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)
tampered2007-07-30 01:48 am
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-07-30 01:48 am
Log; Complete
When; July 6th, [backdated like woah]
Rating; PG-13/R
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Light {onetruejustice}
Summary; During the dream curse, these two predators, one more capable of the physical hunt than the other, have a run in, but... nothing goes according to the Arrancar's plans, and we'll say she doesn't take kindly to rejection.
Log;
He had never remembered them when he awoke, those dreams of his; dreams of scarlet and death and blood that dripped from the thorns of decadent rose petals, spilling onto pristine white and black as if offering its final sacrifice. The darkness around him stretched for miles, but Light was not afraid.
The death of a God was blasphemy, even for one as false as he was. There was no turning back now, and in his desperation, in his madness, he remembered the names of the judged. He remembered, his blood seeping through the multiple wounds in his body and onto the paper; The Book of The Dead.
The names were awash in it, ink and blood mixing -always, always mixing - to form a scent that he would never forget as long as he was dreaming.
It was cleansing.
It was sacrilege.
It was punishment.
>>>
Cirucci Thunderwitch knew she was in a dream. She did not often dream herself, and when she did, they were white, white, bright landscapes of Los Noches and her power, or of dark, pitch black roiling spirits of Hueco Mundo before Aizen came. She knew it was a curse, just as she knew that this, this, was the dream of Yagami Light.
She stood, white in the dark, the stark of her uniform and the bright purple of garters and tear marks on her cheek a contrast to the reds and blacks, and yet, she still seemed to belong there, belong in that darkness and that blood.
The Privaron stepped forward, violet eyes scanning, watching, until her gaze met the mortal who had wanted to play god, to be god. She didn’t speak of yet, watching, small form somehow not lost in the expansion of pitch black that threatened to swallow anyone who came close.
>>>
He sensed her. He could taste her hunger from a mile away. Sitting up on the pile of bloodied papers - there never was anything else in his dream aside from those - brown eyes flashed crimson, if only for a few moments.
White and bright purple, it didn't belong, and neither did the woman who wore them - it was a mockery of purity, and he smiled even as he held out a hand to her.
His voice was a soft purr, smooth as the finest of silks and just as sinful. "Thunderwitch."
>>>
A purr, a soft, deceiving noise that Cirucci was more used to giving than receiving. The looks and murmurs, soothing and offering even as they hid something sharp and deadly. As one who used the same, the same deceptions, she recognized it, even as she stepped closer, close enough to be touched, to be reached out to, but she made no move to do so herself.
“Look at you, Light.” Her voice was sickly sweet, a honeyed poison disguised to hide the bitter taste beneath. “Look at all this.” But she did not look around even as she spoke of doing so, eyes locked on the brown, deep and hidden hues, of the dead human. A dead human she put some stock in. Of use, he was. Dark, dark, darker then most humans she’d known. Dark enough.
>>>
"Look at Revolution." He murmured, meeting the Privaron's eyes. The papers fluttered, the scent of blood hanging over them, almost as sweet, as poisonous as the woman's voice. A soft, soft smile, and bloodied fingers brushed over hers briefly before he lounged back lazily with all the grace of a cat, a king.
A false god with sins that were blacker than the night itself.
"But you didn't come here to look at anything else." He murmured. "You didn't come for Light. You came for Kira."
>>>
“Cirucci came here for that.” A long, thin, finger, black nailed, pointed towards the mortal, to Light, to Kira, the corners of full lips twisted into a wicked mockery of a smile.
“For the soul there.” Her finger crooked, a gesture, mere gesture, and a predatory look to her gaze, surveying a meal, something she could sample and taste at her leisure, even as she was aware that this was not her dream, no, it was his. But she was herself, always that, and she was a proud creature, evident in a stance on her feet just as regal as his own repose, a grace of her own, some light and avian, delicate and deadly.
“For the darkness there.”
>>>
A hunter who hunted another; it was amusing, intriguing, and altogether almost arousing even as Light watched her come forward, seeing those painted lips curved up into something that resembled a smile.
She was hunting him, he knew, but this was his dream, and here...he controlled everything. "Can you take me in a dream, love? My darkness belongs to me and no one else."
And the shadows, the shadows were moving and swirling around them, darker than the abyss, but never closing in until Light allowed it to. He had his game to play, and it was not yet time to expel her from his dream world. If he could do that, of course; such a thing had never been tried.
>>>
She almost laughed at the irony of the wording. Could she take him? Yes, she could. Could she use that darkness as she used the others, seemingly so easy as to give herself when in reality she was taking just as much in return, not seen until later, when her hooks had fully sunken in to skin and flesh and darkness and she could claim them hers.
“I can.” The Privaron intoned, a proud tilt to the line than ran from chin to throat and down to collar, seemingly unphased by the swirls of darkness, no, it was evident in the small shiver than run up her spine that she reveled in it, so much did that swirling pitch black darkness remind her of Hueco Mundo, remind her of how pitch black the world had been when she had created herself in it.
“The trick is, can you surrender it?” A few more steps closer, almost touching, but not quite.
“She can make you want to.”
>>>
A challenge, was it? Light loved a challenge even as his chin was raised, prideful, defiant as the young god as he had fancied himself to be. Toying with a blood-drenched sheet of paper absently, he gave her a lazy look. She was here for his soul, but the arrancar would definitely have to work for it, work to surrender such a thing even as he was intrigued by her words?
Make him do it? How utterly laughable. Light did whatever he wanted, how he wanted, when he wanted it, and she would make him want to give it to her?
Not moving away, relishing her presence - she was so close, so close... - Light simply murmured. "I would like to see that happen."
>>>
“Of course you would, Light.” She murmured, an indulgent sentence, before she paused and smiled. “Kira.” The Arrancar corrected herself, arched her back low to dip and caress the strong line from ear to chin along the jaw, thin fingers chilled and dead.
“Have you earned it?” Cirucci’s fingers lingered a brief moment, plyed against lips, before she withdrew. It seemed strange but not, felt a sort of way of how things should go, as if she weren’t quite all in control of herself but it did not raise any alarms, any flags. Her normal reservations against touching humans in such a manner were gone in the knowledge that this was his dream, and could easily be explained by a young human males creative imagination.
At least, Cirucci though, an imagination with good taste in women.
>>>
"Is that not up to you to decide?" Light asked silkily, feeling her touch against his skin. It felt...different, a tad bit muted somehow, but it was still there, smooth and soft and cold.
Dead. Dead like he was.
They said that a dead man told no tales, but the dead dreamed, and lies still spilled from sweet, sweet lips that tasted nothing but blood and death and judgement. "How will you claim my soul, dear arrancar?" Would he die, if he allowed her to destroy him in here? But then again...he was already dead. With a soft laugh, he reached out, a finger moving to smooth over the other's lips, smudging a tad bit of blood over those pretty, painted lips. "How will you taste what's inside me?"
>>>
Before she answered, the Thunderwitch licked her lips clean, the copper tang of blood on her tongue something that only served to remind her of her diet, so lacking these days, and a soul here, a powerful one, one that was be so… filling.
“It’s been decided, but your pride will give the answer.” She whispered, finally slinking to his level, sitting back on her haunches still with that proud, proud, posture, a call for him to answer despite, yes, that he deserved it, or no, that he did not. She knew the answer, but it was twisted, hard to distinguish and harder to understand.
“This isn’t the real world,” Cirucci licked her lips again, hungrily this time, not to lap up stains and red, her gaze far too predatory for relaxation, for relief. “Your soul may come, when called.”
>>>
"My soul yields to no one," he murmured quietly, leaning forward towards her, the beautiful huntress who looked just about ready to pounce. Light had always had a thing for walking the line, for brushing up so close against danger that would very well swallow him up if he had been only a hairsbreadth out of line.
It made one feel alive. It made one feel the thrill of danger, of excitement. His fingers pressed gently against her soft, soft lips, Light moved in even closer, their faces mere inches away from each other. "Why earn something, when I can just as well take it...?" He met her eyes, and he continued. "You already know your own answer, and that will be all that matters for now."
>>>
Her lips moved against his fingers, each word a soft caress, a gentle murmur of a touch as she remained still and poised, not willing to concede much but willing to take all.
“Taking and taking,” She almost sung the phrase, voice light and airy, sensual in warm breath against equally cold skin of his hand. “Doesn’t anyone just give in anymore?” Her hand, gloved in white that cut off to leave her fingers bare traced the black nails lightly down his arm, her breath slowly, deepening, a preparation for the extraction of a soul, one soul, not the disgustingly mass gorging of her kin, she preferred a more… personal touch to her dinner.
>>>
Personal touch or not, Light would not let her take from him even as he felt her fingers - feathery light, with such gentle, predatory grace - trail down his arm. He could feel it keenly, and he could almost feel her breath on his skin. It felt so real, and he was sure that if he leaned forward, she would taste real as well.
But it still was a dream, and Light controlled it. Light did, not the arrancar - the beautiful, exquisite huntress before him. With a soft smirk, the brunet did not move closer. He would let her come, let her advance like the predator she was. "Where's the fun in giving in, Cirucci?"
>>>
“Oh?” Her breathing began to slow faster, evening until the air coming from her lips seemed as if it could be an illusion, “I hear it can be quite delightful on occasion.” It was nature to her, just as humans knew how to chew, to swallow, to feel for his soul, to latch onto it and begin to pull, leaning forward until her lips brushed up against his. The only was she could describe it was a tugging, her own reiatsu plying at the pitiful spirit energy possessed by humans and seeking to draw it out.
