Ch. 25— Tender Mercies

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Erik knew exactly how intimidating his bedroom could be, especially for his new wife, and so, he had sought to seduce her by degrees in an atmosphere and position with which they had already become accustomed.

He had never before deflowered a virgin, and he hoped like hell she was alright, but when he felt her little inner muscles begin to pulse and work around him, and her low groan of delight, he could not hold himself back.

With a groan of his own, he spent his passion inside his new wife, and the two of them sat together recovering with her modesty if not virtue still intact.

"Are you alright, little mouse?" he asked shakily.

"Y-yes," was her trembling reply.

"Do you think you can stand up?"

She lifted his hand to her flaming face and shook her head 'no'.

"That's fine, my dear. As I said before, we shall go slowly, and I'll let us both catch our breath. You were perfect, angel. Perfect," he encouraged, "And the next time we are joined, it will be even better for both of us because I will learn what pleases you, and you, quick study I know you to be, will learn what pleases me." He kissed her temple. "Now, I'm going to set you on your feet, and you will hold onto me until your legs can support you, yes?"

So saying, Erik lifted her from his lap, catching her when her knees began to buckle. "There, there. I've got you, little mouse, and I will not let you fall."

He heard her gasp, and reaching he felt her face to read her emotions. She was looking down, probably at the evidence of their joining. Gaining his feet and pulling up his trousers, Erik said, "I am going to draw us a bath, Christine, and you and I will get to know one another without the barrier of clothes in the way. Or, would you like to bathe alone?"

He held out his hand, and she put her still-flaming face in his palm shaking her head 'no'. Erik gave a roguish grin. She was wonderful, his little mouse, for well he knew how much this was costing her in terms of embarrassment, but also how much she wanted what was between them. And it was the wanting that, in the end, triumphed.

He said, "I wish I could carry you across the threshold, my dear, but with my foot, I'm afraid it's an impossibility. As it is, we'll just have to imagine such a thing has occurred. Now, come with me; the bathing chamber is not to be missed."

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Christine followed where her husband led, bending and removing her panties from around her ankles, and it was on still-trembling legs she unsteadily followed him.

With a push at the door to his bedroom, he didn't pause to let her examine the furnishings but directed them to a door situated on the far end of the wall. With a twist of another nob, the fireplace in his bedroom crackled to life, and she was drawn away from the sight to the door.

Once she entered, the vision that met her eyes had her gasping for a different reason.

It was a Roman bath carved of marble big enough for four people, at least, to share. He walked them unerring toward the tub, and with another twist of a nob, the bath began to fill, the water pouring in at an alarming rate.

"You will tell me, little mouse, when it's almost full," he said.

It wasn't but a few seconds later she had to tell him stop.

With another twist of a nob, a grated-fire below the tub kindled to life, and Christine could feel heat radiating from it in waves, realizing it was heating the tub water from below. Her husband smiled crookedly, his honeyed eyes downcast. "I imagine you have questions, little mouse. Shall I tell you about this tub?"

She cleared her throat, and said boldly, "'Tub' is hardly a word for it. It, like your bedroom, is an ode to decadence."

"Yes," he grinned, "and we shall glut ourselves with both soon enough, never you fear. Now, come here, wife. I wish to undress you fully."

Her heart thundering, Christine did as bid, standing before him. Far from reaching for her clothes, he turned her away from him so he could hug her from behind. "Remember what I said when I told you embarrassment and shame hold no place between us, little mouse?"

Christine nodded.

"Well, that is true for your physique as well as my own. I am enamored with you, my dear. Your body," he reached for the bun at her nape and began taking out the pins holding her hair in place. "Your mind," Lifting her fallen hair, he placed a chaste kiss on her temple before reaching and removing her unbuttoned blouse and brazier. "Your beautiful voice, Christine." He rolled her nipples, pebbled with arousal as well as from the cold still surrounding them and she gasped at the sensation. "And your gentle spirit." His hands at her waist, he unzipped the seam at the back of her skirt and parted the folds. "Remove your shoes and step out of the skirt," he commanded softly.

She complied, and looking down, only her garters and stockings remained. That and the evidence of they're having been joined. Biting her lip, she stood transfixed as he knelt before her. Her nerves strung taut.

Reaching, he caressed her calf, slowly working his way up to her thigh. He smiled, and with the firelight playing on his patchwork of a face, his lopsided grin was fit for the devil. "Your shapeless frocks and sweaters do not do your body justice, my dear. I understand why you wear them, but my god, Christine!" He shook his head, his fingers unerringly finding the snap on her garter and undoing the belt she wore.

