Seal My Fate

Some steaminess ahead.

"Love is the master key that opens the gates of happiness."

- Oliver Wendell Holmes

The pain was more irritating than anything else, as long as he didn't strain himself too badly. Unfortunately, 'strain' was a term that encompassed riding, walking, or even standing completely upright. As such, he was forced to move slowly and hunched like an old man around his home. Erik raked his fingers through his wet hair. A long soak in his tub had gone a long way towards restoring his sangfroid, his wound reduced to a long, ugly scab slashing across his middle. A faint smile touched his lips. A broken wrist would take much longer to heal. It was awkward business trying to wrap bandages around his own stomach, but he managed.

When he reclined in his bed sipping a mug of hot broth, redolent with Persian spices, Erik considered his mood very much improved. That was, until he looked up and found Christine standing beyond the gossamer curtain. Erik blinked, waiting for her specter to disappear. She was part of the architecture of his thoughts, so completely grafted into the fabric of his mind that to see her caused him no great alarm. Being without morphine for a couple days induced hallucinations, among other things. This was particularly elaborate, he mused. She was garbed in gauzy white that clung and billowed in all the right places. She looked like a virgin goddess . . . like a bride.

"Damn you," he whispered, his voice catching, "why do you torture me with your beauty?"

"Erik," she said softly. As the dulcet tones of her voice reached his ear, Erik jerked upright, sending a blinding stab of pain through him.

"Oh bloody hell!" Erik bellowed, hunched over in agony.

Curled in a ball around the core of his pain, he dimly realized the curtain was rising and the faint shift of weight as Christine sat beside him on the bed. Erik was thankful that even in the solitude of his home, he wore a mask—the one he wore to sleep of soft black silk. Also, he gluttonously enjoyed Christine's warm fingers combing his hair.

"Oh Erik. Oh my poor Erik."

My poor Erik?

Erik loosened his tensed joints by force of will and sat up. Christine's beauty was a formidable weapon in its own right, smiting him with the impression of supple white skin beneath tantalizingly sheer satin, a cascade of rich brown curls, the pouting softness of her lower lip begging for a kiss. Erik caught her wrist to stop the distracting touch, noting that her fingers were bare of rings—save for her only heirloom from her mother on her little finger. That she never removed. This fact combined with her very presence in his home stifled the hurt, angry words that rose to his lips.

"What are you doing here?" he asked softly. Her teeth worried her lower lip, her slender brows drawn together.

"I . . . I came to see you. T—To see if you were all right."

"I've been better," Erik said dryly, gesturing to his wound, "your boy came within a hair's breadth of spilling my entrails all over the ground." A gross exaggeration to the dimensions of his wound, but Erik couldn't stop himself.

She was here. She was with him. How or why didn't matter. His defensive anger had only served to push her farther away and both of them deeper into misery. Perhaps another tack was warranted. The sound halfway between a groan and a gasp answered him. Her white fingers brushed the gauze around his belly with infinite gentleness.

"I'm so sorry. It's all my fault." Her eyes shone with a sheen of moisture. God, he couldn't stand her tears! Erik lifted a brow, forgetting she couldn't see the expression with the mask.

"Did you ask the Vicomte to shoot at me?" he asked gently. Horror bled across her delicate features.

"Of course not!"

"Was it you who sliced open my stomach and snapped the boy's wrist?" A flicker of tentative understanding warmed her brown eyes.

"No."

"It wasn't your fault, Christine. The blame rests with myself and the Vicomte."

Silence reigned for a moment, broken only by the faint lap of the lake against the rocks. Somehow, Christine's hand had wiggled free of his grip and Erik was distracted by the dance of her fingers combing his hair behind his ear, plucking fussily at the coverlet, stroking the back of his hand. His heart picked up a swift pace, uncaring of his mind's busy words of caution. If she left him again, he wouldn't survive it! His tension must have registered, for Christine said, "Are you in pain?"

"A little," he lied. The pain was a distant afterthought.

"Can I fetch you some laudanum?" Had she come to be his little nurse? God help him. He couldn't bear the humiliation.

