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Chapter Text

Prompt: Two colleagues are forced to work together after being drugged in a bar. Just getting home seems to be a problem.

Mycroft hardly knew anything about this “Harry Black” he was supposed to meet up with, although he had heard stories that he was in actuality Harry James Potter, the saviour of the Wizarding world, and in doing so also that all of Britain - and probably the world if he was to believe the reports that he’d read – owed their lives to this certain man.

Naturally Mycroft had heard of the man before, way too much for his liking, but his intelligence always came up empty. The Queen loved the man to pieces it seemed, the Prime Ministers all spoke with a certain reverie or diverted a topic if that particular name came up in conversation, and his only magical contact just shook his head every damn time that Mr. Black was part of something.

Mycroft wasn’t about to make an enemy out of the man if he didn’t need to.

The man was so special that the Queen herself asked Mycroft to take the case. Mycroft spent his days dealing with a variety of cases from a variety of ministry officials.  But to be called into a meeting with the Queen herself was very different from being called in by one of her lackeys or the rare cousin. Mycroft was fortunate that he had simply been asked to do something, rather than being the subject of the chastisement that had been meted out to one of the MI6 officers who had walked out with red cheeks.

No swear words included, just polite cussing.

Oh, Mycroft wasn’t a happy chap having to be here, and he knew he wouldn’t walk out of here pretty happy. He would have loved to talk with Her Royal Majesty in any other setting than this.

In that meeting they had handed him that particular file and she had told him a little more about magic. Yes, he'd known about it before, because he'd had to, but the older Holmes had never seen it up close. Only in files, or the remnants of it in crimes.

Even his own magical liaison had never used magic before him, except to appear and disappear without Mycroft noticing. Something of a statue of mystery. Yet here, beside the Queen, stood a lanky, red-haired gentleman with a wooden wand to 'transfigure' something into a teapot and back again.

That was supposed to be enough to explain the magic to him.

Bullocks. It raised more questions than it answered, but he held his tongue. He wasn't Sherlock.

Mycroft was to work with Harry Black on this mission. Solving the case before Sherlock, because if he found out what had murdered his current victim, it would destroy any hope of not breaking the Statue of Secrecy, and the Queen had asked that this be kept quiet. Sherlock couldn't know, wasn't allowed to know, nor was he allowed to discover the salacious details of his case, and now Mycroft had to think of something to divert his brother almost immediately. Something that was going to get them into trouble no matter what.

Darn it all … Sherlock was on this case for a few months already, so Mycroft wondered how he and this mystery Mr. Black could solve it before his brother would or could. Oh, Mycroft was sure about the fact that he was indeed better than his younger sibling, but he was above these kinds of things. He wasn’t an errand boy. He ruled the commonwealth, he didn’t walk in it. This was exactly why he had Sherlock.

He was going to need John on his best behaviour to get through this. Maybe hand Sherlock that other case that he hadn’t been wanting to turn over. Needs must, if it would come to that.

Oh dear, why did it have to be Agent Black. MI7 Agent bloody Black. He would have taken any stupid 007 or have dealt with Lancelot or Bedivere from that blasted Kingsman agency that Eggsy had brought with him once or twice. Not the heroic Mr. Black. He didn’t know if he could handle another ego next to his brothers.

Harry had heard the name Holmes more than once in his life, but he had always managed to stay away from that. If he could. He had tried hard. Really hard. Almost too hard. The Holmes’ were too smart for their own brain; like stuffing a Ravenclaw into a Slytherin’s body with the bravura of a Gryffindor so to speak. Draco would have trouble keeping up with them, and that said something. The older was the more cunning one, the younger had a penchant for danger, and there was the one in prison that he probably wasn’t allowed to know.

A shiver went through his body. Bill had helped out with some curse and ward laying around an island – that was as much as Harry knew – and had sparred with Harry about the case. The raven-haired man really didn’t want to get involved more than he already was or had.

Harry struggled to find his reasons for attending this meeting before he remembered that Elisabeth herself had asked him, and even he couldn't say 'no' to that. In fact, no one could. Actually, no, not at all. His choice that day was not the choice of violence. Yes, it was a matter of self-conviction.

Just that, no morbid curiosity of any kind.

Hermione would have a field day if he could tell her. Ron had been briefed shortly as Head Auror, and Draco knew everything about his life as it was already. No need hiding anything. 

"Hello, Mr Holmes," Harry Black was exactly what Mycroft hadn't expected to find standing before him. At their first briefing, and usually after, he had worn a full suit, nothing out of the ordinary, but refined enough to stand out in a crowd, to show he came from old money. Today, however, it seemed to be a little more casual. Dark grey trousers, a charcoal grey, heavily pressed shirt and a green jumper over it. He looked rich, expensive, but more like he was in the company of rich people and did them favours than like he was a spy or rich himself. The watch on his wrist, the cufflinks, the silk of his shirt said otherwise.

Harry Black was a difficult man to read, even for Mycroft, but the older Holmes could see that Harry Black enjoyed wealth and wasn't afraid of being mugged in the street. No other man he'd ever met would wear four expensive, jewelled rings like that on an ordinary day, but Harry did.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Black.” Mycroft did appreciate that Harry wasn’t all too much for formalities, long winding conversations or anything else. It had been proven that it was surprisingly easy to work with the man. The ego he’d been fearing, wasn’t there at all.

“Unfortunately my inquiries didn’t result in anything. You?” Straight to the point, as the wizard waved his hand towards the tea set, that started to literally brew both of them a perfect cup of tea, like it had done before every time that the wizard had visited him in his office. How he even got there without the right clearance, God only knew, but Mycroft had stopped trying to get answers out of the man.

Mycroft had been too eager to see magic in action to ask him about the floating - hot - tea, but it seemed that Harry hadn't realised that he'd done it with magic, so Mycroft had decided not to press him. Mycroft wouldn't lie - not even to himself - that he found magic interesting, and any opportunity to see more of it was an opportunity. He'd tried asking and it had caused Harry to stop using magic for a while. Not a mistake he would make again.

If there was one person that could blend in easily in the normal world, it was Harry, but on the other hand the man often forgot he wasn’t allowed to use magic. Like Harry was in his own world constantly, and not in theirs.

“The same, and seeing as we can't get Sherlock to help us out of this one, I highly doubt that we will speed this case up very soon.” He accepted the cup of tea that was already at his desired temperature, and nodded his thanks. The floral cup and saucer weren’t Mycroft’s favourite, but had been a gift from one of his secretaries before this one, and he thought that it would be bad behaviour to throw it out. Harry weirdly always preferred it, and ‘floated’ it over to them whenever they met in Mycroft’s office. Which was always. Mycroft doubted that he would get to see Harry’s office. Ever.

“Well, than I will get back to it. My phone broke again, by the way. I’ll text you if I get it up and running again.” The man sometimes looked so young, and yet so old at the same time that it confused Mycroft. It was like he melted between appearances within a conversation.

“Ah, you ‘fried’ it again?” Mycroft inquired quietly as he stirred his tea with the golden spoon that came with the set.

“Yeah, forgot that it was still in my coat, and Draco really only knows the magical world, so he didn’t tell me we had just crossed a barrier. He apparated me before I was able to cast any protective barrier on the Muggle tech.” The man shrugged, but didn’t elaborate. Mycroft really had to bite his lip to ask more. Asking more had often resulted in Harry shutting down, and he was intelligent enough to deduce things from snippets in conversation whenever the need arose.

Harry had often mentioned the name ‘Draco’, and Mycroft guessed that it was either a good friend, family, or his life partner, but he wasn’t sure completely.

“What do you on you weekends, Mycroft?” Often little questions like these came out of nowhere after a lull in their conversations. Harry liked it if he answered, but he also didn’t mind if Mycroft didn’t answer. Somehow that made the older Holmes more pliable to answer. If Harry wasn’t often so blue about it, he would think that the other man did it on purpose.

“I used to read a lot. Visit some art exhibits, read a nice book at the Diogenes club.” He sipped calmly from his tea. “Nowadays it differs. Eggsy is his little sisters guardian, and I tend to take walks with them through the parks. Weirdly enough.”

“Never seen yourself have a domesticated life?”

“No, never thought that was in the cards for me.” Mycroft confirmed the statement without any emotion in in his voice.  

“Me neither. Draco has a son, Scorpius, but it took me a while to get into that role of uncle/mentee since I did raise Teddy as my own. It’s different when you are the only parental figure instead of when you’re not.” Harry stirred his cup of tea unnecessarily, but didn’t look up.

