Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Okay, after the relative difficulty of smell, I revert to the relative ease of taste. I must admit, I had fun with this chapter, and as an added bonus, a bit of Casey's perspective is thrown in. So, I give you this installment to enjoy. It's gonna get downright sexy in these next installments, so have fun!

Chapter 4

Taste

Chivalry, Classifications, and Casey

As with any honest being, Chuck Bartowski sees the value of the kiss. Sure, there are much more satisfying ways for couples to express affection, but Chuck had always put most of his stock into kisses. Kisses were the first foray into any kind of meaningful connection, and anyone can attest that the first kiss is always the best kiss. The rest were just means of…procedure, no less passionate or meaningful, but simply less…momentous. The first time they kiss, he has very little time to truly register the moment. With his eyes squeezed shut, bracing himself for his imminent demise, Chuck fails to see the scant moment of indecision, conscientiously weighing her options before she quite literally pounces on him, and her lips are on his. But he can taste her. Good Lord can he taste her. Her tongue probes insistently at his lips, and he obliges to her request, opening up to allow her access. Her taste surrounds him, sending his sensitized synapses, fueled with adrenaline, into overdrive, and it takes him only a tenth of a heartbeat to respond. He pours everything in that kiss knowing there's a finality to their situation. Everything he's wanted to tell her, every desire he holds deep within, he conveys in that single moment. That single, explosive – no pun intended – moment where they aren't labeled by the CIA and the NSA as asset and agent. They are two people taking that tentative jaunt into the significant first – and sadly last – connection.

Even as they don't meet their imminent demise that day at the pier, the details of that kiss fail to expunge themselves from his memory. Everything swirls within his conscious mind in a myriad of indistinct emotions and sharply focused minutiae. He recalls the sight before him in that chamber within the crate, the blinking digits as they meander down to zero, the anxiety as the Intersect fails to flash on the object before them, and…Sarah's taste. That agonizingly sinful, delicious taste that filtered through his taste buds and straight into his brain sending his already frazzled state plummeting to the darkness of tempestuous paradise. He recalls yanking her even tighter to his body refusing to release her, and all he wants is more. More of that sweet, illicit taste, more of her probing tongue and caressing lips, more of right now. He remembers wishing that time could halt and offer him the luxury of staying in this moment, and vaguely he wonders if there is a heaven and if there is, is this it? Their kiss slows to its excruciating conclusion, and he struggles to catch his breath that still filters through his lungs, a distinct reminder of his current state of living. Both pairs of eyes flick to the supposed bomb, the zeroes across the panel mocking them without the construed explosion. It wasn't quite the circumstances under which a normal first kiss would occur, but that still didn't erase the significance. It was just as momentous, serving as the catalyst that forced one CIA agent and one intelligence asset to face what they – well, at least one of them – had been avoiding all this time: the truth.

As they eventually face the truth and get together – after a good year of dancing around the subject – they find that they are still faced with even more obstacles, one of which involves evading the knowing stares of one John Casey and the ever watchful eyes of General Beckman and Director Graham. But, they manage to emerge relatively unscathed until they are faced with perhaps the most irksome obstacle of all, one that struck them as unexpectedly as Bryce's resurrection: Jillian Hawthorne, Chuck's infamous ex.

As Chuck strolled down the busy sidewalk of the city, his mind drifted away to thoughts of Sarah. They had been officially dating for almost three months, and, remarkably, the only person who had caught on to the change in their relationship status was Casey. Even more surprising to the couple was that he turned a blind eye to the development. Chuck absently ran a hand through his hair and scratched the stubble dusting his chin and cheeks. Even with the euphoria a relationship with Sarah elicited, the nagging voice warned him that this certainly wouldn't last, especially if the higher ups in Washington caught wind. Then what? With his mind so preoccupied on the dilemma presenting itself, Chuck failed to notice the person before him until their imminent collision.

