A/N: Written for an anonymous Tumblr user who sent me the prompt Capernoited for Christine. Capernoited means mildly intoxicated or tipsy.
The wine, a rich red, was a gift from the managers for her "astounding performance". Such a ridiculous choice of words "astounding performance". Even Erik wouldn't say that and he can be so stuffy when he wants to be, when he's in a mood over something, like losing a chess game to Iman, or the notes refusing to cooperate as if the notes have a choice in whether or not he wants to write them!
There he is now, muttering to himself and frowning at the organ keys, as of it's going to matter to them when it barely matters to her now. Besides, the organ keys can't see him! What use is there in frowning at them?
Though if they could see him, what adventures they could tell of. She could talk to them sometimes, get a sense of what her strange husband was like before her and they could have such good gossip sessions, chatting back and forth like did you see him the other night and I remember once and you know what some of the ballet girls suggested, well…
And Erik, her stuffy, sometimes foolish husband (oh but she loves him dearly, she does, and she'll tell it to him ten times before he falls asleep on top of her) would be able do nothing about it if she took up with the organ keys. She might tell him it would be better for his music, and he would believe her because anything for his music never mind his poor, neglected wife who wants to hug him when she hasn't hugged him since morning and it's night now and how he would object at the mere suggestion because she would be interfering with the music and she must not do that no, she will not do that because she is a good girl, never mind that she was saving the wine until they could both enjoy it, at least she has gotten some joy out of it.
She is aware of giggling, giggling that is distinctly not Erik's because he has turned his frown on her. He says something in that grave voice and she can't make out the words but oh the way his lip furrows is lovely and she can't keep another wave of giggling at bay. He stands, and throws his head back as if he were a horse and she is laughing now, not giggling, because Erik would be a horse if he were any sort of animal at all, all proud and elegant and clumsy with too long legs falling over every little thing, and he kneels in front of her, now, and looses the wine bottle from her grip, inspects it a moment.
"You need to go to bed," and she is surprised that the first words from his lips are not you will ruin your voice and the surprise is enough that she stops the giggling, and smiles, swaying into him.
"Only if you join me." She is distantly aware that her words slur together, but what does that matter? Not a thing now, and they sounded so good in her head. What a pity. Poor words, condemned to be run together and messed up.
He frowns, and shakes his head, and scoops her into his arms. And such is the wave of delight to be held to him that she forgets to giggle over what a confusing man her husband is, shaking his head and picking her up anyway! He really should make up his mind. It would be so much less trouble that way.
She reaches, and presses a kiss to the first skin of his she meets – his throat, her eyes slipping closed, and his heart thrumming a melody that lulls her into sleep.