Unmasqued

The mask skittered to the floor at their feet; she felt it tumble against her skirts as it landed. "Erik… I love you… all of you. You don't have to hide from me." Still cupping his face, she moved her fingers over the bifurcated halves… one warm, covered with the texture of an unshaven chin… melding into smooth, moist skin…

… and the other rumpled and mangled, twisted like plant roots, hard, brittle, smooth.

She covered his face, there in the dark, learning it with her fingers, gentling him to the sensation of being touched by another human. Touching his shame.

Christine was crying for him, sobbing silently for his pain, as she pulled his face to hers, met his stiff, parted lips with her warm ones, and covered them gently. With her mouth, she closed over his upper lip, drawing it in, sliding her tongue over it in a slippery, sensual dance. He trembled in her arms, his own hands moving around to pull her close. He kissed her back, eating again at her mouth as though released from some great restraint. Her tears mingled with his, dripping down to where their mouths met in softer, gentler kisses. Loving kisses. Understanding and forgiving ones.

"Erik, please, I want you inside me," she whispered, aware of the growing throb of her sex. She fumbled with his trousers as he yanked up her flowing skirts, and there against the stone cold wall, he lifted her onto his raging erection.

When she slid onto him, her legs wrapped around his waist, he filled her, nudging that inmost part where the pleasure grew. Erik shifted slowly, so slowly, there against her, his breath ragged, measured… his movements matching. As though he wanted to take the time to savor every stroke, every inch, in and out, slowly… excruciatingly slowly.

Christine's nipples pinched; her pip ached as the pleasure built… so slowly and deeply. It was like a pit in her belly, growing larger and sharper, tingling and burning and sweet. She sighed, tightening her legs around him, pushing him into her with her heels, feeling him bump against the top of her vagina. His fingers gripped her hips; the wall shifted up and down behind her in their easy rhythm there in the dark.

Slowly… her slick quim closed around him, opening as he moved back out. Their breaths rose; the shivers pebbled her skin; more tears leaked from her eyes. In and out… slippery and hot… slowly, easily… thick and hard… sliding along her bursting pip, sending shivery sensations radiating from her center.

The orgasm, when it came, was long, slow, undulating. She caught her breath, then let it go, trembling, ending with a jerk as the full force of pleasure peaked and withdrew.

And with that, he let himself go mad. Deeper, harder, faster… pumping madly inside her, there, against the wall. In and out, faster and faster… his breathing loud and noisy, his muscles trembling, and a sharp wave of lust returning to Christine's sated nib. He thrust and moved and finally slammed into her one last time with a low, long groan that matched the coursing she felt inside of her.

"Christine…" he murmured, his face against hers now. "Never leave me. Never leave me."

"I'll never leave you," she sighed into his ear. "Never."

When the Opera House plunged into darkness, Armand Moncharmin and Firmin Richard were standing in the offstage wings.

"The ghost!" cried Firmin, grasping the jacket sleeve of his partner. "He has come again."

"We shall be ruined!" replied Armand, stumbling out onto the dark stage. He felt the whoosh of air as something heavy moved and swung past him, and turned back to see three of the gendarmes rushing onto the stage from different directions, torches in hand. The gas lamps at the edge of the stage were suddenly reignited, casting warm yellow light over the pandemonium in the theater.

Miss Daae was gone.

"Miss Daae! Where has she gone?"

"It's the Phantom! He has taken her."

At that moment, an ominous rumble sounded from above and all of the gendarmes raised their lights at the same time to show the great chandelier, its lights still extinguished, swaying and tipping angrily.

Firmin and Armand looked at each other in horror, recalling the ghost's joke about bringing down the chandelier. "The chandelier," Firmin shouted. "Run!"

"We are ruined," cried Armand again, stumbling backward, his eyes still on the clinking, clattering, swaying lamp above.

A great tearing noise sounded, and the heavy lamp pulled loose from its moorings as if in a dream, as if every second slowed to more than a minute… and then it crashed onto the stage in a great bursting clatter. Explosions from oil leaking onto the gas lamps, shards of shooting glass, and billows of smoke filled the theater.

The audience screamed and panicked, pushing and shoving to get out of their seats. The cast and orchestra-those who had not been injured by the falling chandelier-stumbled and cried as they made their way toward the back of the stage, to get away from the mess.