by Spikesdeb

Chapter 4

Buffy's mind was racing as she was swept along the corridor.  It appeared that Anyanka wasn’t going to blow her cover, so maybe she was also on a mission.  That made sense; after all it wouldn't just be MI13 who had an interest in the stolen material.  Anyanka's masters were probably just one of many espionage organisations willing to pay big bucks to get their hands on the research.   

Well not if she could help it.  Harris may have a thing going with the female spy but if it came down to it, Buffy would have no hesitation in kicking her scrawny ass.  Nothing was going to stop her claiming the coveted 00 status.  Of course, another possibility was that Anyanka Jenkinskovitch was on a secret mission to help her.   

Yeesh, this spy stuff could mess with your head!  She didn't know who was friend and who was foe now and she'd only been here a couple of hours.  Best thing to do was to just trust the one person she knew she could rely on – herself.  Remember your tradecraft.  Didn't Spike always tell her that?  Nautilust paused at the doorway to what she supposed was his quarters and she forced herself to stop her frantic musing and focus on the situation. 

“After you, Candy.”  Buffy was ushered into a stateroom ten times the size of the tiny cabin she was bunked in.  Her jaw dropped as she waded through deep red shag pile carpet so thick her feet sank into it.  Floor-level lighting washed the battle-grey walls with a psychedelic lightshow, but what dominated the room, and made Buffy's eyes goggle, was the mammoth circular waterbed that stood centre stage.  Piled with silk cushions and plush throws, it looked like orgy central had seen plenty of action.  Over in one corner there was a small table and four chairs set up, plus a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice in readiness.  There were only two glasses so Nautilust barked orders into the communication system to bring some more.  And another bottle. 

/It’s like Austin Powers’ dream bedroom...  Ha!  Bet that’s where he got his name from...Nautilust the groover/    

Anyanka and Hank followed them in, the Russian spy whispering excitedly into Hank's ear, her body draped across him as they walked.  Buffy envied her, completely unfazed by the whole weirdo set-up...not a hint of heart-pounding tension, unlike her own agitated pulse racing with trepidation.  Bitch. 

And just how far would Anyanka Jenkinskovitch be prepared to go for the mission?  Further than Harris would like, Buffy mused, though she is quite the multitasker.  She watched the Russian grab the back of Hank’s head with one hand and stick her tongue down his throat whilst simultaneously running her other hand up Nautilust’s thigh as he stood pressed close up behind her. 

Buffy was no prude – especially not after being with Spike Blond and his encyclopaedic knowledge of lovemaking for so long.  Her horizons had expanded big time – but being part of this fourway sandwich was not in her future plans.  No thank you.  Nuh huh. 

Hank, Anyanka and Nautilust were getting frisky on the bed now, shoes kicked off and clothing beginning to be loosened.  Thankfully, both men seemed fully occupied with the sultry siren giggling and writhing in between them, leaving Buffy free to casually wander around the cabin - apparently to admire the pieces of art on display but in fact searching for the information she had come for.  She spotted a workstation tucked against the wall, nothing special, just a laptop and a printer, a fax machine and a bunch of CDs.  There were also some paper files and Buffy recognised with glee the standard cover of an "Eyes Only" document that could only have originated at HQ.  Spycatcher goodness!  She moved closer, hoping that Anyanka's enthusiastic nymphoshow would continue to be distracting.  No such luck... 

"Hey, Candy baby!  No need to be shy – get your sweet little ass over here, there's plenty of room."  Hank was leering at her and patting the coverlet where there appeared to be a tangle of bare legs.  Somehow during her search the trio had stripped down to their underwear.


Buffy swore in her head, using her husband's favourite expletive.  What the hell was she going to do now?  She painted a dazzling smile on her face and sashayed towards the trio as slowly as she could without actually going backwards.  Anyanka locked eyes with her and…was that a wink?  And another.  Oh thank god!  At least Buffy now knew that the Moscow Mata Hari was there to help and not to hinder, so that was one less problem to deal with. Steeling herself to concentrate on the mission, Buffy sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and tried not to shudder when she felt Hank's paws on her bare thigh. 

