A/N - Wow. This was indeed the most difficult chapter to write. I wanted to write something to cater to all of the readers, without stepping on too many toes. In the end, I decided that I just have to write what I feel this chapter should be. So, if you like, great. If you don't. . .well, c'est la vie. But I think I managed to keep the story from going into uninhibited smut. I feel that the story progressed as naturally as it could have. Anyways, I am planning one more chapter to tie off the story. This won't be the end just yet.

For those of you who don't want to read the love scene, I have inserted a warning sign before. I have raised the rating to an M, but based on my own reading experience with POTO fanfic, I think the scene is a mild M if not a high T.

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 24

His voice was heartbreaking in its soaring heights and baritone lows. Christine felt that she had never truly appreciated it until now. Now, with her sense of sight temporarily barred from influencing the other senses, she felt his voice wrap around her. There was such darkness, such passion, in his singing. When his voice dropped to such incredible lows, plowing through a degree of masculinity that none other seemed to possess, she felt a shudder throughout her body as she sat beside him. But then it would rise from the depths of hell and wrap about her mind like the seductive serpent in the garden. A whisper, a growl, no. . .his seduction is more primal then that.

Then, through the barrage of music, she heard his voice as he commanded her to sing. How could she refuse such a demand? How could she disappoint her angel when he had poured out his soul? Eyes that had remained so tightly shut now began to open hesitantly, and she sought out the music before her. Her voice then began to sing the lines that he had so carefully crafted for her. Lines she had never sung before, but which she had seen scrawled on the scattered music sheets.

Strange, she thought coherently for a brief moment, how easy it is to sing, as though the words were made only for me. I made my wedding vows earlier, but these vows, these confessions, are much darker. Today I gave him my hand in marriage in the sight of God. Now, I pledge much more. I give him everything with these words I sing. I give him my soul, to guide and to guard. I give him my mind, but then again, he has always possessed that. I give him my body, but it burns only for him and no other.

Erik's voice suddenly entwined itself with hers. Joined together in unison, their voices soared to incredible heights. Mated, the nightingale and the rose produced an offspring that was so strange and unearthly in it beauty.

She though she could endure no more. Could one die in such ecstasy? So utterly in his clutches now, with his voice being the talons that pinned her down, she could fathom nothing else beyond the burning realm of the world he had created in the room. Her body was giving out. She could feel the weakening of every muscle, every fiber of her being, as she completely succumbed to him. Her small frame slumped slowly against his, a pillar of strength and power poised so powerfully beside her. Her slender hand reached out to clutch at his shoulder for support. I am drowning, she cried inwardly. I am drowning in his music, and I want to die!

Erik must have heard her inward pleas, if not felt the fall of her body beside his. He had quit playing and turned slightly on the bench as he braced her body with his own. Her chest was heaving as it sought out the air that had suddenly fled her lungs. The soft brown pools of her eyes seemed glazed with emotion. She found that her fingers were now clutching at the shoulders of his suit jacket, refusing to let go.

"Erik," his name slipped from her lips, sounding more like a plea then anything else.

He needed no further prompting as he brushed back the curls that fell across her face, and lowered his lips to meet hers. She moaned softly as his lips brushed hungrily across hers. His arms had wound around her back now, hands clutching her tightly, yet gently, to him. She could feel his pauses as he kissed her, when he would pull away slightly to look upon her face as though gauging her reaction. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted and swollen, and he gently cupped her face with one hand, running his thumb across her cheek and lips before descending upon her once more.

Erik pulled away again and she opened her eyes, her brow creasing in protest. Christine cried inwardly for his affections to resume. But his noble brow, half obscured by the white mask, was drawn in turmoil. He made to move away from her, sliding further away from her on the bench, but she reached out and caught his arm.

"No, please," she cried out, barely a whisper, a tear glistening in the corner of her eye.

"Do you truly want this?" he asked softly, his voice low and almost mournful. His hand had lifted itself from his side and was now pointing to the white half mask.

"You are my husband now," she replied. "I love you. I don't care. In fact. . ."

Christine moved closer to him once more and lifted a trembling hand to the mask. He watched, almost fearfully, as her hand fluttered across the mask. But his eyes closed as her fingers coiled around the edge of the mask, and gently pried it from his face. Erik sat motionless as the cool air hit his exposed cheek, malformed and horrid as it was, and dried the tear that had slipped from his eye.

He felt a hand touch the deformed side of his face, hesitantly at first, before gently caressing the flesh with tender fingers.

"Don't hide from me anymore," he heard her say quietly. "Do not hide yourself when I am laid bare before you."

