give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; give this man a fish and you witness utter dismay.
~~~
ahjfkj i love domestic 00q
3. then that's what we will have to do by blindbatalex (@blindbatalex)
After a gruelling few days at work Q is looking forward to crashing at his best friend's place and cuddling with her to sleep. The only problem? For some reason when he rings the doorbell it is Bond who answers the door.
1. make your tired eyes widen (and your cheeks turn rouge) by thestalwartheart (@thestalwartheart)
It all starts as all things do: harmlessly.
-----
Q likes a job well done. Bond just likes Q. It's inadvisable, perhaps, but also inescapable.
~~~
this isn’t the suffocating sort of pining, but more like the decadent sort instead if im making any sense at all rn and sometimes i just like a good pine with certainty
2. the ballad of you (and your brain) by thestalwartheart (@thestalwartheart)
It’s the hands he notices first.
---
James Bond has a thing for competence. Maybe that's why he likes certain parts of Q so much.
~~~
yall ever just find this one fic author who does this one very specific thing very well because i just,,, am a sucker for the decadent and lush sort of pining and this author just does it so well
3. On the Care and Maintenance of Quartermasters by Tokyo_the_Glaive (@tokyotheglaive)
Q gets sick just as Bond's about to be shipped to Islamabad. Bond just wants Q to get better (and possibly fall for him).
(Or, the one where Bond decides that the perfect moment to woo Q is when he's home sick.)
~~~
not bond thinking that the best time to woo q is when snot is dripping from his nose
Storge: This is the love of community and family. Often dutiful, sometimes unfeeling, but very strong, nonetheless. It is a natural, fleshly love, but powerful enough to be a real hindrance to spiritual growth, especially when you may feel family and culture are holding you down/back. It is a type of love that can or even may pull you towards a lesser path.
Storge (pronounced storjay) refers to…
Follow up to you’ve got a second chance, you could go home. The fix-it that was demanded. 00Q hurt/comfort, happy ending. Bond takes care of Q. This time it goes better. 5,400 words
-
A few days after Q pulled Bond out of the bar, Bond showed back up at MI6. He felt unmoored without the only life he’d come to know, and the people who were the closest to family he’d known in many, many years. Being with Madeleine had given him something to focus on, a role to fill, but with her gone, he found himself completely at loose ends, and horribly, achingly lonely. He wanted his life, his family, back. He put on a suit, his familiar armour, and strode into HQ as if he’d never left.
Mallory gave him a stern talk before reinstating him.
“You can’t go about ‘dying’ and retiring and then coming back on every passing whim, 007. This is British Intelligence, not the YMCA. If you need a vacation, take a bloody vacation, through the proper channels.”
“Of course, sir. Sorry sir.”
“You left quite a mess behind you this time, you know. Not that that isn’t your usual MO, I suppose. But there was still a lot of Spectre rabble to round up, and it was left to your colleagues to deal with. They may not all be raring to greet you.”
When he took off with Madeleine, Bond hadn’t given much thought to what, or whom, he was leaving behind. He was focused on her, and escaping, really. He could see how that might not sit so well with those that had been left.
He headed to Q branch afterwards, thinking he’d fit in a hello while he was at HQ, but he received a frosty reception. It was jarring. Gone were Q’s smiles, his sparkling eyes. There was no playfulness, no banter. Q ignored him when he first entered, only looking up when he had finished what he was working on. He pinned Bond with an unimpressed look.
“What are you doing here?”
Bond smiled and flashed his badge. “I’ve been reinstated.”
“Have you,” Q commented, not seeming interested. “I’m quite busy, so unless you need something…”
“Right. Well, I look forward to working with you again,” Bond offered.
R was glaring openly at him from behind Q, and Q turned back to his work without another word. Bond wasn’t sure what he expected after the night Q had dragged him home from the bar, but he hadn’t quite expected this. It seemed he had some work to do on mending bridges.
Things didn’t get much better in the passing weeks. Bond made an extra effort to bring back as much of his equipment as possible, in as good condition as possible, but Q never commented on it. He also started bringing in treats: Turkish Delight from a mission, a croissant and Earl Grey pudding from a specialty café Bond knew in London, a bag of Q's favourite brand of lollies. Q gave them only the briefest acknowledgement, but at least they didn’t get binned.
