Archive of Our Own

Nine hours. Nine hours being stuck in a metal tube filled with people and scents and thoughts and there was no breeze to cool his mind, no grass to sink his fingers into, no sleep, he couldn’t sleep because sleeping means dreaming and he’s so tired, oh God so tired. His fingers feel numb, hot, itchy. Ebony and ivory, or just plastic, they’re all plastic now but the body is wood and the tangents and wires, vibrating, vibrating… God, he needs. Needs it now because everything is too bright and loud and he’s so tired, so tired.

“Hang in there. Just a little further.”

Someone jostles Jensen’s shoulder and he clutches Jared’s hand tighter, clinging to it like a baby to its mother’s heartbeat. His ears are filled with words he doesn’t understand, everything smells different and the air is vibrating with… Europe. Centuries of history, of tragedy and triumph, of generations lost and cultures preserved. Of art and literature and music, music, music.

He breathes in deep and lets it out with a shudder, eyes squeezed shut against the sea of people. All those eyes watching him, those voices talking, those thoughts swirling around in a typhoon of languages. He can’t, he can’t...

“Jensen, you with me?” he hears Jared say, far, far away, the scent of saffron barely detectable over the chaos of smells surrounding him.

Jensen nods, squeezing Jared’s hand even tighter. He’s swaying, moving with the waves of a thousand sensations as they crash into him, trying to break through the barrier.

“I need to get our bags. Sit.”

He’s pushed down, at the last moment swinging the backpack off his shoulder before he squishes Minna underneath him. He can feel her through the thin material, squirming, claws poking through to scratch at his thighs, her angry meows muffled by the white noise surrounding them.

“Sshh,” he sooths, voice shaking. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I’ll be right over there, it will only take a few minutes,” Jared says quietly. “Jensen? You gonna be all right?”

He nods but when Jared’s fingers start to slip away Jensen grabs them tighter on instinct, unable to let go. Jared stops. His grip shifts, secure, reassuring. He brings Jensen’s hand up, kissing the knuckles then turns his hand and presses his lips to the wrist.

Jensen breathes out. “Sorry. Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“It’s all right,” Jared says gently. “But I really have to go get our bags or we’ll never get out of here.” There’s a pause and then, “Hey, would you mind keeping my friend company while I go fetch our bags? Just hold his hand so he knows he’s not alone?”

Jensen flinches. What? The thought of a stranger touching him, restraining him even, is terrifying. Not to mention the humiliation of being handed over like a helpless child. “Jared, no. I–”

Short slender fingers come to rest upon his hand, gripping his thumb tightly. “I’ll take care of you,” a bright voice says in a clear British accent. “What’s your name? My name’s Isabel. I’m six.”

Jensen relaxes instantly. He doesn’t even hitch his breath when Jared moves away, patting Jensen’s knee reassuringly as the small hand replaces Jared’s gigantic one.

“Jensen,” Jensen says then adds, “I’m twenty-nine.” It seems only polite.

“Are you blind?” He feels the air move as she waves her free arm in front of his face and the darkness behind his eyes swirls with bright orange. Her mother shushes her and tells her she’s being rude but Jensen just smiles and shakes his head.

“No. I just don’t like crowds. They make me nervous.”

“I’ll protect you,” she says boldly. “I’m really strong and brave. Just like my mummy. She’s a policewoman.” A woman, her mother, laughs, sounding a little embarrassed, but she doesn’t interfere. “What do you do, mister Jensen?”

“I’m a piano teacher.” The heat from her small sticky hand spreads through his body like a wave of calmness, easing the pressure of his chest and making it a lot easier to breathe. “Do you like music?”

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

Jared’s only gone for a few minutes but by the time he returns there’s a small group of people gathered where he left Jensen. Shit. He pushes his way through the crowd in panic. He never should have left Jensen alone. What of he’s zoned out or even worse, fallen asleep? How the hell are they going to explain an enchanted forest in the middle of a fucking airport?

“And he wasn’t big like you, he was just five,” he hears Jensen say as he gets closer. “When he played they had to lift him up on the seat and his feet would dangle, like this.”

