Log: Complete

[6thsword.livejournal.com]

When; January 29, Wardrobe Switch Day
Rating; R
Characters; Grimmjow [6thsword] & Cirucci [thunderwitch]
Summary; Zaera-Polo requested that Cirucci take care of the Sexta Espada upon his return, and she happily obliges, for the personal challenge as well as the order.
Log;

Grimmjow stretched out on his couch, though he was in no mood to relax. ...Well, Orihime had forgiven him, and that was good in itself. It meant that Hinamori's forgiveness would soon follow, though he highly doubted she would act as if the whole thing had never happened. Winning her back... Well, it was worth the effort. It would always be worth it.

Sighing, he nestled into the pillows, staring boredly at the laptop screen on the coffee table just a couple feet away. He'd enjoyed the carnage in the forest, and compared to that, the downtime and utter dullness of being alone, except for the ticking, in his apartment was really beginning to bother him. But despite others' advice, he didn't care for a roommate. No one in the City was worth sharing a living space with. ...Well, except for one, but she had her own place.

Cirucci debated whether to knock or just come in. A pout on her face and arms crossed under her breasts- Ah, that was the problem. She still wore Noitora’s uniform. For no matter how many times the Arrancar had tried to swtich their clothing back to it’s proper owners, the four, Noitora, Cirucci, Il Forte, and Kira Izuru, had kept ending up back with someone else’s clothes, and the effort had been thrown out. Which meant her breasts were, for all intents and purposes, just barely held in, considering the hole in the chest of the white clothes.

With a sigh, Cirucci decided to not be so polite, considering it would give him control over being able to shut the door in her face. She released just enough of her Hollow powers from Golondrina, he would detect the reiatsu, she was sure, and quickly jimmied open the door knob, stepping in with smile.

“Grimmjow Jaggerjack~”

Oh, great.

He glanced up at her as she let herself in, brow furrowing in a scowl. Why was she there? To console him or something? She really needed to learn when to give up. "What the fuck do you want, bitch?" he snapped, though his gaze strayed to her breats spilling out of Noitora's clothes.

Damn it. He stood suddenly, turning his back on her, and stalked over to the window on the opposite end of the room. He didn't want anything to do with her right now, especially with Hinamori on his mind.

“Cirucci’s not allowed to come visit?”

She affected a pout, closing the door behind her with a soft click of the jam. She didn’t approach him yet, however, not wishing to have to call on their mortal healer again quite yet. After all, she’d made it through a night with Noitora without injury, thankfully, and while she wasn’t keen on another night of possible bruising and the like, she also knew it would endear her to Zaera-polo, who remained in favor. And she would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. She’d bedded him before, but couldn’t remember it. How… intriguing. The Privaron tried not to smirk as he turned away from her, moving instead to drape herself over his couch, bosom still exposed.

Grimmjow glared at her from over his shoulder, snarling, trying to ignore the display on his sofa. But he was more carnal than the other Espada, and he was beginning to hate it. "Not when you're not fucking invited," he snapped, tearing his gaze back to whatever was outside the window.

He knew exactly why she'd visited. He admitted he'd been very pent up lately, and had hoped that spilling blood in the forest would release some of that frustration. But hunting was much different than what he wanted, what he needed, and damn Cirucci for knowing exactly how to make him better.

Cirucci sighed, idly tracing patterns on the arm of the sofa, the small bangle bracelets Noitora wore chinking together on her wrist, a soft noise. “But if Cirucci had to wait to be invited she’d never come, and that would be no fun.” The Arrancar kicked her legs idly, hakama falling to around her knees at the motion. She wasn’t used to have anything but stockings on her legs anyway. And in the back of her mind, Cirucci was betting with herself how long this would take, and what sort of methods she’d need to use.

She wouldn't give up, would she? Normally he'd let her continue, just to see how far she could push herself. He didn't want to play this game, especially not when it was Cirucci and not someone... else. Sure, he didn't connect sex with love, but today he was tired. Just not in the mood.

Growling, he whirled around and stalked back to the couch, grabbed her by the collar, and jerked her upright, keeping his eyes focused on hers. "Get. The. Fuck. Out." His tone was dangerous.

Cirucci met the Sexta Espada’s gaze coolly, eyes lidded as she looked up at him, hands coming up to wrap around his hands as she smiled.

