Mirrors, a phantom of the opera fanfic

- Mirrors -

by Chantal, aka 'Madame Giry'

Author's note: This phic takes place in the ALW 2004 movieverse, meaning the Phantom is based on Gerard Butler,and was inspired by a brief dream I had. Warning for slashy insinuations and adult content, as well as for being totally twisted. Takes place before Erik has revealed himself to Christine. Oh yeah, and I don't own anything Phantom. Comments welcome!

Far beneath the Opera House a dark figure sat at a magnificent funereal pipe organ, overlooking the stygian black waters of the infamous lake. Despite the fact that he was garbed in fine black trousers, a white linen shirt, over which was donned a lush floor length black velvet robe, this ghost seemed less the omniscient soul of the Opera, but more a man teetering on the keen edge of sanity. Melancholy, yet feverishly intense blue-green eyes stared from beneath a flawless white half mask. His auburn hair, clearly thinned on one side, hung over his features untidily, even as he ran a pale hand through his locks in exasperation.

His other hand's long fingers were secured around a battered white quill pen, itself stained with ink of crimson - a drop of which fell onto the thick parchment on the desk below, glimmering like a morbid gem against a backdrop of musical notes written in a frantic sanguine scrawl.

Erik's lips twitched and he uttered a sigh of frustration as his eyes scanned down the manuscript to see that once again that his frenetic musical notation had gradually fallen away and recoalesced into a lovingly rendered portrait of Christine's angelic features. He blinked in slight confusion, not having realized when his composition had given way, yet again, to her increasing distraction. She gazed up at him in a calm, unafraid manner, the still wet ink lending an unnatural sparkle to her lovely eyes.

"Christine," he whispered at the red apparition in quiet desperation.

Setting the pen down, he gently lifted the page reverently with two hands, only to cause the fresh ink to respond to the inevitable pull of gravity, distorting the face of his beautiful child and giving her tears of blood.

With a cry of dismay, he flung the offending parchment to the ground in despair, where it joined a dozen other similar sheets bearing the scarlet music and angel's face. Burying his face in his hands, Erik's misery only increased when he once again felt the cold, unresponsive surface of his mask beneath his pallid fingers.

The mask.

He stood with such sudden violence that it knocked over the ebony chair upon which he had been seated, the hapless piece of furniture tumbling across the exotic Persian carpet and falling to rest alongside the scattered pages of failed composition. Erik tore the mask from his face and stumbled over to a full length mirror veiled by velvet drapery, which he likewise ripped away to reveal his hideous reflection.

There was no denying the madness in his eyes, the longing, the tortured pain of a man so scarred by life and loneliness. A bead of sweat mingled with the bitter tears that had started to flow from those windows to his soul - a betrayal of the shattered facade of a figure normally so calm, so composed, even feared. The dim candlelight of the lair danced unnaturally across his mangled flesh, picking out every imperfection, every scar. It was the face of a creature, a corpse... a face a woman would never willingly caress in love or affection. He sobbed, placing one hand on the mirror and another over the destroyed half of his face as he leaned heavily against the cool glass.

"Why?" he rasped to no one in raw anguish. "Why must I be haunted by her face, her voice? She fills my mind! Is it not enough that I must be alone? Why am I submitted to such exquisite torture? I... love her, such a beautiful, innocent angel, but, Christine ... she would never have me..."

"Are you so certain of that?" a dark voice queried, its timbre velvety with seduction.

A flicker in the darkness and Erik was suddenly aware of a sinister presence behind him as he lowered a hand from his face. Pushing away from the mirror, he swiftly turned to face this unknown intruder, only to freeze in shock.

It was him.

The man standing before him was tall, broad-shouldered, with a healthy, vital complexion. A flowing white shirt opened from his neck to reveal well-defined chest muscles. Dark, well-fitting Spanish styled trousers clung to every curve of his long muscular legs. His sleek hair was black and elegantly combed back so that the tips grazed the base of his neck. Luminous emerald eyes filled with lust regarded Erik with a mix of hunger and contempt from behind a flawless black leather domino mask that covered his features from his forehead to above his mouth. The man's sensually formed lips curled into a secretive smirk, stretching the finely-sculpted lines of his handsome face ever so slightly.

"Surprised to see me, I see," the black-masked figure murmured as he approached, moving with feline grace, a predator approaching his cornered prey.

Erik gasped and fell back against the mirror, his shaking hands moving to press sweaty palms against the glass as he regarded this ... this mesmerizing creature before him.

"You.. You cannot be real!" he whispered in horror. "You're...," his normally magnificent voice failed him and he turned his face away, shutting his eyes against the other man.

The imposing man laughed darkly at Erik's response and raised two hands clad in lustrous black leather that moved to press against the mirror on either side of Erik's head. This dark invader now closed the distance between them so that if either man breathed too deeply, he could almost feel the touch of the other against his flesh.

