A/N (1) Previously on Chuck versus The Journey: Everything's coming up roses for Chuck, Sarah, and the rest of the team, which was upgraded to an experimental joint CIA/NSA post, complete with analysts, combat team, and Roan Montgomery. Sarah was appointed as the lead while Chuck finally became a CIA employee, although we didn't get to hear the details about their future except that they will have to live together. How can a poor man stand such times and live, we might ask ourselves. Let's find out!
Tonight your beauty burns into my memory
The wheel of heaven turns above us endlessly,
This is all the heaven we got, right here where we are in our Shangri-La.
"Our Shangri-La" (Mark Knopfler)
Chapter 47: Chuck vs. The Stripper
The door to the honeymoon suite slammed shut as if the room just had seen its first lovers' quarrel. In response, Chuck shot out of the leather chair, the one with the erotically intriguing red leather that held memories significant enough for him to ponder how he could pilfer it – possibly via the terrace – without the hotel noticing.
"You've got a thing about that door, do you?" he timidly asked when he saw where Sarah leaned, which was a familiar view by now. She lightly panted, didn't say a word, and solely scrutinized him. In his opinion, this expressed, 'I don't know what I'm going to do with you'. But in fact, her brain was computing the news they heard and hardly came to terms with it.
After the talk with Beckman and Dunford, she had been glad that no one of the others waited nearby. Everyone had found a place to be while she had had her private conversation. That had allowed her to drop any pretense of being better-behaved. Anything but ladylike, she raced with beating heart towards the honeymoon suite, mentally paralyzed over the enormous changes in her life in less than four days. Sarah had found the man she wanted to be with, and only death would take her away from his side. Her own small CIA post, the order to live together with Chuck, and the silent approval of her relationship with the former asset were the icing on the cake. Therefore, she toppled into a happy confusion that reduced her view into a tunnel vision. No doubt who was at the end of the tunnel. All the traffic lines and road signs led to him – Chuck.
The man who gives me more strength than I've ever known, only to make me weaker than I've ever experienced.
While she hands-down earned the Guinness book entry for California's fastest woman in the category 'love-crazed hotel hallway obstacle run', the obstacles were other hotel guests and employees, suitcases, tea wagons and laundry carts, and the only thing on her mind was a celebration.
By Montgomery, I'm going to pull out all the stops – or rather, pulling Chuck close and not stopping before they forcefully carry us out of the honeymoon suite next weekend, still wrapped in the bed linen and ourselves.
And so she arrived at their room, slammed the door shut, and leaned there, watching him like a predator observing her prey, waiting for the ideal moment to pounce him and tear him down into a stranglehold he would love to find inescapable. Or let him find out that she had the adrenaline of a tigress pent up only after charming him slowly, throwing him a lot of hot glances and a handful of suggestive invitations?
How about you and me, Chuckie? Will you be my six if I will be your nine?
In an interim, the man who spurred all kinds of fantasies from tender to fiery in Sarah got nervous - and not in the way he had hoped he would once she was back. He misread her pensive looks and feared her private talk with the Generals had featured some unfavorable news about him.
Don't have fate punch me in the gut, now that everything works out so fine! A girlfriend, living together, getting rid of the asset curse, and earning real money as a CIA employee, things had seemed so bright. What happened?
"I want a fair trial," Chuck lamented.
Sarah startled, mildly surprised where that came from, but was quick to see she could use it to her advantage.
Well, buster, you gained a girlfriend, but you didn't lose an agent. This means I have a certain suspicion, and I'm going to find out about it. Something is very fishy here.
Sarah lowered her head and fixed him through her eyelashes.
"I think I can arrange that. I'll be your defense-"
"Oh, good," he sighed with relief and made an attempt to walk over, but she stopped him by raising a finger.
"Stay where you are," she ordered, not too stern, but the finger in the air would have sufficed anyway. That was one of the amazing things about Sarah. Chuck stood six foot three, but a soft dab of her pinkie would be enough to make him tumble over.
"I'll be prosecution too, and I'll be the judge and the jury."
