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Film Stars (alternatively, Chuck and Casey Vs. the Roads to Hell and Porn Studios Are Paved With Good Intentions)

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              They are never—repeat, absolutely never—going undercover at a porn company ever, ever again. Casey’s not entirely sure he won’t kill Bartowski this time.

              They were undercover together in the first place because the Intersect had flashed on a missing persons poster—a man not much older than Bartowski was last seen coming here, a small, start-up pornography studio called… Undressed Chips. What the actual fuck the name was supposed to mean, Casey still has not a single clue in hell, but the CIA had said there was evidence Chips was connected to human trafficking in some way.

              Sarah had stayed behind to do more research on affiliated persons’ backgrounds and financial records, because, apparently, “It’s not weird for two guys to walk into a porn studio!” and talk to the staff.

              Well, they were almost immediately rebuffed because, apparently, “They didn’t have an appointment,” why ever the hell they’d need one, with unnecessary and suspicious security guards walking towards them, so Chuck panicked a little bit. He panicked a little bit and said they were here because, apparently, “Me and my friend here heard we could get some fast cash!” and he awkwardly patted Casey on one broad shoulder. Chuck may not have known what he’d just gotten them into, but Casey did, and almost ripped Chuck’s arm from his body on the spot. The road to hell and porn studios is paved with good intentions.

              The receptionist’s and owner’s eyes had lit up at Chuck’s words. Casey had never felt so… Grossed out by someone’s gaze before, but those stares were calculating just what they looked like under their clothes and figuring out just how far they could get two supposedly desperate but unsure-slash-nervous amateurs to do.

              He would say it’s a common spy problem. Really, a mission going off the rails kind of is, but… Suddenly starring in an amateur porn video is a first.

              Not for the first time, he thought God had an unnecessary sense of humor and maybe a grudge against him. The things he does for his country… If there hadn’t been suspected human trafficking, he never would have set a toe on the property.

- - -

              So here he is, a mortified Intersect in his lap, blushing from the top of his forehead all the way down to his chest. His ears are red, too, and Casey would’ve been laughing if he himself wasn’t involved and Chuck wasn’t… Fucking… Naked. At least Casey gets to wear sweatpants!

              As it is, he’s feeling far more sympathy than he has since joining the Marines. Chuck looks like he’s holding back tears, because if his nudity wasn’t bad enough, he’s got to submit to Casey stuffing his giant fingers up his ass for the camera set on the floor and angled up for the perfect shot. Casey has gallantly kept his knees tight together to get in the way of the view. Honestly, never mind himself—the things Chuck does for his country, since apparently, it’s not enough to have the Intersect stuffed into his skull, he has to get something stuffed into his ass. Chuck kind of looks like he’s going to freak out or pass out and blow the whole mission, and with it, the chance to save kidnapped innocents.

              Casey quickly rephrases that in his head: jeopardize the mission. Not—not blow!

              He refocuses. The camera’s rolling, and Chuck is quite literally quaking in his lap. He’s hunched over and gripping his own knees with panicked fingers, a white-knuckled grip. Casey’s not sure how he managed to get himself into the room to jump on Casey to try to hide his nudity in the first place. His asset’s chest is rising and falling rapidly in too-short breaths, beginning to hyperventilate; face ashen and lips trembling, he’s falling headlong into a panic attack the longer Casey sits there like a statue. Well, alright—time to act.

              He leans in towards Chuck’s ear to whisper softly enough it can’t be picked up on audio. He makes sure his jaw slides against Chuck’s, the beginnings of stubble rasping gently against his skin, and feels how it makes a shiver convulsively tighten the lean muscles in his lap. Their faces may be out of the shot, but body movements are not; he needs to project calmness, sensuality, and his body can’t follow if his expression doesn’t set the pace.

              “It’s just for the mission, Chuck. We can do this,” he whispers, barely any sound to it. Chuck jerks his head a little, like it almost tickles to feel Casey’s lips moving against the shell of his ear. This close, Casey can feel his jaw trembling.

              “I—I don’t—I’m not sure I can—” Chuck manages to choke out. There’s no way the camera doesn’t pick it up, but Casey can roll with it, as long as Chuck doesn’t say anything damaging. It’s supposed to be shot like an amateur video, anyway, so that can be easily misconstrued as a nervous first-time bottom. The colonel internally balks at the idea of Chuck being… That.