“Ah, yes. Indeed. That must be difficult. Did he accept you in their life?” Now that Harry was talking, Mycroft didn’t want to stop the man, as he wanted to add to his file of Mr. Black. Lived with another man who had a son, and he had raised someone as his own, but it hadn’t been his own. Mycroft knew of the wizarding war, and Harry seemed like the type to adopt someone without a family after an ordeal like that.

“Scorpius pushed us under a mistletoe, if that tells you anything. He said we were too old to wait, or something like that.” Harry smiled softly, probably remembering the memory, as he shook his head. “I think I moved in after three months after that. It does help that Scorpius was at our old boarding school, so we were able to get used to us before he came home for the summer holidays, and Teddy was already in the Auror corps, following in his mother’s footsteps.”

Mycroft smiled himself as well, as he remembered the day that Daisy had asked Eggsy if Mycroft was staying with them or when they were moving in together. Eventually Mycroft had offered them a stay at his – more protected – house.

He drank the last drop of tea, before putting the saucer down elegantly. “Daisy was the one who blatantly asked if they were moving in with me or I with them. I do believe Eggsy had no say in the matter at all.” A soft smile graced his features shortly.

“Children can be so observant, it’s amazing.” Harry added before he asked; “How long are you guys together?"

“Somewhat around three years, now, if you could call it that.”

Harry’s smile seemed to turn mischievous a little bit, before he emptied his cup, and seemed to clean and banish everything to the cupboard it came out of with barely a wave of his hand. Mycroft often wondered if this kind of magical use was normal or not.

“Well, it’s time for me to go. I just got a notification. Thank you for the nice break, Mycroft. I’ll swing by soon!”

“I’ll await your text, then.” Mycroft tried to say, but Harry had disappeared from his visuals, and not a frame was to be found on his security footage that he had ever been there. Like always.

Harry did know his stuff it seemed.

Fried it again, this phone is my last sample. Mycroft, would you be a dear and buy me a few new ones. I’m going to experiment with them. This is getting out of hand. I’ll wire you the money through the usual. H.

As you wish, Anthea will handle it per usual. The same address as last time. I also sent a new sim card with one just in case. M.

You know, Draco says it’s probably me. I gave him a phone a few weeks ago, with the same protections, and it still works. I should have thought about giving him a phone to text me. Lucky for me it doesn’t work in the hospital, or I would not be safe during missions. Hermione loves it too, and theirs do not explode.

Don’t you ever sleep, Harry? It’s an untimely hour right now. Unless you are not in the country. By the way, are you asking me for magical advice? Me, the person who barely gets his own questions about magic answered by you?

I usually can’t sleep if Draco has a night shift. So nope. And yes, apparently. Do you think Sherlock could help? H.

No matter what, no matter how; you leave Sherlock out of this. He’s not to be alerted that magic is actually real. I would lose him to research. He wouldn’t get out of his mind palace at all. M.

Would be difficult to get that new case solved then. Do you want me to drop him a hint? Draco found the last victim; it’s a magical being. We could set him on the right path. H.

Go to sleep, Black. I’ll handle it.

Pot. Meet. Kettle. Hello, Mycroft. H.

I don’t sport dark black bags under my eyes like you do. M.

No … you let Anthea use make-up on you. I could find Eggsy’s number and ask him to tie you to the bed, if I wanted to. H.

You are a menace. Doesn’t your husband mind you texting an older gentleman, with a life partner included in the mix? M.

You mean almost-husband? Just ask the fricking man to marry you, Mycroft. Daisy would look cute in a flower girl dress. H.

Avoidance of the former question. I should have never showed you a picture of them. Trouble in paradise on your side of the line? I don’t believe in the institute of marriage, maybe that is a fault of your own. The fact that I’m seeing someone more than once a week is still unbelievable in my own eyes. M.

Always, Mycroft. I’m really good at that. Draco has been talking about meeting you, so you don’t think he’s jealous? H.

Harry, I have no clue about human emotions, as I explained to Daisy yesterday as well. I hate repeating myself. Eggsy is lucky that his personality is very interesting. M.

You tell yourself that. I think it are his muscles. That man is a machine. Maybe we should meet up, do dinner. I could cook for us, you bring Daisy. H.

Do you cook as bad as you’re a spy? M.

I’m actually pretty good. H.

Perhaps we will find out in due time. Now go to bed, Black. H.

Draco just came in, so only because he asked me to come to bed, since I don’t take orders from Muggles anymore. Sleep well, Mycroft.

“Harrison, I believe we’ve been drugged,” was the first slurred sentence that came out of the normally so distinguished gentleman as he tried to lift a hand to take another sip from a glass of water.

They had been working together for a few months now, and the slip of tongue was very visible to the other man.

“You know, Mycroft. I have actually felt worse than this, so I consider it a win.” Harry snickered, as he seemed to wave his hand around in a pattern. If it was Magic, Mycroft wasn’t too sure. Mycroft let that comment slide, he wasn’t in the mood to deduce anything right now. His head pounded, and he couldn’t feel his legs properly.

“Do you think we cracked the case?” Harry snickered.

“I think we’ve won, if they are trying to poison us. I should have just called it a day, and let Sherlock handle it.”

“You said under no circumstances was … is he allowed to know.”

“I know what I said, you bloody menace.” Mycroft groaned, as he felt the asphalt beneath his hands, as he tried to feel for his umbrella. A Kingsman gift that he hadn’t turned down, and had come in quite handy on this case.

Harry was rummaging through something in his pocket, before he heard some glass clatter on the streets, and a triumphant ‘aha!’ from his right side. He felt something drip on his head, but he was glad to see that it wasn’t blood.

“Yep … it’s a Muggle substance,” Harry cursed some, before he did hand Mycroft a fresh glass of water. Where he’d gotten that, Mycroft wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t complaining. “So … this will be a bitch to ride out.”

“I don’t have my phone on my anymore, so Anthea should find us soon enough.” Mycroft tried to reason with himself while he searched his jacket for other items to help after he couldn’t locate the umbrella.

“Ah, no worries, I’ve already sent word to a good friend. He’ll drop us home.” Harry smiled with that gigantic, ridiculous smile of his that Mycroft somehow hated the most. “So, your place or mine?”

Chapter Text

If one was forced to describe the relationship that Mycroft has with his much younger life-partner Eggsy, there were a few descriptions that others would use, but most wouldn’t expect that they were genuinely together because there was a mutual love and understanding between them.   

Yes, Mycroft hadn't been looking for that at all. Quite the contrary. Some might have said that it was against his character to have relationship, as he had always claimed to not be interested in anything of the sort, but after V-day as the newspapers had called it – something had stirred in him. It was not about anyone in particular, but it was about not wanting to be alone.  

Apparently, after all this time; he hated to be alone.  

Who would have guessed?   

Not Mycroft, nor Sherlock. Although John Watson would sometimes smile at the older Holmes with that infuriating all-knowing smile.   

Mycroft had been gossiped about by a colleague who referred to Mycroft as the 'cougar' in his current relationship, not to mention all the other gossip that was going around. It usually didn't favour him, or Eggsy. Althea had already sacked one of his staff who had dared to ask out loud why the 'sugar baby' had been included in the state dinner, and then they had discussed how much Mycroft was paying for him per night.  

If only they knew. If only.   

It was only last week when Dr. Watson, bless his soul, swore profoundly at a constable for calling Eggsy a rent boy after he had working with Sherlock and John on a case. It was his case naturally, but that didn't matter. John had given the constable a typical Watson rounding; polite, genteel, but so angry that Lestrade had been called in to calm the former army doctor down, and to take his own officer down to the station for a few words and then some.   

Mycroft on the other hand had made sure that the man would never work in a law enforcement capacity again. He wasn't being petty. No.   

He probably was.   

Eggsy seemed unconcerned about it all, but Mycroft often wondered if that was a façade or not. He couldn't quite tell. Usually, he didn't tell Eggsy about these things, because they seemed to be an overlap between work and private life. One night Mycroft had done so because something had bothered him, and it hadn't been long before Eggsy had shown up without the standard tailor-made suit, with a gun loosely tucked into his low-riding waist belt, a Fred Perry polo shirt, tight jeans and a garish golden jacket over it just to prove a point.  

Apparentley he had shown up for lunch.  

With Mycroft.  

Dressed like that.   

If Anthea pressed him directly – he rigorously avoided the woman for days after that – Mycroft would call it an indulgence on his part. Such tight jeans, as plebeian and unattractive as he found them on most days, should be forbidden for someone as toned and muscular like Eggsy to wear. They hugged his hard thighs in all the right places and had been a source of pain to Mycroft more than once. Especially with Daisy around.   

