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tampered2007-08-04 10:53 pm
opfern.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-08-04 10:53 pm
Log; Complete
When; August 3rd [Afternoon].
Rating; PG-13 [Rape Flashback].
Characters; Cirucci Thunderwitch [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch] and Alfons Heiderich [opfern].
Summary; After learning about Cirucci's rape, Alfons tries his best to think of ways to console her, but he's haunted by his own curse memories.
Log;
When Alfons had woken up in the Cathedral, feeling nothing other than light headed, he had been rather confused. After all, the last thing he remembered was that blond man who was dressed like some kind of old warrior very much...mopping the floor with him. It took some very clumsy sign language and misunderstandings before he understood that the man hadn't touched Nill, and Joshua had healed him. Unfortunately Joshua hadn't responded when he asked how Nill was doing, but at least he suspected the worst was over. The curse had ended, right?
But it had only made way for another one, with no break in between, and the way the square and the people looked, it didn't take a genius to figure out which period curse this was supposed to be. As quickly as he could, he'd stopped by the butcher shop to make sure they were safe before heading home to check on the twins.
Finding out about Cirucci had been a complete accident. He'd only been messing around with the computer and working on some hacking techniques he'd been learning. After spending so much time around this technology, it was only natural for him to try to become the best. It had been the same way with rocketry and cooking, after all. Still, hacking was normally rude, and he tried to refrain...but after Cirucci's behavior the previous day, he was far too tempted.
And he wished he hadn't looked. It was a mortifying thought that any woman had to deal with rape, but Cirucci of all people? He knew that she sometimes got injured, but rape was an awful lot to accomplish with somebody as powerful as her, and that left Alfons with a mental check list of all the people he knew who were that strong and that demented, curse or not.
He hoped it wasn't Grimmjow... But he was fairly sure it had to be an arrancar he didn't know well at all.
The cookies were the best excuse he could think up without seeming invasive, scuffing his shoe against the floor as he rang her doorbell and waited, clutching the box nervously.
Cirucci didn’t actually feel up to getting the door.
She didn’t really feel up to moving.
“Here.” She shouted from a pile of pillows on the floor, but it was a raspy, hoarse noise. She quieted soon after, didn’t like the slight burn in her throat when she spoke, but that burning was nothing. She hadn’t moved much, not since Dordonii had carried her back home, stayed until she’d asked to be alone, and now… she knew Alfons had looked. Knew it.
The Privaron shifted, muffled a moan face down in the pillow. Her whole body hurt, everything hurt. Under her simple white shift, not her uniform, that had been ruined, her skin hurt, raked lines of nails that carved down breasts and sides. Bruises, dark and ugly along thighs and back, finger marks prominent on her neck. The bleeding between her legs, stopped now, but worrying. She needed Szayel Aporro to check to see if something… needed to be fixed.
But she didn’t want to think about it, stayed face down, on her stomach and curled in on herself amidst a cushion of pillows on her floor hoping Alfons wouldn’t ask any questions.
Even more concerned when she didn't feel like answering the door, he tried the knob and found it to be unlocked. As he opened it up, Alfons stepped into the room delicately, as if he might be stepping on glass.
He expected to find her on the couch, but found her on the floor instead, all of her pillows forming something like a makeshift bed. He couldn't seem much from his positioning and her own clothing, but he was fairly sure he didn't want to anyway.
She looked so...small.
Biting his lip, Alfons shut the door and shifted his weight, wondering if he should say anything. What did one say in a situation like this? He hadn't a clue...
So instead he just kept his mouth shut, walking right past her and towards the kitchen, trying to be quiet as he hunted down a serving plate for the cookies.
Cirucci didn’t even raise her head, didn’t need to breathe so she kept her face down, stilled her lungs and didn’t bother with it.
”I’m not finished with you yet.” The Privaron didn’t like that thought. Do you need somethin’ in your jaw to keep it from flappin’? Didn’t like that one either.
