Title:Courage
Rating: PG-13
Words: 10,260
Summary : Sometimes courage is all it takes to speak up and make things better or to be silent and shatter everything we have.
Prompt: modern AU Mozalieri. Mozart is throwing a party. Salieri is tipsy-drunk (emotions!) and sitting outside smoking a cig to escape the noise and happiness like the introvert that he is. Mozart wants to know what's up, they talk, kiss, fumble and stumble, and Salieri faces the consequences in the morning with a headache.
Author's note:I want to be clear on the subject that Modern!Salieri is in no way Florent Mothe and Modern!Mozart is in no way Mikelangelo Loconte. There may be some similarities but everything is fiction and has been created from my head.
The party was too much, too many people, too much noise. His head felt like exploding; the sounds; they were piercing his head, cracking open his skull. He felt dizzy, his head, oh god his head. He… he had to get out.
He closed the window-door behind him, feeling relieved as he was finally shielded from the loud music and conversations from the party inside of the apartment. His eyes looked back at the moving and dancing people. Mozart's apartment had an easy access to the fire escape outside and the walls were soundproof. Their cheers and laughing where completely muffled. Luck was on his side; he couldn't hear anything. He took a few steps and sighed in bliss at the silence. Without that little escape route, he would still be inside with the explosion of noise sawing his head in two. His eyes scouted the place. The steel gratings had a bronze look that gave the illusion they looked rusty. The platform was quite spacious. He walked to the stairs going down to a lower level; this would be a good spot: the shadow of the wall would hide him from sight for a while and it would at least be quiet. He sat down, his feet resting on the second step and took extra care not to spill his half emptied glass of red wine in the process.
His left hand fumbled restlessly in the right inner pocket of his jacket, looking for his cigarettes. These days smoking was the only thing besides coffee that managed to calm him down, the stress of work becoming completely unbearable sometimes. His fingers enclosed themselves around the little package. He tried to take it out; it got stuck. He groaned and put down his glass next to him. He muttered a curse when he almost spilled his beverage by doing so. Palpable irritation was already gnawing at him when he finally got his smokes out of his inner pocket. He removed the lid and took out a cigarette, enclosing it between his lips. Patience was not one of his best virtues and he quickly stretched out his leg to take his zippo out of his trousers. His elbows rested upon his knees as he lit up his cigarette.
The first inhalation felt euphoric; the smoke filling his lungs; he closed his eyes; his body relaxing; getting its fix; the restlessness was fading away. He exhaled, letting the silence rock him in tranquility. He did it again, inhaling; exhaling. He felt almost reposed if it weren't for his headache.
He opened his eyes again. The half moon was high in sky tonight; there were only a few stars visible. There was no wind or cold temperature, only the remainder of the heat of the day and the faint smell of nature. He smiled; even if the architectural style wasn't his taste, Mozart's apartment was in one of the quietest districts of Vienna. It was a change from the one he had in the middle of the city. Even during the night there was always noise: cars, police cars, motorbikes, drunk people, students thinking it was nice to crash a party at 3AM and lost tourists. It wasn't like he really cared; it was not like he slept much or at all nowadays. But he couldn't help but notice that in this part of Vienna there were only a few cars driving and you could clearly see the sky from outside. It felt quiet and neighborly. He stretched out his hand to the little flowerpot that everyone used as an ashtray; he brought it closer to him and tapped off the ashes of his cigarette. Perhaps he should try and find an apartment in the same area. Who knows, it might be the solution to reduce stress and sleeping problems that had been bothering him for 2 weeks now.
His eyes laid themselves upon his glass. He picked it up and drained another half of the red liquid; his head felt already lighter. He hardly drunk any alcohol in his spare time, but this was a special occasion and he couldn't have said no, everybody wanted to party and he hadn't wanted to be an outsider again. So he made an exception and took the offered glass. At least it was good wine. He took another sip. Mozart had been very friendly for inviting him. They weren't especially very close and when he had arrived at the apartment he hadn't expected the younger man to be so welcoming. Mozart had taken him to the living room where he had been presented as 'a very good friend from work' to everyone else. It had surprised the older man. The Austrian musician had a lot more and better friends than him. Being called a very good friend sounded odd in his ears, but right now it made him consider that perhaps, yes, there was some kind of -if not strange- friendship between them. They worked, had some meaningful conversations here and there, sometimes even lunched together. They greeted each other when meeting in the hallway as the friendly colleagues they were because before really calling their relationship a friendship, they were colleagues… just colleagues… and…
Colleagues…
He cringed, there was that feeling again. The intense feeling of sadness; feeling of abandonment; his heart crushing inside his chest, almost making him want to weep. He internally shook his head as if it would make the feeling go away. But it wouldn't. It had been there for months, almost a year now; this feeling; haunting him day and night. Sometimes even keeping him awake and making him daydream during work. Had it been when they had for the first time improvised at the local café together? The first time they had hugged after a successful concert? The first time they had talked about personal stuff? Had it been the first time they had shook hands? The first time he had heard his voice or had it been the first time he had laid eyes upon him?
'When' was a question he was still unable to answer… But was it even important to know 'when' ? The feeling was there now, and it wouldn't go away. He shrugged. If only he had been able to cancel everything. Make it go away, just live his life as he had done before. He had tried, tried so hard: to stay away; ignore; hide; having casual fucks; just to forget, to forget about this feeling, about the pounding of his heart. But in the end he always got tired, bored; he always gave in; always being weak and always coming back.
