Ripped Chords and Blue Jeans 2/
Title: Ripped Chords and Blue Jeans 2/?
Pairing: Yoochun/Jaejoong
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would teach them how to play *pervs*
Summary: Yoochun is a piano instructor for children of the elite. When a bonafide prodigy lands on his piano bench, Yoochun falls hard
Warning: Underage sex. Yoochun is 24, Jaejoong is 15
A/N: I sort of have an idea where this story is going. Might be only two chapters, might be three or four.
Poster credit goes to crazyaboutchun. Thank you darling! I love it! ♥
Part 2:
The girls loved Jaejoong on the piano. They crowded around him as he played and awed at how his fingers moved, and Soonli and Meena managed to sit on each side of him. Yoochun sat back and watched Jaejoong’s face as he blushed from actual embarrassment from the praise of his classmates. He was in a world so much higher than them, so much higher than Yoochun. Yoochun did not need to teach him how to play at all, but only had to be there for him so he could break out of his shell.
And maybe he’d get to help get rid of a few erections. But that was his dreams talking.
His cock twitched in his pants. “That’s enough,” he said more to himself than his students. “Thank you for playing today, Jaejoong.”
“Is class over already?” Meena said. “Play some more, Jaejoong, please.”
Jaejoong shook his head.
“Meena,” Yoochun said. “Let him alone.”
“Sorry, Sonsaengnim.”
The girls trickled out of the classroom, a few shooting wistful glances at Jaejoong.
“I think they’re more in love with you now than me,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong looked at his lap, blushing crimson. “I … I don’t really like girls,” Jaejoong said softly.
Yoochun understood. There were enough of them at Jaejoong’s house with his eight older sisters.
“Hy-hyung?”
“Yeah?”
“Do-do you mind if I stay for a little longer?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Th-thanks. I … I don’t play at home.”
Yoochun also understood that. He had a few emails to answer. Four of his student’s parents were already demanding to know of their daughters’ progress. He sat as his desk and listened to Jaejoong play. At first it was nonsense, and then the notes joined, concreted, firmed.
“Want some paper?” Yoochun asked, as Jaejoong slowed the notes down, playing that melody again and again.
“N-no.”
“Okay.”
Yoochun didn’t write his emails. He stared at Jaejoong. The kid gave no indication of knowing that he was under scrutiny. His bangs hung in his eyes. But it didn’t matter too much since his eyes stayed shut, long black lashes brushing the soft skin of his cheeks. There was a small bump in his nose, a few freckles on his cheek. His lower lip once again was pressed between his teeth, and then that tongue ran over his lower lip, sticking out in concentration.
Yoochun did not realize how late it was until the light in the room turned red with the sunset.
“Jaejoong,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong jumped, eyes wild until they settled on Yoochun.
Yoochun smiled. “Time to go.”
He swallowed and then nodded. Yoochun stood up. Jaejoong’s cheeks went very very red as Yoochun caught him sneaking a look at his crotch.
“I wasn’t playing,” Yoochun said as an explanation.
Jaejoong cleared his throat, and when he stood up, his erection was on display in his pants, and Yoochun had to tear his eyes away from it. How did a fifteen year old have a bulge like that one? And then his cock stirred.
Yoochun tried to will it away as he put on his jacket. Jaejoong hefted his bag and a moment later put in his earphones. Yoochun led the way out of the classroom, turning off the light and locking the door. Jaejoong walked ahead of him, not turning around until they were outside.
“Hy-Sonsaengnim,” Jaejoong said.
Yoochun frowned, and then realized that Jaejoong was right. It wouldn’t be proper for Jaejoong to call him hyung out of that classroom.
“Can I bum a smoke?”
“Sure.” Yoochun dug into his pocket for his cigarettes. “You want a ride home?”
“N-no. I … I might … later. I’ll go home later.”
Yoochun handed him the cigarette, and then lit it for him. He swallowed as Jaejoong’s cheeks hallowed in on the first drag. “Everything alright at home?”
Jaejoong shrugged. “Sure.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I … it’s okay.”
“It’s getting late, Jaejoong.”
“I’m always out late,” Jaejoong replied. “See you Wednesday.”
