Fanfiction: Albedo 4/? (James Bond - Skyfall)
Title: "Albedo 4/?"
Status: WIP
Fandom: James Bond (Craig!Bond; Movieverse)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): James Bond/Q; M (Gareth Mallory), Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, minor OCs
Disclaimer: The James Bond Franchise belongs to MGM and Ian Fleming, not mine, no claim.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Sentinel/Guide, spirit animals, H/C, angst, humour, slash, 00Q
Warnings: unbeta'ed, canon-typical violence, language
Summary: Bond would have tasted the same; like vanilla and a hint of chilli.
Note: "Albedo" is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, situated in the same AU, as such each part is a stand-alone and complete.
AN: I dreamed this, damn, am I a lucky fangirl or not?! °_0
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten
The Intimate Act of Cookie Sharing
“I said: turn right.”
“So you did.” Bond looked up, straight into the lens of the next security camera. “I prefer the stairs.”
Q shrugged and checked the video feed on the LCD screen, “My regards to the welcoming committee.”
“How many?”
“Three. They are playing cards at a table to the left of the exit.”
He reached for his steaming Scrabble mug and took a careful sip; hiding a smile. Initially, it had disturbed him, how quickly he had become accustomed to both Bond's casual disregard for orders and the accompanying banter; not to forget the flirting. His first impression of the Sentinel had not been a favourable one, but Bond had taken his warning to heart and behaved, in his own amusing, contrary way. If questioned, Q would be hard pressed to deny that he enjoyed working with 007.
Thus they had settled into a routine of sorts with such ease it had baffled most of MI6 - with the exception of Moneypenny who had only smirked and said 'I knew you two would hit it off.'
“Q, I'm disappointed.” Bond sounded amused, even over the static of an echoing staircase. “Not even a token protest?”
“Eight missions in three months have disabused me of the notion that you will ever follow my orders,” Q answered mildly. He sent a coded message to the extraction team; they would need to relocate. “Though I do remember the odd occasion where you did listen. Almost dying seems to make you more open minded to suggestions.”
“We would have lost the hard drive in Somalia had I stuck to the plan.”
“Exactly.” Q pushed up his glasses. “What I meant to say, 007, is that I have learned to trust your own assessment of a given situation.”
Q took another sip of his Earl Grey. He was not surprised that no answer came over the speakers, the only noise being Bond's steady breaths as he took two stairs at a time. Trust was a word never used lightly in their business, but he felt Bond needed to hear it. What the man made of it was his own business.
“Reaching the basement now.”
The sound of quick footsteps was drowned out by three shots and the muffled thunk of as many bodies dropping to the ground. A door opened with a horror flick worthy screech.
“007 out.”
XXX
Q couldn't help himself, he stared. “One mission without complications of the violent and explosive kind and you want to celebrate that with -”
“Cookies,” Bond confirmed and offered him a Big Ben shaped piece out of a Tupperware container. As Q made no move to reach for it he added wryly, “I heard they go well with Earl Grey.”
“Did you now?” Q inspected the pastry with all the haughty suspicion he could muster while Bond's amusement washed over his shields. Not an unpleasant sensation, that. “Are you trying to poison me?”
“And here I thought you trusted me.”
“I do, in the field, and with your own life. Mine is another matter entirely,” Q informed him, but his words lacked bite.
No wonder that, since he was too distracted by his overactive imagination crossing into Twilight Zone territory by showing him an image of Bond, standing in his kitchen, apron and all, stirring cookie dough in a bowl.
Q's smirk dropped under Bond's intense stare that bordered on fascination. It made him uncomfortable, and he snapped, “What?”
“What were you thinking about just now?”
“Taking a chance,” Q hedged and reached for the cookie.
Instead of letting go, Bond flicked his wrist; breaking it. He popped his half into his mouth, chewed and swallowed with an exaggerated moan of pleasure. Q felt his gaze drawn to his lips. As far as manipulation went this was the most obvious kind, which made it hardly less effective.
“See?” Bond said, and wiped some crumbs away, his tongue darting out to lick them from his thumb. “Clean.”
Q quirked an eyebrow, aiming for unimpressed, and took a bite from his own half. He was exceedingly grateful that he wasn't given to blushing. The rest of the cookie followed quickly; he had not realized how hungry he was until now, that Bond had gotten it into his head to feed him.
He recognized the taste instantly: vanilla, cinnamon and the slightest touch of chilli. “Moneypenny will skin you alive for stealing her cookies.”
Bond shrugged and leaned against the edge of Q's desk. “Another?”
“Gladly.”