He had tried pouring his feelings into his music; giving words to the rage inside of him, the love, the pain, the hate of being infatuated with a loud and childish younger man, so different from him, so different from anyone. First he thought it had been jealousy, jealousy and fear of being forgotten, overshadowed. But the younger man never left his mind; when he composed; when he performed; his face was the only thing he saw when he closed his eyes; his eyes were always watching, observing when the Austrian musician was in the room. He'd look at the movements, the gestures, the language of the body, how it moved with ease and energy, how it tensed while singing and how the voice transported its owner and the audience into another realm when it was heard.
One night the younger man had broken down, cried in the older man's arms. Had it been because of stress relief or because something terrible had happened? The Italian musician never found out, the younger man had never said. During most of the night he had held the younger man against him, trying to comfort him as much as he could. And when finally the Austrian musician had dried his tears and smiled at him, he had realized: realized that his whole world would never be the same. Everything suddenly seemed different, it felt like his whole otherwise boring life had revolved around that very precise point. He hadn't known where to stand, what his place was, what his feelings were and which life goal he had to follow. He felt like the path of his life had been removed from underneath his feet. Which way was north, which way was south? And where was he going now?
No, there was no point in answering 'when', 'how' or even 'why'. Nothing was making sense, not anymore. His feelings were something alien and something that happened outside of him. He was in love, in love with this man, this musical genius, the owner of this voice that silenced the noisiest of rooms, the new rising star of Vienna, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
He drew from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke once more… he felt sour. His feelings were one thing; the other: his pounding and horrible headache of being sleep deprived. It had been nice, people had been kind and he had been able to chat with some of them. He had even slightly flirted with one of the younger friends of Mozart. But even the convivial atmosphere hadn't been able to calm him. He wasn't in the mood for being sociable tonight; too many worries were plaguing his mind and his lack of sleep didn't help that matter. It actually made him even more silent than ever. Dancing wasn't his thing either. He sighed, scratching the back of his head. Perhaps he should be going home. Tonight he was a useless interlocutor and tomorrow he had quite a lot of work to do, going home was a favorable option.
With determination he finished his glass and deposited it next to him. He was about to take out his phone to order a cab, when suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, making him jump in surprise and almost lose his cigarette. He looked up and his eyes met one the widest smiles.
"Well, Antonio, are you hiding?"
There he was, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, in his entire splendor. His worn jeans had holes of various sizes, the biggest ones were at the knees, it rested extremely low upon his hips. As always both of his wrists were covered in various scarves and bracelets. His boots were made of black leather and messily laced up with worn shoelaces. He noticed that the younger man had a half bottle of red wine and an empty glass in his hand. Without waiting for a reply he sat down next to him at the side of the railing. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows and showing clearly the skin of his forearms. The first buttons were undone, showing the omnipresent star necklace around his neck. The older man tried not to linger upon the clavicle or on the firm lips, but to look the younger man directly into the eyes. He was still smiling like he was having the time of his life, pouring himself a glass of wine.
"Let me refill that for you."
The younger man swiftly took his empty glass. He realized he still hadn't replied to the question, too lost in his contemplation. But apparently Mozart didn't seem to mind and was already pouring generously. He knew the Italian musician wasn't the talking type and thus Salieri internally thanked him. He needn't force himself to talk and say something that would have sounded incredibly awkward or stupid even. He put out his smoke in the flowerpot so he could receive the full, overfull, glass of wine from the younger man. Mozart was still smiling, the dimple on the side of his mouth clearly visible; his eyes sparkling and expressing joy and amusement. The Italian musician felt his heart already hammering through his chest, ready to crawl out. The younger man raised his glass to him.
"To me and my new life," said the rising star of Vienna.
They clank their glasses. Mozart gulped down half of his drink in one go. Salieri frowned, that couldn't have been healthy. He brought his lips to the glass and just sipped; trying to get his quickening pulse back in control. It wasn't a good idea of him to have accepted another full glass of alcohol, he knew; especially not if the other man was around. Hopefully he wouldn't lose himself too much when the alcohol would start to cloud his brain. Mozart sat back, leaning upon his hands, his drink next to him. He looked at the sky. Salieri noticed the faint glint of the star earring partially hidden by the younger musician's blonde dyed hair. He was wearing a golden one, covered in white gems. The older man's first thought was that it must be new, he hadn't seen that one before. He felt the urge to take a closer look. But he restrained himself by slightly scratching his nails on his trousers; to make the itching feeling go away. He drank from his glass. Well, Mozart always had stories behind the jewelry he possessed. He could always ask which significance this one had… But he also could just wait until the younger man told it himself, hopefully, this would be the case. Salieri reached for his package again and took out a new cigarette, needing to feel the calming effect of it again.
"So how is your new album doing?"
He saw in the corner of his eyes that the younger man had turned himself to him, a genuine smile plastered upon his juvenile face. Even at the peak of his 32 years Mozart always looked youthful, his eyes were sparking life. He lit up his cigarette. Many people had fallen for those two brown eyes, himself included, but not many had had the chance to see how even more riveting they were when seen up-close. Ah scheisse, it seemed like the alcohol was starting to get to his brain because once again he had to still the sudden urge to take the younger man's face in his hands; to take in every detail: every starting wrinkle, every fold of skin. To feel the warmth of the cheeks under his fingers, to caress, to kiss the gray blue powdered eyelids or the tender lips that would be offered to him. He shook his head internally; No. He had to be cautious now, the alcohol was already taking control of his thoughts and before he knew he would giving in to the fantasies in his mind.
"Very well, I have finished six songs already and I have made two new models this last month. But it will be ready in time."
He drew from his cigarette, smiled and exhaled. His head felt light, it soothed him. He tapped off the ashes; also there was this rising warmth in his body, especially his cheeks; there was no feeling of disconnection with his body but somewhere he felt his head going a bit numb. But at least his heart had calmed down.
"You ?"