“Testy, Grimmjow?” She asked, voice soft, soothing. She was capable of aggravating, of pushing, just as she was capable of smoothing, of calming, when she needed to be, and at this point calming was what she needed to be. “Get in a fight? Kill some things?” She asked, nails gently scraping across the inside of his wrists.

"I did," he answered, still snarling, eyes flashing. Oh, but it was so hard to ignore her expression, her little actions. Even if she didn't remember, rousing him seemed to come easily. Even if he didn't want it.

Disgusted, he threw her onto the couch, turning his back again to fume. "Just get the fuck out already!" His reiatsu flared just a little, angrily. "Unless you want me to tear you bloody!"

“No, Cirucci doesn’t want that.” The Privaron flounced on the couch, looking down at the fabric of Noitora’s uniform and fiddling at the chest, trying to see if there was any method to actually keeping her breasts in the damned thing. Nope. No good. At least she’d tried, she supposed. No blame on her part.

“But she has a question, if Grimmjow will hear her out?” She had noticed the rousing in his motions, the way he moved. Experience taught her how to detect the signs. Just a bit more, perhaps.

He considered shutting himself in his room until Cirucci got the hint and left, but instead he glanced back at her from over his shoulder. His glare didn't lessen. "What?" He practically spit out the word. He probably shouldn't have granted her even that, though. Ah well. They always said curiosity killed.

Cirucci’s face suddenly faded into a serious look. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, as if trying to get comfortable, one hand on her chest, fingers splayed, covering some of the view, though some still showed through her thin fingers. An attempt at modesty, though not for that purpose. “You said…” She began timidly, “… that with the pea- with Hinamori Momo, it was making love.” Her voice was a murmur. “What’s the difference?” This maneuver was dangerous, she knew that. But… eh, she did it anyway.

The mere mention of it, the memory... It was not what he needed at the moment. The frustration in his face evaporated, leaving behind dead seriousness. What was she trying to get at? Was she trying to depress him again?

"I didn't hurt her," he replied simply. "There was no anger in it." He only hoped that with an answer, she would leave him alone. Experience told him otherwise, but, well... He just had to wait and see.

"... None?" And she had to admit to actual surprise. She had expected some sort of sappy shit that would make her lose the mood entirely and want to go retch in a corner, to be honest. The puzzlement showed clearly on her face, no ruse. But at least the anger had left his face, and seriousness was better than anger. "... Then what was there?" That there was no anger... what did that leave? "No venting?" She supposed it left just the physical pleasure, but... what was that worth?

He smirked at her surprise. He knew when she was pretending and when it was genuine. This, amusingly enough, was real. "None."

Grimmjow leaned in toward her and grabbed her face with his hand. "But whores like you wouldn't understand," he sneered. "You're only good for a fuck. Somethin' men do in their free time. Know what I mean?" He pushed her against the back of the sofa, grip tightening. "Now, got anymore fucking questions?"

She did have more questions. “… Why not?” Cirucci was still confused. She knew nothing about emotions, particularly the ones Grimmjow was speaking of, and she had to admit, she was curious. Curious in the way one looks at something disgusting and wonders how it can be so. But that disgust was one of the farthest things on her mind right now, considering her hands had flown back to his wrists, though her grip was now more one of anxiety, firm, in case his grip tried to tighten on her jaw, which was already beginning to pain her and made speaking difficult.

Barking laughter escaped the Espada's lips then, both at her question and her caution as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "You deaf, Thunderwitch? I told ya, you wouldn't fucking understand. Stop tryin' before you hurt yourself."

He released her then, shaking out of her grip, and collapsed onto the other end of the couch, far away from her. He was tired of standing. Tired of so many things. Maybe he'd just sleep for the rest of the day. ...Once she left, of course.

“I’m not deaf.” She muttered, turning to face him, though not approaching closer, instead perching on the opposite arm of the couch, examining him carefully. Maybe he’d injured his skull. She crossed her arms again, staring at the Sexta Espada as if to bore through his reasonings. “Why can’t I understand?” She dropped her method of speaking, serious toned, though still wary, ready to flee if she needed to. “Because I sleep with more than one person?”

"Eh." He shrugged. Well, he'd slept around too back in Hueco Mundo, but definitely not to the extent that she did. "You ain't attached to a particular one."

