Slave of Passion
Notes: Yes, Erik could possibly be straight. Now, who can't wonder? Erik very well *could* be a closet gay; I mean, really. I'm not stereotyping homosexuals, but he's never had a woman, he's into the arts, he sings, and deep down he's probably questioning. Now, I realize this is the first Erik/Raoul fic around here, and I knew this was bound to get flames (which are taken and used to roast my marshmallows and warm my dinner) and get "WHAT?!" reactions, as well as "Hmm. I wish this was ___" but hey, free speech. I'm taking full advantage. XD
'Slave of Passion' will probably change title soon, as I'm not too happy with it, but the story will not disappear. And so you know, I write a bit of erotica here and there, so some of it may work its way into this fic. Don't go raging about. I'm not going to go into detail. I most possibly would, if ff.net would allow it. Until then, they stay on the good side and I try to work out the ratings. Kapish?
On with the story.
---
Philippe didn't bother to look up from the morning paper as Raoul stumbled into the drawing room for a cup of tea and breakfast, already knowing what a wreck the man looked. Raoul wasn't a morning person, he knew, and it took a good half an hour to get bathed, dressed, and ready for the day. But this was most unlike him. The young man had awoken two hours past his usual time; usually he would be up and about by now, fed and ready to start the day. Instead, he was just now sitting down on the couch, in his sleepwear, and sipping a warm cup of tea. Philippe looked over the rim of his paper and raised an eyebrow.
"Well, good morning to you too, sleepyhead," he began, turning the page. "You slept in quite a long time. Is something wrong?"
Raoul reached over and scooped a spoonful of sugar, dumping it in his tea and stirring. "No, nothing's wrong. I must've eaten something that disagreed with my stomach last night."
"Mmhmm. Is that why you decided to suddenly leave the opera house last night without saying goodnight to your lover? I'm sure she was terribly disappointed, shame on you, Raoul."
"Oh, shut up," Raoul grumbled, leaning back against the cushions. "I wasn't feeling well. If my stomach was upset, I didn't want to be sick all over her."
"Yet you were fine and laughing and talking with me all the while back home," Philippe mused, eyes skimming over the page. "I must say, whatever happened last night did a number on you, dear brother. You were gone practically the whole time! I barely got to see you." His eyes flickered up to Raoul. "Will you tell me what you were doing, brother, or are you going to keep it a secret?"
"It's none of your business," he snapped, glaring. "Nothing happened, anyway. I just went to Box Five and sat there for the rest of the performance."
"Did you meet the Opera Ghost?" The elder set his paper down and took up his cup of tea. "Is he as frightening as rumours say he is?"
"There was no one," Raoul lied, shivering. Suddenly, it was cold in the room, and he drunk the rest of his tea. "It's all just a fable. Box Five was empty."
"Well, then. We'll have to sit in Box Five the next time we go to the opera, won't we, if there's no one in there?" Philippe sipped the sweetened liquid. "What do you say to that, brother?"
"No!" Raoul set his cup down and stood, glaring down at his brother. "We mustn't do that. Even if there is an opera ghost, we wouldn't want to upset him. Perhaps he just wasn't there last night, and therefore I didn't see him. I am not going back to Box Five, and neither are you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to wash up and get dressed. I'm meeting Christine at the opera house and taking her to lunch."
"Oh, you are? Where are you going?" Philippe set the paper aside and looked up at the younger man expectantly. Something was amiss.
"There's a café we both want to explore near the park. you've seen it, Philippe. The Life Café, I think it's called."
Philippe nodded. "Yes, I've seen it. Well, don't be too long. I wanted to take you out for dinner tonight. We haven't had a heart to heart brotherly conversation in a long time."
"Of course. Excuse me." Raoul turned and calmly walked back up the stairs into the bathroom and locked himself inside. Drawing a bath, he undressed and slipped into the tub, sighing contentedly as warm water surrounded and caressed his body. He began to wash himself slowly, scrubbing away the guilt and release from his body from the previous night. Wetting his hair, he began to lather soap into his thick dark locks, closing his eyes and thinking of last night's opera.
Raoul had vaguely heard a word of the notes sung in the opera the night before, as he was only concentrated on the Phantom beside him. He still couldn't believe what a fool he was, to have blurted out what he thought of Erik's eyes. Yes, he had made a complete fool out of himself, and damn he would do it again, even to talk to him for a split second. Washing the soap out of his hair, Raoul sighed. Why was he getting so worked up over such a small thing?
No, this wasn't a small thing. This was a big thing. He had feelings for Christine, didn't he? He loved her, worshipped her. He couldn't possibly fall for the Phantom of the Opera! This was unheard of, a male loving another male. Especially in his family. What would Philippe say if he found out about his fascination? About what really happened in Box Five, how he had tried to court the Phantom and ended up with a reprimand? He would be kicked out of the house, for starters. Then where would he go?
But no, it wasn't possible. How could he be sure? Raoul sighed. He knew he had to go back. He had lied to Philippe, saying he was going to meet Christine. Today was Christine's day off, and she usually spent it reading and resting. Standing up in the bath, Raoul stepped out and wrapped a towel around his body, letting the water out of the tub and gathering his clothes. Today he had mission.
