A/N: Done as a fill on Livejournal… Jesus. How long has it been since I've ficced? Don't answer that.
TITLE: [Tattoos kinks]; Bond/Q; TW: emotionally broken people
COMMENT: Under the prim and proper clothes Q whole black (and one arm/shoulder maybe) are covered with gorgeous tattoos.
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Milia Verborum
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They say a picture says a thousand words, he wonders if his mural says more. He imagines it does; he imagines that each line, each black stroke and coloured section, each collection of lines that create an image speak of all he has suffered. All that he has done.
There's a small ocelot running along his right hip, protecting the scar tissue from the laser he'd built when he was seven. The Chinese character for genius adorns his left bicep, just over the cigar burn he'd received from his uncle on his twelfth birthday – the last mark his uncle had ever left upon his body. Along the left-hand side of his torso was a smattering of one's and zero's – seemingly random and meaningless to all but those who read binary as easily as one did code – covering the extensive scarring from the fire he'd lost his parents to all those long years ago.
There are more – far, far more – marks of ink permeating his pale skin, hiding his past in ways that his significant computer skills can't; each mark with a story of its own over his twenty-five plus years of life. It's fascinated his previous partners, the juxtaposition he presents; innocent blue-eyes, zip-up cardigans and horn-rimmed glasses apparently don't lead to a mural of artwork upon one's back. That's alright though. None of them ever knew the reasons behind the collection adorning his flesh.
Except James that is.
James Bond. 007. Secret Agent working for Her Majesty's Secret Service. Licensed to kill. Aging and tired. Resurrected mere months ago. Deadly. Dangerous. A viper with a deadly bite.
The only man who understood his need for the ink, for the skin-deep shield hiding his past from curious eyes.
"What does this mean?" James murmurs as he traces the zero's and one's running down Q's side.
Q turns his head, looking at the older man propped up on an elbow, mapping-out Q's secrets with feather-light touches of hardened fingertips. "It's a reminder." He answers softly, reaching out and caressing the ragged, healed bullet wound on James' shoulder. "Much like this is for you."
James pauses for a moment, his fingers stilling against Q's skin, before he continues, looking his Quartermaster in the eye as he does so. His stare penetrating and all encompassing. "But mine isn't written in binary." He challenges, his fingertips stilling on a particular digit on Q's side. "I don't hide my scars with a language not known to many."
"True." Q concedes with a slight twitch of his lips. He stares back at Bond, sea-green matching stormy-grey. Seeing a glint of determination in James' eyes, Q sighs lightly and moves his hand from Bond's chest down to his own side. They break eye contact simultaneously as he begins to trace the digits tattooed on his side, Q whispers softly. "My past is what has made me. My future is what I make of me."
Looking up again at James' face, seeing the gaze directed at him, Q can't help but quirk a gentle smile. "Quite apt don't you think?"
"Very." James agrees, reaching up to capture Q's lips with his own. "I do hope they'll be one of me on you soon, I may get jealous otherwise."
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END