Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, why couldn't you just marry your Alpha lover, then? How’m I more suitable than whoever left their scent all over you?” Eggsy asked, taking a deliberate sniff of the air, probably horrifying the old bat in the corner, given the way she gasps and looks completely scandalized. Eggsy doesn't even bother to hide his glee, just smirks at her. It’s ‘not done’ in high society, to mention what scents you can detect on other people, not when you’re talking about sex scents at least. But War Lord Harry Hart, who’s conquered more territories for King and country than just about anyone, ever, absolutely reeks of Alpha scent. Mating scent. And, hiding just under his collar, only the smallest sliver visible, is what’s probably a mating mark.

Which begs the question: why does Harry Hart need a mate, when he already has one?

The elderly Lady in the corner starts to speak, meaningless words that Eggsy’d already sat through twenty times. He looks at the woman who’d orchestrated everything, from his being taken away from his mother to being in this room, being introduced to Lord Hart and told that they were to be mates - a wonderfully suitable pair - and sneers. Eggsy makes sure his sharp teeth glint menacingly in the light, and she looks scandalised again. It’s not done to threaten Omegas, either, but he’s not from high society, whatever the blood that runs through his veins. He ain’t gonna play by their rules; Eggsy mightn't know much but he knows a losing game when he sees one.

“Bullshit. ‘M a bastard you’d’ve spat on rather than look at three months ago. I ain’t suitable for any o’ you posh toffs, far as you’re concerned. Even if I am the best of your grandkids.” Having now had a close up view of those in line for the throne, Eggsy's not exactly flush with dynastic loyalty. It’s a wonder that anything gets done, if they’re the ones who’re in charge. He doubts any of them could tell which end of a sword to grab, let alone swing it.

“Quite right.”

Eggsy’s broken from his stare down with the Lady who’s technically his grandmother - not that she’d like to admit it, no matter what shite she's currently trying to peddle - by Lord Hart.

“You see, it’s been decreed by the crown that I need to be properly mated, to set a good example for the gentry. When I informed them I was already mated, it was decided that he was not suitable, and a new mate had to be found.” Though his expression don't change at all, Lord Harry Hart has turned from a well mannered Omega into something deadly. Something in the set of his face, the angle of his shoulders, even if his words and tone seem perfectly polite; all this, over the course of a single, succinct explanation. Clearly, Lord Hart is not a happy man. Who would be, when told that they’d have to break their mating off to satisfy a royal who probably had his thumb up his arse.

Lord Hart is absolutely doing the posh version of a stare down, his polite veneer not quite able to hide the intensity of his eyes. Eggsy, particularly adept at figuring out when people want to make him swallow his own teeth, sees right through him. Meeting the man's gaze unflinchingly, Eggsy knows he shouldn't bait the man. He's seen enough dangerous men in the military to know to leave well enough alone, but he can’t help it. They took him away from his mum, his sister, for this. No choice, just an ultimatum. A threat. Every man's got a weak spot and Eggsy's ain't exactly subtle.

Neither's Lord Hart, as it turns out.

“And how reprehensible’s the bloke you shacked up with if I’m a better choice?”

Lord Harts lips thin, before he says,

“He’s a Scot.”

Which, that is a surprise. The Crown’s been trying to make inroads into the Highlands for years; unsuccessful every time, unsurprisingly. Though currently at peace, Eggsy’d learnt from his time in the army that there was massive hostility between the British nobility and, well, all of Scotland. Eggsy himself didn’t much care and neither did anyone he’d grown up with; they've got enough trouble just getting by back home, no need to borrow the trouble of a rich man's game.

“Still doesn’t explain why you ain’t shacking up with some right proper Alpha. One of your war buddies or something. Surely they’d give you time to... oh.” Eggsy's always had a sharp nose, which'd been to his compliment during his brief military stint. It's barely noticeable; subtle enough that it'd be easy to overlook or attribute to someone who'd been in the room, hours ago. An old scent don't linger like this, not for such a soft scent. Raising an eyebrow, Eggsy barely bites back another too sharp smile.

“You up the duff, then? Just far enough along you thought you’d be able to pass it off as mine if I mate you soon enough.” It was a pretty genius strategy, actually. They’d never try to pull this one over on a noble, the bloodlines are 'too important,' but on Eggsy? Who's illegitimate himself, who's not in line for the throne regardless of the blood which'd trapped him in this ridiculous predicament in the first place - no one gives a fig if there's a cuckoo in Eggsy's nest.

They’d've had more luck fooling one of the rich toffs. They’d never even consider someone trying to pull the wool over like this; every one of them thinks too much of themselves. Not to say Eggsy don't have his own pride - he's got more than enough, according to his mum - but he's not foolish enough to believe anyone else likes him even half so much. Besides, apart from the scent, the idea isn't exactly one unfamiliar to him. A few months back, Janine gave birth to a kid with black skin who bore a striking resemblance to the neighbour she’d had before she mated Mike. Mike - himself the spawn of dubious origins - hadn't been especially bothered. Only emotion the alpha'd had, past the relief of both mum and bub making it out of the birthing bed, had been affable bemusement.

“Lord Hart will, of course, have the foetus aborted. Then you’ll be able to consummate.”

“Wot?” Eggsy looks at his grandmother, completely stunned. Lord Hart has his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles are turning white and the look in his eyes is absolutely murderous. The old bag looks as if she's having a chat about the weather, sipping tea like she hadn’t just decided to abort someone else's baby. Someone who - if Eggsy's not mistaken - wants the sprog badly enough to re-mate in order to keep it. No, not even 're-mate.' This ain't as simple as that; this is the breaking of an active mate bond, in favour of another, and all for the kid who's just been deemed expendable.

“And you’re fuckin' okay with this?” Eggsy looks to Lord Hart and keeps himself still by the skin of his fucking teeth. Most military ranks are more or less interchangeable; a couple years skill here, some noble backing there. Some green Lord's son has an equal chance of getting an advancement as a man who'd put in all the yeas of hard service. 

War Lords are an entirely different matter.

Harry Hart's been playing nice, this whole time; going along with this whole scheme, doing his duty, making nice with the monarchy. Like that, it'd been easy to see he was a military man - step here, bark now, kill who you're told to. More experienced than Eggsy? Dangerous, in the right circumstances? Yes to both, but that didn't mean he was a danger, as it were.

Now, Lord Hart looks about three seconds from killing everyone in the room. Eggsy believes he could do it, too, and he and his Scot'd be halfway to the Highlands before anyone realised a thing'd gone wrong. It's not that the man's baring his teeth and growling, or even that his polite mask has slipped enough for the man to glare. Nothing at all about him has changed, and yet, the hair on Eggsy's neck's stood on end. Nothing more than the omega's will, his sheer dominance, settling across the room as a warning. Stunningly, the old bag - the Queen Mother - is entirely unaffected. And, given she'd flinched away from Eggsy's meagre aggression,  it's not that she's got a spine of iron. She just... hasn't noticed, somehow. Maybe she's nose blind; maybe she's just too used to being top dog, with no credentials other than an accident of birth and a fancy marriage.

“Just so.” War Lord Hart replies, voice tight, instead of putting his foot down. Only the still prevalent danger thick in the air keeps Eggsy's tongue from running off with him - well, sort of. He doesn't lambaste Lord Hart, at least, though he kind of wants to. If he had as much power as Hart does, if he was even half as dangerous, there'd be no way he’d let himself be forced into something like this.

“Well I’m bloody fucking not!” Eggsy blurts out, sneering at the old Lady when she tuts at him, disapproving.

“If you’re worried about the abortion causing infertility, I can assure you such a thing is an old wives tale. It will be a safe, legal abortion, not some back alley -”

“You really think my problem is where he gets the abortion done? Are you fucking mental? My problem is you’re gonna force him to abort in the first choice. If you wanna go through with it, sure, but I can tell from looking at you that you sure as hell don’t want to.” Despite the danger prickling at his spine, Eggsy still meets Lord Hart's eyes. Lacklustre alpha he might usually be, Eggsy's stubborn enough to make up for most of his failings. Hart stares back, dark eyes entirely unreadable, but he doesn't get a chance to reply.

In a show of anger more at home in Eggsy's house than this fancy parlour, the Queen Mother near slams her tea cup down atop the table. Tea sloshes over the side and, given the sensitive nature of this little talk, there's no maids in here to rush over and clean it. Instead, the old bag glares at Eggsy, entirely uninterrupted. If it weren't for the leverage she's holding over his head, Eggsy'd say he's been more intimidated by new born pups.

“And what do you propose then? Simply let Lord Hart remain mated to that Scot? Need I remind you that your mother and sister -”

“No, you don’t fuckin ‘need to remind me.’” He mocks her crisp enunciation, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t mate 'im. If you want to keep the baby, keep it. I’ll still raise the kid. Not a big deal, way you're making it out to be." It happens all the time where he’s from. People die and their mates remarry if they want to. Mike's perfectly happy with his kid - and it is his kid, regardless of who provided the sperm. Hell, Eggsy had a step dad, right prick though he was. Not like he’s opposed to the situation, though he’ll be a sight better at the job than Dean ever was.

All at once, the air comes back into the room. Across the table, Lord Hart relaxes enough to take a sip of his own tea. There might even be the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth - which is not attractive, actually. Eggsy don't need to go mooning over the man, no matter how attractive. This is an arranged mating and Lord Hart don’t seem all too keen to break off his previous one. They're both being forced into place by the conniving bitch seated at the head of the table, valuing things over their own freedom and comfort. So there's no need to get his hopes up that they’d actually have a relationship, not of any sort.

After the consummation, he doubts Lord Hart will touch him ever again.

-

The best thing to do, Eggsy decides as his mum's carefully straightening the lapels of the bespoke suit nicer than anything he's ever worn before, is to stay detached. Keep spitting acid, like he’s been doing since he arrived. Keep everyone at arms length. Everything and everyone will be better for it, if he keeps his stupid heart out of it.

There’s no use looking at Lord Hart and thinking ‘mine.’ It’s ridiculous, even if the man is walking down the aisle towards him. He’s only seen the man once since their disastrous first meeting; he’d been overseeing the training of a batch of potential knights, face set into neutral lines. There’d been nothing spectacular about him in that moment but Eggsy had still felt his heart skip before he’d hurried on.

So he may have avoided his husband-to-be in the few short days between their meeting and their marriage, Eggsy's alpha enough that he won't deny it. But... he couldn't avoid the scent of him. It lingered in the corridors, everywhere. Like the man's been marking his territory, show Eggsy exactly how little room he'd have to fit himself into, in this new 'home' of his. Eggsy knows he’d be able to pick it out of a crowd, now. To tell it true, he likely could've blind picked Lord Hart's scent after the first few minutes of their only meeting. 

Eggsy'd tried to ignore it - the way the scent makes his mouth water, how easy it is for him to lose himself in it. Ignorance ain't exactly bliss, though, and he has to have his wits about him, here. Nest of fucking vipers, no one ever tells you that about high society, do they. There's no room for denial, no matter what Eggsy wants.

Lord Harry Hart follows Daisy down the aisle of the small room and Eggsy knows, then and there, that he's absolutely fucked. Cause Daisy's throwing flowers, beaming and delighted, and Hart... Hart's looking at her with this softness in his eyes. Like he actually cares for her, though he only met her minutes before, when they'd lined up for the wedding procession. Plus, the man looks right fit in that suit; all crisp lines and military flourish, well decorated man that he is. Feels like Eggsy's taken a wrong turn somewhere, tripped over this whole mess and fallen into a fairytale instead of real life. He barely even knows the man but it don't matter. Eggsy wants everything he is, everything he has - wants to be known and owned in turn.

Except this is all horrifically real and there was no way that Hart is his ‘true mate’ or some trite shite. This ain't no kids story, where everything's gonna work out in the end. Besides, even if it were true, it doesn't matter. If this was a fairy tale and Lord Hart the princess, Eggsy sure as hell wasn’t the prince. Not with his accent and the way he holds himself, especially when compared to Hart. The prince is Lord Harts’ Scot, who’d heroically swoop in at the last minute and save the show. Eggsy's just the monster, the final obstacle for love to overcome and prove itself true.

He has no claim over Lord Hart, or his child; they both belong to someone else, regardless of their impending mating.

No, Eggsy'll endeavour to stay far, far away from Lord Hart and his offspring, and from the Scot if he ever finds out who it is. Otherwise when Lord Hart figures a way out of it - and Eggsy’s sure he will, eventually - Eggsy’d be the one to get his heart squashed. If he lets himself get emotionally involved, he’d lose a mate and a child when Lord Hart walks out of his life. Hell, he’s not supposed to be invested now, barely hours after their wedding, but he feels sick at the thought of Harry - of Lord Hart leaving.

He watches the older Lord strip efficiently out of his clothes, tries to be clinical as he watches his new husband, but he knows he's failed. How could he be indifferent when, bit by bit, the skin of his almost-mate is revealed to him? When he’ll be able to touch, to claim? Eggsy busies himself with stripping off his own clothing, as careless with the expensive suit as Lord Hart is careful. A disapproving click of the tongue has Eggsy's head springing up, entirely paused mid action, trousers still caught around his ankles. He can’t’ve disappointed his husband yet; he’s still got his pants on.

A half muttered Lord Hart is all Eggsy manages before his brain empties entirely, stunned and speechless. Highly decorated, widely respected War Lord Harry Hart walks towards him, naked and unashamed of his nudity.

“I expect it’s acceptable to call me Harry, at this juncture.” Is his dry retort to Eggsy's abandoned sentence. With all the grace of someone of his standing, Lord Hart somehow makes picking up clothes look elegant. Eggsy's suit jacket is draped over a chair and his trousers are folded with quick, easy movements.

Nodding, Eggsy wants to volunteer his own preferred name. It gets tangled in his throat with half a dozen things, though, and none of them make it past his lips. He can’t get past the sight of Harry, soon to be his Harry, his mate, his mark on beautiful skin. Doesn't matter, might even be better this way. Having Harry call him Gary will reinforce the distance. It’ll remind him that he doesn’t belong here, not even in his own bed, with his own husband. Besides, Eggsy’s pretty sure Harry ain’t gonna be screaming his name at the end of the night, regardless of how well Eggsy performs.

And he’s right.

Chapter Text

Clinical is probably the best way to describe the consummation of their marriage, the start of their mate bond. Harry barely seems affected by the sight of Eggsy naked and his indifference, his complete lack of interest, gives Eggsy trouble. He’s never fucked anyone who wasn’t completely enthusiastic about it and the sight of his soon-to-be mate with his head turned away, ready to lay back and think of England (or Scotland, and his actual mate, the person he actually wants between his legs) does worse than nothing for him. Eggsy had been worried that he’d embarrass himself, slide into Harry and knot up straight away at the pleasure of being inside his mate.

Instead, he can’t even get it up.

He has to look away as he strokes himself to hardness, staring at the ceiling and thinking about fucking a Harry who’s willing. A Harry who arches into his touch and spreads himself eagerly, already dripping wet by the time Eggsy buries his face in his arse. Because Eggsy wants to, wants to do everything with Harry, for Harry. It takes a few false tries to get started, not quite able to avoid the thought of the real Harry, who's here on sufferance. Each time he thinks about how little Harry wants this - him - Eggsy gets to relive the mortifying experience of going soft again. He forces his mind on track eventually. Once he's managed to fantasise a Harry who actually wants his cock, it only takes a minute or so of wanking before he’s hard. Before he can’t smell anything but his own pheromones, Alpha musk habitually overpowering.

There’s a moment, when he looks back down at Harry, cock in hand, that their eyes meet. Eggsy feels it like an electric current. The eye contact ricochets through his body in an uncontrollable shiver, settling deep in his gut. He can feel the way his cock jerks, almost in time with his attempt to swallow around a suddenly dry throat. Harry feels nothing at all, Eggsy knows, but he still inches himself up the bed and closer to his new husband.

If he had a choice, he’d fake it, wouldn’t touch Harry for all that he’s dying to. But if he screws up and is found out, he don’t even want to think about what’ll happen to his mum and Daisy.

The older man obligingly parts his legs when Eggsy gets close enough, hips tilted up in an invitation that isn’t repeated anywhere else on his body. Eggsy can see his arse, wants to eat Harry out, see what his slick tastes like. Wants to finger him open, make Harry so desperate for his cock that he’s begging for it, then fuck him until they’re knotted together. Except he’d probably receive a knee to the head if he leant in face first and the chance that Harry’s wet for him is practically non-existent. So he reaches over Harry to the bedside table, rummages around for some artificial slick. He’s not surprised to find some, knowing his grandmother will have planned for every possible problem.

