camera to the beat of the music - Harry recognised it as Come On Eileen - and his entire body was jerking and twisting to the rhythm.
The boy, whoever he was, clearly had a talent for dance. He was wearing ballet shoes on his feet, the awful cotton white ones beginners wore that hardly protected their feet, but he remained mostly en pointe even as he swept through several ballet motions. His hair was loose, and after a particularly extravagant motion, his fringe fell over his eyes. He smiled when his vision was blocked, and closed his eyes.
Harry felt his lips part in surprise at the boy's sheer faith in his own body, especially when he extended and retracted his auxiliary leg repeatedly for several pirouettes as the music touched onto a crescendo. His arms were crooked or extended according to the position of his legs, and his form was absolutely infallible.
The music suddenly sped up an extortionate amount, and his body extended towards the ceiling, auxiliary foot against his shin, his arms up in fifth position. He performed one final turn, and as the music peaked he pushed himself into a brief run, then leapt into the air for a flawless jeté , his legs perfectly straight in midair.
"He's good, isn't he?" Harry heard Roxy say from his right. He was oddly distracted by the way the boy's body was moving so fluidly, and he could hardly drag his attention away from the video long enough to nod in response.
The boy was talented, to say the least, and he quickly shifted his dance style from pure ballet to a wild solo version of the Lindy Hop. The music began to quieten down, and Harry found himself wishing it were longer. He wanted to see more of the boy's unique dancing. His muscles were stretching and tightening with every movement, every drawn-out line obvious through the tight material of his vest top, and Harry couldn't stop staring.
As the song drew to a close the boy's actions slowed accordingly, and as silence fell he stepped towards the camera and took a bow. He glanced up from the bow, his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his forehead, his cheeks flushed red with exertion. His lips curved up into a mischievous smile, he winked once, and Harry blinked blankly at the screen as it faded to black.
His expression was downright provocative, and Harry wondered if the boy was naturally that flirtatious or if he was acting up for the camera.
Harry exhaled and leant back against the wall as Roxy closed the video, "Who was that?"
"Eggsy Unwin. He's been dancing on YouTube for a few years now," Roxy explained. She rose to her feet and began to remove the rest of her dance clothes. Harry averted his gaze out of respect for her privacy, "He's not been signed by a dance company yet, probably because he changes his style so often that a single studio can't pick him up."
Roxy was correct, as usual; Eggsy's style was such a unique mix of several dance forms that a ballet studio couldn't sign him as much as a street performance studio couldn't sign him. Kingsman Studios taught different styles, from pure ballet to swing - Harry himself was a ballroom dance teacher - and Harry suspected that Eggsy would settle in well as a student under all the various forms.
Harry hummed to himself and returned his eyes back to Roxy once she was dressed, "Perhaps we should sign him."
Roxy actually looked surprised as she slid her jacket over her shoulders, "You want to sign Eggsy?"
"Eggsy Unwin of Kingsman Studios," Harry mused as he crossed his legs and folded his hands across his knee, "Sounds rather catchy."
Roxy nodded in agreement and looped her bag over her torso, "Well, I think you should speak to Chester first. But if you do sign him, please let him dance with the Galahad troop. Don't let Lancelot or Percival get him."
Harry smiled, "I wouldn't dream of it."
-
Eggsy
Eggsy’s Come on Eileen video had reached over three hundred thousand views in the 24 hours since he’d uploaded it, and he’d decided to celebrate by booking a real dance studio in the centre of London for an hour.
He couldn’t usually afford to book Portwenn dance studio, but he was so fucking appreciative of the chance to dance on a real ballet floor, rather than the shitty floor in his usual haunt, an ancient studio in a building that had been condemned for years. Eggsy’s mum didn’t know about his dancing - or, if she did, she never said anything - and Eggsy was in no rush to tell her. His mates had taken the piss out of him when they found out.
Eggsy honestly didn’t give a shit. He was a fucking great dancer.
So, when he stepped into the silent studio and set his usual playlist to play, he happily watched his reflection in the full wall mirrors as he ran through his warm-up paces.
He mostly danced ballet, and even though it was maybe the most feminine of his dance styles, he liked it the most. Of course, he liked dancing swing and disco and a billion other forms that he'd taught himself over the years, but ballet was by far his favourite.
Eggsy went through a song entirely dancing tap freestyle, and even though he was wearing his ballet flats he still heard the faint contact between his foot and the floor, and he was bang on time with the music. He hummed the song under his breath as he shifted across the room to the rhythm.
He wasn't exactly sweaty yet, and although his legs were plenty loosened from the tap, he really wanted a jumpy song to come on so he could get his arms working. The song trailed off, and Eggsy used the down-time to bounce on his heels, stretching his arms up over his shoulders.
The music changed to the now-familiar Come On Eileen , and Eggsy immediately fell into his learned routine. It was, surprisingly, exactly the type of song he’d been hoping for.
He nodded his head as he moved along an invisible line to the starting tempo, then as the instruments and voice came into it, he set about performing his usual moves, his hips rocking gently from side to side when the violin dipped in pitch three times. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror as he moved. He fucking loved this song.
His spine began to prickle with sweat as he switched briefly to a solo version of a Scottish country dance he’d picked up online, his body weaving around imaginary dancers.
