Current mood:	sleepy
Current music:	Oedipus - Regina Spektor
Entry tags:	fic, fic: chuck, fic: chuck/sarah/casey

Chuck: this is how it works (Chuck/Sarah/Casey, R)
Look at that! I wrote fic.

this is how it works
Sarah's hands are on his hips and Casey is on his knees and Chuck is so very, very happy.

Chuck/Sarah/Casey. R. ~3500 words. Vague spoilers up to Chuck Versus the Nemesis.


Thanks to waterofthemoon for the beta, and to clex_monkie89 for suggesting various things. Title is from Regina Spektor's "On The Radio."

this is how it works

Being a spy is pretty awesome, Chuck decides.

Well. He's not exactly a spy. But if he flies helicopters, defuses bombs, has a really hot fake girlfriend, and occasionally saves the world, then Chuck figures he qualifies. Plus, there was that whole truth serum thing, and that time when he learned his ex-girlfriend's ex-boyfriend was a gun runner, and when a bullet-proof vest became part of his Nerd Herd uniform.

He's gotten used to it. The danger. The guns. The heart-pounding terror. Lying to Ellie. Skipping out on nights with Morgan because he has to pretend to be a business mogul from New York in order to prevent Italian mobsters from delivering kilos of heroin to LA. Or something. Having images and information flash across his eyes is just as routine as brushing his teeth or replacing Jeff's booze cup with fruit punch.

And then there's Casey and Sarah. It was a little weird at first, having full-time babysitters who bugged his rooms and lied for a living. Chuck hasn't been watched this carefully since Ellie babysat him for the first time and he wasn't allowed to do anything but play the Let's Be Silent Game. But he kinda likes it.

He feels safe with them.


: :


Having a pretend girlfriend isn't exactly something Chuck put on his five-year plan, but it works. Sort of. Sarah is smart, beautiful, and probably knows nine ways to take him down with her thumb. He likes her a lot. She knows.

Which makes their encounter in a closet a little awkward.

"Oh, god," he says when her ass bumps against his groin. He screws his eyes shut and does his best not to get some uncontrollable seventh-grade boner. But holy crap, she's wearing this little dress because they're at a party, trying to find the son of some major arms dealer, and when she walks, it just clings to her thighs—life is not fair. Life is not fair. He grabs onto a shelf and tries to concentrate on other things. Like the can of Comet by his hand. Comet is pretty cool. Doesn't smell great, but it cleans. Comet is fantastic.

Sarah presses her ear to the door. "The security guards are down the hall. We can leave."

"Now?" Chuck says. "I mean, who knows. They could be standing right outside, waiting for us to come out. We should stay. Stay here. And you know, wait."

"Chuck." Sarah turns to face him. There's a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You hate waiting."

And he does, which is why he really wants to say or do something right now. He just can't think of anything because she's right there, with her smooth skin and the knives hidden in her hair and her breasts—

She opens the door, and he exhales.


: :


Chuck poses the question in his bedroom, after work:

"A genie gives you three wishes. What d'you wish for?"

"I assume, of course, that I can ask for anything but more wishes."

"Of course."

Morgan takes a moment to contemplate this. He even strokes his beard.

"The selfless answer would be to say world peace. But if the Earth becomes this shiny utopia where there's no disagreements—how are any of us different? We'd all eventually become the same person, and I honestly wouldn't be able to live like that. Perfection isn't necessarily happiness."

Chuck nods. "Agreed."

"Oh, hey! I can't ask for more wishes," Morgan continues, "but I could ask for you to get three wishes."

This leads to an embarrassing moment where Chuck is reminded that Morgan is his best friend, has been for years, and nothing will ever, ever break that. There is absolutely not a lump in his throat. "That's very kind of you, Morgan."

"Of course, buddy."

"And I could use my last wish to get you three more wishes. We could just go back and forth."

They spend the next hour tossing ideas around—a perfect immunity system, money, the ability to be invisible (which of course leads to all the superpowers: flight, speed, strength, shape-shifting, etc.), pecan pie—until Morgan announces, "I gotta pee." He stands up and heads for the door, though he pauses to say, "I'd definitely ask for a Wii. Everyone needs one of those."

Chuck grins. As soon as he hears the bathroom door shut, he leans back and says, "You're welcome, Casey."


: :


He feels weird, sneaking into his own home. But it's past two in the morning and Awesome has an early shift, so Chuck takes extra care as he opens the door, toes off his shoes, and inches across the living room.

"Have a good night?"

Chuck does his best not to shriek. It's only Ellie, standing in the kitchen with a glass of water. She takes a gulp and tries to raise one eyebrow. It doesn't really work.

