It had grown very quiet in my bedroom during the several minutes that we were locked in each other's arms; at length Erik pulled back a bit from my embrace, searching my face, his eyes soft.

"What…what do you suppose we should do now?" I asked in what was almost a mumble, and then his eyes moved over the rest of me in a way that made me very aware of the warm, insistent pulse between my legs. There was a little slippery dampness of my own there, and I shifted my thighs together, trying and failing to ignore it.

"Before this is taken any further, I have…questions," Erik said, his voice strangely tight, and I swallowed, not sure where this was leading. "Go on, then," I said bravely, though my voice was very quiet. "Ask whatever you'd like."

Erik blinked, and took a deep breath, as though he were preparing to submerge himself underwater. "How far," he began, and then hesitated, seeming to gather his courage. He closed his eyes and took another breath. "How far, Christine," he asked, "do you wish this to go?"

I felt a tremor run through me. "Right now?" I asked softly. Erik opened his eyes, but his gaze avoided mine somewhat. "Right now," he agreed, "and…or…in the foreseeable future."

I hadn't entirely anticipated this; I had more or less assumed that what I had just done would cement the fact that the old rules no longer applied. I remembered then that Erik was hardly ever one to presume something of this nature to be obvious – and little wonder, I supposed, given that presumption in human interaction had likely been a luxury throughout his life that he had rarely felt he could afford. But I was touched that he still felt the need to ask, even after all of this, for his attitude at this moment seemed a bit more profound than simple reticence. It felt more akin to a kind of reverent respect.

I gently laid my hands on either side of his face; he stiffened for a split second, but relaxed beneath my touch. "Perhaps this is a bit forward," I said, "but I think…if it's not too much trouble, I think I should like you to…to return the favor, so to speak." My cheeks were hot and I was certain that they were blushing as brightly as the moon, but I held steady.

"Speak plainly, Christine," Erik said, his voice dropping in pitch, and his eyes, when I met them, were darkened and hungry. I sucked in a breath.

"I want you to touch me," I whispered. "Really touch me. Everywhere I showed you. But…" I suddenly looked around a bit helplessly. "This bed is so narrow," I said in exasperation, wriggling a little. "It was never made for two."

"Where do you suggest we continue this, then?" he asked, and the timbre of his voice made a tremble go up my spine, a sharp tingle of anticipation. I felt it in my belly, my breasts, between my legs. "I don't…I don't know," I said in a rush. "The other bed, the one in Mama's old room, is…significantly larger. But I…no, we couldn't possibly do anything of this sort in there. It would be too strange."

"We shall have to make do, then," Erik murmured, "in this cramped little space, which is nonetheless very appealingly feminine," and he pulled me against him, the corners of his mouth faintly turning up when I gave a little gasp of delight. Suddenly he rolled me over so that I was facing away from him; his torso and hips were pressed tightly to my back and his hand roved down my stomach and side. Too many clothes, I thought with a shred of irritation amidst the haze of bliss that his touch provided, and it seemed Erik had similar thoughts, because he brought his mouth very close to my ear, lightly tapped the buttons of my basque, and whispered, "Off."

A hot, dizzy thrill sliced sharply through my body at this slightly unexpected but welcome command, followed by a wave of tenderness when, as usual, he swiftly remembered himself and whispered, "Please."

"As my maestro commands," I murmured, and I felt him shiver behind me. Oh, yes, he liked that very much, didn't he? I was in control, really, but my deference was a kind of implied illusion, almost like an erotic game. I knew, now that I trusted him, that at any time I could ask for this to stop and it would, without question. That cocooned feeling of safety was very emboldening indeed.

My fingers moved quickly over my buttons to undo them, and I sat up briefly to shrug out of my basque. My face flushed with pleasure as I heard a soft, appreciative sound behind me. It seemed a little crass to simply drop my basque on the floor, but I didn't seem to have much choice as getting up to hang it in my wardrobe seemed a trifle too mundane and ordinary, a strange and jarring break in the rhythm of what we had begun.

I peeked coyly over my shoulder as I let my basque fall to the floor beside the bed. "What would you like me to do next?" I asked, and Erik swallowed hard, reaching out his hand to brush against the waistband of my skirt. "Off?" I queried with a coquettish little smile, and Erik nodded meekly.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, facing away from him again as I unbuttoned and untied. My skirt slowly sank to the floor around my shins, followed by my petticoat. Erik exhaled sharply behind me, and I was caught at once between the thrill of being looked at and the vulnerability of being exposed.