Jensen is sitting on the bench, swinging his legs for the now giggling girl. He’s smiling and gesturing with his hands as he talks. He seems completely unaware of the steadily growing audience. Jared can’t help smiling. As shy as Jensen can be, children have a way of bringing him out of his shell, of making him feel interesting instead of just weird and different.

“He played an instrument called harpsichord,” Jensen continues, his voice hoarse, the words coming slowly, sluggishly. “Which is like a piano but instead of hitting the strings with hammers, it plucks them.”

Jared holds his breath when Jensen mimics plucking strings with his fingers, but when no notes pop out of thin air he lets it out again. Sometimes he forgets how well disciplined Jensen is after all those years of teaching. Still, Jared knows how much it takes out on Jensen, keeping his magic in check, and however much he’s enjoying the attention he looks ready to fall over any second.

“Hey,” Jared says and lays a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “You ready to go?”

Jensen looks up at him, pupils blown wide in forest green eyes. He’s pale, sweaty, and clearly exhausted but the smile is genuine and happy.

“Jared.” He leans his head against Jared’s arm, his eyelids drooping. “We’re talking Mozart,” he murmurs, words coming out a little slurred. “I love Mozart.”

Jared’s chest warms with a sudden rush of affection. ‘And I love you,’ he thinks. ‘God, do I love you.’

“I know,” he says softly, rescuing Jensen’s backpack where it’s sliding onto the floor before hauling Jensen to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to the hotel.”

Jensen plasters himself to Jared’s side, like a piece of a puzzle slotting into place, his eyes falling closed and his lips parting on a relieved sigh. If it wasn’t for Jared’s arm around his waist he’d be sliding to the floor in a heap of bones and muscles.

“Is he all right?” the girl’s mother asks, looking slightly alarmed.

Jared nods, offering her a grateful smile. “Just tired. Narcolepsy,” he adds awkwardly and feels Jensen hiccup with silent laughter. “Thanks for looking after him,” Jared tells the clearly disappointed girl. “I hope you have a nice trip.”

She nods solemnly and waves as Jared turns them away. “Bye, mister Jensen.”

Jensen hums, head nodding just a little. The backpack starts sliding off Jared’s shoulder and he hoists it up higher which makes him almost lose his grip on Jensen. He swears he can feel Minna squirming inside the bag, as ridiculous as that sounds.

“Let me help you with that, sir,” a voice says and he turns his head to find a stewardess at his side. She slides the backpack off his shoulder and puts it on top of the cart carrying their bags. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” she adds with a smile. “Why don’t you let me push this for you?”

Jared tightens his grip on Jensen, he’s practically carrying him by this point. Jensen seems to be falling asleep on his feet, or possibly just slipping away, Jared isn’t sure.

“Thank you. He’s a little out of it. We’ve been up since five this morning,” he starts then notices the airline logo on her uniform. “Guess you know all about that.” He laughs, embarrassed.

“Row twenty-six, right?” she asks, smiling when he looks at her startled. “I was stuck serving business class but the girls wouldn’t shut up about you two. Apparently you’re the ‘cutest couple ever’.”

Jared blushes deep red. It still unnerves him a little, being out in the open about their relationship. Not because he’s uncomfortable with it but because he knows too many other people are. And he would hate to bring that kind of attention to Jensen. He might be protected against physical harm but that doesn’t mean he can’t be hurt.

“That’s Jensen. He gets cuddly when he’s nervous,” Jared tells her.

She laughs. “Well, if I had such a big, handsome boyfriend I’d be cuddly, too,” she teases and Jensen hums in agreement into Jared’s neck, making him blush even further.

“You should see him when he’s horny,” he blurts out without thinking and spends the taxi ride to the hotel wondering if his cheeks will ever regain their normal color.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

“I’ve never had sex in a hotel room,” a voice whispers into Jared’s ear, rousing him from deep sleep.

“Wha’?” he mumbles and blinks his eyes half-open, groggily taking in the unfamiliar room, the sound of foreign voices outside the open window, the warmth of Jensen’s breath on his cheek.