“Are you comfortable like this, or…” Eggsy trails off, taking the risk of placing a hesitant hand on Harry's upturned knee, lube still closed in his other hand. He’s cautious with his touch, well aware of the fact that Harry could break his wrist, easy. Eggsy's own training - his years of scrapping in alleys and fields - don't mean much at all, comparatively. He reminds himself that he's being barely tolerated; lets the thought keep his hand light, almost impersonal for all that the placing is edging into intimate.

“Would you prefer me on hands and knees?” Harry asks, entirely indifferent. Eggsy wants to say something like ‘whatever’s best for you,’ but honestly isn’t sure if he’ll be able to perform face to face. Will he be able to keep it up, when he's able to see exactly how unaffected Harry is by him? Unmoved, even when Eggsy's balls deep, knot popped. Then again, would taking him from behind be any better? Can he handle the shame of it, knowing that he didn't have the guts to look his husband in the face the first time - the only time - they have sex?

In the end, Eggsy says nothing at all. Harry nods as though there was anything to agree with.

“This will be the easiest way to fuck,” Harry decides. Eggsy’s glad Harry’s looking at his face and not his cock. He hadn't been prepared for a gentleman such as Lord Harry Hart to do something as base as swear. The vulgarity of makes Eggsy twitch, wet enough that it's like he's the omega, ready to take whatever he's given.

“Preparation might be easiest the other way, however.” Harry moves, Eggsy's hand falling off his leg as he rolls over. A small part of Eggsy is in awe of the man's simple economy of movement; most of him's focused on the way Harry props himself up on his hands and knees. It's unfairly enticing and equally daunting. Eggsy’s hesitant to touch Harry again but knows he has to. God, sex hasn’t ever been so complicated before. He’s good at sex, likes it, but this is more nerve wracking than any of Eggsy's first times by a whole order of magnitude.

Busying himself with the lube, Eggsy takes the chance to look away. He's almost pedantic about making sure his fingers are slicked up, just to give himself some room to breathe. It, like most things in Eggsy's life, backfires spectacularly. Shuffling forward, Eggsy finally lifts his eyes from the lube, and stops dead. He'd looked away before Harry'd settled himself properly. Had assumed the older man was settled properly.

This new position - Harry with his back arched, arse in the air - is simply breathtaking. The curve of his spine alone has Eggsy hard enough to hammer nails. More than that, however, Harry's spread legs have bared him completely. Enough so that Eggsy can see that Harry’s wet. Harry’s wet for him; not dripping with it, but aroused enough to be visible, enough to get Eggsy's mouth watering.

His earlier fantasy of rimming Harry, of spreading his cheeks and licking into him, is so strong that he shifts forward before he's realised it. He stops himself just in time, before his eager mouth can press against waiting hole. He's close enough, now, that not even being caught up in his own head can stop Eggsy from scenting Harry's low grade arousal.

Restraining himself, Eggsy places a careful hand on one muscular arse cheek and spreads Harry like he’s wanted to do since the man bent over to fold clothes. He can’t help but drop the lube to the bed and run a finger over the slick edge of Harrys rim.Though the omega tenses under Eggsy's hands, he doesn't move away. After half a moment's consideration, Eggsy decides that if Harry wanted him gone he’d already be off the bed.

So he takes a few moments to savour the feeling of Harrys arse between his hands, the scent of Harrys arousal and his slick, before he pushes the tip of his finger in. Eggsy barely suppresses a whine at the feel of it; Harry’s so tight. Eggsy didn’t know what he was expecting but Harry is older than him, has probably been fucking his other mate for years, but he's still so tight. When Eggsy'd been working himself to hardness, he'd imagined how soft and loose Harry would be around him, well fucked and plush with it. He barely knows what to do with this. What would it take to make him gape, Eggsy wonders as he slowly works his finger in, up to the first knuckle, the second. Will he be fucked out and loose after Eggsy knots him? Eggsy's cum leaking out of him, loose enough that Eggsy could finger him easily; used enough so it’d only take a bit of work to fist him.

He slides his finger out easily, pushes two back in. He doesn’t look away from Harrys arse. It's entrancing, watching his mate stretch around his fingers. More importantly - more usefully - if he's so intent on Harry, he'll be able to catch even the slightest hint of rejection. If he sees even the slightest hint Harry wants to stop, Eggsy’ll be off the bed so fast he’ll probably trip over. While he knows, intellectually, Harry doesn’t want him, he’ll be able to continue as long as they're both committed to this charade.

If Harry hits the point where he can't continue, can't even pretend... Eggsy won't be able to, either. He can’t force himself on someone, not even for his mother and sister. So he keeps his eyes on the way Harry’s stretching around him, on the way his hips his angle back further at every brush against his prostate. Waits for any sign that he should back off, slow down or remove his hands entirely. He waits, and waits, but no such signal ever comes.

Eggsy takes his time scissoring Harry; not thrusting, just stretching. Taking his time to get the both of them adjusted to it. Eventually, though, he pulls his fingers out again. Both digits are entirely covered in Harry's slick and can’t help the way he pushes them back in, harder than he has been, rougher. Harry makes some sort of unclassifiable noise that Eggsy wants to hear for the rest of his life. So he does it once more, brushes Harrys prostate with force. The mans' back practically arches as he fucks himself back on Eggsys fingers for one beautiful moment. Only for a moment, though, before he returns to his earlier placidity. Eggsy, following his lead, stops trying to fuck Harry on his fingers. Instead, he moves onto three fingers, trying to keep his touch as impersonal as it’s possible to be when you’re working your way in someone's slick hole.

There’s the temptation, when Harry’s loose enough that Eggsy knows he won’t hurt him, to really start fucking him with his fingers, way he’d started to before. Push in up to the knuckles and work his prostate; get Harry writhing underneath him, make him so wet slick starts to drip past Eggsys fingers, down his hand and Harrys legs. His slick could join Eggsy's, where it's starting to puddle on the duvet. Eggsy doesn’t, though, just brushes Harrys prostate once more before withdrawing.

Instead of immediately asking Harry if he's ready, Eggsy takes a moment to himself. Gives into temptation and licks Harrys slick off his fingers, tasting the depths of him. It takes all of Eggsy's considerable willpower to keep quiet, rather than moaning around his fingers. What he wouldn't do, to sup from the source. Lay back and let Harry ride his face, fingers fisted in his hair, showing him exactly how he likes it. But that ain't what this is, so all he does is slip his clean fingers from his mouth and tell Harry to roll over, if he's ready. Harry is, and does, and in a matter of moments, Harry's staring up at Eggsy again.

Wrapping a hand around the back of one of Harrys knees, Eggsy pushes it up until the omega's thigh is against his chest. That slick pucker that Eggsy had so delighted in is on display again, visibly wet in the candle light. Awkwardly shuffling forward until they're close enough, Eggsy lines himself up and pauses before the head of his dick makes contact. He looks up, unable to push in without knowing that Harry’s okay with it. They lock eyes again; Harry nods once, very deliberately, and Eggsy closes the distance between them.

Eggsy closes his eyes as he sinks in, the simple feeling of being surrounded by Harrys tight, wet heat has him fighting back a moan. He wants to let go and fuck Harry hard; find a way to make the older man wanton with lust. How easy it'd be, to let his mouth run and tell Harry how perfect Eggsy thinks he is. He keeps his silence, knowing none of that is wanted, and settles with his hips flush against Harry, buried as deep as he can go.

He waits a few moments for Harry to adjust. If he were worth his knot, he'd ask Harry whether he's ready. Unfortunately, Eggsy's just himself and unable to voice a damn thing, lest his resolve break entirely. So he just waits, as though for a signal which'll never come, and eventually he slides out and fucks back in. Harder and rougher than he meant to, but Harry had clenched around him just before he’d thrust in and he’d lost control, just for a second. One glorious moment. But Eggsy gets himself back under control almost immediately. Then, it’s just the in-out of thrusting, methodical, clinical. Working their way towards completion completely without passion.

As much as he wants to have Harrys legs over his shoulders - wants to fuck deep into him, wants to flip them over and have Harry ride him, wants some sort of passion and heat in their joining - he knows that it’s not what Harry wants. Harry, who already has a mate that he loves; who is pregnant with his mates' baby. Jealousy burns through his veins at the thought and before Eggsy realises, he's lost his precise rhythm. There's no outlet for the intensity in his chest but the man beneath him. Harder, harder, angling himself so he can snap his hips just right -

Eggsy reigns himself it again, shame beating back futile jealousy. He should know better. He does. Knowing better doesn't stop him from wondering about what Harry's like when his Scot fucks him. Were they gentle? Rocking together intimately, face to face with Harry sitting in the Scots lap. All so that they could trade slow, open mouthed kisses that were almost more important than the sex itself. Was Harry loud, moaning and whining and begging to be fucked, to be stuffed full of his mates cock and knot? Or was Harry simply naturally silent, the way he is now with Eggsy?

Being inside Harry is good, feels great, but it... it's not really doing anything from him, apart from the physical. Like this he can stay hard, no problem, but not much more. Wave of not quite despair rushes over him as Eggsy realises that he's going to need something else - something more - or he's never going to knot. This torture won't ever end, otherwise.

So Eggsy says reluctant goodbye to the carefully clinical way they’d been fucking in the name of expediency. One of Harry's legs has been wrapped limply over the curve of Eggsy's hip and it's easy enough to slide his hand down the man's flank before firming his grip. Harry doesn't resist the direction of Eggsy's hand, so it's easy for Eggsy to hike the older man's leg up over his shoulder. Wrapping his arm around Harry's leg where it's pressed to Eggsy's own chest, Eggsy leans forward. Puts at least some of his weight into his other hand; he'd still been holding Harry's other leg against his chest but now he's keeping it pinned in place. Keeping Harry open for him. This time, Eggsy doesn't fight the thrill that thought sends through him. After all, this is his only chance he has to fuck his mate, so he better make the most of it.

New goal firmly affixed in his mind, Eggsy puts his back into it. With his next thrust, the changed angle has Harry's mouth parting, silently. It's another thing to strive for - drawing sound from Harry. Showing him that Eggsy has some worth, despite everything. Fucking deep and maybe a bit too rough, Eggsy quickly finds the places which affect Harry most. Slamming up against Harrys prostate draws a gasp; doing it repeatedly has the War Lord's chest heaving, a faint tremor starting to build in his thighs. Eggsy ups the pace, warmth starting to curl within his own gut now that they’re actually having sex. None of the farce from before, the most passionless sex in history.

Sweat’s starting to gather at Harrys temples and Eggsy longs to bend down and lick it off. Somehow, that feels more intimate than the way his balls are slapping against Harrys arse, so he doesn’t. As a sort of compromise - maybe to himself, maybe to Harry, who's still exactly where Eggsy placed him - he still leans down. Lets Harry's leg slide off his shoulder and settle in the crook of Eggsy's arm, frees Harry's other leg so it can match its twin. They're almost face to face like this, Harry almost bent in half and Eggsy desperately attempting to remember all the reasons he can't cross the last of the distance and claim a kiss.

The change of position finally gets a noise from Harry. Though Eggsy can't say whether it’s from the close proximity, or because of how Harry's still being fucked open by Eggsys cock, even with both his knees up by his shoulders. Eggsy knows from experience that's an angle which spreads you wide, lets every thrust penetrate deeper. Eggsy wants Harry to feel it tomorrow, feel it for days. Wants Harry to be sitting with his Scot, still feeling the way Eggsy had fucked into him; aching with it.

Harry has his head thrown back, now, throat on display and Eggsy wants to bury his teeth in Harrys neck. Overlay the mate mark already in Harrys neck with his own; show everybody that Harry’s his, now. Even pinned down as he is, Harry's still attempting to move his hips into Eggsy's thrusts as much as he can. Strong hands are grabbing at the sheets, fisting them in pleasure, and Eggsy feels sweet triumph swell in his chest. He's doing that, he's giving Harry that pleasure. His mate's not simply enduring his touch but participating, actively drawing pleasure from their encounter.

Eggsy can feel his knot barely starting to form, and wastes no time shoving a hand between them to grab Harrys cock. Gently, he slides his thumb over the head, lingering for a moment or two before he works his hand down to the shaft. In stunning contrast to the ruthless way he's fucking Harrys dripping arse, Eggsy makes sure he works Harry's cock nice and slow. Omegas rarely have enough pre-come to give a hand job a smooth, comfortable glide and he doesn't want to chafe him. At least Harry's finally slicked up properly, wet enough that Eggsys every thrust is audible.

Instead of licking his palm or putting his fingers in his mouth - or, more pleasurably, Harrys - Eggsy pulls out of Harry completely. It leaves his puffy hole fluttering with the sudden loss, though Eggsy doesn't leave it lonely for long. He places his palm against Harrys entrance, grinding down slightly. Harry makes the slightest noise, Eggsy barely able to distinguish it from their elevated breathing. Just as planned, Eggsys palm comes away wet. Entirely unplanned, Eggsy slides three of his fingers back inside Harry's arse, finally forcing a proper moan out of the omega. Deep and honest, loud enough to echo in the air between them.

Eggsys hips surge forward with the sound, eager to replace his own fingers, but he stays the course. Thrusts his fingers back in, finger fucking Harry the way he'd wanted to, earlier. Pressing his fingers against Harrys prostate, entirely merciless; slick slides over his knuckles, down his palm and the back of his hand. It looks like it had however long before, when Eggsy'd coated his hand with fake slick; it looks better, knowing it's Harrys. Knowing the scent of him is working its way into Eggsys skin. Harry doesn't make another noise, as though the first one was only voiced out of surprise, so Eggsy pulls his three fingers out and spears four back in; Harry obliges him with another moan, just as deep, just as shocked.

Eggsy looks down at where his fingers are sliding easily into Harrys arse and tries to commit the image to memory. He watches them slide out, slowly, until his fingertips are barely inside. Watches as Harry clenches desperately around nothing a few times before he relaxes again. Eggsy could do this all night; could tease Harry forever. Instead, he runs one wet finger around Harrys rim before he presses his cock against the stretched hole and slowly pushes back in. Reaching around Harrys leg with the hand he just slicked up, Eggsy grabs Harrys cock again. After he settles back inside Harry again - hips flush to Harry's muscular arse - Eggsy just enjoys the feel of him, wet and easy for him. Strokes Harry's hard cock with his slippery hand, still that same slow glide from before. If Eggsy's trying to memories the feel of his mate, trying to imagine how that same weight would feel in his mouth instead of his hand, that's no one's business but his own.

Time's impossible the gauge, like this, so Eggsy doesn't know how long he spends like this. Too long, maybe, cause when he rubs at the head of Harry's dick again, Harry tenses, tightening around Eggsy as though trying to milk him. It breaks Eggsys indulgent reverie and he leans forward almost instantly. Placing his elbow on the mattress near Harrys shoulder, putting his weight on it, Eggsy makes sure he's properly balanced before he pulls out and fucks back in, resuming his earlier brutal pace. He tightens his hold on Harrys cock, quickens his pace. Hopefully he'll be able to get Harry off before he starts to knot properly; before he can’t thrust any more, reduced to little more than grinding.

Already, his knot's beginning swell, more than just the initial hardening he'd noticed before. While it's not big enough to stop his thrusts yet, and won't be for minutes more, it's enough to be felt. By Eggsy, yes, but now also by Harry. Every time Eggsy pulls out past the so far small bulge of his knot, Harry sucks in a short, sharp breath. Each time Eggsy pushes it back in, Harry makes a small, glottal noise in the back of his throat; utterly addictive to hear, even more so for how they're almost inaudible under the slap of skin against skin.

Speeding up his hand, Eggsy wanks Harry faster than the pace of their thrusts. Despite doing his best, Harry can't match the rhythm. Trying to thrust up into Eggsys hand and push himself back down to meet Eggsys cock is impossible, but Harry's still trying. Eggsy doesn't feel the need to make it easy on him, to synchronise his movements. Like this, Harry looks completely debauched. Sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, a flush on his chest and cheeks; hips jerking erratically because he can’t decide which sensation he wants more.

