The Fire That Floods the Soul

by copious-caution (otherworldly_presents)

Summary:

After Christine experiences a violation at the Printemps Gala, she seeks comfort in the arms of Erik. His comfort and love as he cares for her awakens a darker desire in her, something hungrier and more possessive than she had ever felt before. And she will tell Erik what he means - and what he does - to her no matter what it takes.

Complete

Notes:

My first POTO fic. My first smutty fic.
This first chapter is all set-up, but I hope you find it intriguing. As the story will get much more passionate and steamy.

Chapter 1: The Invitation

Christine stood anxiously by the opera side entrance, tucked in the small brick alcove between the street and the thick wood slats of the door leading backstage. She bounced nervously on the balls of her satin slippered feet, as she searched the passing carriages for the de Chagny crest, awaiting the arrival of Raoul.

He had dutifully and perhaps too enthusiastically, agreed to be her escort for the evening after the owners announced the Printemps Gala. The entire cast and crew of the opera house had been working furiously all week to put together what Firmin and Andre hoped to be the event of the season.

The night was cool and crisp, with the stars shining brightly in the sky, unimpeded by any clouds or smoke. Carriages were arriving by the dozen, wealthy patrons and nobility with too much money in their pockets poured out of them, clad in their finest silks and bejeweled with diamonds and rubies, as they paraded up the opera house steps to join the festivities.

The bells of the clock tower in the neighboring square started pealing, and Christine twisted her fingers with each chime until the last resonant note hung in the air.

Eight o’clock.

Raoul was late.

--

“A gala?” Erik said as he flipped up the coattails of his dark velvet jacket as he seated himself before the organ in his underground home, “Whatever for?”

Christine had been coming to Erik’s home for lessons ever since the night of her premiere in Hannibal. Granted, the encounter had ended in something of a disaster, but it seemed ridiculous at that point to continue their lessons as they had before.

Madame Giry had carefully facilitated the full introduction between Christine and the man she introduced as Erik. Christine had been exhilarated to learn his name, but given her brazenness the first night he had brought her to his home, she felt the monikers “Angel” and “Maestro” would suit their relationship as student and teacher better. Erik bristled at “Angel” but accepted it, as that was how she had known him for so many years.

Hannibal had ended its run as a massive success, namely due to the ingenue who replaced Carlotta. Christine was content to remain shrouded in mystery to her audience, not quite ready to step fully into the spotlight, but the announcement of the Printemps Gala had changed that.

The opera was currently hosting the Bolshoi Ballet for a three month run of Giselle, so the cast and crew of the opera had some time off and it gave Christine the opportunity to focus on her craft. Until now.

She shuffled her feet against the Persian rugs that layered the stone floor of Erik’s home.
“They say it is to celebrate the success of the season,” she explained cautiously, certain her next words would be unsavory to her temperamental teacher, “Monsieurs Andre and Fermin insist that I attend as the current prima donna.”

His fingers that had been poised above the keys suddenly fell to his knees and he turned his head sharply to face her.

“They are claiming the event is to honor me,” she added, vainly hoping that it might irk him less if she was being celebrated as he had so often claimed she deserved to be.

Erik scoffed, shaking his head derisively, “I’m sure it’s simply to dig into the pockets of those with more money than sense and squeeze out as much funding as they can. Whether that money is for the opera or themselves remains to be seen.”

“I would rather not go,” Christine added hurriedly, “but it doesn’t seem there is any way for me to avoid attending. As the prima donna, they say the gala will be pointless without its star.”

Erik sighed, and she saw the unmasked side of his face shift from indignation to resignation. His mind had been consumed with her success for many years, and he could hardly begrudge her the requirements that come with being the prima donna she was turning out to be.

“Very well,” he said tersely, with constrained acceptance, placing his fingers upon the keys once again.

“Um, Maestro,” Christine said meekly, waiting for his mood to change again. She wasn’t intending to postpone their lesson, but there was one crucial piece of information she couldn’t let go unspoken.

Erik turned on the cushioned bench of his organ and faced her fully, his expression one of waning patience, “Yes, my dove?”

She swallowed hard, “Raoul de Chagny has asked if he might escort me to the gala.”

Erik looked at her meaningfully for a few moments, before replying, “And you accepted?”

Words bubbled to her lips, but swiftly died on her tongue. She hadn’t accepted his request. Not yet. There was someone else she had been hoping might ask her, someone else’s arm she could hold onto as she walked in the gala as the triumphant soprano.

Him. Erik.

The success of the performance had been as much his doing as her own. He was her brilliant Maestro, the one who had shaped and honed the voice that had Paris in an uproar. If anyone deserved to be lavished with praise, it was him.

But her heart had already sunk deep in her chest. There was simply no way he would accept such an offer.

“I haven’t yet,” she said, her expression inscrutable as her eyes bore into him, “I wanted to see if it was alright with you that he escort me.”

Erik felt something like pride swell in his chest, and he clenched his jaw to bite back a smile. Though he could hardly expect it of her, it brought him great pleasure to know that she would rather ask for his consent than risk upsetting him. He detested Raoul, openly, and had no doubt that his opinion would never change, but his sweet dove’s consideration for him was something he could not ignore.

Christine’s eyes were cast down to the floor, hands clenched tightly behind her back. The thin vein of hope that he might reject such a proposal and insist that he be the one to attend with her vanished as he spoke.

“He will make a most handsome escort,” he said, his voice tight, “I only wish they wouldn’t exploit my dutiful student in such a gaudy and garish way. But it seems it cannot be helped.”

Christine gave him a short nod, her eyes unable to look upon him, “I will inform him.”

A sense of palpable tension settled over them for a moment, before Erik at last pressed his hands to the keys, a powerful D major chord filling the room.

“Shall we begin?”

The lesson went smoothly, despite their conversation. Christine’s instrument was refined and she sang the arias he deftly played with seeming effortlessness. Her voice was heavenly and a balm for Erik’s irritability.

When the clock on the mantle chimed five o’clock, Erik’s hands left the keys and he provided his limited feedback. She had clearly been practicing on her own, and he commended her for her dedication. She smiled openly at him, thanking him profusely. His praise always stirred a warm, pleasant feeling in her and she relished in it. Erik had to look away, pretending to organize sheet music scattered around the organ, lest his own heart burst at her beauty.

Christine gathered her belongings and Erik escorted her back to the surface. Madame Giry awaited them on the other side of the mirror.

She had known that Christine intended to tell Erik about the gala - and Raoul - that night, and wanted to ensure that Erik would return Christine to the surface. He was often at the whim of his tumultuous moods and given the news, Madame Giry wasn’t certain he wouldn’t try to steal Christine away again.

“Good evening, Antoinette,” Erik’s voice came out low and gruff as he assisted Christine with a single gloved hand over the threshold of the mirror into the dressing room, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I assume Christine has told you of the Printemps Gala,” she said, her eyebrow arched high, as Christine scurried out of the dressing room to her chambers, suddenly feeling like there were too many people in the room.

Erik took in a deep breath, his already imposingly tall frame seeming to fill the entire space of the mirror’s opening.

“Yes, she did,” he replied, looking over to the door from where she had left, his voice dark, hiding something akin to pain.

“I do hope the event goes well for our new managers as they take advantage of my--” he stopped himself suddenly, “of the success of the opera house’s new star.”

“You may have a significant part in ensuring that happens, Monsieur Erik,” Madame Giry said pointedly.

Erik returned her glare, “I have no intention of going anywhere near such an ostentatious event, whose true purpose is to get those ridiculous fops drunk beyond comprehension so they might extort money while the inhibitions are low.”

“Are you really one to comment on the morality of extortion?” she asked, almost playfully.

“Fair play,” he replied as the corner of his mouth quirked up into a brief smile, “You needn’t worry about me, Madame. I have much of my own work to do, and so very little time to do it. The party will go on without incident.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she said with an understanding nod of her head, “Good evening, Erik.”

He nodded in return, tipping the brim of his cap to her as he stepped back into the passageway and she left the room, leaving with a click of the lock in the door.

At last, Erik let his fury burn like hellfire as he stormed back down to his underground home. He gripped the edges of his cape, his knuckles turning white, teeth clenched so hard he was sure they would crack.

He stormed back into his music room and fully unleashed his anger, throwing off his cape and hat. He slammed his fists against the keys of his organ, a dissonant, discordant expression of the anguish he felt inside.

Frustrated tears stung his eyes as he slumped defeated and dejected to the floor. How desperately he wanted to be the one to walk into the gala with Christine on his arm, garnering the envy and awe of everyone in attendance.

His heart burned for her. When she said that she had not accepted Raoul’s invitation, he had felt a surge of hope. She had hesitated. She had thought of her Erik first, and not of that insolent, annoyingly insistent boy.

And yet, here he remained, relegated to darkness and disgrace.

Erik was the only one who deserves to do such a thing, to enter the grand marble foyer, basked in candlelight, with an angel on his arm. He damned those pretentious, vain dandies who deprived him of that glorious joy with their leering looks and cries of horror.

He cursed his visage as the tears began to flow forth. He cried for how it kept him from his love, from basking in her glory. She was his light and they had stolen her away from him, leaving him again in the dark. He could hardly stomach the thought of watching them fawn over her, worship her without any right, and decided the Opera Ghost would certainly not be in attendance.

--

Chapter 2: The Gala

Notes:

I love a visual reference for the characters. @nipuni on tumblr and @nipunidraws on instagram has exquisite art of Erik and Christine (and a bunch of other stuff too), and they are my references as I write. You can pick your faves, but that is who I see :)

The melodic chimes of the clock tower told Christine that a quarter hour had passed. The gala had begun, the festivities had commenced, and the star of the opera was stranded by the opera side door. The arrival of the carriages had slowed, and none bore the mark of the de Chagny estate. 

Christine tried to bite back the tears of feeling so abandoned, but a small sliver of hope remained in her heart that he would come, he would definitely come. 

The sound of heavy hoofbeats against cobblestone pulled her from her fretting and she saw a young man - no more than sixteen years old - hurrying down the street towards her.

“Mademoiselle Daae? Mademoiselle Christine Daae?” he called out to her from atop the white steed he rode. He quickly dismounted as she confirmed her identity. 

He was slightly out of breath, clearly having ridden to her with great haste. In his hand he held a letter with a wax seal, bearing the ornamental “C” of the de Chagny family. 

“Monsieur le Vicomte requested that I deliver this to you as soon as possible,” he said, his eyes speaking of the urgency Raoul must’ve communicated to him. 

“Thank you,” Christine replied as she tore open the letter with her gloved hands. A message from Raoul, clearly written with great expediency read:

“My dearest Christine,

I must beg endlessly for your forgiveness as I will not be able to escort you to the gala this evening. I would not dare dream of forgoing the opportunity to spend the evening with you, but my sister, who is with child, had an accident that has put her and her unborn child’s life at risk. I must go to her side, as must my entire family. 

I will apologize to you for the rest of time for my negligence, but I hope you understand.

Yours, 

Raoul”

Christine read the note, and then again. And then once more.

“Mademoiselle?” the young man queried, “Are you alright?”

She looked up from the letter and smiled at him weakly. 

“Yes. Thank you for getting this to me so quickly. Please pass along my gratitude to Rao--the Vicomte, for informing me of this.”

With a nod of assent, the young man mounted his horse and set off at a more leisurely pace than when he arrived. 

Raoul wasn’t coming. 

Christine understood. Raoul’s sister Yvette was his closest sibling, and if her health or even her life were at risk, she would’ve insisted that he be by her side. And yet, now that such an incident had occurred, she felt her stomach flood with nerves and dread. 

A fleeting thought passed through her mind as she turned to look back at the door where she had waited. Maybe he would escort her? If she asked. If she begged. Maybe Erik would take pity on his poor jilted dove and attend with her. 

But her mind took her back to their conversation a week before. He had spoken so disdainfully of the event, that to even ask him for such a favor seemed inappropriate and even insensitive. 

She crumpled the letter in her fist, and took a deep breath.

Christine would be attending the Printemps Gala alone. 

She turned and entered the opera through the side door. If she could not walk up the steps with a handsome suitor on her arm - masked or not - she would make her own grand entrance. 

Backstage was quiet and she wished she could recede into the darkness, the peacefulness of the wings of the stage; the sort of dark peacefulness that reminded her of her beloved maestro, comforting and familiar. 

Much to her chagrin, that was not an option for her. She steeled herself, smoothing her emerald green dress as she walked past the rows of red velvet seats to make her grand entrance at the top of the marble staircase leading down to the opulent chaos that was the social scene of the upper echelons. 

She walked across the marble and gold landing and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, wondering if she just turned and ran away, if anyone would even notice. Alas, she would not be so fortunate tonight.

Monsieurs Andre and Firmin saw their star at the stop of the steps and hurried to her side.  They quickly silenced the room with their booming voices, clinking their thick signet rings against the crystal of their champagne flutes.

As the party guests one by one turned to face their hosts, the managers’ chests swelling with self-importance, basking in the attention, Monsieur Andre gleefully announced the arrival of the star of Hannibal, the unparalleled ingenue, their great discovery - Christine Daae.

