Note: Hi! Rai and I finished this fic about the same time that we were working on "One Step Too Far", but I've been too lazy to post it. ^^;; If you're not a fan of slash, beware, because we love it. Expect to see a lot of stuff like that from us. Anyway, please enjoy, and leave a review on your way out!
Disclaimer: the Daughters of Isis do not own "Petshop of Horrors", nor the very spooky musical duet by Nightwish. We are not writing for profit, and any similarities to other works are purely coincidental.
"The Phantom of the Opera"
By the Daughters of Isis
~* ~*
[CHRISTINE:]
In sleep he sang to me,
In dreams he came,
That voice which call to me,
And speaks my name,
~* ~*
Winter in San Francisco didn't dump mounds of fluffy white snow. Instead, it piled the sides of the roads with grey mountains of slush. The streets were fairly blanketed with sand every morning to melt the last night's ice. Those walking along the sidewalks were easy targets to be splashed with the muck and grime. It was Detective Leon Orcot's least favorite time of year.
Late January, for some reason, was the quietest month of the crime year. In the detective's cynical opinion, people were too busy killing themselves during those dark winter months to be killing other people. With nothing better to do than fill out paperwork at the station, Orcot found himself spending a lot more time than he ever intended at Count D's pet shop in the heart of Chinatown.
"Don't they have something to cure suicide?" he suddenly blurted out one such day.
"I believe it's called self-satisfaction," said the Count, not at all phased by Orcot's sudden outburst.
"I'm not trying to be cold-hearted or anything," Orcot continued, "but seriously, it makes things way too quiet around here. Do you get any business around this time of year?"
"Of course I do."
Orcot frowned. No one other than himself had entered the shop all day. "Because I could certainly do with something freaky happening to nab you with. Where are all the weirdoes that usually come by here?"
"At home, I suppose."
~* ~*
[CHRISTINE:]
And do I dream again?
For now I find,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside my mind,
~* ~*
Orcot leaned back in the blue-upholstered sofa he was sitting in, and looked behind him. Count D sat at an ornate ebony desk doing something the detective had never seen him do. He was filing papers, and he didn't look too happy about Orcot's intrusion that afternoon.
"Geez, even you are stuck doing paperwork this time of year."
Count D scrawled something at the bottom of a very official looking document and added it to an unmarked folder. "These accounts need to be in order before the New Year begins," he said without looking up.
"Uh, that was about three weeks ago, man," Orcot informed him. "What kind of calendar are you using?" He glanced around the room, but of course did not find one. Instead, he saw the infant Totetsu, T-chan, standing with one hoof in his teacup and glaring at Orcot through obsidian eyes. "Aww, come on." He made to pick up the creature, but its snarl made him sit back.
"It's not yet the Chinese New Year, if you didn't know." Count D swept past the sofa and lifted T-chan into his arms without a moment's hesitation.
"Oh yeah." Orcot picked up his teacup and looked into it distastefully. "That thing with the rat, and the horse, and the buffalo."
"It's an ox," the Count corrected. "Not a buffalo."
Orcot set his cup on the tea tray as Count D deposited T-chan a safe distance away, and returned to clean up that afternoon's snack. "They both look alike to me."
"They would," Count D murmured under his breath when his back was to the detective.
"Hey, I heard that."
Count D said nothing. Orcot was startled by the way he was acting and was beginning to wonder if the something was bothering him. The count didn't seem like himself. Orcot almost missed his cryptic stories and easygoing humor, and that was noteworthy for the fact that he normally hated that part of Count D's nature.
Orcot watched Count D take the tray through a door in the back of the room, which Orcot presumed led to a kitchen. He leaned over the back of the sofa and folded his arms over it. "Something up with you today?" he called.
He had to wait several minutes while Count D finished what he was doing in the kitchen. The moment he came back out and sat down in a chair across from the detective, a large fluffy cat bounded out of nowhere and leapt into his lap.
"It's nothing for you to concern yourself about," he finally answered. He stroked the cat slowly, drawing his long fingernails through the strands of silvery white fur. "It isn't important."