She was tempted to ask what he was doing. But she didn’t, she merely waited, trying to resist the need to squirm, to muffle little groans.
It hurt. She hurt.
He took his time in the kitchen, obsessively arranging the cookies on the plate so that they resembled a design he deemed appropriate. Then he rested his hands against the edge of the counter and stared down at them for a moment, just listening.
It was a habit he had picked up when living with Edward in Munich... When cooking, he would sometimes take longer than necessary, just so he could stand in the kitchen and listen to the sounds of paper rustling and the occasional mutter of what Alfons had deemed at the time to be mad ramblings. He knew better now, at the very least, but the habit still stuck with him.
Alfons wasn't hearing any sounds that he liked, though. The silence felt dead to him, only broken up once in awhile with a muffled moan. It was when it went completely silent that he finally moved again, setting his shoulder bag down on the counter and digging through it for a bottle of pills. Medicine he had used while still sick in the City... It hadn't made him better, but it had helped the pain.
He left the plate of cookies on the counter, though... They had only been an excuse after all. After all that arranging, he just didn't want to bother with them. The blond just stepped back into the living room and glanced her over again before stepping over and crouching down beside her, holding out a glass of water and one pill silently.
She heard him approach, heard the joints in his knees creak when he crouched.
Cirucci tensed, instinctive, ingrained reaction, flinch, get away- get away- Shut up, you asked for it.
Finally, she raised her head. She hadn’t cried, no. She didn’t do that… had only done it when she’d had that horrible dream courtesy the Nightmare, another when Il Forte had loved her, had made her say she’d loved him.
It was almost twisted that those things could evoke tears from her, while being taken against her will could not.
“What is it?” The Privaron asked, hesitant to take it.
Her suspicion was only natural, and Alfons was somewhat relieved that she asked. At least it meant she was still acting somewhat normally. So it was with a tentative smile that he held out the water and pill a little closer to her, voice soft as he responded.
"Pain killer."
“…” He actually- He actually though she needed a pain killer? Now, that was another blow to her pride she just didn’t need. Let alone, it probably wouldn’t have any effect anyway.
“… Don’t need it.” Cirucci dismissed the offered medicine, dropped back to roll more on her side, wincing, propping her cheek against a pillow, trapping one hand between. Bruising from the Espada’s fingers wrapped around her long, thin, neck, bared by her movement, her curl around another pillow.
Considering she was wincing whenever she moved, Alfons highly doubted her claim. But he wasn't going to push... Not today. Forcing her to do something she didn't want to was probably the worst approach he could have taken. So it was with a disappointed nod that he stood up and turned to head back into the kitchen, gaze darkened by the bruise he saw on her neck.
The pill was dropped back into the bottle, and the water was dumped into the sink so that he could grab a cloth and dry it out. These domestic tasks were the only thing keeping him steady right then. Who had done it? Had it been because of the curse? Obviously it had something to do with opposite sexual nature... So then was it someone who normally wasn't sexual at all?
Still... Rape was not sex. He couldn't just brush it off as an effect of yesterday's curse. No meant no.
Alfons froze in his drying, the dish towel slipping a bit as he gazed down at his warped reflection in the glass.
'No, Alfons!'
'It's equivalent exchange, Edward! Isn't that what you always told me about?! You deserve this and far worse for what you did to my life! You destroyed me.'
His lips twitched, and his gaze traveled down to find that he'd dropped the dish towel, and the glass had cracked in his hand. Remembering that curse day still left him physically ill. It hadn't been him, but all of the memories would forever haunt him, just like his face off with Tayuya would.
Quiet, ever so quiet, he sunk down to pick the towel back up, setting it and the cracked glass on the counter. His knuckles were suddenly burning, just as they had before, as if he'd only just struck Edward again. Taken his limbs, tied him up and--
Cirucci. Cirucci was still in there suffering. And he didn't have anything to offer her. Was he supposed to give her a cookie? Was he supposed to ask her questions? Was touching her bad, or was it what she needed?
