Wepdiggy's A/N: Wow. So, yeah, this is a lot of pressure. I usually don't have to write A/N's for stories that don't suck, but here I am, just trying not to screw it up. Anyway, the following piece was written by Frea O'Scanlin, the brilliant author of What Fates Impose. And yeah, she can do drama, and action, and intrigue, and geek/nerd references with the best of them. But on top of that, she's a very funny lady, and that's what shines through here. One line in particular had me doubled over with laughter, and I think you'll know which one when you read it. Anyway, have I doted on her enough? Actually I probably haven't, but you're not here to read my long, rambling A/N, you're here to read the brilliant (I seem to use that word a lot with her, I know) work of Frea. So sit back, get a nice cool (adult, if you're old enough) beverage, and prepare to be heart warmed... er... well prepare to laugh, at least ;-)
Bam-Tanka-Wow-Wow
by Frea O'Scanlin
Sarah's fingers pushed the laptop closed. Her eyebrows went up; she gave him the half-amused look he not-so-secretly adored. "I don't know—" he began to say.
"Shut up and kiss me." And she yanked him to her.
Well, he'd been given his orders. Every part of him screaming with a mixture of glee, giddiness, and awe, Chuck scrabbled for the covers and pressed close, his hands beginning to roam…
The phone rang.
"Ignore it," Sarah muttered with her lips still against his neck. The movement sent shivers all over him. "Whoever it is, they'll call back."
"Okay." Chuck was all too happy to oblige. He began working his way down the buttons of her shirt, following with his lips…
Somebody knocked on the door.
Chuck, breathing heavy, froze, his forehead still pressed to Sarah's sternum. He lifted his head to give her an apologetic look. "I put the 'do not disturb' sign up, I swear I did."
She was breathing just as hard. "It's okay. They'll go away."
No dice. The pounding continued unabated. "Agents Bartowski and Walker! This is Agent Sanderson! By order of the United States government, you are hereby ordered—"
Chuck and Sarah exchanged an uncertain look. "Did he just—did Beckman really get somebody—whoa, that was fast."
Reluctantly, Sarah levered herself out from under him. "Excuse me, I'll be right back."
"You probably shouldn't kill him, though right now, 'your Chuck' or no, I am all for it."
"Noted." Sarah, much to Chuck's regret, did up the buttons of her shirt and disappeared around the corner to the door. Chuck waited for the telltale blast of a gun at close range, but nothing happened. There was a loud thud; Sarah reappeared shortly afterward.
"Is he dead?"
"He'll want to be when he wakes up, but no. Now," and Sarah's eyes gleamed, "where were we?"
She dove at him. In record time, Chuck's shirt dangled from the room's chandelier, though he didn't quite remember how it came off. His belt was a different matter—the memory of just how Sarah took that one off of him would be forever etched into a very, very happy part of his brain, right next to the mischievous grin she gave him after she spat out the belt. "I'd, ah, return the favor," Chuck managed to gasp, his fists bunched up in the back of her unbuttoned dress shirt (admittedly, his dress shirt, but who was he to quibble at this point?), "but you already don't seem to be wearing any pants, so…"
"Lucky me," Sarah said, smirking as she rubbed against him on the way to kiss him.
Chuck's elbow knocked the lamp from the side table as he scrambled up to get better leverage to pry the shirt from her. Neither noticed.
They did, however, notice what happened next. Even cavorting around with a mostly naked Sarah Walker couldn't distract Chuck from a tactical team dropping a full assault through every one of the room's six windows. Unfortunately.
Chuck stared in horror at the six identical gun barrels pointing at them. Quickly, he yanked Sarah's shirt back down over her shoulders.
Sarah, on the other hand, didn't show any signs of horror or nervousness. She merely sighed, settled back on her haunches, and said, "Gentlemen."
The team leader took a cautious step forward. "Agents Walker and Bartowski, you are hereby ordered to cease all, um, activity in Paris and to return to Burbank, California—"
Sarah let him drone on and leaned forward, rubbing against Chuck as she did so. He yelped when he felt her hand squeeze his ass on the way to the gun he'd stashed under the pillows for her.
"On orders of General Diane Beckman of the National Security Agency, you are both hereby ordered to be on Flight 331 out of Charles de Gaulle airport at 1300 hours—"
Chuck and Sarah ignored the leader. "Go with the tranq gun," Chuck whispered, fascinated at the way Sarah shivered against him. "They do work for the good guys, after all. No matter how much we want them all dead."
Sarah slid her hand a little more to the right.
"Failure to comply with these orders will of course be—"
Even sitting as close as he was, Chuck barely saw Sarah move. One moment, she was leaning over him, the next, each member of the tactical team sported a new accessory in the side of his neck. Chuck looked from the end of the tranq gun in her hand to the team leader in alarm.
