Author note: This is an entry for the 00Q Reverse Big Bang 2018-2019. It is inspired by the wonderful artwork of Only_1_Truth. You can find the artwork on the tumblr: 00qreversebang together with a lot of other fanart and stories.
It is a high-end club in the centre of London. For once, Bond is pleased with the location for a stakeout. His target is supposed to arrive a few hours later, giving Bond ample time to locate possible exit routes and perfect places to hide and observe. As he walks past the bar, he notices a subtle movement out of the corner of his eyes. Without missing a step, he continues his walk as if he is unaware of the male omega, who has stopped and turned to watch him walk by. The omega tilts his head in a submissive, instinctive gesture as Bond passes him.
He hides a shudder and mingles with the crowd in front of him. The man is wearing a collar and a leash is attached to its single D-ring. It is a delicate, almost beautiful, metal chain, which clearly marks him as property. Bond closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Surprised, he opens his eyes. The expected sweetness of the scent is paired with a homely feeling, safe and trustworthy. He continues walking without looking back.
Eventually, he finds a spot in the shadows from which he can observe the omega and his handler. Or owner. Hard to tell from the distance. The other man, by all means and appearances an alpha, holds the other end of the leash loosely in his hand.
Bond stops behind one of the columns surrounding the vast dance floor, which is already packed with people. As he watches, the omega leans into the alpha's personal space. The two of them are discussing, laughing even. Bond frowns and wonders. There is nothing submissive in the omega's stance, nor is the alpha trying to dominate. Take away the leash and collar, and they would just be friends hanging out. First impressions can deceive, Bond knows better than most. Still, it puzzles him when he realises that the two men at the bar, in fact, behave like good friends. There is nothing sexual about their interactions, not even the slightest sign of flirting.
Well, he thinks delighted, this might be more interesting than expected.
He waves at one of the staff and has a drink in his hand a few minutes later. Never letting the pair at the bar out of his sight, Bond finds a better vantage point, settling down at a small table, placed a step or two above the dancing floor, giving him a perfect view of the room at large.
The club is crammed with people now. Writhing, touching, and bouncing to the music. There is a short break in the music. A new DJ takes over, and Bond watches as the omega listens and indicates towards the dance floor. The alpha shrugs his shoulders. A few moments later, the omega walks onto the dance floor. Expectantly Bond takes a small sip from his drink, watching every move of the omega.
He reaches a small opening in the crowd and tentatively moves his arms as if trying out the mobility of his limbs. He closes his eyes, just sways to the music at first. Slowly, his arms become part of the sway, a bit awkward at first, still in search of the rhythm. Then, like a cascade of water, his arms are thrown into the air and his whole body performs a fluid downward motion. Arms and legs becoming part of this wave, open and yet contained in the smooth flow of his body. His red collar is clearly visible on his pale, elegant neck; his face framed by a mop of black, unruly hair. As he is dancing, he creates a small space around him. Fingers, hands, feet, and legs are in constant motion, following the lead of the music. He is immersed in the rhythm, heedless of onlookers and other dancers. Still, he keeps his distance, steers clear of other people. He dances because he likes it. This is not a show-off. There is no enticing coquetry to lure amorous alphas. He doesn't dance for somebody, not waiting for someone to dance with him.
Bond watches with blatant interest, now. This is not a dancer. The moves are created in the moment, not as a part of a rehearsed choreography. Sometimes, the almost cringeworthy awkwardness is back. A hop is overdone; the shaking too much. But Bond is captivated, fascinated by the inherent freedom and independence this dance seems to signify.
As the music intensifies the man's efforts become increasingly passionate and fiery, the crescendo reaching its peak–and then the music stops. As does he. Standing still, a bit out of breath with closed eyes, he takes his time to let the silence sink in. When he eventually opens his eyes, he looks around, embarrassed and self-conscious. Flustered, he slowly walks back to his stool at the bar.
Despite his initial resentments, Bond feels a pang of regret. He is on a stakeout, his target will arrive soon, and once that happens, he will be on his way out of London to wherever this mission will take him. And the male omega, now back at the bar, the leash securely attached, will become one more of Bond's 'what could have been's'. The romantic fiction of a lasting relationship, build on trust instead of plain lust or necessity.
Bond nurses his drink, thinking about his past relationships. Vesper and her betrayal; the countless women and men, omegas and alphas, the occasional beta, he has shared his bed with, always wary, sometimes hopeful. He casts another glance at the omega, who sits with his back to the bar, watching the people, smiling and talking with the alpha beside him. And Bond is reminded of the laughter and banter he shared with the one person, he ever really trusted. The one person, who held his heart in her hands, vulnerable and open. Closing his eyes, he senses her, her scent, her soft hair. The mischievous smile on her face as they make their escape from Blofeld's henchmen.
Tracy.
She knew. She knew everything. About him.
He swallows and blinks his eyes open.
Bond leaves the club one hour later, following his target out into the warm August night.
