Octobuffy
by Spikesdeb
Chapter 1
Buffy walked smartly from the hall, her high heels clacking on the polished parquet. She thought she'd done pretty well; the board were certainly chuckling and seemed to be comfortable with her. The questions had been tough, some scenarios needed agile thinking in order to come up with a satisfactory outcome, but she'd managed it. It helped that Spike had given her pointers on how to deal with this hurdle on her way to becoming a 00 agent. Not cheating mind, just sound advice.
Harris had had his own inimitable view on the matter: “Time to wheel out the big guns, Buff. Prime those bazookas and zap ‘em with a low-cut top, maybe the pink one, and wear that skirt with the thigh-high split.” Of course, Spike had growled at his fellow agent and the two got into their usual quipping contest.
Still, he'd meant well. And she did consider it... for about five seconds. Nope - power dressing was the way to go. She’d plumped for a navy suit, well cut and expensive, teamed with a cream silk shirt and high heels. Her hair was twisted into a neat chignon and held in place with a silver clip and her nails were manicured and polished. Every spy she knew had the same look; suave, sophisticated, effortless grace. Beneath the surface they were coiled weapons of destruction but outwardly – unruffled and in control. That was the look she was going for.
And now she just had to wait....
+ + + + +
Spike Blond checked his watch and his cellphone for the hundredth time. Surely it'd be over by now? He hated being on a different continent to Buffy and thought wryly that this was only the start of it. If he was nervous now when she was safely ensconsed at MI13 HQ in England, he dreaded to think what he’d be like when she was off on an assignment and incommunicado. But would he really want her any other way? Buffy was passionate about life and love and following her recent forays into the world of global espionage, it was inevitable that she'd refuse to sit behind a desk again. Damned good at the spy stuff, too. In fact, she was so good that her fellow trainees had nicknamed her Slayer. So now they both had pseudonyms for their bloodthirsty alter egos.
Finally! Spike flipped his ringing cellphone. “Buffy?”
“Hi, darling! It's done. I think it went well. Miss me?”
“What do you think? I’ve not seen you for three bloody weeks. I'm fit to burst, Buffy, I think it's affecting my brain now. A man shouldn't have to go it alone, you know. I mean, you did promise to worship me with your body.”
Buffy laughed; she knew exactly how he felt. She was horny as hell and desperate to feel his lips on hers. But it was just a few more days for debriefing and she’d be on her way home. Maybe she could come up with a way of relieving their frustration.
“You all alone, William?”
Spike smiled. William. That meant she was plotting something. He felt his balls tighten; Buffy only called him William now when they were being intimate.
“Yes, all alone. So very alone. You see my wife's gone gallivanting off somewhere without me.”
“Tsk. I've only been gone three weeks! Big baby – how about you go and find somewhere private. I think we need to have a little... talk.”
Buffy pushed at the doors as she walked along the dimly lit corridor, finally finding one unlocked. It opened onto an empty room so she slipped in and closed it firmly behind her and leant back against it, her phone pressed to her ear and her heart pounding.
“All right, Buffy. I'm somewhere very private – you remember our stock cupboard? Yeah, that one - the dried paint’s still on the floor. In fact, there's a nice outline of your beautiful bum in it. I kid you not!”
Buffy rolled her eyes, completely lost on him on the other side of the world but merited, nonetheless. “Okay, Mr Blond. Now we’re alone, why don’t you tell me what you want to do to me.”
Spike groaned; the little minx! He'd been taking ice-cold showers since she'd been gone in a vain effort to subdue the heat he’d been packing ever since she’d left, and now she was using her best seduction voice on him. His hand was already teasing at the buckle on his belt.
“Oh I think I'd have to punish you for your boldness, Mrs Blond. Place a red handprint on that perfect silky bottom of yours. Maybe give you a little nip to keep you in your place. Would you like that, Buffy? Would you like me to bite you on your gorgeous arse?”
Judging by Buffy's whimper down the phoneline, that was precisely what she’d like. Spike continued, getting into the swing of things now. His hand cupped his balls and slid along to outline his erection, squeezing himself through the cloth and imagining his wife's hot little hands wrapped around him.
“Of course, I’ll kiss it better. Touch where you want my mouth, Buffy. Tell me what you're doing.”
