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Salieri didn't even have to knock a second time, so fast was Constanze to let him in. He couldn't stop himself from looking her over: half-put on clothes, undone hair, but most importantly — a desperate expression on her face.
“Oh Antonio, thank God you're here!” She didn't wait for his answer, grabbed him by the hand unceremoniously and dragged him inside. “Please, talk to him! He simply refuses to write the overture! He will listen to you, I hope. And I must leave now, I absolutely promised Nancy to come see her before her departure tomorrow.”
Salieri wanted to ask who Nancy was and wasn’t it—but he didn’t even remember the name of Constanze’s last lover. Before he got a chance to open his mouth, though, she ran into the bedroom and left Salieri alone in the silent hall. Salieri proceeded to Mozart’s study. In the past few months he'd been a guest in their apartment many times so he almost didn’t feel awkward about navigating it alone. However, as Mozart stayed silent and unmoved upon his entrance, Salieri stopped behind him quietly not knowing quite what to do with himself. Salieri was already familiar enough with Mozart offstage to not expect him to act over the top, but even for him the absolute motionlessness was distressing.
Mozart was holding a piece of paper in his hands and looking at it intently as if trying to will it away. “Salieri,” he said suddenly when Salieri was already sure his appearance would go unnoticed. The silence returned as Salieri waited for Mozart to say something else. This didn’t come to be.
“Hello, Mozart. Constanze is worrying you’re not writing the overture,” Salieri said carefully.
Mozart still didn’t move. His whole attention was on that one piece of paper and it seemed that even if a circus materialized in front of him he would give the monkeys or tigers a second thought. “No, I’m not…” he whispered. “I don’t think that overture matters anymore…”
Salieri made a few quick steps to stand before Mozart. “What are you saying? Of course it matters! You’ve worked so hard on it!” He looked down on the cursed paper and it turned out to be filled with a sprawling handwriting. “Who is this from?”
“Father…” Mozart’s eyes slowly rose to meet Salieri’s. What Salieri saw in them was complete desperation and defeat. “They’re already on their way… He’s arriving tomorrow morning for the premiere…”
Salieri pushed his own panic down and decisively took the letter from Mozart’s hands. He quickly read through the letter and learned the most important part: the father’s dedication to take Mozart home right after the premiere didn’t magically disappear in the past months. With almost no time left Mozart had to be thinking of another way of persuasion.
“Right. Then t’s good I decided to visit you today,” Salieri tried to sound optimistic. Mozart looked at him intently, but the desperation behind his eyes stayed. He was lost in thoughts. Salieri subconsciously counted how many times he blinked, but gave up when he reached thirty in as many seconds. “I hurried to tell you the news: tomorrow you will be offered a permanent position in the Royal Theater.”
Salieri watched with wonder as Mozart lit up and a smile that could rival the Sun broke out. “Oh, Salieri! The best of friends, the best of men!” Mozart raised from his seat and jumped over Salieri with a tight embrace, kissing his cheeks one after another without end. “How nice of you! Thank you, thank you!”
Salieri let out a satisfied laugh and hugged him by the waist. “There is no need to thank me, you’ve got what you deserve. And I hope it will be enough to stop your father from talking about Salzburg…”
Mozart pulled back and looked at Salieri in disbelief. “Are you joking, maestro? How could we care for what my father thinks! Not for anything in the world will I agree to exchange theater in Vienna for Salzburg! I will never leave!” Led by the strong emotions Mozart kissed Salieri’s cheek again, but this time he noticed how much it made him blush. Some semblance of decency came back to him and he stepped fully out of the embrace. “I’m sorry, I was too excited…” He looked down, so he didn’t see Salieri’s happiness shine through.
“Nothing to apologize for, my friend. I am the luckiest man in the world for sharing your excitement.” Then, noticing that Mozart was falling deep into his embarrassment, he added, “Well, are you going to write the overture now? Now it is important…”
Mozart looked up, surprised, and with an “Oh!” ran back to his table. “I will finish it this second. I promise, I have it all written in my head already, it’s only my hands that don’t cooperate. But please, stay with me until I’m done. You help me concentrate.”
Salieri sat next to him at the table and watched how quickly the music was emerging onto the paper. After a while their peace was interrupted by Constanze who, still in a rush but now dressed impeccably, opened the door wide and looked around the room. Seeing her husband work she smiled satisfiedly. “I knew you would be able to persuade him, Antonio, dear! You’re so kind!”
Salieri lowered his eyes sheepishly, but Mozart stood up and approached his wife. “My Stanzi, did you know what great news maestro brought us? We are staying in Vienna forever, there is nothing now to change my mind! I am offered a position in the Theater!”
Constanze smiled, took Mozart’s face in her hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. “This is amazing. But please, focus on the opera now. You need to do it well!” She prepared to leave the room. “I will be away tonight, you know it. Don’t make too much noise, Karl is already asleep.”
