So here begins the M rated smut of it. I had a depressing paper again and am still having to settle a pile of shit. Trying to get everything up ASAP because my mum will confiscate my computer by around end November. And I still have so much school and cosplay stuff to do OTL

Thank you for all the reviews that keep me alive. I love to read them, from grandma paula to TNP to Not A Ghost3 and Hugabouv. The answer is f, there is no answer because everything is up to your imagination. ;-) Keep dreaming, my phans! I admit, I have no idea where this is going still, and I think I'll wrap it up soon but I'm still so worried about all the loose ends-especially Raoul, because well, as much as I dislike him I still have to resolve him. And Meg and Nadir and Darius and Black the assassin. All will be answered in due time :-) I have all the answers in my head, just no way of writing it in. And I still feel this tale lacks the punch I always wanted it to have.

Thank you once more for being with me! I present to you chapter 14~

Chapter 14

Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye.
H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

"Erik." Nadir's voice is quiet, hollowing slightly in the quiet of the halls. Erik looks up from his task of picking a few dozen of roses' petals, looking at his friend.

"Yes?"

"The boy…" Nadir bites his lip. "He is inconsolable."

Erik gives a low warning growl, eyes narrowing.

"Don't speak to me of that infernal fop. He isn't worth my worry. Not tonight, not forever."

Nadir nods.

"Erik, you and I have been friends for the longest of times. I refuse to let you be hurt by that boy. But pray tell, what were his sins that you are so angered by him?"

"Not only him, but his family."

"What could you perhaps mean? Erik, pray tell. You are so cryptic."

Erik shook his head stubbornly, continuing to pluck the petals. Nadir sank into the chair at the reception of the second floor landing of the west wing, not too far from where Erik and Christine would share a room. He flipped open a book beside him, attempting to read the words inside. It was a childish scrawl, no doubt, one that seemed to grow more formal and neat with time.

"If you would kindly stop leafing through Christine's diary in my presence, Daroga, perhaps I may consider divulging my secret."

"This is Christine's diary? How would you know?"

Erik looked up from his task momntarily, pointing at the name in small capital letters on the first page.

"And so, if you would please," he said, plucking the book our of Nadir's hands and descending the steps to make his own preparations.

Erik leaves a scattering of rose petals, his softened voice gently singing the very song he wrote for Christine, the very tunes that is his and only his…the passion of ruin, and yet the very song that brings them together…His mind remembers the night of Don Juan Triumphant, Christine… Her supple body is still in his arms as that very night, the way she leans into his touch…the memories are but silent, replaying in his mind. Fear, like a hunted child, coursing through him as he runs with Christine, the only person he wanted. Emptiness, as the Phantom spirit leaves him bit by bit. A dark reign over the Populaire as people ran to hunt him down. All the betrayals that happened that night. His fear besets him again as he softly caresses the rose petals he had strewn, and his heart beats almost faster as he hears Christine's footsteps making their way to the west wing. His bride awaits. Christine almost seems ethereal, and he watches her from around the corner as his voice, he throws his voice to lead her to him, to their room…

You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge

In pursuit of that wish which till now Has been silent… Silent.

I have brought you

That our passions may fuse and merge,

In your mind you've already succumbed to me,

Dropped all defenses completely succumbed to me

Now you are here with me,

no second thoughts…

You've decided. Decided.

She whirls, and Madame Giry is but a few feet away from her, smiling. Fingers grip the crucifix tighter as Christine walks, letting the lyrics wash over her…

Past the point of no return –

No backward glances:

Our games of make-believe are at an end

The rose that lays on the small table in the hall of the west wing, a ballroom much like the one at the Populaire, smells exquisitely fresh, and the she tugs on the black ribbon, letting the voice that sings put her into a trance, as if to make her forget the others behind, the priests sending her off. Candles glimmer to life as she walks, leading a clear path in the dark for her.

Past all thought of "if" or "when"

No use resisting:

Abandon thought,

And let the dream descend . . .

What raging fire shall flood the soul?

What rich desire unlocks its door?

What sweet seduction lies before us . . .?

Her eyes close momentarily, the feeling of him flush against her body as he sung those lines leading her to let out a disappointed whimper when she finds he is gone, as quick as a ghost. The touch of his hands, bare and sliding down her arms as the time they had been on stage together leaves her with an empty feeling and a want for him.

