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Të vöri bén: Castrati AU
May. 11th, 2018 10:46 pmIt was nearing midnight when Niall heard a knock on his door. He had wrapped up writing a few minutes ago, and after straightening his papers and swallowing the dregs of his wine, he splashed his face with some water from the bowl on his nightstand. Niall grabbed one of the candles from his desk and padded over to the door, his slippers failing to mask the pervading chill of the flagstones beneath his feet. He wondered whether it was the landlord, though it was rather late for that sort of interruption. A bedraggled, shivering Harry was certainly not what he expected to see when opening his door.
“Harry, are you alright?” Niall asked, opening his door wider to usher Harry into his room.
“Are you busy?” Harry asked in response, almost as if he hadn’t heard the question, his eyes darting frantically around the room and never quite landing on Niall’s face.
“No, I was just finishing up for the night. Harry, what’s happened?”
Harry just shook his head. “Do you think you could come with me, to my apartments?”
“Right now?” Niall asked, startled. “It’s just gone midnight. Harry, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing I just, I really need to practice right now. Can you please come to accompany me?” His eyes finally met Niall’s and the crazed gleam had subsided, replaced by pleading.
“Of course. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Can you just grab a coat and your satchel? Please, Niall.”
Niall paused in his turn towards his dresser, looking back at Harry with even more concern in his gaze.
“Sure.” He glanced down at his night clothes, a loose silk shirt and pair of trousers that he had bought with one of his first paychecks after he had moved to Naples. He grabbed his wool coat and slid his feet hurriedly into his shoes. He winced a bit as the shoe pinched tightly around his toes, but Niall didn’t want Harry to wait as he changed into thinner socks that would fit better inside the shoes. Then Niall blew out the candle on his desk, and the one on the table by the door, before opening it again and gesturing for Harry to lead the way.
Niall was distracted as they exited the building, moving cautiously to avoid making too much noise on their way along the hallway and down the stairs to the main entrance. The man who lived next door to him could get very angry when Niall accidently disturbed his sleep. One night, when Niall was getting home late after a show, he had stumbled on the last step and fallen right in front of his neighbor’s door. Gaetano had wrenched open the door and thrown a pewter tankard across the hallway at him while screaming about insolent young musicians.
Niall was only able to take stock of the situation, and of Harry, once they were outside and trudging along the street. His hair was down around his face and seemed rather tangled and mussed in the back. His eyes were puffy and red, and his shoulders were slumped in, simultaneously tense and exhausted, in a way Niall had never seen him carry himself before. They walked in silence, Niall gnawing lightly on his thumbnail, waiting for Harry to say something. He said nothing, though, just walked quickly with his eyes fixed to the road.
As they turned the corner onto Harry’s street a bit of moonlight pierced through the clouds and Niall saw the hints of a bitemark beginning to bloom just under Harry’s jaw. The ruffle of his cravat only concealed half of it, the rest peeking out above the lace, red and angry. Niall’s stomach clenched at the sight, a roiling wave of jealousy and anger rushing through his body.
The thought of Harry with other people always set Niall on edge but seeing him shaken and upset was far worse than any of the smug, self-satisfied displays Harry had made after sleeping with one of his many paramours. Niall thoughts spun, uncertain what to do, or how to potentially engage with Harry.
They made it all the way to the front door of Harry’s apartments and Niall stood to the side as Harry fumbled with the large brass key in the lock. After a few attempted turns, Harry emitted a frustrated groan and rattled the key violently.
“Why do you never fucking open,” he muttered, wrenching the key some more.
“Let me have a go at it,” Niall said, reaching out to pull Harry’s hands away. Harry huffed, but conceded, and Niall wiggled the key a bit before feeling the lock click, and the door give way. Harry brushed past Niall into the entryway, as Niall removed the key and closed the door behind them.
When Niall walked into the main room, Harry was crouching by the fireplace, fingers trembling as he pushed the tongs in to rouse the embers. Niall placed the key on a table by the door, and slipped out of his shoes, before kneeling beside him to blow on them, coaxing the fire back to life with his breath. Once it was going, he added a few pieces of wood and sat back on his heels, looking over at Harry openly.
“You said you needed to practice?”
Harry’s eyes snapped over to him, and he nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Yes.”
