Fic: Oh Vienna. A "Doors" timestamp. RPS. AU J2. NC-17 2/2
Arg! LJ hates me!
Back to part 1
“Come on, Jen,” a soft voice whispers in his ear. “Wakey, wakey.”
Jensen flaps his hand weakly in the direction of the sound, his face pressing deeper into the pillow. He’s still half-asleep, clinging to a dream that he’s already forgetting, when something wet touches his ear and he yelps, eyes springing open as he jerks away.
Jared is grinning down at him, tongue mischievously peeking out at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning!” he says, obnoxiously cheerful.
Jensen blinks against the bright light streaming through the curtains and his eyes flicker to the alarm clock on the bedside table. Oh c’mon! He groans. “We’re on vacation,” he complains. “And it’s Sunday!”
“Don’t be a snoozer, loser,” Jared singsongs and gives him a quick kiss before jumping off the bed and heading for the bathroom. “Seize the day.”
Jensen mutters a curse under his breath but after a moment he gets out of bed anyway. He’s awake, the sun is shining and Jared is smiling at him. Really, that’s all he needs to make his day perfect.
He showers while Jared shaves, shaves while Jared gets dressed, and puts on some light slacks and a shirt while Jared flicks through their guide book.
“Hurry up if you wanna get breakfast,” Jared says without looking up, a small smirk quirking the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen grumbles in fake annoyance while his traitorous stomach gurgles happily at the prospect of hot coffee and some warm bread rolls.
Jared just grins.
The city is still half-asleep when they step outside half an hour later. The streets are shadowed, night-chilled air waiting patiently for the sun to reach above the rooftops to warm it up. Still, the coffee is hot in Jensen’s belly, Jared’s arm is warm around his shoulders and every now and then a stray ray of sunshine tip-toes over his freckles. All in all it promises to be a beautiful day.
As soon as they reach the sunny main street they are surrounded by people. Old people, young people, locals, tourists… They all seem to be heading in the same direction. Quite a few ghosts as well, Jensen notices, if their strange clothing is anything to go by. He considers asking Jared if he can see them but thinks better of it. Jared doesn’t really like ghosts that much.
Instead he just nods and smiles amicably at whoever looks his way and hopes at least most of them are real. A boy of about eight almost knocks into him as he runs past, white robes fluttering. Jensen is about to point him out to Jared when the boy fades, his shadow running on for a few more yards before melting into an enormous dark shade coloring the pavement. Jensen’s gaze follows it from the tip of the triangle to its base, then further and further until he’s raising his head, staring up at the stone building looming over them.
The bell sounds. One booming toll and another before it’s joined by its sisters, great and small, their music like rolling waves hitting the shore, one after another.
Jensen stops dead in his tracks, everything that’s happening around them suddenly making frightening sense.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Jared, no. I can’t.”
Jared turns to look at him, caught in his step by Jensen’s hand clinging to his. His eyes are warm, reassuring. His expression sad and hopeful at the same time. He smells like his mother’s cinnamon buns from so many years ago.
“It’s okay. No, Jensen, look at me.” He steps closer, cupping Jensen’s face in his big palm, not relenting until Jensen reluctantly meets his intense gaze. “It’s just a building.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No. I don’t belong in there. It would be wrong to-”
“Your grandmother was wrong,” Jared cuts him off, fire flashing briefly in his eyes. “Okay? If there is a God, he would be honored to have you in his house. I mean it.”
He presses his lips to Jensen’s, thumb stroking across his cheek. “I’m not going to force you,” he says softly, “but I really want you to come with me. I promise, you won’t regret it. Because this? This is not about religion.” He smiles, eyes bright with anticipation. “This is about music.”
Jensen swallows. He looks at big church then back at Jared, feeling his resolve falter at the hopeful look in Jared’s eyes. Finally he nods.
Jared smiles and kisses him again then grabs his hand and pulls him across Stephansplatz to join the steady stream of people heading for mass. Jensen breathes slowly, his stomach in knots. The bells are deafening in their calling, so loud they almost drown out Jared’s excited chatter.
“The loudest bell is either St. Leopold’s or St. Stephen’s. Maybe both. I think it depends on who is at the mass. Like if the bishop or someone else important is attending. The largest bell, Pummerin, only sounds on special holidays but these are pretty loud, right?”
Jensen nods, his skin peppering with goosebumps as the church’s shadow swallows them. Jared is right. He has no reason to be nervous. It’s just a building. A beautiful, old, magnificent building. Filled with crosses and relics and statues of saints and who knows how many holy people. A building raised in the glory of a God whom, according to his Nana, Jensen’s mere existence is an insult to.
Jared tightens his hold on Jensen’s hand as the flow of people brings them to the threshold. Jensen sucks in his breath, closes his eyes and lets the cool air of the church wrap itself around him.
Nothing happens.
“Wow. This is amazing,” he hears Jared say. Slowly he lets out his breath and opens his eyes.
Oh. Oh wow.
He’s never been in a church this big. This… grand. The main floor stretches before him like an ocean, the checkered tiles making him feel a little dizzy. Sunlight streams through the huge stained glass windows, bathing the interior in a rainbow of colors. The air smells of flowers and candles and old, old stone. Footsteps and prayers and hundreds of whispers echo among the walls.
“Voices,” he whispers.
“What?” Jared says, leaning down a little, his eyes still darting around, wide with awe.
“Voices. So many…” Jensen sucks in his breath and lets it out slowly. “So many people.”
Jared looks at him sharply. “These people or other people?”
“Both.” Jensen closes his eyes again, trying to find his balance. “I can feel… “ He shivers, the power of it shaking him to the core. “So much. So… overwhelming. Consuming. Oh.”
Jared’s hand tightens around his. “Are you saying… ? Jensen, can you feel… God?”
Jensen blinks his eyes open. “Faith. I can feel faith.” He looks up, catching the disappointed look Jared is trying to hide. “The faith of thousands,” he elaborates. “For centuries. Isn’t that God?”
Jared stares at him and for a moment Jensen thinks he might have messed up. But then Jared breathes out, his whole body relaxing. “Yeah,” he says and looks away, blinking rapidly.
Jensen politely averts his eyes, using the time to look around. The church is so huge he doesn’t know where to begin. The time and people it must have taken to build this. It’s too much to really comprehend.
Jared clears his throat. “It’s almost time. We should find a seat.”
Jensen nods and together they make their way through the crowd, finding seats as close to the awaiting orchestra as they can. Most of the tourists are still walking around, whispering amongst themselves and pointing out one wonder after another.
Jared starts rummaging through his backpack, pulling out a rumbled pamphlet he must have picked up some time when Jensen wasn’t paying attention. “Okay, first we’ll hear the big pipe organ, it should start any minute now. Apparently it’s amazing. Look, Toccata and Fugue by Bach. That should be an experience. Then… Oh, hey! Choir boys!” He gives Jensen a big smile. “I remember you told me once you love boys’ choirs.”
