Prompt from Mazen on Tumblr- E/C a passionate kiss.

Basically BAMS with a slight twist.

Enjoy and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

She is still having trouble believing that this was real. The subject of her secret dreams and worst nightmares colliding before her eyes in full living color.

She knew he was there; could feel the imposing presence behind her as he recounted details of a night she had buried long ago.

He was hardly the only one at fault in that regard. From the moment she awoke to those penetrating eyes studying her, theirs had been a cautionary dance of memory. The mere sight of him had frightened her initially, with dismay giving way to anger only moments later.

Perhaps this had seemed to surprise him more than anything: that she would not welcome him with open arms as he had hoped after ten years of silence and deception. Her anger had been scathing, his explanation passionate but not enough to win her favor.

So much time had passed, so much had changed. She is a wife, a mother, a celebrated success! She is a Vicomtess, for god's sakes, her greatest treasure fast asleep a room away..

No. She would not be so easily won this time.

Oh, but he tried. How he tried. He did not touch her-not at first. Instead he employed the greatest weapon in his arsenal of tricks. The gentle lull of that melodic voice ravaged her senses and it took every ounce of will power within her to fight it's spell. He spoke of that Night in hushed, reverent tones, inviting her to relive it if she dared.

She had resisted, fleeing from his pleading eyes to find refuge at the piano across the room even as the tips of her memories peeked through. Moments later, she had felt a light touch of his fingers creeping over her shoulder blades. The touch was strangely comforting, and she allowed it, eyes falling shut with memories of those long, masterful fingers stroking bare skin, that divine voice reduced to shuttered groans of passion of him completely at her mercy.

She snapped to attention then, darting away from him with his dangerous voice and titillating hands . He allowed her a measure of space for a few moments, but he is unable to resist the sight of her, so near after all of these years and quickly follows her steps. Thus began a bizarre cat-and-mouse game of recollection, each of them twisting closer to the other, sometimes so near that they share the same breath only for one to lose their nerve and flit away, hurtling them down a twisted road that would lead to destruction, no matter the outcome.

He pleads with her to relent; she indulges, then retracts. Words come forth that have been left unspoken for far too long and yet there are innumerable more to say.

Somehow she ends up in his arms, grasping his lapels so tightly her knuckles strive her rival the color of her ivory gown. His hold is firm, desperate but not painful. Gemstone eyes are fierce, imploring her to give herself over to the forbidden memories, begging her to acknowledge that yes, she had loved him; once upon another time before his selfish choice had damned them all to their present situations.

Despite herself she grants him this one indulgence with four whispered words, the heat of his gaze slowly melting the icy veneer caused by his own hand a decade prior. He has been her greatest strength and greatest weakness all at once and she hates him for that. Even more, she hates the fact that for all of the suffering caused by his hand, she cannot make herself hate him. Not at all.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

The fact that she cares for him still makes her hate herself most of all in this moment.

Above her, her name is a questioning half-whisper on his lips. His hands still grasp her shoulders, lighter now and one of those sinful fingers crooks up to brush at a stray curl below her ear. Her attention snaps to his face, knowing she should run far away and forget him. Take her son and Raoul and flee to France immediately. She was a fool to have come.

But there is nothing there for her anymore. Holding back a bitter chuckle, she muses, Is there anything left for me here anymore?

But there is: One sleeps peacefully in the next room. The other holds her in his arms at this very moment, knowing that he will as long as she will allow it.

She shouldn't be allowing it, shouldn't even be entertaining the thought. But the fairy tale she has been fooling herself with as truth is crumbling further with each pass of the glass to Raoul's lips. The illicit thoughts come unbidden, adding a shock to the hurricane of emotions swirling through her brain. Her husband is a good man and deep down, she knows that floppy haired boy with the enduring smile is still there. She misses him and loves him for who he can be.

But the enigma before her calls deep to her soul, parts of her that she is often too fearful to acknowledge. He is gazing at her now, thumbs rubbing small circles on her shoulders as he attempts to call her from the haze. He broke her heart, but so has Raoul. He would give his soul to see her happy. He already has. How can she even compare the men who hold sway over her heart...and whose sway is greater?

It is a question with no answer and she knows it

"Christine…?" Her fingertips loosen on his grand overcoat, easing herself slightly back from his spell at the sound of her name. God, she's missed hearing it. On his lips, her name is a melody, the three syllable honey-sweet and enticing. He is enticing...dangerously so, and hers for the taking should she want it. God help her, she wants it. She wants him.

"Forgive me," she breathes as she pulls him closer and to whom she seeks penitence is lost to the night air. Raoul? Gustave? Erik? Hell, herself? It no longer seems to matter when she gives herself over to the memories and tilts her chin to receive Erik's kiss.

His lips press softly against hers at first, a chaste greeting to test her willingness and once found welcome, waste nothing in making up for lost time. Once of his hands moves to cradle her head, threading long fingers through the loosened churls at the base of her neck. He is danger and destruction,music and home in every pass and sweep of lips, quickening her pulse and comforting her heart.

Her hands release the lapels and slither to encircle his neck, drawing him closer. The hand on her back presses her closer and she is vaguely aware of a shoe underneath her skirts as one long leg finds itself wedged rather comfortably between her knees. She dares not touch his face, mask or bare, so when he pulls back slightly to catch her eyes and whispers "Oh, Christine," against her lips before taking her mouth again, she contents herself to run parallel lines down his spine.

His fingers languidly stroke her throat, her dig into the small of his back, urging him closer still. She knows this is madness, but he is everywhere and everything at once: the smell of cognac and sandalwood in his hair, the taste of honey and chamomile tea on his tongue, the rhythmic tha thump of his heart against her breasts. She commits each and every detail to memory, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss of her own accord and barely allowing him to exhale before coming at him again.

Thoughts of Raoul, of Gustave flit to her mind, but in one selfish breath, she pushes them away. This moment is an homage to the past, to a night shared in secret and never spoken of again until moments ago and she kisses him like she wishes she could have then, confident in her feelings and comfortable with the response they stir within. They may not be able to have forever, but they have now. It will have to be enough.

He pulls away a heartbeat later, releasing her lips to press a reverent kiss to her forehead. "Oh, my darling," he muses, lips cool against her heated flesh. "How I have longed for you." He embraces her, wrapping long arms around her with abandoned. "And now…"

Now. That word stops her cold and she goes stiff in his arms. Now was one moment of weakness, one heedless stolen moment, one kiss of passion.

Now is over.

It needs to be. For all of their sakes.

"How can you talk of now?" she seethes, suddenly raging at his presumption and her folly, color flushing her cheeks.

He steps back, turmoil and despair playing briefly across his features. "...Christine?"

Again with his endless questions! This has to end, once and for all.

And it's time that she stop pretending otherwise.

She has tasted her forbidden fruit and now she must pay the price.

Steeling herself, she pulls away, spine rigid, voice cold, steps echoing on the marble floors with a cruel finality. "There is no now."