"Oh, I'm so sorry…" Chuck trailed off as the being before him prompted a very dull thunk to resonate through the area where he thought his stomach existed. Every day for five years, this image materialized in his brain, swinging a sledge hammer that struck with titanic force right at the crux of his heart. Every day, he labored to erase this sight from his mind but found he couldn't. So when the vision he had long banished from his consciousness materialized in a physical form before his very eyes, Chuck forgot to breathe for the barest of moments, and everything registered with distinct clarity into his brain. He saw her tall, statuesque form, just a bit shorter than Sarah. Her flowing light brown hair still tumbled down her back in gentle waves. Her jade green eyes peered into his with an expression tinged with both surprise and hesitation. And he was yanked back to a time where everything was so much simpler and the future so much more certain.

"Chuck…" Her melodic voice hadn't changed since the last time he heard it, moaning Bryce's name minutes before he burst into her room to surprise her.

He didn't wish to actually respond, for fear that such an act would bring the painful reality of her presence to the forefront of his consciousness, but his mouth rebelled, automatically answering as vocal chords expelled the name that had brought so much emotion from all sides of the known gamut to his sentient body. "Jill…"

His fight or flight instinct activated the moment she approached, his mind propelling him towards the latter, yet conversely chastising him for even thinking of such a thing, and common courtesy kicked in…very painfully. He forced a smile – one that he hoped didn't look as pained as it felt – and offered out pleasantry, "Wow, it's…" Chuck swallowed the crack in his voice in an effort to maintain equanimity. "It's been awhile."

Jill nodded, her top teeth worrying her lip, and an idle thought skated through his mind that at least she was just as uncomfortable as he was. "Yeah…uh, how have you been?"

Chuck wasn't quite sure how to respond to that question. Surely, she knew just how miserable he had been considering that disastrous senior year. Still, he went with a conventional response. "I've been good…"

"Yeah…I haven't heard from you since Stanford…" Jill trailed off as she realized the idiocy of that statement and she glanced away before moving to safer territory.

"So what are you doing now? You know, job wise? School wise?"

This question, unlike years past, now gave him a certain pride as the CIA finally acknowledged his worth and allotted him a bit of compensation for having both the Alpha and Beta versions of the Intersect in his brain.

"I've got a start-up company in the works," he answered. Chuck grinned sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. "Slaving away at the Buy More's Nerd Herd counter until it gets more stable footing though."

"Wow, that's great." Jill seemed to hesitate before she offered out her next query. "So how about the love life? Are you seeing anyone?"

"Uh, well…" Chuck stuttered through the answer. No matter the target, Chuck Bartowski was still a gentleman, and gentlemen do not rub current, very successful, very passionate, very satisfying relationships in their conniving ex's faces. Luckily, as she had done so many times prior, Sarah emerged just in the nick of time to save his sorry ass.

"Chuck, honey, I'm so sorry!" Her voice cut through the din of chatter surrounding him, and he released a sigh of relief. "The meeting ran late, and you know how Dr. Richards tends to go on about the Rational Choice Theory…"

Sending up a hasty, thankful prayer up to the higher powers, Chuck rotated to face his rapidly approaching girlfriend, his lofty frame obscuring Jill from view.

Before he could caution Sarah of their unexpected companion, he tasted her. Leaning up, she captured his lips in a long, welcoming kiss, effectively stealing the warning from his lungs. As was the case with their many kisses, this one consumed his functioning processes, and he relinquished the potentially precarious situation before them for the sensations siphoned through their connection. As tip of her tongue slipped ever-so between his parted lips, offering him a taste of her fruity lip gloss, Chuck lost all semblance of thought, sending him spiraling into a dazed state of bliss.

As they parted, Sarah stepped back, composing herself. Flashing a grin, she ran her hands up the planes of his chest. "Sorry. Needed an outlet. You know how frustrating those meetings can be."

Chuck couldn't quite answer as he steadied his breath, struggling for coherency as he forced his brain to orient itself in order to facilitate a sufficient warning for Sarah. "No problem, babe," he forced out weakly. "I have no qualms whatsoever towards that form of venting."

