Spying in Chocolate
By SarahsSupplyCloset
Author's Note: Thank you for waiting and for sending me PMs asking about this fic. I'm still writing, slowly but surely. It isn't that I lack the passion to keep writing these fics, it's just life intruding. I'm sure you all can relate. Anyways hope you like the chapter!
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck and I'm not making money.
"Can I … help you, sir?"
Chuck straightened from where he had his head on its side, his body tilted to the right at an angle, his eyes narrowed to slits, jumping at the sound of the voice behind him and spinning to look at the sales clerk. "Oh! Um! Hi. Uh… I was just… you know." He gestured with his thumb at the framed painting. "You ever do that? Look at it from a different angle to see the…um…paint smears…differently?"
The sales clerk blinked. "Did you need help with anything?"
"Nope."
"Great."
She walked away, leaving Chuck alone with the wall of paintings, the sales tags hanging from them, neon orange, gaudy. He cleared his throat. In his defense, he was trying to read the price tag and the numbers were written really sloppily, so he'd just been trying to get closer to see it.
Moving onto the next one, Chuck eyed the foggy looking boat with the lady in the fancy hat sitting at the bow, draped across the little boat, a man rowing in front of her, a lazy, satisfied look on her face. "Huh."
There were animals, dogs mostly, and usually in hunting scenes. There was one that was just fish. Different sized fish. That hadn't really been what he was looking for. He imagined she didn't go fishing much. But maybe he was just making assumptions. He really didn't know her well at all.
The people dancing together in the next painting was getting a little bit closer, but he didn't think she'd be as into it as something a little more French looking, maybe?
And he spent a ridiculous amount of time walking back and forth in the aisles of the antique and art store. He'd spent an equally ridiculous amount of time googling to find an appropriate store for something like this before actually coming here. In all, this had been a two hour ordeal.
Still, he had nothing to show for it.
Disappointed, he decided he'd try some other time.
She'd just seemed sort of embarrassed about the state of her apartment, and he felt bad she'd felt that way on his account. At least she had her own place. He was still paying a paltry share of the rent to live with his sister and her boyfriend for Gods sake. She had nothing to be ashamed of if her place wasn't perfectly decorated or filled with furniture already.
He just thought maybe having at least something on one of her empty walls might make her feel a little more at home.
Or maybe he was just barking up the wrong tree.
Maybe he would offend her. Like something was wrong with her apartment and he felt the need to fix it. Was he being presumptuous?
Did this place have a return policy?
Anyplace that was selling that crappy fish painting HAD to have a return policy. That seemed like it should be a law or something.
He was ready to give up, backing away from the latest wall of paintings, when he turned and spotted it. IT.
Exactly what he'd been looking for without even realizing it.
It was a pretty painting of a "Chocolatier & Patisserie" with an awning like the one Sarah had described when she talked about what she wanted in front of her own chocolate shop, above the entrance, and it had thick blue and white stripes. The entrance was inviting with large windows and dark windowpanes, a lamp hanging on either side. And in front of the chocolatier were two little tables with blue tablecloths and small intricate iron chairs with blue seat pads on either side of each table. The details were almost a little blurry with the way it was painted, like it was still wet…perhaps it was raining in the painting? Either way, it made him feel cozy and comfortable. It made him feel the way he felt when he was locked in that shop with Sarah Walker, sitting on the floor, laughing at one another over the bad job they were doing with said floors.
Chuck closed the distance, heading straight for the painting. And he reached out and turned the tag so that he could read the sales price. "Fuck," he whispered. It cost $175 for the painting. "Jesus, what is it, an original?"
The frame was a nice mahogany wood color with intricate patterns that almost looked like the chocolates Sarah had made with an elegant swirl on the top. It was too perfect. It was too, too perfect.
He got the sweats looking at the price tag, knowing the frame was probably why it cost so much, not the painting. But it was perfect.
And 20 minutes later, he was leaving the store, his bank account almost $200 lighter. It was worth it, right? He had a receipt at least.
It just felt like it had to be on that wall, the big one adjacent to the door. She'd seemed fixated on that wall when he'd been there.
Once he got home, he found a roll of wrapping paper in the closet behind a bunch of other crap he and Ellie had taken from their family home, the stuff they could fit in an apartment when they decided to move closer to where Ellie went to school…and out of the house where painful memories existed.
"Eeeelllliiiiiieeee?"
He stood up, looking down at the paper in his hand. The bedroom door down the hall popped open. "Hey. When'd you get home?" She came out, drying her hair with a towel, apparently having just come out of the shower. "I didn't even hear you come in."
"Oh. Yeah. Just now. Do we have wrapping paper that isn't Christmas?"
She frowned. "Um. Maybe? I don't know."
"Well, have you bought any lately?"
His sister shrugged and made a face. "No. It's wasteful anyway."
Chuck rolled his eyes.
"Don't roll your eyes at me. Buy your own wrapping paper. What do you even need it for anyway?"
"A present for someone."
"Who?"
He gave her a look.
"Sooorrryyy, guess it isn't any of my business. Just use that."
"It's CHRISTMAS PAPER."
"What is it for anyway?"
"I'm just…UGH, I'm trying to at least make it look nice. But this is stupid. And I don't have time to go to the store to get a different kind. I wish I'd thought of it earlier, I could've bought some."
