A/N: a consistent tone? description that isn't over-the-top? reasonable chapter length? i don't know her.
thanks for reading!
WARNING: SMUT
Time was a fickle but merciful thing as it melted the distance between Christine and Erik. For both their sakes, they first fell back into the routine of lessons they had before it all, before the fragile edge they had been clinging to fell from under them and they had been forced to build something new in the ruins. The rot of autumn was beginning to fade into the iciness of winter, but tender warmth was beginning to blossom despite it. Despite it all, the cold, the hurt, the uncertainty, something soft and gentle flowered its way into the sunshine, different in colour but same in essence to another rose that had been crushed so violently.
"You are almost there, my dear. Perhaps we should leave it be for the night." He suggested timidly from the piano, his usual command softened by his heart that wished only to make her smile again.
My God, you are pathetic.
"I want it to be perfect, Erik. Let me try one more time." She insisted with determination, eyebrows scrunched as she studied the music. Thankfully for his heart, she smiled wonderfully at him, and unfortunately for his heart, she let her hand drop onto his shoulder, curls falling to tickle his neck as she leant to kiss his twisted cheek.
Christine loved fiercely, Erik soon realised, and with complete abandon. She had given her heart to him, and with the spirit he so adored she kissed him, caressed him, embraced him, as if they had been lovers since creation, since Eden. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying. He dared not tell her how he craved her touch though he jumped at any freely given, that the space he kept between them was because he was a coward.
Frightened by her love, what is wrong with you? What are you so afraid of?
Oh, but she knew, she knew. Christine knew he was afraid of the unknown entity that was love, sincere and true, the foreignness of it. It was a stranger to him, and he flinched at its open, forgiving arms. Erik was painfully aware at the way she hid her wounded gaze, but, because she was a saint on earth, she didn't give voice to the way he darted to the kitchen to fetch tea the moment she slid onto the piano bench, or how he seated across from her in his armchair as they talked of nothing and everything until Christine had to sleep. Her company was enough for now, having her here was almost too much to bear, to remember at times with an intensity that overwhelmed Erik. However, every night, when she would get up and yawn, stretching and murmuring about retiring to bed, she would wander effortlessly over to him, bend down and wrap her arms about his neck. Sleepily, sweetly, she kissed him, her lips so gentle and chaste that it nearly made Erik cry the first fateful night that she did it. One more kiss to his forehead, a whisper of 'goodnight' with doe eyes, and then she would drift down the hallway to her bedroom.
Time was a fickle but gentle thing as it dissolved the space between Christine and Erik. Odd little stories slipped into late night silences…
"It is true! So, I went to the kitchen and got a pair of scissors and cut all my hair off. Short, like a boy."
"In heaven's name, why?"
"The governess had told me that young ladies did not act that way at the dining table, so I thought I best be a boy then and eat all I wanted."
"My God Christine, you are a bizarre girl."
Riddles crept over the rims of mulled wine…
"Try this one then. 'Only one colour but not one size. Stuck at the bottom yet easily flies. Present in the sun but not in the rain, doing no harm and feeling no pain.'"
"I am certain I can solve this one! 'Only one colour but not one size'…a cloud?"
"Clouds can be grey or white or very dark, can they not? Besides, clouds are most definitely present in the rain."
"Alright then, what about…just, well…"
"Do you give up, my dear?"
"Only because this wine has gone to my head, which I suspect you know when giving me these damn riddles."
"Language, Christine."
"How is the answer 'language'?"
"No, you dear girl… the answer is a shadow."
"Oh. Oh. How wonderful riddles are! Tell me another one, I am certain I will get it this time."
And touches danced over skin, hesitant at first, a whisper of the mad hunger that ached in their veins that first night they found each other. A delicate brush over her hand, a caress of a curl, a butterfly-light kiss on her temple. Christine didn't dare bring attention to the way he was returning to her, the tenderness in all brief moments he gave. It became less rare. It slowly, oh, ever so slowly, became gentle and warm and familiar, the kiss they would share in her mirror, the hand which ghosted around her waist as he read over her music, the stoke of his fingers on the crest of her head as he passed by the loveseat to absently search the bookshelf. She became emboldened, squeezing his hand in both of hers, kissing his knuckles, holding him tightly and urgently to her every time before she left his home.
He did not know that she feared he would slip away too.
Erik grew to understand the caresses, expect them, revel in it. They dampened his rage and sorrow until misery lay deep and sedated in his stomach, pricking often but unwilling to completely swell and drown him. And so, one night, as she kissed him goodnight, he kissed her back. Thoroughly, powerfully, strong hands encasing her face as he poured himself into her, letting his heart open and unfurl to touch her own. They knelt together on the floor a long time after, between more desperate kisses and grazes of fingertips over eyelids, cupid's bows, cheekbones and throats. She smiled and wept silently. His glorious golden eyes softened and he recorded every detail of her face with his lips.
Time was a fickle but loving thing as it wove Christine and Erik together.
….
"Are you sure that is the move you wish to make?"
"My dear, I am afraid your attempts to make me question my strategy are failing."
"I am simply giving you an honest chance to retract a bad play, that is all."
