A/N: HELLO MY DARLINGS! My brilliant, beautiful lurkers and readers, this is a nice and long one of our two favorites, so please enjoy!

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Pain and Power

Adhering to Erik's strict dinner orders, Christine began to pick at the food slowly, holding back the urge to stuff half of the chicken breast in her mouth. She hadn't realized how starved she'd been until he had slid the plate in front of her. The green beans exploded inside of her mouth as she chewed, and she could not stop the juices from overflowing and running down the sides of her chin. She chased everything with the rest of the whiskey she had in her glass, grimacing at the bite of the alcohol that seemed to ruin the flavoring of the food.

"Do you have anything…smoother to drink? You mentioned champagne…" Christine swallowed, wiping her mouth quickly with a napkin. Erik looked up at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Yes, I mentioned champagne. After you eat your dinner. We have to eat before any more debauchery ensues. I don't want either of us throwing up on my couch. It's new."

Christine threw her hands in the air, mocking his serious tone with a laugh. "Oh Lord, not the new couch! Erik would just die if the couch got ruined!" She smiled at him, holding a hand over her mouth to suppress any further laughter as he furrowed his brow.

"I like to keep my things neat," he shrugged, "and I haven't always…had the things I have now. I grew up very poor. So I enjoy my life to the fullest now. And that equates to keeping my furniture clean."

Christine leaned forward as her stomach did a flip, setting her fork down on the counter. "You grew up poor? I…I did as well. I grew up in a trailer park. It wasn't all that bad, though…I had my father with me. We had a good life together…" she sighed, tapping the side of the rocks glass. "Where did you grow up?"

Erik stared down at his plate, his amber eyes seeming to glaze over. "Many different places," he said finally, pushing his food around with a fork. "With my mother and my sister. We were homeless, at one point. But I was able to pull us out of that lifestyle, eventually…I just wish I could have done it sooner."

"The fact that you did it at all is more than enough," Christine responded gently, wanting to reach out and cover his hand with her own, but her heart fought against it. "How did you…do it, exactly? Did you write something that went viral? Or get some sort of huge break in Hollywood?"

Erik sighed, scratching the back of his head absentmindedly. "I can be a bit…reclusive, I suppose, so I stay behind the scenes, creating. I wrote a musical when I was 17, and then sold the score to a director. I bought us a house with the money. My mother could finally get her hair done, and my sister could dream of going to college. So I kept writing, I kept creating. People are…bewitched, you could say, by my music. I used to pray that it would put people under a spell. A spell that gave me command of their spirits. Like some sort of demonic king. And now…" he gestured widely with his hands, "I live here, with my own house in the Hills." Erik picked up his fork, returning to his food as if the dynamic in the room, the energy between them had not changed. Christine felt a warmth begin to flood through her limbs, tracing all the way back to her resilient heart.

"A demonic king," she pondered, scraping the last bit of chicken into her mouth. "Is that why you have a crown of thorns? To wear when you're composing? It would be biblically accurate…for the devil to disguise himself as Christ. Wearing such a crown could only mean suffering. Suffering and pain…and then, eventual death."

Erik cocked his head at her, a wavy strand of black hair falling against the side of his face. "You think I mock God with my creations? That I would wear such a thing on my head?" He laughed, shaking his head slowly. "The way you describe me is surprising. I thought of myself as more of an archangel, like the warriors you spoke of. But I suppose the Devil was once an angel…"

"I mean, why else do you have it…the crown?" Christine sat back triumphantly, gesturing toward her empty plate. "And Lucifer used to be God's angel of music. Hmm…seems fitting, as you're putting people under spells with your scores."

