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Masa's Story	By : hyde Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop > GacktJOB Views: 2400 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of GacktJOB. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: Don’t own any Gackt Job members or Gackt himself. This isn’t suppose to be real I guess, Fictional happenings…with a real time period etc….
Authors Note: Not Ur typical Masa and Gackt story. VERY different. Different pairings not just one. Angst, Drama, romance, I guess it has all of that. Written by Sable~
Pairings: Gackt/Masa (Sorta), Masa/You, You/Gackt
Type: J rocker Novel
Rating: R, later NC 17
ONE
New York , New York, a boisterous unforgiving bitch of a city who was as beautiful as she was cruel. Her streets are forever crowded with hopefuls trying to become the next big something. Sure New York City seems like the place to be but after months of working three different humiliating jobs and still being dirt poor, you kind of don’t think of yourself as the next big anything.
Today was the day I thought. At least that was what the bloated blonde ‘psychic’ street vender had told me on the way to the sub a little while ago just before some jackass brushed against me emptying my pockets of this month’s rent money. My roommate, Jordan, was going to bitch. That is if he wasn’t already, considering that I was at least ten minutes late for the audition that he had so generously pulled for me. Not that Jordan bitchin’ was the highlight of my problems. Oh no, I had to blow off work just to be where I am now, trapped between two stinky men twice my girth and height. As if the weight of my guitar case wasn’t enough on it’s own.
I felt the familiar vibration of my cell in my back pocket. The sensation alone was a tension reliever, even if it was Jordan calling me to chew me out. Too bad I couldn’t reach back there to get that pretty little phone that oddly enough was about to be canceled next week. I could always hear Jordan whine when we got home. He was always bitchin’ about something.
Mason, where’s dinner?

Mason where’s your half of the rent?

Mason! Mason! Mason!
Annoying. Seriously annoying.
The ride only lasted a good twenty minutes; I got off after the one on the left farted, most of the passengers had bailed out too making it a tight fit out the automatic doors. With my sour luck, the damn door shut right on the strap of my guitar case forcing me to pull. The sub car had other plans. The bell tolled in my ears twice before I was dragged forward with the damn thing.
“Help!” I shouted as I skidded along the platform rapidly running out of it. I swear, this country blows! Everyone watched that monstrosity drag me to my doom but not a soul offered a hand to help me. Sure, it would’ve been the same back home in Japan but I think that at least someone would’ve stuck their neck out for me. My heart was beating frantically against my chest as I neared the drop off point. The endless darkness before me reminded me much of my future that wouldn’t be if I went over the edge. In a last defense effort, I went back on my heels trying to gain enough leverage to pop the damn strap. My shoes screeched along the ground as my lips moved in a silent prayer. Suddenly I felt my body go backward as a floating feeling came over me. “Is this death?” I wondered as my body jerked back hard towards the ground beneath me. It had been at that moment the strap after many years of wear and tear, gave the fuck out. My ass made a loud smacking sound as I hit the ground. Truthfully I was surprised that I hadn’t hit my head.
After the near death experience- the psychic hadn’t seen that shit coming- I still had to lug that damn case four blocks to reach the studio.
The building was made of brick and the windows had been freshly cleaned. There were a few people still milling about- that had either done their bit already and waiting for a call back or had just decided to make friends- outside of the building. I scanned the area for Jordan. Finding no frosted fussy looking blondes I headed inside towards the elevator. My eyes narrowed at the neatly printed sign hanging from the small strip of tape: Out of service. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Once again I was dragging this damn thing up the stairs; there were stairs in the subway thank you very much, with nothing but the sound of my sneakers scuffing against the stairs as well as a few choice cuss words from my native tongue. I was about to say fuck it and head back when I heard the familiar click of cheap imitation Prada shoes. Jordan.
My roommate had to be the superficial person I had ever met. I mean the guy’s entire income came from his parents as well as his many boyfriends who were dumb enough to waste their time on such a complete asshole. Jordan Clayton was the very definition of asshole but he did excuse my lack of rent and is also my ‘agent’.
Jordan stood before me rocking back on his heels. He was clad in his new three piece suit – a gift from boyfriend number three Sergei- an irritated expression on his angular face stopped rocking and instead began to tap his shoe against the linoleum floor.
“Mason,” He called out my name quit huffily –as he flicked away what was left of his cigarette; I had noticed that he had developed quit a pile in the corner- as he placed his hand on his hip giving a stance that I had seen my mother take once or twice when she was really ticked at me. Watching Jordan do it- with that hair- reminded me of a wet hen from a cartoon.
“You’re late Mesa!” He practically spit at me.
I shrugged my aching shoulders glad to finally be able to put down my load. I placed my case between my legs and waited. Knowing Jordan he was far from done.