Mycroft had more than enjoyed the show Eggsy had given him while undressing in his office, and he had enjoyed the aftermath of that even more as Eggsy had bent him over his own desk and had done all sorts of unsavoury things to the older man that he had no complaints about. Once in his life he probably would have, but with a partner like Eggsy who was as well-rounded as he came, even Mycroft had learned a thing or two about sexual endeavours.   

It was a good thing that Mycroft had a small bathroom in his quarters, and a spare suit for ‘emergencies’ in the accompanying chestnut, antique closet.   

Anthea, the devil incarnate, had knocked on their door exactly an hour later. She had handed Eggsy his suit, umbrella and shoes without asking. Eggsy had thanked her profusely, dressed within minutes and walked out like the absolute gentleman he could be. The look on the faces of his colleagues was a sight that he would cherish forever. He had made a mental picture of it for himself. Especially when Eggsy had walked out of his office.   

Like the cat that ate the canary.   

The only difference was: Eggsy hadn't eaten a canary, but something else. Someone else.   

The second time, Eggsy hadn't turned up to make a scene, but he'd sent his accomplice, aptly called 'Lancelot', to infiltrate his office within a few days – only because he let her -, to have the particular colleague called in to HR a few days later. Apparently the man had been looking at the wrong kind of things on his computer at work.   

Mycroft knew he didn't do that sort of thing at work, but after a visit to his technical department, it seemed that the man had sought out those pleasures at home. He realised that Eggsy and 'Lancelot' had done him a favour. No one should have passed his department's tests if they watched such vile things. On the other hand it was scary to see how easy Lancelot had come up with a solution like that.     

His only other problem was Anthea, who now regularly had tea with 'Lancelot', whom she called Roxanne. He wondered if that was a name on the same level as Anthea's, or if it was her real name. The two ladies had become quite good friends by the time Eggsy told him the story. Mycroft could only sigh. His life had been so organised, tidy and clear before V-Day, and now that Eggsy was part of the mix, it was as if he would never have a moment's peace.    

The question was, was he objecting out of principle, or was he simply unable to cope with these very welcome changes in his life? Mycroft still hadn't been able to answer that himself.  

They had met in the most undignified way, according to the elder Holmes. Mycroft had always hoped to be able to answer these questions of "Oh, how did you meet?" by saying that he had met them through a connection at Diogenes House, or through a mutual friend. Perhaps they had met at Harvard, or when he was younger and still hoping and dreaming foolishly; he had hoped to meet someone while listening to a lecture or attending a dinner.   

That hadn’t been the case. Mycroft had been a single man for most of his life. It hadn't really bothered him in the least. Every now and then he had indulged in a sexual encounter, just as he had indulged in his monthly treat of a pizza from a local Italian restaurant that was far too good to be true. But getting involved had never happened. Either it had been the nature of his work, the long hours, or perhaps it had just been his personality. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to be around, and he didn't want to waste his precious hours.  

There, all by himself, at a table in his favourite Italian restaurant, had been Eggsy. Impeccable suit, just like Mycroft himself wore. It stood out in a crowd of mediocrity, but that was all. Just like Mycroft himself on that particular night, the very young man had been working on a device. There was nothing unusual about it. Not unless you looked closely.   

But Mycroft did.   

It was strange that Mycroft had trouble reading him, or deducing, as Sherlock called it. Mycroft always had to be sure of his surroundings, especially after V-Day. Deduction helped him in the long run to keep himself safe. These were the skills that had kept him safe on V-Day. And so it went.  

The clothes were from Kingsman Tailors - Mycroft owned some good suits from them, and recognised the snit. Made to measure, to boot. The frame he wore was very heavy on his face, but he seemed to use the glasses only for reading, as the young man only put them on when he was busy with his papers or tablet. The man's behaviour was that of a true gentleman, not something Mycroft was accustomed to in this generation. Usually such boys were of the spoilt variety, but this lad seemed to be cut from a different cloth.  

Mycroft looked at the lad again from head to toe and his eyes fell on the cufflinks. They seemed to be of an old-fashioned cut, not the choice of a younger man in a suit. Unlike his watch, which was too new. The cufflinks looked like an heirloom. From time to time, the man seemed to rearrange the cufflinks under his jacket to make sure they were still there. Presumably given or inherited and cherished by him. Typically enough, the cufflinks were of simple cut against the extravagance of the suit he wore. It was unlikely that he had come from the kind of wealth that he had now.  

The umbrella beside the blonde was an ordinary model, sold in several gentlemen's shops in London. The question was, did it come from the same shop as Mycroft's, or was it really just an ordinary model? There was much that could be said about Mycroft, but he had enough knowledge locked away in his head to know when he was dealing with a delegate or a spy. At the moment, this young gentleman could go either way.  

It was an indulgence on his part; the special food in this establishment, watching the people in the restaurant, but most of all enjoying the beauty of the man before him. Mycroft knew what he was getting into and what his limits were, and a handsome man like that would only set off alarm bells with him if anyone ever tried. Only spies would do that, but that did not mean he could not enjoy what was in front of him.  

What he hadn't expected was to receive the answer to his question about whether he was a businessman or a spy in the same evening. As the young man enjoyed his meal - as did Mycroft - and they had both finally arrived at dessert - panna cotta for Mycroft, crème caramel for the other man - the blonde was disturbed, judging by the reaction, by an unexpected visitor.  

"Mr King." A long, tall agent walked past him and sat down without asking permission. Mycroft was right - delegate or spy - if MI6 was interested in you.   

Mr King, however, seemed unfazed by the visit, licking his spoon almost erotically with the last bite of his crème caramel before taking a sip of his espresso and calmly wiping his mouth with a serviette.  

Mycroft's observation was that this Mr King had learnt these manners later in life, because they weren't programmed into his system. These were actions taken on purpose. They must have come with the job.   

When Mr King was sure that he had wiped his mouth sufficiently, and only then, he looked up at his visitor through his heavy horned glasses. He cocked an eyebrow, and in perfect English he took up the conversation. Obviously the result of some sort of vocal training, as there was no longer any trace of an accent.  

However, this would not put an end to the debate about spy or delegate.  

"Good evening, Niall. I don't believe we had an appointment?" Mr King said with a slight annoyance in his voice.   

"I made the appointment with you myself, right now."   

Niall, as Mr King called him, was obviously MI6. Mycroft recognised the black suits immediately. They had used the same mediocre tailor for years. A handgun in a leather holster on his left side, two extra magazines on his belt. A typical setup. This conversation could have been a cover for a transfer of information, but Mycroft had seen no papers or materials crossing the table, and Mr King had placed his tablet just out of Niall's reach, rather than within reach.  

Mycroft was intrigued. Especially since the MI6 spy hadn't noticed him. Usually they were warned about him by the reigning M and were able to spot him immediately.  

"Niall, I think I've said this before, I don't know what you're trying to pull. I have been in the middle of a dinner party of my own. After V-Day, I had more losses of staff than I expected. I am still mourning them, but I've got to keep my business going, and apparently bespoke suits are back in fashion now that a whole new generation is running the Government.”  

A tailor, then? It seemed to Mycroft that this was a bit off. This man might be their accountant or manager, but he wasn't a tailor. His hands weren't delicate enough to work with needle and thread, and he looked more like a soldier/spy than a craftsman.  

“Mr. King, my boss will have you talk to her. One way or another. You are withholding information." Niall had had enough. His body and voice seemed to take on an aggressive posture.   

Mr King began to laugh, an unfiltered laugh that Mycroft liked immensely, as he looked at Niall and shook his head.   

"My dear Niall, of course I am withholding information. The fact that they are sending you is more amusing to me than worrying. Now, if it pleases you, I would like you to leave me alone and let me enjoy one of my few evenings alone."  

"Gary," Niall began in a threatening tone, placing a hand on Mr King's forearm. Gary King, it seemed, looked unimpressed at the hand of the person who had just pressured him and laughed again.  

"Let me stop you there, Niall. I'll give you two seconds to take your hands off me or I'll give you a reason to go to hospital.” Gary did not seem at all impressed, but Mycroft noticed that his left hand had slowly moved to his umbrella and was now holding it with a determination that the man had shown in ordering his dinner and in the way he had eaten it.  

"I don't think you know who you're dealing with."   

"Likewise, Niall, likewise." His voice was still even, no trace of adrenaline going through his body. This probably ruled out delegate.   

