Rating: Strict 'M' for hopefully not too much explicit sensuality.

Summary: Gala events at the Opera Populaire can be tedious. Luckily, there is a certain masked someone to help relieve the monotony. pure fluffy smut. Oneshot. ErikxChristine

Disclaimer: I own POTO…actually, I do... Public Domain.

However, begrudging thanks go to Leroux for giving us Erik…even though you tortured the poor man and had him die. You know what? Strike the begrudging thanks... Dishonor! Dishonor on you! Dishonor on your family! Dishonor on your cow!

… now that that little bit of silliness is stated…ON WITH THE SHOW!

Oh! And btdubbs, Erik's Voice is in Italics, not quotations.

Dancing with Myself

If Christine Daae had to name the worst aspect of her operatic career, it would be being made to appear and socialize at galas and events like the one she was attending tonight. After the initial flurry of enthusiastic applause and bowing had died down. After she had curtseyed until she thought her legs would stay permanently affixed that way. After she had blushingly accepted more than a few roses and danced with more than a few inebriated guests, Christine was ready to leave. She looked around at the glittering crowd in the ornate foyer of the Opera Populaire and sighed, tapping her foot in time to the stringed rendition of one of Bach's concertos. He had said he'd be here. Surreptitiously, she looked at the clock near top of the stairs.

The gala was in full swing—its glittering echelon of guests getting more inebriated and less inhibited by the second. The traditional December Masque was forgone this year in favor of the charity gala to help with repairs on the opera house. Privately, Christine thought it was just a ploy by the managers to avoid any kind of confrontation with masked men.

She wrinkled her nose at the champagne flute she held. He promised he'd be here. And Raoul would surely be back momentarily. She sighed again.

That is truly a most forlorn sound, Madame.

Christine looked up and felt her skin prickle. Surreptitiously, she looked around. No one was paying her a bit of attention. She was alone, in the corner of the foyer below the massive staircase still in plain sight, but secluded enough in her little mirror-paneled corner-nook to go relatively unnoticed.

Hearing two clicks, she felt gentle hands draw her back until her dress rested against the now-opened paneled mirrors. Her ornate and bustled dress fully blocked the opening created. She felt a gloved finger caress the back of her neck, and she shivered. I do truly love you in that dress, my dear. I have always felt the color of passion suits you most fittingly.

She mumbled sotto voce, "You know I wore this only to please you." She felt more than heard his soft chuckle as she leaned her cheek against the corner of the cool glass letting it cool her suddenly heated skin.

You could wear a burlap sack and please me, my dear; although, I much prefer you in the altogether. So saying, Christine felt a tug and then heard a rustle. She felt cool air wind its way up her skirts to nip through the various diaphanous undergarments she wore as he adjusted them.

She shivered delicately and brought the champagne flute to her lips taking a small sip. "You know, of course, that we are in a roomful of people. I don't think we'll have time for our usual games, maestro." She gasped as she felt hands wind their way through the many undergarments she wore until his bare hands were resting quite firmly on her posterior, kneading deliciously. Turning her face once more to the cool mirrored surface, she bit back a groan as one of his fingers found the slit in her pantaloons.

Hmmm. I do not think our usual games will suffice tonight. Immediately Christine was intrigued. Just what did he have in mind? She asked, and when he answered, his voice was filled with dark promise. That depends entirely upon you, my dear. Just how good of an actress can my diva be, hmm?

Her breath hitched and caught as his wickedly clever fingers found her center and began to flick in time with the lyrical beat of the music while his other hand explored her depths. Christine felt that delicious feeling—that anticipation—he always inspired within her begin to build.

That's it, my flower, open for this—for me. She shifted her legs wider to allow him better access. And yet, his hands left her. She blinked, feeling momentarily bereft. A moment later, his hands returned to position her, and it was with a startled cry that she felt him enter and fill her completely. She gasped in pleased surprise and wriggled more firmly into his hold.

In all their years, he had never—they had never—done anything quite like this.

Usually, he pleasured her with his mouth; both of them drawing an absurd pleasure from the act itself performed on such a 'stage'.

However, it seemed tonight was different.

The front of her dress began to bell and move forward and backward, shushing over the marbled floor in a rhythmic beat. Christine bit her lip and closed her eyes, clutching one hand to the champagne flute she still held and the other to the black beribboned choker at her throat. To lookers on, she looked merely like she was swaying in time to the music, caught up in the festive mood.

She felt him hunch forward slightly, and then suddenly he was there. "Oh, yes! There. RIGHT THERE—" in a haze of passion she looked up. Raoul was standing before her, a slightly puzzled expression on his face, "—you are!" she finished lamely, feeling Erik go still behind her.

And then suddenly, he was pistoning furiously. Christine gasped as she heard him say softly, I give you permission to converse with the fop, my little actress. That is IF. You. Can? he punctuated the words. She felt his gentle, knowing laughter caress her ear like a tongue, and she grit her teeth against the onslaught.

He had certainly thrown down the gauntlet!

Christine bit back another gasp as he rolled and snapped his hips most deliciously.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. You were gone for ages! And then I find you dancing by yourself in a corner. Here. I brought you more champagne." She looked up at Raoul, his boyishly earnest and hopeful expression still present even after all this time.

