[ for a moment, the only reply thomas gets is a pleased hum against his skin. then, eggsy drags his teeth over thomas’ throat, biting and sucking hard enough that it might leave a mark. shit, he probably should be more careful about that, given thomas enjoys a level of respectability.

as he kisses over the reddened patch of skin, he keeps his fingers at thomas’s waist, dipping into his trousers to trace the top of his underwear but nothing more. ]

I like how you look. [ he’s far from unaffected, all ragged tones. ] Like this, especially. [ eyes closed, as if the sight of eggsy in addition to everything else might overwhelm him. and a bit breathless, head tipped back invitingly, still so dressed up delightfully mussed beneath eggsy. (god, he doesn’t want to dwell on the somewhat obvious origins of his thing about suits beyond his natural inclination for disrupting all things posh). he doesn’t think about the fact that his hard-on is dampening his trackers, and he hasn’t brought a change of clothes. problems for later. ] And I like it when you tell me how I’m doing — when you tell me what you like.

[ well, of course he has a thing about talking, with his motor mouth. it’s an oblique reference to his specific interest in praise, which is a more embarrassing request to make (even if it might be obvious, when one reviews his interactions with anyone, including thomas). ]