ext_265180 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2007-03-08 09:47 pm
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-03-08 09:47 pm
Log; Complete
When; March 8th, afternoon/evening
Rating; Um, NC-17?ish?
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Grimmjow {6thsword}
Summary; How does one compensate for the fact that a curse makes you head over heels in love with your favorite lover and you're not supposed to be able to love anyway? You go have sex with someone else to convince yourself otherwise, of course. (Actually, I also kinda lost a bet and as punishment had to do a smut log, sooo... forgive me D:)
Log;
She compensated with sex. It’s what she’d always done. And it never meant anything, it was just that. Sex. For pleasure, for recreation, for just something to do. And it aggravated her, that the curse from yesterday made her feel as if it should be something more, should be about something, should be with someone special, should be-
Well, the obvious way to combat those… rebellious thoughts was to rebel against them and do as she’d always done. So she found herself at Grimmjow’s door, arms crossed under her chest after knocking once sharply. … She’d never been keen on inviting men into her own bed, only Il Forte had- And she stopped herself right there, refusing to dwell on anything that remotely reminded her of what she had felt yesterday, of the love that had swelled in her heartless breast. Because it didn’t belong there, and this was her acting out, denying it, that it had ever happened, and that it had ever affected her. Almost sighing, the Privaron pressed against the door, listening. Was he coming to the door, or wasn’t he?
Grimmjow yanked the door open, quite surprised to find Cirucci pressed against it—listening?—for a split second before she tumbled across the doorway and into his arms. Smirking in amusement, the Espada pulled her upright and shut the door.
"So eager, Witch?" he said with a mocking lilt in his voice, head quirked lazily. His eyes laughed at her ruffled expression. "You arrived faster than expected."
Her hands found places flat against his chest, almost as if she meant to push him away, and for a moment, her gaze faltered. But she quickly recovered, fingers slinking across the planes of his muscles and inching under his uniform jacket, fingernails scraping lightly.
“Always eager, Grimmjow, come now~” She murmured, for the moment avoiding eye contact. “Did you expect anything else?”
His smirk faded at her hesitation and twisted into a sneer. He roughly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Head still tilted slightly, he searched her face and eyes for any hint of doubt, almost asking, The fuck is wrong with you today? But instead he crushed his mouth against hers in a less-than-chaste kiss.
The Thunderwitch’s eyes had averted, refusing to meet the Espada’s gaze and trying to quash the feeling welling up in her throat that was trying to tell her that there was something wrong with this, that she should know better, before she had forced herself to look him in the eye, sensing his question and opening her lips to speak but that option too was lost to her with his mouth on hers.
She made a low noise in the back of her throat, almost a grunt, fingers spasming for a moment against his chest and nails digging in as she stepped back reflexively only to find the closed door in her way.
Cornered and pinned. Just how he liked it.
Grimmjow didn't care if Cirucci had spoken, had answered his question, or whatever million other things she was capable of doing. She was going to hesitate? Fuck that shit. She was his for the night and there would be no doubt about it in her mind. His hands roamed over her hips and up her sides, fingers groping for the snaps at the front of her uniform. Once found, he unfastened them, then proceeded to tug and tear at her clothes to pull them off. He always hated her uniform. It was such a chore to remove.
Cirucci always had to work to make sure Grimmjow never tore her uniform up much; making her wonder if he really was all power and no finesse. But it was the power that mattered, and she resigned herself to helping him, one hand leaving his chest to dance down his arm and to his hand, deftly maneuvering the white cloth out of the way without rip or tear, baring herself.
“Watch it.” She managed to break the kiss for air, though she didn’t need it, used it to murmur breathlessly instead, her other hand twining in his bright hair as she awkwardly tried to push away from the front door.
He offered a snarl as his answer, dropping his mouth to her neck, teeth grazing lightly over her skin. He did allow her to move away from the door, taking a step back before grabbing her hips with both hands and hoisting her off the floor so that all she could do was cling to him.
