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)
tampered2007-10-06 01:40 am
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-10-06 01:40 am
Log; Complete
When; Oct. 5th, morning
Rating; NC-17
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch} & Il Forte {stronger_grantz}
Summary; With Il Forte back in the city, a reunion is due. (read; UST is due to be resolved, hell, it's been six months, she thought she moved on.)
Log;
She hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him. She wanted to throttle him, to wrap her small, delicate hands around his throat and squeeze.
And she liked him. And she wanted him. And she wanted to press her small, delicate hands against him to remember how he feels.
Cirucci Thunderwitch hated being confused, being conflicted, and yet she usually was, this wasn't any different. She hated him for leaving, and she loved him for coming back. The Privaron hated him, for coming back bloody, for coming back dead, and she loved him for coming back weak, loved that he came back and she could lord over him, even in that petty way. And yet, she longed to see him, wanted to see him, wanted to touch, to hurt with that touch, to please with that touch...
"Bastard." The 105th muttered darkly, even as she tracked his reiatsu. Damn him but it was a familiar feel, one she'd grown accustomed to having around during his last stay in the City, one she had become accustomed to sharing her bed with. But that had become complicated. When a favorite was replaced with the Privaron, the old favorite did not usually come back. Damn it, but he had to make things difficult, didn't he?
How like Il Forte.
>>>
Il Forte had gotten away from his brother as soon as he was able. Szayel Aporro was not kind when he did his job, but at least he did his job well. He also couldn't get any deader, and Szayel Aporro had delighted in that, not needing to hold back in the slightest, worrying about pushing his lab rat too far.
He felt dirty, disgusted with himself for being so weak. Coming to this place dead was bad enough, bleeding out in the City square worse, and relying on his brother of all... he felt as if he'd never be clean. He needed to remind himself of who he was, his strength, the meaning behind his name. He knew exactly who he needed.
Cirucci was here, he had spoken to her, and she was the same as she had ever been. She was proud, and not above doing anything to drag other's down. She was vicious and vindictive, and no doubt had something to be angry at him about. She usually did. He wanted to kill her just for that, remind her that he wasn't weak, that he was still useful, while she was a disgraced Privaron, thrown away because she was not needed any more.
He missed her embrace, even though it hadn't been that long, a few days, a week at most. Just before he'd left to the human world with Grimmjow and the others. He wanted to wrap his arms around her delicate frame and hear her sweet voice crooning with false promises. Everything she was was a lie, and as deadly as any poison. She would kill him for half a reason, but he'd do the same to her.
>>>
There we was. There. Right there.
Cirucci stopped moving, pulled herself out of sonido with the tell-tale noise of reverb, small, booted feet landing lightly on the stone path at Xanadu's edge. She adjusted her posture, straighter, the line from curve of breast to thigh, the arch of back and tilt to head, one hand rising to adjust her dark curls, purple eyes focusing on him. He looked much better, evidence Szayel Aporro had healed him. Disgusting.
"Il Forte Grantz." The Privaron drawled as if she had nothing else to do in the world but sit there and bait him, watch him with predatory vibes, as if she wished to kill him, and she did, or wished to claim him, which she did. The Arrancar was frowning, however, a disdainful look, with her arms crossed beneath her breasts and a cock to her hip.
>>>
Il Forte stopped mid step at hearing that voice. He turned to regard her, back straight and head held high. "Cirucci." Both of them knew his disgrace, and he had no doubt she would use it to it's full advantage, both his death and who he'd had to rely on for help. He knew she was hiding things too, she always did, and no matter how far he fell, as long as he still held his rank he was better than her, a Privaron Espada.
A smirk graced his lips, one to contradict the look on her face. They were too much a like, and too different. He had been out searching for her, and she had found him.
>>>
"Did you enjoy seeing your brother again?" Her words were acrid, dripping in poison as she began to circle him, wide, lazy steps of bare legs, lithe and nimble in their movements even in this mocking, circling, dance.
"I'm sure he missed you so, not having seen you since the autopsy." How dare he die on her? How dare he come here? How dare he come back?
"Fixed you up, too, so you don't look quite so disgraceful?" Hate, in her eyes, pure, unadulterated hate, but not only that, eyes taking in the sight of him. She'd dreamed, occasionally, that he would come back. She'd bee cursed to recall, recall the shape of him, the feel of him, and she hated it.
"How kind."
>>>
"Very kind, he didn't even leave a scar." None of those little fingernail marks on his back from Cirucci's and his last encounter, not the bite just beneath the collar of his shirt. All of her markings were gone along with any indicating he'd died. "Not one." His eyes followed her, but his feet stayed planted firmly on the ground, tracking her reiatsu during the moments he could not see her.
He was ready for her to attack. He was ready for her to beckon him to her bed once more. She could do either, one or the other, she could do both, or there was the smallest chance that she would do neither. He liked how predictably unpredictable she was. "Would you care to see for yourself?" He shrugged a little, letting the collar of his shirt fall a little more open, exposing perfect skin.
>>>
She sneered, taking that in, dismissing it just as easily, continuing her predatory circles, as much for her nerves as for her pride, for the desire in her to throttle him, to straddle him there and choke the life out from him and watch it die once more in glassy eyes.
"So desperate seeming, Il Forte, already trying to undress." Cirucci laughed, but it seemed almost forced.
"Have some propriety."
>>>
Il Forte's smirk turned into a glare, and he pulled his shirt back to it's usual place. "You're one to talk, I bet you're not even wearing underwear." She was a whore, and made no secret of it, but she liked to think of herself as something better, something above a desperate, powerless Privaron, begging for scraps. "Easy access must make your job so much simpler."
