Even though his shoes had only seen the outside of his flat twice, Eve still insisted that he get them shined when he got his suit pressed, saying 'It's what he would have done.' Even with his upper-middle-class, public school upbringing, the thought of having something so nice that he couldn't maintain it felt foreign. James was the one fannying about in casinos. Then again, he was hardly a man of halves when he was off duty, opting for a Tom Ford suit or nothing.
Nothing. Q's hands slipped and his contact holder fell into the sink. He hadn't worn contacts since school, over fifteen years prior, so once he'd made plans for Greece, his next appointment was with the optometrist for an updated prescription that only reminded him that he would most certainly be blind in the next decade at the rate he was going, by no fault of his own of course. He cradled the lens on his finger and took a deep breath, hesitating several times before he could manage to insert it. "God you're such a baby," he chastised himself. Thankfully the second was much less dramatic.
For some reason shaving with a straight razor was a far less perilous task for him. As he pressed the warm towel to his face, he took time to think of the night ahead. Eve would call him once Bond arrived, believing that he was trying to hunt down a man intent on blowing up the British Embassy. It didn't take many details to persuade him to go once he explained that he would be going to the Casino of Corfu. One of Q's contemporaries would direct Bond, claiming that Q was down with stomach flu and was subsequently indisposed of.
As he lathered up the way Eve had taught him, Q tried to think of what he could possibly say. James had a charisma that allowed him to be suave and have a line for every situation, on the fly. Q on the other hand, often found himself at loss for words in the realm of romance, though James seemed to find that endearing to his alpha male tendencies. But Q was also exceptional in his field, an alpha in his own right, and as he took a blade to his own cheek, he was determined to show it. He pushed thoughts of James out of his mind as he worked to concentrate, opting instead of lines of code.
"Bond is in the casino." Eve texted as he finished up his shave. "How are you doing?" He responded with a video call. She sat back in her seat with beaming smile of surprise.
"Ooh, who are you?" she teased. As much as he wished he could roll his eyes at her, he was hardly used to such compliments and he couldn't hide a grin. He carried his phone out to the main room where his suit hung on the back of the door.
"I will hand it to you about the straight razor. And the shoes look better than new." He held them up to the camera to make a point before setting it down on the armoire.
"You're very welcome." He walked out of frame as he started to change from an undershirt and sweats.
"Does he suspect anything?" he inquired, buttoning his shirt, fingers trembling from anticipation and lack of any sustainable amount of food.
"Not that I could tell. He's sorry that you're so ill." Q scoffed and reached for his trousers. "Said he'll play nurse once he gets back."
"He didn't," he protested, briefly returning into the frame as he tucked in his shirt.
"You're right, he didn't." She waited silently until Q returned with a sleek, slim black tie in his hands. "I always loved watching boys tie their ties."
"Well, then happy to oblige." He kept his attention on the mirror, turning the fabric over in his fingers.
"I can pretend that you lot are capable of taking care of yourselves."
"Now now." He threaded the knot and wedged it up against his throat, fiddling with the placement a little longer than he might normally have done. With the addition of the jacket, he hardly recognized the man in the mirror.
"Double-0 Q reporting for duty, my goodness." Q smiled, finding himself fiddling with his clothing in a way that he recognized as popular poses for the men in the adverts. He stood taller, with his chin lifted upward, far cry from his usual posture in front of a computer. "He's not going to know what to do with himself."
All I care about is what he will do with me.
"Well, we'll soon find out, won't we?"
Unsurprisingly, the casino was comfortably crowded on a Friday night, filled mostly with tourists and guests of the hotel, all in their own definition of finery. Also unsurprisingly, he heard that James was treating himself at the bar.
Q had never been inside a casino before, but he could understand the appeal. There was a sort of energy that exuded hope and high expectations. His own body responded in kind, heart fluttering with the apprehension of what would happen next. For a man used to having all of the answers, he didn't like feeling uncertain.
He caught sight of James, well, James's backside, and stopped in his tracks. The man leaned on the bar with a wide posture that asserted his dominance within the space, his eyes scanning back and forth for his target. Q steadied himself, slinking between the poker tables toward an open space at the opposite end of the bar. "A French 75 with gin, please. And a vodka martini for the blue-eyed man in the grey suit, shaken. Thank you."
