Title: I'll Tell You When To Stop
Fandom: James Bond, post-Skyfall
Summary: Bond needs Q to do his job so he can do his better, but then things get complicated.
Tags: First time, slutty!Bond, not-taking-your-bullshit!Q, suspence, romance
He was supposed to be charming the father, securing his trust and become his new business partner. An easy task, usually, and by the end of the week he should be granted access enough for Q to hack himself the rest of the way.
The problem was the son. He seemed to be the far easier option - well, that depended on your definition of "easy" of course. For now, Bond kept his attention and charm on the father, CEO, while at the same time returning the glances thrown his way. The son - Raul, wasn't it? - looked the type to like it weird, but too shy to ask, so he probably bought silence instead.
Q was in his ear, filling his head with tidbits of information he had already memorized from the file on what he could use to ingratiate himself. He wanted to mutter "keep your tips for when I get to a computer screen" but he was in the middle of a crowded ballroom and Daddy CEO was making some remark about how they should go fishing on his private yatch this weekend.
'You fish often?'
James caught Raul's eye, which darted towards the stairs. Follow me, they said.
'On occasion, when I find the time.'
'I knew I'd like you, Mr. Davies,' Daddy CEO said. 'You have a trusting face.'
'Thank you, I look forward to us doing business together. If you'll excuse me.'
Raul was already at the top of the stairs by the time James got away. The manor was an old Italian villa with modern technology cleverly integrated everywhere. A true modern billionaire's summer home. James saw a figure dart into a room at the end of the gallerie. He took no notice of the family portraits, or the floor to ceiling mirrors between the dark marble columns. To him it was all just white noise.
The room he found was a salon, but instead of the ornate traditional furnishings he had seen so far, it was modern. Clearly, this was the son's appartment. It was almost like stepping through time.
Past the salon he found the dining room, kitchen and a study with a very large computer set-up that even Q might be envy of. If he could get two minutes alone in there.
'Are you coming?' He followed the voice to the bedroom. Raul pounced on him immediately, sucking on his lips rather painfully. He returned the embrace as best he could. It wasn't as if it was his first time.
'Bond?' he heard in his ear. 'What, exactly, do you think you're doing?' Q sounded annoyed, which made him smile for some reason. He spun around with Raul in his arms, pressing him hard against the wall.
'If your father finds out-' he said breathlessly, conveying the fear of discovery trying to suppress overwhelming desire.
'He won't,' the little shit smirked. He couldn't be more than 23, 25 at most. Still being groomed for the take-over, he thought he knew everything, and could get away with anything. He wouldn't try anything with James of course, and not just because he was going to be Daddy's new partner. James was physically much stronger. Raul might have muscles fit for a Calvin Kline advertisement, but he probably hadn't actually fought anyone. He had goons to do that, after all.
James ran his thumb over Raul's lower lip roughly, noting how the eyes widened and the tongue darted out. The easier path by far, yes.
'I am going to fuck you so damn hard you'll be feeling me tomorrow at breakfast, squirming across from your father.'
'Yes, oh, I want to see you try,' Raul moaned obscenely, taking James' thumb in his mouth and sucking.
'007, need I remind you your target is downstairs?' Q hissed in his ear.
'Do you have anything proper to drink?' James asked. 'I'm rather sick of champagne.'
'Of course,' Raul said, eager to prove he was the better man of the family.
After that it was an easy thing to slip something into Raul's drink, fuck him senseless until he passed out, and then get to the computer. Instead of a week-long trek into the family business, he had every file they needed within the hour, and he was back downstairs before anyone grew suspicious. Raul would wake up with a hangover, too embarrassed to admit anything.
Q was silent until James needed him, thankfully. James wasn't entirely sure how the young man would react to having to listen to an intimite tryst in the name of Queen and country. Usually, his handlers got used to this sort of thing within the week, and surely Q had been briefed it was likely to happen - especially with 007.
