"You try my patience. Make your choice."
Christine stared up at him with watery eyes, tears staining her cheeks. Her Angel had truly fallen, hadn't he? No, what stood before her now did not even resemble the Angel of Music. He was just a broken, miserable man. She did not know how to get through to him anymore.
He had taken their music and used it for his own selfish purposes. Twisted and distorted the thing that had united them, that had bound their souls, until the thought of ever giving him her voice again made her angry. He did not deserve her voice. Yes, he had trained her, had perfected what God had given her, but that did not give him the right to use it against her! To demand that she use it in his opera of damnation and fire as a means to coerce the managers into doing his bidding, to force Raoul to watch his fiance be groped and serenaded in front of hundreds, and to exert his control as her puppet master. She should hate him for all the ways he had used their music against her.
He wanted love, but he did not deserve that either. But maybe… maybe if she tried, she could get through to him? He was not an Angel, but after he had taken her through the mirror, he had shown her a man that was sensual and passionate, whose emotions ran high but only because he felt them so intensely. She wondered if it was from years spent underground, isolated, or perhaps he had not felt many feelings at all until now, and he simply did not know how to control them. She nearly pitied him for that, and could almost see the small boy within the bristling man, begging for a scrap of affection.
He was like stone now, watching her with a detached look and practically trembling with the effort to reign in his emotions as he waited for her decision. She knew, God help her, she knew that he was not oblivious as to why she would choose him. She would do it to save Raoul. That had to be tearing him up inside; he clenched his fists so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white, his eyes burning with a desperation that begged her to choose him for an honest reason. A reason not coerced by lies and manipulation- it did not exist. He had not really given her a choice, they both knew that. It was just a matter of who would break first. Would he weep and beg forgiveness, for her to be his wife out of love? Or would she beg on her knees to spare them both, not to make her choose- or rather, to actually allow her to choose.
She rose to her feet on trembling legs. The front of the wedding dress was damp and dirty from the wet cellar floor. Did he expect her to live down in this dank basement with him? It was a fitting prison, she supposed. If she was forced to be his wife, it did not matter where they lived- it would still resemble hell. How could he ever think they would have a happy marriage built on such a wretched foundation? He had doomed them before they even had a chance.
Christine took a hesitant step towards him. The uncertainty in his eyes mirrored her own. What was she going to do? She had one chance, one answer that would determine her fate. She could not look at Raoul, not then, because she would break. She would cry and she would beg and it would only incense the Angel. He wanted her love; pleads for Raoul would not soften his heart. She could not choose him, he would expect her to keep that promise, and Raoul would refuse to go. There would be misery and turmoil as long as she was with the Angel and Raoul still drew breath.
She looked at how tightly the man before her was wound, stiff, unmoving. He trusted her as little as she trusted him. It dawned on her, how to reach him. First, she needed to break down his physical barriers, and allow the human and wounded man inside to emerge. She took another step towards him, more confident this time. He would not anticipate this, she knew from the first time she had unmasked him. Her touch at his face and neck had caught him off guard and he slipped momentarily, and allowed himself the bliss of her touch. It had ruined him.
Now, there was no mask to fear she might strip away, she had managed to publicly humiliate him in that regard. Instead, what kept him on edge was the young man tethered just a little ways from them. But he had been careful, since that first night in the cellars, to never let down his guard again. No, he would not anticipate this.
Christine drew him to her and pressed her mouth to his. Somehow, he went even more rigid and she wondered if perhaps the kiss had killed him where he stood. But then his mouth was opening to hers and fire spread through her veins. Before the Angel, her lips had only touched Raouls, but those were polite kisses. He did not dare try for more before they were married. This kiss… it was meant to consume.
It briefly registered to her that Raoul had to be watching in agony. Would he understand that this kiss was meant to save him? But then the Angel pulled her closer and she was not sure it really was. His hands trailed up her back, undoing the buttons of her wedding dress. The Angel's fingertips burned her bare skin, stroking her ever-growing need. He stepped backward, sitting on his throne, pulling her down onto his lap. His hand tore the bodice of her dress, exposing her breasts to both his and Raoul's gaze. She heard her choking fiance manage a horrified gasp. She could not bear to look at him, afraid to find hurt, betrayal, anger, or disgust on his face.
The man beneath her trailed his twisted lips down her neck with feather-light kisses until his mouth latched onto her breast and a cry tore from her throat. "Angel!"
He looked up at her with passion-dark eyes, growling low against her skin. "Erik. My name is Erik…"
"Erik…" she groaned. The name suited him. Allowing it to pass through her lips in passion was a wretched betrayal to Raoul. This was almost worse than allowing him to die, or being forced to leave her behind. Erik's hands were sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirts back and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Raoul's touch had never burned her like this, though he had never touched her like this. Raoul was a gentleman, after all.
