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
- 28
- 29
- 30
The orange light from the clouds overhead guided us as we inched along the streets, which grew whiter and whiter with each passing minute; I had hunkered down in the front seat next to Wendy while Christine lingered in the back. As long as we were warm and headed back for warmth, I was okay with it all. And I was okay knowing that I could rest my wallet as well. A few times, I took out my hands and cupped them over my mouth and blew into them, but then again, I wasn't the one driving.
I still argued with myself that I should not be there with them, that I did not want to impose, but I had no other choice, however.
Once the streets collected into a tightly woven neighborhood, I finally tucked my hands into my pockets and gazed out the window as well as the windshield. Even though the power was out across town, the clouds still loomed low with that ghoulish orange glow right over the city like the threat of having your throat slit. Every so often, a glimmer of light poked through the increasing snow, the windshield wipers which moved at a furious pace to keep up with the snow, and the trees along the sides of the streets, but the darkness itself worried me in a way. Reno had gone all dark for the most part in the wake of an incoming blizzard.
“I hope they're home,” Wendy said aloud as we slowly turned a corner: the street was lined with a lot of trees, so the snow slowed up the tiniest bit. Flakes still fluttered down before us to the point it nearly blocked out the view of the headlights; it was a miracle we could even see the outlines of the trees and the houses around us. “I called my mom before we got on the plane and she said they were down in Carson City all afternoon, and they were going to try and get home before the snow came in. It's only about a forty-minute drive from here but with all this snow, I think it's going to be a lot longer than that. If they aren't home, let's at the very least try and get in so the three of us can all be under a roof. We can't really cook anything, either, because their stove is electric.”
“So, we'll go out to eat?” I recalled to her.
“If something is open, yeah,” she replied. “If not, we'll try and think of something.”
“Remember the time we drove back up here from Carson, and it snowed, and it took us like an hour to get across Washoe Valley?” Christine recalled.
“How could I forget!” Wendy declared. “It was just last winter, too. They said it was one of the worst winters on record, too.”
“How bad was it?” I was stunned by that.
“It was a lot like this—” She gestured out the windshield. “—except replace the neighborhoods with a long flat stretch of road before you, and the wind's howling like a son of a bitch. And all you can see is falling snow and the brake lights in front of you, like you're taking a road to icy hell.”
“Highway to hell,” I cracked.
“Highway to hell, exactly!” She laughed at that, albeit nervous laughter. We reached a stop sign, already hidden under a fine layer of snow and ice as well as a darkened streetlamp, and we proceeded ahead another block before we turned right around another corner.
“Here we are,” she proclaimed, and we parked up at the curb and the frozen storm drain; I gazed out the window to the little house tucked back behind a series of cottonwood trees. The pitch-black windows glared back at us like the eyes of a skull, and a thin layer of snow had already blanketed the porch.
“It doesn't look like they're home,” I observed aloud.
“Let's go check, anyways,” she suggested.
“Do you have a key?” I asked her.
“I don't, no,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “And my mom didn't know if she left the door unlocked for us, either.”
A pit emerged in my stomach at the sound of that, but then again, I was also hungry: I hadn't eaten anything since earlier that day, a few hours before I had left for the airport, so it had been at least over five hours since I had last eaten anything. With my hands still tucked into my pockets, I rested them right on my stomach. It was a shame, too, because I looked forward to having some late-night New York cheesecake and a cup of coffee with my mom once she picked me up.
Wendy switched off the engine but kept the headlights on so we could see what we were doing. She tugged the hood of her coat over her head; I was going to look like Johnny Winter once all of this was said and done.
I climbed out first and the snow stuck to the crown of my head, at least part of the way. Careful not to set foot in the storm drain, I stuck my legs out to the sidewalk, and I steadied myself on the side of the car. My shirt lifted up, so the snow landed on my bare skin; much to my surprise, the snow was dry as a bone, like fluffy white flour that fell from the sky. I lifted myself into an upright position and straightened out my spine all the while.
“Like a big worm,” Christine cracked as she climbed out of the opposite side of the car. I fixed the lapels of my coat as the two women followed suit behind me, both of them careful not to slip on the sidewalk or step in the drain.
