I swiftly moved Christine to the couch, reattaching my friend to my shoulder as I carried her. Truth be told, I hadn't known he was on me when I began to cuddle with my wife; however, I had let him back into the hotel room last night, so it was my fault. Or, at least, Christine would see it as my fault, and there were far too many sharp tools in the kitchen for me to want her there when she awakened.
Kneeling next to the couch where I had placed her, I took a few precautionary measures, covering her mouth with my left hand and firmly holding her limbs to her sides with my right arm. The tarantula seemed content to wait on my shoulder; as I did not have a hand free to move him, I had to leave him be.
Perhaps, after one has fainted often enough, the body becomes used to the activity; at any rate, I had noticed that Christine regained consciousness much more quickly now than she had when I first began to teach her.
As if I had needed further proof of the influence I had on her life . . .
Christine stirring beneath me snapped my thoughts back to the present. Her dark eyes opened and she glared up at me, the stare turning to an expression of absolute horror when she perceived my shoulder decoration. A muffled shriek partially escaped my fingers over her mouth and I pressed down warningly; her yelp instantly ceased.
"Now, my dear," I murmured, "let us get a few things straightened out, shall we?" The expression on Christine's face clearly said, Do I have any choice? "I must apologize for your fright this morning; I swear, beloved," and now my voice dropped from civilly light-hearted to sincere, "I did not know the spider was on me when I kissed you. I swear, Christine, please believe me."
Her eyes were not encouraging.
"However, as I did, in fact, allow this beautiful creature," I nodded to my furry companion, "back into the room last night, the incident was partially my mistake. And no, before you ask; I did not have him with me when I first returned to the room. I was honest with you when I said that I had no spiders; I rescued him late last night." Of course, telling her that I had no spiders with me even when I had fully intended to bring mine back in had not been precisely honest, either, but I ignored that. "And now," I concluded, "I believe it is time for you two to be properly introduced." I steadily disregarded the increase of shock in Christine's eyes. I had to see this through, as much as I hated causing her fear. "Once you have been introduced, of course, I will do anything with him that you wish me to." Carefully, I removed my hand from her mouth, preparing my ears for an outburst of sound.
"Erik, why?" Her tone was not what I expected; it was quiet and frightened, instead of loud and angry. Somehow, it hurt worse.
I hesitated. "Because I believe that you need to conquer this fear of yours. Because I like spiders; they are wonderful creatures, Christine, once you look past their outward appearance." Stroking her arm lightly, I admitted to my bluff. "You know, of course, that I can deny you nothing. If you wish me to take him away permanently, I will do so immediately. But . . . please? Try? For me?" I turned my best pout on her.
The remark about looking past outward appearances had not missed its target; Christine knew fully well that I was manipulating her, but she sighed in acceptance. "If I hold it, you will let it go back to wherever you kidnapped it from?"
Oh. I was not the only one capable of manipulation. Kidnaps and bargains were the stuff of our tangled past; deliberately mentioning them in the same sentence was guaranteed to make me think guiltily of the night I had stolen her from the midst of Don Juan. She was good. "Yes," I retorted lightly. "My victim will be returned to its nest quite safely, I assure you."
I couldn't help letting a slightly wicked grin coming to my lips. Victim was certain to bring forth dark memories of my past; take that, my dear!
Christine's jaw had dropped open a little, but when she responded, her voice was too, too sweet. "I'm sure the creature will mistake you for an angel when you take it home, love."
I blinked. That was entirely uncalled for.
Christine
My triumph over Erik's momentary silence was short-lived; he smirked down at me and lifted his free hand—the one he had been using to cover my mouth—to his shoulder. "Now that we have the compromise settled, my dear, I believe it is time for you to fulfill your half of the bargain," he purred.
I shook.
Erik gently lifted the tarantula into his hand and let his gaze rove over me. I blushed, but began to squirm again when he let the spider hover over my abdomen. "Hold still," my husband commanded. "You'll frighten it."
I managed to glare at him. "I'll frighten it?" I challenged.
Immune to my sarcasm, Erik just nodded and lowered the tarantula down towards me. I winced as its slight weight settled on my nightgown; maybe if I kept my eyes closed, I could pretend it wasn't there?
My breath was coming in short gasps; no such luck.
Then it began to move.
"Erik," I whimpered desperately, trying and failing to suppress my tremors. I knew in the back of my mind that shaking would only upset my predatory guest, but I couldn't help it; I had all I could handle by forcing myself not to scream.
Quite suddenly, both the spider and the arm restraining me to the couch were gone; I opened my eyes in time to see Erik and his pet disappear through the door. I heaved a sigh of relief and sank down into the cushions, still shivering.
I lost track of time trying to control my shaking; the next thing I knew, familiar arms were lifting me and Erik's golden voice was soothing me, his tone moving from gentle to suggestive and back again, lightly teasing me while carrying an undertone of true apology. He settled into the couch with me curled up in his lap, his mouth brushing against my jaw as he murmured comforting nonsense into my skin.
Finally I stopped quivering and melted down into him, letting my head press against his chest and listen for the relaxing measure of his heartbeat. "Hey there," I said softly.
