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The ocean air is humid and warm, and the resort restaurant's deck awnings flutter and snap in the strong breeze. The sunset's golden rays add a glow of health to Q's pale complexion. The man holds a nearly empty beer bottle pressed to his lower lip as he watches the waves breaking on the beach below.
Bond pulls out a wooden chair at Q's table and makes himself comfortable. "I hope you don't mind if I join you; you have the best view in the house." He nods toward the horizon, where the sun is about to plunge into the Caribbean Sea.
"There's plenty more tables— Oh. You look familiar," Q says, squinting a bit at Bond. "Do I know you? Did we…work together, perhaps?"
Bond smiles, a predator's glint of white teeth. "I get that a lot—must have one of those familiar sorts of faces. Can I buy you a drink?"
~
When Bond reports to the quartermaster's office to return his mission kit, he finds Tanner seated at Q's desk and rubbing his temples.
Bond knocks on the door frame to get his attention. "Tanner. I'm looking for Q."
"Bond, welcome back. Q's on indefinite leave, so we're a bit disorganized at the mo'. You can leave your kit with R."
"Is he alright?" Bond asks, stepping into the dim, cluttered office.
"Rather not, I'm afraid. There was a mugging last week, and some head trauma. And now what appears to be temporary amnesia." Tanner heaves a sigh and glances at the stacks of files piled up on Q's desk. "At least, we're all counting on it being temporary."
Bond swallows past a sudden feeling of loss, but of what, he doesn't know. Stability, perhaps. Restless with a sudden need to move, Bond says, "Christ. Where is he now, Medical?"
Tanner shakes his head. "Already discharged and out on his own. Technically he's hale and whole. And as it's his entire time at MI6 that's missing, he's understandably reluctant to let a strange government agency lock him in a hospital ward until his memory returns. Much as Mallory would prefer it."
"But he's coming back?"
"If he gets his memories back, certainly. If he doesn't…." Tanner shrugs. "We're taking a hands-off approach so as not to scare him away. But there's really no way to know what he'll decide."
~
The instant they're through the door to Bond's hotel room, Bond reels Q in to steal a first kiss. It turns into a series of kisses, soft lips and stubble and hot breath mingling as Q's fingers work Bond's shirt open. Bond likes it, likes the feel of sleek skin when Bond shoves Q's shorts and pants off his hips. Likes the way Q laughs into his mouth and shimmies out of his sandals and shorts. Likes the way Q presses his naked lower half against Bond's body, shameless.
Bond breaks off the kiss to take in Q's carefree smile; he can't help returning it.
"Get your kit off, chop chop," Q says, flicking open Bond's now-unbuttoned shirt.
Bond obeys, ditching his shirt and starting on his own shorts while Q drags his t-shirt over his head. And then Bond loses the plot, because that body he's wondered about for the past year is finally on display for him, no longer buried under baggy wool trousers and bulky cardigans to combat the constant chill of the basement labs. Q's not quite as starved as Bond expected, a little more muscle, a little less skin and bones, pale with a few tan lines from a day in the sun. Bond reaches for Q's slim hips and slides his hands up and over the flare of his ribs, suddenly greedy to touch all that unblemished skin.
Q matches him with an equally greedy slide of hands down Bond's chest, hot against the chill of the room's air conditioning, and Bond's skin prickles with want. Q sighs into Bond's next kiss and tugs Bond toward the bed.
~
Bond signals the waiter for a couple beers then extends his hand. "The name's James."
Q's eyelids flutter as he mouths the name James in silent echo, before he responds in kind. "Daniel," he says, his handshake firm and gaze soft.
Daniel! Bond maintains a casual, friendly smile while internally licking his lips at this unexpected bounty. He already had Q's full name from the passport Mallory showed him, but to receive Q's explicit permission to use it feels like a tectonic shift between them. Even if this is the only inch he gets out of the notoriously private quartermaster, it'll be ample ammunition to tease him with once he resumes his role at MI6.
And unlike Tanner, Bond doesn't harbor any doubts on that front.
"Pleased to meet you, Daniel. What brings you to St. Lucia?"
~
R sees Bond coming and shoos away the semi-circle of minions demanding access to the quartermaster, claiming they must have his input before progressing with their projects. Bond waits while the crowd disperses, taking in the tightness around R's eyes and the greying hairs that have escaped her usually tidy bun.
"I don't know how Q handles the constant pestering," she huffs once they're alone, then gives Bond a searching look. "I presume you've already heard?"
"Tanner just told me. Have you seen him? Is he alright?"