But, to her frustration, while it moved, responded to her more powerful energy, it would not remove, just like the souls in the City. Cirucci made an annoying somewhat-squawk in the back of her throat, tugging harder, her grip on his arm tightening until her nails dug in.
>>>
Shit.
It hurt; the sensation was tearing him apart inside, and it fucking hurt. Light knew that he couldn't die, not in a dream, and the rules of this City did not allow souls to be removed, but it didn't mean that when one tried, it felt like roses and sunshine.
His hand gripping hers tight, forcing himself to remember that he, Yagami Light, was the master of this dream, he struggled to call forth his control, to shove her away. The papers swirled in accordance to his thoughts, a massive dervish that leapt up between them, moving so fast that their edges would serve as knives.
They would not hurt him; not when he willed it.
"Enough," he managed to rasp, grimacing in the pain that seared through him.
>>>
Cirucci crooned, a satisfied noise. She released her hold on his soul, let it settle back, and didn’t even withdraw from him. Knives were nothing for her, paper so sharp nothing to her skin, steel encased and yet still soft, pliable.
“Just a taste.” She reminded, making her point by not withdrawing from the slice of whirling will in paper form until a few moments had passed, a few strands of hair had fallen victim, before rolling back onto her haunches, powerful legs bunched beneath her, still coiled and ready to spring, chin raised as violet eyes watched the expression of pain on his face.
It was beautiful.
>>>
Light's eyes flared crimson, if only for the briefest of moments as he sat back, the ease that flowed through him when she withdrew was almost addictive. Staring back at her, his gaze full of Kira's pride and arrogance, Light refused to be cowed. It would be nothing less than absolutely unacceptable, Light knew. Expose your belly, and the enemies would kick you like a dog. He'd learned this lesson before, and had taught it countless of times in return.
So that was what being preyed on by an arrancar felt like. Even in his dream state, he supposed that the real thing would be rather similar.
The notes settled even as Light - no, Kira - watched her, eyes locked with hers, his gaze becoming almost feral as he recovered, became himself again.
Became the false god that the entire world had knelt to.
"You loved it, Thunderwitch."
>>>
“Of course I did.” She breathed with a warble in her voice, painted lips in a wicked smirk.
“Didn’t you?~” It was hard to remain still, but she did, small hands on her knees and back arched, towards him, but not making movement.
It was evident in her voice that she almost expected him to have.
>>>
"Should I tell you?" He hated it, hated being thought of as mere food, but the aftershock of it was disturbingly pleasurable. Was this what a being a vampire's victim felt like? Leaning back lazily, not breaking eye contact, he continued. "That will be the only time you can have it, dear."
>>>
“Not now?~” She whined, a false and put upon pout, teasing and sarcastic, as bitter as anything.
“You’re going to break my heart.” A high-pitched laugh escaped her slim throat, one hand, a hand that had been stained with blood more times than she could count, had been killing longer than Light had been alive, pressed on the fabric of her dress over the hollow hole in her torso, indenting in to display the irony.
>>>
And Light was well aware of that irony even as he watched her, unable to look away from the indentation she made in her torso. It would be strange, to say the least, to see a hole right through a person's torse and not see them die of it.
With a smile tugging at his lips, he murmured, his voice soft and silky. "You have no heart. And even if you did," A sweet, sweet smile as Light's fingers brushed over his own lips. "You'll keep coming back just to watch me break it over and over again. Won't you?"
>>>
“You’re too conceited, Light.” Cirucci murmured, reaching out to snap his wrist away from his mouth, her grip strong, everything about her strong, such a level of it physically belied by her tiny, petite frame.
“Too many males to let break her heart, to let fight for the pleasure.” A hypocrite she was, through and through. “And you aren’t even fighting at all~ And when you don’t fight, you can’t win.”
>>>
And he allowed her to move his wrist - well, it was not like he couldn't, with the surprising strength that she now displayed - but Light was nothing if not full of pride. His arrogance had always been his downfall, and the one thing that seemed to draw the women to him like flies. Though, really, he supposed that the latter had proved to be to his advantage most of the time.
"Give me something to fight for, Cirucci." He responded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips nonetheless, mindful of the fact that the arrancar could just as easily snap his bones if she so wished. "And you'll be surprised."
>>>
Snapping his bones was tempting. Her pale fingers spasmed, a quick motion that brought the limb close, very close, to snapping, but not quite. No, wouldn’t do to make him cry.
“So demanding.” She murmured, gentling her grip on his wrist even as she pulled, placed his hand over where hers at pressed, at the hole in her torso, empty space beneath white fabric.
“You expect too much, too.”
>>>
He fought hard not to wince, even as the pain jolted up his arm, and Light had enough practice to cover the imperceptible wince with a mask of cool neutrality - to show weakness was as good as being stripped of one's pride, and Light had endured that humiliating experience once; he damn well wasn't about to do it again.
Watching as she guided his hand to her torso, he couldn't help but widen his eyes slightly at the fact that there was nothing solid beneath that fabric. The cloth bent, dug in, and he knew that if he pushed, he wasn't going to touch skin anytime soon. It was only after a moment's pause that he regained himself enough to respond. "I've always been demanding. I'm sure you knew that."
>>>
Cirucci smirked, released his wrist, and leaned into his hand, reinforcing the fact that, really, there was nothing there, nothing but the center anchor of her saketsu chain, something he, with so little energy, could affect or see.
“Not necessarily a pretty trait.” She reminded, another light giggle on her lips. “But, then again, Cirucci never said you had to be beautiful, hmm?”
>>>
Light didn't pull away, although he damn well wanted to. It was completely unnatural, completely fascinating, much like when Ryuk had first come to him. Light had been horrified at first, but monsters were only monsters if you allowed them to be one. Light had, on more than one occasion, proven that he could be far worse than the shinigami.
Looking down at the cloth, he looked back up at her before he pulled away slowly, still trying to get used to the fact that yes, there was a large hole in this woman, this pretty creature who was laughing so gaily as if it didn't matter (and it probably really didn't). "Well, if I was ever considered beautiful, I would probably be very offended."
>>>
“Rather be ugly?~” She laughed cruelly again at his discomfort concerning the hole through her chest. Mortals reactions to that were always funny to her, something to entertain and amuse. Her fingers rose to the collar of her dress, undoing the snaps and drawing the fabric back, baring porcelein skin under equally delicate seeming hands, baring to her naval, revealing the inner curve of her breasts and, more importantly, that hole just below and between, a diameter of about two, maybe three inches, lined in sensitive, thin, skin thrumming with reiatsu.
“Your soul is ugly to mortals.”
>>>
Keeping his eyes on the hole instead of other parts of her body - which was a surprisingly easy thing to do, not because she was unattractive, but simply because Light had never seen anything like this before. It was different from a face-to-face meeting with a shinigami, and a tad bit more disconcerting even as his eyes flicked back to her face.
Light had enough awareness and confidence in his physical appearance to know that he was not lacking in any way, and he refused to rise to the bait when it came to the talk of his soul. With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he responded. "Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. I have no need for a pretty soul if it gets in the way of my ambitions."
>>>
“Ugly to mortals, Cirucci said.” The Privaron reminded, crooking her finger to gesture him closer, tempting, tempting, with a welcoming smile on her face. She didn’t often bed mortals, but she planned to take this one. He was useful, could be very useful, and technically if she took him here, did it count? No matter. It was the easiset way to hook one’s claws in a male, and it was also her favorite.
“Not so ugly to Cirucci.”
>>>
"You want to try to draw my soul out again for another little taste, Cirucci?" Light mused aloud; although his expression barely showed it, Light was wary of her, as well as despising the fact that he was probably at a minor disadvantage of sorts. This was his dream and he controlled it - even whether to throw her out of it - but she was unpredictable, and Light both liked and hated that particular trait. Being unpredictable meant challenging, but it also meant uncontrollable.
He didn't move, not wanting to give the huntress the satisfaction of his submission even as the bloodied papers fluttered restlessly in the nonexistent wind. As charming as the Privaron was right now, Light could not help but wonder if her every move was to snare him once more, to take another little taste.
>>>
She pouted lightly, the tear shaped marks on her cheeks that much more apt, before she finally, for all appearances, gave in. She slunk closer, hands and knees, but while the movement was traditionally submissive, there was nothing in her of the sort, no, all veiled steel and sharp blades hidden beneath a sweet veneer.
“Didn’t like it?” Cirucci crooned, hands on either side of his hips, easy to do reclined back as he was, neck arching to place her mouth against his throat. “The soul is a tricky thing.”
>>>
Light was suddenly aware of the fact that even though his body was dead, most parts still functioned rather normally, and he was seasoned enough with the handling of the opposite sex to display too much of such a reaction - especially when his little game now was to dangle the prize nicely out of her reach. The whole thrill was in the chase, he knew, and he wasn't about to make it boring so soon.
It was clear what she wanted, and it was even clearer what he was unwilling to give just yet. With an amused smile as he felt her lips at his neck - they were soft, and if he kissed them he knew that they would taste like the sweetest of poisons - Light murmured. "It was annoying, but I told you, Cirucci..." His hand moved up to cup her chin, moving back a little before he lifted her face to his, admiring the porcelain complexion and the teardrop shaped markings for it. "Only one taste."
>>>
“Cruel,” She murmured, but it was not an insult. She didn’t like being denied when she’d finally made her move, no, when she decided to advance, they gave in, end of story. Her hands rose to his hips, thumbs dug in against the curve of bone, pressing hard enough to bruise against weak mortal skin.
“She wants to take it.” If she were in Hueco Mundo, in the human world, she would have left him dead by now, left soulless and empty.