In any case, his voice was matter-of-fact by the time he was needed, so James assumed he had gotten over any virginal squimishness.
'Are you all right, Q?' James asked when he got back to HQ with his report. Q was analyzing the files, eyes scanning freakishly fast over the screens. That didn't keep James from a little teasing.
'Why wouldn't I be, 007?'
'Just checking. You did get quite the earfull. Perhaps your briefing was insufficient.'
'I was briefed on your information-gathering tactics, Bond,' Q said with a sigh of boredom. 'I was just worried you might have gotten distracted.'
'Well, you should know,' James said as he leaned against Q's desk, just to add that extra spice of annoyance when his backside shifted a few papers. 'I never get distracted. I always focus on the job at hand.'
'Yes, and I'm certain Raul appreciated it.'
'Well, by the sound of him-' They were interrupted by the loud throat-clearing cough of M, who did not look all that comfortable.
'If you two are quite done.' James noted the quirk of Q's lip, and filed it away in his mind. Perhaps the far-too-young Quatermaster wasn't as easy to rile up as previously projected.
It became a game. The objective was simple: rile him up, embarrass him, trip him up, or just generally annoy the hell out of him. Some might say that's not the sort of thing governement agents should be spending their time on while on important protecting-the-country missions, but in truth… it made him better.
James could admit that before, and for quite a while after, the last M died, he had not been on top of things. The fact that he hadn't passed the tests still stung, even though he had retaken them since. Now, however, every time he got Q in his ear, those missions felt like sailing on pure adrenaline. Even the boring ones weren't quite as tedious.
The best part was Q didn't falter, not once. It was a game James had yet to actually win, but for once that didn't bother him. Q gave as good as he got.
Then came Lee - a Chinese agent apparently on their side on a joint venture. He was James' age, maybe a couple of years younger, with impeccable taste in suits, a handsome but hardened man's face with a goatee and eyes that spoke James' language.
007 didn't acknowledge this instant cameraderie, if that was the word, and neither did Lee. That was as expected. They got the job done. Although it didn't go as smoothly as HQ would have liked.
James was running down a back alley in Chinatown, Tokyo. The big men with guns were speeding after them on scooters, the cheaters. Lee knew his way around, thankfully, so James could tune out Q in his ear, demanding to know what their status was. He ditched the GPS in his watch. He trusted Q, but in situations like this he didn't want anything that could locate him. Anything could be hacked.
Lee had done the same, and James was about to ditch his ear-piece and microphone. He spoke into it one last time.
'We're going underground for 6 hours. I'll be at the rendevous point.'
'Bond, wait,' Q shouted. 'There might be- Just a second!'
'No time.' James could hear them getting close. They needed to disappear. Avoiding an incident was a top-priority for this mission. No shootouts, nothing to get the locals involved. He chucked everything except his gun and the USB drive.
He looked up and Lee stared back.
'Ready?' the man asked. He had only the faintest of accents.
'Lead the way.'
They didn't trust each other, but that didn't mean they couldn't fuck each other. A cliché for a man like Bond, perhaps, but when your life is like a spy-novel, you take what pleasure you can get. He'd never had an Asian man before. They were of similar build, only Lee was clearly the more traditionally handsome of the pair.
But they never trusted each other, not for a moment. Which was why when Lee decided to sneak out of bed, grab his gun and go solo for the rest of the mission, James was already aiming for the back of his head before he'd even reached for his weapon.
'Don't,' James asked. They were the same, just on different sides. Or several sides, in Lee's case.
In the end, James came back alone, but he wasn't surprised - it had been Lee's choice. He couldn't let locals find the body, or get it back across to China, so he weighed it down and let it sink to the bottom of the bay.
The extraction was uneventful.
Q didn't banter with him all that much after that. He hadn't included the actual fucking in the rapport, but perhaps Q had read between the lines. If anyone could, it was Q, though James couldn't understand what difference it should make. Fucking on or off the clock, with or without the earpiece.
