Of Sherlock's two siblings, it was Q that John preferred to spend time with. The youngest Holmes had the sharp wit and frightening intelligence of his brothers, but was altogether more human, for all his passion for all things tech. It had taken a handful of weeks for John to get over his embarrassment at unexpectedly having a wet handful of the younger man, but eventually Q's humor over the whole not-Sherlock-in-the-shower incident convinced him that it really wasn't something worth beating himself over the head with. They bonded over tweaks to John's blog and tea, Q being the only man in the world who could possibly rival John's intake on a daily basis. Yes, John liked Q a great deal, which was why he felt more than a little guilty at being completely and utterly in lust with his boyfriend.
John was steadfast, loyal, honest, and completely in love with Sherlock Holmes, who, it had to be said, took him for granted and made his life difficult on a daily basis. John didn't indulge in superficial fancies or frivolous flirtations, not even as an escape from the frustrations of loving the world's only Consulting Detective; it just wasn't really him, but his attraction to James Bond hit him like a bolt of lightning. Bond was the kind of man who made a memorable first impression. Half naked, and steadily pointing a gun at John's chest, was certainly a lasting impression. It was only afterwards, when the adrenaline had receded and he was making bucket loads of tea for a flat full of half-dressed men, that John had allowed himself to dwell on Bond's impressive physique. Shallow of him, definitely, but really, the man was gorgeous. Badly used, judging by the scars, but he wasn't exactly unblemished himself. Clearly military background, and now employed by MI6, the man was lethal and John always had found dangerous men enticing. He spent an awful lot of time pretending not to watch the god-like creature that had unexpectedly crashed their flat with his skinny boyfriend while their own was repaired following an unfortunate incident with a terrorist and an exploding pen.
Bond knew, of course. The man seemed to share Sherlock's casual attitude to clothing, appearing half naked at odd hours around 221b, completely at ease with his body in a way John could never be. When he caught John looking, which was far more often than was acceptable, he smirked and pinned him with his laser gaze until John grew flustered and blushed, hurrying off to find something to do. He reminded John of a big cat, jaguar perhaps, sleek but powerful, dangerous and very beautiful. The proximity was killing him. Sherlock, the most observant man John had ever known, was oblivious to the sexual tension that was building in the flat. Q swatted Bond's arm from time to time, chuckling and scolding him to stop flirting, apologizing on his boyfriend's behalf like it really didn't matter to him. Perhaps it didn't. Q didn't seem the insecure type, and Bond was so loving and attentive when they were in the same room it was nauseating.
"Occupational requirement," chuckled Q when John casually brought it up. "Doesn't even know he's doing it most of the time. Don't take it personally."
John wanted to take it personally, very much so. The attention was flattering, definitely arousing. John was not a man who needed his ego stroking on a regular basis but it had been so long since anyone had looked at him so intently and actually seen him. He was little more than furniture to Sherlock these days. They only had sex if John initiated it, and even then it was quick, functional, lacking in any sort of passion, his lover's attention already drifting onto something else.
He looked across the room. This time Bond was watching him, shrewd blue eyes unwavering, slight upturn to his mouth, not quite a smile. Assessing, examining, evaluating. John felt like one of Sherlock's specimens, laid out for study and pinned down with those incredible eyes. He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself discreetly. Bond's eyes traveled down his body, slowly, deliberately, lingering on his groin. The bastard licked his lips and that was it! John was out of his seat like a shot, bolting for the kitchen and the soothing ritual of tea. Bond followed, sliding into the kitchen with a sinful smile.
"You're not exactly subtle," he purred, leaning on the kitchen counter close enough to brush John's arm.
"Don't!" John yelped snatching his arm away, glancing anxiously at the living room where the brothers were engrossed in Q's laptop.
"They aren't aware John, its fine." He reached around the shorter man for a mug, personal space clearly an alien concept. Bond's hand rested briefly on John's hip, his groin brushing John's arse, and with a jolt John realized Bond was half hard.
"What are you doing?" John hissed.
"Flirting. I thought that was fairly obvious, blatant even," Bond smirked. "If you're not interested, I apologize."
"Of course I'm bloody interested, because I'm bloody pissed off with... It's just... Jesus, um…" Bond waited patiently for John's mouth to catch up with his brain, which was veering like a skittish pony between desire and guilt. They didn't have to actually… Could just be a bit of fun? "Q said you have an open relationship...?"
"For work purposes."
"This isn't work."
"No." Bond trailed his hand down the other man's chest, sliding along the waist band of his jeans, hooking a finger in the fabric of his shirt to tug it free at the back.
"And Q would be ok with this?"
"Debatable."
When his cool fingers touched bare skin John made a tiny sound of pleasure that made Bond exhale slowly. Encouraged he leaned in and brushed his lips over John's in a light kiss that held a wicked promise.
"Christ," John breathed. "What the hell are we doing...?"
"If you two are making tea, we'll have some," Sherlock's imperious voice called from the living room. John stepped back so violently he collided with the counter, swearing at the pain that shot through his elbow. Bond chuckled softly, walking awkwardly from the room. John stayed where he was, deliberately turning off the kettle to delay making the tea until his erection could subside. Mercifully it didn't take long and he was able to deliver tea to the Holmes brothers without them noticing anything amiss. He still let the newspaper fall into his lap when Bond returned a while later looking distinctly smug, winking at John who blushed crimson behind his mug. Bond wriggled behind Q on the sofa placing an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his young lover's neck, and Q settled back against him with a sigh of contentment.
"You've been staring at that laptop for hours," grumbled Bond good-naturedly. "We were starting to feel neglected, weren't we John?"
"What? Oh, um... Yes!"
"Dinner? My treat?"
"You three go, I'm not hungry," Sherlock stated, unfolding his long body from the floor and heading for their bedroom. John frowned.
"Come on Sherlock, we haven't been out for ages," he pleaded, hating how whiny he sounded but he just wanted to spend some time with his boyfriend and was that really too much to ask? "What's so important it can't wait until tomorrow when we're working and you have the place to yourself?"
"Yes, come out with us Lockie, please?" Q begged, using his childhood nickname, but Sherlock shook his head.
"Have a good evening. I probably won't hear you when you come in." He retreated into the bedroom, door closing firmly behind him.
"You're still welcome to tag along John," Q said kindly, shaking his head at his brother's insensitivity. John cast his eye over the couple's fingers, laced together in a casual demonstration of cozy togetherness and felt a surge of anger at his partner for dismissing him like he didn't matter in the slightest.
"No, its fine thanks. Third wheel and all that... I'll order take away and watch crap telly. Early night maybe." he said miserably.
"Give me your phone," Bond said. John handed it over curiously and watched the blond man key in some data and hand it back. "My private mobile number, in case you change your mind. Text me to test it."
John did so, sending a simple 'thanks' which buzzed into Bond's pocket a moment later. Q turned as they were heading out the door. "Bear with him John. He does care; he's just crap at showing it."