Work Text:
Klavier leans against the bar counter in a hole-in-the-wall jazz club in the Republic of Borginia, shaking a margarita he won’t drink and waiting for the performance to start.
He likes to poke around new clubs when he has the chance, and his trip to Borginia to tour their legal system had been the perfect opportunity. He doesn’t know what music genres are popular here, or if they have some he’s never even heard before, and the anticipation of finding out fills him with the same excitement he’s had since he was a child.
Growing up in Germany, the underground music scene was everywhere. Every nightclub had bands, loud music that pounded through the walls and seeped out onto the sidewalks. Klavier will never forget the first time he felt the music, physically felt it in his bones, his teeth, his soul. He was just passing by on the street then, but it stopped him in his tracks, and as he listened, his heart rate elevated, his blood raced through him, his breathing quickened. He felt like he hadn’t been alive until that very second.
He picked up a cheap guitar that same day and taught himself to play. As soon as he was old enough, he headed straight for those clubs, to listen and play and get absorbed in it all. The sex was good too, but he was always there for the music first and foremost.
That feeling has never left him, even now. Each band serenades him with their sounds, both new and familiar. Every act is fascinating, every musician’s choices and melodies stirring Klavier’s own creative muse.
At the end of the evening, the announcer once more steps up to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our last act, please welcome back Lamiroir & Lavue, the Sirens of the Ballad!”
The final performers walk onto the stage to light applause as the announcer ducks back into the crowd. The group consists of two singers and a pianist, the pianist in white and the two singers in beautiful, complementary outfits. They’re both wearing a full-length cape with a hood covered in a star pattern, though Lamiroir’s is blue and Lavue’s is red. They also both have a black cloth covering their face with a Borginian symbol on it, Lavue’s tighter face mask in sharp contrast to Lamiroir’s loose veil. Lamiroir is also wearing a full-length white dress with lace frills near the bottom, while Lavue is wearing a loose white tunic and flowing white pants. To top off the outfits, Lamiroir has a broach with a sparkling blue jewel while Lavue wears a dark red sash.
Their stunning attire captures Klavier’s attention before the music has even started. He can always appreciate a good outfit, and he leans forward, curious to hear the sound that matches that breathtaking appearance.
The piano starts, slow and soft. The intro is haunting, slowly building in intensity, and then the singers join in.
Their ballad is…profound. Klavier has never heard such strong, voluminous voices—certainly nothing like Lavue’s—and his mouth drops open. He’s always liked music better when it’s loud, feeling more settled in his skin when it slams through him. He often has to scream himself when he sings, to be heard over the amplifiers turned on maximum, but this isn’t even the case for Lavue – he’s not competing with anything. He just screams as if it’s in his nature, as if he can do nothing else.
But it’s not too much – Lamiroir matches his volume, pitching herself just under him, the piano present just below that. Klavier’s heart thuds in his chest, his ears, the music practically a living creature within him. He’s never heard anything like it before: the piano, a perfect backdrop setting the scene; the two utterly divine voices, weaving in perfect tandem, soaring through the air like they’re painting a landscape. He can even see it, if he closes his eyes – the forested mountains of the Swabian Jura, where he and Kristoph grew up in Germany, the roaring waterfalls, the pop of blooming juniper bushes in the spring. It had been their Elysium, where they could race each other rolling down hills, splash around in the water, enjoy life without a care in the world.
That hasn’t been Klavier and Kristoph’s reality for some time now. But hearing the Sirens’ ballad, Klavier is instantly transported there, over time and distance and old wounds.
Eventually, the song ends, the voices fade. Klavier comes back to himself and finds his face wet, tears dripping down his cheeks.
He’s never felt so seen. He can’t believe the club is so empty, that no one else seems to be shattered to pieces like he is. And each of their songs has the same effect, taking his breath away, capturing him completely in their enchanting melodies.
When the set is over, he makes his way to the stage, drawn like a sailor to a siren. Lavue notices him first, pulling down his face mask as he gives Klavier a curious glance. His eyes pierce straight through him, just as his voice had.
