Variations of Erik: Susan Kay

This round belongs to the Kay novel, mostly because I still haven't quite decided how I want to go about the Claude Rains version yet. It will be gotten to, I just need that one little bit of inspiration to make it not completely ridiculous. At any rate The Phantom of the Opera and it's characters belongs first and formost to Gaston Leroux, and this particular version belongs to Susan Kay. I make no profit from this.

Based on the novel Phantom, by Susan Kay.

PWP, M/F


As soon as Christine had left the room Erik turned in desperation to the stack of music that sat atop the grand pipeorgan in his room. He swept away the top two manuscriptsimpatiently, revealing the dark bound score of his Don Juan Triumphant. He depised himself for being so foolish and weak,giving in to his fantasy of seeing Christine in that wedding gown. Hadn't he known what it would do to him? The sound ofthat sweet, innocent voice singing the lines of Aida had not helped in the matter either. The combination had played upon his fertile imagination with a hellish intenisity. He had almost believed that she meant the lines she sung. That she would willingly forsake the light of day for his embrace in this tomb hidden from mortal eyes.
He had reacted almost violently, his need to posess her nearly swallowing him whole. He could only hope that she would forgive him his temper, though he was unsure she could understand why he had sent her from his sight so abruptly.
The strains of his composition began to flow from beneith his fingertips. A low, gutteral moan, building to a frenzy of unfulfilled desire. He moved with the music as he played,his body straining for a release that was always and forever denied. Only through his music could he express the gnawing, soul devouring need he felt in anything remotely akin to a socially acceptable manner. And yet, this music was not for frail ears. It spoke explicitly of the baser needs of mankind and would have shocked even the dullest patron with it's blantentness.
Erik, himself, was quite used to it's singular way of moving a person. In his mind he could almost feel the lavacious chords carressing him intimately, so when he seemed to feel the sensation of small hands touching his shoulders he remained lost within the score.
The hands stroked his shoulders insistantly, and he could now feel the press of a warm body against his back. He must have truly been losing his grip on reality. Never before had the touch of this music seemed so very real and tactile to him. He continued, relishing in these new sensations. The hands began to slide down his chest. He could feel the flat palms stroking him.
It was only when those hands began to tug at his suit jacket that he became aware that perhaps this was not simply an exquisite fantasy after all. Glancing down he noted that there were indeed small, pale hands upon his person, connected to bare arms no less. Christine! Had he not specifically told her to bolt her door?
For a moment he was torn, and the music that had been flowing freely from his fingertips faltered. His intentions in sending her from the room had been to spare her, for he was burning with a passion he knew he could not control. But, then again, had she not come to him of her own accord? Certainly the music had called to her, but she could have very easily remained in her room, alone, to deal with it's penetrating rythems in another manner. But she had come to him!
His hands resumed their manipulations of the keys, the moment of clumsiness vanishing completely. "Christine..." He whispered, barely audible against the song so as not to disturb whatever spell was woven in her mind. "Why have you come to me?"
"I heard the music you're playing. It's so strange. I wanted to be near you while you played it." She traced her fingertips over the back of his hands as he played. "I can feel it inside of me, maestro. How is that possible?"
"Music speaks very plainly to those who understand it, Christine." He let his hands fall silent as she tugged at his jacket once more. But the music did not stop. He sang for her to keep the enchantment up. It was wicked, manipulitive. But he could not stop himself. He had desired her for so long, and now, driven by his Don Juan she was willing to be near him, to let her hands caress him. He would face whatever repercussions there were to be had later, but for the moment he would allow his voice to hold her in it's sway. To convince her to allow him to posess her.
After she had stipped him of his coat he turned to her. He could see that she had at least followed one of his instructions. He had asked her to remove the gown and stay in her room. The gown was gone, she was bare before his hungry gaze. It took every ounce of self restraint he had left not to throw her over the bench and have his way with her right then. He also noted that she had been crying. He could see the redness in her eyes, and moist spots against her flushed cheeks. He had frightened her. His voice died in his throat of pure shame.
As the silence pressed in against them she first looked confused, then slowly donning horror and shame flashed in her eyes. She blushed brightly and tried to cover herself. Erik handed her his coat sadly. She tugged it on hurriedly.
Christine was confused. When she had heard that pressing melody she had known exactly what she wanted. She wanted Erik. Nothing had ever been so clear to her in her whole life as the need that music had roused inside of her. But now in the cruel, uncompromising silence she was lost again. Her body still tingled and ached, but her mind told her that she should not have come out of her bedroom.
Finally, Erik spoke. "I see that you seem to have lost your choreography, mademoiselle. Such a pity, I was rather enjoying the performance." His voice was irratible, and yet he could not dispell the soft note of regret in it. His libido was angrilly kicking him in the arse.
Christine glared at him. "How dare you! You and your vile tricks! You scare the wits out of me, manipulate me like a puppet and then you have the nerve to speak to me like that!"
