Critical Hellfire

By Steampunk . Chuckster

Summary: Chuck and Morgan are co-hosts of a locally popular streaming channel in which they discuss all things metal while playing video games. Their lives are uprooted when their demo guy hands them THE demo of the ages—a band called Critical Hellfire, fronted by singer and bassist Sarah Walker. AU Charah.

A/N: The force field around my city kept us safe I guess because that storm did nada. Just a rainstorm, some gusts of wind, nothing tipped. Too far away to feel the earthquake, no power outages. Phew. Instead, I'm currently in full work mode, the bad work hump has been conquered, we are fully functioning, and I am tired. But I'm going to still crank these out as fast as I can so that I can get back to other stories, too.

All I ask for folks reviewing and slamming Sarah is that you sit back and wait for the rest of the story to unfold, and please allow for this woman to be a human being. She isn't naive or dumb, she is prioritizing, and it's okay not to agree with her priorities, but she's no fool. Let the story play out. Neither of them are perfect, but I'm letting them have space to figure it out and grow. I'm asking nicely that y'all do the same. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own CHUCK or any of its characters. I don't own any of the songs mentioned in this chapter, this fic, or anywhere else for that matter. I am making absolutely zero dollars writing and posting this.

He took the stairs two at a time, aware of the fact that it took almost thirty minutes from the moment he texted her he was coming to now, huffing and puffing as he rapped on her door. He figured she was in her loft and not down in the warehouse below.

And he figured right.

Sarah turned the lock with a click and the door popped open just slightly, a blue eye peeking out at him. She opened it all the way when she saw it was him.

He was still panting as he raised his hand in a wave. "Hi, I came as fast as I could. And I am only just now realizing that I am way out of shape. The stairs are—"

Chuck stopped then.

Because Sarah Walker did not seem like herself.

At all.

In fact, it seemed that her text to him was not exaggerating. She had indeed been "depressed drinking". Her eyes were unfocused, her lips turned down on the ends, and her blond hair was pulled back in a messy braid that didn't seem to have been done by someone who was sober.

And… Oh, boy. "Is-Is that a knife?"

"Hell yeah it is. I'm alone and it's night and I'm drunk and I'm a millionaire," she breathed. "You'd have one while answering the door, too." And then she tossed the knife onto the nearest surface as if it was a sweater or something instead of a deadly weapon.

"Oookay. Well. You just threw the knife. So that's probably…not safe. But you did it, it's done, we're all alive."

Sarah just pressed her lips together and pulled the edges of her mouth back, deep in thought, or maybe not capable of deep thought? He couldn't tell which. Either way she was ignoring his nerves about the knife, though probably not on purpose if she was drunk. There was really no if, was there? She was definitely drunk.

She shook her head wordlessly then, reaching out to press her hand into his chest, almost as if checking to make sure he was real and her alcohol-addled mind wasn't playing tricks on her. Her fingers did this desperate curling thing against his chest, twisting in his shirt.

"I'm here," he breathed. Because he wasn't sure what else to say. He didn't know what she needed.

"I know. Thanks for…coming." She huffed, pulling her lips back between her teeth and glancing off to the side.

Chuck had a pretty good idea what this was as he gently stepped around her to get into her loft, shifting her out of the way with one hand and shutting and locking the door with the other.

Guilt. He'd seen it before, he'd felt it before, it was pernicious and all-encompassing, and it was really good at getting folks to pick up the bottle. This was guilt.

No way had she not watched the Games N Rock Sessions stream tonight, considering she was supposed to be performing with the band on that very same episode, which didn't end up happening. And she'd probably witnessed the way he and Morgan had done their best to explain what had happened without completely dropping Critical Hellfire off the edge of a cliff with the GnR fans. Their fans got a little protective sometimes, and he didn't want them to start going after Sarah and her band because they'd done harm to their favorite goofball influencers. The fact was…embarrassment counted as harm. The hit he was pretty sure they took to their viewership counted as harm, too.

And while he and Morgan could handle embarrassment—it was almost like a pastime for the two of them anyway—he was afraid losing viewership would be harder to overcome. How did they win those folks back? He'd been dwelling on it since they live streamed, silently, not wanting to put an extra burden on Morgan just in case he hadn't gotten to the same low point yet.

"Of course I came. You said you wanted to see me, and there's no way you're okay to driv—Well. Ahem." She half-glared but he wasn't sure she knew what she was half-glaring for. She clearly couldn't drive like this, and that was a fact.

She pulled a little on his shirt so that he had to move closer.

