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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"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.

Q huffed a little, taking what should have been Bond's share of the blankets before turning over onto his back to look at Harry.

"Are you coming to bed, Harry?" he asked, scooting closer to Bond to make sure that Harry could see there was plenty of room left.

Harry had been trying not to stare at Bond's mostly naked body, so was glad to shift his attention to Q.

He nearly asked Q if they could speak for a moment alone first. He wished he could wrap his head around this a bit more before jumping into... well, whatever this was. Though it seemed cruel to pull Q out of bed. He told himself not to overthink it, not to be a fool.

He began to undress, methodically removing his suit and folding it over a chair, until he was down to a pair of black boxer shorts and a white tshirt, sitting on the edge of the bed beside them.

Bond reached out over Q, taking Harry by the shoulder and pulling ever so gently.

"Shouldn't sleep sitting up," he said. "Lie down, Harry. Get comfortable."

Q wriggled a little, kicking the blankets and rolling onto his side. Like this his bum was pressed against James, but he could easily reach for Harry.

Q was calmer than Bond, gentle even, not pulling at the other man, but just touching him gently.

"Do you have enough room? You can come closer, I'll not bite," he promised Harry. "...I mean, Bond might, but I personally gave him his shots, so you should be alright."

Harry turned to look at them, a self conscious smile on his lips as he took off the glasses and set them on the bedside table.

He actually hadn't been with anyone since he'd lost his eye. He hadn't really thought about it until this moment; it wasn't as if he slept in his glasses.

"It's been a while since I've shared a bed with someone," he confessed as he lay down in the bed beside Q.

"Q," he admonished, "I won't bite him."

He smirked a bit, watching Harry settle in.

"Well...maybe some day."

Q wriggled a little in defiance, squirming against them both and settling in with a quiet little huff.

"I'll bite you both," he muttered.

Harry felt himself relaxing. Clearly this was no big deal to either Q nor Bond. And it did seem... that they were just sleeping.

He slipped a hand onto Q's waist.

"Just not while I'm sleeping, hmm?"

"If you insist, Harry. Take all the fun out of it," he teased, settling into his pillow and laying a light hand on Q's hip.

Q had been selfishly keeping his hands to himself, but with both men touching him, he felt the need to reciprocate. Reaching back, one hand found Bond's bicep. Reaching forward with his other hand, he settled for draping an arm lazily over Harry. For such a scrawny little thing, Q took up his fair share of the bed as he settled in again with a yawn.

"Mmm, I'll do my best to behave, but I make no promises."

It was nice, Harry thought, to just be so close to someone.

He was glad he'd had the scotch, though.

"Only to the best of your ability," he murmured.

Bond rocked forward, grinding against Q's ass.

"Just put your back into it, Q. That's all you've got to do."

Q made a startled little sound, bucking against Harry before he could stop himself. His cheeks flushed a soft pink, and he had to awkwardly clear his throat before tossing back a less than smooth comeback.

"I'm not a jammed door, Bond."

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