The Moulin Rouge

Fandom: Moulin Rouge, The Burning Zone

Category/Rated: NC17

Year/Length: 04/2002/~15,655 words

Pairing: Christian/Philip

Disclaimer: No, they don't belong to us. Never will, but, oh, how we dream...

Author's Notes: This is an AU with Philip from The Burning Zone guest starring in "Moulin Rouge." No, we don't belong to the school that says if you write something it automatically has to be praised. Feedback of all kinds accepted here.

Beta: Special thanks to Elizabeth Davey for the lovely beta.

The pale light was filtered by grim, grey clouds, and crept only stealthily over the open windowsill in the attic room of the old hotel that stood in the centre of MontMartre. A cold wind had sprung up, and was tearing at the yellowish-grey net curtains that hung there, rattling the papers that lined the dingy walls of the room.

At first glance, it appeared that there was no sign of life there in the dim recesses, but then there was a faint sound - a moan, and something stirred. A man - he might have been young although that was difficult to tell because of his unshaven face and bleary, haggard mien - raised his head, and allowed the empty bottle that had once held absinthe to tumble to the floor.

For what seemed an age, he sat and stared at the typewriter that lay before him on the table, and then, at last, he began to type. A tear welled up in his eye, trickled down his cheek and fell away as his fingers sought for the keys.

The Moulin Rouge

I had come here to Paris to learn about truth, beauty and the bohemian way. It had been inevitable that I should fall in love - that was, after all, what I had come here to find. Still, when I had fallen in love with the Sparkling Diamond, I had thought that love would lift us up where we belonged. Sadly, I was to be mistaken, and life was to deal me a savage blow - one from which I would never recover.

Upon my arrival here in MontMartre, I had found myself a suitable garret in which to dwell, the very embodiment of a penniless and bohemian writer, and speedily found myself a circle of friends that were the epitome of the way of life that I sought.

And then, there was Satine

Alive. One simple word.

The past few weeks had made that word sing with a meaning never before understood by the young man now sauntering down the bustling streets of Paris. A meaning that until recently had no tangible essence and had merely meant the lack of death but now meant a presence of life. A life that was beautiful and lusty and delicious in its boldness and vulgarity.

It was this very aspect of the steamy, crowded streets that most appealed to Philippe -- the debauchery of a people who understood that life was meant to be lived and savored and gorged upon, and not simply a sentence to be served until it was completed.

No, life was much more than a death sentence. Philippe had come to terms with this when he had been faced with a real death sentence of his own not so long ago. An illness that mystified his doctors and had begun to slowly eke the life out of him was now nothing but a memory. A fateful trip to Greece, a mysterious calling to ancient ruins, and he had awoken with the knowledge that not only was he somehow miraculously healed, but he now had the power to give life back to those who had been doomed to an early grave.

The thought brought a slight smile to his lips, and he gazed at the sea of bodies carrying him in its wake towards what was quickly becoming his favorite haunt. All of these people were at his disposal, as far as he was concerned. He'd delighted in more pleasures than he thought possible, and was constantly seeking new thrills. Even better was when he was allowed the opportunity to use his newly acquired gift as a way to persuade someone who was less than enthusiastic to give him what he wanted. Not that he had all that much trouble getting his way, but knowing that he could demand any form of payment for bestowing his gift on someone only made the taking sweeter.

Philippe was shaken out of his musing by the jostling of the crowd as it neared the Moulin Rouge, and deep, green eyes glimmered as they focused on the entrance. The promise of what lay behind that doorway filled him with a pounding in his veins that would soon be mirrored by the punishing rhythm of the music inside. Like him, it was very much alive.

The barrage of sound within the Moulin Rouge was almost solid - a wall against which the unwary would be immolated. As Philippe sauntered into the club, he appeared completely unruffled by the noise and desperate gyrations of the denizens. He paused theatrically, smoothed down his perfectly tailored jacket, and looked around him.

Dancers gyrated around him, limbs clad in silk and surrounded by ruffles. A dark eyed beauty caught his eye.

Kick your hat off for a sou, mister?

Casually, he tossed her a coin, and she giggled, moving in to press herself against him, biting at the money to check that it was what it appeared to be, and not mere fools gold. Keep it, my dear, he said, and took it from her, dropping it down into the hollow between her breasts as she fluttered her fan at him.

Philippe smiled coolly as he cast an approving gaze at the dcolletage, his hand already moving with the determined ease of a man used to helping himself to whatever he saw. Just as he was about to cup the flesh, a more stunning face caught his eye, and with a touch to the brim of his hat and a slight nod of his head, he moved on, the dancer dismissed before she'd even realized.

The only thing that surpassed Philippe's appetite for living was his appetite for beautiful people, and when he saw someone particularly exquisite, it was only a matter of time before he had them. Race, creed, gender - none of these were obstacles to him. In fact, when he encountered resistance, it was the sort of challenge he relished, and only made him want that person more.

As he homed in on his newest target, he could tell he might have some trouble with this one. Something about the innocent glint of amazement and awe in the bright eyes, and the unadulterated joy in the smile, told Philippe everything he needed to know. Yes, it would take some convincing, but he had no doubt the handsome young man would give in as easily as all the others had.

The dancers were progressing along the floor, led, as usual, by the fat, red-faced fool, Zidler. Philippe moved away from the throng, heading towards where hed caught sight of the handsome face he coveted. Sure enough, there he was, on the edge of the crowd, his wide eyes and breathless astonishment testament to the fact that he was out of his usual sphere.

Philippe made his way closer, until he stood very close to the group of people that surrounded his target. Satie and Lautrec he dismissed immediately. They would prove no barrier to his lust. There was a mustachioed man who might prove to be competition, but as Philippe watched, he seemed to fall asleep where he sat. Smiling silkily, Philippe moved in.

Good evening, gentlemen, he purred. I am a newcomer to this place, and you seem to be familiar with all. I wonder if I might join you? You seem to be having such a marvelous time.

"Of course," the object of Philippe's desire said with a welcoming gesture, "the more the merrier."

"Thank you," Philippe said, his admiration blatant as he took a seat next to the gracious young man. "My name is Philippe." He extended his hand and felt a pleasant tingle when it was accepted with a firm shake.

"Very good to meet you, Philippe. My name is Christian, and this is--"

"The pleasure is mine," Philippe said, interrupting Christian before he could introduce his companions. He didn't release Christian's hand right away, and at the slightly befuddled look on his new acquaintance's face, Philippe smiled and finally let go. "So, tell me, how often do you patronize this fine establishment?"

Oh, Im frightfully new here. My associates are regulars, but Ive only recently arrived in Paris. Im a writer, here to learn about the bohemian ideals. When did you get here? Christian smiled, sweetly, his face lighting up as he took in Philippes darkly handsome countenance.

Ive just arrived. I am lately come from Greece where I have been touring around, learning what I could of the ancients manner of healing. Now Ive come here to practice my newly learned arts. Philippe raised his glass of absinthe in a toast to the other man, and looked around at his companions. Your health, he said in a husky and intimate tone.

Christian returned the toast, regarding Philippe with the fascination of a curious child. "Tell me, Philippe, what did you learn? I must say, I've met many strangely wonderful people since coming to Paris, but I have yet to meet a healer."

Id be happy to show you some of the things Ive learned. We can talk of it later, if you like, over supper. Philippe had moved closer as the two of them talked, and now his arm crept around the tailored shoulders, and his face approached Christians.

That would be jolly nice. Im sure you have some interesting stories to tell. Christian was about to say something more, when Zidler, who had moved to a place above them, suddenly bellowed that Mlle. Satine was to perform, and the crowd fell silent. You must see this, Philippe, said Christian. Im told shes the most beautiful creature, though Ive yet to set eyes on her.

Philippe's eyes darkened at the reverence in Christian's voice at the mention of Satine's name. "Yes, she is quite lovely," he said in a tone that dripped insincerity.

"You're not even looking at her," Christian laughed good-naturedly. "She's up there." He gently took hold of Philippe's face and tilted it towards the swing that was being steadily lowered into place.

"Oh, yes, of course," Philippe said, the warm touch sending a chill through him. Christian's eyes were transfixed as the song began, but all Philippe could see was the beauty of Christian's glowing visage, staring at him as he in turn watched this woman who was so obviously adored by all. "Absolutely stunning," he whispered, moving his cheek ever so slightly against the hand that was still touching his face, forgotten in the excitement of Satine's appearance.

Throughout her performance, Christian sat enthralled. After a while, when Satine had left the stage, carried away by a huge negro in what was obviously a well-staged event. Christian turned to Philippe, his eyes sparkling with youthful excitement. Isnt she perfect? Dont you believe so?

Perfect, utterly perfect, murmured Philippe, moving still closer to Christian as they huddled together in order to make themselves heard above the carousing patrons.

"Utterly perfect," Christian echoed, "and I'm madly in love with her."

