Q has no idea if living with James Bond, reformed womanizer, heartbreaker, libertine… lover, in domestic bliss is actually bliss or not.
Title: 007, You Belong In My Bed.
Author: Chestnut NOLA
Relationship(s): James Bond/Q
Fandom: Skyfall, James Bond (Craig Movies)
Genre: Romance and humor
Warnings: Explicit sex
Word Count: 22,693
Part 2: The Worth of Your Doorway
Well, he wasn’t just another notch on 007’s bedpost; Q couldn’t prevent his lips from curling up into a secret smile. What had started off as a one-night stand—or he’d thought it such anyway—and 007’s occasional breaking and entering into the flat to shag his Quartermaster, had quickly segued into a full-blown affair. An affair that had morphed into dating, then soppy declarations of love, and an agreement to move in together. It was baffling. Of course, he was satisfied by the turn of events, but still felt a bit discombobulated to a certain extent. That James Bond, agent 007, one of the best elite field agents MI6 had ever had, was in love with his nerdy, and generally disheveled very male Quartermaster was a mystery. Q wished he had a clue as to what he’d done to make James love him—it would’ve been helpful to have that information—so he’d have the confidence that his relationship was going to last.
Q knew he was generally a nice person and of course had a brilliant mind, but those attributes hadn’t really helped him in the past with the few relationships he’d attempted. He also knew he was quite stroppy on occasion, but James was the first lover he’d had that seemed to revel in Q’s irascible personality. Maybe, his lover was a closet masochist, he mused. That would explain a lot.
The buzz of the door interrupted the thought, and Q saw James give him a wink through the camera monitor. Shaking his head at his lover’s cheek, he released the lock and watched his secret agent boyfriend saunter into the lab. Good god he was just splendid, Q considered. 007 in his bespoke charcoal gray pinstripe suit, with a white button down, and dark wine colored tie, caused a tightening shiver in Q’s groin. It was outrageous how James could do that to him. The low burn of arousal had become a regular occurrence in his lover’s presence, lowering his I.Q by a number of points daily. Typical, Q fretted watching his lover saunter down the center of the lab, a seductive unconscious sway to his hips. At least, Q hoped it was unconscious. If he found out James was making him stupid on purpose, he was going to have a bloody fit!
“007,” Q greeted formally. It was difficult, but Q had decided to try and be professional with James at work. He also hoped professionalism in regards to his lover would assist his minions in coping better with his relationship. The lot of them were frankly much to invested in their Quartermaster’s love affair. Lulu’s betting pool was getting entirely out of hand in Q’s opinion. “You’re not scheduled to get your mission kit for another three days.”
James gave him a signature smirk, stopping to stand on the opposite side of his workbench, “Q, it’s 1400 and a little birdie told me you haven’t had a break, even for lunch, all day.”
Q rolled his eyes in a fit of pique, “You really need to stop being in cahoots with Lulu, you’re trouble enough on your own. No need to have that impertinent bit of goods encourage you in your meddling and mayhem.”
James’ blue eyes were shining with mirth as he replied, “So, you do know you have a mole in your minion horde.”
“And I know who she’s reporting to,” Q replied with a sniff, trying not to smile at his lover. It would only encourage the rake. He took his eyes off his love to continue to work on the mobile phone he was modifying. “I have oodles of work to do today, 007. I don’t have time for breaks.” James’ moved around his bench to plaster his solid body against Q’s back, strong arms wrapped around him with sneaky fingers finding their way under his royal blue cardigan and salmon colored button down to play with the silky trail of hair on his belly. Those callused fingers felt just fantastic on Q’s skin. Very distracting. God, his lover was a menace. He then added when he felt that warm weight snuggle closer against his back and soft lips nibble his ear, “Or to have you hovering over my shoulder.”
“I think Lulu has a bit of a crush on her Quartermaster,” James murmured against his skin.
Q blinked and his hands stilled, as his brain seized for a second before he burst out, “Good god, I hope not!”
“Well, she does let me know when she feels you’re working too hard, Q,” James chuckled, nuzzling behind his ear. “She told me you’ve been on your feet for hours now, so I’m here to kidnap you and take you for a late lunch. Get you off your feet.”
Q pulled away a bit to give his lover a frown in frustration over his shoulder. He had too many individuals concerned with his welfare of late, not counting the other Double-O’s who continued to happily chauffeur him around town when James was on mission.
“I’m perfectly capable of knowing if I’m alright or not, James,” he stated emphatically.
“Of course, you are Q,” his lover replied, stepping back a bit and removing his hands from Q’s person, his countenance serious with a touch of concern creasing his forehead as he perused Q’s features. “But, you’re still recovering from a significant knee injury. You can’t tell me that after standing for the last four hours, it doesn’t hurt.”
Q’s affront deflated at that look, and he felt like a complete heel for being a bit sharp with his lover. It was true, that the ache in his knee had risen significantly over the last few hours. He had been contemplating taking a break, before he was interrupted. He tucked his shirt back into the top of his trousers, before lifting a hand to cup James’ handsome face.
He leaned up and gave his lover a soft kiss in apology before saying, “Yes, you and Lulu are right. I could use a break, but don’t tell Lulu I agreed. She’ll hover over me worse than she has been since the accident.”
Obviously, keeping professional was going to take some work on his part, he thought when callused fingertips softly caressed his forehead under his fringe. James smiled, satisfaction obvious on his face for getting his way, “I’ll keep that secret, Quartermaster. Shall we go?”
“Give me fifteen uninterrupted minutes and then I’ll be ready,” Q replied. “I’m almost finished with this piece.”
“You’ve got fifteen minutes, Quartermaster and not a minute more,” James stated, making a production out of looking at his watch. The man was only punctual when it suited him, Q thought, irked with the display.
“Fine, go stand in a corner or something, and stop distracting me,” Q ordered. James gave him an insolent smirk before backing away to peruse the various pieces of tech strewn throughout the lab. It was very difficult for Q to keep the silly smile off his face. Bantering with 007 had always been a satisfying experience, but was even more so, now that Q knew this captivating man was in love with him.
Q turned his eyes back to his work, the lab quiet except for the occasional scuff of a heel on the concrete floor and the hum of his soldering iron. Q often found the work of tinkering, soldering, and component assembly meditative and relaxing. Even with his aching knee, nothing could take away from the pleasure of creation. His creativity and ingenuity found purpose in the final products he produced to keep his agents safe and successful in the field. Every thing he did, every thing he created, had meaning. The brilliance of his mind utilized to save lives, on both a large, and small, scale. Q couldn’t think of another job that would’ve had the same satisfaction and objective as being MI6’s Quartermaster did. It was part of who he was, and he knew he was extremely lucky he could share that aspect of himself with his partner.
James’ confession of love, and their agreement to live together the night before, had caused butterflies in Q’s tum throughout the day, anytime he thought about it. Excitement and nerves battled within, pleasant to a certain extent, the way new love and a new relationship often were. He was trying to keep his expectations realistic, still wary of pushing James too hard, and hoped he’d eventually get over feeling like he was walking on eggshells around the emotional aspects of his relationship. Though, Q considered, since they were both men and emotionally constipated—well, Q was emotionally dense and James was the one who was emotionally stunted—it was going to take a lot of work between them to acknowledge their feelings, and blunder though communicating properly.
With that thought in mind, Q addressed his lover without looking up from the tech in his hands, “You know, we’ve been together for six months. Well, shagging for five and officially dating for just over one.”
“That we have, Q,” James agreed. Q looked up to see his secret agent boyfriend looking down the barrel of one of the prototype rifles on his workbenches.
“Well, I’ve never actually seen your flat,” Q stated, looking back down quickly. His nerves about the question caused a lump to settle in his throat. “If we’re going to move in together, don’t you think it’s about time I saw your place?”
The silence was deafening to Q’s ears. James was still as a statue with the rifle in his hands. The moment until his lover slowly set down the gun seemed endless to Q. James was gently stroking the gun with his fingertips. Q would almost think he was fidgeting, but he couldn’t imagine that James Bond would be one to fret about something so minor as his boyfriend wanting to see his flat.
Q couldn’t stand the suspense, and worked to swallow the lump still caught in his throat before he blurted, “Of course, if you don’t want me to see it, that’s just fine.”
James’ cerulean gaze collided with Q’s in response. The blank mask that James sometimes wore was back. Q hated that mask, and if he never saw it again, it would be too soon. His lover slowly stalked toward him, Q was captured, unable to move under James’ stare. There was tension along the line of his broad shoulders when he stopped to stand on the other side of the bench. But, the mask wasn’t as empty as Q had initially thought it was, now that James was close, his blue eyes taking in every feature of Q’s face. The assessment made the hairs on his nape prickle with trepidation, and not a little bit of excitement. Perhaps, he was the one who was a masochist in this relationship.
There was some tightness in the corners of his eyes, a tick in his cheek, and perhaps apprehension, in those blue eyes as they inspected Q. Though what could possibly cause James unease about Q seeing his flat, he couldn’t guess. He new it wasn’t that there was the possibility of Q walking into squalor. James’ rabid love of cleanliness and order had been evident for quite some time, other than the possibility James was keeping a mistress on the side; there was no reason for his lover to be worried about Q seeing his place. Oh god, maybe James did have another lover. The blood drain from his face at the thought.
The mask dropped, replaced by alarm, “Q? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” Q sputtered. He wanted to kick himself for even thinking that James would be playing him for a fool. James loved him, last night’s confessions and lovemaking was evidence enough of that. So, he fibbed, rather than blurt out the accusation, “My knee’s just hurting a bit, is all.”
“Perhaps you should call it a day, we can stop by my place after lunch, if you have time, and are feeling alright,” James said quickly.
“It is going on three o’clock and you’re right, by the time we get done eating it’ll be almost five anyway,” Q agreed. “I’ll let R know she has the con for the rest of the day on our way out.”
“Make it so, Q,” he ordered, amused.
Relieved that the tension had been broken, and his idiotic thought had been for naught, Q started to pack up his tools. Granted, James’ reluctance to show Q his flat was still a bit of a worry. But, hopefully he’d figure out why his lover had been reluctant when he saw the place.
“Yes. Well, let me just clean up a bit, 007 and we can go,” Q replied, aloof to keep from grinning at his lover’s Star Trek reference. It was so cute that James liked Star Trek as much as Q did. 007 was a closet science fiction buff, and Q was going to keep that secret to himself, unless he needed to use the knowledge to keep James in line in the future for some reason.
He finished his fussing and grabbed his cane, a beautiful decorative wooden piece with a silver handle, highlighted by Celtic designs, James had given him once he was off the crutches.
James was waiting for him at the door and as he reached out to open it, Q ordered, “Hold on one minute, 007.”
His lover raised a blond brow at the tone, waiting for Q.
“Here, hold this,” Q said, handing his lover the cane. He then proceeded to run his hands under James’ suit jacket, skimming pleasantly over hard warm muscles.
“What’re you doing, Q?” James asked with a bit of a grunt on the end when Q’s hands delved into the front pockets of his trousers.
Q was brushing his fingers along his lover’s lower back under his belt when he replied, “Just making sure you didn’t pinch anything, 007.”
“Are you sure that’s all you’re doing?” he responded, a sardonic smirk on his face as Q’s palms cupped and squeezed his buttocks for a moment.
“Of course,” Q murmured in his ear, before checking the inside pockets of his lover’s jacket.
“Tell me you don’t do this with all of the field agents, Q,” James quipped. “I may get jealous.”
“The others are properly under my thumb, 007, and don’t require I demean myself by patting them down,” Q stated, checking the exterior pockets of the bespoke jacket. “Ah ha! I knew it!”
Please at his success, he brandished the taser-pen under James’ nose.
“This is not for you, its still being tested,” Q said, smiling at his lover’s complete lack of guilt for his larceny of Q’s tech.
“As I recall, it was tested thoroughly about three months ago,” he replied, before pulling Q close to steal a kiss.
Q pulled away, heat in his cheeks from the affection, “Well, you and 004 brought that on yourselves for disrupting my branch.”
His lover was relaxed again, the mask completely gone now replaced by the humor of the last few minutes of their bantering. Q was still slightly concerned, but the openness on James face, and the softness in his eyes as he gazed at Q, assuaged the worry he’d overstepped in requesting to see the agent’s flat. Hopefully, seeing the place would help Q to figure out why James had been perturbed to show it to him. Either way, Q figured he’d learn something new about his lover tonight, and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
The elegant white columned Victorian row house that James parked in front of was beautiful, classic, and opulent. It made Q’s sweet nineteen-twenties Art Deco apartment building look like a set of Council flats from the nineteen-seventies. He couldn’t even imagine what the place had cost his lover to purchase. The mortgage for his small flat was just absurd, costing him a good chunk of his salary on a regular basis. If it had been much more, Q would’ve only had enough left to feed his cats and he’d have had to subsist on Ramen noodles to make the payment. The blood in his brain must have been rerouted to his tum to work on the large late luncheon he’d just had. It was the only explanation for his internal hyperbole, Q thought.
Of course, James Bond was able to park his car right in front of the building. Obviously, London traffic and parking issues were for the masses, and not his lover. Yes, he’d definitely eaten too much food at lunch. He blamed James for being such a wonderful lunch date, as well as so gorgeous that Q had been distracted enough to add dessert to his already full stomach when it was placed in front of him.
James opened the car door for him, “It’s on the second floor. Will you be alright getting up the stairs?”
“Yes, the pain meds I took with lunch have kicked in,” Q replied, heaving himself up and out of the low slung Jaguar.
