just don't let me down (3/3, chuck/sarah, nc-17)

[ndnickerson]

title: just don't let me down
part: 3/3
fandom: chuck
characters/pairing: chuck/sarah
rating: nc-17
word count: 7421
prompt: from bsalvanera - chuck starts to train as a spy: the infiltration and inducement of enemy personnel (seduction school), and weaponry and hand-to-hand combat.
summary: chuck takes the july 4 weekend off from spy school, but he has a homework assignment...
warnings: set during the july 4 after season 2. language, strong sexual content warnings. also, this one doesn't end with smiles and laughter, so be warned. if you're in the mood for that, this isn't your story.

previously: part 1 . part 2

Katie Connell didn't have a legend, not the way Sarah Walker did. Katie had been out of Sarah's mind for so long that she had been reduced to a set of facts. Brunette, shy, wore a horse charm on a gold chain around her neck, liked country music and dark lipstick. She had existed for eight months in northern California, long enough to find a new boyfriend and make it almost through a year of junior high, while her father charmed his way through a series of small-time jobs.

But Katie was not part of Sarah Walker's legend, not anymore, and when Sarah prepared for Katie's date, she put on a low-cut fluttery turquoise dress that shimmered with her every step, a set of gold chains that pooled invitingly between her breasts, strategic dabs of a deep musky perfume. When she was smoothing on her final layer of lip gloss, Sarah met her own dark-lashed eyes and gave herself a pep talk she hadn't needed to go through in ages.

He is your asset.

This is a mission.

Keep him alive and get him through this date and put him back on the plane to Langley. When he gets back everything will be—

Ahh, but she couldn't even hold her own gaze when she started down that path. Most of the time she hated being Chuck's cover girlfriend; it seemed to do nothing but hurt him, no matter how hard she tried to keep things professional, and she was so afraid to slip that she couldn't be anywhere near natural around him.

Whatever natural meant. She had spent more than half her life going by various legends, living other people's lives. If she had the freedom to do what she wanted...

Well, she didn't. She wouldn't anytime soon. And as soon as Chuck was back for good, everything was going to change, again. It would be a relief to stop pretending, at least when it came to this.

It will be a relief to stop pretending.

That hadn't always been a lie.

--

"Hey, baby. Buy you a drink?"

Sarah lowered her gaze to the brilliant pool of liquid still in her martini glass and smiled. "I'm waiting for someone."

"You must mean me."

Sarah kept the smile on her face and turned to the guy, who was sporting the trifecta of soul patch, satin shirt and sunglasses. "I must mean someone who hasn't been raised on Miami Vice reruns," she said sweetly, swirling the vodka in her glass and downing it in one sip. "Why don't you go drink until the fireworks start."

"Look—"

Sarah's hand swept up in a brisk violent arc and the guy's face crinkled in pain. "If I have to blow you off again, it'll hurt," she promised, and twisted, and he made a high moan. "Get out of my sight or I swear you'll regret it."

She'd been told there was a term for it, something like misdirected anger, but when the guy sidled away, cursing her under his breath, she had to smile.

It was eight-oh-two on July fourth, and this bar was only two blocks from the pier, the best vantage point for the fireworks. The sidewalks and parks were crowded with families and picnic baskets, blankets and folding chairs and ice cream and sparklers, flags on wooden dowels and shirts and coolers. The bars were crowded with frat boys catching the last few minutes of the game, singles desperate to find someone to share the view with. Sarah knew Casey would be celebrating with a beer and brats from the safety of his own apartment.

This, just like every holiday, was one she would be spending alone, if not for Chuck.

She had been aware of him since the moment he walked in; gooseflesh had rippled up her bare spine, under the weight of his gaze. He was nursing a beer, in a corner booth, wearing the green shirt she had suggested. His hair was a little too short. It would be the right length by the time he finished training.

She laughed at herself, and it was a mirthless sound.

"From the man in the corner booth," the waitress said, her eyes dancing a little. Sarah had been pointed about her refusals since she'd arrived, and her little shows had entertained half the bar. If he had been anyone else, Sarah would have threatened to throw it in his face. Instead she smiled and took the dirty martini, three olives, and nodded to Chuck over the rim. The waitress's smile faded a little, but her eyes were alight with interest.

He waited for her, and when Sarah sauntered over, the last swallow of the drink still floating in the bowl of her glass, Chuck shifted his attention from the game to Sarah. "Happy fourth."

