Sleepy warmth wrapped him in an embrace he had a hard time drawing away from. He felt comfortable, safe and relaxed- something that was becoming more and more common for him. The familiar sent of Bergamot, gunpowder and faded cologne wafted under his nose and the sense of 'home' brought a feeling of contentment he couldn't remember every truly feeling. Even when he and Vesper had been at their happiness, a lingering feeling of regret crept into his thoughts at the knowledge that he had left behind the entirety of his old life for her.
The edges of his lips curled and he shifted, reaching out for the warm, bare flesh he had become accustomed to sleeping besides, but frowned when he felt naught but cold, silky sheets. Piercing blue blinked open slowly, glancing around dark room, lit only by the faint lights of the city through the large window on the far wall. The faintest of noise could be heard beyond the door and he slipped slowly to his feet, pausing to stretch languish and dig his toes into the thick soft rug that covered the hardwood beneath.
He didn't bother with pants as he moved to the door, which opened silently beneath his hand. His cock stood at half-mast and he slipped into the hallway and towards the light coming from Q's office/workshop space. The door was open and a soft light glowed invitingly out towards him. As he moved closer he heard music playing ever so softly in the background.
He came to the door with every intention of dragging his absent lover back to bed, but lost his drive and found himself leaning silently against the frame instead. The room itself was large, built with a huge fireproof work table against one wall, a lab stool carelessly pushed off to the side of it, a stack of journals taking up the cushioned seat. A dozen or so partially finished project could be seen strewn across the shiny black surface, as was the norm at any given time.
The entirety of the adjoining wall and corner held an equally large L shaped desk, an equally chaotic mess of papers, laptops and tablets covered its surface, along with random rulers, pens, tiny tool sets and other assorted bits and pieces. A comfortable executives chair sat pushed under one side of the desk. Q himself sat in neither of those chairs, nor the couch that took up the remaining wall.
The man in question sat on the floor, resting back against the front edge of the desk. A hard textbook sat on his left thigh as a makeshift writing surface, a notebook supported on top of it as he scribbled away. His right knee was pulled up to his chest and a large sheet of blue prints were spread in the V between his legs. Snug black briefs were the only thing he wore and his smooth, nearly hairless skin, glowed with the soft light.
He was entranced in whatever he was working on – the content really did not matter. His hair was a mess of tangled curls from their earlier activities, and the faint finger shaped bruises were still visible on the fair skin of his hips. He had a drafting pencil tucked (and likely forgotten) behind his left ear, and had a cigarette dangling from the right corner of his mouth- ash growing to a dangerous length in his absentmindedness.
The dark, bold lines of his tattoo were visible on his shoulder and back as he shifted, reaching up to pinch the stick between two fingers, inhaling deeply before moving to tap the ash off into the ashtray no doubt hidden on floor beside his leg. Smoke curled slowly out his nose and mouth as he exhaled and reached for the chilled glass of whiskey near him to take a slow, appreciative sip.
The glass was set on the floor and the cigarette tucked between his lips for one last pull before he tapped it out and continued working, leaning forward to make some notation on the large blue paper spread on the floor. Despite the fact that it was nearing four in the morning, the younger man's eyes were bright and lively, a small smile of contentment unnoticed on his face.
James Bond, agent 007, was a man most who knew him had written off as a lost cause. He was too reckless, too destructive, too careless- to form a working relationship with anyone, let alone a romantic one. He was one of the best (and thus the worst) of the double-ohs and was scarcely considered to even remain human to many.
But this man, this beautiful, brilliant, amazing man had looked past his innumerous flaws and had reached his heart in a way he himself did not believe himself capable of. He understood, without it ever needing to be a discussion, when he needed to be alone, or to go and run for hours or when he needed company- another living person to ground him and keep him sane. Sometimes they would just unplug (with the exception of Qs emergency cell, which always had to be nearby), curl up on the couch, watch crappy telly and eat takeaway. They'd spent an entire weekend like that once, after an especially difficult mission for both of them. The only outside contact they'd had was the first nights' delivery, in which they'd ordered enough to have excess leftovers, and then barricaded themselves away from the rest of the world.
