| Chuck fic: The Road to Hell... |
[Oct. 4th, 2008|11:55 pm] |
I've had this story floating around in bits for a long time and I could never figure out what to do with it. Chuck is kind of a pain in the ass.
Fandom: Chuck
Pairing: Chuck/Bryce
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Chuck is tired of people always trying to keep him safe.
Huge thanks to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) suaine for the awesome beta, kelly_girl for reading bits and being encouraging, and hackthis for listening to me whine.
“Help! I’ve been kidnapped!” Chuck screams, pounding on the closet door.
He’s seven years old and this is the first time he’s been kidnapped.
And, okay, maybe it’s just that his stupid sister had thrown him in the closet because he almost set himself on fire in the kitchen, but he had only wanted to see if what Bobby had told him about pop-tarts and balls of fire was true.
It’s dark in here and there’s not much room to move around. He could suffocate or worse.
“Ellie, come on! There’re spiders in here!” Chuck pleads, trying to make himself as small as possible. He jumps when an old winter coat, smelling of moth balls, brushes against his arm.
“You afraid of spiders?” Ellie taunts from the other side of the closet.
“Yes!” Chuck shouts.
“Tough,” Ellie says. “You’re staying in there, where it’s safe and you can’t set yourself on fire.”
“For how long?” Chuck asks timidly. He’s feeling a bit dizzy and he wonders how long it will be until the closet runs out of air.
“Until you’re fifty,” Ellie says grimly.
Chuck throws himself at the door and gets it halfway open before Ellie slams it shut again. She’s bigger and meaner.
“I hate you!” Chuck screams, crying.
“I don’t care,” Ellie says stubbornly.
In panic, Chuck seizes on the only thing that might get him out. “I’ll tell Mom!”
There's no noise at all from the other side of the door for a few moments and then the door flings open. Ellie is staring at him, hair falling from her messy ponytail into her eyes, breathing hard from their struggle, and looking hurt.
“I was just trying to keep you safe,” Ellie says defensively, brushing the hair from her eyes.
Chuck can only sob. At least he’s no longer stuck in the dark closet with the big spiders.
Ellie looks at his tear streaked face, sighs, and takes him by the hand. “I’ll give you a cookie if you don’t tell Mom.”
Chuck sniffs. “Three cookies.”
i.
Chuck Bartowski decides to celebrate his twentieth rescue from kidnapping with beer and pizza.
“It wasn’t anything special as far as kidnapping attempts go,” Chuck explains to a skeptical looking Sarah. “Just the usual brief flashes of terror followed by hours of mind numbing boredom, followed by even more terror, but I think it’s important to commemorate the milestones, don’t you?”
Sarah ignores him. Apparently his twentieth rescue from kidnapping is serious business. Chuck is feeling surprisingly Zen about the whole thing.
Sarah sits up straight on the couch and frowns at Chuck. It’s not a mean look, it’s more quizzical than anything else. Something in the look reminds Chuck that Sarah probably knows about thirty ways of killing Chuck with her pinky toe.
“Let’s go over what happened during this recent incident,” Sarah orders. “I got cut off at the other end of the building. How did Casey get you out?”
The explosions wake Chuck from a sound sleep. He’s lying on the floor in a dark room, covered by a warm, fuzzy blanket. The fuzzy blanket is new. In the shadows, it looks like a pale blue and feels soft against Chuck’s skin. He has difficulty remembering all that much from the past few days, but the blanket has to be new. He’d remember being kidnapped while covered in fuzzy blanket. He’s certain of it.
There are gun shots in the corridor, then another explosion, and then Casey is yanking open the door and grabbing onto Chuck’s wrist to pull him into the bright corridor. Chuck blinks rapidly trying to clear the spots from his vision as Casey yanks the gag from his mouth.
“Thank god,” Chuck says, rubbing at his mouth. “That gag was starting to cut my mouth.”
Casey stares at him. Chuck stares past him, transfixed by the blinking emergency lights in the hallway. “That’s what you’re worried about? Cutting your mouth?”
Chuck frowns. Cuts are annoying. Especially when they come from gags. It’s like a paper cut, but a million times worse and on your mouth. And all the pamphlets say that everyone has their own individual reaction to trauma and it’s perfectly okay for Chuck to be concerned with admittedly minor mouth injuries. It’s all part of the healing process. Chuck opens his mouth to tell Casey this, but Casey just grunts and takes a tighter grip on Chuck’s wrist. He starts to drag Chuck down the corridor.
They pause after a few steps. Chuck gives Casey a questioning look.
“Chuck,” Casey sighs, “Lose the blankie.”
“Huh?”
“You’re holding a fuzzy blue blanket in your hand.” Casey explains through gritted teeth.
“Oh.” Chuck says and for a moment he has a very irrational urge to say no, but he forces open his hand. The blanket falls to the floor. “Right.”
Casey rolls his eyes and continues to drag Chuck by the wrist. Chuck turns and looks back at the blanket. It’s important, not in the “holding secret codes crucial to national security” way, but in some sort of symbolic sense, maybe. Chuck just really doesn’t want to leave it behind and he can’t figure out why.