“Will you return before dawn? I want my father to find our family agreeable and exemplary.”
Constanze’s smile quickly turned into a grave expression. “Isn’t that chimera also coming with him?”
“Don’t call my sister that, please,” Mozart said with an amused smile. “And I promise to occupy her if only you keep father away from the Theater during the rehearsal.”
Constanze rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue any more. “I’ll be back in the morning. Make sure the overture is ready by then.” She left and Mozart returned to the table.
He worked with an unmatched enthusiasm, stopping only periodically to let his hands rest, complaining lightheartedly about the pain in his fingers, but even during the short breaks he would stomp the rhythm with his feet or whistle the melody. The music never seemed to let go of him.
For hours Salieri just observed him, never getting tired of the view. However, around two in the morning, when the piece was still nowhere near the end, Mozart looked at Salieri with unfocused and watery eyes. “Maestro, is it too much to ask you for another favor?”
“Of course, not. I’m here to help you.”
“Can you read me a book out loud? I’m too close to falling asleep.”
So Salieri produced a book from the closest bookshelf — which turned out to be some romance poetry collection — and started reading it. As soon as he realized that he was about to confess his love to Mozart through all these poems, he almost threw the book away, but his confusion quickly passed. He realized that Mozart was paying little to no attention to him. So he read on through all the you broil my tender heart and we jointly move and tenderly embrace.
Even as the first rays of the next day’s sunshine peaked inside the study Mozart put his quill down and sighed contentedly. “It is done.”
Salieri, who by that point had read the poetry book through and through almost three times, also allowed himself to relax and exhale slowly. He felt like he was falling asleep himself, but he couldn’t yet leave Mozart alone. “I will take it to the copyist immediately, and you can rest.”
Mozart protested, but only weakly. “I’m taking advantage of your kindness too often. You can ask anything of me tomorrow and I’ll still owe you.”
Salieri laughed at the possibility of asking anything from Mozart. “I’ll take you at your word. Don’t tell me tomorrow that you didn’t promise that. But for now you will go and sleep.”
As a goodbye, Mozart pressed Salieri’s hand and held it for a few seconds, his eyes alone expressing the deepest gratitude he was feeling. None of them said anything, so strong was the exhaustion. All the way to the Theater Salieri felt his hand burning with the touch.
On his way Salieri made only one stop to call upon the Theater copyist. The man began to complain about the delay in writing the overture and how unkind it was to wake him up so early on the premiere day, but Salieri quickly let him know that this would not be tolerated.
Already in the Theater they occupied a table in the dressing rooms and together took to copying the score for the orchestra. At least, it was Salieri's intention to help the copyist diligently. However, when he opened his eyes again the next time he saw that the sun had completely risen and the man had finished the work by himself. Salieri confusedly looked over a piece of paper still lying in front of him with only a few lines written.
The copyist chuckled when he noticed that he was awake. “Did my work prove too difficult for a maestro?”
Salieri didn't share his good humor. “What time is it? Has any musician arrived for the rehearsal?”
“It's only been two hours; the rehearsal is due to start only at eight. So you can return to your sweet dreams, or better still — go home.”
Salieri didn't move to leave. “Wake me up when the musicians or the maestro show up. I will stay for the rehearsal.” And he — intentionally this time — let his head fall onto his hands onto the table.
What woke him up, however, was the sound of the familiar ringing laughter from the hall. This sound made him stand up in a matter of seconds and soon he bumped into Mozart in the doorframe. Embarrassed, he took Mozart by the shoulders for balance, but when the bright laugh continued he unconsciously joined in. At the moment he was barely aware of anyone else who came together with Mozart.
“My dear Salieri, I am so sorry, you’ve struggled so much for me! Did you get to have any sleep at all? You look tired!” Mozart spoke in his quick and happy manner that Salieri so appreciated.
Salieri smiled as well as he possibly could in his condition. “I am fine, thank you, Mozart. I’ve slept for hours here.” They continued looking at each other for a few more minutes, smiling thoughtlessly. Salieri found it quite impossible to move.
At last the spell was broken by Da Ponte who appeared from behind Mozart. “Are you two done with your courtesies? Is there an overture to be rehearsed?”
Salieri promptly turned back to the copyist, who already stood beside him and was passing the music sheets to Mozart.
“Thank you very much! How much do I owe you?” Mozart reached into his pocket, but the copyist stopped him.
“Thank you, Herr Mozart, I was already paid in advance by Signore Salieri.”
Mozart looked quite distraught hearing this, but didn’t start the argument in front of other people. Salieri was satisfied as this was exactly the result he was hoping for.
“Well, the rehearsal starts soon,” Da Ponte spoke again. Knowing that the opera was in no danger anymore he assumed a merrier mood. “Let’s go, Wolfgang. Salieri deserves a good rest and a proper sleep after everything.”
