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The Art of Smut Writing (or How Ray Kowalski Turned Me Into an Internet Pornographer)
Hi. I'm here to talk to you about writing kissing and/or sex. I volunteered for this question because I write a lot of stories about kissing and/or sex; kissing and/or sex are some of my favourite things. I don't feel like I'm any kind of expert on the matter, though. This is not so much a compilation of Rules You Should Follow as it is a collection of things I think I do myself. You might not find this helpful at all, or maybe you'll like parts of it and completely disagree with me about other parts. That's cool. You will almost certainly have helpful hints of your own that aren't included here. In both cases, please feel free to add to this in the comments.
Start small
I usually start writing because there's one small, particular thing I want to see some character doing or saying--Ray K wrapping Ray Vecchio's fingers around a crossbar in their headboard, for example, then giving him a look that dares him to keep them there.* Then I try to figure out what the characters are feeling in that little scenelet, and then why they’re feeling like that, and then I build up the context and backstory from there. This means that my stories are generally pretty lacking in traditional A plot (like, crime stuff and action and whatnot) because I usually only add that stuff later, as a frame for the character interaction to hang out inside of. I’m okay with that, personally. YMMV.
(Sometimes my small, particular thing (SPT™) is not part of a story in which there is smut. Sometimes it doesn’t involve kissing, even. As distressing as this can be, I’ve found that the story I’m writing usually turns out better if I focus my attention on building it around whatever the SPT is and, if necessary, leave the smut out of the picture altogether. It is a sacrifice, but it is for ART, yo.)
Build the heat
Once I know what kind of story I'm going to be writing, I'll usually try to figure out, in a general sense, where it's going to end up. I'm kind of a traditionalist, so this is usually going to be with a first kiss or with an orgasm (or two); again, YMMV--maybe a mutual spanking with wooden spoons is your own personal money shot, and that is okay with me. Simply substitute your details where appropriate.
No matter where I decide I want the story to end up, though, I try to begin somewhere that's, say, ten degrees less hot and work my way up the scale, with several incrementally hotter stops en route**. So, like, if where I wanted to end up was a Fraser/Kowalski first kiss, I might want to start with Ray watching Fraser, thinking about what it'd be like to kiss him, then have him test the waters with a hand on Fraser's shoulder, maybe have Fraser give Ray one of those sharp, uncertain, Fraser-y looks. Everybody who's reading knows where the scene is going to end up, but they don't--Ray and Fraser don't--and without that not-knowing and that awesome, stomach-plummety tension, there isn't much of a story.
But on the other hand, if we go back to the Ray/Ray example from before, I'd probably start with the two of them making out, maybe already in bed. I think it's okay to jump in when the action's already started in that case, because where I want to end up is still a long way from there--I'm planning on some teasing, and maybe some more making out, and then a whole lot of explicit detail before I get to the orgasms, so there'll be lots of room for the heat to build.
Keep the viewpoint tight
A tight, third person POV is kind of my default mode for most things, but I find it's especially helpful when writing kissing and/or sex, both of which have a tendency to devolve into a mechanical choreography of hands and limbs if I'm not careful. So instead of worrying about making sure readers know where the characters' hands are at all times, I try to focus on what one of the characters feels under his palms (or fingertips, or tongue): The wood was slick, hard to hang onto; Ray tightened his grip instead of Ray was lying with his arms over his head, holding onto the wooden headboard. You might get a more complete picture of what's going on from example number two, but I think the first one is more immediate and invites a kind of empathetic participation in the scene. (By which I mean it is hotter, I guess.)
Be specific
Despite the inherent goofiness of sex in which you aren't personally involved, there are times when I can really appreciate straight up, traditional porn--filmed or written or however it might come. I have made my peace with the various philosophical arguments against its existence; I am basically All Right With Porn on a personal and political level. But that said, I actually don't think that explicit fanfiction is really the same thing as porn. It's a depiction of sex, sure, and it's usually written for titillation, but even the most WP-ish of PWP's happens inside a larger context; the characters are borrowed, not just from their creator(s), but from the whole of fandom. There are lots of places I could go to read about/look at a guy giving another guy a blowjob. When I'm reading fanfic, it's because I want the whole rest of it, too. I want Ray K (with his curious vulnerabilities and his smirk and his attitude and the soft sweaty hair at the back of his neck) giving Fraser (reluctant Fraser, cautious Fraser, secret-Kowalski-addict Fraser) a blowjob. I want to be able to draw all those invisible lines in my head, connect the dots, see, for instance, Ray's surrender to Fraser in Asylum answered, at least partly, by Fraser's finally giving it up for Ray.
