Five Acts Meme

[linndechir]

The Five Acts Meme is happening again and it was the best thing ever last time, so you should all do this. ^^ It's multi-fandom; basically you can write fic for other people and they can write fic for you.



Here's how it works:

- Post a list of your five favourite kinks/acts or themes in your journal. At the bottom, add what fandoms/pairings you're interested in.
- Comment to the master post with a link to your post.
- Read other people's lists here.
- Post comment-fic based off of other people's lists.


Five Acts:

1) asphyxiation, breath play, choking, collars, neck/throat petting and biting, hands on necks.
2) powerplay, D/s, humiliation (verbal or other), bondage
3) clothes fetish: one person being dressed during sex, the other being naked. people dressing or undressing each other. people being turned on by seeing someone in different clothes than usual (someone cleans up nicely, or someone who's always perfectly dressed looks dishevelled for once etc.). actual clothes fetishisation (uniforms, armour, tailored suits, leather boots/gloves/coats etc., whatever fits the characters).
4) guns and/or knives
5) guilt, shame, embarrassment: characters feeling like they shouldn't sleep with each other for whatever reason, or at least not in this particular situation/time/place, or characters being ashamed of liking a particular kink/act.


Fandoms/pairings:

A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones: Stannis/Jon, Stannis/Davos, Stannis/Sansa, Victarion/Asha, Balon/Victarion, Victarion/Asha/Theon, Victarion/any of his relatives, Aegon/Orys, Maegor/Aenys

Avengers: Steve/Tony (comics or movies, I'm fine with both)

Body of Lies: Hani Salaam/Roger Ferris

Coldfire Trilogy: Damien Vryce/Gerald Tarrant

Generation Kill: Brad/Nate

Hannibal: Hannibal/Will

Inglourious Basterds: Landa/Hellstrom

Justified: Tim/Raylan

Sherlock Holmes (2009): Blackwood/Coward

Skyfall: Bond/Q (top!Q preferred, bottom!Q is fine as long as he's not written as shy/inexperienced/insecure)

Sons of Anarchy: Chibs/Juice, Clay/Tig

Supernatural: Dean/Benny, John/Dean (no non-con for this ship)

Teen Wolf: Peter/Stiles

The Tudors/historical RPS: Cromwell/Cranmer

True Blood: Eric/Godric

Welcome to the Punch: Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky



Fics given:

Not much of a choice (Welcome to the Punch, Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky, enemies working together + oral fixation) for doreyg

A cure for temptation (Skyfall, Bond/Q, admiration and envy + touching + UST) for outboxed

Fics received:

I Wish My Enemy a Placid Love (Welcome to the Punch, Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky, guilt/shame) by doreyg

Burdens (ASOIAF/GOT, Stannis/Davos, guilt + power play) by nightswhisper

Choke (Teen Wolf, Peter/Stiles, asphyxiation + power play + one clothed partner) by theaveryrule

Comments

[housecreepy.livejournal.com]

Yay, glad to see this is happening again!

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

(So. I saw Welcome to the Punch and made a loud screechy noise, and then almost fell off my chair, and then wrote this quite speedily. It doesn't actually contain any sex, because I ended up getting carried away with their gloriously dysfunctional mess of a relationship. << I might come back and write sex, though! Because THESE TWO! AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP! AND THAT FILM!)

--

I Wish My Enemy a Placid Love (Welcome to the Punch, Jacob Sternwood/Max Lewinsky, Guilt/shame, 15) 1/3

The first time that they properly sleep with each other, in a bed with the doors locked and their clothes littered across the floor, Max sprawls for only a moment after the act is done and then rolls away so fast that it almost gives him whiplash. Hits the floor with a dull thump and crawls towards the bathroom at a speed that’d put a cheetah to shame.

He lies on his back for a stunned few seconds afterwards, his hand resting on his stomach and his eyes tracing slowly over the cracked ceiling.

He frowns, as slowly as possible with his fingernails starting to dig in just the slightest bit.

He blinks…

And then he clambers to his feet, at a far more reasonable speed. Pads nakedly to the bathroom with a certain hope that Max hasn’t managed to worm himself out of the small window and down to the hard street below, because losing such an unexpected prize just after gaining it would be most unfortunate.

