The neighbours complain about the noises above/scuse me while I kiss this guy.

This mostly is the result of a recent conversation between a slasher and a non-slasher, both of them very bright and articulate, that I got to be a fly on the wall for. Which then eeled its way into the general thinkiness about writing and not writing sex, because I have a crazy magpie brain that squishes everything into whatever it's working on at any given time.

The hypothesis, however, is nobody's fault but mine.

Hypothesis: Erotic/emotional subtext is, in fact, TWO kinks.

It's a sexual kink, as in directly erotically appealing, and it's a narrative kink, as in adds an intellectually pleasing aspect to a work.

And they may go together like a horse and carriage, but a horse is not a carriage, and not everyone has both. Or either, for that matter.

Also, neither of them is the homoerotica kink, which is a different kink entirely that hangs out in many of the same neighbourhoods.

Also also, the kink for picking up on and PLAYING with subtext with an eye to making it text is a different one as well, and is not present in everyone with a subtext kink. In fact, for some people with a subtext kink, making it text kills it as fast as dissecting a joke kills the laugh.

Also also also, the Savoy isn't going to burn itself, and I think I've emptied my brain out enough for now. Mostly.

(cause of course I went out for dinner and immediately I had left the house thought of all sorts of comments to make on various tendrils of this conversation and finally had to borrow pen and paper from fajrdrako to get any peace.) My friends, they are very tolerant.