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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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He never claimed to be a strong man, especially when Christine woke up and she found herself back in the tent in the woods. She lay there in the sleeping bag with one hand on the pillow right next to her head: she swore that Alex had been there before, and that she knew that she would wake up to the feeling of his body right next to her once again. Instead, she awoke to the ghost of his warmth in the sleeping bag next to her and the metallic thwack of an ax head right outside of the tent doors.
There was a second metallic thwack, followed by two pieces of wood falling onto the ground outside.
Christine pushed the top of the sleeping bag back off her body, and she clambered her way over to the tent doors: her hair still dripped wet from the shower before then. She unzipped the doors for a peek out to see Alex there before a low barren stump and a slightly smaller log on its end at the top. His long black hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail at the back of his head, and he wore a white flannel shirt over his long underwear, big black scuffed boots, and black leather gloves on his hands.
She thought about the way his hands looked when she drew them back in the loft, and they looked so much sleeker and more elegant in sturdy black leather.
He held a big, long ax with a silvery head in his hands. He held still for a moment, and the way that the crisp, golden morning light filtered down onto the curvature of his back made Christine hold her breath. From behind, he never looked more masculine, stronger, more himself. The flannel hugged the extra flesh on his waist and his hips, and with his long black hair, he genuinely looked as though he had emerged from the ocean and become a human boy again. From behind, he looked so sensual and so protective of her, especially with those black leather gloves and that long ax in hand.
Alex then swung the ax high over his head and down onto the log.
He split it in half with one solid thwack. Christine glanced about the area with the expectation of seeing tall lumbering pine trees around them, but she was instead met with the sight of scraggly Joshua trees.
“Alex?” she called out to him, and he turned and peered over his shoulder to look back at her: he had put goggles over his eyes out of safety from stray flying splinters.
“Oh, hey! I was wondering when you’d wake up!”
“Where are we? How long have I been asleep?” she asked him, and she shivered from the crisp forest air all around her. The snow was without a question in mind upon them again, and even though the ground around them was dark and coated in pine needles, he had thought ahead of it all.
“Not very long,” he told her as he stooped down and picked the logs up from the ground. “I woke up about twenty minutes ago feeling cold, and I knew that we needed something more for a fire later tonight. I knew you were cold because you were all snuggled up against me tight. I got dressed, came out here and found the ax with the logs, and then the goggles, and I got to it.”
He turned to her, still with those gloves wrapped around his hands, but he took the goggles off and gave his ponytail a little toss about with a shake of his head.
“As for where we are,” he began again as he doubled back to her. “No clue. My guess is somewhere out in Palm Desert? I recognize the Joshua trees and the sand dunes over there—” He gestured behind him to the low, rolling sand dunes on the sunlit horizon.
“Wow,” she remarked, and she slithered out of their tent: she glanced down at her body to find her long underwear back on as well as her boots off to the side.
“My guess is the snow in the forest was too much,” he suggested.
“Yeah, that’s my guess, too,” she added with a shiver. “You don’t think of the desert as getting all that cold.”
“You really don’t,” he said, and he flexed his fingers: the black leather crinkled under the bent of his fingers all the while. “When I came out here, I was amazed by how quickly my hands grew cold. Put these on and—problem solved.”
“You look really sexy with those gloves on,” she told him. “And I like you with flannel, too.”
Alex flashed her a smirk as well as a raise of his eyebrow, and then he returned to the small wood pile behind him.
“Want to get some coffee?” he suggested.
“Please.”
Indeed, they had found their way out of the thick forest and into a small pocket of the high desert, which Christine soon discovered was several miles up a creek from Idyllwild, in the desert mountains of Southern California and a cold oasis in an otherwise lukewarm part of the state: frozen fog coated the pine trees high up on the southern flank of Mount San Jacinto over them; the sun caressed over the blanket of ice up there to make the trees look as though they were made from sugar plums and tempered chocolate instead of wood.
A small hike down to the little coffee house downhill from there and they had their coffee on hand.
