"If you don't feel the way I do it don't matter
'Cause I'll never know how you feel
But if you do then sure I'll be flattered
In my head it's all different anyhow"
- Johnossi, Summerbreeze
Adrenaline
As they begin to walk back to the hotel, Q feels slightly shaken. Partly from the old wounds that have been so unexpectedly ripped open, partly from the equally unexpected kiss that followed. However, Bond acts as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between them, asks no more questions about Q's past, nor attempts to tell Q how nothing is his fault or that everything will be fine, and after a while Q finds this calms him down. Gradually, he relaxes, until he feels better than he has in days, maybe longer.
He likes that they don't have to talk about it – any of it. He's tired of the people in Q-branch who assume that because he looks or dresses a certain way he's comfortable discussing his personal thoughts, feelings and relationships. He was raised by his father and spent his formative years behind a screen, for God's sake. He's barely comfortable talking about anything other than his job with other people. When it comes to his past, he would have thought it impossible even for someone as manipulative as Bond to make him reveal as much about it as he just has; but Bond had already read his file and begun to form his own conclusions, and if there's anything Q dislikes more than talking about himself it's people getting the wrong idea about him – especially if the idea they get is that he could ever be a traitor. Maybe there was a time when he could have gone down that road, but he was another man then, with another name. Now he's Q, and Q is as loyal to MI6 and to England as James Bond is. Why it is so important for him that Bond knows this, Q has no idea, but it is.
When it comes to the kiss, on the other hand, Q still wonders about that. It was so gentle, almost ... sentimental. That's certainly not a word he'd usually think about in connection with 007. Clearly, though, they don't have to discuss that either; it was what it was, it doesn't have to mean anything. Q likes it. For a second he wonders if he can get more consequence-free kisses from Bond – or perhaps even more than that. Q is surprised at how tantalising he finds the thought.
He remembers that, when they first met, he thought Bond looked haggard and worn-down. He still does, occasionally. Anyone outside MI6 would laugh at the idea of calling Bond old. They probably wouldn't call him young, either, but he's strong, sharp, and ridiculously fit – a man in his prime, people might say. But MI6 is a cruel mistress, who chews up her servants quicker than most and spits them out in bits and pieces years, or even decades, before any regular retirement – if they survive long enough for that. Q wonders if perhaps Bond would prefer to die in the field, all things considered – to go out like M. But where M got to take her last breath in the arms of her favourite son, Q strongly suspects Bond will die alone or surrounded by strangers. Either way, Q regards Bond through the eyes of an MI6 employee, and what he sees is a man who is slowly being worn down, inside and out: a man who is already living on borrowed time. Q should stay away from him. But there's something about Bond – he's good looking but not stunning, elegant but not exceptionally so, and yet he has this almost hypnotic quality about him. Like a tiger, Q thinks. It's pretty, it's elegant, but above all it is a creature that could kill you without even breaking a sweat if it wanted to – and that's why you can't look away.
When they start talking again, just before the silence has had time to turn awkward, they discuss their progress with the operation.
"I'm not having any luck with Jeunet's door," Q says.
"So I gathered."
"I feel bad about asking you to flirt your way in when Jeunet has already expressed his suspicions about you and Chabrier."
"You're not jealous, are you, Q?" Bond says with a teasing smile, as if he hadn't had his tongue in Q's mouth mere minutes ago.
"I'm afraid someone will end up dead," Q points out.
"I've done this before."
"Yes, I know. That's why I'm afraid someone will end up dead."
Bond tuts softly at him, smiling.
"Oh ye of little faith. Don't you know you managed to convince Jeunet that I'm quite uninterested in Chabrier, yesterday?"
Q really doesn't want to think about the thrill of his pretend-flirting with Bond yesterday while he's still trying to forget how tempting it had been to just stay by the riverside in Bond's arms and not care about ghosts of the past, the present or the future.
"No, I don't know that. That he let the matter drop doesn't mean he's convinced you're entirely harmless."
"Well no, I'd be a bit insulted if he thought I'm entirely harmless."
"How far have you got?" Q asks, ignoring the comment.
Bond raises an eyebrow, but for once chooses not to go the obvious route of double entendre.
