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tampered2007-02-08 11:32 pm
garrisoned.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-02-08 11:32 pm
Log; Complete
When; February 8th, Afternoon
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Il Forte Grantz![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
garrisoned & Cirucci Thunderwitch thunderwitch
Summary; Il Forte and Cirucci discuss what has become of their leader and future goals, among... other things.
Log;
Cirucci sighed gently, shifting about in her bed that, for once, held the warmth of another person. Not so much warmth, considering his state of death, but… a body. Which, for this Arrancar, was strange. For as much as Cirucci did sexually, she never, if she could help it, took them in her own bed. Call it shreds of morals, the only tint she had left of shame, but she just avoided it, going to them, even rather doing it anywhere else but her own living space. And yet here he was.
“Il Forte?” The Privaron murmured softly, propping herself up on her elbows and looking at the Numero lying next to her. The last few days… had been hard. Aizen-sama punishing them… the fracturing of their own bonds to the family… being played against each other by their master… some leaving, defecting… it was so much.
Il Forte's eyes slid open at the sound of his name, coming into focus to see a small, black spider spinning its web high on the wall of the bedroom. The Privaron beside him was close enough that he could feel her warmth, a stark contrast from the constant cold he had grown used to. He didn't turn over to look at her, didn't give any indication that he was awake for a long time, turning things over in his head. Things like Aizen-sama. He frowned, casting a withering look at the arachnid on the wall before closing his eyes again, turning his face into the pillow, irritated. "What." It came out shorter than he had intended, which only served to annoy him further. He had always been quick to anger, but since his arrival to the city it had worsened tenfold. Even still, he refused to budge, refused to indicate that this was the case, refused to take it out on the Privaron as he had done in the past, because recently doing so had only given an edge to the mounting feeling of weakness that tore into him as surely as the metronome ticking of the City.
The Privaron paused, noting his sharpness. But that was to be expected. Taken in stride. She was used to anger, to be received with such. She moved slowly, with uncommon softness, gently caressing the side of his face he exposed by turning into the pillow, the skin slightly puckered as it fell back into his hairline, tendrils of scar tissue proof of the punishment he had received from Aizen Sousuke. It was a shame, really, Il Forte has always had such a pretty face. But he wasn’t one of her favorites for his physical attributes alone, and she had only grown more fond of him here in the City, as he remained the one she could trust to behave as she was accustomed.
“How the mighty have fallen…” She whispered, referring to their lord. What he had done, rather than cementing their subservience, had only served to cement in her mind that the weakness he had developed here would never leave him.
"He has become filth himself." The Numero murmured, allowing none of his present irritation to seep into his words. The response had become mechanical by now, old and dull and overused. He shifted, turning more on his back to snake his arm around the waist of the Privaron. The gesture was overly affectionate, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Her warmth was soothing. Fuck, she was soothing, just her presence recently, since being near her had come to mean silence in his head. Her voice could be stopped, by his lips against hers or his hands around her throat. There was no such defense against the ticking, and so he had come to prefer her company over solitude. It was unnatural, but relatively harmless in comparison to what this place had done to the others. His gaze lingered on the pale curve of her neck as the silence stretched on, before he spoke again. "What will you do if you return?"
Cirucci moved closer, body compliant under his arm. He was sullenly cold against her skin, except where they touched, when his body warmed from hers. And to say she did not welcome the silence, the void from the ticking of the clock, would be a downright lie.
“I’m not sure.” She answered honestly, leaning to press her lips against the side of his face, murmuring in his ear, words soft. The one thing Il Forte did not like was her being loud, and she had no desire to aggravate him, not now. Not in a long while, it seemed. “… If he were to return to how he was, I would follow him as we all did before…” Her breath ghosted against his ear. “… But if he is still like this… I came here just as I felt the Quincy’s arrow begin to pierce my breast… so I suppose it won’t matter.”
He shuddered at her breath against his ear, turning his head to press soft kisses along her jaw. "Would you let me kill you?" He asked, more out of curiosity than anything, but his tone was serious, lips moving against her skin as he spoke. He did not need permission to kill her if he desired to, at least not in his own mind, but he wondered nonetheless. Death here meant life where there should not be any, and life in this place meant not having to return to a tainted leader, nor having to suffer the shame of dying at the hands of filth. He pushed back any memory of his own death before it had the opportunity to arise, biting gently at the place he had just kissed.
She bared her neck, a low hum gathering in the back of her throat, eyes closing, calm, even at the sudden question. Would she? Cirucci did not reply at first, one hand absently running through the other Arrancar’s long blonde hair, thinking back to a conversation that had left her unnerved. Urahara Kisuke, former captain of the 12th… one who knew this Quincy… who told her he may very well have spared her life. To what… she’d felt the Seel Schneider begin to pierce her breast… and if it wasn’t meant to kill… her saketsu chain. … If it severed that… she would be powerless, her mask fragment would break… and she-
“If need be, you would be the one to do it.” Cirucci finally answered, voice almost just an exhaled breath. “I’d rather stay here dead than return to servitude under him in Hueco Mundo as he is now… rather here than prey to a human.”
