You: Q didn’t love James. No, not at all. He just liked the man’s cock and his lips and the snark that the man dared to return to him over the comms. He enjoyed seeing James interact with his kitten, Cleo, even though the man swore that he hated cats. And when it was cold and rainy outside, Q secretly loved curling up in one of the jumpers James accidentally left behind after one particularly memorable tryst. He reveled in making the man smile and laugh, and adored the way the corners of James’ eyes crinkled when he did either. But he didn’t love James. That was preposterous.

Stranger: Love wasn’t something he felt. He’d shut himself off from it, refused to accept it’s existence in his life, and had never wanted to hear from it again. Love was a four letter word that was empty and cold and broken, nothing more than an abstract definition for something ridiculous. Hate, shot, fire, work, done. Words he liked, words he used, words he could get behind. And then there was that one letter, wasn’t there? ‘Q’. So alone, so unique, following rules and rebelling at the same time. James refused to believe he had fallen for the bundle of grandfather-yarn cardigans and the smell of warm tea, the crumbs of shortbread on old jumpers and the mewling of a kitten in the depths of the night. He’d broken his own rules by staying at his flat, by having him at his, by interacting with him in a more comfortable manner, but what could he do? The young man was gorgeous, a marvel of physical formations, and he had curls that Botticelli would have murdered millions for. His eyes were bright and expressive, his composure a cool mask until James cleverly, tenderly stripped it away. He was not his lover. Love didn’t come into it.
But if it didn’t, why did he find himself there, outside of his flat, just out of a mission? There were words on his tongue - I missed you; I’m sorry; I hurt and you’re a safe place; I’m home - but he didn’t know what to say. He knocked on his door, hand shaking, unsure. Maybe, just maybe, it was love after all?

You: Q had been home for about three hours, half-asleep. He’d pulled three and a half shifts and MI6 nonstop, between monitoring 009 in Nicaragua, 003 is Budapest and, of course, 007 in Moscow. All the extractions had been completed, of course- Q wouldn’t let himself out of the office until he knew that his agents were safe. So Q had made himself a hot cuppa, changed into James’ jumper, curled up with Cleo and was half-way to nodding odd when he heard the knock on the door. He automatically knew who it was, and he got off of the cat, shifting the kitten aside and standing, moving somewhat clumsily over to the door. He opened it, taking James’ hand in his own, and gently tugged him inside, closing and locking the door behind them and wordlessly leading James down the hall to his (well, in his mind, /their) bedroom. He undid James’ shirt and trousers, helping the man push them off, kicking his shoes aside as well. he gave the double oh a thorough once over to confirm that the remainder of his injuries consisted of bruising before he fell back onto the bed, tugging James down wih him.

You: *off of the couch (whoops)

Stranger: It had become a habit, an unspoken ritual of theirs, for Q to give him a full body sweep in order to check that his injuries weren’t too threatening to his health. James was, luckily, just mottled with the ink of a thousand bruises, causing his body to ache and protest movement, but there was no serious injury this time. He helped as best he could with the removal of his clothes, shrugging them off and kicking them aside, before joining Q on what had come to be known as their bed, even if neither of them had ever said as much aloud. James’ flat was nowhere near as homely as Q’s, and they had taken to meeting and arriving at the younger man’s flat, purely because of that; James’ felt far too cold for such warmth between them. He lay slowly on his side, one arm wrapping around the other man’s thin waist, tugging him until James lay on his back and he had Q on his chest, a comfortable weight that dulled the ache and pains of the bruising with soft, familiar warmth and shape. Instead of speaking, James craned up slightly ghosting a kiss across his lips in greeting. He was exhausted, in agony, and he carded a hand through Q’s hair before kissing his forehead. James distantly recognised that Q was wearing one of his jumpers and gave a small chuckle, his voice hoarse, “I should see you in my clothes more often. You look beautiful, swamped in that jumper.”

You: Q allowed James to move him about as he wolled it, smiling and settling atop James’ chest. He’d give him a massage later for sure,but he wouldn’t force the double oh onto his stomach yet. He slid his hands up and over James’ shoulders gently, pressing a kiss to James’ lips before nuzzling into his neck, smiling and sliding one of his hands back down, stroking over his clavicle gently. Beautiful certainly wasn’t a word James had ever used to describe him before, and he felt his ears tint red at the compliment. “I’m not that swamped,” Q mumbled, though he couldn’t quite deny it- its material fell to his thighs easily.

Stranger: “You are,” James countered, a smile working onto his lips as he slid his hands up from Q’s knees, over his thighs, “And it’s stunning.” He didn’t say that it was only stunning and beautiful because it was Q, /his/ Q, wrapped up in something that was his, and therefore theirs, and that he looked as if it was the most natural thing in the world to belong in James’ clothes, in James’ arms, with him. His hands continued over the covered curve of his backside, sliding up into his jumper, fingers playing over the soft, pale skin of his back. He felt the familiar dimples at the base of his spine and the bumps along it, felt the familiar rises of a few pronounced freckles and up, to press his palms against the blades of his shoulders, almost sharp enough to be compared to his cheekbones. James’ hands remained playing across Q’s body, becoming reacquainted after he had been gone for almost a month. “I missed you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them; it was far too late for games, he reasoned. If Q didn’t want to hear it, then he would amicably leave and nothing would change between them, professionally at least.

