A/n: I don't really know where this came from. I didn't really go through and make any mistakes that were minor so I appologize for that. It's 10:27 at night and I really hope you like this. It's a slash (Erik/Raoul) and it gets pretty intimate and sorta detailed. Please please please review!

Disclaimer: don't own phantom of the opera, wish i did!

Rated R: character death, violence, sexuality

Phantom POV

I sit alone in the darkness and wonder what it would be like if she had not left. I sit alone here, my music spread in front of me but none of it important. My song has no feeling, no soul, without her here with me.

Even when she was there with her precious Viscount, anything is better than not having her near at all.

It's been about three months and she's all that I think about. Why Christine? Why did you leave me?

I look at the music; it's the original music that I wrote that goes with Music of the Night. I no longer need to look at it to play the song, but I would never get rid of it.

I tear runs silently down the side of my cheek.

I wipe it away angrily.

It's better that you left, you would never be able to live your life away from the people out there, away from the sunlight, no matter how much I detest the thought of us being separate. This is how it needs to be.

I hear footsteps suddenly, on the other side of the lake. They are faint, but firm, like someone who wants to sneak up, but doesn't know how.

I turn and hear a splash, proving they have entered the water. I stand and walk to the switch, raising the gate. With the ways I stepped up security when the mob left anyone who can make it all the way down here deserves to meet me.

Then I see who it is and I change my mind. It's the Viscount.

I turn my back to him and growl out, "Come to mock me, boy?"

He doesn't respond. I can hear the waves that had been lapping against the shore slow, and then stop. I turn and see that he's just standing there, making no move to do anything at all.

"Is that really what you think?" his voice is void of emotion.

"Yes," I don't lie.

He laughs, "Still not over our petty differences?"

I scowl at him and he decides to continue, "I've come here bearing news about Christine."

My voice changes, and though I hate showing weakness I turn to him and leap down to the edge of the water, "What about Christine?"

I try to flinch, to turn and go back as if it means nothing as soon as he gives me her message, but he shoots out, "She's dead."

The words stop me from pulling back. I stand there, almost as if I was the dead one, not breathing or moving.

He looks at me and I look at him, and then I scowl, "You lie."

"Do you think I would come to this godforsaken place unless it were true?" I still don't believe him, but I know that it's denial that keeps me from believing.

"She can't be," I whisper.

"She is," his eyes tear up and voice has now shown sadness. My eyes start to water as well.

I turn back to the music that I had been reading and draw my sword, stabbing it straight through the heart, as I have been stabbed there as well.

I back up a pace. I hear fresh new waves hit the shore.

Suddenly I get blinded with anger.

"This is your fault," I spit at him.

He looks at me, "You're mad!"

"You let her die!" I draw the sword from the paper and point it at him.

He grips the hilt of his sword, "I would never hurt her, you know that."

"How can I trust you? I never could before," I step into the water, not even feeling it as it automatically seeps through my clothes and hits my skin.

He draws his sword; "Do you think this wise?"

I don't answer; I simply lunge at him.

He easily sidesteps me and I keep falling. Before I can stop myself, I hit the wall. I step back and glower at him, and he changes his stance so he can defend himself.

I taste something metallic in my mouth and realize that my nose is bleeding, the blood gushing out.

"We don't have to do this," Raoul pleads.

"Yes," I lunge, "we," our swords meet, "do!"

He tries to move his sword and break the contact, but it simply makes him slip and I slice open his shirt, blood showing instantly. I smile in a small amount of satisfaction. This bastard killed my love, now he must feel the pain that he's her and I.

He holds his right arm over the cut and then turns to me. I've drawn blood. Last time I did this Christine stopped him before he could kill me, but this time no one's here, and this has turned into a fight to the death.

We stay in battle for a long time; I manage to cut open his left leg, along with a slight scratch on his face. He has managed to knock off my mask, and cut my chest and he sliced my back open, a little, as well.

He limps in my direction and I swing my sword to hit his already injured arm, but mid-swing my back starts to seer in pain and I cry out, dropping the sword.

He takes this opportunity to position himself above me, his sword ready to come down, piercing my heart, at any moment.

I close my eyes and turn my face away from his. I wait in anticipation for him to finish the fight, realizing this is the second time that he has held my life in his hands, but this time no one is here to save me.

After a moment I hear a loud splash next to me, and I look up.

He has thrown his sword aside. He extends a hand in my direction.

"Monsieur?" I'm confused by his actions, why not kill me?

He sits down at my side and I sit up. He looks me in the eyes and simply says, "Christine wouldn't want it to end, not like this."

I nod, "Thank you, monsieur," and though I loathe to say the words I say them sincerely.

"Please," he smiles at me, "call me Raoul. 'Monsieur' is just too formal, and kind of strange coming from you."

I nod.

An uncomfortable silence settles on the room.

Suddenly he cries out.

I turn to him and see that he's clutching his arm, and I see that he's panting.

"We need to get you dry, and bandaged," we stand and I help him limp over to some chairs that I have in the main room. I sit him down and quickly go get some bandages and both of us a towel, along with a dry outfit.

