Summary: Or; The one where Bond isn't as smooth as he thinks he is.
Warnings: Strong language
Pairings: James Bond/Q
Word count: 3,215

Q knew the footsteps that echoed around his office, he knew the cocky swagger of the man to whom they belonged. They came to a stop in front of his desk; Q caught a glimpse of a navy tailored suit over the top of his laptop, hands tucked neatly in the jacket pockets.

"Are we lost?" Q asked, his eyes never straying from his screen as his fingers tapped deftly at the keys. Bond hummed casually.

"Just looking around."

"Well as I'm sure you're aware there's not much to see in my office, I hope you had fun. Goodbye."

Q could almost feel the smirk radiating from the man in front of him.

"Oh I wouldn't say that."

Q finally trained his eyes on 007, watching as he casually plucked the stress-ball from his desk and gave it a quick squeeze, tossing it from one hand to the other. Bond returned a look of his own, a hint if a smirk in his eyes.

"Can I help you, Double-Oh-Seven? Any non-exploding item that I need to make explodable?"

Bond chucked derisively. "No thank you."

Q scowled. "Then what do you want?"

"I told you, I'm looking around."

"My office is not IKEA, Bond. Please defer your need to browse elsewhere."

Bond smiled, the smile he usually reserved for the overconfident, monologuing villains he encountered, as they explained their master plan down to the last detail, and why they were so great and he so meagre. "Always so short with me, Q. So blunt. Tell me, have I upset you?"

Q snorted and began tapping at his keyboard, shifting his gaze back to the screen so as not to get drawn in to Bond's frankly predatory stare. "Your mere existence upsets me, Bond."

"Is this about the equipment?"

"What, the equipment I spend hours, days, designing, creating, perfecting? The equipment you bring back broken, in pieces, or better yet, don't bring back at all? That equipment?"

"Ooh, I seem to have hit a sore spot," Bond smirked. Q rolled his eyes.

"No sore spot, just a constant state of exasperation over your lack of respect for anything. Perhaps next time we should send you with just your knowledge of self-defense to protect you. We'll see how you fare then."

Bond chuckled his condescending chuckle, returning the stress-ball back to the desk. "Someone's grumpy, and no wonder!" Bond comically pointed to his watch - the watch Q had designed and built himself, containing a GPS chip and a self-destruct button (Bond and his need for everything to cone in "exploding"). "It's way past your bedtime!"

Q rolled his eyes again, secretly wondering if they may actually roll out of his head one day. "Age jokes, how very droll."

"You need to learn to relax, Q. This level if stress could one day be the death of you."

"I'm sure it will. I'm also sure my final words will be a curse unto you."

Bond sniggered. "I look forward to it. I'll make sure they're engraved on to your head-stone."

"How kind. Now I ask one more time, Bond: what do you want?"

"You know, Miss Moneypenny told me all about people like you," Bond said, perching himself on the edge of Q's desk.

"People like me?"


Q huffed out an indignant sigh, slouching back in his seat, glaring at the man in front of him. "You think I'm a hipster? Do you even know what one is?"

"I do now." He began reeling off a list, counting on his fingers. "Messily styled hair? Check. Thick-rimmed glasses? Check. Cardigans in frankly offensive colours? Check. Technophile? Check. And I'm sure I'll never have heard of your favourite band... Also, you're quite pretentious."

Q blinked, unimpressed; if he truly was pretentious he would have clapped slowly. "My hair is not styled, Bond, this is just how it is. My glasses are for ocular correctional purposes only, it's hardly my fault if a portion of society have adopted this particular style of eye-wear as their own - frankly, it disgusts me. I wear mustard coloured cardigans, double-oh, deal with it."

Bond laughed, folding his arms over his chest.

"Hipsters, you'll find, love everything Apple. I myself detest everything Apple. I actively loathe it. And I'm sure you've never heard of any band from the last fifteen years - you know, because you're so old and out of touch. And for the record, I don't have a favourite band... And lastly, I'm not pretentious."

"Well, my mistake," Bond smirked, picking up the stress-ball again. "But you can see how we came to that conclusion, yes?"

"Did you come here just to insult me, Double-Oh-Seven?"

