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
- 31
- 32
- 33
I woke up at some point during the night when the soles of my feet had grown cold. The rest of me was toasty warm under the blankets, but at some point during the night, I had stuck my feet out from under the covers; I shivered as I rolled over onto my back and tucked my feet in under the covers. I had also fallen asleep with my hand down my pants as well, and there was something about that that I found particularly interesting.
I had fallen asleep jerking off to the thought of Christine. I had fallen asleep jerking off to the thought of Christine and the night before Hanukkah.
It was a very warm bed, and one that I wanted to lay in all night and into the morning hours as well. Oh, to lay in bed all day and not think about anything. It wasn't in me to do that all the time, but sometimes I just had the feeling.
And yet, I couldn't seem to fall back asleep. I opened my eyes and looked on at the dark wall before me.
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
The snowstorm that pelted the Rockies and I knew that New York was looking at the same thing in a couple of days. As far as I knew, I was going to be sleeping in that bed for a couple of nights at the very least, at least until the airports opened and the planes picked up the pace again.
I sighed through my nose and rolled over onto my back again. The blankets cradled me while the comforter on top sealed the deal with me.
It was moments like that I wished I was back home and I missed getting a hug from my mom in particular. It was moments like that I felt like a young boy again. Then again, I was always going to feel like a young boy no matter how old I got to be.
I ran my hand up my belly and onto my chest. I was still feeling warm and full from dinner earlier, such that I rested my hand right on my stomach to better take in that warmth.
The night before the first night of Hanukkah and I was already feeling good.
I lay there for a second before I realized that the winds had died down a bit outside, but something else had taken its place. I opened my eyes again, and that time for a look over to the window. I still couldn't see outside, but I could hear it.
And yet, it was hard to tell if it was the real thing or something else.
I lifted my head but I never sat up all the way in bed: I didn't want to leave that warmth.
“Alex?” Her voice whispered to me, and I swore it was her.
How did my ex find me and what did she want from me, especially when she left me feeling so dry all this time. I hunkered down a bit in the bed as I thought about all the little dirty looks she would give me.
Why did I pick such a barren person to be with me for a short amount of time. But I did see the silhouette on the other side of the room. She did find me, the ghost that wanted me to stay with her even after we split. I could see her in the darkness, and especially once she flashed the light on into the window such that it jarred me a bit. I tugged the blankets up as if to hide, but then I recognized that head of red hair.
“Sorry, it looked like you were awake.”
“Jesus, Christine, don't sneak up on me like that. And yes, I've been awake for the past few minutes.”
She pointed the flashlight up to the ceiling so the room was filled with light. I lifted my head out from under the covers so I could better see her, all bundled up in a sweater and a blanket. Even though my body was warm, the tip of my nose felt like ice.
“What're you doing in here, anyways?” I asked her.
“I couldn't sleep,” she confessed. “I also just wanted to be in here with you, because... I kind of like you, Alex.”
I inched up in the bed so I could better see her, the shadows on her face and the reflection of the halogen light on her red hair.
“You do?” I asked her.
“Yeah. Mom wasn't exaggerating when she joked that I have a little thing for you. I like you. Don't know how much but I like you, though.”
A chill ran over me and I pulled the blankets back up over me.
“What time is it?” I asked her.
“I'm not sure,” she replied. “It's dark thirty, I know that much. You know, people are at their most honest after they've had a drink or two or when it's really late at night like this.”
“I'll definitely believe that,” I assured her, and the noise outside persisted. That wasn't snow. I may have grown up in the San Francisco Bay Area where snow wasn't all that common, but I knew it when I heard it, though.
“Is it raining?” I asked aloud, and Christine turned her attention to the window. She shone the flashlight onto the pane, where we made out the sight of pure water falling against the glass rather than wet heavy snowflakes.
“It is!” Christine replied. “It is raining!”
“It's raining after we had a bunch of snow,” I said. “Ho boy.”
“Good thing this place is raised up off the ground,” she told me, “and we're somewhat on a little slope, too. And I don't really know if we had a lot of snow before this, either.”
“I dunno, I saw the pavement quite literally turn white when we were coming home from dinner earlier,” I recalled. “And drifts were forming when we were coming from the airport, too. I feel like that's a good deal of snow. Then again, I'm from the Bay Area, we rarely get snow, even with how cold it gets this time of year.”
I sat up all the way and I leaned back against the wall on the left so my feet were near the edge of the mattress; I kept the blanket and the comforter over my body because there was simply no way I was going to go bare-chested right then, not without a heater switched on in the house. Christine took her seat right next to me, and she rested the flashlight on the nightstand, right up against the heavy brass lamp there to the side, all so we could have a single light there in the house. A single light in the darkness together.