The younger man took his glass in hand and drank. Salieri could only but look at the movement of the Austrian's Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He wondered how it would feel to kiss it, lick the skin, the neck of the other man. Mozart decided to look him directly into his eyes, which had the result of slightly startling him awake from his daydream. Verdammt, if this continued he'd have to force himself to go.
"Good, very good, it looked like the media didn't catch up on what happened in my personal life. Which is good, I don't think I would have been able to handle everything if I also needed to avoid embarrassing questions about the subject."
He tapped off the ashes of his cigarette again. The piercing brown eyes made him feel slightly uncomfortable so he picked up his glass and drank. That, of course, wasn't a good idea at all. But he couldn't let this glass go unfinished and he needed the distraction.
"And how are you feeling now?"
There was a short silence before the younger musician started laughing whole-heartedly. The Italian musician frowned but smiled stupidly, even having a little laugh as he saw how the younger man had his hands clutching the shirt on his abdomen. After a while the older man even felt the instinct to giggle.
No, that was it, he had to get it back together and preferably now; his voice had already sounded so slow when he had asked the question and he just never giggled, ever. Party or not he was not going to drink another drop. Mozart's laughing died out and with amused eyes he picked up his beverage.
"I married Constance when I was too young and too naïve. Nobody should ever get married at 26."
He drained his glass. The Italian musician noticed the faint pink colour the cheeks of the younger man were getting when talking. Mozart had a good stomach for alcohol but he wasn't completely immune to it either. He, too, was getting affected by the alcohol.
"How I feel? I actually feel awoken by a new freedom," continued the younger man looking him in the eyes, "I see new options, new paths, new doors being open for me. It feels good and liberating."
They both smiled. And the older man's eyes fixed themselves on those pink lips that curled upwards. He wanted to taste them, feel them, lick them and this so, so badly. He averted his eyes, the pulse of his heart quickening again.
"Antonio?"
Salieri crushed his cigarette in the flowerpot. He almost jumped in surprise at the touch of the younger man's hand upon his knee. He felt electrified, the whole warmth of his body focusing on that one touch. He side-eyed the younger musician; his eyes resting upon the clavicle looking at the star necklace, waiting for the rest of the question. The younger man's speech was impeded too and Salieri's mind was clouded and completely gone. Why had the younger man suddenly come so close to him?
"Have you even slept this week?"
The voice was lower and concerned and the older man decided not to care anymore. He was going to bash his own head against the wall tomorrow, he knew it. He just desired it so, so, much. He turned himself to the younger man whose hand fell off his knee. The older man's hands came to the other man's face. There was an uneasy movement from Mozart who didn't realize immediately what was happening until he found himself being kissed.
Their lips made contact with each other and Salieri had the feeling that something had exploded, his ears were ringing, his heart pounded so hard in his chest. Wolfgang's taste of wine and flesh finally upon his mouth. He lost himself as the younger man's hands gripped his forearms bringing their bodies closer to each other, answering the kiss by crushing their lips even more together. It was all what the older man needed as a signal of approval. His hand crawled back up to the nape of the younger man's neck, feeling the cord of the star necklace under his fingers. He went to the ruffled hair, cupping the head of the Austrian musician in his palm. He felt his body awakening when their kiss became even more carnal, when he opened his mouth to the younger man; the tongues caressing making him feel like he had completely lost the connection to earth, his head was turning; his body feeling jolted by pleasure and ready. Gott, did the younger man taste so wonderful. In his whole life he wouldn't have ever thought that this would happen. He'd always seen others, others kissing this delicious and tempting mouth, kissing and licking the alluring tongue, now it was his turn, his turn to kiss and taste Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's flavor and it was making him lose mind completely.
He licked the underside of the Austrian musician's tongue, who moaned at the contact. The grip on his forearms became stronger, which aroused him to a point of no return: their tongues touching; his hand in the younger man's hair, his body screaming an uncontrollable need. He wanted to be closer, closer to that body. He broke the contact of their mouths to kiss the younger man's neck. The Austrian musician sighed loudly. Yes, yes; the need becoming so strong and so present.
The younger man shivered as he leaned back to lie against the steel gratings. Salieri moved closer to him, his knees on the first step of the stairs settling himself between the other man's legs; his mouth still kissing the neck and his hand on the other side of the Austrian musician's face. They were chest against chest and he could feel that just like him, the younger man had an erected member trapped inside of his trousers. The hands of the rising star of Vienna crawled up his arms, one going to his head, the other to his shoulder. He shuddered as he felt fingers intertwining themselves in his short hair. His body felt like burning up. The only thought that crossed his mind was: 'this is happening… this is really happening.'
He grinded himself more against the other musician's body, sighing. His heart was thrumming in his chest and the warmth so present. All he wanted was to touch the younger man even more, to feel his body writhe underneath him. He wanted to make the other man moan, moan his name, moan his pleasure. The hands upon his shoulder moved to the border of his jacket and tried to yank off the piece of clothing. He bit the tender flesh of the neck under his lips and Wolfgang let out a groan. His fingers found a way to the collar of Salieri's black shirt and while the older man lapped at his neck, kissing him right under the ear; he rubbed himself against the Italian musician. His body having a will on its own; he wanted more.
Salieri's hand left the younger man's face and traveled downwards. He drew the shirt from the jeans. And his hand found a way upon the solid and flat stomach under him. Another sigh breached the lips of the Austrian musician. The hand continued its excursion, to the navel, the sides, to the ribs and trailed downwards again. The younger man's breathing was ragged and short, he gasped when the hand arrived at the border of his jeans. The mouth in his neck started nibbling the flesh underneath the teeth. He felt himself quivering, scheiße, he dug his nails in to the older man's collarbones.
