Chapter Twelve

She emerged a while later wrapped in a sheet, presumably pulled carelessly from their bed. The fire crackled and sparked, the flames leaping prominently as Christine turned out the gas lamps and extinguished the candles. She pilled more wood on the hungry fire and the luminosity from the hearth made the shadows dance seductively on the walls and across Christine's lust darkened face as she crossed the room to her husband's reclined form. He leant against a chair, his shirt open down the front and his eyes alight- sparkling and dancing in the firelight.

Christine allowed the sheet to slowly slip from her form, exposing her nakedness. She sunk to the floor and crawled over Erik, she teased him for a moment by almost kissing him but then pulling away. Finally he pushed her onto her back and kissed her well, with a firm unusual roughness, this was the effect Christine desired- the pressure of his lips and, when he forced her mouth open, the caress of his tongue thrilled her. She always experimented to get him to take control, and he had.

Erik deprived her of his mouth suddenly, sitting up to remove his shirt. Christine pulled him back down on top of her, comforted under his weight, Erik's breathing was ragged and he swallowed thickly before taking her lips again. She moaned in pleasure under the deep spectacular kiss, her hands reviewing every muscle of his body; she had long-since memorised every nuance, every well-sculpted centimetre of him.

Christine slid a leg over his, noting the tantalising array of sensations of bare flesh against clothing and feeling mild jealousy at how completely fabric could caress every part of his body –exclusively her domain- all at once.

Erik abandoned her lips again, leaving them swollen from the fierce passion of the kiss, Christine held his head as he rained kisses down her neck, nipping gently at the smooth skin and giving much attention to the fleshy spot between her shoulder and neck. She pushed him, her fingers threaded through his hair, pushed him farther until she gasped in delight when he found her breast, suckling one while his hand covered the other. He bit the nipple ever so gently before finally continuing down her navel, looking up at her in a disarmingly sweet, mischievous way before kissing her playfully just above her belly button.

Christine giggled at him as he moved back up to kiss her lips; he didn't seem much in the mood for playing, the kiss didn't go on so long this time. She straightened to a sitting position, pushing him with her. Once thus arranged, Christine trailed her hands down his powerful body to attack the fastening on his pants again.

She undid them with the ease of long practise and lay back again, pulling him over her as her hands fell from his shoulders and went to his loose trousers, pushing them off while delaying for an unnecessary amount of time for excuse to run her palms over his buttocks.

"I told you I didn't mind if you just did that." Erik commented dryly, his voice breathy, picking up on Christine's actions,

"I don't know what you're talking about." Christine huffed, leaving her hands exactly where they were.

"Of course." Erik retorted half-laughing, putting swift end to the argument by claiming her mouth. Christine pushed his pants the rest of the way, her cheeks (among other, more colourful areas of her anatomy) burning with desire as she felt his in his body. There was never a day when she regretted the immense pain of losing her virginity, she wasn't sure she even remembered now, though she knew it must have been terrible with her first (and only) lover being such a man as he was.

Christine had tried to learn as much as possible from the ballet girls and she knew her husband was once again far above average… That particular man nibbled her earlobe in a gentle gesture he knew she loved, for some reason it provided her with whatever comfort she currently needed, or any other expression of affectionate emotion.

She turned her head to capture Erik's lips, an unspoken message in the kiss; she wanted him. Christine's loud noise of enjoyment echoed through the silent house, followed by other expressions of appreciation as Erik moved against her. Her hands danced over his velvety skin, now glistening with perspiration in the firelight, a moan escaped him and her hand moved to shove with his every thrust into her.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming as the sensual dance became faster and faster, she clutched Erik's shoulder desperately and repeated his name over and over while he made love to her. The intense pleasure built higher and higher, impossibly so until Christine felt she could no longer stand it- wrapping her arms and legs around her husband and squeezing him tighter when the ecstasy escalated again in its upward spiral, she bit his shoulder grunting in passion.

Then, blessed exploding release, she let a cry ring out that she could no longer contain and became a limp shuddering mass in Erik's arms. He gave her time to recover before slowly beginning the dance again, she turned him over so she straddled him, rolling and grinding her hips into his- her hair hanging limp and damp from sweat and her face flushed. Liquid from her recent climax oozed from their joined bodies, she added to it, flopping onto Erik's chest. He sat her up, their lovemaking became frantic and chaotic until they both met climax together, their cries as entangled as their bodies.

