"Madame Giry?"
The choreographer of the Opera Populaire turned around expectantly and surveyed the pupil who approached her. Christine Daaé's cheeks were flushed from the afternoon's rehearsal. The Madame had been particularly demanding that day, and the dance room with their many mirrors had the lingering humidity from so many dancing bodies at once. The rest of the troop was unlacing the ribbons of their ballet shoes and chattering amongst themselves. Only Meg noticed Christine talking to her mother.
"Yes. What is it Mademoiselle Daaé?" She never seemed to be a woman with much patience.
"I have been asked- that is, I mean to say-" the young woman hesitated.
"What is it? Speak." So refined and so intimidating. Especially after such a harsh routine.
".. He has sugges-recommended that I have my own private room," Christine had to steady herself as her eyes darted around the room, acknowledging the other girls. She had to keep her voice low. Meg might understand, but if the others discovered she was hearing a voice at night and teaching her to sing no less... Well, she was surprised they hadn't heard yet. "To... continue further instruction."
Madame Giry's straight posture never faltered; too many years with the ballet. But she did nod slowly, knowingly. "Ah yes... I see," she murmured. She would have expected a note from the Opera Ghost informing her of such a request. He was often more prompt than that. Her eyes glanced up at the ceiling, but expectedly, there was nothing there.
"Very well then," her stern voice returned. "You shall move away from the dormitories and into your own private room so you many continue your lessons." She gave a slight smile to Christine, who brightened up instantly.
"Merci, Madame Giry!" She said breathlessly, rushing back to gather her things, a sly smile on her lips.
Christine, had in fact, not been ordered by her tutor to see a new room. After all, their lessons were always conducted in the small chapel within the Opera House. Only she ever seemed to venture there when she was younger to mourn for her father. But since her lessons started only a few months ago, she had a sneaking suspicion the girls avoided it because of the Opera Ghost.
She held up this facade of naivete about her Angel of Music. The ballerinas chittering on about the Phantom of the Opera while she had her genius master giving her lessons in darkness, well... honestly it was easy to put the pieces together in her mind. And as long as she didn't tell the others about her lessons, and as long as nobody questioned her about it... It wouldn't be her fault if she was merely a puppet, now would it?
Indeed, the Opera Ghost's antics were frightening to her. Rumors flew that he would string up ballerinas by their toes if they weren't en pointe as per Madame Giry's instructions, or worse, by their necks. Most of the time, it seemed like pranks. Just as long as the ghost's demands were met. Which seemed to be most of the time.
'So demanding...' she thought to herself, 'the ghost... the Angel..' Christine had few belongings in her dormitory she shared with Meg. Some clothes, shoes, small hair accessories, but nothing extravagant or unnecessary. She had to leave everything when she had to leave her father. A new start completely. So this particular change, she wanted to be in control of while everyone else wanted to live her life they way they saw fit.
Her tutor had nothing to do with this new living arrangement and she was pleased at her new acting chops. Now to be alone with this devastatingly beautiful voice that was all hers for longer than their sessions... It was so thrilling, almost sinful.
'After all... I know it can't be my Father...' she reasoned with herself as she carried her belongings to her new room adjacent to the chapel. The walls over here happily muted any noise from outside, so nothing was heard while you were in their from the outside and visa versa. 'Father never sounded like... that.'
Her Angel had become her confidant in this past month. It was easy to open up to a voice without seeing the judgment of a face. Although he was a strict instructor, he was so gentle and soothing after their lessons. She would relax in such a way that anything that was disrupting her thoughts could be easily conveyed. Her hopes, the cattiness of some of the ballerinas, her dismays, the challenges as a dancer, how she missed her little home , her Father...
Everything, except for boys.
She had once brought that up and to her anguish, her tutor was remarkably angry and left her alone for 3 days. Oh, what agony that was! Christine was miserable without her unseen companion. How he comforted her with music and words, played the violin for her to sleep, and then with his sudden neglect, she felt strongly the yearning she had for him. She dare not tell him about how lecherous some of the stage hands were to the girls, lest she set off the Opera Ghost's rage!
Truth be told, she wanted her own private room for her own selfishness. She wanted to be with that heavenly voice more. It stirred hidden passions, hidden desires, within her, making her crave it more. She had all the healthy appetites as a woman of 20 would have, but society did dictate that her own lusts were something to ignore.
Well, until she was married, at least.
That didn't stop some of the other ballerinas from talking about their own feelings though...
