A/N: Welcome, my children. I have a meal for you. It's only two chapters, but here is the first course! Enjoy the feast ;)
Title came from the song "Life Eternal" by Ghost. It reminds me a lot of Erik and Christine and I listened to it a lot while writing this.
Chapter 1
Christine had never intended to see him again, yet there she was, on the very doorstep of the dilapidated house that had been his hiding place for the past two months. The piece of parchment containing the address which was given willingly by her best friend was crumpled in her fist; the scrawl likely illegible from the building moisture of her palms. Her pulse was in her throat, pounding incessantly in time with her gasping breaths, the heat of her blood creating an uncomfortable prickling on her skin.
Leave, go home and never look back, she told herself when the guilt of what she was doing crept into her heart. If Raoul had any idea where she was, he would be furious with her, after all their wedding was supposed to be the next day. But it wasn't as if she lied to him. All she said was that she was visiting an old friend; he was the one who assumed that friend to be Meg. He hadn't a clue that she had taken the day, now well into the night which he would never notice as he was always far too busy with his brother, to find her angel–no, not her angel, Erik as he called himself.
Erik.
That was his name. He was no longer her Angel of Music, no longer the Opera Ghost, Red Death, or the Phantom of the Opera; but a man, a man with a real name. A man who she had wronged and who had wronged her and she could not allow him to leave without both offering and asking for forgiveness. Whether he decided to accept her apology mattered not, as long as he knew she was remorseful, perhaps he would find it in himself to stop haunting her; stop existing in every one of her dreams, in her bed, lips whispering over her skin, in every single mirror she dared glance at. She would finally be able to live her life, to move on…without him.
Christine stuffed the parchment into her skirt pocket and raised a trembling fist to knock, stopping short when memories of that fateful night consumed her yet again. Each time it was as if someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart and lungs, the air around her was always suddenly thick. In the back of her mind, a resounding declaration of love, one spoken to her before returning to the world of the living, one spoken to her by a man and not a ghost. Threats of tears budded in her eyes and she quickly blinked them away before they could make tracks down her cheeks. It would do no good if the first thing he saw were tears, so she steeled herself, taking several deep breaths until the air flowed smoothly, and rapped on the door much louder than she meant to.
Christine warily glanced behind her for any passers-by, hoping none heard her knock and came to investigate the reason why a lone woman stood in front of an abandoned house. As one oblivious couple strolled by, she faced the door and tugged the hood of her cloak farther over her head in hopes they wouldn't recognize her if they did look over. Everyone seemed to know who she was and what she endured since Raoul had decided to send an announcement into the papers without consulting with her first. It was his way of warning him, she supposed. She was lucky to have gotten so far in her journey with only a handful of people approaching her and offering condolences, thankfully none insisting on ensuring she made it home safely and foiling her plan.
After what felt like an eternity, a near silent shuffling sounded on the other side of the thin wood, then the handle twisted and the door opened just a sliver. The only light seen was a bit of candle that shone through at the very top of the crack, the rest was pitch black, as if someone was standing there and staring. Every hair on the nape of her neck stood on end and she shivered, a shaky exhale escaping her lips. It was him.
Go home.
"Reveal yourself or I will kill you where you stand," a rich, somber voice spoke. It didn't sound like him, it sounded like someone else, like a despondent being had taken his place.
Christine swallowed her guilt and tilted her face upwards so he could see her in the glow of the candle light, then opened her mouth to speak. Before she could get a single word out, the door swung open and a slender hand shot from the darkness and wrapped around her wrist. She bit back a yelp when it dragged her through the threshold, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the entire building. The candles in the room flickered and all but the one by a small bed sputtered out, plummeting her into blackness.
"Why are you here?" she heard from every shadow, the anguish in the words distinct and cutting her heart like a blade.
Her eyes searched for the hidden specter as she inched towards the only light in the room, hoping that being near it would reveal the man in the shadows. "I–I've come to say goodbye," she explained softly, pivoting when a creak of a floorboard sounded behind her. "Meg told me you are leaving for America early in the morning."
"Goodbye," he emulated with a morbid scoff. "That was already done down-down-down below, my dear Christine."
