"Sit with me."

The deceptive softness of his voice brought a chill along her skin, and whether it was his intention or not it, again, fit perfectly into his song - their song - and Christine obeyed wordlessly. If she would have been more herself, she might have glanced to him by now and ruined it all. But as she came around the bench, her eyes barely opened. Sitting slowly, her voice had breathlessly tapered down into a decrescendo until it disintegrated with the passing notes on the piano. Her gaze fell on his fingers, watching them dance across the whites and blacks with fluid ease, admiring the strong veins in them and the silky way the tips caressed the worn places with vast familiarity. What he would give for an extra hand! There was a tendril of hair rested upon her cheek that he would have desired to press away, only to follow its length down along the side of her neck and to the line of collarbone.

Now that she was sitting there ... what would he do with her? He gave in, the temptation was too hard to resist, and raising a hand from the keys his voice took over where his fingers left off and he touched the backs of them against the coiled hair to press it over her shoulder as he had done before, though there was no fiddling with it to bring it forward again. Following its length, he tucked the upper portion behind her ear, then followed its length with the pad of index and thumb; sliding along the curve of lobe until he came to the softer flesh at the bottom, and there he paused, savoring the simple feel of her skin beneath his fingers.

Almost immediately, Christine's head tilted to the opposite side, baring the entire length of her neck, all the way to where it met shoulder and collar bone, lower to where the lace of the robe concealed her skin. The prominent vein at the side of her neck throbbed and a shudder passed silently through her body as his fingertips lingered at her ear, tracing the oversensitive shell at the outer-cartilage down to the soft lobe. If he didn't want her under his spell, but he was doing a terrible job of pulling her out of it. Eyes closed once more, her shoulders drooped, the lace sleeves of the robe balancing on the delicate curve of her shoulder. Exhaling, her entire body seemed to move with the motion.

The thought of drawing her deeper became stronger, lingering within that precarious balance between right and wrong. Her shudder hadn't gone unnoticed and for a brief moment he paused, a bit of concern passing before he had noticed the rapidness of her pulse and breathing, as well as the way she tilted her head. It was amazing how he could split his attention; playing, humming and observing her. Tucking his hand beneath the weight of her hair, he brushed it back, bearing her shoulders completely from their weight, and adjusting the bit of lace and cloth, he pulled the neckline up again, though it was only brushed away as his fingers passed in an innocent caress along the strength of her pulse. Tentative, he kept his hand ready to pull back as if he expected she would snap out of it at any given moment.

A soft moan escaped her lips as they parted, and at that moment, she was nearly lifeless, yet brimming with anticipation, even gasping when his fingers brushed the throb in her neck. She was his here, surrounded by the lilting chant of his music. So deeply drawn that it would take more than just the call of her name to bring her back from this enshrouding place. For a moment it had felt as if someone had struck him in the stomach, his breath held and gone in that fleeting second, all because of that breathy sound that had slipped from her throat. Exhaling slowly of air he wasn't even aware of being trapped within his lungs, he quieted for only a moment, then brought the softness of his voice into the air again.

What harm would it be? She would never know should he decide to further explore her skin. Going beyond the graze of fingers along her ear, or neck. He could ... could ... what in the world was he thinking? That's not right, not at all. He couldn't even be doing this. Half lidded, molten gold settled upon his hand and its position at the narrow of her neck, the backs of his fingers rested against her pulse. Just.. move your hand. Tell her to go back to her room, and stop playing. It sounded like a good plan, didn't it? So just why was hand drifting downward to follow the line of her robe, only to pause where cloth crossed over her chest?

It was because I am human. Anyone would want more, he told himself. Even pristine little Raoul must have drawn the backs of his fingers along the tempting curve of her neck only to know true yearning at wanting more. At feeling like more might not even be enough to satiate the hunger. Probably also because Erik's life was nothing but disappointment followed by disappointment, and now here was the object of his every desire, moaning and arching at the simplicity of his touch. Another gentle shudder passed over her skin and her next exhale was thick. Leaning her chest forward and dipping down a bit, she merely tempted him without knowing it. How easy would it be, Erik? Just touch her. Forget that she's as good as drugged and that it's wrong. As sick as it sounded, perhaps that would be the guiding push she needed over the edge. Either way, she would never know if he didn't want her to.

Dear.. God. His voice broke briefly, and he gave a very slow swallow before his throat opened up for the next series of notes. He had ceased with the wordless song, drifted back toward the hum - it was all he could do to regulate his breathing. Turning his hand and bringing an awkward angle to his arm, he turned his eyes away, closing them for a languid exhale to be released. That little devil was just prodding away, wasn't he? And all the while there was that other voice telling him that it would be wrong. That she would hate him if she found out that he had taken advantage, once again lured her into some fantasy world where she was helpless to resist. Not to mention helpless to response.

