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Emptiness	By : Josephine1881 Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Slash Views: 8257 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter Twenty-One

Erik didn’t wait for any kind of reaction from me, but simply seized my hand and dragged me to the mirror. He opened it quickly, so quickly that I wouldn’t have noticed him touch the switch if I hadn’t known about its existence. It was only when he pulled me down the passageway that I overcame my surprise enough to ask:

“Where are we going? Down to your lair? And what do you want to show me?”.

“No, we’re not going to my lair… yet,” he replied with a little chuckle. “We’re going to… oh, I won’t tell you. I won’t spoil the surprise. You’ll like it.”

I had to take his word for it. Even if I had wanted to leave, I couldn’t have done so, for he held my hand tightly. Of course I didn’t mind. He wasn’t wearing gloves, and his hand was pleasantly cold in mine.

I didn’t know where he was leading me, but I could at least tell that we were not going downwards, like we had done on the way to his lair. We were staying on the same level, which made me assume that whatever he wanted to show me was not in the cellars.

Neither of us spoke. Erik merely chuckled every now and then. I couldn’t help thinking that he only was this cheerful because he had found an easy way to end the conversation I had forced upon him. I swore to myself that if my suspicion turned out to be correct, I’d start the conversation again immediately and wouldn’t let him wriggle his way out of it again.

After a few minutes, Erik came to a halt in front of what looked like a large window. The main difference was that an ordinary window showed a part of the outside world, whereas this one was looking into a room. At once I recognised it as a dressing room. It clearly belonged to a man, for I saw various pieces of clothing for men, including the thin trousers male dancers wore on stage as well as several pairs of dancing shoes.

“Why can we look into that room?” I asked. “Who does it belong to? And why have you brought me here?”

“So many questions for such a young man,” he remarked teasingly. His eyes were shining in the light of the torches burning on either side of the passageway. “Let me start with the first one: This room has a mirror similar to the one in Christine’s dressing room because I used to teach her here when she was still living in a dormitory with several other girls. It stood empty for a while, and when they needed an additional room for a new dancer about a year ago, they took this one. I didn’t mind, for Christine already had her own room by then. And we’re here because…” He gave another chuckle. “Well, you shall find out soon.”

Involuntarily my gaze was drawn to the door, since I knew that if something should happened, someone had to come in first. Just a few moments later, the door was pushed open and two men entered the room, giggling and pushing each other like little children. To my surprise, I recognised one of them.

“That’s Pierre Landoir,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “He’s the new leading tenor. Christine sang with him a few times before she grew too ill to attend the rehearsals.”

Pushing the thought of Christine out of my mind for the moment, I watched Pierre slip out of his shoes and open the top buttons of his tight-fitting shirt. He acted as if it were his dressing room, although it clearly wasn’t.

“You wouldn’t believe how glad I am every time I can take off that wretched shirt,” he told his companion with a groan, opening more buttons and revealing a rather hairy chest. “I don’t know what possessed them to put me into a shirt that tight. I can hardly breathe, let alone sing in it.”

“A woman’s revenge, I suppose,” the other man commented, grinning. “The seamstress heard so many complaints of the female singers about their corsets that she thought it amusing to make that shirt for you.”

Pierre made a dismissive gesture.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, or I’ll lose my good mood. Do you happened to have anything nice to drink, Jean-Paul?”

I used the time while the man called Jean-Paul opened a cabinet and took out two glasses and a bottle to ask Erik a question.

“Who’s the other man?” I wanted to know. “Does he work at the opera as well? I think I’ve seen him somewhere.”

“His name is Jean-Paul Grenderaux,” he replied. “Of course you’ve seen him. He’s one of the best male dancers the opera ever had… and one of the most handsome. All the ballet rats are in love with him.”

I could see why. Jean-Paul was indeed a very good-looking man, with his dark blue eyes and the long white-blond hair. Walking back to the sofa on which Pierre had settled down, he gave him a dazzling smile, showing two rows of perfectly white teeth.

“Of course, Pierre Landoir has his admirers as well,” Erik went on. “The decision which one to fall in love with must be very hard for the chorus girls. Fortunately most of them don’t mind being in love with two men at the same time.”

It was true that Pierre was handsome as well. His complexion as well as his hair was darker than his companion’s, but his teeth were just as white and his smile just as wide. The image of a dozen or so chorus girls trying to make up their minds who to fall in love with made me grin.

“Jealous, Erik?” I couldn’t help asking. “Would you rather have the girls fall in love with you?”

“But yes,” he said dryly. “I couldn’t imagine anything more exciting than having a group of stupid girls swoon with delight every time they see me.”

“I wouldn’t like that,” I told him seriously. “You belong to me, and to me only.” We shared a long, loving kiss.

By the time we looked back into the room, Jean-Paul was filling the glasses for the second time.

“They could have any girl they want at the opera,” Erik stated. “And still they spend the time after every performance together. Can you guess why?”

“They like the peace?” I replied uncertainly, thinking of the chorus girls whose main way of expressing themselves seemed to be pointless giggling.

