A/N: Just some fun, lightly smutty Philippe/Sorelli fluff. The title is a reference to a line from the novel, from chapter 2.
I heard Philippe's knock but continued to take my time at the vanity, fluffing another pouf's worth of powder over my shoulders and décolletage. I could almost see him giving his mustache an impatient stroke on the other side of the door and I smiled before calling for him to enter. "Can't even bother to let me in yourself, I see, Lili," he accused me, belying his gruffness with a kiss on my upturned cheek and a fresh bouquet of roses.
I did not mind his pet name for me, though he had bristled when I had once called him Fifi in return. Philippe was a good enough name, he had insisted, while Sorelli was not nearly suited to legs as long as mine. "One 'li' for each leg," he had teased, his hands demonstrating his words, and I had replied by wrapping them around him with a hearty laugh.
He settled himself in my boudoir with ease and in a few moments I could smell the familiar odor of one of his cigars. My toilette finally complete, I turned on my stool to find him watching me from the deep cushions of the sofa. The masculine appreciation written on his features told me I had not wasted my time. Fetching him a drink, I asked, "So, how were the tables this evening?" Gambling was one of his less attractive habits, but I supposed he had the money to bet without having to worry about putting food on the table.
"Well, I had enough left to buy you those flowers you haven't touched yet," he answered. Another woman might have been put off by his manners but I knew he was teasing. Handing him a glass, I stroked his sideburns fondly and called for the maid to put his roses in water. Thanks to Philippe I was able to pay her enough to assure her discretion as well as her faithful service.
While she busied herself I snatched up Philippe's top hat from his knee and draped myself across his lap like a spoiled housecat, for that was what he often likened me to and I hated to disappoint him. On a whim I settled it on my head, being mindful of my hair, and he barked out a laugh when I pried the cigar from his fingers and stole a puff from it. I loved playing the gentleman and, as he usually seemed amused by my antics, I took it as encouragement to continue. A second, too-enthusiastic puff set me to coughing and he only laughed harder, taking back his cigar.
"I've told you before not to inhale, Lili," he chided me affectionately while rubbing my back. "You and your vile habits," I retorted behind my hand, waiting for my lungs to settle.
The door clicked shut, signaling the maid's departure, and then his arms were around me. Though I was accustomed to performing, the Comte de Chagny did not like an audience, even of one. "Vile, eh?" he growled playfully, bouncing me on his knee. "Incredibly vile," I assured him in mock seriousness, playing along. "It's a wonder I put up with you."
"You? Put me with me? Madame, you jest." With that he took back his hat, adding, "Parading about in those ridiculously short costumes, tsk tsk. Positively scandalous." One of his hands had found its way under my skirts and I squeaked in surprise to feel a tug at my stockings.
Squirming out of his arms, I settled myself on the other side of the sofa and stretched out my legs until my ankles fell across his lap. Giving him a pleading little look, I wiggled my feet at him. Philippe sighed in defeat and I smiled smugly as he removed my slippers and began massaging my right foot. I thanked him with a delicate moan and by rubbing his thigh with my other foot in return. Glamorous as the life of an opera dancer may seem, it was unforgiving on the body. I leaned my head on the cushion and almost fell asleep until I felt a pinch on one of my toes. I peered at him from under one raised lid and he pinched me again until I opened both eyes and sat up.
"Good morning," he teased and I withdrew my feet, tucking them under me to avoid any more pinches. "Insatiable," I ribbed back, rising from the sofa and taking his hand to lead him to the adjoining bedroom. While Philippe closed the door I set to undoing the hooks of my gown. Soon he was behind me, his hands brushing mine out of the way as he took over the work and nuzzled my throat. After what seemed like an age he was finished and I eased the gown off my shoulders, stepping out of the pool of fabric at my feet.
I returned the favor, undoing his cravat and the mother-of-pearl buttons lining his dress shirt after he shrugged off his coat. His impatient fingers were on me again, tugging at the laces of my petticoats and corset. I stifled a laugh at the concentration on his face, gasping in delight when he finally let out an exasperated "Oh, blast it!" and backed me up against the nearest wall. I pulled him toward me, circling my arms about his neck and planting kisses all over his face, everywhere but his lips.
Tired of playing, he pressed his mouth urgently to mine and I raked my fingers through his hair. He pulled back slightly to fumble with his trousers and I gathered up the thin layers I still wore, hiking them up to my waist. I felt a strong hand on my thigh, guiding it up over his hip. I obeyed, silenced by the hungry way he stared at me. Philippe shifted and I cried out at the delicious, familiar feel of him inside me. Snaking my arms beneath his shirt and around his waist, my nails bit into the bare skin of his back as he moved against me at a feverish pace.
One hand was still on my thigh, sliding it even higher, while the other caressed my covered breast. His mouth was at my throat and shoulders, coaxing soft moans of appreciation. I gripped his hips and urged him deeper, angling myself to meet each thrust with a wanton eagerness. It wasn't long until sensation took over completely, my head falling back with a shameless cry of pleasure. His own low groans grew louder and he filled me a final time, his slick muscles tensing as he panted against my ear and enjoyed his own release. Both of us spent, I let my leg fall and rested for a moment against the wall, my trembling limbs barely supporting me.
Tucking away the hair that had fallen into my eyes, I suggested the maid draw us a bath, but my proposal was quickly denied. Instead, Philippe led me to the bed, determined this time to finally rid me of what he called "those damned feminine contraptions." I laughed and humored him, knowing that his impatience would most likely get the better of him once again.