On his first visit to Q’s flat, Bond noted in between snogs that it was quite expensively located (Knightsbridge) and furnished (hardwood furniture, updated appliances, a fucking floating magnet bed). The same could be said of Q himself, who was regularly adorned with designer wear in the exact same price range Bond favored, if in a completely different style.
And although Q earned executive pay, he was still a public servant. So how did he afford a million-dollar mattress?
Q shrugged when Bond asked. “They’re called patents, 007. And if you’ll recall, I’m an inventor.”
“Oh, so now I’m 007, eh?” Bond teased. “Just a few minutes ago I was ‘James, James!’”
“And right now you’re ‘that tosser,’” Q grumped.
“Correction: ‘that tosser who’s going to make you breakfast,’” Bond said.
“At ten at night?” Q asked.
“It’s always a good time for scrambled eggs,” Bond said. Particularly because scrambled eggs took so long to make that Q, as planned, fell asleep, leaving Bond time to quietly ransack the place for clues.
Behind a false wall, under a loose floorboard in a closet with a sign that said ‘Beware of the leopard’ on it, Bond found them:
Diaries.
They were written in some kind of code, but Q had helpfully dated each entry, so it was obvious what the books were once Bond opened them and had a look.
“Tell you what,” Q said, glaring from the open door in the false wall, “if you can crack them, you can read them.”
Bond did not get laid again that night, and not the next morning either. He had also ruined Q’s appreciation of scrambled eggs as a morning-after meal, perhaps for life.
He did, however, get to take the diaries back to his flat with him, and the six months it took him to crack Q’s code gave him ample time to work his way back into Q’s good graces, to the point that they moved in together and Bond was allowed to work on them in the living room while Q gave him hints that were mostly false but very occasionally true.
(This also gave Q time to dig up Bond’s yearbooks from Fettes, an embarrassment so vile that it surely had to make them even. What had he been thinking, keeping his hair that long?)
Once Bond cracked them, the diaries made for endearing, humorous, and sometimes boring reading, not that he would tell Q that. They consisted of some notes regarding university courses and how Q was feeling that day, any witty or snide remarks he had about the people or media he’d encountered, daydream-y sketches of bizarre gadgets, detailed rants about things someone was Wrong Wrong Wrong about, complaints about the university food, and a rather adorable chronicle of Q’s introduction to sex.
It was at the sex part that things got interesting.
Partner says condom is uncomfortable with foreskin, Q wrote. Tried it myself and it wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t terrible. Told him to deal with it if he wanted my arse, but suspect it’ll be easier to invent something to shut him up.
My God. Bond hardly dared to breathe. Was this going where he thought it was going?
Convinced partner to test my new invention, Q wrote. He said it was fab and that he’d like to give some to the lads down the hall. I suppose that would be all right as long as they completed a consumer survey after use. “What are you calling them?” partner asked the next day. New product had several positive reviews via digital survey. I hadn’t thought of a name yet. “We’ll name them after you, then!” partner said, and was gone and yelling, “They’re Jacks!” before I could protest that naming a prophylactic after myself mightn’t be the most flattering thing in the world.
Partner’s muscles are very nice, but my tolerance for his big mouth begins to wane.
Yes! Bond pressed a hand to his mouth, instinctively concealing his broad grin. Jacks! They were a household name by now, started---yes, ten or fifteen years ago, by some kid in university who began with an online funding operation and ended up a multimillionaire because he’d not only made a more comfortable condom for people with foreskin, he’d engineered a more comfortable and safer condom design in general. Christ, if Q still got royalties from that...why the hell was he working?
No, Bond knew the answer to that; Q worked because he’d go insane without an intellectually stimulating routine, just like Bond got unbearable to be around when he’d gone for too long without a mission.
A fine pair, the two of them. Jack and James.
He bought a pack of Jacks the next time he went out (not their first pack, mind you, and how had Q not said anything the previous times they’d used them?). All he had to do was toss them on the bed to get Q groaning and trying to drown himself in his pillow. Apparently the smirk said it all.
“Now, Jack,” Bond said, grinning.
Q flung the pillow at him. “It’s Q,” he said, frowning. “Just Q. If I’m going to be your condom sugar daddy and keep you in caviar, you can call me by my chosen name, thank you.” Despite the sarcastic humor, it was clear that Q meant it.
Bond sat down next to Q and said seriously, “You know I’ll call you whatever you like.”
“Thank you,” Q said, leaning into him.
“But I didn’t know ‘daddy’ was what you were into, Q.” Bond chuckled.
Q bit him on the shoulder and narrowed his eyes. “Judo,” he said simply. “Judo Bond.”
Damn that yearbook. And damn his secondary school self to hell for thinking that had been a cool nickname.
“Did you say we had caviar?” Bond asked.
“In the kitchen,” Q said, smirking. “I thought that might distract you.”
They ended up using a Jack or two that night, but even during the initial grin-from-Bond-and-pounce-from-Q moment, Bond was never tempted to use Q’s former name.
