A/N: Genre: Foyle lemon fluff.
A little giftie from me to you. Grateful to dear GiuC for the excellent suggestions and beta. Thanks to Jewell, also.
Sam and her boss were examining the file so intently, bodies bent slightly over his desk with their backs to the door, that they didn't see or hear Sergeant Brooke stealthily approach to hang a sprig of mistletoe just above the doorframe. He fastened it with string to an already handy nail and silently made his way back to the front desk, sniggering as he went.
Brookie had a feeling about those two… and since he was about to leave for his dinner-break, and it was Christmas Eve eve, and the station was likely to remain as quiet as it had been for much of the day, he decided to give them their big chance. He placed the summoning bell on the counter and made sure nothing of value lay on the front desk, then he departed.
Sam looked at her boss contemplatively. "Do you think Riggs might have had anything to do with it, Sir? Both Mrs Hutchins and Mr Manchester mentioned him."
Foyle twisted his lips slightly, eyes still on the papers they'd been reviewing. "It's possible." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. "Sam, I'm tired. Not sure I can think about it anymore, today. What time is it?"
She glanced at her wristwatch. "Half past six, Sir."
"Mmm? Didn't realise I'd kept you so long."
Sam regarded his downcast eyes, sighing inwardly. If only he knew how little she minded. She would not have been surprised to learn that it was only half past four. And she'd happily have stayed there working on cases with him for another two hours.
"I don't mind in the least, Mr Foyle."
Something in her tone made him shift his gaze toward her suddenly. Christ, he thought, you are mad, thinking she means anything by it when she gets that look. But her eyes are so large and sweet and inviting. It's just because she's young, y'know? Because she's earnest. Eager to help. And she admires you, that's all. Stop thinking about her this way. It's entirely inappropriate, and you're going to end up behaving like a damned fool…
"Thank you, Sam. I appreciate all your help. You said you plan to go home tomorrow morning?"
"Back to Lyminster, Sir, yes. There will be carol-singing around the village, and a special supper. I only wish…"
He watched her bite her lip, his heart clenching. "Sam?"
"Well, with Andrew not able to get leave over Christmas to be with you, and things so quiet just now, I rather wish… well, that you might come along with me. It's just that—I hate to think of you all alone on Christmas Eve. I know you usually celebrate with the Reids, and they are away this year."
Foyle's eyes widened as he watched her shift about his office uneasily. She looked as nervous as a calf; her movements almost amounting to pacing. What was this all about?
All at once Sam furrowed her brow, her eyes fixed on the upper part of the doorframe, and Foyle's eyes followed the direction of hers.
"What's that?" he mumbled, approaching the door for a closer look. "Hmm." Somebody's idea of a joke.
"What is it, Sir?" She moved to stand beside him, gazing upward. "Oh!"
He turned his head to see her blushing furiously, and his eyebrows climbed.
"Who did that, do you suppose?"
He watched her lips curl up into a shy smile as her cheeks recovered their normal delicate colour.
God, he thought, she is so beautiful… And she was standing quite close to him, actually. She did that sometimes. And every time, he wondered about it.
Now she was so near, he could feel the warmth of her as she brushed his shoulder with her own.
"If I had to guess the culprit," she laughed, "I'd name a certain restless Londoner who is always trying to stir things up."
For pity's sake! Her eyes were twinkling too! One moment more of this and he was not going to be able to answer for what happened next.
Sam thought she might be managing to appear outwardly calm, but with her heart pounding this hard, she was finding it rather difficult to breathe. There was a certain look in his eyes that she had seen before, and every time she did, it took her breath away. Mr Foyle was attracted to her, she was sure of it. He probably believed he should never do anything about it, although she longed for him to… oh, so much.
But he wouldn't—the awful certainty of it hit her. Even as the intense blue of his eyes deepened as he looked into hers, he was going to catch himself; be sensible; be honourable. Would things turn out differently if she were the one to act first? Well, with a bit of Christmas mistletoe hanging overhead, what better chance would she have? If things went pear-shaped, she could always claim she was just following tradition.
One moment they were studying each other's eyes for a clue, and the next, Sam was summoning every last bit of courage she had and leaning into her boss. She kept her eyes glued to his as she pressed her lips softly to his mouth, nervously observing the way he closed his eyelids. His slight intake of breath took just a wisp of hers with it. But—wonder of wonders—apparently she wasn't offending him or making him jump away. Mr Foyle was entirely still, but he was "with" her. Then his eyes flew open, and for one split second she saw in them something akin to agony.