Feeling along her stocking-clad thigh, he began to unroll her much-mended stockings, removing them with patient care, lightly massaging each inch of skin he touched, and Christine could feel her body begin to awaken again.

Lingeringly, he performed the same treatment for her other leg, this time kissing her teasingly, and everywhere he touched, she burned. Her breath hitched as he straightened, and his sightless eyes were parallel to the seat of her femininity. Slowly reaching, he felt the top of her thigh, and then his fingers glided over the downy softness of her mons, familiarizing himself with her texture.

He again smiled, but it was gentle. "You are beautiful, my Christine."

She could only shake her head. Only a blind man would say such things, but her heart skipped time all the same as she heard the reverence in his tone. And she could almost believe him.

"I am hopeful one day you will believe," he mumbled as if reading her thoughts, and he rose to his feet once more.

Biting her lip, she didn't know if she should help him undress or not, but he took the choice from her when he drew her hands to the lawn of his white shirt to the buttons, and said softly, "Undress your bridegroom, madam wife. I've waited for this moment since I felt your tender ministrations on me at the hospital."

"You knew even then we—"

She watched him shake his head, "No, little mouse. Never did I imagine having you as my own, at least, not then. I have dreamt of what you looked like, what the girl behind the sweet voice, the sensible shoes, and such tender mercies when she cared for me would be like to take to my bed. To have her hands run along my skin, under my clothes, across my bare flesh. I have dreamt, almost since the first moment we met, Christine, and I will have this moment for my own to recall at my leisure when I'm old and gray." Reaching for her face, he caressed her cheek. "Now, my dear, gather your courage and claim me as I've claimed you for I am yours to do as you will."

Smiling despite her nerves, Christine did gather her courage, and slowly began to reveal him as he had done to her, gliding her nails along his skin each time an inch of bared flesh was revealed to her.

His in-dawn breath when she first did this encourage her, and she was gratified when she saw raised bumps on his skin anywhere she touched. Prolonging the moment as much as possible, this was what he wanted after all, and she wanted to please him as much as her daring would allow.

His overshirt and undershirt removed, Christine got her first true look of his chest, and she gulped. It, like his face, wasn't a pretty sight, but neither was it displeasing. Knowing how he got these wounds, knowing the beautiful, quick-witted, high-spirited man he was, the rest became cherished in her eyes, just as his dear face was cherished.

Gulping, she reached for the placket of his trousers, seeing they were filled once more with the breadth of him. His hands reached for hers and together, they gently drew the zip down, His trousers fell to his knees, and he kicked them and his shoes away, leaving him only in his buckled socks.

Taking her hand, he stroked himself, and she felt his hardened flesh for the first time with its velvet softness. He was… well, it was hard to believe this part of him fit inside her. It was… well-defined and then some.

Kneeling before him, she began removing the buckles on one calf, using the same worshipful care he did for her, caressing his truly shapely calves and feet. She touched every inch of skin she was brave enough to reach, and once he was bared before her, she allowed her eyes to drink their fill, coming to rest on that part of him that was such a mystery.

He apparently could feel her interest because he twitched and pulsed before her, and then her new husband was hurriedly drawing her from her knees and gesturing she should get into the bath. She did so with a relieved sigh, the warm water a balm to places that had never had cause to ache before.

Following her, he drew her once more into his embrace, and she let her head be pillowed on his chest while he spoke. "My great-grandmother was a sensualist, Christine, and the one thing she adored more than my great-grandfather and music was a two-hour bath. The bath itself is filled with water from the underground lake below us and heated as you saw caldera-fashion. It is—"

"My favorite place so far in your home," she interrupted, smiling softly.

He nodded, "Well, if ever I cannot find you, madam, I know just where to look first." The head of him abutted her entrance, and she drew a sharp breath of anticipation, stiffening in his hold. "Are you sore, little mouse?" he asked.

She bit her lip, wondering whether to be truthful or not. In the end, truth won out. "Yes, a little."

He nodded and adjusted himself so she could not feel the evidence of his desire for her any longer. "I will wait, Christine," he whispered in her ear. "Now after our bath, we will sing together for a time and then we will go to my bed to sleep. And tomorrow, my dear, I am going to take up the mantle of responsibility for my opera house once more."

Christine felt a frisson of dread at this. She was losing him by degrees. It was only right this was so for he could not live in seclusion with her forever, but oh, how she wished it! And so, steeling herself to let him go, she hugged him to her and whispered, "You make me happy, Erik. This time spent with you has been the happiest I've ever felt in my entire life."

His crooked smile beamed, and oh! If her poor heart wasn't irretrievably lost already, that smile would have stolen it away.