"Love?" Philippe asked, trying his hardest to not sound as sour as he felt. "How could you love her if you don't even know her?" He let his hand brush against Christian's in such a way that it could be excused as a mere accident if the young man took issue with it.

"Ah, but I do know her," Christian said, dreamily, grasping at Philippe's hand in his enthusiasm. "I've known her all my life. I've dreamt of her and the day when I'd meet my one true love."

"Are you sure she is indeed the one you've dreamt about?" Philippe asked, determined to not give up easily. He was holding Christian's hand tighter, letting his thumb slowly graze the back of it. "Have you ever thought of being with someone without the burden of love spoiling everything?"

But love is everything, isnt it? Love is like oxygen. Love lifts us up where we belong. Love

Youre wrong. Love is fine, perfectly fine, but there are more things than mere love. Theres excitement, theres sensation he moved in against Christian, his lips very close to the young mans face. Theres sex, he whispered, and leant forward to close the distance between them until his mouth was pressed against that of Christians.

There was a moment when Philippe thought he felt Christian respond, felt his lips part in an invitation to deepen the kiss, but when Christian pulled away, Philippe realized the response had been nothing more than surprise.

"Philippe, I'm sorryI" A blush colored Christian's pale cheeks, and he dropped his eyes to the table. "I'm afraid you have the wrong idea about me."

"I don't think I do," Philippe said, charmed further by the bashfulness, and desperate to feel the warmth of those lips against his once more. "You'll never know how much you'll like it if you don't try it, Christian."

"But I--"

"You've never been with a man, I know. There's no need for alarm," he smiled and stroked Christian's arm in a slow, seductive fashion. "I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

"No, that's not what I meant." Christian licked his lips, unaware of the hunger in Philippe's eyes as they traced the movement. "I meant I'm in love with someone, and I can't I would never do anything to sully something so perfect."

I dont understand, Christian. Philippe touched the delicately flushed cheek with a single finger. How would what you do with your body sully anything at all? I could show you things youve never dreamed about, make you feel things youll believe were sent to you by God. Why dont you let me show you? Later, youll be able to share them with your lover.

I I say, Im a little confused. Christian was turning pink now, and his dark hair flopped forward over his forehead. Without thinking, Philippe reached to brush it back, and Christian shivered. I mean that Im here to learn, and to experience everything I can so that I will become a great writer, but I dont think

Hush now, Philippes voice was intimate, smoky, and brushed Christians skin like silk, reaching into him to tug at his libido. Think of the things I can teach you. Youll be a wonderful writer.

"ButI" The argument died on Christian's lips, and he finally raised careful eyes to Philippe. "I do want to be a wonderful writer," he said softly, unsure if he would be heard with the noise of the room still making conversation difficult.

"Then will you let me show you what I know?" Philippe purred, closing in to press his mouth to Christian's ear as he sensed him weakening.

Christian shivered again and began to turn his head towards the warm lips that were caressing his ear. "I think--"

It was then that Toulouse chose to remind Christian that they had important matters to attend to concerning the financing of a certain play, but the words were lost on both men when they came face to face.

"Tell him you have other plans," Philippe said seductively, his heart racing as the images of what lay ahead of them played through his mind.

"I, um, have other" There was a slight hesitation and then Christian turned to Toulouse, his face flushed and his body buzzing with an excitement he'd never before experienced. "I'm sorry, Toulouse. I have other plans."

But Chwistian Lautrecs voice faded as Christian rose to his feet and turned to follow Philippe through the crowd and out of the bordello.

Standing in the moonlight beneath the huge, ever turning sails of the windmill that gave the place its name, Christian turned to look at Philippe, a little dazed but eager for new and exciting truths. Philippe was regarding him quizzically, a cold little smile playing on his features, and when Christian opened his mouth to speak, he placed two white-gloved fingers on Christians lips to silence him, and then moved in to follow them up with his own mouth.

The kiss was thorough and staggering to Christian. His world became a thing of mouths and tongues, and rising need, as Philippe pressed against him, lips demanding against his. When at last Philippe released him, Christian was panting and flushed, his eyes shining as he tried to adjust to the unfamiliar things that were happening to him.

I say, he breathed. I say

"Why don't you wait until I've shared everything with you before you comment," Philippe remarked with an amused glint in his eye. "I am sure that your gifts as a writer will provide you with just the right words after yourexperience." His fingers played over Christian's mouth, and he was pleased to see the lips part as if ready to receive anything he would be given. "Are you ready to go?"

"Iyes" Christian said with a barely perceptible nod. "Should we Where?"

Philippe laughed and caressed Christian's cheek as he leaned in for a swift kiss. "It certainly sounds like you need my help, since you seem to have lost your ability to speak. I sincerely doubt that your writing would be any better at this point."

Closing his mouth, Christian followed Philippe, falling into stride beside him, nerves jangling as he tried to imagine what could be more wonderful, more all encompassing than the sensations that Philippes mouth had evoked in him. Positively on fire with lust, Christian nevertheless found himself fizzing with excitement as Philippe led him into one of the more magnificent hotels.

As they passed through the lobby, Christian wondered if this was truly an environment in which he could further his knowledge of the bohemian ideal, but all of his misgivings were swept away as they entered Philippes suite, and Philippe himself turned and took him in his arms, tossing Christians hat and cane to one side negligently.

"You are a beautiful creature," Philippe murmured as he relieved himself of his own hat with a careless toss. "In much the same way that you are seeking your bohemian ideals, I'm constantly searching for beautiful things with which to surround myself." His voice was measured, the tone hypnotic as he slowly divested Christian of his coat and tie. "Do you like beautiful things, Christian?"

"I love all things that have to do with truth and beauty," Christian said, his eyes bright as he gazed into Philippe's, taken by the self-assuredness and desire he saw reflected in them.

But Christian, Philippe was smiling now, assured as he peeled away the clothing that covered his companions body. Sometimes a lie can be a beautiful thing. Do you not love lies also? He ran his fingers beneath the fine linen of Christians shirt, fingers trailing over the silky white skin as if he were appraising porcelain. I wouldnt like to think that you would eschew falsehood, for what is writing but fantasy, and what is fantasy but falsehood?

Philippes voice was hypnotic, low and intimate, and as he spoke, his fingers caressed, stroking and lingering on the tingling flesh beneath them. His shirt had been unfastened, and now Philippe pushed it away from Christians shoulders, and stooped to fix his mouth against the pulse that beat at the base of his throat.

The sigh that escaped Christian's lips was so sensual, anyone hearing it would have thought Philippe had done more than kiss his skin.

"Lies are horrible things that lead to misery," Christian said, breathless as Philippe's mouth traveled along his collarbone. "Fantasy is a brilliant notion that--"

"Shh" Philippe raised his head and put a finger to Christian's lips, gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "You mustn't be so judgmental, my boy. Lies can be salvation just as easily. They can protect and provide comfort when such things are needed. Don't you agree?" As he spoke, his hand moved down to graze the front of Christian's slacks. He smiled when he felt the sure sign of the young man's interest and carefully closed his fingers around the heat he found there.

Breath became something almost impossible to catch. Philippes lips roamed his flesh, first cool and then hot as he licked and bit, tasting each part of Christians skin. Christian felt tentative as he tried his best to reciprocate, running his hands diffidently at first, and then with a little more confidence as he heard Philippe sigh and felt the trembling of the body beneath his hands.

Naked, he felt Philippe slide to his knees and bury his face in the hollow of his belly and stood, awed, afraid, wanting everything and unable to do anything to help himself. Philippes hands were on him, touching in places that had never before had anothers hands on them, and causing his flesh to tingle.

Christian, youre beautiful, whispered Philippe once more and began to taste him, running the wetness of his tongue over his craving flesh until Christian wanted to scream.

There was nothing but the sounds of labored breathing coupled with soft moans of pleasure as Philippe took advantage of his vast experience to send Christian to heights he'd never before imagined.

A shaking hand moved to Philippe's head, smoothing over the soft hair as Christian fought to steady himself. Words still eluded him, and his body trembled with the thrill of such forbidden sensations.

Philippe drew back, tight excitement locked in his belly as he stared up at the flushed face of his young lover. This was soon to be his - this body and all the delight it promised would be his completely. A shiver coursed through him at the predatory power he felt, and he slowly rose to his feet to finally rid himself of his clothes.

Wide eyed, Christian watched as Philippe slowly divested himself of his raiment, revealing a strong, muscular body that glowed with health in the low light of the gas lamp. As Philippe took him by the hand and led him to the soft feather bed, he shivered in anticipation. He didnt know what Philippe would do to him, but he knew that when it was over he would somehow be altered, would no longer be the innocent he had been. He looked forward to it.

Philippe crawled onto the bed on his hands and knees, and turned to face Christian, reaching for him with a wide smile that spoke of unknown pleasures waiting for him. Swallowing, Christian moved forward to join the other man, permitting himself to be drawn into a heated embrace, to be laid down on the comforter and covered by Philippe, whose body felt like a living flame as it moved over his.

