Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

As the Seasons Grey	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 46 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Started life as kinky Christmas-related short stories in 2022 and took on a life of its own shortly thereafter. 100 fiction, none of this is real, and I own nothing except for the character of Christine.

Chapter List
- 18
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- 20
The next morning, Christine and Alex awoke almost in unison with each other, and that time around, to a clear day over the mountains. More fresh snow had fallen over the course of the night, but the clouds had cleared out from the mountain area: when she put on her long underwear, she took a glimpse out the window to view the fine layer of frost on the pane as well as the glitter that was the snow’s surface outside of there, courtesy of the golden sunlight as it filtered through the mountains on eastern side of the valley.
It was the first morning before the start of Hanukkah, and yet Christine was eager to give him a proper celebration.
He showed her a smile as she offered to make the two of them a big stack of Belgian waffles each; when she started the batter of waffles, he strode up behind her and put his arms around her waist.
“Hi,” she greeted him as she stirred the batter with a wooden spoon.
“Hi,” he returned the favor, and he took one hand off her waist: she could feel him rub his own stomach.
“You hungry?” she asked him.
“Quite hungry,” he replied. “I feel my stomach’s about to rumble at any second.” She tapped the spoon on the side of the mixing bowl, and then she turned around and she rested a hand on his soft waist. He was very slender and slim, almost skinny, and yet she could feel his softness. He could feel her softness as well, especially since he kept his one hand on the small of her back, a handful of her love handle on the left.
“I want to give you all the decadent food you could ever ask for,” she told him. “I want you to eat so well.”
He gently patted his slender stomach with both hands, and she gave him a soft caress with her free hand as well. Even under the thin layer of fabric over his skin, she could feel that little softness in there. In fact, she remembered that he had the softest skin under his waist, right underneath the waistband of his jeans: but she could feel something else in there, right upon his waist.
She licked her lips, and she lifted the bottom of his shirt for a look at his slender belly, and she ran her fingertip very lightly around the rim of his belly button. He flinched at the feeling, and she showed him a little grin.
“What’s the matter?” she teased him.
“I’m a little ticklish there,” he quipped at her.
“Just a little?”
“Yeah, just a little bit.”
Christine squinted her eyes at him, and then she let go of him, and she returned to the bowl full of waffle batter. She stirred it a bit more, and all the while, she gyrated her hips for him. And then she poured it over the waffle iron off to the side there.
She made him that plate full of Belgian waffles, complete with some butter and powdered sugar. He mouthed the words “thank you” to her before he picked up his fork. He held himself in place before he dug in for those first few bites, and she knew that he awaited him.
“You are so sweet,” she told him as she took her seat, and he shrugged his shoulders.
“I try my best,” he assured her, and he dug into the waffles. She had made him three big crispy waffles, and she knew that that would tithe him over at least until the halfway point of the afternoon. He ate them at a slow pace, and every so often, he closed his eyes. He relished the flavors as well as the light, crispy quality of the waffles.
When he was full, he leaned back in the chair, and he rested his hands upon his stomach for some gentle pats.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” she asked him as she mopped the last bite of her waffles into the extra stream of powdered sugar and butter on the plate.
“I did!” He showed her a smile, and then he raised an eyebrow at her. “I kind of want some more, to be honest.”
“More?”
“More. Like Oliver Twist—I want more.”
She smiled at him, and she stood up, and she made her way over to the counter for the bowl again to make up some more waffle batter all for him. She was more than happy to make it up just for him, and yet she wondered if he had another little secret that she needed to figure out with him. She thought about the first night they were there in the cabin, and he was more than happy to eat up everything that she had made for him that night, and she wondered what would make him feel like that again.
He asked for two more waffles, again with the powdered sugar and the butter on top.
It was a crazy idea, but she thought about making him food the whole eight nights of Hanukkah, especially since she had no idea as to how good of a cook he was, and especially since she vowed to do something special for him. All the food. All that he wanted to eat, even if she had no idea on how to make latkes, although he assured her that they were merely hash brown pancakes.
“Yeah, you just grate up the potatoes like you would hash browns, make them into little medallions with some egg and a pinch of salt, and then fry them up in the skillet in some veggie oil.” He held up four fingers, to which Christine felt a shiver run up her spine.
Carbs on top of carbs, and yet, so humble and simple, especially once she made up the latkes and served them up for him with a side of sufganiyot, which she had started to make earlier that day with some raspberry and blackberry jam.
“Every culture has a fried pie,” she declared as she dipped one of those donut holes into a little dish of syrup.