That was when another person suddenly came into view, namely a young lady. Her face resembled Mozart’s so much that even in the darkness Salieri would recognize her as his sister. She bowed politely to Salieri and waited for her brother to introduce her properly.
He seemed to have forgotten she was there, too, but quickly he gathered his wits and took her by the hand. “Salieri, allow me to introduce my dear sister Maria Anna. Nannerl, this is Antonio Salieri, our Kapellmeister, but most importantly — my dearest friend. But, of course, you know all of it.”
Salieri lowered his head in a polite bow and smiled at the girl. “My pleasure at finally meeting you. Was your travel smooth?”
“Thank you, Signore. We didn’t even notice the way, as we were so excited to embrace Wolfgang again.”
Mozart suddenly clapped his hands to attract everyone’s attention. “Da Ponte is right; the niceties will wait. Salieri, I will have to promise you another wish, but can I make another request? This is Nannerl’s first time in Vienna and if you could show her around the city before the opera starts I would be most thankful!”
Salieri readily agreed, and so Mozart and Da Ponte together went to the musicians who had already arrived for the grand rehearsal. Salieri turned to Maria Anna. “Have you had any breakfast?” When she answered negatively, he suggested first to stop in an inn.
At the table as they were already drinking coffee Salieri struggled much with how to lead a conversation with the young lady. Even though he usually didn’t have problems with it, this woman was a never before met obstacle for him: he had no idea how much she knew about her brother’s life in the capital so he didn’t know what to say without accidentally revealing his secrets.
Luckily, Maria Anna turned out to be as talkative as her brother and chatted away about everything and anything she saw. Finally, her attentive eyes stopped on Salieri. “My brother wrote a lot about you and your friendship. I am extremely happy that he’s met such a kind man in Vienna.”
Salieri smiled politely, hoping that the blush on his cheeks was not terribly noticeable. “I am very lucky to have your brother as my friend. Trust me, it is a privilege for me.”
Maria Anna smiled, something of Mozart’s naughtiness showing in her features. “You don’t need to speak in riddles with me, you know? Wolfie tells me everything and I know how close you are. And I’m glad you have each other.”
Now Salieri was sure his red face was impossible to miss. “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken about the nature of our relationship. Mozart and I share an intimate friendship but nothing except friendship.”
“Oh! Do you? I am so terribly sorry.” And she looked really sorry then. “I just assumed that you two made up, because the way he talks about you is still… But I’m so sorry for my mistake. Let’s discuss it no more.”
Salieri carefully put away the thoughts about Mozart talking about him in any romantic manner. These thoughts were unhelpful and very unwelcome. To somehow save the conversation, Salieri asked her what she would like to see in Vienna. “What about Ringstrasse? I hear it’s decorated quite nicely this time of the year,” the young lady suggested.
Already outside Salieri decided to give into his curiosity. “You’re not friendly with Constanze Mozart, are you?” he asked and even as he was speaking he regretted ever opening his mouth. Maria Anna’s face grew dark.
“You know how that is sometimes, one day you’re the closest of friends and the next day she doesn’t want to see you…”
She was quiet for a while, so Salieri asked, “You used to be… close? Like…”
Maria Anna smiled sorrowfully and looked at Salieri. “Yes, just like you used to be close with Wolfie. I’m happy you've kept your friendship with him and Lorenzo after all, but not all of us are this lucky. But I really would rather not talk about it.”
“My apologies for bringing this up.”
They shared the next hours in a comfortable conversation about music. Salieri was satisfied to learn that Maria Anna was talented and learned enough to compete with her brother and he even offered to help her find a position in Vienna too, but she refused it. From tentative hints he understood that there was a person who she did not want to leave in Salzburg, so he didn’t press on that matter.
They reappeared in the Theater half an hour before the opera and got to the entrance through a crowd so big Salieri started worrying their box would be occupied. On the way inside they caught up with Leopold and Constanze Mozart too, the former looking sour at not being admitted into the Theater without a ticket, the later — happy at seeing Salieri’s familiar face. Together they went to the second floor.
Seeing Mozart perform was, of course, always an unmatched delight: the way he smiled and the way he played out all the roles in front of the orchestra unfailingly brought a smile to Salieri’s face. But even then Salieri noticed how much more energy Mozart was wasting on the performance as an optimistic and loud man-child. He wondered whether the concerts would not take as big of a toll on Mozart if he allowed himself to stay real even on stage under all the gazes.
After the performance was ended and the encores were generously given to the public to everyone’s surprise the emperor himself raised to the stage. Salieri smiled seeing as Mozart, surely prepared for it but still startled at the moment, bowed deeply to the monarch. In the corner of his eye he noticed how far forward the old Mozart leaned trying to catch the emperor's words.