~* ~*
[PHANTOM:]
Since once again with me,
Our strange duet,
My power over you,
Grows stronger yet,
~* ~*
Orcot noticed how tired Count D's movements looked, how narrow his eyes were slitted, and the melancholy expression that clouded his usual devious smile. What weird little details to be thinking about. He quickly forced them out of his mind.
"Come on," he said. "Tell me. I love gossip." He winked.
Count D did not seem entertained.
Why do I even bother trying to cheer this guy up? Orcot mused. It's not like it's going to get me anywhere. There's no way he'll fess up to anything even remotely interesting. As usual, the detective's hunch was far from right.
He was in the middle of an argument with himself about whether to go home or stay and mooch a little longer when Count D spoke.
"I don't think you would understand."
Looking satisfied, Orcot leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "Try me."
Count D wasn't looking at him. His gold and black eyes were locked on the white cat, as if his words were meant for it and not the detective. "Actually, what I need is advice."
Orcot was dumbstruck for a moment. This from the guy he always thought was just a well of knowledge? What was the world coming to? "I can do that. Is it about girls? You know, I've got a lot of experience there. Ask me anything." Intrigued, he sat forward with his arms resting against his knees.
"It's not that exactly. You see, there's this man I know-"
"Whoa, whoa, hold it." Orcot held up his hands. "I don't think I can help you there. I just cannot think about guys like that."
Count D touched one hand lightly to his forehead and looked troubled. "I knew you wouldn't understand." He stood up abruptly, forcing the cat to jump to the floor.
The Count made his way to the door, and Orcot suddenly got up to follow him. "Aww, crap. D, wait a minute. Gimme another try. I can be open-minded, I promise."
"Leon," he started in a voice Orcot had never heard him use before. It wasn't tired or frustrated like he expected, but gentle, the voice Count D used around his pets. "It's about you."
~* ~*
[PHANTOM:]
And though you turn from me,
To glance behind,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside your mind,
~* ~*
For the first time in his life, Orcot couldn't speak.
"I think a lot about you, and I know you must feel the same. Why else would you spend so much time here with me when you must have more important things to do?" Count D smiled, suddenly back to his old self. "I think I love you."
Orcot felt his stomach knot up with disgust. "You . . . what?" He almost choked on the words. "Ugh, I knew you swung that way, but not me." He shook his head in affirmation. "No way, I don't go for that kind of stuff."
The whole time he spoke, though Orcot was completely confident that what he said was true, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to look at Count D's face. Especially not at his deep slanted eyes. He knew exactly what he would see in them, and it was as if he feared he would fall under the count's spell through them, like all the other people who walked into the accursed shop.
"No way, man," Orcot said again, starting toward the door. It was a wonder he was able to make it out with his eyes half-closed and didn't knock anything over.
~* ~*
[CHRISTINE:]
Those who have seen your face,
Draw back in fear,
I am the mask you wear,
[PHANTOM:]
It's me they hear,
~* ~*
It was late when Orcot finally made it back to his apartment, completely sloshed. He called up some friends earlier in the evening and went out drinking with them at a nearby bar. At some point after everyone had been through several rounds, someone thought it would be absolutely hilarious to see who among them could put the most murky roadside slush in his pants. Field detectives are known for never backing down from a challenge.
Sometime after midnight it suddenly struck Orcot how ridiculous he must have looked wandering around the city with his boxers full of rapidly melting slush, and decided to head home.
After changing into some dry clothes, Orcot collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the posters tacked to the ceiling. The scantily clad (if at all) women in their suggestive poses captured the lustful desires of men everywhere, but that night, Orcot couldn't seem to focus on them. Maybe it was all the alcohol making his head swim, but whenever he opened his eyes, it wasn't the models' pouting faces he saw, but Count D's slanted eyes.
Orcot cursed himself for letting the man get inside his head. What would they guys at the station say if they knew what he was thinking about? What would the chief say? Everyone knew how hard he tried to find a way to put Count D in jail.
For some reason, the count's words kept coming to his mind. Why did he spend so much time at the pet shop? He couldn't convince himself that he was waiting for a crime to happen-things really didn't work that way.
