One thing Raoul had been sure that he would witness before the age of 30 was the birth of his own child. After all, even if he couldn't be with Christine, he was nobility, and even eccentric nobility married before 30. But here he was, his golden hair grown out, his moustache shaved (because it got in the way of kissing), his innocence not quite destroyed.

This, he was sure, was Erik's fault.

But, as he listened to the birthday song the masked man had composed for him, Raoul didn't know if he could properly punish him for it. This uncertainty was pushed even further as a silk-clad arm slipped around his waist and a hand gently squeezed his bottom.

"Erik, I'm 10 years away from being middle-aged, and you--you're probably at least two decades older than me." He sighed, trying to fight the urge to give in. Erik was making it hard, too, suckling on his neck gently. "It's been years since I left Christine for you, surely you've made your mark on me already? Do you ever tire?"

The phantom ceased to suck and looked up, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"All my marks fade after a while, vicomte. I have to renew them. Besides," He resumed his attention to Raoul's neck, only pausing to say more at brief intervals, "I'm sure that if I keep at it, sooner or later you will become pregnant and I can witness the birth of my child!"

Raoul just stopped fighting after that.