Work Text:
In the summer, Martin’s students grow fruits and veg in the garden — fountains of them, must be, because all week on standby, Martin’s lunches have consisted of sharp-smelling salad greens, funny shaped heirloom tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, strips of red peppers and dill dip, and strawberries for dessert.
Douglas, opening his proper bento or tupper stuffed with lamb stew or curry leftovers, teased his skinny pilot, naturally. On a diet? Working on that persistent bit above your shoulders?
Martin smirked, stole two packets of honey from Arthur’s supply cupboard, and went to work on his red, fleshy, shiny, fist-sized dessert.
Sucking. Biting. Licking the drip of honey off the end with his pointed tongue, sinking the whole fruit in his mouth, to wrap his lips around it and close his eyes in ecstasy, moaning just slightly as he bit down.
“You’ve got to try these, guys,” Martin said, holding out the box. “They’re really —”
“I’m going — out,” Douglas said. He carried his jacket casually draped over his arm.
Martin watched him go. He shrugged, and waved the berries at Arthur. “What about you? I know you love eating things that start out one color but become another.”
Arthur squeaked. “Sorry, Skip!” He hobbled out of the Portakabin, hat in his hands.
Martin watched his co-workers leave the office, mystified. He licked his sticky fingers, setting his apparently horribly offensive fruit on his desk.
“What’s got into them?” he asked Carolyn, who’d been drinking her tea by the door the entire time.
“No idea,” she said. “May I have a berry?”