Darkness was all that greeted her eyes when they fluttered open, roused from their heavy slumber.
A cry in the darkness, low and muffled by the walls of her bedchamber but a cry nonetheless.
She wondered if someone had gotten hurt while climbing about in the rigging but then she remembered where she was.
Erik.
It had to be Erik's cry, no one else could have been heard from down in the blackness of Erik's lair.
She rose quickly from the bed, wrapping herself in a light dressing gown and that was thrown over the footboard.
Even though he was effectively her captor, she worried about him. He had been the one to bring her out of the depths of despair after her father's death, he had nurtured her voice and her soul until she was ready to replace La Carlotta as the leading soprano in the Opera Populaire.
The cold metallic door handle felt frozen in her hand, her heart was fluttering in panic. Had he been hurt? Had Raoul discovered their hiding place and gotten rid of the Opera Ghost, once and for all?
She shook the thought from her head, Erik's lair was too well hidden to be easily found by the Vicomte and his men, not to mention the wave after wave of booby traps that were set all along the dark, labyrinthine corridors.
She had no time to worry about Raoul. She loved him, yes, but it was no with the same burning passion that tore through her heart when she thought of Erik.
Erik was her angel, whose dark wings surrounded her, protecting her from the outside world. That is what she needed. Even if it meant that she had to remain here with him.
She rushed through the short hallway, towards Erik's room. He had insisted that they remain in separate rooms in order to maintain her dignity.
A hesitant knock on the door, if he was awake then he'd take it as a warning to cover his face. She was not bothered by the sight of his contorted deformity but he behaved differently when it was bare, vulnerable and cautious.
No reply.
She opened the door and stepped inside, the room was dark apart from a slither of moon light that shone through a domed window in the ceiling. Christine had no idea where the window led to above ground.
There he was, lying face down on the bed. He was shirtless and she watched for a moment as his strong shoulders heaved up and down, arousal flooding into her inner core. But then she realised that he was sobbing.
"Erik." She whispered and rushed to her side, dropping to her knees by his bedside.
His body was shuddering with cries of despair, she knew from his unresponsiveness that he was still sleeping, haunted by memories of a life long ago.
She reached out, stroking his wispy grey hair, a result of his deformity. She did not know how old he was precisely but she knew it was a good deal older than herself, at the tender age of eighteen.
"My angel." Her heart thrummed, bleeding for him and she tried to gently pull him from his nightmares.
Christine knew exactly what could settle him. She began to hum, quietly at first but then building in volume.
It was an aria from the opera he had written for her.
After a few minutes his sobs died down, his breathing rate returning to normal.
She did not stop humming until she had reached the end of the aria and then she stood and turned to go.
"Christine, wait." He had woken in the last few lines, immediately aware of what had happened.
Her back turned to him she briefly closed her eyes, hoping that he would not be angry with her for entering his room uninvited.
His face was turned towards her, the deformed side down against the pillow. His expression was calm and she breathed a sigh of relief.
She quickly moved back to his side, this time sitting on the edge of the bed and gently covering his hand with her delicate, ivory coloured one.
"Angel?" Her eyes searched the one visible eye, looking for any sign of anger but she did not find it.
"I'm sorry you had to witness that. I am often haunted by the ghosts of so many years ago."
She was almost over him now and yet he did not turn his face to look at her, he remained staring at the wall.
"I'm sorry you had to feel that." Her words echoed his, a token of remembrance of so many singing lessons passed. "Erik...look at me." Her hand reached out, gently stroking his exposed jaw and then encouraging it to turn towards her.
He complied, happy to feel her touch after such a traumatic nightmare.
"Oh, my love." He smiled sadly. "What kind of life have I chained you to."
She moved on the bed, pulling herself closer to him.
"No, Erik. No." Her soft curls bounced and she shook her head.
"I'm afraid that I've taken the world's most beautiful songbird and clipped her wings."
She could say nothing, only lean down and place her lips over his. He moaned softly, shifting into a better position.
Her lips were smaller than his, every part of her was petite and fragile which is why she felt the need to be protected.
Her bottom lip caressed his, taking in the slight twist of the corner of his mouth where it was pulled up by his marred beauty.
His tongue reached up, slid over the opening of her lips and begged to be allowed access. She granted it and he enjoyed the warmth of her mouth, tasting her hot tongue that eagerly welcomed his presence. Her leg moved, straddling him and the ever growing bulge that was building his trousers.
A role of her hips, encouraging, coaxing and begging.