"Actually, I came in hopes to relieve some of this tension between the two of us."

"And what, you weren't sure if there was any so decided to make some more?"

"Unintentional, I assure you."

Q sighed. "Tell me, Bond, how is insulting my clothing and calling me pretentious supposed to relieve tension?"

"Just checking it was there. I wouldn't like my efforts to go to waste."

"Oh how heart-breaking for you. I'm sure I can't imagine a situation where one expends a great deal of time and effort on something only for it to go to waste. Wait..."

"Wow, you're really wound up about the equipment."

"What. Do you want. Bond?!"

"If I told you, I'm sure you wouldn't like my answer."

Q straightened his posture, resting his hands neatly in his lap. "Quite right. I don't like most things that leave your mouth."

"I see..." Bond put the stress-ball down and began slowly circling round to where Q was sat. "Do you think of my mouth often?"

"Oh yes, with ways it can be forcibly silenced. Gags are so cliché and not terribly efficient."

"Oh I totally agree," Bond hummed, gripping the back of Q's chair and leaning closer. The corner of Q's lips twitched upwards, he unclasped his hands, settling them on separate knees.

"I also toyed with the idea of actually sewing your lips together, though I must concede it's not one of my better ideas."

"No? What's one of your better ideas then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Q smirked. Bond inched even closer, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips; Q followed it intently with his eyes.

"I really would."

Keeping his eyes on the suave, well-dressed man in front of him, Q raised a cautious hand to smooth down the material of his suit jacket, stroking a finger back up the hem before roughly grabbing his lapel, pulling him in to a bruising kiss. Bond, for all his arrogant, Casanova bravado was taken by surprise, his breath hitching as Q licked at the seam of his lips. Q figured he finally had the upper hand, until Bond gripped the back of his head, angling his face for a deeper kiss, calloused fingers twining in his messy hair. He couldn't deny it, Bond was kisser; probably all the practise he gets on missions, he thought bitterly.

"Nice to know we're on the same page," Bond gasped, pulling away for a moment before mashing their lips back together. Q smirked.

"This was supposed to shut you up."

"You should know by now there is no shutting me up."

"You're a bastard."

Bond chuckled, nudging his nose against Q's, recapturing his lips in a searing kiss. Q hummed his approval, reaching out with his free hand to curl it around Bond's hip, digging his thumb in until Bond let out a quiet groan. Bond's day-old stubble scratched at Q's sensitive skin, probably leaving it red and sore. Q found himself not caring very much. He cracked an eye open and peered over at his computer, releasing his hold of Bond's hip to quickly tap at the keyboard. Bond stopped and pulled away, scowling at the younger man.

"Must you work whilst you're kissing me?"

"I'm not working," Q grumbled. "I'm locking the door."

Bond's scowl quickly morphed in to a self-satisfied smirk. "Very good. Done?"

Q pressed a few more keys before nodding. "Done."

Before pressing their lips back together, Bond slipped Q's glasses from his nose; Q's lips thinned as he snatched them back. He carefully folded the temples before placing them down on the desk. He ignored Bond's confused look.

"They're not a toy, Bond. You can't just fling them across the room."

"I wasn't going to."

Q didn't respond, instead he tightened his grip on Bond's lapel and pulled him back in to a kiss. Their lips moved in synchronised movements, Q groaning quietly as Bond nibbled gently at his bottom lip; Bond gasping when Q pushed his thumb in to his hip.

Bond forced his knee between Q's legs, hoisting them around his waist, slipping his arms around his neck. Q held on as Bond lifted him from his seat, spinning them round, pushing the smaller man up on to the desk, all without breaking the kiss. Q grumbled something in to Bond's mouth and pulled away, turning to his laptop.

"Oh for fuck's sake..." Bond muttered, as Q began tapping at the keys. Q rolled his eyes, tapping quicker.

"I'm making sure nothing on my desk gets broken, you insufferable twat. I know you have a penchant for breaking my things."

Bond tutted in response. "Just hurry up, will you?"

Q finally shut the lid of his laptop and moved it closer to the middle of the desk to lower the risk of it being knocked off, placing his glasses on the closed lid. He turned back to Bond, receiving a pointed look for his efforts to keep his belongings in one piece.

