Q sucks in a little breath when he feels James' lips press against his hair. He shivers. And he's not cold at all. Not now.
"No, no, no one said anything," he says. "We didn't really have any kind of- there was no real contact with...I know there was a man. There was a man there but-" Q shakes his head, because he doesn't know what else to say, how else to describe what he'd seen or where he was. His job had been to describe things, to work these things out, to tell James, even.
Disappointed with himself, he leans against James and lets him lead him the way home. He nods at the offer of a cigarette, his cheek resting on James' shoulder, his cold hands finding one of James, closing around it. Despite their touches, despite the fact that they've kissed, slept together, holding his hand seems surprisingly intimate.
"Missed cigarettes more than proper food. I'm terrible."