bakerstreet | A Picture is Worth... Meme.

[ the air is stale and warm in the holding cell, one deep and dark and tucked away on a floor no one even remembered existed but q; weeks, they had played this game though never together, never personally, always little commands through ear pieces, private channels to listen raptly to reactions, to let q tell him how to fuck a woman or how to touch himself, little videos and texts that stated him but were never quite enough. he was satisfied with it though, these abrupt adventures of theirs, just naughty enough to do something basic and animal to him, draw out those awful parts that fed off sex and lust and everything inbetween.

this text, no. it was just numbers, numbers that took just long enough for bond to figure out (probably too long by q's count, but he was never meant to be a quartermaster), leading him down and down and down, to a place that was always too quiet. empty. the room itself is an old interrogation room-- maybe one not so old, really, but just a place where people go that don't come back. a little thrill crawls up his spine inch by inch, slow and daunting, an unfamiliar twist of fear curling in his belly, anticipation putting everything in him on edge.

there's a chair in the middle, bare and metal and on the seat sit a blindfold, a gag and a browning buckmark .22 semiautomatic. how very american. he picks up the gun and weighs it in his hand, intrigued, the long barrel not holding the same nostalgic quality of a revolver, but it would do for-- whatever he would need this for. the first few minutes he spends pacing the room, gun in hand, palming the handle idly, the next few lead to curiously moving about the room, peering in corners, looking for tells and when he feels like maybe he's wasted his time, he impatiently moves to sit, the gag and blindfold twisted in his hands.

boredom, of course, leads to curiosity and his final few moments alone, he gives into temptation, thumbing the leather of the gag before pulling the blindfold on, smirking to himself. wouldn't it be funny if q showed up now-- maybe he should put the gag on, he'd probably like him more when he couldn't talk, ha ha ha. the gag of course is a lot more interesting when he can't see what he's touching along it-- the cool metal studs, the connecting rings and then his hands find the gun again, head tilting down like that might help him see what he's doing, fingers pressing slow along the barrel. at least he got a new toy out of it. ]

[to put it very simply, q doesn't like loose ends. and lately he finds there are several in his life, several he doesn't remember even getting tangled up in to begin with. but they all have something in common: they all start and must end with 007.

the tension is what came first. friction in the form of little digs here, a poshly veiled insult there, all sorts of age-based jokes in the middle. there were half-sincere, half-grudging smirks that he remembers punctuating the end of each exchange too. evidently it was a bit of a running joke in the office as tanner so kindly pointed out, and it was apparently easy to tell who had come out on top by looking at something as simple and methodical as q's typing. calm and fluid meant he'd gotten the last word in, forcefully erratic and full of mistakes meant bond was the victor.

pinpointing when the that all ebbed and flowed into the flirtation is another matter entirely. perhaps it was a natural transition of things, and at base level both of them meant nothing sincere by it. but before he knew it the necessary directions q would recite in bond's ear turned into supplementary remarks not lacking in his usual dry wit and unimpressed (alright, sometimes vaguely impressed) commentary, and then suddenly it was all turned upside down and he found himself commanding and instructing.

it started small, just suggestions--put your back into it, try to come back in one piece, it'd be an inconvenience having to start designing for someone else when i've already got a good grasp on your file, you could do with straightening your tie you know... but then it got terribly derailed--absolutely filthy. see how fast you can make her cum, pull her hair like that it's not as though it could look any worse than it did before, don't let yourself release until i say so do you understand, bond...

he wasn't flustered at first, more amused than anything else and only agreeing to the game to try and make it as dry and unappealing as possible so bond wouldn't try anything like it again. what he hadn't counted on was how much he found himself enjoying it--pulling the strings, watching 007 obey. and so it continued through varying degrees of encrypted channels and necessary excuses to retreat into the privacy of his own office. to his credit q hasn't really acted much on the physical portion of his side, that's what he gets to coax bond into doing.

but there are still other things that get in the way and remind q of how frustrating this really is. like when bond shows an increasing disregard for his equipment, maybe even moreso than before because he thinks it's funny to pull such shit and get away with it. between that and the increased frequency of these...sessions, q is feeling the strain in more ways than one.

he's only human, after all.

making his way down to the abandoned room, he almost considers rolling his eyes and scrapping the idea altogether when he sees what bond's gotten himself into. he steps inside quietly (bond can probably hear him, but he does his best to be stealthy) and leans in to speak into his ear just like all the other times.]

You're a bloody idiot. Can't keep your hands off anything, can you?

[ he does hear him and though the thought passes that it might not have been q at all, he knows that if anyone knew these passages at all, it was him and it was foolish to trust his instincts, but he likes the little rush it gives him, the way his muscles tighten instinctively, the rising beat of his heart. he doesn't turn his head in the direction of the noise and is quietly delighted at the warmth of q's breath against his ear, the sound of him there that settles everything. ]

Never could.

