S.M.U.T. Bunnies by Chris Cook

Rating: NC-17
Uber Setting: James Bond, sort of.
Disclaimer: Based on characters from Buffy The Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon and his talented minionators, and all manner of things including the James Bond series by Ian Fleming/Eon Productions, and The Avengers by Brian Clemens. All original material (I'm sure there's some in there somewhere) is copyright 2005 Chris Cook.
Distribution: Through the Looking Glass http://alia.customer.netspace.net.au/glass.htm
The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Feedback: Hell yeah!
Author's Notes: Thanks to Tarawhipped (Cameron) – author of Secrets and Spies, The Legend of Green Eyed Red and Island of Death – for coming up with the 'Smut Bunny Anthem' (to the tune of 'Goldfinger'), and not stating the completely obvious when I suggested the notion of Smut Bunnies as secret agents – that being that I'm a crazy fool with lunatic ideas. And also to WickedReds and Wimpy, self-proclaimed Smut Bunnies – I'm sure, without Reds' use of the Anthem as a sig constantly fulfilling the role of the little devil on my shoulder saying "Go on, do it," the rational part of me would have pointed out that this is insane.
If you haven't figured it out by now, this story is going to be silly. Hopefully, though, it'll be entertaining as well.
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: Secret agents. Supervillains. Adventure. Excitement. Smut. Lots of smut. And saving the world, too.

Throughout history, conquest and espionage have gone hand-in-hand. By the time armies march to war, elite men and women have already been engaged in fierce battles in the shadows, defending a populace that regards them as little more than exaggerated modern-day fairy tales. But they are very real, and victory for them is for those they guard to remain blissfully unaware of their existence.

But wars are fought over more than land and resources, and with weapons other than guns and bombs. There are those who will go to the most extreme lengths to conquer the minds of others, to enforce their views, their standards, to tell the general public what is acceptable and what is evil. And in this war, too, we are defended by an elite group of secret agents.

100 Nautical Miles South of Hawaii
Deep Sea Station #3: Pacific Telecommunications Hub
0300 Hours

Searchlights played fitfully across the surging ocean. Spray from the giant waves washed over the sides of the relay station, squatting in the featureless water like a dwarf oil rig. To anyone observing from the surface, the station consisted solely of a single habitat dome, barely a dozen meters across, surrounded by exposed walkways linking the dome to a collection of antennae and automated watchtowers.

Beneath the waves, though, stretching down from the hydro-traction pods that kept the station afloat, and stable in spite of the raging storm, a massive tail stretched down into the pitch black water. Far below, on the ocean floor, it connected to a thick, armored conduit containing millions of fiber-optic bundles. If data were light, the darkness of the deep ocean bed would have been as bright as the surface of the sun – fully one third of the world's internet traffic rushed back and forth, through the pacific backbone conduit.

Back on the surface in the station's habitat module, surrounded by workstations monitoring and maintaining the vast flux of information, a villain was gloating – which, in terms of being an oxymoron, is akin to saying the ocean outside was a bit damp. Gloating is a sure sign of a villain with a plan that is, so far, working without a hitch, and this was the case in Deep Sea Station #3 – though it must be said, the most committed to their villainy will continue to gloat no matter how much goes wrong.

"At last! So many years of work, of planning, and now, success is within my grasp! Wonderful!" The maniacally-grinning figure turned to his wetsuit- clad henchwoman, who was lounging in one of the workstation chairs, looking bored so far as could be told with night-vision goggles covering her eyes.

"Soon, my dear," he went on, oblivious to her quiet, long-suffering sigh, "very soon my retrovirus program will be unleashed upon the world. It will spread like a cleansing flame, reaching into millions of homes, scouring hard drives, erasing all manner of vile pornography, erotica, smut! No longer will the people of the world be able to indulge their wicked imaginations with all this unwholesome claptrap, oh no. I warned them, time and again – reject it, I said, turn away from this unclean entertainment, but no, they wouldn't listen. So if they won't save themselves, it's up to me to do it for them! I, Richard Wilkins III, will save the souls of the world!"

The calm of the dome's interior vanished as the main doorway swung open, admitting the howling wind and driving rain, and a water-soaked figure.

"Not for you it's not," said the newcomer. She wore heavy black leather boots, skin-tight black leather pants slung low on her waist, and a very brief top – yes, also black leather – that only just covered her impressive bust.

"You shoulda stayed in your little redneck town," the woman smiled casually, swaying her hips as she sauntered into the dome. "All your local yokels appreciated the whole 'nothing more than a G-rating' thing. The wider world, not so much."

"There's nothing you can do, Faith," Wilkins gloated – see? – backing towards the control console behind him. "My retrovirus is already in the system, all I have to do is activate this workstation and it'll be locked in, and you'll never be able to get rid of it!"

"This workstation?" asked a voice from behind Wilkins. He spun around in alarm to see another young woman perched atop the console, twiddling its disconnected power cable idly. Like Faith she was soaking wet, having crawled in from the open maintenance hatch behind her, and wore, incongruously, a brightly-colored cheerleader's costume.

"My cue to leave," Wilkins' henchwoman noted to herself, launching out of her chair at Faith, while at the same time Wilkins himself charged towards the workstation, grappling for the power cable.

"Give me that you half-dressed streetwalker!" he roared, crashing into the console and sending himself, Buffy and the workstation to the floor in a chaotic mess. Faith blocked a kick from the henchwoman and, with an angry glance at her as she turned and fled out the doorway, ran to help her companion.

"Hey B," she joked, grabbing Wilkins by his collar and hauling him off her companion, "no messing around while we're on duty."

"It doesn't matter," he snarled, "even without being locked into the system, the damage my program will do to your smutty deviance will be-"

"Ah shut up," Buffy said, knocking him out with a straight left to the jaw. He slumped in Faith's hold, and she let him fall to the deck. Buffy flexed her fingers after the punch, then touched a control on her tiny radio earpiece.

"All taken care of," came the answer over the radio, "it never even got into the backbone. Hot sauciness remains safe for another day."

"Nice work Red," Faith put in, "the hench-wench got away, but we've got Wilkins. Wanna bring the chopper around so we can load him on get out of this dump?"

"Do you have to wear that cheerleader thing?" she asked. "I mean, here? It's blowing a gale and pouring out there."

"It's my shtick and I'm shticking to it," Buffy joked. "Anyway, what about you – do you even have any clothes that aren't black leather?"

"It looks good on me," Faith protested. She took a moment to study Buffy's outfit more closely, noting the way the soaked skirt was clinging to her thighs, and her top had gone almost transparent from the rain.

"You read my mind," Faith smiled. She gave a quick glance at Wilkins' prone form, kicked him in the side to ensure he was still unconscious, then advanced on Buffy, pinning her to the dome's wall.

"Let's get you out of those wet things," she murmured. Her hands quickly went to work, pulling Buffy's top up over her head, then tugging at her skirt, fumbling with the damp material for a moment before giving up and simply tearing it down one side.

"Yeah, go baby," Buffy grinned, "see… I had it all planned out… mmmMM!" Faith interrupted her by seizing her bottom in both hands, lifting her up against the wall, and lowering her head to nibble hungrily on the blonde's hard nipples.

"Uh-huh…" Buffy panted, "get in here… kick slime-ball's ass… then you'd… heat me up…" She trailed off blissfully as Faith nipped lightly at one breast, then the other, her head bobbing back and forth between them.

"That's what I like about you, B," she said, lifting her head for a moment, "you've always got a plan."

"Is that all you like about me?" Buffy teased, wrapping her legs around Faith's waist.

"Me," Faith grinned, "I'm all live-in-the-moment… whatever seems like a good idea at the time."

"And what seems like a good idea now?" Buffy asked in a mock-innocent tone, tightening her legs' grip on Faith and pressing her heated center against her partner's bare stomach. Faith's eyes closed for a moment, then opened again, predatory.

"I," she said, pinning Buffy to the wall with her body, freeing her arms to lift Buffy's legs up over her shoulders, "am going," her fingertips stroked Buffy's dripping folds, "to fuck you…" she paused, on the edge of entering Buffy's sex, "…wild."

Buffy gave an exultant yell as Faith thrust into her, from teasing her entrance to reaching fully into her welcoming depths in one powerful motion. She opened her eyes to find Faith staring at her, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

"I-is that," the blonde managed between panting breaths, "the… best… you got?" Faith raised an eyebrow, then leaned in to kiss Buffy, easily parting her lips, their tongues caressing each other. She pulled back a fraction, and added a third finger to the two thrusting into Buffy's core, earning a gasping groan in return.

"Just gettin' started, B," she breathed. She dipped her head briefly, flattening her tongue against Buffy's neck and running it all the way up under her jaw, then dropped to her knees, leaving the trembling blonde flat against the wall with her legs draped leisurely over Faith's shoulders, her feet resting on the cool metal floor.

"Oh god yeah!" Buffy yelled as Faith nibbled the folds her fingers were plunging between, her tongue snaking out to gather the copious juices coating her sex, her thighs, Faith's own hand. The fingers within her began curling inward, stroking roughly over Buffy's g-spot with each thrust. Buffy lost her recently-regained footing and collapsed into Faith's grasp, her free arm around the blonde's waist to keep her from falling. Faith withdrew her fingers, leaving Buffy's center empty, pulsing before her eyes. She slid her soaked fingers backward, between the blonde's ass cheeks, as she nestled her head comfortably into the apex of her thighs.

"Faithy needs her supper," she grinned, "wanna give it to me?" Without waiting for a reply she pulled Buffy down, firmly onto her mouth as her lips opened wide and her tongue reached deep inside her. At the same time she straightened two fingers and worked them quickly into Buffy's ass, twisting back and forth against the tight ring of muscle.

"Oh fuck!" Buffy screamed. "Yeah I'm gonna give it to you! God! Eat up baby, eat up… gonna come for you baby, yeah, oh god, Faith, yes! YES!"

In one smooth motion she pushed herself away from the wall, propelling Faith onto her back, cushioning her landing by holding her partner's head tightly between her thighs as Faith's tongue never ceased its voracious exploration. Buffy released her death-grip on Faith's head and spread her knees wide, wantonly thrusting herself down against the brunette's eager mouth and tongue and fingers.

"Here it comes baby," she whispered, grinding her hips down, around and around. "Here it… fuck… COMES!" she finished with an ecstatic shout, arching her back violently, her arms flung out behind her, head lolled backwards as her body shook and trembled and disgorged its bounty of sweet nectar into Faith's waiting mouth. For a good half a minute Buffy remained there, unable to move of her own volition, only to shudder and twitch as Faith gleefully sought out every last drop of her essence, and the fingers in her rear passage gently withdrew.

At last, with a great, shuddering breath the blonde managed to rein in her body, and slowly righted herself and leaned forward. Faith craned her neck, reaching after the retreating prize as Buffy slid her hips down her body, to crouch over her and gently lick the traces of moisture from her face.

"I know," Buffy grinned, reaching down to undo the buttons on Faith's pants, "and you know what? Now I'm really going to give it to you…" Faith's eyes lit up, but at the same moment there was a roar of air and engines from the dome's doorway, a winch harness swung into view, and a voice emerged from their earpieces:

Buffy let her head fall forward, connecting with Faith's forehead with a gentle thunk.

"Sure Will," she said with a rueful grin, "just give us a moment to… uh, secure the prisoner…" she improvised, casting a glance at Wilkins' still- unconscious form.

London, England
Headquarters of the Special Ministry for Unconventional Threats (S.M.U.T.)
2100 Hours

The Ministry, as it was simply known, was an impressive, imposing building that stood alone on the northern bank of the river Thames, isolated on either side by stretches of well-cultivated greenery. Even late at night there were always lit office windows, reflected in the river – the Ministry never slept.

One of these lights, alone at the top of the modern-day fortress, silhouetted a shapely female figure in a tailored business suit, staring out at the city. Though the discreet plaque on her desk read 'Lilah Morgan', she was known to everyone who worked for her – from top agents to the lowliest of office clerks – as 'M', the Ministry's commander, with absolute authority over its operations, answerable only to the Prime Minister and the Queen.

Willow Rosenberg was nervous in her presence, but that was to be expected – when M, who rumor had it had been everywhere and done everything in her time as an agent, called a junior field technician to her office, it generally wasn't simply for idly chat. Willow tried not to fidget.

"We do a very important job, Agent Rosenberg," M said at last, after an uncomfortable period of silent window-staring, with her back to Willow.

"Yes Ma'am," Willow replied promptly, wondering whether this was a prelude to a demotion for some reason.

"Out there," M went on, still staring at the city, "are billions of people all over the world, each with their own personal likes and dislikes. Out there somewhere, someone is ogling a woman with large breasts, or a man with a toned backside. Someone is feeling handcuffs close around their wrists, having been blindfolded by their lover. Someone is fantasizing about their teacher, or their boss, or their neighbor, or the cute young girl or boy who delivers their pizza. Someone is busily writing a story or filming a video which would scandalize the majority of the population, yet just as easily will bring great pleasure to those whose tastes it caters to. Everyone has their own tastes."

"Yes Ma'am," Willow said again. She couldn't keep her eyes from darting to the wall behind M's desk, where – like an old-fashioned display of swords – a pair of riding crops hung. Office rumor had it that Director Wyndam-Pryce, the head of counter-intelligence at the Ministry, was a frequent eager visitor to his superior's office, and not at all for the purposes of business. And sat down gingerly, if at all, for some time afterwards.

Willow's eyes snapped back to M as she turned around. 'Did she see me looking at the crops?' she wondered frantically, hoping they didn't have disciplinary purposes as well.

"The important thing," M said, either oblivious to or disregarding Willow's private panic, "is choice. A person may choose to explore, or ignore, whatever they please. However, there is a definite tendency among certain people to want to make that choice not just for themselves, but for everyone else as well. The Ministry's task is to ensure that all mature adults have the ability to make their own choices."

"Yes Ma'am," Willow said once more, wondering whether M was going to get irritated at having to carry on the entire conversation by herself, but not being able to come up with anything better to say.

"I know you know this," M went on, fixing Willow with a calculating stare, "your performance as an information intelligence expert and field technician has been exemplary. Your latest mission with Agents Leather-Bunny and Cheerleader-Bunny was exceptional. But I want to impress on you the importance of what we do. For a lot of people in this building, this is just a job – and that's fine, in the positions they hold. But for some, it must be more. This must be a calling, a duty, not just to your superiors, but to humanity itself."