"I just wanted some rum, that's all," she tried, staring at his chest numbly.

"I getcha," he replied gently. "Sometimes I just want some rum. It's good. You put Coke with it, too? Or…a little juice?"

She needed water and probably some food to soak this up or she would have a rough morning. So he untangled her hand from his shirt and threaded their fingers together, using his grip to slowly shift them through the loft to the kitchen.

"By itself. With ice," she muttered. "That's how I like it. Don't even think I have any Coke, honestly." She huffed. "I was supposed to be jamming with my band. I was supposed to be rocking an Aldo Nova song with thousands of people watching me. It was supposed to be fun, a turning point for the band. I was supposed to be having fun with my friends. With you. I wanted to have fun with you. It was gonna be a whole thing for us and it was gonna be great."

He felt a melty sensation in his chest as he looked over his shoulder at her, the heartbroken pout to her beautiful features. And he ached because that sounded so good and it had been taken from them. This time, at least.

Chuck guided Sarah to her table and she sat in a chair with a fwoomph, her shoulders hunched forward, that sad look on her face with regret and guilt etched over it. He knelt in front of her, resting his hand on her knee comfortingly.

"I know, baby. That was my show you were gonna be on. And it was gonna be fun, and we were gonna have fun together, like I always do when I watch you perform." They met eyes and she smiled softly. "I'm sorry you weren't there. I'm sorry you couldn't be there."

The smile dimmed.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You two had to sit there and explain everything and we got off scot-free. It's fucked. We all just sat in our apartments and watched it all go down. We watched you get run over! By yourselves. We let you. I should've gone anyway, and I should've explained. It's my fault. We did it, not you."

He sighed heavily, thinking about how to approach this. But he was getting tired of the outpouring of guilt. He knew she cared, knew she felt terrible, but he'd already made peace with it. And she was obviously abusing herself over this when the real culprit was the one getting off scot-free. Fucking Cole Barker and what he was starting to think might be a fake "producers board" or whatever he called them. Critical Hellfire was restricted because Cole wanted them restricted.

"Sarah, I think you've gone through enough guilt. Okay? And if it's for the benefit of me and Morgan, please know neither of us resents you. Not any of you. Not you, Dylan, Mac, or Zondra."

"You should. You're both such sweet jerks." Wow, okay. "The sweetest jerks. So you don't resent us and you should fucking resent us, because we resent us, because we fucked you guys."

Chuck crossed the kitchen and reached up into her cupboard, getting two glasses out. Frankly, his mouth was feeling a little dry, too. He filled them both, opening the freezer and plopping a few cubes in each, and then he came back to the table to set the waters down.

"Cole fucked us, Sarah. Critical Hellfire didn't. But the important thing is that everything is okay," he said adamantly but softly. "I'm okay. Morgan's okay. Our viewers are all okay."

"Some of them aren't. I saw, like, three thousand of those fuckers bounce." She sniffled, pushing a hand through her hair. He subtly took her other hand and pushed the water glass into it. And she automatically lifted it to her lips, taking a drink. She swallowed loudly. "Thanks. I probably should have this."

Chuck was careful not to respond to that, instead looking around the kitchen. "Um, I know where the glasses are, but where do you keep your snacks?"

"Tall cupboard in the corner." She half-heartedly waved her hand towards it. But then something occurred to her and she sat up straighter, her gorgeous blue eyes widening. "Are you hungry? Want me to make you something?" she asked. "I know I seem kind of drunk but I, um…I'm not as drunk. Not anymore. It's a depressed sort of drunk that…sounds and seems more drunk than it is and I can totally make a sandwich for you without screwing it up. I promise."

"No, no," he chuckled. "I ate earlier, but I'm just a little peckish."

"Oh. There's a box of Cheez-Its in there," she mumbled, pointing with one hand and sipping more water with the other. "They're my favorite."

Perfect.

Chuck opened the cupboard, grabbed them, and hurried back to her side, sitting in the chair closest to her and scooting it even closer, opening the box, subtly setting the box of crackers on the table nearer to her than to himself, inching it just a little more in her reach.

Without seeming to think about it, as if it was out of habit, she reached into the box, grabbed a handful, and began tossing them between her lips, munching distractedly. "You should be the one depressed drinking and being all upset and instead I'm the one like this. Me. The one who caused all this shit. As if I'm fucking feeling so sorry for myself. Oh, please pity me. Please, boyfriend Chuck, race over here and pity me, I need comfort," she groused sarcastically, rolling her eyes at herself.

