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
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The cabin was dark as Christine and Alex lay down to sleep for the night: he nestled up next to her with his belly full and soft to the touch. He had doused the candles of the menorah before they turned in and she was eager to lay down next to him. She put her arm around his waist and held him closer to her body; she set her other hand on the soft skin that was his stomach for a gentle caress.
He pressed his head against her chest, and she stuck her nose down into his hair for a whiff.
“Mmm, I love my baby,” she whispered. “I love my baby and his beautiful body…” She ran her hand down onto the seat of his pajama bottoms.
Alex tugged on the blankets a bit more, so they were cocooned there against the cold of the world. His hand slid down the full hourglass shape of her body, and she smiled at the sensation. They were safe from the snow outside as it came down on the roof overhead, safe, soft, warm, and cozy: add to this, Alex’s hair smelled of soap and sugar from the donut holes they had eaten. Everything was soft and sweet; everything in its right place.
Their hands on each other, and Christine fell asleep first.
She was stirred awake by a round of applause right before her, and she sat upright on the floor. She had been donned in a little black dress, albeit a rather tight one: when she sat up, the fabric of the bodice stretched around the full middle of her body as if it barely fit her, and her breasts had been pushed together to form the biggest cleavage she had had by far. Christine reached up for a stroke of her hair, and she realized that she had styled it up into a small beehive shape upon the crown of her head.
She stood to her feet only to find at the far end of the aisle, Alex standing right there at the very front and center of the stage. His long jet-black hair sprawled down around his shoulders, and he donned a soft-looking blood red velvet jacket over a black vest and white silk shirt as well as black and white striped trousers which fit onto the curvature of his legs almost perfectly.
He held a small wooden nylon guitar before his body, and the way that it shone under the light of the overhead flood lights made Christine think of the menorah.
Alex strummed his guitar and bowed his head, and the streams of black hair fell into his face: the gray plume at the crown stood on end as if chills had run up his spine at the mere power of his own playing. Christine held back for a moment as she watched him there.
The light hit his body just right, especially when he took a glimpse up to the overhead lights and closed his eyes. She thought of kissing his neck, kissing his collar bones and his chest, and kissing every inch of his body, especially as he played along there.
Indeed, she manifested that very thought: she made her way to the stage, and she lingered right next to him as he performed a solo. Right behind him, she recognized Louie and his drum kit, as well as Greg and that big fretless bass guitar, and Eric and that big shiny black guitar that looked as though it was made of pure black onyx. Through the shadows on the left side of the stage, Chuck breezed out with a microphone in one hand and a black woman right next to him: she had white flowers embedded in one side of her hair, and she wore a long black evening gown.
“Billie Holiday, wow,” Christine muttered aloud. Alex turned his head towards her and raised his eyebrows at her for a knowing glance.
Indeed, Billie and Chuck proceeded on a duet of Testament’s song “Return to Serenity”, complete with the full band behind them as well as the orchestra itself. Even as Alex launched into the solo, Christine kept her arms around him: she cocked out her hip so the audience could see what a catch she was for Alex. She swayed back and forth even with him in her arms.
She was helping him heal, and he was taking her on a trip through the mind, body, and soul. They bounced off one another so well that she was amazed by the fact that they were indulging in the solo together: he played while she held him close to her through every note and every strum of the strings.
At one point, he had stripped off his jacket and right as he did, a wiry black man with a pencil-thin mustache wrapped in a white tuxedo emerged from behind Greg and took his seat at the piano off to the side.
“Duke Ellington!” she exclaimed.
“That’s right,” Alex declared, and he stripped off his vest and he undid the bottom buttons of his shirt. Christine watched him hitch his shirt up his body to show off his belly to her; he undid his trousers as well to accentuate the shape of his hips and his thighs.
He strummed his guitar and then he held up his hand to the ceiling overhead to guide the orchestra behind Louie and the drum kit.
The music seemed to guide them higher and higher into a whirl of snow and ice, of fire and brimstone, the best of both worlds: Christine stood before him with her hands around his waist. He slung his guitar behind his back so she could be closer to him. She pressed her body against his own: her soft belly against his as well. The shape of his body against her own.
With Duke and Billie crooning out with Chuck and the orchestra behind them, Christine stood up on her toes for the heartiest soul kiss on Alex’s lips by far. And she could feel him firming up rather quickly all the while.
She opened her eyes. She never moved out of Alex’s grip, and in fact, she never took her hand off lower belly. A few slight taps on his skin and he opened his eyes to the darkness as well.
“Wow,” he breathed out to her, and he let go of her and he rolled over onto his back right next to her.
“I had a dream you were conducting the orchestra again,” she told him. “But you were wearing a shirt with the hem tied up over your belly button and you were wearing your pants down low on your body, too. Testament were right behind you as well.”
He rolled his head over the top of the pillow, and he gazed at her through the darkness.
“Oh, my god, I did, too!” he whispered. “Was Duke Ellington there?”
“Yes! So was Billie Holiday. She was standing next to Chuck and singing along to ‘Return to Serenity’. I never thought the world of jazz could be so sensual.”
