Title: Skin Deep

Author: Night_Lotus

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,982

Disclaimer: I neither own Chuck nor its marvelous characters, but because of the creative genius of Chris Fedak and Joshua Schwartz, I have the opportunity to play in their sandbox.

Summary: Ellie pays Casey and early-morning visit.

Sure, it's perfectly normal to be up at five thirty in the morning on your day off, she rationalized, pacing around the kitchen. She watched the timer on the oven count down as she replayed events from last night, pressing pause repeatedly on John Casey.

Blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and the echoes of warm, large hands claiming the small of her back played in a continuous loop, causing pleasant warmth to thrum through her body, until the inconsiderate beeping of the timer interrupted her musings. She plucked a pot holder from a drawer and extracted the bubbling cinnamon rolls from the oven, inhaling their sweet, spicy smell.

Ellie allowed a few more images to cycle as she reached for the handle of a small wicker basket resting on the top shelf of the pantry. What might have happened had she invited John to stay? What are you thinking? She chided herself. One dinner, and she was ready to instigate some serious bed business? What would he be like in bed? Powerful, dominant, and skilled. Very skilled.

The possibilities lingered in her thoughts as she iced the still-warm rolls with an orange and cardamom spiked glaze just as dawn cracked, spilling golden light through the kitchen window. In the condo across the courtyard, she saw a light on and caught a quick flash of Buy More green through the narrow opening in John Casey's blinds. Good, he was awake.

Sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she filled the basket, she wondered what his reaction would be to her appearing on his doorstep at dawn. One way to find out, she theorized as she took a steadying breath and walked to the door, baked goods in hand.

Mission briefing shoved aside, Casey focused instead on the monitor, which was currently trained on the Bartowski kitchen. It was filled with the image of a certain very off-limits brunette. Watching her did something to him, stirred something dangerous and best left buried. She made him forget, if only for a moment, his mission, the heart of why he was here in Burbank, and that put them all at risk. Eschewing caution, he continued to watch. Damn, the woman had a way with dough. Couldn't say that he'd mind being worked over by those skillful hands. And, based on the mutual admiration society they were both card-carrying members of, he reckoned that it wouldn't be too hard to secure an overnight invite.

Turning the monitor off with a growl, he flipped open the briefing file and stared at the face of the man he was going to kill.

A shiver coursed through her in the cool morning air as she lifted her hand to knock on his door, goose bumps spackling her bare shoulders. A tank top and yoga pants? Probably not the best choice. And why did the inside of her mouth suddenly feel like a gigantic cotton ball? For God's sake, she wasn't sneaking a note into Jeremy Coleman's locker at lunch time. This wasn't junior high. She was a grown, confident woman, just being friendly, dropping off an innocent basket of cinnamon rolls to her neighbor. That was all. No big deal.

"The hell?" Casey grumbled as the knock ricocheted off his front door. Reflexively, he reached for the Sig resting in the shallow desk drawer as his eyes glanced at the video feed from the door cam. Ellie Bartowski stood there, in a cheery blue and white daisy patterned tank top and yoga pants, waiting patiently for him to answer her summons. Exactly what he wanted and precisely what he didn't need. He wolfed down the image of chocolate- brown hair pouring over tanned shoulders, before pressing a button to conceal various tech devices.

"Hi, Ellie," he said, opening the door, engineering a look of pleasant surprise.

"Good morning, John," she returned, admiring how his muscular body filled the frame. "I'm sorry to come by so early, but I noticed your light was on, and I wanted to drop these off while they were still warm. I had extra and thought you might enjoy them."

"Thank you," he said, taking the basket from her, lifting a corner of the towel covering the top. "These smell like sunshine and sin. Come inside and join me for some," he invited with a wink, gesturing for her to follow him through the door.

She stepped inside, taking in the sparsely decorated bachelor cave as Casey grabbed plates and mugs from the cabinet. A framed photo of President Reagan sitting proudly on the mantle, polished, crossed Marine swords mounted on the wall, and an elegantly gnarled bonsai pine nestled in a wall niche comprised the décor.

"Seems I need to have a word with my decorator," Casey deadpanned, setting the muffin basket, plates, and mugs on the table.

"I'm intrigued by these," Ellie said, studying the swords, her head tilted to the side as she examined the etching on the blades. "They're beautiful."

"Got them when I finished TBS."

His heat suddenly warmed her back. How did he move so quickly and quietly?

She took a tiny step back and connected with a solid wall of muscle.

Instead of moving away as courtesy dictated, he stayed put. He wasn't feeling very polite at the moment and couldn't think of a better way to spend his morning than pressed up against Eleanor Bartowski.

She didn't budge, either.

"TBS?" she questioned, her voice a bit shaky.

"The Basic School. Officer training. It's a Marine thing," he breathed quietly, near her ear.

