Author's Note: Decided to write some tasteful R/C smut. I hate to inform those who like E/C that you're not going to be happy by what Erik goes through, but I guess that comes with reading an R/C prominent story.
She had grown to dislike the dark. Ever since that night she slept with light, may it be a candle or a gas lamp. She never wanted to feel alone. The dark reminded her of a place where she did not wish to return to.
As Christine Daae lay in the large full sized bed, she could not fall asleep. Even though the candles were a calming presence her mind was racing. Images kept appearing each time she closed her eyes. Images of a horrifying event that took place nearly three hours ago.
Joseph Buquet was dead. He was killed by the Opera Ghost, the same ghost who pretended to be her Angel Music. The same ghost who had just sent the very large and very expensive chandelier that hung over the audience hurling to the ground that it smashed at her feet. If it was not for Raoul who had been waiting in the wings, she would have most certainly been injured by glass.
Within seconds, with her costume still on, Raoul scooped her up into his arms and carried her through the crowds of people in mass pandemonium backstage. The faster they were away from the Garnier the better it would be for everyone. There was no telling what else could happen and what else that Erik had in store for her.
She dared not to go home to her own flat for fear of reporters and other gawkers coming to her door. Raoul was persistent that she would stay with him on the grounds of his estate. She was hesitant but assumed it was the safest place. Raoul's private carriage was waiting outside the Garnier and that is where he carried her. That is where she fell into an instant, exhausted slumber. A few times on their way, she could feel Raoul cradling her in his arms and bringing her close to him in a tight embrace.
His estate was a gorgeous, private location not far outside the city. As soon as they arrived, he asked her if she was well enough to walk. She nodded that she was and the two of them left the carriage. With great care he helped her through the door and a few of his servants were at her side, escorting her to one of the guest bedrooms. There they helped her remove her costume, clean her face of the makeup (which was smeared from tears) and into a warm bath. They washed, dried and helped her into a clean nightdress and put her to bed.
Before they had left the room, she urged them to light a few candles. They dismissed her request at first, but the more she implored they knew that she would not let them go. So, fetching a candelabrum from the fireplace ledge, they placed it on a table near the window. They lit the three candles, wished her good night and exited the room.
She looked to the door of the room, wondering if it would be improper to bother Raoul. She had not seen him since he helped her out of the carriage. He must think that she was exhausted, too tired to be bothered. Should she go to him, tell him that she was too afraid to sleep?
It was that moment that she felt a chill in the room and the candles going out. She looked to the window and saw nothing. The maids had left the matches on the table and she was determined to go and relight the candles, until she heard a voice… one that she knew too well:
"Christine…"
She sat up in bed, looking around the room. It was the same voice from the roof, in the same imploring tone. Was he here, now, in this very room? She closed her eyes. "Leave me, Erik," she whispered, "please leave me".
"Christine, you betrayed me…"
She felt a presence at the foot of her bed and was too frightened to open her eyes. She knew he was there, watching her with those attentive eyes.
"Come to me, Christine," she heard him whisper, "I am here…"
She shook her head. She felt a hand linger near her face and she opened her eyes to see a white glove belonging to a figure standing before the window. "Take my hand, Christine, and all will be forgotten. All will be well. Erik promises!" His voice was so soft and certain that it pained her to refuse.
She heard a knock at her door and in that moment she felt the hand retreat into darkness. She found the courage to call out. "Raoul!" The door flew open and there he stood, dressed in his evening clothes and a robe. She flew from the bed and into his arms, tightly pulling him to her embrace. "He's here, Raoul, he has found me." Raoul was tense and instantly drew her behind him. He backed them to the door and ushered Christine out of the room and he followed, locking the door behind them. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down the hall, calling out until he found someone who was awake.
A man came hurrying from one of the servant wings. "Yes, Monsieur De'Chagny?"