“You know, he just did the usual Casey smash thing,” Chuck shrugs. “Are you staying for pizza?”
“Can’t. Sorry,” Sarah apologizes, giving Chuck a quick kiss on the cheek.
ii.
“I think I’m going to write a book,” Chuck announces to Casey, who has announced that Chuck needs post kidnap babysitting. Chuck is pretty sure Casey only volunteers because he wants Chuck’s pizza. ‘It’s going to be called Kidnapping for Dummies. Except that won’t work as a title because it won’t be about how to kidnap people, but how to survive being kidnapped, so I guess it should be called Kidnapping Survival for Dummies, but I don’t think that sounds as catchy. What do you think?”
Casey stares at him. “Did you get a concussion?”
“No,” Chuck frowns, offended.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Casey demands as he shoves the last piece of pizza into his mouth. Chuck doesn’t think he got any, which really isn’t fair, but at least he got all the beer.
“I’m just saying that I should find a way to make this whole kidnapping thing work for me. You know, Phase 1 – Get kidnapped multiple times, Phase 3 – Profit.” Chuck explains.
“Huh?”
“You’ve never seen South Park have you?” Chuck sighs and finishes his beer, putting the bottle down next to the five empty ones. Huh. He doesn’t remember drinking that much.. He doesn’t feel drunk, just a little bit off.
“Wait…” Casey says after a few moments, “What’s phase two?”
“That’s the eternal mystery,” Chuck replies with a wise nod.
For a moment, Casey looks like he wants to say something or possibly punch Chuck, but instead he just shrugs and gets up to leave. “I’d like to believe you’re going to be more coherent in the morning, but bitter experience has taught me otherwise.”
Chuck doesn’t look up as Casey leaves. He’s become focused on trying to pull off the labels on the beer bottles all in one long strip.
“Hey Chuck,” Casey says before he closes the door.
Chuck looks up.
“Try not to get kidnapped tonight,” Casey smirks and then laughs like he’s made the greatest joke ever.
Chuck raises his middle finger as the door slams shut and then goes back to peeling the labels off the beer bottles.
iii.
“You don’t remember anything at all from being kidnapped?” Sarah asks, again. She’s tapping a pencil against the table. Chuck gets the feeling that he’s in the principal’s office being prompted to confess that he was the who made the paper airplane that poked Katie in the eye. It’s kind of hot in a very disturbing way.
“Chuck!” Sarah snaps. “Focus!”
Chuck winces as the door clicks shut behind him. He’s panicking, but he’s learning to think through his panic. He needs to search the room. He has no clue what he’s looking for, but it’s what Sarah would do. It’s what Casey would do. It’s what Bryce would do, except not really. Bryce would just casually lean against a wall and trigger a switch that would open a secret door to a corridor filled with super weapons and a pot of gold. Chuck tries leaning casually against the wall. Nothing happens.
It takes Chuck two minutes to search the room. There’s a door Chuck can’t open, a cold concrete floor that Chuck knows is going to be uncomfortable to sit on, no windows, no furniture, and wallpaper that is a form of torture. It has balloons, and a cheerful cartoon child holding a lollipop, and hundreds of smiling, laughing clowns. No one should have to be stuck in a room where the only thing to look at is clown wallpaper.
“It’s a blur,” Chuck says distractedly. “Can we talk about this later? I’m watching Star Trek.”
Sarah glances at the television screen with a frown. “I thought you didn’t like this Star Trek.”
“I’ve decided to give it another chance. It’s Scott Bakula. It can’t be that bad.”
“Chuck, listen to me,” Sarah orders, grabbing the remote and turning off the television. She sits very close to him on the couch, “I know it’s hard to talk about, but I need to know what happened.”
“Because you care,” Chuck adds, making a grab for the remote.
“Because I care,” Sarah smiles, moving the remote out of Chuck’s reach.
“And because you need to know if I was compromised because you have to protect your stupid Intersect.”
“Chuck,” Sarah warns. “Just try to remember. Please. For me?”
It’s a very large tray of needles and the syringes are filled with liquids in an astonishing variety of colors. The people who come with the needles are dressed all in black, their faces covered with masks. Chuck doesn’t pay attention to them; he’s more concerned with the needles.
Of course, they start with the one that’s bubble gum pink.
“Pink, really?” Chuck asks. “I mean kidnapping me was bad enough, but don’t you think injecting me with something pink is a little undignified for everyone involved.”
Chuck swears he hears a familiar chuckle behind one of the masks, right before the needle goes in.
“I really don’t remember anything,” Chuck protests, “I was walking to my car, and then I was in a little room, and then you rescued me. Now give me the remote, I think this is the episode where they explain all about the Klingons’ faces.”
“You weren’t so difficult the last time you were kidnapped,” Sarah snaps, throwing the remote at Chuck, and storming out of the room.
“I’ll try to do better next time,” Chuck calls out to Sarah’s retreating back. He’s too busy grabbing the remote and turning the television back on to notice the worried look Sarah gives him from the door.
iv.