Feeling hollow, Alfons turned to head back into the living room, stopping just beside her to gaze down, plainly troubled.
“What?” Like she couldn’t feel him there, see him there, eyes blank and listless. It wasn’t that Alturo has left, as Luppi accused her of. It wasn’t even that Noitora had taken her against her will.
It was just the pain.
She hadn’t hurt like this in a long time. But she was used to being used, used to being taken, willing or not, but usually, unlike yesterday, she had the sense to at least pretend to be willing, if only to avoid injury.
Stupid curse.
Not wanting to step on the pillows with his shoes still on, he knelt down right there, sitting just on the edge of the little nest she'd created so that he could unlace his shoes.
Pushing them off to the side, he scooted closer before lying down on his side, one arm curling into a makeshift pillow. Resting there on his side, Alfons kept his eyes on her face to avoid having to look at the bruising. Her expression really didn't help him feel better, but this wasn't about him feeling better.
"Hi," he whispered off-handedly, doing his best to smile.
She refused to scoot away, though she wanted to, didn’t want another so close, not close enough that if they reached out they could touch. Her hips squirmed, legs pressed together, the pain between them enough to make her wince, but she concentrated on ignoring it.
“… Hello.” The Privaron dead-panned. But, at the same time, she realized something calm in this. If any of the Arrancar had come, she would have attempted, despite injury, to rip them limb form limb, and yet, there was something about humans… probably just this one… that her weakness, the few she had, the few times she bared them… he could see it. He could actually be trusted, as bizarre as that was, not to gloat over her, not to flaunt it, taunt her, like her fellows would.
The response, as blank as it was, did help him. He wasn't really positive what the purpose of his visit was, whether or not he wanted to console her, but the acknowledgment was all he really needed from her.
Still hoping she wouldn't break his arms and run if he tried to touch her, Alfons lifted a hand to touch her hair, fingertips grazing the edge of the bone there.
Cirucci turned her face away, but didn’t move her body, grit her teeth and bit into the bottom of a full lip.
Touching.
Gentle, gentle, touches. Such unbefitting things.
“What do you want?” The Privaron murmured into the fabric of a pillow, hid a tremble at the memory of bony hands clutching and hauling by the same hair being touched so softly now.
The way she hid away from him made his heart clench. It couldn't beat, but it could still feel. He had never before viewed Cirucci as a broken woman. She had always been full of small cracks, and far too unstable to be able to support anything but herself, but again as she lay there hiding her face, he was afraid of shattering her with just a touch.
It was his inacceptance of that fear that made Alfons move closer, draping his arm over her back and gripping her arm, hoping he wasn't grabbing a bruise.
He tried to be as gentle as one could be, but kept his resolve firm as he tugged her close. Slipping his other arm beneath her so that he could hold her against his chest, the young man's muscles relaxed once he had her in the embrace, allowing him to rest his cheek against her hair.
She whimpered, an involuntary noise, abused muscles, abused orifices, even the hole in her chest used, aching at the movements, sharp pains in bruises, in the cuts down her stomach and the pain inside of her.
“Ahh…” She didn’t want this, not at all, it made her tense, made her seize up and tighten everything about her, made her freeze. “Cirucci didn’t know Alfons wanted a turn, too.” The Privaron muttered bitterly. “Maybe wait a while, m’not too pretty right now.”
Her response made him feel physically ill. His stomach twisted, and he squeezed his eyes shut angrily, fingers twisting a bit in her hair as he tried to reign in that fury and channel it into a more productive emotion. He wasn't mad at her, after all. He was mad at arrancar in general. He was mad at death gods. He was mad at the deities. He was mad at the world.
"No, Cirucci. I don't want a turn. I just want to hold you. Is that okay?"
She quieted. The Arranar had hoped that would disgust him, make him recoil, stop touching her.
