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Champagne Showers
Since the first bottle of champagne that Bond had left in his office in lieu of an apology - an admittedly lousy one, but still appreciated - Q’s collection had grown quite a lot; since he was a teetotaller, the young Quartermaster hadn’t quite known what to do with the bottles that had kept appearing around his office - giving them away seemed rude, since Bond had actually tried to apologise with them - whenever a particularly expensive piece of tech disappeared and had started accumulating them.
Though, now that he had said agent in his home, Q was regretting not having gotten rid of them.
“They’re for drinking, you know that right?” James cocked his head to the side as he admired the vast collection, internally whincing at the tangible proof of just how badly his cleptomania had acted out - it wasn’t his fault if he liked shiny, fast and deadly things and Q’s office happened to be full of them.
“I don’t drink” Q admitted, shrugging in an attempt at hiding his embarrassment “It just isn’t appealing to me” or, more accurately, it had stopped being enjoyable after he’d gotten too drunk at a party during his first year in university and one of his friends had to save him from a guy with questionable intentions.
James turned around, frowning: he honestly thought that he knew Q better than that; it had been one of the many reasons why that had finally pushed him to ask the younger man out, reassured by the fact that Q had no secrets for him - evidently, he was mistaken “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have found a gift you can appreciate”
“Because it’s okay: I get the apology, there’s no need for you to find something else” Q said, standing on his tiptoes to kiss the other’s cheek “Don’t worry about it, let’s go and have that bath you promised me” his voice was pitched low and seductive, trailing behind him like perfume as he walked into the bathroom.
“I’m not worrying” James sighed, eyeing again the bottles lined against the back of the cupboard where Q seemed to store most of the canned food: it seemed a waste to just leave it there to gather dust.
With a mischievous smile, the agent snatched up a couple - a Dom Perignon Rosè 2003 and a Salon 1996 Blanc de Blancs, he absentmindedly noticed - and shook it up a little.
“James?”
“Coming!” The older man entered the bathroom quietly, grinning as he observed Q get rid of his trousers, and put one of the bottles on the floor before taking a film hold of the other one and uncorking it; champagne sprayed all over Q’s back, turning his white shirt into a transparent pale pink and making the younger man shriek “Oops!” He explained, momentarily stopping the flow with his thumb firmly lodged in front of the opening.
“What. The. Fuck” Q turned around, disbelief painted all over his face and hand exploring his damp back - what the hell was going on? His shirt was soaked and was that alcohol what he smelled? - while he studied the other’s smug face with wide eyes “James, what the fuck?”
“Champagne shower?” James offered as an explanation, moving his digit away to spray Q again.
“Noo!” The younger man tried to get away, jumping around in the small bathroom; a giggle escaped his throat completely unbidden and he was torn between hilarity and shock: he couldn’t believe that his lover was really spraying him with hundreds worth of champagne - but it also was so funny and relaxing, Q couldn’t remember the last time James had been so playful. He ducked under James’ arm, bare feet skidding a bit on the damp tiled floor, and grabbed the other bottle “You want war, don’t you?”
James’ grin sharpened into a predatory smile “Bring it on”
In the end, neither of them won and Q let James kiss the taste of champagne away from his lips as the bathtub slowly filled up, alcoholic vapours mixing up with the heat wafting up from the soapy water.