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)
tampered2007-06-04 09:38 pm
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-06-04 09:38 pm
Log; Complete
When; May 31st, afternoon [backdated]
Rating; R/NC-17
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Alturo {winged_hubris}
Summary; Cirucci goes to meet this so-called "first Arrancar", to see for herself this power he says he possesses and the story he tells of being sealed beneath the Soukyouku.She also wants to see if he has truly never seen another Arrancar, let alone a female of their kind.
Log;
Cirucci was, to put it mildly, intrigued.
Someone who claimed to be the first Arrancar? It had to be impossible. But even sitting among the wreckage of her apartment, tired from holding her released form far too long, bleeding liberally, she had sensed the surge of power, the pulsing reiatsu, of his arrival.
Intriguing.
So she’d finally released her hold on Golondrina, let the sword seal back to its place on her hip, and cleaned up. Couldn’t meet a male bleeding from the hollow hole, it just wasn’t proper. Had to bathe first, redress. Had to be presentable, especially since he claimed he had never seen a female Arrancar, let alone any Arrancar in 2,000 years. A shame, that.
And it was intrigued still that she alighted in front of the carousel, the reverb of a sonido echoing at her small booted feet, eyes easily settling on the one she’d come to see.
Intriguing.
Alturo had not seen another Arrancar before, but the lady was unmistakeable as that. The reaitsu alone seperated her from the souls and senses he had caught in the hours since his arrival in this place that was neither Heuco Mundo nor soul society.
The lady Arrancar had a unique makeup about her and he observed her with pale amber eyes, noting the unique take on her uniform, vast in difference to his cleaner cut one. Cirucci radiated personality in her fashion sense, her cosmetics, and he would wager in ever step she made.
For one unaccustomed to anything but isolation, she was a beautiful thing and distracted in that, but Alturo shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest stiffly. He met her gaze and nodded, first to acknowledge and second to invite her closer to him, the first that he would let approach him in this City.
“Alturo~” She spoke smoothly, approached with all the grace her petite form possessed, stopped a foot in front of him and stood with one hand on her hip and blade, other hand idly snapping a garter as she looked him up and down. His reiatsu was strong, but there was something else there too, tingling at the edge’s of her senses.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch.” She said with a smirk, tossing back her thick black hair behind the white spike of bone on her skull, setting aside her own personal troubles for the moment. She was Arrancar, that was all she needed to think on now. An Arrancar who needed to investigate this newcomer and pass a judgment on whether he was worth currying favor with.
“105th Privaron Espada.”
Perception faded over centuries and so what bothered Cirucci evaded his notice, Alturo focused most upon the circumstances that troubled him. That being his location and the foolish notion that a shinigami ruled now over Arrancar that ought to have had their pride reject him.
"Alturo Plateado," he responded, an unnecessary gesture with her recognition, but one made nonetheless. Alturo brushed strands of aquamarine hair aside, pushing it past the remnants of a mask that stretched past his cheek, nothing near to asthetic as the lady had. An afterthought had him hold his hand to the lady, to lead her away from where he felt prying eyes or ears might learn that he did not want them to.
"Does ever Arrancar take such pride with these ranks I hear from each?" he queried coldly to her introduction of number and faction.
Ah, a gentleman. With a small shrug of her shoulders she took his hand, smaller one curling thin fingers about his own.
“Most.” She answered simply. “Espada most of all, since theirs is based on power, Numeros not so much, theirs is only ranking of order birthed, and Privaron with some degree of…” She sneered lightly, but tried not to let too much anger creep into a voice kept silky and calm. “Bitterness. Having one’s rank stripped will do that to one, no?~” The Arrancar kept it conversational for now, allowing herself to be lead.
Crowds of people made her hungry.
The chivalry ended when the worst of the crowds were evaded, the lead of his hand vague as Alturo pulled her aside, unfamiliar with the area and era.
He snorted to her description of rank, a cold anger filling the sharp laughter that followed. "What is the name of the fool that would rank a true Arrancar as without rank over those created by some toy?" he pressed, glancing intently to her.
The City had not been kind to Cirucci’s perception of their god, no. Once she had followed him without question, believed him fearless and without reproach. But here? He’d loved, he’d been human, expressed things she never wanted in a god. To say her loyalty wavered would be an understatement, though she still feared his power enough to never move openly against him.
“Aizen Sousuke.” She said as she noted his unfamiliarity with their locale, instead changing direction and leading him, away from the crowds and into the gardens in Xanadu, where foliage and greenery hid from others.
“Privaron became… obsolete, when he got his new toy.”
The City grew more complex and defied more logic the more that he saw of it. The idea of it being Hueco Mundo had fallen to dust with what he saw and learned, but it made no sense as the plane of the living and he had left soul society in ruin enough that it could not hope to have such gardens as she lead him to.
Aizen Sousuke, was it. Alturo narrowed his eyes and noted the name with no harbouring or respect. What interest he had was limited to how a shinigami could compare to an Arrancar, and then lead them. Foolhardy and overconfident, to his perception.
"No true Arrancar is obsolete," he growled, his hands clenching in reflexive anger. "Has he no respect for the strength it takes to remove one's mask?"
“Cirucci would agree~” She released him and sat on a nearby bench, crossing legs, arranging her short skirt, and leaning back to watch him as she spoke.
“But his new Espada are more powerful than Privaron, and thusly, we are displaced.” She had been nursing that grudge ever since she’d had the black mark on her breast ripped away, had two numbers added to her own, and been thrown to Tres Cifras.
“He’s not Arrancar. He can’t understand. Cirucci remembers what it takes. Privaron remember. The new Espada…” She trailed off with a knowing smirk. “Not so appreciative.”
Alturo laughed and raised his arms to cross them upon his chest, not one inch of his skin -- clothed or bare -- marked or scarred by the process of numbering that the new Arrancar were forced to. Even made to take pride in, by the bitterness in her words and tone.
"Then a lesson is due to them," he replied, disdain and confidence mixed in his voice and expression. "It will not be stood for that those who have the power inherent are ignored or put aside." The bitterness crept into his tone, the idea of true Arrancar being placed at the bottom of the chain an echo of his own being locked away as though he did not exist.
"What is it that makes them feel so powerful?" he asked, guarded and curious to know of the toy he had hear mention of.
“Their power.” Cirucci answered simply again, smirking coyly. She liked his attitude. And it seemed, if she played her cards right, that he could be quite beneficial to her. Currying favor had to be done.
“They can hold their release longer, fire ceros more powerful, bala quicker, sonido faster.” She idly inspected her neatly trimmed nails, noticed a fleck of her own blood under one, and frowned at it.
“The Hyougyouku is a rather impressive toy.” She looked up through her lashes, smirked again.
“But enough about ranks. What about Alturo?”
Alturo ignored the vanity for the words that she spoke, noted and remembered if not believed entirely. Not once did the idea that they could exceed his power occur to him with any serious connotations, these ranks and titles considered false grounds upon which they could boast.
Hyougyouku? That was the name of the toy that this Aizen used to create Arrancar? Then that would be his goal to attain, to keep a shinigami from playing god with Hollows and stealing all pride for his ego.
Alturo turned his gaze back to her features, an appeal in the midst of the strange beauty of the gardens -- life appealed little, but it flattered her in this setting. He smirked at her inquiry. "What is it that you wish to know?" he asked, no so ready to state his entire story, but perhaps a reward of information for what she provided him was in order.
“Truly you’re the first?” She asked, gesturing him closer with a beckoning finger as if she wished to examine him closer. “The very first?” She took in the sight. True, it wasn’t often she saw one with a mask like his, it was different than what she was used to, and the power? It thrummed, and she wanted to touch it.
“Cirucci remembers some of the others she found first, before Aizen, before his Arrancar.” Cirucci mentioned softly, remembering fondly days in darkness, not the blazing light and brightness of Aizen’s Hueco Mundo. “But she doesn’t remember you, and she’s been around a long while now.”
"There were none before me," Alturo confirmed. That pride and power would never be stripped from him, the superior feeling when he shed his Hollow form to become the first to stand in the approximation of human form, but with power beyond the dream of any of his day.
"There were also none when they sealed me away," he continued, his tone hardening and posture stiffening. He forced himself to move, approaching the lady slowly at her indication, the strong green manifesation of his reiatsu at his shoulders flickering with each step.
Alturo wanted to know how many had followed his path, how many had done as he and then she had done. Those who did it were the ones worth respect and notice, those were the ones he wanted to approach first. "How many in number were you?"
She stood as he approached, began to circle, almost predatory though she planned no attack. Then again, it was hard for Cirucci Thunderwitch to look as if she weren’t plotting something or another. And her intentions were never innocent.
“There were ten Espada, now Privaron.” She murmured, reaching out to run her pale fingers across the flickering emerald of his energy, wincing slightly, watching carefully, her own reacting against his.
“Now ten new Espada. We’ve lost a few Privaron to them.” There were gaps in the Privaron ranks now. Missing 101st, 107th…
“Countless Numeros.” Her fingers danced across his back to the other shoulder, watching the glimmering color carefully.
“Interesting.” She murmured under her breath.
Alturo followed Cirucci with his eyes, a pattern of caution and an interest that came with meeting another like him, and for the first time. Instinct told him to not turn his back to her, but he steadied himself and settled for watching her intently, amber gaze cast back over his shoulder as she circled.
"The Hougyouku creates them indiscriminately?" he asked, disgusted more than impressed with the prevalence of Arrancar. They had nothing on those who had torn their own masks asunder. What respect could they have for their own power, what pride for their ability, if it was so simple as a breath?
When her fingers grazed his shoulders and the sheen of green reiatsu at each, he felt an unfamiliar shudder etch its way through him. Cirucci's touch was the first to taste his power and hers melded and reflected against his without pattern. Turning his head to glance over the other shoulder, where her steps had drawn her, he smirked. "They intrigue the lady Privaron?"
“Aizen-sama selects them, as Hollows, which ones to turn, to change.” He did pick the ones he found most useful, there was that, but it was impossible to predict how they would turn out, what they would look like, their power levels… it was hit and miss at times. At least, until it was fully awakened, they were assured.
At the mention of the green energy he displayed so outwardly, she smirked lightly, noting his shudder with the raising of an arched brow. Interesting, indeed.
“They do~” She murmured, cautiously running her fingers across it once more. It burned lightly, the strength of it, and it was that that indicated to her he may just be as powerful as he claimed.
“Cirucci has never seen anything like it.”
