‘Pillion’ shows that gay biker doms have feelings too

I am freshly out of a partnership that had a dom/sub aspect to it. Rules were set, safe words were chosen and plugs were plugged. We made sure that cuddles, communications and forward-facing love was shared by the end of any sexcapade. We checked off all the boxes to make our taboo love as steamy and exciting as possible. It was nice but it didn’t survive.

Pillion, the new BSDM romance directed by Harry Lighton, still struck a chord with me. The film follows Colin (Harry Melling) as he falls into a submissive relationship with the hunky dom biker Ray (Alexander Skarsgård). From the jump, it’s clear that Lighton’s intention was to play with the trope of validity that surrounds discussions of dom/sub relationships. Can real love be found in such a skewed power dynamic? Is this just a kink that you’ll outgrow and one day leave behind to settle down, accepting a “normal” vanilla sex life?

On a surface level, the film delivers what people probably expect: a dom towering over his sub; the slow unzipping of his leather motorcycle pants with his sub on his knees in a cold, damp alleyway; each rip of the zipper bringing us closer to what we all came to see. I was edging at the edge of my seat, tickled by every other scene with my eyes wide and my hands pressed firmly in my lap. But as the zipper came down, I was surprised to find that my romantic, Cancer moon, Libra Venus heart was tickled too.

Unexpectedly, but happily, I found that romance is at the forefront of Colin and Ray’s relationship. The movie’s plot follows a typical roller coaster of love tropes, but Lighton breaks the conventional idea of a dom/sub relationship by showing us the full spectrum of dynamics that truly exist in the dom/sub world. Regardless of the power dynamic, care and love exist within these relationships and come from both sides.

This care shows up in many elements of the relationship. Caring for how you show up. Caring for the effort it takes to sustain love. But Pillion’s most revolutionary argument is that servitude and submission can also be full of care: both from their provider and their receiver.

Pillion exemplifies this kind of care during one of the first sex scenes between Colin and Ray. Despite the BDSM conceit of the film, this scene is relatable. We are not taken into a red room with swings hanging from the ceiling. Their sex is typical; pent-up attraction to each other results in some wrestling foreplay, leading to a quick in-and-out on the floor of the living room. When Colin is unable to take Ray’s manhood and winces in pain, Ray gets turned off and the sex ends faster than me at a glory hole after three months of abstinence. I expected anger from the domineering dom unable to empty a load, but a conversation about how to make playing with each other more enjoyable happens instead. Colin is told to buy a butt plug in order to ensure a smooth ride for the both of them.

Ray does not find pleasure in Colin’s pain, which is noteworthy. I’ve been gaslit to believe doms bring pain and punishment, and it is the job of the sub to take it because they’re being punished (cue Christian Grey). Pillion inverts this. We don’t see a dom finding attraction in the whines of his sub. Instead, we see a dom experiencing flaccidity over his sub’s pain.

Seeing this play out on screen, I felt seen because I’ve dealt with this myself. Just like Ray, I don’t want my sub to cry from pain during sex. I want to see the hunger in their eyes.

What may surprise inexperienced BDSM viewers is the care the two share beyond sex. Initially playing the stereotypical role of a rough-and-tough dom, Ray suggests that Colin shouldn’t expect anything for his birthday, only for him to surprise Colin in the middle of the night with a camping trip that includes all their dom/sub friends. They seem to have a healthy, budding relationship where love is expressed through acts of service, gift-giving, quality time and, of course, physical touch. Words of affirmation are still present, just delivered in a way most might not be used to. 

The emotional roller coaster climaxes when Ray joins Colin for dinner with his family. The credibility of their relationship is addressed head-on in a tense row between Ray and Colin’s terminally ill mum. Colin’s mother, who has cancer, has been playing matchmaker for her son by setting him up on blind dates. She says she is skeptical of his existing relationship, which Ray responds to by accusing her of inflicting her beliefs on Colin. “I can see that [we] make you uncomfortable,” says Ray. “Deciding that what makes you uncomfortable is bad for your son … that’s a backwards way of thinking. You sound ignorant.”

Here lies the crux of the film. Ray addresses what I expect viewers are thinking: it’s not fair to judge people because their lifestyle seems atypical.

At that moment, Ray dominates us as the audience. In his calm but assertive voice, he helps us shed our ideas of what we consider to be “normal” in order to show that his relationship with Colin can contain love, whether we can see ourselves in it or not.

But it begs the question: If Ray is willing to serve his sub’s satisfaction, is he really a dom? Isn’t the whole trope flipped on its head if Ray is a sweet and considerate partner? Does that mean a “stereotypical” dom/sub relationship is impossible? Or does that mean that there is no such thing as a stereotypical dom/sub relationship?

Ray’s speech got me thinking about where the power dynamics lie in these relationships. I wouldn’t say that only one person has power or control in dom/sub pairings. The dynamic is a constant flow of power being passed back and forth. Each party enters enjoying something that they receive, while simultaneously bringing something to serve. Lighton does Ray and Colin—and by extension, all those in dom/sub relationships—justice by presenting their relationship as an arrangement that’s fulfilling beyond sexual needs.

I didn’t feel like I was watching a tacky porno. Yes, there was gagging. Yes, there was rough sex. Yes, I got to see a sub be treated like a human Fleshlight. But Pillion, simply put, is a modern love story where partners learn from each other and try to make it work through consideration, empathy, compromise and, indeed, romance.