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
- 1
- 2
- 3
“Alex? Alex, where are you?”
Christine lifted the branch closest to her head and she peered all around her to the clearing in the heart of the apple orchard. Apples as big and red as she could imagine resided close to her, and she yearned for a bite at the mere sight of them.
She stepped out from the bushes of memory, and she peered up to the tree canopy over her head. She had no memory as to how she had arrived there, only that she had watched Alex perform on the stage and then she blacked out.
The air smelled fresh and damp, as if the rain before then had come and gone and nourished the soil in its wake. The ground was soft and plush underneath the soles of her shoes. She shivered as she peered up at the scores of apples right over her head, a series of bright full red orbs over her as if someone had launched off a bunch of paper lanterns for the morning after the rainfall.
“Alex?” she called out again.
“Here, here—”
She stared straight ahead to find him there at the other side of the clearing before her. His black curls sprawled all around his bare shoulders and his upper arms as if they had sprouted forth in the manner of vines. His lips were like little cherries, the gentlest ripest fruit right from the branch of the nearest tree not too far from the edge of her backyard. His eyes looked on back at her from their rich, voluminous depths, as soft and blue as the sky following the rainfall before her.
He was a walking aphrodisiac in his own rite, and more so when he showed that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, either. He wasn’t the kind of boy who was ripped with full-on abs and large muscles, but he did have a nicely toned chest and a gentle-looking stomach that looked as though it could serve as a pillow for her at some point during their stay there in the orchard. Indeed, as Christine took another glimpse around her, she realized that she had no idea as to how they had reached there.
The last memory that she had in mind was the one of him performing for her on the stage in Los Angeles: as far as she knew, they had teleported to Northern California. And Alex had regressed about twenty years in age as well. She had barely any memory of him being this young before, especially when Testament initially started out back in the middle of the Eighties.
He lowered his eyelids at her and the smile on his face, to which he looked almost cherubic in nature.
“Let me ask,” she began.
“Go ahead.”
“How old are you?” she asked him.
“I’m eighteen,” he told her; his voice crept over her like the same tendrils that crept over his shoulders.
Alex tucked his fingers down the inside the band of his jeans, and he hoisted them up his hips, and he strode on across the clearing and over to her.
Even knowing how decadent and ripe he was in comparison to the other fruits on the vine, she still had to earn it. To earn the taste of those cherry lips against her own. To taste the sugar that made up his skin. To kiss those plump little apples which he bore for cheekbones, perfect for the softest little kisses she could ever give unto him. To feel the gorgeous pear shape of his body, from the small of his back down onto his hips and thighs.
He seemed so real and like such a dream all at the same time.
“I’m here, my dear,” Alex declared to her once he came on closer to her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He reached for the nearest fruit on the branch closest to their heads, and he picked it off the stem.
“Apple?”
“Please,” she replied, and she held the fruit in between her fingertips. As Christine held the apple with two hands, she locked eyes with him. Her dark ones with his deep blue ones, so crystalline and bright even when shrouded in shadow. Alex showed her a sweet little smile and he tucked his lanky arms behind his back to show her more of the skin on his chest: a bit of sunlight shone through the trees and onto his upper body. A few stray curled tendrils of fuzzy black hair dangled over his shoulder like the head of a snake.
He was so lush and sensual, especially once he cocked out his hip a bit towards her.
“I want to watch you,” he told her, to which his already soft voice lowered to an even lower tone: husky and tender like the very fruit that she cradled in between her fingers.
She eyed his full little cheekbones, round and tender like little apples in their own rite. His eyes then dropped down to her body for a split second, and then she took a glimpse down as well. She had no clothes on as well: for a moment, she swore that she was inside of the dream of a teenage boy, but then she realized that she was in control of the dream. This was the dream for her. The dream was real.
“Have a bite, my dear,” Alex coaxed her in a near whisper.
