Author's Note: Inbound Spice Alert!

MarilynKC: I think you will like the Mehri de Marais family quite a bit as the story goes towards its next phase. For Erik's headache – it isn't so much the do-over that is causing it, but it has a correlation to it.

sbollin93: Oh, Doctor's family have quite a role coming for them, and Danyal shall learn to stifle his crush. Erik's headaches, they could happen regardless of the time-jump. The do-over is more of minor cause. For you and MarilynKC, I recommend re-reads of Books and Doors, Dualities, and Seal Your Fate for some buried clues.

Teen545: She is! And she will take very good care of him.

Bleeding Through

There was little she could do but offer her shoulder and stabilizing hands on his back and chest. Stubborn man that he was, Erik accepted little of her aid as he put none of his weight against her beyond a moment of fleeting balance. They conquered the stairs one at a time until they reached the narrow hallway at the top. When facing the trio of doors, Erik shifted to the left, where the dark wooden door to his room sat ajar.

Christine had never seen his room beyond a passing glimpse, but that changed as they stepped inside. Once the bed came within Erik's sight, he surged ahead and climbed onto the cozy bedding where he lay on his front, his head vanishing beneath the pillows. After a little shifting with his hand beneath the pillows, the mask and wig soon materialized on the bedding beside him before his forearm then clamped the pillows down on his head.

Frowning, she stepped closer and grasped his shoulder, "You don't have to hide your face from me."

"Not from you," his muffled and slow voice replied. "The light."

Christine glanced at the kerosene lamp on his bedside table and squeezed his shoulder before she turned back the wick, dimming the flame to its faintest glow. Next, she reached over him to collect the mask and wig, then deposited them on the small table. When her hand returned to his shoulder, she asked, "Can I get you something? Powders? Water? A damp cloth?"

Silence.

"Erik," she pressed.

"You needn't trouble yourself."

She clenched her teeth, "It's no trouble. I'm worried about you."

His response was a stubborn grunt.

Sighing, Christine flicked his shoulder with her forefinger, which was enough to make him snort. "It is okay to accept help, Erik," she admonished as she went to the foot of the bed. "Not everyone is out to get you, my love. Certainly not me."

Another snort. "Everything has a cost."

Taking a moment to ponder her response, Christine began pulling at the laces of his polished dress boots. "Do I still have your love?"

"Always."

"Then that is payment enough," she said and tugged the boots from his socked feet. "Even when you frustrate me." Turning to take in the room for the first time without distraction, she found the large dark wood wardrobe which matched every furnishing in the room in style and color. It took up the adjacent wall to the left of the door, with a drawered bureau beside it and a simple gentleman's valet nestled between them.

She took it in as she walked towards it, stooping to tuck his ankle-high boots next to an identical set beneath the wardrobe. Glancing over at the bureau, where the lid was let down into a work surface, she found herself smiling a bit at the abandoned cravat and its pin that he had worn earlier. Christine stepped over to it, peaking at the masks that were tucked into letter slots and the little drawers that she assumed housed most of his accessories from cufflinks to tie pins, and ties to cravats.

On the topmost surface, unaffected by the lid's status, were two wooden 'heads.' One was empty, while the other had his usual wig and half mask.

In the corner on the opposite side of the wardrobe was a podium with sheet music and an antique violin hanging from a designated hook, waiting for its master's return. Though everything in Erik's room was polished and maintained, with a fine Persian rug beneath her feet, the bed –larger than what she had in the next room– looked new and she smelled of a hint of freshly assembled wood.

"I have been trying to make it more comfortable here for you…" Erik had said just minutes ago.

The thought made tears prick her eyes as she realized the full meaning. They shared her bed because it was the only spot that could sleep them both, until now. This new bed, with its carved wood and four posters befitting of a Phantom, gave them more comfort by granting a little more room to stretch and floor access for both sides.

The room's size allowed for this without feeling cramped, even with a comfortable reading chair located by a more open wall. A set of drapes covered the wall for the illusion of a window that did not exist, which made the stone brick warmer and more inviting.

While she did not know what the bedroom looked like before, Christine knew the bed alone would take time to prepare, and it looked very inviting. The space had Erik written all over it, and she recognized his attempt to incorporate her by the deep lavender colors of the bedding intermingled with mint green and earthen colors; light and inviting to the eye, rather than the deep dark shades that dominated most of his home. The most exciting part was the plain fact that she would no longer disturb him to get up in the night.

