Disclaimer: Foyle's War was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Christopher Foyle and Samantha Stewart/Wainwright jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. A fan tribute.
A/N: There is an M-rated version of Chapter 35, which you can view by changing your Filter settings to 'Ratings: All.'
UXB: Chapter 35
Thursday night...
They had each carried a basket in from the car and, after divesting themselves of coats, hat, gloves and cane, taken them through to the kitchen, remarking on the kindness and evident gratitude of Monsieur LaChance. Christopher and Sam stood together at the table, examining the bounty and deciding where various goods needed to be stored - or, at least, trying to. Both were somewhat distracted.
But they'd found a whole chicken in brown paper, potted sharp cheddar cheese, real butter, a lemon, apples, and three oranges, all of which Sam had exclaimed over, and they had deposited these in the icebox or pantry. Other tinned and nonperishable items, and a half-dozen bread rolls wrapped up in a cloth napkin, had been admired and replaced in the basket, or were cluttering the table, along with her smaller basket of chocolate.
With his right arm around Sam's waist, Christopher picked up the bottle of wine and studied the label.
She tilted her head in interest, "Is that the same wine that Alan won?"
"Er, it is a Romanée-Conti, but this is the 1921 vintage. An excellent year." Not turning from his perusal, he asked lightly, "...Sshall I open it?"
Sam smiled at the table top, "Oh, no, darling. I'm feeling quite intoxicated enough...and we should share it with friends, don't you think?"
"Yes, quite agree." The pink tip of his tongue made a brief sweep on his lips. "...I'm in no need of...priming." He set the bottle down.
She giggled, blushing charmingly, and turned to him, "Well, then, em, perhaps these other things can wait until tomorrow?"
Without quite meeting her look, Christopher reached up and, lightly biting his lower lip as he focussed on the task, carefully removed the pin securing her little hat to her hair, and set both on the table. Then he addressed her fondly,
"You were...wonderful tonight, Samantha. I was very proud."
A little nervous, now, she attempted a breezy attitude, "I quite enjoyed helping you capture Cleary... A walking stick or a dustbin lid, whatever comes to hand, I'm your girl..."
"You know that's not what I meant." he said with quiet patience. "Samantha. You were wonderful, as my partner this evening."
Sam closed her eyes in pleasure at the remark, all smiles. She sensed him move closer to rest his hands on her shoulders, felt his lips on her brow, her cheek, and she met him in a kiss of easy contentment that soon transformed into one of mutual searching, craving, entreating and coaxing. They broke off, breathing elevated, eyes glazed with the fog of desire.
He petitioned softly by her ear, stroking her arms,
"Mmm, Sam, shall we, em...?"
"Yes."
And so he took her hand to lead her upstairs, switching off the kitchen and hall lights as they passed. On the landing Christopher faced her again, holding both her hands in his, eyes glowing a warm sky-blue.
"Take as long as you need, darling."
He folded her close to him, and she felt his palms glide upwards on her back, to her nape, where his fingers unfastened the hook-and-eye closure of her frock. Then the sensation of cool air on her slip made her shiver, as he drew down the zipper to the small of her back.
Tilting her chin up with a crooked finger, he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose, then released her, adding, with an arch of an eyebrow,
"...But not very long."
Foyle stood in his bedroom, waiting, hands on hips again just as he'd done early that morning when Sam had invaded his bathroom shaving ritual. Half-smiling, worrying his cheek, and staring out the doorway to the landing, he thought of how quickly things had progressed since then. How things were about to progress, now.
He wore his dressing gown, and nothing else, quite sure pyjamas were not called for. To prepare the room he'd both lit the fire and opened the window, put the bedside lamps on, drawn the coverlet into an accordion fold at the foot of the bed, and pulled the top-sheet artfully aside. Sam was changing in the bathroom. Now he waited.
His fingers drummed lightly against his upper thigh.
Soon Samantha emerged, carrying her clothes over her arm, and walked discreetly away into the back bedroom, to put her things in the wardrobe. He ducked in to attend to his own nighttime cleansing and grooming, then returned to his room.
Only a moment later she approached, a lovely vision with a shy smile, cheeks suffused with a pink blush, her hair brushed out in glossy waves, all other adornment, save her engagement ring, removed, and her light cornflower-blue dressing gown tied with a neat bow at the waist.
