8Five times Christine calls Erik by a pet name and the one time Erik finds one for Christine.
"Baby, you can't get upset when the delivery man misses an item, stores just don't always have the supplies, I can tell you, I've worked in one!"
Erik growled, his muscles bunching under the shirt, "It was supposed to have come! How else am I going to make dinner for you, it is the central component –"
He paused, twisting around to where she was twirling her wine glass, "Did you just call me…Baby?"
She laughed, the baffled look upon his face was just too priceless, "What, don't you like the pet name?"
"I am not a child," he snorted, prowling towards her and forgetting entirely about the shopping order that littered the floor, towering over her, "I am not," he insisted to her raised eyebrow.
She sniggered, unable to stop the mirth at sight of his unconscious pout, "Nope, not at all like a child,"
"I'll show you childish," he growled softly, and the next thing she knew was the cool side of the fridge pressing against her back and the glass taken from her grasp. Her gasp was lost when a pair of lips caressed her neck, and she shivered, thoughts fuzzy with the sensation.
Fingers dived to lace around his neck, holding his head to the arch of her own, trying to withhold her mew when he nipped her skin, voice husky as he asked.
"Am I still a baby, Christine?"
"Baby?" she moaned as he dragged a tongue over skin, and in response she tugged his body closer, "What Baby?"
A long hand swept her hair behind her shoulder, and a ripple of pleasure ran through – his lips at the shell of her ear, "Then admit defeat,"
Her fingers brushed the scar that stretched from behind his ear; his answering shudder only too telling that the damaged nerve endings were still so very responsive, and pulled back, looking up at him sweetly.
"I admit defeat, for now, Baby," she winked and let out a surprised squeal when she was suddenly lifted over one shoulder, her world only the sight of his shirt. One arm was tight around her waist as he carried her, not flinching even has her little fists rained upon his back.
"You are a barbarian!" she squeaked, "And the ice cream is gonna melt if we leave it any longer,"
His chuckle vibrated as he carried her to the bedroom, "I'd rather be dubbed a barbarian than a child,"
An 'oof' left her as he dropped her onto the bed, and when she looked into those dilated eyes, she realised the danger she had provoked in the tumultuous nature of her partner, when two hands swiftly pressed at each side of her head. His breaths were audible as they fanned her face, impossibly far, she wanted to tear that mask away and kiss him in all the places the world had never seen.
"W – what about dinner?"
He grinned, lips stretching deviously.
"What about it?"
"Shall I tell you where we'll be going tonight, then?" he appeared as a wraith in the corner of her eye; for a reason he hadn't yet told her, he seemed to enjoy watching her prepare, observing what perfume she chose to spritz, the bracelet that she lifted from the box, the swipe of lipstick on her lips that hours later would be rubbed away.
"Where?" she lifted the chain that she was holding, in a silent entreaty.
He stepped into the room, before his fingers were lifting it from hers, the gold sparkling against her skin – their recent holiday had actually tanned her.
"A performance I believe you'll enjoy," he replied, pressing a soft kiss at the back of her neck, the edge of his mask scraping lightly.
Hours later, when the line of the prosecco had dipped under the label, she giggled, followed by Erik's sigh.
"I fear I may have indulged you too much, tonight,"
She shook her head, slurring, "Nopey, I don't think so…"
He winced, "You're swaying when you shake your head," he took the bottle away, placing it on his seat of their booth, away from her outstretched hands, despite her exaggerated noise of disappointment, "You're not having another ounce – or else I shall be carrying you to the car,"
"Will that be so bad?" her face drew into a pout, and with a snicker she added, "Sugar Plum?"
Erik harrumphed, "I do hope you're not calling me that. I have taken you to a ballet and this is what I receive?"
"A new name!" Christine grinned triumphantly, "It really suits you,"
Their waiter chose this moment to stop by, cataloguing their licked spoons and used napkins, "Do you wish for any coffee?"
"Just the bill," he replied curtly, glaring at the waiter until the man stopped ogling Christine.
"Oh, of course," the waiter replied genially, ignoring Erik's gaze, but before he left, he managed to overhear:
"Christine, please will you stop giggling? Do I look like I have wings?"