He felt her lips upon his cheek and suddenly a shuddering breath escaped his mouth. She felt it upon her own skin as he bowed his head, tickling the flesh of her neck. He seemed to stay that way for a long while, breathing heavily as she held him in her embrace and pressed her face into his shoulder.

"Erik," his name was a gentle plea upon her lips. She had pressed her face further into his shoulder, as though hiding from the world around her. "Make me yours," she whispered.

He drew back and again cupped her delicate face in his hands as he gazed into her eyes. She could not pull herself away from the burning emerald eyes before her. "Is that truly what you want?" he asked again.

"I only know that I never want to be parted from you again," she murmured. Then, with a shamed look upon her lovely face, she continued. "Though, I am afraid."

His hands urged her face up once more until she locked onto his gaze. "Never be afraid, my love," he said gently. "I love you more then anything. Though I have not taken a wife before, I am not completely ignorant of the ways of a husband and wife. Do you not see the devotion that rests in my eyes? Do you not see the love that I have carried for so long?"

"I see it," she said softly, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

Erik pulled her up from the bench, holding her at a distance as though to study her – the elegant rose about to give herself to the nightingale. He could see her quaking now, shivering in the thin nightgown and robe that barely hid her beauty from his piercing gaze. Erik pulled her close, as though gathering her to him in a strange, silent dance. She felt his breath upon her neck again as he turned her around and pressed her back against his chest. Her eyes had fluttered shut for a moment. What more could his touch possibly evoke in me, if only his breath upon my skin stirs such a feeling?

"I have desired you for so long," she heard him say, his voice strained in a strange, sensual manner. "I have dreamt of you night after night, of holding you like this, and of feeling your skin against mine."

A soft moan fell from her lips.

"Have you dreamt of me, mon ange?" he asked.

Christine remained in his arms, her chest heaving for air, eyes still closed, as he gently raised her arms over her head and ran his long fingers down her arms. They stopped at her sides, her arms still raised but having lowered behind her, wrapping behind his head. His hands trailed along her sides, daring to move forward before finally splaying across her stomach and holding her firmly against him.

"My love," he repeated in her ear. "What dreams do you have?"

A soft shudder ran along her spine. Christine could take the agony of his caresses no more. "I dreamt of you every night," she cried out. "Every night," she moaned.

"Do not be afraid," he said softly, feeling her tremble in his embrace. "Tell me."

"I dreamt I was standing in the hall. It was dark and I couldn't see anything beyond the pale light of a moon beyond a window. I was alone, afraid. But suddenly there was a presence in the dark. You were there. You were always there. You held me in your arms. Sometimes you were gentle, and other times, I was afraid of you. Of your darkness."

He had turned her around again to face him, looking down upon her with darkened eyes as he listened to her revelation.

"But I did not want you to leave despite it," she continued, looking up at him with urgent eyes. "You cannot imagine the nights I spent in agony, wishing that the dreams of you were real. That I really was held in your arms, that I was in your bed, even though the darkness frightened me and your eyes seemed to glow like a wolf's. I woke up many mornings, in agony, having you torn away from me."

"Christine," he said, his voice husky, "what did you feel when we were together?"

A soft blush rose to her cheeks and she wanted to pull away from embarrassment, but he held firm to her arms and prevented her from turning away. She looked up at him for several moments, anguish filling her eyes briefly. But she realized that she would never be able to evade him. He would learn of everything eventually. A part of her wanted him to know. "I wanted nothing else," she said faintly, desire clouding her eyes. "I felt as though I would die if I didn't feel your touch, feel you pull me against you, and feel. . .feel your hands on my body."

A soft rumble sounded in his throat. They stood there, gazing at one another for a moment before Erik resumed his caresses. He slid his hand up her side, brushing the side of her breast with dexterous fingers. A sigh slid from her mouth.

"Tell me what you want now," he whispered in her ear.

"Erik," she breathed, feeling his hands dip into the small of her back and pull her against him tightly. She could suddenly feel his desire and her eyes shot open in revelation.

"I want. . .you," she moaned. "Please. . .my angel, I beg you."

Christine felt his arms suddenly beneath her, lifting her up into his strong embrace. He carried her swiftly from the room and into the darkened hallway, lit only by the dim light of candelabras. She had once been afraid of this dark corridor. It felt haunted not only by a phantom, but by countless spirits. Now, she could not feel that fear any longer. As he made his way down the hall, she could feel his heart racing and his unsteady breaths as he held her tightly against him. It seemed to take an eternity to reach their destination.

