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As the Seasons Grey	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 150 -:- 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 changed into some clean white pajamas, and then she made her way over to the window that overlooked the street out there. If only there was a way that she could run into him again, and without having to resort to going to school just to feel his presence again.
She dared not think of those four girls as well and their words to her. Maybe they were right about him, but then again, the daydream came from her: she needn’t let the thought intervene with real life. But she also wished to see him just to prove to herself that their suggestion was right. It would only be for her, anyway.
She lounged there in her chair, and her bare legs lay upon the cool dark leather on the footstool part of the recliner. If only there was a way to see him. If only there was a way she could speak with him.
She had broken the ice with him at the school, and she knew that she could further tickle his fancy at some point in the future. To stimulate his mind as she found her way in the world at the same time. He did say he lived in Brooklyn, not too far from her there in Queens. But to scour the streets of Brooklyn for a helmet of black hair penetrated by a streak of silver at the crown seemed like such a daunting task for her to undertake on her own.
She could only hope to see him the next day at school, lest a silver lining find its way to her over the course of the night.
Christine woke up to low-hanging clouds and the feeling of autumn in the air, and then she remembered that she didn’t have class until later in the day.
It was early in the morning, and thus, she knew that she could take a bus ride over to Brooklyn after she had her breakfast and a cup of coffee. Once the main bus turned around, the feeder bus showed up and made its way over to Brooklyn and she could perhaps work from there until it showed up again. If all else failed, she could take the next bus back up to the school. A quick swipe of the hairbrush through her dark hair, and a wrapping of her green coat around her body, and she headed on out for the bus stop down the sidewalk. Eric, Greg, and Louie were nowhere to be seen there, and she wondered if they were worthy of the secret as well.
They wanted to take her on a road trip: she would have to tell them regardless of what happened to her and Alex.
She thought about Nelly and what to tell her once she saw her again later that day. She hoped to see her again, anyway. Nevertheless, she had one thing on her mind at the moment and that was to see him and keep up the momentum between him.
She needn’t tell Wendy where she headed for the day, especially since it was a school day. It all checked out.
The bus lumbered up to the stop and, after a flash of her card to the driver, she took her spot near the front there. Despite the overcast sky, she kept her sunglasses on, and she peered up to the sky overhead.
Christine had unlocked something inside of him, and she found a secret hallway behind that secret door as well. The next one down had to have some kind of key to it: the challenge of course was finding the key in question.
The bus pulled up to the stoplight, right at the boundary of Queens and Brooklyn, a cozy little neighborhood of brick buildings and tall, scraggly trees along the sidewalks, perhaps more trees on a single block than she had ever seen up in Queens. She peered out the window and, on the sidewalk, with a guitar case propped up next to him, was Alex, wrapped in a purple shirt and faded jeans. He sat on the front steps before a building and strummed the strings.
Her heart skipped a few beats at the sight of him.
Lucky for her, the next stop was right on the side of the street there, and she rang the bell in one fell swoop. The bus lumbered over to the right side of the street and, once it jerked to a stop, she stood up and lunged for the squeaky front doors. She thanked the driver and padded out to the gray morning with the cool breeze at her side and the butterflies in her stomach.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she rounded the back of the bus to the crosswalk. She spotted him there on the steps, those glasses perched upon his aquiline nose and his long lanky fingers spanned across the fretboard, right near the head of the guitar.,
The light turned green, and she bowed across the street with one hand clasped onto the edges of her green jacket, even as it streamed behind her every step of the way. She reached the curb on the other side as the sound of his guitar entered her earshot.
Alex then raised his head for a flick of his hair, and he glanced to his left. His face lit up at the sight of her.
“Oh, hi!” he greeted her with a clasp of his hand onto his head. He showed her a smile, albeit a slightly surprised one. “What brings you here, Christine?”
“I was just in the neighborhood, and I wanted to find out where my favorite substitute teacher lived,” she explained. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
He chuckled at that and leaned back a bit.
“That’s alright,” he assured her. “It’s going to be revealed soon enough—being neighbors and having had a few lunch dates and whatnot. I wished we had another lunch date—I would’ve told you then.”
“Where do you live?” she asked him with a slight lean into his face, and he gestured back to the building behind him, specifically to the little red door right behind him.
“Right here on the ground floor,” he told her, and he showed her a smile. “I figure that it’s a nice day. I’ll come out here and busk a bit before the rain comes in.”
She chuckled at that, and she glanced down at his purple Frank Zappa shirt and faded jeans. “God, I imagine that you could be the biggest rockstar on Earth right now and you would still do something really humble like this.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“I could never be a big time rockstar,” he told her. “I’m just a guy.”
“Oh, c’mon,” she teased him. “You taught us a hell of a lesson in Mr. Hansen’s class. You’re a star in the sky. You’re… the shoreline.”
