"Mine"
This actually originated from an RP a friend and I did a while ago. I've altered the parts I contributed into story form. This is focused almost entirely upon Erik…
Warning: This will contain mature content as it progresses. E/C romance.
Setting the scene: Let's pretend that the Graveyard Scene in ALW's musical/movie went differently and Raoul didn't interrupt Erik's attempts to bring Christine back to him. Well, he's brought her once again to his underground sanctum and is slightly peeved about the whole All I Ask of You thing and the deal with Raoul sleeping outside Christine's door. So, our story starts with Christine hiding in the Louis Phillippe room and Erik in his own.
This is based partly on the recent ALW movie, with the ALW Phantom being the main point of reference for the characterization of Erik. At any rate, Moodswing!Erik makes an appearance.
The unsuspecting door gave a mighty groan with each forceful blow delivered upon its surface. Erik's unrelenting fists reigned heavily upon it; the pain a dull sensation in his raging torrent of emotions. Rage, sadness, betrayal… All twisting their way painfully throughout his already tortured heart. His eyes were glazed…unseeing… blinded by the ferocity within him. His fists ceased their blows when he realized that they were bloodied…the dark liquid seeping from them slowly. Suddenly, he felt drained and his legs crumpled beneath him. Erik landed on the floor of his room in an ungraceful heap…head propped against the battered door, hands lying limply in his lap.
He looked to the ceiling as silent tears cascaded down his face…slipping under the mask and coming to pool at the corner of his lip before plunging quickly onto his battered hands below. He gazed at his hands then, musing silently.
Suddenly, of their own volition, Erik's tears stopped. He watched as the last drop fell onto his upturned palm, mixing with the dark red there. Then it struck him like a blow to the stomach. His fists were bloodied...he was piled in a heap on the floor...his face was wet with salty tears..."But why?" His mind kept asking him. His dizzied, frenzied mind that was trying to make sense of all of this. Red. Dark red. Like a rose. A rose...Christine. CHRISTINE. She was the reason he was in this state.
Unbidden, rage boiled freshly through his heated veins. Christine. The Vicomte. Oh, the Vicomte. The insidious, insolent fool. How he dared to claim his beloved...HIS angel...and she let him. That lying little vixen let him. Damn her! Damn them both! His chest was heaving now...constricting with tight, heavy breaths. He managed to raise himself to his feet, temple throbbing, pulse racing. Christine. Here...in his house.
Paying no heed to his bloodied hands, he turned to face the splintered wood of his bedroom door...pressing his ear towards it. Nothing. He could hear nothing. Was she here? Had she fled? There was only one way to find out, he concluded, as he slowly and silently inched open the door. Darkness. Darkness dotted by the flickering flames of candlelight...and...silence. Heavy, uncomfortable silence. He stalked stealthily from his room, adjusting to the dimness with adept grace.
Erik halted his gait immediately at the sound...barely discernible, but he heard it. A soft emission...from the direction of Christine's room. An all knowing smirk graced his malformed lips and his eyes glinted dangerously, rivaling the flickering candlelight. He stalked towards Christine's room more quickly now...ears and eyes open for any more signs of inhabitance. Though...he knew she was there. In her room. Most likely cowering...hiding from him. Erik's face twisted into a grin of sadistic glee at that thought...growing wider as he finally reached her open door.
He watched her from the doorway...watched her quivering form with glinting eyes. She knew he was there. He could feel it. He could smell her fear. He heard a loud whimper emanate from her and chuckled darkly. Stepping into the room and off to the side, into the shroud of darkness, he waited for her to say something. He wanted to gauge her reaction carefully to see how he was to play this game. He the cat, she the mouse.
When he heard her rasp his name into the darkness, Erik bristled instinctively. It seemed rough...and uncharacteristic for Christine. But then, after hearing how desperate, how frightened the syllables sounded...his sadistic rage quieted within him and he gained the prowess to step from the shadows. Pinning her with a burning stare, he gave a mock bow, lilting, "Yes, my dear?"
When she gave no reply, and only inched towards the wall behind her, he advanced upon her slowly, deliberately...never once breaking their intense gaze. The depths of her eyes seemed limitless...he wanted to own them...to own her...completely. Finally, he reached her...saying nothing...just piercing her with his fiery gaze. The moment was tense...he standing over her, power emanating from his cloaked figure...she cowering against the wall. At last...one lithely muscled arm shot out and clasped hers, dragging her to her feet. Before she could react, he pinned her to the wall...one thigh between her two legs, her arms braced above her, his face inches away from hers. His eyes burned like the fires from hell.
Erik devoured her face with his eyes hungrily...he could see the blush tinting her cheeks, the spark of fear and something...else...in her eyes. He heard her pulse throbbing violently, her heart pounding. Knowing he had her enraptured, he asked, "Would you deny me, Christine?" He ran his thumb over one of her captured hands. "Would you deny me happiness and run off with your Vicomte?" He lowered his head to her neck...growling, "Would your Vicomte make you happy, Christine? Would he?"
Erik inhaled her scent, bringing his lead level with hers again and waited for her answer. Eyes boring deeply into hers, into her very soul.
When she shook her head and rasped out a struggled, "No," he gave her an appraising look and he snorted most uncharacteristically. His lips twisted into a sort of pleased smirk. "No, he would not." he echoed her reply, bending to whisper the words in her ear. Though they were soft and melodic, they rang finality into the still room. But suddenly, in an instant, the smirk disappeared and his face transformed into the embodiment of anger. His grip on her hands tightened, and his leg dug its way closer to her, trapping her indefinitely. "And yet…" he hissed, "And yet you cling to him…your darling, precious Vicomte." He growled out the word Vicomte loudly, making her jump. "And you…betray me. ME…your angel, Christine. I have given you so much…so much music…so much passion…but you always return to HIM. Why do this, if you know he will not make you happy? Hmmmm?" His eyes glinted dangerously once more, challenging her. "I know he's been sleeping outside your door, Christine. I know what you did on the rooftop. Do not play me for a fool. Do NOT pretend like I am oblivious to what is going on in this opera house. It is my domain…my play ground. I see all…I hear all. Erik KNOWS all." He snarled all of this into her face, spittle flying from his lips, not concerned with her comfort, blinded by his raging emotions.
"You are mine, Christine. You belong to ME," he spat furiously, his eyes shooting daggers at her. The moment was pregnant with tension until finally, with one last derisive snort, he removed his hands from hers, retracted his leg, and turned away from her, his fists balled, his shoulders taut and his jaw set.
A/N: Next chapter to come soon!
Please review…it would make my day!