              “Shhh…” he breathes in his ear. Now is probably a good time, a great time, to put the inducement skills he doesn’t typically employ to good use. It’ll help Chuck relax, at the very least. “We can do this. It’s fine.” He rubs the side of his face against Chuck’s just a little, like a pleased cat, and puts his hands on Chuck’s upper arms. It’s a grounding gesture to offer comfort and confidence. “It’s just a mission. Things don’t always go according to plan, right?” he says, then pulls back and brings a hand up to card through Chuck’s hair. His fingers slide through soft curls effortlessly, keeping his face calm and relaxed as he looks into doe eyes.

              Huh. Normally the kid has a serious case of puppy eyes going on. Fear and humiliation, actual, soul-deep humiliation, changes it into something else. It kind of tugs at the heartstrings Casey thought he’d severed when he'd left Alex Coburn behind.

              “I’m not mad at you.”

              He’s not sure why he says it—as if Chuck’s biggest issue is Casey’s temper when he’s about to be fingered on video!—but the nerd leans in to rub his face against Casey’s, copying his move. It strikes him as odd, but maybe it’s to hide his face.

              “You—you promise? Not mad at me?” He still sounds scared, but it’s not the mounting panic Casey had been feeling strumming in the poor kid’s muscles. Why the hell is he comforted because Casey’s not pissed?

              That… Might have something to do with the humiliation part, as Casey remembers he can be a monumental asshole. He cringes internally. Chuck's looking at him again with those damn eyes. It almost hurts, how much trust Chuck’s putting on Casey’s shoulders.

              Good thing he’s used to holding the weight of the world on them.

              “Promise,” Casey says solemnly. He lets Chuck stare into his eyes as he seems to gather strength. He always does from Casey, now that he thinks about it. He keeps watching as Chuck looks down, getting an eyeful of solid pecs and a six pack, before looking to the side in embarrassment.

              Huh. Bartowski likes what he sees.

              “Okay,” Chuck says softly. Bingo.

              “Just focus on me, okay? Let it go. I’ll take care of everything.” Casey lets this be said at an almost normal volume, dropping his vocal register and speaking in gentle, coaxing tones. Ilsa had described it as silk in bourbon once, legs trembling over his shoulders and covered with goosebumps as he damn near talked her to an orgasm. Casey knows full well the effect this timbre has had on previous partners, and he’s almost positive it’ll work on Chuck’s nerves. He slides the hand still carding through Chuck’s hair around to hold his jaw, letting his gaze drop down to Chuck’s lips. It’s a clear indication of what he’s going to do, giving the kid fair warning, and he watches Chuck’s lips part. It’s slight, but enough. He keeps a firm grip on Chuck’s jaw and leans in.


              It feels like the Twilight Zone to hear gentle reassurance in Casey’s voice, even more so to have it directed at him. Chuck already knows he’s accustomed to derision, annoyance, indifference, or outright anger coming from the gruffest human being he’s ever met. To hear Casey drop his tone into something like pure sex wrapped up in silk and dipped in bourbon, however, makes it so easy to let him take the lead. Granted, Casey usually takes the lead, but Chuck has never been so relieved to let the competent and capable agent take over. All he has to do is trust Casey and go along with what he’s doing, and Chuck knows he’ll be okay.

              Casey’s good at every physical thing he does, anyway, so maybe this won’t be so different.

              He closes his eyes when Casey leans in and fits their lips together. Honestly, he’d been expecting something quick and rough and dirty, something… Well, pornographic, but the barely-there kiss is more of brushing lips over Chuck’s. Air-light, careful, easing him in, but so sensually Chuck finds himself pressing a little more firmly. He wants it more firmly, damn it, and is relieved when he feels Casey part his lips. It’s just a little—gauging, no slickness of his tongue, but Chuck can suddenly taste him anyways. He’s reminded Casey had snagged a mint candy from a desk when he can taste the cool sweetness on his breath. He makes a soft noise, an unconscious hum higher in his throat than he would like to admit, and Casey seems to take that as a cue. The hand that’s not cupping his jaw—firm, calloused, keeping him in steady place—slides up and down the rapidly relaxing muscles of his left arm. He does this a couple times in slow strokes before ghosting his fingertips to the angular jut of Chuck’s hipbone. It’s still fleeting, more the warmth from his fingers than any real touch. Almost like the suggestion of heat, of a burn. It feels good when he settles his large palm at his side, long fingers wrapping around to just above where the curve of his ass begins.