Phew. She was going through it, wasn't she?

He slid his hand over her thigh, only just now noticing she was wearing his shirt she'd absconded from his place with a week ago. It made warmth bloom in his chest. She looked so damn cute in it.

And he tried not to read too much into it. The fact that she'd sought out a shirt that belonged to him, that she put it on tonight of all nights, when she was feeling this badly. Like it made her feel closer to him, or maybe it was a comfort to her. He was probably reaching. But it was hard not to think about it, the warmth spreading through him as he squeezed her leg lovingly.

"You didn't cause this shit, Sarah. Cole Barker and his production company and the 'board of producers'," he mocked, lifting his free hand to do air quotes with his fingers, "They caused this shit."

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, I know. I told him I'm not throwing Los Angeles metalheads under the bus. Me, Riz, Dyl, Mac… We already threw you and Morgan under the bus once, and that's the last time. We're especially not doing it to you guys again, not ever again, but we also aren't gonna do it to anyone else." She cut her hand through the air, popping another Cheez-It in her mouth, munching. She talked around it as she chewed. "I won't middle finger the Day Ones."

Chuck wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that and he tilted his head. All he knew was it hadn't exactly sounded right. "Middle finger…the Day Ones…"

"Yes! LA is our home. This is where we built our sound, our act. It's where we all learned to play. It's where we fell in love with metal, the metal scene. Critical Hellfire made our first demo here. I'm not just going off to sign to a record label and being like, nyeeeehh Los Angeles thanks but fuck you!" She stuck up her middle fingers around the crackers clutched in her hands.

Chuck frowned deeply. "Is that…what he wants you to do?"

"He said you guys are a dime. And he's going to introduce Critical Hellfire to this whole table." She slapped her hand onto it, crushing a cheese cracker with her thumb. She didn't seem to care, merely going back into the box to eat more.

Grabbing his own glass of water, he guzzled half of it, feeling a bad sort of heat creep up from the collar of his hoodie.

"We're a dime, huh?" He was trying to figure out what that meant, but he imagined it had something to do with them being smalltime, and Critical Hellfire deserved big-time.

"Yeah. Then he took it off of this table and said, 'What's changed? Nothing changed,'" she mocked in a hilarious English accent.

Chuck couldn't help giggling, even if what she was saying was starting to make him genuinely uncomfortable. Angry even. "That was a really good Cole Barker impersonation."

She gave him an amused look. The water and crackers seemed to already be doing the trick. "Yeah, well…I took the dime back from him and slammed it back onto the table. I'm gonna have both. I'm not throwing out the fuckin' dime. The dime is my home. It's my start. S'where I grew. My people are on that dime. I'm not going to throw the dime off the table!"

"I'm very confused."

"And what really makes me mad is that I still really, really want to do that commercial. Because without it, I don't think Critical Hellfire goes where we want to go. I really don't think we can do it without that. And I want this so bad, Chuck." She made a miserable face. "It's selfish, I know. We've just worked so hard, we've played the worst—absolutely the worst—fucking venues. We've played for drinks more times than I can count. I want bigger, better. I've worked so hard for bigger and better. All four of us have. We've wanted this for years. I want it so bad I can taste it. It's been my mission, just personally, since I started to learn and realized I was good. That-That I had talent. And now it's my mission not just for me, but for them, for my band mates, my friends. Who am I kidding? They're my family."

Chuck pursed his lips, trying to think of how to respond. He got what she was saying, and then, it felt…wrong. Skewed. And it wasn't her fault that it was wrong and skewed. But he wanted to drive the point home anyway. "That's not fair."

She paused. "What?"

He drank more water and almost like the yawn-phenomenon, Sarah reached out and picked up her own glass, taking a drink. He felt a little bit like a genius for thinking of it, honestly.

"It isn't fair. Calling this selfish. Man, what if I was like 'I really want to be a movie star' and I went out and finally, after all these years of hard work and taking shit acting parts, I got a contract from a studio…but that studio was like, 'Sorry, you can't do this interview you booked even though it'll be embarrassing for the interviewee who booked you. It's in your contract that you can't'?" He looked her right in her eye, leaning forward. "Do you think people would think I was selfish for cancelling the interview? For doing what I had to do to keep my contract? For getting movie roles and trying to build my career? Moving up in the world at the expense of one interview and the person who was gonna conduct it? Fuck no. I'd be called a go-getter, Sarah. He's a doer. A dynamo."

Her eyes widened, her jaw going slack.

He continued.

