Work Header

No One Thrills Me (Like You Do)

Work Text:

“What you need, poppet, is to get thoroughly, properly, shagged.”  Moneypenny’s voice cut through Q’s focus like a knife.  “Don’t let a few bad dates put you off the idea completely.”

“What I need,” Q bit back, irritation apparent in his tone, “is for certain 00’s to return their equipment in one piece.”

He’d spent the last year fielding Moneypenny’s increasingly persistent attempts to find him a partner or at least a casual shag.  He’d been on more blind dates than he could count and all of them so far had ended either in disinterest at best or disaster at worst.

He’d rather weasel his way out of going on another if given the choice.  Unfortunately he was sure by this point that he didn’t actually possess the power to go against her wishes.

He wasn’t sure anyone did, truth be told.  Even M folded rather quickly these days if she set her mind towards an issue.

“One should be realistic dear,” Moneypenny told him with little to no sympathy.  “A proper date is no problem at all and a decent shag might follow if you’d loosen up a bit.  Getting Trevelyan and Bond to bring your gadgets back would take a miracle.  And I'm fresh out, love.”

“I could always kill them,” Q mused with no small amount of seriousness.  “It wouldn’t be that difficult, all things considered.  M would have no choice but to appoint a new 006 and 007 then.  Maybe afterwards I would get equipment returned to me in one piece instead of excuses about how it’d been lost or blown up or swallowed by a komodo dragon.”

“In my defense,” a smooth, cultured voice cut in from a few feet behind them, “the komodo dragon incident was only the one time.”

Q bit back the swell of irritation that rose up sharply within him.


Of course it was Bond.

It was, somehow, always Bond these days.  Seven hells, even when it was Trevelyan it was still somehow also Bond considering the two were the definition of partners in crime whenever the chance arose.

Honestly the man was like some kind of poltergeist with the way he haunted Q-branch and generally left destruction in his wake.  An unfortunately handsome and thoroughly irritating poltergeist.

Q had given great and considerable thought to calling a priest but he was rather sure it would do no good.  Bond seemed like the type to laugh in the face of an attempt at a forceful expulsion.  That or blow something up.  So the idea of an exorcism had been firmly crossed off of his list of ways to get Bond to leave him alone.

That and M had refused to sign off on the request no matter what Q’s PowerPoint presentation showed him.

Q still hadn’t forgiven him for that.

“Once is more than enough, thank you very much.”  Q didn’t bother to turn, just kept his attention on his screen where he was busy scanning over R’s proposal for a new and improved line of exploding pens.

Q strongly suspected Bond’s hand was at work somehow there as well.

Attractive bastard that he was, R was unfortunately fond of him despite the way he always generated more work for her supposedly beloved Quartermaster.

Q smelt lies and mutiny every time she called him that but R always patted him on the head, gave him tea, and sent him off with an indulgent smile.

He went too, he kept a close eye on her and Bond’s scheming of course, but he did go.

In his defense it was very good tea.  Very good tea that he didn’t have to make himself and really that made all the difference.

“Honestly Q, I really would have thought you’d have let that go by now.”  Bond moved around the table until he was standing opposite of Q.  He’d be directly in his line of sight the moment he looked up from his work.  “I hardly think it’s just cause to be plotting my assassination.”

“Were it not my job to keep you in one infuriating and irresponsible piece I would have done away with you ages ago.”  Q told him promptly.  It was the complete truth and Q was sticking to that no matter what Moneypenny liked to tease him about over takeaway and wine.

“You wound me, Quartermaster.”  Bond had the nerve to look amused even as he reached out a hand towards one of the tablets that littered Q’s desk.

Q took a moment to firmly smack his hand away without ever looking up.

“Now I’ve wounded you,” he finally cut a glare up at Bond.  “And if you don’t stop touching things you shouldn’t it will not be the last time.”

“Believe me,” Bonds smirked, blue eyes disgustingly vibrant, “I’m rather capable of handling whatever you dish out darling.”

“Bond,” Moneypenny cut in, voice sweet and devious in that way that made the hair on the back of Q’s neck stand on end.  “Tell our dearest Q that letting me set him up isn’t the end of the world.”

“Set him up?”  Bond’s voice was even, so much so that Q couldn’t help but dart another glance at him.  His expression was, of course, as genial as Bond always was when off mission and not intent on driving Q around the bend.  Which, come to think of it, wasn’t all that often.  He could, as previously stated, usually be found haunting Q-branch when off mission these days.