>>>
"Don't make me throw you out." His voice hardened ever so slightly, hiding a wince at the pain of her fingers, at her strength. His hand moved to the elegant curve of her neck, pressing back against her as he felt a flicker of apprehension this time, just a little. He'd never been on the receiving end of an arrancar's hunger before, and he sure as hell didn't want to be on said end in the real world. It was already nasty enough in the dreamworld, he didn't want to think about how bad it would be when he was actually awake.
"I control everything here, Cirucci. It would be a pity to see you leave so soon."
>>>
“You don’t want me to leave~” She breathed, pressed the cold skin of her neck against his fingers, a dare, a challenge. No matter how he pressed, even if he squeezed and strangled she would not die. Already dead, without the need to breathe, she would splutter, choke, until her body reminded her that it was unneeded.
“You want me to stay.” Cirucci was assured, confidant, let her nails dig in harsh and sharp on hip bones, wicked smile on full lips. There. That was all she needed. I control everything here. If she moved on a mortal she always required an excuse, and he provided it.
“Or, you could ask her to be gentle.”
>>>
His breath caught in his throat - unnecessary, but entirely too human, and Light despised that little fact - as he felt her pressing closer. He met that challenge, tightening his fingers slightly, adding pressure even as he tensed, the nails digging into his skin sharp and painful. He didn't bleed; no one bled in a person's subconscious. The Death Note was a different thing entirely, when ink coalesced into the lifeblood of those he had murdered. His eyes flickered to her full, soft lips, and Light fought down the urge to bruise it, to bite down and see if she bled as well.
"A gentle huntress?" He chuckled, low and throaty, a glint in his brown eyes. "I'm not stupid, dear Thunderwitch. Although I must wonder...where will you be when my dreaming ends?"
>>>
Cirucci exhaled, low and tremulous, let all the air from her lungs and stilled them until her chest was still as death, no need to breath or take in air.
“I can be gentle when I want to be.” She demonstrated by removed her clench on his hips, instead smoothing her thin fingers over the marks left in fluttering touch, pressed his hand harder against her throat to croon against his own in soft, slow, speech.
“Probably with another male.” The Arrancar answered honestly, bluntly, eyes closed against the crook of his shoulder and neck.
>>>
Light watched, watched as the breath was expelled from her lungs, and all was left was a corpse, a true predator that was above petty criminals and detectives. Her chest was still, and it seemed like she did not bother with the courtesy of pretending to be human now. He relaxed very slightly when Cirucci released her painful grip, a soft hiss under his breath his only reaction as he felt her cold, cold fingers brush over his bruised skin.
His own lips brushing against her ear, he knew how dangerous her proximity was even as he murmurs. "Will you devour him, then?”
>>>
“I think it was Dordonii…” She tried to remember, but the waking seemed hazy and distant.
“So no.” Cirucci pressed her lips to his throat where normally the blood would pump strongest, life’s blood, stilled and quiet. Her fingers rose, stroked light and airy, gently, gently, she reminded herself.
“Arrancar cannot consume other Arrancar, in the way Hollows consume other Hollows.” It was fact. She’d had their blood in her mouth as a Hollow herself, when her form sealed in blade at hip had been her only form, the long curve of pale, pale, neck, avian head, beak, talons, and wings.
>>>
Light didn't know who that was, but it was irrelevant and unimportant, and so he merely dismissed it to the back of his mind. The feel of her lips were almost blurred, and he wondered if he would will the sensation to be sharper, less-dream like. Then again...
His hand sliding from her neck down, drifting over generous curves to rest at her hips, he didn't react visibly to her touch, but he did not pull away either. With a soft murmur, he remarked. "I'm not surprised. With the way you're all fighting, I won't be surprised that you'd devour each other if you had the chance." Light leaned in closer this time, lips brushing over her ear. "What do you want from me here, Cirucci?"
>>>
She wriggled, too easy to push into reacting, too sensual not to.
“Everything.” Her words were barely audible, pressing further against him, hips squirming beneath his hand as she advanced, straddled fully and let her hands snake up around his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest and nipped at his jugular.
“Everything.” The Arrancar repeated again. “Expect anything less?”
>>>
And he felt her keenly, her body pressing against his, slender and inviting. It was difficult not to react, but it was not impossible. His hand moving to the small of her back, feeling the fabric against his skin, he smiled against the side of her pretty, pretty face, hissing quietly at the nip at his jugular. If she bit on it, would he die? Then again, he had no more blood left to lose; he probably didn't need blood to live, on account of how his heart wasn't beating anymore.
"Of course not," he purred. finding a strange thrill in being so close to something that was obviously so dangerous and hazardous to his personal being. "But you can't get everything in here. No one can. Because...it will all be gone when I wake up."
>>>
“All the better.” Cirucci assured, bit down harder before she soothed with a heavy breath and a slight lick against the marks from her teeth.
“I don’t make it a habit of bedding mortals, you know.” She assumed he should feel honored, yes, but it was also a statement just to be one, lips traveling up across jawline and murmuring sweet and low, rocked a bit, hip to hip, to try and induce further reaction, small hands fisting in the back of his shirt.
>>>
"And yet here you are..." The friction and pressure was distracting, pleasurable, and he made a soft sound in the back of his throat even as he felt his lips tug in a smirk that was distinctly predatory, calculating. "...this must mean that I'm quite the exception."
For all intents and purposes, Light was still very much male, and it was impossible for him not to have even the tiniest stirrings of lust that began to well inside him. Nevertheless, Light knew the difference that set him apart from mere hormonal men was the ability to control it, to temper himself so that it didn't take him over. Lust and love turned men into morons, and he was not willing to make that mistake, not even for her. Leaning forward, his own hips pressing up against hers, he murmured silkily.
"So eager, Thunderwitch?"
>>>
“This doesn’t count, if it’s a dream, hmm?” Cirucci murmured. She was frustrated at his control, restraint, it reminded her of Ishida, and that wasn’t nice at all. The female was used to her males taking what they were offered, being hormonal, being physical beings, but then again, the flesh was something Arrancar understood acutely.
“And, besides, aren’t you controlling me?~” She laughed, a light noise, nipping light before licking lighter, kissing soft and hungry, insistent in the slow squirm against his hips, hard and steady, bare thighs pressed to either side of him.
“Which means this is what you want~”
>>>
Amused, his other hand tilted her head up slightly, meeting his own lips even as his own kiss was demanding, almost harsh. He knew that Cirucci wouldn't want gentleness, and he was not inclined to give the deceptively delicate-looking arrancar something like that, either.
His own pants were becoming tighter, a little more uncomfortable as he ground up against her as well, always always mindful of how cool her flesh was sliding over his. Fingers running down slim, alabaster thighs, he took his time admiring her form before he continued.
"You're too prideful to be controlled. You yield only to make me give you what you want." Even through the primal lust that laced his tone, his mind was clear, sharp. For a man who used seduction to achieve his own ends, Light refused to be done in by it. His fingers moved up further, brushing up against her center teasingly.
>>>
A soft sigh, a croon, against his mouth and the Arrancar jerked a bit, squirmed and wriggled against touch, though her voice was breathy, her mind wasn’t fazed, as his was not. She did this far too often to let it get to her.
“Stop reading me, hmm?” She laughed again, though it was breathy, too, airy, rocked again, softer, this time, trying to draw him into the more aggressive, the more brutal, primal, biting sudden and hard on his bottom lip.
It was difficult to work with smart males. They always seemed to know too much.
>>>
She was responsive, Light would give her that much, and she definitely knew how to turn someone on. Not that it was unexpected, considering her track record with the males and how self-aware she had been. Chuckling softly at her light laugh, Light simply responded, his fingers brushing up against her inner thigh, still not giving her what he knew she wanted. With a low growl at her bite, he responded by letting the hand at her hip move further down, pressing her unceremoniously closer for a few lingering moments.
"If you want it, Cirucci, then you're going to have to ask for it when I'm awake."
He knew her distaste for bedding human males, but all the same, it would give him the satisfaction in knowing that she had asked for it. His grip on her relaxing, he pulled away completely, licking his lips and tasting just the faintest tang of blood in his mouth.
>>>
Ask for it?
Cirucci’s hand twisted tighter into his shirt, gaze hardening into a glare, even, all trace of her own arousals suppressed.
“You don’t seem to understand, darling.” She wrenched him back, all fury and hard curves, now, no softness.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch doesn’t ask for it. She takes it when she wants it, and you, darling, give it gladly.” Her voice darkened, crooned sweet and deceptive with every offer yet untouched, but thrummed with a battered pride.
>>>
Ah, there she was, the creature all the veils and masks of niceties and flirtations covered so nicely. Carnal, demanding, she was lovely in a terrible way, and she was something that Light wouldn't want to cross, because as arrogant and proud as he was, he knew he was only human.
He resisted when she yanked him forward, but not by much, because he was no match for an arrancar's strength, but his smile, his smirk became teasing, almost mocking even as his pride prevented him from giving in. It was a game; it had always been one. "Ask and you'll receive. Seek and you'll find." His hand moving up to the side of her face, he let it drift down to her shoulder, pressing her back.
"Shall I end it here?"
>>>
“You can’t.” Cirucci snarled, dug nails in and tried not to rip too badly, instead held, steady, though a slow fury, kindled now, shook her limbs.
“You say you’re in control, but when can you stop me?” She smirked, almost, a mere wicked expression on painted lips, bringing one hand up to throat and stroking against the windpipe, cruel and tempting.
“If I break you, or… if you’re still in control, you want to be broken?” The Arrancar giggled, laughed and amused at the thought of violence, but also aroused at those same thoughts, of the idea of blood spilt, and on her hands.
