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
- 5
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Alex ran his hand down his bare stomach, and he nudged the edges of the jacket out of the way all the while. Though it was rather cold outside from the snow before, he still walked about as if there was nothing to be wary of. And in fact, there wasn’t much to be wary of in the end. They reached the other side of the street, away from any prying eyes, and he turned towards Christine with the tips of his fingers rested on his waist, right where the bottom hem of the camisole reached his belly button. She showed him a little smile and she knitted her knees together so as to accentuate the curve of her hips: the cold seemed to put pressure onto those snug jeans, which in turn made her legs and hips appear fuller than usual.
He eyed her, complete with a slightly raised eyebrow and a lopsided smile. He nudged the edges of the jacket back for her to see more of the skin on his waist and his hips. The belt buckle lay right below his belly button and the sides of the waistband themselves rested upon the tops of his hipbones. Though they were women’s jeans, they fit him so perfect, as if they were meant all for him.
“God, so cute,” she noted, and she put her arms around his waist. “So, so cute.”
He lunged back a bit and he wagged a finger at her. Christine tilted her head to the side a bit, completely oblivious to his intent there. He lingered there on the curb of the sidewalk with his feet together at the heels and his hands rested on the lapels of the jacket itself.
The waist of the jeans straddled his hipbones, and he ran his other hand down the seat of the pants, and he cocked his hip out a bit more towards her.
He nudged a part of the jeans down his hipbone to show her some more skin. She lingered back a bit with her thumbs tucked into the tight pockets to bring attention to the shape of her hips.
“Do you have any idea how cute you look?” she asked him.
“Do you have any idea how cute you look?” he retorted back to her. His eyes swept over her body as if he was undressing her from her head down to her feet.
“Can’t say that I do,” she confessed to him.
“Well… you look—so—just—” He moved his hands closer to her hips for a feel of the extra flesh there. She backed away from him, and towards the brick wall right behind her.
He brought a hand up to his lips to stifle a giggle.
“What’re you thinking?” she teased him.
“I’m thinking about having a little nice to nosh on,” he confessed to her. “You know, I just think about all of those lush apples at the bottom of the hill—and I wonder if any of them have survived the snowfall from last night.”
“We could have apple pie!” she suggested.
“Like the apple pies we have around Rosh Hashanah!” he added.
“I would be more than happy to whip up a pie for the two of us,” she declared with a hand down the front of her waist for a feel of her own skin: the cold from the morning around them made her skin resemble to porcelain with the smoothness and the same cold feeling to boot as well.
“Do you know how to make apple pie?” he asked her with a bit of reluctance.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” she confessed, and he burst out laughing at that.
“That’s okay—we’ll improvise and play around with it all.”
“Improvise like—in jazz?”
“Like in jazz, exactly. In fact—” He turned his head for a glimpse across the street to the bistro across the cobblestones. “You want to go check out the world of jazz for a moment before we see the orchestra?”
Christine hitched up the snug jeans, although it was rather useless given the sheer tightness all around her hips. Alex kept the smile on her face as he took her by the hand and led her across the cobblestones to the bar front: when she took a glimpse inside of there, she noticed the low tables scattered across the floor inside of there. At the far side of the room stood the stage, complete with a series of microphones and a stand for a guitar as well as the partial side of a drum kit. A couple of other patrons milled around on the floor right before them: she shivered from the cold as well as having her skin exposed to the snowy wintry morning all around them. She tugged the edges of her jacket closer to her middle to keep her skin protected from the cold as well as the wandering eyes of the patrons in there.
“We’re both a couple of freaks so we’re going to fit right in, you and me,” he assured her, and he flashed her a wink; he held the door for her and she sauntered inside of there first. The whole bistro smelled of fresh lemons as well as a kiss of ginger, as if they had just made up a series of drinks on hand for the festivities later on that evening. With the warm smells around them, Christine opened her coat around her body and she turned her attention to the mirror on the wall off to the right. In the mirror’s reflection, she noticed Alex looking on at her with a smirk on his face.
She turned her attention to him right as he turned away from her and made his way over to the shelf on the left side of the room for a look at something. The other couple of people in there roamed about the floor until they took their seats at the table closest to the stage.
It was as if they had arrived a whole two hours before the act showed up for the gig later on that day once the sun had set behind the mountains on the other side of their hillsides there.
“Christine,” Alex called out to her in a low enough voice for her to hear without disturbing anything about the bistro around them. She turned for a glimpse over at him and the glass bulb cradled in both of his hands. She frowned at the sight of it, and she sauntered closer to him for a better look at the piece.
