Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

As the Seasons Grey	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 46 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Started life as kinky Christmas-related short stories in 2022 and took on a life of its own shortly thereafter. 100 fiction, none of this is real, and I own nothing except for the character of Christine.

Chapter List
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Christine and I returned to the front room of the house with our pants buttoned back up and our hair returned to form, and all the while, I wondered about the sight of the blush on my face. She had gotten me going back there, such that I could hardly breathe or keep up with my own thoughts. I couldn't believe that I had jacked off alongside with her: we had done it together and none of them seemed to have noticed, either. I was also surprised by the fact that none of them noticed that she and I had gone into the room for as long as we did.
I ran my fingers through my hair, and I swore that I had a little too much warmth on the back of my neck. Wendy smiled at me through the graying shadows all around us; before I took my spot on the couch, Christine gave my ass a little pinch, which in turn made my spine straighten up a bit.
“You okay?” Wendy asked me.
“Yeah, I just got a chill is all,” I sputtered out to her, and I sank down on the couch next to her. I rested my hands upon my knees and let out a low whistle. “You know, it just sinks over you and doesn’t leave.”
“Oh, yes, I know the feeling,” she assured me with a nod and a little smile on her face. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t really in the mood for some lovin’, especially when her own daughter sat right next to me and touched herself right in front of me. I needed to shake off the feeling before anything else happened thereafter.
Meanwhile, right over our heads, the rain persisted in the form of hard and strong pattering like a bunch of hammers going all at the same time.
“Do you think that we could see some flooding soon enough?” Christine herself asked aloud from my left.
“It’s possible,” her grandfather confessed as he leaned back in the recliner chair. “But we’re safe here, though, I would think.”
“It would still be necessary to keep an eye on everything outside, though, dear,” her grandmother then chimed in.
“Of course, of course…” I turned my head towards Christine and the fact the she had her legs pulled up towards her chest so her feet rested on the edge of the chair cushion. She kept her eyes fixed on me, while I had my attention focused on her short red hair. I couldn’t hardly shake it out of my mind, the thought of her there next to me.
If only I knew what she was trying to do for me right then. She had her eyes fixated on me and her fingers pointed in my direction. Something told me she was trying to send me some sort of signal through her fingers: I thought about the night before when we lay in bed together when she had her hands on my belly as if she held onto a big teddy bear. The way that I glanced down at my belly right then, and then I moved my attention back to her hands and the way that she flexed her fingers at the sight of me. I had a thought in the dead center of my mind and I didn't really want to think about it, but I thought it, anyway. I swallowed when she rubbed her fingertips together; I brought my gaze to hers only to find out that she was looking at my jeans, followed by the bottom of my shirt. She licked her lips and cracked me a little smirk.
I was only slightly thick in the waist but I wished that I could feel what she was feeling at that moment. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to act on it in there not, and definitely not with her mother and grandparents in the same room with us. Luckily for me, the three of them fell silent, which gave me the opportunity to speak up.
“So, what should we do now?” I asked them with a clearing of my throat. There was a brief pause, accentuated by the sound of the rain.
“We have some cards,” her grandmother suggested. “I don't think we have a dreidel, though.”
“It's alright,” I assured her with a shake of my head. “I haven't played with a dreidel since I was a little kid—I don't even remember how to play the game proper now. All I know is you've gotta spell out the acronym that translates to 'a great miracle happened there.'”
I gave my hair a shake and leaned forward on the couch, and I rested my elbows on my knees. Through the shadows, Christine’s grandparents showed me their grins, in all their toothy quality surrounded by the wrinkles of time and age. If only I could see myself the way that they saw me, especially with the gray light through the window onto me.
“You're very proud of your heritage, aren't you?” her grandfather said with a little chuckle.
“I guess you could say that I am,” I replied, and I couldn't resist smiling back at him.
“By the way, mind me prying but—I just now noticed your gray hairs,” her grandmother added.
“Oh, this old thing?” I quipped as I rested a hand on the right side of my head. “I've had this for quite a while.”
