Bond loses a bet with Q, so he has to parade around MI6 stark naked? Of course, Bond being Bond, enjoys it instead, and ends up causing a ruckus in Q branch much to Q’s horror and an exasperated M telling Q to get some clothes on Bond. Q ends up having to do something for Bond (like that cute nurse outfit Bond’s been trying to get Q to wear with a matching doctor’s outfit for Bond). - takaitakaiskyhigh
Hello there! Hope you enjoy it. Jen.
“I knew it, I damn well knew it. Clothes off, 007, and a walk of shame,” Q said smugly, arms crossed over his chest, glancing up and down Bond with absolute, delighted satisfaction.
Bond just raised an eyebrow, shedding clothes with customary ease. “If you’re going to place bets, ensure the forfeit is something the other isn’t perfectly alright with?” he suggested lightly, clothing neatly folded on Q’s spare chair.
Q had enough time to look seriously frightened, before Bond strutted off into MI6, completely and utterly naked.
“Care to explain?”
Q winced; less than four minutes, and he already had a phone call from M. Not surprising; most men, women, and variations thereupon were staring at Bond’s ridiculously gorgeous body. Honestly, Q couldn’t blame them.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing slightly. “Yes. I didn’t honestly think Bond would quite so happy strolling around naked; it was a bet, he lost a bet about my equipment.”
“I want him reclothed. Now,” M said shortly, and hung up. Q just sighed a little, and decided to use the whole MI6 intercom to get through to Bond, who was – by his estimations – somewhere around L-branch, being gawped at.
Bond. My office. Now.
Everybody in MI6 knew they were dating. Really, telling him to get the hell back to his office was unsurprising. Or so Q kept telling himself, as everybody in the rest of his branch gossiped and stared at his office door, and then at the blasé figure of Bond as he casually strolled through the branch.
Bond was unflappable. Q looked like a ripe tomato.
“Clothing. On,” Q announced, gesturing sharply to the pile of clothing.
Q blushed ever deeper when Bond moved closer, still very, very naked. “Make me,” he said in a low purr, and Q’s mouth went rather dry.
“How?” he asked, in a voice a little higher-pitched than he was aiming for.
Bond leaned in, murmured in Q’s ear. Q flushed deeper, abruptly paled, kaleidoscoped past a charming little tinge of green before landing back with his face white, ears boiling scarlet. “I hate you,” he mumbled. Bond just raised an eyebrow, and Q sighed, unable to see many other options. “Yes, fine. I still hate you, though.”
“I know,” Bond said smugly, reaching for his underwear.