The reason Bond was with Q was because, for the first time in his life, he was allowed to cuddle as he was most comfortable. The first night they went to bed together, (which was, admittedly, a night Bond had believed would be the beginning of the end of their dalliance) they had started late enough and worn each other out to the point that when Q delicately—tactfully—pulled the covers over them both, Bond had decided he’d accept the invitation to stay and sleep it off.
Sharing a bed overnight wasn’t particularly rare for non-mission seductions, but Bond had trained himself to accommodate the needs of his lovers so completely that he’d automatically expected his sleep would be somewhat compromised due to the necessity of cuddling someone else instead of finding his own most comfortable position.
Which, to be honest, was on his side with his hand thrust under his pillow, resting an inch from the grip of his gun. If anyone made noises about the Freudean implications of the foetal position he made it a point to dismiss them as someone who had never had to protect their vital organs from attack.
Q had made no move to cuddle him, however, possibly still too worn out from their surprisingly energetic exertions to do anything but lie on his back. Bond took advantage of the freedom to curl up with his back to Q, not arsed enough to have more than a passing care as to whether it would be seen as a snub. Besides, Q had admired his back quite a bit already, maybe the view would be welcome.
He fell asleep before that thought was fully formed and woke up hours later to the unfamiliar but remarkably comforting feeling of Q’s slight chest up against his back, his breath on Bond’s neck, his arms around Bond’s waist, even his hips and thighs fitting themselves to the curve of Bond’s arse and haunches.
The most surprising thing about this was that Bond didn’t wake up with a jolt at the contact. Usually there was a bit of shock at having another body pressed up against his, even when he went to sleep with them on his chest or in his arms. Overtraining for the win. But this felt so comfortable, so natural, so, dare he say it, safe, he woke as he does when alone, at home. Slowly but carefully, yet with ease. It seemed there was something to be said for having your back covered. Literally.
It wasn’t until later when Q woke up, groggy and sweetly apologetic, referencing his tendency for being a ‘compulsive unconscious snuggler’ that Bond was able to thank him properly for such a good night’s sleep and a luxurious entrance to consciousness. Which meant Q’s own path to complete wakefulness was more pleasant than he could ever remember it being. That day they both were introduced to a new-found appreciation for mornings, and Bond began a new life of identifying as the little spoon.
Q was with Bond because he was never made to feel as though his tendency towards over-cuddliness was being pandered to. Somehow, some miraculous way, Bond never seemed to feel burdened by his somewhat ridiculous need for contact. He had never meant to snug up tight against Bond that first night he’d stayed over—it really was an unconscious impetus—but for some insane reason Bond didn’t act as though he’d felt smothered by it. He, in fact, gave Q blanket consent to be the big spoon. When he did, Q nearly fell over. He’d never in his life been allowed such a thing. So many men who were Q’s type couldn’t handle even the idea of it. Whether they felt emasculated, or smothered, or vulnerable, Q wasn’t certain, but Bond had done the unthinkable and thanked Q for not wanting to be held as they slept.
Which seemed close to hilarious to Q, because the last thing he wanted after receiving from anyone was to be held down any more. He’d always felt trapped by his lovers’ arms once the glow was gone. What he wanted most after sex was to hold someone, to take possession of them, or more accurately, to simply have complete control over his contact with them.
Bond had never seemed the type to be switchy in any way, but after all was said and done he seemed remarkably pliant in his willingness to let Q take over said control. To give as much attention as he wanted to Bond’s gorgeous back, to fit himself up against Bond’s arse, to assert his claim. Which done, helped Q sleep better than he’d done since his grammar school days.
It was a surprisingly stellar match in the oddest way. Q tried not to analyse it, preferring to let the unprecedented restorative sleep they encountered together (so good, in fact, that more often than not it led to spectacular morning sex) speak for itself.