Move or don't move ... She wouldn't know or she would. He was conflicted. It wasn't healthy being human, especially one that was so denied, even for something as simple as a kiss. His own mother wouldn't grace him one for his birthday. She was dead now, why dwell? He had no other choice to. Instead he turned his focus elsewhere, a place it should be. Perhaps if he just didn't see what he was doing, or not yet doing... Eventually body won over mind, and he held in a breath as fingertips slipped just beyond the top of her gown, the pad of index and side of middle finger caressing just barely along the upper curve of a breast. This time, it was he that shuddered.

The rise and fall of her chest was slow compared to the rhythmic thumping of her heart, one he could feel strongly along the skin of his fingers. Her head tilted back and she swallowed to dampen her dried throat. Every bit of warmth found its way to her cheeks, then seemed to very nearly slither its way down her body, raising gooseflesh along her shoulders and arms, down further to her thighs as the heat finally pooled between them. Whatever part of her mind still managed to function waited with marked anticipation, wondering at the lethargy in his touch, especially when every other part of her was responsive to him. Look at her, Erik; nearly tipped over for you, begging for you to go on. She would never let him have this. It is reserved for you, for this moment. Take it, that little demon purred into his ear and he closed his eyes against it.

Finding the way his arm was angled to be far too awkward, he pulled his hand away, his very blood screaming in protest, only to be sated as he lifted his other hand from the piano to replace the first. He didn't need to be playing. His very voice lingered in her ear, so close that he might as well have been humming directly against the shell. Hooking his left hand along side of the bench, he scooted closer to her, again beginning to wonder the honor in all of this. Pressing further down, his hand remained above her heart, simply feeling the rapid thump. Leave it, that first whispered again. He should. He truly, truly should, but he just couldn't bring himself to pry away from her.

He never thought skin could be so soft. Different from her neck or her ear, it was silken ... no, finer than silk. Still of aware mind that he would be concerned of her toppling off of the bench, he brought his free hand beneath the weight of her hair, his fingers curling against her nape as he cut down the distance between them close enough where her shoulder would be pressing against his chest. Her heart wasn't the only that was rapidly thumping, surely if she wasn't enraptured by his voice she'd be able to feel it. There was only so far his hand could go before the gown stopped him. He had no thoughts of going any where else, though. If she drew out of it and caught him moving further ... he'd die. Without his mask, doing exactly what he had professed to himself that he wasn't going to do; both with the touch to her skin and the enthralling, she'd be absolutely horrified.

It took all of his strength to draw away from her, to bring his hand to a rest against her shoulder then finally from her completely. He shut his ears to her soft sound of protest, and swallowing slowly, he lifted a hand to his face to rub the skin slowly. Pressing up and hefting her into his arms, he began carrying her out of the library. He could have very well told her to return to her room, but he didn't trust his voice at the time, not beyond the languid hum that continued to pass over the experienced vocal cords. As still as a dead body in his arms, eyes still closed, she still trembled lightly, breath still heavy, lips remaining parted. Her throat was dry, but she wouldn't notice that until she woke later from her little 'dream'.

Dipping a shoulder slightly and ensuring that he wouldn't bumping her head against the door as he nudged it open. Carrying her over to her bed, he turned enough where he'd be able to rest upon its edge and place her to the cushion of the mattress. A song still within his throat, he lowered his hand to take up the blanket, but paused while regarding the robe. If she was to think that she never woke, then it wouldn't do well for her to still be wearing it, not to mention her slippers. Sliding those off first, he placed them where they were last seen, then rested to the bed's edge again, regarding the robe's belt as if it was a cobra ready to strike; warily. Dragging in a slow breath, dexterous fingers lowered to ever-so-slowly pluck loose the already precarious knot.

Laying delicately on the bed, awake for all of this torture and yet too asleep to really be conscious of any of it, she shifted slightly as the belt came undone. Tilting her head to the side, away from Erik, she sighed - nearly gave a hum along with it, it was so musical - and rubbed her cheek against the pillow, the rest of her slight body motionless. Brushing the cloth open, he slid his hand beneath her neck and eased her up gently, sitting her almost straight with her weight supported by his arm. So close, he could smell the familiar perfume he had purchased her, and she could clearly hear the continued thrum of notes in his throat. While she might have been unconscious, he didn't wish to take the chance of her waking, especially in such a compromising position. It took great willpower to go about pressing the robe from her right shoulder to ease it down her arm which was pulled free soon after. So much willpower that his jaw was aching with how firmly it was clenched. Dampening his throat in a swallow, he shifted his arm up out of the way while awkwardly reaching beneath it to work off the other side, trying not to jostle her too much in the process.