The way her touch and reiatsu mixed and rejected his sent another shudder down his spine and
Alturo jerked slightly, an involuntary motion he covered with the haughty smirk. They were a bleedoff of his reiatsu, focused into the sharp green wing-like projections, but they lent an amusing allusion to an angel or devil above others.
"There is nothing like them; not in my time, nor in this time after breaking free of the seal," he replied, arms crossed over his chest.
Alturo disliked this mention of Aizen, each new bit of information distancing him further from the man who would be God to Hueco Mundo. "And his discretion functions well or poorly?" he pressed. "To have this many Arrancar, but so few of interest, it does not bode well for his judgement."
“Cirucci doesn’t know as much anymore. Fallen Espada are not often allowed outside the Tres Cifras zone.” The Privaron was skilled in noting body language, and she did indeed notice his effort to conceal another reaction. Now she just needed to know if that shudder was from discomfort or pleasure. He was somewhat difficult to read from this angle, thin digits still trailing small patterns in the air wreathed by his reiatsu.
“Most of his Arrancar are functional.” She admitted. “Numeros are mainly cannon fodder anyway, for his war against Soul Society.” Cirucci approached ever so slightly closer, bent a little to look closer at his reiatsu, the glow reflecting in her eyes.
“It’s the Espada that function best. Privaron ranked next in power, Numeros below them, and the few rejects without number or rank.”
The state of things is pathetic by her words, pride waylaid for commonplace attempts at true arrancar. Alturo felt his ire root itself more deeply in his mind, demanding response to this affront that greeted him, detailed by Cirucci.
Alturo jerked again as she closed the distance between them that slight bit more, the unfamiliarity not quite breeding contempt for her proximty. Two thousand years spanned an eternity for being alone and her presence comforted that, a pleasure after solitude.
"You are content with that, as though there is no escape," Alturo stated, holding his voice even, in contrast to the distraction of her presence. He turned and reached to rescue her hand from the pulsing reiatsu, pale fingers stretching to cover hers.
“… Cirucci learned that fighting the Espada only led to her own defeat.” She admitted, with a great deal of hesistance. “She learned that… it is best to curry favor with those she can, plot, and wait her chance.”
At the contact, she anchored, let her nails scrape lightly over his hand, and shrugged lightly, trying to play off her long-standing bitterness, her grudge, her years of hating the Espada, smiling at them, bedding them, and yet hating that number on their flesh, hating them for taking her place, and hating them for disgracing her, looking down on her, sneering from-
She tried to not think on that, though it was difficult, the wounds in the hollow hole aching, though self-inflicted in a rage, a sorrow, a crisis of her own existance.
“… Alturo may see their power soon, perhaps, if he wishes.”
Physical contact proved more difficult to withstand than the teasing traces of her power against his. Alturo clenched his hand tightly around hers and pulled the Privaron closer to him, eyes surveying her expression and the subtle hints that she washed away. Pity would never be an emotion he allowed, but nor was it anger or disdain that he looked upon her with.
"The days of skulking pitiously where you should have pride will not last," he said, a cold comfort. "Once I know their power, I will quash it like the shinigami bugs that stood before me."
Alturo smirked and raised her hand in a feint of chivalry, almost to press his lips against the back of her hand. "Cirucci standing alone may be nothing, but if you stood with me, they could ignore neither of us. I but need to see their power to know it is dwarfed by mine."
“Oh?~” Now this was interesting as well… such a very interesting fellow. Cirucci was no stranger to close contact, in fact, quite the opposite, the sensual was her element, her forte, and the mechanism she most often used to get her way, to curry favor, to keep herself thought of as some worthwhile, something to keep about even though most Privaron had been shuffled back to the Tres Cifras zone to rot. As long as she bedded those more powerful than herself, she had something to hold on to.
“Alturo plans to defeat them all, then?~” She murmured silkily, moved her fingers to brush across his mouth. She had hoped those two thousand years he claimed in solitude, and the fact that he’d never seen a female of their species, would work in her favor. Seemed she could be right.
Alturo pressed his lips firmly against her skin, a breath hissing from him at the gentle caress she granted him. His eyes flashed and he looked up at her, seeing more than an Arrancar rejected by Espada. Cirucci inspired a hunger in him unlike the one that had consumed him in the search for the Hougyoku. That could only be sated with power, but hers spoke of a more physical means.
"Those who defy me will be ground into dust," he replied, his other hand seeking her wrist, to feel that presence of another when it had been intangible for so long. "There will be those who see the benefit in submission to my name, preservation has always been a selfish key to all."
“Survival~” Cirucci whispered, a self-satisfied smirk on her painted lips. She pressed closed, until mere centimeters seperated them, looking up at him through her thick lashes, voice a silken caress in itself, husky, low.
“Survival of the… fittest?” She knew they all hungered, all Arrancar did. For violence, for the carnal, for the blood and cries and dominance. Her free hand reached up to run along the edge of his bone mask, tracing to his cheek.
“Survival of those of use to Alturo?~”
Alturo clenched his fingers around her wrist more tightly, his motion slow and deliberate as he drew his hand up her arm, learning the delicate feel of muscle there as his mouth learned the gentle wear on her fingertips.
The presence of her body tempted him to lean forward, pressing his height as he stood and looked down upon her features, tendered with cosmetic lines to accent her face. Alturo drew a steady breath to still himself against the touch upon his cheek, an air of restraint held to.
"Survival of those who are not fools in their defiance."
“Cirucci will tell you a secret then~” This was almost too easy. Not that she would complain. Some of the stronger ones were far too hard to seduce sometimes, honestly.
The Privaron finally pressed against him, all soft curves and gentle touch, breath murmuring lightly against his neck, still looking up to catch his gaze.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch is no fool.”
The pale hue of his eyes is denied her for an instant when his close in an effort to steady his body, tension tightening each muscle so that he could feel every curve she pressed against him.
Alturo released her hand and lifted his to touch the black marks on her cheeks, the heat of her breath warming his skin. "Nothing less expected of a lady with the strength to free herself from the confines of her mask," he breathed.
“Cirucci.” She insisted on her name, because that was what she wanted to hear from his mouth. Her name.
“Ah, but~” She teased, shifting against him but going no further as of yet, content to draw this out, make him wait a while. After all, if she was the first female he’d seen, well. Had to memorable, didn’t she?
“Cirucci hasn’t told you about the City yet, or the curses, the deities…” She listed them under her breath, close enough to his throat that each word brushed her lips against his skin.
Alturo responded to the minute motions of her body, awkward in comparison to the fluidity of her motion, but he craved more of her touch and sought to invite it. The craving grew worse with every touch of breath at his neck, the teasing of her lips distracting him from the thoughts that had consumed him.
"Cirucci," he spoke her name slowly, a breath taken to focus his perception of her enough to address the delays she whispered. "Cirucci will have ample oppurtunity to share this information with me," Alturo continued. "In detail, later, as she is no fool by her own words."
“Oh?~” Cirucci paused, let her free hand moved from his bone mask down the other side of his neck, idly tracing the edge of his uniform fabric, neatly trimmed nail pressing lightly into his flesh.
“Alturo wants to do something else now?~” She crooned, as if she had no idea the effect she was having on him, rousing in him. “Instead of hearing information now?~”
With a small laugh, she pressed against his hips.
“Hmm?~”
Alturo growled with both impatience and frustration, an ancient hunger not easily sated or stalled by her teases. His hand moved from her cheek, fingers splayed wide as he lowered it, catching on the curved trim of her neckline. The uniform she wore was unlike his, with more extravagence in contrast to the clean lines of white and faint trimmings of black. It hugged her body close, a detail he had noticed, but appreaciated again as his gaze wandered down her.
"There will be time to discuss," he argued, no fool to think the press of her hips had missed the erection that hardened with the sensual press of her body. Alturo laughed, a bitterness to himself, before he said his next words. "Two thousand years is long, Cirucci, I am able to craft patience to learn more in a few hours."
No, she most certainly had not missed that.
Cirucci laughed again, smirked, reached up to neatly undo the top snap on her collar with a small sound, a constant tease. She never liked cutting too quickly to the chase. No fun, and besides, there were enough arrancar in Hueco Mundo who just wanted their fuck before going on their merry way. No, she liked to play a little.
“Two~ Thousand~ Years~” She drawled, letting her fingers slip under his collar, exploring the contours of his shoulders. “An awful long time, yes. So… lonely~” She pouted lightly. “Cold.” And she was cold, a sullen coldness, dead. But that didn’t matter, because she could only find warmth in one thing anymore, and it was this very thing now. The friction between bodies, warmth.
Patience would not last long for the physical hunger, his fingers quick to work their way beneath the collar she exposed teasingly. Alturo froze when her hands found skin, his head rolling back in an instance of weakness to the pleasure, years of tension plying against her touch, left wonting.
"Fenniche staved off the cold for so long," he breathed, a hand dropping to the hilt of his zanpakuto. Alturo leaned his head forward, resting his chin on the black hair that topped her head, broken by the half-crown of bone that gave proof of her strength and existence. "But it…crept in, year frozen… until the Soukyoku burned me awake."
Alturo moved his hand to her hip, following the curve of it up, along her side and to her breast, a supple grip pressed upon it. "But alone no more," he said slowly. "Never again."
“Soukyoku?~” Cirucci breathed low, arching against him, curiosity piqued despite. She took in the name of his blade, at his hip opposite the hip she wore Golondrina on. Fenniche. The name was kept close along with the other blades she knew. Her own, Golondrina. Trepadora. Del Toro. Tijereta. Dragra. Giralda. All true forms, sealed away as blades.
“Tell Cirucci about that?~” She plied gently, incentive in the form of snapping free another clasp on her uniform, a stockinged leg stroking lightly against his thigh.
"The blade that the shinigami sealed me beneath," Alturo replied in slow words, no effort made to hide the venom that penetrated even the lust that came of tempted hunger. His cheek pressed against her hair and slid along it as his bent his neck further to touch his lips to her ear as he spoke. "Their great tool of execution was all that could restrain me, but it released me when they sought to use it."
Alturo clenched his hand upon her breast, gentle enough to massage the soft curve of flesh that fit well against his palm. His other hand rose and his fingers tried to free a third clasp to her uniform, not so willing to be teased and rewarded at her whims.
“When it got destroyed?~” Cirucci murmured, trying to think back on the stories they’d been told, the reports they’d read, on Soul Society, on how the man they followed had left, and the state it had been left in.