"But you're my Sugar Plum Fairy," she whined in return.
Erik sighed, long and hard, sinking into the seat and avoiding her eyes.
"Dear-heart, will you pass the sugar?" she asked, biting her lip as she weighed out flour into the bowl, scowling when it went over the required measurement, "And a spoon? Please,"
"That's a new one," Erik muttered, walking into the kitchen and placed his mug on the worktop, before passing her a spoon and the tin of sugar.
"I was reading a novel and I liked it," she quipped, using the spoon to return the offending grams of flour into the container, "But by all means, gripe as much as you want!"
He chuckled, and she felt two arms from behind wrap around her waist, the contented press of his mask on her hair, "I wouldn't dream of it,"
"Hm-hm,"
He stayed silent as she mixed in the sugar but offered his services to beat the sugar and flour into the butter, of which she gladly relinquished. Despite her best efforts, her mixtures all had lumps, unlike Erik's obscenely smooth offerings. It was one of the reasons she always left him to prepare the potatoes; he made mash smooth and roasts crispy on the outside and fluffy on the in. When she did roast potatoes, they were either burnt or underdone.
He prepared the fruit and cake tins, and absolutely refused for her to wash up – only going as so far as to allow her to clean the workspace.
"I will not allow you to slave away in the kitchen, at least, not without my help," was what he said, adamantly.
And God help her, she really did know she was in love, especially when he came out of the spotless kitchen with a line of flour across his nose, and all she could do was fall back in hopeless peals of laughter.
Of course, not forgetting to wipe it away. Now that truly would have been mean!
"Sötnos," she whispered, trailing her hand across the sweet wisps of hair that she had the pleasure of caressing. They never failed to make her heart ache; how long had she begged him to let her see him without that wig, let alone to even touch his hair? It had taken so much longer, and she had given him everything in return, and yet, it was worth it, having that freedom so graciously granted to her and after discovering her own affection for it, he was unable to take it away. This piece had come so much later than the rest of his body, and yet, she could understand why. Never had he the full shock of hair, never had he ever been reassured of its beauty, only trapped in with envy for other men. Even ones his age would have hair, if just starting to show a bit of a bald patch. Other places…However, had been born with perfect endowments. This was the last "un-manly" place that she could see of him.
Her Erik had been loath for her to see it, terror which had wormed through the years of abuse. And that secret voice which had never been vanquished whispering to him that she would leave if she did.
But, to her joy, the recent hair products had made the wisps ever so soft, and (though she'd never tell him), it was like touching baby fuzz – innately soothing and a tender act that she found herself engaging after their romantic exploits.
His eyes were closed, but it couldn't fool her. Sometimes she was reminded of a cat who enjoyed the strokes of a human, eyes closed in bliss and pretend sleep to encourage more of the same. The only thing missing was the purr of satisfaction.
Her fingers trailed from his scalp to his bared nose, feeling the silk sheet drop as she shifted to place a delicate kiss on the ridge – a sigh falling from his lips that told her of his secret pleasure.
He hadn't admitted the fact he quite enjoyed her tactile pursuits on his face, but she knew.
Patience didn't always come easily for her, but with him, for him, she would hold her tongue until it was the right time to push him. Life was a compromise, after all.
"My Sötnos," she murmured and placed another kiss on his nose – after all, he was her sweet nose.
"Slow down, Tiger!" she called, "I thought you wanted to give me a kiss goodbye!"
Erik froze, abruptly dropping his case and spun around to her, trying not to gape at her as she appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
"Where in the devil did you appear from?" he remarked, backpedalling at being caught with her awake and stop looking, stop looking or else you won't leave until she's thoroughly worn out and you're late.
She tugged the lace shawl around her shoulders, doing little to hide the old valentine's present lingerie that they'd made great use of, and – oh, those lips were there, waiting for a kiss goodbye.
"You know, speeding off is meant to be considered kind, but when the coffee maker does make an awful racket the least you could do is come back up for a kiss, before you leave,"
He licked his lips, "If I kissed you upstairs, I may not be able to leave,"
She grinned, that coy smile that awoke nothing within but fire, the need that trilled in his veins. A warning. He was aware that his passions commanded his attention, but when she stood there, in naught but underwear, smiling like the vixen she was, she did little to dissuade him.