Like a rag-doll, her head lolled backwards as he guided her up by the back of her slender neck, and when her weight was so far forward that gravity began to take its toll the other way, she fell gently forward into his arms, naked forehead pressed to the crook of shoulder and neck, her temple to his throat, where the hum reverberated and stirred her to a quiet moan. It felt good, like a cat warmly purring against aching muscles - soothing. Conscious somehow of the chill in the air as he removed one arm from the robe, both shoulders rose in a shiver and her head pressed more firmly against him, turning her head just so that the crown of her head nuzzled the crook of his neck. He froze abruptly and stared at his cloth laden hand, dumbfounded, then slid his gaze to her. There it remained with a few lethargic passings of her hearts beat. Moistening his lower lip, he drug in a deep breath and curled his hand against her shoulder. Instead of pushing her away immediately, he held her closer. There was an idle wonder that nearly brought a chuckle to his throat; could those several floors above him hear the thundering of his heart? Because it was deafening to him.

He was above animal urges, no matter how much of a monster he had been made out to be. Yet, still, there was an undeniable ache. He prayed, oh did he ever pray, that what he felt for her was genuine love, and not some twisted thing he was imagining. Not some lust that could barely be controlled. Yes ... yes he was above those animalistic urges. He didn't need unfulfilled desires to rule his life. He had ways of directing that passion; his music. Granted, it didn't offer the same type of release a writhing, moaning body might give, but he's made due all this time. For what, though? More frustration and a multi-page libretto that no one was ever going to hear? Did he truly want the public to witness such music. Music that they would surely shun only because they could not face the passion within their own souls. Pathetic fools. They wouldn't know a true to-be-felt opera if it bit them. Sliding his palm from her shoulder and along her arm, he captured her wrist within the curl of his fingers. It did feel as if this was perfection, as if this was how it was supposed to be. Easing her arm up, he settled it over his shoulder, a mockery of an embrace. While it thrilled him to have her so close, it was unbelievable pain to know it could only be while she was trapped within a vocal haze. Turning his head he brushed the unmarred curve of his cheek against hers, breathing out a single word across her ear that held all the weight of the world.

"Christine.."

Her arm fell where he placed it, and it seemed like an all too delightful weight around his shoulder, holding him as if she really meant to. For a moment it almost seemed as if she nuzzled into his cheek, her breath dancing across the front of his throat. Unconsciously she gripped the fabric at the side of his shirt, her long fingers curling tightly as she drew him closer, her arm tightening. Please, God. Let it be me she feels. Let it be me within her mind's eye. The anguish of these questions were almost unbearable, and he resisted curling his arms tighter around her body. Her lashes gently fluttered against the side of his neck, but it was a sensation that had been shoved into the back of his mind. She felt so different from the lifeless creature that stood attentively within his room. No one could ever understand his plight, and just how pathetically lonesome he was, that even the cold lifeless press of a painted, porcelain face against his neck was better than nothing at all. But she was hardly made of porcelain, cloth and stuffing. A living, breathing woman who was rested so peacefully against him - unaware, but still peaceful. Enough that she loosely wrapped him in the coil of her arms.

One of his own settled across the back of her shoulders, while the other went along with the hand that coursed its way from shoulder, to her elbow then back to her shoulder. Silence was his enemy at this time, but there was truly nothing he could do about it at that moment. His throat was sealed, closed by the heated knot that had rested within. All dreams had to end, and he was too reluctant to part from this one. Another temptation rose, to turn his head and brush his lips to her skin; but while he had braved to go this far, he couldn't press further. His head shifted, grazing his cheek against her own once more, and swallowing thickly he had gotten rid of some of the ache within his throat, just enough to quietly sing a portion of the song from earlier. "In my heart you'll find my love...it's yours." It was as close to a full confession he could give, and with it, he carefully began to ease her from his arms, and her arms from him.

Eyes that had been opening were drawn closed again as the soft sound of his voice pulled her back beneath the abyssal tide. Her arms slid at his direction limply from around his body, head tipping back as he pulled her away, easing her towards the mattress and with a quiet hum of sound in her throat, she turned her head to rest her cheek to her pillow. Drugged as if swimming through an opium field, she offered no protest to the removal of his scant warmth from her chest. So bordering upon the edge of sleep, if she slumbered again it wouldn't be for long. And she would never know what had passed between them was real.

Easing the robe from beneath her and pulling the covers over, he pressed to a stand with no small amount of discomfort. All of this ... it was a test, in his opinion. While he failed in drawing her within that enthralling haze, he succeeded in proving himself that what he had for her was truly love. If it was lust he would have kept her under and took advantage of her beautiful, prone body. Hanging the robe upon the nearby vanity chair, he glanced over to her, and exhaling slowly he made his way from the room with a close of the door behind him. Slumping against the surface he rubbed his hands against his face, trying his best to ignore the ache that seemed to travel throughout him. Pressing away from the door he stalked a path back to the library where there was a safe distance between them. Once settled, he rested his elbows against the keys and cradled his face in his hands, trying to maintain some sort of reasonable pace to his ragged breaths.