It all happened in a matter of seconds as Niall tried to grab the tablet that was lying unattended on the table and Gary King hit him on the head with the curved handle of the umbrella he was carrying. It was a direct hit and Niall seemed to be down in a matter of seconds. There was a very obvious sigh from Gary King as he stood up straight to straighten his suit before pulling out a rectangular object that appeared to be his mobile phone.   

Meanwhile, he appeared to select something from his watch, probably one of those fancy digital ones, and pointed it at Niall. Mycroft couldn't see what was happening, but at this point it could mean anything and nothing.  

"Hello, M." The line had obviously been picked up on the other side. Mycroft couldn't hear the conversation from the other side, but he could guess from Mr King's expression. "Yes, obviously. Please do not interfere with this, or with us, again, or I shall have no choice but to deal with matters of more immediate importance."   

There was silence for a while, and even if the words weren't entirely suspicious, they certainly sent out the message that the man was trying to convey. If Mr. King was calling M. herself, he was much more important than anything he was trying to portray.   

Mycroft was completely intrigued, even more so when Mr King turned to him and smiled as if he knew.   

"I would appreciate it if you would use your own channels to pass on any messages to Mr Holmes. I’m no messenger bird." A pause. "Yes, quite. Good evening, M." He ended the call and walked over to Mycroft, holding out his right hand with a gold signet ring on it as he came to a halt.   

"Mr Holmes? Gary King." The young man smiled genuinely and Mycroft nodded as he took the hand after standing.  

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. King. Mycroft Holmes.”  

“My apologies, Mr. Holmes, my uninvited guest was wearing a wire and a tracker, and MI6 found you in the room as well. We'll deal with this immediately. It is my understanding that you will not be passing on any information about what you may have seen or heard?"  

"When it comes to sensitive matters, I don't think you needn’t worry. At the end of the day I am just a simple employee of the Crown."   

“Simple my ass, bruv,” Gary seemed to break out of his persona, and he smiled a big smile in Mycroft’s direction. Mycroft had just bobbed his head. This was quite something alright.   

In the end, they had decided to have a nightcap together and had spent more than enough hours talking before they had to call it a night. It wasn't until the next morning that he had forgotten to ask for Mr King's number. Out of morbid curiosity off course.   

Luckily for them, Gary had his own means, and a letter had arrived on his desk just an hour after that thought. A letter with only a number and the Kingsman logo on it. Mycroft thanked Niall more than once for giving him a chance with Eggsy, even though the man had now been thrown out of the service. Mycroft, of course, would deny to his dying day that this was his doing.  

Today, Mycroft had a lover twenty years his junior, with whom he had shared his life for some time. While Eggsy was already worrying about the deterioration of his appearance, Mycroft was up and about, simply in awe of the body Eggsy had. Or "while he still had it", as Eggsy used to say. Yet he never said anything about Mycroft, no matter if he gained weight, or lost it. Eggsy just loved him; unconditionally. Eggsy had said, quite plainly, that although Mycroft wasn't bad looking at all, it was his sharp tongue that he had fallen for. Or with his manner, or with his mannerisms. Cheeky brat.  

Yet Mycroft believed him. They weren't together because they were each other's burning, eternal love. They were together because they worked well together. They understood each other, they hardly had to explain anything when Eggsy came home with a huge gash on his shoulder, nor did Mycroft have to do anything but text a few words and Eggsy would understand. That was one of the greatest perks of it all.   

Not that Eggsy’s mind wasn't one of the things Mycroft was attracted to as well, because it was just as easy to go to the opera - Eggsy had adjusted to that - or a pub in the outskirts of London. Mycroft even had attended Daisy’s school performance last week, and he had allowed Eggsy to show him off.  

Most of the Mums had fallen even more in love with Eggsy now that he was gay - Eggsy wasn't, but let them keep thinking that - and they could talk to him about anything. Eggsy was just as much of a bisexual as Mycroft was; they really didn't care too much about what they did or who they did it with.   

Mycroft was aware that Eggsy literally had a choice to date anyone else, but he didn't. That he had chosen him did something to his old heart. It had warmed up a bit, according to John. What a softie that man was, although his diagnosis was not too far off.  

Fortunately, Daisy even seemed to like him, although he had no idea why. Althea told him that it didn't matter to children what kind of attention they received, as long as it was positive, and Mycroft liked to read to her at bedtime or take her for little walks in the park when Eggsy was called away unexpectedly and her nanny wasn't available. He had built up something of a bond with her, but he had never realised how important he was to the little girl when she had asked him to 'bring your dad to work' day.   

It had probably been a devious method for Eggsy to get out of it, for it was one thing to explain what Eggsy did on a daily basis to Daisy in small words - the little girl knew to keep quiet - but to tell a story at school was another. Not the brightest of ideas. So Mycroft had conceded. All he did was to work for the government. Quite boring. He had thrown in the fact that he had met the Queen once - not every month, mind you - and the children had loved it. Daisy had had a big smile on her face from ear to ear during his talk, and she had been on his lap afterwards for question time.   

It was still unfortunate that Eggsy's mother had survived V-Day itself, only to be taken away from the family by Poppy during the attack on all the Kingsman agents. It was fortunate that Eggsy had Daisy that day, and that he hadn't been at home with her, but at the old house where Harry Hart had lived. It did mean that Eggsy was now a full-time guardian for his little sister, and that would complicate things here and there.   

Fortunately, both agencies seemed to take a liking to the little girl and she had her own private chauffeur service. A live-in nanny - one of the best, Althea had assured him - who had been vetted to the hilt, a private teacher for after school, a musical coach, and Eggsy and Mycroft to look after her. Not to mention a squadron of secret agents who protected her without her knowing.   

So yes, it was safe to say that Mycroft was happy with his life. He felt safe with Eggsy by his side. Very safe too. He knew he was safe no matter what happened. Falling in love with Eggsy was probably the easiest thing he had ever done in his life. Daisy was a small bonus and his brother was as always a nuisance. Life was good. Don’t let Sherlock know that he needed to eat his own words.   

He sometimes thought he was the rook on the board, that had been captured by the knight to gallivant off towards the rainbow. Or something insanely romantic like that. Probably.   

Chapter Text

Mycroft looked towards Eggsy, who just cocked an eyebrow, and adjusted a cuff of his usual dress shirt to sit perfectly under the bespoke coat that showcased Eggsy’s figure even more than any of his jeans ever could. The older man knew that the younger would indulge him if it came to those things, he liked the attention that came by pleasing Mycroft, and the older gentleman was anything but not generous. Eggsy was wrestling with Daisy’s raincoat after he had lifted her out of the car seat, and gave up when the little girl threw those big eyes at both men.   

“Are you sure you want to do this? Because there’s no turning back.” Mycroft said with a little uncertainty in his voice, not an emotion he often felt. He petted Daisy softly on her head, but said nothing else. She had taken his hand the moment she was out of the car. A rule between the three of them; she always had to hold one of them.    

Mycroft had vocalised his concerns more than once, and every time the head of the Kingsman had woven them away. It was also the thing that only Mycroft knew about his fiancé. The man was a Kingsman, pretending to be a tailor but an independent super-spy at the same time with an intel pool that was even bigger than Mycroft’s own.   

It was that he was wearing one of the Kingsmen Tailor bespoke suits, or otherwise Sherlock would have a field day. The way he looked, talked, and walked could shift from formal to street style within seconds, and his dear brother always loved a difficult target. As long as he stayed miles away from Daisy, Sherlock could try, or Mycroft would cut his allowance. The little tyke was out of the question in their games, and he was sure to send that message early on.   

“I’ve survived Valentine, I think I ca’ manage your family, Mycroft.” There were occasional lapses into his usual accent, not that Mycroft had any objection to that, but it was curious that he didn't. Mycroft usually prided himself in having those difficult matters. Apparently not when it came to Eggsy. It was a sign of his heritage, but the young man had a way of playing around it with all his fine charm and great smile. Eggsy would charm their mother's knickers off if Daisy wouldn’t do that immediately, and Mycroft hoped his father wouldn't be too vocal in his opinions. They were alright with it, but his father could be insensitive without realising it on the best of days. They could be very slow, sometimes.   

"It's not my family I'm worried about. It's more about … Sherlock," Mycroft said, voicing his concern as he still hadn't taken a single step away from their vehicle, while he retook Daisy’s hand without thinking, gripping her soft hand a little bit harder than before. Daisy squeezed a bit harder back. If it was to comfort him, he couldn’t say.   

