Lady DV: For those of you who wonder "DV" stands for Devon Valentino and no I am not male. Well let's start anew with this. I hope it is to your liking.

Disclaimer: I own nothing…save perhaps a most twisted mind...and even that is not all mine…it belongs to the characters who often invade it…

Do you understand the truth of music? The voice soft and deep and taunting flitted over the sensitive skin of Raoul's neck. Everything around him spun in hues of colors deep and beautiful. The voice seemed not to come from anywhere in particular. Yet, it seemed to surround him…it filled his senses. It challenged and it soothed. I will loose my mind, thought the blond satyr, and then I will... The voice returned, gentler and more haunting…a melody…the vibrations of piano strings. Beauty.

Eyes light and youthful opened wide. Silence. The only sound in the Vicomte's room was the soft stirring breeze outside his balcony windows and his own strained breathing. He no longer remembered the real happenings from his nightmare…but how could it be a nightmare…when he woke feeling so pleasantly warm and expectant. As though the person whose voice he heard in said dreams would walk through the doors of his rooms and hold him in a warm embrace. He would be joyous…ecstasy would fill his mind. These things seemed obvious. What was not obvious, however, was who the mysterious stranger from his dreams was. This being, that infiltrated and caressed and loved. Raoul distressed over the thoughts that flooded his mind as he looked out toward the balcony that lay over the garden of the Chagny's main residence. He would return to the Opera soon, he thought. Maybe then he would have some peace. Maybe it was Christine that haunted him late at night. Maybe... Somewhere along the way his exhaustion took over and his mind shut down. But, in that moment between sleep and awake. The moment when all dreams slide against the skin, soft as silk, and yet have no hold; he heard it, the melody, he felt it, the warmth, he grasped it, and to his surprise it wore a porcelain mask. Sleep.

A sigh escaped the man most commonly known as the Phantom of the Opera. He stirred in his crimson bed of silk, his eyes opened dark and intense. Christine is gone, he thought as he lay drowning in the feeling of the softness against his bare skin. That softness seemed almost overwhelming as that infinite despair returned. She had denied him her love; she had, however, also denied the Vicomte her love. Why, he wondered. A voice nagging and sleepy answered from the darkness of his thoughts. Because she was just a child believe it or not, a child with childish infatuations thinking fickle thoughts. That is all. She knows nothing of love. You know nothing of it either so who are you to judge. That is how the world works. Without regard for personal feelings or beliefs- The horrible gremlin of a voice was interrupted as a gentle voice called out to him, chastising.

"Erik, you must seize these foolish antics at once." The voice of Madame Giry came from the entrance of his lair scolding but worried. " Christine left nearly a year ago and the Opera has not only been rebuilt it has been expanded. It now has a bigger audience than ever. If nothing else you should be standing proud."

"I realize all these things are true. But I cannot understand why…I can not write another word for an audience and shall not sing another note for my ears or that of others until I understand why. That is all Madame, I can not explain it... You cannot persuade me otherwise." Erik's voice was soft as he stood out of his sea of crimson, exposing his naked body to the cold moist air of the caverns, his head hung low. He did not mean to taunt or to anger her. He did not know how to express the complex mix of loss, lack of understanding. Had that feeling been lies? Was it so wrong to want to know what intimacy was, truly was, between two beings?

"Erik, you will get sick if you continue these antics." Madame Giry said, not at all flustered by the nakedness of the Phantom. She simply bustled around the catacomb that was the man's home until she found Erik a suit of black velvet. She looked it over, making sure it was clean and stitched, before laying it on the bed along with his underthings." You are worse these days than when I found you, young one. You ate little before and now you eat less, you hardly ever leave this room, and you don't even bother with the cleanliness of your own quarters." It was moments like these that he remembered her as a mother.

An hour later Erik was dressed and clean. He sat in silence surrounded by an orderly room, food lay in plentiful amounts on a table, and five new sets of clothes were being put into his wardrobe. Madame Giry placed a hand on his cheek and patted it fondly before firmly stating that he was to eat at least half of what was before him and he was to maintain these rooms as order as possible. She would see to him when she returned.

"I will come back in the morning my child." The lady smiled then thinking that this was the best she could do for him now. His early years had left him stumped in the areas of emotion. He had a difficult time processing, truly grasping when he was hurt let alone how to handle those things. She turned and left the room wandering into the chaos of the Opera Populaire once more. A silent nod was her only acknowledgement from The Phantom of the Opera who was already lost in his thoughts, about love and life, whilst picking at his food with a frown.

The Vicomte stepped out of his carriage looking around at the excitement surrounding him and holding his thick scarf around his neck closer as a wind picked up the snow. He turned nodding to his driver that the carriage was no longer needed and that he may leave to a warmer place. Then, with a toss of his blonde locks, Raoul walked up the steps into the Opera Populaire eager to enter the warm walls. He had dreamt of that voice once again, he knew, he could feel it lingering. It was the nagging at the back of his mind that told him; that and the goose bumps he got when he heard the rush of the many actors and dancers backstage.

