Everyone knew that Box Five – The Ghost's Box – was not only haunted, but strictly off limits. Perhaps that was why Monsieur Moncharmin was so startled when Monsieur le Persian approached him about buying it.
"Just for one night," the Persian said.
He was laughed out the door and told to buy a ticket in a seat or any other box – as if any other box was available! But he returned with his strange request the following week and the following week, until the managers were certain that there would be no other way to discourage Monsieur le Persian from sitting in Box Five, except to let him feel the Ghost's wrath himself.
"Do not blame me for what fate befalls you!" Moncharmin warned him.
Monsieur le Persian smiled – it was the first time since he had turned up at the Paris Opera that Moncharmin could recall seeing him smile. It was a nice smile, well-proportioned and steady, somehow reassuring in spite of the Persian's unnervingly green eyes.
"I assure you, monsieur," the Persian said. "I shall not blame you for anything your Opera Ghost does to me tonight."
When Nadir Khan arrived to his seat in Box Five, nothing happened for the first twenty minutes, but once the lights dimmed and the tenor took center stage, a second voice, soft and musical, snaked into his ear. Nadir was quite certain he was the only one hearing it, such was Erik's skill at ventriloquism.
"Well, well, Daroga," Erik said. "When I heard the management talking about the mad man trying to buy out my box for the night, I should have known it was you."
"You mean you didn't? Who's keeping an eye on your opera house if you aren't?" Nadir teased back. His voice was no more than a whisper.
"I'd watch my cavalier attitude if I were you, Daroga," said Erik. "Your presence in my private box will already cost you dearly…"
"Are you threatening me?" Nadir's pulse quickened and he looked around through the dark of the otherwise unoccupied box.
"Perhaps."
Nadir relaxed ever so slightly. A laugh – more of a chuckle, really – burbled up over his vocal cords. Erik never wasted time making threats; he would not and indeed was not threatening him. Nadir stifled the laugh and looked back out to the stage.
"What will my punishment be, Erik?" he asked. "Your running commentary about the opera? You telling me when the singers are flat or the dancers behind half a beat?"
"I had something else in mind."
This time, Erik's voice was in Nadir's ear; cold lips brushed the outer shell. When spoken to in such a manner by the Opera Ghost, a normal man might be flooded with terror; Nadir, the ever-curious fool he was, felt nothing but curiosity. Curiosity and a strange something else he hadn't felt in a long time. But there was a strange intimacy of being in a dark box, alone, with Erik, knowing that in an instant, the masked man might strangle him and yet trusting Erik not to do exactly that. Nadir turned to face Erik and his nose very nearly collided with Erik's false one. Nadir's breathing went shallow and he swallowed hard. In the darkness, Erik's fascinating eyes gleamed yellow, much like a cat's. Nadir had always hated cats, but had never found it within himself to hate those eyes. They were too familiar now for him to hate them.
"Why did you reserve my box, Nadir?" Erik asked. He leaned forward and pressed his cold hands on Nadir's wrists, pinning him to the chair. Erik now obstructed Nadir's view of the stage: all he could see were those ghost-white hands on his wrists and the golden eyes flickering down at him. "Were you trying to rouse my ire?"
"No," said Nadir. "I'm not a suicidal fool."
"Then what? Surely you knew I couldn't help but to react if someone sat in my box… Even you are not exempt from the Opera Ghost's wrath!"
"Will you kill me, then, Erik?" Nadir asked. He couldn't help but to smile one of his infuriatingly calm smiles. He met Erik's gaze without blinking.
"For someone who isn't suicidal, you certainly are fixated on death!"
"Well, if you are going to kill me, I'd rather you do it before I'm too emotionally invested in the opera."
Erik laughed. It was not as threatening a sound as an Opera Ghost's laugh should be. Perhaps that was how Nadir knew that he was safe. Underneath all the bluster, he could still hear Erik the man and not just Erik the Ghost. But then Erik seemed to remember himself because he pressed Nadir's wrists into the wood of his seat even harder – perhaps even hard enough to bruise.
"I'll see to it that you don't pay a bit of attention to the opera," Erik said. "I shall see to it that you are otherwise occupied."
"Is that so?" Nadir asked. "Marvelous. You've taught me to hate La Carlotta's singing and she's billed as the principle performer-"
"Will you shut up about the opera?" Erik snapped. "It's not as if you know what you're talking about anyways."
"I know what I like," Nadir said with a shrug. "And I know what I don't like. And I don't like being pinned to a chair with no-"
Erik leaned forward and silenced Nadir.
He silenced him with a kiss. It was a needy kiss; the kind only given by those starved for affection, who are incapable of truly giving. It was probably more accurate to say that Erik took a kiss from Nadir, bruising desperately both lips and wrists as he seized a tighter hold, drank in too deeply, as if he was trying to pull Nadir's very soul out through his mouth. The tiniest of whimpers escaped Erik's throat and he released Nadir's wrists with shaking hands. He stood up straighter and fussed with his suit jacket, straightening it and his mask, smoothing his slick hair.
Nadir stared at Erik dumbly. He had no words for a very long time.