James had the heavy wooden door open for him by the time he made it up the front steps. The foyer was just as palatial as he expected with high ceilings, white and black marbled floors, and a huge crystal chandelier above. The ostentatious spiral staircase beckoned, with James’ warm hand steering Q on the small of his back. It was slow going for Q with his cane and limp, but James stayed by his side all the way to the second floor. His lover’s caring and tenderness sent waves of contentment, and happiness, shivering through his frame. It assuaged the concern he had for his lover’s quietness on the drive from the restaurant. It seemed James was still a bit uncomfortable bringing Q to his place, though he’d not said anything. James was extremely hard to read when he wanted to be, but Q was sensitive to his lover’s moods, more so now then he had been at the beginning of their affair. The subtle clues to James’ discomfort were there in the hardness of his jaw and the tense line of his straight back.
The second floor wasn’t as extravagant as the foyer, but it was still very posh with polished wooden floors, crown moldings, and decorative millwork. Though, Q thought the walls could use a bit of color to make the place less like a Victorian mausoleum. It was so sterile, no wonder James didn’t want to ever sleep here.
“Come on in, Q,” James said, holding the door open.
The flat was spacious with a beautiful bay window, but the place was sparse of furniture with just a low sofa, chair, and coffee table. What stood out though were the unpacked boxes and un-hung framed art strewn all over the place. The only thing that did look at home in the middle of the taupe colored room was the previous M’s china bulldog prominently displayed on the coffee table.
The click of the door behind him was loud, echoing throughout the flat. Q moved through into the spacious living room, his steps resounding in the empty space. He took everything in before looking at his lover. James was avoiding his gaze, poring himself a drink in the kitchen that was set along the interior wall, open to the living room.
“How long have you had the place?” Q asked quietly.
Those indigo eyes were shuttered, gazing at Q before sliding away, taking a swig of his scotch before saying, “About ten months.”
Q studied his lover for a moment before an epiphany wacked him upside the head.
“Huh, not comfortable settling in,” he stated. “In case they sold the place out from under you again.”
James froze with his drink halfway up to his lips again; his blue eyes jolted back up to meet Q’s. Now that he’d figured out that embarrassment was what had made his lover so uncomfortable, Q gave him a signature superior boffin pompous grin to try to break the tension.
“Well, all of these packed boxes will just make it that much easier to move,” he declared. “I hate packing.”
James snorted a laugh into his drink, causing uncontrollable coughing for a few seconds.
“Fuck, Q!” James groused, wiping his chin with a hand, before setting down the drink to stalk toward him.
He had a wide grin on his face, then placed his warm palms on Q’s cheeks. His eyes caressed Q’s face for a moment, before pulling him in for a passionate kiss that curled Q’s toes in his shoes. He wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders, melting into the kiss, ignoring his cane as it was dropped on the floor with a clatter. Q shuddered with need when James’ teeth captured his lower lip; they worried it for a moment, before letting go with a soft suck.
Foreheads pressed together, James said, “You’re ridiculous.”
Q rubbed his nose against his lover’s when he replied with a glib, “I’m not the one living out of boxes in a swanky flat in Bayswater for months on end. I think you’re confused as to who’s the ridiculous one between the two of us.”
James chuffed another chuckle and squeezed Q tight, forcing a squeak to escape. Relieved he’d been able to allay James’ worry, he clasped his lover back, content to let James hold him for as long his lover needed. James pulled back after a time, giving Q a little peck on the lips before releasing him. Those blue eyes were finally serene, though there was amusement to be found in the small curl to his lips.
Satisfied he’d done a proper job of removing any potential drama—or possible howls of distress between two men dealing with emotions—Q clapped his hands together announcing, “Right! Let’s see what you’ve got. Oh, and make yourself useful. I wouldn’t mind having a bit of scotch, as well.”
“Little shit,” James said, shaking his head at Q. He got a whack on his bottom when he bent over to pick up his cane.
“Oi!” he burst out in protest for the abuse. James received Q’s frown with an unflappable smirk and a wink, and headed back to the kitchen to pore them both a drink.
Q straightened his plum colored jumper, trying to restore his dignity. It didn’t seem to be working, since his lover’s smirk widened, obviously entertained by Q’s snooty affront. He tried not to show how tickled pink he was by their banter, but didn’t think he was at all successful with James rapt attention on him.
James brought him a glass of scotch, planting a kiss on his cheek, before clinking the tumblers together in a silent toast. The smooth single malt was initially sharp with a smoky note, then settled almost buttery on his taste buds. Q wasn’t much of a scotch drinker, but he did appreciate the complexity of the beverage, and it reminded him of the taste of James’ tongue he’d just had. His cheeks heated in response to the thought, and the burn of it down his throat.
“We actually haven’t had a chance to talk much about it, but did you want me to move in here?” Q asked, watching James sit down on the sofa with his drink.
James looked around the room for a moment before replying, “Actually, I prefer your place. It’s homey.”
“Definitely less posh than this,” Q stated. “Are you sure? We could look for a different place together if you want.”
“No, I really do like your place, Q. I like your neighbors and I like the building,” James returned.
“Well, ok then. At least I don’t have to pack,” Q said with a breezy smile at his lover.
“Like I would make you pack, if you were going to move,” James stated. “I’d just get your minion horde to do all the work.”
“Oh, no. I don’t need the lot of them having access to my drawers,” Q shook his head, horror at the thought of Lulu seeing his underwear drawer. James just grinned at him in response. Q decided to ignore him for the moment to investigate his lover’s stuff, it didn’t seem that James was going to be helpful sitting on the sofa anyway. He may as well snoop while he had the chance.
He went over and opened a couple of boxes piled along the walls. They were full of antiquarian books. Q didn’t know much about the book trade, but the ones he pulled out seemed as if they’d probably cost James a pretty penny to purchase. Everything in the flat was of high quality, including the art sitting forlorn on the floor.
“Are these intaglio prints?” he asked, studying a number of framed pieces bunched along a wall. James set his glass down and got up from the sofa to crouch next to Q to pull some of the frames into the light of the window.
“Yes, they’re 18th century,” James replied. “Most are black and white from copperplate and I have two that are color.”
“The detail is amazing,” Q said, the quality of the handmade paper the etchings had been done on was striking as well. Most were cityscape images of London with a few portraits of lords and ladies, merchants, farmers, and peasants.
“That’s one of the things I enjoy about them,” James replied.
“They’ll look fantastic mixed in with my vintage sci-fi posters,” Q smiled. He knew it was a funny statement, but he was dead serious. James’ blue eyes were as striking as the prints, almost glowing ethereal, bathed in the light of the bay window.
“Yes, they will,” James agree softly, and heat flushed his cheeks at the admiring regard he was receiving from his lover.
He cleared his throat to cover his discomfit, “I’ll have to move a few things around, but I’m sure we’ll fit them all.” He gently propped the piece he’d been studying back against the wall, then grabbed onto James’ shoulder. “Help me up, will you?”
Strong hands steadied and supported him as he got back to his feet; Q was a bit disappointed his lover hadn’t copped a feel on the way up. The heat from James’ kiss still lingered on his mouth. Q figured at some point in the evening he’d be able to get a leg over, and he placed the blame for his horniness squarely on his lover’s shoulders. He’d always had a decent sex drive, like most men, but having James Bond in his bed made him completely insatiable. It was very distracting at the most inopportune times.
“Come on, I’ll show you the rest,” James said. “There’s just one bedroom and the bath.”
Q followed his lover into a short hallway that had more boxes and frames along the walls to navigate around. James really hadn’t unpacked anything since he’d moved into the place. Granted, his lover traveled much of the time, but Q wouldn’t be surprised if James’ reluctance to settle were a combination of travel, job stress, and grief from Olivia Mansfield’s death at Skyfall. Also, perhaps James hadn’t had the time. Since they’d started shagging, the man had been at Q’s quite a bit when he was in town. Since the accident, he’d only popped into this place to pick up clothes, and had basically been living at Q’s full-time.
The bedroom was spacious with a minimalist queen-sized bed, that wasn’t really to Q’s taste. Q liked the look of his traditional wooden slatted bed better, though he knew he might have to make changes to accommodated James’ tastes when they got themselves sorted. Other than the bed and a couple of bedside tables, there wasn’t anything else in the room. He headed toward a second door in the far corner of the room.
“A bath?” Q asked, his voice trailing off with a high pitched yep as he switched on the light. “Holy, Fuck!”
It was a walk-in-closet, as spacious as the bedroom including a low padded leather bench down the center. There had to be over thirty bespoke and designer suits hung along one wall, not to mention the glass drawers along another wall filled with pressed button down shirts, jumpers, t-shirts, and Henley’s, all wrapped up like pretty packages. His lover must have a shoe fetish as well, with cupboards like little apartment buildings filled with varying styles of oxfords, derby’s, work and dress boots, athletic shoes, and if his eyes didn’t deceive him, no less than five different styles of Ugg slippers and boots.
Q could feel his mouth was still hanging open, speechless as he slowly turned in a circle in the middle of the most grandiose closet he’d ever seen. He finally shut his mouth when James came into view, leaning against the doorjamb of the entry, a Cheshire grin on his face.
“Well, I did get around to unpacking a few things,” he said.
Q sputtered, “It’s like the bloody menswear department at Harrods!”
James was shaking, staring at Q, before bursting out into a fit of giggles, unable to contain his laughter. Q had heard James’ giggle a few times during the course of their association. But, if he hadn’t heard it with his own ears, he’d never have believed James Bond, agent 007 of her Majesty’s Secret Service, was a giggler on occasion.
“It’s not funny, you git!” Q exploded, trying not to smile. “We’ll never fit all of this in my place!”
Chuckles were still escaping his lover’s throat when he came over and took Q’s hands to encourage him to sit on the bench.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “The flat next door on the corner is going to be on the market soon.”
Q interrupted, “Robert and Sheila’s place?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hamilton told me they’re pregnant and will be moving to a larger place,” James replied.
“You were talking to her in just your pants again, weren’t you,” Q cut in.
“Maybe,” he smiled, tugging Q’s fringe in punishment for interrupting him. “I was thinking we could purchase their flat and expand yours.”
Q’s mouth opened and closed, his words not coming to him for a second, “I’m not sure I could afford to add another mortgage, even a partial one.”
James raised a blond brow, “Q for a genius, you can be quite dense sometimes. I have plenty of money to afford the flat, and pay off your current mortgage.”
His lover was entirely serious, Q thought before his brain seized and he burst out, “Oh god!”
“What?” James asked, concern starting to creep into his eyes, furrowing his brow.
“In the last hour, it has been brought home to me, that,” Q stated, his eyes widening further on his lover. “I have a sugar daddy.”
James pulled him in for a quick kiss before releasing him to say with a smile, “That you do, Q.”
The fact he really did have a sugar daddy had become apparent with the purchase of the adjoining flat. For the first time in his adult life, Q was debt free, and the proud co-owner of a spacious home. If he’d been insecure with his own abilities and masculinity, the realization that his earnings were piddling compared to his lover’s net worth, might have been a problem for him.
Once James Bond got a bee in his bonnet about an objective, he was relentless in the pursuit, whether on a mission, shagging his Quartermaster, or officially moving in with Q. Six weeks after their agreement to move in together, they now had a joint bank account—Q had almost had a heart attack at the amount of funds James had deposited—a flat twice the size of his old one, with actual space for a dinning area, small office, and plenty of room for all of their rubbish. James’ art collection did look fantastic mixed in with Q’s posters. M’s china bulldog was protected on the mantle surrounded on all sides by Star Trek, Star Wars, and Dr. Who figurines.
James’ unholy evil alliance with Lulu had continued, and her brother, Louis “Lu” Lewis’ contracting company—fully vetted by MI6 of course—had been contracted to do the renovations. Lu was just as jovial and gingered haired as his sister, though thankfully, less prone to gossip. Luckily, Lu and his crew had been able to work on the adjoining flat first, before kicking Q, Alan, and Steve out to stay at the Savoy for two weeks, while they knock down walls and finished up. James had been on mission, but had arranged for his boys to stay in the swanky penthouse suite. Q had enough stress at work, that he happily let James sort things out for them at home and pretended he didn’t know how much it all was costing. The man was nothing if not organized.
A case in point, Q was leaning on the doorjamb admiring his new Art Deco style luxurious pink and lime green tiled bath, while his fusspot of a lover organized the contents of their new walk-in-closet slash dressing room. Renovation negotiations had been long, arduous, and rather pleasant. Q got the pink and green vintage bath he’d always wanted, while James had full say in the design, and layout of their frankly extravagant closet.
Q was contemplating filling up the tub to have a soak that would actually cover all of his bits, when James called to him, “Q? Can you come in here please?”
Only slightly limping, —he could finally walk without his cane—Q made his way through their new plum colored bedroom to what he secretly called the bespoke vault. James was standing in front of his row of suits; they looked like soldiers on parade. Q was eyeing the lovely rips in his lover’s worn jeans pondering if he could get a hand through the largest one to cop a feel, when James turned to him, puzzlement on his face.
“Q, where are your suits?” he asked.
Q tore his eyes away from James’ behind and took in the fact his sweet jumper and check trouser collection looked like something from the charity shop next to his lover’s wardrobe.
“Oh, I don’t own a suit,” Q replied, and sat down on the dressing bench to admire his disheveled lover.
“What do you mean, you don’t own any suits? What about when you meet with the higher ups?” James frowned at him. “How can you not own at least one suit?”
Q shrugged, “My jumpers combined with a tie and button down have done well enough for meetings with M, and I haven’t had to meet with any MP’s or other bureaucrats yet. I can also wear my blue corduroy sports jacket if I need to.”
James had a look that Q could only describe as absolute horror growing on his face. Q thought his lover’s shock was kind of cute.
“What about the annual MI6 ball? What did you wear last year?” James sputtered.
Q raised a brow, “I rented a tuxedo.”
