Driver - Part Two
Title: Driver
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Molly/Sherlock
Word Count: 2,198
Prompt: I now want a fic where Sherlock asks Molly if she can drive and she says yes and he makes her wear a driver's uniform and then things will happen and you should really see the images in my head right now because they are awesome and porny. Very porny.
Warnings: Adult Content
Summary: Sherlock makes Molly drive him out to the country
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to their logical and respective owners. I make no profit from this.
Molly Hooper hadn't been in the parking garage for her building in some time, further testament to how seldom she used her car. Of course it was just where she had parked it on the third floor near the far corner. Her father had covered it to keep it clean. Sherlock helped her to unwrap it and hurried her inside, that was when she'd had about enough.
The outfit made her feel odd, not just that it felt weird. But no one goes through all of medical school to come out and dress in a silly driver's uniform. She suspected it wasn't even a real uniform but some costume shop jobby. The skirt was just a bit too short and the emblems looked even faker than they should have for this kind of thing. She wondered if he had thrown it into that dry cleaning bag, perhaps it had come out of a package labeled 'slutty car driver'.
That's what costume shops carried these days, slutty versions of jobs. Slutty astronaut. Slutty librarian. Slutty Apostle…
As Sherlock started to rush her into the car she had to bite her tongue. Sherlock opened the passenger side door and Molly eyed him. "What kind of driver lets their passenger sit in the front seat?" she asked.
"I'd hardly be able to sit in the back seat of an Audi," Sherlock said.
"You came to me, remember?" she climbed into the front seat. "Why did you need someone to drive you?"
"Mostly because I can't drive," said Sherlock as he climbed into the car behind the passenger seat.
Nothing that Sherlock said shocked her anymore, she was still slightly inebriated and that probably meant she shouldn't be driving. But Sherlock had invaded her home and dragged her out on her birthday (the same birthday that her so called friends had forgotten) for some godforsaken case. It was warm and rainy as they pulled the car out onto the road.
The car fluttered and stuttered a bit, the petrol had been sitting too long. Sherlock lounged silently in the back of the car as she drove, he directed her out of the city and they were out on winding roads. It was a misty, foggy kind of night and as they drove further from the London lights the mist became rain.
Other cars seemed to fade away and it was only Molly's Audi and the consistent peck at its roof. When she glanced into the mirror she could see Sherlock propped up in the opposite corner of the car, his eyes shining in the residual light from the instruments on her dashboard. Even in silhouette, when she could barely see what he was, he was far too sexy. She knew part of that had to be the alcohol talking but she didn't give a damn.
A small sigh escaped her and she could feel more of the drunkenness loosen her from its grasp. She flicked the stick that jutted out of the side of the steering wheel, activating the car's full beam. The road was darker now and she didn't know how far they had driven. It was almost four in the morning now and she knew that work would be a no go tomorrow. Not that she felt like being anywhere at all, let alone alive. Then, something heavy hit the back of her seat and Molly let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a cry. She peered into the mirror to see Sherlock's face at the side of her head rest. The pale green light painted him an eerie color and there was a kind of fierce look in his eyes that she didn't recognize but it frightened her.
"Take the curve up here and follow it gingerly to the right," he held up his hand to show her what he meant and then something came to rest on her exposed knee. Molly's eyes shifted downward and she just nodded and made a sound that registered in her mind as the equivalent of 'uh-huh'.
His hand was so hot. She felt it burning, burrowing into her skin and the sensation clouded her senses. Was it her imagination or was Sherlock moving his fingers against her skin, sending lightning up and down her spine. He moved his palm down the side of her leg and though she wondered what all of this was about (not that she wasn't thoroughly enjoying it) Molly glanced over at him. "What-what are you doing?"
"Keep left, we should be coming upon it any moment now," he was still directing her through the darkness. The fog thickened and he pushed himself further up between her seats, she could feel his fingers etching a line up her inner though. Her skin seemed pulled tight and her senses were on edge. She slowed the car and it was hard to remember to concentrate on the road. She didn't speak, she didn't even dare look down for fear she might break some spell that had befallen him.
Sherlock's mouth dropped open and he spoke in a whisper that was barely audible above the sounds of the rain and the road. "Almost there," she wasn't sure what he meant.
The skirt didn't leave him much time to travel under cover and when he finally reached the hem of her knickers she let out a gasp and shuddered violently. The car whipped side to side and there was a blare of a horn, a passing lorry made everything inside of the car shake and its lights filled the cabin for a split second.
Molly braked until the car was just at a crawl, Sherlock was messing about at the edge of her knickers and she found herself wishing she had worn better. More than that, she found herself wondering what the Hell had gotten into him. A flicker of lightning lit the sky a second later and Sherlock's mouth was right near her ear, his words vibrated the tendrils of hair against her cheek softly.
"There on the horizon, do you see it?"
