Ballad: The Inadvertent Climb of the Ancient Mariner — Part 1
Q tells the ancient Mariner,
“Your prime has long since passed.
You will get no tech from Q Branch
While you are in that cast.”
Bond looms, glowers, and has a fit,
Bond calls him snot-nosed boy.
“It won’t be snot you half blind bat.
Find others to annoy.”
Dismissed. —Q turns his gaze away,—
Bond feels alone and cold.
Just then Q nibbles on his lip,
Bond hankers for a scold.
Bond wants those burning eyes on him,
unleash his massive…wit.
He will shut him up nice and good,
Then make it hard to sit.
Heated looks, a seductive purr,
a comment on his spots,
the boy will eat out of his hand,
then Bond will call the shots.
Bond turns on the charm, casts his bait
—It’ll only take one night—
But cannot catch a bite all week,
He can’t catch one green light.
Bond stalks his prey back to his flat,
but they don’t get it on.
Q sets him to cooking dinner,
Bond deems it a long con.
Bond comes back and he cooks some more,
Q rubs him like a burr.
Bond does scowl, but he looks some more,
Bond feels an ancient stir,
To grab hold of that mop of hair
And put Q in his place,
Be the one to give the orders,
Wipe the…smug from his face.
So Bond flexes and unleashes
The smolder that disarms,
But Q won't pay him any mind,
He won't fall to his charms.
Q, oblivious to his ploy,
Never fails to scold him.
Bond shouldn't worry for the boy,
Nor have want to hold him.
Q should take more care with his health,
Bond hangs around a bunch,
Makes sure Q’s naps are undisturbed
and brings him tea and lunch.
Bond still stalks the boffin
He watches and he waits
Bond fancies himself a lion
Though his heart complicates.
Bond has put a lot of time in,
He's waiting for the perk.
Until Q will do his bidding,
Bond will still scheme and lurk
Bond goes in to requalify
He’ll settle for no less.
Abatement is not an option
Nothing is left to guess
Retirement is not for him.
Bond will die in the field.
He will burn this place down before
he will agree to yield
He leaves in a daze, shakes his head,
and hears the door swing shut.
He goes over the afternoon,
All he can say is “What?”
“What the fuck just happened?” Bond asks.
He takes Q and shakes him
“You wanted to call the shots, Bond.
So you are our new M.”
That smirking boy, that fluffy brat.
Insolent little shite.
He's done it now, Bond’s on the hook.
The devil’s eyes shine bright.
He settles in, he grinds his teeth,
He looms over meetings
he cannot shoot his way out of,
longs for ease of beatings.
He digs in, he clenches his jaw
He looms and he forebodes
He strives to keep the ship on course
No matter how Q goads.
The heads all need a poisoning,
The agents should be shot.
Don’t get him started on Finance
And funds they won’t allot.
All week they comb through the intel
for something sinister
it all comes down to they’ve a right
Twat for Prime Minister
Q, the demanding little shite
Won't let him place a hit
“Thought I was meant to call the shots,”
Bond mutters, “I could quit.”
“Now, now you ridiculous lug,
Careful what you wish for.”
“I wished for you in bed,” Bond says.
“And I have yet to score.”
“You hoped I would be so enthralled
By your much vaunted cock
When I rebuffed your seduction
I’m sure it was a shock.” (Cont.)
Poetry Prompt Table: Ballad & 2017 Prompt No. 64 James becomes M AU