bakerstreet | You've always been together

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You've always been together - haven't you?

the magical, mind-altering, matchmaking hot springs.
A SMUT MEME

Hot springs are considered rejuvenating in many cultures, from Asia to Europe. All that natural heat and the minerals from the earth flow through water and call throngs of people to come and enjoy the resorts that pop up around these wonders of the world. You, however, would never go to one. You're insecure about baring it all in public; maybe you don't even go out in public because your appearance would make the uncaring crowd lash out at you. Maybe it's just not your scene. You could not know anything about hot springs!

But you're at one now, no matter what, and you're going to be taking a skinny dip - or near it - whether you like it or not. To make matters worse, you're sharing your little pool with someone else. Hey, you don't know them! This place could not even be in your world or your time.

There's little option otherwise, though, so you might as well enjoy the time you're here. Soak and relax, let those tired muscles get a break. Soon, all your troubles, your worries, your ailments, your imperfections all begin to fade away...as do your misconceptions. You know this person, don't you? Yes, you do. Actually you know them very well. You're with them. You came with them, it seems to you, to reconnect, a lover's getaway. After all, what's more steamy than a hot springs?

So go ahead, do what you've intended to do. No one will mind if you get a little frisky in the springs if it helps out your relationship; besides, what do you think some of the extra natural minerals are for? They'll certainly help you get hot under the collar, not that you'll need that. Your (new) mutual history should be enough.

Comment with your character, preferences, and etc. Include canon information and anything relevant to the meme, as well, if you'd like.
All characters are welcome. Appropriate, inappropriate, serious, whatever.
Reply to others. You can hash out your what your characters will eventually believe their shared history to be, or just put up a starter and play it by ear.
Have fun!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

{Open to f/m, f/f || NSFW specific preferences}

It was highly unusual to see a dark elf on the surface, but then Jarlaxle was a highly unusual dark elf, and not just in his behavior.

His skin was as dark as pitch and while they were closed at the moment, snow white lashes stark against his coal dark skin, his eyes were as red as any of his kin, but unlike others of his kind, instead of long flowing white tresses typical of males, styled to indicate rank and social position, the drow was bald, smooth black head even more conspicuous without his customary flamboyant hat. He wore multiple earrings, hoops and studs, a pair of elegant bracers, a fine gold chain round his neck, and a number of rings. It was all magical of course.

Completely naked, save for the jewelry he wore, Jarlaxle lounged indolently with his back against the wall of the spring and his head tilted back. He had the springs to himself at the moment. The people who'd been there when he'd made his entrance had taken one look at him, and for some reason, decided to leave. Humans were so excitable. He supposed that he should be glad for the lack of trouble, but he was a social creature. Even a challenge or a threat on his life would have been more interesting than a total lack of company.

He appeared oblivious to his surroundings, naked and vulnerable, and he was relaxing, but his keen ears heard everything, and it would be difficult to sneak up on him.

Good thing she's not trying to sneak up on him then. She's been on the road too long to give half a fuck who else was in this pool, male dark elf or otherwise.

"Ah, didn't hardly see you there, you blend in with the stones." She observed dryly. Not that this seemed to trouble her, the way she dropped her pack and began stripping without hesitation.

Standing by the side of the pool, she was his visual opposite. Skin the color of the moon, with pale gray-green veins just under the surface. The waist-length hair she bent to shake out of its binding was the matte black color of ink. Like the stranger, her naked form remained draped only in her jewelry, elaborate earrings in her pointed ears and a number of rings and pendants. Some charmed, some purely decorative.

Without asking if he wants someone to join him for his bath, she waded onto the hot water, sinking in up to her shoulders and tipping her head back to wet her hair.

Jarlaxle’s eyes opened as he heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t turn them on her until she speaks. Far from offended by the observation, he chuckled and smiled at the newcomer. His smile did not waver as she began to undress nor did he look away. The drow didn’t leer but his gaze was openly appreciative as he took her in, and acknowledged her entry into the pool with a welcoming nod.

“You wound me my lady. I would hate to escape the notice of such a beautiful woman.”

His tone was light and friendly, voice deep and mellifluous, and why shouldn’t it be? He was genuinely delighted that she had decided to join him. He studied her, wondering about the greenish tinge of her veins and her brusque manner. She must be powerful to be so unconcerned for her safety alone with a dark elf. He could not have asked for a more interesting companion.

“Join me. Please. It’s been dreadfully boring without anyone to enjoy the bath with.”

