Author´s note I: This story deals with homosexuality. Between Erik and Raoul. In a rather explicit way. So if you don´t like that, I advise you to stop reading. And if you´re just looking for pointless sex, this isn´t the right story either.

Author´s note II: I´ve made one important change of canon: Raoul´s brother Philippe is still alive. He doesn´t appear in the story, but he´s necessary for Raoul´s background.

Dedication: I dedicate this story to Black Priestess, who showed me that sometimes we have to become someone else in order to stay ourselves.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from "The Phantom of the Opera". They belong to Gaston Leroux / Andrew Lloyd Webber.

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I wouldn´t have believed I´d arrive here unharmed. I had been sure I´d be strangled or drown before I reached his lair. Yet nothing like that had happened. What a pity – it would have made things easier for me. I wouldn´t have stood in front of his door now, considering whether I should knock. Did people usually knock at the door of their enemies? Or did they simply walk inside? They probably never went to their houses in the first place.

Maybe I should have left as well. It wasn´t too late yet. If I was lucky, he hadn´t even noticed I was here. I had almost made up my mind when I realised something was strange about that entrance door. It was slightly open, although it certainly hadn´t been open a minute ago. I gave a soundless sigh. So much for my theory that he didn´t know I was here… Now I had to go inside.

Hesitantly I pushed it open a little more, just enough for me to squeeze through the gap. As soon as I stood in the corridor I looked around, but no one was there. Was this one of his tricks? I closed the door, the sound much louder than it usually would have been. Now it was almost completely dark. The only light came from the lantern I had brought with me. Yet while I was glancing at its candle, making sure it would burn for a little while, an icy gust of wind streamed through the corridor and blew it out.

It had to be a trap. Hastily I grabbed the door handle, but all of a sudden it didn´t budge. "You want to leave already?" a voice whispered, so close to my ear that I jumped and spun around, only to see… nothing. "Give me a chance to prove my hospitality! Take the second door to the right!" Now that he had mentioned it I noticed a faint light. I walked towards it – what else should I have done? Anything was better than standing in the dark.

The room I found myself in as I opened the right door was some kind of sitting room. There were a few bookshelves, a piano and a divan standing behind a low table. And on the divan sat… he, the Phantom. "M. le Vicomte!" he exclaimed with mock cheerfulness, raising his wine glass in an exaggerated gesture. "How nice of you to visit me! Did you miss me that much? It can´t have been more than four months since the last time we met…"

Could it be possible that he was drunk? That would have been ideal, of course. I could have simply said what I was here to and be gone in a matter of minutes. What did I care if he´d still remember it in the morning? Yet as I drew nearer, placing the useless lantern on the table, I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were as cold as ice and told me that he was perfectly aware of what was happening.

"M le Fantome…" I greeted him with a slight nod. "I am here because I… because…" Why did he have to stare at me like that? It was most unnerving. At home I had known all the right phrases – I had even practiced a reserved, matter-of-fact way of speaking. Yet nothing of it worked anymore. All I could do was get it out quickly without looking at him. Glancing down at my feet I said: "Christine is… dead. She died yesterday afternoon. She hadn´t been feeling well for weeks… nervous disease, the doctor says. There was nothing he could do… I just thought someone should tell you…".

"I´ve already known it." His words made me look up in surprise. "B-but… how?", I stammered. "The obituary in the newspaper," he explained shortly. "I do read the paper, you know." I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It was only a small one, much too small," I muttered. "But I didn´t have a lot of money. It all belongs to my family, and they… they refused to give me more."

I wasn´t certain that he had heard me at all, for he just uttered: "It said ´Christine Daaé´. So you weren´t married yet?". Shaking my head slightly I replied: "No. It would have happened next month… That´s why I did get more money from them. For them she wasn´t… part of the family… just some singer…". I had tried to hold back my feelings, but now it was no longer possible. My eyes welled up with tears.

