FW 1946 UXB
Disclaimer: Foyle's War was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle and Samantha jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. A fan tribute.
End of chapter 37
"Well, I'd very much like to make up for lost time!"
He nodded once to show his willing agreement,
"Can rely on me, sweetheart… But, em," a concerned furrow formed between his eyebrows, and he found himself uttering an entirely new worry, "...rrreally must feed you, Sam, before we, emmh... Sh-shouldn't we?"
"Well, all right, but just a quick bite. Unless you're, um...?"
"No-! Nno, perfectly fine with me."
Bright-eyed, Christopher mentally calculated further plans to help her catch up.
UXB Chapter 38 (M)
Lying back in the bed, smiling to herself, Sam had listened to the sounds of Christopher washing in the bathroom and then making his way downstairs. Taking the tea tray, he'd proposed going ahead of her to prepare something for lunch, urging her with affectionate devotion to rest a little longer and take her time before joining him in the kitchen.
She swept her arm up her lover's side of the mattress, eyes sparkling with exhilaration. Glancing at the clock, she noted it was half-past twelve. She'd never, ever lain in bed so late before - no chance of that, growing up in the vicarage; nor in the MTC or the boarding houses she'd lived in during the War - well, not unless she was ill. And she was absolutely the opposite of that - deliciously lazy and yet brimming with energy, happiness, and vitality. She was aware of every part of her body in a new and sensuous way. This was the source of the secret, knowing smiles of newly married friends, this was the indescribable thrill other girls had hinted at. Yet Sam was certain she had now experienced something quite beyond what they had rhapsodized over. She pressed her shoulder to her cheek and inhaled, enjoying his scent on her skin.
Christopher's lovemaking had brought revelations to her on so many levels, about both of them - his sure understanding of her body's response, his expected gentleness, but also his controlled forcefulness; now she knew she rather liked that, had thrilled at the sensation of being physically overpowered by him, knowing he was absolutely to be trusted.
And she knew he trusted her, too, setting her atop as he had. Sam blushed at the recollection, grinning and absently biting her thumb - had she really done that? Gone at him like a - a rutting beast? She'd had no idea it could even be managed that way... Well, nearly everything they'd done had been a discovery for her. And to think he had brought her to the pinnacle of ecstasy four times this morning, in four different ways!
This was all entirely new.
And undoubtedly she owed a great deal of her happiness now to his first marriage, to his years of loving Rosalind. Sam understood that, for a while at least, there would be three of them in the bed, that it would be natural for him to make comparisons, to recall his experiences with his beloved first wife. For herself, though, there would certainly NOT be an extra bedfellow. Christopher had instantly, entirely dismissed and displaced her late husband from her sexual history. The fact that all her unsatisfactory marital relations had occurred in the dark made it that much easier to forget those encounters.
To see the face of one's lover while making love, Sam pronounced to herself with newfound conviction and a nod of her head, whether in soft lamplight or bright daylight, was essential for communication and for the full enjoyment of the experience. She was sure Dr. Marie Stopes would agree.
Her one regret, Sam thought, and gave a small sigh, was that the circumstances of their work, the War and it's aftermath, had delayed things so long for them. Six years they'd worked together. When they'd first met, of course, she had been a mere girl of twenty-two. He had been widowed eight years - and had been alone for fourteen, until now.
Sam's brow furrowed, 'Or had he been all alone?' Knowing what she now knew of him - his drive, his mastery, his pleasure and his generosity in lovemaking - she found it difficult to imagine he'd been entirely celibate for so many years...
Turning onto her side to face the doorway, she cast back in her memory for any clues. Other than that sigh of disappointment he'd given, in the car after reading the farewell note from Barbara Hicks, whom they'd met during the case at the Land Girls' farm in 1940, she couldn't recall any indications... Never an unexplained early evening departure from the Station, not a long midday absence, nor a late morning... No. Not one. And surely he would have confessed another child, aside from Andrew and Jack, if one existed. Yet, if he'd had a lady friend, honestly, how could she ever have known...? He'd always very much kept himself to himself.
