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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*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)

[Of course Thor never realizes the power he gives to Loki, letting her see his weaknesses, allowing her underneath his skin where no on else goes. His trust of her is-- necessarily-- incomplete, but somehow that never translates into mistrust of the moment. Only when Thor feels on guard or wronged will he shut himself off to her... of course, even then, she knows how to slide her knives beneath his armors.

Love can be a terrible thing.

Loki's words peel away the layers of his grief, trimming it back into a manageable thing, handled without being picked by its thorns. He should be cross at her words, calling him foolish, but the heat and her presence make the anger hard to hold. He would rather hold her. Thor sighs and under the water his palms spill down the steps of his sister's ribs and over the swell of her hips. ]

I killed those who sent them out to die by our hands. You ever argue for the means that do not include war, sister. Would you have done this differently? Spared them?

*The trust he gives her is one she has abused time and time again. Part of her expects him to learn from the mistake yet it always comes as a surprise when he lets her in once more, willingly nurses the viper in his home and brings it close to his chest. There is hurt and anger when she sinks her fangs in, though he never seems shocked that she has.

And then they repeat the process. Over and over. Always the same. He trusts, she betrays, they reconcile, she plays the role of good sister and confidante temporarily, and then the cycle begins anew. Their warped and twisted history doesn't make sense to most and she knows for a fact that his friends have admonished and counseled him against her often enough. Yet even they seem to grudgingly accept her back when Thor wills it.

It's with a certain amount of distraction that she takes the pumice to his skin and begins to scrub, pushing forward until she's settled between his legs, and content with the hands at her hips. Silence reigns while she contemplates her answers.*

What was done needed doing. If you had spared them they would only have risen up stronger. If not today, then tomorrow. More blood would have spilled then on both sides.

[Some would look down on Thor's decisions were he not as he is: determined, stubborn, optimistic... the prince of Asgard. Some do regardless. Still. Love and loyalty mean more to Thor than justice and retribution and perhaps there are some who whisper of it behind closed doors, saying that their king-to-be holds too much stock in his sister's opinion.

Good, then, that Thor does not hold with what others think of him. He will be king whether those dissenters will it or no and he will be a good one. With Loki's help.

Thor's knees rest lightly at Loki's lean thighs, the water slicks the touch of their skin. He focuses for the moment on the soft tear of the pumice stone against his flesh. Sweat beads on both of them from the heat and makes slithering tracks through the grime on Thor's face. By now his hair is lank against his skull.]

I relished the fight. [It will always be the truth but now it is admittance as well. Thor pulls his gaze where it had wandered to the stars, back to Loki.] You looked splendid, you know. In the pitch of battle. It made me miss the days when we would spar; the clench of your teeth, your hair lank with sweat. The haze of your magicks.

*There is much that Thor can get away with on the merit of him being Thor. People love him because his heart is good. Even when his actions are misplaced they come from that same good heart and they come with good intention. One can get away with much when it comes to playing on those intentions, manipulating them to one's own purpose. Loki has been successful at doing just that many a time with little to no regret or regard for how he would react when he learned the truth of it, counting on that heart and her place in it for forgiveness.

She takes in the damp of his hair, the dirtied, stained state of his face, and stops as he first makes his confession and then his compliment. It has always been true that he loses himself in battle. She as well. Some would call Loki a coward for her use of seiðr over sword, often forgetting that she was more than adept with one, yet it was a weapon as good as any. The bloodlust of battle had taken root in the early stages of the fighting, had gripped tight and not relinquished it's hold until the end. When all had settled, when the bodies were counted, only then had she come back to herself. She cannot say when the same could be said for him.*

I am, as ever, at your disposal should you wish it. You need only ask. *She continues working, uncovering inches of clean flesh at a time as she does so, stopping to run water over areas freshly scrubbed.*

Is that all you missed?

[The question gets a lion's bark of a laugh, almost pulling his hair from Loki's hand as Thor tosses his head back. Is that all you missed? For a moment he is gone from the battle, free from that branch of Yggdrasil, only here and in the happy, selective, past that exists between he and his sister. Thor grips her hips more roughly and tugs her closer to him, close enough that her breasts brush his chest and his half-hard cock nudges her thigh. It is a grip that brooks no argument, it is Thor in a good mood doing as he will.}

Oh, nay, sister. I missed the way your breasts heaved. [He leans in, kissing the skin just above where her chest meets water.} And how your pulse snapped against your throat. [Tilting his head up, Thor kisses that, too, the soft flutter of Loki's pulse under fair skin.]

*His laugh warms parts of her that nothing else can touch even as he pulls her nearer still. She can feel his interest beginning to make itself well and truly known, and while she slaps at his chest in admonishment, she makes no move to pull away.* Brute.

*Her pulse remains steady now though the thought of what is yet to come adds heat to her blood. Loki's fingers find purchase in his hair and grip tight, pulling his head back so that she might look him in the eye.* I admit that I missed being the one to make you bleed.

[Thor's hands push, and his fingers draw errant patterns on his sister's flanks. His head falls back as her grip demands and his smile is wide, and fierce, lips peeled back from teeth.] You always did mend me when you were done, [he says, low at the back of a throat constricted by angle.] With fingers... and tongue...

[He laughs again, a deeper, throatier sound.] Unless you were cross at my wins, and then you would storm off and sulk. I remember once when I followed you and you sent a vase at my head.

*The slide of her smile is on the side of mischievous that will benefit him in the very near future while she remembers.* I recall you being very grateful for my efforts and gracious in your reciprocation.

*A humph of sound leaves her and that mischief is clearer than ever in the cut of her eyes.* You were fortunate that that was the only thing I sent at your head and that it was not one of my daggers instead.

Edited 2014-01-10 06:02 (UTC)

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