Spoiler Alert

by Olivia Dade

  Victory slipped from her grasp, and she had to stiffen her legs to keep upright.

  “Yes?” she managed to say, her sinuses burning with tears she would not, would not shed in front of him.

  His hands left her breasts, and she bit back her sob.

  Then he was cradling her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks in gentle arcs as he pressed his lips to her forehead, her temple, her nose. Her damned traitorous mouth, which was trembling.

  Neck bowed, forehead to forehead, he made his own request. “After I fuck you, can we make love? With the lights still on?”

  When she surged up on her toes to kiss him, he took that—correctly—as a yes.

  As it turned out, what she wanted and what she needed weren’t precisely the same thing.

  That night, fortunately, he gave her both.

  Rating: Explicit

  Fandoms: Gods of the Gates – E. Wade, Gods of the Gates (TV)

  Relationships: Aeneas/Lavinia

  Additional Tags:Alternate Universe – Modern, Angst and Fluff and Smut, The Saddest Erection Ever, Ghost!Lavinia, Eventual Happy Ending, Even Though They’re Both Dead at the End, But Together, Which Is What Really Counts Right, Aw Man You’re All Going to Hate This Aren’t You

  Collections: Aeneas’s Sad Boner Week

  Stats: Words: 2267 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 39 Kudos: 187 Bookmarks: 19

  Love Lifts Him Up Where He Belongs

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan

  Summary:

  Aeneas has spent twenty years getting hard to a ghost. The love of his life, long dead. Lavinia, who vanishes whenever he attempts to touch her.

  Then, one day, she doesn’t.

  Notes:

  Special thanks to my new beta. :-)

  * * *

  At night, she appeared before him once more. A bit more translucent than she’d been in life, but otherwise entirely, heartbreakingly herself. All sharp angles and features, lopsided smile and lank brown hair dusting her shoulders. The sweetest sight imaginable.

  For twenty years now, he’d watched her float around their bedroom, clad in the same thin, short nightgown she’d worn to sleep one night, curled in his arms, never to wake again. Until she did, as a ghost. His ghost. His wife. His beloved.

  As always, it felt both perverse and completely natural, how his body responded to the sight. If he could, all of him would rise to meet her, on whatever plane she still inhabited, but for now, only one part of him could. She smiled shyly at his condition, so shyly no one would suspect how she talked him through stroking himself some nights, her eyes bright and hot on him as he gasped and heaved and spurted against his belly.

  They couldn’t touch. At the attempt, she’d vanish immediately, and sometimes she took days to return. When she did, she looked shaken. Ragged. Eyes bleak.

  He didn’t know where she went, and she wouldn’t talk about it. But after the third time, after he spent a week despairing that she might not be able to return at all, he no longer reached out to her.

  Tonight, though, something was different. As he lay in bed—awash in want, in grief, in love—his breath stuttered. She reached out for him, as she hadn’t done for two decades.

  Her long, gentle fingers caressed his cheek.

  They were warm.

  22

  “I’M STILL THINKING ABOUT HOW I WANT TO TACKLE Aeneas’s Inconvenient Boner Week.” April readjusted her rearview mirror for the thousandth time. “Yesterday, it occurred to me that maybe I could go back to modern AUs without things getting weird, as long as I kept using Wade’s version of Aeneas, rather than yours. Which, admittedly, makes him a million times less hot, but sacrifices sometimes have to be made for the greater good. And by ‘the greater good,’ I mean ‘explicit fucking in my fics.’”

  Marcus snorted, but she kept rolling before he could formulate a better reply.

  “Speaking of explicit fucking, I should show you my friend TopMeAeneas’s latest magnum opus, “One Top to Rule Them All,” which is sort of a sexy mashup of Gods of the Gates and Lord of the Rings. She took the mount part of Mount Doom very literally.”

  The closer they got to Sacramento, the chattier April became.

  And yes, she was funny, and yes, he wanted to hear whatever she had to say.

