bakerstreet | Healing...you know.

Healing...you know.

The Sexual Healing Meme
aka the Smutty H/C Meme
aka the Healing Genitals Meme

They say love can conquer all ills and cure all broken people - the jury is still out on that, but enough people subscribe to the notion that it may have some merit. But what about sex? With the right affection behind it, can it be the elixar to heal traumas or mend angst? For this meme, it can be. No matter what your what your problem is, from daddy issues to being mind controlled to hating all humans or being just a jerk, all you need is sexual healing from the right person.

All in all? This is a shameless meme playing with the idea of "cured by love," extended into the infamous "cured by the magic cock/vagina" trope. Love it or hate it, it's prevalent in fiction, both fan and published. And sometimes, no lie, you just want to play it and not be judge for the pure shlock you know it to be. Here is the place; now is the time.

How to Play
- Comment with your character and preferences. Feel free to talk about your character's problems. You might also want to mention if your character is the one who needs to be healed or can do the healing. Or perhaps you and your thread partner can play two roughed up characters learning to trust again!
- Reply to others.
- Shameless smut. Shameless h/c. Shameless shame.

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[The battle had been long, and bitter, and even a god can be hurt. Thor aches, he sweats, he bleeds, and his mind is heavy with the death toll and the satisfaction of their victory. Winning is sometimes a burden.

Sitting in his rooms in front of the roaring fire, Thor has taken no visitors. The pounding on the thick door ceased long ago. He leans forward in his chair toward the heat of the blaze, forearms draped over his knees. His armor is caked with dirt and his boots have smeared gore across the furs that cover the floor. Blood is dried on his cheeks and clots in his long, dirty hair. His braids came undone days ago.

Mjölnir sits on the hearth. It is the great weapon that Thor stares at, looking without seeing. The star-forged metal drinks in the firelight, the leather handle worn into the pattern of its master's grip has been darkened by this terrible victory. ]

*Asgard requires much of its warriors and it always has; their hearts, their souls, blood, sweat, tears-- everything they are and everything they can attain is for the glory of the realm eternal. Even more is expected of Asgard's future king and for all that Thor sacrifices, still it seems they expect more. Always more. Victory after loss, celebration of the brave souls gone to Valhalla, a smile and a pint in the face of it all.

Except Loki has seen what it costs Thor. Things between them have shifted somewhat given her propensity for mischief and natural inclination toward chaos, yet he is still her brother, and despite the ill feelings she sometimes harbors she worries for him. Where he has refused all others, he will allow her in even if she has to take the choice from him. She has her ways of moving unseen to places she ought not be and now is no different. She stands behind him taking in the state of him and sighs heavily.*

Your friends worry for you. Looking at you now I'd say it's a justified concern on their part.

[Perhaps Thor knew she would come, for he doesn't shift when she speaks. Wanted or nor, Loki comes and goes as she pleases and there is something in that, for all its maddening willfulness, that Thor is thankful for. It is one less decision that he must make. And too, he does not bother to smile for Loki when he does not feel it. His sister has earned the place she holds with him. Desired and untrusted, Thor's love for Loki is both constant and chary.]

I did not feeling like a celebration.

[It is not, particularly, an answer. Thor's arms move, his large, callused hands weaving together and rising until they press to his mouth. They smell of ash and ozone and death. His hair hides his face from his sister and he's glad because he knows she will try to stir him. He worries that she will nettle him too far and he will crack and fall apart.] Leave me.

[An obvious command, and yet one he knows will go unheeded.]

I see you didn't feel like a bath either.

*She moves closer to him, ignoring entirely the fact that he dismissed her. She knows well that he couldn't possibly have expected her to listen. It's for the best for them both that she isn't there to push when he is already broken. There's no challenge to chipping away at something that is already cracked. Putting him back together serves her purposes for the evening.*

We should fix that before rumors begin to spread. Norns forbid the smell lead people to the wrong conclusions.

[Thor snarls, dropping his hands and letting his pale eyes fix on his sister as he pulls himself upright.] And what conclusion may that be? That I near wiped out an entire race of peoples so that a lineage could not survive to rise back up against us in generations to come? Let them think what they will!