He was going to find out the Phantom's name.
Stepping into his room and closing the door, Raoul dressed quickly and combed his hair back, shaved, and tied his shoes and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Taking a good look at himself in the mirror, he nodded and left the room, taking his gloves from the table and slipping them on as he descended the stairs, looking around for his brother as he took his coat from the hanger. "Philippe? I'm leaving!"
Philippe strolled in to inspect his brother, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrow raised. "My, aren't you dressed to kill," he said, brushing invisible dust from Raoul's shoulders. "Have a nice time, Raoul. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Shrugging on his coat, Raoul smirked. "If that's anything at all." Raoul smiled and planted a kiss on his brother's cheek. "I'll be back in time for dinner. See you around." With that, he opened the door and left, calling for a carriage, climbing in, giving instructions, and taking off.
~***~
Erik awoke to his head being used as a pillow by his cat, her gentle paws kneading his skull and combing his hair. Gently batting her away, Erik sat up and groaned. What a night! First of all, he had slept in his clothes, which he didn't usually do. Had he been that tired? Secondly, what time was it? It felt awful late. he took his pocket watch from his coat and gave it a look. Eight o'clock. Well, it wasn't too late.
Tucking his watch back into his pocket, Erik rose from the bed and began to undress to slip into another tux and shirt, even bothering to change his shoes and socks. Stepping into the bathroom, he filled the sink with water and began to wash his face, taking extra care with his deformities to clean them out and dry his face. Once he finished getting the soap off his face, he lifted his eyes to the mirror and stared.
A death's head, indeed. He looked as if someone has mauled him, then left him to die and decay. As he studied his face, his eyes kept drifting back to look at the yellow orbs that Raoul had called 'beautiful'. That boy must be on some kind of chemical high. Erik smirked. Perhaps he's tried opium before?
Wetting his hair, he drew a comb through his long, dark tresses, all the while staring at his eyes. They weren't entirely demon-like, they could be pretty if they weren't so yellow. oh, bah. That Vicomte was mad.
Heading back into his room, Erik picked up his mask and put it on and, picking up Ayesha, walked across his house to the kitchen. Setting her down on the floor, he began making her breakfast, as well as his own. A small cheese omelet for himself, and milk and meat in gravy for Ayesha. Giving her the food, Erik sat down to eat alone, the only sound being the cat's soft purring.
After finishing his breakfast, Erik got up and washed his dishes and cleaned Ayesha's once she was done, putting them away. He then proceeded to brew a cup of tea, stifling a yawn behind his hand. What to do today. He would take his daily patrol of his theatre, make sure everything was in order, then what? He could compose more of Don Juan Triumphant. he was so close to being finished. Yes, he could do that. It was a nice day, and he could feel the inspiration bubbling in his body. Yes, he would compose today.
Straining the tea leaves and putting the water on to boil, Erik idly reached down to stroke the queen's fur as she rubbed up against his leg. The opera was perfect last night. Christine sang beyond the ability of angels, and that dreaded Carlotta was nowhere in sight. The tenor was spectacular, he baritone could've been better, and his view was, of course, top notch.
The only thing that irked him was Raoul. The viscount had 'business' with him. Some business, indeed. Erik laughed softly to himself. It was the first time he'd been lusted over in a long time, and somehow, it felt good. But on such a short notice! Raoul could've been more a gentleman and given him heads up when he decided to glaze his eyes over and tell him he was beautiful.
Pouring himself a cup of tea, Erik stirred in honey and sugar, and took a seat, warming his hands on the cup. "What a fool you are, Raoul," he murmured, sipping delicately. Yes, it was true that he had teased him last night, and quite inappropriately. He had no need to tease him, or offer himself. Yellow eyes narrowed. Did he actually offer his body to that man? What's gotten into him?
Nibbling on his bottom lip, the Phantom listened to the empty silence of his underground abode as he sipped his tea, pondering the previous night's events and the day's plans. Raoul, compose, Raoul, compose, Raoul, compose, Raoul. Raoul. Angrily, Erik stood and, with his tea in his hand, swept the room his organ sat and sat down on the bench, his fingers resting on the keys. He had to get that blasted Raoul out of his head.
He began to play an angry melody that lead into a soft, sweet song before descending into a sad, mournful tune. He only played to clear his head, and he was pleased to find that his music took over his mind, and soon he thought of nothing else, Raoul pushed far from his head.
Erik continued to play for the longest of times, straight on until his fingers screamed for rest. It was then when he rose from the bench and, drinking his now cold tea, walked out and took his cloak, draping it over his shoulders and left the house. He went through his labyrinth until he came to the main level of the opera house, beginning his patrol. There was no one around, except for the managers and the ballet dancers practicing backstage. Erik hummed quietly to himself as he took his time walking amongst the marbled floors, the statuettes and the staircases, climbing up and overlooking the stage and orchestra seats below.
