Log; Complete

[thunderwitch.livejournal.com]

When; August 27th, early morning
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Cirucci {thunderwitch} & Luppi {true_sexta}
Summary; After Szayel Aporro has his fun, Cirucci has to get someone to come pick her up and take her home, let alone see about getting medical aid.
Log;

She wasn’t bleeding anymore. Not anymore, at least. No, she wasn’t, but it was only by sheer luck. It was only because the curse had ended, only because her form had shifted that the wounds had closed, when the slightly larger male form had shifted back, gone soft and curved again, a relief, if not only for that, but for the fact that the smaller mass shifting had closed most of her wounds. Her abdomen, the sword wound clean through was sealed now, the slice in her shoulder smaller now. But her wrist was hanging by tremulous tendons and skins, her other shoulder a stump of broken ivory bone and flesh, her arm discarded a few feet away.
Cirucci whimpered, still weakly trying to rise but she’d given up on most of it, on trying to force the broken hand to support her weight, on trying to move, no, she could only tremble, her reiatsu dimmed to almost nothing, depleted by her struggles and trying to dull the pain in her body, clinging faintly to life.

She wouldn’t die, if only out of spite.

>>>

Her reiatsu was weaker than usual, but it didn't take Luppi long at all to pinpoint it, especially when she was as close to him as she was. Sonido took little effort and closed the gap between even more quickly as he touched down on the ground beside her, heeled sandals clicking with a gentle sort of delicacy.

"You're still alive," he noted, with a little surprise as he knelt beside her

>>>

“Of course I am.” Cirucci spat around a bloody mouth, tried in vain to rise but her wrist hung limp and useless and she could only groan and tremble, face down on the pavement and surrounded by patches of her own dried blood, the white uniform she wore, a man’s uniform, all brown and dried from wounds and bleeding.

“… Of course I am.” She repeated weakly, into the ground, bloodied lips scraping concrete as once again she tried in vain to rise, but couldn’t, not with one arm that had a useless hand.

>>>

"Shhhh," Luppi silenced her, small hands catching and shifting her torn and broken body to take the weight off of her. He wasn't kind by nature, too used to the world they had lived in before the City to ever care too much about others.

But, Cirucci was the closest thing he had to a sister, the closest one of their number to understand a little of what he had gone through. And, for that, she got the closest thing he could have to kindness.

He reached out, taking up her abandoned arm, "You've called your healers, precious?"

>>>

Catching, shifting, only caused her pain, and though she tried not to, she cried out weakly, let the sound die in long, high, whimpers, akin to a wounded animal but far more human, and far more heartless. Her broken and useless hand clutched weakly at him, hiding her face, the horrifically pained expression on it and the stinging in her eyes.

“Mmhhm.” She grit out, trembling in his grip from the movement of wounds and the reminder of phantom pains in a limb she didn’t have. “That bitch is…” She hissed, clutched harder but it only pained her more, “Around for once.”

>>>

"Nice of her," Luppi's expression soured a bit at mention of Orihime, but he let it slip. After all, it wasn't the stupid human's fault that he had lost his number as he had. That he blamed entirely on Grimmjow. The Espada were always easier targets, he found.

He tugged Cirucci closer, shoving her severed arm indelicately through the hole in his uniform that carried his zanpakutou before he shifted to try and lift her up.

>>>

“She owes-” Cirucci began, but the words died in a whining sob, eyes squeezed shut from the pain as much as from the shame of having to be so pained, the shame of being unable to muffle her cries behind an already bit and bloodied lip, the shame of being seen like this, even though she knew she had to be. It didn’t bother her that she was exposed, the chest of her borrowed uniform ripped open by the Octava’s blade, it didn’t even bother her that she was in pain, so much pain that her eyes swam and her vision was dark, no, what truly shamed her was being seen in this state, being seen so weak, a different sort of weakness than the one Dordonii had seen. The other Privaron had seen her weak from use, from Noitora’s fun, but Szayel Aporro had a different agenda, and she almost wished Noitora had had his way with her again instead.

No, she did wish it.

“… Gently.” She begged softly, her voice hitching behind bile and blood in her throat, quaking muscles and over strained reiatsu only contributing to her inability to move, to do anything but hang limp.

>>>

"Mmm," was Luppi's only acknowledgement as he pulled her closer. She was taller than him, as much as he hated to admit it, and picking her up was awkward at best, but Trepadora wasn't a much gentler stretcher.