When Philippes hand parted his thighs, he was so far gone in sensual abandonment that he didnt even notice.

Christian bolted awake, his heart racing as he found himself in unfamiliar and disorienting surroundings. It wasn't until the slumbering man next to him stirred that he recalled exactly where he was. Along with the realization came the flood of every detail of every thing that they had done. A blush colored his cheeks even as he thought about it, and he looked guiltily at Philippe who merely mumbled something under his breath and continued sleeping.

It had been wonderful and, in fact, had surpassed anything Christian had ever experienced. Yet there was something he was sure was missing, something that would have made it the ultimate act. It was then that his thoughts drifted, incredibly, back to Satine, and he knew where he needed to be to find what was absent.

Being careful to not wake Philippe, Christian slipped out of the bed and quietly gathered his clothes. He dressed quickly, casting a brief but thankful glance at Philippe before slipping out of the room.

Christian was hard at work the following afternoon - that is to say that he was seated at his typewriter, gazing down at the Moulin Rouge and dreaming about Satine the way she had looked the previous evening as she had lain against his breast and tried not to be in love with him.

Love Love was indeed a many splendored thing. Love was life. Love lifted them up where they belonged. Sighing, he typed a few more words onto the white and pristine sheet of paper and dreamed on.

Into this scene strode Philippe.

I missed you this morning, Christian. You didnt say goodbye.

Christians eyes widened as Philippes dark face and flashing eyes broke through his reverie of Satine.

Philippe, I He didnt know what to say. His entire being was suffused with the blush of shame when he recalled what theyd done the previous night - what *hed* done.

"Can I assume that you were so moved to write, you had to leave without waking me for fear of losing your inspiration?"

Christian stared at the smirk on Philippe's face, unsure how to deal with the sarcasm. "I didn't think that my leaving would upset you"

"Why wouldn't it upset me?" Philippe asked, moving closer. "I invite you to my suite for a spectacular evening, and you slink away like something that belongs in the gutter? Why on earth would I be upset by that?"

The words were cold, and Philippes voice was still even and silky, but his eyes glowed with a fury that daunted Christian. He opened his mouth to apologize, and closed it again with the words unspoken, and could only look into Philippes flashing, angry eyes, dismayed.

Im sorry, he whispered finally. I just found love, and forgot all else. She said that she loves me, and thats worth everything.

Philippe stood his ground, a sarcastic smile on his face as Christian rambled on about true love and the whore from the bordello across the road in the same breath. When Christian had finally stopped talking, Philippe stepped forward and took his face between finger and thumb, stooped to kiss his lips, and then straightened once more. Come home with me, Christian. I can give you more than she ever could.

"I...I don't think I can, Philippe," Christian said, the words wrenched from him, his eyes full of anguish. "You don't understand what Satine and I have together. What kind of perfect love we--"

"What perfect love is that, Christian?" Philippe said with a sneer, turning his back to Christian as his hands clenched into fists. "How can you have a perfect love with this...whore? She's playing you for a fool, you know. She's probably selling herself right now."

"How dare you say that?" Christian growled, standing up so quickly he knocked his chair over. "Take it back, sir, or I will be forced to defend her honor."

She offered her honor; he honored her offer, declaimed Philippe in a sing-song voice. You should relate to this, my dear; its poetry. His face was set, and his eyes flashed angrily as he surveyed Christian.

I I wont have you defaming her. Shes all that is lovely. Shes Philippe sneered as Christian began his diatribe.

Youll be sorry that you turned down my love and my generosity. Youll find out as soon as your whore betrays you for another man, one that has more material wealth than you, and then, Christian, I will be waiting, but you will need to go down on your knees and beg my forgiveness at that time. Philippe slapped his palm down on the table and Christians eyes flew to his face. And the end of my little rhyme? Quite simple. All the night long, he was on her and off her

Turning on his heel, Philippe left as hurriedly as hed arrived.

Six long months had passed since Philippe had stormed out of Christian's flat. Spring had blossomed into summer that had given way to fall, and now the icy arms of winter were embracing the city of lights. A light dusting of snow had been falling all day, and as Philippe gazed out the window of his suite, he found himself thinking about the young writer. He'd given up hoping for the day when Christian would knock on the door to his suite and admit what a fool he'd been, but he still allowed himself to think of him. It wasn't that Philippe truly loved him, it was the idea that someone who had been with him would choose to be with someone else. Or, at least, that's what he told himself when he lay awake at night, the memories of that one magical night together flitting through his mind and making him miserable.

When he sought out other bodies to quench his need, he may as well have been in another room for all the regard he paid them. More often than not, the evening ended with a drunken diatribe directed at whichever hapless stranger happened to be in his bed, and soon Philippe had earned the reputation for being a cruel customer best left alone. And that's how he'd been for the last few months, alone and feeling as hollow as any man who'd lost something he hadn't been aware he needed until it was gone.

The new Moulin Rouge was due to open in a couple of days time. The cast and crew had been rehearsing, working busily amidst the rubble and dust of the renovations as workmen turned the night club into a theater, and now there were only a few finishing touches remaining.

Philippe felt jaded, his appetite for everything gone as he sought each day for information about how Christian and his company were progressing. Hed heard that the whore - or so he thought of Satine - had sold her favors to the Duke who had put up the money for the theaters conversion, and that Christian was now alone, and decided that at last he would pay the talented young writer a visit.

Sauntering into the Moulin Rouge, he took in the hive of activity as everyone bustled about making ready for the show later that night. As he passed through the doors, he saw the whore, Satine, approach, her face veiled and her eyes set grimly. It was obvious that shed been to Christians garret, and equally obvious that the news had been bad for the young writer.

She didnt notice him as she passed, but he could see inside her, saw the sickness that had taken hold of her, that even now was gnawing at her lungs, and which would soon kill her. He could cure her, if he willed, and an idea began to creep into his mind.

He would cure her, if only Christian would

Turning, he headed to the Hotel Blanche, and the young man he coveted.

The knock on the door roused Christian from his fitful, drunken slumber. It was probably Toulouse back for another attempt at lifting his spirits.

"Go away!" he shouted when there was another knock. "I don't want you in here. I don't want anyone!"

The door opened, and Christian cursed himself for not locking it when he'd had the chance.

"Toulouse, I--" Christian's eyes widened when he saw the dark form cross his threshold to stand regally at the foot of his bed. "What..."

Philippe eyed the mess sprawled on the bed with a moue of disgust. "You look pitiful. What happened to you?"

"You ask that as if you care," Christian said, his mouth full of cotton and his head pounding as he stared at the man who'd been in his thoughts since that fateful night.

Of course I care. Why else would I be here in this Philippe gestured around at the squalor of the sparsely furnished room. This festering hovel? I am only here because I care. Nothing else could have dragged me here.

And why should I believe that? asked Christian. What earthly reason do you have to care about me or the pain that I suffer?

Ive never forgotten you, Christian. Remember, I told you that I would always take you back? Forget Satine. She is dying. I saw the foul disease thats devouring her. Come with me, and together we will set the world on fire

Dying? Christian sat bolt upright; his heart hammering painfully. I dont understand. How can she be dying? Shes so young, so beautiful. The whole world is in awe of her beauty and grace.

Nevertheless, she is dying. Philippe sat down on the edge of the bed and took Christians hand in his own. Listen to me. I can save her. I can heal her, but there are conditions.

"Anything," Christian said, gripping Philippe's hand desperately. "I'll do anything you want me to."

"That sounds so promising," Philippe smiled, reaching out his other hand to brush some stray hair off Christian's sweaty forehead. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it," Christian replied quickly. "I love her. I'd do anything to save her. You have to help me save her. Please, Philippe, please, if you really do care at all for me..." His eyes were wide and pleading as he stared up at the man who held so much power in his hands. "I'll do anything you ask me to." He raised Philippe's hand to his lips and began kissing it tenderly. "Anything at all."

Philippe felt a moment's weakening as the soft lips brushed over his skin, but the thought that it was only being done in order to save that whore made him bristle.

"You really do love her, don't you?" he asked, the words heavy and dull.

"Yes, I do," Christian whispered. "She's hurt me, but I still love her more than life itself."

"And the thought of her being with another man? Does that hurt you?"

She would never Christian fell silent as their recent meeting played inside his mind, every last, terrible word that Satine had said to him echoing through the caverns of his memory. I have to believe that she is true.

He bowed his head, fighting grimly to keep from shedding tears in front of Philippe, knowing that the disturbing presence sitting on his bed beside him would somehow use his distress in some as yet unfathomable way.

Philippe didnt say anything immediately, and Christian felt his nerves grow taut, stretch to breaking point as he awaited what the other man might say. When Philippe finally drew breath and began to speak, it was such a relief from tension that Christian felt the very air shimmer.