“From the Bay Area, and yet you're flying out to visit your parents in New York,” she muttered.
“Yeah, exactly,” I said with a nod, and she turned around to better face me.
“There's a lot more to your story than I realize, Alex,” she noted.
“Always,” I told her. “There's always so much more to everyone than you might initially know about.” I ran my fingers through my hair, and she showed me a smile.
“What?” I asked her.
“I like this,” she remarked with a gesture to me. “The way the light is hitting you just right and the way that the covers are all around you like this. You look like you should be a model for a sexy magazine.”
“A sexy magazine?” I echoed her, and I chuckled at that; I had to keep my voice down even with the roar of the rain on the roof. Christine nibbled on her bottom lip, and she let her blanket fall onto the pillow as she stood up.
“Where are you going?” I asked her.
“Stay right there,” she advised me, and I did all while she left the room to fetch something. I nudged the covers away from my face so I could see her when she came back. I shivered from the cold of the room all around me: I hoped that the power would come back on soon as I had no idea as to how to put a handle on any of this in the meantime. Nevertheless, I let the edge of the covers rest in my lap as if I was in fact something of a specimen. I was going to be a model for her in whatever it was that she wanted to do with me: I may as well let my colors fly, and all for her.
I had no idea as to the time right then, but I was sure I could relish in it all as if it was daylight. The flashlight gave me enough light cast down from the ceiling to make it seem as though I had in fact found my way to the photoshoot for a magazine, everything down to the neon blue light all around me.
Christine returned to me with what appeared to be her grandfather’s camera cradled in both hands.
“Hold up, I thought you weren’t going to use that because it belongs to your grandfather,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, that was Grandpa’s camera,” she said with a straight face. “This is mine.”
I raised an eyebrow at that, but I wasn’t going to question it. It was early in the morning, and I was ready for her. But then she hesitated for a second.
“What’s that look for?” she asked me.
“You are a fascinating person, Christine,” I told her.
“Not as fascinating as you,” she teased me back in a singsong voice.
“Nah, you’ve got more than meets the eye in comparison to me,” I said. “Such that there’s a part of me that wants to photograph you instead.”
“Nah, I should photograph you,” she quipped back to me.
“No, I should photograph you instead,” I joked back to her, and I couldn’t resist the smile on my face, either.
“Here, let me be the one to photograph you,” she insisted.
“You really want this to be true?” I asked her as I ran my fingers through the mop of black ringlets at the crown of my head.
“I do, yes!” She licked her lips and showed me a playful little smile.
“Shall I—take this off?” I offered her with my hands on the edge of the blankets.
“Please,” she said in a low voice. With that, I nudged the blankets off of me and I leaned back to the wall with my legs open for her. It had been so long since I had let someone see me like this, especially with such lighting over me as well. In fact, when I thought about it, I realized that I had never actually been seen in this fashion before. Granted, there had been times with Testament whereby I stood up on stage with nothing more than my jeans and a leather vest, and I left the latter open to show off my chest and my belly, but that was about it, though. My ex never looked at me this way before.
Christine sank down to the floor into a crouching position with the camera up to her face.
“Do you have enough light?” I asked her.
“Oh, yes,” she assured me. She pushed the shutter button and a bright flash swept over me.
“Whoa,” I breathed out, and I rubbed my eyes.
“Yeah, I forgot to mention that the flash on this thing is freakishly bright,” she declared. “In fact, I completely forgot that it’s as bright as it is.”
“Yikes,” I muttered with another rub of my eyes. “Well, at least it’s not one of those old-fashioned cameras where they have the bulb separate from the actual camera.”
“Oh, one of those old-timey cameras where they hide under a curtain and hold up a flash bulb over their heads?” she chuckled.
“The same! I think my grandpa had one of those, I don’t remember now.”
She inched to the side for a better look at my legs and the exposed side of my body.
“This is such a wonky old camera, it's a miracle that I know how to work it,” she confessed, and the light flashed out again. Like clockwork, the rain picked up the pace on the roof overhead, and I shivered some more. All the while, it seemed as though my nipples were tightening up from the cold.
“You should have like—one of those little black caps that rabbis wear,” she joked with a gesture to the crown of her head.
“A yarmulke?” I said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, that!”
“I have a yarmulke and a Star of David medallion around my neck, and a menorah tucked in between my legs,” I said, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a celebration of my Jewishness.” I ran my fingers through my hair again, and that time I showed off the entirety of my neck for her. She took another picture that time.
