Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my own wacky ideas. Gee, that
sounds so familiar.
Guardian Angel
Christmas Day.
Michelle jumped happily out of bed and got herself dressed in record time. Oh, but she loved Christmas. She had to get her gifts to Erik under the tree, or else she would forget about them.
She put the presents under the tree, which had been decorated with ribbons and paper snowflakes, stars, and angels, in only two trips. My, but she had energy. The excitement of the holiday was making her hyper. And she had to wait until after dinner for Erik to open her presents.
*Speaking of Erik,* Michelle thought, *He doesn't seem to be up yet. I think I'll go wake him.* Smiling, she went to Erik's room and opened the door.
Her smile quickly turned into a frown. There was that dreadful coffin of his. She had discovered it the first time she wanted to clean the linens. That awful box served as his bed. Far too depressing to her way of thinking. Fortunately, that would be rectified when Raoul came with her other gift to Erik while they were at the party.
Slipping into the room, Michelle tiptoed over to the casket. She got a feeling of déjà vu. It was almost like her dream. Of course, Erik wasn't going to hurt her. In fact, when she had the dream the past few nights, he had been right beside her when she awoke, terrified. If she didn't know better, she'd think he had been staying up all night beside her.
She peered into the canister at Erik and let out a small gasp. In sleep, he looked younger. The lines around his face smoothed out to a degree that made him look almost innocent. At least, as innocent as was possible for a grown man to look. Actually, he was rather attractive. His hair was rumpled from sleep and his jaw was covered with a light stubble. It had never occurred to Michelle that facial hair even grew on Erik, or that his hair could become tousled. He always looked so refined. In this unkempt state, he looked rather piquant. She studied him a while longer. *Not exactly Sleeping Beauty,* she thought, then smiled. *I wonder what would happen if I kissed him awake.* She gasped at the thought, mostly because it was so... appealing. She glanced at his lips. Thin, yet somehow sensual. Of its own accord, her hand lifted and brushed her fingers languidly across his lips. My, but they were soft. Unable to resist this small temptation, she took her fingers and pressed them against her own lips, as close to a kiss as she would ever obtain from this man. Not nearly satisfied with the brush of her own fingers, Michelle shook her mind from her tempestuous thoughts and began to wake him.
"Erik," she whispered softly, just barely leaning in. He didn't stir. She leaned in closer to his ear. "Erik," she whispered a little more loudly. Still he did not stir. Leaning in until her every breath teased the hair at his temple, Michelle took a soft breath and...
"ERIK!"
Erik vaulted half out of the coffin. "What the - ?" He almost finished the phrase, but a hand over his mouth prevented him from saying much of anything.
"Erik," Michelle's chiding voice somehow managed to wind its way into his sleep-fogged brain. "You know I don't appreciate cursing."
Erik turned to glare at her. "Mn mm mim oo emm im y im?"
Michelle took her hand from his mouth. "I beg your pardon?"
"Then why did you yell in my ear?"
Michelle grinned at him and shrugged, her earlier musings forgotten in her prank. "Because it's time for you to get up. It's Christmas Day!"
Erik's mind was finally clearing; he realized that Michelle was in his room, and his clothes and person were in complete disarray. She, on the other hand, looked as unruffled as always, which was to say she looked absolutely perfect in her plain yet becoming frock. The gowns he purchased would make her look dazzling. Speaking of which, he had to deposit her gifts beneath the tree, as soon as she was out of his apartment and he was dressed. Fortunately, she was already leaving.
"I'm going to make omelets for breakfast. Is there anything in particular you want in yours?"
Erik thought a moment. "No. Whatever you have is fine."
Michelle left the room, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. He loved the way she enjoyed the more domestic activities. It seemed as though more and more women were after equality: right to vote, more employment opportunities, the elemental loss of the fragility that made the protective instincts of men come on full alert. Not that Erik didn't support women voting and employment. He was. Still, there was something about Michelle's joy in making others happy, the complete selflessness, that made him want to protect her from people that would take advantage of her kindness. Very dangerous thoughts. So why did he no longer care?
