Archive: E-me for permission
Warning: This story may contain adult content and language and should not be read by those who are offended by such things or are not of legal age to do so. Inspired by Poi Lass's "Rain"
Rating: R - (I refuse to rate anything NC-17 when I have 13 year old clients having more sex than thirty-something clients.)
Note: If it hadn't been for Poi Lass' 'Rain' I probably would have ignored Bobby and Ororo on the roof while his dad was in intensive care. Oh, and Pebbs, no one's got anything on the King of Failures this day.
Ignore the movie, btw.
No plot here, sorry. This is a character driven piece. Characters driven to this by what Kassia and I have been up to in the literary way. This diverges sharply from UXM 378. Scott's dead. Jeannie's not on the team. Bobby and Ro have gotten a heck of a lot closer since then.
Thanks: to Kassy, for writing with me, Beenieman and Lady Saw for their wonderful song 'Healing' and Passion SanDejas for telling me to get Reggae Gold '97 for great reggae. 'Love Sponge' is the jam. Hit my website for the tunes.
Feedback: Yes please. Please please please. Are these people Unrecognizable? Recognizable? Sold? Offended? Tell me by writing to ebonbird@hotmail.com
Date: 6 June 2000
First Posted: 22 July, 2000

Love Sponge
by Ebonbird

Bobby sat in the chair, his hands planed below his chin, his legs stretched before him, his spine almost collapsed, peering at the images on the wide screen.

The latest Dreamcast was plugged into the TV Jubes had sent, and he was waiting for Peter or Marrow to beat Hank at Blitz so he could annihilate them. He'd been there all morning and his was the only name in the hall of champions, filling all ten slots. Heh. The Internet and crack applications. Heh.

Ororo walked through the room, watched the combatants, in particular, Bobby.

Hands beneath his chin, Bobby sat, his focus complete. He shifted so his arm was flung along the back of his recliner. The recliner she had dragged back for him from only she knew where.

Ororo trailed a finger along his arm, from wrist to elbow and away and exited the room.

Later, when only Marrow and Hank were playing one another, calling one out of how many games they needed to vanquish the other, Bobby still sat on the recliner, the remains of lunch pooling in his lap.

The air changed. Bobby felt a finger touch his wrist. He turned, grabbing it. Ororo looked down at him, gravely. She wore white, a cap-sleeve dress that skimmed her curves but left her brown arms bare. Her thick hair, white and bright as daylight, fell around her face and shoulders in tousled waves.

"You're needed in the attic," she said.

Bobby swallowed.

"There is weeding to be done."

Had he imagined that deep spark in Storm's heavy-lidded eyes?

"AARGH!" shouted Peter, "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"

Bobby's glance darted towards the screen. Hank was out of the game. Marrow barred her teeth at Bobby. He smirked loftily in reply.

Ororo straightened. With a start, Bobby realized she'd been leaning forward. Negligently, her finger trailed along his arm to his shoulder.

Bobby didn't notice that she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

And the crack of thunder outside slipped his attention.

Bobby took his spot next to Marrow, picked up the controls but he was thinking of Ororo, in that dress, with the silvery gray blue shell buttons up the front and realized the hair was still standing up on his arms.

He glanced out the windows and saw clouds rolling in, dimming the clarity of the mid-winter day.

Bobby put aside the controls. "I forfeit."

"You what?!" Three voices said in reply.

"Forfeit," Bobby muttered, as he walked out the TV room, hands in his pockets and shoulders high.

It hadn't been all that long since Kobe but there was no weeding in the attic rooms.

Her attic door was unlocked. He locked it behind him, rubbed sweating palms against his jeans, stepped up the stairs. Rubbed his hair. Hoped she wasn't angry.

Storm wasn't in the warm and humid greenhouse, and the door that led to her bedroom was pulled shut.

Bobby started to grin. Slid the door to her bedroom open.

Winter sun poured down through the skylight on the bed and the surrounds. Ororo lay on her side, adorable feet tucked against each other. White dress still on, cloaked in that and her hair, the room filled with the soft sound of her snoring. False snoring.

Bobby pulled off a sneaker and sock, rubbed his hands along his legs, yanked off his shirt. Ororo turned onto her back. Her dress was unbuttoned. He saw skin, a glimpse of belly, breast, thigh, pale hair. She shifted again, turning her back to him.

He quite forgot what he was doing, and so stood bent over, his foot on his knee, hand on his sneaker before overbalancing. Holding himself off of the floor one-handed, he wadded his jean leg against his sneaker with his bare foot and managed to kick it off. Bunched with his shoe it fell to the floor with a thud. There was a rumble of thunder in the clear sky. He slid off his underwear and onto the bed.

Ororo stirred. Curled up tighter around herself.