“For ten seconds.” Cirucci murmured, counting the seconds down in her head. One. Shut up. She was stiff, cold. Two. You asked for it. Making no move, she ceased even breath. Three. Don’t say please like it means shit. There was still a pain between her legs. Four. There’s a little thing called a difference in power, slut. Her throat hurt from screaming. Five. That’s right. I’m Espada, the one thing you’ll never be again. All of her hurt.
Ten seconds, huh? He didn't much care for the time limit, but again he wasn't going to argue with her right now. So instead he just tried to relax, keeping his grip solid around her waist, but not too forceful, as he ran the fingers of his other hand through her hair.
It was only natural for Alfons to wonder what was going through her head. Was she thinking of revenge, like she normally did, or did she just want to pretend it never happened? He knew that plenty of people might have figured Cirucci deserved a fate like this. She was a murderer, after all. Most of the things she did, Alfons didn't even want to think about.
But all he could do was hold her. She was still too much like a child in his eyes for him to be able to condemn her.
Six. Scream a bit more for me, ah? Seven. Clean up the mess you made. Eight. You deserve it. Nine. Not like you’re worth more. Ten. Eh, Privaron.
Cirucci shifted, winced, and turned to fix him with a glare.
“Time’s up, off.” The Privaron fairly spat. “Hope that pleased you.”
The venom in the request drew a surprised look out of him, a flicker of hurt in his gaze soon following as he pulled away. But then he rolled onto his back to hide it, gazing up at the ceiling. Would it be better if he left? She hadn't really told him to leave, but he was capable of taking hints.
Still, it would have felt wrong to just leave her like this, so he swallowed his pride and shut his eyes, staying quiet and just listening to any sounds that might grace his ears. They were too high up for him to properly hear anything going on outside, though.
Cirucci relaxed visibly when he withdrew, when she was drew of contact besides the soft cushions beneath her. She shifted, grit her teeth and curled in. Bruised thighs tucked up, pressed together and folded under sore arms, bruised throat left stretched out, not willing to bend the windpipe, or the bruises.
She said nothing.
Rating; PG-13 [Rape Flashback].
Characters; Cirucci Thunderwitch [
thunderwitch] and Alfons Heiderich [opfern].Summary; After learning about Cirucci's rape, Alfons tries his best to think of ways to console her, but he's haunted by his own curse memories.
Log;
When Alfons had woken up in the Cathedral, feeling nothing other than light headed, he had been rather confused. After all, the last thing he remembered was that blond man who was dressed like some kind of old warrior very much...mopping the floor with him. It took some very clumsy sign language and misunderstandings before he understood that the man hadn't touched Nill, and Joshua had healed him. Unfortunately Joshua hadn't responded when he asked how Nill was doing, but at least he suspected the worst was over. The curse had ended, right?
But it had only made way for another one, with no break in between, and the way the square and the people looked, it didn't take a genius to figure out which period curse this was supposed to be. As quickly as he could, he'd stopped by the butcher shop to make sure they were safe before heading home to check on the twins.
Finding out about Cirucci had been a complete accident. He'd only been messing around with the computer and working on some hacking techniques he'd been learning. After spending so much time around this technology, it was only natural for him to try to become the best. It had been the same way with rocketry and cooking, after all. Still, hacking was normally rude, and he tried to refrain...but after Cirucci's behavior the previous day, he was far too tempted.
And he wished he hadn't looked. It was a mortifying thought that any woman had to deal with rape, but Cirucci of all people? He knew that she sometimes got injured, but rape was an awful lot to accomplish with somebody as powerful as her, and that left Alfons with a mental check list of all the people he knew who were that strong and that demented, curse or not.
He hoped it wasn't Grimmjow... But he was fairly sure it had to be an arrancar he didn't know well at all.
The cookies were the best excuse he could think up without seeming invasive, scuffing his shoe against the floor as he rang her doorbell and waited, clutching the box nervously.
Cirucci didn’t actually feel up to getting the door.
