Book of ViTri

Star of the Show

He fucked him ruthlessly, anywhere, anytime.

The back of the bar, against the wall of his dressing room, but never too often an actual hotel bed.

The name Virus was everywhere, from popular expensive fashion lines to the top tier magazines every woman read.

That's what you get for growing up in a family full of stars.

But the one thing the public didn't need to know was Trip, his manager.
There were too many trying to mirror Virus's style, as he was an icon of popularity after all. Of course Trip was one of such people.

But wouldn't it be infuriating to know that so many people are copying you, even someone as close as your manager?
It was.

Trip though. There was something about how he wore his hair, even if it did look almost exactly like Virus's. Perhaps it was how he'd add his own touch to it, how that touch seemed genuine through a barrel of fakes.

Fingers coursed through blond locks. Trip always took for granted the fact that he was doing the dirty with someone people at least heard the name of.

Hot breaths against marked up necks. Virus didn't mind. It was a dirty little secret he could keep from those pesky gossip seeking medias.

Legs went up, either on a pair of broader shoulders or around that person's waist. And when they were parted, it was against a bathroom sink. Virus knew his lower half would scream in pain and agony the next morning, but that didn't matter. He lived for this very moment.

The moment when he was pushed up against said wall by thick fingers pinning him down, groping for a sloppy kiss.

Virus knew this taboo would be revealed soon to the public, either accidentally or on purpose.

But that was okay. Because deep down inside, that cheeky bastard wanted Trip to become one with him not only physically, but in this stupid thing humans called gossip.