The sensuous use of her name, even in his misery, stirred something deep in her belly, not a painful stir, but different. It was a feeling she had only experienced twice before, once during her first visit to the cellars below the Opera Populaire and once during her last time on stage, both times in his presence. It was a creeping, lingering sensation that spread to the tips of her fingers and toes, proving a nuisance when she tried to shake it away.
Finally, she reached the candle and lifted it so she could light a few others that were perched in her vicinity, diminishing some of the darkness. It was then that she saw him, against the far wall, leaning indolently as he stared daggers at her. Any composure she had built for herself vanished instantly, and trepidation set in.
"I–I wanted–" she tried before dropping her gaze to the floor so as not to be burned alive by his.
"What more do you want?" he hissed, leaving the wall to stand just outside the glow of her sanctuary, mere feet away from her. He stared down at it as if debating on if he should cross it, then his eyes flickered up to hers. They were fire, the hottest flames one could ever touch. "You have taken everything from me. Your bloody Vicomte can give you the world, ask him."
Christine did her best to stand her ground, not wanting to show any sign of fright even though she was trembling inside and out. She couldn't be a terrified girl anymore, she was a woman, a woman with conviction. "I came to say goodbye and to as for your forgive–"
"Don't play with me!" he snapped. "I'm not in the mood for your mind games."
"I'm not here for mind games," she held firm, her heart galloping at the harsh tone of voice.
Erik gave a joyless smirk and in a single movement, he stepped into the light, his crushing dominance forcing her back against the wall. He advanced still, his fingers circling around her upper arm and hoisting her up the wall where he pressed his weight into her. The heat of him was scorching, his moist breaths blew across her face, warming her cheeks and she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the tears.
"Then what? What do you desire from me? What do you seek other than soul cleansing vindication?" he asked mockingly.
"Nothing, I–" she managed before her breath caught in her throat.
His fingers tightened around her arm and he coldly whispered, "I will say this only once then. Leave me and never come back."
Christine's eyes shot open at the command, gaze meeting his, the pained look in the amber creating a sinking in her stomach. "But–" she tried to object, unwilling to leave until she spoke her apology.
"Do not argue with me!" he bellowed, his face diving towards hers until their noses were almost touching, the white of his mask glinting in the candle light. "You left! You left me! Now you come back for forgiveness? You stand here with your doe eyes and expect me to bend to your every whim?! Not anymore, my dear Christine. I am no longer your slave."
"I'm sorry…for everything," she murmured, attempting to wriggle free from his too-tight grasp. "I am, truly."
"Sorry?" Erik chuckled as his eyes narrowed and darkened. "Sorry?! Do you know what it's like to have your still-beating heart torn from your chest, to have the woman you love abandon you for another man? Do you have any idea how much I prayed for you to turn around and stay with me?! A clue in the world how much I burned for you? How much I still burn for you? You are a dangerous woman, Miss Daae."
With that, he shifted his hips forward, gasping and dropping his face into her neck as something hard slid along the front of her thigh. It was wrong, immoral, but God, it excited her. She knew it shouldn't, she was engaged to be married, in love with another, so why was her womanhood throbbing and warmth pooling in her belly? It–it was too much, she shouldn't have…Heaven, she shouldn't have found him!
"Please, stop," she begged as she involuntarily bucked into him.
"Every day since, Christine," he breathed against her skin, his lips brushing over her collarbone, "every single day, I have woken with the ghost of you in my arms, a bitter memory of an apparition that did not exist. I dreamed of you walking through my door, returning to me at last."
She whimpered a garbled plea and gripped his shoulders, the pain below becoming unbearable with every firm press of his hips. Goodbye, all she was there for was to say goodbye, and–and to apologize! Yes, those were the only things she was there for…
"I dreamed of stealing you away," he said with a shuddering breath, "of running my rapier through that boy you call your fiancé and taking you with me across the Atlantic."
Fiancé? Oh, how could she forget about Raoul? How could–Heaven, Erik was all she could think about, all she wanted in that moment and he was right there in front of her, telling her of his dreams to steal her away! God help her; God help him!
"Angel," she mewled as the ghost of his lips reached her jaw. "Angel, please."
He paused for several seconds, then lifted his head and ceased the movement of his hips, his eyes moist with tears as they avoided hers. "I know now what a mistake it would have been. What, with you and your goodbyes and apologies. I don't need them, I don't want them."