The crowd burst into applause, with cries of ‘brava’ and ‘bellissima’ and Christine wished the floor to swallow her whole. Her cheeks burned, but not out of modesty or gratitude. The whole experience was turning out to be far more humiliating than she had imagined. She suddenly felt like a prop, an accessory. These people knew nothing of her and would’ve continued to see her as little more than opera trash if La Carlotta had not thrown one of her many temper tantrums and allowed Christine to step into the spotlight. 

She was nothing to these people, and she had never felt it more keenly than in that moment.

--

Erik sat miserably in the darkness of his home, a single candle burning, nearly down to the wick, casting a scant light across the keys of his organ as he pounded out melodies that came from his soul, now broken and blackened by the pain of his loneliness this particular night. 

The music was harsh and discordant. He did not seek beauty down in his underground home. He only sought to purge himself of the pain and rage that plagued him, knowing what was taking place so many levels above him.

He threw himself into his music, drowning out whatever jubilant sounds might find their way through the opera house to infiltrate and infect the solitude of his lair. His arms began to ache for how forcefully he played, his black hair falling into his eyes, disheveled from his frantic movements before his instrument. 

The song of his broken soul came to an end, the final note resonating off the cavernous walls.  He could hear the light, twinkling melodies of the simplistic waltzes that seemed to entertain that crowd. 

Erik could not help the pain that sliced through his heart at the sounds, his mind flooded with the image of Christine dancing with the handsome Vicomte. Her hand resting in his as he guided her across the floor, his hand at her waist - or worse - the small of her back. Pain gave way to anger and he began to seethe. Jealousy surged through his veins like poison, fighting the urge to go up and steal her away from the hollow praise and her overly eager Vicomte. 

He had made a promise to Madame Giry to not “kidnap” Christine again. He decided it was better to placate the severe ballet mistress than explain that Christine had gone with him quite willingly that night. He fought the temptation with all his might. He was loath to go up and even bear witness to their decadent revelries, knowing that he was the reason behind their jubilation, and that he would serve as nothing more than a source of horror and derision. 

His mind was going places he dared not explore for fear of what it may unleash in him, and so his hands returned to the keys and the dark melodies began again. 

If only he had given into temptation, he would’ve known that his precious Christine was attending the party alone. But he remained ignorant, lost in his own despair.

A choice he would come to regret.

--

Firmin offered his arm to Christine and she placed her hand lightly in the crook of his arm as he escorted her down the sweeping staircase. Her adoring fans handed her roses as she moved through the room, dubiously taking in their praise and wonder.

Men marveled at her beauty and her grace, women complimented the elegance and her dress, which was, of course, furnished by the opera house. Christine could hardly afford something so opulent, nor would she wish to spend her hard earned money on such a ridiculous dress.

But these opera guests knew nothing of being poor, of having nothing and nowhere to go. They worshiped her now, as if she was an angel descended from the heavens, but they had no idea of her hardships, her loneliness, and how they shunned the only person who had seen her when no one else did. 

Not everyone in attendance was so willing to lavish praise upon her. La Carlotta was in attendance, surrounded by her own contingent of dedicated devotees, who threw pernicious glares at her, assuring the diva that Christine Daae could never compare. 

As she moved through the party, taking a champagne flute from a passing tray, she heard the praise give way to gossip. They marveled at her beauty and talent, but when they thought she wasn’t looking or out of earshot, the rumors began to pour from their mouths. She stood quietly, concealed behind a pillar, staring at the bubbles as they floated to the top of her glass, as whispers of sexual favors for a starring role and that she was really just a nobody who couldn’t even scare up an escort to attend the gala with her floated past her. 

Christine chewed the inside of her lip, closed her eyes and sighed. A small part of her resented Raoul for leaving her so vulnerable like this, despite her sympathy for his situation. A passing party guest mentioned that she was just the daughter of some unknown violinist who died and left her with nothing, undeserving of a gala in her honor. 

Those bitter words were too much for her to bear. She placed her champagne flute down and escaped quickly to one of the balconies that looked out over the city. She took a deep breath, allowing the night air to cool the anger that was beginning to burn inside her. 

“Mademoiselle Daae, is it not?”  

A deep voice behind her slurred his words and she turned on her heel to see who was intruding upon her much needed solitude. 

“Yes?” she replied coolly, hardly in the mood to entertain a clearly inebriated guest.

A young man, not yet five and twenty, stood behind her, leaning against the carved stone to steady himself. 

“You know, I saw you in Hannibal four times,” he drawled, as if to brag. She stifled a scoff. There was a resident who attended every performance of hers, who appreciated her craft, and would never brag about himself. She felt a twinge in her heart, the subtle ache of longing. Oh, how she wished Erik was with her now.

“Thank you for your support of the opera house,” she replied diplomatically, “It is greatly appreciated.”

The man smiled lasciviously, with a sinister wink “I wasn’t attending to watch the opera, silly girl. Something else caught my eye.”

‘Something?’ she thought, tasting disgust on her tongue.

The man took staggering steps towards her and Christine reflexively stepped away, the blood draining from her face, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. The licentious look in the man’s eye was enough to set her heart pounding in her chest, tight with alarm. 

Before she could react, the man lunged at her, grabbing her upper arm in his fist, holding tight enough to leave a bruise. He pulled her towards him and with an open mouth, reeking of alcohol, moved his slovenly lips against hers. She pressed her lips together in a fine line, but the feel of his saliva and mustache on her upper lip was enough to make her stomach turn. 

A surge of adrenaline ran through her veins and with more strength than she knew she possessed, pushed him off her. His hand held tight, but his inebriated state prevented him from keeping steady and stumbled back, grabbing the draped decorative sleeve of her dress for purchase, ripping it in the process, leaving the scraps of silk and lace hanging on her arm. 

Christine looked at him aghast, furious, horrified. 

“How dare yo--” she began before she was cut off by the sharp feeling of his hand making stinging contact with her cheek and corner of her lip. She held her hand to her face, in utter disbelief.

The man looked at her derisively, his lip curled as he sneered at her “Don’t be such a prude. You’re all just prostitutes who have boring songs to sing.”

She continued to stare at him in shock, tears beginning to gather in her eyes. 

He turned to leave, but not without a final barb to add insult to her already great injury.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Daae. You’re nothing.”

Once he left her view, Christine was resolute. She was leaving. She didn’t care if it meant she never got to sing on stage again, if her dreams of being the prima donna were dashed to the ground, she had to leave. She could not remain among these entitled, selfish, thoughtless creatures a moment longer. 

She grabbed the voluminous folds of her skirt in her fists and ran. As fast as her restrictive garments would allow. Knowing the opera house well, she quickly found her escape through a small door tucked down a side hall in a dark corner. As she made her way through the narrow passage down to the orchestra pit, her tears fell unbidden. Her adrenaline had worn off and now she trembled, tremors of shock and fear wracking her frame. 

There was only one place she wanted to be. 

She ran to her dressing room, pins falling from her hair with the force of her steps, clinking on the varnished wood of the opera stage. She hurried inside and locked the door, a semblance of safety settling over her. No one could reach her here. Except Erik. 

Once her eyes landed on the comforting golden frame of the mirror, her legs gave out beneath her and she fell to the floor, sobbing openly, her hands clenched together at her chest as she rocked herself back and forth. 

Her words were barely discernible as she cried out for her angel, her uneven breath and unrelenting tears clogging her throat. 

At last, she felt the power of her lungs return for one fleeting moment, long enough to cry out, loud, ragged, and desperate, “Erik, please! I need you.”

Chapter 3: The Kiss

Summary:

This story is becoming a little longer than I expected. I didn't know I had it in me.

The sound of Christine’s golden voice crying out in agony reached Erik’s ears as he paused his playing, scribbling away on his many music sheets that littered the space around his organ.

The quill nearly snapped between his fingers at the sound. It was one he knew all too well. Anguish. Agony. Despair. Pain. And such heartbreaking sounds were from his beloved Christine!

He could hear everything that happened in Christine’s dressing room; he had arranged it as such, mostly for his own peace of mind and to monitor the unyielding attention Raoul bestowed on Christine. 

Erik had never expected to hear such a sound echoing through the caverns, reaching his ears, and shattering his heart. 

He did not bother with his hat or cloak and rushed to the surface. Her pleas continued, begging for him, for her angel, for Erik, resonating in his ears. He could not think of the pleasure it brought him to hear his name on her tongue; he had to get to her as fast as his agile frame would carry him. 

The sight he saw on the other side of the mirror was enough to destroy him. Perhaps he should’ve been more cautious, more intentional with his approach, but propriety be damned if he should be forced to watch the love of his life weeping and calling out for him on the floor.

He flung the mirror open and Christine’s eyes opened and looked up at him, red and hazy from her tears and something else far more devastating. 

“Oh, Erik!” she cried out, reaching out a trembling hand to him. He took it without hesitation, kneeling before her, stroking the soft skin on the back of her hand in a small act of comfort. 

“My love!” he replied, unable to contain his own agitation at seeing her this way. It did not take long for his keen eyes to see the ripped fabric of her dress on her arm nor the red welt forming on the side of her face, “Who did this?”

He was reaching a state of panic, of rage. Someone had harmed her. Someone had dared to lay a hand on his Christine. Erik saw red, his vision tunneling as he tried to process what he was looking at.

She shook her head, unable to speak, choking on her tears once more. 

It was not the time, Erik realized. She was in shock, she was traumatized. She needed his comfort, not his rage. There would be time for that. It was unbearable to see her suffer so, and he did the only thing he could think to do. 

He lifted Christine in his arms, her arms tight around his neck as she dampened his shirt collar with her tears, hooking his arm under her knees and his other arm securely holding to her chest. He carried her down to his home, at times unsure of what to say. He had never received comfort in his life in times like this, so he said all he could think to say. 

I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m here.

He moved quickly despite the additional weight and made his way to what could be called his living room. He placed her upon the plush chaise that sat before the empty hearth. She was shivering violently and he draped a chenille blanket across her shoulders before he worked to start a fire. 

Once the flames burst to life, Christine stared blankly into the light, grateful for the warmth, the familiarity. Erik stepped into her field of vision and her eyes moved to his face. She had expected to see burning rage, but found only tenderness in his eyes. He knelt before her again, taking both her hands in his. 

He was unable to hide the surprise on his face when she peeled off one of his leather gloves and pressed his bare palm to her tear-stained cheek. He gasped at the warmth radiating from her, the delicious feeling of the heat of her skin pressed against his. He ran his other gloved hand through her hair, pushing back the strands that had fallen into her face. 

The intimacy of this moment was almost more than he could bear, but seeing her in such a state superseded all else at this moment. 

“Oh Erik, it was terrible,” she began, the cool contact of his hand soothing against her still stinging cheek. She recounted the terrible tale, her voice quavering as she explained the details of the evening - from the humiliation of the gossip and rumors to the violation of the drunken lout. 

Fury flared hot, his blood boiled, and it took all of Erik’s self-control not to storm up to the party and wrap his Punjab lasso around the throat of whatever monster - true monster - touched his Christine against her will. 

“Where was the Vicomte during all this? Why didn’t he intervene?” he asked, tempering his voice as much as he could. He would never forgive that pretentious fop for allowing this to happen, for not protecting her. 

“He didn’t come,” she answered weakly, her shoulders slumped, “There was an emergency with his sister.” 

Erik’s blood ran cold, his face falling in shame and horror. He damned himself to hell for allowing this to escape his notice, too wrapped up in his own misery to realize that she might need him, even with the Vicomte in attendance. If only he had gone up - even once - to take stock of the boisterous revelries disrupting his peaceful home, he might’ve seen her alone and could’ve done something - anything - to help.

“I cannot do this, Angel,” she said, shaking her head as she tried to clear her eyes, “I cannot be a Prima Donna. I cannot bear the whispers and rumors. I cannot bear being nothing more than an object to be placed on a pedestal.”

It seemed impossible. The night had been such a disaster. Christine hadn’t expected to enjoy herself, but to be treated as horribly as she had been was so much worse than what she had imagined. If this is what being a star entailed, she would rather remain unknown. 

“I will be a faceless chorus girl or even a seamstress, if it would spare me having to endure another night like this,” she said resolutely. 

“Christine,” he said gently, but she wasn’t finished. 

“That man! That disgusting man!” she shouted in frustration, and Erik felt somewhat more at ease to see Christine’s spirit and fire awaken, “How dare he? How dare that lecherous man take a kiss from me, act like I’m his property, call me nothing?”

Erik hardly knew what to say. He had tried to be a different man for Christine, ever since that night she removed his mask. He cringed to think of how violent he had acted that night, shoving her to the ground in his own fit of rage, an act she was certainly not deserving of. 

But now, he could not deny his murderous tendencies had returned. That man had the audacity to assault her and he had called her nothing!

Christine was Heaven and Earth. She was benediction and light. And this prurient man had dared to treat her like she was less than human. A feeling Erik was all too familiar with, he refused to let this man go unpunished. 