"Uh," Chuck tries in a whisper. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?" Ellie repeats. She places the glass in the sink and then turns back to Chuck, a grin spreading across her face. "Look at you! Having sex! An icky thought, yes, but I'm proud of you!"

There isn't really anything he can say here, so he just nods, forces a smile, and escapes to his room.

Tonight had been a reconnaissance mission. The word "recon" brings up images of night-vision goggles and a badass wardrobe, but neither of those had been a part of tonight's activities. No, "recon" meant he had to dress up in a tux—again—and be lead around like a dog with a computer in his brain—again—and see if he flashed on anything—again. With Sarah as his girlfriend. Again.

It feels real when they're together. They walk hand-in-hand, they kiss, they go on pseudo-dates, and everything makes him feel all—fuzzy. Comfortable. She smiles and says things that sound sincere, like she really cares for him like that. Like this is genuine. And he hates reminding himself that it's not. He doesn't like knowing that she can fake this kind of intimacy and then turn it off when nobody's watching. It sucks.

"How do you deal with this stuff all the time?" Chuck says to the ceiling. He pretends Casey is grunting in response.


: :


"So," Morgan announces. He slides up to the Nerd Herder desk and rests his chin on his hand, looking up at Chuck. "How're you and Sarah doing."

"Fine," Chuck says automatically. "We're fine. Why?"

Morgan heaves a sigh. He pouts a little. "Just. Casey's always hanging out with you two. Way to cramp your style, right?"

Crap. Sarah said this would happen. ("People, especially your friends, are going to notice things.") What is he supposed to say? They had a plan. They had worked some story. Is Casey a good friend of Sarah's? Her cousin? No, it's that Casey is new in town and Chuck is being a good guy, showing him around. Or maybe—crap. He should really write this stuff down.

"Dude." Morgan is staring at him. "You know that I'm happy for you. Whoever you're dating. It's totally cool."

"What—" Chuck starts, but before he can fumble for a response, he sees Casey stalking across the Buy More. He suppresses the urge to hide under the desk.

"Bartowski!" Casey barks. He jerks his thumb towards the home theater room. "Out. Now."

Morgan gives him a knowing look and whispers, "We can talk later."


: :


Okay. So maybe he digs Casey, too.

He figures it started when Awesome challenged Casey to a pushup contest. Or when Casey shoved him onto the ground, ready to use himself as a shield. Or when he realized that Casey seemed to like holding him against walls.

And hey, it's not like Chuck's never been with guys before. He's been to college. He's had those drunken hookups that went into the "let's not talk about this again unless there's tequila involved" box. This is the twenty-first century and Chuck knows the difference between Morgan being his heterosexual life partner and the sudden urge to bite Casey's neck.

That sudden urge is itching at him right now.

"I'm bored."

Casey glares. It's Glare #57, which Chuck has catalogued as You Need to Shut Up Before I Break Your Face. The last time he used it, Chuck ended up with a hand around his neck and his feet dangling four inches above the ground. Chuck gulps and shrinks back into the passenger seat. Right. Back to the stakeout. The incredibly dull stakeout, which has taken up two hours of his evening. That time could have been spent doing—stuff. Okay, Call of Duty-related stuff, but still. Way more fun than sitting in a car with the Iron Giant, waiting for potential bad guys to walk out of a totally not-secret meeting in this restaurant.

"Thought you'd be used to this by now," says Casey after a couple minutes.

Oh, wow. He's attempting conversation. This is exciting.

"Well, last month was pretty exciting," Chuck replies. He shifts, knees bumping into the glove compartment. "I mean, I was held hostage twice. And I finally got to utilize my high school German."

"You said, 'There's seven cows behind you,'" Casey points out.

"Yeah, but you knew what I meant."

The restaurant door opens and Chuck straightens, peering at the two figures that exit. But it's just a middle-aged couple, and no images flash. He slumps back. "Dammit."

Casey grunts. Chuck translates this to mean: "Hopefully you'll flash on the next person." Or: "Sit and be quiet." He isn't really sure.

Chuck drums his fingers along his thighs. He has the urge to hum, but he knows that if he makes any unnecessary sounds, Casey will duct-tape his mouth shut. Maybe he'll do it just so he can feel Casey's hand on his jaw.

Dammit.


: :


It all sorta starts like this:

They're about to die, and not in the, "Wow, this is inconvenient," way. More of a, "Bad guys are pointing guns at us, backup isn't going to be here in time, and we're going to be shot," way. It's not good. It's really not good. Chuck tries to remember how to breathe.