"Erik," she whispered, a tremble to her voice.
The use of his real name brought his golden irises to her chestnut ones and he exhaled heavily, giving one more seemingly unwilling thrust and saying, "Tell me, child, what is it that you want from me? Comply or meet your end here and now."
Christine shivered at his movement and fisted her hands into his ebony vest, all thoughts lost and she cried, "You, Heaven help me, Erik, but I want you!"
In an instant, he released her and stepped back, allowing her to slide down the wall and onto her feet. Her legs were like jelly, quaking at the intensity of her need for him. She lifted her head to see that he stood tall, arms at his sides, fists clenched, an image of stoicism apart from one thing. Her eyes dropped to his trousers where she saw the dim outline of his cock, the large muscle intimidating to look at even when veiled. She clenched her thighs together and leaned back, pressing her hands into the wall and doing her best to not faint.
"I do not have the patience for this, my dear," Erik muttered, taking up his hand and touching his mask, shifting it slightly before pulling away. Was he making sure it hadn't moved?
"Please, Erik," she said, closing the space between them by only a couple inches so as not to make him retreat.
"Please what? You want me but you cannot put words to your desires, do so or I will send you back to your Vicomte in a coffin."
How was she to ask of him what she had been seeing in her mind? How was she to ask him to touch her, to claim her virgin flesh and take what was rightfully his? The threat was empty, she knew it, he would never hurt her, but if she did not answer, he would surely toss her out into the night. So she obeyed, "I want you to take me."
His face contorted with shock and he backpedaled as if he had been shot. "Leave. Leave now," he commanded. "It would not go well for you if your fiancé were to find out you were begging another man to claim you."
"By God, Erik, take me!" she cried, hoping that the demand would be his undoing.
"No!" he roared as he covered the distance and shoved her against the wall once again, this time lifting her by the back of her thighs and wrapping her legs around his waist. "You can't expect me to obey your every command, you can't expect me to–God," he whispered with a harsh roll of his hips, "to–to do this!"
Christine urgently bunched up her skirts as Erik started working on the button of his trousers, his face buried in her neck. She had him, Heaven, she had him, all she had to do was allow him entry and fortunately, that was exactly what he was begging for. He panted and pleaded for her to move faster until finally they were bared to each other, Erik's cock drawing a thin line of fluid along the inside of her thigh as he slid upwards. His length slipped into her drenched slit until the head found her throbbing clit, a deep groan filling her ears as he ground against it.
"Oh, God," she whimpered, meeting his thrusts and trying to angle her hips to give him easier access.
"You are vile, Christine Daae! With your–with your–" Another groan, this one gritted through his teeth, pervaded the air as his thick cock claimed her virtue and buried itself to the hilt. "Oh please–your devilish ways! A burdensome temptress! I should kill you, I should–fuck."
A sharp pinch made her tense, but he did not let up the merciless roll of his hips, the stinging pain reverberating with every slick stretch of her walls around his massive cock. Tears slipped down her cheeks and her head fell back against the wall, his lips on her throat as he fucked her harder. Each slide of flesh on flesh sent a shockwave of pain to her belly and she tried, she really tried to bear through it but she couldn't. It was too much, it wasn't right. It hurt.
"Erik, please," she appealed to him.
"Never…never will you have me, I don't want you. I don't–" he choked out, still slamming her into the wall hard enough to rattle the house. "Christ, you're so wet, and oh fuck, so very tight."
Christine clamped her thighs around his waist and gripped his upper arms, trying to slow his movements. "It hurts, Angel. Please, not so fast."
Erik stuttered to a halt, immediately removing his head from her neck and blinking rapidly. His face contorted and his exposed cheek became riddled with tears. He shakily brought a hand up to her cheek where he caught hers with his thumb. "I'm so sorry, I didn't–I should have–what have I done? I didn't mean to harm you."
"Don't stop, not now," she whispered, leaning into his touch and kissing his wrist, forcing back her tears so he wouldn't think she wanted him to stop. "Just be gentle with me, I beg of you."
"Christine, my Christine, what am I going to do with you?" he sobbed. He took up his other hand and cupped her opposite cheek as well, sweeping away even more of her tears. "You are a fool, a mad fool for returning to me. You have everything with him, my dove, the world is in the palm of your hand just as you always wanted."
