He couldn't believe it.
His slender and bony fingers were on her warm skin, caressing the soft curves of her bare body, her sleeping soundly and comfortably despite the uncomfortable cot. Her presence alone made it more comfortable, more bearable and, dared he say it, perfect. Nothing mattered as long as he had her. It didn't matter where they were or lived. As long as he could touch her and caress her and kiss her, nothing else truly mattered.
His golden eyes were wide open and a sheepish smile curved at his lips, watching the goosebumps appearing upon her nude back at his gentle touch, watching her shoulder blades as she extended her arm in front of her and shuffled backwards against him.
His body responded at the contact but he paid it no mind, her warmth now spreading over his own bare skin.
Erik dared to shuffle closer to her, too. To nuzzle into the soft brown curls, to smell the vanilla of her shampoo and her perfume, faded but still lingering. His arm wrapped tightly around her and he pressed their bodies close until no more space was left between them. The cot was too small for two people, but it was perfect nonetheless.
He was spent. She had asked much of him and he had so lovingly and eagerly given her it all, again and again. She had whispered confessions onto his skin, had touched him where no-one else but him had done so before, and he had been in absolute heaven. When her soft fingers had touched the mask and then nudged it off with a whispered promise of comfort, he hadn't even flinched. He trusted her more than ever. Her eyes had shown him so much love, how could his skin possibly make any of that go away?
For the first time since he could remember, he had felt truly seen and loved and adored, perhaps even as worshipped as he had made sure she had felt. He hadn't worried about his face when her mouth had been elsewhere and her hands were on his chest, and he hadn't worried when she had kissed him goodnight.
New at it as he was, she had guided him at first until he had finally grasped it and shown her just how much she meant to him, how beautiful and adored she was. He had made her sing in more ways than one, and more than once he had wept of pure, ecstatic joy. He had wept when she had first come to his door, overcome with the emotions of seeing her again. He had still been weeping when she pulled him into a kiss and caressed his cheek.
They had spoken for so long after that, he had had to grab many new candles to ensure they could keep seeing each other, see each other's loving and adoring gaze, see the wet streaks on each other's cheeks. And when her hand had touched his knee, the air had been electric and before long they had found their way to the cot Erik had so carelessly thrown into a corner when he had first come here so many months ago.
Oh, how he would have cleaned up and made it look spotless had he known his angel would have come.
But she had bared it no mind, and when her chemise had fallen to the floor, his own mind had been lost at last.
Christine stirred within his arms, turned around to face him before continuing her quiet sleep, nuzzled close within his chest.
He felt his heart leap the nth time that night—or was it perhaps the next morning yet? He couldn't care less, her loose curls fallen upon his hand, her nose brushing against his chest, and her legs intertwined with his. Once again tears welled up and Erik sniffled. But he was not unhappy. He was, in fact, the complete and utter opposite. He was elated, absolutely in heaven more than drugs had ever done to him. Christine was his favourite drug, and he would never come off this high.
He nuzzled into her curls and held her impossibly tighter. He had never been much of a sleeper—a day-night rhythm had been artificial at most in his underground home, but now here, he had slowly adapted to that type of normalcy. Still, he slept at most a few hours before awakening. And despite their engaging actions of the night, he was wide awake yet, his heart pounding in his throat as his mind was for once quiet. No anxieties, self-loathing, no doubts and intrusive thoughts. Pure quiet, other than Christine and her strings of I love you, I love you, I love you.
Oh how she had said it over and over, how he had parroted it right back, both trying in vain to dry each other's wet cheeks as they lay entwined in bed where his skin for once had been truly warm.
Even now, he thought it over and over, whispering it into her curls, thinking of it in music, notes springing easily to his mind.
Oh, how he needed to write his love for Christine down, preferably an entire opera, to show her as extravagantly as he could his adoration and love for her. The soprano who sang so perfectly. Who had sung so amazingly for him tonight.
He caressed her warm cheek, all the while marvelling at the intelligent, strong, gorgeous woman within his arms. Willingly, after all those months. She had chosen him still, even after all the wrong he had done.
