An: Thanks to all who read, enjoyed and reviewed for chapter one of the story. Because of you guys, what was once meant to just be a one-shot, has turned into a collection of smut fics! Now, this chapter is long and I regret nothing. It is not all smut since I like basing my stories around a plot regardless. So this is the first mission for Carmichael Industries.
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, that's NBC and Schwedek. The title of this chapter, "Finding Something to Do," is by the band Hellogoodbye.
Chapter Two: Finding Something to Do
Chuck hated pre-mission jitters.
It wasn't uncommon for him to be nervous. Like his tendency to be overly emotional, obsessive or stubborn, it was just a Bartowski family trait. He lived with the sometimes crippling anxiety since his early youth and thought nothing of it. He found ways to lessen the fear, maybe even put a stop to it altogether. Then he received an email from Bryce Larkin and everything changed. He was back to square one; but the constant terrifying feelings of his life always being in peril got repetitive, dare he say it, stale. So just when Chuck was sure that the worst had passed, something new replaced all of his previous worries.
This was worse than his wedding day.
"So basically all we do is infiltrate the Hezbollah terrorist compound, rescue Agent Ariel Nir and then we're home by this time tomorrow?" reiterated Morgan. He was bouncing in his seat with excitement. This was his first real assignment as the Intersect.
Casey snorted. "It's going to be a lot more complicated than that, Grimes. The Bartowskis are going to go undercover at the café you flashed on previously, confirm that it's a front for terrorist activity and then we'll wiped them all off the map when we rescue our mark."
"It still sounds pretty easy," the bearded spy mumbled. He looked across the row of seats to find the newlyweds currently absorbed in their own work. The gulfstream jet had taken off five hours earlier and wouldn't arrive at Syria until much later. He called out: "Hey, Mrs. B! Is Chuck doing alright? He's been sort of quiet."
Sarah Bartowski glanced up from her iPhone. She had just completed the latest level of Angry Birds with a perfect score. Satisfied with her impeccable game-play, she paused the app and gave Morgan her undivided attention. "Chuck is fine," she assured him brightly. "He's just having one of his moments."
Face pressed into the glass, Chuck absently stared out of the window. They were thirty thousand feet above the sea of clouds and the ocean far below. His palms were sweaty and shaking with same franticness as his heart. Sarah nudged him encouragingly.
"You are ok, aren't you, honey?" She asked with a hint of worry.
Chuck nodded, saying. "I'm just sort of freaking out right now, but that's normal for me, so I'm going to take a deep breath and calm…down." There was a moment where he tried forcing a smile for his wife's benefit. But she didn't buy it and rolled her eyes. "I am never going to calm down."
"Will you tell me what's bothering you, Chuck?"
"It's just," he sighed. "It's stupid, really. This is Carmichael Industries' first ever mission as a freelance business. This is like, our grand debut or whatever. If we mess up—"
Sarah interrupted him. "We won't mess up."
"God, I wish I had your optimism." Chuck smiled at her lovingly. "I'm so glad I have you…do you ever get sick of me mentioning that you're my better half?"
Sarah returned the smile. "When and if I ever get sick of it, I'll be sure to let you know." Then she added more seriously. "Please don't freak out, Chuck. Just pretend that this is a run of the mill CIA mission we used to do. There's no pressure."
"No pressure?" Chuck repeated.
She gave him a reassuring kiss on the lips. "No pressure."
The following six hours consisted in Chuck mentally echoing her wisely spoken words like a mantra. Hopefully she was right and there wasn't anything to be afraid of.
This is going to be a piece of cake... Chuck told himself. He closed his eyes and decided it'd be in his best interest to take a nap. Perhaps the next time he'd awaken, he wouldn't feel like an elephant was sitting on his chest.
The instant they landed in Syria the mission went underway.
Team Bartowski split up accordingly. Chuck and Sarah prepared for their undercover personas as the Carmichaels while Morgan and Casey paired off with the intent of monitoring the bazaar that was currently under their surveillance.
As the Bartowskis began walking down the bazaar, posing as earnest tourists, they eventually came upon the café Morgan had flashed on. It appeared to be quite busy. People were constantly filing in and out of the entrance. The delicious aroma seeped from the double doors and wafted into their noses. Chuck inhaled the intoxicating scent and steeled himself.