Well, really, it was none of her business, was it? Clearly there had been no one who'd claimed his heart. She could be quite sure of that.
The sound of the kettle whistling downstairs roused her from her musings. She swung her legs off the bed, snatched her robe from the chair and took herself to the bathroom. After another quick bath - she felt a little guilty draining away the hot water so soon, but she was eager to join Christopher - she stepped in to the back bedroom to pull on a fresh pair of knickers under her dressing gown, pushed her feet into her slippers, and tripped lightly down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Foyle looked up from the cooker at the sound of her entrance and grinned happily, but before he could get a word of welcome out, Sam plastered herself to his back, snaking her arms around him and purring, "Mmm, hope you haven't gone to any trouble, darling." And without even a glance into the bubbling pot, she began nibbling provocatively on his ear.
"Oh, well, not really. Just, er...," his voice trailed away as he looked down to watch her hand slip inside his dressing gown to stroke his chest. That and the sensation of her lips and warm breath on his neck made him suddenly lightheaded as his blood was diverted from his brain and pumped downwards. For a few moments he gave in to the pleasure of it, letting his eyes drift shut, but when her fingers travelled to the belt of his robe, he knew he must avert a minor domestic crisis.
He seized and stilled her hand,
"Samantha..., these are two-minute eggs with less than half a minute to go."
He extricated himself from her embrace, turned and planted his hands on her shoulders,
"Do behave yourself, Sweetheart, or we'll end up with twenty-minute eggs, boiled dry."
Sam stared up at him with a feigned look of bewildered innocence until, with a twinkle in his eye and a kiss on the tip of her nose, he sent her to the table. But he didn't resume his cooking duties until he'd admired her figure from the rear and seen her seated.
The baskets had been moved to one end of the table and their two places had been set diagonally at the other corner. Sam sat down, attempting a pout, but really couldn't manage it in her complete contentment, and seeing that he was making her a meal. The apples and oranges had been set out on display in a ceramic bowl as a centrepiece. She lifted an apple to her nose and sniffed deeply, realizing she was a bit hungry, after all, then put it back, interested in what was on offer.
"You mean we get a whole egg each? What extravagance!"
"Wull, I'd say we're both in need of it."
He arched an eyebrow at her, then pivoted back to switch off the gas, lift out the eggs and place them in the waiting eggcups. Slices of toasted, buttered French bread were added to the tray, along with a small pot of orange marmalade. They set to, slicing the tops off their eggs and dipping toast strips into the runny golden yolks.
After a few moments Sam remarked,
"Gosh, this feels like a proper pre-War breakfast, doesn't it."
Christopher smiled his agreement as he chewed, then, remembering the teapot, rose to fetch it. He poured the aromatic Twinings into their two cups, and pushed the freshly-washed and filled sugar bowl towards her. Sam stared at it, lifted the lid, and looked up incredulously at him,
"Real sugar!?"
"It is. From the basket. Just noticed it before you came down."
"I may weep with happiness!" She asserted. But as she carried a heaping spoonful from the bowl to her cup, he cautioned her kindly,
"Go easy, Sam, you're not used to it."
She tilted the spoon and watched the crystals sparkle and slowly cascade into the steaming amber liquid, but leveled it again when about half remained. Prudently, and wordlessly, she returned the rest to the bowl, then added milk to her cup and stirred it round. Foyle had observed her actions while finishing his egg and toast. As he poured a dollop of milk into his own tea she saw him smile to himself.
"What?" She asked, raising the cup to her lips. She tasted it and made a slight wince. "Ah. Yes. You're quite right. A quarter of that would have been plenty. Oh, well." She took another sip.
"You've, um, not had the opportunity to discover that tastes can change as you get older. You'd've...probably lost the taste for sweet things naturally...if you hadn't been deprived of them."
"Are you saying I've become...sophisticated by default, Christopher?" She half-grinned at him.
"We may never know, ...or at least not until rationing ends. When we have more to choose from... and can exercise our preferences."
"Well, we've lots to choose from just now!"
Sam helped herself to marmalade, but minded his advice and only spread a thin coating over her toast.
