A/N: I can't seem to make myself write a true smut/creak creak scene, and so I just resort to making fun of things instead.
The Big Decision
"Can you believe I married the Phantom?" squealed Christine. "There wasn't, like, a priest or anything, but his buddy the Persian dude said it was totally legal."
Meg glanced up at her and smiled slightly. "Alright," she said, and returned her attention to what she was doing.
"And you know what that means?"
"Hmm?" said Meg. She was knitting.
A small thing, like a baby's cap.
"I'm going to inherit everything when he dies!" said Christine, grinning like a lunatic.
"Ah," said Meg.
"And he loves me! He loves me, Meg, he loves me! He loves me! My angel loves me! He loves me! He love loves me!"
"And I love him! I really do! I really really love him!"
"I want to make little angel babies with him!" Christine said, carrying on despite the total lack of reaction from her friend, who was frowning at her needles.
"In fact!" said Christine in tones that implied she was about to impart a great big huge enormous incredibly exciting secret, "I've decided to wear my black chemise tonight."
Meg glanced up at her again and blinked slightly.
"Alright," she said, and looked back down again.
"Don't you know what that means, silly?"
"It means tonight is the night!"
This got Meg's attention. She stared at Christine in horror.
"Dear Lord," she said, "tell me you're not going to start singing that Rod Stewart song again."
Christine spent hours and hours getting ready. She curled her hair in some spots, straightened it in others, braided it, unbraided it, French-braided it, twisted it in complicated spirals, fixed it in place, shook her head to see if it would come loose, turned her attention to her wardrobe, decided on the blue dress, decided on the green dress, decided on the aquamarine dress, changed her mind entirely and decided on the pink dress, decided on the white dress, decided on the green dress, decided on the purple dress, decided to go out and buy a new dress, started on her makeup, poked herself in the eye with the mascara brush, spent ten minutes screaming curses at the top of her lungs, spent five minutes apologizing to everyone in the vicinity, spent another five minutes regaining her eyesight, then actually began applying her makeup and got sidetracked into thinking about kittens.
Erik merely clothed himself and headed out the door.
They stared at each other across the dinner table.
Erik's eyes were heavy-lidded, his voice thick with an undeniable lust as he caught himself staring at Christine's delicate ear lobes.
Christine blushed hotly and pretended not to notice. She'd heard tell that Erik had quite an ear lobe fetish. Tantalizingly, she took off her earrings. Accidentally, she dropped them in the soup.
"You know," she said brightly, spooning them out, "odd as it may seem, the only thing I can think of is the list of sins I was taught as a child. I mean, that I was taught to avoid. I think I can remember them all. Perversion, bestiality, anger, rape—"
Erik growled low in his throat, lunged to his feet, lunged across the table, lunged further across the table, cursed the fact that he'd bought such a large table, continued lunging across the table, finally reached Christine and crushed her to him. "I love it when you talk dirty."
"Alright," said Christine. "Perversion— rape— desecration of graves— vandalism—"
"Louder!" Erik began to struggle with her buttons.
"Louder!" He kept struggling.
"Nudity! Perversion! Not washing your hands after you go to the bathroom!"
"Hang on a minute," said Erik, disgruntledly. He left the room and returned with a pair of scissors. "Alright, continue."
"Perversion! Anger! Bestiality!"
He began to cut off the buttons.
Christine took a deep breath to continue shouting, and the rest popped open by themselves.
"Now!" roared and growled Erik, in a deep deep groar of a rowl, into her face, spraying her lightly with saliva, and she blinked.
"Here? On the table?"
"It's a large table."
"Ah, so, is that why its padded?"
Eventually, thought not without some complications, they ended up on the table.
Erik groaned louder.
Erik tried out the moan.
"Good moan," said Christine.
"I try," said Erik. Then, "Christine!"
"God!" shouted Erik.
"God!" shouted Christine back.
"John the Baptist!"
Things went on in this manner for some time.
"Moan!" groaned Erik.
"Groan!" moaned Christine.
"Peter Paul and Mary!"
Erik paused and looked at her quizzically. "The singing group?"
"What!" moaned Christine.
"The singing group who did 'Puff the Magic Dragon'?"
"Nooooo!" shouted Christine.
"Right, okay, was just wondering." He went on.
"Puff the Magic Dragon!"
He stopped again and said, peevishly, "Look, that is just wrong."
"Can't help it!" shrieked Christine. "Can't help it, can't help it! You're the one who put the idea in my head!"
"Well, I'm sorry for it now."
"Sorry!" shouted Christine. "Don't be sorry, its MARVELLOUS!"
"Want a cigarette?"
"Don't smoke. Singer."
"Want to cuddle?" offered Christine.
"Don't cuddle," said Erik. "Phantom."
There was a slight pause.
"Want to do it again?"
"Sure, why not."
The Morning After
Christine bounced out of bed the next morning and went to find herself breakfast. Erik was nowhere to be seen, but there was a note on the table.
She picked it up and frowned at it.
It said, "We really must do this again sometime."
Erik, meanwhile, had made his way back to the little flat where he spent a great deal of his time these days. He hung his fedora up on the coat rack and loosened his waistcoat.
"Erik?" Meg stood there, hands on her hips, one of which was holding a spoon (the hand, that is, not the hip). "You were gone all night."
"Must you really toy with Christine that way?"
"Yes," said Erik emphatically. "It wouldn't be such an interesting story, would it, if the Opera Ghost had a wife and a baby on the way. We have to keep the star-crossed lover element. Otherwise, people would lose interest." He crossed over to Meg and rubbed her stomach absentmindedly. "Have we decided what to call him yet?"
"How do you know it's a him?"
"Call it a hunch," said Erik, with an obscure smile. Meg narrowed her eyes at him.
"We'll name him after his daddy," she said. Erik let out a warm chuckle.
"Baby Erik, eh?"
There was a pause.
"Baby Erik, I said."
Another pause. Erik looked in her eyes.
"I am very much afraid," she said, fidgeting, "that we shall have to call him Raoul."
Erik put his hands on his hips.
"You mean to tell me you've been sleeping with my woman?"
Raoul blinked at him. "Which one?"
Erik stuttered. "Either!"
"Oh, then, yes."
Raoul grinned. "You're cute when you're angry."
"Madame Giry," groaned Erik, burying his head in his hands, "I come to you for consolation."
"Sorry," said Madame Giry, "but— did you just— groan?"
"This is ridiculous!" shouted Meg, utterly annoyed.
"Family meeting!" shouted Christine.
"What do you mean, family? You're not family," said Meg, utterly peeved.
"Well, er, um, ha, see," said Christine.
"Dear lord, no!" shouted Meg, utterly utterly.
"We'll call this one Andre, and that one Firmin," said Erik definitely, as they gathered around to stare at Meg and the babies. "It seems best."