She shook her head and held onto his wrists. "No, it won't be the same without you. It won't be." And it wouldn't. No one would ever make her feel the way he did, not even Raoul. Not a single person alive could bring such burning desire to her, fill her heart completely, and make her feel alive. "Take me, take what you want from me, I give it willingly."
"I can't, it's not right," Erik breathed unsteadily. "It's–you do not belong to me, Christine. You are to marry another."
Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach and she was unsure of what to say to convince him otherwise, so she didn't speak, instead dropping her gaze to his chest. Did he not hold the same feelings as before?
"Why do you stay silent?" he asked as he slipped a finger under her chin and brought her face to his. "Tell me why–why must you come here and tempt me? You are all I ever wanted, all I ever fantasized having. But you are not mine, you will never be mine so why find me?"
"Don't you want me anymore?"
Erik's face twisted with agony and he squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers creeping into her hair. "I am not saying–I never said I didn't want you," he whispered softly. "I want you, I need you, but I have no claim to you. I never did. Now you belong to someone else. We can't–I can't. It's forbidden."
"If you want me then take me," Christine told him, bringing his face to hers. He opened his eyes which were swollen and puffy with tears. "Take all of me. I belong to you."
"No, I will not soil you," he said as he shook his head. "Your virtue is not meant for a creature like myself. I will not take it."
"You already have, you have taken it," she said, lightly pressing her hips downwards.
Erik gasped and his eyes widened and dropped to their joined sexes. He let out a choked sob, pulling his cock from her, the sudden loss of fullness forcing her to buckle onto his chest, but he promptly pushed her back to examine if what she said was true. The evidence of her taken virginity coated his length and dripped onto the floor beneath them, proving that she was truly his once and for all.
"No, oh God, it's–you would never allow it. Christine would never allow me to have her," he said as his eyes darted across her face. He smiled and chuckled shakily. "How pitiable that my mind now resorts to actual visions instead of mere voices and disembodied touches. Insanity has dug itself deeper, my dear. You should be happy that you are not truly here because I would not possess the strength to stop myself."
"I am here," she said quickly.
He shook his head. "For now, my dove," he uttered bitterly. "For now. In no time at all, you will cease to exist, you will dissipate into nothing and my solitude drags on. What torture it is to see your face again, not sodden with tears but alive and vibrant, as it should be." His brows furrowed as a realization set in. "No, not your face. Her face. You are a trick set upon me by this repulsive world."
"That is not true," Christine argued, praying that he would recognize her as real and not that of fantasy.
"But it is. God, she was–is so beautiful," he said, an adoring smile painting his face. "You capture her likeness so well, it's almost as if–" He stopped and swallowed hard. "Have you ever seen the sky just as the sun disappears over the horizon? The deepest of reds and it always reminds me of her hair."
Erik's hand crept up and she felt the tight knot being tugged at. "How I dreamed of loosing those curls from their damned pin just like this," he murmured, a metal clang sounding as her hairpin fell to the floor. The auburn ringlets cascaded down her shoulders and chest. "Look at them go, like silk falling into place."
"I am real."
He ignored her, instead trailing his thumb down her cheek and to her bottom lip, running the pad along the plump pink. "These lips, cruel thing," he said in barely a whisper, "rose petals, velvet beneath my fingers. I would sell what remains of my soul to kiss them one last time." His eyes flicked to hers. "Her eyes, they held the depths of the world and whenever I looked into them, I felt like a man, not a monster."
The corners of his lips twitched the longer he stared into them and with an exasperated sigh, his forehead fell against hers and he trembled violently, heaves wracking his body. "She left me," he repeated over and over again, his tears plopping onto her cheeks. His mask fell askew so she removed it from his face completely, giving him the comfort of knowing he was safe with her, even if he thought her a vision. His deformity did not matter, it did not define who he was.
"I am here, really here," she said, caressing both cheeks in her palms, one smooth, the other bumps and ridges. "Not a trick, not a ghost. This is real, Erik."
"I cannot believe your words," he spoke as he covered her hands with his own. "I cannot let myself hope that she has returned to me."
