So, I don't know if any of you have seen 'Love Never Dies', but there's a song between the Phantom and Christine which explains how they had a night of passion ten years earlier. I won't go into it, because I don't want to ruin anything, but basically, this is how I imagined the night would've went.
Dance with the Devil
He haunted her.
Every night, she would toss and turn, plagued by the memory of his dark eyes and his seductive songs. He had a strange power over her; just the sound of his velvet voice could reduce her to a whimpering mess. She loved the way he made her feel and, in turn, she hated him for it.
"Christine darling," The sound of her name whispered in such a soft voice caused her eyes to fly open.
But it wasn't him. It was never him.
"Raoul." She whispered, a gentle smile curling the corners of her lips.
"What's wrong?" He asked. His face was a mask of pure concern, and it made her feel sick.
How could she be so very sinful? Raoul was her fiance. He was gentle and kind and reassuring and he loved her. He was everything she'd ever wanted... so why did she yearn for him every single night?
"Nothing." She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, "I'm just restless, is all. It's most likely just nerves." She traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips and smiled reassuringly, "I'll be fine after the wedding."
Wedding.
Wedding to Raoul.
In two days.
She wasn't lying, she was incredibly nervous.
But it wasn't the sort of nerves a young bride-to-be should be feeling at this moment in her life. They weren't the kind of nerves that placed butterflies in the pit of your belly, or the kind that caused a young, innocent woman to blush at the thought of her wedding night.
No. The nerves that were causing Christine sleepless nights were the kind that would lead her to damnation.
She was nervous—no, terrified—that she would always feel this way. What if she always spent her time replaying those two short, but indubitably memorable kisses? What if she was always haunted by that face—that face so distorted, deformed, but so unconventionally beautiful?
What if she always burned for him?
No. She wouldn't think about this anymore.
It had been almost two years since she had fled the burning opera house—leaving him broken and distraught and alone.
Was he even alive?
An entire opera house consumed with flames, as well as an angry mob surrounding him?
Could anyone, even an Angel of Music, survive that?
She doubted it.
But still, she had to find out.
She had to find him, see him, be consumed by him. She desperately wanted to be happy with Raoul, and that meant she needed to put the masked phantom behind her. She needed it. She had to forget him. She had to move on.
She needed closure.
.....
"I need to see him, Madame. Giry."
Christine pulled the cloak tighter around her, as she faced the woman she used to think of as a mother.
Time hadn't been good to her.
It had only been two years, but her former best friend's mother looked withdrawn, elderly, menacing and so very tired.
"Absolutely not." She practically sneered.
Christine bit her lip, fighting back her annoyance, "Please Madame, I just want closure."
"Oh, so you want to use him to gain your own peace of mind?"
When she put it that way, her actions did sound completely self-serving.
But didn't she deserve to be selfish, after all he had put her through?
"I—"
"—the answer is no, Christine. I understand that I took you in, that I was a mother to you as much as to Meg. But my loyalties lie with Erik. You denied him, shunned him and betrayed him. You do not deserve his forgiveness or his understanding. He is a brilliant man; a genius. But when it comes to you, Christine, he's just like any other foolish man in love. You're all he can see. So I'm going to have to make the choice for him."
A sudden anger burst from within her, "You have no right!" She raised her voice.
"Yes I do." Madame Giry's voice didn't falter, "I saw what you did to him, what you reduced him to. I refuse to see him go through that again. You need to leave. Go back to your Vicomte, marry him, and leave Erik be."
"I won't hurt him." Christine insisted, as tears of frustration threatened to obscure her vision.
Madame Giry smiled sadly, "Yes cherie, even if it's unintentional, you will. It's inevitable. He loves you, but you will destroy him just like you did two years ago. You're nothing but a—"
"—enough Madame." A smooth, melodic voice pierced the air and Christine withdrew a stunned gasp.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and a delicious spark travelled the length of her spine in anticipation.
He was here.
He was really here.
