Miss the Tide
Talk about irony. I get an idea right off the bat, plug away at it for, what, over a week now? and it stays at three pages, not even half finished. Have a vague concept of an idea one afternoon, sit down, and voila! Five page finished fic in a few hours. *shakes head* Of course, this one's actually been read over and tweaked a bit...
Oh yeah, and I tossed a picture of his Ghost-y-ness in as well. ^_^
Pairing/Fandom: Erik x Raoul/Phantom of the Opera
Theme: Uniforms
Title: Miss the Tide
Author/Artist: Kashu Arashi
Disclaimer: These boys were created by M. Gaston Lerox. Of course, he died and the boys have passed into the Public Domain, so I technically have as much right to play wiht them as anyone, but I still can't claim to have created them. I breate too much.
Note: There's significantly less lemon in this than I originally planned, just FYI. And for the curious, my Raoul looks something like Cary Elwes, only with eyes set further apart and shallower, with a slightly softer jaw line. Victorian hair cut, naturally. It's the only way I could work the mustach into my earlier mental image...
“Christine?” Raoul stood in the dressing room, a typed letter, perfumed with his lover’s favorite scent in his hand, confusion on his face. The room was empty. He’d checked the wardrobe, behind the little curtain that separated the rest of the room from the changing quarters, everywhere. Despite the fact he was perfectly on time, there was no singer to be found.
Admittedly, the letter itself had been a shock. After their hasty retreat from the prison of the Opera’s lowest level and the monster that lurked there, after they’d been almost wed, as planned, they, or more she, had decided that it would be better if they waited. After all, he was bound for the arctic and she hardly wished to be a widow at her young age if something went wrong. Also, given what they’d just been through…well. Time did seem the proper thing and Raoul didn’t really mind. He had no doubts that Christine would be faithful to him and he knew perfectly well that he’d be faithful to her! They had dined together the night before by way of saying good-bye, so why the letter, ready when he woke, asking him to come to the Opera? Especially when a delay of more than half an hour would make him miss his departure?
He was so confused that suspicious was just beginning to settle in his mind when, after three minutes wait, a voice greeted him.
“Good day, M. de Chagny.”
The voice was not Christine’s. It wasn’t even feminine. The voice was decidedly male, came seemingly from nowhere and stood every hair on the back of Raoul’s neck on edge. “Erik! What is this? Where’s Christine? You had her summon me here, didn’t you?”
“I did no such thing, silly boy.” The voice informed him pleasantly. “Christine has no idea that you’re here. I sent the letter myself. Didn’t you even pause to wonder why Christine chose to type this letter when she normally writes her correspondences by hand?”
Raoul felt suddenly dense.
“No? It was my greatest concern you know. Ah well, you’re here. That’s the important part.”
“And why?” Trying to salvage the pitiful remains of his dignity, he drew himself up to his full height and tried to sound impressive. It would have worked better if he weren’t all too aware that his unseen adversary was a full three and a half inches taller than himself. “What purpose is there in calling me here and making me late for my train? I have to be at the sea port by the evening tide you know.”
“I know!” The voice sounded surprised all the same. “You’re scheduled to sail at midnight! Imagine my shock when, after sending the two of you off to get married in such a rush, I discovered that you were going on your little arctic cruise anyway! Now really, Monsieur, do you think it worth the risk? Christine is far too delicate to be a widow, especially at her age. Think of the pain it would cause her if you were to get trapped like the expedition you’re trying to rescue and freeze to death down there.”
The almost paternal tone grated on Raoul’s nerves. A lot. “ Listen you. First off, Christine and I are not married yet. She was the one who decided, on the steps of the chapel mind, that perhaps, given everything that you had subjected us to, waiting until I got back from sea might be a good idea. Secondly, I am a perfectly adept sailor and lastly, what Christine and I do is no longer any of your business! Not that it was to start with, really.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Raoul started to feel quite pleased with himself, really, thinking he’d made some headway in the argument and would soon be free to leave. Then the voice came back, too calm, too hard, too cold, and reminded him quite firmly that he was dealing with a madman.
“Indeed. Do you have any idea, Monsieur, what it took for me to release the two of you? For me to send you off on your fairy tale happy ending when I’d finally won and she finally cared about me?”
Raoul wasn’t certain exactly what in his tirade had triggered this little speech, but he had the nasty feeling he was about to regret it.