It’s intoxicating, watching him, and Eggsy can't help but to tease him, just a bit. Still growing, his knot's just over halfway blown; not enough that he has to force it past Harry's stretched rim, but enough that Harry's really feeling it, now. Those near inauble noises are gaining strength, getting louder, each time Eggsy's knot tugs at his entrance. So Eggsy pulls out until Harrys rim is stretched around his knot and starts what can only generously be called a thrust. Short, shallow, keeping Harry's rim stretched out over his knot. Enough movement that Harry feels every milimetre as that he's forced to accomodate. While Eggsy would love to watch it - the sensitive skin of Harrys asshole getting thinner and tinner, moulding to the firmness of his still expanding knot - he keeps his eyes on Harry's face instead.

Mouth wide open, panting, he's beautiful. Eyes scrunched shut, moisture gatherting on his lashes, forehead near entirely wrinkled - Eggsy wouldn't ever get tired of looking at him. Wouldn't ever get tired of kissing him. It'd be so easy, to steal a kiss. With how close he is to a proper knotting, saliva's beginning to pool in his mouth. If ever there was a time to try and beg one small courtesy from his husband, now is not it. Not when it'd only show Harry how desperate he is, how eager. Harry doesn't want to kiss him, would want it even less if he realised how wet every part of Eggsy is for him. Saliva would drip down Eggsy's chin is he stopped paying attention for a moment, if he lost himself in his pleasure, the way he's so close to doing.

Eggsy just has to hold out a little longer; he can feel how close he is, desperately hopes Harry's there too. Instead of begging for a kiss like the pathetic mess he is, Eggsy keeps circling his hips in tiny incriments. Lets Harry stretch around him, clenching near compulsively around the girth of his knot, until he feels the telltale tingle beginning to scratch at his spine. Not much longer. Without any warning at all, Eggsy fucks back in, his half swollen knot pressing right up against Harrys prostate.

Harry comes, before Eggsy gets the chance to pull out and play some more. Clenches down around him, moaning lowly, head thrown back - throat on display. His cock jumps in Eggsy's hand, its meagre release dripping over his fingers. Better still, he tightens around Eggsy, who's rocking his hips in an attempt to fuck him through it. Unfortnate that he's knots just swelled too big to force it back out without pain; maybe he've gotten get Harry to curse again, if he could've kept fucking him like that. How could he, though, when Harry's orgasm has brought him so perilously close to his own.

Staring at Harry's ecstasy, Eggsy lets go of the omega's sensitive, spent dick. Licking his hand clean of the man's spend brings him so close to the edge - the taste-scent of Harry coating the inside of his mouth, etching itself into his brain - but it's not enough, not quite. What sends him right to the precipice is Harry turning his head to the right, displaying the left side of his throat. Offering the left side of his throat to Eggsy; the scar from his previous mating is stark white against flushed skin.

Surely, Eggsy confuses it for his own mark, in the heat of the moment. Surely. Because the sight of his mate already claimed by another shouldn’t make him come - but it does. The sight of it sets his heart thundering, saliva finally slipping past his tightly pressed lips, knot expanding so fast it almost aches. Eggsy comes, shivering, and bends down to rub his nose against Harry's neck. It's the most intimate gesture his orgasm addled mind can think of; tonguing along the mating scar, tracing the shape of another alpha's teeth, his own thick saliva dripping across Harry's skin.

A brief moment where Eggsy could almost convince himself that everything's gonna be just fine, before he nudges Harry's head the other way with the back of one dirty hand. Harry goes, still pliable from coming, from Eggsy's knot. Eggsy sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Harrys neck, gratified when he feels Harry respond in kind, the sharp pain of the bite only enhancing his orgasm.

He bites down until he tastes blood, until he can feel himself bleeding under Harrys teeth, and pulls away. They look at each other for a moment, Eggsy still unsure about kissing his mate even though it’s now necessary. Harry tilts his head up for the kiss before Eggsy can spend too long agonising about it, so Eggsy simply follows his lead. He should've thought to swallow down his own saliva before he drew blood but he can't, now. Embarrassment is distant through the haze of pleasure but Eggsy knows he'll feel the sting of it later.

For now, his lips part easily for Harry's skilled tongue. The coppery taste of blood blooms anew in Eggsys mouth, mixing together, solidifying their bond as they swallow. Knot still fully engorged, Eggsy can't stop his hips from twitching; he's still coming, after all. Pulse after pulse of his seed filling Harry, so much that it'll soak his thighs completely, once Eggsy pulls out. All he wants to do is to spend their time tied together kissing, just like this. Eggsy wants to spend the rest of his life like this - the lazy, easy way their tongues glide together. Unlike sex itself, this they get right on the first try, not a stilted movement in sight.

If Eggsy was delusional, he’d say that he could feel affection in the kiss, but he knows better. It's just his knot drunk brain, reaching desperately for things he can never have. He knows Harry don’t want him, don’t even like him. So it’s just Eggsy, putting his everything into the kiss. Letting free all his own affection, his longing, and imagining that what he receives in return is more than just the echo of Eggsys own desire. At least there's no way for Harry to know, to understand what Eggsy can't help but show. Far as the omega knows, this is just how Eggsy kisses.

In this one thing, at least, Eggsy gets his wish. They kiss, endlessly, until the last pulses of Eggsys orgasm fades and his knot deflates. Maybe Harry had the same idea as him, cause otherwise they would’ve been tied togetherfor a full half hour, face to face with nothing at all to say. No distractions, either, which really was an oversight on Eggsy's part. Pretending to read through some book, even with all the awkwardness, would've been better than this. Than making out, slow and passionate, and giving Eggsy ideas, making his heart tender. Stupid ideas, too, about love and mates and having what he's wanted his whole life.

Eggsy knows better. This isn't exactly his first time in the ring, after all, for all the circumstances have never been quite so dire. Kissing was just something to pass the time. A way to cut short the awkward wait while Eggsys knot deflated; something to do before Harry can go back to his actual mate.

And, god, wasn’t Eggsy a foolish, love sick idiot. He'd had the chance to overlay the Scots claim on Harry. All he had to do was cover that damned mark with his own teeth, bite down and tear their bond to shreds. Easy - so easy it should've been instinctual - and then he’d've had Harry all to himself. That’s what his grandmother wanted, what he should have done. He’s the one who’s married to Harry, not just mated; married before the eyes of God and King alike. According to them, Eggsy should be Harrys first, proper mate.

Instead, Eggsy had turned Harrys head, bitten him on the right side of his neck, rather than his left. He’d willingly given the mark of a secondary mate, taken it too, just so Harry could keep his Scot; keep his family together. He was a fucking sap and now not only had he given Harry implicit permission to carry on with his Scot - not that Eggsy had any delusions that Harry was ever gonna stop, regardless - but now Harry has legal standing to do so. He might be married to Eggsy but the Scot's his first mate and in many places, that still holds precedence over anything to a second mate. Eggsy was pretty sure that in most places in Scotland, actually, they still held rigidly firm to the first mate/second mate dichotomy.

In England, it was more of a mixed bag. For starters, having two mates was rare. The only people Eggsy had ever met with two mates had been old, very old. It just wasn’t done, any more, what with marriage being between two people, only. That said, the beta of the triad he'd met - a jolly old woman, always ready with a qip or a laugh - had cackled that she’d married both her mates, separately. They rarely cross check parish records, so long as you travel far enough, she'd winked at him - then at Jamal and Ryan, and they'd barely stopped themselves from cracking up themselves.

Not that it’d ever come to that for Eggsy, Harry and his Scot. Eggsy had done his duty, had mated and consummated his marriage - had fulfilled his grandmother's wishes, even if he’d followed the letter of her order and not the intent. Surely they wouldn’t punish his family for that? ...Fuck, might be he should've thought of that before he went and bit the wrong side of Harry's neck bloody. Not much he can do for it now, though he knows it's gonna haunt him until he finds out, no matter how nonchalant he pretends to be in front of the old bat.

Right now, he needs to pull out of Harry, so he does. If he lingers for a moment or two longer than needed, Harry doesn't call him on it, nor push him away. The War Lord Hart is as silent as he’d been at the start of their encounter, face slowly resetting into a calm, impenetrable façade. Eggsy, no longer so intimately entangled with the man, rolls away. He stares up at the ceiling rather than at Harry, the way he wants to. Exhaustion's starting to set it; not just from the sex, but the stress off the past few days. He's been strung so tight he's barely slept.

After a few long, silent minutes, Harry shifts and, out the corner of his eye, Eggsy can see his hand go up to the new mating mark he's sporting. Touching the right side of his neck. It's right at the junction of shoulder and neck; a tad low. Should’ve been higher. It wouldn’t be seen at all when Harry was wearing a suit, not like the proper mate mark that his Scot had given him. Eggsy doesn't want to think about what a mate scar specialist would make of the placing; they'd probably say something about low self esteem and a low sense of self worth. Jamal'd tell you all about that for free, so long as you get a pint into him first.

“You didn’t…” Harry trails off, as if not sure what to say. His hand moves away from his fresh bite and over to the old one, still in tact. Harry looks at him and, reluctantly, Eggsy turns to face him as well. There's gratitude in Harry's brown eyes and Eggsy doesn't know what to feel. He’d done the right thing, done what had felt natural at the time, but he’d also essentially let any chance of being with Harry go. Not that he'd been holdig out hope, exactly, but the final sparks have been firmly snuffed. Any chance he had of having a family of his own, one that was truly his, is gone. Harry has his first mate and the corresponding mark to show for it. Eggsy only has a bite on the right side of his neck and he’s read enough books to know what happens to people who don't have a first mate, only a second.

Watching Harry slowly caress his proper mate mark - undeniably loving, so much intimacy in such a small gesture - Eggsy feels the jitters starting to settle under his skin. The type of sensation that makes you want to peel your own skin off, just to get some relief. So he climbs off the bed, pulls on his pants from where he'd kicked them and grabs his neatly folded trousers. He wonders if he'll be able to scent Harry on the fabric, later. Eggsy's just shoved himself into his shirt when Harry sits up.

“Gary,” He starts and Eggsy can't help the way his face twitches into a frown, though at least he's still facing away from Harry. Shrugging artlessly into his jacket, Eggsy decides he doesn't need to hear this, actually. Don't need to hear Harry tell him that, though they're mated and married, Harry doesn't want him. Is going to return to the life he has with the Scot, a life with no place for Eggsy in it. It even sounds wrong, doesn't it? Harry and Gary. So Eggsy does what's served him best through the winding course of his life; he cuts his losses first.

“Yeah. I had fun, too. See you round.” Grabbing his shoes, socks already tucked inside, Eggsy's out the door before Harry can respond - or see how heartbroken he is. Just because he's a bloody idiot who can't get hold of his own emotions, don’t mean he has to let everyone know. He’ll find some spare room to spend the night in, let Harry spend the night in ‘their’ room. Or maybe he's getting dressed right now, planning to leave right after Eggsy, headed straight to his Scot. Maybe they'll be together in the bed Eggsy had just fucked Harry in, erasing his scent from Harrys skin so it was like he’d never been.

Either way, it doesn't matter. He'd agreed to this and now he just has to live out the consequences. Away from his family, alone in a cold bed, in an unfamiliar room, Eggsy prepares to spend the rest of his life alone and miserable.

Not actually that different from home, if he thinks about it.

Chapter Text

Merlin, not his birth name but the one he goes by in England all the same, has never been particularly attached to the English crown. That is to say, Merlin supports the Scottish crown, and his uncle who sat on it. Was a bit of a predicament when he wandered down from the highlands to spy on the English only to fall in love with their War Lord, but his uncle’s a good man. When Merlin’d come home to let him know he’d failed - why he'd failed; entirely unable to deceive his love - his uncle Conall had thrown his head back and laughed.

“Aye, you’re a good lad.” He’d said, grinning at him across the table as his other uncles exchanged coin.

“Don’t look so off, lad.” His uncle Bran said when he noticed Merlin looking. “We dinnae bet if you’d fail, just if you’d lose yer heart.”

And so his king had given him permission to return to the side of his love, his mate, and not worry about thwarting the English crown's attempts at Scotland. Merlin still worries, of course, but he doesn't spy on his mate, doesn’t send information back. And if, occasionally, he meets with other Scots he knows, it's just to get updates from home. And if sometimes they were able to infer information from the things he said, well, none of it was especially confidential, and absolutely none of it learnt via Harry.

So it was that Merlin lived for over a decade with his mate and was very pleased with his lot in life, even if it was in England.

Then, as though to spite him for his recent peaceable attitude towards them, the crown does this.

He wants to tear them apart with his bare hands. Wants to write to his uncle and call the wrath of Scotland down on them. Hell, he wants to let it slip that the crown is forcefully ending matings, and warm his hands by the explosion that knowledge would cause. He was at his desk, inking his quill and three paragraphs from ending the current English-Scottish truce, when Harry laid a hand on his shoulder. He kissed the back of Merlin's neck and said the only thing that could have stopped him:

“I’m with child.”

If they did not adhere to the plan laid out by the mother of the king, the Lady Unwin, they would likely end up losing the child, one way or another. Either by direct sabotage from the lady herself, or because the stress of being War Lord in an active war would be too much. Merlin spends the night, and every night for the next week, curled around Harry. Both their hearts are breaking at the decision, neither willing to let the other go, but it's no longer just about them. A child... hopes and dreams amount for little enough, Merlin knows, but this one has gained weight. Enough to pin them both in place, for fear of jeopardising its health. Once the babe's safely born, once they're out of such a perilous time, Merlin will be more than happy to return to the previously planned carnage.

But for now, there's nothing to be done. Acquiescence, no matter how bitter. So Harry goes to meet with the proper English lad the Queen Mother's chosen to replace Merlin, and Merlin doesn't burn everything to the ground around them both. Doesn't saddle up a pair of horses and ride north till they hit the safety of his Uncle's halls. Merlin should've listened to his mother and taken Harry to Scotland, first chance there was. They'd never be facing such a dire fate, there. But Harry loves his country and, though Merlin loves the highlands, to him it's simply a place. People have always been his home and any location, no matter how beautiful and beloved, could never measure up. Given that Harry's his everything, and Harry was entirely too fond of England, in England they did stay.

Except now Merlin knows that shine's been tarnished, likely irreparably. Harry's to be given to someone else, as though he were a prize, a thing to be passed from hand to hand rather than a person. When the omega leaves their rooms, the too straight line of his back is like a blade to Merlin's heart. Only by the very barest margins does Merlin keep ahold of himself, rather than giving into the rage which's been building deep within his chest. It's not time for it, not yet, and Merlin knows how to play the long game. That said, the Queen Mother best stay out of his way, else he’ll have to flee anyway, in order to avoid the noose after he murders her.

-

When Harry returns, he's calmed considerably. There's even a smile on his face, slight though it is; Merlin feels jealousy burn like acid in his gut. Is his mate so pleased with his replacement? A petty, wretched thought, and Merlin's not fool enough to say it. He knows his omega is faithful to him, loves him, but cold logic often accounts for little in the face of such irrational fears. Fears he's never once had before, entirely secure in their relationship; a relationship soon to be dissolved, taking his comfortable stability with it. Who knows what'll become of him, after the bond's broken. Harry, at least, will have his new bond to tether him. Merlin'll have to suffer through the break alone - though he'll not let it ruin him, the way the Queen Mother likely hopes it will. Going feral would only make it easy for her to get rid of him entirely; no one thinks twice when an out of control alpha's put down, after all. Despite Merlin's resolution, he can feel every dreadful stereotype about alphas attempting to find a home in his chest. Possessive, obsessive, wild and uncontrollable, a danger to all - even their own mate.

Merlin won't let any of it show. No matter how wretched and fervent his own thoughts become, they'll stay locked in his mind. He'll weather this, like he's weathered everything else, and eventually this'll all be over. Harry back where he belongs, by Merlin's side.

“Pretty Alpha?” Is not what Merlin means to open with, but he can't exactly take the words back now. He'd wanted to ask how it went, but his tongue is as filled with jealousy as his stomach; his failure to protect his own mate from all has turned acid to bile in his throat.

“Yes, actually.” Harry replies, which doesn't help Merlin's urge to hit something. It's a rare impulse, usually. Harry's the violent one, between them. Merlin prefers his workshop, and planning and espionage work, like he’d been sent to England for. The best fight is one you've avoided entirely, in his opinion. Usually. It's like the whole world's been turned on his head, lately.