The nerves were unbearable, and Q had no idea why. They were already a unit, so what was there to lose? He feared that James would find him silly, or worse "cute." What an awful thing to be called when you were trying your hardest to be sensual and mature. The bartender handed him his flute before giving James his cocktail. He would point in Q's direction, but by then he had already gone.
He could see a newfound look of alertness on James's face, obviously hesitant to take a drink from an unknown benefactor. "It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking," Q informed as he materialized at James's side He took a moment to catalog the sheer look of bewilderment on the agent's weathered face as he drew up from behind him. Q reached forward and took the martini in his free hand, holding it out to the man in front of him, still speechless. When he didn't take it, Q took a moment to bring the glass to his lips and steal a slow, deliberate sip himself, only slipping it into Bond's broad hands when he was content. "Please, 007, close your mouth. We are not a codfish." As an added touch, he lifted up Bond's jaw with a deft movement of a single finger.
"Q—?" He asked as if wasn't sure if the devilishly handsome man in front of him was the same cardigan sporting, cat-loving, computer hacking, bespectacled Quartermaster he'd left back in England. A coy smile presented itself to the agent before Q kissed the rim of his own champagne flute for a drink.
"Well, now that we have a firm grasp of the obvious."
"Hardly, obvious." James reached out and ran a hand down Q's arm as if inspecting that he was real at all. The contact sent goosebumps rippling over Q's body. "You're the last person I would expect to see here."
"I should hate to be predictable." James's hand slipped to the small of Q's back, urging him close enough to his face that he could practically taste the scotch Bond indulged in earlier. Despite his best effort, Q couldn't help but start to melt as James closed his eyes and tilted his head. Just as their lips threatened to connect, Q resisted, instead breathing "Happy Birthday" onto their just touching lips.
James chuckled and withdrew, though he kept a hand possessively around the other man. "Is that what this is about?" his rumbling voice inquired.
"You didn't honestly believe that I would send you out with so little information, would you? Though causing an explosion at an embassy is entirely within my skill set."
"I don't doubt it." He relinquished his hold just enough to take a long sip of his martini. "So this whole mission was an elaborate set up then?"
"Precisely," Q responded as he turned from the bar and started sauntering around the perimeter of the space.
"And you still chose to send me somewhere that would require you to fly?"
"If that doesn't prove my devotion, I'm not sure what else I can do." His eyes drifted to a roulette wheel. He was glad to have the steady presence of James next to him, or he felt that the lights and sounds and colors would all become overwhelming when he was accustomed to solitude.
"Do you gamble?" James asked, following Q's eyes as he chuckled to himself and took another sip of his drink that went down too easily.
"I'm consorting with a double-0 despite my better judgment." His voice was lower than usual, making James really work to listen. "I'd say that's quite enough gambling for one person."
"Says the man who could dismantle an entire government's cybersecurity system before his first cup of tea." James slipped an eager hand under Q's suit jacket, sliding it from his hip down his thigh. Q responded with a sharp inhale and a straightened posture, but otherwise maintained his eye contact.
His fingers wrapped around James's wrist and held it firmly between them. "Now now."
"Please, no one here is paying attention, though they absolutely should be." Freeing himself from Q's grip, he ran his knuckled down Q's tie, unhurriedly, all the way from his collar to his naval. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from reaching out once more and stop him, the nerve endings in his body waking up more and more with each passing moment.
With quick surveillance around them, Q finished his drink and set it aside, guiding Bond behind a pillar cloaked in shadow. He pressed the agent against it, thigh between James's legs and forearms restrained in Q's fists. He stole a chaste kiss, and then another, and another, all of them with the purpose of making him want to take more. Q appreciated a buildup when they had the luxury of time such as now, unlike the quickies sneaked during work hours in Q's office. Chest to chest, he could feel both of their hearts beating, and their lungs swelling beyond their usual, comfortable size.
"I didn't take Xanax to fly from England only to be charged for public indecency," he scolded. Tightening his grip, he leaned in and pressed his lips to James's, taking time to taste the vodka as his tongue slid into his mouth. "That being said, I also didn't come all the way to Greece to be decent."
"Well, now that we have a firm grasp of the obvious," James smirked, fighting Q's grip to pull his hips closer to his own.
