Shut Up and Drive (Mark/Addison, NC-17)
Title: Shut Up and Drive
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Road trip. In which Mark gets pulled over and Addison giggles about it.
For: Calla. Because she’s been waiting for this since, like, July. Yes, it took me that long to write 1,375 words. O.o
At least it isn’t snowing. She leans her head on the passenger-side window and tells herself that this could be worse. It could be snowing and they could be just leaving Chicago she could be driving the little 1985 Datsun one of Derek’s fraternity brothers was paying them to drive at least to Cleveland and she could be hoping that the U-Haul she was following was still the one Derek was driving and that he didn’t decide to drive off the road because hell if she was going to try to navigate that damn tiny car in two feet of unpacked snow. So, in all honesty, wondering exactly when Montana is going to end really isn’t all that bad.
The road trip was not her idea and every time he groans about being bored while she’s driving she’s quick to point out that she had thought that it was perfectly acceptable to fly and have both cars shipped back across the country and that spending a week driving through boring parts of states she forgot existed in Mark’s BMW didn’t really seem like an excellent plan to her. But it came down to either driving with him or waiting around in an empty apartment with no food and, in all probability, no bed until he got there after his solo sojourn across the country. And since she prefers beds and there are only so many nights she can handle takeout, she conceded but told him under no uncertain terms that he gets to drive through Chicago and across Ohio (and he laughs at that, remembering epic tales of the blizzard that hindered the trip from Chicago to New York City) and that she will not be stopping to take touristy pictures next to the World’s Biggest Anything, not even to placate her getaway driver for the great escape from the rainy and depressing city of Seattle.
Addison shifts and twists her back and winces when the lower half cracks and the upper half taunts her with its perpetual almost-but-not-quite status. She reaches under the seat and grabs the lever and pushes her seat as far back as it’ll go and then props her feet up on the dashboard and ignores his glares about the beauty of the interior, deciding that she isn’t wearing shoes or socks and her feet are clean and who the hell cares anyway. She exhales sharply and rolls her eyes as Mark passes an SUV with an Ohio vanity license plate. She decided long ago that this was going to be a very long trip indeed and that the normal, standard version of the license plate game wasn’t going to cut it so she expanded to include varieties and pictures but is only discouraged by the family in the SUV choosing to advertise the Cincinnati Bengals: she mentally checked that one off somewhere slightly west of Helena.
“We are not there yet, don’t ask.”
“Do you even know where ‘there’ is at this point?”
“Fargo.” Mark imitates his best North Dakotan accent - which is a very bad North Dakotan accent that Addison thinks sounds vaguely gay - and smirks at her. “Do we have any soda left?”
Addison looks around outside their car and then unbuckles her seatbelt to crawl in the backseat and check the cooler that, at one point somewhere back in Idaho, held a variety of drinks. “You can have warm orange juice, diet caffeine free Mountain Dew or that bottle of water that’s been floating around under my seat for about six hundred miles.” Shrugging at the roll of his eyes in response to her exaggeration, she flashes Mark a seductive grin in the rearview mirror.
“Whatever you’re planning,” Mark warns as she climbs into her seat again, “stop. I’m driving.”
Until that moment, Addison hadn’t been planning anything. But she runs her tongue across her teeth and looks around them again, just in case it became possible to stare into a passing car for more than a nanosecond. “Put on the cruise control.”
“What?”
Addison brushes her hand over the front of his pants and gently rubs him through his jeans. “Mark,” she says, dropping her voice to the level she uses in bed, “put on the cruise control.”
Mark involuntarily lifts his hips and voluntarily puts on the cruise control. They’ve been joking about this since somewhere outside of Seattle and he’s been teasing her ever since he found out she’d done it before. He moves around to make things easier for her and even the thought of it is making him grow hard. He reminds himself that he really needs to hold back and not pull over and take her right there in the car somewhere vaguely near the Montana/North Dakota border because the only thing worse than Addison complaining now is Addison complaining later and, though they’ve done it before, the car is a little small for it. But her fingers brushing against him with every slow movement to undo his belt and unzip his pants is making it difficult for him to stop thinking about pulling over.
