Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Chris

Standing in his closet, Chris thumbed through various winter jackets.  He knew that Europe, especially Berlin, London and Paris, would be very cold this time of year.  He tossed a few onto the island in the middle of the large storage space. 

"This is the biggest bed I have ever seen. Ever."  Chelsea's voice drifted into the closet.  Looking out, he saw her completely stretched out on his California king.  It was as if she was attempting to reach each corner.  The stretching caused her shirt, his shirt to rise revealing her boy-short style underwear and the lower part of her belly.  He leaned against the door frame and just stared.  Her skin was fair and creamy.  The occasional red scar no longer caught his eye, though every now and then a tattoo would.  He was never one attracted to tattoos, but hers carried such deep meaning.  

The Asian one lacing along the side her foot caught his attention.  He remembered when he first noticed her tattoo, sitting on the grass watching football.  The strong desire he had months ago returned.  He put down the jacket and walked out to the bed.  Chris took her foot in his hand and traced the strange language.  Chelsea sat up and looked at him.  Her face glowed in the early morning sunlight that filled the room.  

"You don't talk about your tattoos much."

"They're personal." 

"Reminders of your husband," he slid further up the bed and took a hold of her wrist where the love quote was.  "But what about that one?" He gestured to her foot.  

Sitting up Chelsea pulled her foot in close and said some strange, definitely not English words.  Then she laughed.  "I don't know why I had it translated into Khmer, no one actually says it in Khmer, it just looks cooler.  It just means "Same same, but different." Which looks great on a  t-shirt."

Chris loved her laugh.  He loved that she wasn't upset any more.  Maybe he'd overreacted and Mansfield hadn't royally fucked anything up after all.   She was explaining what "Same same, but different" meant but he wasn't really listening.  Not that it wasn't interesting, he was just thoroughly distracted.   He was back to touching the Khmer tattoo at first, but now he was running his hand up and down her leg.   Even though she wasn't a model and was so very different physically from most of the women he'd dated, he couldn't get over her beauty.  Her skin told a story.  She'd stopped talking and was just looking at him. 

"Look," he said, making eye contact.  "I am sorry about tonight, I don't know what happened.  I don't know what was said."  Chris could tell Chelsea was relieved that he was bringing that up, she perked up and leaned into him.  

"I'm glad I'm not crazy.  I didn't want to," he interrupted her with a kiss.  He couldn't take it anymore, her sitting there in his shirt.  It was barely buttoned.  He could see the mole that tried to hide just to the left her of right breast.  He could see the red scar on her stomach.  He parted her lips with his and  explored her mouth with his tongue.  All the weight of the evening disappearing into passion as he pushed her back into a laying down position.  Her leg bent upward and he ran his hand roughly against her skin.  She moaned and arched her back.  Quickly, he pulled his shirt off, only parting his lips from hers for a brief moment.   Then he literally ripped his shirt off her.  Buttons scattered across the large bed, Chelsea said something but he didn't hear it.  He was too focused now.  He slid the sweatpants off and began to pull at her underwear while kissing down her collarbone and to the tops of her breasts. 

"Chris!" Whatever she was saying must have been important, she angrily yelled his name.  

He looked up at her, her eyes were wide.  She wasn't upset, she looked just as turned on as he was, but she also looked amused.  Then he heard it, his phone. 

"Fuck it," he whispered, moving up to kiss her, but she turned her head. "Come on," he whispered into her cheek as he began to kiss down her neck.

"You have a plane to catch in hours, what if it's about your travels?"  She fought to get the words out through deep breaths.  He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her.  "I don't want you to stop, but..." she reached over toward where the ringing was coming from.  There was no way she could reach the phone from underneath him, so he slid over and reached beyond her arm-span to the nightstand where his phone was still buzzing.   He slapped it a few times until he successfully got it on speaker phone.  Chris held his fingers against her lips, signaling her to remain silent, then he returned to kissing Chelsea's skin. 

"Chris?" The male voice called, Chris was too distracted to place it.  

"Yes," he said, he pulled at Chelsea's underwear again.  She fought him and giggles at the same time.

"What are you doing?" The voice said.

"Packing," Chris smiled, again he pressed a finger against Chelsea's lips telling her to be quiet.  He knew she wouldn't speak anyway.  She rolled her eyes at him. 

"Perfect," the male voice said.  Chris sat up, staring down at the woman beneath him.  He wanted to pack her.  He reminded himself to buy her a ticket to Paris.   The voice was talking through the trip and various stops.  Occasionally Chris would give a "yeah" or "uh-huh" while he. He mouthed the word, "Paris?" She shook her head.  He shook his and mouthed, "Then you go in the suitcase." She didn't understand, so he just pointed at the bag.  She smiled and shook her head.  That smile, he leaned down and kissed her. 

"How did Chelsea take it?"  Chris pulled back.  Chelsea was looking at him quizzically.  It hit him who he was talking to.  It was Mansfield.  Shit, shit, shit.   "I was gone last night, but there's one thing I remember doing."  Stop talking, Chris thought then he began to reach over for the phone.  "I remember letting the cat out of the bag so to speak.  I really thought you'd just let her in on it.  I never believed you lead her on so much.  Was she epically heartbroken? Did you offer her a car or something?"  Chris was jamming his fingers at the phone, but in his haste he couldn't get the stupid thing off speaker phone. He stood up, next to the bed holding the phone in his palm. Chelsea was pulling herself out from underneath him and attempting to wrap herself in the now button-less shirt "Well, no matter. You got what you wanted, you're on the tour.  Plus you have all those auditions lined up.  Oscar calibre shit, Mr. Pine.  Look forward to meeting up with you in Sydney."  And the line disconnected. 

He stared at the phone.  Chris didn't know what to do.  He looked over at Chelsea.  She'd gotten completely off the bed. She was standing on the opposite side of the bed, hugging herself.  

"I can explain," he attempted to explain.

"Can you take me home please?" She said softly, staring at the floor.

"Chels, listen," he walked quickly around the bed toward her.  He reached out to her, but she tightened her arms around her own waist and looked away. "Please, take me home or call me a cab or something. I'm going to put my clothes on."  And she walked away. 

Chris stood there, unable to move or completely process what had just happened. 

He looked at his phone and scrolled through is contacts.  With a heavy heart, he called his favorite car service.