He knitted his eyebrows at that. “The shoreline?” he echoed her.
“Yeah. You’re the shoreline and I’m the mermaid.”
“Mermaid? Wouldn’t you be the ship?”
“Nah, my ship left,” she told him with a gesture over the shoulder, and he burst out laughing, big hearty laughter that came from deep inside of him. “Besides, if I was the ship, you’d be the lighthouse, not the shoreline.”
“Yeah, I’d be the lighthouse, alright—” He ran his fingers through the streak of silver at the crown if his head, and Christine pictured the glimmers of stardust embedded at the pale white roots. He then showed her a thoughtful little smile. “So, what’s on the agenda today? Do you have class?”
“Yeah, just one. Geography. At one, no less.”
Alex glanced down at his wristwatch right then. “It’s almost ten right now,” he told her.
“Feeder bus comes back in an hour,” she said. “And then I’ll take the main bus back to school, and I’ll get there right on time.”
“No, no,” he told her with a shake of his head and a little wave of his hand to her. She froze.
“No?”
He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and locked eyes with her: the sheen on the lenses accentuated the blue of his eyes.
“I’ll drive you,” he offered her.
“You want to drive me to school?” she asked him, and he nodded.
“Yeah. Let me drive you there. Yeah, it’s so not New York to drive somewhere, but I want to do it, though. I have to go in today, anyway.”
“Um… yeah, we could do that,” she replied, and she couldn’t resist the smile on her face. He strummed his guitar again, in all its warmth and all its inviting power to her. Christine lingered next to him with one elbow rested upon the railing, and he jammed for her for what felt like only a few minutes. His fingers sprawled and crawled all over the neck of the guitar as he played a little bit of progressive rock to her. At points, he slowed down and let the echo of the street be his effect.
Christine thought about the daydream she had had the day before, and she pictured them dancing in the blackness of space yet again.
A few minutes of feeling, and yet, when he checked his watch again, he gasped.
“Oh, shit, it’s almost eleven,” he told her, and he stood up, still with his guitar before his body. Christine lingered off to the side as he tucked his guitar back into the case and he slung the case over his shoulder. He then gestured for her to follow him to the little black car parked up the curb from there.
Once Christine was in the front seat, she shook her head about. Alex tucked his guitar case in the back seat, and then he slid into the driver’s seat and put on his sunglasses.
“Does it feel like an hour went by at all?” she asked him, and he paused for a second with his fingers on the ignition.
“Not at all,” he told her. “In fact, I got that exact feeling when I had lunch with you the first time. Time just seemed to disappear.” He fired up the car, and he made his way to the far end of the block. Christine peered out the windshield to the gray sky overhead: even with the tones of gray up above, she pictured bits of stardust up there. He rounded the block at the next corner, and soon, they were on the expressway, headed right for the heart of the city. Indeed, the drive into the city seemed a little less strenuous as well, even with the bits of traffic here and there, and the whole event of driving across the bridge. Everything seemed a little bit brighter than usual, all capped off by the ephemeral view of the Statue of Liberty off in the distance before she disappeared behind the buildings.
A couple of stoplights and they were back at the school. Alex pulled up to the curb and ran his fingers through his black hair.
“Would you like to come on over for dinner tonight?” he offered her.
“Please,” she said. “I’ll take the bus home so I can—you know, freshen up and get ready.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he told her with a flash of his eyebrows. “Come on over at around… six-ish?”
“Sounds excellent.”
“Run along, dear Christine.” He flashed her a wink, and she showed him a smile before she closed the car door. She was so fixed on her dinner with him that she actually forgot to tell Nelly.
She had no time, anyway: she had to go to class and then take the next bus back home to Queens. Eric wasn’t there that day, and thus, she rode the bus home alone.
While at home, she wondered if she could further break the ice with him. Before she changed into nicer pants, she put on her white girl boxers: they were short and snug enough that they could fit in there with utmost comfort. She wore a low cut black blouse over that little white satin bra, and she knew that he would love it.
She wondered what she would tell Wendy should the opportunity come up, but it never did.
The next feeder bus over to that funky little neighborhood with all the trees, and it was right then she realized that she could walk to his place should the opportunity arise. Christine climbed off, crossed the street, and padded up the steps. She knocked on that red door three times and waited.
There was a little click on the other side, and he emerged with a grin on his face and the soft soapy smell of cologne on his neck. His hair looked wet: he had just climbed out of the shower and changed into a black button-up shirt.
“There she is!” he declared, and he put his arms around her. “Oh—good to see you, Christine—” He held back and beamed into her face. “Come on in.”