“Do you have any idea what it meant for me to put her happiness in front of mine, perhaps the first time in my life that I’ve cared more for someone else’s happiness than my own! and send her away? Do you really think that after that I’m just going to let you go sailing off into the sunset to play the hero to a lot of icicles down at the south pole and risk that happiness? Well,” he thundered, “do you?”
It took a lot of effort for Raoul to fake the calm he put forth, but he managed to smile primly and reply, “The more important question, Monsieur, is what you plan on doing to stop me.” With that he turned and made to open the door.
The knob wouldn’t turn. He frowned and tried the other direction.
The voice chuckled.
Gritting his teeth, he jostled the handle, banged, shouted, all to no avail.
The voice laughed. “See, Monsieur? This is my Opera House! No one comes or goes if I don’t will it, and I don’t will you to leave. I will you to sit here and entertain me until your train has left, yes and the next one as well, and your ship is sailing from the harbor. Then, when you can’t abandon Christine any longer, then I’ll let you go and return to my lair to continue slowly wasting away.”
The language that passed Raoul’s lips was completely unlike him and nothing he would repeat in polite society.
“Goodness. How rude you are, Monsieur! I know I’ve never used such language in your presence. Tell me, why are you in such a hurry to get away from your lover, your fiancée, hm?”
“Because I promised!” Raoul fumed, pacing the room uselessly. He didn’t even know which direction to look because the damned ventriloquist might be just about anywhere in the passages outside. “I promised the captain, I promised Christine, I signed on to the ship dash it all!”
“You promised your crew mates?” The voice hazarded.
“The ones I knew from my earlier assignments, yes.”
“Ah, I see. It all comes clear now.”
Something in the voice’s tone gave Raoul pause. He frowned, for lack of anything better to frown at, at the mirror. “What do you mean, ‘it all comes clear’?”
“Your crew mates. There must be one or two of them who are special too you, correct? Good friends who, perhaps, shared your cabin? One or two who shared something more?”
“Er…I…I don’t…”
“It’s really no secret, Monsieur, some of the things that go on aboard these ships. Seven days at sea, at least, more commonly months, not a woman to be seen…”
“Now see here!” Raoul cut in hotly, his face reddening at the very suggestion being laid before him.
The voice ignored him completely. “I wonder if Christine’s thought of that? Innocent mind as she has, I doubt it. She wouldn’t think that her knight in shining armor might, dare one say it, not be quite pure. That he might have experience with other men.”
“I most certainly do not!” All but screaming now, Raoul turned to fully face the mirror. Several inches height difference or not, his reflection was outraged enough that he felt it must have some effect on the other man. “That sort of thing might happen on less reputable vessels but…!” His tirade was cut off by the voice bursting out in gales of laughter.
“Less reputable vessels?” It absolutely howled. “Monsieur, your naivety is too much! ‘Less reputable vessels’ indeed! Why, it’s happened on the most reputable vessel you could think of, and amongst the most distinguished captains and mates! Oh, they’ll all deny it, or if faced with irrefutable fact claim they were thinking of a wife or a sweetheart, but Monsieur, it happens and it’s the cabin boys they dream of! And even if you still have your…innocence…in tact, well! You’ve certainly fueled a goodly number of fantasies, I dare say, especially dressed like that.”
The wind quite thoroughly taken from his sales, Raoul looked down at himself. He was dressed for sailing in a neatly stitched yachting shirt and freshly pressed long trousers. His hat, standard sailor’s wear, had been sent ahead to the station with his valet with the rest of his luggage, warm clothes for the colder climbs, sea boots and such. “I…what’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Mmmmmmm, nothing’s wrong with it, Monsieur.” The voice purred, damn near salaciously. “It suites you…your fair face and hair, those incredibly blue eyes. Yes, it suits you quite well, highlights your innocence, makes you seem more of a child than you are. Why add the hat and you’d be every mother’s little boy, grown to sail his little toy boat out of the harbor!”
Raoul bristled. His hands curled into impotent fists at his sides.
“I can just see the other crew members, the way they must have looked at you when your head was turned. The way they would stare at the line of your back, the curve of your leg as you leaned over the railing, the way the sun glinted on that golden hair of yours. Really, with as much French blood between you and your Scandinavian ancestors as there is, you’d think your generation would be back to being brunets! But the sea sun must have made it look lovely. I can see them stripping you in their mind, imagining you as a cabin boy who they could take to their bunks at will.”
