Disclaimer: I do not own the Bond movies or books.
This is Q trying to get into Bond's head. And muscles.
The next week, Bond was already sitting there as Quillian entered. The older man looked wary, but he much preferred not to work on somebody restrained. "Remove your shirt and lay down." He smiled gently, trying to reassure the agent in front of him.
Nodding, the double oh did as he was told, though it clearly was with some pain at the movement. Not unexpected, judging by how many fresh scars there were and what his instinctive reaction to care had been.
A moment later, as he felt Quillian trying to shift his position slightly, James submitted soundlessly, cooperating with the slight change and allowing the younger man to manipulate his body. As those skilled hands lay heated towels on his back and gently tried to coax him into relaxation, 007 only hesitated for a moment before he gave in, though he did not close his eyes just yet. He had no real reason to be suspicious, but old habits die hard.
Once the younger man removed the towel from a part of his back to start the massage, Bond immediately noticed that his hands touched differently today; more softly, yet still with great purpose. Quillian did not chose to start with his largely painful shoulder area, but instead began by warming his muscles further and touching his back and neck, almost in comfort. 007 soon found himself rather enjoying it.
As the massage progressed, the younger man warned him before any painful parts and spent a lot of time working out small kinks in the muscles in between the real problem areas. The young massage therapist smiled contentedly for himself when the tense agent, whatever his real status actually was, beneath his fingers soon fully gave in; closing his eyes again and stopped fighting with him even on a subconsious plane. When the muscular man actually made a soft sound; a sort of sigh of enjoyment, Quillian felt very accomplished indeed. It was not easy to get this man to open up, even this little bit, after all.
Half an hour into the session, when Bond's muscles were properly heated; Quillian started with a healed wound presumably from a knife. It was located at his side; the area full of muscle tension and bad knots. After first warning Bond what he was about to do, advising him to relax as much as possible; he got to work. Despite his advice, he was surprised to find that the man actually managed to stay at ease; clearly, he was not afraid of the pain. Could it really be pure stubbornness which kept him from letting himself be treated, or was it something else entirely?
Perhaps, the massage therapist noted for himself as he teased out the first sore spot and moved on to the next, making sure to give his patient a moment to breathe in between, it was trust issues. He didn't seem to be sure how to let go and give in, but finally he had allowed Quillian to help, at least.
Finally letting the agent up after an hour, he was satisfied to notice how the man moved more smoothly. Bond, too, seemed alright with it, judging by how he did not seem to mind promising to return for his next appointment.
A week later, at their third meeting, Quillian found to his satisfaction that the older man didn't even hesitate before he obliged and lay down, shirt off; not looking at him in that ever vigilant, almost suspicious way this time, eyes following every move seemingly without blinking. Instead, while he was still watching, those electric blue eyes appeared almost lazy.
This the third session, the agent let himself relax from the start, apparently not caring to fight him any longer. Q went through all of the man's injuries, making good progress; until he reached for the right arm of the man, gently but firmly lifting to expose the muscles otherwise hidden beneath other muscles.
And he really shouldn't have done that, apparently.