Erik took the plate from in front of her, turning toward the kitchen sink. She watched as he began to wash their plates, her eyes falling upon a crucifix tattooed on the back of his neck. "And you have a cross tattoo! It's all coming together now," she giggled, reaching for the baggie of cocaine. She crushed it in one palm, eager to taste it's bitter drip, longing to soar up into the vaulted ceiling, to brush her wings against the crystalline chandelier. Once Erik had finished stacking the clean dishes, he moved toward the fridge and opened it, pulling out a dark bottle encrusted with gold. "The cross tattoo matches with my sister's," he explained; he did not seem as though he wanted to entertain the Lucifer resemblance any longer. "We got it done on her 20th birthday." Erik's thick fingers twisted around the cork, and he popped it with ease, touching the bottle to his lips without pouring it into a glass first. He took a long pull, then set the bottle in front of Christine. She raised her eyebrows, staring at him. "Mr. Neat and Tidy drinking from the bottle? With no glass? Wow. I never thought I'd see the day," she said through a grin, snatching the bottle, and drinking deeply from its sweetened spout. Now Erik was the one to roll his eyes, and Christine let out an accidental cackle, almost choking on the champagne. Why does he look even sexier when he's slightly irritated?

"I can be…messy, if I choose to be. But spontaneity has it's time and place."

"I say, fuck that. The entire point of being spontaneous is not to plan it," Christine responded, dumping a small pile of cocaine between them. "Kind of like how I didn't plan on falling into your rosebush."

"Oh yes, what a joy that was. You smashing into my beautiful plant which is now most likely compromised. And I can't forget the blood that you leaked into my pool. And my crown of thorns that you came to steal from me." Erik raised a black eyebrow, tilting his chin at her as he took the bottle for himself. Christine fell silent, pretending to focus on creating perfect little lines out of the small mound of cocaine.

"If I hadn't fallen into your rosebush, we never would have met," she murmured sadly, pressing her nose to the marble, snorting the first, long line. "And you never would have taken care of me like you did. Even if I somehow met you in a different place, a different time…you wouldn't have seen me panic. I usually only have panic attacks when I'm alone. Because there's nothing to drown out what's going on in my head."

"Hmm." Erik's voice seemed to soften. "What is it that you're trying to drown out?"

Christine sighed noisily; she would most certainly not be telling him any of this if she wasn't already feeling high. "My father's death," she stated blandly. "And I know this might sound weird, but…I'm really claustrophobic. Being in crowds, when I'm moving from a venue to a car, it's…it feels like I'm suffocating. Like I can't breathe. All of those voices, screaming, wailing, shouting…all at me. And I can't stand the feeling of it." She reached for the bottle, taking another swig as she watched him carefully. How simple it seemed then, with him standing there, bare-chested and listening. Listening intently to every word that came out of her mouth. And he hadn't even snorted a line yet. Her heart wavered as she tried to memorize the unmasked part of his face, and the way his hair seemed to become more curly when it was wet. He already had multiple tendrils loose around his jawline, and it somehow made him seem less human…like a God of the sea who walked upon land.

"Wait," Christine gasped, snatching her leather backpack from the stool beside her. "Can I take a picture of you? I know it seems weird, but…I want to remember this moment. I want to remember tonight. Because I might not be able to see you again, at least for awhile…" she chewed her lip, setting her phone on the countertop. It immediately began to vibrate, and Erik's eyes dropped to the phone screen – fuck! – it was Gage.

Erik blinked, drumming his fingers on the countertop. "Are you going to take that?"

"No…no, I'm not," Christine stammered, turning the phone screen facedown. Why was she nervous? Fuck, fuck, fuck! She bent over, needing more cocaine in her system. The phone continued to vibrate. Erik smiled haughtily, taking a finger and dipping it into the small white pile. He rubbed the tip of his finger on the inside of his gumline, watching Christine squirm as she tried to ignore the phone.

"Would you like me to answer instead?" He suggested with a smirk, and her eyes widened as she shook her head, snatching back the bottle of champagne. The phone continued to buzz, and Christine's insides began to wilt, wondering if he had possibly found where she was…Athena wouldn't tell him where she had gone…would she?

Christine finally snatched the phone, putting a finger to her lips, her eyes glued to Erik. "Stay quiet, please, Erik? Let me just get this over with."

Erik shrugged, dipping his finger into the cocaine again. "As if I'm not even here," he purred, and she rolled her eyes at him, reaching out a shaking hand to pick up her phone. She swiped the small green icon, taking a deep breath before she spoke. "Hey, Babe. What's up? You keep calling me."