He gave a sigh. "Do you want to tell me what you´re really here for?" he asked. "Or do you prefer standing there like a stupid little boy, crying your eyes out?" He pointed at the other end of the divan, and I sat down. I was aware that if I dissolved into tears, it would be easier to hide when I didn´t stand in front of him.

"´What I´m really here for´? What is that supposed to mean?", I wanted to know warily. Although it was clear that the topic of Christine would come up again, it was good to concentrate on something else for a moment. Waiting for his reply I turned my head in the other direction briefly and dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief. "You knew I read the newspaper," he answered. "Christine told you so on your way out, shortly after I had asked her to bury me when the announcement would be in the ´Epoque´. You were still in my world, remember? I heard you. So you can´t have come to tell me about her death. Why are you here, Vicomte?"

I could almost feel his gaze bore into the back of my head, trying to break open my skull and drag my innermost thoughts to the light. Quickly I looked at him again. Those strange golden eyes were staring at me, making me feel very small and vulnerable. Perhaps it was time for the truth. "My family… they don´t understand why I´m so sad," I whispered. "In their opinion marrying Christine would have been the worst mistake in my life. They think I should be happy because I´ve got rid of my fiancée this easily. And my brother is the worst. He said if I had developed a liking for singers, we could go to the opera and… and find me a new one! He doesn´t even let me mourn properly…"

"Oh…", he made, putting down his wine glass. "And now you´ve come to me of all people and expect me to hold your hand and let you cry at my shoulder and tell you that everything will be all right? I´m sorry, but it doesn´t work that way." His sarcasm cut through me like a sharp knife. To my horror I noticed that my vision grew blurred again; before long I´d be crying. "I thought… you´d understand me…" I murmured. "I understand you perfectly well," he spat, his voice as cold as his eyes. "You´re a spoilt little boy whose favourite toy is broken. You never deserved Christine. Why don´t you go with your lecher of a brother and let him buy you a new chorus girl? He´s had all of them – he knows which ones are best!"

Glancing at him incredulously I felt something inside me change. A part of my sadness was replaced by anger. It was not because he had offended my brother; he was right about him. But he had questioned my love for Christine. Before I knew what I was doing I had reached over and seized him by his bony shoulders. "I love Christine!" I shouted, shaking him wildly. "I love her… so much… and it hurts… so much that… I don´t think I can stand it… My heart… it calls for her, but… there´s no reply… Why did she have to die? Why?"

At some point I couldn´t go on. I was panting, choking on my own sobs, and tears were streaming down my face. I felt more exhausted than ever before in my life. Even remaining in an upright position seemed too hard. I simply let myself fall forwards, my head resting at his shoulder. Shedding a few more silent tears I realised he had been right about me as well, at least to some extend: I was a boy who needed to be comforted. I needed someone who didn´t tell me to stop crying and act like a grown-up. I needed someone who was there for me. Honestly I didn´t believe he possessed any of those qualities, but at least he hadn´t pushed me away yet.

Tentatively I wrapped my arms around his thin frame, and he let me do it. It felt good, very good. Apart from my sisters in our childhood, only Christine had ever been this close to me. The Phantom didn´t move, but after a few moments he started speaking. "I miss her, too. I missed her those four months as well, yet at least I could be sure she was fine. I imagined her going out in the evening, wearing beautiful dresses, and everybody liking her at once. She deserved so much happiness, after all the trouble she had had here at the opera… Besides, I didn´t lose her completely. She was with me every day and every night in my thoughts and dreams. She came to me and told me she was sorry and kissed me… But now I can´t bear having those thoughts anymore. I miss her so much. Without her my life is so…"

"…empty," I finished automatically, barely realising I had said anything. It hadn´t been my intention to interrupt him. Unlike his body, his voice was as soft as velvet now. I could have listened to him for hours. Moreover, he was the first person for a very long time who spoke friendly of Christine. And even though I wouldn´t have thought it possible, his words made me pity him. I had at least had four months with her. He had nothing, just the memory of an embrace and a kiss.