He sucked upon the flesh between his teeth as his hand undid the buttons of the jeans. He slightly hesitated but no reaction from the other man gave him a sign that they had to stop. He lowered the zipper and an eager mouth came looking for his kisses. Flesh against flesh, the wetness of their mouths meeting each other again. The younger man's tongue invaded his mouth directly and their bodies grinded themselves even more; trapping the hand between them; looking for all kinds of possible friction. The older man's fingers traced the hipbone to the border of the white briefs. He felt how surprisingly smooth the skin of the tattoos was below the fabric. The man underneath him groaned in his mouth and the hand in his hair griped at his scalp. His fingers went even lower making contact with the curling hair. The younger man released his mouth and sucked on his bottom lip, his body almost jolted in pleasure at the suction. He caressed the pelvic; the older man's own breathing had become irregular. Two of his fingers parted and traced the base of the trapped erected shaft. His mind completely fogged by the fact that he was touching him this way there. Softly his two fingers started moving up and down. The younger man released his mouth and let out a soft cry. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"Johannes ?"
Everything froze.
"Cazzo!" he cursed in his teeth as he rapidly startled himself up. The younger man raised himself up and buttoned his jeans swiftly as Nannerl closed the window-door behind her.
"Yes ?"
The Austrian musician's voice had sounded calm, the underlying tremble almost unnoticeable. The Italian watched as the younger man's hands rearranged the already ruffled hair.
Oh God no, what had he done?
She walked up to them, smiling.
"Well, you seemed to have disappeared so I was wondering where you went. Joseph is completely gone and…"
What. in. God's. name. had. he. done ? He watched as the younger man laughed.
"…hitting on Ann, I am not sure though but it's pretty hilarious to see…"
He felt like hell had opened from under his feet he felt like the gaping mouth was going to swallow him whole. The adrenaline pumped into his body. He inclined his head. He had to flee, flee from this place. His sudden swift movement of walking surprised the talking duo. He made it back inside. The noise assaulting his ears, but he wasn't feeling any headaches, alcohol still working in his system. People were trying to talk over the music, shouting at each other, his ears were singing. He looked at the ground as he made his way through the room. People bumped against him, he muttered an apology but the music was too loud so that the others wouldn't even hear it. There, he was almost at the exit, a phantom of a feeling of relief washing over him as he saw the door. His hand went to the doorknob until a hand took possession of his wrist. Perhaps frustrated, perhaps panicked, he looked at the interceptor. It was Franz Xaver Süssmeyer, they had talked a bit earlier.
"Are you already leaving?"
His heart was pounding, he wanted to be anywhere but here. In the corner of his eye he saw Mozart and Nannerl coming back in laughing at something the younger man had said.
"Is that water?" he asked, pointing at the glass of clear liquid the music engineer was holding.
"Yes, but…"
The Italian musician didn't let him finish and took the glass from his hand. He gulped it down in one go. He gave the glass back, opened the door and ran outside. With swift steps he went to the stairs, he didn't want to give anyone the chance to intercept him again by taking the elevator. He took his phone out of his trousers' pocket, to order a cab. He estimated it would arrive in 10 minutes. The call was made as he made his way downstairs, refusing to think until he'd be outside of the building. His steps looked more like he was running than actually walking. But he made his way outside, taking the walking path. He arrived at the little gate surrounded by hedges. Once past it, he'd be on the street.
He closed it behind him and only then he allowed himself to breathe. He fumbled in his inner pocket, taking out his package, slightly irritated by the fact that his hands were still trembling. He lit it up and drew from his cigarette, keeping the smoke in a little bit too long, making him cough.
Cazzate, it was going to be a quiet evening, he was only going to stay for a few hours and then he'd go home and try to sleep, which would have been in vain but he never gave up in at least trying. He was going to meet a few people, maybe even making new connections. It was going to be a restful day. He hadn't planned this, he hadn't planned on drinking, he hadn't planned what had happened. He drew from the cigarette again. He should have stayed home and tried to work on the lyrics of the new model he had made. He shouldn't have come, he shouldn't have drank. He. Should. Have. Restrained. Himself. In frustration and hate towards himself he crushed half of the cigarette with his fingers. Why, why did this always happen to him? Why did he always lose control? Why did he always fuck up so badly?
He sighed trying to make the feeling of his obliterated heart go away. He threw his half smoked cigarette on the ground, putting it out with the heel of his shoes. He had been pissed more than once at himself in his life, but this was a new low. He never had been such a cretino, how was he going to fix this? How was he going to pick up the pieces?
The cab arrived; he got in and told his address. His head was already feeling less light, the effects of the alcohol were dissipating and soon a headache worse than before the party started to incise his head. Then he gave the money to the driver and got out of the car. He was unable to even walk in a straight line and he had to hold his head in his hand. He leaned at the archway of his door trying to fish out his keys from his jacket. He found them and with a trembling hand he was able to get the key inside the lock.
He closed the door behind him, without even putting on the light he made his way into the apartment. First he discarded his jacket, shoes and socks. He emptied his pockets on the table and then went to the kitchen. Another glass of water was filled, he tried to drink it more slowly this time. His hands trembled. He deposited his glass on the counter and went to the bathroom. His headache was still there but less.
When in the bathroom he opened his medicine cabinet. He hated them with every side of his being. But he needed them now, just so he could feel himself rest and forget what had happened. He took the bottle saying 'Rozerem' and went to his bedroom. With slow movements he finished undressing himself completely. Naked, he sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked at the bottle, hopefully he was sober enough. His hand unclasped the lid and he took one round pill out. A quick glance at the clock: in red bright lights it displayed 09:52pm. He swallowed it dry and tucked himself in. With any luck he'd wake up in time for work tomorrow.
