Prism Book Alliance® would like to thank Charley Descoteaux for stopping by today.
Author: Charley Descoteaux
Cover Artist: Kanaxa
Genre: Bisexual, Contemporary, Fiction, Menage/Poly, Romance, Trans*
Sometimes letting things get complicated is the best way to figure it all out.
Mick Randall is on the run, from the biker culture he grew up in and his impossible vision of love. Alaska should be far enough to escape his old life—until he rolls into a wrecking yard and gets lost in a pair of pale, bottle-green eyes.
Scotty Bell has spent years learning to channel his fiery temper into the heat of a welding torch. His sexual heat has always been slower to ignite, but one look at Mick rouses confusion alongside desire. In all his life, he’s only been attracted to one other person—his best friend, Mercy Taylor.
Mick lands a temporary job at the yard, and finds an uneasy crash pad at Scotty’s place…where the ragged ends of his emotions get tangled up in Scotty and Mercy’s relationship.
But when Mick hears a Harley engine from his past bearing down on him, his first instinct is to go back to the half-life he’d been living. Lest his secrets destroy the only two people who’ve ever made him feel whole.
Warning: Contains references to abuse, subversive ideas about sexual identity and gender expression, and a free-range bisexual on a mission.
Hi all! Thanks to everyone at Prism Book Alliance for inviting me to visit!
The folks at Prism gave me a few choices of topic for this post and to be honest when I saw the list I thought there was no way I could write any of them. I’m not someone who craves the spotlight so writing about myself makes me a little uncomfortable. At best. However, it seems as though a book tour isn’t only about the book, nor is it solely about the author’s style or process or even their body of work. I could be wrong (and I’m sure someone will tell me if I am ☺), but it seems to me that book promotion is as much about the author as it is about the books.
Maybe this is more prominent in LGBTQ+ Romance than elsewhere. It makes sense that in a sub-genre focusing on a specific societal sub-group readers would be interested in the intersectionality of the author. Sometimes it still feels a little like a screening process, a secret handshake.
Whenever I’m asked to talk about myself I feel a little like Mick, my main character in Torque, like running away; afraid that whatever I say will be wrong, will reveal that I’m nothing like whoever’s asking. The focus on an author’s personal life is something I might wish I would have known before getting too deeply involved in Romancelandia. I like it here, in Romanceland, but usually feel like an awkward grease monkey in a room full of graceful ballerinas. Maybe that is appealing in itself—the odd duck writing peculiar stories about our shared experiences? I hope so, because that’s all I’ve got. I doubt if I’ll ever qualify for the label of “mainstream” any more than my characters do, and that’s okay.
You may know that I’m bi. You may not know that I’ve been writing about what it means to be bisexual since the 90s. Until the past few years I had to do that with stealth, writing the stories I wanted to write and then removing all outward signs of queerness before submitting. When M/M Romance exploded a few years ago I thought it was only the beginning, that the natural progression would be for Queer Romance to keep expanding beyond two men getting their HEA. So far that hasn’t really happened.
I would love to write more books like Torque (books with bi, ace, and trans characters, which is really only a good start), books that reflect my life experiences and those of the people closest to me. But I‘m not sure if I will. The market is brutal, but that’s not the largest obstacle. It’s the determined erasure of whole chunks of the LGBTQ+ community that discourages me. I’m no stranger to going against the grain, to being the odd man out, but if readers don’t buy the diverse books I love eventually publishers will stop taking chances on them. Publishing is a business and if the money doesn’t come in the business fails. If an indie author doesn’t have the money to risk on the gamble that their Bisexual Romance or their Trans Romance will sell, the books stay on our hard drives gathering (figurative) dust. And the people who would benefit from the representation or who just want to read something different—they end up going without. It’s a lose-lose situation.
The call for diverse books isn’t a casual wish for many of us, it’s a desire to feel like we belong, to feel like someone out there sees us as people and not inconvenient plot points or characters who clutter up the narrative. I’m willing to bet anyone can find stories to love beyond their comfort zone in Male-Male Romance—whether it’s Fantasy or SciFi, or a Contemporary with underrepresented characters. I know I have.
I’m always looking to add to my TBR list so please leave any recommendations for diverse books in the comments. I guarantee I won’t be the only one paying attention.
Thanks again to the folks at Prism for having me!
Copyright © 2016 Charley Descoteaux
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication
Mick slept on the couch for two weeks before Scott let him get dinner. Mick brought a pizza, hot wings and a six-pack. When he offered Scott a beer, Mick thought for a second he was about to get decked.
“No thanks, I don’t drink. But you go ahead.”
Mick put five bottles in the fridge and popped the top on the sixth. The long pull of rich beer felt like cool water after he’d been walking for weeks in the desert.
“Nope. I got enough of that before I was even born, I don’t need any more.”
It only took half a beer for Mick to get past the uncomfortable feeling he should’ve asked Scott to tell him more, or that he should’ve switched to Mountain Dew. Scott rented an On Demand movie, something forgettable with vampires, and they sat in their places on the couch and divided their attention between the movie and the pizza for the next two hours. Tom camped out in his usual spot between their thighs, graciously accepting all the chicken and pepperoni tributes offered to him.
