Chuck Versus Leia's Metal Bikini
One month and two successful missions after the honeymoon, Chuck decided it was time to break his bride's Star Wars cherry. He could still hardly believe the irony that he—a card carrying Warsie since his earliest memories— had married a girl who'd never even seen the movies.
In anyone else he'd have viewed this oversight as a major character flaw, but in her…yes, even this was a bonus. Because now he'd get to be the one to introduce her to this marvel of cinematography. He alone would get to hear her first gasp at seeing Vader cut down Obi-Wan, her first sigh as Leia and Solo finally kissed, her first tear when Luke looked upon his father's face.
As the final sounds of celebration rang through Endor, Chuck looked down expectantly at his wife, who reclined comfortably in the crook of his arm. She felt his gaze upon her and lifted her eyes to his.
"So…" he prodded.
She smiled. "I liked it. It was cute."
"Cute?" Chuck jerked his head back.
"Mhmm."
"Honey, the The Muppet Movie was cute. Tangled was cute. You've gotta give me something more here."
Sarah pushed herself to sitting with a defensive crinkle tensed between her eyebrows. "I liked The Muppet Movie."
"Well, so did I, but come on…" Chuck now also sat completely upright with his lips pulled into a smirk as he tilted his head in a charmingly patronizing way. "You have to admit, Star Wars was a little bit more than a bunch of fuzzy puppets singing and dancing."
Sarah stood up and crossed her arms. "Oh really? And the Ewoks were…?"
Chuck lifted a warning finger, as he too rose to his feet. "The Ewoks were symbolic of the underestimated little man—the proletariat, if you will—rising up against the oppressive ruling class. They showed us that anyone, no matter how small, can take a stand and emerge victorious."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "They were cute, sweetie."
"Seriously, baby, you have to understand—Star Wars isn't cute. It's epic. It's brilliant and ground breaking, and…and life changing."
Sarah snorted. "Life changing?"
"Yes, life changing." Chuck's face set hard, like immovable stone.
Sara shrugged. "That's fine; it can be life changing to you. To me, it was a moderately entertaining movie, what's the big deal? You didn't see me get all huffy when you fell asleep half way through Love Actually last week…and then didn't even ask how it ended when you woke up the next day."
"Love Actually? You're comparing Star Wars to—" Chuck checked himself and shook his head. "You know what the problem is? You've never been to a Star Wars convention. There's one coming up next month, and this time we're going for real."
Sarah waved her hands back and forth in front of her. "No, Chuck, not interested. Go with Morgan. Please go with Morgan."
"Oh yeah, Morgan'll definitely be there. But if you come, maybe that'll help you get into it more."
Sarah wrapped her arms around his shoulders and locked soft, puppy dog eyes on his. "I didn't love the movies, Chuck. But I love you." She gave him a gentle peck on the lips. "And I love that you love the movies…and the action figures and the video games. Just please, please don't make me go to a fan convention. It's so not my style."
His mouth twisted into a conciliatory grin. "I wouldn't change your style for the world.
And you're right—you don't have to love the movies just because I do. Even still, you did like them, right? So maybe there's a chance that someday…"
She nodded and stifled a yawn. "Never say never. Can we go to bed now?"
. . . . .
.
With all the black guyliner and spiked mutli-colored hair in the room, it was difficult to distinguish the target amid the crowd at the punk concert. A gothed-out Casey spotted Petrov Jr. just as the teen threw himself into the mosh pit.
"His device could get completely destroyed in there," Sarah stated, keeping a steady eye on the throbbing mass of humans from beneath her shock of luminescent pink bangs.
Casey grunted and clenched his fists; his biceps bulging and stretching the black cotton of his tee shirt.
"John, you can't just go in there and start tossing guys out. We'll get made," the fuschia-haired CIA agent warned
During the exchange, Chuck's eye lids had drooped while his pupils flicked rapidly back and forth. He reached out and touched his wife's back, just above the edge of her leather bustier. "Don't worry. I got this."
He rushed into the pit and began thrashing with the utmost skill—deftly dodging elbows and skulls while landing calculated kicks and shoulder thrusts as he worked his way to the target. All the while, nary a hair was mussed on his faux-hawk. Just as Chuck reached him, Petrov Jr. was knocked to the ground, and Chuck dove on top of him in time to push away the thick heal of a boot that had been about to crush the kid's ribcage.
Petrov Jr. violently shoved the CIA agent off amidst an angry string of profane slurs. Chuck got back to his feet and thrashed his way out of the pit. As he approached his companions, he surreptitiously turned his palm to reveal the cell phone before sliding it into the back pocket of his skinny jeans.
Sarah flashed him a wide smile, and Chuck got that goofy grin he could never stop when he knew she was proud of him.
