Chapter Five

1. Paragraph begins with: "Please…please will you…"

Alexis: I wanted to have a scene gone awry, err, scene, but I also didn't want to make it about danger or abuse, so much as emotional dishonesty. At least on Laurie's part. I think it's clear from the behaviour of his partner that the man—though he's a bit dom-by-numbers—is sincerely trying to honour what he understands Laurie's wishes and desires to be. But because Laurie is in this quite specific state of messed-upness, where he's using his body's needs to deny his emotional needs, there's no way this encounter can work for either of them.

2.Paragraph begins with: He stepped past me to open the door.

Alexis:Dom the Dom sort of took life for me from this moment, even if he didn't for Laurie.

When I wrote the scene, I was mostly focused on what I needed it to be (or rather not be) for Laurie. Something to contrast against what he has with Toby and demonstrate why he's quite so lost and cynical about his own sexual needs, while also—as I've already discussed—not crossing the line into abusive or dangerous. That led me to the broad idea of a dom-by-numbers, someone who is respectful and competent but not super creative and wrong for Laurie right now.

Except by the time I got to the end of the scene I realised how selfish Laurie is being in this moment. He lets Dom take him home, having no intention of engaging authentically with whatever they do together. And that made me feel I was being selfish as a writer too—like I'd not created a character, but a dismissable straw man to embody approaches to sex and kink that don't speak to me personally.

Hence these moments, and later ones, where we (hopefully) get to see Dom the Dom as a whole person, someone kind and lonely and perceptive and human, not just as a paper dom or a rhetorical device to prove a point that it isn't really my point to make. Because it's kind of messed up for me to have centred a whole book on the validity of Laurie and Toby's choices, and then not extend the same courtesy to Dom here.

3. Paragraph begins with: For a moment, I was alarmed.

Alexis:There's a kind of joke amongst my readers that Spires as a series is chronic for characters being extremely disorganised about exchanging basic contact information. Sort of the romance equivalent of the way nobody can get mobile phone reception in a horror movie.

I suspect it's partly my own distaste for being contactable that's making itself manifest in my fiction. And I have tried to get better about it (although I did get a phone dropped in a river in the last Spires book I wrote, Chasing the Light).

4. Paragraph begins with: "Look." His head came up, the moonlight catching in his eyes, making them shine.

Alexis:I know romance is traditionally preferred to be dual POV but—apparently allergic to success—I tend to want to tell stories from an aggressively single POV. I think I love the way a single POV mimics the vulnerabilities of falling in love; it makes the reader textually uncertain to match the ways the central character is romantically uncertain.

But sometimes dual POV is the right choice, and I don't think there was any question in my mind that For Real was meant (insofar as anything that is consciously created is ‘meant' to be anything) to include both Laurie and Toby's voices, and for those voices to be equal.

Something I did really enjoy fucking about with, though, was introducing gaps into the text—either gaps of time or, once again, gaps in perception (like this one, where Laurie doesn't know and therefore we don't know what Toby has been doing or feeling, beyond what he expresses directly now).

Basically, I deliberately wanted to avoid a situation where they just picked up the story seamlessly from each other. I wanted something a bit more…ragged-feeling? Where the edges don't quite line up but with a bit of work they fit anyway. Y'know, like the relationship itself.

5. Paragraph begins with: Less romantic was the groan of relief I couldn't quite suppress…

Alexis:I think people trying to cart each other about romantically or sexily and not quite always succeeding might also be an Alexis Hall favoured microtrope.

6. Paragraph begins with: "You're always so smart. Are you a lawyer or something?"

Alexis:So, err, that's nearly thirty thousand words before the protagonists exchange even the most basic details about their lives. I genuinely can't tell if I was being bold or incompetent here.

7.Paragraph begins with: "Tobermory?" I asked, trying not to laugh as he swung round and straddled me.

Alexis:It takes Jasper, of course, to get this reference.

But for context, Tobermory is the title of a short story by Hector Hugh Munro (aka Saki). The eponymous Tobermory is a cat who is taught to talk—but, belonging to a society hostess, and being a cat (and we all know what cats are like), he immediately uses his new power over language to cause absolute havoc. The story is basically a skewering of upper-class hypocrisy in which the fantastical device of a talking cat becomes the epicentre of what is true and real in a world that otherwise comprises deceit, delusion, and pretention.

