Sarra

The day that Harry’s aesthetic appreciation of Eggsy became active want was a result of nothing remarkable. He had gone to speak with Merlin, who was monitoring a training session for the Lancelot candidates, and happened to glance down at the monitor just as Eggsy finished annihilating a series of long-distance targets on the range. He stood up, pushing his goggles back on his forehead, and positively beamed, his joy in the achievement as bright as the sun, and Harry actually felt his breath stutter in his lungs. Something about the combination of deadliness and innocence that Eggsy embodied so effortlessly simply reached right down into Harry’s chest and squeezed, and he could do nothing to prevent the sharp wave of lust that crashed over him.