disclaimer: These characters belong to NBC, not to me. No infringement intended.

"Wow. Next time I tell you to duck, please duck." Sarah held the door as Chuck stumbled past her into his bedroom. One hand was pressed against his temple, but blood trickled out from under it and ran down his face.

"Yeah," he said weakly, his mouth turned down. "Guess I'd better start wearing a helmet on our 'missions'."

Sarah closed the door and guided him to the bed. He sank down on it with relief. He grabbed the knot of his tie with his free hand and yanked at it until it loosened a little.

"Let me see," she said, gently prying his hand away from his temple. When it came away, she saw a long, shallow gash running back into Chuck's hair. "Not too bad."

"Not too bad?" Chuck was looking at his bloodstained hand in horror. "How bad does it have to be before it's bad?"

"Just a scalp laceration. They always bleed like crazy. I'll get some ice. Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Kitchen, under the sink," Chuck said faintly.

Sarah straightened. "I'll be right back."

Chuck pressed his hand against his head, released it. The other hand dangled between his knees. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

Sarah came back, the first aid kit wedged under one arm. "Here. Put this on your head." She handed him a plastic sandwich bag full of crushed ice. "Careful!"

Chuck winced as the cold plastic pressed against his head. "Oh, ow. I saw stars."

Sarah busied herself with the first aid kit. "No wonder. That was some bump. What will you tell your sister?"

Chuck groaned. "Oh, God. Ellie will want to take me to the hospital as soon as she sees this. She'll want to CAT scan me."

"Maybe that's a good idea."

"No," he said, shaking his head and then wincing. "Have you ever wondered what a CAT scan might do to the images in my head?"

Sarah looked at him thoughtfully. "No, I hadn't. Good point." She took some butterfly bandages out of the kit. "So, I'll make it look like you already went to the hospital. Hold still." She took the ice pack from his hand, noting how warm his hand was. She wondered if he was starting a fever. Maybe he needed some aspirin? The plastic bag was bloody. She dabbed carefully at the laceration on Chuck's head with a cold alcohol wipe. His breath hissed in, but he was still.

To distract him, she said, "What were you trying to do, before you smacked into that car door?"

"That guy was going to shoot you."

"Casey had him covered. It was dangerous, what you did." She bent down and looked into his eyes, first his left, then his right. She held up a finger. "Follow my finger."

Chuck watched her as she moved her finger from side to side. "So I'm supposed to just stand there and hope Casey doesn't miss? What if he'd missed, Sarah? What if that guy had shot you?"

"I know the risks of my job." She raised her finger up and down, watching closely to see that both Chuck's eyes were tracking it.

"You take too many risks!" Chuck said forcefully. "Sorry. I didn't mean ... it's just that, if you got hurt ..."

Sarah stopped moving her finger, staring at him. Their faces were an inch apart. She stared at him for a long moment, time stretching out...

"Sarah?" His breath whispered out.

She turned her head away. "Sorry. It's just that ... I'm not used to anyone caring if I lived or died."

"What? But you're ... a very valuable agent," Chuck said.

Sarah laughed humorlessly, rummaging through the first aid kit. "All agents are expendable, Chuck. Even me. The Agency wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it meant success for the mission." She spread antibiotic cream on a sterile gauze pad.

He touched her arm. "That's not right, Sarah. You shouldn't ... they shouldn't ... they should care about whether you live or die."

"They don't, believe me." She stroked his skin gently, spreading cream on the cut.

"Well, I care," he said strongly. His brown eyes were full of something she wasn't ready to name. Something warm. She looked into them, feeling tension building between them, something drawing her closer.

Then she turned her gaze away. She started peeling the backing from some butterfly closures. "Nowyou are a different story, Mr. Bartowski," she said lightly. "The Agency would move heaven and earth to save your life. You're more valuable than a dozen of me or Casey." She smiled but he didn't smile back.

He grabbed her arm. She could see his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Sarah. Promise me. If it comes to that ... don't die for me. Don't make me live with that. Icouldn't."

Her hand was still on his face, and she wanted to run her hand down his cheek, soothe him. Instead, she withdrew her hand and turned to the first aid kit, looking for more butterfly closures. "I follow orders, Chuck." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "We all do."

