Author's Note: Here it is, teh sex. I know everyone either wants to kill me for making them wait so long, or kill me for keeping it not entirely graphic, but I do have a reason for that. The reason being that I'm not here to write out lessons in how to make love in a same sex relationship if you're a man, that's not the point of the fic. I always try, whenever I write sex scenes, to leave out any specific words and beat around the... shrub. Besides, there's nothing particularly "hot" about literally spelling out for the readers 'tab A into slot B', hopefully we all know how this works. If you don't, and you're still reading this... run away and write an apology letter to your mother. You're too young. Anyway, enough blabbage. Thanks for being a great audience to write for. :D!
35
It is dark now, completely dark. Raoul is blind and his trust lies entirely in Erik's hands. Although it hurts so much he can hardly move with Erik's body he still holds onto it, grasping, for dear life, and says nothing of the pain. He bites his lip and swears he can taste blood, metallic, copper, mixing with the taste of Erik's bare shoulder as he presses his cheek to it in an attempt to keep steady. Salt, and blood, and sweat – every time Raoul is rocked against the frame of the bed an involuntary grunt is forced from his lungs, a note higher than his voice, strained from the pain. It is pain like nothing else, and Raoul would otherwise have done everything in his power to stop Erik's advancing, but below the surface of the strange, afflictive new feeling of penetration is entirely different. Raoul begins to like it, does not like it but needs it, a deep hunger for more despite Erik's force, and it rises and higher with every thrust. He even begins to want more of Erik's force.
In the dark they are mostly naked, pressed hard into one another, no space between them, save for more than a few seconds at a time when Erik pulls back to move in. Raoul is tense and clinging to Erik's body, thighs clenched and tremoring as they dig into his sides. Erik's trousers are open and still lingering at the bottom of his hips, and they slip further down every time they hit the backs of Raoul's bent knees. Their skin is hot, and sticky, slicked with sweat and molded together. Erik thrusts, again, and again, and Raoul feels the sharp pain begin to dull into only rhythmic pressure.
Because of their position, and his face buried into the comforting crook of Erik's neck and shoulder, he cannot see Erik's face as he works, and for that he is grateful. In the dark it is impossible to distinguish between sweat and tears. They are forced from his body, like the gasps, the occasional slip of Erik's name from his throat, and he has no will to keep them inside. The difficulty increases as Raoul loses tension and loosens, as Erik may go further, deeper, and faster. His bucks become harder, but not beyond his own control. Erik has managed to hold onto that and not tear Raoul entirely apart, but there is only so much that can keep his frightening strength at bay.
Fingers, splayed and rigid, dig hard into his flanks, and Raoul keeps his teeth clamped firmly on his lip. With every jerk of his body, with every drive of Erik's hips he catches a glimpse of what keeps him going, and it spreads through his lower body like wildfire. Even as lashes of pleasure rip through him, bringing him closer, the tears still sting his eyes. He cries silently for reasons he cannot even find to cry for. Perhaps it is the finality surrender from everything he knows to this deviance. A threshold has been broken, and now everything will change. Everything has changed, and what is to come, misery, loneliness, or even the smallest touch of contentment is completely and utterly unknown to Raoul.
Erik fails to bite back a sharp cry, and the sound of his voice brings Raoul swiftly into the moment again. He feels the quailing of contraction, and his cheek leaves Erik's shoulder as his head falls back onto the pillow, turning to the side while his last bit of resolve is shattered piece by piece with every buck of Erik's hips. He holds on, one moment, another, and Erik only drives harder into him. He breaks, and when he comes, a hot white mess that spreads over his belly, Raoul releases a deep sob from the bottom of his throat. He drains almost completely, and his arms around Erik slacken.
Erik is not far behind, but he acknowledges Raoul's reaction by moving one of his hands bracing the younger man's hips to stab his fingers through Raoul's damp hair in a strange affectionate gesture, palm against his temple. He is so close now that Raoul can feel him shaking, hard, and though he is greatly fatigued he moves his knees higher, thighs clenched to the point of a burning ache. Erik takes back his hand and grasps his hips again, bucking hard and sinking far into Raoul. Control is lost. He groans, and Raoul feels him come, slower than he did, in long pulses that earns him a single slower thrust before Erik finishes. He lets go the breath he was holding, and Raoul does as well, relieved Erik is moving out of him. He was not certain how much more he had left to give.
Erik ducks his chin, eyes still closed as he catches his breath, swallowing hard and reaching back with one hand to pull his trousers back loosely over his hips. Unexpectedly, in an act of utmost respect, Erik carefully lifts off of Raoul and lays heavily beside him. He has made a point of not collapsing on him.
