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Blood Red Requiem	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2010 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Blood Red Requiem
- 1
Blood Red Requiem

A/N: I just finished reading Susan Kay’s “Phantom,” which was excellent except for the last two sections (in my ever-so-humble opinion). Anyways, I’ve become inspired by the strange dynamic between Erik and the Khanum and I’ve decided to write a dark n’ dirty encounter between them. Heed the rating wisely, this shall not be for the faint of heart, it’s very, very morbid. This will be a one-shot fic and will in no way impede the progress of “Black Angels."

Seriously, this fic contains violence, sex, and foul language. Consider yourselves well warned. This is not a happy or romantic Erik, this is his dark side.

Disclaimer: You know the drill, I do not own any of characters created by Gaston Leroux or Susan Kay. Don’t sue, I’m a broke student. I make no profit from this.

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The air was dry. Dry and hot. Not even a merciful breeze existed this night to push away the heat that dulled the senses. Heat so intense that it boiled the blood and made even the most minor of grievances worthy of vicious wrath. As I walked about the dust covered streets, staring in revulsion at the barren landscape, I could feel my anger rising until the soft brown ground beneath my feet turned an angry shade of red beneath my gaze.

That bitch!

She did this to me. She wanted to see me humiliated, rejected, and scorned. Denied the right of every man. I could not bring myself to take that girl; she was quivering with fear and weeping like an infant. I would not take a woman who showed such revulsion at my touch, who cowered in fear at the thought of my wretched face. I would not be insulted in such a way.

That manipulative, bitter, conniving bitch!

She sent her to me. A present from the Shah indeed! I had never thought of it before, I had never thought such a thing was even possible. I could never have known that she wanted me, that she would long for the touch of one so ugly. Her taste for the obscene went far beyond her gleeful pleasure in voyeurism and her lust for torture and blood. She rode death like a lover. She needed to taste it, to touch it, to wield it within her grasp and dominate its release.

She thought me obscene. An object. A manifestation of her blackest desires, a projection of her most sinister lust. She sent me a woman to punish me, to prove that no one, no one but her could ever want me.

My heart began to beat with an intensity so great that it rivaled thunder. I could feel the black sky coursing through my veins, stealing my better judgment, overwhelming me with a dark desire long suppressed by denial and a shameful fear of consequence.

I feared nothing now!

No, not this night. I was beyond the edge, I had seen evil in its finest form. My god was it ever beautiful! She was beautiful, an image of perfection. It was as though she had come alive from the parchment of an artist, her thin paper frame becoming a full-bodied human with smooth skin and warm blood. One thing about pictures though, the people in them do not have hearts, or minds for that matter. In order to have a conscience one must first possess a mind. She was a mindless animal. That would explain the emptiness of her soul. She was never meant to exist outside of pictures, safely confined by neatly folded paper that would keep her far from the world of the living.

No matter, tonight I would grant her wish. She would sleep with the dead. She would have her flesh and blood sucked from her body; by morning she would be naught but a picture. Empty. Lifeless.

Dead.

Those screams! I could still hear those horrible screams coming out of the slave girl. Screams that went beyond that of pain, screams that were from another world all together. The screams that nearly caused my cold heart to shatter. Screams like that of a creature, not even a human being. She was so young. Too young. I would never forget those sounds, the shrill bellows of excruciating and unspeakable atrocities imposed on human flesh. Nor would I ever forget the fear in her eyes at the sight of me, the tremble of her tiny body, the sweat soaking her cold and clammy skin.

If I touched her she would surely have died. I wish I had. If she had died, I would never have heard those screams. I would never be searching for the child of Satan, one closer to his heart then even I. No requiem, no matter how beautiful, would ever rise above the deafening cries of the life being ripped from her body. The only music tonight would be the sounds of death being delivered to the person who had brought it too far too many, including myself. If she wanted so badly to remind me of my hideousness, I would remind her of her mortality.

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“Angel of Doom.” Her voice was curt and formal. The hatred in her almond eyes was meant to throw knives through my heart. A wall of ice lay between us, far thicker then the gauze curtain that separated me from her. I would shred that curtain in one swift tear before giving her what she wanted most. Tonight, she would live her fantasy.

“Khanum.” Oh, she wanted nothing more then to tear me apart, to see me let out the screams that escape the body of one being ravaged in unbearable and sickening ways.

“You have come to apologize?” She looked at her beautifully manicured fingers. I stared at her outline through the scarlet curtainthat blurred her shape. A blood red fog shrouded her like a demon emerging from the pits of hell. Rising above the earth, dripping in sin. I could not see her face hidden beneath the black sheer vail, but I felt her contempt.

“Apologize? No, Madame. I have come to show you how large a jar you would need to obtain in order to punish me as one would a Chinese eunuch.” I had taunted her with this before; she threw her head back in amused delight. My double-entendre was vivid, insulting even. She would take me tonight; I had no doubt of that. I had insulted her by scoffing at her at the execution, but she still ached for my monstrous face. What was more macabre then begging a monster to enter your body?

“You insolent, wretched boy!” She tore through the curtain herself. I would not be able to shred the fragile garment myself. Pity.

“It would be a very large jar indeed Madame. Tonight, I grant you permission to see for yourself, I’m sure it will please you immensely.” I never took my eyes from her face, which had begun to burn with indignation. Her lips curled, her olive skin glowed with rage, and her eyes seemed to melt into liquid fire.