In his mind's eye Foyle remembered the first time he'd seen her out of uniform, at the station, with her hair down, dressed fetchingly for an evening of dancing in a frock of nearly the same colour. And he remembered how that first sight of her, as a stunningly pretty girl quite unconnected to wartime duty, had affected him. His heart filled with emotion and he took in a steadying breath.
Christopher came forward to stand in the doorway. He slipped his left hand nonchalantly into a pocket, and placed his right hand high on the frame. Sam hesitated, noting his stance. She made a quarter-turn and leant her back against the doorpost, under the angle of his arm, hands behind her.
"You...barring me from coming in?" She asked casually, jigging a knee slightly up and down in a nervous fidget.
"Far from it. Simply wanted to appreciate the moment." He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. Sam shut her eyes, smiling.
"No second thoughts, then?" She turned her face towards him, brushing her nose on his.
"Nnope."
His bright blue irises filled her vision, communicating trust and devotion. He brought his left hand up to caress her cheek. They gazed into each other's eyes, calmly, lovingly, both breathing deeply, and then he met her lips in a kiss as chaste, and as sincere, as the kiss they would share at the altar on their wedding day.
Sam shifted to free her hands, to run them along the sides of his dressing gown and around his back, and he put his arms around her, drawing her into a close embrace.
She opened her lips beneath his, seeking his tongue with hers.
Foyle pulled away with a flash of a grin, "Hmm, who's in charge here?"
"What? No one's in charge, Christopher, we're..."
Before she finished he gave a low sort of growl by her ear, and turned her around across the doorway. In a deft move he dipped his knees to press his right shoulder into her middle, then straightened. Suddenly Sam found herself, with a little yelp of surprise, lifted up and over his broad shoulder, staring at the floor and his bare heels. Christopher carried her easily into the bedroom, an arm around her legs. After a friendly pat of her backside, which provoked another outcry, he lowered her carefully onto the sheets, and stood back to look down at her lying on the bed, his arms slightly flexed and hands open, with a self-satisfied smirk.
Sam stared up at him, wide-eyed and, for the second time since they'd left the party, slack-jawed. Realizing she had no real wish to object to the treatment, she broke into a delighted, if curious, grin,
"Oh, I say...!"
Raising herself onto her elbows, she saw her robe had gone askew, exposing her left breast. She glanced down at her state of deshabille and then, with glittering eyes, back at him, challenging,
"Look what you've done..."
"Have I? Well, best be fair, then."
He walked around to the far side of the bed, faced her, and began untying the belt of his dressing gown, but then hesitated, biting the inside of his lip. Her eyes glowing with excitement and desire, Sam raised a knee to push herself further up the bed onto the pillow. The skirt of her robe slipped, revealing a slender thigh nearly up to the hip, and she offered him an invitation,
"Darling, isn't it time you... finished unwrapping your present…?"
With a crooked smile he dipped his head and pulled open his robe, letting it fall from his shoulders to the floor, as if to say, 'well, here's yours.'
Sam watched him, eyes wide with interest, and looked at his body, displayed for her approval - his broad well-built chest, with its unexpectedly ruddy areolae and its neat mat of fur tapering to a line running down past his navel. She saw the livid scar of the bayonet puncture on his left side, the marks of various past wounds and army doctors' work. She saw his softly padded though still flat stomach, his shapely, muscular legs, and drawing her eyes like a magnet, his quite impressive manhood. Blushing red, Sam bit her lower lip, and managed to murmur, as she reached across to pull down the sheet on his side,
'C-Christopher... Do come to bed.'
In two strides he settled onto his right flank on the mattress and rolled to face her. Sam edged into the centre of the bed, laid a hand on his biceps, as he rested on an elbow. Lying back on the pillow she looked up to meet his searching gaze.
Nervously she suggested,
"I have... f-far too many clothes on, haven't I?"
"Well, let me help."
He pulled apart the bow, watching her eyes to gauge her confidence. He pushed the robe aside to reveal her lithe form and inhaled slowly through his nose as he gazed reverently over her.
Sam's own breathing was quickening, and she asserted in a small voice, "...We can manage this, I think."
He answered firmly with a nod, "Oh, yes."
He helped her further, to sit up and remove the dressing gown entirely, and he pressed his lips softly to her shoulder. Slipping a hand around the back of his neck she drew him down into a kiss, letting him sense her deep longing, her hunger for fulfillment. His response was assured, probing, almost forceful. At the first touch of his warm hand, caressing her waist and gliding upwards, she trembled in delight.