He's shivering when I return.

"Here," I hand him the towel.

"Thanks," he barely manages to whisper.

We towel off and strip off the wet shirts and pants. He wraps the towel around his waist, despite the point that he is, in fact, wearing underpants. I do wrap mine around my chest and back.

I see the gash on his leg is more minor than I thought, but the one on his arm he is holding.

I hold out my hand near his arm as I pick up the bandages, "Let me see it."

He removes his hand and I see that it's really deep.

"I can only bandage it for now, but you need to get that stitched up," I start to apply the bandages and he cries out in pain.

I look at him. "I'm sorry," he nods and I finish.

I look down and see that the gash on his leg has almost stopped bleeding. I cover it with little difficulty.

He looks at me when I finish, "What's your name?"

I scowl, "Why should I tell you?"

"Because calling you 'the Phantom' seems very improper," he answers, getting his usually defiant tone again.

I look away, "It's Erik." The name seems so foreign on my tongue.

"Well, Erik, if you want me to help you bandage your wounds then you need to take off that towel," I panic at his words.

"I'll be fine on my own, thank you," I take a step back.

"Don't kid yourself, you know you need help," he stands up, balancing himself on the back of his chair.

I try to move away, but I run into a table. I try to stop him from reaching me, from seeing my past demons. I don't succeed.

He reaches me and pulls the towel off, gasping and taking a step back as he does.

I glower at him, "Why the hell did you do that?"

He looks at me in pity, "How did you get those scars?"

I look away and walk back to the chairs, never making eye contact, "None of your business."

He walks over to me and looks down at me, "Tell me."

"Why?" I ask.

"Fine, don't," he sits down across from me and picks up the bandages.

He silently walks over and I start, "I got them a long time ago, when I was known as the Devil's Child."

He freezes at the words.

I look at him with even more hate, "That is not the first time you have heard the words?"

He sighs, "Madame Giry told me the story."

"She told you what she knows, and that's twice as much as what you would get out of me," I growl.

He walks cautiously to my side and lightly traces one of them.

I look at him in pure confusion.

He doesn't speak, but moves his hand again, to trace a different scar, this one leading his close to the gash on my back, causing me to take a sharp breath.

He doesn't stop though and I move away.

Then I feel him trace the same scar, this time, though; he trails his lips along it.

"What the hell—" he cuts me short by catching my lips in a deep kiss.

It feels strange, his lips on mine. His lips are warm, and they seem to fill me with life I didn't even realize I had.

He pulls away gently.

I look into his eyes and I see a strange mix of emotions.

"Monsieur—" he places a finger on my lips.

He closes the distance between our lips again, and something inside me stirs. I start to kiss him back.

I feel him wrap his hands around the back of my neck as I move mine to his waist. He slowly gets me to stand up and the kiss breaks off.

He moves from my grasp, "Where is there some place a bit more… comfortable?"

"Follow me," he grin. His smile is so bright that I feel my self start to smile as well.

I lead him into the only room with a bed, the room that is my place for Christine.

He looks around in awe as I sit on the bed.

He moves over to me slowly and once I can reach him I place my hands behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss me.

As we kiss he moves onto the bed and we both lay down, him on top of me.

Feeling his weight on top of me is strange, and where our waists meet I can feel that he is enjoying this.

We stop kissing and he follows my gaze to where our waists meet. He blushes and starts to move away, but I wrap my arms around him and force him to stay.

He smiles and then moves to trail another one of my scars with kisses, this time more passionately.

I wrap my hand in his hair and start to move them down his perfect back. The feeling of bare flesh under my hands makes me lust for his touch more.

I start to lose touch with reality, lose touch with everything that is telling me this is wrong, and I start to take in this one moment.

We both meet our lips in another deep kiss, and I run my tongue against his lips, begging for entry. To my delight his lips part and our tongues meet.

We slowly break the kiss, and he starts to trail his hands down my side, and when he reaches my underpants, he simply moves them down with his hands. I whimper as I feel myself freed. Once he successfully removes them he removes his own, throwing both pairs aside.

"This will hurt," he kisses me.

"I know," I kiss him in return.

As I feel us both become one I cry out, and he kisses me, hushing me cries. I feel tears run down my cheeks and he kisses them away.

I look up at him and smile. He smiles back at me and kisses me. I start to feel tired and I slowly fall asleep.

Awaking the next morning I find myself wrapped in his arms, and I enjoy it. Waking up this way is much better than waking up alone and cold.

I smile to myself, but then I think of what will happen when he wakes up, and what he'll do when happened between us last night really hits him.

It's almost a depressing thought. I almost don't want him to leave. I felt something for him last night, as I do now. I realize that I love this man.

I realize how forbidden my thoughts are, but I shrug that off. I feel him stir, and try not to think of what will be going on moments from now, and I try to take in as much of the moment now as I can.

Death brings about a lot of things, and I guess it can even bring enemies close, if only for a moment.


a/n: please review!