She had a performance to get back to. She was already dressed in the gaudy Countess costume. Her make-up had been done. She was rather cold. There were a million reasons why she could not stay here on the roof of the Garnier with Raoul as she longed to…a million reasons that she would happily ignore. He made something come alive in her that she had never felt before. She had vague memories of it, a frightening, vulnerable kind of feeling, that night in her angel's (but he was not her angel) home, deep below the opera house. This felt similar yet so…different. She could not describe it. This feeling was safe, warm, beautiful…she did not want to let go of it.
Christine Daae knew that men could have the worst of intentions. She had seen her fellow dancers in the wings with stagehands; she had heard them whisper about things they did at night, in the dark, or sometimes during rehearsal right beneath Madame Giry's nose. She had remained innocent, however; she was almost as naïve as a child when it came to some things.
Until one moment ago, she had never so much as kissed a man.
But Raoul, her dear childhood friend, was no longer a child any more than she was. He was a tall, strong, handsome young man, and he had just promised her that he would be there for her if she needed him. He loved her. Some men may lie to get a taste of a girl's body…but not Raoul. He was kind and good, and she realized with a start that she loved him as well. She loved him as a friend and now – now as something more. His lips against hers had been like nothing she had ever felt before. The kisses filled her with longing, brought to light some great emptiness within her that she had no idea how to fill.
She had stolen more kisses than she should have. Three, four of them, perhaps…but she could not help herself.
She was in love. In that moment, the opera ghost did not matter, did not exist. Only her beloved Raoul was there, am an who had known her father, a man who had plunged into the icy sea to return her scarf to her before he had even known her name…
"And soon you'll be beside me," Raoul murmured. He was so tall and so very handsome. It took Christine's breath away. She had no words to answer him. He was looking into her eyes, and she had forgotten how to breathe… His hands were just a little rough against hers, and his face was entirely too close.
Despite herself, despite knowing she ought to let go of him and run down to the stage, Christine leaned up and kissed him again, pressing her whole body against him. She wanted to feel like this forever, safe and loved – and as Raoul's hand came to rest against the small of her back, wanted. It had not occurred to her to think that Raoul was a man with the desire of any man and that he might hunger for Christine the way the stagehands hungered for her fellow dancers, even as he loved her. It did occur to her in that moment, however. Raoul's lips had parted slightly, his tongue was against her lips, and she shuddered.
She should go, now. Christine had heard stories of girls ruined by me their thought were honorable, and anyway, it was a sin…
As she drew her face away from his, he groaned her name in such a way that made it impossible for her to move at all. There was a fire in his eyes now, something that had not been there before…and if she had been able to see her own, she would have realized she looked the same.
It did not matter that she must go perform in a moment; it did not matter that they were on the top of the opera house, that she was in costume… it did not matter that she was not married, that he could leave. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her in that moment, wanted him so badly it pained her. They were pressed up against one another already, yet they were not close enough. The logical part of Christine's mind screamed at her to stop this foolishness, but she could not. She could not think properly. Raoul had the best intentions – he loved her, and Christine was certain she loved him. She did not think she could possibly feel this way about another, ever. They would be married, someday. What did it matter –
"Raoul," she whispered in a pleading tone. "Raoul, I –"
He kissed her and silenced her plea, but it seemed he understood. He lifted her up slightly and carried her until she felt her back bump against something hard – the stone base for one of the rooftop's statues, it seemed. It was not terribly comfortable, but Raoul's lips distracted her, hungry and demanding yet somehow sweet, gentle, asking, all at once.
His hands were against her neck, grazing the skin there lightly, but where he touched, she felt as though she had been burned. His fingers brushed against the top of her breasts, and she whimpered when he moved them lower still, until he had to break the kiss and stay his hand.
"Christine," he said, his voice thick, "we – if you – "
They both knew this was wrong, but Christine wanted it, needed it, and she could not tell him to stop though she ought to have. She simply nodded, and Raoul kissed her forehead quickly. He knelt down for a moment, taking the hem of her ridiculous dress in his hands; as he straightened up, he lifted it – skirt and petticoat – up, leaving Christine feeling rather exposed and embarrassed…until one of his hands trailed along the soft skin of her thigh, stopping there. She gasped loudly and instinctively squeezed her legs closed…but oh, it was a feeling she had never had before, a feeling she did not want to end!
He looked abashed, almost apologetic, until she shook her head slowly and touched his face. She could not think of any words… "Raoul, Raoul," she murmured, "please."
He hesitated for only a moment more; then his hands were at his belt. Christine looked away, wide-eyed, deciding to stare into his beautiful face instead. He looked as nervous as she felt, and that itself was both endearing and rather thrilling. It was a first for both of them, obviously – he knew the mechanics of it (and to be honest, so did she), but to be experiencing it together…and here, up on the roof, where anyone could catch them….!
"This may – they say it can –-hurt you," Raoul was stammering; she felt him press his body against hers again, and felt the shock of his hard length against her leg. She shuddered and put her hand against his chest. She was afraid, but excited. This was a rash, stupid thing to do, of course…but she longed for it.
"I don't care," she replied breathlessly. "Please, Raoul…"
He would never hurt her, not intentionally, that she was sure of. She shifted so her legs were spread widely enough to give him room, and she took one deep breath – and then he was inside of her, and she gasped again; it had been painful. There had been a barrier and it had been broken. She gritted her teeth for a moment.
Raoul's eyes searched her face. "Christine…I'm sorry, my love, I – "
"Don't speak," she muttered; the pain had faded quickly and she was far less patient than before now that he was inside her. She reached up and wrapped her arms around him, meeting his eyes again. They were full of concern, but the hunger was still there.
Reassured, Raoul began to move within her, drawing back and thrusting forward. At first them movement was slow and tenuous, but it began to build into something almost furious, something hard and determined. The stone was rough against Christine's back, but she did not care. Raoul filled that emptiness within her perfectly, as though he had been made to do it. She could have sung a thousand arias then and there, and indeed, it felt rather like there was a song within her building to a furious crescendo. Raoul's lips were against her neck now; he was growling something that might have been a prayer. Christine was so close…she began to murmur his name – so close; surely he would not stop before – before –
"Raoul!" she cried; there were a million colors suddenly dancing before her eyes. Her very blood sang as she reached her climax – and Raoul, his, though she barely heard as he echoed her cry with one of his own ("Christine, Christine!") She had thought her angel's voice was the sweetest thing she had ever heard, and that her debut had been the best moment of her life, but she had never felt anything like this.
After a few long moments, she came down from her high. She was rather tired now, but there was still the performance…the performance! She was late. Her cheeks went red; how would she ever explain herself? What if someone came looking for them? She touched Raoul's face, pressing her palm against his cheek.
"I should go…" she whispered. "They will be waiting…"
It took him a moment, it seemed, to realize what she was talking about. He nodded and slipped away from her a moment later, however, looking like a man coming out of a drunken stupor, perhaps…or out of a religious epiphany. Christine rearranged her skirts when he turned away. She could not know that she was glowing, but she felt complete and sated. The possible consequences of what they had done did not even cross her mind.
God could not punish her for something so beautiful, could He?
Raoul was decent again when he turned back and offered her his hand. She beamed at him, barely able to keep from giggling, and they ran back to the world from which they had come as eagerly as the children they had once been.