* * * * *
Raoul stalked through the Opera house. Meg hadn't been here last night when he came by. Oddly enough, his visits had become more of an excuse to the saucy ballerina and spend a while enjoying her wickedly sharp views on nothing in general and everything in particular. That "particular" was usually how much she disliked the noble set, and himself. He had gone out of his usual character to change her mind about him, sending her flowers after performances, complimenting her work, things like that. Of course, he made sure she knew he meant nothing by it, other than to show that not all gentlemen were old lechers out looking for fresh meat.
Raoul firmly reminded himself why he was angry. He had arrived at Meg's dressing room, as usual, to see her, but when he knocked, he discovered that she was not there. On the vanity was a note.
"I have gone to dinner with a friend," it read. "Please come tomorrow afternoon. I shall be in my dressing room helping some of the girls with their dresses."
That was all. No greeting, no closing. No nothing! She was off who knows where doing who knows what with who knows whom! And he was forced to wait until the next afternoon to find out just what she had been doing. His anger restored, Raoul threw the door to Meg's dressing room open. It crashed against the wall gaining the attention of Meg, and the other half- dozen girls in the room.
Raoul barely glanced at them. His attention was on Meg. He stormed over to her until their faces were only inches apart and yelled, "Where the hell were you last night?!"
Meg glanced anxiously at the other ballerinas who were watching the exchange with growing interest. "I told you in my note," she said in a whisper, trying to keep the conversation private.
"Damn your letter. I demand a straight answer. NOW!"
Meg flinched. Another glance at her companions showed that there were a few knowing smirks in the crowd. Offended, she looked Raoul in the eye. "If you don't mind," she hissed, "I think we should continue this conversation in private." Back poker straight, Meg marched out of the room into the empty hall, Raoul on her heels.
When she heard the door close, Meg spun angrily to face the Vicomte. She began by slapping his face. "How dare you?" she demanded, her hand stinging from the smack.
Raoul's hand covered the cheek she slapped. "How dare I what?"
Meg bristled even more. "How dare you barge into my dressing room-"
"You told me to come."
"- and ask me where I was last night like I was a wayward lover or something?" She swung her arm towards the door. "Those girl already have suspicions about why you've been coming to see me. That little scene just proved those notions right."
Raoul crossed his arms over his chest. "Proved to whom?"
"To them!"
"Well, who cares what they think?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because I have to see them everyday and I don't want them to think the worst of me. Right now they think I'm trying to steals Christine's fiancée, and succeeding."
"Oh, right," Raoul sneered. "You wouldn't want it to get around to your lover that you've found another man, would you?"
Meg's mouth dropped open. Then, with blazing eyes, she shouted, "I do NOT have a LOVER!!!"
Raoul gave her a withering look. "Right. Then who were you with last night? Who was your friend?" He sneered the last word.
Meg gave him a supercilious look. "Not that it is any of your business, I was with my friend Marie. She was upset and I wanted to console her."
Raoul suddenly felt like a heel. Not only had he accused Meg of having a lover, which she obviously did not, but he had the audacity to feel relieved that she didn't. Not only that, but he had been jealous when he thought that she did. He had never been jealous before in his life. He couldn't say that now.
"I... apologize," he said lamely. "I should not have jumped to conclusions."
Meg glared at him. "It's a good thing you don't care what other people think, because I do not accept your apology."
Raoul glared back. "Why not?"
"I don't believe you are sincere," she said simply.
Raoul was irritated again. "Look, I was only doing the decent thing."
Meg scoffed. "And I can guess how often that happens."
Raoul growled. "Fine. I was trying to be big about this..."
"Fine. You be big. I want to stay mad." She brushed passed him heading for the door.
"Do not walk away from me," Raoul ordered, turning to face her.
Meg stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "Do not order me around. I am not one of your lackeys."
Finally fed up, Raoul advanced until they were face to face. "I do not have lackeys," he said. Then he grabbed her arms, pulled her flush against his chest, and kissed her.
Meg was so surprised by the kiss that she did nothing at first. Then she began to struggle. But Raoul was strong and determined. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her head in place with his other hand as he continued the tender onslaught. Still struggling Meg opened her mouth to try to call someone. Raoul used the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, just a little. Meg gasped and tried to push him away. Raoul ignored her. Instead, he explored her mouth with his tongue, gently skimming her lips, teasing her tongue with his, nibbling on her lips to make her shiver. Somehow, the kiss stopped being on of retribution and became one of passion.