“For real, though,” he said as he stuck the last bite of donut hole into his mouth, and then he clapped his hands together. “Mmm! You wanna do the honor?”
“You want me to light the first candle?” she asked him as she brought a hand to her chest.
“It is after sundown,” he pointed out. “The candles go for an hour after it gets dark.” He wiped his mouth before he stood back up and made his way over to the kitchen doorway. Christine followed with her cup of coffee in hand and her mouth still with the aftertaste of the latkes and the donut holes. She stood there in the doorway as she watched him slip a little white and blue knit yarmulke over the crown of his head: his black curls spilled out from underneath the rims. Even with his long luxurious hair, he still looked like a respectable little Jewish boy.
He set one hand on his stomach, and he gestured for Christine to come on over to him with the other. She adjusted the collar of her sweater before she did: he turned a bit for her to see the menorah in the window.
“There’s a little matchbook right there on the sill,” he told her; she picked up the little matchbook next to the base of the menorah, and she took one out and struck the head on the back part of it a couple of times before a small flame erupted.
“Middle one first, followed by the one on the far right,” he advised her. She held the flame to the wick in the dead center until it ignited, and then she moved over to the far right. Alex sighed through his nose as she waved the match head about so as to douse the flame.
“Since it’s just me here with you, I’ll say the prayer to myself,” he told her. “I’m non-traditional Jewish, but I still have the spot in my heart, though.”
“I’ll keep silent out of respect,” she said, and he put his arm around her. He sighed through his nose again, and that time he closed his eyes. Christine kept her gaze fixed on the two candles as they burned against the navy-blue sky outside of the cabin. Though the fireplace on the other side of the room could light up at any given time during the night, she wanted to keep the flames still and within their place for a moment of peace. A cold night, the first night of Hanukkah, and she was right there next to him the whole step of the way, and thus, in a way, she found this far more interesting than Christmas.
After a minute, Alex opened his eyes and raised his head.
“Amen,” he said.
“Amen,” she replied. He turned to her with a little smile across his face and a gentle stroke of her shoulder.
“I also forgot—well, it’s something that I haven’t done since I was a kid, but my grandparents would give me and my brother Hanukkah gelt: chocolate coins.”
“Ooh. I think we do have some chocolate in the fridge if you’d like some.”
“Yes, please!” His face lit up. “Eight nights of Hanukkah, we would have chocolate and lots of fried food.”
“And just lots to eat in general,” she noted.
“Not necessarily, but we can if we’d like, though.” He flashed her a wink, and she showed him a smirk.
She knew for a fact that he was going to eat well over the course of those eight nights.
Eight cold nights, as a matter of fact. During the latter three nights, the snow ventured back into the mountains and pummeled the outside of the cabin, and yet, the two of them were rather cozy in their little pocket of warmth all the while. Christine was more than eager to make more food for him in the skillet while Alex himself took the chance to relax for a bit: on the seventh night, he picked up his guitar and plunked it across his lap, and he gently strummed the nylon strings for a delicate melody.
As she sat there on the couch and indulged in more of those donut holes, she watched him take his spot there on the floor, right beneath the mostly illuminated menorah with his legs crossed and his guitar on his lap, as if he had been sent to play music for the world by the rebellion of the Maccabees.
After an hour, he would douse the flames, and they would indulge in a few games by his request: on the fifth night, she would hold her hands out, palms up, for him, and he would keep his hands over her own with the palms facing down, and they would lock eyes as he strove to beat her reflexes. Indeed, she slapped the backs of his hands several times.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
When they swapped places, Christine could feel herself backed into a corner given Alex had such quick hands. He flashed her a wink every so often before he flicked his hands over for a playful slap.
On the third night, they played strip chess with the menorah strong and high on the windowsill. Christine was a little taken aback that Alex would request that during a celebratory holiday, but he seemed keen on it, however.
“The Maccabees were victorious so they would want us to have a bit of hutzpah, too,” he pointed out. Lucky for the two of them, they were only able to strip down to their underwear before the hour was up.
On the fourth night, they played another round of strip chess but in reverse.
“You would think this isn’t fair,” he said. “But believe me when I say it is—especially when I show you the shirt I found in the closet.” When the time came for his turn to put on said shirt, she raised her eyebrows at the sight of that smooth pearly white silk pressed against the shape of his body.
“Gorgeous,” she remarked as he left the top three buttons undone so she could have a view of his collar bones.
On the final night, Alex did the honor of lighting the final and ninth candle, and Christine felt her heart soar at the sight of it.
“That’s the sight you wanna see on the last night,” he declared, and she held a hand to her chest.