Past the point of no return,

The final threshold –

What warm, unspoken secrets

Will we learn?

Beyond the point of no return…

The lamp on the staircase banister is her only hope now as it flares to life, calling her, beckoning her. Other than that, all the other tea light candles have all but flickered out, their lamps no longer shining. With determination, she ascends the spiral stairs, more candles blossoming to life again with the roses that have entwined the stairs, lending her and the surrounding with a reddish, pinkish glow. She notices further detail on this flight of steps, different from all the others in the house. They have the same pattern as the ring Erik fashioned for her, entwined roses. And the real roses curl around the detailed golden ones, making it seem royal and ethereal. Weaving the roses into her hair, five in a wreath, she ascends in song.

You have brought me

To that moment where words run dry,

To that moment where speech disappears

Into silence, silence . . .

So she remembers the way the words catch in her throat, the way she wants him wholly. Throwing caution and care to the winds and sea as she takes more steps upwards, she unhitches the skirts slowly, letting the sparkling gossamer fall as she sings.

I have come here,

Truly knowing the reason why . . .

In my mind, I've already imagined

Our bodies entwining defenseless and silent –

And now I am here with you:

No second thoughts,

I've decided,

Decided…

Erik fights the urge to scoop her up there and then, her flesh now bared to him so tantalizingly, as she takes every excruciating step up those stairs. The scent of the roses grows stronger, almost overwhelming, as she reaches the higher steps of the first half of the flight of steps. It is almost torturous for them both in want, as Erik watches silently from the top of the stairs, shrouded in darkness. Her voice, sweet and clear, sings to him.

Past the point of no return –

No going back now:

Our passion-play has now, at last, begun . . .

With a twirl that seems to give his mind more berth for imagination and leaving little to it, Christine leans against the banisters, her eyes riveted to the top. She knows he is there, and watching.

Past all thought of right or wrong –

One final question:

How long will we two wait, before we're one . . .?

Another change in his lyrics lets him draw in a sharp breath, finding the young maiden smiling beguilingly and coyly up at him, almost reaching the top.

When will the blood begin to race?

The sleeping bud burst into bloom?

When will the flames, at last, consume us . . .?

Her hands are now in his, the staircase lit in glowing hues of gold and red. He extinguishes them slowly, letting hanging lights take the job of illuminating the path to the room he has prepared for her. His voice as they sang was gruff with need, his hands slowly taking in her body.

Past the point of no return,

The final threshold –

The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn . . .

The final candles of the stairs die off with his voice as he sings, as they sing. The tension is too much to bear, and electricity seems to illuminate the air around them. Erik speaks the final line, soft and sweet as he places a kiss on Christine's lips, lingering there. She lets out a shaky breath as he pulls away, his hands travelling to the lace-up of her blue half-dress. Christine comes to the realization that he is wearing the ruffled lace shirt she loves, the one of Don Juan Triumphant. And the eyes that sparkle, the both of them, realize that they are wearing far too much, far too much. With a searing kiss again that says yes, he leads her into the room, onto the phoenix bed which he had fashioned again from nothing, an exact replica of gold and red, mirroring the legend of the phoenix rising. His lips are pressed to hers still as he rolls over, his heavier body against hers. With a breathy sigh, she whispers to him the final words that threaten to crumble his resolve.

"Take me, I'm yours."

To savor each sensation was the thing he had extolled to her in the Music of the Night, and yet he found himself wanting to throw himself headlong into the beauty and scent that was Christine, pressed against him lovingly. The way she had given herself to him, and he was like a child wanting to unwrap his present, eagerly raining kisses over her face and her neck. How had he even come up with such lyrics? One denied all the joys of the flesh and he had known, through extensive reading as a child. Madame had not been strict in her research before she purchased books for him, and he had drawn on that knowledge to pen that very song of desire for Christine. But to experience it in the flesh was a brand new thing to him, and he gave a small apology of his haste and lack of experience, burying his face in the soft curls of Christine's hair, nipping her earlobe. Judging by the pleasured mewl she made, he guessed he wasn't far from being a good boy who applied his theory to practical. Running a single digit from her moistened lips, he traced an invisible path from her lips to the gentle peaks of her cleavage, showing over the bodice of her dress. Her hands reached up to him, slowly bringing him closer for another kiss, shuddering at the rush of emotion that she felt every time their lips had touched that very night.