Yoochun watched as Jaejoong hefted his backpack and walked away. He lifted the hood up on his jacket, and then his hands were shoved into the pockets.
Yoochun lit a cigarette.
♪-♪-♪
Thursday, Jaejoong was late. He slid into the classroom, gasping out apologies. Yoochun hadn’t started to worry yet.
“I … yeah, sorry.” Jaejoong ducked his head, and sat at the piano.
Yoochun smiled and said, “That’s okay. You’re not in uniform.”
“I … ran here, from … I lost track of time.”
Yoochun opened his mouth to reprimand him, but Jaejoong started playing. And as he watched, he noticed how very different this Jaejoong was than the one who was in his class. His blue jeans were ripped at the knees, thighs, and there was even a small hole in the butt. The white fabric stretched tight over that hole, and Yoochun couldn’t decide if it was intentional or only worn. They weren’t skinny jeans, but they weren’t too loose either. Up and down one leg were safety pins of varying lengths and sizes. He had on a chain belt, and the end lay along the bench.
A black t-shirt stretched across his wiry shoulders. The sleeves of the t-shirt bunched over the beginning promise of muscles, and after a moment, Jaejoong took one hand off the piano to push the sleeves up, out of his way. His pants slipped low enough and the shirt rode high enough that Yoochun could see the “Calvin Klein” band of his boxers.
Yoochun had to lick his lips, trying to get moisture back into his mouth.
There were piercings in his ears. Four in the right ear that Yoochun could see. Silver dangled around his neck.
The only coherent thought in Yoochun’s mind was what Jaejoong’s erection would look like in those jeans.
Jaejoong immediately started working on a familiar melody, but this time he added variations to it. Yoochun had planned on teaching Jaejoong how to harmonize. The kid could do it on the piano, but it was important that he learned to do it on paper too.
Instead, he let Jaejoong play.
It was such a different experience. Out of his school clothes, Jaejoong looked older, harder, … more seasoned, and Yoochun knew he was trying to rationalize the erection tenting his dress pants. This Jaejoong was fierce. The color on his cheeks was no longer shame, but determination and anger.
Yoochun grew tired of watching. He stood up and gravitated to the piano bench. Jaejoong slid over, and Yoochun sat down, their thighs pressed together. He leaned forward enough to watch Jaejoong’s face as he played.
His eyebrow was pierced. Yoochun wanted to touch it.
His eyes stayed shut for long minutes, fluttered open when he breathed, and then shut again. One time, he noticed Yoochun watching him and his finger slipped on a note, and he swallowed when he should have breathed.
“I love watching you play,” Yoochun said, voice barely above a whisper.
Jaejoong swallowed again, but didn’t stop playing. He used the keys and the music as a guard against the way Yoochun was looking at him. It was so hard to care.
Jaejoong didn’t stop playing for almost an hour.
And then with breath short and face flushed and wild, he stopped, looked away from Yoochun, and leaned a hand on the bench for support. Yoochun let his eyes fall to Jaejoong’s lap, and the erection pushed up against the front of his jeans. Button fly jeans. Yoochun’s favorite.
“When you play,” Yoochun said, “you remind me of life before I started teaching, when I was working my way through bars, begging for a bite to eat in exchange for a live musician.”
Jaejoong looked at him, eyes wide. “You …”
“I used to be homeless, Jaejoong. The piano is all I had. Well, that and cigarettes. A few more nefarious things like coke, and lovers, and alcohol, but there’s only so many times you can wake up with a headache in a stranger’s bed with a stranger’s drying come on your thighs, and throw up little more than alcohol before it starts getting old. People grow up.”
“How… How did you end up teaching?” Jaejoong asked.
Yoochun slid his fingers along the lower keys. He wanted to feel Jaejoong’s thighs under his fingertips. He hit a sharp chord, and then another one.
“A family friend had promised me solace, and I turned him down until I was twenty. I sought his help, and he took me in. I managed to kick all my habits by drowning myself in the piano. Well, except smoking. Should we go take a break?”
Jaejoong smiled. “What do you need a break from? You haven’t done anything.”
