"I want m-more now," he said quickly, stuttering, spreading his legs as best he could under the circumstances, letting Bond have unrestricted access. He got up completely, leaving his bed partner spread out and almost whining for it. Searching through his luggage he found a few condoms and some lube that he brought over to the bed. Q watched him, admiring the hardened and scarred body of the spy he was sharing a bed with. Bond opened the bottle and put some on his fingers before pressing them to Q's offered hole. The man on the bed inhaled sharply, not knowing what it was going to feel like from then on. He was nervous and clenched tightly, not letting Bond entrance at all until the blond man kissed his hipbone, which was easily visible on the thin man. He tried to relax then, bracing himself before Bond started to work in his finger. It felt sort of cold and very strange at this point. Q was still tense, but gave Bond the benefit of the doubt, assuming that he'd done this before and knew what he was doing. After a handful of seconds, Bond's finger inside him felt less alien and Q nodded his head almost imperceptibly, granting him access farther in. He started to feel stretched and warm as Bond filled him up farther, adding in a second finger with some startled inhales from the dark-haired man. He adjusted slowly, and gasped when the blond man started to slowly work his fingers apart, opening up the virgin on the bed in front of him.

After a good few minutes of this, Q was more adjusted to the intrusions and lifted his hips a bit, completely unconsciously. Bond took this as a signal to continue and started to move his fingers in and out of Q, who was harder than he could ever remember being.

Bond hooked his fingers slightly inside of Q, and sparks flew behind his tightly closed eyes. A gasp tore the air from his lungs and his body craved the feeling again. It was akin to ecstasy, the closest Q could ever remember being. He wanted more of it, and desperately moved himself down on Bond's fingers. His whimpers and whines of pleasure were drowned out by Bond's dark chuckle as he bit the pale skin of Q's inner thigh. Bond pressed his fingers harder into Q's prostate, enjoying the sounds and small almost needy motions of his hips. After the dark-haired man had let out a full-on moan, Bond slowly and teasingly pulled out his fingers. Q's slightly stretched entrance closed right up, probably just as tight as he had been before. Bond was done waiting, though, and rolled on the condom quickly before he positioned his cock to rest right against the dark-haired man's hole, wanting to elicit some kind of begging before he claimed the virgin as his.

"Oh, please, fuck, James-" Q wasted no time in asking, and in just the right fashion. Still intoxicated, words fell out of his mouth without a barrier between them and his thoughts. Bond looked up at him as he spoke, and smirked. The brown wavy hair in a ruffled state was particularly endearing, and he decided to see it that way more often. His kiss-bruised lips were a lovely shade of red that matched the blush on his pale face. His green eyes were open now, and pleading. They widened in shock as Bond entered him for the first time, the second intrusion much more filling than the first. He let out a noise that started as a pained gasp and finished as a moan. Bond groaned as he entered only halfway, remembering and appreciating the feel of a virgin around him. He was inviting and tight, flushed and begging for more. Bond of course gave it to him, slowly and completely filling him. Q's head inadvertently dropped back onto the mess of the white hotel sheets as he shuddered, losing some control over his body. The feeling of being full was strange, though not unwelcome. It took him a moment of getting used to before it was pleasurable, but once that was over he loved the feeling. Q glanced up at Bond, who was half smirking and half smiling at him. Drunk and feeling slightly hazy, he wanted a kiss from the blond man who had just taken his virginity. He tried to sit up, but it was a rather unwelcome feeling and laid back down scowling slightly. Bond chuckled and bent down to kiss Q, who reciprocated eagerly. They continued to kiss even as Bond started to thrust, moving deeper into the man below him. Q more than once moaned into their kiss, and Bond would be lying if he said he hadn't as well. Bond started to move slightly faster, putting his hands on Q's hips for leverage, getting him in just the right position for an occasional brush against his prostate. Every time, the green-eyed man's moans got louder.

Drunk and very aroused, Q loved the feeling of being manhandled by Bond. He could feel every crease and scar on the agent's fingers and palms as much of his weight rested on them. The thought that Bond's hands had killed and injured so many in his time somehow made Q feel that the sex was even more erotic and off-limits. Being with a field agent wasn't good enough- he had the best one, someone whose age and status made him much more valued. He had someone who had killed many times before to protect them both, and their country. The roughness and coldness within Bond was reserved, but occasionally showed as he used Q, roughly handling him to make the sex more pleasurable. Q loved it, too. He didn't want to be treated like some fragile little princess, and the alcohol only helped to bring out the fact. He moved himself closer to Bond, vocal about his pleasure, especially when touched less than carefully.

"I'm not all that fragile," he half growled right into Bond's ear when the blond man leaned down to give him an obvious mark on the neck. He had been getting more and more possessive, and Q was spotted with red marks and bites. Bond even had a good number of his own when Q had managed to get him down long enough.

Bond hadn't really been treating him all that carefully after the noises Q had made when roughly handled, but those words sparked something else. Bond forced himself deeper in and Q bit down on the blond man's collarbone to distract himself from the red hot spike of pain shooting up his spine. A choked noise of pleasure was muffled by Bond's tanned skin. The field agent's fingers tightened on Q's hips, and he knew bruises were going to form. The mere thought of being marked all over, obviously spoken for, got him harder than it had any right to.

Q suddenly noticed the stickiness on his stomach from the precum dripping from his tip. He was closer to climax than he thought, dripping all over himself. Their movements were shaking the bed, which thankfully made little noise. Bond continued to be rough with him, eventually smirking when he glanced down and noticed how close Q was. He let go of the dark-haired man's hip with one hand and started to gently touch him, knowing that anything more would get the man to come almost immediately. Every brush of Bond's fingers against his erection drew Q dangerously closer to orgasm, and he panted lightly from lack of air and stimulation.