Would you watch her sleep with another, if that would save her life? Philippe asked, a strange, half smile on his face.

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Christian was unsure if he had heard correctly. Perhaps his cloudy brain was playing tricks on him, for Philippe couldn't have asked such a question if it didn't pertain to what he was offering. Then it dawned on him.

"You're not asking if... You wouldn't..."

Philippe raised an eyebrow, looking at Christian as if daring him to say it.

"I wouldn't what?" he asked softly, brushing Christian's cheek with the back of his hand.

"You're not proposing that I watch you...with her..."

Let me tell you the facts of life - and death, my sweet Christian. Philippes eyes glittered as he fondled the unshaven cheek beneath his fingers. I have a certain power, granted me by the god Aesklepios. I can heal the very sick, but the power must come from somewhere, and, my Christian, it comes from me. When I use my powers, I must recharge my energy through certain practices. In order to heal your Satine, I would require the use of a body - a beautiful body. I would by far prefer yours, Christian - I feel an emotion when I regard you that I am sure you would label love - but she is indeed beautiful, and her body would suffice, I have no doubt.

Having spoken his piece, Philippe sat regarding Christian, the same disturbing smile on his face as he awaited the responsethat he knew would come.

"You can't have her," Christian said, pushing the hand away from his face. "You can have me. If you need to have someone, have me, but I cannot allow you to do that to her. Why must it be her?"

"I never said it had to be her," Philippe said, regarding Christian coolly. "I said she would suffice."

"Then why can't it be me?" Christian sat up a little, reaching shamelessly for Philippe's lap.

"Because," Philippe grabbed Christian's wrist, "I think you need to prove to me that you love the whore enough to do anything for her. You do remember that this great love of yours is what made you steal away from my bed in the middle of the night, don't you?" His smile was cruel, but there was unbidden pain in his eyes as he watched Christian's face. "I have to know that you'll suffer any pain for her, otherwise there is no way for me to forgive you for leaving." He lowered his eyes, the facade shattered for a moment before he gathered himself once more.

"I don't understand," Christian said in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper. "Why do you have such strong feelings for me considering we knew each other for barely any--"

"You fell in love with the whore at first sight, did you not?"

Christian nodded and Philippe continued.

"So it is possible to be completely captivated by someone in mere moments, don't you agree?"

I Christian fell silent; because of course it was entirely possible. He had done so himself in a matter of seconds had he not?

After a while, he nodded, too afraid of his own emotions to speak. Philippes eyes were bright, hypnotic, and for a moment Christian recalled what the night in his arms had been like, the way hed felt, the pleasure that had been between them, as sharp and piercing as any knife.

He saw Satine fainting from pleasure in Philippes arms, and a pang of jealousy rocked him, although on whose behalf he couldnt say. The thought that Philippe might make Satine feel the way that he had felt was too much.

No. No, you cant have Satine. Youre a lewd and lascivious man and she is pure despite the world in which she lives.

Philippe's eyes darkened and he grabbed Christian's arm, fingers digging in painfully. "You have just killed her. The woman whom you proclaim to love so much is now going to die because you won't let me save her."

Christian was speechless, a flash of fear erupting inside him as Philippe's grip tightened and his face contorted into an unimaginable mask of anger.

"You're hurting me," he finally whispered, the words catching in his throat.

"No more than you have hurt me. And Satine."

"I...I didn't mean to hurt you, Philippe. I didn't know--"

"Yes, you did," Philippe said, his teeth clenched. "You knew exactly what you were doing to me, and you still chose to run off to that slut. Well," he sneered, "soon she will be dead and you can thank yourself for that. I hope your pain will be worth it."

I dont believe you. Youre lying, trying to trick me back into your bed. The pain in Christians voice reflected the desolation that he felt at Satines betrayal. Hed loved her - he still loved her, and she had told him that she had chosen wealth instead of love.

Where now were his bohemian ideals? Where were truth and love and beauty now that he had been bereft of his beloved?

All that remained was this sneering demon with his handsome face and his huge, acquisitive eyes, desiring, wanting, and lusting. He couldnt handle it. Turning to Philippe, he said, Get out.

Philippe rose, as graceful as one of the dancers from the theater so close by, and stood beside the bed.

No doubt some day you will regret your choice. I will await that day, he said.

Get out, shouted Christian, and as Philippe turned and left the room, closing the door behind him, he allowed himself at last to weep.

The news of Satine's death reached Philippe while he was dining in a dark, moody caf two streets over from the theater. As he sat nursing his Merlot, he overheard the buzz of the other patrons as they mumbled about the show stopping ending and the word that had come from backstage of the star's death.

Philippe smiled to himself and slowly stood to toss a few francs on the table. He was feeling generous tonight, not only because he'd been proven right, but because he could now collect what was rightfully his.

He made the short trip to Christian's flat with thoughts of a reunion putting a certain spring in his step. If he arrived and there was no sign of his young lover, he would wait. After all, Christian couldn't stay away from his home forever, could he?

Snow was falling as he stood surveying the hotel that was Christians home. There was no light showing in the room at the top of the building, and at first, Philippe believed that Christian was elsewhere, but as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he distinguished the shadowy form of someone sitting on the ledge outside the window.

The fool, breathed Philippe, and entered the hotel swiftly, tossing a hurried greeting to the concierge as he darted through towards the staircase that led to the garret where Christian lived.

As ever, the door was unlocked, and he entered the dingy room silently, moving across to the open window to where the half-seen presence lurked.

Christian? he said, softly. Come in now. Its time.

Christian's head snapped back, and he appeared to be surprised to find himself outside.

"Come on," Philippe said again, his hand extended.

"She's gone." The whispered words were forced from Christian's throat as if it hurt to say it. His eyes, red and wet from the tears that wouldn't stop streaking down his face, watched Philippe with desperate longing. "I could have saved her."

"Don't think about that."

"I have to."

Philippe's shoulders slumped and he reluctantly moved to join Christian on the ledge.

"You can't stay out here and freeze to death, Christian. It would hurt me very much if anything happened to you."

What use is there to live now that the light has gone from the world? Satine was my lodestar; without her there is nothing left for me. Christian raised a bottle to his lips, and finding it empty, cursed and dashed the bottle to the street below, where it smashed to pieces with a distant tinkle.

There are others that still rely on you, man. You must put her death away for now and concentrate on the ones that care for you. Philippe ventured to lay his hand on Christians chilled face, and felt the extreme cold. It was a wonder that the young man hadnt already lost consciousness from exposure. Gritting his teeth, Philippe concentrated on bringing the god to him, after a few minutes felt him tingling in his fingertips, and willing the strength into Christians chilled body.

Come. You will feel better if you sleep. Philippe could feel life flowing from him, and stood to hold out his hand to the other man and assist his return. Come, he said again as Christian raised hazy, uncomprehending eyes to him. There was a pause, and then, wordlessly, Christian stood and stumbled in towards the window, his stockinged feet slipping in the wet snow as he worked his way back.

With some effort, Philippe was able to keep a firm grip on him and finally get the desolate man into the small room where he proceeded to undress him.

"What are you doing?" Christian mumbled, pushing Philippe's hands away. "Leave me alone..."

"Your clothes are wet," Philippe said sternly, slapping Christian's hand when he tried to push him away again. "I'm not going to let you catch your death because you don't see any reason to take care of yourself."

"Just let me die," Christian whispered, his body going limp as he let Philippe undress him and gently lead him to his bed. "My reason for living is gone," he began to sob, turning his back on Philippe and burying his face against a pillow.

"You still have everything to live for," Philippe murmured, his voice low and controlled as he began to undress himself, his eyes riveted to the bare back of his lover as he lay on the bed. "I want you to remember that, Christian. You have people in this world who love you and need you." He continued talking as he slipped into bed behind Christian, molding himself to the cold body and pulling the covers over the both of them.

What are you doing? Christians voice was feeble, as though the question had come by rote rather than because he really wanted to hear a response, and Philippe didnt answer him, merely encircled him with one well muscled arm as he spooned up behind him.

The chill of Christians body was slowly receding as Philippe willed heat into him. The god seethed under Philippes skin, and he poured energy into the man in his arms. As ever, when he was engaged in the transfer of his healing powers, he felt his penis swelling as it nestled between the contours of his companions firm buttocks.

Slowly, lovingly, Philippe dragged his tongue down from Christians neck to the hollow between his shoulder blades, and began to caress the mans chest.

Christian moved against him, eliciting a low groan from Philippe as his excitement continued to grow.

"What are you doing?" Christian asked again, this time making it more obvious that he was trying to pull away from the unwelcome caresses. "Don't do that, Philippe. I don't want...that."

Philippe slowly raised his head, a serene smile on his face as his fingers trailed over a nipple, teasing the small nub.

"You'll be all right if you let me help you forget," he pressed his lips to Christian's ear, his smile widening at the chill that shook the young writer's body. "I can make the pain go away, Christian, if you let me."

