Title: MMOM 18 - The Purity of Perfection
Fandom: Jrock RPS
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the real people in it are used without their permission and I definitely don't own them or have any copyright to any part of any of them. I do not believe any of this happened, is likely to happen or should happen it is simply a story created around known facts about those involved.
Summary: Gackt is considering his body and his life.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Soph for the beta
Word count: 1,215
Link: Other MMOM fic
Standing in front of a full length mirror naked was probably not something most people did, but for Gackt it had become something of a habit. He'd been to the spa only the previous day and everything was just about perfect, no hair where there shouldn't be hair, no blemishes; nothing to mar his smooth skin and yet still he looked. He examined himself for anything out of place, anything not just right and he could not help imagining what other people saw when they looked at him.
Did they see a plastic mannequin put on display for them? A clothes horse paraded out into the lime light for the photographers and then wound up to sing for them like some giant toy?
Sometimes that's how he felt.
It wasn’t that he didn't love his life, he had worked hard to be where he was and he loved to sing, to perform, but sometimes being perfect was difficult. He always had the latest fashions when a lot of the time he would have preferred just to wander round in an old pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt; his hair was always perfectly arranged when sometimes he wished he could just fall out of bed and not bother; and his life was all carefully planned when just occasionally he wished he could simply go for a walk and be completely anonymous.
He wouldn't change who he was, it was just that occasionally he would have liked to be able to step out of being Gackt the rock star and into just being Gackt. A holiday from being famous.
He smiled to himself at his ridiculous ideas; he could just imagine his ego if he went out and not a single person recognised him. Of course very few people ever saw him like this and those that did were mostly the significant friends who did look at him as just Gackt.
The moments in front of the mirror were his bow to nervousness, his acknowledgement of his need to make sure that he was perfect, even under the clothes. He was not scared of showing off his body, but every now and then he liked to make sure what he was showing off was worth seeing. However, there was only one person he really enjoyed showing off for; one pair of eyes before which he felt completely naked. Even without clothes, he always pulled a cloak of persona around him, whether he was the goofy friend at the spa, the professional hurriedly stripping down to change costumes or the superstar posing for a magazine shoot, he was never completely open. Only one person could peel away every layer and see his soul.
Letting his eyes run up and down his body, he tried to see what his love saw. The man he loved; the one who meant everything to him even though the world would never know and would never understand; under his gaze he was truly naked. His love always told him he was beautiful, always worshiped him with his gaze, but what was more important was that there was nothing hidden. His love always knew what he was thinking just by looking at him; he could read every nuance of his body language and tell instantly what was really Gackt and what was persona for the masses.
They would have long conversations on the phone when they couldn't be together and discus what they had been doing. If he had appeared on TV they would talk and his love would laugh at the cracks in his armour when he failed to curb his enthusiasm about something. He could hide nothing from the one who had his heart and it had been a very long time since he had wanted to.
Under his love's attention he felt truly desired.
As he looked at himself in the mirror, he could not help remembering the last time they had been together. It had been a rushed meeting, a frantic crossing of paths in a hotel room as he went one way and his love went the other in their frenetic lives. He felt his body stirring as he recalled the almost desperate removal of clothes, the animalistic desire that had almost destroyed one of his favourite shirts. They had been wild, both pumped up from a crazy work schedule with screaming fans, both full of desire for the other.
He watched himself closely, seeing his body react as he let his mind fill with the recollections of touches, smells, feelings from that meeting. He always remembered them so clearly, each one ingrained on his memory as if at those times in his life he was so alive that they were impossible to forget. His body remembered too and his cock twitched as it slowly hardened. He could feel the blood pumping and the arousal building and he ran his hand down over his stomach, fingers splayed, until they reached his cock.
No one had ever engaged him like his love, made his physical desires so totally in tune with his mental ones that they blended so perfectly. He could become hard just by thinking about the energy in his love, the heat in his love's dark eyes and, as he wrapped his hands around his cock, he had so much more in his mind's eye to fill him with desire.
For his true friends he would do anything, including laying down his life if it was ever necessary; he never gave only part of himself. For his love he would give his soul.
The arousal in him burned.
He had loved before, loved and lost and found that their love was not as deep as his own, but in this he knew that what he felt was returned. Their lives were such that they could never have just them, never be simply a couple, but that didn't matter. When they were together the rest of the world didn't exist; they were each other's escape and Gackt had no doubts that they would continue to be until one of them died. Some would probably have called him an idiot for that belief; the world of fame was so temporary, but even as he felt the physical gratification of touching himself, he believed it was true with every fibre of his being.
He stoked himself firmly now and fast, needed some physical acknowledgement of what he was seeing in his mind's eye, of what he was feeling. Nothing could touch him so deeply as one memory of his love and he pushed himself to completion with a single moment from their last meeting remembered with perfect clarity. He came with the name of the love of his life on his lips and an image of him in his heart and mind.
Looking at himself in the mirror he saw aesthetic perfection created by hard work, sacrifice and the expertise of many people, in his heart he knew true perfection created by love, desire and kindred spirits.
His mobile rang, interrupting his thoughts and he picked it up with his clean hand. When he saw the caller ID he smiled.
"Moshi, moshi, Hyde-chan," he said warmly as he put the phone to his ear; "I was just thinking about you."