"Happy fourth."

"Nathan," Chuck introduced himself, holding her gaze.

"Katie," Sarah replied, perching at the end of the opposite seat. "Thanks for the drink."

Chuck leaned in. "I just had to see what would happen," he admitted, and Sarah couldn't help but giggle a little.

"So what brings you here?"

"In town on business," Chuck shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. "Looking for a little company."

Sarah's eyebrows went up a bit on that, but Chuck kept his expression neutral. "Missing a girlfriend back home?"

Chuck's response was a little too slow to be a lie. "Not tonight," he said, raising his glass, and she clicked her own against it. "You waiting here for a boyfriend? Although you seem to be very, very capable of taking care of yourself."

"There are other reasons to have a boyfriend," she teased him with mild outrage.

"Target practice?"

"Careful there, cowboy," she winked.

"Unless I want to be next."

"Do you?"

Chuck waited a beat. "So you're just at this charming little sports bar to exercise your sparkling wit... Katie."

Sarah hooked her index finger around the strands of her necklace and traced them down to her cleavage, dropping her eyelids and peering at him from beneath them. "I was going to meet my brother and his girlfriend here, but..." She shrugged, noting with some amusement that the motion sent an inviting shiver over her chest and that his gaze slid immediately to it. "At least I'll have a good view for the fireworks."

"If you're lucky. There's a lot of people already out there."

"If you're not doing anything, want to watch them with me?"

Chuck smiled, and it was the kind of the smile Carmichael would give, but it was close enough for her. "Love to," he answered, tossing back the rest of his beer.

--

Chuck couldn't answer the most innocent question without filtering it through a dozen layers, and he was surprised Sarah hadn't elbowed him in the ribs, shooting him a wry smile and demanding they start over. To his own ears he sounded rusty, stammering, uncertain, and he was jealous of Sarah's cool ease. But then, maybe this was her, underneath it all; he just wasn't sure.

"Pretty unfair for your boss to send you out of town on the holiday."

Chuck shrugged. "He's a real winner that way."

Sarah's arm was tucked into his, warm against his side. The lure of another bar down the block had been too much, and two martinis for her and another beer for him later, Chuck was a little flushed and very happy. The transponder in his pocket kept pressing into his thigh, reminding him that whatever this was, it wasn't real.

Now they were picking their way between couples and families on the beach, looking for an empty square of land with a good view. Chuck's windbreaker was folded over his other arm to serve as a blanket, although with the dress Sarah was wearing, and those heels, he couldn't imagine any way it would work. Unless she never actually meant for them to get back to an apartment.

"...seen the fireworks from here before?"

She was talking. Most of this assignment was about listening to her. "Not from here, no," he finally answered, and she squeezed his arm a little tighter, drawing it up to brush under her breast. She really didn't have to do anything, he thought wryly. She radiated sincere interest and suppressed desire. Just as she had on their first date.

It was so strange, how he kept wanting to ask her things that should never be recorded, ever. Especially not for a damn homework assignment.

"I hope your boss was nice enough to put you up at a good hotel."

Chuck had to smile at that. "It is a great hotel. Two soaps, towels that don't feel like sandpaper, the best minibar I've ever seen." He waited a beat. "You have to see it to believe it."

"Sounds like I have to see it," she almost purred, and he could feel her gaze on him.

Ahead of them, a lanky, long-limbed boy chased a barrel-chested counterpart, ducking and weaving between the blankets and coolers, attracting the glares and mutterings of the disapproving adults. Chuck watched and suddenly missed Morgan. He missed Ellie, missed Sarah, sometimes even missed Casey a little, but at least ten times a day he turned to make some snarky comment or observation to Morgan, but he was never there.

"Not getting tired already, are you?"

"Definitely not," Chuck choked out, responding to the thinly veiled insinuation in Sarah's velvet voice. "I know we'd have an amazing view out here, but I haven't seen an empty square foot, and the view is probably pretty spectacular from the balcony of my hotel room."

"I'm sure it is," Sarah said, so close her lips were brushing his cheek.

They were on their way back to the street where his car was parked, whispering half-promises to each other, and Chuck was only able to do it because his gaze kept following the two boys, still chasing each other around. He'd explained to Sarah how this was supposed to work; as soon as they got back to her place, they'd order a bottle of champagne, and she, giggling, would tell him some secret, and after another minute or two he'd turn off the transponder and head back to the apartment, so unnaturally still and quiet with everyone gone.

