Five Acts Meme

[sternflammenden]

Obligatory Five Acts Meme Post

The info:
Based on the community five_acts (check it out for more details!), we're going to have a week of indulging each other's favorite kinks, tropes, acts and pairings. We're onto round seven now! In a nutshell, what we do is:

+ Post a list of your five favorite acts/kinks to read about. Check out this list if you need some inspiration. At the bottom of your post, add what fandoms/pairings you're interested in.
+ Read other people's lists; the master list of lists is here.
+ Post comment-fic based off of other people's interests.

Five Kinks:
1. Humiliation, powerplay, D/s
2. Bloodplay/knifeplay
3. One partner corrupting and using the other
4. Rough sex: hatesex, angry sex
5. Couples undressing/dressing each other

Fandoms/Pairings:
A Song of Ice & Fire: Roose/Barbrey, Roose/Theon, Roose/Robb, Roose/Tywin, Ramsay/Theon, Euron/Victarion, Asha/Victarion, Asha/Theon, Balon/Victarion, Tywin/Joanna, Sansa/Petyr, Petyr/Barbrey

American Horror Story: Sister Jude/Monsignor, Sister Jude/Sister Mary Eunice

Dangerous Liaisons: Merteuil/Valmont

Once Upon a Time: Sydney/Regina, Hook/Cora, Hook/Milah

The Tudors: Cromwell/Cramner, Henry/Brandon, Henry/Anne

Comments

A knife and a kiss (ASOIAF, Victarion/Asha, bloodplay/knifeplay), 1/2

[linndechir.livejournal.com]

A knife and a kiss: ASOIAF, Victarion/Asha, bloodplay/knifeplay, D/s, and Victarion would probably argue that Asha is corrupting him.
My apologies for any possible typos; I really need to stop writing these fills at 4am.

Victarion keeps his eyes tightly closed, even as his fingers dig into Asha's hips to keep her from pulling away and teasing him again, but she's strong, rolls her hips in her own time as she rides him. He doesn't want to look at her, doesn't want to meet those dark grey eyes that look so much like his own, and worse, so much like Balon's.

But his eyes snap open when he suddenly feels something cold against his throat, the sharp pressure of a knife against his skin. Victarion tenses up, his thoughts racing and wondering whatever reason his niece would have to betray him, but as he looks up Asha is smiling almost sweetly. She keeps grinding down on him, lean legs pressed against his sides. Victarion still reaches up quickly to grab her wrist and push the knife away from his throat. Her wrist looks tiny in his grip, but to her credit she doesn't wince.

“What are you doing?” he growls, breathless, barely able to force out the words when she shifts a little on top of him.

“Just making sure I have your attention, nuncle,” she replies, and although she's breathing heavily her voice is firm. “I don't like it when you close your eyes.”

She pries his fingers off her wrist and he lets her, lets her guide his hand to her breast instead. He squeezes it so hard he knows it must hurt, but Asha only laughs and rolls her hips again. Without his hand holding her back the blade returns to his throat, the sharp edge scraping over coarse stubble, and he's glad that her hands are so steady even as the rest of her body shivers in pleasure. The metal is cold on his sweaty, overheated skin, and Victarion is surprised that it's actually a pleasant touch. His skin tingles under the blade, and when the tip finally breaches his skin he thrusts up into her helplessly.

A drop of blood is running down his throat, and his senses are so heightened that he's almost as aware of it as of her heat around him. Victarion stills and tenses as the blade follows the drop on its way down, pressing down lightly in the hollow of his throat, and Asha only smiles when it makes him groan. A second cut just below his collarbone, as shallow as the one before, and Victarion wonders what kind of witchcraft this is that makes him enjoy the sting, that makes him even feel such a small wound when he's taken almost crippling blows on the battlefield without even noticing them. His hands return to her hips, he tenses up to flip them over and fuck her through the mattress like she deserves, but Asha knows him too well, and the blade is back on his throat the moment he tightens his grip on her.

