*-* Erik & Christine XVIII - True Love

"Are you very tired?" he asked her softly as he closed the door behind her.

She had been, a little, when she'd left the club, but his presence, his energy and the fresh air of their walk had rekindled some of her strength.

"That depends of what you are planning on doing. We have all morning tomorrow…" she whispered, taking off his cloak and mask.

He stood unmoving, letting her do as she willed.

Slowly, she undid the buttons of his beautiful black jacket, and put it off his shoulders.

He was shivering.

"I will defer to your wishes, my love."

His voice was husky and so delicious, bringing forth goosebumps of her skin, and the most wonderful heat over her entire body.

She smiled, looking up at the eyes of the man she loved more than anything, caressing his lips, and reached up on her tiptoes to whisper:

"Take me to bed."

She could feel him down there, pressing against her body, rise up hard and strong. He moaned, both growl and whimper, and in a swift movement, he had swept her in his arms, and strode to the bedroom.

To hell with all his restraints. To hell with waiting.

She needed him, she wanted him, and he was exhausted of waiting. He was ready, too. The enchanting temptress would get her wish.

And he couldn't wait to finally be joined with her. Shattering the last barrier between them.

She laughed, a clear ringing of bells, that reached deep into his heart, and he kissed her, again, lavishly, passionately, hungry for more.

Both of them were.

He put her on the bed, barely stopping to kiss her while she threw her hair to one side and allowed him to unzip her dress.

In a few seconds, he was as bare as she was, and she grasped his shoulders to bring him closer to her, all over her.

A hand down her body, and he found her slick with arousal. What pretty songs she sang whenever he touched her. What note would she reach tonight, as he played her, letting her reach her completion with his skilled fingers?

She was sprawled on the bed, eyes closed, her hands tightened on his hair as she breathed sweet nonsense to spur him on.

"How can you leave me so unsatisfied, my love? Please, please come… I need you now. Now!"

As fierce as she could be delicate, she reached down and brought his mouth back to her lips, letting her hand grasp his length, stroking him as she knew he loved.

It was his turn to grow pleading.

"Please don't toy with me, my love. I will not last if you continue your delicious caresses…"

She smiled, a divine light in her eyes, and stopped her movements, coming to rest her hand on his heart. He was warm, his skin so soft.

"I love you, Erik."

"And I love you, my dearest Christine. My love. My angel."

Then, as he kissed her, he slowly, so slowly, so agonizingly slowly, drove his length inside her.

Thankful tonight more than ever that his heart had stopped beating, for this would have killed him a thousand times over.

They both sighed, and stayed joined, unmoving, just savoring this moment. She held him tighter against her, her nails finding support in the soft skin of his back. He barely registered the scratch.

Even in his more extraordinary dreams, he could never have expected or imagined how good it would feel. He'd dreamt about it for so long, had wished for a bride, for love, for completion for so long, he'd thought it would forever be out of his reach.

Now, he held the most precious, most beautiful creature in the entire world, the whole of time and space contained in her heart, and her body was one with his, the way his soul had been entwined with hers for a few months now.

He was no longer a vampire, held by his ravenous hunger and his fear of the sun. He was her lover, unmade and remade in her love, her passion, her tenderness.

Nothing existed but this, the two of them in her small bed, yet it would always be more than enough. He didn't need the world, when she was all there was. She was Music and Goddess and Love and Life. And she had bestowed upon him everything.

With his old Christine, he'd been reborn, given a new chance at life.

Here, with his angel in his arms, he was grown and the man he'd wanted to be. Exactly where he wanted to be.

He started to sing, softly, in her ear. The song he hadn't showed her yet. The song of their duet, in his opera. The climax of the piece. It began as a solo, sweet promises of everlasting love.

Just when she thought she'd finally come back from some of her high, he started to sing, and envelopped her in his familiar cocoon of softness, layers of music and love, and she was done for, again. His voice crept into the deepest, more protected corners of her soul, and it was like coming home.

Being at home.

Slowly, he began moving against her, as his voice twirled and purred against her ears. It was too much. Too many feelings. She was dying from all of it, from every sensation of his skin against hers, from him, so big and hard inside her, his warm breath against her neck, and she clutched his arms more desperately, lost in this hurricane, as she sang her pleasure too, sharing this duet with him, though her voice was higher and uncontrolled.

His hand came down between her thighs to help drive her over the edge, and they tumbled down, down, down, together.

