bakerstreet | Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime.

Eggsy shudders. It's the anticipation that really does it for him - usually, when he kisses a girl it escalates pretty quickly and they'd have been at it with tongues almost immediately. By the time he feels Tommy tracing at his lip, he wants it, it feels like it'd been something missing.

He parts his lips properly and coaxes Tommy's tongue into his mouth, touching it with his, and he feels so much more aware of everything he's doing now. It's not just kissing but every little part of the process experienced one by one. Tommy's hand on his waist, his own running over Tommy's hair, the bump and press of their shoulders, the slick-hot slide of their tongues.

He feels hot, all over, he feels good. Maybe it's because he's been waiting so long for this. Apparently delayed gratification really is better.

"You're good at this," he murmurs in Tommy's ear, voice thick and almost purring with it.

"When I'm properly motivated," he whispers back, sliding his hand up Eggsy's chest to curl back around his shoulder. He ducks back in and sucks on his lower lip, runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth in a move that always makes him buck helplessly, moans when Eggsy tugs just slightly on his hair.

Eventually, after long, long minutes, he pulls away to lean their foreheads together. His eyes are half-lidded and his breath comes in short bursts.

"Eggsy," he murmurs, needing to say something when he doesn't really have the words.

"Yeah," he breathes. He's a mess. Half-hard already from just a bit of snogging and light petting and this is normally the point where he'd want a girl to reach for his fly, or grab his hair and push him to his knees. But this is different; Tommy's slim, but he can still feel those straight, masculine lines under his clothes.

"Know you said we could slow down," he whispers, "if I wanted. But you said we could speed up too, yeah? I mean - I don't wanna go faster," he amends hurriedly, "this is a good speed, this is good. Just - more?"

A flush settles happily on his cheeks even as his eyes soften. God, he's lovely-- Tommy's fighting such conflicting instincts, wants to pull Eggsy on top of him and hold him, just as much as he wants to push him down and make him come so hard he forgets his own name.

He'd half-forgotten how nice it is to be with a man, to feel hard lines and know it's alright to push a little more without seeming too aggressive. But Eggsy, it seems, wants to push him a little, and the words punch a moan out of him and he nods. As if he'd refuse- as if he could refuse him anything right now.

"Yeah," he agrees, ducking back in to kiss him, but this time he slides his hand down to rest on Eggy's chest. His other hand settles on the back of his knee, pulling him in closer.

He goes closer - but this isn't comfortable, sitting side by side like this, he's having to think about his balance and where to put his hands and it's distracting him from the main event. So he moves, swings a knee over Tommy's and puts himself over him, bracketing his thighs with his own. It brings them nice and close, more of them touching - and a part of his mind skitters nervously away from it, because he's seriously sitting on the lap of a man ten (?) years his senior in a hotel room.

He thinks briefly of the Dog Pack round the estate, calling him a poof because he gave a shit about how he looked, starting off with the rentboy jabs because Dean had him doing odd jobs for some bent coppers, and he knows none of that shit has nothing to do with anything here but he just - he just -

He leans into Tommy, puts his face against his neck and just holds him, clinging to his shoulders.

"I'm alright," he mutters, because he knows he seems like he isn't. "I'm okay."

Tommy runs a hand soothingly up his back, pressing his fingertips lightly between his shoulderblades. He presses a soft, tender kiss to his temple and waits until his breathing has evened out.

He really doesn't believe he's alright, but he won't say anything yet: they're not that close, not yet, and he needs to let Eggsy speak his mind because he won't know, otherwise. He can guess, but he's afraid of insulting him, so he doesn't.

Tommy's so fucking gentle with him it's heartbreaking. Makes him want to back away, flinch from it, because he's getting used to people other than his mum being nice and even being kind, but this is a kind of tenderness that's so fucking alien. He just knows Tommy's waiting to hear that he can't hack it and he's scared that maybe he can't, but he wants to, he wants this. He wants fewer clothes and more skin, wants Tommy's hands on him, wants his hands on Tommy. He doesn't want to have to call this off early and take a cab home to a cold bed and a frustrated, unsatisfying wank.

But just being here means negotiating a minefield that being with a girl doesn't, and it's scary.