"I think you believe in what you do," she said. "Otherwise I wouldn't be about to do what I am about to do. Agent Rosenberg, you are being promoted. As of now, you will no longer be a mere field agent, attached to individual missions as a specialist." She picked up a slim case from her desk, opened it, and slid it across the table, facing away from herself. Willow stared at its contents – a tiny gold badge, a rabbit.

"Congratulations, Agent Rosenberg," M said, "you are now one of the Ministry's elite agents: the Bunnies."

Willow left M's office in something of a daze, glancing down every few seconds to check that her new Bunny badge was still in place on her lapel, and with M's brief instructions repeating over and over in her head.

"You have been specially selected for a critical mission. There will be a briefing in one hour, in A Branch. Your new partner is in the building, I suggest you use the intervening time to become acquainted with her."

"Code-name," Willow murmured to herself, checking her watch and flipping through the file M had given her, "Shy Bunny. Shy Bunny…" She reached the elevators and caught one.

"Level three, gymnasium," the electronic voice replied. Willow pushed the appropriate button and paced back and forth in the elevator until the doors opened again.

'Will she be nice?' she worried to herself as she moved through the quiet corridors towards the gym. 'I mean, my first mission… well, there's all the missions with Buffy and Faith, sure, but they were in charge, I was just the 'hired help', to pilot the transports and do the techy stuff… am I ready to be a Bunny? At least I won't be on my own… what if she doesn't like me? What if she resents having to work with a newbie, what if…'

Willow's thoughts trailed off into stupefied silence as she reached the gym, and set eyes on its single occupant. There could be no doubt that she was the one – the building computer had reported Agent Shy Bunny's location as the gym, and there was no-one else in the large workout room. And there was the tiny Bunny badge, attached to the shoulder strap of her exercise gear.

'What if she's the most gorgeous creature on the planet bar none?' Willow finally managed to process.

Her new partner was an enticing sight, clad in a pale blue leotard that left her long arms and legs bare, and displayed an ample cleavage into the bargain with its low-cut neckline. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, revealing her features – prominent, sculpted cheekbones, full lips, pale blue eyes that were sensuously lidded as she concentrated on her workout. Willow felt her mouth go dry as she studied the woman from head to toe, then received a jolt of arousal as the object of her attention braced her arms against the exercise frame she was using and slowly lifted her legs off the ground, without bending her knees, first holding them straight out in front of her for several seconds, then raising them up vertically, her thighs pressing against her chest.

'God she's strong… oh baby I wanna feel those legs squeeze my waist… and – hey,' she chastised herself, 'getting a little ahead of ourselves? Maybe introduce yourself first? Unless you just want to dash off to the bathroom for some 'private time' thinking about her… tempting… why on earth would someone like that be code-named Shy Bunny? What does she have to be shy about?'

Willow stepped out of the doorway and moved towards the blonde, intending to call out to her when she got close enough. These plans were forestalled, however, by the blonde suddenly uncoiling from her suspended pose and dropping lightly to the ground. Not having seen Willow she half-turned, facing away from her, and leant forward in a standard stretch, touching her toes easily.

'G-string!' Willow's mind yelped, as her eyes cheerfully fixed themselves irrevocably on the smooth, creamy skin of the blonde's ass. The words "Hello? Hi, I'm Willow Rosenberg, your new partner," steadfastly refused to leave Willow's mouth, but her feet continued to carry her forward, from 'in-the-same-room' to 'should-have-introduced-self-already' right up to 'I'm-a- creepy-stalker' territory, barely a meter from the blonde.

"Um, h-hi?" she ventured at last, internally panicking at how close she'd ended up. The blonde jumped and straightened up, taking a step back as she turned, and snatching up a towel from her exercise bag on the floor which she held in front of herself, covering her stomach and thighs.

"I'm sorry," Willow said hastily, "I didn't mean to startle you, I just… sorry?"

"It's alright," the blonde said, her voice quiet and gentle, "I thought I was alone, that's all… um, can I help you?" She still held the towel over her lower body, protectively. 'She is shy,' Willow realized, 'my god, why?!?'

"Willow," she explained, "Agent Willow Rosenberg. Is me. I'm a Bunny. Um, your new partner? They did tell you, right? I only just found out… actually I only just got promoted, up until a little while ago I was just plain old Willow, non-Bunny, but now I'm not, and I am. If you follow me."

"Hello, Willow," the blonde said, a smile appearing through her hesitation. She let the towel drop, and held out her hand.

"Hi," Willow grinned widely, shaking her hand. 'Soft… nimble fingers… naughty thoughts…' "You're Agent Shy Bunny, right? The system said you were here, and seeing as you're the only one here I figured you were you… again, with the not stopping talking."

"I just need to get changed," Tara explained, turning towards the changing room and gesturing for Willow to follow her.

"Yep, of course," Willow chirpily replied, "can't go into a briefing all lycra-clad, and sweaty…" '…and flushed from exertion, and gleaming with that sheen of sweat, all over your creamy skin, and my god those legs just keep going, huh…' Willow hurried to keep up as her brain cheerfully drowned in its own mental drool.

"Well, no," Tara agreed, giving Willow an amused grin, "I don't, you know, make a habit of wandering around like this… a-actually, that's why I usually work out late, I prefer having the place to myself." She leant closer to Willow, and added conspiratorially: "I'd get kind of self-conscious with people wandering by, seeing me in an outfit like this."

"Oh, yeah, me too," Willow nodded, "and, again sorry… for barging in unannounced, you know, I wouldn't have if I'd known-"

"That's okay," Tara said, with an enigmatic quirk to the corners of her lips. "You gave me a bit of a start, but, it turned out not an unpleasant one… all's well that ends well, hmm? Just, don't go selling tickets to my workout sessions now that you know my secret," she joked.

"Oh, no," Willow assured her. 'No way! Private show, only one spectator… lots of audience interaction.' She followed Tara into the changing room and stood dutifully outside the cubicle the blonde entered.

"Oops, I forgot," her soft voice sounded once the door had closed, "could you pass me a towel?"

"No problem!" Willow said, turning to the rack of towels on the opposite wall and surveying them critically. 'Now, big decision: big towel or little towel? Little towel means less Tara covered up… but if she wants to be covered, she's not going to appreciate being handed a handkerchief to wear… ohhh, drat. Be a good girl, Willow.' She picked one of the larger towels and handed it over the top of the door to Tara.

"I'm going scatterbrained," Tara's voice chuckled, "drop this in it, would you?" A fold of pale blue fabric appeared over the door, and Willow found herself holding Tara's leotard.

"I so wish I were you," she whispered to the garment, too quiet for Tara to hear, before placing it neatly inside the sports bag.

"Thanks," Tara said, crossing the changing room with the towel looped around her torso, trailing to her thighs, and entering one of the shower stalls. Willow watched spellbound as the towel was hung over the top of the stall, and behind the frosted glass the vague shape that was Tara leant over and turned on the shower, swaying gently back and forth as she washed herself.

Tara wore a confused smile – and nothing else – as the spray gently pummeled her shoulders and back. The source of her confusion was the redhead waiting outside, who she surreptitiously watched through the clouded glass.

'She's right there,' Tara mused, 'not ten feet away… and here's me stark naked, with just this flimsy pane of glass between us. Okay, maybe not flimsy, as such, but one push and it'd open, and then… there I'd be, and there she'd be. Oh for heaven's sake, it's not like this is the first time I've ever used the shower while someone else was in the change room! No-one like that, though… what is it about her? Red hair? She certainly stands out. It's the eyes, isn't it, ever since I told momma about my crush on Stephanie Madsen in the seventh grade she's teased me about me and green-eyed girls.'

Her hands, more or less on their own, let the washcloth drop back on its rail, and moved on their own up and down her torso.

'Okay, I admit, it's not just the eyes… it's the smile. It's the slightly neurotic babble. It's how her hand felt in mine. It's how she looks in a suit… holy mother of god, how does she look that hot in a suit? That's not natural. Women that sexy don't just wander into the gym while I'm conveniently half- naked, and start nervously babbling and checking me out. Was she checking me out? I'm sure she looked at my butt. What possessed me to get a g-string leotard? Thank you, whatever it was.'

Tara let her head fall back, and the soft jet of water move over her shoulder and down her front. She took a shuddering breath as her sensitive breasts were bombarded with spray, biting her lip at the conflicting sensations – to move out of the water, or arch her back and indulge in more of the liquid massage. She compromised by sliding her hands up over her breasts, shielding her sensitive skin for a moment, without losing the delicious hot water streaming over them, through her fingers.

"Mmmm," she purred, tilting her head into the water for a moment, then leaning back, feeling her wet hair stroke against her back. She leaned back further, forcing her hands down, and giggled as the water once more fell directly onto her breasts and cleavage – it was like a sensuous kind of torture, a test to see how much she could endure in the service of the pleasure it brought. Her nipples stood to attention, the areolas crinkling into pebbled haloes.

"Mmm, shower power," she murmured to herself, leaning back so that her shoulders pressed against the tiled wall behind her, her hips thrust out ahead of her. The shower stream caressed her stomach, the spray on its edges still catching the bottoms of her breasts, and reaching far enough to tickle at the patch of hair gracing her mound.

'Not bad at all,' she thought, 'hundreds of tiny hands at work… hundreds of Willow-hands…' She closed her eyes and grinned. 'You're a naughty, naughty girl, Tara Maclay.' One hand moved tentatively across her thigh, inwards, but then she sighed and stood up straight, reaching again for the washcloth.

"Not enough time," she grumbled quietly to herself, gauging her mood – she knew the difference between a quick bout of self-love, and one of the times her body would make her drag the act out for as long as humanly possible. 'Maybe if I take too long she'll come in to check on me?' she grinned mischievously to herself. Her eyes strayed to the glass, now fogged with steam, leaving Willow a barely-visible patch of steel-blue-gray suit and red hair.

'Please be thinking about me,' she wished silently. 'What was it momma always said? If you want to be noticed, make good and sure you're noticeable.' She grinned as an idea struck her. 'Okay Agent Willow Rosenberg, you are going to notice this!'

Outside Willow shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gazing contentedly at Tara's vague silhouette while her mind entertained all manner of fantasies about being on the other side of the glass. Her eyes widened as Tara's hand pressed against the barrier, noticing that the glass's obscuring quality counted for little when the object on the other side was pressed right up against it.

'My kingdom if you'll just lean up against that glass,' Willow thought to herself. Tara's hand vanished, and Willow shrugged. 'Oh well, can't win 'em all-ahhhh-uh-uh…' Her thoughts trailed to incoherency as the vague flesh-colored form resolved into Tara's back, flattened up against the glass. Willow's eyes, luckily able to operate without guidance from her brain, traced the expanse of skin from the elegant shoulder blades, down the gentle curve of her spine, her view obscured slightly where Tara's skin lost contact with the glass in the small of her back, to the swell of her hips and her ass. Then just as quick as it had appeared the vision was gone, and Willow was left with her jaw hanging open.

'Guess you've got my kingdom then,' she thought, her brain jolting into action again.

Willow and Tara entered the Headquarters research labs side by side, Tara now wearing a very smart gun-metal gray suit and pants. The equipment testing center, on the other side of the complex, and some very thick shatter- proof glass, was as always bustling, and reverberating to the sound of machinery, gunfire on the test range, and occasional small explosions, but the labs themselves were largely empty, with only a handful of technicians at their desks, writing reports or fiddling with experiments. The two agents stood in the doorway for a moment, searching the large room for someone to report to, when the door to the branch Director's office opened and a handsome black man waved at them.

"The Director's ready for you," he said, holding the door open for them as they entered the office.

"Thank you Charles," Director Winifred Burkle said as she stood from behind her desk. Willow, who had spent far less time in the presence of any of the Directors than she assumed Tara would have, looked at her fellow agent for help, but found only matching confusion. Winifred noticed their expressions, and shrugged, glancing down at the skin-tight crimson bodysuit that constituted her entire wardrobe.

"Biometric synthetic polymer," she explained, "we're calling it the Illyria suit. It should be pretty useful, if we can iron out the bugs. Fortunately it needs someone else's help to get in and out of."

"Hmm? Oh… yep," Winifred said, casting a devious grin at Charles, "unfortunate, yep. Good to see you again Tara. And you must be our new Bunny?" She shook Willow's hand. "Winifred Burkle, but call me Fred."

"That's okay, you'll be stuck with it forever, best to give it some thought," Fred nodded. She gestured to Charles. "Charles Gunn, head of physical training." He and Willow exchanged hellos, and all four took their seats.

"Take a look at this," Fred said, tapping a key on her laptop. A flat screen on the wall behind her activated, showing two women sitting by a pool-side, one a stunning tanned blonde in a one-piece swimsuit, the other a raven- haired Asian beauty in a bikini, with a translucent skirt tied loosely around her hips.

"-here?" the blonde woman was saying as the scene resumed from being paused. "But, anyone could look over the fence, they might see us."

"So?" her companion countered, leaning closer, her hand reaching for the shoulder strap of the blonde's swimsuit and slowly dragging it down her arm. "Who cares whether anyone sees? I like what I see." Her other hand reached behind her back, undoing the knot holding her bikini top on. "What about you… do you like what you see?"

Fred tapped her laptop again, pausing the playback just as the bikini top began to fall away from the woman's chest.

"Melrose Place: The Next Generation, episode eight," she explained, removing the DVD from her laptop. "Rated R. I'm sure you're wondering why I'm showing it to you."

"I was kinda curious," Willow admitted. Fred nodded and stood up, crossing to a second TV set up on a side table. She slid the disc into it and turned back.

"The exact same scene," she said. The screen flickered on, and it was the same scene… basically. The two women sat by the pool, facing each other, but now both wore full swimsuits extending half-way down their legs, and right up to their necks, and their postures had altered, no longer obviously on the verge of leaping on one another – now they sat primly, with their legs crossed discreetly beneath them.

"Are you sure we should be out here?" the blonde asked. "We could be seen, and it would be quite improper to offend anyone. They might see our knees!"

"I agree," the other said, "we should go inside. What on earth would our hard-working husbands think if they saw us wasting time like this, instead of doing our household chores?"

"You're kidding, right?" Tara blurted out, then blinked in surprise at herself. "Sorry, I just…"

"I had the same reaction, believe me," Fred nodded. "That television was recovered, at great cost, from an illegal artificial intelligence research base in the Arctic circle three days ago. Inside it is an AI chip that turns any playback the TV processes, no matter how sexy, racy and/or explicit, into something like what you just saw."

