This story was already posted by me on AO3 some time ago (under the same username). Just decided now to add it here as a part of series of short stories.
Just wanted to make that point clear and I've already been accused of stealing my own story once.

What if Q did go to Macau instead of Moneypenny?

Miles and poles apart

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The knock on the door was definitely a surprise.

Bond took the gun and was approaching the entrance cautiously, when the voice on the other side said mockingly 'Room service?'. He knew that voice.

"I didn't order anything. Not even you," he answered in a matching mocking manner.

Q smiled, almost indulgingly. This time he wasn't wearing that ridiculous parka from the gallery. His white shirt (that would look quite decent if it wasn't so crumpled) had three top buttons undone and he was holding dark blue cardigan in his hand.

"I have got some new information."

"Aren't you a little overqualified to be delivering messages?" Bond recoiled to his previous place in front of the mirror. Q entered the room and threw the cardigan onto the nearest chair. The heat was visibly disturbing him, his hair curling even more wildly.

"I guess you can't acquire a decent cup of Earl Grey around here?" Q asked, looking around, like he was actually expecting the tea to materialize in front of him. Bond snorted and started applying the shaving cream to his jaw.

"Do not laugh at me, 007. You should genuinely appreciate my arrival here. I detest flying," the quartermaster alleged. He crossed his arms on his chest. "So, whoever stole the list, has already decrypted it. They posted first five names on the web."

"Well, that was only a matter of time," the agent commented. He observed in the mirror how the younger man's eyes unashamedly followed the lines of muscles on his back, lingering more than once. He suppressed a smile and finished with the shaving cream.

"Well, that's just the start. They're posting five more next week and the week after. It's some kind of sadistic game."

Bond sighed.

He wondered what kind of game two of them were playing right now – it started then, in the gallery, with a exchange of retorts that could not be mistaken for anything else than flirting - but Bond was still unsure of the rules or the aim.

When he grasped his razor, Q smirked and approached him slowly.

"Cut-throat razor. How very traditional."

"Well, I do prefer to do some things the old-fashioned way," he replied and turned around. It took him two steps to invade the quartermaster's personal space and extend the razor in his direction.

"You assume I will counter your little invitation? I must have misled you to believe my hands are capable of harnessing computers only."

Bond smiled widely as Q took the blade.

The agent was not entirely sure how all this ended up with him still only in a towel and the young technical genius between his legs, kneeling in front of him with a cut-throat razor hovering above the agent's skin.

"You didn't come here to shave me, Q. M had already filled me in with the situation."

Q smiled at the indirect question as he made first move with the razor. His hand was steady - like shaving double-oh agents was an obligatory skill for a quartermaster.

"I was sent here instead of your almost-killer. I believe you would prefer her company better, but M insisted."

Bond contemplated the elliptic utterance for a few seconds.

"M must have been sure you would not spy for Mallory."

"It seems so."

Q positioned the razor above agent's other cheek and squinted his eyes a little in concentration. Bond could count his eyelashes now if he wanted to. He wondered again how did he end up in that situation. This smooth skin (definitely without spots, though with few moles which trail begged to be followed with tongue) was making his fingertips burning, those cheeky lips tempting him since their first meeting. Before, he was effectively hiding his bisexualism from MI6, sleeping with (too many) women on his missions, but it looked like his new quartermaster's purpose was to expose him. This bloody too-young prodigy with ridiculous hair and posh accent.

Q smirked when the agent started undoing the rest of the buttons of his crumpled shirt.

"Don't move, 007. Now comes the tricky part."

Bond felt the shiver along his spine when the blade was sliding upward the skin of his throat. And it was definitely not driven by fear.

Q placed the cut-throat razor on the floor and wiped the remnants of shaving cream off agent's face. There was a playful sparkle in his eyes - he thought this was a game Bond would not dare to play.

He must have forgotten 007 was never one to resist his desires.

Bond leaned in and connected their lips. He could feel the smile on Q's lips before he bit the other man's lower lip to access his mouth with his tongue. The tension building inside of him up to this moment was overwhelming and when the younger man reciprocated with the same ardour, he wasn't planning on stopping himself from doing everything he could think of to this mischievous youngster.

ж

"You look really good in that suit. You should wear them more often."

"You don't need to compliment me, 007. You already seduced me into your bed."

"Are you sure you should be here, Q? This isn't sitting in front of a screen and pushing magic buttons. Certainly, M didn't oblige you to actually follow me around. "

"I was told to help. Do worry about yourself - you tend to die recently."

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"Thank you," said Bond as he was climbing up from the reptile recess. He was actually positively surprised about Q's rescue - he did associate the young genius with something more neat than breaking someone's arm with briefcase full of money.

"Have you just fed a bloody Komodo dragon with the gun I gave you?"

Bond smiled presumptuously and then shook his head when Q wanted to hand him the briefcase.

"Have some fun. That's what people do from time to time."

"I'm not going to forgive you losing that gun just because you gave me a briefcase of Euros, 007."

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Later, when Q was on the plane back to London, his hand kept coming back to his collarbone, where he still felt the bruise the agent's teeth left.

It was supposed to be one-time thing, 'having fun from time to time'. But when he recalled the look 007 gave him as a goodbye, it seemed like the agent was eager to continue their peculiar game.

He smiled at the thought.