Work Text:
Strictly Medicinal
Three quarters under the 1983 TVR Kingsman have let him have as a hobby project, Eggsy’s feeling the July heat. He’s bloody grateful he’d already taken his sweaty t-shirt off and tucked it into the top of his jeans to wipe his hands off on… partly because he recognises Harry’s gait across the tarmac towards him.
Of course, Eggsy carries on for a good few minutes under the age-old guise of finding a good place to stop, just to make sure he gets plenty to look at.
When he does surface, Harry’s holding out an ice cold bottle of Diet Coke by the neck... looking like a tall drink himself, for what it’s worth, but that’s nothing new.
“That looks like thirsty work.” Harry hands him the drink and manages, just about, to maintain eye contact with his slow smile, the smooth old fox.
Genuinely grateful, Eggsy drains the bottle in two draughts separated by a fairly majestic and not in any way gentlemanly burp. Harry gives him a look, yeah, but if he tells you he don’t like his bit of rough sometimes he’s lying. What’s he doing coming to make Eggsy his own personal Diet Coke advert man for otherwise?
“Cheers darlin’. I needed - HICC. What the fuck, excuse me.” Eggsy rubs at the centre of his chest. “Needed that. Hcc. Oh, come on.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’ve given myself hiccups.” He frowns and another one shakes him as soon as he’s got the words out. And then another on the next breath. And another. They’re genuinely painful: short sharp jabs up under the ribs that make Eggsy feel like he’s swallowing his tongue. Another burp doesn’t help and nor does stealing a swig from Harry’s own icy bottle of Sprite when he offers - that just make Eggsy hiccup harder and quicker.
Harry looks baffled and concerned in that way where it’s impossible to tell if he’s going to start laughing, putting a gentle hand on the small of Eggsy’s back to comfort him and Eggsy would love to move in for a nice teasing snog but he hiccups half way to leaning in.
“Ohhh this is some hicc bullshit.”
***
During the course of the afternoon, naturally Eggsy tries all the classics. He drinks ice cold water. He drinks ice cold water from the wrong side of the glass - after taking three attempts to work out what that actually involves doing. He downs a tablespoon of Tabasco sauce and sucks a wedge of lemon, and then hiccups and Tabasco goes up the back of his nose and somehow he gets lemon juice in his eye and of course that’s when Harry comes in, when he’s choking and snotting condiments all over the fucking kitchen.
“Eggsy? What’s on earth’s the matter?”
“ HIC . I can’t hch fuck. Can’t get rid of these fucking HICC hiccups.”
“You’ve had them all day?”
Eggsy just hiccups miserably.
“Right…” says Harry in a tone Eggsy knows is dangerous.
***
“What sort of HIHT fucks sake. What sort of Defence Against The Dark Arts shit is this?” Eggsy accepts the glass warily, eye fixed on the knife dunked in it.
“My aunt Agnes Used to swear drinking from a glass with a silver blade in it would cure the hiccups.”
Of course she did. Of course everyone in Harry's family has had ceremonial knives knocking about the place.
“And when did they burn her at the stake?”
“Ducking stool.” Harry smiles wryly. “She’s still around actually.”
“At a hundred and twelve. Funny that.” Eggsy takes the glass anyway. “Bottoms up.”
Eggsy takes a long, slow drink from the glass, eye squinting at the blade even though he’s got his finger keeping it from swinging around the rim and into his face.
“And?”
There’s a brief anticipatory silence.
Eggsy hiccups emphatically.
“Absolute bollocks.”
***
“ WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK, ROX.”
Eggsy drops the spatula and clutches at his chest. Blows out a long, long breath and stretches his fingers out from where they were seized around his impromptu weapon, ultimately enormously grateful that his best mate bar none is dangling upside down from the fucking kitchen ceiling because otherwise he might have, what, sauteed her to death and that would just be really shit.
“Making you jump’s supposed to cure the hiccups!”
