A/N: Written for an anonymous Tumblr prompt which read "Christine has been daydreaming about Erik all day and when he confronts her about how dazed she looks she kisses him without meaning to."
His hands are so terribly light as they grace the organ, almost not touching. She can feel them, tracing the line of her jaw, that intent gaze boring into her, amber eyes flicking from side to side, studying her. The curve of his shoulder in his black dress suit…
No. She must not think of these things. They are wrong, unseemly. Yet for all he's done – drugged her, kidnapped her, masqueraded as the Angel of Music – and for all that his face is…disturbing (though it doesn't seem just as disturbing as it was) she can't seem to draw her eyes away from him. He is terribly mesmerising, completely and wholly focused on his music.
She closes her eyes and sighs, arms aching to wrap themselves around his waist, to twine his fingers with her own. The heat of her hands would warm them. She can almost feel them…
She is not quite certain his lips exist, but how might it feel to have him press kisses to her throat? He would enjoy it, she has no doubt of that.
The music shifts, a softer, quieter melody caressing her cheek and she opens her eyes again, unable to help the tightness in her throat. Does he even realise what his music is doing to her? How much it hurts and yet is so very beautiful?
She looks back to the page of her book, and the words make no sense. She cannot read them, cannot begin to contemplate them when he insists on invading her every thought, worming his way through her mind. He would read it to her, if she asked, if he was finished with his music. He would sit in his armchair and she would sit at his feet for to hear him better, her head tilted against his knee and maybe his fingers would gently stroke her hair…
"Christine, Chri-istine." Long fingers wave before her eyes and she snaps back to herself, heart pounding. Erik is frowning at her, kneeling at her feet, and she blinks. In a moment, her lips are on his and she does not remember moving but he is frozen, lips still and they do exist, though they are terribly thin. She runs her tongue over them and he gasps, pulling back, eyes wide.
"Christine." Her name is the barest breath, his fingers trembling against her cheek. She takes them in her own, swallowing back the lump in her throat and the wave of what have I done and squeezing them tight.
"Yes, Erik?" Maybe if she acts unconcerned it will keep him from panicking. Oh, why did she let her control slip? Look what she's done to him, left him staring. He probably didn't like it at all, and she will confess it was strange but it was only a first kiss and-
She kissed him. She actually kissed him. Her own throat dries, and she manages to muster a weak smile.
His lips are moving, and yet no words come out, his eyes tracing every contour of her face. He swallows, throat working convulsively. "You," he whispers, "I-"
And with the barest whimper, his eyes roll in his head and he faints clean away.