“It's interesting how it's collected on that part of your head,” Wendy told me. “Like it kind of makes you wonder where it came from.”
“It's just one of life's many mysteries,” I said in a low voice. “It's like the eighth wonder of the world.” And the four of them laughed at that.
“Anyways, I think we do have some cards laying around in the bedroom,” Christine’s grandfather said as he stood to his feet. I watched him go into the hallway before I returned my attention to the three generations of women there next to me.
“Alex is surrounded by girls,” Christine then quipped.
“It's kind of odd for me, too,” I said.
“Why is that?” Wendy asked.
“Yeah, even with the gray hair, you're actually very handsome, dear,” Christine’s grandmother chimed in.
“It gives character,” Wendy added. “The same can be said with your nose, too. There's just something kind of raw about you, too. Raw, primitive beauty, dare I say.”
“That's beautiful, Mom,” Christine said right then.
“Yeah, that was beautiful,” I echoed her, and I could feel myself growing warm again. I ran my fingers through my hair again, and that time around, I gave my head such a shake that I showed off my neck, as well.
“Gorgeous man alert,” Christine joked, which brought a laugh out of all of us. Her grandfather then returned to the front room with a couple of decks of cards in one hand and what appeared to be a game of Chinese checkers in the other hand.
“Remember playing this, Christine?” he asked her as he set the board down on the coffee table before Wendy and me.
“All the time! The six way checker board with the little marbles, oh yes.”
It was just a little cozy afternoon there in the house, even as I heard the water furiously down the swollen gutters outside. The street was about to be flooded but I trusted her grandfather, though, in the safety of the house. All I could tell myself was that the rain had to lift at some point, and it had to lift by the time the shadows shifted and the light began to fade.
“The first night is upon us, son,” he told me. “It's going to be dark in the next hour or so.” I turned my attention to Christine again and the warm look to her face, the warmth despite the increasing shadows and the singular candlelight that danced across her face. As far as I knew, she was trying to climb inside my head and find something about me to bring to the light. I then turned my attention to the hearth and the nine candles up top there: they stood in anticipation of two being lit up for the night.
“What do you think we should do?” Wendy then joined in.
“Let’s all sit in here and then one of us can light it up,” I coaxed her. “Once it's lit, we'll have a moment of silence and then we can have dinner.” I turned my attention to Christine’s grandparents. “Is there anything fried or oiled up in the kitchen that we can make on the hot plate?”
“French fries!” her grandfather said.
“That'll work, actually,” I assured him, and I couldn't help but laugh. I was cozy and warm and welcomed. I had to laugh. “Hey, seasoned potatoes deep fried in oil, yeah, totally!”
Soon enough, the light faded to where I knew the sun was about to go down, and I knew my parents were already proceeding with their own celebration back East, by themselves and without me and my brother there with them. We would be there for the next seven nights, I was certain.
Christine offered to light the makeshift menorah for us once it grew dark enough to light up the candles.
“Okay, so what do I do, exactly?” she asked me.
“First, you light up the one in the middle,” I instructed her. “And then you take that candle and light up the one off to the far left of you.”
“These are oil candles, right, Mom?” She showed the little one in the middle to Wendy.
“I believe they are, yes,” she replied.
“It's alright, I'm not going to make a huge deal out of it,” I promised her. “I'm Reform Jewish so I won't complain. My parents are the ones with the big brass menorah up on the mantel that lights up with the oil candles. It's always a sight to see on the eighth night, especially.”
“Should I put these up here on the mantel?” she offered me. “So it's more like a proper menorah?”
“If you want,” I told her with a shrug of my shoulders. “I like how they're down by the fireplace, actually. It really drives home the 'light that never goes out' mantra when I really look at them from here.”
Christine used one of those long fireplace matches to light up the little candle in the middle, the one that acted as the shamash. The wick slowly gave us a small flame about the size of a chickpea; but once she doused the flame on the match, I had a feeling that would suffice for the one on the left. She picked it up and brought the flame to the candle on the far left: the room smelled of wax and sulfur, but at least it was that and not black spray paint on the garage door panel outside. The flame on the far left erupted to life, and she sat the shamash down before she joined the four of us there on the couch.
