Infiltration and Inducement of Friendly Personnel

A sequel to Chuck Versus Sarah's Same Sex Seduction

Kudos to GandalfTheFunky for correctly guessing that I had Keeley Hazell in mind when I wrote the character Keeley Downes. Sexiest woman alive (sorry Yvonne, I love you babe).

Disclaimer: Language, Suggestive Content and Dialogue, the usual. Oh, give me feedback please. And I will give an attaboy to the first person who spots the recurring Doctor Who reference.

The past few weeks have been strange. Ever since the mission where I was assigned to seduce Keeley Downes, the "mistress" of known German terrorist Frederick Muller.

Of course, when I say strange, I specifically refer to Chuck. One minute he would look upon me with such obvious arousal. Dilated eyes, shortness of breath. Then, the next minute, he would look like a skittish, confused schoolboy. Unsure what to make of his "girlfriend" so easily being able to seduce a woman.

It was during a particularly awkward lunch break that it finally became too much for me. So, while we sat inside the Dominos in Empire Plaza, I blurted out—

"I'm not bisexual."

Chuck actually snorted Pepsi out his nose at the comment. Knowing I should have waited until he swallowed, I grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and handed them to him, embarrassed.

"Sorry," I shrugged.

"S'okay," he squeaked. He eyed me warily, wondering where the hell that comment came from.

"Look, Chuck, I know the mission with Keeley Downes unnerved you. Maybe if I'm honest with you we can simply move on. As such, I will allow you to ask any questions you like regarding Seduction School and my own sexual proclivities."

Okay, maybe I shouldn't have opened that can of worms, but dammit, the awkwardness was getting to me. Chuck, knowing what a gold mine I opened up, tackled the subject head on.

"So. Seduction School. Exactly what it says on the tin?"

"Pretty much. The first lesson is in studying the mark. Learning about the person, gleaning what his or her likes and dislikes are. Subsequently, the second lesson is application. Taking the information learned so that you may transform yourself into the mark's idealize mate. Of course, to do so requires going deeper than physical features. It's about adapting yourself to the mark's personality."

Shyly, almost fearing the answer, Chuck asked, "Do you do that with me?"

Honestly, I replied, "To a very minor extent. No more than the typical adjustments a real girlfriend might make for her boyfriend."

"Such as?"

"I've adjusted my wardrobe. You like casual chic. Tank tops, blue jeans. The occasional skirt or dress. You particularly like when I wear reds or purples. As for fragrances, you like citrus scents. As such I've adjusted my perfumes and shampoos accordingly."

"So. No manipulation of any kind?"

I shrugged. "Maybe a little manipulation. Again, no more than the typical amount a real girlfriend might exercise on her boyfriend. Honestly, Chuck, if I wanted you under my thumb I would have slept with you soon after we met. But I respect you too much for that."

"Yay," Chuck said dryly. "Respect."

I tried to deliver a mock glare, but I couldn't hide the smile.

Chuck chewed his pizza as he considered his next question. Again, he seemed afraid of the answer. "Sleeping with a mark. Does that happen often?"

Damn. He was going for the tough questions. "On missions like Keeley Downes, no. That was a one-off mission. Little booze, little pentothol, the right touch. Get everything you need without taking off your clothes."

"What about prolonged missions? Missions like this one. With me."

"Sex sometimes becomes... necessary." Nope. He didn't like that answer. "It's only sex, Chuck. Not love. A means to an end. I will be honest, I have seduced a number of marks. Many of them have had my body, but none have ever touched my soul. Not like you have."

It was the truth and Chuck could see it in my eyes. He perked up considerably. He then developed a coy smile. And here it comes...

"How many of them were women?"

"A minority, naturally. I've done maybe nine or ten women in my career."

Chuck smirked. Instantly I realized what I said.

"Okay, not done as is done, but done as in..." His smirk wouldn't go away. "Shut up. I thought you were one of the few men alive who isn't a pig."