Max, thankfully, has done nothing of the sort. Max is, though, currently coiled besides the toilet with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.

He watches for a moment, carefully, and then takes one slow step forwards. Takes another step when Max only gives a soft whimper in reply. Is soon all the way across the room and crouching down besides him, hesitating for a long few seconds before slowly reaching out a hand and brushing it over the man’s ever so thick hair “…Hello?”

“Ugh,” the noise that he receives in response really can’t be put into words. It is half-screech, half-moan and all uncertain in a way so profound that it almost makes him doubt his own existence. The only response to it can be to blink again, and settle a little deeper into the crouch with the knowledge that such a noise heralds a long and puzzling wait “…We shouldn’t be doing this.”

…Or a short and puzzling wait. Either way.

“Sitting in a bathroom and having what could be tentatively termed as a collective mental breakdown?” He manages mildly, stroking Max’s hair again for the lack of anything better to do – it’s soft under his fingertips, just as thick as he secretly used to imagine on the nights when he was overtired and the lights danced temptingly above, “Or… Other things? You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Well, the collective mental breakdown probably isn’t the best idea, but…” Max chokes, breathes through his nose, chokes again. He’s half considering a slap on the back when the man finally manages to gather his breath and forge boldly on, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Still a little worried, he allows his already reaching hand to continue stretching towards Max’s bare shoulder for a long few moments before answering “…I may need some more specifications, I’m afraid.”

“And I thought you were smart,” the choke is a little softer this time, but still far too clear – he hesitates for another long few seconds before touching Max’s shoulder, stroking it ever so gently, “we just slept together, Sternwood. You and me. Five minutes ago. We’re still naked from it now, you’re crouching before me with hickeys all over your neck.”

[nightswhisper.livejournal.com]

Burdens - Game of Thrones: Stannis/Davos - Guilt, Power Play- PG-13


He shouldn't want this. He shouldn't take part, cave into these mad desires that plague him. He is a good man, as good as a sailor can be. He's paid his penance for his crimes when he took his rewards. Davos was even in the eyes of the seven- he would hope- and of the laws of men. He knows that his King is a good man. Solid. Strong in his sense of duty and loyalty to the realm as much as his men.

Davos knows how his King feels about his younger brother's...tendencies. There has been no amount of love shed on the matter. Yet something lingers with his kings gaze that makes the sailor wonder if perhaps it is not an isolated case within the family. May the seven help him, he hopes it to be even though the very notion sends guilt coursing through his veins.

It's not supposed to happen. He's not supposed to feel like this. He loves his wife, though she is far from him. When it does happen, when somehow in the shadows far away from the light and that damn fire witch, the only thing he can do is hold on as under practices lips attack him with every severity as the stern man would project with his usual 'charm'. Stannis had always been decisive. At least he'd let the world believe.
Davos has seen men at their best and their worst, been through war and famine. He is familiar with the signs of fear. All of their age are. He detects the hesitancy in hands. He feels the tension that has coiled its way around his king ever since the death of his younger brother. Stannis' unease nearly chokes his words when he isn't required to speak them with force. He has never bothered with masks around the sailor.

So he does what he must. He fists the back of his king's throat, whispering a brief apology of his insolence against the king's stubble. Davos should never handle his king in such a disrespectful way. Stannis swallows his bitter remark knowing the truth of it all. He cannot justify this lapse of judgment on his own accord. Stannis has made a decision. It's Davos' duty to see it complete.

This is what he tells himself as he presses his king to the ground. Stannis resists him on principle. It's a charade he soon discards. The king allows his future hand to pin him against the damp soil and weeds. He flinches at the clunk of his belt being undone, the zipping of it being pulled fiercely away. He allows calloused hands to strip away every scrap of robing leaving him prone to the world even though the other is shielded by his own coverings.

He scowls for a moment. He hadn't been a fan of the secular aspects of all this. His duties to his wife were mandatory. He did what was expected with minimal exposure. But Davos had never been raised with such...discipline. While the thought of his own body made Stannis doubt his conviction, the burning behind Davos' eyes and his own hesitance willed it away. He had shamed himself this far. What was one more barrier.

