Just a small thought, maybe i'll add it to my other story or even give it it's own, but for now it's going as a oneshot. Please review.
Erik shook his head again, careful to not awaken his bed mate in his attempt to fight off sleep. Christine. He gazed over her perfection for what was surely the hundredth time but the electricity that soared though his veins felt just like the first, many years ago. Her sweet brown hair that carried faint hints of red in the sunlight, her soft lips that rivaled a roses pigment, the gentle arch of her brow stationed above closed eyelids that held the most priceless of sapphires, and her perfect cheeks that still carried a soft blush of innocence.
'Ah, just looking upon her perfection feels too good to not be sin.' The opera ghost mused with a content smile as his fingers danced in his angels long and silken curls. Christine mumbled restlessly in her dreams, rolling over to snuggle closer to her former teacher's prone form beneath the cool summer sheets. Her body carried with it a heat his did not naturally posses, igniting a wildfire across Erik's pasty skin with the faintest touch.
His scarred arms came up to wrap around his Christine for what was the last time, giving himself the memory of her wanting him, accepting him into her bed and begging her fallen angel to show her the joys of the flesh. Him! A hideous monster who's face held a torn body to match. His desire for Christine to accept his body with her own could not match the inhuman joy that his every breath brought with her in his strong arms.
Bracing himself, Erik melted everything about this moment into his mind, from the scent of Christine on her pillows to the strong musk of their love making, and yet everything came back to the warm body in his arms blissfully asleep. He told himself that everything was for her, for he could never give her a life she needed. Not with his sin tarnished soul nor his reputation now dancing across France and even into England if his sources were correct. A soft chuckle escaped his disproportionate lips, how ironic the viscount only win under his forfeit and acceptance of the truth.
Setting his diva back in the center of the bed reverently, Erik set about redressing. His mind was empty for once, not filled with regret but not filled with excitement. His plans were set, actions carved into stone, and Madame Giry awaited him. Satisfied with his ensemble, he turned back to Christine, pulling out his final gift thankfully uncrushed from his coats inner pocket and placing it on her nightstand, pressed his lips upon her forehead in a final parting kiss. Making his way to the balcony and climbing back down into the moonless night, Erik ran farther and farther away from his hearts only desire.