The Light of His Life
Disclaimer: Don't own POTO… but I do own Piers, Stephanie and Xavier.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed…another chapter for you which is almost six and a half thousand words long. Anyway, Erik gets a bit possessive in this chapter and he and Christine partake in a strange dominance game towards the end which might be considered… naughty, I suppose. Things should even out by next chapter…
Please read and review…
Chapter 4: A Thoroughly Strange Game of Dominance…
"Angel?" Christine called out as she entered his room without knocking.
He was rocking back and forth on his chair in the corner and was clearly distressed. "I got carried away," he said quickly, almost hysterical, not looking at her as she knelt in front of him. "I didn't mean to do it… I made a mistake. I'm sorry…"
"Shh, Angel, I forgive you… but I'm worried about you – you've worked yourself into a right state over nothing."
"Nothing…?"
"Well, Angel, I know you did not mean to do it… perhaps it is best if we do not mention it again… if we just go on as normal… nothing happened."
"Nothing happened," he repeated emotionlessly.
"Yes, Angel."
"You are not angry with me?" he asked, worried.
"Hardly, Angel – there are worse things you could have done to me than kiss me…"
"You are alone in that thinking I do believe, child."
"Oh, Angel, you know I am nothing like your mother…" she said as she started to rub his shoulder.
Not terribly long afterwards, he came back to himself and started acting more like Erik again. "Yes, well, quite. It was an accident, you understand… I had a glass of wine at teatime and I was a bit tipsy. Nothing happened."
Christine nodded. She was aware that one glass of wine was not enough to make him tipsy but she was not willing to point that out now.
The next day, in school, Christine and Meg were eating their breaks in one of the locker rooms as it was quite quiet and Meg was currently reprimanding Christine for Erik's behaviour.
"Christine, he totally overreacted…"
"I know it looks that way, Meg, but you don't know what it's like for him… he's a pussycat really. But he's had a hard time of it…"
"That's not an excuse, Chris. We all have hard times but he practically threatened Raoul… and you let him."
"You don't know him like I do – if you did and you loved him just like I do then you would not wish to hurt him as I know undermining him would have done."
"Whatever you say… still, I think he could have handled it better, being a teacher and all."
"I know, Meg, and so does he. You did not see him apologise afterwards…"
"I suppose so…"
"Actually, there's something else, Meg," Christine said after a moment of silence.
"What is it?"
"He… he kissed me… Don't look at me like that, Meg, it was an accident."
"How could it have been an accident? How can you kiss someone accidentally? Did you fall off a ladder and directly onto his mouth or what? He's your foster-father…"
"I know that, Meg. It wasn't supposed to happen and it didn't last long… he knew it was a mistake and he ran off right afterwards… it's not his fault."
"I think I should tell my mum," Meg said. "She won't take it further, Chris, unless you wanted her to 'cause she knows it wouldn't do any good – you and he would just deny it – but I think she should talk to him or at least to you…"
"No, Meg, I don't want her involved. Erik wouldn't like it… and I don't want the hassle – it was a silly mistake – if anybody else found out, have you any idea what it would do to his reputation, if not his career?"
"I know," Meg sighed reluctantly. "I still don't think he should have done it, though…"
"Your disapproval is duly noted."
"Good…"
"Erik, have you seen my bra?" Christine called as she skipped down the stairs half dressed.
Well, that sentence could definitely be misconstrued, he thought, going out of the living room to see her.
She was rummaging through the clean washing pile in the back room, her robe open at the front, all the way down. Christ, he thought. Is she trying to give me a heart attack? He averted his eyes – not that he could really see anything as everything he believed should be covered, was covered. "Which one?" he asked.
"You know, the dark red plunge one that goes with my dress," she said, still searching.
"Ah, yes, it's through here," he said as he went into the utility room and picked out the freshly dried piece of underwear. Personally, he preferred the white lace set she owned… he knew she would look angelic in it – not that his thoughts about it were particularly so – but exactly when he had gotten to know so much about this woman's underwear, he would never know. However, she was right – the dark red one would go best with her dress…
It was Friday evening and Erik had promised to take her out to her favourite restaurant in the town. He just hoped that today would go even marginally better than yesterday.