"That is your punishment," Erik said. He didn't sound as brave as he had before. "Yes, your punishment! Now you will be forced to live with yourself after filth has touched you. You won't be able to think of anything except that kiss and what it meant; and I shan't tell you. Perhaps – Perhaps it meant nothing! Yes. It meant nothing. You mean nothing! Do you hear me, Nadir? Nothing!"
Erik began to walk towards the back of the box, but Nadir seized his wrist and tugged him gently. Nadir rose to his feet.
"If I mean nothing to you," Nadir said, reaching for Erik's tie and pulling him down towards him. "I want my kiss back."
"What?" Erik asked, disbelieving.
"I. Want. My kiss. Back."
And before Erik could protest, Nadir pulled him into a kiss, but this time it was the kiss of a man who knew what he was doing. He flicked his tongue lightly against Erik's lips and elicited a surprised and ghostly moan. Nadir kissed Erik for a long moment and when he was done with the lips, his lips traveled down Erik's chin and exposed throat, sucking long and hard on Erik's Adam's apple. Erik – who was always so composed – seemed to convulse without control and the cries escaping his lips ricocheted around the box and, consequently the opera. Nadir released him roughly, but still held onto Erik wrist, if just to feel the throb of Erik's pulse.
"You're a monster," Erik whispered, glowering down at Nadir. He couldn't seem to get his voice to go any louder and his spindly legs shook under his slight weight. "What right do you have to kiss me – to kiss anyone – like that? That's not the kiss I took from you and you know it."
"What right have you to kiss me against my consent in the first place?" Nadir asked. He was breathless, fierce, smiling. "If it was a kiss you wanted, you had only to ask."
"Who said I wanted that kiss?" asked Erik. "I did it to disgust you. How was I to know you'd like it."
"I didn't like it," Nadir said. "It was childish, clumsy-"
"But you kissed me back!"
"Keep your voice down," Nadir hissed. "Do you really want the whole opera to hear its Ghost talking about kissing another man?"
"There is no evidence that the Opera Ghost is a man," Erik said.
"I'm sure I could find some evidence if I kissed you like that again!"
"Now who should keep his voice down? You are presumed to be alone in Box Five. If anyone hears you, they'll think you mad."
"Half the opera house already does," Nadir said. "And who's to say I'm not? Keeping company with murderers, kissing ghosts…"
"Not the life you envisioned for yourself, Daroga? Do I disappoint you?"
"Well, with some practice, I think you could become a damn good kisser."
"I am an expert in many fields."
"Not in love, not in romance, and definitely not in kissing," Nadir said.
"There's no need to be cruel…"
"I could teach you," Nadir said. He stroked his thumb over the large vein in Erik's wrist. "Since – apparently – I mean nothing to you…"
Erik was silent. On stage, La Carlotta's voice rose with the tenor's, blending and harmonizing.
"They're singing a love duet," Erik said at long last. "Do you want to know what they're saying?"
"I'm sure I can imagine…"
"They're swearing their eternal faithfulness to one another," Erik said.
"Is that what you want me to do? Swear my fealty to you?"
"You've no need to fear that I will stray," Erik said. "No one but you is crazy enough to want me. But you…"
"No one wants me either," Nadir said. "The entire ballet runs in fear of the Persian's evil eye. Sometimes, I think all of Paris sees me as some mystical foreigner."
"But you are not unattractive," Erik said. "How am I to know someone won't see that about you – someone more appealing than your unfortunate Erik –"
"My unfortunate Erik?" Nadir echoed. "After only two kisses, you are mine?"
"I've been yours longer than that, you great booby," Erik said. "You know it and I know it. I have been yours since the day you saved my life. Not a day goes by that you aren't on my mind. But I need to know that you are mine – without hesitation, mine."
"I am. I have been – against my will I have been yours – ever since you took up lodging in my home. I was too stubborn to realize it until you were gone. I never thought I'd ever get to tell you- never thought you'd care, once we met again…"
"Prove it," Erik said. He sounded as petulant as he had as a young man in Persia. He startled Nadir with his demand. Nadir shrugged helplessly.
"Do you want a token of my affection?" he teased. "Like some lady's favor to wear into battle with the Garnier's management?"
"Look who's gotten witty in his old age."
"Look who's learned to be charming in his!"
They were silent a long time, staring at each other. The music of the chorus filled the auditorium. The song swelled and sent vicious delight through Nadir's entire body as he stared at Erik. He closed the little gap between them and pressed a soft kiss to Erik's lips while his hands fumbled with the buttons of Erik's pants. Erik gasped and pulled away.
"What are you doing?!" he asked.
"I'm going to give you a token of my affection," Nadir said softly. "I don't have anything else to give you but myself, so…"
"Well maybe I don't want that kind of token of affection," said Erik. "Maybe I'm not ready."
"I'm sorry. You're right. I will wait as long as it takes for you to be ready. Even if you never are, I will be patient."