"I—I'm…sorry. I…. I went-oh-…. I …went-here-to-find… …. …oh dear God yes! PEACE! Iwentheretofindsomepeace." she stated in a rush.

Erik paused in his onslaught of her person to caress her rump tenderly, waggling his fingers in a clever, knowing way that sent goose bumps along her flesh. Christine licked her suddenly salty upper lip and gestured weakly, "You know how Andre and Firmin can be."

"Well, yes, but are you alright, Christine? You look a little flushed. Perhaps some time spent out in the gardens would do you good, yes?" He reached for her arm, and Christine heard Erik growl lowly in her ear. She quickly removed her arm from his grasp but gasped as she felt Erik's thumb caress her posterior entrance lovingly and then slightly enter.

"NO!—oh no! NO!" She tried to wriggle away but another warning growl stayed her. She bit her lip and hung her head slightly—trapped.

"Alright, Christine! We won't go! I was only thinking of your comfort."

Christine couldn't help the almost hysterical burble of laughter that escaped. She felt Erik work his digit slightly deeper, and suddenly the slight pain became the slightest bit of pleasure. He snapped his hips, and Christine moaned at the new sensation, "Oh-oooo-Oh Raoul." The growl turned into a snarl as Erik's hips snapped violently, and that oh-so-wicked thumb punished most severely. Christine whimpered, and then gulpingly stated, "Tha-at was real-ly quite thoughtful. Quite. …but I'm… I'm fine, really." Her dress once more began to sway to the beat of the music, and Christine let her head fall back against the cool, mirrored surface. She breathed deeply as he gentled the punishing pace he had set and caressed her flank with his other hand. He spanked her—a slight tap of her rump really— in warning. He did not like her saying Raoul's name aloud—EVER!

And well, especially, never like this.

But really, what did he expect?! She could barely think at all, and Raoul was right in front of her LOOKING ON! Mon Dieu, how the hell had she let him do this to her?

She looked up to find Raoul looking at her expectantly. She had a feeling she'd missed an important piece of the conversation. "I'm sorry, Rao—errrm, sir. …What was it you said?"

He looked at her fondly, "Sir, Little Lotte? Were you wool-gathering again?" He rolled his eyes in fond amusement, and Christine stiffened in annoyance. She felt Erik's fingers behind her, stroking her hips gently as he rocked them back and forth, maddeningly slow in their pace.

She was reminded of an image of a cat waggling its tale back and forth patiently just before it pounced. "I asked if you would accompany me to visit Lord and Lady Murat. They were ever so impressed with your performance tonight, and I believe Lord Murat is considering becoming a patron to the opera. Your appearance could go a long way towards garnering his support." He smiled charmingly, and Christine sighed. The music changed to a faster piece…a quadrille… and she felt Erik gather behind her.

"If—if you cou—could give me a mo—ohment? I'll co-come along short-ly." She nodded once, emphatically and fell back, swallowing back the little moans he always induced when he went apace.

She heard a purely male chuckle behind her. Yes, you will come… come now my dear.

Quivering, she looked up. Raoul was watching her with a guarded expression. "Are you really alright, Christine? You are acting quite strangely."

Erik increased their pace even faster. "Yesss!" She hissed.

"Yes?" Raoul looked at her puzzled.

Her vision narrowed to a passion-filled haze, "Yes, I—unnnm. …ohYES! errnmNNOW!"

"Now?" Raoul looked at her in true confusion.

She drew a quick breath, and moaned breathlessly, "NOW! oooOOOH I'M COMING NOW!" Her head fell forward as her knees gave way, and she would have surely fallen if Erik's steadying hands hadn't been there at her hips to keep her upright.

After a moment, her head fell back once more to press against the cool glass as she breathed in deep, shuddering breaths. She pleaded, "Go, please... I'm—I'm fine." she gestured weakly and laughed a relaxed chuckle, "GO! I'll join you shortly. I promise." She smiled gently, and closing her eyes, leaned against the cool glass. Opening her eyes once more, she saw that Raoul had departed. She felt a soft caress to her hips and then she was separated—single—alone once more.

His words caressed her ear like a kiss. I will see you at home soon, my sweet. I am sure our daughter misses you most terribly.

Christine smiled and glanced once more at the clock. Arianna would need feeding and soon. She felt her stays and bustle tighten once again under his hands, and he gave her posterior one final lingering pat just before she heard the clicks that signaled the mirrors restoring back into place.

On shaky legs, she leaned away from the mirror and turned to face its depths. The woman staring back at her had the look of one that had just been well and truly loved. Drawing a shaking, cleansing breath, she drew herself up and put on the mask of Opera Diva once more. She heard him whisper That's my girl, and she grinned impishly. Placing her hand on the glass, she left it there for a heartbeat, then two. And then she turned and walked away.

The Murats needed to be cajoled out of their more than abundant funds, and Christine was more than happy to oblige.

After all, when one's husband owned the Opera Populaire, it became necessary for one to garner as much support for the Operatic arts as possible. Not to mention, she was thinking of asking Erik to go on a trip to Italy this summer.

Oh, yes, after tonight, he owed her at least that much. She smiled a little viciously at the thought of revenge.

Yes. Revenge would be most sweet indeed.

Reviews are love! Thank you!

DGM