Bond realised more and more what he had at MI6 before he left, what he had with Q, what he had enjoyed, and had now lost, and he wanted it back, badly. He kept turning over Q’s words from that night in February, what he could remember of it, in his head. I was so happy when you showed up in my workshop; you would flirt with Her Majesty’s corgi if it served you; I deserve to be someone’s first choice. He couldn’t stop thinking of the feel of Q’s lips against his own. He hadn't really been thinking, when he’d done that. He’d been drunk, and desolate, and Q had shown him care, and James had been drawn in, like a moth to a flame. But now he’d had time to think about it. Time to realise that he wanted what they’d had back, the banter and charged glances, the care and implicit trust. And he wanted more, and didn’t know how to get there.
He stopped bedding people on missions unless strictly necessary, hoping that might show his ability to be sincere. It still didn’t seem to make a difference.
-
Three months after his return to MI6, Bond entered Q branch after a mission in Lisbon, and made a beeline for Q, who found he had no way to seamlessly escape. Bond turned in his kit, which contained everything he had been issued, in good working condition, as well as handing over a plastic carton of meringues. Q stared down at it for an inordinate amount of time, and Bond shifted on his feet.
“What is this? What is it you think you’re doing?” Q demanded suddenly.
“What?” Bond asked in confusion.
“I don’t understand. Are you trying to say sorry, or thank you, for that night? Because neither is necessary. Just…go back to normal,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “You’re being weird, it’s disconcerting. No need to make missions harder in order to prove…whatever point you’re trying to prove.”
Bond looked at him assessingly. “Have I failed any missions recently?”
Q wrinkled his nose. “No, but—”
“So is there a problem?”
“You’re acting weird,” Q asserted again, “and I don’t like it.”
Bond looked amused. “You like it better when I lose and destroy equipment, and seduce my way through the mission?”
Q’s face did something funny. “No—”
“Well then what?” Bond demanded.
“You won’t gain anything by this!” Q declared, his voice raising unintentionally. A few Q branchers looked up, and Q cleared his throat in embarrassment.
“Maybe it was just time to make some changes,” Bond said softly, giving Q a meaningful look, which Q did his best to ignore.
“Fine. My budget thanks you,” Q said curtly. “I have to go speak with R regarding something, so if you’ll excuse me.”
Bond being back and acting the way he had been was messing with Q, making his feelings impossible to ignore or bury. It seemed like Bond was trying to get into his good graces, and Q really didn’t know what to do with it. By now they should have settled back into the status quo, but Bond kept on with the treats, kept returning his kit in good condition, and kept his hands off the marks. If it were someone else, Q would think they were trying to woo him. Part of Q wondered if that’s what Bond was doing, if he was trying to show Q that that night, that kiss, hadn’t been just a drunken mistake, but Q couldn’t go down that road. Even if that was what Bond was up to, what he was thinking, Q was sure that he would just end up hurt and abandoned. Again. He was determined to keep his distance.
But in his avoidance, of both Bond and his own feelings, he started working longer hours. Staying later at work meant less time sitting home alone, less time thinking about Bond. He did try going on a few dates, hoping for the distraction of someone new: a couple from an app, one that Eve set him up on, but it was no use. He found himself comparing each of them to Bond: this one not parrying his banter, that one too slim, those eyes the wrong shade of blue. It was useless and stupid and infuriating, and so he gave up on the endeavour altogether. Better to bury himself in work until this obsession blew over. It had to eventually, he figured.
-
Bond had been keeping an eye on Q. He’d noticed the quartermaster was working longer hours, often working through mealtimes. He was looking wan and tired. Bond took to bringing him snacks and meals when possible, and asked R to help keep an eye on him when Bond was away on missions, giving them money to keep the quartermaster fed when he wasn’t feeding himself. R had begrudgingly agreed to the arrangement, making it clear that they were doing so for their boss’s sake, not Bond’s.