James mouth opened and closed a few times speechless, it seemed, at the face of Q’s lack of interest in fashion. Though, honestly what had the man expected when he got involved with a proud geek, Q couldn’t guess.
“Oh no… Just no,” James shook his head in complete denial. “You have to have at least two high quality suits and one formal tuxedo, Q.”
“Is that a rule or something?” he asked. God he loved pulling James’ leg, it was very satisfying.
“Well, I suppose it isn’t,” James replied, obviously befuddled by the question, before he soldered on. “But, it is my rule. I’m taking you to my tailor tomorrow to get you measured for some suits.”
Q crossed his arms, “I’ve a lot to do tomorrow, and I can’t stress this enough, I don’t want to go suit shopping.”
“Q, tomorrow’s Saturday, you’re not scheduled to go in,” James challenged. “The most you’ll be doing is sleeping in, and going to the shops to stock the fridge.”
“Perhaps,” Q agreed. “But, I have a coding project I was thinking of starting. Besides, what’s wrong with renting?”
James slowly sat on the bench, clutching the edge, as if the question had caused a trauma to occur in his brain.
“Sacrilege,” he muttered. It was practically a whimper, and Q was having a hard time containing his amusement at his lover’s abhorrence. “Q, you are going with me tomorrow. I can’t even begin to address that question properly, I have no words to give you on how wrong that question is. So, you’re going, even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and stick you in the boot of my car.”
Q let his chin go up, giving his lover a stubborn, snooty glare before he fell off the bench in a fit of giggles at James’ expense.
“Oh god, your face!” he burst out rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach. James’ lips were twitching when Q finally got his breath back and looked up at him, panting. “Fine, you can take me to get some suits, but just don’t expect me to be happy or wear them if the colors are drab.”
“You’re such a little shit,” James stated, pulling him up from the floor and onto his lap.
James was nuzzling Q’s neck when he said, “You can pick out whatever colors you want for your suits, but, I do insist you have a traditional, classic tux made as well.”
“So boring,” Q replied, enjoying the feel of his lover’s lips mouthing over his collarbones. “I just hope I don’t look like a stuffy old codger in it.”
He felt James smile against his skin, before receiving a pinch on his buttock for his impertinence. God he loved this man so much, he thought urging James to take his lips in a deep kiss. He could get use to snogging in their closet. The idea that there was plenty of room for potential shagging as well occurred, before skittering away with the heat of the kiss.
The sharp taste of his beer was divine on his tongue. Q was absolutely knackered from hours of standing on pedestal being measured while James prattled on about cloths, inlays, linings, and trouser fronts with his tailor, Henry Dunn. Q was interested in many things, but the ins and outs of creating a bespoke suit wasn’t one of them. On a positive note, he’d gotten a lot of coding done in his head as the torture wore on.
“Your first fitting is in two weeks,” James’ voice registered in Q’s ears. “R has it on your calendar.”
After a full day of shopping in Mayfair, which included some new dress shoes, they were enjoying a meal at their neighborhood pub, the Queen & Crescent. Q figured it was James’ way of apologizing for dragging him out of his warm bed at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday to be abused by a handsy—in Q’s opinion—posh tailor.
“First fitting,” Q raised a brow. “How many are there going to be?”
His lover was emanating contentment, his beautiful blue eyes playful as he took a sip of his own beer.
“Three,” he replied.
“Three!” Q exclaimed. “You’re telling me I have to go back for three fittings?”
“Yes, you do,” James stated. Then he proceeded to go into detail that Q thought was unnecessary, but his lover’s enthusiasm for the whole process was obvious, and not a little bit sweet. “It takes four to eight weeks to complete a suit, Q. I’ve asked Henry to get at least one done in four weeks though.”
Q cut-in, “The purple or the blue one?”
James’ lips curved, “The purple. As I was saying, there are three fittings that you’ll need to attend. The first is the Skeleton Baste, and if I’m on mission and barring any national crisis, I’ll have your sister make sure to get you to your appointment. Harrison can come as well, since he’s familiar with the process and has good taste. He can answer any questions Henry may have.”
“I’m perfectly capable of keeping an appointment, James,” Q sputtered. Then quietly he added, “And I’m sure 004 has better things to do.”
“I know you can keep an appointment, Q,” James murmured, then added the caveat. “If you feel it’s necessary.”
His lover knew him too well, “Fine! Now what’s this about two more fittings. I need information.”
“Well, if you’d been paying attention at the shop, you’d know,” James teased. “The second fitting is the Forward, which is most of the suit except the collar and sleeves. The final fitting is the Finish Bar. The whole suit except the buttons and buttonholes.”
“Huh,” Q grunted. “So, why the rush on the purple?”
James looked up from his meal, his expression thoughtful, “We’ve been together almost three months now, and I realized recently we actually never been on a proper date.”
Befuddled, Q asked, “We haven’t? No, that can’t be right.”
“Yes, we haven’t really,” he replied. “We’ve been together, and of course had meals together, but I wouldn’t actually call anything we’ve done an actual date.”
“Huh,” Q was at a loss for words. Thinking back on it, he figured James was right. They’d of course been shagging, and with the whole friends and lover’s thing for five months, they had eaten the occasional meal out. But, it had been very casual, more in keeping with the friend’s front than anything. Then he’d been hurt and between his recovery, missions, and all that finally moving in together had entailed, it was true. They’d never gone on a date, planned or otherwise. Their whole relationship was a bit wonky, Q figured, but seemed to work for them anyway.
“Ok, so for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right,” Q said. “What would James Bond, consider to be a ‘proper date’?”
To his satisfaction, James rolled his eyes at the air quotes going on over Q’s plate. James wiped his hands, then captured Q’s left in his right. The warmth of that strong hand leached into Q skin, making butterflies tremble low in his belly. He could feel a blush coming on as well. Damn the man! James could be terribly romantic with the subtlest of gestures. It made Q feel even more maudlin and just plain gooey inside than usual in the presence of his lover. It was just terrible.
“I’d take my Mister for a meal at a fine dining establishment in his new bespoke suit,” James smiled. “Then perhaps a moonlit walk in Kew Gardens, or if my Mister preferred, we could see a play or enjoy one of the many galleries in town. I enjoy fine dining, and I have a number of places I’d like to take you.”
“You have got to stop hanging around Lulu,” Q said, his lips curved into a small smile, and he gave a squeeze to James hand to show he was teasing. “She is entirely too much of a bad influence on you. And all of that does sound really nice, but you’ll have to show me all the cutlery bits before hand, so I don’t embarrass myself.”
Q hadn’t realized, until he felt the muscles in James’ hand soften, that his lover had been tense about asking him on a date. It was cute, and not a bit worrying, for James Bond to be tentative about such a normal a social convention. As if Q would ever say no to the man.
“Don’t worry, we’ll practice if you feel the need,” James lifted Q’s hand to place a soft kiss on the back of it, and the flutter in his tum intensified in response. Q knew he’d have to get use to that maudlin feeling if his lover continued to surprise him with romance on a regular basis. Hopefully, at some point the honeymoon stage would eventually ease, and Q would be able to think clearly again. James could make him so stupid, it was pitiful, and wonderful, at the same time.
James released Q’s hand before he asked, “So, what’s your idea of a proper date?”
“Fish and chips at the pub, followed by the cinema. Preferably, a science fiction film, but a thriller, or Marvel movie will work in a pinch,” Q replied, and he just knew he had a silly grin on his face.
His lover’s eyes were caressing him again; Q would swear he felt the brush of that cerulean gaze skim over the skin of his cheeks and neck. It was bewitching and made him feel gorgeous and alluring.
A slow smile grew on James face when he said, “I think we could do both, Q. And perhaps eventually find a happy medium between them.”
James was solid against his back, full of heat and warm breaths puffing against his nape, accompanied by stinging little nips to Q’s sensitive flesh. He grumbled a bit, frustrated and aroused fumbling to get his key into the door lock. James didn’t help the situation at all, with a hand squeezing one of Q’s diminutive buttocks, and the other cupping his groin, rubbing strongly against the hard-on in his bespoke trousers.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Q huffed, struggling with the key. “Oh, for fucks sake!”
The lock finally gave, and Q almost fell arse over teakettle into the flat, only James’ hands on his nether regions kept him from face planting on the wooden floor. Q had barely managed to disengage the alarm before James spun him around, hands hard against his flanks pressed him firmly against the wall.
“You’re practically pornographic in that suit, Edwin,” James growled against Q’s lips. James gazed at Q’s face and thrust solid hips firmly against his own. The heat from James’ cock was blistering through their trousers, his eyes black with desire, taking in Q’s flushed face.
“Oi!” Q yelped, his voice an unacceptable octave bordering on being a squeal. James’ mouth was red, lips swollen from their kissing. His blond hair was tousled from Q’s fingers; he was incredibly beautiful to Q, and his agent was on a mission. A mission in which Q wholeheartedly agreed with, in that moment. Dinner had been an exercise in frustrating sexual teasing. For hours, James had charmed Q; the romance of having his lover’s focus solely on him had been a delight. And Q, not one to get social clues often, didn’t have a hard time figuring out that James thought he was extremely attractive in his new suit.
Still feeling carefree from the sweetness of it all, Q teased, “Even I have to admit, my arse looks delectable in these trousers. If my wearing a suit gets you this hot all of the time, I might have to get a few more.”
Q’s breaths hitched as his cock was given another firm squeeze in response. The involuntary groan that escaped him was seized by James’ mouth. Strong fingers tugged at Q’s messy locks, pulling his head back to encourage a deeper kiss. Q loved the feel of this man under his hands; James was so strong and well muscled, broad. His lover was a pleasure for Q to touch. He felt so small and slight, delicate surrounded as he was. James was a trained killer, but Q felt safe in his arms, loved and adored.
Q allowed James to dominate the kiss, happy to go along for the ride and enjoy the bite of desire he was feeling. His lover tasted of wine and honey. His natural scent tantalizing in Q’s nose, an intoxicating bouquet mixed with the sharp aroma of fine cologne. James pulled Q’s head back even further, pressing into his mouth, teasing his palette. He caused Q to shudder with arousal and wrap one of his long legs around James’ waist, opening himself further to his lover.
Q felt feverish; the kiss became mindless for him, giving in to his lover’s demands. His cock was pulsing in time with his heartbeat, aching with James dexterous fingers cupping his sex. James released his lips with a gasp to bite down on Q’s pale throat. All he could do was hold on and pant at the ceiling, his spectacles askew distorting his vision. He felt the buttons of his jacket open, revealing his lavender and Aubergine striped waistcoat. He felt like he was strangling in his tie, but was unable to release the grip he had on James’ shoulders to deal with it.
Another bite, harder this time, got his attention, and through his distorted vision, he could see that James was now studying him closely. His rugged features, flush and fierce, taking Q in. His lover’s breaths were deep, but as fast as Q’s were. He didn’t say a word, just looked at Q, splayed against him and the wall. The fist buried in the Q’s dark locks tightened minutely, before he rumbled, “You’re mine.”
The possessiveness of the statement sent a quiver of something–not nerves, excitement battling with disquiet maybe–to resonate through his frame. He couldn’t help but press into that hot hand on his prick, feeling a pulse of pre-cum slither up through his cock.
“Yes,” Q whispered. “And you’re mine.”
Q’s tenacious response ended in a keen, when James quickly opened his trousers, pulling them and his pants roughly down to the middle of his thighs. James pulled him in again for another blazing, brief kiss before slowly lowing himself to his knees. He opened Q’s legs wider, pulling Q’s trousers all the way to the floor, removing one shoe and placing a slim leg over his shoulder.
“Oh, fuck,” Q breathed at the sight. It was so erotic to see James, his face buried in Q’s groin, taking in the scent at his core with a satisfied sigh.
James’ hands were unbuttoning Q’s close-fitting waistcoat, while lipping at his sensitive balls. His lover was nothing, if not coordinated, in the bedroom department, Q thought, with a gasp at the sensation. His hands fluttered over James’ head before settling like homing pigeons on his lover’s prominent ears.
Q arched up with a shocked yelp when James’ mouth took his cock almost to its base, soft wet heat, tight with the occasional brush of teeth along the sides. James Bond sucked cock like he was born to it, swirling his supple tongue under the glands at the head of Q’s prick, pressing back down to suck strongly, then softening his mouth over the base. Q’s eyes rolled back in his head at the rhythmic squeezes the tip of his cock was receiving from the back of James’ throat. It was filthy and glorious.
“Oh god, your mouth is perfect,” Q babbled to the ceiling. “So, so perfect, love you so much.”
A hand tightened its grip on his buttock, accompanied by a low hum in response that vibrated along his sensitive shaft, causing Q’s toes to curl. Those hot hands pulled Q in tight, encouraging him to thrust, to fuck James’ mouth without concern. Q watched his lover take him in again and again, enjoyment obvious on his face. James was reveling in having him in this way, and the carnal pleasure of it was too much for Q. His hands tightened on James’ ears as his peak was reached, pulsing his release into James’ mouth with a long groan.
Only the wall and James’ hands kept Q standing, limp and panting. His legs were trembling with exhaustion while his lover nuzzled the downy fuzz underneath his navel. Q’s post-coital drowsiness started, his body becoming lethargic, beginning to slide down the wall. James arose with a hand under his raised leg to place soft kisses against Q’s lips. He shuddered a little with residual want at the taste himself on James’ tongue.
“Q?” James spoke against his lips.
“Hmmm?” he responded, already half asleep standing up. “Ow!”
The sharp pinch to his nipple under his shirt startled him back to the land of the living. James’ countenance was still fierce with desire, but amusement also warred on his features.
“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he growled low against Q’s mouth. Q’s eyes widened when he then heard in his ear, “I’m not done with you yet.”