Yoochun stood up and stretched. He saw the way Jaejoong’s gaze trailed down his body, and then Yoochun turned away. He went to his desk to grab his jacket. “You have no idea how hard it is not to jump you when you’re playing,” Yoochun said. “Trust me. It takes a lot of effort.”
Jaejoong’s cheeks turned almost red, and he looked away, chest rising with his heavy breathing. Yoochun’s mind superimposed that image below him, and then gave himself a shake.
“Come on. Let’s go have a cigarette.”
Jaejoong stood up, and Yoochun unabashedly looked at his crotch. Jaejoong made a noise and turned, throwing his black hoody back on. Yoochun followed him out the door. His cock was being stubborn, and refusing to go down, but again, out of school clothes, Jaejoong moved so differently. His movements morphed into each other, they flowed like music. And Yoochun wondered if it was the uniform or just that Jaejoong was used to his presence.
Outside, the wind blew cold. They stayed near the doors, and each lit their own cigarette.
“Hyung? Why were you homeless?”
Yoochun held a drag in his lungs before puffing it out. “I left home when I was fourteen. Not by choice. I was rebellious and … my family was poor, Jaejoong. My mother tried very hard to feed my younger brother and me, while my father spent his meager paycheck on alcohol and loose women. When my father started throwing those women at me, I told him I’d rather fuck a boy and well, yeah … no more home.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t feel bad for me, Jaejoong. I survived.”
“What … what happened to your family?”
“My mom finally left my dad. She lives with her sister now, and I send her money when I can. Most of my paycheck goes to pay my brother’s tuition. He’s studying Veterinarian Medicine.”
“And you never went to college?”
“Nope.”
“How … How did you get hired here?”
Yoochun looked at him. He smiled. “I’ll show you.” He doused his cigarette and they went back to the classroom. He sat at the piano and nodded at a chair. “Name a score.”
“What?”
“Name a classical score.”
“Anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Saturn …”
Before Jaejoong finished saying it, Yoochun was playing it. He played for about two minutes and said, “Give me another one.”
Jaejoong said, “Tchaikovsky” and the “Fur Elise” and then another and another. Yoochun played them all.
“How … hyung, how …”
“You’re not the only gifted one, Jaejoong,” Yoochun said, “though you’re better than I am. You have a heart for music. A sense of it. What you have is not something that can be taught. You should be writing concertos, which is why I’m going to teach you how to write music.”
Jaejoong blushed and looked away.
“Come and play. I’m actually going to use the last half hour and try to teach you what I meant to teach you instead of staring at you. You need to learn to control your music, not let it control you.”
Jaejoong’s tongue slipped over his lower lip. “O-okay.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have any problems with the idea of writing music, I think you’re going to have to have problems with the patience it requires.”
Jaejoong scrunched his face in a pout that did not match the attitude of his clothes.
“You already know how to do this, Jaejoong. I can tell when you’re playing. You need to learn to write it and give your music structure.”
Yoochun leaned over to the desk and grabbed a notebook. “Come on. Sit. Play the strain that you’ve been messing with the last couple days. And just the main notes. Nothing more.”
Jaejoong sat down, fingers on the keys and he played the simplest version of the light melody. Yoochun jotted down the notes.
“Now, play with it. I don’t want to hear you continue on, but I want to hear this strain, these sixteen notes, repeated with your variations. After each one, write down the notes you played, and then go. Again and again, until you have something you’re happy with.”
“But, hyung, that’s what I do when I just play.”
“I know. But you lose your structure. Do it. You have a thirty minutes.”
“Fine.” Jaejoong put his hands on Yoochun’s hips and pushed him. “Go away. I can do this myself.”
Yoochun smiled. “If you start getting lost in the music, I’m going to smack the back of your head.”
Jaejoong made a face that definitely went with the attitude of the clothes. Yoochun stood up and went to his desk. Yoochun sat back and crossed his arms. The simple strain was played again, and then again, with harmonized notes. Jaejoong stopped, leaned over the piano and wrote on the paper. Yoochun’s eyes traveled down his back. The t-shirt rode up even more. The skin of his back was as pale as his face. And so smooth.
And young, Yoochun reminded himself even as he licked his lips. Too young.