Chuckling at the feeble response, Sarah allowed her palms to drift down as she fixed the slightly askew condition of his wardrobe, smoothing out the collar of the button-down shirt that showcases his surprisingly chiseled pectoral muscles and well-developed forearms. "I'll make it up to you later." She winked, the gesture heavy with connotation. "Promise…" Glancing over his shoulder, Sarah finally caught a glimpse of their third party watching the scene with wide, reticent eyes, and she shot him an admonishing glance. "Chuck, why didn't you tell me you had company?"

Finally achieving a state of orientation, Chuck cocked an eyebrow. "You mean between you rambling out an apology and kissing me?" Chuck chided her with a shake of his head. "Sorry, but I don't talk that fast." He maintained that grin as he ducked, aptly dodging a well-aimed swipe from his girlfriend.

"Excuse him," Sarah apologized, facing the woman. "Even with his impeccable upbringing, he can still be a big oaf." Sarah stuck her hand out. "Sarah Walker, Chuck's girlfriend."

"Jillian Hawthorne."

Sarah didn't respond, only giving a slight nod of acknowledgement, and Chuck knew she was sizing up the other woman. After a moment, she flashed a deceptively innocent smile, and Chuck fought the urge to smirk. "Nice to meet you. Chuck's told me so much about you."

Jill gave an embarrassed cough, catching the underlying implication behind the statement. "Well…I hope it wasn't too damaging."

"Oh, no," Sarah assured her, the mischievous glint almost blinding in her deep blue eyes. Chuck was amazed at how she kept up the façade of sweet girl when he knew how much she longed to give Jill a piece of her mind…or the business end of one of her throwing knives..

"You know how Chuck is," Sarah divulged as though the two women were sharing an intimate secret. "Chivalrous to the end. Even to those who don't deserve it."

Chuck fought a chuckle. There surely wasn't any woman like one Sarah Walker. Even in these moments away from their second occupation, Sarah still protected him with the same fierceness and sting of a CIA agent.

"Yeah…" Jill murmured. "Uh, so how did you two meet?"

"Ironically through Bryce Larkin," Sarah responded, and she took slight pleasure at seeing Jill's noticeable wince.

"Really…"

"Bryce and I used to work together back east through separate branches," Sarah explained. "He was part of the accounting department and I was part of the legal department, but my job forced a transfer to here. I didn't now anyone in the area, but luckily, Bryce sent me right to Chuck." Sarah looked to the man in question, the meaning clear in her eyes. "Couldn't thank him enough…"

"How nice…" Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Jill made a show of checking her watch before turning back to the couple. "Uh, I should go. I have a meeting with a realtor I have to get to."

Fear gripped his heart, and Chuck's eyes widened. "You're moving here?"

Jill shook her head, hastening to amend her statement. "Oh, no. My grandmother lived here, and she died a few years ago. We're making arrangements with her house."

"Oh." Chuck's more than relieved at the lack of the discomfort of another meeting, but still imparts a polite farewell. "Er…it was nice seeing you, Jill…"

"You too, Chuck," Jill answered, albeit a bit meekly. "Nice meeting you, Sarah. You know you're a lucky woman."
Sarah's response was simple but held the weight of a much lengthier rejoinder. "I do."

Before she departed, Jill rotated back, wringing her hands anxiously. "Chuck, I really am sorry about…you know."

Chuck's surprised at the apology, almost a decade in the works, but the answer he provided was sincere. "It's okay, Jill. I'm good now." His eyes flicked towards Sarah, and his face softened to an expression of the utmost affection.

Jill tensed, the look on his fascia almost foreign with the magnitude of emotion behind it. He had never looked at her the way he did Sarah and it was dual parts relieving and saddening.

"I'm really good," Chuck assured her. "No reason to hold onto something that's no longer important."

"Right…" There was a touch of begrudging acceptance on Jill's face, as though the true realization of what she had passed up on had just registered within her mind. Hefting a barely discernable sigh, she forced out a smile. "Well, goodbye, Chuck. I hope life's good for you."

"Thanks, Jill. You too." Chuck's eyes followed her as she disappeared down the street, a contemplative glint to his sepia spheres before they reverted their attention back to the woman beside him. "Well…that…was sufficiently awkward."

