They lay together on Q's bed, trading soft touches and lazy kisses. Half-drunk with exhaustion and giddy with the revelations of the evening, they murmured confessions to each other in sleep-slurred voices.
"Do you want me to call you Jasper?" Bond asked.
"God, no!" Q's look of horror was almost comical. "Please, no," he said seriously. "I was more than happy to leave Jasper behind when I left Huntercombe, and to leave Shadow behind when I joined MI6. Q is not just who I am — it's who I actually wanted to be, for once."
Bond nodded. "Good. I'd have trouble thinking of you as anything else," he answered with a smile. "Would you call me James?" He trailed his fingers down Q's neck, watching with fascination as he arched up into the touch.
"James," Q repeated, the throaty tenor of his voice sending a jolt of warmth through Bond. His brow furrowed slightly. "I thought you didn't like that...on the airplane when I said it, you seemed to — to backpedal. Said I could call you Somerset."
Bond smiled. "That's because hearing you say it got me hard as a rock. I could barely keep my lapbelt on."
"What? Honestly?" Q's surprise was adorable. "I had no idea." Slowly, a wicked smile spread across his face. "James," he said again, his voice husky and low, and Bond groaned.
"You minx," he smiled, taking Q's mouth once again in a lingering kiss.
Q laughed into the kiss in delight. "Never been called that before," he said wryly.
"You truly have no idea what you do to me," Bond said wonderingly. "And probably half of the rest of MI6. Christ, Q, you're...delicious."
Q's cheeks flushed pink. "I seriously doubt that's the case, flattering though it may be."
Bond shook his head. "I will eat my dinner jacket if at least half of the minions don't sit around dreaming about getting into those abominable chequered trousers of yours..."
"James!" Q's whole face was pink now. "For goodness sakes, don't tell me something like that. I won't be able to look any of them in the eye again."
Bond couldn't help kissing that scandalized expression off Q's face. "Good. You're just for me, then."
Q hmmphed. "Well of course. It's not like you have anything to worry about on that account," he said, just the slightest edge of self-deprecation in his voice. "But let me guess — adding to your other charms, you're a possessive bastard?"
The thought was sobering to Bond. He wouldn't have thought it of himself, but there was no denying his overreaction with Genny when he thought Q was being threatened, or the voice that had growled in satisfaction in his head when had Q said that he was unable to touch anyone but him. "I suppose that I am," he said quietly. "At least when it comes to you, I'm discovering."
Q smiled. "That is somehow both endearing and disturbing. Do try not to terrify the minions any more than you have to?"
"No promises."
Q's smile faded, his eyes searching Bond's as he seemed to make up his mind about something. He reached out, running his fingertips across Bond's bristly jaw. "What happened in Zurich?" he asked quietly.
Damn.
Bond closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. "I'm not even sure," he finally said. "It was all right at first. And then Genny mentioned you, and it seemed as if you might be in danger, and then I just...I couldn't. I couldn't focus, all I could think about was you getting hurt, and how much you meant to me, and how I'd fucked everything up between us before I left." He closed his eyes. "I — I just choked."
"I..." Q shook his head. "I don't know what to do about that, James. It's my job to be in your ear on missions. Even more than that, if something happened to you, something I could have prevented, and I didn't because I was...banished from your comms..."
"It's not like that," Bond interrupted. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "At least, I don't think it'll be like that, Q. It hasn't been a problem before, having you in my ear, even on honeypot missions. It...it's work. It doesn't have anything to do with this." The thought was jolting. Christ, would Q want him to restrict his missions? "You know that, right?"
"I know that." Q's voice was calm and steady. "Not that it'll make me happy, listening to you with other people, any more than it makes me happy hearing you jump from sodding airplanes or take bullets or any of a number of horrible things you do on the other end of that comm. But it's more than your job, James, it's what you are. Just like my job is what I am. We wouldn't be so bloody good at it otherwise."
"Christ. You're amazing," Bond said, relief washing over him.
Q's answering smile turned into an enormous yawn, making Bond chuckle. "And exhausted," Bond added. "Go to sleep."
"I don't want to, but I have to go in tomorrow." Q checked his watch and groaned. "Actually, in about six hours. I have to relieve R, and 006's mission is likely to get critical around 1100."
Bond started to pull away. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"What?" Q pushed himself up onto his elbows blearily. "You don't have to."
"We both have nightmares, and you need your sleep. We have plenty of time to work this out, Q, we don't have to do it all at once."
"Bollocks." Q grabbed a fistful of Bond's shirt, clinging tightly. "We both know there's no such thing as plenty of time, not for people like us." Q's grip was unrelenting, and Bond allowed himself to be pulled closer. "I won't hurt you again, I don't think — not if I keep my glasses on. And if I have some other reaction, I'll deal with it. If I want to — to habituate, it's best that I start now."
