Bon Appétit

Authors Note: This story is only meant to be tintilating and enjoyable. It features two versions of POTO. The slavishly obedient Christine from Susan Kay and the dominating, intense Erik from Gaston Leroux. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. Don't flame me because that's a waste of your time.
XoXo Lomia


Disclaimer: I Do Not Own The Phantom Of The Opera. The Lyrics featured in this story are credited to Harriet Shock from Robert Englund's POTO.



Slowly Christine awoke. She couldn't remember what exactly had happened the night before, but she was now in a strange room with a Louis-Philippe chest of drawers and a large bed. There appeared to be no door, only the small, strange room.

Suddenly Christine realized there was music coming from behind the wall. She raced over and began hitting the bricks mercilessly. "Let me out, Please!" She screamed to the music.

The sounds stopped and a gourgues, sensual voice answered, "My dearest, you are awake! Please join me." The wall began to move forward of it's own accord, and Christine gasped at her Angel of Music.

He was standing before her in a black evening suit and a black fedora. His face was covered with a black mask that only revealed two startling golden eyes.

Christine felt her heart beating and her palms sweating. For so long she had heard his voice, teaching her and caressing her; yet now she was face to face with a tall, handsome yet somewhat disturbing man.

Christine bowed her head and the man said quietly, "Would you please sing for me Christine?" She looked up and nodded but asked, "What is your name Angel?"

The man looked away as if frightened, and replied, "I am not an Angel, nor a Ghost..only Erik." Christine repeated, "Erik."

Slowly he held out his hand and she took it. They walked to a large and lavish Organ Piano, but Christine gasped at the coffin that sat adjacent to the wall.

"Do not be afraid Christine. You will find no danger here, only Music, and Love." Erik told her as he sat her on the piano bench.

He gracefully sat beside her and Christine watched his gloved fingers dance across the keys in a deep, resonant song.

Erik told her without looking up, "C Minor, Heart is All I Have by Louren Von Duivest." Christine began to sing the song as Erik played. Together they created a soft, embracing music that enfolded them and held them. Erik smiled beneath the mask as Christine's voice mesmerized him.

She was here, beside him, after so many months of passive and lone admiration; he could now admire her up close; his beautiful Angel.

When they were finished Christine waited for Erik. She didn't know exactly what to do, and she was afraid to do anything. Erik whispered tenderly, "Christine, you must be hungry."

Christine nodded. She hadn't actually had anything since the day before, but she didn't know what sort of meal a man could prepare twenty feet beneath the Paris Opera.

Slowly Christine stood as Erik beckoned her to follow. He led her past a drawing room which she barely remembered after last night, and a large bookcase that swiveled, to reveal the passageway to a gorgeous dining room.

Christine couldn't imagine having such a beautiful dining table across from a lake, but she accepted it and hoped that Erik would soon release her to the world above.

She watched as the tall, gaunt man reached toward several cabinets and pulled out a variety of fruits. He had a small jar of honey and a loaf of bread, which he proceeded to cut. Christine actually appreciated Erik's hospitality.

He was a gentleman above all, treating her with the upmost sincere respect. Erik came to her and Christine wondered how such a thin man could be so graceful.

He held out a small pear and asked, "Would you like a sandwich? And perhaps some tea?" He seemed eager to please her, and Christine nodded. "Thank You." She told him.

He had a sensual speaking voice; something she had never heard before; and it almost made her wonder why he wasn't a star tenor at the Opera, instead of the resident ghost.

Erik came over to her with a bowl of fruit and a plate with a small sandwich. He poured her a glass of tea from the samovar. Christine felt rather uncomfortable as she ate her pear and Erik watched.

She asked him quietly, "Will you be eating?" Erik shook his head no, and Christine wondered what he was hiding behind his mask. Certainly those stories from Joseph Bouquet couldn't be true. No man as kind and sweet as Erik could have such a hideous face.

Erik told her, "I have already eaten, but you have been asleep all day. My dearest, if there is anything I can do for you I will." Christine smiled as she bit into her pear, but the juices ran down her chin. How embarrassing! Erik immediately picked up a towel, but he stopped as he turned to Christine.

Rather than wipe her chin himself, he handed her the towel. Christine wondered why Erik was so afraid to touch her. He had been timid when he reached for her hand, and suddenly a memory came back to Christine.

Last night, thin, bone-like fingers across her own. She shook the image out of her head and laid the pear down. Erik watched as she nibbled at the sandwich.

He had never been this close to a woman, ever, but much less to be this in love and passionate over a woman who was merely eating her supper. Christine's lips gently bit into the bread and Erik wondered how it felt to have such lips upon his own.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss those tender lips, caressing her face with his hands. He clenched his fists together to remind himself that Christine was a guest. She was here to receive private tutoring in her voice, and in no way was he to ever touch her.

Yet Erik felt almost depressingly melancholy as Christine reached over to the fruit and chose a small grape. Gently, and quietly, Erik picked another grape, rolling it between his fingers. He looked at Christine, her blue eyes searching his own, and he held the grape up.

Timidly he reached towards Christine's pink lips, placing the grape a few inches away. Christine smiled and reached down, biting the grape and taking it into her mouth.

A tremor passed through Erik as Christine chewed. He relished the small inch that her lips had touched the leather of his gloves. Christine nibbled another piece of her sandwich, and Erik looked longingly at the small jar of olives he had placed before her.

He reached over and picked them up, wondering if it was possible to be jealous of an olive. Doing the same as with the grape, he held it out to Christine. Her lips grasped the olive and she drew it into her mouth. Erik cursed his gloves, but refused to remove them.

Christine herself was feeling rather agitated. Here, a strange man had kidnapped her, brought her to his home, and was now feeding her. She felt almost afraid, and yet, drawn to the man.

Erik was unlike any other suitor she had met, and most definitely different than Raoul. Raoul would not have ever dared to feed her with his fingers; but yet, Christine rather enjoyed the attention. Erik was almost a slave at her feet, worshiping every move she made.

His eyes never left her face; but never did he dare look past her neck. She liked him, and yet she wanted to get away from him.

Why were her feelings so conflicted?

Erik continued to hold out an olive for her, and Christine ate it, noticing how Erik shivered when her lips barely grazed his gloved fingers.

She whispered quietly, "Erik, could you hand me the glass of tea?" Actually the tea was well within her grasp, but Christine knew that Erik would cherish the simple act.

He tenderly held the cup for her and she accepted, making sure to touch his entire finger as she took the handle. Erik shivered as Christine drank, and she asked quietly, "Are you cold?"

Erik nodded quickly and whispered, "I am fine. If you are cold I shall fetch a shawl." Christine knew he would fetch anything for her, but she told him, "No. Please, do eat something. You are painfully thin." Erik nodded no again.

He picked up a small plum and watched it, and Christine reached over to touch his arm. As their bodies met Erik looked at her,and Christine looked back.

Erik held up the plum as Christine continued to hold his arm, and gently he reached out to her. Christine bit into the plum, keeping her eyes on Erik's unusual gold ones.

She ate gently, watching as Erik's eyes betrayed his desire. He wanted her, it was true. But somewhere, deep inside Christine, she wanted him too.

She continued to hold Erik's arm as she slipped off the chair and stood before him.