Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, at all.

Note: This was done for a weekly challenge, this weeks challenge being Homosexuality

Confusion

He was beautiful, and he was everything.

He was an angel among mankind, a god among sinners. He had flew into his life like a storm, and for once the usually composed Viscount didn't know what to do with himself. He was confused, and he was alarmed at his body's unwanted reactions to the beautiful man. But at the same time…no. No, he would not think such wretched, dirty things, he wouldn't! The Phantom wasn't beautiful, surely not. He was no god, he was the sinner. The phantom was nothing more than the dirt under his feet, to be certain. This was true, it had to be…he had to believe this….he had to.

Raoul glanced over at his intended, Christine, and felt an alarming amount of regret and guilt towards her. Why had he requested her hand in marriage? He didn't really love her, he had realized that only shortly after his proposal. He had merely been swept up by the memories and her fears, and on the opera's roof he couldn't help but want to shield her from her fears, knowing even then that he was also trying to rid himself of his rebellious thoughts. Why hadn't he broken off this sham of an engagement, this lie represented by the ring hanging in between the cleavage she seemed to show off so much. When had he stopped being aroused by a woman's supple breasts, why was he no longer thrilled by the idea of taking a woman to his chambers?

When had it started, he wondered as he reached over to grab Christine's shaking hand. His abnormal desire hadn't made its appearance before he had came to the opera house, as a matter of fact he had laid with a woman mere days before arriving into town, a beautiful woman at that. He had remembered the feel of her silky skin, her shaking climax that trembled throughout his entire body. It had inspired such arousal in him then, why did the mere thought of it now disgust him?

He knew, but he didn't want to admit it. To do so would be like admitting he was the ultimate sinner, that he had taken every moral he had at one time upheld with such esteem and crushed it beneath his feet. His desires had changed the moment he heard of the phantom, the moment he had learned that a man was living in the opera house freely, without any restraints. The man had killed before, had scared Christine and the opera house out of their wits, he was a man with power. To Raoul, power was everything in this world. Power over money, power over people, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that a person had it, and the phantom did. To say that Raoul had been turned on by seeing the dead, hanging body he knew the phantom had wrung wasn't a turn-on would be a lie. He had gone hard at the idea of the mysterious man overtaking the struggling bigger man. Had he struck him from behind, or had he watched with amusement as the man that had been trying to stop him gasped for air. The power to control life and death was hard to attain, but the phantom was so very adept at destroying those that went against him. It was a beautiful thing to watch.

He had to suppress a groan as he remembered his own recent tussle with the phantom. He had finally been able to meet the man face to face, and what a beautiful face it was. Sure, he had hid half of it behind a mask, but it made him even more alluring. A scarred man, Christine had told him. A deformed face to match his deformed heart. She just didn't understand, the poor girl. The beauty within the evil, just like the beauty of his movements as they fought, man to man. The phantom's body was warm despite the frigid weather, his movements had been as graceful as a dancer. His body had conveyed its own type of music as he had charged towards Raoul, sword in hand. The phantom's breath mingling with his own as they had came close, it was almost enough to make him forget Christine was even there. He had thought that as he had pushed the phantom to the ground that he saw what seemed to be desire flash through the man's eyes. Desire for him. It was then he realized that perhaps the sword fight had merely been a test of his courage, and it had made him instantly furious. He had been so furious that he had thought to kill the man who had made him think such disturbing, sinful thoughts, but Christine's voice had broken him out of his crazed state of mind. He was glad she had done so, he would have regretted it if he had killed him then.

A feeling of anticipation went through him as they entered the masquerade ball, it was a feeling he hadn't had in quite some time. He glanced once more over at his gussied up 'fiancé', noting that the symbol of his lie was resting in-between her ample bosom, over her rapidly beating heart. She talked to him, excited about one thing or another, and he responded on what almost seemed to be autopilot. Such feeling he conveyed to her, such emotion, but he held no such emotions for her. He cared not for her, nor for her well being. He clung only to the idea that being with her would stop him from desiring the most forbidden fruit of all. He shook himself from his thoughts as he heard a collective gasp from the crowd, and following their eyes he settled his own vision on someone he hadn't seen in what had seemed like forever, the very man everyone hated.

His Phantom.

The man was dressed in all red, the color was very complimenting to his skin tone. Raoul followed his every step as he seemed to float down the stairs, making demands to many of the members of the Opera cast and waving about what he said was his own written Opera. Don Juan, he called it, and he demanded that it be played. Raoul shivered as he exhorted his power over the lesser beings, and then he snapped out of his sudden distraction. No! He must not give in, he must defeat his demons…he must kill the phantom. He ran from Christine to grab a weapon, knowing the phantom was too infatuated with Christine to do anything too rash, and quickly did what he needed to do. However when he returned, Christine was terrified, and the Phantom's message had been sent.

Raoul tried to be furious for Christine as he attacked, but the Phantom threw him into a trap, and for once he felt like the Phantom could truly kill him. He glanced around furiously, hearing whispers in his head as the mirror illusions threatened to make him falter. Then suddenly, he felt warm breath beneath him and a voice in his ear, the note the Phantom slipped into his shirt burning his very skin.

"Silly Viscount," Said the Phantom, "You do not have the power to destroy me.."

The voice was gone, and when the trap was destroyed by Madame Giry, he took only a moment to get his bearings, and while doing so he reached for the note…hoping for something he didn't understand.

Dear Viscount,

Do not think me ignorant enough to be oblivious to where your true attentions lie, for you will not fool me. You may hide behind your pride and lies, it only serves to amuse me, but I should hope you watch yourself-your expression gives way to many of your 'lesser' emotions. Know that you will never pleasure me, for you will never match me in any aspect. If you wish, I would gladly tell your secrets to all those you cherish…how do you fancy that?

The note said nothing more, and it didn't need to. Raoul could feel every taunting jab, hear the Phantom's deep voice full of dark amusement. He crumpled the note in his hands, and later, he burnt it with fire. The phantom had made the wrong decision by taunting him. He would have his play, Raoul would be sure of it. He could talk Christine into performing…and then, he'd get his revenge.

The Phantom would know better than to mock his love.