"This is it, huh?" he asked.
"According to the Intersect it is," said Sarah then paused to briefly asses her husband's condition. "Are you ready?"
"I'll be just peachy once this mission is over and a success."
Sarah smiled and grabbed his hand, squeezing it in agreement. Then with enough stalling, they entered the bustling establishment.
Chuck inspected the odd contraption with such childlike curiosity that Sarah had troubling containing her amusement. When they had entered the café, they were immediately bombarded by the employees who worked there. They offered the Bartowskis; now Carmichaels to a free spot on top of the ugliest rug either of them had ever seen. Chuck had even joked that he was surprised it hadn't magically whisked them away yet.
Now they had each taken seat in their designated area along with those who graciously invited them. They all formed a circle around the giant water pipe. One of the men proceeded to fill the instrument's base with cool water; packing the marble bowl near the top with a gooey substance before finally lighting the coal ablaze with a match.
There were two hoses protruding from the sides. The same man who Sarah assumed worked there, picked them both up and insisted for her and Chuck to take them. Chuck shot her an unsure glance. Sarah knew from past missions that those who lived in the Middle East were ruled by their culture. To deny their hospitability would be dishonorable. So with a furtive nod, Sarah silently instructed to take the hose, which he did without a fuss.
"I'll apologize in advanced, but I have never been fortunate enough to use…what is this thing is called again?" asked Chuck much to his embarrassment. His lack of worldly culture left him humiliated.
The elderly man, who took prominence out of everybody residing in the café, held up a dismissive hand. "I do not expect westerners to know what at a hookah is. It is simply the equivalent of a pipe to smoke tobacco out of, but only on a much larger scale."
Chuck nodded, "oh."
Once the coal sitting upon the hookah burned brightly, the man resumed speaking. "If you wish to try, you may do so now."
The Bartowskis exchanged brief looks; smiling when they reached to a silent, but unanimous decision. They each placed their respective mouthpieces up to their lips and began to inhale. When Chuck felt satisfied, he expelled a cloud of the delicious tasting smoke into the air. It filled the café with a fruity aroma. Sarah followed soon thereafter, allowing wisps of the translucent vapor to almost slither from between her lips.
They sighed contentedly.
"Wow, I wasn't expecting that!" exclaimed Chuck. The effects of his first hit were instantaneous. He felt elated but strangely relaxed. "It tastes so good. How can anyone prefer smoking cigarettes when they can just smoke what was it, shisha?"
"It will forever be one of life's great mysteries," replied the man in a joking manner.
Chuck nodded enthusiastically and took his second hit. Meanwhile Sarah watched him but abstained from joining. She came into the café with the mindset of being conservative; smoking enough to appease the men until she could find sufficient evidence that establishment was a front for terrorist activity.
Her eyes briefly scanned the café for anything suspicious. There were other locals enjoying their afternoon, smoking as well. She was unsurprised to find some Syrian police officers crowded around a water pipe. It seemed like nobody could escape the hookah phenomena.
Maybe we got the location wrong, thought Sarah. This place hardly seems like it could harbor terrorist activity. Though, it's always the last spot you'd suspect.
Sarah pondered this for awhile longer. It wasn't until she felt a finger poke at her side that her concentration was diverted. She turned her head slightly and saw it was Chuck trying to get her attention. His cheeks were inflated in a comical fashion. Apparently rather than blowing out the smoke like he had done previously, he held it in.
She raised a brow, and teased. "I really hope you don't end up passing out, Chuck. I'm not going to carry you back to the hotel."
Chuck didn't find this particularly funny. He made the exaggerated roll of the eyes before grabbing Sarah by the wrist and urging her to move closer beside him. Next, he cupped her face with his hands and surprised her with a hot kiss. All of the smoke Chuck had saved in his mouth was transferred into hers with the intensity of a shotgun's recoil. Sarah pulled away feeling extremely dizzy and a bit aroused as well.