She tipped her head back to bare her neck, the snaps on her uniform, inviting, pliable against him and against his hands, soft in body, in word, but still with a chaotic fire and ice, burn and freeze, to her gaze. She gave herself often, but she always remained her own, gave body, not mind.
“Then Alturo was free, and ended up… here?~”
"An intruder," Alturo said with a distracted wave of his hand. "One who chose to interupt the execution and shattered the Soukyoku." The details of it had never mattered more than the fact it had freed him from the cold isolation with a hot wave of flame and power.
Those details remained unspoken, his attention rapt on the tender expanse of skin Cirucci invited him to. Alturo freed another clasp and lowered his head to trace his lips over her neck. That she could stop and fight him in an instant, her power restrained at her will, increased the heady arousal of being in the company of so flawless a body.
"No, I gathered first the pieces of the Soukyoku," he continued, pausing to press his teeth against her neck, sucking hard an instant and then soothing it with the touch of his tongue. "The shinigami were pawns to bring me the shattered remains to add to my power."
“So that’s what it is?” Cirucci sighed softly, made a noise, low, appreciative, in her throat, nearing a growl but not quite there, fingers brushing lightly against aquamarine hair.
“Cirucci wondered what that feeling was~” There was a tint to his power, something distinctively not-Arrancar, and that certainly explained the tingling in her flesh when she’d touched the bleed-off of his reiatsu, a hint of shinigami blade augmenting his own energy.
“And then… what did Alturo do?” She pressed with words even as she pressed with body, pressed him back against the edge of the bench she’d been sitting on earlier.
"Soul society lay before me, and Hueco Mundo would do the same," he continued, guided back by her steps. Alturo could not discern her expertise, not aware of the full extent that Cirucci manipulated him with those skills acquired by survival. He felt her body and the press of her reiatsu, sharp difference to the energy of shinigami that had surrounded him, and he longed for more.
Alturo felt also the bench press against his knees and he allowed himself to sink down onto it, hands falling to her waist to pull her atop his lap. "But instead of Hueco Mundo, I found this City," he growled lowly.
“Lay before you?~” Cirucci asked, small hands falling to his shoulders, bracing a moment at the change in heights, now she looking down slightly, not the other way around, bending to run her painted lips lightly across the edge of his bone mask, hands rising then to stroke against hair, neck as her legs adjusted on either side of his lap, stockings, bare leg, garters, against his hips.
“Surely Alturo does not mean…?” Surely he could not mean that as in… conquered? Soul Society, all conquered? By one? Impossible. Had to be.
The lady Privaron added to his distraction and his hands slid from her hips the more that she settled upon him. Alturo leaned his head to her attentions, drawing in air sharp and heavy to fill the breathless void Cirucci skillfully created. The skirt crumpled in his fists and creased as he pulled up and ran his fingers along her thighs.
Alturo grinned and laughed coldly, to an amusement held in his mind as he urged her hips to grind down upon him. "They gave me the power and I used it to lay them to waste," he confirmed. The shinigami there had not stood much chance against Alturo emboldened and empowered by the Soukyoku. "This surprises Cirucci?"
She wore a look of plain shock mingled with disbelief even as she brushed back against him, no light press, insistent, in control.
“… Leveled?” Surely… could that have happened, while she was here, here in this City? None of the other who had come had said such, but… could it have? Such an act would bring her so much sadistic joy, but… could it be believed?
“… All by yourself, Alturo?~” She tempered her gaze back down, wiping the disbelief from her features quicker than it had come, eyes lidded once more, tempting, teasing, inviting, reaching down to snap one of her garters audibly, let her fingers dance over his own and draw the short skirt up farther, exposing more of pale leg and flesh.
There it was, the proof he needed to know that she had not believed his power all that great. The expression that took her features said enough and it was with satisfaction that Alturo laughed and pulled the remainder of her skirt up. "There were no other Arrancar to see it happen, and no shinigami would be worth the alliance," he replied, touching his lips to her neck, a hand pulling open her uniform to share more of her pale skin.
"That is my power, Cirucci Thunderwitch." Alturo let out a low laugh and allowed his hand to delve between her legs, challenge to her control of this situation and a motion set to sate his craving for her body.
The more skin bared of her uniform, until the Hollow hole just below and between her breasts was visible, what made them what they were, heartless, heartless, souls, hers obviously recently wounded, the interior red from blood stains and sporting wounds, self-inflicted from the bones of her own talons.
She let out a high-pitched whine of a noise, curled around him and stretched to kiss fervently, wildly, strongly, trying to consider what he said. Was it possible? True, the Soukyouku… she could feel it in his reiatsu, in him, but was that enough? It was a terribly large… boast, he spoke of, after all. Destroying Soul Society? … She didn’t know what to believe, though the doubt was still ever present and clear in her mind.
“And,” Cirucci finally murmured against his mouth, “Just like that?~ Killed the shinigami, all of them?~” There was a dangerous iciness to her tone, the mere thought of killing shinigami was enough to excite her, send shivers down her spine, not to mention his own touch’s reactions, as always, she was easy enough to please.
Cravings of arousal and the hunger of physical passion were not to be squandered, but neither could Alturo ignore the pleasure that her voice sent coursing through him or the shudder of anticipation that followed her enthusiasm and those words that craved confirmation. Sexual pleasure was new to him, but never would the sadistic pleasure die, the very sort that drove Cirucci in her questions, to hear the truth as best pleased them.
"Decimated their ranks," he breathed, words twined between kisses that grew hot, the arousal of it limited not only to the Privaron that heard it for the first time, but extended to the one who relived it. Alturo pressed his fingers against the damp skin between her legs, timing his motion to his words, to give her the most pleasure to each detail, to what knowledge of pleasure he could give. "Those not dead were dying, those who begged mercy were slaughtered. They all learned to fear my power before they died."
Alturo worked both hands with his words, an occasionally awkward concerto that conflicted with the hungry rise of his own hips. The fingers at her breast toyed with one nipple and the next, until he found the deadened edge of her Hollow hole and allowed his touch to venture there. There felt imperfections and when he withdrew his fingers, he might have caught a dust of dried red blood, but his roved his hand over her breast again, the strangeness noted and not raised.
“Sounds…” Her breath hitched lightly in her throat, came out in a soft croon of pleasure, disregarding the minding the exposure of the scar on her breast where her mark had once been, the faint discoloration of skin in the shape of the 5th tattoo that had been stripped from her with her rank.
“Delightful~” Her legs parted, pressed insistently against him, his hand and hips, the words and idea presented excitement enough. For now, she would not press her doubts, no, no need to insult or upset. Her hands danced up his back, found the green glow of his reiatsu, let the pads of her fingers brushed just lightly against It, the power thrumming against her own.
“Cirucci wishes she could have seen it~” The Privaron moaned against his mouth, nipped against his lip. “She would have loved to watch them die~”
Alturo had control for the moment, her soft moans and stalled words enough to prove his victory and it would have been kept, but for the distraction of her hips grinding against his and his hand. It was the light touch of her fingers in the green-hued energy at his shoulders that shattered the thought of control, the tingle of her power feeling more akin to a jolt that ripped a groan from his throat.
The taint of his reiatsu shifting against hers returned that powerful level of sensation, one that continued to send shivers through him with each play of her fingertips against it. His fingers pressed more insisently and then slipped from her legs, working of the knots that tied his hakama, instinct driving him.
"Cirucci can see it." Alturo did not know how he managed to piece the words together, but they came in a hoarse tone. "Shinigami still exist here, I will not hesitate to defeat them again."
Well, that certainly answered her question on whether those shudders came from discomfort or pleasure.
“Good~” She urged, keeping one hand on his shoulders to continue running her fingers through the thrumming reiatsu flow, to continue control of the situation she’d regained. She always did have a problem with keeping control, a sensuality so easily distracted by the pleasure of the flesh when the pleasures of violence against shinigami, their screams and cries and blood were unavailable.
“And,” Cirucci murmured, her other hand falling to stroke against him, distracting even further from his task of untying his hakama, licking lightly at his ear, “Cirucci would be so pleased to tell him all about which shinigami are most fun to…” She ground against him with a wicked smile. “Play with~”
Tendrils of darker reiatsu danced accross the verdant glow, traces of slipped control as his words lost themselves in a heaved breath, then another. Alturo found himself at an unintended weakness, body jerking to greet each touch, fingers clenching and relaxing without coherence of grip. His head rested against her shoulder as he growled between panted breathes, trying to jerk the last tie free of its last knot.
"Name them... I will crush them first." Alturo would not remember the names, but he wanted to hear and feel the anticipation, to heighten what already overwhelmed his senses. The pale skin of her shoulder met with his lips and teeth and Alturo slowly worked his way down, biting enough to bruise when the Privaron let him, soothing it with a heavy breath or a hungry kiss before he found the next taste of her body.
She let him as he would, unable to shake that wicked smirk even against soft murmurs of her own contentment, amused, she was far too amused at his actions, though she forgave. Never having seen a female of the species before had to be something for ones ineptitude’s, and what he lacked she far made up for. Ah, a whore, they called her.
A name not unearned.
But she liked to think every time had a purpose, singular and concise. Favor. Privaron needed favor, and she would have it. Her body was the easiest way to gain it, and so she used it. She was just lucky she happened to greatly enjoy it as well.
“Rangiku.” She hissed, leaving his ties to his own business and digging her nails into his shoulder, fierce, unbridled. “She cut out my tongue.” Cirucci began her long, long, list.
Alturo could have missed the name, lost in the exploration of her skin, his mouth fallen upon her breast with the same pattern of hunger tainting the natural skill he might have had or lacked in this. But it became strongly etched in his mind with the pain of nails in his skin and a sharp hiss of his own for the break from pleasure, though pain did not stray far from that for an Arrancar.
When the initial sharp pain faded to the numb pressure, he lifted his head and let his amber gaze rove her features, noting the anger that matched her words. "A tongue you still have," he noted, its touch still felt on his skin. "But hers will be yours." Alturo made no false or romantice promises; Cirucci would deserve the reward, for her information, loyalty, and for sating the loneliness of two thousand years.
The last knot freed itself and he pulled the ties to the side, need taking precedence again with an incessent jerk of his hips up to hers again.
Cirucci licked her lips with a small appreciative whine, grinding down against him but not yet allowing the exact contact he craved.
“She has it now~” She murmured, let a hand trail along his bone mask, to his face, nails dancing lightly across and down his jaw.