The boys darted out onto the pier, brushing by a little girl, who dropped her doll in shock. She leaned over to pluck it from the side, under the railing, and no one else was watching her, Chuck knew that, and he was just as certain of what was going to happen next. Chuck scanned frantically for her parents, but the pier was a crush and half the adults had a bottle in their hands, and in half a second she had fallen off balance and dropped straight into the water without a sound.

"Hey!" Chuck shouted, but his voice was swallowed in the loud, raucous conversation going on around them, and he'd already dropped Sarah's arm and kicked his shoes off, running straight for the shore without any regard for the blankets or bottles he was kicking over. He waded out into the water, breaking cleanly through the black surface, and distantly he heard Sarah calling his name, his actual name, from the shore.

He found the doll first, her blonde hair catching the light of the full moon, and dove in, groping around for the fluttering spread of a water-soaked dress. The sea wasn't deep, but the tide was persistent, and when he found the little girl, her skin pale and mouth fallen open, limp, he couldn't get to the shore fast enough; walking was like running in slow motion, like a nightmare.

"My little girl!"

Finally, Chuck thought, laying her on the wet packed sand. Sarah was on her knees immediately, checking the little girl's mouth and pulse, and Chuck was almost shouldered entirely aside by a frantic mother whose breath still smelled like wild cherry wine cooler. He backed off, nervously sticking his hands in his wet pockets, only to find the transponder, obviously waterlogged and ruined.

"Sarah, she gonna be okay?" Chuck raked his hands through his wet hair, combing it straight back.

Sarah paused with her hand on the girl's chest, blinking at his use of her cover name, but she smiled. "Yeah, I think so," she said, as the girl sat up, coughing and crying.

Yeah, Chuck thought. That's about right. If it's not a car crashing into a restaurant, it's a little girl falling off a pier.

Then the mother hugged them both, insisting on buying them both a drink, and Sarah and Chuck looked down at their water-streaked sand-crusted clothes and laughed.

--

When she had first accepted this assignment, Sarah had expected nights like this. She and Bryce had had them all the time. Come back to the safe house, wash off all the blood and dust, tumble into bed. It had been different; she was Mrs. Anderson and he was Mr. Anderson and the line between partner and lover had blurred until it was indistinguishable anymore. She'd shared so much with him. She'd shared almost nothing with him. Just a set of particular and awful circumstances. She'd seen Bryce naked more times than she could count, undercover, in the shower, nights when neither of them could sleep. It was a hazard of the job.

Then Casey was her partner, really, but he wasn't interested and she definitely wasn't interested, and the first night they came back grimy and sweat-drenched from another assignment, Chuck had gone back to his apartment and Casey had gone back to his place and she had been left to shower off in the dusk and tend to her own bruises and meet her own eyes in the mirror.

Life was easier like that. Everything was simpler from that. But sometimes she still thought about it, imagined how Chuck would be after a mission, still babbling out his wonder and fear as he tugged his shirt over his head, winding down as she scrubbed her makeup off and he brushed his teeth, mumbling some sleepy thanks that they were both still alive as he drifted off to sleep.

The only time she had ever even glimpsed Chuck Bartowski naked had been when they were scrubbing what turned out to be fruit punch off and she'd stripped down without a second thought, and the slippery lather of the soap and the warmth of his touch had done nothing because she was just too aware of everything to center her attention on just him.

When Sasha Banacek had held her hostage along with Casey, keeping them to exchange for the cipher, after they'd tried everything and they were sitting a few feet from each other on the concrete floor, hands still bound, too keyed up to do anything more than doze off, and Casey had said "Look, it's obvious you have feelings for the nerd. As far as I'm concerned, long as you can keep it from affecting your work, what Beckman doesn't know won't hurt her. Just keep it away from the bugs. And the cameras.

"Not that I don't think it's a monumentally bad idea," he'd tossed off, as an afterthought.

And Sarah had made her token protest, knowing he could see through it the entire time. She'd admitted to herself, a long time ago, during that bad time after Bryce's first, less than permanent death, over a bottle of good silver tequila, that she wouldn't still be stuck in some L.A. suburb if Chuck had been anyone else. If he'd been ugly, strikingly handsome, confident, smooth, overly suspicious, or bitterly hostile, she wouldn't have questioned Graham's order to kill him if he ran. But he was none of those things, and for the foreseeable future, he needed her.