"I'll deal with him when we get there, Mycroft." Eggsy smiled at him again and then pulled him close to him, planting a soft, gentle kiss on his lips. "Please my love, have a little faith in me."   

"Darling, if I believed in such things, I would have all the faith in the world for you. I just happen to have none in Sherlock when it comes to the social affairs of this world." Mycroft let Eggsy pull him in for another kiss, wondering when he had become such a soft man. V-day probably did that to him, or the aftermath of that particular nasty, and rather unfair fight. It had shaken something up in him, and he hadn't been able to function the same way as before. Most people hadn't. Their jails were filled, and kept being filled with people who turned to crime because they had nowhere to go.   

He ignored Daisy’s snickering; she was at that age right now where these shows of affection would make her giggle, while Eggsy talked to her again about the rules of hospitality.   

One look was all it could take for them to be lying naked in bed within seconds, completely consumed by their love, and while Eggsy was giving him that look right now, it took all his willpower not to cancel on their plans. Mycroft hadn't been with many people, only one man before he met Eggsy, and probably only three women, but he'd never thought he'd love being taken care of by another person - let alone a man. Let alone play house with the little sister.  

But he did. A lot. Far too much, if you asked him. It was no trouble at all to Eggsy, who enjoyed that obviously. The evidence obvious if you looked for it.   

Mycroft breathed in and out – these were not thoughts to have on the forefront of your mind while meeting your family. Those were bedtime thoughts. When Daisy was tucked way.  

Yes. Calm yourself, Mycroft.   

Mycroft felt that reassuring hand from Eggsy on his back as they approached the house, and Daisy skipped in between them, not a single care in the world but her next sweet meal.   

Sherlock caused more problems than even Mycroft expected. Oddly enough Daisy seemed to throw him off guard, but the detective wasn't easily deterred. While his parents were relatively accepting of the idea of their eldest son sharing his life with a man after having his whole life said that he would never get a partner, his brother was a different story, causing trouble at the dinner table. The other Holmes was trying to get information out of Eggsy, trying to get him in some 'weak spot', gleaning what he could and then using that information against the couple. Mycroft wondered whether it was sheer boredom, or a form of brotherly love, or whether it was a direct aversion to same-sex relationships.  

He just needed to be a little bit more subtle, with a little girl at the table. Mycroft tried giving him hints all throughout dinner, but it seemed to no avail. In the end, Mycroft gave up, and confronted Sherlock head on.  

"My dear brother," he began, only to be interrupted by Eggsy with a smile that said it all.  

"Yes, Sherlock. I have to say I've been rather impressed with your abilities and the way you've solved some of the cases I've read about in the papers, right Dais’?" Gone was the last bit of the street accent. In was 'Arthur' or Mr King, as Mycroft had dubbed one of the various personas Eggsy was fond of using. The man smiled that very delicious million-pound smile towards his sister, and then back at Sherlock.   

There was Gary King, a young and wealthy heir who had taken over his uncle's business and was at home in fancy bespoke suits, whisky and tea. There was 'Arthur', his businesslike spy persona. He had heard Lancelot refer to Eggsy as ‘Galahad’ a couple of times, probably by accident, although that one barely surfaced, it was the spy who had the flourish that even James Bond did not have in any of the films Mycroft had watched. Mycroft had seen that persona in action before though, and he would lie if that one didn’t turn him on just as much as the Gary King one did.   

Finally, there was Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, the man he loved and lived with, and really liked to see the most. The man whose idea of styling himself for a day out was a tight polo shirt with a pair of jeans and trainers, and who liked to take Mycroft out on 'silly' dates, while on the other hand they also enjoyed the opera, a nice dinner with or without Daisy (with the little girl they usually ended up at a pizzeria) or on their couch with delectable bites of food for sharing. Which usually meant that Eggsy was still hungry, but that wasn’t the point of the whole thing, the man himself insisted.   

Daisy, now interested in all that was Sherlock, and who had been told to wait with asking questions, looked expectingly at the man, but waited until the grownups were done with their conversation. She was learning quickly from both Eggsy, himself, and her tutors that educated her in all kinds of material, including etiquette.  

“I have to admit, though, that I didn't expect you to be opposed to what we're doing. The suggestion that we do more than hold hands seems to make you uncomfortable.” Eggsy said in a voice that meant business, but it was as if he asked who still wanted some salad before he would clean out the bowl.  

Sherlock stammered a bit before his mother rebuked him, and Mycroft smiled a lazy smile that had Eggsy snicker, and lay a hand on his thigh. Too close for comfort that was. Mycroft was glad that he didn’t wear the tighter slacks from his brown suit as he had originally planned.   

"That's not what this is about, I assure you. I have no qualms about relationships at all. In any form or shape. As I assumed Mycroft actually did.” Sherlock looked at his brother with that special look of his, before he continued. A true fact there. There must be something else that bothered his younger brother. “It's just that I'm worried for Mycroft's sake that you're taking advantage of him. I haven't quite worked out what for - money or influence. No man your age could afford to get dressed like that."  

Such a direct approach from Sherlock. It almost felt refreshing, thought Mycroft to himself.  

“I like uncle Mycroft.” Daisy added with a big smile, and Eggsy just snickered, as Daisy played with the stuffed bunny that Mycroft had bought her last Christmas.  

“Yep, me too lovie!” Eggsy switched his accent a little bit, just to toy with Sherlock, as he kissed Daisy on the head.   

“You do, darling?” This was his mother, who now engaged Daisy in a conversation so that the brothers could finish theirs. As Sherlock looked on, Eggsy smiled and shook his head in the affirmative.  

"I find it admirable that you stand up for Mycroft, but I can guarantee you that I am not with him for money or influence. I already possess far too much of both.” Eggsy let his words sink in before he went on, but Mycroft knew his brother well enough that the man was on edge. This was what they did for a living. “I fell in love with Mycroft because he has an understanding of what it is like to live our lives, mostly in the shadows of others, and there is something about a true English gentleman that has appealed to me. As far as my suit is concerned, I became the owner of Kingsman Tailors after the death of my uncle. I have a whole closet full of these, and more."   

“We’ll see about that in the long run then,” commented the other Holmes with a pensive look.  

“Yes, we will.” Eggsy’s smile hadn’t faded, but one eye had turned sharp for a few moments, before Mycroft felt that treacherous hand trail over his inner thigh again. Daisy, who felt that her chance was now, looked at Sherlock and started her assault of questions.   

Sherlock, who had been briefed by his mother to behave, did so indeed, but the assault that Daisy launched on him, came as a surprise to the youngest. Maybe Mycroft should punish Sherlock with having to take the little girl to school on family day, tell all the other little kids about detective work. That would be fair enough punishment.  

With Daisy taken care of by their mother, his lover had no qualms about showing why he loved Mycroft so much. They hadn’t gotten the time lately, since Daisy had been having nightmares about everything, so it was quick but effective tonight. Eggsy was in a possessive state tonight Mycroft noted, as he was bit rougher with his older lover. Hands caressed him everywhere, and that sinful mouth had already found its target for the evening, while Mycroft lay there like a willing participant. Every inch of his skin was being treated, and he couldn’t stop a fleeting thought what Sherlock would think if he could hear them.   

Oh, he probably would, since the walls were quite thin as he knew from experience, and Eggsy loved to hear him - loudly. So far, he had already come once, and his second one was not far away. How the man who was devouring his manhood managed it, Mycroft still didn’t know.   

Mycroft had found out very soon in their relationship that Eggsy was quite dominant in the bedroom. Although Eggsy had given him the option to do it without sex, Mycroft had not even tried to amuse that thought. O no, he had a sex god in his bedroom, and he would use it no matter what.   

Eggsy decided what happened, and how. He took care of Mycroft, he loved him, he cherished him, he fucked him hard or soft. Whatever Mycroft wished for. It wasn’t a side of Mycroft that anybody knew. Hell, he hadn’t even known about himself that he needed this before Eggsy had waltzed into his life. Mycroft had tried to take control on several occasions, and Eggsy had allowed him to. The man had played along, done his best, but there was nothing like Eggsy, who was in such control when he used and abused every trick in the book that Mycroft had found to his liking. It always left him blissfully satisfied.  

Even the embarrassment in front of his parents the next morning was worth the look on Sherlock's face. Mycroft smiled coyly. Daisy was playing with her crayons as if there was nothing else in the world. His father was helping her draw. Luck be with them, if she slept, she was out like a light.   