The light of the shamash and the candle at the far left flickered over the wall right behind the hearth. I closed my eyes as I thought about my mom, the feeling of her arms around my waist and her hands rested upon my chest; I thought about my dad and the way he liked to hold me close to him from the front. The feeling of my parents’ arms on me: a feeling that I missed and wanted so much right then, perhaps more than the feeling of Christine’s body next to me. It was all I wanted right then: a hug from both of my parents, and especially after those last couple of days.
I opened my eyes and gazed on at the dancing twin flames there upon the bricks and the shadows inside of the fireplace. The one on the far left was the smaller of the two, while the flame of the shamash seemed to be taller.
There was a light that never went out. There was a light that only guided the way through the graying shadows and the swelling rivers in the storm drains outside. There was a light that never went out in the swirling darkness over the parched desert terrain.
The helper candle helping the smaller of the two, like a young man helping a seventeen-year-old girl find herself, and the girl helping the man find himself, mainly because the two of them had just come right out of relationships that transformed them. A pair of flames, fueled by the sweet caress of the cold droves of water outside of there.
I kept my hands on my lap and my feet flat on the floor. All I could think about were my parents.
For a second, I swore that I felt either Wendy or Christine’s hands on my knee, but when I looked down, I saw nothing.
All I could think about were my parents.
Through the noise of the rain, I swore I heard sirens, like the sirens that warned you before something rained down on you like fire and brimstone. I couldn't explain it but for a brief second, I swore that I saw the end. Maybe it was my own heritage, and maybe it was my own pride, but I stood alone. I was there in that warm, cozy little oasis, away from the rest of the world, and a part of me did not want to leave. A part of me did not want to leave, but then I remembered that I was going back to an even bigger oasis clear across the country, and I could hug my mom again as she served me some sufganiyot with all the powdered sugar dusted on top as well as the gelt for the second night. I also tried to picture the sweater that she wanted to give me as well.
To feel the warmth. To feel the comfort.
“Shabbat Shalom,” Wendy declared as the sound of her voice broke the silence.
“Shabbat was actually two nights ago, but—you know,” I pointed out with a shrug followed by a chuckle.
“Who wants French fries?” Christine’s grandfather asked us.
“Ooh, yes please!” I chirped.
“I'll make 'em,” Christine herself offered, and she stood to her feet.
“Wanna join her, son?” her grandfather asked me with a smirk.
“Why, to see if it's coming along kosher?” I joked to him, and we all chuckled at that. “Gladly!”
I followed her into the kitchen and something told me this was going to manifest in another way somehow. Darkness covered the entire kitchen, as did the continual drone of the rain outside. No sooner had I stepped out of their line of sight when I felt her hands on my chest. I staggered back a bit towards the fridge as she planted her lips onto mine.
She breathed harder as her fingers swept through the roots of my hair at the back of my head. Her hips brushed up against my own; I steadied myself on the door of the fridge but it was too slippery so I stepped towards the cabinets. I couldn't explain it but I had these deep feelings within me as well. She had awoken something in me over the last couple of days and they were all flooding out right then and there with the use of nothing more than her own fingers.
All I could think about was the rain. The rain and the floods. The swirling and whirling of the water between us. The little flames in the next room may have lit our way, but the waters carried us there. The waters between us and inside of us.
I wanted to resist. I wanted to tear away from her and the fact she was younger than me. But I couldn't escape the feeling. She and I were both desperate for the yearning and the soft touch, and most of all, the safety. I couldn't compare my own history to hers, but I couldn't help but feel something in her that I could compare to me. We both needed refuge from the world. We both needed a safe corner, even if it meant being in the darkness for the time being.
“I want you,” she breathed into my lips. “I want you so badly—”
The feelings were there but I needed to have some sense. I was nine years older than her, after all.
“Christine—” I grunted out, but she had an absolute death grip on me. “Christine, please, I can't—”
“Do you have a light in there, kids?” her grandmother called out.