As she began placing her belongings among her sparsely decorated room, a smile played on Christine's lips, musing about the musical attentions she would receive and craved. There was one item that stood out to her in this new room. A giant something-or-other covered by a dust covered sheet. She removed the fabric, a cloud of dust assaulting her. She coughed as she let the fabric fall to the floor, brushing the immediate air away with her hand.
A large gilded mirror stood before her.
'Probably too dingy for Carlotta...'
She pushed the fabric to the side of her room, not paying any more attention to the mirror as she busied herself with her things.
Night had fallen, and Christine was finally settled in her new room, with her old bed. She was tucked into the sheets securely reading a book by candlelight.
"Christine... Chrisstiiiinne..."
Her ears pricked up at the sound of the voice that encompassed the entire room. It was everywhere and nowhere. She smiled at the echoing sound, setting her book down and sitting up straight. The candle had been already extinguished with the whispering wind.
"Angel I hear you, speak, I listen," she sang out to his call, emerging from her bed, "welcome again, master." She stood patiently waiting for his instructions.
"Start with your warm-ups," the voice commanded.
As Christine closed her eyes and began to sing her scales, a light fluttering wind crept up behind her. He was gaining his new bearings for this new study area of hers. Erik was a master of the entire Opera, of course, but this new setting for Christine needed to be considered. He was rather pleased that she had insisted on this new abode... but for what reason?
The question haunted his mind as he twisted all the ways she could want this. Because she was ashamed of their encounters? He had been so cautious... Because she was intrigued? Was she trying to distance herself away from him as so many others had?
"I did not tell you to come here." The slight edge in his voice echoed in the chamber, when he was satisfied with her notes. "You told Madame Giry otherwise."
Accusing. Christine trembled slightly. Was he angry? Even she feared his wrath for the sake of others. She felt she was confident enough with him as a protector. Even so...
"... Yes..." she said, rather meekly, but still maintaining her posture in the dark. She had to carefully word her intentions lest she anger him. Or worse. "I thought it best to practice in privacy-"
"Were we NOT in privacy before?" Erik's voice was growing louder as his own doubts were arguing within his head. This was some shame she felt against him, he knew it. Despite him never showing himself to her, all women turned to fear and hate him, ALWAYS.
Christine gasped slightly at the growing anger, and look around in the dark to see if she could spy something. But nothing... only the horrifyingly beautiful voice from above.
"Y-Yes!" Her pulse quickened. "But this way... We could practice for longer..." Her voice slipped back to her shyness when they had first begun their training, but she was blanketed with silence again.
Erik pondered that word. Longer...
Christine continued to the nothingness that surrounded her. "I have grown very fond of our sessions... I look forward to them every night," she told the night with the earnest shyness of a young woman with an infatuation. "I sometimes dream of you here with me..."
This time she was CERTAIN someone was in the room with her. Not just a disembodied voice, but a person. Perhaps a cat, with its soft padding, landing on the floor. She was positive there was the fluttering of fabric.
Erik trembled inwardly as he cautiously approached her in the pitch black room. Dreaming of him?
"Go on," his rich voice a gentle command.
Christine was grateful for the dark so her blush wasn't seen. "Oh... just playing that lullaby on your violin to help me rest. I love listening to the music you play.. or perhaps you have to adjust my posture to sing another note and I could feel your hands on my stomach a-and..." she faltered, getting so caught up in reciting the dreams she has had. Dreams or just day-dreams. Had she been breathing this deeply the whole time?
"Show me." Although it was a statement, his comment was kindly warm, more like a question. Christine could feel his warm breath against her mass of curls, tickling her skin with the movement ever so slightly. She knew her Angel was a breathing human being. Her breath faltered as she tried to reach for the extinguished candle, to gaze upon her teacher. The thrill of finally seeing him face to face!
His gloved hand quickly caught her wrist as it tried to reach for it in the dark. "NO!" He barked, making Christine nearly jump out of her skin. Immediately regretting it, Erik scolded himself in his head and loosened his grip, "No..." his voice was velvet as the ghost whispered in her ear. He ached to show that he was a real man with a real man's wants, but now was not the time. He couldn't bear to lose her if she saw his face. True, he was covered with clothing, his mask most importantly secure, but if she was frightened regardless...
"Not yet..." he cooed to her, slowly releasing his fingers from around her wrist and sliding his hand over her own. His left hand pushed back curls from her left shoulder and delicately dragged down her arm to settle on her other hand. She pressed her back against his chest with a soft sigh of delight. Warmth cascaded down her arms where he touched her, and pooled in her belly.