He wanted to run her through, hand itching to go to the hilt at his side, but more than that he wanted to pin her against the nearest wall and see if she really was wearing underwear, slide his hand up that milky thigh and under the dark hem of her white skirt.
>>>
"Am, too." She snarled, stiffening with each word. There was something unresolved in the air, something damned near palpable, in each of them broken off. In her, the soft feel of being pillowed against him, tongue gone, unable to speak, but he'd stayed, except when she'd woken, he'd been gone, and something akin to anger, but more like sadness, had welled in her chest.
She moved on, she always did, compensated for pain with one male for pleasure from the next, and she'd replaced him, replaced her favorite, only to have him return and like this- Like this-
"Shows what you know." A creeping hint of lust, of danger, of nerves crept into her voice.
>>>
"That's a rarity." At one point he'd known all about her, not what she was thinking, he'd never known that, but he'd known when and if she was wearing panties, and what color they'd be before. Now she was closed to him, angry with him, but inviting him back in nonetheless.
He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch, but didn't. It was so quiet out, save for their conversation, that if either of them possessed a heart their beating would have been clear in the air. "What else, then, are you hiding up your skirt?"
>>>
She stiffened fully, glaring up at him with every ounce of hatred her petite, belying delicate body could muster, and Cirucci Thunderwitch could hate. Eyes darkened in fury and her shoulders straightened, chest out, a creeping feeling in her belly and the feeling she was quashing hard, the feeling of relief, that he was back, happiness, that he was back, rejecting them with every fiber of her being.
"Absolutely nothing for a Quince to have."
>>>
This was why he hated her, why he wanted to wrap his hands around that small, pale neck and squeeze every gasp and moan right out of her until she lay silent. Il Forte hated her because he wanted her, and hated himself for the same reason. She was easy, willing as long as he had something to offer her, but the moment she found the slightest reason to be angry with him she turned him away. It frustrated him, and in the end he knew it would be far easier to run her though and get it over with.
"Not for me, but for anyone else with remotely the right anatomy?" His anger seeped into his words, but he didn't budge, didn't move to kill or to claim, still torn equally between the two. "I'm sure I could find a dog to please you then."
>>>
Imperceptibly, perhaps even to herself, Cirucci shifted, flushed in anger, though it could easily be taken as something else, as shame, as embarrassment, as lust, could easily be one of those, could easily be all of them.
"Watch your goddamned mouth." She snapped, twitched in fury, eyes narrowing and fists tightening, raising herself to full height even though it caused them to finally touch, the barest brush of white uniform against white uniform, painted lips twisted into a disdainful sneer.
>>>
He lowered his voice, without really realizing it, out of habit of being so close in proximity. From just his uniform shifting because she had brushed against it. "Or you'll what? Kill me?" He could almost laugh at the thought, but it was anything but humorous. He could feel the heat off of her face, see the red flush to it.
They were so close he could practically taste her, wanted to, wanted to press his mouth against hers hotly and bring them together. His body craved the soft curves against him and strong legs wrapped around him. It also craved her blood spilled on the ground by his hand, staining everything a brilliant shade of red, a look of horror and surprise in her eyes that he could do such a thing to her. Both feelings were overpowering him and he knew he was leaning closer to her still, unsure of which move he was going to make yet.
>>>
"I'll kill you." Cirucci repeated darkly, but there was something even beyond wickedness in her voice. There was bitterness. I'll kill you for leaving. There was anger. How dare you come back? There was sadness. How could you leave me here? There was madness. Whatever you do...
And she decided to kill him, a small, delicate hand rising to his face as if to caress, planning to instead shove her nails, talons, into his throat and rip, and yet, somehow, though she was sure she hadn't mean to do that, her pale fingers wrapped around long, blonde strands and yanked hard, pulling him down to her to press hungrily against him, teeth clicking, lips bruising, but she didn't care, letting a small moan slip out of her throat, of feeling this again, him again, of relief, of frustration, of everything in between and the press of bodies.
>>>
Il Forte wrapped an arm around her lithe waist, pulling her closer still. His tongue darting out, seeking her mouth, the familiarity of it's warmth. His other hand immediately went to her thigh, seeking the clasp to her garter expertly. Already his mind was thinking up the best way to go about this, not on the ground, the dirt would get everywhere. Against a tree then, there was one only a few steps behind Cirucci.
They knew each other well enough, had done this too many times in too many places. He trusted that she would know to back up at his urging and they wouldn't have to pull apart for even a second.
>>>
She did back up, didn't want to stand and crane her neck, shorter than he, to reach him, hand still fisted in his hair dragging hard with her, the press of tongue against tongue, familiar and yet, to her, so far removed that it made her ache. It crashed around her, how much she'd missed him, fuck, she'd never... missed anyone and she'd missed him and she was so goddamned glad he was back, feeling the snap of a garter and her stocking slipping down her leg, and she was so pissed he'd come back because now she had to admit she'd missed him, and-
"I fucking hate you-" Cirucci got out, half a moan and half a murmur when she felt the tree against her back, stopped and finally broke from his mouth to pant a breath, each motion for air fluttering her breasts against his chest, her lips against his, a heady, violent feeling in her body, hand still curled tight in his hair and the other curled under his shoulder, nails sinking in hard.
>>>
"I hate you, too." He growled, hoisting her up so their faces were level as his other hand went to deal with the remaining garter. He could feel her sharp claws in his back, remarking him where the scars had been erased. He'd have to replace his shirt, the tiny holes and bloodstains were going to be obvious. He'd keep it though, keep it to remember her like this, trapped against him, wanting him.
