Note: This part contains explicit m/m action, so if you're not okay with that, please don't read this part. It also contains some spoilers for 2.18-2.20. If you were waiting for Chuck/Casey, you'll probably like this. If you're waiting for Chuck/Sarah, this is not the chapter for you.

In the end, it took a while longer than half an hour for John to write up his report, but Chuck didn't come looking for him and the agent spent an unaccustomed five minutes sitting and staring into space wondering just what the hell he thought he was doing.

A quick check of the surveillance feeds to make sure Ellie and Devon were okay back at Casa Bartowski and that the Buy More remained uninvaded, another check of Castle's various alarms and locked doors and a quick visit to the head, and John couldn't put it off any longer. He dimmed the light in the corridor before pushing open the door to the sleeping quarters, but Chuck still had the light on, was lying on the furthest cot playing some inane game on his iPhone with the sound turned way down.

'Hey,' the young man offered without looking up. 'All done?'

'Yeah.' John tore his eyes from the young man's slim form and turned to close the door. Facing it, he unbuckled his belt and popped the button on his combats, sliding them down until they caught on his boots. He was hyper-aware of the drop into silence as Chuck shut off the game, the rustle as he slid the phone under his pillow. Perching on the edge of the empty cot, John wrestled with his bootlaces, managing at last to get them undone with fingers that felt awkwardly thick and undextrous. He kept his back to the nerd as he slid his trousers the rest of the way off, folded them, reached over to place them carefully on the seat of the folding chair. His socks he pulled off and stuffed in the appropriate boot, making sure his boots were neatly lined up by the side of the cot, exactly where he could find them in the dark in a hurry if he needed to, if there was some kind of emergency. Then he sat there for a minute more, staring at the doorhandle in front of him.

It occurred to him that he was avoiding turning around.

'Are you okay?' Chuck asked softly.

John turned. Chuck was lying on his side, watching him with large, dark eyes that were shadowed with fatigue. His expressive, mobile mouth was pensive.

'Fine,' the agent said. 'Long day.' He looked at the young man, who wasn't nearly as young now as he'd been before he'd had the Intersect dropped into his head and had his life turned upside down and almost ended.

'I'm sorry,' Chuck said. 'Thank you. I don't think I say that enough, not to you. Thank you for rescuing my dad. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for keeping the country safe for another day. It means a lot to me. You... you mean a lot. To me.'

His voice was little more than a whisper, low, tired. Full of emotion that John couldn't identify. It tugged at something buried deep inside the agent, something that twisted, ached, and suddenly he was exhausted. He felt worse than when he'd been up fifty hours being chased by the Taliban across endless, waterless Afghani mountain slopes.

'All part of the job,' John croaked. It was too much, standing to kill the light was too much, but somehow he managed to lean forwards, brace his feet for long enough to lunge up, slap the light and sag back down onto his cot. In the dark, he fumbled with the blanket, summoned one last burst of willpower to lift his legs up, over the side, and then he was down, aching in every muscle, every joint, wondering if he'd been poisoned, wondering if that had been Sarah's plan all along, but no, he knew poison and this was worse by far, more deadly, more toxic. His throat closed, sharply, keeping back the groan which echoed through his head, around his chest.

This was love.

'John?' Chuck asked, voice coming from a point just inches from the agent's ear.

'What?'

'What is it that you're doing? That we're doing?'

'Going to sleep.'

Even through the pitch-darkness of the room, John could feel the quick smile that flashed across Chuck's face, warming his voice.

'No, not that. Well, yes, obviously. But... why, why did you make that offer to me? You're military. You're straight. You don't even like me all that much.'

John sighed, too exhausted to summon his training to protect himself, to tell the young man what he wanted to hear. It was taking all his energy just to breathe; at this point, lying was beyond his capabilities.

'Because. You annoy the hell out of me. You're too close, too much. If I thought shooting you would stop it, would get you out of me, I'd have done it already. But you wormed your way in.' He found himself breathing heavily, as though he'd been running hard, as though there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.

There was a pause, the silence of Chuck's brow wrinkling as he tried to puzzle it out, a tiny gasp, more a hitch as he caught on. 'I was right.'

'Yeah.'

There was silence for a while. It figured that this was one time he wasn't up for babbling. Then a rustle: Chuck moving under the blanket. A hand brushing against his arm, coming to rest on top of his own hand.

'I, uh... I don't know. Honestly. I need a little time to process this. I'm sorry, John.'

It was this apology, the one for not being in love, for simply not knowing, that got through, that made John ache. 'Sleep, Chuck,' he ground out, voice rough enough to abrade granite. 'Just... sleep.'

