Since long before MI6, Arthur Clifton had been obsessed with technology and weapons. A laptop was his fifth appendage as soon as he could afford the investment. A gift for coding came as naturally to him as the way thunder followed lightning. He dedicated himself to turning weapons of mass destruction into something useful, something positive. Well, as positive as things designed to blow up other things could be made.

Though never, in his wildest, wettest dreams did he imagine he would have the opportunity to wield a weapon like Commander James Bloody Bond…

Mmmm. There's a thought.

"It occurs to me you have me at a distinct advantage, James."

"Says the man who has me pinned to the bed? I assume you are not referring to our current relative positions, Arthur," the agent murmured, his entire attention focussed on the slender hands presently engaged in exploring the territory of James Bond.

"That advantage," Q stated. "You know my real name."

"James Bond is my real name. I thought you knew that," he replied, letting himself sink into the feel of Q's hand circling over the bruise on his hip in a soothing motion.

"Tell me something I don't know then." Q asked, running his hand down the side of Bond's leg and up the back of his thigh, just the right amount of pressure to garner a quiet moan that Bond stifled in his throat. "Your middle name?"

James laughed then. "Well I would tell you, Arthur, but then I'd have to kill you."

Arthur ceased his soothing exploration of James' latest bangs and bruises. "As your superior, 007, I order you to tell me your middle name," feigning indignity that Bond considered he could not be trusted with such information. "We work for the most secretive organisation in the world. I trust you know I can keep my mouth shut."

"Order all you want, Q. That piece of information is going with me to my grave," placing his hands behind his tilted head and watching Q above him, straddled lean and so utterly shaggable, James was wondering how long he could maintain his disinterested pretence. Well, from the waist up anyway.

"Your grave might be welcoming you sooner than you think, James. Remember your life is in my hands on every mission and while I may not possess the knowledge of how best to extract information due to lack of field experience, I think you'll find I have my own equally effective methods."

"Oh? Go ahead and do your worst, Quartermaster."

Q took a deep breath and leaned down to exhale hot breath across James' neck and collarbone. He was rewarded with a slow blink and the briefest of shudders. Christ.

A good start.

James made to move his hands from behind his head. "You haven't earned that privilege yet, James."

"If this is your way of thanking me for those blueprints, Q, I may have to refrain from indulging my Quartermaster on future missions."

"Keep telling yourself that, James," whispered Q, remaining straddled above him, adjusting himself and lowering his hips onto James' stomach. "But you and I both know that I am going to turn those blueprints into something beautiful and deadly and I have yet to consider upon which Double-O I will bestow the honour of testing it."

Q noted the slightest change in Bond's demeanour through the semi-darkness. "Bribery? Low, Quartermaster."

"As I said already," a slow gyration of his hips across Bond's stomach as he spoke, "I may not possess the field experience but I have my ways and means."

He leaned down again, this time to allow the warmth of his torso to graze that of the prone agent before sitting back with another firm and maddeningly arousing grind of his hips into James' stomach. "And you, 007, are about to discover just how effective are those ways and means…"


Q closed his eyes and allowed the very real fantasy that was currently vibrating beneath him with such admirable restraint to flood his senses. Q felt an almost overpowering need to reward the self-control to which he was bearing witness.

Almost.

How long it would be before Bond's resolve broke and he could no longer hold back the waves of arousal, ebbing steady and undeniably hot between them, was certainly an experiment in which the Quartermaster wished to indulge.

He made a 180 degree turn, displaying a long, flawless expanse of back to the agent. He felt rather than heard the expelled huff of frustration and smiled to himself.

"You know, I'm building a weapon at the moment."

"Really… Anything a Double-O might find interesting? Though I'm pretty sure it can't be as interesting as what I'm looking at right now…"

As if on cue, Arthur leaned forward and began peppering soft kisses along James' ankles, focussing on the tender piece of skin that covered his achilles tendon. He heard a gentle thud, which he correctly guessed was James' head falling back against the headboard and the distinct feel of sheets being tugged where the agent was aggressively fisting them in a fine show of resisting touching the body on display.

"Oh I think you'd find it very interesting," Q said, sitting up and adjusting his position slightly so that long, lean thighs were now straddling James' chest. "You see, I've modelled the design on your body."

Despite how tantalisingly close, almost within tasting distance, some very interesting parts of Q's anatomy now hovered, even James' took pause on hearing those words.

"Excuse me?"

Q hoisted himself up in one smooth move and resumed his original position facing James, eyes bright, intelligent and excited. He looked so young and in that moment, almost ethereal and innocent.

Bond felt his chest tighten with the simultaneous thought of how the hell he had gotten so fucking lucky to end up in this man's bed. Accepted, wanted, desired even. Warts, faults, emotional baggage and all.

He ran his hands gently across James' torso, the heat between them generating the faintest sheen of sweat, smoothing the friction of those hands to an almost unbearable gentleness.

"I was modifying a design that I had been agonising over for an age. For some reason, as I was piecing it together, I thought of you…" running his hands up Bond's arms, Bond's hands still fisted in the sheets, a look on Q's face as though he was super-imposing the lines of the agents body onto his favourite blueprint, "and the design just sort of, fell into place."

"Please, Arthur…" Q looked at him then. His eyes screwed shut, it was fairly obvious that Q's attempts at seductive torture were having the desired effect.

Bond was about to lose it.

He opened his eyes. Q noticed the blue was drowned by lagoons of black. "I need to touch you. Now…" He sat up suddenly, though still resisted the almost all-consuming urge to devour his beautiful Quartermaster. "And if it helps get me where I need to be — needed to be about 20 minutes ago in fact — my middle name…. is Herbert."

Arthur couldn't keep the triumphant but coy look from his eye as he gazed down at James. "See?" he whispered, transforming his expression into a warm and welcoming smile, all the permission the agent needed to grab him round the waist and wrestle him underneath his trembling form. "Told you I had ways and means, Commander Bond."