"Where the fuck are you, Chris? I'm here. I'm at Athena's. And she's got a shitload of people here but I've searched the house twice," his voice was dripping with a cold irritation, and she swallowed anxiously, her heart thundering inside of her chest. "I told you, I needed to get away for a bit." Her voice seemed small in her throat, and she had to lock eyes with Erik to keep herself from pacing the floor. "I'm not at Athena's."

"You said you'd be there." His voice grew colder by the minute. Time seemed to slow down to a stand still, and Christine desperately shoved a finger into the pile, rubbing white powder all over the inside of her mouth. She needed bigger wings, more confidence, more attitude. She could hang up on him if she wanted…

"I'm at a friend's house." Finally, the cocaine was kicking in! Fuck you, you pathetic excuse for a man. Fuck you! "You know, you don't own me, Gage. I can do what I want, when I want. And what I want right now is for you to leave me the hell alone. Got it?"

Gage was silent for a moment. "You know, I can find out where you are. All I have to do is call Jack, say your overdosing or something. I know he has a tracker on your phone."

Christine's heart plummeted. "Are you fucking serious, Gage? I told you I'm safe, isn't that all that matters?"

"You fucking lied to me, Chris. You said no more lying. And I can tell you're high as fuck."

Before Christine could even think of what to reply, Erik snatched the phone from her. She sat watching him helplessly, fearfully…Gage could not show up here, he could not ruin what beauty she had dreamt for her next 48 hours. And those hours would be devoted to Erik. But if he could find out her location from Jack…

"Hello," Erik drawled into the phone, pressing the speakerphone button before laying it on the counter. He leaned over the phone lazily, as if he were making a regular call to his housekeeper. "Gage, isn't it? Yes, I have your girlfriend at my house. She's quite safe, so don't worry – I'm sure you can gather up a prostitute or something to quench your thirst for the next 48 hours."

"Who the fuck are you?" Gage snapped, and Erik smiled serenely at his response. "Your little, what should we call it – tracking device idea – I hate to inform you, but I have certain technology in place that blocks GPS. So even if you do get ahold of Christine's precious manager, he won't be able to see her location. So very sorry for the inconvenience," Erik's voice was dripping with sarcasm – and he seemed to be enjoying himself. Christine stayed frozen, her heart beginning to breathe with the safety of Erik's words – he would not lie, would he? She prayed that he did indeed have such security measures, for nothing would stop Gage – especially, a challenge.

"Listen, fuckboy, I don't give a shit what kind of technology you have – "

Erik cleared his throat loudly over Gage's voice that was close to a scream.

"I'm sorry, Gage, I'll be letting you go, now. I don't want to waste any more of my time talking with you – although it's been awfully pleasant – but I'd really like to spoon your girlfriend. Don't worry, I'll only fuck her if she wants me to." Erik pressed the red icon and hung up, sliding the phone back across the counter to Christine, whose mouth was hanging open in awe.

"Would you like to take that picture of me?" Erik asked innocently, and Christine burst out laughing, her wings relaxing and stretching, fluttering with pure adrenaline. She picked up her phone and pointed it in his direction; Erik leaned over the counter, his fingers sprawled out onto the marble, cocking his head with a few dark tendrils of hair that had fallen out of his bun. She snapped the picture – he looked absolutely devilish – God, she wanted to print it out and put it somewhere in her house….perhaps beside her glassy nightstand, next to her vibrator…if only she could just get rid of Gage…

"I see mischief in your eyes," Christine commented, sliding her phone back into her bag. "Do you really have tech that blocks GPS? Because if you don't…"

Erik smirked. "Of course I do. Why would I lie to our precious Gage?"

Christine giggled. "Jesus…you didn't have to do that, you know. Rescue me."

Erik sauntered around the side of the counter, stopping to lean over it again and snort a line for himself. He lifted his head up and let it fall back, and she wanted so badly to touch the protruding veins running through his neck…

How did he just…protect her without even thinking? As high as she was, she somehow hadn't been able to face Gage, herself…but Erik was dripping with a power that outshined her own. Although worry began to creep in the back of her mind about the consequences of what had just happened…of the punishment that was waiting for her.

48 hours. That's all I have with him.

