Poor unhappy Erik! Should we pity him? Should we curse him? He asked only to be someone like everyone else. But he was too ugly. He had either to hide his genius or play tricks with it, when, with an ordinary face, he would have been one of the most noblest members of the human race. He had a heart great enough to hold the empire of the world, and in the end he had to be content with a cellar. Clearly then, we must pity him.
Erik turned his face away as the Viscount removed his mask, allowing the fragile colorless porcelin to fall to the floor. The man was hiding his face from Raoul, refusing with silent authority to allow him sight of the deformity. But Raoul wouldn't have it, and he tilted Erik's face to lock his eyes. He no longer flinched at the monstrous site. His deformity was mottled, and Raoul traced a slim finger across his jaw, eyes showing no emotion, which perturbed Erik.
"Why don't you say anything?" he demanded, his tone as eratic as ever. Raoul only shook his head and ran his thumb over the distorted skin, the ugly side of the man's face. The left, handsome part of Erik's face portrayed pain. No one had ever been able to stomach touching him, let alone caress his face in this way, and Erik twitched, trying to take a step back from the man. Raoul wouldn't have that, and he grasped his skinny arm, holding him closer.
"I won't say anything, because you are the most handsome man I've ever met..." he murmered, and Erik's eyes widened, then overflowed with tears, that cascaded down his face and dripped onto the clear, dark pool of water beneath their feet. The lake under the catacombs of the Paris Opera, the ones Erik's hands had built from the very beginning, was steadily deplinishing, and neither man could explain it. The small apartment, buried deep below the earths crust, below all three cellars, was also losing it's fearsome edge, and the torture room remained another beautiful example of Erik's talent, the symbol of art. With the steel trees and the hexogonal mirrors, the forest was only a glistening dark beauty, not burning like the Congo Forest Eric had meant it to.
Unexpectedly, Raoul leaned forward, his nose close to the other man's ear. Erik flinched and shied away, but Raoul only gripped him a little tighter on the elbow, preventing him from getting away as his lips grazed smooth skin, the unflawed side of Erik's face.
"She never kissed you, did she...?" murmered the Viscount, and Erik started to tremble. He squirmed and lifted his foot, as though to step away, then replaced it firmly on the ground.
"No." he responded, and Raoul broke into a smile, his teeth glinting. He leaned forward a little more, and Erik now pushed him away aggressively, stumbling back.
"No!" he breathed, and his gold eyes blazed fire. "Don't you ever touch me! No one must touch me!" he whispered, and he bent to retrieve his mask. Raoul had already swiped it up though, and was holding it tightly.
"No, Erik. Come here." he stated, and Erik's eyes narrowed. He hesitated for a minute, then took a cautious step forward. Raoul grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to him, and Erik didn't struggle, only looked into his eyes, feeling uncomfortable in the embrace.
"Viscount...?" he whispered, but Raoul smothered his virgin lips closely with his own, and that was the only word he managed to get out. Erik much preferred this kissing, because it was not one sided love. Erik had always been the one doing the loving, and now it was Raoul who was in control of it all, putting his soul into a passionate kiss that Erik could only stand there blankly, his eyes open wide. Raoul's fingers were tracing his cheek, the disformed one, and he felt more tears in his eyes. His hands pushing on Raoul's chest, he managed to break the lip lock at last and was gasping for breath. He thought he would die, or that Raoul would die from kissing him. But he had touched him, and had not died! He had kissed him alive, as he had kissed Christine!
Perhaps he was not such a corpse after all.