Late on a Wednesday night, a few months after his return, Bond was sitting in his car near the door Q routinely left from on his way to the tube station. Q had seemed especially exhausted when Bond visited his workshop earlier, and Bond felt worried about his ability to make it home safely. He straightened when the quartermaster finally came out the doors, ready to start the car once Q was a bit past him, planning on just making sure he got on his way home alright. Q was near the bottom of the steps, almost to the sidewalk, when he paused, a hand reaching up to press his fingers to his temple. He rubbed at it, then stepped forward again, only to crumple. Bond was out of his car in an instant, watching in horror as Q hit the pavement. He ran across the street, paying no mind to the angry honk from a passing car, and was quickly at Q’s side. He carefully scooped Q into his arms and carried him back inside the building, hurrying to the medical unit, worry gnawing at his gut.
When Q came to, lying on a bed in Medical, he grimaced and squinted, the glaring lights piercing his eyes. The doctor ran through a checklist of symptoms, but Q seemed to be hearing and understanding her alright, and his eyes were working, though they were sensitive to the light. The doctor stated that he likely had a mild concussion. She surmised that he had fainted due to exhaustion, low blood sugar and dehydration. She admonished him for working overlong hours (gossip spread in MI6), and not eating and drinking properly. She then dispensed her care recommendations for the concussion: Q wasn’t to be alone for the next 48 hours, he was to have lots of rest, avoid stress, and consume no alcohol, aspirin or sleeping tablets for the next couple of days. She insisted that he take the rest of the week off work, and informed him that she would re-check him on Monday, then left them with the nurse.
Q looked indignant and outraged. “Absolutely not! I have too much to do, I can’t just take time off—”
Bond interrupted him: “R can manage things, they’ll be fine,” he said calmly.
"But—”
“No buts,” Bond said sternly. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone and caused yourself to collapse. You don’t get to make these calls now, doctor’s orders.”
“Well I don’t bloody well have to listen to you!” Q retorted.
“Do you have someone else to come take care of you and make sure you rest?” Bond asked.
“Well—I—”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me, then.”
“No, I’ll find someone—”
“Who?” Bond demanded.
Q looked up at the ceiling, grasping at straws. “Maybe Eve can—”
“Mallory needs Moneypenny. I, however, don’t have a mission, and am completely free to take care of our quartermaster.”
"You’ll send my blood pressure through the roof,” Q muttered.
“Enough quibbling, we’re taking up the medical team’s valuable time.” Bond turned to the nurse waiting nearby. “We’ll get out of your hair now! Thanks ever so.” He took the paper bag she was holding with medicine for Q.
Q frowned at him, but Bond ignored it, tugging lightly at Q’s arm to get him to stand, then wrapping an arm around his waist.
Q tried to pull away. “Get off! That is completely unnecessary!”
Bond raises his brows. “Says the man who just cracked his skull on the front steps! I can carry you back out if you prefer.”
“Absolutely not, don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s how I brought you in,” Bond replied, shrugging easily.
“That won’t be happening.”
“Right then. Stop fussing and let’s get on with it.”
Q harrumphed but let Bond grip him around the waist as they made their way back out of Medical and out of the building.
“Let me at least go get my laptop—”
“No."
“R might need—”
“The doctor said no stress. R will be just fine, they are perfectly competent, you’ve trained them well.”
Q humphed. “And you just happened to be nearby when I was leaving tonight?” he asked suspiciously.
“Yes."
“Hmm,” Q replied, not believing him for a moment.
Bond tucked him into the car and did up his seat belt while Q swatted at him. “Would you stop that, I’m not a child, nor an invalid.”
"Just making sure you’re safe,” Bond replied, unbothered.
Bond pulled out smoothly into traffic and headed for Q’s house. Q was resting his head back against the seat, looking out the window with a distant expression, when he suddenly straightened and turned to Bond.
“Wait, how do you know where I live? I didn’t give you my address.”
Bond gave no sign that he heard him, and Q sighed, resting his head back again and closing his eyes. They didn’t talk the rest of the way there. When they got out of the car, Bond remained glued to Q’s side like a golden retriever. Q’s head was throbbing, and their proximity was giving him flashbacks of that night in February. He groaned, and Bond immediately turned to him.