#

Half-waking in the night, too hot, too uncomfortable, too restricted, John found he was lying on his side facing the door, back somehow at the edge of his cot and Chuck's long limbs thrown over him, wrapped around him, along with more blanket, breath warm against his neck. It was just company, human company, nothing to get alarmed about, nothing to wake up any further for, although he hadn't had overnight company in years. He slept.

He woke again just before seven, on his back this time and one arm half-numb from where it lay over the edge of his cot, of Chuck's, the young man pillowing his cheek on the bicep, cuddling the forearm. One of Chuck's legs rested over John's thigh, rested between his legs. The room was still dark, the only sounds being their breathing and the faint hiss of the air recyclers from somewhere overhead. He should move, get up, make a start on the day.

He stayed where he was until a change in Chuck's breathing told him the young man was starting to wake up. With his free hand, he reached across, up, until he felt curls under his palm. He stroked them gently for a minute before Chuck huffed, buried his face under John's arm, wriggled, woke.

John waited for the morning tide of words to break off Chuck's tongue, but the nerd stayed quiet. Chuck pulled back a fraction; John could feel him blinking against his arm, against his skin. Then Chuck tilted his chin up until he could rest it against the agent's shoulder. Took hold of John's hand. Squeezed. Slid towards the big man, over him, turning until he was lying half across his body, until his thigh brushed over John's morning wood, until his own was pressed against John's hip.

'Chuck...' John whispered. It came out as a plea, a groan.

'Ssh,' Chuck said, lips touching John's ear and sending a shiver through the agent. He placed a delicate kiss on the edge of John's ear, cheek, followed cheekbone to nose, to chin, to jawbone, to the sensitive patch of skin at John's neck, right underneath his ear. John closed his eyes as the young man made his way back around the jawline, kissed down his neck, paused as those lips encountered the realities of morning stubble and adam's apple, then kissed around to John's other ear. In the dark and the quiet, Chuck learned the contours of John's face with his lips, fluttering kisses across those closed eyes, across his forehead before finally coming home to the one part of that face they knew by touch already. Chuck kissed John lightly, tongue flicking out to tease the big man's lips before a hint of pressure had them sliding open.

Chuck dipped inside, tasting, teasing, flicking at John's teeth, his tongue, before finally - finally - plunging deep into the older man's mouth. With a groan, John wrapped his free arm around Chuck's shoulders, kissing back with an intensity that made Chuck shiver and press himself as close to John as he could get. He rubbed his groin against John's hip, thigh moving over the older man's achingly hard erection, then broke away with a whimper.

'I don't... God! I can't - I don't know what I'm doing here, John,' he admitted in a voice filled with frustration. 'I want to- but I don't know if I can, with...'

John's smile curved against Chuck's mouth as the agent pulled him back down. 'Passed that class, Chuck. Let me.' Kissing him again, he thrust into Chuck's mouth, setting a rhythm, following with his hips, rocking up against the young man, holding him tightly.

Chuck moaned, pushing himself down on top of the older man, instinctively seeking more contact, more pressure, more friction. John freed his trapped arm enough to turn his hand, cup Chuck's balls through his boxer shorts. After Chuck's jerk of surprise, he let the young man rub down against his hand, easing him back into the rhythm. Feeling him grow harder again, he slid his free arm down Chuck's back, over the curve of his cheeks, held him there, helped him move. As Chuck's breathing grew more ragged and whimpers escaped his throat, John snaked his hand through the fly of his boxers, found Chuck's pens and gripped expertly, letting him thrust into the sheath of his hand. With a choked cry, Chuck came, spurting through the agent's fist and soaking his shorts. He shuddered, spasming again as the older man squeezed him gently, rubbed his thumb over the head, soaked up his whimpers with his mouth and swept his tongue comfortingly over Chuck's own.

Chuck's breath hiccupped in little stuttering gasps as John milked the last of his orgasm out, leaving the young man sprawled bonelessly over John's solid body. John eased his hand out of Chuck's boxer shorts and round to the side, gripping his hip comfortingly, waiting for the young man to recover. Chuck rested his head on John's shoulder, breathing shakily through his mouth, breath puffing across John's throat.

'That's it,' John murmured. 'That's all it is.'

Chuck swallowed, blinked, lashes fluttering once more against John's bare skin. 'Wow. Definitely passed.'

