The Agency, part 1: Lindsey/Tara/Spike AU, NC-17
Things I Have Learned: Do not put off posting your WiPs on LJ, for lo, your computer may crash, and you have made no backup discs.
So, uh, my computer crashed. It is dead. It has gone to that big computer parts warehouse in the sky. If I owe you fic, rest assured that you will get it. I shouldn't really be much slower than my usual glacial pace, in fact. The absolutely fabulous tesla321 has been heroically sorting through and sending me all the bits and pieces of WiPs I've emailed her over the past, like, eight months. All hail tesla321! I know I do. I can't quite afford to buy a new computer just yet, but I will do so eventually. Until then, I'm posting what I have because my computer taught me to live in the moment and post in the now. In a sadly ironic twist, the dear romanyg gave me LJ time. Whoops. Thank you, doll.
Anyway, here's something I was working on for the lovely and inhumanly patient remember_nomore, who requested a long threesome story. I wrote her two different versions and completed neither, but here is the first part of "The Agency," just for kicks.
The Agency
Spike takes a long drag from his cigarette, lets it out in a meditative gust of air. "Rats in a cage," he says offhand.
Tara frowns, trying not to let him affect her concentration. They need to stay sharp, keep their eyes on the target. Nothing matters but the target. All the Agency training had been very clear on that point.
And she well knows Spike isn't referring to the target.
:::
The job is simple, and they do it with their customary efficiency. Tara lounges in the back of the busy restaurant, wearing dark sunglasses and an outfit chosen with more of an eye to blending into the woodwork than some of the neon "notice me!" ensembles the Agency suits her up in on occasion, for which she is grateful. Her job usually entails fading into the woodwork anyway, another small blessing.
Inasmuch as anything involving the Agency can be considered a blessing.
Tara magicks up a slight, undetectable distraction spell to keep any onlookers's eyes sliding off Spike and gives him his cue. Without another word, he stubs out his cigarette and leaves their unobtrusive perch. Her glamour doesn't waver for an instant; they never do. Glamours are one of her specialties, and the utterly bland facade she's wrapped around Spike even has its own reflection in the decorative mirror that dominates the
South wall, handily concealing the fact that Spike himself does not.
The blow is lightning quick. Tara is certain no one would notice if they weren't looking for it the way she is. One minute the target is standing there at the bar, nursing a drink, the next... the next she simply is not. Spike casually pockets the little power orb the Agency was so keen on getting their hands on and walks away, discreetly brushing the slight smattering of vamp dust off his suit.
Tara lingers for exactly ten minutes, uses the distraction spell to keep any untoward glances away from herself, and strolls out.
:::
"Nice when it's a vamp," Tara says, peeling her coat off back at the Agency on the way to their debriefing.
Spike shrugs noncommittally, fiddling with another cigarette as he waits for her to finish.
"Not--not that I'd want it to be you, or anything, just..." she sighs, frustrated, and yanks off a high-heeled boot. She'd shower if she had the time to; she always prefers to shower after a mission, no matter how neat and clean the job goes, but she knows her partner is just itching to get out of here. "It's just easier, you know? When it's vamps. The people..."
She trails off. Best not to think about the people, she's found.
Best not to.
"Anyway, it's... nice," she finishes lamely, slipping into her comfortable sandals. She stands and Spike immediately turns, leading the way out of the room.
:::
"My superiors will be very pleased with this," Lindsey tells them, smiling like a cat with a whole saucerful of cream as they finish their report. He reverently accepts the orb Spike hands over, placing it in a little box on his desk. "Very pleased. And it only took you 48 hours to track her down with the intel we gave you; excellent. Take the weekend off."
Tara and Spike turn to leave.
"Spike," Lindsey calls.
Tara can feel Spike stiffening beside her. They stand still but don't turn around.
"It was a very good job," Lindsey says softly. "I'd say you deserve a reward."
Spike shudders, and Tara can't help slipping her hand into his in support. His grip is cool and trembles slightly. He squeezes her hand once and lets go, naked need on his all-too-expressive face as he turns to face their handler. "Yes," he says.
Tara leaves, gently closing the office door behind her. The discreet click of the lock seems to echo in the hallway.
:::
She's expecting the knock on her door, even at this late hour.
Especially at this late hour.
Tara sets aside her tea and her Millay, and goes to open it. Spike's mouth is set in a tight line, but there's a rosy flush to his skin. Tara knows it will be slightly warmer than usual, should one touch him.
She puts the kettle back on, carefully thinking of nothing as she measures out little dried chamomile flowers into his mug. When it's ready she takes it to him, sitting on the arm of his chair, cradling her own tea in one hand as she smoothes back his rumpled mess of white curls with the other.
Closing his eyes, he leans back into her touch. Curls his hands around the mug and breathes in.
She keeps petting him as they drink their tea, and is unsurprised to find a hand on her thigh when they finish.