This time it was Q who broke the sweet Big Ben imitation in half instead of just taking a whole one, and Bond smiled, faint and all the more genuine for it. They shared the whole container that way, wilfully ignoring the possibility of Moneypenny's wraith come tomorrow; like schoolboys, hands-deep in the jar without a sense of guilt.
Q settled back into his chair, relaxed and sated to the point that he didn't react at once when Bond bent down until their eyes were level. He didn't say anything, just waited for him to make his move with mild curiosity.
The whole world seemed to shrink down to the two of them, alone in the R&D department, close enough that Q could feel the heat of Bond's body; the brush of his jacket on his wrist. He was even more keenly aware of the tension in the Sentinel, the tight control he exerted over his emotions.
Then a careful fingertip brushed a crumb from his lower lip, making it tingle. Q felt the pull of possibilities humming between them, not quite an invitation yet, more a question - and shied away.
He couldn't trust it, but for a second he wanted to. Q looked away, using his feet to give his office chair a push that sent him rolling half a meter, to the other end of his desk.
Bond had straightened instantly, putting welcome distance between them. “I should leave,” he murmured and stood. “Goodnight, Q.”
Q watched him, how he smoothed down his suit, Tupperware container in one hand, loosening his tie with the other. He made no move to stop Bond as he reached the open space between the abandoned workstations and the glass door.
There was a speckle of blue, dancing over Bond's shoulder the moment his hand touched the pad that would let the glass slide away to let him pass.
Q might not have been ready, might choose otherwise, didn't have an answer, but he would be damned if he let the night end like this, taking the cowards way out in silence he would only regret later, when he woke up the next morning, alone in his flat. “James.”
Bond stilled and looked back; a tiny butterfly clinging to the breast pocket of his suit like a handkerchief. “Yes?”
All the words Q could think to say seemed insufficient; he settled for a simple, “Thank you” and a smile, one he did nothing to hide. And if he lowered his shields just a little bit and Bond shifted in reaction, it only felt right.
Bond nodded, posture relaxing. “Next time you can steal the cookies.”
“Cute.”
“One of us should be.”
Q snorted, tension draining away as he returned Bond's nod and watched him leave. He licked his lips, tasting vanilla and the slightest sting of chilli on his tongue.
[“Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.” ~ M. F. K. Fisher]
Status: WIP
Fandom: James Bond (Craig!Bond; Movieverse)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): James Bond/Q; M (Gareth Mallory), Eve Moneypenny, Bill Tanner, minor OCs
Disclaimer: The James Bond Franchise belongs to MGM and Ian Fleming, not mine, no claim.
Rating: T
Genre: Alternate Universe, Sentinel/Guide, spirit animals, H/C, angst, humour, slash, 00Q
Warnings: unbeta'ed, canon-typical violence, language
Summary: Bond would have tasted the same; like vanilla and a hint of chilli.
Note: "Albedo" is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, situated in the same AU, as such each part is a stand-alone and complete.
AN: I dreamed this, damn, am I a lucky fangirl or not?! °_0
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten
The Intimate Act of Cookie Sharing
“I said: turn right.”
“So you did.” Bond looked up, straight into the lens of the next security camera. “I prefer the stairs.”
Q shrugged and checked the video feed on the LCD screen, “My regards to the welcoming committee.”
“How many?”
“Three. They are playing cards at a table to the left of the exit.”
He reached for his steaming Scrabble mug and took a careful sip; hiding a smile. Initially, it had disturbed him, how quickly he had become accustomed to both Bond's casual disregard for orders and the accompanying banter; not to forget the flirting. His first impression of the Sentinel had not been a favourable one, but Bond had taken his warning to heart and behaved, in his own amusing, contrary way. If questioned, Q would be hard pressed to deny that he enjoyed working with 007.
Thus they had settled into a routine of sorts with such ease it had baffled most of MI6 - with the exception of Moneypenny who had only smirked and said 'I knew you two would hit it off.'
“Q, I'm disappointed.” Bond sounded amused, even over the static of an echoing staircase. “Not even a token protest?”
“Eight missions in three months have disabused me of the notion that you will ever follow my orders,” Q answered mildly. He sent a coded message to the extraction team; they would need to relocate. “Though I do remember the odd occasion where you did listen. Almost dying seems to make you more open minded to suggestions.”
“We would have lost the hard drive in Somalia had I stuck to the plan.”
“Exactly.” Q pushed up his glasses. “What I meant to say, 007, is that I have learned to trust your own assessment of a given situation.”