They were close enough that Q's eyes could no longer focus on James's face, so he opted to close his eyes. "I really, really hate you right now." His breath shuttered, mimicking the feeling in his chest as James's fingers found their way into his curls, pulling him back as Q went in for another kiss, instead exposing Q's pale neck and latching a kiss under his jaw. He savored the moan that escaped against the younger man's best intentions.
"That sounds marvelous," he growled against Q's mandible, the rumbling radiating through Q's entire being. He was thankful to have James's there to hold him up, at risk of his knees giving out.
"Then let's go, Mr. License-to-Kill." He relinquished control of James by stepping back, still holding his hands because he felt that if he let go, the electric current running between them would cease. James kept a confident smirk plastered on his face, drinking in every drop of this suited Q and his newfound intensity. Without the thick-rimmed glasses, he felt as if he was seeing his eyes for the first time, and they coaxed him down into submission.
The lift was occupied by two other couples for the first three floors, Q slipped his hand to Bond's behind, giving a suggestion of a squeeze before tracing his finger to the middle of his trousers and up his spine. James gritted his teeth and shifted his posture, exercising restraint only until the lift was vacated and the door shut once more.
Turning faster than Q could react even under the most stable of situations, James pushed Q against the wall, by his shoulders, locking him in a hungry kiss. Q reached out for Bond's torso with his free arms, hips craving for contact. "I'm going to kill you, Bond," Q breathed, his mouth going slack with lust.
"Hopefully only a little." The doors opened and Bond exited as if nothing had just happened, leaving Q behind in a state of temporary disbelief. Finding his footing beneath him, and using all cognitive function as to not walk like a newborn deer, he strode past James and down the hallway to his room, rattling his brain for his next move.
"Help me find my key?" he posited over his shoulder as they reached the door. "I'm a bit scrambled, having trouble rem—" But Bond's hands were already on him, arms wrapping around from behind as he pressed against Q's back. Q braced himself against the door as the second pair of hands explored his torso and brushed his nipples, unbuttoning his jacket with a practiced motion as to extensively search for his innermost pockets.
There was no hiding how much his body craved Bond's touch as the hands wandered down to his front trouser pockets. One at a time, he slipped a hand in, grazing the inside of Q's thigh. He couldn't help but fidget and cede to his caressing combined with the warm breath on the back of his neck. "Dammit, Bond," he swore, bucking as James found his blossoming erection. He bit his lip as if any more escaped words would release the delicious, mounting desire. He would find the key in his opposite pocket, but James was in no hurry to retrieve it, instead doing everything he could to get a rise out of the Quartermaster. Only when he had the man fidgeting, holding his breath in gasps, and just short of begging, did he remove the card from his pocket and open the door, both of them falling inside.
Q, breathing so heavily that he was getting lightheaded, latched onto Bond's wrists and held them over his head against the front door. "Are you quite pleased with yourself?"
"Quite." James's smile dripped of superiority, of having the upper hand despite their current position. "Though, I do have one request."
"Name it," Q shot back, hoping to indulge while he still had some amount of cognizance.
"Your glasses."
"My glasses?" he echoed, confused and dizzy.
"Yes." His voice was as calm as ever, and Q was borderline infuriated that he seemed so composed.
"I didn't go through the bother of contacts only for you to want me to wear my glasses."
"It's my birthday." Q turned on a glare, one a bit less effective than usual without the added effect of peering disapprovingly over the rims of his specs. "God, I love it when you're cross."
"Splendid, because you're very good at making me so." He let go of James's arms, which found his face and pulled him in for a long, fervent kiss before sending him off with a smack of the ass.
Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, body vibrating with anticipation, Q steadied his hands in order to remove his lenses, thankfully much easier than putting them in. It was an interruption he hadn't factored in, but luckily James had gotten him worked up enough that it wouldn't make much to get him warm once more. He placed his glasses back on his nose, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as if it would break the spell he was under.
James ambushed him as soon as he exited, but the maneuver backfired as Q pinned him down to the bed on his back, straddling his torso. Bond's hands guided Q's movements from his hips until he scratched up his sides and to his shoulders to remove his jacket. Q tugged at James's lip once more before he sat up, allowing the agent to remove his outer layer. As he slipped his hands under James's own jacket, Q discovered the man's leather holster with his Walther under his arm. "I look forward to getting this returned in one piece," he breathed into his ear as he removed the pistol from its sheath to set it safely on the nightstand.
