Washington, Five Days Later
"...so, in conclusion gentlemen, I think we can confidently say that the Double O programme in conjunction with the continued developments in a next generation Q Division will ensure the timely and cannot-come-too-soon demise of the enemies of your state and ours."
The CIA's Assistant Director was looking at Q with a grudging admiration. Americans, even those involved in intrigue and espionage, weren't a patch on the schooled British demeanour, thought Q to himself. Mallory, of course, remained unreadable as ever.
The AD leaned forward. "Tell me, young feller. What would it take for me to get you to defect to our side?" Schooled or not, Q was ill-accustomed to such direct flattery and compliments so the faint blush that coloured his cheeks could not be tamped down.
"You couldn't afford me Sir." The AD raised an eyebrow and Mallory couldn't stifle his chuckle before saying, "and of course, you'd have to get through me first, Luke," he said, keen gaze holding Q's own.
"You damn Brits. Too loyal for your own good!" He slapped the conference table with the flat of both hands and stood. "Anyway that's enough of all that. Let's catch some grub. I'm famished."
It was late when they left the restaurant. Their escort detail back to the hotel were waiting patiently by the entrance. Mallory and Q said their farewells to their dinner companions and counterparts and climbed into the car.
"I'd say that went exceptionally well," said Mallory plainly. "Congratulations Q. You seem to be as good at building bridges as you are at constructing weapons."
Q pushed his glasses further up his nose. "You give me too much credit, Sir."
"Hardly. You impressed them. I thought I was going to have a fight on my hands with their AD to save you from their clutches."
But Q wasn't listening. He was staring out the window at the buildings flowing by. He searched the catalogue in his memory banks and pulled out his phone, typing a quick message. Mallory felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and opened the screen. The message was brief and to the point. And from Q.
Don't react. This is not the agreed route to the hotel.
Mallory, face impassive, sent a quick text to his US counterpart and pocketed the phone. He remained silent for a few minutes more, before he leaned forward and tapped the dividing glass. Q remained stock still on the other side of the seat. The window slid open.
"Yes, Sir?"
Mallory's voice was soft and unthreatening when he spoke something unintelligible. The "agent" on the passenger side leaned his head further forward and it was that moment Mallory struck, laying a ruthless jab to the side of his face. Momentarily dazed, the driver was quick to react, pulling his gun from his shoulder holster, but Mallory had already reached through the window, grabbing the gun which went off, putting a whole in the passenger agent's thigh. The driver hit the brakes, throwing all the car's occupants off balance. In the scuffle with their potential captors, the gun had come loose from the driver's grip and fallen into the car well at his feet. As he scrambled to recover it, Mallory reached through the gap once more and bounced his head thrice of the steering wheel. Within seconds, Q and Mallory noticed three unmarked cars were surrounding them.
M sat back with a slump and then leaned over to check Q. "Are you alright?" he asked, breathless but concerned.
Q nodded. "That was really very impressive, Sir…" But he couldn't say more as doors were flung open and the men in the front dragged bodily from the vehicle and pushed to the ground while Q and Mallory were bundled into another car and whisked away into the night.
They were deposited in another hotel with a fresh security detail posted at their doors. Q was discarding his pullover and loosening his tie when a soft knock landed on the door adjoining their rooms. He opened it to reveal a dishevelled looking Head of MI6, sans jacket and holding two tumblers of brandy. He extended one to Q, who took it gladly. Raising it in a gesture of a toast, he muttered, "To survival." Q smiled and clinked his glass, turning and giving him access to the room. He perched silently on the side of the bed and Mallory, without thinking took a seat next to him. Adrenaline levels hadn't recovered just yet and Q's hand was shaking slightly as he sipped his drink. Mallory reached out to take hold of his wrist.
"Are you alright, Quartermaster?" he asked softly. Their eyes met. And locked.
The next thing they knew, the tumblers had dropped to the carpeted floor and Mallory's lips were locked hard with Q's.
Realising the monumentally inappropriate way he had conducted himself, Mallory hastily beat a retreat back to his own room without a word. Q however, was having none of that. He allowed a few minutes for his racing pulse to centre itself before opening the door to his room. Mallory was sitting on the edge of his bed, jacket still discarded but otherwise clothed, looking somewhat out of sorts. His expression one of pain warring with desire, watched Q walk across the room from the adjoining door to stand in front of him. Q took the initiative, removing his clothes down to boxers, and moved to kneel in front of him. Mallory allowed himself the barest of flinches when Q laid strong, firm hands gently on his thighs and glided his palms up. He shuffled forward, taking one of Mallory's hands in his own and pulling the unresistant limb towards him. Slowly, he traced the man's thumb along the swell of his lower lip before taking it into his mouth and circling it smoothly with his tongue. Mallory's physical response was not to be denied, Q's glance fluttering down with a small knowing smile that caused a clench in his stomach. Q was watching him carefully, reading the cues and not pushing. Mallory's length was now pressed straining against his trousers, trapped and hard against Q's bare, slender chest. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Q leaned forward to bridge the remaining few inches that separated them to press a gentle kiss to his throat and a nuzzle beneath his jaw. Mallory instinctively responded with a downward tilt of his head and his lips collided with those of his Quartermaster. The kiss was soft and tentative for several long seconds.
And then it wasn't.
"Damn it, Q," he murmured hoarsely against his mouth.
Mallory's senses burst into life and he grabbed Q's upper arms, hauling him onto the bed to lay flat on the mattress. He climbed over him and proceeded to consume him as a man too long deprived of water would his first drink.
Q couldn't hide his delight when they broke apart briefly to catch breath. "You're a quick study," he said, rendered slightly breathless by the sudden change in dynamic.
"Only when the subject matter is particularly enthralling, Q," he whispered against slightly parted lips, pressing his still clothed body against the full length of Q's, creating a friction simultaneously thrilling as it was maddening.
"Gareth…" whispered Q, smiling against his lips.
"Jonathan…" It had been some years since Q had heard another human being utter his real name. And from the lips of Gareth Mallory, it sounded like a promise and a prayer.
Q sat up and looked at the deep indent in the pillow, where his head had pushed firm only hours before while his body arched into the caress of Mallory's mouth and hands; the screwed up edges of the sheet he had gripped mercilessly in the night as he fought back his approaching climax in an effort to prolong the pleasure; and down at the scrunched-up fabric at the bottom of the bed, when his heels had pressed hard, toes curling with unabashed lust. He sighed at the sight of those hollow indentations, holding the memories of last night's encounter. He tensed slightly when he felt the man behind shuffle into a sitting position, moving to drape his chest across Q's back and his thighs over the side of the bed, either side of Q's own.
"Regrets?" Mallory's voice rumbled against his shoulder.
"None," he said, managing to keep the rueful from his answer.
The physical and intellectual attraction that had been building between them over the intervening weeks manifested into a mind-blowing sexual encounter was obviously mutual and had taken them both by surprise, but the men that they were and the positions that they held, both knew regrets were a waste of time.
"What time is it?" Mallory queried, voice still rough with sleep and the sound of it doing little to tamp down Q's own early morning erection. He leaned to the side to grab his glasses and his watch. "Just after 6am." M gently took the watch from his hand and placed it back on the bedside table.
"Good," he said, dragging him bodily backwards under the sheets again, "Still mine for a little longer then…" before stealing the breath of any protest from the man's lips.
Not that Q had any intention of putting up a fight.
