Mana was breathing hard and fast now, the air hissing from between his clenched teeth as he panted. He didn’t cry out; didn’t moan or gasp. He never did. Gackt wasn’t surprised.

Gackt’s mouth was occupied with Mana’s erection, but his mind had drifted off long ago. Even as his head bobbed in the other’s lap, odd snatches of half-ideas would wander lazily through his thoughts. A Mozart symphony played itself in the back of his head, but he couldn’t remember which one it was. Under his hands, the skin of Mana’s thighs was soft, too soft, like a woman’s. As soft as the royal blue satin of the dress Mana was still wearing.

Mana’s hips jerked, just a little, as if he wanted to move more but wouldn’t allow himself that much abandon. He grabbed a handful of Gackt’s hair, tight, and for an instant the young vocalist focused on the here and now. He didn’t WANT to focus, so he turned his mind away. Think of something else, think of candles, think of music, think of the STARS...

But then Mana was coming, and there was only here and now again, and the stars, after all, were very far away.

***

Afterward, Mana petted him casually, long fingernails tracing shivery paths across his too-warm skin. Gackt rested his head against Mana’s knee, trying not to feel the touch, trying not to react to it.

Silence reigned for a long while. Gackt counted his heartbeats; one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand...

“Gackt,” Mana said, and Gackt found himself thinking, Shut up, just shut up, don’t make it any worse for me.

“Yes?” Gackt didn’t raise his head at all. His eyes focused on a random bit of lace hemming Mana’s voluminous skirt, following its complex pattern.

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” Mana’s voice was devoid of intonation, and the question really could’ve meant anything, or nothing at all.

Gackt decided to go for the literal meaning. “Yes,” he said, voice as neutral as Mana’s had been, giving none of his thoughts away, carrying many meanings and no meaning at all.

Mana’s fingernails scraped along Gackt’s spine, quick and painful. Gackt drew in a sharp breath, shuddering, skin feeling hot. He resisted the urge to touch himself.

“Do you love me?” was Mana’s next question, and Gackt froze, sensing a trap. The air seemed suddenly too cold against his overheated skin.

He bit his lip and said nothing.

Mana’s hand wandered up into Gackt’s hair, and then he was yanking on it again, forcing the other man’s head up, chill fake-blue eyes meeting fake-blue eyes. Gackt tried not to wince. He didn’t want to give Mana that satisfaction, at least.

Mana traced the outline of Gackt’s lips with the fingertips of his other hand. His face was expressionless—but then, it always is, Gackt thought—but his eyes held something, some spark of emotion, though whether it was anger or pleasure or something else entirely, Gackt didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

After a long moment, Gackt said, “Does it matter?”

The something in Mana’s eyes faded, until his eyes were as utterly empty as those of the porcelain dolls he always resembled.

“No, I suppose not,” he said at last.

***

Later, as Gackt walked out to the parking lot, he glanced up at the past-midnight sky. Stars glittered there, but not many; the lights of the city drowned out all but the most brilliant. He tilted his head back, contemplating them, as the chilly autumn breeze toyed with his hair. He preferred its caress to Mana’s, even if they were both equally cold and dead. At least the wind was gentler for all its iciness.

But after a long moment, he gave up on trying to find meaning in the sky. The glittering points of light reminded him too much of that undefined emotion in Mana’s cool eyes, and like it, they were just as distant and inscrutable.

He turned his eyes to the cityscape. Artificial as those lights were, at least they were here, close and touchable and real.

Finally, he got into his car and drove away.