"Please," he whispers hoarsely, and she sets their empty mugs on the coffee table. Of course.
They're partners, she thinks as she lets him pull her into the chair. They keep each other sane.
Spike sinks to the floor, kneeling between Tara's legs, and she toys with his hair as he gently pulls up the hem of her skirt. When she edges forward he breathes her in like he did the tea, eyes closed, face peaceful for the first time all day.
"Yes," he whispers, and leans in to nuzzle into the skin of her thighs, the dampening fabric between them. "Yes."
He eats her out gently, sweetly, thoroughly, long laps and little nibbles through her panties until she shifts her hips and lets him pull them off, burying his face between her legs. She sinks back in the chair in a flurry of soft cries, gripping his hair when she comes. They rest for long minutes, his head on her thigh, eyes closed, a soft smile on his face. When she cups his chin, he unfolds himself, crawls up, and kisses her. She kisses back, and they have long conversations mouth to mouth, letting their lips and tongues and teeth form words against each other.
He breaks away to let her breathe, smiles, and picks her up. Swinging her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a child, he carries her to the bed. She hangs on for dear life, laughing all the way.
:::
The next job is a rough one, two weeks in Cleveland trying to smoke out a nest of Sk'guth demons without drawing the attention of the local Master. Spike takes a few hits, Sk'guth ichor becoming an almost permanent feature on most of his wardrobe, coming back to their motel at odd hours with vicious claw marks on his face and body. Tara gathers the bits and pieces of Sk'guth material he brings her, fashioning the net they'll need to bypass the wards around the nest. This will be a more complicated glamour than most; the more different the glamour's appearance is from it's wearer's form, the more complicated it is to maintain, but she's confident they won't need backup on this one.
When the net is finally ready, she rests for a day, meditating and gathering her energies, then lets Spike know he's on.
He sits quietly as she sets the glamour, beyond used to its tickle by now. It's an unsettling sensation at first, Tara knows from experience. She drapes the net around his shoulders, securing it well to his shirt, and watches it fade into the glamour until an eight foot Sk'guth takes shape before her, Spike winking out of sight as if absorbed by the demon. She carefully observes him from all angles, Sight switched off, making tiny adjustments until she's satisfied. When she nods, Spike takes off.
She follows at a prudent distance, taking a separate vehicle and waiting outside the nest, but everything goes off without a hitch. They rendezvous back at the hotel, ditch the extra car and take advantage of the remaining hours of darkness to start the long drive home.
:::
Part two.
So, uh, my computer crashed. It is dead. It has gone to that big computer parts warehouse in the sky. If I owe you fic, rest assured that you will get it. I shouldn't really be much slower than my usual glacial pace, in fact. The absolutely fabulous tesla321 has been heroically sorting through and sending me all the bits and pieces of WiPs I've emailed her over the past, like, eight months. All hail tesla321! I know I do. I can't quite afford to buy a new computer just yet, but I will do so eventually. Until then, I'm posting what I have because my computer taught me to live in the moment and post in the now. In a sadly ironic twist, the dear romanyg gave me LJ time. Whoops. Thank you, doll.
Anyway, here's something I was working on for the lovely and inhumanly patient remember_nomore, who requested a long threesome story. I wrote her two different versions and completed neither, but here is the first part of "The Agency," just for kicks.
The Agency
Spike takes a long drag from his cigarette, lets it out in a meditative gust of air. "Rats in a cage," he says offhand.
Tara frowns, trying not to let him affect her concentration. They need to stay sharp, keep their eyes on the target. Nothing matters but the target. All the Agency training had been very clear on that point.
And she well knows Spike isn't referring to the target.
:::
The job is simple, and they do it with their customary efficiency. Tara lounges in the back of the busy restaurant, wearing dark sunglasses and an outfit chosen with more of an eye to blending into the woodwork than some of the neon "notice me!" ensembles the Agency suits her up in on occasion, for which she is grateful. Her job usually entails fading into the woodwork anyway, another small blessing.
Inasmuch as anything involving the Agency can be considered a blessing.
Tara magicks up a slight, undetectable distraction spell to keep any onlookers's eyes sliding off Spike and gives him his cue. Without another word, he stubs out his cigarette and leaves their unobtrusive perch. Her glamour doesn't waver for an instant; they never do. Glamours are one of her specialties, and the utterly bland facade she's wrapped around Spike even has its own reflection in the decorative mirror that dominates the
South wall, handily concealing the fact that Spike himself does not.
The blow is lightning quick. Tara is certain no one would notice if they weren't looking for it the way she is. One minute the target is standing there at the bar, nursing a drink, the next... the next she simply is not. Spike casually pockets the little power orb the Agency was so keen on getting their hands on and walks away, discreetly brushing the slight smattering of vamp dust off his suit.