“Sex in a hotel room.” Jensen kisses him on the slope on his neck. “We should do that.” The voice is heated, the kisses teasing. A hand slides up Jared’s thigh under the sheet.

Jared squirms, a lazy smile widening across his face as he spreads his legs, just a little. “Of all the ‘never’ places available you pick hotel room?” he teases. “How about Europe? You’ve never had sex in Europe.”

Jensen’s hand stops for a moment before sliding up to grab one of Jared’s buttcheeks “I’ve never had sex in a hotel room,” he says firmly and the possessive tone in his voice makes Jared shiver just a little.

Jared would tell Jensen that nothing about their sex life, or even life in general, reminds him of what he had with Sandy but he’s not sure acknowledging that Jensen has a problem with it would do either of them any good. So instead he rolls over on his back and pulls Jensen down on top of him.

“I plan on having sex with you in far more exciting places than just this room,” he promises, smiling when Jensen’s cheek flush. “Dude, we’re in Europe. We’re obligated to have crazy European sex.”

Jensen laughs. “I never should have let you watch Eurotrip,” he sighs dramatically.

“Oh, but this is definitely where I parked my car,” Jared quotes with a leer as he threads his fingers into Jensen’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

 

 

“We should… we should close the window,” Jensen gasps, fingers digging into Jared’s shoulders. His whole body is flushed, his chest heaving, his back arching just a little higher with every thrust. “I’m gonna… Oh god. Jared! We need to… Jared!”

“In a minute,” Jared groans. “I can’t… Jesus. Yes. So good. You’re so…”

“Jared! Window, we need to… Ungh!”

 

 

“Well, at least we didn’t break anything,” Jared says lamely. He grunts when Jensen hits him in the chest, face red with embarrassment. “C’mon. I bet no one even noticed.”

Through the open window they hear loud voices talking. Rough, breathless, utterly confused.

The word orgasm sounds very similar in German, Jared notes as he fights off the pillow Jensen is trying to suffocate him with.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

It’s always a little disconcerting waking up in a strange place he can’t remember how he got to.

The girl in the lobby offers him a smile as they pass and says she hopes he’s feeling better. He smiles back and says, ‘Thank you, I’m good,” and hopes she doesn’t notice the bewildered look in his eyes. The doorman cheerfully tells him in a heavily accented voice that he looks ‘much healthier now, mein herr’ and Jensen nods and smiles and grips Jared’s hand tighter.

Jensen doesn’t remember either of them. In fact, he has no recollection of anything after they left the airport.

“Was I that bad?” he asks Jared in a low voice.

“Depends on your definition of ‘bad’,” Jared teases but he sobers up quickly when Jensen looks away, mortified. “I’m kidding. You were just very pale and didn’t say much and they got a bit worried. I told them you had to be heavily sedated because you’re so scared of flying.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grins. “You more than made up for it this morning.”

Jensen can’t help smiling even if he’s blushing like a schoolgirl. “Next time we’re closing the window before we start.”

“You’re no fun,” Jared sighs dramatically. “So, where first?”

Jensen licks his lips. “Can we just… Is there a park somewhere close by?”

Jared looks at him, amusement quickly making way for concern. “Yeah, sure. Let me check.” He pulls the map out of his jacket pocket, unfolding and turning it this way and that, trying to figure out where they are. “Here. This one is pretty close. I think.” He frowns. “It’s all in meters.” He folds the map and puts his arm around Jensen’s shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. “You good to walk?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just… edgy.”

Jared nods. “Okay. This way.”

They head down the street and then turn right. Jensen has no idea where they’re going but Jared usually has a pretty good sense of direction and Jensen is more than willing to put himself in Jared’s capable hands. It leaves him free to let his eyes and mind wander, trying to take in all the wonders around them.

Everything is so different here from back home. Not just the architecture and the language but everything. It’s so… old. Old memories, old history dating back to before it was written. Grey shadows and warm feelings. He can taste salt and dust and gunpowder, can smell fear and love, hope and despair. Every time he closes his eyes he feels like he’s falling, dropping into an abyss of sensations, draining, weakening him. Confusing the hell out of him.