It was hard not to smirk at her feigned nonchalance as she sipped at her tea, studying the board through her sooty lashes. Erik was in his armchair, barely conscious of the game as he thought ahead to the moment where he would win, and she would grumble and fuss and then invariably wander over to perch herself upon his lap, nuzzle her nose up against his neck and grumble some more, until, at least, he had peppered her pretty pouting face with kisses and crooned about how he simply had luck on his side. Curling up her legs, she'd talk some nonsense between yawns and then finally drift off, leaving him with a precious, wonderful hour or two of just holding her, of just feeling her warmth, of feeling her peaceful breaths on his skin before he carried her to bed. He'd quietly busy himself pointlessly in her room for just a little while longer, frowning at her hairbrush, should he get her a new one? Her perfume bottles were running low, perhaps he would try to find even sweeter ones, but then, surely nothing could be as intoxicating as the pure scent of Christine. He would spend the remainder of the night by his organ, creating music that was marked with beauty without violence, because this was a brief spell of painlessness that had to be milked, sapped, enjoyed for all it was worth.
Winter was cold and sharp, and Christine indeed carried the heavy blanket with her like a cloak before settling onto Erik with a mumble of annoyance. Erik had to sigh at the welcome weight of her, his arms wrapping all around her over the blanket, pressing her tight against him. He did not feel the cold, but for her sake he wore a thick robe over his poet's shirt. She wiggled happily in the bundle of warmth, tucking her head underneath his chin. Erik's core was stirred with every movement she made across his lap, but it seemed unimportant when compared to the contented little hums she made, eyes closed and smile rosy. An easy silence fell into the room, only disturbed by the crackle of the fireplace, and Erik was certain she had fallen asleep until her soft voice vibrated against his adam's apple.
"Erik?"
"Yes, my songbird?"
"You never told me why you left Persia."
Erik's body stiffened beneath her, and Christine wished to take the words back immediately. She had no idea why such a thought had drifted into her sleepy head, but in the gentle comfortableness she hadn't let her better judgement speak. Silence became like a needlepoint. Christine gnawed at her lip. She wanted to dart a look to his eyes, but she didn't dare move. And then-
"Perhaps I should just show you." Came the rumbling answer, distant, as if he was almost speaking to himself.
Show me?
Christine's mind ran in all different directions as he began to stir beneath her, shifting to shrug the robe down his shoulders. She pulled back to look at him finally. His face was expressionless, his eyes low and avoiding hers.
"Erik?"
His hand found hers even as the other began to unbutton his shirt until it hung loose around his clavicle. Christine's eyes widened as slowly, shakily, he guided her palm underneath the white, soft fabric to the pale skin underneath. Her fingers brushed along his chest, down to the left cage of his ribs. Something, a line, glassy and raised, slithered like a riverbed down his side to thicken at his stomach. Christine swallowed hard, trying not to tremble as she traced the scar again and again, feeling his heartbeat thrum frantically through his whole torso. She met his eyes and found them locked away as he watched her, studying her reaction guardedly.
"Who, who did this to you?" Shock and sadness trickled from each word. Erik dropped his gaze with the sting of regret. Why had he forced her to see more of his ugliness? He seemed to search for the will to answer her, to not become lost in memory and rage. Her palm pressed softly over his heart, her sapphire stare glistening, and he swallowed hard, biting the inside of his mouth.
"The Shah."
Christine choked out a small sob, closing her eyes even as her lovely, bright face crumpled, even as her hand still rhythmically stroked the scar, the grotesque scar that was one of so many, one of so many distortions and marks and oh, how could she bear to look upon him?
She loves you, she loves you, she loves you, she has said she loves you, she has shown she loves you….
He shut his eyes, breathing heavily, barely aware that her fingers had left the scar, that they were now tentatively mapping the rest of his broad, lean chest, that her eyes had opened, adoring though still mournful, yet they were laced with something wanting…
"Are you tired?" He rasped out abruptly, head tangled with past pain and present shame and were those her hands? They were so warm, so soft, running over his bare skin, did she know what she was doing? She had buried her burning face in the crook of his neck, her hair tickling his throat as her nimble fingers undid another button, and then another. She did not answer.
"Christine…" He groaned lowly, a heat coiling tight and fast in his core as her fingers dragged down, down towards his stomach, sparking lightning under her touch. Still grasping the semblance of some reality, he turned his head to her, nose in her curls to question, to warn her.
Dear little songbird, you do not know what you are doing to me, you do not know what…
That was, until, her hand ghosted over the waist of his trousers just as her mouth pressed hotly against his racing pulse.
Erik's body was electrified even as his stunned mind melt into haziness, dark and dripping. Heat was beginning to cocoon them where they sat, Christine sprawled about his lap, his tall, commanding body reduced to shivers and twitches as she licked and kissed and sucked at the flesh on his throat, her hands dancing over every inch of skin they could explore. Erik felt he was burning up on the inside, groin tightening in abandon, every nerve-ending in his being becoming as taut as the stings pulled tight upon a violin, ready to snap.
And when she shifted awkwardly on him, falling to straddle his legs, he did.