Meg finally gave up and let herself be swept away by the feelings Raoul was creating. She was dizzy. The world was spinning out of control and the only thing she had to hang on to was Raoul. She fell limp against him, clutching at his shoulders, trusting him to take care of her in this world he had created.
Raoul felt the change in Meg. She was suddenly pliant in his arms, and he continued kissing her, completely forgetting why he had started in the first place. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this kiss. This woman. Raoul breathed Meg's name across her lips and kissed her again, encouraging her to kiss him back. In all his life, he had never felt anything as dizzying as kissing Meg. The innocent caresses of her lips on his were driving him insane. Even kissing Christine had never felt like this.
Christine!
Meg realized what was happening at the same time Raoul did. They thrust each other away. Meg's eyes were wide with horror. She had been kissing Christine's fiancée. What kind of friend was she? Not waiting for any explanation or apology, Meg ran back into her dressing room, preferring to face the knowing glances and comments from her fellows than to face Raoul knowing what she had done. She was nothing more than a back stabber. She had one really close friend and what did she do? She kissed her friend's husband-to-be. *And worst of all,* Meg thought, leaning against the door, *I liked it.*
Raoul stared at the door. *Oh, my God,* he thought. *What have I done?*
Whether he was referring to the passionate kisses he had shared with Meg or becoming engaged to a girl that that he thought more of as his sister than his lover, even he couldn't be sure. He only knew that he couldn't marry Christine. It wouldn't be right to marry her when he felt this way about Meg. Although just how he felt, he wasn't sure.
Raoul turned down another corridor. The managers had a large supply of drinks in their office. They wouldn't mind if he sampled a few gallons.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Ha, Ha, and Ha! I'm so evil! *clears throat* Anyway, no, Raoul still isn't a cheating bastard and Meg isn't a heartless back stabber. After all, we know what Christine is doing, too. *laughs evilly*
Guardian Angel
Christmas Day.
Michelle jumped happily out of bed and got herself dressed in record time. Oh, but she loved Christmas. She had to get her gifts to Erik under the tree, or else she would forget about them.
She put the presents under the tree, which had been decorated with ribbons and paper snowflakes, stars, and angels, in only two trips. My, but she had energy. The excitement of the holiday was making her hyper. And she had to wait until after dinner for Erik to open her presents.
*Speaking of Erik,* Michelle thought, *He doesn't seem to be up yet. I think I'll go wake him.* Smiling, she went to Erik's room and opened the door.
Her smile quickly turned into a frown. There was that dreadful coffin of his. She had discovered it the first time she wanted to clean the linens. That awful box served as his bed. Far too depressing to her way of thinking. Fortunately, that would be rectified when Raoul came with her other gift to Erik while they were at the party.
Slipping into the room, Michelle tiptoed over to the casket. She got a feeling of déjà vu. It was almost like her dream. Of course, Erik wasn't going to hurt her. In fact, when she had the dream the past few nights, he had been right beside her when she awoke, terrified. If she didn't know better, she'd think he had been staying up all night beside her.
She peered into the canister at Erik and let out a small gasp. In sleep, he looked younger. The lines around his face smoothed out to a degree that made him look almost innocent. At least, as innocent as was possible for a grown man to look. Actually, he was rather attractive. His hair was rumpled from sleep and his jaw was covered with a light stubble. It had never occurred to Michelle that facial hair even grew on Erik, or that his hair could become tousled. He always looked so refined. In this unkempt state, he looked rather piquant. She studied him a while longer. *Not exactly Sleeping Beauty,* she thought, then smiled. *I wonder what would happen if I kissed him awake.* She gasped at the thought, mostly because it was so... appealing. She glanced at his lips. Thin, yet somehow sensual. Of its own accord, her hand lifted and brushed her fingers languidly across his lips. My, but they were soft. Unable to resist this small temptation, she took her fingers and pressed them against her own lips, as close to a kiss as she would ever obtain from this man. Not nearly satisfied with the brush of her own fingers, Michelle shook her mind from her tempestuous thoughts and began to wake him.
