Cheese and Apple
by robspace54
The characters, places and situations of Doc Martin, are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.
Martin has trouble with a ring and promises a just dessert…
000
"It really is a very lovely ring," Louisa said, rolling her hand back and forth under the bathroom lights.
Martin looked up at her as he finished washing his hands. "Uhm, Yes." He dried his fingers carefully. "Joan thought you would like it." He put his toothbrush back on the rack.
She nodded. "Your grandmother's and it is lovely."
"If, uh… uhm, you don't like that I can buy you another; that is find… I mean… we could pick out a more… modern one."
"No, no Martin, this is really sweet," she told him. "An heirloom. Twin solitares." She waggled her fingers again. "I feel like I'm part of the family."
Martin looked at her carefully. "You are, I mean you will be, uhm, that is…"
She moved a step towards him. "And thank you for dinner," she said as she licked her lips before kissing him on the cheek.
Martin backed up a step for some reason, nervously glancing behind him for he backed into the towel bar. The fabric slithered over the bar and headed to the floor, so he bent down to pick it up and found himself eyeing Louisa's knees below her skirt. He shot upright, feeling his face go red. "We, I… ought to set out clean towels."
Louisa smiled at him for she could see he was nervous, and to be honest so was she. "Not certain the potatoes really needed salting," she said. "I'm sure they were just fine before I sprinkled them."
"No, no, they, uhm, if you wanted more salt on them…" He stopped as this was all rubbish. He gazed at her tenderly. "You are certainly permitted to eat potatoes however you wish; with or without salt," he backpedaled, thinking of the obtuse comment he'd made to her at dinner about water retention.
She took the towel from his hands. "Where do you keep your clean towels?"
"Down the hall; round the corner."
Martin blew out air slowly as she rounded the corner. Good God, Martin get a grip! he told himself. He stole a look at his reflection and was startled for his reflection was like a man facing the gallows. His eyes were wide, face tight, his whole frame rigid and stiff. He heard her open the linen door just then.
"Beige ones okay?" she asked sticking her head around the door.
"Yes," he managed to squeak out.
"Is something wrong?" she said as she brought them to him.
"No." He held out his hands and she gravely handed the towels over. Martin stuffed the soiled ones into the hamper then hung the fresh ones.
Louisa leaned back against the door frame watching him. My he was nervous, she realized. Almost as nervous as… well wasn't she nervous the other night as well? But that was then and this is now. And they'd broken that ice, so to speak. "You okay?"
He ducked his head, almost looking away from her. "I'm glad you are staying."
She smiled. "Yeah, me too. Where's my bag?" Louisa had prepared a small satchel, one she could unobtrusively carry from her house, but of course she had been approached by Bert, and Joe, and gotten any number of winks, smirks, and even a few choice comments when she crossed the Platt.
"I… I brought it up," he cleared his throat. "That okay?"
"Sure." She stared at him for a moment. "So where is it?"
"In my… bedroom," he pointed down the hall. He almost sagged against the wall for a moment and he didn't know why. The other night, their first night together, was unexpected; that is he had no idea that a lifesaving mission for Louisa's horrid friend would put him and Louisa into her bed. But it was…he sighed.
"Martin, are you okay?" she asked.
"Fine." He squared his shoulders.
Louisa went to his bedroom and returned carrying her bag.
"Oh, yes," he muttered and tried to squeeze past her in the doorway, but he was all knees and elbows, and it didn't take much for her to brush her breasts against his chest.
She smiled at his reaction, for his face changed from awkward schoolboy into an incipient lover. She meant to press against him for it was so hard to get an honest reaction from him at times. When he dropped the ring into her dinner, he'd swiftly scooped it up and cleaned it, then put it down by her plate.
She stared at him, then the ring, then back at him. "I'll put it on, shall I?"
He ducked his head like a ten-year-old caught passing notes in class. He muttered something about how the ring likely wouldn't fit, for his grandmother had arthritis and her knuckles were huge, but the ring had fit and perfectly.
Martin felt the flush of real desire flood over him as he reacted to the pressure of her breasts against him and he nearly grinned.
She turned away as he stood in the hall. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to; if you're tired or something."
"No, no! I… I uhm…" he shook his head. "Sorry. Not used to having someone share my space."
She looked at him carefully. "I see."
"That is, I do expect that…" he cleared his throat. "I do want you here; to stay here."
She smiled. "I want to too."
Martin gazed at her with wonder. She was here and their night together had not been a dream, like so many. He sighed.
"Penny for 'em?"
He shrugged. "I'll leave you to it."
Behind the closed loo door she swiftly changed from her dinner clothes, the gray sweater bedazzld with jewelled flowers and a dark skirt. She scrubbed her face and armpits, slipped into fresh panties and a new beige nightdress she'd picked up in Wadebridge. She admired the look of the lace against her pale skin, chestnut hair framing her face. She brushed her hair, debating to wear it up or down or back, holding it this way and that; finally leaving it loose.
Toothpaste, mouthwash, and perfume followed; just a dash of Kenzo Flower at her ears, neck and cleavage. She debated about lipstick then decided to go with none, not wanting to stain his sheets or pillows. She grinned for her preparations this evening took roughly five times longer than the other night; which was to pull him upstairs, brush their teeth, and then to push Martin onto her bed after she kicked off her shoes.
She had to suppress a laugh when he excused himself from her arms, rose up and methodically peeled off his shoes and socks, hung his suitcoat and trousers on a hard chair, the shirt placed just so, and tie draped carefully over it. Martin Ellingham, an ever so cautious and careful man. Watching him she wondered right then, well feared actually, how methodical he might be on other matters – too systematic – too mechanical perhaps.
