Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own *insert fandom name from above*... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: Philippe could never deny Raoul anything. He simply loved him too much.
Warning(s): slash, incest pairing, rating applicable to this chapter
Pairing(s): Philippe/Raoul
Word Count: 2,794

A/N: I am entirely too in love with Philippe at the moment. Isn't it sad that I show my love for a character by making them angsty? However, I would almost give anything to be Philippe at this moment. Oh, and I had a very bad time with tenses in this chapter. Annoying really.
Story note: Every time they talk things get worse. Stupid Raoul and his questions. Making Philippe feel all old and lonely.

o.o.o.o

Deny Me
Chapter 04: Resolve
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Philippe wouldn't say that he had been avoiding Raoul, at least not in so many words. He had just needed time to reconcile the idea of Raoul leaving to the fact that he didn't want him to, and they simply refused to be reconciled.

If he thought about it, he hadn't felt this conflicted when his sisters had gotten married. In fact, he'd been overjoyed for them; their leaving had only been a by-product of their respective marriages. Their husbands were good men and would treat them well. They did treat them well, but after mentally reviewing the past year, he noted that they rarely visited. Still, he hadn't complained about their absence, and he loved his sisters dearly.

Anything they'd ever wanted, he'd provided for them. Of course, they had been older when their parents had died and that event had made them rather self-sufficient. They hadn't needed much from him. Raoul, on the other hand, had been showered with attention from himself, his sisters, and their aunt. Raoul thrived under attention and Philippe was never inattentive when it came to his brother. It had always been time well-spent in his opinion.

So, it seemed rather obvious that he'd have a problem with Raoul's absence; he would, without a doubt, miss him if he lived elsewhere. The only reason he'd allowed Raoul to join the navy was because his brother had really wanted to – want was a light term; Raoul had been determined. Given the decision himself, Philippe would have immediately refused him enlisting. But whatever Raoul wanted… Philippe had laid his head on his desk in an effort to calm down. He could never say no. Sure, they would argue, but they both knew that in the end, Raoul would have his way.

He didn't know why he fought in the first place – maybe it was because the confrontations eventually led to apologies. They'd hug tightly, removing the mere idea of distance between them and hurt feelings, and Philippe would feel that much closer to Raoul. He'd never be able to stay angry with him for long.

This wasn't one of those times where he could confront Raoul though. This wasn't some flight of fancy like that one time Raoul had tried to hunt foxes without a horse or guns or even the know-how of trapping. This was Raoul's future and if anyone was wrong about how they felt about his plans, it was Philippe. Raoul deserved all the happiness in the world; he deserved a marriage and a happy family. Philippe had left the sitting room to avoid the disagreement he had wanted to start, and Raoul hadn't followed. He wasn't sure whether he'd been relieved or disappointed that he'd been given the space he wanted.

It hadn't been until dinnertime that they saw each other, and once again, he had been wholly unprepared for Raoul's behavior. That hesitancy, the pensiveness from earlier had been a long forgotten memory. There had been no more slumped shoulders or nervous fingers running through his hair. Raoul was smiling, the fatigue from earlier gone.

Philippe had been so confused; he'd even been compelled to ask if Raoul was feeling alright. That was, when he finally managed to get a word between Raoul's non-stop chatter. He wasn't even sure what his brother had been talking about in that moment, but he'd been gesticulating rather energetically, so much so that Philippe had had to pry the fork out of his hand just to ensure his own safety.

And that act in itself was surprising because Raoul hadn't shied away from his touch. In fact, several times during his storytelling, Raoul had reached over and oh-so-casually placed a hand on his arm or even went so far as to grab his wrist. His laughter had filled up the dining room and Philippe had remembered every other time that Raoul had returned home.

His mind simply couldn't keep up. It was exhausting noting the differences and similarities of his visits and wondering what would come next.

By the end of dinner, Philippe had come to the only conclusion that made sense. Raoul was better because Philippe had actually done well to assuage his fears about their future. Raoul was finally able to act normally. Now, this thought came with mixed emotions. Philippe knew he should be glad because they didn't have to avoid each other or deal with confusing conversations and awkward moments. On the other hand, their impending future, though ultimately uncertain, was more than likely to be lived apart.

All he had to do though was look at his brother and he had to admit to himself that Raoul looked considerably better. He was happy that he'd made Raoul feel better. He was. It had only been his own fatigue that had made him reluctant to accept Raoul's invitation that they spend the evening together in the sitting room drinking wine and talking late into the night like they once used to. Just like with everything else, Raoul managed to talk him into it, doing so looking entirely too pleased with himself.

