A Um, the sane Christine is kind of slipping further and further away right now, but I think everybody will start to see why. This is the first of the NC-17-goodness chapters to come, BTW. ;) But it's FAR from the last. Trust me on that one.
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Christine stepped out of her clothes, leaving them in a filthy pile on the floor. They were strewn about the very centre of a pattern of black tiles, and she felt a momentary pang of regret that the quality of the artwork wasn't exactly improved. The pang seemed to start in her chest and slowly travel all the way down through her stomach before settling between her legs, and Christine couldn't quite understand why. She'd never experienced that effect whilst viewing great art before (well, perhaps just a bit when I was standing in front of Michelangelo's David in Florence, but I think that had something to do with the way that I couldn't stop thinking that if he lost some weight, he'd look rather like Erik… except for the naughty bits, which didn't seem the least bit anatomically correct by comparison. That's what I thought from all those detailed examinations of the snugly tailored fronts of those very, very evil trousers, anyway….the examinations I absolutely, positively never made! Oh, what's the matter with me? Christine shook her head in despair and decided that she needed to take a very long, cold bath.

Once she'd stepped into the tin tub, she squinted at the taps in a confused way. There seemed to be so many of them set into the azure blue-tiled walls at various angles, and then there was that huge one above her. Christine started turning knobs at random, and deliciously hot water deluged her from all sides. She gave a luxurious sigh and arched her back, moving this way and that to catch the sprays of steaming water. She sniffed the soaps; they were all sumptuous florals. There was jasmine, lily of the valley, violet, gardenia… ahhh. She found her favourite Rose scent and began to lather herself. I wonder if all those others are for, he doesn't appear to have a dark chocolate scented one. I knew he was hiding it in his mouth! she thought sourly. Christine lifted one leg to let the water hit the back of her thigh just so. Wonder if Erik ever comes in here and takes a Bath? Well he must do, he does not smell and he is so deliciously well groomed.. unlike me. Mmm….

I'll bet he lather his hair, and he gets to run his fingers through it, and it feels sort of soft and thick and fine, all at the same time. Christine ran her fingers through her own hair.

And then she moves on to his chest, and runs her hand down those thick muscles, and feels them move under her fingers… Slowly, Christine moved her hands down her own chest, cupping her breasts. She rolled her nipples between her wet fingers without really thinking about it and felt them harden.

Then I'd move down, down, and I'd finally get to squeeze that perfect arse of his. Oh, God, I've wanted to do that! I wonder how it feels? Round and firm and tightly packed and… Mmmmm….. Christine didn't even notice that she had replaced the vaguely imagined slutty girl with herself as she ran her hands down her hips.

And then, oh, yes, yes, and then, I'd move round to the front, very slowly, I'd feel his thighs, they're thin but I'll bet his muscles are just flawlessly shaped, and I'd take both my hands and I'd grasp his manhood and I'd feel how hard he is for me, I wonder just how big he is, I've noticed how snugly tailored those trousers are in front, don't think I haven't, so I do have some idea, and then… then… Christine threw her head back and moaned slightly, rocking her hips forward. She spread her legs, and one of the jets of water massaged her clit unerringly with each one of her movements. She could see herself touching Erik; she could almost hear him groaning in pleasure, or maybe it was herself she heard as she picturing him reaching forward and touching her; she could feel the first delicious stirrings between her legs, her body tightening, readying itself for, she knew not what, but oh, God, but it was going to be good, and then…

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Christine shrieked, threw the washcloth up in the air, bumped her leg on a hot water tap, and skidded into a wall.

"Miss Daae? Are you all right in there?"

"What? Where? How? Who?" She whipped her head round frantically, catching her own reflection in the mirror directly opposite. She looked like a madwoman. She was gasping for air, her face was bright red, her hands were clenched into fists, and her face was contorted into an expression that might as well have included the words I Want Eric tattooed on her forehead in extra-large, bold-face, Gothic lettering.

