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On his knees in the dark, Raoul awaited Erik’s return. True to his word, the Phantom had carried Christine into the boat, binding her there when she resisted, desperate to get back to Raoul, and taken her from the chamber. By now, she would be in the open air, while Raoul remained five levels beneath the surface of the Earth.
It had not been an easy choice. And Raoul could not say he was glad that he had made it. It was preferable to having Christine trapped down here, of course. But it was far less preferable than Raoul’s ideal scenario, in which he and Christine were both free beneath the moonlit sky, far from the pernicious influence of the Opera Ghost.
But it was not a choice he would have to live with long. Soon, Erik would return. And he would kill Raoul, and Raoul would be free. He wondered what Erik would do with his body. Would he simply leave it here, and flee this place? Would Raoul’s brother find him? That was too painful to think about. The important thing was, that Raoul’s suffering would not last long. Or, at least, he hoped it wouldn’t.
The portcullis lifted again. Raoul raised his head to see a single figure sail through alone, like the figure of Death in his dark cloak. This was it. This was Erik’s grand finale, and soon it would all be over.
Erik alighted on the bank, and strode over to Raoul. After extracting the choice from him – to let Christine go and remain here himself – Erik had forced Raoul down to his knees, and cuffed his wrists to a post that seemed made for the purpose and left him there, the noose still around his neck, its length dangling behind him.
Raoul tried to shrink from Erik as he loomed over him, but was unable to go far, the metal cuffs digging into his wrists. Erik sneered down at him, his unmasked face split between devilishly handsome and abominably terrifying, his black eyes boring into Raoul.
‘Well, well. This is a surprising end to things, isn’t it, Vicomte?’
Raoul did not respond, only glared up at Erik as dread curled in his gut. Of course, the man would want to gloat. And Raoul would have to endure it, comforted by the knowledge that the end was near.
‘Do you disagree?’ Erik asked, smiling. He moved to put a gloved hand on top of the post, making Raoul wish he could recoil further. ‘Come, tell me – what did you think would happen? Did you think your daring rescue attempt would work, and that you would defeat me, and carry off your bride into the sunset? You must have thought so, at least enough to try it. Did Christine not warn you about me? Or was it that you simply didn’t listen?’
Again, Raoul had no response. It was quite true that Christine had warned Raoul of Erik’s preternatural strength. But Raoul had supposed – arrogantly enough – that he had only felt so strong to Christine because she was a woman. But Raoul knew, the minute those arms came around him, immobilising him, binding him, that Christine had not exaggerated Erik’s strength in the least.
‘Have you resolved not to speak to me, then?’ Erik continued. He reached out a hand, and stroked Raoul’s hair, cupping the back of his head and drawing him close when he tried to resist. ‘I must say, I rather like the sound of that charming little voice of yours. Such a smooth and soft tenor. Many a night have I been about the theatre, and heard your voice floating around. Of course, the things you said were often rather vexing. And it was an amusing pastime to dream up punishments for you, and imagine that sweet little voice begging for mercy.’
‘Get your hands off me,’ Raoul snapped, his lip curling as he recoiled beneath Erik’s touch.
‘No, it wasn’t quite like that. I imagined you’d sound rather more plaintive.’
‘Alright, stop!’ Raoul said. ‘Just kill me. Please. I don’t care about all this.’
‘What do you mean by “all this”?’ Erik asked softly.
‘This… whatever game it is you’re playing. I don’t want any part of it. I don’t even really understand why you’re gloating. You haven’t won. Neither of us have won, because neither of us will see Christine again. This isn’t the outcome that either of us wanted.’
The smile that spread over Erik’s face sent a chill shivering all through Raoul.
‘Really? Do you think so?’ Erik spoke in the softest voice imaginable, which nevertheless had the purr of a tiger in it. ‘You know, your powers of reasoning are not quite as adept as you think they think are. I am a good deal stronger than either you or Christine, and I had you both here at my mercy. What was to stop me from keeping you both, or killing you, or letting you go and keeping Christine? I did not have to give you any choice at all. My hand was not forced. Why, then, do you think I allowed this outcome? Do you really think that if I preferred to have Christine here, I would have kept you instead?’
Raoul’s eyes widened. ‘But Christine does not love you. You let… I thought you let her go because you knew she would never love you.’
Erik’s hand moved to cup Raoul’s face, looking down into his eyes with awful tenderness. ‘And so I did. I confess, I was rather caught up in the idea of a woman’s love. It was the idea of a wife that enchanted me. A normal home. Being a family man. Can you imagine?’
