Hello, readers!
A gentle reminder: this fanfic is rated M. Some juicy stuff has happened, thus far (mostly in the safe world of dreams), but now we're really getting into the "mature" stuff. If you can't handle it, don't approve, or have yet to mature yourself, I would strongly suggest you stop reading. Otherwise, for those of us who appreciate a little bow-chicka-bow-wow…it just gets, um, "juicier" from here on out.
Thanks!
Jenn
The prima ballerina was still incensed. The Phantom of the Opera had drugged her dear friend. And she had believed him unable to hurt his precious Christine. He claimed that he had not taken advantage of his protégé, but Meg couldn't trust him. She shuddered at the memory of feeling his hand between her thighs. Had he done more than that?
She looked up from the copy of Notre-Dame de Paris. The Phantom was standing, his back to her, staring at the wall. He held his pen in one hand and twirled it between his fingers. The littered papers were gathered at his feet.
Meg had reached the part of the book where the gypsy girl, Esmeralda, had quenched the thirst of the tortured hunchback, Quasimodo. She read on, to where Esmeralda danced for the handsome Captain Phoebus, who had rescued her earlier from abduction. Meg closed the book and laid it on the table. Erik was still facing away from her…as if determined not to look at her.
She frowned. Her eyes darted towards the closed door. She imagined the dashing Phoebus bursting through and saving her from the monster that had abducted her. The Phantom probably envisioned himself to be just like the hunchback: a poor soul that deserved more than what life had given him. Meg hadn't formed an opinion on Quasimodo, but surely he was more deserving of pity than the dark man that stood in the same room with her.
The tension in the cramped space was making her claustrophobic. She needed privacy.
"I would like to bathe, please."
Erik barely turned his head toward her.
"You bathed not four days ago."
"And now I would like to bathe, again, monsieur. Forgive me if my standards of cleanliness are higher than you'd like them to be."
The Phantom scoffed and turned to face her.
"Fine. You have five minutes, mademoiselle."
He went to leave the room, grabbing the lasso from the nail on the wall, and pulling his pocket watch from underneath his cloak.
"I will require ten."
He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, incredulous.
"And yet, you'll only have five."
"Please, Erik, give me more time. I was hardly able to finish last time. Please?"
The Phantom sighed, unsure if he was reconsidering because of her saying his name or if he was beginning to identify with the young girl. He steeled himself and looked back at the door.
"I'll give you seven minutes. Be quick."
Meg's jaw dropped, unable to believe that she had gained any ground. She was sure that Erik would simply deny her any luxury, asserting the control that he had over her. He continued out the door, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
All she had really wanted was the cabin to herself. Now that she was alone, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do.
She decided to look for a weapon. She didn't want to fatally wound him, but if she could handicap him, maybe she could get away. Or cause enough of a clamor to be rescued. She was hopeful that, if she could break away from his control while still on the ship, she would be allowed to return to France and to her mother.
She looked through the box under their table, surprised by how many useful items were there…but nothing sharp. She scanned the room and her eyes landed on the Phantom's bag. The one he had brought with him from the bowels of the Opera Populaire.
Meg crossed the small space and knelt down to where the bag laid, seemingly forgotten. The mess of crumpled papers surrounded the satchel, and Meg went to brush them aside. She absently picked one up and opened it fully. It looked like a completed sheet of music. Odd, that he had chosen to throw away something that appeared to be done. She wasn't able to read the music, but she wondered what it would sound like, once played. Would it be mournful? Angry? Exciting and cheerful?
She opened another paper and was surprised to find more sheet music. After studying both pages, she was fairly certain that they were part of the same song.
She went for another, determined to solve a puzzle that she could not possibly decipher. On this next sheet, though, were words…lyrics? Her name appeared at various spots on the page, lined up next to phrases. "Ensemble" was written alongside certain lyrics, as well. She wished she could have read through them, but they were in a different language. English, most likely.
He was going to include her in Phantasma? She had just assumed he would lock her away somewhere. Her heart lifted, imagining being able to perform again. It was her passion. She would dance and, surprisingly, she would get the chance to sing.
