Chapter Text
It had amused him at first, the way M was trying to discipline him. Not demoted, not even reprimanded, just sidelined with irrelevant surveillance assignments that weren't even expected to yield any useful information. Missions to give to the greenest recruits to see if they could shut up, stay out of sight and report regularly.
It had amused him, that she was trying to teach him patience. That perhaps if he was chastened enough, when he was given real assignments again he'd be grateful, eager to keep favour, more cautious, and less likely to shoot first.
It had amused him. Now he was just bored. He'd turned in two reports on other targets since this tactic of M's had started, and he'd kept his distance and watched this one for two days. Antonio Ortolani, young, handsome and arrogant in a tailored suit that could only have come from obscene amounts of family money, and possessing a phone full of contacts probably only slightly more worthy of MI6 attention than he was. Maintaining surveillance on him would give M nothing but her personal satisfaction, and there was an easy way to get close to this target. Get in, get out, and, cover blown, hand over any information gained to someone else. It wasn't exactly the way Bond normally did business, but his normal approach wasn't going to get him reassigned back to the work he should be doing any time soon. He gestured the bartender over, anticipating the movements of his mark in the mirror behind the bar. Bond had timed it well, and Ortolani slid into the closest empty seat to the bartender, immediately next to him. Bond turned at his arrival, dropping the covert surveillance in favour of blatant focus, as if he were a completely different type of predator whose night was suddenly looking up.
Really, M should have known better than to expect him to play it by the book.
He bought Ortolani a drink, made sure to maintain the appreciative looks, and in no time at all, Ortolani was following him into the washroom. Bond didn't give him a second to think, manhandled him up against the wall the instant he made it through the door. Bond's hands undid the Italian leather belt in only slightly longer than it would have taken them to reload his 9mm. His right hand slid inside the waistband to cup Ortolani's crotch, and the other one moved up to cradle his head, fingers through his hair, tugging to tilt his head back, exposing his neck. Bond leaned in and licked up to the jawline, then let his teeth close firmly on the corded muscle at the base. Ortolani groaned, the sound shockingly loud in the small bathroom.
Bond grinned at the sound, then withdrew his right hand and grabbed Ortolani at the hip, using that and the grip on his neck to swing him round to face the mirror. Ortolani caught himself with one hand on the wall in front, startled eyes meeting Bond's in their reflection.
"Look at yourself," Bond added a shake for punctuation, and Ortolani's eyes dropped to meet his own reflection for a second before looking back at Bond, unsure of himself. "Practically begging to be fucked by a stranger without even a locked door between you and anyone who feels like taking a piss."
"Fuck off!" Ortolani jerked away instinctively, but didn't break Bond's hold, didn't make a proper effort to, and Bond pulled Ortolani's hips back flush against his own, letting him feel how hard he was too.
"Oh, but I'd rather fuck you. Bend you over the counter right here, so you can see yourself, can see how much you want it. And you'll look, because you won't be able to help yourself." Bond slid his hand into Ortolani's pockets, wrapping his hand around cock with just the soft thin fabric of the suit pants between them. Bond held him in place and stroked him long enough to make his point, long enough that lust had won over dignity, then let him go and stepped back.
"What the fuck, man?" Ortolani turned his head, but didn't straighten up, Bond noted with approval.
"Personally, I'd rather not be interrupted." Bond locked the door with one hand, the other already re-emerging from his breast pocket with a condom and a small tube and placing them on the counter. "Take your pants off."
Ortolani complied hurriedly, shoving them down and stepping out of them, still facing the mirror. Bond ran his hand over firm buttocks, then slapped his hand down. Ortolani flinched, but didn't say a word.
"Step back, and lean further forward, hands on the counter." Ortolani did so, leaving enough room between him and the counter for Bond to drop to his knees, his warm mouth closing over hard cock.
He could have gotten away without doing this, Ortolani wouldn't have even asked for a reach-around, but Bond hadn't done this before. There would be other assignments, other times when this sort of experience could be invaluable. It's possible M was waiting for him to find himself an imaginative way out of this assignment, possible even that this was a practice mission he could learn something from. He tested himself, seeing how far down he could go, and catalogued every gasp above him with the action that prompted it, and took detached satisfaction in the taste that shortly flooded over his tongue.
He stood up, ran the faucet and rinsed his mouth out. Ortolani still hadn't moved, hands clenched tight on the counter top, legs braced. Bond quirked an eyebrow at him, and Ortolani let go and straightened up with a shaky laugh.
"I'm still going to fuck you, just like I said I would," Bond said, dark promise in his voice and eyes.
Ortolani paused, swallowed reflexively, then stepped forward and bent over, forearms flat on the counter.
Bond undid his own belt and pushed down his trousers only as much as he needed to, and reached for the lube. He slicked up two fingers and pushed them in, Ortolani's immediately post-orgasm body letting him in easily. Satisfied Ortolani was relaxed enough, he wasted no time in putting on the condom, and pressed himself up against Ortolani's arse. He paused, and slid one hand up the long expanse of back in front of him, grabbed Ortolani by the hair, tugging his line of sight back up to the mirror.
"Just like I said I would," he repeated, and pushed the head of his cock inside. Ortolani hissed, and leant further forward to brace himself better. Bond slowly pressed deeper, as far as he could go, and held himself still, thigh muscles trembling, savouring the sordid nature of this moment, the way Ortolani was getting impatient and squirming back against him, but not impatient enough to dare ask for more.
The moment passed, and Bond started fucking him in earnest. Hard, hard enough that the mirror on the wall was shaking in its fixtures, with Ortolani's gasps coming fast and ragged, his eyes fixed on himself in the mirror. He'd probably barely be able to picture Bond's face after this, just a cold authoritative voice, and hard strong hands leaving finger-bruises on his hip and neck the most vivid sense-memories. Bond fucked him, taking all his frustration out in the punishing rhythm he set, thoughts of M and mission scenarios receding in his mind til nothing was left but the friction and tight heat clenching around his cock. He could feel his balls tightening, and didn't try to slow down or hold back, just kept fucking into Ortolani as he came until the last tremors had subsided.
He took a moment to get his breathing back under control, then pulled out and disposed of the condom in the washroom bin. Ortolani turned around as he was pulling his pants back up, hard again and needy.
"I'll leave you to take care of that," Bond buckled up his belt, and washed and dried his hands, and walked out leaving Ortolani dumbstruck, half-naked, and leaning against the wall for support.
Bond adjusted his collar as he let the door close behind him. Making for the exit, the phone in his breast pocket vibrated again, and he smiled.