AUTHOR'S NOTE: As if this week wasn't some strange hell-scape of groundhog day and V for Vendetta, please know that I did post last Saturday. Alas, it was dragged to purgatory thanks to the FFN glitch. If you didn't see last week's update please read chapter 15 first. It should be showing for you now. (If not, the whole story is cross-posted on AO3 under the same title.) If you did miss it, you've got 5K+ words to enjoy today. And please do enjoy.

And oh, we go rated M today, lovelies.


Christine's vision blurred and focused on the low burning fire in her hearth. Sleep evaded her.

She had not left on the nine o'clock train. There would be another tomorrow. He would still say he did not want her tomorrow.

No matter how hard she tried, no matter what melody she spun in her head, nothing would sink her into mindless sleep. Her hair flopped messily around her, barely held up by her old hair pin. His old hair pin.

The sherry had been useless, and she had nothing stronger in her luggage. When she would momentarily drift away, footsteps from the hall would rouse her, sharply pulling at her senses. But they were never his.

It was no use. Sleep would not find her tonight. She looked out her window onto the quiet main street, light snow falling softly on the ground. A cold walk would do her good. A clear head would help her see her future.

Wrapping herself in Erik's coat and firmly securing her feet in two pairs of wool socks, she left her warm little room for the wide expanse of night.

The little town was quiet, serene. The moonlight through the cloudy sky illuminated her path and gave the falling show a yellow tint. Her feet crunched against it in that satisfying way, and her footsteps magically disappeared behind her, fluffy snow filling the impressions moments after her steps.

She found herself before the Opera House, carefully winding her way through the back alley to walk the stairs of the stage door.

Two minds warred within her: one who wanted nothing to do with the complications that loving Erik would bring, and the other who could not deny that leaving now would doom her to a dark life of loneliness. She wanted Erik – this she knew – but did she want him despite herself? Would she play the pinning women to a man who would deny her?

When Christine first arrived, she thought she'd found her angel better than when she'd left him. She thought he heard her when she spoke. Now she was not so sure. He'd manipulated her situation to drive her to him and gave her the semblance of freedom so that she would willing bind herself to him. And now he was sending her away from him, again. Desire for him aside, she could not forgive him for that.

The soft notes of a piano melody filtered through the floorboards from above and Christine followed the sound to the door of her practice room. It was impossible not to know who was playing, and for a time Christine stood at the door just listening to Erik. The sweetness of him laid bare before her. Lonely and aching and beautiful.

When she could take the melody no more, she quietly opened the door and stepped into the room. He looked in her direction but did not stop playing. He still wore his porcelain mask. It still sat strangely on his swollen face. His broken leg rested awkwardly under the piano, unbent. He kept his elbow tight to his waist, thought it was not in its sling. Nothing impacted the beauty of his music. His fingers drew the crescendo of the sonata to a close, carefully letting the final minor cord linger in the air.

He awoke from the music with astonishment in his eyes. Christine understood. Even without his hypnosis, he'd called to her and somehow, she'd heard and come. She felt it then – again, as before – the undeniable cord that bound them together, his spirit to hers, pulling at her heart. Hungry and raw, it demanded fulfillment. She was tired of denying it, restricting it, and she could not fault him for the same. Starvation no more.

Had she not been trying to forget him all these years, thinking he was dead? Hadn't it been impossible? Wouldn't she have done anything to get to him if she'd known?

And here he was. Alive. Alive and staring at her a though she hung the moon. She went to him, her body desperate for his touch. Anger and hurt could be remembered in the morning.

This one time, she would take what she wanted.

Her hand brushed his jaw.

"Christine," The deep timber of his voice wrapped her in warmth. Erik's hands traveled to her arm, his thumbs gently tracing the sinew there. "If we continue this, it will irrevocably change everything. I will never, never let you go. I won't be able to."

The flush of warm blood filled her cheeks. Her throat burned. Good, leave your foolishness behind you.

It had all been bravado. At his core, her Phantom was a selfish man. And she was the only thing he had always wanted.

Christine took Erik's face in her hands, careful to gentle her caress around his swollen cheek, and drew his lips to hers.

With that simple touch, a fire ignited inside her. This man belonged to her, next to her, and nowhere else. He was hers and she would never let him go. Change be damned.

Erik's arms wrapped tightly around her, pressing her more deeply into his chest. She couldn't help but melt into him, the feel of him against her too sweet to deny.

His lips, swollen and strangely shaped, slid against Christine's own with a singular hunger – sharp and ferocious like his mind. He pulled her down onto his lap, unwilling to release her from his embrace.

Even through the heaviness of her fabrics, she could feel him, hard and aching against her. If there had been any doubt of his desire before, there was none now. She shivered at the thought. This was his want of her. Hungry. Wild. A craving unsatisfied for ten years. More. Something neither of them could control once unleashed.