"You'd wait," he whispers in Tommy's ear, "if I said this was enough for now, you'd be okay waiting 'til next time. Yeah?"

He scratches his blunt fingernails through the short hair at the back of Eggsy's neck, kisses his temple again. He remembers being here, and he's become more understanding and patient with age. He remembers being terrified, kissing Freddie in a warehouse near the cut; remembers a boy in the army and how they'd snuck around in the barracks, before Grace had come along.

He understands, so deeply that he can't help but tighten the arm he has around Eggsy's waist.

"I'd be okay waiting until whenever you're ready. Next time, next month, next year."

Really: it's that unimportant to him. He likes sex, but he likes Eggsy more, and he wants that to last. If he were in this for the sex he would've picked someone closer to home.

Eggsy laughs, quiet and a little incredulous and weirdly, incredibly touched.

"You'd honestly date me for a whole year and not want to fuck me?"

He laughs as well, lets himself pull back a little and kisses his chin.

"Eggsy, I already want to fuck you. We just won't until you want to, and in the meantime I'll be happy all the same."

When he laughs now, it's more relaxed; more genuine.

"I want to."

He just had to know that Tommy would say - well, exactly what he just said, really. That none of this is ever going to be conditional, as are so many things in his life right now.

"Can I take your shirt off?"

He leans up for another quick kiss, nods. He'll let Eggsy do it- that's half the fun, after all, unwrapping the person in front of you. He'll see, quickly enough, that there are tattoos on his biceps, and one poking out from underneath the A-frame he wears underneath his white button-up. They're very clearly military-related, except for the rays on his chest, right over his heart.

Eggsy opens his shirt carefully but not too slowly - not giving himself enough time to work up any stress over it. It's not like he's not seen plenty of blokes naked before, but context is everything, and when he takes off Tommy's shirt and works his A-frame off over his head he can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Everything feels different all over again. Kissing is one thing, but if they're getting undressed, that's something else.

He traces one of the rays on his chest with a fingertip, staring at it, then flicks his gaze up to Tommy's for a moment. And then he's reaching for Tommy's hands, guiding them to his own collar without another word.

He doesn't lean in to kiss him again, even though he wants to: the air is crackling with tension, and Tommy doesn't want to spook him now. Despite the heat between them he shivers, and the sudden cold of the room and the excitement causes his nipples to harden.

He can't talk about this tattoo yet, the ink meaning more than he wants to say on this first night in bed with Eggsy. He'll say; just not now. Instead Eggsy's hands take his, and he looks up at the younger man with such unbridled care, such tender surprise. His fingers move carefully but swiftly, and he uses his palms to slip the shirt off of his shoulders.

"You're very handsome," he murmurs, because he is, and because such things are nice to hear.

Eggsy knows it's stupid to feel flattered by that, to fucking blush - but he is, he does. With girls, generally the compliments go one way and he's fine with that, because he likes telling girls they're pretty, likes to make them feel wanted even if it's just for one brief fumble.

"So're you," he whispers back, rolling his shoulders to help Tommy get his shirt off. Nothing else on underneath; he's well-built, defined muscles, a small thin patch of hair between his pectorals. No tattoos; a few small scars. "You - you're gorgeous."

He is. This is like staring at a sculpture in an art gallery for weeks, admiring the fine work of it, the craftsman's touch, and finally being told that you can put your hands on it.

Only it's entirely different to that, and infinitely better, obviously. He kisses him again, bringing their bodies together, and he shivers all over at the sheer surface area of bare skin touching now and Christ, he knows Tommy will be able to feel that he's hard.

He runs his knuckles between his pectorals, over the light dusting of hair, before Eggsy leans back in for a kiss. It's so much deeper like this, like his whole body's perfectly attuned to Eggsy, every bit of skin aware of him.

He ignores Eggsy's erection like he ignores his own; doesn't buck up into it, definitely doesn't touch it, because this is already a big step and he's so happy, so satisfied with what he's already being given. He does, however, bring both arms around him to pull him close, opening his mouth while he does so.

