Chapter Text
A few weeks later, Eggsy’s tattoo is finally healed enough for Harry to coerce him back into his chair for touch-ups. Eggsy grumbles through the two-hour session, and when Harry declares him finished, he all but jumps up in relief. Harry watches him intently as he gingerly shrugs on his jacket and putters around the room.
“Darling, do you have somewhere you need to be?” Harry asks, throwing away his gloves.
“Mum asked me to pick up Daisy from school. You gonna be okay if I dash?”
“Of course, love,” Harry replies, crossing the room to brush a kiss to Eggsy’s forehead. “Shall I stop by your mother's home before I leave for Scotland? I want so terribly to be able to kiss you goodbye”
Eggsy smiles up at him. “If you want. Not sure if we’ll be home. Call me first?”
“Of course,” Harry says, watching as Eggsy walks out his door. “Until later, my dear boy.”
“Later, Harry,” Eggsy calls just before the door clicks shut behind him.
With a sigh, Harry leans back against his counter and rubs at his face. After a long moment, he resumes cleaning up his station and packing his kit away for the plane ride later. He doesn’t get a chance to see Eggsy again before he heads out, begrudgingly, to the airport. He does, however, receive a call from Merlin who is attempting to handle a problem single-handedly at the shop. As he sinks into his stiff, cramped seat beside a man who desperately needs a wash, Harry grouses to himself about how much he doesn’t want to go.
Three days after Harry leaves for his two week stint in Edinburgh, Eggsy makes his way to Kingsman, a very nice bottle of scotch in his hands. The door chimes as he enters, and the semi-pleasant expression on Merlin’s face fades as he sees Eggsy standing at the edge of his desk.
“Harry isn’t here,” he grumbles, “as I’m sure you know.”
“I know Harry ain’t here,” Eggsy says, setting the bottle of scotch down on the counter, the liquid inside sloshing as it moves around. “I came here to see you.”
Merlin quirks an eyebrow at him, his forehead creasing in confusion. “And why are you here to see me?” he asks.
“Because I need to hide a body,” Eggsy deadpans, rolling his eyes.
The corner of Merlin’s mouth quirks up in amusement.
“All joking aside, I’m here for a tattoo,” Eggsy says.
Merlin continues to stare at him in disbelief.
“Just let me explain, yeah?” Eggsy asks, leaning forward against the counter. “Harry told me a while ago that you’re the one who did his crocus flower. Just ‘ere on his arm,” he says, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt with a hiss. He taps carefully at the empty stretch of skin Harry had left blank at his request.
Merlin frowns, but nods and gestures for him to continue.
“Well, I want you to give me one,” Eggsy says, digging a wrinkled, folded piece of paper from his pocket to offer to Merlin. “Along with one of these. It’s a surprise of sorts; I want it to be all healed up when he comes back.”
Merlin accepts the paper and looks over it. There are a few slightly blurry photos of Harry’s crocus tattoo along with a flower that looks like a cross between a red rose and a hibiscus. “I think I can do this for you,” Merlin says, reaching forward to pick up the bottle of scotch. “Follow me back to my office; I’ll sketch something up for you while we have a drink.”
“Sure, sure,” Eggsy says, straightening up to follow Merlin as he turns and makes his way to his workspace. On the way, he bangs the side of his hip against the edge of the counter and mumbles his way through a litany of colorful curses that would have his mother reaching for a bar of soap.
The door to Merlin’s office shuts quietly behind him. As Eggsy turns to take in the room, he watches Merlin as he pulls a pair of glass tumblers from a drawer in his desk. He sets them on the smooth, wooden surface and pours a generous two fingers of the scotch in each one.
“You drink with your clients often?” Eggsy asks, hesitantly accepting the offered glass. “I thought alcohol and tattoos didn’t mix too well.”
“They don’t,” Merlin replies, taking a slow sip from his glass. “Usually I drink with Harry when we’re about to do work on each other.” Merlin pauses and takes another look at the reference pictures Eggsy had brought. “For being such an amazing artist, Harry is notoriously difficult to tattoo. He sits much better when he’s a little bit drunk; says it doesn’t hurt as much.”
