A little Christmas Pharoga fic because why not? Rated M for sexy times.

White Christmas

He supposed he should have known better.

In all honesty, Nadir had let down his guard. He had gotten used to the lack of traps along his trek from the opera house above to the almost quaint little home below. So, when the thin bit of wire sent him tumbling into the lake, he considered himself lucky that he let go of his packages and lamp before the frigid water closed in over his head.

Erik had disabled most of his traps when Christine had started coming down here regularly. Nadir had not expected him to reinstate any, but now that more than two years had passed since she had married de Chagny, perhaps he was regaining some of his old habits.

Nadir resurfaced, sputtering, and swam back to shore, thankful he had managed to keep on his shoes. He checked his cell phone, but the thing was fine even after being dunked, not that he had signal down here. He loaded his bags onto the tiny boat and began to push himself across with the pole, the trek rather unpleasant. It was not the first time he had arrived dripping, and he half-expected Erik to show up at the door to grumble at the mess he left on the front stoop.

In fact, there was not much sign of life in the place. The door was unlocked, but Erik never locked it anyway. The lights were off, and Nadir flicked on a lamp without needing to see, moving about the space from memory alone.

Wherever Erik was, he was not in the parlor or living room. Nadir had last seen him a week ago, and from the looks of the place, Erik had not bothered to emerge in a while. Despite the chill in the air, the hearth was as cold as the winter storm brewing in the outside world high above. Nadir busied himself with scraping out the remnants of the fire he had made last week and soon had another one licking its way up the chimney and warming Nadir's bearded cheeks.

Unable to resist smiling to himself, the Iranian set down his packages and pulled out a ten-inch record from one of the bags. He crossed to the record player, carefully placed it upon the platter, set the needle, and turned up the volume.

He supposed he could have eased his old friend into the music, but he had deliberately selected a song to drive the man out of the shadows. When "Jingle Bells" began to spew out of the speakers with its jovial tempo and ringing bells, he knew he only had to wait.

The spare bedroom likewise had not been touched. Nadir had cleaned out Christine's belongings long ago and instead set it up as a proper second bedroom, complete with a guest robe for such occasions that he visited and needed to wait for his clothes to dry. Which was often.

By the time "Jingle Bells" had shifted to "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town," Nadir could hear the stomping that traveled into the living room.

"What the hell?" came Erik's voice, rough from disuse.

Nadir belted the thick robe over the pajama pants he had pulled on and strode out of the room. He really should remember to bring socks and slippers down here, but at least it was warmer by the fire. He ignored the tall figure currently spitting like a cat by the record player and focused on stretching his wet clothes across the hearth to dry.

He could feel Erik's eyes doing their best to burn into his back. "You must have truly lost your mind, Daroga, to believe you can play such drivel in my own home."

"Millions of people would disagree with you that Bing Crosby is drivel."

"Millions of people also believe what they put out today can even be called music."

At that, Nadir laughed, turning to face the other man. Erik stood in rumpled black pants and a white button-down shirt open at the collar. He wore his black mask that left only his mouth visible, and his black hair stuck up wildly. He was, frankly, a mess. It was clear that Erik had done little to take care of himself since Nadir's last visit.

The record continued to spin, shifting now to "Silent Night." Nadir gestured at the turntable. "Now, you cannot call that drivel."

Erik shrugged, and Nadir was rather surprised to see him giving in so easily. He stepped closer, noticing the way Erik's spindly hands hung limply at his sides and seeing the spidery red webs in the whites of his eyes.

Erik's thin mouth tightened. "Have you come merely to stare?"

Nadir ignored the question. "You haven't been sleeping again."

Erik grunted in response. His tired eyes swiveled to track the Iranian as he made his way back to the abandoned bags, beginning to sort through the contents. He had food provisions, which he carried to the kitchenette.

"Make yourself at home," he heard Erik grumble from the other room.

After he had put the groceries away, Nadir came back to find the other man still standing in the same spot near the record player, Bing Crosby's warm baritone sending out its slow warble. Erik had made no move to turn it off, his yellow eyes slightly off-focused and staring at some faraway point.

Nadir took the opportunity to study the other man a bit closer. He was not wearing his wig, and Nadir wondered if he had changed his clothes, done anything since Nadir's last visit. For a moment, his heart ached again, that all-too familiar tightness in his chest when he thought about the past couple of years. He had hoped Erik would be able to move beyond the events with Christine, to find his way through the next phase of life without her presence.

