Chapter Text
Salieri’s prime directive at this event was to spot and possibly engage with Wolfgang Mozart. When he heard that he was to be coming to Vienna, he could not wait for the day on which it would occur. At last, he would see in person that which he held in high regard, even idolizing at times.
He wanted to see if he could figure out who he was before his performance, truly wondering if his talent was spottable in a physical sense. He was curious as to what the man looked like, sounded like. Would his likeness, his voice exude talent? Would he exude brilliance? He observed almost every man he passed very closely, but found he could make no assumptions. He passed an hour or so in this way, quickly growing tired of the feat. He solemnly concluded that perhaps the man hadn't yet arrived or that there was, in fact, no physical manifestation of that which he sought.
And so, it was a rather welcome distraction from his nerves when he saw the trays of deserts and sweets carried into the next room. He did a double take and knew he could not resist the allure.
Surely, no one would miss just a couple small food items.
Once all servants had left the room, he quietly let himself in.
He perused the tables, first seeing regular foodstuffs, before spying everything from candied fruits to chocolate to cakes and more upon another table. His gaze traced the myriad before him until it fell upon a dome of ball-shaped chocolates. With a hum, he walked over to it and picked one up.
“That’s a good choice.”
Salieri jerked back in surprise, the piece of chocolate still in his hand. He turned around and was met with the sight of a man, shorter than himself and at least a couple of years younger. The man’s face was not unkind, smiling softly at him from a few paces away.
He must have come in very quietly. He had even closed the door behind him.
Salieri was speechless, embarrassed at having been caught. He struggled to decide on a reply.
The man seemed to catch on to this and smiled wider. “Please, don’t let me stop you. I came in here myself for the same thing. I’d be a rather horrid hypocrite if I made to do anything.”
Then came another surprise in the form of a laugh. It was loud, higher in pitch than his speaking voice, and was somewhat obnoxious in the moment. Barely having gained his wits back by that point, it startled a huffed laugh out of Salieri.
“Please, continue,” the man insisted. He nodded to the chocolate still in Salieri’s hand.
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
Salieri, as he finally placed the chocolate in his mouth, mentally scolded himself for his awkward response. This was quickly overwritten with the taste of the sweet he had eaten, however, and the tension left his shoulders as he appraised it.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” the man asked. “I tried one of those the other day, though they were made by a local place as opposed to by royal chefs.”
Salieri nodded. “It’s delicious.”
There was a quiet moment as the man moved over to the table and picked up a candied strawberry. Salieri's gaze followed him, intrigued. With a hum of delight, the man popped it into his mouth. Then he turned to Salieri once more, who had finally looked away, and was in the process of eating another chocolate.
“Do you sneak off from events for treats often?”
Clearing his throat and covering his mouth with a hand, Salieri responded, “Oh, no. No, no, I’m afraid this was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Upon swallowing, he lowered his hand. “I hope you do not find me immature. Or indecent.”
The man smiled at him again—a sight Salieri found himself suddenly drawn to—and shook his head. “As someone who is admittedly both of those things, I do not.”
“You are immature and indecent?” Salieri raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes.”
When no explanation came, he gestured toward the man, who had made his way closer. “How so?” He put a hand on his chest. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
The man raised an eyebrow in return, seemingly pleased with the question. He moved even closer, and once right in front of Salieri, he placed a hand on his arm. He looked up at him coyly through his eyelashes, and Salieri realized with a jolt that it stirred a feeling in his chest. He felt his cheeks grow warm. It was a dangerous feeling, familiar in the most unprincipled way, and yet he could not place it right away.
Who was this man?
Much to his confusion, his heart began to beat to a slightly faster tune.
“Ssa ym ssik,” the man said, bringing him out of his reverie.
Salieri frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ssa ym ssik,” the man repeated.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—“
The man’s hand slowly--somewhat sensually--glided down Salieri’s arm to find his hand. “Backwards, stupid. Attempt the phrase backwards. Have you not played this game before?”
Salieri sputtered in response, unprepared for both the insult and the level of attention now laid upon him.
“Ssa ym ssik,” the man repeated.
“Ssa… ym ssik,” he echoed.
The man nodded, lifting Salieri’s hand a little as he waited.
He thought for a moment, and then slowly began to do what was asked of him.
“Ssik… Kiss…”
“Mhm.”
“Kiss… my?”
“Yes.” He lifted Salieri’s hand up to his face.
He noticed that his free hand began to tremble. “Oh, this is absurd—“
The man placed a kiss upon his knuckles, and Salieri’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t find the will to be outraged despite feeling that he should. This was another man placing a tender kiss upon his knuckles with no reason to do so. It felt intimate, personal between the two of them. The room was silent around them, and Salieri registered just how close they were standing in the wide room. When the man looked back up at him, the look on his face was dreadfully alluring.
What had he gotten himself into?
“Complete it. You asked how, and this is a demonstration. Please.” His gaze was soft, yet pointed.
After a long moment, in which he was overly aware of every point where their hands touched, Salieri conceded with a huff. “Kiss my… Kiss my ass—?”
His eyes widened, and in his surprise, he yanked his hand free of the man’s grip. The man laughed in the same manner as before, and Salieri strangely found himself laughing as well before he caught himself. He quickly schooled his own features, clearing his throat and taking a step back.
“I think you demonstrated that well enough.” He smoothed his sleeves anxiously.
He tried to be stern, but just barely missed the mark. He wanted to be disgusted and yet found the feeling did not anchor within him. His mind told him to be wary of the situation and the feelings it aroused. His heart did not heed the call.
The man most definitely noticed the lack of assuredness.
“Want to try another?”
Salieri quickly began to decline the offer, growing uncomfortable due to the unusual feelings conjured by the interaction. “No, no, I think—“
“Oh, come on, surely you can—“
“Please, I’d rather—“
Then, an abrupt stop in the form of a hand flying up to rest on his chest.
“Shh,” the man said forcefully.
“What—“
“My music.”
His music?
Salieri turned his head and listened, hearing that the music had finally begun in the other room. What he didn’t understand was the man’s claim of ownership. The only one he knew of to be presenting music as such was—
Mozart.
Wolfgang. Amadeus. Mozart.
Certainly not.
"They started without me," the man continued.
This instead certainly seemed to solidify the man's identity.
Salieri watched in shock as the man—Mozart, it would seem—straightened his outfit. He swiped a hand along his mouth to rid it of any possible crumbs or otherwise, and then turned to Salieri.
“Will I see you again?”
Salieri couldn’t speak, instead deciding to just nod.
Mozart smiled. “Wonderful.”
And with that, he dashed out of the room.
A shell-shocked Antonio Salieri was left alone, and after several moments of contemplation, he followed the sounds of the music. He was met with the sight of the man taking over as conductor, falling into the music with such ease that it would be hard to deny that he composed it.
Salieri scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath.
He had just met Wolfgang Mozart.
And he was immature and indecent by his own admission.
And he conjured such feelings within Salieri that he could not have expected. He found himself both glad the interaction was over and yearning for the connection to return. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to see him again or to avoid him forever.
Finding that he could no longer keep ruminating on the interaction if he wanted to get home sane once the event ended, he pushed it down and away, instead letting the music wash over him.
It was… heavenly.
He was not sure how it was the man he had just met who had composed such beauty, but when he saw a flash of Mozart’s smile in his mind, he found that maybe it wasn’t so hard to believe.