You ever see art based on fanfic and think "my god they breathed life into words!" Well I can now sympathise. Sort of....... I saw a gorgeous sketch of a clean Brahms in a tux and I couldn't get this scene outta my mind. The music they're hearing is the Summer portion of Vivaldi's 4 seasons concerto if anyone's curious. Anyways............
You cautiously cracked open the door to the large room just a tiny bit. Plaintive violin notes drifted out to where you stood, the tune familiar but only just.
You had no idea why Brahms had asked you dress up but you had. You felt foolish standing there by the music room looking this fancy. Especially when the transgressor who had asked looked and smelled like he hadn't seen water in EVER!
Steeling yourself you opened the door…… and felt absolute dumbfounded confusion.
The lights were off but the dim glowing light of candles cast a warm gentle fuzzy sheen. The furniture had been pushed away towards the walls. But that wasn’t the most noticeable change in the room.
A man stood in the middle, his back towards you. Tall, very tall, with broad shoulders which tapered into a slender waist accentuated by a clean black tux. Long, lean legs towered this man before you.
Who was this? Brahms was gonna have kittens!
“H-he-hello??” you stuttered.
The man’s shoulders stiffened. A child’s voice rang out “Y/N.” The man’s head slowly turned. The light was too dim to tell what his face looked like but you knew. Somehow you knew…….. It couldn’t be……. Could it?
The man turned his body, lithe and graceful as an antelope, yet slow as if time itself was trembling to a halt. At least that’s what it felt like to you. Brahms.
The candlelight kissed his porcelain mask flashing glints of fire. You felt the sad cry of the violin pulling in your blood, like gravity, towards this man. Your mouth suddenly felt like it was full of cotton and your jaw slackened. He was beautiful.
The full thatch of unruly hair on his head looked clean and soft as it curled over the edge of his mask. You had no idea where the Amish beard had gone but you weren’t sorry to see it go! He stood tensely leaning more on one foot than the other, the fingers of his right hand toying with the ring finger of his left. Dim light made the wet sclera of his eyes appear molten. He looked……. Nervous.
“You…… you’re clean Brahms. You….. It…… looks nice. I didn’t know you had a suit like that? You seemed like a sweater guy to me.” He didn’t answer. You were babbling. You knew you were babbling. Apparently he did too.
Tilting his head, the action making sparks of light slide along his mask, he regarded you. “See? I can be a good boy Y/N.” his voice was a man’s rough sigh.
Standing straight now, the violins shrill cry tickling your eardrums, he reached out his hand, palm up, trusting.
“Would you like to dance?”
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