A/N: Written for rienerose/riene's prompt "Champagne. Christine's had too much. Maybe it's New Year's Eve. (You can approach it from when she's younger with the other ballerinas, or older with Raoul or Erik. Up to you.)"

He sits her gently down on their bed, and she giggles, lying back against the pillow. Her normally pale cheeks are rosy from the champagne, eyes sparkling, and he gently puts her sitting again, carefully undoing the buttons of her dress.

"Cometo bed withmeErik, won't you?" She slurs her words together, her little hand resting at the back of his neck, thumb stroking the hair curling against his nape. "Please?" Her voice is pleading and he sighs, slipping her dress off and pulling her nightdress down over her head.

"Of course I will, my love." He presses a kiss to her cheek, and lays her down. "You will sleep here, and I will sleep right there beside you." He makes to lean back for to undress, but her fingers snag in his waistcoat buttons, insistent.

"No, Erik." She sloppily presses her lips to his. "I want-I want you to make...love to me." She bats her eyelashes at him, trailing her fingers tantalisingly down his neck.

He stills her hand with his own, kisses it and sets it down. "No, my darling. You drank too much champagne. You are intoxicated. What you want is sleep, and some strong tea in the morning." He disentangles her fingers and rolls off the bed, casting his jacket aside and swiftly unbuttoning his waistcoat.

She pouts at him. "But, Erik-"

"No." He throws off his shirt and kicks off his shoes, following them with his trousers. "That would be taking advantage of you, and it would be wrong." He pulls on his own nightshirt, and crawls into bed beside her, pulling the covers up tight around them. "Tomorrow, though, if you are still inclined..." He trails off, the first of her snores reaching his ears. Her lips are barely parted, tumbling curls falling over her face, and he pulls her into his arms, cradling her head close. "I did warn you, my love." He kisses her forehead and nuzzles into her hair, content to have her just like this. She is never drinking champagne again. And if she asks why, well, he really must consider her voice.