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That Seventies Swap	By : Ksennin Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Crossovers Views: 2020 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own neither American Hustle or X-Men, or any characters in the franchise. I make no money from publishing this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue
- 2-1979
- 3-1978
- 4-1978
- 5-1978
- 6-1978
- 7-1979
- 8-1979
- 9-1979
- 4
- 5
- 6
I never hated Sydney. I’m just not a hateful person. I was angry *with her* for Irving being weak and her taking advantage of that, but men cheat. It was a fact of life. My father cheated on my mom and my mom told me that my grandfather had cheated on Nana, so there’ve always been whores and men who just need a little something extra on the side. I don’t mind that.
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it myself even. I’ve had some pretty intense dreams about David Cassidy, but I don’t wanna *fall in love* with the guy, right?, I don’t wanna move to Hollywood and live in his basement or something. I keep things in perspective, and Irving never had that without me. No perspective. Everything’s just these trees, look at this big tree Rosalyn, look at this little tree, trees trees trees trees. And here I am, looking at the forest. I came up with that myself, by the way, don’t ask me where I got it, I’m always thinking up philosophical shit like that, I should write some of it down.
Irving couldn’t sleep that night. He laid in bed, thinking if only he could call her, if only he knew where she was so he could call her, if only she had a little phone she could put in her pocket and he could call her on that. Yeah, right. And then he could call the Enterprise and tell Mr. Scotty to beam him over to her.
It was a good house he’d bought. Solid house. Thick walls. Voices didn’t carry. So he didn’t hear the front door open, the heels click over tile and muffle on carpet. He didn’t know Sydney was home until she opened the door to the bedroom and found him lying on his back, a cigarette propped in his mouth.
“How many times have I told you about smoking in bed?” She shut the door behind her, gracefully, like a dance move. “It causes house fires.”
“Sydney, baby, my love—“
She saw the overflowing ashtray. “I emptied that out last week. Shit, how many of those things have you smoked?”
“Two packs, but I already had one started when you left.”
“Shit, Irv—those things’ll kill you before the fire can.”
“There ain’t gonna be a fire—“ He stubbed the cigarette out. Smiled at her. “Sydney. Sydney, you’re back!”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Yeah? Why not? You’re everything to me. I can go out and wear some hot outfit and speak in my accent and get hit on twenty times—“
“Twenty?”
“It’s not any fun without you.” She climbed onto the bed, her knees denting the mattress, jostling him like he was a boat on the ocean. “I’m sorry I yelled, baby. I know you’re just trying to do right by Rosalyn. You’ve over her. You are over her. Right?”
She held her hand stiffly by her side, like she did when she wanted him to take it. He took it. “Yeah, baby. We’re done. I can’t think what I ever saw in her.” He saw the quirk in her brow that told him that bullshit was hitting the little red zone on the dial. “I mean, I know what I saw in her, but I can’t believe I didn’t see more of it in you.”
Sydney crumpled, landing on his stomach, resting her head on his paunch like a father-to-be listening for the baby. “Irv, you’ve got less shit in you than any man I’ve ever met, but you’re still full of it. But it is good shit. And I am sorry I made you worry.”
“What, me worry?” He grinned. “I was just in a smoking mood. I get in those. Happens every seven years, like a clock. Bada-bing, I’ve gotta smoke everything in the house.”
“Yeah, this place smells like a coal mine. You need to cut back.”
“It cools me down, baby. I’m a single father, I’ve got two pesky kids to handle.”
“Two—oh. Funny.” She patted his love handles. “No lighting up until the weekend. We’re gonna be spending more on tobacco than gas, you don’t quit. You wanna relax, you let your wife handle that. That’s what we’re here for.”
“We?”
Another hand at his ribs, this time a little harder. “Wives. Idiot. In general. But with you, just me. Just me, Irv.” She kissed the fabric stretched tight over his belly. “Did she ever do this for you, baby? You can’t tell me some bratty housewife from Long Island did this…”
Irving started to breathe hard as Sydney’s head slid down his body. He was starting to wish he had his heart pills on him.
***
Rosalyn thought she finally had it all figured out. Past lives. Just like her psychic had warned her about. Clearly, back when Irving had been a Viking chieftain, she’d been his shield-maiden, but they hadn’t found each other when Irving was a gunfighter in the Old West, so he’d shacked up with a saloon girl who’d been reincarnated as Sydney. Simple as that. Who could even tell how many times they’d swapped him in all their cycles? But this time really blew, because she’d seen Irving first, married him first, and Sydney still got him. Total bullshit. Bad karma. She wouldn’t be surprised if Sydney ended up a flea in the next life.
She wondered if Sydney was still out. Probably. Probably staying out all night. Maybe even still seeing that curly-haired IRS agent Risakyb’d seen her with. Oh yeah, she’d seen how those two looked at each other. And say what you would about Rosalyn—you couldn’t say that much, though, she did have depression and anxiety and she wasn’t even sure that her shrink had diagnosed all of her disorders, she might have more, society barely cared about the mentally ill, that was just her cross to bear.
But say what you would about Rosalyn, she was always home for Irving when he needed her. She was there 24/7. She didn’t take vacations or lunch breaks like it was some job flipping burgers. No. She was there for her man. And, because she wasn’t the type to hold a grudge unless someone was really asking for it, she would go check in on Irving, even though he’d left her for some red-headed slut. That was just how big her heart was. She would always place his needs before her own.
Besides, she couldn’t find a drink anywhere and how was she supposed to sleep sober? What was this, the Middle Ages?
Padding through the house on her bare feet, and finding the tile floor way too fucking cold, she came to Irving’s bedroom. Tried the door. It was locked. Yeah, that was safe. What if there was a fire, little Danny ran for help from his adopted parents, and then the door’s locked? What was he even doing in there, anyway, he needed the door locked? Rosalyn got down on her knees and looked through the keyhole.