“So’s that what you’re doing to me?” Eggsy asks, lowering his glass with a frown. “Tryin’ to get me drunk so I’ll sit better for you?”
Merlin sighs and contemplates his glass for a moment before raising it to his mouth and tossing back the drink with a smooth swallow. “I’m afraid I need the drink just as much as you do, Eggsy,” he admits, sinking down into the chair at his desk. “Harry is a very jealous, possessive man. He will not take kindly to the fact that I have left a permanent mark on you. At least, not at first,” he continues, turning to his sketch book.
“Okay,” Eggsy says, nodding to himself as Merlin begins to draw. “So you need the drink to convince you to follow through with the tattoo, yeah? That doesn’t explain why I need one.”
Merlin nods minutely, the only indication that he has heard Eggsy’s words. “Your arm is still healing, Eggsy. It’s going to be much more sensitive than usual because of the increased blood flow.”
“So?” Eggsy asks, his chest puffing slightly. “I can take it, bruv. I ain’t no wimp.”
Merlin rolls his eyes as he turns his paper. “I don’t doubt that, Eggsy,” he drawls. “Regardless, the liquor will help somewhat. Trust me, when I start in with the shaders Harry tells me you’re so fond of, you’ll want a whole glass.”
Eggsy sighs and raises his glass to his lips. “If you say so, Merlin,” he murmurs, nursing at the amber colored liquor. “You’re the profession here, bruv.”
The room falls into comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the scratching of Merlin’s pencil as he draws. After a few minutes, he nods decisively and rises, handing the sketch to Eggsy. “I still have the original drawing of Harry’s crocus flower,” he says, crossing his arms when the sketch pad leaves his hands. “So if you like this, we can start whenever you’re ready.”
Eggsy only needs a glance to know that Merlin’s sketch is perfect. “Let’s get going then, Merlin,” he says, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up. “The sooner we start, the sooner it’ll heal.”
Chuckling softly to himself, Merlin goes about making transfers, placing the stencils, and setting up his station for work. He pours color after color into a multitude of small inkwells, lining them up in a warm gradient on his large work tray. “Have a seat, Eggsy,” Merlin instructs, pulling out a couple packages of sterile needles.
With a shaky sigh, Eggsy leans back in Merlin’s chair, resting his arm on the extended arm rest. Merlin’s hands are cold and steady as they prepare his skin for the new tattoos, clever fingers keeping his touch light as he applies the transfer. Closing his eyes, Eggsy focuses on controlling his breathing and the coolness of Merlin’s touch.
“Do you need to check the placement?” Merlin asks evenly, leaning back to give Eggsy some space.
Turning his head, Eggsy takes a cursory glance at the stencil, a small grin spreading over his mouth as he realizes that his crocus flower is in the exact same spot as Harry’s. “Lookin’ good, Merlin,” he says, closing his eyes once more. “Let’s do this.”
Merlin laughs under his breath, wraps his left hand around Eggsy’s inkless forearm, and lays down the first line causing Eggsy to groan pitifully, his eyebrows furrowing in discomfort. Try as he might, Merlin can’t fight the grin that spreads across his mouth. “Would you like another glass of scotch now?” he asks, slowly laying down the next line.
“Can I have the whole bottle?” Eggsy bites out between clenched teeth.
“Absolutely not,” Merlin replies, lowering his head to get a closer look at Eggsy’s arm.
Eggsy groans and squeezes his eyes shut again. “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs, hs breath tight in his chest. “What have I gotten myself in to?”
Merlin just chuckles and continues on with his work, doing his best to lay the lines and color solidly and quickly. An hour later, he all but scrapes Eggsy of of his chair after cleaning and bandaging him up. “You know the drill,” he says, pushing Eggsy gently towards the front door. “Get some good rest, and for the love of all things holy in Scotland, no more tattoos until you’re fully healed.”
