Engineers have a set of complex social 'bee dances' to facilitate working relationships. Spies only have one: sex. And as far as that went, Bond had lucked out some: the Engineer who'd eventually built his time machine was a lot younger and better-looking than the ones he'd tried before him. It hardly even counted as a chore, except for the time-consuming process of inebriation that had to precede it if he didn't want to get punched in the face again.

He'd gotten that part figured out in very short order. Say what you will about his abilities on bog-standard contract work - the briefcase-stealing he referred to so derisively - when it came to real Spying, the webs of intrigue held together with sheer force of suave, he was comfortably confident in himself. He'd bagged Joanna DuWitt-Harder and Lotta Butté without expending any special effort, after all, and observation and cautious experimentation enabled him to - not quite bag, but at least properly manipulate this James person he was stuck with.

If he'd been an Engineer himself, he'd have been able to put the process into a formula: variables pertaining to how much whiskey James had put down the hatch and where they were on the spectrum from "would as soon wring neck as look at" to "a decent business partnership" (itself governed by a separate subset of variables like "had anything happened to make James remember they were stuck in 1963" and "had Bond been teasing him"), data and figures all laid out precisely; solve for sex.

He wasn't an Engineer, though, so he was moving by a fairly well-developed instinctual sense of seduction. Good enough.

They'd been getting along well today, because Bond had had the good sense to remove himself from the vicinity while James worked on the gadgets Bond had convinced him were utterly necessary for the job they were on. When he came back to find them in varying levels of completeness he'd won major points with his completely unfeigned delight in them (who wouldn't be totally charmed, even excited, by coming into possession of a pen that dispenses knock-out gas and a belt buckle that almost works as a grappling hook and a vaguely-defined Useful Multitool replacing the now-useless disguise kit component of his cigarette case? All of these things, even the ones that weren't finished or fully explained, were absolutely awesome!). Lotta wasn't available that night, and even if she had been, it made a great deal of practical sense to use the opportunity to cement better relations with his new de facto partner, so Bond decided to springboard off of the day's worth of almost-friendship and into bed with James.

It had been clear from the start that proper and liberal application of whiskey kept the Engineer socially lubricated; whenever he started getting too worked up over his inability to understand Bond's perfectly logical Spy reasoning, a glass or two would keep him from doing anything rash, like breaking noses. Getting drunk always helped people lower their standards, anyway - see the concept of beer goggles. Therefore, providing James with additional whiskey and gently working up to the idea of a proper lay was obviously the right course of action. Bond had obtained a bottle of highly decent single-barrel bourbon for precisely this occasion, and he brought it out now, along with a couple of glasses he'd liberated from the bar with the same thought in mind.

He poured a double into his glass and at least a triple into the other, passing it to the Engineer with a grin. "I thought we ought to toast your success! Seriously, I knew you'd be able to come up with cool gadgets and things. You're obviously some kind of genius." He almost said "After all, you built a time machine," but changed his mind at the last second - it was a rather sticky subject, after all, and likely to turn into another shouting-down about how James held him personally responsible for everything from the malfunction of said time machine to the lack of internet in their hotel room. Ridiculous, but everyone knew Engineers were prone to holding grudges.

More of the kind of flattering small-talk that the target appreciated so well (James stopped short of literally preening, but the metaphorical preening was obvious); Bond even went so far as to ask about some technical detail of how the knockout pen worked, and maintained an expression of active interest throughout the long and detailed explanation, carefully topping off Engineer's glass every time he took a sip and pretending to pace him with his own.

The technical question also provided an excuse to get physically close, perching himself on the arm of the chair and leaning over to look at the details being described. Of course, this meant he had to put an arm around James' shoulders to steady himself, all the while nodding enthusiastically and saying things like "Yeah, I see" and "Wow, that's really clever."

Evidently the explanation was over; another compliment (again, not wholly prevarication; Bond really was quite sure this guy was some kind of mad-scientist type genius), and then he took a real gulp of his whiskey and reached out to pour more, refilling James' while he was at it. Next: having gained some goodwill with the ooh Mister Engineer ooh, build some empathy and create a connection. Bond's extended family covered literally every class except Pyro, so he took a line James had said in his explanation and neatly segued from it into a rather amusing little story involving a paternal uncle-by-marriage who was an Engineer and the young Bond's misadventures with a beerspenser built for a family reunion. (This also tied nicely in with the grown-up Bond's misadventures with that very knockout pen earlier in the afternoon, and allowed the Engineer to have a laugh at the Spy's expense, which is always useful for improving interclass relationships.)

