[Author's Note: Sorry for those who expected to see the full conversation about Huntercombe. The details of exactly what happened to Q are very deliberately left "off-camera." I have long explanations as to why in my comments on AO3, if you're exceptionally curious. As for this chapter, it is exceptionally smutty. If you don't like that, please back out now. :-D]
Bond lay sprawled out on the sofa, watching a football game with the sound off. Q was sitting at the far end of the sofa, his laptop balanced on Bond's shins, speaking into his wireless headset.
"Yes, go ahead and check, R, I'll hold."
Bond wiggled his legs, making the laptop jitter. "You finally have a day off, Q. Stop working."
"Ten more minutes," Q said absently, anchoring the laptop with one hand while he tapped away with the other.
"You said that half an hour ago."
Q hummed absently, typing with both hands again.
Bond leaned forward. "I know this can wait until tomorrow. Ten minutes, and then I take matters into my own hands," he warned darkly.
Q's eyes flicked up and his mouth quirked in a hint of a smile at Bond's expression, but he simply moved his laptop to the arm of the sofa and continued typing. Bond checked his watch, noting the time.
Ten minutes later, Q was still deep in discussion with R about some database issue.
"Did you use the integrity command? Okay, so we know that the headers are correct, and the tables are functioning and consistent. You've tried an ancestor check, I presume?..."
Bond sat up, carefully setting aside his beer. With his feet, he slowly pushed back the coffee table, skidding it across the plush carpet.
Q flicked him a curious glance, but his eyes were immediately drawn back to his screen. "Check the...yes, in the directory partition head — do the correct number of cursors exist?"
Bond slid closer to Q on the sofa. Q shot him another glance, this time slightly wary, watching as Bond reached out to run a soothing hand up and down Q's neck.
"Mmmm," Q hummed, closing his eyes as Bond began easing the tension out of his neck and shoulders. "No, R — I just said, er — hmmm...if every object has property metadata vector..."
Bond leaned in, his right hand still kneading Q's neck. He nipped at Q's left earlobe, the one without the headset, as his left hand slid around Q's right side.
"What —" Q yelped. He cleared his throat. "What did the semantic database analysis reveal?" Q wound his left hand in Bond's hair, fixing his gaze on him with an unreadable expression in his bright green eyes. Bond waited, but, rather than pushing him away, Q's mouth quirked with just a hint of a smile again before he turned his head back to his laptop, his hand guiding Bond's head back to his ear.
Bond grinned, licking and nipping his way from Q's earlobe down his throat as his left hand smoothed over Q's side, untucking his shirt from his trousers and sliding inside. Q's skin was warm and silky under Bond's callused hand, the bare expanse of his throat soft and tender underneath Bond's lips.
"Mmmm..." Q lolled his head back, his eyes closing for a moment in pleasure before he blinked them open again, looking somewhat dazed. "I think — I think maybe..." Bond gently pulled on Q's left knee, spreading his thighs, and in one fluid motion slid down to kneel between Q's feet.
Q's grey-green eyes grew wide, his lips parting in surprise. "I think maybe I'll have to take a look at it myself tomorrow," he stuttered into the phone as Bond traced both hands up Q's inner thighs. "I'll — ah! — I'll see you then," he said in a rush, stumbling over the words as Bond pressed the heel of his hand over Q's groin, feeling his cock twitch to life through the material of his trousers and pants. Bond rubbed firmly, making Q bite his lip to stifle his whimper.
Bond took pity on him, halting the movement of his hand for a moment. "Yes, all right, R...Q signing off," Q said hurriedly, fumbling the headset off and closing his laptop, shoving it onto the side table.
Bond smiled up at him wickedly, pulling his own t-shirt off over his head and throwing it aside. "I had a feeling you could tie things up with the proper motivation," he teased. Q's eyes were enormous, his button-down shirt half-untucked, his breathing rapid and uneven.
"I — are you going to? — oh, bloody fuck!" Q said, as Bond leaned forward, mouthing along the length of his cock through his trousers. Q's heels skidded on the carpet and Bond anchored him with both hands on his narrow hips, pulling him up against his mouth, spreading his legs wider with his shoulders.
Q made a smothered, almost pained noise and Bond pulled back, rubbing him through his trousers again. "This okay?" he asked.
"Yes...oh god, yes..."
