[ Q bounces between feeling silly getting undressed and too distracted to really care. Of course he'd have more than enough in his pants. Too cocky not to.
He's not so enthralled that he can't move further, give Bond a bit more room to work with. And he's rewarded with both legs being draped around his hips like they belong there. Q forces himself to take a deep breath. He will not get in over his head over one bloody - if damn good - touch to his skin. His own explore forearms and biceps. Even in his more sane moments he wouldn't deny they do send a particular thrill through him. ]
I am quartermaster, 007.
[ You aren't the exclusive shareholder on occupational jokes, Bond. Although Q does manage to keep his smile down a little better. Must put on that air of polite "offense" to up-play the joke. He shifts head and eyes to their right toward the bedside table where he will find three or four condoms as well as lubrication. Anything more adventurous is under the bed and will have to wait for later. ]
[ Bond snorts, tossing him a look that reads fair enough before he's following his gaze to the nightstand, leaning over with a half strained grunt to rifle around, retrieving a condom and a tiny plastic tube. Suddenly and finally struck with the incentive to take his time, to drag some enticing little sounds from that startlingly well shaped mouth below, he shifts himself down to settle between Q's thighs, partly relieved to know he's done this before. Not that he entire doubts the younger man's experience but— he does.
Well practiced hands remove the cap and slick up two fingers, setting it aside as he leans down to mouth a few lazy, open kisses to Q's lower stomach, feeling the muscles pull and stretch beneath his mouth.
With care, one hand makes it's way downwards, pressing one slow finger in a knuckle at a time, sharp blue eyes raised to watch the reaction he receives. ] You look good like this. I could get used to it. [ Far too much arousal induced honesty, Bond drags the blunt of his teeth dully over the high arch of one hip bone, a second finger joining the first, slow and steady. ]
[ He will likely continue to doubt that experience. Q keeps... himself satisfied since he's not as lucky in this department as Bond. He's far from a virgin anyway. But this. The feel of his finger knuckle deep and teeth dragging along his skin.
He's already canting onto the finger and only groaning when the second is added. Those gorgeous fucking blue eyes aren't helping anything either. Bond knows what he's doing, knows that he knows, and it's all driving Q absolutely mad in the best and worst possible way. But he shows little of it. He squirms and presses down on the fingers or up to the mouth to seek friction but not excessively. He breathes out quiet little moans that are not masked, simply naturally that way.
[ smirking, Bond eases back to reach round for the condom, tearing it open deftly with his teeth to slide it down the length of himself with a half restrained hum of anticipation. Q up on his elbows looking too desirable to be fair, he shifts to hover back over him, catching his mouth in a fierce kiss that steals the air from both of their lungs. ] Cheeky, aren't we. I wanted to take you in my mouth and suck you off until you couldn't speak, but—
[ The heavy pause is very intentional, hoisting one of Q's legs back around his hips, his hand curled around his own cock to guide himself wetly between a pair of willing thighs: ] —there are other methods for achieving the same results. [ Gritting his teeth at the sudden tight warmth pressed around him, he presses all the way to the hilt and stills, elbows and forearms bracing himself on either side of Q's head now, looking down at him with a look that could melt steel. He moves to card a few fingers through dark curls, head ducking down to mouth hotly over the smooth slope of his neck, catching at his Adam's apple, wielding patience like a weapon as if he's simply waiting for Q to ask him to move.
[ As if he has any right to complain about unfair with a kiss that puts him flat on his back with legs tightening around his hips. The only relent when Bond needs to reposition them.
He had another cheeky comeback ready. Something about how it was lovely his mouth had many talents, or perhaps commenting on how they still had plenty of time before sunrise. All of it is lost in a gasping fuck and rush of heat and pain. His fingers haven't left any part of his flesh and now rest squarely on his back with nails digging in to brace himself. Even with-- He hasn't felt this full in so long. Or the pleasure of another's weight on top of him. Or a kiss to his neck.
Cheeky? He hasn't seen the beginning of it.
Nails drag down his back as his legs tighten. He quickly turns to mumble along the shell of his ear. ]
[ a low groan is his reply, easing back out and then smoothly in again, inch by inch, giving but not taking just yet, if only to be obstinate, to drag this out as long as physically possible. Q is enthralling beneath him, flushed red, the sharp press of nails into his back, and he has to watch as he rocks forward, looking down at him with such obvious want, all unmasked, his own mouth parted.
