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Dressed for the 00ccasion

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Glancing at his watch once more, he continued to sit in the chair, sipping his scotch while staring out the picture windows to the city below.  He really should have been back by now, Bond thought grumpily, looking back to the kitchen where the teapot was already boiling.  It was a strange swap of circumstance with Bond waiting at home for Q to return, not from a mission but a ministerial budget meeting.  As head of Q branch, he was required to meet with the higher ups once a year, and knowing his young lover like he did Bond was sure that he excelled despite out nervous he had been the day before.

As he continued to stare out the window, mindlessly watching the cars drive by, a key in the lock told him he was finally home.  Q’s steps echoed down the hall as he dropped his keys and phone on the counter.  “Well, that was an utter waste of time,” he called, not bothering to ask if Bond was there or not.  He seemed to be there all the time these days, though neither could pinpoint when this had become normal.  “Not like they weren’t going to give me the money.  What would you do if I couldn’t give you a new toy every time you destroy one on a mission?  And a double-oh without his toys is not really a double-oh at all.”

Bond chuckled, pushing himself to his feet and making his way towards the kitchen where Q was fixing himself a cup of tea.  “Maybe I just like the excuse to come and see you during wor…” he trailed off, mind blipping at the sight before him.  Only years of training kept him from dropping the glass in his shock.  Having not been around in the morning, he expected to find his usual slightly rumpled Quartermaster standing in the kitchen.  Instead, he drew in a deep breath at the sophisticated young man in front of him. 

In place of his typical cardigan and plaid trousers, Q was in a navy three piece suit, tailored perfectly to his long, lean body, with an off white shirt and dark red tie.   Having chosen contacts instead of his glasses, he looked older, more mature.  And finally, the hair.  Where normally it looked as if he just rolled out of bed and couldn’t be bothered (which Bond learned was in fact the case), it was perfectly coiffed, side-swept and trimmed, giving him the appearance of a proper government official and not a hacker pretending at being an professional.

Setting his drink on the table, Bond stalked forward, pressing Q between the counter and himself.  “Where did you find this magnificent piece of tailoring?” Bond growled, hands running up and down the fabric, high-quality wool, before grasping the lapels firmly. 

Q looked startled for an instant, before smirking at Bond, his eyes going as lust blown as the agents.  “Never thought you had a suit kink,” he  beamed, leaning back, attempting nonchalance.  “Though, really, it shouldn’t surprise me.”

“Perhaps a YOU-in-a-suit kink.  Why have I never seen this before?”

“Because if I wanted to dress like a monkey, I would do your job, Bond.  M insisted that I show up with ‘hair that does not look like you have just been fucked and clothes fit to be seen outside of the lab,’ so this is the result.”  Bond cracked a smile at Q’s expert imitation of the head of MI6, even while pulling Q away from the kitchen and towards the bedroom. 

Tripping their way to the bedroom, toeing off their shoes as they went, Bond was disinclined to release Q’s jacket, staring directly into each other’s eyes.  Once inside, Q closed the gap between them, pressing his lips firmly to James’, gripping his hair tightly with one hand, his arse with the other. 

Taking a step back, breaking the kiss, Bond looked over Q from head to foot.  “You are bloody gorgeous.  Like you just stepped out of a 1950’s magazine ad or something.  Classic, refined.”

Feeling uncomfortable under the intense gaze, Q quipped, “Well, you would know, living through that era and all.”

Smirking, Bond reached up grazing the perfect knot in Q’s tie before deftly untying it.  His fingertips dragged gently over the expose skin of his neck.  Q shuddered under his touch, and Bond leaned forward pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw, tongue lapping out, tasting aftershave, soap, and Q’s own natural essence.  Pulling back to meet his gaze, slowly, he drew the tie out from the collar, the silk running through the cotton with a slight susurrus.

Looping the tie over the back of Q’s neck, Bond tugged him forward for a kiss while the other hand slid down to unfasten the buttons of the waistcoat.  Q must have opened his jacket at some point on his own, a fact that Bond regretted.  The waistcoat fell open and James let go of the tie to begin working on the shirt. 

Each button opened revealed a small amount of skin, which he promptly attacked with lips, teeth and tongue, murmuring, “I am going to make you come so hard that every time you wear this suit you will be aroused simply form the memory.” 

A shuddering breath came from above him, as Q struggled to stay upright.  Bond pushed open his shirt, tongue dipping into Q’s naval.  “Promises, promises, 007,” he snarked, the words losing some of their effectivity as he fisted his hand in Bond’s hair, head dropping back.

Standing up, Bond’s hands cupped Q’s face, “As much as I would love to shag you in this suit, it would be a shame to ruin it.”  As he spoke his hands trailed down his neck, fingertips reaching around to brush the vertebrae before slipping under the shirt, pulling the entire upper portion of the ensemble off in one smooth movement.  As the fabric fell to the floor, Q lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Bond, knocking the man backwards and onto the bed.  James couldn’t help the smirk at Q’s sudden enthusiasm.