He was absolutely perfect, and James' didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky after all the bad he'd done in his life, all the blood on his hands. Sometimes the sheer intelligence of the younger man was enough to take his breath away. He'd always had an intelligence kink, but he'd never met someone whose mind was quite so unique, so clever and convoluted and simply dazzling. He could be arrogant of course, as anyone of his caliber had the right to be, but he was never haughty or boastful of his abilities.
No one had any idea how much time the man spent on his work, be it physically working, or thinking up ways to improve a tool, or solve a problem, or simply invent something simply because he knew a particular agent would find it useful, even if it would never be practical on a large scale. His entire self was devoted to his agents, to bringing them home safely, impossible odd after impossible odd. He never wrote anyone off because of the circumstance they found themselves in.
When 002 was compromised in Syria, bleeding out in a hot conflict zone, fifty kilometers from where he was supposed to be for retrieval, he'd refused to leave him behind. Instead, he'd managed to find and make contact with UNDOF peacekeeping force stationed nearby, who were able to rescue him and keep him from bleeding out until his Evac arrived. When Alec fell through the ice covering the Volga River in Russia last January and disappeared for three days, Q refused to call of the search, despite urging, but not quite order, from M. They'd found him the end of the third day, on a remote stretch of the river, huddled in a small, hastily made igloo, fighting hypothermia as best he could having lost his supplies during his journey down the frigid water, and too numb already to risk wandering away into the snow. Q hadn't slept at all those three days, eyes glued to the screen as he used satellite imaging to sweep over miles and miles of ice and snow trying to find some sign or clue that he was alive. That he'd seen the tiny igloo at all was something of a miracle, hardly more than a speck on the screen.
His determination and perseverance had gained him the respect and admiration of not only the double oh division, but the regular agents, the higher ups and his own staff equally. Well, that and his spine of steel. It took an impressive amount of nerve to stare down a double oh when they reached their darkest, on edge and wafting danger like a cologne. He never flinched away, ever turned a blind eye to them slipping out like even the bravest of medical and psych staff were prone to when faced with those moods. Rather, they'd be given a wide breadth, a blind eye turned towards their behavior (be it drinking, whoring, fighting or any other number of bad coping methods), until they were able to control themselves enough to act civilized and keep a reign on any homicidal urges.
No, not Q. Rather, he'd take a step closer. He'd remind his agents that they were home, that they were safe and that they could allow themselves to start to relax. With some, he'd offer a hand on a tense arm. With others, simply the comfort of his presence. There was a reason, after all, that he received the double ohs kit personally after ever mission, rather than leaving it to an underling.
With James, he'd take anything his partner needed to unload. Sometimes he'd be a silent presence, others he'd instigate rough, violent fueled sex that left him bruised and sore for days. Yet other times he'd start a petty fight, giving James a meaningless target for his anger and frustration (such as the time he'd purposefully emptied both boxes of cold cereal and left the boxes in the pantry. The fight had been explosive, and the makeup sex even more so. James had realized the trick for what it was when he'd found the cereal in zip-lock bags tucked into a drawer later that day. That realization had led to yet another round of fantastic sex). He just always seemed to know what James needed.
He looked up then, eyes meeting James' where he still stood in the doorway. He didn't look surprised to see him standing there, but rather sheer pleasure overtook his expression as their eyes locked. His smile grew and James pushed off the wall and moved towards him, swooping down to meet those smiling lips in a kiss. He tasted of whiskey and cigarette smoke, his lips slow and distracted as they dragged alongside his. He pulled back and ran his eyes over the others face. Despite his welcoming happiness at seeing James, it was obvious his mind was still caught up on his project. Affection filled him and he smiled again.
The quiet was broken by James' low voice. "How about I make some breakfast?" He offered. He was rewarded with Q's bright smile once more.
"I am a bit hungry." He responded. "I don't suppose that offer could include crepes? The ones with strawberries and chocolate?" His green eyes had widened the slightest bit with the question, bottom lip caught softly between his teeth and James was would have done anything asked of him in that moment.
"Sure." He said softly, leaning forward for one more short kiss before rising back to his full height. As he slipped back out of the room, feeling carefree and light, he paused to look back at the man who held his heart and knew, as he watched him immerse himself once more in his work, that he would spend the rest of his life loving this man.
~ END ~