“This guy has a thing about punctuality.” Jordan informed me as he went for his last two smokes.
He probably won’t even see me. I concluded cursing under my breath, pissed that I had wasted his time and mine. I had also realized that either I was the last guy to audition or it had long since been over.
“Which number was I?” I couldn’t help but asking.
Jordan lit up his cancer stick. He inhaled deep before answering me, “His translator sa-“
I raised a hand silencing him.
“His translator?” I repeated.
Jordan exhaled.
“Yeah, he comes from Hello Kitty land like you do, so I was sure you’d get it.”
I made a face at Jordan’s insensitive remark. Yeah, I’m a Japanese American but I still had to stick with my roots.
“Watch it.” I snarled his way before asking which part of Japan was he from while my brain desperately tried to remember the conversational Japanese lessons my grandfather had tried giving me as a kid.
It was Jordan’s turn to shrug.
“Didn’t ask.” He informed me as he slid off the wall.
I sighed. There was no point in hanging around then. I picked up my baby as best as I could and I hoped that Jordan wasn’t too piss at me to get us a cab ‘cos I sure as hell did not feel like walking. My ass still hurt and my legs are gone. Hell, I swear I lost at least ten pounds and I’m little as is. Just as I turned on my heel the most annoying sound in the world pricked my ears.
“Pardon me.” This high nasal toned voice called out sharply.
“Yea?” Jordan had inquired sounding very much like the New Yorker he is.
There was a moment of dead air between us until Mister Nasal spoke again, after –I’m sure- speaking with his boss, later I had found that I had been right.
“My employer would like to know where one could…” He paused his paper-thin lips as he search his mind for the right ‘American’ word.
“Drinks?” I offered, saying the word in perfect Japanese loud enough hoping to get boss-man’s attention.
I turned as I said this coming face to face with a man dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost just as much as my rent or more. His eyes were light blue and carried an expression of annoyed boredom in them; his nose was thin and narrow reminding me much of a rat. With that hair slicked back he looked more like a sleazy accountant. It took everything I had not to laugh out right at this gay looking man in hopes of still landing the gig.
Jordan at the moment caught on to my little plan adding the words, “We could take you guys around town if you want.” He offered his voice sounding a bit too eager.
Mister Nasal pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. He looked nervous like. He then leaned back into the doorway I hadn’t noticed until now and began to speak rapidly in Japanese.
Jordan shot me a look that said: What they saying?
I shrugged. His eyes narrowed as if to say: How could you not know? They your people!
I rolled my eyes and waited for their reply. I soon got my answer, but not from Mister Nasal. A deeper richer voice spoke in words that I could understand.
“Who was it that spoke earlier?”
“Me!” I shouted in Japanese feeling much like a kinder-garden student. Little did I know, I would always feel that way while in the presence of the remarkable yet annoying man I was about to meet that would change my life forever.
Two
The groan of the door was loud in my ears as it widened, forcing old nasal voice to step back and allow his boss to come through. I knew Jordan was drooling over the creature that emerged from the shadows dressed in something out of a gay man’s wet dreams. He wore a white silk shirt over a pair of leather pants too tight to be worn by any human being. That guy right there is NEVER having children. There was just no way that his balls still functioned.
Even though his eyes-which I later found out, are contacted blue-are veiled by a pair of very dark and very expensive shades that covered the entire eye, I felt as if he was checking me out. After my apparent inspection, his slightly full lips twitched into a sort smile- I swear he had to force the muscles in his face to do so! - He moved forward to embracing me in a hug. If the hug didn’t kill me –I think he was getting a feel for my body! - The smell of the perfume would’ve. I was drowning in that shit! I knew it was perfume because cologne didn’t smell like that.
His lips brushed against my ear sending the oddest sensation down my spine as he politely asked my name.
“Mason.” I replied simply wanting more then anything for him to let me go. He didn’t. He placed his hands onto my shoulders gripping me tightly as he pushed me backwards, his eyes locking onto me behind the dark taint, but I could tell, as he repeated those words: What is your name?
“Masa.” I breathed, feeling as if everything about me had been revealed to the man in front of me who has betrayed nothing about him.
“Arigato” He replied, copying the softness of my tone. He gave me a small smile before releasing his hold on me.
I had to admit that he was very beautiful for a man. Model-like even. I myself have been mistaken for a woman many times.
“Mason.” Jordan’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts as well as reminded me of his presence.
Without taking his stare from me, “Masa.” Our foreign friend corrected with a hint of much annoyance.
“Masa.” Jordan mimicked, rolling his sea green eyes in the process before continuing on, “What time does they want us to pick them up and where?”
Taking a deep breath, and praying that I wouldn’t mess up, I relayed the message to the man in front of me who replied simply, “Etienne,” –jerking his ringed thumb at Mister Nasal- “will handle the details.” With that he disappeared back into the room from where he had come.
