"Nothing in particular, no," she answered, opening her eyes to watch his fingers on the keys. "Something simple to start?", she smiled warmly, her voice nearly singing even as she spoke. He gave it some thought then nodded slowly with a half smile. "How about a folk song?" This was becoming a pattern for them, spending several minutes trying to figure out a song, but once chosen it tended to be a good one. "Do you know Scarborough Fair? That is one I have not heard in many years. It sounds better when it is played on an ocarina or a lute, though…" Glancing down to the keys, he absently plucked out the tune. "Or…" He pursed his lips slightly, dampening them and, closed, thought of another song he would like to hear her sing. She nodded, smiling as he played. "That's a lovely song. I could try to do it justice." The words were easy enough - she'd had them memorized since she was a little girl. He nodded, focusing more on the movements of his fingers, and began playing the gentle melody, she humming an accompaniment to the opening measures.

Even humming her voice is beautiful. Before he had begun to tutor her, she had been spiritually flat, and now her very croon would make angels weep. There was no doubting Erik had truly helped Christine. Without him, she would have labored dully on forever, hitting notes in her sad, childlike way. Now, she concentrated, and even if she still slouched on occasion or missed a pitch by the slightest margin, she was undeniably closer to perfection especially in the way she read meaning into the lyrics, and sang with true emotion. He closed his eyes, listening to the soft, lilting sound of her voice as his fingers skimmed effortlessly across the keys. This happened to be one of his favorite songs. It was hopeful, yet the melody was at the same time haunting in its own gentle way. He couldn't help humming along, but kept his voice quiet so it wouldn't overshadow hers.

It was undeniable, this pull between them when they sang. Perhaps music was Erik's greatest chance at Christine's love - or her realization of her love and her true passions - for only in music could she begin to see things instead of merely looking at them. He let her complete the last verse before finally cutting off the music and sliding his hands away from the keys. His voice silenced as well, drawing down to nothing as he smiled faintly to her, then gestured toward the tea, knowing she probably needed something to soothe her throat after such a long song. Lowering a hand to the bench, he leaned his weight against it slightly and drew his feet away from the damper and sustain pedals. Tucking his feet beneath the bench, he crossed his legs at the ankles and tilted his head to the side. "Your voice is as beautiful as ever. Though you must remember … always practice at least once a day. Even if it is a single scale."

Smiling to him with a nod, she murmured her thanks as she lifted her tea. Watching him for a moment as she took a few sips to warm and loosen her tight throat, her eyes roamed over the space on the bench next to him. Would everything remind her now of that dream? Noting that she was looking at the bench he glanced to it, then lowered his hand to pat the cushion, inviting her to sit. She took the invitation and slid beside him as he slid his hand from the cushion and back to the piano. He plucked a few keys, absently melding them into a random song. Bringing his feet forward again, he settled one against the sustain pedal, making the notes draw out longer, creating a soft harmony. "The rehearsals for Il Muto will begin when you return. I do hope the managers will come to their senses," he murmured.

She drew her attention from his fingers to his face as he spoke, realizing that in her dream, he'd been without the mask - and it hadn't mattered. "I'm sure they will choose whoever is better for the role, won't they?" she asked. She didn't really want to think about the managers or the notes and threats Erik had sent their way. Would he send more if they continued to cast Carlotta? Erik's fingers paused, then he nodded, returning to his playing without further hesitation. "Yes, of course." If they know what is wise for them. Slowly dampening his lower lip, he pursed them thoughtfully, then shook his head softly. He hoped that they would be wise. "Nevertheless … I will have you sing as the Countess while you come here." His Christine - cast as the mute? He would be beyond furious if that were to happen. Perhaps his temper could be staved off if she were given only a minor role - perhaps - but completely silent? It might have people focus on her acting skills, but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted them to remember her for her voice, not for the novelty of wearing a pair of trousers on stage.