[ it's low and inviting, a hint of playful, like his muted smile. he's tempted to wait for instruction but can't help himself, impulsive as he turns his head quick, nose nudging his jaw, and then his lips, ghosting there, ]

Good to see you, too.

[of course it's q, he's done his homework to ensure that this is a place within the walls of mi6 where they won't be bothered. he wouldn't be here otherwise if it wasn't guaranteed. he's also been kind enough to disable the security cameras in nearby hallways and within the room itself, even though he has the fleeting thought that maybe bond would want a copy of this later to muse over. then again that's more up q's alley, but who really knows. it's not like they're on good enough terms to start guessing what makes the other really get going.

he shudders slightly at the warmth brushing along his skin from bond's greeting. this is it, he thinks. a physical culmination to the game they've been playing for so many months. he considers taking the blindfold off for a moment to see the telltale twinkle that he's somehow managed to memorize (how could he ignore it though, really when his eyes are so damn blue), but that would be counterproductive. q merely offers a slight hum and pulls back without warning.]

I should be offended you started playing without me, that's what.

[he steps toward the chair, loudly dragging it across the cold and unforgiving cement of the floor. carefully he sits down on it, then snaps his fingers to get bond's attention and give him a hint as to where he's moved in the small room.]

Come here.

[ ah. here we go. he hesitates just a moment, getting his bearings and after he turns around, in q's direction, he stops and stands very, very still. the gun is a familiar weight in his palm and although he grips it, it's simply because he can. after a moment, listening for the sound of him breathing, he draws closer, one step, than two ad then he's before him, wondering if he's gone far enough and the uncertainty bothers him openly, bond frowning.

it's a sudden movement, twisting the gun in his hand in one fluid motion so he no longer held it's handle but it's barrel, offering it forward (assuming, hoping he was before him), waiting for q to take it from him. a test of his own, so to speak. ]

[he has--it'd be impressive for anyone without 007's skillset to take the little indications and pinpoint where he's standing in the room. but then q forgets that there's anyone else besides him and bond because the gun is offered in his direction. he sucks in a breath quietly, staring at it the metal and the way it looks so innocent presented like that when he knows full well bond is capable of tearing it down and putting it together before pulling the trigger in a moment's notice.

his fingers barely brush against bond's palm as he takes it into his hands feeling the weight of it there, cold and heavy just like his nerves. ever so slowly he lifts it, pushes the barrel of it against bond's jawline and tilts his face just so that it's correctly facing him (he'd only been a few centimeters tilted the wrong way, that's all.)]

You trust me.

Is that a question?

[ it's almost cold, the way he says it. the same voice he uses for any man or woman that would be a threat, though he knows q is not. still, senseless and presented with a gun it makes his blood flow a little faster, that thing inside his brain switch on and flood him with the need to fight or fuck.

casually, he turns more toward the barrel, so it dug more into his jaw, expression not shifting even the slightest. maybe it's a challenge or maybe he just likes the danger of it, it's not clear. ]

Did you plan this all just for me?

Not really.

[he doesn't need an answer, he knows it even if maybe it would be nice to hear bond answer it. but nevermind, there's time for that yet. he moves the gun slightly along his jawline as bond shifts, almost like a caress to answer his question because it is true. he did plan it--went out of his way during time that should have been spent for real work, quite honestly.]

It's for you, yes. But I don't think I can let you walk away with my carefully crafted equipment until you learn its value, 007.

[the barrel makes its way along his jaw, his chin, and finally just resting beneath his lips.]

You're so careless--perhaps you need to learn respect for my creations.

Edited 2012-12-05 08:23 (UTC)

[ his lips part at the press of the gun along his skin, so unlike what he's used to-- plying caresses, lips and fingers and thighs, soft and warm. it's not his first experience with a gun in this respect, that's to say, it just doesn't happen often enough. he humors it though, eyes closing beneath the blindfold as his tongue darts to taste, lingering on metal, the taste unremarkable and nostalgic.

and then sharp as a whip, he has q's wrist, the hold a warning in itself though they both know he'd never hurt q. ]

Is that so.

[ and unrelenting, he draws q toward him in one motion, blindly reaching to grasp the back of his neck, fingers pressing up into his hair, feeling before twisting, tugging his head back. ]

Sometimes I think you care more about your creations than me.

[ there's a flash of that bond smirk before he ducks forward, mouth finding his pulse, biting light in reprimand. ]

[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?

It would be nice.

