Work Text:
Cocoon
In a way, enduring sex was easier than enduring people's comments about how much of it he had had; it was easy to dissociate from the act when he had to do it for the job - compartmentalisation had been a life changing discovery and it had efficiently helped him to work his way past things he didn't particularly enjoy.
Death.
Torture.
Sex.
James huffed and shed his suit, letting it crumple on the floor, and wormed his way under the blankets until he was cocooned amidst them: no light filtered in and the only scent he could smell was that of the detergent Q kept buying at the discount supermarket because he refused to pay an exorbitant amount on what basically was liquid soap.
James didn't care much, to be honest: the sheets smelled good - fresh and clean, with an hint of lavender that didn't last past the first time you slept in them - and Q had found a way of keeping them soft even without using fabric softener.
Sorcery.
He briefly tensed when he felt something land on the bed but immediately relaxed when it was clear that it was one of the cats - not that a human being would have been able to break past Q's security, but his irritation was driving him painfully close to paranoia and a paranoid agent never was a good thing.
James sighed with relief when the cat - he couldn't tell whether it was Turing or Pampuria, not with his head buried underneath the pillows - curled near his feet: clearly giving comfort without overwhelming him.
Or just leeching warmth.
James was alright with both options.
He didn't know for how long he had managed to nod off but as soon as he heard the noise of the door clicking open, he opened his eyes and intently listened on every little noise; a cat started to cry rather insistently - that meant that it was Turing curled up with him - and it was soothed only by the clinking of a food bowl being put on the ground.
After a minute, Turing stretched and hopped off of the bed: the lure of the food clearly was too much to resist. Q greeted him too, cooing at him in that baby voice of his that always made James' heart squeeze and twist in his chest, even as he teasingly rolled his eyes at him.
"Love?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you okay?" Q inquired even if, deep down, he already knew the answer: there were a lot of little signs that spoke of James' upset, from the way he had left his clothes abandoned on the floor to how he had shut off the world - but asking always felt better than assuming.
"No"
That simple answer already was a victory: it had taken a lot to coax James in being honest with him "Okay. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No"
That was alright too "Can I sit?"
James curled a bit tighter, briefly closing in on himself. But then he remembered how Q always held him with tenderness; how Q always soothed away the pain; how Q always freed him with his understanding "Can you stay with me for a while?"
"Sure" Q quickly undressed himself and took his place behind James' back, plastering himself against his spine, twining their feet together "Like this?"
James nodded "Thank you"
"You're welcome" on a normal day, Q would have kissed James' shoulder but he could feel the slight tension pervading his body; he just held the other man, waiting for James to relax in his hold - he would wait for as long as his lover needed him to.