WOOOHOOO MY EXAMS ARE OVER. Sorry I didn't post anytime soon or whatsoever, I was busy writing and buying cosplay items etc etc.

(Hint hint you can see your beautiful authoress at instagram dot com / kuroneko _ rainbows )

:3

By the way, does anyone else have phantomlnd . net account? :)

Here is chapter 15, my lovelies~~

Chapter 15

When the dark unfurls its wings, do you sense the strangest things?

-Phantom, Love Never Dies

Christine awoke in the middle of the night to the numbing ache between her legs, and she smiled to herself, finding her face buried in his nude chest. She breathed in the scent of him, looking up at him as he slowly woke and snuggled closer, to which he gave a low murmur of delight. Wrapping his arms around her to hold her just the littlest bit closer, nibbling at her earlobe. She blushed, squirming. Erik captured her lips again, sucking on the lower lip, licking it. He then looked into her eyes, giving a soft, breathy groan as he felt himself wanting her again.

"Mon ange, " he breathed, looking with an apologetic look at her. "I fear that I want and need you again…"

She gave a whimpering cry of compliance, allowing him to pin her underneath his strong, sinuous body once more. Their breaths mingled, warm in the dark of the night. He slid his hand up the side of her body, gently applying pressure to her breast, as she let out a moan. She was so sensitive…her body was like a mass of hotspots and erogenous zones, and Erik's magical touch left her burning with want. And he wanted to drink her in, drink her up.

His tongue flicked out, laving over the planes of her collarbones, gently kissing each inch of her skin reverently.

"Erik…" she said, her voice coming out on a soft, longing breath. He pulled her hands above her head, hands forming manacles on her hands, as he bound them with the clothes they left around. She gave a cry of frustration, wanting to touch him as well. Letting out a cry as he ran his palms up and down her arms, stimulating her. His hands roamed freely over her body, parting her lower lips to rub on the little nub in between her legs, the pearl of her womanhood. She let out a frustrated cry, kicking. This was torture and heaven all at once, Erik felt the evidence of her pleasure, as it leaked out onto his fingers, coating them. Erik gently prodded the her entrance, teasing her. She gritted her teeth, biting down on her tongue. He craved her deeply again, the enticing scent of her slowly washing over him in waves. As he teased her, slowly in languid strokes, palming the soft mass of curls above her womanhood. She gave a breathy, shaky moan, squirming in his palm. Looking down at his fingers with her eyes clouded in fascination and lust, her breaths came hot and harsh on his neck, as he turned her over to face him, looking at her to claim her lips once more. His fingers were coated, slick with the evidence of pleasure, as he traced a gentle trail from her neck, over her stomach and her body with those exact fingers. She blushed, watching his as those fingers trailed over his body too, and he gave them an experimental suck, making her all the more aroused. It was then he looked at her again, and they moved in unison as he guided his aching manhood to her entrance to claim her again., freeing her hands as he did so.

"Mine…" he rasped, as Christine found herself filled again, filled by him. She was pressed beneath him, into the covers of the bed and its finery, with her hands over the strong planes of his back. Growing bolder and shedding the inhibitions as she had from earlier, she kneaded his back, the sensitive scarred skin of his tingling with electric want as he felt her soft fingers over him, a dance unmapped and yet so…pleasurable. He was at a loss for words, inhaling a ragged breath as he began to slowly move, staring into dark pools of night obsidian as he made love to her slowly. Gently, he rocked against her, languidy, taking his time to draw her out. He groaned deeply, squeezing his eyes shut now to revel in the beauty of it.

Music had been the savior of his soul…a balm to the wounded man.

And making love to Christine was the very gate to heaven's door.

His tortured dark soul had been released in the passion that was his Angel, underneath him. Christine wrapped her legs around him again, as if the solution to his wretched self. Plunging deeper into her core with each thrust, he shed tears of silence, his face writhing with the fear that it was a dream. And feeling the very warmth around him, tangled in the red velvet sheets…Christine wrapped her arms around him, meeting his passionate thrusts with every rise of her own hips. Erik licked her lips once more, passionately suckling at her smooth skin as he rocked into her deeply.

She would be spent too fast, too fast for her taste, as his intensified heat sent her convulsing, coating her husband with more of her pleasures.

And yet, she was still aroused much fast as Erik, whispering endearments through his lovemaking and the way his tongue traced over her body, taking her with renewed passion…Christine was almost breathless with his want, and still he continued to take her…soaring until they fell over the edge…

It couldn't be morning already.

Dratted sun.

