Touches

by Vivi

He thought later that he should have known better. Sean was too old to be believing in fairy tales, no matter how tempting or lovely they seemed in the light of day. Years had taught him that behind the lovely scenery was the plastic and paint that held it all together, and no amount of trick photography could truly change reality.

He did know it.

It was just too easy to forget this time 'round. Sometimes he felt so close to all of them that he forgot that other eyes were watching them, all the bloody time, actions, reactions, on and on in a spiral that led right to the tabloids. Just had to remember that and he had managed well enough; not a touch or a look out of place, not from him. And every time he saw a picture of one of the others, their hands and mouths in places he wouldn't quite dare touch in front of flashbulbs, like no one else could see them.

Viggo pulled that one off well. Acted like he was beneath it all, that his artist's roots carried him up and over that, branches that merely swayed in the paparazzi breeze.

A load of shite, that was. He was an actor for Christ's sake; attention was their bread and butter, and either you ate it up or it ate you. He knew exactly what the world saw, wanted them to see it, and he glowed in the light of their eyes, using his hands and tongue to say things for him. Things that Sean couldn't allow.

Sean saw it all, through his own eyes, the sight of Viggo's lips touching Orlando, Billy, holding them in warm hands, any of them, all of them but him and wished he believed in fairy tales. A happily ever after where Viggo could touch him without his every emotion spilling out for the greedy cameras to capture and shame into immortality.

Without the nameless eyes of the world watching.
 

-finis-

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