Grimmjow glanced over at the bedroom door, wondering how many steps it would take to reach it, then proceeded towards it with Cirucci in his arms. He kicked the door open, not even flinching as it slammed against the wall with a splintering thud, and unceremoniously dumped the Privaron onto his bed.
The Privaron did cling to him, arms wrapped tightly about his neck and legs about his waist, trying to distract her mind, damn it for being so thoughtful at the moment, trailing nips along his neck to his shoulder, giving a small squawk of indignation at being dropped. And her gaze slipped once more, hand flying to the hole just beneath and between her breasts that marked her lack of heart, a brief expression of doubt or shame, something, marking her face. This wasn’t right, this didn’t feel the same, didn’t feel as good. Scrambling to hide such thoughts, shameful in their own right, Cirucci stretched languidly, eyes hooded.
“Been a while.” She smirked, trying to kick herself back into her normal attitude, hands reaching up to begin letting down her hair.
One hand thumbed the curve of her throat, a subtle threat, a prelude to danger if she weren't already dead.
"Il Forte needs to stop hogging you, Witch," Grimmjow commented offhandedly, withdrawing his hand so he could shrug out of his jacket. He then lowered himself onto the bed beside Cirucci, fingers wrapping around the rest of her uniform and pulling all of it off. He kissed her again, hand running up the inside of her thigh. "You don't belong to him, after all."
She shuddered, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. No, it… her body still felt the same. Still responded the same, still felt as good. But why did he have to mention the Numeros… why now? A slight moan escaped her, both at the feeling and the mention of her favorite.
“Who do I belong to?” She whispered suddenly, shifting position to hands and knees to slink closer and half-straddle the Espada, hands starting for now at his shoulders, lips near his, though she spoke against his mouth. “Who claims me?”
"No one," he replied simply. His hands had rested on her hips again, and with feral grin he yanked her down to grind against him, teasing her with a touch that did not touch; his hakama barred contact. He suppressed a grunt, growling, "You are ours to share."
Then, quite matter-of-factly, he pushed Cirucci to the side and onto her back, rising to shed the rest of his clothes. Those dropped to the floor, and he returned to her lips and her touch, hands pulling and pushing at every inch of skin. Teeth sunk into the flesh of her shoulder.
She’d bit his bottom lip when he’d teased her, letting out a slight grunt of dissatisfaction that his hakama were still in the way. Sharing… her eyes lost focus and in that moment she found her world reversed, staring up instead of down, almost non-responsive for a few seconds. Sharing, that was right, that was the way it had always been, the way it would always be… she liked that… she did. Cursing the City’s curses with violent inner thoughts, Cirucci turned her attentions back to Grimmjow, though she couldn’t seem to bring herself to focus fully with her mind, however her body responded, writhing beneath him, hissing a name as his teeth bit into her. … But it wasn’t his name she’d grit out, and it was evident she’d realized her mistake as she suddenly froze, body locking. … She’d never said the wrong name before-
Grimmjow froze, then slowly lifted his head to bear fury onto her gaze. What was that? Certainly not his name. The last time he'd checked, he was Grimmjow Jaggerjack, not—
One hand pressed against her chest while the other wrapped around her throat. "What was that, Witch?" the Espada snarled, teal eyes burning. The fingers around her throat squeezed slightly, just enough to prevent her from speaking. He didn't want her to speak. Instead, without further warning, he buried himself into her until he could go no further. A hiss escaped from between his grit teeth.
A strangled choking noise was all that escaped her, eyes wide with something akin to both fear and shame, mouth hanging open as she tried to speak, hands trying to pry his from her throat. But despite the look on her face, the emotion of fear, her body still responded as it always did, as she’d trained it to, through habit and use, locked muscles slowly relaxing around him and legs rising to wrap about his hips and bring him closer.