"But that's impossible!" Willow exclaimed. "I mean, changing the outfits, the voices, the – everything, all in real-time, during playback, that's-"

"It's the absolute, horrible truth," Fred said flatly. "Radically advanced programming, the work of a genius, or a madman. Probably both, judging by the content. Any material this TV displays will be automatically censored down to a G-rating, and altered to erase any hint of anything even slightly arousing – everything from hard-core pornography DVDs, right down to double entendres on The Simpsons, or any even slightly titillating glimpse of skin, is reworked into ultra-conservative propaganda."

"Yeah, you ought to see what happened when we put the first episode of The L Word in it," Fred shuddered, "I'm gonna have nightmares. And that's not the worst part."

"There's more?" Willow squeaked, shuddering at the thought of her Angelina Jolie collection being converted into five shelves' worth of The Partridge Family.

"You know how bi-directional digital television protocols were introduced a couple of years ago," Fred explained, "TVs communicate back to the broadcast networks, allowing viewers to select specific programs, viewing options, and so on. If this TV were connected to a network, any network, it would propagate its programming into every other TV connected at the same time. It's a virus – one that could conceivably eliminate liberal sexuality in all its forms on broadcast media within three days of being released."

"That's what we want you two to find out," Fred told her. "Everything we know, which is sadly little at this point, is being compiled into the dossiers you'll be given. We have one lead at the moment – the AI chip is of unknown origin, but the rest of the TV was manufactured by Osbourne Industries."

"It's tenuous at best," Fred continued, "for all we know the mastermind behind this could have just bought the TV in Wal-mart. But it's all we've got right now. You've both been booked onto a flight leaving Heathrow at midday tomorrow, for New York. You'll meet the CEO, it's being arranged. Aside from that, it's up to you to find out if anything is going on at Osbourne, and if it is, follow it up and get us more information to work with."

"We'll do our best," Tara said, reaching for Willow's hand and squeezing it reassuringly.

"Good," Fred nodded. "Go see Jenkins for your mission equipment. Good luck, Bunnies."

"Have you ever met Anya before?" Tara asked, as she and Willow – somewhat shell-shocked – left Fred's office and headed for the equipment center.

"Nope," Willow shook her head, "I've only used standard equipment, none of the top-of-the-line Bunny stuff. Up until now, I guess."

"She's a little… eccentric," Tara said carefully, "but brilliant at what she does."

"Buffy and Faith – Leather Bunny and Cheerleader Bunny," Willow corrected herself, "I've worked with them as a specialist a few times – they said her gadgets are unbeatable. But they kind of sniggered when they said it…"

"Uh-huh," Willow shrugged. She and Tara both went to open the door for each other, leading to a moment's confusion, and a pair of nervous smiles. In the end Willow got the door open, and couldn't quite keep her gaze from dipping as Tara went in ahead of her.

The equipment center was full of all manner of paraphernalia, from jet-skis to hang-gliders, portable stereos, beach umbrellas, the back half of a Victorian carriage, an expansive wrought-iron candelabra attached to a gas canister, several parked cars, and – Willow happened to glance upwards – a stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling. Tara and Willow watched in bemusement as a queen-sized mattress waddled past on six stubby little mechanical legs, followed by a technician with a remote control.

"And that?" Willow asked, pointing to what appeared to be a pineapple, hovering on a miniature helicopter rotor.

"There you are!" Anya Jenkins said loudly, scrambling out from underneath some kind of oversized stone cherub that was belching smoke from a funnel coming out of its head. She stood up and wiped her hands on her lab coat.

"I've been waiting for you two for five whole minutes," she chastised the two agents.

"Oh, right," the head of experimental equipment nodded, "they showed you the TV? Scary. I'm transferring all my home movies to read-only discs, just in case. Now, I guess you're here for the latest and greatest products of my genius, yes? Who're you?" she added to Willow.

"Anya Jenkins, pleased to meet you. So you're what, Redhead Bunny? Freckle Bunny?"

"Undecided Bunny, okay," Anya said to herself, gesturing towards a desk laden with electronic bits and pieces. "Over here. Now pay attention, you two." She rummaged among the miscellany, and found a small object which she displayed proudly.

"State-of-the-art," she explained, "a fully-functional military-grade GPS link, wireless communications module with built-in encryption protocols, laser microphone for long-range snooping, code-key analyzer, fingerprint scanner, and automatic security bypass routines. And I've managed to fit in an electromagnetic dampening field projector. This little baby will get you into any secure location, disable surveillance systems, break into any computer, and transmit everything it finds automatically to our satellite network. The batteries are good for forty-six hours continuous use. Plus, it vibrates." She offered the object to Tara, then Willow, neither of whom made any motion to take it. There was a moment of embarrassed silence from the two agents.

"It's a butt plug," Willow said at last. Tara had to hold her hand over her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Yes," Anya nodded, as if nothing was amiss. "For easy concealment. See, you just slip this little baby in, and nothing short of a full strip search will find it on you. Metal detectors, security guards patting you down, nothing. Plus you don't have to worry about where to carry it."

"Anya," Tara said, stifling a giggle, "I think we'd prefer not to, um… have anything along those lines… on our person, while we're on a mission… you know?"

There was another embarrassed silence. Willow stared dumbstruck at Anya, then looked to Tara for help.

"Could we just have one in a carry-case?" Tara asked, blushing the color of Willow's hair.

"Well fine, if you want to be boring," Anya shrugged. She dropped the unfortunately-shaped espionage device back on the desk, and motioned for the agents to follow her as she set off across the laboratory.

"Is she…" Willow whispered, then trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

"Yes," Tara nodded, resigned, "but her equipment is second-to-none. She just has a certain… fixation… but she's the best, nonetheless."

"Concealed weapons!" Anya announced proudly, picking up a heavy insulated case and placing it on a vacant table.

"Anya?" Tara interrupted. "Just, before you start… I don't think either of us are comfortable with anything that's explosive, or has an automatic weapon in it, that you hide by… inserting… anywhere."

"That goes for flamethrowers too," Tara quickly added. Anya gave an annoyed huff.

"Fine," she grumbled, "but don't come crying to me if you get half-way through saving the free world and fail because you need a stinger missile shaped like a penis, and don't have one." She stared challengingly at the two agents. Willow and Tara exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

"Okay, pack them," Tara muttered unhappily, trying not to meet Anya's eye. "I'm not sure," she added to Willow in an undertone, "if there's going to be anything scarier on this mission than opening the equipment case."

"You won't regret it," Anya said chirpily, oblivious to the sotto voce commentary on her work, "now…" she put the case away and leant forward, studying Willow's breasts.

"You look like you could use some extra padding," Anya said, straightening up, "just come over here."

"I'm quite happy with what I've got," Willow protested, as Anya led them to a sealed glass room occupied by a mannequin wearing a bra that augmented its modest bust quite remarkably.

"But I bet what you've got can't do this," Anya said proudly, picking up a remote control and pointing it at the mannequin. The nipples irised open and a spray of thick black smoke jetted out, filling the room completely in the space of three seconds. Anya nodded with satisfaction and touched another control on the remote, and a powerful ventilation fan began to clear the room.

"For covering your escape," she explained, "there's matching sunglasses with infra-vision so you can see where you're going while whoever's chasing you is blundering around in the fog. I'll have the whole set added to your luggage. You," she turned to Tara and gave her a quick once-over, "actually, those are dangerous enough on their own." Tara crossed her arms over her chest, blushing furiously.

"Okay now," Anya continued, picking through a variety of bizarre, and quite suggestive, devices scattered about the workbenches. "Let's just give you a few things that might come in handy… hmm." She held up an enormous gel dildo and examined it critically.

"Not that," Willow said desperately. Anya shrugged and tossed the phallus into a suitcase.

"Might still come in handy, that's plastic explosive. There's a bullet vibe around here somewhere that's the detonator."

"Oh… good," Tara smiled weakly. Anya smiled, pleased with herself, and went back to retrieving things and dropping them into the suitcase.

"Lemme see… gas-propelled nipple clamp pitons… harpoon tassles… remote-controlled butterfly vibe – it really flies, there's a spy camera in the body… sonic disruptor slave collar… ten thousand volt fur-lined handcuffs… extending spreader bar, that goes out to fifteen meters… satellite antenna riding crop… these stiletto heels have self-adjusting lock-picks in them… oh! My favorite." She held up a complicated assembly of leather straps and gleaming metal studs. "Slave harness."

"Oh, fine," Anya huffed. "What you do is, you put this on your girl of choice – or guy, it adjusts – and then you've got over fifty connection points for restraints, straps, decorations and so on. So for instance, if you wanted someone bent over and-"

"I think what Willow means," Tara interrupted quickly, "is, what does it do, in terms of espionage?"

"Oh!" Anya nodded, understanding dawning. "Nothing. But it's really useful though, you wouldn't believe the stuff you can do with one of these!"

"I'm sure I wouldn't," Willow nodded hesitantly, "I think we can do without it."

"What does that do?" Tara asked, unable to stop herself, staring in slightly horrified fascination at an eccentrically-shaped sex toy that was quietly whirring away by itself on the workbench. Various rounded protrusions were gyrating in cycles around the main shaft of the thing, which shortened and lengthened rhythmically.

"No, it's mine. Next, your cars," Anya crossed to a roller door and opened it. Two vehicles gleamed inside, a sedan and an open-topped sports car.

"I'm sure you can," Anya grinned lasciviously over her shoulder. "But according to Fred, your first port of call will need a very businesslike cover story, hence the sedan. Aston Martin Vanquish, the best of the best-"

"It's always an Aston Martin," Tara noted, leaning to murmur in Willow's ear. Willow gave her a wink, and privately shuddered at the feel of the blonde's breath against her earlobe.

"Well, I get to take these home on weekends," Anya said defensively, "you think I'm going to go cruising in some mass-produced junk-pile? All the usual refinements, laser-guided missiles, multi-vector homing tracker, satellite uplink, land mines, turbojet booster… oh, and I've pre-loaded the in-car movie system with some favorites of mine, I'm sure you'll love them. Now," she turned and picked up a rounded silver cylinder from a workbench.

"It circumvents the steering and speed controls, in case you need to use your hands for something else. Plugs into the driver's seat – you know about steering with your knees? Well this is for driving with your-"

"Phooey," Anya grumbled, tossing the phallic control over her shoulder. "Oh, but the best thing – watch this!" She opened the Vanquish's door, got in, closed the door – and disappeared. Willow and Tara both leant over to peer in through the windows, but the car was quite empty.

"Cool, huh?" Anya's disembodied voice emerged. "Holographic displays overlaid onto light-emitting polymers in the windows. Whatever you're doing inside, no-one will be able to see you."

"Huh? Oh… yeah, I guess you could use it for that too." The windows flickered, revealing Anya inside, pressing a button on the dashboard.

"Most of the same gear in this," she said, getting out of the sedan and pointing to the sports car beside it, "DB9 Volante, seeing as you'll need a flashy sports car."

"Why do we need a flashy sports car?" Willow asked. Anya stared at her as if she was insane.

"You need a flashy sports car," she repeated sternly. "What are you, nuns or something? Guaranteed to pick up the man or woman of your choice within two minutes of them first laying eyes on the car – believe me, I've tested that feature extensively. A couple of things to bear in mind: the submarine mode will work with the roof down – breathers are in the glove compartment – but the holographic system needs the roof and windows up, so if you want to drive around topless, the car can't be. Any questions?" She looked expectantly at the two agents.

"Does it transform into a giant dildo, or something?" Willow asked with morbid curiosity. Anya looked thoughtful.

"Tricky," she mused, "not for this mission, but give me a few weeks, I'll see what I can do. I like you, you have good ideas."

"The seats vibrate," Anya added brightly. "I've been working on them in my spare time, and if I may say so myself, they're damn near perfect – I guess you girls would use them for distracting carjackers, or something equally mundane. They'll go from zero to orgasm in fifty seconds."

"You're joking," Tara spluttered, while Willow's eyes widened. Anya glared at her.

"So, um," Willow began, breaking the nervous silence between the two agents as they left the building's lift and headed for the main doors. She looked hopeful for a moment, then realized she hadn't actually thought of anything to say.

"Yeah," Tara said, also searching for a conversation-starter. "Oh! Um, did you… you know, have anything in mind, for your code-name?"

"Yeah I should think of something," Willow agreed, "I'll have to have it by tomorrow anyway, to log in when we start the mission. Only I can't really… I'm kind of on the spot, it's difficult to think of something."

"I know what you mean," Tara smiled, "mine was actually my mentor's idea… Shy Bunny, cause, well, compared to most of the Bunnies I'm pretty shy."

"Are you?" Willow asked, frowning in concern. "Oh, not that there's anything wrong with that, no, just, how come? I mean, about what?" Tara opened her mouth to answer. "Not that I'm demanding embarrassing intimate details," Willow quickly added, "if there were any. I mean, feel free not to tell me. Or to tell me that there isn't really anything to tell me, or not to, in any case. Or not to tell me that. If you want." She paused to draw breath, and looked at Tara's slanting grin and glittering eyes.

"Actually," Tara replied, "I was kind of thinking 'Adorabunny'. You know, 'cause of adorable… with a bunny."

"Definitely," Tara said, forcing her face into a serious expression, even if she couldn't keep the twinkle from her eyes, "Adorabunny. It's you."

"Me too," Tara said, a smile that had nothing to do with humor touching her lips. They stood together at the building's main doors for a moment, neither moving, their gazes fixed on each other.

"Hmm? Yeah," Willow nodded. "Oh, um, feel free to say no, of course, but do you want me to pick you up tomorrow? For the airport, I mean… no sense in both of us driving. If you'd like?" she finished nervously, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet in agitation.

"I'd like," Tara said. She pulled a card from her jacket's pocket and handed it to Willow. "Our flight's at midday, so, be there at ten?"

"See you then, Agent Adorabunny," Tara smiled, giving Willow's hand a little squeeze as she took the card.

Willow lay on her bed, beneath silk sheets and surrounded by pillows and cushions and various toy kittens, deep in sleep. Outside the sun was still a little way from rising, barely a hint of dawn's glow coming through the curtains. Willow moved sluggishly, dreaming, a faint smile on her face beneath the hair that spilled across it.

Willow looked around the S.M.U.T. gym, surprised to find it empty during the daytime. All the exercise machines were there, but the usual assortment of just-keeping-fit office workers and strenuously-working-out agents was absent.

"Are you ready for a workout, Agent Adorabunny?" Tara's voice dripped into her ear like warm liquid silk.