Every time Jaejoong stopped to write, he flicked his bangs out of his eyes. With a frustrated sigh, he dug in his pocket, pulled out a clip, and yanked his bangs back. Slightly lighter hair was revealed. Roots showing through the black. Yoochun imagined him as a blond, red hair, brunette, brown. Then blue and then green. Any color would look good with his skin. Any color would make him more and more attractive.
A minute later, he realized that Jaejoong had started playing randomly again.
“Jaejoong,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong lifted his hands from the keys, startled.
“Now I bet you can’t remember what you were playing enough to write it down.”
“Fuck,” Jaejoong muttered, and then blushed. “Eh, sorry, hy-hyung.”
“It sounded nice, but the purpose is to make it so I can play it when you’re done.”
Jaejoong nodded, and went back to work.
“Think of it as a story,” Yoochun said. He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of music that he had written a few weeks before. He moved to the piano bench and sat next to Jaejoong. Jaejoong stopped playing. “I know you’ve heard this before, but have you seen it, on a musical score? Something tells me you don’t use music very often.”
Jaejoong shook his head. “I don’t really need it.”
“Which is a lie. Every musician needs a score. Look. At the beginning, how the notes flow. It’s like the beginning of a story. You’re learning about the characters, who they are, what they look like. Then the farther along you go, you learn about the problems they face and have to overcome.” Yoochun pointed to where the melody changed. “As the problems pile up and pile up and pile up, so do the changes in the music. Until there’s a moment, a climax, and then the story tails off, and the song ends.”
Jaejoong frowned. “But I’m playing songs.”
“When you play, you stay about here.” He pointed to the beginning. “The music is beautiful, but it never grows. You can play like this for hours and hours. You can change the notes and the tempo, but without the structure of a score, you’ll never be playing a song.”
“I don’t want my music to be like everyone else’s,” Jaejoong said. “Um, no offense, hyung.”
Yoochun smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve hear you refer to it as my music, so none taken. Look, Jaejoong, you don’t have to follow this as it is. You can have a huge climatic scene in the middle of your song, or at the beginning and then at the end, but it needs to go somewhere. It can’t just weave around itself. That’s the kind of music you make when you’re warming up, or when you have no set time and no one is really playing attention to you. It’s background. You want to be at the front.”
“O-okay, hyung.” Jaejoong looked up at the wall. His time was almost up. “C-can I play this?” he asked and pointed to Yoochun’s music.
“Sure. Let me go grab the rest of it.”
Jaejoong’s fingers trailed through the melody while Yoochun went to the drawer. The music was unfinished, but it’d be good to hear someone else play it.
“You have messy handwriting,” Jaejoong said.
“It’s not done yet. I’ll make a pretty copy when I’m done with it.” Yoochun set the score in front of Jaejoong, and after scanning through the music once, he started playing. He didn’t read music nearly as well as he played the piano, and Yoochun figured that would be something else to help him with. Not that he was bad. He played the song all the way through, only losing the tempo a few times, and fingers hitting the wrong notes.
“I don’t like this part, hyung,” Jaejoong said, pointing to a spot near the middle. A spot that Yoochun was having issues with.
Yoochun opened his mouth to agree and then Jaejoong played it again, and then again, and then he changed it.
“That’s better,” Jaejoong said.
And Yoochun nodded. “What keys are you hitting?”
Jaejoong played the notes slowly and Yoochun scribbled them down. “Fabulous. Thanks. That section has been pissing me off for weeks.”
Jaejoong looked up at the clock again and sighed. His lesson ended fifteen minutes ago.
“Do you need a ride home?”
Jaejoong made a face. “No.”
“Somewhere else, then?”
Jaejoong met his eyes. They stared at each other and Yoochun had a feeling that Jaejoong was actually considering it.
He shook his head. “No. I’ll walk.”
“Make sure you get something to eat tonight,” Yoochun said, turning away so Jaejoong wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face. He was a caring teacher. That was all. A caring teacher.
That wants to have sex with his student.
Yoochun scowled.
“Th-Thanks, hyung,” Jaejoong said, and the door shut quietly behind him.
Part 3: Shaken Chords
Part 1: Common Chords
.