Erik cursed at himself, aching to just take Christine in his arms, to touch her skin with his own, but he had to settle for light touches through gloved fingers. But even so, this first time being so close to his own Angel of Music, to actually touch her now as he did, was agonizing bliss.
Christine's body began to relax against Erik's, her backside brushing against his hips. He inhaled sharply and released his hold on her, stepping back away from her. Erik had to remain in control. If he went into one of his blind rages, but with lust... He never wanted to harm his Christine.
She gave a small cry of protest when his body was suddenly not there. Her mind suddenly filled with doubt. 'Am I going mad? Did I imagine him a body?'
Her small cry assured Erik that indeed, she was leaning into his touch, but he had spoiled it away.
'Well... better make up for it.' He made it his resolve not to do anything ungentlemanly toward her. She had yet to perceive him as a monster and he didn't want to rush that conclusion any time soon.
"Angel...?" She pleaded to the blackness. Her fingers groped around for the bed. Once she found it, she seated herself on the edge.
"I'm here, mon chere," came the reply, the silky words wrapping around her and causing a soft sigh. "I thought a bit of music was in order." Without another word, Erik began to stroke the chords of his violin with the bow.
"Mmmm..." the noise of contentment left Christine's lips before she even realized she uttered it. The notes he played with painful and sweet. They spoke of a bitter loneliness that Christine knew all too well, and yet hopeful yearning. This music in the night tugged at her heart but heated her body to pleasures she craved to know.
Erik watched her sink into her bed at his careful ministrations of his violin. He never wavered in the haunting melody, but he was staring at her, willing his adoration and hunger toward her.
In the dark, it's so easy to forget oneself. Christine's fingers twitched, longing to reach out and touch the form that brought her so much joy and sorrow from just one tune. Her skin tingled to be touched in return. Instinctively, she brought her fingertips up to her collarbone to lightly graze the skin exposed by her chemise nightgown.
'Show me...' her Angel's request echoed in her mind as her fingers delicately along her body in a dreamy haze.
"My Angel of Music..." Christine murmured, "I wish I were an instrument you could play.. such sweet music..."
But as soon as she cooed those words, the music ceased. Erik's growing need was almost too much to bear. He was being reckless, to say the least. In one fluid movement, he was at her bedside, hungrily staring down at Christine. His hands flexed in a fist repeatedly, to give him some grip on reality. It all seemed too good to be true, yet here the situation presented itself. He must not lose control.
His yellow eyes seemed to gleam in the dark.
"Perhaps you can be," he growled huskily, his usual Angel of Music lilt dropping down to a smooth voice that made Christine shudder.
He dropped his cloak with a melodramatic swish of his wrist and leaned over her bedside without being inhibited. Cautiously, he placed his gloved fingers on her own. Her heart started beating harder with this new sensation and she swallowed nervously, unsure of his intentions. Both of their hands rested on her décolletage, unwavering, but both unsure of how to proceed.
With a slightly shaky hand, Christine pressed Erik's hand to collar bone. His fingers responded with the command, delicately petting her smooth skin with his supple leather gloves. She took his other hand and brought it up to her neck. He could feel her pulse under his touch. These hands that could hold such power and knew of hard stone and yielding instruments were incredibly gentle in their caresses.
Erik traveled along her neck with one hand while the other dipped to her shoulder. Fingertips traced her jaw and her lips parted in a melodic sigh. Oh! Such exquisite pain it made him feel! How he longed to hear that noise again. He tried not to focus on her lips, nor the ache he felt in his hips.
Christine's breathy murmurs of contentment were growing more numerous. Erik decided to be a bit more daring and a hand dipped down to her chest and lightly cupped her breast.
"Ohhhh..." came the response the gesture elicited. "Yes... my Angel..." A deep groan rumbled from Erik as his hand continue to massage and palpate her breast through her thin chemise. His other hand soon came to meet its aching twin. He lightly stroked her now erect nipple briefly, but savored moan she gave him in return. How tantalizingly slow he was. Erik had to take a few deep breaths himself before he went overboard. A vision of how easily it would be to rip her nightgown off and take what he so desperately desire flashed in his mind, but he stifled it. Not now. Not this night.
Christine adjusted her hips in a slight squirm, the pressure of desire making her try to find something to give her release. Her hand brushed against her thigh and shyly tried to travel down, but Erik caught her wrist and pinned it down.
"Tut, tut, tut," he purred hungrily at her, "Allow me, my dear." Caving into desire, Erik straddled her on the bed, still holding down her wrist and his other hand traveling all over her body.