A growl so animalistic it drew Christine back vibrated from deep within Erik's chest as he suddenly seized her, crashing his mouth to hers in an all-consuming, violent kiss. Their teeth clicked together from the force of it, and he bit her supple lips as Christine gasped for breath, plunging into the depths of her mouth, exploring her tongue with his and dragging her along his aching hardness beneath. Her nightgown was bunched up, exposing the stockings on her calves and the delicious curve of her hips. Erik's hands thought before his mind did, reaching to engulf her waist, grasping soft flesh through the fabric. So beautiful, she was so beautiful and he was kissing her and dear God, he wanted her. The angel was in his arms, he had to have her, he had to have her otherwise he was sure he would die, oh, was it so wrong to want her, to want her like this? Christine cried out as his grip tightened, and rationality rushed like cold water in the front of Erik's head. He froze, startled eyes snapping to hers.
Both of their panting filled the silent room. Christine's gaze was heavy-lidded but starry, her lips bitten red and her cheeks flushed like rouge on a porcelain doll. Erik's chest lay bare, shirt undone completely and tossed open. Each of her strong thighs were wrapped around Erik's hips, between which he throbbed desperately for her. He swallowed convulsively as Christine's nightgown slipped haphazardly around her shoulder, revealing her slim collarbone. She pulled it back up with trembling fingers. The moment ended. Erik's stomach lurched in realisation and panic.
"Oh, my dear, I, I'm sorry, I have-" He started to try to get up, needing to flee, needing to bury the blinding mortification rising up like bile in his throat. He was shrugging back on the robe, bending past her to snatch up the puddled blanket, wrapping it around her hurriedly, muttering about catching a cold even though his voice shook, beginning to ease her off him. Christine in distress attempted to hold onto his shirt with tight fists, unable to find her voice with cloudy passion still surging through her spine, but he was halfway across the room before she could move.
"Erik!" She finally called, alone in his armchair, still feeling the imprint of where his body had been. He stilled, not turning to face her.
"You should sleep now, Christine." His tone was sharp and abrupt, commanding yet tinged with a frustration he was trying hopelessly to hide.
"Please, Erik." She tried to entice him back with her voice, a dulcet and pleading call. His back stirred.
"Christine, I-" He scrunched his eyes tight.
How could you think she wanted you in that way?
"Please."
He turned finally, watching her with golden eyes so fierce Christine felt her skin flush with goosebumps , though a screeching modesty brought apprehension thrumming through her head. But oh, how he was looking at her! In that fiery gaze he stole her shame, sending a tingling urge to pool in that secret deepness between her legs. Surely this was a sin, to need him, to desire him so wantonly? But this was what she wanted, she could feel it in her scorching veins, in the purring swell stirring through her entire body that he had brought to life. God would forgive her, she reasoned, giving all that He had inflicted upon her Erik. She tried to speak, but the words were stuck in her mouth.
"I-I, can only apologise Christine. Please, please forgive me." Erik knew he was begging but he realised he did not care, he did not care if it meant he could still keep her to love despite the disgusting longing he had forced upon her. He felt sick watching her eyebrows knit in pity and confusion. And then…her mouth parted in understanding.
Oh my poor, unhappy Erik.
Slowly, as if in a dream, she walked to him, wrapping her hands around his face. He refused to look at her. Christine knew words were useless, and besides, they were entirely unnecessary anyway. Fluttering her eyes closed, sweetly pressing her body to him, she brought her mouth to his.
She caressed his lips, the familiarity of them, their distorted but wonderful shape, their tenderness. Slowly, oh so very slowly, she rebuilt the passion within him by pouring out hers, unabashed and honest. Erik's lips began to stir to life, moving tentatively, but then, urged on by her teeth nipping for entrance, his mouth was chasing hers. His tongue caressed as he deepened the kiss, causing a hum of delight to vibrate from Christine as he licked the backs of her teeth. His hands snaked into her curls, holding tight before pulling away with an unspoken question.
"I want you, Erik." She sighed breathily. Her eyes were unlike he had ever seen them, darkened by her blooming pupils and glazed with desire. Feeling his hesitation, she let her hands trace down to hold against his chest before leaning in and resting her cheek over his heart. It was racing wildly, as she was certain his mind was, and she wanted to dispel it all, to tease out the passion from his fear. The hands in her hair began to stroke from the crown her head, and they stayed like that for a moment longer, letting the air settle into something less anguished.
Then, his hands began to trace her throat, softly, so very lightly that perhaps she was just imagining it, but no, there were his sinewy, elegant, strong hands on her shoulders, skimming down her sides, feeling the contour of her body underneath the nightgown. She raised her chin to find his aurelian stare on hers, softly frowning, but they were not guarded, nor shameful. They were…timid, yet with a spark behind them. Christine cherished that spark, and her eyes were fluttering and she was tilting her face to him, and those lips, those lips…
Erik was beginning to feel the war within him subsiding, a clear winner marking its victory as pinpricks of pleasure warmed his skin. She tasted like sunshine, but now there was something heady to the kiss; sweet and musky, rich and lavish and delicious, lust swirled around the space of air around them. Carefully, he bit on her bottom lip, eliciting a whimpering moan and a dewy, clouded gaze. The knot was beginning to twist in his core, and as she gripped him, falling into his arms, he bit her pink lip again, harder this time, and began to lose himself to her taste, her scent, the way she held him so close. A breathless gasp. He broke away for just a moment, emboldened, to mouth along her jaw, laying wet, open kisses along the creamy flesh of her throat, causing a shiver to wrack Christine's delicate body.