Molly nodded in agreement and acknowledgment. She'd agree to whatever it was that he wanted now, she'd probably dissect a live man when they got there if that was all that he needed. And where they were going didn't make sense. From what she could catch in the brief moments when she could shake her concentration from the movements of Sherlock's fingers, they were headed to a house that sat on a hill in the distance.
She couldn't help it. Molly edged closer to Sherlock's hand, trying to push him closer to that vital spot. Everything was suddenly too bright and she thought a small sound escaped her. Then Sherlock pushed his face around under her hair and nestled it against the nape of her neck. His lips brushed against her skin and she shivered.
Molly was frozen on the verge of shivering, the car and her mind worked in unison on auto-pilot. Sherlock didn't wait for permission; he must have known that he had the closest thing to permission that she was able to give. Her lips parted as they wound though the road toward the turn that led to the old house. The rain was harder now, louder and slower and somehow its sound didn't seem immediate--it didn't matter.
Her legs were impossible to keep still. Was this just meant to tease her? He kissed at her neck, his face brushing against the uniform's high collar and making a soft rustling sound as he moved. Molly swallowed, not sure how much further this was going to go. His fingers had just slipped beneath the hem of her underwear and he was picking up speed, moving toward the warm wet opening. Sherlock's hand was so cold and it just enhanced the sensation, she tingled with each stitch of the fabric that he scrapped past.
He hooked a finger inside of her and whispered the word in her ear. "There," she caught a glimpse of his eyes in the mirror and glanced back to the road, almost missing the turn. It was then that Molly realized he was waiting until they arrived at their destination, why she didn't know. But it was the only thing that made sense. She chanced a shudder and closed her eyes as the car raced toward the open ended building.
The anticipation actually hurt, there was a hungry swelling inside of her. The same way your mouth swells to compensate for the tanginess of an orange.
The road was dirt and wet, the muddy puddles splashed up onto the window as she took the curves too fast. The lights of the cut into the murky midsection of the long building as she pulled into park the car. Molly pulled the car into park and barely managed to get her hand on the parking brake, Sherlock's hand found hers there and pulled the lever up. She didn't know why but she let out a soft chuckle before Sherlock turned his attention back to the matter at hand.
Why was this the matter at hand? Why was he doing this?
He used middle and ringer finger to make her forget the questions of why. She briefly remembered how many times she had seen those same fingers tinker in her lab and rifle through clues on the work tables. Molly bucked against him, greedily and her head rolled to the side so that his face was buried in the side of her neck, her cheek.
Instinct took hold of her and she thrashed further against him, almost jumping the center console. She thought the better of the situation and killed the engine. That was probably the last bit of control that Molly could manage. Sherlock rubbed his fingers deep inside of her, switching paces and using his thumb to put pressure on her clit. Molly whimpered, her head thrown back and the sounds barely able to be heard even by her. She tightened around Sherlock's hand and rolled her head to the other side. In a flash of lightning she saw her breath fog the window over and there was a low rumble. Thunder.
"Sherlock," she didn't moan, it was more of a whisper.
By this point he said nothing to her and if he had said anything she was sure that she wouldn't be able to hear any of it.
Molly didn't know how long it went on. But when she finally came she couldn't let it go. Perhaps this was her only chance, here and now. Without a word she opened the door to the car and climbed out into the shelter of the old abandoned building. The grown was thick with mud and she didn't waste time entertaining the thought that there might be more room out here. Sherlock opened the door and she knew that he'd read her mind.
The mix of alcohol, tiredness and being caught up in the moment blended perfectly with the seclusion of the whole event and something came over Molly. She thought that there was surprise and some fear in Sherlock's eyes when she jumped onto him in the back of the car, straddling him. Perhaps he hadn't planned this part, maybe he wasn't the one who was ready for what he'd let go.
She rode him hard in the back of the Audi and after bumping her head the sixth time she realized her car was too damn small for sex. With one arm braced against the padded roof and her other gripping the two ends of Sherlock's belt, Molly swiveled her hips against his and between the moans, the laughs, the grunts and the sound of the cars shocks being worked perhaps a little too much, she had the most random thought.
If he knew what it would have taught me, dad would have burned all the hula-hoops and banned me from dance lessons…
Molly came four more times and the sex tapered off, when everything felt too wet and hot and sore to continue. Sherlock was smoking (it smelled good coming out of him somehow) and Molly was laying against his chest comparing her heart beat to hers, she didn't think they'd ever be back to a resting rate.
"What is this place?" she asked, surprised at the sound of her own voice and how out of breath she was. This was too comfortable, she was growing too comfortable. Maybe this would mean the end to her nervousness?
"Ancestral Holmes property, I rode horses here as a boy," Sherlock said before he blew a small cloud of smoke out of his mouth.
For a long time she lay silent and still again, wondering what could be going on, what spurred this in him, what caused this. Sherlock was the one who was best at finding things out, discovering the reason behind things. Maybe that was how he guessed what she was thinking. He didn't try and embarrass her though, he didn't bring up how he had come to his conclusion or even go through any lengths to explain anything.
Sherlock simply sighed and said three words.
"Happy birthday, Molly."