"Last I saw him, he had no idea who I was, or anyone else in the branch. He didn't even recognize his own prototypes!" She shudders. "Gave me the eeriest feeling, like I'd stepped through a quantum mirror and ended up in the wrong dimension. Which is probably how he felt, come to think of it," she laughs, quick and slanted, lips turning down in distress.
Bond considers giving her a reassuring pat on the arm, but she clears her throat and presses on.
"Anyway, he walked out of here without a care in the world…aside from the bruises." She gestures at her own face, and Bond scowls.
Tanner didn't say what became of the mugger foolish enough to assault their quartermaster. Bond starts making plans to look into the matter for himself. He's in the mood to tear something apart, and the heavy bag in the gym won't suffice.
R continues, "It was as if not knowing a jot about MI6 made him a new man. Or…his old self, I suppose. We've all grown so dependent on him, it's hard to remember how recently he joined us."
Bond would rather not contemplate how dependent he and the other double-0's have become on Q's voice in their ears and Q's genius inventions in their hands. Or Q's tight smile upon the agent's return, that somehow conveys relief in the slightest millimeter of a curve.
~
Q gasps through a smile, lips curled wide as Bond licks his way down Q's chest, giving extra attention to the taut brown nipples on his way. Q's hands run through Bond's hair, and his hips arch off the bed to meet his mouth as Bond dips his tongue into Q's navel.
And Q's saying the most delightful things, praising Bond's eyes, his hands, his devilish lips. By the time Bond's breathing hotly over the head of Q's cock, Q's switched to cursing and begging him to get on his prick already.
Bond pins Q's hip bones to the mattress with heavy hands and draws the swollen crown into his mouth for a leisurely suck.
Q moans, "James," posh voice breaking so sweetly on the vowel.
Bond sets to making him do it again.
~
"Any siblings?" Bond asks over a plate of fried calamari.
"One sister, three years older than me. And just as bossy as you're imagining, yes," Q adds with a chuckle.
Bond bites back a comment that bossiness is clearly a family trait, too enraptured by the treasure trove of personal details Q's giving up.
"She still tries to bully me into cutting my hair, lecturing me about 'dressing for success' at all the family get-togethers. Although I think I've missed the last several…." Q's brows draw together in a frown that Bond dislikes.
He especially dislikes how familiar it looks on Q's face.
"Too busy shagging your boyfriend?" Bond teases, eager to distract Q from any regrets.
Q's eyelids flutter again, his cheeks growing slightly pink. "No boyfriend currently. It's actually been some time on that front. Work's kept me too busy."
"Sounds like a vacation is precisely what the doctor ordered," Bond says and clinks his bottle against Q's.
~
Doctor Kwon refuses to share Q's file with him, but she does give Bond a brief overview: A couple blows to the head, a concussion that she would normally have classified as mild if it weren't for the accompanying memory loss. Though loss of memory could be a result of the emotional shock of the assault. "And coming as it did on top of his pre-existing condition—"
"What condition?" Bond interrupts.
"Exhaustion. Over-work. I've been trying to convince the man to take a holiday for months now, even just a long weekend when he's not on call. But every time his scheduled leave arrives, some crisis or other brings him back in."
Bond grimaces, recalling one occasion a few months ago when Bond's mission had blown up at the start of a weekend. And hearing the quartermaster's grumpy voice over comms saying, "I was half-way to Brighton before you cocked things up, 007."
Bond remembers laughing and saying something about having Q at his beck and call.
"What are you doing to get his memories back?" he demands.
Kwon turns up her palms. "There's nothing I can do, besides rein-in Mallory's overbearing impulses. Considering Q's physical and mental state, I'd say he needs rest to fully recover. The last thing he needs is MI6 trying to shock him into remembering us; I'm afraid the stress of another trauma could do lasting damage to his brain."
~
He comes up for air with an aching throat and Q's come fresh on his tongue. Q's still-hard cock rests against Bond's lower lip like that beer bottle he'd been so envious of, a comfortable weight. His tongue darts out for another taste, and Q shudders and blinks his eyes open to look down his body at Bond.
The heat in his eyes is electric, his fingers making helpless, grasping motions toward Bond.
When Bond flips Q abruptly onto his stomach, Q makes a startled sound and then starfishes his limbs across the duvet, stretching from his fingers to his toes. His hips wiggle enticingly as he makes himself comfortable. And Bond can hardly turn down such an invitation.
