Doubled And Redoubled (Xmas/new years)

(co-written with Vikingprincess)

Agent William Spike closed the file folder, and dropped it on the conference room table of the old castle that had been modernized and turned into offices for British Intelligence. "So we need to bypass French Intelligence, get to the fifty third floor of the Tour Montparnasse, get past Russian Embassy security, break into a vault that has alarm features that have never successfully been neutralized, break the code and get the goods... all in two hours."

"That's about the long and short of it, 0013."

"Brilliant. When?"

"New Year’s Eve. There are planned festivities at the building that should provide you with cover."

"I had a date..."

"Will..."

"If you saw her curves..."

"Spike, be serious. The fate of the world depends on this."

"Doesn't it always." Spike smirked. "Who do we have lined up for cracking into the safe?"

His superior ran a few names by him. They were good, but they didn't have the touch of brilliance and creativity that would be needed. They needed someone else... someone like....

He had pushed that name out of his head for five years, but there it was again. The things a spy would do for his country ....

"What is it? Do you have an idea?"

"What about... Summers?"

"Summers? Summers is with the CIA now. Didn't have much choice really, career wise. After you blackballed—“

Spike's brows snapped together. "Blackballed?"

"You did ask never to be put on a case with her again after the Taiwan virus retrieval, didn't you? No one wanted to work with her again after that."

"What? I didn't say anything officially..." A shock ran through him. "Did you say her?"

The past came rushing back, landing on him like a ton of bricks.

*

[December 22, Five Years Ago]

Six months of hardcore undercover work were finally going to pay off. Buffy knew what the virus was, what it did, and where to find it. All of it. All she had to do was go and get it.

The Taiwanese prison –not the ‘pretty’ one, where prisoners did hard labor on little food and got hose baths once a week to cut down on disease and stench, but the much grimmer one, where the experiments were taking place— had finally opened its doors to her. Well, not to her, specifically, but to Bill Summers, sleazy entrepreneur from the United States , back-door representative of a questionable pharmaceutical company that was ready to branch out into the profitable new arena of germ warfare. Plenty of governments out there willing to pay for a quick sweep of a population that left the valuable things like factories, businesses, houses, and natural resources untouched, after all. An evilly profitable business.

And the most challenging undercover work she’d ever done. Oh, be realistic. The first and likely to remain the most challenging! Be a man for six months. Not only that, be a man who knew about Third World politics, medical warfare, and enough sleazy wheeling and dealing to make the job seem like a natural. Thank God for the backup staff she’d had on this one! A hundred people, all there to make sure she could get her job done; the job for which she was the only choice, in spite of her gender. Nobody did security systems and clandestine break-ins better than she did. Even for a green ie fresh out of training, she’d been exceptional. Now, get a few more years under her belt, and she’d be a force to be reckoned with.

Hell, the training to ‘be’ a man had been damned funny, sometimes, even if it caused her some sleepless nights. Like that done by a transsexual surgery candidate. Challenging! Especially since she was a woman for men, and not even the least bit lesbian. And now… now it was all going to pay off. Sometimes the jobs were questionable, a little, and you did them out of loyalty. But this? This one was a white knight operation all the way. She didn’t even mind that they’d sent in a backup operative… much.

William Spike. His reputation was far better than hers, as well as far more established… in the very select circles where their existence was even known, that was. Of course, he’d been at this years longer, as well. Had different specialties. Using him for backup made sense. Hopefully it hadn’t pissed him off any. And she shouldn’t be a glory hound about it, even if it was the biggest, the most important thing she’d ever done. The job was the important thing. Once she had the virus, once the records were destroyed utterly beyond repair… then she’d meet up with him and they’d get it to safety. Report back covered in glory.

And wear a dress again for the first time in months! Heels, makeup, perfume… her surface thoughts drifted briefly as she reinforced the male disguise she’d lived and breathed for half a year, and then covered it over with a black sneak suit and stained her fair skin with smudges. Her normally blonde hair, dyed a murky brown for this job, was scraped back severely under a stocking cap, and her loaded belt went around her narrow waist. Better than Batman’s, by a damned sight!

Hours later, she was shinnying back up a narrow black rope, headed for the roof access to the factory/prison in Taiwan’s questionable business district, heart and soul—if that wasn’t an inappropriate word for such an evil place—of the virus testing program. Behind her, computers smoked quietly, slagged into utter unusability, and the small vial of virus—enough to take out the entire Asian continent if the prevailing winds were right—was securely wrapped and packaged in a thigh pocket.

