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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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)

[When her gaze narrows like that it quickens Thor's pulse because he knows all to well that something will come from it. Under the water his hands tighten on her hips and he pulls her fully flush against him. That he wants her is no surprise or secret; the not-so-hidden truth of the matter is that all it takes is that slim green gaze upon him to make his heart snap and his cock think of things to come. Other women are beautiful, or salacious, and Thor has taken many of them to his bed-- but it is only his sister who can look at him and hook him so completely around her finger.

There are times when Thor pauses in his passions long enough to think it unhealthy. But it has been this way for so long, since they were old enough to share a bed without only thought of twining limbs against the cold, that thought of change now is nigh impossible.

And unwanted.]

Perhaps I would wear an eyepatch as well as Father. [He chuckles up at Loki.] Though of course I would have caught it. I ducked the vase, did I not? You never fight as well once you get well and truly angry.

*He is as apt as ever to take what he wants when he moves her as if she is his own personal rag doll. While there's little doubt she would make him regret the action if she didn't wish to be moved, what she keeps hidden is the small thrill she derives from those displays of his. For all she calls him an oaf or brute that strength is one she has taken comfort from and found her pleasure in.

Any thoughts about the state of their relationship and how healthy or unhealthy it is are better left for others. She has no care for their opinions, no care really for anything that doesn't suit her wants.

What they have suits her. The knowledge of how she can bend him to her will with the hint of a smile or a flash of pale skin suits her. Loki would cut out the heart of any who tried to change that.*

Better, I think.

*Again her eyes narrow and she answers him with magick rather than words. A simple curl of her fingers has water obeying her unspoken command to rain down on his head, dousing him properly.* Did you ever stop to think that I missed on purpose to avoid a lecture from Eir and Mother?

[Rarely has there ever been much thought in Thor for going against doing his most base wishes, though he has certainly improved himself over the long years. Though as with many things, Loki stands outside the tests of time and lessons learned. In the past centuries Thor may have grown in spirit and will, in his respect of others and knowledge of his true duties as prince of the realm, but with Loki he may forever keep something of that petulant boy in him, the young man who smiles too broadly and takes without asking.

The fall of water fills his mouth and blinds him momentarily; Thor tries to roar his displeasure through the coughing, blinking bewilderment.] Woman, Norns take you! [He stands in a sharp motion and, easily, lifts Loki as well. Turning, he sits her on the wide lip of the tub as someone might a child, though their bodies, streaming water, clearly show they are not. Hands release her to rub water from his eyes and push sticking strands of hair off his forehead and cheeks.]

*His coughing and spluttering is too much so she hides a giggle behind her fingers before finally giving in and laughing outright. He's every bit the drowned cat the way he is and it serves him right. From her perch she reaches forward to wipe away trickles of dirty water from his face and the grime it had loosened as well.*

And if they did you would simply march down to their well and demand my return because it suited you.

*Her tone is entirely matter of fact given her absolute belief that it's exactly what he would do. What she does next is not meant as an apology so much as it is a peace offering, a reminder that while her devilry is not always appreciated, it's not always without benefit. While he stands there and the advantage is hers, the sponge is once more in her grip to finish the job she'd started earlier.*

If you're done, I believe I said I would wash your hair. Properly.

[Thor continues to sputter and glower like a thunderhead until Loki returns to her ministrations with the sponge; he is soothed in strokes, much like that cat who gives in with a rhythmic petting. He snorts and crosses his arms over his chest as she works.]

I would only go after you if you promised to put a halt to your tricks, which I know you would not. [Despite the petulant tone and words but, it is clear enough that Loki is correct. Thor would move the stars and sun for her. Devilry indeed.

Thor's eyebrows still gather together in ill temper and sit over the thin line of his compressed lips... but he leans forward over her sponge and his mouth is warm on her cool earlobe, his tongue slipping across the soft, damp skin. Arms uncrossing, Thor's fingers skim upward from Loki's knees.]

You did say as much, sister. But perhaps I have in mind to put it off somewhat longer.

*There's no sense behind how appealing she finds him when he glowers like that though the chaotic parts of her being always thrill at the idea that he's a step closer to the berserker she knows lies beneath the surface, and like the storms he commands, it could be unleashed at any time. In truth it's why she pushes him so often, goads and prods and claws in her attempts to bring it to the surface. Like calls to like, and that unpredictable part of him serves as a siren song to the trickster.*

True enough.

*Dark lashes fan heat ruddied cheeks when he tries his best to distract her from her chosen task.*

You have it in mind to leave me as begrimed as you are. We're not out in the forests, brother dear. This is not one of our hunts. Patience is a virtue, or so I've been told.

[He growls his displeasure at the idea of patience against her ear, and just for a moment Loki draws from him exactly what thrills her: Thor's palms spread down high on her lean thighs and grip, an easy strength spreading those limbs as he would have them. His want will leave bruises on her fair flesh as his thumbs dig into the silken skin where thigh meets hair and warmer join of her legs. For a heartbeat as he holds Loki spread before him there is the smell of ozone that mixes with the herbs and oils of the bath, a sharpness which stands hair and pimples flesh.

Then Thor relents with a deep sound from the back of his throat and his hands are gone from her. He turns and sits himself down in the tub with enough force to send the water out against the far side and back in a muted ripple that washes over his shoulders and over Loki's knees and rear.]

You are lucky I love you as I do, minx.

*The tight line of her lips breaks when her breaths become shallow. The scent of ionized storm pricks at her nostrils. She's not sure if it's the rumble of discontent in his chest that she hears or muted thunder in the distance, but the brief flare of pain makes her gasp pleasurably.

She's nearly disappointed when he seats himself in front of her.*

Oh? Is that what I am? Lucky? *There's a smattering of mirth behind the questions. Her hands are once more in his hair in order to work the soap she'd set aside earlier into a lather. Her nails tease over his scalp, massaging lightly as she goes.*

Mmm.

[There's still displeasure there, even in the simple sound, but Thor is obedient under her hands. His head is tilted enough to let his sister get at the mass of his hair with fingers and nails. After a few moments of lather his shoulders have dropped and his head tilts with her motions, pliable and nearly humming with the pleasure of it. Thor's breath is slowed and content. Under the water his erection lays against his stomach, undeterred, but he pays it no attention.]

*They've fought and made up often enough throughout their lives together that she knows how best to placate him when the slight is minor. Her hands are as skilled in this as they are in her casting given that she's had far more time to practice this. She works to tame the beast if only to rile him up again when the time is fitting.

Her movements are steady as she goes from head to shoulder, hands moving downward and sinking beneath the water to wash away the biggest physical reminder of a pointless war. She presses herself to his back to wrap pale arms around him in am embrace, her lips finding bearded jaw in a kiss before she whispers in his ear.*

May I rinse you now, or would you have me continue?

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