He peeked into every box, mounted every staircase, even went down below to walk through the rows of seats in the orchestra. He then went across the stage, checking the trap doors and inspecting the curtains. Old, tattered things, they were, but so beautiful. He admired the velvet feel under his lean fingers, a touched he welcomed. Erik sighed and wrapped himself in the velvet drapery. They offered him comfort and welcome, and he breathed in the musky scent. It felt good to be wrapped up in the curtains on the stage he loved so much.
Sensing somebody nearing, Erik opened his eyes to be met with those of old, tired chocolate brown ones of his friend. He peered out at him from his position in the curtains and narrowed his eyes. "Daroga, I thought you would be elsewhere today. I didn't think you would be haunting these halls as you often do."
Nadir chuckled softly. "It is you who haunts these halls, dear Erik. I am merely your servant."
"Servant indeed," Erik snorted, pulling the velvet tighter around him. "Where is your sniveling puppy, that Darius? Is he not around?"
"Darius, as you know, does not like this opera house," Nadir returned smoothly. "It gives him the creeps, and I can see why. You run this place in the palm of your hand. Had I not made an acquaintance with you before, I would have said the same thing."
"You think my opera house is creepy? I've never heard it been given such a thoughtful compliment," the Phantom purred, chuckling. "Honestly, Daroga. I don't know if the opera would still be standing if I were not here to keep watch over it."
"Indeed." Nadir leaned against the stage wall. "You *are* the mastermind behind everything, anyhow."
Erik shifted his weight, raising an eyebrow behind the mask. "Why, do you think someone else should be running *my* opera house?"
"I just think you should give the managers a chance," the Persian coolly replied. "If you weren't always stepping on their toes and breathing down their necks, I'm sure they could manage handling the opera house quite well."
"Absolutely not. Those fools can't even keep the finances together!"
"Have you given them a chance?"
"No, but that's beside the point."
"You see, Erik? You're so manipulating. I don't see how anyone can stand you." Erik scowled. "What does it matter to you, Daroga? I'm perfectly happy manipulating people, you know that."
Nadir chuckled and sighed. "Yes, I know. But let's forget about that. I wanted to speak with you about last night."
Erik's eyes narrowed into slits. "If you're going to say anything about that damned Vicomte de Changy, you won't get anything from my lips. I've had enough of him for two days."
"Have you really? Care to tell me what happened?" Nadir smirked and stood up straight. "Well? I'm waiting, Erik."
The Phantom muttered darkly and shifted his eyes away from his friend. "It's 'Raoul this' and 'Raoul that' with Christine," he murmured, snuggling back into the curtains. "I hear too much of that boy, and then he goes and tries to court me. Honestly, Nadir. I don't know what to do. I did a very stupid thing and I offered myself to him, but also gave him something to think about. Hopefully, he'll turn back to Christine and forget about me."
"Ah, are we ourselves developing a crush on a certain someone?" At the silence given to him, Nadir smiled. "You're in love. I can see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your silence." He touched his finger to Erik's lips to keep him from speaking. "Do not be ashamed, Erik. You haven't fallen in love for years."
"I am *not* in love," Erik barked, glaring. "Far from it. I'm just waiting until Raoul gets over this childish crush he has on me. But I am *no way* in love, Nadir, and don't you ever suggest it again. What has come over you people? I am not in love with Raoul!"
"How long have you been without a lover, Erik? How many years has your heart been without love?"
"Since I've been born, thank you," Erik growled. "My mother showed me no love, no contempt. Where is this going, Daroga?"
"No, I meant how long has it been since you've last taken a lover? Am I mistaken to assume you are a virgin?"
Erik nibbled thoughtfully on his lip. "I have never taken a woman, no, if that is what you mean by 'virgin'."
"Oh? Then you have taken a man, or have you been taken by one?"
"Nadir! I will not talk about this! Frankly, it is none of your business, anyway."
"It is now. Tell me about your lover, Erik."
Erik sank to the floor, still wrapped in the curtains, and sighed. "Shut up, Daroga. You tire me. I don't want to talk about this, it pains me."
Nadir kneeled beside him and stretched out a hand to stroke the jet-black hair. "All right, I'll let you go, for now. But don't think you'll get away from this. I want to hear the complete story from you sometime, my friend. Even if I have to poke you insistently until I get an answer."
"Daroga, I--." Erik was about to protest when he felt another presence. An intruder! Who could be here, in his opera house, without his consent? "If you'll excuse me, Nadir, I have some things to inspect." He didn't wait for a response. Erik unraveled himself from the comfort of the curtains and had disappeared into the opera house, noiselessly walking down the hallways and arriving at the balcony just in time to see Raoul mount the grand staircase, looking around.
"Phantom? Phantom! Are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here, you mindless pup," Erik said, coming out of the shadows and leering down at the man. "What do you want? I thought I had dismissed you."
"Tell me your name." Raoul met his gaze and held it steady. He was not going to let him ago until he accomplished his goal.
"My name is of no importance to you." Erik glared at him sternly. "Why do you continue to return here, Vicomte? Don't you have other, more important things to do?"
"Why do you take my audience?" Raoul smirked. He had obviously caught him by surprise. "There must be something you want out of it, as well."