“So I’ve been thinking,” Chuck starts to explain to Casey and Sarah. They’re in the back room at the Buy More and they’re both watching him with folded arms and frowns on their faces.
“When was the last time you slept, Chuck?” Sarah asks. She’s watching the way that Chuck’s fingers are tapping a random pattern on the table with narrowed eyes.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Chuck replies, gripping the side of table to stop the tapping.
“I think you’re sick,” Sarah explains. “I think they did something to you when you were kidnapped.”
“I feel fine,” Chuck objects. And he does. He can’t sleep and his big toe itches, but he’s buzzing with the kind of happy energy he can’t remember having since he’s stayed up until four in the morning smoking pot and drinking coffee with Bryce.
“Chuck, we don’t want to do this the hard way,” Sarah warns.
“Speak for yourself,” Casey mutters.
“But,” Sarah continues after punching Casey in the shoulder, “We need to know anything at all you can remember from being kidnapped.”
Chuck’s arm is throbbing. It’s the only thing he knows is real in the complete darkness of his room. He lets the steady pulse of pain lull him into something almost like sleep until a warning hand covers his mouth and a soft voice starts whispering in his ear.
He knows this voice, and he’s trying to say a name into the hand covering his mouth, but the name keeps on slipping away.
“Play along,” the voice orders, teeth nipping at Chuck’s earlobe. “They think I’m working for then.”
“Trust me,” it demands. And Chuck does. It’s hard not to trust someone who smells like bubblegum.
And then, “I’m sorry,” as another needle slides into his neck. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Chuck feels himself being lowered gently to the ground and wrapped in something warm. Chuck has a thousand questions to ask, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that he should be angry. This shouldn’t be nap time, this should be angry confrontation time, but when he opens his mouth to ask questions and make demands, all he can do is yawn. He feels a fingertip on his lip, silencing him before he even gets a word out, and then the soft brush of lips. Right before he falls asleep, he realizes that everything that was just spoken has been said in Klingon.
“I really don’t remember anything,” Chuck protests. “And really, aren’t we being counter-productive about all of this? Instead of focusing on the past, shouldn’t we be trying to prevent future kidnapping?”
“Hard way it is,” Casey grins and before Chuck can react at all, his wrist is being pinned down to the table and a needle is being stuck in his arm as Casey draws vial after vial of blood.
“Vampire,” Chuck sulks, wincing as Casey pulls the needle out.
“Quit being a baby,” Casey replies, pocketing the vials of blood.
“It’s for your own good,” Sarah says, patting his arm sympathetically. “We’re just trying to figure out what’s wrong with you.”
“Don’t get his hopes up,” Casey grunts, throwing a band-aid at Chuck, “I don’t think modern science is up to the task of figuring out everything that’s wrong with him.”
Chuck glares at the band-aid and then demands to Sarah and Casey’s retreating backs, “Isn’t someone supposed to kiss it better?”
v.
Chuck can’t stop shaking. At first he thinks it is because he is cold, but he’s huddled under five blankets, and the shaking just won’t stop. The Intersect is acting up too, flashing image after image, no matter how tightly Chuck closes his eyes and wills it to stop. It’s like a roller coaster tour of the entire world’s evil, and he’s learning things that he never wanted to know, and knows with absolute certainty that he will never be able to forget.
He hears the door to his bedroom open and close and he vaguely wonders if it’s Casey coming to finally shoot him. He should probably try to run away, but honestly, right now, getting shot sounds kind of nice.
Someone starts carefully pulling the blankets away from the cocoon Chuck has created.
“Casey, just shoot me and go away. I’m not in the mood for you today,” Chuck calls out through chattering teeth and then winces. Noise hurts.
The hands pulling at the blankets still for a moment and then quickly yank all the blankets away. Chuck finds himself staring up at a very bemused looking Bryce Larkin.
He’s standing in the shadows, so it’s hard to see him clearly. It’s kind of a surprise. Chuck has always thought Bryce traveled with his own personal spotlight, though now that he thinks about that, it would be kind of awkward for a spy.
Chuck’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to say or do: run away, call for help, punch Bryce, or hug him. Chuck just knows that it’s cold, and every single molecule of his body is either shaking, or hurting, or doing both and that he really, really wants the blankets.
“Chuck,” Bryce says softly and very carefully, like he’s trying to control his temper. He’s moved closer to the bed, and Chuck can see him better. He looks tired. Bryce never looks tired. He may look rumpled, disheveled, or maybe after a month of not sleeping, vaguely fatigued, but tired is for mere mortals, not Bryce Larkin. “Why are you so casual about the idea of John Casey in your bedroom?”
Chuck tries to formulate an answer, but it’s really a lot for Chuck to process all at once because: A. Bryce is in his bedroom, B. Bryce is in his bedroom looking tired, C. Bryce is in his bedroom looking tired and Chuck’s whole body has decided to rebel against him and appears to be coming undone from the inside out, and D. It sort of sounds to Chuck like Bryce is jealous of Casey.
Chuck wants to say something like, “Hey asshole, thanks for ruining my life.” Or “Thank god you’re here, never leave again.” Or, “The way you’re standing there being jealous and looking at me like that is challenging everything I ever thought about my sexuality, so please come over here and do something about it.”
