provocateur_king | Spy's Cove

Spy's Cove - The Hidden

Bond had been planning his next move. They were ashore until the moon changed and Bond was taking full advantage. He had books and charts and papers to pour over. He sent letters by raven and eagerly awaited for the birds to return.

In the mean time, there was food and drink and a warm, full bed.

At least usually. There was nothing warm and fresh when he visited the kitchen so he made do with a bit of cheese to nibble as he began to look for Q. Not in Bond's chamber, nor the kitchen, nor the study.

He opened another door to peek inside.

"Oh. There you are," he said.

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"I think we both know I'm not going to cooperate, but your kindness is noted," Q said dryly. Though for all his posturing, it was obvious he was suddenly a little nervous.

This was far more severe looking than anything in his bodice ripping pirate novel.

Bond lifted his hand like he may slap him, but then stroked his cheek before kissing him.

"It wouldn't be fun if you were a model prisoner," he whispered.

Q tensed when it seemed like Bond might strike him, but relaxed at the softer touch.

John would be so annoyed if he knew what he was getting up to here. He'd probably have him liked away in the tower.

God's, he hoped the cards didn't fill him in.

Bond continued to linger at his lips, but his hands caught Q's wrists and pulled them into place to bind him to the wood. When they were secure, he stepped back to appreciate the sight of him.

"That's made from the mast of The Syrene," he said. "If we were at sea, you'd be bound on deck for everyone to see as I lashed you publically."

Q pulled on his bonds, stomach turning nervously. He hadn't been whipped since he was a boy, long before Bond had fished him out of the water.

"Another ship you sank?" he asked, trying to seem calmer than he felt.

Bond chuckled at that.

"I fish boys out of the drink, not wreckage. The Syrene ran aground in the southern ocean. We ransacked her when we rescued the crew."

"So you've never taken a trophy?" Q asked. "It's dreadfully difficult keeping track of your morals is all."

Bond undid Q's fly and dropped his trousers, leaving him bare except for the bit of shirt that clung to his shoulder.

"You're my trophy," he said simply, indulging in the desire to caress Q's bare skin with rough, firm hands.

Q still struggled with the idea that Bond wanted him. Wanted him enough to take him. Bond could have anyone, surely, with just a wink and a smile. Yet he'd picked him. He'd stolen him even.

"Not itching to give me back yet?" the wizard asked, gasping beneath Bond's touch.

"Now that I've got you, I'm never letting you go again," he promised, his hands growing rougher, scratching and gripping and pinching him as he enjoyed the shape of him.

"And if you run...I'll bring you back. You belong here now."

Q pulled on the ropes again, pretending to resist. Though the truth was he loved when Bond touched him like this, like he was his.

One day they'd do this without nearly having a fight first.

Bond's hands trailed lower and lower, giving his ass a hard grope and a smack.

"You've never once called me sir," he said. "In here, that's what you'll say."

"Absolutely not," Q gasped, attempting to wriggle away. "I'm not calling you sir."

Bond grabbed his cock, then a handful of hair. Wrenching Q's head to the side, he held him there.

"Try that again."

Q let out a soft whimper, but he was stubborn, and he held Bond's gaze.

"I said, I'm not calling you sir," he said again.

Bond shifted his grip, grabbed him by the balls, and squeezed.

He gave his head a shake.

"One more time."

"You're not going to hurt me," Q replied. "I know you won't. James."

He was trembling a bit though, straining against his bonds.

"That' kind of cheek deserves a beating," he said, low and rough.

He let Q go, leaving him to hang. Bond retrieved his belt and doubled it over. He snapped it to hear the sharp crack.

"Wait, don't," Q said quickly, panicking a bit. It was one thing to daydream, it was another to do it. In his dreams it had been some rough ropes and rough hands- Not beatings and prisons.

Though he supposed that was where his and Bond's fantasies differed.

"Is this really what you crave?" he asked, needing to know before he submitted. "Do you want to hurt me? Because you can, but- I need to know this is your fantasy and not punishment."

Bond came closer, dragging the leather against Q's bare belly.

"I don't want to hurt you. I do want to mark you. I want to run my tongue along the hot stipe of a lash," he said, purring against Q's neck, cheek to cheek. "And with that, comes pain."

Q swallowed nervously, his cock twitching at the thought. ...Which was madness, surely.

Without another word, he nodded slightly, silently giving James permission.

Bond stepped back and lashed him with the belt across his chest. He waited until a pink welt rose, admiring how it bloomed.

And then, just as he'd said, he moved in to drag his tough tongue along the tender wound.

Q gasped and shivered, wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue.

It stung, but not as badly as he'd anticipated.

Bond did it again, crossing the first. This time he spent time lingering against it to kiss the stinging line.

"You're doing so well," he praised.

"I bet you say that to all your prisoners," Q quipped, melting a little under Bond's attention.

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