"Chuck, what is it for? And what do you mean, you don't have time? Isn't your shift over? You gonna be late for LARPing with Morgan or something?" She stuck her tongue through her teeth and put her hands on her hips.
"Haaaaaa. No. I have a date. And I need to get this done before I go."
Ellie froze. "A date? Oh! Sarah? You got another date with Sarah?"
Chuck couldn't help the extra wide smirk. "Maybe."
She slow clapped for him, coming closer. "Just use the Christmas paper. But seriously, what's it for? Is it for Sarah?" He winced. "What?" she asked dubiously.
"Um, what's the over/under for buying a gift for a girl on a second date?"
Ellie widened her eyes. "What'd you do?" she asked slowly.
"Um."
"Um what?"
"Nothing. You know what? Never mind. I'm gonna just use this paper. That'll be fine. It isn't Christmas yet but it doesn't have to be, right? I mean, it's just paper. Who cares? Okay, good talk, Ellie, thanks."
He pushed past her into his room and shut the door before she could ask anymore questions. He was starting to wonder if he'd done the wrong thing here. But it was too late now. He wasn't about to hang this in his own bedroom. That would be weird as hell, especially if Sarah ended up in his bedroom for whatever reason, looking up at the painting of a chocolatier & patisserie amidst a Tron poster and comic books.
It was hard work, but he managed to cover the painting with the paper well enough, and he even jiggered a bit of a handle for himself to carry it. He hid it in his closet then and managed to avoid Ellie on his way to the shower.
But when he got out and found himself staring at the clothes in his closet, he heard her swoop into his room.
"Black on black," she said.
"Excuse me? Are you serious? That's, like, way too much for a second date. That's Actor Going to His Movie's Premiere status, Ellie. Black on black? Seriously?"
"Yep." She came to a stop next to him. "It's perfect for date number two. Where you going?"
"Dinner. I think. Yes. She said dinner."
"That's perfe—Wait. She asked you."
"Why the tone of surprise every time?"
Ellie winced. "Sorry. It's just exciting. I-I mean, it's good." She became serious, suddenly. And determined. "You have to be on your A game, Chuck. Black on black. It's sleek. It isn't too formal, just in case. You can wear it to any kind of restaurant. It'll look formal enough if it's a fancy restaurant and if it's fast food, it still works." She shrugged, then she dove into his closet and pulled out what she apparently thought he'd need.
"Ellie."
"What? You look good in dark colors. It goes best with your coloring."
"What's wrong with my coloring?"
"Nothing. Certain colors go with your skin's hue better than others. With anyone's hue."
"Their HUE?"
"Stop it. Stop being silly, I'm trying to help you."
He chuckled, holding up the clothes she gave him. "Alright fine. But I feel like I'm gonna look like an Anglican priest in this."
"What is wrong with your brain?" she laughed, giving him a light, teasing swat on the back of his head.
"And this is why I always give you a look when you tell me to just be myself before I go out on a date. This IS myself."
"Shut up," she groused, shaking her head. And then she spotted the thing in his closet covered in her Christmas wrapping paper. "What's that?" She pointed. And then she walked up to it and grabbed it, dragging it out. "Oh my God, Chuck, what is this? What'd you do?"
"It's not a big deal. Just something."
"Chuck. Honey. I was thinking maybe flowers? Chocola—Well, maybe not chocolates, since she makes better ones than you could buy from anywhere else, I suspect."
"Oh she definitely does, Ellie." He whistled. "But this is…The circumstances just felt right."
"To get her a freaking door?"
"What!" He gave her a WTF look. "That isn't a door, it's a painting."
"Did you buy her the Mona Lisa?"
He gave her a flat look this time. "It's not the Mona Lisa. It's just a nice painting in a frame that I…HAPPENED to see when I was on errands today, that's all."
"Oh? You just happened to see it, huh? And I quote, what's the over/under for buying a gift for a girl on a second date? Unquote."
He sighed, rolling his head back to look at the ceiling. "Ellie, just trust that I did something that isn't going to blow up in my face."
"You don't seem like you're all that sure of it yourself, there, brother."
"Well, that's my problem, let me deal with that."
She giggled. "Oh, I love you. I really do. Okay, Chuck. You did something…maybe a little ill-advised, but you're taking a leap and I can't help admiring you for it." He gave her an annoyed look and she smirked, the smirk becoming a genuine smile full of affection. She squeezed his shoulder. "No, seriously, Chuck. I like her. She deserves something like this. This is sweet. I'm sure she'll think so too."
He nodded. "Yeah, okay." Taking a deep breath, he nodded again, more resolutely. "Okay. Now will you get outta here so I can change my clothes and get on the road? I have to figure out how to fit this thing in the Herder."
She held up her pointer finger, then dashed out of the room. He blinked, looking at the place where she'd just been, and then she reappeared, dangling the keys to her SUV from her finger. "You, good sir, are not driving a Herder to your date tonight." She slapped the keys into his hand. "I'm pretty sure that door will fit in the back of the SUV."
He smirked. "It's not a door, BUT ELLIE, I can't take your SUV. What if you need—?"
"Leave me the Herder keys." He must've looked uncomfortable because she rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I'm not even going to need to drive it. I know, company policy blah blaaaaah, if there's an emergency, I'm taking it and nobody is even going to know."
Chuck pursed his lips. "Okay, fine." Then he sent her a long, measuring look. "Sis, you're the best. I love you."
