Author's Note: Okay, so a long time ago, I promised Yokaputo that I would write her a Charah fluff story. I have no idea if she will even read this or if this even constitutes as fluff, but I feel like I have finally fulfilled my obligation.

Hope you all enjoy and please keep in mind I've never written fluff before, I wrote this in 45 minutes, and I honestly have no idea what I was thinking.

Somewhere there is a list.

And on this list is a copy of history's greatest mistakes:

Varus marching into Teutorborg Forest

Benedict Arnold selling out West Point

Napoleon invading Russia

Considering Ryan Leaf over Peyton Manning in the NFL Draft

Nero fiddling

New Coke

The Red Sox selling Babe Ruth's contract to the Yankees

FOX cancelling Firefly

Episodes I, II, and III

And now a new addition could be added to the list: Sarah Walker agreeing to train Chuck Bartowski in unarmed combat.

It was quite possibly the biggest mistake of them all.

Because she was quite certain that before the day was over, she was going to murder Chuck Bartowski.

Or at least she had been until he had taken off his shirt. At that point, she was quite certain she was going to fuck Chuck Bartowski until his legs fell off.

Neither option was looking particularly bad at the moment.

"Put your shirt back on," Sarah said through gritted teeth. She was suddenly breathing a little faster than she had been only a moment before. And had somebody turned the heater on?

"But it's hot and I'm sweaty," Chuck complained.

"I know," Sarah snapped. Didn't he understand that was the problem? "Put it on anyway," she said with the barest hint of desperation.

"Saaaarah," he whined, elongating her name like a child.

"Chuck, you promised to do what I said when we started training," Sarah said tightly, clenching her fists at her side. She needed to hit something. Anything. She had to get rid of this sudden burst of extra energy before she did something incredibly stupid...er.

She'd already been stupid enough to think she could actually train Chuck without it coming to this.

Oh yeah, what a brilliant idea. Cause there was certainly nothing sexual about training Chuck, about putting her hands on his arms when he needed guidance on how to throw a punch properly, or placing her hands on his hips to show him how to move, or grappling with him on the floor, pinning him to the floor, having him pin her to the floor, his hips aligned perfectly with hers, his eyes staring into hers, his breathing coming fast. Yeah, there was nothing sexual about that.

She was a fucking idiot.

She was doing her best to look anywhere but Chuck's glistening chest, but she was having serious difficulties doing so. She really needed him to put his shirt back on. Like immediately.

"Yeah, I promised that for training. What does me wearing a shirt have to do with that?"

Oh…my…God…was he really that oblivious? She stared at him in disbelief, his hands on his hips and back straight. His track pants were resting low and loose on his hips and she had the sudden urge to see what would happen if she accidentally happened to yank them downwards and then accidentally fell forward until she was pressed against him and he had to wrap his long arms around her to keep her steady and she accidentally rubbed against him a bit as she regained her balance. All accidentally, of course.

"Chuck, please," she pleaded. Was she really this weak that she was having this much trouble controlling herself? She was only wearing her red sports bra and her own pair of workout pants and yet Chuck seemed to be doing fine. In fact, he looked at her so normally now she was actually starting to worry that he wasn't as attracted to her as he had been in the past.

Was she fat? She didn't think she was fat. She surreptitiously glanced at the mirror along the far wall. She sure as hell didn't look fat. So why was he not staring at her in slack-jawed awe like he usually did? She was barely dressed! She was half-naked. Why wasn't he staring at her!?

There was something seriously wrong with the state of their relationship when she was the one who had trouble keeping her urges in check and was looking at him like a horny, lovesick idiot.

Sure she actually was a horny, lovesick idiot, but at least she'd always been able to hide it before.

What the hell was going on?

Chuck bent down and picked up his shirt from the floor. "Fine, fine," he grumbled and raised his arms to slip the shirt on. She nearly groaned aloud as his abs muscles flexed and moved as he lifted his arms above his head and had to again divert her eyes before she lost complete control of her faculties. "Happy now?" Chuck asked.

"Yes, thank you," she breathed out in obvious relief.

Thank God.

Seriously, how was he not picking up on the fact that she was literally on the edge of ripping his clothes off?

She loved her nerd, but sometimes he could be an oblivious idiot.

It wouldn't be so bad if the months of weight training, yoga, and endurance training (all with the assistance of the Captain of Awesome himself) hadn't started taking its toll on Chuck's body. He had more muscles, more tone, than he'd ever had before, and it kind of freaked her out how ridiculously attracted she was to him now.

It wasn't like she hadn't always wanted Chuck. She had. In her opinion, it was impossible not to like Chuck. She'd certainly had enough problems with other women feeling the same in the past. And she'd always had to fight the urge to rip off all his clothes and ride him like a cowboy at the rodeo. But now? Now it was like impossible.

Maybe it was more than two years without sex.

Maybe it was the fact that she had never been more proud of him for finally beginning to master the new version of the Intersect and fulfilling his destiny (after that pesky growing pains period).

Maybe it was the fact that he had told her he loved her just the night before.

She didn't know.

And at the moment, she didn't really care.

All she knew was that she seriously wanted to fuc-

"Chuck, what the hell are you doing?"

Chuck was coming at her now, his hands up, light on his feet.

"Attacking you. You told me to do it," he said, sounding put out.

She put her hands on her hips and stared at him in disbelief. "I told you that like five minutes ago. You're just doing it now?"

Chuck paused his attack, suddenly flustered with wide eyes. "But I had to take off my –"

She interrupted him before he could remind her of that particular incident. "When I tell you to do something, Chuck, I expect you to do it! You're never going to be a real spy if you get distracted that easily."

He straightened up to his full height and he glared at her. "I am a real spy," he said angrily.

She snorted and tried to ignore the fact that an angry and confident Chuck was a seriously hot Chuck. "Then why don't you prove it?" She moved into a loose defensive stance. "Let's see if you've actually learned anything today, Neo."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" Chuck asked with an exasperated groan.

She grinned briefly, her eyes alive with amusement. "Not a chance." She schooled her face into an impassive mask. "Now come on and hit me."

Chuck rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms, shook like a dog, and then unexpectedly sprung forward like a graceful, darting wasp. She was caught completely off guard, the move so unexpected coming from him after the last two hours of bungled attacks, broken holds, haphazard throws, and awkward tumbles, and found herself lying on her back, staring up at his smug face only inches from hers, the breath completely driven from her lungs. And she wasn't even sure it was because of the fall that she was having trouble breathing.

Yup. She was a fucking idiot.

She reached up, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulled him down on top of her and crushed her lips against his.

This was definitely going on the list.

So you liked this story, did you? Want to see what happens next, huh? Well, apparently I'm easily swayed as I decided to write an M-rated smutty two-shot entitled Sarah vs. The Rope-a-Dope. So go read that. And then review it.