Shatterglass
folder
M through R › Phantom of the Opera
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,592
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Phantom of the Opera
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,592
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own anything at all (except for Chloe and Sammy). I have ZERO intention of making big $$$ of of this little piece of work.
9
Shatterglass
I do not own Phantom of the Opera.
SUMMERY:
When Christine Daae is offered the oppertunity of a lifetime, she and her blind sister, Chloe, are whisked off to Europe to tour with the masked rock and rolls star, Erik Destler...
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS:
Many thank yous to my good friend, Angel Rose, for proofreading my fanfictions!!!
The next morning, Erik woke up to discover that Christine was snuggled next to his chest, his arms wrapped around her delicate figure. He smiled down at her before leaning forward to kiss her sweet lips. Their mouths lingered as Christine stirred, her emerald eyes opening to see Erik.
“Good morning,” murmured Christine, bringing her head up for a loving kiss.
“Bonjour, mon amour,” whispered Erik, leaving a trail of kisses down Christine’s neck. Christine giggled and tilted her head back, allowing the masked man better access to her nek.
Their heavy making out session was interupted by Christine’s loudly protesting stomach.
Christine giggled as she wiggled from Erik’s arms and stood up.
“I need to eat,” she informed the French rock star before skipping out of the bedroom in her birthday suit. Erik shook his head at her innocence and swung himself from the bed, following her into the kitchen, where she had grabbed an apple and a slice of cheese and was eating away happily.
“You know, I could’ve made you something,” Erik informed her with a warm smile.
“I like to be independant too, you know Erik,” Christine pointed out with a gentle smirk. She turned to toss the apple core out and squealed as Erik’s arms wrapped themselves around her slender waist, making Christine realize something.
“I’m on birth control, but you weren’t wearing a condom!” she squeaked, spinning around so that they were chest to chest, or in this case, face to chest. “What if I become pregaunt?”
Erik hesitaed. He did want children, but he didn’t want for them to turn out like him.
He gently kissed Christine’s shoulder to grab her attention.
“Christine, if my seed inside of you produces a child, then it will be the most loved, spoiled, privlaged child in the world,” he told her honestly.
Christine’s worried frown turned into a beaming smile as she leaned over and kissed him fully on the lips.
“Oh Erik...” she sighed happily as he picked her up and set her onto the counter before his kisses trailed sown to her stomach, where his lips traces around her belly button piercing.
“A butterfly,” he murmured softly. “How very much like you.”
“Explain,” ordered Christie, tossing her head back.
“Every butterfly is unique, not one is alike,” Erik informed her, looking into her dark emerald orbs. “Very much like you.”
Christine blushed at his words, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling begining to coil in her stomach. she looked away and saw another door, one that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Where does this lead?” she asked him.
“Meg Giry’s room,” he answered her, turning to open the refridgerater door to look for something to eat.
“What?” yelped Christine, twirling to face him.
“She teaches dance at a studio that a few blocks away. When her lessons run late, she crashes here for the night and in the morning, I take her back to the concert hall,” he explained, his eyes never leavings hers. Christine knew that he was speaking the truth.
“You’re too kind,” she murmured, hopping up onto a barstool and leaning forwards so that way her breasts brushed the breakfast nook.
Erik faught to tear his eyes from her perfectly formed breasts and back to cooking his eggs. Finally, he won the battle, to Christine’s amusment.
“Lie what you see?” she coyly asked him, twirling a red curl on one finger.
“Very much so,” he said crispily, flipping the eggs onto two plates and sliding one over to Christine. “Eat up; I didn’t lie what you had instead of a real breakfast.”
Christine pouted before digging in. To her surprise, Erik had once more produced a wonderful meal. She shoveled as much of the eggs and toast into her mouth as she possibly could, causing for her to resemble a chickmunk. Erik laughed at the expression on her face as he calmly forked his morning meal into his mouth.
“Slow down, Christine. You’ll choke,” Erik scolded her gently, taking a sip of his orange juice.
“Sorry,” mumbled Christine sheepishly. “It’s just that you’re a good cook!”
“Merci,” smiled Erik, pleased that she liked something about him that no one else knew about. Not even Anna Giry knew about his love in the kitchens.
“You know, I don’t speak French,” Christine pointed out dryly, leaning over to kiss him.
“Then what other languages do you speak?” asked Erik with interest.
“Hebrew, Arabic, Spanish, Italian and Russian,” answered Chru=istine cheekily before picking up her plate and setting it into the sink. “Well I am an opera singer.”
“Opera?” Erik wrinkled his nose. “But isn’t that for fat ladies in viking peirod costumes?”
Christine glared at him before she saw that he was kidding.
“Mr. Destler!” she shierked, slapping his arm, wincing as toned muscles spung her hand. “Ow, what are you smuggling under there, bricks?”
Erik smirked at her before standing.
