#either an escaped pet or some bastard owner turned it loose

[pumpkingeorge]

My brother went out for pizza and came back with a whole ass ferret.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Two

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. But I do hope you guys like it. If you haven’t watched Kingsman: The Golden Circle, I would really recommend it. I’m pulling quite a bit from the movie for the first handful of chapters and I don’t want to confuse anyone. But if you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer them!

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating For This Chapter: M for Whiskey being Whiskey, inappropriate hand gestures, lusting after your boss, and some dubious consent on behalf of Clara. tldr: finger-fucking a stranger to save the world :)

Read the Prologue and Chapter One!

Louisville was a quaint city—not that she would ever say that to a local. Ginger Ale greeted her as she landed at the airport and had filled her in on the goings-on at the main headquarters and how there was a strange set of explosions in the UK that landed on their radar. After hearing about the “blue” aspect of her and Whiskey’s latest mission, Champ had requested she come down to Kentucky and brief him in person, citing his distaste for mission-brief emails. Whiskey was tasked with keeping the New York headquarters running, as he always did. The lucky bastard. But it was fine. He had nearly strangled her and she still thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. 

Something was clearly wrong with her and maybe some time away from his face and crooked smile would help her stop feeling like she had something clawing to get out of her chest every time he looked at her.

(It wouldn’t help. She knew that.)

Their mission in Vegas had been a success—in a strange kind of way. After the men turned blue, she and Whiskey followed them through the club and carried the mission out—with one caveat. They grabbed a vial of blood before disposing of the bodies. There had been a minor shoot out with the suppliers but it was easily handled, too. 

Ginger Ale took the vial of blood and made it a priority to test it as Capri Sun went to Champagne’s office.

“Ginger will probably be able to give us more specifics when the tests are done,” she said as she finished her spiel.

“What do you think it is? What’s your gut say, Capri Sun?”

She wiped a hand down her face and leaned against one of the chairs at the long table. “Something’s going on, Champ. People turning blue? The explosions in the UK? All of it feels…off.”

Champ opened his mouth to say something else but his personal intercom buzzed and Tequila’s voice rang out. “Champ, we’ve got some stragglers on the tour. They’re lookin’ to get inside the cask vault. British by the sounds of it.” He paused. “They’re using some tech to get through our biometric scanners.”

Cap looked at Champ to see him arch an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says they’re here for Butterfly Guy.” 

“Bring ‘em in, Tequila. Real quiet like,” Champ ordered.

“Ya got it, boss.”

As the line went dead, Champ crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at her. “The butterfly guy, huh? You reckon that’s what they’re here for?”

“Three bombings at nearly the exact same time in the UK and the next day two Brits show up here, where we’re housing a one-eyed amnesiac spy? Yeah.” She shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

‘The Butterfly Guy,’ as he was dubbed after waking up a little less than a year ago, was a fodder for a fair bit of gossip at all of the Statesman offices. It isn’t every day that a Brit, obviously involved in intelligence in some capacity, gets shot in the head outside a zealot’s church after a spike of low wave frequencies catch Ginger’s eye. The fact that he was obsessed with butterflies just made him even more of an anomaly. Agent Seltzer thought he was some sort of double agent from MI-6. Agent Absinthe thought it was a ploy from some terrorist organization to infiltrate Statesman HQ. She didn’t really care either way.

Champ huffed with a smile. “We’ll see, Cap.”

They spoke a little more about the Vegas mission before they heard the intercom buzz again—it was Ginger, quickly relaying that the British intruders did seem to know Butterfly Guy but were here for a completely different reason…supposedly.

She turned as she heard the elevator chime on the other side of the door.  “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, Champ.” 

“Don’t go too far, now,” he said as she started to walk away. “Whiskey’ll probably need ya when I talk to him about Vegas in a minute.”