Maneuvering them around, he slips an arm down in what slight space remains between them, curling knowing fingers around his cock, tugging in time with his thrusts, still slow and steady, an unrushed passed despite how much he wants to drive home until neither of them can breath. The pad of his thumb brushes round the slick head of him, just as concerned over his pleasure as much as his own, if not moreso.
Bond shifts his hips and tries for another angle, needing to hear him, needing to know he's making him feel good, tilting back down to find his mouth for a messy, unfocused kiss as the rhythm picks up, faster, pressing up harder into him. ]
[ His eyes remain shut as Bond oh so very slowly begins to move. It's only on his first thrust in that Q dares to look up at him. He is quite thankful that he kept his glasses on. The lust in those sky blue eyes, the way his mouth hangs open panting. Damn every last inch of him.
This is all so much more tender and slow than Q could have bargained for. He'd been expecting quick and rough with Bond taking and Q demanding in turn. He expected knocking bedposts. Instead he's faced with beautifully (if agonizingly in the same breath) thrusts and his own hands never wandering from him. Hair to back to sides. The moans come much easier now, a little louder. His hand on Q's cock knows as much of what it's doing as those damn hips. ]
Oh fuck, Bond...
[ He half mumbles, still a little embarrassed he's getting so wrapped up in this so quickly. He's-- Good. Very good. Almost enough to lose himself in it. Finally, a hand rests in silver hair so he might press their lips together again. If he only gets tonight, he's going to get a good amount of kissing out of it.
He bites down on his lower lip and drags his teeth across the sensitive skin. ]
Faster.
[ It most definitely sounds more like a plea than a demand. ]
Yes. [ grunted through clenched teeth because Q feels obscenely good all wrapped around him, slick and heavy in his hand, and Bond isn't at all embarrassed by how consumed they've suddenly become with one another, intoxicated by each drag of fingertips over bare skin, dipping into his short hair. His glasses jostle half askew across his nose, slammed with the absurd desire to kiss the end of it but resisting in favor of a red mouth and clever teeth that pull in all the right ways, and he'll be damned if he can resist a request like that, a breath away from begging.
Up on his knees now, he cups his hands around Q's hips and drags him down and forward, further and harder onto his cock and his hikes his thighs higher around his waist. One hand returns to stroking evenly around his length, licking over his palm first for extra friction, looking down at him like he's never seen anything more fucking gorgeous in his entire life.
Maybe he hasn't.
Another absurd thought, and he isn't anywhere near drunk enough for such sentimentality, attention shifting back to the task at hand— making his quartermaster come, and hopefully harder than he has in a good while. 007 isn't the chattiest of men, least of all in the bedroom, but when he presses up into Q again, all slick and smooth like they've been meant to do this all along, he leans down to murmur: ]
Does my cock feel good inside you, Q? Have you ever thought about this before? Fucking me here in your very own bed? [ It's not taunting but teasing, his voice low and dragged rough over gravel, out of breath as he pushes in again and again. ]
[ He has nothing but bed sheets to grip to now. He'd complain if he weren't getting his brains fucked out by possibly the single most beautiful man he's ever laid eyes on. Muscle, rugged good looks, older. Every thing he's ever found attractive and here he is with his cock thrusting fast and deep. Those calloused hands at hip and cock.
Fuck it. He doesn't care about pretense anymore. This is something he's been thinking about for so damn long. Q grips tight with legs and arms when Bond dares to come closer. His whole body feels like a fucking frenzy and the heat at the pit of his stomach only grows tighter. ]
Yes but- [ Oh fuck yes, James. Just like that. He forces his eyes open again. ] Different.
[ He presses their mouths together but far enough that between shifting and talking he's still able to. There is no harshness to his voice. Only more wanton moans as his hips try to push back for every push in, tighten when he does. Why isn't Bond's hair long enough to pull? ]
Riding you until your hips were sore. You bending me over and fucking me senseless.