He'd turned around wearing his briefs and vest. "This might be better," he muttered than carefully and slowly peeled her out of her clothing while sitting next to her on the mattress.
By the time she was down to her bra and pants she was near to bursting with eagerness, but part of her mind was standing back, so afraid he might bolt out the door at a wrong move or word.
He stood up gathering her jeans and blouse. "Where shall I put these?"
She shook her head. "Doesn't matter," she managed to say, trying not to laugh at his serious look while also wanting to yell at him to just throw them on the floor!
But, she bit her lip, that was that night. The first, well their first night together… She sighed nearly overcome with the memory of what she'd felt and what it meant, and tried not to think too much about where hands and legs, tongues and lips had been. She smiled at her reflection. "Now Louisa… what's next?"
Martin had excused himself after the washing up to swiftly run his electric razor over his face, as he knew that Edith had been adamant about what stubble rash did to her sensitive skin. He guessed Louisa might have similar concerns so better to be safe than sorry, although she'd not complained the other night.
When he went back down to the longue, she smiled at him. "You shaved?"
He shrugged. "I was… uncertain."
"No, no, that's fine, Martin," she answered glad he'd thought of her. She patted the sofa next to her. "Sit with me?"
She was sitting where he usually sat, nearest the light, so he sat on the middle cushion, feeling her thigh next to him as he got comfortable. He picked up his medical journal and started to read, then realized she was sitting there, hands folded, craning her head around.
"Oh! Sorry!" he muttered and put his journal aside.
"No, no, you have a routine… I suppose."
"Ah, yes. Ready for coffee?" he stood.
She looked at him and her eyes sparkled. "I could do coffee, yes."
He got the machine going. "Just take a few minutes, uhm, unless you want," he gulped. "Wine?"
She shook her head. "No." She'd not mind a drop, but given the last time, no. "Coffee is good. White, two sugars."
They sat next to one another on the sofa drinking coffee, then in a totally unexpected move, Martin turned and kissed her, so of course she kissed him back.
He took her cup from her, gathered his own and put them in the sink, then returned and extended his hand. "Care to go up?"
She took it and stood. "Yes, I'd like that."
That's what got them to the bathroom after a long snog on the landing. Now Louisa had changed, washed, and prepared herself. She checked her appearance carefully, one last time, wiping at her eyes. "Right. Now…" she stopped for just a second then opened the door.
Martin was in pyjamas stranding at the window. His trousers were blue and the vest was a light gray, with short sleeves. He turned slowly when she came into the room. Their gazes locked. "Oh Louisa…" She was beautiful, glowing, a vision… well a vision of British beauty! He wasn't prone to romantic phrases, but the words of Shakespeare came to his lips unbidden, "but soft, what light from yonder window…"
"What?" she asked.
"Uhm, I… Nothing," he gulped embarrassingly. "You are so beautiful."
She brushed the folds of the long nightgown. "It's new." She looked intently at him and smiled encouragingly. "Thanks," she whispered.
He crossed the room and stopped two feet away.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello," he answered.
He glanced at the bed. "Uhm… which side, I mean, you…"
"Doesn't matter," she shrugged.
He ducked his head. "I mean, I usually am on the left side, that is the left side when you're in it, the bed, I mean when I'm in it… the right when you face it."
Martin sighed then flung his hand up and she snagged it lacing her slim fingers with his strong thick ones.
"So, Martin, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?" she whispered.
"I… well I…"
Louisa stepped close to him and put her arms around him, then kissed his lips. She felt the tightness of his back change slowly from resistance to surrender as she pressed herself to him.
He took her to the bed and things got stimulating there in the dimness. Martin sighed a lot, and so did she, even before things got to their logical conclusion – two people, in love, engaged, and there was even a ring to seal the deal.
Martin had his mouth buried in her neck between clavicle and ear but something was nagging him. It wasn't the soft and warm woman who was stroking his back, pulling off his vest, kissing his ears and eyes or her long, smooth womanly legs intertwined with his, or the pounding of his heart and blood or the rustle of garments.
No, there was something else and he couldn't quite put his finger on it, as it were, although his fingers had been exploring.
Louisa noticed him draw back. "Something wrong?"
Suddenly Martin pushed himself away, sprang from the bed, threw on a dressing gown and went clattering down the stairs.
"Martin?" she called with alarm and then forlornly. So of course, she got up, put on her yellow dressing gown then followed him downstairs. "Martin? What have I done?"
She followed the sound of a knife slicing into something hard from the kitchen. "Martin?" she asked again somewhat in fear.
He was at the counter industrially slicing a green apple, a red one also at hand, along with a large wedge of cheese and a platter of wafers.
"Oh," she watched as he thinly and perfectly sliced apples and cheese, then arrayed them on a plate.
"I promised cheese and apple," he told her when he was done.
"Fine," she beamed at him. "Optimal nutritional value."
"What?"
She smiled. "Cheese and apple sounds good."
He rinsed the knife, put it on the drain board and then washed his hands and dried them slowly. "I did promise."
"So, Martin, we'll… eat dessert first."
He grimaced. "If you don't want to, you don't have to…"
"Martin… shush." She picked up a piece of cheese, laid it on a slice of green apple and shoved it into his mouth. "There."
He froze but then chewed and swallowed. "Nice."
She nodded. "I'm glad." She tipped her head at the plate so he carefully fed her some cheese and apple then she licked her lips. "That was good."
He almost grinned. "Yes… I thought it would be," he said softly, then slowly took her back upstairs.
THE END
A sequel to "It Happened One Night." Perhaps this should have been named "It Happened A Second Night."
Apologies to William Shakespeare for using a line from his Romeo and Juliet from Act 2, scene 2, 2–6
Rob (aka robspace54)