Long, leisurely, languid.
Time stretched, an almost impossible defiance of the physics upon which Q had come to rely and trust in his brief but promising career in espionage.
There were times he could almost – almost – be hesitant to trust himself. In those brief stretches of elongation where the frayed wiring of his nerves were smoothed down once more, the edges caressed soft again by warm water and soap-silken hands, gliding with slow abandon down his back and around his hips to take him in hand once again, as he had done so many times before.
Every mission from which his Quartermaster brought him home was its own reward and Time flexed at his mercy to prove that some rules were worth bending.