Pairing: Yoochun/Jaejoong
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I would teach them how to play *pervs*
Summary: Yoochun is a piano instructor for children of the elite. When a bonafide prodigy lands on his piano bench, Yoochun falls hard
Warning: Underage sex. Yoochun is 24, Jaejoong is 15
A/N: I sort of have an idea where this story is going. Might be only two chapters, might be three or four.
Poster credit goes to crazyaboutchun. Thank you darling! I love it! ♥
Part 2:
The girls loved Jaejoong on the piano. They crowded around him as he played and awed at how his fingers moved, and Soonli and Meena managed to sit on each side of him. Yoochun sat back and watched Jaejoong’s face as he blushed from actual embarrassment from the praise of his classmates. He was in a world so much higher than them, so much higher than Yoochun. Yoochun did not need to teach him how to play at all, but only had to be there for him so he could break out of his shell.
And maybe he’d get to help get rid of a few erections. But that was his dreams talking.
His cock twitched in his pants. “That’s enough,” he said more to himself than his students. “Thank you for playing today, Jaejoong.”
“Is class over already?” Meena said. “Play some more, Jaejoong, please.”
Jaejoong shook his head.
“Meena,” Yoochun said. “Let him alone.”
“Sorry, Sonsaengnim.”
The girls trickled out of the classroom, a few shooting wistful glances at Jaejoong.
“I think they’re more in love with you now than me,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong looked at his lap, blushing crimson. “I … I don’t really like girls,” Jaejoong said softly.
Yoochun understood. There were enough of them at Jaejoong’s house with his eight older sisters.
“Hy-hyung?”
“Yeah?”
“Do-do you mind if I stay for a little longer?”
“No, go ahead.”
“Th-thanks. I … I don’t play at home.”
Yoochun also understood that. He had a few emails to answer. Four of his student’s parents were already demanding to know of their daughters’ progress. He sat as his desk and listened to Jaejoong play. At first it was nonsense, and then the notes joined, concreted, firmed.
“Want some paper?” Yoochun asked, as Jaejoong slowed the notes down, playing that melody again and again.
“N-no.”
“Okay.”
Yoochun didn’t write his emails. He stared at Jaejoong. The kid gave no indication of knowing that he was under scrutiny. His bangs hung in his eyes. But it didn’t matter too much since his eyes stayed shut, long black lashes brushing the soft skin of his cheeks. There was a small bump in his nose, a few freckles on his cheek. His lower lip once again was pressed between his teeth, and then that tongue ran over his lower lip, sticking out in concentration.
Yoochun did not realize how late it was until the light in the room turned red with the sunset.
“Jaejoong,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong jumped, eyes wild until they settled on Yoochun.
Yoochun smiled. “Time to go.”
He swallowed and then nodded. Yoochun stood up. Jaejoong’s cheeks went very very red as Yoochun caught him sneaking a look at his crotch.
“I wasn’t playing,” Yoochun said as an explanation.
Jaejoong cleared his throat, and when he stood up, his erection was on display in his pants, and Yoochun had to tear his eyes away from it. How did a fifteen year old have a bulge like that one? And then his cock stirred.
Yoochun tried to will it away as he put on his jacket. Jaejoong hefted his bag and a moment later put in his earphones. Yoochun led the way out of the classroom, turning off the light and locking the door. Jaejoong walked ahead of him, not turning around until they were outside.
“Hy-Sonsaengnim,” Jaejoong said.
Yoochun frowned, and then realized that Jaejoong was right. It wouldn’t be proper for Jaejoong to call him hyung out of that classroom.
“Can I bum a smoke?”
“Sure.” Yoochun dug into his pocket for his cigarettes. “You want a ride home?”
“N-no. I … I might … later. I’ll go home later.”
Yoochun handed him the cigarette, and then lit it for him. He swallowed as Jaejoong’s cheeks hallowed in on the first drag. “Everything alright at home?”
Jaejoong shrugged. “Sure.”
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I … it’s okay.”
“It’s getting late, Jaejoong.”
“I’m always out late,” Jaejoong replied. “See you Wednesday.”