>>>
Can't? Such a lie. The way her nails dug into his wrist; it hurt, but it had the same quality that dream-like sensations had, vaguely muted, but still harsh enough for it to sting like hell. Was the arrancar furious about his refusal, then? It was yet another interesting thing that Light had learned; she had the same childish trait that Light had, the anger of one who had never been denied before. It was almost amusing, if Light had been a spectator instead of being directly involved.
"You can't break me, not in here." He murmured, feeling her cold fingers against his throat. Light didn't recoil, and simply continued, a small smile on his face. He would end this soon, but not now. The dangerous thrill was almost addicting.
"Are you angry at my rejection?"
>>>
Cirucci settled, lips pursed to hold back a sneer, and contemplated slapping him.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch doesn’t ask for it, she said.” Voice honey sweet and dripping with poison. “As she is also not rejected.”
She hated rejection, considered it a blow to her worth, her pride, as well as everything else about her, and she didn’t tolerate it from weaker males, let alone a mortal.
>>>
Her pride was almost fascinating, and Light wondered about her even as he pulled back a little further. Having a very angry arrancar after him - even in a dream - was a most unwise choice to make. Light may be prideful, but he had strong survival instincts as well, and it was time to end it before things got worse. He didn't know if he would really die if he was killed in a dream, and he sure as hell wasn't about to risk it. All things considered, he also required Cirucci's willing help for the few people he wanted to dispatch in the future, and pushing her buttons did not exactly contribute to endearing him to her.
"I see. But I'm afraid we'll have to call it quits for now, Cirucci. Consider it a mutual agreement."
>>>
She didn’t respond.
Cirucci was tense, taut, angry. No one treated her this way-
Espada did.
No one beneath her treated her this way, and it was clear on her face her fury, her bitterness, her altogether denial of a rejection and evident in her refusal to answer, only moved to clench tighter, possessive.
>>>
Light knew her anger, recognized it clearly; and although he didn't know exactly why she would be that way, he had a general idea of it - she didn't take too kindly to be rejected, and quite apparently, the arrancar had seen him as a possession of sorts. It annoyed him, but he could work with it and turn it to his advantage; it would suit his plans a lot more. With a soft smile, he didn't flinch at the tightening of her grip even as he leaned in and murmured, careful not to agitate her even more.
"It's not my intention to anger you, Cirucci. If you want this, I am willing to give it to you when I'm awake. There's no point to this game otherwise."
>>>
She did slap him, then. A light strike, by her standards, but much heavier compared to mortal standards, resounding and angered.
“Wrong.” Cirucci spat, smoldering eyes, disdainful tilt to neck and head, condemning. “Too proud, Light, to assume she wants what she offers you.” Privaron had been rejected by their ranks, and refused to be such again, grip tightening one moment more before releasing him, leaning back on her haunches and regarding him vainly.
>>>
The pain flared in his cheek, and he had to hold in his instinctive anger at Cirucci's daring. No one had ever deigned to slap him before, and the insult was particularly aggravating even as he smoothed over his annoyance with a deliberately neutral expression. Damn it, he was going to - no, no. He could not give the game away; not yet.
Now that he knew how she ticked, it was time to swallow his anger and disbelief. His cheek stung like a bitch, but he had collected enough of himself to murmur, with all the air of a wounded suitor - this would perhaps be one of his better performances yet. "But not too proud to want what you offer, only in the context of the waking world."
So vain, so vain, the Thunderwitch, that he had to resort to sweet words and to coax her.
>>>
And now, she had a dilemma. To give, or not to give. She didn’t need him embittered towards her, no, she fancied an ally in him, but… her pride demanded recompense.
“… No.” She nearly hesitated, but didn’t, hated that neutrally blank look on his face, wanted him angry, angry, angrier still, but at the same time, didn’t.
“Here.” She insisted, pricked the index finger of her hand against his collar bone and trailed down, hard.
>>>
Knowing the role he had to play, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her close to him. Pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was both dominating and passionate, he nipped at her bottom lip before murmuring, making sure that his voice was low enough, husky enough. He had played this game enough to know what it was she wanted, but he did not know her completely enough to have absolute confidence that he could pull this off.
"I want you, Cirucci. But not here." Another hard kiss, and the press of his hips up against hers. "Not like this."
>>>
Cirucci hissed, ground against him with a breathy hitch in the noise, and pressed hard, dug her nails in the front of his shirt, harsh and unforgiving, and the latter most of all. No matter what he did now, she would not forgive an initial rejection.
“Give me a good reason why not here.” Hand at his shoulder threatened to simply toss him down and rob him of his resistance, of pitiful human strength compared to Arrancar. “A good one.” She demanded, demanded everything and more against his lips, licking lightly at where she’d made him bleed, loving the faint copper taste their still that made her heady and violent.
>>>
"Because I want to feel it when I'm awake. This will be over as soon as I wake up." He covered a grimace at the way she pressed hard against him, the force behind her push reminding him that she could damn well throw him down and take what she wanted if the answer didn't please her at all. Feeling her tongue against his lips, his own flicked out, teasing her before he continued with false, but oh so earnest sincerity and intensity, making sure that his eyes met hers.
"Because, Cirucci..." his voice was a lover's caress, whispering over her skin. "I know you'll want me to remember, you'll want to hear your name on my lips. And most importantly... you'll want my possessions to hear it, don't you...?" His hands move to her back, stroking, easing her tension. "They can hear nothing here..."
>>>
She stifled a croon, turned to more a murmur, cold and icy.
“No.” Cirucci spoke, more a whine, insistent, impatient, than anything, not letting herself like the answer, though she wanted to like it. No, that would be too easy, to believe in the same falsities she offered others, it would be too pathetic.
“Here.” She wouldn’t say that here because he was mortal and that was something near disgusting. Thin fingers stroked against his hip, stroked where wound, demanding.
“Now.” She wouldn’t say that now because she did want it, that, despite knowing it was lies she likes those words, that his pride was heady and attractive even as her own could be.
>>>
Light felt a mild flare of frustration, knowing that the beautiful Privaron was not as easily coaxed as the women he'd been used to having. He caught the subtle whine in her voice and realized that it was nothing more than a spoilt, possessive child seeking to reclaim what had nearly slipped through their fingers. His hands pressed her slender waist closer even as his lips trailed down the side of her neck. He would definitely need a new plan for this, and he simply murmured against the skin of her neck, skin tingling at where her finger stroked.
"Here is not good enough for you." A soft nip at her neck, and he murmured. "Is your pride worth something like this?"
>>>
“It’s nice here.” She tipped her head back, small noises in the back of her throat under his mouth, slipped fit against him and did, as he thought, seek to reclaim, just as childish in that respect, demanding and petulant.
“Bloody.” The Arrancar wouldn’t be swayed any longer, because being swayed would mean he’d won, and she didn’t want that, stroked soft, the fine curve of a thin, cold, finger, hooking at the button of his pants and tugging lightly.
>>>
"Proud arrancar, willing to settle for something that's not real." He murmured to her, catching her wrist even as he pulled away to look her straight in the eye.
"If being with a mortal in the real world is not to your tastes, then why indulge in the dream world?" His voice was soft, silky soft.
"Is this your guilty pleasure?" He smiled faintly; apparently, the gentle way hadn't worked on her - the Privaron was a difficult, challenging one, indeed.
"Has Cirucci forgotten that I can shut this dream down when I wish...?"
>>>
A snarl ripped up from her chest, a sneer, and she withdrew her hand, met his gaze and snapped some wordless noise, felt the urge to hit him again, instead settled for a tightening of her muscles, a small sigh, as if she were giving in, leaning against his neck, a soft noise, before she bit, hard, waited until she tasted blood before she stopped, withdrew to lick, soothing, at what she’d done.
“I don’t believe it.” She murmured back, silky soft to match. “And, if you did, well, she’d just kill you.”
>>>
He winced then, grimacing at the pain that flared in his throat even as he bit down his reaction, unwilling to show her how much it hurt. The tongue that eased over the wound was soothing, but he refused to be distracted. Now was not the time to give in to her, now that his pride demanded some form of remuneration. Cirucci would learn that Yagami Light did things when it suited him, even as he chuckled softly.
"You will kill me because I refused you in a dream?"
>>>
“I’m fickle like that.” Cirucci reminded, teased, lapped the blood from his throat before kissing softly, delicately, reminding again of her presence, of her demands.
“Besides,” She crooned, “Feels real enough, hmm?” It was punctuated by a frenetic rocking against his hips and a breathy, high strung sigh in his ear, in the fact that, taut as she was, her dress had begun to feel restricting, clingy.
>>>
"Ridiculous." He breathed even as his own breath hitched in his throat at her proximity. It felt good, pleasant, and Light recognized his own response to her body against his. It was purely physical, and Light was willing to leave it like that even as he felt her sigh brush over his ear. There she was, pretending to be human again. His hands moved down her sides to her hips before he pushed hard, backing off at the same time, with the intention of putting more distance between them.
"Enough, Cirucci." She was going to kill him? He would risk it, even as he willed himself to wake, to feel his limbs prone against the bed, and the muted, soft sounds of The Raven beneath his suite.
>>>
Enough? She opened her mouth to speak, to insult, slap, verbally abuse, but when he awoke, when he left, she was thrown back to her own dreams, her own cursed dream.
The Arrancar quieted instead, watched as over and over the execution squad leader gripped her shoulder, drew his blade.
Cirucci Thunderwitch-sama. She averted her gaze, squirmed uncomfortably. It would be better if you came alone quietly. And then… Il Forte, too… why’d he have to be here?
… She would have to kill Light another time.
For now, she moved among her dream, unable to touch it or change it, so instead settlings on the couch where another her sat with a blonde man and drew her knees up, tucked in on herself and watching somberly.