Trying to correct her mistake, and she knew she had made a grievous one, Cirucci slowly mouthed the Sexta Espada’s name, with only breath escaping for sound, fingers tightening on his wrist, face flushing.
The smirk returned at the expression on Cirucci's face, and Grimmjow loosened his grip on her throat as he picked up a steady pace. It had been a long time--at least, it had felt like it--since he'd fucked someone, and his eyes began to glaze over at the sparks of pleasure that crawled up his spine. But he kept his fingers around the Privaron's neck. If she so much as whimpered, the vice would tighten and choke her sounds.
Slowly Cirucci’s hands fell away from his wrist; they would do no good there. … She knew this game. To stifle noise she bit down on her lip, eyes fluttering between clenched shut and wide open, hips rising to match and meet his rhythm, one hand curling in the sheets beneath her and the other caressing the bone mask on the side of his face. She finally had to let her bite lessen, turning her head as much as she was able to pant lightly, making an effort to keep the low whine building in her soft and silent. She’d always been a vocal lover, he knew that, and she knew he knew it was hard for her to be quiet, making an attempt to force her noise out as breath and not small mewls of pleasure, legs squeezing a tighter grip around his middle, all the while he mind whispering soft accusations of shame and wrong.
Not quite satisfied, Grimmjow removed his hands from Cirucci's throat and chest and pushed one of her legs down into the mattress. From there he flipped her over onto her elbows and knees. Leaning over her, with hands on her hips, he kissed her spine before lowering his lips to her ear.
"Scream, whore," he hissed, pulling her backwards as he thrust hard. He bit into her shoulder again, stifling a groan.
“Grimmjo-“ She started to gasp out his name, it had been repeating over and over in her head, to make sure she did not repeat her mistake from before, though still she couldn’t stop her mind from going over the same path, recalling similar activities that had seemed so much more yesterday. Palms pressed against the sheets as she tries to raise herself from elbows, pushing against his thrust, a few muted moans escaping her before a low-pitched keen as he bit down on her shoulder once more, body shuddering against him, the noise held out, not quite a full scream so much as half a groan and gasp, sustained as the Privaron tried to buck against him but was prevented for the most part by his hands on her hips.
That was more like it. He liked it best when they screamed, when they begged. It only fueled his lust, and his pace quickened until he lost all sense of control. He forced her face into the sheets, his own buried into her hair, and proceeded to fuck her senseless. He couldn't help his moans as the inevitable began to pull at him from deep within, tension building and quite ready to release.
Cirucci lost herself in the feel, the sensation, the desire, the lust, because in that, she didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to wonder why this felt different, lacking, didn’t have to feel as if she were missing something now that she’d felt that useless emotion, didn’t have to think at all, cries muffled against the sheets, half-choked moans of his name, his, that she made sure of, and pants for breath, droplets of sweat forming on her body, clad only in stockings and her gloves. And she took comfort in the familiar feel of her form reaching it’s breaking point, clenching around him, her vision distorting as to make her eyes close and another low keen escape her as she reached her limit.
Not to be left behind, Grimmjow thrust hard a few more times before he finally came, a strangled shout ripping from his throat. Trembling slightly, he pulled his spent flesh from the Privaron and released his hold on her, sitting with his back turned to her. He glanced back at her from over his shoulder, allowed himself a half-groan, and lowered himself onto the bed beside her. He kept his back to her, however; for her mistake, she would not get any comfort from him.
As if she didn’t know she’d messed up. Cirucci lay motionless for a while, hands finally unclenching from sweat dampened sheets, struggling to sit up, legs weak under her. She took a few cautious breaths, slowing her non-existant heart rate, and stripping off her gloves and stockings with a grimace, tossing them over the side of the bed on top of her dress. With a small sigh she let herself flop back onto her side, back to the Sexta Espada as well. She knew him, knew he’d want more come later, and to attempt to leave was, at this point, exceedingly out of the question, as was a shower. So the Privaron closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, knowing at least that while fucking or sleeping she wouldn’t have to think about curses that made Arrancar learn emotions they were never meant to know.