"Are we finished?"

"For now," Q smirked.

"You're sure? Don't want me to take my shoes off or anything?"

"Well, now you mention it..."

"Shut up," Bond groaned, cupping Q's face in his palms and pulling their faces together messily. Q grunted, fisting Bond's jacket just for something to hold on to, curling his left leg around Bond's right. Bond trailed a hand down Q's neck, fingers playing over his throat, down his back to his arse, grabbing it roughly and pulling Q to the edge of the table, grinding a powerful thigh against his crotch. Q groaned loudly in to Bond's mouth, his fingers tensing, pulling harder on Bond's jacket, which was bound to be wrinkled to the point no amount of smoothing down could fix; Bond would be wearing evidence of this encounter on his front for the rest of the day. Q felt a little surge of smugness shoot through him.

"You really are going to be the death of me, Double-Oh," Q whined, Bond's fingers tugging at a handful of his hair. He let his head loll back, baring his neck for Bond to graze his teeth over his throat, nipping softly at the bared flesh.

"Likewise, Q... However I must say... This is my preferred way to go."

Q huffed out a quiet laugh, his fingers skimming under Bond's jacket, feeling the warmth of his skin radiate through the thin cotton shirt. Bond hummed appreciatively, sucking small bruises in to Q's skin, softly pinching the marks between his teeth until Q gasped before soothing the bite with his tongue. Q didn't know what to do with himself, his eyes scrunched shut, his hands mapping out Bond's back through his shirt, barely noticing he was grinding up against Bond's thigh.

"Are you not hot in that bloody cardi?" Bond huffed, pulling Q's collar aside to suck and bite and lick along his collar and shoulder. Q garbled something unintelligible before finding his tongue.

"I'm not sure, Bond. My core temperature increased by some amount as of about five minutes ago... To make things easier I'll answer yes. Yes I am hot."

Bond chuckled, making quick work of the cardigan, throwing it behind him on to the chair; he bunched his fingers in Q's shirt, untucking it from his trousers, slipping his hand underneath. Q arched in to the touch, Bond's hands strangely cold against his hot skin. Bond splayed his hand flat against Q's ribs, pressing his fingers in to the small grooves.

"Fucking Hell, Q... you're so skinny."

Q rolled his eyes, pressing frantic kisses up Bond's neck. "Thank you. Nice of you to say."

"Honestly. Do you eat? You know, I could probably snap you in half."

Q stopped what he was doing, pushing himself away slightly to look Bond in the eye. "Is this how you compliment people? Are you actually trying? I was told you were charming."

"I am... I just..."

"Just what? Let me respond in kind: wow, James, you have more lines in your face than Gordon Ramsey."

Bond scowled, adding even more lines to his face, putting a small grin on Q's face. "I hardly think that was called for."

"Precisely," Q nodded. "Now stop ruining the moment with your inane babble. If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all."

"I was always told to discuss the weather," Bond smirked, pulling Q back against his chest, nosing against the shell of Q's ear.

"So help me, Double-Oh-Seven, if you begin talking about the weather I'm going to leave right now. And you may find your next batch of equipment faulty."

"Really, Q?" Bond asked, slowly kissing under Q's jaw towards his chin. "You're going to have me killed because I'm not putting out as quickly as you'd hoped?"

Instead of replying, Q resorted to the only thing he knew shut Bond up - for a small period of time. Bond's hands flailed excitedly for a moment, unsure what to do with them as Q's tongue licked at the roof of his mouth. They finally found their place on Q's hips, his thumbs rubbing circles in to the hollow of the bone, causing Q to writhe against him, letting out quiet little moans. As they kissed their hands began fumbling at each other's clothing; Q trying to push Bond's jacket from his shoulders whilst Bond tried to yank Q's tie undone. They were both breathing heavily through their nose, needing air but not wanting to part their lips for any amount of time.

Bond finally managed to lose Q's tie and undo the top two buttons of his shirt; likewise, Q managed to shed Bond of his jacket and belt before he was pushed down on his back, Bond looming over him, fingers skating down his sides.