Erik chuckled, his eyes glancing over Raoul and into memories he couldn’t see. And Raoul was surprised by the complete absence of bitterness in his voice. Erik did not seem to regret the loss of Christine at all.
‘Then want do you want?’ Raoul asked.
‘Oh, I want a wife, still,’ Erik said. ‘Only I am not so particular as to gender. You know, in some parts of the world, there exists the practice of marriage by capture. I have what I want right here: a bride that I have lured here, bound and waiting for me.’
Raoul jerked his head back, but Erik’s hand closed on the tail of the noose, pulling him close again, the rope drawing ever so slightly tighter, with the promise that it could draw tighter still.
‘You can’t mean… No, you are toying with me!’
‘Come now, Raoul. Surely you are not so naïve. I know you have been a sailor. You must have been – what? – eighteen when you went to sea? Shore leave for you must be a reprieve from being sodomised. Until now, that is.’
Raoul glowered at him in furious disbelief. ‘No one dared to touch me like that – I am a viscount!’
‘I’m glad to hear it. A husband likes to know his bride is a virgin. Such a treat for the wedding night…’
‘You are not serious. You did not take me for… for that!’
Dark laughter rang out above him. ‘I don’t know why you have such trouble believing it. Surely, you know what you look like, my sweet, golden-haired boy? What sultans and emperors would have paid for you… I must say, it was awfully amusing, watching you run about with Christine, playing at being her fiancé. Like two pretty children playing house. You are not made of the stuff of husbands, Vicomte. You were made to be my bride.’
‘No, no – absolutely not!’
But Erik ignored him. He looked thoughtfully over Raoul’s kneeling form and the wooden post. ‘It is tempting to have you like this. But it is not very romantic for our first time.’
A key appeared in his hand, and he unlocked the cuffs from Raoul’s wrists. Raoul had scarcely begun to struggle before he was dealt a fierce backhand that had him suddenly looking at the floor, tears springing into his eyes as his cheek stung. He tasted blood in his mouth.
‘You will have to learn obedience, dear boy,’ Erik said as he hauled Raoul to his feet, twisting his wrists to the small of his back, and binding them with the tail of the lasso. ‘Luckily, you shall have me to teach you.’
He swept Raoul up into his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. Raoul’s heart beat in a fearful frenzy as he was carried towards the temple-like house that stood facing the water. They went in and up a flight of stairs, Erik not seeming to tire at all, and into a sumptuous bedroom, richly furnished in a combination of Louis XVI and Ottoman styles, giving an impression of what the rooms of Versailles might have looked like had they held an imperial harem.
Raoul was dropped onto a circular bed, and turning his head he found it enclosed by vast eagle wings, the tail coming up behind to form a sort of headboard. The bed could only be easily accessed from one side, and on that side stood the Phantom, looking down at him with dark promise. Raoul swung his legs under him, scrambling up, and was pushed back down.
Hands pulled off boots and socks, and found the fastenings of his breeches. Raoul kicked out, and a harsh smack was delivered to his backside. Erik took hold of the rope connecting the noose around Raoul’s neck and the knots around his wrists, using it like a handle to pull Raoul back towards him while he struggled and fought for breath.
‘Do not try my patience,’ Erik murmured, one hand stroking threateningly through Raoul’s hair while the other held the rope. ‘I can be far less gentle than this.’
The hand on the rope loosened, and Raoul drew in a rattling breath. His breeches were pulled off. A knife appeared from nowhere, and trailed down Raoul’s side, cutting through silk and linen like butter. His waistcoat and shirt were ripped away, until Raoul was left bare of anything but the rope binding his neck and wrists.
Raoul’s face was pressed down to the bed. He turned it to the side, panting, small sounds escaping him as the terror of what was to come rolled over him. His legs were drawn up under him, knees spread and tucked either side of his chest, his arse bared to Erik’s view. A gloved hand glided over his buttock, while another reached beneath him, cupping the rosy ballsack and feeling the soft pink penis. Raoul whimpered as Erik drew it back to look at it, easing back the foreskin and flicking the vulnerable head so that Raoul jerked and cried out. Erik let him go, chuckling.
‘You have the most delectable body, Vicomte.’
Raoul glared up at him. In the most vitriolic voice he could muster, he said, ‘You have something wrong with you.’
Erik’s half-handsome face smirked down at him, his hand still resting on Raoul’s backside. ‘Well, I do not dispute that. But it is not that I find you attractive. After all, who could resist such sweetness? But come, I will show you what a husband is made of.’