His beautiful Aubergine and lavender pinstripe suit lay forlorn and seemingly exhausted drooping over the back of the armchair, waiting to be taken to the cleaners. Q figured he knew how the suit was feeling after James had fucked him cross-eyed in it most of the night. He was on the sofa with his third cup of tea and still wasn’t coherent, with the Sunday news playing softly in the background on the telly. The only thing keeping him awake at this point was watching James clean the flat in just his pants.
His lover was absolutely mad in Q’s opinion. After shagging Q stupid most of the night, James had gotten up with the larks to go for a run. Definitely madness. Q had barely been able to keep his eyes open with James talking to him, as he got dressed. Honestly, he’d been more than half asleep and hadn’t taken a word his lover was saying in. He could’ve agreed to make James an exploding pen for all he knew.
Their first proper date had been wonderful, and the desire he’d seen in James’ indigo eyes since he’d come out of their dressing room in his new suit had been extremely satisfying. Q had to admit, he’d looked fabulous, and he quite liked the look of his fitted waistcoat. He figured he might have to get a few more for work, and swap them out occasionally with his jumper and cardigan collection.
He received a kiss on the top of his head when James passed by the sofa on his mission to dust the mantle piece. Q hadn’t been sure at first, if James was cleaning in his pants to be seductive, or if it was just habit. After living with the man full-time for four months, Q had figured out it was a habit. A secret behavior perhaps, that Q was now privy to, and definitely not going to discourage. He was too shagged out to fully appreciate it this morning though, even when his prick tingled with a half-hearted pulse of lust, eyeing James’ magnificent behind facing him from the fireplace.
“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten one of those, Q. Q… Q… Edwin!” James voice finally registered in Q’s zombie like state.
“Huh?” Q blinked his eyes open wide to pay attention. God, he was tired.
“I said, I’m surprised you don’t have one of those,” he replied, pointing to the telly with M’s bulldog in his hands being lovingly dusted.
Q caught the tail end of the Roomba commercial his lover was referencing. Taking another sip of his tea with a grimace—cold now from his distraction—he replied, “Oh, I was thinking about getting one awhile back, and modifying it to make it more efficient. But, I’ve since changed my mind.”
“Why?” James asked with a raised eyebrow. His body all planes and angles in the late morning light, tempting and teasing. Q figured his lover must find the ritual of cleaning meditative. It was the only explanation for James’ enjoyment of doing housework when he was home. The flat was always spic and span, or shipshape in deference to James’ Navy background, when the agent was here.
“Granted, I hate wasting my time cleaning when you’re away, but I wouldn’t want to discourage you from hoovering when you’re here by adding another cleaning aid,” Q replied. “The view is always lovely.”
His lover snorted an aborted laugh, before gently setting the bulldog back down in its proper place. James’ ears were red. It was so amusing to Q that he could occasionally make James Bond, agent Double-O-Seven, blush.
“You could give me a hand, Q,” James said, moving on to the other figurines on the mantelpiece.
“No… no I really couldn’t, you wore me out last night,” he smiled. “I need to have a kip today to recover. I’ll cook you dinner later… by ordering take away.”
James shook his head at him with a smile. They were quiet for a little while; Q felt fantastic having his lover with him while he drowsed on the sofa with his cats. His eyes, half-mast and sleepy, were taking in James fussing with their things. It was all so domestic and homey. Q had never thought he’d see James Bond this way, but his lover was more than an agent and assassin. He embraced their relationship wholeheartedly and Q was still surprised sometimes to see the form it had taken.
“I had fun last night,” James’ voice registered in his ears, and Q hadn’t realized he’d allowed his eyes to fully close.
James was avoiding his gaze to continue his fussing, but Q replied anyway, “Me too, I’d never been out to such a posh place. Thanks for taking me, and the gardens afterward were just wonderful.”
James gave him a quick smile in reply, but he seemed shy–if 007 could be called shy–about what he’d said. Q often wondered about his lover, and the time between his parents deaths and now. James hadn’t spoken much of that time, but Q figured it had been difficult, and painful. His lover had a serious job, a dangerous job that seemed glamorous on the surface, but Q knew the horror his agents sometimes had to go through to get a job done. He didn’t think there had been many times of fun and peace for James during the ten years he’d given to MI6. But, he’d like to find out eventually, and hoped that James would be comfortable to share with him at some point in the future.
They were both so new at this relationship business, but Q was determined that they would muddle through somehow. And he knew that he’d have to share more with his lover at well. The cliché, ‘it’s a two-way street’ was very true.
Deciding to be brave, Q asked, “You’ve been to many places like the one we went to last night. Didn’t you have a good time with anyone else before?”
James’ vigorous use of the cloth on the bookshelves slowed to a stop. His lover was still and quiet for what felt like ages to Q, but was probably only a few seconds. James looked over his shoulder, his face pensive before he turned back to his work. Q didn’t think he was going to even acknowledge the question, until he said in a low voice, “Not for a very long time.”
Q didn’t know if he should get up and go to his lover, or not in this situation. He didn’t want to push James, but was still hoping the little nudge he’d given would help his lover open up a bit more. They of course talked all of the time, were intimate, and in love, but James could close himself off if he didn’t want to talk about something. The psychologists at Six could attest to that part of his lover’s personality. Any discussions of feelings were always difficult between them, though less so for Q, who’d had a happy upbringing. It was troublesome, and Q was just about to let it go when James turned to him. He looked exposed, and not because he was only wearing pants.
“The last time I had any real fun with another person was with Vesper,” James said softly. “It was a lie, though. Perhaps looking back on it, she was fond of me. But, she didn’t love me, and she didn’t know me. Not like you do, Edwin. Any kind of dating I’ve done besides being with her, was for the job. Exciting occasionally? Yes, but not fun, not relaxing, and not safe. I couldn’t, and can’t, be myself in those situations, of course. Couldn’t show myself to those people, and if I’m really honest, Vesper hadn’t seen all of me either.”
Q was shocked mute, completely surprised James had told him so much. He got up and wrapped his arms around his lover, giving him a vigorous hug, since he didn’t really have any words yet to say. The tense muscles under his palms softened, and James relaxed into the embrace, burying his face in Q’s neck with a slow, soft sigh. They held on to each other, and Q still couldn’t think of a single thing to say except, “I love you.”
James’ arms tightened in response, before he pulled back and framed Q’s face with his hands. His fingers smoothed over Q’s cheeks, just looking at him with his blue eyes, almost the color of Australian opal in the light.
“I love you too, Edwin,” he said, and then placed a soft kiss to Q’s lips before releasing him.
Q rubbed his hands down James’ shoulders, clearing the lump that had gathered in his throat. “Ok, new topic now that we’ve been traumatized by our manly feelings enough for one day.” He yelped as he received a whack to his bottom, James’ good humor restored by Q’s sass.
Q just gave him a sniff of offense as he returned to his spot on the sofa, “I’m not sure if you know,” Q said. “But, Amelia told my parents about us after we had lunch that first time with her. “
“I’m not surprised,” James murmured wiping down the coffee table. “She was so excited you were actually dating.”
“Yes, well. She should talk; she’s the one who needs to get laid. She was all atwitter meeting 004 at my fitting,” Q huffed. “Anyway, now that we’re official, and living together, my parents want to meet you. Would that be alright?”
James set down his dusting cloth and came over to Q, all golden skin and tight navy blue pants–distracting–to sit down on the coffee table.
“Do you want me to meet them?” he asked.
“Of course I do!” Q exclaimed. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”
“They won’t have a problem with a man shagging their son on a regular basis?” he asked.
Q just rolled his eyes, “James, they may be farmers, but they’re not ignorant. They’ve known I’m gay since I was three years old. So no, they’ll be quite happy to meet you, and interrogate you about yourself, and how much you love me.”
“I look forward to it, Q,” he stated, cheek and charm firmly back in place.
“Sir,” James said, rising to his feet and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. The blank mask was back in full force, stark and jarring to Q. Double-O-Seven had over taken his good-natured lover. Dead blue eyes briefly met his own, before the agent left the office in a determined stride. The soft click of the door signaled the possible doom of his relationship.
“I’m sorry, Q,” M murmured, the head of MI6 was regretful, but determined. “I know you and 007 are involved, but he’s the best agent we have to take on this task.”
“If we were married, would you ask this of us?” Q challenged. “If we weren’t in a homosexual relationship, would you ask this of us?” He said, angry, devastated. He wanted to rail at his boss for assigning the mission, and rail at James for not protesting.
M seemed taken aback by Q’s rancor. “You both took oaths, Q. To protect this country, and its citizens, by any means necessary. The status of your relationship with 007 doesn’t matter. This needs to be done; we need access to Pretros’ network and movements. It’s imperative we find out who his contacts are, and his schedule of arms deliveries. You know this, 007 knows this, and I don’t have a choice. I must assign the best agent for each job, and 007 is the best in this area.”
Q knew his boss was right, but he certainly didn’t have to like it, or give in without protest. He looked down at the file in his hands, and took in the image of the mark. She was incredibly beautiful with her long black curls, fine bone structure, and heart-shaped face. Sotiria Petros was a Greek goddess in looks, dangerous, and intimately involved in her father’s business.
“Do your job, Q. Use the resources at your disposal to get the job done,” M ordered. “Dismissed.”
“Sir,” Q nodded. He was pissed and didn’t give a damn if he’d offended the head of MI6 with his accusation. The bloody man deserved all of his vitriol, in Q’s opinion. He could only hope that he and James would be able to work through this. Though, Q wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay detached, and accept that his lover had to fuck for his job. He needed to find a way out for both of them.
The mask was gone completely, 007 was furious, scattering minions left and right as he marched down the middle of Q-Branch with his enraged countenance. He practically towered over Q—even though they were only an inch apart in height—bursting his personal bubble by looming over him with only a hair’s breath of space between them at the main console.
“How can you bloody well accept this, Q?” he erupted. Q had never seen his lover so angry before; it was frightening, and a little bit hot. If the situation wasn’t so serious, and Q wasn’t the source of James’ rage, he’d have been happy to stand back and admire the fireworks.
Of course, James’ accusation just pissed off Q in return. “I don’t accept this, you obtuse git!”
James’ breaths were heaving. “You didn’t protest at all, Q.”
“Well, neither did you, 007,” Q accused. “Besides, you left before I did protest. Though, it didn’t get me anywhere!”
The silence in the branch was deafening, only the soft sounds of R guiding 002 on her mission, and ignoring them, cut through the quiet. His ten minions were frozen, reminiscent of wax figures Q had seen at Madame Tussaud’s.
James seemed to be calming down, somewhat. But, the fury was still present in the hard line of his shoulders, and the blush on his cheeks.
“Let’s not have a domestic in front of my staff, 007,” Q said formally, with as much dignity as he could muster. He cleared his throat and straighten his cardigan, before heading to his office with James not far behind. He engaged the smart glass for privacy, though their tiff was going to be all over MI6 by this afternoon. Q knew his minions and their gossip network well. He was sure that whatever happened in the coming hours would affect Lulu’s betting pool significantly.
His lover was standing stiff in front of Q’s desk; emotional in a way Q had never seen. James was just as anguished as Q, if not more so. The agent was the one that was required to be sexually intimate with another person, not Q. Q was just expected to watch it happen.
Well, if Q could prevent it, and spare his lover the experience, he would. Determined, he stalked around his desk and sat down like the MI6 executive he was.
James was still standing, glowering at him when he stated, “007, you belong in my bed, and my bed alone. I love you to distraction. I’ll not have you be forced to do something you don’t want to do. Queen and country be damned. Now sit down, so we can talk about this like adults.”
The tension in James’ body eased, his face softened slightly. He was subdued as he sat in the chair across from Q. The confidence Q was use to seeing in his lover was gone in that moment, and Q wanted to maim the head of MI6 for causing apprehension to transform James in such a way. James Bond, agent Double-O-Seven, was always confident, always calm in the face of danger, and Mallory had stolen that poise from him today. Q refused to place any blame for this situation on their relationship; other MI6 employees loved, had families and partners. If they could, without it affecting their jobs unduly, then he and James could too.
“Now, just to be clear, because I don’t want to assume anything,” Q started. “You want to find another way to do this mission, without having to seduce and engage in coitus with Sotiria Petros?”
His lover was having a hard time bringing the blank mask back up to his face. Q wouldn’t admit it, but he was pleased James was having difficulty hiding emotions from him. At least he wasn’t the only open book in this relationship. Though at the moment, James was fighting a smile, probably from Q’s use of the term coitus. Well, he wasn’t going to use the term fucking in Q-Branch. It wasn’t dignified.
“Yes, Q. I do, but M’s orders were very clear,” James replied, sober.
Q shook his head in consternation at his lover, “007, when have you ever followed orders to the letter in the almost eleven years you’ve been an agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Service? The whole idea you would with this mission is antithesis to the way you usually conduct yourself.”
“True,” James replied with a curve to his lips “So, what do you propose, Quartermaster?”
“Well, obviously you’re going to actually have to attempt to be covert for a change, 007,” Q challenged. “You’ve done it in the past, when needed, so I’m confident you’ll be able to now. But, we’re going to require some additional help, if we want to keep your trousers on for the duration.”
James’ brashness was back, evident in his posture when he asked, “And what about M’s orders? If you ignore them completely, he might take you to task, or sack you.”
“Well, his exact words were, ‘use the resources at your disposal to get the job done,’” Q replied with a raised brow. “He’ll only have himself to blame, if he doesn’t like how I run the mission. And besides, if I get sacked, I have a sugar daddy to keep me in the style in which I’ve become accustom.”
Q was graced with a slow smile, amusement and relief alight in James eyes. “I love you, Edwin.”