He rested his head against hers, taking small sonido-enhanced steps towards his apartment.

>>>

Her breathing was erratic at best, far too shallow and far too many seconds in between, broken fingers and ripped tendons of her hand clutching at her abdomen, the barely closed sword thrust clean through, as if she could hold it together by her mere willpower. Her noises were muffled as best she could, eyes squeezed shut as tightly as she could to hold back shameful evidence of the great pain her body was in.

“Do you have bandages?” The Thunderwitch’s voice was a grating gulp of a whisper, eyes cracking open as her vision swam further, violet eyes wavered, shimmered with moisture before she closed them again, head lolling back weakly to expose a cut throat, bobbing limp with each step but unable to hold it up anymore.

>>>

"Luppi will use some of his sheets, hmm? He can always steal some more later," he reassured her. Luppi's fingers moved slowly, comfortingly against her. Just a little bit more was all it would take.

"Besides, the human can take care of most of the bleeding."

>>>

Cirucci groaned, hated waiting on some stupid human bitch for this, coughed once, twice, choking on blood before she turned her head and let it drip down her chin. Normally those fingers would inspire her more playful nature, make her squirm and giggle, but her body was numbed to such things now, she merely shifted with soft whimpers against his touch, knowing it was a false comfort, as she knew she was certainly not desirable at all now, like this, with one arm and that one even damaged too much to use.

She smirked wryly, full lips stained and bloodied. Not that it mattered, as long as she was fine between the legs.

“Luppi is such a good male.” The Privaron whispered, her way of thanking him, in flattery.

>>>

Luppi laughed, that prideful sort of laugh that would have grated on Grimmjow's nerves if he were here. Praise was a mutual sort of thing between he and Cirucci, full of empty words slipping past teasing lips.

He slipped into his apartment, ducking carefully to make sure he didn't accidentally hit Cirucci against the doorframe as he did. Careful, careful, he cautioned himself.

"That Luppi is," he purred, softly.

>>>

“Mmm.” A token of her favor, she managed to turn her head to press her mouth against his shoulder, a kiss that left a bloody imprint of her lips on his white uniform.

“Her very favorite.” She murmured sincerely, but was far from it. No, her favorite wasn’t here, and so she settled for another favorite, for her favorite of those present. Not that it was settling, truly, but still, she did it, nibbled on her bottom lip to distract her from looking at her shoulder, the phantom pains arcing through her brain that told her she should have an arm hurting were there was none, didn’t want to see the shredded flesh or the snapped shards of ivory.

“Put me down… soft.” Cirucci whispered again, felt herself losing grip on her consciousness and held onto it tremulously.

>>>

It might have been a lie, but Luppi was more than content to accept and believe the sweet words. He liked to think he was better than the Espada that were here, the useless, irritatingly loud Espada, who wouldn't accept him amongst them anymore.

"Shhh," he calmed Cirucci, turning his attentions entirely on her as he let her slowly down onto his couch, "Luppi will, precious."

>>>

She didn’t whimper once when he set her down, concentrated not to, let her body limp and sag into soft cushions instead of hard pavement. But oh, she was a mess. Her left arm, gone, severed not neatly, but messily at the shoulder, cut through by blade and ripped by hands until the bones had snapped and the muscles had torn. Her other arm might as well have been gone, for all it did her, motion killed by the wound straight through and her hand broken and torn, hanging to her wrist by a few bones and the ripped tendons that survived being severed. Her abdomen was wholly red, stabbed clean through in the place her knew would bleed, but wouldn’t kill, no, missed every organ but left her pierced, instead concentrated on the aesthetics of the sword cuts on her neck, her chest, the blood stains on her lips from the bleeding inside of her.

“… I’m not giving his clothes back.” Cirucci whispered in a nearly dazed done, staring down at herself, the only patches of white left to the male uniform, top ripped apart and bloodied, were on the lower pants, even then stained with blood splatter.

>>>

"Of course," Luppi replied, curtly. He frankly didn't even want to think of the fact that she was wearing Noitora's clothes. The thought of touching that with the things he touched more intimately wasn't a welcome one.

He pulled away from her, digging through his closet for some clean washcloths before going after a bowl of hot water. Nursing her was such a menial task, but it was a necessary one. He wasn't planning on guarding her body for a day if she died, after all, even if she'd do the same for him.

>>>

Her eyes followed him as best she could, lagging behind his movements because she couldn’t seem to think fast enough or respond fast enough anymore, hand falling from her stomach to hang limp off the edge of the couch, hand flopping independently from her wrist.