Raoul did not know precisely what he meant by this, and tensed as he heard the rustle of cloth. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Erik pull off his coat, and then his gloves, cravat, waistcoat, and shirt. He was a good deal broader than Raoul, but that Raoul had been able to tell while he was fully clothed. Now, Raoul saw that Erik’s body was long and lean with sinewy muscle. It was little wonder that he had so outmatched Raoul, who was slender and youthful, but no delicate flower. Erik’s strength was prodigious even for his size, perhaps preternaturally so. And Raoul saw that the discolouration on one side of Erik’s face ran down his neck, covering a little more than half of his chest, and spilling onto his left arm and thigh.
Erik turned away from Raoul, and Raoul felt the bed dip as he sat down to remove his boots. Raoul tucked himself up more tightly, curling into a ball, but other than that he did not dare to move. He winced as first one boot, then the other, was dropped to the floor. Erik removed his socks, and stood to pull off his breeches. Then he turned back to Raoul. And Raoul saw that his cock was long and thick and almost fully erect, the large, fat head protruding from the foreskin. The sight of it made panic clench still tighter around Raoul’s heart.
Raoul whimpered as his arse was lifted by irresistible hands. One hand moved between his cheeks, and fingers slick with some sort of oil circled Raoul’s hole. It instantly clenched shut in fear. Raoul tried to lower himself immediately, doing his best to fold his body in on itself, but he could hardly move.
‘Please, please, don’t!’
The hand holding the juncture of arse and hip squeezed tighter. Raoul could not tell if the gesture was meant to be threatening or soothing.
‘Hush, precious. There is no need to be so afraid.’
‘Erik, please don’t, please!’
‘Would you rather I did it to Christine?’
Raoul did not answer. The honest answer was, “Yes.” But he could not bring himself to admit that. He could not imagine any indignity worse than this.
Erik leaned over him, one knee on the bed, the bare skin of his thigh just barely touching Raoul’s. He brushed the honey-coloured waves from Raoul’s face. Damp hazel eyes looked up at him.
‘Well, Vicomte?’
‘N-no,’ Raoul breathed.
‘No?’ Erik repeated, smiling. ‘How sure you sound. You are a truly chivalrous gentleman, willing to sacrifice your honour for that of your lady love.’
Raoul closed his eyes as Erik’s fingers stroked over his nose, brow, and delicate cheekbone. ‘Why do you even want to do this? You let Christine go because she does not love you. You cannot possibly expect me to ever love you.’
Raoul’s eyes flew open as Erik spoke again, his voice coming as a soft purr in Raoul’s ear. ‘Of course, you do not love me. But I could make you love me, make you forget any other but me, make you forget the whole world, and bind you to me with no return. We could live in blissful harmony, and you would be perfectly happy, perfectly content.’
Erik began to hum, and it was a tune Raoul recognised, though he could not place it. Had Raoul recognised it, he might have concluded that Erik was mocking him, since it was the wedding night song from Romeo et Juliette.
Erik’s voice was meltingly soft, and Raoul experienced a curious feeling as if he were slowly sinking into warm water, like the sweet and gentle water of a spring. Tingles spilled from the crown of his head, trickling gently down his back and all through his limbs, and he lay like one spellbound, aware of nothing but the caressing voice and the presence of the Phantom all around him.
Then the humming stopped, there was a tinkle of glass, and the spell broke as oil-slick fingers touched his hole again.
‘No, no…’
A finger slipped inside. Above him, Erik murmured, ‘Yes…’
Another finger eased in alongside, the two feeling around experimentally, scissoring and stretching him. Raoul’s breath hitched on a sob, and he began to cry quietly.
‘Hush, darling. It is normal for a bride to feel nervous on the wedding night.’
Raoul gritted his teeth as a third finger entered him. ‘Would you stop saying things like that?’
Erik chuckled. His fingers curled inwards, and Raoul gasped as they brushed against something inside of him that sent tingles shooting up his dick.
‘There?’ Erik asked softly.
Raoul did not know what he was talking about. He did not know what Erik had touched. But Erik’s fingers pressed down insistently, grinding into that same spot, and Raoul whined and bucked his hips helplessly as he felt his penis fill out.
‘Ah, yes,’ Erik said, chuckling. ‘There it is.’
The fingers withdrew, and Raoul whimpered. He knew it was useless, but still he dropped his lower body, curling in on himself again. Then the long, firm body of Erik draped over him, strong arms braced either side of his face, closing him in. Raoul felt the sigh of Erik’s breath on the back of his head. Then lips brushed Raoul’s temple, trailing to his ear.