“Come, it’s getting late. We should be at the concert hall in half an hour,” he announced. “You can wear some of Meg’s clothes- I’m sure she won’t mind.”
I do not own Phantom of the Opera.
SUMMERY:
When Christine Daae is offered the oppertunity of a lifetime, she and her blind sister, Chloe, are whisked off to Europe to tour with the masked rock and rolls star, Erik Destler...
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORESS:
Many thank yous to my good friend, Angel Rose, for proofreading my fanfictions!!!
The next morning, Erik woke up to discover that Christine was snuggled next to his chest, his arms wrapped around her delicate figure. He smiled down at her before leaning forward to kiss her sweet lips. Their mouths lingered as Christine stirred, her emerald eyes opening to see Erik.
“Good morning,” murmured Christine, bringing her head up for a loving kiss.
“Bonjour, mon amour,” whispered Erik, leaving a trail of kisses down Christine’s neck. Christine giggled and tilted her head back, allowing the masked man better access to her nek.
Their heavy making out session was interupted by Christine’s loudly protesting stomach.
Christine giggled as she wiggled from Erik’s arms and stood up.
“I need to eat,” she informed the French rock star before skipping out of the bedroom in her birthday suit. Erik shook his head at her innocence and swung himself from the bed, following her into the kitchen, where she had grabbed an apple and a slice of cheese and was eating away happily.
“You know, I could’ve made you something,” Erik informed her with a warm smile.
“I like to be independant too, you know Erik,” Christine pointed out with a gentle smirk. She turned to toss the apple core out and squealed as Erik’s arms wrapped themselves around her slender waist, making Christine realize something.
“I’m on birth control, but you weren’t wearing a condom!” she squeaked, spinning around so that they were chest to chest, or in this case, face to chest. “What if I become pregaunt?”
Erik hesitaed. He did want children, but he didn’t want for them to turn out like him.
He gently kissed Christine’s shoulder to grab her attention.
“Christine, if my seed inside of you produces a child, then it will be the most loved, spoiled, privlaged child in the world,” he told her honestly.
Christine’s worried frown turned into a beaming smile as she leaned over and kissed him fully on the lips.
“Oh Erik...” she sighed happily as he picked her up and set her onto the counter before his kisses trailed sown to her stomach, where his lips traces around her belly button piercing.
“A butterfly,” he murmured softly. “How very much like you.”
“Explain,” ordered Christie, tossing her head back.
“Every butterfly is unique, not one is alike,” Erik informed her, looking into her dark emerald orbs. “Very much like you.”
Christine blushed at his words, feeling a warm, fuzzy feeling begining to coil in her stomach. she looked away and saw another door, one that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Where does this lead?” she asked him.
“Meg Giry’s room,” he answered her, turning to open the refridgerater door to look for something to eat.
“What?” yelped Christine, twirling to face him.
“She teaches dance at a studio that a few blocks away. When her lessons run late, she crashes here for the night and in the morning, I take her back to the concert hall,” he explained, his eyes never leavings hers. Christine knew that he was speaking the truth.
“You’re too kind,” she murmured, hopping up onto a barstool and leaning forwards so that way her breasts brushed the breakfast nook.
Erik faught to tear his eyes from her perfectly formed breasts and back to cooking his eggs. Finally, he won the battle, to Christine’s amusment.
“Lie what you see?” she coyly asked him, twirling a red curl on one finger.
“Very much so,” he said crispily, flipping the eggs onto two plates and sliding one over to Christine. “Eat up; I didn’t lie what you had instead of a real breakfast.”
Christine pouted before digging in. To her surprise, Erik had once more produced a wonderful meal. She shoveled as much of the eggs and toast into her mouth as she possibly could, causing for her to resemble a chickmunk. Erik laughed at the expression on her face as he calmly forked his morning meal into his mouth.
“Slow down, Christine. You’ll choke,” Erik scolded her gently, taking a sip of his orange juice.
“Sorry,” mumbled Christine sheepishly. “It’s just that you’re a good cook!”
“Merci,” smiled Erik, pleased that she liked something about him that no one else knew about. Not even Anna Giry knew about his love in the kitchens.
“You know, I don’t speak French,” Christine pointed out dryly, leaning over to kiss him.
“Then what other languages do you speak?” asked Erik with interest.
“Hebrew, Arabic, Spanish, Italian and Russian,” answered Chru=istine cheekily before picking up her plate and setting it into the sink. “Well I am an opera singer.”
“Opera?” Erik wrinkled his nose. “But isn’t that for fat ladies in viking peirod costumes?”
Christine glared at him before she saw that he was kidding.
“Mr. Destler!” she shierked, slapping his arm, wincing as toned muscles spung her hand. “Ow, what are you smuggling under there, bricks?”
Erik smirked at her before standing.
“Come, it’s getting late. We should be at the concert hall in half an hour,” he announced. “You can wear some of Meg’s clothes- I’m sure she won’t mind.”