Christian Grey (heartsnflowers) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-01-09 17:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, alyssa hamilton, christian grey |
Who: Christian and Alyssa.
What: Calming the post-dream funk.
When: 1/2, after these texts.
Where: Christian’s place.
Rating/Warnings: NSFW for some unfy things.
Status: Complete!
Christian hadn’t been able to dissuade Alyssa from coming over, and it irritated him. He’d told her no, and she simply hadn’t taken it for an answer. She drove him mad at the worst times. Now she’d come over and be cheery and want to talk about his fucking feelings, and there were no feelings for a dream so real it left him panting from sheer fright, wanting to vomit from the smell of death still in his nostrils. He still felt the cold of a Detroit winter seeping through the cracks in his Southern California townhouse, and he wanted to throw things, not make nice over dinner.
Still, he couldn’t stop her.
He was in workout kit, throwing his hands at his heavy bag so hard he thought he’d break a finger, and not caring much. Was that the doorbell?
She could’ve just teleported into his house, but that seemed rude. She’d come from class, so she was wearing a longer dress than usual, a pretty cream coloured sweater dress that skimmed the middle of her thighs. Her hair was down, and a canvas tote bag was over one shoulder.
He stopped after his set, so she had to wait a second, but he frankly didn’t care. He opened the door and turned away - he had practically begged her not to come, but she’d showed up anyway. She had to know she wouldn’t get much in the way of company. “Not quite finished,” was all he said to her, going back into the other room and starting to hit the bag again.
She nodded, calling back out after him as she toed off her shoes. “Use the speedbag after. You seem to calm down after you do that for a bit. How d’you take your steak?” She headed to the kitchen, not even asking him how he was. That was evident.
Well, that was refreshing. He’d expected Oprah. “Medium,” he finally replied, when he had the breath. The idea of steak was good - he wanted to rip into something. That was probably vaguely worrying, but oh well. So were the fucking dreams.
The speed bag was a good idea, too; he could let himself lapse into a rhythm that belied all knowledge of the world outside. His eyes drifted out of focus, then back in as he tried to watch the bag. It helped him remember this was the here and now.
She pulled out an apron (it was important to protect her white clothing, thank you) and started to cook. Humming to herself, she didn’t think about what Christian was doing, instead losing herself to chopping and sipping a beer from the six pack she’d brought over. Really, Christian just needed someone to be around when he got himself as sorted as he could. That would take time, and she’d cook until then.
Eventually his hands ached, and even he had to admit that it would be counterproductive to do more. One couldn’t punch away dreams, couldn’t fuck them away, couldn’t do anything but live with them. He still didn’t want to discuss it, and if Alyssa so much as opened her mouth in that direction she’d get an earful, but at least there would be food.
And it had been good of her to make it, at least.
He came in from the workout room, bracing internally for questions, but outwardly quiet. He rolled his neck, feeling it pop, and simply looked at her.
She looked up at him and then turned to get him a glass of water, handing it over wordlessly. Returning to the steaks, she looked at her watch and pulled them out of the oven to rest. The baked potatoes were already done, so she started to plate up, adding cottage cheese and chives to his.
Christian nodded a thank you for the water - the least he could do - and drank most of it in one long swallow. He kept the glass with him as he went to the table. Looking over, he had to admit, those steaks did look very good. And even cooked properly. “Did you get those at Horowitz?” he asked casually, quietly, naming the local kosher butcher. They tended to have the right proportion of fat on their steaks.
“I did, actually. Stopped by on my way over.” She hummed a little as she grabbed him a beer, unscrewing the cap and handing one over. “They just have a couple more minutes to rest, I didn’t know how long you’d be. I would’ve gotten lamb, but I didn’t know if you’d be keen.”
“Very keen, for the future. But these look good.” He would rather have small talk than Feelings, and he did find himself being hungry. There was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach that could have been fear, but for now he’d treat it as hunger and go from there. He hated being so affected by something he couldn’t control, and it made him more grumpy, probably. He’d heard about these dreams, but he hadn’t thought it would hit him like the proverbial woman scorned. Right in the jaw.