He reached out a hand to grip Erik's sleeve. Erik jerked as though he had not noticed Nadir standing there.

"Do you want to die, Daroga?"

Nadir's lips curled upward at the familiar insult. "Not tonight." Not waiting for permission – better to ask for forgiveness – he slid his hand lower and caught Erik's hand in his own. The long fingers spasmed at the touch, and he heard Erik inhale sharply through the nose holes of his mask.

"What are-"

Nadir turned away and headed out of the living room, tugging Erik along with him. He expected a bit of a fight, but the other man merely fell into line behind him, his fingers eventually curling to hold their position around Nadir's. Bing Cosby's gentle voice faded into the background as they walked down the hall and into Erik's bedroom.

If he had been in here at all in the past week, Nadir could not tell. The black coverlet was smooth and clean, the pillows fluffed – exactly how Nadir had left them. He did not like the chill in this room, but he would worry about a lighting a second fire later. Right now, he let go of Erik's hand, left him in the middle of the room, and went to fetch a towel and Erik's pajamas.

Like before, Erik stayed in his spot, though his eyes followed Nadir's movements. When Nadir approached again, Erik scoffed.

"I never wear pajamas."

"You should," Nadir said, setting the items in the chair in the adjoining bathroom. "I bought them for you to use, and they are soft. You will sleep better in them."

Erik's thin lips turned downward, but in a testament to his exhaustion, he did not argue any further about it. He allowed Nadir to steer him into the bathroom.

"Take a bath," Nadir said. "I will have soup ready when you're done."

He got no response, so he turned on his heel and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Presently, he heard the water running, and satisfied with that, he busied himself in the kitchen. He had made a mild chicken soup with vegetables earlier that day, so all he had to do was heat it up in a pot. He cut some chunks of bread and found the dishes, and he arranged the rest of the groceries better so that Erik would have quick access to more food once the soup ran out.

Almost fifteen minutes later, the soup was bubbling, and Erik emerged in the doorway. He had put on the pajamas – a set in black cotton with white trim – and he was still wearing his mask. Nadir worried he had not even taken it off to bathe, but his thin wisps of hair were damp. Nadir watched white angular feet carry him to the pot where he gazed inside at the contents dispassionately.

Nadir clicked his tongue. "You should have put on socks. And you don't have to wear that." He pointed at the black mask.

"I do not want to offend your delicate sensibilities," Erik shot back, voice biting even as his broad shoulders slumped tiredly. "It has been so long since you have seen, you might faint. I cannot have you hitting your head and bleeding on my floor, can I?" It was the most he had spoken since Nadir had arrived.

"Let's eat by the fire, then, if you insist on dressing as such. Grab the plate of bread, would you?"

Nadir spooned two helpings into bowls and moved into the living room. Bing Crosby was crooning about how much it looked like Christmas, which conflicted with the somber mood inside Erik's home. There were, of course, no decorations for such a holiday. Nadir had arranged two chairs beside the fire, and he took one of them, handing a bowl to Erik to who slowly slid in next to him.

"I am not hungry," Erik said, staring down at the soup.

"Eat anyway." Nadir himself was famished from his trek down here – and his freezing swim. After a few large spoonfuls of the steaming liquid, and some time spent with the heat of the fire seeping into his frame, he finally felt warm again. He cast a sidelong glance at Erik and saw the man take a few bites of his own soup.

They ate in silence for a while, and then Erik set his empty bowl aside. He slumped against the back of his chair. "Daroga."

"Mmm?"

"Is it Christmas?"

Nadir tilted his bowl to drink the last bit of his broth. "Tomorrow, actually."

Yellow eyes pivoted to consider him. "Is that why you have come down here and decided to pester me?"

"I suppose." Leaning back himself, he folded his hands across his full belly and settled into his plush robe. "I also just like you."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Erik straighten back to stare at the fire. "I haven't any idea why except perhaps that you are insane."

"Does it matter why?"

"No, if you truly do not care to waste your time here."

"Not a waste. Not to me."

Bing Crosby began to wish for a white Christmas, and Erik snorted. "The bird chirping in this song is grossly unneeded."

"I do agree, but there is something soothing about the song that I enjoy. The nostalgia of Christmases past, maybe. The forecast is calling for snow tomorrow, and it has been years since Paris has gotten one so early. I have to admit that I am more than a little hopeful."

Erik's lips twisted in an expression of pain. "The women in this bit of the song are terrible! Crosby should have sung this on his own. What was the point is bringing in birds and women except to ruin what could have been melodious with only the male voice?"