She shakes her head and her hair falls loose from its tie in a dramatic glossy waterfall… it’d be time for a spiderman kiss if Eggsy wasn’t otherwise inclined, taken, and well aware Roxy favours egg mayonnaise sandwiches for lunch. Most people figure she’d shank him for trying but they’re both so far from having had to consider it that one day he might try just to shit her up.
Like if she gets the hiccups and he’s trying to scare the daylights out of her.
“It’s not gonna cure me of fuck all if I fucking die.”
“Technically that would cure you of everything.”
Eggsy shakes his head as Roxy pulls herself back up into the air duct, swirls around and drops down the right way up, eyebrows raised imperiously whilst they wait.
“Oh! I think they're go- HIICCCC oh for FUCK’S SAKE.”
***
“Harry? Htth. What’s the longest you can have - ouch - hiccups for?”
Harry looks up from his book.
“The Guinness Book of Records has the longest at seventy five years or so I believe.”
“Fucking HIhhcc brilliant.”
***
Eggsy’s second day on the trot with hiccups is no better than the first.
Harry catches him having a cheeky snout outside the gym. Ninety minutes of cardio hadn’t done a thing to shift the hiccups and trying weights had been plain dangerous so a cigarette pinched from one of the admin seemed about justified.
“ Eggsy.” Harry’s scolding tone is just a shade closer to schoolteacher than Is is to disappointed and as such, quite sexy, but he still makes his excuses.
“Thought it might help, with HHHTT . Ouch, fuck. That one hurt. HCH. Ow!”
“I’ll do some research.” If Harry’s not going to have a go about the smoking it must be really serious. He doesn’t even excuse himself, just looks vaguely preoccupied into the middle distance and fishes his phone out of his pocket, and knowing Harry he might be about to spend the afternoon on WikiHow or he might have a hotline to Head Hiccup Specialist at GlaxoSmithKleine. With Harry, you never can tell.
***
“And. … GO.” Merlin thumbs the stopwatch and Eggsy dives. Drags himself down through the cold water, fighting the urge to close his eyes, resisting the far more distressing twitching under his ribs. Fuck these hiccups: this is going to do it. A long hard dunk in the freezing cold Kingsman dive pool.
Four metres down he wraps his fingers in a good hard grip around the handle of the weight and kicks off from the bottom for the climb to the surface.
And hiccups.
Water sucks in up his nose even though he hasn’t drawn a breath in and he can’t cough it out because there’s no air in his lungs. He doesn’t panic until it happens again and then Eggsy drops the weight and fights for the surface as hard and as fast as he can, everything burning, everything wrong and sharp, instincts in full animal panic because he might actually fucking drown and what a way to go, after all he’s been through.
He just about manages to haul himself up so that he can spend the next crucial moments coughing his guts up, or at least a gallon of slimy pool water spluttering out all over the tiles, over Merlin’s shoe.
“One twelve. I’ve seen you do better without dying,”
“ Hicc Fu- hicc Fuck you.”
***
Eventually, on day three, enough is enough: Eggsy misses a critical shot in a training simulation because he hiccups with his finger on the trigger and accidentally shoots a rose bush instead of the CGI super villain, and ends up in medical.
Morgana prescribes him an industrial strength muscle relaxant but - other than spending a pleasant evening on the sofa, half in Harry’s lap, high as a giraffe’s arse - it doesn’t help much. He still hiccups even though they don’t hurt as much, and in the morning he’s just as miserable as before, hiccuping viciously into his double espresso at the breakfast bar.
“ HICC ouch hchh fuck hic fuck! Harry, help me!”
“I’m trying, my love.” Harry’s ‘trying’ in this instance is scrolling through every old wive’s tale on the entire fucking internet in an attempt to find something they haven’t tried yet, and they’re getting pretty desperate. “You haven’t stolen any chickens, have you?”
“Stolen any… are you fucking high?”
“If you had, id have sent you to apologise.” He’s squinting over his glasses at his phone. “Tried standing on your head? Tried having someone punch you in the stomach?”