[ he says, smiling against his neck, mildly like he's actually considering it. his fingers slide down his forearm slow and easy, the other slipping from his hair back own to cradle the back of his head. all in all, it's a mix of strangely affectionate gestures but as far as he's concerned, you get more flies with honey than vinegar. thus far he'd known q only in a distant respect, the man that told him how to hold his cock and when to moan and cum in whatever woman he was with; this was an interesting first and he wasn't sure what the man before him might prefer.

(well, he had a few ideas, actually, but those required them to be more horizontal)

what he did know was that he was gambling with a notion. q seemed easy to give commands, to direct and even go so far as to set this up for them, a rare physical meeting and bond was curious how he responded to being overwhelmed, having that power stripped of him. truthfully, the thought of that happening to himself got him hard but you know, different strokes for different blokes. ]

I'd rather you just greet me in my bed. [ his lips trail words up to his jaw, murmuring close to his ear, abandoning his arm entirely in favor of sliding it around his waist, pulling him flush against, ] Naked. With food, maybe. Depends on what I was doing before.

[ he's amused himself and laughs low and lazy, saying casually but with that sharp, threatening edge there, ]

Put down the gun unless you intend to use it.

[q doesn't even have time to try and suppress the urge to roll his eyes before bond strikes again, pulling him in closer and almost using his own former tactics against him. it's a little aggravating--q had a plan he wanted to stick to, a plan that bond is very precisely picking apart and turning around on him now instead. idly he thinks this is something he should be used to, bond's never been good about sticking to instructions or following q's carefully devised methods to a t. he gets the job done, he relies on him of course, but q suspects he'll be going grey closer to thirty rather than forty or fifty with the number of mini-heart attacks he's susceptible to all from the status of a voice in his ear.

he shudders just a bit when warm breath ghosts over his jaw and then his ear, mimicking essentially what he was just trying to do. all joking aside, putting the gun down means giving in, accepting that his plan's been derailed and bond's taking over. there's more than a little trepidation and stubbornness mixing together, the word no at the tip of his tongue, and yet...

the gun slides up the side of his face, pushing at the fabric of the blindfold until it's up and off bond's eyes and slipping around the shaft of the gun instead. he looks at directly for the first time since they've been in this room, expression neutral save for the contradicting defiance softened behind his glasses as he sets the gun down against the chair with a small clink of metal.]

I'd be out a paycheck if I intended to put it to real use, and I quite happen to like my flat where it is.

[his bare fingers skim up over bond's cheek before he can take any real instruction or let him get on with it, and q smirks somewhat coldly while leaning in to murmur.]

And they certainly don't pay me enough to play call-girl for you.

[ ah, there he is. he's grateful to see again, though he wagers he could've survived this blindfolded. and then q is touching him like that and murmuring close enough he can taste his words, so he does, ducking forward to catch his mouth in a consuming kiss. sure, he could say something back but why when he could do this instead? bond moves as if on instinct then, pressing forward to urge q back, not stopping until they bumped against the wall there, a cool metal, unforgiving and utilitarian. perfect, bond things, breaking the kiss with a satisfied noise riding an exhale and without thinking really at all, he drops to his knees before him with a dull thud, hands rising to frame his hips, steadying them as he ducks forward to mouth his cock over fabric, his breath warm, tongue pressing firm.

it may be a submissive gesture, being on his knees before another man, but james stopped thinking so a long time ago. there's a lot of power you can wield between another person's legs, after all. ]

[he's a little disappointed when bond pulls away seemingly so quickly, drawing forward still as though he might hold onto it a bit longer even while his back is pressed up against the wall.

and it isn't as though he wasn't planning on putting bond to work on his knees at some point during this excursion--but it's so sudden and so unexpected that there's a small little "oh" he lets slip before he can think better of it, one hand coming up to twist in bond's hair. those are sentiments q can agree with--truth be told he's a bit anxious to see what's in store for him now that he's somehow relinquished control over this scenario, so he simply bites his tongue and tugs a bit a his hair as if in childish retaliation for his loss (or gain, perhaps).]

[ he exhales at the tug, tilting his face up to catch his wrist with his lips, leaving a lingering kiss. there's a short hesitation when his eyes find q's and he tries to decipher his expression and the man before him. at one point he had considered that he had him all figured out and quickly he learned that q is much more formidable that he expected. funny, a man twenty years younger keeping him on his toes. teaching an old dog new tricks indeed.

his eyes drop and he curves a hand over q's, urging it from his hair to his cheek, tilting it to q's palm, ]

Tell me what you want.

[ he set this up after all, he had to have some plan in motion that he's deftly ruined by wanting too much, too soon. ]

Anything, [ he purrs, those striking blue eyes lifting to catch his gaze again, ] I'll do it.

