The First Deadly Sin

A/N: Firstly, I wanted to take this opportunity once again to thank my fabulous beta, BillAtWork for all his work and patience while I played around with this chapter, so, thanks Bill! Secondly, I want to thank all you guys who read and those of you that review, I can't express how much it means, thank you. And last, but definitely not least, I hope you enjoy this chapter and some much needed Charah goodness.

Oh, yeah, almost forgot… I don't own Chuck.

Bub had never been one who believed in fate. He'd seen too many people who were self-important, lying, cheating bastards reach positions of trust and power to ever believe in that. Heck, just look at that smarmy git Daniel Shaw. No, Bub liked to live his life day to day, because in his opinion, he made his own destiny, no-one else.

And today, Bub had decided his destiny was to humiliate Sarah Walker in front of not only him and his colleagues, but her Captain America wannabe boyfriend too. And he was definitely more than happy to do that, when there was the added bonus of getting to see maybe one of the prettiest women Bub had ever laid eyes on stripping off every last piece…

"Come on, Agent Walker", Bub smirked, pushing his Browning just that little bit harder into Sarah's forehead. "I'm pretty sure you've done this all before, so it should be easy for you."

Bub licked his lips in anticipation. In this industry, it was widely acknowledged, albeit on the hush-hush, that female agents often had to do things to… please… their marks in order to achieve mission objectives, usually lacking the tact, cunning and physical strength of their male counterparts. Or that was Bub's opinion anyway.

It was high time this pair of CIA lapdogs got what was coming to them. It was Bub's duty to ensure that they knew that Fulcrum was on top, were top dog, so to speak. And Bub was well versed into how to make sure no questions were asked on that matter when he was finished.

"My friends and I" Bub said, gesturing to the two men either side of him with free hand, "aren't feeling too… friendly at the moment, we tried that before, and obviously it didn't seem to work."

Bub rubbed his sore ribs with his hand, as if to make a point, scobbing a great hunk of yellow-green phlegm at Sarah's feet before continuing.

"But we're reasonable people" Bub laughed manically and unexpectedly, causing Sarah to flinch at the sound, prompting Chuck into motion.

"STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU FUCKING ARE", Bub shouted, his outburst directed at Chuck, but his eyes staying firmly planted on Sarah.

"OR THE BLONDE GETS IT."

The sound of the two matching Brownings of Bub's less than friendly friends caused Chuck to check his step, holding his hands up in surrender. Satisfied that her nerd in shining armour was staying put, Bub let out a contented grunt, not too dissimilar to that one could imagine being produced by a certain NSA Colonel.

"Now," Bub continued, his smirk growing tenfold as he approached the real business of the evening, "take it off."

The expression that overcame Walker's face was just the reaction Bub was looking for, pain and embarrassment. He wasn't really expecting the level of anger that was swimming around in those piercing blue eyes of hers with it, but you can't have everything now, can you? He was already envisaging the moment in his head, her supple perky bosom, the lithe, lean athleticism of her stomach, legs, all laid bare in their porcelain perfection. Her tight little ass…

'Finally…' Bub thought, licking his lips in anticipation, 'time for a little bit of fun.'

"No." A strong, determined voice replied, pulling Bub from his musings to meet, once again, the eyes of his captured prey. And if Bub was in any doubt before on the feelings towards him of Sarah Walker, they were instantly swept away by a look that could only be described as acute loathing.

"Fuck you, Bub."

Bub was livid. What fucking nerve did she have to deny him? With the position she was in, she had no movement to bargain, all her chips had been played and sure as shit Bub wasn't going to let this CIA bitch have any satisfaction what so ever.

"Take it off, OR I'LL RIP IT OFF", Bub spat, swiping his 9mm across the face of Sarah, a moment of déjà vu surrounding him.

"No", Sarah repeated defiantly, her head quickly snapping back to look Bub, eyes like fire. Bub could do whatever he wanted to her, but she sure as hell wasn't going to give that pervert the satisfaction of making her his puppet.

"Well, well, well, you've obviously seen though my game, Agent Walker, congratulations." Bub managed, reigning in his anger to put on a thin façade of calmness.

"You must have worked out that we need you alive, clever girl. So let's change the stakes now, shall we? Switch it around a little. Hmm… Let's see… How about, you do what I ask or… Your boy toy here…" Bub continued steadily, his gun switching its focus from Sarah to Chuck, crosshairs aimed directly between his eyes.

