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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
- 34
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- 36
When we returned to the house, the power still hadn't returned, and I had a feeling that it still wasn't by the time the sun went down. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to turn down the gesture of making a makeshift menorah for me, nor I was going to turn down the thought of staying in for another night given the sheer amount of rain that continued to fall all around us. I could scarcely shake the image from my mind, even though it was covered up by a layer of paint. I was being sincere when I told Christine that I knew it when I saw it and I could recognize it under a thick veil of something.
I ran my fingers through my inky black hair, which at that point was drenched from the rain as well as running through it, but at least we were back at the house and the sight of her mother and grandparents there at the doorstep. We ran up to them, both of us completely out of breath and with our coats dripping wet.
“What happened? Is everything okay?” Wendy put an arm out for us to help us inside.
“We just walked up the street and then—it just all started to come down in droves,” I told her, out of breath. It had been a while since I last did a sprint, too: I breathed harder and cleared my throat a few times.
Christine took off her coat and shook it out on the porch before we all returned inside to the safety and the dryness of the house. I remembered her telling me about the fact that they had hot water there because of the propane, and though she and I had ran through the rain together, I still needed to feel the warm clean water over my head. I hung up my coat and ran my fingers through my hair again.
“Is it okay if I take a shower?” I asked Wendy in a low voice.
“Oh, yeah! Just be quick because I'm sure Chris would like one, too.”
“Absolutely,” Christine chimed in right then.
I didn't dare tell them about what I had seen and felt back there at that old empty house. The last thing they needed was something else to worry about, especially with me, and especially since they were of a different heritage than me, too.
But I was curious about her ex, however, and what exactly he and his family had gone through in the near year that they lived there in Reno. I had my theory now, in that someone had done that to their house and then they covered it up in a haste when Christine wasn't looking.
I fetched my soap bottles from my suitcase and then I made my way across the hall to the bathroom, which was about the size of a broom closet but at least there was a shower as well as a bathtub in there. I wondered as to whom was taking a bath in there because there was no way my long legs could fit in that thing. But regardless, I closed the door, stripped off my clothes, which I hung up over one of the towel rungs in there so they could dry out, and I switched on the water of the shower. Once the water came out warm, I climbed inside and pulled the curtain closed. I closed my eyes and bowed my head under the shower head. I had no idea as to how dirty I was until the water hit me!
And all the while, I still wondered why he never told Christine about their reasons for leaving Reno, or what had happened to that house. Maybe he couldn't tell her because he didn't want her to worry about him, or maybe he couldn't tell her because he couldn't find the right words. They were both young teenagers at the time, after all, and I remembered how hard it was for me to confess to myself at that age.
But I thought about that boy, even if I had never met him before, or the fact that Christine never told me his name. He was just a strange boy to me, but I had the oddest connection to him. Maybe it was because he and I were both Jewish, and she confessed right to me that I reminded her of him.
As I washed down my body and my hair, I thought about her father and her reaction towards me. I couldn't help but let my mind wander: maybe her father disapproved of her ex the same way that he disapproved of me. Maybe he had something to do with that mark on the garage door.
Or maybe it was an isolated incident.
I also thought about what he had said to me back in the living room, “I hope that's all you're doing.” Plus the fact that I was going to be target practice for him should I touch Christine. I could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at my plate of latkes and the fact that Wendy had told him that it was something that didn't involve him.
Maybe the mark on the door was an isolated incident. But after Christine had told me that she smelled alcohol on his breath, I couldn't help but put two and two together.
I had always seen alcohol as a means of gaining the truth out of someone, something that loosens you up and dries you out to bring out the truth within you. It transforms the hard protective shell of a mask on the outside to show off the real face underneath it all. For example, five guys in a studio who are funky and complete loners but put a bottle of beer in each of us and we're pulling pranks on each other and laughing like a bunch of idiots; throw pot into the mix and we're really looking at a good time; put the news on and we're suggesting theories of life in the vein of Carl Sagan and making jokes straight out of Weekend at Bernie's in the same breath.
But I began to wonder about her father, though, if underneath his rather commonplace exterior therein lay someone who wanted me dead. Someone who wanted her ex dead, too, even if he was a teenage kid, and even if her father never saw me and her actually together, just sitting together on the couch and having latkes for breakfast.
Maybe it was isolated. It didn't make me stop thinking about it, though.
I stood under the shower head and let the warm water run down the back of my head and onto my back. It felt like being twelve years old again, especially after what she and I had witnessed together.
I tilted my head back and opened my mouth as if to take a drink of water, but it was more because I was standing underneath a veil of warm water than anything, really. It really did feel like I was shedding some sort of skin right then as I took one last rinse before I switched it off. I stood there upon the bath mat with my arms held out on either side of me, and the water trickled down the insides of my arms and down onto the sides of my body.