"You've been in there for almost half an hour, and I heard this loud sort of groaning— what was that shriek about?" The doorknob was rattled. "Damn! I don't have my key. That's right, I gave it to you. Miss Daae, answer me, or I swear I'm breaking the door down and coming in there—"

"No!!" Christine jumped out of the shower and frantically grabbed a green bathrobe from a shelf. The sleeves hung down to cover the tips of her fingers and the hem brushed the floor, but it would just have to do. "Uh—coming, Erik!" Or rather, I'm not, and it's all your fault,she snarled in a hideously frustrated and quite illogical way to herself as she tied the belt tightly around her waist. Oh God, what's wrong with me? She paused. I could just reach between my legs and finish the job… it wouldn't take half a moment, I can feel how ready I still am. And she was still throbbing, still aching, still longing to feel the deep, satisfying shivers of a really good climax; the few times she had timidly tried her own fingers had never been enough. But then Christine looked at her white face in the mirror, lips set. She would not, would not, bring herself to orgasm standing on Erik's bathroom floor while he tapped his foot impatiently and waited for her just outside the door.

When she swung it open and saw him, however, she had a sudden and devout wish for a Time machine.

Oh, if I could just go back thirty seconds and do it! I wonder if I could slam the door in his face and just go at it for a few hours? But that hasn't been working recently at all well, except when I picture a naked Erik anyway, and now I would know that he's naked under those trousers on the other side of the door anyway, so that won't work… I wonder if I could grab that odd latex thing off the wall and… oh, I'm going to go mad, oh, dear God, what's wrong with me, what was in that antidote, oh, oh, oh…

"Miss Daae," Erik said slowly, "what in God's name is wrong with you?"

Her eyes travelled slowly up his body, from slender, muscled thighs to snugly tailored front trousers that hinted ever so subtly at the awe-inspiring tackle beneath, to his narrow waist flaring upward to that deliciously muscled chest, to that neck which clearly needed to be licked inch by inch all the way to his sinfully kissable pink mouth, to his face half hidden by the mask. What an annoyance that mask was, how perfect would it be to rip it away and caress ever part of his deformity. Finally her gaze lifted to those astonishing silvery eyes which were currently studying her as if she had turned into some unbelievable freak. Christine made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sob.

"I need," she said.

"Have you eaten anything? You really looked as if you were about ready to drop dead from starvation earlier. Perhaps I should scramble some eggs…" Erik started to walk towards the kitchen, revealing the tightly tailored back of his trousers, and Christine stumbled after him.

"I want," she squeaked, clutching onto the kitchen counter.

"How about a glass of water?" asked Erik. "You sound absolutely parched. Here—" He bent over in front of her to reach into a kitchen cabinet. Somewhere in the recesses of her crazed mind, Christine decided that it had become more than flesh could be expected to endure. She leaped on him from behind. They both crashed into the sink. Erik threw his hands up.

"Miss Daae—no—wait, wait, stop, what are you doing, have you gone mad?" he demanded. "What are you trying to do, what do you want?"

"Sex!" screeched Christine, trying to climb on top of Erik and shove him into the sink. However, her intentions were far from clear, since it looked like she was making an attempt to get to the front door. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open in shock, and he grabbed her around the waist. She arched her back and pressed her body into Erik, although her intentions were easy to misconstrue, and it seemed more as if she was trying to get away from him.

"I need it," she panted, "now, now, now-"

His face hardened. "I'm not letting you out there! No! Take, Christine, do you realize what would happen to you if I did?" he demanded. "This isn't the safest neighbourhood the world has ever seen; do you want some man to get hold of you and take you up on that charming offer—"

"No! I don't want to go anywhere, Erik, and I can't do it with anyone else! I really, really need to have sex with you!" she blurted. "Now get those damn trousers off!"

Erik froze. Then he turned very slowly to look at her. There was only one little candle in the kitchen. She could just barely see his face, and she could not read his expression.

Idiot, idiot, idiot! half of her brain screamed at itself. How could you say that? Don't you realize how you sounded? Like some sort of… sex-crazed slut!

I am a sex-crazed slut, the other half of her brain snarled in return.

It's all his fault! It must be.

How? That doesn't make any sense at all!

Well… let's see…

"You tricked me into taking that potion!" blurted Christine. "You knew what it would do, Erik. It was some kind of aphrodisiac, and you knew it would turn me into a sex-crazed harlot (just as well we got a bit more mileage out of that phrase, the other half of her brain thought approvingly) and now you've got me right where you want me, and you're going to throw me over one of your amazingly broad shoulders and toss me onto your bed and ravish me ruthlessly for hours on end!"