He became more aware of his senses, his body entangled in the sheets. Tiny steps upon his bed were felt, a humming sound accompanying them. He turned his head to the other side. His arms encircling the pillow underneath his face as he tried to fall back asleep. A ball of fur, which was purring extremely loudly, came obstructing his breathing possibility by putting a wet nose on his cheek. He turned his head the other way around. But in any case that didn't stop the feline to bother him further. Two paws settled them on the back of his head, a nose joining them; they started massaging the back of his scalp. The purring became louder and suddenly nails joined the gentle petting. He winced and moved a few inches further in his pillow. The ball of fur seemed to start purring even more loudly in his ears. He groaned and the cat started to butt its head against his skull. He opened his eyes; his clock showed it was 07:47 AM. He must have been sleeping so deeply that he hadn't heard his alarm going off.
He sat upright, still feeling drowsy by the sleep. He massaged his eyes awake. The cat walked upon his legs and lap, making sure it rubbed its whole body against him. He smiled and scratched the animal behind the ears. It purred contently. 07:52AM, if he wanted a chance to arrive at the studio in time he would preferably start preparing himself now. He stood up, the big ball of ginger and white fur getting all excited and going off to the kitchen to ask for food. He decided to take a quick shower first and went to his drawer. Out of his drawer he took: a white dress shirt, grey trousers and undergarments.
He went to the bathroom and relieved himself before starting the water in the shower; it would be at good temperature when he'd finished collecting his shampoo, towel and trimming material. He felt so drowsy his thoughts seemed like non-existent. The warm water splashed upon his body and it felt like relieving flames. It was still too hot but he somehow liked the fact that it burned a little; it made him aware of his body. That was the reason why he hated those pills; his body felt so asleep and the whole day he would feel like he had never fully awoken. He rested against the cold wall, closing his eyes and letting the water rock him. His mind started to wander to the events of yesterday. Everything seemed blurred for the moment. There had been a party, some talking and wine. He took the shampoo and did his hair, soap was next. It was the fault of those damn pills. He rinsed everything off and closed down the water. He was drowsy, everything was blurry and he loathed it so much. His skin was slightly pink. He dried himself off and tied a knot in the towel around his waist.
He took a washcloth and rubbed the fogged mirror. He looked at himself and his eyes opened wide at the discovery. Between his neck and shoulder there were clear red scratching marks. The memories came back to him as if he had just been under a cold shower.
He had kissed; kissed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart; kissed him on the lips, tasted his tongue, his mouth; let his body react to it, making it move, letting himself get excited. He had moaned and groaned as he… as he… it was wrong; so wrong. Alcohol had clouded their minds and stripped them from any clear thought. His boundaries and ways of caring had soared away. He had just let himself give into desire without wondering if it were good or bad. How had let himself go that way? How had he given in so easily? How had he VERDAMMT let his barriers, just in the space of a few minutes, allowed to be disintegrated? How had he been so weak? How had he been so stupid? He ran a hand through his wet hair and met his gaze in the mirror again. He had to fix this, one way or the other.
With determination he took his trimmer and a few minutes later he emerged half dressed from his bathroom, clasping his watch around his wrist. He took his jacket and went to the kitchen where a loud mewling sound welcomed him. He smiled and went to his coffee maker. Black and two sugars, that's how he liked it. The cat jumped onto the counter and gave him headbutts. Sighing, he deposited his mug on the flat surface.
"Zuccherino," he said slightly irritated and slightly amused, "you know I don't like it when you sit on the counter."
He picked up the animal and put it back on the ground. The cat started purring and rubbing against him again. The man looked at the clock on the microwave: 08:25. It was time to go, he'd buy a sandwich later for breakfast. He put on his shoes and jacket. He would be late because traffic was horrible at this hour of the day. Right before leaving he made sure Zuccherino's bowls for water and food were filled. His shoulder bag already contained all his essentials, the only thing he added was his wallet, phone and keys.
He closed the door of his apartment behind him and made his way to the lower level, his car, a black Mercedes Benz, had just been brought back from the garage a few days ago, he had an immense feeling of joy washing over him. Once inside he took a moment to feel the beige leather underneath his hands. He liked the fact that he was able to move again. Cabs were expensive and not always available when needed, public transport had been out of the question. He disliked too crowded spaces more than anything; also he wouldn't want anyone to damage his instruments. His bag on the seat next to him and he started the car.
He had been stuck for almost 23 minutes in traffic when he decided to turn on the radio. A song seemed to just have ended and the radiohost talked enthusiastically praising the song, the co-host agreeing with a joyful voice. He looked outside, considering lighting a cigarette. Smoking in his car wasn't a habit of him, but right now he really felt like breaking the selfiposed rule. Just when he was about to take his smokes out of his pocket the car in front of him oved. He advanced a few meters before stopping again. He sighed, his manager and best friend, Therese, was going to skin him. He almost never arrived late at work. A bleeping sound of a text emitted from his bag, that must be her. He tapped his fingers on his steering wheel. Hopefully, she'll understand. The traffic jam continued, he shook his head a few times, trying to make the slight drowsiness go away, at least his concentration was still present. He didn't really listen to the radio until a very familiar name was heard:
"So, dear Wolfgang. I have heard you've had some personal problems these past few weeks concerning your divorce. Any details you can share with us on that matter?"
The question was rude and completely inappropriate. It made the Italian cringe.
"Well," the voice was hesitant, "I'm doing fine, I've had quite the support of my sister and my friends. I'm doing alright."
He could only imagine how the younger man must have been boiling inside. He bet that right now the Austrian musician would be wearing one of his most fake and bright smiles.
"Was there anything that led to this drastic decision of divorcing your beloved ex-wife? You've been married to her for… almost 6 years isn't it?"
