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“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” a gentle British accent apologised, as their shopping basket clashed with the others in a clacking and tinkling of glass bottles. Will Graham, on a quick run into Waitrose™ had honestly not expected to bump into anyone given that it was quarter to eleven at night and how many people were really buying £385.00 red wine for their ridiculously pretentious murder husbands.
“It’s okay,” Will mumbled, glancing up to see a younger man, with glasses shielding blue-green eyes and dark curls -so very much like his own. In mild confusion and arbitrary shock, Will neglected to follow a conversation, and the lilting voice came back.
“I can’t say I expected to find another person buying Château Leoville Las Cases here at quarter to eleven on a Monday,” they said. “I’m not even supposed to buy this one. My partner wanted the £900 wine, but I convinced him otherwise. He’s just used to living it up, I think. Last time I let him do the groceries he came home with three bottles of Bollinger and veal,” the other man picked up a bottle of the cheaper wine in question, and placed it in the readily filling basket.
Will couldn’t help but snort at their similar circumstances, only he preferred to let Hannibal do the shopping, knowing that it wasn’t to any personal distaste.
“I’m in the same boat. My partner might as well sleep in a three piece suit,” Will commented. The younger man grinned.
“Mine does on occasion. It’s usually accidental, though.”
“I’m Will,” he introduced himself, this younger man didn’t appear to offer a threat, on the contrary, Will could see himself enjoying some modicum of friendship. The other offered a cardigan clad arm and shook Will’s hand.
“You can call me Q,” he replied. “Would you like to come around for a drink sometime? Or dinner? Your partner would be more than welcome, of course,” Q offered, knowing James wouldn’t mind the opportunity to dress up more than usual and preen a little.
“You know, I think my husband and I would like that very much,” Will accepted, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t prevent him from bringing a dish of sorts around, but I can limit him to not supplying the entire meal,” Will almost laughed, and Q did. The younger man scribbled an address down on a stray receipt and handed it to Will.
“Hows Friday sound? At seven?”
*
“Bond! I swear to god, if I find one more concealed weapon in this room, there will be no sex for a month!” Q yelled, the safe house, or rather, empty flat that they had commandeered and dressed to look their own a couple years back seemed to have been turned into Q-Branch.
From their bedroom James Bond, ‘007’, spy and assassin extraordinaire appeared, expression indifferent with a tinge of smugness.
“If you’ve found the Katana, there really shouldn’t be anymore. And you could not last a month without sex,” he scoffed, to his boyfriend of four years’ spluttering.
“I very well could,” Q sniffed, opening a bottle of Bordeaux James had bought home from his last mission. “Hurry up, will you, they’ll be here soon.”
“Just a minute,” James muttered, adjusting his navy tie that matched Q’s button down shirt. A sharp knock at the door sent his respective partner into a flurry, checking the lamb roast and hurrying to the door, Bond watching amusedly.
On the other side of the door, a curly haired man with blue eyes and glasses, wearing a button down that complemented his husbands three piece suit, smiled at his Late Night Wine Aisle Acquaintance.
“Q!” He said, shaking hands and moving into the flat, a bottle of wine (£500) in one hand. Q smiled and stepped to the side, allowing the imposing figure of Will’s husband to come inside.
“Hello, Q, it is lovely of you to invite us. I am Hannibal, Will’s husband,” the taller an introduced. The age gap between the two was even larger than that of Q and Bond, who was just coming around the corner, navy dinner jacket clinging to all the right places.
“Hello,” Q replied to Hannibal. “Will, Hannibal, this is my partner, James,” he motioned to Bond, who languidly leaned against the doorway to the dining room, inspecting their guests with electric eyes.
“We brought an apple and pear crumble,” Will supplied, shedding his overcoat and shaking James’ hand.
“Wonderful,” James smiled as Q took the dish from Hannibal, “Darling I think the Bollinger would go rather well with this, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know, James. I think Ramen would go well with the Bollinger,” Q snarked, heading for the kitchen with an eye roll. Hannibal concealed a shocked look and stared at his husband who laughed and followed Q, muttering that he seconded the motion.
Bond didn’t bother covering his well-worn look of disbelief at Q’s statement, knowing that Q’s endearing little habits such as eating casually with a fine alcohol only made him love him harder.
“It would appear that we are somewhat out of our depth with the two of them,” Hannibal said. James nodded, and the two of them wandered to the kitchen, where their partners were already drinking and discussing their respective luxury-loving, blond lovers.