Erik just looked at her without changing his expression one bit. Christine began to feel rather foolish.

He tried to tell us not to take it. He tried to get us to lie down and rest until we felt better, the first half weakly protested.

Remember all those sinister plots! Puppy-strangling! Undershorts of Evil! And don't forget the excessively tight trousers! screeched the second half.

Oooohhh…. Tight trousers…. the two halves sighed in unison.

No, no, whimpered the first half. This cannot happen. I'm going to fight it. I'm not giving in. I won't let Erik's sinister sex-god wiles lure me into-

Tackling him to the floor, ripping those trousers off, and riding him like a horse in heat, finished the second half. You were saying?

Christine felt a light touch on her arm. It was Erik's hand. Her knees buckled, and she had to grab the counter for support. He was just barely touching her, and she felt like he had set a fire in her flesh that could never be quenched. And he still hadn't said a single word to her. God, what must he be thinking? Shame and humiliation ran through her body, mingling with the unbearable desire, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

"Look, I'm not any happier about it than you are! I'm sure that shagging a chorus rat is the last thing you want."

Erik opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Look—I'm not—I didn't—"

Christine barely heard him. "Do you think I want to have anything to do with you that way? I don't! If you were the last man on earth, I wouldn't choose-"

The Erik mask snapped up around his face; it almost happened faster than the eye could see. "So sorry there isn't some other man about the house for you to use instead, then, Miss Daae," he sneered.

She stepped up until she was face to face with him, stabbing her finger into his chest. If she could only stay angry enough! The rage seemed to beat back this awful physical need, just a little bit. "I wish there was!"

"Well, I don't generally have one to hand!"

"Well, you should!" yelled Christine, with frightening volume and complete lack of logic.

Erik leaned towards her, his eyes turning icy. "I can assure you that when I'm entertaining guests here, they don't need any extra company—I'm more than enough."

"I'm quite sure you are!" snapped Christine, leaning up towards him.

"And I can also assure you that while your rubbish about aphrodisiac potion isn't even worth the waste of my breath I'll use in replying to it, I don't need to use any such thing while said entertainment is going on!"

"I'm sure that you don't!" snapped Christine, leaning up even further towards him. "Because you don't even have to tell me—I can guess, I can imagine, that your technique is amazing, Erik, and I'm sure you'd know how to make me writhe and moan and scream your name, and clutch onto you, and wrap my legs around your stunningly perfect body, and that astonishingly flawless arse! Mathematicians must use your arse as the model for the perfect circle. I'm sure of it. Maybe the evil plot is somehow based on that…" She dropped to her knees and tried to crawl around behind him. "Let me touch it once, Erik, just once, I just need to be sure it's real, it could be an optical illusion…"

He stared at her for a moment before moving, his face absolutely frozen, and it was just a moment too long. Christine grabbed him, he turned; he pulled her up, she fell against him, and she took his head in her hands and kissed him fiercely. His lips were stiff under hers for just a moment. Then, with a groan, he shoved her forwards, against the kitchen cabinets, and he kissed her back.

I see your point, said the second half of her brain to the first. I think our continued existence will require ravishing his brains out. So to speak.

I knew you'd see reason, agreed the first half, and with that, Christine was once more of one mind. She sighed happily and reached for the top buttons of Erik's shirt, preparatory to ripping them all off in one fell swoop.

Then, suddenly, everything had somehow gone wrong. She was left standing in the middle of the kitchen, alone and confused, and Erik wasn't kissing her anymore. He had sunk back to the edge of the counter, his head in his hands, and he was mumbling something that sounded disturbingly like, "oh, gods, we can't do this, we absolutely cannot do this, no, no, no."

Clearly, this highly unsatisfactory state of affairs could not continue to exist. There was only one solution. Christine gave a flying leap. Erik dodged it. She began chasing him round and round the kitchen.

Erik was very fast, and he certainly knew the layout of his own kitchen better than she did. He was very good at leaping over chairs, diving behind cabinets, and throwing mixing bowls and chafing dishes in her way, not that they slowed her down very much. He even managed to hide behind the piano for about ten seconds. But Christine was driven by crazed, primal lust that was growing worse by the second, so the ending was probably inevitable.