“Next time I’ll make a stew or something.” She finally went to plate the steaks, bringing them over to the table and smiling at him before sitting down. “Well, tuck in,” she murmured. Alyssa ate carefully, tidily, cutting up her steak - medium rare for her, thank you - and purring as she chewed.
He obeyed, sitting at the chair across from her, wordlessly starting to eat. The food actually jarred him out of his funk temporarily. “That’s quite good.” Christian blinked. “Did they teach you how to cook at school, or is this a skill you’ve actually pursued?”
“Mum’s a shitty cook, so I just sort of picked it up, really.” Alyssa shrugged. It wasn’t like she’d made something complicated, so she didn’t see it as the biggest deal. “I can muddle through most things.”
“I never learnt how.” He’d managed with takeout and lady friends cooking for him. He could make things like oatmeal, but he usually ate late at the office anyway. It was part of the reason he worked out so obsessively; his diet was bollocks. “I’d have torched it to a crisp.” Which really was a crime against a beautiful piece of meat.
“It’s a pretty useful skill, really. If I hadn’t learned, I’d have starved to death, or had to live on chips.” She wrinkled her nose and picked at her potato. “I’m a mutant, I hate junk food.” She’d always been seen snacking on fruit, and had actually bought a dehydrator one semester with her holiday pocket money to make fruit jerky. Her diet in boarding school had suggested that she’d lived through a plane crash or a disaster.
“I could think of worse things than living on chips.” Christian raised an eyebrow when she said she hated junk food. “Were you ever a child? Junk food’s a part of growing up.” Auntie had always saved things for him on the nights he stayed at her house. His mother had banned anything with more sugar than apples from the house, not that he’d ever given much of a toss what his mother had to say.
“When I was really really tiny, yeah, but after about ... I want to say ten, I just got sick of it, I guess.” She’d found that really fresh, really good food was more of a luxury. She ate frozen things all the time. “Really good fresh things always seemed like more of a treat.” She chewed another bite of steak thoughtfully. “Though I do like pastries. I think bread is my guilty pleasure food.”
“The one fucking part of my mum trying to be a good parent was feeding us all vegetables and protein. I’d never had a candy bar until I was about eight.” Auntie had given it to him. Just one. She liked her chocolate anyway. “As if making sure I wasn’t fat was all I needed.” What, he wondered, would happen to the little boy in his dreams? Foster care, he assumed. Couldn’t be that much worse than his real childhood. But the thought turned his stomach, and he pushed the plate away.
Alyssa rolled her eyes. “It’s weird, what people think of as priorities in raising their children. Mum made certain I wouldn’t get pregnant so I wouldn’t get stuck in the ‘wrong marriage’ for a long time, and now she’s hell bent on me having a child that I don’t need a man with.” Not to mention the guilt Alyssa had felt when she’d found out she’d been the child that had kept Nancy “stuck” to Roger for three years, until he’d left. “Glad I don’t want to be a parent for a long, long time, if at all.”
That actually explained a lot. “Perhaps she should fucking wait until you actually want one. If ever.” Christian groused, looking away. “She wouldn’t look so barking mad.” He didn’t like being told what to do, and he couldn’t imagine Alyssa liking being told what to do outside of the bedroom. “Do women sign over their brains when they have a child?”
“I’m fairly sure Mum did. The thing is, I always hated her - just a little bit - for telling me that if she hadn’t had me, she wouldn’t have stayed married to Dad. It’s hypocritical for one, considering they’re still married.” She rolled her eyes. “He stepped out when I was three, and fifteen years later, she’s still technically married and they’re both with other people. I haven’t seen him since. They’re ‘staying together for me’.” She used finger quotes, then made the universal gesture for ‘gag me’ by miming sticking her tongue in her throat. “I’ve told her loads of times I don’t give a toss what they do, but there you are. Our parents are both mental.”
Christian actually stared at her, aghast. It took a lot to appall him. “What a load of self-indulgent, hypocritical, brainless, passive-aggressive shite.” He fairly hissed the word. They might only be shagging, but Alyssa didn’t deserve that kind of guilt trip psychopathy. No one fucking did. “At least my dad left when I was eight, and didn’t mince fucking words about it. Said family life bored him, and off he went.”