The next instant her head was in his hands and the kiss was taken over. Sam had felt a man's lips before, in that gentle way that hers had just touched Mr Foyle's, but she had never experienced the sensation he was bringing to her now. His mouth seemed to possess hers completely, and she was made limp with pleasure from it. She could feel his fingers thread upward through her hair to loosen it, caressing her scalp; and the way he had tilted his head allowed him to fit his mouth so completely over hers… Sam felt dizzy, drunken almost… then he made a soft low sound that sent a powerful tremor through her. She felt so flushed and weak all of a sudden that she had to put her arms around him to keep standing. Such arousal was not completely unknown to her, but she had never felt it with such force, and in the presence of another.
Christopher Foyle kept assuring himself that he would stop this in another second, but each second seemed to give way to one more until his mind was spinning. His faculties in a jumble, he was feeling a rush of things at the same time: the joy and vast relief of her responsiveness, the fresh sweetness of her as she tried to keep up with physical responses she seemed unacquainted with, and above all the deep, euphoric sensation of holding her lovely shape in his arms as he stumbled back into the office with her and kicked the door closed. In a flash he had her shoulders against the inside of it, and his mind slid only into pleasure and insensibility as he deepened the now-desperate kiss.
Foyle thrilled to the impassioned whimper that she gave as his tongue teased open her lips and he tasted the spicy hint of the cider she must have drunk at lunchtime. Sam's little sound had at first the slightest edge of fear, but soon gave way to a delectable indication that she was enjoying what he was doing very much indeed. And there was nothing fearful about the way she was pressing her body into his; he knew it must be quite clear to her by now that he was fully erect. It was all he could do not to grind his hips against hers.
If not for the acute sprung tension of his long-suppressed feelings for her, he might have been able to stop and point out to her that she… they… were possibly making a mistake. And yet somehow he was stopped from wrenching himself away. There was something compelling about the marvel of her kissing him back with such fervour and affection. He simply couldn't bring himself to end it.
"Sam," he murmured against her lips, forcing his eyes open again. "Dearest Sam… this is…"
"Shhh, please, don't try telling me how wrong this is. Can't you feel how right?" This time her tongue parted his lips and did the exploring, and all he could do was groan. As if to wrest control of the situation for their own good, he pinned her wrists against the door, but her gasp of pleasure erased his intentions and instead he covered her body with his own and let his lower torso undulate against her. He was as close to her as he could manage. But still not as close as he wanted to be.
This was all new to Sam, but her confidence grew the more she realised how much he wanted her. As her boss, he always led her to learn and admired her for learning things; she had a feeling this could happen now, too, and the security of that feeling opened a floodgate. She knew she wanted him, and she had no compunction about wanting him, right now. She loved him with all her heart and soul; she'd known it for some time, and she strongly suspected that he felt more than just desire for her, too.
Reluctantly, but needing to catch her breath, she broke their kiss and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Christopher. I couldn't be sure. But I thought you felt it, too." She drew back and looked into his eyes. "I love you," she whispered.
He gazed at her in wonderment. "You… you do?" he asked, his voice and expression so much the little boy that she had to laugh.
And she was so utterly beautiful when she did, that he had to take a deep breath. But then, as he drank in her dark brown eyes, his trademark calm suffused him.
He embraced her again; the ache of his arousal against her compounded by a strong twitch of desire at her closeness, but it was all part of the emotion. These things could not be separate, not with her. "I was so afraid I was the only one who wanted…" he confided gently.
Foyle's grip of her arms softened as he took her lips again, with more tenderness and devotion, but no less heatedly. When he murmured, "I love you, too, Sam," between kisses, she swooned in his arms.
Sam felt a surge of heat and wetness between her legs, and so longed to feel him there that an urgent plan formed in her mind. He had pulled her away from the door slightly, and she turned the two of them as they kissed so that she was pulling gently at his lapels, backing towards his desk.
The expression on his face hovered between amusement and amazement, but he followed, and when she reached the edge of the desk he found himself thanking Providence that he had moved the typewriter to its side-table earlier in the day.
"Maybe I'm dreaming," he thought hazily as Sam's eager hands removed his jacket and waistcoat and braces, and began to loosen his tie. He trailed small kisses along her brow and cheek as she undressed him, then stopped her so that he could balance the score on clothing. She looked shyly and sweetly up at him when he came to her own tie, and in that moment he thought he'd never seen anything as enchanting as her dishevelment: flyaway wisps of silken hair, flushed skin, and half-undone khaki shirt.