Voices greeted him and invitations were open from more than one of the lady dancers. Some of the men threw flirtatious glances at him as well; none of these people were subtle in their attempts at him. Whether this was for the hope of comfort within the Opera or for the privileges that they thought his status provided he wasn't sure. With a shy slump in his walk and cautious smiles at some of the members of the cast Raoul made his way to Christine's old room. This would be his resident room when in the Opera. Though the managers had insisted in him taking another room, any room, he had insisted that this was the one he wanted. They of course had complied thinking it wiser to stay on the Vicomte's good side considering the funds that were flowing. With the Chagny's help they had rebuilt and made the Opera more grand. Though the stories of the Phantom and his Prima Dona helped bring the crowds. Raoul was glad to have the place back, he had done it for Her at first. Now that she was gone, he hoped he could overcome the loss of Christine and perhaps come to terms with those nagging dreams. He stood in the center of the room remembering the first time he had entered it.

He had been amazed with the color and the smell. The flowers and the beautiful candle light had wowed him, she had looked beautiful. Yet, it had not been Christine that had inspired him to speak and remember all the childhood nothings. It had been the atmosphere of the room. The feeling of something together with his childhood friend, it had been the lingering of a scent, the echo of a note long ended. Angel. He remembered how she had spoken that word as he stood silently in the room. Then, with a small sigh, he began to undress feeling the weight of many lonely months heavy on his shoulders.

What had Christine meant when she called the man behind the mask such a name? A thick velvet coat fell to his feet among the plush carpet. The man had been his rival last time Raoul had given him any deep thought. The Phantom of the Opera. Mysterious, dangerous. His voice had been beautiful, the touch of his skin had made Raoul heat up in all of the oddest places, but it must have been the fight. Fighting for Christine, for her. Raoul shook his head and flushed remembering the struggle as the Phantom held him captive... he had wanted the Phantom to get closer…to touch him. Unconsciously a hand made its way down Raoul's side, undoing laces. The soft peachy skin of his palm slid under a shirt and hung restlessly at a waistband before a groan left slightly parted coral lips. What was he doing? What was this burning tension he felt? The chords held tightly waiting for their resolution.

"Phantom." He gasped that single word as the heat that pooled within him rose.

Erik's head lifted and his eyes focused for the first time in hours. The world around him had seemed to fade, to turn into a fog, as time stood still. Giry has often said that this was neither normal nor healthy and when it happened she always tried to return him to her, to ground him she called it, as if he was floating away from her. Sounds above… unfamiliar sounds…in HER room. Erik let rage bubble up within him, somewhat relieved to feel something other than the emptiness and confusion that filled him most days.

Who dared enter that sacred place? Giry always tried to keep people from the room knowing full well that Erik would, or could not stand to have someone else there. The intruder would not leave unscathed, he would remind those above that he was master of this place. With an angry scowl he adjusted the porcelain mask that had been placed delicately over his face. He moved angrily through the caverns, moving the right stone here, right candle there. As he moved through the long, narrow walk leading to the room he hesitated. He had not dared look here for so long. He was afraid...afraid of her remnants taking the last of what you call sanity Phantom? He clenched his fists at that damned voice and slowly approached the old mirror. He was close enough to see those within but to be hidden by shadows caused by soft candlelight. The dark haired man was startled to see the Vicomte on the other side of the mirror. Giry had told him that the young man had funded many of the repairs but with Christine gone why did he remain? What did he want?

The boy groaned flitting a hand over his own stomach, his chest, his... What is...?! Erik was alarmed, his eyes widened as blood reached his cheeks but he could not look away. This was something completely new to him. This carnal pleasure derived solely from oneself. He had experience with others, people he had stolen moments with though always cloaked and hidden. Erik felt jealousy, anger returned through the embarrassment. Was this Chagny thinking of Christine?

A groan escaped the radiant blonde as he leaned heavy on a table that had once held roses just as beautiful as his reddened cheeks. He held the most private part of his anatomy and rocked his hips heavily into his hand. A moan preceded a word as Erik continued to watch, unable to look away.

"Phantom."

Erik felt his cheeks flush darker and heat shot from his chest downward. He swallowed heavily before turning away from the captivating sight. This was an aspect of love he had not thought of yet. Is it love that you watched? Would you know if it was? The raven haired Phantom moved slowly, not forgiving the intrusive voice that haunted him mercilessly. He should analyze closer... That was what he would do. Analyze. For the sake of his Opera, so that he would compose again, he would learn…

TBC.

Lady DV: How do you all like it? I thought this was a good place to start, mostly since we are lacking wondrous POTO fanfic's. Well read and review for the sake of my ego or my non-ego please!