“And so many others to kill, too~” The Privaron dipped low, brushed against him again, let her hand return to her own body to run along marks he’d already bestowed to leave. Each name had a story, and a separate hate.
“Kurotsuchi Nemu.” She continued. For getting her in trouble with Ulquiorra. “For fucking an Arrancar.” She snarled. Oh, but that bothered her. A lot.
It was his fingers that clenched unforgivingly on Cirucci that time, the idea of an arrancar in willing coitus with a shinigami sending a different sort of jolt though him, one that nauseated him and brought an angry snarl to surface. "They would not dare," he growled.
What little tenderness in his touch vacated completed now, the name noted but the thought sought to be purged. Alturo could not think to that, of a shinigami with an Arrancar, it defied all the hatreds he had against the denizens of soul society.
“They do.” Ciruci shared in his disgust, a fury smoldering in her eyes, though while her words incensed her touch sought to soothe, dancing over taught muscles with soft strokes, caresseses, not at all perturbed b the loss of what little softness there had been in his own touch. She was used to being treated as disposable, useable, something lesser and worth only the pleasures she offered. It was how things were, and it was a rare time she managed to leave a male without bleeding or aching.
“Alturo, at least, knows which females are superior~” Cirucci hissed into his ear with a smile, stretching out one leg to shift farther against him, to lift her hips and finally offer herself.
The idea of audacity for shinigami to touch an Arrancar had an irreconcilable taint to it and may have distracted Alturo from the work Cirucci skillfully put herself to in temptations and teasings. The pleasure of the body, though, override the pleasure of the mind and the tension shifted from anger to quivering anticipation.
"Cirucci speaks truth," he said in distracted agreement, his hands again at her waist as he tried to guide her slowly down, the arousal aching in its demand for her. Alturo drew in a sharp breath as he felt the heat of her body surround the ache of his erection. "...others, name them," he prompted in his next breath, heavy compared to the last.
She took a moment to respond, panted lightly, wriggled atop him as her legs moved, one thigh lifted, the other anchoring, for the moment resting against him,
“Hinamori Momo,” She whispered cruelly, each name a death sentence, a death wish, something in between, but it certainly involved them dead and in a lot of pain before they reached that state. “For the same reason, for daring take in an Arrancar defect, try to turn the others-“ Cirucci paused, grit her teeth, and let out a shaky breath, squirming on top of him.
“Kotetsu Isane… their healer.” Her voice trembled ever so slightly, torn between wanting to move more, and wanting to just settle against him, the warmth.
The list continued, their travesties no worse than the last, but no less forgivable. Shinigami who not only dared interfere with Arrancar, but who did so with so bold of intentions. None stood out so strong as the Rangiku that held her greatest ire, but Alturo made note of what he could and trusted that she would repeat them however oft he would need to see each face the consequences of their actions.
There remained a distance to his thoughts, disconnected and clouded to keep details from memory, his attention locked upon the curves of her body, the skin with its soft sheen of sweat, and the heat of her body as it rested on him. Alturo ran one hand along her thigh, learning
her body and the soft trembles beneath the skin when he jerked his hips up at the awkward angle, not so content lay in the indulgence of another body, no matter how long it had been.
She let out a low moan, bucked against him with a shudder and buried her face in the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders and clutching, nails digging in harshly, anchoring, as she continued to name shinigami in hot breaths against his skin.
“Kira Izuru,” Cirucci braced her legs, lifted herself slightly before pressing back down, syncing into a slow, easy rhythm, one that came easily to her from experience, languid, fluid motions to start, not letting herself slip out of control just yet, not giving in to the selfish friction, warmth, yet.
“Hitsugaya Toushirou.” Her fingers once again found the glowing reiatsu trails, pressed into them even as she pressed herself onto him, all soft, pliable, skin, welcoming, entreating.
“Madarame Ikkaku.” She kissed fervently at his jaw, demanding even as she gave herself, a needy lover, who demanded from most just what she gave.
His head fell back, a hungry groan wrested from his throat. Names slipped from his attention, fed upon only in anticipation of destruction, an excitement th paralleled the sensuality, a reflection of the brutality of Arrancar to gain such enjoyments in the pleasures of one flesh and the pain of another.
Alturo met the fluidity of her motion with the more cumbersome of his, well used to battle and less to this, but his craving-driven effort compensation. Her body was hot as his hand traveled over it, fingers clenching on reflex to her touches, then on intention as he found her breast and pressed upon it.
Not long did he linger, with each new name he moved again, short nails drawing against her throat, his lips moved to meet her mouth, a hesitance for words holding him. "All will be ground into dust," he breathed, sadism for that act overlaid in his tone.
Cirucci whined in the back of her throat, names still tumbling from her lips in breathy mewls, names of all the shinigami present, the ones who'd wronged her, tried to kill her, hurt her, mocked her, hated her for what she was and what she did in return, each insult paid back in blood and screams and the grief they had to face.
"All dead." She moaned after feeling the brush of his lips on hers, mouth open in a pant for breath, "Bleeding," Her tongue pressed against his mouth, warm and moist just as where they met each other, thrusting and reveling in selfish desires for pleasure, body pressing against his hands wherever he touched, demands for more even knowing her control would soon slip.
"Screaming." The Privaron kissed him fervently, passionately, let her hands leave those reiatsu glows in his back, one to trace and scramble against the sensitive skin of the hollow hole in his chest, the other to trace the flushed skin of her breast where she scarred in the shape of an Espada's number.
"Begging." Her pace had increased, hips grinding rougher, faster, sweat lightly coating her flesh, the garters on her legs slipping as she moved, heady and aroused even further at the pictures of violence they painted with sensual words.
"Broken." Alturo shuddered, caught in the thoughts of the devastation he could cause, a second time or a third if needed. Not in favour to Cirucci, but her reward would come for the information, in his priority on those names, in taking Rangiku as the first shinigami -- but only after that Aizen had been addressed.
His hand covered hers, finding the mark of the scar and tracing over it, a curious mark, too precise for injury. Other times he would have questioned it, but now he covered both her hand and the scar with his, a heavy grip meant to possess and hold.
Alturo breathed heavy now, panting between words and touches of his lips and teeth upon her chin and neck, the sensual hold she had on him encompassing all senses as his paced grew frantic and his reserve neared its end.
She allowed him his possession, she allowed them all that illusion, and, for the time being, she was something to be had, something that belonged, to all of them and none of them. Such was how things were.
It was easy for her to meet each of his actions with her own, each breathe with one of her own, pressing her breast and scarred mark against his hand, offering to be owned, for the time being, strands of her dark hair sticking against her neck.
“Alturo~” She crooned, an approval, a promise, a name void of the ones laced with bitter and poisonous hate, laced instead with seductions and favor, head tipped back to his mouth on her neck, hips pressing faster, harder, matching his own pace and reveling in selfish friction between bodies, in the rare moment of warmth she was provided as heat spread through her body, wound tight in her belly until she felt her own body begin to break, unable to stand much more, nerves and senses full and fired.
"Ci-Cirucci." Her name offered back, was laced with neither venom nor coherence beyond the fundamental identification of it being her before him, driving him to the edge and, in a choked gasp, over it in an act that had been so foreign to him.
Alturo held tight to Cirucci, to this intimacy that proved him fully gone from the seal, hips still jerking steadily into her as the adrenaline ran high in release unlike battle. He gasped, hot breath against her neck and the sweat that patterned it, saline sweetness to his tongue as his tongue traced his lips.
That was what she wanted, her own part of ownership, if only in that it was she was the one inspiring such lust, adrenaline, heat, fire, completion.
She clenched around with, against him, his breath on her neck, hot and wanting, her own release signalled by a bit back keen and a shuddering breath let out long and slow, nails digging in to skin in her own form of ownership once more, trembling lightly against him, the warmth in her body lulling her muscles down from the tense and taught of the act to the limpness of the aftermath, eyes somewhat glazed and residual sparks of pleasure making her twitch against him.
Her hand came up, glove sticking to her hand from the small exertion, caressed the side of the male Arrancar’s face, a found gesture, painted lips murmuring appreciative noise without actual words.
The desperate heat of the moment and the frenzied need to move with her, thrust into her, ebbed into stillness as his breath caught and evened, his head raised to look upon features touched up by paints in contrast to her skin.
Alturo smiled, a cold, calculating, and cocky look. There laid appreciation, faint and buried, for her words and actions, but he said nothing to that extent, instead tucking back a few stray strands of her lack hair in a gesture precise and without true affection.
Cirucci smiled, let herself relax against him, stretching languidly, too satisfied to want to get up quite yet, adjusting garters on either side of his hips, letting joints settle and bask in the warmth offered in aftermath, the one time she could feel that throughout her entire body, sweet and alluring.
“All broken.” She repeated his words, voice all silk and veiled danger inherant in all Arrancar, fingers dancing lightly across his chest, smirking coyly, sharply, at the very image they’d woven together.
“Broken and bleeding.” It was a phrase full of longing, want, hope, and excitement, all the things she wanted paled in comparison to the destruction of shinigami, leaning her face into his hand with an appreciative nod as he brushed back waves behind her ears.
"All dead," he confirmed. They fell once, they would fall again; Alturo would enjoy hearing their screams and dying curses, would enjoying relaying them back to the lady Privaron, earning her devotion with each kill. It was a means that served an end, her loyalty gained through actions he already prepared to take.
Alturo brushed his thumb along her cheek, caught momentarily in the deadly beauty of the Privaron, a sight he would not tire of so easily. Her voice was a tainted honey, cruel and lethal in every breath and he nodded to her words.
"All shinigami," he reiterated, both to the names she listed and to the one he knew of as Aizen, not to be forgiven for his supposed allegiance to Hueco Mundo. If nothing else, it made his a greater crime.
She knew the weight in those words, knew what he implied in that statement, she wasn’t nearly as stupid as some thought she was. She could be just as subtle, just as crafty, manipulating, and cunning when it suited her, though she usually preferred the openness of her loud personality.
“… All shinigami.” She repeated gravely, ducking to kiss lightly at the edge of his Hollow hole, as if sealing some sort of bargain, alliance, truce, something. She would serve the stronger. And, judging by the feel that still lingered on her skin of his power, she couldn’t guess who was of the two. The taint of the Soukyouku had augmented him impressively.
She wondered, pondered, who was the one most likely to win between the two males, one whom she served and one whom she’d rather.
