fickle: (Default)
Fickle ([personal profile] fickle) wrote in [community profile] sportsanime 2017-06-10 04:04 pm (UTC)

FILL:

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Word Count: 414 words

Emilie Autumn gave me a hard-on for violins so that's what I went with.

***


The last strains of the music hung in the air like dying sunlight in the autumn’s quiet hours. Slowly, Victor stirred from where he’d lain motionless on the couch, one arm flung over his face to block out the outside world and let him better drink in the divine notes that Yuuri drew from his violin.

“Wonderful,” he murmured quietly, turning his head so he could look at where Yuuri was seated. Yuuri’s cheeks flushed with a delicate pink at the praise, the color growing more pronounced as Victor continued, “You get better every time. I think even Paganini would be impressed to hear how you play his caprices.”

“I’m still not as good as you,” Yuuri demurred, breathing hard from the effort. He picked up his cleaning cloth and started to run it over his bow, stripping away the silver-laced rosin that he’d so carefully applied to the strings before playing. He peeked at Victor for a second, attention drawn away from his instrument by the glowing pride on Victor’s face. “Your Ernst is still-”

“Don’t compare yourself to me,” Victor interrupted, watching Yuuri’s hand slide up and down the bow with all the gentleness of a caress. “Music is not a competition. Music is an experience.”

He rose from his seat with all the smooth bonelessness of a marionette and took a step forwards so he could kneel before Yuuri. He caught Yuuri’s hand in his own, curving Yuuri’s fingers so they rested in his palm, then lightly kissed each knuckle and joint.

“Your music transports me from my body to a higher plane. I may be able to play more complicated pieces, thanks to the advantage of experience but you…” He shuddered deliciously, remembering the sensation as he listened that Yuuri was playing on his strings and tendons, drawing his soul’s melody out into the air. “—You are divine, my dear.”

“You think it’s ready for the concert, then?” Yuuri asked, curling his fingers around Victor’s so he could bring Victor’s hand up to his mouth and mirror the kisses that Victor had pressed to his fingers.

“Yes,” Victor said, watching the soft pink curves of Yuuri’s mouth touch Victor’s skin like a dozen benedictions. “But I think you should play your own compositions.”

“But--” Yuuri started to say only to have Victor kiss the hand that still held the cleaning cloth.

“Everyone knows to play Paganini shows skill. When you play your own music, you show your soul.”

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