:Author's Note: Here is my next chapter. Actually, I shouldn't be writing this but lean biology, on the other hand: It only takes half an hour and is a load of fun. Then, I rethink it all the time, smiling about what you will say. Have fun.
I let myself be inspired by "She Walks In Beauty" by Sissel. Just to get you informed. Heheh.
:Disclaimer: It's vexing me, but I don't own POTO.
:Claimer: Yes, you guessed right. She's mine. Don't steal Maxime. She'll be in a sequel, but I won't say more.
:Thanks to: All my reviewers, which would be Meg Giry, Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel, and, of course last but not least at all, Robika! Besides, Incapability, no one backed off! Actually, I'd love to write a One-Shot with you dancing that thing in it, praising my said-to-be skills! Smile! Smile!
:Beta-Reader: Lady-Miranda-Van-Tassel
This chapter belongs to only Raoul and his Antoinette.
:Far Cry:
:Chapter 11 : Heaven:
When Madame's wall clock took heart to ring half past ten, a slight shiver ran down her spine and her pupils widened. 'It's time,' her heart cried, 'it's time.' Her fingers ran over the brooch placed before her on the table. She sat there, finally making a keen decision, which could change a lot of things in her life. It could show her what she had missed the years before. It could make all her longings more demanding. She took the brooch and opened it. She swore to herself, if she pricked her finger with it, and the spicule was still sharp enough, she would no longer resist to her feelings. If the brooch was still young, her heart would be, too. Her fingers trembled and she hoped she wouldn't bleed, feeling that the desire to be with him grew bigger and bigger with every breath. It would be the death for her safeness, the safeness of her heart.
The spicule reflected the light of the candles around her. It shone so bright it almost hurt her eyes. 'This is a miracle,' she thought, 'just think the tale to its end.' And so, Madame Antoinette Giry, the ballet mistress of the Opera Populaire, pricked herself. The end of the tale, which was easily to be made out, was that Madame would certainly have to go and see him that night: The small wound was unwilling to stop bleeding at all.
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Raoul took off his cloak and sat down on his setee. He couldn't believe what this day had been like so far. 'It was a huge chaos, dominated by Christine's see-through, too tight clothes.' He felt he would not be able to stand it, but as his page entered the room, announcing a certain Madame's visit, he yet felt strong. The page stepped back and Madame's steps echoed.
His eyes flickered with elation, seeing her stepping closer. Immediately, he stood up and touched her hand. It felt soft and she diffidently returned his smile.
"Good evening," Raoul whispered, forgetting almost everything around him. "Or shall I rather say good night?"
She sat down on the setee, watching him looking at her. Warmth crept up in her chest, filling her with desire.
"Shall I -?"
"Please sit down," she said patiently, yet as if she wouldn't allow any objection. He did so. "I brought something with me." Suddenly, he hadn't realised she had had it in her hands, she pointed at a book. "These are poems."
"Would you read them out to me?", he asked, watching her beautifully formed lips speaking. "Please. I couldn't stand reading them without hearing your voice in my head."
She shyly smiled, opening the book with her slim fingers. The pages seemed to float under her fingers as she sought the right page. "It's my favourite poem," she whispered. Then, she began to read it out and her voice filled the room with its warmth and love, making him feel as if he wasn't on earth anymore. After some poems, both of them forgot everything around them. He only stared at her lips, forming those beautifully words, gentle, shy, yet knowing what they were doing. He ran a finger across his lips, imagining their lips would meet and melt together to never part again.
She didn't notice it, lost in her poems about love, feeling that she breathed one strong emotion to him after another. There certainly was magic between them, making both their chests feel heavy and weak.
An hour passed and she was still reading them out to him. By now, the page had to get more candles. None of them noticed. Raoul was too caught up with her beauty, and Madame too shy to let anything close to her but their intimate moment.
Suddenly, the pain in Raoul's chest grew bigger and he felt he wouldn't resist the burning desire. He would bust. He leaned over and she looked up, her eyes big with surprise. She leaned back against the setee, now practically laid in front of him. He lifted himself above her, now looking her into the eyes.
Her breath was slow and deep, her eyes sparkling with hope mixed with fear. He touched her cheek, whispering words of love, touching her ear and her neck. She closed her eyes, feeling his warm and soft fingers carressing her. When she opened them again, his eyes locked hers and let her forget any worries about whether the situation was appropriate or not. He knew he had caught her, he had her where he had wanted her, letting him finally, finally show his love to her. His face came closer and she closed her eyes, feeling her heart beat fast. When their lips touched, they seemed to have left the earth to go to a more beautiful place. Heaven.
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