Tara lingers for exactly ten minutes, uses the distraction spell to keep any untoward glances away from herself, and strolls out.
:::
"Nice when it's a vamp," Tara says, peeling her coat off back at the Agency on the way to their debriefing.
Spike shrugs noncommittally, fiddling with another cigarette as he waits for her to finish.
"Not--not that I'd want it to be you, or anything, just..." she sighs, frustrated, and yanks off a high-heeled boot. She'd shower if she had the time to; she always prefers to shower after a mission, no matter how neat and clean the job goes, but she knows her partner is just itching to get out of here. "It's just easier, you know? When it's vamps. The people..."
She trails off. Best not to think about the people, she's found.
Best not to.
"Anyway, it's... nice," she finishes lamely, slipping into her comfortable sandals. She stands and Spike immediately turns, leading the way out of the room.
:::
"My superiors will be very pleased with this," Lindsey tells them, smiling like a cat with a whole saucerful of cream as they finish their report. He reverently accepts the orb Spike hands over, placing it in a little box on his desk. "Very pleased. And it only took you 48 hours to track her down with the intel we gave you; excellent. Take the weekend off."
Tara and Spike turn to leave.
"Spike," Lindsey calls.
Tara can feel Spike stiffening beside her. They stand still but don't turn around.
"It was a very good job," Lindsey says softly. "I'd say you deserve a reward."
Spike shudders, and Tara can't help slipping her hand into his in support. His grip is cool and trembles slightly. He squeezes her hand once and lets go, naked need on his all-too-expressive face as he turns to face their handler. "Yes," he says.
Tara leaves, gently closing the office door behind her. The discreet click of the lock seems to echo in the hallway.
:::
She's expecting the knock on her door, even at this late hour.
Especially at this late hour.
Tara sets aside her tea and her Millay, and goes to open it. Spike's mouth is set in a tight line, but there's a rosy flush to his skin. Tara knows it will be slightly warmer than usual, should one touch him.
She puts the kettle back on, carefully thinking of nothing as she measures out little dried chamomile flowers into his mug. When it's ready she takes it to him, sitting on the arm of his chair, cradling her own tea in one hand as she smoothes back his rumpled mess of white curls with the other.
Closing his eyes, he leans back into her touch. Curls his hands around the mug and breathes in.
She keeps petting him as they drink their tea, and is unsurprised to find a hand on her thigh when they finish.
"Please," he whispers hoarsely, and she sets their empty mugs on the coffee table. Of course.
They're partners, she thinks as she lets him pull her into the chair. They keep each other sane.
Spike sinks to the floor, kneeling between Tara's legs, and she toys with his hair as he gently pulls up the hem of her skirt. When she edges forward he breathes her in like he did the tea, eyes closed, face peaceful for the first time all day.
"Yes," he whispers, and leans in to nuzzle into the skin of her thighs, the dampening fabric between them. "Yes."
He eats her out gently, sweetly, thoroughly, long laps and little nibbles through her panties until she shifts her hips and lets him pull them off, burying his face between her legs. She sinks back in the chair in a flurry of soft cries, gripping his hair when she comes. They rest for long minutes, his head on her thigh, eyes closed, a soft smile on his face. When she cups his chin, he unfolds himself, crawls up, and kisses her. She kisses back, and they have long conversations mouth to mouth, letting their lips and tongues and teeth form words against each other.
He breaks away to let her breathe, smiles, and picks her up. Swinging her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a child, he carries her to the bed. She hangs on for dear life, laughing all the way.
:::
The next job is a rough one, two weeks in Cleveland trying to smoke out a nest of Sk'guth demons without drawing the attention of the local Master. Spike takes a few hits, Sk'guth ichor becoming an almost permanent feature on most of his wardrobe, coming back to their motel at odd hours with vicious claw marks on his face and body. Tara gathers the bits and pieces of Sk'guth material he brings her, fashioning the net they'll need to bypass the wards around the nest. This will be a more complicated glamour than most; the more different the glamour's appearance is from it's wearer's form, the more complicated it is to maintain, but she's confident they won't need backup on this one.
When the net is finally ready, she rests for a day, meditating and gathering her energies, then lets Spike know he's on.
He sits quietly as she sets the glamour, beyond used to its tickle by now. It's an unsettling sensation at first, Tara knows from experience. She drapes the net around his shoulders, securing it well to his shirt, and watches it fade into the glamour until an eight foot Sk'guth takes shape before her, Spike winking out of sight as if absorbed by the demon. She carefully observes him from all angles, Sight switched off, making tiny adjustments until she's satisfied. When she nods, Spike takes off.
She follows at a prudent distance, taking a separate vehicle and waiting outside the nest, but everything goes off without a hitch. They rendezvous back at the hotel, ditch the extra car and take advantage of the remaining hours of darkness to start the long drive home.
:::
Part two.