"I'll be late, if I stay much longer," he threatened weakly, pulse racing as she stepped closer.
On tip toes her lips shyly met his, too brief, too sweet and then it was gone, eyes shining as she said, "Then go get them, Tiger,"
Valentines had swung around with impossible speed, and yet Erik had very little idea on what to get for her. Every year without fail had he'd gotten a present at the ready, down to the golden bracelet she wore to that day, or the more intimate presents that had made the wait all the more unbearable. But this year, he had the unfortunate realisation that his wonderful ideas had been stolen with her autumnal birthday and the merry lights of Christmas; leaving nothing that she'd truly enjoy as much as her new kindle or adorable winter dresses.
And somehow getting her tickets to see something was only a reusable idea for a pastime they indulged in often.
Nadir had suggested a voucher, if all came to the worst, but the idea rankled. How was something supposed to be special if it was just the currency that governed their daily life? No. It had to be special, but not trite.
Music was an old present too, but he was getting desperate. He wasn't exactly sure on her views of him buying a summer home without her, nor the idea of her reaction of him gifting it to her either. He could already hear her gasp and chastisement that one couldn't simply gift a home for a Valentine's day gift. Erik, it's too much!
Sighing, he drummed his fingers on the piano, unable to play a single note. Christine had noticed his silence on the instrument earlier that week, lips pursing slightly, but didn't air her thoughts. She often deployed a patience around him, that allowed him to cower during the day, but when they'd retired to bed, all his thoughts would come tumbling out – often at the very same gaze she beheld, as if silently waiting for him to tell her. As if the night-time was the place where he could finally understand and place all the buzzing sounds into coherent sentences.
He often rewarded her for such understanding, gentle patience in treats and shimmering affection.
One thing Christine did enjoy and could never turn down, despite the initial hesitancy whenever he offered her it, was chocolate.
God, the girl loved chocolate. It was a cure-all, and a comfort, he had realised. He had a suspicion it was to do with the way she'd travelled as a child, the bars out of the vending machine having a healthy coating of the stuff. She'd never mentioned it, but there was that quirk in her smile, as if she was sharing a secret with just her eyes.
He'd long since realised that it was the sight of her father in her; he'd seen enough pictures to recognise that silent mischief in the both of them.
Grimacing, he stood. This was the last resort. He just hoped it would be enough.
Later, she stood facing him, hands tucked behind her back, smiling with the barest hint of eagerness.
"Beautiful," he murmured, relishing the careful ringlets that danced where his fingers grazed them.
Christine shuddered, a shiver induced by the inflection that sent hazy adoration down her spine, one hand coming to intertwine with his – while one stayed resolutely behind her back.
Lips twitching, Erik settled for a quick kiss on the top of her hair, before leading her to the sofa. Christine placed the navy present bag that she'd been hiding, onto the table.
"I kept it at Meg's so you wouldn't go sniffing for it," she said to his raised eyebrow.
"Me? Looking for a present you had so diligently hidden – you wound me," a smile played at his lips.
She shook her head, chuffing, "Erik, I know you look for it every time, even if you don't touch it!"
"And what's the harm," he all but purred, the flutter of her lashes sending a heady thrill even after so many months, "I dare not peak, or else they'll disappear,"
"See, I knew you did it!" she proclaimed.
"Are you sure? Perhaps I don't, you wouldn't know,"
"You have always liked a challenge, Erik," she breathed.
"Ah, but you are my challenge, dearest,"
Christine opened her eyes, scoffing and lent over to collect the bag, "Now that's just silly,"
Erik begged to differ, after all, it had been months before he was able to even touch her without trembling, months before she would fall into him without a second thought, months before he'd even dared to dream of a life together. Perfectly mundane.
Months before he had realised, he could have ever loved at all.
"Perhaps," he conceded, adoring the way she lit up as she readied the bag, fingers pushing at the matching tissue paper back inside.
"You needn't fuss, I'm sure the wrapping doesn't care about where it is,"
Her lips pouted, "But I do,"
Sighing good naturedly, Erik eventually got given the bag. Christine studied the way his fingers dived in and brought out a little black box.