That did not sound like a fair trial.
"I don't know if that-"
Sarah interrupted him again.
"This is not 'Night Court'," she explained to his bulging eyes as she displayed a tidbit of cultural reference.
"You only talk when you are asked to, Mr. B.," she cautioned but pronounced the 'B' a tad too hard, almost sounding like a 'P'.
"Sit down!"
Chuck sat and opened his mouth, closed it, repeated the procedure twice, and remained silent, puzzled what she was up to.
I didn't do anything Beckman could know about. Seriously, I didn't do anything wrong at all. I wish I were a puppy. I would wag my tail, hop over with my tongue hanging out, roll on my back, then she would cuddle me, and all would be good. Hm. Should I try it anyway?
Sarah confused him. She was playing a game with him, but he didn't know if he was about to detect a new and frivolous side of her or if there was a background to it that possibly could be not so entertaining.
"You may speak now," she said.
I hope he never ceases to be so prone to fall prey to my bantering. He knows I am not mad at him, does he?
"Sarah… uhm, Your Honor, I don't know why I'm here. I've been framed. I don't know what the indictment is. How can I convince my lawyer to plead my case properly, how can I make the prosecutor believe that I am honest, how do I get a good standing with the judge, and how can I win the jury, if I don't even know the case myself?"
Sarah's face relaxed, and she grinned, showing her teeth.
"Well," she quipped debonairly, "looks like you have to sleep with all of them."
Yes! Chuck mentally fist-pumped while his blood pumped. She is playing. Ooooh…! Does she like role-playing?
"Stay where you are," Sarah said again as she broke away from the door, having seen his invisible fist-pump as clear as if he had used both fists in triumph. "First, you have to take your oath."
"I do, I do!" he hastily exclaimed, and she rolled her eyes.
It's lovely how I can disable his brain working. Way too easy. He's just lucky that I am a well-meaning blonde, always having his best in mind. It doesn't bear contemplating what an unscrupulous brunette would do to him!
"Wrong ceremony," she stated as she cooly pulled the t-shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor while Chuck's gaze dropped to her black bra.
She's bewitching me, I can look, can I? That's the point of her game, inviting me to play along? I wouldn't demurely look out of the window, right?
"Raise your eyes and repeat after me," Sarah said with a chuckle. "I solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that the affection I shall give to Sarah Walker will be my love, my whole love, and nothing but my love."
Chuck snickered, both that she had caught him looking and about the oath. But he stumbled through the words, mixing up a few consonants and vowels, when she turned her back to him, her hands reached behind her, and she unclasped her bra. She dangled it on a finger for a few moments before carelessly letting it fall as she tilted her head back and gave him a sexy wink.
Excellent, she thought, her tempting gaze obscuring that she noted every little detail, like how his nostrils flared and the diameter of his eyes widened. Putty in my hands.
"In case it doesn't work out with the agency, you always could go as a jeans model," Chuck hoarsely said, not knowing if he wished her to turn around or exactly stay as she was. "And is that a striptease?"
Sarah leniently smiled.
That mix of naivety and masculinity does me every time. How can someone who's such a fantastic lover be so… fantastically innocent?
"No, that's not a striptease by a mile, you goofball. Have you ever seen a real striptease?"
"Ahm.. uhm… I've seen a movie..." he stammered, half for real and half to play along with her teasing. The lines were blurred a bit.
"Forget about movies," Sarah recommended in a voice that removed every striptease scene from every Hollywood movie he ever saw from his long-term memory. "Would you like me to strip for you? My hair in an elegant chignon, or would you prefer a snazzy bun? Wearing cat eye makeup to send you piercing looks, a sexy costume, lush lingerie, and discarding it all to your favorite love-making music?"
As long as it's not the whole 42 minutes and 15 seconds.
"Can I say simply yes, or do I need to sit up and beg?" Chuck asked self-ironically. "And do you mind much if I have a heart attack in advance?"
When was the last time I noticed how cute he is? ... About 20 seconds ago.
