Chapter 3: Out in the Field

Bond – dressed to the nines – waits in the lobby of the hotel in Guayaquil where he is expected to attend a pretentious event and tries to a) not look like he's fidgety waiting for his expected counterpart and b) not play with the ring that feels exceptionally wrong on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Posing as a married couple. He's done that before. And it's not something he likes to think about.

He's also been told that this arrangement is not up for debate and that he is to wait for one of Q's underlings posing as his wife to 'make an entrance' as a part of a scheme to get intel and (hopefully) blow shit up.

Bond isn't quite convinced there is need for charade. He knows why there is a need for a hacker, but a couple seems…

That is when he freezes.

The person at the top of the stairs – also smartly dressed – is decidedly not the agent he has expected.

He forces down his initial reaction – something along the lines of, 'I will fucking have M's hide for sending a bloody department head into the field!' – and puts on the smiling façade of a spouse seeing his new… husband.

Q's slender (tuxedo-clad and contacts-wearing) form approaches him, smiling.
"James," he says, not hesitating for a second when he leans in for a short kiss.

"Darling," Bond responds, holding him close.

"Change of plans," Q whispers into the side of Bond's neck.

"I can bloody well see that, you little tit." He is still smiling, but his tone clearly states that he is less than happy. "Your name for this?"

Q leans back. "Something easy to remember. Quentin."

"Shall we, then?" Bond steers Q towards the ballroom with an arm around his waist and away from the people already giving them badly disguised, curious looks. (Well, at least the 'making an entrance' part would work.)
The moment they're in the ballroom and out of earshot, Bond gets back to business. "Exactly what change in the plan requires an invaluable department head in the field?"

Q smiles, pleasantly for the sake of appearance. "News reached us about one of the targets' employees. The hacker's skills might require more improvisation than originally anticipated."

Bond returns the saccharine smile. "And your agent couldn't have provided that level of improvisation?"

Q stops and faces Bond. "My agent is very, very good. However, there was a slight risk that I was not inclined to take. M agreed."

Since they are in plain view of the whole room, Bond thinks that upping the ante on their performance couldn't hurt (and he doesn't fucking feel like smiling, anymore), so he leans close to hover over Q's lips.
"You're a department head," he bites out and brushes a kiss over Q's lips. "Not a foot soldier."

This mischievous little smile on Q's lips now seems genuine. "And I have been ordered to remind you that you are to return all of her Majesty's valuable assets in one piece."
The brief flash of an unfamiliar expression on Bond's face gives him pause. "I'll be fine," he adds, before he can think about what exactly he has read in Bond's expression and what it tells him.

Bond's poker face falters, again, and he tightens his jaw. "I will not let you do the breaking in and hacking alone."

Q holds his eyes firmly with his own. "Yes, you will," he states, coolly. "We will stick to the plan, because you trust my judgement."
The cold look disappears with a sweet smile. "Now…" Q says and sounds disgustingly cheerful as he pulls at Bond's bow tie a bit to straighten it and then runs his hands over his jacket. "What kind of a face is that, James?"

Bond relaxes his facial muscles so that his answering smile doesn't look like a grimace, then he cups Q's face and kisses his forehead. "If you get yourself killed," he growls, "I'm never fucking you again."

"That is incredibly reassuring," Q replies, immediately, deadpan and slips something into Bond's hand. "Earpiece. Put it in when you get a chance."

Bond puts it in his pocked for the time being. "Who's at the other end?"

"Nobody. It's just two-way. Thought it might make you more inclined to actually let me do my job."

Bond feels vaguely insulted that Q has foreseen his reaction so effortlessly, but then decides that drawing attention to it would only make it worse. Instead, he steers both of them towards the bar. (There's time before the pretentious dinner and the empty waffling of investors to follow.)
"I'd be delighted to remind you what is in your job description, Quentin. And doing a break-in meant for somebody else isn't on that list."

When approaching the bar, Q leaned closer to Bond, taking his hand. "That's her. And her son," he says, not looking at the two people at the bar he's talking about.

