Bond grimaced as he carefully made his way down the corridor, his finger absently caressing the trigger of the Walther PPK that was in his hand. He and Alec had been on the oil rig for three hours and there was still one man eluding them.
The call had come into M16 that afternoon. A North Sea oil rig had been taken by SPECTRE and the workers on it slaughtered. Less than an hour later James Bond and Alec Trevelyan had been on a small boat speeding out over the water. They had docked at the rig without being seen, managing to take out over a quarter of the terrorists before someone had noticed the boat and an all out fire fight version of hide and seek had been declared. And now that one man was still out there. Alec had taken the east side of the rig and James had the west, the being for both of them to sweep their areas and meet in the middle. Theoretically one of them should find the SPECTRE flunky. And then they could call for the helicopter to pick them up and James could be back in London in time for his dinner date with Gerda Lowdathose, the new temp that M had doing the filing.
Bond's mind was on just what he and Gerda would be doing *after* dinner when a thud came from above him. Instinct winning out over thoughts of large breasts James dived as a bullet pinged off the wall where his head had been a second earlier.
"Alec, is that you?" James threw into the darkness, knowing his partner's penchant for taking potshots at him under the guise of 'keeping his reflexes up'. "It better bloody well not be," he added under his breath.
The torrent of curses yelled back in Spanish answered his question and another bullet sailed overhead.
Automatically checking the clip in his gun, James dived out into the open, firing as he went. There was a flash of pain in his upper arm before the perfect line of fire became available. Firing once, James downed the final stand of SPECTRE on the Eastern Sea oil rig.
The body hadn't even fallen before Bond's attention was taken by a movement in the corner of his eye. Spinning, he raised his gun, sure they had taken out all of the enemy agents but not willing to take the chance that the intelligence they had received was wrong.
"It's just me." Alec grinned at him. "So, we're clear then." He nodded up at the corpse on the platform above them.
James nodded as Alec's face grew suddenly serious. "What?" he asked.
Alec closed the distance between them, reaching out to James's arm, lightly fingering the tear in the expensive suit. "Dammit, Bond, you really should be more careful," he muttered. "Come on." He started to walk down the corridor, not waiting for James to follow him.
--{--}--
"He shot me! Ruined my Shephard and Anderson suit!"
"Stop whining. Here."
"What is it?" James sniffed cautiously at the bottle and recoiled
"Vodka."
"If that's vodka I'm the queen of Siam."
"Shut up and drink the damn vodka, your Majesty."
James snatched the bottle out of Alec's hand, bringing it to his lips and taking a drink. "What the hell is in that?" he asked raspily after the coughing fit had passed.
"I told you, vodka." Alec grinned. "Or as close as potatoes and a home built still gets to it." He took the bottle back and took a cautious swig. "Damn," he said, clearing his throat, "That'll put hairs on your chest."
"Give that back here." James grabbed the bottle, a pleasant buzz was starting to blot out the pain from his arm. "And I don't want hairs on my chest, there's enough there already."
Alec eyed the bottle thoughtfully. "I wonder what proof that is."
"If I am any judge," Bond offered the bottle with a wavering hand, "And I *am*, at least 140."
Alec pushed the bottle back. "You're the injured party here, 007. You drink up like a good boy."
Bond blinked. Surely it was blood loss that was giving him this strangely drunken sensation. He peered at the bottle and took another gulp, and then another. The pain dissolved completely and he sighed with relief. "*Much* better. Can't believe we're stuck here, though," James complained, pronouncing each word with more difficulty than he usually had.
"And where should we be?" Alec asked.
"In a ressa... rasta... eating dinner with a beautiful lady." He paused. "Who would let me ply her with alcohol and have my wicked way with her." Bond eyed the bottle in his hands. "That's not what you're doing to me, is it?"
"The thought never crossed my mind, James."
"Oh." Bond possibly didn't realise how upset he sounded. "Well, that's alright then." James took another drink. "I wouldn't mind, you know."
"Mind what?" Alec asked conversationally.
"You having your way with me, are you sure this is only 140 proof?"
"You were the one who said it was," Alec pointed out heartlessly.
"Well I'm always right about wine." He sniffed the half empty bottle thoughtfully. "I wonder how drunk those fumes are."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said," he drew a deep breath, then thought and took a swig from the bottle. "How drunk those fumes could make a person. Good God, Alec, don't you listen to a word I say?"
"I listen to every word you say, 007. Intently."
"Well. That's all right then. Would you care for a drop?"
Alec took the bottle off him and looked into it. "I don't think there's a drop left," he pointed out.
"I'm a terrible host," Bond said plaintively and looked around the room. "Perhaps there's some more in the drinks cabinet?"