Erik gripped the marble railing and growled. "I want nothing to do with you, Raoul. You're merely intruding on my personal space. I want to know what you want, and what I can do for you, so I can get back to living my normal life."
Raoul bravely covered a few more steps. "Normal life, you say? What life would that be? Living in this opera house, hiding in the shadows? That doesn't sound like a normal life to me, Phantom. Now please, if you want me gone, you will kindly tell me your name."
Sighing, Erik shook his head. "Alas, Raoul, my name means nothing to the likes of you. Whatever frivolous idea you have in your head should be forgotten, since I have no plans to come together to do anything with you. Ever. Is that clear? Yes, that means I don't want to see you in Box Five, if you value your life."
Stepping up to the main level where Erik stood, Raoul laid a hand on the banister and leisurely walked forward, sighing dramatically. "If you wish, I will no longer come to Box Five. But that was only one night, Phantom. We accomplished so much in one night, it's a shame to say it didn't ever happen."
Erik remained where he was standing, the smell of the man almost intoxicating. He raised an eyebrow under the mask and was faintly aware of him coming closer, ever so closer. "Nothing happened between us last night, Vicomte. You were overtaken by lust, and that was all."
"Even when you offered yourself to me, that was nothing?" Raoul took a final step. Now their faces were inches away from each other, Raoul's breath fanning Erik's lips. "Can you truly say that?"
"Leave," Erik ordered weakly, stepping back. "I don't want to see your face around here other than when there's an opera. Now go. Your presence is not welcomed."
Turning on his heel, Erik started to leave when a firm hand caught his arm and whirled him back around. Before he had time to think, Raoul crushed his lips to Erik's in a bruising kiss that left him speechless and rigid, his eyes shocked open as the kiss lasted longer than he expected it to. Raoul, realizing he wasn't going to be pushed away, deepened the kiss and pulled Erik closer to his body. He soon found out that mistake a second too late.
Erik roughly pushed Raoul away from him, sending him stumbling backwards, his lasso out in a mere second and loosely around the other man's neck in a flash. Raoul gasped and grabbed at the lasso around his neck, staring wide- eyed up at the Phantom. Erik rested a foot atop his captive's chest and smirked. "Thou shalt *not* pull me close to your body," he reprimanded, pulling the lasso a bit tighter. "The kiss could've been better. But taking my silence for granted? Big mistake, my friend."
Studying Raoul's terror-stricken face, Erik removed his foot and got down, straddling his abdomen and traced abstract patterns over his chest. Raoul swallowed hard as Erik's face hovered over his, masked face so mysterious and ominous that all he had to do was reach up and grab it. but there was a lasso around his neck, and Erik did have a tight hold on it. It was best he kept still.
Purring his delight, Erik leaned in closer until their lips were a breath apart. "If you truly wanted a kiss from me, you could've just asked," he murmured, and, giving his lips a small lick, kissed Raoul sensually, teasingly, taking the man's breath away. To Raoul, the kiss lasted an eternity. He closed his eyes and moaned softly, returning the kiss as much as he could, only to be rejected as Erik pulled back. "Now, Raoul. that was a kiss."
"Will you kiss me again?" Raoul was now sure of it. He was in love. And he was in love with the most unlikely person. Erik's laugh ringed out through the room.
"What, you enjoyed it that much? Truly, you are a fool, Raoul!"
"Yes, a fool in love," Raoul sighed. Erik's laughter stopped and he looked down his nose at him. "In love, you say? Tell me, after meeting me just yesterday, you are in love?"
"Yes, I am in love," he whispered, meeting his eyes. "It's something about you, Phantom. I can't place my finger on it, but something about you screams perfection."
Erik snorted. "How right you are. I'm a bit of everything, I'll have you know."
Raoul tried to loosen the lasso as he spoke; it was getting harder for him to breathe. "Phantom, you tease me. I want you. I want your heart, your body, your mind. You're beautiful to me, Phantom. I just wish I knew your name."
"You spout garbage," Erik sighed, tracing his fingers over Raoul's chest. "I understand your feelings for me, Vicomte, but that is no reason why I should give you my name." Climbing off the younger man, Erik stood and took his lasso off Raoul's neck. "Will you leave now and run back to your rightful lover, Christine? She needs you. She's probably expecting you, isn't she?" He took Raoul's pocket watch from his coat and glanced at it. "My, you're just wasting this day away. Shouldn't you be off frolicking with your lover by now?"
Raoul blinked and glared, sitting up and snatching his watch from Erik's hand. "No. It's her day off. She told me she was going to rest."
"Oh, poor child. So you came here to bother me and kiss me instead? Some mind you have, Vicomte." Raoul stood and brushed himself off, turning and starting down the stairs. Erik leaned against the pillar and watched him descend the stairs. "It was nice seeing you again, Raoul. Perhaps we will run into each other at the opera."
Raoul twisted around to look at the masked man, and managed a smile. "Yes, perhaps. I won't forget this day, Phantom." Then, after a second thought, "I love you." Turning back around, he walked down the stairs, and left the theatre, leaving a stricken Erik behind.