But the mask, the bloody mask was still in the way!

Christine kissed Erik again, removing the mask as she had on the night of Don Juan Triumphant. Feeling him stiffen under her hand, she molded him to her with kisses, little peppery kisses and her hands, which roamed to his chest, feeling the fine dusting of hairs he had there. Her body arched up willingly, the supple, slim hips of hers flush against his great need. She blushed but did not pull back, instead she slowly gyrated her hips tantalizingly against his. He let out a groan, suckling the alabaster skin beneath his lips, trailing all the way down from her lips to her cleavage, the lace of her dress or what was left of it tickling the bare face. How, how could she make love or want to when she saw that haunted face? No, no she couldn't! he seemed to tell himself. And yet from the way she arched against him…

"Christine…you have no idea…of how much I love you," he rasped, his hands sliding down her legs. She let out a gasp at the soft touches of his knuckles against her bare skin, and slowly, her legs spreading of their own accord with his feather light touches.

"Erik…"

He felt her, under his touch, with the flame that consumed the both of them. Rising like the hungry beast to survey his prey, he gently tugged at the lace of the dress, at the laces up the front, that slowly she lay, almost bare before his eyes, like the dormant bud awakened into bloom. He shed his own boots, and she rose, the dress now pooling around her waist, leaving the top of her body bare to his feasting of the eyes, her hands hesitantly pulling his ruffled shirt out of the waistband of his pants, which clung to him. They fit him like a glove, and she could see the strong muscles that lay underneath those pants, the sinew of well developed muscle. Her hands found the back of him, and she almost wept as she felt the harsh crisscross of scars against what would otherwise be a smooth, perfect back. "Shh," he whispered, joining his lips to hers. "It doesn't hurt anymore." Her hands traveled downwards, and joined his, as they removed the last scrap of clothing on him. He stretched out beside her, his body a heated mass that brought back the blush to her cheeks. With reverence, he pulled the last bits of clothing too, off Christine. As the air rushed over her naked body, she shuddered, letting out a soft moan. She closed her eyes, mewling softly.

"Open your eyes," Erik commanded, in a stern yet tender tone. She complied, blushing even more furiously as his head dipped, sucking on the pale, dusky peaks of arousal. His tongue laved over her rose colored areolas, leaving her to squirm underneath him with pleasure. She writhed, his wicked tongue almost driving her over the edge. Never in her virginal dreams had she imagined him touching her so intimately. Fire burned in her belly, a coil beginning to tighten and form. She bucked her hips up with want, earning a throaty growl of pleasure from him. Slowly, he descended down her body, his tongue licking almost every point on her skin. The fire in his eyes, the passion of his love, the heat of it all threatened to consume her. And God, how she wanted it! Letting out a wanton cry as his tongue gave pleasure to her lower regions, his tongue sliding over her navel, she raked her hands into his silken hair, as he dipped lower and lower, threatening to…

God.

She felt she could explode with the colors of the rainbow that seemed to dance before her eyes, as his tongue explored the forbidden caverns of her silken flesh, the first to enter her virginal body. Not even she had known of the insides of it, and she could feel the muscle, inside, coating her with his fluids as she coated his tongue with the ambrosia that was his. She wanted…she needed…something. But what did she want? What did she need? She screamed softly, as he delved deeper past her lower lips, the tiny tuft of auburn hair in his nose, tickling his senses with the scent that was distinctly hers. It was then only, as he rose again to capture her lips, had she finally noticed the enormity of Erik. The size of him was impressive, and she let out a small whimper. How was she going to fit the whole of him inside her, her tiny body? He would break her before she knew it! Christine gasped as she felt Erik on her, flushed against her, covering her nakedness with his. She blushed deeply, at a loss for what to do. They stared into each others' eyes, his eyes growing stormy with the want for her. She quivered like an arrow strung tightly on a bow, slowly relishing this closeness but fearing the path ahead.