He would do all he could to make up for it, to show her how guilty he felt. If he had to, he would grovel and kiss her feet, he could not care less. He needed her to understand how she changed him, how he dared not do more harm now that he had her. And that if she ever left… He would respect it and take it like a gentleman.
But she would not leave him. She had said, whispered, and gasped it many times tonight, so of that he was sure.
His eyes drooped, the beginnings of daylight filtering through the fabric resembling a curtain, and he gladly let sleep take him, warmth pure within him.
She awoke from a carriage driving past, hooves of the horses loud on the uneven road she knew lay beside the house she was in. The house Erik had been hiding in for the past few months, awaiting either the passing of his legend or passage to the Americas.
Christine's heart skipped a beat at that prospect. How lucky she was he had still been here, he had said. He had been eyeing the newspapers mentioning various boats now accepting civilian passengers, and he would have easily been able to join them, his wealth having survived the angry mob that had pursued him.
She could not care less for that stupid wealth—the same wealth Raoul so sheepishly showered her with as if that was what she truly wanted as she had grown distant to him. She could appreciate the efforts, and it had hurt her to leave him last night after all he had tried, but her heart knew what it wanted, and how could she possibly ignore it?
Slender hands splayed over her bare skin and she exhaled a hot breath. He held her so tightly, possessively, yet so lovely all the same. Much how he had treated her the night before.
She opened her eyes to the dim room of her angel's hideout, the slums he had found himself in so as to escape it all.
A smile curved her lips as she felt his entire body against her, warm still from their contact. She could feel his warm breath tickling the shell of her ear. He was asleep, still. He was still here with her.
A fuzzy warmth spread throughout her, a feeling of being so loved and adored. She had made sure he had felt all those things, too, but oh, how good he was at making her feel one of a kind.
She dared not move from his embrace, but her stomach rumbled, and she was too eager to start her life with him to wait any longer. She pressed a kiss to his skin closest to her, somewhere on his collarbone, and then carefully wiggled herself out of his protective grip, sitting up with the sheets falling off her and stretching.
She looked him over, then, grinning and blushing at the thoughts of their night before, her hand gently moving to touch his shoulder, ghosting it downwards to follow the patches of discoloured skin. She looked at over his uncovered face, bare and well-lit by the daylight filtering through the curtains. Fear was the last thing on her mind at the sight, loathing not even in her thoughts as she leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to his taut cheek.
His hand shot up and touched her face, the man startling and opening his eyes.
"Oh," she chuckled, his fingers grazing against her cheeks before he rolled to his back, dazed and sleepy.
"My cheek," he muttered. "Felt something on it."
"That was a kiss, ange." A fond grin lifted her cheeks.
His golden eyes gazed into hers at the turn of his head. "What?"
She laughed softly and pulled the blanket further down from him, exposing his chest to the air so she could splay her hands out and feel the skin before he could stop her. "Oh, Erik," she sighed lovingly. "You look beautiful."
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and grabbed feebly at the blankets at his hips, stammering and a blush reddening his cheeks. "Please, petite…"
With a laugh she laid back down and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. "Do not dare turn loathsome on yourself now, ange," she whispered softly. "I will not allow it."
Blinking, he turned to meet her eyes, then stared straight back to the ceiling, no doubt hiding his uncovered half from her. "I— I am not accustomed to be without mask, Christine. The daylight, it… Surely it must look terrible," he muttered, hand raising to touch his taut and sunken skin.
"I care little, Erik." She shrugged. "Instead, I like to focus on the fact that I have you bare against me," she teased, the hand resting on his abdomen slipping slightly lower.
He halted, inhaled sharply. "Christine, you would… even with me like— this? Now?" He swallowed thickly.
She fondly rolled her eyes and then threw the blankets off him entirely. Before he could protest anymore at being fully exposed, she got up and swiftly threw her leg over his hips to straddle him. She could feel him hardening against her already, but she beared it no mind as she reached down, eliciting a whimper from him, and ghosted her lips over his. "Especially now, Erik," she whispered lovingly. "Now I can finally see you."