“Are you alright, are you in pain?”
“I’m fine, my head just hurts,” Q said tiredly.
Once inside, Bond helped Q over to the sofa, carefully stepping around the cats that were twining around their feet and mewling, supporting him as he lay down with his head resting on the arm. “Do you have an ice pack?” Bond asked as he walked into the kitchen. Q directed him to its location in the freezer. “They said you couldn’t take any painkillers for the first few hours, but the caffeine in tea might help. I’ll get that started. You can take a paracetamol before bed.” He wrapped the ice pack in a tea towel, then brought it over, lifting Q’s head gently to set it behind his head where it had hit the concrete.
The cats had an automatic feeder and water fountain, but Bond made sure they were both topped up. He then put on the kettle for tea before looking through the cupboards. “You live like this?” he asked incredulously, looking at the meagre contents. “There’s nothing here!”
Q winced. “I’ve been busy! I haven’t been able to make it out to the shops recently.”
Bond gave him a critical look. “I seem to remember you giving me a hard time, insinuating I was drinking myself to death, and yet, here you are, seemingly intent on working yourself to death.”
Q had his eyes closed and a hand held to his temple, but he furrowed his brow, and Bond was sure he would have rolled his eyes, had they been open. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not!” Bond protested. “You’re thin, and exhausted, and you haven’t any food in your house! And when was the last time you left work even remotely on time?”
Q turned his head slightly away, towards the back of the sofa, focusing on petting Babbage, who had taken up residence in his lap. He resisted the petty urge to say something about his dates. The truth of it was, he wasn’t sure of the answer to Bond’s question.
Bond sighed. “I’ll order us some takeaway,” he said, pulling out his phone and tapping away for a few minutes. “Curry alright?” he asked, glancing up. Q nodded gingerly. Bond put in the order, then made tea, bringing a mug over to Q and tucking a blanket around him.
“Again, I’m not an invalid.”
“Oh, let me care for you, for god’s sake. Pricklier than a porcupine these days,” Bond grumbled.
Q made a face but let it go. They tried putting the TV on while they waited for dinner to arrive, but Q found it hard on his eyes, so Bond quickly shut it off. He looked around the room, wondering what else they could do to pass the time. He got up and walked over to the bookshelf.
“I could read you something, if you like?” he suggested uncertainly. Q looked at him in surprise.
“I can read,” Bond joked.
“Uh, sure, if you’d like,” Q replied.
“Any preference?”
“No, whatever you’d like.” Bond perused the titles on the bookshelf for a few minutes in silence. “By the time you’ve picked something, dinner will be here,” Q teased.
“Impatient, aren’t you,” Bond responded good-naturedly. He settled on a book, pulling it down off a higher shelf, and came over to the sofa, lifting Q’s feet up so he could sit before letting them settle in his lap.
“What did you pick, then?”
“Never mind, keep your eyes closed and you’ll soon find out.”
“All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wandering to guide.”
Q shifted on the sofa, trying to peer at the book. “What did you choose??” he asked.
“You’ll have to keep listening to find out, I suppose.” Bond continued reading.
“…Alice! a childish story take,”
“Bond! You didn’t pick Alice in Wonderland,” Q said incredulously.
“So what if I did?” Bond asked.
Q laughed softly. “I haven’t opened that book in years, since long before I moved here.”
“My mother was fond of it, when I was small,” Bond offered. Q held his breath. Bond had never spoken of his past like that before. Q knew he’d been bestowed a gift, far beyond tea and confections. He settled in to keep listening.
After dinner, Bond cleared up the containers and washed the dishes, then came back to Q, who was falling asleep on the sofa.
“Alright, off to bed with you,” Bond said.
“Mrrr.”
Bond let out a soft laugh. “You sound like your cats. That’s what happens when you spend too much time with someone. Or something, it seems.”
“Don’ spend too much time with them,” Q murmured, “don’ spend enough time with them.”
“Yes, well, whose fault is that? Workaholic.”
“‘m not. Just been… busy.”
“I don’t think things have been any more busy than usual, you’ve just been keeping yourself busy.”