“Not that it matters.” Harry’s caught onto Merlin's feelings, then, which only makes Merlin feel worse. He can't do anything right, lately; making Harry shoulder Merlin's own worries is the last thing he wants. Harry just smiles at him, for him, and reaches out to cradle Merlin's face with one broad hand.

“He’ll never be you, but he’s not completely reprehensible, the way we’d imagined. Actually, you’d probably like him.”

Merlin doubts that very much.

“In fact,” Harry continues, “When the Lady Unwin told him not to worry and that our baby would, of course, be aborted before he mated me -” Harry cuts himself off in favour of lunging towards Merlin, attempting to stop him from grabbing his rarely used sword. How dare that woman. Merlin will cut her head from her body before he takes Harry to Scotland. His uncle will declare war over this, he knows, no matter the way the older man had successively sued for peace. This is an outrage that no decent human could let stand, let alone someone from Merlin's own family.

One strong arm wraps around Merlin's waist before his hand even grasps the hilt of his sword, easily restraining him. For all they're closely matched in strength and height, there's no struggle between them. How could Merlin put up a fight against him? His own mate? No matter how towering a rage Merlin might descend into, he'd never raise a hand towards Harry in anger, no matter the reason. They've not even been sparring since the news of Harry's pregnancy; not even grappling, no matter how light.

“Yes, his reaction was similar. I truly thought he was going to reach across the table and strike the Lady Unwin, or at least upend the entire table, tea service and all." Harry chuckles and that, more than the omega's words, helps to calm Merlin. If their pup were in any danger, Harry could never laugh like this. Something hollow and false, certainly, but one of his real laughs? Out of the question.

“He said that any potential abortion was entirely my choice, and no one has the right to countermand my decision on the matter. Well, it was phrased somewhat less eloquently, but that was the intent.”

Perhaps Merlin could find it in himself to get along with this unknown alpha, if he's got such a sensible perspective on the matter. Well, could, if the rest of this damned situation didn't have him wanting to beat the man to a bloody pulp.

They stand there for a long while, Harry embracing him from behind, his face pressed to the back of Merlin's neck. Eventually they retire to the bed, despite the early hour and the sun still shining through the windows. What else do either of them have to do, but to use their ever shortening time to bask in each other's presence.

“We are to mate in three days.” Harry's voice cuts through the comfortable silence and leaves only devastation in its wake. There's nothing that Merlin can do in response but to hold him tighter.

“I’ll come back to you.”

Merlin takes comfort in Harry's promise, adds it to his own, and does his best to ignore the doubt welling up in his mind. If this other alpha were repulsive, perhaps Merlin could feel assured, but he doesn't... it might be a fluke but the man doesn't seem to be entirely wretched. Harry's nothing if not loyal - why else would they still be here instead of long since fled, no matter the circumstances? - and once this other alpha marks him, claims him... Regardless of Harry's own feelings, the omega might feel honour bound to his new alpha. Until the bond between the pair of them is broken, Merlin knows that things won't be right between Harry and himself, no matter what they pretend. They'll have to wait longer than Merlin'd like, longer than the few months until the bairn is ready to travel. Putting a post-partum omega through the stress of a second bond severance isn't something to be done lightly; more than a year, maybe.

“I know, .”

-

To set the record straight, Merlin would like to say that he never meant to see the other alpha, the one who's to replace him. He doesn't want to know; ignorance might not be bliss, but at least he cannot kill a man for touching his mate if he doesn't know what the alpha looks like. He'd managed to stick to that plan for almost the full three days before the farce of a wedding before Charlie, that English prick, ruins it. How convenient that he'd just so happened to be point the alpha out to his friends, as Merlin'd been walking by. What could Merlin do, at that point, but look?

And, aye, he’s a pretty one. Gorgeous.

Might be that Merlin feels the urge to make him significantly less pretty. Beat him until he knows that Harry won't ever belong to him, not really; Merlin's the mate Harry chose freely. In a show of his impeccable willpower, Merlin doesn't linger. He keeps walking without taking a second look, without letting so much as a snarl escape his chest. First of all, he wouldn't ever give Charlie the satisfaction. Second, no matter how pretty, that alpha doesn't hold Harry's heart.

When he’s alone in bed that night, his mate gone to the marriage bed with another, he wishes he'd never seen the other man. It's all too easy to imagine that pretty alpha running his hands all over Harry, replacing Merlin's mark with his own. Even from the distance he'd seen the man from, it'd been easy enough to see that he was as removed from Merlin as day from night. It could have been a comfort, to know that Harry could not confuse them, that this boy who’ll separate them is nothing like Harry chose for himself. It is not. Cold comforts have never been to Merlin's liking, not when he's got Harry to warm him; imagining Harry's displeasure with his new mate is cold indeed.

Of course, people discover new things about themselves all the time; maybe Harry'll get a taste for slim, young alphas. At the very least, Harry'd called him 'pretty', and his mate does so enjoy fine things. Is it better for Harry to enjoy or abhor his wedding night with someone else? Merlin cannot say. He cannot sleep either. Their bed feels too big, as does the doubt that his love will come back to him in the morning.

-

Just after dawn, Harry comes back to their rooms. Just Merlin's rooms, now, he supposes. Harry'll have to stay with his pretty new alpha, at least for a while, until the bond settles. Odd, that Merlin hadn't felt theirs break; maybe he's in bond shock - maybe it really is all mental, and he's prepared himself well enough that the only pain is the sorrow in his heart. Merlin's not sure if he's prepared to see the pair of them out and about, however. How is he supposed to cope with the sight of his mate on the arm of this gorgeous, young, English alpha.

Not his mate any more. Harry is his, always, just as he is Harry's, but no longer are they mated.

Lacking his usual purposeful stride, Harry almost drifts into the room. Shock seems to be the prominent emotion of Harry's face and Merlin's not sure how to interpret such a thing. If this other Alpha has hurt Harry, no one will ever find his body. Instead of settling on the bed, Harry comes to a stop just out of arm's reach. Merlin's desperate to reach for him but, for the first time, Merlin's unsure if his touch is welcome. He keeps his hands to himself, fisted anxiously together beneath the cover of the sheets, and watches as Harry begins to unbutton his collar. Dread wells up within Merlin, horror clawing its way up his throat. Only his own pride stops him from begging Harry to keep his collar closed; what worse punishment could their be, than to see his own mark overwritten by another?

Merlin holds his tongue and Harry opens his shirt to mid chest. In one smooth move, he pulls his collar entirely out of place and turns his head so that Merlin can see the raised, red bite on the right side of his neck.

On the… right?

“I cannae believe it.” Merlin's voice is barely more than a rasp, hardly able to speak past the lump quickly forming in his throat. Such a thing feels like a miracle, after so much anguish. Hell, maybe he could come to like this alpha, because what he’s done… it’s unbelievable.

A pretty boy with a pretty heart.

“Mo chridhe.”

Harry strips off his clothes and finally crawls into their bed, because it is still their bed, because Harry is still his. Relief is so overwhelming that Merlin could cry with it; he is crying with it, at the first touch of his hand to Harry's throat, stroking over his own bond mark. Even the foreign scent lingering on Harry's skin is welcome; everything about having Harry in his arms feels like a benediction, even the scent of sex and unknown alpha. Mere hours ago the thought of such a scent clinging to Harry had inspired such beastly emotions within his chest and now? Now it doesn't even stir the faintest jealousy within him; Merlin doesn't even try to erase the scent, over write it with his own. Why would he?

There is no challenge from a second mate to a first.

Chapter Text

To say that Harry spends the next day feeling slightly removed from the world would not be entirely wrong; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to claim he felt out of sync for a full week, after his wedding night. Plainly put, his mind's a mess. Most of it stems from his newly formed mating bond - everyone knows how powerful an effect a mating can have on anyone, let alone a pregnant omega. It's not that Harry wanted to lose Merlin - far from it. Never in his life has he wanted to be separated from Merlin's side, not since the early days of their friendship, but...

Does Gary not want him? Is he not good enough for his new husband - for his new mate? Perhaps that's why he'd been so entirely unconcerned that Harry was already in the family way. No need to worry about it, if Gary never had the intent of sticking around at all. Marking Harry as a second, relinquishing all responsibility for Harry's care and wellbeing to Harry's other alpha. Like this, Gary barely has to care; like this, Gary's free to find a first mate he can actually stand to be in a room with.

Oh, hadn't he left as soon as he could? Practically ran out the door, shirt still unbuttoned, Harry's slick still smeared wetly across his groin. Shameful as it is, Harry doesn't know where his mate slept on the night of their joining. Certainly not by Harry's side, reinforcing the bond, settling the roiling emotions clawing at Harry's chest. He'd waited, for Gary to return. Sat naked on their marital bed, the scent of them still heavy in the air, Harry had felt like a right twit. Leaving - admitting that Gary had abandoned him - would've felt infinitely worse. Did feel worse, when he'd finally tugged his own formal military suit back onto his sweat and come soaked body, giving up on even the idea of Gary returning. The first rays of the day had been piercing the sky by then; foolish of him, to have waited for so many hours. What had he thought? That Gary had simply gone to fetch them something and gotten lost on his way back? Such a thing hadn't even been a glimmer of a possibility, Harry had known it, but logic hadn't been able to overrule his instinct.

Being husbands, and now mates, doesn't preclude their having feelings for one another. Harry had consoled himself with this very fact, prior to their marriage. That same thought feels too heavy, now. Now, designated a second mate to a young alpha who doesn't even have a first. Christ, the sheer indignity of it is likely making Harry's own bearer roll in their grave. Intellectually, Harry's well aware that he should be entirely untroubled by this. Grateful, even. After all, he had rather been planning on running away from Gary and breaking the bond, at the first chance which happened to arise. Lady Unwin had rather shown her hand, announcing the forceful termination of Harry's child like it held the same important as the arrival of mildly inclement weather. A slight inconvenience, easily avoided.

War Lord is not a position given to those whose worth on the battlefield starts and ends with their ability to swing a sword with competence. A strategic mind, combined with his martial prowess, had won Harry the title. Convenient of the Queen Mother to have forgotten that - convenient for Harry, at least. Before that tête-à-tête had ended, Harry already had half a dozen plans sketched out, just waiting for refinement and Merlin's eventual input. Gary's vehement rejection of the Lady Unwin's plan had bought him some extra time, which Harry sincerely appreciates. Without it, Harry may have done something... drastic, in direct and immediate response to the Queen Mother's high handedness. Even with Gary's interjection, Harry might still have found himself half way to Scotland before the dawn of the next day, if only Merlin's history with his home weren't so obviously fraught. It would make the perfect place to hide but Merlin is always so closed off about the topic, in a way he almost never is with Harry. Forcing the man to return and confront his undoubtedly painful past... No, Harry needs to find somewhere else, somewhere they can all be safe, and he needs time to do so.

None of Harry's plans had included Gary; not for a single moment had he ever entertained the idea of taking his royally mandated mate with him when he absconded with the rest of his family. In fact, he'd been planning on leaving Gary since before he'd ever laid eyes on the young alpha. Should it not be a relief, to have his disinterest returned with such certainty? Gary has done everything in his power to leave himself as far removed from Harry as is possible - it's more than Harry had dared to hope for, yesterday morning. What a different twenty four hours makes. Truly, the effects of a new bond are powerful indeed, to cause Harry Hart such ridiculous turmoil. Troubled by the rejection of an alpha he's met twice, whose providence is entirely unknown to him. Ridiculous.

As the days pass, Harry does his utmost to hide his turmoil from Merlin. This burden is not one he should force his mate to share; never does Harry want Merlin to think he's lacking in anyway. He has, always, been more than enough. For more than a decade, he has been the font of Harry's every joy. He's never wanted for more - had never, past tense. Now, evening slinks into their chambers and there is an undeniable absence in their evening routine. When they curl together, as they have always done, Harry's heart cries out for a man he's met only twice. Sometimes, Harry catches himself shifting, as though attempting to make room for a third body in their embrace. It's preposterous; Harry does not need this other alpha, this intruder on their well established dynamic, and yet...

Each night, Harry stares blankly at the fire instead of a good book and wonders where Gary sleeps. Their suite of rooms is losing their combined scent; Gary hasn't been back since their mating. Unlike Harry, who's managed to find the time to duck his head in daily, just in case his wayward second mate has happened to drift by. If Gary did happen to return, the way Harry's scent remains strong would be a dead giveaway that Harry's not as unaffected by their bond as he'd like to be. It's just a result of the new bond, Harry knows. Another side effect of his pregnancy, the emotional flux he's heard happens to those bearing a child. Why else would he be pining for an alpha who does not want him? Certainly not through any whim of Harry's own does he turn his nose up at his real alpha, the one who loves him with every fibre of his being.

It is that same fathomless love which proves to be Harry's undoing.

“What’s upset you, so?” Merlin asks one evening, when he's had his fill of Harry's silence and mounting guilt. A combination of his naturally perceptive nature and their long years of companionship means that Harry was never going to escape scrutiny for long. That he's been allowed to stew so long is due only to Merlin's patience; were their positions reversed, Harry would've long since pinned Merlin down and drawn his secrets from him. Laying on the thick rug in front of the fire, one of his mate's large hands rests over Harry's still flat stomach.

"I'm fine," is Harry's rote deflection. A kiss is placed to the back of Harry's head, far too affectionate, given what an utter shit Harry's been for the past week. Longer than a week now, perhaps; uncharacteristically, he's had enough on his mind that the small details have started to slip. No wonder Merlin's decided to step and stop waiting for Harry to get his act together.

"Harry, ." So much worry and concern carried in so few words; what talent. The minimal resistance Harry had been able to muster dies a quick, ignoble death. Lying to his mate has never come easy to him, not when it comes to important matters, and so such minimal persuasion is all it takes before Harry's spilling his woes. 

“Why doesn’t he want me?” The words fall from his mouth without thought, while he attempts to find some eloquent way to soften the blow. While not how he would have preferred to phrase it, that is what it all boils down to, isn't it. For days, Harry has been stricken - upset and shamed and hurt, that he's not good enough for his husband, his mate. Would he still have this problem if Gary were an utterly reprehensible man? If these feeling have been born of nothing more than an unstable bond, then yes, he would be feeling this wretched no matter the type of man he'd been mated to. Harry has been trying to attribute all his riotous emotions to the bond but, back to chest with Merlin, Harry forces himself to face the uncomfortable truth that that... might not be entirely correct.

As far as he's been able to determine, through their regrettably few interactions, Gary seems to be a good man. Decent, principled, and quite handsome to boot. Though Harry hadn't appreciated it at the time, Gary had certainly been a vision at their wedding. Coat nipped in to display a startlingly small waist, strong thighs displayed to perfection in breeches, all of it had paled in comparison to his smile. Entirely uncaring of his finery, the young alpha had swung his sister up onto his hip without hesitation, wrinkling the fabric. Staining it, too. Children are somehow perpetually sticky and a miniature handprint had been left behind on Gary's shoulder. Harry's seen many a noble pitch a right fit over much less but Harry's young alpha had done nothing but laugh, utilising his silk pocket square to wipe tiny hands.

Not Harry's young alpha, no; they're nothing to each other, despite the imprint of Gary's teeth still healing on Harry's shoulder. Harry is simply... not what Gary wants. Not enough to satisfy, to entice.

“What makes you think so? I know for a fact you’re irresistible.” Another kiss, affectionate as always, but Harry finds that he cannot abide Merlin's teasing. Instead of relaxing him as it usually does, Harry can feel the way even more tension sinks into his shoulders.

“Not to him.” Despite trying to rein in his own irritability, Harry fails miserably - which is on par for him, these days. Regret fills him instantly, and only doubles when he feels the way Merlin stills behind him. He should've kept it to himself - all of it. What does it matter if he wants to share his mind, his troubles, with his mate? Almost since their first meeting have they acted as each other's confidants, but this situation is like none other they have encountered before. This, they cannot face together. It's cruel of him, is it not? To tell his mate that he wants another.

No wonder Gary does not want him; he's callous, self centred and violent besides. It was a wonder Merlin wants him, after all these years. Unlike Gary, Merlin's truly seen Harry at his worst. Blood splattered, fresh from the war field, entirely taken with bloodlust and lacking any shred of remorse. Harry at his proudest, at his angriest; Merlin has seen him at act the furthest thing from a gentleman and loves him despite it all.