His hand cupped her chin, drew her face back. "No. I don't. I'm not part of the Agency. I'm ... just a guy. The Agency can't give me orders." His voice was harder than she'd ever heard in him. "I won't let them sacrifice you for me. I won't. If they try it, I'll run. I'll ... I'll make sure they can't ever get what's in my head. You tell them that. You tell them, Sarah, because if I --"

She smiled and put her fingers on his lips. Warm lips. Soft, moving against her fingers until he stopped. "Chuck, relax. And don't kid yourself, Casey would find you no matter where you hid."

Chuck's eyes went very dark. He looked at her, and she took her fingers away from his mouth, uncertain. "Sarah. I promise you, if they let you die to save me, I'll blow my brains out and then it won't matter if Casey finds me, this 'data' you're all so hot for won't be there any more. You tell that to your bosses. Promise me that you will."

Non-plussed, Sarah nodded. "Okay. If ... if you really want."

"I do." His mouth was a grim line.

Troubled, Sarah stood and went into the bathroom adjoining Chuck's bedroom. She squeezed out a washcloth under cold running water and brought it back. Kneeling beside the bed, she gently wiped his face; he closed his eyes. He looked tired, she thought. She delicately sponged the blood from his cheek, his neck. She sat back on her heels. "Wow, this is ruined," she said lightly, indicating his shirt.

Chuck looked down. The blood had trickled down his neck to his collar, and spread across the white shirt. He looked like a gunshot victim. "You don't have some super secret CIA formula for getting blood out of a shirt?"

She smiled. "Only out of evening gowns. Here, take it off and I'll go soak it."

He nodded, winced, and started to unbutton his shirt. He got the first two buttons undone and then stopped, a slow flush climbing his cheeks. "Uh..."

Smiling at his shyness, Sarah stood up and turned away. She went over to his dresser and pulled out the second drawer, looking through folded T-shirts. As she straightened with one in her hand, she caught Chuck's reflection in the window glass next to the dresser. He was just pulling the shirt off. His chest was broad, with dark, curling hair dusted over his pecs. The hair looked soft, and for a moment she thought about touching it and a wave of heat went through Sarah. She watched as he picked up the washcloth and dabbed at his neck and chest, wiping blood. Muscle moved under pale skin, more definition than she expected. Good shoulders, she thought. Her gaze drifted down, taking in his flat abdomen, the hair marching south from his belly button. Sarah closed her eyes and turned around, holding out the T-shirt. "Here," she said.

"Thanks." She felt him take the shirt from her hand. She heard the soft rustle as he pulled it on over his head.

"Okay to open my eyes?" she said, smiling.

"Uh, yeah," he said. His voice was lower than usual, subdued.

She opened them and he was standing in front of her, wearing a dark brown T-shirt with a video game logo on it. She reached up and touched the bandages on his head lightly. He didn't flinch. "Looks okay," she said. "Like maybe you took a dive during a basketball game or something." His eyes were on hers. She left her hand on his face, and now there was no reason to do that except she wanted to. "Thanks for ... for worrying about me," she said softly.

"Sarah ..." he breathed. He took in a deep breath, stepped toward her.

She knew what he was going to do, knew she should stop it. They absolutely should not do this. But she stood still as he leaned in, his eyes closing as he approached, and then his lips were warm against hers, soft and alive and ... tentative. She could have just stood there, unresponsive, until he got the message and backed off. But she leaned into him, pressed back against his mouth, and finally opened her lips and let him in.

His arms went around her and pulled her against his chest, and his tongue met hers and she felt her stomach go all fluttery, in a way that hadn't happened in a long, long time. His hesitation turned to enthusiasm, and then passion, and his hands slid up and down her back. She could tell he was trembling--with nervousness? Or desire? Or something else?

She felt the heat of his body against hers, felt strength in those arms, gentleness in those hands, and somehow her hands wound up tangling through his curls, holding his head as she kissed him back. He drew back only enough to change the angle of their mouths, and then he kissed her again--long, deep, soft, wet kisses. Shallow kisses. Juicy kisses. Tongue and lips tasting her, savoring her, sucking gently on her lower lip and then going back to tease the corner of her mouth. Still trembling, but in no hurry to stop.

Until her exploring hand brushed against his head wound and he winced. And then Sarah pulled away, her mouth still tasting him. She pushed a little against his chest, and he released her. He stared at her out of unfathomable eyes, his hair flopping over his forehead.

"Chuck ..."

