A/N: I get massages fairly frequently and was thinking that someone who does as much physical work as Bond does would enjoy that sort of thing. I would like to clarify to the internet and the whole world that though I love my massage therapist more than almost anyone ever, I harbor absolutely no feelings of sexual attraction towards him. There, glad that's settled.

Warnings: Breath play, age play. I am imagining Q is about the same age as he is in Skyfall. That only factors in a little here, but their ages are still canon.

Thanks for reading. You are lovely! If you'd like to leave a comment you are extra lovely!

James paused mid-stride to crack his neck, wincing at the unappealing sound. He rolled his left shoulder and strode forward purposefully, feeling the dull pain that he ignored so much that he often forgot it existed. As he pushed the glass door open, the sound of a tinkling bell announced his presence into a waiting room decorated in muted and relaxed colors.

"Hello, Marie," James said as he smiled flirtatiously at the receptionist seated behind the partition. He was on a first name basis with all the women at the office.

"Hello, James," she said sweetly. She returned the smile and shuffled some papers, bending over in what he was sure was a calculated manner so he could peek down her blouse. He drummed his fingers on the counter as she typed in the computer to pull up his appointment information. A small frown crossed her features. "I'm afraid that your usual therapist, Alice, was unable to come in today. Family emergency. Q is taking care of her appointments. Will that be alright with you?"

James smiled from the corner of his mouth as she batted her eyelashes. "Of course." He did like Alice. And her buxom chest. Shame. Maybe the new one would be just as attractive, he mused.

"Q is a man, is why I ask. He is very good. I only mention it because some men prefer..." She trailed off as the man who was apparently Q rounded the corner. James opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say but then froze as his eyes swept over the approaching figure. Thin, gangly limbs were hidden in white linen pants that were a bit wrinkled. A matching white polo hung away from his body, hiding a slender frame. A long neck extended elegantly upward and here James swallowed as he followed the graceful line up to a sweeping pointed nose, owlish black-rimmed glasses and fantastic hair that curled artfully in waves, several sections falling attractively over his forehead. And his eyes. Fuck, the boy's eyes. Well, man's, Bond supposed. They were breathtakingly bright and a lovely shade of hazel, staring right at him appraisingly. James smiled to hide his unexpected reaction, suddenly uncomfortable that his mouth had been slightly agape for a whole minute.

"Mr. Bond, I presume," Q said softly in a posh voice, holding out a hand.

"Q," James said in response, gripping tightly. Q's skin was soft and supple and his grip light but confident. James' mind immediately supplied him with the fact that those fingertips would be on his bare skin in mere moments. A little flare of something unidentifiable ran through him at the thought. He didn't analyze it.

Q smiled politely at him and withdrew his hand. "Follow me, please," he said and then turned quickly to head down the hallway. James shot a smile at the receptionist and followed after Q, watching the fluid travel of the wavy hair and lanky body. They arrived at a door at the end of the hall and Q opened it and stepped inside, revealing a treatment room with dimmed lighting, chocolate-colored walls and a massage table elevated in the center.

"What areas would you like me to work on today, Mr. Bond?" Q said, voice even and professional. His eyes roamed over James' body, causing James to feel a slight swelling of pride. Ridiculous, he knew, trying to impress this kid, but he worked hard to maintain his body and he used it as a weapon just as much as he used his Walther. He enjoyed using it like a weapon, somewhere deep in his mind piped up unbidden.

"Alice normally works on my neck and shoulders. I have an old injury on my left side." He shrugged slightly to indicate his left shoulder, and Q watched the minute movement with his calm gaze.

"Alright, let's start with you lying face down then. Get undressed please, and I'll be back in a few moments." Q made a few notes on a clipboard and then exited the room quietly, leaving James alone. He undressed quickly, hanging his suit jacket and trousers in the wardrobe and folding his undershirt neatly. He debated the pants and decided to leave them on, unsure of Q's protocol, and headed over to the massage table, settling down face first as instructed. He pulled the sheet over his lower half and rested his head into the pillow, breathing deeply and listening to the soft soundtrack of rainforest animals that was supposed to be calming. As he waited for Q, he felt the visual of those green eyes resurface. They were quite stunning, really. And the way the corner of his mouth had turned up slightly was just lovely. He could already feel the slight stirrings of arousal and mused that this was either going to end very embarrassingly or very satisfactorily.