“I did?” Jensen says, a vague memory of Pie Jesu’s aching beauty fading into silence prickling uncomfortably at the back of his mind.
“Yeah.” Jared bites his lip, his smile faltering a little. “It was a long time ago.”
Jensen quickly musters up a grin, nodding like he suddenly remembers, and Jared grins back, relieved and happy. It’s a little like lying but it’s worth it to keep that sad look away from Jared’s eyes.
The truth is that with every memory Jared brings up from their short time together before Jensen went away, the better Jensen realizes how much he’s actually lost. He tries not to let it bother him but it’s hard to ignore the empty space in his heart where his memories should be. Memories of moments with Jared that were his, that he earned, but were stolen from him. It’s just so painfully unfair.
He swallows it down, shifts closer to Jared. These memories, the ones they’re making now, he’s not going to forget.
Jared attention is back on the pamphlet, eyes scanning the text in excitement. “Anyway, they’re singing Ave Maria by Giulio Caccini…”
“Vavilov,” Jensen corrects automatically. “It’s by Vavilov. Probably. It’s a little unclear.”
Jared looks at him. “Okay,” he says slowly. He frowns at the pamphlet then shrugs. “Guess they got it wrong.”
Jensen can’t help smiling a little. “Most people do. Caccini fits better,” he allows. “Classical music is supposed to be old, I guess, not written in the age of hippies and Led Zeppelin.”
“You just gave me a vision of Mozart in flared jeans, smoking weed while he rocked out to Stairway to Heaven,” Jared snorts and Jensen chokes out a startled laugh. The satisfied grin on Jared’s face is worth the disapproving glares thrown their way by the more pious attendants.
“Okay,” Jared says, rearranging his face into a more serious expression. “So a fake Caccini Ave Maria and then Ave Verum Corpus by Fauré. Finally there’s a string concerto by Vivaldi.” He folds the pamphlet, returning it to his backpack, then takes Jensen’s hand, thumb rubbing reassuringly over the thin skin of his wrist.
“This is gonna be great.” His smile is so hopeful that Jensen can’t do anything but nod and smile back. Even if his heart feels like it’s about to pound its way out of his chest.
“I…” he starts but that’s as far as he gets before the organ suddenly splinters the silence with the first trilling high notes of Bach’s masterpiece. Music floods the church in a rushing wave, flushing his thoughts right out of his head; leaving his mind swept clean and his heart wide open.
Bach: Toccata & Fugue in D minor BW565: Fugue / Ton Koopman (5:35)
(I know the Toccata comes first, I just like the Fugue better. *g*)
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
The powerful music vibrates the church so intensely it takes Jared a while to realize Jensen is trembling right along with it. He looks over to find Jensen sitting rigid, wide eyes gazing up at one of the large stained glass windows. His lips are parted on a silent ‘o’; his face is pale with two red dots staining his cheeks.
“Jensen?” Jared squeezes Jensen’s hand but gets no reaction. The music swells around them, beautiful, amazing, and Jared wavers, his body paralyzed with the wish to stay and listen while his brain is panicking, not knowing whether he needs to get Jensen out of there or not.
He squeezes Jensen’s hand again then moves his fingers to the wrist, feeling for a pulse. It’s strong. He lays a palm on Jensen’s chest. The breathing is steady. He waves his hand in front of Jensen’s face and he blinks, once, twice, before resuming his far away gaze.
Jared sits back, relieved. He reclaims Jensen’s hand and allows himself to relax and just enjoy the music. He’s heard it before - who hasn’t? - but this is a completely different experience from listening to something on his iPod or hearing it on the radio or TV. It’s like diving into an ocean of music; it swallows him whole, wraps him up, breaks into every molecule of his body. He can feel the bass in his feet, the high trills in his hair. The air in his lungs vibrates.
‘This is how you should experience Bach,’ he thinks. ‘Plugged right into your soul.’
As the last note fades into silence it’s like someone cut Jensen’s strings. Jared only just manages to catch him before he topples off the chair and to the floor. He wraps his arm around Jensen, stretching his fingers to reach under Jensen’s chin to lift his head, tilting it to the side until it’s resting securely upon Jared’s shoulder. Jensen hitches his breath, shudders, then breathes out and melts into Jared’s side, soft and pliant like a sleepy child.
“It’s okay,” Jared whispers, pulling him tighter. “I’m right here.”
He ignores the proceedings of the mass; the rituals and words he doesn’t understand apart from the occasional Amen, the rising and sitting according to rules he’s completely ignorant of. It’s not what they’re here for and he doesn’t really care if that’s breaking protocol or insulting in any way. He figures if there is a God, he’ll understand.
Caccini (Vavilov): Ave Maria / Libera. Solo: Tom Cully (4:20)
As the choir breathes the first words of the painfully beautiful Ave Maria, Jensen starts weeping.
It’s silent, his breathing so quiet Jared wouldn’t have noticed what was happening if it weren’t for the drops suddenly hitting his thigh. He looks over, alarmed, his heart clenching at the sight of tears dripping off Jensen’s nose. His lower lip is trembling and when Jared reaches across his lap for Jensen’s hand he grips Jared’s fingers so tight it almost hurts.
He wonders what it is Jensen is seeing, the way his gaze shifts around, eyes wide with wonder. The singing itself is enough to make Jared’s chest ache and with the added osmosis of Jensen’s emotions, everything is amped up to an almost unbearable level. The air is thick with it; it feels like syrup in his lungs.
It’s not sadness - the sun is still shining through the windows, Jared notices. Jensen just seems overwhelmed by everything the music is making him see and feel. No wonder he’s shaking like a leaf, it must take all his strength to keep his emotions from exploding all over the city. Jared pulls Jensen a little tighter, aware of but unconcerned by the few glances thrown their way.
Ave Verum Corpus is easier but not by much. Jared gets it now, why Jensen likes boys’ choirs so much. There’s something ethereal about those young voices, so clear and sweet in their innocence. Children of light, angelic in sound and appearance. They’re joined by members of the Domchor, adding strength and depth where needed. Jared holds on to Jensen’s hand and watches the multicolored sunrays cast a fairytale light over the whole display. Thinks, ‘If anything could make me believe in God again, it would be this.’
Beside him Jensen draws in one shaky breath after another.
Thankfully there’s a long intermission after that, of prayers and blessings and Holy Communion. They sit silent and slowly but surely Jensen starts to relax, his breathing evening out and the shivering subsiding. Jared pretends not to notice as Jensen ducks his head to discreetly wipe at his eyes with his fingers, and simply offers Jensen a smile when he looks over, looking embarrassed and exhausted, but above all happy. By the time the mass comes to an end with a cheerful concerto , Jensen is calm, his eyes bright with wonder.