Lying in each other's arms, panting for breath a long moment went by, finally Erik kissed Christine's damp hair and moved to withdraw.

"No…" she mumbled weakly as she always did, she hated that moment of parting and the unpleasant feeling of him leaving her body that had never gone away with time. She lay flat on her back, cooling and breathing deeply when Erik picked up the rejected sheet and pulled it up to cover them both from the waist down. He kissed her again with slow passion that didn't soothe her, but sparked her need all over again. Christine tossed the sheet aside and grinned deviously as an idea crossed her currently dirty mind…

Nadir was muttering a long string of irritated, colourful-sounding Persian, only occasionally interrupted by his own venomous shouts for the sleepy, damned stupid Viscount to hurry his aristocratic ass up. It had been hard enough to get that insufferable fop to come; he had certainly been 'in the middle' of something early this morning which was most definitely not sleeping. The very last image Nadir had ever wanted, or needed for that matter, imbeded permanently in his already crowded skull. At least he could count on Erik's home to be free of rabbits and to find his friend awake and fully clothed.

Something queer was going on at the ex-Phantom's estate, though, because either the buzzer wasn't functioning or Erik hadn't heard it- and the likelyhood of that ranged from the zero to none categories. Nadir was forced to open the door himself, battling it out with the complicated, left-handed- to add insult to injury- mecanism, an extraordinarily difficult task.

He must be out, Nadir thought, his ire rising further with every passing second the man has the ears of a bat; he'd have heard me fiddling with this God-forsaken piece of stone if not his alarm.

When Nadir finally did manage to get into the house the only thing saving Christine de l'Opera from gross indecency was Erik's arm thrown across her chest. He also thanked- most merciful- Allah for the sheet covering them both from the waist down as he found himself blushing, rather than fuming as he burst into the room all ready to shout so loud they'd hear him upstairs.

There was a strange joy in seeing them together for anyone who knew either at all, the beauty of their costly peace made Erik's hard- to say the least- lifetime seem worthwhile. If it could lead through the hardships to embarrassments such as this. Nadir wasn't exactly certain if the viscount would see it that way… And indeed when Raoul finally stumbled in he looked as ashen-faced as a ghost and about ready to faint.

"What do they think they are!" Raoul exclaimed in a heated whisper, his angry breath hissing in Nadir's ear.

Nadir shushed him, but it was too late; Erik reacted to the viscount's voice and blinked the sleep from his eyes, starting to sit up. The flat of Nadir's hand resting insistently on his shoulder arrested his movement and he glanced at his friend questioningly. Nadir let his gaze drift to the sleeping Christine and then back to the confused mismatched eyes of his friend. Erik's followed and he instantly snatched the sheet up to cover his wife's bare breasts, only then moving his other arm. He sat up, crossing his legs so he could be sure the sheet completely covered him as well.

"What the devil- you!" Erik shot daggers at Raoul with his eyes, "Nadir, what the hell is going on here?"

Christine started to sit up and Erik's hand flew back just in time to prevent the sheet sliding from her body. She grinned sheepishly at Nadir and wrapped the sheet around her, motioning for Erik to let go. The pair huddled together, Christine's reaction almost worse than Erik's, (in a way) when she finally noticed Raoul. Her quiet mortification made everyone in the room shift uncomfortably and Nadir wondered if he must have had a death wish to storm into Erik's house uninvited.

Eventually things settled somewhat, the pair on the floor summoning up as much dignity as can be expected in such a situation- and Erik far more, being Erik- and seemed prepared to hear out what the Persian had to tell them. The daroga cleared his throat and looking sadly at Christine before informing them that there was an attempt on Meg Giry's life the previous night.

She had made it home safely, then decided to go for a walk alone at seven o clock in the darkened back alleys of Paris, as was her occasional (and foolish) custom. When she didn't return her mother summoned the police and told them look for her on a few specific streets where they found her stabbed once in the chest, not mortally, the wound dodging any essential organs, but she had lost a lot of blood.

Meg, when she awoke in hospital, told the authorities (more than half in a state of delirium with shock and morphine to dull her pain) that whomever her attacker had been, they had stolen one of her mother's dresses, because she clearly saw their retreating back as she lay on the cobblestones. She said she could see easily through the fog that it was one of mama's great, thick, gray gowns with the edges all worn from sweeping over the floor as the wearer walked.