              Chuck’s pretty okay with banking his life—hell, Ellie’s and Morgan’s—on being right that Casey is, in fact, good at every physical thing he does. He almost expects a brand to be left on his cool skin from the heat of Casey’s hand.

              He allows his own hands to release the death grip he’s had them clenched in on his legs. It’s for the mission, Chuck repeats to himself—Casey’s words. It gives him a little courage to set them on Casey’s broad shoulders, and damn it, it’s like flesh over hot iron. He has to admit, if only to himself, there’s something nice about being able to touch the agent like this, to let the warmth of his skin slowly sink into his hands, still cool from his previously impending panic. There are patches of scar tissue, some abnormally smooth and others that feel tight and puckered at the edges. He realizes he knows the story behind very few of them—stabbed with a broken bottle, a third-degree burn from a flame-thrower, shrapnel—as he glides his hands across Casey’s shoulders and down just a bit before bringing them back up to cup his face. Chuck’s not exactly sure how to purposely communicate this kind of intent with his body, but with any luck, Casey’s taking the hint.

              He knows he’s right when Casey tugs his lower lip between his teeth gently and glides just the tip of his tongue along its plumpness. Chuck feels heated embarrassment send a shiver down his spine to tingle at the base. Like it feels good. He doesn’t think too hard on it and forces that thought to the back of his head for later. Casey lets go of his jaw and rubs his arm gently, as if to make the sudden goosebumps go away. His other hand stays clutched at Chuck’s hip.

              He knows he has to answer that; he swipes his tongue tentatively at Casey’s lower lip in return, and then Casey just slides his tongue right into Chuck’s open mouth. Chuck refuses to acknowledge the girly eep! he involuntarily makes, so he’s not entirely sure why Casey snickers at him.

              Only, it’s more of a deep rumble in his chest, something much closer to a purr than a chuckle, and the nerd has no idea why that sends a frisson of heat unfurling low in his stomach. God damn it, there’s no way Casey didn’t feel his dick twitch at that noise. Maybe that’s why he’s lifted his hand from Chuck’s hip and is instead pawing at his ass cheek… But that absolutely in no way explains why Chuck is gently pressing back into it.

              Well, shit.

              He thinks he’s going to start panicking again, but Casey chooses that exact moment to suck on his tongue, all hot pressure and slick, insistent rubbing with his own. There’s now no feasible way for Chuck to deny his dick has more than just a passing interest. Damn that man.

              Casey stops gently petting his arm, and suddenly, Chuck’s got two big hands on his ass, pulling forward and relaxing in encouraging movements. Like Chuck’s supposed to start grinding on him.

              With a startled noise, Chuck realizes that’s exactly what he’s supposed to do.

              For the mission, for the mission, for the mission, for the mission, for the mission, for the mis—why does this feel good!

              Chuck follows his handler's silent instructions, and he really doesn't have any objections to this. Casey is just so warm, and the friction is just awesome, and this could really be so much worse. Who knew the baddest motherfucker Chuck's ever known is so good at kissing, he could possibly take over entire governments with just a makeout session?

              They keep kissing, Chuck keeps up that subtle grind, and he absolutely melts when Casey makes a soft, pleased hum into his mouth. On one grind forward, Casey lifts his hips to meet Chuck’s movements, and, and—oh. Casey’s getting into it too, judging by the tightening grip on his ass and the firmness pressing against him. He realizes with a start that Casey’s legs have relaxed underneath him a little, enough so the camera behind them is getting a fantastic shot of his ass. He jerks his head back in surprise, would’ve whirled around to look at the camera if Casey didn’t catch his jaw with one of those giant paws, and instead looks down.

              His previous blush, which had dimmed to a heated flush along his cheeks, flares back to life at the sight. His own dick is standing straight and deep pink with blood. As he watches, the drop of pre-cum beading at the tip grows too heavy and begins sliding down the crown of his dick. He’s never been so mortified in his life at how wet he gets when he’s turned on.

              And the completely unfair length that’s outlined beneath Casey’s sweatpants is… Humbling… To put it politely, because Casey is proportional. Of course he is. The man is tall and broad, so… It figures that he's... Chuck's not surprised, just—

              Oh. Oh.