"Erik," she cried out softly. Erik looked down upon her face with darkened eyes. A strange smile fell upon his face. He rarely smiled, but now there was something even more enticing about the expression. It was dark, but it matched the darkness he had kindled in her heart.

Warning - Leave now if you don't wish to read the revised rating material.

The door to his room was quickly closed behind them. He carried her soundlessly across the dark room, lit only by the bright rays of a full moon. Erik put her down before the bed, leaving her to stand in the shadow in expectancy. He drew away from her once more into the shadows, and she trembled for a moment.

"Erik?" she called out in an anguished whimper.

He moved once again into the light, having divesting himself of the suit jacket and cravat he had worn. Clad only in his white, unbuttoned shirt and dark trousers, he circled her for a moment while she tried to hold in her shuddering breaths. He did not leave her devoid of his touch for long. His hands were upon her shoulders, his lips upon her skin, traveling along her neck. His fingers found the neatly ruffled edge of her nightgown and began to slide it down her shoulder. A rush of breath fled her lips when she felt his lips upon the tender flesh of her shoulder. They moved warmly across her skin, claiming every inch of it.

Christine felt her legs beginning to weaken beneath her body, and her head to swim with his intoxicating ministrations. Before her legs could buckle, before her body could slide to the floor, she felt his strong arm wind around her waist and press against the small of her back. He pulled away for a moment and regarded her in the darkness with glowing eyes. She seemed to tremble as he looked upon the beauty before him. To her, she saw the powerful presence of her angel, shadow cloaking his strange beauty from her wandering eyes.

Erik turned her around gently, still clutching her waist. He tenderly slipped the thin robe from her arms and allowed it to pool upon the floor in a shower of silk and lace. His other hand worked skillfully at the ties of her nightgown until it laid bare her back. She felt his breath upon her skin and again, her eyes fluttered closed in response, her lips parted in anticipation. Slowly, he lowered the gown from her shoulders. She moved to lift her arms to her chest as he stood behind her. But he gently seized her wrists and lowered them to her sides. The sleeves of her gown fell down her arms and slipped from her hands. The bodice of the nightgown descended as well, slipping past her waist and pooling upon the floor. She was vulnerable now, nothing hiding her shivering frame from his inquisitive, burning gaze. Even now, turned away from his eyes, she could feel them burning upon her skin, traveling the length of her.

Erik turned her around gently and smiled faintly as she tried to hold onto the last shred of propriety she had – her hands clutched to her chest, hiding the objects of her femininity from his penetrating gaze. She looked up at him, her eyes large and liquid in the moonlight, her dark curls strewn around her shoulders, her skin glowing with a strange unearthly light. Surely, no angel could exceed her beauty. No creation of heaven could come close to her perfection. But her only flaw, her only sign of mortality, was the single tear that had fallen from her eye. He gently brushed it away.

"I love you," she cried out softly.

"Oh, my love," he replied almost hoarsely, stroking the side of her face gently. "I love you more then you will ever know."

"I am yours," she whispered in the dark, moonlight glinting off her eyes.

His lips captured hers as his hands gently lowered her hands. Erik pulled her closer to him, her breasts pressed against his white shirt. His lips drifted from her mouth again, trailing down her jaw.

"My angel," she moaned softly.

His head descended upon her neck and she found her hands weaving through the dark locks of his hair. His arms moved about her again, lifting her lithe body from the floor and carrying her to his bed. Erik placed her down amongst the blood red sheets with such care. Never had something so beautiful willingly given itself to him. Nothing so lovely had ever chosen him.

The brush of his lips across her flesh resumed. She moaned softly as his hands brushed over her breasts, causing her back to arch into his touch. He could see the desire in her heavily lidded eyes. The same look was undoubtedly in his. A shiver ran up her spine at the sight of her angel. So beautiful in his own way, so exotic, and so passionate. Her slender fingers moved across his chest and she looked up at him again, pleading silently to not be alone in her vulnerability. He slowly stripped the white lawn shirt from his body, dropping it behind him on the floor. Christine looked upon him in awe, running her smooth fingers hesitantly across the tightly woven muscles, noting modest smattering of dark hair that graced his strong chest. His eyes closed at her touch, and a small smile flickered upon her lips.

Erik could take no more of it. He was upon her once more, claiming her lips with his own. Her hands had slid along his back, clutching uncertainly at his strong frame. She could feel him move against her. Eyes of soft brown opened slowly. The length of his body was pressed against her. She felt his hands slide along her side, grazing her breast, before continuing along her hip. They moved around to cup her behind, pulling her roughly against him.

"Erik," she gasped.

