Under an August Moon

By K.L. Noone

Wesley Kim loves watching his boyfriend work. Even when he can’t help worrying about it.

Wes knows his boyfriend’s a genius actor -- after all, Finn Ransom used to be a household name. And Finn’s so compelling, even on the set of a television superhero show where he’s a recurring fan favorite, not the star. He’s brilliant. And Wes gets to tell him so. Repeatedly. In bed.

But this role is physically demanding. Late nights, action scenes. Wes has seen Finn in the hospital before. He never wants to again.

Then Finn gets an offer: the chance to become a series regular ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Aug 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685502287

K.L. Noone

K.L. Noone loves fantasy, romance, cats, far too sweet coffee, and happy endings! She is also the author of Port in a Storm and its upcoming sequel, available from Less Than Three Press, and numerous short romances with Ellora’s Cave and Circlet Press; her fantasy fiction has appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword and Sorceress anthologies. With her Professor Hat on, she teaches college students about Shakespeare and superhero comics, and has published academic articles and essays on Neil Gaiman’s adaptations of Beowulf, Welsh mythology in modern fantasy, and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The secret superhero base—former superhero; Lightwave had retired years ago—glimmered in darkly reflective surfaces, in polished glass and stone. Wide windows, built into the curve of the mountain retreat, both revealed the world and held it at bay: kept behind glass, looking down. The frantic knot of other younger heroes tumbled out of the elevator in a splash of garish crimson and blue and yellow spandex, and pleaded, Are you here?

All the eyes—human, and camera lenses—swung to the slim brooding darkness in a corner. The artificially constructed set was more brightly lit than it would be in the final television episode; digital wizardry would take care of that.

Wesley Kim realized he was holding his breath. Made himself stop that.

Finn Ransom, with only a shift of weight, an adjustment of stance, came out of the shadows and became a presence: the presence of Adrian Light, billionaire, former savior of the world. Older than the youthful team who’d come for his aid, though not by much. Finn in real life was also older than most of the main cast of League of Tomorrow, though, again, not by too much: more or less between them and Wes’s own age. In years, at least.

He was beautiful. He was captivating. He wore a suit—not a film-costume super-suit, but a jacket, tie, crisp clean lines that spoke of rigid control—as if born to do exactly that. His hair tumbled the perfect amount, blond and icy. His eyes were summertime blue.

He said, wearily, Leave me alone.

Wes nearly made a sound—that was his Finn, so tired and so wounded, but it wasn’t his Finn, of course. The role. Filming. He couldn’t interrupt.

You don’t mean that. The super-team leader took a step forward. I know you don’t.

Finn laughed, bitter. You don’t know anything.

Their director and showrunner, Henry Chou, young and energetic and bespectacled, looked thrilled, behind a monitor. Of course he was thrilled; Finn was everything any director could want. Wes stayed where he’d been told to, out of the way, and watched some more.

He’d been allowed to be here in Vancouver—normally a mostly closed set, to avoid mega-hit superhero television show spoilers getting out—because Finn had asked, and everybody liked making Finn Ransom happy. This was in part because Finn could make everybody laugh, everyone’s friend, and in part because people did often feel sorry for him, especially when they saw the cane, and therefore no one would tell him he couldn’t have a visit from a tall harmless medievalist professor partner.

Wes had arrived two days before, after a Global Middle Ages Institute Summer Seminar he couldn’t get out of, since he was co-directing the program. It was only two weeks, and in fact he loved it, all of it, the joy of history and new scholarship and disciplines in conversation, expanding knowledge of and connections across the world, the past and present; but the timing had been terrible. Finn had gone up to Vancouver the week before the seminar started, thanks to filming requirements; he’d already been working.

They’d spoken every night, and texted during the day—at least they were in the same time zone—and it hadn’t been enough, not even when Finn sent ridiculous pictures of himself performing over-the-top poses in his own super-suit, black and clinging, unfastened in front to show off his chest.

Wonderful, yes. But no, not enough.

Wes had, by certain measurements, been enormously productive. He’d had the house to himself, no wayward interruptions to come look at a video about soap-carving or a recipe that suggested putting blueberries in chili. Between seminar obligations, he’d promptly finished up and sent off the first version of an article on carved gemstones, fourteenth-century jewelry, and love-tokens.

He’d also cleaned the house. Thoroughly. He’d spent a contented afternoon moving furniture just to get underneath it, with a classic punk rock playlist on for energy.

He was aware that, as much as he’d enjoyed himself,