“I wouldn’t classify the series as anything other than gay erotic thrillers. I’m proud to be writing them.” – Thom Collins, from our February 2026 interview.
BRITISH AUTHOR Thom Collins’ Basic Instincts series is a fascinating fusion of erotic thriller, crime fiction, and M/M romance, drawing unapologetically from the cinematic DNA of the 1990s erotic thriller zeitgeist, which I’m a huge fan of. The title itself is an overt nod to Basic Instinct, the 1991 genre-defining classic that remains one of Collins’ acknowledged favourite films and a clear source of inspiration. For some, that connection may feel a little on the nose, but I have no issue with it. In fact, I think it’s a clever way to tap into readers’ familiarity with the erotic thriller genre. By invoking such an iconic piece of pop-culture history, Collins immediately signals the atmosphere, themes, and sensibilities the series aims to explore.
Yet rather than merely imitating its namesake, the series re-imagines that tradition through a distinctly gay/queer lens, replacing the era’s traditional heterosexual conventions with compelling gay protagonists, same-sex desire, and contemporary emotional complexity.
And OK, sure, there were elements of bisexuality in some of these films, but it was almost always female bisexuality, packaged and presented through the straight male gaze. Authentic portrayals of queerness were rarely the focus. And queer female sexuality was usually treated as something dangerous, seductive, or taboo—a narrative device to heighten the film’s erotic charge rather than a genuine exploration of LGBTQ+ identity.
While Neo-Noir and erotic thrillers existed in the 1980s, with films like Body Heat, Fatal Attraction, and Two Moon Junction, they were a defining force in 1990s cinema; explicit queer male representation within this genre, however, was either pushed to the margins or entirely absent.
Take a film like The Talented Mr. Ripley: its queerness is present, but largely obfuscated rather than openly articulated, existing through suggestion, subtext, and coded desire rather than explicit representation. This is evident in Tom’s obsession with Dickie and in the film’s conclusion, which implies that Tom and Peter are lovers. The novel on which the film is based, published in 1955, approaches queerness in a similarly coded manner. Tom Ripley’s sexuality remains ambiguous, never overtly defined. Author Patricia Highsmith maintained that Ripley was not strictly gay, suggesting that he would sleep with anyone if it furthered his goals. At his core, she viewed him as a sociopath. A similar argument could easily be made about Catherine Tramell, Sharon Stone’s bisexual character in Basic Instinct.
Writing within the heavily censored and deeply homophobic climate of the 1950s, Highsmith relied on subtle cues, psychological obsession, and feelings of social alienation to explore her protagonist’s same-sex desires. Even so, Tom appears to lean strongly toward same-sex attraction, at least on an emotional level. Whether that attraction is genuinely sexual, romantic, aspirational, or some combination of all three remains open to interpretation. That, at least, is how I read the character; again, depictions of explicit male queerness and same-sex desire was never on the table.
What makes Collins’ series particularly effective is how naturally it balances gay eroticism with suspense.
The M/M content is undeniably explicit, but it never feels detached from the narrative. Attraction, sex, and emotional vulnerability are woven directly into his storytelling, the danger and psychological tension that drive each novel. Collins understands a principle that many thrillers forget: desire can be just as powerful a narrative force as violence. The result is a series where erotic encounters heighten the stakes rather than feeling like interruptions to the violence—or the violence like an interruption to the eroticism. The fusion is flawless, and each element shines with its unique strength.
As I said, the influence of the classic erotic thriller is evident throughout. There are dangerous attractions, questionable loyalties, secrets lurking beneath polished surfaces, and a constant undercurrent of sexual tension. Fans of films such as Basic Instinct, Body of Evidence, Sliver or Color of Night will recognize the atmosphere immediately. Collins captures the seductive uncertainty that made those films so memorable (albeit with varying degrees of artistic merit), while updating the formula for readers seeking queer representation and more emotionally nuanced relationships.
The pacing is another major strength. The novels move with confidence, alternating between investigation, character development, suspense, and erotic tension without ever feeling rushed or stagnant. Collins demonstrates a keen understanding of momentum; each revelation arrives at precisely the right moment, and every scene feels conscious of its place within the broader narrative. The books are page-turners not because they rely on constant shocks, but because they understand how to build anticipation.