Willow turned to see Tara in her pale blue leotard – but slightly different, with the neckline cut down to here, showing a frankly devastating cleavage, and the waist arching up to there, showing off legs and hips that Willow wanted to kneel down and live between.

"Yes ma'am," she replied breathlessly. Tara stood back and, without a hint of hesitation, looked slowly down Willow's body to her feet, and back up again, missing nothing.

"These," Tara said, reaching out to catch the edge of Willow's top, "clothes. They'll only get in the way." Willow looked reflexively down at herself – she was clad in her usual workout gear, a loose crop top over a sports bra, lycra hotpants that covered her from her waist to the middle of her thighs, and her lucky trainers.

"Y-you want me to…?" she asked, tentative of questioning the utterly commanding woman standing in front of her.

With trembling hands Willow pulled her top over her head and let it fall beside her. She glanced at Tara, seeing her gaze still steady, her chin lifted proudly. She knelt down, quickly undoing the laces on her trailers, pulling them and her socks off in one go. Burning with embarrassment – and, she had to admit, arousal – she forced herself not to waste any time. She slipped her fingers beneath the edge of her bra, closed her eyes, and pulled it quickly up over her head, tossing it aside. Biting her lip with nervousness, she met Tara's gaze, fighting to keep her hands from moving away from where they had ended up at her side. They wanted to cover her chest, but she knew Tara wanted otherwise.

Willow looked down, steeling herself, and grabbed the waist of her hotpants. The tight material rolled as she pulled, revealing her hips, her buttocks as she bent over, keenly aware of her nakedness. She let the garment slide down her thighs, releasing it to fall from around her knees to the floor, and slowly straightened up. Now nothing was hidden from Tara's view.

The smiling blonde took a step closer, leaning forward until her lips almost touched Willow's ear.

Tara slowly crouched down, her eyes enslaving Willow's gaze, making her look down at the woman in front of her. Tara let her gaze drop to Willow's left foot, and reached out a finger, placing it delicately on her big toe. Slowly she moved the fingertip, up onto the foot proper, sliding sideways onto her inner ankle, then up, further up. Without realizing what she was doing Willow shifted her other foot slightly, parting her legs a fraction.

Tara's fingertip moved higher, her gaze with it, tracing the inside of Willow's calf, her knee, starting up her thigh, higher and higher, Willow held her breath, her eyes closed… at the last second the questing digit moved back onto the front of her thigh, just as it met her hip.

Willow gasped – in relief, or dismay? – and she looked down to see Tara staring shamelessly at her sex, smiling faintly as she studied every detail of Willow's mound, her rusty red pubic hair, her labia, the slight swelling at the top of her cleft where – Willow could feel it – her clit was throbbing to be touched.

"Oh, god," Willow whispered involuntarily, shocked and thrilled at the raw lust coursing through her at being so vulnerable, so exposed, so utterly naked and revealed to this blonde siren. Tara's smile quirked up at the corners, as much as saying 'I knew it,' as Willow's core clenched inside her like a fist, forcing out rivulets of lubrication that coated her nether lips from top to bottom, ran between her legs, down the insides of her thighs. Tara's gaze never wavered as, without a word or a conscious thought, Willow's body surrendered itself to her.

"Mmm," she hummed quietly, her fingertip – all but forgotten on Willow's left thigh – resuming its journey. Up over her hip, inwards towards her navel, skirting around her belly button, up as Tara straightened, gazing intently at Willow's body as she did. Her other fingertips joined the pioneer, and slowly, giving Willow every chance to shy away, while knowing damned well she couldn't if her life depended on it, she cupped Willow's left breast in her palm.

"Ah!" Willow started, a sharp intake of breath as Tara gently kneaded the soft globe, modest in size but immaculate in form. She lifted Willow's breast, then let it settle, squeezed, released, pressed with her palm, pulled back and curled her fingers inwards, digging gently into the pliant flesh. Willow's nipples, already erect, redoubled their efforts, becoming so desperately rigid that Willow felt as if they would shatter at any moment.

Tara let go of her breast, and trailed her hand up onto Willow's shoulder, feeling the slender, toned muscles as she continued down her arm, finally coming to her hand. Tara's and Willow's fingers interwove, as Tara slipped her middle and forefinger between Willow's, smiling knowingly as she mimicked penetration. Her fingers nudged further between Willow's, curling upward, finding and stroking her palm, putting pressure on the exact center.

"Very good," she said at last, and stepped back, leaving Willow panting, her hand trembling. Tara motioned to the exercise machine behind Willow.

"Time to start your workout," she murmured, "sit down." Willow obediently sat – the machine was one she was used to, a seat, swiveling leg pieces attached to weights, two arm pieces at head height, likewise weighted. Only to Willow's surprise, the action of the weights had been reversed – the arms and legs sat idle in their closed position, and it would take her effort to open her legs, and move her arms to either side of her. Willow's eyes widened as Tara drew thick leather straps from somewhere beneath the arms and legs of the machine – they had never been there before – and securely strapped Willow in, across her biceps and forearms, and her thighs, calves and ankles.

Tara checked each strap thoroughly, making sure Willow was quite restrained, then stood straight and leant towards her, bending at the waist to bring her lips to Willow's ear, and quite incidentally give Willow a front-row view of the world's most fabulous cleavage.

"Very good," she purred, her voice dripping with lust and satisfaction, "you know what to do now, don't you? Don't be shy… time to give that excellent body of yours a thorough workout." She stood straight again, and waited, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

Willow applied her muscles against the weighted limbs of the chair, found them heavy, but not so much that they overcame her desperation to obey her blonde goddess. Her arms swiveled out to either side, causing her back to arch and her chest to jut out, while her legs likewise opened, revealing her center.

Willow pushed as far as she could – her arms as far back as her shoulders would allow, her legs spread wide. As a field agent she had had years of exercise and toning, making sure she was as physically capable as she could possibly be, and now she put it all to use. When she felt the slight jarring as the machine's limbs touched the frame, as far as they could open, her breasts stood out proudly, nipples painfully erect, and her legs were splayed as wide as they could go, her widely parted thighs opening her outer labia, revealing her soft, juicy pink inner lips for all the world – and most importantly, Tara – to see.

Willow trembled with the effort of holding her pose, with the burning embarrassment reddening her cheeks, and with the equally-burning desire that sent a slow flood of moisture down her channel. Tara's gaze lowered to her sex; Willow could feel the droplet of arousal she was staring at, beading on the edge of her inner right lip, slowly growing. Tara crouched between her legs, leant her head down – 'Oh god, oh god, oh god,' Willow's mind repeated over and over again, unable to break free of the single thought – and, looking up through long lashes to make sure Willow was watching her, extended her tongue. She leant lower still… Willow felt the sudden change in sensation as the droplet of her nectar grew too large to hold her skin, and fell, then Tara was rising from between her thighs, her tongue curling in between her lips, depositing its prize on her palette.

She returned Willow's gaze without hesitation or shyness, displaying only supreme satisfaction in her domination. Then she took a step back and sat on a bench that had appeared from somewhere behind her, less than a meter from Willow, her eyes moving up and down her restrained, straining body. She slowly lifted one leg up, placing her foot on the seat of the bench and draping one arm around her knee, while her other leg trailed to the floor and her hand moved up and down her thigh, tracing a loop with her fingertips.

Willow relaxed slightly, letting her arms and legs succumb to the weight pitted against her muscles. As soon as her forearms were in front of her face, and her thighs closed, she flexed herself again, opening herself back up to Tara's view. Sweat formed on her brow as she fought the cruel weights trying to deny her to Tara's gaze, as again and again she revealed herself.

Tara's hand, on her thigh, moved higher and higher. Willow's view of her became a series of short clips, broken off every second, for a brief instant, by her arms in front of her. Every time she spread herself for Tara she desperately drank in as much of her mistress's form as she could – the slow, sensuous smile on her lips, her nipples visibly erect beneath the thin film of lycra covering her body, her hand creeping ever closer to her center.

Tara slipped her fingers sidelong in beneath the material covering her crotch, and reached down. Willow's motions became more and more desperate, her whole body heaving, her buttocks leaving the seat with each exertion. The outlines of Tara's fingers beneath the material moved down, Willow could clearly see the two fingertips she had ready. Her body arched off the machine with each thrust. Tara let out a long, shameless moan as her fingers brushed over her clit, her other leg sliding down to the floor, her thighs spreading in a slow imitation of Willow's motions. The weights arrayed against her seeming to count for nothing, Willow lunged her body forward, straining, her body striving as if it was already in Tara's hands. The outline of a third finger joined the first two beneath Tara's lycra. Willow could feel her core clenching with every repetition of the exercise, each time forcing out a bounty of lubrication to add to the glistening sheen on her slick labia, to coat her thighs, to drip and pool on the seat beneath her.

"Hold," Tara said suddenly. Without her mind processing the command Willow's body obeyed, once more splaying herself wide and then remaining motionless, exposed. Tara stood up, hand still at her crotch. She closed her eyes, parted her lips slightly, her expression serene and calm, as if she were about to enjoy a sip of some exotic tea. Willow felt tears of desperation fill her eyes and trickle down her cheeks as she saw the three outlines of fingers disappear, Tara's hand and wrist moving slowly downwards as, without a doubt, those three digits thrust inside her.

"Now that you're warmed up…" Tara murmured joyously, her fingers slowly thrusting and withdrawing. She sauntered forward, her hand never ceasing its sultry pumping motion between her thighs, and climbed up onto the machine Willow was strapped to, balancing with one foot on each of the leg pieces, beside Willow's thighs. Shifting her weight forward, her crotch came within an inch of Willow's face. With her free hand Tara calmly adjusted the machine's settings – lower down Willow gave a little cry of anguished need with every short, gasping breath. So close it was almost difficult for her to focus, hidden only by a thin layer of fabric, Tara's fingers continued to thrust deeply, gently withdraw, thrust again. Soft, liquid sounds escaped her concealed sex as she penetrated herself. Her scent filled Willow's consciousness, permeating her mind, filling her lungs, robbing her of oxygen, but it didn't matter, she breathed in Tara and was vitalized by the heady, deeply physical aroma.

Still calmly masturbating Tara stepped down from her balanced perch, and crouched in front of Willow, face level with her wide open sex. Willow found the force acting against her limbs gone, but in its place the limbs of the chair – and her with it – had been immobilized.

"Did you know," Tara said in an excited, breathy whisper, "climax is a very good form of exercise?"

"It's quite true," Tara went on, as if delivering an informative lecture to a classroom. "Would you like me to set your pace for you? Rhythm is very important when you're exercising."

"Oh please take me!" Willow whispered, desperately, "please take me, please…" Tara grinned, and looked down at her own crotch, where her hand continued its penetrating rhythm.

"Yes!" Willow pleaded. "Yes, anything, god, take me, do it now, do me now, please, please!" Tara slowly brought her free hand to Willow's soaked center, inverting it, placing her palm on Willow's mound and letting her fingers reach down, forefinger and middle finger either side of her aching clit.

"Each time I take you into my mouth," she whispered to Willow, "you will come. Shall we start with twenty climaxes?"

"Twenty," Willow gasped breathlessly, awestruck. Tara tilted her head thoughtfully.

Tara's fingers closed gently, but quite firmly, on Willow's clit, and drew back her hood as far as it could go, fully revealing the swollen, needful bundle of nerves to her breath as she exhaled slowly over Willow's sex. Willow could feel herself on the verge of a truly cataclysmic climax… Tara's lips moved closer, closer… her exposed clit yearned… now hidden from view, and Tara had only to close her mouth to have Willow's most sensitive spot inside, bathed in her warmth…

Willow jolted upright, her head snapped around towards the tiny plastic clock that had woken her, and in one fluid motion she leant over, scooped it up and hurled it at the far wall, where it shattered impressively.

She remained still for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Her usual stock of mild euphemistic expletives didn't seem quite suitable for the occasion. 'Darn' was definitely an understatement, 'oh shoot' didn't even come close, and even the usually-reliably-satisfying 'frilly heck!' seemed inadequate to the task of voicing Willow's feelings at this particular moment. Willow thought furiously, then exhaled, a calm expression settling over her face as she reached a suitable conclusion.

It was a somewhat distracted Willow who arrived at Tara's front door – no matter what she did to alleviate the after-effects of her dream (and she had taken matters into her own hands), the images lingered, persistent.

"Hi," Tara said, opening the door just as Willow was about to press the button for the chime.

It didn't help Willow that her newly-assigned partner was still wearing an elegant silk bedwear ensemble – loose pants, a singlet top and a loose, waist- length robe over the top of it. Tara's attire bore absolutely no resemblance to what dream-Tara had been wearing, but so far as resembling Willow's rapidly redeveloping idea of the perfect woman, she was getting dangerously close to the mark.

"Hi," Willow said, reddening at the thought of Silky Tara overseeing her exercise routines, "um, car?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder awkwardly. Tara glanced at the car parked in front of her house.

"For the airport," Willow elaborated, realizing that her speech patterns had hit Neanderthal-level, "I'm here to pick you up. Hence, the car… what?"

"Come in," Tara said, standing back, "I'm running a little late actually, hence…" she glanced down at her outfit. "Not exactly what I'd wear on a mission."

"Depends what the mission is," Willow smiled, following Tara's inviting gesture into the lounge room, "does it involve seducing someone? I mean," she added hastily, blushing again, "you look good. That was my foot-in-mouth way of saying you look good. Sorry."

"That's okay," Tara smiled shyly, "thanks. Do you want anything?" 'Yeah, you could say that,' Willow mischievously thought. "Tea, coffee?"

"Tea, thank you," Willow replied, silencing her lascivious brain, "I think I'd better not have any more coffee just yet, I've had my morning cup, and it's kind of a big cup… actually it's a porcelain vat with a handle attached." Tara chuckled, heading to the kitchen, which was open to the lounge room, separated only by breakfast table.

"Join me?" Willow asked impulsively. "There's no hurry, we don't even have to leave for like, half an hour… I got here early. Actually I waited around so I wouldn't get here too early, I didn't want to get you out of bed-" 'Getting you into bed, on the other hand…' 'Quiet, naughty brain!' "I didn't, did I?"

"No," Tara assured her, fetching two cups from a cupboard, "I was up already. Just, you know, distracted…"

"No," she replied, "nothing bad." Willow smiled back, then spent a moment looking around while Tara prepared the tea. Tara's house wasn't very large, but neither was it cramped – it seemed… 'Cozy,' Willow thought, 'comfortable.' The furniture was stylish, yet not ostentatious, the decorations were eclectic – classical paintings, a few photos, a pair of tapestries, a large teddy bear on one side of the couch. To Willow, it seemed very personal, a space that Tara had made her own. She wondered briefly if she was intruding, then reassured herself at the ease with which Tara had invited her in. 'She doesn't mind me being in her space,' she smiled faintly. 'Then again, maybe it's no big deal to her. But, yay anyway, it's certainly not a bad thing.'