He helps himself to the lube and condoms in Q's wallet—taking a moment to memorize the delightfully dreadful head shot on Q's driving license, all staticky hair and awkward grimace—and settles himself between Q's thighs once again.
"Alright there, Daniel? Ready for round two?" He swipes cool, wet fingers over Q's hole.
"Oh god," Q mumbles into the blankets, "I couldn't possibly." But his right leg bends, knee drawing up, giving Bond better access.
Bond kisses Q's arse cheek approvingly and slips the first finger inside.
Q shudders, groans, and starts begging again.
~
The restaurant lights have turned on by the time their entrees arrive, the darkening sky chasing away the fading pink of the horizon. In the brighter light, Bond can spot the mottled yellowing of a bruise on Q's left cheekbone. His eyes don't want to shift from it.
Q is finishing a story about a friend's stag weekend a few years ago, looking pleased with the outrageous antics of younger Daniel and his mates. And then he turns introspective, saying quietly, "Sometimes I worry my wildest days are all behind me. That it'll just be a slog of work from here on out, until I'm too old to get into trouble anymore."
Bond curves his lips into a smile and leans across the table, his fingertips brushing Q's as he tugs the latest empty bottle out of Q's grasp. "I'll bet you've got lots of wild days—and nights—still in you."
Q's eyes fall to Bond's lips, and Bond savors how the pupils dilate, a physical response that Q can't fake or conceal. "I suppose next you'll say that's what vacations are for."
"Oh, they definitely are. Tell me, Daniel," he purrs. "How wild are you hoping to get?"
~
Bond's curiosity at Mallory's emergency summons turns swiftly to concern when he sees Doctor Kwon already in M's office.
"Sir?" Bond says, and enters at Mallory's nod.
"If he spots a tail, he could panic," Kwon is saying, hands planted on Mallory's desk as she stands over him. "And any consequences of that will be on your head."
"The quartermaster?" Bond asks, prompting either of them to explain.
Mallory turns away from Kwon's baleful stare and nods. "We flagged his passport at Heathrow 20 minutes ago. He's headed for St. Lucia in the Caribbean."
"Is this an ordinary holiday, or…?" Bond can't bring himself to finish that sentence, to attribute any nefarious intentions to Q.
"I told him to relax, away from MI6. And you want to send it chasing after him!" Kwon argues.
"With all due respect, doctor, leaving our quartermaster in the wind for any interested party to snatch up is a risk I simply can't afford to take, no matter the state of his memory. Bond, you'll leave first thing tomorrow. Shadow and protect the quartermaster until his return to England. You'll have license to kill; R's assembling a mission kit for you."
"Yes, Sir," Bond says, his pulse leaping.
"And for the sake of Q's 'delicate condition,'" Mallory adds, tipping his head toward Kwon, "be sure to keep a discreet distance. We wouldn't want to cause his recovery any setbacks."
Bond twitches at the significant eyebrow lifts on that last instruction and wonders whether Mallory's incredulity is directed at Kwon's zealous defense of her patient…or at someone else entirely.
~
They're both sheened in sweat by the time he nudges the head of his cock against Q's painstakingly loosened hole. Bond slowly starts to ease his cock into Q's arse, reveling in Q's whimpers and pleas and the way he tries to screw his hips back onto him as Bond draws it out as long as he can.
Until, at the end of his tether, Q shouts, "Bond, you insufferable bastard, get on with it!"
And oh, Bond has always enjoyed hearing that voice bark his name, whether in admonishment or awe. This variation may be his favorite though, with its raw edge of desperation and need, and the feeling of Q's tight arse squeezing the head of Bond's cock in a silken vise.
So Bond obeys and gives it to him with a quick thrust that steals both their breaths. His fingers flex on Q's hip bones as the embrace of Q's tight, hot body washes over him, so impossibly good he could lose himself in it. But Q remains unsatisfied, making a low growling noise before ordering Bond to move his bloody cock already.
It takes Bond another moment to convince his cock to withdraw from that glorious arse, but he quickly builds up speed, thrusting as hard and fast as Q demands, following Q's directions as he would in a chaotic firefight. It's a merciless pace, the headboard thumping against the wall in counterpoint to Q's groans, and Bond starts to feel winded long before Q's ready to climax. But he's not about to let Q down.
Bond digs deep, pushing his body's demands aside so he can focus solely on driving Q out of his mind with pleasure.
~
"I'm insane for even considering this," Q mutters. But he tosses back his shot of rum and rises from the table when Bond does.
They leave the restaurant arm in arm, following the lighted path toward Bond's hotel room. Overhead, the black sky is freckled with stars, the milky way rising over the mountain's dark silhouette.
