Hey, all. I'd like to officially state that I have no idea where this came from, its like 2am and I just wrote this in an hour and I'm really tired now and I have uni in like seven hours. My attempt at a modern day Erik, I guess. Rated for gratuitous handjobs and teenage!Erik being a perv.

Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux, Phantom to Susan Kay. I'm not referencing ALW, my Christine is blonde, and anyway, you don't deserve it after the shambles of LND, Andrew. Go sit in the naughty corner.

I'm gonna have a house party in my house

I'm gonna pour booze down my mouth

I might stay up til the AM

Yeah, I think tonight I'm gonna stay in

House Party, 3OH!3

Seven Minutes In Heaven

He was seventeen and he had never kissed a girl.

But mostly he tried not to think about this.

Mary Hollbrook's sweet sixteen had been the single most discussed topic at school for the last three weeks. Her parents were going to be out of town the weekend before her actual sixteenth birthday and so Mary, with the logical reasoning skills so common to her age group, had deduced it would be a brilliant idea to invite the entire school to her parents' three story mansion.

Erik would have laughed at it openly, if he didn't think he might get pummeled for it.

Whatever the case, Mary had invited everyone, and Nadir Khan, Erik's best friend, had said, "Dude, we are so going." Nadir had the advantage over Erik of being devastatingly handsome, often with two or three girls on the go at once, but of being infuriatingly kind hearted and patient with his grouchy, hideous friend. Thus, it was impossible for Erik to hate him, as he hated individuals like Raoul de Chagny or Andrew and Fred, the football "heroes" who didn't mind stuffing him into a locker, even at his age. They were willing to try, at least.

So when Nadir had mentioned going to Mary's party, Erik had merely sighed. "Whatever, man," he had replied, immersing himself in his battered copy of Les Miserables once more. "Have fun."

"Nope, E, you're comin' too," Nadir grinned. "Where would I be without my wingman?"

"You don't need my help to pull chicks, Khan. Only to keep your ego in check."

Nadir grinned, unashamed. "No shit, Sherlock. Anyway, Christine's going." The last was said in a sing song fashion not unknown to Erik, as Nadir adopted the same taunting voice when mentioning Christine Daae, Erik's not so secret crush. Christine was blonde and beautiful and sexy, with legs for days and the clearest, purest soprano in the choir. And in Nadir's words, "Fully double Ds, dude."

Erik privately thought she was the hottest girl on the planet, including Megan Fox, and had terrible love poetry to her in the back of his journal. That said, as his age, he would have been happy kissing any girl, Christine or not Christine, even Anna Black with the braces or Meg Giry, who was rumored to have slept with half the football team. He wasn't so picky. Christine was exquisite and perfect and every other adjective he could think of, and was not interested in making out with the 'masked freak'. In fact, he wasn't even sure she knew he was alive.

It was only on the promise of a night spent watching (cough: spying, Nadir had said) on Christine and copious amounts of alcohol that Erik had consented to going. The student body of his high school had an overall only slightly negative feeling towards Erik; he had been picked on less of late since he grew to 6'2 and discovered exactly how buff he could get at the gym. Most of his peers thought it was an odd personal statement of individualism or whatever but through some miracle, the true nature of his hideousness had not been revealed over his high school life. Only Nadir knew what he looked like and was possessed of a violent temper only when someone threatened his friend, making Erik very thankful of Nadir's ten years of judo classes. So Erik acquiesced to going, only to placate Nadir and thoroughly intending to sneak off after half an hour with some booze and get drunk - alone - at the park.

It was a standard party. Erik had been to a few of the things over the years of being Nadir's 'wingman', accompanying his much more popular friend to all manner of celebrations. There was kegs and jelly shots and any number of teenagers engaging in amorous behaviour in all manner of non-traditional locales. Erik was able to appreciate the beautiful architecture of the home and its fine furnishings, wincing as someone spilled red wine (from Mary's parents' wine cellar) on the cream carpet and tomato sauce on the walls. It was all in all an ordinary, wild, destructive party, so when someone suggested Seven Minutes in Heaven, Erik, in curiosity, followed the gaggle of teens into Mary's parents' lounge room, with the adjacent coat closet. Meg handed round a hat into which every boy dropped an object, something identifiable as theirs. As Nadir enthusiastically dropped his into the hat, Erik sighed and placed his watch inside, thinking that any girl who picked it out would refuse on principle anyway.