  But this wasn’t a happy type of chatty, or even the overly caffeinated cocroffinut type of chatty. Instead, it was the type of chatty where she seemed to want to fill any possible silence, leaving no space for extended thought.

  As she talked, she was paying sufficient attention to the highway, but she was also fiddling with the climate settings, the music selection, and the angles of the air vents, restless as she drove in a way Marcus had never witnessed before.

  This was anxiety. Plain and simple.

  In passing, sometime during their first month together, she’d told him her father was a corporate lawyer, her mother a homemaker. At the time, he should have wondered why she’d failed to add more detail, but he hadn’t. Which was a mark against him, obviously, but also a testament to how deftly April could turn a subject away from anything too uncomfortable. Also an indication that maybe, just maybe, she handled other people’s messy emotions and history better than her own.

  Still, if she wanted to chat, he’d chat. If she needed distraction, he’d provide it.

  He’d give her anything she wanted or needed, something he’d been trying to prove to her in earnest for the past month, ever since she’d stood naked and shaking in front of him beneath the stark light of her bedroom and asked him to fuck her as a reward. Her reward.

  She didn’t understand yet, but she would.

  He loved her, loved her, and she was his reward. Touching her was a gift to him.

  That night, he’d finally understood just how effectively she’d managed to shield her own vulnerabilities, despite all her seeming openness and the wattage illuminating them both.

  The next morning, he’d been determined to learn more. To understand her better.

  When he’d woken in darkness, an hour before her alarm was due to sound, she was already awake. At his movement, her head had turned toward him, and her eyes weren’t heavy-lidded with sleep, as they should have been following such a late night.

  She was fully alert. Thinking so hard, he was surprised he couldn’t hear the friction.

  “Tell me,” he’d said, and gathered her into the crook of his body, an arm under her neck, the other stroking her arm, her hip, her flank as he eased her into the unfamiliar role of little spoon. “Tell me about the call.”

  The sheets smelled like them. Like sex and roses, and everything he’d dreamed of.

  “My parents . . .” Unexpectedly, she laughed, the sound jarring in the predawn stillness. “The irony, Marcus. The fucking irony.”

  “I don’t understand.” He nosed the crown of her head. Pressed a kiss there.

  “They’re going to love you. Love you. They’ll approve of you more than they ever approved of me.” She paused. “But not just the real you. The fake you too, the public you. Even if they saw the difference, I don’t think they’d count it as important. Maybe my mom would. Not my dad, though.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to him before, but—“My parents would have killed to have you as their child, instead of me.”

  Maybe that should have hurt, but somehow it didn’t. The knife’s edge of his grief had blunted since he’d shared it with April. Since he’d realized he had a choice in how his relationship with his parents would proceed in the future, if it proceeded at all. Since she’d told him he didn’t owe them forgiveness or anything he didn’t want to give.

  Besides, how could he begrudge some alternate-universe version of his parents for adoring and admiring April, when he did the same?

  “Thus the irony.” She wiggled closer. “All your best qualities, everything that makes you remarkable—that’s not what my father cares about. He’s all about appearances. Surfaces and selling himself to clients. We’re estranged, but my mother is abso
lutely loyal to him, and she has her own—” As she hesitated, her breathing became a bit ragged. “She has her own concerns. So things can get complicated.”

  When she’d fallen silent after her predawn confession, he hadn’t pushed her.

  Instead, he’d asked her what she needed from him, and she’d whispered into the darkness.

  They’d made love slowly, and not just because she was already tender and slightly sore from their night together. Without urgency, in the dim coolness of her bedroom, in the shared warmth of her bed, he covered her, moved over her, took her beloved face between his hands and made certain—absolutely certain—she saw him seeing her.

  Because that was what she’d needed.

  Yes, he was beginning to understand her now. It had taken him longer than it should have, but he would make up for lost time today.

  She hadn’t asked for his help, because that wasn’t her way. He was helping anyway.

