"I went up the stairs,

I crossed the roads,

trains carried me,

waters brought me,

and in the skin of the grapes

I thought I touched you.

The wood suddenly

brought me your touch,

the almond announced to me

your secret softness,

until your hands

closed on my chest

and there like two wings

they ended their journey."

― Pablo Neruda

Their hands were everywhere, exploring the new landscapes of one another's bodies. Their equal vulnerabilities lay open in each other's flesh. The scents, the touches to the tender blood vessels at their necks, fingertips grazing pulsing veins. A catharsis consumed them. Erik and Christine existed as a singular island of touch, scavengers of sensation and overwhelming desire. With each graze of a fingertip to the other's warming flesh, or sweep of the lip across a shoulder or cheek, they laid claim to one another, crafting new countries in the joy of feeling. Shoes and outer garments, such as waistcoats, jewelry, hairpins all lay discarded in a frenzied mess upon the bedroom floor.

Christine broke away from Erik's devouring kiss in an effort to breathe and make a single request. "Erik, I need to feel you, please. . ." Her hands came to the lapels of his tailcoat, sliding it off his angular shoulders. The sleeves caught at his wrists, and he wiggled out of them, the fabric pooling on the floor behind him. "I need to feel your flesh against mine. I need to see your wound healed. Erik, I need to touch you." Her voice was hungry desperation, as she worked at his clothing. She could scarcely get her words out as his mouth ravaged her precious neck, sucking at her collarbone in the most delicious manner. Christine's fingers busied themselves at the knot of his cravat, having already completed the removal of her own bodice, now eager to place her lips to the location of his perfect voice, to worship his throat as Erik now laid his tongue and bloated mouth to hers. She gasped and crushed her breasts to his form, unable to sate her hunger for contact with him.

There was no relief, no coming back from this torrent of desire, this explosion of emotion. The Lost being Found. And how they found one another, the discovery of every single fingertip to flesh, very soon after the sigh of discovery, the moment of being absolutely overcome in the space and shared love of one another! Erik knew not how to navigate this beguiling, unknown world, the continent of being loved simply for himself. The realm of requited love and reciprocal desire had never been a land he thought to conquer. How vast was this world he now inhabited! Christine's sweet mouth coursed across his collarbone, moist and searing with her need, the cravat laid waste in the pile of clothing that now included his tail coat and mask.

Christine whispered a sigh of need against his shoulder, her lips taking pause at her work against his neck. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, nails working at the release of them. Erik paused to cup her shoulders in the broadness of his unusually warm palms and held her at arm's length. "Christine, what do you want of me? I must ask now before. . ." His words stumbled over themselves. The always eloquent Phantom of the Opera was lost in a landscape of her touch . Of all the languages he had mastered, those of touch and requited love remained unknown to him.

Christine lifted her face to him, eyes meeting his. "I wish to know all of you, have all of you. You are my husband."

Erik inhaled on a deep pulse of air, unable to process the sweet words of her admonition. "Not your husband yet, Christine. Though, I wish to be so very soon." Erik allowed her hands to once more resume her work on the fastenings of his shirt, but not without a gentle reminder. "Christine, you must know," he heaved deeply, the sound of his breathing audible though the ruin of his left nostril. "I am not as other men." His long fingers clasped at the buttons of his shirt that she had undone in her progress to be rid of it. "I am damaged in ways you have not seen, in manners of which you cannot comprehend. You will see some of the evidence of this truth on the ravaged skin of my back." Erik chose then to assist her in the unbinding of his shirt, guiding her touch with his long, nimble fingers in the slow process of removing the cloth from his chest.

"Perhaps, we should stop, Christine," Erik, having a moment of reason, covered her hands with his own. "We are only guests here."

Christine offered a knowing but impish grin in response, her hands resuming their work at the buttons of his shirt "Oh, but my Fantome underestimates me," another button unfastened as she breathed against his chest. "We will be undisturbed …"

Her gentle kisses landed at the apex of each button of his shirt as she opened them, the tumult of her ardent desire spoken through her every action. "I wish to know every part of you, My Erik."

Christine's beckoning was a call he could not refuse. "What you will see, Christine, of my skin, my flesh. . .it is all marred, damaged. Nothing exists of a normal man, a man you could desire," Erik's voice trailed off then, as if he could not bring himself to finish the translation of the absolute misery of his thoughts into the language of spoken words.

He was repugnant. Undesirable.

How and why she seemed to love him, he could not fathom. Those answers resided in the dark recesses of his mind, a portion and actuality he could not grasp in this moment of closeness and beautiful clarity.