“I saw him, once. Out in the yard, watching you; staring. He did not look upon you as if you’re unwanted.” Loathe as Merlin has been to remember that fleeting moment, it had stuck in his mind. There had been a distance between them, enough to obscure the fine details of his face and expression, but Merlin had known it instantly. The young alpha had been absolutely enraptured, every inch of his body angled towards Harry as like a flower to the sun. Personal experience gives Merlin an edge in recognising such plain admiration aimed towards his mate. It's hard to look upon Harry with anything other than fondness, Merlin knows.

“But you did not see him when -” Unused to censoring himself around his mate, Harry is entirely too late to stop his fool mouth from running. What a thoughtless remark, though at least he'd not reached the crux of the sentence. How unnatural it feels, to hold anything back before Merlin; even with a week's practice, it sits worse than ill fitting armour. But if Harry were to say such a thing to Merlin, he'd never be able to call himself a gentleman for the rest of his life.

“Harry, a m' eudail.” Merlin chides, his gentle prodding chipping Harry's resolve as though it were the hardest lance. Talking about this can only hurt Merlin and it's best to drop the subject entirely. If only Merlin agreed, then Harry could continue to wallow in his own misery and his mate could remain unburdened.

“Please, Harry.”

There are few things in this world that Harry cannot say no to. Merlin, pleading, is one of them. Though the man knows not what he asks for, Harry's no longer able to deny him. A single bracing breath is not enough so Harry takes another and finally manages to say,

“You did not see him when he touched me, Merlin. You were not there when he looked at me and could find nothing appealing.”

There's the expected tension now thrumming through Merlin but all the man does is scoff.

“I doubt that, love, very much so. Tell me your worries and I'll help clear them from your mind before long. For how could he not see you and see perfection?” Only Merlin can make ridiculous flattery seem so utterly sincere. There's no will left within Harry to deny the man. He has tried his best not to drag the Scotsman down into this misery but the man refuses to be parted from him, as always. Seeing as Merlin will get his way, obviously sooner rather than later, Harry best get on with it. Perhaps it will have the same effect as lancing a wound. Maybe Merlin will even be able to talk him to his senses; his mate's always been rather good at that, after all. Even if not, at least they'll be able to chance the conversational topic. The intention to talk openly does not translate smoothly to action, much to Harry's chagrin.

“I am not sure I can say. Even to you. It... Merlin, I am shamed by this." Whether he would face much social castigation for his actions, Harry doesn't know; being manipulated into marriage and a second mating rather muddies the waters. But the fact of the matter remains, Harry feels the sting of his own recriminations quite keenly. For both laying with an alpha other than his Merlin, and being so soundly rejected by that same man.

Laid out on their marital bed, nude and spread for his husband, Harry had been ready to suffer the touch of a near stranger. How prideful, to think himself so irresistible. Even with Harry's legs parted for his husband's perusal, he hadn't been able to secure Gary's interest. Eyes averted, member entirely soft, it had been obvious how much Harry had repulsed him. He'd been found so wanting that Gary had even had to keep his eyes closed as he roused himself, before he'd been able to harden fully. Who did the alpha think of, when the reality of his new mate had disappointed him?

Knelt on the bed, cock in hand, Gary had certainly been a vision. When Gary had looked up at Harry through his long eyelashes, fire in his eyes - in that moment, it had felt real. As if they'd be mated in truth, as though Harry was desired and about to be so utterly devoured. Heart in his throat, Harry'd felt himself start to slick. What a betrayal to Merlin it had been - and apparently still is, give the way even the memory of it makes Harry's traitorous heart pick up pace in his chest. It hadn't been the only slight against his real mate, either. Under Gary's intensity, Harry'd followed his instincts with barely a thought and spread his legs even further as the alpha'd moved closer to him. Remembering such a thing while being cuddled by his other mate has Harry sinking even further into his shame. To have been so eager to welcome another man between his legs, to still be that eager, even when his own mate is settled deep inside of him -

“You smell like arousal.” At some point, Merlin had buried his face against Harry's neck, soaking up the scent of him. His deep voice vibrates against Harry's neck, his chest, and Harry can think of not a single word in reply. How can he defend himself when the proof poisons the very air around them?

“Was he so good?”

Laughter bubbles up before Harry can suppress it. While there's no denying that he'd felt a spark, then - and not only then - it had fizzled quickly. At least half of their joining had been entirely mediocre, both of them simply going through the motions, and Harry wastes no time in telling Merlin exactly that.

“Feeling his hand on my leg was good and the way he parted me was… indescribable.”

Lips at his neck, dragging along skin, and pleasure shoots down Harry's spine when Merlin's mouth brushes against the very edge of Gary's mark. It's scabbed over enough that Harry only bandages it during the day, more as protection for his suits than any fear of the wound reopening. It's as sensitive as all new bond marks are, and even more so for being so untouched. Merlin's ignored it, Harry can barely stand to look at it, and now such a brief touch has him more than half hard and slick in his trousers.

“But after that, he fingered me as thought it were a chore, taking no pleasure from it.” Harry does not tell Merlin about offering to present; how the act of it had made him wet enough he'd been able to feel it, close to dripping down his own thighs. Does not say how he'd almost begged, when Gary had caressed his rim.

“Tell me.” It's too early to tell whether Merlin's accent has thickened due to anger, or arousal. Which will soon become readily apparent - and Harry's mature enough to admit that he has a distinct preference - but until then, he'll continue to hedge, ever so slightly.

“He teased me first, with only a single finger, and…” Here Harry trails off, humiliatingly aware of the blush which has begun to stain his cheeks.

“Aye, I know what you’re like.” Merlin shifts, slightly, and then he’s pressed up against Harry in full. There's no denying his interest in Harry's tale, now. Nor Harry's, either.

“But then he seemed to lose all interest. Competent, but entirely rote." At the time, Harry hadn't been able to understand why disappointment had settled so heavily in his chest. Even now he's still grappling with it. He'd resigned himself to a bland coupling while being simultaneously glad for it. With something so lacklustre, he'd be able to return to Merlin and bemoan the entire night, entirely truthful when said that Merlin was the only one for him.

“That’s disappointing. From the look of him, you’d think he’d know how to properly fuck someone gorgeous.”

Biting his tongue, Harry decides not to remind Merlin that Gary doesn't find him gorgeous. Instead, hesitates, contemplating what to say next. He could skim past the end of the encounter, let Merlin believe the entire night was subpar. He won't. Now that he's started, how is he to lie to his own mate? Would that not be a worse crime than... than whatever this is. Discussing Harry's assignation with another alpha, drawing mutual pleasure from it; Merlin mouthing at the very edge of the wound Gary had torn into Harry's skin, encouraging Harry to talk about how Gary'd fucked him.

“Tell me everything,” Merlin prompts, each word like lightning across the slowly forming scar. By the time Merlin's hand has ventured far enough south to be at the waistband of Harry's trousers, he's regained the ability to speak.

“Technically proficient, I would venture to say - but you know I’ve never been overly fussed about that.”

With a quick, rough tug, Merlin's freed the tails of Harry's shirt, pushing it up Harry's torso until it's rucked somewhere across his upper chest.

“Aye, you’re all about the passion.” With absolutely no forewarning, Merlin presses an open mouthed kiss right against Gary's bond mark. A sound is torn from Harry's throat, hips grinding back against Merlin, near rapturous pleasure wracking his body. It's as though there's a line leading directly from it to his groin; if they don't undress soon, these trousers might be entirely unsalvageable. If Harry wishes the kiss came from a different mouth, it's no different from what he's wanted for the last week. Generously, Merlin gives Harry time to recover. Returns to drawing his nose across the back of Harry's neck instead of honing in on such an obvious weakness.

“He had it, for a second. Fucked me on his fingers like he wanted to,” like he wanted Harry, “did it just the way I liked, so well it could’ve been you.” Sharp teeth nip at the back of Harry's neck in what could possibly be a reprimand, though all it does is arouse Harry further. Shifting his head to display even more of his neck, Harry's rewarded with the scrape of teeth across sensitive skin - not over Gary's bond mark, thankfully. Such a thing is far too sensitive, right now. It'd push him over the edge too prematurely and neither of them want that. There's also the scab itself to be concerned about; healed enough to remove a dressing is not healed.

“And then?” Merlin prompts, after a few moments wherein all Harry does is bask in Merlin's attention and his own memories.

“Then nothing. Sex without any passion whatsoever, for he does not desire me.” Ignoring Merlin's incredulous scoff, Harry continues,

“When he pressed into me, he could not even look at me, so much did I repulse him. I keep wondering - obsessing - over who he thought of when he stroked himself to fullness, when he pressed inside. The very first thrust felt so good that, for a second, I assumed that he simply didn't enjoy using his fingers." Harry shifts slightly, allowing Merlin better access as the man finally slides his hand inside Harry's trousers. Long fingers wrap around Harry's cock, delightfully familiar; here is a man who finds great pleasure in tormenting Harry with little more than his fingers and tongue.

“Only that thrust. After, he fucked me as though the entire concept was distasteful to him. Gary must've been imagining someone palatable to him because occasionally he would fuck me harder, wilder. Then he would clearly remember himself, and the situation, before continuing like... like…” Words fail Harry as he tries to find ones which can fully explain the way Gary had touched him. Clinical comes close, only it lacks the edge of distaste Harry had seen so clearly. Merlin frowns, so close that Harry can feel it; so upset that his hand has paused, mid stroke. Harry runs a soothing hand along his mate's arm, though he cannot say whether it helps at all. Though Merlin doesn't say anything, Harry can feel the way his mate's chest has started to vibrate. No loud enough to be heard, not yet, but Harry knows the bass growl for what it is. How sweet of his mate, to be so protective, so easily offended on his behalf.

“Something changed and I still haven't the foggiest as to what. I keep playing it in my head, over and over, but nothing jumps out. From one moment to the next, everything changed and suddenly it was as though Gary wanted me. Viscerally, desperately." If it had been something that Harry had done, he'd do it again in a heartbeat. His own ignorance is galling, frustrating. At least Merlin's hand begins to move again, slowly stroking Harry's cock, thumb glancing across his head on every pass.

“How could he not? I’ve seen you when you’re on display like that. You're irresistable when I'm fucking you, Harry." This bite, just behind Harry's ear, is sure to leave a visible mark.

“Regardless of what you think, my love, I'm not the omega young alphas dream about.” Not the sort of omega that anyone dreams about. More Alpha than Omega in disposition and temperament, unwilling to behave in the manner 'appropriate' for any omega, let alone one with a pedigree such as his own. His mother had despaired of him until his father had put a sword in his hand; they had not anticipated his affinity with it. Such a stunt had been intended to quash his rebellious nature, to show him exactly how unfit he was to any place but that of a traditional omega. To say that such a manoeuvre failed is so large an understatement as to be laughable. From the second Harry hefted the weight of a sword, he'd found his life's calling. If his mother had despaired before, after that she was inconsolable. What match could be made for such a bride, after all? Thankfully, Harry's father had taken control of his education from that point on.

Reluctant though he may have been to arm his omega child, he didn't let it stop him. Harry privately thinks that the man was even slightly relieved; the previous Lord Hart had only one child, after all, and the distance between alpha sire and omega offspring had been noticeable. Being trained by his father, having his talent nurtured and supported, had given Harry a sense of belonging that, in hindsight, he'd sorely lacked. When Harry's skill had outstripped his father's, his father had arranged for further teaching - had arranged for Harry's squiring, eventually, which had eventually led to his appointment as War Lord. His father's pride and respect far outweighed the way his mother had likely turned in her grave at the news.

To say that Harry emulated his father would not be inaccurate. It's only unfortunate that such a thing has created a truly abhorrent omega, by societal standards. An alpha trained omega War Lord, who moves through the world as an alpha would - powerful through his own right and inheritance both. Beyond public reproach for, even if he's not the ideal omega, he's still a proper gentleman. His conduct might be outlandish but never is it improper. War Lord Harry Hart is powerful, influential and entirely one of a kind. No matter how comfortable Harry is with himself, he's also a realist. Young alphas do not envision an omega such as he when they daydream about a future mate. Harry is many things - and even more in private - but he can never be the ideal.

Never has he wanted to be, not even as a severely castigated pup, arse-cheeks and hands constantly raw from his mother's cane. Harry will not change himself for anyone. If he did not do so for his parents, for the sake of friendship or potential marriage prospects, or the court, he's certainly not going to bend for an alpha near half his age. No matter how he craves to be wanted, to be treasured, by his young mate.

“They’re all fools.” Merlin's gruff voice draws him from his melancholy thoughts, along with a soft squeeze of his cock. Such a typical reaction from his mate and it draws a quick laugh from Harry. It must be said that Merlin's certainly not the typical alpha, making them a well matched pair. Then again, perhaps in Scotland, he's the very model. There's always some regional variation on what constitutes a 'proper' anything.

"That's all there was, then? Sparks that never kindled properly, despite the delectable timber."

This time, Harry doesn’t even try to censure his words.

“Gary proceeded to fuck me stupid, actually. Even you couldn't fault him for it.”

It occurs to Harry that Merlin should watch, next time - though of course, there'll never be a next time. Knowing that doesn't stop the idea from taking root, though. Both his mates in the same room, the same bed. Had Merlin been there, he could have shown Gary how to touch him from the start; the whole of it could have felt like the end. Would Merlin have been content to watch and speak, or would he have drawn in closer? Used his large hands to move Gary until he was satisfied?

No, that's a foolish question. Of course Merlin would've touched; he wouldn't have been able to help himself. Likely would have tried to crowd up against Gary's back, the way he's pressed so close to Harry now; the young alpha would've hated such a thing, undoubtedly, but what a sight it would've been. The smaller alpha sandwiched between the both of them, shown just how to please them, showing them his own pleasure in turn. Perhaps Merlin would've pressed a kiss to the back of Gary's neck the way he's doing to Harry right now, undeniably possessive. Nothing more than the thought of it - the three of them together, his mates fucking him, fucking each other - is enough to spike Harry's arousal even higher, wet enough that the seat of his pants is starting to glue itself to the front of Merlin's.

“Well, if you say I cannae fault the lad it must be true.” Merlin's teasing has Harry rolling his eyes, though he's undeniably glad to hear it. Glad that Merlin's relaxed enough to tease, that he's not amused rather than quietly stewing in anger at hearing Harry talking about his other mate. Can even find some measure of arousal in listening to it, though whether it’s from the thought of Harry being well fucked or from the thought of Gary fucking Harry specifically, he cannot say.

“And there was… he did…” Harry's faded blush makes a valiant return when he tries to vocalise exactly what Gary did. How Gary had stopped fucking him, despite the slow climb towards orgasm they'd both been ascending towards, in order to use his fingers. Gary had stretched him, played with him; speared him open with four fingers; the weight of his thumb when he pressed in to the knuckles had electrified Harry with the promise of more.

“He stopped fucking you to tease you?” Merlin asks, astounded and obviously pleased. Turning his head slightly, Harry can even make out the edges of his mate's wide grin.

“You’re right, I do like him.” Such an announcement is entirely unsurprising and neither is the warm surge of affection which rushes over Harry in response. The surprise comes from the fact that it such a thing is not solely directed at Merlin; despite his absence, Gary's so deeply present.

“You’ll like this." Lowering his voice as though it were a confession, Harry effortlessly draws Merlin in even further to his tale - not that such enticement is necessary, though it is quite fun.

“His knot had started, when he stopped teasing me - when I thought he'd stopped teasing me. Instead of fucking me properly, Gary used his knot to stretch me open and keep me that way.”

When Merlin's knot begins to swell, he tends to abandon his deep, penetrating thrusts in order to bury himself as deeply inside Harry as he can. Merlin likes to grind his growing knot against Harry's prostate until he’s incomprehensible with it, until he’s over sensitive and almost crying; so far gone that all he can do is sob and try to work himself further onto Merlin's cock, even though there’s nothing more to take. Never has Harry felt a knot so - so distinctly. Not just brief tugs on his rim before he's tied properly, but caught, intentionally. Held in place, obscenely aware of every millimetre of added girth; stretched too wide, in a place not designed to accommodate such a thing. Riding the edge between pain and pleasure, entirely overcome.

Every slight shift Gary had made - each of them intentional, slow rolls of his hips as he'd done as he pleased without remorse - had felt as though they were tugging Harry's spine out of place, rather than just his arse. It'd made him want for more, that vague 'more' that everyone who's fucked well wants more of. Gary had given it to him. Fucking deep, forcing his swelled knot into him, Gary'd seemed to tear Harry's orgasm from him by force. He'd been so completely blind-sided that he'd lost track of time entirely, lost to the intensity. When he'd managed to open his eyes again, Gary had been licking Harry's come off his hand.