“Did ya sleep well, bruv?” Eggsy asked Sherlock casually. He was dressed only in trousers and a polo shirt, combined with a pair of oxfords. His huge arms were on show, those well-defined muscles, those lovely broad shoulders. All of them better brands than the ones he used to wear before he joined the Kingsmen, but more nondescript. Less gaudy. It was one of Mycroft's favourite outfits as it was a good show of Eggsy's physique, but was smart enough for a round of tea at the club. The fact that he had chosen trousers that rounded his ass even more was just a bonus in Mycroft's eyes.  

Mycroft did appreciate it if Eggsy went all out for him. He knew that it was for him, and him only.   

Sherlock’s face said it all.   

Chapter Text

The mission itself wasn’t difficult at all, Eggsy would almost call it a routine mission, but it was shite. The timing was shite, the fact that he had to take over from agent Gaheris wasn’t the usual protocol but it needed to be done was shite, and that meant that Eggsy had to double down on his own mission beforehand plus stop the recruiting he had planned for that week.

Just shite.

No other way to say it, even if Harry Hart himself tried his hand at expressing it different. A pang of guilt shot through Eggsy, but he decided to not vocalise anything so that Merlin wouldn’t notice. Everyone was still in mourning for Harry (meaning Rox, Merlin and himself; the only three agents left before they started recruiting again). The former Galahad, and the man who would have been Arthur if he hadn’t died again, so to speak, sacrificing himself for the cause.

Eggsy hated it. Merlin hated it. Roxy hated it even more that she hadn’t been there.  

It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the past, especially not if he was on a mission. Exactly the opposite of what they taught new recruits, but then again; they weren’t new recruits, and Eggsy didn’t need to defend himself.

So now the new appointed Arthur, who was also Galahad again for the evening, stood in a tailored, yet dressed down suit in a pub in London, where apparently the most 007-guys and gals came for drinks after work. It smelled like corporate as well; cheap cologne, flowery perfume, and beer. Eggsy couldn’t help it but find it disgusting on one hand, while flourishing in it on the other.

Although he hadn’t been able to afford anything himself beforehand, being used to quality had changed his life quite a bit. Mostly Daisy’s nowadays. He bought her dresses, and had sent her to a good school that he would never have been able to afford before this. He smiled softly, pretending like he had an internal joke to make it fitting for the situation, as he went over de mission details again.

Tech guy was a terrorist. Guy intended to sell expensive shite that Merlin had wanted to get his grubby hands on. Some 007 was pretending to buy it, but intel had told them that the guy might be a mole. Fun stuff.

Eggsy had been forced to take over the job from one of his newer agents; Gaheris, because that guy’s father actually had been an 007, and still worked for MI6, and it wouldn’t be good for the dinner conversations on Christmas eve if those two would meet while on the job. His father was a frequent visitor of this establishment as well. The man thought that his son, Vishal, was supposed to be working for a Kingsman tailors and whisky brewers as an IT-specialist. Not as a field agent with a specialisation in IT.

It had been Eggsy’s own call to take over the mission himself, but it wasn’t his kind of case to be honest. Eggsy was good for brutal missions, or undercover missions where he got to flaunt a bit. But options had been limited as Roxy – who usually did these missions - was out of the country with her own urgent mission, and they needed the intel so they could act on it accordingly.

Vishal Gadhavi was a good guy who had been acing his tests while in the program, and had turned out to be a good field agent who kept his head on in the right way. Plus, it was good to have him around for some sensitive missions were putting Eggsy in would only create chaos. It was probably the same reason why M. had hired Nand Gadhavi back in the day as well; the Gadhavi’s were technical geniuses, but were easily overlooked. The perfect combination for a spy.

“He’s on your right, Arthur.” Vishal came through on his earpiece, and Eggsy heard Merlin sputtering in the background that "Eggsy really did know that, and that despite not looking like he read mission briefs as they were supposed to, and ‘Galahad now, agent Gaheris’, being very thoughtless most of the time, there was a reason he was Arthur these days."

Eggsy smirked as the literal tech wizard on the other side of his earpiece started his usual lecture, glad to not be on the receiving end right now, while Merlin gave Eggsy the necessary information as a few others agents walked into the crowd. Thank all the Gods that had been listening that Merlin had made it out alive there at Poppyland.

"Beware, Galahad," - an Arthur never went into the field, and they hadn't filled his old position yet, so he was still using his old nickname, and he knew he would be for some time - "that some agents of the Crown have entered the building. Please keep it simple. Agent Gaheris and I will give you the technical briefing".

Eggsy didn’t respond vocally, but he knew that Merlin understood him.

“Don’t wing it, Eggsy, please. Let us help!” Pressed Merlin.

Eggsy knew they could, would and had to. There was a reason why Vishal had been allowed on the case, and to sit in on this conversation in Merlin's office. In fact, him being Arthur himself hardly allowed him any leeway in being allowed into Merlin’s office. Merlin always came to him.

Vishal on the other hand, that lad could dismantle a bomb and talk about his latest server build at the same time. Eggsy secretly knew that Merlin was proud of the young man, and Eggsy knew that Merlin was grooming him to eventually take over the 'Merlin' position if he made it as a field agent. He approved of that too.

Onto the pressing matter of his current case; there was a reason why Eggsy always had to 'wing' his missions, as he had told Merlin more than once. Eggsy attracted the odd ones no matter what he did, and somehow, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up just now.

O yes, it would be one of those days.

"They're meeting me Dad!" Vishal may have been of Indian descent, but his accent was more street than Indian these days. Maybe that's why he liked the kid, Eggsy thought as he slowly stirred the martini he'd ordered. An inside joke about the whole 'shaken, not stirred' thing. He loved them as dirty as Harry had taught him.

Another pang to his heart there. Dang it, Eggsy. Keep it together.

Eggsy was Gage Dane Hartley for the day. His persona wore a simple dark, berry blue suit, with a soft cerulean dress shirt underneath, no tie, but with a matching pocket handkerchief that was pinned with an English flag. Kingsman Tailors only made black for formal events, funerals and weddings, and had refused to replicate something like the 007’s. It had to do, and be enough to put the others in the café at ease, but obviously be too dressed for being one of them.

Exactly what Gage Hartley needed to be. Gage was an opportunist who liked to talk shop, and he pretended to be somebody important, without being important. A superficial businessman with no real call. Right up Eggsy’s alley, this persona.

Their mark for the night was an overworked 007 agent that had spilled the beans to a weapon merchant who was selling rather dangerous tech – hence the reason Vishal had been put on the case before – and Kingsman wanted that tech before the Crown could get their hands on it, and hide it away in their bunker.

Merlin had almost been drooling over it, apparently, if he believed Vishal, and so the case had come to be. All in all, Eggsy couldn’t deny Merlin anything really. The wizard kept them all alive, so if he wanted to have stuff to make them all feel even more safe, so be it. Eggsy would dress down – to be honest – and play his role.

Then Eggsy saw the mark up, close, and personal, as the guy walked towards the bathroom, and he almost wanted to bail himself out of there. This came too close to home. Eggsy pretended to pick up his phone annoyed for a call, and alerted Merlin.

“Our mark is an agent as well; this is a double-double-cross.” Eggsy sighed, as he heard Merlin still on the other side of the connection, as his hands raked across his keypad. “Didn’t you reference him across the board, Merlin? He’s MI7.”  

The line went quiet, and all he heard was the furious typing of Merlin on the other end of the line.

“Well, butter my butt, and call me a biscuit,” exclaimed Merlin so surprised, that Eggsy had to do his best to not laugh all out, “how did we miss this? I’m so sorry, Arthur!”

"There weren't any pictures to work with or I would have known, but that's all right, Merlin," Eggsy added happily, "permission to improvise?" He really didn’t need to ask for permission anymore, but it was a habit.

“Oh, for the love of everything, Eggsy!” Merlin sounded frantic, while Vishal was laughing in the second chair in Merlin’s new office, that somehow creaked. For the fact that everything was new, it didn’t sound like it. He could punish the other agent for laughing at Merlin to have him grease everything in the building – but that was an afterthought. Merlin was grumbling, but he threw out a; “Just be careful, Eggsy!”

Eggsy drained his glass slowly, ready to follow the MI7 Agent into the bathroom, when another surprise walked into the room. A surprise that could leave him breathless any day, at any given time, and Eggsy swore under his breath. This was something he hadn’t told any of the other agents, only Rox and Merlin, and he actually had wanted to keep that part of his life for himself for as long as possible.

