Untitled Erik/Raoul ff
A/n: Erik goes to try and visit Christine's grave privately but runs into somebody he did not expect. Based on movie, except for Philippe being mentioned since he isn't in the new movie. SLASH!
ERIK POVI walk solemnly in the shadows, watching for any movement about me. My footsteps are completely silent as I stalk through the graveyard.
It seems almost silly that the last time I was here was the time that Christine came here for her father's grave. Today I will be visiting hers.
She died last week and her burial was today. I waited until everyone was sure to be gone before I came.
My stomach is in knots as I approach the grave, but I stop short, angered.
There is someone there already, and I know just who it is. The viscount, Raoul.
A feral growl escapes my throat before I can stop it and the viscount turns.
Confused, he calls out, "Who's there?"
My game is over; I step into the light.
"Come to mock me monsieur?" he seems to ignore the rose that I hold at my side.
"I have some to pay my respects," my voice is even, as if it were masked like my face.
He laughs, "You're prayers are not welcome here!"
I draw my sword, "Do not mock me, boy… I've already had enough of that in my life." Quickly striding past him I place the rose on the grave, it's black ribbon moving slightly in the breeze and then I turn to leave.
His voice stops me, "I'm sorry."
I turn, "Pardon, monsieur?"
"I said 'I'm sorry'," he responds, lowering his arms and eyes, "I haven't been myself this past week. I wasn't even going to be at the burial, but I owed her that much."
"You were her husband, monsieur, of course you owed her…" I start.
"We never married," he laughs lightly, "my brother would have killed me if I had even tried."
I look to the ground, "My apologies, monsieur."
"Please, call me Raoul," we both look up and our gazes meet.
"Alright. Goodbye Raoul," I turn to leave again.
He stops me again; "I never got your name."
"I never offered it," I don't even turn to him.
"Please, tell me your name, it's the least you can do," he pleads.
I turn, "Perhaps, Raoul, there is a possibility that I have no name to offer, hmm?"
He shakes his head; "Surely your mother gave you a name!"
"Ha! My mother despised me, she couldn't be near me long enough to give me a name!" he frowns at my words.
"No one ever named you?" he tries one last time.
I think, and answer in a low voice; "Madame Giry used to call me 'Erik'." The name has long since past outs of usage, now she simply calls me monsieur, but I still remember it from when we were younger.
"Erik," he mimics, "I like that name."
I turn without another word. To my surprise it's his hand that catches me this time.
I turn to protest, but before I can speak he catches my lips in a kiss. The kiss is light and fast, but my lips tingle where his touched. I never have felt this way before, not even around Christine.
"Monsieur? Raoul…" my voice is broken and barely audible.
"Shh," he presses his finger to my lips, "There is nothing separating us now. Christine is gone, the division is gone."
I move my face so his fingers no longer rest on my lips, "That does not change things between us, Raoul."
"It changes everything, Erik," he smiles, "and to be honest I have always felt something for you."
"Hate?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Love," he answers. My face loses its expression, lost in a haze.
Before I can speak again his lips are upon mine. A moan escapes from deep in my throat, as the kiss grows longer and deeper.
He slides a hand around the back of my neck, pulling my lips closer to him. I let my tongue slip out of my mouth, instinct taking over. My tongue lightly traces his lips and I feel him open his mouth, allowing my tongue entry. My tongue searches hungrily in his mouth, tasting every inch of him, silently dueling his tongue, gently, and then gaining strength, almost a brutal strength.
We both pull back, gasping for air. I move one hand to his hair and lightly run my gloved fingers through it. I quickly pull my hand away from his hair, swiftly discarding the glove, forgotten on the ground, removing the other with the same carelessness. I now run my naked fingers through his hair, feeling the perfection. The color is that of honey, and to the touch it is as fine as silk.
There are no words needed, for the feeling is mutual, this is what is best for us both.
He follows me in silence, back to the horse that I traveled here with, bareback as I remember Raoul did the last time I met him here. We both climb on.
"Will you be missed?" I turn to look over my shoulder at him, the masked half of my face pointing towards him.
"I walked here alone, and then I told them I was going to visit the Opera House any ways. Philippe will not expect me home until tomorrow, he knows me too well," Raoul laughs, the laugh of an angel.
"What were you going to do at my house, dare I ask?" I raise an eyebrow, though the gesture to him is invisible.