Q knocked softly on the door. "May I come in?"

"Yes," James called, voice muffled. He heard the door click open and habit made him look up. Though the office was thoroughly vetted by MI6 and many of the operatives utilized their services, the double-oh's security instincts still needed to be placated. Q smiled at him as he entered, obviously attempting to be soothing. The office knew who their clientele was, though they discreetly never mentioned it. He pulled out lotion and James watched as Q warmed it between his palms before moving closer to the table expectantly with a slightly raised eyebrow. James submitted and placed his head in the pillow and moved his arms to his sides, shifting slightly to get comfortable.

The first touch of Q's fingers was not too light and not too hard, traveling up over both shoulder blades and moving upward and outward over his traps. He repeated the motions, the heels of his palms beginning to press harder before the fingers turned to concentrate on just the left side. Bond felt the tightness in his muscles as the pressure slid over them.

"Take deep breaths. Try to relax," came Q's voice, soft and comforting. The sweet timbre was quite appealing, and James suddenly wanted to hear him talk more. Most of the time James enjoyed the silence and the release from the expectation of small talk. But frankly, he was a little interested. And wouldn't mind hearing that voice, perhaps with a little rougher quality to it. James tried to clear his head, knowing his lewd thoughts would get him into trouble one of these days. The real trouble was, that day kept never happening. Q's hands trailed over the scar on his shoulder and James's muscles tightened involuntarily, his mind suddenly rushing to other things. Old wounds and memories. "Tell me if anything hurts or you'd like anything different."

James gave a muffled reply in the pillow, always finding it awkward to try and hold a conversation when one's head was pressed face down. Q was increasing his pressure now, beginning to use his elbow to slide from the base of his spine and up behind the shoulder blade. James focused on relaxing, feeling knots that he had been ignoring beginning to smart with the attention. Q's fingers stopped to feel around his neck, finding a particularly tight area and pressing inward with his thumb. James swallowed at the sharp feeling, focusing on breathing low and deep. After a long minute Q eased up, rubbing outwardly in circles and James felt the tension releasing.

"Does that feel better?"

"Yes, thank you."

There was some noise and James sensed Q moving sides. Soft hands filled with lotion began to repeat the process on his right side, beginning with gentle strokes before the harder pressure started. As Q began to really dig in with his elbow, James felt himself slightly surprised at the strength behind the motion. He seemed like a little wisp of a person but was able to find the precise spot of tension and dig at it with expert force. Q began to knead at his spine with his fingertips, moving lower until his thumbs were pressing into the dimples of his back and brushing against the top of James' pants and the sheet. James fought to mentally relax, willing his mind to move to mundane topics. He really didn't want to be embarrassed when asked to turn over.

"Your back is very tense," Q commented. "Do you do any stretching at home?" He was pushing against the place where the muscles joined the spine now, and James shifted minutely at the tenderness of the area.

"I don't really… have time for that…" James said, feeling a bit like a jackass. He could hear Q tut and could almost see the little smirk and that made James a little pleased, though he wished he could actually see it. He wondered what Q's eyes looked like. Were they dark in the dim light, or would they glint?

"I can show you a few, Mr. Bond," Q said and for some reason the simple use of those two words paired with those pawing fingers went straight to James' cock. He fought to keep his body absolutely still, not wanting to betray anything. The boy seemed like he might scare off like a frightened little woodland creature that he somewhat resembled. Plus he didn't really want MI6 to know he'd been banned from the office for trying to sex up the massage therapist. Because he hadn't done that in the past, surprisingly. James didn't want to analyze why this was suddenly a problem now, with this pup with delicate fingers and melodious consonants. And not with Alice and her exceptional rack.

"Call me James, please," Bond said, suddenly painfully aware that Q had last spoken several minutes ago and the statement was far too tardy to seem appropriate.

Q said nothing but moved lower, thumbs digging into his calves and then sweeping over the bottoms of his feet. As he rubbed into the arches, James gave the smallest sigh of contentment. He knew that he would be flipping over to his front shortly and was relieved that his arousal had retreated somewhat.

Q moved next to James' hip. "Scoot down please, and flip over." Q helped adjust the sheet, ensuring that James remained covered. As he turned over, James allowed himself to look at Q's profile. His hair seemed to have gotten messier than what he remembered of it, and he noticed a hint of dark whiskers on his jaw that he hadn't seen before. He watched the muscles in Q's arm stretch as the boy moved to take his hand, rested it against his body and began to work on the muscles in Bond's forearm.