I delivered a sharp kick to his shin. He gasped at the pain, but it couldn't wipe away the smirk.

"So you never enjoy getting close to a mark? Male or otherwise?"

"Besides you?" I shrugged. "Do I enjoy seducing someone? No. Never. Not on business hours, anyway. Though I confess, some of my marks are quite likable. Keeley, for instance."

"So you're telling me that if you, Sarah Walker – Regular Girl – met Keeley Downes in a bar on a Saturday night, you wouldn't be tempted to pick her up."

I hesitated. I know I hesitated. Chuck saw me hesitate. His shit-eating grin only grew wider.

"You would," he marveled. "I guess Casey wasn't lying."

I snapped to attention. My eyes narrowed. "What did Casey say?"

Nervous Chuck made a return appearance. He stuttered, "Just something about your personality profile making you flexible when it comes to... dancing." A beat. "Dancing is a euphemism for sex, right?"

"Yeah, it is. Casey mentioned my personality profile?" Chuck gulped, nodded. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Sarah, he only made a passing reference. He just insinuated that your profile made it easy for you to seduce people. Even girls. Nothing that you haven't insinuated yourself."

Well, true enough.

"So, has Sarah Walker ever kissed a girl and liked it?"

Again, I tried to glare, but couldn't quite manage it. "Any mentions of cherry chapstick and I'm shoving that pizza in your face." Good God. I actually caught his reference and reciprocated it.

"Don't avoid the question."

Sigh. "Maybe."

Chuck laughed like a man who just won the lottery. "Keeley Downes?"

Another shrug. "Maybe." And maybe I should've gone with my first instinct and not broached this topic with him.

For the next week, Chuck continued to playfully bring about the topic. We went to the movie theatre to watch "Quantum of Solace". For the briefest of instances he caught me checking out a girl in the concession line. Brunette, perhaps a little taller than Keeley, but still curvaceous. He also noticed how I fawned over the lead Bond Girl, a brunette woman with a Russian name I couldn't remember, just as much as I did Daniel Craig.

During our lunch break. He would point out various women in the parking lot and ask my opinion. Honest to God, he kept a tally on a notepad.

He would also ask about other traits I liked. I told him that intelligence and humor were critical, more so than most physical traits. Also, I loved a dazzling smile and someone who could cook.

I certainly didn't mind sharing this particular aspect of myself. I really didn't see the harm. Plus, it was funny to see the expressions on Chuck's face.

But then Chuck grew pensive. One afternoon when he came into the Orange Orange, I asked, "What's wrong?"

He hesitated a moment, then finally he said, "I think I realized what your type in women is."


"Someone like my sister."

I hesitated. Again. He saw me hesitate. Again. Fuck a duck.

"Tall. Brunette. Brown eyes. Darker skin tone. Curvy. Humor. Intelligence. Dazzling smile. Good cook." I really didn't want to look him in the eye. "Sarah, do you find my sister attractive?"

I hesitated. Once again. God-fucking-dammit.

"Holy crap. You think my sister's hot."

I managed a weak, "Objectively speaking, yes."

Chuck reacted as if reeling from a Mike Tyson kidney shot. "Holy crap," he murmured again. "You have the hots for my sister."

Again, I managed a lame, "Well, the Bartowski's are an attractive people." Like I said, lame, but it was also true. Chuck collapsed into the nearest booth. "Want a yogurt?" I offered, as if that would make everything better.

"Have you ever thought about... dancing... with my sister?"

I used to be a good liar. I distinctly remember a day when I was an incredible liar. "No."

For his part, Chuck handled the confession well. He mostly just sat there, wearing a look of stunned disbelief.

"Dancing... with my sister." After a moment, "Well, I give ya credit. You have excellent choice in women."

I placed a hand atop one of his. "Men, too," I hinted with a smile. Chuck shyly returned the smile.

"I thought you said you weren't bisexual."