Still shaky on his feet, Eggsy precariously teeters back to Harry’s house. He locks the door behind him, trudges up the stairs, and shucks his trousers before crawling under the thick comforter on Harry’s bed. He falls asleep that night, sprawled across Harry’s spare pillow, his nose buried into the plush softness, every breath filling his senses with Harry’s scent.
Harry discovers the tattoo four days after his return from Scotland, a sliver of red peeking out from the edge of Eggsy’s sleeve as he shifts in bed. His breath catches as he leans over and carefully pushes the sleeve of Eggsy’s sleeve up, uncovering the pair of blossoms. He absentmindedly strokes over the tattoo as Eggsy slowly wakes, peppering kisses along his jaw. “What do they mean, love?” Harry asks breathlessly, his eyes glued to the unfamiliar body of the red camellia.
“They’re us, ‘Arry,” Eggsy mumbles, his words heavy in his mouth with sleep. “The crocus is me, and the red one’s you. ‘Cause you’re a flame in me ‘eart.”
Not quite knowing what to say, Harry settles back in beside his lover, presses a lingering kiss to the back of his neck, and drifts back to sleep. They’re rudely woken later to Roxy pounding at the door, demanding Eggsy come down to the shop before she loses her mind. Chuckling, Eggsy rushes through his morning routine and slips out Harry’s front door not ten minutes later, hastily tucking one of Harry’s button down shirts into his jeans.
It’s a few hours later when Harry wanders into Persephone’s Garden, lunch in hand, and pleased smile on his face. Eggsy herds him into the back stockroom, much to the horror and barely concealed abhorrence of his least favorite regular, Mrs. Milverton. They settle down to eat, and Roxy peeks back a few minutes later when, in a state of shock and disbelief, Eggsy manages to bite his tongue and choke on his egg-salad sandwich at the same time.
“Are you two okay back here?” Roxy asks, raising an eyebrow at the pair.
“We’re perfectly fine,” Harry replies, fixing Roxy with one of his most charming smiles. “I’ve simply asked Eggsy to move in with me.”
Roxy squeaks and drops Mrs. Milverton’s order, the vase shattering into hundreds of glass shards as the flowers scatter everywhere. “You did what?” she exclaims.
Eggsy stares wide-eyed for a moment at Roxy, taking in the shocked look on her face. Then, a shy smile cuts across his lips, followed by a rosy blush. “He asked me to move in with ‘im,” he repeats, snickering at the truly perplexed look marring Roxy’s face. “And I’m saying yes.”
“You are?” Harry asks, blinking owlishly across the table at him.
“About bloody time,” Roxy says, a sly smile spreading across her face.
Eggsy blushes and nods. “Yeah, why not?” he replies, shooting his lover a pleased grin as he reaches across the table to lace their fingers together. “It just makes sense, yeah? I’m over there enough as it is, and I spend more nights in Harry’s bed than I do my own. In case neither of you had noticed, I’m rather gone on this one,” he finishes, squeezing Harry’s hand.
Harry’s cheeks pink up ever so slightly as he leans across the table to kiss Eggsy, pulling away hastily when a startled shriek from the doorway makes him jump.
Whipping his head to see where the noise came from, Eggsy jaw drops as his gaze settles on Mrs. Milverton’s disgusted form standing stiffly in the doorway.
“My flowers!” Mrs. Milverton screeches, glaring at the three of them. “You heathens have ruined my flowers!”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Milverton,” Roxy says, attempting to soothe the old hag. “I was just a bit surprised-”
The rest of Roxy’s words are lost as Mrs. Milverton harrumphs loudly and storms out of the shop spouting insults to anyone who will listen. In the back stockroom, Harry, Eggsy, and Roxy look at each other for a long moment before bursting out in laughter. Eggsy cheers the loss of his stuffies regular, and Harry finds him so beautiful that he cannot refrain from pulling Eggsy into his lap, kissing him breathless as they celebrate.