She nodded and let herself out, dodging Tequila’s swat that he aimed at her shoulder. Tequila had been the man in the alley all those years ago. He was friendly and sweet, if not a little brash, and she considered him a friend. But the other man at Tequila’s side caught her eye. He looked her over with a critical and quizzical gaze before the Statesman agent all but shoved him into the room and the door slapped shut behind them. Her phone quickly ate all of her attention as she brought up the cameras the doggy daycare had set up throughout their shop so owners could check on their dogs. Bela was currently gnawing on a tennis ball as a golden retriever licked at his ear.

She hated leaving him alone so much. Hated it. He was such a good boy and she loved him so much that she actually asked Champ if she could bring him to Kentucky whenever she came down.

It was a firm no—apparently Tequila had accidentally let loose his fleet of basset hounds in HQ a year before she joined and Champ had to instate a no-pets policy because of the damage they caused. It was a shame, really. She thought Champ would really like Bela.

She checked her email, too, responding to Agent Grenadine’s plea for help. She was a newer agent and still needed a bit of guidance when it came to the more finite details of missions. Whiskey had slept with her within a week of Grenadine being assigned to the New York office. He never waited long, it seemed. And she didn’t really blame him—Grenadine was young and beautiful and vivacious. And always “down for a night of fun with no strings” as she had so eloquently put it. Perfectly Whiskey’s type.

And why was she thinking about that right now?

She shook off the thought and rubbed at her eyes before she pocketed her phone.

The door opened and Tequila came out with a huff.

“The Brits getting on your nerv-” The words stalled in her throat as she saw the blue crawling up his neck and across his face. It was exactly like what she had seen on the targets in Vegas. “Tequila? Oh my god.” Her hands reached out to touch him and winced as he all but crumpled into her grip. “What is happening? What did you do?”

“I-I…fuck, Cap. I don’t even know.”

Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks with a frown. “Go to Ginger. She’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

Tequila’s smile was small. “I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, not believing it, and watched him go with a sigh.

The man from earlier slipped out the door with a sigh of his own. His eyes found hers. “You Capri Sun?”

She held out a hand for him to shake. “Everybody calls me Cap. You’re Galahad or whatever?”

“Call me Eggsy,” he said as he shook her hand.

“Eggsy. Fewer syllables.” She crossed her arms over her chest as they dropped their hands. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, uh, Whiskey says you’re coming back with us. He’s sending a jet?”

She groaned.

                                                       **

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Sunny,” Whiskey said as Eggsy stepped out of his office to make a call. 

She crossed her arms with a sigh. It had been hours since they landed back in New York and she was tired. They had been formulating a plan to meet ‘Clara,’ the ex-girlfriend of some Kingsman cast-off who had ties to The Golden Circle cartel who was possibly responsible for the blue rash. Clara was all over social media with her plans to attend the Glastonbury Music Festival. The fact that there was another independent intelligence agency named Kingsman was really the least alarming information she’d learned that day—apparently there was a guy walking around with a robotic arm capable of hacking entire security systems.

She needed a nap before they loaded up to head across the ocean in an hour.

But Whiskey’s smile continued to grow and he buzzed for his assistant to, “bring him in.”

The door opened and she turned to see little Bela wiggling like crazy in the poor woman’s grasp. His entire body seemed to shake when he spotted her and happy little barks escaped him.

She quickly pulled him into her arms and let him lick all over her face. It had only been two days since she’d dropped him off at daycare but he always greeted her like she had been gone a year. “Hi baby. Hi hi hi. Yes, I missed you, too.”

Her fingers pushed through his thick fur as Bela finally settled in her grip and propped his head against her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his one ear as she smiled. But then it dawned on her: Whiskey had definitely witnessed all of that. A giant crack in the visage she had sculpted. Fuck.

She slowly turned to face him and scowled at the shit-eating grin splitting his face. “Now, what’s a guy got to do to get a welcome like that?”

“Be a one-eared corgi,” she replied drolly.

“C’mon now, Sunny. I had to call in a big favor to have Vanessa pick him up and bring him here without you. That doggy daycare has some stringent guidelines about who can pick up a dog, by the way.” He placed his hands on his hips and they cocked to the side as they so often did. But he was still smiling. “I think I should get something.”