Six bodies fell with a single thud.
"Whoa, dead-eye," Chuck said. "Remind me to never piss you off."
"Who says I'm going to use the tranq gun when you piss me off?"
Chuck gulped.
Sarah leaned in and kissed him again, this time longer and sweeter, and a great deal less playful. "I'm kidding, of course. Shooting you involves too much paperwork. Now, c'mon, let's move these bodies out into the hallway."
"Won't the maids notice?"
"Would you rather have an audience if one of these idiots has built up a resistance to tranq darts?"
She had a point, even if he couldn't help but wonder if they shouldn't just do the deed, surrounded by unconscious soldiers or no. At this rate, the US government was going to—no, better not to think about that. He knew from ample experience that however horrible the scenario he imagined, the government could top it. And the longer he waited, the worse it would be. If he waited too long, for instance, damned Bryce Larkin would come back from the dead and sweep Sarah off of her feet into his undead arms.
So Chuck didn't argue and very, very quickly helped drag the tac team out into the hall, where they left a pile, poor, doomed Sanderson in the unenviable bottom position.
He didn't even get all the way back into the room. Sarah shut the door—by shoving him against it and fusing her mouth to his neck. He honestly couldn't say he minded, but there was just too much cloth between them at this point. Greedily, he peeled her shirt away, attacking her bared shoulder with his lips and teeth—
They heard the unmistakable thrub-thrub-thrub of the chopper at the same time. Sarah groaned and pushed her forehead into his chest. "She didn't."
"It's Beckman. She and the rest of the US government, FULCRUM, and the Ring never want us to have sex. Ever. Of course she did."
"Even I don't know how she managed to mobilize a chopper this fast."
"Maybe we should look at this as a compliment?"
"I'd rather be looking at the world. Upside down."
The last little bit of blood left in Chuck's head abruptly headed south.
Muttering under her breath, Sarah grabbed Chuck's arm and hauled.
"Um, where are we going?"
"Into the bathroom. No windows. We can get a new hotel room. After." Sarah slammed the door closed behind them, this time without using Chuck (he had to admit, he was more than a little disappointed by that). She turned the water on full force and yanked him into the shower, jeans and all. He flinched at the water temperature, but such was the power of a wet Sarah Walker, he completely forgot all about everything else on the planet.
"You know," Sarah gasped as she finally pried off his wet jeans and tossed them to the side, "I always kind of wanted our first time to be in the shower."
"Did you?" Chuck pinned her to the wall again so that his hands could roam at will and finally remove her bra. He began to work his way down her collarbone. "Well, can't say I mind—what's that noise?"
"There is no noise," Sarah said in a guttural voice, her eyes furious. "There can't be a noise because this isn't happening. Three years, Chuck. Three years."
"Trust me, Sarah, I know!"
"Ignore it." Sarah grabbed him by the hips and yanked him closer, her hands frantic as they scraped down his back, her nails digging in. "It'll go away, it'll go away, it'll go away."
After a moment of sheer bliss, wet bodies slithering together under the pounding water, Chuck sighed and lifted his hands, planting them against the tiles on either side of Sarah. He was breathing hard enough that his chest was heaving. "It's not going away. What is it?"
"I don't know, I don't care, right now all I want is for you to take your—"
Abruptly, the noise grew louder, cutting Sarah off mid-rant. Chuck wasn't sure if he was grateful or not. Swearing at every single employee of the US government from the mailman to the president, he ducked out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and went to investigate. He was pretty sure that, Sarah really, really wouldn't mind if he suddenly turned into a mass murderer, as long as he stopped the damned noise. Kicking shattered glass out of the way, he crossed to the window, intending to build an assault rifle out of broken glass and splintered wood if he had to—
What he saw made him gape.
"Uh, Sarah."
Dripping, furious, and unfortunately wearing a towel herself, she joined him at the window. Her jaw dropped. "Is that—"
"Yes. Yes it is."
"But is it really necessary for her to send—"
"Apparently."
Sarah's jaw firmed, her eyes clouding over in a way that spelled terrible, terrible things ahead for anybody who dared to cross her. "This time," she growled, her voice once again guttural, frightening, and vaguely reminiscent of something heard outside of The Exorcist, "I really don't appreciate the tank."
"Me neither, but the question is—which tank?" Chuck shook his head in a daze. "There are five. It's official. We're never having sex, ever. Us copulating apparently spells the end of civilization as we know it."
"Oh, I don't know about that." Sarah tilted her head contemplatively, studying the small army on the ground below. When she looked over at him, her eyes sparkled with fun. "Ever done it in a tank?"
Next Up: Wepdiggy gives us the best post-coital Sarah Walker on the planet in Rocky Road to Rocky Road.