His mouth went to her throat, where there was only a little skin exposed above the collar of her uniform, he latched onto it, sucking hard, though doubting it would bruise.
His hands wandered up her skirt, and he pulled away from her half amused, half angry. "Damnit, you really are-" He trailed off, his words just a way of venting frustration that there was more cloth between him and her than his hakama.
>>>
"I said I was you little shit." Cirucci snarled, felt the bark of the tree ground into her back and grit her teeth, head tipped back and breathing heavy as as his mouth pressed against thin skin, vulnerable skin, and yet she bared it to him, knowing their propensity for violence she invited him anyway, come in to my parlour said the spider to the fly, squirming against the touch of his hands, both teasing press and bitter refusal.
"Fuck, you're just-" She yanked hard on his hair, dug in harder with her nails and shifted up against him, violet eyes dark still, offended and angry, but glazing over with the more instinctual feel of lust, something she bedded regularly, lust, but this was an all together different kind of lust, this was Il Forte, and she couldn't even finish her sentence when she felt her remaining garter slip down a long, graceful leg.
>>>
"You expected me to believe that?" Knowing she'd probably be mad, and not caring, he tore the thin cloth right off of her, because getting off properly would mean pulling away from her, and this felt too good to lose even a second. It was just underwear, if she really got angry he'd get her new ones, and then tear those off later.
He bit into her neck, marking her as she was marking him, tasting her like it had been years since he last had. His body was right up against hers, using his weight to hold her in place as his hands fumbled with his hakama, too busy to look down and see what he was doing. He was better at taking off her clothes than he'd ever been at his own.
>>>
"Goddamnit, Il Forte-" The Privaron snapped at the rip of fabric, both pleased and displeased with his fervor, wanted fervor, but damned if most fabric wasn't at all made to withstand an Arrancar's stength. That had always been something of a problem for Cirucci Thunderwitch.
A low groan tore out of her throat, an obliging whimper, when his teeth sunk in, her body jerking in response, fingers coiling deeper in his hair and pulling, encouraging that pain even as her own fingers withdrew from his back, little red stains under each sharp crescent, moving them only to dig in lower, one leg wrapped around his waist and holding her up, grinding insistently, not making his job any easier but she didn't care, he was here to have a job for her to make hard, and...
"Fuck you-" It was grit out alongside pleasure, hatred was not something she was unfamiliar with, and she could incorporate it into another, not caring they weren't anywhere private, that someone could come along any second.
>>>
"That's the idea. " He spoke against her neck, and Il Forte moaned at the friction, pulling away from the mark he'd made and going for her mouth again with all his hunger and desire put into the single action of kissing her. Oh how he hated himself for needing her this much, hated how she could make him into this animal who would fuck even in such a public place.
He told himself he could walk away at any time.
That thought was destroyed, though, as his hakama finally fell free, and he had to gasp as the cool air hit his heated skin. But, he didn't pause, didn't hesitate for a second as his hands came up to push her skirt back to her hips and steady her there as he lined himself up.
He hated her so much.
>>>
"As if-" She denied, as if she didn't want this, as if she were doing him some sort of favor by allowing him to touch her, by allowing him those sounds and that feel, though she was just as needy as he was. How long had it been? How long? Six months. Cirucci told herself she only knew that length of time because it was around then her tongue had been cut out, but inside she knew it as the time Il Forte left. It was shameful, to have missed him and she denied it every opportunity that she'd missed him. Denied it to his brother, with his mocking, condescending eyes, denied it to her pets, who tried to say she loved - she didn't - denied it to Aizen-sama and his meaningful offhand remarks, denied it to Nnoitra, when he had her face shoved down into the floor and loomed over her, smirking that wide grin, denied it to Luppi, when he whined and pouted in bed and asked if she wasn't thinking about him when she was crying Luppi's name, and the 105th denied it most of all to herself.
Yet she couldn't deny that she'd been wet, been aroused ever since she'd seen him, since the idea of this had become real again, couldn't deny that she wanted him, denied only feebly that she needed him, hips jerking up and other leg rising, wrapping long, pale, limbs around his waist and pulling him closer, into her, a long moan muffled directly into his mouth, high-strung and passionate, hands scrambling on his back as she rocked into it, as she welcomed him back the only way she knew how.
>>>
He hadn't realized how dead he had really felt, how cold and lifeless his still animate body was until he was buried deep within her, surrounded by her warmth again. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, maybe it was just how good she was at making him want her, but electricity shot through him nonetheless. Everything was a mixture of lust and hate with her, sometimes they were one in the same, and even now he didn't know if it would be more satisfying to make her scream his name in pain or pleasure, he could only wait as events played out.
Il Forte wasn't gentle with her, he never was, as he pulled back and slammed into her again and again. He grew bored with his mouth on hers and went to attack the other side of her throat, biting into it as harshly as before and a hand coming up to pull at the clasps on her uniform to expose more of her to him, more that he could claim as his own. He wanted everything that was hers, to make her realize she may be stronger than him, but she was less than him, and for that he would always be better. Right now he just wanted her.
>>>
"Il F-" Cirucci whined, nails digging in hard at his back as the tree ground against hers, the motion, the distinct feel of being used, of using another, and she was used to this, this feeling, but with Il Forte... it brought back all the memories from his last stay, all the ones she wanted and all the one she didn't want. The times they'd killed together, bled shinigami, but also the times she'd loved, when a heart had swelled in the hole between her breasts that he bared in the awkward, jerked motions on her uniform, one hand coming back from his skin to shamefully try and cover the scarred flesh on one breast in the distinctive shape of a five.