She accepted his hug with an awwwww and patted his head. "Knock 'er on 'er ass, Charles Irving Bartowski." Then she narrowed her eyes. "Not literally."
"I'll try," he chuckled, and he watched as the best sister in the world left him alone in his room, winking at him before she shut the door after her.
$...$
There were a lot of white cars driving around tonight. There were black trucks, and even a handful of limousines drove past as she peered out of her apartment window for most of the day, in between trying to read a book. None of the cars she spotted looked like the one she'd seen peel out of the parking lot after a wrench was thrown through her shop window with a threatening note attached to it.
That was part of the reason why she'd barely read five pages in the hours she'd been locked away in her apartment.
She'd tried to get work done at the shop this morning, but she'd been too distracted, and she'd had a bad feeling, a shiver down her spine, when she got there early, the lot empty and quiet even outside of the Buy More. And even with the emptiness of the place, that bad sensation persisted.
Her dad still hadn't called her back.
And she had no idea how to handle the threat that was hurtled into her new business.
How did she even get a message back to these people her dad had apparently pissed off?
Times up Burt.
The so-called "Boys in Brown" were after her father, the man they apparently knew as "Burt", and they knew where his daughter's place of business was. How they'd found her, she didn't know. But she knew it had something to do with Jack Burton's massive mouth. He'd do and say anything to survive, perhaps even giving up his daughter's location. How he even knew where she was, she had no idea about that either.
How much money did she have? Did she have enough to buy these guys off? Not for him, but for herself. To get the target meant for him off of her own back. He would never pay her back for it, she knew. He'd have excuses for not doing it until the day he died. But at least she'd be safe.
Hopefully.
How did she even go about doing that? She didn't know where they were, if they had a headquarters or whatever so that she could throw that rusty wrench through their fucking window with a note of her own.
She moved away from the window finally, her panic and anger getting the most of her, and tried to call her dad's burn phone again. Again, it cut-off, and went straight to voicemail. "Dad. Dad, please. I need you to call me back as soon as you can. These guys threatened me. ME. I don't know what you did or how you pissed them off or whatever, but you have to help me. I'm not taking the heat for something you did. I'm trying to live my own life here, I'm trying to make my dreams come true. I can't deal with this right now. If it's about money, I-I can help. But don't leave me to do this alone. You owe me so much. Don't let me take the heat alone. These guys sound dangerous. Don't throw me under the bus, Dad. Please call me. Help me. I'll help you with this, just please don't ice me."
She hung up and just barely held in a sudden sob, the bubble that was in her chest as she spoke threatening to rise.
Sarah Walker pushed it back down again, and turned to look around her apartment. The piles of boxes were gone at least, but the place still looked so stark, so cold. She felt stark and cold. Her shop had felt the opposite of that, maybe because it held so much possibility for her, because she could see what it might be with some hard work and love put into it. Or maybe it was just that she always had something to do to keep her mind occupied there, and here, she just sat with her tea and a book, not-reading, staring out the window, pacing, or sleeping.
And then that wrench was blasted through the window with the threat attached to it.
And now even her shop felt…wrong.
It wasn't fair.
She shut her eyes tight and took some deep breaths. And then she glanced at the clock on her microwave and made her way down the hall to the bathroom. She supposed she at least had one thing to look forward to, one thing that would keep her mind occupied.
It was about 30 minutes later, after she'd gotten out of the shower and blow-dried her hair, that she heard the knock at her door. Neglecting to even glance at the clock, nerves and outright fear plaguing her heart, she went into her drawer and took a knife out, before she realized she wasn't even dressed.
She was in her underwear and a bra, for Gods sakes.
Grabbing her robe, she swung it on over her body and tied it securely, not even bothering to pull her hair out from the collar as she picked up the knife again and moved down the hallway.
The knock sounded again.
She stilled at the edge of her kitchen and sighed, rolling her eyes. She imagined it could be one of her neighbors. The landlord even. Just about anyone else, and not a "boy in brown" looking to call in "Burt's" sins on his innocent daughter.
And she wasn't sure she wanted her landlord to see her brandishing a crazy knife at the door. She'd worked hard to find this place and it was nice, perfectly situated in the city, cheap enough for her to live like this for a few months without an income, and so far the landlord was very hands off.
She didn't want to get kicked out for being a nutter.
So she slid the knife into one of the kitchen drawers and straightened her robe, going to the door.
She peeked through the door hole and gasped, immediately opening the door to come face to face with the man she'd nearly forgotten even as she got ready for a date that was supposed to be with him.
"Chuck."
Then she realized what his being here meant and her jaw dropped.
"Oh my God! Is it 6? Am I late?" She wasn't even dressed. Fuck.
"No, no, no!" he rushed out, holding a placating hand up. "It's—No, it's only, like, 5:37 or something. I'm just…" He looked super contrite, and Sarah found she was buzzing with any number of things. The restlessness and fear she'd been dealing with all day, the cold chill running down her spine, the paranoia, the unsettled feeling she had in her own damn apartment, and the frustration and hopelessness she felt that the unsettled feeling was now extending to her other home, that shop, where she'd felt so safe and comfortable before last night.
"You're…early?" she muttered, standing still, her hand still on the door, the other hand holding her robe shut even though it was tied securely.
