She almost got a fright when she hears the click of the door, she had been sure that she was pretty much the only one left in the building by this time. All of the lights of her office except her desk lamp had been turned out and the spectrum of street and window lights from outside were stopped from making any impact by the tinted glass; it was pitch black at the outskirts of the room. For a moment, the stealth and quiet footing with which her visitor stepped into her office made her think that she was about to be kidnapped. But then he stepped further into the room, just into the edge of the pool of light. It was Bond. Of course it was Bond.

She breathed a sigh of relief, which she did her best to disguise as a huff of dissatisfaction at his presence. At the moment he seemed to be completely immune to any kind of rebuke from her, and, uninvited, pulled out the chair from the other side of her desk and sat down.

"I hope they're paying you overtime," was the first thing he said to her.

Glancing carelessly at her watch, she tried to hide her surprise at seeing that it was nearly half past two in the morning. She wasn't altogether sure how she'd ended up here so late, she just knew that earlier that evening, when the all clear had come through from Bond and the mission had officially been closed, she had sat down and tried to catch up on paper work, and clearly she had neglected to move since then. Knowing what time it was now made her feel almost tempted to yawn, but instead she only smiled at him sardonically.

"You should know better than anyone, 007, MI6 doesn't really separate normal working hours from overtime. We'd all be bloody millionaires then."

He smiled too, leaning back in his chair.

"Then what are you still doing here?" he asked.

Sensing that this could be a long conversation, she flicked the sleep button on her computer.

"I could ask you the same question," she replied, "Straight after a mission, what are you doing here when you're allowed to be at home?" Her eyes narrowed a little, "Or, more to the point, what are you doing here when you would normally have broken into my flat by now and be lounging around on the sofa in my flat, helping yourself to my drink?"

He looked at her with an absolutely earnest expression.

"I've already been there," he told her.

"You've...!" her surprise nearly made her lose her temper in spite of herself, but then, sinking wearily back into her chair and rubbing her hand tiredly over her forehead, "Oh," she sighed, regarding him with some undeniable irritation.

He was still smiling.

"What are you doing here, then?" she asked him, "If you've already made it to my house. And I hope you locked whichever door or window you got in through behind you."

"It was your bedroom, actually," he told her, "And, yes, I closed the window."

"You certainly know how to endear yourself, Mr Bond," she half-snarled.

"That was about half an hour ago," he continued, unperturbed by her menacing tones, "When I decided that you were so late that I'd better come here and check that you hadn't been murdered or kidnapped or anything like that."

He spoke without a hint of irony now, and she could have found his impression of care for her touching. But even if she did, she wasn't going to let him know.

"Well, I haven't been," she supplied unnecessarily, "I'm here and in perfect health."

"If a little tired."

"If a little tired," she agreed, without thinking about it, and instantly regretting it when she saw the corners of his mouth perk a little further, "Really, Bond, is there any particular attraction in getting me to concede weakness?" she snapped in another burst of frustration, looking sharply at him over her hand.

"Not weakness, no," he replied, "But humanity. Knowing that you're not a machine."

"Well, I'm sure that that's not meant to be a compliment," she replied shortly, shifting back her chair and standing up, "But I don't care."

He was looking up at her as she walked around the desk, if only slightly, their heights only a little different with him sitting and her standing, even in high shoes. Damn the man. Damn him. His lips curled further into a smile, there was something very assured in the way he was sitting. He must be as tired as she was, but he didn't show it one bit.

"Just endearing myself," he told her.

She snorted.

"Don't you bet on it, Bond," she told him, patting him firmly on the shoulder, "Not to this machine."

She spoke the word with more weight than she might have done; it had hurt coming from him. Only a little, but it had hurt nevertheless. Especially given the way she had worried about him earlier that day when she thought he might be in danger. Perhaps it was her fault for being so sentimental. Perhaps she was getting too old, too old for all of these late nights and this worrying...

Her hand had not left his shoulder, and it was only now that she noticed. He had certainly noticed.

Lifting her hand from his shoulder, she pressed her palm against his cheek, running the pad of her thumb down the edge of his nose, almost curiously, experimentally. Unless she was mistaken, she felt his skin grow a little warmer under her hand as if he were flushing.

