fic: After Burbank
Title: After Burbank
Author:wepdiggy
Pairing: Casey/Sarah
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1000
Time frame: After episode 2.21 AU
Notes: From an anonymous prompt at chuck_kink
Summary: Casey and Sarah had their own ways of grieving opportunities missed, but they could share the pain together.
It's two months after they both left Burbank when they meet up again. They're both tracking down remnants of Fulcrum, and their paths cross somewhere in Eastern Europe (she quit keeping up with where she was weeks ago, and now she just gets on the plane they tell her to get on, becomes who they tell her to be, kills who they tell her to kill, and gets out).
They share a drink and a few words about the old days, and then she blows him in a back alley (or he fucks her face, maybe, as it's hard to tell which one of them is being more aggressive), tears streaming down her face at the reminder of what she left behind. He finishes with a hard grunt, and she swallows his seed down before standing and straitening her business suit.
He zips up and they avoid one another's eyes before they walk away without another word.
It's six months, and countless missions later before they're paired up again. She's thankful at first for the familiarity, and knowing that she has a partner that will have her back, not one of greenhorns she's been working with that barely know which end of a pistol to point at the enemy.
But the familiarity breeds contempt, soon after they check into their hotel. He makes her miss Chuck, and if she didn't know any better, she'd think he felt the same way about her. They speak in short, clipped phrases, and avoid the pink elephant in the room: their last long-term assignment together.
They pour over dossier upon dossier of the rogue cell they're here to stop, focusing on the job, because at this point, the job is all she has. All he has. But did he ever have anything else?
They both stop at the same time, and exchange a glance. They've never done this before, except for the time she sucked his dick in Belarus (because she remembers now, and she associates that country with the taste of his hot cum sliding down her throat). They certainly never did this in Burbank. But then they're kissing, mechanically. They're removing each other's clothes, but it's not passionate. It's all part of a dance that each of them understand.
He must sense that she needs this, and she has always been under the impression that he needs to get laid. So moments later, when his naked body (and she's quietly impressed by his physique, but she doesn't care about that right now) is looming over her, his large cock pressing against her entrance, she isn't surprised in the least. They've never done this before, but it was always understood that it could happen, if it needed to. It needs to, now.
He pushes inside of her with a practiced ease. The familiar burn and throb of penetration begins to overtake her, but just before she shuts her eyes to focus on action at hand, she thinks she sees some of the pain in his eyes that she knows hides behind her own blue orbs every minute of every day.
But she puts that aside, and concentrates on the feeling of him inside of her. The feeling of his sweat slicked skin sliding against her own. The feel of his hot breath on her cheek, as he pounds in and out of her with a strong, measured stroke, just the way they're taught in seduction school.
It lasts for an indeterminate amount of time (minutes? hours? days? time means nothing to her anymore. it's just a measure of how long she's been away from Burbank, and she doesn't care to think about that) before her release starts to rest heavy in her gut, moving outwards to her groin, up her spine, down her arms. She cries out wordlessly, harshly, animalistically as she comes, hard, for the first time in a long time, digging her nails into his back hard enough to draw blood. He grunts in pain, but he keeps fucking her.
And in her post-orgasmic haze, she almost misses the drop of water that hits her cheek. At first, she thinks it's just sweat, but when she opens her eyes again, finally, and even though her vision is still partly clouded as she comes down from her end, she can't mistake the fact that Casey is crying silently, too, just as she had been.
Despite how tired, and worn out she feels, she musters the energy to wrap her legs around his waist, to wrap her arms around his neck.
"I miss him, too," she whispers.
They stop and share another look then. A look of understanding, of loss, of nostalgia. Then Casey's fucking her again, even harder than before. She does her best to meet him thrust for thrust, but her orgasm has left her feeling rather weak, so it ends up being only every other thrust when she can give as good as she's getting.
Surprisingly, she feels the white-hot spark of her second climax start to build low in her abdomen, and she comes again, with a whimper and a gasp. She feels her body squeezing him then, and he stills, jerking as he empties himself inside of her.
They stay like that for a moment, before he softens and slides out of her. They lie on their sides, facing one another.
"I miss him, too," she says again, reassuring him.
He doesn't answer her, but he was never great with words. But when he holds her, and they fall asleep in one another's arms, it really says all she needs to know. Neither of them got what they wanted, but at least they had each other, and that would do for now.
