Title: A Stalking Surprise
Series: Halloween 2012
Author: Lucifer Rosemaunt
Summary: Oneshot. Raoul has a stalker. He really should have listened to the Persian's warning.
Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Word Count: 2,721
A/N: So, can you guess how many supernatural!plotbunnies I got this holiday? You'll find out eventually. Also, I do not know why when I upload fics to ffnet, spaces are suddenly missing. D: I do spellcheck people. Please tell me if something is egregiously wrong.
Story note: The title is so bad, but I totally could not think of anything. XD This fic is the flip side of the first post. Also, it is a oneshot. Plotbunnies as always are up for grabs. Just PM me.
Ever since Raoul had arrived in Paris and became the patron of the opera house, he was certain that he was being followed. At first, he simply thought it to be paranoia. Paris was a large city and populous enough to feel crowded all the time. A little paranoia in a new city was to be expected. It was not as though he had done anything out of the ordinary that would garner such unwanted attention. No one seemed overly disgruntled nor especially enamored with him, but the sense that someone was watching him persisted nonetheless.
It was a week after he had settled in his new home in Paris when a man whose paranoia seemed worse than his own knocked upon his door. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone even as he was making his introductions. He called himself the Persian – and Raoul later learned that those that knew him all called him as such. He immediately thought he was odd.
The Persian stated that he had the utmost important information to tell him and then refused to enter his house when Raoul invited him in. In fact, he kept such a distance from the doorway that he necessarily had to raise his voice to be heard. Raoul had concluded that even though the information was important, it was apparently not confidential since he did not wish to speak in private. He was so adamantly against coming closer that it seemed as though he believed Raoul had been cursed – and he had considered that a possibility in his more fanciful moments. Still, the Persian seemed most sincere and exceedingly worried for his sake, worried enough that even Raoul began to look over his shoulder to see if anyone followed the man.
"Beware the wolf," he said gravely.
And Raoul had wondered if he was speaking in some sort of code.
"Being chosen by such a creature is a curse. He will keep you."
Then, it became clear that the Persian meant an actual wolf and Raoul wondered if his stalker had not just decided to knock on his door and speak with him. He approached with every intent to escort the Persian off his property, but the man shied away the closer he got.
"Do not let him mark you." He glanced over his shoulder and his next words were rushed out in a single breath without pause, "There will be no place on this earth where you can hide that he will not find you." He scanned the area once more and stopped, staring at a copse of birch trees. He turned and briskly walked away, but before he was too far, he yelled back at him, "He has your scent already."
Raoul had watched him leave in confusion. When he glanced at the location the Persian had been looking, he could see nothing but trees whose leaves moved in the wind. The other man had looked so composed when he first opened the door; it seemed a shame that he was insane. Raoul never spoke with him again. He saw him; their paths did cross. The Persian simply never met his eyes or allowed him to get any closer than across the street.
Not three days later, Raoul did wish to speak to him but every attempt to failed. Firstly, he wanted to apologize for thinking him to be insane. Later that evening after the Persian's visit, Raoul had looked out his window and swore something watched him. Yellow eyes shone in the darkness and he could make out the outline of an animal with the form of a wolf but quite larger than any he had ever heard of or seen.
A wolf, an actual wolf had been outside his bedroom watching him.
He could have easily convinced himself that it had all been a dream resulting from his encounter with the Persian, and he had successfully done so until he began to glimpse said wolf throughout the city in the days that followed. During the daytime, it would be a diminishing shadow, a bushy tail, or even a paw print. At night, the wolf no longer attempted to hide his presence. Once Raoul had extinguished his candle, he need only look out his window and those large yellow eyes would be staring back at him, its hulking form surprisingly well hidden in the bushes. One night, Raoul had taken a gun to the window and fired twice at it, but it proved futile. Those eyes and steady gaze were back once he returned to bed.
The wolf was toying with him, and he almost wished that he were slowly going insane because the alternative was simply unbelievable. He asked around as casually as he could about rumors of a wolf that size and all he received were blank stares and mocking laughter suggesting he was trying to start new rumors for sport. He did not understand how such a large, wild animal had not been spotted before.
The only time he felt he was safe was within the opera house. He never glimpsed the wolf within its walls and even though he still had to worry about the opera ghost, it was a relief to escape at least one predator.