Pangs of grateful guilt churned her stomach. While she did not dismiss the worry and stress that Erik put her through for hours, she regretted not paying attention to his state. The pace of his regular speech went down a beat. Dim confusion filled his distressed gaze. She noticed his off-ness immediately, yet her festering ire made it easy to dismiss.

This was Erik, the Phantom. He was not a weak man, at least in the physical sense. She never knew him to feel under the weather, but he was just a man and could be as susceptible to illness as anyone else.

Smoothing her hands over her skirts, Christine studied his lithe form that curled in a loose ball, a tense hand still clutching the pillow to his face. Unsure what to do or how to help him, she walked away, brushing a finger under her nose as she headed downstairs to see what she could find.

Several minutes later, Christine returned with a little tray in hand and a blanket from her room tossed over the crook of her arm. She the tray on the nightstand and collected the mask and wig, tucking them under her arm as she situated everything. "I couldn't find where you keep your powders," she explained as she walked the mask and hair to the empty mannequin head where she placed them. "But I got you water, lemon wedges, and a damp cloth." Christine returned to his side and began spreading the blanket over him. "I will dim all the lamps in a moment. Is there anything else I can get for you first?"

"You have done more than I could ask for," he replied, face still buried deep. "Merci."

Christine touched his hand and gave his clammy fingers a squeeze. "Rest, my sweet."

True to her word, she went around and dimmed every lamp to its faintest glow, if not extinguishing a few, leaving just enough light to navigate or peek in on him. She went to her room after that, where she changed out of her dress and corset into a plain frock that allowed her more comfort while not making her feel self-conscious for not wearing a 'cage.'

Not that it mattered in Erik's home anyway. He had already seen everything.

Christine traded her boots and stockings for cozy slippers and settled into the chair before her little vanity. She stared at her guilt-trodden and tired features as she pulled pins from her hair.

She was angry with him. She had a right to be angry with him. Yes. She was back at that train of thought again, reliving the moment he dismissed her so readily. Then, came rehearsals where he did not come. Why? Why did he not come? Why torment her this way? He had to know it was torture for her, much like before when he became a literal ghost for days not long ago.

The realization that poor Erik was in a state after she worked up countless theories to rationalize his sudden absence, stung with as much bite as Erik's snapping at her.

"Have them think that you prostituted yourself to a thing like me for lessons?" his voice pierced her mind. "I think not!"

The last of the hairpins went into their dish, and she looked up at the pale face reflecting back at her in the glass, seeing her fatigue of the day pulling at her features.

Three days. It was three days since the night they began their romance. Raoul ruined the rush of that new experience on the first day. Erik made up for it with their Sunday outing, and now? The day was drawing to an end, and beyond a bit of morning fondling or even lunch with the Mehri de Marais family, it was turbulent at best between her nervousness and Erik's current state.

Is this how it's supposed to be? A chaotic whirlwind sweeping the moment away before we can even enjoy it? Christine wondered as she ran a brush through her hair, starting with the underside where sweat and friction against the back of her dress liked tangling it into knots.

There has been enjoyment, a little voice countered.

Christine shifted the brush to the top of her hair. It goes as quickly as it comes.

How long are you expecting them to last? Days? Weeks?

More than a day!

It was silly she knew, arguing with herself and trying to make sense of everything. But the inner strife persisted as she began weaving her hair into a loose braid.

Savor the moments when you have them, that other voice said. Life can be fleeting.

That made her stomach drop as she finished the braid and looked at the door. The next thing she knew, Christine was padding back into Erik's room where she slipped around to the far side of the bed. She climbed on and scooted closer to him until they almost touched, her fingers finding their way into his hand.

In return, Erik interlaced their fingers and gave a tiny squeeze.

She smiled, weariness fading as her eyes slid closed.

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

Christine woke a while later. Erik was sound asleep with the tension gone from his form and the pillow resting on his head instead of being held. Not wishing to disturb his rest, she slipped from his bed— their bed? —and left him to sleep. Although she enjoyed their snooze and quiet company, she needed to do something to release the swirl of anxieties that still whirled deep within.

Maybe Erik had yeast starter?

Probably not, but she would get one going if he had flour.

She tipped-toed from his room, then descended the medieval staircase and hurried towards his little kitchen. A quick exploration of the cupboards, pantry, and icebox revealed a very ordered organization of all his jarred and canned goods; a few stews, a lot of preserved vegetables, dried beans and rice, and even a variety of pickled items. There was some fresh produce in the icebox with a bit of milk, cream, and a few cheeses, but what stood out to her was the absence of a staple in any French kitchen: meat.