After the movie was over they watched another one on HBO, but didn’t pay much attention to it. Mick had a nice buzz going and was happy to sit back and listen to Scott talk about his project—the VW Microbus he was converting into a flatbed. A warm, fuzzy feeling Mick almost didn’t recognize as happiness set up camp in his gut, and life was good.
He thought, more than once or twice, that Scott leaned toward him in a way that was a little more than friendly, but it had to be the beer.
Mick jerked in surprise when he realized he’d started to lean toward Scott. He had no right to be “more than friendly” to Scott. None at all.
Scott reached out to grasp his shoulder. “You okay, Mick?”
“Are you ready for bed?” Scott kneaded his shoulder, sending a current through his body.
“The movie isn’t over.”
“It’s not very good. If you don’t want to finish it, that’s okay with me.” Scott smiled and sat back against the couch, releasing Mick’s shoulder.
He couldn’t help himself, he leaned forward. Only a little bit. He didn’t want to lose Scott’s touch. In that moment, he couldn’t think of anything more important than Scott touching him, not even self-preservation.
Mick Randall wasn’t a stranger to self-medicating with alcohol but before he found Bell’s he hadn’t had a lot of money to spare, and lately he hadn’t had the time. Together, those circumstances had turned him into a lightweight. That had to be the explanation for why he saw a come-on in every glance and heard innuendo where surely Scott didn’t mean any. He’d have to be a lightweight to want so badly to respond to Scott’s touch with an embrace.
Maybe I should quit drinking.
Mick wasn’t capable of walking in a straight line by the time he hit the can, but it didn’t matter. Four beers was plenty and he’d take the other two out of Scott’s fridge the next day and remember not to bring more. If he wanted a drink, he wouldn’t have to drive far. When he left the bathroom his thoughts centered on that warm, happy feeling, and what he could get up to the next day. Before he knew what was happening, Scott had him backed against the wall, both hands spread across his chest.
All that fuzzy warm happiness disappeared, replaced by a tiny shiver of panic mixed with a side of relief. The relief tangled with a mix of “fucking finally” and “what the fuck” that made Mick dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the beer.
“Scott. Maybe I should sleep somewhere else tonight.”
“Yeah. Like in my bed with me.”
“I was thinking like my car, or a motel.”
Scott frowned and pushed him back against the wall harder, caressing his chest and shoulders as he did. The contrast of the unyielding wall against his shoulder blades and the man in front of him spun Mick’s head around once. “You don’t feel anything like Mercy. I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Don’t you think Mercy would—”
“She wouldn’t care. I’m not the only one she fools around with.” Scott leaned against him, chest to chest, close enough to kiss.
“Let me go.” Mick took hold of Scott’s shoulders and tried to push him back, but Scott was stronger than he looked.
“No. I don’t want to.”
“What am I supposed to do now?” Mick couldn’t see a clear path to the door. Panic reared up in the back of his mind—he had no game plan for this, no idea what his part should be.
“You can let me blow you. Or you can blow me. I don’t care who goes first. You want me, don’t you?”
Mick tried to speak but couldn’t. He couldn’t get a decent breath either, not with Scott’s hands on him. He nodded and tried to pull himself together.
“Haven’t you ever hooked up before?”
“Well, so have I. I’m not a little kid. You don’t have to—”
“I know you’re not.” Mick squeezed Scott’s shoulders, anxious to learn how his skin felt over those hard muscles, how those muscles looked when he moved. “I know.”
“I’ve hooked up before.”
“So why not with me?”
“Because it’s different with you. I mean, it would be— I can’t…”
“You think I’m an idiot? Too dumb to know what to—”
“No! No. That has nothing to do—” Mick saw something in Scott’s eyes that made the rest of that sentence turn to dust in his throat. He swallowed hard and was about to—no idea what he was about to do, but he couldn’t stand there forever—when he saw something else that stopped him. “You’re shaking.”
“Yeah.” Scott’s voice had a hard edge so when he surged forward, his erection pressing against Mick’s thigh, it was unexpected.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m trying to keep from punching you in the face.”
“Why do you want to punch me in the face?”
“Because you’re pushing me away. I thought you liked me.”
“I do like you. But—”
“Don’t say it’s not right. I’m dumb but I’m not—”
“I didn’t say you were dumb. You’re not dumb.” Mick could barely speak past his desire, so his last few words came out as breathless as he felt. He’d started panting and the sound filled the short hallway. “Please don’t punch me in the face.”
Scott frowned, but fear and pain was mixed up with the anger and desire showing in his light bottle-green eyes. Mick felt it all right along with him.
“Maybe I should go.”
When Scott didn’t respond Mick slid against the wall, sideways. In just a few steps, Mick wasn’t supporting all of Scott’s weight anymore, didn’t feel his tense muscles or his heat. Mick gingerly pushed off from the wall and walked backward, toward the living room.
“You don’t have to.”
“I think I do.” Mick sat on the sofa to pull on his boots and Scott dropped onto the cushion beside him. Mick straightened, one boot on and one off, and Scott grabbed him and kissed him.
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About the Author
Charley Descoteaux misspent a large chunk of her youth on the back of a Harley, meeting people and having adventures that sometimes pop up in her fiction. She grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area during a drought, and found her true home in the soggy Pacific Northwest. Charley has survived earthquakes, tornadoes and floods, but couldn’t make it through one day without stories.
Where to find the author:
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/CharleyDescoteauxAuthor/?ref=hl
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