Chuck is finally opening his mouth to say what he is sure is something amazingly witty and clever when Bryce is suddenly on the bed and hugging him, and the warmth from Bryce’s body feels so great that Chuck forgets what he had planned on saying and just tries to get as close to Bryce and his amazing warmth as he can.
Bryce is saying, “I’m sorry,” over and over again into Chuck’s ear, and Chuck wants to ask him what he’s apologizing for because, really, there’s a whole lot of options. He could be apologizing for the girlfriend stealing, or getting him kicked out of Stanford, or downloading the Intersect into Chuck’s head, or whatever his involvement is in this recent kidnapping, but then Chuck realizes as he hears the faint hissing sound of something being injected into his neck, that Bryce is apologizing for things yet to come, and that should be terrifying, but all Chuck can think of as he drifts to sleep with his head in Bryce’s lap is that he hopes this means Bryce is sticking around.
vi.
Chuck wakes up to the image of Bryce and Casey fighting over a fuzzy, blue blanket.
“I’m dreaming, right?” Chuck asks.
Casey rips the blanket out of Bryce’s hand and shoves it in Chuck’s face. “What the hell is this?”
“A blanket,” Chuck replies, confused and still not entirely awake. Bryce snickers. He looks better this morning, still tired, but somehow less fuzzy, more Bryce like. And he’s wearing one of Chuck’s t-shirts, and Chuck is pretty sure those are his jeans because they don’t fit Bryce right.
“I know that. Why is it here?” Casey snaps, and then gives Bryce a dark look. “And why is he here?”
Chuck is gradually becoming aware of a few things: one, this is not a dream; two, the space on the bed next to him is warm which using his excellent deductive skills means that Bryce slept there; three, he’s feeling better, more than better, in fact, he feels really, really good; and four, actually there is no four because he can’t get over how amazing he feels.
“Okay, so first of all, if you knew it was a blanket, why did you ask?” Chuck asks Casey and Bryce doesn’t even try to hide that he’s laughing. When he smiles, he looks exactly the way he did when they were at college. Chuck can almost make himself believe that this is just another strange morning at Stanford after a night of too much of drinking.
“I will shoot him in the head if I don’t start getting straight answers here,” Casey demands drawing a gun from somewhere in his jacket to point at Bryce. There’s a few seconds of total chaos as Casey and Bryce scramble for position in the room. Bryce ends up on top of Chuck’s bed as Casey tries to grab Chuck by the arm and drag him out of the room.
There’s shouting and gun waving and a battle of words that’s making Chuck’s head spin: “You won’t shoot. You could shoot Chuck.” “I could, but I won’t.” “You might, so you can’t.” “You can’t, but you won’t.” “That didn’t even make sense!” “Yes, it did!” “No, it didn’t!”
And it’s really kind of funny that Chuck is standing in his bedroom in his pajamas, holding a fuzzy blue blanket, while two men with very large guns argue about whether or not they’re willing to shoot him while his sister…
“Hey! Wait a minute. Time out!” Chuck shouts. And he almost starts laughing at the startled looks that both Casey and Bryce give him, but this is important. “My sister.”
“What about her?” Casey asks.
“Why haven’t she and Awesome come running in here with all the shouting? Where are they?” Chuck demands.
“They’re fine,” Bryce says, looking a little bit uncomfortable.
“Fine as in fine or fine as in something awful happened to them preventing them from coming in here,” Chuck asks.
“Fine as in I drugged them last night, so I could sneak into your room uninterrupted,” Bryce explained.
“You drugged my sister?” Chuck shouts.
“They’ll be fine,” Bryce assures. “They’re just getting a really good night’s sleep.”
“Now can I shoot him,” Casey asks Chuck, gesturing to Bryce with his gun.
“You drugged my sister?” Chuck asks again. He’s having trouble with the concept for some reason. He shouldn’t considering how easy it seems to be for Bryce to drug him
“Sorry,” Bryce says. “I couldn’t think of another way.”
Chuck starts to laugh because it’s funny, really, not Bryce drugging his sister, but his life. His life is hysterical and he can’t stop laughing.
Casey and Bryce are staring at him and Chuck tries to control himself enough to explain.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Casey demands to Bryce.
“He’s always been like this,” Bryce explains. “He once fell out his bed laughing because he finally got the punch line to a joke five hours after the fact.”
“You told the joke wrong,” Chuck manages to gasp out while still laughing.
“You weren’t paying attention properly,” Bryce protests. It’s an old argument.
“Hey! Dumb and dumber!” Casey interrupts. “Someone better tell me what’s going on here.”
And Chuck would like to know, too, except suddenly he’s not feeling as fantastic as he has before; the room is starting to spin and he can see spots. Casey and Bryce have noticed that there’s something wrong with him and Casey is trying to get his attention. Chuck would love to respond, but he’s kind of having difficulty moving his mouth.
