A/N: Well, we shall see how these "star-crossed lovers" (move over, Romeo and Juliet!) shall fare in the future...Is there a wedding in sight? Is Raoul really and truly gone? Keep reading, fellow phans! (huge grin)
Chapter 9: The Lover Thwarted Once More...
The days that followed were tranquil and blissful. Erik remained in bed most of the day, while Christine stayed faithfully by his side, making sure that he ate well, and attending to his personal toilette. She even bathed him, although the first time she did so proved to be very uncomfortable for her, as she found it extremely hard to resist his charms and effortless sensuality...
Erik was greatly amused by her discomfort. He knew that she had never seen a naked man before, and chuckled at her maidenly modesty. He was pleased with it, of course, although he himself was also a virgin. Ah, but how many times had he bedded her in his lascivious thoughts?
Her cheeks turned a most becoming shade of red as she removed his clothing for the first time. She tried not to look, but she was forced to, in order to see what she was doing...His chest was expansively masculine, with enough hair on it to make her sigh involuntarily. It was just perfect. She could not abide hairy men, she thought to herself, as she stared at it, bemused.
His soft, very male laugh interrupted her thoughts. "Do you like what you see, my love?" His whisper was like a sensuous caress on her heated skin, and she stirred, ducking her head shyly. He had caught her staring at his chest! This would not do at all...
She abruptly stood. "Perhaps someone else should bathe you, Erik, though I know not who would be willing to do so," she said, sighing. She could feel her hands trembling ever so slightly.
He caught one of her hands as she prepared to step away from the bathtub. "But it is you whose touch I wish to feel upon my skin..." The flowing sound of that incredibly melodious voice stole over her senses with its blatantly sexual tones.
"Touch me, Christine..." He was begging, shamelessly, as he gently massaged her hand, which lay limply in his. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, and she felt herself slowly beginning to sink into a vortex of desire...
She brought herself out of it by sheer force of will. "Erik, I...cannot do this. If I put my hands upon your body, more will ensue. I am not ready for such things...not yet...and you are not yet fully recovered. You mustn't strain yourself." She shuddered, and managed to pull her hand out of his, stepping away from the tub. She was unable to leave his side entirely, however, but remained standing nearby, trembling.
Erik reached out to her with his good hand, but she refused to come any closer to him.
"Come, my love, and finish bathing me. I promise you that I shall not compromise your modesty. When I am well and able to use both hands, you will most certainly have to fend me off!"
She knew not how, but she was able to continue, forcing herself to keep her eyes averted as much as possible, and allowing the washcloth to do most of the work. She felt his eyes on her throughout, although he did not speak during the entire ritual. She endured his silent scrutiny in mortified silence, trying to fight off her own arousal when she suddenly became aware of his, as she washed a certain part of his body...
In time she became used to doing this for him, having succeeded in seeing herself as a nurse tending to one of her patients. He, on the other hand, had a most difficult time controlling his desire. As the days passed, it grew increasingly difficult for him. Her gentle touch, whenever he felt it, sent delicious shivers of pleasure through his body, and he yearned to take her in his arms, to possess her body, to make her wholly his. His dreams were full of her. Their sweaty, straining bodies slid over and under each other, as they pressed together, he plunging into her with crazed abandon, she arching her hips up to meet his, joyfully receiving his thrusts as she surrendered completely to him. After such a dream, he usually awoke drenched in sweat, wondering if it had simply been a dream. He would turn to look at her, sleeping so trustingly on a cot next to his bed. He marveled at her sweet innocence, his heart bursting with love for her. He would gaze tenderly at her for a very long time, leaning on the elbow of his good arm, and then slowly lie back again on the bed, to drift into more dreams of her...
She usually spent the afternoons reading to him. She read all the poems in the Baudelaire book. He would frequently ask her to re- read certain poems, at times requesting that she linger on certain phrases that were rich in meaning and flowing music. She complied, finding that these phrases touched her own soul, as well. She would then look into his eyes when she finished reading them, and smiled, letting him know that she, too, understood the beauty in the poet's words. Erik felt his heart swell with love and pride. He and his beloved were truly one, he told himself. They perceived the same things, understood the same music, be it that of musical notes, or masterfully written poetry...