Bond had suspected as much. Things had been easier between them now that Bond had a better idea of what might trigger Q, and Bond knew that this would be a completely novel experience for him. "Good," he said with satisfaction, opening the flies of Q's trousers.
He tugged down the waistband and Q obediently lifted his hips. Bond pulled Q's trousers to mid-thigh, leaving his pants still on. Once again he mouthed over the length of Q's cock, this time through the thin material of his pants, taking extra time to lick carefully and thoroughly over the wet spot forming through the thin fabric.
"Ah — ah, Christ," Q breathed. Bond glanced up at him. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed, cheeks flushed pink already, hands clenching for purchase on the leather sofa cushions. He was absolutely beautiful, and just the sight of him made Bond growl deep and low as he nosed back along Q's cock. Q smelled warm and rich and musky, and Bond nuzzled closer, inhaling deeply before huffing the warm air out against the damp fabric, making Q squirm.
"Please," Q groaned, his hips pushing up in small little movements as if he were trying to hold himself back and just couldn't quite manage it. Bond loved this moment, when Q's inherent restraint started to crack. He leaned in, swirling his tongue over the head, feeling the soft cotton begin to warm and cling. Finally he sucked, savoring the taste of wet cotton and Q on his tongue. Q suddenly bucked underneath him, his whole body arching with strain, knuckles whitening where he desperately grasped the sofa cushions.
"Shit, shit, shit," he ground out, and Bond felt the sudden warm wet pulsing through the barrier of the fabric. He sucked steadily, stroking Q with his palm through the fabric, easing him through it.
Q's hands unclenched from the sofa cushions. He fell back, his hands covering his face, an even more vivid flush of pink spreading up his neck. "Sorry...god, sorry," he groaned.
"Hmmmm..." Bond hummed his satisfaction against Q's soft skin. He felt the irresistible urge to take him fully into his mouth, sucking him clean, but knew it would probably be too much for Q right now. Instead he nuzzled along Q's waist, slowly undoing the bottom few shirt buttons. "We're not nearly done yet," he rumbled against the skin of his belly.
"What?" Q jerked his head up, looking stunned. Bond smiled wickedly. Giving into impulse, he tugged down on one side of the waistband of Q's pants, licking a slow wet circle into the delicious hollow of the hipbone he bared. Q twitched underneath him, another startled sound escaping him.
"Entirely expected," Bond assured Q. "In fact, you lasted a good thirty seconds longer than I did the first time somebody had their mouth anywhere near my cock."
"What — " Q broke off with a ragged breath as Bond licked another slow circle into the tender concavity of his other hipbone. "What are you going to do now?"
Bond carefully tugged Q's pants the rest of the way, wiping him gently with them before throwing them aside. He took a moment to admire Q in nothing but his shirt, before cupping Q's slightly knobbly knee in his right hand, kissing slowly up his thigh.
"I thought," he said, placing a final kiss, "that we could snog lazily for awhile..." He slid up on the sofa next to Q, before pulling Q over to straddle his lap. "...And then give it another go," he finished, flicking open the rest of Q's buttons one by one.
Q braced his hands against Bond's chest, slightly off-balance in his new position astride Bond's thighs. Bond looked down, enjoying the sight of those slender fingers, pale against his tanned, scarred chest.
He leaned in, capturing Q's soft mouth, kissing him through his confusion until he felt Q fall into the kiss and start to respond eagerly. Bond wound his fingers in that delicious mop of hair, savoring Q's mouth slowly and tenderly. He lost himself in the kiss for endless moments, feeling only the slide of Q's tongue against his, the scrape of his even teeth, the taste of him so warm and sweet. Christ, this man and what he did to Bond — it was unfathomable.
Bond finally pulled back, breathing raggedly. Q's eyes were still closed, his face dreamy, his lips kiss-swollen. He was almost unbearably beautiful. The button-down shirt was open now the whole length of Q's body and Bond spread it wider, leaving it on Q's shoulders to tease them both, skimming his hands over the flat dusky nipples as he pushed the fabric aside.
He slid his hands inside the open halves of the shirt, running his palms up Q's body — his soft waist, the jut of his narrow ribs — wrapping around to skim the smooth planes of his shoulder blades. The muscles of Q's back were wiry and strong, with a lean, spare elegance that made Bond ache with want. Everywhere Bond looked Q's skin seemed to glow — pale thighs splayed against the dark denim of Bond's jeans, the rosy flush of his chest fading to alabaster in the long stripe of skin exposed along his front, ending in the dark thatch of curls.