"No," he said, "laudanum has no effect on me. My body is used to something far stronger." Christine twisted her mother's ring around her finger.

"C—could you not take some, then? Of the morphine?" A faint smile touched his mouth. Her hesitance and near superstitious dislike of his morphine was amusing.

"I could, if I wanted to kill myself. The dose required to obliterate the pain would probably stop my heart," he replied.

"Don't do that," she said swiftly, taking his hand in both hers, "I want your heart to keep beating." Erik's fingers tightened.

"Do you?" he whispered. Christine held his gaze, though a faint rose's blush touched her cheeks.

"I do." It was those solemnly spoken words—the same words of a wedding vow that urged him to abandon this odd game for a more direct route.

"Why are you here, Christine? Not simply to see to my welfare. Minette could have told you that. Where is your boy?" Erik strove to keep his tone gentle, but hope clawed free and made him trembling and desperate. Christine's eyes skittered away from his face and wandered around the room.

"I broke off my engagement to Raoul," her tone was soft and distant, as if remarking on someone else's misfortune, "I . . . I just couldn't do it. I couldn't marry him when . . ."

"Yes?" Erik prompted, heart in his throat. Though that soft, shy blush clung to the curves of her cheeks, a sharp glint entered her eyes.

"I can't say it."

"Say what?"

"You always act rude and horrible when I say it." Erik frowned. He squeezed her hand.

"I won't be rude and horrible," he said solemnly. Christine's brow quirked dubiously. The expression roused a low laugh from him. For the first time in a long time, a rapport of simple camaraderie existed between them.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he replied. Christine exhaled a breath.

"I couldn't promise to marry Raoul . . . when I love you."

On some level, Erik had expected that, but to hear those coveted words, spoken not in the heat of passion without another man's ring on her finger, but in the cool quiet of conversation lit a raging fire in him. Hope, love, desire, all mingled into a white-hot ball of emotion.

"Oh Christine," he breathed.

He didn't know who moved first, but in a blur, they were tangled in a kiss. The velvet caress of her lips was intoxicating, tentative at first, then growing bolder. Erik plunged his hands into the silky fall of her hair, cupping the cherished solidness of her skull as he had so longed to do. Christine uttered a soft sound and climbed astride his lap, clutching fistfuls of his hair. Erik lost himself in the moist smacking of their lips and the secret pleasure of jousting tongues. All too soon, she broke away for air. His own lungs gasped hungrily.

"Christine, oh my love, my only love," he whispered. Joy gave his heart wings. Was this real? Was she really here, in his arms, saying she loved him, kissing him?

Erik slanted his mouth across hers, plunging deep. What followed was a drugged madness of quiet heat and mingled breathing. His heart thundered, desire's molten heat surging through his muscles. Words bubbled up and he peeled back.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-" Christine darted in for another kiss and the next words emerged staccato between the feverish seeking of lips.

"For everything. I never meant to-" Christine slid lower, kissing his chin and jaw.

"To hurt you. I-"

"Ssshh," Christine whispered, pressing a finger over his lips, then dropped a peck on the tip of his nose.

"Hush, love. We both said and did things without intending to harm. It doesn't matter now."

Tears stung his eyes. The healing balm of forgiveness, the sweetness of reconciliation . . . he had almost given up hope of ever earning it. Christine! His beloved, his goddess!

"I love you," he murmured.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, wafting warm and moist over his face and she whispered against his mouth, "I've dreamed of this for so long . . ." The idea was almost unfathomable, even after their encounter during the masquerade. She wanted him? Christine desired his touch?

Silken arms linked around his neck, delicate fingers threaded in his hair, her mane of delightful curls fell around his face, shielding him, enveloping him in its scent and texture. Limbs tangled, their bodies ground together in a fever of desire. His hands stroked her back, plucking at the buttons of her gown. Hers parted the loose tails of his shirt, dancing along his chest, pushing the cloth from his shoulders.

Somehow, through the blinding passion she roused in him, Erik found his sanity.

"Christine, wait," he said, trapping her hands against his chest as the heart that was lost to her thundered beneath her fingertips.

"No!" she hissed. Her mouth demanded, and Erik could only answer.

