"Do you ski?" Bond asked, voice more of a rumble as he nuzzled against Q's neck.
"Do I look like I do?" he replied.
It got him a little nip and a chuckle. "Switzerland is nice this time of the year."
"For skiing."
"I could teach you."
Q groaned. "No. I like all my bones intact."
"We could skip skiing and go to the fun stuff immediately."
Bond trailed little bites and kisses along his neck and to his jaw, then finally captured Q's lips to swallow his protesting reply.
"Or Austria," he added when they came up for air. "Or somewhere warm and sunny?"
"I also don't tan."
By now Bond's fingers had worked under his shirt and were trailing over his skin. Shirt sleeves hung out of Q's pants and he was getting uncomfortably harder.
"Where do you propose we spend our two weeks, quartermaster?"
"East Coast US?"
Bond drew back and his blue eyes sparked. There was a smirk crossing his features. "East Coast? Anywhere in particular?"
"I heard New York was nice this time of the year."
Bond laughed and kissed him. "Maybe."
"And I think we can get an excellent deal on hotel prices."
"You know the owner of one?"
"Maybe," Q replied playfully.
The kiss was deeper this time, Bond pushing fully against the slender form to plunder his mouth, his hands everywhere. Q closed his eyes as those hands found his hardening prick and freed it, then James suddenly slid down his body.
It might not be the most elegant setting, but it was bloody good and damn well blew his mind, along with his prick.
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"Mr. Whittmore has accepted the invitation?"
Finch turned and schooled his features to not openly, and appreciatively, stare at the expanse of naked skin not far away. Reese's shirt was hanging open and he didn't look like he was about to button it up.
"Indeed he has."
Reese came over to him, lithe and near-silent in every move. Finch admired the sensuous moves, and he appreciated the caresses even more. Strong fingers brushed over his neck, his cheek, then played with the short hair.
"Anything we need to take care of after our last number?" John asked, a glint in his eyes that had Finch shiver inside.
"I don't believe so, Mr. Reese. The Machine hasn't given me anything new."
"Hm, good."
The last number had been quite taxing, since they had tried to skirt around the FBI agent involved. That Peter Burke hadn't followed up on the man who had saved his wife's life had been a miracle all on its own. That the con man and criminal at his side, who was also working for the FBI and seemed to be close to the Burkes, had turned out to be a preternatural had been a surprise.
Though maybe not. He was a master forger and art thief. He was one of the best and those talented thieves were usually preternaturally inclined.
"Though I was planning to take care of business," Harold remarked.
The curl of Reese's lips was a mixture of amusement and seduction. Finch refused to be baited. They had been taking it slow, the development of their relationship not exactly glacial, but also not at the speed of light. Small steps leading into the right direction, learning more about each other in a new way. Finch knew Reese was tactile if he let his shields drop. He liked to touch, to be near his handler, to brush by him, closer now than ever before. Finch in turn had to remind himself to drop his own shields, one by one, let the other man in. Reese was quick on the uptake, intelligent, sharp, and he seemed to sense when to push forward and when to back off.
Right now he was doing both. He was an enticing sight, even if Finch had seen him in all states of dress and undress and even naked before. Mostly bleeding and held together by staples, stitches and bandages. Not the most erotic of settings. But Reese was a very handsome man, with a glint, a dangerous edge, something that shone through for those who knew what to look for. He could be charming and suave, but he was a killer underneath, a predator.
Strangely enough, Finch was never afraid of that part. Had never been either.
"Want some company?" Reese now offered.
Finch rose. "It would be appreciated, Mr. Reese."
Then he leaned into the hellhound's personal space, hands curling into the lapels. The kiss was slow, deep, and long. Reese's hand slid over Finch's suit jacket, then underneath, over the smooth, silky material of his waistcoat.
Finch saw a ring of silver around the intense blue eyes and smiled. Reese seemed to be vibrating with energy, but he wasn't acting, only reacting. The hellhound in him wanted more, but Reese was holding back.