She sighed and Bela nosed at the underside of her jaw. “Thank you, boss. That was very kind of you.”

“And?”

“And that’s all you’re getting.” His smile fell the slightest bit and she bit back a grimace. In truth, it was the nicest thing someone had done for her in a long, long time. Letting her indulge in a little time with her dog before having to fly across the world was definitely spoiling her. And her traitorous mind had to remember how broken Whiskey had looked when he had realized he had wrapped his hands around her neck. This was probably just an I’m-sorry-I-tried-to-kill-you-while-asleep gift. But it didn’t feel like that and she really needed to stop lying to herself or get better at it. “I really do appreciate it, Whiskey. I don’t like being away from him for so long.”

“You really love the little guy, don’t’cha?” He stepped forward and let Bela sniff his fingers before petting him. Bela’s stumped tail quickly resumed its body-shaking wags when Whiskey instinctively found his soft spot. “I guess he’s cute.” The teasing lilt to his voice almost made her smile again.

“Yeah, he’s my favorite.”

“His name’s Bella? Italian for beautiful.”

“No. Like Bela Lugosi. The guy who played Dracula.”

Hearing his name, Bela licked at her face.

“Never took you for a monster movie fan,” Whiskey said, continuing to pet her dog.

“My brother loved them. Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff—if they were in the movie, he made me watch it. But this little guy didn’t look like a Boris. So, Bela it was.”

“Your brother?” Whiskey asked, trying to catch her eye bet she kept them firmly on her dog.

“Yup.” And that was all the answer she gave, her heart a little heavy already. She hoisted the corgi a little higher and Whiskey pulled his hand back. “I guess I should get him back to the daycare before we take off.”

“Vanessa can handle it.”

She nodded and walked to the door and spoke to Vanessa and pressed a series of kisses behind Bela’s ear before the assistant walked away with her dog in a careful hold. Her shoulders slumped as she watched them go. “Thanks for letting me see him. I know you think it is stupid-”

“I never said that, Sunny.”

She hummed, filing away her small bit of melancholy, and turned back to face him. “So, why’d you want me on this gig? I thought you’d be able to handle a pretty girl at a music festival on your own.”

Whiskey opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before shutting. His broad shoulders rolled. He turned back to his desk and settled into his slick black leather chair. “I don’t trust the kid.”

“Eggsy? Why?” She thought him a little cocksure—but she also dealt with Whiskey on a near-daily basis.

Whiskey shrugged. “Call it an instinct.”

She settled into the chair across from him with a frown. “And you thought bringing me along would do what exactly? Stab him in the back before he stabs you?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe.” The leather of his chair creaked as it leaned forward with a smirk. “Maybe I just think you need to let loose a little and a music festival can do that.”

Rolling her eyes at her boss wasn’t really an option so she settled for blinking very slowly. “That’s kind of a waste of company funds, boss.”

“You are absolutely no fun.”

“People are dying.”

“All the more reason for you to come along.” He tilted his head to the side with another smile. “Please?”

She let out a slow breath and mulled over her options. She could call Champ and say she wanted out. It would be the first time she handed over a mission to someone else and each agent gets one pass. But then she could never get out of another one again. And it was just a music festival. Right? “Fine. But only because one of my favorite bands is playing at the festival.”

His smile grew and it twisted her stomach. She shouldn’t let him sway her this much. But the surprise (and probably illegal) visit from Bela did soften her resolve. And maybe watching him seduce someone else would actually—finally—put a stop to her silly feelings for the man. So far, she’d avoided any and all social functions that would let her see him scoping out another fling for the night. And yes, it did make her a little bit of an outcast within the social circles of Statesman. But she was only there to do a job anyway. Save the world. Pet her dog. Go to sleep when she had the chance. She didn’t need anything else.

“I’m glad you’re coming along, Sunny. I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Dammit.

                                                     **

Finding out that Eggsy was dating a Swedish princess would have been hilarious if Whiskey hadn’t insisted on picking Eggsy up in a fucking Bronco that had the most obnoxious horn known to mankind. Eggsy helped her put the VIP band around her wrist with a small smile. He was a good kid, she decided. A little rough around the edges. Definitely cocksure. But genuine.