“It seems one of us still has too many clothes on,” Q growled into his ear, nipping at the sensitive lobe knowing it was one of Bond’s major erogenous areas.  Hot streaks of pleasure shot down his spine, and he couldn’t help but thrust up, pressing their cocks together through too many layers of fabric.  Groaning his frustration, Bond slipped his hands between their bodies, undoing the fastens on both pairs of trousers.  Both men shimmied out of the garments as quickly as possible before coming back together, Q gripping the bottom of 007’s tight fitting t-shirt before pulling it over his head and falling back on top of the secret agent.

Their bodies pressed together, Bond quickly reversed their positions, flipping Q onto his back, while Bond spread out on top of him.  “I do enjoy the look, but I think I prefer the ‘I’ve just been fucked’ hair if it’s all the same to you,” one hand coming up to run through Q’s unusually tame black curls.  He pushed forward for a kiss and nearly came right then as Q fellated his tongue while gripping his arse, the friction between their bodies caused sparks to appear behind his eyes.  “God, Q.  Yes.”

Reaching between their bodies, Q grabbed hold of both of them, stroking slowly but efficiently, causing heat to pool at the base of Bond’s spine, pleasure coursing out from his center to every corner of his body.  Batting Q’s hand away after several strokes, he looked at his confused expression, “Just a second, alright?”

Reaching onto the floor, he picked up the tie that had been discarded along with the shirt, waistcoat and jacket, before sliding back up Q’s body.  Wrapping the silken tie around his hand, he reached out, gripping Q’s erection, running it up and down his length, the silken material heating slightly from the silken skin it was caressing.  Gasping, Q arched his body, pressing up into Bond’s hand.  “James,” Q moaned, drawing several additional syllables from the short word.

Bond’s lips twitched up slightly as he moved up Q’s body, kissing him soundly while unwinding the tie from his hand.  Straddling him, he leaned forward, tie stretched between his two hands, when Q stopped him.  “No gags, Bond.  Not my thing.”

“Who said anything about gags?”  The secret agent looked dangerous as he leaned forward, looping the tie around Q’s head, his eyes now covered with the dark red fabric. 

“Oh, I see,” Q smiled.

Bond growled as he licked Q’s ear, “No, actually you don’t,” before he tied it tight enough that it would not slip off.

Ghosting his fingertips over Q’s body, Bond touched every mark and scar reverently, drinking in every subtle gasp and shudder from underneath him.  Fingers trailing down, nails gently scraping the sensitive skin of Q’s inner thighs, he bent his head to take Q in his mouth.  Arching up under the sudden heat, Q uttered a string of profanity that had James struggling not to laugh as he continued to take Q further in, relaxing his throat until his nose touched the dark hair at the base. 

As he sucked, Bond lubed two fingers with one of the bottles they kept near the bed, before sliding them back and breaching Q, who responded with a hiss.  Patiently he stretched and sucked Q, the young man writhing beneath him.  “Please, James.  Please!” Q begged.  Bond responded by removing his fingers and mouth causing a despondent moan to come from the Quartermaster.

007 grinned as he lubed his cock, aching and hard in his hand, while he watched Q squirm, calling out for him.  Taking pity on him, Bond reached out to grab one of Q’s legs, propping it up on his better shoulder.  Lining himself up, he pushed in with one smooth, slow thrust.  He paused enjoying the heat and pressure while a thin sheen of sweat covered his body from the sheer exertion of not moving.  “God damn it, Bond.  Move already,” Q demanded, one hand thrown over his head, the other reaching down to grasp his own erection. 

“Mine,” Bond growled, swatting Q’s hand away, gripping the leaking cock with his own hand.  Q dropped his, using it to clutch at the sheets instead as Bond began to move his hips.  He maintained the slow pace, watching Q come undone underneath him, hair sticking up at every angle, sweat trickling down his face and neck, the tie becoming darker around his eyes because of it.  Bond leaned forward and followed a trail of sweat with his tongue from shoulder to temple, leaving a cool trail up his neck, past his ear.

Q wrapped his arms around Bond, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders.  “Harder, James.  Come on.  I can take it.”  007 simply nodded, not that the man below him could see it, and pulled his hips back before snapping forward once more.  Q cried out, body arching.  Bond continued the relentless pace, stroking Q in time with his hips.  He could feel the familiar heat coiling in his hips, but wanted to watch Q come first.  Speeding up, his hand worked Q’s cock, sliding his thumb over the wet tip.  Placing his mouth near Q’s ear, he murmured in a voice gravely with desire, “Come on, Q.  Let me see it.  I want to watch you,” then biting the lobe with enough force that Q wordlessly screamed out his orgasm.

The contractions around his own dick milked Bond’s orgasm as well, spilling his seed deep within Q as he groaned his name.  Rolling to the side, he slid from Q.  Removing the tie from his eyes, he smiled softly as Q’s eyes blinked at the sudden brightness.  “You need to wear that suit more often,” Bond laughed, sliding the tie over Q’s sweat streaked chest.

Q rolled his eyes, lifting a hand to pat 007’s cheek.  “I told you, monkey suits are for your job, James.  Not mine.”

“Who said anything about wearing it at the job?”