Orcot rolled over with a sigh, flicking off the bedside light. Even in the pitch darkness, listening to the sounds of the urban city still wide awake at that hour, he just couldn't get his mind off Count D. His infallible gut told him that there was definitely something weird happening, and first thing in the morning, no matter what, he was going to go down to the pet shop to find out exactly what it was.
~* ~*
[TOGETHER:]
My/your spirit and my/your voice,
In one combined,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside my/your mind,
~* ~*
It was more like just after 1pm that Orcot finally woke up with a terrible hangover and a headache about to crush his skull.
What was he going to do again? He searched his foggy memory for where he'd resolved to go the night before. Oh yes, there it was. Count D had a crush on him, and Orcot was going to head down to the pet shop to see what he could do.
He laughed to himself. He, Leon Orcot, the straightest guy on the planet, was going to talk to a gay man who thought he was in love.
Stranger things have happened, I guess.
After his customary three cups of coffee, Orcot was feeling a bit better, so when he arrived in Chinatown he was almost up to his usual standard of perkiness. (That wasn't saying much, as he tended to stay up until 3 AM every night and frequently was so tired he had dark circles under his eyes.)
The bells that hung on the door of the pet shop rang to announce his presence. He wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but he had a huge flock of nervous butterflies in his stomach.
"I knew you'd be here today," Count D said, looking up through a few strands of silky black hair at Orcot as he filled out paperwork.
"I guess you know me too well," Orcot said. "Look, I'm just going to get to the point here."
He cleared his throat and tried to tell himself that no, he wasn't blushing, and that the little tremble he'd acquired was simply the result of the three cups of coffee.
D gave Orcot his full attention. "Which is . . . ?"
"Well-how am I going to put this. I-um-" Orcot looked down at his shoes. It was suddenly difficult to remember what he'd been about to say to the Count. He didn't notice that the object of his jumbled musings had gotten up from the desk and was standing little more than two feet away from him.
"Perhaps it would be easier to discuss this over tea and cake."
"Y-yeah. That sounds like a good idea."
Count D gestured for Orcot to join him on the couch. A selection of petit-fours were arrayed across the low table in front of them. D poured a cup for Orcot, handed it to him, and waited.
Crap! How am I supposed to say this?! Orcot asked himself. "About yesterday . . ."
"I understand," said the Count a bit forlornly. "It could never work out. I can only hope that you'll continue to visit the shop after my little confession."
"You know, part of me didn't want to come here this morning," Orcot said, feeling some of his confidence returning. "But then I asked myself, why do I visit you so often, anyway? It's been bothering me. It really shouldn't, because I've never had any question about the fact that I like women, but I'm just . . , uh, confused . . ."
Count D leaned in a little closer with a devilish gleam in those dual-colored eyes. "Then perhaps you like men and women. I believe the term used to describe such a tendency is bisexual."
"What? Look, there's just no friggin' way-"
Before Orcot could finish, D took his hand and ran his tongue from the tip of the detective's finger to its base. "So sweet," he murmured.
Orcot flinched but didn't pull away.
"You see," Count D said in between kisses trailing up his arm, "you're enjoying this."
"No, I'm not!" Orcot tried to pull away, but it was only a halfhearted attempt. The Count paid him no heed and pressed a light kiss to Orcot's neck.
This is wrong, the detective's conscience screamed at him.
"You want this just as much as I do."
Then D's lips were upon his own and Orcot felt a sensation he hadn't experienced during any of his flings with his girlfriends. It was a deep feeling that the situation was somehow right, that it was natural. He also had a distinct notion that there were more to his feelings for the Count than mere curiosity.
Orcot couldn't remember feeling this scared in his life.
Screw it, he said to himself. If anyone was going to find us, they'd be here by now. I can keep it a secret . . . I've never paid much attention to the rules, anyway.
Ignoring his doubts, Orcot leaned in to the kiss and returned it with ferocity. He could feel the Count trying to suppress a smile as he pressed on further into new territory.
They paused to breathe. Orcot's face was tinged pink, his lips felt bruised, and he was overcome by dizziness-but he was happy. At least that was one of the emotions he was feeling at the moment, along with embarrassment and incredulity. He had just kissed a man. He was a very beautiful man, he acquiesced, but all the same, they'd acted on impulses that hadn't even existed before then. Maybe it wasn't that the feelings hadn't existed, but he had never acknowledged them before.
