Author's Note: Who would have thought it would take Eight Chapters (Nine if you count the dalliance in the kitchen!) to cover one Day? Certainly not I!
Warning! Please schedule your next dental exam before reading the following text, as the sugar content below is cavity-inducing! There may be a sour patch tossed in there for good measure because, well, it's ME writing this. But overall? You have been warned.
A Long Day's End
Erik stood in the middle of his parlor, eyes closed and skin tingling in that intoxicating way. Hearing her voice was nothing short of a visceral experience that he never wanted to leave as it snaked around him and made his hands dance to the wave of music, floating up and down with every note. He imagined her sitting at that singular little vanity, brushing out those luscious tresses for the night.
Christine was so happy.
He heard her bliss in every note. He heard that sweet smile pulling at those pale pink lips, and the gleam in her eyes.
It made his heart swell in a fresh wave of cool sensations that bled from his core, that prickled his skin in goosebumps in the few places he possessed a bit of fine hair.
Erik never needed his eyes to know her expression when he had her voice painting the picture for him. It was only her voice that could rouse such a physical response. But this arousal was not one that caused an erection – though it certainly could! This was the arousal of the soul. It was a very peculiar tingle that only came from music or a voice that moved his scarred spirit in such a way that it sparked the web of nerves beneath his flesh to life in a cool wave.
Only two voices held such power over him: his son and his love.
But he would not think of Gustave now…
They had not been home long. He had taken her through the Rue Scribe entrance, so she may have the simplest path to reach his world without escort or boat. Never again would she have to bear that hurdle to her refuge from the world.
From de Chagny.
The burning flare of anger took over and Erik's hands stilled, curling into fists as they fell to his sides. That surge of ire he felt for that pathetic fop allowed Erik to slide from auditory heaven with an irritated snort. There were tasks he needed to finish, and then… then he could take his beloved into his arms without interruption.
Forcing his fists to unfurl, Erik resumed his chore of sorting and putting the day's purchases away or aside for later. Leaving a mess for Christine to see again was not an option, especially when many of his purchases revolved around her.
Minutes later, Erik ascended the stairs and drifted towards her door, every step in sync with the tempo of her cheery melody. He came to stand in the doorway to her room, watching as she danced between her bag and the dresser, putting items away in graceful gestures he recognized from the ballet. There were a few basic items he had for her in there already: nightclothes, a robe, and a wrapper, but nothing suitable as daily wear.
This was something he was in the process of changing, in addition to the trio of day-dresses she was hanging up.
When she turned around and caught sight of him, the brilliant smile she gave weakened his knees.
"How long have you been hiding there?"
"Hardly hiding when you were meant to see me," he quipped.
Christine glanced heavenward with hands flying to her hips, the smile never fading as her brows rose. "You did not announce yourself, especially when I have been waiting so impatiently for your company."
"And miss the stunning vision of your waltz between bag and closet with heaven pouring from your lips? I think not."
"What of your tardiness, Monsieur?" she pressed, the back of her wrist flying to her forehead in the most dramatic fashion. Ode to the woe of waiting.
A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, "Forgive me, Mademoiselle. I was going about my task in good time until I found myself entranced by a Siren's song. I could not help but ride the waves of melody in bliss."
"Ah! Then I have failed! A proper Siren would have lured in her prey with ease! Instead, the target of my song became the victim of the current more than my voice!"
Erik chuckled, "Your voice holds such sway over me, any control I might have over myself vanishes."
"Not all," she said with a pointed look over his wiry frame.
Heat rose to his cheek from such a venturous gaze, "Ah yes. That is only because your welfare means more to me than my physical desire."
"You are an odd one," she stated, and though it was not a complaint, the salacious frustration remained.
"I do believe that has already been made quite apparent, my dear," he replied, looking down at the small parcel in his hands, wrapped in brown paper and twine. "I have something for you, which you are free to discard or burn if you like. My tailor was quite… stunned when I asked about such an item from the ladies' section of his shop, especially when I selected this…"
Christine wandered towards him, eying the small package that fit in one of his hands and wondering just what he purchased. "Your tailor has a ladies' section?"
"The neighboring shoppe is a seamstress, and they saw the benefit of taking down a wall between their stores."
She gave a nod and took the offered gift, which was almost weightless in her hands. "Underwear?" she puzzled aloud.
Erik's mouth twitched, his lips pursing together into a thin line although his eyes sparkled. "Yes."
A bit forward, but then again, they had started exploring each other's bodies. Or rather, Erik had been exploring hers…
Christine pulled the leg of the bow, which allowed the simple knot to disintegrate and the twine to fall away. When she unfolded the paper and saw the pops of color, she hesitated.
What kind of lingerie was this?
She pushed the paper away more, under Erik's gaze, and withdrew a baffling pair of… stockings?
The day had been long…
The stockings were finely knit in a tight weave of cotton that balanced comfort and function, but that was not what made her smile. It was the haphazard and uneven rings of vibrant color. Deep shades of greens, blues, and purples intermingled with light splashes of faded yellow and pink throughout the stockings. They explored the rich shades of a rainbow as even a typical tint of orange found its way into the weave with thicker bands of maroon and even brown. Those deep colors kept the quirky stockings from being too garish in their way, while the lighter offerings brought a strange balance.
What should not have worked together managed to pull off an appeal that made Christine grin. They were asymmetrical in every respect. The only similarity between the pair was the color palette and little else. Where the toes of one stocking were maroon, the other was turquoise. One knee in emerald? The other was auburn and magenta.
"I love them!" she grinned, hugging them to her chest as she lifted her heels to balance on the balls of her feet to steal a kiss.