That was when a tertiary alarm system, one whose existence no one had known of or discovered, started hooting, red lights flashing, and guards started pouring out of every damned bolt hole in sight. Grimly, Buffy climbed faster, hoping that Spike was as good as his reputation, and ready with the getaway vehicle. North side, alleyway. She had a verbal description but that was all, just as he had one of her. Or rather, her persona for the mission. Teeth gritted, she kept on clamping the rope with her thighs, reaching higher, pulling herself out of the factory foot by foot, until she reached the underside of the roof and hauled herself through the I-beams to the exit. Once through, she leaned back in for a second and dropped three tiny canisters of tear gas, which jet propelled themselves to the far corners of the space below and then detonated, efficiently filling it with choking fumes. That would stop the interior guards, at least for a while.

Keeping low, she ran with the stealth of a panther to the edge of the roof, and looked for her ride.

Agent 0013 cursed under his breath as he negotiated the narrow streets. He'd been delayed by a random road block and official "search" of vehicles, and now was making up for lost time. Doing so with the ancient clunker of a truck was no easy feat.

He'd practiced this route several time, and knew the ins and outs of the streets. There... that was the building, and on the roof, he saw the silhouette of the agent he was to extract from here, and later from the country. He pulled up next to the building, and motioned for the figure to jump.

Grinning widely, Buffy gave the truck a quick once over to make sure her landing was both expected and provided for - and of course, it was. Agent Spike was no noob! She launched herself from the roof and landed safely in a thick pile of slightly fusty straw, rolled forward, and tapped on the cab as a signal for them to go.

The instant he heard the signal, Spike brought his foot down on the pedal and took off down the street. The rusty sounds made by the truck grated against his ears. Now if it were a Ferrari purring under him...

The sounds of sirens started to draw near. He rounded a corner and slowed, leaning over and opening the passenger door.

Buffy scrambled through the horizontal slats of the cargo area to cling precariously to the outer side of the truck as Spike drove it with insouciant skill through the narrow streets, pulled with her thigh muscles once her feet had hooked into the cab, and swung into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her. "Company," she said unnecessarily as she glanced at him, six months of habit keeping her voice pitched at a man's level.

And great goddamn, but Agent William Spike was a hottie of the first degree! Chiseled cheekbones, determined jaw, a spill of blond curls over his forehead, and eyes so sharp and blue they looked as though they could cut like lasers. Guh.

He glanced at the rear-view. "It's about to get worse. Did you get it?"

"Yes. And let's hope I don't take a bullet in the pocket, because all the padding in the world couldn't stop that badness," she replied, nimble fingers flicking through her belt for flash grenades. No damage, lots of light. Just what was needed for a disappearing act, if they could do it fast enough. "Any good curves coming up? Got flashes."

"Not really... but we'll make some, yeah? On two." He didn't bother counting out loud but in two seconds, turned the clunker on a dime and pulled a u-turn. Now driving straight toward their pursuers, he shifted gears... he'd make it to the cross-street before they did, he had to. "Hold on, going to turn there," he warned her.

"Gotcha," she growled, tossed about a bit by his crazy maneuvering, but readying the flash grenades for a quick throw nonetheless. "Blink," she advised on the mark, and tossed them into the windshields of the oncoming vehicles with a flick of her wrist. They exploded into blinding light on impact, just as Spike swerved them around the corner and into a narrower alleyway.

When they reached the street, the truck careened around the corner, so close to the other cars that Spike could see their shocked and pained expressions, eyes squeezed shut against the pain of the blinding light.

Buffy looked at him with undisguised admiration. "Nice moves," she finally managed, all kinds of turned on. It'd been a long six months, but even if she'd gotten laid ten minutes before landing in this truck, she'd have been interested. "Where to?"

His brow quirked. Although he was used to admiration from the new lads, the air was thick with something more. "We're close to the business district, should be able to get you back to your party in six minutes. Let's hope they're as inefficient about transmitting information about the theft of the virus as they are about checking passports."

He clipped a trash bin, and brought the truck to a stop next to it. "Right... change and swop cars," he said, immediately opening the door and jumping out. As they ran down the dark and stench-filled alley, he shed a layer of clothing, revealing shirt and dress pants, then shrugged on the rest of his clothing. By the time, they hit the next alley, he was impeccably dressed as a businessman.

An unlocked silver Mercedes with the keys in the ignition awaited them. Quickly, they jumped inside and took off toward the high rise towers.

