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Friday night, and the prestigious halls of Cambridge University's dorms buzzed with excitement for the coming weekend. Drunken roars drifted from the common room, where an illicit game of quarters was just beginning. Doors slammed, bringing with them snatches of excited chatter as students made plans for the night ahead. All in all, a typical beginning to the weekend.
The one exception, of course, was the lone single room at the end of the hall.
Fifteen year old Quentin Alcott—self-dubbed ‘Q’, after his hacker persona—surveyed his cluttered room with a critical eye, nodding with satisfaction when he was at last ascertained that his renovations were complete. He'd spent an entire weekend in town, foraging for old egg cartons and bubble wrap, rooting around in the dumpsters behind grocery stores until suspicious shop owners threatened to call the police on him, but he was finally done. The layers of cardboard and plastic, lining every inch of the whitewashed walls, transformed his room into a soundproof cocoon. He may as well have been the lone occupant of the building.
He didn't hate the other boys in his wing, per se. Yet no one was exactly pounding down his door to befriend the underage, scrawny recluse either. And there was only so much he could take of the unsubtle whispers outside his door. Just innocent things like “hey, has anyone ever even seen that guy around?” and “that’s the floor hermit, I don’t think he’s ever said a word to any of us.” But his ears would prickle with heat whenever he heard, an unwelcome reminder of his failure to socialize properly, in what everyone had told him would be the best years of his life.
Well, sod them. He would graduate in half the time it took them, and he already had a number of prestigious companies bidding on his inventions. He didn’t need friends.
With a sigh of pride—and only a touch of melancholy—Q settled in at his desk to continue work on his latest project. It was an expansion on the fingerprint recognition software installed on most smartphones these days. He would modify electronics to read prints with much greater speed and accuracy, to the point where even when unlocked, they would not function under the touch of an intruder. Hardly a difficult undertaking for him, but with limited access to electronic parts and only so much free time, it was taking a while to complete. Although, it would fetch a tidy sum when he eventually put the completed project up for auction.
His roomba banged against his feet, and he kicked the silly thing away with as much affection as the gesture was able to contain. The simple little machine wasn’t designed to handle as much modification as Q had crammed inside it, which might explain why it tried to trip Q on a regular basis. He would have to have a look at its innards when he had the time. Later tonight, if he got bored.
The pounding bass of his engineering soundtrack reverberating in his bones, Q quickly lost himself inside the methodical world of code and circuits. No, he wasn’t lonely. He had his collection of robots, his (admittedly mindless) classwork, and his family a few hours away. It didn’t matter if he left Cambridge without a single person knowing his name.
***
Q finally surfaced from his fugue of productivity with bleary eyes and a crick in his neck. Without the distraction of his fellow students, he’d managed a good chunk of work, including beginning calibration on a few of the electronics he’d outfitted with his latest creation. He’d have liked to continue working, but his glasses prescription was already quite severe for someone of his age. A few hours’ sleep, and he should be good as new. First, though, a trip to the washroom. At this hour, everyone else should be long asleep. He stepped into the hall, mouth stretched in a long yawn.
There was a boy slumped outside his door.
Q slammed the door shut, pressing his back against the battered wood, heart pounding wildly. Why was there a body outside his door? Was the other boy alright? Should he call campus security? How was he supposed to get to the washroom now, with that blocking his way?
He opened the door just a sliver, peering outside. Just to make sure that he wasn’t experiencing some sort of fatigue-induced hallucination.
“Hello.”
The yelp he let out resembled the startled cry of a cat whose tail had been stepped on, and he would’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t so shocked. There was a blue eye peering in through the crack in his door. A very blue eye, his mind supplied dumbly. The sort he’d never seen outside a Photoshop tutorial.
“Um, hi?” he tried, sprawled on his back with limbs askew, flailing like an upside-down turtle. “So you’re alive?”
Damn it, he knew he should’ve tried for more social interaction than simply thanking the lunch ladies in the dining hall.
The eye in his doorway crinkled in what probably was a smile, yet could also have been an annoyed scowl or a frown of confusion. He knew he was being rude; he should at least open the door all the way so he could look at the other boy face to face. But the combination of sleep deprivation and surprise pinned him in place, simply blinking at the scant centimeters of light pouring in from the hall.
“Yeah, sorry, just taking a nap. Um. Do you want to come outside so we can see each other better?”
What he wanted was for the stranger to leave so he could crawl up under his blankets and curse himself out for his appalling inability to communicate like a normal person. But here was another student—a real, flesh and blood student—talking to him, and even being relatively nice about it! So he edged his door open cautiously, slipping out and screwing his eyes up against the harsh fluorescent lighting.
His first thought when he caught a full glimpse of the other boy was, holy shit.