  If she needed space from her father, Marcus could give her that space, and she’d already told him how to do it. Her father cared about appearances. That being the case, there was literally no one better suited to occupy his attention and keep him away from April than the Well-Groomed Golden Retriever.

  He had his character. He had his script and plenty of motivation.

  As soon as they arrived at her parents’ house, he’d be ready for action.

  It shouldn’t be much longer, either. The traffic was moving steadily, so they had maybe twenty more minutes to go. April kept glancing in her rearview mirror, as if longing to turn back, but she also kept driving.

  After chatting about several more of the latest Lavineas fics—most of which he’d already, secretly, read—April fell silent.

  Not for long, though.

  “I saw you looking over the scripts again yesterday,” she said, adjusting the fan speed up another notch, then back down again a moment later. “Did you make any decisions?”

  Discussing his career might help distract her a bit longer, but there honestly wasn’t much to report. “Nope.”

  Some of his options no longer existed, not after such a long wait. Others he still couldn’t make himself commit to, despite all logic and common sense.

  When she made a sort of encouraging hum, he willingly elaborated. “I fully understand how lucky I am to have access to those kinds of scripts, and I’m grateful. I really am. I don’t take my ability to make a living from acting for granted, and I appreciate the opportunities and experiences I’ve had more than I can easily express.”

  “I know you do.” She flashed him a quick smile before turning back to the road. “When you talk about your work, your gratitude shines through every word. It’s endearing as hell.”

  Her regard, her affection, settled softly within his chest, as it always did.

  With her, he was always warm. Always full.

  “I think there are some great scripts in that stack, but I’m just . . .” When he paused, she didn’t try to fill in the words for him. Finally, he made himself say it. “I’m not sure I want any of those roles.”

  None of them felt quite right. Worse, he didn’t know which Marcus should show up for an audition. The real him? Some iteration of the man he’d played in public for almost a decade?

  If he wanted to change his narrative, this was his best chance.

  He shook his head. No, it wasn’t a matter of if. He did want to change his narrative. It was more a matter of how. It was also a matter of courage. And as he’d told April before, he was no Aeneas when it came to bravery.

  “So those roles aren’t what you want. That’s okay.” April reached out to squeeze his knee. “You have time, and you’ll get other offers. Once the last season of Gods of the Gates starts airing and you’re back in the international spotlight, Francine’s inbox will probably be flooded.”

  Maybe so. But by then, he’d have ensured a long, long gap between projects.

  Unwilling to pursue the topic further, he turned toward April as much as the seat belt would allow. “Speaking of fame, how are you feeling about Con of the Gates? Are you ready for all the attention you’re going to get?”

  The convention was coming up next weekend, and they’d decided to make their semi-official debut there as an acknowledged couple. No more avoiding the paparazzi, at least for that weekend. Instead, they would enter the premises proudly and together.

  He couldn’t wait. He wanted to show her off, and she seemed both amused and pleased by his eagerness to do so.

  When not occupied by the cast’s group panel, an individual Q&A session, and various photo op stints, he intended to have her by his side whenever possible. Although, of course, she had her own commitments, some more recent than others.

  “I think I’m ready.” The rapid drumming of her fingers slowed. “I’ve already set aside what I want to pack, and my Lavinia costume is totally done, other than a bit of hem work.”

  His mouth opened.

  “And no, you still can’t see it.” Her grin was just a tad evil. “You’ll have to wait until the cosplay contest, just like everyone else, Caster-Hyphen-Rupp.”

  Oh, he loved when she called him that. It meant she was feeling saucy, and saucy was a million times better than anxious.

  Since talking about the con seemed to relax her, he would ask as many questions as necessary. “What about the session with Summer? How do you feel about that?”

  Only days ago, the moderator for Summer’s Q&A session had unexpectedly dropped out. The con’s organizers, obviously aware of both April’s love for Lavinia and her current online notoriety as his girlfriend, had promptly invited her to moderate the session instead. After some thought, she’d agreed.