Christine found that Erik had not left her through the night, his limp shaft still in her core. She wanted to go back to sleep, to remain dreaming in Erik's arms, but she found that the bright sunlight prevented her from doing so. And Erik's arms were still around her… Locked in such a tight embrace, how could she deny him the pleasures of waking up to her? It was then she realized that he too had woken.

"Good morning," he said, leaning over to kiss her on her cheek. She blushed, for now that he had moved, she was acutely aware of her state of undress. She pulled the coverlet up to her chest, only stopping when Erik pulled it back down and off her. She turned an even deeper shade of red, stumbling over her words of protest. He raked his gaze up and down her, slowly moving away to survey her. A lazy smirk crossed his lips as he gazed at her again wolfishly, heightening her arousal once more. His gaze never left her, and Christine was worried.

"Did I—I mean, is there something the matter or something wrong?"

Before she could gather her thoughts to Erik's gently motioning no, she found her lips silenced by a bruising kiss.

"Don't ever say that. You are perfect. And you are mine," he softly whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She choked back a sob, the emotional rollercoaster that kept climbing after her marriage to Erik finally reaching burtsing point. She wrapped her arms around him, holding her close. A flash of worry crossed his face.

"I seem to be making you cry a lot," he stated flatly.

She shook her head, her mass of curls wildly flinging out around her. Erik could have lived a thousand lives just to see that again, her seated in front of him, like a warrior princess thoroughly ravished as she gazed at him happily with those spirited eyes, before saying the very words that made him feel as if he had lost his heart entirely to her.

"These, Erik," she said, gently leading his palm to cup her tears as they fell, "are tears of joy."

"Oh, Christine…" he whispered hoarsely, closing the distance between them again. "You, ma bel ange, have made me truly, truly the happiest man on Earth."

"Thank God for that," she said merrily.

They could have spent the day lazing in bed, making love and talking to each other, but each became acutely aware of their other needs such as sustenance. And Christine dearly needed the privy. So they rose, and Christine fell back on the bed with a squeak. She had a certain ache in between her thighs, making it almost hard to move. The evidence of last night's passion coursed down her thighs, heating them. Erik quickly rushed over to her side, carrying her. She gave a squeak of surprise, finding herself buried against a robe of deep maroon and gold trim, a robe that was distinctly Erik's, and as she was naked. She managed to stutter out that she needed the priviy and some…clothing or cover, and Erik nodded, turning away that she may not see his own blush that had covered his cheeks. He turned abruptly on his heel with his feelings masked once more.

"ANTOINETTE!" Erik bellowed as he stormed into Madame Giry's chambers that she was in. She frowned, although used to her Maestro's temper; she still did dislike his loud tempers. She spun around, turning to look at him with stone cold eyes that mellowed him considerably. Already thirty, and he still acted like a child.

"What is it, Erik?" she asked, in her French accented voice, looking up and down the figure in front of her. He was a sight to behold, still regal even in his state of undress, without a wig nor his customary mask. Erik caught her curious gaze, and his hand slapped to his face instinctively.

Damn it!

He was without a mask? In his haste, he had sought out Madame Giry with no care at all for his state of dress, or undress for that matter. Groaning inwardly, he turned slightly from her, hand still kept to his face. In a clipped, hesitant voice, he continued.

"It's Christine," he explained, "She…" He skittered around his words, not knowing what to say, What was he to say? That their violent lovemaking had left her incapable of movement and the like? "She's…well…in the privy. I'm not sure how or what to do," he concluded, a slight blush already covering his cheeks.

Madame Giry laughed, a chuckle that was warm as she was a motherly figure to him.

"I see, I see!" she said, hurrying off with her usual gait.

Madame Giry knocked on the door before entering. Christine blushed, covering her body, which was still nude. Madame Giry smiled warmly at the girl.

"It's no matter, my dear. We are both women after all. Ah, I still remember the day after the wedding night. Henri seemed to know much more, so much more than Erik does." She gave a short bark of laughter, as if mocking Erik playfully, who gave a somewhat unhappy cough from outside the door.

"Come in, Erik," Christine called. He bit his lower lip, slowly walking in. He felt like a schoolboy, waiting to be punished. Christine was clothed in a wrapper matching his, something he had passed to Madame Giry to give to her much earlier. He took her hand as she stood unsteadily, her legs peeking out from the wrapper. Looking away, he slowly led her down the stairs. Christine moreover, unhappily noticed that he had resumed the mask. She held him close as she was helped down the stairs to luncheon. Meg looked Christine up and down curiously, as she saw Christine in the beautiful wrapper, with barely anything else on. Christine turned away shyly to Erik, not wanting to meet her friend's curious gaze.

