La Maison 5: Darkness (Complete: mxm BDSM)

Arc 2 Chapter 13.2

A/N: I mentioned last chapter that the next La Maison story will be coming later this year. And it will. First, however, I'm working on a werewolf story. The above ☝️ isn't the final cover, but it's just one I was messing around with. Drop a follow on me if you want to be notified when it goes live 😊

There was five people, seated at a long table with notebooks and water in front of them, like this was some reality TV singing show and he was going to get buzzed off. He lifted his hand with a weak wave as the assistant – Heather, she'd said – went over to whisper in their ears. Four of them scowled at him, just like the guy in the foyer, who must have left through a different doorway, but one, a neat-looking middle-aged woman, smiled and gave him a little wave back.

"Can you sit on the stage?" Heather asked, gesturing at the metal chair that was placed in the middle of the otherwise empty space.

"Sure." Gabe carried his case over to it, bending to open it and carefully remove his cello.

He didn't rush setting up. His heart was beating heavily and he had to breath deeply to prevent the feeling of nausea from rising. Normally, it would be a mistake. You didn't keep people like this waiting. But the only thing that was keeping him grounded was the knowledge that he had Laurent and Laurent was his and here in New York, and that was what felt guaranteed right now. So, not for the first time, Gabe wasn't too sure he even wanted to do well in this audition.

Eventually, he had the beautiful instrument out, the glossy red-brown of the sides resting between his thighs. He paused, breathing, wishing Laurent was at least allowed in the room. Heather gestured with an encouraging nod that he should begin, and he lifted the bow, horrified when he saw his hand was shaking.

He tried to think of the notes he needed for Bach's Suite No 2. He knew them, but they wouldn't come. He closed his eyes, and a blond-haired specter with an angry snarl rose up in his mind. Telling him he couldn't do this. That he'd never been good enough. It had been a waste of time. He was a waste of time.

He sucked in a shaky breath, opening his eyes, scanning to see Heather's worried face, the nice-looking lady with a supportive, encouraging, smile, and the others scowling, knowing, too, that he was wasting their time.

He should pack up. He glanced down at the case by his side, just waiting to hide his instrument away again, so he could return to plodding along. Happy but largely uninspired. The lump in his throat was back and his eyes felt watery. The cold, he insisted to himself, despite knowing the lie too easily.

He looked back, some faces progressing to anger. Others developing to pity him – he's never liked being pitied; a step too far in humiliation.

But there was something, in the shadows. His heart jumped for the moment when he thought it was the guy from the foyer, waiting to watch and wallow in his failure. And then the figure moved forward, just enough to reach the weak light from where Gabe sat. It was Laurent, giving him a smirking grin, oh so proud of himself for sneaking in when Heather had demanded he stay back, and Gabe almost let out a bright laugh. He held it in, but it sparked something strangely joyful inside him anyway.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting the position of the cello, raising his bow again. But this time, he didn't feel hesitant. He barely felt nervous, not with that pure knowledge that he could do this, the certainty that Laurent's swaggering presence reminded him of.

When his eyes closed again, no nightmares rose up to crush him, instead the clarity of the music flooded him and he swayed into it, allowing it to carry him bright and light, swooping in the emotion the music always brought.