“What is he saying? What is happening?” Leopold Mozart asked no one in particular.
“The emperor wants Mozart to have a permanent position in the Theater. I suppose Count Rosenberg is making the offer right now,” Salieri explained.
Mozart’s father turned to him and Salieri was a little shaken by the look he gave him. “Is Wolfgang going to accept it?”
“It is up to him. We can go down right now and ask him. See: the emperor is leaving.”
Without further ado Salieri stood up and walked out of the booth, barely aware of all the Mozarts following him. He was focusing all his attention on not saying something rude to Mozart’s father.
As soon as Mozart spotted Salieri he ran towards him and took both his hands into his own. “Maestro! How was it? Did it stand up to your expectations?”
Salieri smiled kindly. “This was your best work and the best opera that Vienna has heard. Tell me, what did the emperor say?”
Mozart laughed giddily and looked over at the small crowd of congratulating musicians that had gathered around them. “Just like you said yesterday, I’m offered to stay here as a permanent Royal Theater composer!” He stopped abruptly as his eyes met his father’s.
“What did you answer?” Leopold Mozart asked without enthusiasm.
“I requested a few days to think it over. I wanted to consult with you first,” Mozart answered, his smile a little smaller.
Salieri spoke again, before the old Mozart got a chance to say something unkind. “I wanted to celebrate your successful premiere. Would you like to join me for dinner tonight? With your family, of course.”
Mozart quickly pressed Salieri’s hands that he still hadn’t let go of. “Happily, maestro! Only give me a moment to find Da Ponte, it is his celebration too!” And not saying anything else, Mozart ran backstage through the crowd.
Salieri turned around and realized he was the sole attention of Constanze, Maria Anna and Leopold Mozart, all with drastically different expressions. Constanze was the first to speak. “Thank you for the invitation, Salieri, but I have to go home and free Karl’s nanny. He still can’t fall asleep without me, you know. But please, celebrate Wolfie’s success and the new position to the fullest!” And promptly she was off, not sparing another look to anyone.
Salieri did everything to avoid Leopold Mozart’s eyes and fortunately the old man stayed quiet too, even though his gaze was burning on Salieri’s skin. They were not, however, lacking in conversations for soon Mozart reappeared with Da Ponte at his side. All the way to Saleiri’s house was occupied by Mozart’s excited chatter. Salieri was glad to play pretend with him that the tension in the carriage did not exist, but sometimes he would notice the expression of Leopold Mozart and feel quite frightened to stay in his company.
The same atmosphere continued even as they entered Salieri's house. “My sincere congratulations to you both, the opera was amazing,” Salieri said and raised his glass to drink for his friends. Mozart and Da Ponte both beamed at him.
“What do you think, papa? Was it good enough?”
“It was great, as always, son. I wish Vienna was more appreciative of what you’re doing for this city.” Salieri was surprised to see the old man smile.
“The city and the emperor surely showed their appreciation today,” Da Ponte spoke with a smile. “Congratulations, my friend, you deserve the position tenfold!”
Mozart looked more shy then. “This is all thanks to Salieri. Where would I be without such good friends?”
Salieri turned to the old Mozart and smiled at him in what he hoped was a friendly manner. “You’ve raised a very humble man, Herr Mozart.”
Leopold Mozart huffed. “Modesty makes a great man out of a good one. I’m glad to see my son still remembers the laws of God.”
“Don’t you think it’s lawful to recognize the gifts He presents us?” Salieri asked, curious.
“Oh, Wolfgang is well aware of his gifts. In this instance the gift is the powerful friend without whom he wouldn’t be able to make it in this city. Don’t act like this position had anything to do with his music.”
Salieri started to feel agitated, but stayed composed for the sake of Mozart who, judging by his movements, was also close to losing his temper. “What his powerful friend did to get him this position was simply pointing out the existing virtues to the emperor. If Mozart wasn’t the best composer in Vienna today, he wouldn’t get far no matter how many times I would ask Count Rosenberg to speak for him.”
Salieri suddenly felt Mozart’s feet under the table carefully touch his and it almost made him jump. He still kept on looking at the old Mozart, though, who now, ignoring Salieri, turned to his son. “You wanted my opinion? I’m telling you: you are better off returning to Salzburg.”
Salieri took notice of how quickly Mozart’s fingers tensed and untensed in the moment. He wanted to take Mozart’s hand, to hug him gently the way that he observed Da Ponte do often, but he had to stay decent in front of his father.
“I do not wish to return back, papa,” Mozart said quietly.
“I regret it deeply, son, because you used to respect my word as a command. I can already see the results of the moral decay of the society here.”
Mozart started aggressively tapping his feet against the floor but it did little to help him.
“I don’t understand you, papa. Shut up. Sorry. Shut up.” Mozart bit his tongue and turned his eyes upwards to calm himself down. “Shut up. I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. You encouraged me to leave Salzburg and go here to make our name known. This I followed as a command. But when I’m here already and have a chance to make a career you want to spirit me away.”
