Aftermath

After getting drunk and having a one-night stand, Q and Bond waking up together.

The sun burned through Q's eyelids and he scrunched his face, groaning when the action worsened what had to be a Level 10 Hangover. He turned away from the window to burrow deeper into the pillow and sleep away the consequences of his mistake. But as Q's arm swung around, instead of landing on his fluffy comforter, his hand hit warm, hard body.

Instant panic overrode his headache and Q's eyes flew open in horror. Staring back at him with an equally horrified expression was James Bond. A very naked James Bond.

His hand spasmed against Bond's side and Q immediately pulled it away, his cheeks flushing burnt red as his eyes drifted down Bond's bare chest to just above his waist where the sheet covered his lower body.

"Morning." Bond's gravelly, pain-laced voice shook him from his stunned state.

"Morning," Q whispered. He tugged the sheets closer to his chest, painfully aware of his lack of clothing. "Did we… um…?"

Bond sighed. "Yes… I believe so."

The blush began warming Q's entire body in embarrassment. "I don't… I don't remember."

"Join the club. The last thing I remember was heading out to Eve's birthday party."

"Did we drink that much?"

Bond's eyes drifted past Q's in thought. "It's possible. Though, the more likely answer is that Eve played a prank on us with spiked drinks."

Note to self: Kill Eve. Slowly. Q covered his eyes and groaned, desperately wishing that when he opened his eyes he'd wake up from this weird mess of a dream.

Or at least remember the night before. After all, it wasn't every morning he woke up after spending what felt like a very passionate night with the man he'd been secretly in love with for 3 years.

"So…" Bond drawled. "Breakfast?"

Q peeked up at him through his fingers. "What?"

Bond quirked an eyebrow at Q. "Isn't that proper 'morning after' protocol?"

"Erm… I suppose so?"

They stared at each other for a bit, before Bond cleared his throat. "Well?"

"Well what?"

He smirked. "Aren't you going to get up?"

The younger man frowned and hugged the covers tighter against his body. "Not before you!"

Bond's eyes drifted lazily down Q's sheet-clad form and he smirked. "I hardly think that would be fair. After all, it is your flat and I am your guest."

"Guest, my arse," Q muttered. Deciding that the best course of action would be to put some distance between them, he swung his legs over the side and tugged the sheet free, wrapping it tightly around him. He may have to get up first, but Bond most certainly was not going to get an eyeful!

Bond chuckled. "I hardly think that was a wise decision."

The younger man looked at Bond over his shoulder and shrieked, jerking his head back around so fast he thought it might snap. In taking the sheet, he had left Bond without any coverings. Red-faced, Q scrambled to pull the rumpled coverlet from the foot of the bed and toss it over him.

"Mmm… yes, this is a much more appropriate state of dress," Bond teased as he stood and wrapped the bedspread around his waist.

"It'll have to do until I can find your clothes…" Q grumbled, looking around for anything that looked like it belonged to Bond.

Bond bent down to pick something up and cleared his throat with a smug smile. His white button-down shirt, one arm ripped nearly off and tears lining the front, hung from his finger. "It seems your timid personality hides quite the minx."

Q squeaked and fled the room, nearly tripping over his sheet. Oh, God, this has to be some sort of nightmare!

Bond shuffled along behind him. "Q?"

The younger man turned, trying to hide his utter humiliation from Bond's all-knowing eyes. Pulling the sheet tight around him, Q huddled in on himself and tried to keep his voice from wobbling. "Can we j-just forget this ever happened?"

"Why?" A line appeared between Bond's eyes and, had Q not been so wrapped up in his embarrassment, he would have sworn he heard hurt in Bond's tone.

The younger man swallowed loudly and took a step back, looking down at the floor between them. "I don't think… Nobody has to know, I won't tell."

"If that is your wish, I shall gather the remnants of my clothes and be on my way." Bond turned back to the bedroom.

For three seconds, Q stood frozen, sure his hungover mind was playing tricks on him. But for some brief moment, he swore Bond looked like a little boy, hurt and lost. Q may have imagined it… but was he really going to take the risk that he hadn't?

Lunging forward, he reached out to grab Bond's arm. Unfortunately, his foot got tangled in the sheet and, instead of grabbing his arm and turning him around, Q went tumbling into Bond, knocking them both to the floor. Hindered by the hangover, Bond's reflexes weren't quite what they should have been, and the breath was knocked out of him as Q landed on his back.

"Oh, fuck, Bond!" Q scrambled off of him and helped him turn over. "I'm so sorry, are you okay?!"

Wheezing and coughing, Bond glared up at the younger man and touched his, now very red, nose, from where it had been smashed into the floor.

"Really, I'm sorry," Q repeated, his hands flying over Bond's face to check for other injuries.

"Q," Bond rasped. "I was already leaving, there was no need to attack me."

Q's eyes widened. "I-I wasn't! I was…" He trailed off, noticing Bond's gaze was fixed below his face. The younger man glanced down to see that his sheet was coming undone around him. He fumbled to close it with a bashful smile. "I was trying to get you to stay," Q finished quietly, ruffling his unkempt hair with one hand.

Bond stared at Q, buffering for a moment.

"Do you want to stay?" the younger man asked almost shyly.

Bond grinned, a faint gleam in his eye, and leaned up, his hand cupping the younger man's neck as his lips met Q's in a passionate kiss.