He tilted his head slightly, paying no attention to what his hands were doing, and settled his attention quietly upon her. His thoughts began to travel again, back to the last time she had sat in that very same spot.He turned his head back, watching his hands with a slow exhale. "Well. We have sung our song for the day. Or at least one of them." Chuckling gently, he closed his eyes, swaying gently to the rhythm of the music. "Perhaps we shall start upon a new book. Hm... maybe we can think of something new. I am afraid I am not the most exciting individual." His smile faded slightly and he glanced sideways at her. "I'm very simple, Erik," she responded, tilting her head to the right as she watched his fingers caress the keys - fingers that had caressed places no one else ever had, so gently, curiously. It made her breath catch a little to think of it, but she did her best to hide it with a soft laugh. "My life was always made up of reading, singing, and rehearsals, with dinner and sleep mingled in the middle somewhere."

"Sounds a lot more exciting than my own." He had to find something else to do with his life. Though it was late, he was old... he was realizing just how dull his life had become. He used to travel, to see the world - now he was stuck within this tomb, this underground crypt with only the water to keep him company, and the flickering of the myriad candles. He lifted his eyes to gaze upon said towers of wax, watching the flames dance in the unfelt breeze. Shaking his head softly, he looked over to her again. "And you are hardly simple," he mentioned vaguely. No, she was a complex woman, at least to him. "And your life isn't so dull," she mentioned with a sad little smile, wishing she could show him that she meant her words. "You've done a great many things, haven't you? You've only just begun to tell me a few of them, and those were so exciting… You've traveled, Erik. How many people have traveled as you have? I certainly never will." Pressing her fingers to the higher keys as he continued to play, she plucked out a plain melody using mostly white keys. "After all, your life isn't over. You could travel again, couldn't you?" Christine had the amazing ability to be able to overlook the greatest physical flaws in him one moment and the next be unable to focus on anything else. She had quite forgotten his age and his face for a long moment as she played with the keys, adding a little trill delicately. "You don't have to be trapped here."

A somber smile crossed his mouth. No, his life wasn't over yet, but he was getting to that point. Perhaps that was why he was so desperate for ...this. For something so normal as sitting down and playing music with someone. Singing with them. Reading books until they both fell to sleep. And so much more. Rapidly spiraling into a darker mood, he silently attempted to pull himself out of the nose-dive. "I do not have to be, but I am." Looking up at him sadly, her fingers hesitated on the keys, perfectly destroying her serene melody. "You shouldn't be, then," she stated firmly, though still rather meekly by most standards. She wished Erik wouldn't keep himself down here. "You insist on staying...but you've stayed out most of your life, haven't you? You were not born underground. It would be easy to find somewhere... more secluded, if you wished, you know." Picking up the melody to distract her, it grew somehow a bit more somber now.

"No, I was not born underground, but I might as well have been." Raising one hand from the keys, he scratched his jaw just below the edge of the mask, then dropped his hand again. Continuing with the nameless song, he nodded slightly. "But yes... I have traveled plenty of times. Mostly it was out of necessity rather than pleasure. I could do so again, though it would be difficult for me. Perhaps if I had a young woman to help me along, I could have someone catch me should my old hip give out." The side of his mouth gently rose and he glanced at her. Christine didn't know whether to laugh or not, but glancing sidelong at him, she found she had to. The image was silly, as she couldn't imagine any part of Erik giving out like an old man. He presented himself as being so much stronger than that. Laughing as she shook her head, her fingers rose to gently hide her lower lip. "I doubt very much that you'd need someone for that purpose," she answered. "And if you're falling apart all over her, I'm sure the young woman wouldn't feel appreciated as she should."

"I suppose you are right. I would have to keep from falling apart on her, hmm? Though having one at my side would not do any harm. For just-in-case purposes. She could be there, always prepared to catch me should I suddenly collapse." With the lightening mood, the music also changed. He was doing well in dragging himself out of the slumps. He didn't want to sit there in self-loathing, ruining the time she spent with him, though it was half of what he would actually like. "I suppose it would be a good idea then," she allowed, "for just in case purposes. I suppose that's why I'm here, hmm? To pick you up should you fall." Drawing his fingers across the keys slowly, he ghosted a touch as if he were playing some familiar tune, and her hands slid from the smooth ivory. "I have fallen already. Severely and painfully," he began, keeping his eyes upon the keys. He started playing again that same pattern he had mimicked. "I am simply glad that nothing was broken. " Not yet anyway … Just cracked. Perhaps it could be mended. It would only take her to do so.

