A/N: I decided to make this story a collection of song phics. This one— what if Raoul was absent during the Masquerade ball? Would things go differently? Most likely.

Artist: The All-American Rejects

Dance Inside

By: The Sweet Allure of Lady Red Death

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The ball was an exceptional affair. It was in honor of the anniversary of the birth of the famous draftsman; and it was expected to be much gayer, nosier, and more extravagant than an ordinary masked ball. There were fabulous dresses displayed all the way down the marble steps of the opera, couples were twirling around madly to the sounds of musical artists, laughing and shrieking. You couldn't help but enjoy yourself.

The two girls entered into the great hall.

"Oh…it's so beautiful!" said one. She clasped her hands together with joy. Her twinkling spheres surveyed the party with a jittery excitement.

Her friend laughed lightly. "It is well decorated."

"I feel like I'm in a fairy tale!" replied she. "Don't you feel the same, Christine?" They walked gracefully over to the refreshment table, where the girls poured themselves a drink. The blonde-haired beauty handed Christine her glass. She took it with a small smile.

"I'd feel better if Raoul had joined me." She swished her water around in the cup.

Meg raised her eyebrows incredulously. "You mean he's not coming?" She was flabbergasted.

Christine blushed sheepishly, straightening out the folds in her light pink ball gown. "Oh, Meg. Don't get the wrong idea." She adjusted her sleeve, which seemed to be threatening to slide off her shoulder. "Raoul's caught a dreadful cold. He couldn't attend."

"I see…" Meg's voice trailed off. "And you're not with him?"

"Well, I offered to stay and take care of him," Christine sounded troubled, "but he didn't want me to get sick, too."

Meg nodded, "That's understandable. He cares so much for you, Christine."

"I know." Her fingers found their way to the thin silver chain around her neck. The diamond ring that hung off of it was now hidden nicely between the cleavages of two soft, round breasts. She smiled to herself.

"I don't know if I can enjoy myself with him gone…"

Meg sighed at Christine and how hopelessly in love she sounded. It made her a bit jealous. "It's just one night," she informed, "have fun with it."

Christine looked at her and exhaled a breath, lips curing into a smile, "I suppose you're right."

"I know I am," Meg grinned. "Now, come on, let's dance!" She placed down her drink, took Christine's from her, grabbed the singer's hands and gently pulled her to the center of the room. She giggled at Daae's vacant expression. Her mouth hung open slightly, her eyes wide, and a pink-colored blush seemed air brushed onto her fair cheeks.

"Meg, you know I'm a clumsy oaf!" She whispered, suddenly flustered.

"Since when?" Meg mused.

"Since I got yelled at for tripping over my feet at dance lessons!" She replied, both quickly and fluidity, hoping that no one else could hear.

"Christine, that's hardly something to complain about! You know my mother is strict!" Meg twirled herself around, her white dress spreading out around her like the petals of a flower. "She's a perfectionist. You know that. And you happen to be a fine dancer." Meg then added, with a wink, "Some of us wish we were as talented as you."

"Really? Do you really think that?" Christine was touched.

"Of course!" she cried out happily.

Christine lifted an eyebrow, "Are you saying these things just to get me to dance?"

"Why…no…" Meg put on an innocent smile and then couldn't help but ask, "Is it working?"

Christine chuckled, "Maybe…I'm not quite sure."

Meg held out her hand.

Christine eyed it, and took a step back.

"Christine!"

"What? I can't afford any broken bones!" She argued.

"I'm surprised that you even show up for dance rehearsals!"

"Have you seen Madame Giry when she's angry? She'd kill me if I skipped. Her anger is almost as bad as…" Christine stopped there. She felt herself shiver and rubbed the sides of her arms uncomfortably.

Meg's insides jumped. "Christine? What's wrong? You're face…its white." He voice was flavored with concern.

"It's nothing. I'm fine." Christine assured, but Meg wasn't convinced.

"Are you sure?" she stressed.

"Yes."

Meg studied her thoroughly for a moment before she felt someone's hand on her shoulder. She jumped, snapping out of her meditation. Spinning around on her heel, she turned to face the owner of the hand.

