Prompt from Seven-lbs: the fish meal Douglas prepared (carp!) was so delicious that Carolyn persuades him to cook more for MJN. (It will save MJN money, and they won't have to eat Arthur's food.) Douglas starts experimenting and invites Martin over to taste-test his recipes. Martin's initially embarrassed at how much he eats, but starts to relax when Douglas seems so happy. They fall for each other, Martin much podgier months later, and maybe Douglas a bit rounder too?
Martin stood nervously outside of what he thought was Douglas's door. He rang the bell once again. Still no answer. The ginger pilot scratched the back of his head. He supposed there was no real reason to be nervous, but then Martin never really needed a reason. He was just stopping by to help Douglas plan the catering for their flights this week. Since their rather less than spectacular trip to Johannesburg, Carolyn was tightening MJN's belt even more. One small ray of hope had emerged from that incident however, since Douglas's excellent carp cooking had demonstrated his culinary skills. That meant that instead of threatening the health and safety of every passenger and both pilots on GERT-I with Arthur's creative foodstuffs, Carolyn had asked Douglas to provide the catering. Perhaps she'd appealed to his ego, or there had been some negotiations, but in the end, the first officer had agreed. And then invited Martin over to help taste and plan the meals.
"My palate may be biased regarding bargain foods, I'd much appreciate your opinions, mon capitain," he had said. Martin smiled to himself. Well, maybe just one more go... He pressed the door bell again, this time there was a tread on the other side of the door and it opened to reveal Douglas Richardson, his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled to his elbows, a chef's apron tied around his middle. Martin felt somewhat exasperated at the sight. He should look ridiculous! But no, just suave and in control as always.
"Martin! Good Lord, how long have you been standing out here? I did say you could just come in when you arrived. I couldn't hear the door over the stove," said the first officer in his usual drawl.
Martin tugged on his own shirt self consciously. It was the only one he owned that he hadn't been wearing while sweating and toting around boxes in his van for days on end. It was old, but still pretty nice, just a bit big on him. It might have been Simon's at some point, but he couldn't remember. Douglas didn't seem to spare it a thought as he smiled and stepped aside to let Martin in.
"Yeah I know, sorry, it just seemed proper... since I hadn't been here before," said Martin.
"Been brushing up on protocol for visiting the first officer at his homestead?" teased the older man, but he smiled and lead the way to the kitchen. Martin rolled his eyes, then followed. God, Douglas had been busy. Martin wasn't sure there was an inch of countertop left bare between dishes upon dishes of food.
"Blimey... All-all this for one week?" he spluttered. His mouth was watering. There were so many warm welcoming smells drifting towards them and everything looked wonderful.
Douglas nodded, looking rather pleased with himself. As usual. "Indeed. About half the price of our usual. I had to get a bit creative, though not in an Arthur-esque fashion," said the first officer conversationally as he stepped over to point out the foods. "Two flights. Two options per flight for both main and dessert. I made a few more than we might need. Some dishes might not take well to freezing after all."
Martin was hardly paying attention, his eyes were just wide, flitting from dish to dish... chicken drumsticks, golden fried, beside fluffy white rice. A thick rich looking beef stew paired with crackers. A simple penne pasta dish. Some sort of buttery looking fish, also with rice. Chocolate mousse. A large pan of some sort of iced cake. Some sort of gooey looking cornmeal cake. Small cups of rice pudding with a dab of jam over top... Martin was ready to keel over as his stomach clenched ferociously in hunger. Real proper food. God.
He suddenly realized Douglas was watching him with one cocked eyebrow.
"Er," said Martin, feeling his cheeks pink, "Sorry. You were saying?"
Douglas huffed a small chuckled and leaned against the counter. "Merely asking Sir, which he would care to sample first," he replied, nodding at all the dishes. "This is just a sampler of course. I'll buy in the rest of the ingredients and have it ready for the flights once we decide. Now then, Martin, what will it be?"
Martin could only wet his lips in response. He pulled himself up onto one of the stools at the counter, then pulled one of the stews towards himself. He felt rather awkward as he picked up the accompanying spoon and dipped it in under Douglas's scrutiny. But damn it, he was hungry!
"Excellent choice. That would be my beef and barley stew. It's nicely thick. Would go well over some potatoes if I can find them cheaply," said Douglas, nodding approvingly as Martin lifted the spoon to his lips.
He sipped at it carefully, then tipped the contents of his spoon into his mouth. It was phenomenal. Savory, salty, the beef tender, though a bit strong in flavor. Together with the surrounding vegetables and broth though, blimey. Martin went back for more before he even realized what was happening.