"Chris, you're up!" chirped Meg to her friend, who grimaced.

"Why do I have to go first?" she asked, standing with a stumble and reaching into the hat.

"'Cause you're the drunkest," Meg replied, and Christine flipped her off with her free hand, yanking out a very familiar watch from the hat.

Erik's heart sank. He loved that watch, it had been his father's, but there was no way he was claiming it now. He could not stand the thought of Christine Daae refusing to go into the closet with him. He would just let the watch go unclaimed -

"Hey, Erik, isn't that yours?" Nadir piped up, causing all eyes to look at him. Erik nearly groaned, wanting to punch his friend but unable to.

"Yeah," he said, affecting an air of detachment. "That's mine."

The room was silent for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Holy shit, Chris," someone chortled. "You got the freak." Erik rather wished he could sink into the ground but instead smiled weakly, as though it were all a huge joke rather than utterly humiliating.

But Christine was reaching behind her and grabbing her bottle, beckoning him with one hand. The sight of her both took his breath away and confused him beyond all understanding. "Come on, then," she said, turning and heading towards the closet. "What?" someone asked. Christine tossed her head. "I got his watch," she replied. "Me and Erik gotta have our seven minutes."

And as he followed her into the darkness, ignoring Nadir's whisper of: "Get to second, dude," all he could think of was: I didn't know she even knew my name.

The door slammed behind them with a thud. The closet was ridiculously tiny and he found himself standing nearly on top of her, the top of her head only reaching his collarbone. He craned his head down to meet her eyes, but she was busy reaching for her iPhone and using an app to turn it into a flashlight. He was not bothered. He could in fact see her just as well in the dark, but her sapphire eyes darted up to his face and his heart rate doubled.

"So, what do we - ?" Christine held up a hand, answering the question he had not dared to ask.

"Like, as if," she said, crossing her arms and sinking to the floor, resting her back against the door. "No freaking way," she emphasized, lifting the bottle to her lips again.

"Oh," he replied, trying not to notice how her head was rather close to his - uh, never mind, he thought, cutting himself off. As if, after all. He dropped to the floor beside her, ignoring the way she shrunk away a little. "So, we just sit here."

"We just sit here," she echoed, blue eyes flicking to him and then away, and then back again to rest upon his face. He knew it was coming. "Seriously, dude, what's with the mask?" she asked, brushing away her hair from where it had fallen across her eyes. His fingers itched to brush it back for her.

"I'm ugly." She shrugged.

"So is Brian McCourt, but he doesn't wear a paper bag on his head." Erik nearly smiled, picturing Brian's uneven teeth, acne-beset skin, and coke bottle glasses. What he wouldn't give to look like that.

"I'm uglier."

"O... kay." She took a heavy swing from the bottle in her hand and then, after a long look that gauged him in a way that left his skin tingling, she offered it to him. The liquor within was fiery and harsh and seared away the awkwardness lingering in him. He was no longer nervous. Now he was just painfully aware that he was sitting in a closet with Christine Daae, and that her skirt had ridden up to her thighs, and that it was enough to tighten his jeans.

They sat in silence for what felt a lot longer than seven minutes, but what he knew was probably only about two. The silence was broken only by the passing of the bottle back and forward between them. He feasted his eyes on her, having never been this close to her before. Her golden hair which reached just below her shoulders, her ivory skin that he knew she kept pristine in defiance of the tanning obsession that infected the school, and her purple tank top with the black bra strap just peeking out. His eyes slipped to her breasts, and stayed there. He was only a guy, after all, he reasoned, and she wasn't likely to notice -

"You like my tits?" Erik nearly cringed. She wasn't nearly as unperceptive as he'd thought.

"I, uh... yeah," he mumbled, speaking to the floor. How humiliating. Christine was silent for a moment - disgusted, he mused, by his lecherous ogling of her beautiful body.

