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William Tanner was shocked. That was not a daily occurrence; in fact, he had never been a pearl-clutching dowager, and working at MI6 in the capacity of the Chief of Staff had rather inured him to that state, or so he had thought.Well, he'd known the old M, Mrs Mansfield, much longer and better, of course, and the old Q, Major Boothroyd, as well. The new M, Gareth Mallory, was an honourable enough man, he'd thought. In the aftermath of the near destruction of MI6 and the death of the old M, he'd taken command and had been doing a bang-up job for over a year now. The new Q was young, very young for his position, but brilliant and completely dedicated to his job as well as to the agents whose missions he often supported. Bill Tanner had never had any reason at all to think ill of either Q or M, until that day.Until about five minutes ago, actually, which he had spent standing motionless in front of M's office door in the aforementioned state of shock. His boss had just returned from a necessarily nerve-wracking meeting with the Prime Minister, and Tanner had thought to look in on the man and see if he could help with anything. Moneypenny was conspicuously absent from her desk; this should maybe have been a hint. Now Tanner was staring stupidly at the carved wood and listening to things he really didn't want to hear. The leather-padded, usually sound-proof door was slightly ajar, a careless and rather cruel oversight. M's cultivated tenor was clearly audible, as was Q's softer, younger public-school voice. Both, however, weren't anywhere near their usual crispness but sounded lower, huskier.Q was saying something in such a soft voice that Tanner didn't quite catch the words.“Oh, yes,” M replied, clearly audible but slow, languid and almost in a moan. Then he sighed, long and deep.“Like this?” Q murmured, his voice low, almost sensual.M made another obscene sound, this one clearly a long, low moan. “Yes, oh, right there.”He sighed again, and then added, “So good,” drawing out the the words to an impossible length. “Oh, Christ, Q, those hands of yours... so talented...”A soft, low laugh in a younger man's tenor. “It's always good to be appreciated, sir,” he said, his voice so soft it was hard to understand, soothing but with a spark of humour.M chuckled in response, a sound that became a moan again. “Q...”“Yes?” His voice was like warm, thick honey.“Could you... please...” M gasped.“A bit harder?” Q asked in that same low, honeyed tenor.“Oh yes, please...” Another sigh turned into a low, sensual moan. “Christ, yes, Q, like that... oh, right there! Yes... that's perfect...”Tanner stared at the door, wishing his body would overcome the shock and allow him to move away as quickly and as quietly and as far away as he could. M was babbling, wrecked, and Q was sounding like warm honey, and Tanner really wanted to be gone.“Could you... Q... a little harder?” M moaned.“I don't want to hurt you,” Q objected, his voice still warm and low and terribly caring.This was horrid to listen to. At MI6, the support staff was sometimes subjected to an audio or even visuals of one of the agent's seductions, but that was work and business and no more romantic or personal than watching porn, rather less, actually. This, though, this was private, tender, intimate. It was also a violation of several different rules, regulations and directives, not to forget basic ethics.Meanwhile, Q had apparently given in to M's entreaty, because the older man's groans of pleasure had become not louder but deeper in tone, and Tanner was becoming more and more indignant. Suddenly, he found that he could move, and the move he made was unexpectedly forward and through the door. What saw when he stepped through was a bit unexpected, but in a good way. Of course, it also left him horribly embarrassed, although he managed to keep his blush in check.In the ridiculously wide space of M's opulent office, a folding massage table had been set up. M was lying on it face down, looking extremely relaxed to the point of bonelessness. His back was bare, but he was still wearing his formal, creased woollen trousers, which were protected from the massage oil by a large fluffy towel draped over his waist and behind. Q was standing next to him, sans cardigan and with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and giving the Head of MI6 a methodical and very professional massage as he carefully kneaded the last knots out of the previously stressed man's back and neck with a slight, fond smile.When Tanner stepped through the door, Q didn't stop with his work but turned his head and met Tanner's eyes. M didn't even lift his head or open his eyes.The conversation that followed was quick and silent.A lift of Q's eyebrow and an enquiring tilt to his head – urgent?A quick shrug and head-shake – not very.A hand lifted, all five fingers spread out – done in five minutes.A firm nod – acknowledged. M's groans were subsiding into content little sighs, and he seemed close to falling asleep. Q finished the massage by slowly, firmly running down his flat hands from M's shoulders down to his waist. He did so several times, working from the spine outward towards the flanks with a healthy amount of pressure. Then he unfolded a large, fluffy towel, placed it over M's bare back, picked up a smaller towel to wipe the massage oil from his hands and finally set an alarm on M's phone, placing it in easy reach for the prone man.With everything accomplished, Q picked up his cardigan from a chair and moved towards Tanner and the exit with silent grace.After the padded door was closed behind them, Q said, “I've set his alarm to wake him up in about twenty minutes. It would be good for him to recharge with a little nap, that is, if you don't need him right now?”“No, not right now,” Tanner replied, then smirked at the younger man. “I didn't know you were a masseur, Q.”Far from offended, the Head of TSS laughed good-naturedly. “I learned that during my time at Uni,” he said. “At first I did it mainly to cause my brother a heart attack when I told him that I was working at a massage parlour. I had to take special classes and a test, but it was worth it, and not a bad way to earn some money. You can let your mind wander and relax a bit yourself, you know, settle your thoughts and let new ideas come to the surface. And you see immediate results in your patients, that's much more gratifying than paperwork. It's a strain on the hands, though; I'd forgotten just how much when I'm out of practice.”He stretched his slender but strong fingers and curled them into fists again several times, then shook out his hands. They smelled pleasantly of almond oil.“I thought that M maybe had a lousy time of it today at the budget meeting,” Tanner said. Anything to distract him from his lingering embarrassment.Q smiled slightly. “Sometimes those of us who don't carry guns or explosives have a stressful job as well.”He cleaned off his hands once more on the towel and then rolled down his sleeves, buttoned his cuffs and put his cardigan back on.“All too true,” Tanner agreed, heartfelt.The two men exchanged a smile, then Q glanced at his high-tech watch. “I need to go back downstairs; there's no telling what the minions have set on fire by now.”Tanner nodded. “I'll see that the boss isn't disturbed for half an hour.”“Ta,” Q replied with a boyish grin. “Laterz.”Tanner just laughed and waved him off, then sat down at Moneypenny's desk for a moment of uninterrupted thought.After all that, he supposed, there was even less left on earth that could possibly shock him. He stretched his back, felt it pop and sighed. Perhaps he should bring up hiring a professional masseur with the necessary security clearance for MI6 at the next meeting; with all the people working desk jobs, it did seem like a very good idea for increasing morale, efficiency and general employee health. Or so he told himself. ~Finis~