Tall, elegant, nondescript, but in such a way that took his breath away. Mycroft Holmes wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he had a persona that drew you in, and Eggsy had fallen for it. Hard. Those long and nimble fingers had only been caressing his head some twenty hours before, and Eggsy had felt warm and comfortable. He wanted to reach for that right now, since this mission was going to hell in a handbasket anyway.  

It didn’t take long before Mycroft noticed that his lover was in the bar, as their eyes crossed briefly, and Eggsy was afraid that he needed to bail immediately on the whole mission, before he noticed that Mycroft pretended (or not) to read him, and dismissed him like he was any other. Eggsy let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding. Thank God for Mycroft and his deduction techniques. Eggsy wasn’t wearing his usual pinky ring, and he knew the older Holmes would have noticed that.

Thank God – or Merlin - for scrambled texting, Eggsy thought as he sent off something cryptic towards Mycroft, as he exited the semi-luxurious bathroom stall. The dark colours were supposed to help people not feel overwhelmed, but it gave too much way for too much trouble with the minimal light. Who thought that it was a good idea, should have been fired immediately.

“You know,” the South-London lilt was heavy on the other man’s voice that stood by the vanity, as he initiated a conversation. “I hadn’t expected you here …” The other, young-looking Brit smiled towards the mirror in which he could see Eggsy as he was cleaning his hands.

“Neither me you,” Eggsy supplied with a smile when he recognized the tattoo on the left and right hands from his old friend. “It’s been a while, innit?” He let out another breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, as he looked directly towards the other man clad in a decent black suit. Just a little bit off to pass completely as the Agent he had been trying to play.

Harry Bloody Potter, or Black-something-something – Eggsy didn’t keep up with those things- nowadays, now looked up at him with those unseemly knowing green eyes and smiled as he waved his hand around the room. Eggsy knew what that meant, and nodded.

"Aye, that it is." A white smile ghosted over a lesser pale face than usual, but that wasn’t the part that surprised him. Harry had his own unique ways, and would change faces as if he had access to a personal surgeon. Magic was truly amazing. “Hi, Eggsy.”

“Hullo, Harry.” Eggsy extended his hand towards the other, as he shook his head with a sigh. Harry took his hand directly, and pulled him into a quick hug. “So, pleasure or work today?”

“Work, unfortunately. You chaps want the tech?” The raven-haired inquired. Always so direct, always completely focused on his case. He had been like that in school, as an Auror, and even now.

“Merlin is going crazy over it, so yep.” No need to elaborate. They both knew why they were there, and what they needed to do.

“I don’t have need for the tech, but I want the dealer. MI6 and MI7 want to know what he knows; how much the other Agent talked. It’s why I’m undercover as him. Can we strike a deal before the Crown gets it all?” Harry didn’t drop the glamours he wore, but Eggsy knew that he didn’t lie. Not to Eggsy.

“I just want the tech, and to make sure the dealer is off the market. How you do that, is up to you, really. I’ll play along. I just wanted to break in your conversation, and offer a better deal or something.” Eggsy shrugged. “You know me.”  

Harry smiled. “I do.”

Both men looked at each other for a while, assessing in their heads what they had to do, before Eggsy raised an eyebrow to confirm.

“So, deal?” Harry started.

“It would be a pleasure working with you, Harry.”

“Likewise, Eggsy.”

Both men smiled wickedly as they were reminded of their recent efforts. It didn't take them long to work out a complete plan in a few minutes. A few minutes in which Merlin had no visual contact. Poor technical wizard.

“I’m not saying no, but isn’t this a bit of an arsehole move?” Eggsy questioned, as he fired off another text towards Mycroft as they made their way into the café again. This text was supposed to invite the other over for a sexual encounter at his house if anybody would catch it, but he knew Mycroft would get his drift with ease that he needed to bail immediately.

“Oh absolutely! That’s why we chose it!” Harry was done for the day, obviously.

“…Understandable.”

The following day, the newspaper headlined with ‘Gasleak or terrorist attack?’ ‘People of Londen hope Sherlock Holmes will investigate!’ ‘Agents down! Who’s responsible?’ while Eggsy and Harry enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast at Eggsy's favourite place, around the corner from his – or Harry’s – old house. In all honesty, they had been able to clear most of the agents there, but there were always those too stubborn to look at their phones after they got the memo to bail.

Both spies had dressed down for brunch. Eggsy wore only trousers and a long-sleeved polo shirt, over which he had thrown a jacket that seemed to match the trousers in colour, while Harry had stopped wearing a dress shirt, and was hiding his light skin under a thin jumper. If you didn't know them, you'd think they were a young, gay, yuppie couple at brunch, but if you knew them you would recognise that they were good friends. Friends that didn’t see each other often, but were comfortable enough in each other presence to just be.

Eggsy’s phone beeped a few times; updates from Merlin who had not been amused by the blackouts of his tech, and who was trying to do damage control, a ‘whoop whoop’ from Rox, and a ‘Sorry Arthur’ from Vishal that he both responded to quickly. He could afford a morning off work.

The last one had been private, but had come through nonetheless. Thank God for scrambled connections, and Mycroft who could circumvent even Merlin if he needed to.

I assume Mr. Black will be joining us finally for dinner tonight? Our usual Italian place? Love, M.

Yes, he’s chuffed about it actually. What did you threaten him with? He hates that place. Xxx Eggsy

Unfortunately, I can’t blackmail Mr. Black, even if I wanted to. He apparently does this for you. If he wasn’t married, I would worry for the both of us. Love, M.

I have enough dirt on him to last me a lifetime, you can just ask, you know? Plus, no thanks. You’re quite more than enough for me. I think his husband worries though. xxx Eggsy

Gary, please, don’t start a war. I’ll see you tonight. Love, M.

Dunno what will fancy me today, darling. You went this route with me, now you suffer. Love, Eggsy.

“He really doesn’t realise it, doesn’t he?” Harry smiled at his only childhood friend. Street smart Eggsy with balls to take on Dudley every now and then, who even visited him after Eggsy’s family had moved into London itself. Eggsy, who would write to him no matter what happened. Eggsy, who always kept his word. Harry’s secret lifeline.

“No, I sometimes fear that I have to spell it out for him.” Eggsy smirked.

“Your records are squeaky clean by the way. So clean, Merlin couldn’t find you before this mission! I think that’s my fault.” Eggsy laughed as he took a bite from a delicious chocolate croissant. “You should bring your paramour as well; we could do a double date or something.”

“I don’t know if he’s available, but I’ll send him a message.” Harry wiped his mouth with the expensive cloth napkin, and lounged in his chair. “I missed this.”

Eggsy only nodded to Harry’s latest statement. He wasn’t that good with explaining how he felt.

“It would be fun to pit him against Mycroft.” The blonde snickered with the image that got stuck in his head.

“I thought I was the evil one here at the table.” Harry waved his hand as if it was a matter of a fact, not an opinion.

“Nah, Harry, nah. I decided to blow up heads, you were boring and killed a man by killing his six other spirits or something. That doesn’t count.” The banter wasn’t meant to be rude, and Harry’s eyes just gleamed with mirth.

“You would have stood right beside me to stab him with that stupid pocked knife of yours, wouldn’t you?” Harry laughed as he saw that look on the other man’s face turn dark.

“You're bloody right, I would have.” Eggsy’s voice turned dark, and Harry winked. “I’ve would have bloody stabbed the fucker at least six times. No spell could win then.”

They laughed at the memories they could not make, but which they both expected would have been the outcome if their lives had been slightly different. It was a feeling of kinship, coming home after a long day in a way that their partners did offer them, but one that was different because their friendship had been going back since they could remember. It was a friendship in which they had shared more concerning their loves and sorrows on paper than they ever dared tell their own partners. There were those things you had to have experienced to be able to repeat, and that was something they did not need.

The Italian restaurant had become a special place to Eggsy, and he didn’t mind sharing it with his oldest friend. A friendship he had been keeping secret for everyone, especially as Harry would not be allowed to have that when he was younger. The Dursley’s had been an awful bunch, and Eggsy had always taken pity on the man. Later on, it had just been different to explain it.

When he moved away with his mother after his father’s death, they kept in touch by letters that Eggsy addressed to the strange woman across the street from Harry per the other’s request, and when Harry had arrived at Hogwarts, he had kept his correspondence up via Owl without anyone knowing that. The first few letters had been difficult to process, but the woman who sent off his letters did explain a lot of things to Eggsy, and so he had found his way. It was easily scary to get to places when people assumed you were a Squib or a Muggle relative.