I pictured her father there in the doorway. I pictured him with that ugly snarl on his face and an axe in one hand, as if he was ready to take me out and take me under. I wasn't going to be a part of whatever he wanted, that was for certain.
I couldn't help but put two and two together when I thought about it. He had to have been responsible for what happened back at that house. It only made sense to me.
I nudged the curtain open, and I reached for one of the clean towels on the rung next to the shower, and I ran it over the crown of my head. My hair dangled down around the sides of my head in these thick, wet tendrils like that of an octopus; meanwhile, my gray streak hung down in my face like the thin head of a snake. I brought the towel down to my shoulders and my chest, then down onto my belly and around my hips and my legs, and then I finally wrapped it around my waist. Outside, I caught the sound of the wind blowing as well as the rain hammering down on the roof, and I was glad that Christine and I had returned to the safety of the house when we did.
I examined myself in the mirror for a second when I decided that I could just leave the little bit of shadow on my face. I kept the towel wrapped around me as I made my way across the hall for a clean change of clothes; right as I stepped out to the hallway, I remembered that I wasn't alone in the house and so the sound of their voices there at the far end of the hall and the entrance to the kitchen caught me off guard. I ducked across the hall to the guest room, and all the while, my heart pounded away in my chest. I closed the door part of the way, and I let the towel fall right off of my hips.
I stood there for a moment with my gaze directed down to my legs as well as the slightly full shape to my waist.
Christine's light touches returned to memory right then, and if only I could see what she saw and felt the night before, especially as I rested my hands upon the sides of my waist. Still very slim but I could feel it all coming in, though.
I knew that I could eat up all the latkes I could wish for at the time being, but I could feel the grains of the sand falling away, just like how I could feel them falling away at the thought of my parents commencing the first night of Hanukkah that evening.
I sighed through my nose and picked up my bag from the floor for a fresh change of underwear and some clean clothes. Once I was dressed, I smoothed myself down and I caught the sound of Christine's laughter.
I couldn't explain it but I had a feeling...
I returned to the hallway right as she bowed into the bathroom. My clothes were still hanging up in there, and I tried to not picture her doing the same thing.
Once I came back into the front of the house, Wendy then turned to me with a sly grin on her face.
“What's going on?” I asked her. “Were you talking about me?”
“Actually we were!” Christine's grandmother declared from the living room right then; I noticed she was setting up the candles on the hearth.
“Yeah, we were just wondering: what else do you eat at Hanukkah?” Wendy asked me.
“Oh, wow! We like to eat—” I set a hand on my stomach. “—pretty much anything and everything.” I couldn't help but smile at that. “But mainly fried foods because of the oil used in frying. Think: the oil used in the candles of a menorah. Latkes and these little donut holes called sufganiyot. Lots of chocolate. Chinese food, too! We love our Chinese food around this time of year, too, especially if Hanukkah overlaps with Christmas.”
“And what do you usually eat on Christmas, anyway?” she continued; she held close to me as if she wanted to touch me or smell the soap on my skin, but I kept my ground, though.
“Again, kinda... whatever we want,” I told her, and I couldn't help but chuckle again. “Speaking of which, are there any Chinese places nearby here?”
“Oh, yes,” Christine's grandfather chimed in right then.
“Yup, there's one a few blocks from here,” Wendy said. “There's a whole bunch of them closer to the center of town. We've got that plus a few Korean places and I think we do have some kosher places, too, if I remember correctly.”
“Beautiful,” I said with a little smile, and then I nodded to the hearth. “How we doing over there?”
“Mom's making sure it's all lined up perfect,” Wendy assured me in a low voice.
“Oh, it doesn't have to be perfect,” I promised her with a little wave of my hand. “But it's very sweet, though.”
“You should play us some music tonight, too,” Christine's grandfather suggested.
“Would you like me to?” I asked them.
“Could you?” Wendy rested a hand on my shoulder.
“You know, I would love to! Gives me a chance to show off my guitar to some fresh eyes before I play for my parents, too.”
Christine then sauntered up behind me and Wendy with a befuddled look on her face.
“What're you thinking about?” Wendy asked her.
“Thinking about... Hanukkah—chocolate,” Christine replied.
“Gelt, Christine,” I corrected her. “It's called gelt. It's basically those little chocolate coins you see at the market right by the cashier. They're actually not bad. Can't eat too many of them, though.”
“Nonsense,” she quipped.
“No, it's sense,” I corrected her, and she giggled at that. I wondered if Wendy knew about what she was into right then.
The rain persisted outside of the house, and I knew that we could possibly find ourselves with a little flooding out there, especially once midday came and went and the clouds only seemed to gather around more around the Reno valley.