Had he been able, Harry could've come again just from the sight. If he'd been able, Harry would've spread his legs wider, just to signal that the other man could continue to use him at will. But he'd been pinned, positioned precisely by Gary, unwilling and unable to move. Lost to his instincts, Harry'd done the only thing he could think of - the only thing that felt natural to express just how good he'd felt - and turned his head, put his neck on purposeful display. Too late had he remembered that Gary was not his mate; too late had he realised he'd bared the left side of his neck, giving implicit permission for Gary to overwrite Merlin's mark.

So much for Harry's intention to make such a thing as difficult and uncomfortable for Gary as possible. To show that Gary was unwelcome, unwanted, his mark as meaningless as it's possible for such a thing to be. It seems laughable to think on it now, when he's so desperate for the mate he'd been so prepared to revile. Ludicrous, even, when he's laid out on the floor with his first mate, detailing every last moment of his time with Gary. So enjoyable that the retelling has the both of them aroused and writhing against each other.

If Harry had to pinpoint the moment where all this trouble started, it wouldn't be the sparks Gary had sent up his spine, or the audacity he'd had to fuck Harry with his knot. Nothing so banal as carnal lust could so move Harry - or, he'd like to believe so, at any rate. Buried in a haze of lust, come drunk nearly out of his mind, Harry wouldn't've been able to stop Gary from biting down; couldn't've - that'd been rather the point of the whole exercise, after all. Looking not quite all their himself, Gary had stretched himself out overtop of Harry, hands to either side of his head. It would've been so incredibly easy, to follow the Queen Mother's directive. Instead of the sharp rip of teeth, Gary'd nuzzled into Harry's neck, not unlike what Merlin's doing at this very moment.

Dragging his tongue from the base of Hary's neck, directly over Merlin's mark, Gary'd still managed to send shivers down Harry's spine. Such a pleasurable little intimacy, sweet enough that Harry hadn't even braced for the pain he'd known would follow. Thought would follow. Gary'd shifted away, the back of a hand had touched the curve of Harry's jaw, and then Harry's head had been turned to the other side. Confusion had muddled his mind even further but all of it'd been wiped clear when blunt pressure finally clamped itself around one of Harry's mating glands, perfect pain following swift on its heels. It's only after Harry had responded in kind, when they were kissing to cement their bond, that he'd realised.

Elation should've been the only thing he felt when he'd understood that Gary had claimed him as a second mate, leaving his bond with Merlin entirely untouched. After all, he didn't want Gary instead of Merlin - wanted a forced mating even less - so why had he felt such a nauseating mixture of hurt, of wounded confusion? The thought had sprung to life, independent of Harry's own will: was he not worth it, for Gary? Not good enough? Defective, somehow? Some of his mother's teachings had clearly found more purchase in Harry's mind than he'd realised. Knowing that how ridiculous it all is doesn't do a damn thing to change his feelings. More than a week's worth of ruminating hasn't helped, either; might've made it worse, honestly.

Thankfully, Merlin's here to push it all from Harry's mind. Harry's neck is but a canvas for him, love bites blooming dark and possessive in his wake. There'll be no hiding any of it, tomorrow. Perhaps an unseasonal scarf. Merlin's mouth turns teasing, touch significantly lighter as he approaches Gary's mark once again. It's been years since Merlin's mark settled and the intervening years have faded Harry's memory of how sensitive such a wound is. Intense, overwhelming, so utterly devastating; so all encompassing that Harry can do nothing but whine desperately for his mate, eager for his touch, his attention.

He's simply not whining for the man touching him.

They both freeze, the not quite right sound entirely startling. Harry's calls for Merlin are familiar, comforting. A specific pitch, one that he's never made for another human - and this is not that. Similar, similar enough that understanding strikes Harry near instantly, for all that he's still frozen in bone deep shock. Merlin's mouth slides away from Harry's neck and he's barely moved, the rest of his body still twined with Harry's, but panic lances through Harry nevertheless. The idea that Merlin could leave him paralyses him more than the foreign sound he'd made.

“You want him here.” Merlin doesn't sound angry, or hurt, no negative emotions heavy in his voice. Anxiety still flutters in Harry's chest but there's no chance to voice it before Merlin's mouth descends again, apparently having nothing further to say. Wet, open mouthed kisses directly against the fresh bond mark jolt Harry from his stupor. Another embarrassing warble, halfway between a call for Merlin and something else - someone else. Gently, so gently, Merlin's teeth apply slight pressure; Harry almost breaks his alpha's nose, so quickly does his head snap back with sheer pleasure, with the overwhelming need to have Gary's teeth on him again, reaffirming his bond. More vocalisations, odd and not right and all for a man entirely absent, but Harry doesn't try to bite them back. Given how firmly Merlin's cock is rutting up against him, the alpha clearly doesn't mind.

Is actively enjoying it, seems like, though Harry still doesn't know which aspect is arousing him so much. Talking about it all will have to come later, when Merlin isn't pushing down Harry's trousers just under the swell of his arse and no further. He does so enjoy trapping Harry in his own clothes, leaving him to squirm - bound just enough, entirely bared for the taking. Merlin's hand wedges itself between their bodies, unwilling to separate for Harry long enough to unlace his trousers properly; given the swift violence of it, Harry would be entirely unsurprised if they ripped under Merlin's haste.

It is the work of but a moment for Merlin to roll Harry onto his stomach. Tugging Harry onto his hands and knees, close enough to a full presentation that shivers of excitement run the length of Harry's spine. Such a traditional, subservient omegan pose; shame of his own enjoyment only spurs Harry's arousal higher. Changing positions unfortunately means that Merlin must reluctantly release Harry's neck, lest his teeth catch and do serious harm. The absence of Merlin's insistent mouth gives Harry some breathing room, allows him a moment to think. Scrambling for his wits, Harry attempts to assemble a concise sentence which will convey everything he needs it to: that all this talk is meaningless, that it's Merlin he loves like no other. All this talk about Gary is just that - talk. Thinking about Gary while he's with Merlin, thinking about them together, about all three of them, is mere fantasy.

One of Merlin's large hands palms the globe of Harry's arse, spreads him wide. With the ease of long familiarity, Merlin thrusts home in one quick, sure movement until he's sheathed entirely; Harry's carefully planned words scatter to the wind, leaving nothing but a breathy moan. Then, unthinkingly, he admits,

“I want to see you fuck him.”

"Do ye, now?" Merlin runs a hand up Harry's back, tracing his spine, hand slipping under Harry's shirt until his fingertips brush against Harry's neck. The sound of his alpha's low, Scottish brogue is music to his ears; the gift of his touch, skin against skin, is rapturous.

“Yes.” Harry breathes, arching into Merlin's caress, a hand still trailing slowly up and down Harry's back before he curves his broad palm around Harry's hip. Bending down so that they're flush together, chest to back, Merlin places his other hand on the ground to support his weight. A soft kiss to the nape, the drag of Merlin's lips to the side of Harry's neck; another kiss, this time directly against Merlin's own mating mark. Mutual pleasure sparks between them in a feedback loop until Merlin pulls away. Returns his attention to the right side of Harry's neck, to Gary's mark.

“That all ye want? Tell me.” Each word has Merlin's lips just barely brushing the wound and Harry shifts in anticipation, unable to move far. Between Merlin's weight overtop him and his hand on Harry's hip, he's unable to even fuck himself back on Merlin's cock. He can feel the way it throbs within him, just as eager as Harry himself is, but Merlin's more than content to wait. Entirely too much patience, that one. Trying to wait him out will only drive Harry spare with wanting, increasingly desperate; better to concede now in order to win big later.

“No.”

Harry's honesty is rewarded with a slow, shallow thrust. Obligingly, he continues to talk.

“I want to watch him fuck you, watch you fuck each other.”

Kissing around Gary's mating bite, Merlin leaves Harry enough room to keep thinking, keep talking, but he keeps moving his hips. A steady, measured rhythm that Harry knows will drive him to distraction soon enough.

“And?” Merlin knows that’s not the end of it, of course he does, and it leaves Harry with two choices. He knows this game, loves it; given the chance, Merlin will fuck him like this for hours, bring him to the edge again and again, until Harry's crying with it. Then, and only then, will he finally allow Harry to reach completion. Journey every bit as important as the destination, it leaves him so pleasantly wrung out. However, it takes time. So much time. A meandering pace when all Harry wants right now is for Merlin to use him. Harry wants to feel it when he’s in the training yard tomorrow, want to know that he hasn’t ruined anything between them.

Certain phrases, certain word choices, will always inspire one over the other and Harry knows his mate well enough that he's almost always right. This... Harry has no idea which side the coin will fall on, this time. They've played like this before, never brought even the thought of someone else into their bed, let alone... this. A fresh bond mark on Harry's neck, a new mate call singing from his mouth. Harry can only hope that, if he words it right, Merlin will press his face into the soft rug and fuck Harry till he's crying into the weave.

“I want you to watch as Gary fucks me, watch as he fingers me and fists me and fucks me past incoherency.” Saying it has Harry breathless, both from the words themselves and in anticipation of Merlin's reaction. His alpha doesn't let him stew; stops his slow, easy thrusts almost instantly.

“I ken ye, Harry. I ken what ye want.” Merlin promises, voice kind, so terribly loving.

“And I’ll give you what you want, .” Gently, gently enough that Harry's heart hurts with it, Merlin helps him down until his shoulders meet the carpet. Arms braced above him, cheek rubbing against fabric, Harry relaxes. Presenting like this, for his mate, always feels wonderful. Back arched, his arse would be on display, hole dripping wet, if he weren't already stuffed full. The change has Merlin's cock sliding even deeper, rubbing just right; Harry feels half out of his mind already and they haven't even started.

Merlin rains a series of chaste, closed mouthed kisses along Harry's still clothed shoulders, down as much of Harry's spine he can reach without pulling out. Straightening up once more, he looks down at Harry's prone form from and resists the urge to go back to kissing him. Later, after, when Harry can stand to receive affection again. Pushing his own trousers down further, waistband tucked under his arse, fabric still clinging to firm thighs, Merlin shifts his weight until he's perfectly balanced. It won't last long once they start, of course, but the routine motion of it helps to keep Merlin level.

One hand returns to its habitual place on Harry's hip but the other... Merlin pauses for a moment, contemplating, weighing the pros and cons. Then, firmly but gently, he wraps his other hand over Harry's new bond mark. Such a neat little thing. Merlin can almost make out distinct tooth marks - unlike his own. Now that's a true mess of a mark, not helped by how often Merlin had reopened it during their honeymoon period. Even light touch makes Harry keen. This? His omega turns boneless, keening loud enough it almost echoes. Harry makes that sound again; the mate call for Gary. All Merlin can do is chuff in return, a failed attempt at soothing. It might almost be worth dragging that alpha whelp in here, just to get the note of despondency out of Harry's whine. Keeping Harry spread out on his cock, pinned and already lost to the sensation, Merlin purrs. It's a stuttered, clunky thing, but Harry likes it. Thankfully, it helps ground him just enough that he stops calling for Gary so frantically.

Merlin had not lied, before; Harry looks irresistible like this.

“Remember,” Merlin begins, as he always does before they start like this; when Harry’s barely holding it together and needs Merlin to keep him in once piece. Overwhelmed enough to submit, to be owned, in a way he would rebel against at any other time.

“I know.” Harry interrupts, quietly. Every time he hears Merlin tell him it’s okay to want to stop, and it’s okay to need to keep going - just as long as he’s comfortable - shame burrows itself into the marrow of his bones. Feasts on his weakness. All his life, Harry's turned away from everything an omega 'should' do. His life is filled with violence, with blood and gore; he's more dominant than most alpha's he's ever met, easily able cut them down to size as suits him. Decade after decade after decade of rejecting every notion of traditional omegahood - only to need this. And it is a need; needs to feel Merlin pinning him down, taking what he wants, using Harry without thought. Begins to crave the feeling of helplessness, of everything being so entirely out of his own control, if he goes too long without it. Sometimes Harry wonders how he survived for so many years without Merlin. His alpha, always so generous and accommodating, has always given him what he needs without judgement, without question.

How could he even think of wanting anyone else, of needing anyone else, when he has Merlin?

“Alright. , .” Merlin brushes his thumb across the back of Harry's neck, reassuring, before firming his grip. Like this, the pressure will almost certainly tear open the scabs of Harry's new bond mark. There's a not insignificant part of Harry that wants it to happen; keep the mark fresh, ready for Gary to sink his teeth back into, Harry's blood coating his mouth, dripping down his throat. Another useless want.

Sliding easily out of Harry, Merlin pauses, one final moment of indulgence. Harry, well aware that he's about to get what he wants, doesn't squirm in impatience. He braces himself, instead. Merlin snaps his hips forward, hard enough that Harry's rocked forward despite his preparation, feeling the first rub of carpet against skin. A brutal pace is set from the first thrust, Merlin unconcerned with whether or not he’s bring Harry pleasure. First of all, he knows he is; they’ve been together long enough that he doesn’t have to think about how to please Harry, he simply does. Second, like this, Harry'll take pain as well as pleasure and not even notice the difference. Everything's nothing but sensation, pushing him higher, closer to the oblivion he seeks.

Before long, Harry's given up on trying to keep himself steady. He's entirely at Merlin's dubious mercy, little more than a plaything and content with it. Sweat quickly builds between them, made worse by the fire, by their own clothes, and Merlin's hands begin to slip. Each ferocious thrust coincides with his hands tightening, bruises blooming - blood scent, sinking into the air. Red begins to stain Harry's shirt, pooling underneath Merlin's palm, droplets slinking down his fingers to stain the carpet. Merlin's instincts have always been off; possession where there should be protection, nonchalant inaction where aggression should be. The rare sight of Harry's blood only stirs him further, pushing even more power into his thrusts, as though trying find even more room within his omega to conquer.

Eventually, Merlin's forced to take his hand away from Harry's neck. Blood's made it too slippery to keep a firm hold and the only thing keeping Harry from sprawling over the floor is Merlin's grip on him. Merlin wipes the excess blood across Harry's back and restrains himself from pausing to lick it off. Later, once Harry's had his fill; then Merlin'll clean his mate up however he pleases. Both hands now firmly on Harry's hips, Merlin starts to pull Harry back into his thrusts. Every thrust has him hitting the very limit of Harry, bottoming out entirely, delighting in the whines he's forcing from Harry's throat.

Merlin loses himself in his wild rhythm, barely paying attention when Harry comes - when he starts to cry, when he begins to arch away from Merlin's thrusts, so oversensitive that he can't take it any more. Not for a moment does he falter, grip still bruise tight, as unrelenting as his punishing thrusts; Harry's still underneath him, after all. For all he's supposedly trying to get away, he's not. Even like this, out of his mind and entirely reliant on Merlin, he can make himself known well enough.

Finally, Merlin feels the sweet ache of his knot starting to swell. Unbidden, the thought of Harry's other alpha comes to mind. Gary, Harry'd called him; tonight's the first time Merlin's heard the man's name. Merlin thinks about how he was bold enough to fuck Harry on his knot. It sounds like madness, though Merlin cannot deny that the thought is appealing. The sheer amount of self control that such a thing would need... Neither he nor Harry are in the right frame of mind for such a thing, now, though Merlin intends to try such a thing before too long. For now, he presses his hips flush against Harry's arse. Holds him in place while grinding down, basking in the sound of Harry's sobs as his prostate's relentlessly stimulated.

Fucking forward, in and in and in, without withdrawing, Merlin does his best to get as deeply inside his mate as possible before he comes. When he finally locks in place, orgasm beginning to paint Harry's insides, Merlin lets up on his torment. He rubs at Harry's trembling back, smearing sweat-damp blood in a way that means Harry's shirt and their sheets are both likely to be a lost cause. Gently lowering himself against Harry's back, Merlin wraps himself around the omega and carefully tilts them to the side until they're back where they started. Spooning in front of the fire, though now Harry's entirely limp and barely conscious. The fire, unattended for so long, has burnt low. If Merlin doesn't attend to it soon, there'll be no chance of banking it overnight. Given that he's tied for the forseeable future, he writes it off as a loss and focuses on Harry.