Now was a good time to step things up a little. Bond switched his glass to the hand draped over James' shoulder and casually slid his now-free hand over the other man's chest, undoing the top button of his shirt without missing a beat in his story. No opposition, so down to the next one. That got a look - not a Look, but a look, and he had no desire to turn it into a Look - so he removed the hand, got his whiskey, took another sip that was not as large as he made it seem, put the glass back in his other hand, did some dramatic gestures to emphasize the story's punchline, and then slipped his hand right back where it had been while they both laughed.

More whiskey for both of them, and a comment on its quality, Another observation he'd made almost immediately upon meeting James: all you had to do to get him to do something was suggest that he couldn't. "This is pretty strong stuff, though. I mean, you probably can't just drop shots of it." He demonstrated by actually taking a gulp that was just as big as it looked, and overacted the burn in his throat. Just as planned, Engineer cowboyed up over it and drained his glass. Bond leaned forward to get the bottle and pour more, and leaned back into a much more comfortable and compromising position, practically half in James' lap at this point. Compliments and chatter - Bond was rarely at a loss for words to fill space - and this time Engineer didn't even pretend to put up a resistance to having his shirt unbuttoned.

Bond moved back a bit and shrugged out of his jacket, laying it over the edge of the desk, then made a show of struggling with the knot in his necktie. "Help me out?" with an abashed smile, which provided him with an excuse to get James' hands working on undressing him, as well as a reason to get closer - straddling him in the chair now.

He hadn't been drinking as much as he'd been pretending to drink, but he could still feel the warmth of the whiskey in him, making everything very slightly, but pleasantly, fuzzy. And James really wasn't bad-looking at all - very nicely built, as Engineers tend to be, and sort of ruggedly manly, again as Engineers tend to be. This wasn't a very taxing job at all. Pretty enjoyable, actually, as James pulled Bond's tie off for him, then let his hands settle on Bond's hips. Bond leaned in closer, sliding his hand inside the shirt he'd so carefully unbuttoned to splay fingers on warm skin, lips just barely brushing James' ear; "You know, I think I might be drunk."

"You think?" One of James' thumbs was idly stroking Bond's flank, just above the waistband of his trousers.

"Yeah. I do that sometimes, you know, amazing as it seems." Bond could feel James' brief chuckle at that, and grinned into his neck.

But now would be a good time to pull back a little. Don't come on too strong at first, Engineers can be skittish about that. Anyway, always leave them wanting more. Bond climbed out of his lap and crossed the room under pretense of taking his cufflinks off and putting them away. There were random engineery things scattered all over the room - no wonder he'd been fussing about wanting more space for a workroom - and Bond picked a random thing that looked like it probably wasn't part of the time machine. "Hey, what's this?"

James twisted around in the chair to see, then reluctantly stood and started to walk over. This proved more difficult than anticipated (by either of them; Bond had sort of underestimated how much liquor he'd had to pour into Engineer to get him to go along with this so far), and he ended up sitting down on the bed when he'd gotten halfway. This worked fine with the plan, though - in fact, it let him skip a step by putting the bed into the equation slightly early. Bond shrugged with a grin and joined him. "Whatever, it's like a deconfibulixor or something, right?"

This was the home stretch, the easy part. This was no longer an Engineer who had to be handled in special Engineery ways; this was just a man in bed with him. The last of any possible doubts in that regard were dispelled with James' unargumentative acceptance of the whatsit name Bond had come up with and the way he reached toward him when Bond slid closer and slipped an arm around his neck.

"Of course that's what it is," Bond murmured. "After all, I am also secretly a scientific genius." Whether James kissed him right then to purposefully shut him up or not, the result was the same; Bond wrapped his other arm around him and pulled him closer just as James leaned in, overbalancing them so that Bond tumbled onto his back and pulled the Engineer down on top of him. Again, not part of the plan, but perfectly appropriate to it.

The most convincing act is no act at all; Bond closed his eyes and let liquor and lust affect him, pressing careful open-mouthed kisses (leaving tangible marks could end up going either way in the morning, and probably not the way he'd like) to Engineer's neck, rocking his hips up against him, murmuring random words against the skin and keeping his hands moving over Engineer's back and shoulders and dipping down under the waistband of his pants, sliding over his ass.

