#a true smorgasbord of debauchery

[athina-blaine]

Bloodweave Fic Recs (01/05/24)

Check out my other fic recs here and here!

Congrats to Bloodweave nation for 1k fics on AO3, ya'll are truly hopped up on whatever's going on with those hungry weirdos and that's just beautiful

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When You Wish Upon a Star by Greenegem (G, 800+ w || Tooth-Rotting Fluff) Just a man in love wishing upon the brightest star of his universe.

Five Stars by Viela (T, 700+ w || Modern AU) “A more suspicious man might think you’re dating me for my Uber rating.”

cursed by aevallare (T, 1k+ w || Soulmates, Scars) When Gale Dekarios was born, there were whispers that he was cursed.

To Behold, To Be Held by illithiddies (T, 3k+ w || Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence) Astarion shuts his eyes as his vision suddenly becomes doubled by Gale’s, the image overlaid and blurred into his own until the two are almost indecipherable. But shutting his eyes only clarifies the vision he receives from Gale: Himself, shirtless and bloodied, standing before a kneeling and defeated Cazador.

Self-Preservation and Other Cheap Façades by bloodweaving (shipwreckblue) (T, 3k+ w || Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting) During a bout of illness, Gale discovers that while Astarion may not have strong caretaking instincts, he does have experience.

To Hide it All Away by Greenegem (T, 5k+ w || Pre-Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm) Gale had been a series of puzzles Astarion couldn’t seem to solve from the start and he hated him for it. The first was a blight hidden behind a mouthwatering scent. The second, a hunger that sought to rival even his own. But it was the last one that most intrigued him. The perplexing choice of ornamentation on an otherwise clean slate.

In Due Time by illithiddies (M, 7k+ w WIP || Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Campaign Setting: Waterdeep: Dungeon of the Mad Mage, Angst With a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn) Within the heart of Waterdeep, the legend of the Undermountain and its many dangers looms larger than life. Adventurers come for miles to partake in the garish ritual of lowering themselves into the dungeon below to see what riches they can find. What monsters they can best. It’s hardly an unfamiliar setting for Astarion. The overabundance of cocksure heroes makes it a prime location to find marks to lure back to Cazador. He watches the newest adventuring party disappear into the well. Out of the inn. Out of Waterdeep. A vampire spawn would hardly be missed among that crowd, no?

taste, and be consumed by TheEarlGreyAlpha (E, 2k+ w || Blood Drinking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Somnophilia) It was true that Gale had warned him, said his blood tasted awful. But caution had no meaning to Astarion, the immortal cat killed by its own curiosity again and again and again. What was one more life, in the name of discovery?

Home for the Holidays by troutsoup (E, 3k+ w || Established Relationship, Inappropriate Use of Mage Hand Spell and Hold Person Spell, Soft Dom Gale) After his first time accompanying Gale to a reunion of the enormous and overwhelming Dekarios family, Astarion is rewarded. Sort of.

Perfect Bound by positivejam (E, 4k+ w || Blood Drinking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Frottage, Wizard Hubris But Sexy) “Trapped? Oh, but that can’t be it," Astarion says, mouth dropping open as if he’s just noticed the binds. “I seem to recall you saying you had everything quite in hand.”

divine favor by Sinister_Queer (E, 5k+ w || Vampire Ascendant Astarion, God of Ambition Gale, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships) A century and a half after his Ascension, only one person left remembers Astarion as he was before. A century and a half after his Ascension, only one person left remembers Gale Dekarios. (or: The Vampire Ascendant summons the God of Ambition for a favor.)

You Into Me by ZiGraves (E, 7k+ w || Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of Tadpole Powers, Masturbation) Gale can shape pockets of safety amongst his spells of destruction, yes. But he needs to know where his allies are to be able to protect them, and Astarion makes it his business not to be seen. A solution must be found.