              He’s kind of hot, thinking about Casey’s dick. He tries to ignore how he feels more pre-cum dripping down his shaft.

              Casey brings one hand up to the back of his neck to reel him forward and nuzzle his ear. “Am I moving too fast for you?” he asks, and it’s a sincere question instead of the ornery impatience Chuck realizes he’s expecting. He swallows convulsively.

              “No,” he says, gasping, “I was just, um, a little—a little surprised?” He can hear the question in his own voice, but Casey just drops a reassuring kiss against the column of his throat.

              “I got you, doe eyes,” he rumbles against the vulnerable skin. Chuck makes a cut-off noise of surprise at the pet name, but before he can say anything, Casey’s hands are back on his ass and squeezing the lithe muscles there while pulling him closer. Close enough to rub his dick up against Chuck’s, actually, and damn if that doesn’t make Chuck’s hips stutter and his thighs squeeze around Casey’s waist.


              “Move like that, yeah? Right against me,” Casey encourages, and never mind his voice being that seductive bourbon-and-silk caress—it’s dropping further, a filthy rumble, hot-rough and sexy, and Chuck’s body is responding to it before his mind cottons on to what it’s doing. Damn if he isn’t starting to mindlessly press his body against Casey’s and just move, wanting more of that hot friction Casey’s started giving him, stuttering out a breathless noise. He sees Casey’s eyes—half-lidded, deep blue, mostly black from dilated pupils—and suddenly can’t look away. Chuck feels like he’s hypnotized, can’t even blink; he just rocks his hips the dirty way Casey’s leading as his heart pounds in his ribcage. He watches Casey slowly bring one finger up to his mouth and wrap his lips around it and Chuck really doesn’t think he can be blamed if he literally passes out from how fucking hot that is, but then Casey’s got two fingers—including that one!—at his lips. He just rubs them along his bottom lip, tugging slightly, almost like waiting for permission—

              Chuck drops his mouth open before he can rethink his actions and laves his tongue over Casey’s fingertips just as Casey’s pushing them into his mouth. He closes his lips around them instinctively and sucks, just a little, but it’s enough to pull a different grunt from deep in Casey’s chest. He lets out a soft moan around his fingers as Casey thrusts his hips up into him a couple times, harder than the steady grind he’d been keeping up with Chuck. Like he’s into it. It jolts him a little, and he’s suddenly wondering how it would feel if that hot length he could feel through the sweatpants was—

              Chuck doesn’t complete the thought. Thankfully, Casey makes it a little easy for him to stop it, because he pulls his fingers out of Chuck’s mouth with a lewd pop and spreads his knees a little wider, forcing Chuck’s thighs to part just that much more.

              “W-wait a sec—”

              “It’s alright, doe eyes… Focus on me, huh?” Casey coaxes, and he’s using that brand-new sexy-filthy tone that Chuck feels going straight to his cock. “It’s okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about, right? I won’t hurt you… Promised, didn’t I?”

              It’s okay. It’s for the mission, right? I’m not mad at you. Promised, didn’t I?

              Chuck’s brain makes the translation before he even realizes he’s doing it. He tightens his hands on Casey’s shoulders and nods. Thinking about it again, he’s not so sure he can look Casey in the face, or bear to have Casey look at his face, so he presses his forehead in the junction where Casey’s neck meets his shoulder and hides there. Judging from the way Casey nuzzles at his ear, he gets it. Chuck kind of wants to cry at his thoughtfulness. Sure, maybe he’s acting like a shy virgin at a school dance, but this isn’t exactly something Chuck would be doing if he had a choice in the matter. It feels uncomfortably close to a word he fervently hopes to never associate with himself.

              He realizes it might be doing the same for Casey, too. For all his years of assassinating, or killing people in his way, or doing whatever dirty work the government handed him because no one else could or would do it, the agent has never forced anyone into that kind of thing. Not once.

              Hell, Casey probably wants to get this over with more than Chuck does.