She didn’t really feel up to moving.
“Here.” She shouted from a pile of pillows on the floor, but it was a raspy, hoarse noise. She quieted soon after, didn’t like the slight burn in her throat when she spoke, but that burning was nothing. She hadn’t moved much, not since Dordonii had carried her back home, stayed until she’d asked to be alone, and now… she knew Alfons had looked. Knew it.
The Privaron shifted, muffled a moan face down in the pillow. Her whole body hurt, everything hurt. Under her simple white shift, not her uniform, that had been ruined, her skin hurt, raked lines of nails that carved down breasts and sides. Bruises, dark and ugly along thighs and back, finger marks prominent on her neck. The bleeding between her legs, stopped now, but worrying. She needed Szayel Aporro to check to see if something… needed to be fixed.
But she didn’t want to think about it, stayed face down, on her stomach and curled in on herself amidst a cushion of pillows on her floor hoping Alfons wouldn’t ask any questions.
Even more concerned when she didn't feel like answering the door, he tried the knob and found it to be unlocked. As he opened it up, Alfons stepped into the room delicately, as if he might be stepping on glass.
He expected to find her on the couch, but found her on the floor instead, all of her pillows forming something like a makeshift bed. He couldn't seem much from his positioning and her own clothing, but he was fairly sure he didn't want to anyway.
She looked so...small.
Biting his lip, Alfons shut the door and shifted his weight, wondering if he should say anything. What did one say in a situation like this? He hadn't a clue...
So instead he just kept his mouth shut, walking right past her and towards the kitchen, trying to be quiet as he hunted down a serving plate for the cookies.
Cirucci didn’t even raise her head, didn’t need to breathe so she kept her face down, stilled her lungs and didn’t bother with it.
”I’m not finished with you yet.” The Privaron didn’t like that thought. Do you need somethin’ in your jaw to keep it from flappin’? Didn’t like that one either.
She was tempted to ask what he was doing. But she didn’t, she merely waited, trying to resist the need to squirm, to muffle little groans.
It hurt. She hurt.
He took his time in the kitchen, obsessively arranging the cookies on the plate so that they resembled a design he deemed appropriate. Then he rested his hands against the edge of the counter and stared down at them for a moment, just listening.
It was a habit he had picked up when living with Edward in Munich... When cooking, he would sometimes take longer than necessary, just so he could stand in the kitchen and listen to the sounds of paper rustling and the occasional mutter of what Alfons had deemed at the time to be mad ramblings. He knew better now, at the very least, but the habit still stuck with him.
Alfons wasn't hearing any sounds that he liked, though. The silence felt dead to him, only broken up once in awhile with a muffled moan. It was when it went completely silent that he finally moved again, setting his shoulder bag down on the counter and digging through it for a bottle of pills. Medicine he had used while still sick in the City... It hadn't made him better, but it had helped the pain.
He left the plate of cookies on the counter, though... They had only been an excuse after all. After all that arranging, he just didn't want to bother with them. The blond just stepped back into the living room and glanced her over again before stepping over and crouching down beside her, holding out a glass of water and one pill silently.
She heard him approach, heard the joints in his knees creak when he crouched.
Cirucci tensed, instinctive, ingrained reaction, flinch, get away- get away- Shut up, you asked for it.
Finally, she raised her head. She hadn’t cried, no. She didn’t do that… had only done it when she’d had that horrible dream courtesy the Nightmare, another when Il Forte had loved her, had made her say she’d loved him.
It was almost twisted that those things could evoke tears from her, while being taken against her will could not.
“What is it?” The Privaron asked, hesitant to take it.
Her suspicion was only natural, and Alfons was somewhat relieved that she asked. At least it meant she was still acting somewhat normally. So it was with a tentative smile that he held out the water and pill a little closer to her, voice soft as he responded.
"Pain killer."
“…” He actually- He actually though she needed a pain killer? Now, that was another blow to her pride she just didn’t need. Let alone, it probably wouldn’t have any effect anyway.