“I—” Klavier’s voice dies in his throat and he shakes his head. Whatever he could say seems inadequate to convey what he just experienced. “Words can’t describe how your music moved me. It is pure art.”
Lavue blinks, then smiles a crooked grin. Now that he’s closer, Klavier notices that his forehead is massive, and for some reason he finds himself inordinately focused on it as Lavue says, “Thanks! That means a lot to us.”
His speaking voice is at a lower volume than his singing, but just barely. This thrills Klavier.
“I’m actually in the music industry myself,” he continues. “Klavier Gavin, of the rock band the Gavinners. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”
“…No, but I don’t like rock music,” Lavue says, his blunt honesty as surprising as it is refreshing. “It’s too loud.”
The irony of this statement makes Klavier chuckle. “Yet you have a voice most suited for rock, ja?”
Lavue frowns. “My family prefers the softer arts.”
“Then would your family be opposed to my joining in on your ‘softer arts’?” Klavier asks, expertly switching gears.
Lavue just blinks at him for a moment. “You…want to play with us?”
Klavier sends him his most winning smile. “More than anything.”
Lavue doesn’t seem to know what to say to this. Before he can respond, Lamiroir walks over to them, the blond pianist at her elbow. “Is something the matter, Apollo?”
Apollo. Klavier figured that Lavue was only a stage name, but the real thing is just as fitting. Who better to enchant mere mortals than the god who brought them music?
“I was just telling Herr Forehead how moved I was by your divine music,” Klavier says, smiling at her. “I play the guitar myself, and was wondering if you all would be open to a jam session, as it’s called in America?”
“‘Herr Forehead’?!” Apollo shouts, shooting him a confused frown. His forehead is cute when he glares, all scrunched up and wrinkled, like the limestone river valleys of the Danube.
Lamiroir’s eyes crinkle into a smile around her veil. “That sounds lovely! We’ve never had a collaboration request before.”
“…Really, Mom…?” Apollo grumbles, nodding his head in Klavier’s direction. “He said he’s a rock guitarist…”
The pianist pulls on Lamiroir’s sleeve and whispers something in her ear. She listens for a moment and then says, “Machi says he’s always wanted to try playing in a rock band.”
Machi nods, practically glowing with excitement. Klavier smirks at Apollo, who shakes his head and sighs. The look he shoots Machi is extremely fond, however, the soft, lenient gaze of an older brother. “…Alright. I guess I can turn up the volume then, just this once…”
Everyone’s eyes widen, but it’s Lamiroir who says, “Ah, no, Apollo, I think your usual volume will be just fine…”
He blinks at her. “Are you sure? My Chords of Steel can probably sing louder—”
“I’m sure,” Lamiroir says firmly, something strained in her expression.
Klavier smiles. He would pay money to hear Apollo’s amped up Chords of Steel – perhaps he’ll request a private performance from him later. “Then shall we head to your studio? I will follow your gracious lead.”
“Oh, this club basically is our studio – they let performers use the backstage area after hours, so long as we clean up after ourselves,” Lamiroir says, holding back the curtain for them to pass through. “We always practice here.”
“Performers as stunning as yourselves don’t have your own studio?” Klavier asks, genuinely shocked. He’ll have to have a word with their manager—
“We tried, but…” Machi mumbles, shuffling his feet, “…they, um, didn’t have the right equipment.”
“Something about their soundboard being busted?” Apollo says, pressing his finger to his forehead.
Klavier barely stifles a laugh. Apollo’s Chords of Steel must’ve come through quite clearly on the operators’ end. Probably unbearably so.
“There is another small issue – I’m afraid I didn’t bring my guitar with me,” Klavier says remorsefully. The one time he hadn’t brought it is of course the one time he needs it. A tiny trickle of shame stings through him before he can fully shut it down. He should’ve been better prepared.
“Oh, not a problem – I used to play the guitar quite a bit, before Apollo and I decided to focus on singing. We still use it to work out our songs, so it should be in tune.” Lamiroir heads towards a storage chest shoved in the corner of the cramped backstage area. She pulls out a beautiful, tan acoustic guitar with a rich brown headstock and tear-drop-shaped pickguard and hands it to Klavier. “You may use it.”