[it is an incredibly heady feeling to have someone not only older but arguably more experienced in his none-too-easy field at his disposal for the moment. so to speak, anyway. he allows bond to move his hand, lets his thumb idly stroke down the weathered lines etched there in his cheeks in something smarting of tenderness. he smiles too, just a little tug of his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes because he's back in charge again--right where he wants to be.]

You almost made a right mess of everything I put together.

[he sighs a little, looking away offhandedly as though he's just musing out loud and bond isn't there.]

And you've never shown much regard for my work as I've said numerous times before, but all this combined would indicate a lack of respect for me overall. If you can't even give me that, why on earth should I let you suck my cock?

[he drops his hand about as sharply as the last three words come out of his mouth, foreign and slightly wrong in q's usually prim, tightly clipped tone.]

Close your eyes.

[ he takes it, everything q has to say without complaint, all his jabs, his threats, his condescension. honestly, it kind of does something for him in a weird way, this snooty little man, humiliating him for no one to see. and isn't that worse, no audience, no one to act for, all just for him. too bad it doesn't really, but you know, it's the thought that counts.

his gaze draws sharp, something privately amused there before he does as he's told, closing his eyes but keeping his head tilted up, like somehow he might still be watching him from behind his eyelids. quietly, awaiting whatever would come next, ]

Yes, sir.

[sir? that sends a little thrill through him. by all rights and accounts q is the one who should be calling someone twenty years his senior "sir", but he's not and it goes straight to his ego and somewhat shamefully, his cock. there's the idea that bond might do anything he says right now and that's a very powerful, very rewarding piece of knowledge.

that smirk though, still arrogant as ever. maybe he thinks he's indulging q--that this is just a joke and that q can't really give orders outside his domain upstairs. he hesitates for only a second before slapping at his cheek (not too hard, but not lightly either).]

Those were serious accusations, 007. Maybe M allows your insubordination and your carelessness, but I won't.

[ the slap actually surprises him, enough that his head turns with the slap and when he returns to his initial position, his brows are raised. it smarts in the best way, honestly. bond didn't particularly care for sadism or seeking out pain but he had always liked things a little rough, especially when he least expected it. there was something between exciting and frightening that q was willing to strike him-- something that made him curious, eager to play this out.

his adams apple bobs with a swallow, tongue wetting his lips and all he says, just two words, light and simple, ]

Yes, Sir.

[oh, yes that's exactly the way things were supposed to go even if q couldn't fully imagine the satisfaction he's feeling at having caught bond off guard. this is only the beginning of course--they both perhaps have much more to prove, but q especially feels it necessary.

his expression relaxes into something more neutral with just the faintest hint of satisfaction tugging at his lips and the fingers that lingered against bond's cheek stroke lightly, coaxing.]

Pick up the blindfold and put it back on.

[ he doesn't hesitate to obey even if he finds himself wanting the stroke of his fingers a little longer, his cheek warm from the hit still. a nice reminder. bond is quick about tugging the blindfold back on, canting his face back up toward him afterward, hands returning to his thighs, slacks tight against them. ]

And now, Sir?

[he sucks in a breath, heat pooling in his stomach once more and skin hot under the fabric separating bond's hands from feeling it fully. there's so much he could do--wants to do, but he can be patient. make it worth the wait.

slowly his fingers travel down, along his jawline and finally below his chin, tilting it up even further to the point of slight discomfort at that angle on his knees, even. q bends forward, enough to murmur just close enough to let his breath ghost over bond's ear.]

Open your mouth, 007.

[ there have always been a lot of things he didnt expect of q and a lot of things he reminded himself to stop underestimating him over and whatever those things were didn't cover whatever this was and where it lead bond's mind running. he wonders if he's done this before an who with and without question, he parts his lips, neck straining just slightly. maybe it was the way he used that, double-oh-seven here, like this, with all the unannounced promises he was offering or maybe it was the fact that james bond didn't know what to expect at all.

(well, some things) ]

[there's so much he might do. the chaste part of him wants to lean down and kiss him; the vulgar part get bond's mouth around his aching cock. he settles for something in the middle, simultaneously dirty and dangerous and yet not quite so crude. quietly his hand extends to pick up the gun, and gently he places it against bond's lips without pushing it inside.]

Taste it.

[ it's very hard not to hesitate in this case, brows furrowing against the blindfold, tongue flicking out against the curve of the muzzle. many had artistically compared the taste of blood to metal, but there's nothing like what he tastes now; it's cold and sharp of something he knows but can't place and as he tilts forward to draw the tip of it into his mouth, his tongue presses against the underside like he would anyone's cock. the weight is strange and his lips close around it but he doesn't suck, no, he just ducks forward to take more in and then draws back, a mock of what he'd much rather be doing. ]

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