She didn't need him, but that was only because once she told herself something enough times, she started believing it was true.

She hadn't thought she'd needed Bryce, either. But her grief over him had been real and hard, tender as a bruise.

She felt a pang of it again when she walked into her bathroom, wrapped in her terrycloth robe, and saw Chuck's silhouette in the shower. "I'm leaving some clothes in here for you," she called above the drone of the water.

"Oh, I hope it's the satin teal," he called back, rubbing his knuckles against his scalp.

She wasn't even sure how she'd ended up with a pair of his boxers and one of his faded, well-worn Stanford t-shirts. Chuck walked out of her bathroom five minutes later with his hair clean and mussed and too short, and there was something vulnerable about the sight of his bare legs and damp feet. Sarah kept her arms wrapped around her belly and her eyes low.

"It'll just be a minute."

"You want me to wait? Mission debriefing?" There was a smile in his voice but he was sweeping the room with his gaze. "Where's my clothes? My shoes?"

"I sent them down to be cleaned," Sarah explained. "Just keep yourself entertained. I'll be right out."

"Keep myself entertained? You don't even have a TV," she heard him muttering as she closed the bathroom door. The air was still hot, cloudy with steam, the tile slick under her feet. She slipped out of her robe, overly aware that Chuck was on the other side of an unlocked door and she was naked.

And that, definitely, didn't mean anything.

Sarah came out of the bathroom still scrunching her damp hair in her hand to find Chuck pecking lazily at her laptop. Her momentary burst of panic subsided when she remembered that nothing Chuck could find on her computer would be anywhere near as dangerous as what was already in his head.

"Do I need to order a cot?"

Sarah shrugged, keeping Chuck's face in her peripheral vision as she shrugged out of her robe. She didn't mean to do it, but seeing that look of slightly awed worship on his face always made her feel just a little high.

"You can just sleep here."

"On the floor?"

"The floor is gross and I don't want you sleeping on it," she said slowly, and smiled a little. "It's all right. We'll just keep to our sides of the bed and we'll be fine."

The fireworks were setting her teeth on edge, just a little. Even with the lights off, the mirrored walls echoed golden starbursts, trails of red sparks, the distant whirr and whistle cutting through the charged air of her hotel room. They lay on their backs, gazing up at the dim ceiling.

"Happy Fourth."

"Happy Fourth," she echoed back, snuggling deeper under the comforter.

--

It wasn't like Chuck had enough sleep anyway, but on the nights when it didn't come easily, even when he was bone-weary and exhausted from another day of grueling training at the academy, he tried to figure out where it went wrong. How they'd gone from that morning in the Barstow motel room to Sarah blinking her big blue eyes up at him, still in her tight shell-pink bridesmaid's dress, telling him that she was leaving in the morning, that she couldn't go on vacation with him.

He couldn't bring himself to wish that morning hadn't happened, even though it nagged at him every time he thought about her. He'd never been anything but transparent about the way he felt about her. Sure, he'd "broken up" with her a few times, but for Pete's sake, she was only his "girlfriend" anyway. And she'd made it clear that he wasn't allowed to expect anything else.

Except that when she kissed him, it didn't feel like cover. It couldn't have felt further from cover.

Sarah.

He could smell her hair. His eyes fluttered open. They had definitely been on their backs, a foot of space between them, when he'd gone to sleep. Now, somehow, his face was pressed against her spine and his knees were tucked up with hers and his fingertips were just under the hem of her tank. Just above her underwear. God, she was so warm, and she smelled so good, her still-damp hair brushing his forehead.

He held his breath for a moment, but she didn't move, didn't turn over and make some bright patently false comment about how she needed space.

For so long, the last vivid memory he'd had of her was at the edge of that quarry, pale and shocked, her face wet as she stared down at him, his throat sore and his lungs aching, woozy, drained like he'd felt after the uploads. If Sarah felt anything, he'd have sworn that her expression was tinged with both anger and regret.

And they were back to where they'd started, pretending they'd just met, even though that hadn't worked any better than the first time.

He'd still had the intersect swimming in his head, and it hadn't been as though she'd known they were so close to getting it out.

He'd dreamt once that they had been on the run together, still, that Casey had never found them, that they had never been interrupted. That they spent all their nights like this, folded up together, breathing each other's skin. That she wasn't his asset anymore, he was just a man with a thousand secrets locked in his brain and no key.