Erik's hand slid to the small of her back when their lips brushed together. "I thought you might like them."
Christine returned to her usual height, though she craned her neck a bit more to look up at him. "Though, these are hardly underwear. I was expecting some thin piece of lingerie, not stockings."
His eyes glinted with his usual mischievousness, "Well, they are typically worn under daywear, so… technically…"
She swatted his chest with her new undergarments, trying and failing to repress her beaming grin.
"Besides, why waste money on something such as lingerie, my love? It will not stay on long in moments of such intimacy. I rather prefer you bare, when given the choice."
It was Christine's turn to have her face grow flush, the deep pink growing brighter when the back of his fingers brushed over her cheek.
"Do you still wish for my arms tonight?" he asked.
"I want your arms every night."
He withdrew with a slight nod, "Then, permit me a few minutes to change."
Christine nodded and watched as he took a long step back, then another before he began turning on his heel toward his bedroom door. "No mask or wig in bed, Erik," she commented as an afterthought.
Erik stilled a moment and bowed his head to her before he vanished.
In his absence, Christine changed into one of the silk nightgowns he kept there for her use. She slipped under the blankets with her new stockings on by the time he returned, in black sleepwear and no mask or wig in place. The sight of him was still an adjustment, more so when they were not in the throes of intimacy or gaining a vital moment of familiarity.
He was not a handsome man where his poor face was twisted and discolored, in stark contrast to the other half that buckled her knees from attraction. His deformity did not disgust or affect her feelings for him. However, it remained unsettling to look upon. His thin hair appeared dampened and combed with neat precision.
The fact that Erik took great strides in how he presented himself to her, and the world, was not lost on Christine. She knew he chose his attire, masks, and hair, to make himself look as attractive as he was capable. Those manageable elements worked in his favor to great effect.
It was fortunate for her that physical attraction held little effect on what drew her to him. His unique mystique appealed to her. The way he treated her exceeded anything she imagined for herself, even down to the quirky stockings that must have pained him to purchase because surely, they went against his sense of fashion. If having such a man as Erik wanting her came at the price of deformity, then she was grateful to pay.
If Erik were born with a normal face and somehow maintained the same manner he did with her now, Christine knew she would never have a chance. He would have had no difficulties in finding a wife years ago. She would be nothing but a meaningless ant to his life. He had a mind for such great things that could send him to the soaring heights of history. And her? She did not…
His deformity made him uniquely, hers.
The more she saw him without the mask, the easier it became to adjust.
"I do have a mask I can sleep in, Christine," he offered, betraying deep-rooted nerves that were rare to witness. The set of his shoulders and the weary flicker of his eyes were only a glimmer of what must be going through his mind at that moment. "It will not offend me if you rather I wear it."
How horrible am I…? she wondered in stomach-churning guilt. "No," she managed to keep a rasp from her voice, under Erik's scrutinizing gaze. "No masks in bed," her voice somehow conveyed the resolution she wanted to feel. She would adjust. She would, somehow, learn to love his face as much as she loved the rest of him.
That one normal brow arched, those eyes still calculating as they locked gazes and she mustered the strength to hold her resolve. While Erik often insinuated an inability to understand numerous social queues, he possessed a damnable sense of perception.
Regardless of whatever he sensed, Erik broke their brief stare-down and moved towards her.
As Erik slid into bed, an eye remained on her as he positioned himself for optimal comfort while she waited with growing eagerness to be held. When he was situated and those lean arms opened to her, Christine snuggled close and buried her face into that rigid chest. He smelled clean, absent of any salty brine of a day's sweat. By the faint scent of soap, Christine deduced that he must have taken a damp cloth to himself while he changed.
…Which made her feel more guilty for not thinking to do the same for him…
Erik's arms encircled her, pulling her close with a kiss on her forehead. "Only my arms tonight, or do you need more?"
She was silent, toying with a button on his shirt, and debated the offer. Christine had anticipated they might share in activities that night, but that was before her mind started whispering dark thoughts that stabbed at her self-worth yet again. When the day was a miserable plague of unwelcome deliberations, she had what she needed right there, holding her close. She wanted to part her legs to have his weight upon her and let the world fall away.
But then, she would feel all the more guilty of indulging in the generosity of her selfless lover. His need to impress was not lost on her.
Christine wanted to make him feel as loved and wanted as he made her, but she just lacked the energy for that now.
Would he be upset if she declined?
No, no, he's not like that. He trying to determine what he needs to do to please me… Oh, Erik…
"Just…hold me," she murmured into his chest.
He kissed her forehead and shifted away for an uncomfortable moment as he dimmed the lamp on the nightstand to a faint glow that would soon extinguish itself.
Christine nestled closer when his arm returned to her back, fingers tracing faint circles into her spine.
"It's the stockings. They are unbearably itchy…" he prodded, tone lighter than down feathers.
A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she batted her fingers on his chest. "They are not."
"They are too gaudy for your liking…"
The smile deepened. "They are not," she giggled.
The genuine giggle managed to silence him by the renewed levity of her mood. Erik quieted in words spoken. Instead, a calming hum reached her ears as a heartfelt melody wrapped around her like a snug blanket, lulling her toward sleep.
"I love you," she whispered.
He paused the lullaby and tightened his embrace briefly, "I love you more."
As his gentle song returned, Christine's eyes fluttered closed as she gave into the soothing currents of his warm melody, guiding her toward peaceful sleep.
Long after Christine's breathing evened and the kerosene lamp winked out, Erik stared at the wall behind his love. His fingers continued tracing minuscule patterns onto her back and arm. While he did not know what had soured his beloved's mood in his brief absence, he wanted to be whatever she needed.