Author's note: this was actually written back in 2008; I happened to come across it when I was cleaning files from my WIP folder. I never posted it because it was honestly just a piece of self-indulgent fluff, but re-reading it now I still really like it, which is why I've decided to post it here.
.
She woke in darkness. Christine stirred, blinking her eyes sleepily. The room was dark but not without the slightest trickle of moonlight, which allowed her eyes to adjust and gradually get used to the shadowed textures around her.
That was the nice thing about living above ground, and Christine sighed, nestling against Erik and cuddling against his body. Unlike the warmth of their beddings or the softness of their sheets, his body was cold and bony, leaving a slight chill against the blankets surrounding them. She had grown accustomed to this, however. Quietly she pressed her body against his back and carefully waited to acclimate to the temperature. Holding him was, in many ways, like curling up to cold marble, and llke marble, the coldness of his skin warmed against her body. It was one of the peculiar quirks of their marriage, but one that had its advantages, particularly in the summer.
The dark was warm and comforting, and Christine smiled, pressing a sleepy kiss against Erik's shoulder. She felt him shift and she hugged him tightly, cuddling sleepily against him.
Quietly he turned, rolling to face her. They kissed and she smiled against his mouth.
They lay like this for a few moments, kissing and holding each other, her hands slowly moving up and down the length of his body. In the dark she could tell he was smiling too; she nudged her cheek against his chin, then kissed the upturned corner of his mouth. His smile broadened. Quietly he rolled her onto her back, smiling and kissing her deeply.
She lifted her hips, shifted the hem of her nightgown up, letting the material bunch around her waist. Wordlessly he responded in turn, shifting his bedclothes, fitting his body between her legs. Briefly he moved up and away, breaking contact, but only until he eased the head of his cock against her entrance; a push of his hips and she felt him sliding up inside her, before he leaned back down and rested against her body again. She sighed softly, wrapping her arms around him. He looked into her eyes and she beamed back up at him.
They kissed. The gentle movement of his hips, the sliding in and out motion, seemed secondary to how she was holding him. Warmth and pleasure seemed only to be an extension of her embrace, a hug that was deeper, more keenly felt. He breathed against her shoulder and she pressed her cheek against his skin.
Pleasure crowded into the place where they were joined, curling around her clit and building along his shaft, she gasped and he pumped into her harder, the gentleness and warmth giving way to a desperate disordered fucking. She gasped and strained and ground her pelvis up against his body, his thrusts growing more insistent and desperate. She could feel how his pleasure rose with each wet thrust, climbing higher and higher.
He let out a ragged gasp, then came, pulsing hard and filling her with his seed. She gasped and slid her hands over his buttocks, pushing down hard and grinding her loins up against him. The bony ridges of his pelvis aligned perfectly with her clit, and as he gasped and shuddered and twitched inside her she rocked her hips and rubbed herself against him.
She came with a startled moan, body jerking with pleasure in a staccato rhythm, before dropping down back onto the mattress. She felt him pulse a few more times; her own body responded, trembling with small aftershocks, and they breathed in unison, their heartbeats slowing. She beamed up at him and framed his face in her hands.
They kissed. She smiled and nuzzled his face and he smiled against her skin, and they held each other for a few moments before he shifted, the softness of his manhood slipping out of her. Quietly she adjusted her bedclothes as he cleaned himself; when he returned to bed she gladly took him with open arms. He pulled up the covers, which she nestled into gratefully.
She felt sleepy and happy. She cuddled against his shoulder and dropped a kiss against his jaw.
xXx
.
Erik was sitting at the piano, looking positively depressed. Christine stepped up behind him and leaned against his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"Erik, what is the matter?" Christine said.
Erik leaned into her touch the way a cat would, sighing quietly. "Do not mind me, Christine," Erik said. "It is a rather silly problem."
"It cannot be that silly for you to look so troubled," Christine said. Erik smiled.
"It is rather silly, Christine. Because quite simply, I am much too happy."
Christine arched an eyebrow.
"As I said," Erik said, smiling. "Silly."
Christine frowned.
"Forgive me, my love, but...how is being happy a problem?"