They leave exploring the church until later, waiting until the rows have mostly emptied before standing up and walking out into the bright sunny day.
Jensen comes to a sudden halt in the middle of Stephansplatz. He closes his eyes, face raised to the sun, and draws in a deep breath before letting it out with a soft sigh. When he turns to Jared he looks calmer than Jared ever remembers seeing him.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “That was… Thank you.”
“Just thought it was something you’d enjoy,” Jared says easily and kisses him, right there in front of God and everyone.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
“This feels weird. Does this feel weird to you?”
“Hm?” Jensen glances over his shoulder but his eyes are too busy looking around as they head up the narrow stairs to really make it all the way.
“Just this. Being here,” Jared says, using his eyes to enjoy the view of Jensen’s ass from this angle. “In this house. It just feels… weird. Like we’re invading his privacy. I mean, we’re going to the room where he was born. It’s like… like we’re gonna sneak a peek at his mom’s vagina!”
Jensen stops, so abruptly Jared almost bangs into him, and turns around, his face twitching with amusement. “What?”
“Okay, not really but, you know, envisioning her all… spread out with little Wolfgang’s head being squeezed out between her legs.” Jared grimaces. “Right?”
“Well, I am now,” Jensen says, making a face before continuing up the stairs. “And you say my brain is weird!”
“So you’re not seeing any, like ghosts?” Jared asks, just to be sure. “Baby ghosts? Half-naked women ghosts having baby ghosts?”
Jensen glances at him as he reaches the top. “Uhm, no?” He looks around, frowning. “I can feel them though. Not baby ghosts. But, you know, people.”
“Baby Mozart?” Jared asks hopeful.
“I can’t tell. Possibly. There are children.” He frowns, like he’s listening then shakes his head. “I don’t know. I can hear music. Not from the speakers,” he clarifies as Jared is about to point that out. “Different. It’s…” He stops and turns his head, surprised. “Oh.”
And then he’s off, disappearing between groups of tourists before Jared has any idea what is happening. He hurries after him, nodding and smiling excuses left and right as he makes his way through, finally finding Jensen in the much dreaded birth room, staring at a glass case.
“Oh,” he’s saying, over and over again. “Oh. Oh Jared, look.” He reaches out, eyes wide with wonder, like a child at Christmas about to open its first present.
“Jensen,” Jared hisses, half-amused, half-panicking. “No.”
Jensen turns his head. His eyes are dark, pleading. “I just…” he whispers, chest heaving. “I need…”
“No,” he repeats, more firmly. “Come on. Let’s just go.”
“But…” Jensen hitches his breath. Licks his lips. “I, I… Please,” he whimpers.
Jared swallows. Jensen’s hands are twitching. There’s sweat running down from his temple. His cheeks are flushed, his pupils dilated, his lips plum red from where he’s been biting them. His eyes are filled with pure raw need. Oh God, those eyes. Sucking Jared in like a vortex, weakening his resolve until he can’t remember why there should not be a yes.
“Jesus,” he chokes out, voice rough like gravel. “You…” He grabs Jensen by the neck, kissing him hard before letting him abruptly go. “Just don’t get us arrested,” he growls then turns away before the grateful look in Jensen’s eyes makes him do something stupid.
Correction: something stupider.
He stumbles to the door, flails, grabs the doorframe with one hand, the other clutching at his chest. “Help,” he groans, as loud as he can. “Can’t… can’t breathe. God, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
People rush to his aid - to save him from doing any damage to priceless historical artifacts, he suspects, rather than in concern for his well-being - and the last thing he sees before he’s pulled to his feet and helped out the door is Jensen: lips parted on a sigh, wide eyes fixed on his goal, one trembling hand already reaching out.
When Jensen comes out twenty minutes later Jared is sitting on the pavement, a bottle of water in his hand. He stands up slowly, his butt aching a little from his rather dramatic fall down the stairs that he hopes gave Jensen at least a couple of extra minutes.
“How was it?” he asks, curious, when Jensen doesn’t say anything, just stands there, looking dazed. He sways and Jared steps closer in alarm, reaching out to palm Jensen’s face. “Jensen?”
Jensen blinks. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a shudder, his eyes finally finding Jared’s. “We need to buy a violin,” he chokes out. “Now.”
Jared barks out a relieved laugh. “You got the case open then?”
Jensen shakes his head. “Didn’t need to take it out. Just… feel it.” He closes his eyes, still swaying slightly.
“Indescribable. I can’t…” His eyes spring open, black wide pupils with barely a rind of green staring so intensely at Jared he can feel their fire licking his face. Jensen grabs Jared’s hand and presses it to his chest. “Feel it,” he whispers.
Mozart: Violin Concerto No. 5 in A major, K. 219, "Turkish": II. Adagio / Takako Nishizaki (violin), Stephen Gunzenhauser (conductor), Capella Istropolitana (10:56)
Jared closes his eyes. At first he feels nothing but the rapid beating of Jensen’s heart and the warmth of his skin through the thin t-shirt. Just as he’s about to smile and shake his head before pulling away with a polite disappointed shrug he suddenly feels it. Soft, vibrating. Timid. Then a little stronger, like a tickle penetrating his palm and swimming through his veins up his arm to his chest where it hits his heart like a wave hits the shore. Sweeping, stealing, then drawing back with gentle laps as it builds up another wave. That’s when he hears it. So low, so sweet, like a child weeping. He hitches his breath, squeezing his eyes tighter shut against the tears as other strings join in, pushing the music higher, higher, towards the sky. God, it’s… it’s so beautiful.
“Can you feel it?” he hears Jensen ask, his awed voice sounding far, far away.
Jared nods. “Is that… Is that him?” he whispers hoarsely. His throat hurts.
“I don’t know.” Jensen’s chest rises and falls under Jared’s palm, his heartbeat slower now but still somehow exuberant. “Maybe.” He laughs, a raspy, shaky sound. “Probably not. Does it matter?”
Jared blinks his eyes open. Jensen is gazing at him, stars glittering in the deep dark of his pupils. “It’s music from his time,” he says, amazed. “Still there after centuries. Have you ever heard anything more beautiful?”
“No,” Jared lies with a smile because admitting that nothing will ever be more beautiful to him than Jensen and his music will only make Jensen feel awkward.
They stand there silent, surrounded by oblivious tourists, listening until the last note of the violin floats up above
the rooftops where it’s swept away by the light summer breeze.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
Jensen sips his coffee, eyes squinting against the sun. A multitude of freckles is turning his whole face golden. Which is a nice change from the red color of his neck and arms, he notices with a grimace. He shifts, feeling the burnt skin stretch uncomfortably. He should buy sun protection. His skin might be healed by the time he goes to bed at night but it’s still uncomfortable while it lasts.