              He forces himself to refocus on the task at hand instead of the humiliation burning behind his eyes. He hates that a camera is staring directly at his ass, the tight hole that—that Casey is rubbing gently with one spit-slick finger, and—and, okay, maybe it’s getting a little hard to think with that unfamiliar sensation dancing along his nerves, coiling and aching low in his belly, making him shiver again and grind a little harder into Casey. He shifts his hips just a little bit, the perfect amount so he can feel the agent’s cock hard beneath the obscene—fucking obscene—tent of his pants, rubbing against it like—like a—

              “Like a cat in heat, aren’t you?” Casey whispers in his ear, finishing Chuck’s tumbling thought. The nerd makes an uneasy noise, something between an embarrassed gasp and a moan as Casey pushes his finger in. It’s just to the bend of his first knuckle, but it’s such an alien feeling Chuck doesn’t know what to do with it. He shakes his head against Casey’s neck and… And yeah, he whimpers a little. Sue him.

              “Really never done this before, huh?” Casey says knowingly. There’s a smirk in his voice, but he takes the sting out of it by kissing the side of Chuck’s head. It’s so damn intimate that Chuck clings just a little tighter to the broad, solid shoulders he’s anchored himself to. And his hips keep up that maddening movement, the fabric soft against his cock, feeling Casey’s just beneath. Casey takes his time working that one finger—which feels thicker and longer than it has any right to—in and almost out of Chuck’s heat, just a little more each time he pushes in. It feels… Kind of nice… And Chuck doesn’t have a modicum of an idea of what to do with that information.

              “You doing alright?” Casey murmurs. His voice stays soft, patient. Chuck takes a deep breath and lets it out on a shudder as he nods. He feels his body tighten around Casey’s finger without his say-so and sucks in a breath again. “Need me to go slower?”

              Chuck shakes his head. He’s not too sure he can quite speak at this point, so he keeps doing that back-and-forth with his hips that’s gotten his cock so hard to begin with. Though, for honesty’s sake, making out with Casey helped a lot, and Chuck is nothing if not honest. Casey takes him at his word.

              Chuck’s a little proud of how quickly he’s acclimating to something in his ass—not examining that one, nope—and begins to push back a little more on the finger inside him. He does this a couple times before Casey gets it, and Chuck feels more than hears his chuckle.

              “You ridin’ my fingers, doe eyes?” Casey hums. Chuck squeaks at the words.

              “Sh-shut up, you—you freaking jerk—”

              “I kinda like seeing it,” Casey interrupts. His breath is so warm on Chuck’s neck, but it gives him goosebumps up and down his arms. “S’hot. You didn’t know that, did you?” He means it as a rhetorical question, but Chuck squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Casey’s turned his world upside down in just a few words. Again.

              “I-I, I don’t really—um, I don’t think I’m—well—” Why is he saying this?!

              “Don’t think you’re sexy?” Casey asks, right on the mark. “You have no idea, huh? Too bad you’re not watching what I am.”

              “What’re you watching?” Chuck stammers as he feels another finger rubbing firmly at his hole. How Casey’s managing to relax the tightness, and why Chuck is even talking, is beyond him.

              “You, of course. Watching that eager way you’re grinding up against my cock, then right back onto my fingers.” Casey pushes a second finger in at this, and Chuck feels his spine stiffen as he thrusts his hips back into it automatically. He doesn’t get why. “Ah, fuck, doe eyes, you look so good taking my fingers like that. Doing so well…”

              “Casey!” The cry is out of Chuck’s mouth before he realizes what his vocal cords are doing. There’s a vibration in Casey’s chest as he growls against Chuck’s skin. That’s not one of Casey’s usual growls; the angry one, the impatient one, not even the one he makes when there’s something he finds particularly unpleasant in his vicinity. This is pleased, kind of possessive, turned on. Heated, like he’s got that hard-on for Chuck and what he’s doing, mission be damned. Chuck feels it melt beneath his skin and into his bones, and his body stops listening to him—like Casey has control of every movement now, like every time Chuck’s fingers clench on his shoulders, or every time he’s grinding on Casey is because Casey wants him to. He makes a quiet, helpless noise, muffled into Casey’s neck.

              “It’s okay, doe eyes. Wanna make you feel good,” Casey says, voice gravel-rough and burning against Chuck’s skin. Chuck isn’t entirely sure he’s going to make it through this without spontaneously combusting.