"So that's the infamous Jill," Sarah mused.

"Yep," Chuck quirked an ironic smile. "Not the only time Bryce got the girl…Lucky guy."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Sarah responded. "After all, he never really kept the girl."

Chuck gazed into her eyes, and with that smile of his, he leaned in brushing the barest of kisses across her lips. He tasted of coffee and the peppermint gum he tended to chew while constructing his latest idea for software. "I guess you're right…"

Chuck rotated, heading in the direction of the restaurant, reaching down to lace his fingers through hers. "You know, I meant what I said." When Sarah gave him a blank stare and a slight shake of her head in confusion, Chuck clarified, "When I said I'm okay with everything that happened between Bryce and Jill."

"Even when you're not sure of the motivation?"

"It's the oldest motivation in the book, Sarah," Chuck deadpanned. "But yeah, I'm okay with it." He lifted his head, allowing his senses to absorb the world around him, a bigger part of the reality he had built for himself when the plan he had originally constructed hadn't quite made it to fruition. "I'm good. Really good."

Sarah tugged on his hand, forcing him to stop before pulling him back and wrapping her arms around him, ignoring the bustle of activity that milled around them. All she saw was the man before her. "So am I, Chuck. So am I."

As he thinks of the memory, Chuck realizes he honestly spoke the truth. He had let go of Bryce and Jill and their nefarious fling. Even as he didn't quite know if the true motivation was the product of the age-old adage of lust or another one of Bryce's well-meaning schemes to protect him from the CIA (little good that did and it's not like he can actually ask the man). But, Chuck realizes that it frankly doesn't matter. Whatever the motivation, it brought him to the present, a present that included Sarah Walker in his life. So, in actuality, those events weren't that damaging. Just…traumatic.

The first time they kiss without the threat of their imminent demise, he initiates it. It's a bit of an uncharacteristic move that he asserts himself, but wow, does it ever pay off. With his nerdy tendencies and slightly bumbling nature, Sarah never got an indication of how good a kisser Chuck Bartowski was. But in an unhurried, and certainly not dangerous situation, Chuck Bartowski showed Sarah Walker just how good this nerd could kiss. His tongue swept against hers, treating her to a wickedly delicious mix of cinnamon and dark chocolate. His lips slowly devoured her, alternating deep, soulful with teasing, sensual nips. Had his sturdy arms not held her so possessively, his large palms not supporting the back of her head and splayed against her back, she would have surely slumped to the ground with the sensations assaulting every inch of her sensitized body. And in one conscious that flashed absently in her semi-cognizant mind before fleeing with the rest of her coherency once Chuck's blunt teeth nibbled deliciously against her bottom lip, Sarah idly ruminated that she didn't want to stop kissing Chuck. Ever.

Over time, that notion solidifies itself in Sarah's beliefs as Chuck's kisses become more and more frequent with each passing day. Those kisses were her new drug, even more thrilling than her occupation and leaps and bounds more intoxicating than Bryce's had ever been, admittedly to her surprise. She had gotten accustomed to his taste, drinking it in like an ambrosia sent from the gods. She had come to long for his unique flavor that always seemed to combine something spicy with something sweet. And in her mind, she comprehends the danger that accompanies this surreptitious addiction. She knows very well this goes against every statute in the handbook, and if they do get caught…well, the consequences sure didn't include a simple slap on the wrist. But as she steels herself, promising the nagging little birdie occupying her shoulder that this time is the last time, those earnest eyes peer into hers, those full lips form that adorably dorky grin, and she tastes that intoxicating combination of dark chocolate and cinnamon. Oh, man, she is so screwed. As loud as that birdie screams its protests, Sarah can't bring herself to reject him. And she doesn't think she ever really wants to.

