#Nobody even look at me. This the most gratuitous crap I've ever written. jfc
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I Do Nothing but Think of You
※ DRIVER (SOLO) ※
{ masterlist} ※ { ao3 }
※ Summary: He can't eat. He can't sleep. He's obsessed and restless. What else is there to do but go for a drive?
※ Rating: 18+ for explicit mature content
※ Content/Tags: Glove kink, Mentions of stalking, Semi-public masturbation, Troubling behaviors, Unhealthy obsession, Not necessarily a reader insert
※ Word count: 2,200
※ Status: Oneshot/Complete
※ Author's note: n/a
The florescent lights of the diner do nothing to ease Driver's agitation. Neither does the partially eaten slice of pie he is pushing around on his plate. Something is rustling around uncomfortably underneath his skin and he can't seem to shake it. He sits on the stool at the counter for another moment before fishing a couple of bills out of his wallet and tossing them on the counter. He stands. He is done here. Crappy pie and loudly humming lights aren't going to cure his bout of restlessness.
He shoves open the door harder than he should. The bells jangle loudly and slam into the glass as he exits. He draws his gloves out of his back pocket and pulls them on. The leather creaks faintly in protest while he works his hands into the confines of the material. The gloves have long since molded to the shape of his hands, but they fit so snugly that he has to gently coax his fingers inside. He sighs softly as he clicks the snaps closed, one and then the other. The metal feels cold against the back of his wrists.
He walks for a moment in the cool air, his hands tucked into the pockets of his bomber jacket. The city around him is still awake despite the late hour. He supposes that it's one thing they have in common. Neither of them ever seems to sleep. He cuts through throngs of people on the sidewalk. Their proximity feels like static. They instinctively clear out of his way. A shark among a school of fish.
Finally, he is at his Chevy. He had left it parked streetside. Secluded enough for the illusion of privacy but close enough to be easily within brisk walking distance. He drags his keys from his front pocket, something about the sensation sets his teeth on edge. He unlocks the vehicle and opens the door. He settles himself into his seat with a familiarity that should be comforting but it isn't. With the door closed and the ignition humming, he attempts to go limp and release some of the building tension. No luck. Apparently, he is doomed to spend the night sleepless and tense. His girl is at work, he won't be able to see her tonight. He turns the radio on. He wants to feel close to some part of her and so he finds a channel he's heard her listen to frequently. He keeps the volume low.
Squinting into the hazy lights of the night, he pulls away from the curb. With no job lined up to worry about, his girl to see, or goal in mind, he just... drives.
Lights pass, scenery blends together into a neon lit dream, and yet, Driver is still unsatisfied. He's burning up with an itch he can't seem to scratch with any of his usual methods. He watches his hands clench on the Malibu's steering wheel. The tendons in the back of his hands stand out in sharp relief, framed by smooth curves of leather. He relaxes his hands. Stretches out his fingers, watches how his exposed skin changes from a dusty red to a pale green when the light changes.
He accelerates and angles the car onto a winding side street. The incline is steep and poorly lit. He has to designate some sincere attention to keeping the car on the narrowing road. Finally, he summits. He coasts into a parking spot and puts on his parking brake. He leaves the car running, headlights off. Music still barely audible.
He is the only one in this dirt parking lot overlooking the blazing lights of LA. The valley below is awash in a golden glow. He's sure his girl would like the view. He shifts in his seat and his breath unexpectedly catches. He starts to feel the strain and tension in his body pool and turn into liquid heat.
Oh. He thinks to himself.
The uneasy sensation under his skin shifts and changes. It becomes impossible to ignore arousal, despite his best attempts to do so. He drags a gloved hand off the steering wheel and presses it into his upper thigh. He grips the denim and tilts his head back, pressing it into the headrest. He silently wills the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans to go away. It doesn't.
He pushes a harsh breath out of his lungs. The inhale is even more ragged. He feels his dick twitch and he loses the battle. He grinds his palm against his crotch, bucking up against the sensation. His back arches away from the backrest. The leather of his gloves catches clumsily against the fabric. He fumbles blindly for the seat release and reclines. It gives him more room to spread his legs wide, accommodating his wandering touch. He pauses for a moment, trembling and twitching against the weight of his own hand. With an abrupt, jerky motion, he sits up to wrestle himself out of his jacket and toss it into the back seat where it proceeds to slide off the smooth leather and onto the floorboard.
He sits hunched over in his seat, forehead against the steering wheel. His hands, the left fisting the fabric of his jeans and the right cupping himself, go still while he focuses on breathing. Unexpectedly, the glimpse he had gotten of his neighbor, of his girl, the other night flashes into his mind. His body stiffens and he feels himself spasm in interest.
He knows it's wrong, even as he works his zipper down. It's not enough to stop him though. He closes his eyes, leans back, and lets himself fantasize. He feels his dick spring free to lay leaking and rigid against his stomach. He's so worked up that he can feel his precum start to soak into his thin shirt and run down his shaft. He keeps his hands firmly on either thigh for the moment and simply focuses on his fantasy. He imagines his neighbor seated next to him. He thinks of her turning to him expectantly, lips parted, glossy, willing, ready. He swallows hard as he pictures her putting her hands on his thighs, right where his currently are. The only sounds in the Malibu are his heaving breaths and the faint music playing on the stereo. He knows he's running down his gas gauge by idling for so long but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters but the thoughts of his girl.
