A/N-This is a very old piece, probably dating from the early 2000′s. I always meant to add it to another story, but never found the right spot for it. Coatntails' latest drawing reminded me of it. The original artwork that accompanies this photo can be seen on Coatntails' Tumblr and my Tumblr. I wish we could post the links or images here!

The Waltz

2003? Riene

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He walked through the corridors quickly, ducking into shadows or simply assuming the guise of a man intent on his business, one who belonged in this busy, bright world of the Opera. The few who noted his presence simply passed him by, ignoring him, as they too dashed on the multitudinous tasks of preparing for the next night's concert.

Erik smiled grimly to himself. He had been forced of necessity to abandon the security of his Opera lair for the brightly lit streets of an afternoon Paris. Plans and preparations now complete, he hurried toward his underground demesne.

Down a corridor near the rehearsal hall, Erik pressed himself into the shadows of an alcove, watching the petite rats file by in their neat line, superintended by Mlle. Schiffon, the instructress of the girls most recently en pointe, their demure faces downcast but eyes dancing. From this vantage point, he caught a glimpse of Christine as she hurried to rehearsal, and felt the familiar, painful tightening in his chest.

This afternoon the entire contingent of orchestra and singers were steadily working through the final dress rehearsal before the following night's concert. His critical ears had already noted the melodies and acrid commentary drifting from the rehearsal hall. Christine was surely scheduled for the session at some time today; she must be going to await her turn with the orchestral accompaniment. Taking a deep breath, he followed.

Waiting alone in the modest antechamber next to the rehearsal hall, Christine placed her copy of the lyrics on the lyre table and sat on the curly walnut chair, one dainty foot swaying ever so slightly to the beat of the music, her eyes dreamy, distant, listening to the musicians rehearse in the next room. After a few moments she stood, walking closer to the door from where the orchestral sounds now poured, and reassured of her solitude, turned and rose onto her toes, swaying slightly to the waltz, her arms upraised slightly, head turned to one side and her eyes shut, humming the tune along with the orchestra. She sashayed back a couple steps, dipping and turning, dancing now with her invisible partner, lost to the splendor of the music.

Standing in the shadows watching her, longing constricted his chest. She was so lovely, her dark curls floating out behind her, the pale blue dress swirling about her slender ankles, as unselfconscious as a child. What would it be like to hold this woman securely in his arms, her slight body pressed against his, as they spun to this liquid melody? Erik swallowed hard, the thought bringing a rush of hopeless yearning that bled through him like the pain of desire.

The music stopped suddenly and Christine came down flat on her heels, startled and abruptly brought back to reality. With an embarrassed smile, she laughed softly at herself, a wild-rose blush of color staining her damask cheeks, then turned to resume her seat.

"Christine?" he called to her quietly, and as always she responded to the low, hypnotic sound of his deep velvet voice. She looked up, startled to feel the weight of his dark gaze, chagrin coloring her voice.

"Oh, Erik, I'm sorry, I must have looked the fool, dancing like that. I just…miss it sometimes, you know?"

Braving the light, he crossed the open room quickly, coming to her side. "On the contrary, my dear, you looked as though you were enjoying the moment," he said lightly, but her eyes slid away from his, embarrassed, but then turned bck with a smile.

Christine looked up at her teacher and asked impulsively, "Erik, will you dance with me?" She regretted the words the moment they were spoken. Her mentor stood so still, as if turned to stone, she thought she had somehow offended him, or overstepped her bounds.

Erik looked away, taking a deep breath, striving to put some distance between them. "No, Christine, I do not think that is a good idea, even if I knew how to dance."

She cocked her head to one side, bird-like, considering. "You don't know how to dance? But surely, Erik…" then her face flooded with color and she bit her lip, her face flaming. "I'm sorry," she said softly, touching his arm with a gentle hand. "I didn't think…"

He looked back down at her. "It was an honest mistake, my dear, and I am not offended." Erik smiled faintly, stilling a tremor inside at the casual, warm clasp of her small fingers, and moved away. "I'm afraid my education did not extend to dancing lessons when I was a young man."