Christian shivered again. "No," he said, his voice stronger now as he tried to pull away again but was kept in place by Philippe's strong grip. "Please, Philippe, I don't want to do this. Not now."

You will want it. Philippes hand strayed down over the flat stomach towards where Christians cock nestled in its thicket of curls. You cannot avoid wanting it. I will make you.

Go away, Philippe. Go away, sobbed Christian. Leave me to my sorrow and plague some other man. He squirmed in Philippes arms, fighting desperately to escape the hot, clinging body that enveloped him.

Philippe laughed. One way or another, Christian, I will have you. Willing or not, I will possess you, utterly. Grinding his erection against the warmth of Christians behind, he drew attention to his excitement. As Christian whimpered and struggled anew, Philippe brought his hand up to the young writers throat and squeezed, throttling him until he stopped his attempts to escape.

There. Thats better. Thats how I would have you, whispered Philippe, silkily into Christians ear.

Christian looked up from his typewriter, forcing himself back to the present as he halted the pounding of the keys for a moment. Looking out the window at the cold, dark streets of the city, his eyes were red with tears, his heart still aching for his loss and for the pain he'd suffered at Philippe's hands.

His gaze returned to the words typed on the page, each one mocking him as they revealed a shame from which he wasn't sure he would ever recover, let alone accept. As his heart ached for Satine, his body ached from the brutal attack, yet he couldn't bring himself to hate the man who'd done it. He was mourning the loss of his love, but his restless brain wouldn't let him stop thinking about what Philippe had done, and, even worse, it wouldn't let him lie to himself about how much he had actually wanted it.

While his beautiful Satine lay cold and dead, Christian had allowed himself to take pleasure in the ruthless ravishment. Even now as he recalled the recent events and set them down on paper, he could feel his blood pounding faster in his veins at the outrage, guilt, and desire he felt at the memories -- memories that were recent and vivid enough to leave the taste of Philippe's skin on his tongue and the scent of him invading his senses.

Growling angrily, he reached to rip the paper out of the typewriter when his thoughts were stopped cold by a familiar knock at the door.

He knew without looking who stood behind the door. He didnt move as the handle turned and the door slowly opened, didnt turn to look although his body grew hot and his belly felt weak and liquid at the measured approach of his tormentor.

Christian. Strong brown fingers settled on the writers shoulders, squeezing gently as they massaged the tense flesh of Christians back. Philippes husky voice was like nettles to his flesh, stinging, promising, making him swell despite the despair he felt.

Leave me alone, Philippe. I dont want you, he moaned, the excitement thick in his voice.

You know that its not possible, my little writer, was Philippes response as he stooped to lick at Christians ear.

"Philippe..." Christian shivered and clenched his hands into fists, fighting to keep still as Philippe began kissing the side of his neck. "Why won't you let me be?" he asked helplessly.

"Because I'm obsessed with the fine arts and bohemian ideals," Philippe chuckled, biting Christian's shoulder.

"You needn't mock me. It's bad enough that you've defiled me--"

"I've what?" Philippe laughed and straightened up, peering over Christian's shoulder at the paper that was in the typewriter. "I see you recorded that defilement in fine detail. You're very good, my boy."

I promised her that I would write our story. Philippes nimble fingers had found the buttons of Christians loose shirt and were dancing down the fastenings, laying his torso bare even as he exchanged banter with the man. Christian didnt protest, beyond batting weakly at the insistent hands, and then letting his head loll back against the firm body behind him as Philippe caressed him, plucking at his nipples and scratching lightly at the flesh around them until Christian moaned.

Stooping slowly to graze Christians mouth with his own, Philippe whispered, You will write her story, then you will write ours, and ours will be the longer.

Christian suddenly thrust his mocking assailant away from him, the surprise of his urgent movements enough to break him free of Philippes maddening touch. He rose from his chair to face Philippe, at bay, eyes flashing as he tried to break from his apathy and fight back against this man who wouldnt leave him be.

No. Not this time. Never again, Philippe. I dont want you.

Philippe pursed his lips as he narrowed his eyes and studied the picture of indignation before him. He didn't move or say a word for a long time, looking at Christian with such calm and amusement that the younger man felt his anger rising even more.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Christian spat. "Or are you going to stand there and look at me as if I were some child to be humored?"

"You really are quite delightful," Philippe said, his smile patronizing but careful. "I can understand why the late Satine found you to be such an amusing plaything. I'm quite sure your charms endeared you to her." A short laugh. "They must have if she gave you her services free of charge."

"Why are you saying these things?" Christian demanded, his hands clenching tighter. "Why be so cruel? You have everything you could possibly need. Why torment me?"

"Have I mentioned that I believe the whore deserved to die for being so quick to spread her legs for anyone with a pocketful of cash?" Philippe smiled, ignoring the questions.

I loved her. The cry was anguished, and Philippe gave a low laugh as he heard it.

Love? Youve never learned what love is, but I can show you. Striding over to Christian, Philippe crowded him back towards one of the dingy walls of the furnished room that the angry young man called home. Reaching for Christians shoulders, he shook him, then flung him back to connect with the wall so that his head smacked against the whitewash and the breath was driven out of him as he hit it.

Mocking green eyes bore down into Christians shocked ones. You cant fight, why even try? Philippe moved in, holding the writers face between finger and thumb as he kissed him hard, biting the soft lips whilst he forced Christian against the wall.

Christian began to sob beneath the onslaught, his breath coming in hitching gasps as Philippe kissed him. He succeeded in turning his head away, but Philippe didn't falter, merely taking the opportunity to press against him, pushing him into the wall as he sucked and licked Christian's neck.

"Why do you enjoy hurting me so much?" he whimpered, too weak with grief and pain to fight off the warm body pressing so urgently against him. "You profess to care for me, yet you continue to hurt me. I...don't understand..." The words had barely tumbled from his lips when he closed his eyes and slumped against Philippe, dead to the world.

Cursing, Philippe caught him and dragged him to the bed, where he laid him on the mattress and turned to find the stricken man water and laudanum. When Christian opened his eyes again, Philippe held out the glass he had found, and held his head, compelling him to drink the contents.

Why? Christian choked a little as he drank the liquid, but then lay back against Philippe as though hed been defeated. Philippe said nothing as he held him, merely waited, the heat of his body warming Christians cold flesh. Long minutes ticked by; Christian seemed to doze, and then at last, Philippe bent to kiss his brow.

I do care for you, my love. When you chose her, it hurt me so that I wanted to give you pain in return.

"I..." Christian coughed and raised his hands to his eyes, covering them as his head pounded. "My head...it hurts, Philippe... You hurt me..."

"I'm sorry," Philippe whispered, bending to kiss him again. "I couldn't control myself. I'm not able to control myself when I'm around you. I can't understand it any more than you can because I've never felt this way about anyone before."

"If that is truly the case, I wish you hated me," Christian said ruefully. "I doubt your enemies have suffered as much at your hands."

Im sorry, said Philippe, again. Its galling to me to care for someone who doesnt want me, but Ill leave and never sully your presence again. He began to move away from Christian, slowly releasing him and laying his head down on the pillow. Real life is different, Christian. Real life isnt sparkling diamonds and true love. Real life is pain and heartbreak; its not courtesans, my love; its whores.

He laid on the table a small package that hed taken from his pocket. Ill leave you this, he said. In the hopes that youll remember me. Perhaps some day you will recall me, and realize that the things I said were true, and that I was the one that loved you. Turning, he walked toward the door.

"Real life doesn't have to be solely pain and heartbreak," Christian said, stopping Philippe in his tracks. "I am not so great a fool as to think that life is not pain. Human beings are all too aware of the agony life can bestow, but is it so wrong to seek out the joys which make it bearable?"

Philippe slowly turned around, his eyes dark, face expressionless as he regarded Christian.

"Is this your way of telling me not to leave?" he asked, the hopeful glint in his eye dying as quickly as it appeared.

"It is my way of telling you I'm not the nave fool you believe me to be." Christian sat up with some difficulty, wincing as his head continued to hurt him.

"All right," Philippe said with a short nod, "you've told me. Shall I leave now?"

Christian narrowed his eyes at him then lay back with a sigh.

"Since one of us has to be able to swallow his pride, and since you are not a humble man, I have no difficulty asking you to stay." He paused, looking sorrowfully at Philippe. "I must be a stupid man to wish for the company of someone who claims to love me but whose actions prove otherwise, but I don't want to be alone."

A little smile lit Philippes features for a second, a smile unlike those that had gone before, which contained genuine tenderness. Once again, green eyes met wide open green eyes, and this time there was no mockery. Philippe stood beside the door, waiting for something only he might know.

You arent a stupid man, Christian, he breathed. You are merely a very young man. I would keep you safe and warm if you let me.