Quickly, she found herself being flipped onto her back, Erik was not one to stay under someone else's control for long.
He dug his hips into hers, closing the gap between them and causing her back to arch as his still-clothed erection rubbed against the sensitive parts of her body.
"Erik!" She gasped pushing her needy hips up towards him.
"Patience, my dear." He snarled as his lips made contact with her delicate, porcelain throat.
Desire leapt and bounded through her body, centring on her breasts which swelled and tightened beneath her flimsy bedclothes and the apex of her legs.
Her hips bucked upwards again.
"Oh, Christine...this cannot do. You must know by now that patience is a virtue." His voice was a complete juxtaposition from the uncontrollable and panicked cries he was wracked with not twenty minutes before.
He knew that a calm, collected tone drove her crazy as she knew very well that begging for his touch made him hunger for him more than ever. She was the first woman that had ever wanted him, truly wanted him and had not been some prostitute that his brother had paid to embrace him.
Even those well-paid whores had screamed and ran at the sight of his gruesome face.
But now he had Christine and she loved him, she truly loved him.
"Mademoiselle Daae is only infatuated with this 'angel' because she still grieves for her father." Erik had overheard Phillipe, Comte de Chagny trying to comfort his younger brother outside the door to their private box.
"She will soon come to her senses and realise that the only man she needs is you."
How wrong he was, Erik sneered to himself. The knowledge that she had wilfully chosen him sent a surge to his cock, causing it to twitch and elicit another moan from his gorgeous companion.
He looked down at her, soaking in the tremendously beautiful sight. Her hair was loose and had splayed itself across the pillow, her skin had a blueish glow from the thin moonlight and her breasts...her breasts.
His breathing almost stopped as he watched them bounce in front of him, hardened nipples jutting towards him, aching for his touch.
Before he could stop himself he bent his head down, lavishing one of them with a flick of his tongue.
Her pointed breasts were so sensitive that his hot tongue caused lust to pool in her stomach, regardless of the nightdress she was still wearing. The material was rough against his tongue, the new added sensation sent even more blood coursing to his already enraged cock.
"Mon Dieu!" She managed to squeak and he chuckled.
"Christine, you know that you can call me Erik." His eyes glinted and shone as he looked up to her blushing face.
"Erik. Erik, please."
"Seeing that you have asked so nicely, my love." He moved away from her momentarily, slipping his hand into the hot space between their bodies.
The rub of his hand on his erection made him moan, instinctively pushing his hips towards Christine.
Eventually, he managed to undo his buttons with one hand while steadying himself with the other. The release of the pressure from the material prison made him hitch his breath, a small drop of moisture forming at his head.
The hem of her nightgown was quickly pushed up, revealing her to him.
One quick slide of his fingers and he was assured that she was as ready and eager as he was.
His name was fluttering from her lips, partly as a prayer and partly as a curse.
"My sweet Christine." He moaned before gently touching his lips to hers, pulling himself slightly up the bed and ever so gently entering her.
Her intake of breath caused her body to expand beneath him, breasts lifting and falling as he slowly pulled his hips away and pushed them back towards her again.
Her moans against his lips were as intoxicating as the scent of her perfumed hair.
She loved the feelings he gave her when he was making love to her. Protection and adoration were at the forefront of those.
Every night she sang on stage the audience would always climb to their feet and clap for a significant duration of time but none of it equalled the way she felt when she was alone with her angel.
She strained her neck to look over his broad shoulder and watched his backside moving up and down in the moonlight. The sight forced her to groan again, fully aware that with each downward motion he was driving himself deeper into her.
His pace was begin to build, the throbbing heat of his cock was driving her to the point of madness. It pulsed, grew even more and rubbed against her inner most sensitive points.
The thrusts gained momentum and she tightened around him, causing him to ache for release. There was no going back now.
He lost control, the tempo was set at a blinding speed and she felt her whole body shake and shudder as the orgasm crashed into her body, her heart skipped a beat and her hips thrust down towards him in the hope of squeezing every last morsel of pleasure out of this liaison.
He came quickly after that, the fluttering of her inner muscles causing him to spasm and release into her with an inhuman groan that made lust fill her body again.
His supporting arm collapsed and he fell on top of her. She was glad of the contact of his hot chest, lightly dusted with curls of black hair.
They remained there, panting and sighing until finally he rolled off of her and onto his side.
"Thank you, Christine."
"For what?"
"For soothing me when I was having a nightmare and saving me when I was living one."