The emotional round about between rage, confusion, embarrassment, and sheer horror was making Raoul feel seasick. He turned sharply from the mirror, pressing his hands to his ears, trying to make the other man’s voice stop. The faces of his old crew mates made their way to the forefront of his mind, their usual smiles turned to leers. “Stop it.”
“But why, Monsieur? Doesn’t it please you to know how well loved you were? How much you’ll be missed?” The voice cajoled. “Of course, they can still dream of you. The lucky ones who share bunks more…ah…intimately than others can tell their ‘mates’ about you, the fantasies they had. Pressing you up against the mast, perhaps tying your wrists behind that great, wooden pole, pulling your trousers around your ankles and leaving you bare to the salt wind. I wonder which they dreamed of more? Kneeling between your thighs and taking you in their mouths, suckling at you until you moaned their names and filled their mouths with a salt all your own? Or would they have you the other way, with your face pressed to the mast, those long legs of yours spread while they slid their hands under your shirt and speared you with their erections?”
“STOP IT!” Stomach heaving, Raoul shook his head in helpless denial. His skin was threatening to crawl off of his body and he truly feared he was going to vomit all over the dressing room floor. “My crew mates thought no such things and had no such fantasies! They were good, honourable men! Now BE QUIET, you monster!”
Since he wasn’t facing the mirror, he didn’t see it shimmer and swing open on its hinges. He didn’t see the tall, black shadow move into the room, chuckling as he came, the voice made flesh. He wasn’t at all aware that he was no longer alone until a pair of bony hands grabbed him, spun him around and pressed him to the wall, pinning his arms firmly at his side. He gaped up, a little voice reminding him that he was looking at least three and a half inches upward, into the pitted eyes of a vein covered skull.
“So certain, Monsieur.” Erik chuckled, shifting to pin one of Raoul’s sides with his body so he could bring his hand up to stroke the younger man’s hair. “So secure in your naivety. Perhaps I should test your resolve, hmmm? Take you and make sure that it’s Christine you’re dreaming of and not your pretty boys?” The skull of a face leaned forward, lips parting…
…at which point Raoul, quite prudently passed out.
He groaned, trying to shift but not quite able to do so properly. He was aware that he was laying on something soft and had probably been there quite some time due to the stiffness in his muscles, particularly his neck. He frowned, trying to move his hands again.
“You’re wasting your effort, Monsieur , they’re quite bound.”
The sound of that voice brought Raoul quite to himself. It also brought back the horrible conversation, the taunting and pornographic suggestions. He shuddered and closed his eyes, trying not to remember the sight of that face coming at him. “Oh God, oh GOD, what did you do to me?”
“Do?”
Shifting his head and opening his eyes enough to glare, he found Erik sitting quite calmly in Christine’s dressing room chair, reading a book. From what little Raoul could see of the title, it had something to do with whaling, or at least a whale. “Yes, do! What…perverse…ugh!” He was finding it hard enough to think about it, let alone say it.
“Oh, that.” Appearing bored, Erik went back to his book. “I did nothing.”
“Nothing?” Raoul blinked at him. Now that he calmed down enough to think of it, his clothing, that sailor’s suit that the other man had been mocking so thoroughly, seemed quite in place.
“Absolutely nothing.” Erik chuckled, not looking up from his book. “Despite what you may think of me, Monsieur, I have no interest in men. I know plenty about the habits of sailors having been on board several ships in my life time, but I assure you, I was the last thing any of them fantasized.” He hesitated, then looked up to add, “I don’t look half so charming in a yachting shirt as you do.” He returned to his book. “As for the details of such…ah…activity. Well. I have a good imagination and have had the opportunity on several occasions to stumble across certain choir boys in empty rooms around the Opera House. I’ve never seen fit to join them. No, no, Monsieur, you needn’t worry about your chastity with me. Now, you’ve missed your train, but there’s still several hours remaining before your ship sails, so I’m going to keep you here awhile longer. I suggest you lie there like a good boy, or, if the silence bothers you, I suppose I could read out loud for a bit.”
Raoul gaped, torn between the greatest outrage he had ever felt in his life and complete, utter relief. He struggled a little against his bonds, but finding them too tight to even think about struggling free, he gave in and wound up laughing. It wasn’t what one would call healthy laughter, more a good case of hysteria, but the emotional release was much needed.
By the time he’d calmed down, he’d resigned himself to his situation. He wasn’t going anywhere, not for hours. Left with no other prospects, he made himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa. “Alright then. Read.”