Another time.
Rating; PG-13/R
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Light {onetruejustice}Summary; During the dream curse, these two predators, one more capable of the physical hunt than the other, have a run in, but... nothing goes according to the Arrancar's plans, and we'll say she doesn't take kindly to rejection.
Log;
He had never remembered them when he awoke, those dreams of his; dreams of scarlet and death and blood that dripped from the thorns of decadent rose petals, spilling onto pristine white and black as if offering its final sacrifice. The darkness around him stretched for miles, but Light was not afraid.
The death of a God was blasphemy, even for one as false as he was. There was no turning back now, and in his desperation, in his madness, he remembered the names of the judged. He remembered, his blood seeping through the multiple wounds in his body and onto the paper; The Book of The Dead.
The names were awash in it, ink and blood mixing -always, always mixing - to form a scent that he would never forget as long as he was dreaming.
It was cleansing.
It was sacrilege.
It was punishment.
>>>
Cirucci Thunderwitch knew she was in a dream. She did not often dream herself, and when she did, they were white, white, bright landscapes of Los Noches and her power, or of dark, pitch black roiling spirits of Hueco Mundo before Aizen came. She knew it was a curse, just as she knew that this, this, was the dream of Yagami Light.
She stood, white in the dark, the stark of her uniform and the bright purple of garters and tear marks on her cheek a contrast to the reds and blacks, and yet, she still seemed to belong there, belong in that darkness and that blood.
The Privaron stepped forward, violet eyes scanning, watching, until her gaze met the mortal who had wanted to play god, to be god. She didn’t speak of yet, watching, small form somehow not lost in the expansion of pitch black that threatened to swallow anyone who came close.
>>>
He sensed her. He could taste her hunger from a mile away. Sitting up on the pile of bloodied papers - there never was anything else in his dream aside from those - brown eyes flashed crimson, if only for a few moments.
White and bright purple, it didn't belong, and neither did the woman who wore them - it was a mockery of purity, and he smiled even as he held out a hand to her.
His voice was a soft purr, smooth as the finest of silks and just as sinful. "Thunderwitch."
>>>
A purr, a soft, deceiving noise that Cirucci was more used to giving than receiving. The looks and murmurs, soothing and offering even as they hid something sharp and deadly. As one who used the same, the same deceptions, she recognized it, even as she stepped closer, close enough to be touched, to be reached out to, but she made no move to do so herself.
“Look at you, Light.” Her voice was sickly sweet, a honeyed poison disguised to hide the bitter taste beneath. “Look at all this.” But she did not look around even as she spoke of doing so, eyes locked on the brown, deep and hidden hues, of the dead human. A dead human she put some stock in. Of use, he was. Dark, dark, darker then most humans she’d known. Dark enough.
>>>
"Look at Revolution." He murmured, meeting the Privaron's eyes. The papers fluttered, the scent of blood hanging over them, almost as sweet, as poisonous as the woman's voice. A soft, soft smile, and bloodied fingers brushed over hers briefly before he lounged back lazily with all the grace of a cat, a king.
A false god with sins that were blacker than the night itself.
"But you didn't come here to look at anything else." He murmured. "You didn't come for Light. You came for Kira."
>>>
“Cirucci came here for that.” A long, thin, finger, black nailed, pointed towards the mortal, to Light, to Kira, the corners of full lips twisted into a wicked mockery of a smile.
“For the soul there.” Her finger crooked, a gesture, mere gesture, and a predatory look to her gaze, surveying a meal, something she could sample and taste at her leisure, even as she was aware that this was not her dream, no, it was his. But she was herself, always that, and she was a proud creature, evident in a stance on her feet just as regal as his own repose, a grace of her own, some light and avian, delicate and deadly.
“For the darkness there.”
>>>
A hunter who hunted another; it was amusing, intriguing, and altogether almost arousing even as Light watched her come forward, seeing those painted lips curved up into something that resembled a smile.
She was hunting him, he knew, but this was his dream, and here...he controlled everything. "Can you take me in a dream, love? My darkness belongs to me and no one else."
And the shadows, the shadows were moving and swirling around them, darker than the abyss, but never closing in until Light allowed it to. He had his game to play, and it was not yet time to expel her from his dream world. If he could do that, of course; such a thing had never been tried.
>>>
She almost laughed at the irony of the wording. Could she take him? Yes, she could. Could she use that darkness as she used the others, seemingly so easy as to give herself when in reality she was taking just as much in return, not seen until later, when her hooks had fully sunken in to skin and flesh and darkness and she could claim them hers.
“I can.” The Privaron intoned, a proud tilt to the line than ran from chin to throat and down to collar, seemingly unphased by the swirls of darkness, no, it was evident in the small shiver than run up her spine that she reveled in it, so much did that swirling pitch black darkness remind her of Hueco Mundo, remind her of how pitch black the world had been when she had created herself in it.
“The trick is, can you surrender it?” A few more steps closer, almost touching, but not quite.
“She can make you want to.”
>>>
A challenge, was it? Light loved a challenge even as his chin was raised, prideful, defiant as the young god as he had fancied himself to be. Toying with a blood-drenched sheet of paper absently, he gave her a lazy look. She was here for his soul, but the arrancar would definitely have to work for it, work to surrender such a thing even as he was intrigued by her words?
Make him do it? How utterly laughable. Light did whatever he wanted, how he wanted, when he wanted it, and she would make him want to give it to her?
Not moving away, relishing her presence - she was so close, so close... - Light simply murmured. "I would like to see that happen."
>>>
“Of course you would, Light.” She murmured, an indulgent sentence, before she paused and smiled. “Kira.” The Arrancar corrected herself, arched her back low to dip and caress the strong line from ear to chin along the jaw, thin fingers chilled and dead.
“Have you earned it?” Cirucci’s fingers lingered a brief moment, plyed against lips, before she withdrew. It seemed strange but not, felt a sort of way of how things should go, as if she weren’t quite all in control of herself but it did not raise any alarms, any flags. Her normal reservations against touching humans in such a manner were gone in the knowledge that this was his dream, and could easily be explained by a young human males creative imagination.
At least, Cirucci though, an imagination with good taste in women.
>>>
"Is that not up to you to decide?" Light asked silkily, feeling her touch against his skin. It felt...different, a tad bit muted somehow, but it was still there, smooth and soft and cold.
Dead. Dead like he was.
They said that a dead man told no tales, but the dead dreamed, and lies still spilled from sweet, sweet lips that tasted nothing but blood and death and judgement. "How will you claim my soul, dear arrancar?" Would he die, if he allowed her to destroy him in here? But then again...he was already dead. With a soft laugh, he reached out, a finger moving to smooth over the other's lips, smudging a tad bit of blood over those pretty, painted lips. "How will you taste what's inside me?"
>>>
Before she answered, the Thunderwitch licked her lips clean, the copper tang of blood on her tongue something that only served to remind her of her diet, so lacking these days, and a soul here, a powerful one, one that was be so… filling.
“It’s been decided, but your pride will give the answer.” She whispered, finally slinking to his level, sitting back on her haunches still with that proud, proud, posture, a call for him to answer despite, yes, that he deserved it, or no, that he did not. She knew the answer, but it was twisted, hard to distinguish and harder to understand.
“This isn’t the real world,” Cirucci licked her lips again, hungrily this time, not to lap up stains and red, her gaze far too predatory for relaxation, for relief. “Your soul may come, when called.”
>>>
"My soul yields to no one," he murmured quietly, leaning forward towards her, the beautiful huntress who looked just about ready to pounce. Light had always had a thing for walking the line, for brushing up so close against danger that would very well swallow him up if he had been only a hairsbreadth out of line.
It made one feel alive. It made one feel the thrill of danger, of excitement. His fingers pressed gently against her soft, soft lips, Light moved in even closer, their faces mere inches away from each other. "Why earn something, when I can just as well take it...?" He met her eyes, and he continued. "You already know your own answer, and that will be all that matters for now."
>>>
Her lips moved against his fingers, each word a soft caress, a gentle murmur of a touch as she remained still and poised, not willing to concede much but willing to take all.
“Taking and taking,” She almost sung the phrase, voice light and airy, sensual in warm breath against equally cold skin of his hand. “Doesn’t anyone just give in anymore?” Her hand, gloved in white that cut off to leave her fingers bare traced the black nails lightly down his arm, her breath slowly, deepening, a preparation for the extraction of a soul, one soul, not the disgustingly mass gorging of her kin, she preferred a more… personal touch to her dinner.
>>>
Personal touch or not, Light would not let her take from him even as he felt her fingers - feathery light, with such gentle, predatory grace - trail down his arm. He could feel it keenly, and he could almost feel her breath on his skin. It felt so real, and he was sure that if he leaned forward, she would taste real as well.
But it still was a dream, and Light controlled it. Light did, not the arrancar - the beautiful, exquisite huntress before him. With a soft smirk, the brunet did not move closer. He would let her come, let her advance like the predator she was. "Where's the fun in giving in, Cirucci?"
>>>
“Oh?” Her breathing began to slow faster, evening until the air coming from her lips seemed as if it could be an illusion, “I hear it can be quite delightful on occasion.” It was nature to her, just as humans knew how to chew, to swallow, to feel for his soul, to latch onto it and begin to pull, leaning forward until her lips brushed up against his. The only was she could describe it was a tugging, her own reiatsu plying at the pitiful spirit energy possessed by humans and seeking to draw it out.
But, to her frustration, while it moved, responded to her more powerful energy, it would not remove, just like the souls in the City. Cirucci made an annoying somewhat-squawk in the back of her throat, tugging harder, her grip on his arm tightening until her nails dug in.