“… Don’t need it.” Cirucci dismissed the offered medicine, dropped back to roll more on her side, wincing, propping her cheek against a pillow, trapping one hand between. Bruising from the Espada’s fingers wrapped around her long, thin, neck, bared by her movement, her curl around another pillow.
Considering she was wincing whenever she moved, Alfons highly doubted her claim. But he wasn't going to push... Not today. Forcing her to do something she didn't want to was probably the worst approach he could have taken. So it was with a disappointed nod that he stood up and turned to head back into the kitchen, gaze darkened by the bruise he saw on her neck.
The pill was dropped back into the bottle, and the water was dumped into the sink so that he could grab a cloth and dry it out. These domestic tasks were the only thing keeping him steady right then. Who had done it? Had it been because of the curse? Obviously it had something to do with opposite sexual nature... So then was it someone who normally wasn't sexual at all?
Still... Rape was not sex. He couldn't just brush it off as an effect of yesterday's curse. No meant no.
Alfons froze in his drying, the dish towel slipping a bit as he gazed down at his warped reflection in the glass.
'No, Alfons!'
'It's equivalent exchange, Edward! Isn't that what you always told me about?! You deserve this and far worse for what you did to my life! You destroyed me.'
His lips twitched, and his gaze traveled down to find that he'd dropped the dish towel, and the glass had cracked in his hand. Remembering that curse day still left him physically ill. It hadn't been him, but all of the memories would forever haunt him, just like his face off with Tayuya would.
Quiet, ever so quiet, he sunk down to pick the towel back up, setting it and the cracked glass on the counter. His knuckles were suddenly burning, just as they had before, as if he'd only just struck Edward again. Taken his limbs, tied him up and--
Cirucci. Cirucci was still in there suffering. And he didn't have anything to offer her. Was he supposed to give her a cookie? Was he supposed to ask her questions? Was touching her bad, or was it what she needed?
Feeling hollow, Alfons turned to head back into the living room, stopping just beside her to gaze down, plainly troubled.
“What?” Like she couldn’t feel him there, see him there, eyes blank and listless. It wasn’t that Alturo has left, as Luppi accused her of. It wasn’t even that Noitora had taken her against her will.
It was just the pain.
She hadn’t hurt like this in a long time. But she was used to being used, used to being taken, willing or not, but usually, unlike yesterday, she had the sense to at least pretend to be willing, if only to avoid injury.
Stupid curse.
Not wanting to step on the pillows with his shoes still on, he knelt down right there, sitting just on the edge of the little nest she'd created so that he could unlace his shoes.
Pushing them off to the side, he scooted closer before lying down on his side, one arm curling into a makeshift pillow. Resting there on his side, Alfons kept his eyes on her face to avoid having to look at the bruising. Her expression really didn't help him feel better, but this wasn't about him feeling better.
"Hi," he whispered off-handedly, doing his best to smile.
She refused to scoot away, though she wanted to, didn’t want another so close, not close enough that if they reached out they could touch. Her hips squirmed, legs pressed together, the pain between them enough to make her wince, but she concentrated on ignoring it.
“… Hello.” The Privaron dead-panned. But, at the same time, she realized something calm in this. If any of the Arrancar had come, she would have attempted, despite injury, to rip them limb form limb, and yet, there was something about humans… probably just this one… that her weakness, the few she had, the few times she bared them… he could see it. He could actually be trusted, as bizarre as that was, not to gloat over her, not to flaunt it, taunt her, like her fellows would.
The response, as blank as it was, did help him. He wasn't really positive what the purpose of his visit was, whether or not he wanted to console her, but the acknowledgment was all he really needed from her.
Still hoping she wouldn't break his arms and run if he tried to touch her, Alfons lifted a hand to touch her hair, fingertips grazing the edge of the bone there.
Cirucci turned her face away, but didn’t move her body, grit her teeth and bit into the bottom of a full lip.