"I'm not. I'm just... flexible. An orgasm is an orgasm, whether it's from a woman, a man, or your own hand."

Chuck's eyes widen at my blunt analysis. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter. "What?" I asked.

"Just imagining Ellie's reaction if you tried hitting on her. She'd freak the hell out."

I shouldn't have said it, but it slipped out, "No, she wouldn't." Fucking CIA pride. It'll get the best of me one day.

"You sound awful sure of yourself."

At this point, I willed myself to change the subject. "Well, I am that good." God. Fucking. Dammit.

"My sister has been boy crazy since she was 12. Far as I know, she's never had a bi-curious thought."

"Neither had most of the women I've seduced."

Chuck stared at me, not quite believing my confidence. "You're telling me you could seduce my sister."

"Honest answer?" I asked. He nodded. "Drop by at seven o'clock. Bottle of wine, a few light touches, murmur sweet nothings into her ear. I'd be peeling her panties by ten."

Good thing he wasn't drinking Pepsi. I'd have to clean the table. Once he recovered—

"Want a bet."

Bad idea. "Chuck, you really don't want to bet me on this. You would never look at her, or me, the same way again."

"Which is why the bet isn't my sister. Just a reasonable facsimile."

I should've said no. I know I should have said no. Damn CIA pride...

"What did you have in mind?"

The next night, I found myself at a booth in "Midnight", a trendy Los Angeles hotspot. I wore a dark blue-gray dress. Something slinky to accentuate my figure. I looked good. Damn good. I tabbed at the earpiece in my right ear.

"Sound check."

"Loud and clear." I could hear the smirk in Chuck's voice. I looked towards the end of the bar. Sure enough, the little bastard was smiling.

I used to be able to say "no". I used to have self-control. There used to be a time when I didn't get weak in the knees just because a computer nerd flashed a puppy dog expression my way.

I took a pull off my scotch. Those were the days.

The object of the game was simple. Find a girl, pick her up, take her back to my hotel.

"So how will it work?" Chuck asked in our pre-game meeting. "Will you actually...?"

"No. I figure once we get back to the hotel, I'll slip a little LP-9f into her drink."

"LP-9f?" he asked curiously.

"Not it's official designation. Love Potion Number 9 – female variant. Slip it to a female mark, she gets woozy, goes night-night. Kicks the body's hormones into overdrive, tricks it into producing the same chemicals the body naturally produces during sex. So when she wakes up..."

"She has an afterglow?"

"Pretty much."

It was nearly forty minutes before I found "The One". Rather, she announced herself.

"You son of a bitch!" a sexy brunette cried out. By a stroke of luck, she was a remarkable facsimile of Ellie. "I can't believe you—"

"Babe," her boyfriend replied, "what is your problem?"

Indignant, the woman sputtered, "Are you serious? I just find out you fucked my best friend and you ask what my problem is?"

"Technically, we were broken up when it happened," the man defended.

"Like that matters! Get away from me!"

The man clearly didn't understand what he did wrong, but he left anyway. The woman, wearing a devastatingly sexy black cocktail dress, made a beeline for the bar. When she noticed that most of the eyes in the club were still upon her, she shouted, "What the fuck are you all looking at?"

Everyone turned back to his or her drinks. Except for me. "She's the one," I told Chuck. "Looking for a drink and a rebound."

I grabbed my scotch and went to the bar. As fate would have it, the seat next to the scorned woman was empty.

"Barkeep, a refill on my scotch, please." I then nodded to Scorned Woman. "Whatever the lady asks for, charge it to me."

Scorned Woman turned at the comment. Offered a tiny, thankful smile. "Thanks for the sympathy drink," she said.

"More like empathy drink," I replied. "Been there, done that."

As Scorned Woman said, "Really?", I could hear Chuck say the same thing in my earpiece.

"Bryce and Carina, respectively. Of course, I caught them in the act. He had the gall to wonder why I didn't knock."

Scorned Woman cringed. "Ouch."