Engineer was responding quite well, meeting the motion of his hips and making the most delicious little sighs. He propped himself up and fumbled with the buttons of Bond's shirt. Bond freed one hand to help him - no good letting the man tear any of the buttons loose, he'd have to get it sewn back on then - and once that was done, the hand went to the buckle of Engineer's belt.

It didn't want to come unfastened, and he managed to pinch his finger between the leather and the clasp, prompting a relatively brief, distracted outpouring of profanity in his native French.

James snickered and braced himself so he could reach to help. "Goofy fuck," he muttered, and kissed Bond again as he pulled the belt free. His hand roamed over Bond's chest, thumb brushing roughly over a sensitive nipple; Bond gasped into his mouth and twitched his hips up sharply.

Now that James' belt was undone, Bond didn't want to be left out; while he worked on his own fly, he did his best to suggestively brush the backs of his fingers against the growing bulge in Engineer's trousers. He was afraid the gesture was misinterpreted as clumsy eagerness as James snickered again and guided Bond's hand to press flat against him.

Feeling vaguely insulted by the implication, Bond wriggled loose and flipped Engineer over, moving down to kneel at the foot of the bed. He pulled James' trousers down and reached for his cock, jacking it a few times before applying his mouth. James' fingers tangled in his hair almost painfully, and he made guttural noises; Bond couldn't help but try to say "See, I know what I'm doing" even with his mouth full.

The resulting vibrations were pleasantly interesting, to judge from the change in pitch of James' voice, but he still groaned "Shut up" at the spy and moved his hands from hair to shoulders, tugging him up and off. "C'mere - "

Then Bond was on his back again, James covering him with his body, James' hand wrapped around both cocks, and Bond was doing a rather undignified kick-and-wiggle to get out of his pants, complicated by the way he kept thrusting his hips up into James' grasp. 'Rather undignified' was rapidly becoming the order of the day, but kept himself in English this time, at least: "Ahhnn - fucking Christ hell - nngh, fuck me," he moaned into Engineer's neck.

"Fixin' to," he replied, and Bond just knew he was probably laughing at him on the inside again, but he didn't care enough to do anything about it anymore.

Suddenly he was flipped over, being pressed down into the bed, cock rubbing almost painfully against the bedspread while Engineer worked into him. Bond's fingers tightened around the fabric of the sheets, and he swore more vehemently, pushing back against the pressure. More lube, the cold feel almost shocking (oh, good, he HAD found the bottle Bond had stowed in the nightstand drawer for precisely this reason), and then more pressure, James' fingers rubbing exactly the right way. Bond gasped and arched his back. "Shit - goddamn, I'm not - not a fucking Bond girl, hell God just fuck me already - "

James withdrew his fingers and Bond had to literally bite back a whimper as he was filled up, James' cock thick and hard inside him. Each thrust pressed him down into the bed, rubbing his own cock against the blanket, and he pushed back, moaning blasphemies and holding onto the sheets white-knuckled.

James mouthed at his shoulders, biting - apparently he didn't get the memo about not leaving marks - while Bond writhed beneath him, swearing. Engineer grunted "Shut up" at him between other, less coherent noises, and Bond threw all dignity to the wind and reached for a pillow to bite. He spread his legs wider, trying to get James deeper into him, and once the pillow was in place he reached back with that hand, gripping Engineer's hip, still swearing helplessly around a mouthful of high-count cotton pillowcase.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt smothered in sensation, spiralling closer and closer, holding back desperately (Christ goddamn if he'd come before the guy he was seducing); when he heard James' low grunt, felt the heat filling him, he let go with relief that was blissful in itself, surrendering to pleasure, choking out one last string of bilingual curses he would've been embarrassed over if he'd been in a state to care about anything ("Tabernac de Mother of God de fuck - ")

James lay over him, both breathing heavily, letting the sensations ebb away. Then Bond wiggled impatiently. "You can get off me now," he said (tacitly thankful there weren't any 'th' sounds in that sentence to betray his undone state). James rolled off silently, and he turned over and sat up, reaching for the cigarettes on the nightstand. He lit two and passed one over to the Engineer.

No, not a bad bit of work at all, he decided, exhaling slowly and watching the smoke drift up. He'd head out to the bars again after James fell asleep, though. No room for two people and a wet spot in that bed.

WHY THEY ARE ALMOST OUT OF STRAWBERRIES ON THE MOONBASE.