Yoochun watched as Jaejoong hefted his backpack and walked away. He lifted the hood up on his jacket, and then his hands were shoved into the pockets.
Yoochun lit a cigarette.
♪-♪-♪
Thursday, Jaejoong was late. He slid into the classroom, gasping out apologies. Yoochun hadn’t started to worry yet.
“I … yeah, sorry.” Jaejoong ducked his head, and sat at the piano.
Yoochun smiled and said, “That’s okay. You’re not in uniform.”
“I … ran here, from … I lost track of time.”
Yoochun opened his mouth to reprimand him, but Jaejoong started playing. And as he watched, he noticed how very different this Jaejoong was than the one who was in his class. His blue jeans were ripped at the knees, thighs, and there was even a small hole in the butt. The white fabric stretched tight over that hole, and Yoochun couldn’t decide if it was intentional or only worn. They weren’t skinny jeans, but they weren’t too loose either. Up and down one leg were safety pins of varying lengths and sizes. He had on a chain belt, and the end lay along the bench.
A black t-shirt stretched across his wiry shoulders. The sleeves of the t-shirt bunched over the beginning promise of muscles, and after a moment, Jaejoong took one hand off the piano to push the sleeves up, out of his way. His pants slipped low enough and the shirt rode high enough that Yoochun could see the “Calvin Klein” band of his boxers.
Yoochun had to lick his lips, trying to get moisture back into his mouth.
There were piercings in his ears. Four in the right ear that Yoochun could see. Silver dangled around his neck.
The only coherent thought in Yoochun’s mind was what Jaejoong’s erection would look like in those jeans.
Jaejoong immediately started working on a familiar melody, but this time he added variations to it. Yoochun had planned on teaching Jaejoong how to harmonize. The kid could do it on the piano, but it was important that he learned to do it on paper too.
Instead, he let Jaejoong play.
It was such a different experience. Out of his school clothes, Jaejoong looked older, harder, … more seasoned, and Yoochun knew he was trying to rationalize the erection tenting his dress pants. This Jaejoong was fierce. The color on his cheeks was no longer shame, but determination and anger.
Yoochun grew tired of watching. He stood up and gravitated to the piano bench. Jaejoong slid over, and Yoochun sat down, their thighs pressed together. He leaned forward enough to watch Jaejoong’s face as he played.
His eyebrow was pierced. Yoochun wanted to touch it.
His eyes stayed shut for long minutes, fluttered open when he breathed, and then shut again. One time, he noticed Yoochun watching him and his finger slipped on a note, and he swallowed when he should have breathed.
“I love watching you play,” Yoochun said, voice barely above a whisper.
Jaejoong swallowed again, but didn’t stop playing. He used the keys and the music as a guard against the way Yoochun was looking at him. It was so hard to care.
Jaejoong didn’t stop playing for almost an hour.
And then with breath short and face flushed and wild, he stopped, looked away from Yoochun, and leaned a hand on the bench for support. Yoochun let his eyes fall to Jaejoong’s lap, and the erection pushed up against the front of his jeans. Button fly jeans. Yoochun’s favorite.
“When you play,” Yoochun said, “you remind me of life before I started teaching, when I was working my way through bars, begging for a bite to eat in exchange for a live musician.”
Jaejoong looked at him, eyes wide. “You …”
“I used to be homeless, Jaejoong. The piano is all I had. Well, that and cigarettes. A few more nefarious things like coke, and lovers, and alcohol, but there’s only so many times you can wake up with a headache in a stranger’s bed with a stranger’s drying come on your thighs, and throw up little more than alcohol before it starts getting old. People grow up.”
“How… How did you end up teaching?” Jaejoong asked.
Yoochun slid his fingers along the lower keys. He wanted to feel Jaejoong’s thighs under his fingertips. He hit a sharp chord, and then another one.
“A family friend had promised me solace, and I turned him down until I was twenty. I sought his help, and he took me in. I managed to kick all my habits by drowning myself in the piano. Well, except smoking. Should we go take a break?”
Jaejoong smiled. “What do you need a break from? You haven’t done anything.”