She looked at him and then laughed. “Innit? There’s just some things that you don’t tell your children, not right away. And there’s some things that you should just bloody do. I don’t have the heart to tell her that their marriage is probably null and void at this point, she thinks she’s being such a martyr.” She couldn’t help beaming at him. It felt like they were friends, having dinner together. And she really did appreciate that.
He didn’t really know why she was smiling, but he felt a bit better after railing about something. “I know it’s rude to talk badly of one’s parents, but your mum sounds like a fucking ignorant cow.” He said sharply, enjoying the staccato of the words. “You’re sensible and bright, as well as pretty, and most parents would be overjoyed instead of laying that bollocks on you.”
That just made her blush, and she smiled a little to herself. “She’s less my mum and more a mate that I live with,” she murmured quietly. “It’s weird, in my dreams I adore my mum. I go on this mad adventure to find her even though I know I’ll get hurt, even though she warned me to stay away from home until after my fifteenth birthday passed.”
“My mum overdosed in front of me when I was a tiny child in the dreams.” Christian’s tone was nothing but scorn. For it, for Nancy Hamilton, for his real mother, everything. “I don’t know what’s worse, a neglectful cunt or a crack whore.”
Alyssa’s blue eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “They’re both awful, and you don’t deserve any of it. Not now, not then, not there, not here. Tell all of them to go to hell, yeah?” She leaned back. “Everyone puts this emphasis on blood. Fuck that.” She didn’t swear too often, but when she did, it was with vigor. “In my dreams, my granddad murdered my father because he didn’t want Mum having more kids with him because of his weak blood. Granddad was scared he’d rape me, so instead he tried to kill me and eat my heart so we’d be ‘together forever’. Trust me, Christian. Blood is stupid sometimes. We don’t all get lucky.”
Christian stared. Eventually, he had to laugh. “Bloody fucking hell. Your dreams don’t arse around, do they.” He wasn’t interested in playing who-had-it-worse, but that was up there. “Blood isn’t worth anything. Never figured it was.” It just didn’t feel good to have the lesson shoved in his face like a dog’s nose in its mess.
She grinned back at him. “They really don’t. I woke up screaming the night I had to run from a murderer during the Blitz.” She hopped up and went to the kitchen, coming back with a pint of sorbet, two bowls, and two spoons. “Dessert has to thaw.”
“Is that sorbet?” He raised an eyebrow. Interesting, that she chose that. It was a bit healthier than the alternative.
“I know you worry about your figure,” Alyssa smirked.
“I have to, my diet’s crap. Told you I didn’t know how to cook.” Vain? Maybe a little. Fewer women liked men who weren’t in shape. And he’d always been a skinny kid, really.
“It’s not very hard, really. Just follow the instructions.” She smiled and scooped him some sorbet before doing the same for herself. “This is my favorite sweet, though.”
Christian tried a bit. “Is that mint?” It had a surprisingly nice taste; it was almost sweet behind the minty taste.
“It is, mint and a tiny bit of lemongrass.” Alyssa sighed as she let hers melt on her tongue. “S’hard to find, but it’s worth it.”
“It’s good.” That was as close to a compliment as he’d give her. If she got too many, she’d get insufferable. That little smirk of hers was already something he could see coming a mile away.
He couldn’t entirely resist. “Thought I’d get Oprah, you insisting on coming round after I told you to piss off.”
“Oh, god no. I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone, but that doesn’t mean we have to talk about your feelings,” Alyssa snorted. “I don’t do that with anyone but my therapist, and I’m not yours.”
“Good.” Christian did actually appreciate it. They had an odd sort of acquaintanceship that he had to admit he was beginning to enjoy; he didn’t want to fuck it all up with serious business. That was how girls got clingy and awkward.
She gave him a wink and then rolled her eyes. “God, can you imagine if you started to fancy me? I’d have to smack you. You’re many things, Christian Grey, but you’re not a touchy feely sort. Speaking of, did you want to shag after this, or are you too knackered?” Alyssa figured it would be good to ask, seeing as their weird little friendship had bloomed between shags.
Christian thought, sighing. “I honestly don’t know if I can focus.” It was as straight an answer as she was going to get today.
“Can I do something to help you relax?” She looked at him, trying to look as innocent as possible.
