Work Text:
There’s something about training with Medea that makes your stomach roil. It’s not the rumours of filicide; distasteful though her actions might have been, you are hardly in a position to begrudge someone the vengeful killing of a family member or two. It’s not the power of her curses; you’ve never felt anything but admiration for the skills of a fellow witch, no matter how dark their arts. Nor is it the way Hecate’s eyes track her around the Crossroads whenever she visits; the Headmistress is entitled to her wariness in all things.
When Medea takes your arm and guides your movements at the cauldron you can no more name the feeling that creeps its way up your spine than you can pinpoint its source. You can however track its symptoms: nausea; goose pimpled flesh; a warmth that blooms across your cheeks. This sickness makes you clumsy and so she must press closer to correct you. Her lithe body nestles itself against the curve of your back. Her breasts rest against your shoulder blades.
She leans in closer still and whispers in your blushing ear, “Lust is an affliction like any other. It can be cured, you only need ask.”