"Let's go, Sid and Nancy," Casey growled.
"Good work, team B," the General said over the monitor when they'd returned to Castle. "Our men were able to apprehend Petrov and neutralize the entire operation within moments after you extracted the data file from his son's cell phone. This mission is closed."
The screen went dark, and Sarah pulled off her wig and threw it on the table as she stepped out of her four-inch heels. "It feels so good to get out of those."
Chuck wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered suggestively in her ear, "I've got something special waiting at home for you to get into."
"Really?" she purred back. "Like what? A bubble bath? A bed filled with rose petals?"
"It's a surprise."
Once they were back at the apartment and in the bedroom, Chuck pulled a bag out from his closet. "Since you won't go to the convention—which I'm totally fine with, by the way—I'm bringing the convention to you. Remember this?"
He tipped the bag over and dumped its contents onto the bed. Out fell twisted bronze metal tubing and a sheath of gauzy fabric.
"You want me to wear a hanger?" Sarah asked.
"A hanger," Chuck chuckled. "You're adorable, honey." He lifted the two pieces up off the bed, and Sarah recognized it as the outfit Princess Leia had worn in Return of the Jedi—the one Sarah herself had worn to a costume party when she and Chuck were still a pretend couple.
"Seriously? Do we not play enough dress up already?"
"Not like this. This…this is…well, I mean, Leia in her metal bikini is the big time. The ultimate."
"You've already seen me in it."
"Years ago. And besides, we're together now. A real couple. This time I can…touch…the bikini." He waggled his eyebrows up and down.
"You want me—your wife—to dress up like the girl you've been fantasizing about since before you were old enough to fantasize?"
Chuck gazed down at the costume and murmured, "Heck yeah…"
Sarah narrowed her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. "Really? Well, how do you think you'd feel if I asked you to dress up like another man? A very specific other man?"
He didn't note the shards of ice in his partner's tone and merely lifted half his upper lip in a dirty smirk. "Who shall it be? Solo?"
Sarah thought for a moment and then shook her head in the negative.
Chuck raised a flirtatious eyebrow. "Calrissian? …Chewbacca?"
"None of those," Sarah replied, with some warmth returning to her voice. She gave her husband a coy smile. "It's a surprise. Why don't you just put that back in the closet until I've got your costume all ready, and then we can both live out our fantasies together, okay? It'll be worth the wait, I promise."
. . . . .
.
The next evening Sarah entered the apartment holding a collection of bags from various stores. "I had to drive all over Burbank, but I think I've finally gotten it all. I suppose I could've had the disguise department whip it up for me, but sometimes it's fun to do things yourself…and avoid awkward questions."
Chuck dropped his controller and jumped up from the couch. "You mean…"
"Yes, honey. It's fantasy time."
She carried the bags into the bedroom and one by one laid her purchases out: a pair of pale blue stonewashed jeans, a white V-neck tee shirt, a black leather vest, and a thick gold chain. Out of the final bag she pulled a bushy, black wig and handed it to Chuck.
"Wow, talk about a mullet," he commented as he observed the long hair extending from only the back portion of the 'do. "Who…what is all this?"
"Well, since Leia's your boyhood fantasy, I thought it made sense for me to have you dress like my first celebrity crush." She tilted her head and examined him. "You're sideburns aren't bad, but I bought these for good measure." She held up two adhesive strips of black hair.
"You had a thing for seventies Elvis?"
"No." Sarah laughed. "John Stamos, from Full House. You know…Uncle Jesse?"
"Uh, yeah, I recall Ellie watching that show."
"He was the 'bad boy' but really he was a sweet, nice guy. I used to write down sappy lyrics to love songs and pretend he wrote them to me."
"Aww. Well, what do you say we get this show on the road?" Chuck shoved the bag of Leia garb into Sarah's hands.
She gripped the bag and gave a determined nod. "Yeah. Let's do this."
She went to the bathroom to change, while Chuck stayed in the bedroom. When she returned, Chuck rose to his knees on the bed. The copper molded perfectly to her curves, and she'd pulled her long blonde hair up into the long, tight braid she'd remembered from the movie. "The force is strong with this one," he murmured to himself.
Sarah watched his face as she silently crawled across the bed to meet him in the middle. He only had eyes for the bikini. He hardly seemed conscious of how ridiculous he looked in his Jessie Katsopolis getup as he reached out to trace his fingers over the metal that twisted across his wife. She closed her eyes and raked her fingers through his thick wig while he kissed his way down her throat.
They fell down onto the bed and Chuck put his lips to her ear. "Have mercy."
Sarah froze. "What? What did you say?"
Chuck lifted his head. "Have mercy?"