"Very early. I know. I'm sorry. I'm a total idiot. I shouldn't have done that. Of course you're not…ready, because I'm like over 20 minutes early. That's just as rude as being super late and I wasn't thinking. I apologize, Sarah."
There was also the relief at finding this person at her door instead of literally anyone else. That was washing over everything else. But the buzzing continued, her fingers and toes tingling.
"It's… No, it's okay, Chuck. I'm just…not really dressed, that's all." She opened the door wider and stepped back. "Come in."
"No, I—Well…"
"You're…not coming in?" she asked, confused by his behavior.
"No, I am. I am, I'd love to, thank you. Sorry. I just…have something for you. That's actually the reason why I was early. I didn't want to get here right at 6 and then you'd have a dinner reservation we had to be on time for so you wouldn't get enough time to, um, see the thing I brought you." He shook himself a little, and she noticed the way his gaze lingered on her body for just a moment longer than was perhaps appropriate, though she didn't mind it at all, especially with the light blush on his face as he diverted his gaze to the side. "Um, here it is. I'm…gonna…It's right here."
Chuck shifted to the side, still in the hallway, and grabbed a large rectangular thing he'd leaned against the wall beside the door apparently, hidden from her view until just now.
Her eyes widened and she raised her eyebrows at him, watching as he lifted it and walked it into her entryway. "What is that?"
"It's…for you."
Sarah took it in even as she slowly let the door shut behind him. She sent him a dubious look, the edge of her lips turned up in something of a smile. It was just that the paper had Christmas trees and red and gold decorative balls on it. She decided not to comment on it because he looked a little nervous and out of his element suddenly as he leaned the thing towards her.
"S-Sorry for the inappropriately festive wrapping. It…Um, it was all I could find in the apartment on short notice. I didn't plan ahead very well. Which isn't new for me."
She smiled at him, giving him a small shake of her head to dismiss his worries, not sure if it did the trick or not as she took it from him. He was shifting his weight, looking unsure, his hands shoved in his pockets shyly.
Sarah pulled at the paper carefully, letting it fall to her floor around what she knew for sure now to be a framed painting that was almost twice the size of a typical welcome mat, she thought. She tilted it back and looked at it, even lifting it up into her arms.
She didn't know what to say as her eyes took in the thick brushstrokes, the tables, chairs, the slick wet ground, the calm and peaceful, serene even, setting. And finally, her eyes settled on the cursive lettering on the cafe: "Chocolatier & Patisserie".
Sarah let herself look at it all for a long moment, not realizing how tense the air in the room was, not understanding just how long that silence felt to the man in front of her.
"Uh," he muttered, and then he stepped forward and gently took it from her hands as she lifted her stunned gaze away from the painting finally to look at him, "Here, lemme—Lemme hold it back here so you can see it from more of a distance. It's kinda like that whole, what is it? Impressionist? I dunno art. But the style where it looks like a bunch of paint globs when you get up close, but from far away, you see the picture more clearly." He stepped back and held it up. "Better?"
She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. She shut it again, licked her lips, and tried once more.
"Chuck, it… Well, it's beautiful. But…" She shook her head, not knowing what she was even thinking, let alone how to verbalize it. He'd bought her a sweet, serene painting of a chocolatier.
He cleared his throat, interrupting the pervasive silence. And then he walked up to the wall adjacent from her door, the big, bare, off-white wall that felt so glaringly empty and had sort of haunted her ever since the first person she'd allowed into her apartment since she moved in—namely Chuck Bartowski. The emptiness and lack of homeyness of her apartment still made it hard for her to settle here. Even months later.
And she had yet to do anything about it because she was so busy and distracted.
Chuck shifted the painting around in his hands and held it up to the wall. "I was thinking this wall might be good. Um, I was trying to picture where in my head when I saw this at the store, but I couldn't place the exact color of your walls. That's, um, that's if…you even want this."
He lowered the painting and just stood facing her, the painting dangling from one hand.
"I also—Uh, I thought the frame was really pretty, too." He pointed to the dark brown wood, the swirly decorative swoops in the craftsmanship. "It looks like your chocolates. You know, the ones with the, um, did you call it ganache? I don't remember now. But the ganache was on the inside. They swirled like this. You know, kind of symbolic. Did I use 'symbolic' right? Um…" He scratched the back of his head shyly.
She'd just had one of the most stressful days of her life, thanks primarily to the shit swimming around in her brain, her dad's apparent abandonment (again, what was new?), her inability to direct her thoughts to something less nerve-racking, that note, every word of the messy scrawl etched into her brain, repeating it over and over. Only option left is to run. Just over and over and over and over and over until she went nuts with paranoia.
And here stood Chuck Bartowski, supervisor of the Nerd Herd at the Buy More, in his black suit, the black button-up underneath, and black Converse sneakers with the white laces, a cleaner version of the shoes he wore all of the other times she'd seen him. Had he cleaned them, or did he have an older pair and a newer pair?
He was holding a painting he'd gone out to buy for her to fill this wall she'd been embarrassed about, something he'd paid enough attention to her for him to notice. And it was a painting that brought to life her dream shop, the one she was trying to build and open now. Maybe minus the cobblestones in front.
"The, um…I forgot to point this out. See? The awning? Didn't you say blue and white stripes? I mean, I saw that and I just…" He made an explosion sound and pointed to his head. "Mind blown."