"I know that she's scared of him – which is better than if she had loved him. She mentioned the bodyguard that he killed in Nice when she tried to stop me from flirting with her. I'm fairly certain she's been looking for a way to get out ever since."
"Can we offer that to her, then?"
Bond is silent for a moment, then he says:
"We can offer it."
Offer, but not give, is what he means. Q remembers Bond's track record – the bodies of dead women left around the world – and could kick himself for sounding so naive.
"What else can we do?" he asks.
"I have an idea," Bond admits. "One that doesn't depend on her talking to us – only on her keeping quiet."
He goes on to explain what he's planned, and they work out the details together.
00Q00Q00Q00
Afternoon is turning into evening as they arrive back at the hotel. Jeunet is supposed to hold his lecture less than an hour later, and if the plan is to work, Bond should attend. He needs to make Jeunet agree to another meeting the next day (allegedly to discuss "Mr McEwan's" business proposition) and showing an interest in Jeunet's business will help their credibility as well as, hopefully, make Jeunet more predisposed to say yes.
The corridor outside their suite is empty, the other guests either at dinner or getting ready for Jeunet's speech. Q is a bit miffed when he realises he's missed dinner and wonders if he has something to eat in his room. He doesn't think so.
"You don't happen to have any protein bars or anything equally silly but edible in your room or on your person, do you?" he asks Bond while he picks the hotel key card out of his pocket. He doesn't really expect a positive answer, but it's the kind of thing a man like Bond might keep in his luggage and damn it, he's hungry.
Bond doesn't reply at all, however. He just grabs Q around the waist and spins him around, slamming his back against the door to their suite. Q's basic training is about to kick in when, from the corner of his eye, he sees Jeunet's door opening.
Bond whispers: "We're being watched" before he kisses Q for the second time that afternoon. If Q didn't know better, he would begin to suspect that Bond arranges these things just in order to kiss Q – after all, the idea doesn't sound entirely as unreasonable now as it did a few hours ago. But this time Bond definitely has an excuse for pulling him close, and Q has an excuse for putting a hand behind Bond's neck. He doesn't has quite as much of an excuse for putting his other hand down the front of Bond's trousers, but Q likes to think of that as comeback for Bond's increasing habit of getting intimate without giving Q due warning. The slight flinch this causes is a reward in and of itself.
Q is thrown back to that club in Reading. The similarities between that situation and this one are striking; the danger, the game, the intimacy, the pumping of adrenaline, the hyperawareness and the unexpected flare of desire. It's what Q imagines a near-overdose would be like. His nostrils are filled with the smell of Bond's after shave. He doesn't particularly like the scent, but it's strong enough to go to his head anyway. He feels the soft fabric of Bond's pants under his fingers – and the hardness underneath. He wonders if it's caused by him or by the danger of their situation. Considering Bond's usual tastes he'd say the latter, or at the very least both – after all, Bond getting off on danger would explain a lot of things, wouldn't it?
"You could let me open the door first before you ..." Q says as he tears his lips free, and then: "Oh!" His eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly, as if he only now realised that Jeunet, Chabrier and one of Jeunet's bodyguards are observing them.
Bond jumps back, straightens up and clears his throat, looking anywhere but at Q. He somehow manages to look slightly drunk while Q pretends to fumble for the lock and tries to force a blush onto his cheeks. For someone who never blushes he thinks he's doing pretty well.
"Good evening," Bond mumbles.
It's remarkable, really, how much feeling Bond is capable of expressing when it's required of him. He sounds and looks absolutely mortified. Q can't wait to tease him for it.
"Good evening," Jeunet replies. His tone is also a bit subdued, but probably more due to surprise and awkwardness than actual disapproval, because he also sounds as if he is trying not to laugh.
Q gets the door open, mumbles something so unintelligible it could have been an attempt at "good evening" or at a recital of Tennyson, and quickly dives into the suite. Bond follows him a second later, closing the door behind him.
00Q00Q00Q00
Bond leans back on the door and stares at Q, who, much to his own surprise, is shaking with pent-up laughter.
"Cheeky," Bond says, and is it just Q's imagination or is the agent short of breath?