"Oh!" Christine cried, shirking back from his touch. Too much too soon. That jolted Erik back to reality, releasing her wrist. He wanted nothing more to kiss those perfect lips, but to do so would only unleash his insatiable hunger. He needed to occupy his mouth with other things...
Gently outlining her curves with his left land and supporting himself with his right, Erik surveyed his Angel. The gentle petting soothed her. A song would make her tremble. He began to sing to her, his voice husky with desire, a wordless tune he had yet to put lyrics to. Whatever misgivings she may have had melted away, and again her hips began to squirm, ever so slightly. Erik growled as her hips didn't quite touch his and he placed his thin lips against her breast. He could feel her soft skin underneath her nightgown, but he dared not go further. That was still a forbidden fruit, but he was determined to give her a taste of Heaven.
She groaned in the back of her throat as she felt his mouth on her chest. The heat was building up inside of her. Her fingers reached out to cup Erik's head to her chest, but he caught her wrist just as her fingertips brushed his mask.
"No," he ordered, a little too strongly and she made a soft whimpering noise. She couldn't have known he wore a mask, but now he was certain she knew.
"My Angel," he crooned to her, slipping his hand underneath her chemise to her bloomers. His fingers traced her hip bone and a quavering sigh was his reward. She squirmed again, aching for more. He ran one finger along the inner seam of her bloomers, eliciting a full body shudder and a feeble cry from Christine. "Ahhh~!"
They both froze at his actions. Christine was surprised but pleased he began teasing what her body craved and Erik was surprised that slight gesture gave such a response.
He was eager for more.
He crept down her body, like a panther about to pounce on his prey, while one continued to fondle her breast. Her breathing only became whimpering sighs with the occasional, "yesss..." of encouragement. She really was like an instrument for him to play.
He ran his finger in an upward motion between her thighs and he noticed as she clutched at the sheets.
"Ohhh.. Angel..." she whispered to him. He tried this technique to other areas near her hips, her inner thighs for instance, and although her sighs were pleasant enough, not the reactions his own body was aching for.
He couldn't help but notice the air was thick with their combined musky desire. It was intoxicating.
Since he had stopped giving her what she craved, Christine took Erik's hand within her own and placed it exactly where she wanted it. Her nightgown bunched between their fingers as she moved his hand right between her trembling thighs. Her threw the material away from bunching near his hands so he could feel more of her, but not removing her bloomers. She gave another shuddered and a strangled cry as he teased her.
"Oh God... Ohhhhh... yes..." she whimpered. Leave it to Erik to find the music in her fevered cries, and was eager to harmonize.
He groaned again, and without pausing to think, dipped his head between her thighs and kissed her delicately.
She cried out again, not expecting this in the slightest, but welcoming the sensation of fire that coursed through her veins. She clenched fistfuls of sheets as her tense thighs relaxed more.
Erik continued his assault between her thighs. She was a meal he would happily accept. Hungrily he kissed her to make her gasp, moving his jaw in rhythmic movements that made her squeal in delight. Her bloomers were collecting the moisture from his attentions, but that only encouraged the Phantom on. The taste of her arousal was almost enough to send him over the edge. 'The physical evidence of her desire for me...'
He surfaced from her briefly for his eyes to gleam right at her.
"Sing for me, my Angel of Music," his husky voice commanded of her as he went hungrily back for more.
"I c-can't..! I-ohhhh!"
"Sing!"
Erik began to hum against her as he continued to kiss her. Christine's entire body trembled, and her hips began to buck against his mouth in hurried need. Erik happily complied. Her voice began to rise in a quavering high note as she attempted in a carnal haze to obey his command. He grabbed her hips to steady her and to gain more access to her when Christine's whole body gave a shudder and she hit a shrill and beautiful note of ecstasy.
It felt like he shared her pleasure, and though his physical need was still there, he felt rather satiated.
He placed one last sweet kiss between her thighs before traveling back up her trembling body. Her gasping breaths began to slow as the flood of sensations slowly ebbed away from her.
"Christine..." he purred, nuzzling her mound of curls but still not daring to touch her skin.
"Angel..." she breathed, trying to seek out his face. He took hold of her hand and gently kissed the palm, careful to avoid his mask. Their first skin to skin contact. Oh, how he treasured it!
"Erik," he told her soothingly, as already he could tell she was starting to slip from this world and into sleep.
"Erik..." she repeated with a contented smile, unable to notice him leaving her bed and playing once more on the violin.
He could tell she wanted her Angel. But would she want Erik? Only time would tell.