Four years after their first meeting, Harry and Eggsy marry in the early fall. Their reception is filled with laughter and warmth and more flowers than they know what to do with. Roxy spends most of the night sharing secretive glances with Merlin, and Daisy wants to dance every song mashed between her brother and his husband. As the clock strikes midnight, Eggsy and Harry bid everyone farewell and drive off, the words Just Married written across the back windshield in chalk paint.
The hotel they arrive at is upscale. Harry checks them in while Eggsy loads all of their bags onto a luggage cart. When they make it up to their room, Eggsy wastes no time in poking around, running his fingers over the fluffy matching robes inside the closet, the bottle of champagne resting in ice on the small table, over the soft pillows that are stacked at the head of the bed.
Harry takes his time unpacking one of his bags, pulling out his smallest tattoo gun and a minimal amount of supplies. “Would you pop the champagne, darling?” he calls to Eggsy, smiling fondly at him as he sets up. “I’m almost ready for you.”
With a happy grin, Eggsy pops the champagne, pours both of them a glass, and settles down into a chair near Harry. That night, Harry and Eggsy give each other small, matching tattoos: tiny infinity symbols wrapping around their left ring fingers, the image petite enough to be hidden under their wedding rings, but substantial enough to be easily recognisable without. Out of all of Harry’s tattoos, that one becomes his favorite.
It takes Eggsy the better part of a decade to finish adding tattoos to his right arm. He picks up odds and ends from various artists Harry has worked with over the years, the ending collage a very beautiful and meaningful tribute to all of his loved ones. By the time Eggsy’s tattoo sleeve is finished, Daisy is just old enough for her first session in Harry’s chair.
She picks something relatively simple for her first tattoo; a crocus and a daisy on the top of her foot. Harry warns her about the placement and the pain associated with it, but Daisy is not to be deterred. So she sits deathly still in Harry’s chair, Eggsy’s hand clenched tightly in her own, as his lover carefully works in the various lines and swirls of color. Not long after the tattoo heals, Daisy skips back to University, and Eggsy and Harry find themselves with more free time than they know what to do with.
Eggsy comes home from Persephone’s Garden a month later to find Harry sitting on the floor in the entry way with a small, wiggling bundle cradled precariously in his arms. His breath catches uncomfortable in his throat as he stares for a long moment, watching as the bundle moves around too much to be healthy. “That better not be a baby, ‘Arry,” he whispers, his voice tight in his throat.
Harry smiles sheepishly up at him. “It’s a baby of sorts,” he admits, leaning back against the wall. “I found him on the side of the road in a soggy cardboard box; I couldn’t just leave him there.”
“Him?” Eggsy asks, his eyes zeroing in on the top of the bundle, watching curiously as the blanket starts to slip. “We have an ‘im?”
“Eggsy, why don’t you come here and meet Mister Pickle,” Harry says, pulling the blanket away from a very furry, very tiny head.
Slowly, Eggsy sinks down against the wall beside Harry, his gaze glued to the small animal writhing about in Harry’s arms. “Bloody hell, it’s a dog,” he breathes, snapping his gaze to Harry’s face. “We have a dog, and you named him Mister Pickle.”
Harry smiles weakly at him. “I happen to believe that Mister Pickle is a fine name,” Harry says, gently stroking the puppy’s head. “But if you’re so against it, you can name the next one.”
Eggsy splutters at the mention of the “next one”, but sure enough, six months after Mister Pickle has settled into their home and wormed his way into their hearts, Eggsy comes home with a wrinkled pug with slightly crossed eyes. Eggsy and Harry debate names for the dog for the better part of a week, but it is only after he leaves for a week long business trip that Eggsy finally decides on a name. He spends the better part of his evenings without Harry curled up on their couch watching older spy films with the dogs. While Mister Pickle is only concerned about how often Eggsy scratches behind his ears, the pug keeps jumping off the couch, waddling up to sit right in front of the tv, his bulbous eyes glued to the screen. After the third consecutive movie, Eggsy snaps a picture and sends it to Harry, proclaiming that the wheezing pug’s name is official Jack Bauer, but they can call him JB. When Harry calls him some fifteen minutes later, Eggsy puts the call on speaker, and the sound of Harry’s laughter is enough to get the dogs barking. As Eggsy attempts to calm them both down, he can’t help but laugh, too.