I sat back down on the bed again, bending over to take off my shoes, and suddenly I felt Erik draw a little closer, his fingers trailing lightly over the laces and lines of my corset. I shivered as he pressed a soft kiss to the small of my back.

"Could…" I licked my lips nervously, not quite brave enough yet to turn around. "Could you unlace me? I've managed on my own for a while, since Emilie left, but it's ever so much easier when someone else can do it for me."

Erik made no reply, but I felt his cool, trembling hands on my back. My eyes fluttered shut as he carefully, slowly undid the knots and loosened the ties. "Like this?" he asked quietly, and I nodded, unclasping the corset from the front and removing it entirely. I sat there silently for a moment, my back still to him, his hands still hovering. I could feel them in the air behind me, tracing my shape just as I had previously imagined, and I looked over my shoulder again at Erik. He looked utterly transfixed, though the expression turned to something more like embarrassment as he glanced up at my face and saw me looking at him. "You are the loveliest thing I have ever beheld," he breathed. "Poets and artists could try, but they could never hope to successfully capture your likeness or to do your beauty justice in painting or verse."

My cheeks flushed and I shifted a bit, my knees and thighs rubbing together as I felt a little throb between. "What should I do now?" I asked softly, and his eyes raked my barely-clad frame with all the wild worshipfulness of a starved fanatic. "Come here," he whispered. "Come back to me."

I gladly did as he asked, sliding my legs back up onto the bed and letting out a sigh of pleasure as he enfolded me in his arms. "Do you know how beautiful you are, Christine?" he murmured into my skin, his mouth on my neck. I arched my head back and clutched at his vest, letting out a soft sound as the tip of his tongue traced a swift path up the column of my throat. "I…suppose…that I ought to, given how often you tell me so," I breathed.

"Do you mind it?" he asked, turning me over again and biting down lightly on my shoulder. "That I tell you so often?" I wriggled against him, and his roving hand found its way up under my camisole, sliding over the bare skin beneath as he let out a little gasp.

"Answer me, Christine," he said between his teeth, and my eyes closed again. "I don't…mind it," I whispered. "I like it."

"And this?" he breathed softly into my ear. "Do you like this?" His fingers were skimming over my abdomen, slowly traveling higher and higher.

"Yes," I moaned, and Erik let out a swift breath. "And this?" he asked in a shuddering whisper as his fingers lightly traced the swell of my breast. I let out a soft little cry in response, and Erik buried his face in my hair, his hand slowly cupping and fondling first one breast, then the other. He told me he loved me, over and over again, and I murmured it back to him as my body quivered, my heart beating out an ecstatic refrain of finally, finally as he touched me.

At length his hand dropped down, moving slowly over my ribs and stopping abruptly at the waistband of my drawers. There was a long moment of silence, and we were both very still but for the sound and motion of our breathing; my pulse pounded in my ears as I grasped his hand in mine and drew it gently down between my legs.

I wore drawers that had a slit in the underside; I didn't see the point in wearing undergarments that buttoned up, as they made natural functions a trifle more difficult. Another benefit of these particular undergarments, I just then realized, was that they provided far less hindrance in situations like these. Erik inhaled sharply as his fingers slid down; to my consternation, he lifted his hand after a moment. I realized he was intently studying the wetness on his fingertips.

"Is this a sort of…byproduct of desire?" he asked, and I nodded, my face warm. "Fascinating," he said in that sonorous voice, and I felt a tingle go down my spine. "Will you show me?" he whispered. "Show me how, just as I showed you?"

My cheeks grew even warmer. "I…I'm not quite…I don't…that is, I've never…well…once…my fingers began wandering during a bath, but I felt so wicked that I stopped almost at once and I never did it again."

I glanced beside me to see Erik tilting his head.

"What is it?" I asked uncertainly.

"You," he said, but not unkindly. "You are a puzzling amalgamation of prurience and purity. I have observed and overheard enough to know that women are not, by and large, the prim and passionless creatures that society would paint the ideal of them to be. But even so, they would appear by all accounts to be the more restrained of the two sexes in their personal habits. Is that a consequence of biology?"

"I don't…I don't know," I said, feeling very flustered. Now was not the time for Erik the Scientist to appear, but appear he had, and I was so caught off guard that I made no attempt to steer the conversation back to its original course. "When I was young…I went to church. The parson was all fire and brimstone and I vividly remember a particular sermon about the evils of…of touching oneself. It made me very uncomfortable. Perhaps that was why. At least for me."