"I will surprise you someday, ok?" she promised, and he hoped she would make that soon as he was sure he couldn't sleep a wink until then. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled out of her jeans. Though she did not add any bumps and grinds, she had him gasping as she turned around, her arms crossed over her chest. The man allured felt the strong urge to help her with her last piece of clothing.
"You two stay where you are," Sarah murmured as her gaze lowered on him.
"That's cruel," Chuck complained. "Just watching and not touching… it's very hard."
"I hope so," Sarah murmured again as she strode up to him.
"Where did you learn to strip?" he coughed, taken by surprise that the woman formerly known as The Ice Queen not only had become talkative but also didn't shy away from innuendo.
He imagined a stripper's school like a dance class. A dozen of beauties and their instructress bumping and grinding until they all were naked. He blinked as his mental cinema revealed that all thirteen women were Sarah.
You have thirteen girls, what do you get? Another day older and so happy, you bet. St. Peter, don't you call me 'cause I can't go, I owe my soul to the girl with the blue eyes, Chuck mused and thought it was excusable that he couldn't rhyme appropriately under the circumstances.
"Long story. CAT squad days. It was Carina's idea. Who else? We always joked that girls are the only presents who can unwrap and wrap themselves. We trailed a European drug ring and stripped our way through Rome, London, and Paris," Sarah began to tell. It was a striking sign of how she had grown in the shortest amount of time.
Less than a week ago, such a conversation with him would have been utterly impossible. Now listen to yourself, Walker.
"Their boss had a habit of booking all the ring-side tables in clubs and inviting business acquaintances and prospects, seldom doing any real business but sealing the deals. We acted as a troupe booked by the high-brow clubs around Europe and ensured we would be where he was. That way, we managed to avoid any dangerous infiltration into his organization, as they presented us all of their contacts on a serving tray by and by."
"And you presented yourself to all those scumbags," he said. "I think it's degrading if a woman strips other than for her man, but I'm not sure if 'degrading' is the word I want. Regardless of how much it's romanticized or embellished sometimes. That stripping, and … pole-dancing? I assume you can do that too?"
Sarah nodded and decided that this day and Chuck would see some things that undoubtedly proved that she had sufficient body control to slide up and down and merrily all-around a pole.
"Why did I ask anyway. There's nothing in the world my badass girlfriend can't do! But all that, and the lap-dancing and sticking money in your bra and g-string and… now I know what I wanted to express: It conveys the impression that women are goods and can be bought. And that is disgusting."
"Unfortunately, that's the truth," she sighed and steered him away from his dark thoughts. Although since their panic attack – she had begun to call it their panic attack as Chuck had been involved as much as she was - it had become so natural to speak about everything at any time that she wasn't concerned about getting him back to the fun she planned with the snap of a finger.
We certainly have both the steamiest and the strangest relationship in Los Angeles, she mused in the passing.
"That's one of the main reasons I fell for you. You treat me and my gender as equal human beings. I never feel that you objectify me. I'm always someone and not a piece of meat without rights."
"Is it that bad out there?"
"And worse," she admitted. "I stood my ground-"
"I know you do!"
"-and I preserved my dignity, but a spy's world is a sleazy, hostile place."
His look of commiseration was so heartfelt that she sat down on his lap, still covering her chest with crossed arms.
I should tell him that we haven't been a traveling hooker circus.
"But I have to tell you, we were a high-class act - new burlesque instead of rowdy stripping for small notes in exchange for being groped. We choreographed numbers ourselves, and that was fun."
"Like what?"
Chuck was intrigued, to put it mildly.
"We did a circus number, for instance. One of us was the… oh to hell with it. Her name was Zondra, she was the animal trainer. Carina, Amy and I, played three tiger kittens to be trained. We did all the stuff you expect, jumping through rings and so on."
Sarah paused and could almost see his fantasy working.
"Kittens that we were, we romped about, having standoffs with fletched teeth, playfully fighting. We had full body tiger costumes that were cleverly segmented so that we could rip parts of the costumes off each other during the number, and in the end, we wore only tiger-patterned bikinis. So we frolicked around, bumped our hips and asses, and rubbed ourselves against each other, stuff like that. … You should open a few buttons on your shirt. I think you need that, Chuck."