Yoochun stood up and stretched. He saw the way Jaejoong’s gaze trailed down his body, and then Yoochun turned away. He went to his desk to grab his jacket. “You have no idea how hard it is not to jump you when you’re playing,” Yoochun said. “Trust me. It takes a lot of effort.”
Jaejoong’s cheeks turned almost red, and he looked away, chest rising with his heavy breathing. Yoochun’s mind superimposed that image below him, and then gave himself a shake.
“Come on. Let’s go have a cigarette.”
Jaejoong stood up, and Yoochun unabashedly looked at his crotch. Jaejoong made a noise and turned, throwing his black hoody back on. Yoochun followed him out the door. His cock was being stubborn, and refusing to go down, but again, out of school clothes, Jaejoong moved so differently. His movements morphed into each other, they flowed like music. And Yoochun wondered if it was the uniform or just that Jaejoong was used to his presence.
Outside, the wind blew cold. They stayed near the doors, and each lit their own cigarette.
“Hyung? Why were you homeless?”
Yoochun held a drag in his lungs before puffing it out. “I left home when I was fourteen. Not by choice. I was rebellious and … my family was poor, Jaejoong. My mother tried very hard to feed my younger brother and me, while my father spent his meager paycheck on alcohol and loose women. When my father started throwing those women at me, I told him I’d rather fuck a boy and well, yeah … no more home.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t feel bad for me, Jaejoong. I survived.”
“What … what happened to your family?”
“My mom finally left my dad. She lives with her sister now, and I send her money when I can. Most of my paycheck goes to pay my brother’s tuition. He’s studying Veterinarian Medicine.”
“And you never went to college?”
“Nope.”
“How … How did you get hired here?”
Yoochun looked at him. He smiled. “I’ll show you.” He doused his cigarette and they went back to the classroom. He sat at the piano and nodded at a chair. “Name a score.”
“What?”
“Name a classical score.”
“Anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Saturn …”
Before Jaejoong finished saying it, Yoochun was playing it. He played for about two minutes and said, “Give me another one.”
Jaejoong said, “Tchaikovsky” and the “Fur Elise” and then another and another. Yoochun played them all.
“How … hyung, how …”
“You’re not the only gifted one, Jaejoong,” Yoochun said, “though you’re better than I am. You have a heart for music. A sense of it. What you have is not something that can be taught. You should be writing concertos, which is why I’m going to teach you how to write music.”
Jaejoong blushed and looked away.
“Come and play. I’m actually going to use the last half hour and try to teach you what I meant to teach you instead of staring at you. You need to learn to control your music, not let it control you.”
Jaejoong’s tongue slipped over his lower lip. “O-okay.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have any problems with the idea of writing music, I think you’re going to have to have problems with the patience it requires.”
Jaejoong scrunched his face in a pout that did not match the attitude of his clothes.
“You already know how to do this, Jaejoong. I can tell when you’re playing. You need to learn to write it and give your music structure.”
Yoochun leaned over to the desk and grabbed a notebook. “Come on. Sit. Play the strain that you’ve been messing with the last couple days. And just the main notes. Nothing more.”
Jaejoong sat down, fingers on the keys and he played the simplest version of the light melody. Yoochun jotted down the notes.
“Now, play with it. I don’t want to hear you continue on, but I want to hear this strain, these sixteen notes, repeated with your variations. After each one, write down the notes you played, and then go. Again and again, until you have something you’re happy with.”
“But, hyung, that’s what I do when I just play.”
“I know. But you lose your structure. Do it. You have a thirty minutes.”
“Fine.” Jaejoong put his hands on Yoochun’s hips and pushed him. “Go away. I can do this myself.”
Yoochun smiled. “If you start getting lost in the music, I’m going to smack the back of your head.”
Jaejoong made a face that definitely went with the attitude of the clothes. Yoochun stood up and went to his desk. Yoochun sat back and crossed his arms. The simple strain was played again, and then again, with harmonized notes. Jaejoong stopped, leaned over the piano and wrote on the paper. Yoochun’s eyes traveled down his back. The t-shirt rode up even more. The skin of his back was as pale as his face. And so smooth.
And young, Yoochun reminded himself even as he licked his lips. Too young.