It was only when Christine leaned further into his touch, turning her face to burrow into the comfort of his palm, that he felt the brush of her lips against his skin and he was pulled back to the present moment. 

“Erik? May I ask something of you?” she said, her eyes closing out of timidity. He watched her intently.

“Anything.”

“Kiss me.”

A silence hung between them, filling the room that it felt almost suffocating. 

“Please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying, “I cannot bear that his lips were the last to touch mine. That he would take such a thing from me.”

Instinct told Erik to recoil and put as much distance between himself and Christine as possible, but she held his hand fast against her face. What she asked was more than he could’ve ever hoped, and in that moment, it felt as though it was more that he was even capable of giving. To kiss Christine would be his undoing, his greatest dream fulfilled. And here she was, asking him to kiss her. 

“Just once,” she continued, both hands clinging to his ungloved hand, “So I know that the last lips to alight upon my own would be that of my angel. A kiss that is wanted, not violently taken from me.”

It felt as though all the air had vacated the room. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted his malformed lips against hers, to comfort her, to soothe her aching heart. To be such a person for her was more than Erik could comprehend. 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t defile her this way, after she had already endured such a terrible incident. He had to resist.

“Christine,” he breathed, and she lifted her eyes to meet his own, dark pools of brown with the flames of the fire flickering across the glossy surface. He could look into those eyes forever.

“I cannot,” he said, with more regret than he could fathom, “A kiss from me would only harm and traumatize you further.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she continued to look at him, hurt and dejection etched across her face.

“A handsome suitor, a gentleman would certainly be a better choice to cleanse you of this violation,” he insisted further, at last pulling his hand away from her face, replacing the glove she had removed.

Erik thought he had been subtle, but his meaning was not lost on Christine. 

“How could I accept a kiss from Raoul?” she asked sharply, “How would that cleanse me, how would that comfort me, knowing he abandoned me? These men are his peers. They are the ones that see me as nothing.”

Erik could not deny that hearing those words sent a shockwave of rage down his spine. She was beneath no one. Not in voice, not in heart, not in spirit. She was exalted. She was above them all. 

His silence persisted and Christine understood.

“If you do not wish to kiss me, you need only say so,” she muttered helplessly.

Erik reeled with shock. Did she not know? Did she not know his love for her burned hot in his chest? He had only ever dreamed of this moment, the chance to press his repulsive, malformed lips to hers. He was certain he would only receive a kiss after begging for pity, a charitable touch for his miserable existence. 

He was helpless against her, he would die for her, he would lay down his life for her sake. And he could grant her this one wish. Summoning every ounce of self control in his skeletal frame, he approached her again, slowly, cautiously. 

Erik placed his leather clad fingertips gently along the soft lines of her jaw, a whisper of a touch, as he lifted her face to his. He tried to stop his own hands from shaking as he gazed into her eyes, no longer clouded with fear and shock, but shining bright with something he dared to call adoration. 

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. 

The touch of her lips against his was all at once sinful and pure. She was so warm. Her pink pout was soft and pliant against the harsh edges of his own lips as he kissed her, careful to avoid the welt forming on the corner of her mouth. 

At that moment, something changed. Something shifted. It was palpable. They both felt it. It wasn’t something they could name or identify, but a feeling that came through like a storm. It robbed their lungs of their breath, and somehow - at the very same time - breathed new life into them. Something had changed.

Christine felt his lips upon hers and she felt the worry, the panic, the shock of the night melt away. He was all gentleness, all tenderness. Her eyes slid closed as she relished the gentle pressure of his misshapen mouth against her. She no longer trembled, her body relaxing under the gentle kiss of her teacher. Or more.

He was so much more.

Erik’s head was swimming. Her sweet, floral aroma filled his head, marveling at the affection they shared, how she leaned into his touch. His eyes drifted open and he saw the serene expression on her face. He could scarcely believe it. He was certain a kiss from him would send her - or any woman - screaming and running. But he felt her tremors cease under the featherlight touch of his hands on her face. 

She did not pull away and he pressed his lips against her once more. He swallowed his gasp at the feeling of her mouth responding to his. She returned his kiss! He felt the pressure of Christine’s delicate lips as they moved ever so slightly against his.

He was delirious. He had never felt such rapture before, not when hearing her sing or composing his opera. The brush of her lips against his awakened something that he was certain was long dead, if it had ever been alive. To touch his lips to her was a gift in itself. 

Erik was entirely unprepared when she dropped her mouth open ever so slightly and sighed against his mouth. It was sweet torture. He could not continue, for there would be no stopping him. He gently retreated from their kiss, despite every fiber of his being telling him to devour her mouth and anything else she would allow him to for this moment may never come again.

His hands dropped to his side as he waited for her to open her eyes. She slowly looked up at him, agonizingly silent, and brought her hand up to hover over her lips. She shivered as her eyes closed again. 

Terror ran through Erik as he watched her reaction. She was disgusted, appalled at herself for letting such a hideous beast such as himself touch her in such an intimate way. He was certain.

“Oh Angel,” she breathed, “I have been cleansed. Your kiss -- I,” she paused, unsure of how to continue as she gazed at him with more affection than he had ever hoped to receive. 

“Will there ever come a day where you are not my savior?” she asked, a small, but sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Thank you, Erik. Thank you.”

Emboldened, Erik took hold of her small hands in his own, and looked deep into her eyes so she might see the veracity and sincerity of his words.

“You will never be unguarded in this opera house ever again. I hope you can forgive me for not being there for you tonight, but rest assured, I will never let harm come to you again. Not while I am here.”

She seemed to understand and she began to weep again, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He held her tight as she wept, for herself and the horrors she endured. But not all her tears were so bitter, as she cried tears of relief and gratitude for the man that held her now.

--

The party went late into the night. Christine fell asleep on the chaise next to the fire, not wanting to go above until she was certain her attacker had vacated the premises. Erik stirred her awake and led her to his room, where one of his nightshirts lay folded on the silk sheets. He left her in privacy as she stripped herself of the cumbersome layers of her gown. She fell asleep swiftly and soundly to the relief of Erik’s heart. 

It was hardly appropriate, but Erik could not help but revel in the fact that Christine had run to him - him - of all people. When she was afraid, threatened, timid - she ran to him. And he would welcome her always - even if only to be the one who she comes to when something is wrong. Her request that night filled him with an unparalleled sense of purpose. She stayed with him, in the safe embrace of his well guarded underground home. This place, he himself, was safe to her. He savored the feeling of being needed in such a way and he swore to himself he would never disappoint her. 

Chapter 4: The Ghost

Summary:

In which Erik gets his revenge.

Notes:

at long last, a new chapter! thank you all for your patience. nothing angers me more than when my health prevents me from writing. i hope you enjoy this chapter. thank you for your support and kudos and comments and bookmarks!

Christine slept late the next day; Erik didn’t have the heart to disturb her. He stole a glance as he quietly opened the door to his room to peer inside. Despite her prolonged rest, he could see the dark circles forming under her eyes, her pallor still wan and expression one of sorrow and worry even as she slept. 

 

When the clock struck ten, Erik knew a certain ballet mistress would begin to wonder where her former pupil had spent the night, and he roused Christine from her sleep. Still groggy, eyes rimmed red from the many tears she had spilled the night before, she awoke and reached for the dress she had worn to the gala.

Christine’s hands trembled as she held the lustrous green fabric, her eyes drawn to the torn fabric of the sleeve. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ragged edges of the silk and lace, unsure of how much time had passed until there was a knock on the door leading to his bedroom. 

 

“Christine, are you ready to depart?” Erik asked, his voice tight. 

 

“You can come in,” she replied defeatedly. 

 

Erik slowly entered the chamber, cautious and tentative, taking his time to allow her to change her mind. His heart pinched at the sight of her, sitting on the edge of the mattress, still dressed in Erik’s nightshirt and robe, the voluminous dress draped across her lap. 

 

He wasn’t certain what to do in that moment. She was still in what he would consider a state of undress, and despite the tugging at his heart urging him to rush to her side, his feet remained frozen to the floor. 

 

“Is everything alright, my dove?” he asked, hoping the term of endearment from across the room might bring her some comfort.

 

“Do I have to put this back on?” she asked in return. 

 

Her fingers rang over the folds of the dress, lingering on the broken sleeve, a harsh reminder of the events of the night before. Erik’s mind reeled, frantic to find a solution to soothe her wounded soul. He didn’t have any spare dresses in his home, apart from the almost complete wedding dress, which he certainly wouldn’t suggest. There was no need to traumatize her further. 

 

“No,” he said suddenly, resolutely, “You don’t. You need never see it again. Leave it with me.”

 

She turned her face to look at him with a quizzical expression.

 

“But what about-” she started, but he cut her off.

 

“We must return you to the surface. Wear my cape over your night clothes. I am sure Madame Giry is already waiting for us, so she may fetch one of your day dresses and bring it to your dressing room,” Erik said plainly.

 

Christine’s eyes opened wide at his words, full of alarm and shame at her forgetfulness. 

 

“Madame Giry,” she whispered, a hint of dread in her tone.

 

“Do not fret, my Christine,” Erik reassured her, “I can bear the mistress’s wrath, for it would certainly not be the first time.”

 

The corners of Christine’s mouth turned up in a brief smile, but Erik saw something else working behind her eyes. 

 

“Where is your cape?” Christine inquired, giving her assent to his plan, and Erik swiftly retrieved it from where it hung on the wall. He returned to the room and Christine was standing, placing her slippers back on her feet. 

 

He approached her with more confidence and with a quick exchange of affirming glances, he moved behind her and draped the cloak across her shoulders. 

 

The weight of it felt comforting and safe. Christine nuzzled her face into the rich, black velvet. The smell of candle wax, parchment paper, and another unidentifiable aroma, musky and fragrant, filled her head. She sighed a contented, relaxed sigh as she was once again enveloped in the blissful darkness of her teacher. 

 

She tugged the cape tighter around her shoulders and gave Erik a determined look that informed him she was ready to return.

 

----

 

Erik could hear the impatient yet rhythmic tapping of Madame Giry’s cane against the wooden floor of the dressing room well before the two-way mirror came into sight. Erik guided Christine through the darkness as he always did, though today he muttered words of encouragement and reassurance that she would not be punished. 

 

Erik couldn’t know it was not for herself that Christine was worried.

 

The mirror came into sight and with it, Madame Giry. A scowl on her face that spoke of barely contained fury, she continued to tap her cane until she heard the click of the mirror latch, her eyes burning into the darkness from where they emerged. 

 

Christine could see Madame Giry’s knuckles turning white as she clenched the brass handle of her teaching instrument, her green eyes fixed on the figure behind her. Erik placed a hand on Christine’s shoulder, the gentle weight and slight flex of his fingers as he ushered her forward emboldened her, igniting a courage she wasn’t aware she had.

 

Madame Giry’s mouth opened, her eyes shooting daggers at the Opera Ghost, ready to berate Erik for violating their agreement when - to the surprise of them both - Christine stepped forward, placing herself between Erik and the irate ballet mistress.

 

“Please Madame, Do not be cross with Erik,” Christine said, her voice even and confident. Madame Giry scanned Christine from head to toe, taking note of her attire, her eyes sharp with skepticism. 

 

“Oh?” she replied, tersely. 

 

“I am aware of your agreement and I can assure you that Erik in no way forced me or coerced me into going to his home nor staying there overnight. There was an incident last night that necessitated I seek refuge.”

 

Madame Giry’s eyes flitted between the two of them, anger giving way to confusion. She focused on Erik’s gaze, which was fixed on the bold brunette before him, his own eyes filled with wonder and bewilderment at her actions. 

 

Erik was not one to give away his emotions, even with the aid of the white mask covering half his face. His genuine and blatant bafflement at her statement was nearly enough to convince Madame Giry that he hadn’t coached Christine into saying any of this. 

 

Her gaze returned to Christine, her brow creased with concern.

 

“Justine said she saw you run away from the gala last night. She followed you as you seemed distraught, but then disappeared after you ran backstage,” Madame Giry said. 

 

Her tone shifted suddenly, suspicious and protective, “What happened at the gala, Christine?”

 

Christine turned to look over her shoulder at Erik, who looked at her with more perplexity than he had ever looked at anyone before. There was a silent plea in her eyes, one he did not miss, and he stepped forward to place his hand on her shoulder once again.

 

She needed him to tell her story. 

 

“I’m afraid, Madame,” Erik began, “that Christine was accosted last night by one of the guests at the gala. He followed Christine through the party and once he found her alone, he . . . forced himself upon her, in a perfectly disgusting manner, ripping her dress in the process.”

 

Madame Giry’s face fell, sadness flooding her gaze as she looked down at the little girl she had raised since she was seven year old, heartbroken that she had to endure such an atrocity. 

 

“Who was it?” Madame Giry asked with great urgency in her voice, “Who did this?”

 

Christine sighed, looking to the floor as she shuffled her feet, an expression shame settling across her face

 

“I’m afraid I do not know him by name. He was a younger man. He had brown hair with a mustache. He was drunk . . . I don’t recall what he was wearing,” she said, her voice growing tight with frustration.

