Over at the Fall Fandom Free-For-All, the lovely oxoniensis asked for Chuck fic, specifically Chuck and Bryce or Chuck/Bryce, past, present, or future. This is the best I could do - first-time Chuck/Bryce at Stanford. I hope you like, honey!
Chuck was totally ready to make his move. He grabbed the saber, slid past the scythes of the guards on his knees, and picked the lock with his left hand. "Dude, I am on fire!" he crowed, grinning as the heavy wooden door swung open before him. A quick juggle of his weapons, and he was ready to go, brimming with energy and just itching with anticipation. Behind that door could lie untold numbers of awesome things.
It was blank.
He sat back in his chair and finally allowed himself a much-needed blink. How could it just end like that? He and Bryce had talked through so many different scenarios that the hero would face before he got to where the damsel in distress was being kept; Bryce had said he'd get to writing the code as soon as his finals were over. That had been four days ago.
Chuck looked around at their room. Pizza boxes were leaving grease stains on scattered pieces of paper, there was a ring around the trash can of balled up candy bar wrappers, and the whole place smelled like feet. He pulled a Red Bull from the case tucked under his bed and popped the tab. Every boy needed a hobby, right? He got to work.
The nasty knife Zork had been content with had to be updated. He was just weighing the merits of single- vs. double-edged swords when a hand descended on his shoulder. "Gah!" he shrieked, swiftly banging his kneecaps against the underside of his desk.
"Chill, man," Bryce said, squeezing his shoulder and waving a fresh pizza box under his nose. "I got you olives and spicy sauce."
"Single- or double-edged sword?" he asked while hobbling over to his bed.
"Double, man, no doubt," Bryce said, smiling around a slice. One bright green chunk of pepper fell from the folded slice, but he caught it in mid-air. "Always more exciting to keep your options open."
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, watching Bryce efficiently demolish his half of the pizza. He was starving, but he couldn't take more than a few bites from the slice in his hand. He threw it back in the box.
"Speaking of options," he said, then winced, because that had been fifteen minutes ago that Bryce had even said that, and was he really trying to use segues in a conversation with his roommate? With the guy he'd so spectacularly failed to impress since they'd first met a year ago?
"Speaking of options," Bryce prompted, rooting around in their fridge for a bottle of Gatorade. "Do we really only have Riptide Rush left?"
"Yeah, so, Jill asked me if I wanted to spend Christmas at her parents' house, and I . . ."
"You . . . ?" Bryce took a long gulp of the purple stuff. "What, bro? You don't want to go?"
"No, I do, I just . . ." he faltered. Inspiration struck. "How could I just ditch Ellie?"
Bryce fixed him with a look, a very I-can-see-right-through-you look. Maybe that should be one of the villain's powers, something the hero had to withstand to get to the level where the damsel in distress was being held. "Chuck, you know Ellie would be thrilled that you have somewhere fun to go. She'd probably be doing cartwheels."
"Well, yeah, but -"
"But what? Go to Jill's, have a great time, learn to ski."
"How'd you know Jill's parents live in Colorado?"
"She must have mentioned it at orientation or something. Quit trying to change the subject, Bartowski. What. Is. Up?"
"I think she's expecting me to be some big stud."
Bryce laughed and shook his head. "Do I have brain damage, or did you not tell me that you two had been doing the deed for weeks now?"
"Yeah, but that's totally different! That's in one of our rooms, knowing that you or Kara could walk in at any moment, and having to stay in one position under the covers so that we don't fall out of these narrow little beds! That's knowing that we have to be quiet, or the whole dorm will hear us!" Chuck closed his eyes at the horrors his mind kept coming up with. "But once we get to her parents' house, she'll probably expect me to have champagne, and, and, sexy talk, and be able to do everything in the Kama Sutra on a bearskin rug in front of a fire! I don't like fire!"
"Okay, I don't have brain damage. You have brain damage." Bryce stuck the leftover pizza slices in the fridge and stomped the box flat. "Chuck, this is Jill, who you met in Econ, not some Playboy bunny who's got a basket full of massage oils and whips on her walls."
"See?" Chuck moaned. "I've never used a whip! And I think oil would make the bearskin rug pretty gross. You have to help me."