He choked out a gasp and blinked the welling of tears away, his hands shooting up to her waist. He could see her now too in the daylight, and it was overwhelming to see the perfection of her body, the curves of her breasts and the angle of her hips. He felt her too, the roughness of her hair below on him, the softness beneath it. "Christine…"
Their lips met and she cupped his cheeks, caressing over the skin as her lips moved on his and her hips jerked forwards.
He gasped into her mouth, his eyes rolled back, and his fingers dug into her skin. "I do not know how much I—"
She kissed his words away, rolling her hips over his. "Oh, well, I am hungry. I was thinking about making breakfast, anyway," she purred on a whisper, grinning entirely too mischievously. She sat back up, pushing her hair to her back and smiling down at her bewildered maestro.
He stared at her, mouth dry as his amber eyes gazed over her naked body once more. He ached already, could feel her wetness on him. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his hands moving up to her waist carefully, afraid she would disappear, that all of this was a dream after all. "Surely you would not leave me like this?" he croaked out, taking a deep breath. "You torture me."
"You deserve a bit of it, ange." She bit her lips, grinding slowly against him as he writhed beneath her and she exhaled hotly. "For the opera house."
He closed his eyes, cheeks heated. "Let me make it up to you…"
She gingerly took his hands and moved them up her body, humming softly at the caress of skin over hers. "You will, Erik." She had him squeeze her breasts and smirked. "You started last night. You can continue today, and the days after."
He looked back up to her, mind clouded. Somewhere in the back of the clouds he heard a scream of his face and body being exposed like this, but it was overruled entirely by his view, his touch. How could he argue with a goddess willing to be with him like this again and again? He exhaled softly, trying to speak through the daze even as his hands groped the soft skin beneath them. "You were hungry, ma petite?" he slurred, feeling almost drunk on Christine's touch and heat.
Brown eyes amusedly looked down at him. "You wish me to stop, ange?" She whimpered when he almost slipped in, but she moved back to grind back over him, promptly denying him.
"I love you," he breathed, head lolling back and hands faltering. "Please…"
"Ange..." She entwined their fingers and leaned down, firmly keeping his hands next to his head as she caught his lips between hers. "Say it again."
"I love you," he grunted onto her lips. "I love you, eternally." He gasped when she jerked forwards once more, then bit his lips when one of her hands disappeared from his and instead touched his sensitive skin. The sudden touch had him hiss, then moan when she wrapped her fingers around him and moved to the base and back up, spreading their slickness over him. "I love you," he gasped out once more when her thumb rolled over the tip and his back arched. "I love you."
She grinned, head tilted to the side as she listened to his confessions. "I like making you sing like this, ange," she purred, then raised her hips and angled him.
He whimpered and looked down between them just in time to see her sink onto him, enveloping him with intoxicating heat and pressure. With a groan his head fell back and he saw stars once again.
With her hand she steadied herself on his chest, making a noise at his entering her, staying there. She licked her lips and exhaled hotly, revelling at the sensation of him inside her once more. A tight fit, but the discomfort so easily turned to pleasure the moment she rocked her hips.
He hissed and exhaled harshly, his hands grasping her waist. "I'm—"
"Sensitive," she whispered breathily, raising her hips before dropping back down with a quiet moan. "I know."
With fluttering eyes he looked up to Christine, to his angel, the woman who surprised him each day, and he moaned. He moved his hands to grab the low of her back and pulled the both of them up so he could lean more comfortably against the headboard, the pair sitting chest to chest. He could feel her breasts against him, and he felt quite half-delirious as he tried to ignore it in favour of capturing Christine's lips between his and kiss her moans away.
Her arms wrapped easily around him, hands splayed on his back as she ground against him and moaned into the kiss, their bodies joined and melting together in the heat of their sex. Soft gasps and little moans escaped the both of them as she worked her hips over him, nuzzling into his neck and breathing him in.