Christine stared at his lips, silently wondering if a kiss would make him believe she was real, if a familiarity other than her voice was all he needed. Cautiously, she pressed her lips against his and tenderly kissed him, parting her lips when he gasped and dipping her tongue into his mouth to allow him the remembrance of that night. Only seconds passed before he returned the kiss ardently, whimpering into her mouth and grabbing fistfuls of her hair to bring her closer to him. His tongue swept against hers, delving deeper into her mouth and claiming every moan and sigh. It was perfect, even better than that night and exactly what she needed to know that she made the right decision in finding him. She did belong to him, just as he had said.
Erik broke away gulping for air before lavishing her with his mouth again, this time placing several kisses on her lips and cheek, across her jaw and to her neck. Each touch upon her skin was a flame, engulfing her in red-hot fire which traveled directly to her center and rekindled her desperation.
"Christine," he sighed into the skin just below her ear. "My Christine."
"I am here, Angel," she assured him. "Don't you feel me? You can't touch a ghost like this. Or like this." She grabbed his hand and pressed it against her breast. His hand flexed around it and he squeezed it lightly, groaning and bucking his hips lightly.
"God, I feel you," he murmured as he nipped at her collarbone and massaged her flesh. "I feel you, Christine. I feel you!"
Her heart swelled and she reached up, unclasping the buttons at the front of her bodice and undid some of the lacing on her corset. She shoved his hand through the top of her chemise, his skeletal fingers brushing over her bare nipple, inciting a moan from deep in her throat. His breath caught and he gently weighed her breast in his hand, tongue darting against her skin as he wet his lips.
"I've never felt anything so soft, is all your skin like this?"
She did not answer, not when she could only focus on his thumb as it rolled over the hardened peak, the roughness of his pianist's fingers sending jolts of lighting to her stomach. Wetness pooled below, slickening her thighs with a coat of her arousal, and she willingly spread them as his other hand rucked up her skirts and gripped the flesh of her bottom.
"Oh, God," she choked out when his cock brushed up her slit, the heat of it even more so than before. "Please, more. I need more."
"What do you need?" he rasped, looking into her eyes and rocking into her. "Tell me and it will be yours, I promise."
"Everything, I need everything!"
He chuckled and asked, "This?" before kissing her cheek. All she could do was nod and hope that his teasing would not last forever. His lips trailed to her mouth where he placed another kiss while sliding the underside of his cock against her clit. "This as well?"
"God yes!" she managed, clawing at his clothing in an attempt to remove them so she could touch him.
Erik growled and yanked his shirt open and shrugged it off his arms, then he tore his trousers down farther, kicking them from his feet. All he wore was his wig, which she immediately pulled away to reveal his true hair, grayed in some areas while raven black in others. Thankfully, he did not protest and Christine was able to comb her fingers through the sparseness, showing him that she was not repulsed by him, nor would she ever be. After, he worked on the buttons of her bodice and tugged it over her head, doing the same with her corset, skirts, and chemise until all she wore were periwinkle stockings held up by ivory garters and her boots. He removed those as well and she watched as he briefly admired her toes through the thin cotton.
A smile formed on his lips as he glanced at her face and gyrated his hips until the head of his cock found what it was looking for. He slipped it past her threshold, asking one last time, "You need me to do this?" as he seated himself inside her, a silent "oh" falling from his lips as well as hers, their gaze never once parting.
The stretch wasn't nearly as painful as the first time, yet there was still a faint sting as he settled in deeper, but after a few smooth claiming thrusts, the pain ebbed away into pleasure. With a crazed eagerness, she matched his movement, relishing in the way he filled her so easily, as if they were made for each other. But she needed more, so much more.
"Harder!" she begged. "Oh please, harder!"
He obeyed without question, driving her into the wall and grunting with every connection, ignoring the way the house shook from the fervor of their love-making. His forehead fell against her cheek and he shuddered, certainly he was nearing his end and she was going to bear witness to him in ecstasy!
"You are liquid fire, so warm and so wet," he husked, rolling his hips mercilessly. "You are a goddess, an angel with beauty far surpassing any I have ever seen, Christine. How–how am I in deservance of you? Answer me."
