Primal instinct - Kingsman

Chapter 3

Harry's mind has become a fractured battleground. Thoughts and emotions bubble to the surface, then slip back down through the cracks, fighting for space in the dim light of reason and awareness.

Yours.

It echoes in his head like a scream, in his heart like a prayer, and it is somehow both knife and bandage, simultaneously wounding and healing him. Harry's entire being has narrowed, years of training and discipline peeled away, leaving him raw and exposed.

No, stop this.

Keep going, take him.

He'll never forgive you.

You're probably dying anyway.

It's Eggsy!

...It's Eggsy.

The war rages, fragmented and chaotic inside his mind, even as his fingers flex and twist inside his young apprentice, sharpening Eggsy's breath in little gasps which puff hot into the curls above Harry's ear. Eggsy is so tight, clenching around him fiercely when Harry slips a third finger inside, that a most improbable notion slips like a specter through his mind: Is Eggsy a virgin?

The thought hits him like a punch in the gut, and again he is struck by the duality of the effect the idea has on him. Abject horror that Eggsy's first experience, and likely Harry's only with him, would be this violent and beastly thing. But also a sharp, white-hot spike of arousal that pierces through him at the thought that Harry would be the first man to drive himself deep into Eggsy's body.

First and last. Rises unbidden from the recesses of his mind, and the growl that escapes him sounds feral, his free hand sliding up Eggsy's chest, curling around his neck, and carding into his hair. Fingers clenching and pulling, he wrenches Eggsy's head back, giving himself full access to the smooth expanse of the younger man's throat. Already there are marks, red-violet blooms of color staining pale flesh, and it makes Harry's mouth water to see them there. The shape of his lips branded on Eggsy's skin, proof that he was here, laying claim to this beautiful body.

"Harry." Eggsy gasps in a way that makes Harry think he'd been repeating it. He hums in response, running his tongue over a particularly dark bruise just above the younger man's collarbone, and curling the fingers buried deep inside in such a way to make Eggsy's back arch up again, the sight of which Harry was becoming quite addicted to.

Harry's lost, awash in a sea of tactile sensation. His hands are stiff with a familiar ache, knuckles abused and protesting. His leg has a peculiar twinge low behind his knee, and there's a pounding behind the empty socket where his eye used to be, a rhythmic spike of pain with every beat of his heart. Then there's Eggsy, overriding his senses and calling to him in a way that has nothing to do with voices or the shape of Harry's name on those soft, delicious lips. The smell of sweat and sex. The warmth rising from Eggsy's body. The scent of Harry's cologne on that heated skin. Eggsy's eyes the dangerous dark blue of the sea just before a storm, the kind of eyes people went missing in.

The hand in Eggsy's hair twitches, pulling tight against the younger man's scalp, and the whine that comes out of him makes Harry freeze. A sudden surge of instinctual savagery washes over the older man: attack, pin, bite, fuck. Some inner dam breaks loose and images flood his mind, overwhelming him.

Eggsy, covered in bite marks and hickeys, sweaty and spent, with come drying on his belly and Harry's name on his lips.

Eggsy, face down on the desk, arms wrenched behind his back.

Eggsy, bent backward with a cock in his ass and Harry's fingers hooked into his mouth, holding his jaw open so Harry can hear him scream.

Fingers motionless inside the younger man, his back and arms trembling with the effort to restrain himself, Harry stands stiff and breathless. His last shreds of will and reason lock his body down, curled over Eggsy like a cage as he desperately fights for control of his own mind.