He needs to get his defenses back up. Just needs to relax and find his balance. A little dirt, some flowers and trees and he’ll be fine. He can cope without his piano, he’s not a junkie. Really.

His fingers twitch and he shoves his hands in his pockets, breathing noisily through his nose. Where is this damn park?

At the first sight of trees he starts breathing more easily. The moment his feet touch the soft ground his shoulders relax. He slips out from under Jared’s arm, quickly kicking off his shoes and tugging at his socks before stepping out on the grass. Oh God, this feels good.

“Uhm, I’m not sure you’re allowed to walk on the… Okay, then.” Jared huffs out an awkward laugh.

Jensen closes his eyes and walks across the lawn, the soft grass caressing his ankles, the ground a little lumpy under his feet. He draws in a deep breath, smelling at least twenty different kinds of flowers and herbs. He extends his arms and his fingers touch bark, rough and cool. Oh! He turns towards the tree, running his fingers over the bark before giving in and hugging the trunk. Grins when an indignant voice snaps at him to keep his hands to himself, ‘The nerve! This is a public park! Pervert!’ He hears someone laugh above him, like pearls dancing on glass, and he looks up.

“Hello there. Not as grumpy as your American cousins, are you?” he says with a grin

The laughter cuts off and then a pinecone is hurled down, hitting him right in the forehead. Ow. When he looks back up there’s a tiny fairy peeking through the leaves, sparkling eyes glaring at him.

“Sorry,” he says, waving at it. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” An angry flutter of wings is all the answer he gets.

He walks on, absently aware of Jared following on the path, keeping close. There’s a big marble statue ahead, with a flowerbed in front of it arranged in the form of a musical clef. Oh, is that…?

“Your master,” Jared calls out, his voice bright and happy. “Go pay your respect.”

Jensen laughs. He walks closer and gazes up at the image of Mozart. Melodramatic to the point of flamboyant, even in stone. “Look at him,” he says awed. “Isn’t he amazing?”

“Yeah,” Jared says, right by his ear. His arms wrap around Jensen’s waist, his chin coming to rest upon Jensen’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together. “Absolutely amazing.”

Jensen closes his eyes and leans back, basking in the warmth of Jared’s body pressed against his. Music dances through the trees, rustling the leaves. Mozart, of course. The Magic Flute.

They stand there for a long time, listening to the Queen of the Night, trilling her aria. Well, Jensen is, he has no idea what Jared hears.

“You feel better?” Jared asks after a while, rubbing a hand over Jensen’s stomach. Jensen hums, smiling.

“Okay, put your shoes back on, there’s something you need to see.”

He opens his eyes. Jared is holding his shoes and socks, dangling them in front of him. He must have picked them up earlier, knowing Jensen was just as likely to forget he’d worn any. Jensen reluctantly accepts them. He likes being barefoot. “Where are we going?”

“Trust me, you’ll love this.” Jared looks giddy, bouncing on his feet with a big grin on his face. Jensen hardly has his shoes on before Jared’s grabbed his hand and starts pulling him along the path. Doesn’t take long before they’re facing a huge glass building.

“Is that a greenhouse?”

Jared grins. “Not just a greenhouse. Something much better. C’mon.”

 

 

It is. It’s amazing. So many colors. Oh wow.

“Is... is this real?” Jensen whispers. “Can you see them?”

Jared laughs and squeezes his hand. “Yeah. It’s a butterfly house. Isn’t it cool?”

Jensen nods. The air is tropical, hot and humid. There are butterflies everywhere. Shimmering, shining. Multicolored, single-colored, big, small, fluttering about and settling on leaves and flowers. A blue one, the kind of color he’s only seen in his dreams, flutters over to sit on his hand. He doesn’t dare to move or even breathe, lest it flies away.

“I had a dream like this once,” he whispers. “You were kissing me and there were a hundred butterflies around us, in every color of the world. And then I woke up and it was raining and you… you weren’t there. I cried for an hour. So stupid. I knew it was just a dream.”

“No,” Jared says, turning him around. “Not a dream. A premonition.”