              Seeing Chuck squirming in his lap is one thing; feeling it is something else entirely. Chuck’s purposely zeroed in on Casey’s dick, not that it’s hard to miss, and is rutting against him for that friction Casey’s shown him. He’s fucking back on Casey’s fingers like he wants it, likes it, and the soft heat clinging to them is starting to drive Casey nuts. He’s trying to tell himself he’s just having a natural bodily reaction to a sweet thing in his lap, but the way he’s just referred to Chuck like that, even in his head, prevents that utter lie. He presses a kiss to Chuck’s neck and feels the shudder that works its way through his body at the caress of his lips. Chuck’s leaking so much pre-cum he’s leaving a damp patch on Casey’s pants, wet warmth just over his cock. The cock he seems to like, if he’s going by the incessant back-and-forth the nerd’s hips have naturally taken to.

              “You want me to show you something? You’ll like it,” Casey promises in a low voice. He’s speaking into Chuck’s hair because the kid still hasn’t dared to lift his face from its hiding spot in his neck.

              “What—? Show me?” Chuck repeats lamely, voice muffled, like he’s having trouble understanding words. Hell, maybe he is—Casey knows what he’s good at.

              He feels a wolfish smirk curl his lips. He shifts Chuck in his lap, earning himself a small gasp and a tightened grip on his shoulders, then curls his fingers as he pushes them a little deeper than he had previously. His fingertips hit exactly what he’s looking for.

              Chuck damn near levitates from Casey’s lap with a cry as he jerks his hips backwards into the feeling. The move forces his head up, and Casey finally catches a look at his face as Chuck stares at him in bewilderment: pretty brown eyes almost black, face pink, mouth bitten red and swollen and shaped in a small ‘o’ of shock. Casey can’t tamp down the grin on his face. He’s enjoying this too much.

              “Ca-sey!” Chuck moans, voice breaking as the agent crooks his fingers inside him again. Never mind the barely-there tremors; Chuck’s outright quivering in his lap now, fingernails leaving purple crescent marks in Casey’s skin as his hands clench tighter.

              “Told you you’d like it,” Casey murmurs. He’s rubbing that sweet spot inside Chuck near constantly now, feeling the jerky thrusts Chuck makes each time he does, like his body is responding on its own and Chuck is just there for the ride. Part of Casey is a little jealous—seems the kid’s got a sensitive prostate and this kind of stimulation drives him wild. Not every man responds to this kind of play like Chuck is.

              That’s good, in a way—he’s going to spurt all over himself pretty quickly, especially if he keeps eagerly fucking on Casey’s fingers like he’s doing now. This goddamn video and awkward situation will be over that much faster.

              He reminds his dick that’s a good thing. Chuck doesn’t want to be a porn star; not that he does, either. He’ll have to make sure he snatches the camera and destroys it before the video’s uploaded.

              “Casey!” Chuck gasps again. “What—!”

              “Easy there, doe eyes,” Casey purrs, “I got you. Gonna make you come just like this, huh? Fuckin’ you with my fingers while you’re grinding on my cock?”

              Chuck’s only answer is an honest-to-god whine, a helpless noise wrenched from his throat as his movements become more frantic, like he’s desperate to come. He probably didn’t even know he liked dirty talk. Casey’s confident he’s already changed solo-play for the rest of the kid’s life.

              The short, panting moans Chuck’s making with every breath he’s gasping for will be burned into Casey’s memory, he’s sure. Chuck’s ass is tightening further around his fingers as his body tenses. He’s about to come.


              Chuck isn’t sure if his nerves have been hit by lightning or if he’s even real anymore. He’s burning everywhere, inside and out, the pressure and drag of Casey’s fingers over that magic spot sending molten heat to every nerve ending he has. Casey’s filthy words make his cock twitch and his hips speed up. He’s almost managed to forget the camera getting every little detail of those thick fingers plunging into his body and picking up every lewd word from Casey’s mouth, every desperate noise he can’t stop making. It feels like something is building hotly inside him, so low in his stomach; he feels like he’s going to scream or explode and it’s reaching a boiling point. His chest is slick with sweat, heaving for breath, and he wraps his arms fully around Casey in a panicky-tight grip as that ball of heat in his gut starts spreading throughout him, to his fingertips, down to his toes, and presses his forehead against Casey’s shoulder.

              “Casey, Casey, Casey, Casey, Case—” His breath hitches, interrupting his frantic chant. “Casey, Casey, Casey, CaseyCaseyCaseyCasey—!”