Author:wepdiggy
Pairing: Casey/Sarah
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1000
Time frame: After episode 2.21 AU
Notes: From an anonymous prompt at chuck_kink
Summary: Casey and Sarah had their own ways of grieving opportunities missed, but they could share the pain together.
It's two months after they both left Burbank when they meet up again. They're both tracking down remnants of Fulcrum, and their paths cross somewhere in Eastern Europe (she quit keeping up with where she was weeks ago, and now she just gets on the plane they tell her to get on, becomes who they tell her to be, kills who they tell her to kill, and gets out).
They share a drink and a few words about the old days, and then she blows him in a back alley (or he fucks her face, maybe, as it's hard to tell which one of them is being more aggressive), tears streaming down her face at the reminder of what she left behind. He finishes with a hard grunt, and she swallows his seed down before standing and straitening her business suit.
He zips up and they avoid one another's eyes before they walk away without another word.
It's six months, and countless missions later before they're paired up again. She's thankful at first for the familiarity, and knowing that she has a partner that will have her back, not one of greenhorns she's been working with that barely know which end of a pistol to point at the enemy.
But the familiarity breeds contempt, soon after they check into their hotel. He makes her miss Chuck, and if she didn't know any better, she'd think he felt the same way about her. They speak in short, clipped phrases, and avoid the pink elephant in the room: their last long-term assignment together.
They pour over dossier upon dossier of the rogue cell they're here to stop, focusing on the job, because at this point, the job is all she has. All he has. But did he ever have anything else?
They both stop at the same time, and exchange a glance. They've never done this before, except for the time she sucked his dick in Belarus (because she remembers now, and she associates that country with the taste of his hot cum sliding down her throat). They certainly never did this in Burbank. But then they're kissing, mechanically. They're removing each other's clothes, but it's not passionate. It's all part of a dance that each of them understand.
He must sense that she needs this, and she has always been under the impression that he needs to get laid. So moments later, when his naked body (and she's quietly impressed by his physique, but she doesn't care about that right now) is looming over her, his large cock pressing against her entrance, she isn't surprised in the least. They've never done this before, but it was always understood that it could happen, if it needed to. It needs to, now.
He pushes inside of her with a practiced ease. The familiar burn and throb of penetration begins to overtake her, but just before she shuts her eyes to focus on action at hand, she thinks she sees some of the pain in his eyes that she knows hides behind her own blue orbs every minute of every day.
But she puts that aside, and concentrates on the feeling of him inside of her. The feeling of his sweat slicked skin sliding against her own. The feel of his hot breath on her cheek, as he pounds in and out of her with a strong, measured stroke, just the way they're taught in seduction school.
It lasts for an indeterminate amount of time (minutes? hours? days? time means nothing to her anymore. it's just a measure of how long she's been away from Burbank, and she doesn't care to think about that) before her release starts to rest heavy in her gut, moving outwards to her groin, up her spine, down her arms. She cries out wordlessly, harshly, animalistically as she comes, hard, for the first time in a long time, digging her nails into his back hard enough to draw blood. He grunts in pain, but he keeps fucking her.
And in her post-orgasmic haze, she almost misses the drop of water that hits her cheek. At first, she thinks it's just sweat, but when she opens her eyes again, finally, and even though her vision is still partly clouded as she comes down from her end, she can't mistake the fact that Casey is crying silently, too, just as she had been.
Despite how tired, and worn out she feels, she musters the energy to wrap her legs around his waist, to wrap her arms around his neck.
"I miss him, too," she whispers.
They stop and share another look then. A look of understanding, of loss, of nostalgia. Then Casey's fucking her again, even harder than before. She does her best to meet him thrust for thrust, but her orgasm has left her feeling rather weak, so it ends up being only every other thrust when she can give as good as she's getting.
Surprisingly, she feels the white-hot spark of her second climax start to build low in her abdomen, and she comes again, with a whimper and a gasp. She feels her body squeezing him then, and he stills, jerking as he empties himself inside of her.
They stay like that for a moment, before he softens and slides out of her. They lie on their sides, facing one another.
"I miss him, too," she says again, reassuring him.
He doesn't answer her, but he was never great with words. But when he holds her, and they fall asleep in one another's arms, it really says all she needs to know. Neither of them got what they wanted, but at least they had each other, and that would do for now.