"Very cool," agreed Sarah with a dreamy expression. Now she found herself forgetting about the mission entirely. Her mind was warped by the tobacco. It made her body ache for Chuck. She craved for his lips especially. In fact, she had trouble staying focused on anything but.
The elderly man watched the scene unfold with disapproval. "If you'd refrain from further intimacy, it would be much appreciated."
Chuck's face turned scarlet. He wasn't too addled by the tobacco's effects yet to remember proper etiquette. He bowed his head, saying politely. "Forgive me for being such a rude guest. I have forgotten my manners."
"You are forgiven," the elder replied much to Chuck's relief. "I should have reiterated that we do not only smoke as a social activity, but to also share thoughts and feelings, possibly to discover the meaning of life itself."
Chuck grinned, gaze shifting to his wife. "The meaning of life, huh? Honey, do you have any idea what that could be?"
Sarah was currently in another lip-lock with the hose. Chuck's question managed to pique her interest. She forced her mouth from the nozzle and blew out several white milky rings. Her eyes immediately drooped to a permanent half-lidded state. A goofy smile identical to her husband's overcame her countenance.
"Forty-two," She replied matter-of-factly.
The group of men shared a range of confused looks while Chuck was pleasantly surprised. He quipped, "You really got through Hitchhiker's fast, didn't you?"
Too lightheaded to come up with a decent response, Sarah merely shrugged. "Good book," she mumbled. Then she unceremoniously fell backwards onto the gaudy-looking rug. Her eyes were fluttering closed; the slight rise and fall of her chest being the only indicator she wasn't suffering.
"Sarah?" Chuck asked, giggling despite the concern evident in his voice. He rested an uncertain hand on her shoulder and gave it a shake. While her reaction wasn't immediate, she did make an unintelligible noise from the back of her throat. Sarah was barely lucid, her body weighed down by what appeared to be paralysis. Her condition caused the worry Chuck felt initially, to escalate into full-blown fear.
This wasn't right.
His blood ran cold and he shot an accusatory glare (the intensity masked by his intoxication) at the men whom welcomed them to the café. The ring leader's expression was serene, untroubled by the younger man's revelation.
"What did you do to her?" yelled Chuck.
The man answered calmly. "I did nothing but be hospitable. Your wife seemed to have taken advantage of our gratitude and over-indulged."
Anger flared in Chuck. "Like hell she over-indulged! You drugged her!" Just as he was about to lunge forward, he was suddenly hit by whatever overcame his wife. It left him unexpectedly disorientated and crippled with fatigue. His vision blurred, disfiguring the men sitting so passively before him till they truly looked monstrous and evil.
"We do not know who you really are, but I plan to find out, Mr. Carmichael…"
Chuck lost the ability to speak and chose to glare reproachfully instead. He internally screamed: This is our first job and we've already been compromised. How did they figure us out? What did I do wrong? Piece of cake my ass! I need to contact Morgan and Casey…
It was nice to realize that at least his brain appeared to be working fine. His inner-monologue hadn't been inhibited by the sedative. Therefore, Chuck was highly aware of his surroundings (as distorted as it was) and counted those occupying the cramped space. Unfortunately his body wasn't nearly as cooperative. Since it was physically impossible to move, he couldn't activate his tracker or inform Casey that they were in danger.
"Do not struggle, Mr. Carmichael," the soothing words echoed in the recesses of Chuck's mind. Once he began to sway, all bodily and mental functions proceeded to shut down. "There is no use in fighting it…"
Chuck was determined to prove his capturer wrong. He struggled to remain upright and resistant to the drug. The only thing keeping him conscious being the summation of his love for Sarah, and the instinctual need to protect her at all cost. However love wasn't always enough. Chuck learned the harsh truth now, all of his protests being in vein when the darkness finally overtook him anyway.
When Chuck regained consciousness, he was lying in what perhaps could be the most uncomfortable bed in human history. His eyes drew apart and were greeted with perpetual darkness. As his vision gradually adjusted to the lack of light, he was able to get a better sense of his surroundings.
It looked like he was confined to a single, windowless cell. There were cobblestone walls and steel bars enclosing him in the cramped space. The dungeon-esque setting reminded him vaguely of those of the same style being featured in the television show, Game of Thrones. Chuck felt shivers crawl under his skin, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.