The Glass Lotus Reborn. Its petals were fresh as they opened for him, for both of them.

"Christine, why?" He gripped her small shoulder blades in his palms and created a small distance between them as he pushed her away, his mismatched eyes seeking absolution in her gaze. "Why me? Why, after everything I have put you through? Why?"

Christine's small fingers paused in their progression of the unbuttoning of his shirt, her needy fingers wishing to divest him of all his garments in her amorous fervor. "This was always meant to be us, Erik? Isn't that certain? I knew this all along, Erik."

"Am I wrong? Am I too young to know my own heart, Erik." She undid another button of his shirt, persistent and certain in her conquest. "Am I wrong, my love? Or am I just now learning what it means to love?." She placed her once timid lips at the newly revealed flesh at the crux of his ribs, revealing the scarred and battered flesh that hung to him.

She passed no judgment as she revealed him. And for his part, Erik remained still, no victim to the Executioner's block, awaiting his beheading. He sat on his knees as a humble man, unmasked, unafraid and vulnerable to the woman that he loved.

The woman who had and would always be his redemption.

"Your wound," Chrstine gasped, as she discovered it. "My love. . ."

"It will heal in time," he drew his long fingers to her own and pushed her touch from the delicate and fresh scar. "You see, I've had a very fine doctor, Christine. I shall tell you of him later."

"Yes, later," she replied, shoving his shirt off his arms. "We will have so much time, Erik. So much time to speak of the long days of our separation. But not now. Please not now." Christine was insistent, and hungry, having spent her preparations for his return to her in quiet, smoldering desire.

Erik paused to shuck away all the garments she had pushed down to his wrists, where they hung limply. Setting his cufflinks to the floor atop the pile of garments, he turned back to her, "Christine, I am only a man, what is it you want of me this evening?" I ask this of you with no consideration of my desires, only of yours."

"Erik," Christine removed her hands from his flesh with a gentle release and rose to her feet, moving to close the balcony doors behind them. "In our time together, as tumultuous as it has been, to say the least," she offered an awkward laugh then, "I feel that this may be a dream that you are finally here with me again, and that if that is so, I must make the most of this dream before I again awaken to loneliness."

Her Phantom rose to his feet and came behind her as she closed the balcony doors, his lips at her ear as his arms came to encircle her waist. "No more solitude, Christine. No more sadness. Please tell me that you crave my touch as deeply as I desire your own."

Christine leaned into his embrace, relaxing her head into his chest, savoring the cool comfort of his lean frame, as if enjoying it for the first time, "I wish for everything that you may offer to me and that I may give to you."

Erik nuzzled at her throat as it lay vulnerable against his chest and laid a gentle kiss, "I will not ask for more than you are willing to offer to me, Christine. Never, though my mad jealousy nearly brought me to force your hand. I am sorry now for even considering such awful thoughts that once consumed me."

Christine swiveled in his arms and looked into his eyes, reading the blatant remorse in their mismatched depths. "There is no forgiveness for thoughts, Erik. Especially those that you did not act upon." She guided his fingers to the busk of her bodice, a silent invitation. . .

His hands trembled, beautiful in their awkwardness. He was hesitant to believe in her desire. Not that she had caused him to think as much, but the sad history of his life had only ever brought feelings and bleak memories of repulsion at his cold touch. Erik's breath caught in his throat as he reached for the fastenings of her undergarment, unsure of how and when to proceed. "Christine," his voice was a faint, aspirated whisper, so overcome was he with lust and feelings of tender worship for her. "Do you wish this of me?"

Christine smiled up at him with misty eyes, her need clearly expressed in their intense gaze. "Yes, Erik. I guess I have always wished for this from you. . .for me and for you. I was just far too afraid to let you know or believe in my own need." She bent her head, slight shame reading in her gesture. "Is that so very wrong of me, to have craved for your touch so desperately, Erik? And to not have known how to express it?"

Erik's face softened, and his shoulders sank into a gentle, relaxed posture. "I have little experience in properly expressing my own emotions, my love. You know this from our shared history. Both the blissful and the sordid." His fingertips settled on the first fastening of her busk then as he offered her a quiet gaze of assurance. Christine nodded as his deft fingers began to work at the clasps of her garment. With the undoing of each fastener, they shared a collective breath. The start of a new journey, the crossing of a bridge they had not yet considered, for it had never seemed a pathway before this moment. Desire and a truly intimate and unique love propelled them forward. "You do not flinch from my touch," Erik remarked, his words and heart full of an overwhelming wonder as he pressed her bosom into his hands.