"All right. Take it easy." Bond settled back on the bed, pulling Q back in against his body. "I just don't want you to push yourself too much."
Q snorted. "Bollocks to that as well." He nuzzled into Bond's shoulder, seeming half-asleep already. "All those things you said," he murmured drowsily. "I want to do them all, and more."
Bond closed his eyes, enjoying the soft, trusting weight of Q against his body, feeling Q's muscles relax and his breathing deepen as he slid rapidly into sleep. He pressed a kiss to Q's temple, the mess of dark hair tickling his nose. "We will," he promised.
Bond's cell phone buzzed, and he paused in the middle of his set of push-ups to check the message.
He's on his way. — R
Bond smiled, making a mental note to send R a dozen gourmet cupcakes tomorrow to thank her for her eager collusion in his plans. It would take Q at least twenty minutes to get home from MI6. That would give Bond more than enough time to prepare. He was absolutely determined to make up for the disastrous morning.
Bond had apparently wrapped himself around Q in the night, and they had both awoken to Q struggling frantically to free himself from Bond's weight. Q had sat on the edge of the bed, white-faced and shaking, hunkered into himself for long minutes while Bond had stood helplessly by, afraid of making things worse.
Q had spent the rest of the morning in a tight-lipped rush, looking embarrassed and weary as he hurriedly dressed for work. Bond had driven them both in to MI6 in strained silence.
Then they had split to each face their own disasters, Bond dealing with the humiliating medical tests and questions that always followed a honeypot mission while Q became embroiled in the havoc 006 was wreaking in Eritrea.
Bond had stopped into Q-Branch after being finally cleared by Medical, only to be resolutely intercepted by R. Slight as she was, he could see over the top of her head that Q was obviously engrossed in multiple data streams, his fingers flying across two different keyboards. R firmly informed Bond that Q would be hours still, and had left instructions for Bond to go home without him.
Bond had watched Q for a few extra moments. His movements were as quick and sharp as his voice was calm and steady. He guided 006 through his mission with easy competence, despite the stress of the morning and what was doubtless a raging hangover. The Branch buzzed around him but everyone seemed to instinctively avoid Q's personal space, leaving him isolated in front of his standing desk — stiff-backed and slender, alone even in the crowd.
Not anymore, Bond had thought. The morning had been a setback, but Q wasn't the only one with a vivid imagination.
"R," Bond had said. "Do me a favor, won't you...?"
Bond heard the scrape of the iron gate and smiled. Q was right on time. The front door creaked open and Q's messenger bag thunked as he dropped it in the entryway.
"James? I'm finally home, although God knows that Trevelyan left half of Asmara in flames...James?"
"In here," Bond called out.
"Oh." He heard Q's soft footsteps, pausing outside the bathroom door.
"Come on in, Q."
"I can wait —" Q's voice trailed off. "You haven't managed to get yourself shot again, have you?" he asked suspiciously.
"Just come in, Q," he said, trying to sound stern despite the smile in his voice.
It seemed like deja-vu, watching Q peek around the corner of the doorframe, all shaggy hair and wide grey-green eyes.
"Oh," he breathed, lips parted in surprise. "Oh."
With a wolfish smile Bond tilted his head back, blowing a stream of smoke at the ceiling, the bathwater sloshing warmly around him.
Q laughed with delight. "You're a madman, do you know that?" He took a few steps closer. His mouth curved in a captivating smile, his eyes still wide as he took in the length of Bond's naked body, barely obscured by the iridescent sheen of bath oil in the water. "I won't even get stroppy with you about smoking in my house." His eyes continued to rake over Bond, lingering on the bare arm stretched over the edge of the bathtub, skimming shyly over the length of his tanned body. "Do you plan to recreate all my photos, or is this a special occasion?"
Bond stubbed out the cigarette on the saucer he had pressed into service as an ashtray, taking a sip of Scotch and letting the flavors mix on his tongue. He wasn't shy by any stretch of the imagination, but a little Dutch courage never went amiss. This all felt different somehow, with Q.
"I thought we could get started on that list," he said, setting the glass of Scotch down with a clink.
"Hmmm?" Q took a long moment to process Bond's words, apparently mesmerized by the pattern of scars on his chest. Bond saw the second the penny dropped, Q's eyes snapping back up to his. I can touch myself for you, or you for me, Bond had said.
"Oh," Q said again, his voice soft and shocked. "You mean — you would do that...for me?"
Bond simply smiled in answer. "Come closer," he purred.
Q moved closer as if drawn by a magnet, until finally he dropped to his knees on the bathmat.
