melodywilde (melodywilde) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-08 10:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: melodywilde, f: phantom of the opera, p: phantom/raoul, september 08 |
Aftermath, Phantom of the Opera (Phantom/Raoul)
I'm not going to continue to whine about the non-working previw function of IJ. You're welcome.
(But if anybody has a clue as to why it doesn't work for me...)
Title: Aftermath
Author: melodywilde
Rating: R?
Warnings: Non-con.
Word count: 1,978
Summary: Two men have a discussion about the woman they both love.
A/N: My wonderful beta-reader, evilmissbecky (and many thanks to her!), has never seen any version of Phantom and wrote this in her comments about the story: “I was a bit surprised that he was the villain…I always thought he was the misunderstood good guy.” If I’ve made him seem a villain in this story, I apologize. To me, since the moment I first heard the music, almost 20 years ago, the Phantom has always been the misunderstood good guy. He did a few teensy anti-social things along the way but...who’s perfect? (Erik, I’m still your bitch!)
Sept. 8, # 21. Phantom of the Opera, Phantom (Erik)/Raoul: non-con – “You stay away from her!”
Aftermath
by Melody Wilde
There were guards everywhere. His brother had seen to that, doubling the number Raoul had hired. Even though he heartily disapproved of what he referred to as “Raoul’s dalliance with that actress,” he was gentleman enough to be sure she was protected while under his roof.
Raoul had left them in the mahogany-and-book paneled library, Christine sipping tea and his brother sipping something a bit stronger. Henri had ordered him away with a curt, “I want to speak to the girl alone.” Raoul smiled. He had no doubt that his brother would offer her money to remove herself from his life. And he had no doubt that her sweetness would win the man over long before he joined them again.
It had been an exhausting few days. After the disaster at the theatre—after the business with the creature who had tricked Christine for so long had been settled—he had brought her to the family estate on the outskirts of the city. There, the loyal servants had taken care of her, bundling her into dry clothing and wrapping her in blankets in front of a roaring fire, bringing her sweets and a small glass of brandy to calm her. He had rushed to change, dispatched the coachman to send a message to his brother, and then rejoined her.
She had flown into his arms, weeping but unable to tell him the cause. He had held her, there in the dark, murmuring soothing words, until she had at last seemed to sleep. He had lifted her slight form, cradling her to his chest, and carried her to the elegant bedchamber the maids had prepared for her.
Christine had woken, frightened, when he had settled her onto the bed. She had begged him not to leave her alone. And sometime between the stroke of midnight and the dawn, when he had taken her into his arms and begun to kiss her… For the first time, she had not refused him.
Lost in the pleasant memory of that night, and the ones that had followed, he left the walkways surrounding the house and headed for the stable. It would be warm there, and he could visit with Guerrier until he felt enough time had passed and he could go back to the library.
He pushed the stable door shut behind him, stamping the snow off his boots, then lit one of the lanterns. Guerrier put his head over the side of his stall and called a greeting. Raoul opened his mouth to speak to the animal. But the words died in his throat as his attention was suddenly…elsewhere.
It was surely a trick of the flickering light and his overactive imagination. There had been no movement in the corner, no shadow that did not belong.
Then Guerrier’s head turned in that direction and he snorted.
“Who’s there?” Raoul glanced around, searching for something he could use as a weapon. A riding crop hung from a peg by the door. It was little better than nothing, but still… He snatched it and gripped it firmly.
“Show yourself!”
“Or?” The voice was silk, soft as a caress. “You’ll call your brother’s men to protect you?”
It couldn’t be…him. They had left him behind, alone, defeated in body and spirit, trapped in a burning building with dozens of armed guards searching for him.
But then the shadow glided forward and formed into a man, a man alone, perhaps, but far from defeated. The creature—the so-called ‘Phantom’—was once more impeccably dressed in black, cape swirling about his ankles, half-mask securely in place.
“You!”
“Ah, what eloquence.” The man gave a mocking half-bow. “I am left speechless by the brilliance of your conversation.”
“I thought…”
“That they would find me and take me away to prison to pay for my real and imagined crimes? Foolish boy.”
“What are you doing here?”
For a moment it seemed that the Phantom’s poise deserted him. His head dipped, once, and he said quietly, “Christine. I came to make sure she is…well. Happy.”
“You stay away from her!”
The Phantom tilted his head to one side. “She made her choice. How else could she choose? But I love her still, and I need to know—”
“You have no right!” His fingers tightened around the crop. He wished he had a pistol, so he could put an end to this monster. “None. She’s mine now.”
“Yours, yes, but once she was mine.”
“She never belonged to you the way she does to me. I made her mine, that very night.”
The Phantom flinched, as if he had been struck. One hand emerged from the folds of his cape and lifted, as if in a plea.
“Surely you aren’t suggesting…” His voice was hoarse.
“I took her to my bed the very night I saved her from you. And every night since.” He knew he should be silent, that his words were a betrayal of Christine’s honor, but the pain evident in the other man’s whole body inflamed him. He had been powerless against this man for so long, but now… “She gave herself to me. Slept with me. Fucked me. She begged me to—”
“Enough!”
The force of the single whispered word—the blaze of fury in the man’s face—shocked him to silence.