Bond couldn't help sliding his hands down Q's chest to his belly, making him shiver, before delving into those curls. He petted and caressed Q's soft cock before sliding his fingers further down to cup his bollocks, rolling them in his palm, making Q blush and squirm.
"Christ," Bond breathed, leaning in to lick at Q's nipples, hardening them into pebbled nubs as Q made soft little noises of entreaty. Bond's hands were on Q's thighs now and he couldn't help himself, skimming his palms up those lean flanks to take a firm hold on Q's arse, grinding up into his soft, yielding warmth.
Q made another broken noise and Bond slumped back against the sofa cushions, repentant. His cock was a rock-hard ridge under the rough denim, and Q was no doubt still sensitive. "Sorry, love," he gritted out, but Q was already shaking his head.
"I liked it, you idiot," he panted, and then he was taking a firm grip on the back of the sofa on each side of Bond's head. He pushed his hips up against Bond's, awkwardly at first and then finding a rhythm, his narrow hips undulating fluidly as he pushed his rapidly-hardening cock against the ridge in Bond's jeans, and god that was good, so very good.
Q leaned in, his mouth pressing into Bond's neck. Bond felt the scrape of his teeth as Q moaned against his skin, and then Q was sucking at Bond's neck, clumsy in his enthusiasm. Bond felt the sting. He doubted Q had intended it, but Bond knew from experience that it would mark, and god but the thought of it almost sent him over.
"Bloody hell," Bond ground out. "Bloody fucking hell, Q." He strained up against Q, allowing himself a final last moment of mind-numbing pleasure, before he grasped Q's narrow hips tightly in both hands, stilling him.
"I had a plan, dammit," he growled.
"Sod your plan," Q growled back in return, stirring his hips impatiently, pushing against Bond's grasp so hard that he would likely bruise later.
Bond clenched his jaw, gathering up every ounce of willpower, before sliding Q firmly off his lap.
"What — "
Bond leaned in, interrupting Q's incipient pout with a ravenous kiss, greedily licking his way in before gentling the kiss, coaxing sweet little noises from Q's mouth into his.
He pulled back with a shuddering gasp. "This is what I want to do for you, Q," he said, sliding down between Q's feet again as his hand caressed up Q's length. He was fully hard again, moisture gathering where Bond swiped his thumb.
Q made another strangled noise, pleasure and frustration warring on his face. "Why?"
Bond pressed his forehead against Q's thigh, not even sure himself. He wanted to give this experience to Q, that was part of it, but there was more. Something in Bond needed this too, needed things to be one-sided this time. He needed to worship Q, to show him with hands and mouth everything that he could not, for some reason, say aloud.
"Just let me," he said, inarticulate in his need. "Please, Q — let me."
"I — " Q shuddered again as Bond stroked slowly up and down his length. "Just wait." Bond froze as Q wrapped his hand around Bond's wrist, holding him still for a moment, his brow furrowed with concern. "Oh god, James, I — I can't, um...reciprocate. Not yet, I don't think."
Bond relaxed. "I don't need you to," Bond replied huskily. "Just...this is for you, Q."
Q searched Bond's face for a long moment. Finally he nodded, his eyes growing warm as his grip on Bond's wrist became a caress. He slowly slumped back against the sofa cushions, spreading his legs a little wider in silent invitation. Q's palm skimmed from Bond's wrist to the back of his hand, ghosting the movement as Bond started to stroke him again slowly. His eyes were watching intently, flicking wide-eyed between Bond's face and the hand working his cock.
Bond leaned in, licking a long slow stripe up Q's cock, enjoying the smothered groan that elicited. He took his time — learning what made Q twitch and moan, what made his breath turn ragged and the lean muscles of his pale thighs tense.
This was so unlike the other times Bond had done this — there was no trace of calculation to this seduction. Bond wanted nothing more than to share in this pleasure with Q, to watch Q fall apart underneath Bond's hands and mouth, knowing that he was the only one allowed this. The only one to hear the desperate little noises Q made as he struggled not to buck up into Bond's mouth. The only one to see Q as he fully lost himself, spreading his shaking legs in unabashed greed, his toes curling in helpless abandon. The only one to make Q's eyes finally go wide, to make him bite down hard on his palm to stifle his cry as he came hard, his lean body writhing under Bond's hand, his cock pulsing in the wet heat of Bond's mouth.