The three of us then made our way to the front step; in the dim light, I spotted a small pile of snow collecting on top of the porch light right over us. I was going to have to tell my parents about all the snow out in Reno once I managed to come home!
Wendy knocked on the door panel first, and we awaited there, huddled together like a small group of emperor penguins. My coat was warm, but the snow kept landing atop my head, and it sent a chill down my spine. Christine nestled close to me, such that the crown of her fiery red hair was right underneath my nose.
Silence awaited on the other side of the door. Wendy knocked again, and once again, we were met with more silence.
“I don't think they're home, Mom,” Christine proclaimed, and she reached forward for the doorknob. Locked.
“Oh, Jesus—I don't have a key, either,” Wendy bemoaned.
“Do you know when they're getting home?” I asked her.
“I don't, no.”
“What do you think we should do?” Christine joined in. Wendy turned her head towards the side of the house and sighed.
“This is going to get us in a heap of trouble down in the line but—go around back and see if the back door is open.”
“Here, I'll come with you,” I offered her.
“If you kids can get in the house, I'll go wait in the car,” Wendy told us.
Our feet crunched along the snow and the slumbering grass underneath, and I knew it was a bad idea to wear sneakers instead of my boots. I used the light in the sky as well as the light from the car cast down on Christine's red hair as my guide around the side of the house. It was like following a little red ghost through the darkness and the snow.
At one point, she turned back for a glance at me.
“Are you with me?”
“Of course,” I promised her, and then she giggled. “What?”
“You should see your hair,” she snickered. “It's like pure white.”
“I'm like an albino,” I joked, and she giggled some more. We reached the back of the house and the protected back porch; I stood under the awning and shook my head about to get rid of the snow. Even though it was so dry, it still sent a chill down my spine and left the sides of my face and neck damp.
“Never knew snow could get so dry and powdery,” I admitted to her as I fixed the lapels of my coat once again. “It's like bread flour or matzo meal falling from the sky.”
“Me neither! It always surprises me how dry it is here, too. I remember the first time we came out here to visit my grandparents, it was so dry your hair would stand up no matter what you were doing.”
“That is as they say, dry as a bone,” I remarked.
Though it was dark, I could see the back door and the windows on either side of it. Christine jiggled the doorknob and sighed.
“It's been quite some time since I last did this,” she told me, and she stepped for the window on the right.
“Can you see?” I asked her.
“Somewhat. It's more about feeling the frame—I'm gonna need help getting this thing off, though.”
I joined her in prying off the protective screen from the window, and all the while, we were careful not to bend the actual metal framing itself. I set the screen down on the concrete below the windowsill, and she tugged onto the inside edge of the window.
“Can you get it?” I asked her, and the window ground open. It was going to be difficult with the blinds, but she didn't seem to mind. She pulled on the drawstring, and we were met with the back of the house. Careful not to slip, she set one foot on the sill and hoisted herself up off the ground.
“Can you make it?” I asked her.
“I think I can,” she grunted out as she set her other foot up on the sill. “Not the first time I've had to climb in through the window.”
“That makes two of us,” I assured her as she sat down on the sill with her feet dangled down towards the floor. Gingerly, she stepped on something and hopped down from there to the dry carpet.
“Be careful, there's a footstool down here and it's a little old and rickety,” she advised me.
Nevertheless, I stripped off my coat and handed it to her, and I followed suit. But before I did, I stopped.
“Does the door here lock by key, too?” I asked her.
“You bet your booty it does,” she assured me. “The front door has a dead bolt, though.” I shivered as I climbed up onto the sill next. Because I was taller, I nearly hit my head on the side of the window as I brought my right foot in, followed by my left. Indeed, the soles of my shoes rested on a footstool, and I knew it wasn't going to support my weight, either. I slid forward so my feet were past the top of the stool, and I nearly hit my head on the wall in the process.
“Ow!”
“You okay?” she asked me, concerned.
“Yeah. I may be a skimpy little Jew boy but I'm tough, though. We're a tough, tenacious people.”