When Harry approaches his sixtieth birthday, he announces that he is taking on an apprentice to inherit his shop after his and Merlin’s impending retirement. In the summer of that year, Persephone’s Garden opens it’s second location, and Daisy returns home, with a shiny, new degree in Botany, to run the second location. To say that the second opening is a success is a horrific understatement, and by the time they’ve been open a year, the shop is completely paid off and Eggsy authorises the plans for the construction of a large greenhouse, not quite an hours drive out of London. A small cottage ends up being built beside the greenhouse, and upon it’s completion, Eggsy wastes no time in handing the keys of the original Persephone’s Garden to Roxy. In the spring, Harry and Eggsy move out to the country with their dogs and plants, and Harry takes up writing.
They grow old together, in the country cottage that always seems to smell of lilacs in the summer. Daisy and Michelle visit often, and when Daisy eventually marries and has children, they always love running through the aisles in Eggsy’s greenhouse, the dogs yipping at their heels as they give chase. Harry and Eggsy tell their nieces and nephews about the pictures under their skin. In the summer when Sarah, Daisy’s oldest daughter turns nine, she asks about how Harry and Eggsy first met.
“Well, my dear,” Harry murmurs, tucking her into bed with a fond smile. “We met at your Aunt Roxy’s flower shop.”
She looks back and forth between Harry and Eggsy with wide eyes. “Uncle Egg’y, is that true?” she asks, her voice solemn with awe.
Eggsy chuckles and bends to drop a kiss to her forehead. “That’s right. Your Uncle Harry came in asking for some flowers that made no sense when they was put together!” he replies, his eyes crinkling as he turns to smile brightly at his husband.
Sarah looks as if she’d been offended. “You mean Uncle ‘Arry didn’t know about flower meanin’s and such?” she whispers.
Harry’s cheeks color ever so slightly. “I’m afraid not, little one,” he admits, raising a hand to gently stroke her hair from her face. “Your Uncle Eggsy had to teach me, just like he taught you.”
Sarah laughs and beams at them. “But Uncle Harry, I’m still a kid. I’ve had an excuse for not knowing all the meanin’s,” she giggles, her small hands reaching out to latch around Harry’s bigger ones.
Harry smiles at her fondly. “You’ve also been surrounded by flowers from a very young age,” he comments, raising her hands to kiss the backs of her knuckles. “And you have a very knowledgeable family that is passionate about passing on that knowledge to you.”
Sarah’s yawns and rolls over on her side, facing her uncles. “Will you tell me the story, Uncle Egg’y?” she mumbles, her eyelids drooping as she speaks. “I wanna know what the flowers said.”
“Well,” Eggsy begins, smiling fondly at Harry as he remembers, “The first time your Uncle Harry walked into my shop, he asked me for geraniums, purple roses, cherry blossoms, and yellow lilies,” he pauses when Sarah makes a face and allows himself to laugh. “I know, sweets. Awful, innit? But anyways, by the time I got to the yellow lilies, I was so confused. I didn’t know who this man was, or what he wanted, but I hoped he’d at least let me teach him how to speak using flowers instead of words…”
By the end of the story, Sarah is sound asleep and Harry is not far behind. Ushering his husband from the room, Eggsy guides him to their bedroom on the ground floor. “Do you remember that day?” he asks, shrugging off his robe before crawling into bed with a sigh.
“Of course I remember that day,” Harry replies, laying down beside him, a serene smile on his face. “I could never forget meeting you if I tried.”
Eggsy watches as Harry falls asleep next to him, his face going lax in the moonlight as he dreams. The house is mostly quiet around him, the only sounds coming from Harry as he snores softly beside him and JB as he kicks at the sheets in his sleep. “I’m walking on air,” he whispers to no one in particular as he pulls the duvet up to his chin, a sleepy grin turning up the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “Definitely walking on air.”