Erik paused and looked at him for a long moment before flipping back to the beginning of his book and starting to read out loud. “Call me Ishmael.”*
*Moby-Dick, Herman Melville
Oh yeah, and I tossed a picture of his Ghost-y-ness in as well. ^_^
Pairing/Fandom: Erik x Raoul/Phantom of the Opera
Theme: Uniforms
Title: Miss the Tide
Author/Artist: Kashu Arashi
Disclaimer: These boys were created by M. Gaston Lerox. Of course, he died and the boys have passed into the Public Domain, so I technically have as much right to play wiht them as anyone, but I still can't claim to have created them. I breate too much.
Note: There's significantly less lemon in this than I originally planned, just FYI. And for the curious, my Raoul looks something like Cary Elwes, only with eyes set further apart and shallower, with a slightly softer jaw line. Victorian hair cut, naturally. It's the only way I could work the mustach into my earlier mental image...
“Christine?” Raoul stood in the dressing room, a typed letter, perfumed with his lover’s favorite scent in his hand, confusion on his face. The room was empty. He’d checked the wardrobe, behind the little curtain that separated the rest of the room from the changing quarters, everywhere. Despite the fact he was perfectly on time, there was no singer to be found.
Admittedly, the letter itself had been a shock. After their hasty retreat from the prison of the Opera’s lowest level and the monster that lurked there, after they’d been almost wed, as planned, they, or more she, had decided that it would be better if they waited. After all, he was bound for the arctic and she hardly wished to be a widow at her young age if something went wrong. Also, given what they’d just been through…well. Time did seem the proper thing and Raoul didn’t really mind. He had no doubts that Christine would be faithful to him and he knew perfectly well that he’d be faithful to her! They had dined together the night before by way of saying good-bye, so why the letter, ready when he woke, asking him to come to the Opera? Especially when a delay of more than half an hour would make him miss his departure?
He was so confused that suspicious was just beginning to settle in his mind when, after three minutes wait, a voice greeted him.
“Good day, M. de Chagny.”
The voice was not Christine’s. It wasn’t even feminine. The voice was decidedly male, came seemingly from nowhere and stood every hair on the back of Raoul’s neck on edge. “Erik! What is this? Where’s Christine? You had her summon me here, didn’t you?”
“I did no such thing, silly boy.” The voice informed him pleasantly. “Christine has no idea that you’re here. I sent the letter myself. Didn’t you even pause to wonder why Christine chose to type this letter when she normally writes her correspondences by hand?”
Raoul felt suddenly dense.
“No? It was my greatest concern you know. Ah well, you’re here. That’s the important part.”
“And why?” Trying to salvage the pitiful remains of his dignity, he drew himself up to his full height and tried to sound impressive. It would have worked better if he weren’t all too aware that his unseen adversary was a full three and a half inches taller than himself. “What purpose is there in calling me here and making me late for my train? I have to be at the sea port by the evening tide you know.”
“I know!” The voice sounded surprised all the same. “You’re scheduled to sail at midnight! Imagine my shock when, after sending the two of you off to get married in such a rush, I discovered that you were going on your little arctic cruise anyway! Now really, Monsieur, do you think it worth the risk? Christine is far too delicate to be a widow, especially at her age. Think of the pain it would cause her if you were to get trapped like the expedition you’re trying to rescue and freeze to death down there.”
The almost paternal tone grated on Raoul’s nerves. A lot. “ Listen you. First off, Christine and I are not married yet. She was the one who decided, on the steps of the chapel mind, that perhaps, given everything that you had subjected us to, waiting until I got back from sea might be a good idea. Secondly, I am a perfectly adept sailor and lastly, what Christine and I do is no longer any of your business! Not that it was to start with, really.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Raoul started to feel quite pleased with himself, really, thinking he’d made some headway in the argument and would soon be free to leave. Then the voice came back, too calm, too hard, too cold, and reminded him quite firmly that he was dealing with a madman.
“Indeed. Do you have any idea, Monsieur, what it took for me to release the two of you? For me to send you off on your fairy tale happy ending when I’d finally won and she finally cared about me?”
Raoul wasn’t certain exactly what in his tirade had triggered this little speech, but he had the nasty feeling he was about to regret it.
“Do you have any idea what it meant for me to put her happiness in front of mine, perhaps the first time in my life that I’ve cared more for someone else’s happiness than my own! and send her away? Do you really think that after that I’m just going to let you go sailing off into the sunset to play the hero to a lot of icicles down at the south pole and risk that happiness? Well,” he thundered, “do you?”