I stood up, albeit with a bit of difficulty as the cold and skipping over things made my knees quiver. I still shivered from the cold, and I turned around and slid the window shut: I hoped the loud click! was loud enough for Wendy to hear on the other side of the house. I then returned my attention to her and the doorway before us: nothing but darkness in front of us. She handed me my coat back and I was eager to put it back on to keep me warm.
“Can you see?” I asked her as I fixed the lapels of my coat.
“Sort of,” she replied; through the dim light, I saw her move ahead to the mouth of the hallway. Near total blackness as we crept past what I though was the bathroom, followed by her grandparents' bedroom. She then stuck out her hand to the wall on the right, and she slipped into the next room ahead, what I believed was the guest bedroom.
I followed suit right behind her, just as she crawled down onto her hands and knees in front of the bed in there. There was just enough light for me to see what she was doing. I had nothing more than my hand on the wall to steady myself and my other hand hanging out in the air. She rummaged about under the bed for a moment, before I heard something metallic clinking and clanking against the mattress frame.
“What did you find?” I asked her again. A bright white halogen light flashed right into my face.
“Ah!” I covered my eyes with one hand.
“Sorry.” She laughed at that, and she moved the head of the flashlight up towards the ceiling. “I couldn't help that.” I squinted my eyes at her, and she snickered at me some more. Seventeen or not, I knew what she was getting at there. The back glow of the light shone down onto her red hair and slender face; it looked as though her skin was made of moonstone; I noticed she had found two halogen flashlights, one for herself and one for me.
“I've been meaning to ask you this, but how old are you?” she began again.
“Older than you,” I teased her, and she snickered some more. “I turned twenty-six back in September.”
“Twenty-six, ya old boy,” she retorted to me, to which I rolled my eyes at that.
“It's not that old,” I scoffed back. “Thirty's old.”
“It's hard to imagine yourself at thirty,” she confessed.
“I definitely think so,” I noted with a nod.
“My ex's birthday was in September,” she added, and she ran her fingers through her red hair. “I still think about him sometimes.” I raised my eyebrows at that.
“May I ask why he's your ex if you still think about him?”
“You don't wanna know,” she confessed with a shake of her head.
“But I do.”
“You don't. Trust me, you—you don't.”
I squinted my eyes at that. Through the bright light of the halogen flashlight, I could see it in her eyes. Something tormented this girl.
“How 'bout you?” she asked me, and she showed me the tip of her tongue. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Had,” I corrected her. “She and I broke up a few months back. It's...” I shook my head. “It's a long story.”
“If it's a long story, why won't you tell me?”
“Because your breakup story is apparently a long one and you won't tell me,” I quipped back to her, and I couldn't help but laugh.
“There's... not much to say with me and him, though,” she assured me, and her voice softened to a near whisper. “He, too, was a Jewish boy. I mean, one of my last good memories of him took place on the last night of Hanukkah, where I thought for sure he was going to kiss me once his parents lit up all eight candles on the menorah.”
“Oh, so sort of like the New Year's kiss but not entirely,” I followed along. Christine lowered her eyelids at me, and through the ambient light from the flashlight, I noticed her looking down at the crotch of my pants. It was only but a quick glimpse, but I caught her in the act anyway. I remembered when I was seventeen and I thought about kissing more girls as well as having a little fun with one: getting close to adulthood and having all these feelings kicked up a few years prior. Maybe it was just my own mind standing in the way, but I had no courage to talk to one until rather recently.
“Did she ever touch your lips?” she asked me, and she inched closer to me as if to bring her chest to my own.
“With what?” I retorted back, and I wondered what she was getting at here.
“You tell me,” she said.
“You know, I think your mom's waiting for us in the car,” I pointed out.
“We're not going back out there until you tell me,” she quipped with a wink and a little gyration to her shoulders and hips. Seventeen and she was already two steps ahead of me.
“She did kiss me good night about twice,” I confessed.
“Twice? Just twice?”
“Yes. Just twice. She never really kissed me much when I think about it.”
“If I was your girlfriend, I would want to kiss you all the time,” she confessed. “I would want to touch those cherry lips all the time, just to taste and feel them, and I know for a fact that we both would love it.”