"Oh, I assure you I am very real, Erik," he leaned in, speaking intimately into the ear of the cornered man, with all the persuasive power of the Serpent who had tempted Eve. "As to who I am - I am you, Erik. I am the side of you that longs to be freed. I am Don Juan Triumphant." These last words were pronounced with such terrible clarity and significance that Erik quivered ever so slightly in... fear? Don Juan, noting this, removed one gloved hand from the mirror and gently caressed Erik's chin with his fingertips. "Come now, there is no need to be frightened. Look at me."

"No," was the broken response, and the grip on his jaw tightened imperceptibly, then inexorably turned his face towards Don Juan.

"Open your eyes," he commanded.

Unable to resist the subtle purr of anger in Don Juan's voice, Erik slowly opened his eyes and stared at the passionate gaze of the other man level with his own. The features not concealed by the black mask were so painfully familiar, yet strangely different. Don Juan exuded a bold confidence, an arrogance - that Erik had never possessed. And curiously, Erik found himself envying his dark twin for it.

Don Juan's eyes glittered as he gave a predatory smile. "That's better." The hand that had been grasping Erik's face now released it and elegantly settled on his shoulder and he shuddered involuntarily at the contact, despite the layers of clothing between them.

"Now," Don Juan began, "what's all this nonsense that no one would have you... hm? Surely you cannot believe that."

Erik's eyes widened. "How can you say such a thing? I.. I'm a monst," he was silenced as he felt a single cool leather-wrapped finger against his stammering lips.

"Hush," his darker side admonished. "You forget that together... we are powerful. It doesn't matter what lies beneath the mask," here he paused to lean in again, so close that Erik felt the black leather mask brush his face tantalizingly. "Look at yourself. What good does it do you to wallow in your self-misery?"

"You don't honestly believe that there's anything else in this world for me, do you?" Erik cried out wrenching himself away from the face and restraining hand of his tormentor, yet not moving away from the mirror. "No woman in the world, not even my own mother, has ever loved me. I cannot... I cannot believe that Christine... oh God... Christine...," he turned away again but Don Juan stopped him.

"I believe that you have been given talents that no man on this earth ever has or ever will equal, Erik." This were spoken with a touch of sincerity that threaded its way through the seductively pervasive touch and voice of its speaker. Erik actually considered the words a moment before abandoning himself to hopeless despair once more.

"What good will all these skills, all these fine talents do me if no one will ever appreciate them after seeing this!" Here Erik gestured in frustration at his face.

Suddenly Erik found himself simultaneously pressed back against the mirror and pulled forward into the solid body of the man before him. A gloved hand reached behind him, slowly caressing his lower back while its twin wrapped itself around his scalp, forcing his face into the firm juncture between the neck and shoulder of Don Juan, whose lips barely brushed Erik's pulse point. To his surprise, Erik found himself unconsciously leaning into his opposite, mimicking these gestures. The two men locked in a symmetrical embrace, a precarious balance before the black masked one delivered his vehement reply against Erik's trembling throat.

"Then we shall not let them see!" he hissed. "Don't you understand, Erik? You could have any woman you wanted, if you would forget about your face."

"How do we do that?" came the soft query as Erik's ungloved fingers drifted from Don Juan's fine hair down to his broad shoulders.

Don Juan suddenly leaned back and spun Erik around in his embrace so that they were both facing the mirror. One dark hand grasped Erik's own and together they raised until they shielded Erik's distorted features from the mirror's gaze.

"Tell me," Don Juan whispered over Erik's shoulder, his verdant eyes flashing as his free arm wrapped around the front of the other man's lean torso, pulling him back towards his own well-developed chest, "What do you see? Who do you see?" he breathed hotly. Erik opened his mouth, about to speak a word of condemnation when Don Juan tightened his grip mercilessly, "No! Really look - don't parrot your silly preconceived notions to me, Erik. I know you better than you know yourself."

Erik regarded his dark reflection carefully, taking in every detail, from his auburn locks to the sweeping black velvet robe he wore. There was a flicker of an unnamed emotion in his eyes, which he quickly repressed - but Don Juan had not missed it, subtle as it was.

"I- I don't know."

"You're lying!" Leather clad fingers raked across Erik's abdomen in frustration, causing him to gasp at the unexpected sensation and tilt his head back slightly.

"Tell me."

Erik's only response was silence punctured by the slight sounds of his ragged breathing.

"You don't answer? Perhaps you are even blinder than I had believed. Or," here the eyes behind the black mask sparkled wickedly, "perhaps you are afraid to admit what you have finally seen for yourself." Here Don Juan released Erik's body only to move his hand up to gently cup the unmasked jawline of his fellow, tracing it with one finger.

"Very well, then," he continued, his voice an intoxicating blend of danger and desire, "I will tell you what I see. I see a beautiful face, sculpted and well formed with riveting eyes and a mouth any woman would wish to feel upon her skin," here his fingers trailed down Erik's neck to his collarbone. "I see broad, strong shoulders to hold onto during the throes of passion," these words caused Erik to blush but his companion was not finished yet as his gloved fingers trailed across strong shoulders and down lean arms to entwine with elegant fingertips. "I see a musician's hands, fine, skilled at many things," suddenly the black glove made its way back to Erik's chest. "I see a tall, firm, athletic body that longs to be caressed, to be loved." Those treacherous fingers moved ever lower and a sensual smirk curved the lips under the black mask. "And there are things that I do not see... but I know to be... impressive, as well..."