[ it's everything he wants to hear and then some, Q's easy admittance gasped out between shallow, ragged breaths, slim body rocking against the rumpled sheets, and Bond shifts back down again to hover over him. The hands at his back, his arms, the nape of his neck never cease moving as his mind risks short circuiting over the idea of Q perched in his lap like a throne, all reckless want and abandon. ]
There's no time like the present, as they say. [ One arm secure around the small of his back, Bond seamlessly rolls them over, keeping Q balanced on his thighs and still snug up inside him as he pushes himself backwards to lean against the backboard, unable to restrain the gasp that accompanies a new angle. His palms rove across a lean back, pale and freckled and one day more exploded ( maybe today, maybe when they've both recovered from round one ) and a hand drifts down to curve against the modest slope of his ass, pressing him in closer, his cock trapped snug between their stomachs. ]
Come on then, Q. [ Eyes full of a subdued but genuine mirth, he jerks his hips up hard, encouraging as he loops a lazy hand back around his cock, pulling slowly. ] I want to see you fuck yourself on my cock.
[ But then it happens. Q finds himself sitting with knees on either side of Bond's hips and giving a strangled cry when he thrusts into him at this very much desired new angle.
His hands rest on the headboard as he tries to catch his breath from the influx of pleasure and movement. Oh, is it a show he wants then? Looking at him over the rim of his glasses, Q starts to grind his hips back and forth. Never quite living himself to properly fuck. He's not going to give Bond what he wants right away. He's going to take his time and enjoy the sensation of being filled, of his hand on his cock, of getting to look into those beautiful blues... Before he knows it, his body is making decisions for him. Hands fall and land on Bond's shoulders and keep him close. Hips lift and fall and build as much momentum as physically possible. He's already gone this far. He might as well live out the rest of the fantasy. And it is getting so much harder to keep his moans to himself. Even harder to keep the impending orgasm at bay with Bond's hand on his cock. ]
You'll come? Sort've the idea. [ He finishes with a breathless sort of amusement that's too distracted to be anywhere near biting, too entranced with watching Q press his lithe body down onto his cock with confidence, liking the red flush down his pale neck, that look leveled at him from over the tops of his glasses. Bond doesn't take his hand away but he stops it's even stroking, instead settling for easing the pad of his thumb against the wet tip, swirling slowly as they're gazes stay locked, wavered only by the flutter of lashes at a particular good thrust upwards and in.
It's too much and too good and too everything and he can't resist dragging Q back down by the nape of his neck to kiss him hungrily, messy, all tongue and teeth and chasing after a clever mouth he's suddenly imagining doing even more clever things between his strong thighs. Foreheads damp and pressed together, he tears his mouth away long enough to murmur something into the slight space between their lips, full of mirth and want. ]
There's always another go after. [ He twists his hand suddenly around Q's cock with intent, resuming his pace only quicker now. ] Come for me, Q. You want to, badly. I know you do.
[ He huffs out something that is meant to be annoyance and ends up trying to catch his breath from another strangled noise caught in his throat. Bond's mouth is on his again. Their tongues and teeth working in hurried sync to keep them together. He wants to make this last longer. He wants to keep their lips together and bodies flush and fingers laced in hair, but only his. Not any random he could find off the street. And wasn't that telling?
He had no time to think about it. Not when his mind was screaming for him, forcing his hips to try and meet cock and hand all at once. Pleasure. Him. He was so terribly close and then Bond goes and rips his mouth away to tell him exactly what he needed to hear. His turn to violently pull forward and keep that mouth on his.
It doesn't break with how quick their hips move. It certainly doesn't break as he cries into Bond's mouth with the final intense wave of heat pushing him over the edge and coating perfectly sculpted abs in warm cum. The intense satisfaction of feeling his cock thrust in him lingers and lingers. He lets himself enjoy being drunk on the feeling, allowing a moment of relaxation and letting all his airs melt away. There absolutely would be a round two. ]
[ it's too much to speak after that, his focus split between the lithe body urging down onto his cock and the one wrapped up in his hand, decidedly uncertain as to which part he prefers more. Q's breathless little sounds and half strangled moans fall too lovely on his ears, craving more, inherently knowing somehow that this cannot be the one and only time he gets to hear them, gets to see and feel and touch and Bond knows he's going to want this again. And again. And again. How could he have known it would be this good?
