This story is dedicated to the lovely depraved minds of some tumblr buddies who ship Doctor Strange and his cloak. That is the inspiration for this smutty follow-up to "Love Is Strange". Oh, and a quick note about The Ancient One: I refer to that being as female in the previous story because in the movie Tilda Swinton plays the part, and these stories are based on the Marvel Cinematic Universe version, not the comics version. Trust me, I KNOW that The Ancient One was male in the comics.
Excerpts from the wikipedia page on Doctor Strange's cloak:
The Cloak of Levitation, as its name suggests, has the primary purpose of granting its wearer the ability to levitate….While the cloak actually has no will of its own, it has been known to act on the will of its wearer without command, responding to mere thought…Doctor Strange has been shown carrying passengers. In the miniseries The Oath, it is suggested that the cloak exhibits semi-sentient behavior (such as hiding in a favorite closet).
In addition to levitation, the cloak possesses abilities greater than those of any normal garment...these include...the ability to act as an extra limb, grabbing, striking, or even wrapping.
He was alone on the top floor of 221 Baker Street. John's former bedroom and Mrs. Hudson's storage rooms had been mystically altered into a large, open space whose dimensions far exceeded those of the top floor of the building. Sherlock Holmes - or Doctor Stephen Strange as he was known to a select few in his new role as Earth's Sorcerer Supreme - had been revealed as alive to the world for over a week now. He'd allowed John to punch him and met his fiancee, Mary Morstan; he'd been hugged by Greg Lestrade and screamed at and fainted on by Mrs. Hudson; he'd been harangued and lauded by the press and solved the case for Mycroft that had been the impetus for his return in the first place.
Now he was sat in the lotus position in the center of a mystic circle, eyes closed and hands resting lightly on top of his thighs. Not sat on the floor, but rather hovering a few feet above it, his Cloak of Levitation shrouding his otherwise nude figure from sight.
Not that there was anyone to see him, of course. And if they did, all they would see was Sherlock Holmes seated on the floor with case files spread about him, lost in his mind palace. That is, if that hypothetical someone could make it past the compulsion he'd placed at the foot of the stairs, to forget why they came, to turn back, to seek him in his flat on the floor below or leave altogether.
No, the only person who was welcome up those stairs was the woman whose light footsteps he currently heard, and his lips curled in a small, private smile as he pulled his astral form fully back into his body.
"Hello, Molly," he said quietly as he heard her enter his Sanctum.
"Hello," she replied, closing the door behind her but not coming any closer.
He opened his eyes and turned slightly, reaching out with one hand and gesturing her forward. She was still so shy of intruding on him, even though he'd told her she had carte blanche to interrupt him at any time, for any reason. She was his apprentice, after all.
She came forward, smiling as she took his hand, her eyes widening as she realized that he was naked beneath his cloak.
"Oh-oh, I, um, didn't realize you were…what are you doing, exactly?" she stammered, a very becoming blush suffusing her cheeks. Even here, in his Sanctum Sanctorum, her appearance remained that of Molly Hooper, the murdered woman whose identity she'd taken on many years ago. And he had to admit - albeit only to himself - that he much preferred it to that of her original identity - Clea of the Dark Dimension, daughter of the Dread Dormammu. Yes, he mused as he studied her, he much preferred the slender, petite figure; the dark cinnamon tresses; the warm brown eyes and upturned nose of Molly Hooper. Especially, he thought as he unfolded himself from the lotus position with leisurely ease, the fetching freckles on her neck.
He set his feet on the floor and took her hands in his as his cloak billowed softly about him. She smiled warmly at him as she tilted her head to continue to meet his eyes, but he could see she was fighting not to let them wander. "Molly," he murmured as he pulled her closer, letting one hand slide upward to cradle her face, "you do remember me telling you that I love you, don't you?"
She nodded, her cheeks flushing again, and bit her lower lip before speaking. "I do, Sherlock. Stephen." She huffed and gave a brief laugh, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders atop the mystical fabric of his cloak. "Sorry! I just never know what to call you when you're not wearing a suit. Or anything else," she added in an under-the-breath mutter that caused his smile to widen.
"Either name is fine," he assured her, snaking one arm around her waist and pulling her closer. "It'll be interesting to see which one you call out when we're making love."
He'd lowered his voice, and saw her eyes widen, her lips making a surprised 'O' just before he leaned down to kiss her.
He'd kissed Molly several times since his two-year 'death' and rebirth as Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, but this time he allowed himself to indulge the physical desire he felt for her as well as the true love that burned in his breast. He'd held back for months now, preoccupied with aiding John and Mary when the sorcerer Magnussen threatened their happiness, when James Moriarty's vengeful spirit had attempted to tumble the world into death and chaos, but all that was behind them. Molly had been invaluable in helping with both matters and he wanted to show her just how much he appreciated her. How much he wanted her as well as loved her.
