Not Your Type (Chris Pine FanFic)

Chris

Chris woke up for the second time that morning, this time it was the small line of sunshine sneaking through a slit in the curtains that broke his sleep.  His forehead creased and he moved out of the light, rolling over and facing the woman sleeping on her side next to him.  He quickly noticed that Chelsea slept on her side, both times he'd found himself waking up next to her she was curled up, one hand carefully tucked under her cheek, knees bent almost to a fetal position and a small smirk on her face. What do you dream about? Chris wondered as he gently pushed her hair off her face.  He stilled, expecting her to wake up but she didn't move.  The cadence of her deep breathing didn't change a bit and Chris smiled.  

"All worn out," he said lowly.  He had to admit, he was a bit worn out himself.  A promotional tour was always exhausting.  Each day was full of interviews from early in the morning until late in the evening.  Costars always wanted to go out and Chris usually obliged.   A small smirk played his own lips, "You wore me out a bit as well."  It was not the promotional tour that had his body heavy and sleepy.   He always slept better, longer, and deeper after sex. It was just natural.  The second time, the "baby-making practice" had been more physical and playful, less emotionally aggressive than the first.    Chris sighed, "Do you really want to go to the museum?  We really could stay right here, all day."   He ran his index finger along her scar, down her neck and across her collarbone, Chelsea still didn't respond.  "I'm taking that as a yes; let's stay in bed all day."  Chris leaned forward and kissed her forehead, finally eliciting a reaction.  Chelsea groaned slightly, turned her head int the pillow away from his touch, and continued to sleep.  He chuckled and slipped out of the sheets.   His pants lay in a pile at the foot of the bed, he snatched them up and walked across to the other room.   Out of respect he had left his suitcase in this room, though he had secretly hoped it would remain vacant for the weekend.  He grinned as he glanced over his shoulder back in the direction of the sleeping Chelsea.   The suitcase sat on the dresser, Chris unzipped it and flopped it open.  Quickly and without much though the pulled out jeans, a sweater, and a pair of briefs.  His shaving kit was already in the bathroom, he'd freshened up a bit before when he dropped his stuff off before to museum last night.   In a matter of seconds he was in the shower letting the hot water sear his skin red.  I could use a massage, he thought as he kneaded soap into his own tired muscles.   As he cleaned himself his thoughts wandered to the conversation he had prior to love-making.  Chelsea really wanted to know him.  He chortled as he thought of how she'd said it, "I want to know you, not Chris Pine."  It sounded so strange at the moment, but he completely understood.  On camera, in interviews, even out and about in LA he was someone so different than who he was behind closed doors.  Even in his last few relationships he'd still been "on" most of the time.  He had a persona to uphold.    Chelsea wanted to know everything.  Everything.   A dark sense of dread crawled into his heart.  He was no philanthropic headliner.  He'd already admitted to getting into acting because of his selfish desire to continue to have the privileged life he'd grown accustomed to as a child. It was also a nice smack to the face of the handful of people who pointed out his awkward traits in high school.  How much of his past would he have to divulge?   He closed his eyes and turned into the water, letting it flow over his face.   To be fair, he wanted to know all about her past.  And she'd already opened up to him about her husband.  The least he could do was share a few stories from his past relationships.  

His eyes flew open and head snapped out of the water.  Relationships.  There had been many girls.  Many.  A strange rush of shame washed over his body like the hot water.  It was a foreign feeling.  Most of the time he openly bragged with friends about the beautiful women he'd been with.  It felt wrong now. 

"Holy shit," he muttered aloud, surprised by  his own feelings.  Chelsea did something to him, something he couldn't exactly put his finger on.  She made him want to be a better person because of how good she was.   A small huff escaped his lips, I wonder what kind of mistakes she's made.  What a strange question, but the next time they were talking about "everything" as she had requested, that's what he wanted to know.  Though the more he thought about it, he found himself imagining only the most ridiculous of things.  She probably has overdue library books.  Or maybe she cheated on a spelling test once.  She probably ate a grape off of a bunch at the grocery store and didn't pay for it. Next thing he knew he was laughing.