Bond shifted slightly, angling Q's figure as well as his own and then thrust in hard, trying to make Q see stars again. It worked, and the dark-haired man let out a strangled moan as he came, getting his stomach and Bond's fingers sticky. The blond agent had been holding back his orgasm for a minute, wanting his partner to finish first, and finally let himself go, releasing more than he expected into the condom before pulling out quickly. The feeling of sudden emptiness made Q groan and shut his eyes, releasing the fists he had clenched into the sheets. He heard James moving around and guessed that he was cleaning up. He was somewhat confused when he felt the blond man's warm hand brush his upper thigh followed by an arm slipping under his back and one under his knees. Q barely had time to register the sensation before he was easily lifted up off the bed. His eyes snapped open.

"James, put me down-!" Q squirmed around a bit, though he did rather like the feeling of being held securely. He just wanted to go and shower.

Bond smirked at him. "Afraid of heights, Quartermaster?" he teased before setting the light man on his feet. Q wobbled and ended up almost falling back into his arms. His knees were still weak from his orgasm and didn't want to support him yet. He was determined, though, and stood up, taking off his very askew glasses before going to shower. He stood under the hot water for what felt like a couple of hours. Bond joined him eventually and took a few minutes to appreciate all of the obvious marks on Q's light skin.

They got out after a good hour or so, far after the water would have run cold at a house. By that time, it was past sunrise and a very curly-haired Q (as Bond had rather happily discovered, his hair curled when wet) practically fell into bed from exhaustion, pulling the cream colored duvet up over his head and trying to sleep. Bond had put some effort into toweling off and finding a clean pair of boxers to wear. He briefly contemplated getting in bed and trying to catch a couple hours of sleep. This thought died when he noticed that the skinny curly-haired man in the bed managed to take up about 80% of the bed. He made himself some shitty but dark coffee with the surprisingly quiet machine on the counter, then spiked it with whatever was in his flask. He wanted to drink it but ended up falling asleep in the tan, rather plush armchair he'd settled into.

Bond awoke three hours later with a nagging headache, which he got rid of by swallowing some aspirin and other choice drugs dry before chasing them with the coffee. This was his preferred method, and no harm done yet. He threw out the cup and scowled at the terrible taste. Bond glanced over at the bed to find the brunet still under the duvet, now clutching a pillow with one side of his face mashed into the other. It wouldn't usually be attractive, but was rather endearing on Q. Sleep took a good couple of years off of him, and he looked like a cute kid just out of college. Bond remembered his earlier comment and allowed himself a small mirthful smile before getting dressed. Presentable, he left, hanging the "do not disturb" sign on the door handle. He headed out, not before stopping off at the front desk of the hotel. Bond then left the building in search of some decent drink.

Q woke up somewhere unfamiliar. It was a spacious hotel suite with a pleasing color scheme of cream and warm brown, with a large window on the far end that had a curtain pulled over it. There were a few armchairs in various shades of browns, one which looked as if it had been settled into with its small crushed decorative pillow. A flat screen television on the right wall hung over a small table with a silk runner. There was a small kitchenette with a tiny fridge and normal size microwave. It was all dark, with no light besides what seeped under the door and through the crack in the light-blocking curtains, but Q could make out the outlines of doors which he assumed led to a bathroom and closet. He was in a plush king bed under a soft cream colored duvet and curled around some tan feather pillows. There was no one else in sight, but this was the kind of hotel room that people lived in.

Q was curious and went to sit up. That's when the headache hit him. He audibly groaned as he lowered himself back onto the pillow. His head throbbed, reminding him that something must have caused such an awful ache. He vaguely recalled drinking, then the picture started coming back. Bond came first, with his occasional smile and stunningly icy blue eyes, along with his sharp and suave manner. Q groaned out loud again when his memory gave him a crystal clear picture of what had happened in the elevator. He wanted to kick himself for being so idiotic. He rarely drank, and it was never more than casually. Apparently his wasted self had taken the opportunity to bed the sexiest and most sexually experienced man at the office. Which happened to be a spy agency.

If Q had believed in a god, he would probably be praying to it somehow. He was incredibly ashamed and worried, not knowing exactly how this had turned out. Yes, he had occasionally appreciated the blond man's physique, but who hadn't? He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to blank out those thoughts. They would get him nowhere. He didn't want to think what would happen to his nice happy position as Quartermaster if news of this got out. No one would take him seriously; he would just be one of Bond's conquests, one in a very long line of them. He decided to apologize and say that it was a complete mistake. His mind ended up drifting to the later events of the evening (or morning), and he enjoyed the images. They were patchy, but still interesting.

Halfway through recounting earlier events, he remembered all of the marks Bond had given him through the night. Slowly and very carefully, head pounding, he pulled off the duvet and got out of the bed, finding his glasses on the nightstand with questing fingers. The first door he saw he guessed was the bathroom, and he ended up being right. Walking in slowly, he turned the light on with his eyes closed to try and make it less painful. That didn't help much, and Q got impatient. After a moment, he opened his eyes to see his pupils rapidly constrict in the mirror. At least a dozen small reddish spots were scattered over his skin, many in visible places such as his neck and jawline. There were a few on his collarbone of varying sizes, and a couple on his shoulders. He felt like a chew toy, scowling for a moment before realizing how much worse they would all be the next morning.

His groan was cut off by a knock at the door.