And again, I still felt so relieved that it wasn't snowing anymore. Everything around gradually sloped downhill so once things cleared up a bit, the waters would subside, the airport would open back up, and I could replenish my plane ticket and ride on back home to be with my parents. But I was more than happy to be there with Christine and her family, though: they respected me and took great care of me as if I was one of their own. They told me straight up that I was a guest in their house, and they took it all straight to heart with my company.
“You know that when I get home, my mom and maybe my aunt are both going to have an ugly sweater waiting for me,” I said at one point as it was just me and the adults in the room for the time being. I stood on the side of the room with my hands tucked in my pockets all because I knew once I sat down in that comfy recliner tucked in the corner, I wasn't going to get back up again: the mere sight of it made me drowsy.
“An ugly sweater, like one of those ugly Christmas sweaters?” Wendy chuckled as she gave me a glass of cider.
“The same! But picture a menorah or a Star of David in lieu of a Christmas star or a Christmas tree. My aunt and uncle like to see me and my brother in those things. Despite them being kind of on the homely side, they're actually quite comfortable. The one I got last year was really comfy, like I didn't even want to take it off even after the eighth night. Yeah, we like to give each other things for a few nights, too, kind of like on Christmas, but not really. So... you know, don't be making any assumptions!” Wendy chuckled again; I held the glass of cider in hand as I looked on at the row of candles on the hearth: Christine's grandmother even set the one acting as the shamash in the center apart from the others to make it somewhat kosher.
But I wasn't going to complain, nor was I going to fix it. I sipped on the cider and I thought about what song I could play for this little family here as the rain continued on in hard, strong fashion outside of the house. Christine then sauntered up to me with her short red hair glistening wet and her neck smelling of cloves, cinnamon, and sugarcane.
“I'm sorry, I didn't get you anything,” she said with a shrug.
“Nah, it's okay—by the way, you smell good, like spice cake,” I assured her once I took a sip of the cider. “I didn't get you anything, either.”
“How could you forget!” she quipped.
“You never told me what you want, dear Christine!” I went along with it.
“I told you, either a pony, an owl, a snake, or a bat,” she said with a straight face.
“Don't know where to get ponies, pretty sure you need a license to own an owl of any kind, you didn't specify what kind of snake, and I don't think it's all that good of an idea to own a bat, either,” I pointed out in a single breath. “They won't bite until you give them a reason, but I still have my worries, though. What would you even name a bat, anyway.”
“Fluffy?” she asked, and I was glad that I never took a sip of my cider because I burst out laughing at that. Her grandparents followed suit, as did her mother, the latter of whom also clapped her hands.
“Now, what would you name a pony?” I asked her with a raise of my eyebrows. She hesitated for a second.
“Spencer,” she replied.
“Spencer's what you'd name the snake, though,” I pointed out.
“Nah, the snake would be Teddy,” she quipped back.
“What about the owl?”
“Professor,” she said.
“Just 'Professor'?” I asked her, and I couldn't resist laughing again.
“Just Professor! Um—” She then clapped her hands, and her face turned serious. “I do want to tell you something, though.”
“Me?” I pointed to myself.
“Yeah, but in private, though.”
I turned my head to Wendy and the grandparents, all of whom gave me a knowing look. I sipped on the cider some more and I followed Christine into her bedroom: I left the door slightly ajar because I could not let them get any ideas about the two of us. I watched her go over to the nightstand, where she kept a small black box. She opened it up and showed me a small, light silvery chain bracelet with what appeared to be a hamsa charm on one side.
“There is this, though,” she told me, and she handed it to me.
“What's this?”
“It's a bracelet that my ex and an old friend of mine both used to wear. She gave it to me, and then I gave it to him, and then when he and I split, I took it.”
I cradled it in my free hand for a second, and then I set the glass of cider down next to the camera on the dresser right next to me just so I could put it on. It was a bit of a struggle because the chain felt as light as air and the charm actually tickled me a little bit.
“It's not gonna fit,” I told her.
“Sure it will,” she insisted as she walked on over to me to help me. “Give me your hand.”
I raised my wrist to her, and she held the ends of the bracelet right over the bones of my wrist: the hamsa dangled down in a small flash of blue and silver.
“It's not gonna fit!” But she snapped the clasp closed, and the bracelet hugged the bones of my wrist, and the hamsa hung right under the center of my palm. It fit but only just.
She then gestured for me to move in closer.
“You know what's something that I've wanted to do in about two years?” she asked me in a near whisper.
“What's that?”
She licked her lips.
“I've wanted to touch myself,” she whispered. “I just... haven't been able.”
“And what's this gotta do with me?” I just had to ask that.
