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Maybe there's a little Bernstein in all of us? Or someone cast Armie in a Leonard Bernstein biopic please?

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“What the fuck are you doing to me?” he murmurs, tracing kisses up his piano teacher’s delicate jaw.

 

“Teaching you.” The gentle assurance from Timothee’s mouth lands on Armie’s lips as he twists his long lean thigh atop Armie’s thicker muscular one. Trying to gain a better angle.

 

The music stool rocks precariously against the floorboards.

 

“Hmm,” Armie moans his approval. “Well, I’m definitely learning how hot for teacher I can be..”.

 

“Stop talking and kiss me,” Timmy instructs, seizing back his scholarly authority. “My next student is here in 20 minutes."

 

Armie curves his arm around Timothee’s narrow frame and hauls him across his lap, so he’s being straddling by the most alluring man-child he's ever laid eyes on. Their pelvises rocking against one another. The friction making Timothee moan.

 

“How good are you at teaching with a hard-on Monsieur Chalamet?” Armie teases, palming that crotch, between those narrow hips. Rubbing his stubble against the delicate mouth.

 

“Fuck,” Timmy moans again breathlessly. “Fu-uck,” he repeats. “What are you doing to me Hammer?”

He pulls back.

Leans against his Fazioli. His prized possession, currently being used as a backrest during a makeout session with the most stunning pupil he’d ever been cursed to lay eyes on.

 

When he’d received the call that Armie Hammer had been cast in a biopic about Leonard Bernstein, he’d hardly known who he was. He had a vague recollection about some social media storm but nothing could have prepared him for this 6’5” giant who'd stormed into his music room and his heart.

 

That was 4 weeks ago to the day.

 

Armie had been charming, urbane and winningly passionate about his piano lessons. He’d been playing since childhood but having watched film footage of Bernstein at the piano, felt driven to improve in order to better portray him (“to do Bernstein justice and not humiliate himself” he’d said on the phone).

 

Armie came prepared, took copious notes, practiced religiously and showed up on time. Their lessons increased to twice weekly as Armie insisted his progress was too slow.

They had an easy chemistry. Timmy found him fascinating. He was so congenial and bubbly, all rapid fire conversation, quick witted responses. Yet underneath, he was a sensitive musician who was able to plumb considerable emotional depths when seated at the piano. It was a startling contrast to his California-boy laid-back-dude demeanour.

 

Despite his busy schedule, Timothee made the time for extra lessons. Which is how they came to be watching youtube videos of Dmitri Sgouros playing Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto number 3. At midnight. At Armie’s house.

Sharing a joint.

They were lying on Armie’s oversized couch, both sprawled haphazardly. Armie kept bumping his shoulder every time he made one of his endearingly overly enthusiastic comments. Timothee pushed half heartedly back after one too many pushes.

 

“What the hell, man?” Armie blinked at him in a confused mellow drawl.

 

“Stop pushing me, you ass,” he muttered quietly. Watching the miracle- that way Sgouros inhabited the music. He loved this.

 

“I’m not pushing you,” he denied. Pushing Timothee more forcefully this time. Deliberately.

 

“Fuck off Armie. Watch the performance,” Timothee instructed. Hands waving wildly in the direction of the giant television. While cunningly pushing back.

 

“You prick! You did not just tell me to fuck off, when you’re on my couch, smoking my weed, you fucker? You’re gonna pay for that!” he threatened, eyes lighting up with mischief.

 

And  it was on.

 

Timothee was overpowered by Armie’s humungous frame landing right on top of him. Tickled till he couldn’t breathe. Armie didn’t stop till he was crying. And then he mocked him “Awww …poor little Timmy Tim..need me to kiss it better?”

 

Timmy could barely breathe let alone respond to the taunts from his cruel and heartless opponent. Armie took pity on him and rolled off to the side of the couch, but miscalculated the distance and fell with a thud and a groan to the floor.

 

Timmy couldn’t help but start laughing. Hysterically.

 

Armie made a mock-laughter face and then pulled him down on to the floor too. He landed right on top of Armie, face to face, chest to chest, groin to groin. What was a man to do? Resist the irresistible?

 

He kissed him. Had he been thinking straight he would have mumbled an apology and scrambled off. But in his defence who could think straight when lying on top of Armie Hammer’s crotch, your honour?

 

That was how it had started. It ended with Armie carrying him to bed (the guest room) after he fell asleep during their makeout session. And teasing him mercilessly about it in the morning. He’d been mortified but Armie just found it amusing ,and in his usual unembarrassed guileless manner, shrugged,”I didn’t even know I was into dudes till last night.”

 

The music lessons continued and Timmy assumed their stoned night was the beginning and end of Armie’s experimentation with dudes. But 2 lessons later (5 days to be precise) Armie thanked him with a kiss. Lots of tongue in there. And maybe a  bit of ass grabbing.

 

He couldn’t be sure, but did Armie say ,” Maybe there’s a little more Bernstein in me than I realised?”

 

Timmy guffawed. And kept kissing him.