"I noticed," Bond confirms before putting on the besotted honeymoon smile to place his order for himself and Q, moving to sit next to the two out of five of tonight's targets.

Playing couple supposedly had two main reasons (not that Bond was happy with either of them). The first reason was very simple. There was no way Bond could have done the required hacking on his own, and even he had to concede to that.
The second reason had more to do with blending in. The staff was apparently a close-knit group, and only guests who attended the conference were allowed to enter. Which usually isn't such a big problem… if the objective is to get in, causing some sort of mayhem, and then getting out, again. Unfortunately, the hacking isn't the only objective. The targets would need to complete a transaction after the system has been tampered with. One of the guests leaving at any time would cause suspicion. One half of a newlywed couple leaving for 'fresh air' because he'd had a little too much to drink might not… if they're lucky. If they're not lucky, well, then that is what Bond's there for.

"Be careful with that, darling," Bond says. "You know you can't hold your liquor…"

Q grins around his drink and leans against the warm body next to him. "I can get a little tipsy, tonight."

That's plan A, anyway. Plan B includes blowing up the hotel room with the computers in it and making sure that – even if they don't have the data – nobody else will, either.

Q has half a mind to blow everything to smithereens, either way, when first the son storms off in a huff at their display and then the mother follows with an apology and a sour expression.
"I don't feel sorry one bit," Q declares, sipping his drink.

Bond grins and leans his head on a hand, looking at Q while surreptitiously slipping in his earpiece.
"I wouldn't have married you if you did…" He smirks.

Q smirks back.

"What's the full name they put in your passport for this one?" Bond asks once the bartender is far enough away.

"I wouldn't want you to get an even bigger head than you already have."

"This is a very important thing for me to know…"

Q snickers.

"It's my alias, right?"

Q rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course we have the same surname. But since it's an alias, it might as well be mine, you know."

"Except that that's not what it says on the marriage license, is it?" Teasing Q is simply too amusing to not do it.

"Dick."

People in the room eventually start moving towards the dinner tables, so they finish their drinks and do the same.

Bond leans closer to Q as they walk. "That new hacker on their team… wouldn't recognise you, right?"

"No," Q answer. "Also, she's not here. It's just that we didn't know until yesterday that they got their hooks into her."

"That good, is she?"

Q tilts his head. "Not bad. She's mostly dangerous because she's specialised."

"And you?"

"I'm just that good." Q grins, widely, and they take their designated seats.

Then it's mostly the two of them playing a couple that is terribly in love and Q pretending to get a lot drunker than he actually is.

Before dessert, Q spills his drink on his jacket, swaying slightly in his seat.

Bond moves his glass onto the table. "Perhaps you've had enough?"

Q glares at him. "You're not my mother."

Bond caringly takes his hand and runs a finger over his cheek with the other. "I'm not patronising you, sweetheart. You know I'm not." He very much sounds like they've had that discussion before, and Q picks up on it, his expression softening.

"Well," he looks down, perfectly in character (while in reality he'd really rather kick Bond in the rear), and then peeks up. "Maybe I… had just one too many."

Bond almost laughs at his performance. "Do you need me to take you to our room?"

Q waves him off and moves to stand. "I'm just going to… put on a different jacket and…" He blinks in a fake attempt to clear his vision.

"Splash some water in your face?"

Q contemplates that. "Yes. I… I think I'll do that." He sways a bit more, holding himself upright on the back of his chair.

"Are you sure you don't need me to come with you?"

"Perfectly," Q declares, smacking a loud kiss on Bond's lips. "I'll only be a minute."

Bond knows that, should all go well, it would take about twelve… He watches Q walk out of the room, unsteadily and fights down the urge to check if his earpiece sits right. Instead he turns back to the table when he can no longer see him and makes sure nobody follows him out of the room. (That would lead to dead people or explosions, very likely both.)
"I'll be lucky if he doesn't just fall asleep upstairs…" he informs the other four guests at the table.

"He doesn't drink often?" the woman next to Bond asks.