Equally impressive is the handling of violence. In less well-executed thrillers, violent incidents can feel gratuitous or inserted simply to raise the stakes. Here, the violence is carefully planned and story-flow conscious. Every act of brutality has narrative weight and consequence, serving the plot and character arcs rather than existing for mere spectacle. Collins knows when to deploy violence and, perhaps more importantly, when to hold back, allowing tension and uncertainty to do much of the work.
Now Comes the Dark, the first novel in the series, is amazing at balancing its central romance with the simmering tension of the surrounding violence. The connection between protagonists Roman and Mellon anchors the novel; it’s intensely physical, emotionally charged, and always threaded through with the awareness that what they’re building exists in a city already marked by fear and homophobic brutality. Their scenes together carry a genuine heat, but what makes them more compelling is how often that intimacy feels hard-won, almost defiant, against the instability around them.
What also stands out is how grounded the book feels in its wider world. The supporting characters aren’t just background figures; they’re sharply drawn enough to feel lived-in, particularly Roman’s roommate and his abrasive boyfriend, who add texture and contrast to Roman’s more vulnerable position.
The queer community’s response to police inaction is another strong element, giving the story a broader social weight beyond the central relationship. The city itself feels like an active presence, with its gay bars and clubs; even the everyday spaces are reshaped by fear and rumour. It’s this combination of personal intimacy and communal unease that gives the novel its most tense and emotionally impactful moments. This novel sets clear reader expectations for quality in subsequent entries of the series.
Nothing But the Night is one of those second instalments that confidently stands on its own, while still nodding, lightly and without obligation, to the wider Basic Instincts universe. I should note here that all of the novels in this series, which are set in the UK, can be read as standalones. Collins’ deep-rooted understanding of British culture and geography infuses his work with an authenticity and richness that lend the series a remarkable sense of depth and credibility, making even wholly invented places such as the recurring city of Blyham in the North of England feel convincingly real.
With Roman and Mellon appearing only in passing, the focus stays firmly on our new couple, Marc and 
Jason, and it works precisely because their dynamic is so immediate and absorbing. Marc’s frustration with a police force that refuses to take his brother’s death seriously sets the story in motion. Still, it’s Jason—the ex-Royal Navy Police turned private detective—who gives that grief a direction, pulling the narrative into something both investigative and deeply sensual.
What makes the novel especially compelling is the way Collins balances a tightly constructed murder mystery with a slow, almost combustible build between the two men. The whodunit is genuinely effective—deceptive in a way that keeps the reader off-balance right up to the reveal—while the pacing knows exactly when to accelerate and when to breathe. That rhythm gives the relationship space to develop organically, so that when attraction finally tips into action, it feels earned rather than engineered. Their internal awareness of each other is just as charged as their physical connection, creating a steady undercurrent of tension that runs through even the quieter scenes.
The tone is equally striking: dark and at times brutal, especially in its depiction of violence and the vulnerability of the queer community under pressure, yet never without emotional texture. Maybe even more so than Now Comes the Dark. There’s grief, anger, and systemic frustration woven through the plot, but also moments of genuine warmth and intimacy that prevent the darkness from becoming overwhelming. Even familiar genre elements—a grieving protagonist, a skeptical investigator, a conspiracy lurking beneath a local tragedy—feel refreshed by Collins’ atmospheric control and character focus. The result is a novel that moves with purpose, lands its twists cleanly, and delivers exactly what it promises: a tense, emotionally charged gay erotic thriller.
The third novel in the series, Beyond the Darkness, thrives on its theatrical setting, using the rehearsal space not just as a backdrop but as a pressure cooker where performance, identity, and fear all start to blur.
Hudson Rhodes is an especially strong anchor for the story: an American actor trying to move beyond the cult shadow of an earlier slasher film that still defines how others see him, even as it resurfaces in the form of stalking, unsettling notes, and imagery that forces him back into a past he wants to escape. That sense of being trapped between reinvention and reputation gives the novel its emotional core, and Collins uses it well to keep the stakes personal even as the threat rises. The introduction of Luke Kamal, the local journalist Hudson initially resents, adds another layer of tension that works beyond simple attraction.
Their relationship develops amid suspicion, professional distrust, and mutual guardedness, making their eventual connection feel earned—organically—rather than easy or inevitable. I’ve mentioned this relationship dynamic before. It’s a recurring theme in Collins’ work, and one that proves particularly effective in the thriller genre, where danger leads to authentic mistrust, providing a credible source of tension. Collins avoids the frustration often caused in conventional romance narratives, where romantic conflict is typically driven by contrived misunderstandings or behaviour designed solely to serve the plot, such as the trope of the “difficult, arrogant or uptight protagonist.”