Notes: Yes, Erik could possibly be straight. Now, who can't wonder? Erik very well *could* be a closet gay; I mean, really. I'm not stereotyping homosexuals, but he's never had a woman, he's into the arts, he sings, and deep down he's probably questioning. Now, I realize this is the first Erik/Raoul fic around here, and I knew this was bound to get flames (which are taken and used to roast my marshmallows and warm my dinner) and get "WHAT?!" reactions, as well as "Hmm. I wish this was ___" but hey, free speech. I'm taking full advantage. XD
'Slave of Passion' will probably change title soon, as I'm not too happy with it, but the story will not disappear. And so you know, I write a bit of erotica here and there, so some of it may work its way into this fic. Don't go raging about. I'm not going to go into detail. I most possibly would, if ff.net would allow it. Until then, they stay on the good side and I try to work out the ratings. Kapish?
On with the story.
---
Philippe didn't bother to look up from the morning paper as Raoul stumbled into the drawing room for a cup of tea and breakfast, already knowing what a wreck the man looked. Raoul wasn't a morning person, he knew, and it took a good half an hour to get bathed, dressed, and ready for the day. But this was most unlike him. The young man had awoken two hours past his usual time; usually he would be up and about by now, fed and ready to start the day. Instead, he was just now sitting down on the couch, in his sleepwear, and sipping a warm cup of tea. Philippe looked over the rim of his paper and raised an eyebrow.
"Well, good morning to you too, sleepyhead," he began, turning the page. "You slept in quite a long time. Is something wrong?"
Raoul reached over and scooped a spoonful of sugar, dumping it in his tea and stirring. "No, nothing's wrong. I must've eaten something that disagreed with my stomach last night."
"Mmhmm. Is that why you decided to suddenly leave the opera house last night without saying goodnight to your lover? I'm sure she was terribly disappointed, shame on you, Raoul."
"Oh, shut up," Raoul grumbled, leaning back against the cushions. "I wasn't feeling well. If my stomach was upset, I didn't want to be sick all over her."
"Yet you were fine and laughing and talking with me all the while back home," Philippe mused, eyes skimming over the page. "I must say, whatever happened last night did a number on you, dear brother. You were gone practically the whole time! I barely got to see you." His eyes flickered up to Raoul. "Will you tell me what you were doing, brother, or are you going to keep it a secret?"
"It's none of your business," he snapped, glaring. "Nothing happened, anyway. I just went to Box Five and sat there for the rest of the performance."
"Did you meet the Opera Ghost?" The elder set his paper down and took up his cup of tea. "Is he as frightening as rumours say he is?"
"There was no one," Raoul lied, shivering. Suddenly, it was cold in the room, and he drunk the rest of his tea. "It's all just a fable. Box Five was empty."
"Well, then. We'll have to sit in Box Five the next time we go to the opera, won't we, if there's no one in there?" Philippe sipped the sweetened liquid. "What do you say to that, brother?"
"No!" Raoul set his cup down and stood, glaring down at his brother. "We mustn't do that. Even if there is an opera ghost, we wouldn't want to upset him. Perhaps he just wasn't there last night, and therefore I didn't see him. I am not going back to Box Five, and neither are you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to wash up and get dressed. I'm meeting Christine at the opera house and taking her to lunch."
"Oh, you are? Where are you going?" Philippe set the paper aside and looked up at the younger man expectantly. Something was amiss.
"There's a café we both want to explore near the park. you've seen it, Philippe. The Life Café, I think it's called."
Philippe nodded. "Yes, I've seen it. Well, don't be too long. I wanted to take you out for dinner tonight. We haven't had a heart to heart brotherly conversation in a long time."
"Of course. Excuse me." Raoul turned and calmly walked back up the stairs into the bathroom and locked himself inside. Drawing a bath, he undressed and slipped into the tub, sighing contentedly as warm water surrounded and caressed his body. He began to wash himself slowly, scrubbing away the guilt and release from his body from the previous night. Wetting his hair, he began to lather soap into his thick dark locks, closing his eyes and thinking of last night's opera.
Raoul had vaguely heard a word of the notes sung in the opera the night before, as he was only concentrated on the Phantom beside him. He still couldn't believe what a fool he was, to have blurted out what he thought of Erik's eyes. Yes, he had made a complete fool out of himself, and damn he would do it again, even to talk to him for a split second. Washing the soap out of his hair, Raoul sighed. Why was he getting so worked up over such a small thing?
No, this wasn't a small thing. This was a big thing. He had feelings for Christine, didn't he? He loved her, worshipped her. He couldn't possibly fall for the Phantom of the Opera! This was unheard of, a male loving another male. Especially in his family. What would Philippe say if he found out about his fascination? About what really happened in Box Five, how he had tried to court the Phantom and ended up with a reprimand? He would be kicked out of the house, for starters. Then where would he go?
But no, it wasn't possible. How could he be sure? Raoul sighed. He knew he had to go back. He had lied to Philippe, saying he was going to meet Christine. Today was Christine's day off, and she usually spent it reading and resting. Standing up in the bath, Raoul stepped out and wrapped a towel around his body, letting the water out of the tub and gathering his clothes. Today he had mission.