"He doesn't usually like to drink much," Bond replies. "It's just that… this was supposed to be our honeymoon before his mother insisted we attend this… gathering." He receives a round of understanding nods around the table.
"It's not that either of us minds these things, normally, but…"

Then the voice in his ear comes alive. "I'm telling M you called him my mother," Q lets him know, his voice perfectly clear and steady, not the slightest sign of intoxication. He must be in the elevator, then.

Bond does his best not to laugh. Then again, he's used to Q's voice accompanying him.

"Will you be continuing your holiday after the conference?" the woman asks.

Bond nods, emphatically. "Absolutely."

"I heard that, and I'm taking your word for it."

"In fact," Bond continues, "I intend to take him to the harbour where our boat is waiting, right after dessert, provided he doesn't fall asleep, after all."

"I am due a holiday, after this…"

Bond listens to the elevator ding and the doors open and hears Q's steps.

"I'm in our suite," Q confirms after a moment.

Bond only follows the conversation at the table with one ear. Just enough that he wouldn't appear too distracted.

"No, I'm not forgetting the gloves," Q continues, apparently having decided that talking Bond through it would ease some of his nerves. "And, yes, I am perfectly capable of climbing one balcony down and back up, again."

Bond can hear Q open the balcony door and then grunting as he hops down. There's some clicking and a snap.

"These balcony doors have appalling security."

There's a pause and almost a minute of nothing but breathing. Bond smiles at his conversation partner and absolutely does not fidget.

"Well. It's a good thing we changed plans… I'm on it, now."

Bond hears typing and some metallic sounds, every now and again, but mostly a lot of typing.

"Right…" There's a click and a snap. "Tracker and extraction are running, and I've set the explosives."

Bond checks his watch. Q's been in that room for eight minutes, now.

"I'm sure he'll be right down," the man next to Q's empty seat tells him.

Bond smiles, amicably. "I'm sure. He has been rather tipsy…"

"I'm out," Q says, followed by the sounds of him hauling his flyweight one storey up. "Back in our room. Taking a new jacket and the phone with the trigger, just in case. There's a change of clothes ready. We're all set to leave right after dessert."

Bond releases a breath but refuses to relax too much. He'd do that when Q was back at his side where he could keep an eye and not just an ear on him.

It takes another couple of minutes and Q returns in one piece and sits back down, smiling at everyone at the table.

"Quentin."

He saves his special smile for Bond. "James."

"You look better."

Q clears his throat. "I… had some water." He's almost sure he manages to blush a bit. "And walking around might have helped, too."

"And once we get some food in you, you'll be right as rain." Bond can't help himself and leans in to kiss him on the cheek and whisper, "I'm impressed."

After dessert, they wait for their targets to leave, first, then they're off, as well, Quentin having no problems convincing everyone that the evening is over for him.

In their suite, Q heads for the bathroom. "I fucking hate contacts," he complains, removing them, first thing and putting his glasses back on. When he enters the bedroom, he gives Bond's already half undressed form an appreciative once-over, making the other man raise an eyebrow.

"You realise we don't have time, right now," Bond tells him.

"Delayed gratification, Mister Bond. I've heard the most wonderful things about its effects."

"Never been a big fan, myself…" Bond grins, amused, but gets dressed in the other set of clothes laid out for them (both consisting of a short-sleeved button-down shirt and light slacks). Q follows suit.

When they're done, Bond pulls Q's glasses off and puts them into his shirt's breast pocket. "You weren't wearing them, before. Put them back on in the car."

Q rolls his eyes. "Fine." He turns to leave, but Bond grabs him around the waist and pulls him close, showing him that for delayed gratification to take effect, later, there must at least be interest, now.

"Can I just say how fucking much your performance tonight turned me on?" he growls.

Q's lips quirk, benignly. "You were doubting my competence?"

"Knowing and seeing are two entirely different things," Bond informs him, grabs two handfuls of buttocks and pulls Q closer, still.

Q's lips are a hair's breadth from Bond's as he murmurs, "Have you changed your mind about my appearances in the field?"

Bond captures the lips, licking and biting at them for a moment. "Absolutely not," he states, firmly.

