A/N: Big thank-you to everyone who has read this story. When I posted the first chapter, I was certain that would be it. It was just something I'd written in the need for some fresh E/C smut... I'm so glad many others enjoyed it as well, haha. I hope to be back again with something similar M-rated, just with an actual pre-determined plot.

Thanks again!

"See that star over there?"

Christine smiled at the sound of Erik's voice, low in her right ear, and followed his finger as it lifted to the night sky.

They were an hour out in the country, far from all the clamor of civilization. No clouds in the sky, the warm summer air encompassing them as they laid on top of a blanket in the grass—a perfect night.

"Which one?" she asked, searching amongst the many stars in the sky for the one he was pointing to.

Erik adjusted himself a bit, moving closer, leaning into her as he tried seeing the sky from where she laid. "That one, the brightest one."

Her eyes fell upon the one he'd been pointing to, and she smiled once more. "Yes, I see it."

Erik allowed his hand to fall back to his side and remained glancing up at the star. "Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky."

"It's beautiful."

Erik turned to her, swallowing at the sight of her. It didn't matter how long it'd been since he'd first seen her; he was always awestruck by her beauty. He fixed his gaze back upon the star. "I think we should rename it. Christine seems apt."

Christine tilted her head back in his direction, trying to bite back a laugh by frowning through her smile. "Is that allowed?"

Erik shrugged and blinked in her direction. "If the ancients could name the constellations and every star in the sky, why can't I?"

Christine released her laughter, turning onto her side to hit his shoulder with the back of her hand. "You're so cliche."

Erik froze as her knee pressed into the side of his thigh, her hand falling to the inside of his elbow, playing carefully with the cotton fabric of his dress shirt. He sucked in a sharp gasp of air, drawing her attention up to his masked face, his eyes wide and full of every color of admiration she'd seen before within him. She froze now, her smile vanishing in an instant. She rolled back over to glance back up at the sky.

It had been a month since his hand had healed, his stitches removed. They both agreed to slow things down. Christine had convinced herself that she'd pushed him all too quick—with the mask and with their love. It was all too much for them both. Every kiss and every touch quickly sent them over the edge and left them both burning for more.

Sleeping with one another was just as challenging. Cuddling led to kissing, kissing to making out, making out to grasping, grasping to grinding, grinding to frantic separation. It was hard for them to help themselves, and so Erik agreed to prepare a separate room for when she stayed over. Even then, after a night out together, it was hard going to bed knowing there was someone else—another hand willing to help in the other's relief—only two doors away.

"You know," Erik continued plainly, "Sirius is part of the constellation Canis Major. The Greeks associated it with the dog Laelaps who was known for catching everything it pursued."

Silence ensued as Christine made no reply, trying to make out the image of the dog in the sky, playing a game of connect-the-dots.

"Laelaps was gifted to a king who desired to use the dog to catch the Teumessian fox. The irony was the fox could never be caught."

Christine's brows furrowed up at the night sky. "So what, they ran forever?"

"Until Zeus turned them to stone and then into stars."

Christine exhaled a half-hearted breath of air and sighed. "Life does feel like that sometimes, it seems."

Erik dared to look in her direction once more, his brow raised beneath his mask.

"Like you can do everything, have everything, all except for that one thing you've been chasing after." She glanced at him after he did not comment; her brows still furrowed from her failed attempt to find the dog. "Do you ever feel that way?"

Erik swallowed and shook his head slowly. "Not so much as of late."

Her brows gradually unfurrowed themselves, and she rolled back into his side, ignoring how his breath quickened. His hand caught hers as she reached for his mask, his eyes filled by fear and something else she could not quite place.

"Christine," he breathed something of a plea.

She ignored him and pushed on, his grasp loosening in an instant as he realized fighting her was no use; he wanted her touch. She removed the mask, placing it in the grass above their heads. He watched her push herself up onto her elbow, fixing herself until she was straddling him. He whimpered as her face became nothing more than a shadow closing on his, her lips pressing against his for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

When she broke away, it was to lift her shirt over her head, exposing the black lace of her bra as she tossed the article of clothing to the side.

"Christine," he pleaded louder.