‘I have wanted to do this a long time. Since the first time I saw you properly. There have been many times when I could have killed you, or taken you. You remember the night at the churchyard at Perros? Not as well as I do, I imagine. It would have been easy enough to take you then. But how much more satisfying to lure you here, to make you come to me, and offer yourself to me. And so you did.’
‘Not for this…’ Raoul said, his voice small and plaintive.
‘Why not for this? You gave yourself up to me to do with as I would. You thought I would dispose of you as a rival. But you were never a rival for me, sweet boy. You were precisely what I wanted.’
Erik’s hands moved, and Raoul wept as he lifted his arse. One kept a bruising grip on his hip, while the other, he imagined, was helping Erik to line up. He felt the bulbous head nudge his hole, and he whined in fear. It pressed inside, slowly, and Raoul – holding his own breath – heard Erik’s laboured breathing above him, as if the man were making an effort to stop himself from thrusting hard inside.
The stretch burned at Raoul’s entrance, which he felt flex repeatedly as more and more of Erik pressed in. It seemed Raoul couldn’t help clenching down, though it only made the pain of the intrusion worse, his passage jarringly full.
Raoul sucked in a rattling breath, tears spilling from his eyes. ‘Stop, please!’
Erik let out an amused huff. ‘Stop? You really are so naïve, Raoul.’
‘It hurts…’
Raoul did not even know why he was telling Erik this; it was not as if he expected any mercy from the Phantom. But the pain was so grating that, somehow, he couldn’t help saying it.
A hand stroked through his hair, and Raoul cringed into the mattress. ‘Does it, precious? My apologies. A husband likes his selfish pleasures. And it will get easier, every time.’
At these words, a spasm passed over Raoul’s face. Every time? No, surely, surely this was some sick game, and Erik would kill him after he had finished humiliating him? He couldn’t intend to keep Raoul as… as his… He did not even know what the appropriate term would be for a man. The words that flickered through his mind were concubine, slave, and whore.
Raoul clenched down, desperate to expel him. Erik growled, and smacked Raoul’s arse. ‘You little minx.’
Erik’s hand tangled in his hair. Raoul’s head was pulled up, and he looked up to see Erik gazing down at him, his eyes alight with evil desire. The hand on Raoul’s hip pulled him back harder, and finally he sank home to the hilt. Raoul closed his eyes, tears trailing from under his lids. Then his eyes flew open again as Erik pulled back, adjusted his angle, and began to thrust, the head of his cock rubbing firmly over that spot inside of Raoul that seemed connected to his own cock.
Raoul tried hard to swallow the sounds that were in his throat. His eyes met Erik’s again, saw the knowing, smug look there, and Raoul looked away in shame. The pleasure built inside him, riding on the jarring pain, and Raoul felt certain he would come. Erik reached between Raoul’s legs, finding his aching cock, and Raoul nearly spilled in his hand right then.
‘How wet you are for me,’ Erik said, caressing the head of Raoul’s cock, which was leaking pre-come.
Raoul let out a ragged noise between a moan and a sob. He tried to buck away, but only pressed himself back onto Erik’s cock. He heard Erik’s dark laugh in his ear.
‘Please… can’t you j-just end this?’ Raoul whined.
‘And leave my bride unsatisfied? That would be ungentlemanly indeed.’
He let go of Raoul’s cock, and gave it a harsh slap. Raoul screamed as the orgasm he had been holding back rolled over him, and he came hard, powerless to stop it. He could feel himself flexing around Erik’s cock, feel himself tense around the hard outline of it inside of him, and knew that Erik must feel it too.
There was another cruel chuckle. ‘Is that all it took? I should have known all you needed was firm handling.’
He released Raoul’s hair, shoving him down to the mattress. Raoul wept in shame. He wished he could hide his face in his arms, which were still bound behind his back. Erik took hold of the rope that connected his tied hands to the noose around his throat. Raoul whimpered in fear as it tightened around his neck. Erik held the rope like a handle, using it to anchor his thrusts as he pounded Raoul, balls slapping hard against his. The soft choking sounds that escaped Raoul seemed only to incense Erik further, and his pace became truly punishing.
The pain began to exceed the pleasure, and then to recede as Raoul grew lightheaded. He felt himself beginning to float, the only real feelings being the dig of the rope into his neck, the feeling of Erik’s cock rubbing over that sinful place inside of him, and the pulsing in his cock. Raoul came again, eyes rolling back as he struggled to breathe. He passed out just as Erik pulled the noose tighter still, and coated Raoul’s insides with his seed.
