The Grinch who stole...never mind
Title: The Grinch who stole...never mind
Giftee: skysurfer12
From: ladyofpride
Type: fic
Rating: Pg-13/R
Pairing: Casey/Chuck
Spoilers: Season 1 through to the end of Season 3. Ellie knows.
Disclaimer: I totally wish I owned ‘Chuck’. Do you realize what kind of adventures I’d have them go on? Lol...
Notes: Having not written for this fandom in a long time, it was quite refreshing to return to my OTP’s usual banter. I hope you enjoy it, darling!
Beta: insane_science8 (thank you, so much-I know you’re not a slasher).
Summary: This is the facetious tale of how Colonel John Casey almost stole Christmas...
“You need a tree.”
A grunt.
He swings his legs over the arm of the chair and dangles his head back over the other side to give the big man a smile. “I think that’s the first ambiguous grumble you’ve ever given me. Should I classify it under ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”
Kicking off his shoes, jacket slung over one shoulder as he marches through the door, Casey gives him ‘the look’, the one that implies Chuck should already know about his thoughts concerning the usual annual festivities (‘and the morons that celebrate them’).
“No? Okay then...how about some lights? Or perhaps a little garland?”
“The only greenery allowed in this house is the bonsai, Bartowski.”
Ouch, his surname.
Casey is standing his ground.
“Come on, big guy-Ellie already thinks you must’ve brainwashed me into moving in with you. It doesn’t look as though anyone lives here...” He glanced pointedly at the new portrait of Ronald Reagan hanging on the wall in front of Casey’s hidden gun locker, which was, perhaps, the most vibrant thing in their abode. There was really nothing here that suggested their apartment was inhabited by anyone that wasn’t a robot. Casey’s habits borderlined on OCD at times...
“Somehow, I think a lack of Christmas decorations is the least of her problems.”
Chuck winced.
To be honest, his sister found it rather hard to comprehend that her baby brother was leaving his relationship with the goddess that was Sarah Walker for their seemingly insane neighbour. But as upset as she was ( ‘Robbing the cradle, don’t you think? -No offense, Chuck, but I’m pretty sure Reagan had him ‘fighting the good fight’ when you started playschool.’), she was beginning to warm up to the idea. Casey was a spy, after all (one that could keep Chuck in line on a good day and save his hind when he ran into trouble), and Chuck knew it would put her mind at ease if he could find a way to prove to her that Casey was, in fact, a human being.
Though, it certainly didn’t help that Casey allowed Chuck to have absolutely no influence on how he ran things. Whatsoever.
“...What about mistletoe? You like kissing me, don’t you?”
Casey frowns a little-but only because, yes, he does in fact like kissing Chuck, which is probably the only reason he leans down to peck him on the lips before heading straight into the kitchen.
Chuck bristles.
“Oh, come on! You have no idea how depressing it is walking into Ellie’s house and seeing all the holiday cheer. She’s like Mrs. Claus. But younger...and married to someone other than an old man.”
The insult falls on deaf ears. Casey goes about his business pulling ingredients from the fridge.
“Casey...?”
Still no answer.
“You’d like it,” he says in his best sing-song voice ever, “I promise.”
Casey rewards him with a laugh-which dies as soon as he turns to the sink to run a little water for his pasta. Tied to the tap is something green.
“Chuck, what the hell?”
“Do you know what that is?”
The man graces him with a grunt.
Chuck smiles.
Doing his very damndest to sneak up to his boyfriend, Chuck stops a step short of the man and waits for Casey to turn around before pecking him innocently on the lips.
“Mistletoe?” Casey asks incredulously.
“Yep.”
“Doesn’t it have to be hanging to work?”
“Maybe...” Chuck murmurs before sneaking in another kiss. Casey rests a hand on his lower back to draw it out a little longer, and they part with a heart-warming smack. “Now, don’t tell me you didn’t like that.”
“Hm... It has its merits.”
“And?”
“I still don’t see it hanging.”
“Well,” Chuck sighs, “if we’re already making out before we’ve given it a chance to work its magic, what do you think you’ll get once it is above our heads?”
Casey’s eyes darken, fixating on Chuck’s lips before he steals another kiss. “Is that a promise?”
“Only if you’re nice,” Chuck hums, leaning back gently in Casey’s embrace so he can trace the buckle of the man’s belt. “I don’t reward the naughty.”
“You weren’t saying that a week ago.”
Chuck slaps him gently on the stomach. “Come on, you usually like it when I’m happy-I’m bouncy and energetic, and we end up have fantastic, mind-blowing sex until the crack of dawn... Don’t you want me to be happy?”
Casey looks thoughtful for a moment.
“And I promise to do whatever you want under the mistletoe.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Absolutely.”
Casey kisses him again. “Then we’re probably going to need a lot of mistletoe...”
~*~*~*~*~
3 a.m. and Casey collapses next to Chuck rather than on him, hot and tired and entirely too smug for a man his age considering the extent of his stamina. Chuck isn’t complaining, though.
Tied to the headboard is a small bundle of mistletoe.
“Any other requests?” Chuck gasps after he’s given a chance to catch his breath, but, wow, he’s really not complaining.
Casey shakes his head and presses a kiss to the corner of Chuck’s lips, briefly eyeing the culprit of this whole affair before sighing contentedly. “So...a tree, huh?”
Chuck nods. “Yeah, a tree.”
“And garland?”
“Uh-huh.”
“...And mistletoe?”
Chuck smiles. “And mistletoe.”
Just as long as he got his Christmas.