The Pledge
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. This story is based on the ALW movie version of The Phantom of the Opera. IfALW's version is "high romance," this is as high as a kite.
Rating: M for adult themes and sexual situations, though the first several chapters are PG-13.
Summary: After Christine rips off the Phantom's mask and he throws a tantrum, things take a different turn. Christine shows her sensitivity, and he shows his heart.
This story begins after the movie phantom quips:
"Come. We must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."
Chapter 1
He offered her his gloved hand.
Christine reached up tentatively and then placed her hand in his. He clasped her hand and lifted her until her feet hovered and then met the ground securely. Chagrined, she wondered if he was still angry with her, but one furtive glance at his tranquil visage told her that he was not. Her trepidation vanishing, she began to relax.
He kept Christine's hand pressed in his and led her to the water. Gingerly she stepped into the boat and sank into its depths as he stepped in behind her. She settled against his leg and felt the taut roundness of his calf resting against the side of her ribcage; she did not reposition herself. An emotional exhaustion settled over them both and took from them their song, neither did they speak; the passageway echoed its silence. He guided the boat along the crests of the rippling water. The water lapping its changing rhythm against the boat soothed Christine's ragged senses.
When at last the rippling path gathered and vanished beneath the cobblestone, Christine's "Angel of Music" hopped from the gently rocking boat to the ground, his feet steady. His proffered hand cut crisply into Christine's reverie. She grasped his hand and his arm leapt back as he lifted her to ground that was no longer uncertain. The steady ground caught her by surprise, and her feet stumbled as her balance fled. He bent and gently grasped her shoulders to steady her, his glowing green eyes met hers. The chilly air of the catacombs swirled around her and roused goosebumps on her skin. The horse stood staring quietly, ears pricked up straight. Her "Angel of Music" encircled her waist with his gloved hands and lifted her to the horse's back. She startled as he swung up silently behind her and touched his warm body against hers. He draped the heavy silken fabric of his cloak around her shoulders and wrapped her in his arms to quiet her shivering. The strength of his arms was undeniably pleasant. She did not resist his nearness, but instead allowed herself to sink against the broadness of his chest. Her eyes fell to his gloved hands in front of her, garbed in the finest quality of soft black leather, as they worked the reins guiding the horse. Fitting snugly, the gloves outlined the exquisite perfection of his well-formed, masculine hands.
The uproarious movement of chest muscles working against her back cut obtrusively into awareness and unleashed a melee of sensations within her. Lost in the soft clip clop of the horse's hooves, and cocooned in the mesmerizing warmth of his cloak, his breath a soothing tempo stirring vaguely against her ear, she could no longer ignore the long slow flames of a brightly burning candle that were beginning to lick teasing and insistently at her heart. A slow blush suffusing faintly at first, suddenly blossomed into warm pathways throughout her body. Overwhelming tenderness coupled with a strange desire to protect him, swept through her and she abandoned herself in his embrace, surrendering her body against the silhouette of his.
The nascent glow of affection that emerged like a trembling butterfly from the chrysalis of her heart now threw her unmasking into harsh light. What she had done now seemed ruthless and cruel. A sorrowful penitence caught in her throat. Quizzically, he turned toward her, she could feel his nose and lips pressed softly into her hair. When she did not respond, he sighed and turned his head back to its former position. He sensed a change in her, but fearful of crushing disappointment he dared not hope and did not explore his thoughts further. Once he turned his attention again to the journey at hand, she allowed her thoughts to wander back to earlier events. Nausea swept over her, not for what she had seen, but for what she had done. Plucking the mask from his face uncloaked not only a scarred and twisted visage, but a naked vulnerability that writhed in agony and hid. Her mind shrank from the memory of his torment before it gathered courage to roam, halting, into the craggy terrain of his bewildered anger against her treachery, which she knew now, sprang from his believing the ugly exterior gelded any possibility of love taking root. But his soul had captivated hers, and she followed willingly, casting her fears aside like the toys of her youth.
As he rode behind her, shielded from view, her remaining senses sharpened and intensified. His breath stirring intimately against her ear, his arms wrapping her shoulders, and his scent of perfumed candles mingling with leather flung little pricks of awareness through her heart. She couldn't remember when she had last felt so rapturously content. She wished the horse ride would go on forever. Confusion clouded her mind and knit her brow as she realized her angel of music was none other than a man. A man so fearful of the reaction of his disfigurement, he hid himself from her. But, the way he made her feel as he held her against him now made her think of him as an angel. For four long years, while he tutored her, she had heard only his voice. She didn't even know his name! To her he had become just simply "Master." She stifled the urge to query him for she dared not disturb the tender lusciousness of the mood permeating their paired presence for fear of its loss. Did he feel it too? She thought she felt his arms tremble or was she only imagining? She wanted him to feel the same elation she felt. But after what had happened, could he?
She thought back to his penetrating green eyes watching her the night before, alert, like a cat, and thought she had detected in them a faint glow of – adoration perhaps? Or was that what she hoped? She had seen the look of adoration before in the eyes of her father, but this was different. Richer, sweeter, and more powerful. Mysterious and unpredictable perhaps? A momentary darkness swept through her and goosebumps arose again on her flesh. He misinterpreted, and turned his cheek to her and pulled her closer to him, as if by reflex, and enfolded her more snugly within his cloak to warm her in the chilly air. She surrendered joyfully to the pleasure of his ministrations but soon her thoughts tumbled absently back to their aforementioned place of probing. Also, there was the strange figure of her… what did ithat/i mean? And he left her to sleep soundly through the night alone in his bed, but that could mean he did care for her. Or he didn't. Which? She searched for some hint of his emotion toward her. Finally, wearied by the wave of raw, newly exposed emotions parading through her mind, and the cacophony of questions and fears that followed her unmasking of him, she let the nettlesome thoughts tumble from her thoughts and again immersed herself in the joy of his proximity; that proximity she had yearned for throughout the years, and which would come to an end all too soon. A sudden stab of fear that she would never again feel his arms wrapping her, or his cloak cradling her in warmth surged through her.