That was why they were currently sitting side by side on the sofa, a half-empty bottle on the table in front of them, the dark of night almost swallowing them whole except for the already dying fire in the hearth. They'd been talking about the adventures Raoul had on the open seas. It seemed his brother never failed to have a new story, but somewhere into his second glass, he had started repeating stories Philippe had already heard. After finishing his third glass, at what seemed to Philippe faster than he normally drank, Raoul's laughter died down and all of his energy seemed to disappear.

Instead, he sat, a warm body pressed tightly against his own. Once the smile and exuberance was gone, Philippe was left with a rather nervous looking brother who stared at his empty glass as though it would give him courage, a thought which explained Raoul's pace of drinking. Raoul bit his bottom lip, hesitation clear in his expression.

Philippe had been surprised that Raoul had chosen to sit beside him, surprised that only after the first glass of wine his brother had begun to lean a little more than necessary against him. It was true that Raoul had never had the countenance to drink very much, but one glass was a bit quick.

When Raoul leaned forward to reach for the bottle again, Philippe stayed his hand.

"If you want to be able to keep talking, another glass would make that rather difficult."

Raoul didn't look that inebriated, but Philippe didn't want to take the chance. He knew there was a reason Raoul had asked him to talk and knew that Raoul was simply postponing the inevitable.

Nodding, the younger Chagny placed his glass down before leaning back. Philippe could feel Raoul tense before he began.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Philippe turned a fraction, loathe to lose the contact but needing to in order to maintain eye contact. "Okay. I'm listening." He'd concluded that Raoul was going to tell him that he'd met someone already; he'd been trying to mentally prepare himself. More or less, he'd been trying to figure out the proper response to such news that wouldn't make him seem unhappy.

"Well," Raoul gestured impotently with his hands before seeing that Philippe's wine glass in his hands that was only half-finished.

It was still only his first glass. Philippe hadn't felt much like drinking and had instead chosen to watch Raoul drink instead.

"Maybe you should put that down first," Raoul suggested before fumbling a bit as he grabbed both Philippe's hands and the glass when he tried to extract it from his grip.

Philippe took Raoul's frenzied hands in his own to calm him down, gripping them tightly for a moment before placing the glass down himself. Looking up, he noted, "You looked flushed. Is the alcohol going to your head?"

Raoul rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, eyes glancing downwards. "It must be."

Giving him a reassuring smile, Philippe took Raoul's other hand so that it would stop twisting the material of his pants so tightly. He was going to tell Raoul there was nothing to be nervous about before he realized that Raoul was sweating. "Are you alright?" This was more than nerves.

Laughing nervously, Raoul pulled his hand away but didn't move any further. "Perhaps I drank too quickly."

"Perhaps," Philippe looked at him uncertainly.

Raoul took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself before saying, "I'm fine. Really."

Not able to tell Raoul that he was actually failing miserably at looking alright, Philippe prompted, "You were saying?"

There was a pause before the words practically tumbled out of Raoul's mouth, "You'd never deny me anything, right?"

Philippe looked at him, bemused. There was a determination in his eyes that reminded him of that time so long ago when Raoul had asked for his very own stallion.

"And you'd never hate me?" Raoul added, almost a whisper, leaning forward a bit so that Philippe could hear him.

He was so close that Philippe could smell the wine on his breath. "I could never," he asserted firmly. Such a thing was impossible.

"Then," Raoul started breathlessly, flushing red.

He leaned forward and Philippe thought he was going to swoon. He reached up towards Raoul's shoulders to steady him. "Raoul?"

Raoul jerked back suddenly with a whimper. "I-I can't. I just…" He looked panicked, hands twisted on his lap pulling his shirt forward over his lap, and eyes looking anywhere but at Philippe. His breathing was quick and he was still flushed, maybe moreso than before. He stood up quickly, as though the other side of the sofa where he'd jerked back to was suddenly too close. "I don't feel well. I think it best I sleep it off," he said in a pained voice, before nearly running out of the room and up the stairs.

Snapped out of his stupor, Philippe called after him, "Wait, Raoul!" but received no reply. He stood in the empty room, staring out towards the stairs in confusion. He'd missed something.

And now things were back to where they had started.

It took a moment but Philippe made up his mind. Raoul had wanted to tell him something and he was going to. Determined not to leave things as they were, he swallowed the rest of his wine in one gulp before heading up the stairs. He determined that his nervousness was only due to the fact that Raoul was going to tell him about his love interest.

It was dark and the house was silent. The candles had been doused but it wasn't difficult to reach Raoul's door. He hesitated there, unable to simply open it. No light shone beneath the door and Philippe wondered if Raoul really was just ill from having drunk the wine too quickly. He knocked on the door quietly, leaning close.