Only the fabric of his trousers separated them, but she could feel the hardened flesh beneath, straining against the barrier. With every caress, every mere stroke of her lips upon his, his hips bucked against hers. The need that had once frightened her, that had revealed itself during the ardor of Don Juan Triumphant, was now too overpowering. She was consumed with it, utterly drowning in it. She felt the sensation pooling beneath her stomach. Every time he moved against her, the sensation grew, until she could bear it no more.

"Erik," she cried out softly. "My angel. . .I need you. End this torment. Please."

He had drawn away from her for a moment, removing his dark trousers in the shadows of the room. When he finally stood before her, displayed in all his earthly glory, the glow of the moon softly illuminating his strong, lean body, she felt her desire falter for a moment. A soft blush rose to her face as her eyes traveled along his body.

Erik moved towards her again, as though sensing her hesitancy, and drew her into his arms.

"What do you know of the way of husbands and wives?" she asked innocently, a slight tremble in her voice.

He seemed to smile in the dim light. "The shah had many concubines. They were not as concerned with privacy as our world is." Again, his emerald eyes searched hers for a moment. "Do not be afraid, my love," he said, brushing back a lock of her hair.

Erik moved above her, his lips descending upon hers again and consuming them in a kiss so deep, the fear began to melt away from her mind. A hand brushed down her body, grasping her from behind again and pressing her gently along his length. She moaned softly, never having imagined she could feel this way. A growl sounded in his throat as her hips met his, thrusting against them in blind need. His hand moved to dip between her thighs, and she cried out as his hand grazed the flesh that no man had ever touched. Such exquisite agony, she thought. Oh dear God, Erik. I will die. I most certainly will!

Her head had fallen back against the pillow, mouth parted, and eyes fluttering. "Erik," she moaned. "I feel as though I will die. Only you have ever made me feel this way."

His fingers probed her flesh gently, seeking the knowledge that she would be ready for him. They dipped into the soft folds of flesh as she moaned again, her hips involuntarily thrusting against his hand. He found the source of her womanhood, having only the knowledge of books to guide him, and gently dipped a finger into it. His beloved angel moaned again, her eyes having opened in surprise at the unfamiliar touch. Christine looked up at him, his eyes more dark then she had even seen. Sheer, unmasked desire coursed through the green eyes that burned through her.

"Tell me what you want," he said, voice husky from their exertions.

"Erik, I. . ."

She felt him stroke her more deeply and a low moan fled her lips.

"What, Christine," he seemed to seethe, "what do you want?"

"You," she breathed, glancing up at him with intoxicated eyes.

He had grasped her legs and lifted them over his, so that they came to rest along the back of his legs. His lips were upon hers once more, and she could feel his unsteady breaths. She suddenly felt him at her entrance, felt him grind against her for a moment, prolonging the torture that was raging in her body. Before she could think, before she could cry out, before anything, he moved within her in one smooth stroke. He stopped for a moment, pulling back to glance down upon her face.

Pain filled her features for a moment, her chest heaved with breath, and she finally looked up into her angel's green eyes.

"My love?" he asked gently, placing a soft kiss upon her lips.

She nodded in wordless understanding and then pleaded with him, "I'm alright," she panted. She gently stroked the marred flesh of his face in tenderness. "Erik, I am yours. I am always yours."

Christine laid her head back, her hair splayed across the pillow as her limbs entwined with his. I am his. He is mine. His tempo heightened, much like the throes of Don Juan Triumphant, with its intoxicatingly dark melodies and almost vulgar rhythms. The pain was gone now, as fleeting as fear. For now, in the arms of the only man she had ever loved, she found only an unimaginable pleasure. Never had she been so intimately connected to anyone. She could not get close enough to him even though her body tried in desperation to mount the summit it seemed to have climbed for months.

"Christine," he whispered with struggling breaths in her ear, "tell me you belong to me."

"Always," she moaned softly.

"You're mine!" he growled.

She gasped as his movements grew more rough, his determination fiercer. Her head tossed back as waves of intoxicating pleasure coursed through her body. There was nothing at that moment. The world was gone, and so were the doubts and fears she had known for so long. There existed only him and her now. But now they were one. Merged in mind, body, and spirit.

She quaked beneath him, her body trembling, and he settled beside her, brushing her hair from her face and watching her closely. There was weariness in her eyes, but it went beyond mere fatigue. A soft smile fluttered upon her lips.

"Did I hurt you, my angel?" he asked softly, pulling her into his embrace as he leaned upon the pillows.

"There is no more pain," she seemed to murmur. Her eyes drifted upwards to his in clarity. There was an understanding in his eyes now. For he had felt that very pain for just as long as their parting had lasted.