galumphing through life

anon, this is SO GOOD. Had to jump to work on it immediately, we all know even the villains can't resist his witty charm and pathetic puppy dog eyes. hope I was able to do this request justice!!!

I wasn't too sure how to fully rope in the spoiling him bit, but he definitely does get the special treatment 👀 also i vague abt readers job specifics, so y'all can decide what kind of villain you are!

- Like a Moth To a Flame

first light!James Bond x M!Villain Reader

tags\other notes: post canon, no spoilers for 007 First Light, bisexual James Bond, queer reader, !Villian Reader, no use of y\n for reader, non descriptive reader, mutual attraction, banter as flirting, tension, eventually resolved tension, whats the opposite of slow burn, very fast burn???? touched starved James Bond, possibly mildly dubious circumstances? though it is heavily implied james is getting even more of a kick out of this than reader, he might have undiagnosed bdsm, enemies with benefits, psst nobody tell MI6

"Who is he?"

"Clearly some MI6 rat… only they would have the nerve to try to pull something like this off."

"But why now?"

"I'll tell you why; it's this catastrophe with the Webbs. MI6 is getting bolder by the minute, thinking they are invincible…"

"Sir?"

You took your eyes off the floor, your colleagues still discussing theories through a call, your phone right next to you, their disgruntled voices on speaker. You looked up to the lackey who peeked his head through the door, gesturing for you that things were 'ready'.

"____, we want answers." You were told through the phone.

"Then I'll get you some." You hung up, taking in a breath and heading out the door. You straightened your shirt as you went down the hall, your footsteps echoing every click and thump, till you reached the room where your surprise guest had been kept. The alleged MI6 agent who had slipped into your own home under the cover of night, in hopes of retrieving something. What he sought to find in particular, you were not so certain yet; you had quite a lot that sticky fingers wished to grab, to steal or to sell to the highest bidder. But this agent—he had been the only one to get this far. You could admit that you were fairly intrigued by him; you knew his fabled name, and the apparent boldness he carried in order to do such a job, but you had not matched the face to it until now.

The door slowly snapped shut behind you, the light of the room low. Ahead of you was the agent, tied to a chair with his hands behind his back, a cloth wrapped around and covering his mouth. His head hung low; exhausted and spent, you could easily see. "He hasn't talked." One of your security guards came up to you, keeping a quiet voice, the other beside him twiddling a pocket knife through his fingers, suggesting: "I could change that. Just give me the go-ahead and—"

"That won't be necessary." You stopped him there. "Leave."

They listened to you at once, scampering out of the room, leaving you and the agent all on your own. You walked up to him, leisurely, unthreatening; you had no intention of using brute force to get the information you wanted. But still, his breath hitched as you stood behind him, undoing the cloth, your touch striking a bit of life back into him. You pulled over a chair then and sat down in front of him, his eyes finally wandering up to meet yours. "James Bond, the name on everyone's lips recently. You broke into this building like it was nothing, and took down twenty of my men in barely ten minutes." You had found yourself watching the CCTV footage as it happened earlier, honestly impressed by his smooth efficiency as he fought. Whoever trained him had done so starkly well—but evidently hadn't thoroughly toughened him, by the way his eyes continued to falter from you, or how his shoulders tensed at the spike of your voice.

"If your going to kill me, I'd rather you just skip the lecture, yeah?" James spoke up, his voice like a dull blade that once carried a fierce sharpness.

"I'm not." You said. Perhaps at first you had planned to—perhaps, had it been someone else, you would have killed them on the spot. You should treat him like any other criminal who tried robbing you, but now face-to-face with the culprit, it truly felt as if you couldn't.

Perhaps you simply did not want to.

Bond's brows furrowed, lifting his head to look at you straight on, the small expression on his face surprised by your answer, almost as if to say: 'well, why not?'

You had seen that questioning look before, the kind that often belonged to men who constantly found themselves dancing on the edge of danger. Tasting it, testing it's limits, men who were like yourself. You wondered just how close James Bond was willing to dance into dangerous territory.

You stood to your feet, taking a look at the nearby table that had Bond's belongings scattered all over it, most of it looking like mundane everyday items. You picked up the golden colored gun, running your fingers over the cool shining surface and the little indentations. "This is nice. Where did you get something like this?"

"You'd be surprised what you can find at second hand stores these days." He told you, a quietly sarcastic glint in his tone.

His little quip actually made you smile.