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Erik awoke with her in his arms, his chest her pillow. He could feel the sun's warm rays on his head and knew Christine would soon awaken. Feeling her stir above him, he rubbed her back and felt her give a full-bodied stretch. How he wished she was not clothed! And for that matter himself as well, but last night after their bath, he'd insisted upon it. Today had to be as normal a day for her as could be for how well he knew she would feel out of her depth and uncomfortable here in his home.

Well, the first part of replicating their day was easy. He would put in an order for their breakfast, and while that was being prepared he would get his little mouse to warm up her voice. As for the rest… well, he'd just have to take it moment by moment.

"Good morning, wife," he whispered softly.

"G-good morning, husband." The wonder in her voice warmed his heart.

"Are you hungry?" He shifted them so he was over her, his hand reading her expression.

"A little."

"Then I'll order my little mouse a meal. Will you dress and meet me in my study, Christine? We shall go over your vocal warm-ups while we wait for breakfast." So saying, Erik ducked his head until he was beside her ear and whispered, "Know that you are wanted by me in every respect today. Will you consent to accompany me on my errands? To be my eyes so I may run my opera once more?"

He heard her gulp. "Yes, Erik. Although, will I have to meet many people? I don't think I ca—"

He shook his head. "Not today, no. Today, we're going to listen. You're going to watch, and we will wait until the moment is just right for me to announce my return to all and the sundry. Now, get dressed La Daae D'anton. I want to hear you sing." Giving her a 'pop' kiss on her cheek, he left her in his bed and readied himself for the day. For good or for ill, he would be responsible for the opera once more.

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Her morning warm-ups complete, Christine heard the soft scratching on the door to signal their breakfast had arrived. She had heard her husband give orders over the phone that his return was to be kept a strict secret by all who knew. And so, it was a young girl by the name of Meg who delivered the cart, as he explained, instead of one of the serving staff.

"Meg. Good to see you, my dear," Mr. D'anton greeted warmly.

"Mr. D'anton, sir," the young brunette said cheerily rolling in her cart of food. "It's so good to have you back! You've been so missed, and I know-oh—" she gasped, the cart rattling to a stop.

Christine watched as the young woman went pale at the sight of her husband. "Mr. D'anto— oh, your face. It's… Oh..." She was horror-stricken.

Her husband's jaw grit tight, he immediately turned away from the girl.

Trying her best to salvage the situation, Christine rushed forward, "I-I'm Christine. And what's your name?"

"M-Meg. Meg Giry," the blue-eyed girl said, still shaken and looking at him with wide-eyed shock. "What happened? Why does he look li—"

"Miss Giry," Christine interrupted softly, "I thank you for the food, but Mr. D'anton and I would like to be alone for now. Do you remember his instructions?"

Not believing the girl heard her, Christine moved to stand in front of her, thereby blocking her husband from the younger woman's sight. "Meg," she entreated gently, "Do you remember what he asked you to do?"

The girl licked her lips and said in a choked voice, "T-to keep his return a secret."

"And can you do this, Miss Giry?" Christine asked calmly, looking deep into the younger girl's eyes. "Will you do this for him? Protect him from unwanted attention?"

As Christine watched the girl shed one tear, then two. "I—of course."

Christine nodded, "Thank you. He will call if you are needed." She nodded to the door and ushered the younger woman out, closing the door gently behind her.

He had his face turned away, his back to the room. He needed her.

Straightening her shoulders, Christine went to him and placed her hand gently on his back. "Breakfast is here, husband, and we have much to accomplish, I think."

"Am I a monster, Christine?" he asked, devastated. "Do I—will I… frighten those who look upon me and send them running away?" His voice sounded lost, and Christine closed her eyes.

She knelt before him and drew both his hands up to her face. "You are still you, Erik, and it's not your face that shocks them so, but the drastic change in your appearance. You are not monstrous. You are scarred, and you look nothing like you did before the war. It is the shock I saw most prominent in Miss Giry's eyes more than anything. She wasn't afraid of you, but what happened to you."

"And you, little mouse?" he asked carefully.

She closed her eyes. "Your little mouse will do her utmost to see her lion restored his rightful place as king."

"Oh, Christine," he uttered, and there was care and loss and reverence in his tone. He drew her up until she was standing before him, and he hugged her, holding her tightly to him, his head pillowed at her womb. Soon, she felt dampness through the fabric and realized he was crying.

Her heart truly did break for him then for nothing she could do or say could make up for this loss. And so, she held onto him, held onto him while the tumult of emotion swamped him and grief ran its course. Held onto him and soothed away his tears and gave comfort the best way she could.