Christine peaked through every bit of storage and all she found was a bit of jerky and one cured ham, but it was so small it would not last more than a meal or two. Yes, meat was often more expensive and perhaps considered a luxury for the more impoverished, but Erik claimed he was well-off and his wardrobe of fine-tailored suits alone was a testament to above-average wealth.

Choosing not to ponder too long on that, she found his flour canister and began a yeast starter in a neglected-looking glass jar that lacked a lid, which made it perfect. Next, in her wish to make him a meal that she could not ruin, she whipped up a batter of eggs, milk, and a few drops of vanilla with a sprinkle of cinnamon, then set it in the icebox for when he woke.

Over the course of the next hour or two, Christine busied herself with any tasks she could find. It was a challenging undertaking since Erik was immaculate in his tidiness in every room except the music room and a small crafting/work room. Much of what she did was dust, sweep, or shake out upholstery and the various draperies that alluded to windows that did not exist.

When it came to the workroom, she did little but neaten up the arrangement of his projects, be it a mask in progress or a geared trinket in various stages of creation. If lifting any group of objects left her wondering if she could return it as she found it if she wanted to dust beneath it, then she left it untouched– which was most of the workbench.

The music room allowed her to do more. Dusting his small piano and the barrel organ left a small smile on her face as she theorized how he got anything down there without betraying his presence to the world above.

No matter.

In tidying his music, she limited herself to straightening the parchment to nice stacks instead of the haphazard heaps he created. It was easy to sort the completed scores and an excuse to look at his melodies and hum a few notes as she tapped the pages back into place and layered the individual pieces in an interlocking V pattern so anyone could thumb the little gaps on either side to find a specific song without skimming every page.

One of the songs she recognized as his serenade to her on the rooftop, Music of the Night. Another, buried deeper in the stack, was Point of No Return, and while she read the first line, what caught her attention was a song titled Love Never Dies.

Her eyes were glued to the music, several bars of melody floating through her mind in steady rises and falls that rocked and ebbed her like the sea, or perhaps a boat traveling on open waters. Becoming lost in the song and humming the entrancing rolls of Erik's creation, Christine did not notice the shadow that appeared in the threshold.

"Who knows when love begins?" she hummed under her breath. "Who knows what makes it stop? One day it's simply there, alive inside your heart," as she continued through the first passage, her voice began lifting from her lilting whisper.

"It slips into your thoughts, it infiltrates your soul. It takes you by surprise and seizes full control," she could almost imagine him watching her from afar and the great internal battle, one she knew better than she should. "Try to deny it and try to protest; love won't let you go, once you've been…possessed…" she trailed off, feeling those beautiful words emanating in her core.

"That is what was like," Erik's voice made her jolt and pulled her gaze to where he stood, shoulder leaning a bit against the threshold. "falling in love with you. I was not looking to love you, or anyone, when I began realizing that I loved you. I tried to talk myself out of it, denied it…"

"Protested it…" she finished for him. "But it doesn't let go…" she brushed her hand over the music. "I guess you could say it is the same for me."

"I thought it might be. I imagine having feelings of love for me is not an easy thing to have, much less accept. But, that song is my love letter to you, and my attempt to put into words and understand all that I have felt."

Christine looked back to the song, shifting through the pages and the inked scrawl like a sponge. "But the rest of the song… the lyrics… it seems like there is so much more to this, left unsaid."

Erik's lips thinned, and his eyes looked distant. "There is."

"A love lost?" she asked.

"I had a dream… not long before I revealed myself to you," his voice was as distant as his gaze. "That we had shared a great love that we ultimately denied, in one form or another. Although time and distance separated us, and you… were with another, I never stopped loving you. And I believe you never stopped loving me either."

"You believe?"

The white sclera of his eyes reddened and glistened as he looked at her now, rather than through her. It took him a long cycle of breath before he answered, "It was a dream, Christine. Sometimes you feel the weight or intensity of something that happened in place of recollection."

"A love more than love…" she murmured, the image of her dream from weeks ago pulling at her thoughts, being cradled in the arms of a faceless man. But now as she recalled it, the feelings of finally being where she belonged pulled at her, although she knew it was… fleeting. Being cradled. Being loved. The shadowed face now teased a white mask… different yet familiar.