No! She could not just leave here after 2 days and never see him again. She couldn't just live off of the picture she had taken – she needed him, warm blooded, holding her close, not kissing or licking or fucking. Just laying together, intertwined. Shielded from the crowds, from the outside world that made her feel insane.

"You're worried, are you not? About when you leave here," Erik murmured, interlacing his fingers underneath his chin. "Why don't you let me handle Gage?"

Christine, startled from her thoughts, looked up at him, sadly. "So this is monogamy in your mind, isn't it? Control, rules, regulations…property." She sighed, attempting to focus on drawing more lines, making them as neat as she could. Erik loves to be neat.

"No, Christine. Fortunately I've had plenty of opportunities to see monogamy in it's finest form – of course, you and Gage seem…a bit off."

"By a bit off, you mean…fucked up," Christine muttered, angrily setting down the credit card she was using to shape the lines. "Yeah, okay, Erik, you win. He's horrible."

"How horrible? Does he…abuse you? Touch you when you don't want to be touched?"

Erik's voice seemed to grow darker as he asked, and Christine's heart sighed – did he want to keep saving her? Wasn't the blood in the pool enough for him? Hope began to bloom within her ribcage, so great that tiny green tendrils began to escape and curl out, in search of the sun.

"Where…is the crown of thorns? The one I tried to steal," Christine asked – she felt a bit dazed as the weight of what he had done showered around her, consuming her – his darkness, his dynamic, his power. Erik raised an eyebrow at her.

"Why do you ask?"

Christine bent over, snorting another line. She grabbed the bottle of champagne, emptying down her throat before she responded. "I want to wear it. It'll be like a…tradition. That's only with me, and not any other girl. When either you or I wear it, we can talk about anything, even things we've pushed away. Because you always…seem to…understand. You're the only person who understands, Erik."

"Hmm. Very powerful. And biblical," he added, but he left the room quickly, his back gleaming with sweat. Christine swallowed against the detail of his muscles, imagining running her stiletto nails down the flesh of his back…he would love the feeling, the pain of it, no doubt…

Fuck. He doesn't date. He doesn't date…

Erik returned to the kitchen, his hair loosed from the bun – it was long and curly, black as night, falling past his shoulders – and the gleaming, silver crown of thorns lay perched upon his head. "Let me grab another bottle of champagne," he said softly, "and this time we're using glasses." Christine nodded numbly, watching him in amazement.

"Can we move to the couch? I want to lay back," Christine asked, licking her lips; why were they so dry? Could she ask for a kiss…just one? One to wet her parched skin, one to imagine in her head while she was masturbating?

Fuck, Christine…no! Absolutely fucking not.

"Of course," Erik answered, and she jolted as his response, wondering if he could read her mind. She used the credit card to scoop most of the cocaine that had been on the counter back into the baggie, and took it with her as she made her way toward the couch. "Um, Erik? Your evil beast is hogging the couch."

"Leia, come, sweet girl!" He called out, and Leia leapt from the couch, growling as she stalked past Christine. "God, Erik, why does she hate me so much? I never did a damn thing to her." She happily and triumphantly took Leia's place on the couch, settling in as she dumped a bit more coke onto the coffee table. "How many lines shall I draw, sweet Erik?"

"Hmm," Erik's response was a growl in his throat as he entered the living room, holding a dark bottle of champagne and two glasses. "Only my mother calls me 'sweet Erik'."

"Is that because you're only sweet to her, and nobody else? You're wearing the crown so you have to be honest," Christine smiled at the cunning little game she had made; and why did she feel as though she…wanted to talk about her father? About the double wide, metallic trailer they had lived in, filled with dried up flowers and a love that was unconditional, unbreakable…but even life had certain absolutes, and death, above all, could never be stopped…not by prayer, hope, or sacrificial pain. She shivered at the thought of going back there – of seeing who lived there, now…of finding her old, tiny bedroom where nothing bad could ever happen…where her father was still alive, sitting next to her, singing her to sleep.