Etienne’s thin lips puckered into the sourest of expressions that I had ever seen on …anybody. It seemed the thought of us hanging around with his boss was disgusting.
“Hour="9" Minute="0">Nine o’clock sharp.” He snapped tartly directing his words my way. “The Four Seasons Hotel.” He added as he turned on his Italian clad heel, “Oh and please dress for the occasion as well as be on time." To my annoyance Etienne had looked over my attire as he said those words. I wasn’t dressed up like him or Jordan. I came simply in a pair of low sung jeans and a vintage tee beneath a worn jean jacket.
I tossed my hair over my shoulder; I had worn it loose ‘cos it looked cool swinging about when I played. Plus it made me look way hot, as I called out to that French bastard, “Oi!” I shouted before he could disappear down the hall.
He stopped but didn’t turn. “Hai?” He replied tongue in cheek.
His annoyance level must have been soaring through the roof by now.
“Who exactly are we partying with tonight?” I inquired sweetly. I swear he was treating Mister Japan like a national treasure or some shit like that.
“Camui-sama.” He answers with much affection.
The Dark Angel. The voice of Malice Mizer, Mana the ice queen’s musical savior. I had heard about Mizer in the underground J-rocker scene from a few web sites since that I kept up with being in the know back home. Camui Gackt, the man had potential to do it all. That was until the band without much explanation to the fans broke up. Some people had thought he committed suicide. He looked alive and well to me. He was a vocalist with potential. Malice Mizer didn’t sound too bad. The beats were a little weird but-
“Mason,” Jordan snapped at me once again pulling me out of my spiral of thoughts.
The traffic was heavy but moving at a steady pace yet the sounds of various horns still blared in my ears as they passed reminding me that I was without a car and standing on a corner trying to flag down a taxi.
“Masa.” I corrected, feeling a strange sort of pride in being called by my birth name.
Ignoring me, “Anyway, what did you think of Mister Jap and his bitch?” He asked going into full gossip mode. A feature of Jordan I truly loathed.
What did I think of Camui Gackt?
I shrugged my still aching shoulders.
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Oh come on Mas!” He exclaimed nudging me in the side. I held onto my guitar least it fell into the passing circus of cars.
I know you don’t dig guys but you havta admit that he was the sexy.”
Great. Jordan was drooling over my soon to be boss.
I shook my head, sticking my thumb out as far as I dared. I rewarded minutes later with a cabbie that could speak decent English. There is an God and that psychic didn’t jip me out of fifteen bucks which reminds me that the guy that robbed me took at least one hundred and fifty but stupid me for having it on me.
“You got this Jay?” I asked as sweetly as possible as I ducked into the cab.
Jordan groaned. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Thanks man.”
Three
I normally didn’t dress to go out since that I hate most of my clothes but this, this was important. Half my wardrobe was already scattered throughout the floor ready to form Pangea on a second’s notice. My palms are moist, my lips felt dry and my heart would not stop beating. Nervous would be the understatement of the year.
I looked over my outfit making sure that everything item of clothing laid just the right way on my body. My jeans are fitted and my Doc martens were free of grim. I’m not into guys but if I had to play queer to get the gig then I will even if it did piss off Jordan who was seriously fienin' for a taste of something that was way out of his league.
“Masa!” Jordan shouted- remembering to call me by my actual name- from somewhere down the hall, “twenty minute warning.” He cried out sternly.
“Okay.” I shouted back before pulling my tank over my head as I then brought my hands up pushing my unsecured hair out of my face. I’ve decided that would leave it out.
Poking my head out into the hall, I asked on a whim, “Hey, Jay, you got any lip gloss?” I didn’t do the make up thing unless we we’re talking eyes such as a little mascara and eye shadow. He didn’t respond. I exited my room in search of Jordan. My room, sadly was also the living room slash dining-room area; meaning that I would have to pick up all of my clothes before we left for in case one of us got lucky. I moved through the cramped hallway bypassing the radiator as I did. I called for Jordan once more-in case he wasn’t dressed yet- to get to the only bedroom in the apartment.
“In here, Masa.” Jordan directed from the bathroom.
I back tracked; since I passed it, gripping onto the doorframe as I did (we didn’t have a door, just some fruity looking beads) repeating my question from earlier. My hand flew to my mouth to quiet my giggles. Jordan had smeared some bright colored gunk over his eyelids in an attempt to put on make-up.
“What’s all this?” I managed between giggles.
Snatching up wades of tissues, Jordan then turned on the sink completely drenching the paper. He then began roughly wiping at the mess. I moved to help him but the look he shot my way forced me to back off.
“What about you?” He snarled as he wiped furiously. “Since when do you wear gloss?”
