Q
Saturday morning was beautiful The sun was bright, the air chilly, and mist hovered on the surface of the water so it seemed as if the school was surrounded on all sides by a cloud.
Bond had gone for a run, first around campus and then into town. He was just emerging from the fog blanketing the bridge when he spotted Q. He slowed to a jog, then finally stopped near him.
"I can't believe you're awake this early," he said. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"
He hardly wanted to admit it, but he rather liked Q in his bed at night. He liked the lad in his rooms all the time. He enjoyed chatting with him. Enjoyed spending time in silence. And he enjoyed waking up with the weight of Q's limbs on him.
Bond had gone for a run, first around campus and then into town. He was just emerging from the fog blanketing the bridge when he spotted Q. He slowed to a jog, then finally stopped near him.
"I can't believe you're awake this early," he said. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"
He hardly wanted to admit it, but he rather liked Q in his bed at night. He liked the lad in his rooms all the time. He enjoyed chatting with him. Enjoyed spending time in silence. And he enjoyed waking up with the weight of Q's limbs on him.
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Q listened, savouring every last word like it was a rare treat. Something to treasure. James wasn't chatty, so when he did speak it felt so much more important to listen.
The shop wasn't the sort of place Q would ever step foot in, but it was nice. Full of expensive looking suits and shirts. Designer, by the look of them.
"I don't know anything about fashion," he confessed quietly.
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"I know the trousers go on the bottom," Bond smirked, guiding him in with a firm hand on the small of his back.
A trim young man with frosted hair and a dainty earring approached them. He and Bond exchanged pleasantries and while he recognized Bond as a customer, the way he sized Q up said he'd dressed enough younger men with men who weren't their fathers paying the tab.
"May I take him?" he asked Bond, who smiled slowly. He looked at Q.
"Whatever you like," he told him, then looked at the clerk. "We're going to La Cuina for dinner. Make certain he's appropriate."
Q was led away to look at fabrics and cuts.
"You like him?" he casually asked. "Because I can make him bleed. Men like him never care about the price tag as long as you look good on their heel."
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Q looked a bit surprised by that, and briefly glanced back at Bond who was eying a rather nice suit.
"I like him very much, actually. ...So let's not go mad," Q replied. "Though I confess, I don't actually know what I should even be shopping for, other than a jacket or whatever."
Q's own taste was a tad bit quirky. Unusual sweaters, cardigans that would look at home in a librarian's wardrobe. Geek chic, some kinder souls would call it.
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"Oh, honey, if he gives you nothing else, you'll have a great suit at the end," he smiled and began offering Q fabrics and a book of photos. Many were very standard business suits, but the deeper they went, the more interesting and quirky the designs were. But he didn't offer him anything to try on.
"I think this cut or this cut would be most flattering on you," he said as a tailor came out and directed Q in front of a triple mirror with strong lighting. "If you let Georges know the fabrics you like for the shell and the lining, he'll get it started and we can have it done by the time you finish your lunch."
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Q looked over at James, silently begging him to come over. He had no idea what to pick, and desperately didn't want to embaress the other man.
"I like the navy," he admitted as James approached. "Is it alright, do you think?"
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"I think you're not that dull," Bond said, taking a peek through the swatches.
"Something like this. Or this," he said, picking two that were much closer to what he'd found Q's tastes to be. "And these for linings. Which do you prefer, pet?" he asked, his gaze hard on Q, demanding he make a decision.
The clerk stood behind Bond's shoulder.chin ducked a bit. He'd been well trained to react like this when Bond wasn't even his dom.
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Q noticed, he couldn't help but see it in the other man. Though he soon redirected his attention to Bond.
"I like the burgundy," Q admitted, "With the gold lining. ...It's different," he noted.
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"Very good," he praised.
Bond turned to the clerk.
"Set him up with everything. I don't want to have to come back."
"Yes, sir," he smiled, pound signs in his eyes.
Bond wandered off again to chat with the older shop owner while an entire team buzzed around Q.
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Q hated being touched by strangers, but it was done soon enough, and once the staff set to work without him, he quickly moved to rejoin Bond at his side.
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"Done for now?" he asked. He gave the shopkeeper a nod and turned his attention to Q.
"There's a cafe three doors down. Let's go get a bite. Dinner isn't until 8."
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Q nodded a little, thinking about the man who'd ducked his head when Bond had spoken.
He was happy to be Bond's for as long as he'd keep him, but he had no desire to be a nervous little slave. He wasn't a pet, he was a partner, and he wasn't a slave, he was a sub.
Feigning confidence, he reached and took James' hand.
"That would be lovely."
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Bond looked down at their hands.
"Bold," he said simply, then pulled him out of the shop.
"I assume that's your first bespoke experience?" he said. "What did you think?"
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"I don't like being pawed at by strangers," Q said honestly. "I choose who touches me."
And that was important, clearly, though he offered no reason as to why.
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"They meant no harm," Bond said, soft and gentle and he gave Q's hand a squeeze. "You did well. It's hard to be still while they measure you."
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"They won't need to do it again though, right?" Q asked, looking down at their hands.
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"Never again, unless you put on a few stone," he promised as the arrived. Bond dropped his hand so he could open the door.
"I'm hungrier than I thought," he said. The Cafe was posh, fitting for the street. Front and center was a dessert case with treats on display. A young woman smiled and seated them near the window.
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Q was looking out the window, watching people walk by.
"I don't think I'm very hungry," he admitted. "A coffee would be nice though."
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Bond ordered two coffees and a sandwich with crisps.
Then he followed Q's gaze.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
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"The past. The future..."
Q returned his gaze to Bond. "I dunno, I suppose it's been some time since I was out with someone. It's brought up a lot of confusing feelings."
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"How do you mean?" Bond asked. He could see something in Q. Something the man let slip from time to time that only made Bond curious.
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"People don't choose me," he said simply. "They don't stay. Trainer man went looking for another toy, and he wasn't the last. They all leave."
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"I think that reflects poorly only on your taste in men, Q. Perhaps I should be offended if you assume the same of me," he said. The waitress brought their coffees and Bond immediately sipped it black, his eyes on Q the entire time.
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"I don't know what I think of you," Q admitted. "I know I love you, and I believe you love me, but- I have no way of knowing if your love will last. I want to believe it will. I want it to last. ...But people always leave me."
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"Perhaps our luck is changing," he said. Our luck. Ours.
Harry had dumped him. As had Antonia when she was done. And every student had moved on. No one stayed with him. He simply assumed and accepted that Q would go soon enough, too.
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Q nodded, holding his coffee in both hands- Then putting it down and reaching for Bond's hand again.
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