X-Men: She Broke Your Throne

Disclaimer: Characters portrayed in the following are not mine and I did not create them.

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She broke your throne and she cut your hair:

'I don't know why we agreed to do this,' Bobby said, unlocking the cabin door and taking tentative steps into the musty gloom. He let the door go and it recoiled on old hinges, batting Hank's half-turned shoulders. 'Hey --'

There was a hall bulb and Bobby flicked it on with a twitch, adjusting his gaze to the quaintly lit cottage interior. Tasselled curtains, red, and a thick sofa he could have lost himself in met their entrance; the group of mutants migrating to the distant wintered climate of Ptarmigan Creek for a few days break. Three of the original X-Men were on-board, Bobby's girlfriend Angelica glued to her man in the aftermath of Apocalypse. For reasons none could fully decipher, Jean had decided to hole herself away with her parents, the confines of Annandale-On-Hudson more secure than the arms of her closest friends. With so much to say, to expunge and mourn they couldn't know that she was lost in her own world, incapable of opening to her parents but fearing the intimacy of Ororo and Hank. Scott was lost and gone, a sacrifice to Apocalypse. Noble and spirited, he had given of himself to cap the Ancient One's plays. And it had worked. And now she was by herself.

Warren closed the door behind them, draught blowing up his fluffy parka. He tapped the keys down on the table, a small fob with number 3 embossed in gold. He rubbed his hands together, exhalation visible. 'Time for a drink, I think.'

Their faces brightened, Angelica and Bobby shedding puffer jackets and Hank walking through to the living room. He shut the curtains and pulled down the blinds, grabbing the poker and making for the basement to fire the gas. Jean said that it took a slap on the cylinder to pump after a prolonged hibernation. They had been here only four months earlier but that absence of warmth was enough to clog the tubes. Thankfully Warren was the only one to really feel the cold and what with hollowed bones and a healthy constitution developed in the crucible of cloud cover he was unlikely to get feverish any time soon. Making his journey into the stone and plaster cavern, Hank stepped lightly, conscious of his weight on wooden boards and misplaced tools that accompanied Scott's spontaneous fix-it frenzies.

When he returned, shivering beneath copious layers of fur and within ten minutes of the fridge being well-stocked and subsequently raided, they had broken out the drinks and settled down into lazy piles.

'I leave you for a second, Bobby Drake, and you're slurping on that can as if it were a part of you...!'

They cheered.

'When's fire starting?' Bobby asked.

Hank tutted and kicked his feet out of the way, kneeling to quickly arrange coals and cones before extracting a long match and lighting it. He held it in place, the flame as tiny as could be in the icebox air and waited expectantly. A flicker and then dead. He closed his eyes.

Presently they were reclining, discarding layers and cooking their feet. Bobby's ached especially; the drive up here was murder, and though they would have been able to use the Blackbird or a subtle mutant power or two to get here, an honest, closeted journey amongst the oblivious and pleasant people of Alaska was a welcome respite. He must have driven the last five hundred miles in one go. Angelica rubbed his arm and settled in tight, tickling the back of his calf with the toes of her left foot. He smiled at her, the stubble grazing her forehead. Thoughts wandered back to Jean, partly the similar shade of red but also his hold had increased since his friend's death.

"When I watch Bobby cut loose like that Scott, I find myself wondering if he could freeze the whole world."

A wake had a peculiar effect on people, able to bring them together, collate their paths in life and secure a bond oftentimes kept under the seabed and dredged rarely. He held onto Angelica because it was a reminder of life as a precious object, a here-and-now affair, never to be confused with recklessness and flippancy but always inundated with love and courage. This is how Scott lived. Yes he had been withdrawn, reticent at times, but secure in his beliefs and goals and the instinct to act on them. Bobby thought Scott was a guy who, actually at the heart of it all, grabbed life by the balls. Too much holding back was his problem. Outgoing in a representative way true -- a bit of a player -- but untrusting behind that façade. Angelica was a prize he could aim for through the steps, and reaching out when he would have brushed it off and shrugged and drowned sorrows with the boys was the first way he could honour Scott's memory.

'I'm sorry I couldn't be with you, Bobby.' She whispered, the tiny dancer in the fire warming their feet. 'Right at the end, I mean.'

He clutched her hand. The shadows played across the room.

'I'm sorry too, babe. If I'd have known I'd never see him again, I would've tried to be there. I would have spent more time with him... said goodbye. I would have tried... to take his place.'

'Me too!' Warren shouted.

'Here here!'