Erik…

An icy chill began trickling over her from her head to her toes as Christine set the music onto the piano. When she looked back at him, Erik cocked his head to the side with greater exaggeration since a charcoal gray mask made of silk covered his entire head apart from his eyes, mouth, and chin. It was a new mask, perhaps the one he mentioned he could sleep in.

"I've had such a dream; where the emotions are so leaden that it feels more than just… surreal. That things are happening and unfurling, and I am powerless to what transpires. But there was this one…that was different, where it had you. At least, I think it was you… the mask was odd, but…" she sighed and shook her head. "When you held me close in your arms the other night, I felt how much you loved me. A love more than love — it is the best way I can describe it. It was like that in the dream. I felt I was where I belonged and that I missed it for so long…while at the same time it felt fleeting."

His eyes narrowed in the manner she knew his mind was churning and the fingers of his left hand rippled to a near-manic degree. "And you?" he asked softly when his eyes met hers again. "You say you felt like you were where you belonged," his eyes were redder now, but no tears escaped them as he broke eye contact after a handful of seconds. "But… did that bring you happiness? Did you love me?"

"Yes," Christine answered without a doubt in her mind. "There was nowhere else I wanted to be in that moment. I was so happy… but also sad, like something… someone was missing."

Erik bowed his head a gave a minute nod, now fidgeting with the onyx ring on his little finger.

"I don't know why I would be sad, Erik."

His mouth twitched, almost a grimace. "Dreams are not always in the habit of explaining themselves, Christine. They often leave us with more questions than answers, at least in the ones I remember."

Christine's eyes roamed him, sensing there was more beneath the surface. She knew Erik's fidgeting was but a small outlet of a brilliant mind. Why did this conversation have such an effect on him? Why did she feel left in the dark about something while discussing it at the same time? Something he knew, but in an impossible manner?

His head had been bothering him. Perhaps what she was seeing was just a fatigued side effect that tugged at his demeanor still. "Erik?" she asked and glided around the piano to attach herself to his side. "Are you all right? Is your head still bothering you?"

Erik touched his fingers to his right temple in a brief graze before dropping his hand to his side, "I… will be fine."

Standing before him now, she rested her hand over his poor cheek, feeling the twisted grooves beneath the cool silk, and traced some of those lines. His eyes fluttered shut and with a long sigh, his cheek grew heavier in her palm.

"You don't have to wear this, my sweet. Not on my account. This is your home. You should be comfortable."

Erik's hand came to cradle hers on his cheek. "I would still wear it, even if you were not here. It is also my most comfortable mask. In fact, it is more comfortable to wear this than not at all."

"How?"

He tilted his head to kiss her palm before lowering her hand from his face. "It would be better to show you later. Suffice it to say–– I have a regimen that I must follow to avoid numerous irritations."

She gave a nod, threading her hand with his. "Are you hungry? I prepared a batter for pain perdu if you'd like."

"Pain perdu?" he repeated, pursing his lips with a little smile.

"Mhmm," she lifted her heels to balance on the balls, gaining enough height to steal a kiss from him. "Do I sense a favorite?"

He gave a small nod.

"Good," she grinned and stole a second little kiss. "Do you want to rest out here until it's ready and I bring it to you, or… would you like to keep me company and we can talk?"

He was silent before he squeezed her hand. "They offered me a position with the Opera, Christine."

If it had been anyone but Erik, one might think he blurted the statement rather than leaping to the point, yet her mind stagnated on his words. "They what?" she asked.

"The Managers have asked me to become a Vocal Director, which will be something of an assistant to Reyer in unifying stage direction with music."

An excited squeal escaped her as Christine threw her arms around him in the biggest hug she could muster. "Oh! You would be wonderful! Surely you accepted!"

Erik's wiry frame jolted from her embrace, but he did not try to free himself either. "I did not."

She pulled back, grasping his elbows as she looked up at him. "Why not?"

"Because it would affect you the most."

"I– I don't understand…"

"Not only would I have to ensure….vocal quality of everyone, including Carlotta, I will not always have the same days or times off as you. Our lessons would suffer, and I cannot give you preferential treatment lest it amplify the cattiness of your peers. Considering your chronic irritation with me trying to look out for your reputation, I am disinclined to accept."

"My irritation? You don't even give a damn about reputations."

"I don't. But, I care about you and yours because you care about it. It is otherwise meaningless to me. Furthermore, I am aware that if I decline the position and you continue with your career, it will look bad on you for choosing a husband who is apparently incapable of providing for you— despite our knowing that would be the furthest thing from the truth."

