"Damn and blast!"

James cracked open a pair of weary eyes to be treated to the sight of one Arthur Clifton with his backside in the air, hopping across his bedroom floor to reach his trousers and jumper while pulling on his socks. He stifled a laugh and a surge of affection at the display before him.

He raised his upper body to rest his head on a hand. "You know," he drawled sleepily, "I feel quite bad for the other Double-Os, missing out on the fringe benefits of an intimate relationship with Q Division."

After a month of getting to know James bloody Bond, Arthur has the luxury of choosing when and when not to rise to the teasing banter. "What makes you think they are missing out?" he said casually, struggling into his jumper. "I could be up to all manner of shenanigans while you are on missions that I am not required to oversee." He zipped up his corduroys and reached for his glasses. "The broom cupboard in the corridor just outside Division is quite roomy you know."

James rose from the bed and grabbed the cup of coffee on the nightstand Arthur had evidently left there for him. He was packing away his laptop bag with his back to James and checking his phone as he turned round, only to be snared firmly round the waist and pulled into the very naked form of the agent.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Quite fragrant this morning, aren't we, Commander Bond? I think perhaps a shower would do well to be top of your mission agenda for today."

James didn't relinquish his hold, leaning closer to Arthur. "Maybe I will. Or maybe I'll wait until you come back this evening for a thorough scrubbing down…"

Arthur dropped his phone and his bag while James welcomed himself home properly, having failed to do so earlier that morning. Arthur took control and reached round to Bond's back, dragging and pushing him towards the bed.

"Meanwhile, in the real world," he said, standing up and tucking his shirt back into his trousers, "some of us have a meeting with M that they will be late for if certain Double-Os don't behave themselves."

"You could blame me for your tardiness…"

"I could," he replied, stepping back to retrieve his phone and bag, slinging it over his shoulder, "if I wanted to be polishing bullets and oiling weapons for the next month."

James was smiling warmly as Arthur approached the bed again to stand in front of him. "You have 36 hours downtime, 007," he said, mock sternly. "I suggest you make the most of it."

"Whatever you say, Quartermaster." Bond pulled the duvet up to his waist and lay back against the pillows, fully aware of what he was doing. Arthur rolled his eyes tamping down the frustration, momentarily contemplating the repercussions of hacking into M's diary and rearranging her schedule… He turned away with a nod. "Excellent."

Bond broached the subject. "Do you have plans for this evening? That don't involve trying to take over the world, Q?"

He turned in the doorway. "I am open to alternative suggestions," he said smoothly.

"Meet back here later? 8pm," James said casually as he trailed his gaze down Arthur's body and back up to meet his eyes. "And wear the suit," he concluded with a smile. Arthur didn't need to ask to which suit he was referring. He only owned two anyway. The man didn't take very long to return to form at all.

Arthur opened his mouth, but James was already ahead of him. "To expedite matters, yes, I am well aware that your animals will require a visit to make sure they haven't eaten each other's tails. Consider it done."

"Fine."

"Excellent. Give M a kiss from me."

"You really would love to see me get the boot, wouldn't you?"

James said it all with a beaming smile. Sod. He tapped his wrist. "Better get going, Q."

Damn and blast the man indeed, he thought as he made a beeline for the door.

James closed his eyes, recalling the dream he had briefly awoken from earlier. Normally, he was the one bestowing the protective embrace. It was quite a rare and only occasional feeling to be on the receiving end, he thought to himself, as he had inhaled the faint aroma of his Quartermaster, just underneath sensing the unmistakeable scent of GSR. Hopefully, that meant Q was spending more time on the firing range.

He rarely dreamed. Nightmares yes, but not dreams. He hoped it didn't mean what he thought it meant. Life was complicated enough.