“I never thought I’d be spending Christmas out in the high desert of California,” Alex confessed to her as they began back up the trail along the hillside. “Especially with how festive New York gets.” He was starting to sound like his real-life self at that point, and Christine knew that her dance of the mind was about to end soon.
“Yeah, same here,” she admitted to him. She tugged down her jacket over her waist: still very full and round, even in dreamlike form. Alex lingered back a bit so she could catch up to him.
“Reminds me of the first part of our adventure,” he confessed. “We’re going up the hill from the apple orchard.”
“Except this time, we’re surrounded by Joshua trees. That's not to say that Joshua trees aren’t barren, though.”
Even though they weren’t as high up as the pine forest up at the top of the mountain, he seemed to breathe harder from walking up the trail. No way was he out of shape, even with the few extra pounds he had gained from Hanukkah. Indeed, she noticed that she was rather breathless herself.
“The air is thin up here,” he confessed as he finally stopped for a second: he held his cup of coffee down by his hip and he set one foot up on the rock next to him. He looked like an actual lumberjack straight out of the forest. “Remember, the guy in the coffee house told us that we’re about eight thousand feet up?”
“Well, it’s thin to you in particular,” she pointed out. “I’ve been to the Whitney Portal and it’s ten thousand feet up.”
“Wow.” He sipped on his coffee with his eyes closed, and then he turned his head for a look out to the desert sun as its golden rays peeked over the ridge to the right. Christine turned for a look herself, and she shivered at the sight of the sunlight coupled with the cold black stone of the mountain. She turned her head for a look up to the cold, frosted summit of the mountain above them, and she started to hum “White Christmas” to herself.
“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,” Alex followed along in a low baritone of a voice, and Christine gaped at him.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” she confessed, and he shrugged.
“When I was little, I would sing to the Beatles,” he told her. “The first song I ever sang along to was ‘Here Comes the Sun’. You know—” He turned back to the ridge behind her. “’Here comes the sun, little darlin’... here comes the sun.’” He licked his lips and took another sip of coffee. “I can’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow, though. I always sound so goofy when I sing.”
“Maybe tune yourself and reel yourself in, you could probably have a very nice voice, Alex,” she told him. “I can hear it in there.”
He showed her a smile and took another sip of coffee.
“Let’s have some breakfast, shall we?”
“We shall.”
They pressed on up the trail back to their campsite and Christine offered to make them a humble breakfast of oatmeal and sausage links once they had started the fire there in the pit. It was a lot easier out there in the desert than in the forest, much to Alex’s alarm.
“Damn, this is a hot fire!” he exclaimed once the flames lapped high over the edge of the pit; they had grown so hot so quickly that he fell back onto the seat of his pants in surprise. But Christine hummed to herself as she cooked the links in a little frying pan over the fire and then the pot of oatmeal on a hot plate. She stirred the pot and served up a little bowl full of oatmeal with some brown sugar and blueberries for him, followed by a bowl with brown sugar and raspberries for herself.
“I kind of want to chop us some more firewood for later on,” she told him once they nestled down before the fire together.
“As long as I get to make us dinner,” he said with a wag of his spoon towards her.
“Yes, please,” she proclaimed.
The fire still raged on, and all the while, Alex never took off those black leather gloves.
When the sun moved over the ridge and shone down upon them, Christine picked up the ax with her bare hands and proceeded chopping with the fire at her back. It was much heavier than she had assumed, and coupled with the high elevation, she found it a bit difficult to hold the ax straight over the log on the stump before her.
“You got that?” he asked her.
“I’m trying,” she confessed as she raised the ax and swung down onto the log. She missed the top by an inch, such that the ax head itself fell onto its side next to the log.
“Here—”
He shuffled up behind her, and he slid his arms over her own. He pressed his body against her back to steady her against the unforgiving, high desert mountainside. That smooth black leather caressed over the backs of her hands to better steady her.
“You got it?” he asked her right into her ear as she held onto the ax handle, right near the head.
“I do, yeah,” she replied; he was as out of breath as her.
“Okay.”