“I'm sure you would love it,” I teased her.
“What're you saying? That you wouldn't love it? A sensual guy like yourself?”
“Not necessarily,” I pointed out. “I have to feel you against me to know if I would love it.”
She gaped at me, and she swatted at me.
“Bad boy, flirting with a teenage girl,” she teased me.
“Hey, you started it,” I quipped. “I'm just rollin' with the punches.”
She showed me her tongue, and I stepped out of the way for her with my back pressed to the door frame. It was there I spotted the old silvery camera on the dresser right in front of me.
“Wow, it's been a while since I saw a camera like that,” I told her, and she shone the flashlight onto the top of the dresser. The silvery rim shimmered as if it was brand new, but the lens had obviously faded into a deep maroon color.
“You know, I've thought about taking up photography at some point,” I said to her.
“What kind of photography? Sexy photography?”
“Pfff, you wish,” I teased her. “I think more about like... travel photography. Life in other places, especially since I make a living going places and fucking around on my guitar. It doesn't pay much, but it's enough for me to keep my head above water, though.”
“So… sexy photography,” she followed along as she moved in closer to me.
“And again, you wish,” I teased her again.
“By the way, that's my grandpa's camera, so be careful with it,” she advised me.
“What, did you think I'm gonna use someone else's camera for a good time?” I joked, and she giggled at that like a little schoolgirl.
“Unless you want to play around with that,” she quipped.
“Maybe when it's lighter, I'll consider it,” I assured her, and I hoped she saw me wink at her. Christine handed me the second flashlight, and I clicked it on so we both could see where we were going in that hallway.
We passed another bedroom before we reached what looked to be the dining room, followed by an office and then finally the living room and the kitchen. We ducked into the latter for a search of anything to eat.
“Your mom said this stove is electric, too,” I said. “Meaning, nothing to eat and there's probably no shower, either.”
“The shower's actually run on propane, but yeah—nothing to eat. Go out to eat instead, and then come back here and try and entertain ourselves.”
I opened the fridge, and I shone the flashlight into there: there wasn't much in there anyway, other than a carton of milk, a carton of eggs, two sticks of butter, a bottle of beer, and a bowl of grapes in the crisper drawer.
“To say we need groceries in this house is an understatement,” Christine declared.
“Yeah, you do.” I looked on at the empty crisper drawers, which had nothing more than paper towels at the bottoms as well as that bowl of grapes. I closed the door and turned my attention to her. “Now, understand this is just the hungry boy on the first night of Hanukkah in me talking, but what on Earth do your grandparents even eat?”
“I don't really know, to be honest,” she confessed to me. “My grandpa's the one who always likes to have cookies and sweet treats and things where my grandma's a little more conservative about it. Question, what exactly do you eat at Hanukkah, anyway?”
“Oh, we have latkes, we have Hanukkah gelt—chocolate coins—we have donut holes and lots of warm and humble food. It's not much but it's what we've got, though. When I was a kid growing up in the Bay Area, I always looked forward to having gelt and apple pie in particular.”
“Oh, wow. You have donut holes, really?” Her face lit up at that.
“Sufganiyot,” I clarified. “And they are pretty much like donut holes—they're filled jelly, and they're just—” I brought my free hand to my chest. “—so heavenly and light especially once they come out of the fryer. The cool thing about Hanukkah is even though it's associated with us, it's actually not fully tied into the Jewish culture. It's about a miracle that happened. It's the same reason why I love Halloween so much, too: it's not completely tied down to a faith.”
“That's really interesting, actually,” she confessed. “And it sounds fun, too. I mean, what gets better than eating a bunch of warm food on a cold day after all?”
“I can't think of much, to be honest,” I replied. “Anyways, let's go to your mom. She's probably freezing out there...”
I held the flashlight up to the side of my head and the two of us walked on out of the kitchen to the front door. Indeed, the dead bolt had been pulled closed, and I worried about not having a key to lock it once we were out of there. But then another thought crossed my mind right then.
“You think I'm sensual, really?” I recalled to her in a low voice.
