Sep. 23rd, 2015 01:00 am
gwyllion: (Default)
[personal profile] gwyllion
Title: Baby
Author: gwylliondream
Pairing: Bond/Q
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,500
A/N: Written for [personal profile] alby_mangroves’ Lip Service – the Panfandom Commentfest. Go easy on me, I am a 00Q virgin. I blame [personal profile] vix_spes for this!
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!

The sound of smacking lips awoke Bond from his sleep. Jolted into awareness, his reflexes kicked in and he tapped his hip, relaxing a bit when he felt the comfort of his holstered Walther. Relieved that enemy operatives hadn’t invaded the stone hut, he sank back into the musty foam mattress. In the chilly air, he pulled the scratchy wool blanket up to his chin.

It wasn’t the most lavish of accommodations.

The wind sent a flurry of spindrift beneath the door. It painted the dirt floor with a swirl of white, like icing on a chocolate cupcake. Despite the conditions in the mountaintop hut, Bond supposed he should be grateful for the shelter from the storm. The tin-roofed building spared him from having to dig a snow cave. As soon as he settled again, his breathing even, the smacking sound resumed.

“Q?” Bond whispered into the darkness.

The sound of gentle sucking was the only response.

“Goddammit, you’re supposed to be on watch,” Bond muttered under his breath. “Q?” He reached from beneath his blanket with the intention of finding Q and nudging him awake.

But Bond stopped cold before his fingers could touch him.

It should have been an ordinary mission. Break into the mountain hut, fire up the laptop, and steal the data. Neither Bond nor Q had anticipated a power outage that knocked out communications. M had gotten a text through before the single lightbulb flickered to darkness… storm pyranees advise—

They had left their snowshoes to drip dry by the rattling wooden door. Q had stamped his feet, trying to stay warm. A puff of frozen breath streamed from the opening of his parka hood as he complained about the cold.

“No sitting around in pyjamas for you tonight,” Bond said with a smirk.

“More’s the pity,” Q said, shivering as the last vestiges of daylight faded outside their crude shelter. “I’m not sure my fingers will thaw enough to use a keyboard anyway.”

“We’ll take turns on watch,” Bond said, exhausted from the long day of train travel to Andorra. “You’re up first, considering how much tea you’ve consumed today.”

The tiny hut was dark and cramped. While Bond still had light, he had scoped out a corner and found a ratty foam mattress and a stack of woollen blankets.

Q had eyed the makeshift bed suspiciously. He blew a warm breath into his hands before tucking them into the sleeves of the parka.

Bond had burrowed beneath the moth-bitten blankets, fell asleep, and only emerged when he heard the disturbing sucking sound.

“Q?” Bond said, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look.

Enough light from the wind-whipped snow reflected from the single window so that Bond could see shadows and shapes. Q lay next to him on the mattress, his glasses askew. At least Bond had a good view of the door. He’d have no trouble getting off a shot if they were ambushed, although it was unlikely that even his worst enemies would travel in this weather. The storm still raged outside, snow pellets striking the hut like a spray of bullets.

The sucking sound drew Bond’s attention again. It seemed to be coming from Q’s mouth. Funny, Bond didn’t peg Q as a snorer. But as he peered over Q’s parka-clad shoulder to have a better look, he was greeted by the sight of Q’s lips wrapped around his thumb.

Bond bit back a chuckle. Reaching for Q’s shoulder to wake him, the movement of Bond’s hand halted when Q’s pink tongue slipped out of his mouth to take a long lick of his thumb. The suggestive action went straight to Bond’s cock, which managed to twitch excitedly, despite his age and the cold of the hut.

Bond lurched backwards, hoping that Q wouldn’t notice his state of arousal, should he suddenly awaken. He watched in fascination as Q’s thumb slipped in and out of his mouth. Q’s lips moved rhythmically over the digit. For long moments, Bond listened to the sucking that accompanied Q’s breaths. He watched Q’s lips sucking lasciviously, until it became futile to hope that his erection would subside.

Being a thumb-sucking baby was one thing.

This was quite another.

Bond raised an eyebrow.

“Mmmm…. Bond?” Q murmured. He flopped fully onto his back, invading the warmth that Bond had cultivated for himself. “What the?” Q asked with alarm. “Shit, I must have fallen asleep.”

“It’s a good thing I was here to wake you,” Bond said.

“Why, what’s happening?” Q asked, pushing his glasses back onto his nose.