"I-I cannot make this, what I am about to do any less painful," he said, his head bowed to hers reverently, partially in shame, as his legs wrapped around hers. She nodded, understanding. Slowly, gently, he slid his hands down her legs, his fingers, dividing her lower lips, sliding into her silken core. She let out a moan at the fire that seemed to consume her, the fire of being stretched beyond what she had ever known. She tensed and then relaxed, finding the sensation of being filled with but his mere fingers a new sensation altogether. Nodding her compliance to him, he began to move inside her, two digits scissoring the walls of her womanhood, the scent of her intensifying and making him want to ravish her already. Slowly, she began to move to his rhythm, finding the fullness of his utterly delicious, the friction they created heavenly. She let out a sigh of happiness as his lips latched around her other breast, pleasuring it as he had done earlier. As the rhythm and speed picked up, she let out a guttural moan as she clenched against his fingers, releasing evidence of her pleasure over his fingers. He withdrew his fingers, finding himself hard and completely erect at the act they had just performed. Giving his fingers an experimental lick as he wrapped them around his member, he proceeded to coat it lasciviously in the juices, which she had provided, positioning himself at her entrance. She blushed, pulling him close as he broke her and her maidenhood in a swift stroke. The sting of it rushed through her body and she writhed underneath him with the pain of it all.

"Christine…" he moaned, her walls deliciously tight against his aching member. How he longed to pummel into her the evidence of his want, and yet he couldn't, not with her in her pitiable state underneath him. He turned her face towards his, the beads of sweat dripping down their faces. She had said nothing all this while, and he cradled her in his palms, gently looking at her. Tears brimmed in their eyes as the consummation of their marriage took place. The tremulous weight upon his shoulders felt lifted with the union of their bodies. Christine, beautiful Christine, was now his wife.

His wife.

The words hung in the air with a sense of solemnity, and he kissed her gently, before beginning to move.

She whimpered, holding onto him.

"Don't leave me…"

He gave a deep, amused rumble with served for a laugh.

"Trust me, mon ange, mon amour…"

She did.

As he slowly began to move in and out of her, her eyelids fluttered shut as she relished in the new experience that Erik gave her, of two joining as one. The delightful friction they created as they moved in harmony to each other, like perfect cadences as they descended into their own animalistic heat. Christine rose to meet his every thrust, bare skins slapping against each other as they lapped up the pleasurable sensation and they heat of their lovemaking. Erik's hands traversed the planes of her body as her thrust in and out, her body jerking to his rhythm. He picked up in the pace, and she felt the heat of their lovemaking ready to consume her like the animal she was. Almost, she felt sinful and as well as godly for doing such an act, as her hands laced themselves tightly around his back. Her short nails raked his strong back, leaving faint crisscrosses over the deeper ones of the scars. He moaned, joining their lips together again as he jerked, more and more erratically against her soft flesh. As he cried out her name softly and loudly, all at once in their lovemaking, Christine's eyes rolled into the back of her head, her toes curling at the pleasure he gave her…Erik, she desperately called out to him, as she clung to him. Erik, mon amour…

Damning his body that demanded release as he lost himself in the deep pleasure that was Christine, Erik shifted their legs and their bodies, such that she now sat upon him, almost as if riding him. Now with her on top, she bucked upwards, gravity working in her favor and filling her with the rigid, tightening member. The coil in her stomach grew tighter, threatening to explode with the intensity of their lovemaking as Erik thrust up into her, pummeling, driving into her. His hands cupped her tantalizing globes again, moulding them as she cried out for him. He switched positions again, and she lay before him, her hair fanned out on the pillow wildly. His hands cupped her breasts and kneaded them furiously as he left little love bites all over her neck, and his body begged for release. He was so close…as she let out a scream of his name, tightening around him, he too came, jerking in a spasm into her body, as they fell off the edge together, white light clouding their vision as they climaxed with him spilling his seed into her. Gentle warmth spread over them as he fell onto her, their sweaty hair slicked over their faces. Already, the coil in her stomach had begun to unwind, and she smiled at him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. He reciprocated in return to her love, caressing her cheek. Her heart still raced with the intensity of the act, and she held him close, but with the reassurance that no matter where each of them would go, they would not be separated again. Bound by the law of God and the consummation of the holy act of marriage, Christine smiled, a lazy smile as she reached out and pulled him close. The sweat on their bodies mingled and trickled down, as the seed down her thighs, a gentle trickle which made her blush. He pulled the coverlet from underneath them, laying it over their entwined bodies. She looked at him, and together, in hushed voices, they sang the final line of his song, no, their song.

"We've passed the point of no…return…"

Danke :-)

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