This is a custom story that was written for a fiverr client, I hope you enjoy.
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The man stood in the doorway to his home, his cloak billowing around him, shielding him in a sheet of darkness. He held an opened letter in his hand, his heart sinking as he read the oh-so familiar phrase, "We do not feel your lifestyle would fit into our team".
Of course, he wasn't expecting good news. His last few applications had all resulted in similar rejection letters, yet it still soured his mood.
He rolled his eyes, dropping the paper at his feet and letting the wind take it from him. Entering his apartment swiftly, Thomas placed down his bags, he didn't have time to mope, he had a lesson to prepare.
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Johnathan ran, desperately trying not to slip on the porch steps as he approached the door. His bus had been delayed and now he was late. He knew Mr Riviera was going to be furious. He had once cancelled one of Jonathan's lessons because of his and I quote "ridiculous" footwear. He wondered how he'd feel when he showed up dripping on his floor, and late.
Of course Jonathan understood why Mr Riviera was so strict about such things, after being rejected from high musical society himself, he had made it his duty to make sure that nobody else would be.
A soggy piece of paper caught his eye, stuck in a bush outside the apartment building. Curiosity got the better of him and he reached out to grab the sopping letter. Reading quickly he absorbed the information. He already knew a great deal about Mr Riviera's private life and he wasn't surprised to see the most recent rejection his teacher had received. He was, however, surprised to see that Mr Riviera had bothered to apply at all; it was not a particularly prestigious orchestra. One far below the talents that he possessed. He supposed that it showed just how far his teacher had fallen. There was a time, not too long ago, that Thomas Riviera was considered one of the most talented violinists in the country.
Jonathan had never logically understood how Mr Riviera could be consistently turned away when his talent was clearly extraordinary. Deep down, he knew exactly why he was rejected of course, and it broke his heat to know that one day he may be rejected for the exact same reason.
Leaving the paper to dissolve into nothingness, Jonathan turned off his torch and knocked on the front door. He said nothing as the door opened to reveal a furious looking Thomas Riviera.
Anger seemed to radiate from every single cell of his being.
Johnathan Oakson, to put it bluntly, was a prodigy. Plain and simple, a genius musician at only 19 and everyone knew it, including Thomas and Johnathan.
Of course being a prodigy didn't make him any less infuriating to his teacher.
Thomas spoke, his voice dripping with sarcastic disdain, "Mr Oakson, so nice of you to show up". Jonathan ignored the comment, walking straight to the teaching room down the hall. After having lessons for a year, he was very familiar with the layout of the apartment. Carefully he took his violin out of its case and put a little rosin on the bow before testing the strings and tuning. He had never been a man of many words.
Once his violin was ready he wandered over to the mirror by the mantelpiece and took a look at himself. Johnathan was 5"8 with a slim build. His long, slender fingers doing nothing to hide his skinny figure. His black hair was always tousled, lying across his face haphazardly.
If you had to describe Johnathan in a word it would be taciturn.
Sighing, he ran his fingers through his unruly hair, attempting to stop it dripping down his cotton, blue shirt.
"If you are quite finished admiring yourself Mr Oakson, we shall begin".
Jonathan turned suddenly, his eyes falling upon Mr Riviera, who was now of course glaring at him. He seemed older than his 35 years, with age lines already forming on his face. Somehow the wrinkles only added to his charisma, he really had the tall, dark, mysterious thing going for him. Not to mention his tall stature exuded dominance, not that Johnathan should have noticed that sort of thing.
He wondered briefly; how different he would look with his long hair down. He could tell it was curly, perhaps ringlets. But alas, his hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, standard.
Mr Riviera was always so formal. The suit he wore to every lesson and the serious expression on his face left a lot to the imagination. Jonathan felt his mind drifting as he tried to imagine Mr Riviera relaxing a little bit. It felt odd, thinking of his teacher by his first name, but he felt that Thomas (Mr Riviera) should really loosen up a little.
Deciding to test the limits of their relationship today, Johnathan perked up, thinking just how best to annoy his tutor, "So Thomas, what lesson do you have planned for me today?"
"Mr Oakson," he boomed, ferocity coating his tone, "as your tutor I expect you to uphold a certain degree of respect."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the so-called prodigy before him, Thomas stood. He was reaching the last straw with Johnathan and they both knew it. He envied the naivety the boy showed, so carelessly turning up here, late, and sloppy.
The boy may be more talented than Thomas could ever be but he needed to learn that the way you act in this business can snuff you out in an instant.
After all, he knew that better than anyone.
All it had taken was one look.
One kiss.
One rumour that spread like wildfire, and he was done.
He sighed, no matter how infuriating he may be, Thomas was not going to give up on the potential he knew that this boy had, "Now, today we will be continuing with rehearsal of Vivaldi's four seasons: winter."
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The lesson was a trainwreck.
From the moment he stepped through that door, it was doomed.
Of course, this was Johnathan's intention.
He had spent most of the lesson purposefully playing wrong notes, losing time and coming in early on syncopated rhythms.
Very basic mistakes.
By the 40 minute mark, Thomas was practically twitching, the rage seeping off him was palatable.
Johnathan smiled brightly, looking into the eyes of his tutor. Saying nothing as he continued to play things wrong. He was intentionally messing up, yes. But it wasn't all fake, there was a flutter he got in his chest when Mr Riviera looked at him, a panic that swept over him and made him forget his fingerings. Sometimes the tension in the air was so thick he felt like he couldn't breathe, watching Thomas walk round the room, so calm and confident. He couldn't deny that the man was gorgeous but he was his teacher, not to mention almost twice his age.
The raw sexuality Thomas naturally exuded made Johnathan furious. How dare he stand there, acting formal and then make his cock harden with a single withering glance.
It was infuriating.
Johnathan messed up a basic chromatic scale.
It was the final straw.
"Right, that is enough. Go home, now. I will not teach you anymore".