He broke away from the kiss, bent his head to the breast he cupped in his hand, took it into his mouth, stroking her rising nipple with his wet tongue. He eased back on the bed and gave equal attention to the other. Sam watched him suckle, her lips parted in pleasure, admiring the always surprisingly long fringe of his lashes.
He kissed each erect nipple and met her eyes again, remarking eagerly,
"Mmm, Sam, the sketch..., Sir Leonard ...hardly did you justice, y'know..."
She gave him an upside-down smile of gratitude and caressed his broad, well-muscled chest, feeling the strong thudding of his heart. Then his hand slid to her belly. She shivered again with anticipation.
Her fingers followed the trail of fine greying hair over his soft, warm flesh, down to his navel. His hand ventured further, and she felt a rush of exhilaration, drawing in a sharp breath. Christopher looked up into her face, seeking assurance in her eyes that all was well.
The next kiss was gently petitioning, in marked contrast to the hard throb she felt pressing insolently against her thigh. Her stomach swooped with desire.
He proceeded further, exploring all of her, inviting her to discover him, until their searching inevitably led to the beginning of complete union.
He paused, gasping against her throat, to master himself and vow to her,
"SSamantha...ddarling girl... Llove you, cherish you, forever..."
He raised his head to look adoringly into her deep amber eyes, saw her features transformed by radiant joy and desire, saw her love shining through, and his heart swelled with pride, seeing her trust and total surrender to him.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, melded her mouth to his, her tongue to his, her body to his, and she felt a groundswell building within. Her hips rolled upwards to meet him, again, again, then once again, until she was completely overpowered.
Their breaths ceased entirely for a long moment as they reached their pinnacle together, found each other's core, and then with a few final reciprocal thrusts their wild cries of ecstasy joined as shuddering waves possessed them. Samantha managed to open her eyes, to see the face of her lover, her Christopher, transformed in boyish, beatific thrall to his climax.
And she vowed to give him this as often as possible.
They lay panting together, breathless and stunned for some moments. Then Sam ran her hands gratefully, rhythmically up and down his back, revelling in this complete connection - until she began to feel that her breathing really was in fact stifled by his weight on top of her.
His strength seemed to have entirely collapsed, and his head lay heavily on the pillow beside hers. He'd turned his face away, his dark grey curls softly tickling her neck and cheek. She became aware of a change in the cadence of his breaths. He was sucking in short gasps, and clearly trying to disguise the sound. Sam realized, in some confusion and concern, that he was weeping.
She brought her hand up to stroke his head,
"Christopher...? Whatever's the... matter...? Darling...?" Her voice came out weak and airless below his muscular shoulder, which prompted him instantly up onto his forearms.
He answered in almost a sob,
"Ssorry! Sorry, my darling..."
He took in a long, shaking, calming breath and turned tear-filled eyes towards her, a tender smile wavering on his expressive lips,
"Just...um...rather... overjoyed. Mmy god...! Come here, come to me... Sweetheart. ...darling girl."
And he pulled her with him as he rolled back to settle onto his side, cradling her head on his folded arm. He brushed his tears away with the heel of a hand, chest still heaving both with emotion and from his exertions. When he focussed his eyes on hers, he broke into a beaming grin.
Sam gazed back at him with a look of adoring wonder, through damp and tousled strands of hair, and smiled shyly,
"We... seem to have managed rather well, haven't we."
And Christopher laughed. A deep, rolling laugh from low in his chest that rose up and burst from him in delighted appreciation. Samantha was stunned - she had never, ever, in their six years together, seen him laugh like this. She had occasionally wondered if he ever did really laugh. Now she almost wept herself, pleased beyond reckoning to have drawn this, too, out of him.
"Entirely agree!" He managed to say when he'd composed himself again.
He reached down to pull the top-sheet and the coverlet up over them. He swept her hair out of her eyes, stroked her flushed cheek softly with the backs of his fingers as they faced each other on the pillow.
Christopher murmured, shaking his head slightly in disbelief,
"Dearest girl… Sam. My darling wife…"
They kissed gently, watched each other tenderly, their eyelids growing heavy, until both fell asleep, not knowing who had drifted away first.
tbc...