Christine wondered what finally compelled his revealing himself to her. Was it her performance, or was it Raoul, her boyhood friend? With thoughts of Raoul came a long forgotten fondness, but the burgeoning love toward her "Angel of Music" quickly smothered it. Her heart, unflinching, now belonged to him. No person could wrest this love from her. His quick jerking of the reins as he brought the horse to a halt and swung to the ground roused her from her reverie and alerted her to the nearness of the journey's end. She fought back disappointment. His hands clasped her waist and she held his shoulders as she slid toward him, her slippers clicked softly to the ground. She glanced at him shyly but his attention was turned to tethering the horse. His gentle stroking of the horse after it was tethered stirred a memory of his gently touching her neck with his fingers the night before. While then it had confused and even frightened her, now the thought of it unmasked in her a gnawing hunger to once again feel the gentle warmth of his fingers caressing her neck. How could so much have developed and changed since the night before? She didn't know, nor did she care. She wanted only to continue experiencing this abundance of emotional pleasure. As he turned to signal a continuation of their journey, a look of surprise and then self conscious awareness flicked through his eyes at her steady appraisal of him. Then, once his mask of equanimity was restored, he grasped her hand with his and led her up the final passageway, where he turned to face her.
His darkly penetrating green eyes held hers, watching, and she succumbed to the urge to reach up and caress his face. He recoiled in horror and caught her hand midstream, fearful what had transpired earlier would again ensue. She understood and let her hand drop. Anger mingled with vulnerability flashed through his eyes, and then, confusion. He was angry again, but at what? Her? A missed opportunity? His lot? Her heart contracted a little. How could she convey to him that she never wished to hurt him again? An intense desire to hold him close and tenderly kiss his lips enveloped her, but she stood immobile for fear of inciting the anger and pain of earlier events. A creeping dread of his not liking her presence darkened her soul and emboldened her. How ardently she yearned to see him again! He awakened her heart and made her soul come alive. She stepped closer to him and softly touched her fingers to his; he drew in his breath quickly.
The questions tumbled from her lips before courage failed her, "Will you come to me again?" She dropped her eyes to the ground and whispered, "Forgive – my callous insensitivity?" She stole another glance into his now questioning eyes and held his fingers more tightly in hers; he did not draw away which emboldened her further. "Please! Do not deny me your presence."
A flicker of surprise was replaced by equanimity once again and he replied almost casually, "So many questions, which to answer?" Then tentatively, "my personage – it does not frighten you then?"
He waited for her to answer, his eyes studying hers intently. But beneath the surface, every fear concerning Christine's disgust of him crowded headlong against the fragile barrier of his reserve struggling to hold them at bay.
Christine's eyes widened and she said daringly "I – I want to see you from now on when you tutor me. I have waited far too long for it to be so! No, no, it does not frighten me." She did not sound entirely convincing, even to herself. Perhaps she did harbor some fear? While a burgeoning love obscured her fear, it did not blot it out completely. Nevertheless, she wanted to see him again, and that desire shown plainly in her eyes.
His eyes widened and his breath quickened. She dropped her eyes and her hand shyly and waited. Could he hear her wildly thumping heart? It sounded loud in her own ears. He continued studying her, his green eyes glittered. Did she feel something for him he wondered? But he didn't dare think it, only to have his hopes trampled, for she had seen him; it was enough that she wasn't frightened of him. But the tortured thought turned over and over in his mind, ishe had seen him/i. Both stood at length, motionless and silent in the presence of the other, drops of moisture trickled hollow splashes in the background.
Christine broke the spell when she reached for his hand and placed it on her cheek, cradling it. Her eyes averted up and seized his already searching vibrantly green ones. Something in them leaped and he drew her to him allowing both his hands to wrap around the nape of her neck and weave long fingers into her hair, caressing her. He rested his chin against her head as he tentatively wound her slowly into his arms. Warm, tender lips brushing against her hair entered into the domain of her awareness. He pressed her body intimately against his; his hands caressed slowly and deliberately over her back and into her hair. He was trembling. Tingling trails darted pleasantly throughout her body. Then, unexpectedly, he withdrew from her and let his hands slip from her hair. He stroked long fingers under her chin as his flushed countenance and darkly snapping eyes held her gaze, and then, quickly and silently, he turned and was gone. She stood lonely and alone in the churning darkness.
She thrust open the mirror and vanished through the shaft of light that led into the warmth of her dressing room. Heavy lidded and emotionally spent, she threw herself down and fell into a deep, contented slumber until late in the afternoon. Upon awakening she was enveloped by a temporary amnesia, which gave way to a creeping clarity that invited the memories of the morning's journey to assail her. She wondered vaguely if she had only dreamed, but the truthfulness of her heart laden heavily with love told her that she had not. She leaped up to assay the time. Almost impatiently she waited.
But he did not come to see her that night, nor did he the next.