Rating; Um, NC-17?ish?
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Grimmjow {6thsword}Summary; How does one compensate for the fact that a curse makes you head over heels in love with your favorite lover and you're not supposed to be able to love anyway? You go have sex with someone else to convince yourself otherwise, of course. (Actually, I also kinda lost a bet and as punishment had to do a smut log, sooo... forgive me D:)
Log;
She compensated with sex. It’s what she’d always done. And it never meant anything, it was just that. Sex. For pleasure, for recreation, for just something to do. And it aggravated her, that the curse from yesterday made her feel as if it should be something more, should be about something, should be with someone special, should be-
Well, the obvious way to combat those… rebellious thoughts was to rebel against them and do as she’d always done. So she found herself at Grimmjow’s door, arms crossed under her chest after knocking once sharply. … She’d never been keen on inviting men into her own bed, only Il Forte had- And she stopped herself right there, refusing to dwell on anything that remotely reminded her of what she had felt yesterday, of the love that had swelled in her heartless breast. Because it didn’t belong there, and this was her acting out, denying it, that it had ever happened, and that it had ever affected her. Almost sighing, the Privaron pressed against the door, listening. Was he coming to the door, or wasn’t he?
Grimmjow yanked the door open, quite surprised to find Cirucci pressed against it—listening?—for a split second before she tumbled across the doorway and into his arms. Smirking in amusement, the Espada pulled her upright and shut the door.
"So eager, Witch?" he said with a mocking lilt in his voice, head quirked lazily. His eyes laughed at her ruffled expression. "You arrived faster than expected."
Her hands found places flat against his chest, almost as if she meant to push him away, and for a moment, her gaze faltered. But she quickly recovered, fingers slinking across the planes of his muscles and inching under his uniform jacket, fingernails scraping lightly.
“Always eager, Grimmjow, come now~” She murmured, for the moment avoiding eye contact. “Did you expect anything else?”
His smirk faded at her hesitation and twisted into a sneer. He roughly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Head still tilted slightly, he searched her face and eyes for any hint of doubt, almost asking, The fuck is wrong with you today? But instead he crushed his mouth against hers in a less-than-chaste kiss.
The Thunderwitch’s eyes had averted, refusing to meet the Espada’s gaze and trying to quash the feeling welling up in her throat that was trying to tell her that there was something wrong with this, that she should know better, before she had forced herself to look him in the eye, sensing his question and opening her lips to speak but that option too was lost to her with his mouth on hers.
She made a low noise in the back of her throat, almost a grunt, fingers spasming for a moment against his chest and nails digging in as she stepped back reflexively only to find the closed door in her way.
Cornered and pinned. Just how he liked it.
Grimmjow didn't care if Cirucci had spoken, had answered his question, or whatever million other things she was capable of doing. She was going to hesitate? Fuck that shit. She was his for the night and there would be no doubt about it in her mind. His hands roamed over her hips and up her sides, fingers groping for the snaps at the front of her uniform. Once found, he unfastened them, then proceeded to tug and tear at her clothes to pull them off. He always hated her uniform. It was such a chore to remove.
Cirucci always had to work to make sure Grimmjow never tore her uniform up much; making her wonder if he really was all power and no finesse. But it was the power that mattered, and she resigned herself to helping him, one hand leaving his chest to dance down his arm and to his hand, deftly maneuvering the white cloth out of the way without rip or tear, baring herself.
“Watch it.” She managed to break the kiss for air, though she didn’t need it, used it to murmur breathlessly instead, her other hand twining in his bright hair as she awkwardly tried to push away from the front door.
He offered a snarl as his answer, dropping his mouth to her neck, teeth grazing lightly over her skin. He did allow her to move away from the door, taking a step back before grabbing her hips with both hands and hoisting her off the floor so that all she could do was cling to him.