“Thank you,” Klavier says, taking the guitar and tucking it under his arm. He strums the strings and smiles, pleased. “Wunderbar! It plays gorgeously, as does everyone in your family, it seems.”
“…Aren’t you laying it on a little thick?” Apollo mutters, rolling his eyes, though he seems a tad redder than usual.
Klavier grins. “I think you’ll find I’m only interested in the truth, Herr Forehead.”
Apollo stares at him for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze, then turns away to lean an elbow on Machi’s piano. Klavier tunes the guitar to match the piano, and then the two of them settle in to play, working their way to a backing melody for the singers to join in on. Though Machi had wanted to play rock, their styles don’t mesh very well until they meander into something softer, Klavier deciding to align his guitar more with Machi’s typical melodies.
He’s enjoying himself quite a bit already – he doesn’t get the chance to play like this very often, his band mostly known for its up-tempo, guitar-heavy songs. But here, he’s just another cog in the wheel, his guitar blending with and enhancing the piano.
And this is even more true when Lamiroir and Apollo join in, their voices hovering ethereally above the backing melody. Though both singers are divine, Klavier can’t seem to take his eyes off of Apollo. He’s even more magnificent up close – his voice is so rich, his timbre dark and powerful, and his brown eyes sparkle even in the dim lighting backstage. There’s a glow about him too that seems to permeate into his music and all along Klavier’s skin.
He is beautiful.
Apollo suddenly turns to look at him, catching him staring. Klavier starts to smirk at him, but the look on his face makes him falter. His eyes are so intense – they seem to see straight through Klavier, all the glamour and smiles he hides himself behind, directly into his soul, leaving him stripped and shaking. And instead of recoiling in disgust, Apollo smiles at him. Beams at him. It lights up his whole face, the whole room. Klavier inhales sharply, terrified and turned on and seen.
He’s caught up in Apollo entirely until Lamiroir sings a brief solo and Apollo turns away to watch her. Released from his overwhelming intensity, Klavier focuses back on his own playing while Apollo and Lamiroir take turns singing a line, creating an improvised story as they go. This seems to be an established game of theirs, mother and son stifling laughter and making silly faces at each other as the story twists in increasingly strange directions.
Klavier listens to them for a while, and then, when Apollo hesitates, joins in on the game, “Burning on in my heart, fire.”
They both turn to him, surprised, but then Apollo grins and adds on, “Burn my love away, all away.”
Klavier’s heart pounds faster, and for a moment, a minute, an eternity, it’s just the two of them in the world. He can almost feel Apollo’s voice resonating throughout his guitar, his bones. Their sounds weave together perfectly, in a way that Klavier has rarely experienced.
He feels electric.
After they’ve improvised for a while, the song drifts to an end, though the chords are still reverberating in Klavier’s brain. His creativity is in overdrive, lyrics slamming into his head faster than he can grab hold of them. He’ll be up all night thinking about this song.
Lamiroir claps her hands together, her eyes crinkling in a smile. “Klavier, that was just wonderful! Your sound was beautiful.”
“It was only because you lent me such a well-loved guitar,” Klavier says. “I truly enjoyed playing it.”
“…Then keep it,” she says gently. “A memento to remember us by.”
His eyes widen. “Are you certain? I could never take such a treasure—”
“It never sounded that good when I played it,” Lamiroir says, laughing. “You would give it a much better home.”
“…Then I would be honored,” Klavier says, cradling the guitar reverently. “Thank you, for this and for allowing me to play with you. If you ever find yourselves in America, my band and I are always open for more jam sessions. Perhaps I can even arrange to rent out the backstage of a jazz club, just for you.”
Lamiroir laughs. “That would be fun! I’ll see what we can do.”
“America…!” Machi says, the biggest grin on his face. “Playing rock in America…!”
Apollo chuckles and shakes his head fondly. “Guess we’ll be taking you up on that.”