Erik smiled and playfully brought his lips close to mine, letting his warm breath caress my face. He hovered, not quite touching, and grinned at me when he saw the desire in my eyes. My husband, however, has a love of tantalizing me; Erik shifted a little so that his mouth could tease the corner of mine. "Does this mean I have permission to kiss you again?" he asked lowly, his voice rumbling in his chest. He ran his fingers lightly up my back and I shuddered.
"Perhaps," I managed to reply, finding my fingers already in his hair to hold him close. Erik chuckled, and slowly let our mouths meld together in a deep kiss.
ErikWe spent that week recovering from the last month of running; it took the place of a honeymoon. It had only been four days after our wedding that Nadir and the French investigators invaded our lives, after all, and we strongly felt that we deserved some quality time alone together before moving on. Eventually, however, Christine and I realized that our time in that little border town was at an end, and we headed for Venice and La Fenice.
Christine seemed to have forgiven me for the spider; at least, if she was planning on revenge, it was a revenge that was slow in coming. This did not necessarily ease my mind; my wife had been living with me long enough to have picked up a certain inventive turn of creativity, should she wish to use my own devious nature against me, and that turn of mind would be quite content to wait until the proper moment to launch an effective attack.
We spent our first week in Venice in the last of a long string of hotel rooms before I secured an apartment. It was a bit larger than our home in Vienna, with a spacious studio and plenty of living space. Indeed, I caught myself eyeing the studio and wondering if I wouldn't be able to assemble a small organ inside. Christine was delighted with the apartment; after having to live in hotels for almost two months, the thought of having our own space was making her quite nearly giddy. As for me, I had quickly found a few dealers for my inventions, so we had a steady—even affluent—income and I could allow Christine to decorate as she pleased, within reason.
The first night we stayed in our new home, it was quite bare, holding only the belongings we had managed to carry from Austria and a large double bed I had purchased that morning, but it was home. I had a feeling we were going to be in Rome for a long and even happy time.
Christine, dressed in her chemise, danced lightly around the studio as I put up a few shelves; we had been in our little apartment for two weeks now, and more and more it was taking on the appearance of a home. I smiled and allowed myself to watch her, not really minding that I was quite distracted from my task; we had plenty of time to install shelves. My wife had regained the healthy glow she had possessed in the early days of our marriage; Christine had even put on some weight so that I could no longer complain about her waif-like frailty. She was well and happy; that was all I needed.
Noticing my gaze, Christine stopped her joyful pirouettes and held her hand out to me. "Dance with me, Erik," she invited, smiling.
I laughed and pulled her into a dizzying spin. Christine twirled around and around until she stumbled and collapsed, laughing, against my chest. "Hello," I murmured down to her, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. "May I inquire as to who I have the pleasure of dancing with?"
"Aminta," she retorted, taking on the playful gaze of that character. "Perhaps, monsieur, you have met my husband, Don Juan?"
"Nay, nay, m'Lady," I chuckled. "For I am Romeo, in eternal search of my beloved Juliet. Have you seen her?"
"I have not, good sir, because I am the Margarita, looking for my Faust."
I lowered my head to tickle her ear with my mouth as I spoke. "Then you should be warned, fairest, for I am Mephistopheles, who has come for his soul."
"Could even a Carmen tempt you from such a terrible conquest?" Christine asked, pulling away to pout at me. "I do not believe you to be Mephistopheles, my dear stranger, for I feel a connection between you and I that cannot be denied. Mayhap, could you be Orpheus? For I, good sir—I am Eurydice!"
"Indeed!" I leaned down and kissed her deeply. "Then your quest is over, beloved, for I am the one you seek." Roughly trailing my mouth down her jaw and neck, I muttered, "Christine?"
I grinned at her happy little moan as she answered, ". . . yes?"
"Are you sure I can't be Mephistopheles?"
Her eyes, which had closed, flickered open suspiciously. "Why?"
The look I gave her started innocent, but quickly dissolved into a wicked grin. "Because then I could kidnap you, my dear one." So saying, I tried to lift her into my arms.
Christine wriggled away from me. "Not if you can't catch me," she retorted, flashing me a quick smirk as she hovered just out of my reach.
Growling playfully, I lunged toward her. "Better run," I advised, showing her my teeth in a predatory smile. She laughed and darted across the room; too late, Christine realized that the only door to the studio was behind me.
"Not fair," she gasped past her giggles as I advanced upon her. I just smirked and kept coming closer. When I was an arm's-length away, Christine tried to slip past me, but I grabbed her forearms and firmly pressed her back into the wall.
I wrapped one hand in Christine's hair, holding her steady, while my other dropped to encircle her waist. She smiled up at me as I drew us together into a harsh kiss. When I finally released her, she pressed her face into my chest, her hands tracing lazy circles on my back. Humming, I swung her back up into my arms—successfully, this time.
Christine lightly played her lips across my ravaged right cheek. "How about," she suggested lowly, "you just be Erik, and I will be Christine?"
That sounded perfect to me.