“What’s that?” she asked him as she came within earshot of him.
“It’s blown glass,” he replied. “You know how to blow glass?”
She shook her head. “I like it, though,” she stated, and she eyed the reddish-orange color scheme of the glass, how it all bled into itself like the colors of a sunset that followed a snowstorm over the hillsides before them. The mere shape of the glass made her think of a hurricane glass, and even though Alex wasn’t old enough to drink down liquor at the moment, she still thought about having a drink for herself in the meantime.
“I just happened to walk on over here and I spotted the glass pieces on the shelf here,” he told her, and he gestured to the glass works on the shelf off to her right. All of them were fused and blown glass, and all of them of rich voluminous color like the one in his hand: there was one right next to his head that made her think of the smooth lips in between her legs all by the sheer smoothness of the look of the glass itself. It had been quite some time since she had held a mirror up to those lips for a close look at them: indeed, the feel of his jeans as they pressed tight against her hips and legs made her all the more aware of her lips as well as the feel of her skin below her waist.
There was another glass piece off to the right there that seemed to take on the shape of a dildo from its oblong shape and the fact that each end of the thing tapered out with that familiar plug shape. It had been some time since she had slithered the smooth end of a dildo over the outside of her hood as well as inside of there for a good feeling.
Alex then snapped his fingers right before her face.
“Are you listening?” he asked her, and she shook her head. He squinted his eyes at her.
“What’re you thinking about then?” he demanded, and he couldn’t resist the hearty little chuckle on his part: he kept the glass piece cradled upon the palm of his hand. Indeed, the more that she gazed on at it, the more that she thought about a fleshlight for his dick or a little plug for his ass to keep him moving forth. They were in a freaky little place after all, or perhaps it was her own appetite for him as it overcame her right then.
“I’ll let you figure that one out,” she teased him, and she strode over to the counter right behind him: all the while, she swayed her hips at him so he could have a nice view of her ass, still swathed in those tight jeans. She took her spot at the counter and she let the muffin top hang out over her waist all the while.
Alex set the glass piece back down on the shelf on the wall there before he doubled over to her. He wagged his finger at her as he took his seat next to her.
“What’chu wagging your finger at me for?” she demanded.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he told her with a raise of his eyebrow. It was rather funny to watch him raise his eyebrows, especially in a fashion such as that: his whole entire face seemed to light up when they raised up his brow.
“What am I thinking about?” she asked him with a little gyration of her head at him.
He nibbled on his bottom lip.
“You’re clam-jamming me?” she demanded, and he shrugged.
“I guess you could say that I am,” he told her.
Christine turned to the counter before them as well as the menu on the wall on the other side there. The barista strode up to them from behind the wall in front of them.
She asked for a latte where Alex asked for a double espresso.
“Ah, going back to the aphrodisiacs, I see,” she teased him.
“Nah, you’d like to think that, wouldn’t you,” he retorted in a low voice.
“You’re definitely jamming me up, aren’t you?” she scoffed, and he shook his head.
“Nah, it just seems like that,” he insisted, albeit with a nonchalant look plastered across his face. “It just seems like that because you’re wearing my pants and they’re as tight as ever on you.”
Once they had their coffees in their hands, more patrons stepped into the bistro: it was right then that Christine realized that the show was in fact about to start up right then and there. A few stagehands tried out the microphones, while one wiry little guy set a guitar on the rack closest to the drum kit. The body was wide and smooth, a deep rich red, like a glass of red wine. Alex sipped on his espresso and then he set it down on the counter next to him.
“Wait for me,” he told her, and he made his way over to the stage, still donned in her clothes all the while.
The drummer, a tall lanky guy with a smooth mullet of blond hair, took his seat there at the kit, and the bassist, a slightly shorter guy with a scraggly beard and a wool cap rested upon his head, picked up the stand-up bass. Alex meanwhile, picked up the guitar and slung it over his shoulder: Christine watched those three men as they congregated upon that narrow wooden stage.
More and more patrons entered the bistro, and the gold and silvery lights over the stage spanned low over their heads.
It was like magic: Alex gently strummed the guitar, while the bass carried a great deal of distortion. The drummer seemed to move as though he was underwater. The silver lights caressed over the plume of silver upon Alex’s head to where the roots almost seemed pure white: the hair upon his bangs seemed to sparkle, as if he had shoved a handful of glitter into his hair from the roots outward.
Their music moved along with a romping groove, and Christine felt the need to stand up to her feet and dance along with it. The bistro was small, and thus, the floor had very little space to it in order to dance along, but she could feel her hips swaying even while in the chair. Though he was reticent about doing anything that involved leather and latex, Alex did in fact know how to jam a clam when he caught one right out of the ocean.