And when Bond was in Q-branch his sole purpose always seemed to be driving Q absolutely mad.

“Our Quartermaster needs some fun in his life,” Moneypenny reached out and tugged lightly at the end of the lock of hair that always fell across the front of his glasses.  “I’ve been setting him up for the past ten months but no one I’ve trotted past him has caught his attention yet.  Stubborn, picky thing that he is.”

“Ten months of hell,” Q muttered sullenly as he stared determinedly at his screen again.  “I’ve no interest in someone I can’t even talk to about my work and you know that.”

“I’m trying to get you shagged darling,” Moneypenny’s eye roll was apparent in her voice, “not married.  Besides, 001 rather fancied you.  You shouldn’t let a spot of bad luck get in the way of that.  I’m sure Edward would still be more than willing to give it another try.”

“You set him up with Donne,” Bond cut in sharply.

“Yes,” Moneypenny sounded smug for some reason.  “Edward’s rather charming after all and I thought he and Q would get on well.  I still think they could make a go of it despite the way that date ended.”

“First of all,” Q finally took his hands from his keyboard and turned his attention towards the both of them, “that was more than a ‘spot of bad luck’ as you well know Penny.  That date ended when two people were shot and the restaurant caught fire.  I’m sure that qualifies as as close to divine intervention as we could get.”

Q didn’t appreciate the amused and slightly pleased expression Bond was wearing in that moment.

“Second,” he continued archly, “I’m more than capable of finding companionship on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Moneypenny waved a dismissive hand in his direction, “I’ve already got it arranged.  Friday, one o’clock.  I’ve put it into your schedule and, hopefully, it’ll be a nice, casual lunch date with the possibility of dinner later.  I’ll send a car around because I won’t have you late or lost on the Tube.   Again.”

Q thought of protesting, reminded himself of just who he was talking to, and quickly deflated.

“Fine,” he finally grumbled.  “But when it ends in disaster I’m free for the rest of the weekend.  No meddling allowed for at least a week.”

“Deal.”  Moneypenny thankfully agreed.

Q turned back towards Bond only to realize that the man was gone.  He’d disappeared as quickly and quietly as he’d popped up.

Which wasn’t his normal operating style.   At all.  Bond, the great nuisance that he was, normally only left Q-branch with Q himself behind him screeching some manner of death threat.

It was all very routine by now.

“Bond left rather quietly,” he couldn’t help but comment, unsettled for some reason he couldn’t, wouldn’t, name.

“Yes,” Moneypenny sounded smug for some reason which automatically made Q uneasy.  “Yes, he did.”


Q put his next impending blind date out of his mind right up until he was being ushered upstairs and into a town car on Friday.

He sighed, settled back into the seat, and did his best to brace himself for whatever disaster was sure to befall him this time.

He could only hope that it wouldn’t be anything too drastic.


Two hours later Q stomped his way out of the elevator and into his sector, shoes filled with water and clothes plastered to his frame.

“What in the …” Moneypenny’s voice sliced through the sudden silence of Q branch.

Beside her stood Bond, brows raised high on his infuriatingly handsome face.

“Apparently there was a problem with the sprinkler system,” Q glared at her dourly.  “As well as the fountain outside.  And it’s also raining, because of course it is.”

Beside her Bond opened his mouth as if to say something but Q leveled his glare in his direction instead.

“Not a word,” Q cut him off, a finger lifted in warning in his direction.  Bond raised both hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Q squelched past the both of them with a determined type of pride, his shoulders squared and his head up.

Behind him he heard Bond bark out a laugh.

Attractive bastard.


“I wouldn’t have thought Eddie,” Bond practically sneered his fellow 00’s name apropos of nothing the next Wednesday afternoon, “was your type.”

The unfortunately handsome bastard was, supposedly, in Q-branch to have his palm print updated in Q’s database as well as his blood drawn as was routine.  Plus he had to receive his kit for the short trip to Marrakesh he’d be taking the next day.

Q could have sent him down to medical for the blood draw but they’d already demanded Bond be kept clear unless actively dying.

“What?  An agent?  Blonde?  Older?  Tall?  In possession of a seemingly fully functional brain?”  Q was too focused on smoothing the smart gel across Bond’s broad palm to look up at him.  It would give him perfect accuracy as to Bond’s palm print which would help him when updating the database.  Much more effective than the scanner.