Thankfully, at that moment the tap on the door signalled the arrival of the extra glasses and more champagne and Buffy leapt on the opportunity to become the quartet's waitress.  Now if only G had thought to supply her with some knockout drops to slip in the bubbly this would have been so easy... 

+ + + + 

The steam room had him hot and sticky, not something he was used to, and certainly not something he found pleasant.  Being a vampire had its drawbacks, but not being overheated wasn't one of them.  He resettled himself on the pine seat, shifting the fluffy white towel that draped his hips and tried to relax.  The morning had flown by; he'd completed assessments in hand-to-hand combat, speed, agility, weapons and camouflage.  He'd passed them all, obviously, although he'd had to resort to some subtle seduction to wheedle that information from the assessor.  Nothing heavy, no actual touching – just some implied tongue action if the lady was nice to him and gave him the scores.  He didn't plan on delivering on the promise but it was good to know he still had the stones to carry the flirting off. 

So now he was easing his aches and pains and getting ready for the medical work-up.  And thinking about Buffy.  He smiled as he leaned back against the slick wall and let his mind wander.   

Buffy.  Her smile.  The silk of her skin on his.  Her eyes.  Her lips...god, her lips. Of their own volition, his hands slid together on his lap and encountered his stiffening dick as it tented the towel.  He continued his mental salute to his wife's delicious form, squeezing himself through the cloth and stifling a groan of pleasure.   

In his mind, her moist tongue flicked out to caress her lips before she leaned towards him and kissed him until his mouth went numb, their tongues battling for dominance as their hands gripped and clawed at each other to get rid of clothing.   

One hand slipped below the towel, his other sliding up his slick chest to sweep across his nipples.  The nubs hardened beneath his fingers, the tingle jolting through him and swelling his cock even more as he imagined that it was warmer fingers, smaller hands, that had him writhing. 

Oh, yeah – now imaginary Buffy was on her knees, eyes hooded with passion and lips glistening as they slid up and down his length.  His fist gripped his cock as he imagined her cheeks sucking in and out as she did that thing with her tongue, his strokes speeding up as her head bobbed faster and faster in his mind.  He pinched one nipple to a point, his back arching as he neared his release until, with the vision of Buffy's lips smeared with his spendings he came in big, creamy spurts that coated his hand and the towel that was now draped over just one thigh. 

Sated, he relaxed back, closing his eyes and letting go of his now limp cock and just revelling in the afterglow of orgasm.  It wasn't a patch on the real thing, but it would have to do until Buffy got back.  God, how he missed her.   

Slow handclaps jolted him from his musings and he scrabbled to pull the towel back up to cover his sticky groin. 

"Nicely done, 00666.  Don't think we need to check your – what do you Brits call it – meat and two veg?  Seems to be A1 operational from where I'm standing." 

"Thanks for the assessment, love – but I wasn't really asking for it.  And who the hell are you anyway?  Ever heard of knocking?" 

"Apologies.  Although, in my defence the sauna is usually a spunk free zone...I'm Dr Noa, pleased to meet you.  I'd shake your hand but...” The brunette wrinkled her nose and indicated his less than pristine digits with her eyes. 

"Yeah, nice one.  What do you want?" 

"Time for your medical work-up, Blond.  You've got the pleasure of my company for the next three hours while I poke and prod you and stick you full of needles.  Come with me, no need to dress… not like I haven't already seen all you have." 

Spike gave a wry chuckle and got to his feet, his hair sticking up with the humid heat and without the gel that usually slicked it back.  He reckoned he'd be having fun with this one – strictly of the non-groiny variety.  But sometimes a quip and a lightning fast putdown could be almost as entertaining.  Almost. 