"I don't know about that, old friend. Ella Fitzgerald's version is truly sultry."

Erik sat up straight so he could fully turn and glare at the Iranian. "What has gotten into you?"

Nadir could not take this line of conversation any longer. He stood and gathered up their dishes, taking them to the kitchen to wash later. Then he returned to the living room and stood in front of Erik.

"To bed with you."

He could tell Erik was not ready to let the conversation slide, but surprisingly, he rose obediently and followed Nadir to his bedroom. His plodding footsteps, bare feet padding across the carpet, spoke of his weariness. Nadir hoped the combination of warm soup and warm bath would allow Erik to finally get some rest.

Nadir turned down the blankets, then focused on bringing a fire to life in the hearth at the foot of the bed.

At his back, Erik said, "You are such a mother hen, Daroga."

Nadir only smiled where Erik could not see and added a few sticks at a time until the fire was blazing as brilliantly as the one in the living room. He was pleased to see, when he turned around, that Erik sat on the edge of the bed. However, he could tell Erik's eyes watched him warily, and when he went to remove Erik's mask, the other man leaned out of his reach.

"You will sleep better without it," Nadir said gently.

"What is the point?" Erik swung his long legs into the bed and tossed the blankets across them. "I wake tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and there is still only nothing, Daroga. What does it matter if I eat or rest or let the mangled flesh of my face breathe? None of it matters."

"It matters to me." Before he could listen to his own internal warning bells of caution, Nadir grasped onto the front of Erik's shirt, fisting the fabric. "It matters to me."

The other man returned his clutches, grabbing onto the thick neckline of Nadir's robe. His eyes burned fiercely in the firelight, the whites around his irises visible. "But why?"

"I told you why!"

"'I like you' is never an answer because you never explain." Erik's narrow chest heaved as he sucked in sharp, quick breaths. The sound of Bing Crosby had ended long ago, and only the crackling fire and Erik's frantic breathing assaulted Nadir's ears.

Nadir's mind scurried to come up with some reply that did not sound like a plea, but all he could do was struggle to keep breathing.

"You do not even celebrate Christmas, you stupid old man."

"Neither do you," was his retort but that seemed petty even to him. "If you haven't figured out the why in the two decades we have known each other, then nothing I could possibly say could ever make that clear to you."

He tried to rise up, to escape, but Erik held fast to his robe. He was suddenly very much aware of his own predicament, of how easily his robe could fall open upon his bare chest, of how he had tucked a knee next to Erik's lean thigh on the bed, of the clean scent of Erik's soap wafting through the air.

"Let go, Erik."

Erik's chin tilted up in a challenge. "No."

"I said let go." He hated the way his voice began to crack, but it was all too much. His face was only an arm's length from the masked man beneath him. He felt himself unraveling, felt a flush blossoming from his neck to his cheeks, felt something stirring deep within his belly.

"Look at yourself," Erik said, suddenly soft. "Get in bed, Daroga. You obviously need the rest as much as I do."

He stared down at Erik, wide-eyed, but the man still had a tight grip upon his robe. He… surely, he did not mean… Calling his bluff, Nadir leaned more weight upon his knee, easing onto the side of the bed. To his shock, Erik shifted, giving him enough space to slide beneath the covers. Once Nadir was settled on his side facing Erik, the other man let go of his robe and rolled onto his back, staring up the dark expanse of ceiling high above them. His chest rose and fell in quick succession.

Nadir placed a hand flat upon the other man's sternum, and Erik froze. "Be at ease, old friend." He rubbed a slow circle along that bony chest, trying to remain comforting. When he went to take his hand away, Erik snatched it in a crushing grip, keeping it there.

"I think, Daroga… I do understand."

It was Nadir's breath that increased its pace, matching the way his heart began to pound. Making a decision, he moved one of his fingers and slipped it between the buttons on Erik's shirt. The skin there was surprisingly smooth. He had seen Erik shirtless many a time, had looked closely enough to stitch and bandage wounds, but he had never simply touched. His own hands felt suddenly much too rough, but he could not bring himself to try to pull away.

Erik's eyes seemed to glow in the low light, and Nadir tried to ignore the intensity he saw there. He feared if he returned that gaze, he might venture over a precipice out of which he could never climb.

"I- I should not-"

"Frightened, Daroga?" The edge of that thin mouth quirked up ever so slightly. "Where is that courage you always seem to muster?"