A shadow fell into his eyes. He was so primed for rejection. It hurt to see, as if a child had flinched from her touch.

"I ... I'd better go." Sarah stepped around him to the door.

"Sarah, wait."

"See you tomorrow," she said quickly, and almost ran out of the apartment. When she reached her car, she glanced back to see if he was following. He wasn't. She turned the key in the ignition and sighed with relief. What a stupid mistake. She wouldn't let that happen again. Very unprofessional.

All the way back to her apartment, she kept licking her lips, tasting him.

"Whoa, hey, bro! What has that woman been doing to you?" Morgan asked the next day.

Chuck winced. "Nothing. Why do you think Sarah had anything to do with this?"

Lester walked up to the Nerd Herd desk, carrying a clipboard. "Damn, man. She take a lead pipe to you or what?"

"It's not what you think," Chuck said.

"You guys should go in for counseling, if it's come to this," Morgan said. He tilted his head back and forth, examining the cut on Chuck's head.

"What's up?" Anna asked, setting down a box of hard drives. "Hey, Chuck, what did you do to yourself?"

"I hit my head on a car door," he said. He looked from one disbelieving face to another. "No, really, I did. Honestly."

Lester shrugged. "Whatever. You wanna maintain plausible deniability, that's fine with me. I have a call in Anaheim. See ya." He walked away, jingling the keys to a Nerd Herder car.

Anna went off towards the storage cage. Morgan leaned in close to Chuck. "For real, man, what happened?"

"Looks like Chuckie didn't duck when he was supposed to," said a hard edged voice. Chuck looked around and saw John Casey standing next to a stack of printers, arms crossed in a menacing stance. Unconsciously, the Nerd Herders edged away from him. "You should take better care of your head, Chuck. It's worth a lot."

"What?" Morgan said. He looked at Chuck. "Is he on crack?"

Chuck busied himself with a clipboard full of call sheets. "Like I said, I hit a car door."

"Well, I think your 'car' just came to apologize." Morgan looked knowingly at the front of the store, where Sarah had just entered in her Wienerliscious costume. Chuck swallowed visibly.

"Oh, she's just, uh..."

But Morgan gave him a wink and walked away. Chuck caught a glimpse of John Casey's glare as he followed, and then Sarah was standing in front of the desk. "I, uh, just wanted to know how your head is doing," she said.

He looked at her. He licked his lips. "Um. I'm okay. Thanks. And ... and you?"

She tilted her head on one side, her expression unreadable. "Me? I didn't hit my head on a car door, Chuck."

He fiddled with his pen cup. It turned over, spilling pens and pencils and a soda straw all over the desk. "Oh, I know. I just. Um." He didn't look at her. His cheeks turned a little pink.

"I'm fine," she said softly.

He looked up. Their eyes met. He was silent for a long moment. "Okay. Listen, I, uh, was wondering." He glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them, but still lowered his voice. "Look, I know you and Casey are trained to fight. I know you're good at it. Are there some, uh, some moves you could show me? So I'm not, you know, totally hopeless out there next time?"

"It would take months to train you as a field agent," Sarah said, her voice low. "If it could be done at all."

Chuck winced. "Yeah, well, is it better to keep me completely ignorant, so I stumble around like I did last night and put everyone in danger?"

Sarah frowned, thinking. "Maybe we should just leave you at home."

"Would if we could," said John Casey behind her. He didn't look apologetic at all for having sneaked back into the conversation. "But you know we can't always do that. What are you two talking about?" He returned Chuck's frown with a glower of his own. Sarah looked daggers at him; he ignored her.

"I'm trying to talk Sarah into teaching me how to fight," Chuck said. He cleared his throat. "Nothing fancy. Just enough to hold my own."

"You mean the way you 'held your own' against that guy last night?" Casey sneered. "If you'd just stayed out of the way, we'd have him. And pretty soon, we'd have his whole Al Qaeda cell. But no, you had to--"

"Chuck? What's going on here?" Harry Tang strode up.

Sarah spoke up perkily. "I'm just asking for some tech support for our, uh, network."

Harry looked at her costume suspiciously. "Don't you work at the hot dog place? What do you need a network for?"

"So the fryer can talk to the refrigerator, obviously," Chuck said smoothly. "Not to mention linking the cash register into their inventory and re-order system."

"Do you have a service contract with us?" Harry asked.