"Let's just say, he'll be leaving about… A foot shorter."

'There',Bub grinned, he was certain there was something going on between these two, and that was going to be her Achilles heel, his shoehorn into getting Walker to do his bidding, both physically and psychologically.

'Let's see how she plays this hand.'

The silence in the room was palpable. Yet again, it was the CIA skirt's eyes that betrayed her. Look anywhere else, this woman appeared cold, unmoving, but the eyes. As the windows to the soul they were often described, and in this particular case, Bub had to agree. The uncertainty and the hesitation that her body did not allow her to show was reflected back at him in glorious high definition Blu-ray.

But the reply Bub got was from an unexpected source, the man, who must, by Bub's estimation be an idiot, with a 9mm pointed at his head.

"Sarah, don't do it. Don't give him the satisfaction." Chuck blurted, holding his ground in what Bub assumed was an uncharacteristic act of bravery, most likely brought on by a sudden rush of adrenaline.

"QUIET! You know what you have to do, Walker, and you know the consequences if you don't. We may need you alive, but the boss never said anything about him."

Bub cocked his gun theatrically as if to solidify the point. He was done playing games, this was the final hand. He was all in and he certainly wasn't bluffing.

"Chuck…" Sarah replied to Chuck, her eyes leaving Bub's face to turn to Chuck, their intense gaze communicating a thousand words in a single glance, letting him know that she wasn't about to let anything happen to him. Not when they'd come this far and had gotten so close.

"It's alright, I…"

"No, Sarah" Chuck stated interrupting Sarah before she could continue, a resolve in his voice she'd only heard once before and in a scenario the complete inverse of this.

There was something akin to the growl of an enraged tiger that followed, emanating from behind the blonde, spikes of a bright white light rapidly following as Bub felt blow after blow connecting with his face and groin area in particular. Bub was powerless to resist or fight back. Every attempt he made at defending himself, launching a counterattack, was quickly and efficiently deflected and evaded again and again, whilst every attempt Bub made in his own defence crumbled like century-old mortar.

"No. No it's not" Chuck panted, the man Sarah had designated Bub once again fallen at his feet, nose just millimetres from his right Chuck.

It was on days like this – when he found himself lying on the floor that Bub was forced to reconsider his stance on fate and its friends. Mess with Agent Sarah Walker and it seemed that you got what was coming to you, forget the odds, forget the element of chance, of feints and bluffs – this was a universal certainty.

'And this,' Bub mused in a rare moment of contemplation and clarity as his face was pummelled, yet again into the slightly damp carpet, 'must be karma…'

Because there was no way that that lanky, lily-livered nerd could possibly take down a seasoned Fulcrum Agent like Bub twice in a row without even breaking a sweat. It just wasn't logical.

Bub groaned again, the feeling of his ribs disintegrating as a foot, once again came crashing into them, caused Bub to vomit violently into the carpet beneath him, that just so happened also to be the resting place for his battered and bruised head. Feeling the jaws of black close upon him like Fangorn Forest, Bub cursed the name of Daniel Shaw and wondered if any of this was worth it.

'No.' Bub surmised, just before the unwelcome and familiar blackness engulfed Bub for the second time today, his mind flitting over the events earlier that had landed him in his current predicament - face down on a disease ridden carpet, swimming in a pool of his own vomit.

'It was definitely not worth it.'

Chuck bashed his head against the padded sport seats of the 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 Sarah had jacked from the car park of the motel – Sarah noting how it was probably Bub's car and how he wouldn't be needing it anytime soon whilst Chuck staggered into the passenger seat, almost in a daze. Sure they'd gotten out of there, but only by luck and another surprise showing from the 2.0, and even then it'd been by a whisker. If it wasn't for Sarah's quick thinking and highly attuned spy skills catching Bub's mates off guard… Well, he really didn't want to think about that and decided instead to be thankful that Sarah always managed to hide at least one deadly weapon on her person at all times. Whatever she was wearing. Sometimes, even two.