And it's not so much that I need the writer to show me all that context and backstory explicitly every time. I've watched the show, I've read an unholy amount of dS fic--I'm okay, on occasion, to jump in at the good part. But this is where characterization becomes especially important. If I don't recognize the people in the story as the ones I know from that bigger collaborative picture, I'm not going to be able to make those connections I'm craving, and the story is going to miss the mark.
So when I'm the one writing the explicit scene in question, I think a lot about voice--not just dialogue-wise, although that's important too, but also POV-wise. If I'm telling the story from Vecchio's head, I'm going to try to make sure that narratively, I'm only using words and phrases I can actually hear canon-Vecchio saying. This is all kinds of personal, in that every writer's going to have a slightly different version of canon-Vecchio (or Ray K, or Fraser, or whatever) in her head; I think a little variance is a good thing, but I think it's also smart to get a good beta or two and trust them to let you know if you're veering too far away from recognizable. sageness has written a bunch of excellent tips for getting the voice right over here--I suggest you read that, if you haven't already.
I also try to make the sensory details I'm adding specific to the characters I'm writing about. That can mean stuff like letting the shirt Ray K's taking off Vecchio be a button-down hand-tailored remnant from the Languistini days, or having Vecchio spend a little time sucking on Ray K's tattoo. I think it's better, though, if you can include things for which you have a personal fondness, no matter how strange and particular they might be. I, for example, have a thing for the back of Ray K's neck. I know not why, and I do not question--I just pause episodes at nape-featuring moments and sigh over them in a pathetic way. But all that sighing means I have a nicely vivid mental image to draw upon when I'm writing, and I think that makes the scene I've written feel more vivid to people who are reading. Also, those things are the kind of things people notice about the real-life objects of their crushes, so having one character observe them in another is going to make your characterization stronger all around.
Okay! The end! That's all the rambling I'm up to tonight. It's your turn, now--tell me what you do to make your kissing scenes more kissingful or your sex scenes sexier. What's your trick?
*pearl_os and other Ray/Ray oppositionists may mentally add a Fraser to this example; he can be on the other side of the bed, watching.
**The author is sleepy and therefore takes no responsibility for any mixed or unusual metaphors; continue reading at your own risk.
Start small
I usually start writing because there's one small, particular thing I want to see some character doing or saying--Ray K wrapping Ray Vecchio's fingers around a crossbar in their headboard, for example, then giving him a look that dares him to keep them there.* Then I try to figure out what the characters are feeling in that little scenelet, and then why they’re feeling like that, and then I build up the context and backstory from there. This means that my stories are generally pretty lacking in traditional A plot (like, crime stuff and action and whatnot) because I usually only add that stuff later, as a frame for the character interaction to hang out inside of. I’m okay with that, personally. YMMV.
(Sometimes my small, particular thing (SPT™) is not part of a story in which there is smut. Sometimes it doesn’t involve kissing, even. As distressing as this can be, I’ve found that the story I’m writing usually turns out better if I focus my attention on building it around whatever the SPT is and, if necessary, leave the smut out of the picture altogether. It is a sacrifice, but it is for ART, yo.)
Build the heat
Once I know what kind of story I'm going to be writing, I'll usually try to figure out, in a general sense, where it's going to end up. I'm kind of a traditionalist, so this is usually going to be with a first kiss or with an orgasm (or two); again, YMMV--maybe a mutual spanking with wooden spoons is your own personal money shot, and that is okay with me. Simply substitute your details where appropriate.
No matter where I decide I want the story to end up, though, I try to begin somewhere that's, say, ten degrees less hot and work my way up the scale, with several incrementally hotter stops en route**. So, like, if where I wanted to end up was a Fraser/Kowalski first kiss, I might want to start with Ray watching Fraser, thinking about what it'd be like to kiss him, then have him test the waters with a hand on Fraser's shoulder, maybe have Fraser give Ray one of those sharp, uncertain, Fraser-y looks. Everybody who's reading knows where the scene is going to end up, but they don't--Ray and Fraser don't--and without that not-knowing and that awesome, stomach-plummety tension, there isn't much of a story.