"Actually, love, there was something I wanted to ask you… did you tell Meg what happened between us last night?"
"I thought you said that nothing happened…"
"Yes, to us – nothing happened… to social services – I abused my student and foster-daughter…"
"You didn't abuse me."
"I know that but Meghan doesn't seem to."
"What makes you say that?" she asked.
"She scowled at me all through class today and some more besides."
"I'm sorry, Angel," Christine said. "I tell Meg everything…"
"I wish you'd tell me everything."
"I do. More than Meg, sometimes…"
"How can you tell me more than everything?" he asked, not convinced.
"Because… we know each other on a different basis than we know everyone else. I don't need to tell you everything – you already know it anyway. We could go through the rest of our lives together silently and we'd still manage perfectly."
"It'd be hell not to hear your voice," Erik said after a brief pause. "But, you are right – we could manage…"
Not for the first time that night, Erik watched the beautiful creature he lived with descend the stairs of their home as she prepared to go out to dinner with him. She was stunning in the flowing burgundy evening dress he had bought her very recently and which he had not had the chance to see her in before.
It had certainly been worth waiting for, he mused, watching her graceful entrance into the front hall. As she slowly came into his line of vision, his eyes moved over her, starting from her feet at the delicate open high heels she was wearing, showing off her lovely feet… he had always found her little feet adorable – they were so much smaller than his and his hands were larger even than them. She was so petite that sometimes he thought he could just absorb her into himself and they would be together forever as one… he was more and more often now becoming sentimental and lovesick over her and he didn't know how to stop feeling so gentle when he had always been an imposing figure. But, he couldn't help himself when he was around Christine and he knew that one could be forgiven for thinking that he was kind and sweet all the time, instead of just with her.
His eyes moved up from her ankles where the hem of the dress fell, passed her taut calves, and passed her accentuated waist to her décolleté above the neckline of the dress. Her arms were bare and he felt a decidedly strong urge to stroke his hand across her shoulders and neck to feel what it was like to have direct contact with her warm smooth skin.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs now, Christine gave Erik a little twirl to show him the back of the dress too and waited patiently for him to comment.
"What do you think…?" she asked nervously when he didn't say anything. "You know, you really are reducing my confidence…"
"I wish you were doing the same for my blood pressure…" he said seriously, raking his eyes over her.
"Do I do it justice?"
Erik shook his head to clear it. "Child, you should be asking if it does you justice… And, though nothing in the world could ever do you true justice, it certainly compliments your beauty exquisitely."
She blushed appealingly and turned her head away as he helped her with her coat and escorted her to the car, setting off for the restaurant she favoured. It was a small but very classy establishment, which was private enough that Erik felt comfortable taking her there while still elegant enough that they could enjoy their meals.
When they got there, they were well taken care of by the host who seated them at their usual table, taking Christine's coat and scarf. Erik declined removing his own coat and sat down to Christine's left once he had her seated, aware that it was rude to keep one's hat on in a restaurant but unwilling to leave himself open to curious stares at the mask… and he knew that Christine liked it when he wore his hat, which was definitely a plus whatever way he looked at it.
After they'd ordered their before dinner drinks and their starters, Erik excused himself to go to the gents, leaving Christine alone to look at anything and everything to try to occupy herself while she waited. It was not the most entertaining thing in the world to be sitting on your own in a restaurant, between meals, and she was, at first, quite pleased when she saw the waiter heading towards her table. He presented her with a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream and a glass.
"We didn't order this…" she said, confused.
"Compliments of a Mr. Ledbetter, madam," the waiter said, handing her a folded note along with it.
She read it aloud softly. "I would have sent champagne but the host recommended this was your favourite… and two glasses would have been presumptuous."
Erik picked just that moment to return to the table and Christine was at a loss for what to do. "I don't believe we ordered that," Erik told the waiter.
"Compliments of a Mr. Ledbetter, sir… for the madam," he said again, indicating Christine.
Erik was immediately riled. Who was this man who had so audaciously sent his Christine a bottle of Baileys? "Send it back," Erik told the waiter.