“I want you to join me,” she insisted, and I pursed my lips at that. “I want this to be mutual. I want us to do it together.” I then picked up my glass of cider for another sip, a bigger one that time around.
“What's that look for?” she asked me, slightly concerned.
“I dunno, Christine—I just can't stop thinking about the age difference between you and me.”
She ran her fingers through her red hair and pressed her hands to her hips.
“Alex, we could be swept away by flood waters in the morning,” she pointed out. “We may as well live a little.”
I sighed through my nose. I was drinking cider after all: I downed the rest of it and placed it back in that spot again, right next to the camera.
“Okay, so how should we do this?” I asked her.
“It's really easy, actually,” she told me. “Let's just sit down on the bed, lean back, and open our legs. Keep the door closed and everything.”
I turned back to the door and, very careful so as to not make any noise, I closed it shut.
Christine stripped off her pants and let them rest on the carpet before the bed. I kept my pants up my legs but I was going to leave them unbuttoned however. We took our spots on the bed and leaned back against the wall so our feet hung over the edge of the mattress.
“It's been a long while since I've been able to do even this,” I confessed to her; “never mind with someone else there next to me.”
“It's okay, just... go slowly. I like to go slowly.”
“I think going slowly is the only way to do it, in my opinion,” I told her with a little smirk on my face.
I let her lead the way in it, though, given she was the one who suggested it. She put the tip of her finger into her lips, and I followed suit with myself. It was going to be tricky because I wanted to watch her, but I also wanted to feel myself the more that I thought about it, though.
“We could go faster the more comfortable we get,” she suggested; through the dim light, I could see the twinkle in her eye.
“True.” My own fingers caressed down the shaft to the tip, and I stuck the tip of my finger into the hole. Immediately, I had a shiver up my spine. “Whoa.”
“You feel that?” she whispered.
“I do, yes!”
It had been so long, and yet I was more than willing. The last time someone touched me was so long ago, and the last time meant to make me feel something even further than that. But I wasn't going to take this to the next level, though: not when she was there next to me and her family was in the next room, and we did this in a house with paper thin walls. But the feeling of my fingers on me, combined with her there next to me, it gave me a feeling that I had never experienced before, and one that I could ask for over and over again should the mood strike me.
“You know, Christine, I'm gonna be kind of honest with you here,” I started again, that time with a nibble on my lip and a pinching of my eyes shut.
“Go ahead—” she grunted out.
“I... kind of like this?” I confessed to her, and my fingers caressed all the way down the side of my shaft to the tip of my head. Indeed, there was something intriguing about sitting there next to her on the bed with our legs wide open and our hands down under our belts. I had never done anything like this with my ex before, and in fact, I never would have dreamed of doing something like this with anyone. But there I was, right next to Christine and tugging on my own hose while she stuck two fingers inside of her.
“It's funny because I do, too,” she said, and she let out a low whistle. I knew she was going to come sooner or later, and I admit that it was hard to tell at first glimpse and in the dark, but then she followed up the whistle with a gasp and then a slight yelp.
“Keep it down, keep it down,” I whispered to her; I could only hope that the rain on the roof provided us with enough protection from the fact that the walls in that house were paper thin. She breathed harder and barred her teeth. The mere sound of it was enough to bring a little more to my own skin: I could feel myself firming up, right underneath my hand.
I closed my eyes and let my mouth drop open. I was going to come right after her, barring she didn't do it a second time.
But then she did.
“What you doing?” I asked her in a broken voice.
“I want you to touch my clit,” she begged right into my ear.
“What?” I sputtered.
“Touch me there—please—”
“No. No, I can't. It's way better when you're doing it to yourself—” I gasped as I could feel something liquid on the side of my finger. Another deep stroke as well as the sight of her there brought another trickle of a pearl out of my tip. Soon, the noise level was the least of my problems.
“Phew, you got any tissue in here?” I asked her in a broken voice; I gasped and followed it up with a soft moan for her, the first time I made myself moan in a very long time, and the first time I moaned for anyone ever.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she assured me as she giggled at something, and I realized that she had made herself come a third time. So lucky.
She stood up and nearly dove over to the dresser on the side of the room, and she fetched a box of tissues from the floor for me. I took a few for myself just so I wouldn't get anything on those nice covers, especially since she was sleeping there again that night.
“It's like we just forget our ages when we get together,” she remarked.
“I sure do,” I admitted as I strove to catch my breath and clean myself up.”
“I really hope they didn't hear us,” she confessed.
“The rain's loud enough,” I assured her. Once I was dry, I zipped up and ran my free hand through my hair, still damp from my shower before then.
“Feels like a gathering at a temple,” I confessed to her. “All the old people surrounding us kids.”
“All us whipper snappers as my grandpa would say,” Christine quipped with a snicker.
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As the Seasons Grey