A/N—From an anonymous phic prompt on Tumblr—a kiss without motive. I thought I'd posted this here already...my apologies.

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A Step Into Darkness

2018, Riene

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Had it been part of her costume, she would have simply handed the garment over to the costumers for repairs, but it was her own underskirt. They were on the second day of blocking for the new performance, a busy time with many conflicting instructions from the lighting crew and director, and thus Christine had forgotten about the tear in the hem. During the end of the second scene she'd risen and caught the tip of her pointed character shoe on the trim and snagged it, causing a small rip. In the rush of the afternoon she'd completely forgotten the small, treacherous tear.

His hand was firm on her elbow, guiding her with that exquisite sense of propriety, a cool mask of another sort he wore around her. In the tunnels the only light was cast by the brass bull's eye lantern he carried aloft, Hermes leading her downward to the the lake, his own River Styx.

"Mind your steps," he said, his voice by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. On this narrow passage the steps were irregular in height and width, a deliberate measure of keeping an intruder off balance. She had no fear of them for her Stygian guide was here, near enough to feel the heat from his body and catch sharp scents of him—paper and ink, woodsmoke and water, the damp smell of the caverns, incense and sandalwood soap.

He had no idea how he sent her pulse racing.

It was in that distracted moment her foot caught the tear, pitching her forward and off-balance, her cry of fear cut off as Erik's arms locked around her in a fierce embrace and they both fell, tumbling down stone and against sharp and jagged rocks.

There was a sudden blow and blinding pain, her breath knocked out and heart racing madly. But she was lying on something soft. No, not soft, but not stone. Flesh.

Erik had somehow twisted like a cat in the fall and had taken the impact for them both. One long bony hand was buried in her hair, cold against her scalp, the skin aching where he'd ripped pins from her curls to clasp her head against his body, burying her face in the crook of his neck, the other arm locked vise-like around her waist and lower back, pressing her tightly to him, his breathing harsh in her ear.

He twisted sideways with a groan, pinning her against the wall, her head now resting on his arm. It was utterly dark, the lantern smashed somewhere beyond.

She was acutely aware of the position they were in, lying so closely together, her hand on his hip, his knee between her legs, her breasts pressed against his chest. Heat flared in her face. "Erik?" He'd still not said a word.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was a rasp of pain as his hand roamed her body frantically, feeling down her arms and legs.

"I'm...I'm fine, Erik. Thank you. You probably saved my life," she gulped, and sniffled, feeling the prickle of tears and a fresh wash of fear as the realization struck her.

"God," he gasped. "If you had been injured I..." He shifted slightly and could not hold back a hiss of pain.

Instantly her fear for herself vanished in a rush of fear for him. "Erik! Are you hurt?"

Her fist twisted a handful of his cloak, pulling him more near, and he groaned. "My ribs, I think." He was not a young man, she knew, how badly was he injured? Christine slid her hand up from his hip to his chest, sliding it under the soft wool of his jacket, against his chest, where his heart seemed to pound with a fresh thunder.

He was thin, so thin, the flesh under her timidly exploring hand hard with muscle, and sharp with the underlying bone. She pressed gently and he cursed, catching her hand. "Don't. Please."

"I need to see if you are injured!" she pleaded, her fingers questing up his ribcage, feeling odd indentations and raised lines though the thin fabric of his shirt. Not bones, but...scars?

He caught her hand in a hard grip. "Enough. I cannot bear it."

He must truly be in a lot of pain, she thought shakily. Where else might he be injured? Her hand moved from his body across his shoulders and to his neck, carefully reaching up to his head. He froze as that small questing hand tentatively ran through his hair, stroking his scalp, and he shuddered at her cautious, exploratory touch.

Her fingers came away sticky with blood. "My God, Erik, your head..."

"It's nothing!" Indeed the shock of pain was nothing compared to the shock of her soft hands roaming his body. The sensations were overwhelming, his starved flesh shuddering with a growing desperate heat and desire.

Perhaps she felt some of it, for her hands suddenly stilled. His mask was gone, lost somehow in their tumble down the stairs. Erik jerked back with a hiss and curse, then groaned aloud.

"Erik..." she whispered, and raised her chin, searching. Could she? Did she dare? Lying against him in the darkness, Christine gently reached up and tugged his head toward hers.

And she took his face into her hands.

Under her thumbs, an asymmetrical shape was revealed. One side smooth, a high cheekbone, a finely arched eyebrow, traced with one fingertip, soft long eyelashes fluttering against her tentative touch. The other...rough, ridged, thin and cool, an irregular surface of lines and indentations. Erik lay so still she wondered if he had ceased breathing. She softly circled the ruined eye socket, feeling a wetness against her fingertips. Not blood...tears?

He caught her hand in his, pressing her knuckles to his mouth. "Christine," he breathed, "how can you bear to...to touch..?"

Honesty came more easily in the dark. "I've always...wondered..."

"And now?" He waited in an agony of seconds for her response.

Her lips brushed tentatively across his cheek, a tender caress, then she was pressing against him, turning her head, touching her lips to his. In the roaring of his ears Erik froze, shocked, and then her hands gently tugged him closer. Her lips were soft, shy, and he was clumsy, inelegant, inexperienced, and yet a feeling of profound tenderness moved through them both. He leaned his forehead against hers, shutting his eyes even in the blessed darkness.

"Oh Christine…"

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