“As well, you should,” Q sniffed, rising from his seat. “Let’s try and keep it professional out there, 007. You’ve traumatized my staff enough for one day, swooping down on Q-Branch like a fire breathing dragon.”
He rounded his desk to the door, but was thwarted by James’ arms pulling him in for an ardent kiss. By the time James was done kissing him senseless, Q was wrapped around the agent, sloth like. When his lover finally pulled away with a soft suck to his top lip, Q just knew the evidence of them snogging in his office was all over his face.
“You’re a menace,” he claimed, taking in the smirk of satisfaction on James’ lips. His lips were a bit swollen as well, so at least Q wasn’t the only one with their lapse of professionalism apparent on his face. “Come on, let’s get this mess of a mission sorted for you.”
His minions were entirely too solemn when they emerged from his office. It wasn’t normal, and Q was hopeful their crestfallen faces would be eradicated by having them work on the problem. R gave him a nod and kept up her work with 002.
Q clapped his hands to get every one’s attention, “All of you, front and center please.”
James stood aside as his ten minions eagerly surrounded him in front of the main console. Q brought up maps and images to begin their plans.
“This is Anatolijus Petros, sixty years old and an arms dealer, well connected and supplying terrorists and hostile governments around the world,” Q directed their attention to his screens. “This is his daughter, Sotiria Petros, her father’s confidant and main business partner. MI6 needs access to his network contacts, as well as shipment schedules, which are housed on a non-networked server in his villa outside Marathon, Greece. This mission must be covert, we cannot have Petros realize his system has been compromised.”
His minions were focused on him and his words. Lulu was practically vibrating with excitement, accompanied by no small amount of relief in her big brown eyes. Sometimes, Q worried she was too entirely invested in the outcome of his relationship with 007 to be healthy.
“You were informed by executive branch, that 007’s infiltration would be done by manipulation of Sotiria Petros,” Q stated, which was the delicate way of saying James had been ordered to fuck his mark. “We are going to run the mission differently, with 007 accessing the villa, and the server room, under the cover of darkness. We have three days to prepare before 007 is scheduled to depart. Any questions so far?”
Bennie piped up, “007 will need more than just his Walther for defense.”
“Yes, he will,” Q replied. “I want you to work with him to determine what weapons he’ll need, as well as attire him appropriately.”
“Very good, sir,” he acknowledged. “007, will you accompany me to the lab to work on your kit?”
“I’d be delighted,” James replied with a smile. His troublemaker of a lover gave him a peck on the cheek as he passed by before whispering. “Thank you, Q. I’ll come by later for a full briefing on your plans.”
Q noisily cleared his throat, and silently bemoaned his inability to control his blushing in front of his staff, “Well… yes, I’ll see you later.”
Lulu was beaming at him; if he wasn’t so happy their little domestic had been sorted out he might have been irritated by her satisfaction.
“Right, moving on,” Q turned back to his console. “Petros’ security contains three completely separated systems we’ll have to gain access to and control: interior and exterior CCTV, motion sensors, and window and door alarms. Lulu, I want you on the cameras. Molly, you’ll be hacking the sensors, and Luther, you’ll work on gaining access to the alarms. I’ll work on code to access the server, and once Bennie’s done outfitting 007, he’ll assist me in creating a casing to keep a wireless adapter in place and hidden for continued remote access to Petros’ server.”
His minions were bobbing their heads in time like kittens he’d seen on YouTube videos. At least they were in agreement, Q thought, even though it was a bit disconcerting to see.
“The rest of you need to find out everything you can about Petros and his daughter’s schedules in the coming week. We need to know when they will be out of the house, how many guards are patrolling the grounds and their movements, as well as any household staff 007 will have to avoid. Let’s get to work!”
His minions scattered to their workstations, unfortunately not as coordinated as a well-oiled machine was, but with the clumsy enthusiasm only geeks could generate. Q allowed himself to smile. With his minions’ help, he’d keep his lover safe, and if not pure—that ship had sailed long ago—at least free from having to be naked with anyone other than Q.
Q collapsed on his lover, smearing cum between them, his limbs still shivering with the aftershocks of a fantastic orgasm. He started to giggle into James’ neck before bursting out in howls of laughter, and the broad chest underneath him vibrated as James joined in with his own low chuckles.
“M’s face when you told him that you’d followed his orders to the letter was priceless, Q,” he said, gasps escaping him between words.
“I know! I thought he was going to have a aneurysm,” Q laughed. “Did you see how red he got? I swear you could’ve fried a bloody egg on his bald spot!”
James’ chuckles turned into high-pitched giggling, his arms yanked tight around Q’s frame in spasm. “I really expected him to sack you for your cheek.”
“He can’t sack me,” Q snorted. “I’m the best tech expert he’s got. He needs me too much, and he knows MI5 would snatch me up in a heartbeat, given half a chance.”
James pulled Q up, hands framing his face and playing with his hair. His eyes lit with glee and contentment, smiling full and bright at Q.
“True,” he replied. “And you’re pretty too.”
Q shook his head, dismayed, “I’m not! You’re brains must still be in your cock, 007.”
James snorted, then teased, “Pretty, pretty, pretty Quartermaster.” His hands pulling Q’s sweaty dark locks straight up on top of his head. And Q just knew, he looked ridiculous.
“You’re horrible,” Q stated, then chucked a bit more. The image of M’s outraged face stark in his mind. “I’ve never been happier being suspended for a week in my life.”
“Me too,” James replied, kissing the tip of Q’s nose. “Though, why he suspended me as well, I don’t know. I was just following my Quartermaster’s orders.”
“I think all your smirking during debrief is what did you in, James,” he answered.
James scoffed, “I couldn’t help it. You were so proper and calm, and he was so fucking angry with you, rather than me for a change. It was very entertaining.”
Q just smiled, and leaned down to give his love a soft kiss before snuggling close. James would clean him up if he fell asleep, but Q was too wired from the meeting to be drowsy after sex for a change. Perhaps, he could maneuver James into their frankly extravagant bath with him in a little while.
“We finally have the time to go to your parents, if you want,” James murmured, his palms sweeping down Q’s sweaty back.
Q loved when his lover petted him though, he’d never admit it out loud. James’ hands always felt so bloody good on his skin. Q sighed his reply into his lover’s hot neck, “I’ll call them later to make sure they haven’t got anything planned this week.”
“I’m interested to find out which one you get your cheek from,” James said. Q gave him a little pinch along his side in reprimand. His lover could be such a shit on occasion; Q smiled, nuzzling under James’ sweet ear.
Q was enjoying the quiet and soft touches between them. He couldn’t help but smile remembering M’s ‘both of you get out of my sight,’ having unsuccessfully browbeat Q into submission. Hopefully, M would get his head out of his arse eventually. What else had the head of MI6 expected Q to do, when his lover was assigned to prostitute himself for the job.
His smile waned, but he had to ask, “Did it bother you in the past to be assigned honey-pot missions?”
James’ hand swept over the side of Q’s face and through his hair, but he allowed Q to continue hiding in the crook of his neck when he answered, “No, sex was just another tool I used to get the job done. Frankly, I didn’t have anyone in my life that would have cared one way or another, so sex on the job really didn’t bother me. Sometimes is wasn’t pleasant and sometimes it was, it just depended on the mark and the situation.”
“Do you miss women?” Q whispered, his fingertips fidgeting in the hollow of James’ throat.
His lover’s hands urged his head up, framing his face, searching for something with his azure gaze. Q met those blue eyes straight on, internally cringing for letting that question escape. Tender was the term that popped into Q’s brain looking down at his lover’s expression. A zing of disquiet erupted in his heart, seeing that tenderness on James’ face.
“No,” James rumbled. “I love you, Edwin. I don’t want to sleep with anyone else but you. I’ve never had anyone in my life, in my corner, like you before. Not since my parents died anyway, and not as an equal in an intimate relationship. I don’t want to be with anyone else, and I don’t want to lose you. I’d rather quit my job, than hurt you that way.”
The burn of tears were hot in the back of his eyes, and he blamed his weepyness squarely on his lover’s shoulders. He couldn’t keep the relief and happiness off his face, and James responded in kind with a soft smile of his own. He took James’ lips in a delicate kiss, hugging him tight with his arms and legs.
He leaned back, his hands framing his lover’s face and said, “I basically accused M of homophobia.”
“What?” James eyes widened.
Q sat up on his lover’s hips, James hands in his when he replied, “I questioned whether he would have assigned the mission if we were not in a homosexual relationship. He deflected, blathering on about our oaths and was offended by the accusation.”
“Well, we did take an oath when we signed up for our jobs, Q,” James responded. Q loved how his lover was unconsciously playing with his fingers while they chatted.
“True, but was there anywhere in your contact that outright stated you had to fuck on the job?” Q challenged.
“No,” he said. “But it was heavily implied that it might come up in the course of a mission.”
Q swooped a hand down James’ chest, admiring the hard muscles and soft skin under his palm. It gave him an excuse to avoid his lover’s gaze when he asked, “What are we going to do if M assigns another one?”
James pulled him down into a kiss again, murmuring against his lips, “There are always options, Q. Always more than one way a job can be done. You and the minions proved that.”
“Their work was exceptional, wasn’t it,” Q replied, satisfied, nipping his lover’s plush lower lip.
“Bennie and Lulu deserve commendations; they really saved my arse; and the mission,” James replied.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get them in their files first thing when I get back next week,” Q said, and snuggled back down on his lover’s chest.
Q had never been more proud of his staff. They’d worked efficiently, and wholeheartedly, to keep their overlord’s lover out of Sotiria’s bed. They always worked hard and well on missions, but Q thought they’d all gone beyond the call of duty for him on this one, working longer hours than usual to get 007 sorted and ready.
Bennie had kitted James out with his Walther PPK with custom silencer, night vision goggles, lock picking kits—old school and electronic—and various knives, just in case the agent had to defend himself in close quarters. But, he’d also created a small handgun version of a dart gun with enough sedative to drop a horse, and keep anyone on the receiving end of it knowing why they’d passed out. Unfortunately, James hadn’t needed to use it. Lastly, he’d outfitted James in BDU’s made of a special black nano-film coated material, making it non-reflective. Even the light of the moon hadn’t given the agent away; he’d been like a shadow in the darkness on the grounds and in the house. Once James was properly outfitted, Bennie had created unobtrusive housing for the Wifi adapter using the keyboard’s USB connector. All James had had to do was replace the existing one, which looked exactly the same, and MI6 had full access to the server, including any keyboard strokes done by Petros. The ingenuity of Bennie’s work had been stunning.
Lulu was a saucy bit of goods, totally devoted to her favorite Double-O. Her coding on accessing the multitude of cameras on the property, and in the house, had been poetry to Q. She had not only looped existing footage for the guardhouse, but monitoring the real-time feed had taken an extreme amount of focus. Q was of course monitoring as well, but Lulu had caught two instances of James being come upon on the grounds, and in the house, notifying the agent with enough time for him to become invisible as he was passed by. She’d caught what Q hadn’t; there had been so many feeds to watch at the time.
In the end, the mission had been so smooth, and had gone off without any death or destruction, it had been a bit anti-climatic when James reported from his car at the end of it. Luther and Molly’s work on the alarms and sensors had been easy as pie for them, and Q’s code work had of course been perfect as always.
James was right, Q thought. There was always a different choice that could be made. Hopefully, M would be able to understand, and accept that in the future. He was a smart, tough man, and Q was sure he’d eventually come around to the idea that James’ availability as a honey-pot asset was now a thing of the past.
Q smiled at his lover in the mirror. James was solely focused on working on Q’s four-in-hand tie. He’d protested that he could do it, but James had wanted to dress his lover himself for the SIS annual ball. Of course it wasn’t called as such, but all branches of the Secret Intelligence Services would be there, as well as many of the MP’s, the Prime Minister, and a few lower Royals.
James’ bright eyes met his in the mirror, smiling he said, “Your parents would have a heart attack seeing you out of your knitwear, Q.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure Amelia will send them a photograph at some point this evening,” he replied. He still wasn’t sure he liked the idea of his twin sister dating a Double-O, but Brent Harrison had been extremely serious when he’d asked Q’s permission to pursue his sister. Of course, the conversation had taken place in the middle of Q-Branch with his minions, again Meerkat like, observing over their monitors. At least, Lulu now had a separate betting pool going that didn’t involve Q and James’ relationship. The fact that she pestered him for updates on Harrison’s efforts to woo Amelia was a bit disconcerting. Q just wanted to stay out of it. Of course, James kept Lulu apprised of any developments he observed, or found out from Q.
“I had a good time with your parents, Jr.,” James teased. His lover had of course charmed the pants off his parents, and he’d been insufferable when he found out Q was actually Orville Edwin Pierce, Jr., after his father. He’d also love the fact that Q was only known as Junior whenever his mother was cross with him. He should’ve thought a bit harder before he’d pinched his mum’s biscuits on the cooling rack, then that little secret would’ve stayed a secret from his lover a little longer.
“Thanks for getting up to milk the cows with daddy,” he replied with a kiss to James’ cheek. They just got back from their visit to the farm this morning. Q was quite happy his lover was a morning person; he’d been allowed to sleep in until breakfast for a change, rather than get up at four in the morning to help with the milking.
James nuzzled the back of Q’s head, “My pleasure.”
Tie finished, James threaded Q’s waistcoat through his arms and over his shoulders. He absolutely adored it, very non-traditional, unlike his lover’s midnight blue tux with black lapels and black bow tie. Of course, James was absolutely gorgeous in his traditional attire, but Q was extremely happy his lover had relented a bit on having his own tuxedo made in a less stodgy style. His tux was black of course, close fitting to his slim frame. But the paisley patterned cashmere waistcoat with varying shades of grays and metallic pewter threads weaved throughout set off the traditional black beautifully, in Q’s opinion.