 

Erik sensed her self-blame and leaned down to whisper in her ear, fierce with conviction, “It is not your fault, my darling. It is difficult to remember details when you’re in shock. He is the only one responsible for this.”

 

Madame Giry caught his words with her keen hearing and silently agreed. She reached out and took hold of one of Christine’s trembling hands. 

 

“My dear, I am so utterly sorry to hear that you had to experience this, to bear the unwanted advances of a drunken brute in this way.”

 

Christine found her voice again, resolute as she met Madame Giry’s gaze. 

 

“Please know, Madame, that if I should ever stay the night in Erik’s home it is because I wish it,” she said firmly, “He has not - nor would he ever - force me to do anything against my will. I sought out his protection and comfort last night, and were it not for him, I am not sure what state I would be in today.”

 

The room went unnaturally silent as both Madame Giry and Erik absorbed her words. 

 

Erik’s heart was thundering gloriously in his chest. He had no idea that Christine felt this way, let alone willing to declare it as such to the one person in Paris that was capable of putting him in his place. He could detect no regret, no artifice, no placation from Christine as she spoke. She meant every word, and he could hardly bear it. To hear such words from her lips was nearly enough to bring him to his knees. She trusted him. She did not merely tolerate him. She wished to be in his presence. 

 

Tethering himself back to the conversation in the room, he gave Christine’s shoulder another meaningful, yet tender squeeze as he tried to convey the gratitude, the awe, and the love he felt for her in that moment.

 

After a moment, Madame Giry broke the silence. 

 

“Thank you, Erik. For taking care of our dear Christine.”

 

Erik graciously bowed his head in return, and the promise he made to her last night echoed in his head. She would never be unguarded in this opera house again. But he could not forget his failure to prevent such an atrocity being committed against his beloved Christine, nor could he ignore the icy current of contempt that flowed through his veins. 

 

“Christine, I must insist that you rest for the next few days,” Madame Giry said, her tone nurturing and maternal, “Rigorous rehearsals await in two days and such an incident can be very taxing. It pains me to say this is not the first time one of my students has been in such a situation.” 

 

Her hands still tight around Christine’s, Madame Giry looked up to her teacher with a pointed expression, “That includes taking a rest from her lessons.”

 

Erik, while still riddled with concern and not entirely amenable to not being prohibited from spending time with his beloved angel, agreed to those terms. He could not deny the weariness behind her eyes or the heaviness of her shoulders, and encouraged her to get as much rest as possible. 

 

Satisfied, Madame Giry departed to retrieve a day dress for Christine. 

 

Erik looked meaningfully at Christine as she turned to face him, her gaze brimming with gratitude. She began to remove his cloak from her shoulders, but he stayed her hands with a slight shake of his head, gently grasping her fingertips. 

 

“Change first. You can leave the cloak here,” he said, “I will fetch it once you have left.”

 

Christine was loath to give up the cloak, if she was being perfectly honest. Imbued in the dark folds of the fabric was not only Erik’s warmth, but his kindness and comfort. It felt as if nothing in this world could touch her when it was draped across her shoulders. She looked up into his eyes, his own gaze fixed on the slight touch of their hands between them. 

 

“Remember what I promised, Christine,” Erik said, his voice low and rumbling in his chest, stirring something deep inside her, “I will be watching. I will be there.”

 

She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she felt an unfamiliar urge, strong but tender, run down her spine and settle low her stomach. She longed to seize his hands, hold them fast, and brush her lips against his exposed cheek. 

 

But her mind returned to the previous night, his initial unwillingness for such an act of affection, and how he had simply indulged her in her moment of need. She remained motionless. 

 

Lowering her eyes to gaze at their gentle joining of hands, she whispered tenderly, “I know.”

 

----

 

The next morning, Christine lay awake in her bed, staring at the thin crack through the curtains watching as the blue gray sky of early morning turned a warm yellow as the sun rose. She had not slept well, despite everything. Her mind was swimming, and the feeling had settled deep within her as she and Erik bade farewell before her brief respite lingered. 

 

All she could think of, what played before her eyes as she closed them in an effort to sleep, was the kiss she and her maestro had shared. What she had thought was gratitude gave way to another feeling - one her young heart was only just ready to realize. Her heart would begin to race, pumping an unknown exhilaration and euphoria through her veins, recalling the touch of his elegant fingers cradling her jaw as he lifted her face, the feeling of his lips against her own. 

 

It was not a kiss of great passion, she knew, but the fire it stoked in her was becoming too hot to ignore. To be the recipient of his affection was something she had only dreamt of, hazy memories that faded as she woke. 

 

As she went about her day, that night in his underground home continued to occupy her thoughts. The sensation of his cold lips caused the heat to rise under skin, seeing the girlish blush in her cheeks as she passed by the mirror only served to make what she was beginning to identify as an unheeded need feel more ardent. The need to be close to her maestro, her angel.  

 

Her Erik. 

 

The evening before rehearsals resumed, the sun was settling below the horizon casting a deep orange hue across Christine’s cramped room. Christine was curled up in the tatty armchair in the corner, a book in her lap, a cup of abandoned tea resting on the side table. Her eyes read the same sentence over and over, her brain unable to absorb the words. She had been distracted all day. Her days of rest were anything but. 

 

Even now, she could think only of her encounter with her angel, reliving the blissful moments, losing herself to the wave of emotion that seemed to swallow her whole. From the moment he had clasped her hand in his, a seemingly simple act that had sent a shockwave through her, to his fierce protectiveness, his contained outrage, the aching tenderness with which he held her, comforted her, kissed her - her mind was consumed. 

 

Despite all that had happened, all she could recall was the desperate urge that surged through her as he had kissed her. She hadn’t wanted him to stop. Christine hadn’t expected to have such a reaction, and her own actions that night had surprised even her. It was too tempting. Once his lips - bloated and misshapen, soft and gentle - had alighted upon hers, she could not help herself and felt compelled to reciprocate the pleasant pressure, kissing him in return. 

 

She snapped the book shut, stood up from her seat and paced the small space, sighing heavily. Torn between contentment and confusion, Christine thought she was certainly losing her mind. She should not be pining for her dark angel, who seemed like less of an angel and more of a man with each passing hour. 

 

Christine had not been unaffected, and had kept largely to herself for the duration of her respite. Anxiety still gripped her, and she was sensitive and skittish to things that she wouldn’t have given a second thought to before. She did not like being out in the opera house alone, and sought the company of others if she wasn’t wistfully wiling away the hours in her room. 

 

This company, alas, was not enough to stop Christine’s mind from drifting during rehearsals. Her memories began to meld with fantasy as she imagined his mouth, open and lustful, upon hers, his arms securely around her, holding her fast against the beating of his living heart. As she pictured his tongue slipping past her lips, warm and searching, the shrill voice of Monsieur Reyer broke through her reveries.

 

“Mademoiselle Daae! If you please!” 

 

Christine’s eyes refocused and turned to the pinched face of the conductor from where they had been staring vacantly as her mind wandered.

 

“I’m sorry?” she said dazedly. 

 

“Your cue, La Daae?” he replied, exasperated and impatient. 

 

Christine tried to hide her grimace at her negligence, knowing Erik would likely be watching and would be disappointed with her inattentiveness. She readied herself, extended her apologies to the cast and stepped out onto the stage. 

 

----

 

Down in Erik’s home, her lesson began. He was just as he always was. Courteous, swathed in darkness, inscrutable in expression. 

 

Christine anxiously waited for Erik to remark on her missed cue as he led her through the arias she would be performing for the upcoming season. He seemed focused on the music, much to her dismay. It was nearly agony waiting for him to comment on her diva-like behavior. 

 

Erik suddenly halted their lesson halfway through the hour, and he stood from his organ bench, moving before her. She lowered her eyes to the floor, waiting to be chastised. 

 

“What happened during rehearsals today?” he asked, and Christine’s eyes shot up to meet his gaze. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t irritated or disappointed. His voice was sweet yet strained with worry, and his eyes shone with genuine concern and affection. 

 

“Are you truly alright? It is unlike you to be so unfocused,” he phrased his question differently, as she merely gaped at him in response to his previous inquiry, “I understand if you are not yet feeling like yourself, after all that’s happened.”

 

Christine didn’t feel like herself, that was certain. But not in any way that Erik ever could’ve imagined. 

 

“I am alright, Maestro,” she replied with a quick smile, “I am perhaps a bit distracted, but I promise I am doing well.”

 

His visible brow fell into a frown, not entirely satisfied with her response. 

 

“I will admit that my nerves have been a little frayed,” she said, “Raoul tried to visit me, but I asked that Madame Giry send him away. I am not feeling particularly amenable to him or his cohort at this moment.”

 

Erik found himself unable to conceal his smile. He couldn’t find it in himself to feign any sort of displeasure at hearing her say that she had turned Raoul away. His resentment had grown particularly acute in the days following the incident, terribly bitter about Raoul’s abandonment of his sweet, innocent soprano.

 

“I am perhaps a little on edge,” she continued, “but I do feel greatly reassured at your promise. I know I am never unguarded within these walls.”

 

Erik placed an ungloved hand on Christine’s shoulder, as he preferred to play with the sensitive skin of his fingertips against the keys, and smiled. The feel of his naked hand against her, his broad and contented smile made her knees weak. Her breath trembled as she looked up his split visage. Her mind was swimming with the vivid memory and the wondrous fantasies her mind had conjured, imagining what she would do if he were to ever kiss her again and maybe she could put a name to the flame that burned in her heart.

 

“I am happy to hear it,” Erik said, in the same low voice from deep in his chest from when he had promised her his protection, before he dropped his hand and returned to the bench. She felt the absence of his contact keenly, and her face flushed at the aching need cloying at her insides. 

 

He began to play once again, and her heart fluttered in her chest, her own passion coming to life as she watched the music flow through him. Christine sang as she never had before, her eyes fixed on her teacher as she sailed through the melismas and executed the challenging key changes and cadenzas with ease. Her voice resonated through the caverns, ending on a magnificent note that left Erik breathless.

 

“Christine,” he said quietly, his voice ragged as he looked at her with awe, “That was exquisite. I’ve never been blessed before to hear you sing this way.”

 

Christine blushed furiously under his praise, desperate but not courageous enough to tell him that the glory of her song was all because of him.

 

----

 

While the trip to the surface was uneventful, Erik was barely able to contain his unbridled joy. Christine had sung in a way that moved his heart, that sent chills down his spine. He couldn’t believe that his mere tutelage was enough to inspire such a performance. He was certain that a true talent existed within her that no one could match, and he had been granted some mercy in this hateful world to hear her sing for him.

 

He slid the mirror closed after they bade farewell, and swept back into his dark domain. 

 

Christine’s trust in him to protect her, that she remembered his vow and felt comforted by it, emboldened Erik to do his utmost to keep his promise. And as he poled his way through the underground canals back to his home, a plan began to formulate in his mind. 

 

He had a duty, a more important task than he had ever undertaken. He would find the piece of human refuse that had touched his precious angel against her will. And he would make him pay. 

 

--

 

The opera house was still abuzz with the happenings of the Printemps Gala, which served his purpose greatly. Silently, he stalked the catwalks and inner walls and passageways with his elegant agility, his sharp ears catching every bit of gossip and drunken recollections of the event. 

 

At last, among the ballet corps, the young woman Madame Giry had identified as Justine spoke of what she had witnessed. She imparted the tale of Christine’s sudden departure from the event, how she seemed distraught but was unable to determine what had occurred. 

 

“Oh, I can tell you what happened,” said another ballet rat, one they called Camille. Erik remained concealed in his place behind the wall, his fists clenching as he awaited the information he hoped would help him exact his revenge. 

 

The ballet corp crowded around her in earnest.

 

“I saw him being an absolute boor all night, grabbing at women’s chest and skirts, pouring glass after glass of champagne down his throat till he could barely walk straight.”

His name! Erik thought to himself, growing frustrated, What was his name, damn it?

 

“Who was it?” another girl asked. 

 

“Lionel Dumont,” Camille said with a sneer of disdain, “He’s the son of some wealthy merchant and thinks that money in the bank means he can treat anyone as he wishes. He isn’t even of noble birth! And he acts as if he is above it all, when he’s really just a pathetic man-child who's desperate for attention.” 

 

Erik smiled at her open derision of the man, and silently slipped away, triumphant with the knowledge that this Lionel Dumont was going to suffer, and suffer greatly, at his hands.

----

 

Lionel was sleeping peacefully in his fifth floor apartment, snoring in his sleep, when a loud bang roused him with a start. He sat up and looked around the room in alarm, his brain still sleep addled, until he saw that the balcony doors that had been securely shut and locked before he had gone to sleep were open, curtains billowing in the night air. 

 

He scrambled out of bed to shut the doors, still shaking at the force with which they were opened. He put his hands on the handles when he jumped back in shock.

 

“ I wouldn’t do that if I were you. ” 

 

A disembodied voice filled the dark room.

 

“ Those doors may be your only escape from this terror. ”

 

Lionel’s eyes searched the dark corners of the room desperately, frozen to the spot. At one moment, the voice seemed to come from above, and at the next, from the far corner that was veiled in darkness and indiscernible to his eyes.

