Passionate Friendship

I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of it's characters. That's all Gaston Leroux, baby. This is a gift phic for a friend of mine and I make nothing from it. As I do not really ship the slash please forgive any awkwardness involved. I'm also really sorry about the severely glossed over plot from the novel, but I feel rather dumb spending a pile of time and effort just to rehash what Leroux did first and better. Forgiveness!

Slash, M/M

With the departure of the old management many things began to change in the opera house. The new managers were not inclined to believe in spooks, nor to give into their demands. There also came the added complication of Christine Daae's rather astonishing debut.
I had seen the young woman before occasionally. She was young, blonde, and quite lovely. But until that point she had been quite easy to overlook. Just a quiet chorus girl among dozens of other singers. But the night of the old managers' retirement she had astounded everyone. Carlotta had complained of illness and been unable to appear, so Mlle Daae was called in to replace her. No one expected the amazing talent that she displayed that evening. Indeed, before that night when I had chanced to hear her voice it had been commonplace at best. But on that particular evening she was sublime. I could not fathom how such a drastic change had occurred; and neither could anyone else for that matter.
Although she triumphed greatly that night, one good performance does not a diva make. So back to the chorus she went, although I soon came to learn that the opera ghost was pushing rather greatly for her to have the limelight again.
I began to catch glimpses of Erik again. He appeared to be running himself ragged trying to keep up with all of the changes in the company, which is the only possible reason I can think of for him being careless enough to allow me to notice him. Even if only briefly.
Erik's apparent interest in this girl did not overly concern me. I could not even begin to think how such a man as he could possibly win her affection. Even if he were merely ugly rather than monsterous he was still twice the girl's age! No, what concerned me about that evening was the death of Joseph Buquet. It filled me with a deep sense of dread that this upheaval of Erik's world could prove to be quite dangerous to everyone within the opera house.
The events that came after are simple enough to follow if one asks in the correct places. The night of Carlotta's last appearance on stage where she croaked like a toad and the chandelier fell, crushing a woman to death. The appearance of a madman dressed as the Red Death at the Bal Masque who terrified the party goers and broke a man's wrist without thought. And finally the magnificent disappearance of Christine Daae from the middle of the stage in the middle of the prison scene from Faust! All orchestrated by the mad genius who lived deep within the cellars of the theater.
After Christine vanished I led her beau, the vicomte de Chagny, to her. The boy was quite good looking and had a good and brave heart, just not an overabundance of mental ability. In the end our efforts to rescue the young woman had been rather in vain, and it was she who ended in saving our lives by trading her freedom.
And it was at this point that I now found myself. Raoul de Chagny was still missing, his brother was dead, and Mlle Daae was in the hands of a very dangerous madman! I had absolutly no tricks left of my own to play. It was impossible to enter Erik's home safely, and he would not come out to speak to me. I was horrified for Christine's sake. I knew how terrifying he could be if offended. But I was also just a tiny bit jelous!
I had come so far for that man! Done so much! And he now he would not even speak with me!
I finally went back to the opera, which was still filled with police trying to search every inch of the insanely large building. I tried to tell them of Erik, what had happened. But the man in charge, a monsieur Mifroid, dismissed me utterly. I suppose I should not be surprised. If someone had come to me with such an outrageous story I should have ignored them as well....
So I went home to wait, and think.
I could come up with nothing. I knew Erik well enough to be sure that I would not have the element of surprise on my side again. Little good that it did me the last time! So I spent my time in writing down all that I knew, hoping that in reviewing it I might catch a detail I had missed previously. Something I could use.
I was working on this memoir when Darius peered into my study. "There is a man here. He refuses to show his face, but he said he wished to speak to the Daroga and would not go until he had seen him." The younger man looked slightly puzzled. He knew nothing of my old nickname.
Of course, I knew immediately who the visitor must have been. No one else called me that. "It's all right, Darius. You can show him in."
When he entered the room he looked tired and defeated. He paused to hang his hat and cloak next to the door and I rose to my feet pointing an accusitory finger at him. "Murderer! What have you done with Christine Daae and her fiancee Raoul de Chagny?" Although a small portion of me was glad to see him, a much larger angier portion was incensed by his disregard for my life and the lives of so many others, as well as his unwillingness to so much as speak to me after the fact!