Molly, it would seem, was of like mind; with a wave of her hand and hastily whispered incantation, her clothing vanished into the aether and she stood naked in his arms. He hummed his approval, dipping his head down to take her mouth in another passionate kiss. He could feel her breasts against his chest, and his erection against the soft skin of her abdomen, the rasp of her pubic hair against his bollocks. Pure physical bliss that filled his mind with want and need and finally.
"Now," he said in guttural tones, his hands sliding along the curve of her spine, the pleasing softness of her buttocks.
As if reading his mind, he felt his cloak stirring, gliding sensuously along his calves and thighs, moving past him to wind its way around Molly's slender form. She gasped in surprise, looking down with her hands clutching Sherlock's arms, brown eyes wide with delight. "Are you doing that?" she asked as the cloak brushed against her legs and molded itself to her backside.
"Not deliberately, no," Sherlock admitted. "But I was told that the cloak had the ability to pick up on my unspoken desires, so…"
"And what sort of unspoken desires do you have, O Sorceror Supreme?" Molly purred, all hesitation gone. He kissed her again, reveling in the velvety softness of her lips. He would never tire of kissing her, and regretted that he'd waited so long to do so. And not just kiss: he'd wanted nothing more than to sweep this woman into his arms and into his bed almost from their first meeting, and had no intention of delaying their joining a minute longer.
The cloak, it would appear, not only picked up on those desires but was almost as eager to see them fulfilled as he was. An odd thought for the man he'd once been to harbour, but his days of 'ghosts need not apply' were long behind him now. He felt his feet lifting from the floor; Molly squealed and clutched him tightly as she rose with him. They found themselves floating horizontally, the cloak wrapped securely around their nude forms.
While the garment held them securely, it was not so tight that they couldn't move about within its confines. He traced his hands over her breasts, palming her nipples and hearing her sigh with pleasure. She wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling their lower bodies closer together, and toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck as their lips met in another lingering kiss.
Cradled in the cloak they floated far above the wooden floor of the sanctum, their leisurely movements becoming more urgent as their arousal flared. Molly's sighs became moans and then sharp cries of pleasure as he slid two fingers into her wet slit, penetrating the hot, musky center of her pleasure. She grasped his erection in one hand, the fingers of the other tugging at his curls and sending a spike of pure lust through his body. Muttering incoherent words of encouragement against her throat, he pulled his fingers out of her and pressed softly on her wrist.
Molly, always clever, always knowing exactly what he needed, slid her knee and thigh further up his leg, opening herself to him, bringing the tip of his penis directly against her opening. With a guttural cry he pushed into her, his hands grasping her plump little arse as they began to move together in an urgent, primitive rhythm as old as time itself.
As they moved, so did the cloak, its folds undulating around them as if in an unfelt breeze, continuing to support them no matter how frantic their movements. Sweat gathered on their brows, their breath came in heavy gasps, and suddenly Molly cried out his name, holding him tightly against her body as she came.
He waited until she'd gone limp, her eyes shut and breathing ragged, before he started moving again, chasing his own completion. He squeezed his eyes shut as Molly shifted a bit beneath him - and then snapped them open in surprise as the cloak rolled them so that Molly now rested above him. He grinned in delight as she pulled herself to a sitting position, her knees resting on the sturdy platform the cloak had made of itself. Her answering smile was wicked as she started undulating her hips, resting her hands flat on his chest while he grasped her by the waist.
"Close," he gasped out as they increased their pace, his eyes straying from hers to her lovely little breasts as they bounced and jiggled in front of his face. Had he really once implied that they were too small? More fool he. "Molly, your breasts are exquisite," he managed between grunting breaths. "Perfect...lovely...magical…"
She shut him up with a kiss, but the shy smile she bestowed upon him first let him know how much she appreciated the compliments. The change in angle as she leaned forward was his undoing; with a drawn-out moan he emptied himself into her, his mind whiting out with unadulterated bliss.
When he came back to himself, it was to discover that Molly was draped over him, her head on his chest and his arms wrapped securely around her - and that the cloak had gently deposited them to the floor. Once again it became simply an inanimate article of clothing, cushioning them against the hard surface on which it - and they - now rested.
"Mmm, that was lovely," Molly said, nestling closer. She groped behind her and pulled the edge of the cloak up so that it covered their rapidly-cooling bodies.
Sherlock kissed her damp forehead, reaching up to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. "Indeed," he said. "And now we have our answer."
She lifted her head to give him a puzzled look. With a slow grin, he said, "Now we know which of my names you cry out during sex. Of course, this was just a single datum point - we'll have to repeat the experience multiple times to see if it changes at all."
Her sweet laughter echoed through the room, and filled his heart. He might not have come back to London entirely of his own volition, but being with Molly was something he would never, ever regret.