She gave her hair a toss back, which in turn exposed her neck, and she watched him from the counter there. The lights focused on those three men, and yet it felt as though all eyes were on her in the meantime.
Alex leaned back and he gave his hair a toss with the flick of his head, as if he was performing up on stage with Testament or the orchestra, rather than that little jazz trio. At one point, he bowed his head and he let the rich wavy black hair on the side of his head wash over the side of his face like the vines from a tree.
The way his guitar hugged his body, especially the front of his waist, and the way that he let his skin hang out in the open and through drag no less. It made her all the more aware of her own lips than the tight jeans alone. She closed her eyes and she focused on her hood, all shrouded in that tight denim, and she could feel her heart pounding.
Alex jammed her up and he danced with her in the ocean.
At the bottom of the ocean stood pure blackness followed by the fire of the earth from underneath the ground at the very bottom.
Those deep eyes as they locked onto her own. Those long and lanky guitar player fingers on the seat of her pants and up onto her love handles, all to feel her skin. That silvery plume at the crown of his head as it lit her way all the way to the bottom until the fire engulfed the two of them.
She opened her eyes right as Alex started on a solo, and one where she immediately thought of “Practice What You Preach.” A sexy, groovy jam topped off by a solo that made the hair on her arms stand on end and made her spine zip all the way up as if the pressure built up in between her hips. He stuck one leg out before him and he set his foot on the pedal down at the edge of the stage. He gave his hair another toss back with the flick of his head and the sight of the peaceful smile upon his face tickled her a bit.
He brought his head down for a look over the audience, to which he nodded his head at everyone. A few people clapped for him, and then he made his way over to the steps next to the stage once again.
She leaned forward all so he could see her there. He cracked her a smile as they locked eyes for a good long moment.
He backed up and then they finished their little jam together, to which the audience treated them to a round of hearty applause.
With her latte in hand, Christine slid out of her seat and she hurried over to the steps next to the stage to meet up with him. He sauntered down the steps with a knowing grin upon his face.
“There’s my baby!” she declared, and she threw her free arm around him: the other two guys in the trio meanwhile had disappeared into the shadows behind them. “That was so amazing.”
Alex shrugged.
“I try my best,” he told her.
“Your best? You were amazing, my babe—” She held him close, and then he led her away from the stage, into the back part of the restaurant. They were met with a low dark hallway and a light at the very far end of it all: Christine sipped on her latte, and then she turned to Alex. Her heart pounded inside of her chest as well as against the crotch of the tight jeans. It was all so surreal, almost like that of a dream, that she had no choice but to make a move onto him rather than the other way around.
She then leaned back against the wall to gather his attention. He stopped for a look back at her, and then he lowered his eyelids at her as if to seduce her from afar.
“Mm, look at this beautiful boy,” she remarked. “I want to touch this little body.”
He wagged his finger at her, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“C’mon, Alex, let me touch you! Come over here and let me caress you down.”
“I dunno, I see you touching me in the same way,” he confessed.
“Well, yeah, of course,” she scoffed at him. “It’s just—you were so natural and so free up on the stage back there. I want to come closer to you.”
She bowed her head a bit as if to accentuate the look in her eyes. Alex ran his tongue over his bottom lip and he swayed closer to her.
“I want to touch you,” she begged him in a lower voice. He took a slower step closer to her, but he nevertheless came closer to her.
“I want to fuck you silly while we’re watching the orchestra,” she quipped. He raised his little eyebrows at that, and the gray plume over his brow washed out a bit more.
“Alex—Alex, fuck me,” she begged: she downed the rest of her latte and she moved in closer to him so her breasts pressed against his chest. She inched up onto her toes so she could feel his lips: her lips meanwhile throbbed from the sensation, and they throbbed so hard that they started to ache from the tightness. How she wished to get off on him.
“I know you want to,” she whispered into his lips. “I want to fuck you. I want to feel you.”
“Feel me—” he whimpered to her. “Feel me and love me.”
“Come here, baby—oh—” She gasped as he unzipped those tight pants off her waist. She held still as he reached down for a feel.
“Let’s get out of these clothes,” he suggested in a low voice. “I feel you in pain and I’m starting to get cold.”
“The waist on these is starting to ache me,” she told him, and she breathed into his lips. “But it feels so good, though—I feel the pain and it feels so incredible.” And he couldn’t resist the smile on his face at that.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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As the Seasons Grey