"I told you to bolt your door! To get out of my sight! You and your damned childishness! You don't know what you want unless it's spelled out plainly for you! As I said, Christine, the music speaks to you. If you hadn't liked what you heard you would have sat in your room, demurely offended, but untouched! But it called to you and you answered, didn't you? Because on some level this is what you want, isn't it? You just don't want to have to consider it for yourself! It's so much easier, isn't it, to run into the arms of that safe, sweet, young man of yours, isn't it? But does he draw such passion from you, Christine? Would you come to him as boldly as you came to me?" He regarded her, angry and hurt, and still pressed to the absolute limits of his self control. During his tirade her eyes had widened and she had turned her face from him, unwilling to consider what he had said. "Now I am going to put this to you very plainly, Christine. I will not spare your innocence in case I am misunderstood. I desire you to an extent that is almost maddening to comprehend. And every second you stand there before me wearing nothing but my jacket is a second I come ever dangerously closer to losing all control of my actions. I am a man, Christine, with needs like any other. Needs that have been ignored for far too long. Now if you wish to retain your virtue, leave my sight now!" He snarled.
Christine shook her head, "Erik...I--"
Erik advanced on her, driven nearly mad by her inability to simply leave him in peace. "I am not in a mood to be trifled with, my dear!"
"I-I don't know what I want!" She cried, tears falling afresh down her pale cheeks.
Giving a low growl Erik grasped her wrists, pulling her against him. She could feel the press of his already hard member against her stomach. "I know exactly what I want, Christine." The intent had been to frighten her into taking her leave of him, but she made no move to pull away from him. She only blushed at the evidence of what she did to him.
He regarded her carefully for a moment. She didn't want this choice, he realized. She didn't want the responsibility of saying 'yes' or 'no'. If he took the initiative she would follow. Fine, if that was how she wanted to play it, he would play the seducer and take the choice out of her faltering hands. It was not as though he had not given her ample warning!
With a swift motion he reclaimed his jacket from her. She made another passive attempt to cover herself but Erik pulled her arms to her sides, destroying her half-hearted attempt at modesty.
He slid his hands up her arms, relishing the smoothness of her unmarked skin. He stroked lightly over her breasts, pausing to tease her already half hard nipples to rigid attention. She shivered slightly as he began to slowly explore her body, her eyes fluttering shut, still unresistant to his touch. He pressed his mask against her lips. He could feel the warmth of them through the black cloth against his own. He wanted desperately to taste them, but was far too cowardly to remove his mask and risk ruining what was now presenting itself as his one chance to have Chrsitine as he wanted her.
Erik's bright golden eyes watched her like a hawk, taking in every nuance of her expression as his hands roamed her lithe form. He was a fast learner, and soon was drawing tremors and sighs from her as easily as he wished. Almost without thinking of it he had begun to hum to himself as he continued to toy with her. As soon as she heard his voice, Christine immediately became more responsive, again stroking his chest and trailing her hand against his masked cheek.
"Close your eyes, Christine." He commanded softly, breaking the melody only long enough to utter the words. She obeyed without question. Erik guided her over to the sofa, sitting her down upon it. He sank onto the cushions next to her, easing her legs apart with his hand.
He removed his mask after he was sure that her eyes were indeed closed. "Do not open them. Regardless of what happens keep your eyes closed!" He knew the situation was fragile, and that if she had to look upon a face that even he could not stand that he might lose his chance forever. She nodded quietly in complience and he grasped her chin between his fingertips, pulling her angelic face to his demonic one. He brushed his lips feather light against her own and the contact spread through his body like wildfire. She made no protest, no attempts to move away, so he pressed harder against her lips, slowly deepening the kiss until his mouth claimed hers fully, his tongue parting her lips to taste her.
It was the most intense feeling he had ever experienced. His blood seemed to sing in his veins, his heart pounding with a force so great he was afraid it might explode within his chest. He kissed her for a very long moment, savouring the touch and taste that was uniquely hers. He could even have sworn that perhaps she kissed him back a little. Pressing aginst him just slightly.
He broke the kiss finally to gaze at her. Her eyes were still tightly shut as he had instructed, her lips parted slightly, her breathing slightly shallow with a blush creeping down from her cheeks to flush the rest of her sweet form as well. Everything in her posture spoke of pure desire and it drove him mad to consider that he had stirred such strong feelings within her.
He pressed another searing kiss against her unresisting lips, this time allowing his hands to continue their deft exploration of her. They roved over the peaks of her breasts, down her flat belly, and slipped between her thighs, drawing a murmered cry from her.
As one hand stroked and teased her body, his other began to remove his own clothing. Christine had begun to respond ever more to his touch, her arms reaching up to enfold him. Once he had discarded his own clothes he carefully urged his Christine onto her back, straddling her slightly awkwardly upon the sofa.
"My darling. I'm going to take you now. This is your absolute last chance to preserve yourself and leave me..." Don't leave me...
She made no effort to escape him, no particular effort to encourage him, save the feel of her warm hand upon his shouler. She made no sound, simply laid there like a porcelin doll.
Erik narrowed his eyes. "Do you understand what I am telling you?!" He had no desire to stop, he ached to be buried within her warmth, but he needed some kind of assurance that this was not some kind of rape. That she understood what was happening and, if she was not as enthusiastic about it as he, at least accepted it.