The Phantom began to advance, one slow, deliberate step at a time. “You foolish, thoughtless, careless boy. You could not restrain yourself until you made Christine your wife. You have taken her gifts—and oh, she has so many; her body is the least of them—and you have wasted them.”
Raoul tried to hold his ground, but he was suddenly aware that he was alone and weaponless. He began to edge toward the door, but the Phantom slid to one side to stop him. He licked his lips.
“You’d have done the same, if she’d let you. You wanted her the same way I did. You—”
The man moved so quickly he was almost a blur. Raoul found himself slammed against the side of an empty stall, the riding crop across his throat, choking him, the masked face inches from his own.
“I love Christine. I would never—never—do anything to dishonor her. And if I had been weak, I would never boast of my conquest to others. She is too precious.”
The soft voice was a growl now, dark with fury. “You mock her with your talk of ‘love’. You think only of yourself—your own desires, your own needs, your own lust—and not of her. Imagine how she would feel if she knew that you were boasting so carelessly of what she allowed you to do.”
Fingers as hard as iron closed around his throat. He struggled, in vain. The world was growing dim about him. He barely heard the Phantom murmur, “Imagine…”
* * *
There was straw in his mouth…his nose…scratching against his face and chest and…
Raoul regained consciousness in a rush. He was in one of the empty stalls, thrown face down across a bale of hay, his hands tied to the feeding trough. And he was naked.
“So, monsieur le Vicomte, you wake.”
He tried to turn his head and caught a brief glimpse of the Phantom. The cape was gone, and the dinner jacket. The man was pacing, striding back and forth from one side of the stall to the other. There was something sinister in his movements.
“What…”
The Phantom stopped. He lay a hand on Raoul’s back and leaned forward until the edge of his mask brushed Raoul’s cheek. “You have a question?”
“What do you think you’re—”
The smile on the man’s face froze his words and his soul.
“I do not think, monsieur.” His breath was warm against Raoul’s ear. “I am going to do you a great favor. I am going to help you understand how Christine must feel—would feel if she heard your loose talk.”
The Phantom must have seen the lack of comprehension on his face. With a short laugh, he added, “I intend to…how was it you so charmingly phrased it?...make you mine. Sleep with you. Fuck you.”
“But…that’s not possible.”
“Oh? You think not?” He straightened, and Raoul’s eyes went wide as he began to unfasten his trousers.
“But…I’m a man!”
“You are a boy, not a man, but no matter.” He parted the material to expose an impressive—and erect—member. “I would have thought you more versed in the ways of the world. How amusing that I will take this virginity from you as you took Christine’s from her.”
The Phantom moved behind him, and he felt hands on his buttocks, grasping the flesh, spreading them apart. And then he understood what the man meant to do. He began to struggle frantically, opening his mouth and taking a deep breath to call for help.
“If you scream, they will come and find you like this.”
Pressure, more pressure, and then agony as something within him tore. And then…oh god…it was impossible but the man was thrusting into him as if he were a woman. He gagged with the pain and humiliation.
“Are you not enjoying this, monsieur?” In, deeply—so deeply—then out, then in again, fast and hard and hurting. Trying to hurt…intending to hurt. “Is this the way you used her—with no regard to her feelings or her pain?” How was it possible that he could be speaking so calmly while doing this? “Did she cry out with pain? Did she beg you to stop?”
Raoul realized that he was crying out with pain, sobbing, whimpering, brain numb with shock.
“Think of me—think of this—every time you lie with her.” The man slammed deeper than before. His body spasmed with pleasure as he spilled his seed within his helpless victim.
They lay joined for a heartbeat, and then the Phantom straightened, pulling away and out. Raoul felt something wet sliding down the backs of his thighs. He swallowed hard, wanting to vomit, refusing to give in.
By the time he had himself mostly under control again, the Phantom had cleaned himself, adjusted his clothing, and retrieved his cape. “I owe you many thanks for a most enjoyable evening, Vicomte.” He settled the cape, fastening it at the neck. “I realize it is hardly a gentlemanly act to take one’s pleasure and depart so quickly, but…” He shrugged. “I fear I must do that very thing.”
He turned to walk away.
“Wait!”
He paused. “You want more from me? I’m flattered. I had no idea that you would take so quickly to the sin of Sodom.”
His face flaming, Raoul choked out, “Untie me, you bastard.”
“I think not.”
“For God’s sake, don’t leave me like this!”
The Phantom seemed to consider, then inclined his head. “As always, you are correct.”
He bent to retrieve the fallen riding crop, then, with one smooth movement, he spun and shoved one end into the place he had just vacated.
This time, Raoul did scream.
“Your servant, monsieur.” And with another bow, the Phantom was gone.
* * *
They found him hours later, bleeding and half-frozen and trembling with shock, and carried him into the house. The doctor who examined him said there was no permanent damage. His brother spent a good deal of money to keep the matter quiet, so that there would be no gossip to shame the de Chagny name.
Three months later, he married Christine in a small, private ceremony. He tried not to think about the origin of the rose tied with a black ribbon that appeared in the middle of the bed on their wedding night.
He and Christine were married for many years, most of them happy ones, but he was never able to lie with her again.