Back in the day, Eggsy shared his schoolwork, and local news with Harry to keep him updated when he was at Hogwarts, while Harry talked to him when he was lonely. Eggsy shared his burdens with his step-father, Harry regaled tales from his years to keep him distracted from what really was happening. Eggsy wrote boring letters just to give Harry hope to come home to something, and Harry responded in kind with things that he learned about the magical world. They had found each other, and somehow, even Kingsman nor Harry’s guardians had known.

Nobody had, actually. It would be quite something that their partners would find that particular part out today, and Eggsy hoped that Mycroft wouldn’t be too angry with him.

Eggsy always did wonder why nobody seemed to care that he knew, while he wasn’t allowed to know. Wizards were a strange bunch, and Eggsy wouldn’t comment on it. The knowledge itself had saved his ass a few times in the field. There had even been an occasion during a mission where he had had to call in Harry because he suspected he would not be able to handle this on his own. He had been lucky and had been just in time to request that backup.

Nowadays they texted, whenever Harry wasn’t around too much magic or blowing his phones up, but since the man bled bloody, shoddy magic, it wasn’t weird when he would only get a response after a few days. Harry tended to fry electronics without even trying too hard. Hence the choice of an old-fashioned restaurant, or the letters they would still send. Old habits die hard, and often it brought Eggsy a pace of mind. It gave him time to mull over things that he otherwise wouldn’t have done.

Like thinking about buying a ring for Mycroft, but deciding against it at the last minute. So, he had bought a pocket watch instead, after Harry’s advice. Or Harry who had the emotional range of tea spoon sometimes, because he didn’t know any better, who took his advice for an anniversary date for Draco because he’d messed up the previous year. Yeah, they were tools when it came to anything else than work.

Let the fun commence, Eggsy thought, as he handed his jacked and umbrella over at the wardrobe while checking his watch for the time. He had made it with only two minutes to spare. Mycroft would be there on the dot, and Harry whenever he felt like arriving was the right moment. Damn wizard, and their easy ways of transportation.

The Kingsman spy was surprised when he was greeted by a tall, white-blonde, pale man with aristocratic features that wouldn’t amiss on the cover of a magazine about Royals or a high-paid model walking the runway. Grey eyes roamed over his physique, stopping at his face to judge his character before he elegantly strode over. Something Eggsy had never mastered, he still was that elephant in a cabinet full of China no matter the training he had received. The guy did remind him of a younger Mycroft like Harry had said, and he smiled. This would be fun indeed.

"Gary, I presume?" The other held out his hand with a grace that seemed to have been rubbed in as Eggsy nodded as he took a step forward.

“Yea’, but Eggsy will do just fine. You’re Draco, right?” He shook the hand without putting all his force into it, but he was surprised by the firm handshake he got in return.

“As you wish, Eggsy.” Draco rolled his name around, to seemingly get used to it, but didn’t bother commenting. “Yes, I’m Draco. Harry probably will run late, so we don’t have to wait for him to be seated.”

“It’s alright.” Eggsy smiled. “It gets that way in our line of work.”

“Indeed, it does.” Eggsy had already smelled Mycroft before he heard his partner come closer to them, and he waited until the other man had given his coat and umbrella to the maître as Eggsy and Draco had done before him, before turning towards the taller, older gentleman that he had come to love so fast and hard, that he almost didn’t recognise himself whenever he was around Mycroft.

“Good evening, my love,” Mycroft said – the last part a bit more softly - as he didn’t miss a beat, and kissed Eggsy on his cheek. A little too short for his taste, but actually too long for it to be decent in company. Oh, that man wouldn’t outrun him this night, since Daisy was at Anthea’s for a girl's party with Roxanne. “Mr. Malfoy, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your reputation had proceeded you.” Mycroft extended his hand now, “Mycroft Holmes.”

“Draco Malfoy, the pleasure is all mine.”

“So, I’m safe to assume that ‘the other Harry’ does indeed reference to a different Harry, than your mentor Harry Hart?” Mycroft looked at Eggsy with that look of disbelief he had probably patented.

“Yep.”

“You and your blabbermouth kept even this a secret?”

“Oi, I take massive offense to this, My!” Eggsy smiled softly, and kicked Harry under the table as he winked towards his partner. “Although I am still curious why I haven’t been wiped in the process at all.”

“Eggsy is still a street rat, no matter how fancy he dresses.” Harry added with glee, “He always was able to find loopholes within loops. It would drive me crazy, if I didn’t have magic.”

“We are still debating if there is some residential magic left in him, since he was able to visit us at a magical place for our wedding.” Draco added. “You should keep an eye on Daisy.”

“Hogwarts is fine, if there’s a better headmaster than in your time. I have no qualms about murdering a few people left or right,” said Eggsy in a voice that two people at the table recognised as his serious tone. “I would have helped if you’d contacted me before. That Tom-guy sounds like he would not have headbutted a bullet.”

A soft smile graced Harry’s solemn features, and he shook his head while Draco looked in disbelief, and Mycroft had returned to the remains of his starter.

“If I thought it would have been possible, I would have, Eggsy. Although your care packages helped us more than you knew.”

“You gave Granger credit for those!” Draco’s facial features now shone with shock.

“Huh, oh yeah,” snorted Harry undignified, as he finished his glass of white wine that had been paired with the second course with a certain perfection. “Eggsy isn’t family, so I didn’t want my Potter-Luck to kick in, and have Aurors find him.”

“That reminds me, I met one of those blokes a few weeks ago. Leonard Perts or something?” Eggsy smiled, as Harry’s eyes grew big. “It didn’t take long to have him convinced about me being a squibby or something. I did the whole spiel of trying to draw runes and shit, it was quite fun.”

Mycroft and Draco just looked on as the conversation went another way again, and the two friends led along, while their respectful partners watched in almost utter silence. Both too stunned by all the titbits that were revealed, and those that finally made sense in all of the stories that they had heard before, that they forgot to interact with the other partner.

Eventually, Mycroft had to use the bathroom, and he excused himself, only to find Doctor Malfoy standing at the vanity when he left one of the stalls after relieving himself.

“Not quite the evening we both expected, now did we?” Draco said with a small smile, as he washed his hands with a vigour that could only be explained with him being a doctor. Mycroft wondered if the man would have used magic, if he was allowed.

“No, not quite.” He took on the same position as he did when talking with Harry about their case. He was way too curious to go into attack modus, so he needed to wait this out as well. Working alongside his brother had always trained his patience more than enough.  

“Hmm,” the doctor said, while he seemed to check his chiselled features, and soft grey eyes in the mirror. “People often wonder what I see in Harry, as they expect me to choose someone a bit more dignified, when they fail to realise that Harry is all that, and even more.” The man almost seemed to talk to himself. “On the other hand, people still question Harry about choosing me. I was on the wrong side of the war – not by my own choice I will add – yet, they like to judge. In my case, I will hex someone into tomorrow, but I wonder what your tactics are?”

Mycroft had underestimated the players, it seemed, as Doctor Malfoy had just turned out to be a marvellous opponent.

“What are you insinuating, Doctor Malfoy?”

“Call me Lord Malfoy-Potter-Black, if you really intend to go via the formal route, otherwise Draco will do just fine.” A sly smile graced those beautiful features, and Mycroft now realised why Harry would be loyal to a man like that. He had hidden himself behind the loving, aloof husband, but turned out to be the dangerous man on his playing field.

“Royalty also?”

“Magically, yes. Although the Malfoy’s have held some positions for the crown a few hundred years back, if we’re counting those.” Draco was casually leaning against the vanity, in a way that gave Mycroft the shivers. Not a lot of people had given him those, and he was reminded of his sister in a weird way. “To be the one to answer questions; I wasn’t insinuating anything, just wondering.”

“What?” A very ineloquent answer, but it had to do, Mycroft mused.

“I understand the need to hide your affections towards Eggsy on a daily basis, but when dining with friends? Or new friends? I’m a bit stuck there.”

Mycroft felt stunned, as this man seemed to look right through to him, and he decided to wait a bit with answering, as finished cleaning his hands. The doctor slow-walked past him, and before his hand reached for the door, his posture seemed to adjust.

“Fools love the hardest, but never understand the consequences. Ours behave like fools, only to be the Kings on the playing field.” A shark-like smile was visible, but Draco schooled his features well enough before he walked out, leaving Mycroft completely out of words to say.

“Food for thought, it seems.” Draco smiled almost viciously now, and a shudder ran alongside Mycroft’s neck. “You don’t need to answer me, right away, but think about it.”