"That's what I'm trying to sell her," John Casey said, attempting a smile. The results were discouraging.

Harry shook his head. "Not your job, Casey. If Chuck's gonna sell her a contract, he can do it on his own. Get back to the floor." He turned and walked away, missing the death glare John Casey shot at the back of his head.

Casey looked from Chuck to Sarah. "Teach him," he said, and walked away.

Chuck looked at Sarah. "Well?"

She bit her lip. "Okay. There's a training center we use, in the back of a grocery store." She took a pen from his hand (warm) and scribbled an address on the back of a Buy More ad. She handed it back to him. "I guess we can start tonight."

"Deal," Chuck said. As Sarah walked away, a slow smile spread across his face.

Sarah was in the middle of her warm-up stretches when the knock on the door came. She hopped up and strode across the springy exercise mats to the door. She unlocked it and slid it sideways.

Chuck stood there in sweat pants and a T-shirt, carrying a towel and a water bottle. The air that came in with him was cool and pleasant. Sarah slid the door shut and locked it.

Chuck stood looking around the room. "Wow. What is this place?"

"Used to be a grocery warehouse," Sarah said. "The Agency bought it and turned it into a training facility. We have to be in top form at all times."

Chuck wandered over to the weight rack, pushed the heavy boxing bag so that it swung on its rope. He picked up a weight, lifted it slowly to his shoulder, put it down. Sarah couldn't help but notice the slight bulge of his bicep as he curled the weight up. Was he trying to show off for her?

Sarah walked out to the center of the mats and bent over to touch her toes. "Better warm up first, Chuck."

"Oh, right." He set down his water bottle and towel, and stepped onto the mats.

"No shoes," Sarah warned.

"Oh. Okay. Sorry." He bent over and unlaced his shoes. Sarah watched the long curve of his back, saw the muscles moving under his shirt. She thought about that kiss -- those kisses -- and how his chest had felt against her. Her gaze drifted down to his legs--long, long legs.

"How tall are you, Chuck?" Sarah asked.

He straightened, stepped onto the mats. His bare feet looked huge. "Six two. Why?"

She bent sideways, hands on her hips, stretching her abdominals. "You play basketball in college?"

He started twisting his torso, limbering up. "Nah. Mostly I ran track. Bryce and I used to --" He stopped abruptly.

Sarah already knew Bryce had been a star athlete at Stanford. She saw the cloud pass over Chuck's face as he remembered his betrayal. "You ever do any weight training, martial arts, boxing?" she asked.

Chuck shook his head and grinned. "No. I am your complete wimp."

Sarah had to grin back. It was impossible not to, when he smiled that thousand-watt smile. "Not entirely. Don't forget to stretch your leg muscles." She dropped to the mat, feeling it give easily under her, and stuck her legs out in front of her. "Can you touch your toes like this?" She stretched forward, grabbed her toes.

Chuck sat down, reached for his toes, gasped. "Ow."

"Okay, don't try to do it all at once," Sarah said, laughing. "The idea is to warm up, Chuck, not put yourself in traction."

"Yeah," he said. Concentrating, he reached forward and grabbed his ankles. "Guess this will have to do."

They continued stretching, at opposite ends of the mat area, for another fifteen minutes. Finally, Sarah stood, hands on hips. "You ready?"

Chuck got to his feet. "Ready, Master Yoda."

She smiled. "More like Master Po, Grasshopper."

Chuck grinned and bowed from the waist. "Shall I snatch a pebble from your hand?"

She stepped close to him. "Not quite yet."

Chuck's smile faded at her approach. That hot and haunted look came back into his eyes and she felt her heartbeat speed up. "What do we start with, then?"

"Lesson one: falling down."

A corner of his mouth went up. "I know how to do that. I'm very good at that."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "No, you're very bad at it. That's why you have this." She reached up and touched the wound on his forehead. Chuck stood very still, not flinching. "You need to learn to fall safely. Because you're going to be falling a lot, and you need to know how to do it without too much damage. Like, you should never 'break' your fall with your hand, it's a guaranteed way to break a wrist."

"Okay," he said. His voice was low. This close, she was a little overwhelmed by how tall he was. She'd taken down men this big, though. Why did Chuck unnerve her?

