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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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.

"I... would love a drink," Harry said. And then, a gesture of... something, he slid his hand briefly over Bond's that was on his chest.

Bond took that as promising. He could read Harry, see he was reluctant, but Bond for his part was certain. He'd made up his mind and was secure in his decision.

"Let's get you that drink. There's scotch or gin. Your choice," he said, gently pulling away so he could fetch Harry a glass.

"Scotch, thank you," Harry said. He straightened his glasses and watched Bond as he moved.

Harry had been around attractive men as part of his job his entire life. Though it was only in the last five years or so that he'd really started to feel how much younger so many of them felt to him, now.

He took the bottle he'd been drinking and poured Harry a more than generous measure. Everything about his was relaxed. His posture easy, his movement smooth, he handed Harry the glass.

"A bit overwhelmed?" he asked with a tiny smile.

"That's fairly accurate," Harry said, taking the glass and taking a sip after a nod of thanks. "I know that you and Q have been dancing around your feelings for each other for a long time... but for me, this has all happened in the past hour."

"Take a bigger swallow than that," Bond suggested. Then he paused. Tilted his head.

"A shock, but you're game. Aren't you? Might not want me, but you want him. Which is fine. I think you and I could get on just fine. If we tried," he purred seductively.

Harry took the advice and knocked back the rest of the scotch.

"Get on... yes." Harry realized that his gaze had settled on Bond's lips, and he forced himself to just look him in the eyes. "I confess, I haven't quite wrapped my head around how much of this is about sex, and how much is... more, than that."

"I think we're all going to find it's a lot more sticky than simply sex. Feelings, you know. Nothing I've ever been good at," he replied and reached out with the bottle to pour Harry another.

"I haven't had much practice," Harry said. He took the offered drink and drank half of it in one swallow this time.

"I think we can show you the ropes," Bond said with a cheeky smile.

Harry had meant he didn't have much practice with feelings, but instead of responding just knocked back the rest of the drink. "Do you think he's waiting for us?"

"I'm sure he is. Likely waiting to hear us out here fighting," Bond said. "I imagine the quiet is driving him mad."

A little smile quirked at Harry's lips. "Though I suppose there may have been something at least slightly appealing about the two of us fighting over him."

"I'm not sure if he'd find it flattering or tiring," Bond replied. He looked at the bottle, at the meager amount left, and polished it off without bothering with his glass.

"Perhaps both," said Harry. "Should we ah, put him out of his misery?"

Bond put the empty bottle aside and gave a nod.

"I think we should," he said, throwing a companionable arm around Harry as they headed for the bedroom.

Q had grown tired of waiting and was sprawled out on the bed, dead centre. He'd peeled off his pyjama top, deeming it too warm, and was half under the blankets with one foot peeking out. His bottoms were somehow already creased, and his hair stood up at various angles, painting the perfect picture of a sleepy and scruffy little boffin.

With a yawn and a huff, he wriggled a bit deeper under the covers.

"You're letting in the cold," he complained.

Harry found the entire effect rather endearing. He wanted to curl up next to him, to slip fingers into his hair. And the strength of that desire surprised him a bit.

Q also didn't seem surprised at all to see them both there. Both he and Bond seemed to have known how Harry would react before he did himself.

He reached behind James and closed the door, but said nothing.

"Don't be a child. It's not that cold," Bond scolded, toeing off his shoes and slipping out of his clothes. He had no use for pyjamas, his pants would do just fine to slip into bed with Q on his preferred side.

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