She strode into his humble little apartment, right into that cozy little front room with a plush blue couch on the right side, a narrow little coffee table, a rickety black baby piano on the left side of the room next to a small television and a radiator: on every wall of the room was a guitar. The single corner to the right of her was a rack crammed full of guitars as well as a bass.
“My goodness,” she noted.
“Yeah, I… like to play,” he told her with a little chuckle and a hasty running of his fingers through his hair. Christine sniffed the air.
“What’s for dinner?”
“I literally just got home,” he told her with a shrug. “They… literally were not going to let me leave when I wanted to. Then there was traffic, and I barely had time to get ready and look nice for you, and…” His voice trailed off.
“I’m okay with—pizza or Chinese or whatever,” she assured him.
“Oh, good!” He rubbed his brow. “That makes it so much easier on me. And I just going to tell you that I just ordered some Chinese.”
“It all checks out,” she said as she set her purse down on the arm of his plush couch.
“All checks out,” he agreed as he rubbed his hands together. “Uh… have a seat.” She took her spot on his couch, and she nearly slid all the way back into the cushion. She spotted his black coffee mug there on the table before her, and she was greeted by the warm aroma of the black coffee in there. A spot of warmth in an otherwise cluttered living space.
“I made some coffee, if you’d like some,” he offered her from the doorway before her.
“Maybe when the food comes,” she replied with a glance around the room.
“I’m bit of a slob, sorry,” he confessed as he took his seat next to her.
“That’s okay,” she assured him. “I’d rather you be messy because that tells me your mind is in the right spot.”
“Clean desk is a sign of a disordered mind,” he told her in a low, welcoming tone.
“By the way, has anyone ever told you that you have a really sexy voice?” she asked him.
“A really sexy voice? Me?” He was stunned.
“Yeah. I love how warm and deep it is. You just sound sweet with it.”
“I’ve been told I sound like Ray Romano,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Gentler and softer,” she said. “Way more California, too.” She leaned back against the back of the couch and extended her legs out before her. “I feel like, if given the right context, you could do some phone sex.” He raised his eyebrows at that, and then a bright pink blush crossed his face.
“No, no, no, no,” he sputtered. “No way.”
“Why not? I think it would be fun! You could talk dirty to me and you could do it without trying.”
“I don’t really know, that feels like a skill that certain people have.”
“You learned to play guitar, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a skill. Same goes for dirty talk or anything, really. Sexual or not.”
He showed her a thoughtful little smile.
“You’re an interesting gal, dear Christine,” he remarked. “Taking a normal conversation and turning it into about sex for seemingly no reason.” He chuckled at that again.
“I have a big imagination,” she told him.
“Big imagination, I would imagine that you would make a great artist.”
“I dunno… now, that’s something that most other people have,” she quipped.
“You’re human, aren’t you?” he asked her with a slight raise of his left eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re an artist. Art is a human thing.”
“Like—” She leaned in closer to him and pressed her lips on the side of his neck. “That?”
“I don’t know…” His voice trailed off. “Do that again.” That time, his voice lowered enough to where it was right above a whisper. Christine leaned in once more and pressed her lips to the side of his neck, her pinkish skin on his smooth skin, as smooth as porcelain.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have the nicest skin?” she whispered to him. “It’s like bone china. You know, I think of playing around with clay and whatnot.”
“Nope. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” Indeed, Christine took a glimpse down at his hand rested next to his thigh only to find his fingers curling from the feeling of her lips there. She moved up a bit, closer to the base of his jawline: the minute bit of stubble there brushed against her lips, which only made her heart flutter. He stretched his legs out before him: out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his toes curling from the feeling. He was going to be ready soon if he wasn’t already.
“Let’s do it,” she whispered to him.
“Do what?”
She kissed him a third time on the side of the neck.
“It,” she reiterated, and she opened her eyes for a look into his face, right as he raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, that. Um… about that.”
She held back for a look into his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked him, slightly hurt.
“It’s not you, I promise. It’s the fact that I don’t know if I can do this.”
Christine held back with one hand rested upon his shoulder as if he was about to get away from her. She peered past the side of his head to the green guitar mounted on the wall over the couch. They were all alone in that tiny apartment, and she wondered as to how in the world that woman could find a spot in there for herself when there was barely enough room in that single space for the two of them. But there was that cozy little bedroom off to the left there, and they could find the right moment there in the living room.
Make use of the small space around them.
She glanced down at her little white shorts and her bare feet, and then she directed her gaze over to the long, pure white curtains on the window on the other side of the room. She thought about the daydream that she had had the night before, and she wondered if there was something that she could utilize there.
“I have an idea,” she quipped with a raise of her finger to him. “I’ll get your gloves. Keep them on until I give the word.”
“What’s the word?” he asked her.
“‘Avalanche’,” she blurted out, to which he chuckled.
“Avalanche?” he echoed her.