He felt her clasping his hand. She looked crestfallen but there was an undeniable truth in his thoughts. Theirs was a sacred tradition: to give of oneself in the betterment of the Earth, and no amount of posturing after the fact could alleviate feelings of guilt and remorse. Each of them believed they should have been the one to go. Such was the way of life amongst the ranks, and the degree of nobility borne inside went hand in hand with every other reason mutants stayed in the X-Men. Scott had a wife and a retirement ahead of him. He had monies tied up in property, investments and indulgences, letters to address and correspondences to hail. He had a close blood family and a closer extended family. Jean could have become pregnant. Rachel would have been born. Possibilities stretched out before them like a wires in a grand piano, but now there was loneliness and abandonment to rattle about in Jean's agonising soul.

'I wouldn't want you to go...' Angelica whispered to Bobby.

'I don't want to be alone either.' He said.

'If someone said to me: "it's either you or Bobby" I'd go instead of you. The world shouldn't be without you. Neither should your parents or friends.'

'See it's hard not to think like that.' He replied. 'You don't want me gone, so you go in my stead, but then it's me who's alone. There is no easy answer.'

'I guess that's how Scott felt at the last moment.'

Bobby sat on that for a while, letting the alcohol settle in his belly.

Meanwhile Hank busied himself in the kitchen, spattering grease and goose fat over surfaces and scoring the chopping boards all manner of unhygienic ways.

'You're a surgeon in the medical lab but a complete animal at the stove!' Warren shouted.

They parted the duck's appendages and squashed stuffing deep inside, packing rosemary and thyme, thick breadcrumbs and cranberries in with lemon zest and other delectables. Warren helped spoon some of the fat back over the underside of the bird, their decision to cook it upside down ensuring juices released wouldn't soak the breast meat, but also that parts usually uncrisped would be brittle and tasty when came the carving. Wine was opened, candles lit, moods were lifted. They were celebrating, although no-one really said what.

'One time, Scott came through the door soaked head to toe.' Warren started. 'He had these flowers in his hand... tulips or something... some Dutch seller from Salem. He had this steel determination in his eyes, as if his whole face were waiting the chip of a diamond jeweller to crack it. He said this was the day he was going to ask Jean for a date, and take her to the Italian's on Herold. You remember that one...? Name of Luigi; fantastic fish, golden browned, right down your throat. Amazing.' He took a sip of the Cabernet Franc and rest the butter knife back on the messy plate. 'So he slopes into the lobby, Bobby and I teasing him restlessly his face you know how he used to get and he puts the flowers onto the sofa. Anyway, you' pointing to Hank 'come flying in out of the doorway and he's dripped water all over the floor and carpet and it's on the surfaces all over the place, and you come flying in and land on his flowers and I never saw his face so broken in all my life! You should have seen him, he just dropped dead into this open-jawed... guy... incredulous... this stand-up guy with what crappy luck and you've just sat on his flowers and we all knew that meant he had bottled it for another month. Prolonging the agony. That's what he used to do. And Jean was so timid around him, didn't want to get close, had no idea how to, he kept himself as tight as his bowtie. God... he was alright. That guy was alright.'

'Just once, you know,' Bobby added 'just the once when he thought nobody was looking, I think I saw him relax.'

They smirked in unison, and Bobby lifted his glass for a taste. 'Soon got over it though.'

The plates were cleared away, and Warren lit his H Upmann.

When they finally retired, Warren choosing to stay up a little while, Bobby walked the hall to their room. It was dark, floorboards and the howl of nature's breath outside embedding the house in a permanent chill. He carried a candle in a dish with him, setting it down on a chest beside the door. Occupying the bathroom while the men ruminated in smoke and liquor, Angelica showered and dried herself off with a warm gown.

Bobby was more than a little overly toasted so had trouble with the lock. After a few seconds, he realised it wasn't fastened and turned the knob. The slow perfume of peach candles wafted past his head, distracting him from thoughts as he gazed at fairy lights illuminating Angelica's bed. The duvet was a patchwork quilt, designed, and a teddy at the headrest, but the sweet homely environment was infused with a sultry undertone leaking from the full length mirror in the corner and Angelica's pose facing it. She turned as he entered and paused, his smelling above all the innocence a fiery purpose.

'Ready for bed?' She asked.

He closed the door and stared at her, legs slightly parted, weight on one hip and a black chiffon top exposing both shoulders and flowing down in sleeves. Her left hand rested on the corner of the mirror tilted upward. She took a sip of the wine and touched the corner of her lip. Bobby swallowed and felt a rush into his head. He put the candle away from its fellows on top of the wardrobe and made to unbutton his fleece. The room was unusually warm. 'Let me do that, baby.' She said, stepping softly and rolling each sleeve down his arm until it held him in a loose bind. Her head lowered, he gazed at her red crown, the waves refracting faint glittering in candlelight. Exhaling, he tasted the smoke in his dry mouth. Movements silent, she led him over to the frail wooden chair, kissing him briefly and delicately untying the buttons on his shirt. She was slow, deliberate, licking his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue and grazing the five o'clock shadow with her cheek. She whispered: 'Sit down' and pushed him gently onto his bottom. Following her motion in a daze, he let his arms dangle behind the chair back, the knot of the fleece handcuffing him in place. She nibbled his ear, and flicked her tongue out to lick the lobe. His drunken grunt surprised her.