She exhaled, too spent to move.

He couldn't move either, every bone trembling from their joining.

She was tingling all over. Breathing hard, if she was managing to breathe at all.

This was no glimpse of heaven. It was a fall straight inside its core, and she had lived it, inhaled it, for a time. Minutes? Hours? She couldn't say.

But he was around her still, gently kissing her face, her cheeks, her lips, her brow, tugging her hair from her eyes, and it was heaven. He might have been a vampire, but to her, he was her angel, come to ravish her and show her what Love was like.

Beauty, Love and Music intermingled.

She fell asleep, her legs curled around him.

He had no desire to move, when he was blessedly warm and light, his heart at peace, from that strangest revelation: he was loved. And this was the perfect moment, at her triumph, their shared triumph. His student and perfect woman living her dream.

Thanks to him.

Still, while he'd never expected anything, this was more than he'd ever hoped for. He wouldn't change a thing. Change a single minute of hurt, of pain and humiliation and despair, if it all brought him to this. This amazing, talented, caring, strong, sublime Goddess falling in love with him.

"Thank you," he whispered out loud, letting his slow exhale carry the words to the two women he'd loved, his dead Angel and the modern beauty he held against his heart, dead as it may also be.

"For everything."

He would always remember this night, even if it never happened again. But even more, he would always cherish the morning afterwards, as she slowly awakened in his arms, and burrowed herself closer against him, her arms holding him as if he could disappear at any moment.

There was only tenderness in his heart. Nothing but words of love and devotion in his mouth. Nothing but love in his brain. Duets and gentle lullabies in his ears, tingling his fingers to show her exactly how much she meant to him.

What was thirst? Hunger? When she was breathing, her heart beating so gently against his dead skin. When she was smelling so great, her scent intoxicating, not like the greatest meal he'd ever found, but like the sweetest rose, the most perfect blend of soft and light and fierceness at the last note. He was drunk on her perfume. Hunger and thirst meant nothing. Were nothing compared to all that she was.

She was stirring to life, against him, her fingers clinging to the soft hairs of his chest. He had not much, but she seemed to treasure each one.

"You're so soft," she whispered in the dreamy voice of sleepiness.

"Smell so good," as she brushed her lips against his skin, so innocently, so delicately.

He was shivering again, a flood of tenderness filling every scar and stretch of his skin and each corner of his ugly soul.

Something akin to a protective instinct he'd never truly felt awakened in his soul. He would do anything, wreck his soul and the entire world to keep this treasure of a woman from being hurt.

But so far she hadn't needed him to. She'd dealt with that Carlotta woman with the strength of her compassion, and her kindness had been rewarded, as she'd told him during their walk back to her flat, before passion had swept over them both.

She would get one of the most sought-after positions of Paris under the wing of the fiercest Soprano of the Opera World. And she had shown the world already she was meant to be on stage.

Perfect. This was truly the most perfect day of his life. Seeing her appear on that stage, lit from the lights and her smile, hearing her voice in that great temple of Music, from his box where he'd been watching her night after night, finally seeing her where she was meant to be… He'd been overwhelmed from the tide of feelings he'd felt. Never before had he been so annoyed at not being able to release his emotions in a good cry. She'd deserved every tear shed in that house.

Everyone would remember that performance.

She was already in the books. Making history.

They remained in bed for the better part of the day, before hunger drove her from it. Or rather, drove him to cook her something.

Nothing much was said, for no words were necessary today. The feelings they shared were so strong, so tangible they filled the entire space.

She was floating, in a cloud too high to be reached. Too happy to come down, and keep from smiling.

She'd never been so happy in her entire life.

After her meal, she threw her arms around him, and they sang together, rehearsing the new parts of the role she would be taking on in a few weeks.

What would she give to be able to share the stage with him? To let the whole of Paris hear how glorious he was? How entranced she became when his voice joined with hers? Her heart was full of those questions, but that was a gift she would keep inside her, and try to fulfill. If it took her entire life, and a whole network of favors, she would manage it one day.

She didn't know yet which role she would most like him to take on, for no matter which, he was bound to be perfect.

But now that she'd had her own perfect debut, it was time for him to try and be on the stage where he'd be fantastic. Where he should have been from the very beginning, if life had been fairer.

It wasn't, but a selfish part of her was glad of it, because otherwise she would never even have met him, much less gotten to fall in love with him, and be loved by him in return.

Fate had brought him to her, and for that, she would always be thankful.