“Alex, it’s beautiful,” she said as the flickering light of the flames danced about the room of the cabin. She turned to him as he put his arm around her again. “I love this. I love this so much.”
She put her other arm around his waist, and she held back.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her, slightly concerned. She ran her hand down his waist and over to his hip.
“You feel softer,” she told him.
“All that fried food,” he said. “All the sugar, too. Every last part of it and not doing much moving around on top of that, either. I must’ve gained ten pounds this past week alone—another five for the whole time we’ve been here.”
Indeed, the candlelight spread over the side of his face, which seemed rounder than before. She pressed her hand right onto the spot of his belly button, and it felt as though he had a small, slightly round pillow tucked underneath his shirt. The feel of his flesh made her toes curl: she loved his softness, but this was that feeling taken to a whole new level.
“You like what you feel here, don’t you,” he teased her. She locked eyes with him again, and she made out the little twinkle in his eyes courtesy of the candles on the menorah.
He moved his arms before his middle as if to block her view. Indeed, she took another look at his body and the white silk that hugged him just right at that point. When he initially showed her the shirt, it seemed a bit loose: but at that point, it fit him as if it was made all for him. Through the dim candlelight, she could see the button over his waist and the slightest pressure there.
“Let me see,” she coaxed him, and he shook his head. “Come on, baby—let me see. Let me see your little belly. From what I could feel from underneath that shirt—which fits you so gorgeously now—it's not that bad of a gain, Alex.”
Her fingers tingled, and she lunged for him as if to tickle him. Alex bowed away towards the kitchen doorway: she knew that he wouldn’t be able to move very far as he had put away several latkes and donut holes, and the snow came down in sheets outside of the cabin.
Christine stood before him as he leaned back against the frame of the kitchen doorway with his arms still folded over his middle.
“I really, really want to touch your tummy,” she told him. “After all this teasing and everything, I want to touch you there. Just—lovingly touch you there. I want to see what my cooking has done to you. I want to feel it.”
He leaned back against the wall, and with another sigh through his nose, he unbuttoned that silk shirt for her to have a view. He had the tiniest bit of a belly, the smallest, softest bump over his waist, and yet he had a long way to go before it was anything significant; but she could see that the latkes and the food that they had made together began to take their toll on his physique. While maintaining his slender, svelte shape, his body seemed slightly wider and fuller than before. His other pair of jeans which he wore at that moment seemed to fit him a bit more snugly as well.
Christine reached out for his body, and she ran her fingers down the skin on his waist: much softer and plusher than the eight nights before.
“Your skin is so soft here,” she remarked. “I’m surprised that you don’t let me touch you there more, but—I'm also not very surprised, either.”
“It’s very tender,” he said. “Really, I mean it when I say that I'm ticklish there. I don’t like being touched there because it’s—”
“So soft?” She inched closer to him, and she rested her other hand on his hip for a feel of the tender, smooth flesh there. Only ten pounds but it was significant enough to add that beautiful belt of softness to his body.
“It’s soft, but it’s also very intimate for me, too,” he continued.
“You know, I love softness, and I especially love it when it’s from eating rather well.” She gave his little belly a gentle, loving pat, and then she stroked her fingertips around in a circle, all around his belly button. “So cute. You know what I want to do?”
“What’s that? By the way, that feels really good.”
She leaned down to his waist, and she planted a little kiss right next to his belly button. He gasped at the feeling of her lips there: using the light of the candles, she kept her lips pinned onto his skin as if to love him even more than she had been doing so. He deserved the softest kisses on the belly, as far as she knew.
“Okay, now, that feels really good,” he whispered to her as he relaxed against the side of the door frame.
Quietly humming to herself, Christine undid the button of his jeans so she could have more of his skin under her lips. His skin, so soft, so silken, such that kisses on his belly led her right to kisses near his genitals. She then tugged down his jeans and his underwear for a kiss on the shaft.
He treated her to gentle whimpers and little whispers of “phew” as she traded in between the belly kisses and the sweet caresses of his dick. And all the while, she used nothing more than the candlelight of the menorah.
When she caught that minute, translucent pearl of precum at the tip of his dick, she lifted herself up to him for another tender little kiss on the neck.
“Intimate,” she whispered into his face. “Just how you like it.”
“Happy Hanukkah,” he said to her in a husky voice.
“Happy Hanukkah,” she returned the favor with a kiss on his lips. “I believe our hour is up.”
Alex looked at his watch. “Nah, we actually have about twenty minutes left.”
“More donuts?” she offered him.
“Please. After that, I'm going to need all the love in my tummy I can get.”
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As the Seasons Grey