THE LOWE DOWN:Daisy sculpts those long, lean curves with the help of Triyoga Pilates instructor Jinji Garland, using isometric exercises that tense and tone the muscles without much body movement. Try this set four times a week.
Prompt: Hartwin and hating the gift your SO gives you ('tis the season)
Hopefully this isn’t completely awful?
Eggsy bounded down the stairs eagerly. For the first time
since he was 6, he was excited about Christmas morning and the gifts Harry had
carefully piled beneath their tree. Most of them were for him, he knew, with
Daisy at a close second only because Santa
had dropped about a dozen gifts off with Michelle the night before.
He smiled at the decorations, at the strings of tinsel and
twinkling fairy lights and the paper garland Daisy had made in class and begged
Harry to drape around his butterflies. All in all, for the first time in a long
time, Eggsy felt like it really was a family holiday.
His mum wouldn’t be by until 9 or 10, once Daisy had woken
up and torn into Santa’s gifts, but despite that, he couldn’t wait any longer.
He was positive he could open up some of his gifts and re-wrap them with
nobody—Harry, he meant—the wiser.
Carefully, with one more glance toward the stairs, Eggsy
picked up a small box, brightly wrapped in red with silver ribbons. Using the
edge of his fingernail, he carefully pried up the tape on the side, unfolding
the precise wrappings to slide out its contents.
A book. Small enough to fit in his pocket.
Good Manners for Nice
People Who Sometimes Say F*ck
“What the fuck?” Eggsy breathed, wincing when he realised he
was proving the title right.
Without even realising what he was doing, Eggsy had made his
way back upstairs and dropped the book on Harry’s head, jerking the man out of
slumber. There was a gun pointed at his head before Harry realised who he was
and he dropped it, hands splayed to show he wasn’t going to hurt his partner. “Eggsy?
It’s … bloody early,” he said. “What’s wrong? Is it Daisy?”
“What the fuck’s this?” Eggsy demanded, waving at the book. “I—I
thought we was past that, yeah? You been givin’ me lessons an’ shit; you tired
o’ the pleb already?”
Harry blinked. “Of course not. I thought you’d like it.”
“Like bein’ reminded I ain’t posh an’ proper as you?”
“Did you open it?”
Eggsy hesitated, then picked up the book, surprised when it proved
difficult to pry open. When he did get it open, he smiled softly. He’d been
complaining to Merlin that if they were going to use lighters as hand grenades
they needed a way to carry more without being suspicious.
There, nestled in where the pages of a book ought to be,
were three extra lighters and two extra pairs of cufflinks—the last time he’d
used the garrotte wire on a mission he’d ended up caught on a loose nail and
nearly gotten his head blown off disentangling himself. This way, he could just
lose the links and have backups handy.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Harry … it’s perfect.” He leaned down,
pressing his mouth to Harry’s for a moment. “Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome, love. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d
like to go back to sleep,” Harry murmured softly. “We have a few hours until
your mother and sister arrive. Perhaps now you can wait until they’re here to
open the rest?”
Eggsy slipped back into bed with Harry, head tucked up under
his chin. “Happy Christmas, yeah?”
“In four hours, it will be. Shut up and go back to sleep, Eggsy.”