If she went back to Paris, what would be left for her? The Opera Populaire was most likely destroyed. Would she and her mother have to leave their home? Could they start a ballet company? Her mother had expressed the idea in passing before. Her mother had also suggested that, if she were not at the Opera Populaire, she would teach privately. In that case, could Meg succeed on her own?
Erik wanted her to be a part of his show. He could make her a star.
She felt torn, all of a sudden. Her freedom still called to her, but she was touched by Erik's including her in his new dream. She shook her head, determined not to be deterred from her plan by one nice gesture. Her attention refocused, and she opened the satchel.
Inside were curious items: a bottle of a clear liquid, unlabeled; a lock of brunette hair that could only belong to one person; a burlap sack with holes cut into it; a few handkerchiefs; the famous wax seal with his signature skull and a couple sticks of red wax; and, finally, a small drawstring purse. She opened the purse to see what, if anything, was inside.
The contents were not immediately visible, but when she brought it close to her eye, she saw a fine-grain powder. She couldn't make out its color. A loud noise was heard from above, and she dropped the opened purse in alarm. The bag retained the majority of its contents, but the action caused a small amount of the powder to rise up into the air.
Meg inhaled and sneezed, when the foreign substance reached her nostrils. She fanned the air surrounding her furiously. Around her, everything seemed to be changing. The walls darkened to black, while the makeshift bed became clothed in red with a four-post frame. The lantern was now a beautifully exotic lamp atop a mahogany table. Her eyes widened at her new surroundings.
Seven minutes passed and the Phantom opened the door to chaos. The contents of his bag and the supply box had clearly been ruffled through. A few of the crumpled sheets were unfolded, and Meg sat on the floor beside them. She was reading lyrics in a language that she didn't know. He grabbed her by the arm and stood her to face him.
"Well, I hope you enjoyed your bath, Meg."
Her eyes were dazed, and she was leaning into him. He eyed the opened satchel of powder on the floor and smirked at her.
"So, it's despicable for me to drug your friend, but it's perfectly acceptable for you to root through my things and sample the very same drug you denounced me for using?"
She stared into his deep blue eyes, seeing how very attractive the unmarred side of his face was. She felt warm, tingly… She put her cheek against his chest and nuzzled into him. He chuckled at her drug-addled response.
"What does it say, Erik?"
Her voice was unnaturally smooth and uncharacteristically seductive. The Phantom hesitated, feeling his attraction for the ballerina grow. She held the page of lyrics up to him, still against his chest.
He took the paper and started to read the English lyrics, but she still didn't understand.
"No," she started. "Please, sing it."
He did. And when he had finished, she asked him to tell her what it was about. He told her it was a welcoming song to a large audience; it introduced the rest of the show.
"You want me to sing this? You want me to sing?" Her voice was hopeful, and he heard it.
"Yes, I would like for you to sing and dance in Phantasma. If you want to."
"I want to," she whispered back.
She grabbed the paper from his hand and let it fall to the floor. Her palm went to his heart, near her head, and she closed her eyes to listen to the steady heartbeat. His arms enveloped her, gently holding her to him.
Slowly, painstakingly, she pulled her head away from the warmth of his body and looked up into his hypnotic eyes. He looked back down at her with amusement…and desire. She raised herself up to kiss him, but he turned away from her lips. He exhaled when he felt her lips brush against his bare cheek.
Meg lowered herself back down with a look of disappointment on her face. He brought his hand up to her face and leaned his head down to kiss along her neck. She moaned at the sensation and used both of her hands to bring his head closer to the spot he was claiming.
"Mmmm…" the young girl moaned. "Why does it feel so good?"
Erik unlatched his mouth from her dainty neck to answer.
"Because the powder heightens your sensitivity to touch, in addition to the hallucination you're experiencing."
"The what?"
"Tell me," he smiled down at her. "What do you see around us?"
She turned in his arms to survey the room. He still held her around her midsection, and she rested her arms on top of his.
"I see…the walls are dark, black. The bed is luxurious, with a deep red cover. There are candles everywhere. And rose petals. Red rose petals on the ground…"
"You see what you want to see."
She leaned back into him and he moved one of his stationary hands to caress up her side. He tilted her head to the side, pleased that her eyes were closed in complete abandon. He stroked her cheek, lulling her further into safety with him.
"We don't have to be enemies, my dear," he whispered into her ear. He kissed the pressure point there and continued. "I stole you away from your home to punish your mother, not you. She is penalized through your absence, but you have the opportunity to soar beyond what her protective nature would have allowed."
Her hand ascended to his bare cheek, just cupping the rough skin there. He nuzzled her neck in response and she sighed contentedly.
"I will make you a star, Meg. You will dance for me, sing for me, and I will reward you with the fame you have always desired."
Her eyes opened, at that. The smile that grew upon her lovely face was sincere. She turned to him and wrapped both of her arms around his neck. His hands settled on her hips.
"Will I ever see my mother in this lifetime?"
The Phantom paused at the innocent question. After Phantasma was up and running…after he was stable…after his heart had mended into some semblance of a working organ…after he had forgotten his first love…
His eyes narrowed, imagining his forgetting his angel.
"No," he firmly stated.
Meg's eyes began to water, as she stared up into Erik's cooled expression. He melted at her distress and kissed her forehead.
"But you will have me to take care of you," he reassured.
She went to kiss his lips, again, but he dodged her advance.
"Not all of you," she frowned.
"As much as I have left," he clarified. He walked her to the bed and lay her down. "How does it feel?"
"Hmmm? Oh, the bed?"
He nodded.
"It feels…quite the same, actually," she giggled at the confession. "I suppose your drug cannot change the texture, just the appearance."
He smiled darkly at her, as he hovered over her body.
"I have a remedy," he began. "Close your eyes, my dear, and allow the fantasy to take over."
She obediently did so, and he bent down to kiss her throat. His mouth wandered down to her clavicle, before one hand undid the strings of the white blouse she still wore. He continued his assault on the tops of her breasts, and his hands moved up her body. As they made their way from her waist to her shoulders, they caught the outer garment and pulled it over her head. She left her arms above her head, resting on the pillow.
Underneath the blouse was a simple ecru corset. With her prone position, her bountiful chest was trying its hardest to escape its confines. His hand circled her waist, searching for the ties. Once found, he continued to adore her as the offending vestment was loosened. He pulled it from her torso and discarded it on the floor, next to her top.
She lay before him, eyes closed, her top half bared. He smirked in triumph. He gently traced his fingertips over her silky skin, following the curve of her breast. He knelt next to her and dipped his head to suckle the nipples that were waiting for his attention.
As he caught one in his watering mouth, her moaning increased. She arched into him, and he supported her back with one of his strong arms. He trailed his tongue to her other peak and lavished it with equal fervor.
Her moaning subsided and her breathing became steady. He pulled away and frowned at the sleeping beauty. Before leaving her to her dreams, he covered her nakedness with the cape around his shoulders.
Erik watched her for a while. He found himself wanting more. More of her. He had given her little credit, he supposed. She was not lacking in physical beauty; she was merely not the type he had grown fond of. If not for Christine's voice, however… Meg was certainly more striking. She was both intelligent and strong. Christine had been strong, too, in the depths of her despair.
But, most importantly, Meg was willing. She wanted to share her gift with the world. He had done everything in his power to convince Christine to realize her talent, but the little prima donna was always too humble…too reluctant to stand up for herself. Even if Christine was with him, right now, he doubted she would be as excited about the prospect of performing for him in Phantasma.
Meg would shine. He would see to it.
"Mister Y has all you need, satisfaction guaranteed, and it's only for you!"
He picked up the discarded song and lyrics and smoothed them out. He was proud of the piece he had written. It was jubilant, catchy, and just eccentric enough to fit in with the theme of his show. After laying them on the table, his eyes flitted to the book she was reading. Notre-Dame de Paris was a favorite of his, although it wasn't an easy read. He wondered what she thought of it…if she liked it.
The Phantom set his eyes upon her, again. She could never be his angel…but maybe she could be his Esmeralda.
