Here's the second part of Lizzy's "get well" present. Apparently, she found this vignette quite inspiring, as she sent me a few ideas of her own about how things should go between these two. I liked a couple of them so well, I "borrowed" them and included them in the vignette. Minor caution -- while I would not consider this to be "M" rated, it is a little sensuous.

May We Sleep With You?
Part Two

The same storm that woke Erik had wakened Christine, too, but she didn't move, didn't want to move. Warmth surrounded her as she lay in bed, finding the sound of the rain beating against the windowpanes calming. She luxuriated in the warmth of the room, of the down pillows and comforter, and of her husband's body next to hers.

She'd gone to bed exhausted, muscles aching, not having realized just how tiring it would be to peel, slice and cook a bushel basket full of apples when she'd told Mamma she would help. Lying next to her husband, she found that the gentle rise and fall of Erik's chest against her back was as soothing as the massage he'd given her before they went to bed. The corners of her lips curled up in a gentle smile as she remembered the silly wives' tales she used to hear, the ones about how once the children arrived, husbands found their wives less desirable. Obviously, these women didn't know Erik!

True, when they first met, Erik had portrayed himself as a proper gentleman, formal and circumspect. During their early months together, when he had been her teacher, he had been reserved, even shy. In time, she came to learn that his reticence was due to his fear of showing her his true feelings, his fear that she would reject him as so many others had in the past. For that reason, he had erected a wall around his heart to protect himself from a cruel world that had often judged him by his face. Once she found a crack in his wall, however, she'd gone out of her way to play the temptress, breaking down the façade he'd hid behind. And every night she thanked God for giving her the wisdom to look past that superficial ugliness and truly see the man behind the mask, a man filled with love and passion.

It was fun to remember those early days of their marriage and of the births of their two sons – four-year-old Etienne, who mimicked his father's serious demeanor with such accuracy, and two-year-old Charles, who was already exhibiting a love of music. With such pleasant memories filling her mind, she was starting to drift back to sleep when the gentle touch of Erik's arm around her waist brought her back. Reaching up, she took hold of his hand and asked, "Are you awake?"

"I didn't mean to bother you," he apologized.

She let out a little laugh and turned to face him. "Oh, you didn't wake me. The storm did that all on its own." She saw the quizzical look on his face. "What are you staring at, Husband?"

She watched contentedly as her husband gazed at her face as though entranced by it, seeming to be trying to memorize every line, every detail, no matter how minute. He reached over and lightly placed his hand against her cheek, then combed his fingers through her hair. "It's…it's like spun gold," he said, as if noticing her hair for the first time. "I've never seen anything so beautiful." He pressed a handful of her hair to his face and inhaled deeply of the intoxicating fragrance. "It smells of apples…and cinnamon."

"Go on," she urged. "Tell me more."

"And your eyes, they're the color of the ocean on a calm day – deep, peaceful…irresistible."

"Don't stop now."

He took her chin in his hands and tilted her head back slightly so that her face turned up to meet his. His mouth found her lips, and his tongue fully explored her as their hands joined in. She felt his body tremble slightly as she ran her fingers through his hair, and she gasped with pleasure as his hands explored her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts. He rolled over, pinning her underneath his side. "Are you all right?" he whispered.

"I need to move…just a little….there," she said as she adjusted her body slightly. "That's better."

He chuckled. "It certainly is," he said as he pushed against her, and she noted with delight that his eagerness matched her own. He continued his ministration, filling her with passion as he trailed kisses down her neck and shoulder. His hands slipped under the gauzy fabric of her nightgown, and she shuddered as he found her breasts and stroked them gently, her pebbled nipples beckoning to his lips to taste them. She sighed as his fingers skimmed across her body and his reached lower until it rested on her hip. She lifted herself up to him eagerly and pulled away at his nightclothes. The storm outside became the perfect counterpoint to their lovemaking overtures. Then Christine stopped and sat up.

"What's wrong?"

"Did you hear something?" Christine asked.

"No," Erik said, kissing her neck and breasts. "Must have been the thunder." He returned to the task at hand, but Christine pushed him gently aside.

"There it is again! Like a tapping sound."

"It's probably one of the shutters," Erik said, only slightly annoyed. "Now get back over here, Wife, and let me ravish you."

"But…you haven't put up the storm shutters yet," she said.

The knocking was louder this time, and even Erik heard it. They were both sitting up in bed now.

"Mama? Papa? Are you asleep?" The door opened. It was Etienne, holding his little brother Charles by the hand. "The funder woke Charles."

Christine glanced over at Erik. "You didn't lock the door?" she asked under her breath.

"I thought you did," he answered, equally under breath.

The toddler nodded his head and held his brother's hand tightly. Charles looked at the window and saw another flash of lighting. "Boom! Boom!" he said, pointing outside. "Bad." Another crash of thunder sent both boys scampering closer to the bed.

"May we sleep with you?" Etienne asked, trying very hard to be proper and formal. "Charles is scared," he explained, putting on a brave front.

"Sweep wiff Mamma and Papa," Charles repeated, fighting back a sniffle.

Christine looked at Erik. Erik looked at Christine. They struggled to keep from laughing. "Good thing they didn't wait a few more minutes," Erik said softly, not wanting the boys to hear what he was saying.

Christine smirked as she adjusted her nightgown and nodded in agreement, afraid that if she opened her mouth to say something, she would start giggling.

Another crash of thunder ripped through the night, and the boys jumped up on the bed. Etienne dove into his father's waiting arms, while Charles buried himself against his mother's breast.

Erik looked tenderly at their younger child. "A few minutes ago, that was me," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Christine kissed the top of Charles's head and pulled back to covers so he could cuddle next to her. Then she looked fondly at her husband. "Aren't you sorry now that you gave up the opera house to become a married man with children?" she asked playfully.

"Why would you be sorry, Papa?" Etienne asked, his voice already thick with sleep now that he was safe in his father's arms.

"It's…it's a joke," Erik sputtered, trying to figure out what to say.

"Doesn't sound funny," Etienne mumbled groggily, resting his head against his father's broad chest.

"When you grow up, you'll understand," Erik chuckled. "And no, not for a single moment am I sorry I married your mother," he added, giving his son a hug.

And as the storm raged on, the family duBois slept peacefully, feeling safe and snug in each other's arms.