pperceval:
Alastair gauged what would be classed as acceptable and unacceptable when it came to physical touch, especially with… the feelings that he knew they both had. Fuck it. He traced his thumb over the man’s knuckles, squeezing his hand gently. A small attempt to show James he was there, to support him and help him.
“James, why would you even think you’re not as good as the rest of the agents?” He asked, genuinely confused. Alastair then remembered one of the first conversations that the pair had. You’ll never be a real Kingsman. You got lucky. His face burned at the memory. “Oh, God. I’m really sorry if I made you feel like you’re not good enough… you are MORE than good enough. But you won’t be if you keep this up.” He gestured at the desk, knowing full well that’s where he kept it.
“We both know I shouldn’t be here. “ He says slowly, looking down for a moment. “Lee was so much better than I was, always a step ahead, hell, even I was rooting for him.” James gives a small laugh, shrugging his shoulders. They’d called it survivors guilt; James called it an obvious truth. If he were to be completely honest, Alastair’s comment had haunted him once. In his opinion, even now, the other man was their best agent. The way Percival moved, the purpose behind everything he did, just everything was so mesmerizing and he acted like it was nothing. That man could save the world and still be home for breakfast and wouldn’t think anything of it. So to be told- well. It didn’t matter anymore. James looks at the desk, running his tongue over his bottom lip. Fuck. He had to stop, he needed to. “Take it.” He says softly, finally meeting the other’s eyes and squeezing his hand back for a moment, “I got this shit on lock, right?”