The viscount had proved useful in all this confusion, utilizing his weight in gold to persuade the police that they wanted to share all the things they had learned. With Meg in a delicate condition and their having no proof they knew her at all, the assistance was a Godsend in recovering her testimony for posterity, or rather, for Erik. They were assured of Meg's well-being although they didn't get to see her, and thought it a rather successful endeavor; especially when the constable added that he would admit two people the patient had been asking for almost constantly: one Madame de l'Opera and her husband, Erik.

Nadir smiled wryly, then his expression fell again as he left a long lull of silence before adding to his narrative; "They will not permit Madame Giry to leave the premises."

The previous silence returned a thousand-fold and thickened until it almost seemed to pulsate in the heavy air of the underground room. The place was deadly still that way for long uncounted minutes before the uninvited- and unexpected- guests left the address for the hospital the Girys were housed in and withdrew hastily, leaving the lovers to compose themselves.

Erik and Christine bathed and dressed. Christine noticed her husband standing next to the bureau in his traditional evening wear- looking every inch the prince or king with his elegance and regal posture- staring down at the inverted mask as though it were prepared to devour him into the shadows that he had kept refuge in for so long.

Erik really is a prince, Christine's mind mused absently, he was a Prince of Darkness; but not in the way most people would take the use of that term. He was the lord of these lands beneath the Opera and the countless realms his imagination spirited them away to, King of the Shadows... and yet so full of light. So full of beauty... she supposed that was one of the many reasons she couldn't help herself but love him; he was such a devilishly complicated contradiction.

She made the few quick steps across the elegantly decorated, well-furnished room, pursing her rouged lips as she laid a gently hand on Erik's chest to guide him into the vanity chair. Her small, white fingers smoothed back thick locks of ebony black from his forehead and she bent to kiss the exposed flesh briefly before tracing the blue-black veins that laced his face, clearly visible through his semi-translucent skin. The skin itself was incredibly fine and thin, very easily cut by the slightest sharp edge, it was smooth and soft as silk. Christine kissed his closed eyelids and then his lips as she slowly picked up the mask, biting her lip as she covered his face and tied the black velvet ribbons in place, which colour perfectly matched his hair.

"I'm so sorry..." she murmured, some of her old skittish, frightened self from before he had made her strong shining through even after so long. But she said it as though her small apology could somehow help excuse the entire human race.

"You hardly need be, my dear." Erik commented as he stood, checking the mask with a self-conscious hand. His cold and business-like mannerism seemed to return with the hated garment and just as the visible barrier went back up, Christine thought she could almost sense the invisible one slide into place as well. Erik extended long, gloved fingertips to his wife, "Shall we?"

Meg would be abed for weeks, although the ebony-haired, wire-thin girl claimed vehemently to be more than well enough right away to dance three ballets alone. Madame Giry, satisfied that her daughter would not only live, but was comfortably well taken care of, was now alone in another room, contemplating her situation.

She wished, more than anything at the moment, that she had confessed her bloody secrets when she had had the chance, look what had come of the delay! Her own flesh and blood being hurt again- didn't that sound familiar! It had to be different this time, she had to put a stop to it all before history repeated itself, she couldn't allow that.

The police suspected her, that was clear enough, but the question was; would they find out about... it? Giry wished that her Richard could still be here, but whose fault was it that he wasn't? Whose fault was it Meg had never had a father? Hers! Perhaps it would be best to finally tell Meg the truth... No, she would first divulge to the Phantom and hope he could give her some great wisdom from the life after death- he had always been cunning and fair, the good Madame just hoped his vast intelligence flowed deeper than idle tricks and illusions...

Monsieur Moncharmin held his head in his hands, in fact, he was near tears. The little lead dancer, Giry, had been hurt in a mugging, her mother was suspected of the attempted murder of her own child; Christine hadn't been seen since rehearsals the day before and his own partner had finally entrusted him with his soiled past. Moncharmin couldn't help feeling ill-used and as if all this honesty was not a tad bit belated. So many secrets... they swirled around him in the empty room, his darkened office, so many unspoken words hovering in the air and riding on the breaths that never uttered them in so many sorid affairs.

Could tragedy never abandon this house? Was the Phantom of the Opera still lurking in the winding corridors, peering down at them from dark corners and watching with a critical eye from box five for all the flaws in the performances? Would they ever be free of the curse the ghost had laid on them all? As if he didn't have enough to worry about, their finest patron, the viscount, was taking to peculiar disappearances. Moncharmin's life of late was a tale of woe- and it never seemed to escape anything queer that ever happened in Paris.