As their relationship begins to truly roam into dangerous territory, Sarah also finds how surprisingly proficient Chuck is with his kisses. Despite his claim about being uncomfortable with PDA's, Chuck always greets her with a kiss, and she's come to categorize his kisses into distinct classifications. There's the "Hello" kiss, a mere peck of the lips that sends those annoying (okay, not annoying) butterflies fluttering through her stomach. There's the "I've had a shitty day at work, please let me release some of the tension" kiss, an aggressive plundering of her mouth that weakens her knees and sends her pulse racing to a brisk staccato. There's the exuberant "I survived my eight-hour shift without getting reamed out by Big Mike or blown up by an international terrorist" kiss, a sloppy, wet, ardently erratic succession that elicits an uncharacteristic set of girlish giggles with its enthusiasm. And then there's just The Kiss. It doesn't come very often and most of the time it comes at the most spontaneous moment, but Sarah finds that she likes this kiss most of all. It's slow and satisfying and utterly arousing in its intensity that begins reticent but slowly builds to a pinnacle of fervent ardor before crashing them both back down to the surface, leaving them panting and wild-eyed. Chuck slowly, methodically engulfs her lips in those instances, sweeping her mouth with a skilled tongue and delectable taste, and the reaction it educes is a mixture of all his kisses. Sarah isn't quite sure what brings about The Kiss, but all she knows is that it's a sure-fire way for innocent kisses to lead to something much more of the adult nature. So when Chuck gazes at her with those bottomless brown eyes sparkling with intentions that are surely hazardous to her health, she can only yield because the taste of him is too intoxicating to walk away from. Yep, she'll repeat that again: she is so screwed.

From his apartment, John Casey peers through the cracked blinds that afford him a view of the courtyard. He's come to know their routine very well, and this is about the time they would return from a romantic dinner. Predictability is a dangerous entity in the espionage world, but he suspects they would plead abetting of their cover if he ever accuses them of as much. He slowly begins a countdown from ten, and right on cue, Bartowski and Walker emerge from beneath the archway. Their joined hands swing lazily with each step they take into the courtyard. Bartowski's got that idiotic grin on his face, and he gestures animatedly with his free hand as he talks. Walker's eyes light up with laughter at something Bartowski has said, and she rotates to face him, tugging on his hand until he comes to a stop before her. Bartowski's grin widens as he winds his arms around her waist, and she loops hers around his neck. They're both still grinning as Bartowski leans forward, touching his forehead to hers before kissing her, dipping Walker back slightly. They're so engrossed in one another that both probably wouldn't notice if bombs were raining down upon them. He should report them, he really should, but then his mind reverts back to one instance where he fell victim to Bartowski's earnest affability and enthusiastic propensity to help others. And begrudgingly, he remembers how Bartowski brought him back to her. Ilsa. His Ilsa. Bartowski allowed him his time so he's gonna allow them theirs. As Bartowski and Walker disappear into the adjoining apartment, Casey's eyes drift shut, taking him back to that moment. That agonizingly bittersweet moment where he and Ilsa shared one last kiss. One of their many kisses, but one that had a sort of finality to it. He can still see her lithe, elegant form as she sauntered through the archway. He can still hear her husky, sensuous voice still ringing in his ears. He could still smell the light spice of her perfume. He can still taste her.

Reclining in his easy chair in boxers and bare chested, John Casey raises a fist wrapped around the neck of good ole Jim Beam, and before he takes a pull of the whiskey, he proposes a silent toast to Walker and Bartowski. He's cynical so his thinking is that their relationship is doomed. The superiors will catch wind and yank them apart faster than he draws a gun. Then, his ass will get canned for harboring such a secret. But the time those two have together is gonna be one for the ages. The type of epic romance novels are written after. So, John Casey's gonna give them their due while it lasts. After all, he got his. Tipping his head back, Casey allows the liquid to travel down his throat, and the last thing that registers through his stupored mind is the taste of good ole Jimmy.

And cut! Hope you liked the special appearance of Casey. I figured this chapter would tie in very well with his own impressive romance since the last interaction between Casey and his epic lady love is a rather hot kiss. Anyway, the next chapter is touch. I must warn all of you with delicate sensibilities that this chapter will stray a bit more to the M rating for reasons that will be obvious once you read the chapter. The next chapter will also touch on what exactly happened when Graham and Beckman found out about Chuck and Sarah. It's gonna be a doozy! Until next time!

Roxy