Title: Freed from Bond-age...
Author: P.H. Wise

Pairings: Illyria/James Bond

Disclaimer: Not quite sure who owns the Buffyverse or the Bondverse, but I know for a fact that it's not me...

Summary: Never try to get into Illyria's pants... even if she's loaded...

Note: This story was originally posted by JoeHundredaire on tthfanfic, but written by me. He posted it because I thought it was too stupid to post. Go figure.

Illyria came to awareness in a silk-sheeted bed. Immediately, her superior senses probed her surroundings and informed her that she was lying prone in a dark hotel room, and she was not alone; a heat source identifiable as a human male lay naked at her side.

She considered the sleeping form beside her. She didn't recognize him, but whoever he was, he would pay for daring to experience such physical intimacy with her shell. On the desk was a marriage certificate with the names, 'James and Illyria Bond.'

Briefly, a thought occurred to her: should she take this as an opportunity to explore the kind of intimacy that Wesley had denied her? Perhaps she could come to love this human. Perhaps they were made for each other. And then she stopped channeling the cosmic stupidity principle. She rose and took his spine for a trophy, repaying in full his temerity in thinking to take advantage of her shell via use of the poison 'alcohol'.

She left the dead man on the bed behind her.