Christine took a bite of the apple and the juices nearly dribbled down her chin. She caught it before the rest of it fell upon the deep part of her chest. So sweet, so decadent, and so crisp.
“Oh, my god, Alex,” she said with her mouth full.
“It’s a good apple, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hm.” She brought a hand up to her lips as she prepared to swallow it down.
“Right as the rain stopped, I picked one off the trees back here,” he told her with a gesture back to the trees right behind him. He then ran his hand down his chest and onto his stomach. “Filled me up a bit, too.”
“It can’t tithe you over for very long, though,” she told him as she took another bite.
“Not at all,” he confessed as he strode around her: he swayed his hips a bit all the while. She locked eyes with him even as he sauntered behind her. Those deep eyes like the Mariana Trench, the bluest waters before they gave way to the darkness below. To swim in his ocean before she reached the fire down below. The dance of fire and water.
Christine took another bite from the apple, and she swore that the sunlight that filtered through the trees disappeared with the incoming blanket of clouds that came on the back of the rainfall. Alex stood before her with his hair sprawled over his shoulders as if he had just sauntered right out of the jungle rather than the trees of the apple orchard.
He had crawled out on a veil of darkness on the back of the most sinful apple known to mankind.
“My sin,” she whispered to him. “My soul.”
He showed her his tongue and he gestured for her to follow him along the soil to the far end of the orchard. Christine glanced down at the apple and then she showed him a little smile.
It was as if he had seduced her with her knowledge.
Christine followed Alex along the aerated soil, all the way to the very end of the row until they reached the lush hillside. It made her think of the hills right outside of Sacramento, right before they reached the Sierra Nevada Mountains: she gazed up to the crest of the hill, at the swirling clouds up above.
“Our cabin awaits us, dearest Christine,” he told her.
He held out a hand for her and, with her free hand, she took his and she followed him up the side to the very top. There was a part of her that wanted to lead him up the hill, but he was the one who knew the whereabouts of the place in shelter for them.
Still with her other hand grasped onto the apple, she took a glimpse down at the ground beneath them for a moment. The ground on the hill was still damp, and while he wore little white tennis shoes that looked to be untied, she was barefoot.
“It’s okay,” he assured her in a kind tone. “We’ll be there before you know it.”
She took another bite as she climbed up the hill by his side instead. Her toes sank into the soft earth below them: it reminded her of walking on the beach.
“There we go,” he said, and that little smile returned in all its tender beauty.
Christine dug into the flesh of the apple as they reached the edge of a trail there on the side of the hill, and they were still side by side, still with their hands together as they walked together. A cold gust of wind caught her by surprise and her nipples tightened at the sensation. Alex cracked a smile at that; she shivered but she showed him a smile as well.
“You can look but you can’t touch,” she teased him as she nibbled her way down to the apple core.
“My wish is to touch,” he declared over the winds around them.
“And my wish is to touch,” she retorted right back to him.
Within time, and with a few more gusts of wind at the fronts of their bodies, Alex brought her to the cabin perched on the crest of the hill before a low patch of evergreen forest: indeed, off in the distance stood a series of mountain peaks that rose high up into the low clouds above them.
“Yeah, let’s get into the cabin—” Alex’s voice drowned out with the uprising winds; he bowed his head and yet he never let go of her hand all the way. Christine finished the apple once the path before them straightened out and they trudged to the front door of the cabin; she hunched her shoulders in hopes to keep the cold off her skin, but all it did was shoot more chills up her spine and tighten up her nipples even more.
Alex opened the front door and he let her inside there first. It was a cute little cabin, with its cozy front room with the plush couch of crushed emerald green velvet and twin wrought iron floor lamps, as well as four strings of Christmas lights strung across the ceiling overhead and a little blue and gold menorah in the window. To the left was a small space with a rug, a kitchenette, and a brick fireplace nestled in the corner, and a small square window right over the bricks; on the far left was a small hallway to the bathroom and the one little bedroom. Next to the front door stood a little glass box with a label that read “cores go here”, and the first thing she did was place her apple core in there.