She took a few short steps back, sprite in the shadows and balanced on floorboards. Her arm swung out in grand address, best foot forward to allow a slow-burning spin on toes where every facet of her outline was on display. Bobby gritted his teeth. Crossed arms covering herself, she righted and shifted weight her bosom bobbing inside the material. Her lips were pursed. He ran his eyes down her. The seam of panties dug snugly into the cleft of her groin, ripe glaze of flesh smooth and tangible in the dark. Angelica pulled down covering the top with mannered fingers and catching her breasts on the downward stroke forcefully, drawing Bobby's attention. She closed her legs at the knee and bent, shaking her ass and then striking a pose in considerably closer proximity, thigh and calf outstretched and firm. Her hands rested on her hips and she snarled, taking her right hand and rubbing heavily south over her belly and mound and cupping at the apex of her thighs. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. The sound of his momentary struggle with the bond hit her and she was glad he was back in the game instead of up and ravaging her neck and tits the way she cheaply wanted. 'Do you want me to come closer, baby?' She asked, rotating her hips and edging her pussy nearer his open mouth and teeth. He nodded and flexed his toes in his shoes.

'Do you want me to play with you, baby? Want me to get on my knees with you? On my knees for you, baby?' She chanted.

He pumped his closed fists, a trickle of salt dropping down his shirt sleeve. His eyes were losing focus and his dry drugged brain had difficulty locking into her hazy dance. He needed to bury his hands in her hair.

'You want me kneeling, lover?' She breathed, bending over to nibble at his ear again. His head twitched to turn and bite at her neck and he saw the vague shake of her breasts under the top. He needed to bury his hands in her tits.

She parted the top of his shirt and leaned in to tickle the bare nipple with a nail. A sharp intake greeted her. Angelica knelt in-between his legs and padded down to his groin where a definitive bulge poked out his jeans. Unconsciously licking her lips, she opened the fly and kissed at the material. Recoiling at the hiss of his crumbling restraint, she took one last look into his eyes, fumbling with her sweaty hands on his thighs. She reached into his trousers and Bobby felt a glorious relieving tug at his uncomfortable erection. He caught himself panting, and sucked a saliva swallow as she opened her reddened lips to take his cock. Her name spilled from his lips, and she drew hers up to the top of his shaft, sucking/kissing on the tip like she would his mouth. The angry hardened muscle glazed her tongue, fitting her mouth with such precision she felt as if she were putting him in tune. She bobbed her head lightly, suckling with a wet mouth. "Sorry," as he stared at the straw in her lips "... I've got a bit of an oral fixation..."

His thoughts tried to scatter to stop himself from being pushed over the edge too soon. Angelica's problem was she went slow. Very slow, keeping her hands to herself and using a hum and tongue to make him come. Bobby thought of the first time she had had him, and how it was as natural as the sun rising at dawn, but how bizarre an act for two people to engage in when they knew so little of one another. If they had it on tape to put in a time capsule, people millennia from then would look at her actions as if it were the most alien thing in the world. But perhaps that was the defining moment of their relationship. The spark that lit so many nights like this, where he was fighting off the urge to blow in her throat while she massaged him with the most delicate and intricate movements. The thought of it, coupled with her near constant suckling was devastating on his resolve. Her head moved, hair touching his thighs every half-second, the back of the chair creaking as his tensing arms struggled to play the game. He couldn't last much longer. 'Angel... I'm almost there.'

She hummed in acknowledgment, sending the shiver into his balls. A thick trail of saliva leaked down, caking around the bottom of his shaft and she swallowed ahead of his load. "Come for me Bobby. Come for me."

His thighs constricted and she felt it fleetingly, the old chair rocking as his orgasm started. She sucked and sucked, eyes closed, awaiting that first spurt of white and letting it pool as she felt him shoot. Her head went down and up in quick succession, pumping the remnants of his come up into her mouth and swallowing on each stroke. His cry was strangled, the mixture of whisky and cigar inhibiting. He knew because she used no hands the peak was hard to get to, the sensations ripped rather than coaxed and the orgasm long and intense.

He breathed raggedly for a few minutes, Angelica having got up and adjusted herself in the mirror, touching the spot of his release on her bottom lip. She savoured it, the fog in her mind up for anything.