She froze atop of him. Even in the pale moonlight, she could make out every imperfection of his face, including the enlarged pupils of his sunken eyes.

He sighed quietly, relieved he'd successfully captured her attention, but although his mouth rested open, words failed to escape. She could see it in his eyes, however—that hesitance that always seemed to linger in the back of his mind.

"Do I have to remind you how to touch me?" she teased lightheartedly, playing with the tip of his collar in a way that made his heart sway.

"Oh, Christine," he groaned, his eyes dropping to her bra.

She felt his hands lift to hover by her hips, and when he didn't lay them there, she guided them and dragged them along, up her waist to her breasts, sucking in a sharp breath of air as she did so, his skin stippling hers with its cool touch. She caught his throat as it bobbed, his breath hitching as she pressed her fingers over his, driving him to squeeze into the soft tissue there.

She gasped as she released him, his thumbs immediately moving to brush over the tips of her breasts, her bra practically paper-thin.

She shifted in his lap as he sat up to reach around her back, his fingers finding the clasp of her bra and pushing inwards, releasing the hooks before he helped the straps down her arms. She pulled away from him to help ease the bra off, tossing it in the direction of her shirt.

His mouth closed around her left breast in an instant, his finger and thumb around her right, teasing her and groaning as she writhed in pleasure. He lifted away with a small plop, satisfied with her cries, and helped her settle back against the blanket.

Even after they'd removed her shirt and bra, it still seemed as if she was wearing too much, and he practically tore her shorts off along with her underwear, throwing them over his shoulder without much regard as to where they landed.

He approached her again cautiously, glancing back and forth between her face and her slick core as he eased her legs apart, his heart stammering at the sight of her blush. He paused before her, fully prepared to stop if she wished it so. Instead, she nodded, and he did not hesitate to press a kiss into her soft, pink skin. Her head fell back against the blanket, and she whimpered as he delved his tongue into her, curling every toe in the air when he moved to circle her sweet, aching pearl, pressing one tantalizing finger into her, then two.

He waited patiently for her to snap, bucking towards him as her legs proceeded to tremble, her hands bunching into the blanket below as she pronounced her end with a scream. She nearly sobbed when he parted, desiring more.

When he finally rose after using his pant leg to clean his fingers, she rose as well, crawling towards him on feeble limbs, her eyes fixed on the hardness in his pants. He stopped her hands before they could reach his belt buckle, uncertainty clouding his eyes once more. But when she offered him those sad, imploring eyes—the ones he could never resist—his grip lingered for only a second more, and she worked hastily to unfasten his belt, then the button of his pants.

He groaned when she took him into her hand, placing a kiss to his shaft before she proceeded to palm his length, remembering exactly how much pressure he enjoyed.

His eyes fell close before she pushed him back to the ground, fixing herself over him once more.

"Ch-Christine," his voice faltered in concern, and he rose onto his elbows.

"Shh," she hushed him. "Everything will be fine."

She offered him an assuring smile and leaned down to kiss him before taking his length back into her hand. He reluctantly relaxed and watched as she settled him into her, both of them grunting as she fell. He gripped her thighs as she moved about above him—a star amongst the many others, shining before him.

He had thought of how much she'd grown since their first lesson. The shy little blonde who knew as much about music as he knew about love had blossomed in the few months they'd known one another. Their lessons became nothing more than sharing music—him playing little tunes on her father's violin, her singing tunes that clenched his heart—and what was meant to last an hour extended past dinnertime, and often until the sun found its way back in the sky.

She'd begun to wear her favorite clothes again, do her hair and makeup as she pleased, and go out without giving much care as to who judged her for smiling and being in love with the man on her arm. Not even for a moment did she regret giving herself over so swiftly, and neither did he.

The abiding loneliness Erik had suffered, loneliness that not even music could comfort, had met its end at last. And, for the first time, he felt like a man. Not a machine spitting out compositions at every waking moment, not a personification of misfortune. A real, human man who could love and be loved back.

Because of this heavenly creature before him, he was no longer an empty void that moved as the world desired him to. He was Erik—a man, a musician, a lover.

And she was his star, beautiful and bright.