Slowly dragging her gaze from his fingers, she glanced at him, frowing a bit curiously at him, then half smiled and laid her hand on his wrist. "I cannot always tell when you're teasing, Erik," she murmured. "Am I a bad judge or are you too good an actor?" He had stopped playing when her hand drifted out toward his wrist, and raised his head, turning his eyes to her. A quiet smile passed over his lips. "I believe both, my dear. I believe both." Pulling his hands away from the keys, he lowered them to his lap and splayed his fingers over the surface. "Though," he began, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, "I was teasing." A little white lie, the better to protect himself from saying too much. Again. Smiling freely now, Christine removed her hand from its place upon his wrist and nodded. "You don't have to stop. I didn't mean to stop you. That was lovely, whatever you were just playing." She hummed softly, trying to remember the somewhat elusive melody.

"Truth be told, I do not even know what it was I was playing." He tilted his head slightly, glancing to the keys with a low chuckle in his throat. "Sometimes that happens. Something comes to mind and it begs me to play it. It will keep nagging unless I do so. Sometimes music is like a woman in that aspect." Yes, music was like a woman … in more than just the 'nagging' aspect. One had to spend time with the notes, treat them accordingly or all would be a discord. Christine stole a glance at him with a childish widening of her eyes and a half-shocked laugh, shaking her head and looking away. "Not all of us nag, Erik," she managed to retort. "We nag when men don't give us what we want."

"Well then, I will have to make sure I give you all that your heart and soul desires just so you won't nag me." Chuckling gently, he brought his hands to the keys again. Recalling the melody he changed it just a bit, transposing it a step up, making the notes floatier. What had sounded so solemn just moments ago was made lighter, lilting. He thought about his words as he watched her from the corner of his eyes. Women were, indeed, like music. How could one that could be considered so simple inspire such strong emotions..? Joy, happiness, passion and pain. Letting his thoughts travel, he dipped his chin, eyes closing as he continued the gentle, nameless song. Christine knew his words were hardly a joke, she could feel the truth in them. Erik would indeed give her all that her heart and soul desired, though it wouldn't be to keep her from nagging - it would be to win her love, as any other man might have done. Turning her full attention to his face, she removed her fingers entirely from the keys. Her shoulders drooped as her breath slowed comfortably, watching the way he leaned into the music, as if he slid right into it - as if the music extended from his body. Perhaps it did.

"What is it you think of … when you are alone," he questioned out of the blue, not even quite sure himself why he asked. What was it of his business? Certainly while she was alone her thoughts were private, ones she didn't want any person to listen or know. He had thoughts like that. Probably more than he actually spoke. At times he let his music talk for him. A person could learn a lot from each note he coaxed out... if they opened their ears, mind and heart to listen and not just 'hear.' Moistening his lips lightly, he cracked open his eyes so he could look over to her. She blinked once or twice in confusion as she looked at him, and when his eyes were on her, she became even more lost. "What do I think of?", she echoed softly, not sure how to answer. She certainly had her private thoughts, but she thought of everything - perhaps there was some answer she could give, though she assumed he wanted to know more than just basic every day thoughts. Did he mean, did she think of him when she was alone? Her porcelain cheeks grew a little bit pink. "What do you mean?"

A soft laugh passed between his lips and he turned to look over to her, a half smile still apparent. "I mean… what is it you think of? What passes through your mind while you are alone? Do you wonder about your future? Dwell upon your past? Do you think of silly little trivial things such as why male ladybugs have spots and females don't? Speak to me of anything. And perhaps I will give you a little secret on my own thoughts." Laughing in return, she turned her attention to his fingers on the keys. "I suppose, before this year, I thought of my past. Of my father, the way the shore looked when we stood by it hand-in-hand; of how I thought Madame Giry to be a monster when I first met her and her horrible stomping cane; how like a flower I thought Meg to be. Or a butterfly. Something pretty and a little distant. But now..." Tilting her head, she pondered for a moment. "Everything? That's not a good answer, is it?" She looked up to him with a soft laugh, then down to her own hands, taking in their graceful paleness. "My past at times, but those are the saddest thoughts, and I've tried to focus on my future more. Of music, the opera." As if she couldn't decide where to look, her eyes rested upon his again, a softness in her look. "A terrible many things. My mind is much a hummingbird at times," she added with a smile.