Rating; R/NC-17
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Alturo {winged_hubris} Summary; Cirucci goes to meet this so-called "first Arrancar", to see for herself this power he says he possesses and the story he tells of being sealed beneath the Soukyouku.
Log;
Cirucci was, to put it mildly, intrigued.
Someone who claimed to be the first Arrancar? It had to be impossible. But even sitting among the wreckage of her apartment, tired from holding her released form far too long, bleeding liberally, she had sensed the surge of power, the pulsing reiatsu, of his arrival.
Intriguing.
So she’d finally released her hold on Golondrina, let the sword seal back to its place on her hip, and cleaned up. Couldn’t meet a male bleeding from the hollow hole, it just wasn’t proper. Had to bathe first, redress. Had to be presentable, especially since he claimed he had never seen a female Arrancar, let alone any Arrancar in 2,000 years. A shame, that.
And it was intrigued still that she alighted in front of the carousel, the reverb of a sonido echoing at her small booted feet, eyes easily settling on the one she’d come to see.
Intriguing.
Alturo had not seen another Arrancar before, but the lady was unmistakeable as that. The reaitsu alone seperated her from the souls and senses he had caught in the hours since his arrival in this place that was neither Heuco Mundo nor soul society.
The lady Arrancar had a unique makeup about her and he observed her with pale amber eyes, noting the unique take on her uniform, vast in difference to his cleaner cut one. Cirucci radiated personality in her fashion sense, her cosmetics, and he would wager in ever step she made.
For one unaccustomed to anything but isolation, she was a beautiful thing and distracted in that, but Alturo shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest stiffly. He met her gaze and nodded, first to acknowledge and second to invite her closer to him, the first that he would let approach him in this City.
“Alturo~” She spoke smoothly, approached with all the grace her petite form possessed, stopped a foot in front of him and stood with one hand on her hip and blade, other hand idly snapping a garter as she looked him up and down. His reiatsu was strong, but there was something else there too, tingling at the edge’s of her senses.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch.” She said with a smirk, tossing back her thick black hair behind the white spike of bone on her skull, setting aside her own personal troubles for the moment. She was Arrancar, that was all she needed to think on now. An Arrancar who needed to investigate this newcomer and pass a judgment on whether he was worth currying favor with.
“105th Privaron Espada.”
Perception faded over centuries and so what bothered Cirucci evaded his notice, Alturo focused most upon the circumstances that troubled him. That being his location and the foolish notion that a shinigami ruled now over Arrancar that ought to have had their pride reject him.
"Alturo Plateado," he responded, an unnecessary gesture with her recognition, but one made nonetheless. Alturo brushed strands of aquamarine hair aside, pushing it past the remnants of a mask that stretched past his cheek, nothing near to asthetic as the lady had. An afterthought had him hold his hand to the lady, to lead her away from where he felt prying eyes or ears might learn that he did not want them to.
"Does ever Arrancar take such pride with these ranks I hear from each?" he queried coldly to her introduction of number and faction.
Ah, a gentleman. With a small shrug of her shoulders she took his hand, smaller one curling thin fingers about his own.
“Most.” She answered simply. “Espada most of all, since theirs is based on power, Numeros not so much, theirs is only ranking of order birthed, and Privaron with some degree of…” She sneered lightly, but tried not to let too much anger creep into a voice kept silky and calm. “Bitterness. Having one’s rank stripped will do that to one, no?~” The Arrancar kept it conversational for now, allowing herself to be lead.
Crowds of people made her hungry.
The chivalry ended when the worst of the crowds were evaded, the lead of his hand vague as Alturo pulled her aside, unfamiliar with the area and era.
He snorted to her description of rank, a cold anger filling the sharp laughter that followed. "What is the name of the fool that would rank a true Arrancar as without rank over those created by some toy?" he pressed, glancing intently to her.
The City had not been kind to Cirucci’s perception of their god, no. Once she had followed him without question, believed him fearless and without reproach. But here? He’d loved, he’d been human, expressed things she never wanted in a god. To say her loyalty wavered would be an understatement, though she still feared his power enough to never move openly against him.
“Aizen Sousuke.” She said as she noted his unfamiliarity with their locale, instead changing direction and leading him, away from the crowds and into the gardens in Xanadu, where foliage and greenery hid from others.
“Privaron became… obsolete, when he got his new toy.”
The City grew more complex and defied more logic the more that he saw of it. The idea of it being Hueco Mundo had fallen to dust with what he saw and learned, but it made no sense as the plane of the living and he had left soul society in ruin enough that it could not hope to have such gardens as she lead him to.
Aizen Sousuke, was it. Alturo narrowed his eyes and noted the name with no harbouring or respect. What interest he had was limited to how a shinigami could compare to an Arrancar, and then lead them. Foolhardy and overconfident, to his perception.
"No true Arrancar is obsolete," he growled, his hands clenching in reflexive anger. "Has he no respect for the strength it takes to remove one's mask?"
“Cirucci would agree~” She released him and sat on a nearby bench, crossing legs, arranging her short skirt, and leaning back to watch him as she spoke.
“But his new Espada are more powerful than Privaron, and thusly, we are displaced.” She had been nursing that grudge ever since she’d had the black mark on her breast ripped away, had two numbers added to her own, and been thrown to Tres Cifras.
“He’s not Arrancar. He can’t understand. Cirucci remembers what it takes. Privaron remember. The new Espada…” She trailed off with a knowing smirk. “Not so appreciative.”
Alturo laughed and raised his arms to cross them upon his chest, not one inch of his skin -- clothed or bare -- marked or scarred by the process of numbering that the new Arrancar were forced to. Even made to take pride in, by the bitterness in her words and tone.
"Then a lesson is due to them," he replied, disdain and confidence mixed in his voice and expression. "It will not be stood for that those who have the power inherent are ignored or put aside." The bitterness crept into his tone, the idea of true Arrancar being placed at the bottom of the chain an echo of his own being locked away as though he did not exist.
"What is it that makes them feel so powerful?" he asked, guarded and curious to know of the toy he had hear mention of.
“Their power.” Cirucci answered simply again, smirking coyly. She liked his attitude. And it seemed, if she played her cards right, that he could be quite beneficial to her. Currying favor had to be done.
“They can hold their release longer, fire ceros more powerful, bala quicker, sonido faster.” She idly inspected her neatly trimmed nails, noticed a fleck of her own blood under one, and frowned at it.
“The Hyougyouku is a rather impressive toy.” She looked up through her lashes, smirked again.
“But enough about ranks. What about Alturo?”
Alturo ignored the vanity for the words that she spoke, noted and remembered if not believed entirely. Not once did the idea that they could exceed his power occur to him with any serious connotations, these ranks and titles considered false grounds upon which they could boast.
Hyougyouku? That was the name of the toy that this Aizen used to create Arrancar? Then that would be his goal to attain, to keep a shinigami from playing god with Hollows and stealing all pride for his ego.
Alturo turned his gaze back to her features, an appeal in the midst of the strange beauty of the gardens -- life appealed little, but it flattered her in this setting. He smirked at her inquiry. "What is it that you wish to know?" he asked, no so ready to state his entire story, but perhaps a reward of information for what she provided him was in order.
“Truly you’re the first?” She asked, gesturing him closer with a beckoning finger as if she wished to examine him closer. “The very first?” She took in the sight. True, it wasn’t often she saw one with a mask like his, it was different than what she was used to, and the power? It thrummed, and she wanted to touch it.
“Cirucci remembers some of the others she found first, before Aizen, before his Arrancar.” Cirucci mentioned softly, remembering fondly days in darkness, not the blazing light and brightness of Aizen’s Hueco Mundo. “But she doesn’t remember you, and she’s been around a long while now.”
"There were none before me," Alturo confirmed. That pride and power would never be stripped from him, the superior feeling when he shed his Hollow form to become the first to stand in the approximation of human form, but with power beyond the dream of any of his day.
"There were also none when they sealed me away," he continued, his tone hardening and posture stiffening. He forced himself to move, approaching the lady slowly at her indication, the strong green manifesation of his reiatsu at his shoulders flickering with each step.
Alturo wanted to know how many had followed his path, how many had done as he and then she had done. Those who did it were the ones worth respect and notice, those were the ones he wanted to approach first. "How many in number were you?"
She stood as he approached, began to circle, almost predatory though she planned no attack. Then again, it was hard for Cirucci Thunderwitch to look as if she weren’t plotting something or another. And her intentions were never innocent.
“There were ten Espada, now Privaron.” She murmured, reaching out to run her pale fingers across the flickering emerald of his energy, wincing slightly, watching carefully, her own reacting against his.
“Now ten new Espada. We’ve lost a few Privaron to them.” There were gaps in the Privaron ranks now. Missing 101st, 107th…
“Countless Numeros.” Her fingers danced across his back to the other shoulder, watching the glimmering color carefully.
“Interesting.” She murmured under her breath.
Alturo followed Cirucci with his eyes, a pattern of caution and an interest that came with meeting another like him, and for the first time. Instinct told him to not turn his back to her, but he steadied himself and settled for watching her intently, amber gaze cast back over his shoulder as she circled.
"The Hougyouku creates them indiscriminately?" he asked, disgusted more than impressed with the prevalence of Arrancar. They had nothing on those who had torn their own masks asunder. What respect could they have for their own power, what pride for their ability, if it was so simple as a breath?
When her fingers grazed his shoulders and the sheen of green reiatsu at each, he felt an unfamiliar shudder etch its way through him. Cirucci's touch was the first to taste his power and hers melded and reflected against his without pattern. Turning his head to glance over the other shoulder, where her steps had drawn her, he smirked. "They intrigue the lady Privaron?"
“Aizen-sama selects them, as Hollows, which ones to turn, to change.” He did pick the ones he found most useful, there was that, but it was impossible to predict how they would turn out, what they would look like, their power levels… it was hit and miss at times. At least, until it was fully awakened, they were assured.
At the mention of the green energy he displayed so outwardly, she smirked lightly, noting his shudder with the raising of an arched brow. Interesting, indeed.
“They do~” She murmured, cautiously running her fingers across it once more. It burned lightly, the strength of it, and it was that that indicated to her he may just be as powerful as he claimed.
“Cirucci has never seen anything like it.”
The way her touch and reiatsu mixed and rejected his sent another shudder down his spine and
Alturo jerked slightly, an involuntary motion he covered with the haughty smirk. They were a bleedoff of his reiatsu, focused into the sharp green wing-like projections, but they lent an amusing allusion to an angel or devil above others.