“Those eyebrows, those lips, and that long hair... yeah.” Through the halogen light reflected back from the door, I saw her eyes locked onto my face as well as my upper body. Even in the dark, she checked me out. “You're—dare I say, sexy. Sexy and very handsome, too.”
“You think I'm handsome, too?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Quite.” She nibbled her bottom lip and opened the door for us. Indeed, Wendy had gone off to the car to stay warm, and she awaited us; Christine closed the door behind her without locking it.
“Are you sure we can get away with that here?” I asked her. “My parents live in the outskirts of New York City, and even they lock their doors at night, especially when the power's out.”
“Oh, yeah, I promise we're not gonna go very far,” she vowed. “A snowstorm like this brings most things to a standstill, too.”
We crunched along the lawn back to the car, whereby I called out “shotgun!” first, much to her chagrin. But once again, I had to stretch my body just to get back into the front seat, and that time, I had to be careful not to sink my ass into the seat lest it put pressure on things. Christine climbed in on the other side, and we both kicked off the extraneous snow from our feet before we settled in all the way. I ran a hand over the top of my head, and I once again had a fair dusting all on the top layer of my hair.
Wendy rubbed her hands together and fired up the car: we were greeted with a hefty blast of tepid air, which only made me shiver even more.
“Let's get some heat in here,” she suggested and, carefully, we rolled ahead along the street. I had no idea where we were going, but then again, all I really cared about was to be warm before we ate anything. I kept my hands stuffed in my pockets, and my hands on my stomach just to feel my own warmth.
We kept on going straight for what felt like an eternity, and more so the case with that fine powdery snow falling all around us to create those drifts that looked as though they were on the inside of the flour box at my grandma's house.
A break in the snow allowed us to see ahead to the red neon light in a window on the side of the road. A warmly lit oasis in a pure white desert.
“Here we are!” Wendy declared.
“Good to see their lights are on,” I said as we bounded into the driveway. The back end of the car shook out a bit, but she caught it before we could veer sideways. We took the spot furthest away from the front door in the shadows, but at least we had a spot.
Wendy and I climbed out first, and Christine followed suit. I shivered even more as the air coming out of the vents did nothing to help. I was cold and hungry and without my parents, but at least I had a place to go. I held the door for the two of them and we made our way into the warm, dry restaurant: only a few of the ceiling lights over our heads were lit up, but it was enough for things to keep on rolling in there, and the warmth of wooden walls brought me at ease.
“Good to know there's a few people in here, though,” Wendy said to us.
“And it smells good,” Christine added.
“And it smells good, yeah!” I said with a chuckle.
The waitress in a long-sleeved shirt and a black apron strode on up to us.
“Are you guys coming in from the Bay Area, too?” she asked us as part of her greeting.
“As a matter of fact, we did,” Wendy informed her.
“We've come here because it's warm and it smells like French fries,” Christine answered without skipping a beat.
“It's always a good reason!” the waitress chuckled at that. “We're running on a generator so we're able to make food and what have you. Because there's only a few people in here, you three can sit wherever you'd like.”
“Excellent!” Wendy said, and I spotted the payphones on the far wall of the room.
“I have to call my mother,” I told them. “It's almost eleven o'clock at night over there in New York, but I don't care—I need to call my mom. I'll be right back...”
While the two of them made their way over to the table in the middle of the room, away from the windows, I sauntered over to the other side of the room, right near the bathrooms, which I was going to have to visit as well. I took out the two quarters I had in my wallet and stuck it into the slot, and I dialed the number.
It rang once, twice—
“Hello?” It was so comforting to hear my mom's voice again.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, hi, Alex, honey! I was just thinking about going over to the airport to come and pick you up. What's going on?”
“The flight was cancelled, there's a blizzard over the Rockies and another one over the Northwest. The airport's closed, too, so I'm stuck in Reno right now.”
“Oh, no! Oh, bubbeleh, I'm so sorry. Do you know when it's all going to pick up again?”