You: Q shivered as James’ fingers slid up his body at a punshingly slow pace. The roughness of James’ hands contrasted with his gentle touch. He closed his eye, burying his face further into James’ neck and letting out a quiet whine. He had missed it, James’ warmth, James’ touch, just…James. “I missed you, too,” He murmured into James’ skin. “Very, very much.” Giving James directions over the comm wasn’t exactly his idea of letting James know how much he cared about him. Q’s finger continued to trace over James’ collarbone, tracing over the hollow of his throat and to the other cheekbone before going back in the other direction. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of James’ aftershave and the feeling of his stubble against his forehead.

Stranger: It had been an imperceptible amount of time since James had been missed. He had never had the luxury of having someone so consistent enough to miss him being around, to miss his habits and quirks and broken edges. Not even Vesper had done that, he knew that for a fact, and certainly not M. James let out a small, shaky sigh, and held Q close, his lips trailing across the pale skin of his throat, down to where the soft curve of his shoulder was visible thanks to the slip of his jumper. “I’ll try not to be away from you for so long, next time.” James spoke quietly, his lips pressing small, caring kisses to Q’s skin, “I don’t like being away from you.” He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep with this man in his arms. He wanted to sleep beside him, curl up behind him, and wake with his sleepy smile to break through the sunlight. “Take a bath with me?” James asked, just as quietly as he kissed the dip where throat met shoulder in a ditch of perfect flesh, “I could use it, and it might help you get to sleep a little easier when we come back to bed.”

You: Q’s eyes squeezed shut at the gentle kisses, his head tipping further to the side to allow James more access. “I know it’s not your choice to stay away for so long,” Q he murmured, smiling just a bit. He sat up carefully, slowly, straddling James’ hips, and took hold of James’ hands, pulling him into a sitting position. “A bath sounds lovely,” He murmured before leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to James’ lips and cupping his face. “I missed you very much,” He repeated quietly before he slid off of James’ lap, still holding to one of his hands and heading for the large ensuite bathroom with James. He moved over to the faucet, sitting on the edge of the tub and turning on the hot water.

Stranger: James allowed himself to be pulled up, his arms winding about Q’s waist again once he had. He was getting in far too deep, but it was too late to change it now, wasn’t it? He’d already fallen arse over teakettle - and how appropriate was that for his beautiful, tea-addicted Quartermaster? - for the young man and there was no going back, not now. The repetition of how much he had been missed made his eyes sting a little, going warm and glassy before he kissed Q’s knuckles, getting up from the bed and following him. As the water ran, James wrapped his arms around Q from behind, pressing warm, loving kisses to his skin, as if he was going to worship every last inch of him. When he didn’t ache so much, he would, he would make sure to do just that. “I believe I missed you more.” James spoke against his skin, as if Q would absorb his words and believe them completely. “All those miles away, in the cold. It’s getting harder to face the snow while knowing I can’t go back to my hotel room and be with you.” James was dancing around it, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it outright. Those three words accompanied by an impersonal letter would mean too much, too much risk. He didn’t even know his bloody name! “At least you had our Cleo.” It took him a few minutes to realise what he’d said. /Our/ Cleo. As if the cat had become… an adopted child, or something of the same standing. Oh Christ…

You: Q smiled, leaning heavily against James and closing his eyes, relaxing in James’ hold. He lightly rested his hands atop James’, reveling in the seemingly reverent kisses. He chuckled quietly to himself. Christ, they sounded like bloody teenage with the classic, ‘I missed you no I missed you more’ arugement. Next thing you know, they’d be arguing over who would hang up first over the bloody comms. He reached back, stroking James’ jaw gently and letting his head fall back onto James’ shoulder. “I know,” Q murmured. “I wish you hadn’t been in Moscow,” He added. “It’s hell beating 005 away without those hickies on my neck. And /don’t/,” He added, looking up at James over his shoulder. “Freak out, sweetheart, I gave him a long talk and a sock in the stomach.” He leaned up, pressing his lips to James’ jaw. “Yes,” He added after a moment, a bit shocked. “I did have our Cleo.” He straightened helping James wiggle out of his pants as well before he got into the tub with James. He settled back against James’ chest, intertwining their fingers and closing his eyes. He was quiet for a few moments before looking back at James. “Benedict,” He said quietly, looking up at James. “My um…My name. It’s Benedict.”