The moment was shattered by Q's phone going off. Bond grumbled something about ignoring it whilst kissing down his chest and undoing the buttons of Q's shirt as he went. Q did as he was told, letting the phone ring until the end, until it went off again. Sighing, Q grabbed at his phone, answering and putting it on speaker.


"Q? Are you all right?"

It was Tanner who'd chosen to interrupt.

"I'm quite all right, what can I help you with?"

Bond smirked up at Q, impressed by his calm demeanour whilst he tried his best to defile the poor quartermaster.

"I was just ringing to remind you the new interns join us today... You said you'd give them an introduction to Q branch at three pm."

"Oh yes, thank you for... for reminding me." Q swatted Bond on the shoulder as he pinched the skin covering his hip between his teeth. "I'll be there."

Tanner coughed awkwardly down the phone. "Are you sure everything's fine? You sound... out of breath."

"No no, everything's... Everything's good."

"Right..." Tanner responded, not entirely convinced.

"I'll um... I'll talk with you-"

"Will you just bloody hang up already?" Bond grumbled, pushing the shirt from Q's shoulders. Q froze, staring wide-eyed at Bond. Another cough sounded down the phone.


Bond suddenly froze too, realising what he'd just done. "Um..."

"Q?! What is going on?!"

Q quickly scrambled for the phone. "Nothing! Everything's fine! Just um-"

"Why is Bond in your office?! Why are you out of breath?! Are you-"

"No! No! Um..."

Bond suddenly snatched the phone from Q's hand, disconnecting the call. "Well. You cocked that right up."

Q's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I?! I cocked that up?! I had it covered until you went and opened your fat gob!"

"Okay... Lets... let's just forget about what just happened, and get back to-"

"Oh no! I know for a fact Tanner is on his way down here right now! He will not be impressed to find us in this state."

Bond sighed loudly, falling back in to Q's chair, rubbing his forehead. "Fine. Fine... Tonight then."


"When you clock off, we'll go back to yours."

Q shucked his shirt back over his shoulders, folding his arms across his chest indignantly. "Why must we go to mine?"

Bond smirked. "Because I technically have no place of residence. I'm currently kipping in the bunks with the trainees. So unless you like yourself an audience-"

"Okay fine, we'll go to mine."

"Excellent. Well, I suppose I'd best go hand myself in to M and get a good telling off."

Q smiled, slowly re-buttoning his shirt. Bond smiled back, running a hand up Q's thigh in an attempt at a reassuring gesture.

"I suppose we'd better sort ourselves out."

They both pulled on their discarded clothing, dancing around one another as they did so. Q had just flattened his collar over his tie when there was a knock on the door. Nervously chewing his lip, he opened his laptop and unlocked the door, Tanner marching in. He stopped abruptly when he saw the state of one of best agents MI-6 had and his quartermaster.

"Seriously? Q, I expected better from you. This is highly unprofessional."

Q bowed his head, running a hand through his hair to try and flatten it out. Tanner turned bodily towards Bond.

"As for you! You're already in hot water with M, if he catches wind of this you'll be grounded for a long, long time!"

Bond just smirked, tucking his hands in to his pockets; "I understand, Bill. May I have the promise of your discretion on the matter?"

Tanner sighed, glancing over at Q's guilty face. "Fine. Just... just not during work hours. Or in MI-6 Headquarters. Or anywhere I have to know about it. And Q?"

Q's head jerked up. "Yes?"

"...Put a scarf on."

Q's face flushed bright pink, Bond trying hard to hold back a laugh. Tanner turned on his heel and began to make his way out of the office.

"Come along, Bond, Q has a lot of work to be doing."

Bond smirked, sidling up beside Q, softly cupping his cheek and pulling his face towards his own. "I'll see you later?"

Q nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as Bond pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss.


Chuckling, Bond pecked one last kiss on Q's lips before following Tanner out of the office. When the door clicked shut. Q collapsed down in to his chair, letting out a long breath. His heart had finally stopped pounding in his chest and the little love-bites Bond had left were starting to throb as his endorphins waned. He looked down at his tie, where in the rush to look presentable he'd tied it on backwards.

"Well... Bollocks."

Sequel on my profile: STAR WARS BOBBLE HEADS