A kiss… At last I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked at him, our faces only inches apart. He seemed to be as sad as I was. There were even tears glistening in his eyes. He also needed someone to comfort him. Could I be that someone? What would happen if I closed the space between us and kissed him? I didn´t think about it. I simply acted, pressing my lips against his clumsily.

For a moment he grew rigid in my arms, and I was about to stop, an apology already forming in my head. Yet before I could move his arms had sneaked around my waist, pulling me closer till I sat sideways on his lap. My legs were dangling down at one side, and I had to bend my body at a very awkward angle to reach his lips, but I didn´t care. All that mattered was the kiss. He ran his tongue over my bottom lip questioningly, and I opened my mouth at once. We both inhaled sharply as our tongues made contact for the first time. Little shivers ran down my spine as one of his hands moved upwards and began to massage my scalp while the kiss grew more and more heated. I moaned into his mouth.

Although it was just a soft sound, it seemed to bring us to our senses. Our eyes met, and we broke apart. It was only then that I realised what I had done: I had kissed a man. I had kissed this man. "Oh God…" I breathed. "I´m sorry… I didn´t mean to…" "Who are you talking to?", he asked in an irritated voice. "If you want to confess the hideous crime of having kissed a man, go and find a priest!" I was so surprised by his sudden harshness that I merely shook my head, unable to give a verbal reply.

Still he understood me instantly. "So you did talk to me," he stated. "And you didn´t want to kiss me. Why did you do it then? Was it an accident? Did you mean to slap me and forgot how it was done, so that you had to try the next best thing?" His sarcasm was back, worse than ever. It was as if he regretted his moment of weakness and made me pay for it. I had to clear my throat before I answered: "You were sad… and I was sad… and I thought I could make it better for both of us…". My words made it sound like an extremely stupid idea, and judging by his raised eyebrow he thought the same.

Maybe I had to explain it in more detail, to make him see things from my point of view. "I know that emptiness you talked about," I told him in a gentle voice. "There´s this big hole in my chest where my heart used to be. The wind is caught in it, howling. So there´s always something inside me crying…" A fresh wave of tears was preparing itself to flood my eyes, but I forced myself to continue: "When we kissed I hoped the hole would close, at least for a moment.".

"And did it work?" How peculiar that this was his only question! "Well… yes…" I admitted, blushing slightly. "I felt good… really good." "So did I," he murmured so softly that I almost missed it. But I did hear it, and it made me smile. We looked at each other, and in the next moment our lips met again. The second kiss was a little less awkward than the first one. ´He liked it, he liked it!´ a small voice was rejoicing in my head, while our tongues moved from my mouth into his and back.

My joy lasted for about a minute. Then he moved his arm, trying to bring me into a more comfortable position. His hand brushed over the junction of my legs… and to my horror I realised that I was hard. I pulled back my head at once, my face turning scarlet. It was one thing to be comforted by kissing another man. I could justify it by my confusion, or maybe because my brother acted that coldly towards me; I hadn´t quite decided yet. But it was a completely different thing to be aroused by it.

"This is all wrong!" I whispered. "You´re a man, and I´m a man, too…" "I´m aware of these facts," he stated dryly. "But thank you for pointing them out to me in this… impressive way." An amused smile spread across his face when he touched the same spot as before. I gasped as the bulge in my trousers grew bigger. Quickly I seized him by the wrist, but for some reason my hand only pressed his against my crotch more firmly. It took me a few moments to push it aside.

Trying to look at him sternly I declared: "Men don´t kiss other men. Only men and women do these things.". I couldn´t help thinking that it would have sounded much better if my voice hadn´t been shaking. "The world isn´t as simple as in your books of fairytales," he said. "Sometimes a prince likes another prince better, or a princess another princess." ´I know all that!´ I wanted to tell him. Despite my sheltered upbringing I wasn´t completely naïve. I was aware that some men enjoyed another man´s touch. I just hadn´t believed I could be one of them, so I tried to take refuge in the things I had heard over and over. Before I could say anything he had already continued. "But of course that never happens in your elitist circles! The future Comte de Chagny is allowed to know about every perversion, as long as it could result in the production of an heir…" He gave a snort of laughter.