"Ah, yes," Erik said, a little bitterness creeping into his voice. "Society, or more particularly religion, then. I am familiar with that specific discomfort. Not that I… ever really allowed it to stop me, particularly when I was a much younger man."

"Oh?" I asked curiously. I rolled over and saw that the tips of his ears had turned pink. "You can't possibly want me to be so candid as to tell you more, Christine," he said.

I flushed a little. "And what if I do?"

Erik's eyes swept down my body again, and I wriggled closer to him. "Then you are far more astonishing than I have ever credited you, Christine Deschamps," he said, running his fingers through my hair. "But it would appear that I have some unfinished business to attend to at the moment."

"I don't know how to show you," I murmured, "not quite, but I can try. Would you like that?" Erik nodded wordlessly. "Perhaps we can learn together," I said, and he met my mouth in a welcome kiss. We kissed for a long time, until I felt dizzy and warm and aching; I took one of his hands and guided it to the apex of my thighs again, this time slipping it down under the waistband of my drawers.

As I slid his hand down, one of Erik's fingers brushed against something that sent sparks off through my body, the same place I had discovered with my wandering hands during my bath. He noticed my little gasp, and looked at me intently, his finger remaining in the spot. "Here?" he asked quietly, and I quickly nodded. "What is this?" he asked me, his finger moving just a little from side to side atop the swollen nub. "I don't…know, but…it's good," I breathed. My eyes were half-closed but I could see him looking at my face, his eyes fairly glittering with careful delight and fascination. After a moment, however, his movements down there began to feel slightly awkward, almost painful.

Erik was as observant as ever, and he swiftly noticed my minute change in expression. "Christine, am I hurting you?" he asked, lifting his hand a bit. "Should I stop?"

I shook my head violently. "What should I do, then?" he asked softly. "Tell me, gudinna. Don't be silent. Tell me what to do. Please."

I felt strange giving him commands, but he had asked, and I was nothing if not obliging. I remembered what I had done in the bath, before I had felt overcome with guilt and had forced myself to stop. "Try…moving in circles," I whispered, gesturing in the air, and then winced as he tried. "Little circles," I said. "Gently. Please."

Erik was far more hesitant now, but he did as I asked, and his mouth turned up when I let out a high, soft breath and moved against his hand.

"Just like that, Erik, just like that, oh, please don't stop unless I tell you," I gasped, and through my fluttering eyelids I saw Erik's faint smile widen into something more like a grin.

I writhed beneath his touch, sounds coming unbidden from my throat. The light, circular rhythm of his fingers – two now – scarcely changed, slow and sweet and setting me aflame. "Beautiful woman," he said between his teeth, his gaze as ravenous as that of the wolf he had warned me about. "Beautiful, sweet, maddening Christine. Tell me you love me."

"I love you!" I cried out, swirls and shocks of pleasure spiraling throughout my body and beginning to build in scope, a sort of gathering crescendo. "Oh, Erik, I love you! Don't stop!"

"Christine," he breathed as he continued his ministrations, though they began to pick up speed almost imperceptibly. "Oh, Christine. My Christine. Mine."

"Yes," I gasped, and then the crescendo came upon me, like a crashing wave, and I closed my eyes tightly as I let out something like a wail. He didn't stop, and I was breathless and almost blind with delight as the wave descended mercilessly upon me again and again in swift succession.

"Stop…stop," I finally managed with a sob of air, and lay panting beside him, my brow covered in a thin sheen of sweat. I curled into him and wrapped my arms around his neck, peppering his cheek and jawline with kisses.

"It was…it was good, I take it," Erik said with faint bemusement.

"It was lovely," I whispered, hardly able to put it into words. I understood what he had meant now, when he had told me there were not adequate words in any language to describe it.

Erik ran his lips over my brow, my closed eyelids. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

"It's you I ought to be thanking," I murmured hazily, tendrils of glowing, tender happiness spreading all throughout me. I nuzzled the base of his throat, where he had told me he wanted to be touched, and he shivered. "Christine, I have…desired before, even fancied myself in love before, but nothing, nothing has ever been remotely comparable to this terrible, beautiful ache and fairly dizzying satisfaction. I have never cared half so much for any other person in all my long and weary years of living. My love for you…overwhelms me, utterly. It fills me to the brim and tattoos itself upon my very bones."