"Sir…?"
"Send it back… and tell Mr. Ledbetter that my wife is not interested."
"Of course, sir…"
"Presumptuous, indeed," Erik muttered, reading the card. "It was presumptuous to presume that you were unattached." Christine did not care to point out to him that she was, in fact, unattached so she remained quiet as Erik watched the waiter carry the bottle and glass over to a young man sitting at a table near the front. And, to Erik's immense consternation, the blond, well-dressed man got up, took the bottle and glass off of the waiter and approached their table himself.
"Good day to you, sir, madam," Mr. Ledbetter said, bowing subtly. "I apologise; I had not realised the young lady was attached."
"Well, she bloody well is," Erik snapped.
"Erik," Christine said warningly.
"No, no, it is quite understandable, madam – I should think that I would react similarly in such a situation. Perhaps if you and your husband would let me make it up to you by treating you to dinner…" he said, spreading his hands in a vague gesture.
"This is not a one-off," Erik growled. "I take my wife out to eat often and I can well afford to do so now. I neither need nor want your misplaced offerings – you have not offended me in the slightest, so I have no need of you making it up to me, you have merely reminded me how lucky I am to be this beautiful creature's spouse," he said, indicating Christine. "In fact, you have been of so little consequence to me that I am struggling to remember who you are or the reason why you are still interrupting our private meal together."
"Erik…" Christine shot him a hard glare for being so rude and kicked him under the table.
"Another time, perhaps," Mr. Ledbetter sighed. "I truly did not mean to offend…"
"You haven't, really," Christine said, shooting Erik a pointed glare and also pausing to stop herself from laughing at what she was about to say. "My husband has had a bad day and merely wishes to spend some time alone with his wife. I thank you for your kind offer and maybe someday we will partake of it… I hope you have a pleasant evening."
"Thank you, madam, you are very gracious. I bid you good evening." He walked away from their table quite amiably and left the bottle for Christine with his compliments. Erik was about ready to throw it after him but he decided that Christine would much prefer to drink it from a glass.
"The impertinence of youth today…" Erik muttered when he had gone. "He deserves a ruddy good bollocking."
"Come now, Angel, you cannot tar us all with the same brush… you do not think me impertinent, do you? Or yourself when you were my age?"
"I suppose…" he grumbled.
"And if you call buying someone a bottle of their favourite liqueur, coming over to apologise to us when he found himself embarrassed, offering to treat us – complete strangers whom he had only mildly offended – impertinent, then I would dearly love to see someone you thought was an angel – surely they would be divine…"
"You are," he said without pause.
She took a moment to bow her head and blush before speaking again. "Are you saying you would not do the same as him at his age should you see a young woman you were attracted to?"
"I would not offer her a drink to put her in my favour… I would be much more tactful." Yes, I would take you for a meal and then to see an opera in a private box. Then I would treat you to a private tour backstage with or without the company's consent. Afterwards, I would walk you home along the scenic route if the weather permitted and then I would stop just at your doorstep, drawing your hands into mine and laying them over my heart before I would lean forward slowly until we were so close that I would have to tilt my head so our noses wouldn't collide. Then I would proceed to bring our faces closer until your bottom lip would start to tremble and I would have to fight the urge to draw it into my mouth. Then I would back away without touching you and you would sigh in disappointment, your beautiful eyes fluttering open when no contact came. Then I would bid you goodnight and return to my own home, leaving you unfulfilled and wishing that I had stayed – surely a better sentiment to return to at a later date than disappointment at my ineptitude. The only problem with that scenario, of course, is that we live in the same house and I would probably not be able to contain myself… And then he would not say another word about it as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.
"Oh, you are so cute when you're in a huff," she laughed, playing with a lock of his hair in a way that made him feel most endeared towards her. In fact, he was unconsciously leaning into her touch, in a way that suggested he was hoping they might bring their lips together again. However, he caught himself just in time to save face.
Well, almost… "Christine?"
"Yes, Erik?"
"When I kissed you…"
That caught her attention and she dropped her hand from behind his ear without thinking. "Yes, Erik?"