"Mmm, I can't remember the last time I had orange marmalade. Not since I left home - er, left my father's home, I meant." She bit into her toast and Foyle was amused as her chatter ceased for several moments of intense enjoyment. After a few bites she enthused,
"Goodness - real marmalade, real bread, real butter and a whole egg! I'll be in danger of losing my girlish figure, at this rate."
"Well...," Foyle said persuasively, "...if you finish all of that, and a piece of fruit, you can have a bit of chocolate for afters."
"Oh. Why?" Now she was amused, and eyed him curiously.
"...Mm-well, y'know, Sam, I was very concerned... when I first saw you in London. And not only because you seemed to have been implicated in a spy ring."
"You mean...?" She paused, her hand suspended in reaching towards the fruit bowl.
"Well, you were... too thin, Sweetheart." He explained with a cautious glance.
Sam raised her eyebrows in mild surprise at this personal remark.
"You don't like the 'Wallis Simpson' look?" She asked innocently, only half-teasing, and took a bite of her apple.
He wrinkled his nose in distaste, and comically widened his eyes in alarm by way of answer.
Sam giggled, which then necessitated wiping a little apple juice from her chin.
"During the War," he continued, "you were... slender. And you have filled out a little more, now. But, Darling, ...sshouldn't begin a pregnancy...underweight. You'll need all your strength, as the baby grows. I'm sure your doctor would advise you to gain...a stone."
She swallowed her mouthful of apple and gaped at him, "A stone! I can't imagine!"
He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes,
"Mm-Well, best to lay up your own reserves, Sweetheart, before the baby starts making demands." And he smiled at her pleasantly.
Then Sam was tearful with happiness, to hear him talking with such assuredness about a child. Blinking a few times, she took hold of his left hand and held on to it,
"You make it sound so...possible. Thank-you, Christopher."
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers,
"Possible, m'love, ...and very probable. Let's...just have faith, hm?"
"Yes." She raised her head stalwartly.
But then Sam did a double-take as, just before he let go of her hand, she felt the quick wet brush of his warm silk tongue between her middle and ring fingers. That small subtle action instantly kindled the inner sensations of their morning lovemaking. Blushing, suppressing a smile, Sam sat back in her chair and refocused on finishing her apple, as Foyle nonchalantly selected an orange from the fruit-bowl. Her eyes were soon drawn to his motions, and she watched with a lazy fascination.
First he warmed it in both his hands, turning it incrementally, and brought it to his nose to breathe in its scent. Then he compressed it with gentle force and completed a full rotation between his cupped palms. He held it out towards her to share the citrusy aroma and she sniffed appreciatively. Next he dug a thumbnail into it for his first purchase on the thick rind, and slowly pulled a strip free of the flesh. He repeated this action until the fruit was naked and a neat pile of discarded peel and pith lay on his plate. The pulpy core was next drawn out of the centre and laid aside, then he carefully pulled apart the fruit in unbroken segments.
Christopher proffered a piece between finger and thumb, but when Sam reached for it, he playfully pulled it back, lifting an eyebrow and raising his chin. She gave him a half-smile, then complied with his unspoken direction by leaning towards him and opening her mouth, and he placed the orange segment on her tongue. After savouring the tangy sweetness, eyes shut, she peeped at him through nearly closed lids, tilting her head, and murmured provocatively,
"So you...noticed my figure...during the War..., did you, ...Mr. Foyle?"
He only twisted his mouth to one side, and carried on eating his orange.
"Did you ever... imagine us... together, ...when I was your driver...?"
"Certainly not." He replied immediately, though gently, then pursed his lips, adding,
"Don't want to tarnish the memory of that time, for either of us, Sam, with any suggestion that I might have harboured ...inappropriate thoughts about you. So... No. And let's leave it at that."
An affectionate smile spread slowly, broadly, across her face. Before she reached to take another piece of the orange from his plate, Sam declared warmly,
"You really are...truly...a lovely man, d'you know that?"
"Mmust be some reason why you've agreed to marry me."
"Oh, I had a hundred before..." She said around a mouthful of orange.
"Now I've got...a hundred and five, by my count." She got up without looking at him and began clearing the table.