He wondered how he got here. Why can't I remember anything?
His memory was like Swiss cheese. While it was mostly intact, there were chunks missing. Those in which were integral in the process of reasoning how he came to be trapped inside a creepy dungeon. Wasn't he supposed to be at Syrian bazaar with Sarah…?
"Sarah," rasped Chuck aloud. He launched himself into an upright position; too fast because he was slammed by another dizzy spell. The drug was evidently still in his system. While his tiredness had diminished considerably, Chuck could feel the euphoric high flow throughout his body like wildfire.
It did not prevent him from searching every inch of the cell for his wife. Peering into the pitch black, he saw the rough outline of another person in the farthest corner. The figure had both arms raised above its head—swinging back and forth. Chuck's eyes widened and knew that he found her.
Chuck leapt off the cot and immediately tripped onto the stony floor with a painful thud. He groaned on impact, realizing that what caused him to lose balance was the ball and chain shackled to his ankle.
What's with bad guys using ball and chains these days? He thought in annoyance. It's the freaking 21st century, not the middle ages.
After slowly maneuvering to an all fours position, from there Chuck crawled to his feet. He dusted himself off while noting that his accidental spill had left him with multiple scrapes. Much to his surprise he felt nothing as the wounds bled freely. He assumed it was the drug (which couldn't be shisha) that numbed him from most of the pain. This was good to know since he had more important matters to attend to.
He hastily gathered the lead ball in his arms, lugging it across the cell to where Sarah hung by her lonesome. Her wrists were bound together with rope and looped through a crack in the ceiling. This strung her up to where she literally was dangling a few centimeters above the ground. She was asleep; chin resting against her chest as she twirled around like a ballerina.
Chuck watched her spin for a moment or so before snapping from his trance and setting the ball down. Whether she was awake or not, his wife was born with an inherent gracefulness. It was a known fact that Sarah Bartowski did not walk in any mortal way. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled gently. The bindings loosened enough to where Sarah could stand flat on her feet.
"Sarah, wake up." Chuck whispered. He made sure to keep her in his embrace till the instant she'd awaken. Sarah stirred at the sound of his voice. Her face contorted into the same adorable pout Chuck was used to seeing on any given morning where they had to leave early for work.
The moment she opened her eyes, her gaze fell onto Chuck. "They drugged us, didn't they?" She stated grumpily.
He nodded. "Yeah, I think they did. Or to be more specific, we sort of drugged ourselves…"
"I feel like we're the worst spies in the world."
Chuck tilted his head. "Don't be rash with the accusations, babe. I'm sure we weren't the only ones who fell for that trick. Look, there's a whole dungeon filled with what I am assuming to be our fellow prisoners."
Sarah asked. "Do you think that Ariel is here too?"
"That's a possibility. At least we know now that those bastards were Hezbollah terrorists…"
"We need to get in touch with Casey and Morgan right now."
"Agreed," said Chuck. He frowned. "But how?"
"Do you still have your tracker?"
Chuck rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. The watch was gone. Dammit they must've searched me after I passed out. He grimaced, "No, it's gone."
"That's fine, I still have mine," explained Sarah. She raised her gaze to indicate her bound wrists. "It's underneath all of this rope though, so you need to cut me free and activate the tracker."
"Easier said than done," said Chuck and he tried untangling the bindings to no avail. "I think there is a knot I can loosen, but it's from a different angle…"
Sarah yanked on the bindings, the rope fraying at the ends. Such a simple act stole what was left of her energy. She felt her legs turn to jelly as she almost collapsed. Chuck managed to catch her in his arms before she could fall and possibly break her wrists.
"I should've probably told you that we still are drugged," he mentioned sadly. "Whatever is in our system, it's not that shisha bullshit."
Sarah caught her breath, nodding. "You're half right. There may have been tobacco, but there was definitely something else. I even tasted it but I was too far gone to realize what it was before it was already too late…"
"Sarah…what was it?"
"Nothing too bad," she shrugged casually and even that exhausted her. "The Middle East has been known for their hashish distributions."