"Help you how?" Bryce asked.
Bryce was coming toward him, eyes the color of ice and sharp as daggers.
"Wait," Chuck said. "Time out. I call time out."
Bryce halted but stayed where he was, less than a foot from Chuck's bed.
"Are you being me, or are you being Jill?" Chuck asked. "Cause if you're being me, then I think that could get confusing, but it looks like you're being me, because Jill wouldn't be panther-walking like that, right? So you're me, and I'm Jill? Except -"
"We're just Bryce and Chuck," Bryce said, then ducked his head down so fast that there was just a blur in front of Chuck's eyes. And then Bryce's lips met his.
"What -" Chuck got out, before Bryce settled their mouths more firmly together, and he mentally kicked himself, because wasn't it all too clear what Bryce was doing? Bryce was showing him how to be the stud Jill wanted. He should be paying attention.
Bryce's tongue was doing all sorts of interesting maneuvers, darting around like a fish, and then twining like a rope around Chuck's. It was - it was like that rollercoaster moment when you can't breathe, aren't worried at all about the lack of oxygen, because what you've got is so much better. The room was spinning, so Chuck closed his eyes. They flew open again momentarily when his head hit the pillow, but Bryce's fingers combed through his hair at that same instant, and Chuck couldn't keep up with everything if he had to see too.
"That's how you want to start," Bryce said, lifting his head and then dipping it back down to bite at Chuck's jaw.
"Good, good to know," Chuck stuttered. Bryce's tongue was swiping against every place his sharp teeth had been. "Kinky."
"We'll do kinky later," Bryce murmured into his ear, before heading back to his mouth. Chuck was gasping for air and clutching the sheets by the time Bryce let up.
"Now, Chuck," Bryce said, pushing up Chuck's shirt until it was pretty much just a collar and sleeves, "you know we're the last two people left on our floor? So you don't have to worry about how much noise you're making."
"Oh! Right!" Chuck agreed, barely listening, caught up in wondering what Bryce was going to do next.
He giggled, and jumped a little when Bryce's fingers slid up his sides. "Ticklish," he apologized, and then stopped breathing when Bryce licked across one of his nipples. "Oh, are you . . . no . . . YES," he said, unable to stop talking, unable to do anything other than buck up against Bryce's warm, muscled body. His hands found their way into Bryce's hair, pulled his head - that clever mouth - a little closer. "Please," he begged, and felt the movement when Bryce smiled against his skin.
"Since you asked so nicely," Bryce said, and started sucking.
Chuck went a little crazy then, his head thrashing from side to side, his heels scrabbling against his mattress. Bryce's hair was so soft, tickling his fingers, and his mouth was so hot and wet, so determined and knowing, and Chuck took a moment to wonder what else Bryce knew. "Bryce," he gasped, and Bryce's fingers fluttered back down his sides, only this time there was nothing to laugh about, and then Bryce's hand was on his fly.
Bryce's mouth was a genius and his fingers were prodigies, because it only took five of them to undo the fastenings on Chuck's jeans, Bryce's khaki shorts, and then to maneuver past the elastic waistbands of two sets of boxers. "What, what are you . . ." Chuck asked when Bryce finally lifted his head to meet Chuck's gaze. Bryce's mouth was red and open, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were even more intense up so close.
"Say yes, Chuck," Bryce said.
"Yes," Chuck said automatically, looking at Bryce's flushed face.
Bryce rolled so that they were both on their sides and then brought their joined hands down between them. "Your hands are so big," Bryce panted out.
"Yeah," Chuck agreed, not quite sure what Bryce was getting at. He looked down when he felt stiff heat against the back of his hand. Bryce's dick was right there, snugged up right next to his own, and their tangled fingers made a web over them. Before he could do more than blink, Bryce was kissing him again, making the whole world feel warm and wet. Their linked hands began to stroke, and there was nothing to do but drown in the softness better than a bearskin rug and the spiky rush sharper than the bite of a whip.
Chuck woke up naked underneath the covers, traces of cool water on his abdomen. The pizza boxes had vanished, as had Bryce's track cleats, and there was a printout taped to the side of his monitor. It was a picture of a double-edged sword. for keeping your options open said Bryce's scrawl on the bottom of the page.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.