“And your beauty, too!” she declared. I hesitated for a second with my fingers embedded in the ringlets that time, and I looked on at her, and I couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in my stomach.
“How do I look?” I asked her.
“Cute,” she replied in a slight squeal of a voice. “Very, very cute, actually. Let your hair dangle down over your shoulder like that...” I nudged my hair forth, right over my collar bone to give more shape to my shoulder. For once in my life, I actually felt like a model of sorts. Without a piece of clothing on my body except the covers and my pajama bottoms, and I was feeling so good about myself for once in my life. Not even being up on stage made me feel that good about myself in my own skin.
I leaned forward so I was sitting upright in bed. The blankets showed off some more skin around my waist: the band of my pajama bottoms had slid down from my hipbones, but it hadn’t fazed me or her in the least. I nudged the blankets off some more so she could see more of me. Christine licked her lips and brought the camera up to her face once again. Another bright flash of light, and I was seeing spots for a brief moment once again.
I nudged my pants down some more to show off even more skin: I was so close to showing off everything for her. I breathed in deep to show her the entirety of my chest to her. I gave my hair a little toss back with the flick of my head.
“Ooh, yeah, that's kinda...” She paused for a second. I knew what she was thinking, and I knew that she knew what I was thinking as well. One of us was going to say it, if not her.
“You can say it,” I coaxed her. “You've done everything to me and more, so you can say it.” She licked her lips, and then she ran her tongue along the top row of her teeth.
“That's kinda—sexy, actually,” she confessed. “With your hair down like that and your skin all milky. Showing me your legs and your chest. Very up close and personal, I should say.”
“Up close and personal? If this is up close and personal, then what’s this?”
I nudged the covers off all the way so she could see my entire body, but then I nudged my pajama bottoms off my legs and showed off even more skin to her. I nudged my underwear down at the same time so she could see everything.
In the halogen light, her face lit up, and she licked her lips at the sight of me.
“You like what you see here, don’t you?” I teased her as I gave my hair another toss. Christine inched in closer to me with the camera up to her face.
“Ohhh, yes, gorgeous man alert,” she said in a near whisper. “A gorgeous naked man before me and all for me for the evening.” Another picture and another flash, but then I tossed my hair again and brought my shoulder up before my face. I looked on at her as if I was in fact modeling for someone.
Another flash and I turned my chest back into her direction, and I folded my arms over my chest and rested my hands on my shoulders.
“Oh, yes, the camera loves you, big boy,” she quipped in a light voice that sounded like two wine glasses tinkling together; “…big, sensual boy.” I bowed my head a bit to keep everything sultry for her. Another flash and I set my hands down on either side of my hips and tilted my head back. I parted my lips by a mere hair and closed my eyes right as she took another picture of me.
“Phew—boy, you are smoldering hot and raw,” she noted, and she held the camera back so she could fan herself with the side of her free hand despite it feeling even colder in that room.
“It’s funny because I’ve never actually been this way before,” I confessed to her. She looked on at my body, at the rest of me now exposed free from the covers and my pajama bottoms. She licked her lips again, that time at the sight of my middle. I could only assume she was looking at my hips and my legs, that is until she spoke again.
“I like how thick your waist is,” she remarked. “You eat well.”
I took a glance down at my body, at my waist in particular. It seemed like not that long ago I was so skinny there and I only grew fuller with my departure from Testament as well as the breakup as a mark of the loss of what I felt to be my own mistakes and my own second guesses. After the glamour shots, I came back down to earth again.
“You think I look good there?” I asked her in a small voice.
“Yeah, you look like you eat well and take good care of yourself as my grandma would say,” she assured me again.
“Indeed, I do!” I said, and I brought my hands to my waist as if to hide from her, but she had already seen all of me. “I don't make much but the money I do make, I go and eat.”
She set the camera down on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through her bright red hair.
“I told you my ex was chubby, right?” she recalled.
“I don't think you did,” I confessed with a shake of my head. “I think I would have remembered.”
“Yeah, he was chubby. I mean, he was actually chubby: he had a round belly that poked out and...” She lingered back and cleared her throat; in the dim light, I could see the slight blush on her face. “...and it just looked really cute on him. Ever since then, I just... kind of have a thing for men with even the slightest of bellies on them.” She spoke at such a deliberate pace that I wondered what else she harbored away from the prying eyes of the world. I looked down at myself again: I was nowhere near to being fat, but I still had gone rather soft, however.