Nadir wanted to shut him up. Truly, if Erik kept talking, if his words turned more mocking than they already were, he really would bolt. What could he do but shock him into silence? He flicked open one of the buttons and shoved his hand fully inside Erik's shirt, grazing fingertips along cool skin until he felt the rounded curves of a ribcage.

Erik hissed in a breath, and Nadir seized the opportunity to slide his hand downward, popping several buttons as he went until he found the concave dip of a trembling belly. Afraid of what he might see in Erik's eyes, he tucked his face in the angular shape of where neck met shoulder, breathing in the scent of soap. As his fingertips met the waistband of pajama pants, he pressed his lips to the inch of skin that marked Erik's tense jaw just below his ear, careful to keep his beard from scratching. Lower still, his fingers found a sparse, soft mat of hair while his lips mapped a wildly beating pulse point in the other man's neck.

Erik made a strangled noise in his throat. Alarmed, Nadir glanced up, but Erik's eyes were closed, his head tilted back as though giving Nadir better access. His bony knuckles were white as he clutched the sheets to either side of his hips.

When Nadir paused, one golden eye opened a slit. That lovely voice was shaky, his previous confidence rocked. "I… I have never…"

The Iranian understood, and he pressed another kiss to one bony shoulder, atop the shirt. "I have."

"Lucky me."

Nadir chuckled at that, and with more assurance, allowed his hand to continue its path. His nails scratched at the curls there, and then he found the jut of hardened flesh rising upward. Here, Erik was warm, all silky skin stretched taut. Nadir's hand traveled down that length, ghosting across the tip and eliciting another hiss between a clenched jaw. He tugged down Erik's pants, exposing him to Nadir's willing hand, his broad palm cupping him fully.

Rising upon an elbow, he kissed his way down the swallowing throat and found where he had parted the pajama top. He gave a tentative lick, just needed a taste, and found the pale skin a mixture of salt and soap and something else… something entirely Erik. A groan rose out of him, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to taste more of the man beneath him. Fingertips grazing up and down Erik's length, he allowed his lips to map the ridges of a ribcage that quivered with each drawn breath.

Not able to resist, he tongued the hollow of bellybutton and then dipped down just as Erik uttered a strangled "Nadir!"

He gave a quick lick, then swallowed him down. His mind went blank, his senses consumed by the man – his friend – who parted his legs to give him greater access. He knew this moment would not last long, and once he pressed the flat of his tongue to that fevered flesh and added a twist of his hand, Erik came undone with a cry.

Nadir took what he could and caught the rest in his hand, unable to suppress grinning around Erik's softening member. When Erik jerked from the too-sensitive touch, he released him. He kissed one jutting hip bone, then crossed to the bathroom to quickly wash up.

Erik had righted his clothing before Nadir returned to his position on the bed. He throbbed with want, but he would never consider asking for anything in return. It was enough to give his friend something of himself, enough to know he had been able to bring Erik pleasure when before there had been none. He pulled the blankets over the both of them and considered whether or not he should remove his robe.

He stretched out an arm to turn off the lamp. As soon as they fell into only the glow of the fireplace, he felt a chilled touch slip between the folds of his robe, just above his heartbeat.

"Erik?" he said, the man's name a weighted question.

"Do you not want me to reciprocate?"

He sucked in a shaky breath at the idea. "I didn't expect it. You know I have always… taken whatever you have offered." He chanced a glance at Erik's face and found glowing eyes staring at him, unblinking.

"I am offering," Erik said.

"A-All right."

He settled back against the pillow. That cold hand mirrored his actions from earlier, each digit fanning across his darker skin as it parted his robe. At once, he was well aware of the coarse black hair that speckled much of his front, of the softness of his belly that had only grown with his age. He shut his eyes against the sight and tried to relax, but he could tell as that hand cupped him over his pajama pants, that he had lost much of his arousal.

Erik paused. "Did I do something? Are you in pain?"

"No, no, that is not it," he said. "I just have not done this… with anyone… in a very long time." Feeling the air on his chest and belly, he tried to clutch his robe closed, but Erik batted his hands away.

"You are such an idiot," Erik muttered under his breath. Another hand joined the first, both palms warming slightly on Nadir's heated skin. He focused upon the feel of those hands exploring along his torso, and when one pinched one of his nipples, he jumped at the flood of desire that coursed through him.

"Always a fool," he heard that silvery voice murmur. "You think too much, my Daroga."

His Daroga?