[But there is a petulance under the quick anger that Loki will recognize, a childish need to be talked down and coddled. Handled when Thor feels untouchable. He has not cleaned himself because he has earned the grime by both word and deed, agreeing to the battle and leading the charge with the relish of a warrior. And then their enemy sent their children into the fray to die against Asgardians twice their bulk and ten times their skill. Thor looks at the blood smeared on the arms of his chair and stands, kicking the heavy thing away with a blow that sends it to the stone wall where it cracks and fractures with an almighty sound.]

Let them think what they will.

*She watches his outburst passively, unmoved and unflinching in the face of his tantrum. Really, she's seen worse from him, can even understand what it is causing his inner turmoil and relate. Even she had been sickened by the events that had transpired, the sight of blind fear and panic in the eyes of the children that had been sent out to fulfill a duty that was not theirs. To pay the ultimate price. She had been merciful. Their deaths had been quick.*

Let them talk? Is that it? Let them believe what they wish, that their golden prince has lost his wits and come entirely undone so that what happened on that field was done in vain? So that it gives cause to others to rise and try the same, making it necessary to repeat what we've done?

*Her voice remains even, tone never rising as green eyes hold his. Loki advances slowly but with a determination that won't be denied.*

I am going to get you out of this filthy armor and then I am going to bathe you. We can work on your disposition once I can stand the smell of you again.

[Thor's jaw jumps with tension and anger and as each of Loki's words slip from her bladed tongue to prick and lodge in his soul, he considers hitting her. His hands curl into fists with which to strike; let her damned magicks try to save her from his displeasure.

She comes on, holding his gaze, without fail.

And Thor's shoulders slump, his fists turn into hands again.]

They sent babes against us, [he says, his voice a husk and his eyes closing because he can't stand to see the truth of his behavior reflected back at him from green eyes.] How can I be proud, or merry?

*His hands ball into fists as she watches and a dark eyebrow raises, part question, part challenge. It doesn't stop her, nor is she surprised when the urge to strike out seems to leave him deflated.*

I know, brother. It was shameful on their part and necessary on ours to deal with the situation. Each of us must deal with our actions in our own way. Some lie and plaster a smile to their faces to hide their unease. Some drink, some rut, some look for distraction. Some engage in quiet reflection. Those that hide have the luxury of doing so. You do not. You must be more than everyone else at all times. It is the role you were born into and thus the role you are expected to play. Your grief will be public. Your sorrows. Your joys. You are a leader.

*Her hands work with expert ease to pull his armor from him and she lets it fall to he floor with little care, stripping him bare bit by bit.*

For now though...for now I will take care of you while you reconcile yourself with what's been done.

[The lightening of his burden, as each piece of armor clatters to the floor at his feet, is only physical. Loki's words do make sense, however; Thor does not like them but they settle over his wounds not visible like a thick balm, muting his rage and his grief both. He finds himself watching her slim, nimble fingers as the last of his clothing falls away and he stands in front of his sister, bare, unashamed, bleeding from a dozen small nicks where the enemy failed to create anything more lasting then their own demise.

Thor reaches up. The blood on his hands has long-since dried and no mark of it touches Loki as her brother brushes dark hair back with a tender hand to touch her jaw.] I thank you.

*Loki takes note of every nick and cut no matter how minor and files them away, examining him with gentle fingers until she's satisfied that there is no lasting physical damage to him. When he thanks her she inclines her head in acknowledgment, her own hand coming up to cover his.* Come, I'll draw you a bath. I'll even wash your hair for you the way mother used to.

*The offer is self serving in a way, it endears her to him while giving her time that she finds herself craving in moments when he is otherwise occupied. Their time on the battlefield was spent fighting back to back but it was nothing of value outside of just that. Battle. This is something more, something far more personal.*

[Ah, nothing but battle, but still Thor knows she shares the experience, that she also was there to do the terrible deed and that her words reflect the sharing. The offer she gives him he takes at face value, as a gift. Loki is as cunning with her gifts as she is with her refusals. Her hand is a slight weight on his.

