“You work too hard…” whispered the blurry shadow of the agent, pushing Q’s trousers past his knees.
“He does, doesn’t he?” murmured Alec, upside down face gazing impassively down at the young man, while pinning his wrists above his head to the bed.
“What do you suggest we do about that, Alec?”
“All work and no play makes Q….?” Alec said softly, descending his lips closer, closer, stopping just shy of touch.
“A dull boooyyyy,” he gasped, voice strangled by feel of the lips and tongue exploring below.
The attentions of a Double O remind him he is anything but.
Days spent unravelling complex code means those knots that you unpick from their threads end up inhabiting your body.
In this instance, this is exactly the scenario with the Quartermaster.
But lest we forget, both Alec Trevelyan and James Bond are men of the sea, mariners whose extensive knowledge can have all sorts of applications. Unravelling the knots in rope is no different from loosening those in a young boffin’s muscle. One simply has to know which limb to stretch, which strands to pull, which curve to grip and smooth out the creases.
All in a day’s – or night’s – work.
“I think he likes that, James.”
Q’s hips were raised from the bed, socked feet planted, toes curled hard into sheets while James chartered new territory. The unexplored terrain of his Quartermaster would be mapped twice over before dawn. Bond vaguely wondered how long he’d wanted this, how long they’d all waited until convergence upon one another was as inevitable as him destroying something else invaluable, precious.
James glanced up when Q grabbed his head suddenly, a weak attempt to pull away, watching Alec explore neck, throat, chest, a complete juxtaposition to his usual brutality.
But then, this is Q.
“Why are you doing this?” Thought Q wasn’t sure if he was asking himself or the two men currently occupying his bed.
Both agents were lounging at the bottom of his bed. In the half light, surrounded by a blurry halo, Q still wasn’t quite sure if he was dreaming.
“We felt…” Alec began, a hand moving forward to glide along the top a foot, and lightly graze his fingertips back down towards his toes, “the time had come to show our appreciation,” finished James.
Q barked a short laugh. “This isn’t appreciation. This is abuse of a superior officer.”
Q could sense more than see the raised eyebrow of Bond. “Abuse now, is it?”
On those words, Alec grabbed his ankle, roughly tugging him down the bed towards them. Q released a strangled yelp but knew better than to fight, allowing himself to be pressed between them.
He still hadn’t come. By the rather evil design of the men currently taking advantage.
And it wasn’t as if they didn’t know what they were doing. Behind him, Bond slid a calloused finger in the crevasse where thigh met groin, Alec meanwhile attacked his neck with his tongue.
That did it.
Light in mind, light in body. Q finally felt… free, wholly untethered from his responsibilities for the briefest of moments that seemed to stretch long, suspending time around him. Alec and James continued to explore and unlock pathways long since lain dormant in his body, and finally, as he descended once more to the bed, they allowed him to touch. Skin, over muscle, over bone, over heart, beating solid beneath his palms.
“Will you keep them beating, Q?” James whispered softly.
“Maybe. If you do as you’re bloody well told, 007,” he replied, laughing in delight at the tickling unleashed.