It took a lot of effort for Raoul to fake the calm he put forth, but he managed to smile primly and reply, “The more important question, Monsieur, is what you plan on doing to stop me.” With that he turned and made to open the door.
The knob wouldn’t turn. He frowned and tried the other direction.
The voice chuckled.
Gritting his teeth, he jostled the handle, banged, shouted, all to no avail.
The voice laughed. “See, Monsieur? This is my Opera House! No one comes or goes if I don’t will it, and I don’t will you to leave. I will you to sit here and entertain me until your train has left, yes and the next one as well, and your ship is sailing from the harbor. Then, when you can’t abandon Christine any longer, then I’ll let you go and return to my lair to continue slowly wasting away.”
The language that passed Raoul’s lips was completely unlike him and nothing he would repeat in polite society.
“Goodness. How rude you are, Monsieur! I know I’ve never used such language in your presence. Tell me, why are you in such a hurry to get away from your lover, your fiancée, hm?”
“Because I promised!” Raoul fumed, pacing the room uselessly. He didn’t even know which direction to look because the damned ventriloquist might be just about anywhere in the passages outside. “I promised the captain, I promised Christine, I signed on to the ship dash it all!”
“You promised your crew mates?” The voice hazarded.
“The ones I knew from my earlier assignments, yes.”
“Ah, I see. It all comes clear now.”
Something in the voice’s tone gave Raoul pause. He frowned, for lack of anything better to frown at, at the mirror. “What do you mean, ‘it all comes clear’?”
“Your crew mates. There must be one or two of them who are special too you, correct? Good friends who, perhaps, shared your cabin? One or two who shared something more?”
“Er…I…I don’t…”
“It’s really no secret, Monsieur, some of the things that go on aboard these ships. Seven days at sea, at least, more commonly months, not a woman to be seen…”
“Now see here!” Raoul cut in hotly, his face reddening at the very suggestion being laid before him.
The voice ignored him completely. “I wonder if Christine’s thought of that? Innocent mind as she has, I doubt it. She wouldn’t think that her knight in shining armor might, dare one say it, not be quite pure. That he might have experience with other men.”
“I most certainly do not!” All but screaming now, Raoul turned to fully face the mirror. Several inches height difference or not, his reflection was outraged enough that he felt it must have some effect on the other man. “That sort of thing might happen on less reputable vessels but…!” His tirade was cut off by the voice bursting out in gales of laughter.
“Less reputable vessels?” It absolutely howled. “Monsieur, your naivety is too much! ‘Less reputable vessels’ indeed! Why, it’s happened on the most reputable vessel you could think of, and amongst the most distinguished captains and mates! Oh, they’ll all deny it, or if faced with irrefutable fact claim they were thinking of a wife or a sweetheart, but Monsieur, it happens and it’s the cabin boys they dream of! And even if you still have your…innocence…in tact, well! You’ve certainly fueled a goodly number of fantasies, I dare say, especially dressed like that.”
The wind quite thoroughly taken from his sales, Raoul looked down at himself. He was dressed for sailing in a neatly stitched yachting shirt and freshly pressed long trousers. His hat, standard sailor’s wear, had been sent ahead to the station with his valet with the rest of his luggage, warm clothes for the colder climbs, sea boots and such. “I…what’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Mmmmmmm, nothing’s wrong with it, Monsieur.” The voice purred, damn near salaciously. “It suites you…your fair face and hair, those incredibly blue eyes. Yes, it suits you quite well, highlights your innocence, makes you seem more of a child than you are. Why add the hat and you’d be every mother’s little boy, grown to sail his little toy boat out of the harbor!”
Raoul bristled. His hands curled into impotent fists at his sides.
“I can just see the other crew members, the way they must have looked at you when your head was turned. The way they would stare at the line of your back, the curve of your leg as you leaned over the railing, the way the sun glinted on that golden hair of yours. Really, with as much French blood between you and your Scandinavian ancestors as there is, you’d think your generation would be back to being brunets! But the sea sun must have made it look lovely. I can see them stripping you in their mind, imagining you as a cabin boy who they could take to their bunks at will.”
The emotional round about between rage, confusion, embarrassment, and sheer horror was making Raoul feel seasick. He turned sharply from the mirror, pressing his hands to his ears, trying to make the other man’s voice stop. The faces of his old crew mates made their way to the forefront of his mind, their usual smiles turned to leers. “Stop it.”
