James Bond loved nothing better than surprising his Quartermaster. Seeing Q’s face light up, those gorgeous eyes crinkle at the corners, the tiny upturn of a smile, was like a drug for Bond. The presents, the equipment in one piece, mugs of Earl Grey, rescued kittens, an unexpected and dearly-bought hard drive from a mark – he would do whatever it took to elicit that elusive response. He had thought that he was long past any experience of deep joy, but Q had proved him wrong.
It was never easy, though – Q was quick, observant, astute, and damned near prescient, and thus supremely difficult to ambush. But James knew Q wasn’t expecting him home from this mission for at least 24 hours, so there would at least be a slim chance of catching his lover unawares.
Bond arrived home in the middle of the afternoon on Q’s day off; he knew he would need all his stealth skills to sneak into the flat without Q noticing. Slowly, methodically, he worked his way through the security system, then silently opened the door and slipped inside. He quietly left his coat, shoes, and travel bag in the hallway, and advanced a metre to check the lounge. Empty, two cats curled up asleep on the sofa. Quick visual sweep of the kitchen - clear. Tiptoeing in sock feet, he inched toward the bedroom.
And froze. A low moan issued from within; then another. Bond knew those sounds intimately.
Q was having sex.
Bond’s heart dropped into free fall, landing in the pit of his stomach with a thud, followed by a wave of something that could have been anger, lust, dismay, or all three. He sidled up to the partially open door and looked in.
And stood transfixed.
Q was naked on their bed, lying atop the covers on his left side with his back to the door. The moaning and whimpering continued, interspersed with a few mumbled words Bond couldn’t quite make out. He kept watching as Q began to move slowly, languidly, pelvis thrusting softly at first, then more urgently.
Then Q sighed and shifted, turning over to face the door. Only then did Bond confirm that Q was alone – he was masturbating. Bond felt a huge flood of relief – no, his lover was not cheating - followed by a sharp pang of guilt. He should turn away, give Q his moment of privacy, go quietly back to the lounge and camp out on the sofa.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t stop watching. It was mesmerizing.
Q was fully laid out on his side, acres of luminous pale skin exposed, left knee pulled up almost to his chest. He held his cock fisted in his right hand, the engorged head just visible, almost purple with blood. He pulled rhythmically, slowly at first then picking up speed, long firm strokes with that slight twist of the wrist at the end that Bond knew so well – it drove him wild every time. Q’s dark hair was half buried in the covers, eyes closed, lashes thick and black against the pink flushed skin, that luscious mouth slightly open. His breath was coming more quickly now, shallow panting, a stream of unintelligible words tumbling from those ripe red lips, begging.
Bond kept watching.
Soon Q began writhing in earnest, a thin sheen of sweat visible, left hand clawing the duvet, pelvis rocking, groans louder. He was almost there.
At that moment, the omnipresent clouds in London parted, and a shaft of sunlight bathed the flat, a golden wash through the west side windows that flooded the bedroom with a soft glow. Q’s body was backlit suddenly, and the scene before Bond’s eyes was magically transformed.
And now Q called out, louder, with a deep groan, balls tight, muscles near spasm, fuck me, oh fuck, James, James!, as he came, thick strands of white cum spurting onto his hand, his taut belly, the bedclothes.
Bond’s breath caught in his throat. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Q melted onto his back, eyes still closed, breathing beginning to even out. He stretched, cat-like, with a hum of satisfaction - Umm, James.
That did it, Bond couldn’t hold back any longer. His cock was as hard as marble, painful, and about to split his trousers. With a quick knock, he eased the door fully open and stuck his head in the room. “Q? I’m back early, where are you?”
Q smiled, arms outstretched. “James! You're back! I missed you.”
Bond stripped as he crossed the room, down to pants by the time he reached the bed and pinned Q to the mattress, assaulting his favorite spot just above Q’s left clavicle with ferocious intensity.
Q grinned as he whispered in Bond’s ear, “So, did you enjoy the show?”