Chuck looked over from his position, yet again, in the passenger seat towards, the now more or less presentable in public, Sarah Walker. But it wasn't the same as when they were driving before. Even through the cape of darkness Chuck could see it. Gone was the look of excitement, the joy and ecstasy that had danced about her like the nymphs of Greek Mythology, the jubilance, the gaiety. In its place, the mask had returned, cold and unattached, yet focussed and Chuck couldn't help but feel he was responsible for this change in temperament. Why he'd ever thought it was a good idea to ring Casey with his own cell was beyond him. They were on the run, for God's sake, keeping under the radar. How much more obvious, without jumping around shouting to the world your name, date of birth and social security number, could you be?

So here they were, yet again, sitting in a car, albeit an unfamiliar one this time, Sarah, attempting to break the land speed record in order to keep that one step in front of Fulcrum, whilst Chuck held on for dear life and lost himself in the darkness in his mind. They were so close, they'd laid it all bare, all the hopes and fears, the worries and regrets and now Chuck could only hope that his ignorance hadn't led to the reconstruction of Sarah's walls. It'd taken him years to tear them down, but he was sure they could be rebuilt in mere seconds.

'And maybe they should be', Chuck admonished internally, wishing, not for the first time in his life that the Delorean was real and not just a figment of the imagination.

She'd laid her heart out to him, served it to him on a silver platter, gone against her better judgement and actually confessed her anxieties, only for him to make one stupid phone call that could give her potentially unlimited ammunition in the arguments that their relationship would never work out, that spy and asset couldn't overcome, that love wasn't enough. But she couldn't go back after their talk, could she? Pretend that it never happened?

'Of course she can Chuck, she can do pretty much anything she puts her mind to.'

Chuck slumped back once again in his seat, glad that they were the only ones on the road so the headlights of oncoming vehicles wouldn't reveal his beaten expression. He'd do anything to make this right, beg, plead, get on his knees, but he wouldn't just let it go. Not again.

'Huh,' Chuck thought in a rather ironic fashion before releasing a weary sigh, his eyes scrutinising the road as it meandered into the distance in front of them.

'Sarah Walker really does have her high beams on.'

Shaw had had just about enough of this incompetence. Not only did they let that CIA bitch and her boyfriend get away once, but no, they had to go and do it twice, as if they were trying to prove a point. Sure, he could, maybe, forgive them for losing them once; after all, Walker was a highly trained assassin, whilst Bartowski wasn't exactly a resident on Stupid Street either - although the fact that he had actually called John Casey with his own cell had given Daniel Shaw pause to reconsider his stance on that particular matter. But not twice, because in all honesty, Daniel Shaw wasn't exactly a forgiving person, and, if he was honest with himself, he hadn't really forgiven them for losing the blonde and the nerd the first time. Not that he'd tried.

So, upon entering the dank and musty motel room, Shaw was none too surprised to see a scene almost identical to the one that had greeted him upon arrival at Maison23. Except, this time, no gun wounds, but knife. The two agents closest the door had matching incisions running across their carotid artery, the blood splatter from the two arching together on the carpet, creating a butterfly in appearance, a beautiful, if macabre, work of art.

Their leader, the one whose name still eluded Shaw, was the only one still breathing, it seemed.

'Lucky bastard', Shaw mused, a shake of his head accompanying the thought, as if in disapproval.

'At least this gives me something to work with… Heh, maybe he isn't that lucky after all…'

Shaw leaned over Bub once again, careful to avoid the pooling vomit surrounding the body. Reaching into the pocket of his black Versace suit jacket to retrieve his favourite switchblade, Shaw began flicking the blade in front of Bub's face as an incentive to re-join the waking world, the quick swish and flick oddly therapeutic.

This was the perfect opportunity to get this whole Codex mess back on track, get the director off his back and get back to the more important things in life – women and expensive clothing, cars and gourmet restaurants.

The rhythmic swish of the switchblade in front of his face not rousing the downed agent, Shaw decided a change of tactic was in order, and he'd had his fill of being nice today. No, now was a time to show how far he was willing to go, show these pretenders that he didn't have any boundaries and that failure wasn't an option.

Plunging the 3 inch blade into Bub's left shoulder, low enough not to cause any permanent bone damage - Shaw needed this guy alive, at least for the time being - and high enough to ensure no interference with cardiothoracic functions, Bub was brought back into this realm with a growl of agony followed by a swift right hook aimed directly at Shaw's perfect, if you asked him, jaw.

Catching the fist with his left hand before it could make contact and mar his perfection, Shaw twisted Bub's wrist, attempting to invert the positions of the radius and ulna, another painful reminder of who was in charge and who had the upper hand, so to speak.