"And why should I do so, when you are everything I desire in this world?" Christine used her palms to push upon the backs of his hands, shifting her breasts into his long fingers. "Please, I want your hands upon me, Erik. To feel your touch and know that you are REAL. That what you and I have together can finally exist."

Erik's fingers continued to shake as he worked at the bindings of her corset, his eyes widening at each freshly revealed vision of milky flesh. He was at a loss, really. He sighed and emitted. . .a giggle. "I don't quite know how to handle these things, Christine. Your fastenings and such. I'm a bit inexperienced in women's clothing. This damned contraption is hellbent on defeating me."

Christine's smile only brightened at his words, "Well, it seems the genius has an area of weakness, So, the teacher must now become the student, it seems." Her little fingers guided his larger ones to the fastenings until the corset all but fell open at her waist. Her chemise revealed creamy white breasts through diaphanous fabric, her nipples pert and rosy, a temptation that very nearly undid him. Erik inhaled sharply, unable to take in the beauty before him, the reality of this fair creature wanting him. HIM! Of all the possible suitors in her world, and Christine had so many handsome admirers, even excluding that foolish Vicomte, she had chosen his misshapen lips to be the pair that kissed her flesh.

Christine shrugged the corset away and began the quick process of removing her layers of skirting, until she stood before her betrothed in only her stockings and chemise, her curls having fallen from the careful coiffure she had placed them in before Erik's arrival. Her lips were swollen from his ardent kisses and her cheeks appeared to gleam. She was a tousled beauty, and utter perfection to the bewitched man that stood half-dressed and unmasked before her. Erik's own body had begun to awaken to her, and his arousal grew visible as his trousers tightened. He did not attempt to hide it, fighting every urgent impulse to cover his prominent erection. If Christine could so freely reveal herself to him, the very least he could do was not shield his body from her view.

Stepping ever closer to him, Christine placed her palms on his bare chest, her fingertips tracing the faint lines of scarring as well as the ridged redder markings of abuse that littered his torso. "Oh, my Erik, I shall kiss these old pains away. I promise. She bent her head to his chest and began to press her sweet mouth to his ravaged flesh, careful of his newest wound, though it appeared to be completely healed. "I want you to undress me, my love," She purred against his chest, her fingers beginning a slow but beguiling trail down towards his waist.

Erik shivered as her hands came to the fastenings of his pants, teasing at the buttons. "Christine, have I not already done so? You stand before me in nothing but your chemise and stockings?'

Truly, the man was baffled, Christine thought, the maestro of all, was a novice in this very intimate pursuit. Always so confident, seeing her Erik so completely out of his element was endearing. His apparent vulnerability only made her want him more. "Not completely, my darling. You have not yet finished."

Erik's breath came as a violent hiss as she unclasped the fastenings of his pants and slid them, as well as his drawers, down his long, lean legs. He fought to close his eyes in expectation of the disappointment she would find when she truly saw all of him. But he remained locked on her, watching her face as she took him in.

Christine's already bright cheeks filled with a rosier warmth and another beatific smile formed across her face. "You are striking, Erik." And truly, she was not wrong. Despite the deformity of his face and the scarring from years of torture, his body was still something to behold. His height alone was impressive, for Christine had never seen such a tall and imposing figure. Majestic, one might say. His muscles,as was the rest of him, were long but firm, his shoulders angular, but broad. With hesitant curiosity, her gaze moved lower, past his heaving pectorals and his ribs, to fall on the very essence of what made him a man. So, this was what the ballet girls had always whispered about in closed dormitory rooms! She'd had ideas of the look of a man's sex, not just from what the chorines had shared with her- though she had never asked-but from seeing so many of the male dancers scandalously clad in tight costumes. The anatomy unclothed, however, was something quite new.

Understanding the mechanics of what they were to undertake, which she desired greatly, Christine now felt out of her depth. She grew crimson from the bones of her ankles to the tip of her nose as she considered and wondered how she would take that part of him- and it was larger than she had expected- inside of her. She had been told it would hurt the first time, but that pleasure with a chosen lover would overtake the initial pain.

Erik chose to break the silence between them in that awkward moment. "I come to you pure, Christine. As damaged as my body may be, it has never been given to another. I have only ever wished to give myself to you, in every way that you may choose to have me." He understood that they had now crossed a bridge in their relationship from which they could not retreat. With agonizing slowness, he slipped his pale feet out of the remaining clothing pooled around them, and stepped towards his future bride. "I will ask you one more time, my love. Is this what you desire of me? From my own limited knowledge, of which I gained from witnessing several lascivious acts while serving in the Court of the Shah, there will be some discomfort for you. And, as I have already hurt you so greatly, I do not wish to add to your pain."