"There has been an intruder in this house, I want the perimeter surrounded. I want men stationed outside every window," Raoul ordered. "Have a few men go into the guest bedroom that Miss Daae was staying in, the intruder was spotted in there last."
"Yes sir," the servant replied, hurrying away. Raoul looked back to Christine, noticing that she was only in a nightdress. He shrugged off the robe and draped it around her shoulders, feeling embarrassed that he had paraded her around the house in nearly nothing. Christine slipped her arms through the sleeves and grasped his arms. "What are you going to do, Raoul? He could be gone by now!"
"Don't worry, Christine," he said reassuringly. "Did he hurt you?"
"No," she replied, "he… didn't hurt me." Which was a strange thing since hours before he tried, unless the chandelier was never meant for her at all?
Raoul studied her carefully, his hands drawing around her cheeks and urging her to look up into his eyes. "Are you certain that he was here? Did you see him?"
Did she see him? Or was it just her imagination? It did not explain the candles going out. She opened her mouth to speak and then shut it again, not knowing exactly how to respond. "I don't know, perhaps I didn't… but still Raoul, I'm afraid."
"I won't take any chances," he murmured. Taking her hand again, he led her upstairs. The guest bedrooms were on the bottom floor, the above floor was where Raoul's room was and a few other rooms. It made her instantly think of the journey they took to the roof and how safe they were up there. Or were they safe then? Coming to the landing, he led her to a double oak door and opened it. Inside it was dark but he went to the nearest table and lit a gas lamp, allowing some light to come in. He turned and beckoned her inside, closing the door behind her.
"Is… this your room?" She asked, looking around the very spacious room. It was well decorated with various naval pictures and other decorations related to the sea.
"Yes," he replied, "which I'm going to have you stay in for the night." Christine was shocked and instantly shook her head. "Then where will you sleep?" She asked.
"Nearby," he said, pointing to the wall, "there is a room next door. I will be right there if you need me."
"No," she blurted out. Instantly feeling embarrassed she looked around. "I mean, it's too far." She watched him rake a hand through his blonde hair, looking around the room.
"If you permit me, I could stay on the couch?" He pointed over to the couch by the wall. It was comfortable, or so it seemed to her. She nodded to that and sat down on the bed. She buried her face into her hands. She felt the bed give in beside her and Raoul's hand on her own. "Christine, look at me?" She slowly let him drag her hands away from her face.
Raoul looked her over carefully. "I promised to protect you. Don't think I am giving up so easily."
There was a knock at the door. Raoul stood up and went to answer it, finding one of his servants there with a report. They conversed for a moment and he then closed the door. "They looked in your room and found no one; they are currently patrolling the grounds. I asked them to do so until morning and they were happy to oblige."
"All on account of me," she sadly whispered. Raoul shook his head.
"Don't think like that Christine, the way I see it: we're both in danger. You're not alone," he said with assured confidence. "Now," he said, "I think you should rest." She nodded and went to remove her robe, his robe. He looked away and pointed to the couch.
"I'll be over here," he assured her. Christine nodded and turned to remove the robe and get into bed. She placed the fabric on the end of it and found that Raoul had not gone to the couch. He was still there behind her. She turned around to see him looking at her. In that instant she went to him as he did to her and they drew into embrace. He urged her chin up and drew his lips onto hers, which she happily accepted. Her arms went under his own and over his shoulders, pulling him to her. As she drew closer she could feel his hardness pressing into her legs, close to the juncture of her thighs.
"Christine," he murmured, breaking away from her, "we should probably…" He was lost again in the moment and instantly drew her into another kiss. This time his hands were making their way into her long curls, weaving his fingers through them. Then they traveled over her cheeks, down her neck, shoulders and then rounding around her breasts. Tentatively he squeezed and palmed them until her nipples began to harden under the gauzy fabric.
