Arse
Author: wanderingsmith
Started date mar 2018
Summary: To say that Q
was tired was ridiculous. To say he was
short-tempered was an understatement. Eve
rather suspected that M was as aware as she
was that their preternaturally calm
Quartermaster was getting dangerously close to
being as volatile as an angry 00.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and
nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As
it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em..
AN: I've had any number of 'ideas'
appear in this fandom.. yet not one got itself
to the feeling of being at posting stage. So
to heck with it. half-arsed it goes up :)
It had been three days of ops reaching guidance
stage seemingly back to back, half of them with
00s who all seemed bent on getting in as much
trouble as they could. And the amount of trouble
double-ohs *could* find, on a *good* day, was
inconceivable.
To say that Q was tired was ridiculous. To say he
was short-tempered was an understatement. Eve
rather suspected that M was as aware as she was
that their preternaturally calm Quartermaster was
getting dangerously close to being as volatile as
an angry 00, and that that was the reason they’d
been standing in Q-branch watching the man handle
non-critical situations for the last couple of
hours.
Although calling any situation Bond was involved
in ‘non-critical‘ meant the man hadn’t actually
started interacting with it. Because once he
did...
“You get that tight arse of yours out of that
damned deathtrap of a room, 007! You’ve everything
you need. I’m monitoring the data transmission and
will have it all in *seconds*.” She could see that
he was *trying*, valiantly at that, to stick to
the flat, calm, soothing tone he usually used on
the comms, but she could also see the muscles
twitching in Q’s jaw from 20 feet away.
And unfortunately, Bond’s smirk was clear in his
tone, “Been looking at my arse have you,
Quartermaster? Last transfer at 95%: almost done,
no use risking any-”
Q suddenly gave a soundless snarl, splitting his
attention to the map of heat signatures rapidly
approaching Bond’s red dot, the data stream, and
the path of the evac team, finally yelling
wordlessly as he let go the keyboard to pull at
his hair just once before going back to stamping
at keys, “Get out of there NOW or I will bloody
well fly over there and put you over my fucking
KNEE, Bond!!”
The sudden burst of laughter that came through the
Q-branch speakers sent Eve’s eyebrows flying up,
unable to picture Bond’s face as he guffawed so
*honestly*.
“Anything for you, dear,” Eve’s eyes narrowed at
the complete lack of sarcasm that line should have
been coated in after that laugh. From anyone else,
she would have called that *tenderness*- “Which
direction do you want me?”
“Hallway to your right and don’t dally,” Eve’s
gaze locked on the Quartermaster, not quite
willing to believe that professional calm. Could
he really not have heard- “There are a lot of
people moving very quickly all around you.”
Bond’s red dot jogged along the building’s
floorplan on the screen, the bastard’s voice
barely winded as he teased, “You know, if you
don’t *like* tight, I’ve heard of this thing
called lube-” The number of snorts and giggles
that broke out around her drowned Eve’s snicker as
she decided she was going to get Bond a bulk tub
of KY for Christmas.
“Shut it. Turn-” a handful of mixed-caliber shots
rang too loud for comfort through the speakers,
“-left and take that first door. There are people
coming down the corridor behind you. Fine: on your
own knees then and I can entertain myself
whichever way the mood takes me.”
It took a heartbeat before she actually absorbed
Q’s drop-dead flat words. Trying to keep herself
quiet by biting her forearm, Eve was distracted by
the sudden mad cackles that jerked her attention
to the man who’d been standing next to her a
moment ago, staring in almost-disbelief as Mallory
bent over, arms wrapped around his ribs as he
almost howled with laughter.
Not that she could blame him. *She* had enough
reason to find the image amusing, she could
imagine how it rang for Bond’s boss.
The sound of a sibilant swear from Bond was
followed by a metal door slamming shut and a just
slightly less casual tone, “...shit- Bad plan,
dear, I can hear a hell of a lot of people in that
stairwell.”
Although the situation was hardly severe, yet, by
Bond standards, still, Eve straightened, attention
sharp on the heat signatures near Bond, aware that
M had got himself under control as well.
“Then you’d best run faster while- Stop! Large
window to your right. Darling.”
“Ah yes, lovely cliff view; wish you were here.”
The cheesy narrator voice was interrupted by the
tinkling crash of glass, which was followed by
indistinct shouts in the background and more
shots.
“Satellite imagery show no rocks below. Why don’t
you go jump in that lake and cool yourself off,
007.”
“As you command, Sir.” There were a few moments of
whistle-y static after what amounted to a purr
before the signal cut off.
The sudden quiet was heavy, as though the
Quartermaster’s tiredness had expanded out like a
cloud to weigh down everyone’s ears.
Until Q himself suddenly took a loud deep breath
and blew it out, slowly rotating his shoulders.
Then others in the room started to shift at their
desks and walk around and Eve strolled over to the
young man still muttering under his breath as he
stretched.
“So.”
Q glanced at her, eyes drooping and looking rather
like a ton of bricks had just landed on him.
Eve raised her brows, years at MI6 silencing the
slightest of guilty thoughts about interrogating
an exhausted man, “Spanking, ‘darling’?”
She watched Q’s eyes widen and a snort shake him
that actually looked painful, in his tired state,
before he sneered, bare slick of humour surviving
behind his eyes, “Oh please, Moneypenny. Everyone
that has had to say more than two words to that
man has wanted to spank him.”
Eve shrugged, unable to deny it, “Too true. He’d
break anyone’s hand that tried it, though,” she
smirked, “Whereas he offered himself up to you.
With witnesses. On record.” She raised a hand
before he could retort, “Go home, Q. You’re barely
staying upright. Give your braincells a chance to
regenerate before he lands and comes strolling in
slinging every comeback he’s thought of on the
flight back.”
Q glared half-heartedly, though toward his desk
rather than Eve, “And bringing back exactly *none*
of his tech in functional order, again.”
Eve bit her lip to refrain from pointing out a
recently discussed form of punishment, “..You
don’t think you can save the earpiece?”
He snorted tiredly, “Mickeals is working on a
waterproof version but physics are being stubborn.
I’m thinking I should just surgically implant the
actual mic/speaker part with wifi-chargeable
nano-circuitry. He’d still ‘lose’ the easy to
waterproof receiver/transmitter unit, but...”
“stop. Go home. Sleep. Buy a fresh tube of lube
unless you want me to leave some on your desk-”
“Moneypenny!!”
AN:I
was hoping to add more to it.. but it was just
moldering in the WIP file without attracting
any further words, so..
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