The sound in the room seems to turn down and he sees Casey mouth the word, “Fuck,” and lean towards Chuck to try and grab him because apparently Chuck is falling. And then Bryce does the coolest ninja thing that Chuck has ever seen and somehow manages to use his gun to knock out Casey and still grab hold of Chuck before he falls to the ground. Chuck would say something about it, but he’s too busy passing out.
vii.
Chuck returns home from his 21st kidnapping and lies down in bed. He should probably call somebody and let them know that he’s okay, but he has a lot to think about and he’s really tired. Frequent kidnappings take a lot out of you. He buries his head under his pillow and falls asleep.
When he wakes up a few hours later, he knows without opening his eyes that someone is watching him. He’d be impressed with his mad ninja skills if it wasn’t all so creepy.
“Go away, I’m sleeping,” Chuck mumbles from under the pillow.
The pillow is yanked from over his head and Chuck blinks up at a frowning, unhappy Sarah.
“Chuck,” she says quietly, “What happened? Why didn’t you call? We were worried!”
And Chuck almost wants to tell her everything, but he doesn’t really even understand what everything is, where he could possibly begin, or how the story would end. “Bryce. Bryce happened.”
Sarah winces at the name and her eyes grow even sadder. “That’s not an answer, Chuck.”
“I think you and I both know that it kind of is,” Chuck replies. More than anything, he just wants to go back to sleep. He turns his back to Sarah and closes his eyes, the childish part of him hoping that if he ignores her, maybe she’ll go away.
“Chuck, please,” Sarah begs. She sounds so sad that Chuck makes himself turn back around to look at her. She looks young. Chuck has never really thought about Sarah’s age before, but right now she looks almost like a child playing dress up. And for a moment, Chuck wonders what Sarah was like as a child. Did she play with Barbie or GI Joe? Maybe she made Barbie kick GI Joe ass. It’s a comforting thought for some reason: little girl Sarah defending the peaceful stuffed animal way of life with the awesome efforts of ninja Barbie.
Chuck sits up in bed and looks at Sarah. “I’m sorry, Sarah. It’s been a long few days.”
Sarah smiles slightly and then closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, all the sadness is gone and she just looks cool and professional. “According to Casey, yesterday morning he discovered Bryce Larkin in your bedroom. He had suspicions that Bryce was involved in your previous kidnapping. There was an argument, you were about to pass out, and Bryce knocked Casey unconscious. When he woke up, you and Bryce were gone. That was 36 hours ago. What happened, Chuck?”
Chuck wakes up in a strange bed covered by a blue, fuzzy blanket. He’s beginning to hate the stupid blanket.
Bryce is sitting by the bed, still wearing Chuck’s jeans and t-shirt, watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face.
“So what, you’re a super spy that travels with his own personal blankie?” Chuck asks, but talking seems to be a bit more than he’s up to and he has to close his eyes because the room starts spinning.
He opens them when he feels a cool hand on his forehead and sees Bryce peering down at him. “Chuck, I’m…”
“I swear if you say you’re sorry, I’m going to think very hard about punching you in the face.”
Bryce smiles slightly at that and then takes hold of Chuck’s arm to help him up into a sitting position.
Chuck has a moment of dizziness, but it passes and he’s able to sit upright without feeling like he’s going to fall over. He tries to shrug off Bryce’s hand on his arm, but Bryce won’t let go and Chuck’s not sure he actually wants him to.
“Chuck, we need to talk,” Bryce whispers.
“We need to talk? You think?” Chuck realizes that he sounds a little bit hysterical, but it’s been a bad several years.
“Chuck, calm down,” Bryce orders, tightening his grip on Chuck’s arm.
There was a time when Chuck would do pretty much anything that Bryce said:
You don’t need to study, Chuck, let’s go out instead. You should really have another drink, Chuck. And ask out that girl, and you can’t sleep yet, we still have five more levels to go. Don’t you want to beat the Donkey Kong record? It will be fun, I promise.
Come on, Chuck, don’t you want to see what happens if we put pop-tarts in the toaster and hold down on the lever.
“Stop touching me!” Chuck snaps and yanks his arm away. “I have very good reasons for not being calm.”
“I know, Chuck.”
“And stop being so reasonable. It’s really annoying. Why couldn’t we talk before you got me kicked out of school, or before you sent me the Intersect, or before you decided that it was fun to kidnap me, stick needles in me, and drug me?”
“I was trying to keep you safe,” and before Chuck can say what he thinks of that, which isn’t much, Bryce has his hand over Chuck’s mouth, preventing him from speaking. “I know. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m trying to fix it now.”
Chuck tries to speak, but Bryce’s hand is still covering his mouth. Chuck licks it and moves his head away quickly when Bryce’s hand flinches.
“You’re trying to fix it? By repeatedly kidnapping me, drugging me, and making me sick. How is that fixing me?”
“It’s complicated,” Bryce protests. “And the first time, I didn’t kidnap you. I was just supposed to be helping them.”
Chuck rolls his eyes. “Oh well, that makes everything okay, then.”
They sit in silence for a moment. Chuck stares at the floor. He doesn’t want to look at Bryce, doesn’t want to think about him at all, but it’s impossible to be in a room with Bryce and not look at him.