She could not stop the sensation of fulfillment overcoming her and she let out a breathless moan at the touch of his fingers on her breasts. She felt hot, her skin longed to be touched and the fabric was just in the way… and in his way as well. She began to draw his suit jacket down his shoulders and he followed her lead, removing the fabric. She picked at the buttons of his waistcoat, letting ambition taking control. He removed that as well, and he helped her with the buttons of his dress shirt. When his torso was bare, she allowed her hands to roam over his strong, lean body. He captured her hands within her own, holding her right hand over his heart.
"I love you, Christine," he said sincerely. "From the moment I saw you, all those years ago to the moment I saw you again. I never stopped loving you. I want you as a wife. I want you."
"Raoul", she said, "I want to be your wife. I want you, too." At those words, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to his bed. Juggling her around in his hold, he tore at the sheets and pulled them down. Placing her right in the middle of his bed she then watched as he joined her and looked over her, wondering how to continue. Were they both new to this game? Or was he more skilled at the art of making love than she was?
Slowly his hand went to the hem of her night dress, pushing the fabric up along her thigh and then over her hips. With both hands and her assistance, he removed the fabric and allowed her body to be free to his gaze. His eyes traveled over her breasts down to the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs. His hands had no idea where to go first. Her hands however had strayed to his trousers, urging him to remove them. He did, quickly, until they were both naked in the bed.
He bent down and kissed her, again, letting his hand stray to her bare breast. His fingers brushed over her nipple, once twice, and then his fingers flicked it. She moaned beneath his mouth, her body bucking up to him. His lips left her mouth and traveled down to her breast. He could see the nipple in the dark, straining from the attention he had given it. He bent down and suckled it between his lips, his tongue bathing it. She wrapped her hands around his head, pressing him closer. With risk, he nipped at her nipple causing her to cry out.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No," she replied, "you didn't." He did it again, this time, alternating between nipping and suckling. His hand was making its way down to her thighs, brushing over her curls. He found her wet and slowly his finger brushed between her slick folds.
"Oh," she murmured, "Raoul, yes." Her hips bucked at the intrusion of his finger. Her legs fell open even wider. "Touch me again," she implored. He did, this time, sliding a finger into her. This time it caused her to shift a bit.
"It hurts, just a little," she said between labored breaths. This caused him to look up at her and remove his finger from her. He resumed his position beside her, his hand brushing over her cheek. "Then perhaps it's not right."
"Raoul, I want this," she said, "please?" In that moment e seemed to gather that she was a virgin. That tonight was going to be her first sexual encounter. Raoul had one, and only one. It was a mistake and soon as he did it he felt sheepish and unsure of what he had done and who he had done it with. The feeling remained with him but for the first time he felt as though this was meant to be, that Christine was his to have.
"All right, we'll go slowly," he replied, giving her quick kiss a brush of his hand over her cheek. He had no idea where to start, where to take this. He got up and moved down to her thighs, pulling her legs apart. He slowly drew apart her inner folds and bent his face down to her clit. Drawing out his tongue he pushed it into her. He heard her gasp and her hips met his mouth. With his hands he steadied her and did it again, this time applying kisses along with his tongue. Soon enough he could feel her on his tongue and on his lips. He continued to pay attention to her clit, sliding a finger in to join his lips. This time she did not cry out at the foreign invasion but seemed to welcome it. He slid another finger in and she moaned even louder.
She rode her first orgasm out, her walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers. When she was done he drew his fingers out of her. Positioning himself between her thighs, he made sure she was comfortable. Gripping onto his penis, he nudged it into her slowly. "Christine, tell me if you want me to stop." He pushed in further, until he was partially inside. He looked up to her and she was looking at him with wide eyes.
"I'm all right," she choked out, "it stings just a little."
He nodded and then slid in further. He heard her suck in a breath and slowly pulled his body up to align himself with hers. His penis slid in just a little further until their hips were now touching. She was tight and perfect. She slowly wrapped her arms up around him, holding onto him tightly. He pulled a leg up around his hips, causing him to find a tighter angle. This caused her to moan out at the new feeling. Slowly, he began to rock against her, thrusting in and out of her.
