Tease
Pairing: 00Q (Q/Bond)
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Bond likes the feel of Q inside of him.
Genre: PWP (porn what plot), fluff
Warnings: BDSM, semi-public sexual act, sex toy
Additional tags: dom!Q, sub!Bond
Collab prompt table fill: @opalescentgold requested “BDSM 00Q (denial, begging, test of control)” + “Q takes Bond shopping.”
Notes: I have no idea about how this turned out, honestly; my brain is still not working properly lol I hope you still enjoy it, Opal!
There were two things on the agenda that day, and one was already not quite turning out the way Bond had thought it would have. Not that he was complaining, though.
The confined and semi-public place that was the changing room really did add that more to the thrill of it all, heightening his senses as he bit back a strangled noise with Q pushing in the slicked up toy that much further inside of him.
“You took it beautifully,” Q said, hot breath peppering the shell of his ear, and Bond almost jumped, air leaping from the back of his throat in a barely audible gasp.
Bond couldn’t really even hear any other noises coming from other changing rooms nearby over the pounding of his own heart.
“Some actual yielded benefits from last night,” Bond murmured with halfhearted indignation and shivered when Q slipped a hand up the small of his back and just let it settle there like the cheeky little fiend that he was, rubbing gentle circles over the still sore area.
“Even better, then. You did seem like you got a good night's sleep out of it, too, from the looks of it.”
Bond could hear the amusement in Q’s voice as he straightened and pulled his trousers back up with him, swallowing at the feel of his already hardening cock.
He did manage to turn his head and shoot Q a wholesomely unimpressed look.
Q only smiled that much wider. “Let’s keep looking,” he said, adjusting his glasses with a proficiency and pragmatism that absolutely belied the lewd things that he’d just done and would, of course, be keeping on doing. “I don’t think that shirt would look good on you.”
Said shirt still sat there on the hanger, completely untouched.
-
The second agenda of the day was the cinema, and a third of the way through, Bond was seriously rethinking his life decisions. Nothing against the film itself, of course, but he barely even had enough attention to spare for his own dignity as it was, trying to sit there without outright squirming, what with the plug rubbing past his prostate every now and then as he shifted in his seat.
Next to him, Q was very much enjoying the movie in all its dry humor, seemingly having forgotten about the little predicament that he himself had part-taken in designing.
Except for the grounding hand that he kept on Bond’s knee.
Bond sucked in a sharp breath and resorted to counting in his head. Again. If nothing then to regulate his own breathing.
-
“Q…” Bond groaned, pressed gently into the bed with Q mouthing and sucking kisses all over his erogenous spots. The quartermaster was playing him expertly, tuning him taut as his muscles twitched from all the bursts of excitement that coursed under his skin.
“Hm?” Q raised his head to look up, a benevolent and expectant smile on his lips, and the air left Bond’s throat in a desperate, wet whoosh.
“I need you.” The rings of muscles in his entrance clenched helplessly, and Bond dug his fingers into the sheets.
“I’m right here,” Q replied, the only thing betraying that perfectly calm and soothing tone being the fire in his darkened eyes, and Bond could hear himself whine, the noise small and more than a little desperate, wanton lust licking up the ladder of his spine.
Q nuzzled into the still soft skin of Bond’s inner thigh at this, hot breaths leaving his open mouth, and those glistening red lips were ghosting feathery brushes against Bond’s flesh, spurring up goosebumps in their wakes.
He knew what he wanted, and he knew exactly how to get it as well.
Q could be such a painful tease.
“Please,” Bond breathed, the roaring in his ears loud and urgent. “I need you inside me. Q, please. Fuck.”
A slow, deceptively indolent grin spread across Q’s expression, his teeth gleaming white and canine sharp.
“Very good, James.”