Niall stood by the fire as Harry walked over to one of his dressers and grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass off the top of it. He uncorked it with his teeth, lips curled back as his molars bit into the spongey cork. As he walked toward the harpsichord he poured a heavy amount into the glass, setting it down on a small table next to the instrument. Then, glancing over almost defiantly at Niall, Harry took a swig of wine straight from the bottle.
“It’s ok for us to play in here? You don’t have any neighbors who will care about the noise so late at night?”
Harry took another slow gulp, his adam’s apple bobbling slightly in his throat before he placed the bottle down on top of the harpsichord. His lips glistened red from the wine, and they twisted into a slow, sharp smirk.
“Of course it’s ok. I am Harry Styles, the most idolized creature in the Kingdom of Naples.”
Niall blinked at Harry’s blank tone, but when he met Harry’s eyes they were fraught with emotion. He didn’t know what to do, so he slid onto the bench and uncovered the keys. He plucked a couple of notes, and ran through a few chords to test the tuning, smiling when he noticed it was in his favorite key. Then Niall looked up at Harry.
“Why don’t you just start, and I’ll pick up on whatever it is you choose.” Harry nodded and inhaled shakily, his fingers twitching a bit towards his throat, but then he dropped his hands to his sides.
“Amore mio, grida di essere ascolato,” and Niall’s fingers flailed a little on the keys when he realized what Harry was singing. It was one of his arias, the first composition that he had ever shared with Harry all those months ago. Niall had written dozens more in the interim, each one written only with Harry’s voice in mind. But hearing Harry sing this one, from memory, even though he had only read it through once, had Niall’s breath caught in his chest. His fingers recovered quicker than his mind, as always, and they rushed to catch up, picking up a tremolo and an ascending bass line to match Harry’s melody.
Niall kept his eyes on Harry the entire time. Harry’s were shut, and his fists were clenched by his thighs. Each time he’d run up to the high note his entire body would sway forward, and as he’d make his way back down, he’d rock lightly back onto his heels. His voice cracked a few times, and seemed a bit hoarse, and Niall furrowed his brows in confusion. He had never heard Harry have difficulty hitting the notes in this sequence, or any run for that matter. Harry’s face flinched every time he didn’t quite hit a note, or when his vibrato shook unevenly, but Niall just kept on playing. Once the solo section finished, Harry continued, transitioning into the duet. Niall automatically began singing along, his voice steady against Harry’s vocal acrobatics.
When Harry let his voice fade into silence after the last flourish he collapsed onto the cushioned chaise lounge behind him and grabbed the wine bottle. The firelight danced on his cheekbones and cast a dark shadow under the cut of his jaw—Niall couldn’t see the bitemark anymore, but his eyes still went straight to the spot where he knew it was hidden. Niall continued to idly pluck at the keys, watching Harry drink, and then wipe his mouth with his sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” Niall asked finally, when Harry placed the bottle on the floor next to him. And then, softer, “I didn’t know you had Amore mio, mia voce memorized.” Harry’s eyes flew open and he pinned Niall with his stare.
“Of course I memorized it. It was the first piece of yours I ever sang. The first one you ever let me see. Did it sound ok just now? Was my voice alright?” Harry said, voice trembling at the end.
“Harry…” Niall started to say back, but his voice broke when he saw Harry pulling at his cravat, tugging it off slowly. Underneath the lace were the light traces of bruises roping around Harry’s neck. They bloomed darkest at the base of his throat and spread in tendrils out and around—handprints Niall realized abruptly, and he flew to his feet.
Harry flinched back against a cushion and Niall froze, hand outstretched.
“Who did this to you?” Niall whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry replied. Niall stepped forward and crouched down between Harry’s splayed thighs, looking up into his eyes.
“Why not?”
Harry huffed a laugh. “I’ll never see him again. But there are dozens of others just like him, who would love to do the same thing. I’m that disgusting, Niall. That horrible of a person.” His voice was thick and heavy now, rasping with emotion.
“Harry, stop it.” Niall said firmly, wrapping his hands around Harry’s wrists and squeezing lightly. “Stop fucking saying that sort of shit about yourself.”
“Niall, how can I not think they’re right? That I must actually deserve it somehow? Maybe it would be better if they one day succeeded in wrecking my voice.”