Grimmjow glanced over at the bedroom door, wondering how many steps it would take to reach it, then proceeded towards it with Cirucci in his arms. He kicked the door open, not even flinching as it slammed against the wall with a splintering thud, and unceremoniously dumped the Privaron onto his bed.
The Privaron did cling to him, arms wrapped tightly about his neck and legs about his waist, trying to distract her mind, damn it for being so thoughtful at the moment, trailing nips along his neck to his shoulder, giving a small squawk of indignation at being dropped. And her gaze slipped once more, hand flying to the hole just beneath and between her breasts that marked her lack of heart, a brief expression of doubt or shame, something, marking her face. This wasn’t right, this didn’t feel the same, didn’t feel as good. Scrambling to hide such thoughts, shameful in their own right, Cirucci stretched languidly, eyes hooded.
“Been a while.” She smirked, trying to kick herself back into her normal attitude, hands reaching up to begin letting down her hair.
One hand thumbed the curve of her throat, a subtle threat, a prelude to danger if she weren't already dead.
"Il Forte needs to stop hogging you, Witch," Grimmjow commented offhandedly, withdrawing his hand so he could shrug out of his jacket. He then lowered himself onto the bed beside Cirucci, fingers wrapping around the rest of her uniform and pulling all of it off. He kissed her again, hand running up the inside of her thigh. "You don't belong to him, after all."
She shuddered, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. No, it… her body still felt the same. Still responded the same, still felt as good. But why did he have to mention the Numeros… why now? A slight moan escaped her, both at the feeling and the mention of her favorite.
“Who do I belong to?” She whispered suddenly, shifting position to hands and knees to slink closer and half-straddle the Espada, hands starting for now at his shoulders, lips near his, though she spoke against his mouth. “Who claims me?”
"No one," he replied simply. His hands had rested on her hips again, and with feral grin he yanked her down to grind against him, teasing her with a touch that did not touch; his hakama barred contact. He suppressed a grunt, growling, "You are ours to share."
Then, quite matter-of-factly, he pushed Cirucci to the side and onto her back, rising to shed the rest of his clothes. Those dropped to the floor, and he returned to her lips and her touch, hands pulling and pushing at every inch of skin. Teeth sunk into the flesh of her shoulder.
She’d bit his bottom lip when he’d teased her, letting out a slight grunt of dissatisfaction that his hakama were still in the way. Sharing… her eyes lost focus and in that moment she found her world reversed, staring up instead of down, almost non-responsive for a few seconds. Sharing, that was right, that was the way it had always been, the way it would always be… she liked that… she did. Cursing the City’s curses with violent inner thoughts, Cirucci turned her attentions back to Grimmjow, though she couldn’t seem to bring herself to focus fully with her mind, however her body responded, writhing beneath him, hissing a name as his teeth bit into her. … But it wasn’t his name she’d grit out, and it was evident she’d realized her mistake as she suddenly froze, body locking. … She’d never said the wrong name before-
Grimmjow froze, then slowly lifted his head to bear fury onto her gaze. What was that? Certainly not his name. The last time he'd checked, he was Grimmjow Jaggerjack, not—
One hand pressed against her chest while the other wrapped around her throat. "What was that, Witch?" the Espada snarled, teal eyes burning. The fingers around her throat squeezed slightly, just enough to prevent her from speaking. He didn't want her to speak. Instead, without further warning, he buried himself into her until he could go no further. A hiss escaped from between his grit teeth.
A strangled choking noise was all that escaped her, eyes wide with something akin to both fear and shame, mouth hanging open as she tried to speak, hands trying to pry his from her throat. But despite the look on her face, the emotion of fear, her body still responded as it always did, as she’d trained it to, through habit and use, locked muscles slowly relaxing around him and legs rising to wrap about his hips and bring him closer.
Trying to correct her mistake, and she knew she had made a grievous one, Cirucci slowly mouthed the Sexta Espada’s name, with only breath escaping for sound, fingers tightening on his wrist, face flushing.