He endeavored to speak the words lightly, but she heard the echoes of unspoken regret in his voice. To have never danced with anyone….And it is not as if he would have had many opportunities to learn, she thought sadly.

"I can teach you," Christine offered hesitantly. "I know I was never the best dancer in the corps, but a waltz is easy, Erik. I can show you, if you'll let me."

He looked down in to her midnight blue eyes, full of hope and eagerness, and took a breath to gently refuse again. The musicians started up and Christine smiled.

He would never take this step, she knew, whether from fear, or shyness, or perhaps reluctance to reveal an area in which he was less than expert. She looked up into his cold, proud face, and with a soft smile, Christine held his black gaze with her own then stepped closer, reaching for his elegant hand, clasping his long fingers in her own. "You hold my hand in this manner," she instructed softly, as his grip tightened around hers. Christine took his other hand and placed it carefully on her waist, feeling it curve around her hip. The young singer ducked her head, not wanting him to see the shiver of feeling his touch aroused in her. "The steps are like this…one two three…follow my feet, Erik…one two three..."

Erik dutifully allowed his feet to complete the pattern and tried to release her hand, to step back from this sudden, overwhelming closeness. "Christine, I don't think…" but she looked up at him, pleading.

"Just one dance? I've never danced with you before…"

But she had danced with Raoul. The vision of them together at the night of the Ball Masque flared in his memory, and his hand tightened around her waist involuntarily. "One dance, Christine, and then I must go."

Smiling, she moved closer to him, so close he could smell the delicate perfume of her skin, her hair. Clamping an iron control on his stubborn body, Erik waited until she nodded, then swung her easily into the simple steps of the waltz. In silence they moved about the room, their steps matched perfectly, smoothly turning to the music. He felt her relax in his arms, trusting him to guide her steps and Erik looked down into her upturned, flushed face. His angel's eyes were closed; her soft lips were curved into a smile of pure joy as he led her through the pattern of the dance. Oh, this was madness, to pursue this elusive bliss. How often had he dreamed of such a moment as this? How often had he longed for the simple pleasure of holding another, touching another, and being touched, loved, in return? He willed the music to go on forever…

Standing close in the circle of her Angel's arms, Christine found her self relaxing, smiling. Though he lacked the grace of her other partners, her maestro had an ability to make her feel secure, needed. The feel of his soft wool coat was warm under her hand, and the slight pressure from his palm was undeniably arousing, yet he was seemingly indifferent to her, reluctant to touch her, or come near her. The enticing scent that she always associated with Erik clung to his skin, his clothing, a combination of wood smoke and incense, spicy herbal soap, and the lingering scent of roses. She would know him anywhere in the dark, by his scent alone, Christine realized, and wondered if he had any idea she could detect it.

The notes of the waltz died away, and from the hallway came Madame Giry's voice, remonstrating the dancers awaiting their turn, and the spell was broken. Erik looked down at the woman in his arms, relaxed and pliant, her face upraised to his, her eyes soft and hazy with an emotion he could not identify, her lips slightly parted…and felt the crushing need to take her in his arms, to kiss her, to claim this woman as his own once and for all…. His breathing ragged, and trembling with the effort required at control, Erik released her from his grasp and stepped away, shuttering his mind against the flaring pain in his heart.

"I thank you for the lesson, Mlle," he rasped, "but I must be going. I have an opera to complete." Swiftly, he retreated to the door and was gone, leaving Christine to stare after him, shaken. Erik's eyes had blazed suddenly with a look she had never before seen in them. For a brief moment, the man before her had not been the gentle tutor and confidant of old, but a man of living fire. She had felt it in the way his strong hands had clutched at her, held her as though he did not want to let go. Dismayed, Christine shook her head. Surely it had been only her imagination.

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Thank you for reading and please review. :)
~R