Christine paced back and forth in her dressing room, the black tiers of her costume dress bouncing around the black stockings of her exposed ankles, the cape of bat wings fluttering behind her. She paused and turned to Anne, her reliable maid and dresser. She placed her hands on her abdomen, "Am I showing, Anne?" The Soprano turned on her side and looked in the mirror. "My maternity corsets would not work with this ridiculous costume. Besides I do not believe I am at the stage for them yet."
"I cannot tell you are with child, Madame," Anne replied. "And why are you so concerned? You performed while you carried Charlotte."
"Yes, but as soon as I started showing, I stopped. And I wasn't performing any new songs."
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Christine called.
Mr. Y entered standing tall in a brand-new crisp tux. He smiled at his wife, "My Angel!"
"Why did you dress me as a bat?" Christine stormed up to her husband. "What does this have to do with anything? And that hat? One of the songs is titled 'Songbird' and I'm a bat!"
"I am guessing this is the pregnancy, you are never really nervous." Mr. Y looked over at the maid, "Thank you, Anne for your constant loyalty but I need to be alone with my wife at the moment. I am sure the Oh La La Girls can use your help."
"Good luck tonight, Mrs. Y," Anne curtsied and left the dressing room.
Erik locked the dressing room door behind Anne. "I did not realize the bat upset you so much. It was shown in several Masquerade catalogs, I thought maybe seeing the beautiful and talented Christine Daae in would start a trend." He took her chin into his hand, "I wish you would have told me sooner."
Christine's eyes watered, "Oh Erik, it's not the costume." She turned and walked back to the vanity. She watched his reflection in the mirror, "I actually am nervous. These are new songs and I know it sounds mad, but I can already feel the quickening in my womb. And I am worried about next season. How am I going to perform in your opera with a newborn and a toddler?"
The Opera Ghost's face melted into sadness, "Oh Christine." In a few swift movements he was standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. He nuzzled the exposed side of his face into her updo, "Oh Christine, do not worry about next season. Tonight is all that should be on your mind, our music is all that should be on your mind. And then after that…" He spread his fingers out over her stomach, "This child."
Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"That's right, Angel," he whispered in her ear. "Calm down. This is nothing you haven't done before." He kissed her jawline before moving back up to nibble on her earlobe.
"Erik," The Soprano moaned softly.
He moved his lips over to her cheeks and as he did he slid his hands up over her breasts; leaving one there and moving one onto her throat.
"Erik!" The Soprano exclaimed trying to jerk away.
"I know what you need to ease your nerves. And we have just enough time," He lips were on her ear again as he lightly squeezed the breast he held.
"Oh please, Angel," she sighed leaning back into him and felt he was already decently aroused.
"What did you say?" He moved and purred into her other ear.
"I said, oh please, Angel," She turned her head to look at him and as she did, his bloated lips caught hers. She'd already rouged them for the stage but that didn't stop her husband from opening his mouth wider. She surprised him by pushing her tongue past his lips.
He groaned before pulling away and pushing her torso down onto the top of the vanity. She gasped as items clacked and rolled to either side of the vainity. The Diva held her head up and watched her husband's actions reflected in the mirror. He pushed the black ruffles of her dress and petticoat up past her waist. His lips and the surrounding skin, now smeared red, smiled. There was also a red smudge on the corner of his mask closest to his lips. Christine could not help but giggle.
"I see someone bought a new pair of pretty panalettes for her costume," Mr. Y ran his hand over her behind. "Much shorter than anything else you own; I am guessing to compensate for the shortness of the costume's dress." He moved his fingers down further and rubbed the large lace that trimmed the legs, "Such delicate and fine lace. I hope there is a wide gusset, I would not want to tear this."
"Please do not tear the lace," Christine shifted her body, spreading her legs wider. The gusset gave exposing the dark, bristly hair of her womanhood.
Erik's fingers were quickly buried in the hair, finding her folds already slightly moist. A gasp escaped her lips as she watched his smile grow wider, "And how plump is your bud before I even touch it?"
"Do we have time for such teasing? You're supposed to be releasing my anxiety!"
The Opera Ghost moved his slender fingers forward and rubbed the pleasure spot with his middle finger.
"Ohhhh!" Christine grabbed the back of the vanity for support.
He continued to rub it, "I'm not teasing, Angel. I promised you relief before you're on."
Christine's knees buckled; she was on the edge of breaking when Erik pulled his finger away. He sucked it clean before stripping himself of his tux coat. Christine watched as he placed it gently on the couch before his fingers slipped under his waistcoat unbuttoning his suspenders from his slacks, front and back. He undid the buttons of the fly and pushed them to his ankles. He caught Christine's inquisitive reflection in the mirror as she straightened her legs.
"I cannot risk wetness on my new tux when I have to wear it the rest of the night," he informed unbuttoning his drawers. "I do not have the luxury of petticoats and skirts to hide such things."
"Oh, you think petticoats and skirts are luxuries?" A tone of indignance entered Christine's voice.
She was quickly distracted from this argument by feeling Erik's warmth and tip at her opening. The next instant he was deep inside her, his hands tight on her waist, as the sound of their flesh smacking along with their cries of pleasure drowned out the backstage noise just beyond the locked dressing room door. The Diva's knuckles whitened as she held tighter to the vanity. She met her husband's gaze in the mirror's reflection. His eyes were large, full of lust and love at the same time, his mouth agape as he groaned and gasped for air. He smiled as he slipped one of his hands around and once again caressed that pleasure mound.
"Oh, Angel!" Christine cried. Within a minute her body shivered. Her lids closed and she dropped her head to the vanity. She gasped for breath and felt her pounding heart and pulsing relief around Erik's still thrusting cock. Erik's climax shortly followed, a gurgle escaping his throat as he froze mid thrust. His whole body then melted against hers as he bent over and kissed her cheek.
Christine giggled as she grabbed a handkerchief from the small pile. She handed it to Mr. Y, "May you clean me up please? I still have to perform even with my petticoat."
Erik chuckled as he finally withdrew and straightened himself. Husband and wife were silent as he wiped them both off, before he returned her petticoat and skirt to their correct position. Christine sighed as she sat down and located her container of cold cream and another handkerchief. She removed the color on her lips and reapplied it as her husband readjusted his new tux. When he was done, he approached her and ran his fingers lightly over her shoulders.
"Come here, Angel," She commanded. "I cannot let you out there with my rouge all over your face and mask."
"Is that so?" He bent down to face her. "What if I want all of Phantasma to know The Beautiful Christine Daae gives messy kisses before performances?"
"Are you sure you want to send the message that your wife is a wanton opera tart to all the potential new investors the Jones brought tonight?" She lifted the cold cream covered handkerchief to his face and wiped.
"It appears you have gotten over your anxiousness," a sly grin played those puffy lips.
She slapped his cheek with the clean side of the handkerchief before giving him a smirk.
"Listen to the Stage Manager. Don't forget your hat and gloves. I'll be watching you, Angel," Mr. Y kissed his wife's forehead before standing back up and exiting the room.
Christine looked down at the floor where the bat head cap had landed during their enthralling activity. As she retrieved it, she smiled at the face, "You are still ridiculous and I doubt I will start any costume trends."