"You don't seem much different," she noted gaily. "Except you seem to have this glow to you. Tell me, Christine, how is it to be married? I'm so happy for you! And you too, Monsieur Phantom!" she said, bobbing him a small curtsy.

He nodded tersely, taking her hand and placing a small kiss on it, all the time still supporting Christine.

"Thank you…Marguerite Marie-Eloise Giry, for being Christine's friend in all these years and more." Bestowing her a rare smile, although somewhat forced, it still had an affect to the young girl, who blushed profusely at the newfound surprise she had just received, from the Opera Ghost himself, nonetheless! She blinked, looking at her hand again as she sat down for luncheon. Across the table, with her hand in her husband's, Christine smiled at Meg, a gentle flush across her cheeks as she let Erik pull out her chair for her. Overall, at luncheon nor dinner did he display much emotion to his wife, nor did she really display much show of love except the common holding of hands sometimes and to put the prime cuts of food on each others' plates. The passion they shared, they decided, could be left to the moments out of others' sight as they always had done.

Reclining on the chaise in Erik's den, she watched as Erik stroked her hair, and brought a tome of stories to read. She frowned at the text, it all being in English. She could recognize some words, but barely at all. Flipping the pages, she saw familiar pictures, an ogre, a peacock, women… Suddenly, a familiar form caught her eye. A phoenix. She gaped at the page for longer than usual, her hands running over the print. Erik noted her strange action, and looked over her shoulder to read the page.

"The houou, or Japanese phoenix," he said, with a slight smirk. Christine looked at him, her gentle eyes roving over the pages again. "A mythical Chinese bird, thought to have been introduced to Japan in the Asuka period. The phoenix has a bird's beak, a swallow's jaw, and a snake's neck; the front half of its body is thought to resemble a giraffe, the back half a deer. Its back resembles a tortoise, and its tail is like a fish. It is often shown in an aogiri, with bamboo in the background, or surrounded by karakusa. It symbolizes both conflict…" he noted, a slight frown to his face as he remembers his rough treatment of Christine when she had first unmasked him, "and wedded bliss." He turns slightly away from her, fingers clenching around the armrest almost that he would break it. "My Christine…"

She slipped her arms around him gently, encircling his neck as she buried her head in his neck, taking in his scent. "Tell me more, Erik, more," she goaded him on, giggling softly. "It reminds me of the legends Papa used to tell me." At this, he turns, cradling her face in his hands softly, his eyes slowly turning a stormy green as his grip tightens.

"And yet they cannot ever be!" he hisses.

"Why not, Erik?"

"Because the legends are your past. They are your past with that…"

Christine blinks, slowly realizing.

"He cannot, and will not be my future." Slowly, she cradles his face with a gesture of her own, letting the ring on her left hand slide past his cheek, the cool metal slipping underneath the mask as she pulls it off. Stunned, he gasps, almost as if drowning.

"Erik…" she murmurs, letting her hands rush over damaged skin. His grip looses and falls to his side, as he bites his lip, staring straight into brown eyes that he loves. Wordlessly, he crumples to her, bringing his head to her bosom, the longing need in him again to hold her close, forever.

His hands cup his head, a throbbing singing in his head again. He cringes, hearing the footsteps entering the room. Black walks in, the apathetic look plastered on his face, fingering his gun in his holster. No words are exchanged as Raoul is kicked against the wall, and Black hauls him up, his shirt tearing against the wall. A glob of spit lands squarely in between Raoul's eyes, and he pushes the man off him roughly. Black tumbles to the floor, getting up with his limbs flailing, a maladroit marionette of sorts, landing a hit on Raoul's head. Raoul cringes, that was the last thing he needed while nursing his aching head.

"You are weak, Vicomte. Weak for the girl." He mutters, sliding his hand up and down the gun.

"Shut up," Raoul hisses, gritting his teeth, curling into a ball.

"And why should I? You and I both know I speak the truth. With a few sappy words from her, you run. You run like a bloody puppy with your tail within your damn legs!"

"And maybe I care more about her than your revenge!"

"Perhaps, but your mother, your bloody mother that sent mine to her grave, STILL LIVES!"

Raoul's blue eyes widen in shock.

"What…did you say?"

Wahahahah so much fluff and angst again. Gonna phanmarathon for the sake of the phantomlnd dot net people. And then I still have Chinese A level exams and Project Work for A levels. /sobs grossly

I hate the school wifi :(