"Mourn," he looks away from me and I kick the horse, starting our fast ride back to the Opera Populaire.
Fast does not even do it justice, the ride is quicker than any ride I've ever taken, or it seems too short. The ride was pleasurable, Raoul's arms tightly wrapped around my waist, his hot breath spreading across my neck, his waist grinding into my lower back…
We arrive to the stables where we dismount, unnoticed. I lead him through one of my back passageways, back down to the place that I call home.
We arrive there and I realize that Raoul is not the only one changed by Christine's death. The place seems like a tornado tore away at it.
"I apologize, the place is a wreck," I gesture to the mess.
"It's alright," he moves up behind me, kissing the nape of my neck.
I spin around and take him in my arms, nibbling on one of his earlobes. A moan escapes his lips and I trail my kisses leading eventually to his lips, where I take his breath away, and he does the same to me.
My hand finds it's way to his hair, my other hand resting on his back. When they both settle comfortably I pull Raoul tighter to my body, his hips brushing mine, his arousal very noticeable.
He pulls back a little, "I'm sorry."
I pull him back to me, my own arousal causing a burning sensation between my legs, "Don't be."
I lead him back to Christine's room, now stripped of all but its bed, my models and everything in a forgotten room, the memory of her too hard to bear.
I lay him on the bed; his back pressed down hard as my hands roam up his stomach. His muscles quiver under my hands, and I feel myself more aroused.
He pulls my head down to his, his lips meeting mine as my hands go to work removing his shirt. Once I completely unbutton all layers he leans up, shrugging the clothes off and discarding them randomly. I look at him and I am shocked to see how perfect his skin is, his muscles all perfectly molded to his body.
He moves to remove my shirt and I flinch, but give in to his touch. I pray he didn't notice the flinch. If he did he doesn't show it.
Shrugging off my own shirt he gasps. My own torso is covered with scars from the whips of the gypsies. I turn away, tears in my eyes. He moves his hand along the scars, nearly causing my tears to fall. His hand moves to my face, to make my eyes meet his, and I see his eyes are tear-filled as well. One strays from his eye and I kiss it away.
He gives a slight smile and I continue the removal of clothes, his body arching into mine as I accidentally brush over his arousal. I kiss his lips as I discard his pants and lead his hands in removing my own. Once we are both bare, except my mask his hand moves to lie on top of it. He slowly peels it away and I close my eyes, waiting for the onslaught of insults.
Instead I feel fingers lightly trace over the marred and discolored skin. His touch is like a whisper of wind, and his lips slowly replace his fingers, a little more rough, but just as pleasurable.
"Pauvre vieux," he whispers. (a/n: pauvre vieux means "you poor thing")
I kiss his lips to silence him.
I slowly roll him onto his stomach. Reaching to the nightstand I grab some hand lotion.
He looks at me questioningly.
"I don't want to hurt you," I respond. He moves over to me, applying the lotion to my burning skin, not realizing how much closer he brings me to climax with each move he makes.
Completely ready he flips onto his stomach, no fear of what we are about to do.
I have no fear either.
I whisper in his ear, "Ready?"
He can't even respond verbally, but nods, awaiting my touch.
So I do not deny him. My first thrust is rough, more rough than I meant it to be and I pause, holding Raoul's shaking form to my body, not moving with in him at all.
"I'm sorry," I wipe away a stray tear.
"Why?" he smirks.
I can't take staying still so I start my rhythm, slowly thrusting at first, than moving to a fast pace, quicker, but smooth none the less.
Climaxing I feel our bodies come at once. We cry out each other's names and then slowly settle down, my arm wrapped around his waist. The sheets where his groin had been are quite in need of a wash, but I ignore the fact, wanting to bask in the moment.
"Erik?" my angel speaks.
"Yes, Raoul?" I whisper.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" he question almost hurts me.
"Of course, I wouldn't leave in the middle of the n-"
"I don't just mean tomorrow, I mean every morning," he interrupts.
I sigh, "Of course, Raoul."
"Promise?" he turns slightly, his eyelids heavy with sleep.
"Promise," he smiles and turns back over, falling asleep almost instantly.
I smile, slowly falling asleep as well.
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a/n: well? I got some more chapters already typed,but I would like SOME feedback before I update. please? it's greatly appreciated!