"You mean that," Erik said. Amazement unfolded in his voice and he studied Nadir as if looking for a hairline fracture in his face. When he found none, all Erik could say was, "My God, you mean that…"
"You sound surprised," Nadir said. "Have I not always been a man of my word?"
"You have… I just… I doubt all men where such matters are concerned…"
Nadir puzzled at Erik a moment, then, grasping his chin gently, pulled him in for another kiss. Before kissing him, while their lips still brushed, Nadir murmured, "I would never force you into anything against your will. I would never dream of it."
They kissed, but Erik broke free to ask, "Would it hurt?"
"It wouldn't have to," Nadir said. "I would be gentle with you, if that's what you wanted."
"And we could stop if I said so-"
"If either one of us wants to stop, we'll stop. Just let me know."
"Show me," said Erik. "Nadir… Show me. Please."
Nadir smiled and returned to stroking Erik, undoing his pants carefully and then kneeling before him. As Nadir carefully, gently worked Erik to full length, marveling at – and praising – his surprisingly beautiful form, Erik struggled to keep from moaning out his delight and excitement. He wanted to make as little noise as possible and yet, a strange, singing sensation welled up from some primal part with in him.
About halfway to intermission, strange moans and groans filled Box Five. Patrons looked around, but even Monsieur le Persian who was meant to be sitting in the box was nowhere to be seen. Whispers from the next box over said that maybe the Ghost's frightening noises had scared the strange man off; maybe the Ghost had even abducted him. But when the lights went up at intermission, the Persian sat in his seat, applauding along with the rest of the audience.
When the lights went down again, Erik came to join Nadir, sitting in the seat beside him. He'd spent the moments of the intermission, unable to stand or speak coherently, slumped and satisfied at the back of the box. Now, he was smiling so broadly, the tips of his lips disappeared under the mask.
"That was… Where did you learn… How did you know that would…?"
"Yes?"
"Never mind," Erik said. Then, "Do you expect me to do that for you?"
"I have no expectations," Nadir said hesitantly. His voice was tight and he shifted in his chair.
"I could try," Erik said. "Would you like me to try?"
"I've never known you so eager to please."
"I don't want to owe you anything."
Nadir twisted to look at Erik. His green eyes widened and he started to speak, stopped, and then started again.
"This isn't about owing each other anything," Nadir said. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of competition?"
"I don't know what this is," Erik said defensively. "As you've pointed out, this is beyond my realm of expertise."
"Erik… I did that for you because I wanted to make you happy; not because I expect anything in return."
"Your body seems to disagree with you," Erik said, pointedly looking at Nadir's lap. Nadir crossed his legs uncomfortably. "Consider this: consider that I want to make you happy, too."
"I can never tell if you're being serious or not," Nadir said. "I fear I'm too used to your sarcasm to expect anything else."
"Let me try," Erik said. A spidery hand crawled down Nadir's thigh, to his knee and gently pried his legs apart. In a swift movement, Erik knelt between Nadir's legs.
Anyone looking into Box Five would see Monsieur le Persian sitting alone, looking stoic as ever. Upon closer inspection, though, one might notice the way his knuckles paled as he gripped the armrests of his seat or that he may have had his head inclined towards the stage, but his eyes were clamped shut. The careful listener might have heard a disembodied second party making little sputtering and gagging sounds, but no one was close enough for that.
Nadir let himself get carried away on the music and the sensation of Erik's mouth wrapping around him, testing carefully. He wanted to tell him to be rougher, but feared that Erik was a man prone to extremes and that anything harsher than what he was doing now would somehow draw blood. Then, almost without warning, Nadir's taut body went slack and Erik made the most unbecoming of retching noises. Still, no one could see him from where he knelt.
"How did you do that without incident?" Erik asked as Nadir did up his trousers.
"Practice," Nadir said simply.
"You've been with men before me?" Erik asked curiously.
"Women," Nadir said. "The anatomies are different, but the principle is the same. Besides, I've no idea how many times I've been the recipient of such advances. One learns much from observation…"
"Don't be coy," Erik said. "I observed you …"
"Yes, once. Give it time, Erik. What is it you were so fond of telling me about patience? Rome was not built in a day…"
"But architecture is a complex science!" Erik protested. "This is… this just is not."
"They call it the "art" of seduction for a reason," Nadir said.
"I am determined to master all the arts one day," Erik said.
"One day, perhaps. Should I rent out Box Five again for another art lesson?"
"Nadir, whatever you do, you mustn't rent out Box Five again. Tell the managers whatever you want when they ask, but I cannot have my reputation undermined by you just because you and I are… whatever we are."
"I believe the term is "lovers"."
The following day, Monsieur Moncharmin was curious about the strange sounds from Box Five and whether they had bothered Monsieur le Persian. The Persian smiled.
"Well, monsieur," he said. "I must say, your theatre is certainly haunted by the noisiest and most unpleasant ghost I've ever met, but I assure you, even the famous Opera Ghost did not ruin my evening of diversion."
Somewhere, with his ear pressed against the wall, the Opera Ghost listened to this mysterious report and swore to himself, for he may have won his box, but he had also won the heart of the most infuriating man in all Paris – if not the whole world!