"I'm so sorry," Sarah says. Bad Guy #3 thumbs back the hammer. "Chuck, I'm so sorry."

Chuck swallows and kisses her. She murmurs a quiet, "Oh!" against his mouth and she's warm, she's wonderful, and they really need to start doing this without the threat of death hanging over their heads. Not much of a chance for that anymore. Oh, God, he doesn't want to die.

"Gosh, isn't that sweet," Casey grunts, but Chuck breaks away and grabs Casey's face with both hands, tugging him closer for a kiss.

This is when backup arrives.

There are shouts of, "Freeze!" and, "Drop your weapons!" and someone gets shot, and there's still stubble under Chuck's hands. He pulls back. Awkward.

"Um," Chuck says.

Casey swats at his hands. "Whatever."


: :


The sex stuff, though. That happens later.

How it happens is complicated and weird and may have included alcohol.

Chuck would like to say that it was inevitable, that he became so close to these two people who he regularly trusts with his life, but it's not like that. It wasn't this massive fall into something that he'll admit is a kind of love—more of a stumble.

With vodka.


: :


Sarah's hands are on his hips and Casey is on his knees and Chuck is so very, very happy.

He's not gonna lie; he's thought about this before. A lot. A lot. Who wouldn't? He spends his days with two government agents who turn holding guns into pure porn. (There's another thing the Intersect has given him: a gun kink. Wonderful.) And now, here he is, sitting on his bed with the phony girlfriend behind him and the man who eavesdrops on everything in front—and it's better than what his head came up with, because he never imagined Casey giving a blowjob. Not Major John Casey. And Sarah: Sarah, with her knees bumping into his lower back, with one of her hands cupping Casey's jaw. Oh. Oh, oh, oh—

"Hey," Chuck says weakly when Casey's mouth slides off his cock. "What're you…"

Casey smacks his bare stomach with the back of his hand. "Don't talk," he says in a low growl, almost like an order, and damn, that shouldn't be hot. Not at all. Chuck tries not to make a sound and fails miserably, tipping his head back against Sarah. She threads her fingers through his hair and kisses his cheek, his neck, and then Casey swallows him again.

"Don't come yet," Sarah murmurs. He can feel her hips moving lazily against his back and he reaches back blindly, fitting his palm across a naked thigh. "I want you to fuck me."

Chuck nods. "I can do that. I can definitely do that. Mmhm, yup—I can—yeah—"


: :


Chuck remembers falling asleep with his arm still flung across Sarah's belly and Casey snoring in his ear, but he wakes up alone. He feels stupidly abandoned and considers that maybe, it was all a wonderful dream, until he sees the condom wrappers and smells his sheets.

He showers, contemplates panicking, thanks the lords and stars and everything that Awesome and Ellie had a late shift last night, grabs a bagel, and checks his phone as he heads out the door. There are no text messages from Casey and Sarah that say helpful, don't freak out things. Oh, crap.


: :


There are many rules at the Buy More that aren't in the handbook, most of which relate to Big Mike and his various moods, though Chuck is using #13: If two employees are talking by the refrigerators, it is a private conversation and will not be interrupted. No exceptions.

"So, uh, about—" Chuck starts.

"No," says Casey.

Chuck tries again with, "Shouldn't we—" and isn't all that surprised when Casey cuts him off:

"Don't need to." Casey stares and crosses his arms. "Did you talk to Sarah?"

It's a good point. "Not really."

"We done?"

"I guess so?" Casey walks—sorry, stomps off, and Chuck shoves his hands into his pockets. "Ooh-kay."


::


Later that day, he gets the nod from Casey. He makes up some excuse to Jeff and Lester and heads for the home theater room, trying to fix his tie. Seeing the generals is like talking to Big Mike; no matter what he's done, he always thinks he did it wrong.

Sarah is already there. She and Casey are sitting as far away from each other as possible on the couch. Chuck fumbles desperately for a joke before he realizes that the generals are talking and that he should probably be paying attention. He sits between his handlers (which, actually, is a more truthful term now, and why didn't he think of that earlier?) and listens to the generals talk about a weapons expert who will be visiting the States this week, and how it's possible he might be trading secrets with the enemy. Or something.

The TV gets turned off eventually. Silence hangs thickly in the air until Sarah says, "Well, I guess we should—"

"You know what?" Chuck cuts in. "I don't want to have a big conversation."

"Fine by me," Casey mutters.

Chuck pushes himself up and turns to face them. They aren't going to have a tender heart-to-heart-to-heart, but there are still things that need to be said, dammit, and he's going to be the one to say them.

As soon as he stops focusing all his energy on not passing out.