Touching.
Gentle, gentle, touches. Such unbefitting things.
“What do you want?” The Privaron murmured into the fabric of a pillow, hid a tremble at the memory of bony hands clutching and hauling by the same hair being touched so softly now.
The way she hid away from him made his heart clench. It couldn't beat, but it could still feel. He had never before viewed Cirucci as a broken woman. She had always been full of small cracks, and far too unstable to be able to support anything but herself, but again as she lay there hiding her face, he was afraid of shattering her with just a touch.
It was his inacceptance of that fear that made Alfons move closer, draping his arm over her back and gripping her arm, hoping he wasn't grabbing a bruise.
He tried to be as gentle as one could be, but kept his resolve firm as he tugged her close. Slipping his other arm beneath her so that he could hold her against his chest, the young man's muscles relaxed once he had her in the embrace, allowing him to rest his cheek against her hair.
She whimpered, an involuntary noise, abused muscles, abused orifices, even the hole in her chest used, aching at the movements, sharp pains in bruises, in the cuts down her stomach and the pain inside of her.
“Ahh…” She didn’t want this, not at all, it made her tense, made her seize up and tighten everything about her, made her freeze. “Cirucci didn’t know Alfons wanted a turn, too.” The Privaron muttered bitterly. “Maybe wait a while, m’not too pretty right now.”
Her response made him feel physically ill. His stomach twisted, and he squeezed his eyes shut angrily, fingers twisting a bit in her hair as he tried to reign in that fury and channel it into a more productive emotion. He wasn't mad at her, after all. He was mad at arrancar in general. He was mad at death gods. He was mad at the deities. He was mad at the world.
"No, Cirucci. I don't want a turn. I just want to hold you. Is that okay?"
She quieted. The Arranar had hoped that would disgust him, make him recoil, stop touching her.
“For ten seconds.” Cirucci murmured, counting the seconds down in her head. One. Shut up. She was stiff, cold. Two. You asked for it. Making no move, she ceased even breath. Three. Don’t say please like it means shit. There was still a pain between her legs. Four. There’s a little thing called a difference in power, slut. Her throat hurt from screaming. Five. That’s right. I’m Espada, the one thing you’ll never be again. All of her hurt.
Ten seconds, huh? He didn't much care for the time limit, but again he wasn't going to argue with her right now. So instead he just tried to relax, keeping his grip solid around her waist, but not too forceful, as he ran the fingers of his other hand through her hair.
It was only natural for Alfons to wonder what was going through her head. Was she thinking of revenge, like she normally did, or did she just want to pretend it never happened? He knew that plenty of people might have figured Cirucci deserved a fate like this. She was a murderer, after all. Most of the things she did, Alfons didn't even want to think about.
But all he could do was hold her. She was still too much like a child in his eyes for him to be able to condemn her.
Six. Scream a bit more for me, ah? Seven. Clean up the mess you made. Eight. You deserve it. Nine. Not like you’re worth more. Ten. Eh, Privaron.
Cirucci shifted, winced, and turned to fix him with a glare.
“Time’s up, off.” The Privaron fairly spat. “Hope that pleased you.”
The venom in the request drew a surprised look out of him, a flicker of hurt in his gaze soon following as he pulled away. But then he rolled onto his back to hide it, gazing up at the ceiling. Would it be better if he left? She hadn't really told him to leave, but he was capable of taking hints.
Still, it would have felt wrong to just leave her like this, so he swallowed his pride and shut his eyes, staying quiet and just listening to any sounds that might grace his ears. They were too high up for him to properly hear anything going on outside, though.
Cirucci relaxed visibly when he withdrew, when she was drew of contact besides the soft cushions beneath her. She shifted, grit her teeth and curled in. Bruised thighs tucked up, pressed together and folded under sore arms, bruised throat left stretched out, not willing to bend the windpipe, or the bruises.
She said nothing.
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