"But… but…" I stammered, without a clear idea of what I wanted to say now. "No ´buts´, Vicomte," he said sharply. "You just have to decide: You can either go home, lock yourself in your room and spend all night imagining what could have happened or you stay here and actually experience it." At last I had found an argument at the back of my mind. Ignoring the choice he wanted me to make I asked: "But don´t you… hate me anymore?". Instead of an immediate reply he ran a hand through my hair. With anyone else I´d have called it a loving gesture, yet in connection with him the word still seemed strange.

As he brought his hand up to cup my cheek he answered: "Not at the moment. I don´t know about tomorrow or next week, but at the moment… Ever since I´ve read the newspaper this morning I´ve pondered on how I´ll be able to survive without Christine. When you came I was about to start drinking myself into oblivion, just to make all those thoughts stop. And then you were there… so scared and hurt, even though you desperately tried to hide it…". His fingers moved up and down my smooth cheek, and I leaned into his touch, listening to that beautiful voice. "…and I waited for the old feeling of hatred to build up. It didn´t come. On the contrary: The longer you were there, the more I realised you´re not the man I used to hate. You haven´t taken Christine from me – Christine has been taken from both of us."

At the mentioning of Christine a single tears made its way down my face. He caught it with his index finger and wiped it away. His finger was still slightly salty as he traced my lips with it. All the time he continued talking. "When we kissed, it felt unlike anything I´ve ever experienced. For a moment I dared hope the pain might go away… for both of us. So I think we should go on. If you want to, that is…" "Of course I want to," I assured him, pressing a soft kiss to his fingertip. I hadn´t been entirely sure before, but after hearing those words, so similar to my own thoughts, I was.

"But I have to warn you!" I added quickly, earning a very annoyed glance. "I know we´ve talked more than enough…" He nodded emphatically. "It´s just… I´ve never done anything like this before. Christine and I… we wanted to wait until after the wedding… So you mustn´t be angry if I do everything wrong." I could feel that my face had taken its favourite colour of the evening, scarlet, again. Yet he merely raised a eyebrow. "Honestly, Vicomte, how many lovers do you think a man like me has had in his life?", he asked, lifting my chin, so that I had to look at him. My gaze fell upon his mask, and as I recalled what lay beneath it, I knew I couldn´t give the reply that was on my mind. It would have been comforting for me, but very rude for him. So all I uttered was "Erm…", which could mean about anything. "Not a single one," he answered his own question. He had no idea how relieved this made me feel.

He was about to kiss me when I stopped him yet again. "One more thing… Could you perhaps call me ´Raoul´ instead of ´Vicomte´?", I asked shyly. He nodded briefly, his hands already at the buttons of my jacket. "And… you are…?", I prompted. "You know more than one of my names," he muttered. "Phantom, Opera Ghost…" "Don´t you have something a little more personal… like a first name?", I persisted. Moving his head slightly he whispered into my ear: "It´s Erik.". I gave him a warm smile, feeling as if I had been entrusted with a big secret.

As he already was at my ear, he kissed the earlobe gently, then trailed over my cheek and to my mouth. I parted my lips readily for his probing tongue, hardly aware of his fingers opening my jacket deftly. It was only when he broke the kiss and tugged at my collar that I noticed what he was doing. Quickly I shrugged off the piece of clothing and let it fall to the floor behind me.