Salieri coughed because of the impertinence the woman had. Himself, a few times, had had very inappropriate questions during interviews. Even if they were rare, he was still very impressed how some journalists had the nerve of asking them.
"I'm sorry but I don't think I was invited to do an interview, my life is quite boring, I don't think the audience is waiting for me to talk about what's happening in my life. I think they are waiting for me to sing." He said jokingly.
There were a few cheers. Mozart could hide pretty well how he was feeling but not to the older man. He had spent too much time observing him to not notice the slight irritated tone the younger man had used.
"Yes, yes, of course. Dear audience, here's Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart with I sleep on roses from his new album Amadé"
The first few chords were played, then the soft voice joined them. It was a beautiful song. The Italian musician loved it. Mozart had composed it on a night where they were sitting together against a wall outside, after a last concert rehearsal. The younger man had been playing random chords and soon they formed a melody. He remembered that the younger man had made it look so easy. He had started to hum and the melody became even more beautiful until he stopped in the middle of it, smiling at the older man. He had never felt his heart flutter that hard before, if he had been able to, he would have kissed the Austrian musician on spot.
He shook his head. It would have been as much as a mistake as what happened yesterday. He'd have to try to talk to the younger man today, to fix what was possible and make everything clear. His phone rang as finally he was able to drive further. Therese will have to wait for his answer, he wasn't that far from the studio anyway. The ringtone died out and the sound of Mozart's guitar and voice filled his car again. He turned up the volume as the rhythm of the guitar changed, Mozart's high notes were sung purely and then they sounded like a hoarse cry. He felt shivers down his spine, but he didn't let the song rock him; he concentrated on the road.
He arrived, a minute and a half later, at the parking reserved for artists; he found parking place ridiculously fast. Salieri turned off his car, the radio was still playing. He closed his eyes, letting the last notes of I sleep on rosesdie out. Suddenly, long red painted nails ticked playfully on a certain rhythm on his window. He had a half smile when he recognized to whom this hand belonged. He turned off the radio and took his bag from the seat next to him. He opened the door.
Her dark brown curled hair was attached into a ponytail; black tights and shoes with a dress hidden by a long red coat. Katharina Cavalier or Caterine Cavalieri as was her chosen stage name was a beautiful younger woman, with whom he had had the chance of working for several years now.
"Well, dear maestro Salieri, aren't you seriously late for work?" she said with mid-joking mid-serious tone.
He smiled internally at the nickname. He got out of his car and took his guitar from the passenger's back seat. Once his bags were settled on his back he looked at her.
"I am indeed late," he started walking.
She joined him, keeping up with his steps. Her heels clicked on the pavement quite loudly.
"So how come you're late?" she asked curious about his whereabouts.
"I've been to Mozart's divorce party." He shortly replied. He didn't really want to give too many details either.
La Cavalieri sighed "I wish I had been able to come, but yes I had showcase. But tell me…" she nudged him, the tone of her voice sounding very interested. "Was there perhaps a beautiful young lady whom must have busied your whole night and thus making you late for work?"
He could tell her what had happened, that he fucked everything up with the rising star of Vienna. He could also rectify her, tell her that if there had been someone it would have been a young man. But he didn't, as la Cavalieri, even if friendly as a lamb, was a huge gossip. There was no desire inside of him to tell her about what happened the evening before. He only shook his head.
"I'm so busy with my own album lately that flirting is the last thing on my mind."
They walked through the door. The younger woman looked a bit disappointed at his answer. They stopped at the intersection. She kissed his cheek saying they should meet again and get a drink once in a while and her heels took the opposite direction of the corridor he went in. He arrived in the recording studio, checking his phone. As expected one missed call and a text from Therese asking him where the bloody hell he was. He didn't bother replying, he was going to start working any minute now.
"Good morning Da Ponte."
The sound engineer stood up and shook his hand; he didn't seem in a bad mood. Which relieved him, Da Ponte was a very punctual man when it came to working. Salieri noticed a huge box containing pastries of all kind upon the little table next to the control panels. If he hadn't realised how hungry he was until now, his stomach made it very clear now, he was starving.
"The traffic has been horrible I only arrived 10 minutes ago myself," said the sound engineer. "If we want to keep up with our time schedule we're going to need to keep our breaks short and perhaps even only have a 10 min lunch break."
Salieri nodded in agreement, "as long as those pastries are also here for me to eat, I am prepared to work all the hours needed for today."
The other man laughed and patted him on the back. He smiled and after having quickly eaten two pastries he set himself to work. First they were going to continue editing the models he made, making a few changes to the lyrics, then they would record a few versions, to then choose which one was better and to be used further. They worked hard and long. After the first 3 hours of intensive work Salieri let himself go on a first cigarette break. He was quite able to forget everything about what happened yesterday when he sang. Putting his emotions in his music was easier than to live through them. He knew he felt a lurking restlessness inside of him but tried to ignore it. He kept wondering when Mozart was coming by and if the younger man was going to able to have a conversation with him. Next to that he really tried not to imagine all kinds of scenarios of how the potential talk with the younger man would go. Would he be angry? Disgusted? Playful? No, he had to focus himself on his work so he could suppress his thoughts.
Another 3 hours later, the last notes of his latest composed song 'Stop' resonated in the room. The voice of Da Ponte said in his headset that it had sounded wonderful and that he was allowed to go a long well-deserved break, they were back on schedule. Good, he was really craving for a cigarette.