The egg chair and the flokati rug are their normal spots. The egg chair isn't actually all that comfortable, but Bond's found a way of tucking one leg up inside it and stretching the other one out, nestling himself all the way in the back where he can tilt his head backward over the top of the cushion, and that's good enough. The chair's too fucking amazingly '60s to not sit in; he needs to sit in that chair, with its view of the moon and the earth and the James on the rug, like he's the king of everything.

(He also apparently needs to sing "I am the egg chair, I am the egg chair, I am the walrus, cou-cou kachou" every time he sits in it, but that is neither here nor there.)

And the rug is the best spot for James, the most comfortable lounging place, warm and soft and fuzzy, where he can stretch out on his back and watch the stars through the roof or stretch out on his stomach and fiddle with things. It's overall the best room for just fucking around in the entire base; the bedroom might be huge, with a bed the size of an Eastern European nation-state, but the Observation Room has the egg chair and the flokati rug and the room to work (and the bar).

Their initial explorations had revealed the presence of a hydroponics lab for growing food, but it seemed at first to be mostly tomatoes, so they hadn't gotten too excited. When Bond got bored and explored further, he found the strawberries, and immediately took a bowl of the best-looking ones straight back to the egg chair (cou-cou kachou).

James hadn't even noticed he'd wandered off; he was still dicking around with tiny screwdrivers and bits of wire. Bond rolled his eyes at the back of James' head and arranged himself as attractively as possible in his egg-shaped throne.

He started in on the strawberries with Art and Aplomb, wrapping his lips around each one as he bit them in half and licking the juice from his gloved fingers enticingly, but James remained completely oblivious. Bond kept trying with a few more berries, then sighed and said aloud, "Wow, these are the best strawberries ever."

James set his screwdriver down and propped himself up to look back at Bond. "There are strawberries?"

Bond held one out between two fingers and ate it with the same Art and Aplomb.

James, unfortunately, seemed far more excited by the strawberries themselves than by the way the Spy was eating them. Fucking Engineers. "Can I have one?" He sat up and came over to Bond's chair on his knees, settling back on his heels near Bond's feet like a puppy.

Bond suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and instead reached out to oblige. To his surprise, James just bit it out of his fingers instead of taking it himself first. "Wow, these are good," he said, licking his lips. "Where'd you find them?"

Bond gave him the other half of the berry while he answered. "The far back of the hydroponics lab. It's the only thing that's not tomatoes. Juicy as hell, aren't they?"

James nodded, still chewing.

"You got juice all over my gloves," said Bond, wiggling his fingers to illustrate. "That's not very good for the leather, you know."

"Delicious strawberry juice," said James, and began to lick it off. Utterly innocently, no less. He had no ulterior motives. Bond was good at picking up ulterior motives, and, you know, leave it to an Engineer to kneel at your feet sucking on your fingers without goddamn having any.

He just sat and watched, until James determined he'd gotten all the berry off and sat back again. "So can I have another one?"

Without taking his eyes off the other man, Bond reached into the bowl for a fresh strawberry, holding it out and watching intently as James carefully closed his mouth around it - and angling his fingers to be sure plenty of juice got on his glove again. Once more, James finished the berry and wrapped his lips around Bond's fingers, tongue swirling over the leather to get every drop of juice.

Bond's mouth was suddenly dry. He held the next berry out closer to him, so James had to edge nearer, practically straddling his knee; and again he ate the berry and licked the juice up, absolutely unreasonably sensual for anyone who wasn't doing this utterly on purpose. His cheeks hollowed slightly as he sucked on the slender fingers; Bond turned his hand, feeling the warmth of James' tongue through the glove, and almost hesitantly stroked his thumb over one cheekbone. "Christ goddamn, man..."

James pulled back. "What?"

Bond closed his eyes for a moment. "You have got to be doing it on purpose."

"Doing what?" asked James suspiciously.

"Oh, never goddamn mind. Have another strawberry." Bond held this one even closer, and James still seemed unconscious of how infuriatingly sexy he was being - pressed so close against Bond's leg that if the Engineer had been taking this the same way as the Spy Bond would definitely have known it; and as James took Bond's fingers into his mouth again, and then stopped to spread those fingers with his own hands and gently lick a bit of spilt juice from the palm of his hand, Bond let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and gently pressed his shin between James' legs.

That was when James realized what he was doing. He stopped and looked up, without letting go of Bond's hand, and something dangerously akin to a Spy-like smirk came across his face.