Christine's response was wordless, just a simple nod as she lifted the chemise over her head, throwing it behind her with abandon. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, she started to slide one of the silk stockings down her leg in a languid, teasing manner. Gulping down the new lump that had formed in his throat at the image, Erik moved to kneel at her feet. "Let me," he breathed. His lithe fingers caressed all the way to the top of her thigh, pausing to rub his thumb over the smooth flesh near the hem of her pantaloons, before rolling the silk all the way down her leg and freeing it from her toes. "You are exquisite," he breathed, placing his lips to the underside of her little foot before repeating the process on her other leg. "No king could ask for a greater treasure, Christine."

"Then come to bed, my Erik and make me yours." It was then that Christine grasped his shoulders, pulling him from the ground and onto the mattress until he lay flush against her. The feeling of his naked chest against her own was otherworldly, and so much more than the fantasies she'd entertained in her secret dreams since the first time he had revealed himself to her as a man and not an angel. She had feared those thoughts at the time, for she was a virtuous girl, or had been prior to the premiere of Erik's Don Juan Triumphant. Of course it had been Erik's music and his touch upon the stage that had awakened such feelings within her, and allowed them to come to the surface after lingering in the sweltering pit of her stomach for so long.

Erik rose above her, his palms gliding down her sides, his thumbs brushing her taut nipples as he did so. "The mere sight of your beauty may very well undo me in this moment, my sweet angel," he crooned, straddling her. "I wish to taste every part of you, Christine. I simply seek your permission."

"I am yours, I can only ever be yours. Please. I need you, Erik. . ." Christine's voice resounded with an urgency and vulnerability she could not stifle.

It was all the encouragement he needed, and he inhaled deeply, his chest heaving, as he quickly slid the pantaloons from her form. She'd thought he would then crush himself to her in a wave of animalistic lust, but instead, he paused, his hands trembling as they hovered above her naked body. He was painfully silent for a few moments as his eyes poured over her with unfathomable tenderness and admiration. He was steadying himself, perhaps unsure how to proceed.

"You are the most exquisite creature I have ever seen, Christine," he whispered.

"Then touch me," she begged and took his long fingers in her hands, bringing them to her breasts. "Take me." Christine's hands moved from his shoulders to caress the broadness of his back, her fingertips grazing the raised lines- the scars of what could only come from the lashings of a whip. She shuddered, even after he had told her what she would find upon his flesh.

His breath came very close to her ear as he bent to kiss it, "This body has seen much physical pain, Christine, and it bears the mark of it. Please, do not pity me for my past."

"I do not pity you. I simply hate knowing that this world has been so very cruel to you." She brushed his malformed cheek with her thumb, while her other hand traced and discovered the raised remains of lashings that crisscrossed his back.

His lips started a journey once more down her body, kissing and nipping first at her neck, then her shoulders, his lithe and beautiful fingers following the path of his kisses. As his mouth found her breast, licking at the nipple, she gulped and let out a little mewl of desire. His touch was fire itself to her. Exhaling a low groan, Erik began to kiss a pathway down her flat stomach, his hands gripping the fleshy sides of her thighs, the pads of his thumbs rubbing her hip bones. He lifted one of her legs then, gently, palm under the muscled calf, and trailed his mouth down it, pausing at her foot.

"Such tiny toes, so delicate," he smiled, and turned it over to kiss the instep.

"You are teasing me," she murmured and grinned up at him, yanking her foot away.

"Oh, I would never tease you or leave you wanting, my Christine," he cooed and proceeded to inflict his sweet torture on her other leg, but this time, she did not jerk her leg away, for his other hand had crept up the inside of her thigh. His fingers were featherlight there as he seemed to be tapping a gentle melody across that tender flesh. Christine thought she might very well go mad, as noone had ever touched that part of her. The sensation was both lurid and delicious, and she longed to grab him and crush him to her. A heat was building between her thighs. Undeniable, real, and hungry.

Erik eased back a bit, his fingers releasing my other leg, as he slid a bit lower down the bed. "Lay back, love," Erik crooned, "and calm yourself. There is no rush." Christine did as he instructed, resting her spine onto the bedclothes, wonderfully bare to his touch. To her surprise, he grabbed her ever so gently by the insides of her thighs, slowly opening her legs and pushing them apart.