"Watch it-" She grit out, but she wasn't trying to stop it, try to slow him down, make it more gentle, no, she didn't care it was Il Forte and he was back, and a long moan escaped her mouth, head tipped back and welcoming as he savaged her throat, a small whimper as teeth sunk into flesh, a buck against his hips, and it was all instinctual, all the pent up longing she'd had for him all that time now with an outlet for release.
>>>
Il Forte knew by now his back was a bloody mess, sharp claws cutting through cloth and skin alike, her strength forgotten as she caused him pain amidst the pleasure. He ran his tongue over one of the swollen red marks he'd left on her neck, but not to sooth it over but to taste it again, the slight coppery tinge where he'd just barely broken the skin.
"Did you..always.. talk this much?" She had, always issuing orders even as he took her, telling him what to do and what not to do as he ground into her. He ignored it all, usually, taking her as he wanted and no other way. It was a dangerous game, one he loved playing, and would eventually lose at, but what was the price now that he no longer had his life?
The sensitive flesh of her hollow hole was his next target, tongue circling it slowly, pressed against the very edge with just the lightest of teasing touches. He could recall countless times she'd done the same to him, left him breathless and wanting just from that, lead him back to her rooms without his realizing it, in a daze from such pure sensation. It was her power over him turned around, but not quite as satisfying as those legs around him pulling him closer.
>>>
"Are you always this inept-" Cirucci's voice was caustic, bitter, but all the anger in it died abruptly when she suddenly thrashed, spine arching hard against him, pressing his mouth harder against the hypersensitive skin of her Hollow hole, throat bobbing as she choked back a cry and let it out as a wet pant for breath, the hand covering her scar abandoning hiding that shame to instead clutch at the back of his head, fist in his hair and encourage, her other hand even rewarding by releasing the flesh beneath her bloodied nails, curling over his shoulder instead, thighs tightening as her entire body stiffened, thrummed in response.
"Ah-" She tried to be quiet, noise would attract people, one, but noise was also losing, meant he was making her lose it and they were always fighting, always fighting for dominance and she couldn't afford to lose, and yet she invited defeat like this, wanted defeat, submission, anything that would make him stay, make her legs keep shaking as she cried out, dark purple hair beginning to stick to the back of her neck, white dress clinging and sticking as she began a light sheen of sweat, began to moan softly, twitching and arching into each touch in that delicate skinned hold through her torso.
>>>
His fingers dug into her hips, pressing into the soft skin through the bunched fabric of her uniform as he pulled her closer, trying desperately to push himself into her deeper. His shame may have been his death, but hers was that she was writhing against him, putting on such a wanton display. It was almost enough to drive him over the edge, but he was holding himself back, just by a thread, so he could see her squirm for a little longer beneath him.
He continued his assault on her Hollow hole, a little more pressure and a little more creativity with the design he was painting on the skin around it with his tongue. The hand in his hair would probably come away with some of the golden strands, but the loss of that little bit was well worth this. It was a difficult task to concentrate on, though, every instinct telling him to give it up and just finish the job, trying to continue through gasps and bit back moans of pleasure. He was too hot, with all this exertion and his uniform sticking to his back from both blood and sweat, even that was trying to distract him, but his will to hear every sound he could make her make was enough.
>>>
"Nn-" She thrashed wildly, bucking against him, mouth hanging open and clinging to him, grinding hard and fast, curling and arching into him. Her breath was coming faster, more shallow, gasping pants, writhing. Her legs trembled, slipped and she shoved flush against him, crying out when she felt the uncomfortable motion of being filled, taken, fingers arcing and scrambling against him, moaning.
"Il Forte-" Cirucci finally called out to him, felt the hot, wet, sensation of his tongue on the skin of her Hollow hole, where reiatsu thrummed and centered, the slipping sensation of sweat rolling down that flesh, his tongue, the scrape of teeth, straining to stretch, lips catching on his ear, his jawline, open mouthed kisses and wet touch, encouragements panted out in between high-pitched whines, awkwardly thrusting back at him, toes curling and trapped between his body, hot, too hot, her own the same despite their deaths, the usual cold pallor to their skin, her small hands pressing into his flesh to try and remember how he felt.
>>>
Control was something beyond Il Forte, the jerking of his hips becoming wilder, faster as he pulled out nearly all the way only to bury himself in her once more. He held on though, to just that tiny shred of him that wanted to push her as far as he could. He kissed her again, dominating it, taking everything she had to offer. "I.." he moaned, cutting off what he was going to say so only the last word was heard after. "...you." He wasn't even sure what it was he was going to say, he needed her, wanted her, or maybe just that he hated her.
He tangled one of his hands in her hair, just as she had done to him, tilting her head back, demanding better access to her mouth as instinct claimed more and more of him. Pulling at the dark strands in a possessive almost angry way as he stared into her eyes, watching everything that passed through them as he took her here. It was almost too much for him for her to say his name like that. Once more would be the end for him.
>>>
Cirucci Thunderwitch welcome it. She welcomed the domination, because it was him, and she didn't give a fuck whether he won out or she did, as long as he was there, damn it, and she gave in, broke and moaned out his name, quick and low, tremulous, her own hips rocking, thrusting desperately, hated being left behind, being left wanting when her males finished, clinging to him tightly and drawing him flush against her, her skin itself flushed, pale and sweat, head tipping back under the jerk of his hand and locking lips, her noises, pleasured, begging noises lost against him, eyes meeting, purple swirls of hatred, of desire and affection all in one, glazed over with lust.