She gritted her teeth. "Get off me. Get off!" She flipped and kicked him away.
"Ow! Hey, those are CIA trained legs. You gotta be careful how you use them," Chuck joked.
Sarah slammed her back into the headboard and hugged a pillow in front of her. She didn't say anything.
"What's wrong? I thought…wasn't 'Have mercy' one of John Stamos' catch phrases? I was just getting into character."
She huffed and glared at her husband. "I don't want to have sex with John Stamos, Chuck! I want to have sex with you, only you!"
"Okay…" Chuck's tone had turned cautious. "But you realize that it's still me, right? I'm just dressed like him."
"I thought having you dress up too would make it okay, but it didn't work. Because I don't want you be someone else." She tilted her head to stare up at the ceiling. Tears began to pool in her eyes. "I knew this was going to happen. I hoped it wouldn't, but deep down I knew it would. It always does. But with you…I guess I never thought it would happen so soon."
"I don't understand…what? What happened?"
Sarah lowered her chin so she could look directly at him, and a fat tear spilled out over her cheek. "I'm not enough for you."
"What? Whoa, whoa, how could you even think something like that?" As he spoke he crawled over to his wife and held her sad face in his hands. "Where is this coming from? I thought you liked this whole idea. You're the one who put that photo in a frame." He gestured toward the Photoshopped image of them as Leia and Han.
Sarah shook her head. "That was different. Back then it was me you wanted to see in the bikini. Now you have me, and you want to see the bikini on me."
"Sarah, I love you. But I've got to be honest—all the flashing in the world isn't going to help me understand what the hell you just said."
"It's just…I see how you look at me, Chuck, when I walk out in a new wig or a leather bustier and I talk in an accent. You like it; it's exciting. But it isn't me, and I just wonder…what if I ever became just me, no more false identities, nor more costume changes—what if I was just Sarah. Would I be enough?"
"Silly girl," Chuck said, as he pulled the rope of her hair from behind her back and began untwisting the braid. "Don't you know my favorite part of every mission is returning home safe with you and getting to see you transformed back to my beautiful Sarah." He undid the band at her scalp and released her flowing, blond strands. "You, Sarah Walker Bartowski, you alone are my ultimate."
She cupped her hand around his jaw and gave a happy sigh. "I'm sorry. You're right, I was being silly. But if we could just keep the dress-up requests to missions only…"
"Not a problem." Chuck smiled and wiped his thumb over the wet streak on her face. Then his mouth spread into a mischievous grin. "Wait a minute; hold that thought—I have an idea. It's a little crazy, but I think it might drive a light saber through this metal bikini fantasy once and for all."
. . . . .
.
Chuck flew out of bed the next morning and rushed to the front door to quell the knocking before it woke Sarah too.
"Hey buddy, what's up?" he asked Morgan through the slim opening of the door.
"Not much, I just—" Morgan had pushed the door all the way open to step in and froze mid-sentence when he got a good look at his friend. "Oh bantha dung! Chuck! What the hell?"
Grimes had averted his gaze and was backing away, but it was too late. He'd already seen it and the vision would be forever engraved on his cerebellum.
Chuck motioned for Morgan to keep it down. "Take it easy. It's okay. I was just trying an experiment to stop my obsession with Leia's metal bikini." He looked down at the wiry black hairs of his chest sticking out all around the intricate bikini top and at his thin, yet manly legs exposed on either side of the costume's gauzy sheath, which stopped several inches above his gnarly toenails. He nodded in approval. "I think it worked."
Morgan groaned. "Did you have to ruin it for me too?"
"Sorry, buddy."
"Chuck, who is it?" Sarah poked her sleepy head out of the bedroom. The mullet wig was slightly askew, but firmly atop her head, and one of the sideburns had crept across her face to perch over her lip like a sloppy moustache.
"Ah, sithspit," Morgan complained. "There goes my Sarah fantasy too."
Chuck turned sharply to his friend.
"Oh, I, uh…other Sarah. Yeah, funny thing, she looks a lot like you and…"
"Goodbye, Morgan," Sarah said and disappeared back into the bedroom.
Morgan turned apologetically toward Chuck and opened his mouth again.
"Goodbye, Morgan," Chuck said.
"Yes, thank you." Morgan took one more involuntary glance at Chuck in the bikini and grumbled under his breath as he left, "Never been more happy to leave anywhere in my entire life."
.
Author's Note:
Well, I hope you enjoyed. :) And good news! (In case I'm not the very last to know this time) Chas58 has informed me that Chuck was officially renewed for Season 5! On the same exact day I posted this fic. Coincidence? Or do the execs at NBC simply appreciate a goofy fanfic THAT much? :P