"Tease," Bobby said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She made no response. He nuzzled her neck. There was a rumble of thunder in the sky. "I don't want to do this," he whispered. Pressed his pelvis against her backside, felt her relax and melt in all kinds of interesting ways against him.

Brilliant pale blue, her eyes opened. "I was sleeping," she murmured.

Bobby flicked her ear with his tongue, "Sleep then." Curled himself around her. "Don't like you anyway," and pushed aside her skirt with his thighs. Reached past the opening of her soft cotton dress, found ultra softness.

She sighed.

"Hate you so much," he breathed, his mouth curling to belie that statement, his gentle hands, anything but wandering, certain and sure against her, followed her curves to her stomach, tickled lightly and squeezed. Her eyes became crescents of mother of pearl. "I hate the way you feel," he said. She bit her lip, white stark against the satin of her dark flesh. "Hate your mouth," he said, kissing her deeply. She kissed him back, his breath moist and sweet against her tongue, Coca- Cola taste and JuJubes. She circled his wrist with thumb and middle finger and pulled his hand to where she wanted it.

"The way you taste," he whispered against her cheek, his hand delving between her legs. They shuddered. Her lips against his neck she turned towards him. His hands cupping her face, "The way you look."

He settled over her, his thighs tight over hers, their stomachs touching, rubbing. Her hands wandered over his bent back.

"Oh, God, can't stand," he gasped as her hand found the most sensitive curve of his buttocks, grazed his skin, "the way you," his nose sought her scalp through the sheaves of her hair, and he filled his lungs with her scent. Bracing her hands on her shoulders, she sat astride him. His eyes closed. His head tilted back. Breathless he said, "The way you," she lightly scratched her fingers down his chest. His hands squeezed her buttocks tight and his legs opened beneath her seat. "The way you," he tried again but, soft to his hard, she moved derailing his train of thought and his words vanished down the bass line of groan.

Ororo was chuckling, caressing his neck with her arms. Her hair tumbled around them in gorgeous disarray and she pressed kiss after kiss along his jaw and the side of his face. "Shut up, you loon." She traced the curves of Bobby's muscular back, her voice as deep and throaty as it got when it was just the two of them, "Shut up and--"

He kissed her, tracing her lips with his tongue, and then his finger. That same finger twined with a curly lock of her hair. He brushed her cheek with it. Kissed her temple. She grinned at him. Laced her fingers at the nape of his neck and rocked a little back.

Legs trembling he locked his arms between her shoulders and rose up on his knees. They overbalanced. With a short wail she clenched her arms around his shoulder and legs. Her legs tightened around him but he brushed his hands along them, urging her to loosen her hold and said, "Relax." Her long legs slid apart and he began to lower her onto her back. Her head knocked against the bedboard.

"Ow," She said touching her hand to the back of her head.

"Sorry," he gasped, his eyes wide.

He twisted, grabbed a pillow that had been knocked over the bed. Shook it free of her damp dress, and placed it under her head.

"Hmm," she responded sliding her hands up his sides, kneading the muscles below his armpits, then the rich curves banding his shoulders and tilted her head up for a kiss. His lips touched the tip of her nose.

"Nice save," she said.

"Klutz," he murmured moving his hand up the graceful length of her thigh, over hip and to her side. A short bark of laughter followed by a throaty sigh as Bobby angled, shifted and she draped a leg over his shoulder, closing around him in an exquisite internal smile.

"You are the worst," he gasped. Her calf tensed across his back, "woman I have ever," he leaned in, was rewarded by the rounding of her mouth, and a delicate grunt. Her eyes fluttered shut. She bit her lip and managed another, internal squeeze, and his vision went white.

Gasping, gripping her hips hard to make her stop that amazing thing she was doing, Bobby regained his sight.

Ororo was smirking. A single curl dangled in her forehead.

"Bad goddess."

"Love you," she sighed, raising her hands above her head, twining her arms in her hair.

"So glad," he answered, ducking his shoulder and drawing her leg down to his waist, pulling her hand to his side. "So, fuh--" he thrust and she was forcing him denser, and harder, and there was sweat rising up all over his chest and shoulders, and back, and heat along every place he rested on her. He thrust forward and her pretty mouth dropped open, her brow furrowed, and blood rushed to her cheeks. She was killing him with wet, and soft, and melt and tight, and cling, and sweet, and oh, so pretty inside of her -- he made himself move back, and she made a sound, weak but will -- Aiee, her features smoothing out, her chest heaving.

"Oh," she sighed, half-delirious at how he was moving. He did it again. "O-Oh," she said.

A silly grin lighting up his features belying his next words, "So vain," he said, and moved, hard to her soft, twisting low and tight, again and again and again; feeling a burn building in his buttocks and waist.

Her fingers laced with his. Her feet found purchase between his back and the curve of his ass. Her lips parted soundlessly.