"Okay. Stand next to me, facing the other way. Hand on my shoulder. Yes, like this." His hand was warm and large on her shoulder. "Now, very slowly, bend your knees and let yourself kind of roll backward. Slide your hand down my arm as you're doing it, and I'll catch your hand in mine. That will slow you down and help break your fall. Don't let your head hit the ground, ever. Your other hand should--"

Chuck laughed. "One thing at a time! Who knew falling down could be so complicated?"

She smiled. "Just wait until we get to the rolling fall. Now come on, take it slow." She braced herself, and he bent his knees, letting himself fall backwards. Sarah was surprised; most people found it hard to fight the habits of a lifetime and let themselves fall. But with perfect trust in her, Chuck let go, sliding his hand down her arm. She caught it in hers, took most of his weight on her braced legs, and let him down gently onto the mat. "Good!"

He smiled up at her. "Will this be on the test?"

She laughed and hauled him to his feet. Half an hour of falls left them both breathless and flushed. Sarah helped Chuck to his feet one last time and he bent over, hands on his knees, panting. "Hey, can we take a break?"

"Sure," she said. She almost fell to her knees, then sat back and crossed her legs. "Ten minutes?"

He nodded, out of breath, and walked over to get his water. He slung the towel around his neck and walked back to her. Plopping down beside her, he offered her the bottle. She drank and handed it back, noticing that he didn't bother to wipe the rim. He was gazing into the distance, thinking. She studied the damp curls at the back of his neck. He drew his knees up and laid his forearms over them, his big hands dangling between. "I wish..." he said.

She leaned back on her arms, legs straight out beside him. "You wish what?"

He looked over at her. "I wish we'd met some other way," he said bluntly.

She recognized his mood--now and then he dropped the comedy act and let her see into him, past all his defenses. She always marveled that anyone would make himself so vulnerable to another. "What other way?" she said softly.

"Just ... ordinary, you know? Not part of this ... craziness." He waved the water bottle, taking in their whole situation. "We could have..." He stopped, shook his head.

She put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm. "We could have what?"

He bit his lip, not looking at her. "Maybe we wouldn't have to ... pretend ... to be dating." He looked sideways at her, his eyes rich and brown, and then dropped his gaze. "No, probably you'd never have gone out with me at all. If you didn't, you know, have to."

She was silent a moment. "Chuck, about last night, in your bedroom--"

"Oh, hey." He held up a hand, not looking at her. "I know. I was out of line. It was a spur of the moment thing. Nothing to freak out about. Won't happen again." He spoke rapidly, as if he'd rehearsed the words.

She grabbed his hand. "Hey, give a girl a chance," she said, laughing.

He looked sideways at her, his face flushed. His fingers curled around hers, not tight, just holding.

"I wasn't freaked out," she said. "It was nice."

He turned and looked her full in the face then. "Nice?"

"Yeah."

His fingers tightened on hers, and then released. A little half-smile played across his face. He looked pleased with himself, before he turned away, raising the bottle to his lips. When he finished it, he got to his feet. "Time for Round Two?"

Sarah extended her hand and he helped her to her feet. "Sure."

"You said this would be about rolling?"

"Yes," she said, stepping back. "I'll show you how to somersault out of a fall so you can come up on your feet. It's a fighting trick but you can use it for a quick getaway." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. "Oh, I don't mean that you're only interested in running away--"

His mouth had settled in a grim line. "It's okay. I get it, Sarah. I'm ... not a professional. Just ... show me."

She launched herself into a rolling somersault and came up in the classic three point stance--on her left knee, with her right foot flat on the ground and her weight distributed evenly between them. "See? This is a very stable position, hard to get knocked over from here. Try pushing me over."

Chuck stepped over and pushed tentatively on her shoulder. She didn't move. "Come on, Chuck, put some muscle into it. You don't have to hold off because--"

He shoved her suddenly, and Sarah rocked back onto her left leg. But she ducked away from his hand and brought her hands up as if holding a gun. "See? You didn't knock me over, and I still control my weapon."

He nodded, thoughtful. "I don't know if I can do that."

"I'll help you."

For the next few minutes, she took him through the motions of a somersault, over and over. The forward roll which seemed so simple to her was a complicated mess for him. Time and time again he fell to the right or left, and wound up sprawled on the mat, panting. "I just can't get this," he said in a discouraged voice.

"Here," she said, pulling him to his feet. "Once more. Lean forward, and I'll guide you through it. Step, bend, roll--no, wait!"