But on the other hand, if we go back to the Ray/Ray example from before, I'd probably start with the two of them making out, maybe already in bed. I think it's okay to jump in when the action's already started in that case, because where I want to end up is still a long way from there--I'm planning on some teasing, and maybe some more making out, and then a whole lot of explicit detail before I get to the orgasms, so there'll be lots of room for the heat to build.
Keep the viewpoint tight
A tight, third person POV is kind of my default mode for most things, but I find it's especially helpful when writing kissing and/or sex, both of which have a tendency to devolve into a mechanical choreography of hands and limbs if I'm not careful. So instead of worrying about making sure readers know where the characters' hands are at all times, I try to focus on what one of the characters feels under his palms (or fingertips, or tongue): The wood was slick, hard to hang onto; Ray tightened his grip instead of Ray was lying with his arms over his head, holding onto the wooden headboard. You might get a more complete picture of what's going on from example number two, but I think the first one is more immediate and invites a kind of empathetic participation in the scene. (By which I mean it is hotter, I guess.)
Be specific
Despite the inherent goofiness of sex in which you aren't personally involved, there are times when I can really appreciate straight up, traditional porn--filmed or written or however it might come. I have made my peace with the various philosophical arguments against its existence; I am basically All Right With Porn on a personal and political level. But that said, I actually don't think that explicit fanfiction is really the same thing as porn. It's a depiction of sex, sure, and it's usually written for titillation, but even the most WP-ish of PWP's happens inside a larger context; the characters are borrowed, not just from their creator(s), but from the whole of fandom. There are lots of places I could go to read about/look at a guy giving another guy a blowjob. When I'm reading fanfic, it's because I want the whole rest of it, too. I want Ray K (with his curious vulnerabilities and his smirk and his attitude and the soft sweaty hair at the back of his neck) giving Fraser (reluctant Fraser, cautious Fraser, secret-Kowalski-addict Fraser) a blowjob. I want to be able to draw all those invisible lines in my head, connect the dots, see, for instance, Ray's surrender to Fraser in Asylum answered, at least partly, by Fraser's finally giving it up for Ray.
And it's not so much that I need the writer to show me all that context and backstory explicitly every time. I've watched the show, I've read an unholy amount of dS fic--I'm okay, on occasion, to jump in at the good part. But this is where characterization becomes especially important. If I don't recognize the people in the story as the ones I know from that bigger collaborative picture, I'm not going to be able to make those connections I'm craving, and the story is going to miss the mark.
So when I'm the one writing the explicit scene in question, I think a lot about voice--not just dialogue-wise, although that's important too, but also POV-wise. If I'm telling the story from Vecchio's head, I'm going to try to make sure that narratively, I'm only using words and phrases I can actually hear canon-Vecchio saying. This is all kinds of personal, in that every writer's going to have a slightly different version of canon-Vecchio (or Ray K, or Fraser, or whatever) in her head; I think a little variance is a good thing, but I think it's also smart to get a good beta or two and trust them to let you know if you're veering too far away from recognizable. sageness has written a bunch of excellent tips for getting the voice right over here--I suggest you read that, if you haven't already.
I also try to make the sensory details I'm adding specific to the characters I'm writing about. That can mean stuff like letting the shirt Ray K's taking off Vecchio be a button-down hand-tailored remnant from the Languistini days, or having Vecchio spend a little time sucking on Ray K's tattoo. I think it's better, though, if you can include things for which you have a personal fondness, no matter how strange and particular they might be. I, for example, have a thing for the back of Ray K's neck. I know not why, and I do not question--I just pause episodes at nape-featuring moments and sigh over them in a pathetic way. But all that sighing means I have a nicely vivid mental image to draw upon when I'm writing, and I think that makes the scene I've written feel more vivid to people who are reading. Also, those things are the kind of things people notice about the real-life objects of their crushes, so having one character observe them in another is going to make your characterization stronger all around.
Okay! The end! That's all the rambling I'm up to tonight. It's your turn, now--tell me what you do to make your kissing scenes more kissingful or your sex scenes sexier. What's your trick?
*pearl_os and other Ray/Ray oppositionists may mentally add a Fraser to this example; he can be on the other side of the bed, watching.
**The author is sleepy and therefore takes no responsibility for any mixed or unusual metaphors; continue reading at your own risk.