"Erik…" She whimpered, fingers clawing at his robe, and oh, his angel, the way she spoke his name was as reverent as a prayer. He kissed it off her tongue, kissed her until he felt the room fall away around them, until he seared into his memory, his very being, the honeyed flavour of her mouth and the shivers in her limbs. She was touching his chest again, her fingertips on his naked skin, and as they pulled away for breath she dipped to press her mouth against his clavicle. He groaned and felt his eyes close as she kissed across the plains of his chest, her lips trailing down to caress the length of his scar. He frowned deeply as he felt the sorrow in it, and he engulfed her face in his hands to pull her eyes to his. Those sapphire pools held so much adoration, desire and pain.
"Do not let such things bother you, my dear." He whispered sternly, but knew that from her sweet, saddened face that she always felt too much. She carried his pain as hers, and it was impossible to demand otherwise. She nodded silently despite it, sighing softly as he lay a worshipping kiss on her forehead, then her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids, her ear. In that last touch, he felt her body stir back to him, a hitched breath. He kissed it again, lingering this time along the shell of her ear, and she fell into him again, moaning, fingernails pressing crescents into his bare skin. He watched in rapt fascination as her brows knitted and her eyes closed with a shudder as he brazenly grazed her earlobe with his teeth.
Oh, my darling, the things I could do to you…
They were lost to the tide then. Every push and pull drew a new wash of desire down their spines, the threshold crumbling and finally falling away in a burst. Christine was frantically pushing off his robe, feeling his warming skin pressed against her as her fingers stroked through his sparse hair, meeting him kiss for kiss, touch for touch. Erik's senses were overflowing as gripped her body through the nightgown, the roundness of her hips, the sculpture of her breasts, and every desperate, coarse touch was leaving Christine trembling and whimpering, and she let him, and she wanted him to, and through the haze Erik's mind rang clear with bed, bed, bed…
In a rush of pure instinct, Erik swept Christine into his arms, carrying her like a bride down the hall to her bedroom. She barely seemed to notice as she kissed his throat with a slackened mouth, and she was so dazed with it all, her little hands pawing absently at his shoulders, stripping his poet's shirt. He lay her on the plush bed, crawling onto her so they were not severed for a moment. The low glimmer of the fire from beyond the open door bathed Christine in a soft, warm glow. She smiled brightly at him, her cheeks flushed and her hair astray and her nightgown crumpled, and he thought for the strangest moment that he might cry. Instead, he covered her with his body slowly, and felt a flare of tenderness as she encircled her arms around his neck.
Christine sighed as Erik's lean, hard body pressed hers to the bed, entombing her in his commanding frame. The ache deep within was beating with the pulse of her heart, and she suddenly wanted to feel him everywhere, to feel herself melt into his darkness, his light. She wanted to get lost against his skin and get tangled up in his soul so tightly, so completely that it almost hurt. His soft breath fanned her face as he leant over her, golden eyes studying hers. Then, so very carefully, he kissed her with an edge of thick poison, of a veiled promise that made Christine's blood hum.
Erik continued like that, slow and engulfing, sending little sparks shooting down Christine's spine to melt into a pool below her naval. Oh, he had never kissed her like this before, like he was trying to consume her, to breathe her into his very lungs. His clever hands returned, dancing across her throat, along the length of her body, slowly but purposefully as he reacquainted himself with her body, the silhouette he had so adored and spent wakeful hours sketching in dreamlike fantasies. They were pale, pallid in comparison, because nothing could possibly feel as divine as her curls splayed around them like a sea or the way her hip felt in his grip as he absently pulled her closer, closer, ever closer. Christine could feel his desire pulsing against her thigh, hard and thick, as they began to move against each other, chasing friction, a hot frenzy fluttering up from within her.
Fingers began to unbutton her nightgown at the collar and Erik's lips followed, pressing into every inch of revealed flesh, nipping gently, leaving Christine gasping as the sensation of his mouth filled every corner of her delirious mind. Erik's growl rumbled low and deep… she was so sweet and soft, all flawless, blushing skin. He paused for a moment as he reached her last button, his mouth tasting her collarbone, trying to find permission in her drunk eyes.
"Christine." He could only groan, his dulcet voice rough with want. She writhed helplessly, pleading, and Erik could barely believe it.
Have I really done this to my chaste, innocent darling? Oh, Christine, Christine…
Something in his chest growled in intoxicating disbelief as her words enveloped him.
"Yes, yes, yes…"
All rational thought was shattered as he pulled the dangling nightgown and chemise over her head and dropped it limply to the floor. Her curls tumbled over her bare shoulders, her chest heaving with each desperate breath. Erik's mouth went dry, his stunned mind overcome. She was sculpted by jealous angels who longed for the touch of a woman. He drew a ragged line with his eyes from the slopes of her slim waist, up to the imprint of her navel, the small cocoon of her ribcage, the soft curvature of her luscious, rounded breasts with their puckering, rose-pink nipples, her beautiful collarbone, her swan neck. Her strong, shapely legs were covered by her drawers, her stockinged thighs, the centre of her heat, that untouched core of passion beneath still more fabric.
