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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-Two

The two men reacted exactly the way I’d have done it in their situation: They shrieked and looked around frantically to find something to cover themselves with, holding their hands over their private parts. Since their clothes lay on the floor all around them and it would have taken them minutes to put them on, Jean-Paul, who seemed to be the calmer one of the two, seized a blanket from one side of the sofa and threw it over their laps.

Sitting next to each other, they bore a strange resemblance to an elderly couple, sitting with a blanket over their knees to keep themselves warm. The main differences were the bare chests, the flushed cheeks and the fact that they were both male.

“Who’s there?” Pierre called out, his voice trembling slightly. His gaze darted from the door, which would have been the obvious source of any disturbance, to the opposite wall, where the mirror was located. Even though I knew he couldn’t see me and only looked into the direction Erik’s voice had come from, I felt the irrational urge to jump behind Erik and hide. Only the thought of what my beloved would have said if I had done so held me back.

“There’s no need to ask that question,” Jean-Paul told his companion in a resigned voice. “It’s the Opera Ghost. You must have heard of him. The ballets rats talk about him all the time.”

“When they see me, all the girls talk about is trying to find out whether the rest of my body is as hairy as my face,” Pierre gave back pleasantly, scratching the stubble on his chin. I had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep me from bursting into laughter.

Jean-Paul gave a little cough, which seemed to remind the other man of the situation they were in.

“I thought he had left the opera after – “ he began, only to be interrupted by Erik.

“I have not come here to discuss my past with you,” he cut across him.

“Why have you come here then?” Jean-Paul challenged him. “To… watch us?”

“Yes,” Erik replied, once more shocking me with his honesty. “And quite a nice performance it was. Very… passionate.” The two men exchanged a glance, obviously torn between being proud and irritated. “But I have not started this conversation in order to flatter you,” Erik went on. “There are some things I’d like to know.”

“What things?” Pierre uttered the question that was on my mind as well. What was Erik up to?

“Do you sometimes feel inferior to others because you prefer men to women?” Erik asked in an airy voice, as if he were talking about the weather.

Pierre and Jean-Paul looked utterly confused, but I understood my beloved’s intention at last. He wanted to give me the chance to hear about men who were like us, to hear how they were coping with their fate.

“Why do you want to know that?” Jean-Paul asked suspiciously.

“I’m interested in all aspects of human life,” Erik replied mysteriously. “And it would be best for you to just answer my question, plain and honest. The sooner you do so, the sooner you’ll be finished. Think about all the other nice things you could still do tonight.”

“All right,” Pierre muttered, shrugging. “What was the question again?”

“Do you sometimes feel inferior to other people?” Erik repeated. He could be very patient if things were going the way he wanted them to.

The men looked at each other, as if silently discussing who should begin.

“I used to feel inferior, yes,” Pierre said after a few moments. “I used to wonder why I couldn’t be like everyone else. Other men kept congratulating me because I sang opposite the most beautiful women and asked whether I had also got to know them privately, but I didn’t develop any kind of romantic feelings for those women, no matter how hard I tried. The only times I got… erm, excited was when I had scenes with an older baritone. He had the most amazing voice.” He gave a dreamy sigh before pulling himself together and going on matter-of-factly: “Well, of course I never told him about my feelings, and a few weeks after I had first discovered them, I came here…”.

“… and met me,” Jean-Paul finished his sentence softly, looking deep into his companion’s eyes. I could almost feel the love pulsing between them.

“And met you, yes,” Pierre agreed. “And suddenly everything made sense. My whole life made sense, all the waiting made sense, all the lonely hours made sense. I had not been alone at all. I had only saved myself for the right person.”

I could hardly suppress a sigh. It sounded so romantic.

“I never felt inferior,” Jean-Paul said flatly. “On the contrary: I thought everyone else was inferior, for they couldn’t amuse themselves the way I did. You wouldn’t believe how much passion is slumbering in most men, only waiting to be awakened by someone bold enough. And I did a lot of awakening.” He smiled reminiscently. Then, catching sight of the frown on Pierre’s face, he added: “But that’s all over now. And it feels much better today. I did have a lot of men, and I did enjoy myself, but something was always missing: I didn’t love any of them, and they didn’t love me either. And now… now I’m still feeling superior, but for a different reason: How man other people can say that they have found someone they truly love?”.

Erik and I looked at each other.

“I can,” we both whispered in unison, and we both knew that we were not talking about Christine, but about each other. Our lips met in a tender kiss, and I had to fight back the lump of emotion swelling in my chest. I knew exactly what Jean-Paul was referring to: I loved Erik so much, and knowing that he loved me as well had to be the best feeling in the world. It was as if I were floating a few inches above the floor.

When we stopped kissing and looked into the room again, I saw that the two men had seized the time for a little display of affection as well. They were kissing passionately. It was apparent that they were growing more comfortable in our – or rather, Erik’s – presence, for even when they broke apart, Jean-Paul kept his arm around Pierre’s shoulders.

“Is there anything else you want to know?” he asked, in a much friendlier voice than before.

“Yes, there is,” Erik replied. “How do you deal with people who think your way of living is despicable?”

Pierre inhaled sharply, but Jean-Paul merely shrugged.

“I try to avoid them,” he answered simply. “Some people at the opera know about us, and they don’t care, as long as we’re doing our work properly. Most people don’t know it. We don’t walk around holding hands, but if someone was to ask us directly, we’d probably tell them.”

