NSFW Headcanon #3 - Play
This took some unreasonably long amount of time to finish. But, it’s done, so enjoy!
(inspired by this post)
Q found out that Bond was a dom by complete accident. He was at an obscure club, already paired up, when his dom for the night stopped to chat up an acquaintance in passing. Q kept his eyes on the floor until he heard the unmistakable familiar voice. He looked up in surprise, earning a sharp rebuke from his current dom as a result, but the confirmation was enough. Bond, to his credit, only gave him a cursory glance before proceeding to ignore him entirely. Q’s heart was still thumping like a frightened rabbit’s when they parted ten minutes later, and remained so for the rest of the otherwise unremarkable night.
The next time they saw each other was at a debriefing a week later. Everything remained absolutely professional, until Bond slipped him a line about getting drinks afterwards, and Q, unlike with all the previous times, accepted. They didn’t talk about anything of substance, opting for neutral topics like national security. This continued until they fell into bed together one night, vanilla as they come, after a proper dinner date. Q casually worked in an invitation to one of the more exhibitionist haunts before they parted, to which Bond just smiled and said, ‘alright.’
They purposely avoided coordinating and Q arrived 30 minutes after Bond. Just in time to see the agent on stage with two subs, tied together, armed with a glistening leather whip. Bond’s only attire was a pair of boots and jeans so tight Q could see the outline of his cock against the denim. He watched the agent methodically took the two mewling subs apart, barely restrained himself from coming in his pants right on the crowded floor.
When the scene ended Q cut straight to the back where Bond was carrying out aftercare. He waited until the room was empty before stumbling in, pulling the agent into a fierce, desperate kiss. Bond responded by grabbing a fistful of Q’s hair and crushing him against the wall. It was then that Q realized that Bond was still rock hard, and all the theatre out front was purely for his benefit. He got on his knees, unzipped the cursed jeans with his teeth, and took Bond into his mouth.
Their relationship was cemented after that. They still had dinner dates and nights together where all they wanted was a warm body to fall asleep with, and nothing changed at all in the professional sphere. But on days when everything went wrong at once Q would find himself on Bond’s doorstep, much later, with coils of rope in his bag instead of the usual electronics. And their respective roles would slide neatly into place. Bond giving Q’s turmoiled mind the calm he craved, and Q giving Bond the illusion that when a button is pressed the outcome is predictable and consistent, something the agent had never had in the most fundamental aspects of his life.
There was one distinct caveat. Q never called Bond “Sir” in any fashion. It was a manifestation of his own arrogance along with the fact that it might interfere with their workplace dynamic – he technically outranked Bond, after all. It didn’t really matter much, as Bond preferred to keep him gagged on most occasions. There was just something in that obedient silence that got the agent off faster than he could swing his whips. Q considered it a worthy tradeoff, because when he had his hands tightly bound, his head in Bond’s lap and his knees aching against the agent’s hardwood floor, his mind was as blissfully devoid of thoughts as it ever could be.
