Chapter Text
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He’d known it was a mistake the moment the idea had come into his head. He’d known it wasn’t right, that he’d could be caught, that it would hurt Q. But James Bond had made a living tripling on the feelings of others, for the good of queen and country. Sleeping with people was part of his job. This was no different he told himself. His escapism kept him together and as long as he was together he was useful. Q couldn’t give him what he needed tonight. So he would find someone who could.
The boy was handsome, a trim young thing who took great pride in his looks. Designer cuts and a well built body that only came with hours spend in a gym. His skin was dark and warm, the color of coffee with cream and had a taste for gin and tonic. He had a smile that said he knew what he wanted, knew what he was looking for and Bond seemed to fulfill those needs. He fell into the easy game he knew they were both playing, drinks and flirtations and eventual discussion towards taking it to more private quarters.
He told the cabby to take them back to his place. Q wouldn’t come by tonight, he was sure. He usually gave James a wide breadth after missions, especially ones that left them both angry, exhausted, and emotionally wrecked.
He told himself he hadn’t heard the door open over the young man’s breathless moans, that he hadn’t heard the tell tale thud of a dropped book bag or the jingle of keys over the sound of the bed’s protests. It wasn’t until the young, handsome boy underneath him swore, loud, crass and devoid of pleasure, pushing at James and scrambling back towards the headboard as the bedroom light flipped on.
James cursed, gritting his teeth as he looked over his shoulder.
Q’s face was a mask of ice and cold, devoid of anything but a distant distaste, like a man watching a headless cockroach or a salt slug.
“Who the hell is he,” the young man, Travis James thought his name was, crowed, pointing an accusing finger at Q.
“I’m his boyfriend,” Q said, his tone ice cold, “Now get your trousers and get out.”
The young man’s face turned ugly and Q quirked a brow.
“Trust me, there is nothing about you I can’t find out in under 3 minutes. I suggest you leave before I have a reason to make your life as hellish as I wanted it be.”
“He’s not bluffing,” James filled in, though his gaze fell on Q, “You should go.”
With a snarl, Travis disentangled himself from the sheets, kicking on his trousers. Q kept his eyes on Bond, his fury nearly palpable. But he didn’t say a word, not until they heard the door snap closed.
“What’s this all about then,” Q said, arms crossed over his chest, “Mid life crisis?”
Bond sighed, pushing back the sheets.
“You’ve never minded me taking people to bed before. Jealous I wouldn’t let you listen in this time,” he said, stumbling his way through the room.
“I let do your job. Bringing some little twat here, fucking him in our bed, that a whole different story and you know it.”
“My bed. Not our bed. You have a place of your own.”
He pushed past Q, into the living room, straight towards the bar.
“One you have been trying to convince me to move out of for three months,” Q shot back, cold fury creeping into his voice.
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” he sneered, reaching for the bottle of vodka.
“Changed your mind,” Q asked, following, “Changed your bloody mind? YOU persuade ME, James. Have I not done what you’ve asked of me? Have I not given you the space you needed? Have I not kept from pressing you? Kept from questioning you? I have never, not once, raised cain about your post mission hissy fits. You disappear for days, you drink yourself into oblivion, and then you come back and expect me to pretend like nothing has happened, to put you back together piece by fucking piece. And I do it without complaint. But you bring some boy in our bed, fuck him in our bed, and then act like I am the guilty party? Like you don’t even care? Do you think I’m stupid?”
Q was positively shaking now, all the anger flowing through him like a thousand volts of electricity. James watched him, wanting to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. But images came to his mind, unbidden. Vesper. He always killed the ones he loved. So he forced his heart to stone, made his face impassive.
“I think you’re long winded,” he slurred.
Q stopped at that, staring at him with a look of raw and open hurt mixed with disbelief, now that the anger was starting to fade.
“Fine. You want to play this game, you want to push me away? Fine. You win. Because I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stand around and watch you destroy yourself all because you are so afraid to loss someone again that you would rather take them apart with your own hands,” he said.
He snatched up his bag in one hand, and the sound of the door slamming behind him was like a jack hammer in James skull.
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