"This from the man who has assaulted me twice today," Q retorts. "I don't even believe you knew that door was going to open. I believe you just got lucky."
He believes nothing of the sort, of course – he knows a thing or two about calculating odds and the coincidence would be great indeed – but he can't resist goading Bond. It seems to be a new weakness he's developed since meeting the man.
Bond grabs Q's arm and yanks him towards the door, and because Q is still quietly laughing he's not prepared enough to put up a fight.
"Haven't gotten lucky yet," Bond says when Q finds himself once again with his back against the door, only on the other side of it. It's the first time Bond uses the deep voice he reserves for seduction on Q, Q notes. They're chest to chest, and more or less of a height. Q's hair has fallen down over his eyes again, and his glasses have slid down his nose. He reaches up to adjust them, and makes sure before he speaks that he won't laugh or let his voice waver.
"And I don't think you will, 007."
The smile on Bond's lips reaches his eyes at that. He pushes a thigh between Q's, and it becomes apparent to both of them that whatever is going on here, the interest in it is mutual.
"The calm and collected Q. Now we know what it takes to make your voice falter," Bond says. "I wonder what it takes to make it loud?"
"I don't know what makes you so sure it can be done," Q replies, fighting to keep up the very calm that seems to intrigue Bond so much, as Bond returns Q's gesture from their little act outside.
Q can control his voice, but he can't control the way he arches up into Bond's hand.
"Well, I don't like to call anything impossible before I've given it a try," Bond drawls.
"Don't you have ..." Q has to pause and bite his lip for a second. "Don't you have a lecture to go to?" His recent interactions with Bond aside, Q hasn't been this close to another warm body in ages – he's fairly certain he was already hard when they entered the suite, and now he's beginning to fear this story will have an embarrassing ending.
"I have some time to spare," Bond says.
"Do try to be professional, 007."
Q doesn't know why he hasn't said that sooner. He blames it on the very distracting combination of Bond's hand jerking him off and Bond's warm mouth trailing down his neck.
"All in good time, Q, all in good time," Bond whispers and does something with his hand that makes the whole thing end even quicker than Q had thought.
Q wishes he could punch the smug grin off of Bond's face, but he fears any feeble punch he could throw at Bond right now would only widen it. Bond pulls away and Q does up his trousers, taking care to do it slowly so as not to seem unsettled or ashamed.
"See," Bond says, eyes practically sparkling, "that didn't take long. But I still didn't get to hear you scream. What a shame."
"Conceited bastard," Q mutters, but it's hard to put much animosity into it when he's still coming down from that high. Bond just smiles at him. Q glares; he refuses to be the first one to look away.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Q continues, a bit more collected now even though his heart is still in his throat. "If you think I'll return the favour you've miscalculated the situation severely. Get on with the mission." He notices he's adjusting his glasses again and freezes for a moment before he continues the movement as if he'd meant to do it all along.
Bond chuckles. "Maybe later," he says and turns around, sliding his tie off as he walks towards his room. Q quickly makes his way towards his own. "Oh, and Q," Bond calls behind him, and Q turns to see him standing his the doorway, unbuttoning his cuffs.
"Yes?"
"I asked room service to put dinner in your room before I left. Henri said he'd come up with it himself – in case you feel the need to search the cutlery for bugs."
With that, Bond disappears into his room and Q is allowed to walk into his and collapse against the wall. There is indeed a tray on his bedroom table with dinner on it.
A while later, Q hears Bond leave his room. The footsteps pause for a moment outside Q's door, but then they move on. It's only when he hears the door to the suite close that Q gets up from the floor. He originally meant to work on his laptop until Bond returned, but after he's eaten and given HQ the heads up about what they're planning, he just lies down on the bed instead. He falls asleep almost instantly.
A/N: Hello! I'm thrilled to see so many people are following this. Hopefully I'll be a bit quicker with the updates now that my summer hols have begun. I hope this chapter was to your liking. I'm new to the fandom (and to smut, as little of it as there was - enough to raise this from a rated T to rated M, though) and while I've been watching Bond all my childhood, writing him has been unexpectedly difficult. But I've just begun reading Casino Royale, so maybe that'll help a bit. I'll bring you James' next chapter in a day or two.