"It is just a bit of writer's block," Erik said. Christine sat next to him on the bench, letting him wrap his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. "For the first time in twenty years, the music does not come from within me. At first it vexed me, I could not understand why, when all these years it was as if the music was pouring out from inside of me. But then I realized, I had used music to escape. Anger, sadness, and isolation brought forth my creative spark. But now I am simply too happy to write," Erik said. He pressed a kiss against her cheek and stroked her hair, fondly. "Do not misunderstand, I am grateful to have this kind of problem. But I do wish I could finish my opus sometime."
"Your Don Juan?" Christine said. She rubbed the small of his back, soothingly.
"The very same," Erik said.
Christine kissed him on the cheek and rose. "I shall leave you to your work, then," Christine said. "If the muse doesn't speak to you, I shall be in the drawing room. Perhaps you will find your spark after a nice walk."
"A rather tempting prospect," Erik said. He gave her hand a light squeeze. "I shall find you soon."
xXx
.
Too happy, is that right? Christine smiled to herself. Of all the problems Erik could encounter, this by far was the best one to have. Indeed, the six months of their marriage have been quite peaceful, the two of them settling into a comfortable partnership. In the mornings, Christine will wake and make her way to the Opera for rehearsal; by night, if she is not performing, she will come home, have dinner with Erik, go for a walk or go around the town. They live as any ordinary couple would, and for that Christine is grateful.
That's not to say they haven't had their ups and downs, however:
There was the first week of their marriage where Erik refused to touch her or so much be in the same room as her ("This marriage is a lie, I know you love the vicomte!"). There was the next few weeks where Erik allowed himself to sit beside her, sing to her and tell her stories, but keep away from physical contact ("I know my face is repulsive, Christine, I do not wish to force it on you.") Then there was the whole Making Love issue, wherein Erik was nervous and shy but communicated that by being aloof and indignant, refusing to sleep in her bed and insisting on sleeping in his blasted coffin ("I am a monster, Christine, and I pity you for loving a monster, too!"). That was a huge hurdle, breaking down his walls, as it were, so that he would finally let her make love to him. After that whole debacle, it took a good two months of Christine being the one to initiate sex before Erik was able to work up the courage to reach out to her first. "That has never made me happier," Erik said.
They were lying in bed naked, Christine nestled against Erik's neck, her body draped luxuriously over his. "Is that so?" Christine said. Erik kept smiling as he kissed her forehead, reverently.
"Indeed. Desiring you in the middle of the night, and feeling that you desire me. It reminds me that you love me."
"I do love you," Christine said. They kissed again and smiled.
"If only I could finish this damnable piece," Erik said, and Christine shifted, frowning.
"Is it really so terrible, taking a break?" Christine said. Erik sighed forlornly.
"It was my life's work," Erik said. "I want nothing more than to finish it."
"Perhaps your Don Juan can fall in love, and live in domestic bliss as we do?" Christine said.
"As much as I would like that, Christine, that would not fit the tone of the piece."
"I see." She settled against his chest, warmly.
There was a warm silence. She could feel Erik start to drift off, his breathing growing deep and even. She was starting to fall asleep too, when she felt him kiss her brow.
"I daresay I would only be able to finish this if you were to one day leave me," Erik said, quietly.
Christine nuzzled against his neck. "I suppose you won't be finishing it, then," she said. He laughed, quietly.
"Unless," Christine said, and she sat up.
"Unless?"
"Unless I leave you for a few days? Just until you finish the piece?"
"You wish to leave?" Erik said. He looked hurt and shocked and suddenly unsure.
"Oh, Erik, I don't mean leave, leave. I meant so that I wouldn't distract you." She hugged him and kissed him, reassuringly. "Personally I would rather stay here, you know."
"I see," Erik said. He still looked like he was waffling somewhere between doubt and hurt feelings, so Christine sighed and pressed his hand against her bare breast.
(It was a maneuver she had figured out a while ago, whenever Erik started feeling insecure - she would grab his hand and press it against her breast, or somewhere else intimate and entirely inappropriate to be touched in public. Usually it would be enough to jolt him out of his self-inflicted melancholy.)