She pursed her lips, took a deep breath, and turned around.
"Angel..." She whispered, almost inaudibly, as she saw that he was exactly as she remembered.
Half of his face masculine and quite handsome, the other half obscured by cold, white plastic. He wore the same black trousers, the same white shirt, unbuttoned enough to reveal a sliver of his pale, chiseled chest.
"Christine." He murmured, his eyes shining as he reluctantly tore his gaze away from her and towards Madame Giry.
"Giry, leave."
"Erik, you're not seeing clearly—" She began to protest but immediately hushed when she acknowledged the fierce look of determination upon the Phantom's face.
She shook her head, letting out a small, cynical laugh, "You're a fool." And with that, she walked out the door and they were alone.
Wordlessly, he beckoned for Christine to follow him and she did so without question, mesmerised simply by the way he walked. His graceful limbs seemed to float, and she felt uncomfortable in the presence of such an ethereal, elegant creature.
After what seemed like an eternity, they entered a room, mostly dark and empty, except for the magnificent piano and sensational red velvet bed. Candles adorned the surroundings, preventing entire darkness, and the Phantom walked over to the piano.
He remained motionless for a moment, as he hunched over the keys, his back to her.
She stood awkwardly, an unsettling feeling of de ja vu consuming her, as she rubbed her sweaty palms and captured her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Why are you here?" He whispered suddenly, refusing to face her.
She hesitated for a short moment, before taking a few steps forward, "I—I tracked down Firmin. He said you and Madame Giry had—had started a new fairground business and I—I had to see you." She struggled.
"Why? It's been two years." His voice was harsh and cold and he turned around suddenly.
"I'm getting married tomorrow." She blurted out, and immediately took a step back when she noticed his fists tighten.
"That's fantastic." He spat through gritted teeth, "How dare you tell me this? How dare you come and find me, after all this time, just to throw your happiness in my face?"
"That's not why I'm here!" She exclaimed, before lowering her voice when she noticed how his eyebrow quirked in warning, "I just—I don't know." She whimpered, almost pathetically, "It was silly of me to come, I'm sorry. I'll go." She forced a smile to her lips and tried to hide the way her cheeks were flaming in blatant proof of her embarrassment, before turning to flee.
There was a pregnant pause as she walked, before his whisper broke the silence.
"I knew you'd be back."
His voice was smooth and melodic and it wrapped around her like black velvet. She screwed her eyes shut, before taking a breath and making her way to the door, not wanting to provoke him anymore. She shouldn't have come; it was dangerous and spontaneous and so very stupid.
"You were an idiot to think that boy could ever keep you satisfied."
She turned around suddenly, as anger seeped into her bones, "Don't say that. Raoul is a good man. He loves me and he's everything I need."
"Then why are you here?" He asked roughly and walked towards her until he knew she was uncomfortable with their proximity, "You wouldn't be here if something wasn't missing."
"I had to see you." She repeated quietly, "Things haven't... things haven't been right for a while and I think you're the reason."
"Oh?" His voice had lowered to a dangerously seductive level and Christine cursed herself for the sinful thoughts that popped into her head. What would his voice be like if he was completely possessed by desire? What beautiful melodies had he written for her in her absence? What delicious, sexy words would he whisper in that mesmerising voice while he made love to her?
He didn't give her the chance to respond, before he was circling her, his eyes alight with mischief.
"You've missed me then, love?" He said sensually, before grabbing her waist suddenly and pulling her back against his chest, "Did you forget your angel?" His lips grazed her ear and the air around them seemed to crackle.
"Never." She whispered honestly, and her voice rasped when she attempted to mask her desire.
"I want you to do something for me." He buried his nose in her hair and she bit back the sudden urge to admit that she would do anything for him. He brought his lips back to her ear, "Take that revolting ring off your finger."
Her eyebrows pulled into a frown and she squirmed in his arms, but his grip was like a vice.
"I will do no such thing." She insisted.