Christian closed his eyes, lay back against the pillows and said nothing, but Philippe read something into the expression that the young man wore, because he crossed the room to where the writer was lying and sat again on the bed, reaching to take Christians hands and chafe them against his breast.

I love you, Christian. Dont close me out? he whispered.

"Do you?" Christian murmured, his eyes still closed.

"Yes, I do. I don't know how else to say it." Philippe brought one of Christian's hands to his lips and kissed it.

"You've said the words quite well. Your actions are what count, though."

"Christian, if you'll give me--"

"For all the insults you've hurled at my Satine, you will never make me believe she did not love me." Christian's eyes were still closed, and he made no effort to respond in any way to Philippe's touches. "I know you think she was only a whore who played me for a fool, and that may be true," his voice hitched as he thought about his lost love, "but I *believed* she loved me. When she said it, she made me believe it." He finally opened his eyes and seemed to stare through Philippe. "That is something you haven't done."

And how could that be achieved? Philippes voice had rediscovered the dry, sarcastic edge that he usually used when dealing with Christian, although it was plain that this time the barb was self directed rather than aimed at his companion. I never stood a chance, did I? You were always determined to be with her, and I could not have won, no matter what I did. He laid down the fine boned hand that he had been holding, pressing it against Christians chest as he released it.

She thought of me. She put me first, said Christian, as though he were in a dream. Philippe blinked.

She sold herself to the highest bidder if she could only strut on the stage. You were there; you saw. She used you, and she used everyone around her. I I merely healed you when you would have caught her sickness from her. He bowed his head. Tell me what you want of me, Christian. Tell me how I can show you so that you know my feelings to be true.

"Why did you choose me?" Christian asked, his tone firm but still with a touch of his true, sweet demeanor. The question wasn't accusing, but genuinely curious.

Philippe furrowed his brow, unsure whether or not his answer would result in gaining Christian's favor or alienating him further.

"I saw you and I wanted you," he finally said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. "There was something about you, about the joy on your face at being in that place. I'd never seen anything so remarkable, and you made me forget about every other person there."

Christian blushed and turned away to hide the shy smile that broke across his face.

"I don't understand why someone like you would ever want someone like me. You're a man of the world and I'm a writer who believes in silly ideals for which you have no time. How could you love someone so frivolous? Someone who is able to make you so angry so easily?"

I have no idea, responded Philippe, daring to place his hand on Christians as it lay loosely against the cambric shirt he wore. I only know that there is a light that shines from you, and that it warms me when you smile for me. He shook his head. You didnt do it often, and once *she* had you, you did it not at all, but the memory of your face, alight with joy, and your fervent passion for all of life, and for your excitement in all that was new made me follow you the way a moth seeks a flame.

Philippe gazed down at Christian, his eyes tender as he spoke. After all, isnt that what love is? The need to be with the one person that fills the soul, no matter what the cost might be? Just ask Toulouse. He will tell you.

Christian stared up at Philippe, his eyes soulful and bright with unshed tears. "She gave me the chance to be a real writer," he said softly, his lower lip trembling. "I knew that I could love her and I knew that she would let me realize my dream. That's why I left you to go to her."

"I'm not sure I understand," Philippe closed his hand over Christian's. "What are you telling me?"

There was a moment's silence that seemed to stretch interminably until Christian was able to find his voice. Fixing Philippe with a guilty, sorrowful look, he appeared prepared to make a confession.

"I did love her..."

"But..." Philippe urged, becoming more sure he knew what Christian was about to say, but needing to hear it.

"I chose her because she was my path to doing what I moved to Paris to do." He looked away, ashamed. "I told myself I didn't need to be with you but the truth was I should have chosen you. I couldn't give up my dream, though. I couldnt pay that price to be with you."

And now? The voice that spoke the two words was quiet, husky, but they hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning for such small syllables.

And now I dont know any more. I loved her and she left me. Everything dies, and outside, the world is barren. Tears glistened on the thick dark lashes that fringed Christians eyes, and Philippe reached a thumb to wipe them away, raising it to his lips to taste the salt of them.

The world will live again, and so will you, my little author, so will you. I wish only that youd let me be there with you to watch as you come alive once more.

Christian raised a hand up to take Philippe's and pull him closer. "Will you stay with me?" he asked softly. "Will you stay and know that you don't need to hurt me? Nothing you do or say will make me hurt more than I have already. I'm being punished enough for my decision..."

Ill stay with you, whispered Philippe. Ill stay at least until your sun is shining once again and you decide you dont need me. He sank down to his knees and placed his cheek against Christians chest, listening to the deep and distant pounding of Christians heart. But will you stay with me? Will you believe that I cant possibly be hurt and then feel safe to drive the knife in where you wish?

Christian placed a tentative hand against Philippe's hair. "I wouldn't hurt you," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he moved his hand to cradle the back of Philippe's neck. "Although we only had one night together, I did learn from you. I learned how harsh I can be and how much I can deceive myself when it suits my purpose. Now that my dream is gone - or what I thought was my dream," he added with a desperate sigh, "I want to continue learning from you. But I only want to learn the good." His hand trailed down Philippe's back, stroking gently. "Can you show me the good, Philippe? Or are you too cruel to do that?"

I can try and show you the good. I want show you tenderness, Christian, but I need to hold you. I need to feel your skin beneath my hands, your body against my own, and I I dont know if I can be gentle. Philippe moved against the wandering hand, arching like a cat against the measured caress. My strength is as nothing if we arent lovers.

He rose to his feet and began to walk around the room, his gait restless and jerky. I dont see love as the pure and idealistic thing you do, Christian. I see it in the mesh of bodies as they express their need for one another. I see it in the slip and glide of tongue over flesh, and the warmth of arms wrapped tight around the object of love. He turned suddenly, crossing to kneel beside the bed where Christian lay. I need that, Christian. Will you give it to me?

Christian studied him for mere seconds before sitting up just enough to pull Philippe to him for a swift but tender kiss. The rasp of his beard against Philippe's skin made him pull back, and for a moment he looked painfully shy, as if in disbelief at what he'd just done.

"I'm...I don't know if I should have done that, but your words..." He raised his eyes to Philippe's, the pain in them receding as it was replaced by hope and caution. "Everything you've said to me makes me... It sounds so beautiful and so much like an idea of love that I have, yet I don't understand why you would think I couldn't see that. My thoughts are more than pure and idealistic." His voice dropped and the look in his eyes took a definite turn towards an unspoken need that was building inside him. "The truth of the matter is that pure is not something I can associate with you, Philippe, and I'm not sure I would ever want to do that. Why can't you see that love can be all the things you and I think it is?"

If we are to be together, you and I, there must be passion between us. Philippe pulled Christian to him, and fixed his mouth to the soft pink lips that had lately invaded his. This was no tender kiss; this was passion, raw and shuddering. Philippes tongue was eager, probing within to taste Christian, sliding over wet tissues to titillate. His hands clutched Christians shoulders, fingers sinking in to hold him steady, knuckles white, and Christian knew that he would have bruises there when they were done.

The force of it unleashed something within Christian, and he clutched at Philippe's shirt, bunching it in his fists as he pulled him down. He rolled, forcing Philippe to follow or else risk breaking the kiss. As the weight of his lover covered him, Christian thrust against it, whimpering with the buzzing need the kiss was creating within him.

"Passion," he gasped as he pushed Philippe back, his eyes boring into the deep green ones staring down at him. "You make me feel a passion I'd never thought possible. All those nights I lay awake remembering how your body felt, hot and slick against mine..." A strangled moan and he pulled Philippe down for another hungry kiss.

Philippe didnt fight, rather, he whimpered, his mouth avid against Christians beard-stained skin as he kissed first the mouth, then the face, the neck, and down to where the young writers shirt fastened at the base of his throat. Mine, he whispered against the fair skin of Christians collar bone. Mine, he growled as he began to pull at the buttons that held the shirt closed. His own body, pressed taut against firm flesh, was rigid. He ground his rapidly swelling member against the willing body that lay beneath him, and moaned as his fingers tugged and yanked at the shirt, pushing it out of the way as he laid Christians torso bare.

"Yes," Christian hissed as he let Philippe do with him as he wished. His eyes were closed as he felt the eager hands and mouth travel over his skin, sending brilliant sparks coursing through him. This was a complete turnaround from the brutal attack of the previous night, and Christian banished all thoughts of that particular intrusion. All that mattered now was that he wanted this, and Philippe wanted him.

His eyes opened, hazy with lust, when Philippe began tugging at his trousers. "Are you going to be gentle with me this time?" he asked with a sly smile.

I can be as gentle as you wish. The whisper was a mere breath against Christians chest, as the suspenders were slipped aside, and buttons were pressed through to fall free. Just let me see you, let me touch your skin and know that you want me. Please, Christian?

Christian was almost naked now, his shirt pushed back from his shoulders and his lower body exposed now as Philippe sat back to undress himself.