Suddenly Leopold Mozart’s cold rage turned into fire and he banged a fist against the table making everyone wince. “I know everything that you do here to make the Mozarts known! All of Salzburg knows about it! Do you know what they say about you here? That you’re a man-child, can’t find a place because you’re too immature and idle and that you’re fraternizing with a man who sleeps with your wife! That is the fame that you bring upon my honest name!”
Mozart froze completely, mortified. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act stupid. Everyone talks about how often your friend Salieri visits your house now,” his father said, putting venom in the name Salieri.
“That rumor is not based in any reality,” Salieri tried to defend himself, but Leopold Mozart wasn’t listening.
“Papa, Salieri visits me and only me in my house.”
“That’s not what your neighbors say,” the old man still didn’t give up.
Mozart started up, hands moving frantically, but his glassy eyes filled with tears staring unmovably at his father. “And you choose to believe the rumors rather than your son? Is this the treatment I deserve? Is this the treatment that my friends deserve?” Uncontrollably Mozart started spitting out ‘I hate you’s and ‘Shut up”s that only angered his father more.
“I don’t need the rumors; I’ve seen enough of it today! You are either stupid or blind if you don’t see what kind of relationship Signor Salieri has with the woman you chose to call your wife!”
Mozart stomped his foot. “Shut up! You don’t know anything! You will not speak so about my friend! Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
Leopold Mozart snapped all the way. “Can you fucking stop this? Can’t you be normal?!”
Salieri stood up and the chair fell behind him. “You know quite well that he can’t. Stop agitating him,” he yelled, matching the old Mozart's anger. This had no effect on the old man, though.
“Don’t tell me what to do, brat. I will make it known what you do to honest men’s wives!” he yelled back, also standing up.
Rage burning inside him, Salieri didn’t notice that Mozart ran out of the room until he heard a loud bang of the door behind himself. For a moment he almost lost his composure and looked at Da Ponte hoping to get a hint of what should be done next. Da Ponte, however, looked as angry and as confused himself, so Salieri had to act on his own. “I’ll go and apologize to him,” he said quietly, addressing only Da Ponte, and left the room.
He found Mozart in his study walking in circles and spitting out loud insults at his father. He approached carefully, but as soon as Mozart noticed him he ran into his embrace. “Thank you. Fuck him. Thank you so much, please forgive me. Fuck him. I didn’t know anything about it.”
Salieri tentatively put one hand on Mozart’s back and another onto his head. He saw often enough what Da Ponte did when Mozart couldn’t calm down on his own so he tried to imitate the motions. “I’m sorry, Mozart. I didn’t mean to upset him so.”
Mozart raised his face towards Salieri and his blinking got even more rapid. “I hope you’re not seriously sorry for standing up for me. Tell me that you meant that.”
“Of course. I meant that and more.”
“That’s all that matters to me.” He hid his face in Salieri's shoulder again.
They remained in the same position, Salieri still stroking Mozart’s hair, but none of that seemed to work. Still Mozart blurted angry insults from time to time as he clearly tried and failed to relax. Salieri was feeling more and more helpless as he saw that nothing he did helped Mozart in any significant way.
Then a new idea appeared in his head. Or rather, an old idea that he always pretended wasn’t there. Salieri thought again of what Da Ponte always did when Mozart needed to snap out of the anxious fit. Could it be of help if this time Salieri did this, though? Hesitantly, Salieri moved his hand to Mozart’s cheek and gently led him to raise his face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he warned, and, before he had time to see what emotions this produced in Mozart, he lowered his head and connected with Mozart’s lips.
That was barely a kiss as Salieri was afraid to move at all. Still Mozart’s hands went up and took hold of his shoulders and Salieri was glad to feel no anxious movement of the fingers. He stayed in the position for a few more seconds, until he started to feel that he was taking too much advantage of the situation and moved back, releasing Mozart from his embrace. To his horror Mozart reacted with a sound of objection, the objection that he felt also but could not act upon.
“Better?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes,” Mozart answered in the same manner.
“Do you want to return? I will apologize to your father and we can continue… celebrating?” Salieri almost laughed at calling the disaster a celebration. Mozart joined in his humor and smiled weakly.
“Sure, let’s try and save it. But I don’t promise I won’t lose my temper again.”
“That’s alright. I will be there with you.”
They heard loud voices in the dining room as they were walking down the corridor and Salieri gave Mozart one last reassuring glance, hoping it would prepare him for the continuation of the argument. As it turned out, Da Ponte was also less than happy with whatever Leopold Mozart was saying about his son, so they were yelling insults at each other.
The old Mozart stopped abruptly as he saw Mozart and Salieri entering the dining room. “Amazing. Are you done embarrassing me?”