"There is nothing like them; not in my time, nor in this time after breaking free of the seal," he replied, arms crossed over his chest.
Alturo disliked this mention of Aizen, each new bit of information distancing him further from the man who would be God to Hueco Mundo. "And his discretion functions well or poorly?" he pressed. "To have this many Arrancar, but so few of interest, it does not bode well for his judgement."
“Cirucci doesn’t know as much anymore. Fallen Espada are not often allowed outside the Tres Cifras zone.” The Privaron was skilled in noting body language, and she did indeed notice his effort to conceal another reaction. Now she just needed to know if that shudder was from discomfort or pleasure. He was somewhat difficult to read from this angle, thin digits still trailing small patterns in the air wreathed by his reiatsu.
“Most of his Arrancar are functional.” She admitted. “Numeros are mainly cannon fodder anyway, for his war against Soul Society.” Cirucci approached ever so slightly closer, bent a little to look closer at his reiatsu, the glow reflecting in her eyes.
“It’s the Espada that function best. Privaron ranked next in power, Numeros below them, and the few rejects without number or rank.”
The state of things is pathetic by her words, pride waylaid for commonplace attempts at true arrancar. Alturo felt his ire root itself more deeply in his mind, demanding response to this affront that greeted him, detailed by Cirucci.
Alturo jerked again as she closed the distance between them that slight bit more, the unfamiliarity not quite breeding contempt for her proximty. Two thousand years spanned an eternity for being alone and her presence comforted that, a pleasure after solitude.
"You are content with that, as though there is no escape," Alturo stated, holding his voice even, in contrast to the distraction of her presence. He turned and reached to rescue her hand from the pulsing reiatsu, pale fingers stretching to cover hers.
“… Cirucci learned that fighting the Espada only led to her own defeat.” She admitted, with a great deal of hesistance. “She learned that… it is best to curry favor with those she can, plot, and wait her chance.”
At the contact, she anchored, let her nails scrape lightly over his hand, and shrugged lightly, trying to play off her long-standing bitterness, her grudge, her years of hating the Espada, smiling at them, bedding them, and yet hating that number on their flesh, hating them for taking her place, and hating them for disgracing her, looking down on her, sneering from-
She tried to not think on that, though it was difficult, the wounds in the hollow hole aching, though self-inflicted in a rage, a sorrow, a crisis of her own existance.
“… Alturo may see their power soon, perhaps, if he wishes.”
Physical contact proved more difficult to withstand than the teasing traces of her power against his. Alturo clenched his hand tightly around hers and pulled the Privaron closer to him, eyes surveying her expression and the subtle hints that she washed away. Pity would never be an emotion he allowed, but nor was it anger or disdain that he looked upon her with.
"The days of skulking pitiously where you should have pride will not last," he said, a cold comfort. "Once I know their power, I will quash it like the shinigami bugs that stood before me."
Alturo smirked and raised her hand in a feint of chivalry, almost to press his lips against the back of her hand. "Cirucci standing alone may be nothing, but if you stood with me, they could ignore neither of us. I but need to see their power to know it is dwarfed by mine."
“Oh?~” Now this was interesting as well… such a very interesting fellow. Cirucci was no stranger to close contact, in fact, quite the opposite, the sensual was her element, her forte, and the mechanism she most often used to get her way, to curry favor, to keep herself thought of as some worthwhile, something to keep about even though most Privaron had been shuffled back to the Tres Cifras zone to rot. As long as she bedded those more powerful than herself, she had something to hold on to.
“Alturo plans to defeat them all, then?~” She murmured silkily, moved her fingers to brush across his mouth. She had hoped those two thousand years he claimed in solitude, and the fact that he’d never seen a female of their species, would work in her favor. Seemed she could be right.
Alturo pressed his lips firmly against her skin, a breath hissing from him at the gentle caress she granted him. His eyes flashed and he looked up at her, seeing more than an Arrancar rejected by Espada. Cirucci inspired a hunger in him unlike the one that had consumed him in the search for the Hougyoku. That could only be sated with power, but hers spoke of a more physical means.
"Those who defy me will be ground into dust," he replied, his other hand seeking her wrist, to feel that presence of another when it had been intangible for so long. "There will be those who see the benefit in submission to my name, preservation has always been a selfish key to all."
“Survival~” Cirucci whispered, a self-satisfied smirk on her painted lips. She pressed closed, until mere centimeters seperated them, looking up at him through her thick lashes, voice a silken caress in itself, husky, low.
“Survival of the… fittest?” She knew they all hungered, all Arrancar did. For violence, for the carnal, for the blood and cries and dominance. Her free hand reached up to run along the edge of his bone mask, tracing to his cheek.
“Survival of those of use to Alturo?~”
Alturo clenched his fingers around her wrist more tightly, his motion slow and deliberate as he drew his hand up her arm, learning the delicate feel of muscle there as his mouth learned the gentle wear on her fingertips.
The presence of her body tempted him to lean forward, pressing his height as he stood and looked down upon her features, tendered with cosmetic lines to accent her face. Alturo drew a steady breath to still himself against the touch upon his cheek, an air of restraint held to.
"Survival of those who are not fools in their defiance."
“Cirucci will tell you a secret then~” This was almost too easy. Not that she would complain. Some of the stronger ones were far too hard to seduce sometimes, honestly.
The Privaron finally pressed against him, all soft curves and gentle touch, breath murmuring lightly against his neck, still looking up to catch his gaze.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch is no fool.”
The pale hue of his eyes is denied her for an instant when his close in an effort to steady his body, tension tightening each muscle so that he could feel every curve she pressed against him.
Alturo released her hand and lifted his to touch the black marks on her cheeks, the heat of her breath warming his skin. "Nothing less expected of a lady with the strength to free herself from the confines of her mask," he breathed.
“Cirucci.” She insisted on her name, because that was what she wanted to hear from his mouth. Her name.
“Ah, but~” She teased, shifting against him but going no further as of yet, content to draw this out, make him wait a while. After all, if she was the first female he’d seen, well. Had to memorable, didn’t she?
“Cirucci hasn’t told you about the City yet, or the curses, the deities…” She listed them under her breath, close enough to his throat that each word brushed her lips against his skin.
Alturo responded to the minute motions of her body, awkward in comparison to the fluidity of her motion, but he craved more of her touch and sought to invite it. The craving grew worse with every touch of breath at his neck, the teasing of her lips distracting him from the thoughts that had consumed him.
"Cirucci," he spoke her name slowly, a breath taken to focus his perception of her enough to address the delays she whispered. "Cirucci will have ample oppurtunity to share this information with me," Alturo continued. "In detail, later, as she is no fool by her own words."
“Oh?~” Cirucci paused, let her free hand moved from his bone mask down the other side of his neck, idly tracing the edge of his uniform fabric, neatly trimmed nail pressing lightly into his flesh.
“Alturo wants to do something else now?~” She crooned, as if she had no idea the effect she was having on him, rousing in him. “Instead of hearing information now?~”
With a small laugh, she pressed against his hips.
“Hmm?~”
Alturo growled with both impatience and frustration, an ancient hunger not easily sated or stalled by her teases. His hand moved from her cheek, fingers splayed wide as he lowered it, catching on the curved trim of her neckline. The uniform she wore was unlike his, with more extravagence in contrast to the clean lines of white and faint trimmings of black. It hugged her body close, a detail he had noticed, but appreaciated again as his gaze wandered down her.
"There will be time to discuss," he argued, no fool to think the press of her hips had missed the erection that hardened with the sensual press of her body. Alturo laughed, a bitterness to himself, before he said his next words. "Two thousand years is long, Cirucci, I am able to craft patience to learn more in a few hours."
No, she most certainly had not missed that.
Cirucci laughed again, smirked, reached up to neatly undo the top snap on her collar with a small sound, a constant tease. She never liked cutting too quickly to the chase. No fun, and besides, there were enough arrancar in Hueco Mundo who just wanted their fuck before going on their merry way. No, she liked to play a little.
“Two~ Thousand~ Years~” She drawled, letting her fingers slip under his collar, exploring the contours of his shoulders. “An awful long time, yes. So… lonely~” She pouted lightly. “Cold.” And she was cold, a sullen coldness, dead. But that didn’t matter, because she could only find warmth in one thing anymore, and it was this very thing now. The friction between bodies, warmth.
Patience would not last long for the physical hunger, his fingers quick to work their way beneath the collar she exposed teasingly. Alturo froze when her hands found skin, his head rolling back in an instance of weakness to the pleasure, years of tension plying against her touch, left wonting.
"Fenniche staved off the cold for so long," he breathed, a hand dropping to the hilt of his zanpakuto. Alturo leaned his head forward, resting his chin on the black hair that topped her head, broken by the half-crown of bone that gave proof of her strength and existence. "But it…crept in, year frozen… until the Soukyoku burned me awake."
Alturo moved his hand to her hip, following the curve of it up, along her side and to her breast, a supple grip pressed upon it. "But alone no more," he said slowly. "Never again."
“Soukyoku?~” Cirucci breathed low, arching against him, curiosity piqued despite. She took in the name of his blade, at his hip opposite the hip she wore Golondrina on. Fenniche. The name was kept close along with the other blades she knew. Her own, Golondrina. Trepadora. Del Toro. Tijereta. Dragra. Giralda. All true forms, sealed away as blades.
“Tell Cirucci about that?~” She plied gently, incentive in the form of snapping free another clasp on her uniform, a stockinged leg stroking lightly against his thigh.
"The blade that the shinigami sealed me beneath," Alturo replied in slow words, no effort made to hide the venom that penetrated even the lust that came of tempted hunger. His cheek pressed against her hair and slid along it as his bent his neck further to touch his lips to her ear as he spoke. "Their great tool of execution was all that could restrain me, but it released me when they sought to use it."
Alturo clenched his hand upon her breast, gentle enough to massage the soft curve of flesh that fit well against his palm. His other hand rose and his fingers tried to free a third clasp to her uniform, not so willing to be teased and rewarded at her whims.
“When it got destroyed?~” Cirucci murmured, trying to think back on the stories they’d been told, the reports they’d read, on Soul Society, on how the man they followed had left, and the state it had been left in.
She tipped her head back to bare her neck, the snaps on her uniform, inviting, pliable against him and against his hands, soft in body, in word, but still with a chaotic fire and ice, burn and freeze, to her gaze. She gave herself often, but she always remained her own, gave body, not mind.