“Some people just look better with a little weight in my opinion,” she continued in a small voice; I shivered from the cold, and I tugged the blankets back over me again. “I like it when they let their bodies grow fuller and thicker, and the next thing they know, they have a little belly going.” She lowered her gaze to my waist and the blanket wrapped around me again; I really felt as if I had just been a part of the set of a porno. “And... I just wanna look at them and touch them there.”
“That is so pure,” I said as I ran my fingers through my hair.
“It's weird,” she continued, that time with a shake of her head. “I just... I feel weird talking about it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I don't really like to talk about it,” she replied. “I've never felt good enough to share these things out in the open. Not even when he and I were together, either. I never believed that anyone would ever want to know what I was feeling because fuck me, right?”
“So, that's why you were talking so gingerly right then,” I said in a low voice, and she shook her head once again. We fell into momentary silence save for the hard rain on the roof. I wondered when was the last time Reno had a stout rain like this before.
“I've never felt good or attractive enough,” she repeated. “And I've never felt safe enough, either. Like, even when my peers started going out with each other, I felt like I couldn't talk about what I liked because I could feel them judging me. I also never really understood why I feel this way, as well. Like, why can't I just look at people normally? Why do I have to let my own bullshit get in the way of it all? Why am I like this? I'm going to be eighteen soon, why am I just not a sexy person and why don't I have anything to show otherwise?”
She closed her eyes and turned away from me. It almost felt like I had said those things, like she had read my mind before we met with each other. She was silent but for all I knew, she was crying right then. It hurt me to even think about it.
I shivered from the cold in the room, and I thought about putting the blanket back up over me, but I was a shirtless boy sitting right next to her right as she had taken photos of me in the buff. I swallowed and leaned forward so I could be right up next to her face.
“You know, if it's any comfort at all, I feel the exact same way,” I told her. She sniffled and turned her attention back to me: in the dim light, I could see the pain on her face.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.” I shivered again, and that time I pulled the blanket up over my chest just so my body was covered part of the way. “Like I said, my ex wouldn't even touch me. I could probably count on one hand as to how many times she kissed me, and really kissed me, too, like there was a shred of passion in there. She also wouldn't really help me get to know myself, either, like I admit that I never knew what I really wanted. I often froze when she and I would try and go a little more intimate, too. I never knew what to tell her because I was often left confused as all hell.” I stopped for a second. “You know, when I really talk about it, in hindsight, I realize that relationship was doomed from the very beginning. I may have been in love but I couldn't seem to get it with her. She only wanted me because I am the lead guitarist of a rock n roll band and I said hi to her after a show, not because she wanted to be with me and love me.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. It felt like a dead weight had just been lifted off my shoulders as I wasn’t really able to tell anyone about that in the last three months. I couldn’t even tell my parents about it because I knew they were going to bicker with me about it. I was getting older and I still hadn’t fallen in love with anyone good enough yet. Maybe I was asking for too much, but at least I was asking.
“So, this really doesn't faze you at all?” she asked me, and I could hear that she was slightly concerned. She made me feel comfortable, and thus, it was only necessary that I returned the favor to her in turn. In fact, during that whole entire photoshoot, I had completely forgotten that she and I were nearly ten years apart in age.
“Actually, no,” I confessed to her. “If anything, I kind of… forgot our ages back there. You were just a photographer and I was just your subject. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“And you aren’t grossed out by my sharing my fantasies with you as well as my love of photography?” she asked me in a small voice, to which I cocked my head towards her and raised my eyebrows at the same time.
“Grossed out? Seriously?” And she slowly nodded her head, and I could tell that it was a delicate subject for her. I reached out for her hand rested there on the edge of the bed before me.
“Honey, I'm Jewish,” I told her with a stroke of the back of her hand with the pad of my thumb. “There's a lot that we like to do that would make your fellow gentiles shit their pants. If anything—” I turned my attention back to the door: we were speaking in low enough voices and the rain was coming down in droves to drown out any loud noises that may have emanated from that little room, but I never knew how or if they would hear us in there. But the hallway was still dark and silent, and I returned to her and the slightly down look on her face. “And you heard this from me, too. I'm actually a little turned on by this. By your taking a picture of me. It genuinely made me feel so good about myself for once, and especially after the last three months that I had had.”
Christine nibbled on her bottom lip at that. I knew that this had woken something in her as well, and thus, I had to give her some more space. I had to help her find her own permission to enjoy herself, whether it was my time with me or with someone else in the world. I had the feeling within me, but her happiness would bring a song to my own heart.
“It kind of... makes me feel like a boy again,” I confessed to her with a slight bow of my head.