“It’s for fertilizer,” he explained as he closed the door behind them. “Once the snow passes, we can plant the seeds into the soil and then the remaining flesh will join them inside the earth.”
“That’s beautiful,” Christine remarked: she ran her hands all along her upper arms to keep the warmth in there.
“It’s nature.” He flashed her a wink and a slight glance down to the full shape of her hips and thighs.
“I’m shaped like a pear,” she told him.
“I am, too! And I think there are some clothes in here for us?” Alex kicked off his shoes, and then he peeled off his jeans and let them collect all around his ankles: she raised her eyebrows at his delicate naked body, to which that sweet smile made another return, complete with those soft little apple cheeks.
He ran a hand down his hipbone all to bring attention to the shape of his body, and then he turned to the trunk on the floor right next to him. Christine eyed the shape of his bare ass as he stooped down for the locks on the lid, but he was quick to put on long fitted black underwear pants, followed by a little button-up sweatshirt.
He then handed her a matching ensemble.
“Here, doll—”
Christine slipped on the long underwear and then the sweatshirt: she kept the top three buttons undone to ease the pressure on her chest, as well as to expose her pointed nipples to him once more, that time through the warm flannel which made up the shirt. He grinned at the sight of her.
“There’s my snow bunny,” he declared. He ran his fingers through his jet-black curls, which in turn exposed the silvery roots of that little plume of gray at the front of his head: it was about the size of a quarter, and it came about in the form of a faint sheen upon his bangs. “Now, watch this—”
He clapped his hands twice and the fireplace roared to life with a big bright fire.
“Wow,” Christine breathed out with a clasp of her hand to her chest.
“Yeah. The first time I saw this thing and I was told it ran by way of a clapper, I was skeptical at first. And then I tried it out and it actually happened! It warmed up the room, too.”
“And it’s warming up the room right now.” Christine lowered her shoulders and fixed the bottom hem of the sweatshirt, which was already riding up her full waist a bit.
“I expect you to do that a lot while we’re here,” he quipped with a wink. “We’re gonna eat so well here—I predict us having snug clothes and more-than-satisfied bellies by the time we’re done.”
“I’m actually okay with that,” she confessed to him with spirit.
He sank down on the couch and leaned back into the plush cushion behind him. She followed suit right next to him but she stayed in an upright position.
“So, tell me, dear Christine,” he began again. “What’s your story?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “What’s there to know?”
“I’m curious about you,” he confessed her. “What’s a pretty girl like yourself with a funky-looking Jew boy like myself?”
“I like you,” she promptly replied.
“Yes, of course! But why, though?” He hooded his eyes at her and puckered his lips a bit at her. The flickering light of the fire danced over his handsome oval face and those deep eyes. She thought about the encounter in the apple orchard, and if he was even aware of it, or if he had switched mindsets without her knowing at one point.
“I don’t really know, to be frank,” she admitted. “I think you’re really cute, for one thing.”
He squinted his eyes at her and with two fingers, he undid the collar of that little sweatshirt, which in turn revealed the skin on his collar bones and his chest.
“I’ve got to be more than cute, though,” he pointed out, to which he ran his hand along the top of his thigh. Christine watched him with her head bowed a bit. How she wished to see inside of his mind right then, to feel him from the inside and fully understand him.
“You’re luscious and sweet like that apple I was eating,” she told him. “You give me such a naughty, decadent feeling within me.”
“That reminds me…” He leaned over to the side of the couch for something: before Christine could ask him, he showed her a big king-sized chocolate bar, still wrapped in its silvery tin foil and without a single break in its wrapper, either.
“The forbidden fruit needs a little nuance to its level of sin,” he told her as he unfurled the foil at the top of the bar. The rich, dark chocolate greeted her, and his eyes gazed up at her as if he beckoned the most decadent of a lie itself from her. He took a whiff of the chocolate and then he broke off a piece from the top edge and handed it to her.