"I will touch all of you, every single inch of your flesh." His fingers found the dark, damp curls between her legs and palmed them with his large hand. He slid his fingers then to the most intimate place of her body and began to rub up and down between the folds of her sex. He was discovering her as he might explore a new, cherished instrument. In response, the young woman arched her neck, biting her lip, as he stroked her. "All of you," he groaned, his finger finding its way inside the tight, moist cavern of her sex. She gasped at the intrusion, though she welcomed it.. When his thumb found the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs and circled it, she cried out his name, but he brought a finger to her lips to remind her that they must be quiet. The house was not empty.

"Erik," she moaned, as another of his fingers entered her gently, creating a rhythm. Her body writhed against his touch, and she took fistfuls of the bedclothes in her grip to steady herself.

He bent down further then, pushing her thighs fully apart with his elbows, as his fingers continued to work, pumping inside of her. Her knees were spread wide open, almost touching the bed when he bent his head down and replaced the movements of his thumb with his mouth. Christine stifled a guttural cry then, closing her eyes from the pure pleasure of it. His tongue flicked at the most sensitive part of her, in rhythm with the workings of his fingers. Erik was learning her body and what it craved from him. As he continued in his intimate ministrations, Christine arched back in unrestrained lust for him and brought her hands to the back of his head to pull him closer.

She had not expected THIS. Not this mastery from one so inexperienced. But, what did she know of what he had read and what he had witnessed in the gypsy camps, or the palaces of the Shah? All she knew was that he was bringing her to the brink of something she'd never felt, not even by the machinations of her own hands in the rare moments she had touched herself. Was it sinful? These intimate touches? She could not answer those questions at the moment, for she was hitting a crisis as Erik's hands and mouth brought her to the brink of ecstasy. Instead, Christine bucked her pelvis against his face, crushing him to her as she sought her climax. All at once, she saw stars, her limbs going limp and tingles as she fell into a heap on the bedclothes, having never felt such an erotic or pleasant sensation in the short years of her life. Her chest was heaving and her insides shuddered against his fingers.

"Oh, God," Christine murmured, at a loss for any words that would give justice to the sensations she had just experienced.

Erik removed his fingers from her core and lifted his face, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I said I would taste all of you." He smiled at his future bride and rose up so they were once more face to face, leaning on his elbows on either side of her shoulders.

"For someone that has only learned from books, Persian palaces and gypsy camps," Christine crooned, heady with the aftermath of her crisis, "You are a very learned man."

"A lifetime of being denied the desires you most seek, makes one a studious reader and a curious listener as to the details of what you cannot have."

She took his mouth then, forcing her eager tongue between his teeth, and he responded in kind. The kiss became deeper than any they had yet shared, Christine wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him towards her. "I need you now, the bridge is crossed, Erik. Please."

Needing no further encouragement, He placed himself at her core and entered her very slowly, mindful of the pain it might cause her. "My Christine," he whispered against her earlobe, kissing her neck, her breasts. As he embedded himself deeper into her warmth, Christine did feel a soreness building, though she chose to push it away in search of the beauty of their union. Erik must have seen the discomfort in her face, and he paused in reaction. "I am sorry to hurt you, my love."

"This is a pain I would bear every night of my life, Erik. To be one with you."

As he pressed on, Erik never removed his gaze from her face, so enamored was he with the reactions he caught in her eyes, as they softly closed and then opened widely with each movement of their bodies careening together. With each thrust, he grew more confident, burying himself deeper within her, adjusting his body slightly, so as to cause a delicious friction at the place at which they were joined.

He groaned her name, his head rested in the space between her breasts as he began to thrust harder with increasing speed. They were both fast approaching an all-consuming madness fueled by mutual desire. Christine ground against him with the same intensity with which he plunged into her, meeting him at every pulse.

"Erik, please. . ."

\He answered with a rasp in the back of his throat, thrusting harder, before his fingers found the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs once more, working it deftly.

"Christine, my Christine," he murmured one last time, as she shuddered against his touch, the walls of her sex trembling around him. Erik found his release then, and the enormity of the experience hit them both. Erik pulled her to him, pressing her to his chest as he hit his own crisis. Christine collapsed against him, her chest heaving against his own, the sensation of him releasing inside of her body, causing her to quiver with love and clutch him tightly.

"I won't ever leave you. Never again," Erik gasped, pressing his malformed lips to her sweet face with a frantic urge he could not explain. "Never again." Kissing the top of her head as she laid against his shoulder, Erik murmured, "You are all I have ever loved. All I will ever love, Christine."

The Opera Ghost and his diva made love until the sun rose, napping intermittently between caresses and sweet kisses. Until, finally, as the dawn was breaking, Christine coiled her sweaty body around his and surrendered to sleep.