A/N—My one tribute to the 2004 movie!

An earlier version of this appeared on Tumblr back in August, inspired by a comment from a-small-jar, who posted that she thought Erik probably had some killer thighs from walking up and down the Opera stairs all day. I responded back that he was probably actually in very good physical condition from the stairs, ladders, poling the boat, construction work earlier in life, and general dashing about and lurking.

This was the result.

A Fine Figure of a Man

2017, 2018. Riene

She had never really appreciated what a fine figure he cut before now. The man Christine knew as Erik and others knew only as the Opera Ghost beckoned her to follow and she obeyed. Imperious, silent and deadly, his black cloak rippling behind him, he sealed the mirror mechanism and raised a lantern, drawing her gaze. How often had she watched him, stalking the corridors of the Opera House, all fluidity and stealth, blending into the shadows or the velvet darkness of the tunnels, unaware of her regard. The hat, tilted at a rakish angle to conceal his oddly glowing eyes, and those elegant hands, covered in thin leather gloves, were mesmerizing, commanding, as he extended one arm in a graceful gesture.

She stumbled forward.

Golden eyes bored into hers suspiciously. "What are you staring at?" he hissed, and Christine blushed, averting her gaze. This was her teacher! She should not stare…what was she thinking? Shaking her head, bemused at the turn her thoughts had taken, the young singer followed him through the tunnels, acutely aware of his presence, his brief touches guiding her in the darkness, his hand, warm on her waist, as they jumped across a rocky crevasse, his touch leaving a trail of delightful shivers behind.

Many levels below the Opera House, he tossed aside the hat, reached up and removed the clasps of the heavy cloak, swirling it off broad shoulders and tossing it casually aside on the settee, smoothing back his hair. Christine's eyes traveled down from those shoulders across the flat, taut planes of his stomach to where well-fitting trousers clung to his muscular thighs as she followed him into the music room.

Mercy, Christine, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. Get a hold of yourself, girl.

She took her position to the side of the piano, in preparation for warm up exercises. Erik seated himself on the bench, flipping coattails out of the way and flexing his long hands. Once she'd thought those hands grotesque, and now could not imagine them any other way…slim powerful, gracefully gesturing or moving effortlessly across the keyboard. What might those long cool digits feel like touching…

"Christine!" Erik was clearly annoyed, his hands crashing down on the keyboard, causing her to jump. "Where is your mind today!"

You don't want to know, she thought, blushing furiously, and he stared at her, nonplussed.

"Do you need a glass of cold water?" he asked.

She looked down at her feet and nodded feebly. Maybe a cold bath, too.

Irritably, her teacher stalked from the room, in search of a glass. Christine took the moment to fan her warm face and grasped the neckline of her dress, waving it slightly so that the always-cool air of the underground rooms could reach her flushed skin.

Erik returned with a tumbler, holding it out. "Drink this, and we will resume our lessons," he said gruffly. "We have little time together; you must not waste it."

She took the glass, brushing his fingers. "You are very warm," he said, alarmed, taking her hand in his briefly, then dropping it.

Christine grasped his hand, holding it tightly, looking up into this enigmatic man's masked face. His golden gaze widened. She had never seen his eyes so closely, amber gold toward the iris, darkening into a hazel gold toward the edges, framed by long black eyelashes. The visible corner of his hard mouth turned down, and he tried to pull away, disconcerted at her scrutiny.

"Christine?"

Unable to bear it any longer, Christine set the glass on the piano and slid her hand up his chest, curling it around his neck, and tugged his head down to hers. His lips were thin and dry, parted in a gasp.

Stunned, the Opera Ghost could only stand there as she kissed him.

No music lessons would be accomplished that afternoon.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece. :) Thank you for reading, and please review!

~R