"Weightlifting?" Q asked as he rubbed, thumbs pressing in painfully.

"Yes," James said with a smile, watching how Q's nose moved slightly as he spoke. Weightlifting and beating the shit out of terrorists. He didn't add the second part.

Q smiled back as he moved up to Bond's sizeable biceps and deltoids. "Lucky guess, I suppose."

James smirked at him, wondering if he was flirting just a touch. He looked up to catch Q's eyes, seeing a small glimmer of interest before they flicked away. Q moved above his head and was massaging underneath James' neck now. James closed his eyes, not wanting to make Q feel uncomfortable as he leaned closer. He felt the lightness of Q's breath against his forehead, trying to mentally gauge how far his lips were from his face. He felt desire sliding through his body again as the strain in his muscles was gradually released and Q's proximity increased. He opened his eyes and saw Q's face above him, closer than he had thought. Close enough to see the stubble, the mole on his left cheek, and the slight smile that ghosted across pale pink lips. Christ, he was attractive.

Q chose that moment to pull away and a little bit of nervous energy that Bond hadn't even been aware of dissipated. Q moved down by his hip again, starting at the calves and working upward, occasionally asking if certain areas were sore. James chewed his cheek as he felt the hands move higher, running along his thigh muscles expertly. Those fingers were very clever, and he imagined what they would be capable if he ran them just a little further upward to the underside of his cock. And over his balls. Fuck. He felt himself growing hard again, right as Q was moving to his inner thighs. Fucking massages. James closed his eyes and pushed his head back, not wanting to say anything. Q was a professional; he would probably just ignore it.

Q switched to the other side and James opened one eye. The boy looked up at him and smiled, unembarrassed. "It's a perfectly normal reaction to a massage."

"I… you're…" James shut his mouth. Normally he was not this inarticulate. In fact, normally at this point he would have the woman lying back on the table with his cock buried inside her. If he did that kind of thing here. Which he didn't. Fuck, this was not helping.

Q's grin turned a little wicked. That's not very professional of him, James mentally grumbled. He desperately began to wonder what time it was and how much longer he would have to endure this torture. Q was hovering near his hip, still working on his thigh muscles. He reached up to push some of his wavy locks from his forehead and paused to meet James' eyes.

"Q," James said, his voice sounding a bit strained to his ears. He kept his hands utterly still next to his sides though he was desperate to reach out and grasp the thin wrists, pin him down and run his hands through the perfect hair.

"Yes, James?" he said, hands pausing.

James pushed himself up on his elbows slightly, brow creased in frustration. "Perhaps we should stop. I'm not feeling very… well."

Q looked at him knowingly, taking in James' open look of desperation and hunger written across his handsome features. "Would you like me to….?" He trailed off as his fingers moved infinitesimally higher along his thighs and James' pulse skyrocketed.

James let his chest and body drop backward, fighting an inward battle. "Yes. No. Yes. God, yes."

Q grinned, his hands sneaking up under the sheet. "Good. You have a gorgeous body. And I'd like to suck you off now, if that's alright with you."

"Jesus Christ. Yes," James moaned out as Q's fingers dipped into his waistband and ran over his cock. They circled around him and he trembled, his muscles warm and ready from Q's previous diligent attention. Q's fingertips were just as firm and skilled on his cock as they had been on the rest of his body. James found himself groaning, unable to keep back the noises that he had unknowingly been suppressing throughout the massage.

Q pulled off the sheet and let it drop, taking a moment to run his hands over the black cotton pants that James was wearing before slowly sliding them over the hips. Then Q crawled on top of the table to straddle James' naked legs. James watched Q as he studied his body slowly, first with his eyes, then with the pads of his fingers. He ran his hands over the jutting of his hipbones then through the creases where his abdominals and legs met. James shivered with ticklishness, his hands still pressed tightly to the table, now in fists. He wasn't sure if he could touch yet. He watched as Q lowered his head and began to nose against his cock, his tongue darting out to flick against him ever so slightly. James groaned out, his body growing more and more tightly coiled with the tension.

"Q," James bit out, his hands moving upward but then aborting their movement and dropping down forcefully. "Please." James couldn't remember the last time he'd begged, begged, for someone just to touch his cock.