He watched her, closing her eyes and relishing in the feeling of being intimate with him. He placed an arm up over her head and dropped the other to her breast. There as he continued to thrust he paid attention to the other breast that did not get his attention. This caused her to cry out in pleasure.
"Raoul, my god," she moaned. She was shuddering beneath him.
"Christine," he said through gritted teeth, quickening his pace. "Help me," he murmured. Slowly he could feel her hips joining him in the dance. She matched his thrusts and pulled both legs around him, pinning him beneath her thighs. He could feel himself about to burst inside her.
"I…" She breathed and soon enough she shuddered and felt her orgasm. He came soon after, spilling into her and filling her with his seed. He was spent and with a few more thrusts, he joined her in exhaustion. He pulled out her and fell into the bed beside her. She was panting.
"How do you feel?" He asked her. She turned her head and smiled. "It was wonderful."
"I'm glad," he said, kissing her again. This time, she broke the kiss and made her way to his hips. She looked down at his flaccid member, coated with her juices. Her hand reached out and stroked it base to tip. In an instant it began to come alive again. She smiled and bent her lips down to him. Christine recalled that some chorus girls had talked about pleasuring men with their mouths. After Raoul had pleasured her with his, she felt it wise to return the favor with what she learned. She drew his penis into her mouth and sucked.
It was his turn to moan. His hand went into her hair, holding her there. "Christine!"
She was happy to get him to react to such an act like that. She continued, rolling her tongue around him and drawing his member out of her mouth and then back in again. Her hands then went to his testicles, which were slowly filling up. She rolled them in her palms in tune with her mouth.
"My god Christine, I'm going to-"and he spent himself into her mouth. It was a bitter taste but she took it down until there was no more. She left his member and then settled so that her hips were aligned with his own and settled down on his penis. Sliding it up into her, she rolled around her hips, enjoying the new sensation of depth.
His hands went to her hips, lifting her lithe frame up and down, instructing her how to ride him. Soon enough she found a pace and began making her own speed. Her hands linked with his own, holding onto him. They smiled at one another. Soon enough he could feel her tightening around him and this caused him to spend himself inside her again, which she promptly followed after.
With shaking limbs, she pushed off him and fell onto the bed beside him. She was so unaware of everything else around them; she did not notice the pair of eyes that were watching from the window, filled with rage and jealousy. Raoul did not notice the offset of the room and he pulled the sheet around them. She curled up next to him, holding onto him tightly. They soon gave into sleep.
Erik was deathly quiet as he returned to the house on the lake. He made his way to his organ and stood looking down at Don Juan Triumphant. He chuckled and ran his fingers over the score, nearly complete. His fingers curled into a fist as he brought his hand down on the keys of the instrument, the noise echoing throughout the house.
Christine betrayed him, body and soul with her precious boy with the good looks and fortune! Erik had fortune, he had charm! It was the looks that he lacked that kept her from staying with him, from straying from his touch. He wanted nothing more than to experience the union of their souls. Anything to triumph over the Vicomte!
He swore he would never learn Christine's naked body, or he would never learn what the touch of a woman could do. But watching the two of them together made him bitter – the fact he cast away the desire for so long. He wanted her more than the air that flowed through his lungs.
He needed Christine to feel like an ordinary man.
Oh, but he was no Don Juan! Don Juan was the Vicomte. Don Juan was the opera that existed only on paper. Don Juan would be anything but him! This made him bitter and he spun away from his work, wanting nothing more to look at it – it was tainted now. Nothing could redeem it; nothing could make him change it so that instead of the Vicomte it would be him in the role.
And then, it dawned on him. His eyes seem to gleam with triumph. It was his opera, it was his opera house. It was all in his hands. It always was. Let Christine have her Vicomte tonight, but tomorrow, a week from now, a month … she would be his. She belonged to him, always had.