"You wanna touch them?"

And in that moment, right then, Erik was sure he was dead and gone to heaven. There was not, repeat NOT, a hot chick in front of him offering to let him put his skeletal hands over her soft, full breasts. There was so not but his voice was going against his will and he said, "Yeah, I would."

He was sure she was drunk. It was definitely taking advantage of her in her vulnerable state, but at that moment, he kinda really didn't give a shit. He could only watch, dumbfounded, as Christine shrugged her tank top over her head and flicked the catch on her bra, and released, it fell to her lap as her breasts sprang free. It was a thousand times better than any of the pictures he had ever seen and his hands itched to touch her silky flesh.

"Well, go on," Christine said, now definitely slurring her words. "They're not there just to be looked at." And when he didn't move, she huffed in exasperation and, grabbing his hands, planted them square on her bare breasts.

Erik nearly fainted. He found himself quite suddenly holding her tits in his hands and holy shit she was so soft, and warm, and he experimentally squeezed one breast, curving his fingers up to stroke the nipple which - oh dear God - went hard underneath his gentle caress. Emboldened, he did the same to the other, until Christine's breathing was just a little irregular and he was holding her so double D breasts in his hands, fingers just lightly stroking her skin.

He was so hard it hurt. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears and was sure she could as she tilted the bottle far back and downed the last of its contents, her gaze falling to rest in his lap. He followed it to the very obvious bulge in his jeans. "Shit, Christine, sorry - "

"You want some help with that?" she asked, her words tripping and sliding into one another. Ah. Chris Daae was a horny drunk. Well, he could live with that. She didn't wait for a reply and was already pawing at his fly, undoing the zip and slipping her slim hand into his jeans. He had seen Christine's hand hold pens and Coke bottles and her mobile, seen her hand fit around her car keys and her school bag and even once around Raoul de Chagny's fingers. But he cannot see Christine's hand wrap around his dick and squeeze, because his eyes are shut and he has just found nirvana.

This was so much better than he had ever dreamed it could be. Her palm was silk and heat, so different in sensation to his own, and he moaned, a loud, longing noise of lust that he was sure everyone outside must have heard. But he didn't care, oh no he did not give a shit about everyone else because Christine Daae was touching his cock and stroking and even if her hand was a little clumsy with the effects of the booze he so did not care.

Except he really was about to come, so quickly he would have been embarrassed if he was still capable of logical thought. He bucked up against her hand and felt the mask come loose, clatter to the floor. And even though her hand did not stop its movements he heard her quiet gasp but he could move, could not reach for the mask because oh God oh God he was coming he was -

When he could think again Christine was wiping her hand off on a tissue and handing him one. He blinked at her as she extended his mask. "You were wrong," she said casually, as though she had just done nothing more than shake his hand.

"Wrong?" he asked, breathing irregular, as he replaced his mask.

"You're not uglier than Brian McCourt," she said as her eyes watched his face become shrouded. "I don't think you're that ugly at all."

And before he had time to register this stunning revelation, the door was yanked open. Christine tipped backwards as her support was yanked out from behind her, her head hitting the floor with a small thud. She smiled dreamily up. "Hello, Raoul," she said slightly coyly, giggling as Erik stood up and Raoul helped her to her feet. There was a cluster of teens behind her including Nadir as Erik stepped out, blinking into the light.

"Hey Chris!"

"How was it?"

"Did he grope you?"

"OMG, was it disgusting?"

Christine shrugged. "He was nice," she said vaguely, and wandered away with Meg, turning back only to give Erik a sunny smile over her shoulder. He merely blinked again, dazzled by her. The crowd dissipated. No one thought to ask Erik, except Nadir.

"So, did you get to second base?" Nadir wanted to know. Erik grinned and his friend did a double take; the sight of Erik smiling was disturbing and wrong. "What did you do, have an orgasm in there or something?" Erik looped an arm around his friend's shoulder and went off in search of more alcohol.

He is still seventeen and he has still never kissed a girl.

But Christine Daae's number is scrawled on his forearm in cherry lipgloss, and maybe that will change.