              He feels his cock jerk and his muscles tighten convulsively, rhythmically, around Casey’s fingers. He’s dimly aware he’s gasping and whining out short, cut-off cries as he automatically slams his hips down onto Casey’s hand. He feels out of control; he can’t stop the wild movements of his body, doesn’t even want to. He registers Casey wrapping one of his arms around him in a steadying hold, his grip like steel. It feels a little like restraint and a little like an embrace and that’s what tips him over the precipice into something that makes his vision go white. His ears are ringing as he comes in thick spurts on Casey’s pants, his stomach, and Casey just keeps it going with those deft, knowing fingers—just enough pressure to prolong it, gentle enough thrusts to keep from becoming painful. Chuck’s not sure how long it takes before he finally feels like he’s coming back down.

              Casey, however, has another idea, and is therefore not having any of that.

              Chuck’s not sure if the man’s fingers are hellish or a God-send as Casey just plays his body, plays with that fucking spot, unrelenting, sending heat spiraling back through him and making him come again. There’s no slow build-up like the first one—he’s calming down, then that same pleasure is ratcheting up and he's done for. He’s thoroughly unprepared and dimly registers that Casey has to hold him tightly to his chest to keep him in place from how hard his hips are rocking up and down as Casey finger-fucks him, body completely out of his control. He thinks he might be sobbing; overwhelmed, begging, but unable to speak. It’s more intense than the first, if that’s even possible, and Chuck will feel bad about the claw marks on Casey’s shoulders later.

              It feels like it takes an hour before the waves of his second orgasm wane, leaving him twitching and panting into Casey’s broad chest. His cheeks are wet. Casey’s arm around Chuck keeps him right up against his body; it’s good, because Chuck doesn’t feel very solid right now and thinks he would be sliding to the floor without it.

              It’s silent in the little room except his gasps for breath, the occasional hitch in his breathing. Casey slides his lips over Chuck’s temple comfortingly as he gentles his hold and drags his hand up and down the shaking man’s spine. It’s… Intimate.

              His ears finally stop ringing and his mind is blank.




              Back at Castle, when Sarah asks what took them so long, Casey gives her a very pointed, very dirty look, and simply says, “We’re not talking about it.”

              Judging by how wide her eyes get, she takes the hint, and closes her mouth with a snap. Her eyes slowly drift to the camera Casey has clenched in his fist.

              “We’re, um… Gonna destroy that camera, I take it?” she asks awkwardly. Casey throws it to the ground, draws his pistol, and shoots it a couple times. Then, a couple more for good measure.

              “Yep,” he says.


              Chuck can’t seem to look in Casey’s general direction, let alone in his eyes. Beckman asks what the hold-up had been (“I was expecting intel within the hour. Why did it take several for you to contact me?”) and Casey’s back becomes more rigid than before. The room is awkwardly silent as he chooses his words carefully.

              “There were a couple small, but time-consuming, complications, General. They were handled as they came up.”

              “You’re leaving out information, Casey, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it could be.”

              Chuck makes a very loud choking noise at the General’s phrasing and stares at the wall. His face is burning.

              Beckman blinks once, the puzzle pieces slot together in her mind, and she moves right along. “If there are no security breaches, I expect your report by 9PM tonight.”

              “No security breaches, ma’am. Casey destroyed the camera,” Sarah says helpfully. Chuck drops his face into his hands silently as Casey loudly clears his throat. Beckman struggles to keep her face expressionless.

              “…very good, Agent Walker. You’re all dismissed.”

              They’re silent as the video display goes blank. Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the atmosphere.

              After a very long ten seconds of complete silence, Sarah coughs and hurries towards her bag and car keys.

              “Well, you two,” she says, voice artificially bright, “I’m gonna head back home for the night. Bye!” She’s almost running as she heads up the stairs, running away from the tension in the room. Bryce is probably at her place. Her place, where there is no nightmare-inducingly awkward tension. Casey grunts and sits down at one of the computers.

              “Yeah, bye,” he grumbles.

              It’s silent again as Chuck stands in the same spot. He’s fidgeting artlessly, darting glances between Casey’s side profile and his own restless hands. He’s picking his cuticles into a raw mess.

              After a solid, excruciating minute, Casey lets out a sigh that turns into a groan, then turns to face Chuck. “Alright, out with it. What do you want to say?”