It’s even better than he remembered.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

It’s high noon by the time they leave. They find a small restaurant to have lunch where they can sit outside in the sun. Jensen gets an extra cup of coffee to help with his jitters. He feels a lot better now but his fingers are still itching, twitching, drumming upon his thighs the rhythm to a fast nervous melody that would drive Jared crazy if he could hear it.

“Still edgy?” Jared asks suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts.

He shrugs, curls his fingers into fists. “I’m okay.”

Jared shakes his head, smiling. “You are the worst liar ever. C’mon. This is Vienna, the city of classical music. There has to be a piano somewhere that you can use.”

He signals the waiter, a wafer-thin twinky boy with a knowing grin and a flirty glint in his eye that makes Jensen feel slightly uncomfortable. He uncurls one hand to grab Jared’s on top of the table, just in case.

“My friend here is a pianist,” Jared says, ignoring the way the waiter smirks at the word ‘friend’. “Is there any place we can go where he can play? He needs his fix,” he jokes and Jensen kicks him under the table, even if it’s the truth.

“Piano?” The waiter snorts. “All proper restaurants in Vienna have pianos. See?” He points through the window at a baby grand, standing in one corner of the restaurant.

Jensen is up from his chair and moving before the boy gets any further, not even bothering to ask for permission.

“Jensen,” he hears Jared warn, sounding a little nervous.

“I know,” he calls back. “I’ll be careful.”

“Is he any good?” he hears the waiter ask but by then he’s reached his destination so Jared’s answer eludes him. The piano is luring him in, like a siren, the pull so strong he’s surprised he didn’t feel it, sitting outside.

“Oh,” he says, breathless. “You are beautiful. Such a pretty little thing.”

She hums, pleased, her strings singing in anticipation. He runs his fingers over the keys, too light to make a sound, and it’s like stepping into a warm shower after hours out in the cold. The tremble in his hands disappears as all the jumbled pieces in his mind settle into place. He sits down on the low bench, adjusting it slightly. Tries the pedals, presses down on a few keys. Oh yes, this. This is exactly what he’s been missing.

Tchaikovsky: June: Barcarolle From The Seasons, Op.37B / Ilona Prunyi (4:52)

By the time he becomes aware of his surroundings again it’s been two hours and the restaurant is packed with people, applauding like crazy. He looks up to find Jared leaning against the piano’s belly, watching him with a proud, almost smug, look on his face.

“Congratulations on your first solo concert abroad,” he says, grinning. “How does it feel?”

Jensen blinks. Breathes in. “We should probably go now,” he says in a low voice.

Jared straightens up, instantly on alert. “You okay?”

He nods. Clears his throat. “All that magic I’ve been swallowing? It’s… very arousing.”

Jared stares at him. Blinks.

“Okay, we’re going now,” he says and grabs Jensen’s hand pulling him to his feet and out of the restaurant. A woman brushes up against them and a spark of arousal hits Jensen straight in the groin. Her eyes widen, face flushing as she jerks away, and he knows she felt it. Shit.

“Sorry. Gotta go. Sorry.”

They practically run out of there. He’s panting, sweat running down his back, knees turning weak.

“Here,” Jared says, pulling on his arm and suddenly he’s back up against a wall with Jared devouring his mouth. Jesus, yes!

His fingers are in Jared’s hair, tugging, stroking, hanging on for dear life. He’s riding Jared’s thigh, his dick so hard it almost hurts. Jared let’s go of his mouth and Jensen’s head falls back as he sucks in air, banging against the brick wall. His eyes flutter open, noting the dark alley, the smell of trash, the thankful absence of an audience. He closes his eyes again, the moan wedged in his throat finally daring to escape.

“Fuck, you’re killing me.” Jared groans and drops kisses along Jensen’s jaw and down his throat. “Jesus, you… Oh God.”

His hands, his amazing big hands, are fumbling at Jensen’s pants, popping the button and working the zipper and then oh God, yes.

“Fuck,” Jensen grunts, his hips jerking forward. He can never quite get used to how it feels having someone else’s hand on his dick. Having Jared’s hand on his dick. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

“Think we’ll be in enough trouble if we get caught doing this,” Jared says with a choked laugh.