He smiled and decided to take his guitar with him on his way out. He often did that during breaks. Back in the time he and Mozart worked together, he did it all the time, sometimes even both of them taking their guitars and improvising while humming. He went to the enclosed space especially reserved for smoking and sat down in a chair. He lit up his cigarette and started playing some tabs, they were random, he glanced over at the talking couple that was in the same room, they didn't seem to mind he was playing. A smile appeared on his face as he toyed with the chords trying to find a combination that he liked. He spent some time doing that, feeling himself a little bit more rested. He was able to calm his thoughts, which he couldn't do with the pressure he had on his shoulders when singing in the recording studio.
"I was going to scold you," said the female voice behind him, "But Da Ponte just told me you have both gotten back on schedule."
He smiled and took the cigarette from his mouth to tap off the ashes. He turned himself to look at his manager, Therese von Helfersdorfer. She seemed even genuinely happy to see him.
"Indeed."
He smiled, Therese had been the most precious human being in his life, she was as close as a sister to him. Perhaps… Perhaps he could tell her. As a friend she knew about his sexuality long before they had started working together and as a manager she wouldn't go gossip about it around. Yes, he needed to tell someone about what had happened. He needed to talk about his feelings.
"Let's go outside, I have something to tell you."
She raised an eyebrow but nodded. He crushed down his cigarette and took his guitar, which he carefully placed over his shoulder. They went outside, the sun was shining high now since they were in the middle of the day. He couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, he really hoped she wasn't going to scold him or make a scene. They sat down at a table close to the stairs and he put his instrument back on his lap.
"So what are you going to tell me?" her tone was very serious.
He really, really hoped she would take this without shouting at him.
"Yesterday, at the party," He inhaled and exhaled deeply and let the bomb drop. "I kissed Wolfgang Mozart."
Therese fell silent, she looked at him, not knowing what to say. So he continued by telling her the whole story. Of how he had decided to go to that party in the end, how that after half an hour, his headache had started to feel unbearable, how he had gone outside and how he had decided to kiss the younger man with in the end him fleeing and taking his sleeping pills. When he finished he observed how Therese looked at the ground thoughtfully before looking back up at him. Her blue eyes showed how mixed her feelings were toward the situation.
"First, I am glad you were able to have some sleep, your state has been worrying me for quite some time now. But next time if you take pills I want you to call me to pick you up. I know you don't like that; but you've been lucky today that your drowsiness was not as present as it has been before. I know you would have called me if you couldn't drive but I'm just saying it again."
He nodded, understanding and considering every word she was saying. He was lucky to have her. She would always worry about his wellbeing, she really reacted as the sister he never had. She smiled and continued :
"Second, I presume that you both haven't been able to talk about it yet? Well first you should both talk about this and…"
She got interrupted by the roaring sound of a motorbike coming their way. A black and golden Suzuki bandit 2006 driven by a familiar figure, completely in dressed leather. The engine stopped right below the stairs where it was allowed to park. With a leg swing the driver got off. He used the middle support stand to put the motorbike steadily on the ground. The gloved hands then reached out to the black helmet. He took it off and there appeared Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. His eyes covered by dark green eyeshadow and a fine black line contouring his eyes. His hair was even more ruffled than usual because of the helmet and his neck was covered by a black cotton scarve with crosses on it.
"Well, maestro Mozart, you're looking pretty sharp today," said Therese.
The younger man looked at her and smiled. He bowed ridiculously, almost losing his balance. He laughed in that very peculiar crystalline way. Salieri noticed that he was wearing another star earring today. It was made of silver and with jewels this time, this one was also unknown to him.
"Thank you Therese, you look very beautiful yourself."
His very sincere tone made the woman blush slightly. It made Salieri laugh a little. She nudged him hard. Mozart turned to the luggage at the back of his motorbike. He opened it and took his anti-theft equipment. Perhaps Salieri should restrain or at least advert his eyes but he couldn't help it to just look at how this ideal form of masculinity moved; especially when Mozart took off his gloves and turned himself to them to crouch at the fore-wheel to put his anti-theft bar. The younger man got back up and turned himself to the two people sitting at the table. Their gazes intercepted each other. The brown eyes were unreadable which made Salieri a bit lost as to distil the emotions of the Austrian musician.
The younger man looked the other way to make his way up the stairs. The Italian musician's heart was hammering harder with every step the younger man was taking to come closer to them. He arrived at their level. He felt like screaming because obviously there was something different in the atmosphere. Mozart avoided his gaze and asked:
"Could I possibly talk to you? I have a meeting with my manager. Perhaps we can meet in our former dressing room like in fifteen minutes?"
The rising star of Vienna looked him in his eyes now. He loved that man so, so much and right now he just wanted to flee those eyes.
"Yes, yes of course," was his reply. The younger man smiled a little and shifted a bit uncomfortably on his feet.
"Okay, see you later then?"
His mouth felt dry and his heart was crushing inside of him.
"See you later."
Mozart walked off and went through the door. Salieri realized he was clutching his guitar against his chest. The adrenaline was so high in his veins he hadn't felt it. He gave a torturous look at Therese. She laid her hand upon his arm to comfort him.
"Looks like this is your chance, to talk it out," she sighed, "Don't fuck this up."
His smile was bitter. He stood up and walked back inside. He asked if he could have a key to the room. It was on the second floor of the record company. The receptionist gave it without really questioning him. He went by the cafeteria first. He needed coffee. When his coins were inserted, he waited for his coffee while resting his back against the wall. Some sort of panic was taking over his heart. What if he fucked it up, destroy every possibility to make it right again? He gulped down the content of his goblet, the liquid giving him a rush of life. Hopefully they would work it out together, hopefully everything would be alright. He crushed the cardboard cup in his hand and threw it away. His steps were feeling so heavy. He pushed the elevator button and waited. A moment of drowsiness washed over him again. Those horrible pills, he should throw them away, they made his body feel so unreal. The door opened and a very unfortunate surprise appeared in front of him.