He involuntarily jerks at the idea of her easing herself further into his space. He can almost feel the warmth of her breath against his lips. A non-imagined sensation is the precum that comes flooding at the thought. He finally wraps his hand around himself. The leather is immediately soaked through. He strokes himself. His grip is too harsh, too tight, not enough.
He wonders if she would let him kiss her while he jerks himself off. Would she look at him with shocked distain or would she coax his legs apart? Drape them over her lap and guide his hand to his own dick, encouraging him to touch it just for her as they press together intimately in the small space? He can picture the way his gloved hands would look. One on her jaw to draw her in for a kiss and the other wrapped around his flushed, weeping cock. She would pluck the toothpick from his mouth. She would kiss him hungrily, deeply. Painfully slow and all the while murmuring soft praise against his lips as he works himself over for her.
He pants silently, his mouth hanging open. There's a low whine building in his throat that he doesn't let escape. He imagines the slow, lingering presses of his neighbor's mouth against his. He feels his stomach tighten at the imagined sensation. His hand moves slower, lingeringly. He's taking his time now. He tightens his hand around his throbbing dick and strokes it tenderly in the way he imagines she would kiss him.
Would her mouth taste sweet? Bitter? Would he find a hint of coffee? Of the candy she favored so much? He had left a packet of it leaning against her front door one night after he had heard her complaining on the phone about running out. If she hadn't wanted him to know, she wouldn't have left her window ajar. He watches out for her. She is rarely without his presence, he makes sure of that. He can't not care for his girl. He knows she doesn't realize how much they've shared together. After all, he was the one keeping watch for perverts outside her window the other night as she teasingly stripped off her work clothes in preparation for her shower. He wishes he hadn't been standing in the parking lot at the time. He would have much rather been in her apartment with her, blinds tightly closed against the peeping toms he was deterring with his watchful presence. If only she had noticed him through her window and beckoned him to join her in the shower.
His hand stutters when he reminds himself of the sight of her. The leather catches uncomfortably against his skin. He thinks about the smooth expanse of her back, the way her breasts had slipped out of her bra when she had undone the clasps. He could see her now through half closed eyes, shirtless and lit by a golden glow. An angel hovering over him. He imagines her taking his free hand from her face and trailing it down her soft skin to her breast. Her delicate skin would slide like silk against his encased fingers. He would gently knead the yielding tissue, feel her nipple harden underneath his touch. The leather would be warm from their shared body heat. She should tell him how good he was, how he was her hero. She would lick her way into his mouth and-
The pressure building up inside him finally reaches its crescendo and it's all he can do to desperately grab at the steering wheel with his left hand as his other finishes the job. He braces his feet against the floorboard and cums hard. He makes the only sound he's allowed himself to make all night. It's a low, throaty growl of a moan. More animal than man. The toothpick in his mouth nearly snaps with how hard he bites down. He shakes and thrashes in his seat. His vision goes white. He breaks apart. He's emptying himself dry, nearly sobbing at the sensation.
He makes an absolute mess of himself and his vehicle. Semen runs down over the back of his hand. The milky fluid looks like rich trails of gold in the city lights. It gleams against the sodden leather. He sags in his seat, eyes staring blankly out of the windshield. The ringing in his ears gradually fades away and he becomes present in his body again. His girl always has the best way to make him cum, even if she doesn't know it.
He grabs a shirt from his passenger seat. It has lost most of its scent from its time in his '73. Much to his relief, however, he can still smell a faint trace of perfume and sweat. It had been a risky item to take, but it is one that he needed. He wipes off his face first, letting the scent of his girl wash over him before he cleans off his windshield and steering wheel. If only she had been here, he wouldn't have spent himself so recklessly. She would have been able to tell him exactly what to do. As it is, though, he drags the shirt down his chest to mop up the cum quickly soaking through his own shirt and towels off his softening dick. He winces at the overstimulation.
He tucks himself back into his jeans. He catches his breath before he pulls off his gloves and bundles them inside her shirt. He needs to do laundry anyway. He has been putting it off until his neighbor's bi-weekly visit to the machines. Always on a Wednesday afternoon. The chance to be in the same room as his girl was worth the inconvenience. He would also be able to return her shirt and borrow a fresher one to keep close for when he couldn't see her. Maybe she would be able to sense a trace of him in the fabric upon its return. His token of showing her exactly what she did to him.
His heart settles down and he finally starts to feel bone deep exhaustion set in. He is thoroughly spent. He turns his headlights back on and backs out of his parking spot. The gears shift smoothly under his expert hand. He's going to go back to his apartment and get a few hours of sleep just to wake up in time to see his girl's face as she comes home from work. If he's lucky, maybe she'll give him a tired smile when he holds the door for her as he exits the building. He mustn't be too greedy. After all, she seems to forget that she's his.
#drive 2011#driver#drive fanfic#drive#ryan gosling#drive movie#Nobody even look at me. This the most gratuitous crap I've ever written. jfc#fanfiction#my work#my posts
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