"You won't tell . . . will you?" Orcot asked.
"Not unless you want me to."
After that, they kissed with abandon, each falling into the other's steady rhythm. It was new and different and frightening, but Orcot did enjoy it.
~*~*
[CHRISTINE:]
He's there, the phantom of the opera,
Beware the phantom of the opera,
~*~*
It turned out that nearly everyone at the office had figured out Detective Orcot's feelings about Count D before he himself had.
"Let's face it," said his coworker, Jenn, "you were going over there every day. It had to happen sometime."
"Yeah, well . . . I didn't think I could have those feelings for a guy. Hell, I didn't know I could have those feelings for anyone," Orcot mused.
Jenn grinned toothily. "It happens to us all. Say, what was he like? I've always wondered, myself."
"I dunno, I don't have any other guys to compare him with!"
"You silly!" she said, punching him lightly on the arm. "Never mind. You go ahead on up there. And this time it would be polite to bring a gift."
"It would?"
"Don't you know anything about manners?"
"I guess not. Hey, he likes sweets. That's what I'll bring him. A nice big box of chocolates."
"There. You have the right idea, for once."
"Thanks . . . I guess."
~*~*
[PHANTOM:]
In all your fantasies,
You always knew,
That man and mystery,
[CHRISTINE:]
Were both in you,
~*~*
The day was drawing to a close when Orcot stumbled into the pet shop. He had gone through the trouble to get the most delicious box of chocolates he could find. He figured he might as well go all out in the gift department, now that he had admitted his feelings. For all he knew, the Count might have gotten him something as well.
Orcot plopped himself down on the couch and waited for Count D to enter the room.
When, after a few minutes, he didn't arrive, Orcot decided to investigate. He pushed open the small door that led to the Count's personal quarters and gave a holler. "Hey, D! You there?"
Count D's voice could be heard from the end of the corridor. "Yes, I'm in here. You can come in if you'd like."
Feeling awkward, Orcot closed the door quietly behind him and walked to the room.
D was working on a painting, brushing long strokes onto the canvas.
"I didn't know you were the artistic type," Orcot said, depositing the box of chocolates on the studio table.
"From time to time," said Count D.
Orcot wondered how the man could paint without getting a single spot on his flowered cheongsam. Neatness had never been one of the detective's virtues; he'd have been covered from head to toe with pigment by now.
Count D continued to work in silence. After a while, Orcot got frustrated. "Look, D, if you don't want to talk, I'll leave. I'll take the box of chocolates back home with me."
"Oh, no. No, I don't want you to leave," Count D said hurriedly. "I just need to paint this one last thing, then I'll give you my full attention."
"All right." Orcot leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching D's steady hands.
It was difficult to tell, but amidst the myriad of colors washed across the canvas were two birds. They had long shimmering plumage that spread from their hearts to the tips of their wings and spilled out around them. In a way, it reminded Orcot of weird modern art, but this piece was far more elegant and meaningful. Unfortunately, he didn't understand the meaning behind it.
"There are some birds that spend their entire lives searching for their perfect mate," Count D explained when Orcot had voiced as much. "Some are lucky enough to find their mate early in their lives, but sometimes they never know."
"Huh." Orcot kept staring at the painting. "How do they know when they've found the right one?"
Count D washed off his hands and picked up the box of chocolates. He drew one long fingernail across the plastic and cut cleanly through it. "Very much like humans, in fact. Simply by trying out many possibilities until they know."
"Kinda like opening a box of chocolates, right?" asked Orcot.
Count D gave him a confused look.
"You know, you really gotta get out more, man."
~*~*
[TOGETHER:]
And in this labyrinth,
Where night is blind,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside my/your mind,
~*~*
Midnight arrived, and Detective Leon Orcot walked on Cloud 9 the whole way home. He could no longer call himself the Straightest Guy in San Fran, but he didn't care anymore. The feeling he got from his fledgling relationship with Count D overcame any of his objections.
Orcot remembered Count D's words from two days before: "I think I love you."
Well, he said to himself, I think I might love you back.
