A/N: Here's making up for all the author's notes I never include.

Please come visit me at my web page, and if you feel so inclined you can sign my guest book and read a few short stories and other misc. things. You can find Suburbia by going to my bio page and clicking on my link for my homepage. Thanks again for reading and for your feedback! Y'all rock!

Oh, yes, and I shamelessly swiped phrase here and there from ALW. It's all for the sake of romance and parody.

And as a final note: MadLizzy and HDKingsbury collaborated under the name HDKingsbury to bring you a shameless parody of one of my fan fics. If you like suggestive and well-written prose, give their story, Gypsy Heart of Darkness, a look-see. It's rate M for mature.

Gabrina

A Rose without a Stem

Rose18

"I always forget how big your organ is," Christine commented as they entered Erik's apartments.

While she walked behind him down the narrow hall, Erik rolled his eyes. Clearly, she couldn't contain herself when it came to voicing whatever random thought came to mind.

"You've only seen it once," he said over his shoulder.

"True," Christine replied brightly, accepting his offered hand. "But I would like to see you play it."

"Of course you would," he mumbled.

"May I play it?" she asked. "Or are you protective of your organ?"

Erik's pace slowed. "Christine—"

"Fine, then I will watch you play. What should I do?"

"I believe I would like to see you play as well," Erik said. He turned away and cleared his throat, wondering if she would understand the meaning behind his words. "Have you ever played before?" he asked as he turned to face her.

"But I don't have an organ," Christine frowned. Just as quickly as she appeared disappointed she smiled. "Ah, but yours is big enough for the both of us!"

"Indeed," Erik replied. He shuffled across the length of the room and unfastened his cloak. With a whirl of fabric over his shoulders, he allowed it to fall gracefully on the floor.

Christine groaned. Not a good, heavenly groan, either. A sound of absolute disapproval left her lips, causing Erik to turn and face her.

"That's twice now," she said, holding one hand against her hip.

"I do beg your pardon?"

Christine pointed at his cape. "That."

"That?" he asked, turning to find his cloak exactly where he left it.

"Yes, that," she scoffed.

"What about that?"

"It's on the floor," she said in an "isn't it obvious?" tone.

"Yes…"

"Don't leave it on the floor!" Christine huffed. She glanced around the room. "Before you teach me anything, Erik, you should teach yourself to tidy up a bit. Look at this place!"

And just like that their suggestive banter turned into Christine gathering discarded papers and placing them in piles. "Really, Erik, with all of these candles here and paper everywhere you're liable to set the whole opera house on fire."

Erik respectfully took a step back, unsure of what to say or do. To him, it wasn't messy or disorganized. He was an artist, after all, and artists had their own way of doing things. His genius could not be easily organized.

"Christine, my genius cannot be easily organized," he said, his voice deep and rich.

"Your genius is going to catch fire and kill you," she muttered.

Christine had a point, but Erik decided he didn't need to agree with her verbally.

"It hasn't happened yet," he muttered.

Her back turned rigid. "Excuse me?"

"Er…that's something I would regret."

"So would I," she said, pausing to put her hair back. She gave a long, hopeless sigh before resuming her efforts.

Erik rocked from his heels to the balls of his feet before he snapped into action and picked up his cloak. The moment he turned, Christine began flipping her cape out of her way as she crouched down on the floor.

"May I take your cape, Mademoiselle?" he offered.

His words earned him a smile. "Yes, indeed," Christine replied as she placed one final pile of papers onto a table hidden under dozens of other documents. "Now, what about that organ and my lessons?"

Erik squeezed his hands around her cloak. Despite taking a half hour to walk back to the opera house, he had no plans for her lessons, but following all of the talk concerning organs and playing, Erik certainly wished he had come to a decision.

"We should start where we left out," he suggested at last, extending his hand to her.

Christine stared at his gloved hand, then back at his face. She smiled and grasped his hand before giving him a tug and drawing him close.

The unexpectedness of her action made his breath hitch in his throat, and as Erik stood with Christine pressed against him, he swallowed hard and forced himself to inhale. He silently begged his hands not to tremble, his legs to remain firmly beneath him as Christine slowly removed her hand from his and tugged at the fingers of his gloves.

"I want your senses to abandon their defenses," she whispered as his glove came free and fell to the ground. The chill of the air was quickly replaced by the warmth and silken smoothness of her palm.

Erik stared at their joined hands, at how perfect and slender her fingers were compared to his larger, stronger hand. Somehow her beauty, her angelic nature, lowered itself to complement his wretchedness, he thought. If only for a moment, if only in innocence, they fit together.

Christine rose on the tips of her toes and Erik bent to meet her, his eyes remaining open so that he could watch her eyes flutter close, her lips part to welcome him. Time became fragmented, thoughts breaking away until only the moment between them remained.

It was just as good as he still remembered from their kiss in the park. She still tasted sweet and inviting, her breaths still soft against the left side of his face.

"Come to me," Christine said, her voice a low purr. "Come to me, my angel."

His hands snaked around her, taking her fully into his grasp. Christine's eyes widened suddenly as she looked him straight in the eye and Erik loosened his grip. In protest, Christine wrapped her arms around him.

"Organ indeed," she mumbled before she kissed him again, her tongue pushing past his lips. She backed him into the wall as she worked his remaining glove from his hand and laced her fingers with his.

Together they stumbled through the room, nearly tangling themselves in the curtain separating his music room from his bedchamber. It wasn't until his calves hit the bed and they toppled onto the mattress that Erik realized where they were at or what was about to happen.

"Wait," Erik said as he turned over and partially pinned Christine beneath him.

"Yes?" she asked, her lips perfectly damp and swollen, her hair fanned out around her.

"Shouldn't we discuss this?"

Her brow furrowed. "Discuss what?"

"This."

With her arms around his neck, Christine dragged him down for another kiss. "When two people are in bed, tongues are wasted on words."

Erik pulled away. "Quoting Shakespeare, are you?"

Christine giggled to herself. "No, I took the liberty of rewriting part of Don Juan Triumphant," she answered.

Erik blinked at her, unsure of whether or not he should be livid.

"I'm not serious," Christine sighed. She held her arms loosely around him, smiling devilishly. "Though if I were serious, I would demand that we rehearse that part a thousand times."

Brushing her hair away from her face, Erik kissed her again and felt her lower leg against the back of his thigh. "I have abandoned everything for you, Christine," he whispered under his breath.

In answer, she placed her palm against the masked side of his face.

"Damn you," Erik said as his eyes closed. "Curse you."