"And it isn't like you're using your band as a platform to catapult your own career into the stars. This is about your band. All four of you. You want a record deal, you want to be signed to a label, you want consistent work. That's been the mission for years. You're all in, all four of you, on this. You wanna perform at places that don't pay you in booze." He moved his hand from her leg and squeezed her forearm. "That's not selfish. You're a go-getter, a doer, a dynamo." She smiled a little, seeming a lot more sober now than she'd been when he arrived. "You're on a mission to get Critical Hellfire written in the stars, and Sarah Walker does what's best for the mission."

She snorted, turning to look down at the box of crackers. "The mission, huh?"

"Yep."

"Well, I just let my boyfriend take the brunt of the backlash for a performance we cancelled. For the mission. And I feel like shit…and even though I feel like shit, I did it anyway. Didn't I? And I'm sitting here, not…" She swallowed. "Not moving a muscle to fix it."

Chuck shook his head. "You don't hafta fix anything. We handled it. It was…a little uncomfortable at first, that's all. But we were just honest with 'em. Sometimes that's the best any of us can do."

Sarah shook her head vehemently. "No, Chuck. If you were really honest with them, you would've tossed the blame at us. At the band. You would've made us take the bag, because we were the ones who dropped the bomb on your head last minute. We were the ones who ditched out on the performance."

"You didn't ditch out. That makes it sound like we thought you'd be there and instead we were jilted when you never showed up." He chuckled. "You told me when you found out, when you guys decided to honor your contract with the company that's gonna get you an album deal."

"You had a chance to place the blame on us, where it belongs, and preserve the numbers your Twitch channel does…and instead you took responsibility for the mess, Chuck. I didn't do that for you." He frowned slightly, her words sinking in. "Maybe there's a girl out there who would've done that for you. Tear up that contract in Cole's face, come and do the performance with the band. And maybe that girl actually deserves you."

"Okay, enough," he said adamantly. He got a wide-eyed look again. "What is this? Don't you know I'm the one in this relationship that's supposed to be the martyr drowning in self-disgust with the whole I-Don't-Deserve-You thing? That is my shtick, and I'm not letting you take that from me. I refuse. How'd the tables turn like this?"

She was quiet for a long moment. And then she muttered, "…Rum?"

Chuck looked into her blue eyes, and just like that, he saw mirth in her eyes, in the slight tilt of her mouth. That same mirth rose up in his chest as well.

They both burst into laughter, leaning in close, holding onto one another's arms to keep from tipping off of their chairs.

Finally, the laughter faded, and he found himself just grinning at her. There was a sparkle back in her eyes, thank God. She reached up, cupping his face in both hands, and she moved in to press her lips to his.

He tasted the rum she'd imbibed, and a hint of salt from the crackers, on top of that taste that was wonderfully hers.

Sarah broke the kiss, nuzzling his nose. "Don't think I missed that water and Cheez-Its trick you pulled. I'm sober now, you stinker."

"What trick?" he mumbled.

Giggling, she pecked his lips again. "Thank you for talking me down from the self-pity ledge. And for the gift that is your unfailing honesty."

"I fail at a whole lot of things and I guess honesty isn't one of them." He raised his eyebrows and grinned as she half-glared. "Ahhhh, there it is. Back to normal. I'm the one with the self-pity again."

"Oh God, shut up," she groused with a snort. Her lips formed a thin line then and she sighed, her eyes meeting his. "This band is my whole life, Chuck. It's everything. It's been everything for years. We've all put so much into it, it-it's all of our whole lives."

"Yeah. I know." He paused then, gnawing on his bottom lip, part of the conversation from earlier nagging at him. "Hey, um… You, uh, you said something…about Cole and this dime," he said, as nonchalantly as he possibly could, poking the dime on the table, "and this table. Specifically this dime and table. And… Well, was he…here at some point?"

She nodded, sitting back a bit to look at him, keeping her hands on his face. "Ugh, yeah. Worst timing. I was drunk, the stream was just about to end, and he showed up and knocked on my door." She shrugged. "I don't know what to think of that whole conversation. In fact, I'd prefer to put a lot of it out of my mind 'cause it pissed me off. He pissed me off. Only, he's giving Critical Hellfire a real chance here. And he knows how to do that. I'm sure he's given so many people chances like this; that's what big successful producers do, right?"

Chuck swallowed, nodding slowly.

