(...and she said) Take Me Now

Of course, the show hasn't "officially" aired yet... but there was something about the dynamic between John and Sarah that hinted at a really bad breakup. Oh, yeah. It was the fact that he tried to run her ass over with his car!


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He should have shot her when he had the chance; now she probably thought he’d gone soft. He growled angrily at the very thought and stalked down the hallway to the suite he’d have to stay in until he figured out just what in the hell to do with Chuck Bartowski. Goddamn nerd; I should have shot both of them when we were up on the- his thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he noted the faint signs of unauthorized entry. Well, maybe he’d get to rectify his mistake in not leaving the CIA bitch with a bullet in her head after all. How stupid could she be, thinking he’d just walk into her trap? John Casey was many, many things but he’d never been a fool. Except for that one time…

Pulling his gun from his shoulder holster, John thumbed back the hammer after silently unlocking the door and pushing it in. Movement from the corner of his eye made him whirl towards it instinctively and his mind barely had time to register that it was just a blonde wig being blown by the ceiling fan when something heavy came down hard on the back of his head. At least, that’s where she aimed – one of his shoulders took the brunt of the blow since he’d twisted to one side. He rolled with the hit a lot faster than she expected him to react, he was sure – and came up with his gun pointed directly at her. “Game’s over, sweetheart.”

Sarah’s gun didn’t even waver the slightest bit from where it was aimed right between his eyes. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“You broke into my place – you don’t get to make the rules.” John feinted suddenly and she fell for it, just like he knew she would. As soon as she shifted, he slammed his left palm hard against her shoulder, spinning her around and kneeing the backs of her legs so that she fell face-first onto the carpet. Dropping down on top of her, he wrapped her ponytail around his wrist and placed his gun into the small of her back, pushing down. “You should have gone back to D.C. like a good little girl, Sarah,” he sneered.

She went still instantly, even though he knew she longed to struggle against his hold – if she did, he’d snap her neck in an instant and not even feel sorry about it. “Let me go, John,” she said quietly, the picture of sweetness and light.

Yeah, right. “I don’t think so. What are you doing in here?”

“I…I missed you?”

John tightened his grip on her hair. “Try again.”

Sarah kicked her legs back and up, catching him in the small of his back with her heels – he always forgot she did that yoga crap. The pain was sufficient inspiration for him to release her just enough for her to wriggle free and come at him with one of the knives she’d used to take his men down with at the club. “How’s this, you asshole?”

He tsked at her, bringing up an arm to block hers – the shock of impact made her drop the knife and they each scrambled for the advantage, locked together and rolling across the floor. “First you don’t go home when you’re told to…” John shoved her back against the carpet and leveled a blow at her that she rolled away from “…then you get in my way and mess with my team…” his head rocked back at the punch to his chin, and he shook his head to clear it before he heaved up to slam his forehead against hers “…and now you’re in my room attacking me and calling me names.”

Sarah jabbed her fingers into his larynx hard enough that he knew it would leave a bruise and flipped him onto his back while he coughed, his eyes watering. “You were trying to kill me just a few hours ago.”

“What can I say? You always did bring out the homicidal part of me.”

“I’d say it doesn’t take much.”

John tensed his muscles to roll her just as she shifted to press his shoulders back onto the floor, and their mouths brushed together. And he’d be damned if he felt a spark that had nothing to do with the fact that they were rolling around on the carpet. Sarah looked down at him, wide-eyed, and the fight went out of her as if it had never been. It was a bad idea. It was worse than just a bad idea – he was NSA, she was CIA, and they’d said their goodbyes a long time ago... to say that they’d had a bad break-up was probably the understatement of the century. So why did it feel just like it had so long ago? “Sarah, I-”

She shut him up with another kiss and this time he let her do it. John slid his arms up around her, his gun dropping beside him with a soft thunk as he kissed her back and rolled them over so that he was straddling her. Sarah’s hands were everywhere; loosening his tie, pulling his shirt from his pants and unbuttoning it before shoving up underneath to slide over his skin. “Take my clothes off,” she ordered as if he wasn’t doing precisely that.