She leaned back a little more, melting into him. "You're a Marine?"

"Former."

A little closer and his mouth would be on her skin.

"Do you have a tattoo?"

"Mmmm hmmm," his response vibrated against her back.

She smelled like cinnamon. Bet she tasted like it, too.

"May I see it?"

Sweetheart, you can see anything you'd like.

She gasped, mortified that she'd audiblized her desire.

When she felt him shift, she turned to see him rolling up his left sleeve.

She swallowed hard as she watched the green polo material give way to powerful muscle, exposing a bald eagle, wings spread wide, perched atop a globe, which rested along the length of an anchor.

He rested the rolled up sleeve atop his shoulder, watching her reaction to the tattoo etched in black on his upper arm.

The tip of her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, as she reached out and touched his bare skin, tracing the design with her fingertips. He was warm and hard.

He stood stock-still, letting her explore.

Still meant safe. John Casey wasn't safe.

But, she didn't know him, at least not the real him.

Predators were still as they assessed their prey.

And right now, as her fingers stroked over his skin, all but caressing him, she was definitely prey. He was a breath away from snatching her up.

"This is from the Marines too, isn't it?"

She'd unwittingly saved herself, just barely.

"Marines defend our nation on land, at sea, and in the air," he explained, reciting the Corps motto.

Their eyes met, and he didn't bother to hide his raw hunger.

Her breath caught as she saw the heat in eyes. "I—" she started, halting as he gently eased her fingers from his arm, enclosing them in his hand.

"You were saying?" he prompted, his gaze fastened on her mouth.

"I'm thinking of getting one. A tattoo," she said, watching as his thumb stroked across the back of her hand. She could get used to him doing that.

He didn't respond, so she continued, bringing her eyes back to his. "I guess I'm on some sort of reinvention path, rethinking who I am and what I want."

Still holding her hand, he edged closer, feeling her breasts brush against his chest. As she tilted her had back to look at him, he reached over with his other hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"A tattoo is more than just something that's scratched into the surface of your skin, Ellie. It has to be something that you're willing to let penetrate you and become a part of who you are."

Casey had journeyed down the reinvention path a time or two. Things didn't always work out as planned.

A knock sounded at the door.

Ellie was lost in sensations. The rough feel of his calloused fingertips rasping against the sensitive skin behind her ear, the hard wall of his chest grazing her breasts, making her nipples hard; she was spinning.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

"I should probably answer that," he repeated softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

The second round of pounding startled her back to reality. "What? Oh, of course. Sorry," she apologized, blushing as she backed away, not quite able to look him in the eye.

"Don't be sorry," he soothed, tilting her chin up with the tip of his finger.

He made sure her gaze locked with his before turning away to answer the door. She needed to understand that this wasn't finished.

"This had better be life or death," he growled under his breath as he reached for the door knob.

Bartowski. He should have known.

Chuck's dopey, smiling face filled the doorway. "Hiya, Casey, ready to get your Buy More on?"

Casey fisted his hands and grunted in response, turning away from the open door.

"Ah, grunt number eleven," Chuck translated cheerfully, following Casey into the condo. "The 'I'd rather kill you than talk to you grunt.'"

Chuck stopped short as he caught sight of his sister standing in the middle of Casey's living room.

He raised a brow. "Hey, sis, what are you doing here so bright and early in the morning?"

Ellie cleared her throat in an attempt to rid some of the guilt from her voice. "I noticed John's light on, so I brought over some of our extra cinnamon rolls to share. I left some for you on the counter, Chuck."

"Yeah, they were great. Was that a hint of cardamom I caught in the glaze?"

Ellie didn't answer. Instead, she walked toward the door as she saw Casey heft his black backpack onto his shoulder.

"I should go," she said to Casey when she reached the door.

"Thanks for the cinnamon rolls, Ellie."

"Dinner on Sunday?" she asked, looking at him as she angled her body sideways into the empty space left by the partially open door.

"Of course," he assured, watching her slip away.

"Let's go, Bartowski," Casey ordered, looking over his shoulder at Chuck.

Chuck's eyes widened in realization. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Casey. You, Ellie?," his eyes darted back and forth between Casey and the back of his departing sister. "Ellie, you? No, this can't be happening."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Bartowski. Your sister was just being neighborly."

"Then why is your shirt sleeve rolled up, Casey? Were you just being neighborly, too?" Chuck accused.

"Not that I owe you an explanation, Chuck," Casey ground out the Intersect's name as he tugged his sleeve down while they walked toward the Echo Park entrance, "but Ellie and I were talking, and she mentioned that she's thinking of getting a tattoo and asked if I had one, so I showed her."

He failed to mention that he and Ellie had been playing cat and mouse for days and he was about to pounce.

"Ellie? A tattoo? Oh boy," Chuck jabbered as they reached the street and he unlocked the waiting Nerd Herder.