"Its pure THC extracted from cannabis." When Sarah realized that her husband was clueless when it came to the drug circuit, she sighed and elaborated. "Marijuana, Chuck."
A light switch flicked on in Chuck's head. "Marijuana, are you kidding me? That stuff is so illegal! Does that mean I'm stoned or something? I've never been stoned unless you count that time with the laughing gas…" he said in a tiny voice. "I'm scared."
Sarah mentally kicked herself. Telling Chuck he had unknowingly consumed an illegal drug was absolutely one of the worst decisions ever. Those who were more inclined to anxious feelings or habitual worrying usually suffered from paranoia when ingesting cannabis in any of its forms. Chuck was one of those people. The last thing either of them needed was him to have a panic attack and go completely off the reservation.
"Don't freak out," she told her husband. "The symptoms pass eventually."
He ignored her. "What if I'm ordered to take a random drug test at the Buy More?" Chuck panicked. "Pot stays in your system for like a month!"
"Chuck, you own the Buy More."
"Oh," he realized, and just when Sarah thought he'd calm down. "Like it matters anyway. We're stuck in some disgusting cell, god knows where. Casey and Morgan will never find us. We will be tortured for questioning and then killed. I don't wanna die, Sarah!"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "No one's going to die. Now Chuck, I know that you're scared, but trust me when I say that it's irrational. If you want to get out of this alive, listen to whatever I say."
Chuck bit his lip, looking conflicted. "Ok, he relented."What's the plan?"
"In my bra should be an extra knife," she said. "Get it and cut me out of these bindings."
His eyes fell on her breasts. "You keep a knife in your bra?"
"Oh for heaven's sake, we are married, Chuck!"
"Alright, ok, I'm going to do it!" He yelled. "Just remember to use your indoor voice, I have a killer migraine!"
Sarah blew a sigh of exasperation.
Chuck honestly did not know what to do. He feared that diffusing a nuclear bomb with fruit juice would be less labor intensive than this. It wasn't that he didn't want to touch his beautiful wife's perfect breasts. That would just be ridiculous. No, it was that he feared it'd be impossible to stop. The drug's effects weren't limited to drowsiness and a bad case of the munchies. Chuck was hungry for something other than food, and there was no doubt in his mind that no amount of self-restraint could to prevent him from acting on these sexual impulses.
What kind of spy keeps a concealed weapon in her bra anyway? He groused to himself. I bet she's just doing this on purpose.
Closing his eyes, Chuck reached blindly for the elusive knife. He felt his hand dive beneath his wife's blouse. His fingertips skimmed over the valley of her breasts which caused her breath to shorten. It seemed that he wasn't the only one being affected by the drug. Hiding his smirk, he made a clean grab for the knife buried in the wiring of her bra.
"There, got it!" Chuck shouted triumphantly. He then sliced through the rope bindings and set Sarah free. Her arms fell down to great relief. She mutely pressed a button on her watch to activate the tracking device.
"If the signal isn't being blocked, then Casey will get this," she told Chuck.
"How long will it take to be rescued?" he asked.
"I'd estimate anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour tops."
There was a long pause before Chuck summed the courage to ask the most important question of them all. "What will we do until then?"
The coy smile Sarah gave him said enough. "I think we can find something to do."
Chuck merely grinned.
'Finding something to do' was a reoccurring activity for the Bartowskis. It had originally begun as just a codeword devised by Chuck during their days with the CIA. When they weren't too busy with a mission, one of them would use this phrase. This resulted in various sexual escapades; from the storage rooms in Castle, to the home theater room in the Buy More. Sometimes even the holding cells if they felt especially daring.
But none of those locations could beat the sheer realism of being imprisoned in an honest to god dungeon. The atmosphere was chilling and devoid of hope. People that were holed in the other cells were either dead or dying. It was a child's worst nightmare come to life. Such a horrid place was clearly something right out of depths of hell. Or a kinky smut film.
Yet Chuck and Sarah didn't seem to notice, or if they had, care. Their minds were addled by the drug; stripped of their moral conscious and sense of danger altogether. There wasn't anything that mattered more at the moment. They were too consumed with each other; by their feel, taste, and the sounds they'd make. Their passion rivaled all and as far as they were concerned, nothing else existed but them.