Q laughs, pushes himself away and grabs their bags. "Good," he says, emphatically. "I hated flying here, I hate playing a giggly damsel in distress for a whole evening – especially when it only takes ten minutes to do what I really came here for – I hate all those ridiculously pompous and posh idiots downstairs…" he comes to stand in front of a grinning Bond and thrusts one bag into the man's waiting hand, "… but I suppose it was fun putting on a show with you, 007."

Bond chuckles and steals another kiss. "I see we understand each other."

"Perfectly." He straightens and loops a hand around Bond's elbow. "Now, darling, why don't you help your still terribly tipsy sweetheart to the car so we can get the hell out of here and monitor the transfer, properly? It's scheduled for in about half an hour."

"Yes, dear."

Q sits in a dark corner of a club near the harbour, the announced half hour later, monitors the progress of the data transfer on his phone with a smug little smile and waits for Bond to bring him a drink ("a proper one, this time, if you please, James").

When someone slides into the seat in front of him, he's about to send them away…

"Mister Bond."

… instead he looks up, startled for a moment. They had not used Bond's real name for this mission. He relaxes (fractionally) when he sees who the person in front of him is.

"I'm a friend of your husband's," the man continues.

Q puts on a pleasant smile (that is at least half-fake – he knows the man isn't lying, but that isn't saying much in their business).
"Mister Leiter. Of course." He holds out his hand for the man to shake.

"Felix, please."

"Quentin."

That's when Bond sits down next to Q, putting his drink in front of him while sipping his own.
"Don't bother asking for his real name, Felix. I don't even know that."

Q takes his drink and empties about half of it. "Thank you."

Bond smirks. "How are the relatives back home?"

"Increasingly happy," Q replies, his eyes once more on his phone's display.

Felix leans back in his seat. "I hear the young married couple has attended a particularly exclusive investor's dinner, earlier…"

Bond puts on the slightly daft expression of the husband he's worn all evening. "It was decidedly fruitful. Wasn't it, darling?"

Q – apparently having had enough role-play for one day – only snorts, his eyes not flickering anywhere but back and forth over the screen. "Oh, yes. Decidedly fruitful."

Felix eyes him. "I haven't seen this one around," he notes to Bond.

Bond's front falls. "Enjoy it while it lasts. You won't see him again."

Q, hardly listening to them, suddenly grins, darkly.

Bond, of course, catches it. "Everything gone through?"

Q nods, satisfied. "Yes."

Felix crosses his arms. "Quentin," he repeats the name. "I see." He smirks at the young man. "Enjoying daylight?"

Q returns the look, blankly. "Immensely." Then his phone makes a noise and he frowns, navigating the touchscreen.

Bond leans over to see. "What?"

"How unfortunate," Q bemoans, distractedly and opens another application. "It would appear that, while they're certainly too late, they have discovered my program." He activates a command and finishes his drink.

Bond puts an arm around him. "Did you just blow up their hotel room?"

"Now, now, James. Would I do that?"

"Yes."

Q grins. "I think, perhaps, it's time for us to catch that boat you promised me." He looks straight at Bond, typing blindly on his phone with his free hand.

"I do believe it is," Bond agrees.

When something in Felix' pocket makes a dinging sound, Q looks at him.
"You're primarily interested in names, at this time, yes?"

Felix pulls out his own phone and raises his eyebrows.

Q receives a similar expression from Bond.

"You're awfully generous tonight, dear," Bond says, carefully neutrally.

Q puts his phone in his pocked. "You'd like your friends to remain your friends, wouldn't you?"

Bond sighs, histrionically. "Always looking out for me."

"It's my job," Q replies, frankly. "Since you need it. Also, I have an ulterior motive." With that, he stands pushing Bond out of his seat.
"Felix," he nods at the man, cheerfully, "it was very nice meeting you, but if you'll excuse us, I have further plans for the evening." He walks a chuckling Bond out of the club and towards the car.

"Impatient?" Bond asks, sneaking an arm around Q, grabbing his arse.

"We've delayed gratification for long enough," Q states. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Far be it from me to disagree with you on that." He unlocks the car, both of them getting in.