"I hope not," Alec muttered with dark amusement.
Bond stood, although he wasn't entirely clear on when he had sat down, and blinked as the room performed a lazy pirouette around him. "Extraordinary," he murmured, and stepped towards the drinks cabinet.
A hard arm caught him around the waist and he stared at the floor from an angle that was considerably further from the vertical than he was accustomed to. "Ooh, pretty floor."
"You are rat arsed, my son," Alec's voice came from some distant place behind him. "Whatever am I going to do with you, 007?"
"I am not!" Bond complained. "My arse is not rat-like, at all. It's full and smooth. Rather a good arse, even if I do say so myself. Rather like a good claret," Bond continued to muse on the delights of his arse. "Pert, fruity, and enticing. Perhaps a little oak-y." Alec sighed heavily.
"Blofeld loved my arse. He was always feeling it when he was trying to feed me to sharks."
"Bond, shut up about your damned arse."
"Why? Don't you like my arse, Alec?" Bond asked piteously. "I always thought you liked it. You look at it often enough."
"Oh for Christ's sake, let's see what the ruckus is about then, eh?" There was a tearing sound, and then his nether regions suddenly felt the full chill of the North Atlantic wind.
"Cold!" Bond yelped.
"I know the answer to that," Alec laughed, and a stinging hand swatted his behind
Bond was silent for long moments, and then a small voice said, "Still cold."
The hand descended onto his flesh again, this time hitting the other cheek. "Ow," but it was half hearted, and he couldn't help noticing his dick filling. He tilted his hips up for the next blow.
"Getting warmer, James?" Alec asked, as he spanked him again.
Bond turned his head and looked at Alec, suddenly serious. "I don't know. Do it again, and I'll tell you."
Alec laughed. Dragging James over to a one of the chairs along the wall of the room, 006 sat down, draping Bond over his knee like a recalcitrant schoolboy. Bond's cock got harder.
"At least now your arse is beginning to look like that claret you likened it to, James." Alec commented lightly, as his hand came down again and again.
James groaned as Alec's hand landed on his arse, heat spreading outwards through his entire body.
"Was that a stop, James?"
"Don't be a bloody idiot, Trevelyan." His hips lifted automatically, seeking out the delicious friction of Alec's hand.
"Was that an *order*, James?" The hand didn't come.
Bond whimpered. "I... no... oh god, Alec, please."
"I'm not sure I approve of you giving me orders, 007. After all being 006 has to count for something."
"No, sorry, Alec," and then in a completely different voice, "oh fuck." And he threw up. Copiously.
Dimly, in the distance he could hear Alec's voice muttering. "Note to self, cut back on Bond's alcohol intake."
He was brusquely hauled to his feet and dragged out of the room to somewhere that echoed. His clothes vanished, and he looked up hopefully wiping at his face in disgust. And yelped as cold water burst over him.
"Sorry, James," Alec filled another bucket and threw it over him, "But I'm not doing anything with you in that condition."
Rather more sober than he had been, Bond looked ruefully down himself where the cold water had made his genitals huddle closer to his body in shock. "I have to agree with you completely," he said sadly, eying his limp cock. And then he remembered exactly where he'd been when he'd vomited.
Closing his eyes he felt the ghost of Alec's hand landing blows on his arse.
"Well, it looks like the evening isn't a complete washout." Alec said as James felt his cock begin to fill out again.
Flushing red, James eyes snapped open as he looked at Trevelyan. "Alec, I-"
"Ssh." Alec's fingers covered his lips, cutting off the flow of words. "I know what you want, James."
James looked at him. How could Alec know that when James didn't even know it himself.
"Come with me." Alec gripped his wrist and he trailed after him obediently, not entirely sure why he wasn't even asking where they were going. Alec's shoulders were broad and he could see the muscles shifting under the wet skin. He wondered vaguely when the man had stripped off, but let the thought go as he was pulled into another room. The warmth was a shock after the chill of the cold water and colder sea breeze.
A harsh, abrasive piece of material masquerading as a towel was wrapped around him and the rest of the water clinging to his body brusqely rubbed off.
"Alec--"
"Not a word, James."
Bond fell silently immediately, not questioning the softly spoken order.
"I've watched for too long as you chased after everything in a skirt. Every woman that came across your path, and the more dangerous the better." Alec's fingers danced across his back, teasing. "Well, you want dangerous, James? I'll give you dangerous."
The hand left his body and footsteps signalled Alec moving away, before he was back again, and something cool brushed down James's skin.
"What--"
"Tut, tut, James, don't tell me you've forgot the first rule of our business. An agent should never be without his weapon."