God, she's so tight.
Chuck grunted after another satisfying upstroke. He steadied himself against the cell wall with his palm to the cobblestone surface, which then allowed for his other arm to freely circle around Sarah's bare waist. His fingers delved into her wet nether lips, rubbing the clitoris in tandem to each one of his thrusts. Such intense penetration had Sarah writhing in irresistible pleasure. She held her hands clasped together like they were previously bound and she continued bucking into Chuck as if it were a compulsive need; his cock sliding that much further inside her. Their bodies stilled for a short time, both hissing at the deepened union.
After much deliberation, Chuck came to the conclusion that marijuana was god's gift to the world. He never felt this way before. It was like a bolt of lightning struck him dead on this very spot. Now his body was highly sensitive to the softest touch. The slightest movement nearly drove him over the edge of oblivion. Chuck couldn't imagine what Sarah was feeling. She was perhaps the wettest she'd ever been. It made him crazy. He wanted to do everything to her: fuck her on top. Fuck her on bottom. Fuck her from behind. Fuck her with his tongue just so he could taste every ounce of her hot, sweet juices. Chuck normally prided himself on not thinking so crudely. He would be the first to admit that he was not acting like himself. It was the drug's influence after all.
Chuck buried his face into the nape of her neck, teeth grazing over a pulse point that made Sarah cry out. Her moans echoed throughout the chamber quarters. Some of the other prisoners stirred; taking a peak out of their cells to see what the commotion was about. Most cringed when hearing the high-pitched screams, believing it only to be some poor woman enduring the worst torture imaginable.
"God, Chuck that feels…so good," gasped Sarah. "I'm really close, going to come…so hard."
Her warning did not go unnoticed. Chuck smiled and pulled himself out of her wet pussy, leaving Sarah propped against the wall, her thighs dripping, legs trembling. She panted wildly and turned around to face her smug looking husband. He was sizing her up predatorily; his eyes so dark and filled with lust. Sarah felt a wave of arousal spread from her groin to then envelop her entire lower half. She may have developed a resistance to most drugs but something as natural and potent as cannabis left her completely at its mercy.
Sarah rasped curiously. "What are you staring at?"
"Nothing," replied Chuck. "I was just admiring my gorgeous wife, that's all."
She took a wobbling step towards him. "So you refused me a wonderful orgasm because you can't multitask?"
"I thought you might need a break."
"That's very considerate of you, but I've endured torture much worse that anything you could ever do to me."
That of course was a lie. They both knew that to break Sarah Bartowski was an arduous task. No one had managed it in all those years of being the CIA's best agent. It wasn't until that fateful night in Paris, where she and Chuck consummated their love that everything changed. She lost her resolve. He reduced her to puddles of goo. It was one vicious circle that neither of them was upset about.
So to reject the notion that Chuck couldn't break her, right to his face was a huge mistake. Sarah knew she was instigating a response. Chuck enjoyed nothing more than to prove her wrong. And he did it so well.
Chuck took a daunting step forward and asked. "Is that so?"
Sarah held her ground. "Are you willing to disprove it?"
Even in the darkness, she could see the faintest glimmer of his eyes. They looked downright devious. When Chuck made his move, Sarah stood absolutely still. He swept her into his arms and then tossed her over his shoulder; carrying her to the cot. He was kind enough to set her down as gently as he could. But then he attacked her lips with a bruising kiss.
Sarah fought back with what remained of her strength. Though nothing could prepare her for when she felt Chuck's cock slide inside her to the hilt. He began thrusting with the same persistent intensity as before, leaving a trail of bites down Sarah's neck till he came to hear heaving breasts.
He paused to trace a fingertip across her hardened nipples. "So, are you willing to reconsider your previous assessment yet?"
Sarah wasn't the inclined to give in so easily. There were times where she submitted to Chuck, plenty of times actually. But this wasn't one of them. She replied between clenched teeth: "N—no…no."
"Hmm, well I think I know exactly how to change your mind."