“You don’t. And it wouldn’t. You are amazing, Harry. And so is your voice.”
Harry exhaled and looked down at him. Niall could see the light dusting of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes traced the subtle swell of Harry’s collarbone—visible now that Harry had tugged open the top buttons of his shirt.
“Niall,” Harry said, and Niall looked up to meet his gaze. “Të vöri bén.”
Just like when Harry had started singing earlier, Niall’s heart felt as though it was being squeezed by a vise.
“Të vöri bén, Niall. I love you.” Harry repeated, and Niall shook his head in disbelief.
“Harry, you? I mean, I love you too.” Niall stammered out finally, reaching up to swipe his thumbs across Harry’s cheekbones and down to the corners of his jaw. “Të vöri bén.”
Harry’s eyes glistened with tears, and he smiled up at Niall like he was the sun.
“My dressmaker from Milan was here last week, and I asked him how to say ‘I love you’ in Lombard. I wanted to say it to you in your mother tongue first.”
Niall grabbed Harry’s face between his palms and pulled him down so that their foreheads were pressed together. “I love you.”
Harry smiled and then pulled back a little so that he could find Niall’s mouth with his own. Niall sighed into the kiss, parting his lips with the exhale, and Harry gently pressed his tongue into Niall’s mouth before tugging lightly on Niall’s bottom lip with his teeth.
“Do you really?” Niall asked after a long moment, drawing back, but placing his hands on Harry’s thighs to steady himself. “I’m still worried about what happened to you. I hate it when the people you sleep with hurt you.”
“You never hurt me,” Harry replied, idly dipping his fingers under the hem of Niall’s sleeve.
“And I never want to.”
“I didn’t just say it because I was upset. I told you I asked Alessandro a week ago how to say it.”
“But how do you know?”
“How do you know, Niall?” Harry shot back, digging his thumb into Niall’s forearm.
“How could I not be in love with you? Everyone is to some extent, even if they have fucked up ways of expressing it.” Niall answered, glancing away.
“No. They don’t love me. Not actually. I love you because you see me, and you love me, not just the idea.”
Niall whimpered at that and turned back to look at him. It seemed like everything he had ever felt for Harry was swirling up around them both in a giant cloud of longing and relief and absolute exhilaration.
“Thank you for letting me see you,” he said, before his lips crashed back onto Harry’s and he clambered up onto the chaise to wrap himself around Harry completely.
“Harry, are you alright?” Niall asked, opening his door wider to usher Harry into his room.
“Are you busy?” Harry asked in response, almost as if he hadn’t heard the question, his eyes darting frantically around the room and never quite landing on Niall’s face.
“No, I was just finishing up for the night. Harry, what’s happened?”
Harry just shook his head. “Do you think you could come with me, to my apartments?”
“Right now?” Niall asked, startled. “It’s just gone midnight. Harry, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing I just, I really need to practice right now. Can you please come to accompany me?” His eyes finally met Niall’s and the crazed gleam had subsided, replaced by pleading.
“Of course. Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Can you just grab a coat and your satchel? Please, Niall.”
Niall paused in his turn towards his dresser, looking back at Harry with even more concern in his gaze.
“Sure.” He glanced down at his night clothes, a loose silk shirt and pair of trousers that he had bought with one of his first paychecks after he had moved to Naples. He grabbed his wool coat and slid his feet hurriedly into his shoes. He winced a bit as the shoe pinched tightly around his toes, but Niall didn’t want Harry to wait as he changed into thinner socks that would fit better inside the shoes. Then Niall blew out the candle on his desk, and the one on the table by the door, before opening it again and gesturing for Harry to lead the way.
Niall was distracted as they exited the building, moving cautiously to avoid making too much noise on their way along the hallway and down the stairs to the main entrance. The man who lived next door to him could get very angry when Niall accidently disturbed his sleep. One night, when Niall was getting home late after a show, he had stumbled on the last step and fallen right in front of his neighbor’s door. Gaetano had wrenched open the door and thrown a pewter tankard across the hallway at him while screaming about insolent young musicians.