Sauntering through the corridors of the Morgan Institute, the now grubby towel slung low on his hips, Spike thought it odd that there were so many people of the female persuasion just lounging around seemingly checking wallpaper and electrical fittings.  He glanced left and right as each woman he passed gasped and surreptitiously fanned herself.  He couldn't help but grin, his tongue snaking out to press against his teeth and his smirk worthy of its own TV series.  This was fun, harking back to his days as the spy who shagged – well, everything.  Dr Noa walked ahead of him and he admired the roll of her hips from side to side in a totally objective way, the hem of her extremely short tunic just skimming the bottom of her ass cheeks.  A year ago he would have had her bundled into the nearest store cupboard and halfway to happy land by now.   

But Buffy.  Always Buffy.  The centre of his world and his raison d’être.  Against the burning light of her presence, Dr Noa and the others who were even now trying to catch his eye would always be the merest glimmer of a cheap candle.  The full-on belly laugh his musings drew from him as he padded barefoot along the hallway caused a stir, and by the time he reached the medical section he was leading a bevy of beauties in a snaking line like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.  Swagger fully engaged, he spun round lazily, hands on hips and head tilted as he met and held the eyes of each of his drooling followers in turn. 

The tongue that moistened his lips had them all leaning forward, and sighing as it snaked back inside his mouth to come to rest behind his teeth.  When he sucked his bottom lip in and held it there, teeth dimpling the plump flesh, every female within view held her breath, hand fluttering at her throat, and released it on a husky moan when he raised his scarred eyebrow...and winked.  One girl at the back had to be helped away as she swooned, the reluctant good Samaritan who was unfortunate enough to be standing next to her and therefore unable to ignore the faint, unceremoniously shoving her in a chair and racing back so as not to miss a second of the show. 

And what a show it was.  Always happy to be the centre of attention, Spike Blond milked his audience for all he was worth, rolling his shoulders so as best to show off the swell of muscle at his biceps and drawing a hand down his chest to draw eager eyes to his impressive abs.  He was almost deafened by the racing heartbeats and stifled squeals that permeated the room, but he was having such fun behaving like a two-bit stripper that he staved off his demonic urges and carried on posing. 

A couple of minutes of stroking his hands through his hair and down his body as he tilted his hips to keep the towel permanently on the brink of dropping to the floor had the women in a frenzy, and he was in serious danger of being pounced on.  Never one to resist a challenge, he took it a step further by chatting to them and grinning, making each woman feel as though she was the only one in the room.  Dr Noa wasn't immune to his charms either, her eyes glassy as she licked her dry lips and waited for him to notice her.  She giggled like a schoolgirl when he turned to her and started singing softly. 

"I don't think you know my name; I think you'd leave me standing in the rain.  Pretty little girl got a thing for me; but you cut me open and let me bleed...yeah." 

She found herself holding her breath as his voice caressed her. 

"'cause you're dangerous...you're dangerous..." 

The screaming started slowly then built quickly to a crescendo, the crowd of women now surging forward in an attempt to touch the newly discovered rock star.  Realising that his little trip down memory lane had gone far enough, Spike grabbed the doctor's hand and dragged her into the examination room so as to avoid a mauling, barely slamming the door shut before the first wave of adulation hit. 

He was on an adrenaline high, attention junkie that he was, and he prowled the room with his head thrown back, laughing and muttering to himself.   

"Oh, man! That was fun!  Wait 'til I tell Buffy about that one.  She'll have me tied up and under house arrest for months." 

Dr Noa was still struggling to breathe after her Blond encounter.  She'd read all the paperwork on the suave spy, spent hours arming herself with information about him and his penchant for seduction, and still at the first hint of a possible thought of any interest in her she'd folded like a concertina and simpered like the rest of them.  Damn him; she'd promised herself that she'd be immune - but she’d underestimated the sheer magnetism of the vampire and his ability to charm. 

He should be classified as a dangerous weapon.  Maybe she could do a study on him, one on one.  Test out his reflexes and reactions to given situations.  Maybe she could... 