Like, for example, a nineteen-year-old dom to a man who has lost himself in a subculture that feels routine and hollow to him. In a book called, ahem, For Real. Look, I've never claimed to be a subtle writer.

In any case, as with most of Saki's work, Tobermory is an exquisite mixture of sharp, camp, and bitter. In other words, a perfect cocktail. It's a piece of writing I love very much and heartily recommend.

As for Saki himself, he was—like all the best people—queer AF.

8. Paragraph begins with: The heat of his clothed body rushed over my naked one…

Alexis:I know I've already babbled about the complicated, perhaps even problematic, way we interact with ideas about sex and power (and it gets even worse when we bring gender into the mix). To put it in, I guess, semiotic terms, I think we often confuse the signifier with the sign: as in we assume specific demonstrations of power are, in fact, power. In this case, that the conventions of kink (whether that's who is penetrated or what commands are issued) are how control is maintained or surrendered.

Whereas, for me, mutual trust, desire, and surrender lie at the heart of power exchange. And that's sort of what I wanted to show on the page every time Toby rejects what might be more "typical" dom behaviour in favour of what feels right to him for both of them. Like every time he doesn't push or demand or assert himself. If he chooses to ask rather than command. And, here, where he offers strength when Laurie falters.

Is it the only way to be a dom/me? Of course not. Is it what every sub needs or want? Again, no. But it doesn't mean Toby is doing it wrong either.

9. Paragraph begins with: And he tasted deeply and simply of himself, sour-sweet, and intimate.

Alexis:Ah romance. The genre where part of your job is thinking deeply and sincerely how to describe the taste of someone's arsehole.

10. Paragraph begins with: He was quiet for a long time.

Alexis:My perspective is likely flawed on this, but I see subdrop explored in fiction a lot more than domdrop, maybe because the former is more common? But as part of being interested in writing a dom who was relatable, rather than simply desirable, I wanted to show Toby's uncertainties on the page sometimes. Taking something from fantasy to reality, even if it's something you desperately want, isn't always simple or easy. And it felt right for those emotions to catch up with him now. And, also, for Laurie to be able to offer emotional support (albeit in a slightly impatient way) without that compromising their sexual dynamic.

11. Paragraph begins with: "One of the few advantages of getting old…"

Alexis:When I wrote this, I wasn't as close to Laurie's age as I am now, but I'm delighted to be able to confirm I was (and am) correct. The older I get, the fewer fucks I have to give. It feels wonderful.

12. Paragraph begins with: "You really get it, don't you?" he whispered.

Alexis:One of the slightly complicated things for me personally in deciding to write For Real essentially boiled down to…how to write a kinky romance that wasn't really, or perhaps solely, about the kink? Don't get me wrong, it's fine for romances to centre on whatever they damn please. But since I tend to write in ways that are aimed at normalising aspects of identity, especially queer identity, it felt right to do the same for kink. So most of the obstacles Laurie and Toby face have nothing to do with sex. And there are repeated moments where it's made, I think, pretty clear that the most "dangerous" or at least vulnerable-making thing they do with each other is be honest about their feelings.

13. Paragraph begins with: "God, no. I'm not helping you."

Alexis:Toby's reaction to locking up his lover's cock still kind of amuses me a little. Like, sometimes the kinkiest thing you can do is not doing the kinky thing.

14. Paragraph begins with: "That's your safeword, is it?"

Alexis:This too—that Laurie and Toby would not ultimately use safewords—was a decision I wrestled with. I think it's too easy for fiction to be interpreted monolithically (seen as encompassing all experiences, rather than just the experiences it explores) or representationally (expressing broad ideas rather than specific ones), and I didn't necessarily want to get angry emails about how I was Spreading Unsafe Ideas About BDSM. Because, the fact is, someone insisting to you they don't believe in safewords is usually a red flag. However, I think there's also a tendency to treat safewords as sort of…magical. Like, you can't have done anything wrong if the sub didn't safeword. When the reality is, like most things, complicated. So I guess I erred on the side of letting Toby and Laurie be themselves and reflect that complicatedness.

15. Paragraph begins with: I carried the books into the kitchen

Alexis:While I, too, adore people sharing what they love, I think the only thing more haunting than being stuck with a book (or books) an ex-partner left behind would be an actual haunting. And even then it would be touch and go.