Steps approached and then he was there behind her, arm round the waist and holding tightly as he tilted her jaw into a behind-the-head kiss. Feverish, she tensed in his embrace, muscles fuelled by erotic wire energy. He let his left hand wonder up from her belly onto the top and cupping at her breast, squeezing and pulling in a savage attack. She bucked back into him, catching her eye in the full-length mirror feeling like a puppet and glad to be one in his fingers. He drove the hold round her waist down past the line of her panties to her sweat-shined thighs, palm flat and pawing into the flesh. Her hips moved into his, and they rotated around, dancing back into his groin, and keeping them in a sway while he played her. Thick red rivulets of her long hair doused his nose and mouth, the inhalation of her sex smell burning in his chest. He sunk teeth into her earlobe, reciprocating her earlier technique and running his middle finger along the panty covered slit of her heated pussy. She moaned pleadingly, resting her head on his shoulder while he dually stimulated open poles of her sexuality. Somewhere along the line she registered dimly, he then found a way inside her, the wet folds of her pussy sucking his finger in and alternately firming and relaxing while he tickled a rising come from deep in her core. They swayed slowly, her hips gyrating as if she were lap dancing, and she bit heavily on her lip, the redness blossoming out in droves as she experienced a hot flush. Bobby was stroking the slick finger against her clit, every upstroke inside on the ring of muscle another prolonged wipe over the entire set of switches, an AC/DC current fluctuating within and threatening to kick her screaming and weak-kneed over the edge and into the clasp of his hands. 'Ah... Jesus, Bobby... Keep it up...mmm...'

She kissed him again, the way women do when the excitement shoots in waves. Her body moved in an off-rhythm with his, her concentration breaking down and instinct taking over. Her hips thrust against his aching hand, and he bent them both forward to try and gain some leverage inside her cunt. 'Bobby...! Oh, goddddd...'

'Come for me, come for me Angel, that's right,' he goaded 'come for me...'

She humped against his palm, his other hand rough over her reddened breast and gave a breathy cry, grating her teeth suddenly. 'Unnnngghh...!' She groaned, two fingers slipping in to blow her open. 'Unnnnngghhh! I'm coming I'm coming oh god...!'

He pushed her body forward and she braced herself against the wall, unable to help manoeuvre his fingers in a release she so needed to control but somewhere along the line he was managing to make better than what she could. Hair all up in his face in mangled sweaty strands and body lax and aligned she slowed her breathing and puffed out a contented moan. He helped her over to the bed sheets and she sat down, taking the top off and feeling where his hands had been rough on her tits. She grinned, teenager, at him and yanked his jeans down to his ankles. He took the white shirt off and placed a hand at her cheek, stroking as her eyes met his.

'Fuck me, Bobby.' She said, tucking hair behind her ears.

'Fuck me from behind.'

He grabbed a handful of that red hair in his right and wrapped it round her neck from the left, crossing the windpipe. He tugged. She kissed him thickly. 'Come in my mouth.' She whispered. Her ass wiggled beside his crotch, and she reached behind her to let his cock out his boxers. She rested a hand on his shoulder and had the other pull him into her, backing up until she was on tip toes. At the verge of her pussy, the velvet just about to embrace, he thrust fiercely and she gasped, thrown forward on the bed on to her hands. She openly yelled in surprise and his left hand pushed down on her shoulder blades while his right held tight to the hair in a bunch. Angelica moaned gutturally, her whole body at an unnatural angle, bowing to every movement, every thrust of his thick cock inside her. She closed her eyes, swirling images settling like leaves in a dry season. Scenes of her first fuck, the day she lost her virginity, the day she let her first boyfriend take her from behind, the moment she first came from Bobby's tongue. The first time she took his load down her throat. 'Ahhh...! Aaahhh!' Her right leapt away from the bed she was bent over to cover her clit. She made a v with her index and third, letting the middle flex and shoot over her sensitive nub while an inch away she was being speared by Bobby's cock. She wanted to look. Wanted to see the sight of his thick prick digging in and out of her, watching the skin glisten with every fresh dredge of her liquid core. He wouldn't let her. She was denied because he yanked on her hair and pulled her head back. She moaned in disappointment, secretly enjoying it, not really knowing what to think but guessing that by the mannered, short thrusts from his hips he was getting close. She concentrated on backing onto him, his cock nice and slippery inside her -- maybe too slippery. Angelica looked behind, stared at the sweat on his brow, the tight concentrated frown, set jaw and tensed neck, arm pushing aggressively at her back as her knees wobbled from one of the hardest fucks in her life. Her fingers drilled repeatedly over her clit, she tried to imagine a single point in her mind, racing toward it, growing larger and larger while her cunt contracted about his cock and milked it for all its worth.