>>>
Shit.
It hurt; the sensation was tearing him apart inside, and it fucking hurt. Light knew that he couldn't die, not in a dream, and the rules of this City did not allow souls to be removed, but it didn't mean that when one tried, it felt like roses and sunshine.
His hand gripping hers tight, forcing himself to remember that he, Yagami Light, was the master of this dream, he struggled to call forth his control, to shove her away. The papers swirled in accordance to his thoughts, a massive dervish that leapt up between them, moving so fast that their edges would serve as knives.
They would not hurt him; not when he willed it.
"Enough," he managed to rasp, grimacing in the pain that seared through him.
>>>
Cirucci crooned, a satisfied noise. She released her hold on his soul, let it settle back, and didn’t even withdraw from him. Knives were nothing for her, paper so sharp nothing to her skin, steel encased and yet still soft, pliable.
“Just a taste.” She reminded, making her point by not withdrawing from the slice of whirling will in paper form until a few moments had passed, a few strands of hair had fallen victim, before rolling back onto her haunches, powerful legs bunched beneath her, still coiled and ready to spring, chin raised as violet eyes watched the expression of pain on his face.
It was beautiful.
>>>
Light's eyes flared crimson, if only for the briefest of moments as he sat back, the ease that flowed through him when she withdrew was almost addictive. Staring back at her, his gaze full of Kira's pride and arrogance, Light refused to be cowed. It would be nothing less than absolutely unacceptable, Light knew. Expose your belly, and the enemies would kick you like a dog. He'd learned this lesson before, and had taught it countless of times in return.
So that was what being preyed on by an arrancar felt like. Even in his dream state, he supposed that the real thing would be rather similar.
The notes settled even as Light - no, Kira - watched her, eyes locked with hers, his gaze becoming almost feral as he recovered, became himself again.
Became the false god that the entire world had knelt to.
"You loved it, Thunderwitch."
>>>
“Of course I did.” She breathed with a warble in her voice, painted lips in a wicked smirk.
“Didn’t you?~” It was hard to remain still, but she did, small hands on her knees and back arched, towards him, but not making movement.
It was evident in her voice that she almost expected him to have.
>>>
"Should I tell you?" He hated it, hated being thought of as mere food, but the aftershock of it was disturbingly pleasurable. Was this what a being a vampire's victim felt like? Leaning back lazily, not breaking eye contact, he continued. "That will be the only time you can have it, dear."
>>>
“Not now?~” She whined, a false and put upon pout, teasing and sarcastic, as bitter as anything.
“You’re going to break my heart.” A high-pitched laugh escaped her slim throat, one hand, a hand that had been stained with blood more times than she could count, had been killing longer than Light had been alive, pressed on the fabric of her dress over the hollow hole in her torso, indenting in to display the irony.
>>>
And Light was well aware of that irony even as he watched her, unable to look away from the indentation she made in her torso. It would be strange, to say the least, to see a hole right through a person's torse and not see them die of it.
With a smile tugging at his lips, he murmured, his voice soft and silky. "You have no heart. And even if you did," A sweet, sweet smile as Light's fingers brushed over his own lips. "You'll keep coming back just to watch me break it over and over again. Won't you?"
>>>
“You’re too conceited, Light.” Cirucci murmured, reaching out to snap his wrist away from his mouth, her grip strong, everything about her strong, such a level of it physically belied by her tiny, petite frame.
“Too many males to let break her heart, to let fight for the pleasure.” A hypocrite she was, through and through. “And you aren’t even fighting at all~ And when you don’t fight, you can’t win.”
>>>
And he allowed her to move his wrist - well, it was not like he couldn't, with the surprising strength that she now displayed - but Light was nothing if not full of pride. His arrogance had always been his downfall, and the one thing that seemed to draw the women to him like flies. Though, really, he supposed that the latter had proved to be to his advantage most of the time.
"Give me something to fight for, Cirucci." He responded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips nonetheless, mindful of the fact that the arrancar could just as easily snap his bones if she so wished. "And you'll be surprised."
>>>
Snapping his bones was tempting. Her pale fingers spasmed, a quick motion that brought the limb close, very close, to snapping, but not quite. No, wouldn’t do to make him cry.
“So demanding.” She murmured, gentling her grip on his wrist even as she pulled, placed his hand over where hers at pressed, at the hole in her torso, empty space beneath white fabric.
“You expect too much, too.”
>>>
He fought hard not to wince, even as the pain jolted up his arm, and Light had enough practice to cover the imperceptible wince with a mask of cool neutrality - to show weakness was as good as being stripped of one's pride, and Light had endured that humiliating experience once; he damn well wasn't about to do it again.
Watching as she guided his hand to her torso, he couldn't help but widen his eyes slightly at the fact that there was nothing solid beneath that fabric. The cloth bent, dug in, and he knew that if he pushed, he wasn't going to touch skin anytime soon. It was only after a moment's pause that he regained himself enough to respond. "I've always been demanding. I'm sure you knew that."
>>>
Cirucci smirked, released his wrist, and leaned into his hand, reinforcing the fact that, really, there was nothing there, nothing but the center anchor of her saketsu chain, something he, with so little energy, could affect or see.
“Not necessarily a pretty trait.” She reminded, another light giggle on her lips. “But, then again, Cirucci never said you had to be beautiful, hmm?”
>>>
Light didn't pull away, although he damn well wanted to. It was completely unnatural, completely fascinating, much like when Ryuk had first come to him. Light had been horrified at first, but monsters were only monsters if you allowed them to be one. Light had, on more than one occasion, proven that he could be far worse than the shinigami.
Looking down at the cloth, he looked back up at her before he pulled away slowly, still trying to get used to the fact that yes, there was a large hole in this woman, this pretty creature who was laughing so gaily as if it didn't matter (and it probably really didn't). "Well, if I was ever considered beautiful, I would probably be very offended."
>>>
“Rather be ugly?~” She laughed cruelly again at his discomfort concerning the hole through her chest. Mortals reactions to that were always funny to her, something to entertain and amuse. Her fingers rose to the collar of her dress, undoing the snaps and drawing the fabric back, baring porcelein skin under equally delicate seeming hands, baring to her naval, revealing the inner curve of her breasts and, more importantly, that hole just below and between, a diameter of about two, maybe three inches, lined in sensitive, thin, skin thrumming with reiatsu.
“Your soul is ugly to mortals.”
>>>
Keeping his eyes on the hole instead of other parts of her body - which was a surprisingly easy thing to do, not because she was unattractive, but simply because Light had never seen anything like this before. It was different from a face-to-face meeting with a shinigami, and a tad bit more disconcerting even as his eyes flicked back to her face.
Light had enough awareness and confidence in his physical appearance to know that he was not lacking in any way, and he refused to rise to the bait when it came to the talk of his soul. With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he responded. "Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. I have no need for a pretty soul if it gets in the way of my ambitions."
>>>
“Ugly to mortals, Cirucci said.” The Privaron reminded, crooking her finger to gesture him closer, tempting, tempting, with a welcoming smile on her face. She didn’t often bed mortals, but she planned to take this one. He was useful, could be very useful, and technically if she took him here, did it count? No matter. It was the easiset way to hook one’s claws in a male, and it was also her favorite.
“Not so ugly to Cirucci.”
>>>
"You want to try to draw my soul out again for another little taste, Cirucci?" Light mused aloud; although his expression barely showed it, Light was wary of her, as well as despising the fact that he was probably at a minor disadvantage of sorts. This was his dream and he controlled it - even whether to throw her out of it - but she was unpredictable, and Light both liked and hated that particular trait. Being unpredictable meant challenging, but it also meant uncontrollable.
He didn't move, not wanting to give the huntress the satisfaction of his submission even as the bloodied papers fluttered restlessly in the nonexistent wind. As charming as the Privaron was right now, Light could not help but wonder if her every move was to snare him once more, to take another little taste.
>>>
She pouted lightly, the tear shaped marks on her cheeks that much more apt, before she finally, for all appearances, gave in. She slunk closer, hands and knees, but while the movement was traditionally submissive, there was nothing in her of the sort, no, all veiled steel and sharp blades hidden beneath a sweet veneer.
“Didn’t like it?” Cirucci crooned, hands on either side of his hips, easy to do reclined back as he was, neck arching to place her mouth against his throat. “The soul is a tricky thing.”
>>>
Light was suddenly aware of the fact that even though his body was dead, most parts still functioned rather normally, and he was seasoned enough with the handling of the opposite sex to display too much of such a reaction - especially when his little game now was to dangle the prize nicely out of her reach. The whole thrill was in the chase, he knew, and he wasn't about to make it boring so soon.
It was clear what she wanted, and it was even clearer what he was unwilling to give just yet. With an amused smile as he felt her lips at his neck - they were soft, and if he kissed them he knew that they would taste like the sweetest of poisons - Light murmured. "It was annoying, but I told you, Cirucci..." His hand moved up to cup her chin, moving back a little before he lifted her face to his, admiring the porcelain complexion and the teardrop shaped markings for it. "Only one taste."
>>>
“Cruel,” She murmured, but it was not an insult. She didn’t like being denied when she’d finally made her move, no, when she decided to advance, they gave in, end of story. Her hands rose to his hips, thumbs dug in against the curve of bone, pressing hard enough to bruise against weak mortal skin.
“She wants to take it.” If she were in Hueco Mundo, in the human world, she would have left him dead by now, left soulless and empty.