Addison smirks as she gently rubs him fully hard and makes it a point to make it seem natural, to make it seem ordinary that she be looking out a car window at mountains while giving her boyfriend a hand job as he drives. She looks over at him and slowly leans over to blow a slow line of air in his ear and nibble on his earlobe as he flips on the turn signal to get all the way over to the right. At his sharp intake of breath, she leans down and swirls her tongue around his tip without stopping the motions of her hand. She hears Mark silence a groan and she fully engulfs him with her mouth.
“Fuck, Addison…”
She laughs and begins to move her mouth up and down him, her tongue drawing designs as she moves. Though she really wants to fully let go and make him writhe and moan like she knows she can, part of her mind keeps her holding back, aware that he is driving at sixty-five miles an hour and closing his eyes probably isn’t the best thing for either of them.
Mark focuses as best he can on the road, thankful that it’s straight and that he doesn’t need to be paying attention to his speed. He bucks his hips up and feels her hands hold him down and for that, he’s thankful because he knows that he can’t control it and the last thing he wants is for her to hit her head on the steering wheel. He’s always wondered where she learned this because, until he got her into bed, she always seemed like a good girl and what she’s doing with her mouth definitely wasn’t covered at Bible Camp.
He has to force his eyes to stay open and he taps her right shoulder, their signal for when he’s about to come so she can either back off or roll onto her back and spread her legs and let him fuck her with reckless abandon. It’s habit; he knows there’s nothing that can be done but he feels her smile around him and speed up. He comes with a shout and accidentally swerves back and forth in his lane a few times (and the part of his brain that's being thankful is thankful for the lack of cars on this part of I-94) and then can’t help but laugh when Addison pulls away, predatorily licking her lips, and they hear sirens coming up behind them.
“Fix your pants,” Addison suggests with a small grin when they’ve pulled over.
The cop looks at Mark’s license and registration because he’s supposed to and then looks at Addison who is a little bit red and touching her lips with her fingers and trying very hard not to laugh. He glances at Mark and then back at Addison and shakes his head and returns the paperwork to Mark. He thinks for a moment and then throws a fraternal wink at Mark. “Return the favor,” he orders. “Have a nice day, folks.”
They stay where they are until the police car is fully out of sight and then both of them burst out in uncontrollable laughter.
Rihanna :: Shut Up and Drive
Pairing: Mark/Addison
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Road trip. In which Mark gets pulled over and Addison giggles about it.
For: Calla. Because she’s been waiting for this since, like, July. Yes, it took me that long to write 1,375 words. O.o
At least it isn’t snowing. She leans her head on the passenger-side window and tells herself that this could be worse. It could be snowing and they could be just leaving Chicago she could be driving the little 1985 Datsun one of Derek’s fraternity brothers was paying them to drive at least to Cleveland and she could be hoping that the U-Haul she was following was still the one Derek was driving and that he didn’t decide to drive off the road because hell if she was going to try to navigate that damn tiny car in two feet of unpacked snow. So, in all honesty, wondering exactly when Montana is going to end really isn’t all that bad.
The road trip was not her idea and every time he groans about being bored while she’s driving she’s quick to point out that she had thought that it was perfectly acceptable to fly and have both cars shipped back across the country and that spending a week driving through boring parts of states she forgot existed in Mark’s BMW didn’t really seem like an excellent plan to her. But it came down to either driving with him or waiting around in an empty apartment with no food and, in all probability, no bed until he got there after his solo sojourn across the country. And since she prefers beds and there are only so many nights she can handle takeout, she conceded but told him under no uncertain terms that he gets to drive through Chicago and across Ohio (and he laughs at that, remembering epic tales of the blizzard that hindered the trip from Chicago to New York City) and that she will not be stopping to take touristy pictures next to the World’s Biggest Anything, not even to placate her getaway driver for the great escape from the rainy and depressing city of Seattle.
Addison shifts and twists her back and winces when the lower half cracks and the upper half taunts her with its perpetual almost-but-not-quite status. She reaches under the seat and grabs the lever and pushes her seat as far back as it’ll go and then props her feet up on the dashboard and ignores his glares about the beauty of the interior, deciding that she isn’t wearing shoes or socks and her feet are clean and who the hell cares anyway. She exhales sharply and rolls her eyes as Mark passes an SUV with an Ohio vanity license plate. She decided long ago that this was going to be a very long trip indeed and that the normal, standard version of the license plate game wasn’t going to cut it so she expanded to include varieties and pictures but is only discouraged by the family in the SUV choosing to advertise the Cincinnati Bengals: she mentally checked that one off somewhere slightly west of Helena.