It takes little more than the wet warmth splaying across his tightened stomach to have him tumbling right along after, not having the manners enough mid-fuck to ask permission before he comes hard and suddenly inside him, thighs tense beneath Q's weight, pushing up into him through the climax until his hips slow and his head tilts forward, forehead coming to a rest against his shoulder. His arms remain around him, keeping him firmly planted in his lap, fingertips moving aimlessly against the damp skin at the small of his back, breathing erratic and shallow. This could go on forever, as far as Bond's concerned, falling into a hazy lull of dizzy contentment, enough to have him dragging a slow open mouthed kiss against Q's collar, not quite ready to speak yet. ]
[ Oh thank god, he does stay in him all the way to the end. One day he'd very much like to be able to feel it without latex in the way. That may have to wait until he can be much more ... intimate with someone.
Q slumps forward when they are finished, his arms wrapping around Bond's neck in a loose hug. His breaths are slower as he tries to catch up to himself. Oxygen, definitely. But also to allow his mind to adjust to what just happened. Less than an hour ago, he'd ask Bond for a dick pic. Now they were naked, sweaty, and completely blissful. He smiles as Bond begins to kiss his damp skin and shifts to allow him more room. ]
Not bad? That's all you can give me? [ Bond lets out a raspy chuckle against the line of Q's neck, not anywhere near offended, reluctant to part from him in any way just yet despite the warmth cooling on his stomach between them. Instead, he cards his fingers up through dark, mussed waves, leaning back a few inches to press Q's glasses carefully back up his nose with the end of one finger, liking very much how well the just fucked looks on him, still flushed red, curls damp and sticking to his forehead.
As if to prove some murky point, he tilts his chin in to kiss him again, slowly this time, long and sensual and feeling it down to his toes, curling against the sheets beneath them. Groaning quietly, his nose nudges against Q's, teeth edging against a bottom lip full from too many hurried kisses. ] I could use a smoke. And then I'd like to have you again.
[ A man of relatively few words, he's not one to mince the ones he does share, mouth tilting up into a smirk. ]
[ Oh now that is much better. He's always favored his hair being touched. It's why it's a mess by the end of the day - comfort. Glasses pushed up means that he can better look Bond in the eye.
He looks even better blissful like this. Glistening, grinning, much more candid. Much less stern. He may very well like to see this more often.
And experience a kiss like that again. A veritable wave of peace and lingering thrill all wrapped up in one touch of his lips.
Q leans closer to mumble against his lips, still not finished with being a tease. ]
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no subject
He's not so enthralled that he can't move further, give Bond a bit more room to work with. And he's rewarded with both legs being draped around his hips like they belong there. Q forces himself to take a deep breath. He will not get in over his head over one bloody - if damn good - touch to his skin. His own explore forearms and biceps. Even in his more sane moments he wouldn't deny they do send a particular thrill through him. ]
I am quartermaster, 007.
[ You aren't the exclusive shareholder on occupational jokes, Bond. Although Q does manage to keep his smile down a little better. Must put on that air of polite "offense" to up-play the joke. He shifts head and eyes to their right toward the bedside table where he will find three or four condoms as well as lubrication. Anything more adventurous is under the bed and will have to wait for later. ]
no subject
Well practiced hands remove the cap and slick up two fingers, setting it aside as he leans down to mouth a few lazy, open kisses to Q's lower stomach, feeling the muscles pull and stretch beneath his mouth.
With care, one hand makes it's way downwards, pressing one slow finger in a knuckle at a time, sharp blue eyes raised to watch the reaction he receives. ] You look good like this. I could get used to it. [ Far too much arousal induced honesty, Bond drags the blunt of his teeth dully over the high arch of one hip bone, a second finger joining the first, slow and steady. ]
no subject
He's already canting onto the finger and only groaning when the second is added. Those gorgeous fucking blue eyes aren't helping anything either. Bond knows what he's doing, knows that he knows, and it's all driving Q absolutely mad in the best and worst possible way. But he shows little of it. He squirms and presses down on the fingers or up to the mouth to seek friction but not excessively. He breathes out quiet little moans that are not masked, simply naturally that way.
He props himself up on his elbows. ]
I could think of a better angle for you.
[ Namely on top of him. ]
Or several.
