open post | 4 | kink

[meerkats]

O P E N   S M U T   P O S T

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for prettywoman

[hornrimming]

[ The title of Merlin has gone to Highland Witches for as long as Kingsman has existed, as tradition would dictate. Not a man of war or a man of honor in combat but a man of magic, the origins of espionage stretching back millennium. His predecessor was a witch and the one before him as well, but they had not all been quite as hands-on as him. Time not spent as a watcher and a teacher was spent working; experimenting with technology that he could add his own personal boost to, mixing potions to create toxins that could kill a man in seconds. They are his pet projects so to speak, his designs and creations in the lab for the Knights to use, and sometimes he just can't help himself.

The problem with not being able to help himself is that sometimes mistakes happen. Mistakes that he saw coming, but decided that he could circumvent in one way or another.

This time, the concoction in question was supposed to, if balanced properly, erase certain degrees of memory based on how much was consumed. A few drops for a few hours, a whole vial for a lifetime. What it wasn't supposed to do, was explode in a cloud of purple smoke when combined with an electrical pulse.

His magic came on instinct, of course. It shielded him from shattered glass and kept him from inhaling the gas. When it cleared though, he felt odd. Odd enough to check his reflection, and what he saw had him cursing. ]

Jesus Christ.

[ Not a minute later, a text message was sent to his young and relatively new boyfriend, before returning his attention to more pressing matters: namely, fixing this. ]

I'm afraid I won't be able to make dinner tonight, love. An experiment's gone tits up and I'm going to need to fix this before I can leave the building.

[prettywoman]

[Mission reports are probably the bane of Eggsy's existence. He had asked, once — when he had finally gotten used to the idea that magic was a real thing, and no, it wasn't like Harry Potter, and no, he couldn't learn it if he just tried really hard — why Merlin couldn't just magic their glasses to spit out reports or something so that he wouldn't have to waste his time writing them up, but all he'd got for that brilliant suggestion was a condescending look and some equally condescending bullshit about how writing reports builds character or something. He'd tuned him out by that point, since it was obvious he wasn't getting his way.

What all this comes down to is this: Eggsy still holed up in his office, forcing himself to go through the reams of paperwork he has to fill out after every mission, his plans of going home early and having a quiet night in with takeaway and a movie on his boyfriend's couch quickly going down the drain.

When he's just getting in the swing of things, his phone chimes with a text.

He's already smiling when he sees it's from Merlin, but that smile falters somewhat quickly when he reads the message. It doesn't seem urgent, Merlin doesn't say anything about going to medical or anything like that, but Eggsy doesn't like the sound of one of Merlin's experiments going "tits up." He knows how much he deals with explosives and the like, and that sounds ominous.

Well, he could use a break.

Pocketing his phone, he pushes away from his desk and stretches, twisting until his back pops satisfyingly before heading out the door and down towards Merlin's "lair." He has a code to let himself in even when the door is locked, which is why he doesn't even bother knocking before he pushes the door open, already talking even before he enters.]

You can't just say stuff like that and expect me not to come inve— [He stops mid-word when he realizes Merlin's not here. There's some new guy or other standing in front of his boyfriend's station, but his back is to Eggsy so he can't tell who he is. He's tall, though, and slim, with a shock of dark hair. Eggsy's pretty sure he's never seen him before.] Oh, sorry mate, I thought Merlin would be in here. You know where he is?

[hornrimming]

[ 1982. That's when Merlin last looked like the young fop standing in front of Eggsy. He'd started growing a beard after that, or attempting one before scrapping the idea entirely and beginning to be concerned instead about his hairline as it began creeping sinisterly backwards That had been a good year, all things considered, but that was a long time ago. Over half of his lifetime in fact, before Kingsman, before the Army, before he had really accepted his bloodline for what it was. A year of Pat Benatar and his first genuine sexual experience with his closest friend at the time.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw a face someone that, given the years of distance from then to now, he would rightfully consider a stranger. He hadn't looked for long; there were more pressing matters.

His blood has just gone under a microscope when Eggsy enters without knocking, and Merlin doesn't bother to look up from compound lenses. ]

How many times do I have to tell you to knock, Lad? You could be walking into something dangerous for all that you know.

