Primal instinct - Kingsman

Chapter 2

If Eggsy had thought Harry's hands were hot, then his body is incendiary, pressed so tightly against him there is scarcely enough space for the breath that Harry knocks out of him. It puffs hot across Harry's face, and hangs there like a ghost in that empty no-man's land between them. Barely an inch of empty air, filled to bursting with every unspoken word, every unacknowledged glance that had ever passed between them. Every casual for the sake of business brush of knuckles against arms, every knee that had gently knocked across the space between them on every turn in the back of the car, just for a fleeting moment of contact.

Eggsy barely has enough time to suck in a fresh lungful of air that slips over his tongue with a taste like forbidden fruit, before Harry's mouth crashes against his, and Eggsy's entire body lights up like a New Year's fireworks show. It is too violent to be called anything as innocent as a 'kiss', all biting teeth, gasping breath, and hard, grinding press of Harry's body against his. Eggsy's mind stalls, a rush hour gridlock of confusion, pain, and sudden, unexpected arousal, and his whole world comes crashing down in tiny, glittering pieces when the pressure forces his mouth open, and Harry's tongue slides smoothly past his lips.

There are no words in any language that Eggsy has learned to describe the feel of Harry's body pushed in so close against his that he isn't sure exactly where the line of him ends and the older man begins. Or for the way that Harry is licking into his mouth, like the secret to life and universal happiness is hidden somewhere in the dark spaces between his back molars. Eggsy can't move, can't breathe, can't think. His entire existence narrows to this moment; the closeness, the heat. Is it his heart hammering so loudly in his ears, or Harry's? The rapid, staccato rhythm seems to echo off the walls of the small office like a wild thing trapped in a cage, desperate for release.

A soft, mewling sound reaches Eggsy's ears, and if he'd had the presence of mind to process such emotion at that exact moment, he might have been embarrassed to realize that it had come from his own throat. Instead, he only follows it up with a soft grunt as Harry surges impossibly closer in response, a low, predatory growl echoing deep in his chest and vibrating right through to Eggsy's bones.

Harry slides down a few inches, a thickly muscled thigh pressing against Eggsy's knees, forcing them apart and sliding between, bringing Eggsy's pelvis into crushing contact with Harry's hip, and suddenly Eggsy's world narrows even further, to this one, feverish point of contact. When Harry straightens to his full height again, he carries Eggsy up with him, leaving the toes of his trainers only just touching the soft carpet. Eggsy becomes suddenly, painfully aware of how fucking hard he is, and his hips try to buck against the smooth press of Harry's hip. That delicious growl again, sending shivers and firecracker sparks of arousal skipping up Eggsy's spine, and his wrists, still trapped in the vice-tight grip of Harry's hands, are dragged upward, stretching him long and lean between Harry and the wall.

It is this that finally breaks the moment. Like a crystal wine glass dropped onto a tiled floor, it shatters when the strain on his shoulder sends a blinding shear of agony through Eggsy, and he tears his mouth away from Harry's with a shocked cry. Harry immediately stills against him, moving only to release Eggsy's wrists and allow his hands to fall back down. Eggsy breathes raggedly through the waves of pain, his arms automatically folding between them so that his hands are resting on Harry's chest. He feels the way Harry's body heaves with every breath, feels the midsummer sunburn heat radiating from his skin even through his shirt, feels the jackhammer beat of Harry's heart under his fingertips.

Eggsy looks up into Harry's face again, and this time there is no anger, no terror, only heat and hunger... and concern. Harry's hand slides along Eggsy's arm slowly, gently probing at overheated skin, until he reaches his shoulder and Eggsy winces again. Harry's fingers move carefully, whisper-soft against the fabric of Eggsy's track suit, feeling the muscle swollen from trauma, the soft grinding of a recently displaced joint.