Immediately Salieri felt Mozart tense again and caught a glimpse of tears collecting in his eyes. That was too much for him, so he made a step forward stand between Mozart and his father and said, “I want you to leave my house. Now.”
Leopold Mozart’s face distorted in a proud anger. “Happily. And rest assured you will never see us again. Let’s go, Nannerl, Wolfgang. We will only ruin our reputation by staying here any longer.”
He went to the front door, quite confident that the children would follow him. Maria Anna indeed quickly went after him, sparing awkward nods to Da Ponte and Salieri, looking apologetic. Mozart, however, didn’t move. When he realized it, the old Mozart turned around and looked threateningly at his son. “Do you need a special invitation? I said we are leaving. Let’s go.”
Mozart avoided his father’s eyes. “I’m not going with you, papa. My friend organized this dinner for me and it will be very rude to leave early.” He said it very quietly, but the room was quieter still and the words sounded like drums in Salieri’s ears.
The father became red in the face and clearly still had a lot of insults prepared for everyone in the room, but in the end he only grumbled something incomprehensible and marched away. On his way out he threw back, “We are going to sleep in an inn. Have our luggage prepared tomorrow. And don’t think a letter with an apology will make me forget this insult, son. Don’t even try that.”
As the door was closing behind them, Mozart seemed to have changed his mind and made a move to run after them, supposedly to join them and apologize immediately, but both Salieri and Da Ponte stopped him. He didn’t fight for too long. Soon it was as if his whole body gave up and he collapsed into their hands crying uncontrollably.
Together Salieri and Da Ponte led Mozart to the living room and let him fall down onto the sofa. Salieri sat near him and put a hand into his hair. Mozart, still convulsing with sobs, leaned into the hand like a cat and soon — Salieri didn’t know exactly how — he lay face into his lap. Da Ponte seemed satisfied with their position. “Do you have any herbal tea, Salieri? I’m going to make some for him…” and quickly left the room, apparently trusting Salieri to handle the situation on his own.
Salieri himself didn’t feel that confident about it, but he continued the movement of his hand through Mozart’s hair as it seemed to bring pleasure to the man. When Mozart finally stopped shaking Salieri was almost proud of himself for how well he had helped him, until he realized that Mozart had passed out.
With panic rising in his chest, Salieri gently touched Mozart’s shoulder, then shook him a little. Mozart slowly came to and weakly raised into a sitting position, one hand on Salieri’s thigh for support. (Salieri ignored the sensation.) Confusedly Mozart looked around the room then at Salieri, at his lap where he was just lying. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled softly.
Salieri couldn’t contain a chuckle and brought a hand to Mozart’s cheek in what he hoped was a calming gesture. “Whatever for?”
Mozart, still more confused, pressed one finger into Salieri’s thigh where a stain from his tears was left, “I’ve ruined your breeches.”
Salieri laughed even more. “That’s just tears, I will have it washed and you won’t know it was even there.”
“Not just tears…” Mozart looked down shyly. “Snot too. I’m sorry.”
“Then I will throw away the breeches. I never liked them anyway.” Salieri let go of Mozart’s face. The closeness was getting too much for him, but he was determined to stay put.
“Then I’m sorry for ruining the dinner,” Mozart continued as quietly.
“Hush! You didn’t ruin it! If anything, it was a collaborative effort by your father and myself. And I’m sorry for it. But I won’t take any more apologies from you.”
A smile finally appeared on Mozart’s face and Salieri couldn’t not mirror it. They stayed in a comfortable silence for some time, looking at each other with undecipherable emotions. Salieri was feeling increasingly hot inside until he had to say something, to move to his desired direction after all.
“Listen, Mozart… There in the study, I kissed you…”
This time Mozart was the one to hush him. “I know you did it to calm me down and it worked. Thank you for that. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”
Salieri looked at Mozart’s hand that he still hadn’t moved from his thigh. “No, Mozart… I would rather we talked about it.” He stopped, confused about how to say what was on his mind. He was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. “Six months ago I said it wouldn’t work, but… I believe I was wrong. You’ve taught me how to love you properly. And you’ve taught me how much I need you. So if you… In case you still want… me… I would really like to try it.”
When Salieri raised his eyes again he saw Mozart’s eager but still collected expression, his eyes shining. “What would you like to try?” Mozart was teasing him, but Salieri didn’t mind it. His smile turned softer.
“I want to have what you and Da Ponte have.”
Mozart tilted his head to the side. “But I will not end things with Lorenzo. He would be a part of it.”
“Of course.”
In a matter of seconds Mozart rushed forward and grabbed Salieri's head. He stopped mere inches away from Salieri's lips. Salieri felt his body tremble with anticipation of the joy that he was almost given, but Mozart froze again. “What would you want to do first, then?” he asked, the teasing in his voice taking the main role.