“But why, Monsieur? Doesn’t it please you to know how well loved you were? How much you’ll be missed?” The voice cajoled. “Of course, they can still dream of you. The lucky ones who share bunks more…ah…intimately than others can tell their ‘mates’ about you, the fantasies they had. Pressing you up against the mast, perhaps tying your wrists behind that great, wooden pole, pulling your trousers around your ankles and leaving you bare to the salt wind. I wonder which they dreamed of more? Kneeling between your thighs and taking you in their mouths, suckling at you until you moaned their names and filled their mouths with a salt all your own? Or would they have you the other way, with your face pressed to the mast, those long legs of yours spread while they slid their hands under your shirt and speared you with their erections?”
“STOP IT!” Stomach heaving, Raoul shook his head in helpless denial. His skin was threatening to crawl off of his body and he truly feared he was going to vomit all over the dressing room floor. “My crew mates thought no such things and had no such fantasies! They were good, honourable men! Now BE QUIET, you monster!”
Since he wasn’t facing the mirror, he didn’t see it shimmer and swing open on its hinges. He didn’t see the tall, black shadow move into the room, chuckling as he came, the voice made flesh. He wasn’t at all aware that he was no longer alone until a pair of bony hands grabbed him, spun him around and pressed him to the wall, pinning his arms firmly at his side. He gaped up, a little voice reminding him that he was looking at least three and a half inches upward, into the pitted eyes of a vein covered skull.
“So certain, Monsieur.” Erik chuckled, shifting to pin one of Raoul’s sides with his body so he could bring his hand up to stroke the younger man’s hair. “So secure in your naivety. Perhaps I should test your resolve, hmmm? Take you and make sure that it’s Christine you’re dreaming of and not your pretty boys?” The skull of a face leaned forward, lips parting…
…at which point Raoul, quite prudently passed out.
He groaned, trying to shift but not quite able to do so properly. He was aware that he was laying on something soft and had probably been there quite some time due to the stiffness in his muscles, particularly his neck. He frowned, trying to move his hands again.
“You’re wasting your effort, Monsieur , they’re quite bound.”
The sound of that voice brought Raoul quite to himself. It also brought back the horrible conversation, the taunting and pornographic suggestions. He shuddered and closed his eyes, trying not to remember the sight of that face coming at him. “Oh God, oh GOD, what did you do to me?”
“Do?”
Shifting his head and opening his eyes enough to glare, he found Erik sitting quite calmly in Christine’s dressing room chair, reading a book. From what little Raoul could see of the title, it had something to do with whaling, or at least a whale. “Yes, do! What…perverse…ugh!” He was finding it hard enough to think about it, let alone say it.
“Oh, that.” Appearing bored, Erik went back to his book. “I did nothing.”
“Nothing?” Raoul blinked at him. Now that he calmed down enough to think of it, his clothing, that sailor’s suit that the other man had been mocking so thoroughly, seemed quite in place.
“Absolutely nothing.” Erik chuckled, not looking up from his book. “Despite what you may think of me, Monsieur, I have no interest in men. I know plenty about the habits of sailors having been on board several ships in my life time, but I assure you, I was the last thing any of them fantasized.” He hesitated, then looked up to add, “I don’t look half so charming in a yachting shirt as you do.” He returned to his book. “As for the details of such…ah…activity. Well. I have a good imagination and have had the opportunity on several occasions to stumble across certain choir boys in empty rooms around the Opera House. I’ve never seen fit to join them. No, no, Monsieur, you needn’t worry about your chastity with me. Now, you’ve missed your train, but there’s still several hours remaining before your ship sails, so I’m going to keep you here awhile longer. I suggest you lie there like a good boy, or, if the silence bothers you, I suppose I could read out loud for a bit.”
Raoul gaped, torn between the greatest outrage he had ever felt in his life and complete, utter relief. He struggled a little against his bonds, but finding them too tight to even think about struggling free, he gave in and wound up laughing. It wasn’t what one would call healthy laughter, more a good case of hysteria, but the emotional release was much needed.
By the time he’d calmed down, he’d resigned himself to his situation. He wasn’t going anywhere, not for hours. Left with no other prospects, he made himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa. “Alright then. Read.”
Erik paused and looked at him for a long moment before flipping back to the beginning of his book and starting to read out loud. “Call me Ishmael.”*
*Moby-Dick, Herman Melville