A/N—I don't know what's come over me.
The room was black.
The air, the walls, the bed beneath him: all black. He could see nothing but the paleness of his own body, laid out like an insult to the uniform perfection of the room, an offending beacon in the otherwise placid night. But it was not he who was the irregularity in this room.
No, that was this room's purpose. He lay here just as several other MI6 agents had lain here, nude and utterly exposed, waiting. Waiting because they were told to. Following an order. Proving that they would follow any order in service of queen and country. And James Bond would not retreat from an order- no matter what it was.
Most people on the outside could have guessed that, in order to be deemed fit for active duty in the highest rank of field agents in the nation, one was subjected to a number of tests and trials involving physical fitness and psychological readiness. On the inside, it was common knowledge that some of these trials were a test of will involving torture; MI6 wanted to know that their agents wouldn't crack under pressure. It was not-so-common knowledge that one of these tests involved withstanding sexual intercourse with an unwanted partner.
This was a highly controversial practice, even between the few upper echelon people who knew about it, but M had decreed it necessary after the situation in Turkey, during which a double-0 had divulged sensitive information after being tied to a bed and raped repeatedly. The emotional trauma had been too much for him; this was an agent who had withstood waterboarding and the systematic breaking of his fingers on another mission. But the humiliation- the violation- had been too much for him to withstand.
And so M had made the decision, and so James waited.
He hoped for Nadya, the brutally beautiful agent with forty kills and a Russian pedigree. A ballet dancer. Flexible. Or Eve; even though she'd traded in her gun for a desk, he didn't doubt she'd retained her killer instinct. Or perhaps the statuesque Abiona, born in Nigeria and raised in England, with a fierce grip and a pair of lips he'd more than once imagined around his-
That's not going to happen, he reminded himself firmly, cutting off the fantasy before it began. The point is not to assign someone I'd want. He steeled himself, imagining the people he'd never want to touch him.
Then light flooded the room, and a willowy man with a mess of black hair strolled in.
Q. James gritted his teeth and wondered what special hell M would be sent to after her death for this.
He shut the door behind him. "I suppose you're going to tell me that youth is no guarantee of virility."
"And you're going to tell me that age is no guarantee of expertise."
He smirked. "We are getting to know each other, aren't we, 007?"
James watched as the young quartermaster's eyes roamed his body, his gaze evaluative and calm. There were no blankets to hide beneath, though James wouldn't have sought cover even if there were; he was not ashamed of his body. "A little more than I'd like, as it seems."
Q unbuckled his belt; it hit the floor with a clatter. "I think you might change your mind about that."
James watched, slightly amused, as he unzipped his cardigan and slipped off his shirt. The body beneath the stereotypical computer geek uniform surprised him; though lean, it was toned and fit, and he knew enough about evaluating his competition to know that Q would put up a good fight if he were trained in the right techniques.
His trousers and boxer briefs followed, leaving Q as exposed- and unashamed- as James. "Admiring the view?" he asked, noticing the path of James' eyes.
"Sizing up my enemy."
"Come now, 007," he purred, crawling into bed with him, "enemy is such a strong word."
"Don't act like you have some great fondness for me. I annoy you as much as you annoy me."
Propped up by his elbow, Q set a hand on James' chest, letting his fingers wander. "Is that true? Perhaps I requested this assignment."
James glared at him. "Just get on with it."
"So businesslike." His fingers lazily drifted down the barrel of his chest, over the strong stomach, then trailed over his thigh. "You're tense. You need to relax."
James wanted to hit him. He could, of course, refuse. The test stopped as soon as the subject wanted it to stop. But that would be taken into account on his final review, and James knew he'd lost too much ground on the other tests—"passed by the skin of your teeth," M had said, yesterday, when he thought she had decided he didn't need a repeat of this particular test. He was a step behind, even though he didn't want to admit it. But this he could endure, and he would, M and her cruel tricks be damned.
The little involuntary sigh from Q's lips as his slender fingers traveled the hard curves of James' muscles snapped him back to the present. The young quartermaster was hungry, he could see it; he was trying so hard to remain aloof but, behind the barely-maintained facade, he was salivating. A slight smirk appeared on James' lips. "You haven't been with a man before, have you?"
Q met his eyes with a smug look of his own. "I'll let you be the judge of that." And, in an instant, he straddled James and took him deep into his mouth, smashing his lips against his pelvis, pressing his tongue flat against him before tightening his throat like a vise.
James lurched forward, completely caught off-guard by the sudden onslaught of sensation. Shit. Q's tongue moved expertly, massaging the sensitive skin in flicks and circles, while his lips wrapped tightly around the base. He barely brought his head up, choosing instead to keep James buried deep, working his throat to provide stimulation.