He was going to find out the Phantom's name.
Stepping into his room and closing the door, Raoul dressed quickly and combed his hair back, shaved, and tied his shoes and wrapped a scarf around his neck. Taking a good look at himself in the mirror, he nodded and left the room, taking his gloves from the table and slipping them on as he descended the stairs, looking around for his brother as he took his coat from the hanger. "Philippe? I'm leaving!"
Philippe strolled in to inspect his brother, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrow raised. "My, aren't you dressed to kill," he said, brushing invisible dust from Raoul's shoulders. "Have a nice time, Raoul. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
Shrugging on his coat, Raoul smirked. "If that's anything at all." Raoul smiled and planted a kiss on his brother's cheek. "I'll be back in time for dinner. See you around." With that, he opened the door and left, calling for a carriage, climbing in, giving instructions, and taking off.
~***~
Erik awoke to his head being used as a pillow by his cat, her gentle paws kneading his skull and combing his hair. Gently batting her away, Erik sat up and groaned. What a night! First of all, he had slept in his clothes, which he didn't usually do. Had he been that tired? Secondly, what time was it? It felt awful late. he took his pocket watch from his coat and gave it a look. Eight o'clock. Well, it wasn't too late.
Tucking his watch back into his pocket, Erik rose from the bed and began to undress to slip into another tux and shirt, even bothering to change his shoes and socks. Stepping into the bathroom, he filled the sink with water and began to wash his face, taking extra care with his deformities to clean them out and dry his face. Once he finished getting the soap off his face, he lifted his eyes to the mirror and stared.
A death's head, indeed. He looked as if someone has mauled him, then left him to die and decay. As he studied his face, his eyes kept drifting back to look at the yellow orbs that Raoul had called 'beautiful'. That boy must be on some kind of chemical high. Erik smirked. Perhaps he's tried opium before?
Wetting his hair, he drew a comb through his long, dark tresses, all the while staring at his eyes. They weren't entirely demon-like, they could be pretty if they weren't so yellow. oh, bah. That Vicomte was mad.
Heading back into his room, Erik picked up his mask and put it on and, picking up Ayesha, walked across his house to the kitchen. Setting her down on the floor, he began making her breakfast, as well as his own. A small cheese omelet for himself, and milk and meat in gravy for Ayesha. Giving her the food, Erik sat down to eat alone, the only sound being the cat's soft purring.
After finishing his breakfast, Erik got up and washed his dishes and cleaned Ayesha's once she was done, putting them away. He then proceeded to brew a cup of tea, stifling a yawn behind his hand. What to do today. He would take his daily patrol of his theatre, make sure everything was in order, then what? He could compose more of Don Juan Triumphant. he was so close to being finished. Yes, he could do that. It was a nice day, and he could feel the inspiration bubbling in his body. Yes, he would compose today.
Straining the tea leaves and putting the water on to boil, Erik idly reached down to stroke the queen's fur as she rubbed up against his leg. The opera was perfect last night. Christine sang beyond the ability of angels, and that dreaded Carlotta was nowhere in sight. The tenor was spectacular, he baritone could've been better, and his view was, of course, top notch.
The only thing that irked him was Raoul. The viscount had 'business' with him. Some business, indeed. Erik laughed softly to himself. It was the first time he'd been lusted over in a long time, and somehow, it felt good. But on such a short notice! Raoul could've been more a gentleman and given him heads up when he decided to glaze his eyes over and tell him he was beautiful.
Pouring himself a cup of tea, Erik stirred in honey and sugar, and took a seat, warming his hands on the cup. "What a fool you are, Raoul," he murmured, sipping delicately. Yes, it was true that he had teased him last night, and quite inappropriately. He had no need to tease him, or offer himself. Yellow eyes narrowed. Did he actually offer his body to that man? What's gotten into him?
Nibbling on his bottom lip, the Phantom listened to the empty silence of his underground abode as he sipped his tea, pondering the previous night's events and the day's plans. Raoul, compose, Raoul, compose, Raoul, compose, Raoul. Raoul. Angrily, Erik stood and, with his tea in his hand, swept the room his organ sat and sat down on the bench, his fingers resting on the keys. He had to get that blasted Raoul out of his head.
He began to play an angry melody that lead into a soft, sweet song before descending into a sad, mournful tune. He only played to clear his head, and he was pleased to find that his music took over his mind, and soon he thought of nothing else, Raoul pushed far from his head.
Erik continued to play for the longest of times, straight on until his fingers screamed for rest. It was then when he rose from the bench and, drinking his now cold tea, walked out and took his cloak, draping it over his shoulders and left the house. He went through his labyrinth until he came to the main level of the opera house, beginning his patrol. There was no one around, except for the managers and the ballet dancers practicing backstage. Erik hummed quietly to himself as he took his time walking amongst the marbled floors, the statuettes and the staircases, climbing up and overlooking the stage and orchestra seats below.