Il Forte found a sense of satisfaction from her answer. Their reasoning was nearly identical, an affirmation that they have both maintained their sanity -- or lack thereof. He slid his hand into the Privaron's hair, pulling her down for a slow kiss. "Just say the word, then." He nearly purred against her lips, letting his hand drop from her hair to wrap loosely around her neck, a clarification where none was needed. Taking orders wasn't something that appealed to him currently, not even from Aizen-sama himself, but this one he wouldn't mind carrying out. With that thought, he rolled the Privaron onto her back, shifting to hover over her as he kissed down her neck, hands coming to rest on her hips.
Cirucci was constantly reminded what had earned this one the top of her list. Her arms slipped around him, under his arms, fingers lightly tracing the hole in his chest that mirrored the one just below and between her breasts, what marked them for who they were. Arrancar. Her neck remained bared, head tipped back into the pillows, even as she spoke in breathy tones. “And if he leaves, dear~” She did so love that nickname. “If he leaves and we remain, you know what we can do…” And that very thought was enough to send shudders through her body. “… we can kill shinigami again.”
A low groan escaped his lips, partially from her fingers moving along the space in his chest and partially for her words. He pressed her down further into the mattress, kisses becoming more demanding as the scars on his face and Aizen-sama's punishments were all but forgotten for the moment. "The whore first." He smirked cruelly, words muffled against her skin. "The sixth vice captain..." Another sound slid from the back of his throat, mouth against her ear as he spoke.
His name slipped from her lips with the escape of breath, and she sought to bring him closer, closer, wanting to share her warmth, and share in this delightful plan- hope- dream… “The peach…” Cirucci moaned, one leg slowly rubbing against his own. “And then the science experiment~” The very idea was almost driving her mad, raising her fervor at the hope that they could kill who they were meant to kill, bathe in their blood, delight in it, the carnage, the slaughter, the fight. For it had been denied them so long… and she was exceedingly jealous that her lover had been able to taste the death blood of Hinamori Momo.
Mind racing with old zealotry reignited, the one feeding him these ideals pressed between himself and the mattress, Il Forte was more than willing to comply with the Privaron's urging him closer. The last remnants of coherence disintegrated as images of carnage coursed through his head.
***
Later, as the two lay side by side, the Thunderwitch having drifted to sleep, the Numero's eyes drifted towards the ceiling where the spider had been. The web, now complete, glistened with the fading afternoon light from the window. It was empty, the opportunity for an unsuspecting fly to ensnare itself had not yet arose… But it would, and when it did, the spider would take its prey swiftly and mercilessly.
Il Forte had never before felt such a sense camaraderie with another creature.
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Il Forte Grantz
garrisoned & Cirucci Thunderwitch thunderwitchSummary; Il Forte and Cirucci discuss what has become of their leader and future goals, among... other things.
Log;
Cirucci sighed gently, shifting about in her bed that, for once, held the warmth of another person. Not so much warmth, considering his state of death, but… a body. Which, for this Arrancar, was strange. For as much as Cirucci did sexually, she never, if she could help it, took them in her own bed. Call it shreds of morals, the only tint she had left of shame, but she just avoided it, going to them, even rather doing it anywhere else but her own living space. And yet here he was.
“Il Forte?” The Privaron murmured softly, propping herself up on her elbows and looking at the Numero lying next to her. The last few days… had been hard. Aizen-sama punishing them… the fracturing of their own bonds to the family… being played against each other by their master… some leaving, defecting… it was so much.
Il Forte's eyes slid open at the sound of his name, coming into focus to see a small, black spider spinning its web high on the wall of the bedroom. The Privaron beside him was close enough that he could feel her warmth, a stark contrast from the constant cold he had grown used to. He didn't turn over to look at her, didn't give any indication that he was awake for a long time, turning things over in his head. Things like Aizen-sama. He frowned, casting a withering look at the arachnid on the wall before closing his eyes again, turning his face into the pillow, irritated. "What." It came out shorter than he had intended, which only served to annoy him further. He had always been quick to anger, but since his arrival to the city it had worsened tenfold. Even still, he refused to budge, refused to indicate that this was the case, refused to take it out on the Privaron as he had done in the past, because recently doing so had only given an edge to the mounting feeling of weakness that tore into him as surely as the metronome ticking of the City.
The Privaron paused, noting his sharpness. But that was to be expected. Taken in stride. She was used to anger, to be received with such. She moved slowly, with uncommon softness, gently caressing the side of his face he exposed by turning into the pillow, the skin slightly puckered as it fell back into his hairline, tendrils of scar tissue proof of the punishment he had received from Aizen Sousuke. It was a shame, really, Il Forte has always had such a pretty face. But he wasn’t one of her favorites for his physical attributes alone, and she had only grown more fond of him here in the City, as he remained the one she could trust to behave as she was accustomed.
“How the mighty have fallen…” She whispered, referring to their lord. What he had done, rather than cementing their subservience, had only served to cement in her mind that the weakness he had developed here would never leave him.