~*~*
[PHANTOM:]
Sing, my angel of music,
~*~*
THE END.
~*~*
~*~*
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Please do us the favor of leaving a review too. It's very appreciated!
Disclaimer: the Daughters of Isis do not own "Petshop of Horrors", nor the very spooky musical duet by Nightwish. We are not writing for profit, and any similarities to other works are purely coincidental.
"The Phantom of the Opera"
By the Daughters of Isis
~* ~*
[CHRISTINE:]
In sleep he sang to me,
In dreams he came,
That voice which call to me,
And speaks my name,
~* ~*
Winter in San Francisco didn't dump mounds of fluffy white snow. Instead, it piled the sides of the roads with grey mountains of slush. The streets were fairly blanketed with sand every morning to melt the last night's ice. Those walking along the sidewalks were easy targets to be splashed with the muck and grime. It was Detective Leon Orcot's least favorite time of year.
Late January, for some reason, was the quietest month of the crime year. In the detective's cynical opinion, people were too busy killing themselves during those dark winter months to be killing other people. With nothing better to do than fill out paperwork at the station, Orcot found himself spending a lot more time than he ever intended at Count D's pet shop in the heart of Chinatown.
"Don't they have something to cure suicide?" he suddenly blurted out one such day.
"I believe it's called self-satisfaction," said the Count, not at all phased by Orcot's sudden outburst.
"I'm not trying to be cold-hearted or anything," Orcot continued, "but seriously, it makes things way too quiet around here. Do you get any business around this time of year?"
"Of course I do."
Orcot frowned. No one other than himself had entered the shop all day. "Because I could certainly do with something freaky happening to nab you with. Where are all the weirdoes that usually come by here?"
"At home, I suppose."
~* ~*
[CHRISTINE:]
And do I dream again?
For now I find,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside my mind,
~* ~*
Orcot leaned back in the blue-upholstered sofa he was sitting in, and looked behind him. Count D sat at an ornate ebony desk doing something the detective had never seen him do. He was filing papers, and he didn't look too happy about Orcot's intrusion that afternoon.
"Geez, even you are stuck doing paperwork this time of year."
Count D scrawled something at the bottom of a very official looking document and added it to an unmarked folder. "These accounts need to be in order before the New Year begins," he said without looking up.
"Uh, that was about three weeks ago, man," Orcot informed him. "What kind of calendar are you using?" He glanced around the room, but of course did not find one. Instead, he saw the infant Totetsu, T-chan, standing with one hoof in his teacup and glaring at Orcot through obsidian eyes. "Aww, come on." He made to pick up the creature, but its snarl made him sit back.
"It's not yet the Chinese New Year, if you didn't know." Count D swept past the sofa and lifted T-chan into his arms without a moment's hesitation.
"Oh yeah." Orcot picked up his teacup and looked into it distastefully. "That thing with the rat, and the horse, and the buffalo."
"It's an ox," the Count corrected. "Not a buffalo."
Orcot set his cup on the tea tray as Count D deposited T-chan a safe distance away, and returned to clean up that afternoon's snack. "They both look alike to me."
"They would," Count D murmured under his breath when his back was to the detective.
"Hey, I heard that."
Count D said nothing. Orcot was startled by the way he was acting and was beginning to wonder if the something was bothering him. The count didn't seem like himself. Orcot almost missed his cryptic stories and easygoing humor, and that was noteworthy for the fact that he normally hated that part of Count D's nature.
Orcot watched Count D take the tray through a door in the back of the room, which Orcot presumed led to a kitchen. He leaned over the back of the sofa and folded his arms over it. "Something up with you today?" he called.
He had to wait several minutes while Count D finished what he was doing in the kitchen. The moment he came back out and sat down in a chair across from the detective, a large fluffy cat bounded out of nowhere and leapt into his lap.
"It's nothing for you to concern yourself about," he finally answered. He stroked the cat slowly, drawing his long fingernails through the strands of silvery white fur. "It isn't important."
~* ~*
[PHANTOM:]
Since once again with me,
Our strange duet,
My power over you,
Grows stronger yet,
~* ~*
Orcot noticed how tired Count D's movements looked, how narrow his eyes were slitted, and the melancholy expression that clouded his usual devious smile. What weird little details to be thinking about. He quickly forced them out of his mind.
