Adult-FanFiction.org : Books

Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Once more, Erik succumbed to the evils of alcohol. Sitting up in his coffin, he managed to take another swig from his bottle of brandy. Yet no amount of drink could completely numb the torments of his psyche. In fact, he felt as if he were in a pit of quicksand, slowly sinking into his own despair with no hope of escape.

Putting down the bottle, he laid down onto the red plush lining of the coffin, one of the few items of his old home he had managed to salvage. For some time, he had given up such macabre sleeping habits, having felt somewhat human when he thought that Christine might truly love him. But tonight, there was something comforting about the discomfort. Folding his arms across his chest, he pretended that he was a corpse for he truly wished he were dead this day. Or was it night? He had quite lost track of the time.

Even Elissa’s charms could not raise his spirits. The prospect of mindless sex held no appeal for him this night. He had sent her home with a pocketful of change, demanding…no…insisting for nothing in returned. Yet, she seemed to be rather disappointed. He would have thought that she would be grateful to get paid without even being required to do her job. At first, she even had the temerity to refuse his money. But after he gave her a taste of his temper, she quickly learned the foolishness of arguing with him and took the money.

Perhaps it had been that conversation with Madame Giry that set him off into such a mood. It was this unbearable state of not knowing what had happened to Christine that bothered him so. He wanted to know that she had married the Vicomte. He wanted to know that his noble sacrifice for love had worked. Despite his intense jealousy and rage, he wanted to think that she was happy. Maybe then he could make peace with the reality that he had lost her forever. Perhaps then he could begin to bear to think about the next step to take with his life…that is if he even decided to remain alive…

For so long, Christine had served as his reason for living. He would wake up, just in time to bathe and dress and meet with his love for rehearsals. In the evenings, he would watch her dance on the stage from his seat in Box Five. In his spare time, he would work out plans to take revenge on her adversaries. And he would dream of the different roles that Christine, his diva, would play on the stage…Carmen, Juliet, Desdemona. And every night, he would fantasize about her naked and willing in his bed as his wife, rubbing himself into a state of silent oblivion…

Even now, when she was to marry her Vicomte, when he had tricked the entirety of Paris into thinking him dead, he still wanted her with a violent intensity that hurt. How could he be able to forget her when the image of her still burned in his brain every single second? He could still see her delicate wraithlike form, swathed in her transparent silk and lace dressing gown. Like a porcelain doll she was with her long dark curls and her soulful brown eyes. How could he ever forget how she looked the night when she was almost his?

-----------------------

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…

Erik knew it was foolhardy. He knew it was dangerous. Yet he could not resist the temptation. He could not allow Christine to be swept off her feet by that callow youth who had been sniffing around her skirts in her dressing room. This was the evening of their shared triumph. He had worked hard to see this night when Christine Daae would replace La Carlotta in Hannibal and set the opera world on its heels.

Yes, this was his glory as well as Christine’s. And his diva would be with him tonight, not supping away at some fancy restaurant with the foolish Vicomte de Chagny.

So he took the chance.

The Angel of Music descended on Christine from the heavens to take her away. Thus, he led her into his home deep down in the catacombs.

Skilled in the art of Mesmerism, a profession he had perfected in Persia, he used the potent mix of hypnotism and animal magnetism on Christine. He had rehearsed with her enough times to know that she could be feisty and stubborn. He also knew her well enough to know that she was prone to wild fits of fear. While he would have preferred to have her in her right mind, he was much too afraid that she would run away from him the moment she saw him appear through the trap door of her dressing room mirror.

Yet Christine had a very impressionable mind. She was of a very spiritual and imaginative temperament; thus, easily led down the path which he wanted her to walk. He had expected her to be submissive to his will, yet never had he expected her to be as responsive as she was to his suggestive powers. When he heard the rapture in her voice, he could barely contain his own animalistic desires. He was taken aback by the rosy blush in her cheeks as she gazed into his eyes. As she reached her climactic note of her song, he realized that tonight was the night to consummate their union. This was no longer a mad dream in the dark but a certain reality.

They were both ready to become lovers.

They were more than ready…

As his fingertips caressed the keyboard of his pipe organ, Erik began to sing the notes of the song that he had composed just for her. Closing her eyes, Christine sighed with a soft smile as she took in his seductive words. And, oh, it had worked so well. He could practically smell her arousal as he swayed with her back and forth. How he longed to stroke her hair, to touch the curves of her breasts and hips; yet he did not dare for fear of frightening her away and breaking the spell that they were both under. Yet the proximity of his hands to her flesh was potent enough for the both of them. Even in the darkness of his music room, he could see her nipples harden through her dressing gown as she breathed deeply, falling sway to his machinations.