The wetness between her thighs was a betrayal as well, and when Erik's fingers finally found it she drew in a shuddering breath. Maybe his touch burned her because he was damning her to hell. His fingers stroked and coaxed melodious moans from her lips. She wanted to keep quiet, to hide from Raoul how much she enjoyed this treachery, but Erik's fingers were every bit as demanding as the rest of him. He played her like an instrument, drawing out whatever sounds he desired.
"Let her go!" She barely heard Raoul's tortured cry. Erik's fire was quickly consuming her. He pushed her skirts up to her waist, and she realized he wanted Raoul to see. "Christine!" Her name was almost a wail from her poor fiance's lips. She could hear him grunting and knew he was likely fighting the rope once more, but she did not dare look.
Her attention was dragged back to Erik when his hands left her and set to unfastening his trousers. She should be horrified. She could have run, but instead she watched as he freed his rigid, erect member.
Christine had never seen a naked man before. The stagehands had made crude gestures and suggestive offers that gave her a vague inclination as to what to expect, but she was very unprepared for the throbbing reality of it. It pulsed as though alive, a bead of moisture pearled at the tip. Erik took her hand and guided her to it as his mouth returned to suckling at her breast. She was surprised at the silky softness of the skin; it was warm like the rest of him. She stroked his length once, slowly, and he hissed against her skin. "Christine…"
Tentatively, she repeated the movement, her fingers becoming more confident as his moans increased. She had him gasping out her name by the time his fingers wrapped around her wrist, stilling her hand. He raised her hips, pulling her over him.
She did not know how it would feel, or what would really happen next, but she knew they were past the point of no return. The tip of his cock spread her entrance and she tensed. His hands, firmly clamped to her waist, slowly lowered her onto his throbbing member. She cried out at the sharp, invasive pain, vocally driving another knife into her nearby fiance. If his view was obscured, her cry would leave little room for doubt that the Phantom was taking her.
Her fingers dug painfully into his shoulders and he pushed her down until he was fully sheathed inside her. A small, traitorous, wretched part of her mind sang, "At last! At last!", and she despised the part of her that wanted this. All of her had been promised to Raoul, and it was wrong to enjoy this hellish coupling, especially while he looked on in horror.
Erik's head rested above her chest, his panting breaths warm on her skin. "My Christine…" She could not correct him, with his cock buried inside her. In that moment, she was his.
And then a hint of malice entered his eyes and he began to move her, bouncing her on his lap. His gaze burned hers while his wicked mouth released amorous moans, creating a terrible duet with the slick sounds of their movements and the slap of skin on skin. To her credit, she tried, she really, really tried not to make a sound. But when the pain faded, it was replaced by an intense pleasure she had never experienced before. With each thrust, it built inside her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge- though the edge of what, she did not know.
She did not have to wait long to find out. He gave one long thrust and that was her undoing, her body shook with the force of her first orgasm and she cried his name and knew Raoul would never forgive her. It washed over her in waves, slowly subsiding, until she was left resting against his chest while he still moved her hips, seeking his own release. He buried himself as deeply as he could, and she felt his warm seed spill out inside her.
For a moment, they were still, and the only sounds came from the lapping of the lake and their heavy breathing. Erik finally spoke. "You can go."
Christine looked at him in shock. Was he letting her go now that he had what he wanted, or was this a change of heart? His eyes were mournful and watery as he pressed the gentlest of kisses to her lips and whispered, "My Christine… Forgive me…"
He gently lifted her from his lap, his softening cock sliding from her and glistening with their juices. He slipped it into his pants and quickly laced them, trying to regain some semblance of composure, while Christine stood and let the skirt fall around her legs. He rose and turned her so that her back was to him, so that he could tighten the bodice for her, and she, at last, faced Raoul.
She slowly took in her defeated fiance, from the softening bulge in his now wet pants to the shameful look on his face and eyes that would not meet hers.
Erik cut the rope that rendered him stuck and Christine ran to him, pulling him free and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. They both wept as they clung to one another, until Erik yelled at them to leave and Christine realized there were voices drawing closer, seeking the monster that had terrorized the opera. She broke their embrace and Raoul finally met her eyes, but neither of them had words.
All they could do was flee, both resolved never to speak on what had transpired. When they returned to the outside world, they were questioned by police. "A kiss," Christine said, when asked why he had let them go. "I kissed him and he released us." That was all she would say, all Raoul would say. They allowed the truth to die down in the cellars, and could only hope that the Phantom died with it.