He peeked into every box, mounted every staircase, even went down below to walk through the rows of seats in the orchestra. He then went across the stage, checking the trap doors and inspecting the curtains. Old, tattered things, they were, but so beautiful. He admired the velvet feel under his lean fingers, a touched he welcomed. Erik sighed and wrapped himself in the velvet drapery. They offered him comfort and welcome, and he breathed in the musky scent. It felt good to be wrapped up in the curtains on the stage he loved so much.
Sensing somebody nearing, Erik opened his eyes to be met with those of old, tired chocolate brown ones of his friend. He peered out at him from his position in the curtains and narrowed his eyes. "Daroga, I thought you would be elsewhere today. I didn't think you would be haunting these halls as you often do."
Nadir chuckled softly. "It is you who haunts these halls, dear Erik. I am merely your servant."
"Servant indeed," Erik snorted, pulling the velvet tighter around him. "Where is your sniveling puppy, that Darius? Is he not around?"
"Darius, as you know, does not like this opera house," Nadir returned smoothly. "It gives him the creeps, and I can see why. You run this place in the palm of your hand. Had I not made an acquaintance with you before, I would have said the same thing."
"You think my opera house is creepy? I've never heard it been given such a thoughtful compliment," the Phantom purred, chuckling. "Honestly, Daroga. I don't know if the opera would still be standing if I were not here to keep watch over it."
"Indeed." Nadir leaned against the stage wall. "You *are* the mastermind behind everything, anyhow."
Erik shifted his weight, raising an eyebrow behind the mask. "Why, do you think someone else should be running *my* opera house?"
"I just think you should give the managers a chance," the Persian coolly replied. "If you weren't always stepping on their toes and breathing down their necks, I'm sure they could manage handling the opera house quite well."
"Absolutely not. Those fools can't even keep the finances together!"
"Have you given them a chance?"
"No, but that's beside the point."
"You see, Erik? You're so manipulating. I don't see how anyone can stand you." Erik scowled. "What does it matter to you, Daroga? I'm perfectly happy manipulating people, you know that."
Nadir chuckled and sighed. "Yes, I know. But let's forget about that. I wanted to speak with you about last night."
Erik's eyes narrowed into slits. "If you're going to say anything about that damned Vicomte de Changy, you won't get anything from my lips. I've had enough of him for two days."
"Have you really? Care to tell me what happened?" Nadir smirked and stood up straight. "Well? I'm waiting, Erik."
The Phantom muttered darkly and shifted his eyes away from his friend. "It's 'Raoul this' and 'Raoul that' with Christine," he murmured, snuggling back into the curtains. "I hear too much of that boy, and then he goes and tries to court me. Honestly, Nadir. I don't know what to do. I did a very stupid thing and I offered myself to him, but also gave him something to think about. Hopefully, he'll turn back to Christine and forget about me."
"Ah, are we ourselves developing a crush on a certain someone?" At the silence given to him, Nadir smiled. "You're in love. I can see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your silence." He touched his finger to Erik's lips to keep him from speaking. "Do not be ashamed, Erik. You haven't fallen in love for years."
"I am *not* in love," Erik barked, glaring. "Far from it. I'm just waiting until Raoul gets over this childish crush he has on me. But I am *no way* in love, Nadir, and don't you ever suggest it again. What has come over you people? I am not in love with Raoul!"
"How long have you been without a lover, Erik? How many years has your heart been without love?"
"Since I've been born, thank you," Erik growled. "My mother showed me no love, no contempt. Where is this going, Daroga?"
"No, I meant how long has it been since you've last taken a lover? Am I mistaken to assume you are a virgin?"
Erik nibbled thoughtfully on his lip. "I have never taken a woman, no, if that is what you mean by 'virgin'."
"Oh? Then you have taken a man, or have you been taken by one?"
"Nadir! I will not talk about this! Frankly, it is none of your business, anyway."
"It is now. Tell me about your lover, Erik."
Erik sank to the floor, still wrapped in the curtains, and sighed. "Shut up, Daroga. You tire me. I don't want to talk about this, it pains me."
Nadir kneeled beside him and stretched out a hand to stroke the jet-black hair. "All right, I'll let you go, for now. But don't think you'll get away from this. I want to hear the complete story from you sometime, my friend. Even if I have to poke you insistently until I get an answer."
"Daroga, I--." Erik was about to protest when he felt another presence. An intruder! Who could be here, in his opera house, without his consent? "If you'll excuse me, Nadir, I have some things to inspect." He didn't wait for a response. Erik unraveled himself from the comfort of the curtains and had disappeared into the opera house, noiselessly walking down the hallways and arriving at the balcony just in time to see Raoul mount the grand staircase, looking around.
"Phantom? Phantom! Are you there?"
"Yes, I'm here, you mindless pup," Erik said, coming out of the shadows and leering down at the man. "What do you want? I thought I had dismissed you."
"Tell me your name." Raoul met his gaze and held it steady. He was not going to let him ago until he accomplished his goal.
"My name is of no importance to you." Erik glared at him sternly. "Why do you continue to return here, Vicomte? Don't you have other, more important things to do?"
"Why do you take my audience?" Raoul smirked. He had obviously caught him by surprise. "There must be something you want out of it, as well."
