Harry lives for that moment when he can feel the blunt, oozing head of Eggsy’s cock pressing against his hole, seemingly too large to possibly fit. And though he’s had plenty of experience taking it up the arse, there’s always that one moment that lasts for the span of a heartbeat and lifetime where he thinks the tight ring of muscle won’t yield.
“Open up for me,” Eggsy urges. “Come on.”
Harry moans, resting his cheek against his forearms, digging his elbows into the mattress, angling his hips back, breathing deep and out—
It always does, though—and with an inevitable, delicious burning, no matter how much lube Eggsy uses, where Harry feels like he’s being pried apart. Eggsy’s prick stuffs him up and he feels massively full, sweetly aching, positively fit to bursting with cock.
“So tight, Harry.” Eggsy grinds a little into him, running blazing trails across his back.
He loves it, stuffed with Eggsy’s cock, pummelled beneath the onslaught of his immediate vigourous, merciless thrusts. Eggsy grips his hips bruisingly tight, fucking in so hard, his balls rhythmically slap against the tops Harry’s thighs.
“You feel so good, darling,” Harry moans, muffled by his arm. “So good. I love your thick cock fucking into me. Harder, please.”
And bless him, Eggsy somehow, impossibly, does, until Harry feels like his body’s gone numb with bliss, transported to stuffed arse nirvana, at which his prostate is the centre of the entire fucking universe.
He comes in an epiphany, sees God, and learns the secrets of life all in one split second, crying out and slumping, barely aware of Eggsy driving into him with one last forceful shove before coming inside him, curling over his back like a creeping vine.
When their pulses return to steady state and the sweat begins to cool, Eggsy gingerly pulls out, leaving Harry with a gaping absence between his legs, clenching around an empty mass that’s only ameliorated by Eggsy fingering the slopping mess of his hole, pushing back in all his dripping come.
people in fanfiction are so good at identifying v specific smells. I literally struggle to identify vanilla when I’m sniffing a candle labelled “VANILLA” how are these kids getting woodsmoke, rain, mint, and a whiff of byronic despair from a fuckin tshirt
Once I read a fic where they were like “he tasted like” and I’m expecting the typical formula (1 cooking ingredient + 1 natural phenomenon + “something uniquely [character name]”) but instead they said “he tasted like mouth” and it was one of the greatest fic moments of my life
click and drag to find out what your shitty fanfiction kiss tastes like
We were never gonna get a gay/bi male protagonist who has a love affair with his older male deutragonist in main stream cinema in the action/comedy genre.
If Tilde makes Eggsy happy, if she treats him well and she loves him for who he is. If she treats Daisy well and respects Michelle and remains a strong female character then honestly? Bring it on.
Give me Tilde, Crown Princess of Sweden who lives in London with her handsome tailor boyfriend who secretly helps influence other governments and gets information to help rebuild Kingsman. Give me Tilde who networks over formal dinners and feeds it back over breakfast with new Arthur.
Give me Tilde who goes to America as soon as her house, the house of her lover gets blown up and demands action on Poppy to the American president.
Give me Tilde believing in Eggsy and give me her and Roxy rolling their eyes at the boys when they fuck up.
Give me Tilde as a character. Not just a sex joke.
a paper mache bucket ... tumblr mirror 