She hadn't been his handler anymore. Not really.

But there was no hope of that now.

Chuck closed his eyes again, all too painfully aware that soon he'd be back in Virginia and this, just like Barstow, just like that horrible night at the edge of the quarry, would just be another memory.

--

Soon this would just be another memory.

Sometimes Sarah wanted them back, those other lives. The last memory of her mother. The first time her father's con hadn't worked out quite right and she'd spent the night on a bench in a police station. She'd burned it all because it was easier to forget, and it made her sick that tonight was going to eventually hurt more than not, to remember.

General Beckman had made it very clear that Chuck had never been meant to upload the new Intersect, and Sarah's leadership of the project had been contingent on Bryce Larkin's involvement, and Beckman was already concerned that Sarah and Chuck's cover relationship had become too complicated to maintain. Only Casey's lobbying had kept both of them on the project, Sarah knew, because no matter how vehemently Casey protested that he just wanted to be leading his own team again, he'd never had another assignment like the Intersect.

For that matter, neither had she.

When she saw Chuck again, the pretense wouldn't exist anymore, and if Sarah knew General Beckman at all, she'd be the one who would have to break it to him, as gently as possible, as dispassionately as possible. Tonight was it. After tonight she wouldn't have the next breakup to look forward to, the next time he'd wake up from the haze and realize that their relationship was all a lie and break her heart just a little again.

(This isn't a lie. Isn't.)

She'd spent her entire life lying. Sprawled under cars and shopping carts and armored trucks. Turning on the tears in restaurants, in hotels, at wedding receptions, while her father pocketed jewelry and blank checks and bank account numbers. She lied when it came to Bryce, about how much she cared about him, about her impartiality, about how much his death had affected her. And none of them had eaten away at her like this, like the lie she had to tell Chuck every day, every single day she saw him, wishing with all her heart that he'd see through it, really through it, to the core of her. And that scared her most of all.

That he never would.

That he would, this time, tonight.

She could feel him breathing against her back, and when she turned over, under his arm, she had to squirm her hips to put her face on level with his. He was still pretending he was asleep, but she knew, and when she put her palm against his cheek, his eyes opened.

"Hey."

"Hey," he responded, the slightest apology in his clear voice.

"I'm so sick of lying."

"It's pretty hard, isn't it," he said softly. "I've been doing it for a month and it still sucks."

"Try twenty years."

"No thanks," he replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. "With you, twenty minutes, twenty seconds is too long."

She sighed. "But this is what you picked."

Chuck shook his head. "What I picked, Sarah, is you."

--

She froze when he said it. And it had sounded so good in his head.

"No," she whispered. "That can't be true."

Chuck took a deep breath. "You know, I'm not sorry. It's a miracle I'm still alive, and I'm not gonna take it back. If this is the only way we can be together right now, that's fine. I've made my peace with it. I know you don't want to leave CIA, but maybe, by the time they've scrubbed this thing out of my head again, maybe you'll have changed your mind."

From what he could see in the dark, her brows were knit, and she buried her face against his shirt. "I already had," she whispered into his chest.

"What?" She didn't answer, and Chuck moved back, peering down at her. "Sarah, what do you mean?"

She didn't answer him, just kept her head down, and when he hooked a finger under her chin she shrugged his hand away.

"Sarah—"

She shivered. "We'll be lucky if we live that long."

"That's not what you were talking about."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it—"

"It's in the past. We can't change it."

"Are you mad at me? About uploading it? You've seemed so—"

"Yes I'm mad!" she burst out. "It wasn't supposed to be you!"

"It was supposed to be Bryce."

Their eyes met and Chuck felt his breath catch the way it always did. He didn't like being so close to her when she looked so angry, but at his mention of Bryce's name, she seemed to deflate in front of him.

"I'd give anything to change it."

"I would too."

He pulled her to him, closing his eyes as she pressed her face against his chest again. He always knew exactly what to say to ruin everything, it seemed.

"I'm sorry."

Sarah was quiet for a long moment. "No matter what, I'll always be here for you," she said softly. "For as long as I possibly can, I'll have your back."

"I thought that was the whole point," he joked. "Sending me to Langley. So you wouldn't have to spend every second watching my back."

"Have they taught you how to stay in the car yet?"