              “I’m sorry!” Chuck blurts out hastily, then closes his mouth with a snap. His eyes are wide, like he's just surprised himself. Casey stares at him, completely uncomprehending.

              “You’re… Sorry?” he repeats. Chuck only nods. “…why are you sorry?”

              “I’m—” Well, Chuck’s not exactly sure why he’s sorry, either. “I just am.”

              Casey shakes his head, mystified. “You’re sexually objectified on video, and you’re apologizing to me. Bartowski, how does that make sense?”


              “No. You have no reason to be sorry. That little snag would have happened even if it was someone else. Do not feel guilty,” Casey interrupts. Chuck turns his head and stares at the wall again, like his eyes can put a hole in it if he tries hard enough.

              He’s sorry, he realizes, because he does feel guilty, and that’s because he liked what happened. He’s never come so hard in his life—never mind multiple orgasms! —sobbing and making all kinds of obscene, desperate noises that will probably haunt him in his sleep. The idea of just anyone putting their fingers in him makes his stomach turn, like it’s going to projectile-hurl its contents, but the idea of Casey doing it again makes his stomach flip in a way that feels uncomfortably close to butterflies.

              He feels guilty because of how much he liked what Casey did to him, even though Casey kind of had no other choice. Not that he had another one, either.


              It’s the use of his first name and the concern in Casey’s voice that makes him lift his head from where he’d started staring at the ground without seeing it. He’s not sure what his own face is displaying that caught Casey’s attention so thoroughly; the man is halfway out of his chair, like he’s unsure if he should actually approach.

              “What’s going through that fluffy head?” Casey asks cautiously. Chuck looks down again and drags a thumbnail along a line in his palm. Fidgeting again.

              “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

              “Chuck, why—

              “You didn’t really have another option, did you.” It’s not a question, and Chuck’s not phrasing it as such. Casey starts to argue him on that, but he steamrolls over the objection. “No, not if we wanted to complete the mission without blowing our cover. I—I get that we both had to, but I—” His throat closes up around his words; it’s like his body is trying to keep his brain from spilling his shame.

              The metaphorical lightbulb clicks in Casey’s head, and he sighs in relief as his shoulders drop from their tension. He walks swiftly over to Chuck and grabs him by the arms. The nerd startles violently, jerking his head up to stare at Casey with…

              With those same fucking doe eyes he’d had during that stupid fucking shoot. It’s like a .50 caliber round to Casey’s own defenses. His hands go from holding Chuck’s upper arms to holding them, gentle strokes of his thumbs across biceps, without Casey giving the damn things the okay.

              “You know it’s natural you liked it, don’t you?” he says, even though Chuck clearly has no idea of any such thing. He watches as even the tips of Chuck’s ears turn red. “Chuck… I have been trained to do this kind of shit. I have an uncomfortable amount of experience to go with that training. I know what to do to a human body, whether it’s torture or not. No shit I could make you come so hard you cry. Twice.”

              Chuck squeaks unintelligibly, trying to blurt out jumbled words, but it’s like Casey just broke his brain. Casey pauses for a beat.

              “And you know what? I meant it when I said it was hot. And that you’re sexy.” He follows that mind-blowing statement with lifting a hand and brushing his thumb over Chuck’s bottom lip, just like he had when Chuck was in his lap not even three hours ago. Then, he turns around like he hasn’t possibly just fried the Intersect and Chuck’s brain in one fell swoop and starts to walk away.

              “W-wait!” Chuck manages to say. In truth, he damn near shouts it because he absolutely does not have complete control over himself right now. Casey stops and looks back, eyebrows raised.


              Chuck kind of wants to hit him for how nonchalant and unbothered he is, while he’s standing there with his dick twitching in his jeans. His body has already developed a literal Pavlovian response to that bastard’s fingers.

              His mouth works silently for a second as he tries valiantly to form speech. “…could… Is there any, uh, possible—any kind of possibility—would you…” He takes a deep, deep breath, holds it for a second, and tries again. “Would you do it again?”

              Casey’s turned fully back around to face him now, face almost neutral if it wasn’t for the mischief in his eyes and the hint of a smile—a smile, not a smirk! —curving the corners of his mouth.

              “I’d do a hell of a lot more than that if you wanted, doe eyes.”

              Oh, god, Chuck wanted.

              He figures literally jumping on the man gets his point across. It’s a good thing Casey’s strong.