As if on cue cool fingers land on his neck, soothing his tender skin. “Europe smells different,” Jared says and takes a sip from his iced latte.
Jensen hums, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks.
“Maybe it’s the food,” Jared muses. “They eat some weird food, man.”
Jensen smiles. He didn’t hear Jared complaining when he was wolfing down the Wiener schnitzel the size of his head last night.
“This is nice,” Jared continues after a while. “A l’il break from all that culture,” he adds in an exaggerated hillbilly accent smeared thick with fake contempt.
Jensen opens his eyes and looks at him, amused. “We’re sitting in a park, right in front of a statue of Johann Strauss, listening to a string quartet play waltzes. You’re right. That’s downright plebeian.”
Jared blinks, his grin faltering a little. He looks like he’s about to say something then changes his mind and just smiles, eyes slightly wary.
Ah.
“There’s no music.” Jensen smiles when Jared looks away, uncomfortable. “Hey, I hear music all the time. I know it’s not always real, I’m just never sure when. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried,” Jared says, too quickly to be believed. “If anything I’m jealous. I’d love a little waltz with my coffee.”
Jensen laughs and throws his empty coffee cup in the trashcan by the bench. “C’mon, get up,” he says, jumping to his feet and offering Jared his hand.
“What, why?” Jared leaves his cup of melting ice cubes on the ground and lets Jensen pull him to his feet. “What are we doing?”
“Waltzing.”
“What?” Jared stares at him, face turning slightly pink. “I don’t know how to waltz! I need music. And dancing lessons. And… and… someone else’s feet!”
Jensen just grins at him. He takes Jared’s free hand, placing it on his shoulder, then puts his own free hand firmly on Jared’s back, right under his shoulder blade. “I’ll lead. Just close your eyes and listen.”
He grips Jared’s hand tight, closes his own eyes and concentrates. He can hear it now, that it’s not real. It’s like listening with only one ear or from the other side of a thin wall. But if he thinks about it, really hard, maybe he can…
It takes a heartbeat, two, three and then it’s like his ears pop and it’s there, vibrant, real, and oh so beautiful.
Strauss : Geschichten aus dem Wiener Wald (Walzer, op.325) / Vienna Herbert von Karajan & Berliner Philharmoniker (14:02)
“You hear it?” he whispers, smiling when Jared sucks in his breath in confirmation. “Okay. Now: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Dance.”
It’s awkward and stiff at first, Jared obviously too self-conscious about his two left feet, or possibly the people in the park who Jensen knows must be staring at them like they’re crazy, but then it’s like the music takes control of him and before they know it they’re dancing. The music twirls them around, tickles their stomachs, blows through their hair. Jared’s hand grips his tight, the warm of his palm on Jensen’s shoulder familiar and still so new and Jensen thinks, ‘This. We’ll dance like this at our wedding.’ He can picture it as easily as if it already happened.
He opens his eyes, grinning when he sees the astonished look on Jared’s face. “See? Nothing to it.”
“We’re dancing!” Jared laughs, slightly hysterical. “Jensen, we’re dancing in the middle of the park! We’re gonna get thrown out for public embarrassment.”
Jensen just smiles wider. “This is Vienna! You’re supposed to dance in the park.”
An elderly couple, silver in their hair but spring still in their steps, join them after a while. She giggles like a schoolgirl and her husband twirls her around, dancing to whatever music it is they’re hearing in their heads. Jensen looks up to catch Strauss giving them a golden wink before raising his bow to join in with the orchestra.
“This is the best vacation ever,” Jared says, gazing down at Jensen with such love it makes his heart soar.
He thinks of the kiss they shared over breakfast this morning. Of the old woman they stopped and listened to playing her saxophone on Kärntnerstrasse yesterday evening. Of the reindeer they saw giving birth at Schönbrunn’s Zoo, the glimpse of nature in stark contrast to the overflow of gold and garnish adorning the palace. Of the fairytale world of Hundertwasser that seemed so unreal he’d thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep on his feet. He thinks of the old cemeteries with their monuments of lives lived and lost. Of sculptures and art honoring a time no one remembers and a time no one will ever forget, however much they may wish to. Of the streets, the houses, the little shops and the grand churches. Of the people. And oh the music, the music.
Of Jared, here. In his arms, smiling at him like he’s been waiting for this his whole life, just like Jensen.
“Yeah,” he says. “The very best.”
Jared laughs and wraps an arm around Jensen’s waist, pulling him up against his chest then literally lifting him off his feet as he swings them around. Jensen should tell him that’s not how you waltz but really, he’s too busy being kissed breathless to care.
fin
[ETA. Sorry for the extra s, it should be Stadtpark. I'll fix it later.]
A/N: Most of this is based on my so far three trips to Vienna: with dad sometimes in the 80's, with friends in 1992 and with my later-to-be husband in 1997. That's why Jared's eating strawberrycake (erdbeerstück) and not the traditional Sachertorte, because that's the cake hubby fell in love with. We did see a reindeer give birth at Schönbrunn Zoo which was a lot more exciting than Schönbrunn itself. (When traveling Europe golden palaces get a tired after a while.Well, for me anyway.) The old lady with the saxophone I saw in 1991, unfortunately I can't find my old album where I had a picture of her. I did not go to mass at Stephansdom but I did visit the church and it is magnificent. I did not have any sex in Vienna either, unfortunately. We shared a room with two Aussies, one of them, very fat, slept in the upper bunkbed and I kept waiting for him to crash down on me since the mattress was almost in my face! We did eat Wiener schnitzel the size of our heads, two on each plate! I totally fell in love with Mozart's (maybe, possibly, perhaps not) violin at his birthplace in Salzburg (only a short train ride from Vienna. It's like Vienna's little sister. *g*) And we did see people waltz in Stadtpark but the orchestra playing that time was real. I think...
Whatever I got wrong I blame on bad memory and limited research material available. I got a few travelbooks but it's not the same as being there and it's been 14 years.
Pictures are either mine (Mozart's Geburtshaus, musicians in the street, Mozart's violin) or borrowed from Flickr, using Creative Commons search. (I'll add links when I get back, I'm literally running out the door.)
Extra music links:
1. Bach: Toccata & Fugue in D minor BW565 - Toccata / Ton Koopman (2:31)
2. Fauré: Ave verum Corpus - Op.65 No.1 / Members of the City of London Sinfonia with Nicola-Jane Kemp, Caroline Ashton, Stephen Varcoe, John Scott, Simon Standage, Cambridge Singers, Ruth Holton. Conducted by John Rutter (3:45)
3. Vivaldi: Dresden concerto for violin, strings & b.c. in G minor (RV 323) / Marco Fornaciari (violin), Accademia I Filarmonici conducted by Alberto Martini (6:59)
Zip file with all 8 music pieces.