Niall was only able to take stock of the situation, and of Harry, once they were outside and trudging along the street. His hair was down around his face and seemed rather tangled and mussed in the back. His eyes were puffy and red, and his shoulders were slumped in, simultaneously tense and exhausted, in a way Niall had never seen him carry himself before. They walked in silence, Niall gnawing lightly on his thumbnail, waiting for Harry to say something. He said nothing, though, just walked quickly with his eyes fixed to the road.
As they turned the corner onto Harry’s street a bit of moonlight pierced through the clouds and Niall saw the hints of a bitemark beginning to bloom just under Harry’s jaw. The ruffle of his cravat only concealed half of it, the rest peeking out above the lace, red and angry. Niall’s stomach clenched at the sight, a roiling wave of jealousy and anger rushing through his body.
The thought of Harry with other people always set Niall on edge but seeing him shaken and upset was far worse than any of the smug, self-satisfied displays Harry had made after sleeping with one of his many paramours. Niall thoughts spun, uncertain what to do, or how to potentially engage with Harry.
They made it all the way to the front door of Harry’s apartments and Niall stood to the side as Harry fumbled with the large brass key in the lock. After a few attempted turns, Harry emitted a frustrated groan and rattled the key violently.
“Why do you never fucking open,” he muttered, wrenching the key some more.
“Let me have a go at it,” Niall said, reaching out to pull Harry’s hands away. Harry huffed, but conceded, and Niall wiggled the key a bit before feeling the lock click, and the door give way. Harry brushed past Niall into the entryway, as Niall removed the key and closed the door behind them.
When Niall walked into the main room, Harry was crouching by the fireplace, fingers trembling as he pushed the tongs in to rouse the embers. Niall placed the key on a table by the door, and slipped out of his shoes, before kneeling beside him to blow on them, coaxing the fire back to life with his breath. Once it was going, he added a few pieces of wood and sat back on his heels, looking over at Harry openly.
“You said you needed to practice?”
Harry’s eyes snapped over to him, and he nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Yes.”
Niall stood by the fire as Harry walked over to one of his dressers and grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass off the top of it. He uncorked it with his teeth, lips curled back as his molars bit into the spongey cork. As he walked toward the harpsichord he poured a heavy amount into the glass, setting it down on a small table next to the instrument. Then, glancing over almost defiantly at Niall, Harry took a swig of wine straight from the bottle.
“It’s ok for us to play in here? You don’t have any neighbors who will care about the noise so late at night?”
Harry took another slow gulp, his adam’s apple bobbling slightly in his throat before he placed the bottle down on top of the harpsichord. His lips glistened red from the wine, and they twisted into a slow, sharp smirk.
“Of course it’s ok. I am Harry Styles, the most idolized creature in the Kingdom of Naples.”
Niall blinked at Harry’s blank tone, but when he met Harry’s eyes they were fraught with emotion. He didn’t know what to do, so he slid onto the bench and uncovered the keys. He plucked a couple of notes, and ran through a few chords to test the tuning, smiling when he noticed it was in his favorite key. Then Niall looked up at Harry.
“Why don’t you just start, and I’ll pick up on whatever it is you choose.” Harry nodded and inhaled shakily, his fingers twitching a bit towards his throat, but then he dropped his hands to his sides.
“Amore mio, grida di essere ascolato,” and Niall’s fingers flailed a little on the keys when he realized what Harry was singing. It was one of his arias, the first composition that he had ever shared with Harry all those months ago. Niall had written dozens more in the interim, each one written only with Harry’s voice in mind. But hearing Harry sing this one, from memory, even though he had only read it through once, had Niall’s breath caught in his chest. His fingers recovered quicker than his mind, as always, and they rushed to catch up, picking up a tremolo and an ascending bass line to match Harry’s melody.
Niall kept his eyes on Harry the entire time. Harry’s were shut, and his fists were clenched by his thighs. Each time he’d run up to the high note his entire body would sway forward, and as he’d make his way back down, he’d rock lightly back onto his heels. His voice cracked a few times, and seemed a bit hoarse, and Niall furrowed his brows in confusion. He had never heard Harry have difficulty hitting the notes in this sequence, or any run for that matter. Harry’s face flinched every time he didn’t quite hit a note, or when his vibrato shook unevenly, but Niall just kept on playing. Once the solo section finished, Harry continued, transitioning into the duet. Niall automatically began singing along, his voice steady against Harry’s vocal acrobatics.