"That's what they said both during and after the beating."

I got the desired effect. A laugh.

"Thanks. I needed a laugh," she said. To the bartender, "Something strong, something fast." As the bartender poured a double shot of tequila, the woman turned back to me. "I'm Jessie."

"Michelle," I said, offering my hand. "Now, pretend I'm your shrink. Unload."

Boy did she. She called her boyfriend, Kevin, every name in the book plus a few I hadn't heard before. My tumultuous relationship with Bryce offered some superb counterpoints, minus the national security details.

After a series of double shots and some sterling conversation, I finally decided it was time to broach the topic of the night.

"Forgive me if I'm being presumptuous, but I wonder if you might like to go someplace more private."

Jessie paused as she sipped her fourth tequila. "You mean...?" she said with wide eyes.

"I do," I said in my most brazen tone.

"Michelle, I'm very flattered, but I'm not... I mean, I've never..."

"Jessie," I said, turning towards her. I leaned in, looking her square in the eyes. Earnestly, I began to lay it all down. "That doesn't matter. Do you want Doctor Michelle's honest opinion?" She nodded. "The best remedy after finding out your boyfriend nailed your best friend is to find a warm body to fuck the shit out of you in return."

"With you so far," Jessie said.

"So what are you going to do? Find some random guy and pray he knows his way around a woman's body? Come on. You find a guy here, chances are he'll be a couple sheets to the wind, probably won't have the necessary stamina to do the job properly, nor will he be particularly interested in anything beyond his own gratification."

"I could be drunk, or that could make sense," Jessie admitted.

"So, my proposal is to find a woman. Someone already intimately familiar with the feminine form. Who understands all the subtle nuances of female arousal and pleasure that, frankly, is beyond the grasp of most men. Someone who knows just where to touch, to kiss, to lick, to bite."

Oh, I had her. Dilated pupils. Short pants of breath. Quick flick of the tongue to wet her lips.

"Imagine your most vivid fantasy. In which your lover touches every inch of your body. Drawing out your pleasure until it brushes against the threshold of sweet torture. Making your body ache in anticipation, until your mind cannot form a coherent thought beyond the desperate mantra of "Fuck me harder". I'm a woman, Jessie. All those fantasies you've had, I've had. Believe me, there have been many a night where my only company has been my imagination and my right hand, developing numerous erotic scenarios of the likes that I just mentioned. So trust me when I say I have the expertise, the vision, and the desire to make every single one of those fantasies a reality. Jessie, I want to leave you a trembling, quivering pile of flesh. I want to drive every thought of that piece of shit Kevin from your mind. I want to leave you screaming for more. I want you to scream for me."

Her eyes completely glazed over. "Pay for the drinks," she demanded. She then tossed back the remainder of her tequila.

Coyly, I answered, "Why?"

"Because I need to scream," she said frantically, pulling on my hand.

I threw a c-note to the bar and allowed Jessie to pull me to my feet. Just before we left, I caught the look of utter astonishment and lust on Chuck's face.

"I win," I murmured, knowing damn well he heard me.

The next morning, Chuck picked me up outside my hotel in his Nerd Herder. As I slipped into the shotgun seat, Chuck passed me a latte. I offered him a smile.

"Last time I ever bet against you," he said.

"Good life lesson," I retorted.

"She really came up to your hotel room."

"Mmm hmm."

"So you just slipped her the serum and... poof?"

"Something like that."

Despondently, he said, "So. New York. A genuine Broadway play. When are we going?"

"Next weekend. I already cleared it with Beckman." He continued to pout. "Hey, I spent an entire weekend watching Star Wars movies with you. Parts Four through Six were fine, but dammit, for watching the new trilogy you're lucky I only wagered a Broadway play and a nice dinner."

Even Chuck could acknowledge that. "Fair enough."

As Chuck drove away, I decided I didn't have the heart to tell him there was no such thing as LP-9f. To get her hormones that high, everything had to be done... manually.