"Besides," Q continues. "I wasn't the only one being professional, tonight."

Bond sends him a dark look at that remark, before navigating out of the parking space. "I didn't do a damn thing." He doesn't like feeling useless. And while he knows that Q has needed him along for the ride, he's been on alert all night and didn't get the chance to channel any of that energy. Well. Plenty of time to work off some excessive energy on the boat. "I didn't even get to blow up the hotel room," he adds mostly for effect.

Q wants to say something about Bond having done a perfectly good and invaluable job; instead, he picks up on the jibe Bond has made the end. "I'm terribly sorry. I'll let you push the button, next time."

They can hear sirens in the distance and then a fire truck passes by them, leaving Q in the odd space of a job well done and the empty space of consequences that follows right after.

Bond briefly looks at Q. "Just how big was that explosion?"

Q pulls off his glasses and rubs his face. "Nobody outside the suite was affected, I assure you."

"You alright?"

"Yes, perfectly," Q burst out, not quite sounding all that alright. "I've just killed a room full of very dangerous people; done a field mission with only the most rudimentary training; I practically ran the whole evening on a wave of how bloody brilliant I apparently seem to be for me to be sent, regardless…" He takes a breath. "And, well, that adrenaline is rapidly wearing off now, so I'd very much appreciate it if you could take me to your boat and distract me properly, before my brain manages to catch up with me and I collapse in a heap of pale computer genius who never should have been let out of the cellar."

Bond stops the car at their dock and turns off the engine. "Q."

Q looks up, his 'real' name enough to get his attention. He huffs. "And you think you didn't do a damn thing?" He shakes his head. "I would have been useless on my own."

"Q, put on your glasses and look at me."

Some annoyance takes over Q's thought processes, but he does what he's been asked. "And?"

"Don't worry, I'll take you onto that boat and fuck you senseless, but I really need you to understand that you were perfect, tonight."

Q just blinks at him.

"And I suppose your 'rudimentary training' was theoretical?"

"Of course it was! What else would-"

Bond interrupts him with a kiss. "You bloody idiot. How many field agents have you guided through missions? What else did you expect your 'rudimentary training' to cover that you haven't seen first-hand?"

Q licks his lips. "I have no practical experience whatsoever, and-"

"Well. You do now."

Bond's steady voice and secure hands on his shoulders manage to relay the message, and Q relaxes, again.
"Hopefully, that will be the end of my practical field experience."

Bond nods and refuses to think about how important it is that Q seems to think so. He pulls him into a slow kiss, instead, running the fingers of one hand into the thick hair.
"I need you at the other end of that line, Q. Don't ever think otherwise."

Q exhales, deliberately. "Alright," he says, decisively. "The boat?"

Bond grins and nods to Q's right. "Right there."

Q looks and… his eyes widen. "Why am I even surprised that boat apparently means huge fucking yacht in Bond-speak?"

Bond gurgles, cheerfully (it's frighteningly easy for Q to get that reaction) and gets out of the car, Q following closely behind.

Q trots along the footbridge. "I'm assuming Commander Bond has no problems handling this thing."

"You assume correctly," Bond replies and unties the hawsers. "Get on board."

Bond then sends Q below deck with their bags, while he navigates the boat out of the harbour. It doesn't take long for Q to find him again.

Q steps in close from behind and wraps both arms around Bond's middle, breathing deeply.

"No breakdowns?" Bond asks, just to be sure, laying a hand on Q's forearm.

Q shakes his head against Bond's back. "No. Just… processing, I guess."

Bond reaches behind him and moves Q to stand between his arms with his back against the steering wheel.

Q smiles and relaxes into a lazy kiss, slowly unbuttoning Bond's shirt.

Bond keeps one hand on the wheel and holds Q close with the other, tilting his head when Q's kisses wander from his lips to his neck.