“Then Alturo was free, and ended up… here?~”
"An intruder," Alturo said with a distracted wave of his hand. "One who chose to interupt the execution and shattered the Soukyoku." The details of it had never mattered more than the fact it had freed him from the cold isolation with a hot wave of flame and power.
Those details remained unspoken, his attention rapt on the tender expanse of skin Cirucci invited him to. Alturo freed another clasp and lowered his head to trace his lips over her neck. That she could stop and fight him in an instant, her power restrained at her will, increased the heady arousal of being in the company of so flawless a body.
"No, I gathered first the pieces of the Soukyoku," he continued, pausing to press his teeth against her neck, sucking hard an instant and then soothing it with the touch of his tongue. "The shinigami were pawns to bring me the shattered remains to add to my power."
“So that’s what it is?” Cirucci sighed softly, made a noise, low, appreciative, in her throat, nearing a growl but not quite there, fingers brushing lightly against aquamarine hair.
“Cirucci wondered what that feeling was~” There was a tint to his power, something distinctively not-Arrancar, and that certainly explained the tingling in her flesh when she’d touched the bleed-off of his reiatsu, a hint of shinigami blade augmenting his own energy.
“And then… what did Alturo do?” She pressed with words even as she pressed with body, pressed him back against the edge of the bench she’d been sitting on earlier.
"Soul society lay before me, and Hueco Mundo would do the same," he continued, guided back by her steps. Alturo could not discern her expertise, not aware of the full extent that Cirucci manipulated him with those skills acquired by survival. He felt her body and the press of her reiatsu, sharp difference to the energy of shinigami that had surrounded him, and he longed for more.
Alturo felt also the bench press against his knees and he allowed himself to sink down onto it, hands falling to her waist to pull her atop his lap. "But instead of Hueco Mundo, I found this City," he growled lowly.
“Lay before you?~” Cirucci asked, small hands falling to his shoulders, bracing a moment at the change in heights, now she looking down slightly, not the other way around, bending to run her painted lips lightly across the edge of his bone mask, hands rising then to stroke against hair, neck as her legs adjusted on either side of his lap, stockings, bare leg, garters, against his hips.
“Surely Alturo does not mean…?” Surely he could not mean that as in… conquered? Soul Society, all conquered? By one? Impossible. Had to be.
The lady Privaron added to his distraction and his hands slid from her hips the more that she settled upon him. Alturo leaned his head to her attentions, drawing in air sharp and heavy to fill the breathless void Cirucci skillfully created. The skirt crumpled in his fists and creased as he pulled up and ran his fingers along her thighs.
Alturo grinned and laughed coldly, to an amusement held in his mind as he urged her hips to grind down upon him. "They gave me the power and I used it to lay them to waste," he confirmed. The shinigami there had not stood much chance against Alturo emboldened and empowered by the Soukyoku. "This surprises Cirucci?"
She wore a look of plain shock mingled with disbelief even as she brushed back against him, no light press, insistent, in control.
“… Leveled?” Surely… could that have happened, while she was here, here in this City? None of the other who had come had said such, but… could it have? Such an act would bring her so much sadistic joy, but… could it be believed?
“… All by yourself, Alturo?~” She tempered her gaze back down, wiping the disbelief from her features quicker than it had come, eyes lidded once more, tempting, teasing, inviting, reaching down to snap one of her garters audibly, let her fingers dance over his own and draw the short skirt up farther, exposing more of pale leg and flesh.
There it was, the proof he needed to know that she had not believed his power all that great. The expression that took her features said enough and it was with satisfaction that Alturo laughed and pulled the remainder of her skirt up. "There were no other Arrancar to see it happen, and no shinigami would be worth the alliance," he replied, touching his lips to her neck, a hand pulling open her uniform to share more of her pale skin.
"That is my power, Cirucci Thunderwitch." Alturo let out a low laugh and allowed his hand to delve between her legs, challenge to her control of this situation and a motion set to sate his craving for her body.
The more skin bared of her uniform, until the Hollow hole just below and between her breasts was visible, what made them what they were, heartless, heartless, souls, hers obviously recently wounded, the interior red from blood stains and sporting wounds, self-inflicted from the bones of her own talons.
She let out a high-pitched whine of a noise, curled around him and stretched to kiss fervently, wildly, strongly, trying to consider what he said. Was it possible? True, the Soukyouku… she could feel it in his reiatsu, in him, but was that enough? It was a terribly large… boast, he spoke of, after all. Destroying Soul Society? … She didn’t know what to believe, though the doubt was still ever present and clear in her mind.
“And,” Cirucci finally murmured against his mouth, “Just like that?~ Killed the shinigami, all of them?~” There was a dangerous iciness to her tone, the mere thought of killing shinigami was enough to excite her, send shivers down her spine, not to mention his own touch’s reactions, as always, she was easy enough to please.
Cravings of arousal and the hunger of physical passion were not to be squandered, but neither could Alturo ignore the pleasure that her voice sent coursing through him or the shudder of anticipation that followed her enthusiasm and those words that craved confirmation. Sexual pleasure was new to him, but never would the sadistic pleasure die, the very sort that drove Cirucci in her questions, to hear the truth as best pleased them.
"Decimated their ranks," he breathed, words twined between kisses that grew hot, the arousal of it limited not only to the Privaron that heard it for the first time, but extended to the one who relived it. Alturo pressed his fingers against the damp skin between her legs, timing his motion to his words, to give her the most pleasure to each detail, to what knowledge of pleasure he could give. "Those not dead were dying, those who begged mercy were slaughtered. They all learned to fear my power before they died."
Alturo worked both hands with his words, an occasionally awkward concerto that conflicted with the hungry rise of his own hips. The fingers at her breast toyed with one nipple and the next, until he found the deadened edge of her Hollow hole and allowed his touch to venture there. There felt imperfections and when he withdrew his fingers, he might have caught a dust of dried red blood, but his roved his hand over her breast again, the strangeness noted and not raised.
“Sounds…” Her breath hitched lightly in her throat, came out in a soft croon of pleasure, disregarding the minding the exposure of the scar on her breast where her mark had once been, the faint discoloration of skin in the shape of the 5th tattoo that had been stripped from her with her rank.
“Delightful~” Her legs parted, pressed insistently against him, his hand and hips, the words and idea presented excitement enough. For now, she would not press her doubts, no, no need to insult or upset. Her hands danced up his back, found the green glow of his reiatsu, let the pads of her fingers brushed just lightly against It, the power thrumming against her own.
“Cirucci wishes she could have seen it~” The Privaron moaned against his mouth, nipped against his lip. “She would have loved to watch them die~”
Alturo had control for the moment, her soft moans and stalled words enough to prove his victory and it would have been kept, but for the distraction of her hips grinding against his and his hand. It was the light touch of her fingers in the green-hued energy at his shoulders that shattered the thought of control, the tingle of her power feeling more akin to a jolt that ripped a groan from his throat.
The taint of his reiatsu shifting against hers returned that powerful level of sensation, one that continued to send shivers through him with each play of her fingertips against it. His fingers pressed more insisently and then slipped from her legs, working of the knots that tied his hakama, instinct driving him.
"Cirucci can see it." Alturo did not know how he managed to piece the words together, but they came in a hoarse tone. "Shinigami still exist here, I will not hesitate to defeat them again."
Well, that certainly answered her question on whether those shudders came from discomfort or pleasure.
“Good~” She urged, keeping one hand on his shoulders to continue running her fingers through the thrumming reiatsu flow, to continue control of the situation she’d regained. She always did have a problem with keeping control, a sensuality so easily distracted by the pleasure of the flesh when the pleasures of violence against shinigami, their screams and cries and blood were unavailable.
“And,” Cirucci murmured, her other hand falling to stroke against him, distracting even further from his task of untying his hakama, licking lightly at his ear, “Cirucci would be so pleased to tell him all about which shinigami are most fun to…” She ground against him with a wicked smile. “Play with~”
Tendrils of darker reiatsu danced accross the verdant glow, traces of slipped control as his words lost themselves in a heaved breath, then another. Alturo found himself at an unintended weakness, body jerking to greet each touch, fingers clenching and relaxing without coherence of grip. His head rested against her shoulder as he growled between panted breathes, trying to jerk the last tie free of its last knot.
"Name them... I will crush them first." Alturo would not remember the names, but he wanted to hear and feel the anticipation, to heighten what already overwhelmed his senses. The pale skin of her shoulder met with his lips and teeth and Alturo slowly worked his way down, biting enough to bruise when the Privaron let him, soothing it with a heavy breath or a hungry kiss before he found the next taste of her body.
She let him as he would, unable to shake that wicked smirk even against soft murmurs of her own contentment, amused, she was far too amused at his actions, though she forgave. Never having seen a female of the species before had to be something for ones ineptitude’s, and what he lacked she far made up for. Ah, a whore, they called her.
A name not unearned.
But she liked to think every time had a purpose, singular and concise. Favor. Privaron needed favor, and she would have it. Her body was the easiest way to gain it, and so she used it. She was just lucky she happened to greatly enjoy it as well.
“Rangiku.” She hissed, leaving his ties to his own business and digging her nails into his shoulder, fierce, unbridled. “She cut out my tongue.” Cirucci began her long, long, list.
Alturo could have missed the name, lost in the exploration of her skin, his mouth fallen upon her breast with the same pattern of hunger tainting the natural skill he might have had or lacked in this. But it became strongly etched in his mind with the pain of nails in his skin and a sharp hiss of his own for the break from pleasure, though pain did not stray far from that for an Arrancar.
When the initial sharp pain faded to the numb pressure, he lifted his head and let his amber gaze rove her features, noting the anger that matched her words. "A tongue you still have," he noted, its touch still felt on his skin. "But hers will be yours." Alturo made no false or romantice promises; Cirucci would deserve the reward, for her information, loyalty, and for sating the loneliness of two thousand years.
The last knot freed itself and he pulled the ties to the side, need taking precedence again with an incessent jerk of his hips up to hers again.
Cirucci licked her lips with a small appreciative whine, grinding down against him but not yet allowing the exact contact he craved.
“She has it now~” She murmured, let a hand trail along his bone mask, to his face, nails dancing lightly across and down his jaw.
“And so many others to kill, too~” The Privaron dipped low, brushed against him again, let her hand return to her own body to run along marks he’d already bestowed to leave. Each name had a story, and a separate hate.
“Kurotsuchi Nemu.” She continued. For getting her in trouble with Ulquiorra. “For fucking an Arrancar.” She snarled. Oh, but that bothered her. A lot.