John's huff of amusement was lost in Chuck's unruly hair, but the agent could feel him smiling. 'Have to get up soon,' he rumbled lazily, a smile of his own blooming at Chuck's disgusted groan. 'I mean it.' He squeezed Chuck's ass-cheek, rubbing with his thumb. 'Much as I'd rather stay here like this with you, I have a briefing in an hour and I definitely want to get through the shower before Sarah gets here.'

'Mmph,' Chuck pressed closer, soaking up the agent's warmth. 'Lock the door.'

'She has lockpicks.'

Chuck groaned again, shifting position slightly, then stilled. 'You didn't, uh... You didn't finish.'

'Not yet, no.'

'I, um... I could... Help?' Chuck offered, awkwardness creeping back into his voice as tension crept into his body.

'If you want to, sure. If you don't want to go that far, I can live with it,' John said, tone as casual as he could make it.'

'I, I, I think I could. Help, that is.' Chuck moved his hand from John's shoulder, ran it down over the older man's impressive pecs, abs and under the blanket, pausing as he reached John's waistband.

'You don't have to,' John said, hugging Chuck. 'Honestly. I'll live.'

'If we do this, then we do this together,' Chuck said bravely. 'I don't have a lot of experience; well, any experience with this, but we're not so different, right?'

John turned his head, placed a light kiss on Chuck's forehead. 'If you want to, explore. I'll let you know how you're doing.'

Chuck nodded, took a deep breath and ran his hand over John's erection.

'It's, uh... big. Impressive,' he babbled nervously, stroking up and down slowly, lightly, outlining it through the thin cotton with his long fingers.

John's hand tightened on his hip. 'That's good, Chuck.' Growing bolder, Chuck stroked downwards, cupped John like John had cupped him. The agent twitched. 'That too.' Chuck rubbed his thumb over the base of John's penis, rubbed a little harder, making it jump. Stroking upwards again, he squeezed the shaft gently, circled the palm of his hand over the head and glans.

'Yeah...' John managed, struggling not to thrust up into Chuck's hand.

'This should be weirder,' Chuck said absently, resting his face in the hollow of John's neck, tracing the waistline of the boxers with one delicate fingertip, dipping underneath and swirling through the hair underneath. His voice was low, hypnotic. 'I mean, I'm a guy, you're a guy...' His fingers brushed the tip of John's aching dick, making John's breath catch in his throat. 'I'm straight, so are you...' Gently, his fingers smoothed down over the shaft, then wrapped around it, fitting perfectly around the solid velvet width. 'But you're driving me crazy.' His hand started to move up and down, slowly, then faster. 'I can't stop thinking about you, wondering about what you're like when you're not being a hard-assed super-agent.' His thumb brushed up over the head, then back down again. 'Wondering what it'd be like to go to bed with you. Wondering what it'll be like to have you lying on top of me, wondering how it'll feel when-.' He twisted his hand, fingers rubbing over the sensitive glans, and with a cry he couldn't suppress, John came, pulsing hard.

Chuck held him until he softened, then slipped his hand out from the agent's shorts. John could feel his nose wrinkle.

'What?' he rasped unsteadily.

'It's sticky. I never like getting sticky hands.'

John laughed, found coordination long enough to move his arm, grab Chuck's hand and wipe it on his boxers. 'Not like they're getting any cleaner,' he smiled.

'I guess not.' Chuck snuggled contentedly, tucking his head under John's chin.

'Hey, don't think you can go back to sleep!'

'Ten minutes...' Chuck's voice trailed off. John held him close for a moment, then swatted Chuck's behind.

'Ow!'

'Shower, Chuck.'

With a deep sigh of unmendably hurt feelings, Chuck rolled off the big man and all the way back onto his own cot. John stretched, sat up, slapped the light switch and looked round at the blinking nerd. He smiled affectionately as he took in Chuck's wild bed-hair, the way his t-shirt was rucked up across his stomach and the damp patch on the front of his boxer shorts.

'Laugh it up, big guy,' Chuck smiled back, propping himself up on one elbow. 'You look how I feel.'

John didn't have to look at himself to know he was in an identical state. He just hoped he wasn't glowing quite as much as Chuck was, especially with faint red stubble-burn around his mouth. Schooling his expression into a frown, he growled. 'On your feet, Bartowski.'

Chuck laughed. 'Oh, so not intimidating.'

John settled for grabbing his trousers and pulling them on, leaving the fly unfastened, then shoved his feet into his boots and opened the door. Without looking back at the nerd, he tossed words over his shoulder. 'Move quick, or you'll have to scrub your own back.'

As he headed down the corridor, he heard Chuck scramble for the door and smiled.