YEEEEEEOUCH! – Writing Hurt Comfort

Hi, I’m Josh Lanyon, and I write M/M fiction -- usually within the framework of a mystery or romantic-suspense. I’ve been with Loose Id for about a year, although I’ve been writing gay or M/M fiction for nearly a decade. I thought for my first post I’d share a brief excerpt from the project I’m currently editing. It’s a book about writing M/M fiction called Man, Oh Man: Writing M/M Fiction for Kinks and Ca$h due out at the end of this month.

This is from a chapter on writing one of the strongest elements of M/M fiction: Hurt/comfort. Hurt/comfort or HC is not unique to M/M fiction. It’s similar to the classic heterosexual romance dynamic where the powerful hero becomes weak and injured, requiring the nurturing attention of the spunky heroine, thereby resulting in a temporary shift of the power dynamic, and allowing the heroine insight into some aspect of the hero’s character previously unknown to her.

When that set-up is moved to original M/M fiction, there are key differences from heterosexual romance. Often as not, it isn’t the alpha male brought to his knees by illness, injury or trauma; it’s the beta male. So no particular shift in power dynamics takes place unless it’s seeing the tough alpha male having to assume the caretaker role. And perhaps that is part of the attraction. An alpha having to comfort and cuddle his vulnerable male companion is, in theory, an alpha showing a side not often seen.

The male psyche being what it is, the situation must be pretty damn unusual and the level of damage inflicted has to be extreme for one male to passively accept being coddled by another — or for the other male to feel comfortable taking on the role of nurturer. In short, we’re seeing characters behaving out-of-character but in believable circumstances.

For this to be effective, the writer has to make sure that both characters have been portrayed as strong, independent, and healthy (emotionally, mentally, and physically) previous to the illness, injury or trauma. It’s the contrast between their usual tough and resilient selves and their new — temporary — roles as hurting and comforting that appeal to most readers.

“Jesus, Sean.” He pulled me close, holding me against him like he wanted to smother the words spilling out. “Stop it. Sweetheart. Stop. You’re making yourself sick.”

He kept murmuring words I couldn’t comprehend, but I understood that he was petting me, quieting me, and after a while I stopped ranting, stopped trembling, finally managing to slow those panicked shallow breaths that were making me lightheaded.

We moved over to the sofa. He left me for a moment or two. I scrubbed my face, wiping away tears I didn’t remember crying. I rested my head in my hands and tried to think. Nothing made sense.
Dan sat down beside me. Set a glass of water on the table. He held a small brown vial that I recognized from my bathroom cabinet. I watched him shake two tablets into his palm.

“I don’t want those.”

“I know. But you need them.”

I gave him a hostile look. Anything I said now would be put down to my irrational state of mind. I held out my hand. He dropped the pills in my palm, I popped them in my mouth, took the glass of water he handed over. I washed the pills down, handed him back the glass, stretched out on the sofa and closed my eyes.

Dan brushed my hair from my forehead. I kept my eyes closed, rejecting that light, tender touch.

“Just relax.”

Yeah. Right.

“Everything will be okay, I promise you.”

I swallowed. Didn’t answer. Kept my eyes closed. He kept stroking my hair. I didn’t want him to. I didn’t want to be comforted by him. I didn’t like the fact that his touch seemed to find a way through my defenses, that he seemed to be able to converse with me through his fingertips and my nerve endings.

The Dark Horse by Josh Lanyon (Loose Id, 2007)

Hurt/comfort offers the opportunity to show the character rising above adversity. Character growth. It’s a good thing.

And on the opposite side of the padded cell, we have the brusque, authoritative, sexy-as- hell partner ready to do whatever it takes to get his lover back on his feet: putting his own needs a distant second, showing a tenderness and attentiveness he didn’t even know he was capable of. Whatever it takes. Nothing is too good for the man he just discovered he loves.

And, yes, that’s another of the most useful aspects of hurt/comfort: it often serves as catalyst to one character’s recognition of his true feelings for the other. There’s nothing like a near-brush with death — yours or a loved one’s — to put everything into focus.

Even if the characters were previously attracted or in love, they will bond still more deeply through hurt/comfort.

Try to devise a sequence that leaves the characters no option but to care and take it. Give the characters quality time alone together to show one in pain, and one concerned and caring. That’s basically what it’s all about.