Q took another sip of his Earl Grey. He was not surprised that no answer came over the speakers, the only noise being Bond's steady breaths as he took two stairs at a time. Trust was a word never used lightly in their business, but he felt Bond needed to hear it. What the man made of it was his own business.
“Reaching the basement now.”
The sound of quick footsteps was drowned out by three shots and the muffled thunk of as many bodies dropping to the ground. A door opened with a horror flick worthy screech.
“007 out.”
XXX
Q couldn't help himself, he stared. “One mission without complications of the violent and explosive kind and you want to celebrate that with -”
“Cookies,” Bond confirmed and offered him a Big Ben shaped piece out of a Tupperware container. As Q made no move to reach for it he added wryly, “I heard they go well with Earl Grey.”
“Did you now?” Q inspected the pastry with all the haughty suspicion he could muster while Bond's amusement washed over his shields. Not an unpleasant sensation, that. “Are you trying to poison me?”
“And here I thought you trusted me.”
“I do, in the field, and with your own life. Mine is another matter entirely,” Q informed him, but his words lacked bite.
No wonder that, since he was too distracted by his overactive imagination crossing into Twilight Zone territory by showing him an image of Bond, standing in his kitchen, apron and all, stirring cookie dough in a bowl.
Q's smirk dropped under Bond's intense stare that bordered on fascination. It made him uncomfortable, and he snapped, “What?”
“What were you thinking about just now?”
“Taking a chance,” Q hedged and reached for the cookie.
Instead of letting go, Bond flicked his wrist; breaking it. He popped his half into his mouth, chewed and swallowed with an exaggerated moan of pleasure. Q felt his gaze drawn to his lips. As far as manipulation went this was the most obvious kind, which made it hardly less effective.
“See?” Bond said, and wiped some crumbs away, his tongue darting out to lick them from his thumb. “Clean.”
Q quirked an eyebrow, aiming for unimpressed, and took a bite from his own half. He was exceedingly grateful that he wasn't given to blushing. The rest of the cookie followed quickly; he had not realized how hungry he was until now, that Bond had gotten it into his head to feed him.
He recognized the taste instantly: vanilla, cinnamon and the slightest touch of chilli. “Moneypenny will skin you alive for stealing her cookies.”
Bond shrugged and leaned against the edge of Q's desk. “Another?”
“Gladly.”
This time it was Q who broke the sweet Big Ben imitation in half instead of just taking a whole one, and Bond smiled, faint and all the more genuine for it. They shared the whole container that way, wilfully ignoring the possibility of Moneypenny's wraith come tomorrow; like schoolboys, hands-deep in the jar without a sense of guilt.
Q settled back into his chair, relaxed and sated to the point that he didn't react at once when Bond bent down until their eyes were level. He didn't say anything, just waited for him to make his move with mild curiosity.
The whole world seemed to shrink down to the two of them, alone in the R&D department, close enough that Q could feel the heat of Bond's body; the brush of his jacket on his wrist. He was even more keenly aware of the tension in the Sentinel, the tight control he exerted over his emotions.
Then a careful fingertip brushed a crumb from his lower lip, making it tingle. Q felt the pull of possibilities humming between them, not quite an invitation yet, more a question - and shied away.
He couldn't trust it, but for a second he wanted to. Q looked away, using his feet to give his office chair a push that sent him rolling half a meter, to the other end of his desk.
Bond had straightened instantly, putting welcome distance between them. “I should leave,” he murmured and stood. “Goodnight, Q.”
Q watched him, how he smoothed down his suit, Tupperware container in one hand, loosening his tie with the other. He made no move to stop Bond as he reached the open space between the abandoned workstations and the glass door.
There was a speckle of blue, dancing over Bond's shoulder the moment his hand touched the pad that would let the glass slide away to let him pass.
Q might not have been ready, might choose otherwise, didn't have an answer, but he would be damned if he let the night end like this, taking the cowards way out in silence he would only regret later, when he woke up the next morning, alone in his flat. “James.”
Bond stilled and looked back; a tiny butterfly clinging to the breast pocket of his suit like a handkerchief. “Yes?”
All the words Q could think to say seemed insufficient; he settled for a simple, “Thank you” and a smile, one he did nothing to hide. And if he lowered his shields just a little bit and Bond shifted in reaction, it only felt right.
Bond nodded, posture relaxing. “Next time you can steal the cookies.”
“Cute.”
“One of us should be.”
Q snorted, tension draining away as he returned Bond's nod and watched him leave. He licked his lips, tasting vanilla and the slightest sting of chilli on his tongue.
[“Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.” ~ M. F. K. Fisher]