He heard some indeterminate movement before complete silence. Philippe was almost certain that Raoul wasn't going to answer without more prompting so he called out. "I just need to know you're alright." That wasn't exactly what he wanted, but he conceded the fact that Raoul could very well be ill. He couldn't be too demanding.

It took a few moments, and Philippe could hear the rustling of sheets on the bed. So, Raoul had in fact gone straight to bed.

His brother sounded breathless when he answered. "I-I'm fine, Philippe."

Philippe wondered at the feeble response. Raoul hadn't given him permission to enter the room though, so he stayed where he was. "Brother," he called out to make sure Raoul was really alright.

Raoul moaned so softly that Philippe barely heard it.

"It's," Raoul cleared his throat. "It's my stomach. I feel" his voice hitched "warm." The next words came out pleading, "I can't…" his voice broke, "Go away, please."

Philippe desperately wanted to ask, Can't what? What are you hiding? He placed a hand flat upon the door, struggling with himself. He wanted to open it; his hand twitched with the desire, but Raoul had begged. He'd asked and Philippe found himself granting Raoul's wish albeit reluctantly. He slowly walked away, constantly looking back towards Raoul's bedroom. He even made it to opening his own bedroom door before stopping. Something was wrong with his brother. Raoul had sounded like he was really in pain; he couldn't just leave him alone.

Shutting his door a little more loudly than necessary in hopes that Raoul would think he'd gone to bed, he waited a few seconds. The silence sounded deeper and if he had taken just a moment to think about what he was doing, he would have immediately gone into his bedroom. Luckily, he didn't pause to think. All he knew was that Raoul needed him whether he wanted him in his room or not.

When he finally felt it safe to continue, he cautiously made his way back to Raoul's door. He avoided all the necessary areas that would have made his presence known, all the while checking to make sure no one was around. The darkness was a blessing. He felt less foolish when he leaned his ear against his brother's door, both his hands by his head pressing against it to carry his weight. It took some adjusting, forcing his breathing to become silent and ignoring his own loudly beating heart, but he could make out Raoul's uneven breathing.

At first, he thought Raoul was crying, but then, Raoul was shifting on his bed. He knew his brother's chosen position to cry was burying his face into the pillow. When Raoul had been younger, Philippe had always been the one to find him asleep like that after an argument. Raoul wasn't crying if he was moving.

Philippe suddenly heard a whimper and he found himself flushing. His eyes widened before the thought even had a chance to fully form in his mind. His own breathing now sounded ragged, loud. Much too loud and he worried that Raoul would hear him through the door.

He held his breath, desperately needing confirmation on what he was just now beginning to suspect. He pressed against the door tighter. Raoul's breathing was more uneven than before, louder, as though he was having problems controlling himself, and Philippe found himself pressing his cheek against the door just to cool himself down. His face was hot but the blood had begun to rush elsewhere. One hand moved from its place by his head, drifting downwards to follow the same path before he realized what he was doing. He had a much more difficult time stopping himself than acknowledging what he'd been about to do.

He couldn't think straight. His thoughts were jumbled, tumbling around the one notion that had formed and couldn't be banished.

Raoul's breathing sped up and Philippe couldn't hold his breath any longer. It came out in a harsh exhale, his stomach clenching when his mind cleared to one vibrant and all-too-real image of Raoul writhing in his bed, blonde hair splayed out, the sheets tangled in his legs. His brother's hand was down his trousers because Raoul wouldn't have taken them off. No, it was better when they stayed on, his erection trapped in that tight confine, his legs barely finding purchase against the smooth sheets as his fist pumped steadily while he did his best to keep silent.

Philippe gulped at the air as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, but that only made the image clearer. He could hear Raoul's breaths as though there weren't a door between them. His hands clenched into fists. He could see Raoul flushing even though he knew it was too dark in the room to be able to really see anything. He, himself, bit his lower lip in a subconscious mirror of what he'd seen Raoul doing in the sitting room. And, he could see Raoul doing the same just to stifle his voice.

When Raoul let out a low groan, Philippe jerked away from the door much like how Raoul had jerked away from his touch. He knew he was flushed, knew he wanted to wanted to pull his shirt out just to hide his painful erection, knew he might never be able to look Raoul in the eyes again.

He shook his head in a poor effort to clear his mind of that sound, a sound which he didn't think he'd ever forget. As an afterthought, Philippe quickly checked the hallways. Still empty. He stared at Raoul's door wide-eyed, his pulse beating loudly in his ears, before uncomfortably making his way back to his room.

o.o.o.o

End chapter 04

A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Story Note: And there's the M rating. I can't even believe I wrote that. I do want Philippe's imagination though. Raoul could have simply had a stomach ache. But we know he didn't, and now, Philippe knows as well.