En Prise by positivejam (E, 32k+ w WIP || Blood Drinking, Oral Fixation, D/s) It’s not often Astarion sees his own hunger reflected in another’s eyes. And so yearning for a look in the mirror, he can't help but stare. With two discerning appetites, a deal to keep each other fed is the one thing that ties him to the vexing little mage. But then the proverbial collar slips all too easily around Gale's throat, the lead feels right in Astarion's unchained hands, and both men think they've bested the other in a game neither should be playing. In any case. As the greats say in lanceboard: there is no shame in losing to a stronger foe.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Wolf Like Me

A/N So there I was, all ready to keep working on my new historical AU, when Metric Jamie and Claire barged into my brain and started making demands.  I’d been neglecting them, they said.  I hardly ever let them indulge in smut, they said.  I could only go back to writing the AU once I gave them their due.  The things I do for these two loons, man...

The title song is by TV on the Radio and doesn’t have much to do with the subject matter, except for one line which has always made me... *pulls at imaginary collar*

The entire Metric Universe, now chronologically ordered, can be found here.  I’m placing this new installment between Ceremonies and Lazy Dancer, so sometime during the first month or so of their physical relationship.

The light filtering into their compact kitchen was diffuse, watery and dull as the weather outside.  He went through the motions of preparing coffee, despite the fact he wasn’t working until later in the afternoon.  By all rights, he should be sound asleep.  His aching body had lifted him from the shoals of sleep and his weighty thoughts had kept him grounded there.

Carrying his mug and a reheated meat pasty over to the sofa, he lowered himself gingerly to the cushions.   He had been ridden hard and put away wet, he mused.  On the surface, this wasn’t a disagreeable state, but very little about his budding relationship with Claire could be safely interpreted on its surface.

As though summoned by his thoughts, his one-time roommate and seemingly voracious lover emerged from his room and padded down the hallway to the bathroom.  She looked like a cross between an albino gazelle and a harried hedgehog.  Even in his current mood, he couldn’t help but smile fondly.  His love for this woman was monumental, rooted deep in his soul and reaching out to span the horizons of his life.  He only had to find a way to keep it, and her, from killing him.  Piece of cake.

Frazzled hair now somewhat tamed, Claire settled gracefully next to him with her own coffee, near-translucent eyelids lowering in bliss as she took her first sip.  He wondered if she could sense to waves of tension that emanated from his skin like heat from a sunbaked street.

“So,” she murmured at last, “last night was pretty wild, huh?”

Right topic, wrong interpretation.  Still, she had brought it up, and that was the best opening he could hope for.

“Mmhmm,” he replied non-committedly.

“I thought I might have to hook you up to a saline I.V. there at the end.  What was that, four times?”  She grinned slyly at him from over the rim of her mug.

“Three,” he corrected, although he couldn’t fault her observations.  His balls were still tender.

Finally reading his mood, Claire placed her mug down deliberately on the table.  She turned to face him, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

“Don’t overdo the accolades on my account.  Jesus, Jamie, you’d think I ruined your favourite rugby jersey, not rocked your world in bed.  Are you mad about the handcuffs?”

Despite everything, his cock twitched in his shorts at Claire’s mention of last night’s foray into light bondage: his, not hers.  While not a kink he’d explored before, his reaction has been far from disinterested.  No, he wasn’t mad about the handcuffs.

“Ye seem verra keen tae discuss my opinion o’ last night, Sassenach.  What I’d like tae ken is did ye like it?”

Spluttering, Claire ran her hands nervously through her hair.  He watched her carefully as she tried to navigate towards an acceptable answer.  It was a delicate operation he was undertaking.  He would need all of Claire’s surgical dexterity to broach the topic without cutting through the tender tissue of her perfectionism.

“What a ridiculous question, Jamie!” she finally said.  “I’m pretty certain our neighbours needed a cigarette by the time I was done.”  Collecting her still half-full mug, she made to rise.  He held her in place with a palm across her thigh.  Beneath his touch, her muscles were twitching.

“Aye, but were ye?”

“Was I wot?”  Her eyes were fixed on the kitchen, as though longing for escape.

“Were ye done?”  He spoke slowly, softly, tiptoeing into a minefield.

“Jamie...” she chuckled nervously.

“I want tae say somethin’ to ye, Sassenach, and I dinna want ye tae take it fer criticism...”

“Jamie,” she repeated, this time in a warning tone.