"If you don't know that I want you by now," Christian smirked, indicating his arousal as he slowly moved to completely rid himself of his clothes, "I'm not sure what more I can do. Perhaps this," he murmured, the smile still on his face as he reached out to assist Philippe with the rest of his clothes. "I want you," he whispered, stealing a kiss as his hands began to slide confidently over Philippe's exposed flesh. "I want you like this, not when you're cruel and arrogant. When you're like this, I can't imagine wanting anyone more."

Kisses followed, kisses and sighs and the sound of flesh against flesh. Slowly, Philippe laid Christian down on the bed, following him to lie pressed tight against him, his hands sliding over the firm rounds of his buttocks to pull him tight against his own burgeoning need. His heart was racing madly as he explored Christians now pliant body, lips and teeth and tongue learning every contour, fingers finding and mapping every curve and crevice.

I love you, whispered Philippe, as he curled his fingers around Christians swelling shaft. I love you.

Christian's heart soared at hearing the words, and he moved his hips, pushing into the sure grip of his lover's hand. "I love you, too," he sighed, spreading himself wantonly, inviting Philippe to continue his explorations. "Tell me what you would like," he said, the shy tone of the words in stark contrast to what they were already doing. "I want to please you, too."

You are; you do. The words seem dragged from somewhere deep within Philippe, as he slid down the sturdy body of the young poet, lips worshipping all they found on their way towards the center of his body.

Opening his mouth, Philippe extended his pink tongue, lapping at the head of Christians penis as he drew level with it, then sucking on it, a soft sound midway between a groan and a sigh emanating from him.

"Ah, yes..." Christian sighed as he arched his back and pushed himself deeper. He felt Philippe accept him with ease and closed his eyes, giving himself over to pleasure even if just for the moment. He didn't have to wait long to feel the onset of his release building inside of him, and with a soft whimper, he pushed at Philippe. "If you don't want this to be over before it's started, you should stop."

Pulling off, Philippe held the object of his desire steady as he kissed his way back along the treasure trail of coarse dark hair that led from his groin up to his navel. There, he paused, tracing the shadowy depression with his tongue, before squirming up to take Christian in his arms and press his lips those of the young writer. His own erection slid against Christians thigh, forgotten, as it left a trail of slick, shiny moisture behind it, and his hips bucked as he pressed his length against Christian, losing himself in the deep, luscious kisses.

Christian groaned and gave a breathy laugh as he moved to push Philippe onto his back. As he gazed down into the deep green eyes, he felt a quick tug at his heart and smiled. "I think you're bringing out a side of me I never knew existed," he murmured, draping himself over Philippe and grinding against him before starting his own slow slide down the smooth body of his lover. He bent his head to kiss a careful trail down Philippe's chest and stomach. "I haven't had the chance to do this," he whispered, taking a tentative hold of Philippe's swollen member.

There were moans from Philippe as Christian caressed him carefully. He squirmed to lie on his back, spreading his thighs apart as he gazed earnestly at the young man that held him in the palm of his hand.

Thank you, he breathed, proud flesh shuddering within the writers grasp. I need

Christian leaned to silence him with his own mouth, lips parted, and tongue sliding out to tantalize Philippe, who for once seemed completely out of control as he thrust into Christians hand and gasped out his pleasure.

A satisfied smirk and Christian pulled back long enough to take in the flushed face of the man beneath him.

"I can understand why you feel entitled to take whatever it is you want," he whispered, dipping his head to mouth the salt from Philippe's throat, his hand still busy on the firm flesh in his grip. "I think you need to be at my mercy, however." Another smile and he moved quickly, releasing Philippe only to raise both of his arms above his head, holding him down on the bed. "How many times have you been taken, Philippe?" he asked huskily, his eyes ablaze with newfound strength.

T taken? Philippes voice was faint and breathy, his eyes very bright as he gazed up at Christian. I have never been taken, as you put it. Are you going to The cock in Christians hand gave a sudden leaping shudder, and it was obvious that the idea of Christian using him was an exciting concept to him. Reaching his hand down, Philippe laid his own against it. If you wish it, I would welcome it, love, but it would be a good thing to prepare the way.

Christian raised an eyebrow. "Assuming I can go by your most recent example, preparing the way consists of forcing myself inside you when you're protesting. Isn't that right?" His eyes darkened and he pushed Philippe's legs further apart in order to move into position. "Would you like to wake up torn and bruised and bleeding because I love you that much?"

If you truly loved me I might count it a blessing, Christian, whispered Philippe, his voice a mere breath in the semi darkness. But since you dont, you must do as you please, and I will accept what you choose to offer. He turned his face away, closing his eyes against the sight of Christian, whose implacable face now seemed to mirror the god he had encountered in far off Greece. His erection seemed more excited than ever, now pulsing rhythmically as Philippe approached orgasm.

Suddenly letting go before Philippe could reach his end, Christian looked at him for long moments before turning his head to make him face him. "I think you need to feel my pain," he said, the gentle tone belying his words. Before Philippe could respond, Christian had pressed himself to the opening to his body, slowly pushing as he leaned in kiss him again. Then, as his mouth claimed Philippe's, he entered the tight warmth, groaning at the sensation that was unlike anything he'd felt before.

Spread wide for Christian, Philippe permitted himself to be dominated, taken, possessed utterly. His breath now coming in choking gasps, he made no attempts to fight back, seeming to welcome Christians invasion of his body, returning the kisses offered with a fervor that spoke of intense need. His eyes were closed tight, his body sheened in sweat as he gave himself up to the invasion.

An animal lust was building inside Christian, and he found himself grunting and straining with a fervor he'd thought existed only in the wild. With every thrust, he found himself sliding more and more into a primal state until he was sure he'd rip Philippe apart with his need to possess him. It wasn't going to last much longer, and as he hurtled towards completion, he pressed himself as close to Philippe as he could.

"Incredible..." he gasped, covering Philippe's face with sloppy kisses, murmuring words of love and desire as he moved harder and faster.

Please? Philippe was achingly hard, his cock rising to slap against his belly with every thrust Christian made. He reached for Christians hand, placing it against the forgotten erection with a look that implored his lover. I need your hand, Christian. Touch me, make me answer to your caress in a way that no-one ever has save for you.

A breathless, throaty chuckle, and Christian took his hand away. "Touch yourself," he panted, face shining with sweat as it contorted with the intensity of the climax threatening to tear through him at any moment. The anticipation was causing every muscle to strain, his entire body clenched tightly as he waited for Philippe to obey him. "Do it," he said through clenched teeth, now shaking with the effort it was taking to hold himself in check.

There was a pause, then a sobbed exhalation, and then Philippe reached to take himself in hand, stroke himself hard and become rigid as he finally lost control, the thick, white ejaculate spattering his stomach as he came.

"Oh god," Christian groaned as he finally let himself go. The onrush made him cry out as he emptied himself into Philippe's body, and he slumped against his lover, exhausted and spent, on the verge of tears as he held onto him.

Time passed. The two men lay together, pale limbs entangled as they dozed. Christians face was pressed against the hollow of Philippes neck, and Philippes arms were wrapped around the sturdy body of the young writer, almost as though he were attempting to keep him there forever. To a casual observer, it seemed as though he was sound asleep, but a closer look would have seen moisture beneath the closed lids, water streaming from his eyes to fall to the pillow beneath his head.

Early morning sunlight danced through the window and into the room, enveloping the sleeping lovers in a halo of light as they held each other. Neither one had moved very much during the night, and they were wound around one another with the familiarity of lifelong lovers. Gazing upon them, one would have thought them to be the picture of contentment and love, never wondering if something else was brewing just below the surface.

Long, lazy hours passed, and it wasn't until the mid morning that Christian began to stir. He awoke with a bleary sigh, his surprise at finding himself in Philippe's arms fleeting as he settled beside the still sleeping man. His eyes were open, and he stared longingly yet sadly at Philippe, almost as if struggling with himself to make a decision. After a while, he frowned and angrily got out of bed, muttering to himself as he got dressed and made a quick, purposeful exit.

Philippe began to stir, the morning chilly without the warmth of Christians body beside him. For a while, he turned restlessly, his arms seeking the body that had left his side, and then suddenly he jolted to full awareness, coming upright as he looked around himself, disoriented by the unfamiliar room and sour sheets.

Christian? he called. There was no response. Outside, crows could be heard calling from their roost atop the endlessly turning windmill across the square. Christian?

Climbing out of the bed, Philippe stumbled to the window to look out. The morning was advanced enough that a couple of the dancers from the Moulin Rouge could be seen making their way to the front door. Of Christian, there was no sign. Philippes face seemed to close up, and dejectedly he turned to find his clothes, put them on and leave.

He was about to reach for the doorknob, when the door opened to reveal Christian, slightly out of breath, face flushed. "I thought you'd still be asleep," he said, the words slurring a little as he swayed in the doorway. "I didn't expect to be so long..." He grinned childishly and held up a bottle of wine. "Care to join me, mon cheri?"