“We are not there yet, don’t ask.”
“Do you even know where ‘there’ is at this point?”
“Fargo.” Mark imitates his best North Dakotan accent - which is a very bad North Dakotan accent that Addison thinks sounds vaguely gay - and smirks at her. “Do we have any soda left?”
Addison looks around outside their car and then unbuckles her seatbelt to crawl in the backseat and check the cooler that, at one point somewhere back in Idaho, held a variety of drinks. “You can have warm orange juice, diet caffeine free Mountain Dew or that bottle of water that’s been floating around under my seat for about six hundred miles.” Shrugging at the roll of his eyes in response to her exaggeration, she flashes Mark a seductive grin in the rearview mirror.
“Whatever you’re planning,” Mark warns as she climbs into her seat again, “stop. I’m driving.”
Until that moment, Addison hadn’t been planning anything. But she runs her tongue across her teeth and looks around them again, just in case it became possible to stare into a passing car for more than a nanosecond. “Put on the cruise control.”
“What?”
Addison brushes her hand over the front of his pants and gently rubs him through his jeans. “Mark,” she says, dropping her voice to the level she uses in bed, “put on the cruise control.”
Mark involuntarily lifts his hips and voluntarily puts on the cruise control. They’ve been joking about this since somewhere outside of Seattle and he’s been teasing her ever since he found out she’d done it before. He moves around to make things easier for her and even the thought of it is making him grow hard. He reminds himself that he really needs to hold back and not pull over and take her right there in the car somewhere vaguely near the Montana/North Dakota border because the only thing worse than Addison complaining now is Addison complaining later and, though they’ve done it before, the car is a little small for it. But her fingers brushing against him with every slow movement to undo his belt and unzip his pants is making it difficult for him to stop thinking about pulling over.
Addison smirks as she gently rubs him fully hard and makes it a point to make it seem natural, to make it seem ordinary that she be looking out a car window at mountains while giving her boyfriend a hand job as he drives. She looks over at him and slowly leans over to blow a slow line of air in his ear and nibble on his earlobe as he flips on the turn signal to get all the way over to the right. At his sharp intake of breath, she leans down and swirls her tongue around his tip without stopping the motions of her hand. She hears Mark silence a groan and she fully engulfs him with her mouth.
“Fuck, Addison…”
She laughs and begins to move her mouth up and down him, her tongue drawing designs as she moves. Though she really wants to fully let go and make him writhe and moan like she knows she can, part of her mind keeps her holding back, aware that he is driving at sixty-five miles an hour and closing his eyes probably isn’t the best thing for either of them.
Mark focuses as best he can on the road, thankful that it’s straight and that he doesn’t need to be paying attention to his speed. He bucks his hips up and feels her hands hold him down and for that, he’s thankful because he knows that he can’t control it and the last thing he wants is for her to hit her head on the steering wheel. He’s always wondered where she learned this because, until he got her into bed, she always seemed like a good girl and what she’s doing with her mouth definitely wasn’t covered at Bible Camp.
He has to force his eyes to stay open and he taps her right shoulder, their signal for when he’s about to come so she can either back off or roll onto her back and spread her legs and let him fuck her with reckless abandon. It’s habit; he knows there’s nothing that can be done but he feels her smile around him and speed up. He comes with a shout and accidentally swerves back and forth in his lane a few times (and the part of his brain that's being thankful is thankful for the lack of cars on this part of I-94) and then can’t help but laugh when Addison pulls away, predatorily licking her lips, and they hear sirens coming up behind them.
“Fix your pants,” Addison suggests with a small grin when they’ve pulled over.
The cop looks at Mark’s license and registration because he’s supposed to and then looks at Addison who is a little bit red and touching her lips with her fingers and trying very hard not to laugh. He glances at Mark and then back at Addison and shakes his head and returns the paperwork to Mark. He thinks for a moment and then throws a fraternal wink at Mark. “Return the favor,” he orders. “Have a nice day, folks.”
They stay where they are until the police car is fully out of sight and then both of them burst out in uncontrollable laughter.
Rihanna :: Shut Up and Drive