Every time Jaejoong stopped to write, he flicked his bangs out of his eyes. With a frustrated sigh, he dug in his pocket, pulled out a clip, and yanked his bangs back. Slightly lighter hair was revealed. Roots showing through the black. Yoochun imagined him as a blond, red hair, brunette, brown. Then blue and then green. Any color would look good with his skin. Any color would make him more and more attractive.
A minute later, he realized that Jaejoong had started playing randomly again.
“Jaejoong,” Yoochun said.
Jaejoong lifted his hands from the keys, startled.
“Now I bet you can’t remember what you were playing enough to write it down.”
“Fuck,” Jaejoong muttered, and then blushed. “Eh, sorry, hy-hyung.”
“It sounded nice, but the purpose is to make it so I can play it when you’re done.”
Jaejoong nodded, and went back to work.
“Think of it as a story,” Yoochun said. He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of music that he had written a few weeks before. He moved to the piano bench and sat next to Jaejoong. Jaejoong stopped playing. “I know you’ve heard this before, but have you seen it, on a musical score? Something tells me you don’t use music very often.”
Jaejoong shook his head. “I don’t really need it.”
“Which is a lie. Every musician needs a score. Look. At the beginning, how the notes flow. It’s like the beginning of a story. You’re learning about the characters, who they are, what they look like. Then the farther along you go, you learn about the problems they face and have to overcome.” Yoochun pointed to where the melody changed. “As the problems pile up and pile up and pile up, so do the changes in the music. Until there’s a moment, a climax, and then the story tails off, and the song ends.”
Jaejoong frowned. “But I’m playing songs.”
“When you play, you stay about here.” He pointed to the beginning. “The music is beautiful, but it never grows. You can play like this for hours and hours. You can change the notes and the tempo, but without the structure of a score, you’ll never be playing a song.”
“I don’t want my music to be like everyone else’s,” Jaejoong said. “Um, no offense, hyung.”
Yoochun smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve hear you refer to it as my music, so none taken. Look, Jaejoong, you don’t have to follow this as it is. You can have a huge climatic scene in the middle of your song, or at the beginning and then at the end, but it needs to go somewhere. It can’t just weave around itself. That’s the kind of music you make when you’re warming up, or when you have no set time and no one is really playing attention to you. It’s background. You want to be at the front.”
“O-okay, hyung.” Jaejoong looked up at the wall. His time was almost up. “C-can I play this?” he asked and pointed to Yoochun’s music.
“Sure. Let me go grab the rest of it.”
Jaejoong’s fingers trailed through the melody while Yoochun went to the drawer. The music was unfinished, but it’d be good to hear someone else play it.
“You have messy handwriting,” Jaejoong said.
“It’s not done yet. I’ll make a pretty copy when I’m done with it.” Yoochun set the score in front of Jaejoong, and after scanning through the music once, he started playing. He didn’t read music nearly as well as he played the piano, and Yoochun figured that would be something else to help him with. Not that he was bad. He played the song all the way through, only losing the tempo a few times, and fingers hitting the wrong notes.
“I don’t like this part, hyung,” Jaejoong said, pointing to a spot near the middle. A spot that Yoochun was having issues with.
Yoochun opened his mouth to agree and then Jaejoong played it again, and then again, and then he changed it.
“That’s better,” Jaejoong said.
And Yoochun nodded. “What keys are you hitting?”
Jaejoong played the notes slowly and Yoochun scribbled them down. “Fabulous. Thanks. That section has been pissing me off for weeks.”
Jaejoong looked up at the clock again and sighed. His lesson ended fifteen minutes ago.
“Do you need a ride home?”
Jaejoong made a face. “No.”
“Somewhere else, then?”
Jaejoong met his eyes. They stared at each other and Yoochun had a feeling that Jaejoong was actually considering it.
He shook his head. “No. I’ll walk.”
“Make sure you get something to eat tonight,” Yoochun said, turning away so Jaejoong wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face. He was a caring teacher. That was all. A caring teacher.
That wants to have sex with his student.
Yoochun scowled.
“Th-Thanks, hyung,” Jaejoong said, and the door shut quietly behind him.
Part 3: Shaken Chords
Part 1: Common Chords
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