Had he really remembered that offhand comment she'd made all the way in the beginning of their acquaintanceship about maybe blue and white striped awnings being what the place needed?
The fear, paranoia, nervousness, and pervasive unease she'd been dealing with all day came to a head as she stared at him, a smile slowly starting to grow on her face. And much like last night, she felt it all bubbling over and threatening to overwhelm her. She beat back the urge to cry, instead closing the distance between them, gently taking the painting from him, taking in the awning, the blue and white stripes, the swirled chocolate along the mahogany frame, the sweet tables and chairs, the rain-like glaze over the scene, just one more time.
"Why?" she asked quietly. "What made you do this?"
She flicked her gaze back up to meet his, taking deep breaths, trying to control herself, to keep her emotions from spilling over, from sounding in her voice.
If she broke into sobs right now, she'd scare the shit out of him, she knew. She needed to not do that.
"Oh. Yeah. I thought you'd ask that." He cleared his throat as she tilted her head in curiosity. "That day when I came to help you move the boxes, I dunno, I thought maybe you felt bad about this wall being empty. So I thought I'd…help you out with that. This just felt like it fits you so well, being that it's a chocolate shop. And it's just pretty and…peaceful. Like, it's comforting to look at. I thought it'd be a nice thing to represent you and make the wall look nice and not as empty. Since it being empty seemed to bother you. Um, I said that already, didn't I?" He shifted his weight to the other foot. "I wasn't trying to be presumptuous… I probably am being presumptuous though, huh? Like, you don't have to hang anything on your walls. That isn't necessary, and if anyone tries to make you think it is, they're assho—"
Sarah didn't let him finish. Halfway through what he was saying, she moved to carefully set the painting down, leaning it against the wall, and then she stepped up against him, cupped his face, and moved onto her tiptoes to kiss him.
She broke the kiss after a long minute, keeping her eyes shut, nuzzling his nose with hers, her thumbs stroking his cleanly shaven cheeks and jaw. She felt her lips quiver and she had to take a rough, quick breath to keep the tears from squeaking through her shut eyelids. And she fought against the incoming onslaught of emotions by kissing him again, this time harder.
Some other day, she might break the kiss and thank him, and then she'd excuse herself to get dressed so that they could leave for dinner on time.
But today, his lips, the feeling of his large hands on her waist over the silky material of her robe, his chest against hers, the soft sound of his breathing as she eased his mouth open for her tongue to find his, felt like a damn life raft in the midst of a churning, dark sea with no land in sight.
He felt like a safe harbor after an incalculable time of floating around aimlessly.
She wanted to wrap herself up in this safe harbor, this man who went out to seek something that might bring her peace when he'd quietly witnessed her turmoil she hadn't been able to hide from him.
He'd listened. He'd observed. And he'd sought something to ease her unease.
And now Sarah was starving for him. Tasting him wasn't enough.
Her fingers moved under their own willpower, finding the lapels of his suit jacket and pushing it over his shoulders, down his arms. She didn't know what happened to it. He'd done something with it, but her fingers were already on the first button of his shirt, and she didn't care about anything else but getting it off of him, feeling him under her hands.
Sarah had to tug at the shirt, pulling it out of his pants, to get to the last few buttons, and then the shirt was gone, too.
She felt him flinch under her touch as she laid her cool hands against his bare abdomen, her fingers lightly grazing a pattern up and down his waist, latching onto his hips.
She broke the kiss with a breathy, "Sorry. Cold hands."
But Chuck just shook his head desperately and dove in to kiss her this time. She felt his fists twist in the back of her robe and her knees nearly gave out.
Instead of crumbling to the floor in a heap of limbs, she held onto him even tighter, gasping as he broke their kiss and dragged his lips up and down her jawline, before lowering his kisses to her neck. She tilted her head back to give him access, sighing, her eyelids fluttering, her heart hammering in her chest.
She was desperate for him. For his touch, to be surrounded by him, under him. She needed to bury herself in him.
Sarah took a few more steps into him, against him, wanting to be a part of him. And she kept moving until she met resistance, namely the wall she'd backed him into.
She pressed his back against it, pinning him right where he'd just held the painting he'd bought her, and she kissed his jaw, dragging her lips down to his neck, and latching her fingers onto the front of his pants.
"Sarah," he breathed, and she smiled against his collarbone, nipping at his skin with her teeth and moving up onto her tiptoes to kiss his lips again, hard. He kissed her back just as hard, whimpering as she undid the front of his pants. She angled her groin into his and thrusted against him, gasping at how good it felt.
She thought his hand might be shaking as he let go from where he'd been fisting her robe and he found the tie at the front, pulling on it. And as it loosened, the robe came apart at the front, revealing what she wore beneath—nothing but her black bra and panties she'd meant to wear underneath the quintessential little black dress she'd hung on the outside of her closet door. Now she was glad she hadn't gotten to it as she blinked her eyes open and tilted her torso back, holding onto Chuck's biceps and rocking her hips against his over and over again.
"Oh God," he breathed, his voice tight as he looked down between their bodies. His brown eyes fastened onto her abdomen, and then they slowly swept up her torso, spent a good amount of time on her breasts, and finally met Sarah's blue gaze, purple seeming to swirl around his pupils. "Sarah, you—" Whatever he meant to say cut off in a groan because Sarah began to rub herself against him harder, faster.
