Work Text:
Teeth
Since becoming a Detective Inspector, James had lost count of all the times he had ended up running into damp and dark basements where some psychotic criminal was waiting for him to play their personal variety of twisted mind games - James often wondered, why didn't they get laid instead?
His partner, Alec Trevelyan, had uselessly pointed out that the freaks probably slept together and fed off on each other's madness - reason why being a cop was at the top of the "Worst Jobs In London" chart - and then had proceeded to toss back an abundantly healthy dose of Russian vodka.
James had done the same because, honestly, either one accepted that reality or ended up in the loony bin together with those you had put in there: not an even remotely appealing prospect for someone wearing the badge and wasn't crooked - personally James would take waterboarding every day over going bonkers and dividing a cell with some of the monsters he had faced off in his career.
Such as the one currently having a laugh - throaty and deep, satin unfolding against overheated skin - at his attempts at freeing himself "Why are you doing this?" James spat out, his voice more annoyed than scared: he had lost his sense of fear - and, admittedly, part of his humanity - somewhere in the maze of London's alleys.
Gabriel Boothroyd - dubbed Q by the newspapers because of his penchant for asking rhetorical questions from which he started to spiel some truly crazy monologues - cocked his head to the side in a way that made him look like a curious cat "Why does everyone in this city want a piece of you?"
That was an answer that James thought Commissioner Mallory would appreciate too "Because I'm an unbearably handsome fellow?"
"Oh, Bond. I just love your sense of humour but no, that isn't the answer to my question" Q chuckled, sauntering - and no, James wasn't exaggerating: the young man always walked as if he was a model on a runaway - close to the chair the Detective Inspector was tied to and bent down, lips trailing along the sharp edge of the man's stubbly jaw while he cupped his throat "Do you want another shot at it? I'll let you go, if you guess it"
"That depends on the price" James answered not even trying to get away from Q's invasive touch: in his experience, that would only make the situation worse and result in a lapful of murderous beauty sensually squirming against his chest while holding a knife perilously close to his carotid artery.
Q might have loathed and been scared of his former boss - not that James would blame him for it: Raoul Silva, who now had made the aforementioned loony bin his kingdom, was a real piece of work - but he had taken some pages out of the other's book.
"See? That's why you're so much fun to play with: you know the rules" Q purred, fingers briefly tightening around the Detective Inspector's throat before sliding down that muscled chest in a self-indulging caress and even lower to his waist to draw his gun out of the holster "Raoul liked you so much" he pointed out, not without a hint of jealousy sharpening the edges of his consonants.
"He says hi" James grinned, eagerly taking the opening offered to him: Q was known for his rationality, making him loose his cool was one of the few ways to distract him long enough to gain the upper hand - or at least level the playing field.
Q hummed, straightening up to efficiently take apart the gun in his hands, letting every piece fall onto the concrete in a cascade of loud metallic cracking noises; busying himself with his hands helped to keep the thought of Bond going to visit that bastard of Silva in prison, when he actively avoided him: it wasn't possible, once he had helped the police to get Silva behind bars, Bond was supposed to be his.
His plaything and no one else's.
Possessiveness knotted his stomach tightly and Q chucked the bullets at Bond's bound feet with a sneer of disdain, mind whirring in an attempt at finding a way to properly mark up the older man: if Bond didn't understand he had to stay away form other villains, he'd make sure that his colleagues got the message and steered clear of his man "I bet he did" he replied, wrinkling his nose at the dryness and lack of originality in his comeback.
Satisfaction made the corners of James' mouth curl up "He still calls you his clever boy"
Thinking back on it, he should have at least expected the hard slap that split his lower lip and made his head harshly turn to the side, producing a burning ache in his neck that he was sure would take days to fade - really, James should have been thankful that Q hadn't decided to use one of the knives he was so fond of.
Before Bond could recover from the blow, Q climbed in his lap and held his head still in his hands as he harshly kissed him, purposefully biting down on the cut oozing blood and tongue forcing its way past the other's teeth "The price is a piece of your skin" he hissed, cock painfully hard at the thought of carving his mark into Bond's flesh, tanned golden and tight over bulging muscles that were enough to make Q's mouth water.
Much to his chagrin, James' body reacted to the stimuli: he wasn't blind and, no matter how insane and completely out of touch, Q was handsome with his riotous curls and lithe figure "My limbs are all staying attached, no nerves or tendons get damaged and you can't nick any veins"
"Deal" Q agreed immediately, fingers quickly undoing the man's shirt: he had just the right spot in mind, one that everyone daring to undress his plaything would see - there, right around the perfectly circular bullet scar on Bond's collarbone, was going to be his mark "Do you want to guess now or after I take my payment?"
"Does it make a difference?"
"No"
"Then, I'll answer after" James decided, knowing that whatever Q had in mind it would be painful and, therefore, helpful: he needed the blood to leave his interested cock and flow back to his brain, where it would be of more use; it wasn't that he didn't have faith in Alec eventually finding him and saving his arse - his friend seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to getting him out of troubles - but if James could get out of the madman's clutch sooner rather than later, he would be grateful.
"Excellent" Q leaned over and pecked Bond's lips, that kiss gentle and tender and everything the previous one hadn't been. His lips caressed their way down to the base of Bond's throat, tongue swiping at its hollow before Q moved his head to the side as his hands slipped to the man's shoulders to clamp down on them and hold him still.
Almost with reverence, Q licked over the smooth scar tissue and James felt his ribcage heave with panting breaths even as his muscles went rigid in the wait for pain to come and tear through the thick veil of arousal. When sharp teeth bit down harshly, James let out a groan, which turned in a shout when the pressure increased until the skin ruptured, and instinctively jerked in his bonds "Bastard"
Q raised his head, a shit-eating and blood stained manic grin etched on his face "Might be - I'm not sure, never knew my parents" he shrugged, looking down to admire his work: red and inflamed, his bitemark looked like it would scar like he had planner.
"You belong in the loony bin"
"I'm a certified genius" Q pointed out as he stood up, getting off of Bond's lap and putting some distance between them: even if restrained, Bond could still headbutt him - a not-so-unlikely possibility after he had riled him up in such a way - in the face and Q liked his glasses and nose too much to risk them.
"Madness and genius are not mutually exclusive" James spat, craning his neck in an uncomfortable position to look at the damage.
Even more irritating, it was the fact that a part of his mind didn't even mind - he needed a holiday, possibly somewhere really warm and as far away as possible from England.
"Why does everyone in this city want a piece of you?" Q repeated his original question "Do you want an hint? It comes for free"
James nodded, his brain filled with images of the beating he would give Q once he got out his bonds.
"You shine so bright"
Well, it was a shitty hint, like most of the things that came for free in the world - one guaranteed to even lead James into a wrong line of reasoning. But something about it, it resonated in James' memories: Vesper had whispered a similar judgement in his ear once, comparing him to a lonely candle lit up in the dark; Le Chiffre too had likened his work to shining a light in the shadows; Oberhauser had philosophically mused about the symbolic contrast between light and dark.
Apparently, it was a common topic of villainous monologues.
"I'm a challenge"
"Elaborate, please"
It was a good sign, it meant that he was very close to the answer. James closed his eyes to briefly focus on his intuition, putting the words in order in his head "You're all competing to have the privilege of saying that you have tainted me"
"Very good, Bond - always a pleasure playing with you" Q conceded, snapping his fingers; one of his lackeys appeared and Q gave him a knife "Free him when I'm in the car" he ordered before turning on his heels and walking towards the exit of the basement.
"You will never succeed, Q!"