The boy—man, really, he didn’t look much older than Q was, but his self-assured stance and rugged stubble gave him an air of maturity that Q, with his messy mop of hair and sharp elbows, despaired of ever achieving. He was dressed much better than most of their peers; dark trousers, light blue button-up that seemed bespoke, it melded to his frame so well. His blond hair was short and spiky, falling around his ears in a way that made them seem disproportionately large, but the overall effect was more roguishly charming than comical. He was only taller than Q by a head, but his frame was much broader, a solid, appealing kind of muscular that Q tended to prefer. He wondered, trying not to stare too openly, what it would feel like to have those strong biceps entwined around him.
So Q didn’t have much of a social life. Big deal. He could still appreciate a fit bloke when he saw one.
“Hi again,” the man grinned. “The name’s Bond. James Bond. I promise I’m not actually homeless.”
“I’m Q. As in, the seventeenth letter of the alphabet. Actually, it’s not really Q—” Oh god, Bond-James-Bond looked confused. Q tried again, “I mean, my name’s actually Quentin, but everyone just calls me Q.”
“I’ve never met anyone with a letter for a name before, Q. You must be a very interesting person.” Then Bond actually had the cheek to wink at him, and Q was glad that he was leaning against the wall, or he would’ve fallen down again.
Q cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation towards safer waters. “So, you live in Churchill Hall too?”
James nodded. “My mate Alec kicked me out of our room. You know Alec, right? Stupid scar on his face that all the girls go crazy for?” James’ scowl was cute, and he had his nose scrunched up a little. Absurdly, Q wanted to giggle.
“You mean Trevelyan? The one who set the kitchen on fire?” Practically everyone on campus had heard of Alec Trevelyan, who, despite being on constant probation, seemed to always escape trouble by the skin of his teeth. There was a rumour going around that MI5 had eyes on him, though no one could agree whether they sought to hire him or eliminate him.
All a load of garbage, of course. Q had broken into MI5 servers, just to see if the fuss was true. Still, he had to seem awfully bland in comparison to a figure like Trevelyan.
Bon, as far as he knew, had a similar reputation to Trevelyan. But Bond at least tried for a modem of self-control, and was deemed by the general student population as more charming than terrifying. Q figured that made him the really dangerous one, but he kept these thoughts to himself.
“He’s, you know,” James made an obscene gesture with his hands that had heat rising in Q’s cheeks in an instant. Q wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, as the extensive collection of porn stored on his laptop would testify. But something about Bond’s hands—to be fair, they were very nice hands. Large and square palmed with neatly shaped fingernails. Hands that looked like their owner knew how to use them.
“That’s quite the predicament,” Q agreed, wrenching his eyes away reluctantly. He was staring far too much, and judging from the knowing glint in Bond’s eyes, he had begun to notice.
“Yep,” Bond sighed, sitting down again and leaning his head back against the wall, cushioning them on his hands. “Walked in on them too, and that was more than I’d ever wanted to see of Alec. I figured I’d camp out here for the night. It’s out of the way, so no one will step on me.”
“You can come sleep in my room, if you want,” Q blurted out. Whoa, where had that come from? It was too late to recant the offer, especially since James had perked up like a puppy. Then again, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him yet. He was keenly aware of the fact that this was the longest conversation he’d had with anyone since he’d gotten to Cambridge, save for a few professors. Besides, James was very attractive.
So he nudged the door open, letting James into his little shelter from the world. He felt self-conscious under Bond’s sharp eyes that roamed everywhere, taking in every detail of the cluttered room. As long as there wasn’t any dirty pants or sex toys lying about, there wouldn’t be too much to humiliate him. Still, the egg cartons and bubble wrap on his wall suddenly seemed shabby, his dinosaur figurine collection infantile, and he was distinctly aware of the scent of curry lingering from his dinner.
“Wow, quite the mad genius set-up you’ve got going on.”
Q laughed, kicking a pair of socks under the bed when James wasn’t looking. “Sorry, it’s a bit messy right now. I don’t get a lot of visitors.”
James snorted. “Q, we live in an all-male wing. I’ve seen a lot worse.” He turned to the walls, poking at an egg carton. “What are these for?”
“Soundproofing,” Q explained. “I do a lot of work, and the hall gets loud at times.”
“That’s brilliant.” And, was that a note of admiration in James’ voice? Q was about to launch into a lecture about soundwaves and material density when he felt something nudging against his feet. The roomba.
James leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the stupid robot. “Is that—?”
At the sound of his voice, the roomba turned around, and to Q’s endless mystification, slowly began rumbling towards James. James held still, the way one would when an animal at the zoo was approaching. Q could hardly believe his eyes when the roomba bumped the man’s ankles.
“Traitor,” Q mumbled under his breath. Figures that his semi-sentient roomba would backstab him in a bid for James’ affections.
