BookFan06: This is my first posting, so I hope you like it. It’s a slash fic with the two great composers George Frederic Handel and Johann Sebastian Bach. Slash means a gay relationship. So if you don’t like, don’t read. I’m warning you now. I don’t want anyone complaining about it.

In real life, they never meet. I’m just pretending. So don’t expect this to be a history lesson. If you want me to make a story of this, email and review me. But this one in particular is a one-shot. So if I get good reviews, I’ll make a different story of this. So, in other words, enjoy!

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He’s so beautiful when he sleeps. He almost looks like a puppy. A Bull-dog puppy when he’s awake. It doesn’t mean I don’t love him. He just has a bad temper a times. Anyone who has worked with Handel knows this. He can be so difficult when he doesn’t get he’s way. But he can also be amusing. Here is an example.

We always watch each others performances; and try to go to the others rehearsals. Once I was on stage with some of my actors, going over one of my operas as Handel sat in the audience. A young woman was having trouble with her part. She said her part was too difficult. I tried to calm her down, but she said she would not go on until her part was easer. At this point, Handel ran up on stage.

In an angry voice, he said “This, difficult? Are you mad! I can do your part myself. Get me a petticoat! You all might learn something.”

And he did! The man wore a petticoat! I tried to talk him out of it, but he would have none of it. Things like that make me wonder about him at times. But it’s also part of the reason why I love him so.

He’s awake, even though his eyes are not open, I know he’s awake. The first thing he does when he wakes is see if I’m nearby. He takes his hand and touches my arm. Smiling, he opens his eyes, which are a clear brown.

I lean forward and gently kiss him. He also leans forward and, with utmost care, forced his tongue into my mouth. I gasp, I was not expecting this. My gasp turns into a moan. I suddenly feel very weak. My dear Handel knows what my spots are, and he is not afraid to use them.

He brakes away with a grin on his face, his eyes twinkling. I lean my head on his chest and listen to his heart beat. He puts his arms around me, holding me gently. I look up at him.

I have an idea of what he is thinking of. Music. It’s usually music, me, or food. Perhaps all three.

He says I’m his favorite muse, even though I’m the only person he loves. He smiles at me lovingly.

“I love you Bach.”

“I love you Handel.”

I smile to myself. What on earth would my wife think?

Fin

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BookFan06: Do you like it? Tell me what you think. Put please, no flames. And please, don’t take my work, I don’t take yours. I’m going to put my work in a book one day anyway. So be kind.