"P–please," she stuttered out as something struck deep in her core, something that was smoldering to completion. Her muscles tensed around his cock and she dug her fingers into his shoulder blades, raking her nails across his skin.
Erik growled and kept a steady pace, his shoulders flexing under her touch. "You feel divine, like fine silk."
The pleasure in her belly only increased when he spoke, his words weaving into her and taking up residence, and she felt as if she were falling. Was she dying? Was she–
"I think I'm dying, Angel," she gasped, gouging into his chest this time. "Something's happening."
"Let go, my dove," he urged as he shoved a hand between them and allotted a single finger to stroke her clit. "Don't fight it, come for me." Her back arched when his finger made connection and a pleasured cry filled the room, Erik's loud groans joining it as he offered whispered encouragement. "That's it, let it happen. Give it to me."
"Something's–" was all she could say before her breath caught.
"Give it to me!" Erik commanded, surging harder and hitting a point deep inside her, one that pushed her over the edge. "Give me what you promised! Mine, it's mine! You are mine!"
"Oh, Erik," she sighed as she shuddered atop his chest, her orgasm sweeping through her with a near painful intensity. If Erik wasn't there holding her upright and offering her loving praises, she would have toppled to the floor, but he was and he held onto her as if he were protecting a precious jewel.
His panting breaths grew louder and he lost his rhythm, sloppily thrusting into her still pulsating channel, grinding out, "Christine, oh fuck, take it! Take all of it!"
A warmth filled her then, his thrusts slowing into gentle rocks as he pumped his seed deep inside her, a loud groan permeating the air around them. He stilled and collapsed into her, one hand on the small of her back while the other shakily connected with the wall. His lips immediately sought hers and he kissed her deeply, swallowing her soft sighs before breaking away to catch his breath. She kept him close, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his jugular, her tongue darting out to taste his skin.
"I–I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asked quietly as he kissed the top of her head. "God, I've never, Christine, I've never had the pleasure–please tell me I didn't hurt you."
"I'm not hurt, don't even think it."
Erik pulled her from his chest and looked into her eyes. "You would tell me if I did though, right? You wouldn't lie to me?"
"I promise, I am not hurt."
"Let me take you to bed, my dear," he said with a content smile before he slid his spent cock from within her. She sighed and shoved her face into the crook of his neck as he lifted her from the wall and carried her to the small bed. "Here we are, I'm afraid it's not much but it will do…for the night."
Erik placed her on the mattress and settled in beside her before pulling up a corner of the sheet and wiping between her thighs, his chest rumbling as he did so. Next, he tucked the thin blanket over both of them and Christine thanked God that it was a warm night as she was sure she would freeze otherwise. He dragged her across his chest and held her there, the thumping of his heart loud in her ears, making her smile to know it beat for her.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked as his hand made slow circles up and down her back.
"Very much, yes," she murmured, her finger tracing patterns on his skin. It was then that she noticed fresh welts that were bleeding in some areas trailing from his collarbone down to his abdomen. "I–I scratched you, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
Erik glanced down and chuckled. "I hardly noticed, my dear. Don't worry yourself, they will clean right up."
"Let me, do you have a rag?" she asked, starting to prop herself up on her elbow.
He stopped her by holding her fast against his chest. "There is no use in cleaning them now, not when I may earn more in the near future."
"More?" Her heart skipped a beat at the prospect of having him not once but twice in one night.
"That is, only if you permit it," he assured her. "I would never take you without your permission."
"Yes, I permit it. Whenever you want me, you shall have me," she said quickly, leaning in and placing her lips on his.
When she moved away, intent on nuzzling into his side, he gripped the back of her neck and returned her lips to him. She parted hers instantly and allowed him to take what he needed, while taking exactly what she needed. A thick groan filled her mouth and Erik tightened his hold on her, inching his hand into her curls and holding the back of her head to allow a deepening of the kiss. She was lost to him, the way he held her, whispered words of passion, consolation, love. There wasn't a chance that she would be returning to–God, she couldn't even think of his name, not when all she needed was laying right next to her.
"Rest, my sweet," Erik breathed once he parted from her. "I will sing for you."
Christine obeyed his command and settled into the crook of his arm, her nose brushing against his skin. A gentle melody filled the room, one that she hadn't heard before, and it soothed her, lulling her into a restful sleep.