"Come on," he said. "Tell me. I love gossip." He winked.
Count D did not seem entertained.
Why do I even bother trying to cheer this guy up? Orcot mused. It's not like it's going to get me anywhere. There's no way he'll fess up to anything even remotely interesting. As usual, the detective's hunch was far from right.
He was in the middle of an argument with himself about whether to go home or stay and mooch a little longer when Count D spoke.
"I don't think you would understand."
Looking satisfied, Orcot leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "Try me."
Count D wasn't looking at him. His gold and black eyes were locked on the white cat, as if his words were meant for it and not the detective. "Actually, what I need is advice."
Orcot was dumbstruck for a moment. This from the guy he always thought was just a well of knowledge? What was the world coming to? "I can do that. Is it about girls? You know, I've got a lot of experience there. Ask me anything." Intrigued, he sat forward with his arms resting against his knees.
"It's not that exactly. You see, there's this man I know-"
"Whoa, whoa, hold it." Orcot held up his hands. "I don't think I can help you there. I just cannot think about guys like that."
Count D touched one hand lightly to his forehead and looked troubled. "I knew you wouldn't understand." He stood up abruptly, forcing the cat to jump to the floor.
The Count made his way to the door, and Orcot suddenly got up to follow him. "Aww, crap. D, wait a minute. Gimme another try. I can be open-minded, I promise."
"Leon," he started in a voice Orcot had never heard him use before. It wasn't tired or frustrated like he expected, but gentle, the voice Count D used around his pets. "It's about you."
~* ~*
[PHANTOM:]
And though you turn from me,
To glance behind,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside your mind,
~* ~*
For the first time in his life, Orcot couldn't speak.
"I think a lot about you, and I know you must feel the same. Why else would you spend so much time here with me when you must have more important things to do?" Count D smiled, suddenly back to his old self. "I think I love you."
Orcot felt his stomach knot up with disgust. "You . . . what?" He almost choked on the words. "Ugh, I knew you swung that way, but not me." He shook his head in affirmation. "No way, I don't go for that kind of stuff."
The whole time he spoke, though Orcot was completely confident that what he said was true, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to look at Count D's face. Especially not at his deep slanted eyes. He knew exactly what he would see in them, and it was as if he feared he would fall under the count's spell through them, like all the other people who walked into the accursed shop.
"No way, man," Orcot said again, starting toward the door. It was a wonder he was able to make it out with his eyes half-closed and didn't knock anything over.
~* ~*
[CHRISTINE:]
Those who have seen your face,
Draw back in fear,
I am the mask you wear,
[PHANTOM:]
It's me they hear,
~* ~*
It was late when Orcot finally made it back to his apartment, completely sloshed. He called up some friends earlier in the evening and went out drinking with them at a nearby bar. At some point after everyone had been through several rounds, someone thought it would be absolutely hilarious to see who among them could put the most murky roadside slush in his pants. Field detectives are known for never backing down from a challenge.
Sometime after midnight it suddenly struck Orcot how ridiculous he must have looked wandering around the city with his boxers full of rapidly melting slush, and decided to head home.
After changing into some dry clothes, Orcot collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the posters tacked to the ceiling. The scantily clad (if at all) women in their suggestive poses captured the lustful desires of men everywhere, but that night, Orcot couldn't seem to focus on them. Maybe it was all the alcohol making his head swim, but whenever he opened his eyes, it wasn't the models' pouting faces he saw, but Count D's slanted eyes.
Orcot cursed himself for letting the man get inside his head. What would they guys at the station say if they knew what he was thinking about? What would the chief say? Everyone knew how hard he tried to find a way to put Count D in jail.
For some reason, the count's words kept coming to his mind. Why did he spend so much time at the pet shop? He couldn't convince himself that he was waiting for a crime to happen-things really didn't work that way.
Orcot rolled over with a sigh, flicking off the bedside light. Even in the pitch darkness, listening to the sounds of the urban city still wide awake at that hour, he just couldn't get his mind off Count D. His infallible gut told him that there was definitely something weird happening, and first thing in the morning, no matter what, he was going to go down to the pet shop to find out exactly what it was.