“I suppose.” He didn’t think she’d do anything too outlandish, would she?
“Come on, sofa. I’ll clear the table when we’re done. Sit.” She stood up and motioned for him to sit down in his living room and get comfortable.
“All right.” Christian was still wary; was she going to try some New Age bollocks? He knew her dreams were unusual, but he thought she was a bit more sensible than all that. He came over to his sofa, sitting down on one end. Hopefully she wouldn’t want to hug him.
She didn’t sit down next to him. Instead, Alyssa kneeled down in front of him, carefully tugging his gym shorts and pants down a bit. “Don’t think, just close your eyes.”
It soon became clear what she actually intended to do, and Christian couldn’t help but be relieved. “Oh, thn’God,” he mumbled, before closing his eyes and doing his best not to think of anything. Really, he hadn’t expected this. He might actually owe her a debt of gratitude.
Alyssa didn’t give him anything slow or romantic, no unnecessary buildup. Gripping his hips, she carefully ran her tongue over him and eventually taking as much of him as she could into her mouth, closing her eyes and trying not to get turned on herself.
Christian was damn well appreciative. He just sighed, keeping his eyes closed and trying not to buck his hips. At least Alyssa could tell people he wasn’t a horrible pig.
She wouldn’t have minded, not really. As long as he didn’t choke her until she passed out or anything. Bearing off, she grinned up at him. “You can move, you know. Sorta the point, innit?” Her accent grew broader the more she was aroused, and she hoped he wouldn’t mock her for it.
“You asked f’r it.” It amused him that she now sounded a bit like a Yorkshireman, but then she was doing something that made everything absolutely unfunny and very serious, yes. He just slammed his eyes shut, arched his hips, and tried not to make too much noise; it would go right to her head.
She whimpered against him, looking up to see his face. Her fingernails dug into his hips as she balled her fingers a bit against her own arousal. But damn, his face was pretty when he was turned on. She hadn’t really paid attention until that moment, but he really was very lovely when he wasn’t being an ass.
He’d probably have to reciprocate when he could, but the novel thing was that he didn’t feel like she’d twist his nuts to do it tonight. He was actually grateful. He was still tired, still heartsick, and still - for once - afraid. He’d sworn to stop being afraid after his childhood. Christian never wanted that much, especially from someone like Alyssa, but what he did want from her, she usually was able to give. Right now, all he had to do was let his neck go limp and softly moan.
She just knew that sometimes, the only solace one could have from the dreams was ten damn minutes to not think about them. She’d found comfort in running, in training, in punching imaginary demons so hard that they would feel it through different universes. Christian wasn’t like that, and she had a hunch that sex was when he felt most alive, most vital. At least, that’s how it seemed when she was with him. So in doing this one act, she felt like she was giving him ten minutes of solace, ten minutes without a shitty mother dying in front of him.
Christian didn’t bother thinking after she got into a rhythm. He just gripped the sofa arm very hard with one hand, and Alyssa’s hair with the other, trying not to come immediately.
Alyssa wouldn’t have minded if he had. She figured after he came she’d clear the dishes and go home to have some time with her shower head. His hand in her hair didn’t help things much.
He knew what she liked, though - even as she bore down, he bit his lip and let one needy ripple escape, covered by a sharp twist of her hair, of gratefulness and understanding and exhaustion all at once. The orgasm came later, and yet for once, it seemed like it was playing second fiddle. Nobody had really ever come close to understanding him for a long time now.
Whimpering as she swallowed, Alyssa moved off of him a moment later. She was breathing hard, trying to get air as well as her head. In letting himself be vulnerable, Alyssa had to fight off the urge to kiss him, something she’d only ever done once, when they’d first met. Then it hadn’t meant anything. If she did then, she thought she’d end up tumbling into feelings she wasn’t sure she wanted to have about anyone. Instead of kissing him, she met his eyes and licked her lower lip, still panting. “I should clear the table,” she murmured.
Christian had to get his breath back before replying. “Thank you,” he said, just once. Hopefully she understood.
“Of course,” she smiled back at him. “What else is a mate for, yeah?”
Not that was Christian’s first response. But that way madness lay. So he just smiled and closed his eyes, letting her do what she would. He got the impression she’d do it anyway.