Erik harshly grasped the smooth skin of her hips, letting out a strangled moan. "Christine, I— I am close." His cheeks burned as he said it and he screwed his eyes shut. "Forgive me, I—"
She shut him up with a loving kiss, soft lips warm against his. "I care not, Erik," she breathed on a whisper against him, her hot breath ghosting over his lips as she cupped his cheeks. "I want to feel you. Come for me, darling."
"But— if I—"
"We did not care for that last night," she groaned softly, shutting him up with another urgent kiss as she jerked forwards. "We do not care now. Erik, come for me."
He desperately clutched onto her hips as the heat in his gut exploded at last. With a strangled cry he jerked up inside her and came, chest heaving and mind blank as she tightened around him.
"That's it," she gasped softly, relaxing her body as Erik slumped backwards, panting. She laughed and gently cupped his cheek, though did not move off of him. "You are beautiful, Erik," she sighed lovingly, leaning forwards and gently capturing his lips between hers.
Lazily and tiredly he kissed back, hands idly moving up her smooth back and pressing her close. "You spoil me, petite," he grumbled onto her lips, cheeks heated. He could feel the burn of tears prickling in his eyes and he swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I— I can not believe you are here in my arms..."
A fond laugh escaped her. "My dearest Erik, you just came inside me, you still are inside me. You best believe I am in your arms." She let out a pleased sigh and nuzzled into his neck once again.
For a beat, she was quiet.
"I feared I would find you gone."
Through his hazy yet satisfied mind her words finally registered, and he frowned. "What do you mean?"
She refused to meet his eyes, instead remaining nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "When we went to sleep last night I had these terrible thoughts of you leaving. Leaving after all we did, all that was said." She winced and wrapped her arms tighter around him, voice wavering when she continued, "I am so, so glad you are still with me, ange, I do not know what I would have done."
His throat tightened and he blinked away the tears in his eyes. Then, instinctively, he tightened his grip on her and buried his face into her hair. "My dearest Christine," he breathed. "I could not fathom leaving you now, after all of this. I already— When I let you go, back at the opera house, I felt like I would die. My heart hurt so much." He pressed his eyes closed and inhaled sharply, steadying himself. He detested the trembling of his hands, trying to smooth them down Christine's skin. "That you returned to me is nothing short of a miracle, Christine. It is not what I deserve, but I will greedily take it regardless. God, Christine, you are my life, the air I breathe." He inhaled the scent of her shampoo, the scent of her. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about, petite, I am not going anywhere."
For a moment they were both quiet, simply breathing each other's air and processing the words just spoken.
Slowly, Christine untangled from him and sat back to look at him, brown eyes misty. "You mean it, ange?"
He stared back at her, then let out a bark of a laugh foreign to the both of them. With reddened cheeks he ducked his head, then looked back up to her. "My dearest Christine, I worship the very ground you stand on. Everything you touch is sacred. I— The love I have for you is almost overwhelming. If anything, it is I who can not fathom you loving me, this— this cursed face." Idly he touched his marred face, shame flooding his senses. They had just had sex with him like that...
As if sensing his upcoming retreat, Christine took his wrist and gently pulled it away from his face, then leaned down and pressed kisses onto his taut skin. His cheek, jaw, cheekbone, temple, nose. "You are not allowed to hate yourself anymore, ange," she murmured against his skin, smiling gently. She inched towards his mouth and pressed a kiss to the corner of it, humming softly. "I love you."
Blinking the tears away, Erik cleared his throat and gently caressed over Christine's skin. "You are an angel, petite. You spoil me."
"Hmm, perhaps," she murmured. "But angels do not feel hunger, and I for one am very hungry!" As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, and she grinned down at him. "Time for us to get up and get breakfast."
Wetting his lips, he glanced down to where their bodies were still joined. He was soft inside her now, and really it should be uncomfortable but she was hot and—
And she was getting up.
He winced at the sudden cool on his flesh and reached for the blankets.
Christine playfully swatted at his reaching hand. "Breakfast! We have a future to plan."