It took Christine but a few moments to fall into a tormented slumber, rolling almost immediately onto her side to curl up in the warmth that surrounded her - and yet didn't. There was an ache in her body that she had never felt before, not even around her precious Raoul. Curling until she was tangled in the covers, she finally stilled, but the silence was too great after having been filled so soothingly with song but a moment before. Lashes fluttered softly against pale cheeks and she found herself staring at the box of chocolates on her vanity. Delicately her brows furrowed in the haze that still remained over her, as if she had overslept by more than a few hours.

It was hard to say just how long he sat there, his brow pressed against the meaty portion of his palms and his eyes staring at the keys, all the while trying to calm the raging heat that flowed through his veins. Eventually it died down, leaving a lingering ache behind. That was one pain he wasn't going to get rid of easily. Lowering an arm to rest across the keys, bringing a discordant sound into the still, stale air, he rubbed his thumb and forefingers across his eyes slowly, easing away the sting that laid within. Brushing his fingers along the ivory, he was inadvertently reminded of the way her skin felt beneath his fingertips, and grunted faintly. Dropping his other hand to the keys, he began playing again, needing to get his mind off the things that plagued him. Nothing too harsh, though it wasn't soft and soothing either.

It didn't take long for her mind to reconstruct the dream. It was nearly tangible, so much so that she wanted to draw it in closer, though once she heard the faint noise of the piano and felt her feet itching to move from the room and go to the library, she frightened herself and instead huddled beneath the covers. The dream had felt so real, every bit of it, and sickened her so that her stomach felt empty. Wishing to stare at nothing, she rolled away so that she could no longer see the vanity, further tangling herself as tears rose in her eyes. Wrapping her arms around herself, kicking at the covers to free her legs a bit, she brought them up close to her chest. What did it mean, a dream this vivid, in which she felt Erik's fingers tracing the fullness of her breasts? Aching, she bit her lip, a moan escaping her throat with an exasperated shudder.

The guilt was just ... eating at him. While it had been nothing more than a touch, it was non-consensual. She would have never, ever, allowed him to do such a thing had she been aware of his actions. Though she'd enjoyed it, moaning and arching, there was no changing the fact that he had once again deceived her. Sliding his hands from the piano, he scooted the bench back and eased to a stand, making his way from the library and into his room. He did occasionally use non-
musical methods to relax. Drawing a bottle of brandy from the depths of a drawer, he searched for the glass he thought he had left behind, then carried the bottle with him out of his room. One glass would take the edge off his nerves - he was depending upon it.

Christine lay there for a long time, drifting from the memory of the dream to thoughts of her own bed far above. The consuming passions she'd been feeling her. Eventually she was able to draw her mind away from the dream to slide out of bed, feeling strangely colder than she normally did on leaving the comforts of sleep. Moving into her bathroom, she glanced many times at the door. She wanted, to go to him, but the music had stopped, and she didn't know if she'd be able to look at him after the thoughts that had passed through her mind. Drawing herself a warm bath, she watched the water fill the porcelain basin. She frowned, drawing her fingers over the curve of her breasts with a tremble. Gripping her hands to still them, she clasped them tightly to her stomach and sank to the nearest seat for a moment while the water filled the tub. While she relaxed, he paced, slowing down only long enough to listen to the sound of the running water.

The vivid sensation of her skin that had flickered to his mind caught him off guard, just as much as the pleasant sensation that coiled in the pit of his stomach. Muffling a groan, he lifted his free hand and pressed it to his face, realizing only then that he was not wearing his mask. He paused abruptly and made a detour back to the library. It was rare for him to forget such a thing so easily. The woman was a drug, and his very veins screamed for another dose, one stronger than the mere sample he had had already. Within the library he slipped his fingers beneath the porcelain and placed it back upon his face with a practiced ease. Smoothing the false strands down over the mask's cord, he returned to his path to the kitchen yet again, finally collecting a glass. Unscrewing the top of the brandy bottle, he poured the glass half full, not even bothering to wait to get back to his room.

Placing the bottle aside, he lifted the glass, letting the candlelight shine through before tilting it to his lips and drinking down the strong liquor. Setting the glass down, he almost considered pouring another one, but decided against it. It wouldn't do for him to get drunk. He licked his lower lip, exhaling a slow, heated breath, then carried both bottle and glass into his room with another brief glance. Unable to truly make up his mind, he made a second detour to the library to take up the book he had been reading before they finished Arabian Nights. Holding the book and glass precariously, he wandered out and approached his couch, sinking down upon the cushions. Resting the glass and bottle on the table, he stretched his legs out along the couch's length and leaned back against the arm, opening up the book to begin reading. He was already beginning to feel a bit calmer. Not completely though … not by a long shot.