"What happened here you worthless bag of shit?" Shaw spat, dropping the man's arm, replacing his hand to the hilt of his switchblade, still buried in Bub's shoulder.

Bub groaned in response, the pain overwhelming every other sense, turning Shaw's words into useless, garbled garbage. The feeling of his head once again being tickled by an unforgiving fist soon brought Bub back to his senses, his eyes doing a somersault in the process.

"Shaw…" Bub managed to moan, his throat feeling as though it had been used to test the sharpness of razor blades.

"Yes it's bloody me." Shaw interrupted his hand twitching on the handle of the switchblade just itching to give it a quick twist.

"Now what the fuck happened?"

"It was… impossible… the speed…" Bub replied, licking his lips that had suddenly become extremely dry.

"There was nothing we could have done… I…"

"BULLSHIT" Shaw barked, slowly but surely twisting the blade impaled in Bub's arm, a wry grin erupting on his face as Bub screamed in agony.

"I need you, for the moment, and for that reason, and that reason only, you get to live. But the moment you become expendable…"

Shaw left the threat hanging, surmising that the imagination was a better vehicle of fear in this particular instance as he ripped his blade from Bub's shoulder, employed Bub's shirt as a makeshift towel to remove the blood before returning it to its home in his pocket.

"I need you in the field." Shaw said, lifting himself to his feet, brushing invisible lint from his still perfectly pressed jacket. If he could have it any other way, he would. That Fulcrum bastard was becoming more and more of a liability the longer he stayed alive and there was nothing that Daniel Shaw enjoyed more than taking care of liabilities. Besides, he hadn't got to try out his new peeler. He'd broken the last one on some CIA chump erroneously professing to be the intersect. Man, he'd had tough skin.

"When I contact Colonel Casey, I'm going to need someone to track down any leads, namely Walker and Bartowski and as much as it pains me to say, that means you. For some reason they decided to leave you alive, making you the only Fulcrum agent that has seen them alive in over 2 years."

"Well", Shaw scoffed, looking over the bodies of the useless, dead agents, "the only one still breathing."

"You want a shot at the bitch, Walker? I'll make it so you can't screw up next time, figuratively speaking of course. Once you get her, and I get the information, she's all yours. Do what I know your perverted mind wants to do to her, make her beg on her knees for it, scream for it, whatever, I don't care, as long as you get her."

Shaw turned swiftly on his heels, the handle of the door now grasped within his palm.

"Just remember what I said" Shaw reminded, turning his head momentarily to the downed agent, whilst pulling the still warm blade conspicuously from his pocket.

"One more screw up… I won't be so kind."

The sound of the motel door slamming was the last thing Bub heard as he rested his head, once again, on the rough, moist carpet.

'This day just keeps getting better and better.'

Sarah dragged her bag into the motel room, the excitement of the day finally reaching her, to the point where she felt like death incarnate and to top it all off, she needed another shower.

'Well', Sarah thought, trying her hardest to make the best of a bad situation, 'at least this place has a dry carpet…'

The room was pretty much identical to the last, yes the floral motif of the wallpaper was slightly different, the ceiling was carpeted and the bed appeared to be from this century, which was a bonus. All in all it wasn't exactly comfortable, but workable, and that's all it needed to be. A perpetual optimist might call it perfect for their needs, but even then it was a stretch, and to be honest, Sarah had never met one of that breed in her life and she had met, and been, many types in her time.

Sarah dumped her bag on a small coffee table that sat off to the side of the room next to a small, old and yellowed kettle, which sat upon it as if to reinforce the table's purpose, mocking her for using it for an ulterior purpose - to house her bag and not a steaming hot cup of Joe.

Dropping herself on the end of the bed, Sarah rubbed her eyes with her palms and sighed. She couldn't believe that she'd been stupid enough to forget to throw away all electrical items Chuck might have had on him. Okay, electrical items that Chuck would definitely have on him. His phone should have been the first thing on that list, followed by the wrist watch/GPS tracker, which, she'd made sure to crunch under the tyres of Bubs Mustang as they beat a hasty retreat from Barstow.