"So, Doc – what’s it to be first?  Blood or piss?  The first isn't mine and I'm not sure I've got much of the second, but show me where to aim and I'll give it my best shot." 

Dr Noa almost dropped her clipboard as he spoke and shattered her daydreams.  Yes.  Business, that was what she was there for.    

"Blood, 00666.  Right arm please, and make a fist." 

As the needle pierced his skin, Spike drifted off into Buffyland to while away the hours of tedium. 

+ + + + +  

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?" 


"Is it black?"


"Is it indigenous to this habitat?" 


"Indigenous; native to...belongs here." 

"G – speak English, man, not geek.  This game's lame enough without me needing an interpreter." 

"Well, is it?" 


G tapped his chin with a forefinger as he chewed on a reluctantly donated bar of something indescribably sweet that he'd shamed out of Xander's stash.  His brow wrinkled momentarily before he gave a triumphant cry. 

"Aha!  I have it – it's your palm-held annihilator!" 

Agent Harris grumbled and tossed the said object aside.  "Yeah, you got me.  But to be fair, there isn't much else left. We've covered everything in sight and I'm plenty bored now.   I guess W was wrong about the danger." 

"Let’s not be too hasty.  I know Gwendolyn Post of old.  She's sly and underhand and always reminded me of a particularly unpleasant viper.  Buffy appears to have rattled her and she won't let that go lightly.  And if W has a feeling that things could go badly then I think we should take heed.  She has an instinct for such things." 

"Yeah, G.  I get that.  But I'm getting twitchy just sitting here and playing parlour games with you. I'm surprised you didn't think of bringing a GameBoy or something to pass the time.  You sure you don't have a super-duper entertainment centre-come-TV hidden away somewhere?  No?  Well, that's just plain careless of you." 

"Harris, please.  There are other priorities here, and where do you keep getting those disgusting candy bars from?  God alone knows what they’re made of." 

Xander unwrapped some nougaty goodness and smirked as he took a huge bite, mouthing round the mouthful.  "Some of us planned ahead, G-man.  Anyway I didn’t hear you complain when your mouth was full of disgusting candy.  Play nice and I'll hook you up with some good old-fashioned junk food.  Now, it's your turn." 

G sighed.  He hoped fervently that they'd get the all clear soon, or god forgive him, the signal that Buffy was in trouble; because he doubted he could stand much more time around agent 0069.  It was too wearing. 

"Very well, but we try a different game.  Are you ready?  I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'R'." 


"Almost right.” 

“Rock formation.” 

“Oh well done. Your turn." 

+ + + +  

"Candy, you're missing out on the fun!  And you have so many clothes to lose!  Drink up, there's plenty more where that came from.  Need to get in the mood...speaking of which, Anyanka my love, some music please." 

"Certainly, Nauti.  Candy, you vant to come choose something appropriate?" 

Anyanka Jenkinskovitch, clad only in a miniscule thong and sky-high stilettos, gripped Buffy's elbow and guided her to the music centre in the far corner of the cabin.  She chattered on in giggly tones, tossing sizzling looks back over her shoulder to her enamoured victim before leaning in close to whisper in Buffy's ear. 

"Vhat are you doing here, Blond?  MI13 vere supposed to leave zis retrieval to us.  It vas a joint strategy.  Is zhere somesink I should know about, have ze parameters changed?" 

Buffy glanced towards Nautilust and Hank, laughing and clinking glasses on the bed behind her.  What was going on?  Surely Ms Post knew that the Russians were involved here?  What could she hope to gain by sending her on this wild goose chase, putting both herself and her fellow agent in danger? 

In a moment of clarity, Buffy felt her anger rising.  Ms Gwendolyn Post knew exactly what she was doing when she sent her here.  And when Buffy got back to HQ, she'd better be far, far away from her reach. 