Still, Raoul walked faster through the hallways. As crowded as the opera house was tonight, he could not help but fear that the wolf would somehow be able to sneak in and hide nearby, laying in wait for him. It was absurd, but his weeks here at the opera house and even outside it were filled with absurdities. What was one more? He ignored the managers when they questioned his decision to sit in Box 5. He would rather deal with an irate opera ghost with his notes and threats than worry about innocent bystanders if a wild wolf attacked him. It was best to be alone.
The ghost might actually be safer. He had a motive, a routine that he followed and Raoul did not fool himself for a second into believing that the opera house would not be suffering because he was blatantly ignoring one of his demands. On the other hand, the wolf or whatever it was simply watched him. It followed him, his gaze taking in everything but keeping his distance. Perhaps the uncertainty about its motives was what put him most on edge. Surely, it could kill him easily while he slept, but Raoul woke each morning alive if not a little more disconcerted and tired from nightmares disturbing his sleep.
Only after he settled in the box seat and the curtains were drawn did he finally let himself relax enough to focus on the opera. He even managed to laugh along with the others.
The very moment he thought he could have a pleasant evening, a low growl sounded close enough that it reverberated through his chest. His heart skipped a beat and he froze, barely allowing himself to breathe. Shutting his eyes slowly, he waited and the low growl sounded again. It was so deep, Raoul marveled at how he could actually feel it move through his entire body.
The wolf had made it inside the opera house. Scared as he was, he refused to just sit still and be attacked. However, he also wanted to avoid startling the wolf into premature action, so he turned his head minutely, fearing what he would see. He expected large fangs and drool and hot breath on his face. There was none of that. The growling only grew louder and Raoul stopped moving. He stared at the wall, straining to make out the form in the shadows from the corner of his eyes.
What moved was no wolf, but that hardly mattered when the low rumble that sounded thoroughly like the wolf came from the man that stood behind him. His movements were completely silent, more cat than wolf in Raoul's mind, but with a grace that put him ill at ease. He was too graceful, too much a well-honed predator, and Raoul considered his options. He could shout, but that would only give his death an audience for surely the wolf, the man, the wolf-man could kill him before anyone reached him.
The next option was barely forming in his mind when the man moved and all of Raoul's attention was focused on tracking him. Instead of stepping behind him for the kinder, easier kill, he prowled in front of him and Raoul was confronted with a wolf in man's clothing. Tall and broad, he wore a rather expensive looking suit while half of his face was hidden behind a porcelain mask. He looked amused by his confusion and when he smirked it was less a smile and more a showing of teeth that reminded Raoul of the wolf. His hair was slicked back and the face not hidden behind the mask was handsome – and Raoul cringed as that particular observation crossed his mind. It was the truth though. He was handsome save for the mask that probably covered a disfigurement. He…
His next thought had him scrambling backwards, tipping his chair over and depositing him onto the floor with a clamour. The noise however was hidden by a raucous bout of laughter from the audience. Raoul did not even hear them, did not even acknowledge anything but a single fact.
The Opera Ghost was a wolf. Not just any wolf, he was the wolf that was currently stalking him.
Before he could get any further, the man pounced – and that was the only way Raoul could describe it – and he was pinned on the floor. He freed his hands long enough to strike him once but was quickly subdued, and though try he might, he could not buck the ghost's considerable weight off him. He did not know where the extra weight came from since the man seemed rather slim; for his frame, Raoul should have at least been able to move him slightly. He tried twisting his hips, hoping to dislodge him long enough to roll away, but all he received was another growl.
The ghost was still grinning though. It was a grin that made his stomach clench somewhere between intrigue and fear of being eaten. The older man seemed to be in high spirits and that only made Raoul worry more. His best option at this point had to be begging for his life.
"Please do not kill me."
The ghost leaned forward and lowered his head to Raoul's throat. The action prompted him to whimper because he was certain his throat was going to be ripped out and he was going to die a slow, bloody death. He was bombarded with the scent of strong cologne and some underlying musk that made his head swim. It was familiar though, and it took him long moments before he realized that his room faintly smelled the same. Then the ghost inhaled deeply, and Raoul forgot all about his bedroom and flinched as the near contact and the rush of air gave him goose bumps. He braced himself for the bite.
Instead, the ghost pulled away and confirmed to himself aloud, "It is you."