C Christian? The breath seemed to leave Philippes body in a rush, and he stood, uncertain, gazing at the young man before him. Stepping back away from the door, he waited for Christian to enter the room again, rocking on the balls of his feet as if trying to decide whether or not he should go. Join you?

"In a toast, my love," Christian grinned, opening the bottle and taking a long drink before offering it to Philippe. "A toast to discovering the joys of life. Or perhaps we can make it a toast to the fragility of life."

Id rather drink to your beautiful eyes, whispered Philippe, slowly reaching out his hand to take the bottle that Christian was holding out to him and raising it to his lips, eyes fixed on Christians over the neck of the bottle as he tilted it, placed it to his lips and lifted it until the strong spirits ran into his mouth. Swallowing the fiery liquor, Philippe allowed the bottle neck to slip in between his lips for a moment before lowering it again. As he passed it back to Christian, his eyes were still fixed on the young man in mute appeal.

"You don't know what you've done, do you?" Christian whispered conspiratorially, taking the bottle once more and making a wobbly beeline for his chair. "You've charmed me, monsieur, and now I have to live with it." Chuckling, he took another drink then set the bottle on the table. "But let's not address that right now. Please, tell me what you're thinking about. Other than how beautiful my eyes are, of course," he added with a drunken snort. "How did you sleep?"

I slept as if I had died. Your body beside mine was warmth and comfort the likes of which Ive never known. I dreamed that you loved me in return, and that you and I he trailed off, reaching for the bottle and drinking as he threw himself onto the bed where he lounged in an elegantly boneless sprawl. When I awoke, you were gone, and I realized that I had only been dreaming.

"What did you dream about us?" Christian asked, getting up and clumsily falling onto the bed beside Philippe. "If you tell me everything, I'll tell you what I did this morning. If you care, of course," he added, placing a heavy hand on Philippe's chest and brushing his lips over a cheek rough with stubble.

Of course I care, said Philippe, turning to study Christian, a little uneasy at the apparent state of inebriation his new lover seemed to be approaching. I dreamed that we were together, that we were traveling across the ocean, heading for America and that you were a famous writer. We watched the foam trail in the wake of the ship that was carrying us, and kissed beneath the cold moon as we left all of this behind us. He reached with one finger to draw it down over Christians beard-stained skin. I wish it could be so, he whispered.

Christian turned into the touch, grasping hold of Philippe's hand and keeping it held to his cheek. "If you don't mind that I won't be a famous writer, I don't see why the rest of it couldn't happen."

You are gifted, my little one. Why would you not become famous? Your play is a huge success, and your talents are immense. If you were to set your mind to it, you could become one of the noted writers of the age. Philippe took another swig from Christians bottle, and then a further mouthful, leaning to kiss Christian and transferring the liquor from his mouth to the others as his lips parted beneath him.

The kiss lingered, Christian's body tensing as it strained against Philippe's. His hand moved up to cradle Philippe's cheek, and he whimpered softly when the kiss was finally broken. He smiled up at him, his face suddenly the picture of contentment and satisfaction.

"You mean that, don't you?" he asked softly, his words still slurring, but his tone more serious than it had been.

I may hurt you, but I will never lie to you, Christian. I mean it with all of my heart. Philippe hugged him tightly for a minute, and then pulled back to look into the cloudy green eyes of the young writer. Now tell me where you went, and what you did. he said.

"I needed to think, so I went for a walk," Christian began, "and I had planned on being gone long enough for you to get out." His eyes wandered carefully over Philippe's face as he spoke. "I ended up having a drink to help me," he grinned sadly, "because I had to think about too many things. You've made me..." His eyes welled up, shiny with tears that hung but refused to fall. "I thought about my Satine and how I could not be with you so soon. Then I thought about the emotions you conjure up inside of me, and I started to feel angry with myself for wanting someone who has the potential to hurt me so much I might not ever recover." He frowned, resting his head against Philippe's shoulder. "I don't know if you can ever understand how difficult it would be for someone like me to be with someone like you..."

Philippe could feel the anguish in the trembling of Christians body. He held on tightly to the other man, rocking him gently as he waited for the words that would end their association yet again. This time, Philippe would not fight it. This time he would leave and that would be an end to it, and yet, the memory of Christians skin slick against his own made his belly flutter as he recalled the night before and the way that they had been together.

Christian took a deep breath before he continued, savoring the warmth of Philippe's arms. "You'll grow tired of me," he said in a small voice. "Once we leave Paris, you'll grow tired of me and cast me aside to be with the next person who catches your eye. I know you think my ideas of love are silly things, and I thought I could accept our differences, but... My heart has been broken already, Philippe," he whispered. "I know I won't be able to survive if it happens again."

Dont! Philippe pressed his mouth to Christians in an effort to stop the words that he could sense forming within the young mans brain. Dont say any more. I dont think that I can bear to hear the words youre going to say.

Christian looked alarmed and instantly sober as he raised himself up. "But I thought... Are you..." He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it an almost impossible task. "Are you telling me you've changed your mind about me now?"

Youre going to tell me that you cant bear to be with me any more; that I will break your heart unless you leave me now; that you dont love me, arent you? Philippe sat up, face mask-like although his eyes glittered brightly in the midday sun. He turned away, groping clumsily for the bottle once more and gulping from it, then choking as he put it away from him.

"What? No!" Christian exclaimed, grabbing the bottle from him and placing it on the floor. "I'm trying to tell you that I will go with you, but I'm risking you breaking my heart." He pulled Philippe to him, forcing him to look him in the eye. "Listen to me, Philippe," he said gently. "Against my better judgment, and ignoring everything that's telling me otherwise, I want to be with you. You're going to hurt me, but I can't deny myself the chance to be with you." His eyes widened and he looked unsure as the weight of his words hung in the air. "I shouldn't take that chance, but... No, I'm not leaving you now because you'll end up breaking my heart." He reached up to caress Philippe's cheek. "I'm choosing to stay with you despite the fact you'll end up breaking my heart."

Anyway, said Philippe, not really processing what was being said to him, I should probably go He paused, suddenly, his face intent as Christians words finally sank in. You choose to stay with me? he whispered. You really choose to be with me?

His face lit up. A wide smile flashed across the intense features, making his eyes sparkle and his countenance suddenly look very youthful. I cant believe it. He hugged Christian to him and pressed him back against the bed as he lowered his mouth to slide over that of the young man in his arms.

There was no response from Christian other than the movement of his arms to clutch Philippe, and the slow rise of his hips as he arched against the solid weight of him. The kiss deepened, their passion building in a way that was so different from the other times they'd been together. This time it was slow and careful without the anger or desperation that had marred past experiences.

When at last they parted, Christian gazed up at Philippe with a lazy smile on his face. "I wasn't sure if you were listening."

Did someone speak? grinned Philippe, his lips grazing Christians eyelids. I couldnt hear it properly because my heart was making such a racket. Tell me again? Tell me that you want me - that you choose me despite everything? He licked at the finely drawn eyebrows, trailed his tongue down to trace the tender, generous lips, and then covered them with his own, his morning stubble rasping against Christians face.

"I want you," Christian said brightly, "and I want to be with you no matter what. You're harsh and cruel, but you stole my heart the first night we were together." He smiled as he spoke, softening the words. "Forgive my choices and I'll forgive yours, and we can journey together anywhere you choose." His fingers traced Philippe's lips. "Just don't leave me the way-- I can't bear the thought of losing you as well, even though I came very close to doing just that."

I promise you Philippe didnt know what he could promise. He temporized, sucking his way down the long neck of his lover as he tried to think of words that would be true. Finally, he returned to gaze into Christians eyes once more. I promise you that I will love you, he finally said, simply. I dont believe that its possible for me to stop.

"I don't ever want you to stop," Christian whispered. "As long as I live, I want to know you love me. And I want you to know that I will love you, too." The words caught in his throat as he thought about the promise he and Satine had made to each other. A promise that he didn't know would never have time to be truly tested until it was too late.

He was brought back to the present by the piercing look in Philippe's eyes. "It's important that you know that. If anything should happen to me..."

Nothings going to happen to you, laughed Philippe, somewhat wildly. Nothing will happen, except that you and I will be together until the end of time. He ceased talking and buried his face in the hollow of Christians shoulder. I will love you, he said softly. I do love you, but Im hungry.

Christian laughed softly and held Philippe to him for long, lazy minutes before letting him go. "Why don't we see about getting you fed? My friend Toulouse introduced me to a charming bistro mere minutes from here." He sighed and kissed Philippe's hair. "Then you and I will have to plan our future. You will be a great healer and I will be a great writer, but other than that I'm not entirely certain of the details." Gently pushing Philippe's head back, he grinned up at the bright, handsome face of his lover. "I do know that with love, all things are possible."

End

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