Chuck withdrew himself again, leaving Sarah breathless and aching for his presence inside her. For whatever reason he had to go and turn the most casual sex into a battle of wits and willpower was beyond her. If she wasn't so exhausted, she'd get her revenge.
Maybe later though, Sarah thought before her mind went totally blank save for the mandatory, I hate Chuck Bartowski.
He had his face buried between her thighs. His mouth was on her pussy lips. The tip of his tongue rolled in the depths of her folds, occasionally flicking her clit with the tip. Sarah moaned so very loudly. It was enough to make Chuck smirk as he continued torturing her to a satisfying climax. He hummed lowly, enjoying the taste of her juices. He lapped every ounce of her up like he was dying of thirst. When Sarah began thrashing and arching her back in pleasure, he gave one last agonizingly slow lick from bottom to top.
Then he stopped.
"Why are you doing this to me?" whined Sarah. She briefly contemplated grabbing handful of his hair and forcing him back down on her. It was doubtful that he'd complain either.
"I thought I heard something," muttered Chuck.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yeah honey, that was probably me."
"It sounded like gunfire…"
"…and gunfire is synonymous for John Casey."
His face fell. "Does this mean we should get dressed?"
They both paused to consider this, albeit very briefly.
"We're making very good time, I bet we can finish before they save us," Sarah told him confidently. Since she was still very wet and craving for an orgasm, she'd tell Chuck anything to convince him to finish what they started.
Chuck believed her. "Alright, there's no time to waste then!"
He stood up and scooted onto the cot, pulling Sarah onto his lap with ease. They faced each other, smiling despite how dark it was. Chuck gave Sarah a quick kiss on the nose then helped her lower herself on top of his member. Her pussy was sopping wet, and welcomed the huge presence by engulfing it entirely.
The rhythm was to perfection—hard and fast since they were racing the clock. Sarah continued thrusting while Chuck grabbed her ass with either hand to deepen the penetration. He bent forward while she ground into his erection; taking a nipple into his mouth, assaulting it with his tongue.
This elicited a scream from Sarah. Her thighs spasmed then tightened around his throbbing cock, coaxing him to a faster release. She linked her arms around his neck, one hand scratching his shoulder blades while the other held onto a tuft of his hair for dear life.
Sarah figured she had gotten over zealous when her fingertips dug into Chuck's skin, deep enough to draw blood. Chuck hissed. He retracted from her breasts and made eye contact with her. His pair of brown orbs looked to be on fire. The warm blood dripped down his spine and Sarah felt the sticky fluid run over the same hand that had inflicted the wound. Instead of it harming Chuck, it invigorated him. He took absolute control and drove his cock inside her swollen pussy till the only thing escaping Sarah's lips was either the name of a holy deity or his own.
"If…Casey sees us…like this," grunted Chuck in between thrusts. "...he is going to…leave us here to rot."
It was unbelievable that even in a moment of passion, Chuck felt the need to talk.
"If you'd quit worrying…and just make love to your wife, I'm sure Casey will never… suspect a thing," countered Sarah throatily.
Chuck answered her with the deepest thrust yet. His cock penetrating her so hard and fast that as it drew out, the tip of the head rubbed against her clit to where she saw stars. She gasped before giving out altogether. The orgasm came without warning and enveloped her entire being. It felt like somebody had been controlling her, and then simply cut the invisible strings. She fell uselessly in Chuck's embrace while he kept going strong.
"Its ok, I got you Sarah," murmured Chuck and he held her down in the crook of his neck with one hand. His thrusts soon became more erratic until he stiffened, muscles clenching and he emptied himself inside of her.
Time was of the essence. Chuck hated to rush sex no matter the circumstances. He was the kind of guy who just wanted to hold his wife and reflect on how much he truly adored her. Sarah was hanging on him, her naked form still limp as it had been the instant she peaked in ecstasy. Chuck massaged her back affectionately.
He whispered into her ear, "Baby, we need to get dressed."
She groaned in disappointment to which Chuck laughed.
He said. "I know, but I promise I'll make up our lack of cuddling on the flight back home."
This sounded enticing to Sarah. "I love you," was her muffled reply.
"I love you too."
