BookFan06: This story is Yaoi. If you’re not familiar with what that means, its slash, or to put it bluntly - a sexual relationship between two men. In this case its George Frideric Handel and Johann Sebastian Bach. I have warned you. If you don’t like, don’t read, that simple. No flames please.

Warnings: As I said, there will be a lot of gay sexual situations as well as cursing, so if you don’t like that, this story isn’t for you.

Some of it is based on history, but it mostly came from my mind. Don’t expect to pass your history or music class if you rely on this story. If you use this story for study, I’m so sorry for the bad grade you’re going to get!

Also, please excuse any bad spelling or grammar mistakes; I am horrible at that sort of thing, so bear with me.

Summary: My other story, Gay Classical Love, somehow felt incomplete, so I decided to write a story about how Bach and Handel had meet and fell in love. It goes through their lives as lovers and composers.

Again, don’t expect to pass history or music class if you use this!

Enjoy!

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Chapter One – Beautiful Eyes

I am indeed quite young, especially for someone who is going to London for the first time. It is 1710 and I am in my early twenties. After I have traveled from Germany to Italy to France in order to study music, and it only seemed natural to go to England next. I have been invited by my friend Johan Matthason to go and accompany him at the Opera House in London.

“Herr Handel,” he had said, “you will love the people in England. A composer could thrive in a place like that.” Right away I agreed to go.

London matches my many moods. It’s dark and depressing, but also free, relaxed, and high-class. It was difficult at first because I could not speak a word of English. Luckily I am very good at learning languages such as French and Italian, and soon enough I quickly found myself learning English. I also soon found myself loving the country itself.

It has been about a fortnight after I arrived, and I found myself directing my opera Almira at the London Opera House. I sat diligently at the Harpsichord and directed everything from there. Whenever I play, I enjoy taking glances toward the audience. During the second act, I took one of these glances.

Rarely does any one person stand out, but this time someone did. He was a young man who greatly resembled myself. He had long brown hair, a pail thin face, and large black eyes.

The eyes in particular started me. I never saw such passion, such intelligence, such understanding in another persons eyes. I tore my eyes away, fearing I’d make a musical error, although it was unlikely.

Throughout the performance I could feel his eyes on me. Why can I feel his eyes? I thought. I can’t get his eyes out of my head!

After the performance, I went to the washroom in order to calm my nerves. I take some water from the basin and splash it all over my face. Why did this man strike me so? I was angry with myself. I had never lost my nerves like that before. I force down a deep, shaky breath and I quickly recovered myself.

Somehow I feel bad inside. Like what I am thinking is a sin. How can it be a sin if I don’t even know what is going on?

I finished up and meet Matthason at the entrance of the Opera House. Upon seeing me approach he smiles at me.

“Must you return to Germany so soon?”

“Yes” I reply. “My mother and family wish to see me. And it will only be for a short time. I should be back after a fortnight.”

Matthason understood and nodded. The next morning I board a ship from England to Germany, and then hire a carriage to my hometown of Halle, where my mother and the rest of my family lived and waited.

My father had died a few years ago - in 1702. A passing I must admit, did not make me the lest bit sad. I had suffered as child under his roof. I could not sing or play or do anything that resulted in music or fun. By his recommendation I was forced to go to law school. I mainly did it to please him. The next year, he had died and I left law school.

Although it sounds awful that to say, but I am glad that he is dead, for I am happier now than I ever was when he had lived.

I have not entered the house since the day he died. Then it was cold, dark, and empty. I know for a fact that it is not that way now, seeing that my mother Dorothea and Aunt Anna are running the house; both being complete opposites of my Father, especially my Aunt.

As I ride the carriage through the beautiful town of Halle, I anticipate seeing my home again. I love this town more than any other that I have ever been to. The carriage wind its way up the avenue to the home, the very one that I grew up in.

I look out the window as it came into sight. As I pull up, my family comes running out to greet me. My mother, aunt, two brothers, three sisters and a dozen cousins and other relatives warmly greet me with hugs and kisses.

My mother and aunt fluttered around me asking too many questions for my likening. My sisters practically squeezed all the air out of my lungs and my cousins and younger brother where all over the place. But I was particularly happy to see my older brother and cousin.

My brother Fredrick is the son of my father’s first wife. He would stand up and protect me from a lot of my father’s abuse, and I love him for it.

My cousin, who is also named Fredrick, works for a very rich and influential gentleman. When my father went to the gentleman’s home to take care of one of the family members (he was a barber surgeon), the gentleman heard me playing the pipe organ. The gentleman asked my cousin about it and he said it was me. The gentleman gave my father money so I could study music, and my father had no choice but to comply.

My brother, cousin, and I embraced.

“How is our little composer doing?” teased my cousin.

“Come, tell us of your adventures” said my brother.

I know am home.

The cottage is very simplistic. Flowers, trees and shrubs are everywhere in the garden. Inside, the furniture is earthly and simple. It feels so much nicer than it was before.

We all gather in the living room and I tell them about my time in England. As I tell them all about my time, my mother and aunt make lunch.

“These English are very weird people” exclaimed my cousin Johann when I talked about the customs there.

“Are the Englishmen handsome?” asked my sister Jamie.

My cousin Lena giggled. “Of course they are. Oh, I so wish I could meet one.”

I blush, as the thought of the man with the beautiful eyes I saw at the Opera House suddenly came to mind.

We talked far into the afternoon. Soon, I found myself becoming very tired, so I excused myself and retired to my rooms

I take the stairs up to my second story room, finding that my things have already been brought up by one of my in-laws. The room is exactly how I left it. On the farthest is my canopy bed with dark blue sheets. Next to the bed is a night stand and a small window over it. The wall to the right also has a window, though it is a bit larger. There is also a closet, a chest of drawers, and a bookshelf. On the opposite wall is a Spinet, desk, and a bookcase filled with books.

I then begin to put away my belongings. I put my clothes in the closet and chest of drawers. Then I place a few of my valuables, such as my pocket watch, in the night stand. Lastly, I place my violin in its case next to the Spinet.

I let out a sigh as I plop down onto my bed. Within moments, I fell asleep.

TBC…

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BookFan06: Well, I hoped you liked it! Please review and constructive criticism only. I really like reviews, you know! Again, excuse any bad spelling and grammer. I’ll update as soon as I can. And if your wondering, a Spinet is a early version of a Harpsichord.