Author Note: I had this idea after seeing the pictures of the BAU girls in super spy mode. I started writing, and then I got stuck. So I told my friend Kricket, and she finished it up for me. First third is mine, last two thirds are hers LOL. BTW, read Kricket's kinky story 'Release' right now...it'll make you BLUSH!"
Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds, James Bond, Charlie's Angels, or Mission: Impossible.
The Spies Who Loved Us – by Almond and Kricket Williams
Penelope Garcia – Honey Ryder for the evening – strutted across the hotel lobby, seemingly oblivious to the eyes of the other guests watching her. She knew how she looked, and purposefully put an extra twitch into the roll of her hips as she made her way to the bar.
She caught the display of Cole Haan shoes out of the corner of her eye and promised herself that as soon as this assignment was over, she'd be back to buy those Air Gilda Open Toe Wedges in green as a reward. So aptly named; she bet they'd look gorgeous up in the air as Derek kissed her thighs.
"Focus, Honey. That's a Dr. No for now, and a Dr. Yes for later." Penelope muttered under her breath.
Penelope sipped at her martini as she listened to Emily – Tatiana, remember it's Tatiana! – and JJ exchanging information on their target. Well, it sounded like idle chitchat and gossip, but then no one else would understand the deeper layers of Emily's verbal codes, especially with that sexily distracting Russian accent that sounded all smoky and full of love.
As for JJ, well, she had no codename, as such. Her legendary shooting skills had warranted only a descriptive phrase: the Woman with the Golden Gun. JJ got up to go powder her nose in preparation for "bumping into" their assigned target at the bar.
Their mark had easily fallen into JJ's blue eyes, and was therefore quite preoccupied by the time Penelope sidled up next to them. She listened as JJ asked about the briefcase he was clutching so fiercely, but even her dainty giggles didn't loosen his hold.
Penelope had something to fix that. She was able to put a few knockout drops in his drink unnoticed, and signaled to Emily that it was time to go upstairs.
Emily waited down the hallway as JJ helped their quarry stagger into his room. As soon as she heard the signal, she entered the room and went straight for the desk, where the briefcase already lay open. She rustled through papers until she found the information they required, took photos of it with her phone, and put everything back as it was before.
As they stood around their unconscious prey, debating whether to leave him tied in the chair or place him in the bed to wake up wondering what the hell happened, they heard it. Thumping noises coming from the closet. JJ opened the door, gun drawn, to find their fellow secret agents. Hands tied behind their backs, stripped to t-shirts and boxers and gagged with their own neckties, the men stared in consternation through the closet door into the room at their women. The same women who were now leaning on each other for support, they were laughing so strongly at the men's predicament.
Hotch waited patiently in his blue plaid boxers, somehow still a commanding presence as he stood there, back straight. Face bland as he waited for the girls to calm down and release them; bland that is until he saw Tatiana's cleavage-baring outfit. Even then, only someone who knew him well would notice the slight widening of his eyes and shift in his stance.
Emily hid a smile as she came forward to help free his hands, pulling a butterfly knife from her sleeve. Pressing her body into his, she reached around and sliced the ropes holding her lover. She could feel his arousal against her abdomen.
Now smirking openly, she announced, "We won. You know what that means. We get to be on top."
Reaching around, Hotch took his necktie out of his mouth, and then folded Prentiss in his embrace.
"Действительно, Татьяна?" he replied smoothly in Russian, causing Emily to look back at him in pure surprise. "Я считаю, что мы оба выиграли…"
"Wow," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Some body's been doing his homework."
He grinned at her, that brilliant, boyish grin that lit up her heart every time. "I'm a quick study."
As he lowered his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss, she had to agree with what he'd said in Russian: they had indeed both won…
Penelope pulled Morgan forward, bringing him into the better light of the outer room. He was gazing at her outfit, eating her up with his eyes. The muscles of his thighs were visibly tightening in his black boxer briefs, as he starting rocking on the balls of his feet.
"Nice dress," he murmured after she removed his gag, giving her an appreciative waggle of his eyebrows. "Gold suits you, Penelope."
She huffed. As much as she adored her sculpted chocolate lover, he had no flair for the dramatic. She'd been in perfect character with this game, her theater bug background rising to the forefront, but he'd seemed simply amused, placating her.
Sighing, she walked behind him and cut his bonds with her pink Swiss army knife she'd purchased for the occasion. "It's not Penelope. It's Ryder. Honey Ryder…or did you forget?"
"I didn't forget."
A second later, she was in front of him, off her feet, as he held her aloft against his smooth, muscular chest. She placed her hands on his shoulders to keep her balance, and her hair fell forward, creating a curtain that shielded them from prying eyes.