She lifted the ax handle up over their heads; his fingers slid down her wrists for a split second, that is until she brought the ax down onto the log. He held onto her again as the blade came down.
The blade split the log in two, almost perfectly down the middle. Both halves fell off to the sides with a low sound of lumber falling. She turned her head to see his face right up to her own, complete with a sweet smile plastered across.
“We did it,” she declared, breathless.
“Correction, you did it,” he told her. “Think you got it from here?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“I’ll be right behind you if you need any help,” he vowed to her with a wink, and he pressed his lips to the side of her face before he sat back down again. The warmth bloomed in her face at the feeling, but she knew what she had to do for the two of them.
“Oh, Chris?”
She turned around to find Alex holding out the goggles to her.
“Really, put these on,” he told her. “You never know if you might get hit by a splinter.”
“Thank you.” She took the goggles and put them on over her eyes, and then she got down to it.
Indeed, swinging that ax brought out an unfound strength inside of her. Even with her heavy weight, she could feel the power within her to chop wood for them: she did the same thing that Alex had done earlier that morning, in that she stood in anticipation before the log and quickly raised it and brought it back down onto the log for the perfect split for several logs.
And all the while, she hoped that Alex would make them a good dinner by the time the sun started to set over the low hills in the west.
“We should have matzo soup,” he suggested as he took out a silver bowl and some water. “There’s some chicken broth back here, and I can just make the balls up in a skillet over the fire.”
“Can you make it?” she asked him.
“As a matter of fact, I can! Not as good as my mom’s matzo soup, or my grandma’s, for that matter, but I can make it, though.”
Indeed, at one point, Christine watched him stir the pot of hot soup over the fire pit, but she knew that it could have some more heart to it. She had seen the size of his heart before: she crawled up behind him, and she pressed her chest to his upper back, and she slid her hand on top of his leather-clad hand. He turned his head to her and showed her that same sweet smile as before.
“That sweet female love,” he noted in a low voice.
At one point, he lifted the spoon out of the broth and blew on the surface. He then pointed it towards her. She sipped on it with her eyes closed and both arms around his body.
“We did it?” he asked her.
“Nah, you did it,” she corrected him as she licked her lips. “Mama and Grandma would be proud.”
“Mom and Nana,” he corrected her with a wag of his finger.
She let go of him so he could serve up the matzo soup in a pair of bowls. Once they both took their spots again, the sun began to hang low over the hills in the west and royal wintry blue painted the sky overhead to beckon nightfall. They raised their bowls to each other for a toast, and all the while, Christine noticed that Alex had never taken off those leather gloves all day, aside from making the matzo balls; but he almost immediately put them back on.
“You look all warm and soft and snuggly and—like you could choke me,” she added, and he raised his eyebrows at her as he took a bite of soup.
“Or maybe...” He set the bowl down in his lap, and he reached over for a caress of her thigh. Nothing more than long underwear to separate herself from him.
“Can we eat our soup first?” she asked him.
“Of course. The sun hasn’t gone down yet anyway.”
No sooner had he finished his soup when she brought her lips to the side of his neck for a gentle kiss. She was feeling warm again, especially with the nightfall upon them: off in the distance, red and green Christmas lights on stray houses glimmered against the beckoning darkness.
Alex took a bite of matzo ball, then set his spoon down in the bowl and reached his leather-clad hand up to her face to touch her. The leather was smooth and still clean despite having handled an ax and a cup of coffee.
“I’m feeling warm,” she told him in a husky voice.
“Me, too,” he answered. “Warm and homey.”
She groaned right into his ear until he downed the rest of the broth of the soup. He then turned to her and slid those leather-bound hands under her long underwear to feel her body: the cold leather sent chills up her spine; the high elevation sent her into a euphoria; the early darkness and the odd snap of cold made her forget everything. Alex brought his cherry lips to her own, and he felt up her body.
All the while, she knew that he was still hiding something, something special perhaps for when the adventure was about to end. And she was eager to hear it as he took off his right glove to feel the inside of her hood with a bare, long and lanky finger.
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As the Seasons Grey