"I'm sorry that I startled you, Miss Giry."

Meg sighed in relief. "Oh Pierre, it's you." She laughed nervously. "It's quite all right, I just zoned out for a moment. Silly me." Meg tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. Her eyes scanned over his formal evening dress and gleaming black mask. She no longer felt so bold. "Don't you look handsome?"

Pierre gave Meg a lopsided smile and ran a hand through his perfect light brown hair. "I try."

"You certainly do…" Meg whispered to herself. Christine smirked and nudged her in the side.

"Miss Giry, I was wondering…" He offered her his arm, "Would you like to dance?"

She blinked, dumbly. "W-what?"

"He's asking you for a dance," Christine rephrased, beaming. "Personally, I'd say yes."

Meg gulped. Her heart leapt inside her breast as Pierre smiled down at her, her vision of perfection. "I'd love to." Her voice trembled.

Pierre lit up and pulled her to him. "Oh!" she squeaked, turning red. "But, Christine…are you—?" She looked over her shoulder at her.

"I'm fine, Meg. Go have fun."

Meg didn't think twice, she walked over onto the floor with Pierre, both of them looking painfully graceful as they spun together, in wonderful unison. Christine cupped her cheek, wishing now more than ever that Raoul hadn't caught the cold. She decided to take a seat on the marble steps and just watch as everyone enjoyed themselves.

She was now aware of how the celebrators were singing a song so joyous… and yet… Christine had never heard it before. It seemed so familiar though, as if she had been hearing it her whole life. She sang it softly, blending in with her peers.

"Masquerade! Paper faces on parade! Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you. Masquerade! Every face a different shade! Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you!" Christine found herself getting really into the music, so she sang along a bit more.

"Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads! Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you. Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds! Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you. Masquer—"

The orchestra suddenly stopped playing as the lights dimmed. Attention was focused on a man dressed all in scarlet, a huge hat and feathers on top of his jet back hair—or was it a wig?—, which he carelessly tossed aside into some dark corner. On his face he wore an alluring mask, crafted to resemble a skull. From his shoulders huge an immense red-velvet cloak, which trailed down the steps like a king's train; on this cloak was embroidered in gold letters, which everyone seemed to be whispering aloud, "Don't touch me! I am Red Death stalking aboard!"

Christine almost fell off the bottom step and stumbled back onto her feet. It was Him! A strange mixture of terror and thrill stirred inside of her. It had been so long…since she last saw him.

"A party? I don't believe that I was invited… What a shame." His heavenly male voice sounded throughout the room. The only sound that could be heard was the gentle rustling of his train over the steps (and maybe even Christine's heart, which was beating savagely in her chest. But she chose to believe that she was the only who heard it).

And then their eyes met.

And her heart stopped beating all together.

You don't have to move, you don't have to speak
Lips for biting.
You're staring me down; a glance makes me weak
Eyes for striking

The Red Death smiled grotesquely as he turned to face the two managers, who went white in the face.

"My managers..." He nodded down at them.

Andre and Firmin stared at him in awe.

"Why so silent good messieurs?" The Red Death took a few smooth steps towards the two, quickly covering the distance. "A pity, though… As soon as I arrived, all of the festivities seemed to have ended— rather abruptly, I noticed. I hope that wasn't on my behalf. I'd hate to have ruined such a good party." He chuckled darkly at their lack of aresponse. "Well, I must not dwell on it. Have you missed me, good monsieurs?"

Their throats felt awfully dry.

"I've missed you just as much, I assure you. Did you think that I had left you for good?" The masked-man removed a bound manuscript from deep inside a pocket in his scarlet robe. He then threw it at Andre, who caught it clumsily and staggered a little. "If fact, to show how much I've missed you, I have written you an opera!"

The partners looked at each other, and then back to him.

"Don Juan Triumphant! But I warn you… my opera must be perfect, and therefore, Carlotta must be taught to act- by all means necessary. I suggest that you should place her in the chorus. It is what's best for my production. I would prefer it if she lip-syncs. We mustn't torture the unsuspecting people in the audience. After all, they come here to enjoy fine talent, something that Carlotta has been so wrongfully deprived of."