His hands started to move down her body and she gasped almost inaudibly, "I can tell you desire me, Christine. Do you desire him too? Can he make your body sing?"
She bit her lip, his hands over hers as they moved upwards, towards her neck.
De ja vu. She was once again overcome with the most unsettling kind of de ja vu. Her head tipped, her eyes shut, her mouth slightly agape. His hands over hers, as they caressed her body. She felt exactly the same as two years ago, when they passionately sang about passing the point of no return.
"We fit together well, don't we?" He murmured, "Beauty and a beast. Dark and light. My other half. My soulmate."
She pursed her lips, choking back her tears as she felt like she'd ripped a hole in the Earth. There was no going back now. In a few moments, he would turn her around and kiss her and she'd let him. She'd be ruining lives and breaking hearts, but she didn't care.
Because in that moment, as he placed a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder, she knew he was hurting.
And although she loved Raoul, she could feel Erik's heart beating hastily against her chest and she worried that it would be broken, bruised or torn—and more than anything in her life... more than she wanted to be happy, more than she wanted to marry Raoul, she wanted to keep it safe; to warm it with her own.
Slowly and without removing his hands from her body, he turned her to face him.
"If we do this, there's no going back. You'll be a sinner forever." His voice quivered and he touched her face, his thumb tracing the lips he wanted more than anything to kiss. His eyes stared down at her mouth and she flicked her tongue out to coat her lips.
She inhaled shakily, one hand coming to rest upon the unmasked side of his cheek as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. His arms came to rest around her waist and she bit her lip, waiting for the inevitable.
"Please Erik." He shuddered at the rare use of his real name, "We're here.... now... together. Angel... haven't we waited long enough?"
As his eyes slowly opened and his mouth descended upon hers, she sighed in a mixture of guilt, pleasure and ultimately: relief.
He wasn't aware that she had spent months tossing and turning over him. He didn't know she had been plagued by guilt when occasionally, her Vicompte touched her and she would imagine his hands. He didn't know that she had felt empty and sad when relatives would gush over her impending nuptials.
And she had ended up here once again. How many times had he imagined this? How many nights had he dreamed of her, but woke holding nothing but the empty air? But now, here they were... ready to recreate a horrific triangle that they thought they had left behind years ago.
His mouth slanted over hers desperately and he walked forwards while she matched him step by step, until he had her pinned at the magnificent piano and he was blind.
He had never done this before. He had only ever dreamed of a woman's touch. He had no idea what would please her. What if she had imagined more than he could give?
But all his insecurities were thrown out of the window when she moaned with such a raw intensity, it made his heart soar.
He tore from her lips and she tipped her head back, gasping and breathless, as he trailed hot, wet kisses down the length of her pale neck. She was blind in the dark and her body was burning with a fierce need for him. His lips were sinful, strangely talented, and she wondered whether he was good at everything.
His hips pushed into her suddenly and she cried out at the delicious friction. He growled into her neck, his hot breath dancing across her damp skin. She grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her breast, rejoicing in the feeling of his finger tips brushing her nipples against the thin, traitorous fabric of her dress.
His actions halted for a moment and he brought his gaze back hers. She gasped at the emotion in his eyes and she felt his love complete her. She no longer felt empty or unneeded, for the first time in a long time, she felt whole.
She pressed her face into the small crevice of exposed skin between the two undone buttons at the top of his dress shirt. Her lips brushed against his chest and he shivered in her arms. His breath quickened and his hands moved to her sides. His nimble, pianist fingers reached the zipper at her back and she felt it slide south.
The instant his fingers touched her naked back, she cried into his mouth and pulled him closer, as if to swallow him whole, and he moaned back while shedding himself of his jacket and shirt. His body was warm and right against hers; and all thoughts of Raoul and her betrayal were forgotten.
"Make love to me, mon ange." She whispered and he lifted her in his arms, bridal style, with one swift movement. She thought that she might've giggled, had the circumstances been different.
