Q twists as he’s grasped around the middle, and rather than retreat, he leans forward hard into Bond’s arms, arms around his neck. Their lips meet, sweeping softly together even as Q snorts against James’ cheek the remnants of his laughter. Risen to his toes, he lets his agent take his weight and drag him towards the couch.

Emma’s owl hoos in protest as they land upon it.

It’s a good thing that Emma’s with her grandparents for the day, and not at home to hear the admittedly creative string of curses that Q unspools in the center of the living room, sending the cats scattering.

Bond regards him, and then removes his shoes. “Well, I thought that went rather well.”

“I can carry you upstairs,” James offers, both of them snorting before Q schools his expression to listen carefully. “And right into bed where - do you know what we’ll do there?”

“What will we do there?”

“Sleep like the bloody dead,” James laughs.

“I know, I should have told you first, but there was hardly time between waking up and you under the sheets. I’d forgotten about it entirely until we were there. Rude surprise, really, finding out I’ve been secretly married,” he says, amused.

“Certainly was for me,” Matt agrees, but he’s not laughing.

How desperately they must have craved their headmaster’s firm hand painting colors against their skin to have behaved so very, very badly.

It would not due to deny them, then, what they are owed.

"A few bruises will do her good, we all grew up with them.”

“I didn’t.”

“Most of us grew up with them,” James amends, not skipping a beat. “Darling, horse riding is a wonderful thing to get children into. She gains discipline and learns to care for the animals, she develops excellent reflexes and incredible posture. Especially if we sign her up for dressage.”

Q pales.

Charles’ll only take a peek, just to see if he’s wasting his time or hers. No harm in that, surely, when it could afford them both a phenomenal night together or let them separate for greener pastures.

He nearly falls face first into the lovely breasts he is so coveting as Erik sidles up close enough to place his glass upside down to the bar.

“Another, please,” he says, tone drawled to appear much more drunk than he is. He considers ignoring Charles entirely, but where would the fun be in that? “And one for him, since he’s done.”