"So," she said, as Tara sat opposite her, and handed her her cup, "how did you become a Bunny? That, by way of being a standard conversation-starter." Tara smiled and glanced down at her cup, causing her hair to spill elegantly across her silk-clad shoulders.

"I started in profiling," she said, taking a sip, "first as an academic sideline – I studied psychology – then some of my professors suggested I look into it more seriously, as a career. It wasn't really what I'd imagined myself doing," she admitted with a wry grin, "but, I turned out to be pretty good. The Ministry recruited me – at first as a specialist, I didn't initially think of becoming a field agent. But you know how much specialist work is field work anyway, so I had to take the training in self-defense, I got a grounding in the basics… it just sort of developed from there. Actually M suggested I take the more advanced training, to see what I was capable of." She gave Willow a grin. "I think it came as more of a surprise to me than anyone else that I had what it took to be a Bunny."

"I know the feeling," Willow agreed fervently, "I mean, assuming I do have what it takes, that is. Still untested at this stage."

"But you've done field work before," Tara said, "and passed all the tests, or M wouldn't have promoted you."

"Oh, yeah," Willow said dismissively, "but it was all kind of by accident. All the training, the extra disciplines, I just sort of… did it because it was there. My parents kind of raised me to be an over-achiever," she said with a grin, her gaze dropping to her cup which she fiddled with in her lap. "So, you know, there's a level of training available, off I go… I never thought anything would come of it. I certainly didn't think I'd end up having to save the world. With you, of course," she added quickly, looking back at Tara. "You being the senior Bunny, naturally. I'm glad you're here."

"Of course I'm here," Tara said with a faint grin, "it's my house." She smiled wider as Willow giggled. "I'm glad you're here," she added.

"Th-thanks," Willow said, smiling brightly, "I'm glad I'm here too… and sort of talking in circles now…"

"Why is that?" Tara asked gently, taking Willow's empty cup. Their fingers touched for a moment, and the touch lingered. "D-do I make you nervous?"

"Oh, no!" Willow assured her. "No, of course not… yes. But good nervous! Not bad intimidating nervous, at all, no siree. Good nervous. You know what I mean?"

"Good," Willow breathed a sigh of relief. "Usually when I start talking like that people just look at me blankly until I wind down and stop."

"Very much so," Tara agreed. "I just have to go get changed, I'll be back in a minute."

'Is she flirting?' Willow wondered when Tara had vanished down the short hall leading to her bedroom. 'Oh dear god please let her be flirting with me!' The image of Tara's silky presence wavered in front of her eyes. 'If she's not interested, it is going to be so difficult to get her out of my system… my system doesn't want her out of it, no way. Please be flirting.'

Somewhere over the English Channel, heading west
British Airways 747-800, First Class Section
0100 Hours (GMT)

"So," Tara said, once the seatbelt light had gone out, "we should review what we've got in the files. What little it is." She folded one leg beneath herself and sat side-on in her luxuriously expansive chair, flipping the armrest between them up out of the way.

"I think I've got first class shock," Willow said, still staring around wide- eyed, "I mean, look at this! It's amazing!"

"One of the perks of being a Bunny," Tara said, grinning at Willow's enthusiasm. With the Ministry picking up the bill they had been given the airline's most expensive seating, right up in the nose of the plane. There were four seats in total in the luxury compartment, two on either side of the aisle, then a divider separating their little cabin from the rest of the first class section. What was better, both of the remaining seats were vacant, essentially giving the two agents a private room on the plane. Willow had marveled at it; Tara had explained that the Ministry had booked the empty seats, so they could converse without the risk of being overheard.

Willow was already rummaging in her suitcase for the dossiers they had picked up from the Ministry's agent at the airport, so Tara busied herself confirming that there were no bugs or other listening devices in the cabin. To her considerable chagrin, it seemed Anya had taken it upon herself to redesign the standard-issue bug snooper.

'I know I should be grateful that it's smaller and more efficient,' she thought, 'but does it have to look like a leather paddle? Surely the studs aren't necessary.'

"All clear," she reported, quickly stuffing the device out of sight in her bag. Willow spread the dossiers out on the flip-down coffee table mounted on the bulkhead in front of them, and selected one.

"Our best lead first," she said, "Daniel Osbourne. This being the reason I'm along, I'm guessing."

"Three years sounds serious," Tara noted carefully. 'She's straight? But I'm sure she checked out my butt! Ohhhh, please please please tell me I'm not completely wrong about her, I really don't want to have to get over this girl…'

"It was… kind of," Willow shrugged noncommittally, "but it was more like… see, we'd gotten together in the last year of school, and there hadn't really been anyone before him – nothing serious. And it got sort of, comfortable, being with him. I didn't really think in terms of 'am I being fulfilled', or 'would I be better off with someone else', that was just," she made vague hand motions, "that part of my life was properly set up, put in a box and stored on a shelf all shiny and as it should be."

"There were… problems," Willow admitted, "at first I actually thought it was kind of sweet, the way he was, gentlemanly in a way – high school boys being sort of fixated on getting laid like it was going out of fashion, you know how it can be…"

"Actually," Tara said shyly, as Willow paused to snigger at the memory, "in my case, the high school boys didn't bother me much… it wasn't a secret I preferred female company." She gave Willow a quick, hesitant grin.

"Oh," Willow said, brightening, "oh, yeah, that'd keep the hounds at bay all right." She paused, wondering what to say next.

"Daniel wasn't like them?" Tara prompted. 'Don't push too fast,' she told herself, 'okay, no adverse reaction to the subtle coming-out there – not that you'd expect one from a Bunny – but give her time, don't just blurt out "Kiss me!" the very next thing…'

"No, he was different," Willow explained. "He'd always make sure I knew he didn't expect anything of me that I wasn't ready for. Only…"

"No!" Willow insisted, looking surprised at the vehemence of her reaction. "No, I want to, I… I mean, not that I want you to sit her and listen to my life's story, but you're the profiler, and Daniel's a potential suspect, you should know what I can tell you, at least. A-and I don't not want to tell you… I don't mind sharing, you know? Not with you."

"Thank you," Tara smiled. Internally she did a tentative dance of joy. 'She definitely likes me, one way or another.'

"The thing was," Willow went on, "he stayed that way, even… well, when I was ready. He'd still be 'no, don't be someone you're not, just be yourself, I love you for who you are not what anyone else expects you to be.' And I know that sounds fine in theory, but eventually I started thinking, well, maybe who he thought I was, and who I actually was, weren't the same person? Who he was actually in love with was a, a sort of snap-shot of me, as I'd been when we met… which was… well, back then they'd have called me 'Shy Bunny' too. If I'd been a Bunny. But I was growing up and he… he didn't want the person I was turning into."

'Fred did say we were dealing with a madman,' Tara mused silently, 'if this Daniel guy doesn't want the girl sitting next to me, he definitely qualifies.'

"Did he have some kind of aversion t-to sex?" Tara asked, keeping her blush to a minimum. 'We're professionals discussing professional matters, nothing to get flustered about, just because I'm raising the topic of sex with a woman I badly want to strip naked and worship in all sorts of yummy lickable ways…'

"I did eventually start to wonder that," Willow said thoughtfully, "but in the end, it turned out no, he didn't… or if he did, it was just with me. The reason we broke up was that I came back early from a trip to the coast to meet a professor, and found him in bed with another girl."

"Oh Willow, I'm sorry," Tara said, her arousal shifting instantly onto the backburner as she saw an echo of the old hurt cross Willow's face.

"It's okay," Willow assured her. "Of course, when I say 'we broke up,' substitute 'I threw him out of my apartment at 2am.' Kind of a cathartic experience."

"You've got some butch in you," Tara joked, hoping to lighten the mood. Willow chuckled.

"Yeah," she admitted, "not large with the butch, but given the right situation – like discovering a so-called-boyfriend getting exceedingly down and dirty with a, well, let's say 'lady of questionable reputation'… though, I'll give her that she handled me walking in with a fair amount of grace under fire. Of course, it probably wasn't the first time she'd been in that situation. He was all with the excuses – and let me tell you, a guy caught in his girlfriend's bed with another girl and half a pair of edible boxer shorts can come up with some very flimsy excuses." She smiled at the memory.

"Yup," Willow nodded, stifling a giggle. "Don't get me wrong, I was all kinds of mad-as-hell at the time, but when it wore off I could take it philosophically. We hadn't really been happy for a while, us being together was more like roommates than partners, and really I'd just stayed with him because I was so used to being with him. So I figured, well, here's my chance to see what else is out there. And as it turned out, what was out there were a) guys who're interested in who I am, not their immaculate fantasy image of me," Tara's internal tentative dancer of joy slipped and fell flat on her butt, then Willow went on: "and b) more importantly for me, as it turned out, women who're interested in who I am." Tara's internal dancer of joy got right back up and started dancing again, this time joined by a whole Broadway chorus line, jugglers on unicycles, and a trained elephant balancing on a podium at the back of the stage.

"S-so," she said, trying not to get up and leap around while her brain sang 'She's a lesbian!' repeatedly, to the tune of the Hallelujah chorus, "do you think he'll be antagonistic over how you two parted?"

"I don't know," Willow said, "I don't think so… he did try to keep seeing me, not stalker-like, but approaching me and striking up a conversation… he seemed genuine about accepting he was the one who messed up, even after he realized that him taking the blame wasn't going to get me to give him another chance. Last time we talked it was… well, cordial, if not friendly as such. And it was all years ago, we didn't stay in contact after he transferred to another college, and after that he took over his father's business, and that's pretty much all I know, besides what you read in the Financial Review about Osbourne Industries."

"He'll accept your cover?" Tara asked. "I mean, he won't suspect that you aren't who you're going to be pretending to be?"

"I doubt it," Willow said, leafing through another dossier full of faked documents and IDs in her name, "top-flight programmer is pretty much where I was thinking of heading back when we knew each other – it was really just a couple of chance meetings, after he left, that led me into security systems, and then the Ministry came recruiting out of the blue. Well, I guess that's the point of being a secret service… but aside from that, it's quite plausible I would've ended up as," she glanced at the front page of the identity file, "Willow Danielle Rosenberg, chairperson of Emerald Software."

"And Tara Maclay, marketing consultant," Tara finished. "Darn it, I have to be in marketing, there's no creativity in marketing these days." She exchanged an amused grin with Willow.

"So," Willow said, "what's the plan, senior Bunny? We've got a meeting with Daniel scheduled, then…?"

"You're interested in branching out from pure software into software/hardware combination products," Tara explained.

"Like the X-Box?" Willow moaned. "Aw geez, I thought I'd be smarter than that when I ran my own company."

"You're looking at a born-and-bred Playstation girl," Willow said firmly. "Okay, so I'm looking to enter the hardware market, and hopefully not make a fool of myself like everyone else. I'm going to Osbourne Industries to license the technology side?"

"That's the plan," Tara nodded. "I'm assigned to the project, but I'm really just at the meeting so I know what was discussed – I won't be taking much part in it, which will leave me free to observe Mr Osbourne's reactions to specific questions relating to programming, hardware options, and Osbourne Industries' level of experience in various fields. How good a liar would you say he is?"

"Well," Willow shrugged, "he did cheat on me, but I wasn't exactly bugging his cell phone and giving him the third degree whenever he'd be out late… I'd put my money on you rather than him."

"I'll try to make sure you win that bet," Tara winked. "After the interview you'll see if you can get him to offer us a tour of the facilities, that'll let us see how things are laid out. If we think it's worth pursuing, we'll come back after dark and do our own investigations, without a corporate tour guide looking over out shoulders."

"Yup," Tara agreed. "I was thinking it would be good if we could catch some sleep before we land – make sure we're still nice and fresh in the evening. I don't really think espionage is supposed to be combined with jet lag."

"Well, we would be very careful to avoid loud noises," Willow pointed out with a chuckle.

"So we would," Tara laughed. She looked down at the armrest on the aisle- side of her seat, and started poking at buttons. "I assume these seats tilt down someHOW!" she finished with a yelp, as both her and Willow's seat backs reclined smoothly down to horizontal, the footrests rising up to complete the effect of a full-length, if not overly large, double bed.

"No problem," Willow dismissed it lightly, "soft landing anyway… god first class is good. So, I'll take the other seats…?" She gestured vaguely to the opposite side of the cabin, and the pair of vacant seats.

"Well…" Willow went on, 'She doesn't want me over there, so does she want me over here? As in…' "…of course I could stay here, too…"

"We could talk," Tara said quickly, covering her shyness, "if you wanted… I mean, neither of us are particularly tired right now, we'll get a good five or six hours without rushing off to sleep right away… I'd be lying awake a while anyway… so I thought, you know… getting-to-know- you time? Seeing as we're working together, and all – a healthy friendship leads to a healthy relationship… working relationship, professionally."

"Pillows?" Tara echoed. "Well… I like pillows… pillows are good. I'm pro- pillow, generally…"

"Sorry," Willow chuckled, "non sequitur, I know… just, I have this thing about pillows, I kind of like having a whole bunch of them when I sleep, my roommate used to call it my 'nest'… I was just wondering, would that bother you? It's no big deal if it would, it's not like I need them to sleep, because hello, first time in first class, and it's not like I can spread out and accumulate pillows in business class, and I did have to sleep on plane trips before now… they only give you one each, you know? And it's this little tiny thing, by my standards it's like, 'Good, that's one-twentieth of my pillowy needs seen to, now where's the rest?'"

"Nest away, Babble Bunny," Tara said, sitting up and reaching under the seat, "you get only the best when you pay what the Ministry paid for our tickets." She pulled out a pair of large, soft pillows and tossed them lightly at Willow, who caught them on her chest.

"There's two more under your seat," Tara went on, getting up, "I'll get the ones from the others. I only need two. I have this strange habit with pillows, I have a sleep-pillow and a cuddle-pillow. One I sleep on, like a normal pillow, and the other…"

"You cuddle?" Willow asked with an amused smile. 'Can I be that pillow?' she thought hopefully.

"Hence the name," Tara nodded, blushing slightly as she retrieved the four extra pillows from beneath the unoccupied seats. "That still leaves six that are all yours."