He listened for her enthralled response to the sensation of his warm mouth, first at the hollow of her throat, then upon her jumping pulse, and then along the upper curve of her breast. Suddenly Sam couldn't remove the rest of her things fast enough, and he took advantage of the hiatus to kick off his own shoes and socks. Then she slowed, seeming to force herself to savour, breathing hard. Her eyes locked on his; she slid her hand purposefully between them and caressed his hardness before beginning to undo his trouser buttons.
Sam grinned with sheer happiness at his low, strangled sound in her ear each time she touched him. At last he had helped her shed everything but her underwear, each of them oddly amazed that they could operate in this start-and-dreamily-pause fashion… they wanted each other so much, and yet neither wanted it to be finished too fast. Carried away they might be, but their dance of courtship was also thoughtful and careful. They knew Brookie wouldn't be back any time soon unless there were an emergency, and Foyle had taken a moment to push in the lock on the door before they moved away from it.
Now he kissed her neck reverently, searched her eyes once more, and moved aside the papers they had pored over earlier. He had only to lift her slightly to put her up on his desk, and the height of it was entirely suitable for what they were about to do. He tilted his head back with a sigh of pleasure as she resumed her attentions to his straining flies; two more buttons and she had the carefully tailored trousers freed and slipping down his hips. With breathless awe he let his fingers drift along the crotch of her knickers, feeling how thoroughly soaked they were.
Through her helpless moans, the young woman had only one fleeting glimpse of her lover's suddenly devilish expression before he was on his knees and pulling the underwear down and off her legs.
Sam all but screamed at the feel of his lips on the most intimate part of her. She was a little shocked by what he was doing, but couldn't concentrate enough to worry, for in the next moment he began to bring her more pleasure than she had ever known before.
Christopher breathed deeply of her delicately musky scent and cast a quick look upward to see his breathless young lover, eyes tightly shut and mouth agape with ecstasy. He lapped at her juices and sharpened the tip of his tongue to caress the taut bud of her flesh. Few things in life had ever made him as happy as the urgent sounds Sam was making, and now he could feel her fingers in his hair, feel the tension of her endeavouring not to push at him too forcefully. He licked and teased and softly sucked, until she was moving vigorously and he had to be mindful of his teeth; then he entered her with his tongue and moaned with her as she cried out in shuddering release.
He peered at her as he slowly rose to his feet; she was sobbing, but he did not feel unduly alarmed; this was not the first time he had experienced such a reaction. Instead, he cradled her to his chest and soothed, "Sweet girl. Are you all right?"
She nodded, laughing through her tears at the question. "It was—it's just… a little overwhelming," she gasped out, then gazed into his eyes with doe-like devotion. "I didn't even know… well…" She blushed all over again, which brought tears to his own eyes. He stroked her hair until her breathing was back to normal, and then felt her pull his face back to hers. She kissed him so hungrily that he felt unsteady on his feet.
His erection was back in force, and he freed himself of his trunks at last before standing between Sam's legs. She studied him with an air of curiosity that seemed to say she was impressed by what she saw, but not overtly nervous. He gazed at her with pained concern. "I don't want to hurt you, darling. But I might," he whispered.
She nodded slowly, but her eyes were bright. "You won't. Not for long," she assured him. She closed her eyes and gently grasped him, stroking the otherworldly tenderness of his firm, hot skin. By the time her fingers had weighed and explored the rest of his sex, he was losing control of his capacity to think, and he stilled her hand. "It's been so long for me, Sam. Better wait a moment." She nodded again, minutely, and her eyes looked into his with such trust that he felt his heart jump in his chest.
He kissed her again; long and probing kisses that steadily rebuilt their tension and heat, until the look in her eyes was as frantic as his. "Just tell me," he whispered urgently, "and I will stop." He positioned himself at the slickness of her opening and they each took a deep breath. Then he slid slowly in, watching her carefully for any sign of discomfort. He saw her wince and he stopped, but she surprised him by raising herself slightly up from the desk's surface and plunging onto him. It was done—and her long, shaky breath seemed more relieved than anything else. He was having difficulty closing his mouth and keeping his eyes open; he hadn't remembered accurately how glorious this felt, and it was threatening to undo him.