When Harry let his voice fade into silence after the last flourish he collapsed onto the cushioned chaise lounge behind him and grabbed the wine bottle. The firelight danced on his cheekbones and cast a dark shadow under the cut of his jaw—Niall couldn’t see the bitemark anymore, but his eyes still went straight to the spot where he knew it was hidden. Niall continued to idly pluck at the keys, watching Harry drink, and then wipe his mouth with his sleeve.
“What’s wrong?” Niall asked finally, when Harry placed the bottle on the floor next to him. And then, softer, “I didn’t know you had Amore mio, mia voce memorized.” Harry’s eyes flew open and he pinned Niall with his stare.
“Of course I memorized it. It was the first piece of yours I ever sang. The first one you ever let me see. Did it sound ok just now? Was my voice alright?” Harry said, voice trembling at the end.
“Harry…” Niall started to say back, but his voice broke when he saw Harry pulling at his cravat, tugging it off slowly. Underneath the lace were the light traces of bruises roping around Harry’s neck. They bloomed darkest at the base of his throat and spread in tendrils out and around—handprints Niall realized abruptly, and he flew to his feet.
Harry flinched back against a cushion and Niall froze, hand outstretched.
“Who did this to you?” Niall whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Harry replied. Niall stepped forward and crouched down between Harry’s splayed thighs, looking up into his eyes.
“Why not?”
Harry huffed a laugh. “I’ll never see him again. But there are dozens of others just like him, who would love to do the same thing. I’m that disgusting, Niall. That horrible of a person.” His voice was thick and heavy now, rasping with emotion.
“Harry, stop it.” Niall said firmly, wrapping his hands around Harry’s wrists and squeezing lightly. “Stop fucking saying that sort of shit about yourself.”
“Niall, how can I not think they’re right? That I must actually deserve it somehow? Maybe it would be better if they one day succeeded in wrecking my voice.”
“You don’t. And it wouldn’t. You are amazing, Harry. And so is your voice.”
Harry exhaled and looked down at him. Niall could see the light dusting of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes traced the subtle swell of Harry’s collarbone—visible now that Harry had tugged open the top buttons of his shirt.
“Niall,” Harry said, and Niall looked up to meet his gaze. “Të vöri bén.”
Just like when Harry had started singing earlier, Niall’s heart felt as though it was being squeezed by a vise.
“Të vöri bén, Niall. I love you.” Harry repeated, and Niall shook his head in disbelief.
“Harry, you? I mean, I love you too.” Niall stammered out finally, reaching up to swipe his thumbs across Harry’s cheekbones and down to the corners of his jaw. “Të vöri bén.”
Harry’s eyes glistened with tears, and he smiled up at Niall like he was the sun.
“My dressmaker from Milan was here last week, and I asked him how to say ‘I love you’ in Lombard. I wanted to say it to you in your mother tongue first.”
Niall grabbed Harry’s face between his palms and pulled him down so that their foreheads were pressed together. “I love you.”
Harry smiled and then pulled back a little so that he could find Niall’s mouth with his own. Niall sighed into the kiss, parting his lips with the exhale, and Harry gently pressed his tongue into Niall’s mouth before tugging lightly on Niall’s bottom lip with his teeth.
“Do you really?” Niall asked after a long moment, drawing back, but placing his hands on Harry’s thighs to steady himself. “I’m still worried about what happened to you. I hate it when the people you sleep with hurt you.”
“You never hurt me,” Harry replied, idly dipping his fingers under the hem of Niall’s sleeve.
“And I never want to.”
“I didn’t just say it because I was upset. I told you I asked Alessandro a week ago how to say it.”
“But how do you know?”
“How do you know, Niall?” Harry shot back, digging his thumb into Niall’s forearm.
“How could I not be in love with you? Everyone is to some extent, even if they have fucked up ways of expressing it.” Niall answered, glancing away.
“No. They don’t love me. Not actually. I love you because you see me, and you love me, not just the idea.”
Niall whimpered at that and turned back to look at him. It seemed like everything he had ever felt for Harry was swirling up around them both in a giant cloud of longing and relief and absolute exhilaration.
“Thank you for letting me see you,” he said, before his lips crashed back onto Harry’s and he clambered up onto the chaise to wrap himself around Harry completely.
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