He had done it!

He had shown himself to Christine, had stood before her as a man, and she had - willingly - followed him to his home. Her voice, that magnificent instrument, was already his, but he wanted her body and her soul as well.

She was waiting for a command, one he would not give her. The next step should be taken by her; he would court her, but not force her to accept his marriage proposal. However, he would make sure to persuade her.

All needed was his greatest assets: his voice and his music.

He began to serenade her and she fell under his spell immediately, her gaze following his movements like a shadow. When he neared her, she did not shy away, but leaned into him and as he sang of the senses abandoning their defenses, she too abandoned hers.

She was enchanting, more beautiful without the reflective obstruction of the mirror between them. The candlelight made her skin glow with warmth, a blush creeping into her cheeks, and he longed to reach out to touch her.

The lyrics of his song offered him the perfect opportunity; he gently laid his hand on her soft, flushing jawline and turned her face away from him, allowing him to step even closer to her alluring frame, before guiding her face back to him.

He hadn't calculated how close her plump lips would be to his mouth when she faced him again. The way her eyes fell upon his own lips should've made him uneasy; from this distance she would easily be able to notice the bloated side barely hidden beneath his mask.

However, it was all but forgotten when he saw her tongue sweep over her pink lips in apparent anticipation. She expected him to kiss her and in that moment the music inside him seemed to evaporate, only to be replaced by the uncontrollable urge to lean in and press his mouth to hers.

His fingertips were still caressing her face, lightly grazing the line of her jaw, and by sheer instinct he turned it to cup her cheek in his palm. She leaned into it, her eyes closing and her lips parting; her hot breath swept over him, enticing him further with her scent and her warmth so unlike his own cold body.

She was wearing practically nothing, he remembered, only the thin dressing gown covering the bodice of her costume and tiny bloomers fit for the ballet rats. But she did not appear to be cold; on the contrary pure heat seemed to enemate from her, enveloping him and drawing him closer.

He could not resist this temptation, his lips trembling with want and desire as he closed the final centimeters between them, finally allowing himself a taste of the forbidden.

A flash of lighting shot through him as their mouths met, his breath hitching in response to the sensation of her pliant lips. Never had he imagined that anything could make his heart burst with emotions, except music itself, but this kiss - this summit of their kinship - made him do something he hadn't done in decades: it made him hope.

It was all ruined barely a second later with Christine's loud gasp. The sound cut deeply through him, the confirmation that he had overstepped his boundaries shattering his dream. He instantly drew back from her, embarrassed to have defiled her with his being.

"My sincerest apologies, I did not intend to violate you," he mumbled, turning away to flee; where he didn't know, but he needed to recover from the humiliation and loss.

He was stopped by a small hand on his shoulder, pulling him around to face her once more. The look on her face was unreadable, baffling him with its intensity, and he braced himself for the inevidentable slap that must be following.

There was no resistance in him when her hands reached for his face, even allowing her to touch his mask as she tugged him down to her level. Her eyes searched his face, examining him in a way he'd never allowed anyone else. He thought he knew what she saw there until she smiled before pulling him closer and then she was kissing him.

This time it was like the strike of a match when her mouth joined with his, a burning flame erupting between them as she returned his kiss. He was stunned into stillness until her tongue slid over his lower lip as he'd seen her do to her own lip moments before; it spurred a release of the intense desire he held for her and he began to reciprocate with passionate intent.

Within seconds they were locked in a fervid embrace. One of his hands wrung itself around her waist to pull her flush against his hard body while the other cupped the back of her head to hold her in place. Her hands left his face without prompting and wrapped around his neck, changing the angle of their kiss the slightest bit.

Her lips parted against his, granting him the opportunity to deepen their kiss and as his tongue sought entrance, she welcomed it with a moan: the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

His head spun when her tongue initiated a dance with his, merging herself with him in a way possibly more glorious than when they sang together. His thoughts, always so intruding and overanalyzing, finally seemed to quiet as he lost himself in her.

Their bodies started moving in tandem across the room without a target until they reached his organ where she pushed him down on the bench before crawling up to straddle his lap. He broke their lips apart to moan as she rubbed her most intimate place against his groin and he shamelessly thrust upwards to increase the sensation. She threw her head back with a gasp and he couldn't help but attack the line of her throat with his mouth, licking and sucking, slowly moving down over every exposed slice of skin.

Steadily, they found a rhythm, grinding against each other as part of a greater symphony than any other, consisting of ardent thrusts and moans, a release of the craving that had been there from the beginning.

Christine reached the pinnacle first, gripping his hair as she rode out the wave. She touched him wherever she could and he didn't stop her, not even when she pulled off his wig and slid her fingers through his real wisps of hair.

Nor did he scream when her fingers found the mask and pulled it away, but as she put her lips on his darkest shame and kissed the twisted flesh, he cried out; his body spasmed with pleasure and mortification as she continued to map out his mangled cheek with tender touches.

His trousers were as wet with spilled desire as his cheeks were wet with unstoppable tears.

"I love you, Angel, I love you," she whispered between her idle kisses on his distorted flesh and he cringed inside; she still didn't know he was human and so very flawed.

"I'm not an angel, Christine," he cried, "I'm only a man. I am Erik." She pulled away from him and his hands lifted from her waist, freeing her from his touch.

She looked into his hesitant eyes and he expected to see revolt, hate. However, he didn't recognize what he saw in her eyes, only understanding it when she spoke again: "I love you, Erik."

And with those words she kissed him again.