'New Walter,' Q listed as he went over James' equipment. 'Be sure to hand in your old one. If you lose this one M says it will be deducted from your pay.'
'The last one I lost blew up, if you remember, hardly my fault. 99% of my missions don't involve any shooting.' He let the "unfortunately" remain unsaid, but by Q's shrewd glance, it hadn't been all that silent.
'Well, you did use it on the last mission,' Q mentioned, too casually.
'Just the once,' James said. 'It was a clean death.' He checked the gun, let himself get a feel for it.
'Is that what all 00's wish for?' Q mused, sounding almost a little amused. 'A clean death?'
'For Queen and country?'
'Anything else?' James asked, gesturing to the equipment.
James realised halfway to the lift that Q was upset on his behalf, or some such nonsense. Sometimes 007 forgot the way normal people thought about these sorts of things.
London to New York was a long flight. It had never felt longer, even though James wasn't actually on the plane. He was already there.
Q was afraid of flying.
Yet, they had shipped him out for this one. He needed to be at the terminal himself, no internet sneaking possible. James didn't understand the actual details of the program. His information-gathering tactics were a bit old-fashioned, and he preferred it that way.
He picked Q up at the airport. The man looked about three shades too green, his clothes more rumpled than ever before. James didn't mention either of these facts, and they drove silently to the hotel.
They shared a room for security reasons, so James had to listen to Q's outpouring of what could only be acid by this time. After listening to that, even James felt like a shower.
It was all a bit much, this mission. Almost too old-school despite Q's needed presence. It felt off from the get-go, and having to drag an annoying preschooler around didn't help much. Q did make an effort not to be annoying, but he seemed incapable of succeeding. James realised ten minutes into things that ihe/i was nervous, like a rookie, and it was making him irritable.
The private server was in a penthouse at the top of a very high building with outside glass lifts. The corporate party downstairs kept everyone's attention away from their goal.
Q was afraid of heights. Of course he was.
James did the heavy lifting. From his side the mission was easy: get Q to the computer, keep him there until the job is done, and they them both out safely without being noticed.
Until an alarm was tripped on their way out. Q had hacked the security system, so their cameras were useless, or rather they appeared empty wherever they were, thanks to an American partner in the basement. Security was still suspicious, however, despite dismissing the alarm as faulty, and a guard was out on the prowl.
James knew the lift would stop at the 16th floor. He knew the guard would be waiting outside to take the lift to the top floor, just to check things over. He also knew if he stopped the lift on a higher floor to get out, it would look very suspicious.
So, he did what any agent would go. He got the top hatch open and climbed on top. He reached down to help Q up.
'What the hell are you doing?' Q asked.
'Take my hand.'
'I'm not going up there!'
'We have ten floors left before those doors open.'
'No we twenty-si-FOUR floors left, then we go splat. I'd rather not!'
'Take my hand right now or I will drag you up here by your collar!' Q finally obeyed and James got the hatch closed just as the doors slid open. Q was breathing very heavily and looked ready to blow off the lift, so James slid his arms around the man's chest from behind.
'Easy, don't look down.' Q clung to his hands, pressing back into James as hard as he could. He was shaking violently and let out a gasp when the lift started moving again, going upwards at top speed. Even James could admit the sensation was unnerving, though the city was beautiful from his view.
Once the guard had walked around for a bit, he took the lift down again, and this way was much, much worse. Q held his breath all the way from the 30th to the 16th, where the security guard got off again to continue his regurlarly scheduled rounds.
James jumped back down and helped Q after. The man was still shaking.
'Remind me never to go into the field again,' he stuttered.
'You did fine,' James said, not sure why. By the look Q gave him, he didn't think it had helped.
They readied themselves and James signaled his American co-worker to get the lift to go back down. They glided back into the party as if they had never left. About five minutes later, however, James noted one of the guards in fancy suits eyeing him supiciously. He grabbed two glasses of champagne off a tray and handed one to Q.