Foyle tucked in his chin, smiling a crooked smile, then popped the very last orange segment into his mouth, glancing up at her as she took his plate. He finished, downed his tea, touched his napkin to his lips, and stood, one hand on the chair back, the other in his dressing gown pocket,
"L-leave those, Sam. They don't matter just now."
"Not in the least...?" She said with a little pleased smirk, turning away from the kitchen sink where she'd left their plates and cutlery in an inch of soapy hot water. She had put aside the orange rind for future baking or candied peel, and the eggshells for several other uses.
"Couldn't matter less. And, er, there was a mention of chocolate, y'know." He gave her a sideways look.
"Yes, there was. I distinctly remember." Sam stepped to the far end of the table and rummaged in the smaller basket for one of the Cadbury's bars.
"Well, it's yours, of course... Not really my call." Foyle went to the sink, dipped his fingertips into the water, and dried them on a tea towel. He turned, settled against the counter to watch her, hands in pockets again.
"Hmm. Perhaps just a little...corner..." She carefully unwrapped the bar to expose the pristine milk chocolate, held it under her nose, breathed in and exhaled, "Heavenly...!" She glanced at him, and crossed the little distance between them, "Care for some, Darling...?"
Foyle looked into her eyes, gently smiling, and shook his head.
Something in his gaze held her attention, and somehow, merely by his expression, she was made newly aware of the thinness of the few garments they wore. Sam leaned a shoulder against him, contemplating the bar of chocolate.
He lifted a hand to rest it lightly, warmly, on the small of her back, and murmured,
"Believe I was ordered to report upstairs, ...as soon after canteen duty as possible?"
Eyes widening, without a word Sam re-wrapped the chocolate and laid it down on the counter-top. She felt for his hand, and set off down the passageway with him in tow. Just before he was pulled out the kitchen door, grinning in anticipation, Foyle grabbed the abandoned chocolate bar and slipped it into his dressing gown pocket.
On the landing Sam turned to face him, smiling shyly but intently, still drawing him along, now by both hands, into the bedroom. Once she had him beside the bed, she glided around behind to embrace him as she had downstairs, reaching in to caress his broad bare chest and midriff.
"I haven't rushed you, have I?"
"No, Darling. All present and correct." he assured her, smiling.
"...Then I think we might remove this 'mess kit,' hmm?" She pulled apart the loose knot of his belt until his dressing gown fell open. Christopher watched her hands moving over his front, saw the evidence of his own interest as his breathing deepened and his member roused from its repose. Samantha's hand slid hesitantly downwards, through the tangle of coarse hair, and along his growing, rising length. She tilted her head to look around him, and he felt her warm breath travel across his shoulder and upper arm.
"My gosh..." Sam murmured in wonder, "...to think you've had this, hidden and ...quite unavailable, ...all this time."
He couldn't help chuckling silently, until her fingers wound around him, encouraging his upward movement, and her thumb massaged gently towards the head, now straining upright, free of its hood. He took in a slow gasp of pleasure.
Sam admitted with some embarrassment,
"I've never...really...had a good look at..."
"Oh. ...Well, ...do. Shall we, er...?" He made to move towards the bed, but she stopped him,
"No. - That is, - may I, um...?"
Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, Sam drew him closer so that he stood before her, quite exposed. Her cheeks were flushed, but Christopher could see the determination in her expression. He shut his eyes a moment, mentally preparing himself to be examined, then gazed down at her, holding his robe aside with hands clasped behind his back.
"Want a good look under the bonnet, do you?" He muttered, self-conscious.
"Well, ...best to be on familiar terms with the, um, equipment one is working with..."
"...Quite."
He endured her scrutiny with a good grace, keeping an eye on the proceedings. For a brief moment the recollection flashed into his mind of military Medical Officers' 'short arm inspections,' another indignity of his Great War service. But that was an entirely different set of circumstances and he quickly shook it out of his head. Wouldn't do to attempt a joking reference to it just now, despite his mild embarrassment. He took in a calming breath and focused on his lover's bright red-gold hair.