"They're trying."

She smiled. "Go to sleep. After the weekend you've had, you need your rest."

"Sure thing, Mom."

She cupped his jaw in her palm and kissed his forehead, and when she lowered her face, it was on level with his. She held it too long, held his gaze too long, for it to be a mistake.

He'd been thinking about it for too many nights to let it pass.

She tasted like toothpaste and vodka and warmth and her body rose against his, and her response to his touch was almost savage. She buried her hands in his hair and he rolled on top of her, hips fitting snugly between her open thighs, his tongue in her mouth. Waiting for an errant firework to strike the roof of her hotel, waiting for Noche roja to burst through the door with murder in her eyes—

He pulled back, found her earlobe with his teeth, and whispered into her ear, "Please tell me you have condoms."

"Top drawer."

With a sigh of relief he slowed down a little, kissing her deeply, snaking one hand under her. When they broke apart again he pushed himself up on his knees and she sat up, helping him pull her shirt over her head, and he turned the bedside lamp on, enraptured by the way the golden light spilled over the curve of her breasts, the firm rosy tips, the flush of her parted lips. She reached for the hem of his shirt and he pulled it over his head, belatedly thankful that his hair was so short, and lifted her so she was standing on her knees, straddling his lap, as he brushed his lips in a soft kiss between her breasts.

"Please swear that no matter what, we're not going to stop. Not even if Casey barges in right now." He cupped one breast in his hand, brushing the ball of his thumb over her nipple, as he suckled against the other.

She buried her hand in his hair and made a soft, almost whimpering sound, her hips grinding into his. "Don't even say it," she panted out. "God, Chuck—"

She stopped, shivering, the join of her thighs still pressed against his erection, and tilted his chin up for another kiss, making small noises into his mouth every time he drew another tight circle around her nipple. When she swung away from him, pulling open the drawer in her bedside table, Chuck hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and inched them down just a little, feeling her shiver under his touch, shying away from him only to surge back immediately.

"What do you want," he whispered. "How do you want me to touch you?"

She turned back to him with a still-wrapped condom in her hand and gave it to him. "I want you," she replied. "So hard you leave bruises."

He put the condom on the table and laid her down again, teasing her breasts, the firm tips of her nipples with his teeth and tongue and nails, until she had her legs wrapped around his waist and was grinding against him. When she pushed his boxers down and wrapped her fist around his cock, he slid his hand under her panties, his thumb following the curve of flesh until he found the wet, firm button of her clit, and she arched immediately, letting out a low cry, her fist angling his cock toward her.

He leaned down and put his mouth against her ear, his thumb still stroking, punctuated by her moans. "It'll be over in two seconds once I'm inside you," he apologized, then drew a light circle around her clit, ran his nail over the tip, and she sucked in her breath in a ragged soft scream. "God," he groaned, sliding his fingers in deeper and finding her wet.

"Chuck, please," she begged, releasing his cock so she could yank her panties down, tilting her head back as he thrust two fingers between her legs. She pressed her knees tight against his hips and flipped him over so she was on top of him, and as she ripped open the condom he pumped his cock in the fist that was still wet with her arousal.

She rolled the condom on with practiced ease and their eyes met, and she was perched over him, gloriously naked and on her knees, straddling him, and she had never been more beautiful, as far as he was concerned.

"Two seconds?" she said, arching an eyebrow.

"One," he choked out, arching when her fist closed around his cock again.

"You're going to have to do better than that," she said, and he opened his mouth to reply but then she fitted the tip of his cock just inside her and slid her knees apart and Chuck grabbed her hips, desperate to sheathe himself inside her, but she took her time. Her warmth enveloped him by degrees, by the slowest inches, and though she trembled and tossed her head back when he dug his thumb against her clit, she still kept it almost unbearably gentle.

And then she had taken his entire length and he wanted to die, it felt so perfect. She was so hot and slick around him, and one glance against her clit made her inner flesh quiver around his cock, making him gasp out a moan.

"Sarah," he sighed, watching her eyes flutter open again, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

This couldn't be happening.

--

She didn't know how he was managing to hold out; he was already gritting his teeth with the incredible exertion it took to hold back, even before he flipped them over, his thumb still stroking her clit (oh God oh God, oh fuck yes, oh God) as he angled and thrust himself into her again. She planted her heels and rocked her hips to drive him deeper inside her, her breath coming harsh and ragged, and as he cursed under his breath she raked her nails, slow and hard, down his back, earning another hissed breath for her trouble.

