Author Notes: I suck, I haven't updated in forever, y'all probably think I'm retarded. I have moved to a new state and my Beta is in training in another (you're gonna be great Al) and did I mention I'm in college now? Not a good excuse I know, but I wanted to share. Here it is, it's gotten steamy, I hope everyone likes it (and isn't offended by it) if you wanna know what made me pick this back up again it was an editorial called "On Feedback" at It made me realize I couldn't leave my readership hanging just because I couldn't get my stuff perfect. Thanks again to psychonerd and shadowsaremyfortress, and a... Mithril Maiden (?) who kicked me a bit but it was in a well meaning manner, as well as MJ MOD, who made me laugh and who really, really should not read this particular chapter…

Warning: sexual content, slash, "self-love", voy.


Erik was stalking the Vicomte. There, he could at least admit it to himself. Not that he didn't have a good reason to keep a close eye on the tricky young man. It had been three days since the confusing meeting in Box 5 that was, in retrospect, obviously a plot meant to deceive him. Raoul had seen first hand how deeply his craving for physical contact and companionship was. And the arrogant, conceited, utterly vain fool actually thought he was irresistible enough to tempt him!

He was of course, but that was hardly the point. He had toyed with the idea of playing the Vicomte's little game, to see just how far he could push him before Raoul realized just how out of his league he was. And then Erik could push him just a little bit farther. A small shudder ran through his frame as he contemplated the idea. Humiliating his rival that way would be sweet enough, but the thought of what he could do to him before that happened sent a wave of heat washing out from the center of his body.

He found himself, a half an hour later, watching the boy from the safety of the mirror, on the pretense of spying on the enemy. Although, if he was being honest with himself, there was no reason to be timing this little visit to when the lovely young man was undressing for bed.

Raoul in the meantime, was completely unaware of his unseen audience, and was following the nightly routine of the normal male, which apparently required that when faced with a full length mirror, any man must spend at least two minutes half naked in front of it, flexing and generally appraising his physique. Erik had called in disfigured on that particular day at the male charm school, and had thus spent this time split between appreciation and exasperation. A point in the boy's favor had been the self-deprecating smile he'd given himself before turning from the mirror.


As he turned a flash of red had caught Raoul's eye and his gaze was drawn to the small table where a single red rose stood, resting in a clear glass vase. It's stem tied with a black ribbon and its petal now almost ready to bloom. He walked over to it, picking it up carefully to avoid the thorns, and then slowly retuned to stand in front of the mirror studying the rose intently. He twisted the stem slowly in his fingers, and the petals gave a delicate pirouette, spinning their lovely fragrance out into the air. He brushed the flower across his mouth on an impulse, letting his eyes sink closed, and breathed in their fragrance as the petals rolled across his lips.

A sound like a small gasp seemed to echo his own breath and his eyes flashed open, giving a guilty glance around the room. The door was closed and no one would disturb him anyway, but still he bit his lip as he looked back to the rose. He brushes it against his lips again, inhaling the sweet scent again, and then the rose seems to glide across his cheek of its own will, the silk soft petals caressing his skin. He tilts his head back and the rose runs, oh so naturally, down the long line of his throat, as his other hand comes to rest lightly on his abdomen.

He lets the soft flower run aimlessly across his neck and chest for a moment until the edge of a petal catches on an already hardening nipple. A small groan escapes his mouth and his other hand slips lower to caress the skin beneath the waist of his drawers. His head bent forward he rests his cheek against the strangely warm surface of the mirror and lets his hand slip lower and lower while the rose continues its unmapped journey across his body, leaving it's perfume behind it, as a reminder of its passage.

Another small sound escaped him as he finally began to stroke himself, breathing deep gasps of rose scented air and trying not to crush the rose against his body. He groaned softly when he finally wrapped his hand around himself and began to move to a slow rhythm. The rose stopped its journey as he used the hand that held it to brace himself against the mirror. His breathing began to get ragged as he came closer and closer, his hand squeezing reflexively around the flower. A thorn penetrated the soft skin of his palm, forcing a name from his lips, and himself over the edge.

When his eyes flickered open again, he was almost flush against the mirror, and when his eyes found their reflection, he blushed crimson. Eyes half-lidded, breath uneven, and sweat beading at his temples he looked…wanton. The blush deepened and he quickly withdrew from the mirror, and then even more quickly moved to drop the rose at the table, where it left a small smear of blood. The wound in his hand throbbed in response to the sight and Raoul quietly sighed and cleaned up both his hands as best as he could, before climbing into the bed his fiancé had used. He breathed in her soft, powdery scent and found no relief in it. Things, he thought, would have to be clearer in the morning light.


Erik had not moved from his place behind the mirror. Even once Raoul had moved away from it, he had stayed flush against the glass, feeling the smooth surface as it slowly cooled. And as Raoul climbed into bed with an obviously troubled look on his face, Erik's ability to think had returned, and things suddenly became much clearer.


Author Notes P.S.: Please don't hate me, my Beta got a review for her fic that was so mean, it just said, "This is so gross. Dorian is not gay." Too awful! I would cry.