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Summary
“Focus, Mr. Bond,” Q says, and how the bloody hell is he still in possession of his full faculties. James is slowly losing his mind with the way Q circles his hips, the crease of his arse moving over James’s cock in a filthy slide that makes James sweat and leak into his trousers as if he’s the boy here and not Q.
It dawns on him with sudden clarity that the sole purpose of Q’s existence is to torment him in every way possible.