“We haven’t been ambushed, but you were sucking your thumb,” Bond said. “Bad for the orthodontics.”

“What are you on about?” Q asked, turning to face Bond.

“Thumbsucking,” Bond said. “It’s a natural response to stress. And obviously spending the day in my company dictates that you must relieve yourself any way you can. I won’t take it as an insult.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Q said, affronted. “I’d never do something so infantile.”

“Think again,” Bond said. He reached across the mattress and tapped his thumb against Q’s lips. “Does this feel familiar?”

One tap… two taps… three, Q’s lips were warm and moist enough to send a frisson of excitement running down Bond’s spine. Although the hut was dark, he could still make out Q’s pouting lips as he pressed his thumb against them.

Q looked at Bond from beneath his lashes. “I was a fool to think I could hide my oral fixation from you,” Q said with a quirk of his head. “You know, secret agent, and all.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Bollocks,” he said. Q could be such a sarcastic bastard sometimes. But he didn’t move his thumb from Q’s lips.

After a beat, Q tentatively licked at Bond’s thumb.

Outside, the wind whipped up and squealed through the doorframe. But to Bond, the temperature inside the hut seemed to increase by twenty degrees or more.

Bond shivered at the sensation of Q’s tongue on this thumb. He knew he should pull away, tuck himself into his scratchy blanket-cocoon and force Q to resume his watch, but he lay still, as frozen as the icicles that adorned the eaves of the hut.

“You like that?” Q asked, his breath a seductive whisper of heat that warmed Bond’s fingers.

Mesmerized, Bond could only nod.

Q leaned forward and took Bond’s thumb between his smooth lips. He sucked.

A small gasp escaped Bond, who was surprised that he could be so easily undone by his nerdy Quartermaster. What would they think at MI6? He had a reputation to uphold—one that didn’t involve his distinctly male co-workers.

Q shifted closer and before Bond could ask what he was doing, Q’s lips were on his. The heat from his mouth warmed Bond to his core, taking away the chill of the hut. Bond’s arms instinctively wrapped around Q’s back, pulling him on top of him, the wool blanket sandwiched between them.

Q’s lips were like velvet and Bond found himself kissing enthusiastically to feel the heat of Q’s mouth on his. His hands roamed over Q’s parka, so ridiculously oversized that Q swam in it. It could probably swath both of them in its warmth, a thought Bond reserved for later.

Q straddled Bond’s hips, his erection unmistakable, even with all the layers of clothing. He grinded against Bond, his cock as hard as his own.

Bond reached up and fumbled with the zipper to the parka while Q grinded away, tossing his head back helpfully so Bond could find the zipper-pull. After managing to unzip Q, Bond stuffed his hands beneath the puffy down so he could feel the warmth of Q’s flanks. He pulled Q onto him and surrendered to the pleasure of Q’s delicious kisses in the cold. He enjoyed feeling the weight of Q pressing down on him—the solid heft was so much more substantial that Bond would have guessed by simply looking at Q’s scrawny frame as his fingers danced over a keyboard in Q Branch—and far more satisfying than his usual bedmates.

Without a word, Q slid down Bond’s body, pausing only for a moment to shed his parka. With calm hands, he dug through the layers of blankets and clothing to make quick work of Bond’s trousers, tugging them over his arse to expose Bond’s best parts.

The rush of cold air that swept over Bond’s skin did little to quell his desire. When Q found Bond’s cock and wrapped a warm hand around it, Bond moaned with anticipation. He reached low to spear rough fingers through Q’s unruly hair, urging him on.

With one hand, Q cupped Bond’s balls, murmuring approval of how heavy and firm they felt in his palm.

Bond could feel Q’s smile against his skin. He raised his head to watch, although the hut was dark. A second later, Bond’s cock was engulfed in the wet heat of Q’s mouth. His head fell to the mattress. Usually Bond took the lead in matters of the bedroom, but this was different. Q wasn’t trying to kill him and he lacked the curves that his usual partners had. But whatever qualities he lacked, Q made up for with finesse.

As Q pulled embarrassing little sounds from him, Bond couldn’t be arsed to care. He gave a grunt as a warning before spilling into Q’s mouth. As he fought to catch his breath, Bond was delighted to learn that his Quartermaster was so talented at sucking him off. The little minx! How could Bond ever look at Q in the same way when they got back to Vauxhall Cross?

Like a fangirl who found a new ship… he was totally fucked.
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