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Sucking on the tiny pucker Bond always marveled how it was able to stretch so much to admit his thick cock in. It was such a little rosy dot every time he came back to it after a mission.
After he was done licking, and nibbling and stretching it open on his tongue, fingers, cock, he always took pride in leaving it with an adorable gape, all reddened and shiny.
And it stayed pliant and easy, puffed out and slick all the time he was in London, but somehow, every time he got back, it was shriveled back, a perfect, promising bud on the first breaths of spring.
He asked about it once, when he had the owner of such wonder thrown over the boffin’s workstation, pants and trousers trapped around thin ankles and knobbly knees shivering as he mouthed and fingered Q's secret delight.
He looked up, pulling his mouth away from between stubble-burned arse cheeks, wanting to know the answer.
And Q took the longest time, blushing and hiding his face in the cardigan he had bunched under his chest before he finally looked back at him and breathed out one word before he hid again, mortified.
“Kegels.”
Bond wasn't really sure what that was, he noted it needed further research if it aided in providing him the continued pleasure of opening up this tiny blossom into a rose in full bloom time and time again.
Placing both palms over the Boffin's round bottom, rubbing the bouncy flesh and noting with delight how he was able to cover all of Q's derrière with his hands, he moved his thumbs into the valley, parting the arse cheeks as he dived back in.