"Erik," she whispered softly, just barely leaning in. He didn't stir. She leaned in closer to his ear. "Erik," she whispered a little more loudly. Still he did not stir. Leaning in until her every breath teased the hair at his temple, Michelle took a soft breath and...
"ERIK!"
Erik vaulted half out of the coffin. "What the - ?" He almost finished the phrase, but a hand over his mouth prevented him from saying much of anything.
"Erik," Michelle's chiding voice somehow managed to wind its way into his sleep-fogged brain. "You know I don't appreciate cursing."
Erik turned to glare at her. "Mn mm mim oo emm im y im?"
Michelle took her hand from his mouth. "I beg your pardon?"
"Then why did you yell in my ear?"
Michelle grinned at him and shrugged, her earlier musings forgotten in her prank. "Because it's time for you to get up. It's Christmas Day!"
Erik's mind was finally clearing; he realized that Michelle was in his room, and his clothes and person were in complete disarray. She, on the other hand, looked as unruffled as always, which was to say she looked absolutely perfect in her plain yet becoming frock. The gowns he purchased would make her look dazzling. Speaking of which, he had to deposit her gifts beneath the tree, as soon as she was out of his apartment and he was dressed. Fortunately, she was already leaving.
"I'm going to make omelets for breakfast. Is there anything in particular you want in yours?"
Erik thought a moment. "No. Whatever you have is fine."
Michelle left the room, leaving Erik alone with his thoughts. He loved the way she enjoyed the more domestic activities. It seemed as though more and more women were after equality: right to vote, more employment opportunities, the elemental loss of the fragility that made the protective instincts of men come on full alert. Not that Erik didn't support women voting and employment. He was. Still, there was something about Michelle's joy in making others happy, the complete selflessness, that made him want to protect her from people that would take advantage of her kindness. Very dangerous thoughts. So why did he no longer care?
* * * * *
Raoul stalked through the Opera house. Meg hadn't been here last night when he came by. Oddly enough, his visits had become more of an excuse to the saucy ballerina and spend a while enjoying her wickedly sharp views on nothing in general and everything in particular. That "particular" was usually how much she disliked the noble set, and himself. He had gone out of his usual character to change her mind about him, sending her flowers after performances, complimenting her work, things like that. Of course, he made sure she knew he meant nothing by it, other than to show that not all gentlemen were old lechers out looking for fresh meat.
Raoul firmly reminded himself why he was angry. He had arrived at Meg's dressing room, as usual, to see her, but when he knocked, he discovered that she was not there. On the vanity was a note.
"I have gone to dinner with a friend," it read. "Please come tomorrow afternoon. I shall be in my dressing room helping some of the girls with their dresses."
That was all. No greeting, no closing. No nothing! She was off who knows where doing who knows what with who knows whom! And he was forced to wait until the next afternoon to find out just what she had been doing. His anger restored, Raoul threw the door to Meg's dressing room open. It crashed against the wall gaining the attention of Meg, and the other half- dozen girls in the room.
Raoul barely glanced at them. His attention was on Meg. He stormed over to her until their faces were only inches apart and yelled, "Where the hell were you last night?!"
Meg glanced anxiously at the other ballerinas who were watching the exchange with growing interest. "I told you in my note," she said in a whisper, trying to keep the conversation private.
"Damn your letter. I demand a straight answer. NOW!"
Meg flinched. Another glance at her companions showed that there were a few knowing smirks in the crowd. Offended, she looked Raoul in the eye. "If you don't mind," she hissed, "I think we should continue this conversation in private." Back poker straight, Meg marched out of the room into the empty hall, Raoul on her heels.
When she heard the door close, Meg spun angrily to face the Vicomte. She began by slapping his face. "How dare you?" she demanded, her hand stinging from the smack.
Raoul's hand covered the cheek she slapped. "How dare I what?"
Meg bristled even more. "How dare you barge into my dressing room-"
"You told me to come."
"- and ask me where I was last night like I was a wayward lover or something?" She swung her arm towards the door. "Those girl already have suspicions about why you've been coming to see me. That little scene just proved those notions right."