It was his fingers that clenched unforgivingly on Cirucci that time, the idea of an arrancar in willing coitus with a shinigami sending a different sort of jolt though him, one that nauseated him and brought an angry snarl to surface. "They would not dare," he growled.
What little tenderness in his touch vacated completed now, the name noted but the thought sought to be purged. Alturo could not think to that, of a shinigami with an Arrancar, it defied all the hatreds he had against the denizens of soul society.
“They do.” Ciruci shared in his disgust, a fury smoldering in her eyes, though while her words incensed her touch sought to soothe, dancing over taught muscles with soft strokes, caresseses, not at all perturbed b the loss of what little softness there had been in his own touch. She was used to being treated as disposable, useable, something lesser and worth only the pleasures she offered. It was how things were, and it was a rare time she managed to leave a male without bleeding or aching.
“Alturo, at least, knows which females are superior~” Cirucci hissed into his ear with a smile, stretching out one leg to shift farther against him, to lift her hips and finally offer herself.
The idea of audacity for shinigami to touch an Arrancar had an irreconcilable taint to it and may have distracted Alturo from the work Cirucci skillfully put herself to in temptations and teasings. The pleasure of the body, though, override the pleasure of the mind and the tension shifted from anger to quivering anticipation.
"Cirucci speaks truth," he said in distracted agreement, his hands again at her waist as he tried to guide her slowly down, the arousal aching in its demand for her. Alturo drew in a sharp breath as he felt the heat of her body surround the ache of his erection. "...others, name them," he prompted in his next breath, heavy compared to the last.
She took a moment to respond, panted lightly, wriggled atop him as her legs moved, one thigh lifted, the other anchoring, for the moment resting against him,
“Hinamori Momo,” She whispered cruelly, each name a death sentence, a death wish, something in between, but it certainly involved them dead and in a lot of pain before they reached that state. “For the same reason, for daring take in an Arrancar defect, try to turn the others-“ Cirucci paused, grit her teeth, and let out a shaky breath, squirming on top of him.
“Kotetsu Isane… their healer.” Her voice trembled ever so slightly, torn between wanting to move more, and wanting to just settle against him, the warmth.
The list continued, their travesties no worse than the last, but no less forgivable. Shinigami who not only dared interfere with Arrancar, but who did so with so bold of intentions. None stood out so strong as the Rangiku that held her greatest ire, but Alturo made note of what he could and trusted that she would repeat them however oft he would need to see each face the consequences of their actions.
There remained a distance to his thoughts, disconnected and clouded to keep details from memory, his attention locked upon the curves of her body, the skin with its soft sheen of sweat, and the heat of her body as it rested on him. Alturo ran one hand along her thigh, learning
her body and the soft trembles beneath the skin when he jerked his hips up at the awkward angle, not so content lay in the indulgence of another body, no matter how long it had been.
She let out a low moan, bucked against him with a shudder and buried her face in the crook of his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulders and clutching, nails digging in harshly, anchoring, as she continued to name shinigami in hot breaths against his skin.
“Kira Izuru,” Cirucci braced her legs, lifted herself slightly before pressing back down, syncing into a slow, easy rhythm, one that came easily to her from experience, languid, fluid motions to start, not letting herself slip out of control just yet, not giving in to the selfish friction, warmth, yet.
“Hitsugaya Toushirou.” Her fingers once again found the glowing reiatsu trails, pressed into them even as she pressed herself onto him, all soft, pliable, skin, welcoming, entreating.
“Madarame Ikkaku.” She kissed fervently at his jaw, demanding even as she gave herself, a needy lover, who demanded from most just what she gave.
His head fell back, a hungry groan wrested from his throat. Names slipped from his attention, fed upon only in anticipation of destruction, an excitement th paralleled the sensuality, a reflection of the brutality of Arrancar to gain such enjoyments in the pleasures of one flesh and the pain of another.
Alturo met the fluidity of her motion with the more cumbersome of his, well used to battle and less to this, but his craving-driven effort compensation. Her body was hot as his hand traveled over it, fingers clenching on reflex to her touches, then on intention as he found her breast and pressed upon it.
Not long did he linger, with each new name he moved again, short nails drawing against her throat, his lips moved to meet her mouth, a hesitance for words holding him. "All will be ground into dust," he breathed, sadism for that act overlaid in his tone.
Cirucci whined in the back of her throat, names still tumbling from her lips in breathy mewls, names of all the shinigami present, the ones who'd wronged her, tried to kill her, hurt her, mocked her, hated her for what she was and what she did in return, each insult paid back in blood and screams and the grief they had to face.
"All dead." She moaned after feeling the brush of his lips on hers, mouth open in a pant for breath, "Bleeding," Her tongue pressed against his mouth, warm and moist just as where they met each other, thrusting and reveling in selfish desires for pleasure, body pressing against his hands wherever he touched, demands for more even knowing her control would soon slip.
"Screaming." The Privaron kissed him fervently, passionately, let her hands leave those reiatsu glows in his back, one to trace and scramble against the sensitive skin of the hollow hole in his chest, the other to trace the flushed skin of her breast where she scarred in the shape of an Espada's number.
"Begging." Her pace had increased, hips grinding rougher, faster, sweat lightly coating her flesh, the garters on her legs slipping as she moved, heady and aroused even further at the pictures of violence they painted with sensual words.
"Broken." Alturo shuddered, caught in the thoughts of the devastation he could cause, a second time or a third if needed. Not in favour to Cirucci, but her reward would come for the information, in his priority on those names, in taking Rangiku as the first shinigami -- but only after that Aizen had been addressed.
His hand covered hers, finding the mark of the scar and tracing over it, a curious mark, too precise for injury. Other times he would have questioned it, but now he covered both her hand and the scar with his, a heavy grip meant to possess and hold.
Alturo breathed heavy now, panting between words and touches of his lips and teeth upon her chin and neck, the sensual hold she had on him encompassing all senses as his paced grew frantic and his reserve neared its end.
She allowed him his possession, she allowed them all that illusion, and, for the time being, she was something to be had, something that belonged, to all of them and none of them. Such was how things were.
It was easy for her to meet each of his actions with her own, each breathe with one of her own, pressing her breast and scarred mark against his hand, offering to be owned, for the time being, strands of her dark hair sticking against her neck.
“Alturo~” She crooned, an approval, a promise, a name void of the ones laced with bitter and poisonous hate, laced instead with seductions and favor, head tipped back to his mouth on her neck, hips pressing faster, harder, matching his own pace and reveling in selfish friction between bodies, in the rare moment of warmth she was provided as heat spread through her body, wound tight in her belly until she felt her own body begin to break, unable to stand much more, nerves and senses full and fired.
"Ci-Cirucci." Her name offered back, was laced with neither venom nor coherence beyond the fundamental identification of it being her before him, driving him to the edge and, in a choked gasp, over it in an act that had been so foreign to him.
Alturo held tight to Cirucci, to this intimacy that proved him fully gone from the seal, hips still jerking steadily into her as the adrenaline ran high in release unlike battle. He gasped, hot breath against her neck and the sweat that patterned it, saline sweetness to his tongue as his tongue traced his lips.
That was what she wanted, her own part of ownership, if only in that it was she was the one inspiring such lust, adrenaline, heat, fire, completion.
She clenched around with, against him, his breath on her neck, hot and wanting, her own release signalled by a bit back keen and a shuddering breath let out long and slow, nails digging in to skin in her own form of ownership once more, trembling lightly against him, the warmth in her body lulling her muscles down from the tense and taught of the act to the limpness of the aftermath, eyes somewhat glazed and residual sparks of pleasure making her twitch against him.
Her hand came up, glove sticking to her hand from the small exertion, caressed the side of the male Arrancar’s face, a found gesture, painted lips murmuring appreciative noise without actual words.
The desperate heat of the moment and the frenzied need to move with her, thrust into her, ebbed into stillness as his breath caught and evened, his head raised to look upon features touched up by paints in contrast to her skin.
Alturo smiled, a cold, calculating, and cocky look. There laid appreciation, faint and buried, for her words and actions, but he said nothing to that extent, instead tucking back a few stray strands of her lack hair in a gesture precise and without true affection.
Cirucci smiled, let herself relax against him, stretching languidly, too satisfied to want to get up quite yet, adjusting garters on either side of his hips, letting joints settle and bask in the warmth offered in aftermath, the one time she could feel that throughout her entire body, sweet and alluring.
“All broken.” She repeated his words, voice all silk and veiled danger inherant in all Arrancar, fingers dancing lightly across his chest, smirking coyly, sharply, at the very image they’d woven together.
“Broken and bleeding.” It was a phrase full of longing, want, hope, and excitement, all the things she wanted paled in comparison to the destruction of shinigami, leaning her face into his hand with an appreciative nod as he brushed back waves behind her ears.
"All dead," he confirmed. They fell once, they would fall again; Alturo would enjoy hearing their screams and dying curses, would enjoying relaying them back to the lady Privaron, earning her devotion with each kill. It was a means that served an end, her loyalty gained through actions he already prepared to take.
Alturo brushed his thumb along her cheek, caught momentarily in the deadly beauty of the Privaron, a sight he would not tire of so easily. Her voice was a tainted honey, cruel and lethal in every breath and he nodded to her words.
"All shinigami," he reiterated, both to the names she listed and to the one he knew of as Aizen, not to be forgiven for his supposed allegiance to Hueco Mundo. If nothing else, it made his a greater crime.
She knew the weight in those words, knew what he implied in that statement, she wasn’t nearly as stupid as some thought she was. She could be just as subtle, just as crafty, manipulating, and cunning when it suited her, though she usually preferred the openness of her loud personality.
“… All shinigami.” She repeated gravely, ducking to kiss lightly at the edge of his Hollow hole, as if sealing some sort of bargain, alliance, truce, something. She would serve the stronger. And, judging by the feel that still lingered on her skin of his power, she couldn’t guess who was of the two. The taint of the Soukyouku had augmented him impressively.
She wondered, pondered, who was the one most likely to win between the two males, one whom she served and one whom she’d rather.
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this icon, Two people snugglingafter beating the snot out of something, small squishy, huggable things, or the two hopping beachballs giving Shibana a bath (http://img511.imageshack.us/img511/7400/cutegn7.jpg) or fetch (http://img239.imageshack.us/img239/7788/cute2nr4.jpg)... And YES I blame you for infecting my muses with the cuteness!no subject
(Lumina approves!)
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