"Ah Salieri, good to see you, how is your album doing?"
Orisini Rosenberg, the vice-president of the company stood right in front of him. A man of little stature and as greedy as a ferious wolf, Salieri never knew how he had ever considered the man a friend. He walked in and smiled forcefully while he pushed the button of the second floor.
"I'm doing fine, we'll wrap everything up in a few weeks, for sure," said the Italian musician.
The vice-president adjusted his glasses and looked at the stack of papers in his arms. It looked like he didn't really care about the answer anyway. He smiled at Salieri, which looked pretty grotesque on the man's face.
"Good, very good."
They stood in silence, Rosenberg was typing frantically on a calculator and taking notes while doing so. The elevator stopped at the second floor. Salieri walked out.
"Oh and Herr Salieri," the musician turned himself, "I am very pleased you are working without that Austrian musician again. Your music is way more enjoyable without him ruining it with his alternative ways of working."
He forced himself to smile until the doors closed again. He shivered, Rosenberg was a despicable man always out for money and having profit. At least that little meeting made him forget all about his nerves and when he entered his former dressing room he felt quite at ease. It was quite small but it had a mirror and two chairs and a couch. The closets where built into the wall. He sat down on a sound enhancer. He preferred that to the high chairs and the couch because that's what he used to do back in the days he was sharing it with the Austrian musician. He settled himself and his guitar on his lap he started playing the first chords of his song 'stop' humming the melody along.
The door opened shortly after, he laid his hands on the strings to make the sound stop immediately. Mozart had taken off his leather jacket but had kept the scarve around his neck. He was wearing a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like he always wore them, between the usual scarves around his wrists there was a new pink addition, he didn't wore it often. Of course the atmosphere changed immediately when the younger man entered the room. Salieri briefly wondered if should put down his guitar or not. Perhaps not, the guitar gave the illusion the conversation was casual. Mozart closed the door behind him and took a few steps into the room. The Italian musician's heart started to flutter when the younger man looked him in the eyes.
Silence was all there was, he tried to relax by stretching and flexing his fist repeatedly behind his guitar.
"I heard you on the radio today, you sounded very good."
Yes, casual talking, to make the conversation lighter.
"Thank you," said the rising star of Vienna.
There was silence again, the Italian musician could clearly see that there was something bothering the younger man. The way he shifted from foot to foot and how he played with the scarves around his wrists gave it all away. They both averted their eyes. This was the awkwardest situation they had ever been in. There was an alarm signal going off in the older man's head as the silence seemed like screaming in his ears. They were going to talk about it, and this any second now. The younger musician never lingered and when he stopped playing with his scarves, Salieri felt like he was ready to dig a hole into the ground and disappear. They younger man's lips moved:
"About yesterday…"
Don't fuck this up.He had to fix this, fix this atmosphere, correct what had happened, the wrong he had done.
"It was a mistake."
He broke the younger musician's talking, who pressed his lips together, looking him directly in the eyes, piercing him. Mozart was paying attention to every word and every syllable he was going to mutter next. He sighed, trying to make the anxious feeling go away. He flexed his hand behind his guitar again.
"Alcohol makes people do crazy things."
He continued, his heart was hammering in his chest, he felt himself sweating so nervously under his clothes. Don't fuck this up.
"We should forget about it."
He held in his breath. The younger man's expression was unreadable; the brown eyes didn't tell him anything. The silence that followed was even more agonizing. But slowly a smile appeared on the rising star of Vienna's lips. For a moment the older man thought he had fucked up, the smiled had looked too weak to be a real one. But Mozart's following words put his mind to rest:
"Of course, I'm glad this got sorted out," the younger man sighed.
Salieri had to restrain himself not to frown, something did feel wrong, well the voice seemed lower than usual and the way the body of the younger man had tensed up was pretty unordinary. But everything seemed alright when the Austrian musician smiled at him again.
"I am going to go to my meeting now."
He ruffled his hair and Salieri smiled, so everything was in order now? Everything was alright? He felt his heart calm down and his senses coming down from the high state of alert.
"So do we see each other later then?" Said Mozart with a steady voice.
He nodded in agreement, feeling more relaxed. Mozart walked out smiling and when the door closed he stretched his back. He hadn't noticed how tensed up he was until the other musician left. But he could relax now, everything was in order. They were back on track. He started playing his guitar again, slow notes as the inspiration suddenly washed over him. Even if somewhere his heart ached in pain at the thought that the Austrian musician had agreed too fast that it had been a mistake, he was glad and he couldn't ask for more. He had fixed it, everything was alright now.
Everything was not alright, everything was not fixed, it hurt it hurt so much. He couldn't have closed the door more rapidly as the tears had formed in his eyes. His heart, his heart felt like bleeding, bleeding out of his chest. His soul felt ripped; split; torn into shreds, his breathing ragged as he forced himself to walk. He had to go, he had to keep it in, the pain, he felt like his throat had closed itself. He was suffocating, keeping the tears in, the pain in his chest making every movement of his legs difficult, they felt useless. He could break down right there on the ground. But he cared, he cared that he could be seen. He felt like there was no end and when he finally opened the door and walked it, he sat down at the table under questioning eyes of his manager he put his head into his folded elbows. He tried to talk but it felt like the air got stuck in his lungs. He was unable to speak, the pain lacerating his breathing.
"Wolfgang? Wolfgang are you alright?"
He just broke down in a wailing cry.
The end
Author's end note:
Thank you for the amazing headcanon of having Salieri having insomnia. Hummm thank you for my girlfriend which is the beta and with who, together with Melody-garnet, have been coaching me with all kinds of headcanons. Little shout out to mewsol who put up with my whining about this. I hope you all loved it. 3