His smile was devastatingly appealing and his dark eyes glistened as he growled, "Honey…you can ride me all night long."
Penelope giggled as she leaned down to kiss his oh so delicious lips. He had a flair for the dramatic after all…
The moment JJ removed the necktie from Dave's mouth he was talking.
"Took you long enough," he teased.
She smirked back at him. "Considering our sizable agenda, I think we made record time."
His espresso brown eyes twinkled with mischief. "Come untie me, Pussy Galore, and I'll show you a new meaning to sizable agenda."
She chucked as she moved behind him and began to untie knots. "I am so, so, soooo glad you didn't get to pick the nicknames for this game."
"Isn't that your nickname?" He shot her an innocent look over his shoulder, which was pretty hard to do, considering he was Dave Rossi. He didn't have a clue on how to be innocent!
"Stop wiggling and hush," she ordered. She'd forgotten her penknife, so she had to undo the ties manually. It wouldn't be too difficult; they weren't tied very tightly. "And I have no nickname," she clarified.
"Xenia Onatopp?" he continued to question in that innocent tone of voice.
"Dave, I need to concentrate," she complained in a chastising fashion, glad his back was to her so he couldn't see her smile.
"Holly Goodhead? Plenty O'toole?" He paused, and added quickly, "Wait! That last one…that's me…"
That first one was her, too. She longed to argue that point with him; she could give ol' Holly a run for her money.
Good God, she thought, doing her best to hide a giggle. She got sucked into his teasing yet again. At this rate, she'd never get him untied, and that simply wouldn't do.
Enough was enough.
"David, David, David…." she chided, clicking her tongue just slightly as she stepped around in front of him again. "I think there is only one good way to silence you."
She watched his dark eyes flash fire as she pressed her body against him, sliding her hands up his still bound arms. Delicately, she played her fingers across his chest to his neck…
And immediately stuffed the necktie back in his mouth.
Those dark eyes were flashing a different sort of fire now, and she was no longer controlling her giggle.
"Oh, settle down," she teased, stepping back behind him. "Think about it: the faster I get this done, the faster we can play."
All grumblings and motion stopped, and he was a perfect angel…at least until she untied the bonds.
In a quiet office across town, R—or Dr. R, if he wanted to stress his credentials—was pouring himself a lovely glass of cognac. Being the mastermind that he was tonight, he felt that cognac was the kind of drink he should be enjoying. He wondered if his girls—yes, his girls—were successful with their mission. They called themselves BAU Bond Girls, and he was fine with that, but internally he considered them Spencer's Angels.
Grabbing his snifter in one hand and a large volume from his bookshelf in the other, he made his way to his easy chair. This book had well over a thousand pages; he'd finish it in a couple of hours and add something new to his repertoire of knowledge. Taking a seat, he crossed his long, lean legs, took a sip of the fine amber fluid, and then opened his book.
At that moment, his cellular beeped, signaling a message coming in. R picked it up and glanced at the screen…
Mission accomplished. Photographic proof coming.
He grinned as a picture of all three of his fellow male agents in their boxer shorts came over a second later. They'd never know he orchestrated the whole thing, with input from their ladies, of course, which made everything so much sweeter. He put the phone down, his smile still present as he opened the book again.
The phone beeped yet again.
Picking up his phone, he saw he had a voice message.
"That's strange," he said out loud. The phone hadn't even rung. He pushed the buttons to retrieve the message.
"Good evening, Dr. Reid," the poorly disguised voice of Emily Prentiss began.
He shook his head. They'd balked at Spencer's Angels, but now they were throwing in Mission: Impossible.
Em continued, "Your mission, should you choose to accept, is to meet the following girlfriend of yours at the stated locale in approximately thirty minutes…The following picture should explain everything."
Spencer blinked. She was shooting a film in Canada, there was no way—
Sure enough, a pic message showed up… Lila, in her apartment, wearing nothing but a frou-frou pink negligee, dangling a pair of handcuffs from her equally pink tipped finger.
Oh, God, yes…
"As always, should you show up late or without proper protection, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions. Good luck, Dr. Reid. Your phone will self-destruct in five seconds."
Reid shook his head, and then his phone buzzed again. "Self-destruct? Oh, shit… Garcia!"
She could do it, too… and he'd be phoneless! There was nothing he could do but sit and wait for-
A text arrived: Kaboom!
Shaking his head with a chuckle, he grabbed his keys. His book and his cognac would simply have to wait.
finis
I sincerely hope you enjoyed this. To see the pictures that inspired this story, look at cbswatchmag on Twitter, or go on Facebook to the group Morgan/Garcia shippers: the Wednesday night girls.