His nerve endings were all awake, despite his best efforts. He closed his eyes, imagining Abiona, so he could enjoy Q's mouth guilt-free. Abiona. Her dark eyes, shining and full of mischief; her hand smoothly running up his side.
He relaxed into the pillow, her lips on his mind, and allowed himself to enjoy the delicious sensations. In his mind, he saw smooth brown skin, perfectly manicured nails, luscious lips sliding up and down, transporting him to ecstasy. He let out the slightest involuntary moan, and he felt lips curl into a smirk around him; then the warmth was gone.
"Enjoying yourself?" His voice was annoyingly smug.
Damn it. "I didn't take you for the predatory type," James said, pushing up to rest on his elbows.
"One would think that you would promptly realize your mistake in underestimating me, and not continue to do so."
Before James could make a comeback, Q had taken him again, all the way, this time touching his lips to his pelvis and then sliding all the way back up, catching the tip with his tongue as he went. He was lightning-quick, moving so fast that James could barely process what he was doing, the sweep of his messy hair adding an unexpected pleasant sensation every time he went all the way down. Goosebumps danced along his arms as Q's hand traveled up to lightly brush the inside of his elbow; grudgingly, he had to admit to himself that this man was good.
Because he's a man, James reasoned, and it's only logical that a man would know what other men like. But this argument vanished as Q's hand lingered at the back of James' knee, stroking softly as he continued to work his mouth. James knew that Q was reading him, and reading him well.
Then, just as suddenly as he'd attacked, he withdrew. Straddling James, Q smiled down at him, letting his hand fall between James' thighs. "Now you've had a little bit," he whispered, "it's time for me to test your limits, isn't it?"
He might have to lie here and sleep with this man, but he'd be damned if he was going to let him top. Roughly, he grabbed the quartermaster by the hair and one arm, intending to flip their positions; he was rewarded with the harsh sting of a belt to his face as Q twisted sharply back from the floor.
James didn't even flinch. "Quartermaster of MI6," he sneered, "and you can't be arsed to buy real leather."
"I'm a vegan. I disapprove of cruelty to animals." The corners of his mouth curved upward. "But in your case, I'll make an exception."
"Do they not teach children to respect their elders any longer?"
"I'm the one administering this test," Q reminded him, "and you would do well to remember that. Age-"
"Is no guarantee of expertise?" James filled in mockingly.
At this, Q smiled. "Now you're learning. Put your hands above your head."
"Like I said, I set the rules of this test. That's an order, 007."
Glaring at the young quartermaster, James did as he was told, and Q used his belt to secure both of his hands to the single rail at the head of the bed. "That's better," Q said, admiring his work. "I should tell you, it also couldn't be made of leather because it's made of a special composite. Strain, and it will burn a brand into your wrists. Break it, and it will take them off." He bent over, so close that his hair brushed James' forehead, and ran his tongue along his jawline. "Now it feels real, doesn't it?" The ominous whisper filled James' ear. "Now it feels like I'm forcing you."
Something clicked just then inside James. He was very unused to feeling helpless. For years, colleagues and superiors had been telling him that being a field agent was a young man's game, that the exhaustion caught up to you sooner or later, that it was time to get out of the field and behind a desk. But James was addicted to the adrenaline rush of facing the impossible, of coming up against certain death and devising ways to defeat it, of taking down foes considered unbeatable by most of the world. Yet, in bed, he was always on top, always the one setting the tone, always the one in control. And maybe that's why he'd never been satisfied with anyone.
But no one had done this to him.
No one had made a move to take his power away.
And, God help him, he was getting off on it.
From the pocket of his crumpled trousers, Q pulled a long, slender wand, perforated with tiny holes. "I've made this for you. Just to make things a bit more comfortable, and a bit less messy." Positioning the wand at James' entrance, he pressed the button at the end.
"Self-lubricating as it enters," Q explained. "I'm going to get you ready for me."
"Oh, that makes everything so much better."
"Sarcasm will get you nowhere," he said dryly. "And neither will struggling, so don't bother."
Part of him wanted to try, just to see if Q was bluffing; would he really bring something that could sever a man's limbs? But James did not doubt Q's ability to create this sort of device. Better safe than sorry, he decided, especially since this isn't a life-or-death matter. It's just sex.
The wand was warm on his skin, and he felt the slick liquid as Q gently pressed it past his entrance. Never- never- had he allowed anything to enter him like this and, if not for the fear of losing his hands, he would have wrung the quartermaster's neck for trying. He thought about telling Q exactly how he was going to kill him when he next saw him out of this room. But when James looked at him, he wore a smug smirk, one that said I'm in control, and the sharp threat died on his lips.