Back to part 1
“Come on, Jen,” a soft voice whispers in his ear. “Wakey, wakey.”
Jensen flaps his hand weakly in the direction of the sound, his face pressing deeper into the pillow. He’s still half-asleep, clinging to a dream that he’s already forgetting, when something wet touches his ear and he yelps, eyes springing open as he jerks away.
Jared is grinning down at him, tongue mischievously peeking out at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning!” he says, obnoxiously cheerful.
Jensen blinks against the bright light streaming through the curtains and his eyes flicker to the alarm clock on the bedside table. Oh c’mon! He groans. “We’re on vacation,” he complains. “And it’s Sunday!”
“Don’t be a snoozer, loser,” Jared singsongs and gives him a quick kiss before jumping off the bed and heading for the bathroom. “Seize the day.”
Jensen mutters a curse under his breath but after a moment he gets out of bed anyway. He’s awake, the sun is shining and Jared is smiling at him. Really, that’s all he needs to make his day perfect.
He showers while Jared shaves, shaves while Jared gets dressed, and puts on some light slacks and a shirt while Jared flicks through their guide book.
“Hurry up if you wanna get breakfast,” Jared says without looking up, a small smirk quirking the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jensen grumbles in fake annoyance while his traitorous stomach gurgles happily at the prospect of hot coffee and some warm bread rolls.
Jared just grins.
The city is still half-asleep when they step outside half an hour later. The streets are shadowed, night-chilled air waiting patiently for the sun to reach above the rooftops to warm it up. Still, the coffee is hot in Jensen’s belly, Jared’s arm is warm around his shoulders and every now and then a stray ray of sunshine tip-toes over his freckles. All in all it promises to be a beautiful day.
As soon as they reach the sunny main street they are surrounded by people. Old people, young people, locals, tourists… They all seem to be heading in the same direction. Quite a few ghosts as well, Jensen notices, if their strange clothing is anything to go by. He considers asking Jared if he can see them but thinks better of it. Jared doesn’t really like ghosts that much.
Instead he just nods and smiles amicably at whoever looks his way and hopes at least most of them are real. A boy of about eight almost knocks into him as he runs past, white robes fluttering. Jensen is about to point him out to Jared when the boy fades, his shadow running on for a few more yards before melting into an enormous dark shade coloring the pavement. Jensen’s gaze follows it from the tip of the triangle to its base, then further and further until he’s raising his head, staring up at the stone building looming over them.
The bell sounds. One booming toll and another before it’s joined by its sisters, great and small, their music like rolling waves hitting the shore, one after another.
Jensen stops dead in his tracks, everything that’s happening around them suddenly making frightening sense.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Jared, no. I can’t.”
Jared turns to look at him, caught in his step by Jensen’s hand clinging to his. His eyes are warm, reassuring. His expression sad and hopeful at the same time. He smells like his mother’s cinnamon buns from so many years ago.
“It’s okay. No, Jensen, look at me.” He steps closer, cupping Jensen’s face in his big palm, not relenting until Jensen reluctantly meets his intense gaze. “It’s just a building.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No. I don’t belong in there. It would be wrong to-”
“Your grandmother was wrong,” Jared cuts him off, fire flashing briefly in his eyes. “Okay? If there is a God, he would be honored to have you in his house. I mean it.”
He presses his lips to Jensen’s, thumb stroking across his cheek. “I’m not going to force you,” he says softly, “but I really want you to come with me. I promise, you won’t regret it. Because this? This is not about religion.” He smiles, eyes bright with anticipation. “This is about music.”
Jensen swallows. He looks at big church then back at Jared, feeling his resolve falter at the hopeful look in Jared’s eyes. Finally he nods.
Jared smiles and kisses him again then grabs his hand and pulls him across Stephansplatz to join the steady stream of people heading for mass. Jensen breathes slowly, his stomach in knots. The bells are deafening in their calling, so loud they almost drown out Jared’s excited chatter.
“The loudest bell is either St. Leopold’s or St. Stephen’s. Maybe both. I think it depends on who is at the mass. Like if the bishop or someone else important is attending. The largest bell, Pummerin, only sounds on special holidays but these are pretty loud, right?”
Jensen nods, his skin peppering with goosebumps as the church’s shadow swallows them. Jared is right. He has no reason to be nervous. It’s just a building. A beautiful, old, magnificent building. Filled with crosses and relics and statues of saints and who knows how many holy people. A building raised in the glory of a God whom, according to his Nana, Jensen’s mere existence is an insult to.
Jared tightens his hold on Jensen’s hand as the flow of people brings them to the threshold. Jensen sucks in his breath, closes his eyes and lets the cool air of the church wrap itself around him.
Nothing happens.
“Wow. This is amazing,” he hears Jared say. Slowly he lets out his breath and opens his eyes.
Oh. Oh wow.
He’s never been in a church this big. This… grand. The main floor stretches before him like an ocean, the checkered tiles making him feel a little dizzy. Sunlight streams through the huge stained glass windows, bathing the interior in a rainbow of colors. The air smells of flowers and candles and old, old stone. Footsteps and prayers and hundreds of whispers echo among the walls.
“Voices,” he whispers.
“What?” Jared says, leaning down a little, his eyes still darting around, wide with awe.
“Voices. So many…” Jensen sucks in his breath and lets it out slowly. “So many people.”
Jared looks at him sharply. “These people or other people?”
“Both.” Jensen closes his eyes again, trying to find his balance. “I can feel… “ He shivers, the power of it shaking him to the core. “So much. So… overwhelming. Consuming. Oh.”
Jared’s hand tightens around his. “Are you saying… ? Jensen, can you feel… God?”
Jensen blinks his eyes open. “Faith. I can feel faith.” He looks up, catching the disappointed look Jared is trying to hide. “The faith of thousands,” he elaborates. “For centuries. Isn’t that God?”
Jared stares at him and for a moment Jensen thinks he might have messed up. But then Jared breathes out, his whole body relaxing. “Yeah,” he says and looks away, blinking rapidly.
Jensen politely averts his eyes, using the time to look around. The church is so huge he doesn’t know where to begin. The time and people it must have taken to build this. It’s too much to really comprehend.
Jared clears his throat. “It’s almost time. We should find a seat.”
Jensen nods and together they make their way through the crowd, finding seats as close to the awaiting orchestra as they can. Most of the tourists are still walking around, whispering amongst themselves and pointing out one wonder after another.
Jared starts rummaging through his backpack, pulling out a rumbled pamphlet he must have picked up some time when Jensen wasn’t paying attention. “Okay, first we’ll hear the big pipe organ, it should start any minute now. Apparently it’s amazing. Look, Toccata and Fugue by Bach. That should be an experience. Then… Oh, hey! Choir boys!” He gives Jensen a big smile. “I remember you told me once you love boys’ choirs.”