“Nah, ye need tae hear this, Claire.  I love ye, as ye ken well.  I love everything about ye, even the annoying bits.  An’ because I love ye, nothing makes me happier than tae see ye well pleased and tae ken twas I who brought ye that pleasure.  Do ye understand my meaning?”

Enormously wet eyes stared at him, a furrow between her arched brows as though she was working through a riddle.  At last, she nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’m no’ daft, Claire, nor am I sae blinded by lust that I canna see that ofttimes, when we lie t’gether, yer enthusiasm can be a wee bit.... what’s the word?  The one the Millennials throw about when a thing is designed for somebody else’s consumption?”

“Performative,” said in a bleak voice.

“Aye, performative.  And while it’s a dream come true tae bed you, t’would be a million times better if I kent ye were taking yer bliss for yerself, an’ no’ giving it tae me like some sort of gift ye dinna deserve.”

He paused, trying to read whether his words had found their mark or if she was about to pack her bags and tell him to go to hell.  He wasn’t exaggerating.  Sex with Claire was infinitely better than any other sex in his life.  And while he didn’t have some vast experience of women, he’d been with enough to know when Claire’s enthusiasm was feigned.  She wanted him, of that he was certain, but she’d never learned to take.  It would be the rarest privilege to be the one to show her, if only she would let him in. He could teach her tricks that would blow her mind.

***

“I feel foolish.”

“Whatever for, mo nighean donn?”

They were lying in his rumpled sheets, still fragrant with the previous night’s debauchery.  Rather than tear him a new asshole for his audacity, to his everlasting surprise Claire had crumpled into his side with a breathy sob.  He had carried her back to his room like a bridegroom.  There, with tender lips and winnowing fingers, he had eased her into a rare moment of emotional vulnerability.

“I’m studying to be a doctor, for Christ’s sake.  And I’m hardly a blushing virgin...”

He gritted his teeth, trying to avoid thinking of the selfish men that came before him.  They weren’t here now, holding this fierce but complicated woman in their arms, her maple eyes and molasses hair spilling all over him.  He wasn’t her first lover, but god willing, he would be her last.

“Ye’re a giver, Sassenach.  It’s who ye are, down to yer core.  Tis hardly yer fault ye were never taught that pleasure is the gift that gives.”

“Will you?  Teach me?”

A shiver ran the length of his spine, lighting his nerves like sparklers.  Even after the night they’d just spent, blood flooded to his cock like a bruise.  He’d have to be dead to not rouse at such a request from this woman.

“Aye, mo ghradh.  It would be my pleasure.”   And he meant it.

Rather than immediately strip naked, they spent a good deal of time kissing and petting, their clothed hips settling into an easy grind.  Everywhere he sampled, she was sweet and salty, sour and bitter, a smorgasbord for his tongue and his mind.  It was this variety, this seemingly endless combination of textures and moods, that captivated him.  He was certain he would never tire of her.

As things grew more heated, Claire tried to roll him on top of her, but he resisted.

“No, a nighean.  Like this.”  He pulled her on top of him until the bulge in his underwear lined up with the furrow in hers.

“Jamie!” she laughed, pulling her hair back from her eyes.

“Makes me feel like a randy lad of fifteen all over again,” he teased.  “Ye make me sae hard, Claire.”

She gasped, and he watched in fascination as her pelvis shifted from a steady rock to a deliberate, searching circle.  There was a distinct stain of moisture on the pale blue fabric of her knickers, but he couldn’t say if it came from him or her.  Both of them, most likely.

“Sae hard,” he continued in a low murmur that shook with restraint, “tae see ye take what ye need from me.”

A high pitched whine indicated his partner was growing frustrated by the ongoing torture of their almost-contact.

“Please, Jamie,” she begged.

“What is it ye want, Sassenach?”

A flash of spitfire defiance met his teasing question.

“Your cock.”  The click and suck of her pretty mouth spilling such filth was nearly his undoing.  Perhaps it was for the best that she’d nearly drained him dry only eight hours before.

“Then ye better take it, aye?”