"You don't need to endear yourself to me," she told him quietly, whispering in his ear, letting him feel her hot breath against his skin- why not taunt him a little bit too?-, "We're stuck together, Bond, you and I, till death us do us part and then only if we're lucky. I'm the one woman in the world I promise you you'll never have to seduce."

That was enough. She knew it as soon as she felt his arms around her, lifting her, settling her none too gently back on her desk, planting his lips on hers and kissing her thoroughly. She knew she had given him more than permission when she touched his face like that. Always she had enjoyed winding him up, always found him attractive, always wanted to put that certain air of sex that he carried with him to the test. Only now had she worked up, not the nerve exactly, but the curiosity and the bravery at the same time. And now he was all but lying between her legs and she was being paid back for it amply.

As they broke apart, it was her turn to smile at him, almost impishly.

"Unless you want to, that is," she told him, finishing off the sentence he'd so welcomely cut short.

His hands her on her thighs, slipping between them, while he kissed her neck near the dip in the neckline of her black dress. Her shoes had fallen off her feet onto the carpet. That was the last point at which she wondered if she was too old to be fucked over a desk.

"I've always wanted to do this," he told her in a low, growling voice, lifting his head from the top of her bosom, "Always."

His hand brushed over the exposed skin at the top of her stockings, pushed her knickers aside and touched her so softly that she whimpered- half taken by the tenderness, half wanting more. She flicked her head with the motion of her hips, demanding more.

"Oh, Bond."

She wasn't tired now, she was alive. He caught her mouth with a kiss, pushing his tongue against hers, pressing his hand down on her hard. She breathed hard against his mouth, nearly panting. His lips withdrew from hers, joining his fingers at her groin, licking back and forth until her hips moved furiously, out of her control, and her back arched up off the desk, her knees trembling in a frantic orgasm.

He lifted his head up to watch her for a moment with an expression of the utmost satisfaction. She knew she must look quite a sight, her dress pushed up to her hips, her underwear all askew and her legs parted in careless abandon, but frankly she didn't care. She wanted him inside her.

"Bond," she told him, "I want you now, while I'm still like this."

Clearly through her blurring vision she saw his eyes widen a little, but then he hurried to undo his belt, pushing his trousers and boxers down, pushing inside her, filling her entirely, so that she moaned loudly as she continued to contract around him.

"Come on, James," she told him, wrapping her legs around him, "Don't hold back."

He groaned as he thrust into her, and she wondered for a moment if the desk was going to stand this.

"Oh, M," he growled in her ear, "Is this what you do every time someone turns up at your office late at night?"

She smiled, sucking his earlobe.

"Well, I'm only human, remember," she told him, "Not a machine like you are."

"You're a fucking goddess when you're like this."

She kissed him hard, and it was not long before they were both hurtling over the edge.

She was the first to recover. She bloody well made sure she was; disentangling herself from his limbs firmly but not callously, sitting up and beginning to right her dress, bending over and finding her shoes again. By the time they were on again he had sat up too, his hand resting on her knee. She did not slap his hand away but smiled at him.

Then she stepped down off the desk and, calmly as she could manage, and hooked her knickers off with one finger, smoothing her skirt back down.

When she met his eyes he was trying not to look shocked.

"Well, you can't expect me to sit all the way home in them," she told him reasonably, "They were absolutely soaked."

"Let me take you home," he told her.

"I suppose you'd better," she told him, "We haven't had our usual post-mission stake out in my flat."

"I was wondering if you might..."

"What?"

He stood up too

"Like some company after we've talked."

She glanced back at the desk, "That sort of company?" she asked curiously.

"Whatever you feel like," he told her.

She bit her lip mischievously.

"Alright, then, Bond. You can take me home. I'd like that. But," she warned him, "I think we may be sleeping for the rest of tonight at least, after all of the overtime we've both been putting in. I'm not sure what we'll get up to in the morning," she hoped the look in her eyes told him exactly what they'd be doing, "Or tomorrow night, for that matter."

He took her hand as they left the office. It would be on the CCTV tape, but a discrete word with Tanner to have a word with Q would fix that, and there was no one there to see them.

End.

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