"Christine…" Erik whispered, unable to move or even pay attention to the ache surging through his abdomen. She watched the ravaged side of his face smooth into an expression she had never seen before, one of pure awe and heated desire. His aurelian eyes darkened, and Christine felt her limbs quiver. His touch landed upon her like a butterfly upon a flower, so soft, barely there as his fingertips skimmed her shoulder.
Christine felt a rush of self-consciousness as the room became hushed. Her guilt resurfaced. This was more than just thoughts and kisses, this was real. She was half-naked with a man, and she wanted the man. She squirmed under the burn of his stare, bringing her arms up to make some attempt of covering herself, flustered and red. His hands came around her wrists, and slowly, gently, but with a strength that she had forgotten he possessed, he pinned her arms effortlessly above her head. He was watching her face, scrutinising every feature for any flicker of fear.
If he sees I am afraid, he will stop, and he will never allow this again. I am afraid, but not of him, dear God, I am afraid of myself…
"I am sorry this is not a marriage bed." Erik whispered sincerely, as if reading her mind, his lips sharing the same air as hers. Christine couldn't meet his gaze, eyebrows furrowed and focusing intently on a spot by his scarred side.
"I believe we are already bound together, and God can see it. I-I know He can." She gasped in earnest, mind skittering.
"Then, what are you afraid of?" His voice became even softer, a caress in itself. He still held her firmly, and Christine felt an odd thrill in her belly despite the stuck thoughts unable to form words. She shut her eyes tightly, feeling horribly exposed in a way that was more than skin, but rather, soul-deep.
"I should not…desire such things, and I do not know what I am desiring anyway." She confessed is a whisper, opening her eyes although they darted to avoid his. She had heard the ballet rats' gossip and the sermons, had heard of the pleasure and completion alongside the stony speeches of surrendering one's body to a husband, but despite both she could not even picture those things, she could not even imagine what sensations and acts they spoke of other than the burning, aching hunger now inside her. In the silence Christine could feel Erik contemplating, a frown gracing his lips even as both their chests rose and fell in unison, chasing deep, desperate breaths.
"I do not know either."
Christine's eyes widened as they landed on his.
"You have never…?"
He smirked, genuinely amused, though a fire still lay beyond his gaze as he dipped to bite teasingly at her ear, making Christine's lip tremble as she moaned brokenly. How could such a kiss feel this way, so light, a tickle that caused a wetness to pool between her legs, an itch she could not scratch no matter how she twisted and writhed?
"You are very kind, my dear, but no. Shall we uncover such secrets together?" His voice held such an edge of temptation that Christine almost felt it on her skin, and yes, because she knew her body was safe here, in his arms, under his eyes and touch because he had treasured her heart and breathed life into her soul, and yes, because all she could think of was how to make his imposing body crumble as he made hers, to discover these hidden things with him, and yes, yes…
"Yes, Erik."
And with a flash of something almost predatory in his otherworldly eyes, he shifted down her bare chest to engulf her nipple in his hot mouth.
Christine cried out in shock, stunned by the power of the wave that crashed down her spine. His lips were sucking and kissing indulgently, his tongue swirling lazily around the budding pink peak as his deft fingers pinched and kneaded her other breast until it puckered. Her hands flew to his head, lacing through his scarce hair to dig into his scalp, clasping him in place as he lavished her with his mouth. He hummed deliciously around her, finally releasing her nipple to press wet kisses up to her throat, nuzzling in the bed of curls at the juncture where her neck met shoulder. He kissed her there, sucking, drawing purple rosettes which looked so beautiful on her ivory skin, licking up the moans vibrating under his lips. Those marks soothed a rawness in his heart, his teeth biting and drawing sounds out of her that were feverish and wanting.
Mine, mine, only mine…
Christine was bucking helplessly beneath him and he couldn't help grinding against her, their naked torsos sliding against each other, her chest so pliable and yielding under his hard one. Roughly, he groped along the supple body beneath him, gripping soft flesh and delectable hips. Electricity pulsed in his chest, in his stomach, in his cock which was beginning to throb almost painfully. He was on such an edge, such blinding bliss…but no, he seized his control with a steadying breath. She mewled weepily when he stilled, though in that second she raised a shaky hand to trace the bite at her neck and visibly shuddered. Christine blinked up at him with a deliriousness that stabbed hard in Erik's gut, bitten lips slightly parted and looking positively ruined.
And he was upon her then, careful to beat down his own release as he focused on tasting the curves of her breasts, his tongue dipping into her navel, teeth dragging. His hands dipped to climb up the length of her drawers, seeking out her heat, that thick heat pounding so heavily between her legs that Christine did not know what will happen when he touches her there, but she finds she doesn't care as long as he does. Those calloused, strong, graceful musician's fingers eased apart the slit in her drawers. A bated breath. He touched the delicate, wet skin beneath and Christine was suddenly lost to dark, velvet flames.