"You'll stay for an hour, show your face so they think you were there about the time of the incident, and then we're getting you and the bottle out of there," Spike explained, smoothly shifting gears.

"Works for me," she replied, already struggling out of the sneak-suit to reveal a specially tailored suit - as all her persona's clothes were, to make her look more manly - and disappearing entirely under the dash as they cruised past the parking garage's security cameras. A quick transfer of the goods to her inner jacket pocket, still padded, and a reluctant discard of her nifty utility belt, and she was good to go. She snatched the knitted cap from her head and re-ordered her dyed hair into 'Bill Summers'' eccentric dark brown ponytail, and flashed Spike a quick smile. "Pleasure doing business with you," she told him, and then quipped, "Maybe we can balance the equation the other way sometime." As he parked, car cleverly positioned to avoid the other camera s, she stepped out and made her way to the elevator, shooting her cuffs into place in a very manly fashion.

“Could be.” He had the notion their business wasn't done. If everything went smoothly, he'd be driving Summers to the airport by this time tomorrow... but things had a way of never going that smoothly. That's what the back up plans were for.

The elevator ride to the 123rd floor gave him his first chance to look at Summers. He was given to understand it was the man's first time in the field, outside of Britain . Someone had to have really believed in his skills to put him on a big assignment like this one.

Agents had a certain look about them. This one didn't, and it was slightly disconcerting to Spike. The man's features were... too even, too pretty. Like that of a boy too young to be serving his country. He frowned. Knowing Summers' schooling and training background, he knew the man couldn't be that young.

Buffy could feel Spike's eyes on her, checking her out. She only wished she was in that dress and heels, instead of a man-tailored suit with shoulder padding! She wouldn't at all mind having that laser-blue gaze fixed on her at her best, instead of in man-drag! Maybe he was just... using his imagination? God knew hers was working overtime on running her teeth and tongue over his body, kissing that pouting mouth, taking him deep inside and riding him into screaming orgasm… and that just wasn't smart. Not until they were safely on the airplane.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, lips quirking a bit. "Something I can do for you, Spike?" And damned if it didn't come out in her male register again, too. She'd been undercover too damned long!

His heart was thudding against his ribs, but it was for no reason that he could fathom. Summers' voice brought him back. Angry at himself, he didn't answer and stormed out of the small confines of the elevator, disappearing into the crowd.

His job was to get Summers out if the Taiwanese woke up to the fact that Bill Summers might have had something to do with the theft of the virus, and he was bloody well going to do it even if it turned out that Summers was a poofter... That had to be it, the reason for that suggestive look and question from Summers. It didn't explain everything, but it explained enough.

Steadfastly, Agent William Spike began to feast his eyes on curvy women of the sort he liked. And if his gaze was sometimes drawn to the slender man he was supposed to protect... well it was part of his bloody job, wasn't it?

What the hell was his problem? Shrugging with an indifference she didn’t feel, Buffy moved off to exchange polite nothings with the ‘other’ businessmen in the room. And it felt as though every time her eyes found Spike, he was staring at her. Their hour of alibi-establishment was forty-five minutes gone when a disturbance at the door had her, along with the other guests in the place, craning their necks to see what was going on.

Taiwanese police were entering the room, making calming gestures, but they were followed by gun-toting soldiers.

She guessed they weren’t into subtlety when a national secret was stolen from under their noses. Automatically, she started scanning for an escape route. Not her forte, when there were enemies already actually searching for her!

Spike came up behind Summers, and touched his shoulder. "This way." Calmly, the two men walked out to the other end of the tower ballroom, and Spike pushed open a door to a stairwell. "We're heading for the roof. They've got the building under lock down," he explained, sliding his hand inside his coat pocket to retrieve his gun. "Go and don't stop for anything. Head for the South edge and you'll see my equipment... put it on. Hope you like to fly, Summers."

"Fly," she echoed faintly. "Sure, sounds like fun." Buffy started up the stairs at a strong jog; the Stairmaster might have been her bane in the gym, but in situations like this, she could practically kiss it. Sexy thighs? Not enough incentive to exercise. Escaping murderous goons bent on world domination? Oh yeah, totally worth the hours of sweat!

Giving Summers a nod, Spike stayed in the stairwell, and damned if his eyes didn't linger on his fellow agent's ass as the guy moved out of sight. There was no time to think about it... not when the action began only seconds later. He'd barred the entrance that they'd used to get into the stairwell but loud footfalls reverberated around him, coming from below.