Carlotta, who was standing on the right side of the steps, looked extremely offended, and went to open her mouth to speak. Piangi quickly shook his head, begging her not to make a scene…or get herself killed. One or the other.

Red Death was deeply enjoying the all-mighty power that he had over the room. "Also," he continued, "I do hope Piangi decides to loose some weight. It's not healthy for a man of his age."

Carlotta growled as she saw how his words infuriated Piangi, but then told her lover, rather mockingly, not to over-react and get them both in trouble.

Red Death's eyes fell back on Christine, who seemed to be in a trance. "As for our star, Miss Christine Daae…" Red Death began saying his next verse in song, "No doubt she'll do her best, it's true. Her voice is good, she knows. Though if she wish to excel, she still has much still to learn. If pride would let her return to me, her teacher…her teacher."

His turquoise/golden eyes (which ever you prefer) seemed to brighten up against the black face make-up that he painted around them (in order to make them appear like the sockets of a skeleton). He breathed in, and started walking towards her.

"I hope you'll be able to resume the festivities." Red Death directed at Firmin, but looking at Christine, "I would fancy a dance."

Whispering broke out like wildfire.

Andre gestured dazedly at the orchestra to keep playing their music. "Monsieur, we're very sorry about the inconvenience. Why've you all stopped dancing? My god, make our guest feel welcome!"

The music restarted but people still wouldn't move.

He now stood only a few feet in front of her, and Christine found herself mindlessly stepping forward to meet him. On-lookers watched with fascination.

Christine felt one strong arm wrap around her petite waist and a glove clad hand twine its fingers with hers. She gasped sharply. Her head now rested on Red Death's chest.

"What…What do you think you're doing?" she stammered. She was almost inaudible.

"Miss Daae, I am treating you to a dance." He appeared so serious, it made Christine flinch. She rested her hands on Red Death's robes and pushed him away.

"I don't dance." She murmured.

He laughed.

People continued to gaze.

"You're a wonderfully dancer, I've watched you." He tried to compose himself and grab her again, but Christine shook her head.

"No, I'm not." She stated matter-of-factly, 'I won't let him have this affect on me.' "I'd think it'd be best if you left, my Ang—monsieur."

Christine began walking away, but Red Death quickly swooped in front of her. "What are you doing?" she said hopelessly, trying to push past him.

"I'm not letting you go that easily…" his seductive voice whispered in her ear, making Christine's skin pucker with tiny bumps of gooseflesh. There it was! That feeling...the one she had been craving for but swore she would never feel again.

Christine felt her cheeks grow hot. "Please," she pleaded, "you can't do this to me…"

He took her hand again and used his other to bury his fingers in her curls. "Do what to you?" He asked innocently.

She was shocked. "And you call me ignorant… How can you be so unaware?" Christine muttered, noting how adorable her Angel looked when he blinked.

"Well, maybe if we danced a bit, you can explain to me this…affect… I seem to have had on you." Red Death smirked devilishly as Christine sighed in defeat.

Now I'm twisting up when I'm twisted with you
Brush so lightly
And time trickles down, and I'm breathing for two
Squeeze so tightly.
I'll be fine, you'll be fine.
This moment seems so long
Don't waste now, precious time
We'll dance inside the song

"I really am going to trip over you." Christine looked down at their feet, hoping that she wouldn't crush Red Death's toes.

"Christine, you're not a bad dancer…" he repeated, shaking his head at her.

She batted her lashes at him. "Well…I think I am."

"Then you're being foolish." He grinned and twirled her around in an elegant manor. Christine was speechless.

"You're so swift…" she mouthed, trying to form the words.

He responded by giving her another spin. His warm breath fanned her cheek as he thanked her for the compliment. Christine's mind was whirling as she suddenly began bumping into her partner nervously. Her face continued to glow pink.

Red Death frowned slightly as Christine stared down at her feet. Her body was tense; he could feel her muscles tightly coiled beneath his palm. What a change! Was it something he did? "Relax, Christine. It's just me. Come now, look me in the eyes."