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[ The heavy pause is very intentional, hoisting one of Q's legs back around his hips, his hand curled around his own cock to guide himself wetly between a pair of willing thighs: ] —there are other methods for achieving the same results. [ Gritting his teeth at the sudden tight warmth pressed around him, he presses all the way to the hilt and stills, elbows and forearms bracing himself on either side of Q's head now, looking down at him with a look that could melt steel. He moves to card a few fingers through dark curls, head ducking down to mouth hotly over the smooth slope of his neck, catching at his Adam's apple, wielding patience like a weapon as if he's simply waiting for Q to ask him to move.
And perhaps he is. ]
no subject
He had another cheeky comeback ready. Something about how it was lovely his mouth had many talents, or perhaps commenting on how they still had plenty of time before sunrise. All of it is lost in a gasping fuck and rush of heat and pain. His fingers haven't left any part of his flesh and now rest squarely on his back with nails digging in to brace himself. Even with-- He hasn't felt this full in so long. Or the pleasure of another's weight on top of him. Or a kiss to his neck.
Cheeky? He hasn't seen the beginning of it.
Nails drag down his back as his legs tighten. He quickly turns to mumble along the shell of his ear. ]
Bond...
[ Move. ]
no subject
Maneuvering them around, he slips an arm down in what slight space remains between them, curling knowing fingers around his cock, tugging in time with his thrusts, still slow and steady, an unrushed passed despite how much he wants to drive home until neither of them can breath. The pad of his thumb brushes round the slick head of him, just as concerned over his pleasure as much as his own, if not moreso.
Bond shifts his hips and tries for another angle, needing to hear him, needing to know he's making him feel good, tilting back down to find his mouth for a messy, unfocused kiss as the rhythm picks up, faster, pressing up harder into him. ]
no subject
This is all so much more tender and slow than Q could have bargained for. He'd been expecting quick and rough with Bond taking and Q demanding in turn. He expected knocking bedposts. Instead he's faced with beautifully (if agonizingly in the same breath) thrusts and his own hands never wandering from him. Hair to back to sides. The moans come much easier now, a little louder. His hand on Q's cock knows as much of what it's doing as those damn hips. ]
Oh fuck, Bond...
[ He half mumbles, still a little embarrassed he's getting so wrapped up in this so quickly. He's-- Good. Very good. Almost enough to lose himself in it. Finally, a hand rests in silver hair so he might press their lips together again. If he only gets tonight, he's going to get a good amount of kissing out of it.
He bites down on his lower lip and drags his teeth across the sensitive skin. ]
Faster.
[ It most definitely sounds more like a plea than a demand. ]
no subject
Up on his knees now, he cups his hands around Q's hips and drags him down and forward, further and harder onto his cock and his hikes his thighs higher around his waist. One hand returns to stroking evenly around his length, licking over his palm first for extra friction, looking down at him like he's never seen anything more fucking gorgeous in his entire life.
Maybe he hasn't.
Another absurd thought, and he isn't anywhere near drunk enough for such sentimentality, attention shifting back to the task at hand— making his quartermaster come, and hopefully harder than he has in a good while. 007 isn't the chattiest of men, least of all in the bedroom, but when he presses up into Q again, all slick and smooth like they've been meant to do this all along, he leans down to murmur: ]
Does my cock feel good inside you, Q? Have you ever thought about this before? Fucking me here in your very own bed? [ It's not taunting but teasing, his voice low and dragged rough over gravel, out of breath as he pushes in again and again. ]
no subject
Fuck it. He doesn't care about pretense anymore. This is something he's been thinking about for so damn long. Q grips tight with legs and arms when Bond dares to come closer. His whole body feels like a fucking frenzy and the heat at the pit of his stomach only grows tighter. ]
Yes but- [ Oh fuck yes, James. Just like that. He forces his eyes open again. ] Different.
[ He presses their mouths together but far enough that between shifting and talking he's still able to. There is no harshness to his voice. Only more wanton moans as his hips try to push back for every push in, tighten when he does. Why isn't Bond's hair long enough to pull? ]
Riding you until your hips were sore. You bending me over and fucking me senseless.
no subject
There's no time like the present, as they say. [ One arm secure around the small of his back, Bond seamlessly rolls them over, keeping Q balanced on his thighs and still snug up inside him as he pushes himself backwards to lean against the backboard, unable to restrain the gasp that accompanies a new angle. His palms rove across a lean back, pale and freckled and one day more exploded ( maybe today, maybe when they've both recovered from round one ) and a hand drifts down to curve against the modest slope of his ass, pressing him in closer, his cock trapped snug between their stomachs. ]
Come on then, Q. [ Eyes full of a subdued but genuine mirth, he jerks his hips up hard, encouraging as he loops a lazy hand back around his cock, pulling slowly. ] I want to see you fuck yourself on my cock.
no subject
[ But then it happens. Q finds himself sitting with knees on either side of Bond's hips and giving a strangled cry when he thrusts into him at this very much desired new angle.