“Had to stay busy. Stay distracted.”
“From what?” Bond questioned.
“…Nothing.”
“Hmm.”
Bond helped Q up off the sofa, sending Babbage leaping away with a disgruntled meow. Q was drowsy, and his hair was a mess, and it was adorable. Bond very much wanted to sweep him up in his arms and carry him off to bed, but he didn’t think Q would appreciate that, so he wrapped his arm around him instead to keep him steady. Q swayed on the way up the stairs, and Bond quickly tugged him closer into his body. They stared into each-other’s eyes, their faces now very close together.
“Careful,” Bond murmured, staring at Q’s lips.
“Sorry,” Q said, flustered. “I’m fine.” He suddenly seemed much more awake, and quickly climbed the rest of the stairs. Bond lurked as Q brushed his teeth, and followed him to the door of his room. “I’m quite fine now,” Q said. “I’m putting on my pyjamas and going to bed.”
“Right. Good. Call me if you need anything, I’ll be on the sofa. I’ll check on you a few times, but I won’t wake you unless there’s a concern.”
“Alright. Good night, Bond.”
“Good night, Q.” Bond turned to go back downstairs, but stopped when Q called after him.
“Bond?”
Bond quickly turned back. “Yes?”
“Thank you,” Q said softly.
“Of course.” Bond gave him a warm smile before going back downstairs. Back in the kitchen, the paper bag from Medical caught Bond’s eye. He had forgotten the paracetamol. He brought Q a glass of water and a tablet before retiring to the sofa, setting a timer on his phone to check on Q in three hours before lying down under a throw blanket. He found himself wishing he were in Q’s bed too, with the other man wrapped securely in his arms. A ridiculous thought, he chided himself. He was lucky that Q had allowed him to take him home and stay, and not tossed him back out upon arrival.
The following morning, Bond stepped out briefly to get a few basic groceries for breakfast, and a toothbrush for himself. He left Q with strict orders not to leave the sofa until he was back, and to call Bond if he needed anything, or if he started to feel funny, if— Q called him a mother hen and told him to go, already.
Q’s phone rang while Bond was out.
“Eve,” Q greeted.
“Q! Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“I heard you fell and cracked your head on the pavement outside! You’re not alone, are you? Do you need me to come—”
“I promise, I’m alright. And I’m not alone.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Well, Bond, actually.”
“James Bond?”
“That’s the one.”
“Are you… alright with that?”
Q sighed. “I wasn’t happy about it, but it’s alright. He’s actually been very attentive, and, well, sweet.”
“Oh really?” Moneypenny drawled. Q could just picture the sly grin on her face. He rubbed at his temple.
“Yes, really.”
“Well what is he doing now? I can’t imagine you said that in his presence.”
“No,” Q affirmed. “He’s gone out to get a few things from the shop. Could you do me a favour, actually, on your lunch break? I’ll owe you one.”
“Go on, what is it?”
“Do you think you could go round to Bond’s and get him some clothes, just a few things for while he’s here? The doctor insisted I not be on my own for forty-eight hours, and he is stubborn about staying.”
“Well, you haven’t been taking care of yourself lately, so somebody has to.”
Q groaned. “Not you, too.”
“I’ve been at you for weeks about it! Anyways, yes, I can do that. I’ll check in with Bond to see what he needs.”
“Thank you.”
“So are you softening to him again?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You’re a shit liar. You just called in a favour on his account.” He could hear her smiling again.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Love you too! See you at lunchtime.”
-
On Friday evening, Bond was reluctant to leave. The time had passed quickly, between reading to Q, chatting about books and music, playing with the cats and sharing meals. Going back to his bare, empty flat was not something Bond looked forward to, and he’d really been enjoying Q’s company. It was also pouring rain outside, and entirely uninviting.
“The forty-eight hours isn’t quite over yet,” Q said, “you may as well stay for dinner?”
“Absolutely. Can’t be breaking the doctor’s orders,” Bond agreed gratefully.
Bond made them spaghetti with pesto and grape tomatoes. After their meal he did the dishes, refusing Q’s help and forcing him to go sit on the sofa. As he finished tidying up in the kitchen he looked somewhat forlornly out the window. Q followed his gaze.