Buffy felt the blush rise in her cheeks. She'd started this little game so why in hell was she feeling embarrassed now? Wasn't even as if anybody could see her, and it wasn't the first time she'd brought herself off on thoughts of Spike and his cool, dead but extremely fit body. Hell, he'd watched her do it hundreds of times!
She took a deep breath, Spike's voice sounding in her ear. "Where are your hands, Buffy? Are you wearing a skirt? Is it short? What about panties? Talk to me."
Buffy sank to the floor, her feet flat and hip width apart, knees falling open to reveal crisp cotton panties covering her mound beneath her knee-length skirt. She wore a garter-belt holding up sheer black stockings. That always made him drool...
"I just left the boardroom, so I’m still in schoolmarm mode. This skirt is so constricting...I’m sliding it up my thighs. Oh! What's this? A suspender holding up my stockings. Shall I leave them on? I'm stroking the soft skin just where the lacy... you know where I mean...mmmm."
Spike's strangled reply made her grin. "Okay, I'm moving my hand further up...further...further. Ooooh that made me shiver. And I'm all smooth 'cause I've waxed. Except that little bit in the middle that you like. Can you see me, baby? Can you imagine how I feel?"
Spike nodded dumbly, the phone clamped between shoulder and cheek as he used both hands to get his trousers undone and shoved down his thighs so that his cock could spring out.
"I can't hear you, William. Shall I stop?"
"NO! Don't stop...please. Where are your fingers?"
"I'm tracing my nails down over my mound, curving round to press my panties against my clit. White panties, all virginal and fresh cotton. Does that surprise you?”
Spike hissed in reply.
“Just before the interview I had to change out of the pretties you gave me. You know the ones, so sheer I might as well not be wearing any. I knew they’d be trouble – couldn’t be distracted from the business...in hand. A good thing too, these are soaking wet now, clinging to my skin. Mmmmm."
Buffy closed her eyes, getting lost in the moment as she caressed herself through the cotton. She squirmed, panting for breath.
"Buffy! Slip your hand inside the cloth, look at yourself – tell me what you you're doing."
Buffy shifted the phone to rest on her shoulder, nestled against her cheek, and bent forward to see her hand disappear down the front of her panties. The fingers were outlined against the wet material, curved knuckles moving rhythmically. God this was making her so wet! She touched her clit and moaned low in her throat, Spike hearing her on the other end of the phone line.
"Christ, Buffy! You're killing me. What's happening now?"
Spike stroked himself slowly, desperate to last longer than a sodding teenager on a first date, but if she made that sound one more time he'd shoot his load all over the A4 pads and HB pencils. With his other hand he gripped the base of his cock and gritted his teeth.
"I'm...I'm...oh, Spike. I wish you were here...I need..."
"Tell me baby....what do you need?"
"I need you inside me. I need to taste you, need to feel your cock stretching me, filling me, burning."
Spike heard her pants as she was near to orgasm, but he didn't want it to end so soon.
"Buffy, touch your tits for me, want to know your nipples are hard. Are they hard?"
Buffy nodded this time, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she fought for control.
"Uh huh" she managed. "I'm squeezing my breast, the nipple's rolling in my fingers. It's so hard, Spike – so hard for you... needs your tongue...your special tongue"
That was it. Enough.
"Fuck! Buffy, come on baby – come with me. Finger fuck yourself, I'm gonna shoot any minute now. You're laid spread in front of me on your back, legs wide with your fingers buried in your sweet cunny. Gonna cover you with my come, Buffy, all over your pretty little titties."
Spike's hand was moving faster and faster, his other squeezing his balls, his hips bucking furiously as he imagined Buffy's fingers strangled by her hot pussy. Buffy's whimpers of pleasure urged him on.
"Oh god...oh god...yes...Spike! Gonna come, baby!" Buffy howled her pleasure as her pussy pulsated around her fingers, her other hand squeezing her nipple almost painfully as she sought release. She heard Spike growl her name across the ocean and the deep guttural sound drew out her orgasm until she was limp with satisfaction.
Spike stilled his hand as he felt the build up in his balls. He tried to contain the spurts in his hand but he was so keyed up and beyond control he couldn't, his come painting the walls and spattering the supplies. He'd fix it later...when he could move.
After a minute or two, Spike's eyes had cleared of stars and he slumped to the floor, pants at halfmast and his cock now limp.
"Buffy? You alright, pet?"
Buffy managed a murmur. "'s. 'm fine. Need a sec..."