Christ, Bond could almost feel his pleasure as if it were his own. He suckled Q greedily, wanting to make it last, lapping at him through the twitches and aftershocks. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer — he fumbled at his own flies, pressing his forehead against Q's thigh as he worked himself with his spit-slick hand.
"No." Q's rough voice startled him. He looked up, still stroking himself frantically.
"Up here," Q ordered. "Straddle me. I want to see."
The sound that escaped Bond's throat was almost inhuman, a high shocked whine that only made Q's eyes darken further.
Bond lurched to his feet, stripping off his jeans, and settled over Q, his knees sinking into the soft leather on either side of Q's slim hips.
"Yes," Q said, his voice low and covetous, as Bond started to stroke himself ruthlessly. "Hard and fast now. Let me see it."
Bond was grunting with each stroke, every breath harsh in his throat. He could feel the pleasure, delayed for too long, finally gathering hot and thick at the base of his spine. "Q," he panted. "Fuck, Q..."
"James," Q murmured. He looked drunk with lust, his eyes hooded and dark, his mouth parted as he watched Bond intently. And his voice, that bloody voice...
Q's hands skimmed up Bond's thighs, those long deft fingers digging into the muscles just hard enough to kick Bond's arousal impossibly higher. Q threw his head back, exposing the long pale line of his throat, his chest arching underneath Bond's body in open invitation.
"Yes," he said again. "On me. Now."
Q's voice was low and rough, the familiar posh tones from endless missions — the voice that steadied Bond, that he trusted like no other — now with an extra edge. Q's voice, drunk with pleasure, asking for this...the thought of it seared down Bond's spine, pleasure so keen it bordered on pain. Bond curled in over Q's body, fucking his fist in a last few desperate strokes, tension torquing within him until finally it snapped. Pleasure bloomed, hot and thick, starting at the base of his spine and shuddering through his whole body as he started to come, streaking across Q's chest and belly. The sight of it was impossibly arousing, unbearably intimate. Bond cried out with the last few spasms and Q groaned and shuddered underneath him as if the pleasure was his as well.
Finally Bond subsided, gasping for breath, his head hanging heavy on his neck. He barely had the presence of mind to keep from collapsing his weight on to Q, tipping aside instead to sprawl next to him, stunned and sated.
"Bloody hell," he breathed in wonder. Q hummed his agreement, clambering up onto his knees, turning toward Bond. He traced three long fingers through the streaks on his chest, shivering a little at his own touch.
Bond clumsily captured Q's wandering hand and pulled it towards him. He held Q's gaze as he sucked Q's slick fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over and between them, tasting himself on the whorls of Q's fingertips as Q's eyes fluttered closed.
Q leaned in, resting his forehead against Bond's shoulder, breath warm and soft against Bond's damp skin. Bond gave Q's fingertips a final kiss before letting their hands fall, pressing Q's palm flat against his chest, Bond's heart thumping against their layered hands.
They sat in silence for awhile, catching their breath, Bond's mind drowsily drifting.
He felt Q take in a deeper breath, his face still hidden in Bond's shoulder. "That's..." His voice was low and ragged, and he cleared his throat and started again. "That's something I've thought about. Something I've wanted from you for a long time."
Bloody hell. Bond's exhausted cock gave a sad twitch despite himself at the thought of it — Q, fantasising about Bond touching himself. Q, in his secret imaginings, offering up his body as Bond's canvas.
Bond traced his right hand through Q's hair, offering up his own confession. "Your voice," he said, a growl lurking in his words at just the memory of it. He shook his head in amusement, his fingers tightening in Q's hair. "Your fucking voice."
He could feel Q smile against his skin. And then Q, that little minx, slowly and deliberately put his teeth to Bond, a firm press of a bite that had Bond twitching again. "My voice, hmmm? That has all kinds of potential," Q murmured mischievously.
Bond let his head fall back against the sofa, marveling at this new facet of Q. That fucking voice and that clever, clever mind. Christ, but he was in for it.
[Please review! :-D]