Looking over the railing, he started to shoot at the moving targets, intent on giving Summers enough time. The virus had to make it out of here, or else the world would be a much less populated place.

More shots rang out, ricocheting off the metal stair case. Spike backed up, then started to run, taking two stairs a time and shooting on occasion. When he reached the roof, he whipped the door shut and bent down to pick up the heavy metal bar he'd left earlier. A second later, the door was barred and all he could hear was people ramming their bodies or the butts of their guns against it.

"Nice meeting you too," he said, giving a suave salute to the men who couldn't see him, then heading for the edge of the roof.

As Buffy moved across the roof, she checked for her own weapon, and for the vial of virus still in her jacket pocket. A bullet through that and it wouldn't matter how she felt about flying. The first breath would kill everyone within miles, or more. The hang-glider shook out just like in training, and she fastened herself into the harness with some trepidation, then glanced back to see if Spike needed help as she strung her gun around her neck on a dummy cord, safety on.

Spike joined Summers, made sure the other agent was strapped in properly, then slid into the harness directly behind him. "On the count of three," he said, not giving Summers the opportunity to think before they jumped off the roof.

As gravity and the weight of his body brought him down against Summers' back... and ass... suddenly his idea of using a single glider didn't seem quite as brilliant. He gripped the bar, told himself it was only his imagination... that his skin wasn't tightening around him, and that his pulse had kicked up only because he knew there were or would be several hundred soldiers and police after them.

Buffy didn't have time for her customary deep breath preparatory to hang-gliding, because before she knew it, Spike had strapped in behind her --right behind her!-- and launched them from the roof. Reflexively, her hands gripped the control bar, and her adrenaline levels shot through the roof.

Curiously enough, not at the prospect of imminent death and mission failure, but rather at the body heat of Agent William Spike, 0013, cupped firmly against her ass cheeks like a sensual tease. An invitation to debauchery. Hell, the closest thing to sex she'd had in months. Just the feel of him against her made her want to purr and yowl like a cat in heat... even in the midst of a life and death situation. Maybe even partly because of the life and death situation. But mostly because he was just. that. fine.

There was a lot of activity well below them, and a couple of shots were fired, but he wasn't worried as they were too high. What worried him more was when he leaned to the side, shifting his weight to ease the glider into the direction they needed to go, he came into even closer contact with Summers, and couldn't deny the reaction of his body.

"Stop moving about," he snapped at the innocent agent, though innocence was relative. He was more and more certain that this one played ball with his own team... could be he was trying his charms out on him. Could be he's not doing a bloody thing and it's you.

"Hey," Buffy snapped in return, anger making her voice low and harsh, "You may be the senior agent, but don't accuse me of mistakes I'm not making. Just like a damned motorcycle, isn't it? Only one person gets to throw his weight around for steering." She paused, and added, "That would be you."

And oh, god, the hard heat of his erection against her backside was enough to make her want to wriggle against him, hell, to drop the pants of her business suit disguise and do him right here, right now, even as bullets whistled by (nowhere near) and the fate of the world was tucked into a vial above her heart. A heart that was pounding hard with desire, and need, and all manner of other unprofessional things that couldn't be explored in the middle of a mission.

He gritted his teeth, both against the inexplicable and unwelcome thoughts of putting one arm around agent Bill Summers and showing him just how he could throw his weight around, and the feisty answer he hadn't expected. Most of the newer agents meekly accepted what he said. Whether Summers' attitude pleased him or not was a moot point, because other more confusing matters were taking up his energies.

Another sharp thrust... weight shift to the right, and they were headed to the fields just outside the city. He tried to force himself to relax, muscle group by muscle group and somehow ended off worse than before. His face was in the crook of Summers' neck, and the man's scent was... it shouldn't be, but it was giving Spike ideas that had no place in the mind of the overtly heterosexual agent.

Oh, dear lord, he was thrusting himself against her now, teasing, the cocksure --she had to giggle deep in her throat at that-- Spike... or wait, no, he was just angling their descent to the field. And that brought forth another dilemma. Landing a hang-glider alone wasn't too hard, you just ran and then unhooked, letting the sail flutter to the ground. But with two people strapped together? Buffy resigned herself to a tangle of limbs and bodies on the ground, possibly being dragged by the glider if they couldn't get it under control quickly enough.

Hell, who was she kidding? Tangling limbs with Spike would be the perfect way to get back in the sexual saddle. And she had the bonus of already being sure that he wanted her!

"Landing's going to be tricky," she said, reveling in the feel of his hot lips against her neck.