He feels Bryce shift next to him, and Chuck turns to look. Bryce is sitting on the bed next to him, eyes closed, fingers idly playing with the edge of the stupid blue, fuzzy blanket. He looks defeated and it might be the most wrong thing Chuck has ever seen. He has the absurd urge to comfort Bryce. To tell him that everything will be okay. His hand is moving to offer a comforting pat to Bryce’s shoulder before he quickly snatches it back.
“Assuming that I believe you’re trying to help me, why, Bryce?” Chuck asks in a much more subdued voice then before. ”Why me? Why go through all this effort just for me?”
Bryce turns to stare at Chuck like he’d asked the most ridiculous question ever. “Because, you’re you.”
“Oh, okay then. I’m glad you kidnapped me so we could have this conversation,” Chuck says.
“Chuck, shut up,” Bryce orders and then kisses him.
It’s a really good kiss and for a moment Chuck lets himself sink into it, opening his mouth and pulling Bryce in closer. And then he remembers who’s kissing him and he pulls away.
“What was that?” Chuck demands, breathing hard.
“It was a kiss,” Bryce explains. He’s staring at Chuck’s lips like he could strike again at any moment.
“Why? Why would you do that?” Chuck asks, panicking.
“Because I wanted to,” Bryce replies, still staring at Chuck’s lips.
“You think you can repeatedly ruin my life, kidnap me, and stick needles in me, and I’m just going to put out?” Chuck means it to be a joke, a way to get control of a situation spiraling out of control, but when he actually says the words, it almost sounds like a real question, like having sex with Bryce Larkin is a legitimate option.
Bryce smiles, grabs Chuck by the t-shirt and pulls him close so that his lips are brushing against Chucks, and then whispers, “No, I’m going to put out.”
“Oh. Well, that’s different, then.” Chuck replies and Bryce yanks on Chuck’s t-shirt again, so that they topple over on the bed with Chuck on top of Bryce.
Out of all the weird things that have happened to Chuck, this, well this actually makes the most sense. Or maybe Chuck is just too tired to care anymore. He never gets to have anything nice and Bryce feels good under him, warm and solid, and in his own way, safe. Bryce is a known quantity in that Chuck knows that Bryce will always be beyond his comprehension. It’s nice not to have to try.
“Chuck, pay attention,” Bryce demands and then licks Chuck’s neck and grinds his hips up against Chuck’s.
Chuck moans and then blinks as the room begins to spin.
“This is just the drugs still in my system, right?” Chuck asks, needing some sort of rational explanation.
Bryce grabs hold of his face and looks him right in the eye. “No, it’s not. Focus, Chuck!” Bryce orders and then kisses Chuck again. His first kiss was just a slight peck compared to this. This kiss goes directly to Chuck’s dick and he finds himself pulling on Bryce’s hair trying to get Bryce as close to him as possible. Bryce is nipping at his lips and then sucking on his tongue when Chuck tentatively licks his way into Bryce’s mouth.
Bryce breaks away for a moment and Chuck reaches out to pull him back. Bryce grins at him and starts to struggle out of his shirt.
Chuck wants to yank the shirt off of him.
Wait, no.
Chuck wants to know what the hell is going on here. He tries to gather what’s remaining of his thoughts.
“Is this some sort of really messed up apology? You fucked up my life and I fuck you, and then we’re all square?” Chuck demands.
Bryce sighs, sits up, and pulls his t-shirt off and tosses it on the floor. Chuck’s eyes follow the t-shirt. The t-shirt on the floor means that Bryce is in the bed, shirtless, and Chuck can’t look at that right now.
“No, Chuck. It’s not an apology. I just want to. Trust me. It’s a great idea. When have I ever led you wrong?”
It’s such a ridiculously wrong and inappropriate statement to make that Chuck lets off a startled laugh and looks up at Bryce. He’s watching Chuck with an intent, indulgent look in his eyes. It’s the way Bryce has always looked at Chuck. And it has the same effect that it has always had on Chuck, he wants to give in, and do whatever Bryce says.
“This is not smart,” Chuck says. Bryce grins at him. He thinks he’s already won. He probably has. “I might still be drugged and I’m pretty sure you're kind of evil, maybe not evil, evil, but at least neutral chaotic, probably worse.”
Bryce starts unbuttoning his jeans. “Chuck, shut up, take off your clothes and fuck me.”
“Okay,” Chuck agrees automatically. Resistance is futile when Bryce really wants something. And, apparently what Bryce wants is Chuck. Wait a second…
“You like me!” Chuck shouts. “I mean like me, like me, like want to have my babies like me.”
“I don’t want to have your babies,” Bryce protests, trying to keep his face serious.
“You do too,” Chuck says, grinning.
Bryce has abandoned taking off his jeans to help Chuck out of his shirt. And it seems only polite after that to push Bryce back down on the bed and pull at his jeans, well Chuck’s jeans that are on Bryce. Now might not be the time to worry about semantics.
Bryce is staring up at him with that same look, and how the hell had Chuck not known what that look meant? Chuck thinks he might be kind of an idiot.