"Would you rather I leave my career upon a marriage?" she demanded.

He shook his head and stepped away from her to pace, hands brushing over the silken mask instead of his wispy hair. "I did not— we did not work so hard to get you on that stage to have you quit in the moment of marriage or a child. As much as I want to keep you to myself and not share you with anyone, I want you on that stage making the world weep from the beauty of your voice."

Christine brushed her hands over her face, wandering toward the sofa a few steps away, then sank onto the cushions.

"If I take the job, we risk your reputation because it will be inevitable that our relationship will come out before we are ready. If I decline, and you wish to continue with your career with a family in your wake, then society and every bachelor would be whispering for you to leave me for someone better so you would not have to work."

She sat there on the sofa with her hands curling around the seat cushion in a death grip. Her perturbed state was not against Erik, but rather the irritating validity of his points and concerns. "Why should any of this, matter!" the question burst forth from her lips in a frustrated shout. "Why should anyone care who I am with, or why? Why should they care if my husband works or not if we have the means to live comfortably, regardless of who works or doesn't? Why can't we just…be…?"

Erik's presence moved to loom behind her, and his hands rested on her shoulders.

Her eyes closed as she reached up to grasp his left hand. "What do you want, Erik? This shouldn't all rest on my desires and wishes."

"You are all that I want. Everything I do is for you."

She shook her head. "That isn't… feasible Erik. You push me up these mountains without a thought and guide me to the stars, but you never reach for them yourself."

"I reach for the brightest light in my night's sky, and it is you."

"You need more than just moonlight guiding your way, my love," she murmured. "If your decision did not affect me— what would you want?"

His hands kneaded her shoulders. "But it will. It could hinder your next contract or even your ability to have Patrons."

Christine looked up at him as she twisted to face where he stood, not releasing his hand. "There is no need to worry about that now. I have one. Well…two, I suppose."

Erik tilted his head as his gaze bore down on her.

"Meg and I encountered the Vicomtesse de Marais today, at lunch. Apparently, she is the wife of Doctor Mehri."

A curt nod.

"They have decided to sponsor Meg and I. It seems I left an impression when I denied Raoul a supper. Jasmine said that so long as we were there on our merits, then would we be safe from reprisals should we decide to decline such… company."

"What is to say the Vicomtesse will not withdraw this patronage, should our bonds become known?"

Christine shook her head. "That isn't the impression I got from her. But I know so little about either of them and I worry the Doctor might seek certain liberties… even if he doesn't seem the sort."

"He is not."

"You know him?"

"Of him, and his wife. The de Marais's have sponsored a few over the years, and are not known to take advantage of that beyond perhaps a request to entertain a party."

"Nosy Phantom?"

His head wobbled a little side-to-side, "I keep an eye on the ballet— his hands have yet to wander up a leg when tending a glass ankle."

"Glass ankle?"

"Sprains. The Petit Rats pursue him for patronage because he is younger and more attractive than every other doctor who tends them. They will claim a sprain or other leg injury more frequently when they know he is there for a performance night. Most of those other doctors' hands tend to venture far higher than necessary and a needy dancer tends to do a little shimmy to get that hand higher… well, need I say more?"

Christine blinked a few times, trying to recall such a moment of a dancer luring in a doctor for a patron. But, that imagery eluded her as she often kept her eyes down in the dressing rooms and Madame Giry steered them away from many things. "Really?" she asked.

"Few women succeed in theatre by sheer talent alone. The cost of success is often the expense of reputation, which is why I protect yours."

Christine squeezed his hand and tugged a little, coaxing him to come around and sit beside her. When Erik obliged the silent request and sat, she grasped both of his hands. "Then, with the de Marais's backing and in the notion that the decision would not be a detriment to me… What do you want?—and you cannot say you want me! That doesn't count here."

A long sigh escaped him. "Perhaps…I could do more for the Opera as a director than a Ghost, for a time at least."

"Is that what you want, or are you attempting to appease me?"

"It is… both," he granted.

"Then, we should declare our relationship before we risk betraying ourselves. At least that way, we can control the narrative better than rumors. We could say that since everyone seemed to think we were a match, and with our kinship through music, we decided to pursue a courtship to see where it would take us."

"It will still burden you more than I, Christine."