Around Hudson and Luke, the chaos of the production itself—rehearsals disrupted by intrusion, shifting suspicions, and ultimately a brutal murder staged with chilling theatricality—keeps the narrative in constant motion. The violence, while on-page and uncompromising, serves a clear purpose: to heighten the sense that the boundary between art and reality is collapsing.
What stands out most is Collins’ ability to tie the story’s themes together: the fragility of reputation, the lasting damage of media narratives, and the way past roles can continue to define a person long after they’ve moved on. Hudson’s history with the infamous film that refuses to stay buried becomes more than backstory—it actively shapes the present danger he’s in. Combined with the growing emotional pull between him and Luke, the result is a novel that balances suspense, psychological weight, and simmering attraction, all within a tightly controlled, stage-lit atmosphere where nothing feels entirely safe or stable.
Lastly, I have to mention Night Crimes, the prequel novelette that serves as the official entry point into 
Collins’ Basic Instincts series. The story follows Kurtis, who is in for much more than what he thinks will be a straightforward one-night music gig in Blyham—a city plagued by high levels of anti-LGBTQ+ hate crimes. From the moment Kurtis arrives, there’s a sense that this isn’t a place where things stay simple for long. At the venue, he meets Zand, the manager of The Blue Pearl, and the attraction between them is immediate.
Kurtis is soon pulled into something far more complicated than a potential one-night-stand. After he goes home with Zand, the night takes an unexpected turn when Zand’s lodger brings an anonymous hook-up into the mix. From there, the story shifts into a tense blend of desire and danger, where intimacy and risk start to blur in ways none of them are really prepared for.
As a prequel, Night Crimes isn’t just telling its own self-contained story—it also sets the tone for the series as a whole. Collins establishes early on that in this world, attraction and desire, lust and love, rarely come without consequence.
One of the most impressive strengths of Collins’ storytelling here is that across these books, he navigates slasher territory without slipping into the tired old “woman in trouble who needs saving” template, just gender-flipped. The gay/queer male protagonists are never reduced to only being passive victims throughout the story, waiting to be constantly rescued or emotionally propped up by an Alpha-male saviour figure. Instead, they’re active participants in their own survival—driving investigations, making difficult decisions, and often pushing directly into danger.
Even in moments of vulnerability, their agency remains intact; fear and desire don’t erase their capacity to act or think, they sharpen it. That balance is what keeps the series from feeling like a simple genre transposition. Instead, it feels like a genuine reworking of slasher and erotic thriller conventions through a queer lens, where gay men aren’t substitutes for old tropes but fully realized characters operating within—and reshaping—the genre’s rules.
Ultimately, the Basic Instincts series succeeds because it embraces the strengths of a beloved, classic genre while giving it a fresh identity. It channels the seductive danger and psychological intrigue of the great 1990s erotic thrillers, but filters them through modern queer storytelling and richly drawn M/M relationships. The result is a series that is sexy, suspenseful, intelligent, and remarkably well-constructed—a worthy heir to the erotic thriller tradition and a compelling example of how that tradition can evolve for contemporary readers by embracing male queerness.
AND COMING JULY 2026: The Dark Before Dawn (Basic Instincts Book 4) — Pre-order now!
A brutal killer. An unwitting witness. A cop caught in a deadly pursuit.
Jude Kalvert has returned to his home city of Blyham, where he plays gigs around his favourite bars despite the growing sense that the city has become more dangerous than he remembers.
After one of his shows, an unexpected reunion with an old school friend offers a welcome distraction. Danyal Nadir is no longer the shy, bullied boy Jude recalls—now a confident police officer and LGBTQ+ liaison, he’s someone Jude is instantly drawn to, and their reconnection quickly feels like it could become something more. But the night takes a darker turn when Jude realises he may have been one of the last people to see a murder victim alive. Soon, he and Danyal find themselves pulled into a deadly pursuit, with a killer closing in and nowhere safe to hide.
As the investigation tightens and danger escalates, their growing bond is tested under pressure—turning a tentative reunion into a fight for survival, where trust and desire become impossible to separate.