Of their own volition, Christine's hips rocked against him, desperate for the dark, luscious feel him.

Erik responded by biting her lower lip with his perfect teeth, quickly sweeping his tongue across the space in his wake and pushing past into her mouth. Something broke in her when his tongue touched hers, hungry yet still unsure. It unleashed her and she devoured him in return – teasing him with strokes of her own and pulling him deeper into her, kiss after kiss.

Desperate for air she released him, and he growled in response. Her hot breath fanned against his parted lips, "I cannot kiss you properly with your mask on." Erik's gaze returned her own with astonished humor.

"If those were not your proper kisses, God help me." He searched for her lips again, but she denied him.

"Please." Her fingers fanned through his hair, tugging lightly at the edges of his wig. She teased him with playful nips at the edge of the mask, making her point that there was skin she wanted to explore.

She would not let him hide from her. There was no need anymore.

Even swollen as his face still was, Christine could tell his elegant eyebrow rose in skepticism. Erik's hand searched the bare skin of her leg under her dress and tightened when his explorations resulted in shivers wracking her body.

"I am not a handsome man, Christine." What lies he tells himself.

Then his cool hand found her core. She was warm and wet and his fingers brought desperate relief to the ache. An overwhelmed sigh broke from his chest.

"And yet I still weep for want of you. All of you."

Suddenly she didn't care for his permission. She lifted the mask from his face and pulled his lips again to hers. Erik's answer was to roll his fingers through her folds until he found the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, already pulsing with the beat of her heart.

This felt good. This felt right. Natural between them.

Erik trailed wet kisses down her neck to her breasts. The heavy breathing from his nose a strange and erotic feeling in her madness. He bit at the fabric hiding her, but did not slow the pleasure of his skillful hands.

Her body overtook her mind, jittery and needy as it was. She could not delay the crashing waves of her orgasm much longer. Her hungry Phantom played her too well. And she wanted so much more than just her pleasure tonight.

She wanted so much more: to feel his skin against hers, to feel him inside her. He seemed to know and rose with her, headless of his injured leg. "You deserve a soft bed and candlelight."

"I want you now."

They ended up on the floor much as they had been, with Erik's back against the wall and Christine astride his hips. His fingers moved faster against her, feeding her desire for him.

"Christine, let it take you."

"I want more of you than just your fingers." She fumbled with his shirt, determined to feel his skin under her hands before her climax, dangerously on the edge.

He nipped at her ear, "You'll have everything, my dear. But first I want this."

Erik's hands had discovered her weakness, and with a steep flutter of his fingers, she fell. At first, the stunning sensation made her freeze. Upon repeat, she rocked her hips against his hand hard, unable to control her own movements. He coaxed her on, with lascivious words murmured hotly in her ear. The things he would do to her, he promised. The worshiping she was owed.

Her mind followed him willingly into his dark and erotic imaginings until all she heard was the need in his voice and all she felt was the pleasure he drew out of her. She dropped her head to the crook of his neck, nipping as him with her teeth, and let the pleasure seep out in her voice.

And yet the deep ache in her core still clenched in want.

Trying to soothe her, Erik trailed his fingers down her thigh, leaving streaks of her own wetness in their wake. She felt boneless and hollow and after kissing the racing pulse at his throat, her hands searched for the buttons on his trousers.

"Christine," he breathed, stilling her hands with his. She looked into his face – his deformed, swollen, angelic face – love and want warred in every line. He wanted her, desperately, but was offering her a final moment to say no. A choice. And finally, he would not make it for her.

Deliberately, she nipped at his lips with her eyes open. I see you my love, her being cried. His hands loosened over hers, allowing her to release him into her grip. I see you. His breath caught at her touch. Unlike the rest of his skin, here he was thick and warm. She drew her hand along the length of him, swiping her thumb over the tip and rolling his own wetness along his throbbing skin.

Christine marveled at the power she wielded over him. Never once had she felt more wonton or more in control. He was at her mercy and his eyes burned with want of her. She felt his gaze along her skin and shivered. "Tell me," she whispered.

What she wanted him to say, she didn't really know, but at his answer her heart thundered. "I want you."

"Always."

"Yes. Always." Erik gave her no more time to explore. Instead, he lifted her against his chest and set her aching center over him. The edge of his hardness pressed into her with intoxicating ease. As ever, he'd prepared her well. His head fell back against the wall and he cursed to heaven.

He tried desperately to still her with his hands at her hips. He needed a moment to gather himself.

It was not enough for Christine. She set her pace, slowly filling herself with him. The overflowing well of longing within her eased – finally drying up after years and years of want. Now there would only ever be desire and pleasure. Years and years of pleasure for them both.