"I might just make you earn the next one," Bond said, making no effort to free his hand.

"Oh, really?" James closed his lips over the tips of Bond's first and second fingers, running his tongue over them lightly, eyes on Bond's as intently as Bond's had been on him the entire time.

"Yeah," Bond said, in an almost wondering tone. How the hell was the fucking Engineer being so goddamn hot?

James' teeth nipped at Bond's fingertips, then closed on the seam in the leather, tugging at each finger in turn until he'd pulled the glove off entirely, dropping it on the rug beside him. Then he slid his mouth over Bond's fingers again, and the warm soft wetness against his suddenly-bare skin made him bite his lip. He was unconsciously holding his breath again, too, and made himself breathe out as he pressed his leg against James slightly harder.

James managed to smirk around the fingers in his mouth (Oh, God, Bond thought desperately, he's catching shit from me) and moved his hips to rub a growing erection against Bond's shin.

Bond forced himself to sit back against the padding of the egg-chair (when had he started sitting up ramrod-straight like that? Oh, right, probably when he had started being ramrod-straight like that), still keeping his eyes trained on his partner as James carefully licked and sucked and nibbled at fingers made extra-sensitive by the usual presence of a leather glove between themselves and the rest of the world. "Christ," he breathed softly.

James sat back a little - Bond's hand still held in his, his body still warm against Bond's leg, but no longer going to town on him. "Strawberry?"

"You bastard," said Bond, plucking another berry from the bowl with his free hand and placing it in the one James was holding onto.

James ate it in two neat bites, Bond staring at the way his lips wrapped around the bright red flesh each time, and then went back to work cleaning up the juice. By now he was turned on, too - although he couldn't possibly be as turned on as Bond was; Bond was fairly certain it wasn't possible for anyone to be as turned on as he was, including himself, and that he'd somehow slipped and fallen into an alternate dimension where Engineers are made of absolute sex and he was a sucker - and his rocking motions against Bond's leg were almost, but not quite, grinding.

"Seriously," said Bond, choosing his words carefully to avoid the dreaded TH. "Do you even realize - fuck, James, you are being unfair - "

"I've had good teachers," said James drily, letting go of Bond's hand; Bond bit his lip to keep from whimpering at that, and bit down harder to keep from whimpering again when James reached up and unzipped his fly.

He ignored Bond's cock entirely, which was utterly unfair as it was already so hard it was almost aching, in favour of his balls - burying his face between Bond's legs, hair tickling the bare skin at Bond's hips where his pants were peeled out of the way, licking and kissing until Bond shuddered and cursed, his language filters slipping and French blasphemy sneaking in among the English, all the while pressing his own hard cock against Bond's leg and rocking hard; it's the French itself that makes James take pity on him, knowing he never slips unless he's severely undone, and then he takes Bond into his mouth with the same diligence he'd applied to the strawberry juices.

And God, that's amazing, the potential shown in his attention to Bond's fingers absolutely blowing him away when it's applied to Bond's cock; he has had good teachers and Bond doesn't give a flying fuck who they were or how he learned this because it's far too good to ask questions, it's fucking heaven when James is doing this, and then James was showing another bit of something he picked up from Bond himself - pausing for a moment, one hand cupping Bond's balls, cradling them and stroking playfully, while the other wraps around his shaft and his lips wrap around the very tip, suckling gently and oh God so terribly teasingly good - another string of French and a twisting, squirming thrust upwards and James stopped teasing, took him in fully again, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling and Bond very nearly tipped over the strawberry bowl as both of his hands tangled in James' hair, his head tilted back over the edge of the chair's cushion and for all he knew he could've been speaking Russian now, it's so amazingly good and he never wants it to stop and he's so close, his hips moving up half-fucking James' face and then he was gone, over the edge and crying out noisily and going limp in the chair.

James carefully cleaned him up with his tongue - god damn, the man really was amazing, he could have every strawberry in the fucking world forever - and Bond wasn't even paying attention as James stroked himself off.

"You lazy jackass," James growled as he tugged at his cock.

"Strawberries," Bond managed to say. "I said I would give you strawberries. Never said anyting about anyting else."

"Lazy jackass," James repeated, pressing kisses to Bond's stomach, as Bond kept running his fingers through James' hair; and then James was coming, spilling onto the floor between the rug and the chair, making a goddamn mess that he wasn't going to lick up this time, but it was worth it -

"De best strawberries ever," said Bond in the aftermath, dropping out of the chair to curl next to James on the rug.