I see, in place of silver hair, the gods gifted you with a silver tongue instead." She snorted, ducking her head and then wiping away the water from her large green eyes. Her unusual bathing companion was handsome, she had to admit. Perhaps that was the long time on the road, she mused. He was different looking, certainly, so striking without the white braids of his fellows. She let herself float a bit, the hot water easing the weariness from her feet and back. No, she doesn't seem especially troubled by his presence. It's her trademarks combination of power and unbridled hubris. For power she has, it shows in the touches of green beneath her skin, a glimmer here and there of nearly imperceptible scales. In the way her small body showed sharp contours: innate magic, which burns like a fever in the body, magic bred into her by the introduction of a green dragon somewhere far back in her bloodline. Eligre wasn't the only one in her family to take a wrong turn, it would seem.

On a closer view as she floats by, she had a number of scars, marks from life on the road and life on the battlefield, unafraid of getting down in the mud and the blood, unafraid of taking the kinds of risks that could leave one with lingering wounds. Marks of someone who didn't learn her lesson. On closer view, her small breasts and her stomach, taut below the sweep of her ribs, bore the unmistakable silver rippling marks of someone who had carried a child.

These too, were the scars of her hubris.

She glanced at him, watching him through the steam. She found she appreciated the directness of his gaze, the way he studied her. His kind are clever, she well knew, and they missed no details.

"Well?" She asked, daring to indulge in her rarely used Undercommon. "Enjoying the free show, silver-tongue?"

Edited (Sorry, wrote a long tag while also prepping dinner) 2018-12-18 00:56 (UTC)

Jarlaxle was not large. Drow males were, as a rule, smaller than the females, and weaker too if the matriarchy was to be believed. For a dark elf, he was tall enough at 5’6’’ (taller with the boots and hat he wore) and slender, all lithe tightly packed muscle. He had scars too, faint grey lines here and there, and a few darker purple, barely distinguishable from his black skin, where a blade had bit deeper. Most were old. Jarlaxle had learned cunning and strategy early on. He wouldn’t have survived in the Underdark without them. Furthermore, now that he commanded his own network of mercenaries, he only need get his hands dirty when and where he chose, but he did choose, and often, much to the chagrin of his lieutenants. He was simply better at dodging blows, both literal and otherwise now than he had been as a young elf.

One silvery eyebrow rose at her command of Undercommon, and then he laughed at her remark for he had been watching her closely the entire time with an appraising crimson stare. The drow inclined his head. If he had been wearing his hat, he would have tipped it at her or swept it off in a deep bow.

“I am indeed,” Jarlaxle replied, unabashed, and clearly interested. The glint of green scales he spied against her skin fascinated him, and the scars did not repel him. If anything they only made her more beautiful in his eyes. He wished to know more about her as much if not more than he fancied bedding her, but she was undeniably attractive, and he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he thought so. However, despite her words to him, nothing in this world was free, and he felt as if he should be returning the favor.

The dark elf had been submerged in the water to the top of his shoulders up until then, but he shifted now, lifting his arms from the pool and stretching them behind his head, revealing well defined muscles, and the top of his chest. The move put him in a semi vulnerable position, relaxed, but seeming to offer himself at the same time.

“Will you sit beside me?”

He gave her a mischievous smile, one that came off as wicked on his none too innocent features.

“The view is breathtaking, but I would like to get a closer look.”

Edited 2018-12-18 04:29 (UTC)

Eligre enjoyed the back-and-forth of it as much as-- if not more-- than she might enjoy more carnal exchanges with the stranger. It was as warm and welcome as the hotspring after days trekking through the mountains alone.

"Not too rusty, is it?" She says of her Undercommon, as she wades a little closer, coy as a half-wild cat. Maybe she would sit with him, maybe she wouldn't. "It's been a long time since I had any dealings with the denizens of the deep." She laughs, looking him over. He really was striking looking, and he didn't have the disposition she would expect of a male drow (granted, her experience in that department was quite limited) and he didn't seem so forward as to be vulgar or threatening. Instead, he seemed to be enjoying this game of verbal sparring, these flirtatious taunts.

She settles down next to him, ghostly white against the dark, dark stone, acid-colored eyes shining.

There were few things Jarlaxle enjoyed as much as good banter, and he appreciated a quick mind as much as a beautiful form. Eligre was proving to be a fine conversation partner, and the flirtation only made it better.

“You have an accent, but it’s quite good,” he answered honestly. Likely not good enough for his drow brethren, but they were as a rule, critical of anything coming from non-drow. Jarlaxle did not suffer the same prejudices. It would be a mistake to underestimate Eligre if his assessment of her was correct. The elf woman radiated power. Jarlaxle, on the other hand, might seem a fool to those who did not know better, but he was undeniably charismatic with a magnetic personality that drew others to him. Many had underestimated him. They were all dead.

He watched her approach with a clarity, and seemed incredibly pleased when she accepted his invitation..

“Aren’t you afraid of being seen with an evil treacherous dark elf? I understand that such a thing could do your reputation serious harm with the rest of the surface elves.”

His tone was light, the smile on his face too amused, for the words to be anything but teasing.