>>>
"Don't make me throw you out." His voice hardened ever so slightly, hiding a wince at the pain of her fingers, at her strength. His hand moved to the elegant curve of her neck, pressing back against her as he felt a flicker of apprehension this time, just a little. He'd never been on the receiving end of an arrancar's hunger before, and he sure as hell didn't want to be on said end in the real world. It was already nasty enough in the dreamworld, he didn't want to think about how bad it would be when he was actually awake.
"I control everything here, Cirucci. It would be a pity to see you leave so soon."
>>>
“You don’t want me to leave~” She breathed, pressed the cold skin of her neck against his fingers, a dare, a challenge. No matter how he pressed, even if he squeezed and strangled she would not die. Already dead, without the need to breathe, she would splutter, choke, until her body reminded her that it was unneeded.
“You want me to stay.” Cirucci was assured, confidant, let her nails dig in harsh and sharp on hip bones, wicked smile on full lips. There. That was all she needed. I control everything here. If she moved on a mortal she always required an excuse, and he provided it.
“Or, you could ask her to be gentle.”
>>>
His breath caught in his throat - unnecessary, but entirely too human, and Light despised that little fact - as he felt her pressing closer. He met that challenge, tightening his fingers slightly, adding pressure even as he tensed, the nails digging into his skin sharp and painful. He didn't bleed; no one bled in a person's subconscious. The Death Note was a different thing entirely, when ink coalesced into the lifeblood of those he had murdered. His eyes flickered to her full, soft lips, and Light fought down the urge to bruise it, to bite down and see if she bled as well.
"A gentle huntress?" He chuckled, low and throaty, a glint in his brown eyes. "I'm not stupid, dear Thunderwitch. Although I must wonder...where will you be when my dreaming ends?"
>>>
Cirucci exhaled, low and tremulous, let all the air from her lungs and stilled them until her chest was still as death, no need to breath or take in air.
“I can be gentle when I want to be.” She demonstrated by removed her clench on his hips, instead smoothing her thin fingers over the marks left in fluttering touch, pressed his hand harder against her throat to croon against his own in soft, slow, speech.
“Probably with another male.” The Arrancar answered honestly, bluntly, eyes closed against the crook of his shoulder and neck.
>>>
Light watched, watched as the breath was expelled from her lungs, and all was left was a corpse, a true predator that was above petty criminals and detectives. Her chest was still, and it seemed like she did not bother with the courtesy of pretending to be human now. He relaxed very slightly when Cirucci released her painful grip, a soft hiss under his breath his only reaction as he felt her cold, cold fingers brush over his bruised skin.
His own lips brushing against her ear, he knew how dangerous her proximity was even as he murmurs. "Will you devour him, then?”
>>>
“I think it was Dordonii…” She tried to remember, but the waking seemed hazy and distant.
“So no.” Cirucci pressed her lips to his throat where normally the blood would pump strongest, life’s blood, stilled and quiet. Her fingers rose, stroked light and airy, gently, gently, she reminded herself.
“Arrancar cannot consume other Arrancar, in the way Hollows consume other Hollows.” It was fact. She’d had their blood in her mouth as a Hollow herself, when her form sealed in blade at hip had been her only form, the long curve of pale, pale, neck, avian head, beak, talons, and wings.
>>>
Light didn't know who that was, but it was irrelevant and unimportant, and so he merely dismissed it to the back of his mind. The feel of her lips were almost blurred, and he wondered if he would will the sensation to be sharper, less-dream like. Then again...
His hand sliding from her neck down, drifting over generous curves to rest at her hips, he didn't react visibly to her touch, but he did not pull away either. With a soft murmur, he remarked. "I'm not surprised. With the way you're all fighting, I won't be surprised that you'd devour each other if you had the chance." Light leaned in closer this time, lips brushing over her ear. "What do you want from me here, Cirucci?"
>>>
She wriggled, too easy to push into reacting, too sensual not to.
“Everything.” Her words were barely audible, pressing further against him, hips squirming beneath his hand as she advanced, straddled fully and let her hands snake up around his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest and nipped at his jugular.
“Everything.” The Arrancar repeated again. “Expect anything less?”
>>>
And he felt her keenly, her body pressing against his, slender and inviting. It was difficult not to react, but it was not impossible. His hand moving to the small of her back, feeling the fabric against his skin, he smiled against the side of her pretty, pretty face, hissing quietly at the nip at his jugular. If she bit on it, would he die? Then again, he had no more blood left to lose; he probably didn't need blood to live, on account of how his heart wasn't beating anymore.
"Of course not," he purred. finding a strange thrill in being so close to something that was obviously so dangerous and hazardous to his personal being. "But you can't get everything in here. No one can. Because...it will all be gone when I wake up."
>>>
“All the better.” Cirucci assured, bit down harder before she soothed with a heavy breath and a slight lick against the marks from her teeth.
“I don’t make it a habit of bedding mortals, you know.” She assumed he should feel honored, yes, but it was also a statement just to be one, lips traveling up across jawline and murmuring sweet and low, rocked a bit, hip to hip, to try and induce further reaction, small hands fisting in the back of his shirt.
>>>
"And yet here you are..." The friction and pressure was distracting, pleasurable, and he made a soft sound in the back of his throat even as he felt his lips tug in a smirk that was distinctly predatory, calculating. "...this must mean that I'm quite the exception."
For all intents and purposes, Light was still very much male, and it was impossible for him not to have even the tiniest stirrings of lust that began to well inside him. Nevertheless, Light knew the difference that set him apart from mere hormonal men was the ability to control it, to temper himself so that it didn't take him over. Lust and love turned men into morons, and he was not willing to make that mistake, not even for her. Leaning forward, his own hips pressing up against hers, he murmured silkily.
"So eager, Thunderwitch?"
>>>
“This doesn’t count, if it’s a dream, hmm?” Cirucci murmured. She was frustrated at his control, restraint, it reminded her of Ishida, and that wasn’t nice at all. The female was used to her males taking what they were offered, being hormonal, being physical beings, but then again, the flesh was something Arrancar understood acutely.
“And, besides, aren’t you controlling me?~” She laughed, a light noise, nipping light before licking lighter, kissing soft and hungry, insistent in the slow squirm against his hips, hard and steady, bare thighs pressed to either side of him.
“Which means this is what you want~”
>>>
Amused, his other hand tilted her head up slightly, meeting his own lips even as his own kiss was demanding, almost harsh. He knew that Cirucci wouldn't want gentleness, and he was not inclined to give the deceptively delicate-looking arrancar something like that, either.
His own pants were becoming tighter, a little more uncomfortable as he ground up against her as well, always always mindful of how cool her flesh was sliding over his. Fingers running down slim, alabaster thighs, he took his time admiring her form before he continued.
"You're too prideful to be controlled. You yield only to make me give you what you want." Even through the primal lust that laced his tone, his mind was clear, sharp. For a man who used seduction to achieve his own ends, Light refused to be done in by it. His fingers moved up further, brushing up against her center teasingly.
>>>
A soft sigh, a croon, against his mouth and the Arrancar jerked a bit, squirmed and wriggled against touch, though her voice was breathy, her mind wasn’t fazed, as his was not. She did this far too often to let it get to her.
“Stop reading me, hmm?” She laughed again, though it was breathy, too, airy, rocked again, softer, this time, trying to draw him into the more aggressive, the more brutal, primal, biting sudden and hard on his bottom lip.
It was difficult to work with smart males. They always seemed to know too much.
>>>
She was responsive, Light would give her that much, and she definitely knew how to turn someone on. Not that it was unexpected, considering her track record with the males and how self-aware she had been. Chuckling softly at her light laugh, Light simply responded, his fingers brushing up against her inner thigh, still not giving her what he knew she wanted. With a low growl at her bite, he responded by letting the hand at her hip move further down, pressing her unceremoniously closer for a few lingering moments.
"If you want it, Cirucci, then you're going to have to ask for it when I'm awake."
He knew her distaste for bedding human males, but all the same, it would give him the satisfaction in knowing that she had asked for it. His grip on her relaxing, he pulled away completely, licking his lips and tasting just the faintest tang of blood in his mouth.
>>>
Ask for it?
Cirucci’s hand twisted tighter into his shirt, gaze hardening into a glare, even, all trace of her own arousals suppressed.
“You don’t seem to understand, darling.” She wrenched him back, all fury and hard curves, now, no softness.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch doesn’t ask for it. She takes it when she wants it, and you, darling, give it gladly.” Her voice darkened, crooned sweet and deceptive with every offer yet untouched, but thrummed with a battered pride.
>>>
Ah, there she was, the creature all the veils and masks of niceties and flirtations covered so nicely. Carnal, demanding, she was lovely in a terrible way, and she was something that Light wouldn't want to cross, because as arrogant and proud as he was, he knew he was only human.
He resisted when she yanked him forward, but not by much, because he was no match for an arrancar's strength, but his smile, his smirk became teasing, almost mocking even as his pride prevented him from giving in. It was a game; it had always been one. "Ask and you'll receive. Seek and you'll find." His hand moving up to the side of her face, he let it drift down to her shoulder, pressing her back.
"Shall I end it here?"
>>>
“You can’t.” Cirucci snarled, dug nails in and tried not to rip too badly, instead held, steady, though a slow fury, kindled now, shook her limbs.
“You say you’re in control, but when can you stop me?” She smirked, almost, a mere wicked expression on painted lips, bringing one hand up to throat and stroking against the windpipe, cruel and tempting.
“If I break you, or… if you’re still in control, you want to be broken?” The Arrancar giggled, laughed and amused at the thought of violence, but also aroused at those same thoughts, of the idea of blood spilt, and on her hands.