He leaned in, sucked on her neck, heard her whisper, "Oh."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, laced her fingers with his, holding his hand to the back of her head. The other busy between them. "Ooh. Oh, Goddess."

Bobby tossed back his head, "Oh, Bobby,"

Ororo's eyes started.

"Oh," he called, "Bobby!"

Mortified, she covered his mouth with her hand.

He bit her. She shrieked. He dropped to his elbows and thrust hard.

"Ooh," she managed.

"Oh, Bobby!" he replied.

Her eyes opened, amusement and lust making their potent gaze exhilarating.

He didn't miss a beat. Thrusting, sliding, twisting, his mouth crimped up at the corners, his head thrown back, beautiful, his neck long and almost curved with abandon. Irresistible his grin, his body, him. It made her inarticulate. Nothing being 'Oh' coming past her lips, and he chanting his own name as his belly rubbed against hers, as her thighs trembled and strained over his body, and his muscles, made pliant and strong by years of gymnastics and ice sliding bunched and smoothed beneath her limbs.

And he chanted his name. Vamping it up almost.

"Uh," she gasped, caught between laughter and ecstasy. Looking down, he winked saucily and slipped into just the right movement to send her mindless. He said it again, but she found leverage against him, the right counterbalance, magnifying his pleasure ten fold. Her head tilted back, her eyes partly shut, her lips parted as she said, "Oh."

"Bobby!" and his voice was as high and open as a girl's.

Elongated shadows draped the room, in no wise diminishing the overall brightness. The bedclothes beamed as if woven of light, the rest of the room plunged in cool shadow as the afternoon changed into evening.

Two people lay on the wide low bed. The woman on her back, draped in shadow, sunlight and her hair. The man watched her. His chin rested in the well made by his crossed muscular arms. A pillow was bunched beneath his hips and his round bottom was higher than his head.

Ororo awoke with laughter on her lips.

"What?" Bobby asked.

Storm shook her head. Unstuck herself from the pillows and pounced on him. Flipped him on his back. She propped her arm on his chest, leaned her head on her arm. "I dreamt that we were making love and you were calling out your name!"

"Somebody had to."

"Ha!"

He grabbed her hips and rolled. Straddled her. Bent his arm behind his head, rolled his eyes with abandon and threw back his head, yelling, "O! O! O! Goddess, O!"

Braced his arms on the mattress and dropped his head above hers. His eyebrow arched.

"I do not do that."

He shimmied. Pushed her legs open wide. Danced his finger tips along her left inner thigh. "O, yes you do."

"Oh," Ororo replied, "Not 'O'," pushing him away. She took his hand between hers. He pulled it free and lay it to her breast, leaned up on his elbows to stare. Looked up at her. Something in his gaze made her drop her eyes.

"What?" he said.

"Why do you call me that?"

"Short for Ororo." He turned his face into her chest.

His skin was warm. He covered his ear with his hand. She put her hand over it, stroking, the light fuzz on his neck, where his hair had been recently cut, thin and velvet short, with the tips of her fingers.

"And?"

He cuddled close. "Don't laugh."

"I would never make fun, my love."

He squirmed, brushed her ribs with his chin. "I'm not much of a poet."

She ran her fingers through his hair, impossibly shiny, ash brown hair, gilded gold in the early evening glow. What she could see of his ear was pink.

"Say."

"O's perfection. For the shape of your navel." He touched his tongue to it. Kissed her tummy. It jumped beneath his lips. "For your breasts." His arms tightened around her waist. He looked up at her, eyes golden like his hair, "And for the shape your body makes when I'm in you."

"Robert," she said shakily. "Robert." Hugged her legs around him, stroked down his back with her hands and held him close.

Bobby stood in front of the radiator. Put his hand on his chin. Looked thoughtful.

Warren came beside him. Put his hand on his chin, and stared at Bobby for a moment, then at the radiator.

"What are we doing, here?" Warren asked.

"Me, I'm looking at the radiator."

"Hmmph."

They stared some more.

"Robert. Bobby."

"Warren?"

"Anything new in your life that you want to tell me about? Or don't want to tell me about?"

"Nope."

"Nothing interesting happened while you were visiting Jeannie in Alaska?"

"Not really."

"Y'know my mutant power, right?"

"You fly." Bobby was looking at him.

"Hollow bones."

"Unh-hunh..." Bobby was fingering his wrench.

"Excellent eyesight...?"

"Unh hunh...?"

"I was out flying yesterday afternoon. Beautiful day. Even on a cloudy day, I can see for miles. But on a clear day, like yesterday, I can spot a dime on pavement. Amazing details, even without trying. Eagle vision, you might say."

Bobby turned red.

Warren clasped his shoulder and said with a salty grin, "My little Bobby is all grown."

End

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