She took a slow bite, complete with her eyes closed.
So smooth. So rich. So strong. With a little spice in the back.
“Is there something spicy here?” she asked him.
“Just a hint of chili powder with ginger,” he replied. “A little extra sexy kick in there.”
“Oh, my, god… I could eat so much of this.”
“There’s more where this came from,” he vowed to her.
“You and I will eat all the chocolate,” she promised him with a twinkle in her eye, “especially since you can’t drink wine as of yet.”
“All the chocolate and coffee come the morning,” he added as he sloughed off a piece for himself.
The feeling of aphrodisiacs compounded with the sight of the aphrodisiac before her, and it all manifested as they shared that chocolate bar together, and to the point of Alex’s craning his neck for a glimpse out the window over the fireplace.
“Is it snowing?” she asked aloud.
“It is!” he proclaimed; indeed, she turned to look for herself, at the billowing cloud of drifting snow beyond the glass pane. Lucky for them, they were safe and warm in the cabin: Christine nestled closer to Alex’s body, closer to the sweet comfort of his body.
“Eat lots of chocolate and dinner,” he promised her as he put his arm around her. She slipped another bite of chocolate into her mouth and she glided her fingertips along his chest and down onto his stomach.
“What shall we have for dinner, by the way?” she asked him.
“Something warm,” he replied with another bite of chocolate. “Warm and—with tomatoes.”
“Shall I make it or should we do it together?” she asked him.
“Together.”
Once they finished their chocolate, Christine stood to her feet first, and she held out her hand for him. Alex followed her into that little kitchenette with the dark heavy wood and the little powder blue fridge tucked in one corner.
“I feel like we’re in the middle of the Fifties,” he noted.
“Why, ‘cause of the fridge?” she asked him.
“No, I mean, it feels like it’s in the fifties in here,” he stated with a rubbing of his upper arms, to which she giggled.
Indeed, there was something about the making of that big pot of pasta with the tomato sauce and meatballs that tickled her so: whenever he stirred the pot of sauce, he picked up a spoonful of it for her to taste, and he flashed her a deep-eyed stare all the while.
“We’re already full of chocolate and spices,” he told her in a husky voice once again. “Now we’re about to eat tomatoes.”
“With garlic, and olive oil, and basil, and a bit of arugula—” she added. “You know what all of that is, right?”
“Aphrodisiacs?” he asked, reluctantly.
“Exactly! I’m gonna fill this little tummy—” She lovingly patted his stomach. “—with all the things that will get you all hot and bothered.”
He sipped on the sauce some more and she brought her hand down onto his crotch for a little squeeze.
“Do I feel—” she started.
“Yes, you do,” he told her, and his breath smelled of tomatoes and basil. Her fingers caressed over the warm fabric of his long underwear, and she could in fact feel a bit of an erecting in there.
“What say you and I have a little fun after dinner?” she offered him in a near whisper.
“Please,” he begged her, and he lowered his gaze to the pot of pasta behind her. “You’re boiling.”
She turned around and gasped at the sight. He snickered as she stirred the fettuccine noodles to calm it down before she drained them in the sink next to them. He kept that mischievous little smile on his face all the way to back to the couch: Alex had served himself a big bowl of pasta while Christine was eager to have more meatballs than him.
“The basil is sweet,” he noted with a little gyration of his head.
“Not as sweet as you,” she told him.
The fire roared before them and the snow billowed down on the other side of the window before them. He twirled his pasta around the tines of the fork and at a slow, deliberate pace no less. He picked up the orb of pasta and showed it to her.
“Delicious,” he said, and then he crammed the whole bite into his mouth.
“My goodness,” she declared.
Alex tilted his head back against the top of the couch and he closed his eyes as he relished in the fullness of the flavors. Christine took a large bite of pasta herself but with a meatball.