Finally, as the music slid into a soft, gradual retard, Christine's gaze met his. The pair lingered at a stand-still as the trembling violin chord faded into an inaudible range. Wordlessly, as the majestically growing cello solo began, the couple started to gracefully float along the marble floor, twisting and spinning with natural ease, their eyes entranced with and never leaving the other.

The villa's ballroom slipped away, and they were left in their own world of soft hues that melted together, listening to the sounds of utopia that the passionately dark cello thrummed.

Red Death squeezed Christine's hand slightly, and she gave his one as well. He dipped her a little, and she felt herself trusting him fully as she leaned back, yet never allowed their eye contact to break. It was then, as he righted Christine, and they started swirl around once more, that Red Death's heart suddenly felt very full as the beats sped up.

The longer he looked into her brown eyes, the more adrift his mind became by their shimmering warmth. Strange sensations tingled throughout his entire body and it confused him greatly. Is this what he did to Christine? Oh, how he wished it wouldn't end!

What makes the one to shake you down
Each touch belongs to each new sound
Say now you want to shake me too
Move down to me, slip into you

'Is this a dream?' Christine thought to herself, unaware of the low comments echoing around her. At least people were dancing, but their eyes were still focused on the lovely soprano and her Opera Ghost. "If only Raoul could dance the way you do…" Christine said, automatically regretting it, for now the alluring man had stiffened underneath her touch. She winced.

"So the Victome…" he pondered aloud, "where is he tonight?"

"I don't think I'll tell you…" Christine retorted, feeling quite scared of what his reaction might be. Her mind suddenly flashed an image of the engagement ring that hung from her neck. She hastily dropped her Angel's hand and flew her own to her breast, where she clasped the ring and prayed to God he wouldn't question her about it. Or what if he already noticed, and was waiting for her to say something?

For a second time, Christine backed away from him. "I'm sorry, monsieur, but…but I'm getting a head ache…I really should go. I…I need my rest." Hands still tightly secured around the diamond, the sea of costume-wearers parted as Miss Daae flew off into a deserted corridor.

Red Death stood there, dumbly for a moment, before going after her. The hallways were dark as he rushed through them, but his eyes were well used to it. He bounded through them like a wild stallion, searching for Christine. His acute hearing picked up on a few chocked sobs (they appeared to be coming from the right of him). Red Death turned down another passage, until his eyes fell upon Christine. Her back was leaning up against her dressing room door, head in her hands, weeping miserably.

"Christine?" he cooed.

She shot her head up to look at him. Tears had left wet streak stains on her cheeks. "Go away!" She wailed, grabbing a hand-full of hair, wretchedly. "I gave you you're dance!"

"I won't go away, Christine." Her Angel said, refusing leave, and instead, coming to embrace her. "I can't stand to see you cry. Don't you know that? It breaks my heart."

Christine tried to suppress a shriek of sadness, but failed horribly. "You think you're hearts broken now?" She gasped for breath.

Red Death crocked his head.

"You have no idea, do you?"

"About what?" he asked.

Her eyes shook with pity. "I'm engaged to Raoul. It…it was supposed to be a secret…"

He shuddered, seeming deeply betrayed. "Why a secret? Who are you hiding it from?"

"You're honestly asking me that!" she snapped, rubbing her nose. "I'm terrified of you—no; don't look at me like that! Your temper is what frightens me, not you! Maybe if you knew how to control it…" Christine bit on her lower lip until she tasted salt.

"If I knew how to control it…" he impelled her to say more.

"I wouldn't have this fear that you would someday turn on me!"

That hurt.

"Christine…" he groaned. He stepped over to her and ripped the chain from off her neck. She stared up at him, bewildered. "You will always belong to me." He lightly kissed the top of her forehead.

Christine's eyes closed, and she let him get closer. The light from the gas-lamps that hung from their hinges, illuminated off of his mask, creating a mysterious glow. Finally, his lips met hers. They just barely brushed, like the wings of a butterfly. And then, he pulled away, all too quickly, as if being repelled by some unknown force.

"I will always love you—you and you alone. You must know that, Christine." He let a strand of her hair fall through his fingers as he looked at her longingly. Christine was an angel, radiant, perfect in every way. The candlelight played across their faces as they gazed at each other in comfortable silence.