But Chuck had saved her. Twice. The man that usually screams like a girl in the face of danger, wants no part in being a superhero, put his life on the line to save her. Sarah Walker, Jenny Burton… Sam… It's not like Sarah hadn't met men before that were more than capable of bringing down an assailant, "protecting her virtue" or whatever, she was partnered to Bryce Larkin for long enough, for God's sake. But with Chuck it was different. Yes those other men might say that it was all for her, that they did it in her name, but in reality, it was never the case. With Bryce it was always about the mission, but with most of her previous partners it was about the status, the bragging rights. Chuck… He did it all for her. Pure and simple, because she knew that as a rule, Chuck ran from a fight. Not that he was cowardly, not that at all, he'd just find a more cloak and dagger way to bring down the enemy, non-lethal of course, using his brains, not his brawn.

There was nothing comparable between Chuck and those other guys, because at the end of the day, with them, it all boiled down to lust – the first deadly sin – and glory whatever would get them on top, quite literally, at the end of a hard day's work. Yes they were charming and mostly handsome, but selfish, and none of them could hold a candle to Chuck. Because he knew how to love, more specifically how to love her, and although she might not have a clue how to return that yet, she had the best teacher in the world to learn from. And she was a quick study.

So when Chuck defied all that to save her, to protect her, despite putting himself in danger, which they was definitely going to have a chat about later, she couldn't help but feel a little turned on by it all. In fact, a little was such an understatement, it was almost sinful.

The sound of Chuck closing the door, his bag hanging limply in his hand as she let her own palms fall from her face, Sarah could see the regret in his eyes, the worry and guilt she'd seen so many times in the mirror. Her saviour, her protector and Sarah, surprisingly, had no problem with that.

Lifting herself from the edge of the bed and padding her way over to where Chuck stood, slump shouldered, a statue by the door, Sarah lifted her soft, delicate hand to caress Chuck's cheek, his harsh day old stubble against her hand the binary opposite in texture. His deep chestnut eye's darted upwards, searing into her own as if looking for answers he couldn't find elsewhere, as if words were meaningless and shared glances and gazes was the only form of communication. Rising onto her tiptoes, Sarah brought her face level with Chucks, planting a light kiss to his lips, despite the pain still throbbing its way through her face from Bub's earlier ministrations.

The touch of his lips on hers was an instant stimulatory aphrodisiac, Sarah's eyes fluttering closed as she let the feeling consume her. Even in his state of shock, with minimal initial reciprocation, Sarah felt herself becoming more and more excited, lust blinding her, but if this was the consequence of lust, Sarah Walker would gladly pay the price tenfold in receipt for this electric sensation.

A thud emanating from her left side, quickly followed by Chuck's hands tenderly caressing her neck, her cheek, the spot just below her ear that only he knew about but drove her crazy caused Sarah to grin mischievously against Chuck's parted lips, taking the opportunity to nip the lower one playfully, eliciting a moan from her very own guardian angel.

"Sarah…" Chuck mumbled through the kisses, Sarah continuing to attack Chuck much in the fashion of that night in the kitchen.

"Wait." Chuck said, gently pushing Sarah away from him, gasping to catch his breath.

Sarah almost screamed with frustration. Didn't he understand what she was trying to say? What her body was aching to tell, but mind wouldn't allow to cross her lips? Lowering her head slightly, her brow slightly furrowed, Sarah took a moment to see things from a different perspective, from Chuck's point of view.

Not only had she left, something that many of Chuck's insecurities in their relationship returned to and something she couldn't blame him for, but Jill had too. He'd opened his heart to three women in his life – one of which was his sister, so Sarah couldn't really include Ellie at this particular juncture – and two of them had thrown it back in his face. As much as Sarah wished she could change her past, wished that time travel wasn't just something out of those movies Chuck adored so much, she couldn't. But she could ensure that it never happened again, would make it her mission from this point on, because Chuck deserved it. Because Chuck needed it.

Chuck remained silent through her period of contemplation, their bodies and minds so in tune, they knew every beat and half-step, every little tick without consciously realising it. It's not like he needed to say anything anyway; his bright, vibrant russet eyes speaking volumes.

'It's strange' Sarah mused, once again lifting her hand to Chuck's warm cheek.

'We could sit in a room, full of silence, yet utter a million words, have a lifetime's worth of conversations, just by looking into each other's eyes.'

But some things… Some things need verbal confirmation, as if the expulsion of air perverted by the larynx somehow made the feelings more valid, more tangible.