"Anyanka, I've been set up.  I was told this was an easy mission, a walk in the park; I'm here without back-up and I get the feeling I'm the lamb to the slaughter.  Sorry if I've messed things up for you." 

"No vorries, darlink.  Anyanka is prepared for all eventualities.  And Nautilust is putty in my hands.  Come, ve must play ze game a little longer, dah?" 

The Russian pressed play on the hi-fi, flooding the cabin with soft swing music before heading back to the bed and tugging Buffy behind her.  They were just climbing onto the swaying waterbed when Nautilust was summoned by an urgent knock on the cabin door, ducking outside to converse in sibilant hisses with his officer.  Anyanka and Buffy seated themselves either side of an inebriated Hank, his hands roaming freely over their flesh, too drunk to register Buffy's shudder of distaste.  Both girls turned beaming smiles at Nautilust as he returned to the bed, failing to note the stun gun he held in his hand before he shot them both in quick succession, the two blondes slumping unconscious on top of the suddenly sober man between them. 

"What the fuck was that all about, Nauti?  We was just getting acquainted, I wasn't planning on taking them both." 

"Thank me later, Hank.  Let me introduce you to Buffy Blond and Anyanka Jenkinskovitch – spies, and two very dangerous women.  And about to regret ever thinking they could get the better of me.  Guards!  To my lab, and secure them well.  I'll be along once I've prepared my little surprise." 

+ + + + 

Harris nudged G to wake him, passing on the news that Buffy had checked in with her first report a while ago and everything seemed to be going according to plan.  It was a pity there was a slight delay before they were copied in on her transmissions, but as W was running this whole operation covertly it was necessary to avoid using the satnav where traffic would be monitored.  Harris reminded G that it was his turn on watch.  The fact that the spy had come straight from a gruelling ten-day rescue prior to W hijacking him and sending him here was finally catching up and he was struggling to keep his eyes open.  For once, he was grateful for a little down time although he rather hoped that the next time he woke it would be to see Buffy standing in front of them, mission accomplished, and cursing them for not believing she was capable of looking after herself.   

Turning his back on his companion, Xander Harris hunkered down, making a pillow of his pack and  drifting off to dream of a certain Russian spy with endless legs and no inhibitions. 

G, on the other hand, was occupied playing with his gadgets, attempting to refine the tracker even further so that he could pinpoint Buffy’s exact location.  Despite the reassuring news that she’d checked in, he couldn't shake the feeling that the woman he once angered by not only beating her to the job she coveted but also spurning her advances was about to collect on her promised payback.  And in true ice maiden fashion, she'd followed Shakespeare's advice and was serving her dish of revenge cold. 

Only another two hours twenty-seven minutes until Buffy was due to check in again.  He fiddled with his toys as he prayed silently that she'd be on time. 


*CUT TO :  Camera viewpoint, way down low.  A steam room, bodies barely visible through the mist, female giggling and clinking glasses the soundtrack.  The sound of a door opening, glimpses of a well muscled chest and defined abs peeping above a low slung towel as a pale, male figure strides purposefully towards the far wall and takes his seat.  "Oooooohs" follow his path, ending on breathy gasps as he rests his hands behind his head and shuts his eyes.  Another door, this one slammed shut, black nylon encased calves above shiny black patent leather pumps eat up the distance to the towel draped Adonis. 

One deep blue eye opens, a rumble of laughter begins in his chest.  "Why, Mrs Blond – I didn't expect to see you here." 

A slap.  "Obviously not.  Now tell your harem to scoot and I'll get started on your punishment.  You’ve been very baaaad" 



A/N : I unashamedly stole some lyrics to “Dangerous” from James/GOTR.  I love that song.  In fact, before I went to see him for the second time I grew my hair just so I could have the “...long brown hair.”  Yep, I'm loser!girl.  But it made me happy – so sue me!  And the tears that flow every time I hear it?  Totally worth it.  And thanks for sharing those moments with me Lou.  :happy sigh: