Author's Note: To those of you who have seen and read this story in its original form over on The Write Stuff, there are some changes to this version. Lizzy and I have spent many days discussing what we wanted to do with this chapter, and how we wanted to present it.
You may have noticed that I have bumped up the rating of this story to "M." This is because I have received a number of requests for a more fully realized romance between Erik and Christine and so, thanks to Lizzy's tireless efforts in seeing that Erik gets some satisfaction, this is what we are presenting to you. I hope this lives up to everyone's expectations. For those of you uncomfortable with more explicit sexual content, you may want to skim past the second half of this chapter.
There will be one more chapter (or epilogue…or whatever you care to call it). I am still in the process of writing it, and for that reason it could be a bit longer between updates. I'll try to have it written by sometime next week. In the meantime…enjoy! (I hope this more than makes up for that evil cliffie at the end of part one.)
The Way to Love
Chapter 23, Part 2
The Gift of Love
by HDKingsbury & MadLizzy
"Oh, you horrible beast!" Christine cried.
Erik's heart pounded. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he set the tray on landing at the top of the staircase and bounded into the bath. He was prepared to fight a hundred Rahzoul's if it meant saving Christine, but he wasn't prepared for the enemy within – Seamus.
There, seated on the edge of the bathtub, was a dripping mass of wet cat fur. His one green eye blinked indignantly at Christine, who was standing in the center of the tub and grasping a towel for modesty's sake.
Erik laughed out loud. "I see you've discovered Seamus' fondness for water." He bent over and laughed until his face turned red.
"You knew about this all along," Christine spat, checking her leg for scratches.
Erik back peddled. It wouldn't do to make Christine angry, not now when they were so close to…
"No! I swear I didn't know he was in here. I thought Mrs. Flynn was taking him with her on holiday." He wrapped the cat in one of his lesser quality towels and quickly dried him off. "The miserable creature sometimes swims in the tub, after I've finished my baths."
Seamus was not the least bit appreciative of Erik's efforts to dry him off. The feline growled and hissed, batting at his tormentor with claws bared.
"Be that way," Erik scolded. He wrapped the cat in the towel to protect himself from fangs and claws and deposited the cat in the hallway. Erik watched as a gray streak sped down the stairs, spinning for traction on the hardwood floor, before retreating to the kitchen.
Mission accomplished, Erik retrieved the tray he had prepared. Returning to the bath, he set it on a small table near the tub and realized Christine was watching him silently. He handed her the flower, and then folded his arms and took in the view.
"Stop that," Christine said, struggling to suppress a grin. She hid her face behind the orchid. "Be useful, and hand me a towel."
"You're bleeding." Erik was beside her instantly, a fresh towel in hand. "Let me see."
"It's nothing. It's only a scratch." She watched as Erik tended her wound. "I think I scared him more than he scared me. When he landed in the water, I nearly jumped out of my skin."
"Infernal beast! He'll be put out of the house permanently tomorrow."
"You will do nothing of the sort! Next time, I'll simply check behind the potted plants before I close the door."
"Next time," Erik mused. "I like the sound of that. It gives me hope for the future."
Tears puddled in her eyes. "We do have a future together, Erik. I thought you knew that."
He looked away. "I wasn't certain. I don't want to presume…"
Christine knelt in the water, "Presume all you like, monsieur." She flashed the golden band at him. "You made me a promise, and I'm holding you to it."
"I mean, you don't have to marry me, Christine. Everything I have is yours, whether you marry me or not. I've already changed my will…"
"Don't talk like that!"
"…and Ambrose knows what to do with anything you don't want to keep."
"I don't want your belongings. I want you."
"But…but the property…the house…my accounts…. They are considerable, Christine. You'll be well provided for."
"Must you always make it sound so…so mercenary? I love you, Erik. I don't want your money. I have plenty of my own."
He pondered this revelation while Christine stirred the water with her toe.
She loves me for myself.
"Brrr. This water is getting cold. I think it is time to get out." She stood, dripping wet.
Erik rose and wrapped her in one of the plush towels. He took another one and began drying her, starting at the top and working his way down. He'd only gotten as far as her shoulders before she leaned in for a kiss.
"I liked it when you came rushing to my rescue," she whispered. "You looked incredibly masculine, incredibly…heroic. My hero!"
He coughed. "Yes, well, I was, um, planning to strangle the poor little pussycat with my bare hands for frightening you."
She snorted. "Little? That 'pussycat' weighs two stone if he weighs a pound. He's enormous. In some countries, they'd put him on display and call him a freak of nature."
"A sideshow act," Erik muttered. "The perfect pet for a monster like me."
"Stop that. If you keep talking that way, you're going to end up morose and sad and I won't have it. Not on our first Christmas together. Not in our house! Not ever."
He dropped the towel into the water and turned away from her before sitting on the ledge surrounding the tub. "You don't understand, Christine. I've always had to barter for anything I've ever gotten. This whole business of being loved for oneself is a very difficult concept for me."
She perched beside him and wrapped her arms around him. "Yet, you don't mind giving me your love, without any promises in return."
"I've given up understanding you or making demands of you. Extortion and terrorism didn't work. I've turned over a new leaf, remember? I am a reformed man. I'm better than I used to be."
She put her forehead to his. "I like this new, improved Erik. He's kind, and he isn't presumptuous. He's almost humble."
"I am not. I am an elitist snob. Besides, I'm still temperamental."
"Wouldn't have you any other way."
"I'm old."
"You're in the prime of your life."
"I'm…I'm…what's that Ambrose calls me? Grumpy. I'm grumpy."
"Yes, you are." She laughed softly, shaking her head. "But I still love you, and I am determined to get you to the altar, no matter how grumpy you are."
He frowned, pouting as much as it was possible for him to pout with his twisted lip. "You've got your work cut out for you."
She stood, dropping her towel, and stepped out of the tub while using his shoulder for balance. She watched as his eyes traveled upwards, from the tops of her feet to the mass of curls piled atop her head, and turned and looked at him over her shoulder.
"I think it's time for you to show me what else you have on that tray of yours." As she walked into the bedroom, her hips swayed hypnotically. She paused, placed a hand on one hip for effect, and murmured, "Sometimes, you simply have to take what's offered, without question. The Americans say, 'Don't look a present in the mouth.' Yes?"
Erik followed her, entranced. "A gift horse," he said, correcting her.
"What did you say?"
"Never mind. You look too lovely tonight for me to think straight. I'm dazzled by the sight of you. Whoever said 'clothes make the woman' never saw you."
She turned and faced him, spreading her arms out in an open invitation. "I'm cold, darling. Warm me up."
Instantly, he was beside her. He drew her with him towards the fireplace. They sat on the rug nearby, enjoying the radiant heat, and slowly, deftly, Christine undressed him.
She ran her fingers across the fresh scar on his chest, and kissed it to make it better. She carefully lifted off his shoes, and held his maimed foot in her hand long enough to make sure it was fully healed. The flesh appeared tender and red, the wound too fresh to touch.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"Only when the weather changes," he said, embarrassed by the attention she was paying his old injuries. "I didn't need all those toes anyway."
She leaned forward and kissed the top of his foot. "My hero," she murmured.
A nervous laugh escaped him before he saw that she was serious. He gasped when she ran her hand up his bare leg and took off his last vestige of modesty.
"Turn over."
She commanded it, so he complied, even though it wasn't easy in his current state. She ran her hands up the backs of his legs and up, along his upper thighs. She rubbed his muscles, massaging deeply, before leaning and kissing him along the length of his back. She kissed him where he had been beaten his first night in New York, and he sighed as each kiss brought back the memory of an injury – and just as quickly, dispelled it. By the time she kissed the nape of his neck, he was completely relaxed, and focused on her touch.
She tugged at his shoulder until he rolled over on his side, and she snuggled up against him. He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her golden brow, the shell of her ear, and the apple of her cheek, before settling on her bow-shaped lips. Silently, she urged him on.
He picked her up with one arm, and positioned himself above her. "Not yet," he whispered. Reluctantly, he stood and went to his dresser. "Shouldn't we…use some form of protection?" From the top drawer, he produced a leather case. "They're not easy to secure here in America, but I was able to buy some…just in case."
She looked askance. "I don't want them. I want you, Erik. All of you." Her eyes pleaded with him. "I want to give you a child. Besides, we didn't use these the other time."
"And for that, I am sorry. I wasn't thinking straight."
Oh? Forgot about protection last time, did we? It was that little voice popping back into his head, taunting him. Something else on our mind? Like finally having the woman of our dreams right where we've always wanted her?
"I'm not sorry," Christine said, interrupting his thoughts. "It was what I wanted – no plans, no expectations, just the two of us and our love. You're the only person I've ever felt this way about…about not wanting to use protection."
"You mean...you and Raoul never...?" He halted suddenly, ashamed at having pried into something so personal. "I'm sorry, Christine. That was rude of me. What happened back then, between you and Raoul? That's…that's none of my business…"
"It's all right, Erik. I don't want there to be any secrets between us. As for what happened between Raoul and me? It was hardly lovemaking; at least not as I now know it to be. It was more like fumbling in total darkness, under covers, with as many of our clothes as we could keep on. We were—"
Erik stopped her. "No details, please. The image of you, in his arms – it's searing a hole in my brain."
But Christine insisted on explaining. "What I was going to say was that it was nothing like when I was with you. With you, there is fire." She smiled coyly, walking her fingers up his shoulder to his neck. "I may have to find some of those women you mentioned."
Erik snorted. "Surely you jest."
"I'd like to thank them," she said, wrapping her arm around him.
He looked closely into her face, trying to ascertain whether she was joking or not. "You...you think I am a good..." – he could hardly bring himself to say the word – "...lover?" The last word was practically choked out.
"A most excellent lover," she said as she touched him, drawing him closer. "A marvelous lover," she said, whispering into his ear, nuzzling the tender flesh. "And you'll be an even better father."
"Father? I don't think so," he said, pulling away slightly.
Christine shook her head, disappointed. "Didn't you even wonder why I never stopped...last time? Why I encouraged you? Why, I practically forced myself on you?"
He shook his head like a guilty man. He'd known what he was doing that night. Deep inside, he knew he had wanted it as much as she did, but he couldn't give voice to it, needed for her to be the first to say it, to make it real for him.
Admit it! You found the idea of impregnating her to be erotic beyond your wildest imagination. The very thought of it had sent waves of desire coursing through your veins.
He tried to ignore his inner voice, and instead listened carefully to her as she spoke, determined not to allow himself the optimism of believing that she truly meant what she said.
"When we first met, here in New York, I thought...I was certain that, in spite of all you said, that in the end, you would not want me any more. But as we began seeing more of each other, getting to know each other all over again, things changed. Like buds bursting into bloom, old feelings that had lain dormant were resurrected. And then came that night, and while we were making love, I knew there was the possibility that I could give you a child. Later, when I realized that this had not happened, I was disappointed. So you see, this isn't a sudden decision on my part, Erik. It is something I've been giving thought to for a long time now."
"It's sudden for me." He pursed his lips in consternation, and ran a hand through his hair. His ardor cooled as he contemplated this new twist in their relationship. Her words struck a chord in his heart and made him feel special. That she would want to have his child was beyond the acceptance he'd always sought, beyond anything he'd ever felt before, but no matter how alluring the idea was, he still wasn't sure. He sat down hard on the bed and held his head in his hands.
Admit it— you're afraid of fatherhood.
He looked at her plaintively. "We don't have to decide tonight on such matters," he said.
"You and I deserve have every happiness any other couple enjoys, including a family of our own. What must I do to convince you of this?"
"A family of little—what did you say? Freaks of nature? Christine, has it ever occurred to you that they might look like me?"
"I would love any child of yours, no matter how he looked. You're always talking about how well provided for I'd be. Our children would never suffer. People will respect the children of Erik Duquesne and Christine Daaé."
"Not everyone shares your generous spirit, nor your appreciation of the grotesque. Children who look like me will hardly be admitted to polite society."
"Piffle!" she said forcefully, shaking her golden tresses for emphasis. "Polite society be hanged." She tucked her feet under her.
He laughed in spite of the black cloud hanging over his head. "Such language!"
She knelt behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Very well, I'll wait…for now. But promise me you will consider it. Do not dismiss the idea out of hand."
She kissed the side of his neck as she reached for the leather case and handed it over to him, a single tear tracing down her cheek the only sign that Erik's insistence on no children distressed her. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes tight as she threw her arms wide open. "Go ahead," she warbled, as if her heart were breaking. "Have your fun." She draped her arm across her forehead dramatically.
He was tempted to do exactly that, out of spite. And then, something inside of him relented. "I will consider children," he promised.
She perked up, but immediately grew suspicious. "Our children? Children that the two of us make? Together?"
"Of course, but you are young. We have plenty of time ahead of us. Let's enjoy this night."
She smiled brightly, and his heart melted. He'd forgive her anything, do anything for her, fight a thousand madmen, if she'd only smile like that. He might even father a child some day.
But not tonight. He sheathed himself and prepared to make love to her all night long. "Come to me, my angel of music," he whispered.
-0-0-0-
He reached out for her face, and she leaned her cheek into his hand, closing her eyes and rubbing the corner of her mouth against his palm. Her arms stole 'round his neck, and she touched her cheek against his damaged face, nestling within his arms and snuggling her body tight against his. It was such a small gesture, but it meant so much to him.
"Our first dinner party went well, didn't it?" she asked, moving so that she could rest her head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart, her fingers drawing circles on his chest. "Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves."
Her caresses encouraged him to continue his ministrations. "You were a vision of loveliness," he said, pulling her face to his and kissing her long and deeply. From her mouth he made his way to her neck, and then to her shoulder.
"Cook prepared quite a feast." She wrapped her arms around his waist, their bodies responding to each other.
"You sang carols by the fire." He worked his way to her bosom. "I didn't expect that. You made this house into a home."
"You played beautifully tonight—oh!" she gasped as he licked a languid circle around an areola.
"I always play well." He blew his hot breath across her nipple. "You were in top voice. That G above high G rattled the crystal. It was fantastic." He touched the center of her being as he concentrated on her breasts. She moaned in his ear, and he let out a growl, redoubling his efforts.
She pushed him onto his back and kissed him the way he had kissed her. She worked her hand below his waist and cupped him as she kissed him harder and deeper. Abruptly, she broke off the kiss and lowered her head to his midsection and fondled his testicles gently, murmuring, "This little pouch of life."
She kissed the length of him, taking him in her mouth, teasing him with her tongue, and driving him out of his mind with the edge of her teeth. She stroked him with her soft fingers as she worked him with her mouth, knowing he was barely able to restrain himself. It had been months since they'd made love. Since that night, Erik had been the model of decorum, a gentleman to the last, never daring more than a chaste kiss when he bade her good night. He had displayed more control than he ever imagined possible. Now, he was straining at her touch, eager for more when she blew a gentle breath across the most sensitive part of his body.
He'd never felt anything like it, not even when he had been with the perfumed odalisques of Persia. He was hot all over, burning with desire, ready to explode. He thrust involuntarily against her, fully aware of the way a loose tendril of her hair felt as it brushed rhythmically against his bare skin when her head bobbed as she worked her wonders. Watching her giving him pleasure nearly sent him over the edge.
And then, he could not speak any more as he felt himself slipping away, thinking of only one thing: Being inside her. Being united with her. Coming. Bringing her to ecstasy.
She raised her head and shook her blonde curls coyly. "See what you've been missing?" she whispered.
"I want you," he was finally able to rasp out. "I want to take you now and make you sing."
"Do it," she said lasciviously.
She made irresistible, titillating sounds as he reversed their positions and plunged into her. He thrust into her wantonly, oblivious to everything but the final threshold. He was barely aware of her clutching his shoulders until he felt her nails dig into his skin. He watched wonderingly as she threw her head aback and cried out his name.
That he had this power over her compelled him to drive on and on as her climax intensified. She seemed to come again and again, and he rode out each wave until it began to wane. This was a pleasure more intense than any he'd experienced before. She was so hot, so tight, that the sensation was pure ecstasy.
There are no barriers between us, he thought, as he let himself go at last. Red lights danced behind his eyes as he came and came, and he thought he heard the angels sing – but it was Christine, singing him a love song.
He rolled onto his side, taking her with him. His detumescent organ began to pulsate, already seeking her warmth again. He smiled contentedly, and gazed into her eyes. She was completely relaxed. Completely at peace. Completely his. He covered her with the blankets and settled down, content, and gazed at her lovingly.
With her fingers, she traced the outlines of the scars on his body.
"Why do they fascinate you so?" he asked, enjoying her tender touch.
"Because they are part of you." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek – softly, tenderly.
The logs in the fireplace glowed warmly as the two of them rested comfortably in each other's arms. Outside, church bells were calling worshipers to midnight services, and down the street could be heard the voices of carolers.
"Erik? How long do we have to wait to get married?"
"I leave that entirely up to you, my love," he said. "I don't want you to feel rushed or pressured. Just let me know when you're ready."
She chuckled wickedly. "I'm ready now…"
Erik laughed. "I meant, when you are ready to marry."
"Then what about tomorrow?"
"What?" Erik sputtered, her suggestion taking him completely by surprise. "Why…tomorrow is Christmas Day. We need to get a license, and a justice of the peace, or priest, or whoever it is that will perform the ceremony…"
Suddenly, her eyes grew wide. She squirmed uncomfortably, and then reached down under the covers.
Her unexpected actions worried Erik. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"There's moisture," she said, sounding surprised. She brought up the spent prophylactic. "Erik," she said, her voice tremulous and fearful. "It must have broken while we were making love." Sure enough, there had been no barriers between them – physical or metaphorical.
"I suppose that settles it," Erik declared unhesitatingly.
"Are you disappointed?" Christine asked.
-0-0-0-