She tried to focus on that and not how she caught Whiskey’s eyes trailing up her thighs in the rearview mirror.

She had dressed to blend in at Glastonbury. Tiny shorts, a fringed, low-cut top, and Hunter rainboots. If it worked for Kate Moss, it worked for her.

But the heated gaze she’d caught from her boss almost made her squirm in her seat.

Thankfully, they arrived at the festival grounds without too much trouble and she focused on the passing greenery instead of the eyes she felt on her skin. They spoke about the tracker and the need for it to stick and the two men, of course, made frequent innuendos about the size of their dicks as she tried very hard not to commit murder by bludgeoning them both to death with her rain boot. The music was thumping through speakers, songs overlapping from the various stages and creating a raucous thrumming as they approached the VIP bar. She watched the various attendees pass by. It really was colorful. Some guy was wearing a pair of leather wings and drinking next to a girl in head-to-toe tie-dye.

“I say we both make an approach. Whoever gets on best, goes for it.” Whiskey said. “Sunny will make sure the target doesn’t ditch us before we can plant it.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “Well, it doesn't have to be a competition, bruv. Why don't we just go up to her, shake her hand, pat her on the back. Whatever, you know. Job done.”

“The hand is not a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Neither is the back. They teach you anything at Kingsman?”

And she had to laugh at that, despite Eggsy’s absolutely offended face.

“What are you talking about?”

“We need a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Remember?” she supplied, trying to be helpful.

“Our trackers are designed to enter the bloodstream. They circulate harmlessly, providing full audio and GPS.” Whiskey’s pointer and middle finger curled and swirled as he spoke and she had to look away for a moment, knowing exactly what he was implying with that motion. Heat coiled in her stomach. Now was not the time to be thinking about getting finger-fucked by her boss. But the senior agent caught her eye anyway and winked as his fingers curled again and she would swear she could almost feel those phantom fingers. But, she set her lips into a firm line and his smile fell.

Eggsy’s jaw went to side as he mulled their words over. “Mucus membrane. That's like up the nose, isn't it? What the fuck am I gonna do? Stick my finger...” She watched as realization dawned on him. “It's not just inside the nose, is it?”

“No, Eggsy, it ain't. Fuck.” Whiskey shook his head. “All right, I'll take the first crack. Watch and learn, buddy.”

As Whiskey sauntered up to the bar, Eggsy sighed. “Is he always like this?”

She nodded, sagely. “Yes.” But her eyes quickly focused on Whiskey and listening in on their conversation. But her stomach quickly dropped as one horrible pick up line after another spilled out of his mouth. Did he really just ask her what band she was in?

Good god. How did she find this man attractive?

“Eggsy, for the love of God, please go rescue that poor girl.” She nudged him toward the bar and he all but dragged his feet with a scowl but it quickly morphed into a cocky grin when Clara spotted him.

She really thought she had saved the mission. Really. But then Eggsy was just as bad as Whiskey, it seemed, at picking up women. How did he manage to woo a Princess with those lines? It eventually devolved into both Eggsy and Whiskey passive-aggressively trying to one-up each other and Clara quickly had a hoard of drinks she didn’t want or order sitting in front of her.

She couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough at the two men peacocking in front of the poor girl and decided to salvage the mission on her own. She wedged her way between Clara and Eggsy with a sigh and ordered a water as her fingers plucked the tracker from his pocket. Her eyes slid over to Clara to see her already looking in her direction. Perfect.

                                                     **

It hadn’t taken long from the pair of men to realize they’d been all but dismissed by Sunny and Clara and they both retreated (Whiskey to the other side of the bar and Eggsy to the VIP entrance to make sure Clara didn’t leave) to spectate and make sure she didn’t blow it with Clara, too. But Whiskey knew she wouldn’t. Her records were clear. She never missed a target. He wasn’t sure what had thrown him off his game so much. Usually he’d be retreating to a shadowed hallway or an empty room by now with the target ready and wet for him.