Kissing his neck, holding him tight, rubbing his thumbs against bare skin, muttering sweet nothings; Harry notices none of it but appreciates it all nevertheless. Even like this, his body's turned towards Merlin, easily accepting anything Merlin wants to give him. Breathing in the scent of his satisfied mate, Merlin uses his sleeve to wipe Harry's face clean of tears and tacky, half dry saliva. They breath together, perfectly in sync for a moment, before Merlin starts to talk to him, to ground him.

“. . . …” It doesn't matter what Merlin says; English, Gaelic, Scots - hell, he could be speaking in bloody French and it'd all hit Harry's ears the same. All that's important is the tone, so Merlin speaks words of love to his mate, voice soft and loving. He tells Harry what he's told his mate thousands of times before, things he'll tell him a thousand times more. That he loves Harry, needs him, cannot exist apart from him.

When Merlin's knot deflates enough for their to untie, Harry rouses - slightly. Enough that Merlin can leave him just long enough to get water, coaxing him to drink, to slip from his soiled clothes. After, he fades away again and Merlin wipes him down, bandages his reopened wound and carries him to their bed. A cool pillow under his head has Harry blinking awake just enough that he reaches out to hold Merlin's hand, slurring out his own pledge of love. He falls asleep mid word and Merlin chuckles, retaking his position at Harry's back. Twining their fingers together, he buries his nose in Harry's neck - next to his own mark, rather than Gary's. For long hours, Merlin lay awake, turning thoughts over and over in his mind.

Chapter Text

Eggsy spends the next week after fleeing from his appointed bed chambers and new mate avoiding his grandmother. What Eggsy’d really like to do is go home; his actual home, back where he grew up, not the over large castle he’s currently residing in. Kiss his mum on the cheek, pick his little sister up and swing her around. Instead he’s ducking into unused rooms whenever he hears someone approach, no matter who they are - cause it’d be just his luck that he’d duck away from his grandmother only to run into Harry or his Scot.

His hiding eventually takes him to the stables, which he finds is quite a good hiding spot. Up in the loft, among the hay. So good, in fact, he falls asleep. He jerks awake some time later, the sunlight soft and golden as it shines through the windows, and finds he’s lost most of the day. Not that he really had anything to do; his grandmother had hinted at etiquette classes and the like, but he hasn’t seen her since so he doesn’t know for sure. Hasn’t stayed still long enough for her to pin him down and force him to go. He listens for a few moments, but can’t hear anyone in the stables, so he climbs down from the hay bales and out into the open.

Which, with his luck, means that’s when a blonde woman looks over from where she’s quietly grooming her horse.

Fuck his life.

“Hello.” She says, politely, and Eggsy reluctantly drags his manners up from where he’d shoved them upon meeting his grandmother. He responds in kind, and thinks maybe he can make a break for it. She chooses that moment to walk out of the stall, putting down the horse brush as she goes and picking up her riding crop from the bench.

“Are you allowed to be in here?” She inquires, which is a fair point. He knows he looks like shit, and he’d just tried to stealthily climb down from the hayloft of the stable.

“Yeah.” He says, not sure how to prove it. She hmms at him, but obviously decides to let it slide.

“I am Roxanne Morton.” She tells him, and holds out her hand. Eggsy shakes it, cringes half a second too late because she’s a lady, ain’t she? He was supposed to kiss her hand or the like, not shake it.

“Gary. Call me Eggsy, though.” He says, because someone should. He’s been called Gary enough since he got here that he never wants to hear it again. He doesn’t add a surname like she had, because he’s got no clue if he’s got one or not. He didn’t have Unwin, being a bastard - though he could have said something like Fitzroy, imagining the heart attack that would give his grandmother is almost worth it - but with his marriage, was he now a Hart? He should have asked, maybe, but it’s too late for it now.

“You may call me Roxy.” She tells him with a smile, and he can’t help but smile back.

“What brings you to the palace?” She asks and Eggsy shrugs.

“Got married and mated an’ all that.” She nods, before she says,

“I am unmated myself, actually, though my father keeps encouraging me to do so. To whom have you bound yourself to?” She asks as they walk towards the entrance.

“Harry. Lord Hart, I mean.” He really didn’t mean to be so familiar, but Harry had said he could, and he didn’t particularly want to stop.

“Really?” She asks, surprised, and Eggsy nods. If it’d been a normal marriage, he might’ve seen her at the ceremony. But it was a small one, secret, with only his mum, sister and grandmother in attendance. Probably worried Harry would spill the beans about everything if they had witnesses.

“You know ‘im?” He asked her, and she nodded.

“Lord Hart is my uncle, actually.” She said pleasantly, and Eggsy blinks. He’s not sure who knows and who doesn’t know, but if it gets out that it’s a farce marriage and mating, he’d fucked. And since she hadn’t been at the wedding, Eggsy’s betting she’s got no clue.

“I’d rather thought Uncle was mated to Merlin.” That must be the name of the Scot, and Eggsy carefully files it away, even as he smiles and nods. Presents a careful facade that everything is normal.

“He is.” Eggsy says, and Roxy raises an eyebrow at him, tapping the riding crop against her leg. It’s rather intimidating, but Eggsy’s had the shit kicked out of him before and getting his arse handed to him by a proper Lady wouldn’t hurt his pride none, the way it might other some Alphas. So he doesn’t pay the crop much attention, instead focusing on her face.

He sees her looking at the left side of his neck before, almost hesitantly, looking at the right. There’s the smallest sliver of a slowly healing mate mark visible, he knows, because he spends what feels like hours looking at it in the mirror each morning. None of his collars cover it quite well enough, but no one looks at the right side of his neck for a mate mark. They all assume it’s on his left, hidden as is proper.

Except if Eggsy wasn’t wearing shirts with the highest collars he could find, if he was wearing what he would at home and none of this posh shite, the whole world would be able to see it. He looks at in the mirror and feels shame, because this is all he’s ever been worth, innit? Dean had told him no one would ever want him as a mate when he couldn’t act like a proper Alpha; maybe he’d marry some beta after her real mate died, but that’s as good as he’d get.

Eggsy always wanted to say ‘like you did,’ but that would be disrespectful to his mother, and he’d get belted for sure for it.

But he also feels pride, completely misplaced pride which he should let go of because it doesn’t mean anything, and he doesn’t mean anything to Harry. But the mark’s so high, so possessive, like he’s not ashamed to have Eggsy as his mate, for all that Eggsy’s only a second. It was probably the closest part of his neck, he knows intellectually, nothing to write home about. And Eggsy’s lucky Harry even bit him back, given the whole situation.

Roxy doesn’t say anything, however, and she doesn’t look at him with the pity he’s not quite sure he deserves, but knows people will feel anyway. He’s just an interloper in Harry's life, of course he’s just a second, he deserves the shame, not pity.

“At least with you, those who don’t know them will stop assuming they’re an Alpha/Alpha match and get snooty about it.” Roxy smiles at him, trying to lighten the mood, before wincing. She’s a friendly sort, so he lets her, rather than taking offence at her words. He knows he don’t look like a typical Alpha, he’s got a beta build and is pretty enough to be an Omega; Roxy looks relieved when he just laughs and agrees.

It’s not the insinuation that he’s not a proper Alpha that hurts, after all; it’s that she assumes that he’s in an actual relationship. That Harry and his Scot, Merlin, will want to be seen with him. Will want anything to do with him. It hurts because it’s so far from the truth, but maybe exactly what he dreams of. Not all three of them, for he’s never even seen Merlin, though he must look just as much Alpha as Harry does from what Roxy’s said. Tall, strong, dependable - everything Eggsy’s wanted since he figured out what his cock was for. Not that he’d ever act on it - same status matings weren’t overly rare, especially not between Betas, and Eggsy’s met a few Omegas mated to other Omegas, but Alpha pairs… It was always a disaster waiting to happen.

From what Eggsy’d seen, two Alphas couldn’t exist together like that, not without one of them snapping, eventually; not without violence and rage and a need to dominate.

So, regardless of the way his eyes had sometimes been drawn to the Alphas rather than the Betas or Omegas, he’d never given serious thought to approaching, regardless of what he thought about when he touched himself at night. And now Roxy was assuming he had everything he wanted - Harry, the gorgeous Omega who made Eggsy lose his breath, and Merlin, the Scottish Alpha Eggsy’d never seen but kind of wants anyway, because he’d smelt him on Harry, had licked his mating mark, and he didn’t need to see for his body to want - and it just...

It hurt, a bit, is all, but nothing more than he’d expected. He's not an idiot, he knew what he was getting into. Kind of.

They walk back to the palace together, and for all that Eggsy’s avoided being spotted over the past fortnight, he stays in view and doesn’t scurry off at the first sign of someone else. It’s nice, talking to someone. Eggsy hadn’t realised how much he’d missed people, while he was hiding himself away in dusty corners of the large building. Roxy’s good company makes up for the fact that he’s likely going to be cornered by his grandmother at some point in the near future.

Eggsy even thinks he might find a way around that, too, because there’s no one in sight and they’re parting ways. If he’s quick, Eggsy can slide back into the unused spaces of the palace and avoid everyone. He’s three steps from freedom when Roxy calls out,

“Uncle!” and if he’d kept walking, he’d be back in the shadows and not in the awkward situation he was in. But he doesn’t keep walking, because Harry’s her uncle, and he wants to see his mate again, for all that he knows he shouldn’t. It’s like a compulsion; whenever Eggsy scents Harry around the corridors, he’s always a bit slower to slink away.

It’s not Harry who’s kissing Roxy on the cheek, however. The man’s taller than Roxy, taller than Eggsy - probably of a height with Harry, their mate. Eggsy has a split second to panic before the Scot, Merlin, straightens and Eggsy smooths his face out. Roxy turns to look at him, all smiles, and Merlin follows her line of sight. His face is carefully blank, and Eggsy grins cheerfully only through force of will. His stomach is churning, but he can’t ruin the facade. It’d be disastrous for all of them, and Eggsy’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“Eggsy, what are you doing over there?” Roxy asks, smiling, but for all she seems happy and genial, there’s a sharp look in her eyes. She’s testing him, checking to see if what he said was the truth, if he really is mated to Lord Hart, now. If he was lying. He's not offended; it's the smart thing to do, after all, and if it turned out Eggsy was lying, she'd have a large Alpha family member to help her take Eggsy down.

“Eggsy.” The Scot, Merlin, says, and the way he says it almost makes Eggsy weak in the knees. Eggsy moves forward, and Merlin automatically lifts an arm in a gesture that he probably uses on Harry, to tug Harry up against his side and half under his arm. Eggsy can tell that the man regrets it, from a slight tightening of the skin around his eyes, his mouth, but Roxy’s not looking, so the game’s not up yet. Eggsy slides easily underneath Merlins arm, takes a deep breath, ends up with a nose full of Merlin's scent.

It smells just as good as Eggsy remembers.

Roxy smiles at them, and Eggsy keeps his grin, even though he knows Dean would be taunting him, if he could see. When Harry and Merlin touch like this, Harry’s tall enough that it probably looks like an embrace of equals, Eggsy thinks.

Eggsy is short enough he feels possessed by Merlin's large arm wrapped around his shoulders; he wishes it felt horrible, that he was only doing this because he’d given his word, because of their mate.

But Eggsy can’t lie to himself, good as he is at lying to others.

It feels just as good as running his hands up Harry's bare skin had felt, and Eggsy wishes he didn't know that because now, when Roxy leaves and Eggsy goes back to skulking around the castle, he's going to have another chunk of his heart taken out, given to someone who doesn't want it - who doesn't even know he has it.

Chapter Text

The reason why Alpha/Alpha pairings don’t tend to work out well, Merlin has found over the years, is more than the natural rub of two inherently dominant personalities. If that was all it took to ruin a relationship, he and Harry would’ve been over years ago. An Alpha is essentially a pile of negative personality traits shaped into the form of a human; anger, possessiveness, a need to dominate, to be at the top of any hierarchy. Day to day, it’s easy to accept and adapt to in other people, especially in professional settings. At home, though, living with another Alpha… there was a reason Alpha children moved out of home before Betas and Omegas. Having to submit to anyone, even a parent, grates when you’re in a place where you’re supposed to be able to relax.

Merlin’d been thinking, since Harry had poured his heart out about Gary, and it was going to take a lot of hard work to bring a second Alpha into their hard won stability. He and Gary were going to have to have a serious talk, work out boundaries and try and compromise if they were going to have any chance of succeeding. They’d never convince anyone the three of them were in a relationship if Gary and Merlin couldn’t stand to be in each others presence. It was better they do it now, fight and get it over with, before they had to showcase their relationship.

Before… Merlin's not going to think of that, not right now - not when he's got something arguably more important to think about, like Harrys happiness.

Merlin had carefully thought about what he was going to say and do, and more importantly what he wasn’t going to do, when he spoke with Gary. When he eventually found him; the man was hard to pin down, and no one seemed to know where he was. He’s almost frustrated enough to go and check the other Alphas rooms, which he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do, it’d start the whole conversation off on the wrong foot if Gary thought he was trying to encroach on his territory, when he heard a welcome voice call him away from his task. Roxy waved him away from the corridor he’d been about to head down, and he’s so focused on her - he hasn’t seen her for a good few months, needs to make sure she’s still hale and healthy - that he doesn’t notice someone’s lingering in the shadows of the staircase until she calls them over.

Merlin has no idea what an ‘Eggsy’ is, and then the person in the shadows shifts and it’s Gary. Or, Eggsy, apparently - and it would seem odd, wouldn’t it, if he didn’t call out the Alphas preferred name. They hadn’t told Roxy it was a sham, yet, hadn’t had the chance since she’d only just returned, but now was not the place to do it - if she reacted badly to the news, out in the open as they were, it could be disasterous.

“Eggsy.” Merlin calls as well, in case the younger man had any idea about leaving - Merlin almost bites his tongue, because that hadn’t been a friendly greeting, or a question, it was only half a shade away from an order. If the boy decided to turn his nose up at them and walk away, Merlin wouldn’t have blamed him - wouldn’t have liked it, but could have understood it. Instead Eggsy starts towards them and Merlin doesn’t even realise he’s done it until it’s too late for him to put his arm down, so he sets his jaw and commits to the gesture, ready and waiting for the other Alpha to lash out.

It was such a stupid thing to do, especially after what amounted to an order. It was exactly why Alpha/Alpha couples never worked out, because everything Merlin had just done, even after carefully coaching himself, was accidental and completely instinctual. Eggsy’s second mate to his first, and he knows that has to chafe, and attempting to dominate him - in public, no less - isn’t going to end well for anyone involved, accident or no. Merlin’s accidentally fucked them over, because there’s no way Eggsy’s going to react calmly, not after everything; Merlin knows he wouldn’t, if in the same position. He’d probably already have thrown a punch.

Except, the expected outburst doesn’t come.

The younger man just slides under his arm, calm as you please, and his scent doesn’t sour with anger or bitterness at the submission. He doesn’t even attempt to swing an arm up and place his hand on Merlins shoulder, regaining some sort of equality. He just curls his arm around Merlins waist, and huddles under Merlins arm, and it’s so perfectly submissive that for a second Merlin’s not quite sure that Eggsy is Gary.

It is, of course, because now Merlin can smell him, and it’s the same scent that clung to Harrys skin after he was married, when Merlin thought he’d lost him. It was impossible to forget that scent.

Roxy smiles at them, and continues to chat for a few minutes - Merlin’s not sure if he said anything, or left all the talking to Eggsy and Roxy, because the immediate submission of the Alpha who he still thinks of as competition, regardless of what he’s been trying to tell himself, sent heat shooting through his body, settling in his groin. Roxy makes her goodbyes, eventually, and she looks amused when it takes him half a second longer than it should to bend down and kiss her cheek. She’s obviously noticed the way he’s been staring at Eggsy, which isn’t going to help when they have to tell her the truth. He’s got bigger things on his mind, though, because as soon as Roxy’s gone from sight, Eggsy tries to maneuver his way out from under Merlins arm.

What Merlin should do is lift his arm, approach this conversation rationally and ask Eggsy to speak with him, giving the younger man the choice. It’s the right move, because surely the young Alpha has a breaking point, and it’s probably being physically restrained - so Merlin should definitely remove his arm. What he does instead is tighten his hold, and pull the resisting man to shadows of the stair where he’d been lurking before. It wasn’t anywhere close to private, but it was as good as they were going to get. He might be able to drag the physically smaller man further away, find some actual privacy, but it’d only damage what he was trying to achieve.

