lepidopterologist

for Q

For some time now, Harry had been considering a talk with Bond. The flirting did not go unnoticed, it seemed stronger every day. As did Q's discomfort, Harry thought, though that was also harder to judge... and Harry felt as if he were possibly the least qualified person in the world to give someone advice about this sort of thing.

Eventually, though, he decided that what he was mostly concerned about Q's wellbeing. Which he found he cared a great deal about.

He'd decided that he did want to check on Q. So he fell into step with him as they inadvertently met up on the way to home from the beach. "Good morning, Q," he said pleasantly.

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At this point, Harry really wanted to know what this all actually entailed. But he suspected that even Q didn't quite know. He was willing to go along for now, see what happened, and put an end to it if he became uncomfortable.

"I think that's possible," Harry said, who yes, was thinking that Bond was the least likely to uphold that.

Q only nodded, not certain what more to say for now. Honestly, this all had him a bit tense and was giving him a headache- And he really felt as though he only had himself to blame.

"Good," Bond replied succinctly. "Now...what's for dinner? I think that's more important at the moment than sleeping arrangements," he added, just a little drunk.

Harry glanced at Bond for a moment, to read him - and mostly read how drunk he was. Well, this was bound to be interesting dinner conversation.

"Pasta primavera," Harry said. "Which is a fancy way of saying spaghetti noodles and canned vegetables."

"It sounds lovely," Q assured him, doing his best not to worry about where an intoxicated Bond might take the conversation next. "Can I help?"

"If the two of you are in the kitchen, I'll keep out of the way," Bond offered. Jack was a bundle of energy and it would do good to play with him a bit, though Bond had no real intention on leaving Harry and Q alone for long.

Harry dumped noodles into a pot of boiling water.

"It will only be ten minutes," he said.

Q helped as much as he could, opening tins and things as he lingered at Harry's side. He worked in comfortable silence, occasionally glancing off towards Bond and Jack.

When the meal was finally ready, he set out some plates and made them all some tea, hoping to lure James off the booze.

Bond guided Jack to his crate, gave him a toy to chew on, and locked him up so they could eat. He wasn't terribly hungry, but Harry and Q had gone to the trouble, so he sat and got comfortable with his drink.

"It looks lovely, Harry," he said, more polite than he'd ever really been. Usually Bond was cool and distant, even smug when he had no cause to be. Now, he reasoned, he had cause to try to make this thing happen as peacefully as possible. And to show Q he could be decent.

It really was too polite, and Harry was having trouble reading precisely why. Perhaps Bond thought that Q would be cross if Bond was rude to Harry.

He set the pot onto the table with them, and bowls.

He sighed, not looking terribly happy about it himself. "What I wouldn't give for a seat at Alain Ducasse."

Q, who was happy with a takeaway, didn't react to that statement, though he was watching Bond between bites. James was being almost too polite. It was worrying.

"Ducasse is a phenomenal chef," Bond agreed. "Did you eat there often? I'd go every chance I got, but reservations are hell to get."

Even for him, and Bond had a habit of getting a seat anywhere he liked.

"Often enough," said Harry, who couldn't remember the last time he couldn't get a table somewhere. "I suppose one difference between MI-6 and Kingsman is that you're funded by the government and we're funded by the richest families in England."

"Currently none of us are funded by anything though, which is a nice change, I think," the boffin said. Q was mindful not to speak ill of the government at work, he had bills to pay after all, and no desire to wind up 'missing', but he very definitely wasn't all about queen and country the way James was.

"And really, let's be honest, they're all in one another's pockets, aren't they? The rich, the politicians, it's all one very small and filthy circle of greed. In a way, we're practically family," the boffin drawled.

Bond had bristled just a bit. After all, the Bond family was one of the richest families in Scotland and Bond himself was hardly hurting for money.

"And from all I've seen, many of the enterprises funded by the wealthy tend to be terribly corrupt," he replied evenly, then took a sip. "None of that here, though. Q's right. No politics. No money. Just us."

Harry hadn't intended the comment to start a pissing match, so he only smiled and said, "Yes. No one pulling our strings, is there."

Q hummed, and fell mostly silent as he finished his meal.

"I believe I still have pyjamas here, I'm going to go get changed, if that's alright," he said, carrying his dishes to the sink before heading off towards the bedroom.

Bond ate a bit, then poured another drink, ignoring his tea.

"Get comfortable, Q," he called, then looked at Harry. "He seems to think the bed is big enough for three," he continued. "What do you think, old man?"

Harry hadn't actually taken that suggestion literally until this moment.

"I think that you in particular will find it uncomfortably full," he finally said. "Perhaps it's best I simply stay on the couch." He could not bring himself to be enthusiastic about sharing a bed with someone who didn't want him there.

Q, for his part, couldn't hear what they were saying, the sound muffled by the bedroom door as he changed. He could hear them speaking though, and wondered if they weren't chatting about how he'd clearly lost his mind.

Uneasy and unsure of himself, he looked at the bed and tried to decide what he ought to do now.

Eventually, he did as James had asked, settling in where it made the most sense- Right in the middle.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Bond said, his voice a soft purr. "I'm all in. Q seems to be in, to whatever degree. Come on, old man," he grinned.

Bond moved closer, close enough to touch, though he didn't. He simply stood face to face with Harry, his eyes moving from the man's lips to his eyes where he held his gaze and put on a seductive smile.

"I promise I won't bite."

Harry actually felt his breath stop for a moment. Mostly from utter shock.

"You don't want me, you want him," he finally said, his voice a touch gravely. "You just think you need me to get him."

"I do want him," Bond said. "But I've had a bit of time to consider."

A bit of time and a half a bottle of scotch, at least.

"And the way I see it, Harry, is that Q is right. We need to stick together. And, truth be told, I believe you're a good. man. It doesn't hurt that you're good looking, but I think what I find most attractive about you is your style. So, you'll forgive me of course if I say...It's not entirely about Q. And perhaps he'll forgive me for saying that as well. It's about us. The three of us. Here. As a unit."

Bond laid a hand on Harry's chest, ever so lightly.

"Like a family. And I think that's what we've all been denied. You and I perhaps even more than Q."

Harry almost wished he was wearing the normal sunglasses again, so that his expression was more masked. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly out of his element.

“I haven’t coped with this in the same way you have,” Harry said after a moment. Which was as close to he would get to confessing his inexperience.

"Then maybe you should have a drink," Bond suggested. "Settle your nerves. You need to remember, Harry...this isn't a mission. It's not life or death. Just life. Living the best life," he added.

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