~* ~*
[TOGETHER:]
My/your spirit and my/your voice,
In one combined,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside my/your mind,
~* ~*
It was more like just after 1pm that Orcot finally woke up with a terrible hangover and a headache about to crush his skull.
What was he going to do again? He searched his foggy memory for where he'd resolved to go the night before. Oh yes, there it was. Count D had a crush on him, and Orcot was going to head down to the pet shop to see what he could do.
He laughed to himself. He, Leon Orcot, the straightest guy on the planet, was going to talk to a gay man who thought he was in love.
Stranger things have happened, I guess.
After his customary three cups of coffee, Orcot was feeling a bit better, so when he arrived in Chinatown he was almost up to his usual standard of perkiness. (That wasn't saying much, as he tended to stay up until 3 AM every night and frequently was so tired he had dark circles under his eyes.)
The bells that hung on the door of the pet shop rang to announce his presence. He wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but he had a huge flock of nervous butterflies in his stomach.
"I knew you'd be here today," Count D said, looking up through a few strands of silky black hair at Orcot as he filled out paperwork.
"I guess you know me too well," Orcot said. "Look, I'm just going to get to the point here."
He cleared his throat and tried to tell himself that no, he wasn't blushing, and that the little tremble he'd acquired was simply the result of the three cups of coffee.
D gave Orcot his full attention. "Which is . . . ?"
"Well-how am I going to put this. I-um-" Orcot looked down at his shoes. It was suddenly difficult to remember what he'd been about to say to the Count. He didn't notice that the object of his jumbled musings had gotten up from the desk and was standing little more than two feet away from him.
"Perhaps it would be easier to discuss this over tea and cake."
"Y-yeah. That sounds like a good idea."
Count D gestured for Orcot to join him on the couch. A selection of petit-fours were arrayed across the low table in front of them. D poured a cup for Orcot, handed it to him, and waited.
Crap! How am I supposed to say this?! Orcot asked himself. "About yesterday . . ."
"I understand," said the Count a bit forlornly. "It could never work out. I can only hope that you'll continue to visit the shop after my little confession."
"You know, part of me didn't want to come here this morning," Orcot said, feeling some of his confidence returning. "But then I asked myself, why do I visit you so often, anyway? It's been bothering me. It really shouldn't, because I've never had any question about the fact that I like women, but I'm just . . , uh, confused . . ."
Count D leaned in a little closer with a devilish gleam in those dual-colored eyes. "Then perhaps you like men and women. I believe the term used to describe such a tendency is bisexual."
"What? Look, there's just no friggin' way-"
Before Orcot could finish, D took his hand and ran his tongue from the tip of the detective's finger to its base. "So sweet," he murmured.
Orcot flinched but didn't pull away.
"You see," Count D said in between kisses trailing up his arm, "you're enjoying this."
"No, I'm not!" Orcot tried to pull away, but it was only a halfhearted attempt. The Count paid him no heed and pressed a light kiss to Orcot's neck.
This is wrong, the detective's conscience screamed at him.
"You want this just as much as I do."
Then D's lips were upon his own and Orcot felt a sensation he hadn't experienced during any of his flings with his girlfriends. It was a deep feeling that the situation was somehow right, that it was natural. He also had a distinct notion that there were more to his feelings for the Count than mere curiosity.
Orcot couldn't remember feeling this scared in his life.
Screw it, he said to himself. If anyone was going to find us, they'd be here by now. I can keep it a secret . . . I've never paid much attention to the rules, anyway.
Ignoring his doubts, Orcot leaned in to the kiss and returned it with ferocity. He could feel the Count trying to suppress a smile as he pressed on further into new territory.
They paused to breathe. Orcot's face was tinged pink, his lips felt bruised, and he was overcome by dizziness-but he was happy. At least that was one of the emotions he was feeling at the moment, along with embarrassment and incredulity. He had just kissed a man. He was a very beautiful man, he acquiesced, but all the same, they'd acted on impulses that hadn't even existed before then. Maybe it wasn't that the feelings hadn't existed, but he had never acknowledged them before.
"You won't tell . . . will you?" Orcot asked.