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, still heading west
British Airways 747-800, First Class Section
0500 Hours (GMT)

The jetliner sped on towards New York, prolonging the day as it raced the sun towards the western horizon. Inside the luxury first class cabin, though, with the blinds drawn over the windows and the cabin lights down, it was comfortably dark, with only two thin strips of blue light shining from the floor, marking the aisle.

Willow and Tara, having taken turns in the bathroom to change into appropriate sleepwear, lay side by side on the fully-reclined seats, still facing each other from the conversation that had continued quietly and comfortably for some time, before both women murmured goodnights and closed their eyes. Willow lay among her cocoon of pillows, none of which lay between her and Tara – naturally enough, as they'd been talking – while Tara's 'cuddle pillow' lay by her side, unregarded as Tara shifted in her sleep, towards Willow.

Tara looked around from her seat, up and down the aisle, and thought it was odd that she was the only passenger, but with the laissez-faire acceptance of a dream state, she gave it little thought. She wondered whether she might look out the window, or rummage in her bag for something to read, when the curtain leading to the crew galley was drawn aside, and a stewardess appeared, looking very cute in a stylishly-cut dark blue jacket with gold buttons and gold stripes on the cuffs and shoulders, with a matching skirt that clung attractively to her stocking-clad thighs. She even had the little cap with the pair of wings on it. Best of all, she was Willow.

"I'm sorry Miss," she said, leaning over as she reached Tara's seat, her eyes glittering playfully, "it appears we're having a minor technical problem with our in-flight movie. Perhaps I could offer you some… alternative entertainment?"

"I-I'd like that," Tara smiled, wondering what she had in mind. She began to get an inkling when Willow stepped in front of her seat – where there was suddenly a great deal of room, considering there had been another row of seats there a moment ago – and began to undo the buttons on her jacket.

"I'd like that very much," Tara whispered, as her dream supplied the sound of a viola playing a sultry melody in time with Willow's motions.

"I'm glad," Willow said, raising an eyebrow and smiling suggestively. Her hands moved from one button to the next, with a little flourish as each was undone.

"I'd like you very much," Tara murmured, with a confidence that came easily in her dreams.

"Lucky you, then," Willow replied, peeling back one shoulder of her jacket to reveal the white blouse beneath. "Here I am." She uncovered her other shoulder. "And here." Her back arched as she slid the jacket down her arms behind her, and Tara's breath caught as the thin material over Willow's breasts grew taut, so that she could see the outline of the bra underneath.

"And here," Willow repeated, letting her jacket fall off her arms, catching it in one hand and tossing it over the seat behind her. She raised a hand to her neck, undid the top three buttons on her blouse, and toyed with the decorative silk scarf around her neck, peeking out above her collar. Her hips swayed hypnotically, back and forth, as she drew the scarf out, sliding it free of herself, and leaned forward.

"Safety first," she breathed in Tara's ear, while her blouse hung open, revealing the top of a red silk bra beneath it. Her hands went to Tara's hips, touching her naked skin – now she wore what she had gone to sleep in, boxer shorts and a tank top – dragging the scarf around behind her back, reaching around her other side, sliding her palms over Tara's waist all the while. She finally gripped both ends of the scarf, and drew it taut around Tara, urging her forward. Tara eagerly leant into Willow, resting her head on the woman's shoulder, her eyes half-closed as red hair brushed across her face.

"Passengers are asked to observe the seatbelt sign," Willow whispered, turning the mundane words into a tremor that ran down Tara's spine. She tied a knot in the scarf and pulled it closed around Tara's waist. "There… done up. Isn't that nice?"

"Yessss," Willow drawled, "yes, nice… would you like me to go get some more scarves? It's no trouble," she switched into the persona of a stewardess again, "I'm here to make your flight as enjoyable as possible." She lowered her head, and looked up at Tara through slanting eyelashes, seductive again.

"In any way at all," she breathed, her shoulders taking up the gentle swaying of her hips, her body moving like a slow, mesmerizing wave. "If you'd like to be tied up some more…? Or maybe…?"

Tara opened her mouth, caught in indecision. Willow leaving, even for a second, was far from what she wanted… yet the promise of what might happen when she returned… she couldn't decide.

She stretched her leg forward, running her stocking-clad foot up Tara's calf, onto the top of her thigh, her toes pushing Tara's shorts up high, stopping just short of her hips. Tara had a glimpse of red silk beneath Willow's skirt, riding up high on her parted thighs, then her view was blocked by Willow's hands as they reached beneath her skirt. One on top of her thigh, one underneath, she undid the tiny clasps fixing the top of her stocking to her garter straps, and then she began to slide the stocking down her leg, very slowly, taking Tara's gaze with her every inch of the way. At the same time, with perfect balance, she lifted her foot off Tara's thigh and raised it to rest against the headrest of her seat, just next to her head.

Tara couldn't resist turning and brushing her lips over Willow's ankle, experiencing the divine silkiness of the taut fabric, and the warmth of the skin beneath. Willow's hands reached her, pushing the rolled-up stocking before them, and as it slid free of her foot her fingers strayed to Tara's lips, caressing top then bottom, and Tara gave no resistance as Willow delicately opened her mouth and brushed a fingertip just a little further over her lower lip, tasting the wetness within.

Tara could only nod dumbly, hopefully, as Willow withdrew her hand, and lowered her bare leg back to the floor. She raised her other foot just as she had the first, nudging Tara's boxer shorts up, baring her thigh, then hesitated just as her hands touched her skirt.

"Perhaps…" she said with a coy smile, "…you'd like to help me with this one?"

"Mmmffph," Willow said as something drew her from sleep to wakefulness. She frowned for a moment, wondering when the alarm clock was going to go off, then realized where she was, and grinned in a moment of guilty triumph at the memory of the accursed clock shattering against her bedroom wall. She lay with her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth, the softness of her bed, the cozy closeness of her little nest of pillows, the gentle in-and-out breathing of Tara as she lay nestled up to Willow's side, her chest moving slightly against her arm…

She opened her eyes, finding still the darkness of the private cabin. She took a calm breath and repeated the motion, willing her eyelids open even though they already were. Invariably, if she were dreaming, realized it, and wanted to wake herself, this would accomplish it – her eyes would open for real, and jolt her brain into waking.

'Okay, not dreaming. Good, just as well – if I were, I didn't want to wake up yet anyway. So, the Tara cuddled up to me is the real Tara. Don't panic.'

Her throat suddenly dry – that moisture evidently having decided to seek pinker pastures between her legs – Tara reached out with a trembling hand, and lay it against the inside of Willow's right thigh. She took a deep breath, just experiencing the sensation for a moment before she moved again – softness, warmth, silk-smoothness, best of all acceptance, Willow not moving away even a fraction from the intimate touch.

Breathing shakily, Tara slid her hand up the inside of Willow's stocking-clad thigh, beneath her skirt. She felt a tiny clasp under her fingers, and the taut strap leading up to the silk garter belt around Willow's waist. Of its own volition her hand kept going, her fingertips moving across bare skin now, warm and smooth and soft.

"You said 'higher'," Tara replied, her voice almost managing a sultry whisper, just trembling a little.

"So I did," Willow smiled, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, "so… I… did…"

Tara too closed her eyes, finding her way by touch alone. Willow's inner thigh… the gentle curve at its top… a silken edge, a double-stitched hem and then… then Tara let out a long sigh as her hand turned over, her questing fingers gently cupping upward, feeling the yielding softness beneath the thin, moist silk.

"God," Tara whispered, holding her hand perfectly still, half in awe, half terrified that any sudden motion would scare away this wondrous piece of heaven. It was Willow who moved first, her hips slowly resuming their earlier motions, gently from side to side, forward and backward, little circles against Tara's fingers between her thighs.

"That's it," Willow purred, "thaaaat's… yessss… don't be shy… touch me there… touch me all you want…"

Biting her lip in exhilarated tension, Tara moved her fingers forward, her little finger curling against the side of Willow's thigh as the other three cupped her sex, and gently tested the softness of the silk-clad wetness pressed against them. Willow slowly bent her knees, lowering her hips, parting her thighs, and Tara felt her core beckon, slick and hot, directly beneath the tip of her middle finger. She pressed lightly, feeling Willow's panties stretch slightly beneath her touch, the material bowing inwards as the tip of her finger sought entrance.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, "you're so beautiful… god, I want to love you so much…"

While Tara gently massaged her folds and her opening, Willow moved her foot, reaching up to the waist of Tara's boxers and curling her toes over, catching the hem. She slowly dragged the loose shorts down, sliding inch by inch over Tara's hips, stretching out at the front in a v-shape, just starting to reveal the shadowy pleasures hidden inside. Willow pointed her toes like a dancer, and slid her foot down behind the lowered waistband, sliding her toes, then the top of her foot, against Tara's naked core.

"Mmm… mmm!" Tara murmured in her sleep, pressing herself against Willow, her hand clutching gently at her waist. Willow sighed silently, breathing in the scent of Tara's hair, enjoying to the full the sensation of her warm body, so close, moving…

'…kind of rhythmically,' she noticed. Taking a moment out of pure hedonistic joy, she concentrated on exactly how Tara was lying against her, how she was moving. Her eyes widened as she realized Tara's right leg, which had been on top of hers, had now slid between her legs, leaving Willow's thigh pressed very intimately between Tara's.

"Mmmmm…" Tara moaned quietly, the gentle thrusting of her hips becoming slightly more pronounced. Willow, having chosen panties rather than boxers to sleep in, could now feel the heat and wetness of Tara quite plainly, with only the single layer of Tara's shorts between her sex and Willow's thigh. What was even more plain was that, whatever Tara was dreaming about, it was a dream she was enjoying in the best possible way.

'Oh my god!' Willow thought again, as Tara continued to gently grind herself against her thigh, 'I'm… I'm being made out with! In my sleep… kind of… what do I do? Tara Maclay is doing naughty things to me!'

"Oh god…" Tara chanted, as she thrust her hips against Willow's stockinged foot, "oh god… oh god yes…" Her thumb searched Willow's mound, here the smoothness of silk-on- skin, here the slight springiness of short hairs beneath the fabric… then she found what she was looking for, her thumb pressing firmly at the apex of Willow's sex, rubbing her clit through the silk.

"Fuck!" Willow screamed, bucking her hips against Tara's hand, "oh yes! Yes! Love, god, yes do it!" Her hands flew to Tara's back, urging her forward, pressing Tara's body against her lower leg, flexing her foot against Tara's sopping core. Tara's free arm wrapped around Willow's leg, clutching it to herself. Willow looked down at her, her green eyes burning with passion straining to be spent.

'Oh god bless you baby,' Willow thought, as Tara continued to grind her hips against her, 'I hope whoever's in your dream is making you feel as good as you're making me feel… okay, wait, lemme think… what if she wakes up? That could be totally embarrassing… unless she just wants to keep going… no, can't assume that… okay, I'll pretend to be asleep. If she wants to just pretend it never happened, then… then, okay, that'd be best. Can't wake her up and ask her to stop, anyway, that'd only be more embarrassing for her… I so don't want her to stop… plus, I already know what it's like to get woken up in the middle of one of these dreams… mmm, Tara-dreams…' Tara's leg, between Willow's, was causing no little distraction as it gently moved against her sex – not touching as firmly as Willow's was against Tara, but nonetheless…

'Oh god baby, I hope you want me, 'cause I want you baby, I want you so much, I…'

'Oh… ohhhh… mmmyyy… ggggooooddddd…' Willow gasped a lungful of air as her core clenched, and her hips shook.

"Do it, sweetie," Willow said in a husky voice, "do it… it's what you want, isn't it? It's what I want… I want to feel you touch me, really touch me… come on," she growled, thrusting her hips forward, her skirt riding up, revealing all, "come on, take me, lover… take me!"

"Oh god yes!" Tara whispered fiercely, reaching forward. Willow slid her leg out of the way so Tara could lean forward, her foot still pressed between Tara's thighs, thrusting back and forth as Tara's juices coated her stocking. Tara gripped the waist of Willow's panties firmly and pulled, lunging her mouth forward as the silk tore, revealing first her russet curls, then her lips, swollen with desire and dripping with nectar. Her thumb made way for her lips as she took Willow's clit into her mouth, sucking voraciously, while as the shreds of silk fell away Tara's three fingers plunged into Willow's waiting sex, penetrating into the dark, wet tightness, curling to reach for Willow's g-spot, as her free hand wrapped around Willow's waist, drawing her tightly in, her mouth opened wide as if to engulf her sex completely, her own core gave up its bounty of pleasure, clenching and spilling over the top of Willow's foot-

"Mmmmmyyyeeeaaaaahhhhhh…" Tara breathed in a long, joyful sigh as her hips shuddered, her body tightening and releasing.

Willow lay in stunned silence, while Tara relaxed, falling back into deep sleep without missing a beat. She shifted slightly, her limbs moving a little, her hand retracting from Willow's waist, her right leg drawing back from between Willow's, their heated embrace reverting slowly back to a fairly chaste cuddle. Still Willow lay awake, eyes open, taking shallow breaths.

New York, USA
Osbourne Industries Corporate Headquarters
1800 Hours (local time)

"Ready?" Tara asked. Willow looked up at the three-story-tall 'OZ' logo dominating the front of Osbourne Industries' skyscraper headquarters, took a deep breath, and nodded.

"I'm right with you," she said, leaning closer, "and if he says or does anything to hurt you, I promise I'll kick his arse and put down in my report that he did something supervillainous." Willow looked at her, surprised, then relaxed as she saw Tara's grin.

"I'll be okay," she said, "he's just an ex. Thanks, though…I'll be a lot more okay 'cause you're here."

"Then you've got nothing to worry about," Tara replied. She gave Willow's hand a parting caress, then stepped back, taking a moment to minutely adjust her coat, becoming the image of a cool professional businesswoman. Willow gave her a nod and headed into the building, with Tara following a step behind, adopting the role of a subordinate following her employer.

Willow handed her card silently to the receptionist inside the foyer, then nodded as the woman confirmed her appointment and indicated one of the half dozen elevators. With the lift on its way down Willow gave Tara a long glance out of the corner of her eye – unable to do more 'in character', with the building's security cameras watching. Tara's mouth moved just a fraction, enough for Willow to recognize the hint of one of her smiles, while an observer unfamiliar with her expressions wouldn't even notice.

