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Moss, of the division Bryophyta.

I read smut.  


Shitloads of smut.

Bareback - Chris Owen Reading this book is like watching Les Mis and right at the scene where Valjean's all wahhh what have I done while clutching the church silver, you're struck by the terrible, terrible realisation that no-one's going to speak in this thing, ever, that it's all going to be through the medium of song and that the next time you hear a spoken sentence is going to be after the movie finishes and no sooner. You didn't know that! You've totally seen musicals where there were talky bits!

Because that is like the fucking in this book.

There is so much fucking in this book.

If the author was trying to set up the premise that the protagonists fuck a lot, they absolutely nailed it.

And you know what, the fucking doesn't even change: they essentially just repeat the same sex scene again and again, barring one small brush with one guy getting tied up but that's just a one-off because they're back again to the frotting-BJ-penetration routine straight afterwards.

So there was that, and it took some skimming to try and find the story let me tell you. It starts about halfway through, when the fucking stops and the problems begin. And then there's infidelity and people dealing with it and trying to work through their issues and just a whole shitload of trying to pull together something coherent out of the ashes of all the fucking.

It sort of works -- the author does cover a few bases early on with some tragic backstory for both protagonists, so when the big break happens there's that material to draw on. It could have come a lot earlier for me, but whatever. One of them's got a dead boyfriend in his past, and the other has homophobic parents; all reasonably meaty stuff and when the author does get around to dealing with it, they do it well. It's also dazzling how much of the characters' personalities emerge when they put their pants on.

Sadly, all this happens very, very late in the book and if you're not the patient sort, it's not going to be enough for you.

I stuck around because who needs dialogue when the boys are singing so tragically and beautifully on the barricades and well, there was so much fucking. Why wouldn't you?