James gasped as it slowly slid inside of him, and balled up his fists to avoid the natural reaction of trying to strain against the belt. He was surprised to find that it didn't feel terrible; when Q began to slowly move it in and out, he let out a low moan, somewhere between discomfort and pleasure. Satisfied with his reaction, Q went a bit faster, pulling it out just a little further, putting just a fraction more force behind it.
James, unaware that he was even making noise, continued to moan. Q soaked up every sound, watched every twitch of his lips, the way his eyelids fluttered in time with the thrusts. "You like it," he declared, after a long silence.
"There is a difference," maintained James, "between my body's-" his voice caught- "response and my... my mind's response. My body may react to certain stimulation; that does not mean I- that I enjoy it. You will not break me."
"Oh, but I could break you," Q whispered, voice dark. "I could break you with a finger."
James leaned forward as far as he could, teeth bared, sick of his insolence. "Try me."
Carefully, Q slid the wand out and placed it on the table. "You will beg me to let you come," he promised. "Beg."
"Never in my life have I begged," James snarled, irritated at himself for wanting the wand back, "and I will not begin today."
He simply smirked. "I do hope you enjoy eating your words."
James drew in a sharp breath as Q slicked a finger and slid it inside, palm up. It felt no different than the wand: pleasant enough, but nowhere near breaking him. He was about to open his mouth to deliver a sharp insult when Q bent his finger.
For a moment, he couldn't process a single thought. He could only stare at Q's determined, confident face, and make the connection that Q was the one responsible for the intense sensations overwhelming his body. This was nothing a woman had ever done to him; it wasn't that he wouldn't have allowed it, if it had been suggested, but not one of the notches on his bedpost had suggested this.
And here was Q, not even asking permission. Cheeky little bastard.
He barely knew anything about his new quartermaster, other than that he was annoying and precise- oh, God, so precise. Q watched his face, responding to the littlest changes in James' expression by adjusting the angle of his finger, the corner of his mouth turning up into a satisfied smirk when James began to moan. And just when James thought the pressure was enough to make him burst, Q bent and took his entire length all the way down his throat.
"Oh, God," came the involuntary groan, his eyes rolling back in his head as the tip hit the back of Q's throat. Q pressed his tongue against James, and he let out a sigh of pleasure. That mouth- God...
Relenting for the moment, he let his head fall back onto the pillow, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensory input, the familiar sensation of a wet mouth on his cock coupled with the new sensation of Q's expert finger inside of him. Before long, Q had established a rhythm, the pressure on the inside perfectly matched to the pressure on James as Q's throat clenched around him. It was astonishing, how good he was, how quickly he'd learned James' body- even now, his free hand reached to stroke the sensitive patch of skin under his arm- how in the hell does he know that spot already?
And then, Q began to move faster, taking him impossibly deeper, angling his finger just a bit sharper, and James couldn't bear it any longer. The strangled moans gave way to whispered orisons- "Oh, God... I'm so close..." and as Q slowed, pulled his lips nearly off, teasing- the bastard- James arched against him, desperate to keep it going. "Don't stop... don't stop... please..." And even as he said it, he knew he'd lost, but he didn't care. All he knew was the need to come.
Q smirked around his cock and, satisfied by the pleas, sped up again.
James remained silent but for his moans, hating himself for needing this so fiercely; but the quartermaster was too good. His foe was more formidable than he'd originally thought. And then- "oh- yes-" and he was coming hard, back arched, trying valiantly not to strain against the wired belt, fingers gripping the bedrail.
Before letting him go, Q made a point of swallowing every last bit and flicking the tip with his tongue just to make James squirm. "I told you that you'd beg."
"All right," James relented, breath coming in ragged gasps, "age is no predictor of expertise. How's that, you bloody twit?"
Q just smiled. "Now it's my turn."
"Hush, 007, just lie back and take it."
James had never hated anyone more fiercely. He was lying there beneath a smug little Cambridge prick with glasses too big for his face and a mop of hair he'd probably never combed in his life, a kid who'd never been in the field, didn't know what it was like to face death and beat it into submission, and James was powerless to do anything to stop him. Sure, he could end the test with a word, but that would reflect poorly on his readiness. And even as the thought ran through his brain, he knew that was only an excuse. Even now, he couldn't help but wonder- if Q could do that with a finger- what else did he have in store?
"Yes… glare at me like that." Q bent close to his face and softly ran his fingers along James' jaw. "I like it."
"You're smug now," James said, watching him prepare himself, "while you've got me tied up with one of your inventions and I'm on the verge of not being cleared for active duty. But once I get out of here-"
"Once you get out of here," Q replied, expression serene, "you'll visit Q branch weekly to ask me for more." And, positioning himself at James' entrance, he slid inside.