“I did?” Jensen says, a vague memory of Pie Jesu’s aching beauty fading into silence prickling uncomfortably at the back of his mind.
“Yeah.” Jared bites his lip, his smile faltering a little. “It was a long time ago.”
Jensen quickly musters up a grin, nodding like he suddenly remembers, and Jared grins back, relieved and happy. It’s a little like lying but it’s worth it to keep that sad look away from Jared’s eyes.
The truth is that with every memory Jared brings up from their short time together before Jensen went away, the better Jensen realizes how much he’s actually lost. He tries not to let it bother him but it’s hard to ignore the empty space in his heart where his memories should be. Memories of moments with Jared that were his, that he earned, but were stolen from him. It’s just so painfully unfair.
He swallows it down, shifts closer to Jared. These memories, the ones they’re making now, he’s not going to forget.
Jared attention is back on the pamphlet, eyes scanning the text in excitement. “Anyway, they’re singing Ave Maria by Giulio Caccini…”
“Vavilov,” Jensen corrects automatically. “It’s by Vavilov. Probably. It’s a little unclear.”
Jared looks at him. “Okay,” he says slowly. He frowns at the pamphlet then shrugs. “Guess they got it wrong.”
Jensen can’t help smiling a little. “Most people do. Caccini fits better,” he allows. “Classical music is supposed to be old, I guess, not written in the age of hippies and Led Zeppelin.”
“You just gave me a vision of Mozart in flared jeans, smoking weed while he rocked out to Stairway to Heaven,” Jared snorts and Jensen chokes out a startled laugh. The satisfied grin on Jared’s face is worth the disapproving glares thrown their way by the more pious attendants.
“Okay,” Jared says, rearranging his face into a more serious expression. “So a fake Caccini Ave Maria and then Ave Verum Corpus by Fauré. Finally there’s a string concerto by Vivaldi.” He folds the pamphlet, returning it to his backpack, then takes Jensen’s hand, thumb rubbing reassuringly over the thin skin of his wrist.
“This is gonna be great.” His smile is so hopeful that Jensen can’t do anything but nod and smile back. Even if his heart feels like it’s about to pound its way out of his chest.
“I…” he starts but that’s as far as he gets before the organ suddenly splinters the silence with the first trilling high notes of Bach’s masterpiece. Music floods the church in a rushing wave, flushing his thoughts right out of his head; leaving his mind swept clean and his heart wide open.
Bach: Toccata & Fugue in D minor BW565: Fugue / Ton Koopman (5:35)
(I know the Toccata comes first, I just like the Fugue better. *g*)
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
The powerful music vibrates the church so intensely it takes Jared a while to realize Jensen is trembling right along with it. He looks over to find Jensen sitting rigid, wide eyes gazing up at one of the large stained glass windows. His lips are parted on a silent ‘o’; his face is pale with two red dots staining his cheeks.
“Jensen?” Jared squeezes Jensen’s hand but gets no reaction. The music swells around them, beautiful, amazing, and Jared wavers, his body paralyzed with the wish to stay and listen while his brain is panicking, not knowing whether he needs to get Jensen out of there or not.
He squeezes Jensen’s hand again then moves his fingers to the wrist, feeling for a pulse. It’s strong. He lays a palm on Jensen’s chest. The breathing is steady. He waves his hand in front of Jensen’s face and he blinks, once, twice, before resuming his far away gaze.
Jared sits back, relieved. He reclaims Jensen’s hand and allows himself to relax and just enjoy the music. He’s heard it before - who hasn’t? - but this is a completely different experience from listening to something on his iPod or hearing it on the radio or TV. It’s like diving into an ocean of music; it swallows him whole, wraps him up, breaks into every molecule of his body. He can feel the bass in his feet, the high trills in his hair. The air in his lungs vibrates.
‘This is how you should experience Bach,’ he thinks. ‘Plugged right into your soul.’
As the last note fades into silence it’s like someone cut Jensen’s strings. Jared only just manages to catch him before he topples off the chair and to the floor. He wraps his arm around Jensen, stretching his fingers to reach under Jensen’s chin to lift his head, tilting it to the side until it’s resting securely upon Jared’s shoulder. Jensen hitches his breath, shudders, then breathes out and melts into Jared’s side, soft and pliant like a sleepy child.
“It’s okay,” Jared whispers, pulling him tighter. “I’m right here.”
He ignores the proceedings of the mass; the rituals and words he doesn’t understand apart from the occasional Amen, the rising and sitting according to rules he’s completely ignorant of. It’s not what they’re here for and he doesn’t really care if that’s breaking protocol or insulting in any way. He figures if there is a God, he’ll understand.
Caccini (Vavilov): Ave Maria / Libera. Solo: Tom Cully (4:20)
As the choir breathes the first words of the painfully beautiful Ave Maria, Jensen starts weeping.
It’s silent, his breathing so quiet Jared wouldn’t have noticed what was happening if it weren’t for the drops suddenly hitting his thigh. He looks over, alarmed, his heart clenching at the sight of tears dripping off Jensen’s nose. His lower lip is trembling and when Jared reaches across his lap for Jensen’s hand he grips Jared’s fingers so tight it almost hurts.
He wonders what it is Jensen is seeing, the way his gaze shifts around, eyes wide with wonder. The singing itself is enough to make Jared’s chest ache and with the added osmosis of Jensen’s emotions, everything is amped up to an almost unbearable level. The air is thick with it; it feels like syrup in his lungs.
It’s not sadness - the sun is still shining through the windows, Jared notices. Jensen just seems overwhelmed by everything the music is making him see and feel. No wonder he’s shaking like a leaf, it must take all his strength to keep his emotions from exploding all over the city. Jared pulls Jensen a little tighter, aware of but unconcerned by the few glances thrown their way.
Ave Verum Corpus is easier but not by much. Jared gets it now, why Jensen likes boys’ choirs so much. There’s something ethereal about those young voices, so clear and sweet in their innocence. Children of light, angelic in sound and appearance. They’re joined by members of the Domchor, adding strength and depth where needed. Jared holds on to Jensen’s hand and watches the multicolored sunrays cast a fairytale light over the whole display. Thinks, ‘If anything could make me believe in God again, it would be this.’
Beside him Jensen draws in one shaky breath after another.
Thankfully there’s a long intermission after that, of prayers and blessings and Holy Communion. They sit silent and slowly but surely Jensen starts to relax, his breathing evening out and the shivering subsiding. Jared pretends not to notice as Jensen ducks his head to discreetly wipe at his eyes with his fingers, and simply offers Jensen a smile when he looks over, looking embarrassed and exhausted, but above all happy. By the time the mass comes to an end with a cheerful concerto , Jensen is calm, his eyes bright with wonder.