Red Death bent down to kiss her again. Christine stood on her tip toes in order to receive his soft touch. Then he got bolder, and pressed them harder against hers.

To Christine's amazement, she let him. She couldn't seem to pull away, no matter how hard she tried. It was as if she had suddenly lost her ability to move. Christine, for the first time, felt…wicked.

And the worst part was…

She enjoyed it.

She sinks in my mind as she sheds through her skin
Touch like taste like fire
Hands to know what eyes no longer defend
Hands to fuel desire
I'll be fine, you'll be fine
This moment seems so long
Don't waste now, precious time
We'll dance inside the song

Her lover took advantage of her helplessness, and closed all space between them, so that his body was resting against hers. His fingers entwined in her brown curly locks as he kept his lips down to hers.

Christine stifled a moan of pleasure

To Red Death, this was bliss and agony. If only Christine was his, and not some pretty boy fops. The very thought only made him kiss her more fiercely.

Moving as if in a dream, Christine carefully placed her arms around his neck and held him to her. He was so masculine…he scent so enticing. She breathed quietly as he kissed her, and this seemed to encourage him.

When she felt Red Death's tongue meet the seam of her lips, she panicked. Her mind screamed, 'Wow…my Angel seems incredibly bold this evening… Wait! What are you doing? Leave now, while you still can! You know this is wrong! Raoul, poor, sick Raoul! ' But her body wouldn't listen. Instead of pushing him away, as she usually would, Christine found herself parting her lips for him.

His tongue explored her mouth, and she was powerless to stop him. His hands were now buried deeply in her hair

What makes the one to shake you down
Each touch belongs to each new sound
Say now you want to shake me too
Move down to me, slip into you

Ooh, ah
Ooh, ah
Ooh, ah
Ooh, ah

Christine's heart skipped a beat when she felt Red Death undo the ties on the back of her dress. His arms clutched her against him, and she didn't protest. Instead she dove deeper into his mouth with her tongue, begging him to continue.

However, the little voice in her head, telling her to remember dear, sweet Raoul, was still fitting the battle within her.

And I'll be fine, you'll be fine
Is this fine? I'm not fine
Give me pieces, give me things to stay awake (stay awake)

"Angel! I…" She tried to speak to him through their feverish kisses, "are…are you sure…are you sure," She giggled as he began to trail kisses down her jaw line and to her collar bone. "Are you sure this is right?"

"It has always been right," he replied in a raspy voice.

"But Raoul—"

It was useless. He just wouldn't stop making mouth-music with her. "Let's not ruin this moment, all right Christine?"

She nodded in understanding and nuzzled her nose into his chest, before giving him a deep soul kiss.

Red Death smiled as they broke apart and despite everything she just had done, Christine blushed.

"My Angel…" he rested his head on top of hers as she cuddled into him.


What makes the one to shake you down
Each touch belongs to each new sound
Say now you want to shake me too
Move down to me, slip into you

"Want to go back to the Ball?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stay here with you." Christine still appeared worried though. As if reading her thoughts, Red Death replied, "Engagements can always be broken. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, than I could certainly learn to forgive you."

And that's when that little voice in her head, the one who held all of Christine's doubts, seemed to permanently go mute.

"Would you like to dance?" Christine giggled, dragging him out into the middle of the dark hallway.

"With no music and a dancing inadequate?" He joked.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, where they rightfully belonged, "We could make our own music. And as for my phobia of dancing," she stepped lightly on his feet and allowed him to carry her.

"Why, don't we feel like a little girl again?"

She smacked him playfully, "Yes, and it feels so nice."

Thoughts of the past and present seemed to slip away, and the only thing that mattered was each other's company.

What makes the one to shake you down
Each touch belongs to each new sound
Say now you want to shake me too
Move down to me, slip into you

FIN!

A/N: I think the next story is going to be inspired by "Vindicated" by Dashboard Confessional or "Iris" by Goo Goo Dolls, but I'm not quite sure yet. Help me decide? If you have any suggestions, feel free to tell me! I look forward to it! And remember to review! Please?

..Christine..