“You have no idea, my snow bunny,” he told her, to which he let out a low whistle.
“Let’s see if we can have the same dream again,” she suggested.
“Okay, come here—”
She slid in closer to him again, and she put her arm around his waist.
Within seconds, they fell asleep again, Christine first, followed by Alex.
She found herself back in the same bistro as before, where Alex performed with those two other guys from before, and she was once again in those jeans that he let her wear. Indeed, Alex himself was back in her clothes as well, and he lingered right next to her there at the bar with a plate of cake on his lap.
“I see I unlocked a little appetite in you,” she told him over the wall of noise around them.
“Indeed, you did,” he replied as he picked up a bite of cake and he turned it towards her mouth. As she took a bite, she looked down at his bare waist over the loose waistband of her jeans. She clamped her teeth down on the tines of the fork and she locked eyes with him.
She swore she heard Elvis singing at the front of the room. All the while, she and Alex indulged in that big hearty piece of devil’s food cake, which was big enough for the two of them as well as either Eric or Chuck in their previous dream. It was just like eating those donut holes all over again, except this time around, Alex took a few more bites for himself and then he took her by the hand, and he guided her over to the dance floor.
Indeed, there was Elvis, right before the microphone stand dressed in all black from head to toe and with the pompadour styled upon his head like a crown of sorts, and he crooned out “A Little Less Conversation” for the two of them to dance along to. Alex held her by the hand, and he set his other hand on her hip. He tipped her and spun her along to the music, and all the while, he kept his hands all over her chest as well as the slight muffin top formed by the tight jeans. He showed her his tongue as he ran his fingers down her waist, and down to her hips and her thighs. She was squeezed in rather tightly in his clothes, but he relished the whole thing, however.
Every so often, from the corner of her eye, Christine recognized those violet eyes next to the King as well as a head full of flipped dishwater blonde hair on his other side. His back-up singers, and the three of them had their eye on the young couple who had found their way out of the fire and ice and created fire and ice there on the dance floor with one another. The young couple who had escaped the rest of the world like a couple of thieves in the night, dressed in each other’s clothes, and with Elvis’ voice to guide their way.
All that was missing was the two of them being in a place like Blue Hawai’i or Acapulco.
Christine jarred herself awake again, and that time, Alex had woken up before her. His blue eyes gazed back at her, a pair of dark blue dots that stared back at her from the handsome shape of his face, made ghostly from the shadows all around them.
“The club again?” she asked him, and he nodded.
“Oh, yeah, and Elvis?” he asked her, and she nodded.
“Liz Taylor and Farrah Fawcett, too?” she asked him, and he nodded as well.
“One more time?” he asked, and he sounded as though he was ready to be pleased by the feeling of her own hand.
“Yes, we shall,” she declared. He snuggled closer to her again, and she closed her eyes. They fell asleep at the same time, and she awoke next to him again.
“Christine, look!”
She looked over at him and his nude body, and he had rested his hands over his chest as if he was about to say a prayer of some sort.
“Look up,” he told her. She glanced up at the ceiling over their heads, and she spotted a tall broad-shouldered man in a heavy suede coat and a combover of sandy hair at the catwalk right over their heads. He stuck a cigarette into his mouth and fired it up right then and there.
Right next to him stood a short curvaceous woman with a short bob of jet-black hair: she wore a black leather teddy lined with glitter near her breasts.
“Got the knives?” Christine knew that whispery voice anywhere as she appeared right next to the woman with black hair. Next to the man came another curvaceous blonde woman, albeit with far more emphasis on the curves.
Alex gasped, and she could feel him holding her hand out of apprehension, or better yet, out of the thrill.
A cloud of cigarette smoke billowed up from the catwalk above them, and then he reached down for the first knife. The three bombshells picked up knives for themselves.
“Alright, ladies,” he said with a mouthful of cigarette. “Ready...”
Alex nibbled on his lip. Christine took a glimpse down to see him rising down in between his legs. Indeed, she could feel her nipples tightening in response.
“Aim...”
They raised their blades towards them.
“Fire.”
They moved their arms back and four blades sailed towards them: two on either side of their heads, almost all in unison, and all of them missing their heads by a mere inch or so. It was the rush. The rush of walking a fine line. The rush of the erotic dream.
Christine jarred herself awake a third time, and that time, Alex rolled over onto his back all the way, and he rested his hands upon his forehead.
“Oh my god,” he breathed out.
“Jayne Mansfield,” she muttered. “James Dean, too.”
“Marilyn and Bettie, too,” he added. “The fucking Rat Pack!”
“You had the Rat Pack?” she asked him.
“I did! The three of them were down below the catwalk while they were throwing knives at us... I thought I was ready to blow—” He stopped, and then he sat up in bed with his legs spread out.
“Oh, Christ,” he blurted out.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Are there any napkins around?” he asked her.
“Shit, I think,” she said.
“Yeah. Had I stayed asleep for a few more minutes and Marilyn and Jayne got me off, I probably would’ve shot my load all over the inside of my pants...”
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As the Seasons Grey