Maybe it was the perfect set of legs he’d already spied. His Sunny always looked good. Always.

But she’d never come on a “tracking” mission with him before and he could feel her eyes on him the entire time.

Whiskey watched, a little entranced, as Sunny had the target eating out of her hand within a few moments—and then literally eating out of the her hand as Sunny pushed an ice cube between Clara’s lips with a giggle he’d never heard her make before. Her thumb dipped into Clara’s mouth with the ice and she slowly pulled it out only to lick the water from her skin with a smile.

Something definitely stirred beneath the zipper of his jeans.

Clara leaned close and let her fingers trail down Sunny’s arm as she whispered something into her ear. Sunny then bit her lip with another smile and nodded, grasping Clara’s hand in hers. Even from a distance, he could read her lips, “lead the way.” The pair of women slipped away through the crowd and Whiskey had to lean against the bar to hide what surely was the erection of his nightmares and daydreams as Eggsy walked up to him, a relieved little smile on his face. “She really saved us, mate. She’s a good one, ain’t she?” The kid settled in the empty stool beside him.

“Yeah, kid,” Whiskey muttered as he waved down the bartender. “She’s a good one.” He ordered a whiskey neat before discreetly activating and raising the volume on the earpiece so he could monitor Sunny. He knew Clara wasn’t much of a threat—not against the likes of his Sunny, anyway—but he just wanted to be sure.

The earpiece hummed for a moment and recalibrated before he caught the tail-end of some sort of whispered flirt.  “You’re so pretty for me.” There was a soft answering noise and then a shuffle, like a dress being pulled off. “So pretty.”

“God, you’re mouthy,” Clara said. “I love it.”

“Get on the bed,” Sunny said and he imagined Clara scrambling to do as she was told and then Sunny climbing over her. His mind drifted, for a moment. Was she like this with everyone she brought to bed? Sounds of some illicit act buzzed in his ears as he thought of her lips, her fingers…

“Look at you. So wet. I’ve barely touched you.” His Sunny laughed.

“Oh please,” Clara whined, high and breathy. “Please.”

Whiskey glanced at Eggsy to see him squirming in his seat. He tapped the kid on the shoulder and then snatched the earpiece right out of his ear. “The fuck?” Eggsy grumbled.

Whiskey just pocketed it and ordered another drink.

Clara was moaning now and there was a distinct wet sound that he knew all too well.

“Oh! Right there! Fuuuuuuuu-there!”

Sunny laughed again but it sounded muffled. “You almost there? Yeah, I think you are. Just about covered my hand—leaking all over me. You’ve made a mess.” Sunny sighed and the wet noise grew faster and faster. “Come on, gorgeous. You can come for me.”

The zipper of his jeans was becoming increasingly more cumbersome and he took a healthy gulp of the liquor. He shouldn’t be picturing her making those sounds. Shouldn’t be wondering what she sounded like with his fingers buried deep. Shouldn’t be thinking about what she would taste like on his tongue.

But he did. And it wasn’t the first or the last time.

Clara’s moans turned into a staccato of whimpers and groans that grew and grew until she wailed.

Sunny hummed—he could tell she was smiling. “I knew you’d be beautiful when you came.”

Clara panted and there was a soft sound of a kiss. “Your turn?”

“Mm, no. I just like seeing pretty girls come.” Another kiss. “But thanks for the offer.”

“God, you are just a walking dream, aren’t you?” Clara asked, all breathy and smitten.

Whiskey finished his drink and paid. The rest of the conversation between Clara and Sunny was a hum in his ears as he left the bar and Eggsy quickly followed.

“Think she can teach me her tricks?” He joked.

“Nah, kid. You either got it or you don’t. She just has it in spades.” He walked toward the tent but slowed to a stop just out of reach so as to not look like they were lingering. He gave it a moment, and then another. Sunny walked out of the tent with a smile and licked her fingers. Mission accomplished.

A/N: Welp. There’s that. I will try to have the next chapter up in less time than it took for this one to get published. Please tell me what you think!

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