But Bond's eyes are fixed lower. He can't help savoring the pleasant way Q leans so trustingly against his side on the short walk, or the way Q's fingertips scrape lightly against the inside of Bond's elbow, over and over, until the sensitized skin practically throbs at his touch. Or the way Q hums to himself, something cheerful and lilting, revealing a quiet happiness Bond has never seen on him before.
The moment is almost overwhelming, in a small, sea-change sort of way that Bond doesn't have words for.
Bond finds himself feeling almost sentimental over it, pictures them repeating this walk down a London sidewalk or two, when Q's holiday is over. He wonders whether Q might be amenable to that the next time Bond's off-mission.
Or if it's only the ostensible freedom of a tropical escape that's made this moment possible.
~
The resort Q's chosen is small but steep, nestled into the mountainside of St. Lucia's western coast. Bond stows his weapons in his room and changes to better blend in before beginning his search. Camouflaged beneath hat and sunglasses, Bond's eyes scan every body and face he passes as he works his way down to the beach.
Hot sand sifts between his toes, and a few curious waves lap at his ankles as he stalks the shore in search of his target. He spots him from below, Q seated on the deck of the beachfront restaurant. He's sipping from a beer bottle, slumped back in a curved wooden chair like it's a cushioned divan, a look on his face that Bond would call blissful as he breathes in the soft ocean air.
And if Bond didn't know the man's face from every angle, he would almost believe this wasn't his quartermaster, with so many hallmarks missing. The pinched, tired frowns and drooping shoulders have been left behind in London along with his technology; to Bond's shock, there's no phone or tablet in Q's hands, no weapon he's carefully disassembling on his table.
It would appear he's taken Doctor Kwon's advice to heart…whether it was medically necessary or not.
~
Although he's loath to disrupt the very agreeable arrangement of limbs and energy levels they've settled into, it has to be said. "Your act could use some work," Bond informs the man currently draped over his chest and nuzzling his ear in a most distracting manner.
Q nips his earlobe but says good-naturedly, "Oh please. I could never hope to out-con our best spy."
Bond stalwartly does not blush at the praise. "And Mallory isn't as much of an idiot as you think."
Q sighs and relaxes into the pillow next to Bond. "I don't care, so long as he lets me have these two weeks. Although if I want any time off next year, I'll probably have to fake my death."
"Now that's a ploy I'm well-versed in. I'd be pleased to lend my considerable expertise to such a worthy cause."
He can hear the smile in Q's voice when he asks, "What's your assignment here anyway? Babysitting? I'm certain it wasn't shagging me back into my right mind. The medical journals all agree that's contraindicated for amnesia."
"Shadow and protect from a discreet distance."
"Sticking to your brief as usual, I see."
Bond chuckles, "I'm an opportunist at heart."
Q hums and runs a fingertip down Bond's throat. "So does that mean you're here for two weeks as well?"
"As long as I'm not intruding. It's your holiday, after all. If you want me to back off, I will."
"Well, since you're already here…I can see you playing a key role in my recuperation. If you're interested."
Bond turns his head to meet Q's gaze, mere inches apart. "Very interested."
Q smiles, pleased. "In that case, set an alarm for 7, would you? I've a massage booked for 8 I don't want to miss."
Bond grins at the return of his bossy quartermaster and wraps his arm a little tighter around his shoulders. "Yes, Q."
Q presses his chin into Bond's shoulder and whispers, "Call me Danny."
~
Technically, Bond's mission parameters are to avoid contact…but he can't resist testing a theory. If he's wrong, there'll be no harm done; he'll just be a friendly stranger who's staying at the same resort. But if he's right….
Bond enters the restaurant and heads for Q's table, making sure he has a clear view of Q's eyes when he steps into Q's line of sight and pulls out the second chair at his table.
Q looks up, startled out of his quiet contemplation of the sunset, and Bond spies the split-second of recognition and guilt before Q schools his face into careful blankness.
"There's plenty more tables—" he starts, but Bond's widening smirk sets Q on an elegant change of tack. "Oh. You look familiar. Do I know you? Did we…work together, perhaps?"
Bemused, Bond settles into his own role, fascinated to see how far Q means to push this charade. "I get that a lot—must have one of those familiar sorts of faces. Can I buy you a drink?" He nods toward Q's nearly empty bottle.
Q eyes him for a moment, his usually direct gaze drifting lower down Bond's body before he starts to smile. "Yes, I rather wish you would."