"Yes," I whispered. "It sometimes feels as though I'm overflowing with it. It seizes me and doesn't let me go, but I don't mind it. I don't feel trapped. I feel…alive."

"Exactly that," Erik said. "Exactly. Oh, Christine, I really think that you will never cease to astound me."

There was more I wanted to ask him, more I wanted to say, but my eyelids were heavy, and his hands were cool but his arms were warm, and I was relaxed now beyond measure. I slowly fell into sleep, with his blissful murmurings echoing in my ears.

When I woke, I was alone in the bed, and I sat bolt upright with panic. "Erik?" I called loudly, beginning to think perhaps I had dreamed the whole thing. The clock on my bedside told me that I had been asleep for at least two hours. "Erik!"

"Here, Christine," I heard him call from beyond my slightly ajar bedroom door. I had been covered with a blanket but I realized that I was still in nothing but my stockings and underthings, and despite what had recently occurred, I felt strangely self-conscious.

I slid off the bed and swiftly put on my petticoat, but had little desire to put my corset on again at the moment. My basque and skirt were a trifle wrinkled, and I hung them up for ironing later; in place of them, I put on a light tea gown, something Mama had bought for me ages ago for when I was relaxing at home from my studies at the Conservatoire. Tea gowns were meant to be worn without corsetry, and I felt very comfortable and pretty in it.

I didn't bother with putting on my shoes or even a pair of slippers, which felt mildly scandalous, but it was only Erik. Add to that the fact that it no longer seemed that Erik was merely a guest in my flat – everything had changed in the course of just a few hours, and it no longer seemed wanton or wicked of me to be glad of it. Erik was my lover now, my husband in far more than a superficial sense. We had not, it was true, consummated our marriage in a strictly ordinary fashion, but it had felt like a consummation nonetheless.

I opened my door and stepped out of the hallway into the parlor, but saw no sign of Erik until I poked my head around the corner of the kitchen.

"Good afternoon," he said, and his voice sent a familiar tremble up my spine, leaving little tingles everywhere he had touched me. "Good afternoon," I said softly. "What's all this?"

"I thought perhaps you might be hungry," Erik said, "so I took the liberty of seeing what you had available for a repast. We should perhaps have taken a short trip to the market this morning, when you suggested going to your flat. I apologize for not thinking of it earlier. I was, I think, feeling a trifle…single-minded."

A small giggle escaped my lips in spite of myself. "I was too," I admitted. "I'm sorry I don't have much more than biscuits. Thank you for making tea."

"You're welcome," he said quietly, and then as I sat down at the little breakfast table, he abruptly appeared to notice both the change in my apparel and my stockinged feet poking out from beneath my dress. His gaze lingered below my hem for a long moment and then quickly flicked back up to meet my eyes. He had the slightly cornered look of a man who was trying to be nonchalant. "You look…lovely," he said, and his voice was strangely shy and careful.

I smiled at him, and I saw a flush appear on his chin. He ducked his head and poured the tea from the pot into two of my china cups, adding two cubes of sugar to mine. "Not quite as strong as I prefer it," he said, handing me my cup and settling into the seat across from mine with his, "but it will do."

We sipped our tea in silence for a few minutes; the air was not awkward, thankfully, nor was it entirely comfortable, but something in-between.

"Erik," I finally said, feeling warmth creep up the back of my neck, "I like being married to you."

Erik swallowed his tea a little too quickly and coughed. "I…" His amber eyes met mine, bearing a mildly startled look which quickly softened. "I find I very much like matrimony myself," he said softly, his gaze darting away. He was as shy as a schoolboy all over again, and I felt a sweet, twinging ache in my heart. It didn't seem possible that only days before, I had worried myself almost sick wondering if I loved him. My love for him seemed as natural now as breathing.

I took another sip of tea and cleared my throat. "In the bedroom…you requested I tell you how far I wanted this to go in the foreseeable future," I said, "and I didn't answer that part of the question. I think I'd like to answer it now."

Erik's eyes fixed on my face for a swift moment. He said nothing.

I bit my lip. "I…perhaps this is already quite obvious, given what's happened…but I don't want us to sleep in separate rooms," I said in a rush. "I want to share your bed. Or you to share mine."

Erik slowly sipped his tea, his eyes never leaving my face. "Sharing a bed can mean multiple things," he said, "some more innocent than others." His tone was very careful.

I blushed. "Well," I said softly, "I suppose that largely depends on whether or not you are comfortable with the sort of less innocent activities that might be implied."