Erik's golden eyes remained transfixed as he watched Christine cry out half-choked, her mouth agape, her brow scrunched and eyes shut tightly as he swirled his fingers over her silky flesh. The heel of his palm was pressed flush against the plump mound of her sex, covered in damp, soft curls. His mind was beginning to slip into a state he only thought possible before a kill; based on instinct yet so precise, blood on his tongue and purpose in his movements, that perfect knife's edge of control and carnality. He felt her for a long moment, mapped the secret place that was so wet and wanting for him, for him, tracing her folds. Christine gasped and moaned beneath him, until she lost her breath and shivered in spasms when the pads of his fingers pressed against her tight bundle of nerves.
Erik had some idea of the female anatomy, knowledge he had gained by various detailed books along with accidental wanderings into secluded corners of the Shah's palace and the Opera alike. He really hadn't thought too much of it, having studied it as anything else, as something to know though it would never be useful to him. That was, until of course, Christine. His songbird who grew into a woman, a woman who awoke that vivid, violent, suffocating hunger within him, long dormant but very much alive, barely sated by the lonely nights he had roughly spilled himself into his fist. It wanted her, simmering just below the tenderness in his heart, a dark, intoxicating force in his gut… it wanted to devour her. In the moment he had brushed over the epicentre of her pleasure, she had thrust her hips blindly, eyes snapping open to meet his. She seemed almost stunned that such a sensation could exist, something so sublime and tempting, and he circled that inflamed bud again, and again, and in a moment she was unravelling under his hands. But oh, there was still so much more…
Christine felt his touch shift, his thumb still stroking that sensitive place even as his other hand was pulling apart her drawers even further. She stiffened with a hitched breath as a long finger began to press against a deep and aching entrance to herself. Feeling her tense, Erik's lips trailed up to caress her nipple again, tonguing the swollen nub. Christine sighed brokenly, melting beneath him as her hands dug into his shoulders. He smirked, though it was soon chased away with a sincere frown as he pulled away to press worshipping, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. Head in a dizzying spiral of sensation and heat, Christine felt his finger slowly, slowly slip into her and relished the hard pangs of pleasure, parting her lips to both kiss and moan for him.
He moved his finger steadily, feeling every ridge within her hot core. His cock was straining at the tightness of her, his hips shifting incessantly as he became crazed by the thought of how she might feel, wrapped around him, searing and wet…
She was played as easily as his instruments, those clever fingers pulling noises and cries from her throat that Christine had never heard before. But she couldn't hear herself anyway, it felt like she was underwater, and oh, something curled inside her, stroking against her walls so deeply and-
"Erik!"
Christine had a vague awareness that a great tension was building inside her, a knot tightening with every slide of his hands against her, inside her, and with nonsense spilling from her lips Erik growled and tore off her drawers with his free hand in one swift movement, before heaving up her thighs and pressing his mouth and tongue into her sex.
"O herrejävlar!"
"Language." Erik tutted lowly with a wolfish grin, licking into her folds and lapping up her wetness. Christine thought she was going to explode, the sensation wracking her body so powerful that everything but the thrumming between her legs seemed to fall away. Every time his eyes met hers they were fiery enough to scorch skin, and oh, Christine felt she was on fire, being consumed from the inside out. A strange cold sweat broke over her flushed skin, and she could only moan hoarsely as Erik kissed and sucked at her throbbing bud of nerves, sliding his fingers inside her and beginning to find a slow and loose rhythm. Christine shivered deliriously, eyes scrunching close as she melted into pure, blinding pleasure. The rhythm gradually became faster, building into a shattering crescendo, and she really didn't notice that she was gasping please, please, please. The knot in her core was twisting, and she wasn't quite sure…she knew of the process, but this felt huge, it felt like she would drown.
"Erik, I'm, ah, I'm-" She tried, the words dissolving into a whimper. Her fingers were shaking as they clawed into Erik's face, pulling urgently. Amber eyes raked over her, cooing softly but not slowing his pace.
"Let go, my dove, let go…"
"Erik, Erik, oh God…" She was both soothed and inflamed by his soft groans. The tension in her body grew, ready to break apart in a single moment. With hazy eyes, she watched Erik press his mouth flush against her again, his tongue and teeth and lips creating a cacophony of bliss in her veins. Louder, louder, she was panting, moaning on every breath. Erik circled his tongue around the swollen, pink nub as he sucked in time with his caressing hand, growling deeply, the vibrations going straight up her limbs. With a last burst she cried out, white-light sparking from behind her eyes, and in a throb that made her spasm, reality crumbled around her.
It felt like some time before Christine drifted back into consciousness. Erik was stroking her inner thighs gently with his thumbs, mouthing wet kisses along her hipbone. Still feeling the twitches of aftershocks and violent shudders, mind completely blank and fuzzy, Christine reached down to stroke back Erik's messed hair, eliciting an almost purr.
"Oh, Christine, you are so beautiful."