"Here's the thing. I'm sure that what happened was inappropriate and weird and not something you're told to do with your subjects. But it happened, and it was great, and it should. You know. Happen again. 'Cause I don't want the rest of my life to be some uncomfortable morning after. But it's more than just wanting things to, uh, flow well—I like you guys! A lot. And this is a big thing I'm suggesting, but. I want it. I definitely do."

He sucks in a breath and waits for Sarah to say something like, "I was actually going to say that we should get back to work," or for Casey to grunt, growl, glare, g-anything, but it's just silence. Again. Shit.

But then Sarah says, "Okay."

Casey's head snaps towards her. "Okay?"

"He says yes, too, by the way," Sarah adds. "He told me this morning."


: :


Maybe it's a bad idea, because now fake girlfriend has suddenly become legit girlfriend, and they both have a boyfriend who occasionally shoves Morgan into CD displays. Chuck is pretty sure the CIA and NSA frown upon this kind of thing, and he gets that. Getting attached probably isn't something spies do.

But, hey. It works. And they're all happy.


: :


Work definitely gets more appealing. Chuck has never been more motivated to get to the Buy More.

Like today, for instance. He's barely stepped inside the home theater room before a hand fists in his shirt and shoves him against the wall, and he starts to yelp for Casey before he realizes that would be unnecessary.

"Well, hi," Chuck says. He locks the door.

Casey's mouth curves into the wild grin and he slides his hands up Chuck's neck. He's a big, loud guy who is legitimately scary, and Chuck always expects him to kiss the same way: intense, fierce. Possibly sarcastic. But he's weirdly gentle, his hands barely touching Chuck's skin.

"You've got a thing for walls, don't you?"

Casey snorts in response and flicks the top button of Chuck's shirt open. "Don't really like being distracted. 'nd with what happened yesterday—"

"How I almost drowned?" Chuck interrupts, attempting to help with his shirt. Casey bats his hands away. "Told you. I swam for a semester in high school. And I could always hold my breath longer than the seniors. Hey, I thought you didn't like to talk and all that stuff."

"Thought you liked it when I did."

Chuck considers this as the last button is undone and Casey slides his fingers past the waistband of Chuck's pants. Yeah. That's on the long list of Disturbingly Hot Things About John Casey, number thirty-two: he can make you come just by talking in your ear in that low rumble. Yeah, Chuck likes it.

"Hey, wait a minute," he says as Casey focuses on zippers. "What d'you mean, 'being distracted?'"

Casey steps closer. His answer is hot against Chuck's hip.

"Oh."

Casey tugs his own shirt off as Chuck fumbles with the highly complicated, definitely NSA-invented belt. He pushes Casey's underwear down and Casey does the same for Chuck's boxers.

Chuck watches Casey take both their cocks in one hand—yeah, he's been at half-mast ever since he woke up to Sarah accidentally hitting his hip when Casey made her come for apparently the second time that morning, so getting manhandled in this room means he's hard and aching now.

Casey grins again and echoes, "Oh."


: :


Lunch breaks are better, too.

He eats with Sarah, like he did before—before their radical ménage à trois, which is a word Casey has banned him from using ever since he started slipping it into every possible conversation. They talk about work and Ellie and the new movie neither of them have time to see, just like before. She still dresses in that really fantastic Weinerlicious attire.

"—bicycle."

And he drifts off, fantasizing about her breasts. Just like before. "Hm?"

Sarah is eyeing him carefully and suddenly, Chuck wants to touch her. Only now, he can.

If he wants to, he can grab her hand and head for a bathroom, the Weinerlicious walk-in, or the car. He can kiss her. Skim the curve of her breast with his palm. Go down on her until she's gasping, digging her fingers into his shoulders—

"Wow," says Sarah. She slurps at her Coke. "I'm thinking I should ask my manager for a different outfit."

Chuck reaches over the table and grasps her hand. "That would be a terrible thing."

She flings a french fry directly into his forehead.


: :


Being a spy is pretty awesome, Chuck decides.

Well. He's not exactly a spy. But Casey says he qualifies, so that's good enough. (He said it once, under the power and influence of good scotch, and Chuck reminds him of this drunken mumble whenever possible.)

There's a computer in his brain, which means he gets shot at on a weekly basis. People come back from the dead before disappearing to a foreign country in a tux. His life is like a movie, and he spends it with two stunning people who, for some reason, sleep with him on a regular basis.

It's not that everything has gotten easier with the sex. Chuck's seen that episode—when has that ever happened? But he knows that it works. He knows that he sort of loves them both.

He feels safe with them.