"He has become filth himself." The Numero murmured, allowing none of his present irritation to seep into his words. The response had become mechanical by now, old and dull and overused. He shifted, turning more on his back to snake his arm around the waist of the Privaron. The gesture was overly affectionate, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Her warmth was soothing. Fuck, she was soothing, just her presence recently, since being near her had come to mean silence in his head. Her voice could be stopped, by his lips against hers or his hands around her throat. There was no such defense against the ticking, and so he had come to prefer her company over solitude. It was unnatural, but relatively harmless in comparison to what this place had done to the others. His gaze lingered on the pale curve of her neck as the silence stretched on, before he spoke again. "What will you do if you return?"
Cirucci moved closer, body compliant under his arm. He was sullenly cold against her skin, except where they touched, when his body warmed from hers. And to say she did not welcome the silence, the void from the ticking of the clock, would be a downright lie.
“I’m not sure.” She answered honestly, leaning to press her lips against the side of his face, murmuring in his ear, words soft. The one thing Il Forte did not like was her being loud, and she had no desire to aggravate him, not now. Not in a long while, it seemed. “… If he were to return to how he was, I would follow him as we all did before…” Her breath ghosted against his ear. “… But if he is still like this… I came here just as I felt the Quincy’s arrow begin to pierce my breast… so I suppose it won’t matter.”
He shuddered at her breath against his ear, turning his head to press soft kisses along her jaw. "Would you let me kill you?" He asked, more out of curiosity than anything, but his tone was serious, lips moving against her skin as he spoke. He did not need permission to kill her if he desired to, at least not in his own mind, but he wondered nonetheless. Death here meant life where there should not be any, and life in this place meant not having to return to a tainted leader, nor having to suffer the shame of dying at the hands of filth. He pushed back any memory of his own death before it had the opportunity to arise, biting gently at the place he had just kissed.
She bared her neck, a low hum gathering in the back of her throat, eyes closing, calm, even at the sudden question. Would she? Cirucci did not reply at first, one hand absently running through the other Arrancar’s long blonde hair, thinking back to a conversation that had left her unnerved. Urahara Kisuke, former captain of the 12th… one who knew this Quincy… who told her he may very well have spared her life. To what… she’d felt the Seel Schneider begin to pierce her breast… and if it wasn’t meant to kill… her saketsu chain. … If it severed that… she would be powerless, her mask fragment would break… and she-
“If need be, you would be the one to do it.” Cirucci finally answered, voice almost just an exhaled breath. “I’d rather stay here dead than return to servitude under him in Hueco Mundo as he is now… rather here than prey to a human.”
Il Forte found a sense of satisfaction from her answer. Their reasoning was nearly identical, an affirmation that they have both maintained their sanity -- or lack thereof. He slid his hand into the Privaron's hair, pulling her down for a slow kiss. "Just say the word, then." He nearly purred against her lips, letting his hand drop from her hair to wrap loosely around her neck, a clarification where none was needed. Taking orders wasn't something that appealed to him currently, not even from Aizen-sama himself, but this one he wouldn't mind carrying out. With that thought, he rolled the Privaron onto her back, shifting to hover over her as he kissed down her neck, hands coming to rest on her hips.
Cirucci was constantly reminded what had earned this one the top of her list. Her arms slipped around him, under his arms, fingers lightly tracing the hole in his chest that mirrored the one just below and between her breasts, what marked them for who they were. Arrancar. Her neck remained bared, head tipped back into the pillows, even as she spoke in breathy tones. “And if he leaves, dear~” She did so love that nickname. “If he leaves and we remain, you know what we can do…” And that very thought was enough to send shudders through her body. “… we can kill shinigami again.”
A low groan escaped his lips, partially from her fingers moving along the space in his chest and partially for her words. He pressed her down further into the mattress, kisses becoming more demanding as the scars on his face and Aizen-sama's punishments were all but forgotten for the moment. "The whore first." He smirked cruelly, words muffled against her skin. "The sixth vice captain..." Another sound slid from the back of his throat, mouth against her ear as he spoke.
His name slipped from her lips with the escape of breath, and she sought to bring him closer, closer, wanting to share her warmth, and share in this delightful plan- hope- dream… “The peach…” Cirucci moaned, one leg slowly rubbing against his own. “And then the science experiment~” The very idea was almost driving her mad, raising her fervor at the hope that they could kill who they were meant to kill, bathe in their blood, delight in it, the carnage, the slaughter, the fight. For it had been denied them so long… and she was exceedingly jealous that her lover had been able to taste the death blood of Hinamori Momo.
Mind racing with old zealotry reignited, the one feeding him these ideals pressed between himself and the mattress, Il Forte was more than willing to comply with the Privaron's urging him closer. The last remnants of coherence disintegrated as images of carnage coursed through his head.
***
Later, as the two lay side by side, the Thunderwitch having drifted to sleep, the Numero's eyes drifted towards the ceiling where the spider had been. The web, now complete, glistened with the fading afternoon light from the window. It was empty, the opportunity for an unsuspecting fly to ensnare itself had not yet arose… But it would, and when it did, the spider would take its prey swiftly and mercilessly.
Il Forte had never before felt such a sense camaraderie with another creature.