“I actually have. Hicc. No dice.”
“Well.” Suddenly, Harry's doing the face he does when he’d be blushing if he ever blushed: a quick little blink and a re-setting of his features. “There’s a more appealing option, though I can’t quite believe… worth a try, I suppose.”
Eggsy walks around to peer at what Harry’s reading on his phone.
“You’re having a - hhcc - a fucking laugh.”
***
Three hours later they’ve binned the day off because nobody can concentrate with Eggsy sounding like a vacuum hose sucking up a corner of a rug on every third breath.
Another twenty minutes and Harry’s whisked him home with all the speed and precision of a critical mission, got him washed and stripped and up on the bed ready to have his hiccups cured via the arse.
It’s worth a try. Anything’s worth a try and some actual scientist has won an actual Nobel prize for working out that killer hiccups can be cured by, of all things, persistent rectal massage. So at this point it’s logically the next thing on the list.
Not just because Harry’s obviously a bit into it.
That’s not in itself a surprise. He loves all this shit, doesn’t he, the gentleman coming to the aid of someone in distress.. ? And if that just happens to mean he gets to play with Eggsy’s arse then he’s going to be extremely magnanimous and not mind at all. He’s a hero like that.
Acts of selfless heroism do not, of course, account for the way the precise line of his tailored slacks is just slightly distorted as he settles at the end of the bed. He’s fucking hard. Eggsy’s in pain and Harry’s got a fucking boner.
… Eggsy’s also stark naked with his knees spread wider than his shoulders and his feet up on the mattress, to be fair: If Harry didn’t get hard for that he’d be a bit insulted honestly.
The seductive recline is, unfortunately, pretty much ruined when he hiccups so hard his legs twitch and his stiffening cock fwap s him in the belly. Harry looks a bit concerned by the sudden movement but then gets back down to business, still in his shirt, with the sleeves rolled up - that’s nice, yeah - and a nearly full bottle of the good lube on the bed by his elbow.
“Just lie back.”
“And think of England?”
“Well, if that’s what does it for you.”
It only is if by England you happen to mean this old stereotype Harry likes to model himself on and then warp out of all recognition by being all fit and filthy. Eggsy shuts his eyes though and breathes nice and slowly against the inevitable twitching in his diaphragm.
Thinking about just this, what they're doing, does not help, because when he remembers they’re trying to get rid of his hiccups, he hiccups. Plus it’s really fucking weird. A bit clinical, and then the first touch of Harry’s lube-cool fingers remind him of getting a medical and he’s not sure how he feels about that. ‘Playing doctor’ with Harry is just fine, yeah, and the real doctor definitely doesn’t gently stroke and rub at his hole like that; doesn’t kiss Eggsy on the inside of the thigh so high Eggsy can feel the warmth of breath on his balls whilst the tips of two fingers push and slide carefully in.
Malpractice, is what that’d be called, but when Harry does it it’s called fucking lovely.
Eggsy sighs and settles back onto his elbows. Not all the way down onto his back because he likes to watch Harry when he does this. He gets a look on his face like he’s really invested in a sudoku puzzle and then like he’s just realised an answer when Eggsy responds the way he wants, and then a face he absolutely never does at puzzles because Harry really, really likes making Eggsy feel good. And knowing that makes Eggsy feel really good.
And he’s starting to, because his body is warming up now, loosening up even though he’s still hiccuping softly occasionally - is he just imagining they’re getting gentler? - and Harry’s nicely slick fingers glide neatly into place.
“Ohhh, the- hicc - there .” As if Harry doesn’t know, isn’t that precise on purpose. His fingers twist slightly and pleasure spirals up through Eggsy’s stomach into his chest, hot and tingly.