James finished up, and turned Q to the full-length mirror in their dressing room.
“We look like a right handsome pair, James,” Q stated.
James wrapped his arms around Q, nuzzling his neck, eyes indigo with arousal, taking Q’s form in through the mirror.
“You, Quartermaster are beautiful,” he murmured. “I’m going to have to keep my eye on you all night.”
“I do have to admit, this suit looks much better than the rental from last year,” Q said, cheeky with humor at his lover. “But, I’m sure that you’re the one that needs to be kept out of trouble. Also, I just know M is going to introduce me to all the bureaucrats he can, so I expect you to keep me entertained between mind numbing pleasantries.” Then added, thoughtfully, “Well, that is, if M decides to speak to me.”
“I’m sure he’s cooled down by now, Q,” James replied, straightening his cuff-links. “You, Quartermaster, are someone he will definitely want to rub under the noses of the heads of MI5, and Special Branch.”
Q’s suspension was still in effect until Monday, so he’d not spoken to his boss at all in the days previous. R and the minions kept him apprised of how things were going in Q-Branch daily, and she hadn’t given a flying fuck that Q was suspended, getting him up in the middle of the night to assist in helping 002 out of a sticky situation. Luckily, his parents had slept through Q sitting at his childhood kitchen table, scolding his agent for getting into a fix.
“Ugh, Special Branch. They’re worse than MI5,” Q groused. “Hopefully, we can just socialize most of the time with Amelia, and the minions that are attending. At least that type of conversation is entertaining.”
“You don’t have much experience in attending these functions, do you?” James smirked.
“Of course not! I grew up on a farm in lower Surrey,” he retorted. “The most formal we got was the occasional barn party.”
James grinned, “You can code in your head when you get bored. I’ll let you know when to pay attention. Besides, we can steal away for some privacy, if needed.”
“Oh good, thank you,” Q said, kissing his lover in praise. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be as boring as he anticipated.
Q returned James’ smile from the sidelines, watching him dance with Amelia, who was a vision in a plum metallic floor-length gown. He had always known his twin was an attractive woman, in a brotherly obtuse way, but her magnificent décolletage in that gown had even made James do a double take. Brent Harrison had been reluctant to relinquish his possessive hold on his date, but yielded her hand to James when she pinched his arm. 004 was completely enamored of his sister, and Q knew if the relationship continued, Amelia would be signing loads of Official Secrets Act paperwork in the future.
“I’m happy for you and Bond,” M said, sidling up beside Q, looking very dapper in his traditional black tuxedo, a glass of champagne in hand.
Q raised a surprised brow, “Sir, thank you for saying that. It’s appreciated.”
“Do you think it’ll get more serious then is already is, Q?” he inquired.
“It’s very serious now, M,” Q deflected. Whether or not they would formalize their partnership further was a discussion for another day. Q wasn’t sure James was the marrying kind, but Q wouldn’t mind being married to James Bond. He’d at least have a ring on James’ finger to show he was taken.
M’s hazel eyes met Q’s when he stated, “So, I should just expect that you’ll adjust the parameters of missions in the future for Bond?”
“I run missions and adjust as needed for all of my agents, M. Bond included,” he said. “You’ve known this since I was promoted to Quartermaster. So it shouldn’t surprise you that mission plans can change to accommodate the skills and preferences of the agents in my care.”
“Q-Branch was an entirely different beast under Boothroyd,” M voiced.
“It was, sir,” he acknowledged. “I don’t wish to disparage the Major’s work and his methods worked just fine during the cold war, but the intelligence community is a whole other animal now.” He paused, then decided to go for it given this opportunity, “MI6 has always had a preference for orphans, expecting that a lack of blood ties would be preferable in an agent. But, it amazes me that psych and the executive branch believe they can function just fine without any type of social support at home.”
Q nodded his head to James and Amelia, as well as Harrison, who was dancing and laughing with Lulu. “How can we expect our agents to function abroad, be tortured on occasion, risking their lives on a regular basis, without having some form of comfort to come home to?”
“As you know, Q,” M hesitated. “Comfort at home provides our enemies with pressure points.”
“True enough, sir,” Q said, watching his lover whisper into his sister’s ear. “But, I believe we need to find a balance, everyone has a breaking point. An agent that has nothing to live for, beyond love of country, can be more dangerous to the service than one that has someone else to live for, in my opinion. We want our agents, our investments, to come home. Why should they bother if there’s nothing to come home to?”
“I understand what you are saying, Q and you might be right,” M nodded. “I’ll think long and hard on what you’ve just said. Perhaps, we can discuss it further on Monday when you get back.”
“I’d like that, sir,” Q smiled.
“Q, your work has been exemplary since you were promoted, and I trust your judgment in these matters to an extent,” he continued. “However, if I believe you need it, I will pull you back so fast your head will spin. Just keep me in the loop on any major changes to mission plans going forward.”
“Understood sir,” Q replied. “So, am I out of the dog house now?”
“I can see why Bond likes you so much, Q,” M snorted into his drink, shaking his head. “You can be very entertaining. And yes, I think we’ve sorted out our differences for the time being.”
Q clinked his glass against his boss’, “Good, it was getting cold out there.”
M guffawed and slapped Q on the back, taking his shoulder to start directing him around the room, whispering in his ear, “Now that we’ve buried the hatchet for the evening, there are some people I need you to talk to. Once that’s done, you can enjoy the rest of your evening unencumbered by politics.”
It took an enormous amount of effort for Q not to roll his eyes. He could only hope the abhorrent part of the evening wouldn’t take too long. Oh crap, M was taking him straight to the heads of MI5 and Special Branch, bureaucrats surrounded them, mostly old codgers it seemed. Q could only hope they all didn’t smell of mothballs.
“Ah, Mallory!” George Saunders, the head of Special Branch greeted. “Who’s your young man?”
“George,” Mallory shook the older man’s hand. “May I introduce, Dr. Pierce, the head of Technical Services Division.”
“Yes! Yes, your Quartermaster,” Saunders held out his hand to Q. “I didn’t get to meet you at last year’s ball.”
“Sir, a pleasure,” Q said, the old man’s hand seemed so delicate under his fingers, belying the strength of character the head of Special Branch was well known for. George Saunders had been in the service in one way or another since he was a very young man in the fifties. He’d been the executive of his branch for over thirty years. There was constant speculation in the service as to when the old man would finally retire, and of course the political maneuvering of various bureaucrats trying to be first in line for the position.
“Mallory here has shared some of the reports of your work,” Saunders said. “Of course, the technical aspects are over my old head, but I can’t argue with the exemplary results you’ve achieved since that mess last year.”
Q put on his polite face, aloof but with a small smile to say, “You’re too kind sir.”
“Oh, enough of the boring pleasantries, Doctor,” he replied. “I saw you arrive with Mr. Bond. Now, I don’t quite get the whole homosexual thing you youngsters go in for these days. But, I have to say he’s a fine specimen of a man. Congratulations on reeling him in.”
“Why thank you, sir,” Q grinned at the old codger. “We’re quite happy together.”
“Good, good, now who’s the young lady he’s dancing with?” Saunders asked, his watery blue eyes on the couple.
James was spinning Amelia in the middle of the dance floor. They looked beautiful together. If Q didn’t know that James loved him to distraction, he would’ve been a bit concerned. “Amelia, my sister.”
“Well, the two of you did well in the gene pool,” Saunders’ stated with a smile.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a gravelly voice cut in. Q started, a bit alarmed that the head of MI5 had snuck up on him. He’d met Herbert Breckinridge only once before, and it was too soon to have to see him again, in Q’s opinion.
“Quartermaster,” Breckinridge greeted, holding out a hand. Q really didn’t have any desire to touch the man, but good manners made one do things they often didn’t want to do.
“Mr. Breckinridge,” Q greeted, taking the man’s hand, repulsed at the wet, clammy cold of it. Gross. All his good humor was gone in that moment. “Nice to see you again.”
The possessive light in Breckinridge’s brown eyes was the same as it had been the first time Q had met him. The man’s gaze slithered over Q’s face. He was going to need a good scrub later, to get the feel of that gaze off his skin.
The man finally released Q’s digits—he really wanted to wipe the wetness off his hand, but there was no subtle way to do it—before saying, “I’d like to schedule a meeting with you soon, Quartermaster.”
“Ah, well my schedule’s very full at the moment, sir,” Q deflected.
“I’m sure you could spare an hour,” Breckinridge insisted. “I’d like to discuss a technical issue we’ve been having at my branch.”
Issue, my arse, Q thought. A warm arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him in close saving him from having to answer. Relieved, Q leaned into the embrace.
“Breckinridge,” James nodded. “If you’ll excuse us, I have a matter of importance to discuss with my partner.”
He didn’t even wait for Breckinridge to reply, just wheeled Q away from the group without another word. Rude. It was fantastic in Q’s opinion. They received a raised brow from M, but the head of MI6 didn’t protest James stealing Q away.
“Oh, thank you, love,” Q muttered. “That man gives me the creeps. Oh, do you have a handkerchief on you?”
James pulled a monogrammed one from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Brilliant! Thank god, my hand is soaked through,” Q ranted. “That man has the clammiest hands. It’s just grotesque.”
“I could tell your shields went up to maximum from across the dance floor, Q,” James said, smiling at the production Q was making of wiping his hands. “I’ve never trusted Breckinridge myself. I hadn’t realized you’d met him before.”
Q looked back at the group. Breckinridge was still staring, heavy brows low over his eyes, menacing. The look sent a shiver of alarm up his spine.
“He tried to aggressively recruit me when I was just one of the minions,” Q said. “He forced a meeting on me when I was first hired, then regular calls for months ordering me to meet with him. Those I ignored until the day I came out of my building to find a couple of his goons and a car. Luckily, Mrs. Hamilton was getting her mail, so they didn’t do anything. I called Q, and he got M to get him to call off his dogs.”
James frowned, “It doesn’t seem like he’s given up on the matter.”
“Well, he hasn’t tried again since then,” Q replied with a squeeze to his lover’s waist. “Not even when I was promoted.”
“I don’t like it,” James said. “Maybe I need to get the chauffeur service going again.”
“Oh, no,” Q protested. “I’m finally able to walk just fine and take the tube. There’s no need for my agents to ferry me about town.”
“It’s not safe, Q,” James challenged.
“It’s fine!” he replied.
“We’ll talk about it later,” James replied.
Q cut in, “No we won’t.”
His lover just raised a brow at him before continuing, “Right now, I need to take you around the dance floor.”
“Good lord,” Q rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of his lover. “I have two left feet, James!”
“Come on, you,” James smiled, pulling Q along by the hand, insistent. “I’ll lead.”
Q allowed his lover to pull him in close, surrounded by his heat. Cheeks hot he stated, “You’re such a shit, don’t complain if I break one of your toes.”
James just leaned down, kissing the tip of his nose, before sweeping Q off his feet.
He’d not broken any of James’ toes, he was an exquisite dancer, and Q hadn’t had any trouble following his lead. The air was crisp in Q’s nose and against his cheeks, autumn sunlight attempted to peak through the clouds on his way to the tube station. James was cleaning up their breakfast dishes and would be in to Six later to meet with M about his next mission. He was happy, content, and so in love it was absurd. Q smiled at his maudlin thoughts. Even after months of being together, James could still make him stupid. It was lovely.
His smile widened the ball still fresh in his mind. They’d left a bit early with Amelia, Harrison and Q’s minions ending up at a dance club. Q had made James hold his suit jacket while he danced to the techno beat with his staff. Not one of them had an ounce of rhythm, and most of the crowd gave the geeks a wide berth due to their spastic dance moves. James and Harrison had seemed content to watch Q-Branch’s tribal gyrations with Amelia, holding court along the bar. Q figured he must’ve been doing something fairly enticing since James ravished him vigorously when they got home. Or his lover just had a fetish for Q in a bespoke suit. He’d been too sleepy afterward to protest James laughing at him, still in his tie, shirt, waistcoat, and socks sprawled, sweaty and cum riddled, in the middle of their bed.
A strong arm and a prick to his neck startled him out of his thoughts.
“Oi!” he said, slapping at the pain in his neck, trying to grab hold of the arm around his chest. The street and buildings were listing to and fro, before darkness crept slowly across his vision. As the blackness took over, it occurred to him that James had been right. Keeping the Double-O chauffeur service would’ve been a good idea.
“Oh, shit,” Q croaked, his mouth tasted like the back end of a horse—though, he was making an assumption, of course—and the throbbing behind his eyes made him wonder how much he’d had to drink last night. Last night? Last night, he and James had been quietly reading on the sofa with Alan and Steve nesting on their bodies, still recovering from their late night on Saturday. He hadn’t drunk alcohol last night that he could recall, anyways.
“He’s finally coming around, Sir,” a voice in the room said, starting Q out of his confused thoughts.
He couldn’t move, jerking upright, his neck sent a slice of pain up the back of his head. He struggled to get his eyes open and his hands free; everything was fuzzy, full of low light, and hazy man-sized shadows.
“What the hell is going on,” he barked, trying to make heads or tails of his current situation with his eyes not working properly.
An acrid stench stabbed his olfactory nerves, jarring everything into clarity. The man who’d placed the smelling salts under his nose backed away. He was about James’ age, in his late thirties, and built like a lorry with muddy brown hair. The harsh, heavy bones in his face did not make for a handsome countenance. If the term goon had a picture in the dictionary next to it, this man’s mug would be the one. There was a second goon in the enormous room he was in, though goon number two was blond and a bit wiry of frame. Still menacing though with cold blue eyes, definitely not beautiful, like James’ were.
He was tied to a chair in the middle of an old warehouse. It must be close to the Thames; he could hear water near by. At least he hoped it was, then he might still be in London.