With a tug, his pants were down around his thighs, and a cool palm enveloped his revived length. The grip was too rough, the pace too unpracticed, but the fact of who was touching him, who had his long-fingered hand wrapped around him… that was what drove Nadir to the edge of madness. He bucked under that hand, and all too soon, he spilled his release in a barely repressed sob.

When he cracked open his eyes, Erik was leaning over him, stare intent, the edge of his thin bottom lip caught against one white tooth. Unable to process the emotion he saw there, Nadir looked away first. His pants were already ruined, so he wiped clean Erik's hand and kicked them off the rest of the way while Erik settled back into the bed. Those yellow eyes blinked sleepily at him, and Nadir pulled the blankets over them both once again, keeping himself covered by the robe, not quite ready for sleeping naked.

Before he was even comfortable in his position, he felt the steady breathing coming from the man beside him. "Oh Erik," he whispered in the dark. He rested his head upon the pillow and let his knuckles relax against Erik's arm.

Sleep quickly claimed him.

Nadir awoke sometime in the night to a completely black room, the fire having died. A glance at the clock beside the bed told him it was about three thirty. He had slept almost six hours straight. Even though he could not see him, he could tell Erik still lay next to him in the bed. His heart surged with want, but he feared what morning might actually bring.

Carefully, he sat up, but his movement woke the man next to him immediately.

"Daroga?"

Why was his chest hurting so much, his belly tight with some kind of nervous energy? "I'm sorry for waking you. I can't sleep anymore, and I thought I might check to see if it had snowed."

"What?" The voice sounded clearer, the sleepy grogginess evaporating.

"The snow. The weatherman said it might snow today." He needed to see if it had, but he wasn't quite ready to explain why. His feet met the icy floor, but he made himself stand. "I'm going to go check."

Erik also sat up in bed, the blankets rustling as he did so. "Have you lost your mind?"

Maybe he had. He ignored the question, however, and made his way in the dark to the living room where he stoked the fire awake. His clothes had dried enough by the fire, although his shoes were still damp. He would have to make do for now. He pulled on his clothes as quickly as he could, including his coat, and wound his scarf around his neck.

"Hold on," Erik said from down the hall. He emerged into the room fully dressed himself, though he had foregone a tie. He seemed cranky, but he stabbed his arms into his own black coat, the thick woolen fabric falling past his knees. "If you are having an episode, I should at least bear witness."

Nadir snorted. "Put on a scarf. I know you have one I gave you."

Erik frowned but went and fetched one, as well as his wide-brimmed hat. The two of them made their way across the lake and climbed out of the dungeon that was Erik's home. Nadir intended to go out the rue Scribe entrance, but Erik pulled him in a different direction. Taking passageways within the walls that Nadir had never used, they began to climb stairs until they emerged upon the roof of the Populaire.

The wintry air blasted against what little of his face peeked out from his scarf. The green-tinted slant of the roof was covered in snow, but Erik continued to yank him forward until they reached the edge. Looking out across the rooftops of Paris laid out before them, Nadir took in the sight. The world outside was aglow in color. The city was strung with thousands of lights all casting multicolored washes across the thin blanket of fresh snow.

Nadir turned to Erik, unable to keep from grinning. "Thank you."

"Whatever for?"

Nadir shrugged. "This sight."

"It is only an inch or so of snow, Daroga," Erik said, toeing the stuff on the roof. "Hardly anything to cheer about. We used to see feet of it in the mountains of Mazandaran."

"Even so."

Nadir remembered the last time he had seen snow in Paris at this time of year. He had arrived here in his hunt to find Erik after they had been separated in Iran, and he had entered this very building in the hopes that Erik would have been drawn to the opera. He had been right, of course, and he had never been so thrilled to hear snide comments about his arrival ghost along his ear.

He would not tell Erik that now, did not want to spoil his memory with whatever reaction the other man might have. He allowed the moment to soak into him. He was content enough to stand here upon the roof with Erik, taking in deep breaths of the night air and inhaling the wintry scent of snow.

He could feel Erik's eyes upon him. Then Erik was leaning in, and Nadir was not backing away, and firm, icy lips skated across his own. Before he quite realized what had happened, Erik was hunkering back down into his scarf and staring out across the sleeping streets of Paris.

"Merry Christmas, Nadir, for what that is worth."

Nadir's scarf probably hid most of his grin… probably. Those words were worth more to him than his companion might ever know.

"Merry Christmas, Erik."

fin