"Mmm," he agreed, a hundred times more worried than he'd ever been during a landing of any sorts. "If we tip over, we roll to the right."

He did his best to keep them steady... almost succeeded when they landed, but it was not to be. As they ran and were unclipping their harnesses, they started to go over toward one side.

"To the right," he reminded Summers, turning so that they were chest to chest as they hit the ground. The vial had to remain intact. He wasn't sure about the rest of him though.

Legs slide against each other, worse... Agent Summers' thigh was lodged between Spike's legs... right up hard against his too aroused cock. He cursed in Summers' ear, trying to shift positions as they rolled on the hard ground.

Buffy's thigh slip-sliding against Spike's erection was enough to make her vision go blurry with imagining how he'd feel between her legs without her stupid padded Jockeys in the way, and her breasts, compressed by the Ace bandage she'd grown used to in the last six months, ached to be touched. Suckled. Rolled in his strong hands, her nipples tormented by clever fingers and teeth.

As they rolled together, slapping the harness free with its quick-release clips, she couldn't resist writhing just that little bit closer under cover of gravity's nefarious influence. She didn't even bother telling herself the lie that it was to keep the vial more securely protected, and as they rolled to a stop, she saw their pick-up already collapsing the glider.

He was hot and heavy... for a man. A man. He kept repeating the word in his mind, and reminding himself that it was the prick of a cock that he'd felt against his hip. Even that didn't completely chase his need away as he stared into the guileless eyes of agent Summers.

Clearing his throat, he detangled himself from the agent, accusing gaze returning to Summers' eyes for an instant when the agent’s leg seemed to push against his arousal one last time.

Agent Pierce put his hand out to help Spike up, but when he was rebuffed, helped Summers up. "Nice work. Your ride is behind that shed. Sorry to be leaving you here," he said, nodding at his lightweight one-man Cessna, with just enough fuel to get him across the border and into friendly territory.

"We'll be fine," Buffy assured him, handing off the well-padded vial. "Make tracks. Or rather," she corrected, "don't. See you when."

What had that last glance from Spike meant? God damn it, one way or another, she was going to find out. He obviously wanted her as much as she wanted him, and with the deadly part of the mission in someone else's hands now, the pressure was a little bit lower. Perfect time to—

She turned around and nearly bumped into Spike again, where he'd followed her close, probably to have a word with Agent Pierce. Why not, she thought, and looped her arms around him, going on tiptoe to kiss him good and proper on that pretty mouth.

Spike's eyes widened in shock. That was Bill's mouth against his... Bill's arms around him... Bill's erection pressing into his thigh. He knew all about 'fight or flight' reactions, but as an unexpected hunger slammed into him, he knew this didn't qualify as fighting.

Pierce watched in amusement as Spike gripped Buffy Summers' lapels and dragged her up against him for a kiss. Did the pair know how this looked? Two men, making out in a field... their passion making them oblivious to the dangers of their surroundings? How he wished he had a camera; the boys at MI5 would have fun teasing Spike with the piccy... even if Buffy was in fact all woman. Some spies had all the luck!

Buffy moaned into Spike's mouth, his hot wicked tongue in her mouth and his virile body pressed against hers leaving her in no doubt that he was every bit as hot for her as she was for him. Her breasts ached with desire as heat curled in her belly, and she looped one leg around his hip to pull herself closer and tighter to his body, toes barely touching the ground as her lifted her into the devouring kiss.

Everything was was wrong, topsy turvey... he knew this... he knew agent Summers was hard and firm in all the wrong places, and yet his palms ached with the need to touch and feel his nipples, he knew a man has no business curling himself around Spike's body like this, and yet... yet his own body was screaming for more, closer, harder, fuck... he wanted things that weren't possible... that he couldn't get from a man. He ought to stop... why couldn't he fight the chemistry that exploded between them? He - had - to.

The sound of a helicopter dragged him back to his senses. He pushed Summers away roughly, and blinked when he saw that Pierce had already flown away without him noticing. How had he been that far gone?

He almost put his hand out to Summers, but dropped it... confused. "Shed." One word, he didn't think he could manage more.

They ran for it, and when he saw it was a single bike, he almost groaned. “Not again....”

"Bad timing," she agreed. "Are you driving or am I? Either way, let's go!"

He gave Summers a look that would put any agent in his place... as if there were a question as to who would be driving. Throwing his leg over the bike, he mounted it and looked over to see Summers doing the same. "Hold tight."