So Cole Barker had shown up at Sarah's home, after nine o'clock at night, had invited himself into her home, waxed poetic about how she needed to throw her LA metal roots to the side in order to embrace this opportunity he was handing her to expand her fandom. And he had to wonder, with what he'd done with GnR and the performance, on top of what he'd apparently done with Sarah tonight, was any of this actually about the band?

He had to assume it wasn't, at this point.

"He was trying to mend fences probably. Because I made sure he knew I was pissed. And I am. Still. And will be for a while. But he offered dinner, so that must be why, to fix things, make up for his bullshit."

Chuck sat up straighter. "He's taking you to dinner?"

"The band, yeah," she said with a shrug. Oh. That was better. Much better. "I told him he needed to apologize to you and to Morgan more than he needed to apologize to us. You guys took the hit, we didn't."

Chuck found himself frowning harder, and he had to admit, this all sort of hurt his feelings. He would've loved to have thicker skin and all, but to think Cole was building him and Morgan up, building up Games N Rock Sessions, showing them around the studio, grinning, cheesing, going out of his way to try to be buddy-buddy with Morgan by telling him he thought he was just hilarious (which made Morgan very uncomfortable; Chuck had heard all about it afterwards)… And all the while, he was trying to plant seeds of doubt in Sarah's mind about whether she owed anything to the LA metal community that gave Critical Hellfire their start. He'd lumped GnR in with that and that was why he hadn't wanted them to perform with GnR. Chuck understood that now.

So why give him and Morgan a bigger platform if he thought they were smalltime? Why give them those checks if they weren't more than a dime on a big table?

Was this what producers did?

Building up your prospects by tearing down the other guy, only to go to said other guy and build them up, too?

This all felt so weird.

So…backwards.

"Chuck?"

He looked up at Sarah. "Hm?"

She was giving him a tentative look. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You seem upset."

He sighed. "I guess I don't get why he 'discovered' me and Morgan," he said honestly, doing air quotes with his fingers, "if he thinks we aren't worth having bands he's promoting on our show. I mean, we toured the new studio last week before they put in the finishing touches and stuff and he was really nice to us, stroking our egos kinda. And then out of nowhere he threatens to end Critical Hellfire's contract if you perform on our show. It's just…"

"Shitty," she filled in.

"It's dishonest. But also…" He slumped a little. "It doesn't…feel good."

She sighed, leaning in and cupping his face, forcing him to look into her now much clearer blue eyes. The water and food definitely soaked up the rum. "Chuck, what you and Morgan have created is original, unlike anything I've ever seen before, and it works so perfectly. You guys work so perfectly. Together. You're fucking hilarious. And charming. Interesting. You're both insane with your knowledge of random stuff, not just about rock music and games, but everything. And there's this genuine feel to GnR that can't be faked, can't be replicated by anyone else in the world. An episode ends and I just feel so good after I've watched. It's like an emotional restart, a hug." She shrugged. "There isn't much like that out there anymore. So many things are cutting, sarcastic, cynical because I guess that's the trend… and you guys are a breath of fresh air, that nice warm feeling you get in your gut when you see…" She giggled. "I dunno, a puppy and a duckling napping together."

"Awwwwwww!" he drawled immediately, making her laugh as he beamed. "Well, if that's all Games N Rock Sessions accomplishes—making people feel like they're watching a puppy and a duckling taking a nap together—then I'd say we've been successful."

"You are successful. No matter what Cole pulls behind-the-scenes. And when I told him to apologize to you two, I meant it. So I'd like to know from you when he does. And if he doesn't, he'll hear about it from me. I bet that's not in my contract," she said in a clipped voice, arching a prim brow.

"Ooooo, that sounded kind of protective…" he hummed, giving her a dreamy smile.

"Maybe because I am a little protective. You're my man, after all. He did you wrong, so he has to make amends or he'll hear from me."

That sent a shock of heat through him, adrenaline, and he forgot what he was even perturbed about. Because Sarah Walker, lead singer and bassist of the insanely good metal band Critical Hellfire, future celebrity rock star, had just said You're my man with a hint of possession, like he belonged to her, with her. Nothing felt better than that.

"Can I just say…? That's pretty hot."

"You can," she flirted back.

"That's pretty hot."

Sarah giggled, and then she got a certain look on her face and she leaned in, pressing her lips to his, slowly at first. Her thumbs stroked over his jaw, gentle, and then she moved one of her hands to his shoulder and twisted her fist in his hoodie, tugging him in tighter and humming deliciously.

They broke the kiss, faces still close, noses brushing, eyes meeting. She wanted.