“Male.”  Bond cut in before Q could continue to list out 001’s attributes.  “I would have thought Eve would be setting you up with every pretty little bird in her little black book.”

“There’s been no shortage of those as I’m an equal opportunity pessimist when it comes to romance.”  Q stared at him balefully as he stepped away to grab the needle for the blood draw while the smart gel settled.  “I prefer to give all genders a fair opportunity to disappoint me.  So far, despite Moneypenny’s best efforts, my standards continue to be met.  Not that it really concerns you.”

“Perhaps you’re simply looking in the wrong direction, darling.”  Bond told him, blue eyes slumberous and lips curled in a smirk that was too attractive to be fair.

Sometimes the man made Q want to either scream or drink to excess.

He settled for jabbing him with the needle far harder than necessary.

Bond, the bastard, didn’t even flinch.  Instead he just arched a brow and smiled like he hadn’t felt a thing.

Q loathed every seductive centimeter of him.


Monday rolled around again and Q flittered around Q-branch with a frenetic kind of energy.  Moneypenny’s latest attempt had ended in disaster that Saturday and he’d been ducking her calls the rest of the weekend.

He was fully expecting her to barge into Q-branch anytime.

“You’re looking more skittish than usual Q,” Bond loomed out of nowhere like the well dressed demon he was.  “Dreading our dear Eve’s imminent arrival?”

Q hissed in his general direction.

Beside him R sighed with what sounded like far too much pity and/or amusement, plucked the tablet from his hand, and shooed him in Bond’s direction.


Q promptly turned on his heel and scuttled back towards his standing work table at the head of the room.

“Don’t be like that sweetling,” Bond slid up beside him.  “Didn’t you miss me even the slightest bit?”

“Did you bring back my equipment 007?”  Q turned a narrowed eyed look in his direction as he reached up to adjust his glasses.

“Ah,” Bond winced lightly, “there was an incident shall we say.”

“My.  Equipment.”  Q grated the words out.  “ Bond.”

“Currently resting at the bottom of the Ourika River I’m afraid.”  Bond adopted an almost sunny smile.  “But I’ve returned to your warm embrace fully functional and without so much as a scrape.”

“I would have rather had the equipment back, thank you.”  Q flexed his hands to keep them from either fisting in Bond’s collar or wrapping around his golden throat.

“Your tongue is as sharp as your wits Q,” Bond mused.  “It’s a wonder Eve’s had such a time finding anyone up to your standards.”

“His apparently impossible standards you mean,” Moneypenny’s voice cut in.  Q felt a familiar shiver of dread slither down his spine.  “And they must be impossible as Marissa is perfectly lovely and should have been more than enough to tempt you into at least staying for the entire dinner.”

“Please tell me you didn’t walk out on the poor thing,” Bond seemed disapproving, the hypocritical bastard.  “That’s no way to treat a lady, Q.”

“Ms. Davenport was perfectly lovely,” Q turned so he could look at Moneypenny, determined to ignore Bond’s solid warmth at his side.

“Then what, pray tell, was so bad that you felt the need to leave halfway through?”  Moneypenny’s glare was as cold as ice.

Q would not be bowed by it, not this time.

“She was perfectly lovely,” he continued on doggedly, “right up until twenty minutes into a rather delicious curry when I discovered that she firmly believes that dinosaurs were not real.”

“What?”  Bond and Moneypenny ask in tandem, identical expressions of disbelief etched across their faces.

“Oh yes,” Q smirked with no small amount of glee because this wasn’t a case of him being too picky at all.  He did actually have some standards as Moneypenny well knew.  “The perfectly lovely Ms. Davenport was rather adamant that scientists have simply been putting the bones together wrong all this time.”

Bond and Moneypenny both seemed rather speechless.

Q was perfectly content to chalk that up to a win on his part.


It still didn’t save him from being forced onto another date that very weekend.


Bond was, once again, haunting Q-branch in general and Q specifically.  He’d perched himself against the edge of Q’s desk and promptly stolen his tea when Moneypenny came down to hear about his newest excuse for dodging her calls.

“Jackson called me in a rage,” Moneypenny informed him tartly as she swanned up to his work desk.  “Said you threw a drink in his face and stormed out in a huff.  He’s been threatening me with his dry cleaning bill.”

“His opening gambit was to ask me whether or not I would call him ‘ Daddy ’,” Q snipped back.  Beside him Bond choked on his stolen tea.  Which served him right.  “He was lucky the drink was all I threw.”