"I know, but I want to do this— and I am already tired of pretending we are less than what we are. I know we have been candid in our talks of our future now, and I am not yet ready for… a marriage."

He gave a nod.

"On that same notion, whatever scrutiny comes upon us— I'd rather learn to bear it sooner than later."

"Is a future with me the one you want, Christine?" he asked, his eyes gentle and his demeanor relaxed.

She nodded, "Yes… I am… certain of that, somehow. I just don't know when. I don't want to keep you waiting—"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. "I will wait for eternity for you, Christine. Our current arrangement is more than enough to sustain me, even if it never becomes more than we are. This is more than I have ever wished for myself." Erik dropped his finger. "I have but one request from you."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "We devise a simple little method of you signaling me when you are ready, so I can arrange a proper proposal without it being… on the spot."

"A surprise?"

"I like making surprises for you. Making your eyes gleam is very scintillating for me," he said with a little smile.

"Mmm… I know that feeling. It's hard to get that gleam out of you though."

"Is that so?" his brow rose beneath the silk mask, a twinkle in his gaze now.

"Yes… Though, the idea of having pain perdu did manage to spark such a look in your eyes."

"I implore you to find someone who does not enjoy that dish."

"Well, I am starved and we can think of how I can signal you that I am ready for your proposal while I make it for you."

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

The simple meal Christine prepared was a mouth-watering delight. Sliced bread dipped in a seasoned milk-egg batter and then fried in a cast-iron skillet until browned had a way of becoming a favorite meal. Simple, filling, and easy to cater to any appetite. They opted to open a can of peaches and spice them with a generous heap of cinnamon before heating it next to the batch of pain perdu. The warm fruit with a dollop of crème balanced the fruit's sweetness and melded with the rest of the dish.

Erik had two hearty servings, which served to prove that he did possess an appetite. A big one, as she was not accustomed to seeing him eat more than half a plate of anything.

"So, you do feast on some occasions, or do you have a sweet tooth?" she teased.

Erik smirked before pursing his lips into a repressed grin. "I do eat quite a bit," he admitted before looking at his hand, which reflected the rest of his build that bordered the thin line to emaciation. It was easier to keep a bit more weight on when living in New York, but his body was older then, and there were not as many stairs to conquer daily. "Otherwise, I would not be able to come and go from these cellars every day."

When their meal was finished and the kitchen tidied, the pair retreated upstairs for the night. Clothing and a mask fell as easily onto the floor as they did onto the bed. He lay beneath his nude beloved as she saddled his clothed hips and leaned forward, peppering the sweetest little kisses along his twisted cheek. It took so little for her to melt his defenses. Her mouth, her touch, her warmth…to have her thighs hugging him and her core in the perfect spot to feel how excited he became…

God help him, he would die from a tease before they could ever marry— before he could claim her completely.

And he would die happy.

His hands managed to find her supple breasts, kneading them with a firm grasp.

Christine moaned and pressed more into his hands, clenching her thighs around him. "Yes… just like that," she muttered, eyes closed and her groin rolling against him.

Erik allowed his vision to blur as he savored the tingles she was igniting throughout his body.

She slowed her grinding after a few moments until she stilled, then nibbled his right ear. "I want to see you," she whispered, her arms encircling much of his head and fingers coiling into his thin hair. "All of you…"

Tilting his head to meet her gaze with stilted breath, Erik felt his stomach twist at the idea of her seeing the rest of him.

"Trust me, my love. I won't hurt you," Christine pressed as one of her hands came from his hair to rest on his sternum.

Erik managed a stiff nod and was rewarded by another kiss, this one pressed to his lips, where their mouths parted for a hungry taste of each other. When her kisses and little licks began to trail down his chin, with a gentle suckle at his throat, Erik closed his eyes as his hand left her breasts to grip the blankets beneath him.

"Relax… enjoy it," she intoned with such sweetness.

Her hands roamed him as she began a journey of exploration across his body. Soothing caresses that slid between feathery teases and kneading massages. She pressed the pads of her fingers deep into his chest, either watching or listening to him to gauge the pressures that pleased him the most. Any touch from her was a wonder, but that was not enough for her.

When a stifled moan escaped him at the perfect weight of her hands, Christine honed in on that pressure and began working the tension from his chest, and even over his nipples. That became a little jolt of unexpected desire.

"Don't hide your voice from me," she admonished his restraint. "I want to hear every sound that I may elicit from you."

He cracked his eyes open with a minuscule smirk, "Oui, Madame."