They went down together in a tangled heap, arms and legs intertwined. Sarah gasped as his weight came down on her and knocked her wind out. She wound up under Chuck, and in sheer reflex she spun, using leverage to flip him over on his back. She straddled him in the Academy approved manner, holding his upper arms flat against the canvas mat, her face inches from his.

"Oh," he said.

"Sorry," she answered, shaking her head. "Reflex. I don't usually like guys falling on me."

He grinned. "That's okay. You can be on top." Then his smile vanished and he got a look of faint panic. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that."

Maybe it was their proximity, or the fact that their bodies had been wrestling together for more than an hour, or maybe it was sheer insanity, but Sarah didn't even try to stop herself. She leaned down and kissed him. Hard. She felt that wide mouth tense under hers, and then relax into the kiss, his lips soft and tasting of salt from the sweat. She lingered on his mouth, savoring him, and was ready to end it when he suddenly moaned and opened his mouth under hers, like a dam giving way. His arms came up to wrap around her and hers shot to his face, cradling it as she kissed him deeper, their tongues slicking against one another. His breath was harsh and fast, his chest rising and falling frantically against hers. God, he was a sweet kisser, she thought. She felt her nipples getting hard, and realized that he could probably feel them through his thin T-shirt.

His hands slid up her back and caught in her hair, and his breath was in her mouth. He tasted like salt and honey.

She tensed, waiting for him to roll, to put her under him, to put himself in a more dominant position. It's what Bryce would have done. But he made no move to take control, merely clasping her close and kissing her, kissing her, kissing her. Sarah felt a little drunk. He felt so good.

She slipped her hands out of his hair, down his shoulders. He kissed the sides of her mouth, her cheek, nuzzling down her neck. His eyes were still closed, as if denying reality, hoping this was a dream that would not stop. He buried his face in her neck and murmured her name, while her hands slid down to his waist, tugged at his T-shirt, and slid up under it across his belly and chest. His mouth on her neck sucked gently; she could feel his eyelashes soft against her cheek.

This was a mistake, she thought. But she could not stop her hands. He trusted her, believed in her, relied on her. And part of her dared hope, in a tiny corner far away from the light, that he cared for her. Not the CIA agent, but the woman who had shut so many emotions away, and yet never lost them.

Her fingers found his skin, the hair on his chest, a nipple. She slid her hands over him and he moaned so softly it was almost a whimper. Straddling him, she could feel him getting hard through his sweatpants. She pinched a nipple, gently, and he gasped her name against her neck. But he made no move to take things further, and Sarah realized that he was leaving that decision to her. For some reason, that roused a great feeling of tenderness in her, a protective feeling. It would be so easy to hurt him, she thought. It was so easy for him to feel. She'd spent so much time hiding her feelings, she wasn't sure what they were any more.

Except that right now her body was responding deeply to his.

Chuck kissed his way back up her neck to her mouth, and, eyes still closed, brushed his lips over hers. And again. A little deeper, a little slower, then a kiss to the corner of her mouth--if nothing else, he was an expert in making out. Sarah smiled and he felt her smile under his mouth and opened his eyes.

Oh, God.

His eyes were brown and soft and full of smiles and a little sadness--no, a lot of sadness--and most of all full of hope.

Hope.

She had almost forgotten what hope was like. She stared at him, eye to eye, their hands still, their hearts beating, for a very long moment. A question came and went in Chuck's eyes, and an answer came and went in hers. She lowered her head slowly, deliberately, and Chuck kissed her, so deeply and passionately she felt a weakness shudder all through her body.

He loves me. Or he thinks he does. Which is the same thing, maybe.

Her hands slid to the hem of his T-shirt and tugged upward. He raised himself on his elbows and let her pull it over his head, one arm releasing at a time. She tossed it away and when its soft thump on the mat met her ears she realized just how very quiet the room had become. The only sound was their breathing -- synchronized -- and the faint scrape of clothing on the mat. Eyes locked to Chuck's, she sat up and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She watched the slow flush rise from his chest to his face. His eyes burned darker, but he said nothing as he let his eyes explore her. She tugged the sports bra off and threw it on top of his T-shirt. His hair fell into his eyes as he looked down, eyes widening as he took her in.