"Harold?"
He knew he was staring. Into those fascinating eyes, into the handsome face of his agent and partner.
"John," he answered, his mouth dry.
It got him a smile, slow, lazy, knowing. Reese drew his hand over the front of the waistcoat, stopping at the bottom line. He gave Finch a moment, then leaned in for another, probing kiss.
"Business, Mr. Reese," Finch reminded him, though there was a flush to his skin.
"I think we're getting there."
He knew John was giving him time to retreat, to set his own pace, but right now, in this very moment, Finch realized he was very ready for the next step. It must have been clear to see because the slow smile grew. Nimble fingers unbuttoned the waistcoat and didn't stop at the suit pants.
The deep blue eyes were fixed on Finch's, bright, alert for any change of mind.
Harold had no change of mind. Actually, as he leaned against his work desk, fingers curling around the table top, he couldn't stop his wonder and amazement at the man going down on him with such passion and skill.
It spoke of his long dry run that he spilled embarrassingly fast.
"Passionate, Harold," Reese rumbled as he rose, lithe and deadly and purely the predator he was.
"It's been a while," he murmured.
It got him a grin. Reese licked his lips and adjusted himself a little.
"John, let me…"
The preternatural leaned in, nuzzling against his jaw. "You're not the only one," he murmured.
"I… what?" Apparently his braincells had blown out.
"I should take a shower." Reese smiled mischievously. "And so should you."
Finch watched the other man walk away, all grace and danger, and he exhaled softly. Yes, he needed a shower, and the small bathroom of the library wouldn't do.
"Harold?"
The voice echoed a little, still low and enticing in its own way.
"Forgot anything, Mr. Reese?"
"You."
He stared at the hellhound.
"My place is closer."
"Well, yes." Of course Finch knew where Reese lived. He had given him the loft. It had been a gift without strings attached.
He started moving without actually thinking about it. Yes, his brain was mush. From a short but erotic blowjob by the man who had bound himself to the cipher. He had known what he was getting into by allowing this closeness, and so far it had been beneficial for both of them, but this was more intense than he had ever believed it could be.
A blowjob.
Finch cursed softly, then locked down his work station, gathered his coat, and limped after Reese.
They left the library together and Reese hailed them a cab.
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New York it had been. Eight hours after take-off they touched down at 7:30 p.m., snow falling softly from the dark sky. A limousine drove them to their hotel, The Coronet, and Bond raised an eyebrow when they were handed the key to the penthouse suite.
"Connections, Mr. Whittmore?"
"Very good connections, Mr. Bond."
They explored the luxurious suite and Q smiled as he opened the card attached to the fruit basket that had come with a bottle of very expensive champagne.
'Welcome, Mr. Kian Whittmore, Mr. James Bond. Enjoy your stay' was written on the card.
Oh, they would.
Bond opened his suitcase and started to unpack. They had ten days and they both wanted to enjoy their time, explore the city, and Q was sure that Finch would be in contact with him soon.
And speak of the devil, an email popped up. As a technopath he didn't need a laptop, though he had carried his own along. The suite allowed setting up a work station, which he would do.
He sent back his answer and Finch wished him a good night. They would meet tomorrow for dinner at 7:30.
"Hungry?" Bond asked as he came up behind Q and pressed a kiss to his neck.
"Actually, not really. More tired than anything else. And we have a dinner date tomorrow."
"Double date?" his partner teased.
He chuckled. "Maybe. Finch told me he made reservations at a restaurant called The Grand at 7:30."
"Sounds good." The Double-Oh nuzzled Q's neck, all warmth and strength against Q's back. It felt very nice. "Let's get some sleep."
"Sounds good." Q grinned and stepped out of the embrace, only to kiss his partner. "I need a shower first."
Suggestive eyebrows rose.
"You're a nightmare, 007," he murmured.
"I aim to please, quartermaster."
tbc...
