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George and Charles were sitting perfectly poised on either end of the sofa studying the scene before them as cats are wont to do. One might wonder if they often considered how humans made it this far and how long they would have to wait for their turn to rule the world.
“Game over, Arthur. I win,” said Bond with a wicked grin.
“We’re not playing drunk twister, James.”
“Strip poker?”
Q rolled his eyes, amused. “We don’t need to play a game as an excuse to get me out of my clothes you know.”
“Fuzzy Duck?”
Q just laughed. “You are utterly absurd man. How you made it out of adolescence and into what passes for adulthood boggles the mind.”
They were sitting cross-legged on the rug opposite each other, a chessboard between them. James had just annihilated Q. Q was still trying to figure out how exactly that had happened.
Bond shrugged. “Either way, and if you don’t want the chance to level the score then you owe me a favour.”
“How about breakfast in bed in the morning?”
Bond scoffed. “You can do better than that Q. Besides which, you’ve only recently mastered toast.”
“Arse.”
“That’s Commander Arse to you, Quartermaster,” he replied, leaning back on the rug and stretching out so one of his lower legs came to rest against Q’s knee.
“Alright,” he sighed dramatically. “Name your favour and let’s get this over with….”
Two Hours Later
Q felt utterly ridiculous. He waited impatiently by the bar in the Soho club for Bond to appear. James had made him shower and put on his dark navy suit and silk blue shirt. Contacts instead of his glasses and having made a valiant attempt at taming the thick mop of waves, he was soon garnering far more attention than he was comfortable with and already politely turned down two drinks from interested prowlers. He looked at his watch and took a sip of his scotch. Where the bloody hell is he? he thought snarkily to himself, while his eyes roamed around the space, heaving with people wall-to-wall. He’d texted him to let Q know he was only twenty minutes behind… He should have been here by n—… It is then a gap appeared in the crowd several feet in front of him and Q’s gaze fell on the man he had been waiting for.
Jesus bloody Christ.
He did his best to stifle his delighted laugh at the sight before him. He failed. Strolling up to him, eyes never leaving his, he gave him a long, slow once over. “Who are you and what have you done with my agent?” he whispered close to his ear. Leaning back he committed to memory an image he never thought he would see.
Bond was wearing glasses.
But the picture didn’t end there. A dark brown cardigan with mustard yellow trim stretched across his torso, white shirt and tie beneath. Q reached forward to place a hand on James’ hip only to find himself laughing again at the feel of corduroy material beneath his palm. A pair of brogues completed the look.
Bond tilted his head down with a sly smile to assess Q’s reaction over the rim of the thick-framed glasses.
“What do you think? Have I, yet again, rendered my favourite Quartermaster speechless?”
Arthur stepped right into his space, closing the gap between them to press his chest to his. “Is there a sexy librarian of the year competition being held here tonight? I must have missed those signs when I came in,” he murmured against his lips, eyes locked on his like heat-seeking missiles.
“If the favour you demand involves wrecking you to within an inch of your life, James, you’re going the right way about it.”
Bond’s smile never faltered as he raised a hand to run fingertips along Q’s neck. “So you see what I mean now then?”
Q looked momentarily confused by the question. Bond slipped his hand round the back of his neck to bring him close, stealing Q’s breath from waiting lips. “Now you get an idea of what it’s like to see you in this getup every time I visit Q Branch leaving me wanting nothing more than to get you out of said getup in the shortest time possible.”
Q shook his head resignedly. “You are full of surprises, Commander Arse,” he said, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the exit.
“Home. Now. I suddenly remembered the books on my bedroom shelves need reorganising…”
As happens on occasion, they didn’t make it home.
They were taking a shortcut through one of the quieter side streets running perpendicular to Conduit Street.
Q couldn’t resist stealing frequent glances in Bond’s direction. “I’m torn between taking you while wearing that bloody thing and stripping you beforehand and adding it to my personal collection.”
“As long as there is ripping off of clothes involved, I’m easy,” replied Bond.
“That you are, James,” Q said with a laugh. He looked him over again with a smile. “It’s fair to say brown really isn’t your colour. Though the ensemble taken as a whole does make you look rather like a nicely sauteed side of beef with a dash of mustard on the side.”
“Well then. I look forward to whatever additional condiments you might consider appropriate to bring to this evening’s meal, Arthur,” Bond deadpanned in reply.
Both fairly engrossed in the mutual banter and enjoying the usual ease that came with being in each other’s company, they had no time to react when a hooded knife-wielding body stepped into their path, quickly joined by an accomplice bringing up the rear. Though to be fair, time moves at a different speed for trained MI6 operatives and while the rest of the world appears to be moving through molasses, agents on Her Majesty’s Secret Service rise above the gloop and seem to glide along the surface.
“Oh dear, would you look at that,” tutted Q. “Your shoelace has come undone.” James kept still while Q bent down to Bond's ankle in one smooth move and rose a split second later, pointing a beretta at the thug in front of them while Bond landed a backward kick into the chest of the would-be assailant behind them knocking the knife out of his hand and leaving him winded and dazed on the cobbles.
Q watched slow realisation dawn, the still-standing thug glancing from knife to gun and back again. “Do I need to ring your mother to come and pick you up?” Q enquired smoothly. He didn’t need to be told twice.
Bond stepped over the semi-conscious body of Thug No. 2 to watch his accomplice run like hell itself was on his heels. He chuckled around his next words. “It occurs to me, Arthur, that since you came into my life, my personal body count has decreased dramatically.” He looked over his shoulder back at his companion, still holding the beretta and obviously still a little high on adrenaline. Stepping towards Bond who was nothing less than pleased at how well the Quartermaster could handle himself, he took hold of the hem of the cardigan and bundled James back against the nearest wall in the dark, deserted London street. The summer air was warm though not nearly as warm as Arthur was feeling right now. His voice was both shaky and sultry. “The only body count with which I’m immediately concerned, Bond, is yours plus mine. I don’t think I’m going to make it home,” he said, pressing his arousal against the agent’s thigh who fortunately, also didn’t need to be told twice.
“There’s a hotel two streets along,” Bond said levelly, pushing the glasses up his nose with a smile.
James straddled Arthur, naked and writhing beneath him, suitably disheveled and looking for all the world on the verge of passing out from his pleasurable attentions. As commanded - and to be fair, the agent responded well to his Quartermaster’s commanding tone - the glasses, cardigan and shirt remained on though unbuttoned halfway down his torso, simply so that Arthur didn’t have to overly tax his imagination.
“You attract trouble in the same way a red flag attracts a bull, James.”
James leaned over him and grabbed the headboard above, pushing his hips down and drawing a groan from the beautiful body of the man under him. “I attracted you. Are you trouble, Arthur?”
“Most definitely,” he breathed through the air pushed bodily from his lungs when he arched his back. “But then it takes one to know one, doesn’t it 007?”
“Trouble with a capital Q,” growled James before plundering Arthur’s mouth with a warm, seeking tongue.
“Christ the way you look right now…” moaned Q when James sat back again to take them both in hand.
“There are some overdue items outstanding, Q. Agent Librarian demands payment for said items. Right. Now,” the tone adopting a stern pitch while increasing his grip and quickening the pace of his hand.
“Jesus, GOD Almighty…” ground out Arthur, torn between laughing and keeping the spasms in his stomach from pushing him to completion too soon. One ill-advised look at James above him though laid waste to that plan.
“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that, Bond?” Q said breathlessly into the back of his hand.
James pitched himself onto his side laid alongside the lithe length of Arthur’s body and pressed his lips to his temple. “And don’t you forget it, Quartermaster.”