"Sarah..." he said, so quietly she hardly heard him. Trembling, he drew a finger down her collarbone to the valley between her breasts, then skimmed down the slope of her left breast to her nipple. She sucked in air when he brushed his thumb across it. Then his hands were on her waist and he drew her closer, raised his mouth and kissed her right between her breasts. His mouth was so soft, his skin warm, and the faint stubble on his cheeks tickled her. He brushed his face across her breasts, sucked a nipple gently, so gently into his mouth. She felt herself going soft all over, her breath coming fast. He made no move to hurry her or dominate her. She wasn't sure if he was shy or being tender, but the novelty of his restraint and care was seriously turning her on.

He pulled his mouth away from her breast and cupped the back of her head in one large hand. His eyes were so dark. "Sarah," he said, his voice unsteady. "I want ... I don't know if you, um..."

Shut him up. If he talks, he'll only make himself more nervous. He babbles when he's nervous. Sarah rested a finger against his lips and Chuck went silent. His chest rose and fell under her; it was like riding a wave. "It's okay," she whispered. She cupped his face and leaned down for a kiss. Her breasts flattened against his chest and she felt his chest hair tickling her deliciously. His skin was hot, a little damp from exercise. His kiss was a little uncertain now. She pressed him, teased his tongue with hers, relentless and wild, and in a moment he moaned again, a sound of deep, deep hunger. Of longing. Of capitulation. He was hers, if she wanted him.

And oh, she did.

Her hands felt for his waistband, shoved at his sweatpants. He grunted in surprise--had he thought she wouldn't go further? She didn't look at him as she swung off him, stood, shucked her workout pants and -- after the tiniest hesitation -- her blue lace panties. She glanced over and saw Chuck lying on his elbows, eyes big in his face, mouth open as he stared at her in naked wonder. His pants were tangled at his knees, as if he'd been wrestling them off when he caught sight of her. His mouth moved silently, as if he were saying his name, but no sound came out.

She glanced down and saw his cock, rigid and flat against his stomach, and he followed her gaze and his face went red.

He's shy. Well, I'm not, thank God.

She swung one leg over his hips, settled herself astride him (his cock pressing against her, hard and delicious), and caught his gasp in her mouth as she kissed him. She knew a dozen ways to make a man come, but Chuck would not need any help from her. She felt his need, his passion, his ... delight ... burning through his skin and hands. His trembling increased, and now she knew it wasn't fear but need, need and desire.

His hands slid up her back, pulled her close, and now the urgency in them was unmistakable. He wasn't holding back any more.

"Sarah. Oh, God, Sarah..." He kissed her neck, her mouth, her breasts, everything he could reach. "Oh, Sarah..." He said her name like a prayer. A blessing.

She heard herself moaning as his hands roamed her. She lifted her hips, centered herself over Chuck, and slid a hand down to grasp him.

He gasped and arched his neck, chin jutting upwards as she sank down on him, taking him in as deep as she could.

God, he felt good. He felt hot inside her.

She rocked and he gasped again, his hips following hers. He put his hands on her hips, gently holding her. He didn't force her down to make his entrance deeper. His body listened to hers and followed her rhythm, back and forth, her breasts bobbing. She felt the tension building at the base of her belly, closed her eyes, felt him suddenly sitting up, gathering her against him and settling her into his lap. His legs were together, supporting her, as she rocked against him, feeling the length of him sliding as she rode, and then ah there it was, that spark.

"Chuck..." she whispered. "Oh, God, Chuck..."

Gloriously, she exploded around him, going limp all over. His mouth covered hers lovingly, softly as she came. He kept one hand behind her head and the other on her waist, steadying her. He would not let her fall. She shuddered through her release, feeling all the barriers inside her coming down, letting go of her fear and her watchfulness and just feeling him, feeling her, feeling them together. He sensed when she was settling, as the soft throb at her center slowed, and she leaned forward against his chest, rocking gently on him. His hand slid up her back; it felt broad and strong. She thought about those hands using tiny screwdrivers and delicate electronic parts. On her body, they felt strong and ... supportive. Sarah leaned her forehead against Chuck's shoulder and sighed.

He kissed her neck, tilting his pelvis up slightly to secure her position. The move drove him deeper into her and she moaned softly.

"Sarah," he said again, his voice low and warm. "Saaaaarahhhhh."

She pulled her head back and looked at him, and his grin was wide and white across his face, as infectious as a cold. "Hey," she said.