"When I kissed you… on the lips…"
"Yes, Erik?" she prodded.
"When I kissed you on the lips… was I… was I passable?" he asked tentatively with his head bowed so that he could not see her.
"Yes, Erik," she answered honestly.
He brought his head up sharply, surprised and happy all at once. "So, I was sufficient, then?"
"Yes, Erik."
"Oh… alright." He started fiddling with the now cold bread roll on the plate in front of him, unsure of how to continue the conversation.
"Yes," she said simply. "Erik?"
"Yes, Christine?"
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.
"Yes, Christine," he answered honestly, unsure of how to do the experience true justice by describing it with mundane words.
"So, it was worthwhile, then?"
"Yes, Christine."
"Do you know how ridiculous we sound?" she laughed.
"Yes, Christine."
"Shall we stop?"
"Yes, Christine."
"Erik," she scolded, playfully hitting him on the chest.
"Yes, Christine?" he smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Stop it."
"Yes, Christine."
"I mean it."
"Yes, Christine… Christine?" he asked more seriously.
"Yes?"
"I would miss you dearly if you weren't here – you do know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Erik," she said, a bit surprised by the turn in conversation. "And I would miss you…"
"Christine?"
"Yes, Erik?" she said, becoming slightly agitated.
"I love you, Christine."
She lifted her head to look at him oddly… but the waiter had arrived with their starters.
"The relationship between myself and Mrs. Giry has been rather strained of late," Erik said as he and Christine waited for their main course. They had been talking about a lot of things concerned with Christine's childhood and she had commented that he and Mrs. Giry did not seem to talk very often even though they must have when she was smaller. After all, it did not make any sort of sense that Mrs. Giry would just give a four-year-old child to some man she only vaguely knew and did not trust…
"Why did you two fall out?"
"What makes you think that we were ever friends?"
"Wrong wording, right question… why did you fall out?" she asked again.
Erik sighed. He was not sure he wanted to be getting into this now. "She did not approve of you staying with me."
"I thought she was the one who gave me to you in the first place…"
"She did… but she regretted it. She thought that I would grow bored of you and be happy to give you back when the day came that she would return for you. Of course, she was very much mistaken and I resented the implication that I was only looking after you out of novelty."
"So, then what happened?"
"You remember I told you about the custody hearing?"
"Of course…"
"Well, Charles Atkinson was not the only person to come forward in opposition of me keeping you… Mrs. Giry finally made up her mind that she had room for you but I was very much of the mindset that it was too little, too late. To cut a long, hurtful story short, the odds were in my favour – you had, by the end of the hearing, been living with me for nearly three years; you and I were very much closer than you were with either Mrs. Giry or a great uncle you had only briefly met; you did not want to leave me; and I was providing a good home for you… Mrs. Giry was not best pleased. Neither of us has since gone out of our way to initiate any sort of contact since."
"But, in these cases, doesn't access get granted to the party that does not win?"
"Only in cases where both parents are fighting for custody of a child or where a child has been living with two different guardians for a similar period of time… but I had had you by far the longest and neither of them could contest that."
"Good," Christine sighed. "I am so glad. I don't know what I'd do if things had been different."
That was exactly how Erik felt too and he was undeniably thrilled that she felt the same way. He remembered precisely the day she had been made officially his…
"Just sign on the dotted line, Erik, and she's all yours," Xavier said, handing Erik a form.
"You make her sound like a car," Erik groaned. He flipped through the papers briefly and found most everything to be in order. "Now, this isn't an adoption form, is it? I made myself very clear on that matter, I remember."
"No, it's not an adoption form. I made sure to get you the foster forms… though, I don't know why you would want only to foster her when you have spent so much time fighting for custody of her. But, it is your choice…"
"Quite. Now, explain to me again the difference…"
"When she's eighteen she will no longer be related to you, but, until then, you have full and sole parental rights, next-of-kin status in all legal and medical matters, in the eyes of the law you are her father, and she officially has your last name."
"She has my last name?" Erik asked, surprised.
"Yes, as your legal daughter she has your last name by default."