Christine had found no peace within her bath, either. A harsh shudder consumed her, nearly spilling the water over the edge, and she had to drain some of it down before she finally sank down, letting her curls swim around her naked form, coiling around her throat with a gentle touch that reminded her of the images that flickered still through her mind. Nearly whimpering from the throbbing ache swelling where she had imagined his touch to be, she took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, too leery to touch herself even to wash. Every patch of skin seemed overly sensitive. She took a long bath, finally able to bring herself to run the soap along the length of her body without shuddering in hysterical ecstasy. When she had dried herself and thrown on her robe, she glanced into her closet, noticing for the first time the new dresses he had bought for her, and a faint smile replaced the worried frown that had marred her sweet features. Fifteen or twenty minutes later she emerged from her room almost coyly, standing hesitantly at the doorway in the white gown he had given her, a half-eaten piece of chocolate in her fingers. Though she was unable to look at him directly, she grinned a little as she sucked on the portion of chocolate already melting in her warm mouth, recalling his comment about her rotting her teeth out.

She was a bit surprised to find him slouched upon the couch, thin but strong shoulders pressed against its cushioned arm. A book propped upon his chest, his fingers lay between the lapels of his robe, scratching slowly at the pale skin beneath. What truly took her off guard was the sight of the nearby decanter, half filled with some amber colored liquid that was surely alcohol. As far as she knew he didn't drink. Then again, she recalled that she wasn't always around him. She failed to notice that his gaze was upon her, drawn by the sound of the shutting door. She gave a languid suckle upon the chocolate and another smile caressed her lips. "Are the chocolates to your liking?" he asked after a pregnant pause, and she started subtly, caught off guard by his voice.

"Very much so," she answered, her smile faltering a little. She could feel his gaze upon her, enough to force her own to his, even if he was hardly demanding the movement. "They're delicious." The second half was soon unceremoniously slipped between her lips. Unsure what to say after that, she glanced down at the gown, swallowing the taste of the rich chocolates. "You have wonderful taste in fabrics, too, Erik. This is lovely, truly." Her smile was quick to return, despite the raging thrum of her heartbeat. Seeing him there, all she could think of was her dream. Lifting his hand from his side, he used it to hide a yawn. Not only were his nerves relaxed, but the rest of him was as well. Dropping his palm to his stomach he shifted his weight slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. "I had hoped you would like them. The dresses and the chocolates. Do not eat too many of them, though. I would not wish for you to become sick."Flushing a little, wondering how on earth he could have known she'd already had a few before this one, she nearly pouted. "I won't." Her eyes innocently followed the line of his robe, she pulled her gaze away and moved closer. Instead of asking him to move, she knelt upon the floor at his side, the movement releasing the gentle scent of her perfumed flesh into the air. This was the first time she had really seen him comfortable, like any other normal man. Truly comfortable. "Did I sleep for long? I feel as if I am over-exhausted."

"You slept a while this time, yes." Lowering the book slightly, he glanced down towards her and drew in a slow breath, gathering the scent of that perfume. He could sit there and breathe it all day if only it was possible. It could be, though, couldn't it? He could keep her here... He didn't dare think about that, not now. "You rested well at least, yes?" Keeping guilt and discomfort from one's features was easy when half-masked Shutting the book upon his thumb he closed his eyes to half lid, fighting back another yawn. She raised her eyes to him at his question, not wary of his reason for asking it, but of how she should answer. He couldn't know anything of her dreams, so it would have been easy to lie, but she was never fond of doing that. She had yet to really lie to him at all, and wasn't anxious to begin. "I'm not quite sure... I had strange dreams." Looking away to avoid reminding herself of the feel of his fingers against her skin, she toyed with the lace hem of the simple dress, pressing it between her forefinger and thumb, rolling it gently.

"About?" Absently running his tongue across his lower lip to collect the last lingering traces of the brandy, he glanced over to the bottle, then shifted to sink down further along the sofa's arm. Nice and comfortable, he opened up the book and folded down the edge to save his place. Leaning to the side and placing the book upon the table, he had to catch his balance on the edge before he ended up tipping over. It was all done easily, and gracefully enough that she didn't notice he had lost his balance for a moment. Resting back again he rubbed his stomach slowly, indulging his palm with the warmth inside. After a moment, she glanced up to him,furrowing her brows, wondering how she could answer without lying this time. Licking dry lips, she re-situated herself, shifting restlessly on the floor, unsure of what to say. Her cheeks flamed. "About you," she murmured, immediately looking away. "It was very real, Erik. All of it. It felt as real as sitting here talking to you. I've never felt anything like it."

"About me?" He paused a moment, stilling his hand against his stomach, and dropping his eyes, he looked toward her. "What was very real about it?" Prodding, he wanted to know just what was going through her mind concerning her 'dream.' Shifting his weight he turned to his side and propped his head upon the couch's arm, and gathered the side of the robe, pulling it over, shielding warm skin from the chill of the lair. Draping his arm across his stomach, he continued watching her from a half lidded gaze. Christine shook her head. "Everything. It was ..." She swallowed, still feeling the weight of his fingers along the top of her breast, making her shiver and raising visible goose-bumps along her throat and other portions of exposed skin. "It just seemed I could feel it more than any dream I've ever had." Though she wasn't saying anything about what had happened in the dream, she had a horrible suspicion that he could read her mind and could see the images that flickered through her thoughts. Looking to him and finding his eyes upon her, she lost her breath. "I don't know what else to say of it ... It was only a dream." Wasn't it?, she asked herself.