Erik gripped the marble railing and growled. "I want nothing to do with you, Raoul. You're merely intruding on my personal space. I want to know what you want, and what I can do for you, so I can get back to living my normal life."
Raoul bravely covered a few more steps. "Normal life, you say? What life would that be? Living in this opera house, hiding in the shadows? That doesn't sound like a normal life to me, Phantom. Now please, if you want me gone, you will kindly tell me your name."
Sighing, Erik shook his head. "Alas, Raoul, my name means nothing to the likes of you. Whatever frivolous idea you have in your head should be forgotten, since I have no plans to come together to do anything with you. Ever. Is that clear? Yes, that means I don't want to see you in Box Five, if you value your life."
Stepping up to the main level where Erik stood, Raoul laid a hand on the banister and leisurely walked forward, sighing dramatically. "If you wish, I will no longer come to Box Five. But that was only one night, Phantom. We accomplished so much in one night, it's a shame to say it didn't ever happen."
Erik remained where he was standing, the smell of the man almost intoxicating. He raised an eyebrow under the mask and was faintly aware of him coming closer, ever so closer. "Nothing happened between us last night, Vicomte. You were overtaken by lust, and that was all."
"Even when you offered yourself to me, that was nothing?" Raoul took a final step. Now their faces were inches away from each other, Raoul's breath fanning Erik's lips. "Can you truly say that?"
"Leave," Erik ordered weakly, stepping back. "I don't want to see your face around here other than when there's an opera. Now go. Your presence is not welcomed."
Turning on his heel, Erik started to leave when a firm hand caught his arm and whirled him back around. Before he had time to think, Raoul crushed his lips to Erik's in a bruising kiss that left him speechless and rigid, his eyes shocked open as the kiss lasted longer than he expected it to. Raoul, realizing he wasn't going to be pushed away, deepened the kiss and pulled Erik closer to his body. He soon found out that mistake a second too late.
Erik roughly pushed Raoul away from him, sending him stumbling backwards, his lasso out in a mere second and loosely around the other man's neck in a flash. Raoul gasped and grabbed at the lasso around his neck, staring wide- eyed up at the Phantom. Erik rested a foot atop his captive's chest and smirked. "Thou shalt *not* pull me close to your body," he reprimanded, pulling the lasso a bit tighter. "The kiss could've been better. But taking my silence for granted? Big mistake, my friend."
Studying Raoul's terror-stricken face, Erik removed his foot and got down, straddling his abdomen and traced abstract patterns over his chest. Raoul swallowed hard as Erik's face hovered over his, masked face so mysterious and ominous that all he had to do was reach up and grab it. but there was a lasso around his neck, and Erik did have a tight hold on it. It was best he kept still.
Purring his delight, Erik leaned in closer until their lips were a breath apart. "If you truly wanted a kiss from me, you could've just asked," he murmured, and, giving his lips a small lick, kissed Raoul sensually, teasingly, taking the man's breath away. To Raoul, the kiss lasted an eternity. He closed his eyes and moaned softly, returning the kiss as much as he could, only to be rejected as Erik pulled back. "Now, Raoul. that was a kiss."
"Will you kiss me again?" Raoul was now sure of it. He was in love. And he was in love with the most unlikely person. Erik's laugh ringed out through the room.
"What, you enjoyed it that much? Truly, you are a fool, Raoul!"
"Yes, a fool in love," Raoul sighed. Erik's laughter stopped and he looked down his nose at him. "In love, you say? Tell me, after meeting me just yesterday, you are in love?"
"Yes, I am in love," he whispered, meeting his eyes. "It's something about you, Phantom. I can't place my finger on it, but something about you screams perfection."
Erik snorted. "How right you are. I'm a bit of everything, I'll have you know."
Raoul tried to loosen the lasso as he spoke; it was getting harder for him to breathe. "Phantom, you tease me. I want you. I want your heart, your body, your mind. You're beautiful to me, Phantom. I just wish I knew your name."
"You spout garbage," Erik sighed, tracing his fingers over Raoul's chest. "I understand your feelings for me, Vicomte, but that is no reason why I should give you my name." Climbing off the younger man, Erik stood and took his lasso off Raoul's neck. "Will you leave now and run back to your rightful lover, Christine? She needs you. She's probably expecting you, isn't she?" He took Raoul's pocket watch from his coat and glanced at it. "My, you're just wasting this day away. Shouldn't you be off frolicking with your lover by now?"
Raoul blinked and glared, sitting up and snatching his watch from Erik's hand. "No. It's her day off. She told me she was going to rest."
"Oh, poor child. So you came here to bother me and kiss me instead? Some mind you have, Vicomte." Raoul stood and brushed himself off, turning and starting down the stairs. Erik leaned against the pillar and watched him descend the stairs. "It was nice seeing you again, Raoul. Perhaps we will run into each other at the opera."
Raoul twisted around to look at the masked man, and managed a smile. "Yes, perhaps. I won't forget this day, Phantom." Then, after a second thought, "I love you." Turning back around, he walked down the stairs, and left the theatre, leaving a stricken Erik behind.