Um, as promised, porn. I edited it myself, and when I do that I tend to mentally correct mistakes without actually correcting them, so if I missed anything, sorry! Gah! Thanks for reading! Sex is on the way, here's another teaser.
29
Dark moments in dark halls. Raoul lives for them, and it has brought him to this moment.
"Wait," Raoul breathes, and as Erik passes he does the unthinkable: catches him by the arm of his coat, and it takes immeasurable amounts of courage not to release it and cower when Erik stares him down. He has been beaten for less, but for some reason does not let go, and instead pulls on the fabric, twisting it around his fingers hard enough to burn and finally move the other man back into the space around him. Erik is not as cold as Raoul expects. The boy is unaware of the expression on his face, but it is not unlike that of the night he was captured: when Erik prowled the stage, stalking his fiancé as prey, and he finally lost her to the undeniable force of Erik's power. His eyes glass with a moisture he cannot even feel, and his mouth is absently parted, and every defense mechanism in his body crying out to him but unable to penetrate his better judgment.
He knows Erik can sense that. The other man, slightly taller in stature and certainly stronger in body, moves in with a furtive, unnatural grace, testing the waters and its boundaries, hovering above Raoul and looking him over with coolly. A barrier of heat sparks between them, in the half-light of the dim den, and what remains of the candles cast a dark yellow light on the figures around them. Faces are half shadowed.
Dark moments in dark hallways, the loneliest stretches of time resides in the distance between them. It is fear, and wondering, and wondering, and fearing what Erik will decide to do with him. Raoul licks his lips, an unconscious decision, and his eyes rest on the bow of his tormenters mouth. Even with the edge of a mask pressing onto the upper lip, it is fascinating and beautiful, so different from the dainty soft lips of a woman, and that is where the excitement lies in Raoul. They are so close already, somehow having moved so slow and so far in only a matter of seconds. Raoul only has to tilt his head, slightly, hardly a movement at all, and they meet in a brief, soundless kiss. Another.
Erik has spoken more than once, whether with hateful animosity or on the edge of murderous anger, of the beauty he finds in Raoul, and when he kisses the younger man they are soft, testing, exploring kisses. The act is a new territory for both of them, dangerous, these dark kisses, and even so Raoul forces himself to stop watching the movements of Erik's mouth and lets his eyes close. They sting, and Erik's hand comes to palm his cheek, icy fingers warming as they snake through his hair, to his brow. A thumb faintly traces the rise of Raoul's high cheekbone, and soft, prickly shivers move across his skin, over his scalp, and with more control from Erik comes a deeper kiss, an open mouth, goading, a hot, crushing tongue against his, at his bottom lip.
Raoul's hands instinctively travel to the other man's black waistcoat, seeing just how far he can slip a hand between the material and the heat of Erik's torso before being stopped. Erik tenses at the foreign entry, but he does not break away, and Raoul's hand moves further into his clothing, into the white undershirt. He feels the muscle quiver beneath his palm, and Raoul suppresses a rush of excitement at the reaction. He ends the kiss, and Erik turns his head away to catch his breath, unwilling to make eye contact when there is still heat between them, and the boys hands are on his skin.
Raoul steps closer, so their bodies are almost touching save for the angle of his arm, and effortlessly the younger man extricates his hand from the disheveled tangle of buttons and fabric. Erik exhales, a sign of what Raoul takes to be disappointment. He is grateful Erik cannot feel his arousal pressing into the front of his trousers, as the Phantom would most certainly take advantage of it.
Erik is new to the touch of another, even another man, and as overbearing as he is, he will still quail at such a force. His body is more sensitive than most, with an innate sexual power that sends every touch, every thrust, or grind, every slide to the highest degree of sensation. Raoul likes that it forces him to respond to Raoul almost as weakly as Raoul responds to the power of those hands. He imagines them, for perhaps the one hundredth time, recalling Erik's palm and strong fingers around him, ripping pleasure from his agonizingly aroused body. He felt trapped beneath those hands, a lovely sense of fear. Trapped, and protected.
Erik, however, does not wish to feel trapped, as he is not like the boy, who finds secret thrill in the form of surrender. When Raoul's fingers breach the waist of his trousers, Erik stops, freezes, but does not pull away. He is so close Raoul feels his lips move against his temple. "Vicomte," only one word, but a warning. Danger lingers in the space of what was not said, and Raoul stops, and hesitates. The material keeps his hand pinned neatly in place, his thumb just at the indention of Erik's navel. He does not remove it. Instead Raoul moves in, into Erik's space, his aura, into the heat surrounding him, and lets his face lean into the warm skin of Erik's neck. What sounds like a low, involuntary groan rises deep from the other man's chest. Another warning, perhaps, Raoul does not care.
His palm slides further, past the edge of the dress shirt, and presses into Erik's lower abdomen, not down but inward, flexing his fingers to kneed the muscles leading to the junction of his legs. Erik is very hard, Raoul can feel him pressing into the left side of his hip. He presses harder, and Erik's breath catches shallow in his throat, and he seizes the younger man's bicep with strong fingers, sharp, another warning. A last warning.