He nibbled on James's earlobe, an usually sensitive area for such a rugged man. His shoulder rose to meet him and Q felt Bond's forearm drape across his back, contracted tightly to maintain the connection. What shocked Q the most was how potent soft and tender movements worked on James, perhaps due to the necessary roughness of his job. Q reached down and cradled his jaw in his hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs as her worked to slow himself down and enjoy the moments they shared. As he sustained a passionate kiss he could feel James's hips start to come to life beneath him, increasing his own desire.
Pulling back, he caught James's glazed over gaze in a silence only broken by their deep breathing. A calloused hand stroked Q's cheek in kind, causing his head to lull forward and his glasses to slip further down his nose. Before he could correct them, James captured his hand and after staring at him for two cycles of breath, removed the glasses himself and set them next to his pistol with care.
Q furrowed his brow, everything gone hopelessly blurry. All he could make out was the supernatural blueness of James's eyes below him. "So you wanted my glasses just so you could take them off?"
Bond turned his body to get them both on their sides, legs in a tangle. "What?" he asked, almost innocently. "That's my favorite bit." He knitted their legs tightly together and teased Q with butterfly kisses up his neck until he bit down on his lower lip.
"W-Why?" Q asked, writhing in rhythm against Bond's body. James worked a hand slowly up into Q's hair, clamping down and working his head to the side.
"Because if you're not wearing glasses, you're either sleeping or…" he paused as his opposite hand found the front of Q's trousers. He inhaled sharply and threw his head back as the pleasure that had been gradually building cascaded outward.
"Fuck!"
Q seized James's hand and threw his weight to the side to top him once more. Flustered from the threat of an embarrassingly early orgasm, he started to work at James's shirt, repetitive motions, requiring a surprising amount of focus at the moment which slowed him down once more. His face was so close to his chest as to see what his fingers were doing that he kissed the contours of his pectorals as his fingers worked diligently.
Running his soft, well-manicured hands over the battered brick house that was James Bond, Q pushed away thoughts of insecurity. How the hell was he here? The man whose hips he was riding had fucked his way around most of the world, so how on Earth was he taken with Q? Q, who was a virgin until halfway through university. Who had the sexual prowess of a posh, repressed teenager despite being in his mid-thirties. Who learned everything he knew about seduction and romance from movies and never watched porn because he found it repulsive.
And yet here he was, desired by a man who everyone on the outside would probably say was "out of his league." Who saw him for his real brilliance and trusted him to finish any job. Who didn't seem to mind that his fingers would slip and he would get flustered. Who had a toothbrush back at his flat and crawled into bed with him whenever he wasn't away. Who chose Q when he could have his choice of anyone on the planet.
He savored the feeling of every muscle fiber contracting against his palms as James's hands found his ass, causing him to curl his fingers around the agent's waist. The sharp pressure made his abdomen rise to meet Q's lips, greeting with warm kisses from the waist working down toward his navel and beyond, low moans of pleasure leaking from Bond's mouth as he moved to undo his belt. Good, noises were good, and physical evidence of course, which he found plenty of as he unzipped his trousers.
"You sound a bit like you do when you get punched in the gut, has anyone ever told you that?" Q pointed out as his hand ventured further down Bond's pant leg.
"No Q, I can't say they have." His voice increasingly strained as he pulled Q back down for a round of tongue filled kisses that caused the joints throughout Q's body to fail. "But most people didn't talk as much as you." A flash of panic flew across Q's face as his smile vanished and his eyes widened in a fraction of a second, which was not lost on the eagle-eyed agent, brought Q's ear directly to his mouth, sucking on it briefly before breathing a simple "I enjoy it…Innovation."
It took about three full, silent seconds for Q to sort through what he said, but when he did, his body convulsed into a giggling fit that morphed into gasps as the laughter magnified the waves of pleasant sensations rippling over him. Their relationship had been built on a foundation of quips and intellectual sparring from the first moments. Why would it stop just because they were sleeping together?
"Well then, Efficiency," Q jibed, giving him one last hungry kiss before he retreated back away from his face, his hand pulling down the waistband of his pants. "Let me demonstrate what my spots and I are capable of."