She couldn't say it, couldn't bear to say it, but she let it die against his mouth, "I missed you." "I'm glad you're back." "Please don't leave again." Desperate, shameful words hidden in a sudden cry as she arched painfully, legs tightening and grip spasming as she felt her body reach its limit.
>>>
The sound of her voice, and the tightening of her muscles were the breaking point for Il Forte. Gritting out something that sounded suspiciously like Cirucci's name, he released, riding out the waves of pleasure with a few more thrusts before slumping against her, managing to keep his feet for the most part. She could kill him now, his guard was lowered, she could kill him and there would be nothing he could do. He often doubted that if she tried while he was in this state if he'd even bother fighting back. The thought was a final thrill to end it all.
He, in turn, could kill her, she would probably expect it though, be ready for an attack. In the end he'd end up the worse for wear, but it was always a thought, always lurking at the back of his mind while he held her close, almost comfortingly for those few seconds after like any normal lovers would do. Like this, he could almost believe he cared something for her, felt something beyond lust and desire, but it was just the shadow of a remembered emotion he hadn't known for a long time.
>>>
Cirucci clung, held him close, whispers and moans in his ear, tremulous, barely there sounds as he finished, as she finished, trembled and shook, warm and flushed. She threw herself into sex even more in this City than she ever had in Hueco Mundo, because it was this, friction and the body heat of another, only this, that could produce anything like the warmth of life, the delightful thrumming of a temperature in her belly, spreading, a curl of her toes and loosening her grip on him, though unwilling, yet, to let go.
She was unpredictable, just as likely to kill him as kiss him when they were through, and though she meant to hurt him, she could feel blood under her nails and that was enough to sate her for the time being, her chin resting on his shoulder and mouth playing against his throat, soft murmurs, just noise, crooned in his ear, content, relaxed sounds, spent, breasts pressed against him to breathe erratically.
>>>
It was so warm like this, so comfortable, that he could almost forget that he had died. The cold that had clung to him since his arrival seemed to be a memory, and he was contented to just stay like this for a little longer. He didn't trust her though, not even with those soothing sounds in his ear, sounds that meant her temperament hadn't gone through a sudden and violent change once she was satisfied. She was dangerous, and that's why he came to her, because she was unpredictable and he never knew when she'd welcome him and when he'd leave bleeding both body and pride wounded.
The hand that had tangled in her hair released it's grip, and he ran his fingers through the dark, well taken care of strands. It fell through his fingers like fine coils of silk, the feel of it one of the things he liked most about her. He liked her hair that was soft and begging for him to take hold of, her pale skin that his marks showed up so brightly against, and her strong legs that always pulled him closer even when her hands were busy with other things. Most of all, he liked her crooning, something she only did when she was content, only did with those she was pleased with. Something she did for him.
>>>
"... Il Forte?" Her voice was husky, a croon, mouth slowly inching up his neck, soft, fluttering kisses, her eyes closed in contentment, she would kill anyone who implied it was happiness. Because it couldn't be, even with the words she mouthed against his throat being what they were. "Welcome back." "Please." "I missed you, Il Forte." "I'm glad you're back." "Don't go." But she could never voice those silly, shameful thoughts, she buried them in her Hollow hole, one of her small hands reaching up to his chest, to lazily stroke the rim with the bloodied tip of a nail.
"You're going to get a goddamned apartment~" The Thunderwitch hissed happily, wriggling against him, slow and languid. "I'm not doing it anymore on a fucking tree."
>>>
"Mm." He agreed, his legs wanting to give out on him, but he forced himself to stand, to hold her up against him for a little longer. "I'll do that first thing." He needed somewhere he could move freely, but didn't have to watch over his shoulder for Szayel Aporro. He hated being the lab rat. Mostly though, he needed a place where he could get to her easily enough, no longer having to sneak into Tres Cifras it couldn't be too hard to be near her now.
Il Forte wanted to be near her, wanted to stay with her, but he knew those were shadows of real emotions. Things he remembered feeling clawing their way up from the void in his chest. He knew it was nothing more than possessiveness and lust that drove him, but for now it felt a little more real.
"I don't think the tree cares all that much, and I don't think it'll tell anyone."
>>>
"I don't give a shit." Cirucci flipped her hair, slowly separated from him, almost lazily, standing with pale legs that trembled a bit, casually letting her hand drift between her legs, lapping up fluid and licking it from her fingers as she reattached her garters, clipping them one handed, re snapped the breast of her dress, covering hollow hole and her shamed scar, the collar of her uniform not high enough to hide the red marks he'd left on her skin.
"I'm not doing it on a fucking tree anymore, get a goddamned bed, pillow, couch, I don't care." She could affect this attitude now, pleased and satisfied, wiping her fingers casually on the inner hem of her skirt, sneering disdainfully at her ripped undergarment.
"You also owe me new underwear, asshole."
>>>
Il Forte cleaned himself up as best he could, retying his hakama around his waist. There was no point in him trying to make himself look respectable right now, he was covered in blood, sweat, and other things. His hair was a tangled mess and his lips bruised. He looked like he'd just got done having sex in a very uncomfortable place, and there was really nothing to be done for it.
"I was already planning on it, it's not like I enjoy standing the entire time, holding you up." Already he was back to being arrogant and cold, voice filled with sarcasm as he spoke to her. It always came back to this. "I'll buy you a new pair, but I don't know what good they'll do you."