"Success?"
Martin jumped and looked up, almost entirely lost in the dish he had been consuming.
"S-sorry?" the captain asked, letting go of the spoon and letting it clink against the side of the bowl. He'd almost eaten it all. He swallowed, feeling oddly guilty. He was only supposed to be sampling after all. "Er, yeah. Let's take this one for Tuesday," he added, cheeks feeling a bit hot, "It could go just fine on it's own... e-even without the potatoes. So, um, maybe a meat-less option too?"
Douglas only smiled, his head tilted slightly to one side. "Yes, I think that would be a good plan. There's the polenta with spiced tomato or the pesto penne then." He nudged the two dishes towards Martin.
How was he still so hungry? He was sure he could eat both. And then both desserts as well. And enjoy it! He reached for the polenta first, finding the cornmeal chewy. The salsa over top was nice, but... he scooped up a bite of the penne instead. Oooh, this was much better. He hummed and went back for more and more until his fork hit empty dish. Martin quickly put the fork down again.
"So, er. The stew and pasta for Tuesday. What about the puddings then?" said Martin, doing his best to sound professional.
"A strawberry cake or rice pudding do you think?" suggested Douglas, pushing the two dishes across with another smile.
Martin hesitated. "Ar-aren't you going to have any?" he asked shyly.
"I'm already familiar, but thank you," said Douglas, and this time his smile was warmer, "Go on. I'm rather fond of the cake myself."
"Okay," said Martin, then turned his attention to the two new items before him. They were just as good. The strawberry cake was light, moist and sweet under thick creamy icing. The rice pudding was perfect in texture and in taste, sweet but with a dash of vanilla. The cherry preserves on top were the ideal match. Martin ended up consuming the entire portions again. He muffled a burp, feeling himself flush a bit more. He tugged at his waist band, shifting it out of the way of his stomach. It was feeling rather full, unused to eating this well. But somehow he was still hungry. He would only taste the next dishes, Martin promised himself.
That is, up until the moment Douglas slid fried chicken and buttery fish in front of him. Well, he reasoned, no sense in letting it go to waste. And Douglas looked so proud that Martin was enjoying what he had cooked.
"Mmph, oh this is terrific, Douglas!" groaned Martin as he muscled down the last of the fish.
"Pleased it suits you mon capitain," rumbled Douglas, smiling warmly at him. "Shall we say those two for Friday then?"
"Definitely, hurp," said Martin, straightening a bit and trying to get comfortable on the stool.
"Just two puddings then. I have a carrot cake, and the chocolate mousse options."
Martin dutifully lifted his fork and tucked in. Perhaps he was feeling dozy from all the food crowded into his stomach, but Martin felt that Douglas's smile had become gentler, his eyes softer. Finally, food tasted- or well eaten, Martin toddled out to his van, Douglas walking beside to see him off. Martin heaved himself up with a grunt, bid Douglas a goodnight, then drove home where he flopped out on his bed, bulging belly finally freed. It wasn't long before he was snoring deeply and contentedly.
A few days later, Martin was able to verify that Douglas's cooking tasted just as good after being frozen or vacuum packed prior to eating it. The young captain's praise made the old Sky God smile proudly. The first week had gone successfully, so Carolyn commissioned Douglas to prepare the next week's meals as well. Douglas naturally commissioned Martin's palate once again, this time experimenting with doing things even more cheaply by using less sought after ingredients. Martin had never thought he'd like mutton. But after Douglas's shepherd's pie, he was forced to reconsider. He had tried to eat less this time, but Douglas had looked so sad and disappointed when he pushed back plates with just a bite taken from the food there. Martin for some reason, couldn't stand that look on the first officer's face and so he ate until his stomach was full and round with everything Douglas set in front of him. Well. It was good. So no loss there.
They fell into a routine. Douglas would take a glance at the wall calendar, then plan meals. Martin would be invited by to sample. He would eat a vast majority of the food presented. Now and then, they would linger and talk over tea together, Martin's stomach glowing warm and full. It had to be thanks to the tea. Though oddly, Douglas's teasing didn't seem to nettle him as much anymore. The man was actually very charming and... Martin had grown to love the way those warm melted chocolate eyes watched him as he ate. There was never any judgement, just... approval. Still, Martin wasn't entirely sure if he was better or worse off with the frequent stuffings nowadays. He felt better, more energetic, but his hunger seemed to linger. And he couldn't afford to purchase more than his usual pasta and toast. The portions, always enough before, seemed pitifully small now.