I pushed away from the door muttering under my breath as I did, “I just thought that it would help.”
I peeked between the beads; Jordan was washing his hands now. “Help with what?” He asked rather bitterly as he lathered up the soap to get the gunk off of his skin.
I flipped back my hair, smirking as I said it, “He was checking me out so I figured I flirt a bit.”
“What?” Jordan stunned expression was golden. He sounded almost appalled at the very thought that Gackt wanted me over him. Then again it always annoyed the fuck out of Jordan when his dates showed an interest in me especially since I didn’t dig the whole man-gina thing.
“Wasn’t.” Jordan replied flatly as he tweaked off the sink. He then turned quickly drying his perfect ten on the nearest towel before storming passed me with all the attitude of a seasoned diva.
“Baka.” I murmured under my breath as he passed.
The lobby of the Four Seasons was packed with passing bellhops and various guests. My eyes scanned the grounds for the prissy Frenchman. As I searched I noticed that everyone was dressed like that had someone important to go to making me feel like some sort of pauper. My club gear was only nice to me. Jordan, on the other hand blended right in with his tailor shirt he stole from one of his lovers as well as a pair of come get slacks that fitted almost like a second skin.
“Etienne is waving at us.” Jordan whisper in my ear before heading towards the pinch faced brunette. I followed his lead trying not to feel so small. He was dressed in the same outfit as before giving us the impression that he would not be in attendance.
“Mr. Camui has requested that you meet him in the lounge. All drinks will be paid for by me,” –he grimaced at the word ‘me’- “if you so choose to order any.”
I liked free drinks as much as the next guy but the thought of getting shit faced with my future employer didn’t seem like a good idea especially since I am sure that he wanted to bed me. We had reached the lounge where Jordan promptly ordered a Cosmo and Etienne, bourbon on the rocks. I refused a drink to Etienne’s displeasure.
“Mr. Camui insists.” Etienne almost whined at me.
Shaking my head, “Iie.” I replied firmly as I crossed my arms about my waist.
Etienne shook his head also before downing his drink in one swallow. The liquor burned as it went down causing him to grimace once more. I would’ve been impressed if I had been paying attention. At that moment Mr. Camui had decided to make his appearance clad in only what could be describe as club wear chic. His hair was still damp from recently showering, his make-up was flawless as it was light; his eyes were highlighted and free of shades and his lips were glossed. His jeans were pressed to perfection and he wore a sheer black number for a shirt giving Jordan a nice little view of a washboard stomach as well as erect nipples stationed on a well-sculpted chest.
I felt fat.
I was far from fat but I felt like I wasn’t toned enough.
“Am…I under dressed?” He asked me in strained English almost jokingly. I just stared at him. I would later find out that the man had a sense of humor only he really got.
I then smiled. What else was I to do? Jordan on the other hand… laughed. Loud and fake.
Gackt raised an eyebrow. He stared at me expectantly sucking on his bottom lip a bit. He seemed nervous or embarrassed, I couldn’t tell which one. Before I could open my mouth Jordan beat me to it saying, “You look way hot!” He exclaimed only to be ignored.
Turning his attention towards Etienne, who was playing with the ice in his glass, Gackt said something softly in French that colored the man’s fair cheeks. His tone had sounded dismissive yet soft but whatever it was seemed to have embarrassed the Frenchman greatly. He scrambled to his feet; a somewhat hurt yet relieved expression passed over his face before he disappeared into the crowd of New York’s elite clientele.
“Don’t you need..." Jordan began to protest only to be silenced.
“Masa-kun,” Gackt spoke the words with much affection- I felt my face growing hot as he said it- “Understands me very well.” He explained in Japanese as if Jordan understood what he had just said. Jordan made a face as Gackt’s hand came down to rest on my shoulder. I knew Jordan was seething by now.
I jerked my shoulder out of his reach. An unreadable expression crossed his features.
Disappointment I was sure.
“My driver is waiting.” Gackt informed us.
I shook my head, my hair flying as I did.
“Iie.” I said firmly.
“That’s no good?” Gackt asked thoughtfully, raising a well-sculpted eyebrow.
I had to admit that face he made during times of confusion was rather kawaii.
“Nope,” I said jumping to my feet, “we’re taking a cab.”

“Masa!” Jordan hissed sharply at my side.
I flagged him off.
Four
“A cab?” Gackt repeated in English without much difficulty.
I had decided at that moment that I would teach him English to the best of my ability.
Within minutes we were stationed outside trying to hail a cab. An apart of me wished that we had asked the driver that got us here to stick around and drop Mr.Camui with the bill.
“They stop for you back home?” Jordan asked.
Gackt didn’t seem to hear him. Instead his attention was directed my way. “Where are we going?” He asked me.
Good question.
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