Sam slowly acclimatised to the stinging that still glittered within her, and then Christopher moved down, outward. Suddenly all she could think of was how much she wanted him to fill her completely again, and she awkwardly grasped his hips to pull him up into her. She shivered at his deep groan, and squeezed her walls around him in a way that made him hiss with pleasure.
"Good Lord, Samantha. You feel so—"
"Mmmm," was all she could say in response, letting her head loll as the last of her pain faded and all her internal sensitivity was enlivened.
He leaned forward over her and she wove her hand through the curls at his neck as he nibbled and sucked at her throat, gently stroking her breasts as he let a faster rhythm take over. Joyfully Sam adjusted her responses in the goal of helping him reach his climax first, but a few moments later she was in awe of his stamina. For despite the abandon that had seemed about to overtake him, he slowed again, sensing that she wasn't as near release as he.
Christopher touched his nose to hers, his eyes sparkling. Standing upright again he grasped her waist and tugged so that she was at the very brink of the desk. Then he slid his hands down to her hips and tilted her lower body further up; it would not have been difficult for her to place her calves on his shoulders.
Sam cried out when her love then stole slowly forward inside her again, deeper than before and fitting more closely against her passage because of the new angle. Both pressures were rapturous, especially as he resumed his motion.
He tried to continue with careful delay, to make this go on and on for as long as they could bear it, but the excruciating bliss of her silken grasp and the way she was wailing his name were severely testing his willpower. His eyes met hers as she moaned uncontrollably and regarded him with amazement. Just when she had thought this man had given her Paradise, it seemed he could do something to augment it after all. He strained his brow and then she heard his breath catch. The very moment that she ached for him to quicken his pace again, he did, so that the ascent for both of them suddenly steepened.
The breathless lovers experienced what came next more as an upward flight than a struggle, though it was extended enough to allow each of them time to fully feel and know it. She clenched about him once again and the two of them looked at each other with shock at how intense it felt; then their voices blended as they climbed together.
"Christopher... oh, God... darling!" Sam felt as though the several intense waves of pleasure might make her black out, but she did not want to miss his peak. He kissed her tenderly once more and then clutched her wrists tightly as he felt the tension in his loins become too powerful to resist. His long low cry of passion made her melt as he poured his very being into her.
Foyle withdrew from her slowly, handkerchief at the ready, and helped her rise from her rather uncomfortable bed, wondering if he would ever again be able to sit or stand on the other side of his desk from her and keep his mind off what had just occurred between them. Tacitly they agreed that it would be best to get back into their things quickly, and helped each other dress with loving care, silently but not at all awkwardly. Then they readjusted the desk items and he sat in one of the guest chairs with a sigh.
"I hope the next time we do that, we'll be in a bed," he confided with a teasing smile.
Sam perched on his knee. "Well, I'm not doing anything later on," she said, so promptly that they both burst out laughing. "No, but really," she went on, "I should like to cook some dinner for you, if you've anything in the house."
"As it happens: chicken. You can make your father's recipe for me."
They heard the clang of the front station door, followed by exaggerated footfalls in the corridor. A long, noisy throat-clearing session. Then (seemingly a few feet beyond the door) Brookie's voice sounded forth. "Mr Foyle, Sir?"
Taking a break from nuzzling Sam's ear to flash her a secret smile, the DCS answered, "Yes, Sergeant?"
"Just checking to see if you still were here, Sir. Need anything at all, just say the word."
"Thank you, Sergeant. If you'd be so kind as to let Sergeant Milner know that I've decided to visit Sam's family with her for the holiday. I've something I need to ask her father." The roundness of Sam's eyes made him smirk sweetly before he continued, "We're driving there tomorrow, and I'll leave Milner a note on how to reach me, should an emergency arise."
Brookie's eyebrows jumped as he imagined the kiss his colleagues had probably shared as a result of his levity. And the door being closed, perhaps they… well, no. Very hard to imagine the old man allowing more than that. But probably they'd be on their way home soon. Maybe they'd take up where they left off.
He allowed himself a smirk. "Very good, Sir."
"That will be all, for now, Sergeant. Miss Stewart is driving me home presently. But—thank you." DCS Foyle's inflection on the final words sent an unmistakable message of acknowledgement, and the young man smiled broadly.
"You both have the merriest of Christmases, now, Sir!" Brooke's footfalls receded down the corridor, to the whistled strains of 'O Come, All Ye Faithful'.
All the joys of the season!