“Oh my,” Moneypenny had the decency to look at least partly apologetic.

“I may have made a comment or two on your youthful looks darling but not even I would go that far.”  Bond commented as he handed Q his mug back.

“You would and have gone farther in the past I’m sure.  Perhaps you simply don’t remember.”  Q took a sip from his cup before he handed it back to Bond.  “Must be a sign of your ever advancing age 007.”

Bond had the grace to look insulted.

Beside them Moneypenny huffed in disgust, threw up her hands, and marched away.

“Wonder what’s bothering her?”  Q leveled a curious look in Bond’s direction.

“Haven’t a clue, lovely.”  Bond reassured him as he passed the mug back over to him.


Q kept his head held high and ignored the amused and confused glances he garnered as he marched his way off of the elevator and into Q-branch.

Moneypenny was already there waiting on him but Bond was, for once, absent.

Instead 006, Alec Trevelyan, lurked at her side, phone in hand and a dark brow arched in amusement as he racked his eyes over Q.

Without saying a word he held his phone up in front of him and Q heard the familiar sound of a shutter being clicked.

“If that photo isn’t deleted in the next fifteen seconds you will find yourself living in a technological wasteland for the next six months.”  Q hissed as he flicked a stray bit of rice off of his shoulder.

“Your cruelty knows no bounds Quartermaster,” Trevelyan grinned at him, obviously unconcerned, thumbs flying over the surface of his phone as he texted furiously.  “I tremble in the face of your ire.”

There was entirely too much glee in his voice and expression.

“Who,” Q narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, “are you texting?”

“James,” Trevelyan told him cheerfully.  “He wanted a bit of a status update.  Figured a photo would work better.”

Q’s eyes narrowed even further.


Of course.

The bastard.

“What on earth happened this time?”  Moneypenny asked him before he could lay into Trevelyan and, by proxy, Bond.  She had one hand raised up to unsuccessfully cover her smile.

“I’m afraid my lunch date didn’t take too kindly to my opinion on certain topics.”  Q gestured towards his ruined shirt and the remnants of the risotto he was currently wearing.  “Or, more accurately, my opinion as to their opinion.  I suppose you really should avoid politics and religion on a first date.”

Moneypenny gave into her laughter, her giggles not even remotely muffled by her hand.

“James sends his love by the way Q,” Trevelyan piped up then, green eyes crinkled in glee.  “He also said to remind you that Italian is his favorite.”

“Tell 007 I’d rather have his equipment back in one piece instead.”  Q told him as he headed towards his office and the spare clothes he kept there.  “And that I'm surprised he's still able to handle solid food this far into his dotage.”

Behind him 006’s delighted laughter rang out loud and clear.


Katlyn, Q’s next date was dull.   Dreadfully dull.

So dull in fact that Q spent the majority of the evening not so covertly texting Bond at the table.

Katlyn hadn't even noticed.

Instead she'd continued to rattle on about her hummel collection.

Q had, thankfully, had Bond's infuriatingly interesting wit and wicked online board game skills to keep him entertained.

Overall the evening hadn't been a total loss at least.

He had beaten Bond rather soundly at Cluedo after all.


Q spent that Saturday night getting steadily and progressively drunk with Moneypenny at her flat.  They’d been watching shitty action films, drinking mediocre boxed wine, and waiting on the delivery person to finally show up for the past hour.

His head was in her lap and he was well on his way to truly wasted when the buzzer sounded.

“Finally,”  she grumbled as she dumped him unceremoniously onto the couch cushions and went to answer, “too much longer and I was sure you’d start gnawing on my knee.”

“I am very hungry,” Q mumbled into the cushion, “and my standards are very low.”

“From what I’ve seen,” a familiar and unexpected voice suddenly spoke up from above him, “that’s a complete and total lie.”

Q turned his head and blinked up at Bond from behind his crooked glasses.  They had been knocked completely askew when Moneypenny dropped him and he couldn’t be bothered to straighten them at the moment.

“You,” he squinted at Bond with a certain amount of baffled curiosity, “are not what I ordered.”

“No,” Bond’s entirely too tempting mouth curled up just a bit at the corners, “I suppose I’m not.  This, however, is.”

He held up a familiar bag and waggled it in Q’s direction.

Q was drunk enough by now that he had no qualms about pushing himself up into a sitting position and making grabby hands at his long awaited Chinese food.