Stranger: 005 was the bane of his existence, really. The man was a lecher of the highest order and James would see to it that he didn’t go near Q again, not after such an emotional revelation. He wouldn’t ‘freak out’, as Q had put it, but James could be intimidating without beating him to high heaven and back. And the added persuasion of being called ‘sweetheart’ - something that seemed too soft for the infamous 007 of all people - simply made him unable to disobey the young man he held so tightly. “I’m proud of you.” James chuckled quietly, his lips quirking into a grin against Q’s neck before he allowed him to wriggle free in order to undress them both. Getting into the bath was pure heaven and he hummed deep in his throat, satisfaction rolling off of the battered agent in waves. It had been a gruelling mission, taxing in all areas, and he was glad that it was over and done with at long last. James’ arms wrapped about Q and he kissed his bare shoulder, smiling slightly. His smile widened as the name was uttered and suddenly all others didn’t seem as if they could ever fit the man he held. James brought one of his hands to his lips and kissed the wet knuckles before turning Q’s head and kissing him languidly in response. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Benedict, my darling.” James spoke honestly, kissing him again, beyond pleased that he had been trusted with such a thing. “It’s good to finally put a name to such a beautiful face.”

You: Q kissed James back without a thought, pressing back against him. He felt himself relax, any and all of the tension slipping from his form. He gently slid his hands up and down over James’ thighs, closing his eyes and gently massaging James’ thighs. He didn’t know why he hadn’t told James his name before, but curling up with James in the bath kind of just…It felt like the right time. Not to mention that the day before had technically been their first annoversary. Q didn’t know if James knew or not, assumed he didn’t. Q had actually worked up his courage and gotten a small tattoo of a gun and ‘007’ on his lower back. James hadn’t noticed it yet, but Q was more than fine with that. It was something extremely intimate, branding himself with James’ calling card, but he loved James more than he could say.

Stranger: “Of all the people in the world, you’ve chosen some old man.” James spoke after a long period of silence, his hands sliding back around Q’s stomach slowly. He loved him more than anything he had ever claimed to have loved before. He had changed the way he worked in the field, no longer taking women or men to bed to gain information - and yes, it was now more dangerous, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Q - and he would do it all over again, if it meant making Q happy. But now his mouth was moving and his tongue delivering words, and he knew it was far too late. “We’ve been sleeping together for a year. It seems like longer. Or shorter, it’s hard to define. You’re unlike anyone else, Benedict.” James smiled against his skin, giving his slight form a small squeeze, “You’re the only person I know, living or dead, that could take such a battered old man’s blackened heart and making it warm and capable of love again. I just want you to know that you’re loved and that I hardly expect you to feel the same in return. I can’t… It’s not possible for me to keep it in, anymore. I tried. I denied it, but it was there and it wasn’t going away.”

You: Q felt like all of the air was knocked out of him. His hands stilled, his eyes widened, he didn’t look back at James. He was loved. /James/ loved him. He knew that it had been a year. He trusted Q. Q turned his head, feeling his eyes sting with tears that he tried desperately to push back as he leaned up, pressing his and James’ lips together wetly. His hands blindly found James’, intertwning their fingers before he sank back into James’ hold. “I love you, too,” He mumbled against his lips. “Very, very much…Old dog,” He added with a bit of a sniffle and a smile, nudging his nose against James’.

Stranger: James didn’t know what to think. His heart felt like it was going to burst, his entire being frozen in place until Q kissed him again. His body melted, love pouring from him as he grappled to pull the younger man closer, one hand sliding into his damp curls. “God, I didn’t want to love you,” James chuckled quietly, holding him tight and smiling against his skin as he littered his face with soft kisses, properly smiling for the first time since he had left for Moscow, “I didn’t want to love, ever. But you… Oh you, you young sod.” He laughed again, thoroughly happy, resting their foreheads together with a soft smile, “You changed that, didn’t you? You beautiful, amazing, genius of a man, with your bloody tea and cardigans and this place that is just… home-” James paused when he heard a small mewl, glancing over to where Cleo sat on the bathmat a few feet from them, “And you, madam, you too.” He kissed Q again, smiling softly, “I love you, Ben.”

You: Q grinned against James’ lips, pressing up into his hand. “That’s mututal, dear,” He murmured. He had rallied against love, against feeling anything for James other than lust, but it was impossible for him to stick to it. James’ constant and continuous affections didn’t exactly make it easy for him, nor did Eve’s constant insistence that he needed to acknowledge his feelings. When Q /had/ acknowledged them, he’d, thankfully, been alone, and had started to cry. Q let his head fall back, smiling to see the kitten blinking up at them curiously. He chuckled, smiling at her before looking back up at /his/ double oh. “I love you, too, James,” He murmured. He took a deep breath. “We should get out soon. We’re going to get all pruney,” He added before reaching out, pulling on the jumper and carefully wiggling into it to keep James from seeing the tattoo. He didn’t want James to see it, not just yet. Q reached out, helping James out of the tub and chuckling as the kitten trotted away, obviously upset with their being wet. “I have a couple of presents for you.