The song began to hit a crescendo of increasingly fast beats, and Eggsy prepared himself for the brutal pirouetting that was about to happen. He propped himself up onto his toes, threw his weight in a circle, and focused on turning his body in time with the beat of the music. He exhaled and inhaled sharply a few times as gravity took control and he spun freely, kicking his free leg out to encourage his momentum when it dipped. The drumbeat hit a violent peak and he collapsed into a short run, then leapt through the air, landing hard on the balls of his feet.
He barely had time to congratulate his sweet performance, as he had a few more moves to throw out before he could finish. The song died down and Eggsy stepped forward for his usual fancy-arse finale. He put one arm in front of his stomach, the other flat against the small of his back, and bent over into a neat bow.
"Eggsy."
Eggsy nearly shit himself when the deep voice suddenly echoed through the studio, and when he looked up at the mirror, he saw a man in a suit and sunglasses stood in the corner of the studio, his weight on an umbrella, cool as anything.
Who the fuck?
Eggsy stood up straight and stared at the reflection of the man, "Who're you?"
The corner of man's lips turned up into a smirk that Eggsy wanted to punch off his face, then he stepped away from the wall, "The man who is going to change your life."
Eggsy turned around to face the weirdo, and crossed his arms over his chest, "That ain't an answer."
The man had the fucking audacity to raise his eyebrow like Eggsy was the one who'd said something ridiculous.
"My name is Harry Hart. Perhaps you've heard of me," Eggsy shook his head in response. What a dumb fucking name, "I am an instructor with Kingsman Studios. Perhaps you've heard of Kingsman."
If Eggsy's jaw could've hit the floor right then, it would've. Of course he'd heard of Kingsman Studios. They were the most infamous dance studio in London. Fuck that, they were the most infamous dance studio in England . All the kids of the posh upper-class twats ended up in Kingsman for at least a year or two, and it was ridiculously out of Eggsy's reach.
"I heard of it, yeah," Eggsy shuffled his feet and unfolded his arms, "You say you work for them, eh?"
"I do work for Kingsman, yes. I teach a troop of young adults, much like yourself, how to dance at a professional level," the man, Harry, was gradually getting closer to Eggsy with every word that came out of his mouth, and Eggsy was conscious of every drop of sweat on his skin, "I'd like to offer you a place in Kingsman Studios, all expenses and fees paid for. Consider it a scholarship, based on your innate gift for dance. We provide year-round accommodation and 24/7 access to various studios. Do you accept?"
Eggsy realised that his mouth was hanging open almost comically, and he pressed his lips together so fast that his teeth clacked together. Harry's mouth quirked up at that, and Eggsy felt hot all over.
What the fuck was with the intense stare that he was giving Eggsy?
"Do you accept my invitation to join Kingsman, Eggsy?" Harry repeated. He raised his arm and pulled at a loose thread on Eggsy's vest. Eggsy swallowed hard at that bizarrely intimate action, suddenly feeling like this stranger was planning on eating him for dinner.
"I, uh," Eggsy struggled with his words, his mouth not quite able to produce sound as Harry's fingers tugged at the thread, and he felt so fucking jacked just from that small motion that he could hardly think straight.
"This is a one time offer, Eggsy," Harry continued, his face so fucking close to Eggsy that he wanted to scream or push him away or snog him or something , "Kingsman rarely offers scholarships, and never to street dancers like you."
Eggsy had been waiting for Harry's man-of-the-people façade to break down, and it finally had.
So, he was a posh prick, just like the rest of them.
"Eh?" Eggsy took a step away from Harry, and although he could feel the cold of the mirror mere inches from his back, he stood his ground, "Street dancers like me?"
Harry tilted his head to the side, "You're hardly a professional dancer, are you? You're just a street dancer."
"Just because I wasn't raised with a stick up my arse don't mean I'm a common street dancer, bruv," Eggsy snapped, his arms automatically folding over his chest again, "You've seen my clips on YouTube, or else you wouldn't be here tryin' to recruit me. You know I ain't just a street dancer. I'm fuckin' good at what I do, and if you think you can jus' swan in here with your fancy umbrella and tell me that I'm just a fucking street dancer , you can damn well think again."
"I didn't mean to offend you," Harry apologised, looking just like a beaten puppy and Eggsy didn't know if he wanted to hit him or hug him. Probably both.
"Well, you did," Eggsy leant against the mirror and stared at Harry, "Don't think I wanna spend my time hanging around with folk like you, Harry," he pursed his lips and tilted his head, "After all, I'm just a street dancer. Can't be seen associatin' with you posh lot."
Harry sighed and moved his sodding posh umbrella from his left hand to his right, then leant his weight on it again. Eggsy just stared at him.
"The offer remains open. There will be a formal dance interview for all the potential candidates for the scholarship position at Kingsman Studios on Savile Row at ten AM tomorrow morning. You're welcome to attend," Harry turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Eggsy shook his head and stepped away from the mirror. He resumed his position in the centre of the floor, and relaxed into a neutral stance, watching the mirror as Harry opened the door. Harry paused for a moment, his hand on the handle. Eggsy didn't know if he wanted him to fuck off, or if he wanted him to stay.
"I do wish you would attend the interview, Eggsy," Harry said over his shoulder, "You're the most promising dancer I've ever seen in my life."
Eggsy didn't answer, just glared at his reflection in the mirror. And then Harry was gone, leaving Eggsy alone and fucking overwhelmed. The song changed, and Eggsy started a standard set of steps, busying his noisy mind with dance.