Had they fallen into normal conversation now, or something? This rarely happened, so the Espada had reason to believe that Cirucci had something up her sleeve. He just didn't know what it could be, and as loathe as he was to let her stay in his presence... he was curious.

“… I like some more than others.” Cirucci pointed out, frowning. This made her extremely annoyed, that he would think she couldn’t understand something, and it had turned into something like… almost as if she had to prove something. “And not just on the sole basis of sexual prowess.” The Arrancar idly fiddled with the fabric of the white hakama, still not used to anything being there. “There are other factors.”

He snorted derisively. Like that was possible. Like anything beyond fighting, provoking, and sex was possible for Cirucci. Okay, so what if Grimmjow didn't really know anything about her beyond her escapades with other arrancar? He never cared to know. And yet...

"Yeah? Do enlighten me."

"I will." Cirucci huffed, making a face of dislike at the Sexta Espada. As if it had everything to do with sexual prowess. "Personality factors in." She noted first. "For example, let's look at..." The Privaron thought for a moment. "Dordonii." She made a face. "He is attractive, yes, but I find his personality entirely too flashy." It could be said Cirucci did not like those whose personlities bordered too closely with her own. "And then there's Yammi, you know." A face of disgust. "Nasty little personality, don't you agree? Entirely too brutish."

His smirk widened. "Good to know you at least have some standards."

He sat back against the sofa's arm, lounging again now that they discussed a topic he was used to: the ridiculing of his colleagues. It was just like Hueco Mundo, except in the City, of course.

"You know, Thunderwitch," he folded his hands behind his head, "if you don't like 'em, don't do 'em. That's just common sense."

“… Like I don’t realize that.” Cirucci scoffed, sliding down onto the seat cushion instead of sitting on the arm of the couch. “But I am Privaron, which ranks Esapada higher than me.” Though she hated admitting it. “And if it’s wanted, it’s either go with it or resist and risk further injury.” She shrugged, not seeing anything very wrong in the way things were. “Plus, I’d rather take care of some myself than have to deal with them exploding shit everytime I turn around.” Most of the time they were not allowed to leave Hueco Mundo, which made tensions run high. “… So I can either be not entirely too picky with my partners, or I can let myself be chosen. Which sounds more preferable to you, Grimmjow Jaggerjack?”

He laughed again, at her admission to being weaker, at her admission to anything. They never really talked like this before, have they? It was amusing to him, to say the least, to have a perfectly normal conversation with Cirucci. And that discluded the actual topic.

"Hey, if being chosen works, it works." He put his feet up on the coffee table, watching the laptop's screensaver float across lazily for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the Privaron. "I don't think I'll ever get used to seein' you in Noitora's clothes. 'Course, I guess it's better than seeing him in yours. That's just fucked up."

“… Being chosen means I could end up with someone I very much distaste, and unless they’re Espada, I don’t compromise in that area.” Cirucci said with a smirk. Espada were the only ones she allowed to pull rank on her, though the Numeros tended to try more.

Looking down at herself, Cirucci allowed herself a laugh. “You didn’t wake up to him in your dress.” She muttered, still fiddling with the fabric, feeling weighed down by all the extra folds of white. “… He wanted me to curl his hair!”

Grimmjow gave her a look of utter horror. "That's just fucked up!" He turned his head slightly, gaze falling on nothing in particular, and blinked at the very mental image of Noitora with a curling iron. The Sexta Espada just shook his head, incredulous. "Fucked up. Just fucked up."

He looked back at Cirucci. "You didn't actually curl his hair, did you?"

A wicked grin crossed Cirucci’s face and she adjusted her seat on the couch, changing positions a few times before ending up sitting crouched, back against the couch backing. “And if I did?” She laughed.

He shuddered visibly. "I always knew he was a freak."

Shrugging again, he leaned back against the couch, watching the Privaron carefully. She was getting closer to him. Did she feel she was any safer now that she'd gotten him in a tolerable mood? If so, she should think again.

“He’s gentler than your brothers.” Cirucci pointed out, nodding thoughtfully. “And he lets me top sometimes-”

She suddenly cut off as if a thought had suddenly occurred to her. “You got me off topic, Grimmjow!” She admonished, the precarious hold Noitora’s uniform had held on her breasts all but gone. Again. “We were talking about love making, and you are supposed to be telling me about it.” She was slowly shifting back into the coy, back to her original purpose for coming here.