Q was Q, and he was James Bond, and they were Q and James no matter who Q had been or how he’d made his money.
“It’s a tournament. James won the grand prize. Q offered him an alternative prize.” Commissioned by @timetospy from the effervescent and ever magnificent @procoffeinating. I absolutely adore my Christmas present and am actually crying right now from joy. ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜
Hogwarts House: I keep getting sorted into Gryffindor, but it’s never felt quite right ???
Favorite Color: Cobalt Blue
Current time: 2:47 p.m.
Average Hours of Sleep: 7. I’m happiest with exactly 8 hours of sleep.
Lucky #: 7
Last Thing I Googled: Round Escoda paintbrushes and suggestions for face moisturizers (yo, do any of you have any you swear by?)
Favorite Fictional Characters: James T. Kirk, James B. Barnes, and James Bond. Oh, and Sora from Kingdom Hearts, whose name is probably actually James as well.
Blankets I Sleep With: A positively sexual deep burgundy Belgian linen duvet and a heavy, oversized velvet-backed faux fur throw. I’m dreading summer arriving and it becoming too hot to sleep under because I like being slightly smothered under it.
Favorite Bands/Artists: ACDC, Aerosmith, The 1975, Jamiroquai, Au Revoir Simone, Troye Sivan, Vivaldi... man, that list makes no sense, I’m sorry.
Dream Trip: The answer changes daily, but right now I’d really like to be in either Scotland or Hawai’i or Iceland or Japan.
Dream Job: I actually really like my current work, I’d just like to make a fabillion more dollars doing it.
Wearing atm: A denim button-down and black leggings.
Age of Blog: 6 months
Following: 35
Posts: 353
What I Post About: POODLES, peonies, Star Trek/Spirk, 00Q (idk how I fell down this hole so hard but now I live here), artists and traditional media and whatever.
When Did My Blog Peak: My blog is just gonna chill here at base camp.
Get Daily Asks: Nope.
Url Explanation: Sake of continuity from Instagram (feel free to follow there if you want!)
I’ll probably come back to this and tag more accounts once I’m not following mostly dogs :’)
With autumn rolling in quickly, James is forced to come in from his garden earlier each day. The leaves are shaking off the trees to leave barren branches behind, and even with his heavy fur coat and knitted sweater, Walther doesn't like staying out when the winds pick up. James barely feels it until his ears and nose begin to burn, and then he comes in to thaw by the fire.
It's been some hours since he last saw Simon, and James comes inside to take a hot shower before he does anything else. The cottage smells like autumn with a hearty stew in the crock pot and fresh baked potatoes for a side. Q has even managed to bake a pie, and James's mouth waters as he strides through their house. A shower, some scotch, a heavy dinner, and then a chance to kick back and relax. But he's slightly concerned now that he doesn't see his husband anywhere.
Until he reaches the bedroom.
Q is fast asleep on top of the covers with Gadget on the pillow and Walther over his legs. There's a book open on his chest, and his glasses are askew. He's snoring softly (which he still denies despite that one time when James recorded him). James finds he's smiling as he stops by the bed to press a kiss to Simon's temple. Simon sniffles and shifts in his sleep but doesn't wake.
James showers and brushes his teeth quickly and changes into a set of plaid flannel pyjamas that had been a Christmas gift the previous year. They're cozy and snug, so when he lays down on the bed next to his husband, he brings his own natural warmth along with the added warmth of the flannel. He's hungry, but it can wait. He rarely gets a chance to just hold Simon, to watch him sleep and see him so rested and unworried.
Ten years into his own retirement had James finally finding a rhythm. He still struggles with nightmares, but for the most part, he keeps busy which allays them. Q has only been retired for two years, and they've been married for almost three. James gently runs a finger over the wedding ring on Simon's hand and smiles. His own ring is warm to his body, and his left hand rests on Simon's.
Dinner will keep. There will be many meals over the coming years. But right now, it seems like the number of times he will get to just hold Simon and watch him sleep have a set number. And he would much rather have Simon in his arms.
Well, I’ve had to ask you twice today what crack is, so that partially answers your question. I would have to say @1amvengeance (venstar) is my favorite crack author as her stuff always leans towards the comedic and ridiculous. I thoroughly enjoyed Growing Up which is James and Q and Peter Pan elements.
X: A character you enjoy making suffer
Well… probably James. I’ve done a lot of torturing James in the last year, and I think part of me goes with the idea that he can take it. He’s the tank, the protector. But I know that just pushes him closer and closer to breaking, and I’m am a little afraid of breaking him entirely. But I like exploring the ways that trauma manifests and who he seeks to try and save, even when he can’t.
Y: a character you want to protect
Q. Oh god I want to protect Q so much. Like, he’s still so innocent? He hasn’t had to face the darkness that James has, so I want to shield him from that as long as I possibly can because I don’t want him to shatter.
