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Q
Bond was on edge with Hotchner here and had very nearly told Q not to come. But after his time with Leo, he needed his Monday night with the lad.
He waited in his rooms dressed in slacks and a shirt, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He'd poured himself a scotch, then poured another as he sat facing the door.
And he waited.
He waited in his rooms dressed in slacks and a shirt, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He'd poured himself a scotch, then poured another as he sat facing the door.
And he waited.
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"For how long?" Q asked, though he wandered off to the bedroom before Bond could answer, drying himself with a quick spell.
He wasn't sure he really wanted an answer.
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"Until you lose interest, I imagine," he answered, opening his wardrobe to find a t shirt and sweats for him.
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Q perched himself on the edge of the bed, watching James as he dug through the wardrobe. He couldn't help but admire the other man, the way his muscles moved beneath skin, the solid shape of him, the way he held himself...
"Do you really believe I'd be the one to lose interest?" he asked softly. "It seems unlikely to me. ...Though I can imagine your gaze being drawn to another. A new student. ...An old flame."
Harry certainly still held onto Bond in some way. He was certain it went both ways, even though he had no real proof.
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"I think you're tired," he said instead.
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Q sighed, but let it be, crawling under the covers and settling in.
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Before Bond crawled into bed he picked up a throw and tossed it over the foot of the bed to keep Q's feet warm, then slid in and settled close.
A wave of his hand and the lights blinked out.
"Good night, Q," he said quietly.