"You do think of much." A thin smile crossed over his lips. "The Madame is not all ice, you realize. She is only that way before the girls to keep them in line. It seems to work rather well." Nodding slowly, he turned his eyes back to his hands as they continued their touch along the keys. Inadvertently he was reminded of the way her skin felt beneath his hand and, closing his eyes, he unwillingly lingered within the memory. The way her flesh was - she was - soft and pliant, the gentle bumps rising from chills. God help me, why do I keep thinking about that? He groaned inwardly. "I know," she murmured, finally settling on watching his fingers. Every note was caressed from the instrument with silky precision. Just as softly, she would bet, aswhen he'd touched her in her dream. "But I was more naive then," - if that could be believed - "and I thought horrible things of her. She helped me so much, and I'm thankful for her strictness." Erik's fingers were so lithe and graceful as they stroked the notes forth, and she lost a soft breath remembering her dream. "What do you think of?"

Your voice, the way you smell, the feel of your skin, the taste of your mouth... Clearing his throat, he lifted a brow and slowly dampened dry lips. "Hrm.." Oh yes, that's eloquent and articulate, Erik. Try again. "Well. Almost constantly, I think of music. But you perhaps know that by now." His hands had unconsciously drifted down the scale, sneaking away from the higher notes and drawing toward center and bass clef. He continued the gentle swaying rock of his body, keeping perfect rhythm to the music as it poured straight from his soul... and his imagination. Christine swallowed to wet her throat, wanting desperately to join in and sing, to share what was pouring out from his soul, but something in it frightened her. She was frightening herself. "You can't only think of music, Erik," she whispered, albeit a little more hoarsely than usual, her voice quivering. "Isn't there anything else?"

"I think... of the past. Of how things could have been different if certain matters were not what they are." This wasn't something he was going to dwell on, though. Not at this time. "Sometimes I think of fantasy lands. Of impossible creatures in imagined worlds. Of things …that cannot be." Such as the very touch of your lips. It was a thrilling thought, and yet at the same time... he didn't wish to taint such skin with his own. He shifted slightly, one foot coming from beneath the bench to press along the sustain pedal, dragging out the notes that soon began twining together, the lighter higher notes and lower tenor melding into one. Frowning softly, she could almost imagine his own thoughts as he spoke to her. Things that cannot be... She wasn't confused but melancholy over the thoughts running through her head, over the memory of his touch which seemed to seep into the music as it wrapped around itself, tangling into a beautiful vision of legs and arms twining and bodies pressed in the dark. "What about the future?" she breathed, her eyes closing before she knew it enough to stop herself. She couldn't help it - it felt so good falling into his music, so hauntingly good. As if the music itself ran over the line of her half-tilted neck, against her parted lips, into her mouth and out again. Too good.

There was something almost primal within the low, throbbing strum of the notes, his fingers betraying his thoughts, letting them letting them seep through his fingers. Though it started off low, still there was the undeniable 'feel' of entwining bodies, heated and trembling. In his mind he didn't hear a piano as he played - he heard the lone pass of a bow across the taut strings of a violin. One of these days he was going to test this song upon that instrument. Yet... softer, higher keys played into his mind's ear: the singular taps of the piano. Realizing that she had said something, he cracked his eyes open slightly, focusing on the flame of a nearby candle. "What about the future..?" he repeated, sinking that question a bit deeper. "I try not to think of the future..." Perhaps his only future is his tomb here below the opera. That was such a depressing thought that she dismissed it with a shudder immediately after thinking it. "The fantasy lands..." she murmured, trying to force her eyes open, but stopped, finding it much nicer to keep them closed. Her shoulders drooped, head tilting ever so slightly to the right, one thick curl coiling alongside her throat, tauntingly. "Like ones in fairy tales or...or your own imagined ones?"