Standing in a shadow corner, the blond man still pressed up against his side, however, Merlin was finding it a bit hard to remember what, exactly, he was trying to achieve. He knew in the broad scheme of things what he had to do, but everything he's planned goes completely out the window looking down at the gorgeous submissive Alpha he'd heard Harry speak about so passionately.

Against his better judgement, Merlin really should know better, at his age, he slid his arm from around Eggsys shoulder and lifted his hand, tugging down the high collar which was obstructing his view of the scars Harry had left.

Chapter Text

There’s a moment where time seems to stop, and all Eggsy can feel is the tips of Merlins fingers brushing lightly over his mark. No one’s touched the mark since Harry bit it into his skin, not even Eggsy, and it’s mostly healed now, but sensitive - achingly so. The slightest brush from the older mans fingers have his knees going weak, makes him want to present his neck. What he wouldn’t give to submit to the other Alpha - establish the hierarchy in their fucked up triad. If he shows the man that he’s no threat to his mate bond with Harry, that there’s no competition for Harrys affections, maybe they’ll let him stay on the edges of their lives.

He wants that, wants anything. He thought he was fine, talking to no one, seeing no one, but twenty minutes with Roxy has him reeling because he likes people, needs to be around people - he can’t exist on his own, like he’s been doing.

Maybe they’ll even let him look after their baby, once Harry gives birth. He’s thought about it, about his mates pregnancy. He tries not to, because everything in him is telling him to go to Harry, make sure he’s okay, see if he needs anything, if Eggsy can help with anything, and he’s got no right to insert himself into their lives like that. But he’s good with kids, loved it when Daisy was a tiny tot, loved looking after her. And at least then he can pretend he’s wanted, even if only as the babysitter.

He feels his knees wobble, like they’re all too keen to hit the floor for Merlin, and he almost does it.

Almost.

He can only imagine the look on the older mans face if he did, though. He’s heard it enough from Dean in his life, even a few whispers of it in the army - about how easy he submitted, sometimes, without the grudging, almost antagonistic air that other Alphas had. In the army, no one ever said anything openly, never to his face, and he learnt quick to mimic the other Alphas he trained and fought with. The tightness in the shoulders, the thin line of an unhappy mouth. Back at home, though, Dean had known Eggsy since he was a child, and hadn’t made a secret of how much it disgusted him.

Eggsy could submit to Merlin no problem, and the other man would probably be pleased about it, chuffed at his dominance in the way that all Alphas were. It’d be later that the disquiet would come, when he’d think on it and how easily it’d happened, how unconcerned Eggsy was at submitting, that it’d seem off. Then he’d know that something wasn’t quite right with Eggsy, would be disgusted the way Dean and all his mates were, and Eggsy couldn’t deal with that, not here when he had no one.

So he tilts his head in the peculiar manner he’s seen so often, where you don’t bear any more of your neck than’s necessary, and you don’t bow your head at all, and you aggressively keep eye contact. It’s not a move that’s ever come naturally to him, and he can tell he’s left a bit of his neck exposed, on the side where Merlin’s touching his mark. He’d stopped caressing it when Eggsy moved, when he rearranged his posture into something more dominant.

Merlin didn’t move his hand away, however, instead he rested his hand on top of Eggsys shoulder, and dragged his thumb across the sensitive mark. He used more pressure than he had before, and Eggsy couldn’t help the way his head listed to the side, slightly. He realised, belatedly, that he probably should have moved away from the older mans hand and he’s going to do it now - he is. Except, it’s hard to move away when his entire body wants to arch into the touch, into the only human contact he’s had since Harry. He’s never gone so long without being touched before - he didn’t realise how much he missed it until Merlins arm settled around his shoulders.

And now he has to give it up, has to move away to reinforce the facade that he’s dominant, that he wants to dominate, because if he doesn’t he’s weird and wrong and then there’ll be no chance that Harry and Merlin will let him around their child; around them.

So he does, takes a step back so the heavy hand falls off his shoulders. Merlins nail catches his skin as his hand falls, and Eggsy can’t help the way he shivers before all contact’s lost and he’s alone, isolated, again, for all that he’s still not alone. Eggsy’s still looking Merlin in the eyes, defiant in a way he hopes looks dominant, the way he’s seen a few of his commanding officers eye each other when they disagree. Because it doesn’t feel like it, doesn’t feel like they’re equals - knows that they’re not, in any way, but hopes his inferiority doesn’t show in his gaze.

“We need to talk.” Merlin breaks the silence, and Eggsy nods, not trusting his voice right now. Yes, they still need to sort out the hierarchy in their triad. It’s unnecessary, and Eggsy knows they both know it, both know how it’s going to unfold, and who’s going to end up on the bottom of the ladder. Still, it is traditional, and if Merlin wants to, then it they’ll do it. Eggsy scoffs, internally, at his own easy compliance, can almost hear Dean laughing spitefully at him, at how terrible an Alpha he is. Still, it’s too late for him to change his mind and try to challenge Merlin about it, try and wrest control of the conversation - it’d only be petty, and Eggsy’s determined to get through it with his head held high. No matter what, he’s still going to respect himself when everything’s said and done, regardless of if he’s the only one.

There’s sound, suddenly, footsteps hurrying calmly towards the courtyard they’re in, and a voice carrys across the open space.

“Merlin and, ah, Gary, I wondered where you’d been hiding yourself.” Eggsy feels his face curl into an unpleasant expression, one mirrored by Merlin. His grandmother strolls across towards them but, smartly, stops well short of the two Alphas. Merlins expression has hardened into something truly ferocious, though he manages to restrain himself as he turns to face the old woman. She carries herself with grace in the face of hostility, Eggsy’ll give her that, but that’s about all.

“Queen dowager.” Merlin greets, formally though his voice is suddenly ice cold and thick with accent. Her gaze turns to Eggsy, and he puffs himself up, Alpha through his posture and his face. This, he thinks, is what he should have done when Merlin touched him, caressed him. Instead, it’s being used to intimidate an Omega; the fact that it obviously works shouldn’t please him so much, but it does.

“You was lookin’ for me?” He asks, instead of greeting her. She bristles, a bit, but clearly decides it’s not the right time, or the right audience for her to make a scene.

“I see you’ve met Merlin.” She says, ignoring the question, and Eggsy gets a sudden stroke of brilliance, and smiles at her. If his smile happens to bare as many teeth as possible, and if he’s worn it while gutting enemies on the battlefield, well, surely that’s an accident or a coincidence. Not like he’s trying to scare the old duck. Still, she takes a small step back when Eggsy takes a large step forward, drawing level with Merlin.

“Oh, I’ve met him.” Eggsy turns his gaze from her, and instead he looks at Merlin as lasciviously as possible, and watches with glee as her face pulls taut, lips forming into a line.

“Aye, we’ve been getting along well.” Merlin plays along while Eggsy looks back at her, and manages not to laugh at the look on her face.

“Very well.” Eggsy adds, and she looks like she’s regretting even approaching them - a very different look to the malicious glee she’d been sporting upon seeing them sequestered away in the corner of the courtyard.

“Hm, well. How… pleasant.” She tries to smile, and mostly manages it.

“Was there anything you needed?” Merlin asks, and Eggsy crosses his arms as they wait for an answer, tilting his head back so he can look down his nose at her; it’s rare he finds pleasure in being an Alpha, but this is one occasion where he’s absolutely loving it. Any thought of kindness to her, or maybe deference due to her age or standing, is completely obliterated every time he remembers how she smiled when she’d threatened his mum and Daisy.

“I just came to remind Gary about his lessons. He’s skipped most of them.” She says, trying for kindly, for grandmotherly, and it might’ve unbent someone else. The effort fails in the face of the two suddenly united Alphas, however.

“All of ‘em, you mean.” Eggsy says, and Merlins lips twitch into an almost smile; it does nothing to soften the hardness in his face, only accentuates it, and the Queen mother clears her throat.

“Yes, well, perhaps an adjustment to your attitude is needed?” There’s steel in her voice, now, and Eggsy has no doubt as to what she means, almost forgets to breath as he’s overtaken by fear and anger.

“I could nae agree more.” Merlins tone is suddenly cheerful, and if Eggsy hadn’t seen how much the other man disliked the woman, if he couldn’t understand why, he’d be wary. As it is, there’s very little chance Harry’s concealed anything about the entire arranged marriage and mating, so Eggsy just waits to hear what Merlin’s got to say, and see the reaction it’ll have on the old woman in front of them.

“And Harry or I will make sure he attends. Should be easy enough, now that he’s moving into our rooms.” Eggsy can barely appreciate the way all the colour blanches from the womans face, because he’s too busy trying not to give the game away with the way he freezes. It’s a total lie, of course, he knows - but he’s also just been publicly claimed by his mates Alpha, essentially, and he’s… a mess, really. He’d already known that submitting to Merlin would be no hardship, especially not to get closer to their mate, but he’d also decided not to submit to him - not even five minutes before, he’d refused to, regardless of what his body tried to persuade him to do.

And now Merlin’d announced to his grandmother he’d be moving in with them. But it’s a lie, he knows it’s a lie, and thankfully he didn’t tense up visibly. So he just keeps up the smirk and relaxed his vocal chords enough to say,

“I should have no trouble getting up in the morning. For classes, I mean.” They all know what he means. It’s a bit crass, but makes her flush a splotchy red and Eggsy almost laughs in her face. He wants to work in a jab about how big their bed is, maybe something that would really scandalize her but isn’t quick enough.

“Which reminds me, Harry should be waiting for us. If you’ll excuse us, ma’am.” Merlin doesn’t give her a chance to refuse, just gives a curt half bow and turns to go. He taps Eggsy between his shoulder blades as he passes, and the younger man obediently gives the same half bow before following, leaving his grandmother absolutely gob smacked as he walks shoulder to shoulder with the Scottish Alpha he was meant to replace.

It takes him five steps to realise he’d followed Merlins silent command and he almost swears out loud.

Chapter Text

Merlin’s confident that he’s made the right decision, searching Eggsy out and bringing him back to their quarters so that they can have a proper talk, and get everything out in the open, until he actually brings the younger alpha back to the rooms he and Harry share. It’s not that he’s had a sudden change of heart, or due to overwhelming nerves, or any such thing - Merlin is sure that this path, being completely honest about their wants and needs, is the only way for everyone to get what they wants. The stricken look on Harrys face when he sees Eggsy walk in after Merlin shows that, perhaps, he should have talked to Harry, first.

Rather obvious in hindsight, actually.

“Gary, what a surprise.” Harry pulls himself together easily enough, face smoothed out to polite neutral before Eggsy’s even looked at him.

“Merlin saved from that old bags clutches.” Eggsy grins up at him, and it throws Merlin off, again. Nothing Eggsy does makes any sense. He’d skulked sullenly behind Merlin the entire way back to his and Harrys rooms, giving up on slipping away after the third time Merlin wrapped a hand around his wrist to stop him. And yet, there was no anger or malice as he smiled up at Merlin. Nothing that could possibly indicate the simmering discontent and mounting anger that the young Alpha should have - that any only young Alpha would have at being handled so.

Merlin never could give up puzzles.

“Speaking of, how long do you think it will take to gather your things?” There’s a second where Eggsy’s just as confused as Harry, and then his eyes widen, and he shakes his head.

“Nah, don’t worry guv. I know you only said it to piss her off.”

“I insist, lad. You wouldn’t make a liar out of me, would ye?” Eggsy opens his mouth, likely to argue the point, when Harry cuts in.

“What on Earth are the pair of you talking about?” This is where it would be tricky, if he didn’t know Harry so well.

“The Queen Dowager was scolding Eggsy for missing lessons, and I assured her that he’d find his way to his lessons, now that he’s moving in with us.” For a moment, as Harry thinks over what he’s just been told, Eggsy looks like he’s going to bolt, right out of their rooms and back to wherever he’s been hiding. Merlin’s perfectly willing to chase him down; the heat that starts pooling in his groin at the thought almost makes him wish the lad would run. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he slouches against the door frame, looking like he’s got a list of a million places he’d rather be.

“I imagine she was absolutely delighted at the prospect.” Harry deadpans, and Eggsy chuckles, nodding his head.

“Like you wouldn’t believe, bruv.” Merlin chances looking away from Eggsy in order to catch Harrys eye, gauge his thoughts. He’s sure his mate’s fine with it, but it’s always better to check. No use bounding ahead with plans if Harry wants to pull the plug. But, as usual, Harry’s right there with him, and Merlin turns back towards Eggsy with a grin. Harry Hart wasn’t the sort of man who let an opportunity slip through his fingers, especially not one such as this.

“In that case, it is our duty, as gentlemen, to prevent any disappointment she might feel.” And Eggsy’s a quick lad, it only takes him a second to realise what that means.

“Wait- for real?”

“It’s not as though we’re short on space.” The older Englishman comments, dryly, gesturing to what they refer to as their rooms, which is true. Only, they’ve a very many rooms to claim as their territory. Eggsy thinks for a long moment, before he shrugs like he’s got not feelings either way on the matter.

“Alright. I’ll go get my things, then. Be back in a jiff.” And Merlin would be concerned about him slipping away for a sennight, or a fortnight, or forever, had he not seen the secret little smile that had been on Eggsy's lips, just before he’d vanished from sight. So Merlin turns back towards his mate, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips. Before they’d come in, Harry had been pouring over papers on his desk, and there’s a high chance that he needs to get back to his work. However, they were both very aware that Harry actually returning to his work now was very, very low. Merlin would even say nonexistent.

“Had an interesting afternoon walk, did we?” Harry raises an eyebrow, and Merlin doesn’t even bother pretending to be the least bit ashamed of himself.

“Oh, aye. Roxy’s back.”

“Excellent. I imagine you invited her to tea?” Harry’s only asked the question as a formality because of course Merlin invited her to tea, except, did he?

“I, ah, may have been a wee bit distracted.”

“You may have been what?”

“Distracted.” Merlin repeats, placing his hands on the back of Harrys chair and leaning down so he can speak the next part directly into Harrys ear.

“By the delightful feel of your little mate pressed against me.” And, oh, what an interesting reaction Harry has to that. He understands it, though. He can’t wait until they talk everything out and, hopefully, he can unravel the mystery that is Eggsy. And then take him to pieces in a very, very different way. Merlin presses a light kiss to the side of his neck before drawing back.

“Don’t tease, Merlin.” Harry scolds, and the Scot can’t help but chuckle.

“We could continue, Harry, but Eggsy’ll be back soon enough, and I don’t think it’ll be a proper welcome if he walks in ta see us fucking on the carpet.” Merlin knows exactly what Harry thinks of that, because he’s likely thinking the same thing. If he knew for certain that Eggsy’d not be scared off by it, he’d already be shedding clothes. But he doesn’t want to tempt the lad into disappearing into the shadows again, and they need to talk before any sort of physicality happens, so he merely picks up a book and sits down opposite Harry, while the dark haired man returns to his paperwork.

Between them, they get absolutely nothing done until Eggsy returns.

And then, instead of sitting down and talking it out like reasonable adults, Harry does something Merlin’s only seen once or twice in the entire time they’ve known each other.

“Right!” He exclaims, loudly, as soon as Eggsy meanders his way back into their rooms, clapping his hands together for emphasis.

He panics.

“We were thinking about taking a small trip, would you like to come?” That is certainly not what they need to talk about. Merlin raises an eyebrow, but Eggsy speaks before Merlin can open his mouth.

“Harry, to get outta this place, I would honestly stab someone.”

“Excellent. We’ll head out tomorrow. Come, I’ll show you around, and you can choose where you want to sleep.” And then he’s up and leading Eggsy away before Merlin can put a stop to the entire farce.

“Where’re we going, anyway?” He hears Eggsy ask, and Merlin covers his face with a hand, doesn’t bother to mumble when he says,

“We’re taking a small trip to idiocy, apparently.”

He’ll give Harry three days and, after that, Merlin’s going to force the three of them to talk. And if Harry still refuses, then Merlin’s going to have to talk to Eggsy on his own. If it comes to that, and if Eggsy is amenable, of course, they’ll get to see if Harry’ll sing a different tune when confronted with his two Alphas fucking on their bed.

Which, soon after, would be the bed all three of them will share.

Could’ve been the bed all three of them shared tonight, but Merlin'll keep him mouth shut about that. A least, until Eggsy can tease with him.