>>>
"Like I'm heavy?" The Privaron huffed, stomping one foot childishly and cocking her hips, drawing attention to slim, petite build. "They'll do what they always do when I don't have stupid bulls ripping them." Cirucci snapped, but it lacked quite as much hatred as she was capable of, another flip of her hair and an attractive pout on painted, bruised lips as she tried to untangle her hair, smooth her skirt down and adjust the chest of her dress.
"You haven't learned anything about handling a woman. Your brother's better, even." That was a low blow, she knew, but it slipped out, even though it had been longer than Il Forte's absence since she'd bedded the Octava. But she loved his anger, she loved that proud expression, and she wanted to see it just as much as she liked to see that other face, flushed and tired.
>>>
Whatever semblance of a good mood he'd been in quickly disappeared, and Il Forte had to use every ounce of his self control to keep his hand off of Del Toro. "Don't you dare compare me to him." He hissed out the words through clenched teeth, anger, and jealousy rising in him. "Because you're useless little undergarments won't be the only thing I'll rip." It wasn't even subtle enough to call a thinly veiled threat, and he knew it could cost him dearly.
"I wonder, would you even know anymore, or have you been stretched so much no man could really satisfy you. You're not above faking." Il forte's anger had the best of him, and he didn't care, not with this first few days here. "Maybe Szayel Aporro can though, maybe he knows just how to make you scream?"
>>>
She was on him in a flash, a sonido before her hands hit his throat, legs knocking into his hips and slamming him to the ground, her slender limbs, their strength belied, moving to pin him, making sure to disarm him by pulling his arm away from Del Toro. But her face wasn't so much furious, though there was anger there, so much as pride, so much as excitement.
"Don't forget who you got off with, before you say such things, Il Forte." The Privaron growled lightly, voice low and dangerous, staring down at him, as if reminding him exactly where he belonged. His rank was above hers, Quince, but she was the stronger.
"And don't get so upset, hmm?~" She smirked, coy and confidant, arching down to him to suddenly bite his neck, where he had marked her, digging in till she tasted blood. "Maybe I haven't bedded your brother in a little while, mm?" Cirucci licked the crimson from his skin. "Maybe you can keep it that way."
>>>
Il Forte hit the ground hard, startling him for just a moment, but it was more than long enough to be immobilized by the Thunderwitch. He was weaker than her, higher in rank but so easily beaten down and restrained by her. It was just another thing to add to his lists of disgraces. He tried to pull away, tried to free his arms, but they were trapped by her.
He started to speak, to tell her that he could get more satisfaction from others, who he didn't know, but he was sure he could find a replacement to bed. He started to but was cut off with a sharp intake of breath as her teeth sunk into the soft skin of his neck, just like he'd done to her, and the sensation went straight through his whole body. Painful, but eliciting so much pleasure.
Il Forte was not above calling himself a masochist, in some respects.
"I'll make sure, I'll make sure you never go to him again."
>>>
"Good boy." Cirucci murmured, rewarding with a brief flutter touch of her body against him, tempted to stay and have him again, right there, but no. She'd leave him wanting. She'd be wanting, but she had other males.
"Now..." The Privaron smoothed her hand over the bone mask he wore, gripped him by the horn and hauled him up to kiss, hard and open mouthed, before she got off of him, smirking and waving her hand dismissively as she sashayed off.
"Get a fucking bed." She would wait until she got out of sight to let her shoulders slump, to duck somewhere and put her face in her hands and smile happily.
Rating; NC-17
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch} & Il Forte {stronger_grantz}Summary; With Il Forte back in the city, a reunion is due. (read; UST is due to be resolved, hell, it's been six months, she thought she moved on.)
Log;
She hated him. She wanted nothing to do with him. She wanted to throttle him, to wrap her small, delicate hands around his throat and squeeze.
And she liked him. And she wanted him. And she wanted to press her small, delicate hands against him to remember how he feels.
Cirucci Thunderwitch hated being confused, being conflicted, and yet she usually was, this wasn't any different. She hated him for leaving, and she loved him for coming back. The Privaron hated him, for coming back bloody, for coming back dead, and she loved him for coming back weak, loved that he came back and she could lord over him, even in that petty way. And yet, she longed to see him, wanted to see him, wanted to touch, to hurt with that touch, to please with that touch...
"Bastard." The 105th muttered darkly, even as she tracked his reiatsu. Damn him but it was a familiar feel, one she'd grown accustomed to having around during his last stay in the City, one she had become accustomed to sharing her bed with. But that had become complicated. When a favorite was replaced with the Privaron, the old favorite did not usually come back. Damn it, but he had to make things difficult, didn't he?
How like Il Forte.
>>>
Il Forte had gotten away from his brother as soon as he was able. Szayel Aporro was not kind when he did his job, but at least he did his job well. He also couldn't get any deader, and Szayel Aporro had delighted in that, not needing to hold back in the slightest, worrying about pushing his lab rat too far.
He felt dirty, disgusted with himself for being so weak. Coming to this place dead was bad enough, bleeding out in the City square worse, and relying on his brother of all... he felt as if he'd never be clean. He needed to remind himself of who he was, his strength, the meaning behind his name. He knew exactly who he needed.
Cirucci was here, he had spoken to her, and she was the same as she had ever been. She was proud, and not above doing anything to drag other's down. She was vicious and vindictive, and no doubt had something to be angry at him about. She usually did. He wanted to kill her just for that, remind her that he wasn't weak, that he was still useful, while she was a disgraced Privaron, thrown away because she was not needed any more.