~*~
Raoul was on his knees, nestled lovingly between the Phantom’s legs, sucking sweetly at Erik’s cock. Erik was in bad mood. Raoul did not really understand why. But no sooner had Erik returned home than he had stripped Raoul, pulled him into his lap, and spanked his pretty arse red. It was with an idea of bringing Erik back into good humour that Raoul had slid down before his chair, and taken him into his mouth.
Erik watched him, his deep black eyes lidded with something like sardonic humour. But as Raoul began to swallow him slowly down, tears springing into his shining hazel eyes, Erik began to pet that honey-coloured hair, grown since Erik had taken him into pretty waves.
Erik shifted his foot, pressing his boot onto Raoul’s genitals. Raoul whined around his cock, and yet his legs parted obediently, and he thrust up into the pressure of his foot. Slowly, his eyes on Raoul’s face, Erik brought his boot down to the floor. Still, Raoul did not resist, but watched him trustingly, his eyes glazed with love and lust.
Raoul was the only person in the world who trusted him. And it was ironic that – of all the people in the world – Raoul had the least reason to trust him.
Once he had swallowed Erik down to the hilt, Raoul remained there, letting himself choke softly as he basked in the sensations of Erik’s boot on his balls and his cock in his throat, two sensations that – in Erik’s opinion – most normal people would not enjoy very much. But Raoul was pretty far from normal these days.
For a time, Erik cradled Raoul’s head gently, letting him set the pace. There was no point hurrying things. Raoul was not going anywhere. And they had tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Yet as Erik felt himself grow close, his hand closed in Raoul’s hair, holding close to the base of his skull, and worked him up and down the shaft before thrusting deep, spilling down Raoul’s open throat. He released him, and Raoul drew back, lapping at Erik’s cock as it left his mouth, cleaning all trace of his seed from the head. He put his chin on Erik’s thigh, looking up at him adoringly, and Erik stroked through his tousled hair.
‘Do you want to come, precious?’
Raoul nodded, and whimpered as the foot on his genitals pressed down. Then it lifted, and Raoul was pulled up into a firm lap. A hand wrapped around his cock, and an arm tightened around his waist to still him as he began to jerk helplessly. Lips met his own, and Raoul reached up, fingers tangling in Erik’s black hair as Erik’s tongue slipped into his mouth.
Raoul broke the kiss as he began to come, whining. Erik licked some of the seed from his gloved hand, and then offered it to Raoul, letting him clean the rest. He did so diligently. Then Raoul curled up in Erik’s lap, laying his head on his shoulder, his arm curling around Erik’s waist.
As Raoul nuzzled into his neck, tenderly kissing the mottled skin of his jaw, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt, trailing his chest, Erik congratulated himself, as he had many a time, on his choice of a wife.
Before Raoul, he had often dreamed of taking a wife, and having a quiet existence, in an ordinary house somewhere. Someone to keep for himself, to come home to, to take out on a Sunday. But most couples could not be as blissfully happy as Erik had imagined. Most likely, they had not chosen each other, or had chosen each other for the wrong reasons. It would not do to have a wife who was dissatisfied, whose eyes filled with resentment every time he left, or spite every time he returned. Raoul was not dissatisfied, resentful or spiteful. Or at least, he was not anymore.
It was a point of pride to Erik that he had never had to force Raoul to love him. All he had done was make him sleep, and spun him sweet dreams, and taken Raoul with him to the New World. There, he had made Raoul forget all that had gone before, and told him how he had found Raoul lost and sick and alone, and taken him in.
Raoul at twenty-two was another man from Raoul at twenty-one. Now, Raoul was gentle, loving, and devoted as spaniel. And when those rare signs of disobedience or returning memory did come up, Erik always stomped them out quickly and decisively.
And Raoul had presented no opposition to Erik’s plan to keep him as his wife. His love for Erik – the man who had saved him from poverty and friendlessness – knew no bounds, and was not checked by any dignity. Raoul had happily consented to be dressed up in lady’s clothing, and taken to a church to be married. They had only to keep up the charade when they went out. Erik had no desire to entertain guests in his home, and while Erik had taken on the running of an opera house, his home life remained decidedly private. It was understood that his wife was a delicate invalid, and that she nearly always remained at home, save for when she accompanied her husband to the opera, clinging to his arm and never speaking a word, or drove out with him on Sundays, or walked through the park with him on dark evenings.
Erik’s eyes trailed over the sweet form of Raoul. He inspected his pink and red backside, which was sure to turn to bruises by the morning.
‘I love you, Erik.’
‘I know, my precious one.’
Erik held him close, kissing the top of his head, while Raoul sighed contentedly. Poor boy. How sweet he was.
It was times like these that Erik almost forgot what an arrogant little shit he used to be.