Thor, taller and far thicker than his dark, lithe sister, follows her to the baths a docile as a lamb. The tub in his rooms is sunken, marble, large enough for many and befitting a prince of Asgard. One wall opens in columns to the dark, warm night, an entire cosmos of sky near close enough to reach. He stands and stares out at it as Loki draws the bath, letting his rage and grief simmer at the bottom of his throat.]

*The experience is one that she would sooner forget. When she had mentioned earlier that some smile and lie, it had been a direct reference to how she herself was dealing with the faces she could still clearly see when she closed her eyes, she just preferred that no one saw her weakness.

There seems to be no fight left in her brother as they move and she allows him his quiet reflection while she familiarizes herself with the soaps and oils at hand. She chooses several that are meant to relax the mind and soothe aching muscles, pouring generous amounts of each into the water as it fills the tub. Her own mind wanders while the scent of her selections rises on the steam. Loki breathes in deeply then extends her hand for him.* Come, brother. While the water remains warm and the night is young.

[One of Thor's weaknesses will always include some not small bit of selfishness, no matter how unintentional. Had Loki come out and she was hiding her own hurts behind a smile he may have stirred himself enough to tend her in return, but as it stands he lets himself be fawned over and takes the comfort that comes with, single-mindedly.

At her beckon he turns and for a moment is struck by her there, in the warm, low lights, half-obscured by steam that makes her a beautiful wraith. Thor moves to her then with quick, strides that eat the space between them in a hunger. He moves past her offered hand and puts his arms around her small waist, crushing her to him, parting her toes from the floor. His face is buried in her neck, now holding the smells of the bath.

He knows that she will betray him in turns of her whim; Thor is old enough to understand that much of Loki's nature. But his hate and anger at those moments is only as fierce as his love in these.

She is released a silent moment later and there is the tremor of an angry smile upon his lips, unable to make up his mind.] While the night is young? Then you intend to send me back out among them? To smile, and drink, and rut?

*They love and hate in equal measure, often fighting one another as often as they fight together. Their relationship is complicated at best but she knows without a doubt that there is no Loki without Thor. As much as the thought eats at her, angers her in times when she thinks she would see him dead, it serves as a comfort now. She knows he is there, knows there will be other battles, and wars, and that one day one or both of them may not walk away from their fight.

His embrace is as unexpected as the wavering emotion she can read on his face when he releases her, though she keeps careful grip on his arms when her feet are firmly back on the floor again.* And deny myself the excuse to be away from those fools with you here? No, Thor. I am far too selfish for that.

[He searches Loki's face for the lie of it, as if he would be able to tell. Finally there is an assenting nod.] Good. [As if the whole thing had been his idea and he merely granting her his presence.]

Mother would sit on the step to wash my hair. [His fingers skim her stomach as they withdraw, brushing the laces of Loki's gown. It is not sexual, but it could be, and the invitation is hers to deny or accept; Thor is in no mood to push himself against her wishes tonight.] Will you let me in the water alone?

*For once there is no lie to be found. Even at his worst she much prefers his company to that of the drunken half-wits in the great hall. The mood is more somber than usual but there are still those who don't seem to be bothered by anything that transpired and the urge to strike them down is strong. Much better to distract herself with Thor, especially when it seems he's willing to provide more of a distraction than she'd initially hoped for.

Her fingers begin unlacing her gown with little fanfair, her expression showing the faintest bit of amusement.* I wouldn't want to risk you drowning yourself, now would I?

You were ever the better swimmer.

[Her acceptance gains an honest smile from him, a happy flash of teeth that shows how easy it is for Loki to turn Thor's moods. He glances at her fingers (nimble and clever always, no matter the fanfair) and the revealing fair skin before pulling himself away to wade into the bath.

The water steams less than it did short minutes ago but is still hot, hot enough to haze the air and make drawing breath its own sort of hedonistic pleasure. Thor sinks down with a heavy sigh and looks back to Loki so that he can focus on her instead of the myriad stinging wounds that remind him of the battle.]

Aye, it's true. I am like a little silver fish in comparison to your rampaging bilgesnipe.*Her own smile is muted in comparison though that's nothing new when it comes to him. He has always been louder, brighter, and far more open and exuberant in most aspects of life than she. His gaze is on her hands and this time her smile is just a bit wider when she lets her gown fall to the floor without a second thought.