He pulled her dress up over her head in one motion, ripping the Kevlar vest open at the sides and yanking that off, too – John wasn’t sure if the reason he was rushing was that she might change her mind, or that he might change his, but he’d worry about that later when he wasn’t in danger of getting laid. Sarah moaned his name when he dropped a hand between her legs and worked his fingers under her panties; it seemed that fighting still turned her on. Sliding two fingers into her, John pumped them in and out while circling his thumb over her clit on every out-stroke… whatever she’d been getting from the bastard he’d shot sure as hell couldn’t compare to him and he was determined to make her realize it several times over. “Larkin make you come like this?” he hissed as Sarah clenched tight around his fingers, shuddering in orgasm.

“Fuh-fuck you,” she panted, the euphoria of climax ebbing away swiftly as his words hit home.

“Since you asked so nicely,” John smirked as he unbuckled his belt and opened his pants. They separated enough to disrobe completely, then he was pressing her back down and kneeing her legs apart while she raised her hips for him. He couldn’t help tormenting her a little more before he gave her what they both wanted – reaching down between their bodies, he rubbed himself against her teasingly before drawing back when she pressed forward. “This how you act with everyone in the CIA?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No, just with assholes from the NSA. Now either get to work or I’m leaving,” she said, her breath hitching as he rubbed against her once more.

“Would you really? ‘Cause I don’t think so,” he growled softly. “Though, you’re pretty good at that….leaving, I mean.” Before she had a chance to reply, John pushed his hips forward and slid into her. She moaned and clutched at him, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist as he built up a slow rhythm – he intended for this to last for a long, long time.

Sarah begged him to go faster, but he just shook his head and kept up the torturously slow cadence of his thrusts until she was nearly out of her mind with need. He’d have a nice pattern of scratches up and down his back after Sarah’d finished laying stripes across his skin, but it was worth it to see her come so undone and scream for him just like she used to. He’d bet good money that she hadn’t had anyone pay this much attention to her in a long time. She thrashed her head from side to side when he finally began to pick up some speed and a firm rub of her clit made her fall apart again, screeching his name and nearly lifting her lower body completely off the floor in reaction.

John figured it was time for him to start getting his, and slammed into her with all the force he’d kept from using earlier. He groaned as he thrust his cock in and out of her body, and her nails hooked into the skin of his lower back to urge him on until she was screaming her head off again and he was working his own way towards orgasm. A quick glance off to the left showed that his gun was just out of reach, so John fucked her across the carpet towards it until the handgrip was just barely touching her hair. Sarah had her arms wrapped around his neck, babbling something he didn’t really have time for – probably a complaint about the rugburn he was giving her.

Her voice rose to a shriek and her internal muscles tightened around him once more and this time John followed, spilling into her with a highly satisfied groan. They collapsed in a sweaty tangle, and he couldn’t help rubbing a hand up and down her back as Sarah curled against him with that happy little sigh that assured him of a job well done. John let himself hold her close for a few seconds before his eyes inevitably returned to the gun right beside her head, and he reached for it just as she shifted to go for a weapon of her own. “Time for you to leave, sweetheart,” John said, making the endearment sound like an epithet. “You’ve served your purpose.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Sarah warned again, an angry flush rising to her cheeks.

“No, you’re not my sweetheart,” he sneered. “Were you ever? Get out.” Locking the small part of him that still had feelings for her deep down inside, he gave her a stony stare and cocked the gun as she reached for hers. “Leave it.”

Her eyes rested on him appraisingly before she stood and began to look for her clothing. “You’ll never change.”

“I told you that a long time ago. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

“You destroy everything you touch, John.”

“Seems to me that I wasn’t the one who decided to destroy what was between the two of us,” John said, finally goaded into anger.

Sarah pulled her dress back over her head and glared down at him. “You weren’t there, John. You weren’t there, and he was. What did you expect me to do?”

“What the hell did you expect me to, Sarah? Tell me that. You knew where I was, and why.” He rubbed one side of his face, suddenly too tired to deal with this. “Just…go. Leave,” he repeated when she made to open her mouth with some snappy comeback he had no interest in hearing. Whatever she heard in his voice was enough to make her pick up her crap and get out of his sight; as soon as the door closed behind her, John stood and moved over to the bed.

Stretching out on his back with his arms behind his head, he stared up at the slowly turning blades of the ceiling fan and wondered what she’d do when she found out that he was the one who put a bullet in Larkin’s chest. You destroy everything you touch, John. He supposed he should feel bad about it, but he didn’t.

Not really.


~fin~
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