He didn't bother averting his eyes from her chest as she snapped at him, and when he finally turned his focus back to her face, the smirk returned. Oh well. When it came to Cirucci, simple conversation never lasted, anyway. "Nah. It's not like you'd ever experience it firsthand, anyway."

At least she'd gotten back on track. If that had kept up, he would've probably gone to sleep after kicking her out the door.

“And you still haven’t said why I can’t do that, either~” Cirucci pouted a little, toying with her hair as she spoke, removing the black waves from their twin ties and letting it cascade down to her shoulders, fingers twining in and out as she spoke. “And you haven’t said what it’s like, besides not angry~”

Ah. So it begins.

"You can't make love unless you love someone," he stated flatly, as if it was the most common knowledge. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, using it to pull her towards him, not caring how much it hurt. "As for what it's like," a sneer, cocky and hateful, "it's intoxicating."

Cirucci bit her lip to keep from wincing, but she stopped her movement by bracing her palms against the arm of the sofa behind him, mere inches from contact. “But…” The Privaron whispered huskily, “how intoxicating, Grimmjow?”

As the last syllable slipped out, he crushed his mouth against hers, but there was no want or love involved, only hate. Always hate.

Pulling back with a snarl, Grimmjow pushed off the couch, forcing the Privaron to fall backwards at the opposite end with him looming over her, one hand still in her hair. The other hooked under the fabric where it buttoned at her hole. "You," his tone was feral, "will never know."

With one sharp tug, he tore Noitora's top to shreds, exposing Cirucci. The Sexta Espada grinned insanely.

Cirucci made a low noise in the back of her throat against his mouth, one leg, not bare for once, rising to rub against his thigh. “Mmm~ Noitora is going to be angry with you…” She whispered hoarsely, not at all disturbed by this sudden change of position. Her eyes closed for a moment. This was what she was used to. And the rush of power, of being overpowered, fighting that power… oh, but that was something that made her blood sing.

The Privaron’s arms twined around the Sexta Espada’s shoulders, nails digging into his back and she spoke, soft and low. “And why not, hmm?” She murmured, teeth nipping at the underside of the other Arrancars neck. “Because I’m a whore, is that why? Can sluts not make love?”

"You will get no love from me."

Even so, he caught her lips in a bruising kiss, grunting softly as he struggled with her hakama, not caring if it ripped in his haste to undress her. It vaguely occurred to him that these were Noitora's and not Cirucci's clothes, but it never mattered before. Noitora would just have to find new clothes.

“Didn’t answer the question, Grimmjow…” Cirucci murmured against his mouth, not exactly making his job any easier, teasing by continually shifting her hips, moving the ties of the hakama enough to make it harder on him. “I didn’t say you~”

Snarling, he sat up a little and backhanded her across the face, then took the moment of her shock to remove the hakama with less fuss and tear. His own clothes fell to the floor. He spread her legs and held them apart, leaning down to hiss into her ear, "I don't have to tell you shit." Without warning, he pushed into her.

Cirucci hissed as his hand connected with her face, biting back a louder noise and allowing him to fumble with the ties of her hakama without further resistance. She knew when and when not she was able to protest and tease.

The Privaron almost rolled her eyes at the sudden cut to the chase, body pliable under him from experience and a usual readiness. She couldn’t remember if it had always been like this. Well, no matter. Her body curled inward against him, now clad only in the tattered remnants of Noitora’s upper uniform, the bangles on her wrists jingling at the movement. “As long as you’re fucking me I don’t see you being able to stop me~” Cirucci murmured, hands clasped tighter around his shoulders and nipping hard at his ear.

Grimmjow, however, rolled his eyes at her before dipping his head to kiss the crook of her neck. There was no reason to say anything else as he moved; words were unnecessary. His mouth traveled over her neck and shoulder and collarbone, nipped at her jawline. His hands too roamed restlessly, fingers stroking the rim of her hole.

The Privaron couldn’t help but shudder, not only at the usual reactions, but to the touch at the exceedingly sensitive skin that marked them as what they were, former Hollows.

“Grimmjow~” She crooned, half a moan and half a breathy whisper, of encouragement, of pleasure. But she couldn’t help smirking against his hair, pulling him closer. He never could resist her long.