Faster than he could have imagined, Claire dragged his boxer-briefs down past his ankles and shed her own knickers.  With the sigh of a nomad reaching an oasis in the desert, she sunk down on his length in a single, long draught.  She was so wet it oozed down to where his balls where already drawn up tight against his base.   Clenching his eyes tight, he counted slowly to ten.

“Now what?” she breathed, seemingly as stunned as he felt.

“Now ye move until ye find the place where it all clicks,” he offered with a flex of his groin.

“What about you?”

“Christ, Sassenach, can ye not feel me throbbing like a bloody split lip inside of ye?  Don’t spare a thought for me.  This is for you.”

She let out a curious hum and twisted her hips this way and that, rolling him against her inner musculature.  A slight arch of her fluted spine.  A counter-clockwise roll.  A series of rhythmic pulses, and then she found exactly what she was looking for.

“Oh.”  It was the exclamation of a prophet, having glimpsed the divine.  That of a pilgrim, having reached the mountain top.  It wasn’t like him to mingle the sacred and the profane, but the look on Claire’s face was nothing short of holy rapture.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, clawing at the bed clothing to avoid grabbing her and pounding to his own rhythm.

“Oh!  Jamie.  Oh!”

“Tell me, Claire.  Tell me,” he begged, desperate for something, anything, to hold onto on the sheer cliff of madness that suddenly yawned before him.

“I’m...  I’m fucking you, Jamie,” she whispered, like it was a secret kept in a locked diary.

“Aye, ye are, a nighean.  Dinna stop.  Dinna stop, Claire.”

Wispy noises and half-formed words began to slip from her mouth.  These weren’t the orchestrated moans and cries of the night before, and they aroused him a hundredfold more.  If he had to guess, she wasn’t even aware she was making them.  

“Can’t...” she breathed after endless moments, neck straining as she titled her chin skywards, slim hands coming to rest on his chest.

“Aye, ye can,” he urged, though he doubted she heard him.  

What only minutes before had looked like budding ecstasy was quickly turning to frustration as her head began to thrash from side to side, whipping her hair across her cheeks.

“Can’tcan’tcan’t,” she chanted almost to herself.

She was teetering on the knife edge between heaven and hell, that much was clear.  Half mad with agonized bliss himself, he sought frantically through the atlas of her labyrinthine mind, searching up dark hallways and around blind corners for an answer that would help release her from her self-made snare.

“Take what ye need, Claire,” he panted, offering himself up to be consumed.  Then, gambling boldly, he added “Be a good girl an’ take it.”

He knew she’d heard him by her sudden stillness.  He held his breath.  There was a tremor that started where he was buried inside of her and spread across her surface like wind across a pond, given voice as a rapturous sigh when it reached her face.

She began to move again, a pinched look of determination on her beatific face.  A set of dainty fingers sank to where their flesh met, so wet that it burned, bursting full and yet cavernously empty, begging to be drowned.  He couldn’t look away, curling up on his spine for a better view, slack-jawed and mesmerized by her practiced movements.

“I’m...  I’m... oh my god, Jamie, I’m going to...”

He couldn’t have stopped himself then for all the money in the world.  Teeth set, eyes fixed on nothingness, he spun away from gravity just as she let out an otherworldly howl and bore down on him like a wolf ravishing a lamb.  Lava rushed down his veins and through his cock in bolts of heat, the whipcrack of release shimmering like electricity across his skin.

Claire folded down over his chest, her arms crossed over her head like she waiting for a bomb to drop from the sky.  She still rode him languidly, wrenching ever last drop of pleasure he had to give.  Her shoulders shook in some strange cocktail of gasping, laughing and sobbing.  At long last, she was still.  She had yet to meet his eyes, and he felt unaccountably nervous.

Pushing strands of hair away from where they had stuck to her face, she rested her chin in her stacked hands.  Her face was equal parts awestruck and adoring, and he allowed his tense muscles to relax.  Seemingly at a loss for words, she placed a lingering kiss on his sternum and rested her cheek once again on her hands, exhaling deeply.

“Sassenach?” he asked, once his breathing was once again under his control.

“Hmmm?”

“I ken ye were only kidding about the I.V., but...”