"Was it a good dream, or a bad one?" 'And if it's good, would you want to have it again?' Say it... He couldn't bring himself to do so. That just might give away too much without her answering his first question. He scratched at the side of his inner eye, just below the brow, then dropped his arm to his stomach again. Closing his eyes almost completely, he kept them open just a smidgen so he'd be able to watch her discretely. Perhaps she would reveal more if she believed he wasn't looking upon her. Relaxing a little bit now that he wasn't looking at her, her gaze fell to his hand, which rested comfortably on a slow-rising, too-thin stomach. Didn't he ever eat properly?, she wondered. "It was..." She paused, furrowing her brows gently. "...I'm not sure. Both, I suppose, in some way. It was terrifying and breathless like a nightmare, but..." Turning her eyes to her own fingers, she childishly worried about her nails, half-pondering, half-trying to avoid any further questions through silence.

"I see. Well, as long as it wasn't completely a nightmare, then I do not have to worry." He cracked open his eyes slightly to look fully upon her again. "Would not wish you losing sleep, and such." At least it let him know that she didn't completely dislike her 'dream.' "You need it as much as I do. Unfortunately ... my mind will not listen to my body," the corner of his mouth faintly rose, and a low thrumming chuckle slipped through his throat. Closing his eyes again he tipped up the arm he was mostly laying upon, and, slipping it from beneath him, he crossed both arms over his chest, then finally stilled. Lucid, compared to how he felt earlier, it almost seemed as if he would fall to sleep right there. But he wouldn't. Like he'd said, his mind was far too active for his own good. With his eyes fully closed this time, he missed the opportunity to catch her studying the strong line of his shoulders and the draw of them down to his arms.

"Are you tired?" She smiled delicately. "Did you even sleep at all?" She would bet her life he hadn't, that he'd stayed up all night while she slept, and though that worried her, it was a little bit endearing that he wouldn't let himself sleep, even when it appeared he could be out at any moment, like a stubborn little boy. "No. Not tired. I haven't slept yet. I do not sleep as much as other people. There is too much in the day to do." And what, exactly, would that be? All he did was sit around and read, work on his libretto, pine, and drink tea. Not in that particular order. He left the lair sometimes, but only to take care of business so he wouldn't starve; he didn't eat that much to begin with. One meal a day was fine for him. "I've noticed," she chuckled. "But what can keep you from sleep, Erik? Whatever keeps you awake must be very important. I don't know how you manage to stay awake for so long - I grow so tired after only slightly active days."

"It is the way I have always been. I rarely slept, even as a child. Too ... active, I suppose." He decided that he didn't want to talk about his life, or more exactly his past and swerved the words off in a different direction. Glancing over toward the kitchen, he considered getting something to drink. The brandy had definitely made him thirsty. "Do you hunger?" he questioned, turning his amber gaze back to her. A bit of his hair had fallen over his mask, and she wished to push it behind his ears but refrained, eyeing it curiously instead. "I'm not really hungry, but have you eaten, Erik?"

"I have not eaten yet, no." Pressing his elbow against the couch, he pressed up and eased his legs over the edge. He yawned slowly, blinking a few times as his eyes stung with the force of the tears that sprung to life. Grumbling beneath his breath he eased up carefully. Getting up too quickly would probably make him light headed. While he hadn't drunk that much, it was enough to make him nicely lethargic, just what he had wanted. "What would you like?" Christine couldn't help but laugh again, and she reached out without thinking, her fingers a scant centimeter from his knee, to stop him as she shook her head. "Why don't you sleep, Erik? You were good enough to sing me to sleep when I asked I would be happy to do the same for you, if you'd like. I'm not truly hungry, and you look positively exhausted." She imagined that he must've been hunched over his desk for most of the night. Or maybe he'd been at the piano as he'd been when she'd awakened and that had influenced her dreams. Her free hand had raised to her lips, shielding her smile just slightly.

Lowering to a sit again he shook his head gently. "You are awake now. I will remain awake myself. I would not wish you to be bored here. And do not hide your smile." The corner of his mouth faintly lifted as he noticed her childish gesture. He found it positively endearing. Resting his forearms across his thighs, he laced his fingers together and looked down to the ground in thought. The events of hours earlier still plagued him. Just the thought was enough to bring a slight rush of heat, and he released a pent breath. Closing his eyes he tipped his head down between his shoulders. When she realized that it wasn't a dream - if she realized - he hoped that she would be able to forgive him ... because he couldn't forgive himself.


Thank you all for the reviews. Marie and Convoitz, thank you again for the pointers!