James leaned down and petted the roomba like it was just an errant pet. “Never seen a vacuum cleaner do that before,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s got a bit of artificial intelligence,” Q explained, lifting the robot up and sending it scurrying under his bed, where a large colony of dust bunnies thrived. “I programmed it to recognize and respond to a few basic human behavioural patterns, but I’m afraid it just likes to get underfoot.”
To his delight, conversation flowed easily after that. Q learned that James was an orphan, that he was majoring in East Asian languages in hopes of joining the navy, that he’d once broken two ribs after being thrown off a horse and vowed never to go near the beasts again. In return, Q talked about his various ventures in the worlds of programming and engineering, and was pleasantly surprised by James’ keen interest. He even asked a few insightful questions that opened threads of inquiry Q had never considered before.
One-by-one, Q introduced James to his little technological family. There was the alarm clock on wheels that woke Q up at reasonable hours by repeatedly rolling over his face, affectionately dubbed “Fucking Arsehole”. The lime green gutter cleaner, to which Q had given the ability to affix to walls and roofs, and which had been repurposed into a portable torch. Even 007, the government-standard security droid that never saw much use, but had a set of deadly lasers that almost made Q wish someone would try to break into his room.
“I can see why people in this hall are intimidated by you,” James breathed out finally, shaking his head. “You’ve got the ingredients for world domination all laid out here.”
Even though he knew James meant it as a compliment, Q couldn’t help the wave of hurt that washed over him. For a while, he'd felt like a normal student, having a normal conversation with a very attractive bloke. He didn't appreciate the reminder that to everyone else, he was just the weird recluse that no one knew. And what had they been saying about him? Heat prickled over his neck. He knew it was a mistake to invite James Bond into his room.
"No, Q, I didn't mean it like that." A gentle hand cupped his chin, and to his horror, Q found himself with a hard lump in his throat. He avoided James’ eyes, not wanting to see the pity that must have taken root there. Q continued staring at his wall, even when he heard the bedsprings creak as James stood up. A moment later, his door opened and closed again with a soft click, and he peeked out of the corner of his eyes.
James had left.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to curl up in bed and wallow in angst. In the end, he chose to do both, burrowing under the covers without kicking his shoes off. Now, the sight of his robots skittering across the floor just made a sick feeling rise in his gut. A reminder that his only companions were ones that he created.
So consumed by self pity was he that he didn’t hear the soft knock on the door. Or the snick as the doorknob turned. But he did hear 007’s blaring alarm as the droid sprung to life.
Startled, Q fell out of bed, entangled in his blankets and unable to extrict any of his limbs so that he tumbled to the ground in a bewildered heap. Shit, shit, where was the off switch? At this rate, the whole hall would be awake, and Student Services would get involved and his precious robots would be burned at the stake...
“Shut that bloody thing up!” A door slammed somewhere down the hallway, and in a panic, Q slapped his hand over 007’s control switch, punching in random buttons. One of those must have been the right one, because the droid powered down with a sharp whine that Q could almost describe as sulky. Only then did he recognize the figure in his doorway.
James Bond smiled weakly, holding out a styrofoam cup of tea that Q recognized from the common room. It was only half full; the other half was splattered all over the front of his shirt and trousers.
“You’re back,” said Q, stunned.
“Went to bring you tea,” said Bond, tugging at his wet shirt with a grimace. Their eyes met, and the two boys dissolved into hysterics, clutching their bellies and rolling on the floor like a pair of idiots.
“But really,” Bond finally got out, when they’d both managed to retrieve a semblance of control over themselves. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I’ve been told that I can be a bit blunt sometimes, but that’s no excuse. For the record, I think you’re brilliant.”
“Course I am,” Q sniffed, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. “I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of earl grey than anyone else here can do in a decade of their lives.”
James sat down beside him, looping an arm around his shoulders, and despite his lingering uncertainty, Q moved in closer. The solid weight of his arm felt just as good as Q imagined it would. From such close proximity, Q could smell his cologne, a surprisingly sophisticated combination of apple and sandalwood, mingling with the bergamot of the spilled tea. He couldn’t quite believe that this wasn’t a dream.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” James murmured, right against Q’s ear. The intimacy of the gesture, combined with James’ warm breath tickling his skin, made Q shiver involuntarily. Without missing a beat, James continued. “I reckon Alec and I could give you a run for your money.”
“We’ll have to see about that,” said Q. It was remarkable that he managed to say anything at all, through his suddenly parched throat. And he wasn’t naive, he knew that encounters like this one rarely led to happily ever afters, and if James was anything like his roommate, he probably forgot the names of the people he slept with the next morning. But hell if he was going to pass up the chance to have mind-blowing sex with the most attractive man he’d ever met in his life. So when James drew back to look him in the face, Q screwed up every last drop of his courage and kissed the man on the lips.
