Work Text:
Staying after-hours to work on pressing projects was nothing new to Q. It was a nearly-daily occurrence anymore, what with the move to the old Underground and the rebuilding of his lab. There was just too much work to be done and not enough time in the day to do it. So he often stayed the night, most thinking that, when they all come in at 6 am, Q is just there early when, in actuality, he had never left.
Tonight was no different. He had a new car to supe up for 003 (due to be finished in two weeks time), four guns for various agents (again, each having a far-off deadline), and a new experimental nerve-tech aiming system to test (this one being his own project). So when the notorious 007 breezed in, Q sighed to himself. “007,” he greeted customarily. “How can I be of help this fine-” he checked his watch, which read 2:46am “-morning?”
The blond-haired, blue-eyed god of a man sauntered over, hands in the front pockets of some deliciously-fitting jeans. “Q,” he returned, his low voice sending an involuntary and unwanted chill through the quartermaster. "I was wondering what you were still doing here?" He picked up a small gadget, the wires of which still sticking out from the body of it. "I've noticed a pattern with you, Q, and how you tend to overwork yourself."
Rolling his hazel eyes, Q set down the clipboard with his checklist and stepped over to gently remove the gadget from the agent's hands. "I don't need a lecture, Bond," came his reply as he set the unfinished project back in its spot on the cluttered worktable. "I am absolutely aware of what I am doing." His lips stretched into the emotionless smile he used on the irritating interns.
In all actuality, 007 was so close that Q could feel the warmth radiating off of him, a sun in the chilly basement laboratory. It not only made Q hyper-aware of his own presence but the presence of the somehow towering agent even more so.
So, when Bond's arms went to either side of him and braced on the table, his cheeks and ears weren't the only things to heat up in response. The careless smirk that adorned the agent's face was that of a predator whom had just trapped his prey and that's exactly how Q felt; a prey caught, unknowing if they were about to be toyed with or devoured whole.
Still, the quartermaster kept a level head, looking up at the imposing agent with mild annoyance. "Are you trying to distract me, 007?" His voice had come out with only a slight tremour, but Bond didn't seem to notice.
"That depends, Q," the blond man drawled, tilting his head. "Are you willing to be..." His words trailed, unresolved, in the air as he leaned close to Q's ear. "...distracted?"
The thing was, Q was used to this game. His 'playing hard to get' was something the agent was used to when it came to the elusive genius. Usually the quartermaster would brush him off with a roll of his eyes and smart quip.
But, with how much stress and pressure Q had been under lately, the feeling of the whispered breath over his ear was enough to finally break his resolve. "Shit... yes," he said in a rough utterance, throwing his arms around 007, making their lips collide. His long fingers found the soft hairs on the back of Bond's head, brushing through the short strands.
Grunting, Bond lifted and shoved Q onto the table behind the brunet's back. Legs clad in dark green corduroy framed the agent's hips, pulling him in. With swift fingers, 007 stripped Q of his jacket, a hand finding the hem of the simple jumper he wore under it. His hand felt hot, even through the fabric of Q's shirt underneath.
Bond's lips traveled down Q's jaw to where it met his long neck, where the agent proceeded to nip and suck light bruises into the soft skin. The light moans and gasps he pulled from the quartermaster were enough to arouse Bond even more.
He pulled back and Q hopped off the table, it being only a second before he had unbuttoned his trousers. Taking ahold of Q's shoulders, Bond turned him and leaned him over the table.
Then, kneeling, he pulled Q's pants down and, using the packet of lube he had brought with him (just in case this would be the outcome of his flirting), slicked up a couple of his fingers and began to open the quartermaster up.
A light gasp of surprise came from the man in question as Bond's fingers slid through the tight muscle. The stretching was slightly painful, but Q was a tad bit caught up in the sensation of 007's hand around his length. "Ahh! Alright... mm, okay, yes..." he mumbled more to himself than anyone else. Then, as Bond pressed his fingers into his prostate, his body jerked and a growling moan escaped his throat.
The chuckle from the agent was teasing as he massaged Q's spot and kept moving his other hand along the younger man's cock. "Do you want me?" Bond asked, voice low and sensual as he, again, teased Q's prostate. The cry of pleasure was answer enough for the agent. He pulled away long enough to push his pants and jeans to his knees, roll on a condom, and spread the rest of the lube on his considerable length. Giving Q's pert bottom a nice squeeze, Bond lined his cock up and pushed in slowly.
The stretch and burn was intense for Q, his nails biting crescents in the fleshy part of his palm. He bit down on his lip as Bond filled him, a shiver running through his frame upon hearing the low, breathy moan that the agent uttered.
Q was always very sensitive when it came to touch and hearing and being this aroused heightened that. Therefore, when Bond's hips pulled away a bit, Q knew to brace for what came next.
With a quick and hard thrust, 007 buried his heat fully inside Q again. The quartermaster bucked and cried out, biting his lip against the moan that followed. It had been so long since he'd had anyone and, fucking shit , he had needed it.
Tangling a hand in dark curls, Bond set a quick pace. His hips snapped into Q's hard and fast, his other hand holding the quartermaster’s hip. Q let out a cry of pleasure as Bond's thick cock hit his sweet spot over and over, the heat pooling rapidly low in his stomach. At this rate, he wouldn't last much longer and Bond sensed that. So, letting go of Q's curls, he steadied himself into a slower speed.
The whimpers and moans coming from Q were absolutely divine to the agent. He leaned in and murmured praises in the quartermaster's ear with a low, growling tone. It sent waves of heat through Q's body until, with a canting of his narrow hips, he came. His voice rang out and echoed off of the walls as his tight muscle clenched hard around Bond's length. It wasn't long after that Bond pulled out and grunted, Q feeling a warmth spread over his bare lower back.
With his cheek pressed against the cool table, Q caught his breath and willed his hammering heart to calm as he vaguely heard the sound of Bond's zip on his trousers. It was then his knees decided to give out but a strong arm wrapped around him with a slightly-startled grunt from Bond. "Easy, Q... easy..." he hummed calmly.
The quartermaster let out a light chuckle, it's tone edging on a giggle. "You just thoroughly shagged me and that's what you come up with, 'easy'," he mused.
The chuckle he received was amused. "Yes," Bond replied, pulling a handkerchief out and cleaning the ejaculate from Q's back, then pulling the quartermaster's pants and trousers back up.
Humming in appreciation, Q shifted to stand on his own and turn to face his agent. He distracted himself from that gorgeous face and buttoned up his trousers. He then reached up, cupped the back of Bond's head, and pulled him down for a slow, deep kiss. "Thank you," he murmured when they broke apart. Then, eyes clear and smiling, he added, "James."
With a small quirk of his lips, Bond smiled. "Would you care for a drink, Q?" he asked.
Q nodded and bit his lip, smiling. "I'd love one."