"Er, Christine?"
"Do you feel this, Erik? You were licking my nipple not twenty minutes ago."
"Ah, hmm..."
"And as I recall, I had my mouth around your stiffened manhood. Would a woman so eager to taste you wish to leave so suddenly?"
"Perhaps if she did not like the taste," Erik said, and Christine laughed, warmly.
"I love you, Erik," Christine said. "I only wish to help you. But if you do not wish me to leave I won't. I would rather stay by your side, anyway."
"Such comforting words, and yet here I am, still fondling your breast," Erik said. He thumbed her nipple, thoughtfully.
"Does my breast give you comfort, my love?" Christine asked. Erik nodded gravely.
"It does. Perhaps I can seek further comfort nestled between your legs?"
Christine laughed. "Come here," she said, and she pulled him on top of her. He smiled as he kissed her and entered her with one smooth stroke, cupping her face in his hands and kissing the sides of her face and hair.
Erik had cried the first time they made love. He had never been touched, never been hugged or kissed or held with affection. So when Christine gave herself to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and hugging her arms around his back, tears had filled his eyes during the act, and after he spilled inside her he wept, openly. (She kissed his face, then. Kissed the trail of his tears, kissed his eyes and fanned her thumbs across both sunken cheeks.)
There was nothing much to cry about now, since they made love practically every night and sometimes in the mornings, the act turning from something desperate and yearning and falling into something more loving and familiar, like a hug or kiss goodnight. Christine knew Erik would never have thought he'd get used to all that pleasure, that it would be something he could take for granted, making love to someone and being able to hold them and sleep beside them the rest of the night.
He moved with purposeful strokes, as Christine rocked her hips to meet his thrusts. They kissed and hugged as he thrust, and when he came, the pulsing of his release pushed her toward her own climax, her body jerking in time with his.
"Twice in one night!" Erik said, as Christine hugged him and looked at him with mirthful eyes. "I did not think I'd be so lucky to get such an encore!"
"I aim to please, my love," Christine said, smiling. Erik laughed and kissed her, fondly.
"Goodnight, Christine."
"Goodnight, Erik."
"I love you."
"And I love you."
She nestled against his neck and fell asleep in his arms.
xXx
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"Perhaps," Erik said, apropos of nothing. "Perhaps you were right about a short leave."
"You wish for me to go?" Christine said. Erik shook his head.
"Of course not," Erik said. "But a day's absence may be...worthwhile...in stimulating the creative juices."
"Hmm," Christine said. "Very well." And she kissed Erik on the cheek. "I shall stay at Meg's tonight, then."
"You agreed to this rather quickly," Erik said, darkly. Christine grinned at him.
"I see the juices are starting to flow," Christine said. She blew him a kiss and went out the door.
xXx
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"Erik? My love? I'm back." Christine opened the door.
She was half expecting the house to be in disarray, for there to be broken furniture and smashed pieces of china, for Erik to be screaming mad with violent jealousy and anger. Much to her surprise, the house was normal, if not a little cleaner, and Erik greeted her the way a proper husband would - with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, hugging her and taking her coat. (Christine felt giddy. Could it be that Erik was finally secure in their relationship, that he didn't need to go into inexplicable fits of crazed jealousy? She didn't say this out loud, however.)
"How was it?" Christine said, instead. "Did you work on your piece?"
Erik rubbed his neck, ruefully. "Not quite," Erik said.
"Oh?"
"I believe the muse has left me permanently. In point of fact, Christine, I rather dislike a lot of what I've written."
"Oh, Erik," Christine said. Erik smiled.
"Do not be sad, my dear. This is a good thing," Erik said. "I no longer need Don Juan."
"Did you miss me, Erik?" Christine said. "I missed you, terribly."
"Well I had grown accustomed to sleeping next to you," Erik said. "The bed felt rather lonely without you inside it."
"You slept in the bed?" Christine said, delighted.
"Where else would I have slept?" Erik said, but Christine hugged him, laughing into his neck.
"Christine?"
"Yes, Erik?"
"I daresay I enjoy this more thoroughly than the sex."