The familiar sound of a gun safety clicking off tightened his muscles, and only a strong hand in the middle of his back held him still. "Don't move. Don't move a muscle."
He swallowed hard. Cold metal pressed firmly against his anus, and he shuddered.
"Stay very, very, still," Alec's voice was just a whisper.
Something was smeared onto his skin around the barrel of the gun.
"Now," Alec murmured, and he strained to hear him, "bear down."
Trembling, he wanted to tell Alec to stop, but couldn't say the words. Instead, he obeyed, swallowing the gasp that welled up in him as the gun barrel slid into him.
It was amazing how easily the blunt nose of the gun slid into him, the small protusion on its tip dragging along his flesh like a blunt nail. His whole body tensed, and Alec tutted.
"Careful. Too much pressure and..." he paused. "Well, let's just say you won't be worrying about your damn arm any more."
"God, Alec!" He gasped out, his throat dry.
"Is that a good 'God, Alec'," the cold metal pulled slowly out of him, "or a bad 'God, Alec', James?" and back in again.
But James didn't know, wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted more.
It was warming up, the squared off muzzle stretching him to its awkward uncomfortable shape. Alec pushed it deeper, until he could feel the trigger guard pressing at his perineum, Alec's fist brushing against his thighs.
"Easy, James." Alec's other hand rubbed soothing circles against his stomach. "You can take it, I know you can."
He couldn't speak. Each slow stroke focussed him utterly on his arsehole, his body arching, slowly, to pull away -- or was that to push in closer?
"Alec..." The name slipped from his lips, unable to be contained.
"Good boy," Alec whispered approvingly, moving it a little faster. "Come on it, James. God knows you've fucked up enough lives with this gun of yours, let me fuck you up with it too. And then you'll be ready for something else."
"My gun?" he asked, clinging to the only thing he understood.
"Of course your gun. I'm not putting *mine* up your jacksie, now am I?" he asked reasonably enough.
"Now, stop thinking," And the thing moved harder and deeper, faster, spasms of something that could have been pleasure, might have been pain tensing across his gut, his hips shifting in rhythm with the relentless thrusting.
"They used to call orgasm the little death, you know, James. Because people thought that was what dying must feel like." James felt the fist holding the gun shift as Alec's finger tightened on the trigger. "Shall we see if they were right?"
A hand snaked around his waist, grasping the cock that had hardened with Alec's words. "Do you want it, James? One. Last. Rush." Each word was punctuated by a harsh thrust of the gun, as fingers danced lazily over his twitching cock. "The penetration, the pain, life's fluid rushing out." James didn't know if Alec was talking about being fucked or being shot, didn't care as long as the voice and the fingers just didn't stop.
"So perfect." A soft murmur, almost imperceptible. The gun stilled momentarily as Alec suddenly leaned forward and licked a path over James's hip before tilting his head up, serious eyes boring into 007. "Do you want to get closer to God, James?"
"No, I--" he stopped. He had no idea what he wanted to say, wanted to ask for. It didn't matter anyway.
The distinctive click froze him. Too late to say no. Too late to reuse this final invasion. Tracy, his deepest thoughts whispered. He had expected his life to flash before him, but all that came to mind was her name, and the shining girl waiting for him.
And then he realised he was still alive.
"You fucking *bastard*!"
"Did you enjoy that?"
Bond began to shake his head, to swear at him. Trevelyan simply pulled the gun muzzle out and thrust it back in, and instead he arched, groaned, came.
"How does it feel, out there, on the edge?" Alec whispered, so close to James's ear he might have been mouthing tender love words. "Standing unbalanced on the edge of the world and falling... and not dying. Isn't that why you do this. Isn't that why you want this," the gun moved again, and James moaned gutturally. "Isn't that why you *love* this?"
The silence was suffocating, it filled the room with an almost tangible presence. The gun slid in again. Both their heads snapped up at a minute sound from near the door. James's legs were swept out from under him as the gun ripped out of him, the sight tearing his skin as it was jerked through his hole. Every hair on his back stood on end as a bullet skimmed his back, the sound reaching his ears a split second later. He stared in horror as one last SPECTRE agent, already bloody and battered, met his eyes, then fell to the floor, a neat hole straight through the bridge of his nose, the back of his head gaping and raw.
"Jesus fucking Christ," James swore, ice cold. He rolled onto his back, and every muscle untensed as he saw the second gun in Alec's hand, his own bloody and smeared darkly, Alec's aimed in a dead line for the intruder.
"Why, James," Alec smirked benignly at him. "You didn't think I'd actually shoot you did you?
"You're far too much fun to get rid of just yet."
---The End---