There’s this moment, it’s a moment that Chuck is very familiar with from a childhood spent with Morgan, college with Bryce, and then, well, more time with Morgan, when the most stupid, dangerous thing begins to seem like the most brilliant idea ever.
“I think this might be the best idea you’ve ever had,” Chuck declares, grinning down at Bryce.
Bryce who is now lying in bed naked… and Chuck has no clue what to do with a naked Bryce.
Bryce takes Chuck’s momentary hesitation as an opportunity to yank Chuck down next to him on the bed and roll on top of him. He kisses Chuck on the lips and then moves down, kissing his neck, and then pausing to lick and bite at one of Chuck’s nipples.
Chuck moans and tries to grab hold of Bryce’s head to keep him there, but Bryce squirms out of his grip, and chuckles against Chuck’s stomach, sending vibrations down Chuck’s body, causing his dick to twitch.
Bryce pulls off Chuck’s pants and starts kissing his hip, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Chuck has to bite his lip not to come right away.
“Bryce,” Chuck begs. The time that he thought this was a bad idea, seems very far away and now he just wants Bryce’s mouth on him, anywhere and everywhere.
“Shhh,” Bryce whispers, his lips just touching the inside of his thigh. “You’re supposed to be fucking me.”
Oh. Right. “Bryce, I don’t…”
“Relax, I’ll take care of everything.”
Bryce moves so that he’s straddling Chuck and Chuck’s dick is nestled right against his ass. It feels amazing. Chuck wants to buck up in a desperate search for friction, but Bryce is pressing down too hard for Chuck to be able to move.
Bryce leans over searching for something on the night table. Chuck can feel Bryce’s dick brushing against his stomach as he leans over and it sends sparks of pleasure through his entire body.
“Fuck, Bryce,” Chuck mutters as he tries to arch up again and rub himself over Bryce.
“That’s the plan,” Bryce agrees. And then he takes hold of Chuck’s hand and squirts something onto his fingers.
Chuck freezes and starts to blush. “You brought lube to a kidnapping?”
“Always be prepared, that's my motto,” Bryce explains.
“You were not a Boy Scout,” Chuck protests. It’s better to talk than to think about where Bryce is guiding his hand. He pushes his finger in and it’s weird, but kind of awesome. Especially when he crooks his finger a little bit and Bryce gasps and grinds down against Chuck, sending sparks of pleasure through Chuck’s whole body.
“More,” Bryce demands.
“Really?” Chuck asks.
“Chuck,” Bryce begs, grabbing at Chucks hand and trying to push Chuck’s fingers back inside.
Chuck laughs. Bryce glares at him, but Chuck just starts kissing him and then pushes two fingers inside. Bryce moans into Chuck’s mouth and Chuck thinks the feeling of Bryce fucking himself on Chuck’s fingers while sucking on his tongue might be the best thing Chuck has ever felt.
Bryce grabs a condom from the night table, rips open the package and places it on Chuck, squirting lube on his hand and giving Chuck’s dick a few quick strokes.
“Ready Chuck?” Bryce asks. His face his flushed and his pupils are blown wide. It’s the hottest thing Chuck has ever seen. And he’s grinning. Chuck knows that grin. It means they’re about to get in a whole lot of trouble. “It’s going to be amazing, promise.”
Chuck nods and Bryce positions himself so he can sink down on Chuck. He freezes for a moment, biting down on Chuck’s neck, and then he shifts just a little bit, and sinks all the way down so Chuck is completely inside of him.
Chuck almost comes right then. He sees spots and bites down on his lip to get some sort of control. “Fuck.”
“See, I told you it would be amazing,” Bryce grins, biting down on Chuck’s nipple, causing him to gasp and thrust up into Bryce.
And Chuck shouldn’t have said Bryce fucking himself on Chuck’s fingers was the best thing ever because it left no words for this. Of course, Bryce would be amazing at sex. Bryce is amazing at everything.
Chuck’s whole body is shaking with pleasure each time Bryce shifts himself up and then down on Chuck’s cock and he’s thrusting himself into Chuck’s hand.
Bryce comes with his tongue down Chuck’s throat, and he finally relaxes enough for Chuck to grab hold of Bryce’s hips and take control, thrusting a few times into Bryce’s trembling body before coming himself with such a forceful wave of white hot pleasure that he almost bites down on Bryce’s tongue. Instead, he sucks hard on it until they both stop shaking.
Bryce finally rolls off Chuck, but he keeps one arms wrapped around Chuck’s stomach.
“We need to talk, Chuck,” Bryce whispers.
They do and Chuck really wants to hear, but Chuck has just had the best orgasm of his life and he wants a moment to enjoy it.
“Can’t talk. Afterglow, asshole.”
Bryce chuckles. “Chuck, we really…”
“I know. Just let me take a nap before you destroy my life again,” Chuck protests.
Bryce sighs and kisses Chuck on the lips. “Okay.” He pulls the fuzzy, blue blanket up over them and lays down next to him.
“Bryce, what the hell is the deal with the blanket?” Chuck asks, already half asleep.
“You seemed to like it, so I kept it for you,” Bryce explains, kissing his shoulder.