“I believe that this topic is handled in a rather generous way at the opera, compared to other places,” Erik said.

The men nodded.

“In my experience, singers and dancers in general have more liberties than other people,” Pierre told him. “They’re said to be eccentric anyway. People are more tolerant towards them, no matter whether they have a different pair of shoes for every day of the year, wear far too much make-up or sleep with members of their own gender.”

“But that doesn’t mean that everyone should know about us,” Jean-Paul disagreed with his companion. “The patrons, for instance, must never find out. Most of them are very conservative. Besides, it would ruin their wives’ illusions. If they no longer want to come to the opera to see us and dream about what could be, their husbands might consider stopping their financial support.” He rolled his eyes. “At least that is what M.Firmin told me in unmistakable words one evening a couple of months ago, after seeing me kiss a stagehand.”

“What about their families?” I whispered into Erik’s ear. As much as I enjoyed listening to their experiences at the opera, I was far more interested in finding a solution to my own problem.

“Do your families know about your… preferences?” Erik asked them.

“No,” Pierre replied quickly, looking shocked. “Of course not. I could never tell them. They expect me to marry a nice girl one day…”

If I had been able to pat his shoulder sympathetically, I’d have done so. His story sounded very familiar to me. I wondered whether he also had two older sisters.

“So you lie to them,” Erik stated matter-of-factly.

“Not exactly,” the singer muttered. “I just don’t tell them the truth. They live in the south of France, you know, in a village near Cannes, and we hardly ever see each other. So when I write a letter to them, I just leave out the topic of my love life. They probably think I work too much to have time for anything else.”

“My parents know I’m interested in men,” Jean-Paul informed us in a flat voice. “They accepted it more readily than I could have hoped. Well, after the shock that their son became something as unmanly as a dancer, they were used to expecting the worst from me.” He gave a hollow laugh. “But of course it’s a decision everyone has to make for themselves,” he went on with a pointed glance at his companion. “It’s also a matter of how strong someone’s love is. Why bother to shock one’s parents if it’ll all be over in a few weeks’ time anyway?”

“Oh, Jean-Paul, my darling, please don’t say something like that,” Pierre pleaded, grabbing his hand and holding it tightly. “You mustn’t think that I don’t love you. It’s not true. Of course I love you. It’s just…” He sighed. “Oh, we’ve talked about all this. Perhaps I will tell my parents about us one day… just not now. But that doesn’t make my feelings for you any less wonderful. I’d never want to be with anyone but you.”

I could see how hard Jean-Paul tried to remain angry, but it didn’t work. A smile lit up his handsome face.

“Yes, we’ve talked about it,” he said. “And I agreed that you can tell them at whichever time you consider appropriate. It’s just hard to accept sometimes…”

They exchanged a loving glance, and I felt guilty for having brought up a topic that would have almost made them argue. They looked so happy together. I couldn’t know it for certain, but I hoped that Erik and I looked just as happy, perhaps even happier.

“Anything else?” Pierre asked. “If not, would you mind leaving us alone now? I feel that I have something to make up to my dear Jean-Paul.” He let his hand glide under the blanket, and the other man shuddered.

Erik looked at me, and I shook my head. I had heard enough for the moment, and I certainly didn’t want to disturb the men doing whatever they were about to do.

“That should be all, Messieurs,” he said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Can I ask you a question now?” Jean-Paul exclaimed hastily. “Why do you really want to know all those things? Have you found yourself a… a little friend as well?”

I threw the man an indignant glance, although he couldn’t see it. I was not little.

Erik seemed to be striken temporarily mute by the boldness of the question, so Jean-Paul went on with his idea.

“Who could it be, I wonder?” he mused aloud. “Perhaps it’s the Vicomte de Chagny!”

I gasped in shock, but the sound was drowned quickly when both men burst into laughter.

“Isn’t he the Opera Ghost’s mortal enemy?” Pierre asked, giggling. “The one who wanted to see him dead?”

“Exactly,” Jean-Paul replied, shaking with laughter so badly that he almost fell off the sofa. He had to hold on to the other man. “Wouldn’t that be wonderfully absurd?”

“Well, such things have been known to happen,” Pierre argued, but it was clear that he was not serious.

“Yes, but we’re not in a Shakespearean comedy,” his companion gave back. “Or was my guess correct after all, M. le Fantome?”

“That is none of your business,” Erik said in a dignified voice. “Good evening, Messieurs.”

With these words he pulled me away from the mirror and out of the men’s earshot. I threw him a worried glance. Had their laughter insulted him? Yet to my surprise, he was smiling.

“Did you hear him?” he asked. “Our love is ´wonderfully absurd´. We could probably wander around in the opera holding hands, and no one would suspect anything because it’s too absurd.”

“They’d probably think you had abducted me,” I agreed, smiling as well.

Erik’s eyes twinkled. The next moment, he had picked me up and thrown me over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I wanted to know as I was hanging upside-down, feeling the blood stream into my head, which was dangling around uselessly in the height of his lower back.

“I’m abducting you,” Erik replied pleasantly, holding on to my legs. “And I won’t let you go until I’m finished with you… Vicomte.”

I wondered why in all the years of hearing this title, it had never made me grow hard before.
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Emptiness