Christine rolled her eyes before she brought her mouth down and captured his nipple, sucking on it and teasing it with flicks of her tongue, much as he did with hers when giving such attention.

When a webbed current of tingles rippled out from her ministrations, an almost startled 'Oh,' escaped him in a breath as his eyes shut again.

Erik felt her smile as she swirled her tongue before switching to the neglected one.

Christine took her time in helping him discover new and unexpected points of pleasure with her adventurous exploration that became more emboldened as she continued her tour of him. She slid off his hips and laid on her side when she began working his stomach. Taking it as an opportunity, Erik sat up long enough to hook his arm under her knee and pulled her closure so her nether regions were accessible.

A startled squeal, then a laugh escaped her at the sudden reposition, making a low chuckle rumble from his throat as he adjusted her a bit more until he resumed his position, only with a hand delving between Christine's folds as two fingers went for her soaking entrance while his thumb worked that sensitive bud.

"Mmm… I'm supposed to be taking care of you…" she moaned a protest, but lifted her knee in permission.

"You are."

Christine pressed a kiss to his navel before shifting her position a bit, not to deny him admission to her, but to gain comfortable access to him.

She brushed her hand over the length of him, discovering his dimensions through the cotton drawers.

Erik's hand stilled his caress of her slick folds, watching her as a mixture of apprehensive anticipation coursed through his veins by the pounding in his chest.

She trailed little kisses along his length as her free hand pulled the drawstrings apart, Erik's breath hitching with every plant of her mouth.

When they fell away, Erik lay rigid in his stillness, watching her every move with a lump in his throat and breath held.

Christine parted the fabric and what little remained of her innocence took flight as she looked over his sex. Although he knew she would have nothing but a statue or a painting to compare him to, Erik considered his endowment to be pleasant. He had seen enough cocks between dignitaries using harems with wild abandon and theatre patrons with insatiable appetites for the ballet to know that he was of average length and a generous girth.

For Christine, seeing a man for the first time left her unsure what to do next. What was proper? What did he expect or want? It was odd, yet excited her too, with a heat in her groin begging her to have him fill her with what lay erect before her. To her fortune, her curiosity outweighed her nerves as she began tracing a finger along him, noting the radiant heat and his pulse beneath. There was a light curve to him that her body wanted, whispering that it would hit the right spots within her when the moment came.

She began to stroke him as she did the night before and heard Erik's groan at the sensations she gave him, but she paid special attention to how the skin moved along his shaft. The oozing tip peaked out when she slid her hand down him, then vanished beneath a sheath when the caress pulled toward it.

Erik's legs parted a bit as she worked him, which she took as a good sign as she pleasured him under his watchful eyes.

When she looked toward the base of his shaft where the skin's texture changed, she saw why he hid himself, and could not fault his sensitivities with how he was handled. The cruel discolored lines and little puckered scarring were hard to miss but appeared to be nothing more than a cosmetic 'fault' that someone inflicted upon him. It wasn't just at his base, but a few along his shaft and fleshy sacks.

She shifted her caress to knead that part of him, recalling how much he liked it last night, and she enjoyed fondling that area for him.

But Erik was not relaxing or enjoying the attention in the way she hoped.

When she looked at him, she saw how wide his eyes were, and every bit of unsettled nerves behind the glossy surface.

She did not know what was done to him, nor did she want to speculate on that cruelness either. Instead, she knew what needed to be done at that moment, if only by vague knowledge of what worked for him.

Bastard, she thought towards the man who hurt her beloved in this way. May you burn for what you did to him!

Christine dipped her head and brought her mouth to every scar she spied on his member, issuing a lingering kiss on each one, willing her lips to bring him some sort of healing and comfort.

An emotive cry escaped him in the form of a grasp as his hand flew from her loins and to his mouth. He was trembling as he appeared to bite down on the side of his hand, at the base of his thumb where it branched out from his palm.

She paused her affections, worried she overwhelmed him too much already. "Do I need to stop…?"

"No…" he rasped. The fingers of his other hand were like claws as they came down to rest on her head. Despite the frantic finger combing through her hair, he remained gentle as though he were unsure what to do with himself. "No… Christine, you do not have to do this for me…"

"I don't have to, but I want to because I love you, so very much. You are beautiful to me," she said with a newfound resolve and realization that burned deep within. His deformity might be disturbing and unpleasant, but she would not have him look any different either. "All of you," she added before she took him in her mouth, tasting him and his brine.