Q's look was both delighted and hungry. He bowed forward to lick James with the flat of his tongue before swirling around the head and pulling him inward. His hands pressed on James' hipbones, holding him firmly down as Q bobbed up and down lightly. James muttered out some unintelligible syllables as he fought to keep his hips from thrusting. His hands lost the battle with his sense of propriety and he settled into Q's curls, immediately loving the feel of the thick hair in his grasp. He tightened experimentally to see what Q would do, and the boy whimpered around his cock and dove lower. James was nudging against the back of Q's throat now, Q's warm mouth feeling wonderfully hot. Q's fingers moved from James' hips, one circling his cock, the other moving lower to fondle his balls and tug slightly. As he did, James pushed upward with his hips, hitting against the back of Q's throat. As Q made a bit of a spluttering moan, James tightened his hands further, holding him to his body, a sudden need to possess and smother rising up from his animal brain. This was the reason he only slept with someone once, he thought. He was too fucked up. And selfish. Just wanted to take and use and hold down and fuck. He felt guilty but then Q did something wicked with his tongue to his slit and he didn't care anymore.

One of James' hands slid down to Q's ear and then over his throat, sitting semi-upright to get a better grip and feeling the swallowing motions and the strain as he pushed his cock in deeper and deeper. Q's lips were stretched gorgeously, glinting with a silvery sheen of spit. James watched his cock disappear in between those pretty lips again and again and again, his hand tightening and tightening around the long throat without conscious thought. Fuck, what he really wanted to do was throw Q down. Tie him up. Squeeze him and choke his airway with his cock until Q was struggling to breathe and turning grey and twitching against him. Then James was coming, coming hard with a violent thrust, Q swallowing around him and moaning, his hands and throat milking his cock as James held him in an iron grip until he was boneless and sated. James breathed heavily as his body calmed, suddenly hearing the noises of the rainforest soundtrack as reality gradually faded back into focus.

Bond let his hands fall away from Q's hair and throat, immediately self-conscious. He'd just choked his fucking massage therapist hard while fucking into his hot little mouth. Shit. He hoped to God he wouldn't be sued. Or that Q wouldn't be mad. "Shit, I'm sorry." He ran his hands through his hair then propped himself up to assess Q's status.

The boy was kneeling up, wiping come from his lips with the back of one hand while the other traced lightly over the red marks on his throat. His hair was spectacularly disarrayed and he had the contented look of a pleased jungle cat who had just nabbed his dinner. As he licked a finger he grinned at James and rutted against his thighs. James felt the pent-up erection against him for the first time. Fuck.

"I think your hour's up," Q said, voice completely even keel again, the soft tones seeming ludicrous compared with the debauched visual.

James looked at the ceiling, incredulous at this boy's mouth. His body was still singing, and Q's cock was still rubbing against his thighs.

"Do you want me to…" James asked after a moment, pulling his eyes down from the ceiling and brushing his palms up over Q's linen trousers.

Q shook his head, his hair flopping forward. His lips were now bright red and wet. James wanted to kiss them, suddenly.

"Maybe next time, James," he purred, drawing his legs upward sinuously and sliding off the table. He turned to adjust his hair in the mirror while James sat up and began pulling on his clothes quickly, watching the back of Q's head. Q pulled up on the collar of his polo to hide some of the redness, but the marks were blaringly obvious to anyone with two eyes and a brain. He turned to grin at James as he was retying his tie.

"Your cock is gorgeous," he said and James choked. What a little shit. He was suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of holding down the lithe body, making him shudder, filling his arse with come and continually pounding until his smart little mouth was wailing his name.

"Fuck, Q," James said, voice deep and rough. "I want to fuck you so hard."

Q just smiled, the wicked smirk cutting across James' warm skin like fingernails. He stalked forward and brought his fingers up to James' lips, brushing against them lightly while James mouthed over them.

"Meet me. For a drink?" James asked, attempting to keep his voice as even as Q's unflappable tone.

"You better fuck me so hard I can't walk straight."

James closed his eyes briefly and reopened them, a small groan escaping. "Fuck. Yes." He handed Q a card with just a number printed on it, then walked out of the room before he lost his nerve, his blood still pulsing hotly and his muscles burning.

That evening he received a text with an address and four words: Don't make me wait.

Jesus fucking Christ.