It's but a few short steps to the bath once undressed and she slips into the water easily, her own wounds long since healed by her own hands. A sponge is taken in one of those same hands and dipped into the water before she brings it up to his shoulder and begins the process of cleansing his skin. Careful to avoid being too harsh near any open wounds, she squeezes the water out over muscled flesh before dipping it back and repeating the process.*

Edited 2014-01-08 23:51 (UTC)

[Thor snorts at the comparison but does not air breath against it. People have called him beautiful before but he is nothing like Loki and will forever hold his large shoulders and heavy jaw against her slightness; they are night and day; they make each other more splendid in contrast.

He watches her as she comes closer, the water rippling around her bare shoulders.] Careful, silver fish. [It's an admonishment for the sake of the compliment that comes with, his tone far from chiding. And Thor only sits back under his sister's ministrations, his gaze on her as she works. There is not wince or grimace if she comes to close to a hurt; all Thor's attention is hers to command. The way her hair sticks to her neck, the way the heat flushes her cheeks.]

Loki.

[Leaning forward as she works, dipping his head, Thor's lips brush against Loki's damp shoulder.] Am I truly better company? [It is a murmur.]

*Thor is possibly the most beautiful thing she's seen in all of the nine, and it is hard not to be blinded by him, by that beauty and the radiance that is just part and parcel of who he is. He is the standard that other gods hold themselves too. The ideal. He just also happens to cast a very large shadow.

There's a hum of a laugh at that, at how his good humor always finds a way to shine through in even the most dire of circumstances if given half the chance. She abandons the sponge at one point just for the excuse to rub her hands over him and doesn't still when his lips find her shoulder.* Mmm, you are.

*She brushes a thumb against his cheek and it comes away with traces of dirt and blood.*

[Certainly the water itself will not be enough to take away the days' worth of grime-- nor, perhaps, will the soft sponge be. Her hands to more to combat the grit and carmine but vigorous attention will be required when they have attention to spare. The ends of Thor's hair float on the water's surface, pieces here and there that had been braided for war, now unbound, are crimped with dried gore.

Loki's skin is soft under his mouth, only parting with the brush of her hand on his face. Thor looks up at her and it's easy to see the adoration in his pale eyes. The rest of his visage falls, slowly.]

Why bother, sister? You didn't come to me because Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral were worried. [Thor backs to the edge of the tub and sinks into a seat, the water rising to his neck. His hair slowly drowns.] And certainly not Sif. You say I'm better company but we both know that is hardly true when I have a temper.

*The state of him is something else entirely and she knows it will likely take repeated scrubbings to make him clean again. Even then he remains beautiful. The way he looks at her plays a large part in how she views him now and she knows that as well. When he pulls back and moves to take a seat in the water, she grabs for a pumice stone. It will likely be needed.*

Your temper has never put me off, you know this. What you should also know is that I have no more desire to be around those celebrating than you do.

*The water ripples as she moves through it to follow after him.* At least this way I am being useful and you... you are not wallowing in your own filth. It's unbecoming.

[It must be a heady thing, that type of unadulterated adoration. Even more so when the source is the mighty Thor, sun-soaked darling of Asgard. His warriors (four) do not even fetch that kind of regard from their prince-- only Loki.

Thor waits for her, back to stone warmed by the water, letting his arms float so that his fingers brush her skin once she draws near.] It is fitting, [he argues,] considering our deeds. I felt like being reminded of what my hands had accomplished.

*It would be so easy to tear into him, to place words so sharp and so poisonous within the cracks of his fractured, bleeding heart that she could break him entirely open. So very easy. Instead she's gentle. Her tone, her touch, even the usually sharp, sly set of eyes and mouth are softer. Her words are meant to cushion rather than cut.*

You've always been far more softhearted than I, you're just being foolish in this. You did not send those children to die. You were not the one that sealed their fate. Blame the Norns, blame those that sent them to you and your hammer, to sharp steel and hardened warriors. What befell them at your hand and mine was a mercy compared to what they would have faced for their failure. You were not their doom, you were simply a means to an end. As were we all.

Edited 2014-01-09 20:48 (UTC)

Loki ♛ MCU and Comics

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