Klavier smiles at him. “I look forward to it, Herr Forehead.”
He gives them his contact information and then bids the family farewell, heading back out to the empty club and sitting down at one of the tables with the guitar tucked under his arm. He grabs a napkin from the dispenser and pulls a pen from his pocket. He has to write down the lyrics still bouncing around in his head now, or he’ll forget them completely. He plucks out a few chords as he goes, writing down the melodies Machi had so beautifully constructed.
He gets so lost in it that it takes him a while to realize that someone is standing next to him. He glances up to find Apollo there, his arms crossed and a small, easy smile on his face. Klavier looks around the club, but Lamiroir and Machi seem to have gone elsewhere, perhaps home. It’s just the two of them and the electricity that’s been sparking between them since they first laid eyes on each other.
“You were kind of cool,” Apollo says, his smile morphing into a smirk. “For a rock star.”
“And you were stunning, for one of the softer arts,” Klavier says, smiling back. “I felt your energy. I must say I’m used to being inspected by the ladies, but this is the first time I’ve felt this way with a man.”
Apollo huffs out a laugh. “Do those lines of yours usually work?”
“Are you saying they’re not working now?” Klavier asks, lifting a teasing eyebrow.
“They shouldn’t be—because they’re really terrible—but…” Apollo steps closer. Getting the hint, Klavier sets the guitar aside so he can slide between his legs, never breaking eye contact once.
For a moment, Klavier finds himself uncharacteristically flustered, straightening as desire pulses through him. He quickly hides it behind a grin and opens his knees a little wider, accommodating him. The heat from his body is delicious. “I use them for a reason, Herr Forehead.”
“Would you leave my forehead out of it…?” Apollo grumbles, but he’s still smiling as he bends down to kiss him.
Klavier kisses him back with all that he is, reaching up to cradle his face in his hands. Apollo is utter magnificence, the smoothness of his skin, the press of his lips, the taste of his mouth. Everything about them fits together so perfectly – Klavier feels that same reverberation that surged through him when Apollo looked at him, when they played together, sang together.
In that moment, he’s not a genius prosecutor, a popular rock star, someone striving for perfection at all times. He’s just Klavier.
That’s all he needs to be.
He pulls Apollo closer, their bodies easily melding together like two harmonies perfectly in sync.
--
Klavier wakes up late the next day, Apollo still beside him, his body incredibly warm.
They’d been up all night. It had already been late when they finished their jam session and stumbled their way back to Klavier’s hotel, though Klavier honestly doesn’t remember much of the journey, as engrossed in Apollo as he’d been, as he still is. Then it had gotten even later as they took their time exploring each other, peeling off their layers piece by piece.
It was an incredible evening. Even after he’s slept, Klavier is still buzzing from the high of it, music and affection bouncing around in his mind.
He turns his head to look at Apollo. The light shining through the hotel window frames him perfectly, bathing him in a soft, warm glow. He really does live up to his namesake – the sun seems to follow him wherever he goes.
Klavier shifts onto his side, snuggling closer to Apollo as he wraps his arm around his bare torso. Burying his face in Apollo’s hair, he breathes in the wonderfully ocean-like scent of his shampoo. A Siren of the Ballad, indeed.
He could lay there forever.
Klavier is back to dozing again by the time Apollo stirs sometime later, his body suddenly thrashing around like he has to fight his way back to consciousness. Klavier nearly gets elbowed in the face, to which he grunts in protest. Apollo turns, his eyes narrow slits for a second before he recognizes Klavier.
“Good morning,” he says, chipper in a way that seems unnatural considering how little sleep they’ve both gotten.
His voice is so loud too, even now. Klavier chuckles. “Guten morgen, Herr Forehead. Do you usually try to punch your partners upon wakening?”
“…Sorry.” Apollo grins sheepishly. “Machi and I used to share a bed when we were younger, and he always claimed I gave him a black eye every morning.”
“No wonder he wears sunglasses,” Klavier teases, smirking when Apollo swats at him.