[ His voice changed from that of a child's to an adult's long before he looked like this, a fully grown but still quite young man of nineteen years. He could be more unlucky, given the circumstances. He hadn't gained any particularly notable amount of weight since, and had only lost a minimal amount of muscle mass to age. His button down was only somewhat tighter than it had been that morning due to the regaining of said minimal muscle mass, but with his sleeves rolled up nicely and his tie previously abandoned with his jumper on a shelf to prevent chemical damage, he remained in all regards but age the same man he had been when they had woken up tangled in Merlin's sheets that morning. ]

[prettywoman]

[He'll be a little embarrassed, later, to admit that he doesn't twig to what's going on immediately. He bristles, a little, when this stranger calls him lad the way Merlin does — with a frighteningly similar accent; does Merlin have a nephew Eggsy should know about? — but the more he speaks, the more familiar he seems, and although Eggsy's confident step had faltered when he found someone he wasn't expecting standing in front of Merlin's desk, he finds himself standing beside this unexpected figure without really remembering how he got here, too busy staring up at the face that's so familiar and yet not.]

Holy fucking shit, Merlin?

[Heedless of the admonition he just summarily ignored, Eggsy reaches out and grabs on of Merlin's arms — this is Merlin, right? — a little distracted by the breadth of muscle beneath his hand. He's not crazy ripped or anything, but he's bulky enough that the shirt he's wearing is straining in ways it wasn't this morning, and Eggsy's utterly fascinated.

Less fascinated by his arms than he is by his face though. He's lost some of the hollowness to his cheeks, his jawline softened by the last vestiges of baby fat that cling to his face, but the nose is the same, and those eyebrows are still angry dark slashes that gather together above the frames of his glasses.

And his hair.]

Your hair! [He knows he's sounding like a total twat right now, but he can't make himself care. Merlin, his boyfriend Merlin, is standing in front of him with a teenager's face and a full head of hair, and it's honestly taking a little while longer for all of this to compute.]

Babe. Have you looked at yourself? [He tugs on Merlin's arm again to get him to turn away from his desk some more so Eggsy can stare at him properly.] You's well fit.

[hornrimming]

[ He is being a bit of a twat, but perhaps not for the reasons he might think. Losing his hair had been a trigger for him; take care of yourself, Robin, you don't want to fall out of shape. You're a good looking man, best keep it up, best stay healthy. He didn't have to try very hard when he was nineteen, and the same can't be said about being fifty one.

At the compliment, Merlin chuckles sheepishly and a hand jumps up to smooth over his full head of hair. It's been shaved clean for so long that to run his fingers through instead of over his hair is a motion he's almost forgotten. He's letting himself be shepherded by Eggsy's will, and that really is one the incredibly endearing things about the lad isn't it? He is miraculously good at getting people to want to drop everything that they're doing to keep his company, just by being himself. He's miraculously good at getting Merlin to stop, to talk, to listen, even when he should be working on fixing whatever he's done to himself. ]

Aye, I've seen it. I would rather see less of it, as a matter of fact, given that I don't know what the lasting effect might be.

[prettywoman]

[He's watched Merlin rub a hand over his scalp more times than he can count, usually when Merlin is stressing out about something related to work or when he's so lost in a book that he forgets himself, but watching him comb his fingers through his hair (his hair!) is so fascinating, Eggsy can't help but lift his hand and mimic the motion, utterly mussing up the brief sense of order Merlin had imposed upon it.

He manages to insinuate himself between Merlin and his desk, impeding any hope his boyfriend might have of working, and busies himself with groping him some more, starting with his hair again and working his way down his chest and arms.]

Is this what you looked like when you was a recruit? [He's enjoying this so much. To see Merlin, his Merlin, the quartermaster whose grim scowl could make grown agents quake in their boots, look like a fresh-faced lad of eighteen is just about the greatest gift today could give him. Grinning brightly, he settles his hands on Merlin's waist and squeezes gently. Just as firm as he remembers.] How old are you now? I mean, I know how old you are, but how old were you when this, [he lifts his hand off Merlin's waist and waves it around to encompass everything Merlin is right now,] was a thing? You look younger'n me. An' I thought I was the baby around here.