It was scarcely above a whisper, spoken like a sigh, but Christine heard it all the same. Her heart was sore from all the love pounding through it, but she found she still hadn't remembered how to speak, so instead she simply pulled Erik up for a thoughtful kiss. He sighed gently and broke away to nuzzle into her temple, lips capturing stray tears. They didn't feel like tears to Christine, since a rhapsody of pure happiness was blooming in her chest. Erik smiled into his angel's curls, feeling the glow of her heavenly divinity beneath his skin. The room fell quiet amongst heaving breaths and flickering firelight.
"Do you, would you…?" Christine tried after a little while, shakily moving to try to sit up, hand awkwardly reaching for some equivalent part of him. Erik merely shushed her and stayed tangled upon her, pressing kisses onto her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids. She let him, feeling as if she was made of warm liquid, drifting in an easy current, a quiet moment in the eye of the storm that surrounded them. It could not last forever. Christine had felt him reach into a secret place within her, felt something she had not known existed sing in ecstasy, and she wanted more. She wanted him.
"Erik…" She tried again, and he was so subdued by her pleasure that he did not realise she was seeking out his manhood until her little palm was pressing heavily against him. He gasped and flinched as if he had been burnt. His eyes focused upon her, so wonderfully naked, hair wild and sapphire stare so bright. She could have been an ethereal nymph he had been blessed to share his bed with by some generous god. Her fingers began to trace the outline of his cock through the fabric of his trousers, and he could only let his eyes flutter close as his whole body howled in the need to surrender to her touch, to just let himself fall, fall, fall and never resurface. But he didn't want to, not until he had filled her, completed her, but couldn't help but lean into her, hips twitching, and with a sudden rush of boldness, Christine quickly unclasped the waist of his trousers and slipped her hand inside.
The storm thundering dimly between them struck lighting as she stroked hard, smooth flesh she could only explore with her hand. She wished to tear the pants from him until he was naked as she, to see this part of him with her eyes, but suddenly a vice-like grip constricted around her wrist. She stilled, eyes anxiously flickering to his face. He seemed almost to be in pain, and Christine was almost concerned that she hurt him in some way when he crushed his mouth onto hers. Everything moved so fast then, losing any glimpse of sanity along the way as Erik kicked off his trousers and settled between Christine's thighs. They fell open for him easily, inviting all he was. She could feel the length of him, thick and hard and hot against her belly, his hips sliding and grinding into hers, his arms encircling around her shoulders to hold her close, until no space was left between them, chest to chest, biting at the corner of her mouth.
"I need to have you, Christine…" He purred deliciously over her naked skin, strong hands flexing in her curls in need. He was so warm to the touch, he had always been so icy, Christine thought dizzily, but now every inch of him was pressing heat over body, and every part of them that was touching burned. Christine was mapping the lines of scars on his back, the rigidness of hard muscle that rippled under her fingertips.
"Christine." His beautiful voice was now commanding though it seemed to beg for an answer. Christine gave it in a rush of desperate breath, gaze adoring and glossy.
"Please, please, please, Erik…"
Suddenly the head of his manhood was pressed against her entrance, nudging into her folds. He flashed her a careful look, studying her face thoroughly though his golden eyes were so dark with hunger. He seemed to become conflicted for a moment, uncertainty skittering onto his features. A heartbeat.
"I do not want to ruin you." He confessed quietly, abruptly. He was still aching and hard for her, but as he began to frown, Christine dreaded to see loathing and fear beginning to overflow.
"You never could." She whispered, eyes wide, face flushed and still dazed. He blinked, suddenly stunned by her sincerity, and then closed his eyes after a few seconds, sighing away the dread. The anguish began to melt from his face, replaced with something considered, a thin veil of control over the seas of fiery passion. He pressed his forehead to hers, and then, he pressed into her.
It hurt, that was the first thing Christine could comprehend. It felt invasive, it felt as if that rigid, warm part of him was breaching something deep and untouched. It felt new and thrilling and white-hot, like dancing your fingertips over a fire for the first time and feeling alight with the scorching life of it. Tears beaded vaguely in the corner of her eyes, but she could only focus on Erik's breath on her lips as he eased himself into her. Slowly, slowly, time slipped away until he was fully buried within her, hips nestled in hers. There was a pause of wonder as they both felt the pure, blinding sensation of being connected, of being entangled together in such a way. Christine felt herself relax around him, that pulsing point of pleasure he had kissed and sucked tingling until it was desperate again, willing her to shift and writhe in the need of friction, the inside of her knees pressing into his sides.
Hot, everything feels so hot and heavy and I need him to move, dear God I need to move…
"Erik?" She called out as if in a dream, his name vibrating in the little space between them. His eyes were still closed.
He was shaking.
And then, his eyes opened. They were soft as honey, and as golden and dangerous as a lion poised to ravage a wounded gazelle. His lips brushed a restrained kiss to her brow, and then he rolled his hips up gently, sliding to the hilt inside of her, and then again, and again, setting a dull rhythm. Christine felt her body ache and throb, feeling the thickness of his manhood stretching her, moving in her, and the little twinge of ecstasy in her core was beginning to bloom, flower, unfurl its petals, and suddenly his curling, slow pace pulled a moan from between her lips. His hips jerked in response, a growl deep in his chest rolling up into his throat, and she felt a flood of bliss pour from that spot he had touched, crying out louder, fingers digging into his back and the nape of his neck. Her sobbing pleas drove him deeper, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, more pointed and hard, his groans slipping as his always proud face became overcome and abandoned to pleasure and lust, and-
He is so beautiful.
