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FIC: Choices, 17/?, R/NC17, W/R R/G W/f

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  • fyrdrakken@JUNO.COM
    DISCLAIMERS REPOSTED IN PART 0 * * * It was the late night talk shows that did it. Logan was sitting through Craig Kilborn’s show only because he found him
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 26 11:23 PM
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      * * *

      It was the late night talk shows that did it. Logan was sitting through
      Craig Kilborn’s show only because he found him marginally less annoying
      than Conan O’Brien. Either host, however, was preferable to heading
      upstairs to his wife.

      It was late — but not yet late enough. Delaying his retreat to the
      bedroom for as long as possible after Max was down for the night
      increased the chances that Cissy would be asleep by the time her husband
      put in his appearance — ideally, deeply enough not to wake as he slipped
      between the covers. And in the worst-case scenario — Logan in bed with an
      awake, amorous, annoyed wife — well, he was cutting into his sleep time
      enough to justifiably claim to be too tired to accommodate her.

      But restlessness at his mostly-housebound life was rising — as was sexual
      frustration. What he *really* wanted to do was to start going out again —
      drinking and fighting and *especially* fucking when the mood hit him. (Or
      at least after Max was down for the night, and coming home well before
      dawn, too — he still liked being awakened by seemingly the only person
      within the X-Mansion who thought his dad was a great guy.)

      And *this* was the night that he finally gave in to temptation and did
      just that.

      But if he had thought Cicely had reacted badly to his tomcatting around
      while she was pregnant, then it had been a reflection of blissful
      ignorance. Cissy’s reaction to having her husband out finding new beds to
      share when her own was impatiently waiting for him was — catastrophic.
      Thermonuclear. Apocalyptic. She woke the entire floor, *plus* the
      neighbors above and below their quarters.

      The squall from the other bedroom was what silenced her, once she paused
      for breath and was finally able to hear it. Max was perhaps a bit young
      to follow the conversation as his mother called his father a whorehopping
      dogfucking bastard, but he wasn’t thrilled to be awakened listening to
      Mommy yelling. The flow in invective ceased as Cissy rushed to the next
      room to soothe her precious.

      Logan painfully picked himself up off the floor, as Cicely returned from
      the next room. "See what you‘ve done? You’ve upset your *son*. *He*
      doesn’t want his daddy to go running off and leave him and his mommy all

      Logan could have pointed out that *Cissy* had been the noisy one waking
      up the household — but he maintained his silence. The mention of him
      abandoning Cissy and Max — even though a bit of overwrought hyperbole on
      Cissy’s part — had coldly reminded him of just what he had to lose.

      It wasn’t merely a question of whether he would leave Ciss or stay with
      her. *She* could also leave *him*.

      While Cicely returned to the baby’s room, setting Max back into his bed
      for hopefully the remainder of the night, Logan collapsed into a chair
      and rested his head in his hands, wondering how the hell he’d gotten
      himself into this situation.

      Hearing her returning from the next room, he began to kick off his boots,
      figuring that it was definitely time to hit the sack. Time to lie with
      their backs to one another pretending not to be aware of each other for
      the rest of the night...

      His wife stopped him. "Maybe you’d better sleep somewhere else tonight,"
      she said icily.

      He nodded, shoved his foot back into his boot, stood, and walked out
      without pausing to comment or argue.

      ["Sleep somewhere else." Of *course*...]

      * * *

      She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
      Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
      Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
      Aussie Vowels

      "Associated with the unconquerable power of the sun, the Roman Mithraic
      feast of Sol Invictus gave the traditional birth date of Christ, 25
      -- "Mithra," _Encyclopedia of World Mythology, Arthur Cotterell ed.
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