It already feels more like sex than anything else. In bed, half-naked, tongues stroking into each other's mouths. Eggsy can feel the hard studs of Tommy's nipples against his chest, knows his are dragging against Tommy's every time he moves; he shifts his hips just for comfort's sake and it brings the ridge in his trousers right up against the answering bulge in Tommy's. He breaks the kiss on a stuttered groan.

"Jesus." It's wheezed out, partly out of surprise, like for some reason he couldn't imagine Tommy getting off on what feels like some spectacularly inept fumbling on his part. "Sorry, sorry - "

He kisses him again, mostly just so he'll stop talking like he can't breathe properly.

He's already glad Eggsy isn't pulling away- it's one thing to be kissing a man, it's quite another to feel his cock pressing against you. So he kisses back enthusiastically, with a slight edge of desperation, tangling one hand in his hair. He wants Eggsy breathless and aching, but he also wants him to feel like Tommy is into every part of him, even the fumbling inept ones.

God, can he ever feel that. Tommy's so fucking into it, and as much as Eggsy wants to read too much into the fact that it's simply been a while and assume he'd be like this with anybody - Tommy didn't have to say any of the stuff he has, hasn't had to be patient with him, didn't have to tell him he'd hold on for a fucking year if it came down to it. He's chosen to do all those things, because he...wants him. Really, honestly wants him.

And Eggsy is terribly weak to feeling wanted. Pleasure and relief make his spine go liquid.

"Can I touch you?" he whispers, panting, the next time their lips part. Maybe it's a control thing but that seems so much easier - safer, for now - than the reverse.

Some part of him wants to ask Eggsy if he's sure, if they really should be doing this right now, but he's in bed with a grown man, not a blushing virgin, and so he doesn't. He's made sure Eggsy knows he'll wait however long it takes, but if he doesn't want to wait, well, Tommy is very on board with that.

"Yeah-- yes, please." For the first time he really does sound breathless, his pupils blown when he leans back slightly so he can change the angle of their kiss. It's as if he can feel himself grow even harder thanks to the question, and has to physically keep himself from bucking up. His hands tighten briefly on Eggsy's hips and he lets out an involuntary whimper.

And if there was ever a sound he wanted to just carve into his mind for the rest of his life, God...

Being clutched at like that doesn't feel bad at all, either.

He kisses him back, slow and languid while his hands get busy on Tommy's skin. Tracing the lines of his throat and collarbone, first, then the flat planes of his chest. He skims a nipple and squeezes gently, like he would with a girl - then harder, almost a pinch, like he does when he's touching himself.

He feels good. Strong and firm all over. Addictive.

He's responsive, even if he's trying very hard not to be so responsive that it freaks Eggsy out. So he exhales at the squeeze, moans at the pinch; rolls his hips up very slightly; tilts his head this way and that while his own hands run gently up and down Eggsy's arms. It's amazing, a privilege, to be the first man Eggsy's ever some this with, and he tells him so when he pulls away:

"You're so good at this-- you feel amazing, Eggsy, really."

What this will reveal is that Eggsy is ridiculously vulnerable to praise for good performance, particularly with that added bonus of getting something right the first time; he's smiling, now, in a way that lights up his whole face.

"I'm just doing what I'd like myself," he admits softly. "Is there, um, anything you really like, anything I can do for you?"

Because Tommy's got him hook, line and sinker now. He'd do whatever he wants and love it.

That's a difficult question if he's ever heard one: he wants everything, soft and sweet, fast and hard, quickies against the door and whole weekends of lying around in bed. But that's not something Eggsy can offer right now, so he licks his lips, reaches up for a kiss.

"Do to me what you'd do to yourself. Show-- show me what you like?" Christ, he's so beautiful, he never wants him to stop looking so radiant.

"Yeah, okay."

Eggsy's never had the chance to develop those more eclectic tastes. He likes being jerked off fast and sucked off slow, he likes being ridden, he likes sucking a girl's tits, he likes having his hair pulled with his face buried between a pair of spread thighs.

He doesn't know how much of it he can show Tommy, tonight anyway, but - well, they'll find out.

He slips his hand down to Tommy's fly, quickly checking his face for any signs of not-okayness before popping the button open and lowering his zip.

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