“That is one of the reasons, yes,” he agreed. “But there is another one, which is much more important. Can’t you see it?”

His question making me suspicious, I watched the two men more attentively than before. They seemed to be very close friends, for they were completely relaxed in each other’s company. They were chatting merrily about the performance, while Jean-Paul was massaging his feet and Pierre was scratching his chest absent-mindedly. They were friends, that much was certain. Still I couldn’t help feeling that there was something else, something about the way they looked at each other, something in the way their fingers met every now and then.

“They’re in love,” I breathed, amazed about the discovery. “They’re in love.”

“Indeed,” Erik said, nodding. “The two most desirable men at the opera – except for the one standing next to me – and they’re in love with each other. This is what they call the irony of life.”

“They’re so comfortable around each other,” I muttered, watching Pierre twirl a strand of Jean-Paul’s long hair around his finger and make an admiring comment about its softness. “How long are they… you know… a couple?”

“For about three months, I’d say,” Erik told me. “Pierre came here shortly after M.Piangi’s death, and the attraction between Jean-Paul and him was there right from the start… as far as I can tell. You can probably understand that I wasn’t too interested in other people’s lives at that time.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. I could only guess how miserable Erik had been after Christine had left the opera with me. Giving him a warm smile, I placed a hand on his arm, just to show him that I wasn’t indifferent to his fate.

We continued watching the men in the room. By now, even the most stupid person in Paris could have easily guessed that they were in love, for they had started kissing.

It was strange, but I had never imagined two men kissing without imagining me being one of them. Merely watching it, watching their lips meet and their tongues move into and out of each other’s mouths, was very exciting. A small moan escaped my lips.

“I take it that you like what you see,” Erik stated.

“Very much,” I said, sounding a little breathless.

The men in the room certainly were breathless as well as they broke apart.

“I love this shirt,” Jean-Paul muttered, moving a finger down the line of buttons that were still closed. “Every time I see you wear it on stage, I want to devour you whole.”

“I doubt the audience would like it,” Pierre argued. “But you could always do it now.”

“Oh, all in due time,” Jean-Paul assured him, a hungry expression on his face. I knew that if Erik looked like that, he was most definitely up to something.

The first thing Jean-Paul was up to was rather logical: He opened the remaining buttons on Pierre’s shirt. Unlike me, he didn’t seem to have any problems with it. Perhaps it was simply a matter of practice. When the shirt was open and discarded, I saw that Pierre’s chest was not only hairy, but also muscular and looked very nice. It was clear that Jean-Paul was of the same opinion, for he didn’t waste any time, but attacked a rosy nipple with his tongue at once.

The unmistakable feeling of lips caressing the side of my neck made me jump slightly.

“Go on watching them,” Erik murmured, his breath tickling my skin. “Let me do the rest.” The offer was too good to refuse, so I didn’t even try. I merely tilted my head a little to the side to allow him a better access and looked into the room again.

Jean-Paul had taken off his shirt as well now, and the two men were kissing again. I soon realised that watching them was a thousand times better with Erik kissing me. He really seemed to be serious about not wanting to disturb me, for he avoided my face, lest he obstructed my view. Yet his lips and tongue also felt wonderful on my neck and along my collarbone as he deftly opened the top buttons of my shirt.

Before long, Jean-Paul’s fingers made their way down to the other man’s trousers.

“Impatient little dancer,” Pierre scolded him gently.

“Well, I had to endure hours of watching you strut around in that tight shirt,” Jean-Paul argued. “It was very hard to focus on dancing. So I can at least expect things to move quickly when we’re alone, can’t I?”

“And you think that you’re the only one who suffered during the performance?” Pierre asked. “Those tight trousers – every inch of your lovely legs is clearly visible in them… let alone certain other inches of your anatomy.”

His hands wandered downwards as well. I couldn’t see what exactly they were doing, yet the sound of the other man inhaling sharply gave me a rather good idea. As far as I could tell, they were massaging each other’s private parts through their trousers.

Feeling myself grow hard, I gave a moan of longing. Erik, who seemed to attend to my every need today, cupped my length through the fabric of my trousers.

“Oh,” I made, my hips jerking forwards.

“Pierre is wrong,” he muttered, his lips at my throat. “An impatient little dancer is nothing compared to my impatient little Vicomte.”

I wanted to say something, but just another moan left my mouth as he started stroking me. So I returned my attention to what was going on in the room.

The rest of the men’s clothes had vanished. They had obviously undressed very quickly, and I couldn’t help thinking that Jean-Paul was not the only one impatient. I was rather impressed with what I saw of their bodies. Their faces clearly weren’t the only handsome parts they had. If that was the effect singing and dancing had on a man’s body, I should definitely think about a career on the stage.

At the moment, Jean-Paul was rummaging in the drawer of a small table next to the sofa. It was admirable how comfortable he seemed in the other man’s presence. He even wriggled his backside at him playfully.

“Don’t give me the wrong kind of ideas, love,” Pierre growled, his eyes even darker with lust. He was slowly stroking himself while he waited.