As the agent's hands slipped around his waist and tightened around him, he sucked in a breath of air, got up slightly and started the bike. This was going to be the extraction from hell, and it wasn't even the bloody enemy he was worried about.

Buffy clung tightly as Spike finessed the bike through maneuevers she knew she couldn't come close to managing yet, his thighs flexing beside hers with every move. But they just couldn't shake the helicopter. Of course. Because a bird's eye view was always going to be advantageous. She pulled her handgun and tried to fire behind them, but couldn't get even close to the angle she needed. "Hold it steady for a few seconds," she asked him. "I have to get these assholes off of our tail!"

One minute, he was doing his bloody best to keep ahead of the machine gun's bullets, and the next he felt Summers' hand bearing down on his shoulder, and a movement he couldn't quite place until he felt the agent climbing around and over him. The acrobatic move would have impressed Spike, if he didn't now find Summers straddling his hips, chest to chest, with Summers brushing against his cock as he tried to find the best angle to shoot at the helicopter behind them.

"Bloody hell, and they call my methods unorthodox." They rode over a large bump in the road, which brought their bodies into sudden closer contact. "Shoot it!" he snarled.

She cracked off a couple of shots, splintering part of the windscreen of the chopper, but far more aware of Spike between her legs. Another shot, and she saw cracks craze across the other half of the helicopter's bug-eyed window glass. "Got 'em," she crowed exuberantly.

His body was burning with desires that had no place here... no place anywhere. "Good. Now get back," he snapped, angry with himself.

She grinned cheekily at him from her close position. "Sure thing," she told him, pivoting one leg completely over his head from her sitting position as she rose on the other, and then dexterously twisted behind him to land on the seat again, facing forward once more and with her arms around his lean hard waist again.

When agent Summers held him again, he felt like he'd been sucker punched. He'd never dealt with feelings of this sort before... and he didn't want to be dealing with them now. He'd get them to the ocean as quickly as he could... they'd meet the operative who'd have a boat handy, and then the mission would be done... he'd never think of one Agent Billy Summers again.

That wasn't what the ache low in his belly was telling him.

*

[December 24, Five Years Ago]

The damned operative who'd picked them up in a boat had almost immediately turned them over to the authorities. Spike and Summers had been interrogated... not by words, but by fists and booted feet making contact with every part of their body. Since neither one had said a word, they now found themselves together in an isolation cell at the prison.

Cell... that was a joke. This place was a pit in the floor. It had maybe enough room for one and a half people... and yet he and Summers were cramped into the dark space... no lights... no sounds, other than any they made. "Nice way to spend Christmas," Spike said. "Do you think it's the twenty fourth yet?" Time passed slowly.

It was cold and damp and stank, but the place didn't have the best security she'd ever seen... or cracked. They'd be getting out soon, and since getting out meant being as well-off as she could be, physically, as soon as Buffy started feeling like she wasn't going to vomit anymore from the shots to her belly, she started a series of slow and careful isometric exercises, keeping the muscles loose and supple. She didn't think the lockpicks she'd sewn into the seams of her dress pants would come in handy... except maybe through a guard's eye and into his brain. No belt, but the double layers of fabric in her shirt collar concealed a slender reinforced plastic garrote. She was willing to bet that Spike's clothes had similar, if not better, concealed toys. They just needed an opportunity.

He'd thought Summer's movements meant he was starting to feel better too. At first they were a welcome sign of life, but now he wasn't sure. Rolling as far away as he could and facing the agent he couldn't see, he asked. "You alright, there?"

“Fine,” she whispered hoarsely, suffering a bit from lack of water and cold. “But I swear the next time someone pisses through that window I’m ripping his dick off.” She fell silent again, working the muscles of her torso and arms now. Eventually, she said, “It might be the 24th already. I can’t tell.” A longer pause, and working on her pelvis and thighs. “You okay?

Now there was a loaded question. He was alright enough that Summers' small movements were starting to get to him... He couldn't understand why his body was responding to this man... why this man made him think of sex.

He felt Summers' hips raise up and pulse, and bit his lip. "Will you stop that," he hissed. "And must be on drugs if that slit in the wall is a window."

"Closest thing we've got," she replied in her thirst-hoarsened voice. "And if I don't do something to keep my muscles loose you'll be trying to make an escape carrying a fellow agent masquerading as a corpse. Stiff and hard. No thanks."

"Try not to be so graphic." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think. But the other agent kept it up, until really... Spike's cock couldn't get any stiffer. If he'd been alone, by now he would have been thrusting into his own hand to relieve the pressure.