She could feel him, his hardness, nothing separating them besides the cotton of his boxers and her panties.
Still, she wanted more. So she used her grip on him to pull herself back up, lunging into a kiss with him again and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Still, she kept thrusting, even lifting her leg to brace her knee against the wall beside his waist to give herself better leverage.
He broke the kiss with a whimper.
"S-Sarah! God!" he groaned, looking at her even as he pushed his hands inside of the robe that was still clinging to her shoulders, his hands feeling her soft skin and peering at her in complete awe.
Before she could respond, either verbally or physically, Chuck was kissing his way down her throat, her collarbone, taking the time to taste the crests of each breast, teasing the hem of her bra with his tongue, before letting his mouth move lower and lower and lower, teasing and tasting.
"Chuck!" she whimpered, letting her head roll back with an extra curse. His lips were against her belly button, and she felt his tongue dart out to dip inside. Sarah moaned, combing the fingers of one hand through his curls that were so soft to the touch.
And when he reached the waistband of her panties, he traced her sensitive skin right above the elastic band with his tongue, making her whole body come alive.
But before Chuck did anything else there—what, she didn't have the brain power to figure out—she felt one hand on her thigh, the other grabbing onto her waist, and just like that, she was the one pinned to the wall.
She gasped in surprise, then grinned hazily as Chuck started to kiss his way back up her body. When he got back to his feet again, his lips against her chin, she felt that endless lust and desperation rear its head. She wanted to forget everything else but this man and the way he touched her with his hands, his lips, his tongue, and the rest of his body.
Sarah Walker needed more, and she needed it now.
She wrapped her leg around his waist again and used her thigh to yank him up against her body, trapping him against her. She grabbed at his shoulders, then wound her arms around his neck, one hand clinging to the hair at the back of his head as she kissed him ravenously and began to rock her hips into his yet again.
Chuck surprised her again then, grabbing her by her thighs and hoisting her up off of the ground so that she was forced to wrap both of her legs around him to keep from falling or something. He pinned her to the wall, her shoulders making contact with a thump he did it so hard. Not hard enough to hurt her of course.
Sarah whimpered loudly, breaking the kiss and gasping his name, burying her face in his hair.
Chuck wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and began to thrust himself into her, his hips powerful. She felt his breath against her neck as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She felt that tight tingling sensation where his hardness pressed against her, right between her legs, and she whimpered loudly.
But then Chuck began to push his pants down his legs to get them out of the way and Sarah was hit with the realization that as much as she wanted to lose herself in him, she didn't want it to be here. Not this time.
As hot as it would be.
"Wait," she panted against his lips. "Wait, wait." He pulled back immediately, taking his hands off of her and holding them up, concern in his face as well as abject desire. "Sorry, I just—" God, they'd barely rounded first base and were moving towards second, and she already was having a hard time breathing. She was in so much trouble with Chuck Bartowski.
She needed that trouble. She wanted to wrap herself up in it like it was a blanket.
"I need you," she whimpered, pulling back just enough to rub noses, their lips still brushing. She gently took his hands and put them back on her. "I need you but…"
"T-Too fast?" he asked, his hands stroking her body even as he spoke. God, the way he touched her. A path of fire followed wherever he touched.
"No," she rushed out immediately, shaking her head desperately. "Not too fast, I just want this to be…" She tried again. "My bed's just down that hallway."
"Oh." He pulled back and blinked at her. "Oh!"
Biting her lip, she nodded.
Unwrapping her legs from his waist, she let him carefully set her back down and she grabbed him, still kissing him and pawing at his body as she backed towards the hallway. By now, she knew her way around the apartment, even blindfolded. So she shut her eyes and led him. Granted, she was going backwards, so she did bump her shoulder against the doorway.
He broke the kiss and panted out, "You oka—?"
"Yes," she rushed, kissing him again, hard, holding onto his head, her fingers twisted in his curls.
They fumbled their way down the hall, with Sarah pinning him to the wall halfway to her bedroom and burying her hand down the front of his pants, feeling his hardness under her palm. His whole body shook with need, his hand clamping down on one ass cheek over her robe that still clung to her arms and squeezing.
Sarah jerked her hips against his and moaned, yanking him towards the bedroom again.
He took her by her wrist then and pulled her hand out from where it was still buried in his pants, and then he moved back from her to give himself just enough space to shove his pants down to his ankles. "Shit!" he snapped when they caught on his sneakers. "I got—I got it!" Chuck knelt down as she chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, watching as he untied his sneakers one by one, yanking them off and throwing them down the hallway towards the door.
The pants were gone then and he was only in a pair of black boxers that clung to him deliciously. She swept her gaze up to his and he grinned, a big dopey grin that wrinkled his face in the best places, before he lunged at her, wrapping her up in his embrace and kissing her with so much passion that her toes literally curled against the cool wood floors under her feet.
It wasn't at all graceful, but she finally managed to push through the door to her bedroom, backing them both into the room, all the while kissing as if they knew the world was going to end within the hour.
And maybe the world WASN'T going to end within the hour, but she did feel an almost panicked anxiousness in her chest, a need to be inside of her bed, under the covers, with his body wrapped around hers, lost in these sensations, her brain dulled by passion and pleasure. Mostly, though, she wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man who respected her.
