"What are you reading?"
The cover looked old, faded and worn. Q couldn't make out the title. Probably couldn't even make it out up close. To be honest, Q never thought of James as much of a scholar. Man of action and all that. Which suited him just fine.
James didn't lift his eyes from the book when he responded. "Sun Tzu. The Art of War," he murmured.
Well there was an opening. And Arthur Clifton could never resist an opening, especially when it was gift-wrapped by the agent.
He dropped his messenger bag and shrugged off his coat, placing both on an armchair while scooping George up into his arms and heading towards the kitchen. He didn't look at James when he nonchalantly replied. "Really. Bit refined for you. You being more a smash-and-grab kind of chap, hmm?" Somehow, he managed to feign a serious tone. That ought to get Bond's attention.
Of course it did.
When he dragged his head out of his fridge and turned around, James was standing right behind him.
He dropped the milk.
And the cat.
And while the latter - much like the man now standing a foot apart from him, a challenging expression playing across his features - was rather adept at landing on his feet, the former didn't have any appendages to save itself from splattering across the floor and painting the surface white. George helped himself and Charles was quick to join the party.
"Are you implying one of the finest Double-O's on Her Majesty's payroll is some kind of international thug, Quartermaster?" James enquired in a silken smooth tone of voice, an unmistakeable tone that broached no resistance. In the long run anyway.
Q took a step back, his body colliding flat with the fridge door, just as James took a step forward. "Have you read the text, Q?"
"Yes."
"Mmmm. Then you are well aware that the finer points as Master Sun describes them can be applied to most life situations." James took another small step forward and reached up to remove Q's glasses.
"Can they indeed."
James folded the glasses and placed them on top of the fridge, keeping his gaze locked with Q's.
"Indeed. You should also be well aware that my "smash-and-grab" technique is a mere disguise to throw the enemy off and keep concealed my real talents and hidden depths…"
He placed his hands on either side of Q's head and leaned closer, admiring the steady composure months of being intimate together had brought to Q's veneer. Not that he was easily ruffled in his professional guise, but James absolutely loved how they could draw out and build the tension between them, testing each other's limits, teasing until either man, or more usually both simultaneously, broke and the dam of pent up passion was released.
Their professional relationship was slowly becoming tantric while the frenzied lovemaking in which they indulged as much and as often as their schedules would allow seemed to be dizzying in its singular intensity.
This was the kind of war James relished. The kind of war that brought his Quartermaster to his knees in submission, surrendering to the ardent desire that pulsed through them both for each other.
This particular dance had begun 72 hours previously, and judging from where James was standing now, lips pressed hungry and demanding against Q's own, pinned and pliant by the agent's body against his fridge door, it was going to end exactly where they both had planned.
Exhausted limbs wrapped around each other's body in post-mission, sweat-soaked satisfaction in celebration of a job well done.
You're welcome, Your Majesty…