I own about as much as I can pay for :empties pockets to reveal a piece of lint and a folded and very crumpled napkin: ….yupp. I don't own a thing and I like Phantom one-shots. Whee. Phantom, closet, whipped cream, chocolate sauce.
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He watched from over her as she slept, eyes distant and cold as they greedily soaked in the rise and fall of her chest. His lips parted to say something, but he bit his tongue and continued to watch the sleeping angel.
He leaned forth, softly raising a gloved hand to tenderly place upon her cheek. He quickly drew that hand back to his side, mentally scolding himself with the discipline he had so difficultly taught himself.
Demons dare not taint the flesh of angels with their consuming touch. To do so would be a terrible sin no amount of prayer nor repentance could bring forgiveness to.
So he sank back against the wall; cold, green eyes shimmering like faint, distant emeralds in the black.
How he longed to touch her, to taste the sweet candy of her lips, to welcome the sweet caress of her fingers against his face.
He had one thing.
That voice. That ever perfect, meltingly divine, angel worthy sirens' song that enraptured all within earshot.
He could proudly say that perfect voice belonged to him and him alone. It was he who nurtured the Daae from childhood, who carefully toned her voice, who showed her the perfection of a sopranos' voice.
Yet, to her, he was but a distant, unreal dream.
He yearned to feel her flesh beneath his fingertips, softly stroking and feeding his need to be near her. To touch her, to hold her, to love her.
She was so close, so very close. Merely a hair's breadth away.
Yet he dare not lay a hand on her, for fear he would lose control of his own body or sully the perfection that lay before him.
So, bitterly, he watched. He did as he always did, he carefully leered over her, and never coming in full contact for fear the child would flee from his hideous appearance.
However, as she slept, a soft smile began upon his lips, curling upwards ever the more with each intake of breath to pass her lips.
He amusedly crossed his arms over his chest, chuckling beneath his breath and observing every detail he could take in as she slumbered. She turned over in the bed, moaning a little in sleep's sweet embrace.
The smile kept going, threatening to fully break out and force him to surrender.
She mumbled something entirely incoherent and turned once more, allowing him to gaze upon her face. Such distance, such a gap that he dared not close, such a chasm that he dared not cross.
The separation was killing him, a dull ache tugging at his heart. But this was all he could ever do. Carefully watch over her as dreams lazily prodded at her mind.
He would watch for as long as he could. He would watch as dreams, no matter good or bad, caused her to whimper and laugh and smile in her rest. He would provide the endless blanket of night to bring forth her dreams. He would be her twinkle of blinked-out light in the darkness.
Only in dreams could she love him, only in dreams could his repulsive nature be forgotten.
She was so close now, so terribly close to his body. He leaned forward, he couldn't help it.
In what seemed a haze, his hand trembled and outstretched to her. A gloved finger pressed against her lips and slid softly across them with butterfly tenderness.
A final, real smile quirked on his lips, tugging effervescently at the corners of his mouth, causing his mask to rise upon his face.
A small, satisfied purr escaped her delicate lips as he withdrew his hand. She turned restlessly over and mumbled weakly.
The smile shattered and turned upside down into a disappointed frown.
Only in dreams.
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Wow. Crap. Review, please (D)