'And', Sarah supposed, 'maybe it does…'

And this was one of those occasions. Not that that made things any easier. Sarah licked her lips despite their being sufficiently moist, a stalling tactic to help fight the nervousness that was bubbling its way up from her stomach.

It didn't work.

Not that Sarah knew exactly what she was scared of. She'd admitted to herself, a long time ago, that she had fallen for Chuck, probably somewhere after he fixed her phone and before he began diffusing bombs with computer viruses. It's not like she's never said it before, she said it to her dad many times, to her mother…

Was she scared of rejection? That this was all an elaborate hoax, some sort of sadistic Truman Show playing with and monitoring every event in her life for entertainment? Of course her mind turned to Morocco, always Morocco, but Sarah quickly put those thoughts and memories to the back of her mind.

Sarah shook her head. She'd just told herself their eyes could convey the thoughts, the feelings, that could never be captured with words, and here she was, nervous that it was all a lie. It was, by her own admission, ridiculous.

"Chuck…" Sarah whispered, her voice shallow in volume, but deep in feeling.

Sarah reached for Chuck's hand, grabbing onto it as soon as her fingers found his for reassurance. A gentle pressure squeezing her hand the final touch needed to bolster Sarah's resolve.

"I love you, Chuck."

Sarah was instantly rewarded with the infamous Bartowski grin, erupting onto Chuck's face like Vesuvius to Pompeii, his face completely engulfed in mere seconds.

"I love you too." Chuck replied, the smile never leaving his face, until his lips came crashing down onto Sarah's, this time him being the aggressor.

Sarah couldn't help but giggle as she was picked up and thrown down onto the bed, Chuck following closely behind as he continued his assault on her senses, his lips working magic all over her body as his hands fiddled around the hem of her tank top, tickling her taut abdomen.

Slowly, Chuck slowed his fingers, letting them linger protectively over her, guarding her from danger, being a draught excluder to the polluted outside world, and surprisingly, Sarah was fine with that. It was exactly as she had realised earlier, Chuck wasn't protecting her from the things that she could see, the drug dealers with semi-automatics, the terrorists with IEDs but the things that were unseen. The emotions and the confusion and pain that often came with them.

"I know that talking about these things scares you", Chuck said to her, his voice soft yet managing to hold a gravity that instantly caught Sarah's attention.

"And I know that you said you can't change who you are, not that I'd ever want that, I'd never want you to change who you are for someone else, even me. Anyway, I need to make sure that you know, before we go any further, that I'm in this for the long run, the whole 9 yards, complete with picket fence and the family dog… Peaches III… I don't know how we'll get there, or when, and we will, but that doesn't really matter. Because it doesn't mean anything without you."

"I love you, Chuck" Sarah repeated hoping that her tone left none of her reply in question, the feel of the words on her tongue better than anything she'd ever tasted before, but a taste that evolved, it seemed, every time she said it, never getting old or familiar.

"I love you. I think I might like the sound of that, Mr Bartowski… Someday…"

The return of the Bartowski smile causing Sarah to attempt her own, if inferior, imitation, her eyes twinkling beneath the dim light of the glowing motel sign, a beacon in the midnight darkness.

"Now" Sarah continued her voice lowering to a growl as she pulled Chuck's t-shirt, and Chuck with it, towards her with both hands.

"Chuck. I've waited 4 stinking years." Sarah stated, the air around her becoming cold and frigid, the best imitation of X-Men's storm Chuck had ever seen, and he'd been to Comic Con more years than he could remember, being performed by the one and only superspy Sarah Walker.

Balling his t-shirt in her fists, the sky blue varnish on her nails in stark contrast to the white of his t-shirt, Chuck found his face only millimetres away from Sarah's, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

"Bed. Now. Clothes. Off."

Chuck barely managed a strangled "Yes Ma'am" before his shirt was forcibly ripped from his body, the offending garment being tossed haphazardly on the floor beside the bed.

"I never really liked that shirt anyway, Chuck" Sarah half murmured, half growled reminiscent of a lioness eyeing up her prey.

"Come to think of it… I don't really like those pants either…"

"Thank you God", Chuck murmured as Sarah's lips found his collarbone, her hands fumbling with his belt buckle.

"Thank you!"

A/N 2: Yeah, yeah, I know, I said that Morocco might be revealed this chapter and it's not. Sorry guys… y'know, maybe the next chapter, probably? Yeah… Sorry! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and are having a nice day! Feedback is always appreciated :D