One of her arms left the protective position on her torso and fanned air at his face as he followed her advice with a rueful smile, having second thoughts about the helpfulness of the gesture instantly.
I am not sure if this is making it easier for him, Sarah pondered, but it's certainly fun.
"Zondra never got in any way naked. She was always the one with enough clothes to take photographs with spycams."
"And you?" Chuck asked, clearly affected by the story, told by an almost-nude blonde beauty.
"Many acts didn't include full nudity at all. Most of the time, we did not display more than any guy could see on a beach anyway. In that circus number, we turned our backs to the audience at the end, dropped our bikini tops, and dashed backstage, back into our cage. But sometimes, in the classic striptease scenario, you were nude, at least that one moment everyone waited for, before the lights went out. But then, you had all those accessories, scarves, gloves, hats, whatever."
Sarah finally came to the benefit of all the effort.
"And we jumped down from the stage and pranced around between the patrons like kittens do, sticking bugs on those we selected."
She saw his look.
"Yea, you bet. They tried to grope us occasionally, but every time we quickly made it clear that touching was not part of it. There is usually no kind of groping in better clubs, at least in those venues that still feature a real show instead of three poles and three new girls every fifteen minutes. You don't grope at the Folies Bergère, to put it that way."
She shrugged.
"As the main attraction of each night, we could afford that. We were artists. We brought in many patrons, and club owners did a rousing business, so they were rather inclined to let us handle everything as we wanted. And we didn't do lap-dancing or handjobs in backstage cabins," she said so casually that Chuck coughed.
"But I could do a lap dance for you," she cooed and moved up on his lap. She gyrated sensuously, then, after signaling a special effect to come up with her eyebrows and realizing that he actually looked into her eyes – God, how I love him! –, stretched out her arms far to the left and right. Shaking her chest sensuously, she was satisfied to see him adore her charms finally in that loving way of his that combined sensuality and respect – God, how I love him! It overwhelmed her not for the first time that all their carnality was founded on a deep and mutual understanding of the high regard they had for each other.
With this realization and being done with words for the moment as her game had stoked her fire as well, she rewarded him by smothering his face with her chest.
"What about my trial?" he croaked.
"Shhh," she said. "You're already convicted, and I'm your Carnifex."
"Carnal what?" he squeaked, but she sealed his mouth with a soaring kiss.
"Don't delay me with your silly trial any longer," she breathed, beginning to undress him. "I wanted you to rip that thing-" and she had a way of making him grasp what she hinted at "-off of me five minutes ago."
•••••••••••••••••••
A/N (2) Night Court: 'Night Court' was a TV show that aired from 1984 – 1982, where John Larroquette, the actor who portrayed Roan Montgomery, played Reinhold Daniel Fielding Elmore, a sex-obsessed narcissistic prosecutor, who would do almost anything to get a woman to sleep with him. Larroquette received four consecutive Primetime Emmy Awards for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series for 'Night Court'.
A/N (3) 42 minutes and 15 seconds: A reference to 'Chuck Versus the Sandworm' s01e06, when Chuck tells Sarah that he considers Arcade Fire's debut album 'Funeral' an auditory aphrodisiac. Funny enough, the album's real running time is 48 minutes and 12 seconds.
A/N (4) We certainly have both the steamiest and the strangest relationship in Los Angeles: Paraphrased from 'Chuck Versus the Seduction' s02e02, Chuck's words there were, "It may not be the steamiest, but we probably have the strangest relationship in Los Angeles".
A/N (5) You have thirteen girls, what do you get…: Borrowed from 'Sixteen Tons', a song by Merle Travis which earned him a gold record in 1947, and went to #1 in a cover by Tennessee Ernie Ford in 1955. And if you can tell me in what scene from Chuck this song was used, I might consider writing another story (and I promise I will make them a couple sooner then).
A/N (6) This is the second-to-last chapter, aside from the epilogue, which means you have only three (1-2-3) more chances to tell me your opinion in a review.