Through the mask, he narrowed his eyes at him in consideration and not knowing what else to do, not being able to do anything else in his current position, Raoul copied the motion. He did not understand what was happening, much less know what to say. When the ghost nuzzled his neck and smelled him once more, he finally remembered what the Persian had said about his scent. The ghost was not going to kill him. According to the Persian, he was going to keep him, and even though Raoul did not know what that meant, it certainly did not sound like a desirable thing.
He shook his head, knocking the other man's face away. "No." His voice shook. Even looking at the man's actions in the new light of not planning to kill him, he was still frighteningly aggressive. "No." He shrugged as best as he could. "I do not think it is me at all." He tried to sound reasonable even as he struggled against the ghost's hands on his wrists.
For his efforts, the man jerked them both higher over his head, stretching his arms and when he released one of them, Raoul thought it was his chance. He was in the motion of reaching down to push him away when the ghost easily anticipated the motion and caught him. More embarrassingly, he was able to hold both his wrists with a single hand.
"It is you," he repeated and his free hand trailed down his forearms to his face. His index finger drew a path down his temple to his cheek. He pressed a thumb to Raoul's lips and into his mouth, pressing against his tongue. When Raoul finally had the presence of mind to try to bite that finger off, the ghost was already moving down his neck. When he hooked a finger into his collar, Raoul felt his pulse race. With a sudden jerk, the clothes were ripped from his shoulder. He let out an indignant yelp that had the man grinning wider. His shoulder and much of his chest were bare, the material hanging in shreds. He hunched over, trying to protect his modesty, but did not get far.
"What are you doing?" Raoul stared at him in disbelief. He kicked out and all he managed to do was kick the fallen chair a little further from where they lay. "What do you want from me?"
The ghost looked at him and Raoul could practically hear the unspoken, What do you think I want from you? when the ghost not-so-subtly stared at his chest and licked his lips.
He said instead, "Nothing I cannot already take for myself."
Raoul flushed at the expression on his face, at the open hunger. No one had ever looked at him like that and no one had ever been bold enough or strong enough to try. A quirk of the man's lips made him realize that he was just staring with his mouth open while the ghost ogled at him. He renewed his efforts to escape, bucking and straining with all his might. Had he taken a moment to watch the ghost's reaction, he would have known struggling was exactly what he wanted Raoul to do.
When he finally stopped, tired from his efforts, he was breathing hard, chest heaving. The added pressure of having the ghost sit on him did not make taking a deep breath easier.
"Are you done already?" the ghost asked.
Raoul glared at him and tried once more to buck him off, hips struggling to rise off the floor. The ghost smirked and lowered his head and Raoul was once again assailed by the familiar mix of cologne and musk. He jerked when he felt a tongue on the juncture of his shoulder and neck. His pulse quickened when teeth grazed his throat, and he surprised himself by letting out a breathy moan at the sensation. The ghost simply chuckled and repeated the action. Raoul squirmed uncomfortably, feeling himself too warm and getting warmer the longer the ghost licked and nipped his neck and shoulder. He arched up against him, panting and flushed and confused but aching as his ministrations seemed to send pleasure straight to his groin.
There was a loud laugh from the audience and the ghost stopped suddenly. The heavy breath on Raoul's throat made him shiver, and he was distantly glad he was not the only one reacting from what they had been doing.
Holding him tighter, the masked man rested so that they were chest to chest. He hummed in appreciation. "This is better." He growled and it sounded more like a content rumble. "You finally smell of me." He was beginning to nuzzle him when the audience laughed once more. Stopping, he let out a frustrated huff. He promised, "We will continue this at a more convenient hour."
Then just as quickly as he had appeared, all that heat and muscle were gone and Raoul lay on the floor alone in Box 5. He tentatively touched his neck and wondered what he just let happen.
A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Fic Review: Why is Raoul getting molested? And why is he enjoying it? I think he's got some kinks that he's been hiding. Or it's pheromones and he's just getting caught up in the moment. I prefer to think kinks though. ;3 You know I wrote this just because I wanted to see him manhandled and because I think they would be mates.
Stalker!Erik walking around Raoul's room (acclimating him to his smell) and watching him sleep is just head!canon by this point. Also, "a more convenient hour" is when Raoul returns to his bedroom.