"You're gonna kill me."

"Harder," she whispered into his ear, and he pushed back and rammed his cock roughly between her thighs, her nails digging between his shoulder blades as he did it again, again, stroking her clit in time with his thrusts, and the delicate tension of her orgasm was just beginning to throb between her legs when Chuck came, collapsing to her, all his weight pinning her to the bed.

She wrapped her legs around him. "Keep touching me," she begged, and writhed harder under him with the pressure of his strokes against her clit. He arched over her and caught her nipples between his teeth, tugging at each one gently, and their skin was slick where it touched, damp with sweat where it didn't. She panted and he slid his other hand between her legs, parting her lips as he used his entire other hand to massage her clit, and his mouth closed over hers as she started to sob out her pleasure, her inner flesh rippling around him. He kept stroking her clit, even as she sank her teeth into his neck, even as she tried to push her knees against his hips to angle him off her, and when her second orgasm crashed over her she cried out his name.

And he stopped, still touching her, the aftershocks still radiating through her hips, his lips against her cheek. Sarah waited until she could actually breathe again to murmur, "So how much of that was you?"

"How much—" Chuck started untangling himself, gingerly pushing himself up, off her. "Oh. Yeah, I was kind of wondering about that too, it's not in the instruction manual or anything, but I don't think anything kicked in."

"You don't think?"

"I don't know how this never came up, but," he looked away, rubbing a knuckle against his scalp, "the sensations are not entirely dissimilar," he finished carefully.

"Yeah, you did look kind of like that."

"I looked like I was having a flash?" he said incredulously, gazing down at her. "What?"

"No, you..." She drew her legs back together, pushing back until her back was against the headboard. "I mean, when you have a flash, you kind of look— you didn't know?"

"I've never seen myself having a flash," he told her, sounding somewhere between amused and horrified. "Wow. How exactly were we able to keep this a secret for so long? Blame it on priapism?"

Sarah giggled, her eyes sympathetic as she watched him search the room. "If you need a towel, they're in the cabinet in the bathroom."

"You're not making me feel any better," he called as he followed her directions.

"Sorry," she called back, straightening out the covers, dropping their discarded clothes onto the floor. "Well, damn. I guess I don't have anything else for you to wear."

"What a shame." He stopped in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, just taking her in; she hadn't bothered pulling the covers back over her, and for once, he wasn't cringing or apologizing, and she let her own gaze wander the way she hadn't when they'd been in the shower together. The training was starting to sharpen the lines of his already spare frame, and she could see the faint indentations of muscles that hadn't been there before, the suggestion of his abs, the flexed heft of his biceps, the shadowed curve that traced a path from his hip to his cock.

"You are so beautiful."

The hushed awe of his voice stopped her from shrugging off the compliment, from brushing it off. He held her gaze for a moment, holding it as he walked back to bed, sliding in next to her.

"Tell me we didn't just ruin everything."

"We didn't. I did."

He touched her cheek. "Because you're my handler and you should have stopped me, because what you want isn't important."

She closed her eyes and dropped her chin a little in acknowledgement.

"You know, when Morgan asked me to come work at the Buy More with him after Stanford, well basically he insisted, it was just a means to an end, and I was so damn depressed that it seemed like penance, you know? Even though I didn't know what I'd did to so thoroughly piss off the universe. Every now and then I'd do something awesome at work, and I'd feel like I actually accomplished something, but it never lasted. So you know what, Sarah? I've already done my penance for this and as far as I'm concerned, the universe and I are paid up and I actually deserve to have something go right for once. Okay?"

"Chuck—"

"And you deserve that too. So, starting now, what we 'should' do? Fuck that."

Despite herself she laughed. "It's really not that simple."

"Maybe not. Not a lot has been simple for the past two years. But this, this can be that simple. Just let it go." He tilted her chin up. "Look at me. I swear right now that I will never, ever, do anything again that could ever jeopardize this."

"What we do every day jeopardizes this."

"No." He shook his head. "How I feel about you, that hasn't changed. Has not ever changed. And it won't, either."

"You loved Jill. And that changed."

He put his cheek on the pillow and looked away for a moment. "I loved who I thought she was," he finally said. "I loved who I thought I was when I was with her. I felt like everything would fall into place, as long as I had her. Because everything just came crashing down around me when she broke up with me. But you're not Fulcrum, and this life, as frustrating and scary as it might be, beats anything I could have imagined by a mile."