 

“Wh-wh-who goes there?” Lionel said, his voice shaking. 

 

“ Are you in the habit of taking things that don’t belong to you, Monsieur Dumont? ” 

 

Lionel slid to the floor, his legs giving out from beneath him, as a fog began to fill the room, obscuring his vision even further. He tried to crawl to the night table so he might light the handheld gas lamp that sat upon it, but as his hand touched the brass of the base, the glass above it shattered. 

 

Lionel whimpered as a small shard sliced a cut into his hand as the pieces fell to the ground.

 

“Who are you?!” he said as he began to weep, any shred of boldness having left his body “What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

 

It was mere parlor tricks that Erik had employed to terrorize the young man, but he hadn’t expected him to be such a simpering fool. It was too easy.

 

“ What I want you cannot give me, Lionel . ”

 

Lionel was clinging to the side of his plush bed, burying his face in the sheets, curled in a ball.

 

“How do you know my name? Leave me alone! I beg you!”

 

Erik rolled his eyes at the pitiful man. He was as Camille described, and Erik found his behavior all the more pathetic for it.

 

“ I want what is mine. That which you have taken from me. ”

 

Erik projected his voice around the room, Lionel’s tearful eyes searching for the source of his tormentor.

 

“Are you a ghost?” he asked meekly into the dark.

 

Erik could not help but laugh, echoing and booming as it filled the room

 

“ Indeed. And what would you have to say to a ghost, Lionel? ”

 

“Don’t kill me, please,” he begged. 

 

“ Kill you? I have no intention of killing you, ” Erik said derisively, “ What good would that do? ”

 

“Then what do you want with me?” 

 

“ I want your fear. I want your terror. ”

 

“It’s yours, you have it!” he cried out, “Please, leave me be.”

 

“ You do not honor such requests and neither shall I. ”

 

With a trick of wires, Erik rattled the framed paintings on the walls, some slipping from their nails and crashing to the floor. 

 

Erik’s next words were punctuated with the crashing of furniture and glass, as he ransacked Lionel’s room, remaining safely shrouded in darkness.

 

“ Keep. Your. Disgusting. Hands. To. Yourself .”

 

With his final message, Erik quickly swept out of the room through the open balcony doors and deftly crawled down the wall of the building, disappearing into the dark and winding streets as he heard Lionel call out for help, wailing helplessly.

 

Erik didn’t wait to see what happened next, for he could not find it in himself to care.

 

----

 

At rehearsals the next day, it was nearly impossible to keep the cast and crew of the opera house focused as the most recent piece of gossip swept through like wildfire. Whispers of an attack. A wealthy man. Terrorized in the middle of the night. 

 

It was hard to keep secrets in an opera house and this was no different as the rumors made their way to Christine’s ears. She heard the ballet corp speak of a wealthy man who was terrorized by a ghost the night before. He had run to the papers with his story, seeking sympathy from the masses about his horrifying experience. A ghost who entered, breathing fog with voice that came from everywhere in the room, destroying everything without even a touch. The young ballet dancers laughed uproariously, but Christine took the news very differently. 

 

An almost inappropriate sense of pride filled her as she overheard them speak of the incident. It was Erik. It had to be. Only he would go to such dramatic measures to terrorize someone. To instill the same fear in them as they had in her. It was his sweet revenge and she basked in it. He could not bear to see her wounded and would not allow the one who had caused such harm escape without reprisal. 

 

At last she knew. The fire within her had a name, and its name was desire.

Chapter 5: The Declaration

Summary:

smooches

Erik and Christine had started meeting every other day for their lessons, as not to over exert Christine’s instrument. Christine was practically vibrating with anticipation for their next lesson since having learned of his act of retribution. The hours seemed to drag until, at last, he emerged from behind the mirror and escorted her down to his home.

 

She hadn’t expected to him to boast of his performance as a terrifying ghost, but he made no remark about the man or the terror he had inflicted upon on him. At the very least, she had thought he would assure her that she needn’t worry about that pitiful excuse of a man ever again. He remained stoic and silent, but she could sense the tension in his muscles as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

 

By the time he had seated himself before the organ, it became clear he had no intention of bringing it up at all, which Christine would not be able to endure for the duration of their lesson. She had to speak now.

 

Before he could begin playing, she suddenly spoke with great conviction, “Thank you, Erik.”

 

He looked at her from his seat, clearly feigning perplexion. 

 

“I know what you did for me,” she said, her voice shaking despite the confidence she felt. 

Erik’s eyes widened at her words shamefully and he quickly turned his face back down to the keys, straightening the sheet music that rested on the music stand. He hadn’t expected her to mention the gossip from the papers at all, never intending to tell her what had transpired that night, so it was to his great surprise that suddenly spoke words of gratitude.

 

“I know it is petty and unkind of me to say, I am happy to see that he has suffered as I have, if not more” she continued, her tone direct and unwavering, “And I know I have you to thank for that.”

 

Erik remained as still as a statue, apart from the muscle in his jaw that jumped as he clenched his teeth tight, deeply troubled. He found himself unable to fully accept her praise, her appreciation. Erik had certainly taken great care to torment the young man till he nearly wet himself, exacting a particularly potent dose of revenge for his beloved Christine. But there was more she did not know; that he wished he could make certain she would never know.

 

If Erik had been able to have his own way, Lionel Dumont would be dead. 

 

He had only spared the man’s life for her sake. As much as he had wished to encircle the man’s throat with his Punjab lasso and squeeze until the life vanished from behind his eyes, he had restrained himself. To protect her. It was her gentle nature, her kind and innocent soul that he found so enchanting and so pure, a treasure to be guarded. It would’ve only caused her pain to know that he had taken someone’s life. He couldn’t bear to see her further wounded and so he restrained himself. 

 

But that didn’t change who he was. Lionel Dumont’s blood would not have been the first to have been spilt by Erik’s hands. He was still a murderer, and he would never be absolved of that no matter how much mercy he had shown that pitiful man. 

 

“I am happy it pleases you,” he said quietly, unable to even muster a smile, feeling hollow inside. 

 

Christine could sense his hesitation, seeing the tension that gripped his shoulders, worried her appreciation of his act was somehow insufficient, that she hadn’t fully conveyed how much it meant to her - what such an act inspired in her. 

 

The next words she spoke spilled from her mouth before she could consider how he might take them. 

 

“Any woman would be proud to have a man who would stand up for her honor in the way you have.” 

 

The words came out impassioned and sincere, but Erik’s heart sank to a dark, loathsome place deep within him. No woman had ever wanted him, for not only was his face a monstrosity, but his very being was too distorted to even deserve genuine affection from any man or woman. His past was riddled with horrific crimes and unforgivable transgressions. Violence. Extortion. Robbery. Murder . 

 

Too lost in his own sorrow and self-pity, he had failed to see Christine’s full meaning. She saw him withdraw, his eyes becoming distant as he receded into himself. 

 

This was not how she had wanted this conversation to go. She wanted to see his chest swell with pleasure at her appreciation for his ghostly ways, that he didn’t frighten her at all, but did quite the opposite. 

 

“More than that,” she began, summoning her last bit of courage, “You had saved me that night. Even if you had not gone to him and punished him as he deserved, I am still eternally grateful to you for your kindness the night he attacked me. I would not be standing here as I am if not for your sympathy and gentleness that night.”

 

Erik heaved a sigh, realizing Christine would continue to effuse her endless thanks to him until he responded. He turned his head to face her, and bowed his head to her. 

 

“It brings me great relief to hear that you are not torturing yourself or blaming yourself for what occurred that night,” he said, though his voice did not convey such an emotion, “and I am happy to have played a small part in that.”

 

“It wasn’t a small part, Erik,” she replied, suddenly breathless as she spoke, “You were my savior. I have survived on the memories of that night. When I recall how you held me and comforted me, my fear and hopelessness dissolve to nothing. I can think of nothing but you, Erik. Whether you intended or not, you have filled my head and my heart and it is only when I am with you that I can see clearly.”

 

Her last words hung between them as Erik looked at her, mesmerized, having abandoned any notion of beginning her lesson. This had to be a cruel trick, for no one could speak such words to him and truly mean them. 

 

Christine could see the awe and hope in his golden eyes as he gazed at her with wide eyes, but it made her heart ache to see razor sharp doubt and the pain of a deeply wounded man behind them. She bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to remain where she stood a few paces away from him, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him, in comfort and love. She waited for his words with bated breath, eyes brimming with anxious anticipation.

 

“What do you mean by this?” he asked, unsure of how to reply, struck with a sense of utter disbelief, “What is . . . what do you ask of me?”

 

If she was honest with herself, Christine didn’t entirely know. All she knew was what she felt, and how strongly it burned in her chest, and that she couldn’t keep it contained any longer.

 

“I don’t know what I am allowed to ask for,” she replied truthfully, suddenly self-conscious. She knew what her mind and body had craved for nearly a week, but to ask it of him suddenly seemed impossible.

 

“You may ask anything of me, Christine,” he said, hope beginning to spark to life as the shame and fear he felt before began to dissipate. He could not prepare himself for what she said next, as he gazed at her with open and accepting eyes. 

 

“Oh Erik, forgive me,” she said in a ragged voice, hanging her head in disgrace, her hands clenched anxiously in the folds of her skirt, “I know it is sinful and wrong to covet you this way, but it is driving me to utter madness.”

 

Erik’s mouth fell open, standing suddenly as he stepped away from the organ to perceive her clearly before him, to ensure that it wasn’t simply a dream. 

 

“Your kiss that night was meant to calm and cleanse, but in its wake, it has left me subject to my mind and body and oh, how it calls out to you,” she effused as she lifted her gaze, her eyes daring to meet his own, “You have awakened something in me, and I can no longer control it. My heart no longer beats for only myself, but for you as well. Oh, Erik, how I long for you! I cannot pretend anymore.”

 

A loaded silence hung between them, Erik standing paralyzed in shock at her confession. Christine’s breath was heaving, the intensity of her emotion and the boldness of her declaration sending her heart racing. She stared at him earnestly, desperate for his reply.

 

“Christine,” he said quietly, carefully, “You cannot mean that.”

 

It was a dream. It had to be a dream.

 

“You have built up an unrealistic image of me,” he continued, his own emotions threatening to crack through the calm exterior he was trying so hard to maintain, “I was your rescuer that night; I provided refuge. I kissed you. You have idealized me into something I am surely not.”

 

But Christine was not so easily swayed. 

 

“I have done nothing of the sort,” she challenged, squaring her shoulders, finding her resolve once more, “Your kindness, your tenderness and compassion that night were genuine. I could not have misinterpreted that. It was not just your kiss that awoke something in me, but every precious moment of that night. Erik, I knew what it meant to be loved .”

 

Erik’s breath was stolen from his lungs and any words he intended to speak caught in his throat. He desperately wanted to confirm all she had said. It was true. She was so utterly loved by him, with every fiber of his miserable being. Every fleeting touch of that night was heaven to him. To think she could want more from him was beyond comprehension. He was silent as he stared at her, words dying on his tongue, disbelief clouding his eyes.

 

Christine looked at him as he remained quiet and nearly unresponsive to her words. She could not read his eyes nor the expression that fell upon his face.

 

She felt her blood run cold, draining from her face and pooling in her feet, as a horrifying thought crossed her mind. 

 

He doesn’t want me.

 

Erik had resisted her request that night. Initially, he hadn’t even wanted to kiss her, going so far as to suggest that another’s kiss may soothe her wounded soul. Perhaps this longing, this desire, she felt was only on her part and she had naively assumed that he would return her affections.

 

“Is it only me that feels this way?” she asked, tears beginning to gather in her eyes, “Was I the only one who felt anything after that night?”

 

Erik did not respond, though his fists were clenched tight at his sides, his breathing uncharacteristically erratic. 

 

“Please, I beg you, Erik. Tell me now if you do not return these feelings and spare me this humiliation,” she pleaded as a single tear escaped the corner of her eye.

 

At last, Erik found his voice, tremulous but imbued with unparalleled passion.

 

“To feel your lips upon my, Christine - it moved me in a way I didn’t think I could be. Our kiss was not only your salvation, but mine. A benediction, a ray of warm light in my cold, dark existence.”

 

His breath caught in his throat as her expression began to change, fear giving way to elation.

 

“My heart began to beat again with vigor, with life, when you kissed me,” he continued, unable to stop the words from flowing from his mouth, “It gave me purpose, to guard you and ensure your complete and total protection. Your kiss restored what little humanity I thought I had left. I saw then that I am not an angel, but a man. A real man who longs for a real woman. Oh Christine, I could’ve died that night and passed peacefully having known the feeling of your lips upon mine. But I could never dare to dream that you would want more, for I could never ask it of you.”

 

Christine could not describe the feeling that overcame her as Erik spoke; his confession, his admission of his love for her was like paradise. Her body was singing, her mind flooding with unhindered bliss, and it was as if she was able to breathe for the first time in her life as she heaved a contented sigh, a smile upon her lips.