"Christine Phelps-Jones…" Erik mused out loud. "And when she is eighteen…?"
"It will remain Phelps-Jones as you are her last living parent, if you will. But, you will no longer then be seen as relatives in the eyes of the law… you understand that, don't you? And, that is, of course, providing she doesn't change it herself when she comes of age…"
"Can I change it?"
"Well, yes… but why would you want to?" Xavier asked, confused.
"I do not want to give such a sweet child the name of my God-forsaken parents… she deserves better… she deserves Daaé – her father's name."
"Well, I can draw up those papers for you as soon as I get back to the office."
"I want them by this afternoon," Erik stated, in a decidedly fouler mood than he had been before the conversation had come up.
"Alright… I'll have them sent by courier."
"Sir? What are you doing here?" a shrill, overly loud and entirely unwelcome voice said, catching Erik's attention. Christine had just excused herself to go to the ladies and he was not in the best mood already to be sitting without her. How easily he missed her…
"Oh, Christ, what next?" Erik muttered. Christine would understand – she didn't like her any more than he did… but, for some reason, Carlotta seemed to stay around him longer the ruder he was to her. He missed Christine even more now – Carlotta would never have come over if she were here as they seemed to work as some sort of repellent for each other. He had been very pleased to learn that keeping Christine around him kept Carlotta away – it was just another of many reasons to justify his need for Christine to be there every second of every day. He also found it had the rather marvellous effect of keeping that boy at a distance from his angel.
"So… what are you doing here then?" Carlotta asked, sitting down in Christine's chair.
Inwardly, Erik groaned. He had wanted a private, quiet evening with his angel – something that could perhaps even be described as romantic by a stretch of the imagination. He took a brief moment to look about himself dramatically and then turned to the intruder at their table. "Why, I do believe I was eating," he said wearily, "in an eating establishment, would you believe?"
"There's the waiter," Carlotta commented dully.
"A waiter – what, here at the restaurant, well, whatever will we do about it?"
"Oh, sir, you can be so funny."
Erik looked around for Christine in need of her help as the waiter brought their main course over to the table and placed it in front of him. They had been going to share a platter made especially for two and Erik had been very much looking forward to the idea of them enjoying it together – alone.
The waiter looked at Carlotta oddly. He had never seen the masked man here with anyone other than the young, curly-haired beauty – and he was sure she had been here for the starters… "Will you be requiring an extra setting, sir, madam?"
"No," Erik said quickly, and perhaps, a bit harshly. How he had hoped she would have gotten the hint and left. But he was not to be so fortunate…
"Have you heard what Raoul asked your daughter, sir?"
He cringed at the mention of that boy's name and at Carlotta referring to Christine as his daughter but remained silent, hoping that she would lose interest in stirring things.
"He asked her to go out with him," Carlotta supplied, hoping the information would put Christine in disfavour with Erik. "He even bought her a present – gorgeous pair of Gucci heels…"
That seemed to strike a chord with Erik and he lifted his head in surprise, thinking back to the pair of heels Christine was wearing – the pair that he had not bought her and had never even seen before. He had imagined that they were new – that she had bought them herself – and he had been meaning to comment on them, to tell her that he loved them on her, but suddenly he was not feeling quite so enamoured of them. "I suppose, then, by her acceptance of his gift, that she has also accepted his… proposal, if you will?"
"Yes, she did," Carlotta lied, smiling to herself as she did so. "Anyway, I've got to go… see you on Monday."
Carlotta hurried off somewhere – he didn't really care to look – and she was soon replaced by the much more sought-after presence of Christine, who had just returned to their table. "Oh, it's here," she said, seeing that their main course had arrived. "You are very sweet not to have started without me."
Erik remained fuming in silence as she brought her chair closer to his and moved the platter so that it was between them – they hadn't been planning on using the platter to serve onto two smaller plates as they were quite content to just share. Christine was concerned, however, that Erik hadn't said a word to her since she'd sat down. "Are you alright?"
No. "Yes."
"You're sure?"
No. "Yes."
