Lady Dv: Hey everyone! I'm not dead yet! But, you can blame the wait on the stupid American school system, finals, college in general, my laziness, and the death of my old Pc. However I now own a new baby, my laptop, and have wonderful connection as well as beautiful new Microsoft Word! Yay! Love you all.

Disclaimer- I do not own any of Hugo's work…though I did see a wonderful rendition onstage!


The soft morning darkness of the room was gentle on the features of both men. Even the hard porcelain of the mask, trademark of the opera ghost, was made into a simple rise and fall of features caressed by darkness. In this there was comfort for the sleeping Erik, his mind haunted by melody even in his sleep. He would compose as soon as pen could get into his hand…a crescendo, a soft tenor, a pulsing baritone. His mind was in the half asleep state that comes as one readies to wake but pulls toward dreaming; yet, his real consciousness pulled toward his only other passion.

He felt the curve of waist meeting hip under his arm and the softness of skin on his chest, the shirt laying somewhere about the room where? Sometime in the night he had removed the shirt in question, it had been much to warm for the man who was used to sleeping alone. His hand was buried in honey tresses soft as silk and the gentle human breathing he felt contrasting his…all so overwhelming to one usually denied human contact. Making it all even better was the awareness of the person in his arms being the one person he ached to have there. This was no lady of the night looking for a quick franc. This was HIM. Satyr. Beauty. Raoul.

It was the rattling that woke him fully. If it had not been for that infernal rattling he would have slept peacefully for a few more hours. The night had been long for them both after all. Still the rattling had come and woken him with a start and he had quickly disentangled himself from his future lover. It must be Madame Giry to check on her patient; Erik had missed her the night before as she had brought dinner for the Vicomte and left before Erik could pay his late night visit. The man beside him woke with confusion on his lips and aggravation at such a rude shake into consciousness. Still he could say nothing as sleep muddled his thoughts and in this keen confusion Erik found amusement. He wanted those lips just once more.

"Erik…what-"His voice was cut off by a gentle kiss placed over sleepy pink lips. A hand pressed against the nape of his neck holding him close to the other man. Then, it disappeared in a rustle of clothing. The rattling came once more. "Erik?" The voice was a whisper through the darkness.

"It will be Madame with breakfast for you. I must leave you now. Until next time my little dove." The goodbye was followed by another kiss to his lips, the rustling of Erik picking up clothing, the soft scrapping of a mirror moving; then, before Raoul realized it he was alone in the room.

The slight scent of the Phantom…no Erik…his soon to be lover…still lay on Raoul's skin, surrounding him. Somewhere in the opera his Erik was thinking of him just as he thought of Erik. The thought brought a smile to his lips but nothing more as his mind was still exhausted. His body needed time to recover from everything. Illness. Fatigue. Passion. The softness of covers and the still warm side occupied by Erik only moments before comforted him. Raoul slid deeper under the covers and snuggled into the scent of the other man. Truly he is my Phantom…truly… With these last thoughts his mind drifted off into something much like a dreamland a little unsettled at being alone but too exhausted to fight the grip of sleep. And the rattling had stopped.


Erik had tried to leave as quickly and as quietly as he could moving along familiar passages through the dim light of low burning candles. His wool stocking covered feet felt the cold of the stone beneath them and his bare chest had goosebumps. He stopped a moment and tugged his shirt over his head before leaning on one candlelit wall to pull his boots on over his stocking covered feet. The raven haired man's mind was still more in the other realm, the one of sleep, than in the one his body occupied and he thought only of Raoul. No sense in letting Giry get ahead of herself on thoughts about their relationship until Raoul felt more ready to explain though; he was the one dwelling with the regular mortals after all. Well he was now on both sides of the stage. All this, of course, left out that Madame Giry would be horrified that Erik had flustered, to say the least, her patient before he had recovered full health.

As his own home came into view Erik's shoulders sagged and without any sort of shame he tossed his heavy velvet coat on the ground walking toward the bed. The sheets were changed to a warm, black cotton and there was food on his table; this meant it was late in the morning and Giry passed through only to find him gone. She would wonder where he had gone. When he reached the bed he slipped out of his boots once more and gingerly removed the porcelain mask before placing it in a drawer filled with velvet beside the bed. It was not usual for him to sleep with the mask on his face, it irritated the tender skin beneath, yet he did not want Raoul to see him. He must at one point see the torn flesh beneath once again but not now…later perhaps. Eriks gently rubbed the scarred flesh which felt sore beneath his fingertips.

Erik felt the sleepiness tug at his mind once more, remembering his reactions the night before. He would have to speak with Raoul, they would have to come to understand one another and Erik wanted him to understand. You never cared for Christine to understand. Only that she do as you wished, Phantom. Erik grimaced at the thoughts of the brunette returning, he had forgotten about her for a fleeting moment. But that voice was right. He had never cared to be understood by the young woman only adored and obeyed. His mind was beginning to fog once more as he was by nature a nocturnal creature, though last night's sleep had been wonderful, and the inner clock he kept told him it was time for sleep once more. The jet black covers he slid under were clean and smelled fresh. He had only ever bought two colors for his bed's covers. Black and Red. The colors of passion and of ink. Like his music they were written into his mind.

