Hello gentle readers. This fic was intended for my Moments of Transition series but it took another turn and so it had become a stand-alone. But never fear, more MOTs are on the way. And yes, I do intend to continue Instruction to Darkness as well.
As usual, I do not own Erik or Christine. I only wish…
Please R/R…rated R for lemony goodness. Will be in four parts.
Anticipation
Erik
I clutched the marble balustrade of the Opera Populaire in my gloved hand, looking down on the sea of masked faces below. I was a fool to come here. But I could not give up the chance to see her, for once, like any normal man. I knew that she was coming because of a secret assignation with her Boy. But I would also be there, to guard and guide her. And perhaps...
Foolish foolish Erik.
I heard a hush fall over the revelers and saw with satisfaction that my appearance had not gone unnoticed. I had spend much time on my costume, a representation of the horrifying Red Death. My mask, which covered the horror of my face, was only a painted version of my own visage. But as I stood at the top of the giant marble staircase, ugly thing, Charles picked it out and wouldn't be swayed, I felt for the first time safe in a crowd. The stares and murmurs were at the magnificence of my costume, not at the terrible sight of my face. And so I descended the stairs slowly, basking in the unaccustomed sensation of being admired.
A hand reached out of the crowd, plucking at my long red velvet train.
"I say, chap, wherever did you get a costume like this?"
Like lightening my hand reached out and grasped his wrist, twisting cruelly.
"You touch the Red Death at your peril." I hissed.
Just then a murmur rustled through the crowd and I looked up just as she entered the room.
The light lit her from behind, making her white dress glow with an incandescent radiance. Her blond curls wreathed her head, entwined with white roses. A pair of iridescent wings spread from her shoulders, gracefully bending towards her as though she were an angel in repose. All those times that she had called me Angel and now it was she who was celestial.
She seemed to glide as she came towards me. I realized belatedly that I still held the arm of the poor unfortunate that had dared to touch me. I let him go and he backed off, stuttering an apology. Christine closed the space between us and I felt all the air go out of the room. She was lovely, as warm and innocent as spring, and I was cold and dead as winter. I shuddered at the analogy, unable to look at her as she stopped in front of me.
And then, fantastically, she held out a white hand to me.
"Monsieur le Morte Rouge."
We stood in that tableau for a long moment, she with her hand outstretched and me, not realizing what she wanted from me. I stared at her hand for an eternity before I finally recovered myself sufficiently to brush her fingertips with my own.
"Mon Ange." I murmured.
Music seemed to fill the room. The orchestra had begun to play and couples were moving away from us, towards the ballroom.
"May I have this dance?"
My eyes sought hers. A white feather mask covered her features but her eyes, clear and blue, looked back into mine. I took her hand and led her into the ballroom, unable to speak.
Is it possible that she cannot know who I truly am? Can I perhaps just be any man tonight?
I pulled her close to my body, letting myself move to the music. The press of her body against mine was the sweetest agony. She swayed in time with the music, her hip twisting so that it brushed tantalizingly against mine, her gloved hand moving gracefully in mine.
"You dance well, Monsieur." She said.
Did I imagine it or was her a voice a bit breathless? I felt lightheaded at her nearness. I could not answer her. I whirled her around the ballroom and happened to look up as we passed the marble balustrade. One face stood out from the crowd; the insipidly handsome face of the Vicomte de Changny. I felt a surge of wicked triumph. It may be his fiancée I held in my arms but it was me she danced with and my music inside her mind. So it will always be, I realized, looking down into her face. She may have her boy in the daylight. The night belonged to me.
I pulled her closer, felt her gasp as my hand pressed into the small of her back. Her face, inches from my own, was flushed and her breath came quickly from her parted lips. I stared at those lips like someone in a trance. The music surged around us but I could still hear her whisper my name.
"Erik."
It undid me. I pulled her forward and lowered my head to hers. Her lips were sweet and warm and I do not think I imagined her arms tightening around me, drawing me against her. I was awash in sensation, not caring that we were in the middle of a crowded room or that many of the people here wished me dead. There was only her. I fell into her sweetness as a man long denied and she surrendered to me. Her mouth moved over mine and then opened to my tongue and I could taste her…
Strong hands wrenched me away suddenly. I turned, enraged at this interruption to find the Vicomte de Changny, holding Christine by the arm, his other arm upraised in a fist. Did he truly mean to fight me? The thought was so ludicrous that I threw back my head and laughed. The boy's face went white with fury.
"How dare you Monsieur?" he spat.
My eyes flicked to Christine, who was gasping for breath, her lips swollen from my kiss. Her eyes met mine.
"I took what was freely offered." I spoke the words to her. The boy stared from her to me, the look on his face one of dawning comprehension. He had not known who I was when he tore me away from her, but now he was beginning to suspect. He stepped forward, both hands up now. I smiled coolly at him, my hand going to the secret pocket of my cloak. This was a game he could not hope to win.
Christine cried out. "No, Raoul!" She tugged at his arm. He shook her off, advancing on me. I stood, silently waiting. Only a few steps closer…
"Raoul!" Christine thrust herself in between us. "No!" She shouted, near hysteria. The boy was beyond fury. He would not listen. She turned to me. "Please Erik. Please."
I would have liked nothing better than to kill the boy. But she had asked and I could deny her nothing. I stepped closer to whisper in her ear.
"Tomorrow night I will come for you." I felt her shiver at the promise in my voice before I turned. I allowed myself to turn back to her once more, to take in the blush staining her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened in desire. Tomorrow, I promised myself. And with a flash of flame I disappeared.
