I do not own Spring Awakening. Please enjoy my first SA story. The inspiration for this came when I was sitting in orchestra rehearsal, and I realized the first cellist looked like an Asian version of Jonathon B. Wright. Strange but true.
CelloEveryday Ernst would walk home from school, and the sound would float through the air and draw him like a moth to a flame. Hanschen would practice his cello every day after school in a small, abandoned, one-room house a block or so from the school. The house had only a chair and table, where Hanschen would set his music. Ernst played cello in his school's orchestra as well, but he couldn't compare to Hanschen, and he knew it.
Still, the sound of Hanschen's playing was beautiful, and Ernst would slip into the old house, through the unhinged back door, and listen. He would stand in the shadows and stare, occasionally closing his eyes to just listen.
After some time, he would chastise himself and leave. Ernst always felt so awkward at school. He would glance longingly at Hanschen and then turn quickly away. He knew his listening to Hanschen would only give him dreams. Then, at home, when he slept, he'd always have the same dream.
It would begin in the old house. Hanschen would be playing the cello, and Ernst would be in his usual shadow watching. Then Hanschen would stop, stand up and come over to him. He would laugh slightly and then do things that would make Ernst's awkwardness disappear. Suddenly, he would believe that his feelings were not only normal, but also somehow profoundly beautiful.
But, it would always end the same way. The sun would stream through Ernst's bedroom window and into his eyes. He would wake up and realize that Hanschen was not lying next to him. His arms were not around him, and his eyes not gazing into his. At this, Ernst would stand up and get ready for school, imagining Hanschen going through the same process of getting washed and dressed.
It was a day in early spring. It was still a little cool from the lingering winter chill. Ernst once again heard the resonant moan of Hanschen's cello. He stood hesitantly at the back doorway of the old house, knowing he really should get home, but he once again threw caution to the wind and walked in.
Hanschen was practicing a solo from a piece of music they had just received. Ernst watched Hanschen's hands intently as they played up and down the neck of the cello. He closed his eyes. The music washed over him in a glorious wave, and he started envisioning his dream again. He shuddered slightly, and the music stopped. Realizing he had been heard, he decided he should probably leave.
"Ernst." Hanschen's smooth voice stopped him from leaving. "Leaving so soon. You usually stay quite a bit longer."
"I…um…I'm sorry…I'll just go." He stammered nervously.
Hanschen turned to face him, "Why? Have you become disgusted with my playing?"
"Oh no. I just. I mean. I…"
Hanschen laughed at Ernst's attempts to make sentences. Ernst silently cursed himself. Why should he be so nervous? He was only listening to Hanschen play.
"You don't need to leave."
"Thank you. I just… really enjoy listening to you."
"Come here." Ernst followed Hanschen's directions. "You play cello too, don't you?"
"Yes…But not very well, I'm afraid."
"Well, then come sit down."
Ernst sat in the chair, and Hanschen handed him the cello and bow. He looked at the music.
"Play," Hanschen commanded him, and biting his lip slightly, he did.
After a moment, Hanschen chuckled, and Ernst stopped. "I told you. I'm not very good."
"That's because you have no emotion when you play." Hanschen stood behind him and placed his hands over Ernst's. He played a couple bars, and then removed his hands. As he did, his fingers ran lightly up Ernst's arm, resting when they reached his shoulder. He leaned down, an inch or so away from Ernst's ear. "You must realize the music is about love, lust, passion." He drew out every word, and as he finished his hand moved so it bushed against the skin of Ernst's neck.
Ernst gasped and dropped the bow. He bent over to pick it up. "I'm so sorry." He muttered.
"Put the bow down, Ernst."
He let go and sat up. Hanschen took the cello from him and set it aside. Now, Hanschen stood directly in front of the chair, squarely facing Ernst. He leaned toward Ernst. He set his hands on the back of the chair on either side of Ernst's shoulders. "You do realize that I know why you have been coming every day."
"I just came to…" His voice stopped in his throat. He breathed slowly, staring into Hanschen's blue eyes.
With his self-assured grin, Hanschen leaned in even closer and pressed his lips against Ernst's. He moved his left hand to the back of Ernst's neck and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.
Ernst let his eyes close. He was sure he had to be dreaming. He would soon awaken.
Hanschen wrapped Ernst's tie, the black one, part of the school's uniform, around his hand. He pulled Ernst out of the chair, then unwrapped his hand and moved it to Ernst's lower back, pressing the thin boy against him.
When this kiss broke, Ernst gasped for air. Hanschen moved to kissing Ernst's neck and earlobe. Ernst felt his knees buckle. He clutched Hanschen's shoulder to prevent himself from falling, although he soon realized that Hanschen was holding him up. Hanschen lifted Ernst off his feet and carried him to the table.
After setting him down, Hanschen directed him to lie back. Hanschen climbed onto the table himself, and positioning himself over Ernst proceeded in removing Ernst's school uniform.
"Oh my goodness." Ernst said as Hanschen began to kiss him again.
Hanschen's hands ran down Ernst's chest and stomach. Playing him like the cello.