She smiled, at that.

"I know, with Bryce and everything..."

She cupped his face in her hands. "I did love him," she said. "And I am so sad, so angry that he's dead. It was so useless. He was an amazing agent and he was a wonderful man." She smiled again. "But I told you before, what he and I had was in the past, Chuck."

"And what changed," he parroted back, draping his arm over her hip.

"You," she said softly. "Finding you."

--

He hadn't slept so well since he'd left, even with the bruises. He was still drained when he woke, but then sometime in the night he'd found himself grinding against her in his sleep, spooned up, one hand between her thighs and the other cupping her breast, and her hand was warm over his. He'd taken long enough to find another condom before sliding into her from behind, but he couldn't make his thrusts long enough for her, not until she made a soft groan and pulled him up with her, on all fours, her hair spilling over the pillow. They didn't talk in anything more than moans and pleading whispers, and his lips found the old scar of a bullet wound in her shoulder as her hand guided his to her breast.

And then, he was pretty sure the dawn had been bleeding through her curtains when he'd opened his eyes to find her mouth around his cock, and he'd flipped her onto her back, teasing her clit with the tip of his tongue as she sucked him off.

She'd never said it, but whatever was going through her head meant that tonight wasn't going to happen again. It wasn't because she hadn't enjoyed it, he knew that. And he'd never be able to look at her again without remembering her sprawled on her bed, gazing at him through her lashes, the incredibly toned body he'd seen her use against anyone who had ever threatened him loose and sated from their lovemaking. That was exactly what it had been, for him.

He realized belatedly that he'd never actually said the word, but then, neither had she.

He let his hand drift over the comforter, but she wasn't next to him, and his heart was pounding as he, elaborately casually, sat up, to see her sitting at the table beside the window, fully dressed, a cup of coffee in her cupped palms. A matching cup sat at the other chair and his clothes were hanging from her bathroom door, still in the plastic wrap.

Save for the fact that he was naked, from the distance in her eyes, he could easily believe that he'd dreamt the night before.

He felt cold as he swept his shorts off the floor and pulled them on under the covers. It shouldn't be hard to meet her eyes, but then, she wasn't even trying to meet his. It was as clear an indictment as he'd ever seen.

Chuck pressed his lips together, ran a hand through his hair. His chest was tight. Like running uphill.

"Good morning."

His voice came out more harshly than he'd intended, and she raised her head. "Morning," she said, her voice pale.

At least she wasn't faking it, he thought, and stalked into the bathroom. A five-minute shower later and even her scent was gone, but he smelled like her soap, her shampoo.

It took more effort than he thought possible to put a smile on his face when he walked out again, still playing with the cuffs of his shirt. "That was fast."

"They're good with laundry." She drained her coffee and stood. "What time's your flight?"

He checked his watch. "In about three hours."

"So we should leave now if we're going to beat the traffic."

"Sure." He cringed but he couldn't stop himself. "I mean, I have to return my rental car."

"So you don't really need a ride, then."

"I'll need one over to Ellie's. And... I guess that GL-400 is worthless."

Sarah gave him a very small smile. "Casey pulled some strings and found one. I think he said something about '80s Soviet Russia when he brought it to me."

"Blank."

"Uh... actually," she said, fussing with the hem of her shirt, "we managed to take care of that, too. So at least you won't fail the assignment. Because it really wasn't your fault."

"Oh my God."

"What?" Her eyes were wide.

"Please tell me... you and Casey..."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Do you know how much recorded wiretap we have? It's okay."

"Guess I'll have to listen to it on the plane to see what I have to brag about. Or not."

"Yeah, considering it was Casey who took care of it, brag might be the wrong word."

Their gazes met and they smiled at each other, tentatively, but he knew it wasn't going to be what it had been. Maybe once he came back, though.

"I'm gonna go get the car. Have your coffee." She flashed him one last smile, then ducked out, her keyring in her hand.

Chuck drained his coffee in three swift gulps and found his wallet on Sarah's dresser, the leather still faintly damp to the touch. Chuck made a face, sliding it into his pocket, when his fingers brushed a slip of paper he didn't remember being there.

No matter what, Chuck.

Just don't let me down.

When he closed her door behind him, he was smiling.