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Atop Apollo's Lyre--Tremulous and Tender Interlude	By : NataliaV Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 4112 -:- 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
- 1-Atop Apollo’s Lyre–Tremulous and Tender Interlude
- 1
Title: Atop Apollo’s Lyre – A Tremulous and Tender Interlude
Author: Natalia Vronsky
Part: 1/1
Rating: R – NC-17 (I honestly think my smut attempts aren’t NC-17 worthy… maybe hard R… you tell me whatcha think.)
Summary: Rooftop E/C Smut. Total PWP… no rhyme and no reason. Just nookie. :)
Author’s Note: This is just my little way of saying sorry for the delay on Tremulous and Tender. Nothing says sorry better than lovin’, right? And it’s also a thank you to all my wonderful readers and reviewers. *hugs and kisses*
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera and all other characters belong to Gaston Leroux and the music etc. of the musical/movie belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber and they certainly don’t belong to me.
Feedback: Please and thank you. Flames… welcome-ish. I don’t want “U SUK! I HATE THIS!” kind of flames, though. Thanks. :)

Watching him warily, her eyes not once leaving his form, even after she stumbled on one of the thin ladder steps, Christine continued to climb up onto the statue. She gripped the wings tightly, gazing out onto the city, sparkling like a burning sapphire in the night. She shuffled as far on the statue as she could, careful not to lean forward. She turned carefully, pressed against the great head of Apollo as her lover climbed up on the tiny space with her. He swiftly slid one arm around her back; he would not let her fall. Deadly and dangerous though he was, he was nothing but devout and caring and perfectly wonderful to her.

“Will you tell me now?” She whispered, as though someone below could hear, even though they could not. Her warm breath mixed with the frigid night air, making her broken huffs visible.

“I will show you,” her angel purred in that alluring way of his. Her eyes fluttered, as they always did at the sound of his voice. He held such power over her; it was highly unfair, she felt. Her eyes were fully open when she felt her robe being shoved from her shoulders. The cool, crisp winter’s night air instantly made her shiver. He removed the creamy, lace confection, one of his many gifts, and tossed it down to the rooftop.

She was never more certain that he was mad as when she woke to see him looming over her, eyes glowing honey gold in the darkness. Silently, so as not to wake the other girls in the dormitories, he held out a hand to her. It’d been an odd sight: the Opera Ghost, her beloved Angel of Music, standing in all his fineries, in a room full of sleeping, snoring girls. Christine had briefly wondered how many times he’d been in the dorms at night. Unable to resist him, she clambered out of bed, clutching her blankets to her in a tiny show of modesty. He’d removed it, a smirk on his lips, and handed her the thin, lace robe.

Christine’s eyes were riveted to the robe as it fluttered to the snowy ground. She knew his intent in an instant and blushed furiously. “Erik, we cannot—“

“Trust me,” he said simply, grabbing the hem of her nightgown, drawing the material up her legs. They’d only made love a handful of times. That he should want to have relations anywhere besides a bed was so foreign and shocking to her. She felt a lump grow in her throat as her lower body was completely exposed to the chilly air.

She twisted helplessly, pinned between him and the statue, as he gently pressed a gloved finger to the sensitive little bud that he rarely had to do anything but breathe upon to make her world go dark in a furious haze of pleasure. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. Certainly any people below or in the opera house would hear if she did and know instantly that it was the opera’s young soprano screaming from the rooftop so.

Erik’s hand slid away from her, clutching her thigh, drawing it to his hip. Carefully, and still holding onto the wings, she drew her other leg up, locking her legs securely behind him.

“Christine,” he sighed, moving the arm he had around her to hold her bottom, pressing the bulge that strained against his trousers to her. He leaned forward, capturing her lips. Christine moved her head, so she could kiss him without his mask touching her skin. It was cold to begin with, but in the open air it was absolutely frosty. Unfortunately there was no really getting around it. The porcelain bit into her upper lip as Erik’s mouth opened, his tongue probing. She jerked her head back, ignoring the anger that flashed in his eyes. If he was going to take her on the roof, she was very well going to at least have one bit of comfort.

His anger didn’t seem to last long, as he soon attacked her neck with vigor. He pulled at her sensitive skin with his teeth, making her moan. Her arms, strained from holding onto the statue, finally let go and she grasped his broad shoulders. Between them, she felt him undoing the buttons of his trousers haphazardly.

There were no secretive touches to ensure he would not hurt her. No heated kisses and no warm, whispered words. He simply moved the black material out of his way and pushed into her. She cried out as his hips pressed against hers. He bit and nipped at her skin, moving to her breasts. Ignoring the fact that there was a thin layer of her nightgown covering them, he closed his mouth over one.

Her eyes shut and she arched into his mouth as their bodies moved at a frightening, frantic pace. Though he held her carefully, she was practically sprawled over the rounded curve of Apollo’s head. Her back scraped against the smooth, sculpted stone as Erik pounded furiously into her. Digging one hand into his shoulder, she placed the other behind her on the statue, her fingers resting in the grooves of the Apollo’s hair. Erik had ceased his torture of her with his mouth, his head pillowed on her chest. The mask scratched at her skin though the nightgown.

Erik’s hand, still between them, rubbed at her belly where, deep inside she could feel him, hard and hot and pulsing. She sobbed his name when he pressed his hand against her skin, causing more friction between her already tight insides and his sex. His hand moved down, roughly pinching her hard nub. Christine’s eyes shot open as her release washed over her. “Erik!” She cried his name over and over as tremors of pure bliss flitted through her. Above her, the stars glittered dazzlingly. Her head lolled to the side, her body a useless bag of satisfied flesh. She could see movement below the opera house. The few people who wandered in and out were tiny, insect like specks. She blushed. She’d forgotten to try and contain her voice.

She glanced at Erik, only the top of his sleek, black hair visible. His face was cushioned between her breasts, his breath uneven and heavy against her skin. Despite the cold, she felt almost unbearably hot. Christine ran her hand over his neck lovingly as he shook slightly. He must have climaxed while she’d been in her glorious daze. He pressed a feather-light kiss in the valley between her breast before pulling back to look at her.

Erik’s eyes shone like two beautiful jades. He tucked himself away, adjusting his clothes before he pulled her from her precarious perch. He smoothed down her nightgown, peppering her face and neck with kisses as he did so. They descended the ladder after a few moments. He scooped up her robe, shaking the snow from it and tossing it over his arm. He removed his thick cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. She leaned against his side, holding his arm lovingly as he led her back inside.
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Atop Apollo's Lyre--Tremulous and Tender Interlude