He should have removed the clothing he was wearing in preference of sleeping clothing but his mind did not want any of it. His mind was drifting as he laid thinking of the man he had literally slept with the night before. The warmth of the body, the pallid skin, the softness of it…Dreams.


Madame Giry pulled a hidden lever in a cold stone hallway. Another passage that led into what was now the Vicomte's room. The motherly figure had decided against using the regular mirrored passage thinking that Erik must be wandering those stone halls. The master of the Opera must have had one of his sleepless nights as she did not find him in his rooms this morning. She was surprised to find many sheets of music and of stories laying about his room though. She had picked up what she could find and placed it on one of the many tables within the catacomb, glancing over a few out of habit. He was writing again. It pleased her.

She had indeed been carrying breakfast for the blond man within the room she had trap door let herself into. It was boiling porridge, a pear cut down the middle, a bit of milk, bread, and juice. All of it was still warm for him. It was her usual routine since he had fallen under her care. She woke up earlier than before to wake the dancers and see that everyone prepared for their days. Then she went down to Erik's rooms and made sure he had something to eat, fresh linens if it was necessary, and now she did her rounds to Raoul's rooms. Breakfast left for Raoul before she went to see to the dancers, lunch after the noon practice, and dinner before the opera began if he could hold it down.

He had never so much as asked her to keep the door locked though. In that there was a bit of childish foolishness as there were many in the Opera that would have liked to take advantage of the young man but she made sure no one disturbed him. Still, it made her wonder what had compelled him to not only lock the door but also to make sure it wouldn't open at all. Placed the tray on the vanity and looked over the room wondering if perhaps Erik had had a hand in this. But that seemed foolish. The man had spent many days looking over the young Vicomte. Erik was over the jealousy and hate he had experienced. Christine was long gone after all. And what of the stolen glances, the simple caresses she had watched? Perhaps it wasn't violence that she should fear from her older charge; yet, with Erik one never knew. This Phantom of the Opera had quite the temper and it seemed the oddest things could soothe or fire it.

Giry looked at herself in the mirror, her simple pulled back hair and tasteful dress gave her an air of importance, and she shook her head smiling to herself. She was making assumptions and worrying herself for nothing. Finally, she turned to truly examine her patient. He did not look hurt. He was lying under the heavy quilted covers as he had been last night when she had left him. The young Changy was slightly on his side with his lips parted and his eyebrows smooth in relaxation. The only thing amiss was the nightgown which was unlaced at the neck and slipping off one shoulder. That could have been a product of sleep though.

The woman gently placed her hand over the man's forehead to check for a fever as he slept and after seeing that all was well she removed the hand and took his pulse as the doctor had taught her to do. All was alright in him it seemed. Just as yesterday. Well, she would leave his food with him and he would surely wake in time to eat it later as he usually did. She removed the chair that had been obstructing her way in and turned once more to look at the young man on the bed. Madame Giry bit her lip thinking that he was too weak to place the chair there and for what purpose? Nightmares once more? All was fine ,seemed fine, though a few things were amiss. Still she would have a word with Erik.

Madame Giry did indeed talk to Erik later that evening as he sat looking over the many sheets of newly written passages. Giry watched him as he worked, asking questions and watching for signs of lies. He had not hurt, or attempted to hurt, the Vicomte. She was sure of that. Still it was odd. The faraway look that passed over Erik's face when he spoke of Raoul reminded Giry of the looks he gave to things he cared for and she was surprised to find she was pleased by this. Perhaps the two could find solace in each other and if Erik was calm, happy it seemed, she could not argue.


Time passed and each day Raoul became stronger, exhaustion took longer to come, and he was able to leave his room for intervals at a time though usually with company from either Giry or one of the managers. He watched the newest opera performed in the house, a piece by an unknown man from Vienna, not a bad one but not wonderful if compared to what was written by the Phantom. Still he returned with a face flushed from excitement and cheeks rosy as he and Madame Giry walked back to the room he kept. Giry watched him closely, glad that he was able to leave his room. The rosy glow on his cheeks and the bright look in his eyes came from laughter perhaps?

Erik still maintained his brooding demeanor most days. He ate only after a lecture but he was composing once more. He was composing more even than before, more than even with Christine, more than before the blond Vicomte had come to the Opera. The songs were filled with sobs no more, with tears yes, but no sobs. One could not quite tell if these were tears of sorrow or of relief but something inched toward relief. The gentle rolling of the notes. The spiraling entrances all set apart yet brought together with astounding chords in endless duets, quartets. Soprano, Alto; tenor, soprano; baritone, alto. Beautiful. Graceful. Like a certain Vicomte.

