Disclaimer: Whatever you can recognize, is not mine.
Warning: English is neither my first, nor second language. Proceed at your own risk.
'*****
He is doing the dishes, and Louisa's volunteered to help. The task takes much longer than it is strictly necessary, because Martin keeps peering down at her and, as a result, lathering and rinsing same plates without noticing it. He really can't help himself - she stands too close, and he is fascinated by the little smile that tags at her lips, when time after time she pauses drying a plate to readjusts the ring on her finger.
Finally, Martin leans in and brushes her lips with his. Which is a mistake, because he isn't done with the dishes, and they haven't had the dessert yet. His hands are dripping soapy water, and he has an apron on, but Louisa responses eagerly, and now they are kissing in earnest, and all the apples and cheese and still unwashed cutlery are completely forgotten.
Midkiss Martin hoists her on the kitchen counter and freezes momentary, as if surprised by his own boldness. But Louisa drops the towel, grips his jacket lapels, and breathes out, "Oh, Martin," when she manages to unlock her lips from his for a split of a second. Any modicum of the resolve to slow down, which Martin might have had left, evaporates at the sound of her voice. Blindly, he shuts the tap and clears a bit of space on the counter around her bum with one hand, while his other hand is on Louisa's back, keeping her steady.
As he begins to map her face with his lips, gradually progressing downward to the long column of her neck and the wedge of her collar bone, Louisa's breathing quickens, and she lets go of the lapels. She slides her hands up to his shoulders and then further, wrapping them around his neck. She rakes her fingers through his soft short hair, and, without taking his lips off of her skin, he moans in response. She shivers, tilts her head backward to allow Martin a better access, and pulls him closer.
That is all the encouragement he needs. His lips gliding down her neck, he takes a small step forward, and Louisa spreads her knees to accommodate him. However, as he moves, his shoe gets caught in the towel, which Louisa dropped earlier, and he staggers a bit. Trying to brace himself and not to crush her, he sticks his hand out, aiming for the countertop, but catches Louisa's thigh instead.
With his face buried in the V of her sweater by then, created by a couple of undone buttons at the top, he is too preoccupied to notice the difference between the hardness of the countertop and the softness of Louisa's thigh under his palm. But he does react to her whimper.
"Alright?" Martin raises his head to look at her.
Louisa's face is flushed, and it takes a moment for her eyes to focus. Mesmerized, Martin stares at her, until she murmurs, "Don't stop, Martin, just don't…" and tugs him closer still. It's not exactly an answer, but it looks like he doesn't even remember the question. Slowly, he captures her lips with his, and they are kissing again.
When a long while later they break up for air, Martin's "may I?" sounds a bit winded.
"I already said yes a couple of days ago, Martin," Louisa answers quietly, and he responds, "Hmm."
Louisa runs her fingers over his neck, along the top of the shirt collar, traces the outline of his jaw, and Martin inhales and exhales sharply. He gazes at her, mesmerized once again, forgetting what exactly he is asking permission for. She smiles at him, and Martin swallows nervously, ducks his head, and looks away. When he returns his gaze to Louisa, the expression on his face is a mixture of bewilderment and horror.
"Martin?" Louisa frowns.
He clears his throat, "Erm… I…" and jerks slightly away from her, his eyes darting around the kitchen. It seems that suddenly he has taken stock of their current situation, and is desperately trying to figure out how to fix it. Maybe because he's just realized that his hand on Louisa's back has found its way under her sweater and is moments away from unclasping her bra. Maybe because his other hand, which he's used to brace himself, is in fact clenching Louisa's thigh, and has moved significantly forward, crumpling and taking the soft material of her skirt with it and baring the pale skin so far up her leg that another shift of his fingers could expose her underwear. Maybe because the V at the top of Louisa's sweater has gotten so deep that the black lace of her bra peeks over the edge of the sweater. And in the meantime, Louisa is perched on the kitchen counter, right in front of the window and only a few feet away from the back door, which is used by most inhabitants of the village at their will, with blissfully unawareness of a concept of privacy…
As if finally making a decision, in one swift move Martin scoops her off of the counter. He then falters, peering at her, and chocks out, "May I?"
With armful of Louisa, his face expression softens, so she smiles and responds with a kiss that lasts through the kitchen, along the hallway and the surgery reception area, all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
"You know, you don't have to carry me around all the time, Martin," Louisa whispers, her lips ghosting over his.
"Yes," he nods, slightly readjusts his hold on her, and heads up the stairs.