After a few moments Jean-Paul turned around to his companion again, holding a bottle in his hand. It was filled with a liquid the colour of which reminded me of oil. Taking a long look at it while the man let a handful of it pour into his palm, I saw that the consistency was different, almost like honey. It made his hands all slippery as he coated his manhood with it.

Slippery? Suddenly I understood what all those preparations were about. The liquid had to be like the one Erik had told me about, the one used to make certain activities less painful for men. Realising that this was what I was about to see, I gave a surprised little gasp.

“Have you finally understood what they’ll do?” Erik asked. He didn’t sound teasing, but excited and a little breathless. He had stopped kissing me for the moment, yet his hand was still stroking the bulge in my trousers.

I nodded, gulping.

“But we shouldn’t watch it,” I whispered. “It’s too… private.”

“Well, you’re free to go,” he said, grinning. “I’ll meet you later.” He could afford the grin, for he knew as well as I did that I wouldn’t leave, not now that I had seen that much. This was my one chance to watch two men make love, and I’d surely be able to learn a lot. I didn’t seriously believe that I was only staying for educational reasons, but it was as good an excuse as any. Erik’s grin grew wider as I sighed and shook my head.

I held my breath as I watched Jean-Paul prepare his companion, who had turned around and was on all fours on the sofa by now. Involuntarily the muscles in my backside contracted. I simply couldn’t imagine that this was in any way pleasant. Yet it seemed to be pleasant for Pierre, for after a few sharp intakes of breath, he relaxed visibly. Once he even gave a loud moan that clearly had nothing to do with pain.

“Jean-Paul hit his prostate,” Erik informed me. “It’s supposed to make things very pleasant for the man who is… well, on the receiving end, so to speak.”

The hand that wasn’t busy stroking me wandered down to my backside. My buttocks clenched.

“You don’t have to worry,” he assured me in a gentle voice. “I have no intention to take you here and now. We’ll only do it when we’ll both be ready.” He gave my behind a little pat before taking his hand away. He hadn’t sounded like himself at all, so I threw him a suspicious glance. Yet he looked at me with so much affection in his eyes that I couldn’t have possibly distrusted him.

I watched him as his hands opened the buttons of my trousers.

“We can’t have you come in there,” he explained. “Imagine what a mess it would be.”

I could only nod. I wished we could have been as naked as the two men inside the room, but I also understood that it wouldn’t have been possible here in the passageway.

Letting my gaze drift sideways, I noticed that my manhood, which Erik had just freed from my trousers cautiously, was not the only one in need of attention. Yet as my hand went to the visible bulge in his trousers, he stopped it in mid-air.

“Why can’t you just go on enjoying what you see?” Erik muttered. “It’s like a present for you, Raoul, like a special performance at the opera. Imagine what a chaos there would be on stage if people from the auditorium suddenly decided that they wanted to participate. It’s very friendly of you, but I’m more than capable of… taking matters into my own hands.”

Unceremoniously, he opened his trousers and took out his manhood, which was just as hard as mine. I was fascinated by his daring. If I had been in his position, I’d have rather come in my trousers than act that boldly. Yet when he wrapped one hand around each of our members and started moving them in a slow rhythm, I didn’t think about such things anymore.

“Oh no!” Erik exclaimed softly after a few moments. “We missed it.”

Looking up, I realised I had almost forgotten that we had been watching someone else. Being involved oneself was so much better. Yet as I glanced into the room again, having been made curious by Erik, I knew at once what he was talking about.

Jean-Paul was already kneeling behind Pierre, holding onto his hips and thrusting into him. We had missed that one crucial moment. But then, as much as I’d have liked to see it, I couldn’t find it in myself to care too much. It was hard to be angry or disappointed about something while the man I loved was caressing my manhood in such a delicious way. Erik adapted his rhythm to the one in which Jean-Paul was moving and stroking Pierre’s member, and soon all four of us were moaning and gasping for breath.

With the additional stimulation of watching two men doing what I’d be doing with Erik one day, it was only natural that I didn’t last long. Erik urged me on further by skillfully stroking me. He already knew exactly what I liked. So I was the first to come. I let waves of pure bliss wash over me, while waves of something rather different poured over Erik’s hand and onto the floor.

I felt weak, yet not too weak to kiss Erik’s cheek gently as he found his release, with a small cry of my name. If it was possible, I loved him even more for coming with my name on his lips, even as we were watching someone else.

When we had recovered enough to look at the men again, I saw that they were finished as well and were half sitting, half lying on the sofa, in a sweaty mass of tangled limbs. Jean-Paul had pulled Pierre against him and was holding him tight. Their chests heaving in unison and their eyes glowing, they looked closer and happier than ever.

“Is that all you wanted to show me?” I asked Erik as he cleaned us with a handkerchief and tucked us back into our trousers. “Two men making love? Please don’t think me ungrateful. I truly enjoyed it, but I don’t understand what it has to do with me feeling lonely and the people who think we belong in hell…”

“Oh, this was just the first act,” Erik said airly. “You’ll have your questions answered soon.” Then he cleared his throat. “Good evening, Messieurs!” he called loudly.
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Emptiness