A/N: Yes, I know, I'm mean to Raoul. I can't help it, he's so pretty. I suppose I could blame that on too much Sugar Coma and Courtney Love. I love the guy, I really do, but I don't know if I could ever really write a fic with him that was not bittersweet, bitter, or just plain morbid. Maybe one day it'll come to me. Thanks for reading, gals and pals.
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5
Seven days, Raoul is drifting in a sea of hunger. His thirst has only been quenched by the water around him, and it leaves the inside of his mouth sticky and stale after long endless hours of sleep. He wonders if Erik even remembers he has a captive. Of course he does. In seven days, the monster should have neatly discarded his scales and replaced them with the fine material of black silk, but he has not. The mask is forgotten, somewhere amidst his drawings and mixtures of paint. His art is forgotten as well. Every now and then he steps out to regard Raoul quietly, and the young man only stares at him from beneath pale brows, eyes swollen and laced with red veins from exhaustion and hunger.
This time, however, Erik approaches him. He still wears only dark brown trousers, cotton, and his neatly laced up undershirt, so that when he lowers himself to sit on the bank he does not mind when cool water soaks them to mid-thigh. What Raoul can see does not look so wonderful in the Phantom. He, too, looks as if he has deprived himself of food and sleep, and his hair hangs in greasy pieces about his disfigured face.
With strong, thin hands he grips Raoul beneath the arms and pulls him over in the water to rest by his legs. The chains stir in the water, and Raoul's head falls limply on Erik's knee. His eyes close, and he breathes shallow, trying to pull his head up and spare some dignity. The heat from between the other man's legs is a sick, eerie comfort, and Raoul does not pull back, but he moves his head off Erik's knee. His brow tips forward, helplessly, back onto the bony curve.
"You are freezing," Erik says, unsatisfied, and runs fingers through the Vicomte's hair. He brings the chiseled face up to look at him. "Order your fine horses," his words are grumbled, and he drops Raoul back to fall on his leg. "Go on, Vicomte."
"You said you would kill me," Raoul whispers, hollow. "Kill me, Phantom."
"You mean release you."
"Send me to Heaven or Hell, I don't care," Raoul insists, and the chains gently pull at him from behind. "Kill me." A lonely death, in a hole in the ground. Erik seems unsatisfied, still, with his prey, and he thrusts both his hands into his own hair, clenching his teeth and giving a little moan. Erik rocks forward, once, twice, and finally he peels Raoul off of him. The boy goes to drift in the water.
"You have a mother," Erik says, raggedly, leaning to try and look Raoul in the face. Raoul is hanging in his chains, lips parted. He nods, slowly, but does not quite understand where Erik is taking this. "What is she like?"
Raoul realizes he cannot remember the image of his mother's face. It is too cold.