If she was at all cognizant of what was in her brain in that moment, she'd wonder if that wasn't kind of sad. That it took over 26 years for her to find someone who truly respected her, and 8 years to find a man to sleep with who respected her. They hadn't before this. Even if Bryce might've loved her in his own way for a moment, or in certain moments. Or maybe he just hadn't loved her at all. Actual respect hadn't been there.
Sarah clung to Chuck even tighter, feeling the backs of her legs bump against the edge of the mattress. She had to break the kiss and slide down his body just enough to be able to reach back and yank at the covers, sending a few of her throw pillows halfway across the room. She didn't care where they ended up, she just wanted to be wrapped up in him.
She whimpered his name as his hand cupped her thigh and squeezed, and she turned her head, letting him kiss down her jaw and throat. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the crook of her neck and shoulder, all the while slowly pushing the robe down to rest on her forearms.
His fingers left imprints in her back, he squeezed her against him so tightly, and she wanted to feel the snap before the loosening of her bra that she was expecting as his fingertips dragged over her skin. But he didn't take her bra off.
Chuck gently took her by her waist and lowered her onto the bed. He crawled on top of her as she tried to reach up for him to pull him down too, but she found her robe twisted weirdly beneath her, trapping her arms at her side as the sleeves still gripped onto the crooks of her elbows.
She couldn't do anything about it as Chuck's lips pressed against her cleavage, dipping lower and lower, down between the cups of the bra, tracing the skin along the underwire in a way that made her body catch fire. She whimpered as he set harder, warmer kisses to her ribs, down to her abdomen. She was trapped, having to just lie sideways along her bed, her arms pinned to her sides and to the mattress, as Chuck Bartowski tasted her body with his lips, his tongue, and oh God, the way he grazed his teeth over her hipbone.
A shock ran through her body, as if a lightning bolt hit her right where his teeth touched her skin.
She shivered and threw her head back as he slipped his hand under her thigh and bent her leg back so that he could press kisses there, too. Up and down her leg, finding sensitive spots she hadn't even realized existed until he found them. It was like he was listening to the way she breathed, the sharp intakes of breath, the soft whimpers, to dictate where he spent the most time on each of her legs, giving most of his attention to the backs of her thighs, right near where the crook of her knee was.
Every last bit of her was buzzing in the best way by the time he crawled back up her body, his lips dragging over her along the way.
Her torso lunged up from the bed as his face lined up with hers and she slammed her lips against his, wrapping her legs around his waist and hooking her ankles together. She felt his hands reach under her body, supporting her weight, holding her tight against his chest as he kissed her back. And as their tongues met again, she whimpered, sighing with relief as she felt Chuck tugging at the robe to try to help her release her from the makeshift bindings.
When he was successful, he made a little squeak of victory, which made her giggle manically.
This time she didn't question whether he was real or not. She just dove in headfirst, grabbing him finally, kneading the muscles in his shoulders and back, reveling in his groans, swallowing the whimpers of her name.
When they broke their kiss to suck sweet, sweet oxygen through swollen lips for just a moment, she quickly crawled out from under him, loving the awe in his face, the wide-eyed wonder, the desire. She needed this so bad her body almost hurt.
She wanted him to make the fear and hurt go away.
And she wanted him to feel every bit of herself she gave him back.
Dipping her legs under the covers and fixing the pillows under her head, she reached out to wrap her fingers around his wrist, his palms still braced on the mattress. She pulled him towards her, meeting his eyes, blue meeting brown, body meeting body as he tucked himself in with her, grabbing the covers and pulling them up to their shoulders. His weight lowered onto her and she wrapped her limbs around him, holding on so tight she thought she felt something pop. It only made her cling tighter, turning her face into his neck and taking a deep, unsteady breath.
She stroked his hair, kissing where his jawline met his ear, allowing herself to just be in this moment, to take whatever she could from the safety of his arms, his warm body blanketing hers.
He'd seen she didn't know what on her face when they'd talked about the lack of decoration in her apartment, but whatever it was that he'd seen had made him go out and find a painting he thought represented her, the blue and white striped awning, the chocolatier, the serenity of the scene. It was representative of much of what she'd wanted since she was a kid. All encapsulated in one painting, a painting she'd be hanging right where he held it up. Where she'd pinned him against the wall a few minutes later, as badly as she'd wanted him.
God, she wanted him even worse now. And she dragged her hand down his back, slowly, her fingers dipping in and out of the planes of his body, and finally, they hit pay dirt. She felt the roughness of the elastic waistband under her fingertips. She dipped her fingers underneath and pushed at it.
Chuck took a deep breath, sighing her name, and he braced his elbows on either side of her shoulders, pushing himself up to look down into her eyes. She kept pushing at his boxers until they were down at his thighs.
He gave himself a bit of a shake, as if waking himself from some kind of stupor, and then he swung into action, reaching down to shove at his boxers and kick them off. She let out a breathy laugh as he yanked them out from the covers and threw them away, her desperation for him mounting, that anxious feeling coming to head.
She grappled for his face and pulled him down for a kiss, slipping her other hand down his body to drape it over his ass and tugging him against her. She felt his hardness against her thigh as he groaned into her mouth, his body hot to the touch, taut with desire.
More than anything else in the world, Sarah knew she needed this. Needed him. Everything else fell away but him.
This.
