Between last night's ficlet and this one, they each realise they love each other. Christine asks to see Erik's face. Two days later - after a great deal of angsting to Farhad - Erik agrees. She is not horrified, merely upset at what the world has done to him, and kisses him on the cheek. He breaks down crying. It becomes a regular thing for him to take his mask off in the secrecy of her dressing room, and she does sometimes kiss him again. Then he asks if he may kiss her properly.

Cataglottism - kissing with tongue.

The moment she slips her tongue between his lips he can feel his heart thud to a stop. She tastes of lemon, of tea, and her tongue is soft as it traces the inside of his lip. He gasps into her mouth, a shiver running down his spine, thrilling through to his navel, and he shifts closer, tightens his arm around her waist.

What is he supposed to do? She's probing the inside of his mouth with her tongue, and it is not unpleasant, but it is profoundly strange, and surely there is something that he is supposed to do other than hold her and let her. Is this going too far? Is he supposed to push her away? No! He cannot, that would be rude, undoubtedly, and she is so gentle, her tongue stroking smoothly against the inside of his, and tingling heat blooms in his gut and it is all that he can do not to rock his hips against hers because that would be rude, and inappropriate and isn't kissing a woman supposed to make one's thoughts go blank? Not rush all the harder?

Perhaps, perhaps he ought to slip his tongue into her mouth, too? Perhaps that is what he is supposed to do. It sounds a little awkward, but he braces himself, tightens his grip on her, and ever so gently opens his mouth a little wider, angles his head, and traces her lip with his tongue. It is her turn to shiver now, her turn to whimper, and the fact of that is oddly satisfying, so he eases his tongue carefully past her own, and into her mouth.

She gasps, presses herself closer to him so that he can feel the heat radiating through her clothes and her breasts are so soft pressed to him—No! He must not think of that, must not, must focus on her lips and her tongue, and tracing the inside of her lip the way she traced his.

And it is wonderful, it is perfect. Is this the sort of kiss the poets write of, and not the gently sweet one of simply pressing their lips together? If it is it's no wonder they write of it so, even though he doubts if they've ever kissed a woman as beautiful as his Christine. And, oh, but she is wonderful, so wonderful, and how did she ever choose him, agree to kiss him? It is more than he deserves, far more, and his breath catches in his throat and his eyes sting with tears, and he is powerless to stop them as they slip down his cheeks—

Her tongue stills in his mouth, and her arms around him loosen and pull back. He closes his own mouth, still able to taste her tea, and opens his eyes, blinking away the tears that blur his vision. She is looking up at him, her brow furrowed, concern shining in her eyes.

"Is something wrong, Erik? Did I—"

He shakes his head, and cuts her off. Wrong? How could anything be wrong when that may be the most right thing that's happened to him in his life? How could she think it wrong?

"No, my dear," he whispers, his voice hoarse with tears. "That was…that was wonderful. Forgive your Erik. He is…he is not used to such things."

Her eyes soften, tears shining in them now, and with one trembling finger he brushes them away. "Oh, Erik." She raises herself, and presses her lips to his cheek, and her arms tighten back around him.

"If…if you wish," he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead, "if you do not object, I would like to try that again."

She chuckles against him, and smiles. "I would be delighted."

His lips twitch into a smile as he presses them to hers again, and this time when her tongue slips between them, he is ready.