The air was still hot, so very hot. Tonight, this, this was hell. I was her angel, I would grant her her final wish, and I would deliver her to her creator.

“A man is no man when his sex is ripped from his body, is that a fate you wish for?”

“I am no longer a man. I am God.” I would rid the world of her vile presence.

“Show me.”

It had begun. Our requiem was beginning to take shape and envelope us in its glorious hate.

She locked the door to her chamber and walked towards me, dropping her vail and sheer black robe at her feet.

It was beautiful. Like the desert sky on a night such as this. Such smoothness and tranquility harboring dark stories and even darker secrets. No one ever expected a royal blue sky of evil. None anticipated the lightning or the thunder, the devastating winds that tore down homes, maimed bodies, destroyed lives.

Her hands smoothed my shirtsleeves from my waist to my shoulders, her voice a purr of morbid appreciation.

“Such a strong man. Such an ugly…”

A long, pink tongue darted out and caressed my neck

“Ugly…”

Her talented yet cold fingers ripped the thin fabric in two to make way for her demon’s tongue

“Ugly…”

Then came the removal of the mask, the gasp of orgasmic delight

“Hideous, monstrous, beast of a man!”

The audience awaits the crescendo, but it is still far, too far to see or hear

Naked, I laid atop her on the silken sheets. Her frantic hands had torn the clothing from my body with abandon. Never before had I felt such desire burning within me. That almost always ignored part of me that made me a man throbbed painfully with longing. I want to bury it in her, to feel inside of her body and possess her in life before bringing her death.

Lips, tongues, and teeth collided. She would not kiss me, no, she simply scraped her teeth along my face, moaning as she did so.

I am still on top of her, holding her wildly volatile body beneath my own. The feeling of naked skin beneath me the most exquisite torture. My flesh begs, pleads for release. My breathing is ragged, sharp grunts and low moans escape my throat as I pry her legs apart roughly, bruising her tanned thighs with my cold death’s hands.

“Oh, we will need a very large jar indeed!” She roughly gropes her own flesh, her nipples hardened to the point of pain. I violently push her hand away, nearly screaming at the pleasure of having my manhood rub against her taut belly. I feel her hands upon my back and rear, squeezing and pulling, pushing me deeper and deeper between her legs. I feel her rubbing herself wildly against my body as I grasp her heavy breasts in my hands, reveling in the feel of the womanly flesh beneath my palms.

I let my mouth wander over her body, the wetness of my tongue leaving glistening streaks upon the skin of her neck and breasts. Never had I thought a woman could feel so wonderful, I could not control my breathing or the pounding of my heart.

“Take me, monster! Do to me what you wanted to do to that girl!”

“Your wish is my command, Madame.” I looked down at her wet womanhood and plunged one finger into her entrance, withdrawing it almost instantly even as she clenched her body around it. I replaced it with my cock then, feeling her ecstatic scream rip free from her body.

“What did you want to do to the girl, Erik? Tell me what you wanted to do!” She moaned out as I pushed inside, hard and fast, just as she requested. I had wanted to have the slave girl, but not like this. I had wanted to divest her of her clothing slowly, passionately. To reveal each bit of skin slowly, to savor the nude flesh of a woman, to look at it and touch it as reverently as one would fine stone or piano keys. I had not wanted to fuck the life from her body.

I did not answer, I continued to thrust, my control rapidly slipping, my body yearning to let go of the pressure building in my groin. I could feel her teeth upon my ear, biting savagely as I plunged into her with excessive force. She arched her back, screaming at me to do it again, harder then before. She begged for pain. She begged for release. I enjoyed it.

“I will give you pain.” I pushed harder still, her body surging upwards with each vicious movement. She screamed out louder, still begging, pleading for more. If she wanted blood, she would have it!

I could no longer contain myself; I felt my body trembling with relief as I poured my death’s essence into her hollow body.

“No!” She pounded her fist against my back, angered that I could no longer continue, still asking for more delightful pain.

I reached down then, into the leg of my discarded trousers, looking for the instrument that would bring this symphony to a most dramatic close.

“A man must come to control his body. You have much still to learn.” Her breathing became less harsh, but still her body burned with lust. Still her hands caressed my face, still her tongue laved at my sunken eyes and grotesque lips. Still wetness seeped from her body and onto the sweat-soaked sheets below.

Hear the crescendo now; you have waited long enough, dear listeners!
The catgut cut into her throat like a knife, the skin turning white around the indentation of the thread. Her eyes bulged from their sockets; the tiny red veins thickening and spreading like flames. Never had her eyes been so wide, her hands so insistant and pathetic as they gripped at the object that would soon deliver her to the being who surely sired her.

The funeral requiem began to play as the blood began to seep from her lips. She jerked against me, her skin cold, the wetness and sweat dissipating and floating off into the hot Persian air. Her eyes became lifeless as her hands dropped to the sheets, the fingers open and relaxed.

The whiteness of her face was a startling contrast to the blood dripping down her chin and seeping onto her neck. It was only a shame that her screams were never to be heard. The screams of one having their body ripped away from them.

She looked wonderful in death. Her eyes open wide, her mouth agape, her brow lifted in an expression of absolute terror. The look that would rest on her face for all eternity was a fitting one indeed.

She made me a man, I made her a demon. The angel of doom gave her the taste of blood that was so long denied her.
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Blood Red Requiem