The Student teaches the Teacher(private for me and YBW)
 

http://8wayrun.com/attachments/5d9a9...ull-jpg.11318/

Name: Andrew Dadrien
Age: 34
Height: 6' 2"
Occupation: Self-employed, runs his own business by selling his work.
Position: Seme
Personality: Andrew can be rather intimidating. He's rather stone-faced, and he rarely smiles. Years of being kicked down the totem pole in anything other than his paintings has made him unable to really trust anyone, thus he's built himself up a reputation for being a "one-night stand kind of guy", according to most sources. He has had relationships with models for his paintings, has been involved in affairs with "apprentices" seeking his wisdom in the art world. However, underneath all of the nasty, he really is just a lonely guy who doesn't know how to properly express his feelings and can be loving.

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Andrew blew a puff of smoke from his lit cigarette as he stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom that was covered in murals he had managed to stick next to each other on his ceiling. He turned his head to gaze upon the figure lying next to him and all he saw was a bare back of yet another so-called "apprentice" who claimed to be interested in art when really they wanted one thing, and it wasn't a painting or even an autograph. He slowly sat up and quietly made his way out of the bedroom after pulling on a pair of boxers and entered the living room area of his rather large studio apartment where he sat on the leather sofa and stared forward with his lit cigarette in hand. He brought the death stick to his lips for a few seconds only to pull it away and he blew it up at the sky line above him that gave him a nice view of the blue and orange mixed sky as the sun was just making its presence known to the world.

His name was Andrew Dadrien, and he was a 34-year-old painter with a degree in...whatever. He did go to art school, but he could care less. Whatever he got from it, he felt like he really didn't need it since he pretty much already knew how to paint and paint good whereas most people in his classes could barely draw stick figures.

He lived alone, which was an advantage when most of the day he was at his eisle trying to figure out what he could paint next and pay his next rent. He's painted everything from human models to animals, a beautiful morning sky to a busy day in New York. Though, he had to admit...the only inspiration he got was that he was going to be able to spend another day with a roof over his head. Most people in his choice profession either have to bunk or beg on the street. He was fortunate enough to figure out how to make his art almost worldly known, and that was accomplished through the powers of the internet.

"I'm leaving, Andrew. Thanks for last night. I hope we can get together again soon. You have my e-mail right?" a voice chirped as the figure in his bed had dressed itself and came out of the bedroom to greet him.

He gave an emotionless grumble to the younger male and could care less as he watched the stranger leave the apartment. He didn't even know the lad's name, nor did he care, and he certainly wasn't going to get a hold of him again anytime soon.

Andrew was in the middle of an oil painting when he heard the knock on his door. He wasn't expecting anyone today, though he rarely checked his emails anymore. Most of his "apprentices" just showed up at his door anymore and they immediately would put themselves out. He set his paintbrush in a glass of water that was an ugly brown color and he left his paint room while whipping his hands on his own white shirt, though the old stains indicated that he only wore this shirt when he was working. He opened the door and gazed down at the smaller male that stood eagerly at his door. He pulled the lot cigarette out of his mouth and blew the smoke unintentionally in the brunette's direction.

"Let me guess...another fan of my work." he said softly. His voice was rough and deep, probably from years of smoking ever since he was younger, though he hardly cared.

He looked up at the man who answered the door, unsure what to say. He was unclean, he had a bad odor, and smelled of a mix of paint, and sex, yet he was oddly attracted to him. Bitting his bottom lip, he forced himself to not get distracted and to stay on tract. "Um, yes I am sir, I've admired your paintings for years, but thats not why I'm here. I'm here to answer your ad for an apprentice. Someone who can help keep your place clean, and watch you work, learning from you, in exchange for being given a place to sleep and food to eat." He wasn't sure what to say, but he hoped he was making a good impression. He didn't know what was going through the mans mind now.

They all looked the same. They were all young, inexperienced, and right when he thought they'd come to learn, they'd strip down right in front of him. He stepped to the side to let James into his apartment as he put the cigarette back in his mouth. "Come in." he muttered as he trudged away from the door toward the kitchen. He wasn't impolite by any means, but he didn't give off the impression that he was courteous to visitors.

He nodded his head, gratefully walking in, glad to be out of the freezing cold outside. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around the house, curious how he lives, and what it was like to be an artist.

His apartment was rather large for someone who lives alone. The farthest wall was all glass with some ceiling window panels at an angle. The walls were a sandy color and decorated with some of his paintings, different sceneries and people and even models. The floors were all wood except the kitchen area that had black tile and stainless steel appliances with black countertops and wooden cabinets. The living room area had a large television and a curved leather sofa over a white carpet made of fur that was large and went under the black coffee table.

"You want anything to drink?" the painter asked from the kitchen.

"Um, sure," He said, looking around, before looking at the floor, feeling a little out of place. "So as your apprentice, what would I be doing," He asked, walking to the table, not taking a seat yet.

Anthony walked over with a mug of coffee and he handed it to the younger male before he plopped down on the couch with his own mug. "You'll just be taking lessons from me, but I will give you a place to stay and food. I want to see how far you are, though, with your skills...so I'm going to ask you to do a random sketch first and we'll go from there." he said as he put out his cigarette before looking at James seeing he hadn't sat down yet. "You can sit. I'm not going to bite."

James's face turned red at having to be told to sit, and obeyed, sitting on the couch, and reaching in his back, pulling out a small scetch book. Getting a pencil, he began to draw, in good detail, the first thing that came to his mind. He drew and traced an outline of what he imagined Andrew's bare chest, up looked like, drawing each curve carefully, pulling out his mental image onto the paper.