'Smile at me,' he instructed and raised his glass.
James smiled as sweetly as he could.
'Toast,' he said. Q caught on and mimicked James' action, clinking their glasses and making doe-eyes. James put a hand on the small of Q's back as he led him around the room, introducing themselves like they were a couple, pretending to know everyone. Q didn't say much. He was definitely out of his element. Well, at first. No one said he wasn't a quick study.
Suddenly, he was making up a back-story, giggling and patting James like they couldn't quite keep their hands off each other. The woman he was chatting inanely with seemed very pleased with them, inviting them to Martha's Vinyard. James kept an eye on the guard until they had erased all suspicion.
He should at that point have told Q they had done it. They could leave quietly, mission acomplished. Only, Q was stroking down James' chest while stage-whispering to some woman about men and their annoying habits.
It was his behaviour that soured the sensation, for he wasn't being Q anymore, and James for some reason didn't want him to be as good at this as he was.
'We can go now. Quietly. Make up some excuse,' James whispered. Q turned to him with a smirk. Giving a wink to the lady and taking James by the hand as if he planned to drag him off to the loo for a quick one.
In the car he was on edge, the adrenaline still pumping. James liked to think Q felt a bit like the first time he had become someone else for a mission, but with his luck Q had probably hated every moment of it.
Back in the hotel room, Q paced up and down while James sat down on his bed and removed his shoes.
'That was…' Q began, stopping, then starting up again. James took off his jacket, thowing it over a chair, then his cufflinks.
'That was…' Q said again. He stopped in front of James, staring oddly as James loosened his bowtie. 'Rather good.'
'It has its upsides,' James admitted, smiling a little. Q fidgeted. For the party he had worn the same kind of suit as James, only it looked very strange on him. He looked good, in a billionaire computer genius sort of way, just out of his habitat.
'I mean, I would never do it again,' Q clarified, stil staring.
'Thank God for that,' James muttered, getting his top button undone.
'What now?' James raised an eyebrow, finally meeting Q's gaze dead on, trying not to read too much into that comment. As he stared back, he slowly realised the man might actually be trying to say something more with that comment.
Which was made abundantly clear when he climbed onto James' lap and kissed him. James reciporcated immediately, clutching the man's thin frame to his chest and slowly lying back, then rolling them over.
Q's legs spread easily, and James snatched off those damn annoying glasses, placing them on the bedside table without breaking the kiss.
The bowtie was next while Q was tugging at James' buttons. Neither of them were making much noise, and this worried James a bit. Usually, his partners were more vocal. He broke the kiss and stared down into Q's glassy eyes. Aroused at least.
'You sure?' he asked. He hated asking that. It wasn't his business. 'Just to work off the adrenaline,' he clarified.
'Yes, of course.'
But it wouldn't be just to work off adrenaline. It felt off right from the start. Not the "you'll regret this in the morning"-kind of off, but the kind that made the world sound like you had cotton stuffed in your ears, and you weren't sure if it was because you just had the best orgasm of your life, or you just found something better to listen to.
As with so many things in James' life, however, thinking came secondary to instinct, and right now Q's hand sliding its way down his trousers was telling him all he needed to know. Every snide remark about Q's age or virgin status was quickly erased from his mind. All his buttons had come undone as well, so James shrugged off the shirt. Q pushed at him until he let them roll back over.
Straddling him, Q made quick work of his own jacket and shirt. He wasn't as thin as the big jumpers would suggest, but still smaller than the men James usually had to bed. James sat up, wrapping his arms around his prize as they kissed again, enjoying the feel of bare skin pressed together. He stuffed one hand into that impossible head of hair, feeling a foreign sense of satisfaction - had he been waiting to do that?