He growls in frustration, but although he knows he could push her off easily before she could cut him, he stays where he is. It's something about her eyes – Balon's eyes, and he's spent his entire life obeying those. It's instinctive almost, like an animal that knows to offer its throat after a lost fight. His sweat burns in the cuts, but the cold blade feels almost soothing against his skin. Asha braces herself on his chest with her other hand, her fingernails leaving red marks on his skin as she moves more quickly. It isn't long after that before he spends himself into her, and damn if she doesn't feel better than any other woman he's ever had, the way she moans and shivers as she keeps riding him, the way her fingers twitch against his chest, while the other hand drops the knife and fists into his hair. She tightens around him so much it's almost painful, the muscles in her lean body tense up a last time before she collapses on top of him, panting against his neck.

A knife and a kiss (ASOIAF, Victarion/Asha, bloodplay/knifeplay), 2/2

[linndechir.livejournal.com]

Victarion wraps his arm around her, and he feels her soft laughter in the quivering of her sides more than he hears it. Asha kisses the cut on his throat, laps the blood off before she gives him a playful smirk.

“I should do this more often.” She's still panting, but her voice sounds smug, as if he hadn't only let her do this to him. He wants to slap her, leave a few bruises on her flesh to remind her of her place, but he likes the way her breasts are pressed against his chest, the way her foot rubs against his calf, the way her fingers still hold on to his hair, even pulling at it a little.

“You have no shame, woman,” he snaps, but his voice lacks any real anger, and he doesn't push her away when her tongue retraces the cut on his throat again.

“You, my dear nuncle -” Asha's voice is teasing, her breath leaves goosebumps on his sweaty skin. “- are really in no position to lecture me on shame.”

This time he shoves her off him, but her pained gasp when he grabs her arms is only a small consolation. He can feel her eyes following him when he gets out of bed to dress himself, can imagine the smug look that says that she knows he will be back for more, sooner or later.

Victarion wants to hate her for that, but he hates himself more for knowing that it's true.

[sternflammenden.livejournal.com]

Of course Victarion would argue that she's corrupting him. How godless of Asha. :)

Thank you so much for writing this- it's incredibly hot, especially his surprise at how much he enjoys the knife and how Asha's eyes remind him of his brother. Double Greyjoycest. Love it.

[linndechir.livejournal.com]

Clearly it's all Asha's fault. ;) And Balon is kind of obnoxious like that, he insists on sneaking into my Vic/Asha fics half the time. I think Victarion just has too many issues there. ;) I'm glad you liked it.

Tears (Petyr/Barbrey)

[embossedsilver.livejournal.com]

She could tell from the day she met him that he was a cruel man.

Not in the same way Roose was. It wasn’t instinctive to Petyr’s nature; it weighed him down like a necessary armor, given to him through years of bitterness and disgust. She recognized it.

Just because it wasn’t instinctive didn’t mean it wasn’t cold or biting in the way she needed.

He seemed to have recognized this in her from the start. Their first coupling had nothing of the uncertainty that usually marks such things (but hadn’t been present in her own experiences for a lifetime). He drew blood, raised bruises all over, and she responded in turn, even going so far as to rake her nails down the side of his face, just sharp enough to raise slight welts. He had responded with only more fervor, his movements sloppy and painful and exquisite.

She didn’t hate him. She knew nothing about him, frankly, beyond what she sensed, and if she thought about that fact for very long she found herself disturbed with what exactly she let this stranger do to her. The only consolation where the marks she gave him in turn. She would sometimes find blood under her nails in the mornings; she always smiled as she washed that off, remembering the thick flow of blood on starker, Northern sheets, the way it stained the soft gloves she had worn specifically for that occasion, the way her breath had caught in her throat when she had seen the last light die in his eyes.

That act had brought her here, to this strange place where everything was just slightly off. To this strange bed, where she found some form of release, tearing away the flesh of this man who knew nothing of her and yet too much. He knew all her past hurts, the slights that had made her who she was, without her having to say a word. It would bother her were she not able to see through him just as clear, were she not sure that the marks he left on her skin came out of the same frustration hers did.

They never spoke of it. And that, above all, was exactly what she needed.

Re: Tears (Petyr/Barbrey)

[sternflammenden.livejournal.com]

As I said on tumblr, this is everything that I could want in a Petyr/Barbrey ship: the wounding and all of the meaning behind it, and how the spector of Roose's murder (why do I love that idea so much?) hanging over Barbrey's relationship with Petyr. Gorgeous.