For those few moments, as he had sung to her in such soft lilting tones, she was his for the taking. She would have done anything he asked of her. He could have taken her right there on the cold stone of the catacombs. He could have lifted up her skirts, set her upon his pipe organ and had his way with her without her so much as making one whimper of protest. Christine Daae had been in the palm of his hand.

If only…

------------------------

If only he had not shown her that damned doll…

Erik snarled drunkenly as he threw the wine bottle against a cavern wall.

If he hadn’t have made that image of Christine in a bridal gown, she would not have fainted straightaway, putting an effective end to their romantic evening. He had thought the gift to be a beautiful work of art, a tribute to her loveliness as well as the precursor to his marriage proposal.

But he never failed to underestimate his capacity to scare people. He had never dreamed that his creation would serve as such a catalyst to terror.

And when she lay still in a swoon, unmoving, unstirring, he could not bring himself to taken advantage of her in such a state. When they made love, she would be completely lucid and awake. She would be his in every way. And he had thought that there was time, all of the time in the world for her to overcome her fears, all of the time in the world for her to learn to love him…

A stirring noise roused Erik from his drunken stupor. Grappling for his lasso, he prepared to kill whoever the intruder was. Yet his vision seemed a bit blurred at the moment. He should have to take care to focus on his aim.

Yet the footsteps were deliberately moving straight for his bunker.

Only two people knew of his existence in this new hideout. Madame Giry and the Persian. His visitor was the latter of the possibilities.

“Erik, my friend,” the Daroga smirked as he entered the hideaway, gingerly sidestepping a trapdoor designed to hang him on a noose. “I am as fond of brandy as the next man, but this decadence of yours is even becoming offensive to me. You smell as if you have bathed in the stuff.”

“Good evening to you, too, Nadir,” Erik sniffed, making only a fleeting effort of tucking in his shirt tails and making himself somewhat presentable. So lost in cups was he that he had even misplaced his mask for a moment. He stumbled about in a bit of a fuddle.

“I believe you mean ‘Good Afternoon’. Are you looking for this?” the Persian asked, handing him one of his many masks. “I nearly tripped on it as soon as I entered the bunker.”

“Ah, thank you,” Erik murmured. “How clumsy of me…” Taking the mask from his friend, his hands shook as he proceeded to slip it on, almost making a complete ass out of himself by putting it on upside down.

“You really have deteriorated into a mess, Erik,” his friend said, shaking his head. “What would the little sultana say if she saw you in this state?”

“Probably, she would laugh her fool head off before having me drawn and quartered in front of the Shah,” Erik answered glumly. “Always the little sadist, that one. And she would have done me an enormous service if she had just killed me when she had the chance.”

“I don’t know,” Nadir laughed. ‘These days, you seem quite the ladies’ man. What about that enchanting blonde who seems constantly by your side these days?”

“My, you have been the observant little spy, haven’t you?” Erik snapped. “I thought I was the one here who was supposed to be the stalker. I assume you are referring to Elissa?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “If she is the trim young thing with the big breasts, that’s the one. Dare I ask if a woman has once again conquered the heart of the Opera Ghost?”

“Not likely, Nadir,” Erik answered. “Although it is none of your concern whatsoever, rest assured that we merely have a very amicable business arrangement. I give her food and she gives me sex. She ignores my mask and I ignore her profession. So far it has suited us both admirably.”

“Oh, what a relief!” the Persian sighed, whisking off a fake drop of perspiration from his brow. “For a moment, I was concerned that you might be once more in the throes of love.”

“Ha!” Erik sneered ferociously. “I shall never love again. My heart has been hardened to stone, Nadir. I am quite satisfied with the fine art of fucking with no emotions necessary whatsoever. Love is for fools.”

The Persian paced about smugly, avoiding the pile of unwashed clothing that had been strewn along the floor of the small room. Erik could not help but feel the hairs at the back of his neck raise up. The Daroga was up to something. He could feel it. He had that strange foreboding that he was walking right into a trap set up just for him.

“Since I am now assured that your heart is quite unmoved by sentiment,” the Daroga stated with a small grin, “I no longer need to worry about how you will take the news.”

“What news are you talking about?” Erik hissed. “If you have something to say, will you please stop dancing about and get to the point?”

“Merely that the Vicomte de Chagny has been storming away right above our heads in the Opera House, accusing you of still being alive and having kidnapped his beloved fiancée.”

“WHAT!?”

“I have been spending the last few hours vacillating back and forth as to whether I should let you know on the event at all. Yet I can’t stand to see you slowly committing suicide in the bottom of a wine bottle. So now you know…”

Before the Persian could even say another word, Erik was out of his coffin and on his feet, storming off in pursuit of Raoul de Chagny.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Do I Dream Again?