 

More. Yes, Christine wanted so much more. 

 

She felt as though she should fall to her knees and worship him for saving her, not only for the night she was attacked but all the years he spent dedicated to her and her voice. 

 

But this was better. They were equals now, a man and a woman who had shared an unspoken desire and could now revel in it freely. No more pretenses. No student and teacher. Not guardian angel and wandering child. They were two lonely, wretched beings who were certain they could never have more than their meager existence. And now, finally, Christine felt like she could ask for more.

 

Christine stepped towards him in quick strides, desperate to close the space between them. She dared not touch him, her hands aching to feel his skin, his face, his body beneath her palms. She did not want to do anything to alarm him or drive him away.

 

“Would you return my love if I offered it to you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, gazing up at him in pure adoration. 

 

Erik felt the air vacate the room, melting under the warmth and beauty of her expression, his body tingling with utter disbelief and rapture. 

 

“It is already yours, my love,” he replied, lifting a hand to gently cradle her soft cheek in his bare hand. 

 

“Kiss me.”

 

Her plea was urgent and needful and once again, Erik found he could not deny her anything. 

 

Lifting her face to meet his own, he brushed his lips against hers with the same gentleness of that night, cautious and careful. But the passion, the hunger between them sparked to life as their mouths touched and they were flooded with the desire that had remained coiled tight within them both, no longer restrained or neglected. 

 

When Erik realized she was not pulling away from him, he dared to deepen the kiss. Christine lived the fantasies that had filled her head, becoming dizzy as she felt his wiry arms tighten around her, pressing her body hard against his own. She returned his embrace, her hands desperately clutching the fabric on the back of his suit jacket, pulling him closer to her. He felt her mouth open and Erik responded in kind, consuming her lips with desperation, eagerness, and pure love.

 

It was more than he could’ve ever hoped for. Christine was warm and pliant in his hands. Her lithe form seemed to fit perfectly against his, and he relished the feeling of her soft hips, the swell of her chest, her arms as they pressed almost painfully into his skeletal figure, clinging to him with the same neediness he felt surging through his veins.

 

A guttural groan escaped Erik’s mouth as Christine dared to let her tongue run hungrily across the deformed expanse of his lower lip. He opened himself to her ministrations, sighing deeply into her mouth as let his own tongue slide against hers. He did not know what to do with his hands, moving from her back to the petite circle of her waist, tangling in her long dark tresses, holding her delicate face between his icy fingertips. 

 

Their kiss was neither frantic nor frenzied, but slow and languid. They savored every sensation - the taste of their tongues, swirling together, the warmth and wetness of their open mouths moving against each other hungrily, and the sharp nip as she tugged his upper lip between her teeth, eliciting a sharp gasp from Erik, who replied by licking the soft expanse of her pillowy pout. He lavished her mouth greedily, lustfully, holding her face close against his with a firm hand at the back of her neck, noses brushing as their heads turned to better taste and feel the other, memorizing every detail, every gasp, every flavor, every texture of their passionate kiss. 

 

After a blissful eternity, Erik pulled away, his breath ragged as he gasped for air, though he would’ve been content to drown in the passion of their kiss. Christine whimpered as his lips left hers. She looked up at him, his hand still angling her neck back to meet his face, and he was in awe at what he saw. Her dark eyes were hazy with wanting as she met his gaze, full of wonder and desire. Her lips were swollen, rimmed red and glistening wet, the mark of his mouth against her own. Her hair had become mussed as his fingers had dug into and raked through her hair. She clung to him still, her face pleading for his touch again. As he cradled the back of her neck in one hand, the other holding her tight around her waist, she fell against him, her body boneless, satisfied and content.

 

“I had . . . I had no idea. That I could feel like this,” she murmured, sighing through her words.

 

Her body thrummed, and she closed her eyes, relishing the heat and electricity coursing through her veins, making her feel vividly alive. 

 

“Nor did I,” he said with a smile of true happiness, and he lowered his lips to hers once more, all sweetness and adoration. She smiled against his lips and eagerly returned his kiss, pouring all her adoration and admiration for this mysterious man that, by some uncanny chance or luck, had decided to love her in return. Erik caught her tongue between his lips as she opened her mouth beneath his once more, and she gasped in delight. His mouth began to move across her face, leaving her aching lips to press kisses against her cheek, on her nose, whispering words of adoration and longing against her skin. 

 

His mouth moved down to the smooth line of her jaw, his lips lingering as words of worship poured from his mouth, his resonant voice vibrating against her. He nipped at the supple flesh of her neck and Christine melted against him, moaning in pleasure. He had never heard a sound so exquisite and it was nearly his undoing. He suddenly stepped back, every muscle taut as mind and body fought to contain the dam that was surely about to burst.

 

His eyes softened as he saw her look up at him with confusion, her expression stinging with rejection. 

 

Erik took a deep breath, taking her shoulders with trembling hands, keeping her safely at an arm’s length. 

 

“Christine,” he said, struggling to keep his lust in check, “I must stop. We must stop. Though, believe me, it is not for lack of wanting.”

 

She slightly cocked her head to the side, her brows furrowing, not understanding. 

 

“This gift you have given me tonight would be enough to sustain me for the rest of my days, but now the temptation is too great. You spoke of something being awakened inside of you. I understand that now, but I am not certain I am able to control it.”

 

Erik inhaled deeply, summoning his resolve, as he looked into her eyes, “I will be an honorable man. For you. Always. Despite what my body is telling me.”

 

Any trepidation Christine felt vanished, and she suddenly felt flush with power. Erik was quite literally shaking in an effort to contain the desire and arousal within him. His pupils were blown wide, eyes nearly matching the darkness of her own, and she felt a pleasant heat gathering low in her abdomen. The sensation was not altogether unfamiliar, but as she looked at Erik, the feeling made itself known and she reveled in the fact that it was not only her who found herself being pushed to a point of no return. 

 

They continued to gaze at one another, her heart thundering in her chest as she began to consider the possibilities. The silence hung heavy between them, loaded with the vivid creations of their lascivious imaginations and the many unspoken desires that remained within them. It was only when the clock on the nearby mantle chimed the half hour that Erik seemed to refocus.

 

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and straightened his back. Erik would not - could not - allow Christine to stay in his home. Not on this night. 

 

The trip to the surface was different from any other. Erik held Christine’s hand, ungloved so their palms and fingers could intertwine, committing the feeling of the others’ to memory to recall in moments apart. As they moved through the darkness, Christine was blushing - her face and chest flush not with modesty or bashfulness, but with wanton desire and she squeezed his hand every time another delicious, sinful thought flitted through her mind.

 

As she stepped over the threshold, his hand there as always to steady her, she felt a sudden pang of disappointment that their night had to come to an end. 

 

Christine turned to look at him, the unmasked side of his face showed an expression of great restraint, his eyes turbulent as he fought the urges his desire inspired within him.

 

Feeling bold, she went up on her toes and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips. She placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted herself to whisper in his ear, her voice low and husky. 

 

“I don’t need you to be an honorable man. Not always” Christine purred and she felt him shudder under her touch. 

 

With one last tempting glance, she scurried away and out of the room, face hot with embarrassment and delight. Erik staggered on his feet, holding onto the stone wall of the passage to steady himself. 

 

She was torturing him. The night had not gone at all as he had anticipated. He touched his fingers to his lips, still warm from their heated kiss. His desire burned hot, and he was bombarded with unabashedly carnal thoughts. His mind flooded with sinful, salacious images, skin pressed against skin, the contours and curves her body promised under the layers of fabric she wore, proclamations of love in the throes of pleasure. 

 

Collecting himself for as long as he could, he swiftly returned below, and as he allowed his lust to take hold, he found his release. 

Notes:

One final chapter after this. And it will be pure filth. Angst and smut. Ready yourselves.

Chapter 6: The Point of No Return

Summary:

in which erik and christine have sex with their socks on

Notes:

please be kind. this is my first smut fic so i am not totally sure what i'm doing. i hope someone enjoys it. thanks for reading.

Erik sat in the chaise next to the fireplace, staring vacantly into the dying flames. He had been distracted and restless since his lesson with Christine, when she had confessed, sworn her love, and kissed him. Willingly. With abandon. 

 

The mere thought of her lips moving hungrily against his was enough to send him into blissful reverie, exhilarating him, setting his heart pounding as he relished the glorious gift he thought he would be forever denied. 

 

But bliss would quickly give way to confusion and doubt. He longed to relive that euphoric night over and over, but his memories were clouded by fear and self-hatred. He could not escape the words that had been hurled at him all his life. That he was an abomination, cursed by God. That he was unlovable and repulsive. It wasn’t as if something had suddenly changed. He was still what they said - a monster. 

 

The last embers began to crackle in the hearth, and with a final hiss the room was swallowed in darkness, save the single candle burning on the mantle above. 

 

Erik was accustomed to darkness; he had command of it. And as the meager candle cast mournful shadows across his unmasked face, he came to the conclusion that he deserved the derision and scorn and disgust. 

 

Hanging his head in shame, he berated himself for being exactly what they said he was. Christine had come to him, the night of the gala, vulnerable and traumatized. He had selfishly taken advantage of that fact. She was an innocent young woman who came to him for help and protection, and he had seized the opportunity for his own indulgence. 

 

He should’ve refused to kiss her that night, even though she begged, sorrowful tears staining her perfect cheeks. 

 

Excuses all! He shook the image of his most beloved angel out of his mind.

 

Now she was confused, kissing him, professing the kinds of love that Erik had only ever heard in operas. Her mind hadn’t had time to heal from the awful incident and she was mistaking gratitude for affection. 

 

He should’ve been stronger. He should’ve done more. Or less. As much as the need for another kiss from her clawed at his insides, he had made a promise to ensure no harm came to her in his opera house. And he would not harm her any further, even if it meant sacrificing everything he had ever wanted. 

 

Tomorrow, at their next lesson, he would set it right.

 

----

 

Christine was having a decidedly different reaction to the lesson. The memory of it was almost unbearable, her heart thundering in her chest as she thought of his hands all over her, how his misshapen lips against her made her knees weak. 

 

She reveled in every moment, bursting with feeling for her maestro. To be desired by him, to be loved as a woman by him was the beautiful actualization of a dormant dream, now vivid and tangible before her. 

 

All Christine could think of was their next lesson, each hour passing by agonizingly slow. When sleep came in the early hours of the morning, he occupied her dreams. His mouth on hers, his hands twisted possessively in her hair, his breath against her face, drunk on her taste and the twining of their bodies.

 

It was as if she could see the world clearly, for she was truly awake. With all pretenses gone, illusions discarded, Christine saw the world for all the true beauty in it and how so much beauty lived in her Erik. 

 

She was determined to show him just how beautiful he was when they met for her next lesson. 

 

----

 

Christine had put in an extra effort with her appearance for this particular lesson, tying her voluminous hair back with a black ribbon, going to pinch her cheeks for an extra rosy blush. One look in the mirror informed her that pinching would be entirely irrelevant, as she was already flush with anticipation and want. 

 

At the sound of the familiar click, Christine’s breath caught in her throat as the mirror moved aside and revealed Erik, looking as debonair and handsome as he always did. 

 

To her great confusion, Erik’s demeanor was not that of a man who had just declared his love and had his love returned. The unmasked side of his face was stony, unyielding. He offered his arm, not his hand, and it was as if all formalities from before the night of the gala were in place once again. As if nothing had happened. 

 

Christine felt her stomach drop. Something wasn’t right.

 

With a heaving breath, Erik steadied his resolve. He had decided to be mature and composed, aloof and distant. He had to return things to the way they were, before all of this had happened, now matter how much he wanted to take her in his arms again and kiss her until they both were gasping for air. 

 

He escorted her into his home as he always did, guiding her instead to his sitting room, the fire blazing, the lush rugs and furniture muffling the air. Erik did his best to avoid looking at Christine’s face, for he was not certain he had the willpower to say what he needed to say if he saw her deep, dark eyes looking at him with adoration. 

 

His evasion of her gaze did not escape Christine’s notice. 

 

Erik felt like he was choking. He removed his cape and hat, as he always did, but he still felt stifled, trapped. He slipped out of his suit jacket, hanging it on the peg next to his cape. 

 

“Christine,” he began, his mouth going dry, his heart crying out in pain, “There is something we must discuss before your lesson.”

 

“Yes?” she replied, trying to still the tremor in her voice. She stood in the middle of the room, her blood flowing hot with panic as she waited for him to continue.

 

Erik stepped closer to her, leaving what he deemed an appropriate amount of space between them. 

 

“I must apologize for my recent behavior, my--,” he hesitated, now was not the time for endearments, “What took place the night of the gala and our previous lesson were mistakes.”

 

Christine balked as she stifled a gasp, biting her lower lip as she fought back angry and confused tears. 

 

“It never should’ve happened. I should not have allowed it. You were traumatized and seeking comfort, and what took place between us simply wasn’t appropriate. I am your teacher, and you are my student, and our relationship should remain as such. After what you endured, you can’t possibly be certain of any choice you make right now.”