The smirk returned at the expression on Cirucci's face, and Grimmjow loosened his grip on her throat as he picked up a steady pace. It had been a long time--at least, it had felt like it--since he'd fucked someone, and his eyes began to glaze over at the sparks of pleasure that crawled up his spine. But he kept his fingers around the Privaron's neck. If she so much as whimpered, the vice would tighten and choke her sounds.
Slowly Cirucci’s hands fell away from his wrist; they would do no good there. … She knew this game. To stifle noise she bit down on her lip, eyes fluttering between clenched shut and wide open, hips rising to match and meet his rhythm, one hand curling in the sheets beneath her and the other caressing the bone mask on the side of his face. She finally had to let her bite lessen, turning her head as much as she was able to pant lightly, making an effort to keep the low whine building in her soft and silent. She’d always been a vocal lover, he knew that, and she knew he knew it was hard for her to be quiet, making an attempt to force her noise out as breath and not small mewls of pleasure, legs squeezing a tighter grip around his middle, all the while he mind whispering soft accusations of shame and wrong.
Not quite satisfied, Grimmjow removed his hands from Cirucci's throat and chest and pushed one of her legs down into the mattress. From there he flipped her over onto her elbows and knees. Leaning over her, with hands on her hips, he kissed her spine before lowering his lips to her ear.
"Scream, whore," he hissed, pulling her backwards as he thrust hard. He bit into her shoulder again, stifling a groan.
“Grimmjo-“ She started to gasp out his name, it had been repeating over and over in her head, to make sure she did not repeat her mistake from before, though still she couldn’t stop her mind from going over the same path, recalling similar activities that had seemed so much more yesterday. Palms pressed against the sheets as she tries to raise herself from elbows, pushing against his thrust, a few muted moans escaping her before a low-pitched keen as he bit down on her shoulder once more, body shuddering against him, the noise held out, not quite a full scream so much as half a groan and gasp, sustained as the Privaron tried to buck against him but was prevented for the most part by his hands on her hips.
That was more like it. He liked it best when they screamed, when they begged. It only fueled his lust, and his pace quickened until he lost all sense of control. He forced her face into the sheets, his own buried into her hair, and proceeded to fuck her senseless. He couldn't help his moans as the inevitable began to pull at him from deep within, tension building and quite ready to release.
Cirucci lost herself in the feel, the sensation, the desire, the lust, because in that, she didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to wonder why this felt different, lacking, didn’t have to feel as if she were missing something now that she’d felt that useless emotion, didn’t have to think at all, cries muffled against the sheets, half-choked moans of his name, his, that she made sure of, and pants for breath, droplets of sweat forming on her body, clad only in stockings and her gloves. And she took comfort in the familiar feel of her form reaching it’s breaking point, clenching around him, her vision distorting as to make her eyes close and another low keen escape her as she reached her limit.
Not to be left behind, Grimmjow thrust hard a few more times before he finally came, a strangled shout ripping from his throat. Trembling slightly, he pulled his spent flesh from the Privaron and released his hold on her, sitting with his back turned to her. He glanced back at her from over his shoulder, allowed himself a half-groan, and lowered himself onto the bed beside her. He kept his back to her, however; for her mistake, she would not get any comfort from him.
As if she didn’t know she’d messed up. Cirucci lay motionless for a while, hands finally unclenching from sweat dampened sheets, struggling to sit up, legs weak under her. She took a few cautious breaths, slowing her non-existant heart rate, and stripping off her gloves and stockings with a grimace, tossing them over the side of the bed on top of her dress. With a small sigh she let herself flop back onto her side, back to the Sexta Espada as well. She knew him, knew he’d want more come later, and to attempt to leave was, at this point, exceedingly out of the question, as was a shower. So the Privaron closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, knowing at least that while fucking or sleeping she wouldn’t have to think about curses that made Arrancar learn emotions they were never meant to know.