“Maybe it’ll let up some,” Q suggested. “Why don’t you stay for tea, perhaps after that it won’t be so bad.”
“I’d love to.”
Q’s attempts to maintain distance between them had been quickly going down the drain: Bond had been so sweet and attentive over the past couple days. Well, perhaps the past few months, if Q was honest with himself. Bond had been making an effort since he returned to MI6, Q just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, hadn’t wanted to look at it too closely, out of self-protection. Hadn’t been ready to believe it. But he loved their bantering and fine, god, he had missed it. And now Bond had been feeding him and making him tea, reading to him, petting the cats and even saying sweet things to them, which was something Q found he just didn’t have armour against. And it was quite nice to have company at home. It was never too lonely, with the cats, but he had somewhat forgotten what it was like to have someone else around, and he had perhaps missed it more than he realised. He was not relishing the thought of being on his own once more. Bond also now had his sleeves rolled up from doing the dishes, damn him, and he was becoming more relaxed as time went on, and fuck if all that wasn’t attractive as hell.
Bond made them tea, then came over to join Q and the cats on the sofa. Lovelace jumped up from her spot beside Q with a chirp, perching on the back on the sofa.
“Are we going to talk about that night, in February?” Bond asked hesitantly after handing Q his mug.
“What is there to talk about?” Q wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Lots, probably.”
“I hardly think so.”
“How did you know I was back? How did you find me at the bar?”
Q looked guilty, which was something Bond didn’t think he’d seen before. Q looked like he was debating his answer. Eventually he said, “I still have the Smart Blood program. On my home laptop.”
“Do you?” Bond asked with interest.
“And I opened it - to look up someone else,” Q said hastily, knowing the lie was probably apparent, “and it showed you in London, at the bar. And then my curiosity got the better of me, and I looked again the next day, and it showed the bar again. When it was the same the following day, I felt worried, and decided to just go…check. Make sure you were alright.”
Bond grinned. “Aww, Q, didn’t know you cared!” he said jokingly.
But Q wasn’t smiling back. “That isn’t funny.”
“What? I only…”
“You knew, you must have known,” Q said.
“Known what, exactly?” Bond asked, looking perplexed.
“You had to have known how I felt about you!” Q said forcefully. “You even said, that night—”
“I only meant that I thought a kiss wasn’t unwelcome,” Bond said.
“I don’t believe you,” Q said, utterly unconvinced. “You knew you could get whatever you wanted from me. I couldn’t say no to you,” he added with a hint of bitterness.
“Are you saying you had feelings for me? How would I have known?”
The question seemed genuine, and Q was floored. “Really?” He asked, incredulous.
“I was about to be flattened by a train, and you said ‘that’s vexing,’ as if you were commenting on the fact that your tea had gone cold!”
“Are you—do you mean back when you were chasing Silva?” Q let out a disbelieving laugh. “We’d only just met!”
“Well, you hold double O’s in quite high regard, then. Easy come, easy go.”
“I’ll have you know that I was looking for a way to stop the train before you solved the problem yourself. Have you been holding onto that all this time, then?”
“Wasn’t the only time,” Bond said obstinately.
Q raised a brow. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I thought it best to stay calm and professional during missions. Would you rather I panic in your ear when things go to shit, then? Or maybe whisper sweet nothings? Would that help you to not get killed?”
Bond wasn’t sure how to respond. He was also realising just how much he had been taking for granted, before. Q’s compliance and aid. His care. The way he often seemed to be a step ahead of Bond, already anticipating his needs, understanding him better than Bond possibly did himself. The trust that had quickly and easily built between them, quite without Bond’s notice. And he’d thrown that all away, when he took off with Madeleine. Someone he hardly knew, really. Someone who was often distracted by her own needs and issues, unable to properly appreciate Bond’s. He’d tossed not only his job, but everyone he had worked with, built trust and rapport and relationships with. He started making a mental list of others that he should also make amends with.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Bond said.
Q looked at him in shock. “Come again?” he said, taken aback.