"Are you comfortable with those implications?" he asked pointedly, and my blush grew deeper. "Yes," I said. "I believe I am now."

Erik sighed, putting down his cup. "I am aware," he said, "that it is somewhat uncomfortable to speak plainly about these things, but I tire of speaking in mere inferences. What, specifically, are you referring to, Christine?"

The room had grown far too warm, and I was beginning to feel a little dizzy. "Consummation," I finally said bluntly, not sure how else to put it, "in a more traditional sense, that is. Becoming one."

Erik closed his eyes for a moment, and I almost began to wonder if I had offended him. "Christine," he said at last, "that is…extraordinarily generous of you."

"But?" I asked with a little knot in my gut, for the word had been heavily implied by his tone.

Erik opened his eyes, though he did not look directly at me, and I had the sense that he was, again, choosing his words very carefully. "I did not expect this, exactly," he said, "though our current…level of intimacy caused me to think the matter over while you rested. I had never truly given myself cause to contemplate it in a less fantastical and more pragmatic sense until very recently indeed, and I have reached a somewhat unpleasant but – I think – necessary conclusion." He hesitated, taking a deep breath. "I will try not to insult you by insinuating any sort of overt naïveté, my love, but the sort of thing to which you are referring could have…consequences, and I am unsure as to whether or not you have considered them."

I made no reply. His eyes finally met mine, and they were pained. "I am not young, Christine," he said, his voice pinched, though there was quiet tenderness in the way he reached his hand across the table to lay his fingers atop mine, "nor am I particularly healthy, but you are young and healthy both, and that is all that might matter. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said quietly. "I know. There could be…" My words caught in my throat for a moment. "There could be a…a child. But there are ways, Erik, to prevent – "

"Christine," he said, and there was a building exasperation in his voice, "I am touched – astounded, really – that you are even considering this, but I am unwilling to take even the smallest risk in this regard. I cannot imagine suffering you to bear my spawn, particularly as it would be more than likely that you would be raising the child as a widow, alone."

I struggled to take a breath, feeling winded beyond expression at the very thought. "I know," I said again with an effort, and the knot in my gut grew tighter. "I…I just thought that…"

"Christine, as we just recently discovered in that little room of yours, there are…very pleasant alternatives to activities that could result in children," Erik said, and I saw a bit of color come into his face. I smiled almost involuntarily as Erik leaned his forehead into his palm. "It still feels a bit unreal," he murmured. "So many of the events of the past several days feel somewhat dreamlike, but that…that was something else entirely. Your soft hands bringing me to my pleasure, and the feel of you beneath my fingers as you allowed me to bring you to yours – " He shivered, and I took his other hand in mine, bringing it to my lips and pressing it to my cheek. "I want to do it again," I whispered. "And again, and again. I want to sleep in your arms every night and wake in them every morning." I felt a giddy, dizzying happiness, the energy of which seemed to fairly vibrate through my body, all the way into the soles of my feet. This is it, I thought, this is what being in love is like, or at least a kind of overwhelming infatuation – this flushed excitement and this heady thrill of possibilities. I felt it before, just a little, the day that Raoul kissed me. But this has surpassed it by leaps and bounds.

Erik lifted his head from his hand, staring at me with a mixture of adoration and astonishment. "What have I done to deserve you, Christine?" he asked me, and I let out a swift giggle again, kissing each of his knuckles in turn. A certain look slowly flared in his eyes, and I felt my insides turn to jelly. "I should perhaps inform you," he said slowly, "that I am somewhat of a fitful sleeper. I find it difficult to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, and I often rise from my bed in the middle of the night to occupy my sleepless mind. I cannot imagine that arrangement to be very conducive to your rest on a consistent basis."

"I suppose if you must get up," I said with a shrug, "do it quietly. Or wake me too, on nights when I don't have a rehearsal or performance the next day."

"Sometimes…" he said, and his voice grew very quiet and pensive, "sometimes…I have very bad dreams."

"Then I shall be your comfort upon waking from them," I said softly, "if you'll let me."

Erik regarded me uncertainly, but his grip on my hand tightened. "You are so much more than I deserve," he said. "I don't understand it, but I won't complain."

"Good," I murmured, and got up from my seat to give him a swift kiss. "What say we clear the table and spend the rest of the afternoon on my sofa?"

"Oh, I rather think we can hold off on clearing the table," Erik muttered as he threaded his fingers through my hair, the glint in his eyes having not abated in the slightest. "The dishes will wait."