Disclaimer: I do not own the Bond movies or books.
Warnings: Inspiration deficiency might result in updates being postponed to 2018. I shall endeavour not to, but you have been warned.
This is inspired by how Craig!Bond would doubtlessly deal with the whole Alec situation so much better than Brosnan!Bond.
I am considering making a variation with every character I can think of, including both M's, Monneypenny, Silva, and can anyone think of more candidates? You know, in the fullness of time.
I hope you will enjoy this story!
James Bond awoke accompanied by the tell-tale feeling of restraints around his wrists, and he held back a wince in case he was being watched. The room was almost painfully bright, even though his eyelids; lit by what seemed to his closed eyes to be electronic devices by the sharp light. He had been chasing someone on the wanted list, looking for information on who he worked for in order to stop a possible tragedy which threatened to occur later in the week.
Had they caught him? If so, he better take advantage of this no doubt short respite to clear his head, because torture was usually how these things went. If not? Well, by how his career had been going, and the number of enemies he had acquired, it probably didn't matter who it was who held him. This was bound to hurt.
Then there was a hand cradling his head, and he opened his eyes with a snap. They obviously knew he was awake, anyway.
What he saw was literally the last thing James would ever have expected. It had been eighteen years, back when they were both young and foolish, when he had last seen Alec Trevelyan. It was literally the last time, because he had seen him be shot dead. "For England, James."
Yet, here he was. Scarred and older, but looking well, age having come with grace and seemingly a lot of comfort. Still, it was not hard to recognise him, would not be even for someone who knew him far less than James did.
Alec had stayed fit, was still powerful in frame, and his devellish grin was unchanged.
"Hello James," the hand moved, running alongside James' jaw with just the right amount of pressure; they really had shared everything, and Alec had not forgotten how he liked to be touched. James held back a groan.
The last thing he remembered, he had been tracking down the Janus syndicate, and now he was tied wrists to a headboard on a large bed, clearly in Alec's hands somehow. He had always been a kinky bastard. It was not a big leap to go from there. He could have only have survived if what James saw had been staged, and that left only one possibility. "Treason, Alec?"
"Quite. But not by me," Alec was still stroking James' skin in all his favourite ways, causing a distraction even for his trained mind and body. It had been so long since those nerve endings had been teased in that way.
"You see, my parents fled russia; they escaped to England, but were betrayed. Your employers thought I was too young to remember, but why should I swear loyalty to those who saw my parents murdered? Quite ironic, really, the son working with the hands which killed the parents." Despite the words, Alec murmured the words as if speaking to a lover in bed. James supposed, vaguely, that in principle, he was.
"Just make it quick, will you?" James addressed the subject of his own death soberly and calmly. "For old times' sake."
"Have you so little faith in me, James?" Alec had bent forward and whispered the words into his ear, and James could hear the toxic grin.