"Alright… but you don't seem fine." As soon as she said that, she noticed a dramatic change in him – he was suddenly more animated, starkly different from the motionless, silent figure of a few moments before – and she was immediately scared that she'd done something terribly wrong.
"What the hell does it matter to you how I'm feeling?" he hissed.
"Erik… what's gotten into you?" she asked, worried.
"No, what the hell has gotten in to you?" he said viciously.
The insinuation was not lost on her and she was upset that he could say such a thing to her when she knew he loved her so dearly. It was not unusual for him to go into moods and to be touchy, often snapping at her – which no longer offended her because she knew that he never meant it and that he would apologise when he was ready – but he had never said anything so undoubtedly cruel to her and she had no idea what could have made him do so. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"What's the matter, Christine? Didn't think I'd find out?" He leaned towards her, placing his palm against the curve of her cheek – looking, to anyone else like a husband about to kiss his wife – and brought their faces closer together, keeping a tight, almost sore, grip in her hair. His face was so close that she could feel his breath tickling her nose and he started whispering coldly to her. "Now, you listen to me, Christine… nothing, dare I say it, nothing gets passed me without notice and I do not like liars… I do not like them one bit and I know exactly how to handle them. Do you know what I like to do to liars, Christine?" he asked, smiling wickedly. She shook her head. "They don't stop, you see… liars – they keep on lying, they tell one lie and then they have to back it up with another and another and another and… the only way to stop them lying – to get to the whole truth – is to take away all of the things they love, everything that matters and break them so that all that they have left is to tell the truth. I met a compulsive liar once, Christine. He lied to me and I ruined him… he'll never lie again, I can assure you. One could say that I cured him… but I prefer to think of it as his just desserts."
"You are insane…"
"Perhaps… but that's not really what we are talking about, is it? You know how I feel about that boy and how I feel about liars and yet you did both."
"Raoul? What's he got to do with–"
"Never mention that name in my presence," he snarled at her, tightening his hand in her hair.
"Erik, you're scaring me… I've never seen you like this before."
"Well, you're the only one…"
"Please, let go of me… you're hurting me," she sobbed quietly, bringing her hand up to her head to try to relieve the pressure present there from his grip.
"Waiter," Erik called suddenly, never taking his eyes off of hers. "Bill, please." He gave a final sharp tightening of his grip before releasing her hair and placing his credit card on the saucer with their bill as the waiter went to process it.
Christine had remained silent since Erik had taken his hand away. She truthfully didn't know what to say to him – she wasn't even sure of what he was accusing her of. She was shocked again when he pulled her left foot off of the floor and into his lap.
"I do not like these heels, Christine," Erik said coldly. "I find them distasteful and quite below your usual dress sense. They make you look cheap."
He briefly felt a pang of regret at his harsh words when she burst out crying but he would not be stopped now that he had found out what she had done. "Pull yourself together… I do not need a pathetic little girl littering my home."
"Why are you being so cruel?" Christine sobbed.
"Do not think you know the meaning of cruel," he hissed. "You will learn though… that you will." He bent forward and ripped the shoe from her foot, breaking the clasp in the process. "I have been terribly remiss in your disciplining over the years and it is time I made up for that."
A few seconds later, the waiter returned with Erik's credit card, looking very surprised at the young woman who was clearly crying and had her head bowed to try to hide it.
Erik watched him walk away and then turned back to Christine, surprised to see her looking up at him, suddenly incensed, her eyes sparkling brightly. "What gives you the right," she hissed right back at him, "to have everything your way? What gives you the right to dictate to me what exactly I am to do with my life? Who I am to spend my time with…? What I am to wear…? What right do you have to take something of mine without asking and break it just because you do not approve of it?" She got up without saying another word to him and pulled her broken shoe out of his hands as she took off her other one and walked out of the restaurant as though it was the most common thing in the world to dine barefoot.
Erik stood up and ran after her, collecting her coat and scarf from the host as he went by. When he got outside, however, he became aware that she was not in his car, but, in fact, walking along the side of the road in the general direction of their home.
Sighing, he ignored his anger for a moment as he got into the driver's side of his car and drove up the road towards her. He slowed down when he was beside her and rolled the automatic window on the passenger's side down as he attempted to get her to get in. "You can't really expect to walk all the way home barefoot – do you know how childish you are being?"