Bond, to his credit, just handed the food over with a small, almost indulgent laugh.

“Sit Bond,” Moneypenny grumbled from behind him as she pushed around him and collapsed back down on Q’s right, “you’re crowding the walkway and blocking the screen.”

“If you insist,” Bond agreed as he moved to sit down on Q’s left, his arm across the back of the couch and his feet propped up on the coffee table liked he’d done this a million times before.

Given his and Moneypenny’s fond and mocking relationship he probably had.  This was just the first time he and Q had both ended up at her flat at the same time.

Q shook thoughts of Bond out of his mind, ignored the solid heat of him at his side as he always did, and focused on his food instead.

He was halfway through his second pork bun when he froze and turned a narrowed eyed look in Bond’s direction.

Bond, chin propped against the side of one hand where he was slouched against the armrest and the other playing with the hair at the nape of Q’s neck, stared back at him.

“I know your game,” Q told him archly.

For a split second something like surprise flittered across Bond’s expression.

“Do you now?”  Bond’s smirk was almost fond.  “Do tell, darling.”

“I’ll give you one bun,” Q announced with determination as he held the aforementioned bun out in Bond’s direction, “but no more.  Should’ve gotten your own food if you planned to drop by instead of scavenging off of me.”

On his right Moneypenny choked out a laugh.

Bond shook his head, reached over to take the bun, and then settled back against the couch.

That hand that had been playing with Q’s hair never even paused.


Somewhere along the way that night Q had vague memories of being pressed against Bond’s chest, the scent of his cologne heavy in his nose and the steady pound of his heartbeat a lullabye in his ear.

He curled closer, arched into the feel of callous covered fingers combing through his hair, and let sleep take him with barely any protest at all.

He was alone when he woke up the next morning though, alone on Moneypenny’s couch with only his headache and the distant sound of her snores to keep him company.

So, really, it must have all been a dream.

Though why he’d dream of Bond of all people was beyond him.

Irritating bastard that he was.


Q was hunched over the table, pecking out a text with one hand and eating with the other when Moneypenny’s exasperated sigh broke his concentration.

“And who,” she reached out and poked at his phone with her fork, “is so interesting that you’d ignore me so thoroughly?”

“It’s Bond,” Q told her irritably, “and he’s not that interesting.  He’s infuriating.  If I have to tell him one more time to stop sending me selfies while he’s on mission I’m going to burst a blood vessel. ”

Moneypenny snorted and held a hand out expectantly.

With a sigh Q handed over his phone.

“Nice,” Moneypenny said appreciatively as she stared at the picture Bond had sent him.

He was stripped down to one of those ridiculously small and tight swimsuits he favored and lounging on a chair, behind him the ocean sparkled in the distance.

It was the twentieth or so such picture Bond had sent him in the past four months and at least a good third of them had him shirtless and smug.

Q had developed a bit of an eye twitch and absolutely had not spend any time at all scrolling back through their text conversations to look at any of them.

He would be willing to swear to it.

His phone chimed again and, of course, when Moneypenny turned the phone to show him it was yet another picture.  This time it showed Bond grinning over his sunglasses at the camera, a martini glass in his free hand.

Moneypenny handed it back to him when he gestured.

“I’m going to charter his next plane directly into a hurricane.”  Q hissed as he rapidly typed his reply.

“The two of you are absolute idiots,” Moneypenny sighed with a strange mix of amused fondness and exasperation.

“Bond’s the idiot.”  Q tossed at her absently.  “I’m just stuck putting up with him.”

Right.”  She sounded absolutely disbelieving for some reason.  “That’s all there is to it, I’m sure.”

Q had absolutely no idea what she could possibly mean.

None whatsoever.


As he stared across the room at his new date, a well dressed woman with lovely red hair, Q knew that Moneypenny had finally outdone herself.

“Bloody hell,” Q grumbled to himself.  “I'm going to end up shot.”  He sighed forlornly as he started forward, one hand free at his side and the other stuffed in his pocket and curled tightly around his mobile.  “There goes my perfect record.”

Q squared his shoulders and marched his way towards the table where his ‘date’ was waiting for him.  He did his best to keep the introductions easy and at least passably charming as they took their seats.  He couldn’t afford for this one to duck out early on him, at least not yet.

Beneath the table his fingers carefully picked over his mobile.  He was good enough at texting and knew his phone well enough not to have to look in order to do what needed to be done.

