Do Men
Always Have to Be Alpha in Romance?
The studly Alpha-Male archetype – he is a staple in Romance
Fiction, and for good reason. Who doesn’t want to fantasize about a powerful,
sexy man in control of their desire, protecting them, masculine in every way?
It certainly sold a lot of EL James books.
Since I write gay romance, that doesn’t always work – although
it can. What it boils down to are the individual characters themselves. An
author can work within archetypes when developing the MC’s, but it can be too
easy to fall into cardboard cut-outs. Typical. Boring. One-dimensional. If the
main love interests in the story aren’t multi-faceted beings with their own
specific quirks, likes, dislikes and ways of doing and reacting to things, then
it’s easy to lose the reader’s interest.
A character can be Alpha, but he also has to be so many other
things as well. He can even be obnoxious and hard to love, as long as the top
layers get peeled off and the soft spots are revealed. What is it about the guy
that makes someone very different fall in love with him? Does he volunteer at
the soup kitchen, but keeps it carefully hidden from anyone he knows? Maybe the
love interest he’s already alienated spots him there and is intrigued by this
undiscovered side to a man he thought was a total bastard.
In Secret Fire (Uniform Encounters 5), Fire Marshall Daryl is
one helluva grumpy man. He’s also quite Alpha and very sexy in a rough and
ready kind of way. He’s been alone since he caught his partner cheating, and
he’s pretty much sworn off relationships. Policeman Zach is a fun-loving guy,
and doesn’t think Daryl would make a very good prospect, even if one of their
mutual friends keeps insisting to Zach that he should
give Daryl a try. Finally, Daryl does something that allows Zach to see that
there’s more to the Marshall than he’d
thought.
Excerpt
from Secret Fire (Uniform Encounters 5)
What the hell happened?
Zach had a
raging headache and the light hurt his eyes, so he’d given up trying to look
around and kept them closed. Different images flashed in his mind, all filtered
through a fog. A loud boom and his cruiser being littered with the wreckage of
the machine shop. A man with his shirt on fire. Searing smoke going down his
throat, the sharp pain in his shoulder as he’d dragged a victim to safety.
Blood being drawn, oxygen masks, X-rays, an ER doctor Zach sort of remembered
as being Terrence’s partner.
Terrence.
He’d been by
his van when Daryl had helped him, insisted he come to the hospital. Daryl had
practically carried him to the gurney and set him on it.
What was that all about?
It was
difficult to reconcile the jerk he’d left behind at the park with the
compassionate and concerned man who had insisted he seek treatment. He could
also swear he’d heard him say something about them getting a beer.
Obviously, I’m delirious.
He opened one
eye just enough to see that he was out of the ER and in a room. The mask was
still on and he began to wonder how long he’d been there. He needed to pee
pretty bad, so he tried to lift his head from the pillow to sit up. He groaned
as a sharp jab of pain shot through his skull.
“What the
hell are you trying to do? Lie your ass back down.”
The fuck?
The push of a
hand against his good shoulder caused him to open both eyes. He drank in the
sight of Daryl leaning over him, his brow furrowed as he stared down at him.
“What are you
doing here?”
It had barely
come out as more than a whisper. His throat felt as though someone had smoothed
the inside of it with heavy duty sandpaper.
“Making sure
you’re following doctor’s orders.”
“I gotta take
a piss.”
There was a
tickle in his throat and he swallowed a couple of times to keep from dissolving
into a spasm of coughing. However, it was next to impossible without any spit.
He choked a little, and Daryl picked up the plastic container of water the
hospital had provided, extending it to him. With Daryl’s help, he swung his
legs out of bed so he could sit up and take a drink. Moving the mask aside,
Zach then clamped onto the straw and took several swallows as Daryl held the
large cup.
Zach couldn’t
make eye contact with him—the whole thing was too awkward. He noticed the cold
of the floor, which he could feel through the funny little bed socks someone
had placed on his feet. The room was also somewhat chilly. And his bladder
screamed for mercy. He let go of the straw, and Daryl set the water down on the
nightstand.
Grabbing the
metal railing, he began to push off the bed, forgetting all about the oxygen
mask still half on his face. He became tangled in plastic tubing running to an
IV pole. He saw that it was attached to the back of his hand.
“All right,
that’s enough. Hold on and I’ll help you.”
Why does he have to be here right now with
me like this?
The whole
thing struck Zach as strange—and embarrassing. It had him jumbled up inside. He
was confused as to why Daryl—of all people—was tending to him and why he was so
concerned about not being at his best in front of him. Daryl had his arm around
his waist, and helped pull him up.
“I got it
from here, I’m good. Thanks.”
Zach stumbled
a bit and Daryl grasped him harder.
“Sure you
do.”
A slight
draft reminded Zach that he was decked out in an open-back hospital gown and he
clutched at it to close it up.
“Relax. I’ve
seen tighty whities before.”
“Yeah, but
you haven’t seen mine.”
“That’s a
damn shame to be sure.” There was a slight cough from Daryl and Zach was sure
he’d let that comment slip out unexpectedly.
He chanced a
look at Daryl, but the man steadfastly kept his head down as if he were focused
solely on helping Zach to the bathroom and nothing more. As if it were
perfectly natural for them to be together the way they were.
I swear, if anyone I knew were to pop in
right now…
Buy Links:
Totally Bound: https://www.totallybound.com/secret-fire
Find Morticia at www.morticiaknight.blogspot.com
@morticiaknight or on Facebook
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