Reaching for Davos' waist the other brushes him away, taking his wrists in hand and pushing them down until Davos hovered above his king. “No.” Stannis inhales sharply as the word that had long been foreign in its direction towards him stings and inflames his senses.

Davos is afraid for a moment that he has gone too far. When he is not condemned he presses on, exploring the king in ways he's certain the other has not permitted others to. He is such a prideful man. And still he gasps into the shadows as the other presses silent commands into flesh. Davos knows of his own skills and while he hasn't practiced them on the male form they seem to be effective. He feels his king clamor for his touch, to be released of the burden that comes with command for the briefest moment.

It is a service Davos is willing to provide should it ease his king's mind. It is one he foresees that will be repeated. He will ask for forgiveness later. After all, he can adhere to the seven's punishment after the Stranger comes a calling. Right now, he listens to only one man. Rather, only one man listens to him.

[moderntrickster.livejournal.com]

I hope you don't mind that I'm using this for a MMOM fic too; it fit, so I figured why not kill two birds with one fic. ;)

Choke. Peter/Stiles. Asphysiation, power-play, one clothed partner. 1/2

Peter's hand curled slowly around his throat from behind, fingers flexing, trying to find the most comfortable space to fit his hand against Stiles' thin, pale throat. His hands were large, strong, and Stiles was a lot more lithe than he'd ever been, even as a teenager, and the difference between their bodies was never more apparent than when Peter held him like this, tight in his lap with an arm snug around his waist.

They were in Peter's chair: the high, black, wing-backed one in the living room that faced a picturesque bay window looking out on the forest beyond. With the lights all out in the house, he could see the black-on-blue silhouette of the forest outlined against the sky and the thin sliver of the moon slicing through the starry blanket above. It was the only thing Stiles had to look at, his back pressed against Peter's chest and his hands gripping the arms of the chair in anticipation.

So far he could still breathe, drawing in long, slow breaths as he tried to will his body to relax under him, against Peter. He could feel the older man's jeans scratching his bare thighs and his warm skin through his teeshirt against his back. His own clothes were in a pile next to the chair, his shorts and socks as well, leaving him as bare to the forest beyond the wall as it was to him. That was the way Peter liked him, exposed and vulnerable. He was the proverbial lamb to Peter's wolf, only instead of being caught in the wolf's jaws, he was trapped beneath his claws instead.

He squirmed, just trying to get more comfortable where he was, and Peter growled lightly against his ear. His breath was warm as his body, the scent of red wine and blood drifting past him. Just the smell of him made Stiles hard, though he wasn't sure if that was a conditioned reaction to him or just teenage hormones getting over-excited at the prospect of his touch. Every time Peter was near him he felt the tension stirring, demanding his attention, demanding that he do something to lessen its insistence. The only thing he could to, and he was all too aware of his limited options, was give Peter the nod he was waiting for.

There was some vague awareness of how much control he had in this - he was the one who signaled when to start and when to stop - but all of that escaped from his mind when Peter's grip tightened around his throat. Stiles managed to get a groan past his lips before the tension cut off the sound, tight enough that he could feel his body start to react in response. He would never get used to that initial flood of panic, prickling the hair on his arms and the back of his neck, making his heartbeat hitch and speed up. It was the fight-or-flight response that every living thing was designed to have, to keep them safe from predators, but Stiles had never been known to listen to that voice in the back of his head that told him to run away. He was more likely to run towards danger, the same way he arched against Peter's chest and leaned into his hand.

Instead of another growl, Peter gave him a chuckle in response, sinking his nails into the tender flesh of Stiles' neck, just hard enough leave crescent-shaped bites behind. He pressed his palm in and up, to give Stiles the feeling of pressure that would have his body reeling harder, and his heartbeat tearing inside his chest, but wouldn't completely cut off his ability to breathe just yet. It worked, and Stiles felt the pressure slowly flow down his spine to settle in his gut. It was all the better because Peter refused to rush this; he wanted it to last as long as possible too, to kept Stiles dangling helplessly on a taut line as he tightened and loosened his grip, giving him just enough relief to get him through the next tight squeeze.