Given it was warm in the room, they both ate their food at a slow, deliberate pace. All the flavors fused with the feeling of each other’s bodies next to one another brought about a soft warm feeling between the two of them.
When he finished first, he watched her pick up the last meatball and then nibble upon it with the very edge of her teeth. Then she slipped the rest into her mouth and she turned to him with her mouth full.
“So good,” he breathed out, and his eyes glanced over to the window. It was still snowing, but the sun had set at that point, and that point, there came the milky soft light of the moon through the wispy clouds.
“The moon is full—like me.” He cracked her a tender, sweet smile, and Christine took his plate and set it as well as her own down on the floor before their feet. She then lunged closer to him all to touch and feel him.
His body was warm and soft, ripe and juicy like an apple picked right off the vine, just like how she expected him to be back in the orchard. He welcomed her and cradled her, her own personal aphrodisiac, in all his beauty and feeling of home.
“I hope those apples at the bottom of the hill are okay,” he breathed into her lips.
“They are,” she assured him.
“Show me the way,” he begged to her as he lay down on the couch. “Show me the way—”
“Make love to me—” she whispered to him as she pressed her hands onto the sides of his face.
“Only if you make love to me,” he whispered back to her.
She opened his shirt all to feel more of his warm skin. Her body over his, the warmth in her stomach with the full warmth that radiated from his belly, their hearts together, she had it within her with the feeling of all the aphrodisiacs that she could ever dream of at that point. She was leading him up that hill, all to the point of putting her hand down his long underwear.
His skin was warm, much warmer than his belly, and a lot softer. Her fingers ran over his skin all to tighten it up. He treated her to a soft groan from the back of his throat with each touch of her fingers.
There was a part of her that wanted to drive him insane, to drive him completely up the wall with the feeling.
“This is so forbidden,” she muttered as she ran her fingers down his bare chest.
“Not as forbidden as you—” he whispered right into her lips: the meeting of two cherries with her own as well. “Not nearly as forbidden as you, my dear—tell me—where do you like to be touched?”
“The place where life begins,” she whispered. “Down in front.”
With one hand on the small of her back, he slipped his other hand down her long underwear to her crotch. Those guitar player fingers grazed over her lips and underneath her hood for a gentle touch. She gasped at the feeling, to which he cracked her a smile.
She could feel the basil and the tomatoes doing their job, adjacent to the swipes of his fingers.
A chill ran up her spine and she still held onto his burgeoning erection all the while.
She locked eyes with him, those deep blue eyes like the ocean, and she used her other hand to pull down that long underwear all so he could release his load without soiling the inside.
“Big fat dick with a big lush pussy,” she breathed into his mouth. She gripped onto him and a little pearl emerged at the tip.
He slipped a finger right square onto her clit which in turn coaxed a gasp out of her. He cracked her a grin and she shook her head.
“Oh, you naughty, naughty boy,” she teased him. “Just for that—”
She moved her head to his dick, and she put her lips around the tip. He gasped at the sensation. Christine glided her teeth along the length of it and he moaned at the feeling. Her teeth deeper into his skin and he moaned louder.
She could feel another pearl inside of her mouth. He was coming for her.
She sank her teeth in as far as she could go without hurting him and his moan filled her ears as well as the room.
His fingers returned to the head of her clit, and she raised her head off his dick, complete with a bit of cum on her lips as she came for him again.
They locked eyes again, and that time around, he was a complete mess, with the sheen of sweat on the side of his face and his lips parted as he strove to catch his breath.
“Tomatoes,” he groaned out.
She licked the cream off her lips.
“Tomatoes and chocolate,” she corrected him.
“Tomatoes, chocolate, and apples,” he followed it up with a wink.
“You’re good,” she told him as she stroked his dick again with the tips of her fingers.
“No—you are. You’re so good.”
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

As the Seasons Grey