As much as Salieri wanted to play games with him, his desire was quickly enveloping his mind. “Kiss me. Please, Mozart, kiss me.”
Mozart smiled graciously and leaned forward, but what he gave Salieri was barely a peck. After less than a second he pulled back. By instinct Salieri tried to follow him, but he felt one hand move to his hair and hold him in place. The game was happening whether he liked it or not.
“Is that enough, maestro?” Mozart asked in a singsong voice.
“More, please,” Salieri begged. Even from this little contact he was feeling the heaviness grow in his groin.
Mozart quickly moved forward again and pecked Salieri again, another second of a contact. Salieri tried to catch him with his lips, but Mozart was too quick. Something of his desperation must have shown on his face, because Mozart, upon seeing it, burst out laughing.
Salieri closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry for making you wait so long, Mozart.”
A hand gently caressed his cheek, one finger lingering on the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to apologize for, maestro. Only, you’ve taught me self-restriction. You are so good at it that I almost believed you didn’t want me anymore.”
Something between a sob and a moan escaped from Salieri’s lips. “You promised.” He opened his eyes again and saw curiosity spark over Mozart’s face. “You promised me one wish for today. I can ask for anything.”
Mozart laughed again, lightly. “And what would you wish to spend my boon on?”
“Kiss me. I’m begging you…” And before he finished speaking Mozart gave in and their lips connected.
This time Mozart didn’t move back immediately. Instead, he quickly deepened the kiss, his tongue entering Salieri’s mouth. Salieri felt light-headed. Mozart’s hand still pulled at his hair, but this time not to restrict his movement and only to bring more pleasure. And Salieri felt that a little bit more of it and he would die, drown in Mozart and his affection. But that was not unwelcome.
Soon Mozart pulled back again, both of them breathless and red-faced. Salieri didn’t lose a second and lifted his hands to Mozart’s cravat. There was nothing he missed more than that neck, the sensitive spots and the satisfied reactions of Mozart when he was kissing it right. The cravat was soon on the floor and Salieri almost ripped open the shirt and before long his lips were on Mozart’s neck.
Mozart moved closer still, one knee between Salieri’s thighs, both hands holding onto his neck and shoulders. “I- ah! I missed you so, Antonio!”
Salieri’s hands — on their own accord — moved down and he grabbed Mozart by the bum, bringing him closer and closer. Mozart moaned loudly, his head thrown back, neck given fully to Salieri and Salieri was using the opportunity. When he felt Mozart grind his erection on his thigh, though, he almost lost his consciousness.
The sound of a door opening and steps inside the room made Salieri suddenly return into reality. Looking over Mozart’s shoulder he saw a smiling Da Ponte, with a cup of tea in his hands, approaching the sofa. Mozart, however, didn’t stop his maddening movements, and Da Ponte was consuming the view with his eyes. Salieri could not have predicted how much being watched by his best friend would add to the pleasure already present.
“I hope you were not waiting for me to leave,” Da Ponte joked.
Mozart stopped and looked at Salieri in full seriousness. “Were we?”
“No,” Salieri chuckled. “In fact, I was hoping you both would stay here for the night.”
Mozart smiled over at Da Ponte and climbed down from Salieri’s lap. “Sounds amazing to me.”
“Drink your tea first, I put a lot of effort into making it. And I will chat with Antonio.” Da Ponte pressed the cup into Mozart’s hands and leaned forward to look at Salieri over him. Mozart pouted a little, but didn’t say anything. Da Ponte grinned looking over Salieri's body and addressed Mozart again, “Is it the right time to say ‘Told you so’?”
Mozart pushed his shoulder lightly. “Don’t, Lorenzo. We don’t want to scare Salieri away.”
Salieri, curious about the topic of the argument, looked from one to another waiting for them to reveal more. When they stayed silent, Da Ponte still grinning and Mozart drinking the tea calmly, Salieri asked, “Pray, what did you tell him so?”
“Oh, only that you would give in sooner or later. He is irresistible, isn’t he?”
Salieri mirrored his smile, but before he could answer Mozart spoke again. “Don’t tease him, please, Lorenzo!”
This dragged a laugh from Salieri. “Only you are allowed to tease?” Mozart only pouted more.
“You are quite right, Antonio, he doesn’t enjoy it when he’s not the one in charge of teasing. But we can fix it. Come closer and I’ll teach you an ultimate trick to tease maestro Mozart.”
Salieri hesitated a little, but he was still agitated from his game with Mozart, so his body didn’t object at the prospect of kissing another man. He moved towards Da Ponte, who accepted him into an embrace over Mozart’s lap and kissed him softly at first, then passionately.
Salieri couldn’t tell what was making him tremble more: Da Ponte’s lips on his or the knowledge that Mozart was surely watching them attentively. As they separated, Da Ponte sighed contentedly. “He does have a great taste, doesn’t he?”