He could see it and feel it. And his heart was racing. "You…are sober, right? Because…"

She snorted, nodding. "I am. Thank you for checking, that's very sweet."

Chuck gulped. "Well, I don't ever want to do that unless everyone has all their faculties in—"

"Chuck, I'm being sincere. I wasn't teasing or patronizing. It's sweet. I'm grateful. You're wonderful," she breathed that last part in awe, shaking her head, and she moved in to kiss him solidly, breaking it again so suddenly it left him breathless, need spilling through him. "I'm all sobered up thanks to the water and crackers—don't think I didn't notice you didn't have a single cracker, either."

He blushed. How did he tell her he was trying to take care of her without her knowing he was doing it because she seemed like the type to potentially take it the wrong way? How does someone phrase that in a way that isn't presumptuous, or offensive?

"Thank you for taking care of me," she said softly, pulling him in even closer and kissing him harder. She broke it again, and he just barely managed to bite back a whimper. "You're very good at it." She gave him a passionate, mind-blowing kiss again, pushing her fingers into his hair, and he did whimper this time when she pulled back again. "And maybe that's why I asked you to come over after I kicked Cole out of here."

No, no, no. He didn't want Cole coming back into this. He wanted that suave Brit with the perfectly fitting suits and expensive car and money and success to stay out of this moment, thanks very much. This was a Chuck and Sarah moment. No one else was allowed in it.

Because Sarah was full-on seducing him now, dotting kisses down his jaw, back up again, a delicious, wild hunger in her eyes as she looked up through her eyelashes at him between the kisses.

And then she got out of her chair, and just as quickly, she crawled into his lap, straddling him, her thigh squeezing his hips between them as she wrapped one arm around his neck and twisted the fingers of her other hand in his curls, the angle as she hovered over him forcing him to tilt his head back to receive her blazing open-mouthed kisses.

Something occurred to him then. A nagging, persistent thought that made reciprocating her attentions harder. At least, not until he made sure…

Maybe that's why I asked you to come over…

"S-Sarah?" he rushed out when she pulled back to breathe. She paused, patiently. He blinked up at her. "You know you don't…owe me anything, right?"

She furrowed her brow. "Hm?"

"I mean, you aren't just—The sex, I mean. That we're most likely going to have."

"Most likely? Definitely, if I have anything to say about it," she flirted, giving a little thrust in his lap.

He barely held back his groan. "This isn't happening because you had to cancel the performance on my Twitch channel tonight and you're trying to make it up to me…is it?"

Chuck wasn't sure if he should've asked that. He didn't want to offend her. But he also didn't want her to think he needed sexual favors as compensation for the trouble the cancellation caused him. That wasn't what he wanted this relationship to be.

But she didn't look offended. She seemed to take it in stride as she slowly shook her head. "No. It didn't occur to me to have sex with you to make up for tonight. Even if I do owe you something, that isn't what this is. I promise."

She stroked her fingers down his cheek.

He nodded. "Okay. Sorry. I just don't want you to think that's necessary…"

"I get it," she said with a smile. "I don't think that." He nodded again. "Honestly, I just need you." Her grip tightened on him and his blood pumped through his veins furiously again. "I need this tonight. I need to feel something that isn't…a bad feeling."

Chuck darted his tongue out to wet his lips, clearing his throat. "I can do that for you."

Sarah giggled, letting out a delicious hum that made his body buzz. "Mmmm, I know."

Moving as one, she shifted just enough that he was able to slide out from underneath her, climbing to his full height. She surprised him then by climbing to stand on the chair just long enough to playfully jump onto his back with an adorable squeak.

Chuck cracked up, fixing his hold on her thighs. "To the bedroom, madam?"

"Sir, yes sir," she breathed into his ear.

His grin took up his whole face, he was sure, as he began ambling across her loft towards the bedroom. And because her playfulness awakened a similar sensation in his chest, he glanced back at her. "You know you stole that shirt from me…"

"I didn't steal it, I borrowed it," she shot back.

"Nah ah. You wore it a second time after the borrowing which negates the borrowing and makes it stealing. That's common knowledge."

As he pushed into the bedroom, she cackled, pressing her face to his hair. "Shut the fuck up, you're ridiculous."

"You shut the fuck up."

Sarah gasped, leaping off of his back and landing gracefully, shoving him toward the bed. "Excuse me?"

"No, no, no! I didn't mean it! I'm sorry! I didn't—!"

He laughed as she wrestled him onto the bed, glee written all over her face.

A/N: They're such cute messes together. Onward!

Please review if you can. Thanks for reading!

-SC