>>>
Can't? Such a lie. The way her nails dug into his wrist; it hurt, but it had the same quality that dream-like sensations had, vaguely muted, but still harsh enough for it to sting like hell. Was the arrancar furious about his refusal, then? It was yet another interesting thing that Light had learned; she had the same childish trait that Light had, the anger of one who had never been denied before. It was almost amusing, if Light had been a spectator instead of being directly involved.
"You can't break me, not in here." He murmured, feeling her cold fingers against his throat. Light didn't recoil, and simply continued, a small smile on his face. He would end this soon, but not now. The dangerous thrill was almost addicting.
"Are you angry at my rejection?"
>>>
Cirucci settled, lips pursed to hold back a sneer, and contemplated slapping him.
“Cirucci Thunderwitch doesn’t ask for it, she said.” Voice honey sweet and dripping with poison. “As she is also not rejected.”
She hated rejection, considered it a blow to her worth, her pride, as well as everything else about her, and she didn’t tolerate it from weaker males, let alone a mortal.
>>>
Her pride was almost fascinating, and Light wondered about her even as he pulled back a little further. Having a very angry arrancar after him - even in a dream - was a most unwise choice to make. Light may be prideful, but he had strong survival instincts as well, and it was time to end it before things got worse. He didn't know if he would really die if he was killed in a dream, and he sure as hell wasn't about to risk it. All things considered, he also required Cirucci's willing help for the few people he wanted to dispatch in the future, and pushing her buttons did not exactly contribute to endearing him to her.
"I see. But I'm afraid we'll have to call it quits for now, Cirucci. Consider it a mutual agreement."
>>>
She didn’t respond.
Cirucci was tense, taut, angry. No one treated her this way-
Espada did.
No one beneath her treated her this way, and it was clear on her face her fury, her bitterness, her altogether denial of a rejection and evident in her refusal to answer, only moved to clench tighter, possessive.
>>>
Light knew her anger, recognized it clearly; and although he didn't know exactly why she would be that way, he had a general idea of it - she didn't take too kindly to be rejected, and quite apparently, the arrancar had seen him as a possession of sorts. It annoyed him, but he could work with it and turn it to his advantage; it would suit his plans a lot more. With a soft smile, he didn't flinch at the tightening of her grip even as he leaned in and murmured, careful not to agitate her even more.
"It's not my intention to anger you, Cirucci. If you want this, I am willing to give it to you when I'm awake. There's no point to this game otherwise."
>>>
She did slap him, then. A light strike, by her standards, but much heavier compared to mortal standards, resounding and angered.
“Wrong.” Cirucci spat, smoldering eyes, disdainful tilt to neck and head, condemning. “Too proud, Light, to assume she wants what she offers you.” Privaron had been rejected by their ranks, and refused to be such again, grip tightening one moment more before releasing him, leaning back on her haunches and regarding him vainly.
>>>
The pain flared in his cheek, and he had to hold in his instinctive anger at Cirucci's daring. No one had ever deigned to slap him before, and the insult was particularly aggravating even as he smoothed over his annoyance with a deliberately neutral expression. Damn it, he was going to - no, no. He could not give the game away; not yet.
Now that he knew how she ticked, it was time to swallow his anger and disbelief. His cheek stung like a bitch, but he had collected enough of himself to murmur, with all the air of a wounded suitor - this would perhaps be one of his better performances yet. "But not too proud to want what you offer, only in the context of the waking world."
So vain, so vain, the Thunderwitch, that he had to resort to sweet words and to coax her.
>>>
And now, she had a dilemma. To give, or not to give. She didn’t need him embittered towards her, no, she fancied an ally in him, but… her pride demanded recompense.
“… No.” She nearly hesitated, but didn’t, hated that neutrally blank look on his face, wanted him angry, angry, angrier still, but at the same time, didn’t.
“Here.” She insisted, pricked the index finger of her hand against his collar bone and trailed down, hard.
>>>
Knowing the role he had to play, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her close to him. Pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was both dominating and passionate, he nipped at her bottom lip before murmuring, making sure that his voice was low enough, husky enough. He had played this game enough to know what it was she wanted, but he did not know her completely enough to have absolute confidence that he could pull this off.
"I want you, Cirucci. But not here." Another hard kiss, and the press of his hips up against hers. "Not like this."
>>>
Cirucci hissed, ground against him with a breathy hitch in the noise, and pressed hard, dug her nails in the front of his shirt, harsh and unforgiving, and the latter most of all. No matter what he did now, she would not forgive an initial rejection.
“Give me a good reason why not here.” Hand at his shoulder threatened to simply toss him down and rob him of his resistance, of pitiful human strength compared to Arrancar. “A good one.” She demanded, demanded everything and more against his lips, licking lightly at where she’d made him bleed, loving the faint copper taste their still that made her heady and violent.
>>>
"Because I want to feel it when I'm awake. This will be over as soon as I wake up." He covered a grimace at the way she pressed hard against him, the force behind her push reminding him that she could damn well throw him down and take what she wanted if the answer didn't please her at all. Feeling her tongue against his lips, his own flicked out, teasing her before he continued with false, but oh so earnest sincerity and intensity, making sure that his eyes met hers.
"Because, Cirucci..." his voice was a lover's caress, whispering over her skin. "I know you'll want me to remember, you'll want to hear your name on my lips. And most importantly... you'll want my possessions to hear it, don't you...?" His hands move to her back, stroking, easing her tension. "They can hear nothing here..."
>>>
She stifled a croon, turned to more a murmur, cold and icy.
“No.” Cirucci spoke, more a whine, insistent, impatient, than anything, not letting herself like the answer, though she wanted to like it. No, that would be too easy, to believe in the same falsities she offered others, it would be too pathetic.
“Here.” She wouldn’t say that here because he was mortal and that was something near disgusting. Thin fingers stroked against his hip, stroked where wound, demanding.
“Now.” She wouldn’t say that now because she did want it, that, despite knowing it was lies she likes those words, that his pride was heady and attractive even as her own could be.
>>>
Light felt a mild flare of frustration, knowing that the beautiful Privaron was not as easily coaxed as the women he'd been used to having. He caught the subtle whine in her voice and realized that it was nothing more than a spoilt, possessive child seeking to reclaim what had nearly slipped through their fingers. His hands pressed her slender waist closer even as his lips trailed down the side of her neck. He would definitely need a new plan for this, and he simply murmured against the skin of her neck, skin tingling at where her finger stroked.
"Here is not good enough for you." A soft nip at her neck, and he murmured. "Is your pride worth something like this?"
>>>
“It’s nice here.” She tipped her head back, small noises in the back of her throat under his mouth, slipped fit against him and did, as he thought, seek to reclaim, just as childish in that respect, demanding and petulant.
“Bloody.” The Arrancar wouldn’t be swayed any longer, because being swayed would mean he’d won, and she didn’t want that, stroked soft, the fine curve of a thin, cold, finger, hooking at the button of his pants and tugging lightly.
>>>
"Proud arrancar, willing to settle for something that's not real." He murmured to her, catching her wrist even as he pulled away to look her straight in the eye.
"If being with a mortal in the real world is not to your tastes, then why indulge in the dream world?" His voice was soft, silky soft.
"Is this your guilty pleasure?" He smiled faintly; apparently, the gentle way hadn't worked on her - the Privaron was a difficult, challenging one, indeed.
"Has Cirucci forgotten that I can shut this dream down when I wish...?"
>>>
A snarl ripped up from her chest, a sneer, and she withdrew her hand, met his gaze and snapped some wordless noise, felt the urge to hit him again, instead settled for a tightening of her muscles, a small sigh, as if she were giving in, leaning against his neck, a soft noise, before she bit, hard, waited until she tasted blood before she stopped, withdrew to lick, soothing, at what she’d done.
“I don’t believe it.” She murmured back, silky soft to match. “And, if you did, well, she’d just kill you.”
>>>
He winced then, grimacing at the pain that flared in his throat even as he bit down his reaction, unwilling to show her how much it hurt. The tongue that eased over the wound was soothing, but he refused to be distracted. Now was not the time to give in to her, now that his pride demanded some form of remuneration. Cirucci would learn that Yagami Light did things when it suited him, even as he chuckled softly.
"You will kill me because I refused you in a dream?"
>>>
“I’m fickle like that.” Cirucci reminded, teased, lapped the blood from his throat before kissing softly, delicately, reminding again of her presence, of her demands.
“Besides,” She crooned, “Feels real enough, hmm?” It was punctuated by a frenetic rocking against his hips and a breathy, high strung sigh in his ear, in the fact that, taut as she was, her dress had begun to feel restricting, clingy.
>>>
"Ridiculous." He breathed even as his own breath hitched in his throat at her proximity. It felt good, pleasant, and Light recognized his own response to her body against his. It was purely physical, and Light was willing to leave it like that even as he felt her sigh brush over his ear. There she was, pretending to be human again. His hands moved down her sides to her hips before he pushed hard, backing off at the same time, with the intention of putting more distance between them.
"Enough, Cirucci." She was going to kill him? He would risk it, even as he willed himself to wake, to feel his limbs prone against the bed, and the muted, soft sounds of The Raven beneath his suite.
>>>
Enough? She opened her mouth to speak, to insult, slap, verbally abuse, but when he awoke, when he left, she was thrown back to her own dreams, her own cursed dream.
The Arrancar quieted instead, watched as over and over the execution squad leader gripped her shoulder, drew his blade.
Cirucci Thunderwitch-sama. She averted her gaze, squirmed uncomfortably. It would be better if you came alone quietly. And then… Il Forte, too… why’d he have to be here?
… She would have to kill Light another time.
For now, she moved among her dream, unable to touch it or change it, so instead settlings on the couch where another her sat with a blonde man and drew her knees up, tucked in on herself and watching somberly.
Another time.