"What did they send you here for?" You tried returning back to the important topic at hand, though it really did not interest you much anymore. You were suddenly more interested in him, rather than what his job was. Still, you pretended to care.

"I'm afraid that's classified." He said.

"Is it? A rhetorical question; you shifted around the watch now in your hands, which only held a kindle of finery compared to it's owner. You approached him again, his back straightening at your closeness. You reached out a hand, grabbing him by his chin—a hum, almost a whimper escaping his throat as you held him. Your hold was not strong, Bond could have pulled away if he wished, but he didn't. Your fingers slunk down his neck, your thumb pressing against his adams apple, feeling it bob as he swallowed hard. He kept your gaze, something you couldn't take away just yet, seeing the small shake in his eyes. The familiar look of a wounded man, who's life was scattered and misplaced like puzzle pieces, which he so desperately was trying to bring back together. No, this agent did not deserve to be battered and wrung like the rest; you wanted to give him better. You could.

"How about we do this a different way?" You let go of him, having an idea then.

"What sort of… different? " He sounded a bit winded.

"We'll talk. Just… more comfortably. You can come up to my apartment and we'll settle whatever it is you came here for."

Bond scoffed to that, a small grin lifting on his lips. "And how am I supposed to know your not just going to kill me as soon as I'm there?"

"Well, you don't." You admitted. "But I can't exactly trust you either, can I? Your the one who just broke into my home, with the intention of—what? Killing, robbing me? How do I know you won't shoot me dead the second I let you go?"

"Touché."

"But, then again, I don't think you will." You stepped behind his chair, undoing his ties. Bond still watched you cautiously, messaging his bruised wrists from the binds, but clearly enough watching with a generous helping of curiosity. He stood, eyeing you up. "What do you say?"

"You only live once."

You tossed Bond back his watch, a show of relative trust. "Though, I believe I'll be keeping these," You gestured to the gadgets and the golden gun on the table. "Until we are… a bit more aquatinted?"

"I suppose that's fair enough." Bond nodded, strapping on his watch to his wrist. "A bit… unorthodox."

"You caught me on a good night." Maybe it was just him that was making it good. You strolled to the door, opening it and gesturing for him to come over. You knew it would spell trouble for you inviting an MI6 agent further into your own house, or, at least your peers and security would certainly think so; you were practically offering Bond exactly what he was searching for, served on a silver shouting platter. But, then again, every mouse sneaking inside a home needed a bit of cheese to nibble on before the trap sprung.

The metaphorical cheese in this sense? Well, you, of course. Though, you hadn't exactly planned for that.

You brought him through the building and up to your penthouse, dismissing the rest of the security there, regardless of their suspicious stares and overall, fairly understandable concern. "So, I was on the wrong floor." Bond remarked, taking a look at the wide space. Though, the comment felt as if it was pointed to whoever gave him the wrong directions.

"You were supposed to come here?" You weren't so surprised; leave it to MI6 to net the fish in their sleep. Or you in your bed. "I'll give it to you, this isn't exactly an easy building to crack. Sometimes I get locked out of the damn place."

Taking out a good bottle from the drawer, you offered him a drink—but he eyed the glass as if he had already fallen for this kind of trick before. You took a swig of the drink yourself; it really was just alcohol, which he took then after. You stood across from each other, the flickering lights of the city behind you out the tall windows. "Can't say I've ever been given the five-star treatment when it comes to interrogations." He said.

"Who said this was an interrogation?" You quirked your head as you took a sip of your own drink.

"Well, then just what is it?"

"An honest conversation between two men who know what they want. No questions needed to be asked." You answered, setting down your drink and leaning against the small side table by you. "But I do have one more for you…" You closed the space between the two of you, one hand rested on the table, while your other adjusted the collar of Bond's jacket, hearing him take in a breath in response to your touch, the same as he had in the chair. The same desperate glint in his eyes that showed he was hungry for that touch; abandoning the task to dance with the threat he was supposed to extinguish. "Do you like playing with fire, Mr. Bond?"

You noticed the way his lips lifted toward a barely hidden, sly smile. He took out the earpiece he had and chucked it over onto the lounge chair, discarding whomever may be tuning in right as you stepped forward and pinned him up against the side table, making it shake as you welcomed his lips to yours. Bond sighed with relief; a sound you could get used to hearing.

You could tell it was going to be a drawn out night, but that's all something your colleagues and MI6 didn't need to know the little details of anymore.