He missed her embrace, even though it hadn't been that long, a few days, a week at most. Just before he'd left to the human world with Grimmjow and the others. He wanted to wrap his arms around her delicate frame and hear her sweet voice crooning with false promises. Everything she was was a lie, and as deadly as any poison. She would kill him for half a reason, but he'd do the same to her.
>>>
There we was. There. Right there.
Cirucci stopped moving, pulled herself out of sonido with the tell-tale noise of reverb, small, booted feet landing lightly on the stone path at Xanadu's edge. She adjusted her posture, straighter, the line from curve of breast to thigh, the arch of back and tilt to head, one hand rising to adjust her dark curls, purple eyes focusing on him. He looked much better, evidence Szayel Aporro had healed him. Disgusting.
"Il Forte Grantz." The Privaron drawled as if she had nothing else to do in the world but sit there and bait him, watch him with predatory vibes, as if she wished to kill him, and she did, or wished to claim him, which she did. The Arrancar was frowning, however, a disdainful look, with her arms crossed beneath her breasts and a cock to her hip.
>>>
Il Forte stopped mid step at hearing that voice. He turned to regard her, back straight and head held high. "Cirucci." Both of them knew his disgrace, and he had no doubt she would use it to it's full advantage, both his death and who he'd had to rely on for help. He knew she was hiding things too, she always did, and no matter how far he fell, as long as he still held his rank he was better than her, a Privaron Espada.
A smirk graced his lips, one to contradict the look on her face. They were too much a like, and too different. He had been out searching for her, and she had found him.
>>>
"Did you enjoy seeing your brother again?" Her words were acrid, dripping in poison as she began to circle him, wide, lazy steps of bare legs, lithe and nimble in their movements even in this mocking, circling, dance.
"I'm sure he missed you so, not having seen you since the autopsy." How dare he die on her? How dare he come here? How dare he come back?
"Fixed you up, too, so you don't look quite so disgraceful?" Hate, in her eyes, pure, unadulterated hate, but not only that, eyes taking in the sight of him. She'd dreamed, occasionally, that he would come back. She'd bee cursed to recall, recall the shape of him, the feel of him, and she hated it.
"How kind."
>>>
"Very kind, he didn't even leave a scar." None of those little fingernail marks on his back from Cirucci's and his last encounter, not the bite just beneath the collar of his shirt. All of her markings were gone along with any indicating he'd died. "Not one." His eyes followed her, but his feet stayed planted firmly on the ground, tracking her reiatsu during the moments he could not see her.
He was ready for her to attack. He was ready for her to beckon him to her bed once more. She could do either, one or the other, she could do both, or there was the smallest chance that she would do neither. He liked how predictably unpredictable she was. "Would you care to see for yourself?" He shrugged a little, letting the collar of his shirt fall a little more open, exposing perfect skin.
>>>
She sneered, taking that in, dismissing it just as easily, continuing her predatory circles, as much for her nerves as for her pride, for the desire in her to throttle him, to straddle him there and choke the life out from him and watch it die once more in glassy eyes.
"So desperate seeming, Il Forte, already trying to undress." Cirucci laughed, but it seemed almost forced.
"Have some propriety."
>>>
Il Forte's smirk turned into a glare, and he pulled his shirt back to it's usual place. "You're one to talk, I bet you're not even wearing underwear." She was a whore, and made no secret of it, but she liked to think of herself as something better, something above a desperate, powerless Privaron, begging for scraps. "Easy access must make your job so much simpler."
He wanted to run her through, hand itching to go to the hilt at his side, but more than that he wanted to pin her against the nearest wall and see if she really was wearing underwear, slide his hand up that milky thigh and under the dark hem of her white skirt.
>>>
"Am, too." She snarled, stiffening with each word. There was something unresolved in the air, something damned near palpable, in each of them broken off. In her, the soft feel of being pillowed against him, tongue gone, unable to speak, but he'd stayed, except when she'd woken, he'd been gone, and something akin to anger, but more like sadness, had welled in her chest.
She moved on, she always did, compensated for pain with one male for pleasure from the next, and she'd replaced him, replaced her favorite, only to have him return and like this- Like this-
"Shows what you know." A creeping hint of lust, of danger, of nerves crept into her voice.
>>>
"That's a rarity." At one point he'd known all about her, not what she was thinking, he'd never known that, but he'd known when and if she was wearing panties, and what color they'd be before. Now she was closed to him, angry with him, but inviting him back in nonetheless.
He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch, but didn't. It was so quiet out, save for their conversation, that if either of them possessed a heart their beating would have been clear in the air. "What else, then, are you hiding up your skirt?"
>>>
She stiffened fully, glaring up at him with every ounce of hatred her petite, belying delicate body could muster, and Cirucci Thunderwitch could hate. Eyes darkened in fury and her shoulders straightened, chest out, a creeping feeling in her belly and the feeling she was quashing hard, the feeling of relief, that he was back, happiness, that he was back, rejecting them with every fiber of her being.
"Absolutely nothing for a Quince to have."
>>>
This was why he hated her, why he wanted to wrap his hands around that small, pale neck and squeeze every gasp and moan right out of her until she lay silent. Il Forte hated her because he wanted her, and hated himself for the same reason. She was easy, willing as long as he had something to offer her, but the moment she found the slightest reason to be angry with him she turned him away. It frustrated him, and in the end he knew it would be far easier to run her though and get it over with.
"Not for me, but for anyone else with remotely the right anatomy?" His anger seeped into his words, but he didn't budge, didn't move to kill or to claim, still torn equally between the two. "I'm sure I could find a dog to please you then."