“We sure do!” Christine called back; through the dim light, I saw her lick her lips before she gave me another big open lipped kiss in all its hearty fashion.
“Christine... your mother and your grandparents are in the other room!” I whispered to her.
“So? Let me touch you... I can't touch you?” She ran her fingers underneath the bottom hem of my shirt; her fingertips caressed up my skin which in turn sent these deep shivers up my spine. She had a grip on me, and there was a huge part of me that did not want her to stop, either.
“I need to ask you—” I sputtered out in between swipes from her lips. “I need—”
“Go ahead, baby,” she finally whispered to me.
“We need the light,” I breathed to her.
“But we need the darkness to stay under wraps,” she insisted to me, still with her voice down low only for me to hear.
“If they walk in, we have to stop, though,” I told her.
“Of course, of course...” she whispered right into my lips, and she pressed her own onto mine, yet again. She kissed with such strength and yet such softness, that I began to wonder why her ex was her ex in the first place.
“God dammit, you're such a great kisser,” I whispered into her lips. “I hate to admit that, too.”
“Why, 'cause I'm seventeen?” she asked me, slightly taken aback.
“Yes.”
“Well, you're very sexy for a man who's older than me,” she quipped back with a tap on the tip of my nose and another kiss on my lips. Fair enough.
“But I need to ask you,” I started again, and that time I broke free from her grip to look into her eyes, darkened by the pure nightfall that overcame us; “what are you doing? Like… why do you keep coming close to me when you and I both know that we’re worlds apart in terms of age?”
Christine then moved in closer to my ear, and I couldn't explain it but something told me she was about to lick the rim of it.
“Because I love you,” she whispered right into my ear instead. I raised my eyebrows. I knew she couldn't see me, and thus I held still instead.
“I love you,” she repeated to me. “I can’t explain it but I love you. I love you and I want you with me forever. I don’t care how old you are but you remind me of everything good in the world, of everything that I want and everything I love as well. I love you. I need you.”
She nudged a lock of hair behind my ear.
“You are the ghost of the love I once knew, and the one that I would give anything just to have it back,” she breathed right into my ear. She pressed her lips onto the side of my face and ran her hands down the small of my back and onto my ass. Another deep chill swept over me, all up and down my spine like a zipper. I let my chest rise so she could touch me again. She had a hold over me, and I knew I could trust her in it as well.
“It’s funny, I think I’m in love with you, too,” I whispered right into her face.
I really hoped that nothing would happen as she and I kept our arms around each other, and I planted my foot on the panel of the cupboard underneath the counter. I was more than willing to make out with her some more with what time we had left in that house together, that is until the overhead light of the kitchen flickered back on. Pale white light washed over the crowns of our heads, and she stepped back from me and smoothed down her top. I ran my fingers through my hair and blinked a few times; meanwhile, in the next room over, the three adults in the house seemed to be concocting something for us. With the rain continuing all around us, I could only wonder as to what it was and what they could give us with what we had at our disposal.
“Not going to need the candles after all,” I told her right then, that time in a louder voice so the three of them thought we were just looking for the candles and some more matches.
“We should get some takeout right about now,” I heard her grandfather suggest right then, and her grandmother chuckled at that. “When he talked about having Chinese food earlier, I’ve just had it on my mind since then.”
“It’s still raining like a bastard out there, though, Dad,” Wendy pointed out. “We’ll have to hustle back here in a haste.”
“At least we have the lights back on, dear,” Christine’s grandmother assured her. “We could fetch some dinner and come home to catch the news report about the rain and the airport.”
The mere mention of the airport only made me want to hold Christine in my arms even harder. After those sweet whispers, I wanted to feel her next to me. I couldn’t explain the feeling, but I wanted her so much more. Perhaps it was the realization that I could be back home at my parents’ house that time the next day, or maybe it was hearing that confession and the fact it was all so soon for the both of us.
“Please… keep this between you and me,” I whispered into her ear.
“You know that I will, baby,” she assured me with another kiss on the lips.
“I want to spend the night with you again,” she whispered.
“By all means, come to me,” I beckoned her.
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As the Seasons Grey