His eyes flew open. The rest of Q might have been slender and willowy; the part resting inside of James was anything but.
It hurt a bit, but James was used to physical pain. The real wound was to his pride, for as Q began to move, he knew that the quartermaster had been completely correct in his assumption. If one long finger had felt good, this felt amazing, and James knew- without a shred of doubt- that he'd tear Q from his computer and drag him here to have this again.
What was most infuriating, though, was the look on Q's face. He knew he was in control. And he knew he'd be in control even without the threat of the belt around James' wrists. Bastard.
Q's pace was almost leisurely, his hips rolling slowly as he traced the terrain of James' body with his delicate fingertips. Q was easing him into this, letting James' body adapt to his. But James had already adapted, and he wanted more, he wanted it harder, he wanted to know how much of the quartermaster he could handle. Show me what you can do, he wanted to growl, wanted to demand, but he refused to let go of the little pride he had left.
And then- just as James was considering giving in- Q got tired of being patient, gripped James' shoulder, and slammed into him just as hard as he could thrust. Stars burst behind his eyes, a blinding light in the unending dark, some exquisite mix of agony and bliss, and he moaned as his fingers clutched desperately at the bedrail.
It was then that Q, with that insolent smirk, wrapped his fingers around James, and James discovered that he was already hard and aching again. "Well, 007. Seems you can't lie your way out of this one. You like this."
James glared at him and said nothing.
"Come now, James. A man like you is smart enough to know when he's defeated. Admit it."
Q bent to brush his ear with his lips. "Admit it and I'll let you come again."
James gritted his teeth, but couldn't deny that he wanted it. "Yes."
"Yes to what?"
If his hands were free, he might have punched him. "I like it." His voice was thick with irritation.
James felt the smirk against his ear. "Then call me by my name when I make you come."
"I don't know your name," James replied witheringly.
"Q will do."
The last thing James felt before losing all self-control was the flick of Q's tongue against his earlobe and a soft, sanguine laugh which made every hair on his body stand up on end.
And then Q was thrusting into him, at just the right angle, balancing himself with one hand while the fingers of the other wrapped tightly around James, moving up and down; and suddenly every nerve ending was on fire, his body at resonant frequency and buzzing.
It was like drowning, like the heady feeling when breath runs out and the desire to inhale water becomes overwhelming, and James wanted to pull water into his lungs until they burst. He strained against the belt as Q delivered a particularly sharp thrust, and the wires ignited against his skin. He let out a short exclamation, and Q met his gaze, a dark hunger in his own eyes.
"Say it." Q's voice was a vehement, ragged whisper. "I want to hear it."
"Q," James moaned, hating himself, hating the man above him, hating everything, while at the same time relishing the most violent, most beautiful sensations his body had ever experienced. "Q..."
Above James, the simple syllable threaded itself into Q's blood, feeding the billowing flames which threatened to burn through his own composed facade; but he would not give James the satisfaction. He remained unmoved, the only change in expression coming as he neared his climax, lips parting, a telltale blush blazing across his chest and cheeks. Desperately, he worked his wrist, wanting so badly to feel James come before he did...
And then James was close, so close, the steady movement of Q's hand and hips pushing him dangerously close to the edge. "Q-" And before he could whisper another word, the world fell apart around him. The belt, true to Q's word, burned like a bracelet of fire, but James couldn't be bothered; no amount of pain could minimize the pleasure, no amount of threat to life and limb could stop him from screaming in absolute ecstasy.
As he came down, he prayed to a God he didn't often talk to that none of MI6 had heard those strangled cries, that Abiona hadn't heard the quartermaster's designation fall from his lips, that no one was watching this test and his evaluation was carried out by Q alone.
"007-" As the numbers formed on Q's tongue, that talented tongue, James tightened his muscles around him and Q gave a start, eyes flying open. "Oh- God-" And then James felt Q spill inside of him, warm and verboten and, God, incredible- and he caught his eyes, flickering like fireflies in the dark behind his glasses.
For a moment, they remained locked together, then Q slid slowly out. Frustratingly, James wanted him back the moment he was gone- but that was neither here nor there. It was over.
James got up and reached for his robe, tying it around himself. "I've passed. I'm finished with you."
"Oh, but you aren't." He rose, crossing the room. "Even if you don't pay me a visit to repeat our little dance-" gently, he pushed up James' sleeve, where two red lines were raised into the skin- "those aren't going away any time soon." Coolly, he donned his own robe. "You're mine, 007." And, with a smirk, he walked out the door, leaving James glaring after him, knowing it was absolutely true.