As they hastily got dressed, there was an explosion from the farthest end of the hallway. The debris and smoke clouded the dungeon, but it couldn't mask the smell of gun powder, or the constant screaming form both terrorist and prisoner alike. Chuck assumed that the distressed calls pertained exclusively to Casey and possibly Morgan as well. The Hezbollah terrorists then began to retreat before each of them were inevitably gunned down by a hail of gunfire.
Once the disturbing noises ceased, all went quiet. Chuck had scooped up his wife and helped her onto the cot while they waited for their team to find them.
Then the Colonel's voice echoed in the dungeon "Bartowski! Where the hell are you?"
Morgan quipped. "Why don't we just check each cell? That way we can find Ariel too."
Chuck smiled as he heard the bigger man grunt in approval.
A few moments later and they were saved.
Casey found them first. Morgan was scouring the rest of the dungeon for their missing Israeli special forces operative. Chuck and Sarah were sitting on the cot, covered in sweat, looking positively relieved and exhausted at the same time.
"What took you so long?" asked Chuck feigning impatience. "I thought we were going to die of boredom down here."
Sarah shot him a knowing smile but stayed quiet.
"I expected a 'thank you'," groused Casey. "You know, I could've ignored the distress call and left you two." He used a ring of stolen keys to unlock the cell as well as Chuck's ball and chain. The younger spy took his wife by the hand and they exited the godforsaken hole.
"And where would the fun be in that?" He asked brightly.
Casey was about to answer, but was interrupted by Morgan running towards him with a stranger in tow. The newly reunited Team Bartowski greeted each other with an array of smiles, hugs, high-fives and grunts.
Morgan said happily. "Guys, may I introduce you to Agent Ariel Nir."
Chuck, Sarah, and Casey stared at the tiny woman. They weren't expecting this at all. For some reason, the dossier of Ariel Nir made it seem like the Israeli operative was indeed male. She surprised everyone when waving shyly. "Um hello…who are you people?"
"We are the people who came to save you," explained Sarah. Her voice had yet to return to normal and was almost a whisper. This drew curious looks from Morgan and Casey. "One of your team members contacted us with your location and knowledge about the Hezbollah terrorist group."
Agent Nir blushed furiously. "Oh…do you know who it was, the man who called you?"
"His name is Levi Friedman," Morgan recounted.
Her smile widened. "Thank you. I am in each and every one of your debts. How can I repay you?"
Chuck just shook his head. "No thanks or indentured servitudes necessary. It's just in the job description."
Casey snorted, turning his attention to Sarah who appeared to have some trouble keeping upright. "What's wrong with you, Walker—Bartowski? Did any of those bastards get a hand on you?"
Sarah blinked. "Um, yeah, but it's alright. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle."
Suddenly Agent Nir yelped. "Oh wow!" Her emerald eyes grew to the size of saucers as thought she just made an awful surprising conclusion. "That was you?"
Everybody turned to look at Sarah. Morgan was unfazed, or maybe he was just too confused or in shock to muster a definitive expression. Casey however, he turned his back to the Bartowskis in what could've been utter disgust. Agent Nir realized that the conversation had turned incredibly awkward and it was her fault. Her face had become an alarming shade of red.
"It's not what you think," said Sarah in annoyance. "They were just a little more aggressive than I was anticipating."
Chuck had kept quiet for most of the exchange, but broke his silence when he burst into a fit of laughter. Instantly, Sarah regretted saying anything, fearing that she'd never live this down.
"Wait a minute," Morgan spoke up. He gave the Bartowskis an incredulous stare. "You two…did you really? In here?"
Sarah pursed her lips into a grimace. Yeah, there was no way she was going to live this down.
An: I hope everyone enjoyed this installment! Was it smutty enough? Um, please go check out LittleCandyMan's fic The Depths of Love, if you want some more sizzling hot Charah smut!
The next update will come when I have time: Here's a sneak peak!
*Chuck and Sarah do a side mission for General Beckman under the CIA's radar. It involves seducing and capturing a world-class hacker named Misha. They must go to another masquerade party, but this time it will be more like "Eyes Wide Shut." Also, the big twist? Misha is a guy, and bisexual. Have fun, Bartowskis!