Sarah let go of him only long enough to push her own panties down her legs, and when she couldn't reach any lower, Chuck let out a grunt of realization and rolled off of her to help, making her snort softly. Those, she left at the foot of the bed, buried in the covers. She didn't care where they were.
She just cared about this, his body rolling back on top of hers, his lips so warm against the underside of her jaw, his fingers clinging tight, digging into her muscle, even as he was so gentle and caring.
Sarah nodded, answering a question that wasn't asked, and she felt him at her entrance.
He was slow, measured, and precise as he entered her, moving an inch at a time, so careful and gentle. And still, the transcendent sensations coursing through her as he filled her up made her bite out a curse through a clenched jaw.
Chuck didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt, and they stayed that way, kissing, bodies tense, wanton. She let him take control. She would let him dictate. For now.
But she could feel the bubble of want, the adrenaline, rising in her. And if he didn't get things on the road soon here…
Almost as if he heard her, he began to thrust his hips. It was slow, deep, and frankly, oh so beautiful. His fingertips felt molten iron hot against her waist, and where his other hand cupped her face so tenderly as he kissed her again, even as he moved inside of her.
He felt so good, Sarah wanted to cry out. But she bit it back, just letting herself enjoy.
The debilitating feeling that she was alone for all of these months since she found out her boyfriend was cheating on her with her boss, the way her friends and coworkers had flocked to his side instead of hers, the pain and endless wondering, flittered off into nothingness. And instead it was replaced by warmth that filled her from her head to her toes. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and just held on, pushing her fingers into his curls and clinging as he moved against her.
"Chuck, yes," she whimpered into his shoulder. Every stroke was perfectly measured, almost clinical, the angle and depth, the way his strength lifted her ass off of the mattress with each thrust. But his touch sizzled against her skin, his fingers digging deep into her waist.
And then he began to move faster inside of her, and she dragged her hand down his back until her fingers slid over his ass cheek and squeezed. His body jerked on top of her, a rough, "Sarah" escaping his lips into her hair. She gasped at the pleasure that shot through her body. And he thrusted faster still, letting go of her to smack a hand down onto the mattress next to her and pushing himself up at an angle.
Sarah's eyes traveled down his body, taking in the strength of his abdomen, shoulders, and arms as his hips gyrated into hers. "Oh, yeah!"
She bent her legs and dug her heels into the mattress, arching herself up against him, squeezing him with her hand even harder and earning a groan. She lost eye contact with him when he shut his eyes tight, his body shivering over hers.
Thrusting her hips up against him to meet his strokes, Sarah lost herself in the sensations. Everything else slipped away but how he felt inside of her, his long, warm fingers curled around her hip, holding on but not dictating, letting her move against him, letting her take from him what she needed. How did he know she needed…?
God, it didn't matter. All that mattered was how this felt.
Sarah reached up with her other hand, needing to feel more of him under her touch. She wanted to feel his skin, his muscles, the heat of him. But she also felt acutely the wide gap of space between their torsos, even as their hips were joined.
Her fingers clamped down on his shoulder and she pulled herself to sit up, her chest thumping against his. His jaw fell open in surprise at her initiative, and she watched distantly to see if he was upset by her taking this kind of control.
All she saw there in his lust-filled brown eyes and his furrowed brow was the opposite. He wasn't upset. He was turned on.
Sarah slid her hand around to his upper back, and then she rounded his shoulders with her arm, letting go of his ass and slapping her palm down into the mattress behind her for leverage.
They moved together, arching against one another, hips rolling as one.
"Sarah…" he gasped, leaning forward to bury his face in the crook of her neck. She twisted her fist in his curls and held on, started to thrust herself into him even harder, faster.
Chuck shifted against her as he groaned, and she felt his thighs tuck under her ass so that she was sitting in his lap. She looked down and saw he was kneeling on the bed and she was in his lap.
Leaning back, her hand still in his curls, she began to gyrate, letting all of her weight push into his crotch as she did. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin under her jaw and a chill went through her, quivering in his arms as she moaned and threw her head back.
This was so much more than anything she'd ever…
"Oh Goddddd!" she ground out through a clenched jaw when Chuck rounded her body with both of his strong arms and started to thrust deeply to meet her gyrating hips.
Everything inside of her was buzzing in the best way, and she couldn't get enough. She felt the same desperation in him, heard it in his whimpering voice, that she felt growing in her. He wanted more, too. She felt it. She heard it.
She pushed her fingers through his hair, like the most amazing silk under her touch, and she caught his mouth in a hot kiss, opening her lips to invite him in.
Their tongues met and she began to ride him in earnest, really digging her heels in, reveling in how safe his arms felt around her. He whimpered breathlessly and kissed her harder.
Her climax was building quickly and she reached for it like a ship being tossed in the ocean reaching for that shoreline. She needed it. She needed him so badly.
And when she came, her whole body shook. Chuck held her tighter though, knowing, feeling her climax, and he took over, rocking up into her to make it last.
As he laid back, his strong arms around her taking her with him, she kissed him, his mouth swallowing up her whimpers, her panting breaths, and she drowned in the electricity shooting through her body.
For the first time in months, there was no pain, no hurt. Just a heady mixture of pleasure and comfort. And warmth. So much warmth.
Thank you for reading and I hope you hit that review button. If not, that's okay. I accept PMs too if you don't feel like reviewing publicly. Unless you just want to be a jerk privately, then you can stay out of my PMs.
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