Nearly howling in frustration, he gently disengaged from the kiss. And very nearly plunged back when Christine's tongue darted out to trace her lips as if savoring his taste, eyes dilated to pools of midnight. He breathed in deep through his nose, seeking calm, but only earned a lungful of her scent of violets and musk. A savage groan tore from his lips.

"No, love. No," he panted, as if by repetition he could subdue the raging passion. Hurt clouded those intolerably bright eyes. Her fingers traced ticklish paths on his skin, driving him insane.

"What is it, Erik? Don't you want me?" had he breath, he would have laughed.

"Of course I do. I need you like I need air. I have spent the past few years in an agony for wanting you." Erik closed his eyes, shutting out the devastatingly gorgeous portrait she made—all the more delectable sprawled across his lap, her breath a soft tickle of warmth on the side of his neck. He strove for composure, cupping her cheek.

"I . . . I don't want it like this."

He was lying. He wanted it. Badly. His body didn't care about romance or propriety. All it wanted to do was wallow in the offered delight of her body, plunge deep and make them one with blood and pleasure.

Erik cradled her face between his hands. God, his heart felt fit to burst free from his chest with all the love he held!

"Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to make love to you, Christine." A rich blush stained to her cheeks, a faint shy smile touching her lips.

"But?" she prompted.

"But once won't be enough for me. I want all of you. Forever. I want to share our lives and our music. I want you in my bed every night. I want to give you my heart, my body, my life, the work of my hands until the stars fall out of the heavens."

Christine uttered a soft sound, moving close to kiss him. He was drowning in kisses. The one wish of his childhood was now showered on him in ridiculous largesse. He pulled back and smiled.

"I had a more elegant proposal prepared, the night of Hannibal's premiere. But you caught me at a bit of a disadvantage." Christine stilled. Close enough to share breath and warmth, Erik could see the tears swimming in her eyes.

"That's why you didn't come for me the night of the premiere? You were preparing to propose?"

"Yes," he said simply, combing a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear.

"Oh Erik!" He had never heard that tone from her, thin with pain and rich with every misunderstanding and slight that pushed them apart.

"It's all right." And it was. With her in his arms, every pain of his life was erased. He felt invincible!

"What did you think of this one?" he asked.

"It was wonderful," she assured him thickly.

Erik gripped her shoulders. He couldn't very well fall to one knee with her astride him, but he could still look adoringly up into her eyes.

"Marry me, Christine. Make me the happiest man alive." A breathless pause.

Then the most beautiful words in all of creation floated through the air. Tears shone in her eyes, but her stunning white smile erased any trepidation.

"Yes. Yes, I'll marry you," she said huskily. Erik's heart soared and he yanked her down for another kiss. Joy and pleasure mingled into a brew more potent than wine and Erik tasted the salt of tears and didn't care if they were hers or his.

The shackle of his half-discarded shirt prevented him from holding her as he wished. Erik shrugged it off, never breaking the sweet seal of their mouths. Quite of their own will, his hands roamed down her back, over the ripe swell of her hips. A primitive refrain hammered in his head: his, his, his. Every supple inch of her. The stern voice in his head that commanded that he desist immediately was growing fainter by the second, drowned out by the shy, sweet strokes of Christine's tongue against his, her soft gasps and sighs.

"Christine . . ." he breathed, the words holding a note of pleading. Erik gasped for air and the will to stop her as she dropped kisses everywhere she could reach. Was this his shy little rose that blushed when he mentioned the words 'love-making?' This bold angel grinding her body against his would rend him into pieces.

"Erik . . ." she panted in his ear.

"Christine!" He said, surging up, away, before he did something they would both regret. He stood panting and bare-chested, entirely hypnotized by the sight of Christine rumpled and glowing in his bed.

"Tell me you understand why," he rasped, panting as if he'd run a mile.

"I do. I'm sorry. It . . . just feels so good. I never want to stop," she addressed the coverlet, cheeks afire, unable to meet his gaze. Erik hid a smile in his hand.

"Nor I," he whispered. Silence fell, and Erik shifted from foot to foot, at a loss.