"James," he said, his voice hushed and reverent. He reached out, tenderly dragging his fingertips along Bond's stubbled jaw, sending little prickles of pleasure down Bond's sensitized skin.
Bond turned his head, placing a kiss into the palm of Q's hand. His eyes stayed steady on Q's as he traced his own damp hand down his throat and then further down his chest, teasing softly over his nipples, watching Q's beautiful eyes track every movement of his hand.
Q licked his lips, pink tongue flickering out wetly, and Bond had to bite back his groan. Christ, the man was lovely.
"I think about you, you know," Bond said, his voice low and husky as he trailed his own fingers down his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense and twitch. He raked his fingers through the dense hair at his groin, running his callused palm over his inner thighs, teasing them both.
"When I touch myself. When I make myself come. It's you that I'm thinking about." Q made another soft, shocked sound and Bond couldn't help himself, finally sliding his hand over his cock, closing his eyes briefly at the jolt of pleasure.
"Jesus fuck," Q whispered, and Bond couldn't help smiling. Q cursed so rarely, it was a sign of how truly affected he was. Bond was halfway there himself. The anticipation of waiting for Q like this had been erotic enough, and now having the stormy tumult of Q's eyes fixed on him, that pink tongue flickering out in fascination...Bond groaned, stroking himself a little harder, a little faster, his hand slick with bath oil.
Q's fingers wound into the hair at the nape of Bond's neck, tentative at first and then tugging more firmly as Bond leaned into the touch. "Christ, Q," he whispered. His head fell back, his body arching up into his fist. He felt like an offering, naked and exposed, giving himself over to Q for both of their pleasure.
Q growled and then his mouth was on Bond's, silky lips and warm slick tongue. Bond tightened his hand on his cock, letting Q guide the kiss. Q's mouth was luscious, the kiss slow and voluptuous, Q only pulling free when they were both frantically panting for breath. Q rested his forehead against Bond's temple, his breath unsteady as he whispered into Bond's ear. "Tell me."
"Oh, fucking hell," Bond rasped. "Christ, Q the things I want to do to you...the things I think about." His hand moved faster, sleek and wet over his aching cock. "I want to make a mess of you. I want to find out what you taste like, the sounds you make when I lick every inch of you until you come apart underneath my mouth. I want to see what your eyes look like when you watch me take your cock in my mouth, when you first feel my fingers in your pretty arse, when you slide inside of me for the first time..."
"Oh God." Q's eyes were dark with arousal, his pale skin flushed from his cheeks all the way down his neck. He leaned in again, sucking Bond's earlobe into his mouth. Bond tilted his head, offering up his throat as Q licked a path over the salty skin.
"Q...fucking hell," Bond said hoarsely, grunting in surprise as Q sucked, swift and stinging, right over the throbbing pulse point.
Bond's cock was twitching now, insistent and greedy, need tightening in his belly as he fucked his fist in short hard strokes. He couldn't help closing his eyes against the pleasure, trying to hold out. He felt Q move behind him, his breath ghosting over the nape of Bond's neck. Q nestled his chin into the lee of Bond's shoulder, watching Bond's hand move quick and desperate over his rigid cock.
Q hummed with pleasure into Bond's ear, and Bond almost came as heard the clink of Q's belt against the bathtub as Q opened his own trousers. Bond bit his lip, grasping the base of his cock hard to hold himself back, not wanting it to be over yet.
"God, Q. Yes. Please." Bond reached out blindly, capturing Q's right hand, pulling it up. He sucked two fingers into his mouth and then, driven by irresistable impuse, nipped the soft pad of flesh at the base of Q's thumb. Q cried out, his hand trembling in Bond's grip. Bond reached for the bottle of lemongrass bath oil, drizzling a small warm puddle of it into Q's palm before releasing his hand.
"Oh fuck. James," Q breathed. Bond heard the hitch in Q's breath as he took himself in hand. Q pressed his forehead hard into the curve of Bond's neck, his breath coming in short, harsh pants, the frame of his glasses sharp against Bond's skin. Q's chest pressed against Bond from behind, left arm wrapping around to plunge under the surface of the bath, uncaring of the water that soaked his sleeve to the elbow.
Bond jerked and hissed at the feel of Q's fingers, rubbing his nipple almost inquiringly before roaming across his chest, little currents of sensation shooting straight to Bond's cock at every wet brush of Q's deft fingertips.
The air was hot and humid, thick with the scent of sex and lemongrass, quiet except for the harsh rasp of their breathing. The water sloshed over them both as Bond surged frantically, uncontrolled and desperate, the sight and feel of Q's pale hand on his skin driving him near to madness.