"Open it," her eyes glued to his face, before flicking back to the box shyly. Staring was a sensation that would normally prickle – but with her earnest expression, he could only remember that he had likely been similar before, in all those occasions where he'd showered her with gifts. Love. Adoration. Sweet, sweet anticipation.
She enjoyed this. The knowledge was enough to keep his fingers just about steady as he opened the lid.
Oh.
"I know – I wasn't sure if gold or silver was the best, or if you wanted ones without gems, but I know you prefer simple and clean rather than ostentatious, but if you wanted I can always go back and swap it, or you know, a refund, but I think that –"
"Christine," he interrupted, daring to reach out and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, effectively silencing her as she leant into his palm. Such willing trust still threatened the unsteady race of his heart, as if any moment it would simply stop. He could barely breathe, the nose holes were too small.
"It is wonderful; tasteful and useful. How exactly do you know my preferences so well?" he breathed, subtle awe shimmering in his question.
Mirth danced in her expression, looking up to catch his eyes, "I watch, I wait and I learn,"
He remembered to take a breath after she kissed his palm and released it.
"Thank you, I will use it, if only to count the hours until I will have you nestled beside me once more," he gingerly slipped the silver pocket watch into his inner pocket, dazzled by the engraved notes that sung his melodies over its lid.
Christine sighed, before grinning contentedly, "It was hard to figure out what I could get you, to be honest. I feel like you have everything, getting you something original is hard, you probably already have it lying around somewhere!"
He chuckled with her, before sobering, "Now, I must tell you, I was in the same position. This present is not as grandiose as some others and I want you to know that if you desire anything else – anything at all-"
"Shh, Mister, I'll love anything you get me," she squeezed his hand which had anxiously been tapping against his leg, "Just like you would for me. Now, do I have to go on a hunt to find it, or has it been here the entire time and I haven't noticed?"
Erik's shoulders dropped, forcing himself to release the tension, and stretched his arm out – reaching for the package he'd stowed under the sofa.
"Ooooh! That's pretty wrapping paper, where did you get that?"
"Somewhere you'll never find it," he teased lightly, swallowing back the lump in his throat.
Christine sighed theatrically, before grinning, "It was in the Card Shop, wasn't it?"
He pressed a finger to his lips, and without further ado, Christine tenderly tore at the edges, rose gold glittered blooms falling way to a box that sent her squealing.
"Oh! I wanted to get these all month!" she crowed, tracing the delicate filigree of the packaging, "And I've been so good at not giving in,"
"Well, now you can indulge," he replied, hiding the pleasure that burned inside. It had been a success. She was pleased!
Carefully, abandoning all the ferociousness that had filled her when unwrapping, she hooked her finger into the opening of the box and pulled out the row of treats, licking her lips subconsciously.
She looked up at him, mouth dropping, "They're even more delicious-looking in person,"
His lip curled, "Perfect for all endeavours, here and," he leant forward, so that his lips barely brushed hers, "Elsewhere,"
A trapped breath shook as Christine's eyes widened, biting her lip, "Oh,"
"How do you feel about a feast, Truffle?" he murmured dangerously, eyes glinting as he pressed closer.
Christine shuddered into her seat, gaze glazing as his lips captured hers.
"I'll be your Truffle any day," she whispered in reply, slowly picking one up and putting it between her lips.
There was a low growl as Erik met her invitation, and snatched half of the treat – intending on devouring the truffle in more ways than one.
In Swedish endearments, there actually was one 'Sötnos' meaning sweet nose and it was too perfect that I couldn't not incorporate it! (again, if this is wrong, please forgive me XD)
And WOAH, are you surprised at this fluff? ;) Some pretty hot stuff, too. I hope you enjoyed my piece, just a tiny bit haha! Oh, boy, Erik. Wipes brow.
Summer lovin' having a blast… :D Summer will be soon!
I pushed myself for writing this and thinking of all those different situations was an absolute blast!
Are you proud that there's absolutely no angst? I am. That was my challenge! Hehe, I hope the readers are sated with this oneshot. A happy ending at last, amirite? ;D
Thanks for reading,
Your humble authoress,
Enigma.