She stopped suddenly and leaned in the passenger window, giving Erik the impression that he had won without any effort. But, instead of saying anything, she reached out her hand and placed it on his chest, confusing him greatly in her tenderness… until she abruptly scraped her fingers down his chest and ripped off the breast pocket of his favourite dress coat. She backed away before he could react and continued to walk along the road, her shoes still in hand. It had been a childish act… but it had made her feel better.
Erik, however, was livid… he growled at his now-ruined suit and threw the detached piece of cloth that had, up until recently, been a pocket, onto the seat to his left. He was not going to drive off and leave her walking home alone at night, wearing a breathtaking dress and no shoes, so, he stopped the car beside her, got out and then proceeded to pick her up, choosing not to give her any option but to come home with him. She struggled desperately but he easily subdued her and threw her shoes into the car before setting her in the passenger seat and using a make-shift rope out of the backseat blanket to tie her to the seatback as well as placing her seatbelt on her.
"Untie me right now, Erik."
"Or what…?"
"You cannot keep me tied up forever, you know."
"Yes, I know… just until we get home. Then I will tie you to your bed and lock you in your room until you see sense."
"You can't do that," she said, incredulous.
"It will amuse me greatly to see you try to stop me…"
For most of the car ride home, they both remained silent – Erik basking in his triumph and Christine trying to think of a way to get back at him. At about five minutes from their house, however, she managed to get her arms free and pulled the blanket away from her, throwing it at her feet. Erik noticed and pulled into a nearby lay-by before she could do anything.
"I am quite ready to chloroform you before you cause me any more hassle…"
"You wouldn't dare…"
"Wouldn't I?" He made a show of reaching across her into the glove compartment and Christine brought her hand forward and ripped his cufflink off out of no more than a show of anger than to do any real good to prevent him. In turn, he broke the strap of her dress – unwilling to be outdone even in such a strange competition. Christine gasped and brought her hand up to hold her dress in place against her chest as he smiled triumphantly from his seat.
Needing to take the smug look off of his face, she took her seatbelt off and turned towards him, kneeling in her seat. He found himself watching in a strange sort of fascination and didn't try to stop her as she laid her hands upon his chest and ripped his waistcoat open, the little buttons flying everywhere in the car, before he placed his hands at her waist and ripped the seams of her bodice open, effectively ridding her of the whole top half of her dress. However, he was more eager to continue their strange little game of dominance than to ogle her underwear.
She leaned across the gear stick and handbrake, dragging his ruined dress coat and waistcoat off of him, subsequently paying similar attention to his previously unmarred dress shirt. Before she could pull back, however, he caught her bare upper arms in his hands and smiled at her in a way she could not quite decipher… He was untowardly attracted to her display of anger and would have gone on to show her had she not just knelt on his unmentionables.
"Christ," he shouted, in pain, as he let go of her arms and bent double.
"You deserved that."
He growled and drew a knife out of his pocket, surprising her. She was scared, truly scared, of what he might do for just a second until she realised that this was Erik – her Angel – and he would not hurt her. Before she could blink again, he had her pinned to the seat and cut through the remainder of her dress more out of anger than anything else. Again, he returned to his seat and smiled, believing himself to have won, sure in the knowledge that the beautiful and innocent creature next to him would not be so bold as to rid him of his trousers.
Fortunately for him, he was right and he celebrated in his head the victory he had achieved before starting the car up and continuing their drive home.
Five minutes later, Erik, wearing just his trousers and an open, torn shirt on his back, lifted Christine out of the passenger seat as she wore nothing but her underwear and the remains of a beautiful dress. He looked back at the car ruefully – he would be finding buttons for weeks and he would have to come back for their clothes later… but he didn't care – it had been a fun little adventure in testing each other. And he had won…
"Christine?" somebody said from their doorstep, looking oddly at the two of them as Erik stood there holding her in his arms, both of them wearing shreds of what they had previously been wearing.
"Oh, bugger…" Christine sighed.
© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, December 2005