He hasn’t decided on that price yet. This first night, he intends to play it by ear.
Once he sees her face under a streetlight, pale and crooked and homely, he knows: she’ll pay plenty. This one act should make him enough for a night at a hotel, at least. And in return for shelter, he’ll give her the best fuck of her life.
“No need to keep looking, sweetheart,” he calls out from the shadows. “Here I am.”
Only, once she sees him too, she laughs and keeps walking.
“Too pretty for me,” she calls over her shoulder, and he finds himself somehow startlingly indignant.
“Excuse me,” he huffs.
“Consider yourself excused,” she says, not looking back, and without quite understanding why, he discovers he wants to change her mind.
8
THAT NIGHT, AFTER SHE’D SHOWERED AND CHANGED INTO her pajamas, April opened her laptop and went online. Most likely, she’d received several new DMs from BAWN, but she wasn’t ready to face those quite yet, much less the Twitter reaction to whatever dinner pics had been posted already.
AO3, then, to check the reaction to her most recent story.
She’d posted her one-shot fic late last night, in response to the Lavineas server’s self-declared fanfic initiative, Aeneas’s Angry Boner Week.
Her contribution had received a gratifying number of kudos and comments so far. All necessary and welcome encouragement after one of her rare forays into book-canon-compliant storytelling, rather than a self-created modern AU.
In the story, Lavinia confronted one of her ex’s soldiers outside the home she shared with Aeneas—a soldier who spat upon her for breaking her betrothal to Turnus, his dead leader, and threatened to do worse. Instead of calling for help from her husband, she drove away the intruder with her own sword, and when Aeneas heard about the incident, he marched toward his homely, resentful wife, inexplicably enraged by her carelessness when it came to her own safety, and—
Yeah. Their platonic marriage of convenience became decidedly less platonic, but somewhat more convenient in terms of, say, mutual sexual gratification.
April had originally intended to write a fluffy modern AU, as normal. But somehow, even before their date, picturing a hero with Marcus Caster-Rupp’s face meeting, falling for, and fucking a woman—albeit a woman who looked like Lavinia, not April—in the modern world had suddenly seemed . . . odd. Exploitative in a way it never had before.
When she’d written the story, she’d figured returning to modern AUs might take her a month or two after their date. Until thoughts of the actor himself no longer interfered with thoughts about the character he played. Until she could separate the two more effectively in her mind once more. Until he was no longer so much of a real person to her, but simply the physical vessel in which her chosen hero lived and loved.
Now she was wondering whether she might have to switch her OTP permanently. To Cyprian and Cassia, maybe, forever stuck on that damn island and pining for one another. Or Cupid and Psyche, torn apart by the machinations of Venus and Jupiter.
But she wasn’t ejecting herself from her favorite fandom without good reason. Contemplating her other options could wait until after a second date, at least.
Idly, she checked the other stories posted under the Aeneas’s Angry Boner Week tag, and she had to laugh. Almost everyone else on their server had gone full throttle on the modern AUs, and she should have known.
Her recent online activities really had spawned countless fics. Aeneas’s angry boners these past several days all seemed to be occurring in the presence of a Lavinia he’d met on Twitter, a Lavinia he’d saved from internet bullies, a Lavinia with whom he fell in love and lust over the course of a single, fateful dinner.
In the stories, he dispatched countless rude paparazzi, a dozen jealous Didos, and battalions of sneering fanboys, and then—his blood still hot from anger—saw Lavinia in the candlelight, eyes wide, mouth an O of shock and confusion and—
Well. Virgil’s Aeneas might have ascended to the realm of the gods after death because of his dauntless piety, but in this week’s fics, Little Aeneas had risen to turgid heights for decidedly different reasons.
Reading those fics was hot. Undeniably hot. Also uncomfortable in an entirely new way. At one point, she had to start skimming sex scenes, instead of lingering happily over them as she usually did, because it was Marcus in her head. Marcus on the page. Marcus making her ache.
After leaving her kudos and comments, she was eager