As he placed her down on the feathery, velvet bed, she blindly reached for him, overwhelmed by the irrational thought that he might disappear.
His talented hands fumbled with her dress and he fought the urge to rip the offending fabric off her body. Instead, he gently slid the dress over her curves, throwing it into a discarded heap on the floor.
He leaned over her and worried that the inadequacy of his battered and scarred body would prove too offending compared to such beauty.
As light from the candles beside them illuminated his chest, she gasped and an overwhelming fear coiled in the pit of his stomach.
She'd seen it—the horrible reminders of his youth at the gypsy circus, the scars that would never let him forget what he was—a monster.
She's disgusted, he thought brokenly.
And then, as she always did, she completely surprised him.
With more force than he thought possible for her to have, her nimble dancer's body twisted and turned until she was sat on top of him. She quickly undid his belt, discarding his trousers and her eyes welled with unshed tears as she leaned down, kissing every part of him that was bruised or scarred. Her lips were soft and gentle, her hands careful, and the delicacy of her touch made him weak.
He flips her onto her back again, lips so beautiful should never have to brush flesh so marred. She felt him press against her thigh, hard and long, and she gasped, pulling him tighter against her flushed body.
"Please Erik," She whimpered, "I can't wait."
He kissed her swollen lips once more, before hooking his fingers into her underwear and pulling them down her smooth legs.
He was hovering above her, unsure and uncertain, and she took the first move, grasping him tightly in her small hand. She grasped his erection and felt its strong masculinity twitch at her touch. His head fell forward onto her shoulder and he groaned.
"Darling, no." His voice was rough as he tried to mask his pleasure. He had to stop her from touching him because god, he was on the verge of exploding already. It would all be over far too quickly if he let her do what she wanted.
There was a determination in his voice that just forced her to let go and succumb to whatever it was that he wanted to do to her. Her head span as he ventured down south. Touching and kissing every part of her naked body on his way, making her feel like she was going to cry if he didn't give her release soon. The moist wetness of his warm mouth against her skin was pleasure and pain at the same time and then he grabbed her thighs and pulled her down, flush against his face.
Something exploded inside her the second his mouth found her center. And when his tongue probed in between her folds, she moaned so loudly that she almost wanted to clutch her hand over her mouth.
She almost felt like crying.
All this time, she thought with a gasp, this is what I've been missing?
For a moment, just a moment, as she lay there, back arching and releasing little mews of "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s, she let herself wonder about spending a lifetime with him. They would never get out. She would make him do this to her all the time.
He would be bad for her, completely addictive.
But he was the one moaning now. Low and animalistic, and it was the most arousing sound she'd ever heard.
He sounded like this, because he loved pleasing her. His masochistic side revelled in the fact that he was the one making her scream.
"Please!" She begged for nothing in particular and she cursed the cold plastic against the inside of her left thigh.
"Sing for me," He murmured against her heated flesh.
And sing she did, because the orgasm that washed over her was like a tidal wave, squeezing out her last breath and making her shake so badly that she felt like she was breaking apart. She couldn't stop herself from screaming out his name, and she kept repeating it over and over in quieter pants as she basked in the afterglow.
"Please, please angel, I need you." She moaned and he growled, worked up and unable to control himself any longer.
"Wait!" She practically shouted as he was about to enter her.
He bit back his disappointment, was she having second thoughts?
Before he could apologize for even thinking to taint her, she ripped off his mask and his heart plummeted.
"No!" He wailed, reaching for it wildly, before she gripped his arms, determination present in her hold.
"I want to see you, all of you." Christine whispered, "You're beautiful, Erik. You're beautiful to me."
And she wasn't lying. This deformation of the flesh... what was it compared to his inner beauty, his voice and talent?
Nothing. It was nothing and it meant nothing. It did not alter the way she felt about him, it did not change the fact that he was a genius who would do anything for her.
What he didn't understand, was that he was normal to her.