His hands rest on the headboard as he tries to catch his breath from the influx of pleasure and movement. Oh, is it a show he wants then? Looking at him over the rim of his glasses, Q starts to grind his hips back and forth. Never quite living himself to properly fuck. He's not going to give Bond what he wants right away. He's going to take his time and enjoy the sensation of being filled, of his hand on his cock, of getting to look into those beautiful blues... Before he knows it, his body is making decisions for him. Hands fall and land on Bond's shoulders and keep him close. Hips lift and fall and build as much momentum as physically possible. He's already gone this far. He might as well live out the rest of the fantasy. And it is getting so much harder to keep his moans to himself. Even harder to keep the impending orgasm at bay with Bond's hand on his cock. ]
If you don't remove your hand...
no subject
It's too much and too good and too everything and he can't resist dragging Q back down by the nape of his neck to kiss him hungrily, messy, all tongue and teeth and chasing after a clever mouth he's suddenly imagining doing even more clever things between his strong thighs. Foreheads damp and pressed together, he tears his mouth away long enough to murmur something into the slight space between their lips, full of mirth and want. ]
There's always another go after. [ He twists his hand suddenly around Q's cock with intent, resuming his pace only quicker now. ] Come for me, Q. You want to, badly. I know you do.
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He had no time to think about it. Not when his mind was screaming for him, forcing his hips to try and meet cock and hand all at once. Pleasure. Him. He was so terribly close and then Bond goes and rips his mouth away to tell him exactly what he needed to hear. His turn to violently pull forward and keep that mouth on his.
It doesn't break with how quick their hips move. It certainly doesn't break as he cries into Bond's mouth with the final intense wave of heat pushing him over the edge and coating perfectly sculpted abs in warm cum. The intense satisfaction of feeling his cock thrust in him lingers and lingers. He lets himself enjoy being drunk on the feeling, allowing a moment of relaxation and letting all his airs melt away. There absolutely would be a round two. ]
no subject
It takes little more than the wet warmth splaying across his tightened stomach to have him tumbling right along after, not having the manners enough mid-fuck to ask permission before he comes hard and suddenly inside him, thighs tense beneath Q's weight, pushing up into him through the climax until his hips slow and his head tilts forward, forehead coming to a rest against his shoulder. His arms remain around him, keeping him firmly planted in his lap, fingertips moving aimlessly against the damp skin at the small of his back, breathing erratic and shallow. This could go on forever, as far as Bond's concerned, falling into a hazy lull of dizzy contentment, enough to have him dragging a slow open mouthed kiss against Q's collar, not quite ready to speak yet. ]
no subject
Q slumps forward when they are finished, his arms wrapping around Bond's neck in a loose hug. His breaths are slower as he tries to catch up to himself. Oxygen, definitely. But also to allow his mind to adjust to what just happened. Less than an hour ago, he'd ask Bond for a dick pic. Now they were naked, sweaty, and completely blissful. He smiles as Bond begins to kiss his damp skin and shifts to allow him more room. ]
Not bad at all.
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As if to prove some murky point, he tilts his chin in to kiss him again, slowly this time, long and sensual and feeling it down to his toes, curling against the sheets beneath them. Groaning quietly, his nose nudges against Q's, teeth edging against a bottom lip full from too many hurried kisses. ] I could use a smoke. And then I'd like to have you again.
[ A man of relatively few words, he's not one to mince the ones he does share, mouth tilting up into a smirk. ]
no subject
He looks even better blissful like this. Glistening, grinning, much more candid. Much less stern. He may very well like to see this more often.
And experience a kiss like that again. A veritable wave of peace and lingering thrill all wrapped up in one touch of his lips.
Q leans closer to mumble against his lips, still not finished with being a tease. ]
And how would you like me, 007?