Whether he wept from her words or her mouth, Christine did not know. Both would be a fair guess. Christine did not harbor the faintest idea as to what she was doing, or how pleasure him best. She let her sense of adventure and thirst for discovery guide her. Erik's moans and little hip thrusts were something of a guide. Her name was being sung in the air and his fingers started curling into her hair, but he took no control of her head.

The flexing of his fingers caused minor hair pulling against her scalp, which caused wonderful shivers all the way down to her breasts. It sent those tingles over her spine too, but it was nothing comparable to the arousing sensations in her chest.

She experimented with a swirl of her tongue on the tip and suction she created, the groaning moans she heard from him serving to motivate her path of discovery. How much of him could she take? Did he like his member being stroked too, or did he prefer her toying with his hefty sacks?

Erik's pelvis turned toward her more.

Oh, he likes that… she thought, oblivious to the fact he had started growing a bit harder in her mouth or that his breathing became shuddering gasps and moans. She heard her name a few times, the tone more strained than musical, and the amount of his brine seeping into her mouth seemed to double.

In the next instant, his hand tightened in her hair and pulled, forcing her head and mouth away from his member. His other hand shot down and grasped the top of his shaft and jerked it away from her.

At first, she was annoyed and confused by the abrupt hair-pulling, until she saw the white ropes of his seed spurting onto his stomach. It erupted in small bursts of spasmed twitches and pleasured groans between little gasping pants.

Erik made a mess, which dispelled any brief agitation for the situation. She was uncertain if she would want any of it on her face. Rather, a primal craving demanded his seed belonged in one place, and his stomach was not it.

"I…tried to warn you," he breathed as he started to come down from bliss. His grip suddenly loosened in her hair, then fell away as he became more aware of himself.

"Did you?" she asked, shifting so she could snuggle into his arms and rest her head on his shoulder.

"You were… very involved…"

"I liked…pleasing you." Christine could not say she enjoyed the act itself outside of the moment, rather, doing it all surprised her. But the true driving force behind it was giving him bliss, which brought her a different sort of satisfaction.

"It is a pleasure of a different sort," he murmured, rolling toward her until he was looming above her. He nestled between her legs, his softened sex against hers and his seed sticking to her stomach too now.

"Take me," she begged him.

Erik tilted his head, studying her beautiful blue eyes before he lowered himself to rest on his elbows so their chests joined, but put little of his weight on her.

He wanted to take her. Without his drawers blocking him, there was little to stop him from taking her.

"You are heaven-sent, my Angel," he murmured, tasting himself on her in a drawn-out kiss where he sought every corner of her mouth.

Christine's arms and legs wrapped around him. "Please," she breathed when they broke for air. "I need you. I need you so much. I want you to take me. I am yours."

"I will never be able to let you go, Christine," he gasped as he felt new life surge in his groin, ready for another round. "I can barely stand the idea of having you leave me when you have taken me in your perfect mouth, and letting you go…"

"I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere when I have you loving me."

He pressed his forehead to hers, nuzzling close and breathing in her scent. "I want nothing more than to claim you as forever mine. Your mouth brought me heaven, and I want to swim in your paradise as we writhe and seek our bliss until our bodies can no longer move."

Erik trailed the back of his fingers across her cheek. "You say that you are not ready for marriage. If we open Pandora's Box now, what pleasure we can bring with our hands and mouths will be nothing by comparison. There will be no going back. I have no qualms about risking or having a child with you out of wedlock, but is that something you want now?"

Her fingers flexed against the back of his neck, her eyes wet and her chin and lower lip quivering. "I need you," she rasped.

"You have me, my love," he cooed, kissing her tears. "My kiss, my touch… You shall my mouth and hands anywhere you need them to go."

"I want you," she pleaded.

She was wearing down his already weakened resolve. "Tell me you are willing to risk a child, Christine, and I will take you now."

"I…" she began, clenching him tight.

Author's Note: Erik and Christine... these two spiral in conversation and thought, and I'm just kind of, there for the ride. The Spice also became a lot more than I planned, and took some rather unexpected turns.

Please tell me what you think of the Spicy bits AND the pre-spice whirlwinds we had. I'm always eager to devour any and all feedback you give me, and I like seeing if everyone catches all the details I'm throwing down or if something resonates with you.

Lastly, what do the French call French Toast? Pain Perdu. See? Get more than a story, I'm giving out some recipes here, hehe.