"Erik, Erik, Erik…" She sung his name like an aria, her creamy thighs wrapping tight around his waist so he could sink even further into her tight heat. Erik was becoming overfull with her, with the sounds he was stirring out of her pink mouth, with the tousled curls his fingers were buried in, with her breasts that were soft and flush against his chest, with this, this, this, oh, he had never dared to imagine, he had never thought this was how it could feel, and she was so wonderfully hot beneath him, around him, for him, she was begging for him, and he couldn't help but constrict his arms even tighter around her, holding her so that there could be no distance between them. Faster, faster, and every thrust began to unravel them both.
His lips were leaving bruising kisses on her face, her throat, her collarbone, as their rhythm became desperate, chasing the promise of release. His teeth grazed over the plane of her cheek, their wild caresses frantic. He groaned huskily, his tongue becoming loose with the sensation of skin on skin filling every inch of his mind. His angel was so silken, burning and bright. Suddenly, heavy-lidded eyes widened to find his as he twisted to reach an unknown part of her, and he could see the shimmer of a rhapsodic tear as her fingers wrapped around the nape of his neck to pull him down for another furious kiss. Their hips crashed into each other, their hearts stammering and their souls undulating like breathing infernos. She clawed at him, leaving scratch marks on his back, and how a beast in him purred at every sting of her nails in his flesh. She was feverishly pulling him closer, as if trying to mould herself into him.
Oh, my little Christine…
Christine felt herself reaching the precipice again, driven towards the cliff by his cock pulsing within her, driving into her until she her body became untethered from her mind, until it was bucking against him and chanting through every pore, through every frayed and searing nerve-end, yes, yes, yes, yes, and how could something so divine be a sin?
His pace became frantic, feeling the swell in his core rush up his spine so powerfully that it was impossible to contain, and in those precious moments, he relinquished any scrap, any illusion of control and let himself go. He gave her all he had in a few, hard thrusts, all-consuming bliss filling his veins, white light behind his eyes. His face was buried into the sweet crook of her neck as he released himself deep inside her heat, cock twitching. The light after the abyss, the glow of satisfaction, of completion rushing into his limbs in the seconds after…Erik finally understood why it was called the 'little death'.
But Christine was still writhing helplessly underneath him, whimpering and pleading in need, gaze lost and unseeing. Suddenly, his fingers were pressing and circling her bud of pleasure, swollen and sensitive, just above where they were still joined, and his head dipped to bring her nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping, and in less than a heartbeat, Christine was sent tumbling over the edge with him. The spasms he felt around his softening cock made him shiver.
….
It was some while before they spoke again. They stayed wrapped up in each other, Erik lazily stroking her waist, his lips humming at her pulse point. Christine still shuddered from the occasional delicious aftershock, and he swallowed every one with his body over hers. The firelight was beginning to die, and Christine felt the sweat on their skin cool, but he was still so strangely warm, entombing her. She began to smooth back the thin strands of his hair, tracing with an index finger the scars of his torso, reddened slightly by her own nails. She flushed in worry for a moment, tensing, but as if reading her thoughts, a smiling, delirious murmur rumbled into her ear.
"Who would have thought my little kitten had claws?" He teased darkly and sleepily, shifting so that he finally pulled out of her body. Christine frowned a little at the sensation, feeling suddenly empty and sore and wet. She flinched as she rubbed her legs together, and this time he tensed, a large, spindly hand settling just above her sex, between her hip bones.
"How do you feel?" His tone was curled up in concern, but Christine simply put her hand over his, squeezing.
"I-I am fine, I just wish you could just stay inside me always." She rushed breathily, then turned bright red in mortification. His drowsy, deep chuckle vibrated against her throat, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.
"You are a darling girl, Christine." She saw his smile as he moved himself off her, bending to retrieve his discarded shirt. After flashing a look of permission, he used the silken, soft material to clean the wetness between her legs before letting it drop to the ground once again. She was seeking out his chest and he bundled her into him, pulling the thick blankets over their naked bodies. She tucked her head under his chin, cheek over his heart, his arms wrapped tight around her and absently pressing kisses into her hair, singing quietly in scarcely more than a whisper. His melodic voice was like rose nectar, so sweet, so gentle, so subdued. Christine felt herself unable to think over the hum of exhausted contentment and bliss, but even then she realised she had soothed some blistering wound inside him, she had felt some jagged piece of him soften and become quiet. The thought gave wings to the butterflies in her heart, and she nuzzled further into him and smiled.
"When you ask me to be your wife, I will say yes." She told him. The singing stopped abruptly, his fingers frozen in her hair.
"Christine, I-" It sounded as if he was choking down a sudden sob, his grip tightening around her, but she simply kissed hard plain of his chest, eyes still closed in drowsiness.
"Yes, my love, but for now, we should sleep."
She felt him nod as he shifted down further into the bed, holding her so very close. The last thing she felt was a tear and a trembling kiss on her forehead as the dim firelight faded into darkness, and then she was plunged into dewy dreams.