He had almost panicked the week he realized there wasn't another flight for three whole weeks. Still, Douglas invited him over. Martin happily accepted. The first officer had decided to experiment on his own time and Martin was happy to help. Of course. After Martin confessed that he wasn't being paid to fly, the captain couldn't help but notice that the pilot catering seemed to increase in portion and heartiness. When he mentioned it, Douglas just shrugged and raised an eyebrow before tucking into homemade fish and chips (off the company budget).
Martin had noticed his clothes were fitting a bit better now that he was eating better more often. His figure was filling out again. He felt good. Really good. When he actually had enough tum to grab at it, Martin found himself mesmerized. He was so absorbed in slowly stroking, pressing, and squeezing at the softness, that he'd almost missed his delivery job. Douglas was rather complimentary too of late, telling him he looked well. It made Martin's cheeks pink again.
A few months or so later, Martin again arrived at Douglas's house. This time, he strode in with confidence. His shirt actually fit him now, though it was starting to pull a bit around the middle and all nervousness was gone.
"Evening, Douglas," he called, smiling and spying the man in the kitchen.
"Ah, Martin, just in time. The tarts are just coming out of the oven," replied the first officer. Martin wriggled up on one of the stools again, finding them much more comfortable now that his bum was less bony. He smiled as he took note of the fact that it wasn't only him that had seemed to be looking more and more 'well' lately. Douglas's apron clung to a rounded belly, the knot further towards the ends of the strings. He looked softer, cuddlier, somehow. Or perhaps Martin had just gotten to know him. But... the weight sat on the man well. No point denying it.
"Here we are," said Douglas, grunting a bit as he straightened and brought a tray of fresh tarts in varying colors over to the table. Martin found the oven mitts impossibly endearing as the man slipped them off and pushed his fringe from his forehead.
"More experiments?" asked Martin, smiling and chuckling as he took in the variety of tarts on the tray, "I thought we'd gotten everything taken care of for this coming week."
"In a way, though I don't expect these will be on the menu," said Douglas lightly, undoing his apron and hanging it up. Martin's eyes seemed to naturally flick to the man's middle, noting the round plush belly pushing over the first officer's belt. "I just thought we deserved a treat. We've been working hard."
"Oh yes!" said Martin with a giggle he couldn't seem but contain, "Really hard. Well, alright, you've been cooking almost non-stop. I've just been eating the whole time." He chuckled again and patted his own rounded belly, feeling it jiggle softly at his touch.
Douglas chuckled in kind, giving Martin that lopsided grin he loved so much. "Perhaps. Well, a few extra tarts never hurt anyone. Least of all you, Martin," the man purred. Martin felt his throat tighten. He swallowed, feeling suddenly very warm.
"Ha! Er, nor you," replied Martin, in a passable attempt at the other man's suavity.
"Ah, what a relief," said Douglas blithely, picking up a tart with a yellow center. He bit into it with a hum. Martin felt his mouth water. Oddly he couldn't decide what he wanted to taste more. The tart or well... Douglas.
He settled for picking one with strawberry instead and began munching away on that.
"R-really though, you look great," said Martin, lowering his gaze and feeling himself flush immediately the same color as his tart. Oh blast.
"Thank you. Perhaps I'll look grand after a tart or two then," countered Douglas, popping the last of the crumbly pastry into his mouth, "You however, will look simply magnificent I'm certain." There was warm gentle humor in that tone... and a bit of huskiness. Martin dared to look up.
Douglas had selected another pastry, one that looked to be flavored with black currant. He wasn't eating it though, no. It was being held out to Martin. Perplexed, Martin reached out to take it, but Douglas moved it back from his fingers.
"May I?" he rumbled, proffering the pastry again. Martin's heart started pounding. His eyes went wide. Oh!
"Yes," said Martin, swallowing down the rest of his tart. He leaned forwards, parted his lips. Douglas slipped the tart inside and Martin bit, chewing slowly and swallowing.
Douglas offered him another bite, then another, until Martin got to the last of the crust. His breath caught as he felt Douglas's fingers against his lips.
"Good?" came another rumbling purr.
"Great," answered Martin, perhaps a bit breathless. His eyes fluttered closed and he sat there, just breathing, his stomach fluttering.
"Another?" asked Douglas softly. There was a brush of warm crust against Martin's lips again. Martin hummed and bit into it. Raspberry. He quickly ate through it, eager to get to the end of the pastry, feel the other man's fingers again.
"Excellent," said Douglas, and he sounded so very close now. There was a hot puff of air on Martin's lips. "May I?"
"Y-yeah."
The next taste reminded Martin of coffee, just a bit of lemon, and very very much of Douglas Richardson.