 

Tears no longer threatened to fall as Christine absorbed his words. She remained bewildered, but what he was saying simply didn’t make sense. He was practically condescending, patronizing her as if she wasn’t as willing a participant in the happenings of those nights as he was. 

 

“I assure you I am looking out for your best interests, Christine,” he said, his tone cloying and cajoling, “It is better this way.”

 

“Why are you treating me this way?” she asked, no longer able to withhold her true feelings on the matter. 

 

Erik wasn’t expecting her to respond in such a manner, “I don’t understand.”

 

“Why are you talking to me like I am a child? Telling me how to feel. What I should do. I am a grown woman who knows herself. I do not need you telling me what I believe and who I love,” she asserted, taking a step towards him, forcing him to meet her gaze.

 

“Erik, my love for you was not born the night of the gala. It has always been inside me. But that night - it brought me clarity,” she continued, bold and impassioned, “When I was in my most dire moment, I went to you. You were the only one I thought of that moment, the only person who I believed could take the pain away. And I haven’t stopped thinking of you since, Erik; I can scarcely think of anything else. How can you tell me that what I feel is anything but love?”

 

Silence hung heavy between them. 

 

“You do not know what you are saying, Christine,” he muttered as he took a step back, lowering his eyes to the floor, his dismissal infuriating her.

 

“Why do you think I am unfit to make this choice?” she demanded to know.

 

“Because you chose ME !” 

 

Erik’s facade fractured, crashing to pieces, yelling at her, more in pain than in anger, “How can you love me, Christine?” 

 

Christine refused to be intimidated, opening her mouth to give him the honest and true answer, but his anger would not allow her to reply. 

 

When all else failed, rage served Erik best, driving the hateful world from him, so he may retreat to the safety of solitude and darkness. Christine would see him for what he really was, and he would not allow this fever dream to continue. He would not allow her to want him, to love him. 

 

“ No one can feel love for me,” he snarled viciously, blinded by self-loathing, “You know nothing about me, my darling . You don’t know the things I’ve done, the crimes I’ve committed. What I did to that pathetic fop who attacked you was child’s play to me. I’ve been both torturer and executioner. Yes, Christine, I am a murderer.”

 

He paused, waiting for her to flee, but to his great annoyance, she remained where she stood, her gaze unfaltering despite his hostility. 

 

“There is no good left in me, if there ever was any to begin with. I am truly a monster, Christine, a life of atrocities and transgressions. Of madness and despair.  I am capable of anything, to get what I want, what I need. You do not -- you cannot understand what it would mean to love a creature like me.”

 

He laughed mirthlessly, unable to stop the words flowing from his lips.

 

“Not only am I not worthy to be loved, I am not worthy to be seen! To behold my true visage is punishment, is horror. An innocent naive woman you are, my sweet, but you are no different than the other beautiful beings who bask in the sun and know nothing of true suffering. You will leave. You will run away,” he accused sharply. 

 

“Do you really think I would do that?” she retorted, breaking through his tirade, “Do you really think so little of me?”

 

“You are foolish and young, Christine, innocent in your beauty. You will tire of my haunted and cursed existence. As they all do, you will come to fear me, detest me, once you see me for all that I am. I refuse to let this continue,” he said, his ire cooling, melting into the familiar pang of sadness, “The world has been cruel enough.”

 

Christine remained quiet, unnervingly so, as Erik waited for her to respond. Her breathing was even, he noticed, and her lip did not quiver nor did her eyes glisten with gathering tears. 

 

She would be lying if she said that his admission wasn’t shocking, yet learning of his dark and bloody past did not shake her resolve nor the intense love she felt for her teacher. Once he was revealed to her and she knew who he was, that he wasn’t an angel, any delusions about his infallibility had vanished. She knew he was the opera ghost, which was not a title one earned without terror and violence. She knew that there would be pain and sorrow in his past, and that it had certainly driven him to commit unforgivable acts - but she found herself willing to forgive, to show him compassion. 

 

“You are not the only one who gets a say in this, Erik,” Christine declared, undeterred by all his fury and harsh words. 

 

Erik was taken aback, his power of speech abandoning him. 

 

“If you did not listen before, listen to me now,” her tone and demeanor shifted, softening as she poured all her sincerity and yearning into her words, “You consume me, Erik. I dream of your touch, I long to hear your golden voice whisper words of love in my ear. You are right, I do not know everything about you. But I am not afraid. Of you or your face or your past. I have seen your heart, Erik, and it is not nearly as twisted as you believe.”

 

At her words, a shudder ran through Erik’s body, his willpower crumbling as his body and soul called out to her, desperate to be close to her once again. He could not draw his gaze from her face, standing no more than two short paces away from her. 

 

“I cannot allow you to deny that I love you when it is so far from the truth,” she said, the devotion in her voice sweeter than honey.

 

Those three words resonated through him, elation filling his lungs to hear such words uttered from her lips. He had tried, he had put up a noble effort, but he was helpless to this woman. A powerful, courageous, tempting woman. And now he could say - his woman. 

 

“I love you, too, Christine,” he breathed, his voice hoarse and quavering as he fully surrendered to her, finally able to look her in the eye. He almost fell to his knees at what he saw there - unadulterated adoration and happiness. 

 

A solitary tear slid down his cheek and before he could begin to weep, she closed the space between them, bringing his face down to hers for a crushing kiss. Erik reciprocated ardently, pressing her to his body so closely to his that she was practically off the ground, his strong, wiry arms encircling her waist and back. 

 

“I’m sorry, my love,” Erik murmured against her lips as he would catch his breath before taking her mouth once more, “I am sorry.”

 

Christine simply shook her head, and held him tighter, pressing her lips firmly against his. She understood. She understood so much more than he had expected. Erik felt regret for underestimating her as he did, but holding her in his arms, regret melted away, replaced with hunger and longing. 

 

All the passion Erik withheld back at their last meeting was unleashed. He ravished her, inhaling the heady smell of the skin of her neck as he nipped and sucked at her milky skin, leaving mottled purple marks in his wake. Satisfaction rippled through him as he admired his mark upon her, proof not that he had claimed her, but that she had chosen him .

 

Still not close enough, Christine went up on her toes and wrapped her arms around Erik’s neck, clinging to him desperately. Though neither were skilled - or even familiar - in the ways of intimacy and physical passion, when they were together it seemed to all coalesce and their hands and mouths moved confidently, igniting a new kind of passion that burned hot under their skin and between their legs.

 

With elegant ease, Erik gathered her skirts up and hooked his arms under her knees, hoisting her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist. Lips still locked, he moved them to the velvet chaise, lowering himself heavily onto the furniture, groaning in delight as she nipped his tongue as it explored her mouth.

 

Straddling his lap, Christine feverishly pressed wet, wanting kisses across Erik’s uncovered cheek and jaw, down his neck, digging her fingers into his hair. Small sounds escaped the back of Erik’s throat, and Christine delighted in them, savoring the feeling power as she elicited pleasure with just the touch of lips against skin. She wanted to map every inch of Erik’s body with her mouth, and as she held his face in her hands, she knew there was a part she was desperate to kiss.

 

Cautiously, Christine brought her fingertips to the edge of his porcelain mask. Erik’s hand flew to her wrist to stop her, but she didn’t move any further. 

 

“Let me show you how beautiful you are,” she whispered, her hand hovering by his face ready to pull away should he wish it, “I love every part of you, Erik, please let me show you.”

 

He dropped his hand from her wrist, silent permission to proceed. Anxiety began to churn in his stomach, but her tender touch and sweet voice eased his nerves.

 

“Thank you, my love,” she whispered as she pressed a kiss to his lips. 

 

Erik closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. She had only seen his face once, briefly, and he had not handled the incident well. If she was horrified by his visage, he could hardly fault her, but he desperately hoped that she would still love him when she saw him as he truly was.

 

Christine gently removed the mask, his expression of anticipated rejection pinching at her heart. He was not the horrifying monster he claimed to be. Not at all. 

 

Christine refused to give him any time to doubt that what she saw did not repulse or horrify her, and so she kissed him fully on the mouth, cradling his face in her hands. With her sensitive fingertips, she explored the textures and contours of his distorted face. It was simply him. She sighed contentedly, settling herself further into his lap. 

 

It was unreal, resplendent to feel her hands caressing his deformed face, sweet sounds emitting from the back of her throat as she kissed him deeply. Pulling back, Erik searched her expression for fear or disgust, but as her gaze took in his entire visage, he saw nothing but devotion and warmth shining in her dark brown eyes. She did not flinch or clench her teeth to hide her revulsion. Her face remained serene as she gazed upon him, her fingers stroking his neck absentmindedly as she smiled a contented smile. 

 

Emboldened by her naked affection, Erik dared to reach up and with trembling hands, pulled off his sleek, jet black wig, revealing the sparse translucent hairs that clung to one side of his head, silvery hairs streaking through his natural dark brown on the other, his true age suddenly on display. Exposed and raw, Erik gazed up at her with trepidation, still preparing himself for her to change her mind, but on her face he found an expression he had never seen before, not just from her but from anyone. She saw him . She saw him fully, complete and perfect, and not only did she not recoil, she welcomed the sight. As if she has been waiting for it her entire life. He couldn’t put a word to it, this overwhelming feeling, but it filled him and breathed life into his lungs. He suddenly felt whole.

 

Tangling his fingers in her hair, Erik pulled her back down to him and pressed a bruising kiss to her lips, ardent and unrestrained. She moaned happily, shifting herself to press her body closer to his. She wasn’t prepared for her knee to slip against the velvet of the chaise, and Erik was not prepared to compensate and catch her. They tumbled to the floor, Erik cradling the back of her head as they fell back, protecting her skull from cracking against the ground. 

 

He hovered above her, kneeling as he propped himself up with a hand on either side of her head. They gazed at one another, unheeded lust and desperate love filling the space between them. With a confident hand, Christine reached up and began to pull at his tie, undoing the complex knot and sliding it off his neck. Her fingers worked quickly, moving to the buttons of his crisp white shirt, her movements becoming frantic as she took in each new revealed inch of pale skin. 

 

Talking hold of her hand, Erik stopped her from going any further, though he found himself barely able to hold back himself. The urgent and wanting look in her eye was too tempting to resist, but there was one thing he wanted before they took another step into this uncharted territory together. 

 

He wanted -- nay, needed -- her express permission to proceed, no questions. He would hear the words directly from her mouth, that she wanted him, that she wanted this. 

 

“Christine, would you,” he paused, swallowing hard as she looked at him with inquisitive eyes, “would you let me worship you?”

 

It was a fierce and lustful plea - one born of countless hours of fitful sleep, vivid dreams, and wild fantasy. 

 

An enticing smile broke across her face as her hand moved to stroke his malformed cheek, tracing her finger down his neck, back to the collar of her shirt. 

 

“Take me,” Christine uttered seductively, lost in his hopeful and sensuous gaze, “Take all of me.”

 

Erik released a guttural groan of satisfaction and his mouth found hers once more, as her hands returned to his shirt and waistcoat, shoving them off his shoulders until he was bare above the waist. Christine could feel the ridge of his spine and the smattering of scars across his skin as her hand traversed the nakedness of his back, memorizing the patterns beneath her fingertips, a document of his miserable life. If she would have her way tonight, Erik would - at least for a moment - forget all the pain he had endured and would give in to the pleasure she longed to give him. 

 

Her hands made their way from his back to the taut muscles of his abdomen, relishing the texture of the trail of coarse hair that led down to the mouthwatering bulge of his erect manhood, straining through his thick wool trousers. She unbuttoned his pants, loosening the ties of his undergarments until the waist of his slacks hung loosely around his hips, drifting ever downward. 

 

No longer satisfied to be the only one in a state of undress, Erik began to divest Christine of her voluminous skirt and petticoats. He swallowed the urge to simply tear the fabric away from her body, but he could not forget how her dress had been torn the night she came to him, suffering and wounded. He would never dare to put her in such a situation. Where Lionel Dumont had been violent, Erik would be gentle, intentional. He would only continue if she permitted it. He was at her whim, at her mercy, treating her like the goddess she was. 

 

Throwing her skirts aside, Erik’s deftly, methodically unbuttoned her chiffon blouse, popping each pearl button open, planting tender kisses across her face as he slipped each arm from its sleeve, discarding the blouse in the heap of her skirts.  Much to his delight, Christine had decided to forgo her corset that day, a decision they were both grateful for as they lay upon the plush rugs before a roaring fire. He loosened her stays, releasing the restricted flesh, so only her chemise and stockings and bloomers remained. Seeing her heaving beneath him, her skin aglow, he slowed his hands, catching his breath. This was not a moment he wanted to rush, intent on basking in every new sight and sound, imprinting every touch against his fingers, savoring every new taste, burning it into his memory. He would take his time. 

Erik unlaced the delicate ribbon at the neckline of her chemise with a single dexterous finger and with a glance to confirm she wished to continue, he slowly pulled the sheer fabric down until she was bare breasted beneath him. The sensation of the gauzy fabric against her peaking buds sent a delicious shudder through her body, her eyes fluttering closed as she was flooded with arousal.