“I said you’re right. You were always steady throughout missions, and got me out safely. I took you for granted, and I was uncaring in how I left. I’m sorry, on both counts.”
“You know, maybe we should go back to Medical, I think I’m hallucinating.”
Bond rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”
“No, I’m serious! Because I swear you just told me that you were wrong, and that you took me for granted, and apologised, which is ludicrous, because 007 does not do any of those things, so I must have hit my head harder than we thought.”
“I’m not speaking as 007, I’m speaking as James.”
“Oh,” Q said softly.
“I realise I may have a lot to make up for, but I’m going to try.”
“Well, you have been off to a good start,” Q admitted, “even if I didn’t want to acknowledge it. Don’t think I didn’t know it’s been you, leaving treats and sandwiches in my office, even roping R into doing it when you were away.”
“Well, someone had to feed you. You weren’t doing it yourself.”
“Thank you. And thank you for this,” Q said quietly, looking down into his tea. “You really didn’t have to take me home, stay with me.”
“I did, though. And more-so, I wanted to. Listen, I know that my actions that night in February were terribly… misguided, but you were wrong. Maybe not wrong to stop it, I realise I had absolutely rotten timing, but I wouldn’t have regretted doing anything with you, Q. I suppose I do have regrets, but not the kind you had imagined. I regret my timing, and how it pushed you away. I regret walking away the way I did to begin with, in November. But I don’t regret kissing you, in and of itself.”
“Wasn’t much of a kiss,” Q whispered.
“Perhaps, but if it was all I get, I can’t regret it.”
Q’s resolve had quite dissolved, he found. “Would you like another go?” he asked quietly.
“Very much,” Bond answered earnestly.
Q shuffled closer, setting his mug on the coffee table and leaning in slowly. He reached a tentative hand up, lightly cupping Bond’s face, and pressed his lips softly to Bond’s. This was nothing like the previous kiss. James’s lips were soft, and warm. It felt right, inevitable. Hopeful.
After a moment, Bond set his tea down as well, reaching his hand up to gently comb into Q’s curls. He deepened the kiss slowly, sweetly, sucking on Q’s lower lip. Q groaned quietly into it, leaning in closer. Bond eventually broke the kiss, only to press a light kiss to the beauty mark above his lip, then the one below it, and the one on his jaw, and on his throat. He thought about following them down, like connect-the-dots, from Q’s face to wherever they may lead, if he was given permission later. For now he didn’t want to push his luck.
Bond drew back slowly, and Q drew in a stuttering breath.
“Was that better?” Bond asked softly.
“Mmm.” Q felt like his words were stuck in his throat. “Yes.” He wasn’t certain he remembered the question, if he was honest.
“What would you say to a date, tomorrow, if you’re free?”
“I would say I’d love that. What would you say to staying the night?” Q asked, his eyes heavy-lidded.
“I would love that even more,” Bond murmured.
“Delightful.”
“So am I possibly forgiven, then?”
“You’re getting there. Keep up the good behaviour.”
“I’ll strive to do so.”
This was happening, Q thought. He could have this. Walking away from Bond that night in February had been one of the harder things he’d ever done, but he knew it had been necessary. He didn’t know exactly how things would have gone, if he’d stayed, but he did know it would have been a right mess, and he would probably have had his heart even more broken that he had in walking away. But now, now the situation was entirely different. Bond had had time to get over things ending with Madeleine, as well as time to prove he was serious about Q. Prove he could give more and wanted more than a fleeting night or two of pleasure. That he could wait, stay, and care for Q. Now maybe Q could have what he wanted without worrying and overthinking so much. Sink into the pleasure of an evening together with the knowledge that Bond would still be there by his side the next day.
He found he trusted Bond enough now to let go, to reach for what he wanted. He looked forward to what the future might have to offer.
-
If you reblog/comment/tag, please know I love you 💗
Thank you to @eleanor-is-fine & @francisfordcupholder for beta’ing! <3
Check out my other Bond fics here 🔫
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from my list!
Tag list: @liaonyxrayne @pidgey07 @ccwliu @maddysgem @fandom-life-chooses-the-follower @forgivenessishisdesign