“I don't, no...” I peered out the window before me to see the fine flakes of snow collecting and creating bigger flakes the size of quarters out there. “The snow's coming down pretty hard, too. Two of the passengers offered to take me home for the time being, so we're get something to eat and then go and get warm, too.”
“Oh, good! Well—we'll keep an ear out for the phone again, and I'll tell your father what's going on. It's the weirdest thing, your brother called about an hour ago and he said he's probably going to be late because of weather, too.”
“Really?” I asked, and I couldn't resist showing a grin at that. “The snow's funny here, too, it's all dusty and powdery. But I wish I was over there, though.”
“I wish you were, too. I guess I'll go to bed early tonight. You stay safe and warm for me, baby, okay?”
“Of course! Good night, Mom—love you.”
“I love you, too, bubbeleh,” she said back, and we hung up at the same time. I closed my eyes and let out a low whistle. At least now my mom knew what was going on. I turned my attention back to the restaurant behind me; another year where I didn't get my throat slit or my brains shot out of my head, so I may as well eat up. I doubled back around the corner, and I passed the bar before the kitchen, and I recognized that tweed suit looking back at me with a younger woman next to him.
“Hey, Frank!” I said in passing.
“Hello, son!” he greeted me, and the woman flashed a glimpse at me as I walked on by, back to our table in the middle of the room. Wendy quizzically looked on at me.
“The old man from the plane,” I explained. “He was sitting right next to me, and we were joking about how we'd be the last people we saw if we crashed.”
Wendy chuckled at that, but I was being completely serious. I peeled off my coat and draped it over the back of the chair.
“And now I have to see a man about a horse,” I informed them.
“We'll be waiting for you,” Christine said to me, and I swore that she winked at me. On the one hand, it was too much. A teenage girl who may or may not have just gotten out of a relationship herself was flirting with me, and I had no idea as to how to deal with it, and more so when I stood before the wall in the men's room with my pants pulled down a bit. In fact, I didn't even want to think about it, especially when I still had the pain in my own heart to deal with even two months after the fact as well.
But then again, I was in her position once. In fact, when I was seventeen, I would have loved for girls to at the very least look at me and come up to me, especially with my hair as long as it was and especially when I was up on stage performing.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it was really only natural. The two of us had come out of a relationship that changed us, and we somehow found each other by mere chance despite our age difference. There was something oddly beautiful about it.
I gave myself a shake and zipped up, and then I washed my hands. Once all the soap was out of my palm, I cupped my hand and ran a handful of warm water over the crown of my head. I had wet hair, but the warm water felt good on my scalp; plus, I was a dirty boy, I needed to rinse myself before I went back out there. I switched off the water and shook my hair about again before I dried off my hands and bowed out of there.
I was once again met with Christine, but that time with a big white china bowl in her hands as well as a metal spoon.
“What's this?” I asked her.
“Applesauce,” she said. “The waitress told me there was a lot of it leftover in the kitchen from when they made spice cake earlier today and… she gave me some on the house.” She dipped the head of the spoon into the sauce and showed it to me.
“Love me some applesauce,” I declared, and I took the spoon for myself. We locked eyes as I stuck it into my mouth, and then I closed my eyes to feel the tiny bit of spice on my tongue. The tiniest bit of spice on the pad of my tongue, much like how Christine herself was the tiniest bit of spice in an otherwise cold environment.
“Hits the spot,” I said once I swallowed it down. I adjusted the bottom hem of my shirt, to which she dropped her gaze to my waist once again, and she really did look at my waist that time. She didn't look at my crotch; she looked at my stomach.
She showed me a playful little smirk before she turned the other way and walked back to our table. But then she stopped just prior to the kitchen door, and she turned around for a look at me.
“Are you coming?”
“Of course!” I declared, and I ambled up behind her. Once I stood next to her, she gestured for me to come in closer to her face as if she was going to tell me a secret.
“You actually remind me so much of him,” she confessed to me in a low voice. “The only difference is your eyes. And your hair, too: he didn't go gray so early.”
“Really?”
And she nodded her head, and she stepped away from there and back to our table. I followed close behind her, and I started to wonder what exactly happened to her and her ex before we crossed paths.
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As the Seasons Grey