Their heavy breathing was still the only noise. Q's hand was down James' pants again, and those long fingers were certainly agile. Once again rolling them over, James decided he would had to make the removal of all clothing top priority. Then Q put a hand on his chest suddenly, and James feared it had all been a great tease.
'Get the light, will you.' James almost made a snide remark, but then found himself, without any explanation, in agreement. The light felt glaring; dark was better.
It was right after a bad call that it all went to hell in a handbasket. James had made the call, but it had been based primarily on faulty information. Not Q's fault at all of course, and he didn't blame the Quartermaster for a second. Still, he saw Q's guilty look while James was being stitched back together. He was ordered to stay at home and rest for at least two weeks.
He knew he needed time off when Q's presence in his hallway came as a surprise.
He almost slammed the door again, but Q barrelled inside before he had the chance.
'Before you go off on your hard-man "I don't need your sympathy"-speech, I'm here to make sure you don't drink yourself to death. I consider it a duty to my country, not to you.'
James slowly closed the door and turned to face Q, who was now standing in the middle of his flat looking very out of place. He was still in his raincoat, with his signature sweater-vest and general rumpledness.
James' flat, by comparison, was out of a catalogue of modern minimalism. Impersonal not for any aesthetic reason, but for the simple fact that he never had the time. The kitchen and living room was one big space with floor to ceiling windows framing the city in her night time beauty. It wasn't big - he didn't need too much space to stare at - but it was impressive.
Since he wasn't feeling up to physically throwing Q out, he walked as normally as he could to the kitchen counter.
'I suppose you want some tea while you watch over me?' he asked, putting the kettle on.
'You actually know how to make tea,' Q quipped, from right behind him. James turned slowly.
'One of my many talents,' he sighed. Q seemed to hesitate, then reach out, but James grabbed his wrist before he could touch his face.
'Don't,' he said. Q's stare was level. It had been five weeks and two days since New York, in the dark hotel room, his hand roaming all over that soft arse-
'Why? Because it would be breaking some rule?' Q quirked an eyebrow, leaning in without trying to pull his hand free. He kissed James, just a slow peck on the lips, then another, lingering one. James almost let his eyes slide close, before he pushed him away.
'I can't. I can give you whatever reason you want. I'm too old, you're too young. Doesn't matter.'
'Please,' Q scoffed, leaning in, persistent. 'Don't tell me you don't still want me.' James grabbed Q's other wrist.
'I don't want you,' he said, feeling a little unhinged. Before he could stop himself he told the truth. 'I need you.' Q stilled completely. 'I need you at HQ, letting me do my job, and if you're compromised-'
'Too late for that,' Q murmured, glancing away. James let go.
'You think me being emotionally compromised will impede my ability to do my job, but it doesn't. Caring about you makes me better, faster. I'm not the one calling the shots, sending you out there. I just make sure you get what you need, and I'm the best at that, no matter what. And before you accuse me of anything, I don't want anything from you I know you can't give.'
James shook his head. This was ridiculous. He was too old, and Q was far too young, though he didn't have spots. James had been close enough to inspect that for himself.
And as for caring, and asking for things: Q was probably the only person in the world James knew was smart enough to mean what he said. Whatever he meant what he said "caring" it wasn't demanding, like other people usually meant. James didn't do well with personal demands.
Q was close enough to smell, and he was slightly taller due to James leaning against the counter, but they weren't touching. James wanted to, badly. Usually when he had that feeling, he gave into it.
So, when Q angled his head to steal another kiss, James decided to worry about the consequences later. He grabbed that silly head of hair and kissed him hard. He thought maybe it would be hard enough for Q to tell him to fuck off.
He spun them around and lifted Q up on the counter - which was a bad idea as it made his side feel like he had been stabbed again. He winced and Q broke the kiss.
'Idiot,' he whispered, and kissed him slower, gentler. James really didn't want that, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to resist.
When they finally made it to the bedroom, he didn't turn on the lights. The shine from the city was more than enough.