Erik's words became a fumble of English and French and other foreign tongues, making no more than a sliver of coherent thought.

"You deserve romancing." His choked confession made her smile. He was her captive at last.

This first time would be quick, and she would ring out of him all the pleasure possible. Christine caressed her hands at the nape of Erik's neck and returned to his mouth, rising her hips to begin a steady rhythm between them.

"This is romancing," she moaned against his lips. Erik's body rose to meet hers, pressing her down more firmly on him in turn, unable to let her rise away from him. That was right. Any separation was unbearable.

It was exquisite – the way they harmonized together. They were one whole body between them. Complete when intertwined. When his hand again found her breast, pinching her nipple between his long fingers, Christine rolled her hips in her particularly hungry way, her body clenching fiercely around him.

His climax came as a burning roar. Her entire body pulsed in time with his, even when Erik could bear no more and pulled himself out of her. His hands again snaked into her wild chestnut hair. Christine's eyes slid closed at the sweet feel of his fingers massaging the based of her skull. There was such tenderness in his touch.

When she opened her eyes, his own mismatched eyes gazed back, golden in the moonlight. Her heart filled at the adoration she found there, the wonder. It felt good, right, to be worshiped. She bit back a smile from her swollen lips. Erik settled her atop him, their foreheads pressed together, and she listened to their heartbeats slow.

Sleep found her, drifting into the edges of her consciousness. What would ten years of this adoration of looked like? Ten years of his touch and hunger. Ten years of this deceptively relaxed embrace. Ten years of longing finally sated.


Erik's hands gently tangled themselves in Christine's hair. She looked like an angelic ghost in the early morning light – ethereal and otherworldly. Her breathing was deep and her chest warm against his own, despite the cold.

But she was pretending to sleep, her fingers trailing light patterns across his upper arm in nonsensical waves. Her heart warred with her blissful mind, contented and yet not. Christine was unsure when exactly the iron ribbons around that foolish organ loosened, but she was sure they had – just enough for her longing and Paris memories to sink into the very marrow of her being.

The hungry desire had been sated and still the love was there. Still the want lingered. Being with him, lying with him, even on the cold ground, felt like the first true choice Christine had ever made. Second, if taking her contract still counted as her own choice. And this time, he did not question her. This time, he did not deny her.

It was a delicious feeling. And yet, doubt rushed in, its shadow dancing in the periphery of her vision. She had planned to build a life of her own. She had never imagined a life with Erik was possible. Now that it was, it was impossible not to fill her whole life with plans including him.

Carlotta had told her once, before she left Paris for good, be careful of happiness. It was the only kind thing the Opera Diva had ever said to her.

"Tell me how you left Paris," Erik whispered.

"I'm sure you know already."

"I want to hear it from you."

Christine sighed and snuggled deeper into his chest, the fine cotton of his shirt catching lightly on her skin. "Raoul said one day that I had an offer from a New York opera house and it seemed like a good adventure."

"Please don't lie. I want to know your reason. Your real reason." Vain man.

In his arms, between night and day she found she could not stop the words. "With you gone, Paris held nothing for me. Without you the music was no longer magical. I couldn't bear it anymore and New York seemed as good a place as any to try and forget."

"But still you sang."

"I know how to do nothing else."

"Yes you do."

"Nothing respectable. Nothing fit for nobility. I'm a performer Erik. A master of one thing."

"And the Vicomte?"

"At first, I tried to forget with him. And at first it worked. But then I resented him. He'd been able to actually forget, where I had only pretended. And then the resentment grew to hate until I could no longer look at him anymore."

"What happened between you two?"

She couldn't bare the memory, "Ah, but that is not the story of how I left Paris." His mouth formed a comical grim line. Christine ran a finger along it, disliking the implication of his thoughts. She clarified, "Death. And lies."

He knew better than to press further. "And you ran away."

"Yes. No. I wanted to be a master of myself. I wanted people to hear me, not just listen to my voice. I figured a master of my own life would be a respectful start. So I left."

"To what?"

"Independence. Freedom. The ability to live in my own sense of the world. Something different than what I'd been living."

"Was I really that important, Christine?"

She righted her dress before him, careful not to hit his leg. It hurt that he'd heard her, but not really listened. Just like everyone else. Still, she would be honest with his question, "You are really that important, Erik." She slipped her arms into his jacket, gathering the front before her in her hands.

His hands held her face, lifting her to his gaze, "It seems you have saved some of your fierceness for me. You never planned to leave Mauch Chunk did you?"

Christine meet his lips. A silent confirmation.

He'd warned her already that last night would change everything, but she needed to be sure. "Will you really send me away?"

"I should." She nodded, looking out on the winter morning. "I should, but I find I have no will within me to make you go."

She helped him up from the floor, allowing him to brace his weight on her shoulder. "Good," she whispered against his lips.