Sam gently caressed him again, observing with a keen and serious interest the expansion and coloration of the dry, warm tissues, the undulating raised line of a vein along his length, and the tightening contraction of the flesh over his testicles. Stroking softly upwards with her thumb, she made an even closer study of the purpling head, noting the delicate connection of the glans to the underside of the shaft.
His chest rose and fell slowly, as he enjoyed the feather light touch of her fingers.
What he hadn't prepared himself for was her quite unexpected interest in experimentation: placing her left hand at his root, Sam suddenly moved in to apply a broad wet tongue on his shaft and licked upwards to the throbbing head.
His knees nearly buckled.
Christopher dropped a hand heavily on her shoulder, with a whispered shout,
"Ahh-uhh! Jeezus! Sweetheart, give a chap some warning! Christ."
She looked up, startled and repentant at his sudden shift and outcry, retracting her tongue and biting her lower lip,
"Oh, god. I'm sorry. Did that... hurt...?" She'd seen and felt the immediate positive effect on his member, and her brows lowered in a puzzled frown.
"Jeezus - the opposite! But...a little notice, hmmm?"
"'The opp-'? Oh." She smiled, pleased.
"Sorry. Well..., I should like, -em, I've never. -May I...try...?"
He nodded vigorously and looked down rather intensely at her. Sam returned her attention to the task she'd set herself, as Christopher quickly shed his dressing gown. She tried the same tactic again and, forewarned, he only drew in a long breath. She made another slow, upward sweep with her tongue, kissed the head, and looked up to meet his eyes.
"I'm, em, I'd like to..."
He only gave another nod, riveted by her bold and immensely pleasurable actions. Sam angled his instrument towards herself and took the head into her mouth, her tongue warmly caressing the sensitive underside. He groaned encouragingly, a hand again resting on her shoulder, the other now in her hair. She repeated the motion, this time closing her lips firmly and applying a little suction on the upward stroke. She was rewarded by Christopher's helpless moan.
But when she had completed another caress, and had felt the extreme hardening of his length, he carefully, gently disengaged from her, breathing,
"Darling...let's not forget our main objective..."
He pushed her robe from her shoulders, then shifted his hands to easily lift her under the arms, and set her further back on the bed. Sam watched with an eager smile as he reverently drew down her knickers, then climbed up and lay over her, nudging her thighs further apart with his knee.
"W-was that all right, Christopher?"
"Ffairly obvious...it was rather more than all right, wouldn't you think...?" He kissed her deeply, then smiled into her eyes, whispering,
"Dangerously so. But we've a mission to complete, Sam."
His fingers massaged her from breast down to hip, and below he found her quite ready. She took charge of him, guiding him again until he was deep inside her. Already well-primed, he could barely restrain himself, thrusting into her forcefully, groaning his pleasure against her throat.
Sam panted unevenly, overcome by the thrill of his motions and instinctively reciprocating.
"Our... Nnnumber One... asss-sssignment...Ohh!"
Then words became unnecessary, if not impossible. Christopher lifted his head, eyes seeking Sam's. They watched each other as they coupled, entranced and open-mouthed, communicating determination and commitment to their shared goal. As they climbed towards their completion, he saw Sam's face suffuse with a transcendent smile and her eyelids flutter closed. Then he lost himself in his climax.
"Darling Sam...," he murmured, nudging her cheek with his nose as they lay recovering their breath, "what was that...impertinent smile for...?"
Eyes still shut, she gave him an inverted grin,
"Oh...I suddenly felt...that I knew...exactly what a true marriage is meant to be... And I thought myself...immensely blessed, at that moment." She opened her eyes, two chocolate brown depths shining with adoration at him.
"If we should ever disagree... If, in the future, you should ever think you've made a mistake... Please remember this moment, because this is how I truly feel. ...I love you so much, Christopher."
She saw the strength of her feelings reflected in his eyes, but then he covered his emotion with a jest,
"Well, I do hope we won't be disagreeing on anything important...soon..." His thumb caressed her cheek, "Haven't got anything on your mind, have you...? Any complaints?"
"Not a one." She whispered, taking his face between her hands, drawing him down into a kiss.
tbc...