He rocked his hips again, going deeper and pulling back, and she echoed his move with a rocking motion of her own. His smile faltered, his pupils going dark. Sarah wriggled so that her knees came down on either side of his hips, her weight pulling her down onto him, pushing him even deeper, as deep as he could go, and she watched his Adam's apple bob. His smile wavered even more, his eyes lost focus, and she moved her hips, deliberately, slowly, tantalizingly. She knew what it would do to him, and she took pleasure in watching how his face went slack with wonder, with astonishment, and then with pleasure.

"Oh my God..." he said, a moan under his voice.

That college girlfriend never knew what I know, Sarah thought with satisfaction. And then she remembered that that college girlfriend had run away with Bryce, and she put away those thoughts.

Sarah caught Chuck's face in her hands and leaned in for a kiss. "Let go, Chuck," she whispered against his mouth, and rocked her hips. Again. And again. She let her hips rotate a little as she did, and felt him gasp against her mouth. He fell back on his hands, giving her complete control, and she swayed harder, faster. He moaned into her mouth and she thrust her hips downward, taking him deep, and he gasped and cried out wordlessly, his head flung back, tendons standing out on his neck and he came, trembling and gasping. Sarah dug her fingers into his shoulders and rode him out, feeling his muscles jerk in contractions under her hands.

The tension went out of him suddenly and he wrapped those long arms around her, falling to his side and taking her with him. They hit the mat with a slap of naked skin on canvas. He buried his face between her breasts and said nothing for a long time. Sarah stroked his hair, shifting a little as he softened, left her. In her arms, he was as loose as a string, unresisting, spent.

He's been holding back for a long time,she thought. He gives everything. He holds nothing back. In their most intimate moments, she knew Bryce had always held something back; Chuck was as open as clear water. He made himself completely vulnerable to her. And she realized that this made her vulnerable to him.

This is dangerous.

But she didn't care. It had been a long time since she'd felt this close to a man. Maybe never. She'd thought Bryce was exciting, strong, a thrill. A charming rogue she could maybe tame. There had always been an element of rivalry between her and Bryce. But Chuck...Chuck was strong enough to give her everything and ask for nothing.

Sarah kissed his hair, the curls damp and salty against her mouth. She hugged him. "Chuck."

"Yes." His voice was very quiet. He turned his head, his hair brushing her breasts, his nose poking her upper arm.

She pulled his head away, hands on either side of his face. His head is really large, she thought irrelevantly. She looked into his eyes. "It's getting cold in here."

He blinked and looked around, coming to himself. "Oh. Yeah." His eyes returned to hers, dropped shyly, then flitted away from her naked body. "I, uh..."

She brought his face back to hers, kissed him. "Shh. You ... don't have to say anything, Chuck." Your body, your eyes have said it all.

"I don't want you to ... misunderstand this," he said. "I don't ... this wasn't ... I don't do 'hookups' and ... and one-nighters, you know?"

She smiled. "You're telling me you're not that kind of boy?"

He smiled and once again she loved how that smile lit up a room. "Only for very special ladies. Just one, in fact."

He's going to tell me he loves me. Not that. Not that. Not yet. She kissed him suddenly, feeling him melt into her again, feeling the heat rise in him again. Then she broke the kiss and scooted out of his arms, moving away from him. "Seriously. It's cold. And late. Let's get out of here."

He lay looking at her out of unfathomable eyes. "Someplace warmer?" He smiled uncertainly. He didn't even seem aware of how dorky he looked, with his pants still caught around his ankles and his hair a wild assortment of contradictory angles.

Sarah plucked her panties off the top of the clothes pile and slid them on. Her thighs were sticky but she didn't mind. She didn't mind any part of Chuck now. She tossed him his T-shirt. "Sure," she said. "I think we'll have a little more privacy at my place." And I can protect you better.

He sat up, awkwardly struggling back into his pants. "Oh. Okay. Um. Should we get something to eat?"

He hasn't had a girl since college. Maybe not even a date since then. He doesn't know what to do. A wave of pure affection went through Sarah. Finished dressing, she reached down a hand to him, pulled him to his feet. He towered over her, gawky and sweet and sexy all at once.

"Yeah," she said. "You're going to need your strength, Agent Bartowski. 'Cause we have a lot more moves to learn."

THE END