  Marcus had already introduced the two women via a quick FaceTime chat to smooth over any potential awkwardness. Afterward, Summer had sent him a text. Not that you needed my approval, but I like her. She seems confident, too, which will help. But take care of her during that con, Marcus. It’s hard on all of us, but I don’t think you can understand what it’s like to be a woman in the spotlight. Especially a woman who’s not used to it, and *especially* a woman who might not be the sort of girlfriend the press and public expect you to have.

  It was kind and thoughtful and totally, one hundred percent Summer. Which was why, when Ron and R.J. had fucked over Lavinia and Aeneas in the final season, Marcus had grieved not just for his own character’s arc but also for his devastated colleague and friend.

  Because of how closely they’d worked together over the years, she and Carah were probably the two cast members who saw him most clearly, but neither woman had ever betrayed that knowledge to the press. Not a single time.

  Maybe he and all three of his favorite women could have dinner together during the convention. Maybe, in their company, with their guidance, his path forward in his career would be clearer.

  Their advice couldn’t be worse than Alex’s suggested hair care products and slogans, after all. Try Caster for hairstyles that last-er! Or, for extra-hold hair spray: Hairstyle had a Rupp night? Let Marcus hold you!

  “I’ll be fine moderating. I don’t mind public speaking.” April raised a shoulder. “I should be receiving Summer’s bio and the questions sometime this week, so I can familiarize myself with what I’ll need to say ahead of time.”

  He forced himself to ask the next obvious question. “When are you seeing your online friends? Have you set a time?”

  Last week, while April was at work, he’d logged on to the Lavineas server in invisible mode and spotted her announcement from the night before. At long last, Unapologetic Lavinia Stan had told everyone she was also the Lavinia fan dating Marcus, and he was honestly surprised the entire internet contained enough bandwidth for all the squeeing that had occurred.

  This means you’re going to the con, right? RIGHT??? TopMeAeneas had asked, once the furor had somewhat subsided. WE NEED TO GET TOGETHER! OMG, WE HAVE TO! LAVINEAS POWERS, ACTIVATE!

  Millions of crying-face and heart-eyes emojis later,
arrangements had been made.

  But he wasn’t supposed to know about those plans, at least not in detail. Even though he did, and even though he would have given last year’s paycheck from Gates to join them as Book!AeneasWouldNever.

  He was still writing, and Alex was still beta-reading the stories, and Marcus was still posting them under his new pen name, AeneasLovesLavinia. So far, though, they hadn’t received much traction, which was understandable but disheartening. And it was inexpressibly lonely to loiter outside the community he’d helped found, looking in.

  April was worth it, though. A million times over.

  “Sunday morning, we’re all meeting for breakfast. I may visit the vendors with TopMeAeneas afterward, unless one of the panels looks particularly enticing.” Flipping on her turn signal, April exited the highway and decelerated down the ramp. “We’re almost there now. Five more minutes.”

  Her fingers weren’t drumming against the steering wheel anymore. Instead, they were gripping the leather so tightly, her knuckles had turned white and knobby.

  Somehow, the sudden silence was even worse than that anxious chatter. Her lips were a thin, pinched line, her cheeks pale, her chin truculent and upturned.

  Unexpected rage licked a trail of fire up his spine.

  He wasn’t going to make April talk about a subject that obviously upset her, but he could act on her distress anyway.

  Her father wasn’t getting anywhere near her. Marcus would make fucking sure of that.

  He hoped Brent Whittier had a stick or a chew toy available, because the Well-Groomed Golden Retriever had come to play.

  Lavineas Server

  Thread: So, FYI, I’m That Woman

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: And by that, I mean: On Twitter, I use the handle @Lavineas5Ever. Which, as you may recall, is also the handle used by the fan Marcus Caster-Rupp asked out on a date. Which makes sense, since I’m that fan.

  Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: Yes, he’s wonderful and makes me very happy, and no, I can’t tell you much more than that. But I wanted you to know. So now you do!