'Baby, It's Cold Outside' was written in 1944, but most people probably know the version with Dean Martin from 1959. I've always thought the song had some curious lyrics and I couldn't resist writing this fic.
Possible song-canon dubcon. T-rated.
"I really can't stay," Christine insisted as she walked past Erik in the sitting room and headed for the hallway to get her cloak by the door. "I've got to go away."
Erik's gentle but unrelenting skeletal hand grabbed her elbow and pulled her back to face him. "But, chérie, it's cold outside." He was still sitting in the armchair which made them almost the same height as she stood in front of him. It felt as though his eyes were drilling into her, despite being invisible in the deep, black sockets of his skull. She suppressed a shudder.
"This evening have been," she breathed as his hand slithered down to grip her wrist, circling the pulse point with his thumb, just on the side of pain, "so very nice." His touch felt mesmerizing and her gaze drifted down to see his large hand slowly enclosing her own.
A warm hum rumbled in his chest, a dark melody that crept under her skin. "I've been hoping you'd drop in." He took hold of both her hands and squeezed a little too hard. "Your hands are just like ice." The notion was amusing since her hands were warmer than his, but the thought disappeared when he tugged her towards him, so she nearly fell into his lap.
She managed to regain her balance and struggled out of his hold, yet didn't run down the hallway as she should have. "My Mamma will start to worry and her nurse will pace the floor," she whispered when his finger glided over the silver of her wrist watch and she swiftly looked away, her eyes drawn to the fireplace where a warm fire roared. "So really, I'd better scurry."
He reached for her cheek and pulled her face back to his. "Beautiful, please don't hurry." The closeness made her mind hazy.
"Well, maybe just half a drink more," the words left her unwillingly, although her mind told her that she should go. However, it felt rude to leave him already; she knew how lonely he was down here.
Erik rose, gently nudging her into the chair instead, and walked over to pour another drink for her in the glass she'd left on the little bar opposite the fireplace. "What might my neighbors think?" She mumbled, more to herself than Erik, when he handed her the glass and she took a sip.
"Chérie, it's bad up there." He stood tall above her, his arms gesturing upwards to the real world, his words persistent.
The liquid stung her tongue and she swallowed immediately, hissing at the way it burned down her throat. "Say, what's in this drink?" She looked at the liquid, more golden than the usual white wine he served to her.
He ignored her words, still arguing that she should stay. "There's no carriages to take you home up there." Lowering himself to sit on his knees in front of her, he cupped her face and as the light caught his pupils, she felt enthralled by those glowing, catlike eyes.
"I wish I knew how to break this spell."
Once more he hummed in that delectable voice, only inches from her face. When had he gotten so close? "Your eyes are like starlight and your hair looks swell," spindly fingers drifted into her intricately braided coiffure and ruffled it. "Mind if I move in closer?"
"I ought to say no no, sir," she tried to shake her head, only to find her head held in place by his hand. "At least I'm going to say that I tried."
His eyes glimmered dangerously, causing her insides to freeze. "What's the sense in hurting my pride?" He whispered, cold spit flying from his lipless mouth on her too hot skin. It pulled her out of the haze.
"I really can't stay," she wrestled against his hold, crying out when she finally escaped and left a chunk of her hair in his fist. She scrambled over the back of the chair and ran to the door. A hand shot out in front of her face when she reached for the handle.
"Chérie, don't hold out," he hissed, "it's cold outside."
Tears welled in her eyes. "I simply must go, Erik. The answer is no." His hand didn't move from its place at the door, making his expectations clear. She turned to face him, hoping to placate him. "The welcome has been so nice and warm-"
"How lucky that you dropped in," he interjected with an ominous smirk, disallowing her to continue, "before the snow turned into a storm."
"My Mamma will be suspicious," she went on, her eyes pleading with him, but his eyes were drifting lower.
"Gosh, your lips look delicious."
"Raoul might be there at my door," she said, instantly regretting having mentioned his name. Something akin to a growl sounded from his throat, a typical reaction to hearing her talk about his self-proclaimed rival. She gripped the lapels of his waistcoat. "Please, Erik, don't be vicious!"
Her words had barely been spoken before he grabbed the back of her head and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She struggled against him, fighting his insistent mouth without luck.
As she gave in and let him take all control, something began to jostle in her stomach, pushing the cold in her chest away and replacing it with a warmth that came from his otherwise chilled kiss. It was a strange sensation.
Slowly, he coerced her to move her lips against his nonexistent ones and she welcomed it when his tongue probed inside her mouth. A small gasp left her as he massaged her tongue with his own. She tightened her hold on his waistcoat.
It was too soon when he drew back. "Gosh, your lips are delicious," he breathed, causing a shiver in her.
She was breathing heavily, suddenly not desperate to go home. "Maybe just a song more… Then I got to get home."
"But chérie, you'll freeze up there. It's gotta be up to your knees." He leaned in to kiss her jaw, then down her throat when she lifted her head to give him access.
"This really feels grand," his mouth made a fascinating pressure against her vocal cords. Her mind felt fogged. Somehow, her fingers tangled into the thin hair at the nape of his neck.
He groaned into her skin, a shiver raking through his body. "I thrill at the touch of your hand. How can you do this to me?" She wondered the same. The tension between them could change from intimate to terrifying in the blink of an eye, but their chemistry was constant.
"There's bound to be talk tomorrow."
"Think of my lifelong sorrow." He knew how she sympathized with his awful past and used it in any situation it might be in his favor. Even now it worked.
"I really can't stay…" His lips disappeared from her neck to her dismay. A long, thin digit caressed her jaw before tilting her head to face him.
His stare was intense, his voice leaving no room for discussion. "Get over that old doubt. Chérie, it's cold," he purred and led her back towards the warm sitting room. Her resolve crumbled, her conflicting thoughts finally quieting.
"Oui, chéri, it really is cold outside," she agreed before he claimed her lips once more.