“Oh, that’s kind of sweet,” Chuck mutters. His last thought before falling asleep is that Bryce didn’t protest when Chuck said that he was going to destroy Chuck’s life again.
“We talked.” Chuck explains
Sarah looks skeptical. “For thirty-six hours?”
“We had a lot to talk about,” Chuck shrugs.
“Chuck, I need answers. I’m trying to keep you safe,” Sarah snaps.
“When I was 7, my sister locked me in the closet,” Chuck says.
“What does that have to do with Bryce kidnapping you?” Sarah demands.
“Everything.”
‘They can’t keep you safe. No one can,” Bryce says into Chuck’s neck.
“You suck at pillow talk,” Chuck protests. He’s still half asleep.
“Chuck,” Bryce sighs.
“Is this where you tell me your amazingly dastardly super villain plan?” Chuck asks.
Bryce bites Chuck’s neck. “I’m not a villain.”
“That’s what all villains say,” Chuck protests, rolling away before Bryce can bite him again.
“Be good or I won’t tell you my amazingly brilliant super genius plan.”
“You have a plan?” Chuck wants to sound skeptical, but it comes out sounding pathetically hopeful. After everything that happened, Chuck still believes Bryce can fix anything.
“I always have a plan, Chuck.” Bryce smiles.
“Okay, wow me with your genius super spy brilliance.”
“Have you noticed anything strange with the Intersect?” Bryce asks.
“It went kind of crazy before. Why?”
“It’s the drugs I’ve been giving you. If I give you enough doses, you’ll be able to access the Intersect anytime you want and not just when you flash on things,” Bryce explains.
“Why? Why would you do that? That just makes me more dangerous,” Chuck, protests, panicking.
“Chuck, they can’t keep you safe forever. Something will happen, someone will get hurt, and then they’ll have to find somewhere safer to keep you. And the cycle will just start all over again until you get killed. Is that what you want? I can’t keep you safe, but I can give you control. I can help you.”
“Bryce, this isn’t fair,” Chuck says.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Bryce gives Chuck a quick kiss on the lips. “But you need to choose.”
“She locked me in the closet because I almost burnt the kitchen down trying to set fire to a pop-tart,” Chuck explains.
“Why would you do that?” Sarah asks, confused.
Chuck shrugs. “I was seven. She was trying to keep me safe, but it doesn’t work like that. You can’t keep someone locked up forever.”
“What did Bryce say to you?”
“Stuff I needed to hear,” Chuck explains.
“He lies, you know. He just wants the shiniest new toy in his control, and that’s you.” Sarah says.
“Do you really believe that?” Chuck asks.
“Yes, no, I don’t know, Chuck. I know he’s dangerous. I want you to be safe. Please, Chuck. Let me help you,” Sarah begs.
Chuck looks down. “I’m sorry, Sarah. There’s no other way.”
“Chuck, what are you…” Sarah is interrupted by Bryce coming up behind her and injecting something into her neck. He lowers her gently to the ground.
“She’ll be fine,” Bryce promises. “We need to go.”
“I know. I just need to do one thing. I’ll meet you outside,” Chucks says looking down at Sarah with concern.
Bryce grabs Chucks face and gives him a quick kiss. “This is for the best.”
viii
Ellie is sleeping curled up on the couch. Chuck walks up to her and gently touches her arm to wake her up.
“Hey Ellie?” Chuck asks.
“What’s wrong Chuck?” Ellie says as she blinks and struggles to sit up on the couch.
“Do you remember that time you locked me in the closet?’
“Yeah,” Ellie frowns. “Why are we talking about this?”
“I just wanted to say that you were right.”
“What?”
“You were right to lock me in the closet.” Chuck explains.
Ellie pulls Chuck down on the couch next to her. “Chuck, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“I could have burned my face off with the exploding pop-tart. I could have hurt you.”
“But you didn’t, Chuck. It’s turned out okay,” Ellie says giving Chuck a worried look.
“But it might not,” Chuck protests.
“We might still be attacked by exploding pop-tarts?” Ellie asks.
“Yes! At any time. You could, or Devon, or Morgan, or just some innocent bystander walking near by. Everything is fine and then BAM! Exploding pop-tart in the face!” Chuck explains, growing agitated.
“You know the whole exploding pop-tart thing is a myth, right? You’re not making any sense Chuck.”
“I can’t risk anyone getting hurt.”
“What are you saying Chuck?” Ellie demands.
“I’m saying, ‘Thank you,’ for trying to protect me. And I’m sorry…”
Ellie grabs onto Chuck’s arm. “Sorry for what, Chuck?”
“Sorry for everything.”
ix.
“Ready Chuck?” Bryce asks.
“I hate needles,” Chuck protests.
“This is the last one.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” Chuck complains.
“I mean it this time. I’ll kiss it better when I’m done.”
“You better!” Chuck winces as the needles goes in. He can feel the liquid burning as it shoots through his skin. It feels like his whole head is on fire, but the then Bryce’s cool lips are brushing against his neck and he begins to feel better.
This is the right choice. Chuck can’t stay locked up forever. |
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