“And a third...” Spike grinned. God how he'd love to see her now, skirt up around her waist, fingers buried inside her snatch and covered by virginal white pants. Oh shit, don’t go there...that wasn't good. He looked down and willed his renewed erection to subside. He had work to do. And Buffy was still being assessed.
"All right. I'm better now. Think I can get my legs to work – and I so need a change of underwear."
"Yeah, sounds like. And since when did you do sensible white knickers, pet? Not that I'm complaining mind, in fact you might bring some home. Marks and Sparks’ best passion killers, eh? Now that’s something I can really get my teeth into."
Buffy laughed at the other end of the phone. Typical. Here she was trying to wear the least erotic underwear she could think of so as to quell her Spike longings and now he'd elevated them to the rank of sex toys. And what the hell was Marks and Sparks?
"I wish I was home." Buffy's voice was low, on the verge of tears now.
"Two days, kitten, is all. Two days before you get back and we’ve five whole days together. Can you hold on until then?"
"Guess I'm gonna have to. But I miss you."
"Miss you too, kitten. Ring me later?"
Spike hung up after telling Buffy he loved her, his voice breaking as he said the words. What a ponce! Called himself the Big Bad? The nancyboy poet he’d been in his human life had been all too vocal since he’d been with Buffy. He got to his feet, tucking himself back into his pants and looking around for something to clean up with. He'd managed to snag a piece of packing material and was wiping the wall when he heard the door open, spinning round in alarm.
"I think we have a cleaner to do that, 00666." Cordelia breezed in and reached to the top shelf for a pack of pens. "And what are you doing in ...ewwwww!"
Cordy's eyes caught up with her brain and she squealed as she spotted the tell-tale signs of a good wank decorating the wall and shelving. Blushing furiously, she backed out of the storeroom, pens clutched in her hand, her eyes fixed on Spike Blond in his still-life tableau against the wall. He was without words. After all, what was there to say?
Shutting the door behind her, Cordy rested against it. She was so embarrassed...and incredibly horny. Damn it! As Spike Blond was definitely off limits and her other target, Harris, was off on a mission, she'd have to make do with her own tender ministrations. Brushing a hand across her hardened nipples, Cordy rushed off to the ladies to relieve her frustrations.
+ + + + +
The next day.....LONDON
Buffy perched nervously on the hard chair, twisting her hands together in her lap and patting her hair to ensure it was all neat and tidy. She licked her lips, and glanced for the hundredth time over to the door at the other end of the room. Why were they keeping her waiting? Was she that bad?
Eventually, the door creaked and swung open admitting the Training CEO and her two assistants. Buffy swallowed; the papers they held in their hands contained her future. She stood, the chair scraping across the tiled floor, the sound echoing in the large hall.
"Miss Summerpenny...or do you prefer Mrs Blond? Well, whichever – please sit."
The stiffly formal woman sat behind the mahogany table and crossed her legs precisely, arranging the papers in front of her and steepling her hands. Buffy felt like a country hick in contrast, aware of the beads of sweat that peppered her upper lip and the creases to her jacket. She'd heard that Gwendolyn Post was a cold fish; the rumours were right. Miss Hatchet Features looked like sucking lemons would be her idea of a good time. What a sourpuss!
Still, she was definitely powerful, heading up the selection committee for all new agents seeking the coveted 'licensed to kill' status denoted by the 00 prefix. Maybe that was pleasure enough for her.
"Either will do. Really." Buffy smiled, trying to radiate serenity and not blinding panic.
"Yes. Quite. I presume you've discussed your experiences with your husband?"
"Yes. But I mean...just to tell him how I am, not to ask him for tips. I've got through on my own merit."
Ms Post smiled, more of a grimace really. "Yes. No doubt." Thing was, the hardened career woman was seriously shaken. Buffy's test scores were off the scale for a female agent; in fact they were better than most of the males. She seemed singularly gifted for life in the field and there was no doubt that she'd be admitted to the hallowed ranks of the 00s. However, there was one final hurdle for this particular candidate to face. Traditionally it was waived, but as Buffy's sponsor had been G – a hateful man who had once had the effrontery to question her suitability for her high-power role – Gwendolyn Post was determined there’d be no leeway given in this instance.
