Page 85 of Angel's Flight
“Thank you.The same to you,” Christine replied.Letitia gave Christine one more knowing look before squeezing her shoulder and leaving them alone.
Erik was happy to let Christine guide him from there.She always took the lead when they traveled, and he was always thankful for it.The ship was small and would get them to Dublin fast enough, carrying a few English travelers and money to return with Irish beef and other goods to sell.Leaving little for the people that had made and raised those goods.
Soon enough, Christine had presented their tickets, and a crewman showed them to the cabin where their things were waiting.
It was a small wooden box with a lumpy bed in a corner and a porthole looking out to sea.Hardly comparable to some of the finer places they had stayed or ways they had traveled, but it felt appropriate.
“You should rest,” Christine said as Erik’s gaze remained on the bed.“I know you haven’t slept since London.”
“I’ve dozed,” Erik muttered.He took the order to heart, even so, stripping off his cloak and mask and then flopping onto the miserable mattress.It was hard and smelled of mildew, but the pillow was soft enough.Soft too were Christine’s arms around him.
“You can stop torturing yourself, you know,” Christine whispered in his ear.He had to be dreaming it.“You’re angrier at all of this than I am right now.”
“It shouldn’t be like this,” Erik argued, exhaustion already dragging him down.“You deserve better.”
“I’ll decide that, my love,” Christine sighed and pulled him close to her, her back against his chest, a comforting solid heat.“I do still love you.Even when I’m mad at the world or even you.Love doesn’t turn on and off like that.”
Erik shut his eyes on tears – hoping he could hide the weakness, but she knew.That thought comforted him into sleep.
It was the cold, perhaps, that woke him.The cold of Christine being gone from the bed.Erik lingered a while at the edge of sleep, letting the rocking of the boat soothe him.Finally, he cracked his eyes open enough to see that it was night outside, but Christine had lit a candle in a glass and was seated in the wooden chair next to the small brazier they had for heat.She was half undressed, stripped down to her underthings with a shawl around her shoulders, its red color a contrast to the alabaster of her skin.The candles lent a golden glow to the place.Christine was golden too, the light warming her cheeks and catching in her auburn hair.So beautiful and warm.Erik stood out like a stain.A shadow on the sun.
“How are you so beautiful, even now?”he found himself asking aloud.
Christine looked up and smiled, though it was a tired sort of look.“Flatterer.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Christine ordered, and Erik bit his lip.“It stops meaning something when you say it all the time.”
“Even when I need to?”Erik asked back, rising stiffly from the bed.He felt marginally more alive now with some rest, though his mind was still clouded with sorrows.
“What awful thing are you thinking right now?”Christine asked, and Erik couldn’t tell if she was sad for him or sad she had to go through such a discussion again.
“The same as the last day or so,” Erik shrugged.“That I brought this on us and I’ll bring more sorrow and pain on you and your friends.”
“Our friends,” Christine corrected.“Mine and yours.”
“Even after what they saw?”Erik met her eyes, feeling the heat on his bare face and fighting the urge to hide its ugliness, even now.
“You know very well that more people than me have seen what you look like and still cared for you,” Christine argued gently, coming towards him.
“The monster they saw was more than my appearance,” Erik whispered back.He pulled Christine to him, selfishly and indulgently, burying his face in her chest and savoring the softness.“You saw it too.”
“I did.And I saw how you stopped when I told you to,” Christine countered.Erik recalled that moment: the clarity her voice had given him.The peace he had been able to find, being hers to command.It felt so distant now.
“You shouldn’t have had to,” Erik said.“I should have behaved.”
“Violence is a terribly hard way of life to unlearn,” Christine said, calm and gentle and simple, as if it wasn’t one of the more profound bits of wisdom she had ever shared.Erik looked up at her, at the compassion in her face that had driven away the sadness and disappointment.Or maybe he had imagined them.
“It’s also hard to unlearn the idea that I will always be hated, in the end.Always left,” Erik murmured back.
“Not by me,” Christine replied.“I’d chase you down if you tried.”
Erik let out a long breath, tension leaving his body, at last, as he made himself believe her, at least for now.He let his cheek fall against the soft skin of her breasts again.She smelled of the rain and faded lavender perfume.Erik nuzzled the yielding skin, his lips forming a kiss almost of their own volition.It felt good – for the first time in days, something felt good.He kissed her again, and again, his mouth exploring the mounds of flesh bound by her corset, and it made her sigh.It made her happy because it felt good to her too.
“Get this off me,” Christine murmured, just as Erik began to undo the front fastenings of the garment.He’d become adept at this in recent months, enough so that he freed her in no time before impatiently pulling her left breast from her chemise.
The boat swayed and groaned as he took her hard nipple and then more into his mouth, devouring as much of her as he could.He licked and sucked, savoring the taste and sensation of her skin against his lips and tongue.