"Spike, if describing a corpse is too graphic for you, you might be in the wrong line of work," she quipped, but his words got her thinking about the body that was so close to hers in the cell, something that her exercises and misery had kept partially at bay, or at least only down in her naughty subconscious. The thought of a stiff, hard Spike was... nothing short of mouthwatering. Not to mention how much warmer they’d be if they had a good sweaty bout of sex!

The way Summers lapsed into silence made Spike wonder if the other shoe had dropped. He hoped not. He didn't want to give the gay agent any reason to hope or... whatever. Fuck... how did he find himself in this tricky situation.

Right, he wasn't going to think about the warmth emanating from Summers, or the fact that it made sense to share body warmth. Instead, he started to think up various scenarios for getting the bloody hell away from him.

One of them could pretend to get sick, but that was overdone... no one was falling for it these days without any serious proof of injury. He didn't think either of them could stand a blood loss which, in these conditions, might lead to infection. Maybe he could say he was prepared to talk....

Buffy rolled to her side, facing Spike, so that she could get full extension on her leg stretches. Cold had always affected her badly, and she knew that if she didn’t do something to get her blood flowing better, she really would be nothing but a burden when their moment came. Grimly, she kept moving as much as the ridiculously tiny space allowed, thankful for once for the shoulder padding in her clothes that added warmth as well as manly bulk. It would make sense to share their body heat, but Spike had made it clear he had considered their kiss fairly unprofessional before, so she wasn’t going to ask. Unless it started to look like they couldn’t get out of here. Then she was going to stop with being professional a nd remember what it was like to be a woman!

Although he steadfastly talked their options out with Summers, Spike was in hell. Every movement from the other agent was inflaming his growing lust. It didn't help that in the dark it was easy not to think of Summers as a man, or that their legs were brushing together, or that Summers' breathing was starting to catch and get ragged. "What do I have to do to stop you from doing that?" he said at last, making the mistake of throwing a leg over Summers to pin him in place. Now there was heat and flexing muscles under his leg... sending bad bad signals to his groin... this was worse, so much worse...
"Stop me from doing what?" Buffy snapped back at Spike. For a professional agent with his reputation and years of skill, he sure was a cranky bastard! Not that she was happy either, half-dehydrated and chilled as she was. But hey, drinking a lot before a mission could have you needing to pee at awkward moments (like dangling from a rope over the bad guys), so she hadn't. And now she was paying for it. "I'm not doing a damned thing!"

But oh, she'd like to now. That leg of his was pure male muscle, hot and tempting across her thighs. She already knew just how good his mouth tasted too. "Why, did you want me to do something?"

"Summers..." he warned, pressing his leg down to force the guy into behaving.

Meanwhile his body was screaming in answer to the husky suggestion. There were a lot of things Spike wanted... none of it from Summers. Maybe if he concentrated on all the women he'd been with...

But none of them were half under him, none of them were tempting him, or making him ache like this. His heart was pounding, ignoring what his brain told him.

"Spike," she growled back, wanting nothing more than to wrap her legs around that muscled thigh and rub against him like a cat in heat, to taste that wicked mouth again.

The tension was so thick, it was palpable. Either they were both waiting for something to happen, or both were trying to find a way out of this narrow space.

Spike swore it was the latter, and yet when he raised himself to start to pull away, and his upper body made contact with Summers... something snapped within him.

Maybe he'd gone mad, that could be it. All he knew was that he needed something from Summers, needed it so bad at the moment that he couldn't be arsed even if Summers was a man, and this was wrong... all wrong for him.

Doing the opposite of what he'd intended, Spike rolled over Summers, trapping him with his body, and finding the guy's mouth with his own. He was greedy, and aggressive, thrusting his tongue inside and taking what he'd needed hours ago.

Heat tore through her like summer lightning, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, hanging on with a starving desperation so strong that it hurt, parting her lips to take him as deep as she could, kissing back with that same fierce hunger, teeth nipping, tongue lashing, and lips clinging to take every sensation she could from that wicked, skillful mouth. Buffy's hips arched against him, and she ground upward, Spike's erection hot and enormous and everything she needed deep inside her right now!

This was bad... very bad. He'd thought that a kiss would make it better, but this was more than a kiss. The way their mouths clung together, the way their bodies rubbed, the way they gave and took... they were practically fucking.

And it wasn't enough. Not for him.