“Yeah. I just think of a bunch of snow barreling down a mountainside to better describe how we feel for one another.”
“A bunch of snow to consume us and bury us under a veil of sin,” he followed along: he took off his glasses and breathed on the right lens, and he wiped it down with the bottom hem of his shirt. She lunged for the little sliver of exposed skin on his lower belly, when he lunged back towards the arm of the couch.
“Don’t be doing that now,” he teased her with a sly smirk on his face.
She climbed off the couch and doubled back to the bedroom to fetch his gloves, these little black leather gloves that looked as though they had just come out of her daydream. While she was in there, she peeled off her shirt and glanced down at her white bra. She reached behind for the hooks, and she tightened them up to the next one up. She pushed her breasts together for a bit more cleavage, and then she bowed her head forth, and she gave her dark hair a good ruffling. She then flipped her hair back as if she had just emerged from the ocean, his very own mermaid to take him to a new life at sea.
Christine nudged her shorts down a bit to show off some more skin, and then, with an extra sashay to her hips, she swaggered back into the living room with his gloves in hand. She emerged right then and there at the corner, right behind the couch, and he peered up at her with both eyebrows raised and his blue eyes bright as ever.
“Paging Dr. Green—Dr. Green, your patient is ready,” she announced to him in a low voice, and she handed him his gloves.
Alex stuck his tongue into the corner of his mouth, and then he leaned to his right side with one arm extended out for them. His shirt rode up his body all the while: when he landed on the couch cushion, his belly hung out like the belly of a dog. He lay down on his back as he put the gloves on, and then he peered up at her, upside down, and with his mouth slightly agape.
“Dr. Green wants to write you a prescription,” he told her: that time, his warm, round voice lowered into a husky, silky whisper, as if he enticed her right then and there. It was a fleeting thought, but Christine wondered if there was any chance she could relay this to Nelly without telling those four girls that they were right. First things first, however.
She leaned forward with her hands pressed upon the arm of the couch: she pressed her upper arms against her breasts to further push them out and to accentuate her cleavage.
“What would you like to prescribe me?” she asked him with a lean into his face: a few tendrils of hair sprawled down onto his shoulder and his chest.
“A little cream for your lips,” he replied, still in that husky voice, as smooth and deep as silk straight off the loom. He hooded his eyes and reached up for her breasts. The leather of the gloves caressed over her skin, such that it sent a chill down her spine: she swayed her hips a bit from the feeling.
“I don’t think my lips need cream, though, Doc,” she quipped in a singsong voice; she rounded the arm of the couch and stood over him with her hands pressed to her hips. He reached up to caress her belly and her thighs, and he showed her his tongue as he struggled to better reach her.
“Get down—” he breathed out, and he inched over to the back of the couch to give her room. She lay down next to him, with her body pressed up tight against his own. His belly was soft, his body was curvaceous, and his arms were long and lanky, perfect for holding her.
“Give me the cream, Doc,” she whispered into his face. “The cream of the avalanche.” He took off his right glove and revealed his skin to her. She locked eyes with him as he reached down into her shorts for a fingering between her thighs. Those long, lanky fingers on her warm skin, right underneath the elastic of her underwear. The rough feeling of the calluses on his fingertips sent even more chills up her spine like a shock of lightning.
She anticipated him inserting a finger under her hood, but he never did. He instead nibbled on his bottom lip and closed his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him, slightly concerned.
“I can’t,” he confessed to her in a breathy whisper. He closed his eyes, and she could see the pain on his face. It wasn’t the feeling of infidelity but something else. Something hurt him. Someone hurt him.
Christine reached up to touch his face, and she pressed her lips onto his to give him a feeling of reassurance. She ran her hand down his chest, only to feel his heart pounding inside of there. He lowered his head a bit, and the tears that brimmed his eyes showed themselves to her.
“She’s killing me,” he whispered in a broken voice. “I can’t get away, but I want to, though. I don’t want her anymore. I don’t—I don’t—”
Christine leaned in closer to his face, such that she brushed the tip of her nose against his own.
“We tell no one,” she whispered into his lips.
“What happens between you and me stays between you and me, my love,” he vowed to her with another kiss. She put her arms around his waist and held him close to her. She didn’t mind if she held him all night long, even when there was a knock on the door.
“Food’s here,” he muttered. “My wallet’s in my front pocket.”
“You’re going to make me go to front door dressed like this to get the food,” she said in a near whisper.
He snickered at that. “Christine, this is New York. I’m sure you’ve seen some things here. If you have, he probably has, too.”
“What happens here, stays here,” she told him.
“What happens here, stays here,” he echoed her, and there was another knock on the door.
“Coming!” Christine called out with her hand down Alex’s front pocket.
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As the Seasons Grey