Title: Only A Moment

Disclaimer: I don't own "Chuck." If I did, it would have to be on Cinemax, and I don't know how Zach and Yvonne would feel about that.

Characters: Chuck/Sarah

Spoilers: 4x12, "Chuck vs. the Gobbler"

Summary: "Sarah pulled her mouth from Chuck's with a soft gasp and met his eyes. He stared at her intensely. 'Do we have time?' he asked, he voice deep and harsh with desperation and want." A re-written (read: more smutty) scene from "Chuck vs. the Suitcase."

- CHUCK ME MONDAYS -

"Sarah. Sarah, wait," called Chuck as Sarah hurried down the hall to exit Castle and meet with Volkoff's men. Her newly-black hair fluttered behind her and the leather pants she wore were close against her hips as they swayed. She paused at his voice and turned around. "Hey, I know you gotta go-" he started, but then he was done talking because she'd thrown herself at him and kissed him. She kissed him like it was the first time - or the last. Both of those thoughts were scary to Chuck - like she was different or she was leaving. So he just kissed her back, trying to find the familiarity. He groaned when her tongue touched his and at the little desperate sounds coming from her throat.

It was hot and needy, scared and relieved at the same time. Chuck just wanted to prove to her - to himself - that she was still Sarah, and she was still his. So he pressed her up against the wall and moved his hands down to clutch her hips to his in a way that told her exactly what it was that he wanted.

She pulled her mouth from his with a soft gasp and met his eyes. He stared at her intensely. "Do we have time?" he asked, he voice deep and harsh with desperation and want.

She swallowed thickly and then nodded her consent. He groaned in relief and kissed her again. Immediately, his hand started searching for the way to get her out of her pants. They fluttered around the front, looking for a clasp. "Dammit," he said, pulling way briefly and glaring at the offending leather, "How the hell do I get these things off you?" And this his mouth crashed back to hers as his fingers kept looking.

It was rare that Chuck swore and even more rare that he was rough with her. It frightened her, just a little, that he was so intense, but she understood and so she just slumped into him and let him do what he needed to do - what she needed him to do. "In the back. A zipper," she muttered against his mouth.

He grunted at her and finally his long, quick fingers had found their way to the zipper and started pulling at it. He pushed her pants down over her hips as her fingers - usually as dexterous as his - fumbled at his belt and zipper.

So abruptly that she almost stumbled, he stepped a half-step away. He grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped her around to face the wall. "Brace yourself," he muttered tightly as his hand went to work on his belt and zipper. Sarah, breathing heavily, placed both hands on the wall and placed her legs as far apart as possible - which wasn't far because of her thigh-high boots and leather pants that were still around her knees. Another second and Chuck's pants were loose and he was positioning himself behind her. "Sorry," he apologized gruffly, "this is going to be quick."

She just nodded and ground her ass back into his crotch, telling him that she wanted it, too: the one chance to be together, even if it was fast and furious and nothing like it usually was.

He gripped her hips tightly and pushed into her. He didn't take his time, like he was usually inclined to do. And he didn't pause for a moment, like he usually did, and breathe in her scent as he settled against her. He just started thrusting immediately. He set a hard and rapid pace - so hard that she had to lock her arms against the wall and so fast that she struggled to keep up. "Chuck," she gasped, but she wasn't asking him to slow down. Because he was hitting that spot with every thrust and she needed it to be hard and forever and Chuck.

"Sarah," he growled back - growled, and Chuck never growled. "Sarah."

She bit her lip to keep from crying out, aware that Morgan and Casey are only a room away, separated by only one thin door and a short hallway. He slowed down, but didn't decrease his force. "Sarah," he said roughly. "Sarah, look at me."

She flipped her head around, meeting his eyes. He looked desperate, devoted, one step from panicked. "Chuck," she said again.

He pried one hand from her hip and placed it flat against her back. "Sam," he said, and her eyes widened in shock and then slipped shut as he sped up again. He had never called her that before. Not even in their most private moments. But he was one of only a handful of people in the world who knew her real name, and he needed to remind her that he was that close to her - that he knew her in a way no one else did or ever would.

She came with a final hitch of her breath, burying her face in her arm to stifle her moans. Chuck followed with a soft groan. For a second, he slumped over her, breathing heavily. She could barely catch her breath herself. Then he took a half step back and pulled up his pants, belting them with still-shaking fingertips. She straightened up slowly, a little sore still. As he helped her fix the leather pants, giving her hip one last caress, she draped her arms around his neck. He pulled her into his arms. They leaned against one another for a moment before Sarah softly said into his shoulder, "I have to go."

"I know," he whispered back, sounding resigned and heartbroken. "I know you do." He gave her a final squeeze and then relaxed his arms, releasing her. "I love you."

She stepped back. Her legs were a little unsteady still, but she just waited a moment for them to firm up before she took another step away. She regarded Chuck. After the fury and desperation of their lovemaking, he seemed suddenly drained. "I love you," she said. "I will come back to you soon and I will still be your Sarah. I promise."

He swallowed and nodded. She reached out and stroked his cheek one final time, and he leaned his head into her hand and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was gone, leaving only the slight lingering scent of grapefruit and a pile of morbid photos on the table.