He shoved a hand under Summers, carressing his ass, and lifting him closer each time he bore down. With his other hand, he alternately held Summers' face in place for one punishing kiss after another, and gripped the other agent's arms and shoulders, almost fighting him... and intentionally avoiding touching those areas that would remind him that he was with a male.

Hot. Fierce. Angry. Spike was all of those things, along with the hottest thing she'd ever touched, every bit as domineering and arrogant in this position as he was in his profession, and Buffy found it so damned sexy that she was about ready to come without any touch at all, just as when she was a teenager making out on her mother's couch, so primed and ready to get off that even simulated fucking through jeans was enough to send her skyrocketing into a world of shuddering bliss. A deep, harsh groan tore from her throat, and she latched her thighs around him like steel bands, thrusting upward violently with every move he made, hands tearing up his back beneath his shirt to claw at his shoulders and ribcage, mouth every bit as needy-frantic as the rest of her.

If Summers had hesitated... pushed him away... did something to stop him, Spike was sure he would have come to his senses. But Summers' welcoming thrusts, his frantic movements, the sounds he made were so erotic, they drew Spike further into the web of desire and lust. He cursed at the sensation of the agent's erection rubbing against him... thank God the man was small... or it would have been too distracting. But the counterveiling softness of his silky skin, the smoothness of his cheeks which gave no indication of facial hair, and his scent... they sent confusing messages to Spike's brain, made this easier.

She ached for him, needed him inside just as badly as he needed to be there, so Buffy slid her hand between them, her fingers undoing his button and zip with fumbling eagerness.

The touch of hand agains his arousal drew a loud groan out of him. Instinctively, his own slid between their bodies, anxious to push away the clothing that separated them. But then he felt Summers' penis under his hand.

Panic. Not enough to bring his need to a screeching halt, but enough to have him grip the agent's hand and pin it down to the floor as he continued to have his way, kissing, thrusting against him, seeking release from his momentary madness.

"Fuck, Spike," she half-moaned, half-growled. "Let me--" she started to plead, but then he was pounding her into the ground, and it was so good, so fucking good, that her protests went away, lost in her guttural moans and gasps.

The sound of booted feet running down the prison hallway broke through Spike's single minded goal. He kissed Summer hard, one last time, before rolling away, still hard and heavy. "I'm going to tell them I'll cave. Be back to get you when I can," he said, heaving and forcing his mind to think straight.

Hell and be damned, Buffy thought with the few working brain cells she had. That man was hotter than anyone she’d ever known! Body humming with frustration, she started to object, but realized they couldn’t seem to be divided in purpose.

Metal slid against metal, and the hatch overhead was opened. A ladder was pushed through. Before Spike could get a word out, they were being shouted at to get out... to move it double time. Why did he always have to move to plan B?

They were shoved and pushed, and joined several other western looking prisoners who seemed to be worse for wear. It was only after they got onto a bus that they were told they were going home. It was Christmas Eve, and several countries had agreed to a prisoner exchange. "Turned out the driver's a lucky bloke then," Spike whispered. Plan B was no longer necessary.

“Yeah. He’ll live.” Buffy wasn’t sure she would, at least without a night having Spike all to herself! Once they were out, she promised herself. Once they were free again.

*

[Present Day]

Spike blinked back the memories of that very confusing time in his life. Almost everything rolled off his back like water, but being attracted to a bloke like that... it had thrown him.

He remembered refusing to go to the medal presentation ceremony for Summers, vowing to stay the bloody hell away from that agent. When his superior had pestered him, he'd snapped at him to leave off. If only he'd shut his mouth then and there. He'd added that he never wanted to work with Summers again and to keep that in mind in future assignments.

It had been an offhand remark, no different than many others. Blanton refused to work with Michaels, everyone knew Drew hated Peters' guts... his comment had been thoughtless, but no different. But someone had decided to put a gloss to his words... decided that Summers wasn't a good agent, or had fucked up in some way. Right, he'd... she'd been a new agent coming up the ranks, as yet unknown. His ranking was high... a word from him, and sometimes careers could be made or lost.

He let out a sigh. "It was a mistake. A misunderstanding. Summers was one of the best agents I'd worked with."

"But you..."

"That was personal, not professional. Get her back... get her on this case, you need her."

"Double O thirteen, where are you going? William!"

He knew this pub around the corner, and planned to get stinking drunk. All those doubts, all the times he'd tried to explain to himself what happened in Taiwan... and she was a woman. A WOMAN. Fucking hell....

(Please comment!)

(If you would like to be on my updates notification list, join here: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Bloody_Bad_Poet_Fic/ )