Buffy's jaw was aching with the fake smile she'd plastered on. She wanted nothing more than to hurdle the desk and punch the smug face of Gwendolyn frigging Post for dragging things out. Her lips twitched; that was a Spikeism – and she'd even said it in her head in her husband's voice!
"Ms Blond," the curtailment of 'Mrs' was deliberate. "I am authorised to inform you that you have successfully met the criteria required for an active field agent." Buffy's forced smile turned into a beaming grin. "However, there is one final requirement before you can receive your 00 accreditation."
What was this? G hadn't mentioned any final requirement; she was under the impression that it was just the question and answer session, the simulated missions that needed her solutions and she was home and dry. She knew she'd topped the group in all the physical tests, and her psychological results were A1. This was wrong; but she'd play along for now until she could check in with W and G.
"And that would be?" She couldn't keep the harsh edge from of her voice and watched Gwendolyn Post's eyes turn glitteringly hard. Oops.
Her malovelent glare never left Buffy's face, her voice brittle with repressed anger that this girl would dare to challenge her in that way. "You will be given an assignment. Succeed and you will be licensed to kill; fail and you will be regraded. You are free to go for now. I suggest you contact your husband, Ms Blond, if you wish to advise him of your continued absence."
"Continued absence? But...I'm flying home tomorrow." Buffy's eyes filled with tears despite her best efforts; it had been a tough three weeks, both physically and emotionally without Spike to lean on. And now they had to be apart for even longer?
"No, Ms Blond. You are not. And if you are serious about a career as a spy I suggest you learn to control your emotions and stop acting like a spoilt little girl. Your mission details will be sent to the workstation in your room by 08:00 tomorrow morning. Good day."
Gwendolyn Post stalked out, her minions following after her. The closing door echoed hollowly as Buffy's head sank to rest on her crossed arms as she gave vent to her anger and disappointment and sobbed.
+ + + + +
Sunndyale
W raised an eyebrow at Blond as he pushed the door open with such force that it dented the plaster. She'd been expecting the outburst ever since G had come bowling into her room complaining about 'that insufferable woman' but even so, the vampire looked mightily pissed. Unconsciously, she backed her chair away from the desk a little, the fight or flight adrenaline kicking in.
"What the fuck’s going on, W?"
W sipped her drink slowly, refusing to show the spy that he had her rattled. She was the boss, after all. "Close the door, Blond. Quietly. And for goodness sake sit down. I can't talk to you when you pace around, makes me dizzy." When he stood in front of her, fists clenched, she barked out orders. "I said sit, Blond. Either sit or leave."
Spike slumped relucantly into one of the chairs in front of her desk, bouncing down with enough force to kick it backwards. He scowled, his brow ridges hardening then smoothing in his obvious effort to control his temper. W could honestly say that she'd never been scared of Blond, despite his demon side – until now. God help Gwendolyn Post!
"I take it you've spoken to Buffy?"
"Yes, I have. I don't get it, W. It’s unheard of for a novice 00 to go straight to active status. Normally it's just 'well done, now piss off back to base, we’ll be in touch’. And it's a solo mission. What the hell’s that about? It’s too dangerous, she's untried."
"Which is the reason for the mission, Blond." W spoke softly, willing the vampire to calm down and listen. Truth be told, she'd been just as shocked when the orders had come through from London but they were all signed, stamped and authenticated. It had never happened before to her knowledge but the authority was there in black and white. Buffy must have seriously offended the prissy Ms Post.
Spike slumped back, his forehead now smooth. "But W...she'll be all alone."
"William. You knew when Buffy asked for an upgrade to active agent that there'd be times when she was away on a mission. After all, she has to put up with it every time you go off spying. Just believe in her. She's a strong woman and will make a first-class operative, she'll be fine."
W finished the sentence silently. 'I’m going to make sure of it.'
*CUT TO: A motel room, simply furnished, floor strewn with guns, hastily shrugged off clothes and boots. A tv plays in the corner failing to cover the moaning and grunting coming from the bed. "So, Mrs Blond...you think you're ready for active duty, do you?" More groans, sounds of flesh on flesh. "Think you can handle it?" A tussle. A thud as the couple land on the floor. "Oh, I think you know I can handle...IT...just fine, 00666." A strangled cry. "Buffy! I know I said hands-on combat training, but that's just cheating!"
DOO . DOO . DOOOOOOOOOO . DOO . DOO . DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. DOO . TE . DOO.