Now I was getting keen on seeing more of him as well. He wasn´t wearing a jacket, just a white shirt, not unlike my own. Yet in my current position I couldn´t reach it very well. Erik seemed to see my problem, for he said: "Get your leg over here!" and patted the other side of the divan. Understanding, I stood up for a moment, got rid of my shoes, and sat down again, straddling him. Apart from our legs, no other parts of our bodies were touching yet, but that was something I planned to change. I leaned forwards to kiss him again, while my hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Yet my fingers were sweaty and didn´t get them undone. "Eager, are we?" he muttered, not even trying to help me.

After a few moments I wiped my hands at my trousers. Afterwards it worked much better. He didn´t do anything but watch me as I revealed more and more of his chest. It was surprisingly muscular for a man of his age, and I felt the overwhelming urge to knead it with my fingers. Hastily I opened the last few buttons and helped him pull the shirt over his shoulders. Now nothing could keep me from running my hands over his skin in big and small circles. With a certain satisfaction I noticed the tiny nipples harden under my loving touch.

It seemed that I was proceeding too slowly for his taste. He pushed my hands aside and, probably recalling my problems, simply seized the two sides of my shirt and ripped it open, sending buttons flying everywhere. I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me by placing a finger over my lips. "Don´t tell me that was the only one you had!" he whispered, with that sarcastic smile I had once hated. Now it increased the tingling sensation that had started in my belly and was quickly spreading into lower regions. I could feel myself grow hard again, yet I wasn´t embarrassed. I just wanted to know whether it was the same for him.

Pulling the rest of my shirt over my arms and throwing it to the floor I inched closer to him. I embraced him, pressing my chest against his. This time he also wrapped his arms around me and let his hands wander over my back. Yet the most important action took place in other regions of our bodies. Hesitantly I moved my hips… and gasped as my manhood came into contact with his, only separated by a few layers of clothing. It was just as erect as mine.

Up to now I hadn´t been certain about Erik´s intentions. It had always been at the back of my mind that maybe he was only playing an insidious game, ready to laugh at me when it would hurt me most. But grinding my hips against his I realised that he needed me just as much as I needed him. "Eager, are we?" I asked in a low voice. His reply consisted of a growl that seemed to come from deep inside his body. Then he captured my lips in a hungry kiss. I returned it with equal passion, not caring that his protruding hipbones were boring through the fabric of my trousers and would probably leave marks in my soft flesh. All that mattered was getting as closely as possible to him.

I tugged at his belt impatiently, only to discover that I´d have to stand up anyway to take off the rest of clothes. Reluctantly I disentangled myself from him and came to my feet, groaning about the interruption. Suddenly my motions slowed down as I opened my trousers and pulled them down with my underwear, staring to the ground. Since my early childhood no one had seen me naked, and I was afraid he could make snide remarks about my appearance. Yet when I looked up again, his eyes had become dark with lust and he was rubbing his crotch. "Beautiful… so beautiful…" he breathed.

"Thank you," I gave back shyly. To my own surprise I seized his hand and pulled him to his feet, too. "Come on!" I muttered, opening his belt. Despite his compliment I was rather self-conscious about not wearing anything, and removing his clothes as well seemed the best method to get rid of that feeling. A few moments later he had kicked off his shoes, and his pieces of clothing had joined mine. I took a step back to enjoy him in his full glory. It was an impressive sight. In my opinion my own body was nothing special, and I had hardly ever thought about other men. Yet now I found myself looking in awe at this body, which was… simply handsome. True, there were signs of his age every here and there, small imperfections, but they only added to his appeal.

Of course I couldn´t say any of this to him. He wouldn´t have believed it anyway. So I only showed my approval by smiling brightly. Yet after a moment I was distracted by my manhood, that was throbbing with its need to be touched. Involuntarily my gaze was drawn to his member. It seemed to be demanding just as much attention as my own, and I was overcome by the wish to explore it.

