Author's Note: Hope this hasn't been too much of a wait for those out there reading! I hope you enjoy!
Trigger Warnings: frank talk of death
"What did you do with Buquet?" The empty silence answered her question, and she had trouble judging him for it. Erik had killed a man a mere yard away from her and all she could do was thank him; she was not able to question his authority as her mind flashed with horrible images of her past. Grubby hands upon her dirtied skin, candle light flickering across faces of ecstasy on men she didn't know, blood dripping between her thighs as she tried to stop her own sobs of pain. If Erik hadn't killed him, how far would Buquet have gotten? He would have succeeded, she reasoned with herself as Erik knelt before her, taking her head in his hands and feeling around her skull for bumps.
"Do you have a headache?" She shook her head in negative and he smiled, his mask only allowing half of his mouth to curve upward but the gleam of his eyes from the fire creating a quite handsome effect on his thin face.
"That's good. Any ailments I should attend to?" He was impossibly close, warm breath brushing against her lips as she leaned closer, amused to see a nervousness in his eyes as his hands drifted to a more relaxed position, cupping her face gently with his thumbs trailing across her heated cheeks.
"I'm burning, Erik." It was a seductive whisper as she leaned daringly closer, brushing her lips upon his in the most delicate ways, although he did not respond to her touch. Her voice was nearly hoarse with want, for once the passion she revealed was not an act for a man.
"Burning?" Even the voice of an angel cracked in passion and he cleared his throat, the epitome of a man at the end of his wits.
"Yes, on fire…" She dragged him into another kiss, hands clutching him by the shoulders, intoxicated by the taste of him. Oh how long it had been since she'd known a man's touch! Fire danced across her body as her lips tingled with his taste of red wine. His kisses were much different than Raoul's kisses were; Erik's were hesitant but more powerful, she was drunk on him as he responded eagerly, hands tangling in her hair to feel her pulling him closer and closer. Until finally she sat on the edge of her seat, legs spread open to allow him closer access to her body from his spot on the floor, they were face to face as he allowed her to lead the kiss. A timid tongue begged for entrance and she granted permission with a soft moan that had Erik flying away from her, struggling to his feet and turning his back on her with her surprised gasp ringing in his ears. Shaking hands smoothed his already perfect hair, a quivering hand wiped at his mouth, using his turned back as an opportunity to slightly lift his mask and wipe the sweat that gathered there.
"Erik? Did I do something wrong?" His glance at the tight skin revealed of her heaving breasts, angelically tossed curls, passion flushed cheeks and he cursed his weak will. His growing erection was not lost on Christine's experienced eyes but she spoke nothing of it, waiting simply for his response as the fire's heat flicked away at her already burning skin.
"How could you? You are the picture of perfection."
"Ah yes, but pictures can be deceiving. Even the ugliest woman could be good on the inside." The parallels were poorly cloaked but he seemed to appreciate her words and nodded slowly, facing the fire so that only his masked profile was visible to her.
"I will draw you a bath and you can stay here for the evening." His back was toward her again, already retreating toward the bedrooms, ready to be leaving her alone in the darkness of his home with only the fire to cast shadows upon the deep corners that felt as if they would close in with his absence, when Christine called out to him,
"And the evening after that?" Erik froze, turning back to face her slowly, his arousal apparent but his embarrassment well hidden beneath the angel of music's façade.
"As long as you need protection, Christine, my home is yours." But he did not continue retreating, instead he met her quivering form in the middle of the room and finally did she realize she should have been embarrassed to be around him in naught but her scanty leotard and rehearsal tutu, but she did not care. Rather, she reveled in his flickering glare as he took in her bare skin.
"Is that all you will offer me, ange? Protection?" Large hands were set upon her shoulders and she had to fight to keep her eyelids from fluttering shut at the pleasure she felt from the simplest touch of those musician hands. A large part of her mind told her she would be falling back into the pattern of a whore if she took him to bed as she so desperately wanted, and another part of her screamed not to betray Raoul, and the fear of how to act in bed for a man she cared about came crashing down upon her all too heavily. She was not normal, the thought reverberated through her mind no matter how hard she tried to close it out, she was damaged and no loving angel could fix that.
"What else would you need, Christine?" Slowly, he was coaxing her to open her eyes and meet his curious gaze. No woman had treated him like this before, that she was sure, no woman but a woman of the night would be as bold as she had been and she was horrified at how inappropriate he must have found her.
"It is just an honor to be near you, Erik." Hands fell from her shoulders to remain limp by his sides and it was difficult to keep from screaming at him to replace them upon her bare skin, to tell him how wonderful his gentle touch felt when she had gone so long without caring contact from another human.
"Let's get you into the bath."
He disappeared once the water was hot and she was ready to undress. She did so with little difficulty, the white clothing flittering into a forgotten puddle as she slid into the steaming water. That was surely God's greatest gift, hot water and the wonderful smelling bar of soap that she recognized as Erik's scent. Scrubbing away at her skin; she removed Buquet's grime, Erik's heated touch, the aches of sore muscles from ballet, the embarrassment of Raoul casting her out onto the street with not even kind words of encouragement, the fear of Madame Rouge's gang, strangers' fluids sitting between her bruised thighs, the dirt around her father's grave. Christine scrubbed until her delicate skin was pink from her efforts, until there was nothing left of her past and the future was hers to decide. What did she want? The ache of her throbbing heart was equaled only by the ache between her legs: Erik. She wanted to please Erik in ways he never dreamed of, until he could not cast her away when his interest with her was run out. No more would she accept this ever-changing lifestyle, she wanted Erik and she would have him.