Struck by sudden inspiration, he rummaged around his dresser and found what he sought. Erik sank to one knee beside the bed, prying open the box.

"Will you wear this ring, Christine? As a token of our engagement?" he asked softly. Her smile was like the sun rising.

"Yes."

XXX

The ring suited the man and the engagement, so completely different from Raoul's simple words and formal kisses. The band was white gold fixed with a square-cut diamond at the center. A half circle of round rubies increasing slightly in size were draped around the diamond. Christine was hypnotized by the sparkling beauty of it, the almost sensuous curve of the rubies around the diamond. Red, like his roses. Was she the diamond, sheltered by their glittering embrace?

"If you are unhappy with the design, I can modify it to suit your wishes." Erik's voice held an anxious edge that she had never heard before. Christine blinked, realizing she'd been silently staring at the ring nested in its box of dark silk.

"No! It's perfect. I love it," she said, beaming. Some of the tension left the stiff set of Erik's shoulders. Christine's eye wandered from the ring to the broad expanse of Erik's bare chest, mesmerized by the taut, sinewy muscle and velvet skin, lightly dusted with hair. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kisses, a deep ache permeated her belly.

Erik, the complex, passionate, dangerous man that she loved. She said yes to him without a moment's hesitation, as she had hesitated with Raoul. She could have been happy as the Vicomtesse de Chagny, if she had never tasted a love that could burn. A smile split Erik's face, so incredibly radiant that Christine swallowed tears. He looked so happy! Christine scooted to the edge of the bed so Erik could slide the ring on her finger. Erik grasped her proffered hand and dropped gentle kisses along the sensitive skin. Abruptly, he stopped, staring intently at her hand.

"What happened, Christine? How did you injure your finger?" he crooned.

Christine looked down at saw that her knuckle was swollen, a purple bruise streaking the inner side. She bit her lip. That was from Raoul yanking his ring from her finger. Drat! She didn't want to spoil this beautiful moment explaining!

"Oh that. It's nothing. I hit it on a door." Erik's grey-blue eyes, now the silver incandescence of moonlight on the sea, narrowed in suspicion.

"Then why is this the only finger bruised? What happened, my love?" Christine squirmed, cursing Erik's acumen. Best get it out quickly.

"When I broke our engagement, Raoul was angry. He pulled the ring off." Erik's narrowed eyes flew wide, so bright and beautiful set in the black mask.

"He hurt you? I'll kill him for that," he growled.

Christine could see the anger building in him, the tension ringing from his tall, lean form. So Christine did the only thing she could think of to subvert it. She kissed him. After a moment's resistance, he melted into the caress. Christine loved the texture of his lips, his rich taste, the spicy cloud of his scent. By the time she pulled away, they were both dreamy-eyed and breathing heavily.

"You make an excellent point. Let's not let the boy tarnish this moment, hm?" Erik purred.

"Agreed," Christine murmured. Erik kissed her bruised finger.

"Perhaps you could wear it on the other hand."

"No," Christine said stubbornly, "Erik, I want to wear your ring. It doesn't hurt."

Erik's frowned dubiously, eyes glinting.

"Promise?" Christine giggled at the shared joke.

"I promise," she said.

The ring fit perfectly, of course. Christine admired the sparkle and its cool weight.

"It's beautiful."

"It is overshadowed by the loveliness of the wearer, my dear." Erik dropped a kiss on her forehead as he rose and donned his shirt.

A nagging thought surfaced through the miasma of joy and love.

Giovanni. The girl.

Christine had never known Raoul to lie. Maybe he was misinformed. He had to be. A pall fell over her euphoric mood. The man she agreed to marry held so many secrets. The scars written on his skin. Rome. Persia. How far had he traveled in his life? But just now, tangled together in his bed, he had pulled away to save her honor. Heat bloomed in her face. She had been more than willing. So Erik couldn't have . . .

Christine locked the thought behind a heavy door. She wouldn't think of it now.

She was happy. Erik was happy. Everything would be fine.

For now.

xxxxxxx

A/N: A bit of E/C fluff. You guys deserve it after slogging through all that angst.

Thank you everyone for your reviews!