“Quartermaster, are your faculties in order yet?” another voice, rough and hoarse asked, much too close for comfort at Q’s side.
“Good god! Breckinridge, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Q burst out, startled to have the creep so close to his person.
“You continue to refuse to meet with me, Q.” he replied. “I had to take alternative measures to get you away from stodgy old M, and your Double-O lover.”
“You’re an arse,” Q spat, and got back handed in the mouth for his cheek. Oh boy, was James going to be pissed. Q just hoped he’d get to see the results of James’ anger taken out on Breckinridge’s head in the end.
“Shut up, you little bastard,” he hissed. “You’re going to do as I tell you. If you don’t, it won’t be pleasant.”
“Well, get on with it! What the fuck do you want? No sense in beating about the bush,” Q exploded, adrenalin pumping through his veins. “You’re not Dr. Evil, you know. Let’s get past the inane chitchat.”
He got backhanded again, in addition to a hand in his hair pulling his head back. Warm blood was cooling on his skin under his throbbing nose, the iron taste of it strong on his tongue. The man’s putrid breaths fanned his face, and he grimaced at the smell. Good god, Breckinridge had horrendous halitosis.
Q supposed he should be a bit scared, but he knew James and the minions would be coming for him. He had still his taser-pen under his mustard colored cardigan. It had been Lulu’s suggestion to put a tracker in when they were discussing the design. He just had to stay alive until either he could break free, and fry them all with it, or James burst through the door like a proper hero to Q’s damsel in distress. Either way, until his hands were free, he’d have to sit tight.
Breckinridge pulled Q’s head to the side so he could see a loan laptop sitting on a metal table on his left. His vision was a bit distorted from his spectacles being askew on his face, but he saw a young bespectacled man was sitting next to it, subdued from the look on his face. Q thought the blond man couldn’t be much older than twenty-five, if that. Q quite liked the oversized thick collared powder blue and red striped jumper he wore. He’d have to ask the kid where he’d purchased it, if he survived that is.
The click of a switchblade was stark in his ear, Q watched from the corner of his eye as the knife was brought close to his face.
“Now, Quartermaster. You’re going to behave yourself and do as I say,” Breckinridge ordered. “You’re going to access all information on MI6’s current operations and pending missions for me. Mr. Peabody over there is going to make sure you don’t alert anyone to your presence in the system. Once you’re in, he’ll give you the server I.P. address to transfer the data. Understood?”
Q’s bonds were cut and his hair used to pull him up from the chair. He was going to have a bloody bald spot if the bastard kept tugging at his head. Breckinridge frog marched him to the table, knife poking him in the back, and plopped him down in front of the laptop.
“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to do this?” Q groused at his captor. “You’re going to kill me anyway in the end. And get your greasy fingers out of my hair!”
Breckinridge pulled his head back hard, his scalp stinging from the pressure.
“You’re too much of an asset to kill out right, Q,” he whispered, shaking Q’s head a bit. “Eventually, I’m sure you’ll do as I say. It won’t be a pleasant existence for you otherwise if you don’t.”
Q’s hair was finally released and he couldn’t help but rub at the sting. Haughty, he asked, “And what are you going to do with the information? Find a hollowed out volcano to rule the world from?”
His sass only got him knocked upside the head again, his right ear stinging when Breckinridge was done. Though, Q was happy to see the bastard’s head was on the verge of exploding, he was so red in the face.
A click of a safety releasing, and the press of the muzzle of a gun hard against the back of his head was a bit disconcerting. Peabody was wide eyed leaning away from him in the neighboring chair. Q knew he just had to keep stalling, if he seemed to comply perhaps that would give James enough time to get him out of this mess. His hands were free now; he might be able to get his pen out of his pocket at some point as well. At least the bastard wasn’t breathing on him anymore, so the air was a bit better even though it mostly smelled of his own blood under his nose.
“Get in the system, now!” he ordered, pressing the gun harder against Q’s skull. “Peabody, keep an eye on what he’s doing.”
“Yes, sir,” Peabody acknowledged softly.
The laptop wasn’t his. His, was probably in the hands of a stranger with his satchel, phone, and notes. Not that he was worried that anyone could access it, his encryption was flawless, but it just meant he’d have to spend time tracking it down when all this was done.
Q placed his hands on the keyboard waking the machine up, wondering if Breckinridge would get annoyed if his keyboarding was slow, when he heard the thud of a body hit the floor behind him. Oh good, James was finally here and quick as a mouse ducked under the table as more shots rang out. Breckinridge was shooting wildly at James and 004 in panic, as the two men split in different directions simultaneously. Q pulled out his taser-pen, he would’ve been happy hanging out with Peabody under the table if his lover wasn’t in imminent peril of getting shot. 004 was fighting hand to hand with goon number one, while James was rolling and jumping all over the room to avoid Breckinridge’s shots. He readied his pen, the click of it arming was musical before the electrical charge burst out of the end with a high pitched whine.
The blue of the electricity encasing Breckinridge was a thing of beauty, as was his howl of surprised pain. Q kept the charge going, enjoying the sight of the bastard flopping around on the floor like a fish until the gun was released from his hand. James, fierce rage on his face, kicked Breckinridge in the knee; the cracking bone loud, though soon drowned out by the man’s scream of pain.
Q heard another crunch and turned in time to see 004 finish breaking goon number one’s neck, dropping the body in a heap at his feet. Perhaps, Harrison dating Amelia wasn’t such a back thing, he thought, taking in the savage countenance of the ginger haired agent.
“Q!” James’ low voice registered and Q realized he had his Walther trained on Peabody.
“Please! Please, he has my fiancé. She’ll be killed if he doesn’t contact his agent in three hours!” he cried.
“Do you know where she’s being held?” Q asked, resisting James’ efforts to tug him out from under the table.
“No, he just showed me a picture,” Peabody said, his hands still in the air. “I’m just a MI5 lower tech, they snatched me off the street this morning.”
“That makes two of us then,” Q replied, finally allowing his lover to pull him out.
James proceeded to squeeze the life out of him, his solid body trembling under Q’s palms. Q reveled in the feel and scent of his lover, melting against that strong frame as the fright of the last hour eased from him. James was muttering ‘I love you’s and ‘you’re never taking the tube again’ nonsense into Q’s ear. Q just gave him a hard squeeze in response.
“I’m alright, love,” he whispered.
James pulled back, framing his face with heated hands before kissing him deeply. It hurt his split lip a bit, but Q didn’t care, just enjoyed having his lover in his arms again and being safe once more. James pulled away again, placing desperate kisses on Q’s cheeks and eyes, spectacles getting lost in his fringe. It took a little time, but Q finally stopped James’ distressed caresses by pulling away slightly to capture those blue eyes with his own. James was panting, white as a sheet, with fear and dismay prominent on his feature. His eyes were stark with love and devotion upon Q. God, he thought, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this man.
Words collided between them with Q’s “Do you want to register a civil partnership,” cut through by James’ “We should get married.”
Q grinned back at James, they were ridiculous, he thought. James pulled him back in tight, holding him and just breathing him in. Q happily let him; there was nothing so important at that moment then having James hold him for as long as needed. If he were honest with himself, he needed it too.
James finally released his tight hold, smoothing his fingers over Q’s face when he asked, “How badly are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, my nose, lip and ear are a bit sore, is all,” Q replied, gripping James’ shoulders. “They didn’t hurt me otherwise.” Those shoulders relaxed at his words and Q let them go.
James tilted his head, “I’ve got him, Lulu. He’s not hurt, but send a med-evac team for Breckinridge and a clean up team. We have two bodies inside and two outside that need to be dealt with. Also, put 002 and 006 on stand-by, we will have extraction details shortly.”
Q nodded and straightened his cardigan before moving toward the man still on the floor, guarded by 004’s silenced Walther. Breckinridge’s bloodless craggy face grimaced at him.
“Where are your men holding Peabody’s fiancé?” he inquired with a raised brow.
“Fuck you!” was what he received for his haughty brow. Q proceeded to step on Breckinridge’s broken knee, satisfied with the pained howl he received.
“I can do this all day,” Q said increasing the pressure and watching the man writhe. “Where is she?”
“2311 Lyndhurst Road, Camden,” he cried. “Please stop!”
Q removed his foot, and his eyes met 004’s. The agent was slightly wide eyed in surprise. “I can be blood thirsty when I need to be, 004,” he stated.
“I can see that, Quartermaster,” Harrison replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good,” Q smiled, and then slapped his hands together. “Now! How long until evac, 007?”
“Five minutes, Q,” James replied, reeling Q away from Breckinridge with an arm around his waist. James stilled for a moment before pulling out his earwig. “Here, Lulu wants to talk to you about wedding plans.”
“Oh, good god!” Q burst out, taking the device.
Dr. Dave had cheerfully taken enough blood from Q to satisfy a hungry vampire. The doctor’s excuse was to test it to see what sedative had been used, but that didn’t wash with Q. The bloodletting had been excessive in his opinion, but he’d been able to argue out of getting a C-T scan, since he’d not been hit over the head with anything during his ordeal.
James was hovering over him like a beautiful bespoke suited blue-eyed specter, watching the nurse with his hawkish gaze, taking Q’s blood pressure. James had been insistent that he get check out by medical, and no amount of stroppiness on Q’s part moved his lover to let it go. So he was sitting on a bed, swinging his feet in irritation, watching M wait until the nurse was gone to discuss his abduction. Luckily, he’d been able to put Lulu off the wedding plans for the time being, but he just knew she was going to swoop down on him, with his minions in tow, as soon as she saw him. His plan, he decided, was to sic her on James, they were always in cahoots anyways. They could plan his wedding together, and he could just inform them of his preferences for the event.
The door closed behind the nurse, finally leaving them alone.
“I’m glad you’re in one piece, Q,” M started. “When Ms. Lewis notified me you hadn’t come in, and that the tracker showed you were in Wandsworth, I wasn’t sure what 007 and 004 would find.”
“Luckily, Breckinridge needed me alive, Sir,” Q replied, leaning into James who’d joined him on the bed. “He wanted me to access MI6’s data on current operations and pending missions.”
M raised a brow, “If he’d had access to that data, he could’ve done a lot of damage.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me to find out he was angling to get you sacked, M,” Q explained. “If selected missions weren’t successful for a period of time, it would’ve caused a Security Intelligence Committee hearing on the matter.”
M nodded in agreement, “Agreed. Once the bastard’s out of surgery, he’ll go into interrogation. I’m confident we can confirm our suspicions, and identify any other cohorts in MI5. The SIC has a lot to clean up over there. I’m hopeful Breckinridge’s plans only involved a select few agents. Otherwise, I may end up getting stuck sorting it out, and I have enough to do here. 002 and 006 were successful in extracting Peabody’s fiancé, by the way.”
“Good, good,” Q said. “We’ll have to do a full check on him, to be sure, but I don’t believe he was involved, beyond his usefulness as tech support for Breckinridge’s scheme.”
M didn’t acknowledge Q’s conjecture beyond nodding his head. A small smile crept up his face before he said, “I also hear congratulations are in order.”
Q rolled his eyes, “Yes, thank you Sir. It’s good to know that Q-Branch’s gossip mill is as efficient as ever.”
“Yes, and now I believe I’ll head down there to collect my winnings,” M grinned. “007, excellent work. Q, get some rest.”
Gobsmacked, Q could only stare as his boss left with a skip in his step. James was trembling against him. His lover’s high-pitched giggles erupted when the door fully closed.
“You utter shit!” Q burst out. “Did you know about this?”
Q watched James fall back onto the bed, clutching his sides. It took a massive amount of effort on his part to keep the haughty derision on his face as his fiancé’s mirth turned into uncontrollable, excessively loud laughter.
Q’s smile widened, enjoying the soft caress of the lips that were nuzzling under his ear. The lateness of the hour, the darkness of the clouds covering the waning moon, and the scuff of shoes on the damp pavement could have been ominous on any other night. But, walking arm-in-arm with James, his husband, from the Queen & Crescent, the night, and the man at his side, were nothing except beautiful.
“Thank you,” Q said, giving James’ arm a squeeze.
A kiss against his temple was received before James asked, “For what?”
“For keeping Lulu and Amelia reined in on their wedding plans,” he explained.
“My pleasure, if we’d left it up to them, we’d still be talking about getting married, instead of actually being married,” James said, content, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“True, they had such high hopes,” Q said, returning James’ smile. “They’ll just have to make due planning Amelia and 004’s wedding if the time comes.”
“It’ll be much more satisfying for Lulu than what we wanted,” James agreed. “Though, she did make a lovely best man for me.”
Q snorted, “Yes, she did. Was it my imagination, or did she come in her pants when we kissed to seal the vows? She was awfully red in the face when we were done.”
“I think she might have,” James said, then threw his head back in a full-bellied laugh. “I don’t think your mum knew, but your father had an inkling.”
Q chuckled; his father had indeed given Lulu the side eye after the kiss, before giving him a wink and a hug. The last three weeks had been a whirlwind for them, posting the bans, and keeping Lulu and Amelia from making a big production out of their nuptials. Though their proposals had been less than romantic, they’d both agreed that a simple civil ceremony, as soon as could possibly be managed was their preference. They’d gotten married at the registrar’s office with just Lulu, Amelia standing up for Q, and his parents. Nice and quiet, with the traditional scripted I do’s. Q had been terrified that they’d have to write their own vows—Lulu and Amelia’s idea, of course—however, Q was in good company in the emotional constipation department with James. They’d gotten their way, much to the ladies’ disappointment.
“How long do you think they’ll keep going?” James asked, ushering Q up the steps of their building.
“You are so naïve,” he said, shaking his head. “Q-Branch minions can party until the end of time, given half a chance and unlimited alcohol. They will go on until they get booted out the door. I anticipate R will have to deal with quite a few hangovers tomorrow.”