"Pretty fucking good," James agreed.

AND THAT IS WHY THEY RAN OUT OF STRAWBERRIES

CHRIST GOD DAMN WOMAN.

NEVER. EVER. STOP. WRITING.

OWL I'M SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU.

SERIOUSLY YOU COULD HAVE JUST WRITTEN ABOUT STRAWBERRIES AND I WOULD STILL BE SWOONING BUT THEN GODDAMN YOU HAD TO WRITE SOME HOT PORN.

i'm so excited for the upcoming 'more james and bond' you have no idea

the porn is just an extra bonus

I love he wasnt even /trying/ to be sexy, the man just...

He just LOVES them goddam strawberries.

idk it's awfully short & i dont remember why i wrote it but here

--

The phone in the hotel rings about 5:00, and of course it's Bond. "Hey, James. I thought I'd call and let you know what I was planning on doing tonight, okay?"

"Alright. What are you planning on doing tonight?"

"You." A pause while he grins, and you know that's what he's doing even if it's not visible over the phone line. "I was thinking I'd stop back up in the room, and you're always in the middle of something, so I don't want to interrupt that - so I won't. I'll just go down on you, and you can keep working. Do you think you can do that, James? Finish up your graphs or circuits or whatever while I'm kneeling between your legs with your cock in my mouth? Maybe you can. Maybe you'll manage to finish up before I do, and in that case - well, the drafting table won't be full anymore if you're done, right? I know it'll bear my weight, I've sat on it before, so if you finish your work before I finish mine, maybe you can spread me out up there on that desk and fuck me, what do you think? I know I'd like that. I'll wrap my legs around your waist and feel you pumping in and out of me - God, it'll be so good, but I won't let myself come, because I'm not done yet. Oh no. So I'll have you fuck me there on your desk, and then I'll lead you over to the bed, and I'll strip you down and clean you up and lay you out and just /touch/ you. You know, we hardly ever get the chance to just do that, because usually we're in a hurry - hell, usually we're in an elevator or something, right? But tonight there's no hurry, so I'll just explore your whole body - kiss you all over, run my hands all over your bare skin before I slick up my fingers and slide them inside you to get you ready for me. And hell, by then I'll be so hard it'll take everything I can do not to just come as soon as I slide my cock into you, but I won't, I won't let myself - I'll think about baseball or something, I fucking hate baseball, you know that - because I want to fuck you proper. No hurry, right? And when I finally do come, it'll be that much better - fuck, yes, it'll be so good, and then after that if you're ready for another round, maybe you can pin me up against the tiles in the shower to start off with... So that's what I was planning on doing tonight, James. Any objections?"

James has no objections.

ANON HAS NO OBJECTIONS

SOLOMON GRUNDY HAS NO OBJECTIONS, TOO.

ANY OBJECTIONS WILL BE OVERRULED

OBJECTIONS? WHAT ARE THOSE? AND WHY WOULD ANYONE BE HAVING THEM?

I WILL VEHEMENTLY OBJECT ANY OBJECTIONS.
Loved your present tense bro
AISJDOIAJSDAIOSIHXUIHI AM A FAGGOT HUMP MY RUMPOIHGAOUSIKAASZ NJB
phone sex

Love all of these!

The first one throws me off a bit though - is it just a random snippet that could be slotted into the storyline or something else? Either way, they're all well written so, no complaints.

Just one happy bunny.

Can't wait to see what you come up with next, in both these and the main stories!

>>15
yeah, the first one's actually part of what got skipped over when i went from Part One to Part Three so the uh
the context is kind of missing sorry :C

i wouldn't've reposted it if i'd been the one archiving but that's ok Archive Anon i love you anyway

To be fair, with the characters presented, the scenario is not entirely impossible to envision.

Bond - Assumes all Logic is Spy Logic

James - Paranoid (Grand)Motherfucker

That Guy - Read the Evil Overlord List

The rest writes itself.

I just chalked it up to one of the various "Wacky Adventures" presumably following the origional series.

you got it entirely

and i lolled at (grand)motherfucker

Sorry to bump this, but can I hope for more James&Bond in the future, either here or in /fanfic/?

>>19
Yes. Yes you can. I've rewritten the next /fanfic/ chapter three times because I just can't get it to where I'm completely happy with it :C - but it will be written, goddammit.

>>20
This makes me super happy, thank you for the quick response!