There was a terrible moment in which James froze and Q panicked, thinking that he’d completely misread the situation. But James quickly recovered, kissing him back with dizzying gentleness that was somehow even more intoxicating than the sort of rough, possessive kisses he’d read about in trashy romance novels. Everything about James was intoxicating, from the way one hand slid back to cradle Q’s head and scratch against his scalp to the way his stubble tickled Q’s own clean-shaven face.
“So gorgeous,” James groaned, withdrawing slightly to nose at Q’s jawbone. Q’s lips fell open, sighing dreamily. “Clever boy. I knew from the first moment I saw you that I wanted you.”
“I’m not a boy, you old man,” Q snorted, nuzzling against James as he began to unbutton his ruined shirt. Q watched like a hawk as more and more of that impossibly toned torso was bared to him. How many hours would you need to spend in the gym to get a body like that?
“Hey, I’ll have you know that I’m only nineteen.”
“And I’m fifteen, so in comparison, you are an old man,” Q said smugly, clambering onto Bond’s lap, eager to feel bare skin against his own body.
James froze, and Q shrieked in surprise as he was unceremoniously shoved off his lap. “You’re fifteen?”
“Well, yeah?” Q said, confused. “I started Uni early. Thought you knew that.”
“Jesus.” Quick as a flash, James was up, pacing in agitation. The room was small, made even more so by Q’s clutter, so he could only take about five steps in each direction. Q might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so confused, not to mention a little bit angry at how rapidly the mood had changed.
“I don’t see how this changes anything,” Q protested. Sure, he was technically underage, but he thought he’d already proven that he was much more intelligent than his peers, and even most people twice his age. And really, would a few months magically infuse him with the qualities of a responsible, tax-paying adult? This was bloody ridiculous.
Evidentially, James didn’t feel the same way. “There’s a four year age difference between us. If it was someone closer to you in age—no, this isn’t right. I’m sorry, Q, but no.”
“So what, that’s it?” Q scowled, hugging his knees and drawing the blanket around himself. “I thought—you said you liked me.”
He could see James soften, just the fraction of a centimeter. “I do,” he began, but Q didn’t want to hear anymore. There was no point in trying to argue with James if he insisted on treating Q like a child. So when Bond reached for his shoulder, Q moved away, pressing against the far wall.
“Would you just—” Bond let out an aggrieved sigh, the mattress dipping as he climbed onto it. The school-issued bed really wasn’t made for two people, and Q found himself squashed against the wall while James made himself comfortable.
“What are you doing.”
James raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember a generous offer for me to stay the night, on the basis that my roommate is an inconsiderate arse.”
“Sure you want to share a bed with an infant? I may cry at night for my bottle. Your beauty sleep will be disturbed.”
“You’re not nearly as shy and retiring as you appeared at first, are you?” James rolled his eyes, tugging the blankets away from Q, who was hoarding them selfishly in a fit of pique.
“Babies tend to be loud creatures.” Q retorted, trying to snatch his blankets back. But Bond grabbed his wrist and tugged, and Q ended up sprawled on top of him, glasses askew, glaring hard enough to burn a hole in the arsehole’s head.
Q struggled, but Bond held him tight. “Q, I like you. Quite a bit, considering we’ve only just met and you’ve already assaulted me with a security droid.” At that, Q huffed and smacked at Bond’s shoulder. Undeterred, the man continued. “So, I won’t have sex with you, but if you’re willing, I’d like to take you out to dinner some time. Get to know you better. And in a year or so, we’ll see how it goes. If you’re not interested, I’ll leave right now. No hard feelings.”
“Why d’you have to be so reasonable?” Q groaned, flopping down in surrender. He probably would've made another exceedingly witty comment, but a loud yawn emerged instead. He glanced at his alarm clock. Four in the morning. Well, it wasn’t like he was planning on fixing his sleep cycle anytime soon.
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes. Now shut up and cuddle me."
The twin-sized mattress wasn’t quite large enough to hold a muscular nineteen-year old and a genius with pokey elbows, but Bond didn’t seem to mind Q lying practically on top of him. Q wanted to stay awake just a bit longer and revel in the sensation of being held. It usually took him a while to fall asleep, anyway, his mind running amok with ideas for new projects, teasing out solutions to problems that eluded him, and a million other things that would normally keep him up for hours. But in no time at all, he found his eyes growing heavy, lulled into dreams by the quiet hum of James’ breaths.
He wasn't surprised to find himself alone when he woke up, though he did smile when he found the post-it stuck to 007. A phone number was scrawled on top of it in a thick, messy scrawl. And though he didn’t recognize the handwriting, it seemed familiar to him nonetheless.