He almost seemed to wince at my tone and sank, unbidden, into a chair by the fireplace. "Do not shout at me, Daroga. I have not come here to be berated by you. I am dying...."
I ignored him. I would not let him play me for sympathy. I'd always known him to be a strong man. This was an act to garner pity, nothing more. "What have you done with them?"
"Did you not hear me? I am dying, Daroga. Of love."
"Oh, I heard you. And I don't believe you. Trickster! Charletan! I know that you have killed the Comte de Chagny. Have you killed his brother and Mlle Daae as well?"
He looked at me as though he could not comprehend what I was saying to him. "Killed? No, no! Good God, no! I know nothing about whether they are dead or alive....Christine....No! She was quite alive..."
"Is she dead now?"
"Dead? I do not believe so. But I tell you, that has nothing to do with me, now. I should pray she isn't. I will kill whoever is responsible if I find she is!" He gave a rattling cough, and giving him a second look I found it rather difficult to believe he had the strength in him to kill anyone at that moment. "I came to tell you. Because you are the only person I could think of to come to. The only person in the world here that might care if I died. Though I suppose I wouldn't blame you if you didn't."
I moved to sit in the chair next to him, suddenly filled with concern. He was not playing me for a fool. He truly was ill. "Of course I care, Erik! How could you think I would not?"
He shook his head and chuckled softly. "After all these years I still cannot understand why you would waste your time in the company of monsters..."
"Tell me what happened."
He told me of how he had left me on my own doorstep when he was sure that I would not die, and how he had kept the vicomte chained in one of the Communard dungeons as insurance that Christine would keep her promise to him. Then he had returned to find her waiting, alive and well. How he had removed his mask and she had kissed his forhead and wept with him. And then how he had let her go, knowing that he could not keep her with him, regardless of how much he needed her, how he loved her. Because he loved her. He removed his mask, and turned from me, weeping. I could not help but shed a tear for him, myself.
He made to replace his mask and go, thanking me for all that I had done for him in the past, but I placed a hand upon his sleeve and told him to wait.
I took the mask from his hand and looked at him. He was grotesque and wretched, but I did not care. I leaned in and pressed a kiss against his malformed lips.
When I parted my mouth from his I could see his expression of confused shock. "Daroga...?" He began uncertainly.
"I should have told you long ago. Back in Persia. Perhaps all of this could have been avoided. I love you, Erik."
He seemed frightened by my words, as though it were a concept he were utterly unable to wrap his mind around. "All things considered, this is a sick jest...and in very poor taste."
I brushed the side of my hand against his twisted cheek. "No jests, Erik. Are you offended?"
He seemed torn between a desire to shrink from my touch and also revel in the foreign sensation. He grasped my wrist in his bony hand and pulled it from his face. "I'm not sure. This is--unexpected, to say the least."
"But is this not what you desire? To be loved for yourself?"
"Yes, but--" He began.
"Not by me?" I prompted. I leaned forward and kissed him again. He was uncomfortable with the situation, but did not stop me. "If it will ease your mind you can imagine that it is a woman kissing you. Just close your eyes."
He gave me one last uncertain look, then closed his eyes. I do not know if he was simply desperate enough for contact that he would take whatever was offered to him, or if he were simply trying to justify the situation in his mind that he might have wanted his old friend. I did not care. He was there and I did not believe I would have a second chance.
Pulling my hand from his grasp I traced the outline of his jaw, smoothing the marred flesh of his face with my thumb. He sat stiffly, seemingly unsure of how to respond to my touch. "Relax." I whispered to him.
I rose and crossed to the door, slipping the bolt so that Darius would not walk in on us. This would be my secret, to hold pleasantly in my heart until my death day. I would never tell anyone.
When I returned to where Erik sat I ran my hands over his thin shoulders, smoothing down the fabric of his dress coat. I kneeded the muscles there for a moment, trying to calm him. He was so very tense. I knew he must have been nervous for I was quite sure that no one had ever touched him like that before.
I bowed my head to kiss the sensitive area of skin just behind his ear, drawing a startled gasp from him. "Daroga...?" He began in a quaking voice.
"It's all right. Try not to think and you'll be fine." I lightly licked the shell of his ear. "Would you prefer if I stopped?"
He shook his head slowly. "No...I just--I don't know how to respond."
"It's all right, Erik. I'll show you what to do..."

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Yeah, so I'm a horrible tease. And I'm squicking just slightly. Pity! I've never written slash before!
All of the smutty goodness will be contained solely in the final chappie.