Disclaimer: Messrs Potter & Riddle are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. Later on, I intend to sell Riddle's diary; proceeds will be used to purchase at least the aforementioned characters.
This was written for Calasse, while weeping and listening to my absolute favourite: Méditation by Jules Massenet. It is from the second act of his opera, Thaïs. Please, please give it a listen, because fuck all sense of decorum and propriety, this is a fucking masterpiece that will no doubt leave anyone, classical music lover or not, breathless! The passionate violin solo, played on the upper register while the orchestra harmonizes and the string section is playing below the solo line? You will die. Die, I tell you! ...ecstasy aside, please listen to Itzhak Perlman's rendition of Méditation.
It was chaos and disorder, a symphony of B flats, C minors, naturals and sharps, and yet Tom couldn't bring himself to mind. No, not with Harry pressed to him, hands splayed over the keys, the hitching of his breath as he wept in ecstasy like a scale of arpeggios.
They've been intimate only once before—the first time on a night like this, with the stars sewn across the moonless sky—but Tom could barely remember. It was something of a vague duet, almost like a childhood lullaby, the tune of which one cannot forget but the words oftentimes hard to recall.
One thing rang clear in his memory, like a bell or the triangle in a chorus of flutes: Harry was beautiful that night. And his beauty was made even all the more striking now that the curtains were drawn and Tom could see him perfectly reflected in the glass of the windows, the soft starlight easily finding its way into the room to settle on his face and neck. The grand piano obscured everything else, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say. Tom didn't need to see to know, not when he was buried inside him—buried to the hilt like the carefully sheathed sword of Rigoletto's Grand Duke.
"Tom!" Harry suddenly cried, the major lift to the second movement; "Tom!" Juliet's impassioned cry to her Romeo.
It was the first time he had ever heard his given name spill from his lover's lips, and he moaned as he rocked his hips forward and against the back of the thighs that perched on top of his. He felt himself once again disappearing, lost in a field of warmth and joyous exaltation while his hand strayed from the smooth keys of the piano to an equally smooth thigh, etching notes and clefts and lines onto the skin with his fingertips until he reached the face of Ganymede himself. He choked on the sounds wrung out of him by his completion, having been pushed towards it when his lover's mouth had found and eagerly taken in his finger, mimicking their love making below.
"I think I love you." Tom suddenly sighed, resting his forehead on a damp and cooling shoulder.
Harry laughed. "I know I do."
And Tom could only smile and press kisses against his skin, at a loss for words and absolutely helpless against the sudden feeling of an orchestra playing heavy, violent Wagnerian symphonies in his chest.
Oh hey, waddya know! Tom finally got to top... from the bottom! *cackles head off*