Throughout this intimate numeration of his body, Erik's mind had been in a state of turmoil. One by one any lingering notion that he was nothing but a loathsome creature, destined for loneliness, was shattered by those terrifying seductive touches. And he suddenly felt naked, with nowhere to hide from the perfection of his body and the realization that his self imposed despair was nothing more than a lifelong attempt to shut himself in the darkness away from all human contact because he was too afraid to believe that he might be accepted by society.

Christine.

"NO!" Erik screamed in pain as he violently tore himself away from the man who had made him see the truth about himself. Staggering blindly across the candlelit lair, he heard that cursed dark creature calling after him.

"Don't be a fool, Erik! Do not deny what you have seen!"

Still Erik fled, not caring in which direction he headed until he felt a powerful blow to the side of his head and tumbled, like a falling angel, down into the lush scarlet embrace of the velvets that lined the fantastical black swan bed, his robe spilling about him like the wings of a night demon as he lay disoriented beneath the semitransparent haze of the black curtains above.

He was crying again, and as he brought a trembling hand up to dash the drops from his face he once again felt the twisted features that he had been cursed with. Irrational fear and self-loathing welled up in him once more and he gave a moan of despair.

"Christine, she must never see. I will never let her see! She... she'll run from me if she sees."

"Have you learned nothing, Erik?" That hellishly cool, yet burning voice once more, and Erik found himself suddenly pinned under the weight of Don Juan, who was now straddled comfortably across his upper thighs, knees sinking into the black material of the robe. This further served to bemuse the unmasked man even as the black mask leaned down towards him, increasing the contact between their heated bodies and allowing the white ruffled shirt to fall open, revealing more of the sculpted figure that they both shared. He braced one black gloved hand against the cushions above Erik's head and let the other rest against the deformed skin gently.

"Christine will see you," Don Juan sighed. "But she will not see this," here the black fingers covered the mutilated half of Erik's face, "but she will see all of this..." Once again that gloved hand began to insinuate itself in a heated path that traced along Erik's firm muscles, down his throat and along his chest and ribcage, where it paused, teasingly. "You need only be careful what you show to her, and use your influence carefully."

"I'd be lying to her," Erik protested weakly.

The lips beneath the black mask smiled knowingly. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it, Erik?"

"She's just a child... Christine," Erik whispered.

"She's a woman now," Don Juan retorted, then smiled devilishly, "And now you know what a woman would feel like beneath you, Erik. Tell me, how many times have you dreamed of this, dreamed of taking her in this very bed?" The masked man's hips gently rocked against Erik once in a brutal insinuation and he could not help but moan desperately.

"Intoxicating, isn't it?" he continued, "To know that you would be the one giving her pleasure, making her cry out your name in this endless night."Another wicked grin. "Of course, there are benefits to both parties involved..." here again he moved against Erik just enough to tantalize.

Beneath him, Erik groaned in agony laced with pleasure as the fingers of Don Juan slowly, torturously continued their descent... "Stop, please..., oh God...," he begged of the man above, his back arching slightly.

Don Juan leaned in closely again and whispered, "I'm not God, and you're certainly no Angel of anything... and do you really want me to - stop?" And those black clad fingers stilled on the word and withdrew from Erik's fevered skin beneath the now soaked linen shirt.

His senses awry, Erik didn't know whether he was relieved or disappointed when the pervasive touch left his body. The blood in his veins was throbbing painfully under the crushing yet pleasurable weight of his assailant. What insanity was this! This had to end before he went mad, at least, more mad than he already was.

Gathering the last of his strength, he glared at the black mask and, summoning all the rage, hatred, and anger in his being, spat the words:

"Get away from me!"

Don Juan merely laughed and leisurely reached back behind the cushions under Erik's head to retrieve some unknown object. "You're a fool, Erik. And remember what you've always said...," the wicked voice lowered, reminding Erik of the times he'd killed. "Fools deserve to die. Farewell..."

Erik felt the Punjab lasso tighten around his windpipe and the last thing he saw before succumbing to blackness and the sound of screaming inside his mind as he clawed frantically in vain at his throat were those merciless mocking emerald green eyes behind the black mask.

Gasping for air Erik frantically sat up in his bed, looking around for the intruder who had tried to murder him, fearful eyes darting around the lair rapidly.

There was no one.

He gave a sob of relief and anguish and collapsed back into the bed, trying to sort out his terribly shaken emotions. It had been so real. As the moments of silence trickled away his composure gradually began to return to him and he remembered what he had intended to do.

"Christine's lesson...," he whispered.

Rising quickly, he changed from his at home clothes to the formidably elegant attire of the Phantom of the Opera. As he carefully folded and pinned his black silk cravat, donned the lush swirling cape, and smoothed back the fibers of his black wig he turned and regarded himself in the full length mirror.

Don Juan stared back at him.

"You bastard," Erik whispered fiercely at the image, before turning on his heel with a sweep of his cloak and disappearing into the darkness of the Opera in search of his beloved Christine.