Quick percussion and keyboards. Cymbals. Guitar.

Jim Morrison?

Cha blinked an eye open and winced at the sunlight flittering down through the heavy blinds across the room. Closing his eyes, he yawned deeply and stretched, feeling his muscles pull, his toes curl, his joints pop. Rolling onto his back, he turned his head to the side to look at the bedroom door, which stood open a crack. Half-formed words of a song drifted on the air through the slit between the wood and the door frame. Sitting up, he scrubbed his hands over his face and looked down finally at the clock on the dresser against the opposite wall.

7:55am

Shaking his head, he snorted. He shouldn’t have been surprised, considering where he was and who he was sleeping with, but damn it, he was going to have to make a new rule: no Doors music before eight in the morning.

Yawning again, Cha swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Wandering over to the walk-in closet, he shuffled down the rows of clothes hanging from the walls. He walked up and down a few times before finding a selection of pajama pants hanging next to several t-shirts in a corner, as if their owner had made attempts to hide them.

Because God forbid he wear something other than name brand apparel.

Cha chuckled and tugged a pair of pants on, tying the drawstring so that they hung snugly on his narrow hips. Sitting on the edge of the white futon love seat, which had somehow managed to find a home in the closet, he cuffed the bottoms of the pants a few times. Standing once again, he checked himself out in the mirror.

Wincing, he combed his fingers through his hair in frustration. “So fucking flat…you’re impossible to deal with…” he muttered as he attempted to revive the limp strands. Tossing his hair back over his shoulders, Cha sighed and headed out of the bedroom.

He wandered down the hall to the staircase, following the notes floating up to him from the floor below. As he slid his hand down the wrought iron banister, and stepped barefoot down the stairs, he could hear the lyrics of the song slide in a smooth melody against the notes hanging just below it. As he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he heard someone else join in.

Unbeknownst to the singer in the kitchen, crossing his arms over his bare chest, Cha leaned up against the arch of the room’s entrance to watch the show. Gackt sung softly in tandem with Morrison, who serenaded them both from the nearby iPod stereo set-up. “I’m gonna love you till the Heavens stop the rain,” Gackt sang softly, all but dancing from the counter back to the stovetop which was home to several skillets with what Cha assumed was breakfast, his own pajamas hanging low on his hips, the muscles of his back sliding under tan skin as he rocked back and forth and swiveled his hips in time with the music. “I’m gonna love you till the stars fall from the sky, for you and I.”

“You’re cute.”

Gackt jumped a bit and whirled around, a slice of what appeared to be a red pepper between his lips. Grinning around the bit of vegetable, Gackt nodded in that smug but yet somehow sweet way. “Of course. But don’t tell You-kun,” he added, turning back to one of the skillets, “I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Cha left the entryway and sidled up behind his lover, wrapping his thin arms around the other’s taut waist. He kissed the younger man’s shoulder blade – once again noticing just how much height his lover had on him – and nuzzled it with his cheek. The five o’clock shadow scratched the warm skin pressed against face and Cha felt what he could swear was a shudder run down Gackt’s back. He said nothing though, and the other continued preparing breakfast. “I’m pretty sure you could take him,” he said finally, “I bet if you didn’t have that entire soulmate-best friend thing holding you back, you could shatter his skull between your thighs.”

Gackt chuckled, but then, “Speaking of which…”

“I’m fine,” Cha reassured, giving the other man another quick hug around the waist. “Last night was fun,” he added, kissing the other man’s shoulder again. “We should do that more often.”

“The sex-for-hours thing?”

“Of course,” Cha said then smiled. “Though the massage was wonderful, too. I can finally feel my shoulders, thanks to you.”

“You probably have more bruising from that,” Gackt muttered. “We should buy new office chairs or something for the studio if you’re getting that many knots from them. Or you could go back to doing yoga everyday.”

Cha shrugged, but then thought a moment and chuckled. “Why should I have to go to yoga, when you come up with just as many – if not more – fun, creative positions, hm?”

Gackt looked up from the skillet at that and back down to the man behind him. Grinning, he said, “Should we try for another round after breakfast? Burn off some more calories?”

Rising up to the balls of his feet, Cha pressed an enthusiastic kiss on his lover’s lips. “I can handle anything you throw at me, ya punk,” before darting playfully just out of reach and hopping up to sit on the kitchen island countertop, grinning. “Ne…” he began, poking Gackt’s butt with one of his feet, “when’s breakfast ready?”

“As soon as you get dishes for me to put things in,” Gackt answered, swerving another deft poke from the other’s foot.

“Then more sex?”

“Then more sex.”

“And cuddling?”

“Yes, Cha.”

“I remember why I love you.”

Gackt grinned softly. “And I hope I never make you forget.”