She hated that mask. She hated everything it stood for—his pain, his insecurity, his nerves. She hated how he used it to hide himself away from the rest of the world.
She'd stripped him of everything and now their bond was sealed forevermore.
He couldn't hardly believe she was real. She seemed almost like a fairytale creature—compassionate and beautiful and sprawled beneath him. He kissed her once more, letting her taste herself on his lips and tongue and she reached up, caressing every part of his face that was misshapen or distorted.
"Please," She mumbled for what seemed like the millionth time, "I need you inside me. We've been parted for too long."
It was true. They had been parted far too long, and he missed her. He had missed her so much, it made him ache.
So, with one steady push, he slipped inside her.
They both gasped at the feeling of being joined in a way that they had only imagined. He began to move steadily and as Christine ran her hands down his back and clawed impatiently, she knew she was embracing her destiny.
She looked into his emotional eyes and knew that she belonged here, with him.
He found a pace and she met his every thrust. It was like she was made for him. Perfect in every way and shaped to just surround him like this. His moans became louder and he couldn't stop kissing her and every time she whispered his name, it was like a raspy and familiar welcome home.
Her mouth fell open and her eyes screwed shut as his pace quickened and he growled, "Christine, my Christine."
She moaned loudly and everything burned; everything pulsed hotter than before.
He pushed hard, knocking the breath right out of her and her hips rubbed frantically against his.
Her body was clenching again, but this time it was different. This time when he moved, her whole world moved with him. He plunged towards and she pushed into. In and out, in and out, every thrust hitting something only he could.
His lips never left her ear.
"I love you." He choked, "I love you, I love you, I love you."
And she remembered her days back at the opera, when she'd heard the ballet girls whisper excitedly about the naughty, sexy things a man would say to make a girl climax, but now, right then, she knew how very wrong they were.
Because no dirty actions or words could rival what Erik had just whispered to her.
Those were the words that sent her over the edge.
Those 3 simple words, lined with pure, raw emotion and a fierce need.
She squeezed him between her legs and threw her head back against the pillow.
"Oh God." She cried out.
But God had nothing to do with this. Deep down, she knew that he was frowning down at her. She knew that she would later repent and ask for forgiveness, because she'll know what she did was wrong. It was a horrible sin, and yet she had welcomed it with open arms. Would her apology count, when she didn't even regret the act itself? How could she regret something that felt so right and real?
"Be mine," He begged into her shoulder as his thrusts quickened, "Stay and be mine, eternally."
And in that moment, she knew she would.
She knew she would do anything for him.
Because she loved him.
More than anything in the world, she loved him.
Three more thrusts and he couldn't even hold his own weight up because his arms were shaking so badly. Their simultaneous cries of pleasure were like two strands of melody that would last in time and he fell on top of her, panting in the crook of her neck.
As he came down from his abyss, she stroked his damp hair and he fought the irrational urge to cry.
All these dark, silent years... they were all set right.
---------
Hours later, Erik sat back and watched her sleep. She was like an angel, her soft brunette locks framing her face and her chest heaving with her gentle breaths. He sighed, brushing the hair away from her forehead and pulling the blanket more securely over her.
He feared her waking. What if she looked at him, his disgusting, grotesque face and realized her mistake?
After all, what beauty could love a beast?
And what sort of life could he offer her? With the Vicomte, came security and light and happiness. Of course, if she loved him (which he liked to imagine she did), she would never understand. She would wake, swear her love, leave that boy, and follow him wherever he went.
And he would feel the most joy he'd ever felt.
But what then?
He had nothing to give her. He couldn't provide her with anything the Vicomte could. She would be forced into a life of skulking in the shadows, hiding from the world. She was a blossoming young woman and he wanted to keep her from a life she deserved and by God, he thought that was a little selfish.
So with tearful eyes and a heavy heart, before the sun could rise, ashamed of what he was, afraid to see her eyes, he stood while she slept and whispered a goodbye and slipped into the dark, beneath a moonless sky.