I was reading in my coffin around eleven. Someone knocked.
"Yes."
Christine cracked the door, frowned in disapproval at me lounging in my box. It's perfectly comfortable, really; and I happen to enjoy the snug feeling. I don't understand the problem.
"I'm sorry I called you a pig."
"I don't mind being a pig. I mind being a pig like Raoul."
"Will you come and lie down with me? I'm cold, and I miss you."
I wanted to ask if that was 'lie down', or 'Lie Down'; 'I miss you', or "I Miss You', but I thought better of it. Similarly, I rejected the idea of inviting her into my box. Maybe the house slipper had knocked something into place.
As we slipped between cool sheets, I felt I had to ask at least one question. I was uncertain as to the current protocol. Had we returned to pre-argument forgiveness, or was this truce confined strictly to the use of the term 'pig'?
"Um, shall I hold you?"
"Yes." She answered with no hesitation. I slipped grateful arms around her and she smiled. I sighed with contentment at her familiar fragrance.
"Nice," she confessed. Her fingers were teasing the back of my neck. I knew she meant nothing by it—my brain knew she meant nothing by it. Other parts of me were more inclined to read something into her seemingly innocent gesture. Still, when she kissed me, her reluctance to release me made me wonder.
I ventured a caress to her breast, squinting in case I got my face slapped for my trouble. No; she purred and her breath in my ear was musical.
"Erik, touch me…underneath my gown."
"Take it off," I recommended, sliding down her body. "I want to kiss this flower, Christine."
Suddenly she clutched my shoulder.
"Did you kiss her?"
I rolled away with a disgusted sigh. To say I was in the mood for something other than more argument was to grossly understate.
"No, Christine, I did not kiss her; not even on the hand, if that makes you feel any better. Is this how it's going to be, then?" I demanded.
"No, it's not how it's going to be, it just suddenly occurred to me."
"I see," I replied sourly.
"Would you prefer I didn't ask and just…lie there, wondering, while you do your business?" she fussed.
"Actually, at this moment, yes; I would have done."
"Fine, then, come along!" she cried, shucking her gown. "Do it, if that's all you care about my involvement in the proceedings, you randy old goat."
First a pig; now a goat.
"You know Christine, I realize that I've been a bad boy, but I'm tired of the constant sniping, and I especially dislike being teased--"
"Teased!" she gasped. "Is that what you think it is?"
"What would you call it? Inviting me in, provoking me, dousing me in ice water." She caught me looking at her and clutched the sheet to her breast. I raised my eyebrows at her. "As you see."
"I didn't invite you in to provoke you, or to douse you in ice water. I wanted…what you do," she said sadly. She looked as disappointed as I felt. I reached out and covered her hand with mine in a conciliatory gesture. She dropped her hand and the sheet with it.
"Well then?" I suggested. I leaned over to kiss her, but she inclined away from me. I followed her down til she was flat on her back. I took my weight on my arms; she hooked her legs around mine.
"This is pleasant," she whispered, moving her hips. When our lips met, her tongue penetrated me insistently.
"Noooo, this is heavenly," I corrected. I resumed my journey over her delectable form, but she halted my progress again.
"Let me," she suggested. We rolled over and she pressed me down. She kissed and caressed me as I always had done to her. I closed my eyes and wondered if this was how she felt, lying passive and being done to. Likely, it was more natural to her to simply lie there and take; I kept feeling there was something I should be doing.
She sat up to take me inside her, then stretched out over me again. She took my part as near as possible; it was not unpleasant, but…odd. As her arousal increased, she nuzzled my ear and whispered, "Just once, I wish I could have your body, Erik. I wish I could feel what it's like to come inside you and feel you hug me…"
It was the most extraordinary thing I'd ever heard, and it drove me wild. I gripped her bottom, preparing to thrust, but she sensed this and halted me. "No Erik; let me."
"Faster, then. More," I demanded. She trapped my hands above my head and rocked with me.
"Oh. Christine, I can't…"
"Don't hold back, my Angel; give it to me," she breathed. It was astonishing to hear my own words on her lips. As I poured into her, it felt as if I would never stop; perhaps I lost consciousness. Christine covered my face with kisses while I floated back to earth.
"You make a charming phantom," I sighed.
"You make a delightful Christine," she giggled. We fell into contagious laughter; even at the time I think neither of us could have said what we were laughing at. When our giddiness subsided, we realized we'd worked up an appetite. She slipped into her gown, I into my trousers and we crept downstairs to raid the kitchen. Something about this escapade renewed our mutual hilarity. Even as we turned, bumping into each other, or knocking things over, making a fair amount of noise for the time of night, we were constantly scolding each other to be quiet. We escaped the kitchen with a bottle of wine and nearly half a frangipane tart. Uptairs, Christine drew me into my room.
"Let's have a picnic!" Christine glowed. She looked as happy as I'd ever seen her, inexplicably. I poured the wine and watched her enjoy the tart. She flushed when she noticed me studying her.
"The tart's delicious, Erik; you're sure you don't want some?"
"Some what?" I smiled, deliberately obtuse.
"Tart…" she reminded me.
"Mm. I'd love some," I replied, raising an eyebrow.
"What are we talking about now?" she asked, coyly, setting her plate aside.
I took her feet onto my lap and caressed them. "You have such comely little feet…I'm talking about dessert…what are you talking about?"
"Dessert," she smiled.
"Mm. About dessert; I have this posh new bed here…"
"And?"
"And it needs…christening, if you will…I was hoping you could help."
Christine reclaimed her feet and considered what to do about my trouser buttons. At last she agreed. "Alright; but I'm not going to keep still."
"Madame, you have truly made my night."
>
"You're not moving too well this morning, Erik," Reza worried.
"Divine retribution," I admitted, caressing the coffee mug my dear friend Darius pressed on me silently.
"For?"
"Moving too well, if not too cleverly, last night."
"I'd like to offer congratulations, but I hope there's been no permanent damage." I could hear the amusement creeping into his voice.
"Oh no. Stupid mistake. Sometimes I forget that a coffin is designed with the quietest of inhabitants in mind."
"What in the world were you using the coffin—" he paused as recognition dawned. "What happened? Never mind. Never mind."
I told him anyway. I have no explanation for my behavior.
"Lid. Heavy. Ouch." I glared at him, to no avail.
When I'd had enough of his all but falling out of his chair laughing, I remarked, "Yes, the Comtesse found it endlessly amusing as well. And you people have the temerity to suggest that I am warped."
Christine floated in, looking sunny and well-loved. "Good morning, my love," she purred, giving me upstairs sort of kiss right at the breakfast table. For some reason, I felt inordinately proud of that. "Must you go to work today?" she asked invitingly.
"I'm afraid so, Darling," I replied.
Reza looked on, bemused. "I am glad the honeymoon is resumed."
Christine giggled. Before taking her seat, she whispered into my ear: "Guess what we forgot? Our English friend…"
When I realized what she was referring to, the room began to spin; then everything went black.