He stumbled over a cast-iron Dutch oven lying in the middle of the floor and fell to his knees. Christine's eyes gleamed as she saw her chance. He put his hands up in a pitiful and highly ineffectual gesture. "Too late, Erik," she purred, and then she jumped him.

He scrambled up, moving backwards. She followed, pressing him against the cabinets, up to the sink. I've got him! her brain exulted. She was just leaning forward to tear his shirt off when he suddenly used her own momentum against her and flipped her around, pinioning her wrists against the hard metal. She fought him as hard as she could, but he had her pinned, bent backwards against the sink, she could feel his legs pressing hers against the wood of the cabinets as well. She struggled vigorously, but she didn't have the least thought of trying to get away. In fact, the picture of struggling against him (although not terribly hard) as he pinned her down and ravished her thoroughly was a shamefully arousing one, although Christine decided that she'd prefer a setting that didn't involve a brass faucet digging into her back.

"Shh, shh," he said. "Shhh. It's all right. Christine, it's going to be all right. Shhh. If I could just get at a Calming draft…" He twisted away from her, towards the cabinets, and another pang of desperate desire rippled through her.

"I'm not taking any more potions!"

"What was that one you got from my cabinet?" he muttered. "Shite… what could it have been?" His image begin to swim in front her, seen through a haze of her tears. Christine blinked. She felt herself falling to one side; his hand pushed her back up, spreading heat through her body, and she clutched at it. The hand moved to her chin and raised it, and she saw Erik's silvery eyes examining her face.

"Oh, take," he muttered. "I know what this is! I know what it's got to be. How the hell it ever got in my kitchen cabinet I don't know, but that doesn't matter now. Miss Daae, listen to me, you've got to listen—I know it's difficult, but you have to at least try, or you won't understand what's happening. You drank a Potion of Uncontrollable Desire. It's the one that a few of the alchemists in Persia were always trying to brew, they were the worst sort of bloody idiots but they thought they were being clever. They were always snickering about it; if they'd managed to do it, and if they'd been able to slip it into what some poor girl was drinking, she supposedly wouldn't be able to resist them. I always thought it was one of the more disgusting things I'd heard of in my life, which is saying a lot, of course.

"Could you have done it?" demanded Christine, with what felt like the last scrap of her capacity for rational thought.

"Yes," muttered Erik. "I bloody well could have done it. Nobody really knows exactly how that remedy would have worked, because it hasn't been brewed in so damn long, but I could have done it.

"Then why didn't you do it?"

"First of all, because I've never needed to!" said Erik hotly. "I've never had any need for women in my bed until—but mostly because—" he broke off. "I did think about it once," he said in a low, intense voice. "I did. Because I knew that I couldn't get y- I mean, her, any other way. But it would have been wrong, the worst thing I've ever done. It wouldn't have been much better than rape. And if you don't think that I would have held back from doing something like that, even when I was an arrogant, cruel, frightened, miserable little bastard—" He broke off again.

"Oh, what difference does any of that make now?" yelled Christine. "I need you to take me! Just take me, Erik! No, I didn't know you had this bloody unbearably precious conscience to deal, but we can argue about it later, after you've shagged me senseless, can't we?"

"No!" he exploded. "Didn't you hear a word I just said?"

His face was implacable. He wasn't going to give in to her. She could see it. Christine slumped back to the sink, exhausted. For a few moments, there was only the sound of her weeping, because she had begun to cry without even knowing quite when she'd started. Everything had somehow gone wrong. The wonderful, delicious desire had somehow turned against her; it had become too strong, too awful, too horribly unsatisfied. Only Erik could give her any relief from it, could finish it for her, and he wasn't going to do it.

"Don't cry," he was whispering. "Please, please, Christine don't cry."

She cried harder.

"I can't bear to see you cry," she thought she heard him say, except that she couldn't have heard Erik say anything like that. Not to her.

"Then dosomething!" wailed Christine. "Either take me right now, or… an antidote!" She grasped onto the idea like one last saving straw. "Is there an antidote to the potion?"

Erik looked at her miserably. She could see something changing and shifting behind his beautiful silvery eyes. "Oh, Christine." he said. "No. There's not."