‘SOS,’ he carefully picked out even as he gave the waiter his appetizer order.  ‘DATE TERRORIST SOS’.

Moneypenny owed him big time on this one because he was fairly sure that she’d set him up as part of some kind of covert honeypot mission without telling him.

That or she needed to explain to M just why she had the ability to set up a blind date with someone who was on MI6’s capture and detain list.

He feels the phone buzz in his hand in answer but he didn’t dare look at it, just kept his attention focused on his date.

Roughly five minutes later the entire situation, surprisingly, did not go to hell.

There was a small pop, a muffled thump, and the pretty terrorist Moneypenny sold him to for the evening went face down into her salad.

Bond popped up behind her a few seconds later like a particularly well dressed weed.

“Q, darling,” Bond grinned with a pleased sort of viciousness, “it seems as if your date is now indisposed.”

Q narrowed his eyes as his earlier trepidation melted away to be replaced with annoyance.  He leaned back in his seat and brought his wine glass up to take a small sip.

“Bond,” he nodded in reply, “it seems as if you got here abnormally fast.  Especially if this was a legitimate blind date.”

Bond’s expression was completely innocent even as he pulled the woman up and away from the table and handed her off to the pair of black clad agents that had appeared behind him.

Q watched impassively as they carted her away.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Q.”  Bond’s expression was the picture of innocence when he answered.  “I got your text and rushed to your rescue, heart in my throat.”

“You were outside the entire time weren’t you?”  Q asked flatly.  It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Plus it was Bond so that was, honestly, explanation enough on its own.

“There’s a lovely little cafe right across the street.”  Bond told him sunnily.  “They do an excellent espresso.”

Q sighed, reached up and pinched at his nose beneath his glasses with his free hand, and seriously considered chugging the rest of his wine.  Instead he pulled his mobile back out of his pocket and shot off a quick text to Moneypenny who was, undoubtedly, lurking about outside somewhere.

‘Date captured, Bond here, you owe me for this Penny.’

:) is all he got as a reply.  It was instantaneous though which only reaffirmed the fact that she did this all entirely on purpose.  He’d get her back for it too.



Probably not if he was being honest with himself.

“This,” he said after he’d tucked his mobile away again, “is the absolutely last date I’ll allow Moneypenny to force me on.  I didn’t sign up for some kind of half-arsed honeypot mission and I’ve neither the temperament nor the desire to have this happen again.”

“You know,” Bond drawled from across from him, “I did tell you that you were looking in the wrong direction didn’t I, sweetling?”

Q glared at him viciously.

“And in which direction would you say I should be looking 007?”  He bit the question out.

“Right at this moment,” Bond arched a brow at him, “I would say directly in front of you would be a rather wise place to start.”

Q’s brain stalled out for a split second as he absorbed the underlying meaning of Bond’s words.


A date.

A date with Bond.

Q having a date with Bond.

It was a preposterous idea.  Of course it was.

Q loathed every attractive, stubbled, muscular centimeter of Bond.

Hated his wit and his competence and his devil-may-care nonchalance towards the rules and bringing his kit back in one piece.

There was no way in any of the seven hells he would ever consider a date with Bond.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” Q bit out as he drained his wine and practically slammed the glass on the table.  “I am not sleeping with you and this had better be the absolute best date I’ve ever been on in my entire life or I will throw you into an active volcano.”

“See Q,” Bond grinned at him as he settled down into his abandoned dates chair and lifted a hand to motion for the obviously still stunned waiter to come closer, “we’re already on the right page.  Seems like a fortuitous start to me.”

Infuriatingly attractive bastard.


The next morning Q checked his messages while he waited for his tea to steep.

Moneypenny had, of course, messaged him again sometime during the night.

With a sigh he thumbed the text open.

Congrats on the sex’, Moneypenny’s text read.  ‘Only took u 2 a year of the worst dates I could find 2 get ur heads out of ur arses.’

“That scheming trollop,” Q breathed with something like disbelief.

“Hmm,” deliciously muscled arms wrapped around his waist and lips pressed against his throat for a brief moment as James hummed his agreement. “She'll rule us all eventually.  No use fighting it, darling.  Now come back to bed.  I'm far from finished with you.”

Q sighed, dropped his phone back onto the table, and did as told.  The tea was left forgotten on the counter behind him.

James was entirely too persuasive when he wanted to be.

Attractive bastard.

Q adored every seductive, ridiculous centimeter of him.

And always had.