"Not unless you want me to."
After that, they kissed with abandon, each falling into the other's steady rhythm. It was new and different and frightening, but Orcot did enjoy it.
~*~*
[CHRISTINE:]
He's there, the phantom of the opera,
Beware the phantom of the opera,
~*~*
It turned out that nearly everyone at the office had figured out Detective Orcot's feelings about Count D before he himself had.
"Let's face it," said his coworker, Jenn, "you were going over there every day. It had to happen sometime."
"Yeah, well . . . I didn't think I could have those feelings for a guy. Hell, I didn't know I could have those feelings for anyone," Orcot mused.
Jenn grinned toothily. "It happens to us all. Say, what was he like? I've always wondered, myself."
"I dunno, I don't have any other guys to compare him with!"
"You silly!" she said, punching him lightly on the arm. "Never mind. You go ahead on up there. And this time it would be polite to bring a gift."
"It would?"
"Don't you know anything about manners?"
"I guess not. Hey, he likes sweets. That's what I'll bring him. A nice big box of chocolates."
"There. You have the right idea, for once."
"Thanks . . . I guess."
~*~*
[PHANTOM:]
In all your fantasies,
You always knew,
That man and mystery,
[CHRISTINE:]
Were both in you,
~*~*
The day was drawing to a close when Orcot stumbled into the pet shop. He had gone through the trouble to get the most delicious box of chocolates he could find. He figured he might as well go all out in the gift department, now that he had admitted his feelings. For all he knew, the Count might have gotten him something as well.
Orcot plopped himself down on the couch and waited for Count D to enter the room.
When, after a few minutes, he didn't arrive, Orcot decided to investigate. He pushed open the small door that led to the Count's personal quarters and gave a holler. "Hey, D! You there?"
Count D's voice could be heard from the end of the corridor. "Yes, I'm in here. You can come in if you'd like."
Feeling awkward, Orcot closed the door quietly behind him and walked to the room.
D was working on a painting, brushing long strokes onto the canvas.
"I didn't know you were the artistic type," Orcot said, depositing the box of chocolates on the studio table.
"From time to time," said Count D.
Orcot wondered how the man could paint without getting a single spot on his flowered cheongsam. Neatness had never been one of the detective's virtues; he'd have been covered from head to toe with pigment by now.
Count D continued to work in silence. After a while, Orcot got frustrated. "Look, D, if you don't want to talk, I'll leave. I'll take the box of chocolates back home with me."
"Oh, no. No, I don't want you to leave," Count D said hurriedly. "I just need to paint this one last thing, then I'll give you my full attention."
"All right." Orcot leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching D's steady hands.
It was difficult to tell, but amidst the myriad of colors washed across the canvas were two birds. They had long shimmering plumage that spread from their hearts to the tips of their wings and spilled out around them. In a way, it reminded Orcot of weird modern art, but this piece was far more elegant and meaningful. Unfortunately, he didn't understand the meaning behind it.
"There are some birds that spend their entire lives searching for their perfect mate," Count D explained when Orcot had voiced as much. "Some are lucky enough to find their mate early in their lives, but sometimes they never know."
"Huh." Orcot kept staring at the painting. "How do they know when they've found the right one?"
Count D washed off his hands and picked up the box of chocolates. He drew one long fingernail across the plastic and cut cleanly through it. "Very much like humans, in fact. Simply by trying out many possibilities until they know."
"Kinda like opening a box of chocolates, right?" asked Orcot.
Count D gave him a confused look.
"You know, you really gotta get out more, man."
~*~*
[TOGETHER:]
And in this labyrinth,
Where night is blind,
The phantom of the opera is there,
Inside my/your mind,
~*~*
Midnight arrived, and Detective Leon Orcot walked on Cloud 9 the whole way home. He could no longer call himself the Straightest Guy in San Fran, but he didn't care anymore. The feeling he got from his fledgling relationship with Count D overcame any of his objections.
Orcot remembered Count D's words from two days before: "I think I love you."
Well, he said to himself, I think I might love you back.
~*~*
[PHANTOM:]
Sing, my angel of music,
~*~*
THE END.
~*~*
~*~*
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