One morning, he awoke early, as was his custom, and promptly pulled himself up on his good elbow to gaze at her as she slept. He was seized by sudden inspiration, and his eyes roamed the room, looking for paper and any writing instrument that might be available. He saw nothing on the dresser top, or the night table next to the bed. There just might be something in the night table drawer, he mused. If he stretched out his good hand, which, thank God, happened to be his left, active hand, he might be able to open the drawer...
He had just managed to open it slightly, when he heard her sweet voice.
"Good morning, Erik," she said, a smile in her voice. "What are you up to, you roguish devil?"
He turned to her, smiling sensuously. "Am I to take that remark as an invitation, Mademoiselle?" He slowly licked his lips, staring at her as if she were a piece of delectable French pastry he meant to devour.
She ducked her head, blushing mightily. "Really, Erik! You must stop looking at me like that!"
He sighed contentedly, smiling down at her. "You are right, my love. We do have a lifetime of wonderful, explosive lovemaking to look forward to, after all!"
She laughed as well, and could not resist teasing him a little. "You sound quite sure of yourself, Monsieur! Why would we have a lifetime together? I have not accepted your non-existent proposal of marriage!"
His mood changed at once to one of seriousness. "You know very well, my love, that I want you to be my wife. And you know just as well what a good wife's duty to her husband is, do you not?" He ended on a mischievous laugh.
"Oh, Erik! You are insufferable!" She laughed, blushing even more than before.
"So, Christine..." his breath caught in his throat, but he continued, "will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife? I have no ring as yet, my sweet, but, as soon as I am able to move about, we will definitely say our vows before a priest!"
She smiled at him as her eyes began to grow misty. "I have already accepted, Erik, with all my heart." Rising from the cot, she went to him, and sighed deeply as he enfolded her in his arms, not without some difficulty, as his wounded arm still pained him. She kissed him gently on the forehead, and he frowned in mock anger.
"Pray tell, Mademoiselle, what sort of kiss is that for your soon-to-be husband?"
Pulling herself out of his arms, she smiled down at him, and blew him a kiss. "I believe you were looking for something in the drawer, were you not?"
He grinned. "Well, I see that Mademoiselle Daae has a mind of her own! Are you not to obey your husband, as the Lord commands?"
Her merry laugh delighted him. "You are not my husband as yet! And besides, I do not at all agree with that part of the marriage vows! Now, dear sir, will you kindly tell me what you were seeking in the night table drawer?"
He grew serious again. "I need paper and a drawing implement, as I am feeling a powerful desire to draw your lovely likeness. You will pose for me, of course, will you not?"
She was taken slightly by surprise. "I had no idea that you were a draughtsman as well! Oh, but I had forgotten... you have done architectural renderings. I suppose it wouldn't be too difficult, then, for you to be able to draw people as well." As she spoke, she opened the drawer, and extracted some paper, as well as a beautifully feathered pen, together with a full inkwell. Turning, she put these items into his hands, and eagerly sat back down upon the cot. "Where shall I pose for you, Erik?"
"First, please push the night table closer to me. Then, kindly remove all your clothing."
"What!" She squealed, jolted by such a request. Then she frowned at him, for he was lying back on the bed, laughing hysterically at the stricken expression on her face.
"You...you..." she sputtered, flustered. "You are all kinds of a knave, sir!"
"Oh, Christine...come, now! Would you not like to please your betrothed? Hmmm?" He resumed his laughter, which was contagious, she had to admit. She ended up laughing right along with him.
After a few minutes, they recovered, and Erik told her, still panting for breath, "Just recline on the cot, my love, in your most comfortable position. The rest will be up to me."
She wiped the tears from her eyes, then got up to push the night table close to the bed, so he could place the drawing paper upon it. She then went back to the cot, to recline upon it, as he had requested.
Christine had not laughed thus in the longest time, and was feeling quite content in his presence. How could she have ever contemplated a life with the Vicomte? With Erik, there would never be a dull moment...