“Luppi’s angry with me?” She was able to detect that, at least, the jealous curtness in his tone, her question a whisper, faint and weak.

>>>

Luppi laughed. She was perceptive, as usual. He returned to the couch, setting the things he'd gathered at his side as he began to undress her, taking care with the blood-stained parts that seemed to cling to her skin all the more as they dried.

"Mmmm, Luppi's not mad," he lied, softly, starting to wipe her skin clean.

>>>

She sighed soft, let him undress her without complaint. Being naked was one of her last worries, especially with Luppi of all people. Her brow furrowed when dried blood tried to cling to the fabric, but managed not to make noises, managed to bite it back.

“Liar.” Cirucci’s eyes fluttered closed and open, fighting still to stay alert and awake, to concentrate on the somewhat soothing sensation of hot water erasing the crimson from her flesh.

“Does it make Luppi feel better, that I told them no more?”

>>>

"Mmmm," he hummed noncommittally as he continued to work, his dark eyes fixed on her pale, blood speckled and abused skin. He worked in silence for a while before he leaned forward, lips tracing against one of her nipples with a teasing sort of touch.

"But, will Luppi be enough, precious? Don't tell him you're going to start going after mortals."

>>>

She jerked at the touch with a sudden whine, anticipating pain but with none to follow, except for what she roused herself by moving, in wrenching her armless shoulder and reminding her there was nothing there. Sick little fuck, wasn’t she disgusting like this, why was he-

“Never.” Cirucci promised, and it was somewhat true. She still owed Raphael, for healing her earlier, and she would pay him, but he was immortal, thank the loophole, and thank the soothing feel of the hot water cleaning her skin, wiping the blood from her wounds and the dirt from having to crawl on her belly away.

>>>

The reaction wasn't what he was expected and a scowl flickered across his lips before disappearing into his more bored expression of earlier. Luppi didn't like not being appreciated, even if Cirucci was under the weather.

"Good," he said, simply, pulling back to free more skin from the confines of her borrowed uniform, "Luppi doesn't want to share more than he has to.”

>>>

She tried to help, somewhat, wriggling free of the fabric where she could, weak, trembling movements. Her body had numbed, somewhat, and things didn’t hurt as much anymore, though she had to wonder if it was because she was thinking blurry, though in reality it was because everything had stopped bleeding, because the hot water was soothing and warm and she was finally able to relax and slow her breathing, to concentrate more on denying the pain she felt.

“Don’t pout so, Luppi.” Cirucci tried to raise her hand to his face, but failed. “I’m no good for fucking right now, you’d do all the work.” She didn’t mention that it would hurt like hell, or that the healers were on their way, that she was hardly in the mood, or that she wouldn’t be able to feel much, instead giving him the one answer than seemed most concerned for his well-being.

>>>

Luppi's smile curled a little at that. She was too good at this game. He glanced away, still working at her skin, getting rid of the traces his older brother had left against her flesh.

"Luppi doesn't mind waiting. After all, the human might get more nervous."

>>>

“Wait till I’m fixed,” She promised, strained her arm to be able to brush her savaged hand against his cheek briefly before she had to drop it again with a wince. “Then I’ll play with you.” To think she could receive such treatment, such gentle touch, without giving herself, would have been foolish.

If she didn’t bed them, didn’t reward them as she did, they would never be willing to help her when she needed it, to fetch healers or carry her away.

“All you want.” The Privaron opened her eyes to stare out the window, any minute now Orihime would arrive, that stupid Dark thing. It didn’t matter to her, as long as someone, be it Orihime or Raphael, managed to reattach the limb laying discarded. Discarded like she was.
But no matter how many times she was discarded by someone who no longer wanted her, no matter how many times, she could always find someone to take her, to acknowledge her or pay attention to her, and if it were only for sex, so be it, it didn’t matter to her.

All that mattered was her pride, tattered and torn, but still intact.

>>>

"Mmm," Luppi hummed to himself as if contemplating the offer, although they both knew the answer. He wasn't Noitora after all. He knew full and well what patience and a pleasant touch could do that violence would not.

"Until then, hmm?" he smiled.

>>>

Cirucci murmured, soft and low in her throat, but didn’t speak further. She hurt, and her vision swam, and just speaking was hard, let alone focusing on anything. Her head lolled to the side, caught sight of her arm lying there and closed her eyes.
While she waited, her hand grasped weakly at his arm, if only to have something to hold on to.