Harry sighs happily at the response, turns his forearm for comfort and then Eggsy feels that big warm wash of sensation as Harry’s fingers bend towards his prostate and press . His cock's as hard as it can be now as he feels Harry start to rub back and forth so gently, or soft little circles; whatever it is feels wonderful and Eggsy’s cock’s throbbing, shining; clear precome pulsing up and dripping down the underneath of his cock to wet Harry’s circling fingers. He’s messy with it, gleaming; wants Harry to lick it off but if he does Eggsy will come more or less straight away and that would be such a waste of his talented fingers.
Also might not be so effective towards the initial goal, which Eggsy is definitely not thinking about because that makes him feel that impulse up under his ribs. No no no, not now, come on. Not when it’s starting to feel so good.
“Mmm, yeah, can you - hicccc OH MY GOD.”
Harry startles as Eggsy almost flings himself over the headboard, almost climbs the fucking wall, the feeling’s that strong. That real quick hot stab of something like you’re going to piss yourself that ebbs off into the sensation so close to orgasm but without the spunk, but obviously Harry doesn’t know that. He’s staring like perhaps he’s hurt Eggsy, perhaps Eggsy’s possessed, blinking warily whilst Eggsy settles back down to the bed and allows Harry’s fingers to slip back in and nudge right up against that sweet spot. Harry's going to wait for him to explain, though. “What? You ever been fingered with the hiccups? Think the guy might have just recommended it because it - hcc, nngh! - feels like that.”
“It’s… enjoyable?”
His core flinches with another hiccup that wrings Eggsy’s body out, up in discomfort but onto Harry’s fingers and it feels incredible. It’s almost worth having the hiccups for, not that Eggsy will jinx himself with that right at this second. He absolutely didn’t just imagine the next google search being how to give yourself hiccups
Harry, smug and happy in the way Eggsy loves seeing him, starts bending his fingers in a nice slow pulse to put pressure right where Eggsy wants it and what was a drip’s now a near-constant dribble of excitement running down his cock that they’re both watching in fascination. Eggsy might think Harry was enjoying this as much as he is if it weren’t for the way his whole lower body feels like heaven, right up to where -
“ Hihhch Ah!” He pushes his shoulders down into the bed to arch his middle up and get the angle just right again, his body seizing desperately for more.. “ Hoooooly fuck Harry! Mmhh, oh fuck.”
Harry keeps flexing his fingers back and forth, rhythm deadly, tone casual as you fucking like.
“Do you think it’s helping?”
“As if I give a fuck right now!”
Eggsy writhes right up and clenches, clenches, hiccups and the convulsion drives Harry’s fingertips into his prostate so hard he almost blacks out as he comes, hot pleasure flooding through his hips and his belly, come shooting in an arc up his belly and dripping down over Harry’s loose, unmoving grip on his cock.
He floats back down to earth gasping: he can feel himself throbbing around Harry’s gentle fingers. Can feel his muscles, loose like he’s melted, his breathing deep and hard and uninterrupted. He breathes in, hard and slow, for the count of seven and out for the count of ten, just like they’re taught, and the only quiver is one of those little aftershocks of orgasm dancing happily down his back.
Tries again, and nothing. Eggsy shudders with residual bliss again and squeezes around Harry’s fingers… Harry who’s got his knows-he’s-a-sex-god-but-gentlemen-don’t-brag face on, hair loose, dark eyes and the tiniest touch of pink on his cheeks. All Eggsy can muster by way of thanks, for a moment is a slow blink like a cat, and a happy little clench around Harry's knuckles.
Harry kisses Eggsy’s leg and curves his fingers very softly, clearly very pleased with his success and with the way Eggsy’s inner thighs tremble.
“Another? Just in case…”
“ Pervert,” Eggsy finds himself breathing in the way he knows Harry knows means ‘yes please’.
“It does specifically say persistent...”
“Yes it does.” Eggsy thinks about faking a hiccup, but reckons he'd better not risk it just yet. His nerves are just starting to settle, there's a whole load of ways this could get interesting and none of them involve having to drink a glass of water whilst standing on his head. “Don’t wanna take any chances.”