[he's fixated there on the small flash of pink--bond's tongue snaking out to taste the metal that q has presented him with. it's exhilarating to know that one of england's finest, proudest men is essentially under his finger day in and day out--not only commands given via earpiece or directions to the quickest escape route from a terrorist cell that's about to blow, but here now as well.

perhaps he's a little too comfortable with that thought--distracted more like, and he jumps just a touch when bond pulls him in, grips his wrist hard but not enough to really do any damage. the hand holding the gun is steady at least, and he's fortunate that q took the liberty of removing the bullets before setting up this game. maybe he already knows that, maybe he doesn't. he swallows hard then, adam's apple bobbing under the tautly pulled skin courtesy of bond's fist in his hair.

surely bond can feel the way his pulse jumps then, the reverberation of his voice when he finally finds it in himself to respond.]

The inferred idea is that you need to come back in one piece to bring them to me--isn't that enough for you?

[the gun slips back along his jawline, up and down again almost like a caress even though q doesn't push him back or reprimand him for acting out of line (and he supposes with a little thrill that he could if he wanted, probably).]

Or were you expecting something else? Roses and a serenade, champagne maybe?