They leave exploring the church until later, waiting until the rows have mostly emptied before standing up and walking out into the bright sunny day.
Jensen comes to a sudden halt in the middle of Stephansplatz. He closes his eyes, face raised to the sun, and draws in a deep breath before letting it out with a soft sigh. When he turns to Jared he looks calmer than Jared ever remembers seeing him.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “That was… Thank you.”
“Just thought it was something you’d enjoy,” Jared says easily and kisses him, right there in front of God and everyone.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
“This feels weird. Does this feel weird to you?”
“Hm?” Jensen glances over his shoulder but his eyes are too busy looking around as they head up the narrow stairs to really make it all the way.
“Just this. Being here,” Jared says, using his eyes to enjoy the view of Jensen’s ass from this angle. “In this house. It just feels… weird. Like we’re invading his privacy. I mean, we’re going to the room where he was born. It’s like… like we’re gonna sneak a peek at his mom’s vagina!”
Jensen stops, so abruptly Jared almost bangs into him, and turns around, his face twitching with amusement. “What?”
“Okay, not really but, you know, envisioning her all… spread out with little Wolfgang’s head being squeezed out between her legs.” Jared grimaces. “Right?”
“Well, I am now,” Jensen says, making a face before continuing up the stairs. “And you say my brain is weird!”
“So you’re not seeing any, like ghosts?” Jared asks, just to be sure. “Baby ghosts? Half-naked women ghosts having baby ghosts?”
Jensen glances at him as he reaches the top. “Uhm, no?” He looks around, frowning. “I can feel them though. Not baby ghosts. But, you know, people.”
“Baby Mozart?” Jared asks hopeful.
“I can’t tell. Possibly. There are children.” He frowns, like he’s listening then shakes his head. “I don’t know. I can hear music. Not from the speakers,” he clarifies as Jared is about to point that out. “Different. It’s…” He stops and turns his head, surprised. “Oh.”
And then he’s off, disappearing between groups of tourists before Jared has any idea what is happening. He hurries after him, nodding and smiling excuses left and right as he makes his way through, finally finding Jensen in the much dreaded birth room, staring at a glass case.
“Oh,” he’s saying, over and over again. “Oh. Oh Jared, look.” He reaches out, eyes wide with wonder, like a child at Christmas about to open its first present.
“Jensen,” Jared hisses, half-amused, half-panicking. “No.”
Jensen turns his head. His eyes are dark, pleading. “I just…” he whispers, chest heaving. “I need…”
“No,” he repeats, more firmly. “Come on. Let’s just go.”
“But…” Jensen hitches his breath. Licks his lips. “I, I… Please,” he whimpers.
Jared swallows. Jensen’s hands are twitching. There’s sweat running down from his temple. His cheeks are flushed, his pupils dilated, his lips plum red from where he’s been biting them. His eyes are filled with pure raw need. Oh God, those eyes. Sucking Jared in like a vortex, weakening his resolve until he can’t remember why there should not be a yes.
“Jesus,” he chokes out, voice rough like gravel. “You…” He grabs Jensen by the neck, kissing him hard before letting him abruptly go. “Just don’t get us arrested,” he growls then turns away before the grateful look in Jensen’s eyes makes him do something stupid.
Correction: something stupider.
He stumbles to the door, flails, grabs the doorframe with one hand, the other clutching at his chest. “Help,” he groans, as loud as he can. “Can’t… can’t breathe. God, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
People rush to his aid - to save him from doing any damage to priceless historical artifacts, he suspects, rather than in concern for his well-being - and the last thing he sees before he’s pulled to his feet and helped out the door is Jensen: lips parted on a sigh, wide eyes fixed on his goal, one trembling hand already reaching out.
When Jensen comes out twenty minutes later Jared is sitting on the pavement, a bottle of water in his hand. He stands up slowly, his butt aching a little from his rather dramatic fall down the stairs that he hopes gave Jensen at least a couple of extra minutes.
“How was it?” he asks, curious, when Jensen doesn’t say anything, just stands there, looking dazed. He sways and Jared steps closer in alarm, reaching out to palm Jensen’s face. “Jensen?”
Jensen blinks. He takes a deep breath and lets it out with a shudder, his eyes finally finding Jared’s. “We need to buy a violin,” he chokes out. “Now.”
Jared barks out a relieved laugh. “You got the case open then?”
Jensen shakes his head. “Didn’t need to take it out. Just… feel it.” He closes his eyes, still swaying slightly.
“Indescribable. I can’t…” His eyes spring open, black wide pupils with barely a rind of green staring so intensely at Jared he can feel their fire licking his face. Jensen grabs Jared’s hand and presses it to his chest. “Feel it,” he whispers.
Mozart: Violin Concerto No. 5 in A major, K. 219, "Turkish": II. Adagio / Takako Nishizaki (violin), Stephen Gunzenhauser (conductor), Capella Istropolitana (10:56)
Jared closes his eyes. At first he feels nothing but the rapid beating of Jensen’s heart and the warmth of his skin through the thin t-shirt. Just as he’s about to smile and shake his head before pulling away with a polite disappointed shrug he suddenly feels it. Soft, vibrating. Timid. Then a little stronger, like a tickle penetrating his palm and swimming through his veins up his arm to his chest where it hits his heart like a wave hits the shore. Sweeping, stealing, then drawing back with gentle laps as it builds up another wave. That’s when he hears it. So low, so sweet, like a child weeping. He hitches his breath, squeezing his eyes tighter shut against the tears as other strings join in, pushing the music higher, higher, towards the sky. God, it’s… it’s so beautiful.
“Can you feel it?” he hears Jensen ask, his awed voice sounding far, far away.
Jared nods. “Is that… Is that him?” he whispers hoarsely. His throat hurts.
“I don’t know.” Jensen’s chest rises and falls under Jared’s palm, his heartbeat slower now but still somehow exuberant. “Maybe.” He laughs, a raspy, shaky sound. “Probably not. Does it matter?”
Jared blinks his eyes open. Jensen is gazing at him, stars glittering in the deep dark of his pupils. “It’s music from his time,” he says, amazed. “Still there after centuries. Have you ever heard anything more beautiful?”
“No,” Jared lies with a smile because admitting that nothing will ever be more beautiful to him than Jensen and his music will only make Jensen feel awkward.
They stand there silent, surrounded by oblivious tourists, listening until the last note of the violin floats up above
the rooftops where it’s swept away by the light summer breeze.
~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~
Jensen sips his coffee, eyes squinting against the sun. A multitude of freckles is turning his whole face golden. Which is a nice change from the red color of his neck and arms, he notices with a grimace. He shifts, feeling the burnt skin stretch uncomfortably. He should buy sun protection. His skin might be healed by the time he goes to bed at night but it’s still uncomfortable while it lasts.