Yet as I stretched out my hand he grabbed it. "Let´s lie down here, shall we?" he asked, pointing at a spot on the carpet that wasn´t littered with our clothes. "The divan is too small for the both of us. And surely you wouldn´t prefer my coffin or my mother´s bed, would you?" I shook my head. The carpet seemed soft enough. Besides, in my current state I´d have also been content with the bare stone floor if he had told me it was the only possibility. I lay down quickly and gestured at him to do the same.

As soon as we lay on our sides, facing each other, my fingers darted out and wrapped themselves around his manhood. He let out a low moan and crushed my lips against his. My response was rather distracted. It was strange to touch another man´s member, but at the same time it made my whole body tingle with excitement. I wasn´t sure what to do, so I decided to try what I liked myself, hoping we had a similar taste. Slowly I started moving my hand up and down his shaft, paying a lot of attention to the head. Apparently I was doing it correctly, for it began to grow wet with arousal.

I was so absorbed in my activity that I didn´t notice his hand wasn´t at my back anymore. It had sneaked to the front, and before I knew what was happening he mirrored my motions at my manhood. I jumped slightly at the unexpected contact with his calloused palm, then moaned into his mouth. For a few moments it was hard to balance giving and receiving pleasure at the same time, but afterwards it worked surprisingly well.

Time ceased to exist as we lay on the carpet, bringing each other closer and closer to our release. The air was filled with soft moans and gasps. Our kisses had grown absent as we both concentrated on our hands. I had found out that he enjoyed a little more pressure than I usually applied, and when I had left his manhood for a moment and shyly cupped his testicles instead, I had been rewarded with the sweetest cry of my name I had ever heard.

But all good things had to end sooner or later. The pounding of my heart, the gasps for breath, the familiar tightness - I had pleasured myself often enough to know what it meant. Frantically I thrust into his hand more and more quickly… and then I came. Every release I had caused myself paled compared to what I felt now. "Erik!" I cried out as my seed poured over his hand, on his body and the carpet. The world started spinning before my eyes, so I closed them. Though I was utterly exhausted after it was over, I continued moving my hand till he came as well, moments after me. I heard my own name and felt something hot and sticky on my fingers and stomach. The proud smile about having achieved something that extraordinary was still on my lips as I fell asleep.

When I woke up I felt pleasantly warm. Opening my eyes I saw that someone had wrapped a woollen blanket around my body. I was lying on the divan again, and my head was resting on something rather… bony. It took my sleepy mind a few moments to realise it were Erik´s thighs. Looking up I saw him glance down at me. The light in the room had grown dim, making the mask glow even more than usual. Once I had dreaded this sight, but on this day when nothing was normal it made me smile.

"How long did I sleep?", I wanted to know in a whisper. He shrugged. "About half an hour, I´d say," he replied "Just enough time for me to tidy up and make it a little more comfortable…" I noticed the stickiness had vanished from my body. So he had washed me as well. "Thank you…" I muttered. "Well, I had just been cleaning the carpet, so I could as well go on with you," he explained. "The carpet showed far more gratitude, though…" His lips curled into a tiny smile.

This smile was my undoing. I was overwhelmed by a strange mixture of emotions, some of which I had never had before in my life… and some I´d have thought would be reserved for Christine for all times. Suddenly I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach, and I burst into tears. "What´s wrong?", he asked. The concern in his voice only made me cry harder. "N-nothing…" I murmured. "It´s just… I´ve always dreamed of… doing these things with… Christine…"

"Me too," he said simply. "Sometimes life doesn´t go the way it´s supposed to. No one knows that better than me. Still I´m… glad you´re here with me now." It was as if his words had lit a candle in my belly. And then he said it. Cradling me on his arms he said what he had sworn not to. "It´ll be all right, Raoul… Everything will be all right."

The End

Author´s note III: I´m thinking about continuing this story, mainly because the whole dynamics between Erik and Raoul are fascinating. I haven´t decided yet, and I´d like to hear a few opinions first. Would anyone be interested in finding out if Raoul finally manages to stand up against his family, how (if) his relationship to Erik continues etc.? Just let me know!