“Exquisite,” Salieri agreed.
“I’m still here, you know. And I’m done with the tea!” Mozart chimed it. Only his darkened eyes revealed how much he’d enjoyed the sight, but he still kept the pout.
“How can you not be the only point of our attention!” Da Ponte said in mock indignation and, taking the cup from Mozart’s hands, kissed him as well.
When the two men stopped to breath, Salieri, not feeling sane, suggested that they all should move to the bedroom. Even if he was able to think straight in the moment, he would not be able to imagine what Mozart and Da Ponte would be like together.
Salieri slowly woke up as he felt someone try to move over him. When he opened his eyes (and fought to keep them open against the bright sunlight) he saw Mozart who was untangling himself from Da Ponte limbs. “Go back to sleep, Antonio,” Mozart whispered quickly and continued climbing over him to the edge of the bed.
Salieri caught him in a hug and refused to let him go. “Where do you mean to go?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“I need to pack my father’s things. Stanzi wouldn’t know anything about yesterday.”
Salieri hummed satisfied and, pushing Mozart back where he was sleeping minutes ago, got up himself. Da Ponte, unconscious about what was happening, nevertheless pulled Mozart back into his embrace as soon as he felt his presence.
“What are you doing, Antonio?” Mozart whispered irritated. “I need to see him.”
“No, you don’t. He said enough yesterday.” Salieri picked up his clothes from the floor, blushing a little at the memory of… “I will talk to him, apologize even. And you can sleep in the meantime.”
Mozart groaned, but Da Ponte held him too tightly to move. Salieri chuckled at his pouting expression. Soon he was in Mozart’s apartment again and he was glad that Mozart himself was far away, comfortably sleeping again.
Constanze opened the door quickly enough, but she looked distressed at Salieri’s lonely figure. “Is something wrong?" she asked immediately.
Salieri rushed to calm her down and relay everything that had happened the day before. “So I’m here at your service,” he finished the explanation.
Constanze looked as annoyed as Salieri felt, but still they got to packing the things together. In a few hours Salieri heard a loud bang at the door and almost felt afraid. He didn’t want to allow Leopold Mozart to have such power over himself, so he forced himself to look and speak confidently when he opened the door.
Salieri saw anger grow in the old Mozart as he realized who was standing before him. “You again?”
“Good morning, Herr Mozart. My apologies for yesterday. Here are your things,” Salieri put their bags in front of him to not allow even a thought of the old man entering the apartment.
Leopold Mozart didn’t reply and looked into the hallway over Salieri’s shoulders. As he noticed Constanze his face distorted in disgust. “My son is not home?”
“He is, but he cried so much last night he’s not feeling well right now.” Salieri lied. Even though until last evening no thought of his relationship with Constanze Mozart entered his mind, now he saw clearly what Leopold Mozart was thinking about and it infuriated him.
The old man looked at Salieri again. “You are the worst thing that’s happened to my son in Vienna. He will recognize it one day and run over to me for comfort. Let him know that he will not be accepted in my house.”
Without a thank you or even a goodbye Mozart’s father was off. It took all of Salieri’s willpower not to run after him and tell him everything he thought. Instead he wished Constanze a good day and went out himself.
Back in his own bedroom Salieri found both Da Ponte and Mozart peacefully sleeping. He didn’t feel like undressing and dressing again, so he sat in a chair and waited for them to wake up. Mozart was the first to open his eyes. After a moment of confusion his expression changed into panic. “What time is it?” he asked Salieri. “Goodness, I’m going to be late to meet my father!”
Mozart tried getting out of the bed, but Salieri was soon at his side, holding him down and smiling softly. “Calm down, Wolfgang. I’m just from your house, your father has already left.”
Da Ponte woke up from the commotion. “What…?”
Mozart hid his face in his hands. “Salieri went out to send my father away. They’ve left Vienna by now.”
“Great! We’ve survived him again!” Da Ponte exclaimed with optimism.
“Did he say something about me?” Mozart asked, still into his hands.
Salieri contemplated sharing that his father was now more than sure that he shared a bed with Constanze, but in the end decided that it was not important. “He said I was the worst thing that’s happened to you in Vienna.”
Mozart let out a loud laugh of disbelief which Da Ponte quickly followed. “Did he really?” Mozart asked, opening his face again. Salieri was glad to see his smile. Overflowed with emotion he stooped lower and kissed him.
“Don’t you agree?” he teased.
Mozart giggled with a new-found excitement. “I am not ready for better things in Vienna if you, mon amour, are the worst!”
With an improved mood the three slowly started their morning. Getting dressed took them longer than usual for they had to stop and kiss many times. Breakfast followed in the same fashion. But Salieri was not complaining, even when the working flow was interrupted by their affection. After all, he was open to learning how to live and love with Mozart and Da Ponte.