Love me...

Cuddles

Hey guys! So this's dedicated to  my dear friend @Marvel-Is-My-Jam !  I was asked to write this, (Yes, I take requests, so if you want me to write anything, drop me a line—PM me, or leave a message on this Phanfic, and I'll write your idea) So, here goes!

I hope Y'all like it! (Yes, I say Y'all, though I am not from the country—i.e., Texas, Georgia, Virginia. I live nowhere near any of those states. I picked up Y'all by accident, and I've grown to love it. Sorry for my prattle!) The cast is the 2004/2005 cast! (Though mostly those are the ones I invasion when writing these one-shots).

Christine looked at the Phantom of the Opera as he led her through his home, singing such beautiful things to her. Her mind swirled, and she wondered how he had such lavish things in his home. Truly, how did one get all those things down five levels of cellar? Did he do it while the Opera House was in construction? Or did he drag them in later?

She shook her head, maybe she would ask her Angel—for, even though he was flesh and blood, he was still an Angel to her—later.

For now, she gave in to his voice, and what it did to her....

Christine opened her eyes slowly as last night's occurrences flew back to her memory.

She sighed, pushing aside the curtain that was hanging around her, and getting up. She placed her feet on the floor, pushing herself off the bed. Softly, she padded out of the room where the Angel had placed her as she curled up in his arms, listening to his heavenly voice. It filled her, his voice, with a strange sweet sound, made her soul whole. His voice, his presence; filled a hole in her, the hole left in her from her father's death. Wildly my mind beats against you... Yet the soul obeys! She thought absently, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

In the parlor; Christine could hear the Angel pounding on the keys, composing the notes that swirled and played in his head. She smiled, quietly coming over to where his gloved hands were almost pounding the keys of his organ. She smiled gaily, slinking over to where he swayed to his music.

"Who is that shape in the shadows?" She whispered; watching his long, beautiful body respond to the music in his head, and on the keys. "Whose is the face in the mask?"

She reached forward, and did the unthinkable.

Christine reached forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, pulling his back taught against her chest.

He stopped moving entirely, his hands becoming fists at his sides. She ignored his stiffening, squeezing him tighter, and pressing her curled head into the crook of his neck. He gasped, his hands finding her arms, and moving her so she sat in his lap. His eyes were wide, "What were you doing?"

She looked down at her lap, embarrassed, "I'm sorry..."

She risked a glance up at the expanse of white on the right side of his face, gelled with the cream of the left side of his face. Both sides were wary; the sky eyes were narrowed, untrusting, scared.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide, "Angel... I overstepped, didn't I?"

He didn't reply, just stared at her some more. Silently, Christine cursed herself for being so forward.

The Angel cocked his head at her, "What was that, anyway?"

Her eyes fixed on his, "Have you never been hugged, Angel?" He looked away from her, "Never."

Her heart shattered.

Throwing caution away, she leaned forward and threw her arms around her Angel again, pressing herself tightly against him. He made a soft noise, as he sat, rigid against her.