Then she watched as Sydney Prosser, that whore, sucked her ex-husband’s cock.
It was a good-sized cock. Rosalyn had never had any complaints about it. And Sydney was doing a good job with it—cheeks puffed out, lips stretched thin, a shimmer of spittle running from the corner of her mouth. But the evident skill and passion of their… their blowjob made Rosalyn sick to her fucking stomach.
She just couldn’t believe she was watching Sydney’s head bobbing up and down on her ex-husband, his thick thigh muscles flexing rhythmically. Where were his—there they were. His fat balls were squeezed under Sydney’s chin as she took him deep down her throat.
Rosalyn was not a sensual woman. She knew a wife’s duty was to provide certain outlets for her husband, and as long as those outlets were filled the marriage was in great shape, but past the obligation and, honestly, the enjoyment she got out of having Irving so completely in her thrall, she’d always considered sex somewhat dirty. A little sinful.
Her first husband had come from a wealthy family; she should’ve been set for life, only his parents hadn’t approved and though they’d tolerated the marriage, they’d cut him off when Danny was conceived. And Rosalyn had tried, she’d tried really, really hard to get her stepparents to like her. See that she wasn’t just some floozy. She had a picture in her head, vivid as the silver screen, of them finally inviting her to their house. And when they did, her stepmother would look her in the eye and see she was a good girl, not some cheap slut who’d put the moves on her son. And she would see that all over Rosalyn because that was how she lived.
And even after he’d died and she’d taken up with Irving, she’d tried to be decent. Sex only once a week, maybe more often, but it didn’t count if she was drunk. She knew that frustrated Irving. Probably drove him to Sydney. But she knew he understood her little quirks—only having sex at night, only with the lights out, only under the covers, and always, always in the missionary position. Deep down, he didn’t want some tawdry seductress for a wife. That would make him lose all respect for her, and that was far more harmful to a marriage than withholding sex until he really, truly needed it.
“Oh-ho-ho, yeah,” Irving moaned, either hand cupped in Sydney’s curly hair. “That is how you use a fucking your tongue! Yes! Oh, baby, you are the absolute!”
Well, she shouldn’t have expected any better from Irving. Leave it to some man not to know a good thing when he had it and want some cheap skank who would allow herself to be degraded, let both of them be degraded, really, doing something as filthy as sucking on a man’s penis.
Sydney gagged on another few inches of his member, but took it in her throat. Rosalyn was goggle-eyed. How was she doing that? Could she eat whole carrots in one gulp too? This was the kind of thing Rosalyn had read about—deep-throating. Only it was only supposed to be in the movies, a special effect, and here was Sydney doing it with a real life prick! And enjoying it, too! Having her mouth stretched out like a fucking balloon! Rosalyn could tell she was enjoying it, moaning as loud as she was.
Not that Rosalyn ever would do something as filthy as that, but if she did, she thought she could maybe take half of Irving’s cock in her mouth. But Sydney had three-quarters lost between her lips, and there was Irving breathing like a bellows, asking her to take even more!
God, her cunt was hot. Why was it so fucking hot? She knew. With Sydney such a whore and Irving such a pushover, she’d probably caught a disease between the two of them.
Irving took off his near-omnipresent shades and shook his head to clear himself of some of the sweat on his forehead and in his hair. He was staring down at Sydney like it was some kind of miracle, putting a penis into your mouth. “Take the whole thing. Yeah, babe—come on. You can do it,” he panted. If Rosalyn were just listening in, she wouldn’t know if he was in pain or ecstasy.
Sydney slurped her way off him with a truly disgusting sound, gave Irving a smile that made Rosalyn want to vomit, then rolled onto her back. Irving rolled too, kneeling with his legs on either side of Sydney’s throat. Sydney opened her mouth cheekily, daring him with her eyes. Rosalyn watched in total disbelief as Irving put his thing at her lips, tensed his legs, and shoved forward to bury all of his cock in her mouth.
As much a bitch as Sydney was, Rosalyn felt sorry for her as she choked and stiffened. Irving was clutching his heart, making strangled sounds while Sydney’s eyes bulged and beads of sweat coursed over her wrinkled brow. Her nostrils flared like a bull’s. Rosalyn thought she was choking to death on that cock lodged in her throat, just like had happened to that teenager in Florida she’d read about. But Irving just flexed his ass cheeks, fucking his way down Sydney’s throat.
Rosalyn was just about to scream for them to stop—as pissed off as Irving made her, she didn’t want him going down for a murder charge—when Irving let out a sigh and pulled out slowly. It seemed to take weeks, but he kept going until he was all out but his cockhead. Rosalyn could see Sydney sucking at it, her tongue lashing just under the knob, blowing it with the gusto of a virtuoso. She liked it. Sydney really did like sucking cock.
Well… how the fuck was Rosalyn supposed to compete with that?
Even Sydney didn’t seem to know how good she was. Irving came before she was ready, bursting just as she licked his tip. He shot onto her lips, over her shoulder to the bedspread, even a splash on her collarbone before she got his prick clamped between her lips and drank him down smoothly as soda through a straw. Irving groaned and gave Sydney a few quick thrusts before he was done. After he pulled out, Sydney licked her chin clean. Rosalyn held a hand to her heart. Awful.
Finally giving her jaw a rest, Sydney crawled beside Irving for a laydown. He submitted meekly to her clutching his cock as she lightly kissed at his chest.
Rosalyn went back to her room. She almost wished she hadn’t broken things off with Pete. She could’ve used a man right about then.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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That Seventies Swap