'Come on Rosenberg, focus on the mission,' Willow chided herself. What with reviewing their files and assumed identities, and going over their interview strategy – or, as Tara called it, 'prod the bad guy into giving himself away' – they had had little time for pleasantries or personal discussion. With work to do, Willow hadn't yet had the opportunity to turn their conversation to more intimate matters. Nonetheless, with all her senses on alert, she had noticed a multitude of little signs, meaningful expressions, casual touches from Tara that could have meant more. Knowing what she knew, Willow had responded in kind, in a way she would have been embarrassed to do normally – holding Tara's gaze, openly studying her lips, her hands when they touched, giving little caresses whenever she could manage it and returning Tara's gestures. In the car outside, Tara had leaned over and given her a kiss on the cheek, "Just for luck," she had said in a sultry tone that surely meant a lot more, and Willow had let herself close her eyes, and give a little sigh as Tara's lips touched her skin. She now consoled herself that, when this was over with and they had time to talk, Tara would hardly be caught by surprise when Willow managed to voice her nascent feelings.

Her musings, and covert examination of Tara's face, were interrupted by the elevator chime. Willow blinked in surprise as the doors opened, and a familiar face broke into a wide and shamelessly artificial smile.

"Willow!" the blonde exclaimed, leaning forward to give her a society-style air-kiss on each cheek. "Good to see you, long time no see. How are you?"

"That's great," Harmony replied, her smile snapping into place after exactly two seconds of an expression she probably thought looked like patient attention. "And you must be Miss Maclay," she gave Tara exactly the same air- kisses she had given Willow, "I'm Harmony Kendall, I'm Mr. Osbourne's personal assistant. If you'll follow me please." She retreated back into the elevator and waited for Willow and Tara to join her before pressing the top button and swiping a keycard through the console.

"Harmony and I shared a couple of classes in our freshman year," Willow explained to Tara, before turning back to Harmony. "I didn't know you worked for Daniel?"

"Oh yes," she nodded, more animated now that she was the topic of discussion, "he's a really good boss, and of course he's delighted to have me work with him. I'm in charge of a lot of important projects." Out of Harmony's line of sight, Tara gave Willow a disbelieving look; Willow just shrugged, then glanced briefly at the waist of Harmony's suit jacket. Tara followed her gaze to the keycard clipped there, and nodded slightly.

"So tell me all about yourself," Willow said, as Tara covertly noted the location of the lift's cameras and interposed herself between them and Harmony.

"Oh, well," Harmony launched into what was evidently her favorite subject, "after I transferred to NYU after freshman year I moved into this great sorority, the girls there were really supportive, considering what I had to go through…" she paused, seeing Willow's blankly enquiring look. "Having to re-establish my popularity at a new campus! Obviously it wasn't as difficult a time as some people might have gone through, but believe me, it was a stressful time. Then…"

Tara covertly double-checked the camera angles out of the corner of her eye, then reached into her pocket for a tiny device, disguised – for reasons known only to Anya Jenkins – as a spring-loaded clitoral clamp. Tara had learned over the past year and a half, since her promotion to the rank of Bunny, not to wonder why Anya did what she did.

"…so after I left there – and I mean, they say they fired me, but they would, wouldn't they, and it's no surprise their fashion line bombed at Paris two years ago without my help – I went to work for a law firm…"

Moving gently so that Harmony never noticed, Tara lifted the keycard on her coat hem and ran the clamp's ends on either side of its magnetic stripe. The clamp vibrated slightly in her fingers, signaling that it had recorded the card's signature.

"…and then he says 'what're those guys doing in your bed?', like it's my fault my emotional needs weren't being met, and…"

"And now you work for Daniel?" Willow said quickly, as Harmony paused for breath.

"With, honey," Harmony insisted, with what she no doubt considered an amusing scowl, "I work with him. Oh!" she exclaimed as the doors opened, "here we are. This way please!"

The room – 'chamber' seemed more appropriate – was built on an epic scale, taking up nearly the whole floorspace of the skyscraper, and two stories. The back wall, including the lift wells, was solid black marble, from floor to ceiling. On either side huge tinted windows gave a stunning vista of New York City, just as the sun was starting to set and turn the clouds amber and lavender. Not quite as eye-catching, but certainly just as busy as the Big Apple, was the far wall, which was floor to ceiling flat-screens, each tuned to a different channel: business and finance, world news, remote conference rooms, building security cameras.

At the center of the huge office a man sat at a broad chrome table, with his back to the elevators. His chair moved slightly, as he noticed the new arrivals, then he reached forward and pressed a touch-screen set into his table. A whole segment of the room's floor, ten meters across with the table and chairs in the center of it, began a stately rotation, finally coming to face Willow, Tara and Harmony.

"Harmony," Daniel Osbourne replied stoically. "Willow. Miss Maclay." He gestured to the two empty seats across the table from himself, and the two agents sat. Harmony retreated back to the elevator and waited there.

"Daniel," Willow said, leaning forward with a polite smile, "it's good to see you. Again. It's been a while, huh?"

"Been a while," he agreed. Tara observed him covertly, pretending to busy herself pulling folders from her briefcase. His face seemed younger than the 26 years his file had given him; then again, his expressions somehow seemed older. She studied his voice and mannerisms, as he and Willow exchanged brief pleasantries – very brief, on his part – and went through the motions of catching up on each other's lives, he referring back to his rise to CEO of his father's company, and overseeing the old industrial manufacturing firm's profitable venture into leading-edge technology, Willow giving a mix of fact and fiction as she outlined her move from post-graduate studies and academic work to professional software design and her own boutique IT company. Everything about him seemed considered, deliberate – he never fidgeted or shifted in his chair, moved only when he meant to, never said an unnecessary word. Even his expression seemed to change as little as possible – a raised eyebrow or smile would operate alone on his face, while the rest of his features remained as they had been, amiable, professional and slightly distant.

"You've done well," Willow said, concluding their polite, distant getting-to- know-you session. She waved a hand around his huge office. "All this…very impressive, on top of the world."

"Can't complain," he shrugged slightly. "I looked up your company when I got the call. Good work you've done. Not surprising." He offered a quick smile.

"Thanks," Willow said, "well, I try, you know how it is – though sometimes it drives my people nuts, they'll be all 'deadline!' and I'll be still working on this one tiny bit of code to get it just right. Lucky I'm the boss," she grinned.

"It's good to be the boss," Daniel nodded. "And…personal life? Anyone?" Tara concealed a frown, and concentrated on appearing ambivalent as Willow shifted in her seat.

"It's, ah," she hesitated, "there's someone. Not a 'someone' someone, yet, but, a someone I'm hopeful will be a someone. When I get up the courage to, you know, say something, to her…it's a her, the someone…"

'Is she-' Tara thought, 'wait, she's not…she's not seeing someone already, is she? She flirted, and all the…the little looks and, the touches, especially today, she wouldn't be like that if she was thinking about someone else, would she – wait, what if…does she mean…?'

"Known her a while?" Daniel asked, with a glance at Tara, which Willow followed, and Tara's heart leapt as she saw the merest hint of a blush beneath her practiced neutral expression. 'He's done his homework,' she thought meanwhile, her brain sectioning off into 'professional' and 'please please please please be talking about me', and the professional side getting on with the job of thinking, 'I've been with Willow's company for eight months, according to the files-'

"Actually no," Willow replied, quirking the corner of her lips just a bit, before turning her attention back to Daniel. "No, I met her just yesterday."

'Eep!' Tara thought incoherently. 'Unless she's talking about Anya…no way. She…the touches, and looks, it's real, oh god it's real!'

"Yeah," Willow said with a shy grin. "Um, so, business? I don't want to take up too much of your time."

"No problem," Daniel said, but he turned his chair slightly, facing the table straight-on, and his shoulders squared a fraction – the air changed from vaguely casual to strictly business.

Tara suppressed the urge to gulp, and dedicated herself to her task, watching Daniel's responses to the questions and information Willow gave him. Having done it before, under various circumstances – from the confusion of meetings in a public place, with all manner of people bustling about, to having to suppress her feelings about a target she knew to be guilty already, and only needed to extract some vital piece of information from – it was…'Well, okay,' she admitted to herself, 'it's so not easy to not leap on Willow and kiss her right now. But this'll never work if we can't get our jobs done at the same time as be in love, so focus.'

The first exchange of questions and answers were just general information, Willow explaining how 'her company' was hoping to collaborate on some consumer electronics products and quizzing Daniel on Osbourne Industries' track record with similar ventures, Daniel in return probing for details, and sharing his thoughts on such a venture. It was nothing more than two normal businesspeople might discuss, nothing to do with threats to the world, and served only for Tara to get an idea of how Daniel answered questions – how long he would think before answering, how up-front his answers were, when he would give a little information to elicit more from Willow, and when he would ask directly.

Tara found it a frustrating task, though she showed nothing but polite attention. Daniel's expressions and mannerisms continued to be carefully controlled, their variations extremely minimal. 'He'd make a good poker player,' she mused, 'no 'tells' at all. Well, so be it, we'll just have to do this the hard way.'

Picking a suitable moment, she ventured an opinion on an aspect of marketing the product, a code-phrase to let Willow know she should begin posing more pointed questions. She gently steered the conversation to the intricacies of 'her' proposed software, which coincidentally shared key features with the insidious anti-smut chip. While watching Daniel like a hawk, Tara found herself greatly impressed at Willow's intellect – knowing what she did from reviewing the Ministry's files, it was clear to Tara that Willow had thoroughly digested and understood everything they knew about the chip in just 24 hours.

Daniel, however, continued to frustrate Tara's efforts to see through him. When Willow mentioned real-time image alteration – supposedly for some kind of interactive entertainment application – he leaned forward, but whether it was interest or suspicion that got his attention, Tara was unsure, and his answer gave away nothing. Willow posed her next question, about programming able to disseminate itself remotely, and Daniel's expression barely flickered.

'Barely,' Tara thought, 'was there something there? Just for a split second? Let's turn up the heat.'

"Obviously we'd be aggressively advertising the ground-breaking features," she slipped into the conversation. 'Push harder,' was the underlying message; Willow gave a nod.

"Obviously," she agreed, "especially the interactive features. I mean," she smiled disarmingly, "when you think what someone could achieve with this kind of programming, made compatible with, say, a digital TV system – a self- replicating network would have enormous potential."

'He knows something,' Tara thought, 'he's not thinking about what she said, he's wondering what else she knows.'

"Let's schedule another meeting. It's getting late." Daniel stood and walked around his gleaming desk, politely shaking both Willow and Tara's hands.

"If it's not too much trouble," Willow ventured, "I heard you have a manufacturing floor here? I'd like to take a look – of course I can come back another time, if you'd prefer…"

"Of course not," Daniel replied smoothly. "Harmony will show you around. Harmony? Give our guests the tour."

"Okay boss!" Harmony said brightly, coming to life after having spent the past several minutes engrossed in studying her nail polish. Daniel watched as the trio entered the lift, and the doors closed, then sat back at his desk, which once more rotated around to face the wall of video monitors.

"I hate to interrupt your Lex Luthoring," a female voice echoed around the office.

"Oh excuse me, I'm sorry. I just thought you might be interested to know that your two 'guests' were from the Ministry. No biggie." Daniel's eyes widened a fraction.

"Duh! Maclay is a Bunny, I know that for a fact. Your ex, I don't know, but maybe she's new, Tara was calling the shots."

"I'll…have Miss Maclay dealt with," Daniel said. "Willow needn't share her fate."

"You're going to leave it up to Harmony, aren't you?" the voice asked. "God, what is it with villains and incompetent lackeys?"

"I didn't hire you to criticize my methods," Daniel warned. "And seeing as you were Mayor Wilkins' only 'lackey', and the Ministry captured him, care to revise that opinion?"

"For your information," the voice said stridently, "Wilkins paid me to get him to the Pacific station, not to fight two Bunnies at once just because he was too inept to cover his own tracks – it wasn't me they followed there, you know. I don't work for people once they've proven they're beneath me."

"Well you work for me now," Daniel said flatly, "and I'm paying you a lot of money to do what I say. Right now, I'm saying leave Tara Maclay to me. If you're needed, you'll be called."

"Fine, your funeral." Daniel gave a weary sigh, and leaned forward to press a button on his desk.

Osbourne Industries Corporate HQ
Manufacturing Floor Observation Deck
1830 Hours

"And if you look down there," Harmony said, pointing down to one of the huge mechanized production lines laid out beneath the network of catwalks she, Willow and Tara were standing on, "you'll see conveyor number one, where those big robot arm thingies are putting together our latest in…what are those, anyway? Whatever. Now, over here-"

"Oh, excuse me just one second?" she said to Willow and Tara. "I just have a call, just…you know, enjoy the view, and stuff. Yes boss?"

"Oh, so…Oh! Right. Okay, gotcha. Sorry ladies," she turned back to the two agents.

"Okay, was I right or was I right?" the voice said. "You sure you don't want me there, just in case Miss Competent down there screws this up?"

"Stay in LA," Daniel ordered, "it's just pushing one button. Even Harmony can do that."

Osbourne Industries Corporate HQ
Manufacturing Floor Observation Deck
1832 Hours

"Okay, now if you'll just step this way," Harmony burbled on, "we'll just take this lift thingy here…" She stepped onto an elevator platform built into the catwalk and let Willow follow her, but just as Tara was about to step past her she hit the elevator's controls. Willow watched in shock as the catwalk beneath Tara swung down, dropping her towards the heavy mechanical assembly line below.

"Score one for me!" Harmony smiled. She turned to Willow, and her face fell. "Oh, wait-"

Willow knocked her out with a square punch to the jaw, then leaned over the safety railing on the elevator.

"Oh thank god!" she exclaimed, seeing Tara dangling from her wristwatch, which had attached itself to the underside of the remaining catwalk with a miniature grappling hook and cable.

"All in a day's work," Tara grumbled. Willow's eyes widened as she saw motion behind Tara.

"Look out!" she yelled, alerting Tara just in time for her to swing herself out of the way of one of the assembly line's huge robot arms.

"Well it seemed like a – yikes! Good idea at the time!" Tara protested, kicking herself away from the wall to avoid another arm taking a swipe at her.

"Wind in the cable!" Willow yelled. "I'll shut the arms down!" She stepped over the unconscious Harmony and hit the lift's down button, sending it towards the distant floor.

"I'm going to talk to Anya about these things," Tara complained, as the tiny motor in her watch slowly wound in the cable, lifting her, "she'll probably turn it into a leather cuff or something, but it'll be worth it-" she paused to arch her back, narrowly missing a welding arm as it whirred past "-to get a faster motor in them. Argh!"