In the darkness they lie side by side, chests heaving, dragging in gulps of air. Beside the sound of their strained breathing, and the rhythmic beating of hearts in their chests, the black around them is silent and serene. Raoul's face is slicked with sweat, and tears of shame and fear of change, tepid air clinging to the beads on his brow. The heat of his craving for Erik's rapacity leaves his body, and pain stays behind.
From his shoulders to the plates of his knees he hurts, and the burning of locked muscles fade and dwindle into a dull, sleepy ache. A light chill descends with the departing heat, and the concentrated pain in his hips throbs into his awareness. It hurts when he moves his legs, and so he rests them back on the mattress and decides to wait for another time. He calms, finally, drawing in a long breath and releasing it, slowly.
Erik sounds as if he has reached that stage as well, but a tremor still disturbs the wave of his breath.
Silence. Raoul picks up a stir in the lulling sound of Erik's breathing, and his weight on the bed moves, shifts away from Raoul. A familiar sense of what almost feels like panic strikes deep inside him, and he realizes he can no longer see the outline of Erik's lean frame in the dark. Blindly he stretches a hand out and grasps empty space, but persists, moving over a little and grimacing. Pain restricts almost his entire lower half, and he cries out, as he falls to one elbow, bent across the mattress. His sweat-slicked fingers find the only thing they can grab, the waist of Erik's trousers.
His hiss of obvious discomfort ceases Erik's departure, but he does not return to Raoul.
"Don't you dare leave me now," Raoul rasps, and his voice cracks, hoarse with misuse. "Not after-"
"Not after what?" Erik snaps, still breathless, but his flat tone makes up for the unsteady waver in his voice. "Hurting you? Battering away at you until you fall to pieces beneath me?"
His weight upon the bed does not leave, but his voice turns to a growl, and he leans toward Raoul with a menacing countenance. Raoul can sense weakness, but he quails back onto the bed, and Erik's hands come to grip him at his sides, fingers covering each new bruise perfectly. Raoul is too sore to press his knees back together, and for a brief moment he fears Erik might have him again before he has time to recover. He wishes his own trousers were not somewhere by the foot of the bed so he could pull them on, and feel less vulnerable before the Phantom. Erik's hands are still warm, and sticky with sweat on his flanks. After a moment he is released, violently, and with disgust. Erik snorts. "And the monster has broken his toy," Erik mutters. He is bitter.
Raoul watches him turn away again, and all the affection that had welled inside him is gone in a half-second. In this empty quiet he wants answers. "I'm more than that," he snaps. "To you, I'm more, don't deny it."
He has taken a risk with his bold words, though Raoul's courage comes only from the fact that Erik has been quite lenient with him lately. Raoul feels relief settle on him when Erik makes no attempt to deny it, and a pregnant pause hangs between them.
Then, quietly, "You never leave my thoughts," Erik admits. It is as if he is almost tired of feeding Raoul only his animosity. "Never, even before, when I still watched and waited for her. I can taste you on my lips, in my mouth, I smell you all over me. I cannot stand it," his tone rises. "I want to beat you senseless, give you up, but I cannot do that. Not now. All I could possibly do is leave you, as she left me here." Erik snorts, a wry laugh, void of all mirth or amusement. "All the things I do to you," he murmurs, distantly. "How you must hate me."
"I do hate that you can't trust," Raoul says, hotly, and flicks his gaze into the dark shape of Erik's profile. "Don't think that you're the only one of us to fear what we have become," he gingerly lifts himself to sit up again, with effort, and Erik turns his head halfway in the direction of his voice. "Don't make me become it alone."
"Alone," Erik repeats, softly. "Do not feign ignorance, Vicomte. In the end we are only ever alone." Raoul says nothing, only counts the moments before Erik takes his leave and once again deserts him, hollow and naked in the blackest night to wait. Instead, the Phantom simply leans to his right, lifting the soft blankets and moving beneath them. He holds them up, and Raoul frowns at the gesture, uncertain.
A moment passes. Erik will only wait so long. Raoul silently crawls under, still tender and sore from their excursions, and lies on his side next to Erik. The blankets drape over his frame, and he does not hesitate to lean his back into the warm body behind him. Stillness, nothing, until an arm encircles his waist, and settles there. Before Raoul falls asleep, before his exhaustion finally sinks him into surrender, he distantly realizes that the manner of Erik's touch has changed. There is a different feel to it, the grace of his weight across Raoul's body, the respect. It is familiar. In Erik's touch there is acceptance at last, and Raoul comes to realize he no longer fears it.
