NOTE: The Tel Aviv interlude is being written, but I gifted this story on AO3 to a dedicated reader who has a passion for the connection between Q and 007. I am honouring those engaged lovers of this ship by posting this now, but make this chapter a Valentine gift to JuJuBee. Thanks for reading my stuff. :)

Three Days Later…

Q was sitting in his office. He still had two hours before he clocked off for the day. He knew Bond was back off mission and currently in the building, Tel Aviv done and dusted.

He didn't have to wait long for the unmistakeable rap of 007's knuckles on his door. He strode into the room without pause. Q stood from his chair while they appraised each other briefly in the semi-dark. Bond spoke first, tossing a folder on Q's desk. "My report."

"Thank you," Q replied flatly, reaching for the file.

Bond turned as if to go, but paused with his fingers on the handle of the door. "I couldn't do it."

Q looked up. "Excuse me?" He could barely see Bond, stood as he was just the dark side of the halo of light beaming from the desk lamp.

"Stephanie." He took a step forward. Q could now see his eyes, sparkling blue with raw truth. Truth, want and need.

And frankly, Q was in no mood to deny himself either.

All Bond needed was one gesture of invitation. So Q gave it to him.

Q took a breath and hit ENT on his keyboard.

"You have exactly 140 seconds to do whatever it is you have to do, Bond."

Because Q was usually one step ahead of himself, a trait he had found kept him on his own toes, he had made the necessary prep to the system that would disrupt the camera feed in his office, including several more random and slightly more important areas, for approximately three minutes. There was no doubt in his mind now, watching the agent, that given the state of Bond's own, it wouldn't take any longer to take care of business. Take care of Bond before one or more of the Q Division minions came stumbling into his office to ensure that there was indeed nothing more than a computer glitch about which to be concerned.

"Long enough," growled Bond, turning to lock the door before rounding the table, freeing the file from Q's hands and wrestling him against the back wall. "I am going to destroy you, Q," voice hot with promise, eyes dark with desire, "in less time than it takes you to savour your first cup of Earl Grey…" he whispered against his lips, reaching for his belt before undoing his own with deft fingers. He didn't even bother to take off his overcoat, pressing Q firm and unrelenting against the cool surface behind them. Taking them both in hand, his eyes never left Q's. Q didn't flinch, staring right back, his lack of resistance all the invitation Bond needed. This was business. This was the demands of the toughest job in the world breaking the surface of steely control for just a moment in time, a demand for release that must be met lest Bond do something stupid. Well, more stupid than usual. More stupid than taking the Quartermaster in his own office.

"90 seconds, 007," Q whispered, as he sunk clawing fingers into his shoulders, tugging hard at the overcoat.

Q felt the heat coil, simultaneous and mutual. The steady thud of pounding hearts and pumping blood fled strong and fast through burning veins. Bond dropped his fixed stare from Q's eyes and let himself go, feeling the pieces of himself come back together. He was swiftly followed by his partner, neither capable of or wanting to prolong the experience. The need for satisfaction raw as the press of clothes-covered flesh pushing them both to completion.

Bond released them both and tidied himself up, his breath returning to normal in no time at all, a testament to his fitness. He took hold of Q's hands when they moved to also adjust himself back into something vaguely presentable and dropped down onto his knees in front of him. Lifting his sweater, he pressed his lips to Q's stomach with a whispered "thank you" voiced against warm, moist skin. Q lightly touched Bond's hair, running his fingers gently over the back of his head and coming to rest on his cheek. In all their times together, he couldn't recall Bond in such a demonstratively intimate and vulnerable position. He stood quickly and did up his overcoat to cover the evidence of their liaison while Q took care of himself with equal speed. As Bond unlocked the door and took a seat, Q hit ESC on his laptop and normality was restored.

And when Tanner left the room thirty seconds later, confident that MI6 internal security wasn't falling down around their ears, Bond left Q's office shortly thereafter with a parting look that suggested a certain Quartermaster was in for a very long night ahead involving zero paperwork but a lot of debriefing.

"Do I need to apologise for earlier?" James asked, a weary head resting on Arthur's chest.

"Not at all," he replied with a smile, hand roaming absently down James' spine.

"I saw the picture you know. The day after the funeral at Dover." Arthur's hand stilled, recalling the day. The day when he had said goodbye to the one great passion in his life, not yet realising that he was standing beside the next. "You and Charles together. He was very attractive. Makes me wonder what you see in this old dog."

"Why, Commander Bond. Do I detect a note of insecurity? That won't do at all. Might have to report this development to M."

Arthur felt the smile against his chest as James turned his head to give his lips free purchase across the man's bare torso.

Arthur laid it on the line, speaking through parted lips pressed close against the crown of James' head. "You, James bloody Bond, are an entirely different beast. I've changed. And though I'll never stop loving him I've accepted, not without the occasional ache, that Charles is gone. But you," he said, enveloping the agent in his arms, "are right here."

"Every cloud and all that…" he murmured through a kiss to his lips laced with the message, loud and clear. As long as Arthur Clifton, Quartermaster had his back, James Bond, 007 would always feel safe, be safe, come home.

Safe.