Q pressed his mouth against the back of Bond's neck, muffling a high whine against the skin there. His left arm tightened convulsively around Bond's chest, all wiry strength, his shoulder working rhythmically as he stroked himself, matching Bond's frantic pace.
"God, Q. Go...go on. That's it, love," Bond praised, hardly knowing what he was saying.
Q responded with a choked sob. "Oh god, oh god," he was chanting, a breathy mantra against Bond's skin. "Oh god. James."
That was all it took. Bond felt the pleasure curling through him, a honey-thick rush starting at the base of his spine, pooling in his belly. He shoved hard, stroking himself firm and fast and just there, imagining Q's hand on his body, Q's mouth swallowing him down, Q's body tight and pale and hot all around him, and it didn't even matter what of that they could do because Q was here with him and Q was bloody perfect and Q was bloody his...
He came with a shout, his vision whiting out as the rush of pleasure crashed through him — blinding pulses, sharp and sweet for endless moments, his hips stuttering as he stroked himself through it. He sucked in a harsh breath and then let it out, feeling loose and sated, almost light-headed with the force of his release.
Q keened against Bond's skin, high and needy. Bond reached up, his arm feeling heavy and slow, delving his wet hand into that gorgeous chaos of hair, feeling Q grind his forehead into Bond's neck in desperation. "That's it, love," Bond whispered, his voice husky. "Go on, Q. Come for me."
The words seemed to be enough, Q's left arm crushing Bond against him as he shuddered, his body rocking convulsively with silent gasps. God, Bond wanted to see it next time, wanted to watch Q's face — wanted to see him as he knelt, knees spread, chest shuddering as he spilled into his own hand.
Finally Q subsided, draped bonelessly over Bond's shoulders, his chest heaving and his forehead pressed damply against the skin of Bond's neck.
They both caught their breath, Bond's fingers still stroking soothingly through Q's hair. Finally Bond twisted, turning his head so he could look at Q. Q's eyes were closed, his dark lashes lush against his pinkened cheeks. As Bond pressed a gentle, almost chaste kiss to his mouth Q's eyes opened, the grey-green depths looking soft and dreamy. His mouth curved, his smile luminous, and Bond felt an unnamed tightness in his chest at the simple joy in Q's expression.
Bond turned, kneeling fully, pulling Q into his arms. Q clung to him tightly, careless of the wet shirt between them. Bond inhaled Q's scent, warm and clean and rich, listening to the thump of his own heart. Finally he pulled back, reaching for a dry flannel, wetting it in the bathwater.
"May I?" He felt strangely tentative again. Q's eyes were serious as he nodded. Bond slowly unbuttoned Q's shirt, pushing the damp and clingy fabric off his shoulders, revealing the pale torso. The flat of his hand buffered by the damp flannel, he traced a path down Q's chest, watching as Q's eyes closed in pleasure.
Bond wet the flannel again and stood, water streaming off him in rivulets as he looped an arm around Q, urging him to his feet as well. Q held his trousers up, still gaping open, for a moment of hesitation before letting them drop. With downcast eyes he skimmed out of his pants and socks as well, finally standing shyly before Bond, long and lithe and fully naked.
Bond kissed him again, quick and chaste, keeping his eyes on Q's face as he guided the flannel down over the narrow chest and taut belly. Q's breath escaped in a soft sigh as Bond gently ran the cloth over Q's groin and thighs, feeling his prick soft and vulnerable beneath the nubbly texture of the fabric. It was quiet and intimate, this little caring ritual — something Bond would have never even thought of doing with his other lovers. With Q, though, it felt natural. More than natural — necessary.
Q smiled drowsily as Bond handed him a towel, and then wrapped one around his own waist.
"Food," Bond decided. "And then sleep."
Q's smile faltered a bit. "I'm sorry about this morning."
Bond stepped out of the tub, resisting the urge to pull Q close again. "Nothing to be sorry about, Q. We'll sort it out. I'll put a pile of pillows between us. You'll invent something brilliant that wakes me five minutes before you. However we do it, we'll work it out somehow."
Q's brilliant eyes grew distant, and Bond could almost hear his mind start to whir. "A watchband with a built-in electromyogram could gauge our relative sleep cycles..."
Bond chuckled. "Pizza and telly first. Then you can tinker all you want."
Q smiled sheepishly, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "All right." His mouth quirked in a wicked smile. "You need your rest, after all. If I remember correctly there were quite a few items on that list of yours..."
Christ. If you don't feel like being touched, I can touch myself for you, or you for me, he had said. I can lick you until you fall apart underneath my mouth. Fuck it, you can tie my hands and touch me. Bond remembered every word, and it seemed as if Q did as well. His heart sped up just thinking of it.
"Minx," he growled again, shaking his head, Q's delighted laugh following him out of the bathroom.
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