 

Brushing his fingertips over the smooth curves of her breasts and aching nipples, Christine arched her back welcoming and begging for his touch. Erik lowered his head and took one of her divine breasts in his mouth. A satisfied smile crossed his face as he ravished her, burying his face into the warmth and softness of her magnificent chest. Christine was overwhelmed, gasping and writing against him. His lips were so cold but his mouth was warm and soft, tantalizing as he sucked and licked, nipped and swirled. 

 

The luscious, yielding flesh of her breast as he pulled her into his mouth had to be as close to heaven as he ever dared to tread. The rough, firm texture of her aching peaks was delightful against his tongue, and he sighed against the creamy skin and rosy points. He moved his mouth to her other breast, ever so delicately running the pad of his thumb over the wet skin he had left behind, now swollen and flushed. 

 

Erik’s lips, his tongue, his fingers against her sensitive skin sent shockwaves of a savage primal need through Christine, dampening her bloomers as the heat began to rise under her skin. 

 

“Erik, please,” she began to beg, whimpering at the gathering wetness, the throbbing between her legs yearning for his touch, “More. I need more.”

 

More than happy to comply, Erik pushed the bottom of her chemise up to her slender waist. With the same delicacy as he had disrobed her before, he slowly removed her bloomers, sliding them down her shapely legs, marveling at the glistening flesh revealed as she opened herself to him. Christine began to feel self-conscious at being so exposed before her angel, but the look of wonder shining in Erik’s eyes erased all thoughts of bashfulness. She was ready. She wanted more.

 

He lowered himself, shifting his body down until his head was between her trembling thighs.  Erik angled his hips away from the carpet, his nearly bare backside deliciously rounded and firm as he held himself there, avoiding the friction of the carpet against his pulsing erection, refusing to end this rapture a moment too soon. Placing her legs over his shoulders, her hips slightly elevated, hovering above the ground, he began to press wet, lingering kisses around her thatch of brown curls. Her needful sighs and mewls only spurred his desire, and he continued to tease her as his half-nose traced the crease of her thighs, memorizing her intoxicating aroma.  

 

“I can’t bear it, Erik, touch me, please,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse and breathing becoming unsteady, consumed by the same lust that had him nestled between her legs. 

 

Using only the very tip of his tongue, he tasted her sex, tangy and musky. He slowly traced along the seam and folds of her womanhood, watching with pleasure as she writhed and bucked her hips, her body pleading for the pleasure only he could grant. His touch was exquisite torture, all at once torment and rapture, Christine groaning and keening as she felt the proof of her arousal seep out from her opening. 

 

Erik delighted in how she twitched and gasped as he took his time, her mouth hanging open, eyes rolling back into her head. His measured approach to her pleasure vanished, no longer able to hold back the full force of his desire, when he glanced up and saw her pinching and massaging her already sensitive breasts. It was the most carnal, sinful thing he had ever witnessed. Without a second thought, he lowered his head to her lustrous sex and devoured her, clinging tight, gripping one of her thighs with one hand, a bruising urgent touch, the other placed on the soft curve of her stomach to still the violent throes of pleasure he elicited from her as he swirled his tongue and suckled the sweet, dewy flesh that made her cry out in blissful agony, bringing her closer to her climax. 

 

It wasn’t enough, he wanted to feel every part of her. His tongue gently caressed the throbbing nub of pleasure at the peak of her sex as he brought his hand on her thigh between her legs and inserted his middle finger into her channel, coating it in her slick arousal. 

 

A sublime shriek escaped her throat as she felt his probing digit explore her most sensitive parts, worshiping with her his tongue and his touch. She was nearly weeping, while Erik relished in her pleas and praise and the growl in her throat as she goaded him on with a raw and feral “more” and “yes.” Carefully, he slid in two fingers, curling them within her and tickling that most almost unreachable, but utterly transcendent place that was driving her to a point of utter madness.

 

Every nerve between her legs was alight with wanton need, her eyes clouding over as a new feeling began to build within her, muscles tense with anticipation, all feeling in her body gathering to a single pulsing point at the apex of her thighs. 

 

Sliding his fingers in and out with ease, soaked with desire, Erik savored the feeling of her slick entrance welcoming his searching digits, her inner walls clenching around them as he sucked her aching clit into his mouth. 

 

Christine’s body went rigid. She screamed, a frisson of pleasure snapping through her body as she became wholly undone, arching against the floor, grinding her sex against his face, stoking the fire of pleasure within her one more.  

 

Her hips rolled and bucked in the air, and Erik pressed his face eagerly into her sex  - pronounced chin, smooth and malformed cheeks, misshapen nose, distorted lips hanging open with his tongue lolling out to taste every bit of her — coating his entire face with the succulent and viscous fluid of her arousal. To both their complete and utter thrill, the friction of his twisted visage against her womanhood brought her to climax once again and Erik felt as though he had entered heaven. The wet proof of her pleasure washing away his sins, baptized by her desire. He has been anointed by the most holy deity, her body now his church. She grasped his sparse hair, clinging to it as if she would float away were she not tethered to him, breathing his name like a prayer. 

 

Erik reluctantly pulled away, lost in his own haze of bliss and contentment, feeling a thin tendril of her wetness and his saliva clinging to his lips, connecting to her sex. He lapped it up eagerly, the taste of their commingled fluids sweet on his tongue. Moaning happily, heaving satisfied breaths, Erik rubbed his cum covered face on the impossibly silky and supple skin of her inner thighs, looking up at her in awe and adoration.

 

When she regained power over her limbs, Christine propped herself up on her elbows and, with starry eyes, looked down at him, still settled happily between her legs. The sight of him made her desperate, his face and fingers glistening with her wetness, pupils blown wide and dark. Christine sat up and pushed him back from where he lay on the ground, crawling over him until his back collided with the edge of the chaise. Christine removed his shoes and pants entirely, until he was naked before her, his pale body glowing with the orange light of the fire. 

 

Erik’s cock finally sprung free, bobbing and twitching against his stomach, the tip red and swollen as milky liquid seeped out. His eyelids were heavy, his muscles tight, his arousal consuming him.

 

Without hesitation, Christine lavished his enormous member with her tongue, broadly licking up and down the length of him. Kissing and running the sensitive skin of her wet lips up and down the taut skin, she savored the feeling of the hot, throbbing veins of his turgid manhood as his desire for her burned. She had done this to him, and she reveled in it. 

 

A familiar pressure and heat began gathering low in his abdomen, coiling tight, his member throbbing painfully as he watched her. Reaching between her legs, she wet her hand with her own arousal and rubbed up and down his shaft, her warm mouth still tantalizing him. 

 

“Take all of me” he begged, his voice low and savage, “I want you to take all of me in our mouth. Now. Please.”

 

Christine had been waiting for those words, opening her mouth wide as she slowly swallowed him. She began to suck, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, as spittle began to dribble from her lips, pooling at the base of his cock. Hard and smooth in her mouth, Christine felt wondrously filthy and wanton as she tasted his leaking fluids on her tongue, the tip of his cock pressing into her soft palate at the back of her throat. Heat flooded between Christine’s thighs once again as she realized the instrument he had helped hone was now bringing him unparalleled pleasure. 

 

The ungodly sounds that erupted from his mouth were that of pure ecstasy. Erik did not know or, quite frankly, care for modesty, never having to conceal the depth of his self-pleasure vocally so far beneath the opera house. Crying out with each deliberate lick and powerful suck from her throat, Erik gasped and moaned with abandon. To be consumed in such a way had only ever been the content of fevered dreams derived of long withheld and restrained lust. Her lips had felt heavenly against his own, but watching her head bob up and down between his legs, her moist mouth welcoming his cock was positively sinful. He whimpered and moaned and swore. His legs thrashed and twitched beyond his control, toes curling and muscles tense. It was too much. Not yet.

 

Taking hold of her disheveled hair, he stilled her ministrations, lifting her to face his. Christine pulled away with worry in her eyes, saliva leaking from her lips. She opened her mouth to ask if she had done something wrong, but before she could utter a single word, Erik grabbed her roughly by the jaw and pulled her back to him, plundering the mouth that has worshipped his sex with his own tongue. 

 

“I’m yours, Erik,” she whispered urgently against his lips, “I want you. I want all of you. I want you inside me.”

 

“Are you certain?” he asked, eyes wide. There would be no going back if they were to consummate their relationship, though it was difficult not to heed her wishes as she uttered them so eagerly. All Erik wanted was to give Christine everything she ever desired. Even him.

 

“God, yes,” she growled, taking his lower lip into her mouth and biting hard, “Don’t make me wait.”

 

His manhood throbbing and burning, Erik drew her close to him, straddling his lap once again. He pulled her chemise over her head until all that remained was her stockings and his socks, skin pressed skin, their bone and flesh melding into one form as they clung to the other with love and longing.

 

Despite all that had happened, Erik still found himself lacking the courage to do what she asked, unable to shake the deep seated fear that she would be repulsed by making love to a monster. Christine saw the trepidation darkening behind his eyes, and she would not allow him to doubt her a minute longer. 

 

Positioning herself above his proud and aching cock, she dropped her hips slowly, and he entered her. Christine was dripping wet, her entrance gaping and ready to welcome him as he filled her up to the hilt. 

 

It was a sensation beyond words. Hot. Clenching. Supple. Erik’s mouth dropped open in splendor, his lips against the soft skin of her breast as he held her close, his breath hot and lustful as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and beauty that enveloped him. Christine had heard that her first time may sting or cause pain, but she felt nothing of the sort. Only a satisfying stretch as the pliable flesh of her sex as she took all of him. 

 

Erik’s body began to move of its own will, thrusting against Christine, her womanhood still sensitive and tingling. She gripped his shoulders tight in her hands, whimpers and moans leaving her lips as he began to grind against her, flinching at the sting of her swollen clit against his rough hairs of his groin. Sensing her discomfort, Erik flipped her over so she was once more beneath him. Placing a hand behind one of her knees, pushing her leg up and out to the side, opening her wider, he slipped his cock inside her again. The new angle was ecstasy for them both, Erik’s manhood pounding against that secret inner cluster of nerves that sent tremors through her legs. Arms above her head, breasts bouncing with each thrust, her pleas and moans and screams filled the small space of the living room. 

 

It was magnificent. It could not compare to his fantasies. He had never felt more alive, the moist channel that welcomed him pushing him to new heights of bliss. The feeling was incomparable, for nothing had ever made his blood run so hot, made his vision blur with ecstasy, his muscles working so vigorously that he was out of breath.

 

Christine became frantic as she matched his pace, rutting her hips against his as their flesh met with a blissful sting against her backside. She clutched at the carpets desperately, while he relentlessly entered her over and over. Catching sight of her reaching, restless hands, Erik slowed his pace and grabbed one of her hands, pulling it to his lips, taking her middle and ring finger in his mouth. He groaned from deep in his throat, tasting her cum and her sweat upon her delicate digits, swirling his tongue around them to coat them with his slick saliva. Sufficiently wet, he guided her fingers to her clit and encouraged her to pleasure herself as he continued to thrust into her.

 

Christine cried out, screaming and moaning with abandon, reaching her crisis once again as her fingers worked feverishly between her folds. She clenched tight around him as her orgasm seized her body and Erik was undone, swiftly pulling himself from her sex before spilling his seed across her abdomen. 

 

There was something primal about watching Erik expend himself and shudder as semen spluttered out of him. His breath caught in his throat, the throes of his ejaculation still ricocheting through his body as he waited for his vision to clear, to gain some semblance of control over the shaking in his limbs.

 

Cautiously, he looked up to meet her gaze, prepared to apologize. Such thoughts were banished from his mind when he saw her, flushed, breathless and delighted. As she watched him with wonder, with contentment, Erik gave himself a tight squeeze with his hand, still clenched around his slackening member, and rubbed his thumb over the tip, a delicious shudder wracking his body. 

 

Christine was on fire. She needed more. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. She sat up and crawled close to him again, kissing him languidly as she heaved lustful breaths, Erik’s cum dripping down her torso between them.

 

----

 

Hours of lovemaking had passed and the evening grew late. Erik had to carry Christine to his bed, her legs too wobbly and her head too light and dizzy as she tried to walk herself. It did not take long for to find sleep, wrapping her arm tight around his torso while her head rested peacefully on his chest. 

 

Erik lay next to her, eyes wide open, waiting to wake up from a dream, to find himself passed out in his music room, the entire night a dream derived from loneliness and exhaustion. But in the moment, he felt alive. Virile. Human. A man like any other. It couldn’t be a dream. She nuzzled into him in her sleep and he nearly wept. 

 

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, kissing her soft curls as he stroked her back. Stirring from her sleep, she looked up at him drowsily. Erik’s body tensed in panic, unsure if she would wake and realize what she had done, fleeing from him, screaming in horror. 

 

She did nothing of the sort. Smiling contentedly, Christine pulled herself up closer to him, nuzzling his face and neck, all love and devotion as she called him her Erik, her beautiful, wondrous Erik, her voice thick with sleep. His usual protestations died on his tongue, and he basked her praise, finally able to say that his life could indeed be beautiful.