Feeling his grief lessen, she bent and placed a gentle kiss on his tear-dappled cheek but was caught off guard when he turned his lips and met hers with a fervor, an ardor for which she was unprepared. "Let me lose myself within you, my sweet angel. Please?"

Not quite knowing what he meant, but somehow knowing exactly what he meant and feeling weak at the knees, Christine nodded into his hand.

He stood, and then he was holding her to him, his kiss a frantic thing as he began removing her clothes and then his own. Once he was as nude as she, he reached the foot of the bed and then held out his hand for her.

Gulping, but not hesitating a moment, she put her hand in his, and he pulled her to him until she was wrapped in his arms.

He pushed them until she had no choice but to tumble to the bed. However, he was right there atop her in an instant, his mouth fusing to hers, kissing with desperate need, moving to her throat and nibbling the delicate flesh there, his hands roving up and down her stomach, breasts, and sides.

She knew this would be no gentle coupling. This would be one of yearning and of taking, and she would need to be there for him, to have him take what he could from her, what she could give. And give she would, pushing past her worries, her self-doubts, her shyness. They had no place here in his bed, after all; a place where she was needed, where he needed her most.

Christine moved underneath him and kissed him back with all the passion she had, cherishing his gasp of surprise, his hands as they came around her and drew her closer to him, close enough to where she could feel the beating of his heart.

He pled, "My angel, my Christine. Open for me, sweet girl. Let me in."

And she did so, feeling him move against her until he was inside.

She gasped as he filled her completely, and she was so small, and he so big, and the fit so tight, but each second that passed her body was accommodating, and soon, her pleasure returned in full, leaving her gasping again, this time for a different reason.

He bent and kissed her, a gentle, chaste meeting of lips as he began to move slowly, so slowly… working his way in and out. And she clutched him to her and drew him close. She would not cower from this, from them, but she did want him with her when she fell away, and she seemed precariously close to the edge already.

His lips found hers once more and this time there was heat as he showed what he needed, and she was there, giving all she could to him, meeting him kiss for frenzied kiss. He began to move them faster, and she moaned, his back bowing as he ran his hands down her body and then back up, pausing at her face to read her expression.

She kissed his palm, and he caressed her cheek before whipping his hips forward and plunging deep.

She cried out, whether in shock or in pleasure she didn't know. The sound was ripped from her, and she knew her pleasure was what he demanded.

And she gave it, meeting him thrust for thrust, soon feeling the whip-cord fury of her climax overcome her, scorching her, forcing her into something new. And then he was there moaning with her, the both of them crying out, and from a passion-filled haze, Christine watched his expression morph from one of anguish and pain to joy and ecstasy.

He bowed his head to hers and plunged deep.

And as she felt his release fill her, she was thankful he was giving her what she needed most, which was for him to find a moment of peace.

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He was in awe of her.

She had been there for him, giving of herself, of her body so completely, answering his voiceless plea for comfort and to find some sanity in the madness his life had become.

"Did I hurt you, my angel?" Erik's whispered words sounded a thunderclap after the storm of their love-making.

It seemed an eternity before she answered him. "N-no," she assured quietly, "I was many things just n-now, Erik, but hurt was not one of them."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled away from her, becoming two when just a moment ago, they were one. "You sound sure of yourself, Christine," he smiled softly as he drew her to his side.

"I am sure of you, husband. More so n-now than I ever was before. You are…" she buried her head in the crook of his arm and mumbled "…magnificent."

Erik's mouth opened, but for once he didn't have anything to say. His little mouse thought him magnificent, did she? He grinned and said, "I am yours, wife. Our breakfast by now, for certain, is cold, but if you're willing, then so am I. We'll get re-dressed, and I'll take you on a behind-the-scenes tour of my opera house.

He made to get up, but a thought occurred to him, and he turned them until she was underneath him.

He felt for her face, specifically her lips as he said, "There is only one of us who is magnificent, and she's laying right here before me. You are my gift, Christine. If ever there was or is an Almighty force at work, I thank my lucky stars you were put in my path." He felt her gasp. "Oh, yes, dear heart. I am forever lost to you. You, blessed or cursed however you see it, will have my love and devotion until I breathe my last, and I will count myself blessed to have each and every moment I can with you until my time is done."

He read her face for a reaction, touched when he found tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She stuttered, "I l-love y-you too."

Erik's smile could have shamed the sun.

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A/N: If it takes me the rest of my life, I'm going to finish this fic. Love you all and thank you for being patient with me!

I've got three more chapters written and will be posting them soon. As in weeks. Not years. I'm so sorry, but life happens, and we all do as we must. Cheers to everyone who's ever read my story, and those that left a review, especially an encouraging one, THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!