"My own," he breathed out slowly, clearing his throat with a nod. "I tend to have a rather… vivid imagination." Too damned vivid. It wasn't her hair he was seeing drift across her throat, but his fingers. Rubbing the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth slowly, he soon drew into the second part of the duet, fingers drifting closer to where she was sitting. Thus far this piece had no lyrics. Not yet. He tried not to think of the tempting way her hair slithered against her neck, the way it tightened when she swallowed, and the soft quivering of her shoulders with each languid breath. She opened heavy lids halfway, looking up at Erik, drawing her tongue over her dry lips as her lashes fluttered. "What do you imagine when you play something like this?" Her questions were bordering on dangerous grounds now. She could, after all, feel the pulse of the song, the heated rhythm slowing drawing out, twining, melting against the tenor voice that she could nearly hear. Against such music, her own imagination took a sharp turn.

He sank a tooth into the flesh of his inner lip, trying to use the pain to bring himself back to focus, tearing his eyes from her to look back upon the keys. Eventually he closed them completely, the gentle sway beginning again as he drifted upon the notes, drawn by the seductive quality of his own music. She had to ask a question like that. It caused his stomach to sink down, plunging right into his feet. Running his tongue across his lips again, he shook his head gently. He had meant to say something, but couldn't bring himself to do so. He was almost afraid of what he might come up with. Instead he let the music speak for him; the notes were his voice. As much as he wanted to add to it the ghost of a hum, he left his throat still and silent. For now.

Christine's heavy eyes could only remain open a moment more before they closed slowly, and she swayed gently back to her previous position. She still wanted to sing, but she held back only because no words would come, and the part of her that was still conscious of everything around her didn't want to ruin the song with so much as humming. Blood suddenly thrumming through her veins, that low pulse of music drawn out so excruciatingly seemed to stop her breath, she pursed her lips, moistening them yet again - and once more when they dried again seconds later. The tingling sensation she'd felt in her dream wafted over her from heart to stomach to thighs, thrilling everywhere at once. Within her chest it seemed to burn against every beat of her heart, so that she eventually raised a hand to lay her fingers at the place it beat almost frantically, seemingly trying to overcome the music with its volume.

Still that condemning question remained upon his mind… what did he think of when he played music like this...? He wanted to answer her - wanted to go into great detail - but he feared her reaction. He couldn't bear to see the look of horror that might cross her face, or the uncomfortable cry she might give to be taken back to the surface. How he wished he could liberate himself, free everything that weighed so heavily on his mind, and his imagination. But then, if he could, his music wouldn't be as passionate - or would it…? This... impassioned melody was the only way he could safely have her, writhing beneath each grinding rhythm, each reverberating and pulsing beat. If he could love her just as heatedly, as fiercely as these very notes… neither of them would be able to come up for air, would be left to drown within the tide of their lusts. A lust that coiled even now within his very being, a tightening spring that was precariously near the edge of snapping. It was only the low timbre of his voice that calmed the raging fire just enough, as he hummed breathlessly along with the slow, seductive caress of chords.

Actions speak louder than words, whispered the little devil on his shoulder. Why don't you just take her and worry about finer points later? He could... No! No; She was far too aware. Last time he'd barely had to do anything before she'd sunk within that melodic trance. He could hardly think to even remember if she had been awake in the first place or not. Christine's body ached with the addition of his soothing voice to the insistently pulsing melody. Shuddering softly, she felt her own heartbeat kick up against her fingers. Are there words, she desperately wanted to ask. There must be words... But it was too much. The music burned in ways she hadn't imagined anything could burn, like his touch in the dream, probing inside her and all over her, twining around her waist, her legs, caressing the tips of her fingers, brushing her lips. If ever Erik could love her with the heat and ferocity of these very notes, she thought she might die of pleasure.


Once again, thank you all for your reviews! sbkar that "T, then it clicked." the comma and space was supposed to be deleted. Little editing mishap.