Apollo settles back on his pillow grumpily. His hair is a mess, his bangs—like little horns—sagging down into his face and the rest frizzed up. He has a deep crease on his cheek from the pillow and some of Klavier’s lipstick stained on his lips. His eyes, though, are as bright and sharp as ever. And even now, Klavier finds him stunningly beautiful.
He leans in to kiss him, Apollo humming as he wraps his arm around his shoulder and pulls him closer.
“How long are you in Borginia?” Apollo asks between kisses.
“Ah…not long, I’m afraid,” Klavier murmurs, kissing him one more time before drawing back slightly. “Just a few more days.”
“Oh…” Apollo looks crestfallen. In the heat of the moment, Klavier had almost forgotten that he’s just a stranger from another country, that he won’t be able to stay long, and he feels just as crushed.
“Will you come see me?” he blurts out. “In America?”
Apollo stares at him for a moment, then smiles. “You heard Machi – we’ll definitely be taking you up on your offer for a jam session. Though I’d want to come anyway.”
Klavier blinks. His own strong emotion had surprised him, as Apollo is essentially a stranger and Klavier knows better than to wear his heart on his sleeve. He certainly hadn’t been expecting reciprocation. It seeps warmly into his body, leaving him strangely light-headed. “Have you ever left Borginia before?”
“Technically – my mom and I lived somewhere else before, we’re not actually Borginian by birth. But I was too young to really remember it, and she…” He trails off, glancing at Klavier oddly for a moment. “Well, she doesn’t talk about it.”
“How mysterious,” Klavier says, enthralled. He aches to know him, to understand this person he clicked with so intensely. He wants to know everything – his heart, his body, his mind. He’s never felt anything like this before, and there hadn’t been a lot of time to talk last night. “Why do you sing, Herr Lavue?”
“…Where did that come from?”
“Your music touched me in a way I’ve never experienced before,” Klavier murmurs. It’s not a lie, but it’s not fully the truth, either. The truth is a hugely personal thing that Klavier had learned from a young age not to give to just anyone. “I want to know what draws you to it.”
Apollo considers that for a moment. He has a little crease on his forehead, right between his eyebrows, that Klavier had kissed over and over and over again last night. He can’t take his eyes from it, even now. “At first, we just started doing it because we needed some way to make a living. My mom…was having health problems at the time, so we needed to pay bills and there weren’t very many other options open to us. But now…I like it. I’d like to sing with my family for as long as I can.”
He meets Klavier’s eyes again. “What about you? Why do you play in a band?”
There are many things he could say. Playing the guitar makes him feel alive in a way nothing else really does; he loves writing and jamming and feeling like he’s connected with people, the world; it gives him his freedom.
But all of those things would be too close to the truth. And besides, the reason he and Daryan started the band was quite simple. “Because I want women to look at me when I walk down the street.”
Apollo stares at him flatly, then huffs out a laugh. “I guess there is a certain romance to playing the guitar. I don’t know about my Chords of Steel, though.”
Klavier blinks at him, genuinely surprised. “You have the voice of a siren, yet you think there’s nothing romantic about it?”
A small grin creeps up Apollo’s lips. “You really think so?”
“Your siren song worked on me, ja?” he murmurs.
Apollo’s eyes burn with a sudden fire that Klavier feels in his own body, and he kisses him again. Klavier cups the back of Apollo’s head with his hand, running his fingers through his hair.
“Then I’ll have to sing for you again,” Apollo breathes between kisses. “Tonight?”
“How about right now?” Klavier suggests, delighted when Apollo laughs.
“Now works,” Apollo agrees, rolling on top of him again.
Klavier reaches for him, sighing as Apollo kisses him, touches him, hums him the song they’d started to write together last night. Apollo takes up all five of his senses, filling him completely. Klavier knows he shouldn’t let himself get so caught up in him, someone he’ll likely never see again, but he can’t help himself. Apollo flays him open expertly, touching every part of his soul. He feels known, loved. And they both know they won’t be together long, that Klavier will leave and Apollo will stay and that will be the end of it.
But for now, at least, they have all the time in the world, rocking their own private concert.