“You are still a boy,” she pointed out as she reached out and tapped the tip of my nose with her index finger. “Just a little bit older.”
I lowered my gaze to the blankets over my legs and my hips; I still had my pants down over my hips and thighs, but at least I had the blankets protecting her from me. The halogen light, the sole light in the darkness, kept up its bluish white glow cast down on our faces and our bodies, especially my own. She smiled at the sight of my body, especially at my belly and the tops of my hips.
“Just a cute boy,” she remarked in a near whisper: it was raining so hard that her voice nearly floated in on the back of the rain clouds out there.
“Is it okay if I touch your tummy?” she asked me.
“Go right ahead!” I said, and I leaned back against the wall so she could see my whole body. “I still feel warm from dinner earlier, too.” Christine licked her lips and followed me back onto the far side of the bed. She lay on her hip right next to me and ran her hand over my skin: her hands were soft and she moved around my skin so lightly that it made me think of the tips of feathers.
She lifted her palm and stroked my skin with the tips of her fingers. She moved around in small circles all over my belly: at one point, she caressed the rim of my belly button with the tips of her index and middle fingers, one after the other.
“How do you feel?” she asked me in a near whisper.
“That actually feels really good,” I confessed to her, and I let my eyelids droop closed from the feeling. It was the middle of the night still, and I was feeling even warmer from the sensation of her fingers on me. She leaned in closer to my ear and the side of my neck.
“We don't tell anyone, though,” she whispered to me.
“Oh, never,” I vowed to her with a sniff and a shake of my head. “What happens between you and me stays between you and me.”
“What happens here stays here,” she added, and she rested her hand upon my belly, right in the midst of the solar plexus to better feel me. I was a vulnerable boy, and more so there.
“Oh, yeah, you are warm,” she remarked, and she gave me some more strokes with nothing more than the tips of her fingers.
“That kind of tickles,” I said with a snicker. “And I should probably tell you that I'm quite sensitive here. I’m a little delicate in here.”
“I’ll be careful here,” she vowed to me once more. “And can I just say that your long hair is the icing on the cake? Sometimes when I think of boys and their bellies, I feel like they’re missing something, and I now realize that that something is long hair. Long hair and a silky, sensual voice.”
I ran my fingers through the ringlets on the side of my head once again.
“About three years ago, before I left my band, I had really long hair—I mean, it was quite long, about halfway down my back. I remember at one point that I had dyed it solid black, too, to cover up my streak. I looked like I belonged in Mötley Crüe or Poison or something.”
“Why do you have that, by the way?” she asked me with a knitting of her eyebrows. “The little plume of gray on your head, that is.”
“I don't really know, to be honest,” I confessed with a shake of my head. “I started getting it about twelve years ago and there have been a myriad of theories surrounding it as a result, like a birthmark or a scar. It ain't fake, I'll say that. But I'm vain, though, I'll admit it. This thing ages me, and it especially did when I was a fourteen-year-old kid with it, too.”
“I like it,” she said with a nod. “It's interesting. It makes you stand out, too, like I can probably pick you out from a crowd of people if it was the case.”
“That's what my mom says,” I quipped to her, and I couldn't help but chuckle at that. I ran my fingers through my hair, and that time I held my hand over the crown of my head so she could see me bathed in the pale halogen light for a good long second.
“You really do have beautiful hair,” she remarked.
“It's what I get for being Ashkenazi,” I told her, and I moved my hand all the way back to the back of my head, and I shifted my weight on top of the bed so she could see me all the way once again, even with the blankets covering up only part of my body.
“A part of me wants to cuddle with you,” she confessed. “Y’know, I don’t really feel like going back to my room.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip, and I lunged for the head of the bed once again. All the while, I tugged my pajamas up my legs again so she wouldn’t be treated to anything surprising under the covers. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lay down next to me, and she tugged the blankets up from behind her. I then reached back for the flashlight and switched it off, and we were swathed in complete darkness. The rain persisted outside, and I hoped that we wouldn’t wake up to any leaks in the house.
But I put my arms around her and held her close to me: the smell of her hair tickled my nose, and I could feel my heart swelling from the feeling as a result.
“This is nice,” I whispered to her.
“Yeah, I like this,” she confessed to me. “I like this a lot.”
She kept her arms around my waist and her head pushed up against my chest. I tucked the covers underneath her some more so we both were warm. Her fingers crept over my belly like the little legs of a spider, such that I wondered if she was tickling me. But she was moving so slowly that I didn’t think she actually was doing that.
If anything, I found it particularly soothing as I dozed off once again.
- 31
- 32
- 33
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