“Fuck,” Jensen repeats, this time in disappointment. He’s aching for Jared to flip him over and take him right there, up against the wall. Aching as much as he was to get his hands on a piano two hours ago. He can so easily imagine it, his cheek pressed into the wall, fingers clawing for purchase, the breeze brushing his naked skin, pants around his knees and Jared pushing into him. Pushing and filling him up and…

“Oh fuck,” Jared groans. “Stop it. I’m gonna… Jesus, Jensen, stop those thoughts or I swear I’ll do it. I’ll take you right here and then we’ll get arrested and deported and you can never visit Vienna ever again.”

Jensen squeezes his eyes shut. It’s no use. Now the idea is there he can’t unsee it. Can’t stop the images from unfolding. Of Jared’s hands holding on to his hips, his teeth sinking into Jensen’s shoulder as he pushes and thrusts and…

“Jensen!”

In desperation Jensen grabs Jared’s head in his hands, pressing his palms to each side as he kisses him hard. Then presses their foreheads together and lets go of everything.

“Jesus, what are you…? Oh. Oh God. Oh. God.”

The world goes white before his eyes.

 

 

“We gotta stop having public sex,” Jared mumbles as they awkwardly hurry past the restaurant ten minutes later. “Do you think they, you know?”

“Possibly,” Jensen says, still a little out of breath. He risks a glance over then quickly turns his head away, face beet red. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”

Jared chokes on a laugh. “You know, I was actually kidding about the crazy European sex. Jesus.”

“Don’t think it counts as crazy unless there’s at least leather involved,” Jensen points out and then they’re laughing and laughing until they’re doubled over, gasping for breath and people passing by stare at them like they’re mad.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

The city is singing, he can hear it. In the leaves of the trees rustling in the warm summer wind. In the sound of a million footsteps, present and past, running, walking, marching, skipping. In the wings of the doves, fluttering down from the rooftops to pick up breadcrumbs beneath the tables of the coffee houses. In the tolling of the bells of Stephansdom, calling the faithful to mass.

In the music of old, of new, of times yet to come. Soaring, whispering, crying, laughing… Music, music, music!

A warm palm blankets his hand, long fingers stroking over his wrist. “Jensen, you with me?”

“Can you hear it?” he whispers, tilting his head to better catch the sweet song of a sole violin. So nervous and hopeful. Young, yet old. Oh so old.

Jared shifts in his seat, the sound of his chair scraping the pavement joining the choir. “Depends on what you’re listening to,” he answers. His voice is warm and smooth, like hot chocolate and cream.

Jensen blinks his eyes open. Jared is watching him, smiling. There are traces of strawberry cake at the corner of his mouth, red juice staining his lips. The espresso cup, dwarfed to the size of a thimble in Jared’s giant hand, still holds a few sips of bittersweet coffee. One long leg rests bent upon a bony knee, pale skin showing at the ankle. The spindly chair creaks under Jared’s weight with every breath he takes. He still has the ghosts of Jensen’s fingerprints all over his skin.

God, he’s beautiful.

“The music,” Jensen breathes out. “It’s everywhere.”

Jared blinks. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then he closes it again, looking partly puzzled, partly awed. He tilts his head a little, listening, then leans back in the creaky chair, an expectant look on his face. “Tell me about it,” he says.

So Jensen does. With words and thoughts and flailing hands and a laugh and a smile and a voice that chokes up when he least expects it. He sees the smile play upon Jared’s lips, and the way his eyes flicker with wonder and love and a hint of jealousy at all the things he can’t see, and Jensen thinks, ‘This can’t be real. I’m going to wake up any moment now.’

Children from a different time run by, laughing. An old woman shoots them a curious glance before hurrying past, head bowed. A group of tourists goes by, their cameras clicking away like the keys of a typewriter. Minna, the sneaky thief that she is, reaches a paw over the edge of the table to steal whipped cream from Jared’s plate. Past and present, dreams and reality, all mix together in one exotic package.

~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~:~♫~

“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.]