But that was Erik's little secret. His midnight strolls to the man's room as well, secrets. Still neither man had made any move to finalize their togetherness. They enjoyed watching the shows together, in his own way Erik enjoyed the way the Vicomte chastised him into sharing meals with him, and they found comfort in each others arms. They found comfort in the caresses, the warmth of each other at the end of each day and the beginning of the next. A month. Two months. Three. Still no move for deeper intimacy. Both were eager and yet hesitant to engage the other that way. Something about the nakedness that would come with the final carnal act, both physical and not, kept them hesitating.

At times it reached the point where a simple step would topple the chessboard into one man's favor and both would sing the song of passion. Raoul would lay panting, moaning, as Erik teased him with calloused running over his body and though he would reach his bliss they always stopped at caresses, kisses. Never anything more to reach that bliss. Raoul thought that perhaps Erik was as inexperienced as he was and so had read accounts of how two men could be intimate, had given Erik books only to have Erik chuckle at the Vicomte's innocence. Then the tables would turn and Erik would be laying back with the warmth of a mouth driving him to insanity. Wanting to have the blond satyr singing with pleasure as Erik held those pale hips; still, he would bury his hands in the honey locks and bite his lip imagining but hesitant to fulfill that last desire. Erik always paused and stepped back. Raoul always nodded patiently to himself and held on tight to the darker man. It seemed natural. Always this way.

Through all this Raoul was there and Erik was there and at any moment they would say that was enough. The world could tumble down at their feet and still they would rest their heads together and sleep. There was no farewell to their love no matter how it seemed to always lead to the same stop. The routes seemed infinitely different but the turnout was always the same. Stop.


Months later they lay together in Raoul's bed just as they had what seemed a lifetime ago…the night they had agreed. This was alright.

"Erik." A voice was soothing in the darkness as fingers caressed the neck of the darker haired man and a mouth worked almost lazily at it. It suckled and nipped playfully followed by pressure with a tongue yet without intent to mark or arouse only to fluster the older man.

"Mmm." The response was given through knitted eyebrows as hands scratched gently on a pale, bare back leaving slight red markings behind that would be gone long before morning. Erik hadn't realized how truly sensitive his neck was until their many late night activities.

"When?" A simple question between the two lovers. Only they truly realized the meaning behind it.

"Soon." The voice was no longer distracted by the ministrations of the younger as he had stopped to look up at Erik with earnest pale eyes.

"You said that last ti-"

"Why are you so intent on it?" The man interrupted gently and held the younger's eyes with his own darker ones.

They seemed to burn into Raoul for a moment and his lips dropped to be slightly opened before his eye lids dropped to half mast. The look left Erik a need for the lips and he delved into them with a passion before attacking the neck, his hand gently pinching a rosy nipple between his fingers.

"I-ah…I want all of you…hah...Eh-Erik." The groans that escaped Raoul in between his words did not impede the message from hitting home. Erik paused the kiss he had been delivering at a pale jaw and looked up at the man before him. His would be lover…only one act was left for him to be fully fledged.

Erik looked away and moved so he lay on his back beside Raoul leaving the other to lean on an elbow and look down at him. Though there was silence this was no awkward silence. It was a silence with a purpose. A thoughtful silence. Raoul had almost begged him so many times for it. A simple act that would bring the endless fermata to the crescendo of passion they both wanted but only one feared. There might be pain. There might be endless pain. There would be pleasure. He knew that. They both did. But he feared it…what if…what if…

"You truly want this, little Satyr?" The voice was soft as Erik pushed himself up and moved onto all fours so he was straddling the honey haired youth.

"Yes." The answer held nothing of doubt. He wanted this. Raoul wanted this. Erik watched the blond quietly; he wanted this…yet he could not bring himself to do it…he feared that this was all that their love had amounted to. Raoul leaned up wrapping his arms around the man he once knew only as the Phantom of the Opera and kissed gently feeling the cool porcelain touch half his face as usual. It did not bother him, it was part of Erik.

"Well then, my young Vicomte. Perhaps I have made us both wait long enough. How long has it been?" Erik spoke tenderly, he wanted this, he would not stand in the way of his own happiness. The consequences could be lived with but inaction could not.

"Too long."

"Too long." Mimicked the raven haired man with a slight smirk to his lips, letting his loose hair fall in a curtain around his face, as he leaned down to kiss the man below him. Loving the way the melody picked up in his blood.


Lady Dv: There ya go ladies and…ladies? As far as I know that is my audience (correct me if I'm wrong). I've decided there will be two more chapters in store for this story and after there will be me taking requests.

RFoD- Though it took forever I updated! Feed my muse! (His name is Tobias.) Request stories or give me ideas for my next story! Love all of you! Hope you haven't forgotten me!