Christine brushed a stray tear from her eye, turning away from Erik so that he could not see. As Erik sat down, he left a good bit of space between them, but to Christine's surprise he bent over, moving her legs onto his lap. He settled a hand upon her leg, moving his fingers slowly against the fabric of her sweatpants. She wished that she could pull the fabric all the way up and let his hand traverse the entirety of her leg…back and forth, with tiny, graceful movements that shocked her, because she had never been touched so gently, before…

"I can be sweet," Erik said thoughtfully, reaching out a hand to pull the coffee table closer to the couch. It was the perfect, most beautiful little oasis that she'd ever seen; her legs stretched out over his thick, parted thighs, and a table full of cocaine. "I'm sweet when I want to be."

"Me too," Christine drawled happily, laying her head back into the cushion. "I'm terrible, sometimes, though…like to my manager. Oh, God, it's such a nightmare, Erik. All of it. I wish I could just maybe stay here, forever. No one would find me with your GPS-blocking-tech, or whatever it is…"

Erik pulled the crown of thorns from his head and offered it to Christine with a smirk on his face. She took it gladly and pressed it onto her head, the dulled spikes of the thorns digging into her skin.

"Why is it such a nightmare, Christine?" Erik wondered, squeezing her ankle with his hand. She smiled and stared up at the ceiling, her pale wings fluttering softly as she lay upon them, and they cradled her like hands bound in prayer.

"Thousands of people worship me as if I'm some sort of God. And I can do anything; I can throw up on stage, do lines off my guitarist, throw a fit, break a piece of equipment, forget my own lyrics…and they still love me. I don't understand it. It's like they're…"

"Hypnotized?" Erik asked intently, running a finger across the bottom of her foot. She shivered delightfully, and he grinned in response.

"That felt so good," she murmured, staring at him wildly. "But you don't date…so you say…"

"By dating you mean…restaurant dinners, calling, texting, planning, getting jealous…" Erik sighed, his eyes smoldering as he looked upon her fondly. "If you give me back the crown, I might indulge this request of yours."

Christine sat up from the pillows. "What do you mean? Request…? You mean…dating? You would date me?"

Erik pressed a glass of champagne to his lips before responding. "I wouldn't mind dating you, I suppose. But jealousy, that's just something I can't handle."

Christine swallowed anxiously. "What if I told you that wouldn't be a problem? That I wouldn't mind a little…jealousy?"

"Oh, you would very much mind. Remember, I like to be in control. Always."

Christine sighed. "Here, take the crown. Now I have a question. What if we…saw each other? After this, I mean. Every week or so. I could drive down here in one of my cars…I could stay the weekend. And perform during the week. Would you…be okay with that?"

Erik smiled lazily. "Would Gage be okay with that?"

"I could…break it off, you know. I mean, I've been wanting to do it for awhile…but I can't be alone with him. I don't want to be punished like a fucking child anymore. And I…I like being with you. So there. Do your little 'I win' smirk. But…no other girls. No one except me." Her eyes were resolute as she stared at him, and he finally nodded after a quiet moment passed between them.

"Fine. No other girls. So when you do you want me to fuck you?" Christine coughed on her mouthful of champagne. "Well you don't like the idea of dating, so I think we should maybe just start with that. Um…without the fucking. Just until you get a feel for it."

"Hmph," he commented, clearly cross with her decision. "How am I supposed to get off?"

Christine let out a small bout of laughter. "Masturbate," she shrugged, giggling as he threw his head back into the cushions, frustrated.

"Fine," Erik said, licking his lips. "But I get to watch you while I masturbate."

"Watch me what, touch myself?"

"Mmm," Erik nodded, his eyes ablaze. "Yes. But don't promise me something you can't keep, Christine. If you want your precious Gage…"

"Just think of him as already gone," she grinned, throwing back the last of the champagne in her glass, closing her eyes against the sweetness, the taste of both power and pain upon her tongue. He would not just live in the picture she had taken of him…he would be here, at his fortress, perhaps begging for the end of the week to come so that he could see her, touch himself, and she could watch him get off…

And they could lay here every Friday night while the world was wild and relentless, with her feet sprawled out on his lap, his fingers grazing her skin that ached for more of him; more and more, until she overflowed.

…

A/N: Well, what are we feeling? Any comments, thoughts, or feelings ALWAYS make my day. But above all, thank you for reading. Love, L.