bakerstreet | Blood red nails on her fingertips

Sex &
Magic

❝ A witch’s sexuality was essential to her enigmatic power, abhorrent corruption and her menacing allure. ❞

❝ Sex magic (or sexual magic or sex magick) is a term used for various types of sexual activity used in magical, theurgical or other religious and spiritual pursuits. It is based on the premise that sexual energy or libido (and the release of sexual energy through orgasm) is the human organism’s most potent force, and that harnessing it through sexual activity provides an experiential conduit for the transcendence of reality. The level of energy generated by sexual arousal is claimed by its practitioners to create very powerful magic. ❞

As far as the roll of the dice of fate can fall, you could have scored worse: you're a witch (or wizard, magician, mage, what have you), and power flows through your veins. Still, before you can use this ability or don your black hat, you must pay the carnal price of this world, no matter your personal feelings on the matter. Fortunately, sex is plentiful for those who need to craft their spellwork. You might as well enjoy what you do.

RULES

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PROMPTS

Sole Practicioner: People may view you as a mystery or the town eccentric, yet you never want for the needed supplies.
Coven: You live together, protect the old ways, and practice your art.
Familiar: In possession of one or being one - always ready to serve your master.
Dark Arts: Consent isn't needed for your selection of spells.
Summoning: Be careful what kind of spirit or demon your lust may call forth.
Witch Hunter: Supposedly, you're the one taking out witches, only you may just have been caught up in their snares.
Willing Sacrifice: In order to curry favor, you've offered your body up to a magic user.
Normal: So, your girlfriend or boyfriend is a witch and you're not. Do you know? How will you feel if you find out?

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"If you insist," There's the hint of challenge to his voice. "You're also better looking than the cute bards we see at the inns." Even if the other mages here claim Anders can't play the lute to save his life. He's been half-tempted to take Anders to the Bard's College and borrow a lute just to see how true that is.

Finn puts down his now-empty goblet and stands up, sauntering over to Anders in what he considers to be a 'sexy walk'. He leans against the wall by Anders, a mischievous look in his red eyes.

"Not to mention you're easier on the eyes than most of the humans in Skyrim. Nicer on the ears too."

"Are you insulting the bards or flattering me?" Anders asks, hiking that skeptical brow up just a fraction further. (But he's well aware of how prevalent rumors of his skill with a lute are - mostly because he tends to wield one as fearlessly as he does a staff, or a fistful of sparks.) Still, he seems more amused than anything.

Except, perhaps, for curious.

There's a quick flicker in his gaze as he takes stock of Finn in his presumably alluring pose, although he hedges a bit, still. "I've already agreed to wander into the face of certain death with you again, so if this is all some effort to butter me up after the fact, you know, it's really not necessary."

"The only thing I butter up is cooked mudcrab and dinner rolls, and I don't see either right now," Finn doesn't see why Anders gets like this when he's complimented. Insecurity, perhaps? One would think a man as handsome as Anders would have suitors all lined up to present him with flowers or even amulets of Mara.

"Is it really so hard to believe that I just happen to think you're good looking, or that my flirting doesn't have to have some ulterior motive?"

"...Yes?" Anders laughs, but it's a rather bemused sound, as the good humor in his gaze, in the set of his mouth, fades. "I'm well aware of what I look like, and I'm not sure good is an apt descriptor."

He's more of a mess, honestly. Like the room they're occupying, or the uneven fall of his hair - some of it still clinging to the shape of the lazy tail he'd pulled it out of when they stepped inside.

Not to mention all the other reasons it's a fairly absurd assumption. He sets aside his glass, only half empty, and winds his hands together in his lap, looking markedly uncertain. "You shouldn't waste your charms on someone like me."

Finn is hardly one to judge for not keeping a living space completely tidy. Not to mention that even with all the scruff there really is something about Anders that makes him look handsome. He has a more natural look about him, that not even some messy hair and chin fuzz can't ruin.

"Charm spells are for haggling, thank you," He knows full well what Anders meant, but he can't help but make that quip anyway. But then he lets the humorous side fall with what he's about to say next, so Anders doesn't get the wrong idea.

"Maybe I want to use my charms on you," The Dunmer licks his lips in thought. "Would it be uncouth of me if I said I wanted to kiss you?"

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Anders quips, though his crooked smile falters even as it forms, another failing attempt at humor. He lets it fall, though, looking up again to meet Finn's gaze with a hard, searching look of his own. And though there's still more than a touch of uncertainty in it, there's no hint of compromise.

"I don't want to be anyone's bed-warmer. Not even the Dragonborn's," he says, an unhappy note creeping into his firm tone, as it comes out sounding far more damning than it did in his head. "So if that's all you're after, I'm afraid I'll have to decline.

"If this isn't just about getting me into bed, though, then - perhaps..." Then perhaps there might not be such a slim chance, after all. But it's not as if he hasn't ever considered it, himself.

"If all I wanted was a bed-warmer, I would have gone out and found one of my admirers," Some of the people he'd saved in the past had expressed a desire to 'show him gratitude' as it were.

Finn pulls up a nearby chair and sits in it so he can at least be eye-level with Anders. "I like you, Anders. I like you a lot. You're not like anyone else I've met here in Skyrim. I've been wanting to say something for a while but the time never seemed right." A dark crypt isn't exactly the most romantic of settings, nor is it something you spring up while hiking across the countryside. Then again, what excuse does he have for not saying something during periods of rest at campsites for inns?

His grey fingers reach out and rest on Anders' knee. "I don't want something that'll be over in one night and then never talked about again. Not with you." Finn starts to lean in for the aforementioned kiss.

Well, there's not much else to say to that. For once, Anders has no contentious words - although he does make a sound, when their mouths meet, quite promptly after he's reached out and grabbed Finn by the wide collar of his robes and pulled him abruptly forward. Practically onto the bed with him, although there's at least enough balance between them to counter that (even if just for a moment).

A wordless, keening sound hums between Anders' lips and the darker pair he crushes them against, and he'd be at least a little ashamed of the raw need in it, if he even recognized it as his own. Or could hear it, over the rush of blood in his ears.

Finn makes a startled noise, which is cut off by the kiss, as Anders pulls him in suddenly. But the surprise quickly vanishes and he melts into the kiss, caressing Anders' lips with his own.

The Dunmer straddles Anders' hips, putting one of his hands on the back of the other mage's head to run his long, grey fingers through blond hair. He ends up dislodging the ponytail in the process, pulling a few locks out of the tie. There's an undeniable headiness to the kiss, full of longing and relief of feelings actually being reciprocated.

Blood red nails on her fingertips

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