"No," his voice has lost all melodious grace and drops to a flat snap. Raoul is stubborn, and he jerks against the grip to push past that barrier. Almost his entire forearm is shoved into the front of Erik's black pants, scraping against the material uncomfortably, but it is worth the minimal pain to hear the Phantom stagger a gasp through gritted teeth. He thrusts into the loosely fisted hand before his brain can command his body to still. He moves into Raoul's lean frame, half to menace an unspoken threat but also for support. His arm encircles Raoul from behind, shaking, and pulls him closer. Fingers tangle in his hair and pull, but Raoul is resilient. "Get out," his words are clipped, teeth clenched, but Raoul's free hand snakes to the belt, and unbuckles it with impatient fingers.
Erik does not stop him. He holds onto Raoul, tightly, and his breathing is short and, from what Raoul can sense, nervous. It occurs to the boy that Erik has never had another's hands on him quite like this, and he cannot believe he did not consider such a thing before now. It is why Erik cannot seem to stop him, though every instinct revolts, and why he is hardly able to manage his control. Raoul does not speak of it, or anything, and he lets the buttons pop open, freeing his hand and using his other to take a solid hold on Erik. He is tense, so tense Raoul can feel his muscles quivering beneath the cage of skin, a frightening strength fighting to hold back, locked and trembling. His temperature has risen so high his scent becomes thick in Raoul's awareness.
He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he is going too far, but Raoul cannot care at this point in the game. No more playing around, the game is over. He will push as far as necessary to take some of his own back, and while he is not as rough as Erik was – is – to him, he is still unkind with his movements. In a last, desperate attempt, Erik's hands clamp onto him, into his shirt, and dig painfully in.
"Enough," he hisses. "Enough."
Raoul shakes his head, and turns slightly, so that his cheek is almost beside the Phantom's, skin on skin, and his lips move against Erik's ear. "You don't have to look at me," he says, hotly, with a note of defiance he can certainly expect to be hit for. Erik only swears breathless revenge, and digs into Raoul's back and side, not stopping him, but instead lowering them both to the ground. He is forcing, and Raoul does not mind being forced. He bends his knees, both bodies shaking as they come to a steady position on the rocky ground, carefully, completely. Raoul keeps his hands where they are, in the heat below Erik's waist, and the other man allows for more movement by moving a knee on the other side of Raoul's hips, and between Raoul's legs. The top of his thigh brushes past Raoul's hardness, and he bites back a cry, reminded of his own need for release. He ignores it, for now, and lets Erik straddle him.
Erik has a habit of crushing Raoul when all else fails for control, and the boy keeps his hand jerking quickly, speedily, but roughly enough to keep Erik's jaws clenched together, and a muscle leaps alongside the line. Erik's eyes are screwed closed, mouth tight. He is concentrating, and moving with Raoul's hand, keeping in the rhythm of the hand pressed to the side of his hip for support, and around him. Groans do not escape his tight throat, and when they do they are growls, quick and short, until Erik has to open his mouth to suck in a breath.
The heat they generate is unfathomable, wonderful, thick, and sweat dampens the hair falling in pieces before Raoul's eyes. Erik lowers, and lowers, until he is rigid atop Raoul, his slicked cheek pressed into the Vicomte's hair, his hips so hard, digging into Raoul's, and into his hand. Raoul only wishes he could see Erik's face, still masked, trying to hold onto dignity. It would be a delicious sight, but he can only imagine it, and he works all the harder, harder, and arches his back, pressing his own erection into Erik's, hand crushed between them. Raoul is so hard he can barely stand it, but he keeps going, and a cry forces out of Erik as he contracts, finally, spilling hot white over Raoul's curled fist, over, and it seeps into the space between them as he removes himself slowly to allow Erik's collapse.
Shaking thighs and arms can no longer support his weight, and Erik gives out, panting, heaving, gulping air and running his trembling hands through his own dark hair to regain composure. His voice comes through in those wheezing breaths, a moan here, there, and Raoul waits patiently, lavishing every note and still holding onto Erik. His body is relaxed now, more so than it has ever felt. Raoul likes it that way, when it can loosen, and mold into his, unrestrained by anger, or pride, or vanity. He loves the feel of Erik's shifting weight, as the warmth leaves his now worn body.
Erik inhales again, slower, and he raises off the ground, slightly. He roughly cups the side of Raoul's face and places a firm kiss on the line of his jaw, a softer one just above, and a brief, barely tangible peck on Raoul's lips, swollen from exertion. He remains there a moment, eyes closed, breathing through his nose, and finally comes to stand. Erik turns away before he removes his mask to blot at sweat, or tears, or something, and stiffly departs where Raoul knows he cannot follow.
Raoul curls into a half-crouch, and lets his knees come to the ground, pressing his own hand to his cheek and still feeling the sting of Erik's mouth, the drag of teeth along his stubbled jaw. He shakes his head, and brushes both hands hard on the tops of his thighs. He smells thickly of Erik, all over him, around in. In his clothing. It is strange, to say the least. He has smelled of Erik before, after a fight, or an argument turned out of his favor, but never so heavy as now.
Raoul wonders if Erik is watching. He hopes not, as he gingerly slides his hand into his own trousers, seeking relief. He wonders if Erik will even return.