She emerged in the nightgown he had laid out for her, the black cotton dragged on the floor as she walked and she even had to roll the sleeves up. It was not until she dawned the black silk robe that he had hung on the back of the door for her, did she realize that she was drowning in Erik's nightwear. It excited her to be so domestically wrapped in a man's clothing, and to feel the proof of his caring heart brushing against her damp skin.
"Erik, may I ask you a favor?" Hunched over the piano, quill in hand, he looked up at her and took her in with such an adoring look she wondered if he was even attempting to hide his interest anymore. Had she been blind this entire time? Had her angel always been so entranced with her, did he comfort her upon the bench in the park with the intention of wooing her eventually?
"Anything, Christine, you know that…You may sit." A tilted head gestured to the large couch that faced a large fireplace, the fire just barely flickering life as she curled her feet up under herself, enjoying the sensation of his soft nightclothes upon her bare skin.
"What is it that I can help you with Christine?" Folded papers came from behind her back, he could not imagine where she had kept them within her tight leotard but said nothing as she flattened the papers out with utmost seriousness.
"I don't know if I ever told you, but my father was a very skilled violinist-"
"I know, I was a fan." The curls around her face bounced as she snapped her head up to meet Erik's solemn demeanor, but of course nothing should have surprised her about Erik. He seemed omniscient, even as the sever recluse that he was, he managed to keep up on all news and popular stigmas.
"Oh. Well, he wrote me a piece of music before he passed. I have not heard it since; it would be an honor if I could hear you play it for me."
"On the violin?" He took the creased sheet music from her little hands as she nodded, nearly beaming with excitement as he made out the faded notes upon the age-colored paper.
"La chanson de Christine Daae." The words were silk upon his lips as he moved to his violin, unlocking it from its case and setting the sheet music upon his stand before looking up at Christine.
"Are you ready?" In preparation, she reclined back against the comfortable couch.
"Yes, sir."
He was only a few paces away from her and the orange flames of the fire licked at his white mask, coloring him in romantic reds and yellows as he set the bow to strings. It was perfect, better than she remembered it somehow, touching a piece of her heart that had not been kissed in so many years. Erik was severely concentrated on the music in front of him, playing each note to perfection, knowing and playing the falling rhythms just as she recalled them. The song spoke of her father's pain when her mother died, but the blooming happiness that came from raising his young daughter. Tears fell quickly, before her angel was even half way through the song, and she could not control the small gasps for air that tore through her as she remembered her papa. His kind grey eyes, the work-worn callouses on his gentle hands as he fumbled to braid her messy hair, the feeling of his fevered forehead as she attended his sick bed.
The song chased itself from beautiful highs to deep baritones, waltzing across her skin as her tears fell harder, eyes shut as she let her nostalgia overtake her. The song spoke so much of their relationship, but did not speak of the pain of having him ripped away from her after only fourteen short years together. The agony of being alone in the world after, for so long, depending on the only man she knew to trust. Christine knew as Erik reprised the four pages of sheet music, that he could feel each note in the way she did. The musician before her could speak and listen to music the same way her father had and there was no doubt in her mind that he understood the blissful pain it caused her to hear her father's voice through the violin. Swirls of blues and greens danced behind her closed eyelids, wrapping her in the countryside with her father's hand wrapped around her own, before the song pulled to a close. Erik met her gaze with a look that plead for approval and through her teary eyes she let out a gasp of embarrassed laughter,
"That was beautiful, Erik, thank you."
"Your father was a very gifted man."
"He was." The kind words could not pull her from staring at her white hands in her lap, drowning in the black cotton nightdress, looking so small even to herself. A handkerchief broke her concentrated stare and she accepted it with a few words of thanks, dabbing at her cool face as he stood above her. Still dressed in his finest, violin and music forgotten on the stand, Erik was the picture of sensuality before her.
"He would have liked you very much, Erik." With her tears collected by the white handkerchief, she looked up at him with a watery smile, pleased to see him return it as he tucked the white cotton back into his suit pocket.
"And he would have been very proud of you, Christine, of how much you've accomplished for yourself."
"Papa always wanted to see me onstage, I just wish—" Her voice broke beyond her control and once again Erik was kneeling before her with comforting hands upon her shoulders, "I just wish he'd had the chance. I thought my angel of music could tell him-"
"Hush, petite, hush now," It was the first time in decades since he had comforted another human and he found himself horribly awkward as her shaking sobs continued on and he tried not to grow annoyed at her disobedience, "the spirits in heaven do not need messengers. Gustav will see you as the Prima Donna, I promise you." A slightly damp kiss was pressed to his swollen lips as she tried to encapsulate the goodness he brought to her life, she wanted to return that joy so desperately yet she wasn't sure how. The kiss was deep and long, neither wanted to pull away, but Erik did not think he could take the feeling of her lips combined with the sight of her in his large nightclothes any longer.
"Off to bed, Christine, it has been a trying evening." Obeying, she headed toward the bedroom she had slept in last. Although she struggled slightly in the darkness, she soon dipped beneath the covers and cuddled closer to the fluffy pillows all about her. Sleeping upon her rack would be torture after she had been so spoiled in Erik's home. As her mind grew groggier and groggier, her father's music playing through her head, she began to question the time of night. It could have been days ago since Buquet's attack, but logically it was only hours, and yet so much had changed. She knew now what she wanted, and with the help of her father's spirit, she was determined to have him.