Her silence was absolutely infuriating! What the hell kind of game was she playing at? "Answer me!" He roared.
"I understand, Erik...."
Still he hestitated. Was it really so much to ask that she make some indication that she wanted this as well? He didn't expect wanton cries of lust, or for her to impatiently grasp him in her hand and beg for his attentions, but a small gesture, or something would have greatly put his mind to ease.
She wasn't resisting, no. But neither was she encouraging. He began to wonder if he'd finally driven her completely mad, fearfully recalling the last time she had been so very passive. After she had snatched away his mask....
He snarled, this was not his fault! She'd come into his room, stark naked and did not expect him to react? Was she truly that stupid? That naive?
"Look at me!" He growled. He would get some reaction out of her one way or another. Anything was better than this passive-agressive bullshit! "Look at me!"
She seemed confused as she slowly opened her eyes. The sight of him without his mask certainly drew a reaction from her. She seemed to regain her senses and turned her pretty face away from the sight. The hand that had been resting so pleasantly on his shoulder pulled away to join the other crossed over her chest protectively.
So that was it, then. Congratulations Erik, you're a complete fool! He threw himself off of her, unable to stand her silent terror for a moment more. He expected that as soon as he had withdrawn she would flee from the room, leaving him shattered and burning, but alone to calm himself. But she did not. She simply laid there, staring at him. It was absolutely unbearable.
"Erik..." She began tentatively.
"What?" He yelled, his frayed emotions finally snapping. "What in God's name do you want from me, woman? You either love me or you despise me, you can't have it both ways! I want you terribly, Christine. Oh dear God how I want you! But I will not rape you! I will not take what is not offered to me! And I need something slightly more explicit than you playing rag doll to my touch! So I need to know, do you desire me or not? If you do not then kindly get the hell out of my room because I need release one way or the other and I'd rather not have one off with you lying right there if you're not interested in helping the problem!" It was an absolutely vulgar thing to say, but it was no less than the God's honest truth.
Christine turned the most absolute fantastic shade of red at Erik's statement, and managed to go even a shade deeper when her eyes were drawn to his jutting need. "I-I'm afraid. I've never....never done this before. I'm not sure if--"
"Enough! You either want this or you don't. It's not that difficult a concept to grasp, my dear!"
"I--" Her eyes darted frantically around the room, as though she were searching for the answer in the decor. Finally she sighed and bowed her head. Erik expected that now she would admit that she had no taste for him and either slink off to hide or ask that he dress and return her upstairs. Well he had pushed her, hadn't he? Him and his damned temper and insecurities. He should have just taken her when he had the chance. It was not likely she'd care to continue their assocation after this fiasco. "...Yes." She whispered softly.
"I'm sorry?" Obviously he'd misheard something.
"Yes, I do want you." Apparently he hadn't.
It took him a few seconds to process her statement and all of the implications of it. However, once it had registered his former ardor returned to him tenfold. He crossed the room in approximately three steps, pulling her up from the couch against himself in a fierce embrace. He backed her against a wall, kissing her feverishly and accepting her meek attempts to return his lust greatfully.
He pressed her against the wall, his lips crushing hers in his intense need to posess her. He grasped her hips and lifted her slightly, pressing the tip of his painfully hard erection against her entrance. He paused only a moment before plunging into her, her cry of pain at the invasion eclipsed by his hiss of pleasure. He held himself back for a moment, trying to allow her to adjust to him so that he did not hurt her more than necissary. But he was only able to restrain himself for a moment before withdrawing and thrusting back into her roughly.
He had imagined in his private fantasies that his first time with her would be gentle and loving. That he would carry her to her bed and worship at the temple of her body before very carefully making love to her. But in reality he was unable to hold back his passion and the crushing need that caused him to take her with an almost violent force. His lips bruised hers, maked the pale skin of her throat and breasts. His fingers dug into the soft swell of her hips tightly enough that there would surely be bruises marring her perfect flesh tomorrow. And yet he could not stop himself. His gentler nature begged him to slow himself. To touch her with tenderness and reverance. But his baser side, his pure animal maleness drove him onward, demanded his pleasure hard and rough, wringing hoarse cries from his throat.
She had begun to thrash against him, though from pleasure or discomfort he did not know, and at the moment did not care. If it was from pain at the very least her torment was not to last long, for he was quite inexperienced and the sensations of her body gripping him so intimately were beyond anything he could tolerate for very long. With a heavy grunt he spilled himself within her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his sweat and tears dampening her skin.
He could hear her crying too, feel the faint tremor of her chest. He kissed her throat tenderly, whispering apologies and words of love. Promising that the next time he would please her.
He had hoped that she would invite him to lay with her, to wrap his body around her and hold her as they slept. But when he released her she fled from the room without a single glance back and he burned with shame at his actions. Dear God what had he done?


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I'm, uh, not quite sure what that was. I'm going to just go ahead and blame lack of sleep and whatnot and move on. Next up Claude Rains (if I can work out the tissue thin premise of what I'm going to call a 'plot')