Christine
The first two weeks had been spent making our apartment into a home; the second fortnight Erik and I focused on preparing my voice for a return to the stage. After all, this was Venice; home to one of the oldest Opera Houses in the world, La Fenice. The title of "Glorious Angel" had been given to me in Rome; I had not auditioned in Venice during the year I traveled with Raoul. A letter had come for me about two weeks before Erik had appeared in his Box Five, asking for the Angela Gloriosa to return to Italy as a diva on the stage of La Fenice. Erik had replied for me, telling the theatre that I would be in Venice before six months had passed.
It had only been just over three, but I didn't think the managers would complain.
They did require me to audition; after all, this was not my beloved Populaire, where the quality of the audience was more important than the quality of the show. I gave them my old role of Margarita, and I think that I surpassed even that first gala triumph in Paris, for now I knew that the one I loved was no Angel of Music I could never touch, but a man. A man with a past, a man with a dual nature that could frighten me, but a man all the same—a man named Erik, who was most likely watching me from the shadows as I displayed for the owners of La Fenice the wonder he had made of my voice.
The silence past my final note was deep. Smiling, for I knew the difference between a silence of awe and a silence of disgust, I coquettishly lowered my head and waited for them to find their own voices. For a moment, though, I allowed myself to glance into a certain box and let my lips form the words, 'I love you'.
As the managers prattled about the divinity of my voice, I heard a different tone tickling at my ear. No one else would have heard it; those soft words, "The angels wept to-night," were for us alone.
-chapter end-
A/N: I know, Erik's last words are a direct rip from Leroux, but I love that passage. Why can't Gerik say such beautiful things when he steals Christine from her dressing room in the movie? –happy sigh–.
Everyone seemed quite fond of the first-person Christine, so we're continuing with her from this point forward. I'll probably go back and edit her old scenes too, at some point, just because I'm a perfectionist, but I am warning you: fall semester starts on August 29. With three stories going (stupid, stupid, stupid Mouette and her need to have fluff and angst going on at the same time), it'll be a while between updates. Please be patient; I'll try to make them long and worth your while!
As for the review replies—when I see it in the guidelines, or a mod tells me I need to not reply, I will happily and swiftly comply. Until then—well, I trust FF.N enough that I disbelieve they would punish writers for rules that are not –in- the rules. So here are mine.
phantomlovin4ever: Hey steph, welcome back! Thanks so much for always taking the time to tell me you love my little tales; it does –wonders- for my day! Here's another update for you!
Onelastchance: -grin- Welcome to the story. I love their playfulness too! EC fluff is the best of stuff . . . thanks for reviewing and here's an update for you!
Mominator: Yes, here is the last of the tarantula—he's dragging on a bit for me so I decided it was time for him to leave. LOL about the frying pans—I decided he would think knives were a little more dangerous –grin-. Thanks as ever! –sighs for fluffy stuff-.
grotto1: Glad you like it—and I'm thankful that the spider has come across so well. I was afraid everyone would be saying something along the lines of "What the heck!" Here's more for you!
ThisbeAngel: Thanks for reading and reviewing—I'm just happy that you like the story. Yeah, Erik's particular brand of logic is rather amusing, isn't it? –grin-
agent715: Wow, thanks for liking this so much! Here's another update for you! And thanks too for reviewing!
Angelmuse: Heylo m'dear! I sincerely hope that I have caused you no spider nightmares (I'm surprised I haven't had one from this story myself!). At any rate, this is—at least for a while—the last of the creepy thing. Back to fluffymush . . . though I must admit, I'm itching to write a little AngryErik. Dang. Maybe Beyond could use a little bit of AngryErik . . . and as I have said before, never apologize for your reviews. I love them to pieces! It's good to know this story is making you cry (in a good way). Thanks as ever for your replies and I'm anxiously awaiting your next email! Merci, mon ami, merci!
CrazyCarl: LOL, your review made me grin. Thanks! Here's more to (I hope) love!
SoccerFreak2516: Update as often as you can, m'dear, no one (should) ask anything beyond that of you. Thanks for your reviews, as ever; here's more for you! Ay, I know, I should make longer chapters . . . but it would take me longer to post, so I guess you pick your poison. Here's more for you!
Son Kat: Wow, thanks for putting me into your C2! I'm always happy to hear that someone thinks my portrayals of Erik and Christine are in-character. I'm glad you like this so much; updating for you now!
Clever Lass: Hey m'dear! Yeah, I rather like the first-person Christine; thanks for suggesting it. I know, I really need to get my hands on a copy of Charles Dance Phantom . . . –grin- I was particularly fond of that little morning kiss, thanks!
Pertie: Hullo! Thanks for your suggestions and for reading. I did try to put a –little- more heat in this chapter for you, but I'm a PG writer at heart when it comes to smut. It likely will not be getting any hotter than what is above, but thanks for your reviews!
Rose McCann: -grin- Nope, he didn't even realize it was on him or else he (certainly . . .) would not have been foolish enough to hold her that closely. Thanks for reading; here's a little bit more! Don't worry—I would have fainted too.