Raoul crossed his arms over his chest. "Proved to whom?"
"To them!"
"Well, who cares what they think?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because I have to see them everyday and I don't want them to think the worst of me. Right now they think I'm trying to steals Christine's fiancée, and succeeding."
"Oh, right," Raoul sneered. "You wouldn't want it to get around to your lover that you've found another man, would you?"
Meg's mouth dropped open. Then, with blazing eyes, she shouted, "I do NOT have a LOVER!!!"
Raoul gave her a withering look. "Right. Then who were you with last night? Who was your friend?" He sneered the last word.
Meg gave him a supercilious look. "Not that it is any of your business, I was with my friend Marie. She was upset and I wanted to console her."
Raoul suddenly felt like a heel. Not only had he accused Meg of having a lover, which she obviously did not, but he had the audacity to feel relieved that she didn't. Not only that, but he had been jealous when he thought that she did. He had never been jealous before in his life. He couldn't say that now.
"I... apologize," he said lamely. "I should not have jumped to conclusions."
Meg glared at him. "It's a good thing you don't care what other people think, because I do not accept your apology."
Raoul glared back. "Why not?"
"I don't believe you are sincere," she said simply.
Raoul was irritated again. "Look, I was only doing the decent thing."
Meg scoffed. "And I can guess how often that happens."
Raoul growled. "Fine. I was trying to be big about this..."
"Fine. You be big. I want to stay mad." She brushed passed him heading for the door.
"Do not walk away from me," Raoul ordered, turning to face her.
Meg stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "Do not order me around. I am not one of your lackeys."
Finally fed up, Raoul advanced until they were face to face. "I do not have lackeys," he said. Then he grabbed her arms, pulled her flush against his chest, and kissed her.
Meg was so surprised by the kiss that she did nothing at first. Then she began to struggle. But Raoul was strong and determined. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her head in place with his other hand as he continued the tender onslaught. Still struggling Meg opened her mouth to try to call someone. Raoul used the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, just a little. Meg gasped and tried to push him away. Raoul ignored her. Instead, he explored her mouth with his tongue, gently skimming her lips, teasing her tongue with his, nibbling on her lips to make her shiver. Somehow, the kiss stopped being on of retribution and became one of passion.
Meg finally gave up and let herself be swept away by the feelings Raoul was creating. She was dizzy. The world was spinning out of control and the only thing she had to hang on to was Raoul. She fell limp against him, clutching at his shoulders, trusting him to take care of her in this world he had created.
Raoul felt the change in Meg. She was suddenly pliant in his arms, and he continued kissing her, completely forgetting why he had started in the first place. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this kiss. This woman. Raoul breathed Meg's name across her lips and kissed her again, encouraging her to kiss him back. In all his life, he had never felt anything as dizzying as kissing Meg. The innocent caresses of her lips on his were driving him insane. Even kissing Christine had never felt like this.
Christine!
Meg realized what was happening at the same time Raoul did. They thrust each other away. Meg's eyes were wide with horror. She had been kissing Christine's fiancée. What kind of friend was she? Not waiting for any explanation or apology, Meg ran back into her dressing room, preferring to face the knowing glances and comments from her fellows than to face Raoul knowing what she had done. She was nothing more than a back stabber. She had one really close friend and what did she do? She kissed her friend's husband-to-be. *And worst of all,* Meg thought, leaning against the door, *I liked it.*
Raoul stared at the door. *Oh, my God,* he thought. *What have I done?*
Whether he was referring to the passionate kisses he had shared with Meg or becoming engaged to a girl that that he thought more of as his sister than his lover, even he couldn't be sure. He only knew that he couldn't marry Christine. It wouldn't be right to marry her when he felt this way about Meg. Although just how he felt, he wasn't sure.
Raoul turned down another corridor. The managers had a large supply of drinks in their office. They wouldn't mind if he sampled a few gallons.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Ha, Ha, and Ha! I'm so evil! *clears throat* Anyway, no, Raoul still isn't a cheating bastard and Meg isn't a heartless back stabber. After all, we know what Christine is doing, too. *laughs evilly*