"Tara!" Willow cried. One of the arms had snagged her line, tearing the hook loose from its purchase on the catwalk. Tara fell five meters before the trailing hook lodged into the mechanical arm itself, sending her whipping back and forth at the end of the cable as the arm swung around trying to dislodge her. Her watch gave a tiny shower of sparks, and the winding motor shut down completely.

Willow jumped the last meter to the ground before the lift had finished descending, and raced to a control station, tearing open her suitcase the moment she reached the desk. Inside were various folders, a cellphone, a PDA, and – much to Willow's chagrin initially, though now she was supremely grateful – various sex toys.

"Willow!" Tara shrieked, seeing another robot arm swinging towards her as she trailed helplessly from her cable. Willow looked up, saw the danger at once, and in an instant had one of the chrome-finished 'classic' vibrators in her hands, aiming it. With a twist of its speed control the tip opened and a micro- missile shot out, blasting through the mechanical arm's base and sending it toppling to the floor barely a second before it would have hit Tara.

"Thank you!" Tara called out, trying to swing herself up so she could get a grip on the cable and haul herself up before something else tried to hit her. Willow quickly selected another toy, a corkscrew-shaped plug she had been reluctant to handle, let alone operate, earlier in the day, but now she grabbed it without hesitation, opened the battery compartment and shoved the protruding USB interface into the control station's port.

"Come on come on come on," she whispered frantically, watching commands flicker across the screen as the assembly line's controlling software suddenly came under attack from Anya's best code-breaker.

She glanced up to see Tara swinging her legs back and forth, building up momentum that finally succeeded in flipping her up on top of the arm she had been hanging from. She braced herself against the swiftly-moving surface, pulling the wrist cable tight to help her balance, and pulled a pen from her pocket. The next robot arm that swung towards her fell limp as she shot a tiny projectile through the power cable to its main motor.

"Gotcha!" Willow yelled triumphantly as an open command window appeared on the screen in front of her. She quickly tried to deactivate the assembly line, and the arms shuddered to a halt for a second, but then the command window disappeared and the line started up again. Willow kicked the server beneath the desk, and turned the speed control on the USB code- breaker plug up to full.

"I can only shut down one arm!" Willow called up to Tara. "We need to get out of here as soon as you're on the ground!"

Willow's puzzled frown didn't keep her from working. The moment the command window reappeared she was typing commands to lower the arm Tara was stuck on, then to disable it in every way she could think of – locking its motors, disconnecting it from the power source, scrambling its software, everything. To her relief the arm lowered down to near floor level, and remained still while Tara tugged her grappling hook free and jumped off it.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly, jogging to meet Willow. "We should get behind something."

"Wha…?" Willow asked, and Tara dragged her down behind the desk, briefly holding up their car keys in her other hand. The remote door lock control was flipped open, revealing a miniaturized control panel.

"Oh, okay-" Willow nodded, as on the other side of the desk the far wall exploded inwards. Shaking her head to get rid of the echoes of the blast, Willow scrambled to her feet and followed Tara to where a hole several meters wide had been blown through the side of the skyscraper. A heavy piton trailing a cable flew up through the hole, and Willow reached the edge to see their car in the front parking area, five stories lower down, with its bonnet open to reveal various missile racks and cannons, and the cable launcher.

"Hang on," Tara said, gripping Willow tightly around the waist with one arm, while with her other hand she fixed her watch to the cable's motorized hook. Willow held on to Tara with both arms around her shoulders as she leapt off the side of the building, and the two of them flew down the cable, where the hook's motor slowed them to a safe speed. The two agents leapt the last little way to the ground and got into the car, where Tara quickly detached the flying- fox cable, closed the bonnet and gunned the engine.

"Well," Tara said, turning off the Aston Martin's engine, "I guess we can take that as a good indication that Daniel Osbourne is up to his neck in something pretty dirty." She let out a sigh, and turned to Willow.

"Willow?" she asked, seeing the tension in her, her shortness of breath. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said quietly, "I'm fine, I just…didn't want to disturb you, while…you were driving, you know? Distract you?"

"Willow, what is it?" Tara asked. "We're stopped now, you can tell me…if you want to…"

Willow turned to Tara, tears suddenly streaming down her face, and flung herself across the car's center console, hugging her tightly and crying into her shoulder. Tara's arms automatically closed around her in a warm, protective hug, though her face still showed confusion and worry.

"I'm sorry," Willow whispered in reply, quickly, "I'm sorry, I just – I was so afraid, everything was fine and then suddenly you were gone, and then hanging there, and those arms were flying around trying to, to – oh god I was so afraid!"

"You were great," Tara assured her, "Willow, listen to me, you didn't hesitate, not for a second."

"I didn't," Tara said firmly. "Willow, you've…" her voice trailed off as Willow hugged her tighter, and the feel of her body pressed so close suddenly became very apparent to Tara. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she found her hand moving of its own accord, stroking through Willow's hair.

"I'm alright," she said soothingly, "Willow, I'm fine…you've been on missions before, you know things like that can happen."

"That's why we're trained," Tara went on, "that's why we're the best, so that when it gets dangerous we know what to do, and we get it done. Like you did just now, you were perfect."

"Why, sweetie?" Tara asked gently. Willow drew a deep breath, looked up at Tara, opened her mouth to speak…then all of a sudden lunged at her, pressed her lips to Tara's, kissing her deeply, fiercely, as if afraid she would never have another chance.

'Oh my god,' Tara thought in wonder as she felt her lips open, all on their own, with a gentle caress from Willow's tongue, 'oh…my…where did she learn to kiss like this? Oh…god…' She turned to liquid in Willow's embrace, only her arms retaining any strength, pulling Willow to her. Her mouth, her whole body, opened to Willow as the kiss they shared flowed between them.

All too soon, for Tara, Willow's lips moved from hers, stroking gently against her cheek. She opened her eyes as Willow drew back, and saw her cheeks blushing red, her eyes downcast.

'That was for me,' Tara realized with a start, 'oh god, all that was for me!' She raised a trembling hand and touched her fingertips to Willow's cheek. Willow's eyes followed her hand as it moved slowly across her skin, finally coming to her lips, and there her eyes closed, her mouth opened and she leaned against into Tara's embrace, sighing as Tara stroked her fingertips across her lower lip.

"D-don't be afraid," Tara whispered. "You don't have to be…not for me." Leaning forward herself she touched her lips to Willow's, gently and briefly, but sealing her words with a kiss. When her eyes opened, she saw Willow once more gazing at her.

"You," Tara said, "I want you. I need you, Willow, I – right now, here," she tightened her hold on Willow, "I feel more than I ever have in my whole life."

Willow wasted no time, moving to straddle Tara in her seat, kissing her deeply as Tara opened herself once more, her lips parting, inviting Willow's tongue into her. Then Willow, leaning over her, accidentally pressed her bottom against the steering wheel, and the car horn blared loudly in the mostly vacant garage.

"Eek!" Willow squeaked, jumping and almost hitting her head on the car's roof. She looked down at Tara, who was staring left and right in shock, gasping for breath.

"Um," she said, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, "maybe…we should go up to our room? There might be fewer car horns there?" Tara looked at her, wide-eyed, then her lips too quirked upwards, an amused snort escaped her, and in the space of a second both of them were howling with laughter as they hugged.

"Yes," Tara said, recovering herself slightly, "let's go…sweetie." She reached over and opened her door, allowing Willow to clamber out.

"Sweetie?" Willow asked, smiling, as Tara retrieved her briefcase. "I'm your sweetie?"

They quickly found the lift, and the doors closed on them glancing sidelong at each other, their hands still clasped together.

When the doors opened again, a dozen floors higher up, a young businessman waiting for the lift was quite surprised to find it full of two women kissing passionately up against the wall. Willow noticed their audience first, and gave a sheepish look to Tara, who tried half-heartedly to hide her blush behind her hand, on the pretence of tucking her hair behind her ear. They scurried down the corridor to their double bedroom suite, and again dissolved into giggles as they tumbled inside, Willow closing the door behind them while Tara dropped their briefcases on the floor, next to where the staff had placed their luggage.

"I'm going to have to change my name to Shameless Bunny," Tara blushed, turning back to Willow. She grinned curiously at the intent, joyful stare Willow was directing at her. "What?"

"I…" Willow said haltingly, "I just…it's like I want to jump around, or dance, or…or I don't know what, you know?"

"I know," Tara said. Her smile turned impish, and she extended a hand regally to Willow. "Shall we then?"

"Dance," Tara replied simply, pulling Willow to her and guiding her hands to her shoulder and hip. She held Willow and began to sway back and forth, feeling Willow mirror her movements without thinking.

"There's no music," Willow said with an amused smile. Tara nodded, and drew her closer, resting her chin on Willow's shoulder.

"Nooo-body does…it better…" Tara sang softly, eliciting a quiet giggle from Willow. "Makes me feel sad, for the rest…Nobody does it, half as good as you…" She leaned in a little closer, just enough to brush her lips against Willow's ear. "Baby, you're the best."

"I wasn't lookin'," Willow picked up the tune, moving with more confidence now, "but somehow you found me…I tried to – ooh! Baby," she missed a line, as Tara began to undo the buttons on her jacket with one hand, while the other stroked up and down her side.

"But like heaven above me," Tara went on, sliding the jacket down Willow's shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, "the spy who loved me…" She and Willow shared a giggle, as her hands went to Willow's waist, undoing her belt and pants while Willow began divesting Tara of her jacket in turn.

"…is keepin' all my secrets safe tonight," they sang together, Tara's coat falling free. Holding onto Tara for balance, Willow used each foot to slide the shoe and sock from the other, and her trousers quickly slid to the floor.

"And nobody does…it…better…" Willow sang breathlessly, as Tara made short work of the buttons on her blouse, and slid a hand inside to stroke her stomach. "Though sometimes I…wish…ahhh…" Tara reached one arm around Willow's waist, beneath her blouse, while her other hand explored upwards, stroking the side of her breast through her silky bra.

"Though sometimes you wish someone could?" Tara sang, grinning as she slid Willow's blouse down over her shoulders to her elbows, lightly pinning her arms behind her.

"Pfft, never," Willow sighed happily, leaning into Tara's hold. Tara let go of the blouse, letting Willow go free as it fell, and reached up to undo her hair from its businesslike twist.

"Nobody does it," she went on, arching her back as her hair spilled over her shoulders, and as Willow set about undoing her blouse, "quite the way you do…why'd you have to be so good?" She lowered her arms, but kept her head flung back as Willow pulled her top down from her shoulders, and nuzzled in the hollow of her neck, pressing tender kisses against her skin.

"The way that you hold me," she sang as Willow did indeed hold her tight, opening her blouse up so their bare stomachs could press together, and their breasts in only their flimsy bras, "whenever you hold me…ohhh…there's some kind of magic-"

"Deep," Willow breathed into Tara's ear, "inside…you…" Tara moaned out loud as Willow's bare leg nudged between hers for a moment, then withdrew as Willow undid her belt and began edging her pants down over her hips.

"That keeps me from runnin'," Willow murmured, feeling Tara's hands find her back.

"That just keeps me comin'," Tara smiled, lowering her head to stroke her lips across Willow's cheek, while her shoes, socks and pants joined the clothing scattered around them on the floor. "How'd you learn to do the things you do?"

"I've been having some dreams with lots of helpful ideas," Willow whispered quickly, before the next line started. Tara laughed quietly and deeply, and Willow thought she had never heard a more beautiful sound.

"And…nobody does it better," they sang together, almost whispering now, standing together with no space between them, wearing only their underwear as they danced slowly. "Makes me feel sad for the rest…nobody does it half as good as you…baby, baby…" Willow gasped as Tara's hand moved down her back and slid beneath the waist of her panties, stroking her ass.

"You're the best," Willow whispered in reply, her voice joining Tara's, while her hand reached down between them, mirroring Tara's as she delicately lifted the waist of her panties and slid her fingers beneath.

"Uhhhh baby," Tara moaned, as she felt Willow's questing fingers brush against her clit, "oh you're the best…"

"Baby you're the best," Willow sang again, softly, parting her legs a little, inviting Tara to enter her. She felt Tara's fingers at her threshold, and positioned her hand likewise, and with a mutual sigh that became a deep, throaty moan they slid into each other.

"Oh sweetie," Tara moaned, rolling her hips, "you're heaven…" Willow could only groan in reply, pressing her body against Tara's as she bent her knees, taking Tara's forefinger as deep within herself as she could. The two women danced together, slowly lifting their hips as one, then sliding back down, renewing the connection as their fingers became coated with arousal. Tara was the first to tentatively probe the tip of a second finger between Willow's lips, and found Willow eagerly welcoming her, and replying in kind. Their palms flattened against each other's mounds, rubbing their clits, gathering moist nectar.

Tara's legs felt weak as Willow's fingers just barely brushed her g-spot, but Willow sensed it, and together they gently lowered their bodies to the couch, still moving against one another. No words left their lips, only moans and deep breathing to mark time as they danced.

"Uhhhh," Tara moaned, wanting to tell Willow what was stirring inside her, to convey to her the intensity of her feelings, a satisfaction that went far beyond the physical.

"Mmmm," Willow replied, rising slightly to more firmly grind her hips down onto Tara's fingers, opening herself deeply to her. She kissed Tara's shoulder, again and again, then her neck, parting her lips wide with each touch, licking her glistening skin. Tara tossed her head back and cried out, making no effort to contain herself.

"Uhhhh…uhhh, uhhh, uh, uh – yes, yesyesyes, YES! GOD!" Willow lost the control to form kisses, and merely pressed her open lips to Tara's skin as the chorus of her climax rang in her ears. Tara's sex clutched at her, her muscles clamping tightly, while within Willow herself Tara's fingers jerked and thrust, sending her too over the edge.

"AH!" she exclaimed, then as her body shook her voice mirrored the gushing shuddering within her, "oh god yes baby yes in me so good oh yes so good so deep good yes, yes, yes…oh baby…oh…baby…"

"Baby," Tara whispered in reply, her eyes still closed. Willow moaned, then her lips closed into a grin.

"Ba-by," she sang softly, and felt Tara shake gently beneath her in a silent laugh.

"You're the best," they sang together, and chuckled. Tara opened her eyes and looked at Willow, who eased her body down and rested her head on Tara's shoulder.

"Wanna stay right here," Willow sighed, tensing her muscles to give Tara's embedded fingers a squeeze. Tara laughed her silken laugh again, and gave Willow an answering squeeze herself.

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S.M.U.T. Bunnies

by Chris Cook

Copyright © 2005

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