Characters: Casey/Chuck (one-sided Slash)
Summary: Nothing escapes Casey's notice...
Author's Notes: For my final tentinyfandoms prompt ("Hands").
Also for writers_choice ("Fantasy").
It was John Casey's business to know things—facts, nuance, skills—even when those pieces of information had no category or purpose.
For instance, Chuck Bartowski had nice hands, so of course, Casey noticed them. He just didn't know what he was supposed to do about it afterwards.
Generally speaking, men's hands were of no interest to Casey, unless they were holding a weapon or on the verge of doing something that might have important consequences. Aside from a few minor disasters involving incredibly poor choices, neither of those usually applied to Bartowski. When they did, Casey was always too caught up in saving everyone's asses to pay much attention to anything else.
All of that changed on an ordinary morning at the Buy More, three weeks into Casey's assignment to protect the Asset.
Things were busy that morning. Casey had already sold a fifty-two inch plasma TV, a washer-dryer set, and three dishwashers before ten o'clock. Feels like a Beastmaster kind of day, he thought. I'll bet I can close a deal on one before five o'clock. I'm on a roll.
He'd just walked into the break room when he heard a noise from around the corner. It could have been perfectly legit, but there was no harm in making sure. Casey walked quietly toward the origin of the sound, half expecting to find Patel or his clown-haired cohort back there stealing company supplies.
The room was empty, except for the Cage, and that held only Chuck and various pieces of broken electronic equipment. Chuck was sitting on the floor, working on someone's computer. Casey moved closer to get a better look.
Chuck was cranking a screwdriver around and around as he removed the computer's outside case. His movements were fast and confident, something that Casey could definitely appreciate.
Chuck kept working, tinkering with the insides of the computer and then removing and resocketing I/O cards and expansion RAMs with cool, practiced speed. Chuck's fingers were long and lean, and his touch was sure and strong. Casey was mesmerized by it all, unable to look away. Chuck had the hands of an artist, hands that could as easily sculpt miniature horticulture as strip a gun or defuse a bomb.
Hands that Casey suddenly envisioned caressing his chest and stomach and undoing his pants, slipping inside to tease and pull him into hardness with smooth, perfect strokes.
"Hey, Casey," Chuck said suddenly, his voice as open and innocent as ever.
Casey (who'd once killed five KGB agents before breakfast and hadn't flinched in a decade) found himself blushing with the implications of his all-too-pornographic thoughts.
"Bartowski," he grunted, thinking even his voice might give something away. He took no changes, choosing instead to turn and head back down the hallway, toward the safety of a bathroom stall.
"Did you want something?" Chuck's voice floated after him.
Casey's mind filled with images of the two of them again, naked and sweaty on some unknown motel bed. He hadn't even known he wanted that until a few minutes ago, but he was absolutely clear about the fact that he couldn't have it.
He breathed out a short huff of frustration, for all the times his body managed to trap him somewhere he didn't want to be.
"No," he said loudly, as much to himself as to Chuck. The end of his shift was suddenly uncomfortably far away.
Casey walked faster then, trying to turn his thoughts to famous military battles and the engine specs for a Shenyang J-15.
He knew now that Chuck Bartowski's hands could star in their own X-rated movie, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Bartowski was the Asset, and he was Casey's assignment. That meant he was strictly off-limits.
Sometimes, being the good soldier was an absolute, unmitigated bitch.
-------- fin --------