"I don't think I'm quite patient enough to wait until we're safely out of the harbour," Q adds for consideration and brushes the shirt off Bond's shoulders to fall onto the floor.
Q groans in frustration when his phone buzzes in his pocket and sends Bond an annoyed look when the man manages to reach it before Q and answers it.
Not that it's a big deal. It isn't like the whole of MI-bloody-6 doesn't already know that they have… recreational get-togethers, occasionally. Or, rather, regularly, to be honest. (While during their first private session in Q's office they indeed hadn't spoilt any clothes, they had both been sporting impressive marks on their necks, afterwards… and that had been that.)

That doesn't mean that Q can't be annoyed at Bond for taking liberties with his phone.

Bond brings the phone to his ear. "Bond," he says, keeping Q in place with the whole length of his body (not that Q minds), nuzzling the side of his face. "Tanner," he greets the man at the other end.

Q sighs and decides to just go with it. He deserves a break, dammit.

Bond grumbles a bit and leaves off of Q's jaw. "He's right here, but he's also off the clock. I'll bring him back two weeks." He unbuttons and removes Q's shirt. "Yes," he confirms one thing or other, distractedly. "And neither of us is injured, and all of the equipment is intact… Hm," he hums and takes off Q's glasses to put them on the panel. "I already made sure he knows that his work was exemplary." He kisses Q (nothing too racy, but loud enough that Tanner probably gets an earful). "Mhm. I'm sure he can spare a minute tomorrow to write a report."

Q rolls his eyes. "Give me that," he demands and takes the phone, making Bond chuckle and kiss Q's neck with one eye out the window and one hand still on the wheel.
"Tanner. I'll get the report to you sometime tomorrow. Will that be acceptable?"

"It had better be…"

"Shut up, James." Q is surprised that his voice is still steady; Bond is moving deliciously against him. Still. He'd better finish this, quickly. "I… uh… yes. I'll be seeing you in two weeks." He rings off before Tanner can get another word in, edgewise.

Bond grins, dirtily and takes the phone to throw it down next to the glasses. "That's my quartermaster," he growls, approvingly and licks into Q's mouth, making him moan and move his hips against Bond's.
"How is your patience holding up?" Bond asks when he ventures another look at the direction their boat is taking. "Might take a while before I can leave here."

Q obviously doesn't believe in patience, anymore and has both their trousers open in a matter of seconds. "Right now, I just want to get off. We have two weeks to do it properly, after."

Bond loses no time aligning their cocks and then wrapping both their right hands around them.

Q for a moment doesn't know whether to fall forwards or backwards, but when Bond starts kissing and sucking along his neck, he sags against the wheel at his back, letting it hold him up.

"Considering the marital status of our aliases," Bond ponders, establishing a rhythm for their right hands, "wouldn't this be the right time to share your real name with me?"

Q gasps a laugh, his head thrown back, offering the length of his neck like a sacrifice. "You have two weeks to convince me of that argument, James."

Bond bites him, sharply. "Not fair."

"Not one bit," Q confirms, keeping up the rocking motion against his lover.

They're not really far enough out into the sea, but Bond lets the boat slow down so that he doesn't accidentally slam into anything before their holiday has even really started and kisses Q deeply, reminding his body of the familiarity that is the Quartermaster in his arms.
This young man – surprising him at every corner, so worthy of a trust James hadn't thought himself capable of giving, anymore – is now moaning in his embrace, returning kisses and touches, showing that the familiarity is mutual.

Bond pumps them both through Q's orgasm and then uses the come to slick himself so he can jerk his cock hard and fast, biting Q's lips as he spills between them.

They remain where they are for a long moment, just kissing lazily and breathing hard, the boat rocking softy and the engine humming. Emotions float around them, wrapping them in warmth, yet staying just out of reach, not creating any need to be examined just then.

Q grins, eventually. "That holiday is off for a promising start."

Bond doesn't think that that statement requires a comment. He has two weeks to prove it, after all.

TBC

Notes:

I'm going to stay with this holiday for the next chapter. I think it's a good platform to explore some more layers of their connection. (Yes, there will be more sex, again... and possibly an exploding pen XD)

If you have any ideas/requests, let me know. I can't promise I'll actually use them, but I'll think about it ;)