As if on cue cool fingers land on his neck, soothing his tender skin. “Europe smells different,” Jared says and takes a sip from his iced latte.
Jensen hums, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks.
“Maybe it’s the food,” Jared muses. “They eat some weird food, man.”
Jensen smiles. He didn’t hear Jared complaining when he was wolfing down the Wiener schnitzel the size of his head last night.
“This is nice,” Jared continues after a while. “A l’il break from all that culture,” he adds in an exaggerated hillbilly accent smeared thick with fake contempt.
Jensen opens his eyes and looks at him, amused. “We’re sitting in a park, right in front of a statue of Johann Strauss, listening to a string quartet play waltzes. You’re right. That’s downright plebeian.”
Jared blinks, his grin faltering a little. He looks like he’s about to say something then changes his mind and just smiles, eyes slightly wary.
Ah.
“There’s no music.” Jensen smiles when Jared looks away, uncomfortable. “Hey, I hear music all the time. I know it’s not always real, I’m just never sure when. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried,” Jared says, too quickly to be believed. “If anything I’m jealous. I’d love a little waltz with my coffee.”
Jensen laughs and throws his empty coffee cup in the trashcan by the bench. “C’mon, get up,” he says, jumping to his feet and offering Jared his hand.
“What, why?” Jared leaves his cup of melting ice cubes on the ground and lets Jensen pull him to his feet. “What are we doing?”
“Waltzing.”
“What?” Jared stares at him, face turning slightly pink. “I don’t know how to waltz! I need music. And dancing lessons. And… and… someone else’s feet!”
Jensen just grins at him. He takes Jared’s free hand, placing it on his shoulder, then puts his own free hand firmly on Jared’s back, right under his shoulder blade. “I’ll lead. Just close your eyes and listen.”
He grips Jared’s hand tight, closes his own eyes and concentrates. He can hear it now, that it’s not real. It’s like listening with only one ear or from the other side of a thin wall. But if he thinks about it, really hard, maybe he can…
It takes a heartbeat, two, three and then it’s like his ears pop and it’s there, vibrant, real, and oh so beautiful.
Strauss : Geschichten aus dem Wiener Wald (Walzer, op.325) / Vienna Herbert von Karajan & Berliner Philharmoniker (14:02)
“You hear it?” he whispers, smiling when Jared sucks in his breath in confirmation. “Okay. Now: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Dance.”
It’s awkward and stiff at first, Jared obviously too self-conscious about his two left feet, or possibly the people in the park who Jensen knows must be staring at them like they’re crazy, but then it’s like the music takes control of him and before they know it they’re dancing. The music twirls them around, tickles their stomachs, blows through their hair. Jared’s hand grips his tight, the warm of his palm on Jensen’s shoulder familiar and still so new and Jensen thinks, ‘This. We’ll dance like this at our wedding.’ He can picture it as easily as if it already happened.
He opens his eyes, grinning when he sees the astonished look on Jared’s face. “See? Nothing to it.”
“We’re dancing!” Jared laughs, slightly hysterical. “Jensen, we’re dancing in the middle of the park! We’re gonna get thrown out for public embarrassment.”
Jensen just smiles wider. “This is Vienna! You’re supposed to dance in the park.”
An elderly couple, silver in their hair but spring still in their steps, join them after a while. She giggles like a schoolgirl and her husband twirls her around, dancing to whatever music it is they’re hearing in their heads. Jensen looks up to catch Strauss giving them a golden wink before raising his bow to join in with the orchestra.
“This is the best vacation ever,” Jared says, gazing down at Jensen with such love it makes his heart soar.
He thinks of the kiss they shared over breakfast this morning. Of the old woman they stopped and listened to playing her saxophone on Kärntnerstrasse yesterday evening. Of the reindeer they saw giving birth at Schönbrunn’s Zoo, the glimpse of nature in stark contrast to the overflow of gold and garnish adorning the palace. Of the fairytale world of Hundertwasser that seemed so unreal he’d thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep on his feet. He thinks of the old cemeteries with their monuments of lives lived and lost. Of sculptures and art honoring a time no one remembers and a time no one will ever forget, however much they may wish to. Of the streets, the houses, the little shops and the grand churches. Of the people. And oh the music, the music.
Of Jared, here. In his arms, smiling at him like he’s been waiting for this his whole life, just like Jensen.
“Yeah,” he says. “The very best.”
Jared laughs and wraps an arm around Jensen’s waist, pulling him up against his chest then literally lifting him off his feet as he swings them around. Jensen should tell him that’s not how you waltz but really, he’s too busy being kissed breathless to care.
fin
[ETA. Sorry for the extra s, it should be Stadtpark. I'll fix it later.]
A/N: Most of this is based on my so far three trips to Vienna: with dad sometimes in the 80's, with friends in 1992 and with my later-to-be husband in 1997. That's why Jared's eating strawberrycake (erdbeerstück) and not the traditional Sachertorte, because that's the cake hubby fell in love with. We did see a reindeer give birth at Schönbrunn Zoo which was a lot more exciting than Schönbrunn itself. (When traveling Europe golden palaces get a tired after a while.Well, for me anyway.) The old lady with the saxophone I saw in 1991, unfortunately I can't find my old album where I had a picture of her. I did not go to mass at Stephansdom but I did visit the church and it is magnificent. I did not have any sex in Vienna either, unfortunately. We shared a room with two Aussies, one of them, very fat, slept in the upper bunkbed and I kept waiting for him to crash down on me since the mattress was almost in my face! We did eat Wiener schnitzel the size of our heads, two on each plate! I totally fell in love with Mozart's (maybe, possibly, perhaps not) violin at his birthplace in Salzburg (only a short train ride from Vienna. It's like Vienna's little sister. *g*) And we did see people waltz in Stadtpark but the orchestra playing that time was real. I think...
Whatever I got wrong I blame on bad memory and limited research material available. I got a few travelbooks but it's not the same as being there and it's been 14 years.
Pictures are either mine (Mozart's Geburtshaus, musicians in the street, Mozart's violin) or borrowed from Flickr, using Creative Commons search. (I'll add links when I get back, I'm literally running out the door.)
Extra music links:
1. Bach: Toccata & Fugue in D minor BW565 - Toccata / Ton Koopman (2:31)
2. Fauré: Ave verum Corpus - Op.65 No.1 / Members of the City of London Sinfonia with Nicola-Jane Kemp, Caroline Ashton, Stephen Varcoe, John Scott, Simon Standage, Cambridge Singers, Ruth Holton. Conducted by John Rutter (3:45)
3. Vivaldi: Dresden concerto for violin, strings & b.c. in G minor (RV 323) / Marco Fornaciari (violin), Accademia I Filarmonici conducted by Alberto Martini (6:59)
Zip file with all 8 music pieces.