“Hopefully there won’t be an international crisis then,” James chuckled. “England would fall.”
“It’s probably a good thing M and Tanner already headed home,” Q said. “Though, I do fear for Moneypenny’s virtue. Bennie has a serious crush.”
“I’d be more concerned for Bennie, if I were you,” James winked, opening the door to the flat.
Q opened his mouth to refute that statement, but yelped instead as he was thrown over James’ shoulder.
“Oi! What the hell are you doing?” Q groused at the lovely view of James’ backside.
“Just carrying my new spouse over the threshold,” James returned.
“Put me down, you wanker! And why am I the bride in this scenario?” he complained, hands already squeezing James’ posterior. It was right there, how could he resist?
He received a whack on his own buttocks for his sass, “Because, you’re the pretty one, and built with all of the bone density of a bird.”
James set him back down on his feet with a kiss to his nose, and Q went cross-eyed for a moment. “You’re dreadful,” he said, giving James a pinch to his side.
“Yes, but you love me,” he returned, pulling Q in for a deep kiss.
Q sighed into his mouth, pliant in James’ arms. The slow burn of desire that he’d been experiencing most of the day was heightened at finally being alone with his lover. He clutched James closer, humming with pleasure at being surrounded by heat and hard muscle. Q savored the taste of him, and figured he’d never get enough of kissing him. James pulled back a bit, almost nuzzling Q’s lips with soft sucks and nibbles, framing Q’s face with his large hands.
The soft sounds of their kisses were interrupted by the yowling demands of Alan and Steve, the cats padding down the hallway to wind around their feet. James’ eyes caressed his face, peace and warmth washed over Q’s skin before Alan’s claws sinking into his thigh pulled him out of the moment.
“I’d better feed them, or we’ll never get any peace tonight,” Q murmured, hushed by the tenderness of James’ expression.
James smiled, “I’ll see you soon, then.”
Q received another soft peck before he was released. James bent to give their boys both a quick stroke, before disappearing further into the flat. Prying Alan off his thigh, Q had to shake himself out of the sensual haze he was in. Even after all their time together, James could still make his brain abdicate his intelligence with little effort. It was remarkable, in an aggravating and exasperating way.
“Come along, you two,” Q said, his cats hot on his heels to the kitchen.
Q left his boys happily purring over their food bowls, anticipation swirling in his stomach at the night ahead of him. He stopped in the door of their bedroom to take in the site of James sitting cross-legged in the middle of their bed, book in hand, in his soft navy blue dressing gown. It was such a domestic sight except for the lube prominently displayed on the nightstand that belied the casual façade. Q took a moment to admire the hint of golden thigh peaking out through the drape of the fabric.
“You coming to bed anytime soon?” James asked, raising an eyebrow at Q.
“Impatient,” Q stated smiling, he sauntered past to the bespoke vault. James’ eyebrow climbed higher in response, his lips quirked, eyeing Q in his blue checked suit.
“You better hurry up,” he said. “Unless you want me to fuck you in that suit.”
Q’s smile widened, but he did take James at his word, his blue eyes were almost black, pupils already blown from arousal. Q quickened his pace; his poor Aubergine suit had received enough abuse since he’d started to wear it regularly. His blue one was still pristine in that regard, though Q knew that James would eventually defile him in it. But that wasn’t going to be tonight, Q was determined to be properly naked with his new husband.
Disrobing, he grinned at the image popping into his head of his minions carousing in the pub to celebrate their nuptials. It had been a very casual reception, full of fish and chips, beer and wine. He’d pretty much left all of the details to James to deal with, and had been pleasantly surprised his lover had booked their favorite place for the night. He should have put a bet in to Lulu on whether Bennie would get lucky with Moneypenny tonight. By the time they’d left, the two had been flirting aggressively with each other in a dark corner.
He placed his suit on the valet stand, leaving it for his fusspot to take care of later. James was very insistent on the proper way to tend a bespoke suit, and Q often wondered how he could stand getting them ripped and dirty in the line of duty. Naked, he pulled on his own soft flannel dressing gown, the purple and lime green striped fabric pleasantly soft against his skin, the skim of it teased his sensitive thighs and groin.
Eagerly he rifled through his folded pants—he still didn’t understand why James asserted that pants needed to be folded—halting when the platinum band on his ring finger glinted in the light. The Celtic love knot surrounding it was a subtle, yet beautiful, declaration of their feelings for one another. Q gave himself the once over in the full length mirror on the wall, and still wondered how in the world he’d gotten so lucky to have James Bond love him so much. Besides the fact he had a decent head of hair, and had a brilliant mind, Q didn’t think he was much to look at really. He was pale, lanky, bespectacled, often stroppy and a bit aloof. It was still baffling after almost a year that James had pursued him so aggressively, and now he was married to the man.
He shook himself out of his musings when his fingers found the long velvet box he’d been seeking. Smiling, he made his way back into the bedroom. James was no longer pretending to read, just sitting in the middle of the turned down bed waiting on him. He lifted a brow, curious when he caught sight of the box in Q’s hand.
“I got something for you,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of James.
“I thought we agreed not to get each other presents,” James stated.
Q gave him a quick kiss on the lips, “Well, the wedding bands, dealing with Lulu and Amelia, and bringing your equipment back in one piece from your last mission is present enough for me. But, I’ve been working on this for you, and I just finished it a few days ago. It seemed appropriate to give it to you tonight.”
James took the box and when he opened it a slow grin took over his face. “Don’t tease me, Q. Are these what I think they are?” he asked.
“The sliver one is a taser-pen with tracker and the gold does explode,” Q replied, his tum fluttered at the sight of James’ delight. “Both can be armed with two clicks and the gold has a blast radius of five meters. Otherwise they’re perfectly functional to write with.”
“Fantastic!” he said, pulling out the gold pen, testing the weight of it in his fingers. “Thank you.”
“Don’t expect to get many more, so make it count when you use it,” Q dictated, it wouldn’t due for James to know that he’d made five in all for him. He’d probably go through them like candy otherwise.
He placed the pen back in the case and set it on the nightstand. Removing Q’s spectacles and setting them aside, James placed his palms on Q’s cheeks. His blue eyes seeking, James said, “I adore you, Edwin.”
Pleased shock at the words sent a blush to the roots of his hair. Chagrined, he cleared his throat, “Yes, well… I adore you too.” It felt like his face was on fire, and it was getting worse the longer James grinned at him, entertained.
Q finally burst out, “Are we done with the love stuff for the time being? I expected to get a leg over, not indulge in soppy chitchat all night!”
“You’re such a little shit, Q,” James stated, pulling him in for a fervent kiss.
Q’s, “Finally!” was a bit muffled by James’ lips, but they felt so good that Q was just fine with being silenced on the matter. James pulled him in, arranging Q to his satisfaction to deepen the kiss. The wet sounds of their kisses were hushed, but erotic to Q’s ears, as was the taste of James’ in his mouth. A clever tongue teased his pallet, coaxing his own to press deep in return.
Clutching James’ shoulders, he wrapped his legs around his lover’s flanks pressing close. Nimble fingers untied and parted his robe, exposing his hardening cock between his thighs to a hot hand. Q arched and gasped into the feeling of tight heat surrounding his sensitive flesh. The cold of the ring on James’ finger was a pleasurable shock on his skin. James pulled his dressing gown off his shoulders one handed, before grasping the back of his nape to capture his lips again with bruising pressure. James was stroking his prick slowly, spreading pre-cum down his length, and Q couldn’t help but hump up into that hand mindlessly, his cock throbbing from the sensation.
A hand in his hair pulled him back, his breath caught in his throat at the hunger on James’ face. The plains of his cheeks bones stark in the low light, eyes black with want raked down Q’s form. His nipples tightened, pulsing in time with his cock under James’ stare. James released his prick, wrapping his arm around Q, holding him still, exposed.
“I’m never going to get enough of you,” James growled. It would have been a cheesy line in any other circumstance, but James’ seriousness and possessiveness was evident to Q. “I love you so much, it scares me sometimes.”
Q really didn’t know what to say, except a hushed, “Me too.”
James tugged him in close for a hug, holding tight burying his face in Q’s neck.
“It’ll be alright,” he whispered. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
James didn’t reply, just squeezed him tighter, breathing him in. Q relaxed in his arms, sweeping his hands over James’ shoulders and back, running long fingers through his hair, hoping to sooth the turmoil James was feeling in that moment.
James placed kisses up his neck, taking his mouth gently in light, teasing pecks. “Sorry,” he murmured against Q’s lips.
He framed James’ face, searching his eyes, “There’s no need to be. I’m obsessed with you too, and I worry you’re not going to come home to me every time you go on mission. But, it’s part of who you are, and I’ve accepted that.”
James relaxed under Q’s hands, “I make every effort now to come home, to come home to you.”
“I know,” Q replied, leaning down to kiss him softly.
James opened beautifully under his mouth. The desire that had been dialed down to a low simmer surged between them. Q fumbled to open James’ dressing gown, greedy to get his hands on the hot flesh of his lover, but James thwarted him. James flipped him onto his back, spreading his legs, covering him in sinew and heat. Q arched and clutched at James’ head as his nipples were sucked and bitten, tingling heat raced down his body to settle into an insistent thrum in his groin.
“Wait, what!” Q gasped, when James pulled away back onto his knees. Abrupt hard hands rolled Q over onto his stomach and he squeaked in surprise at the bite he was given on his butt cheek.
James was kissing and nuzzling his behind, nipping at the dip of his spine at the top when his hands spread his cleft wide. Q clutched the pillow and his eyes widened when he felt hot breaths on his hole.
“You’re not going to… Oh fuck,” Q gasped.
“Q… Q,” James murmured, in his ear.
Q flapped a hand at him, “’m sleeping.”
That warm body against his back cuddled closer, cock wet against his buttocks. Q was just starting to drift off, wondering when James was going to clean him up.
“Q… where do you want to go on our honeymoon?” he continued, giving Q a little tickle to his side.
Irritated, he flapped his hand over his shoulder again and ended up patting James on the forehead. He was too fucked out to have a conversation right now. “I’m sleeping. As long as I don’t have to fly and you’re naked, don’t care,” he groused.
Beyond the languid contentment and darkness, a soft kiss was placed on his nape and the whispered words that followed him into his dreams were, “I’m going to teach you how to sail.”
The lunge and shift of the ship under him was almost hypnotic, the sounds of snapping sails, and thuds of the waves caressing the hull almost in discord, were the only thing keeping Q from falling asleep to the rocking. That, and the sight of his husband at the helm, it was too lovely a view to close his eyes on for long. James was poetry and artistry all wrapped up in one alluring package, his feet planted for balance, stance relaxed with an erotic continuous sway of his hips to the motions of the ship cutting through the blue-green waters of the Mediterranean. James’ low-slung cotton trousers and button down were teasing Q as the wind exposed glimpses of his husband’s golden flanks, chest, and if he was lucky an occasional nipple, peaked from the breeze. They were in the fourth day of a four-week sailing honeymoon, and Q planned on enjoying every minute of it, in and out of his clothes.
Of course, he outfitted the ship with all of the tech he needed to stay online and assist his agents in the event of an emergency. James had just let him have his way, but seemed very capable—if the last four days was any indication—of keeping Q away from his computers most of the time.
It had been almost a year since their first night together, when Q didn’t ever think James Bond, agent 007, would want any more than a one-night stand. He was never gladder to be wrong in his life. Like the idiots they were, their decision to get married had been a culmination of ridiculous and hair raising events, culminating with blurted simultaneous statements slash requests of “we should get married” and “do you want to register a civil partnership?” Not the most romantic of proposals, but Q was very satisfied with the end results.
Q was brought out of his musings at his lover’s voice, “Come take the helm, love. You need to learn a new skill.”
Q removed his floppy hat—that wasn’t doing much to reduce the freckles he was acquiring from the sun—and got up from his lounging to wrap his slim arms around his golden lover. His fingertips, delved into the top of those low-slung trousers to tease the indents defining James’ flanks. Unfortunately, his husband wouldn’t be deterred, and pulled Q’s hands out of the place they’d wanted to be and moved Q in front of him. His dark hands were beautiful on Q’s, not quite as milky pale as they usually were, digits. The Celtic patterned wedding bands clicked softly together as their fingers curled around the wheel.
“Alright, I get the hint,” Q groused playfully. “How do I drive this thing?”
“Steer, Q. You’re going to steer using the wheel,” James chuckled before running his lips down Q’s neck. “I’m going to take you all over this yacht and teach you how to sail.”
“Take me all over to shag, more like,” Q stated, and then jumped at the pinch he received on his bottom.
James’ squeezed him tight nuzzling his wild locks at the back of his head before whispering, “Love you, so much.”
Q turned to give his beautiful secret agent lover and husband a kiss of praise for the words. He didn’t know what their future would hold, but he’d hold on to James and their life together for as long as he could. He was so grateful that James had kissed him senseless that first night, convincing Q to allow him through the doorway of his flat and into his life.
Prequel: How to Shag Your Quartermaster (Properly)
The Ian Flemming’s characters and the universe of Skyfall (2012) movie canon are not mine, no copyright infringement is intended and no money is made from this fan work.
My thanks to Xphil98197 for beta’ing my work, you’re the best.
Just perfect. I think I’m going to spend today rereading both of these…once I get EAD prepped.
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Thanks DJQ! This series was really a lot of fun to write.
Woohoo what a great sequel! Although some trepidation of imaging Q and sailing going easy!
Thanks glisterghost! So glad you enjoyed it! Q has James there to keep an eye on him and teach him how to sail. But you’re right, Q is a trouble magnet keeping James on his toes! Thanks for reading. Best, The Nut.