bound-in-locks:

“James, no.”

“I could do it.” James’s breath was hot on Q’s nape, his arms tight around Q’s waist. “We could do it.” Bond’s voice dipped into a seductive purr as his fingers dipped into a seductive caress of Q’s hips. “Your skills, my skills, we could do it with no one the wiser.”

Q fought for sensibility but for one eternal moment his universe was roughly calloused fingers trailing fire across his skin.

A nip at Q’s neck summoned reality. “You are not assassinating the President of America no matter how big an ass he is.”

“Spoilsport,” James groused.