Characters/Pairings Casey/Ellie (Jellie), Devon Casey (OC)
Genre Humour, fluff.
Summary: Wet!Casey. Nuff said.
Author's Note: his is a fic written for the lovely and ever amazin night_lotus ecause I was her Rafia Secret Santa, but I was unable to send my gift due to the ridiculous rip off prices of the post office. She gave me the prompt Deep Waters and this is what I came up with. With everything that's happened in the past week, it was difficult, but I enjoyed writing Jellie again. I do hope you like it. (Happy Christmas H! ;) ) This is also part of my DC series. Not beta'd. Enjoy.
The enemy was about to attack.
These were dangerous waters. He had no back-up and no means of calling for help. His ammo was low and what he did have was nowhere near effective against what his opponent had.
Casey chewed on the end of his cigar, wishing he could light it and take a drag to soothe his frustrations, but his lighter and clipper was nowhere in sight. He was awfully tempted to quickly look for it but now wasn’t the time. The enemy was ready to strike. Abandoning his post now would be beyond dishonourable.
This was a red alert situation. It was tense and thankfully, for the moment, the waters were calm and still. The storm had passed and there was a peace for the main battle.
This situation really wasn’t Casey’s area of expertise. He had never done anything like this before and in all fairness it was not something he was all that keen on, unless he was on his own. However, like all missions, this did have a certain element of excitement and while it was nothing like his own assignments, it was…intriguing to say the least.
The admiral was saying nothing which was typical, but then he was safe, nowhere near the front lines. Casey was risking his life here! He was risking everything for his country and that damned stupid admiral was doing nothing!
There was a loud cry. Casey was hit left right and centre and it was utterly relentless. He wished he had his pistol, he wished it would do any kind of good against this assault, but he had no chance of saving himself or any of his meagre troops.
There was only one thing he could do and that was match the screaming yells of his opponent.
“What on Earth is going on here?”
Casey turned his head only for a moment and got a squirt of water straight in the face.
“This isn’t what it looks like, Ellie. I assure you!”
The giggling laughs of his son and the state of the bathroom said otherwise. Bubble foam was everywhere. It piled high in the tub and covered him and his two year old son. They could barely be seen, however the floor was flooded with water, along with soap and toys that had died in battle; various plastic sharks, rubber ducks and several GI Joe soldiers that were clearly not designed for bathroom use.
“John! What have you done?”
Casey looked to his son, but the boy really didn’t care about how angry his mother was and carried on bombing the brightly coloured boats that bobbed on the water remaining in the tub. He laughed and giggled, making more splashes at his father as well.
“It’s naval warfare, El.” said Casey taking the cigar out of his mouth and frowning at the soggy mess in his hands. “I was defeated.”
“You’ve flooded our bathroom!”
Casey grunted an apology.
Devon looked over the edge of the tub and smiled, before mimicking his father’s scowling glare and gruff voice. “Sorry, mom.”
“John, you’ve gotten him all excited, it’s supposed to be his bedtime!" Eleanor Casey carefully tiptoed through the flood and picked a towel from the rail. She then plucked her son out of the bath and wrapped him up, flicking away the bubbles. Devon didn’t like the idea of bedtime and began to protest, screaming for his father “Great! Now I’m the bad guy again!”
Ellie sighed as she dried and rubbed her son with the towel. Casey shook his head at that comment and pointed to the bottle of bubble bath liquid which had grinning face of a cartoon sailor on the side.
“The admiral is the bad guy. He made some poor choices. He’s a terrible leader.”
“John Casey! Accept you’re responsible for all this and clean up. I’ll get Devon into bed.”
Casey couldn’t get to say anything further as his wife walked out of the room, leaving him with a lot of clearing up to do. He looked at the floor, at the remains of the toys and the bits of lego they had used as ammo, and shook his head in dismay.
He had never thought that he would resort to this, being a father and husband had changed him more than he had ever cared to admit. Eight years ago, when he was but a mere Major assigned to some Intersect project, this, here and now, would have sounded ridiculous to him. He would have scoffed the mere idea of him being ‘domesticated’.
When the protests of his son turned to laughter—no doubt Ellie was telling him his favourite story about Chuck and one of his mishaps—Casey couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
He couldn’t imagine being anywhere without Ellie.
Casey went to put his cigar back in his mouth, momentarily forgetting that it had been drowned. He scowled but then despaired at the death of such a fine cigar, before getting up out of the bath to fetch a new one, and his clipper.
The bathroom was a state, no wonder Ellie wasn’t happy about it.
It was only when he found his clipper and cigar, along with his pistol, that Colonel John Casey grinned deviously.
Ellie had just got Devon to sleep, it had taken a while as he had requested to hear the story of how his Dad, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Morgan had rescued Chuck from the clutches of The Belgian (or rather Morgan’s version of it), and there were still sounds coming from the bathroom.
She opened the door and gasped.
The water and toys were still on the floor, the room was steamed up again from the hot water and there was a strong smell of cigar smoke through it all. Sure enough, John was lounging in the bath, his arms and legs propped over the sides, his head tilted back as his mouth gripped the cigar. He was puffing on it as he mellowed in the deep waters of the tub. The bubble foam was again covering up the majority of the bath, spilling over the floor if John so much as moved a muscle.
Ellie had to clamp her hand over her mouth at the waterlogged state of her bathroom. She may well be a Casey now, but her Bartowski urges to clean and frantically mop all this up was driving her crazy. That smug grin on her husband’s face showed that John knew it was doing exactly that. He also knew by the blush of her cheeks that she quite liked the sight of him lounging in the tub. She couldn't breathe for a moment as he used his free hand to sweep some water over his naked torso, washing away the bubbles, showing off his broad and muscular chest.
“John! You’ve just made it worse!” she squeaked, turning sharply away and edging towards the small cupboard where the bathroom mop was kept.
“Is Devon asleep?” Casey growled.
That deep primal growl made Ellie stop at the cupboard and close her eyes. He was being really mean now. He was playing with her whilst at the same time subjecting her to the mess of the bathroom.
“Yes.” The word came out as another squeak.
“Then, Mrs Casey…it’s bath time."
No. Ellie shook her head and when she heard the sloshing of more water, knowing that some of it was going on the floor. She was so torn.
“That is an order.”
Oh god, she could never refuse an order.
Slowly, Ellie turned round and again she had to cover her mouth as the sight of that man pointing a water pistol at her filled her with excitement and terror. He’d better not fire that thing.
She took cautious steps towards the bath, again conflicted between the desire to clean up the water her husband and son spilled and the prospect of getting in that tub. She was shaking. Then she screamed as a squirt from the gun wetted her t-shirt and a strong hand wrapped around her wrist and dragged her down into the bath.
Ellie screamed louder but those screams then erupted into giggles as strong arms wrapped around her and a very wet mouth began to kiss around her neck. She struggled a bit, the shock of the water drenching her more than anything, but eventually Ellie kissed him back and allowed him to strip her of her clothes.
Soon, the state of the floor and her bathroom was but a distant thought