>>>
Imperceptibly, perhaps even to herself, Cirucci shifted, flushed in anger, though it could easily be taken as something else, as shame, as embarrassment, as lust, could easily be one of those, could easily be all of them.
"Watch your goddamned mouth." She snapped, twitched in fury, eyes narrowing and fists tightening, raising herself to full height even though it caused them to finally touch, the barest brush of white uniform against white uniform, painted lips twisted into a disdainful sneer.
>>>
He lowered his voice, without really realizing it, out of habit of being so close in proximity. From just his uniform shifting because she had brushed against it. "Or you'll what? Kill me?" He could almost laugh at the thought, but it was anything but humorous. He could feel the heat off of her face, see the red flush to it.
They were so close he could practically taste her, wanted to, wanted to press his mouth against hers hotly and bring them together. His body craved the soft curves against him and strong legs wrapped around him. It also craved her blood spilled on the ground by his hand, staining everything a brilliant shade of red, a look of horror and surprise in her eyes that he could do such a thing to her. Both feelings were overpowering him and he knew he was leaning closer to her still, unsure of which move he was going to make yet.
>>>
"I'll kill you." Cirucci repeated darkly, but there was something even beyond wickedness in her voice. There was bitterness. I'll kill you for leaving. There was anger. How dare you come back? There was sadness. How could you leave me here? There was madness. Whatever you do...
And she decided to kill him, a small, delicate hand rising to his face as if to caress, planning to instead shove her nails, talons, into his throat and rip, and yet, somehow, though she was sure she hadn't mean to do that, her pale fingers wrapped around long, blonde strands and yanked hard, pulling him down to her to press hungrily against him, teeth clicking, lips bruising, but she didn't care, letting a small moan slip out of her throat, of feeling this again, him again, of relief, of frustration, of everything in between and the press of bodies.
>>>
Il Forte wrapped an arm around her lithe waist, pulling her closer still. His tongue darting out, seeking her mouth, the familiarity of it's warmth. His other hand immediately went to her thigh, seeking the clasp to her garter expertly. Already his mind was thinking up the best way to go about this, not on the ground, the dirt would get everywhere. Against a tree then, there was one only a few steps behind Cirucci.
They knew each other well enough, had done this too many times in too many places. He trusted that she would know to back up at his urging and they wouldn't have to pull apart for even a second.
>>>
She did back up, didn't want to stand and crane her neck, shorter than he, to reach him, hand still fisted in his hair dragging hard with her, the press of tongue against tongue, familiar and yet, to her, so far removed that it made her ache. It crashed around her, how much she'd missed him, fuck, she'd never... missed anyone and she'd missed him and she was so goddamned glad he was back, feeling the snap of a garter and her stocking slipping down her leg, and she was so pissed he'd come back because now she had to admit she'd missed him, and-
"I fucking hate you-" Cirucci got out, half a moan and half a murmur when she felt the tree against her back, stopped and finally broke from his mouth to pant a breath, each motion for air fluttering her breasts against his chest, her lips against his, a heady, violent feeling in her body, hand still curled tight in his hair and the other curled under his shoulder, nails sinking in hard.
>>>
"I hate you, too." He growled, hoisting her up so their faces were level as his other hand went to deal with the remaining garter. He could feel her sharp claws in his back, remarking him where the scars had been erased. He'd have to replace his shirt, the tiny holes and bloodstains were going to be obvious. He'd keep it though, keep it to remember her like this, trapped against him, wanting him.
His mouth went to her throat, where there was only a little skin exposed above the collar of her uniform, he latched onto it, sucking hard, though doubting it would bruise.
His hands wandered up her skirt, and he pulled away from her half amused, half angry. "Damnit, you really are-" He trailed off, his words just a way of venting frustration that there was more cloth between him and her than his hakama.
>>>
"I said I was you little shit." Cirucci snarled, felt the bark of the tree ground into her back and grit her teeth, head tipped back and breathing heavy as as his mouth pressed against thin skin, vulnerable skin, and yet she bared it to him, knowing their propensity for violence she invited him anyway, come in to my parlour said the spider to the fly, squirming against the touch of his hands, both teasing press and bitter refusal.
"Fuck, you're just-" She yanked hard on his hair, dug in harder with her nails and shifted up against him, violet eyes dark still, offended and angry, but glazing over with the more instinctual feel of lust, something she bedded regularly, lust, but this was an all together different kind of lust, this was Il Forte, and she couldn't even finish her sentence when she felt her remaining garter slip down a long, graceful leg.
>>>
"You expected me to believe that?" Knowing she'd probably be mad, and not caring, he tore the thin cloth right off of her, because getting off properly would mean pulling away from her, and this felt too good to lose even a second. It was just underwear, if she really got angry he'd get her new ones, and then tear those off later.
He bit into her neck, marking her as she was marking him, tasting her like it had been years since he last had. His body was right up against hers, using his weight to hold her in place as his hands fumbled with his hakama, too busy to look down and see what he was doing. He was better at taking off her clothes than he'd ever been at his own.
>>>
"Goddamnit, Il Forte-" The Privaron snapped at the rip of fabric, both pleased and displeased with his fervor, wanted fervor, but damned if most fabric wasn't at all made to withstand an Arrancar's stength. That had always been something of a problem for Cirucci Thunderwitch.
A low groan tore out of her throat, an obliging whimper, when his teeth sunk in, her body jerking in response, fingers coiling deeper in his hair and pulling, encouraging that pain even as her own fingers withdrew from his back, little red stains under each sharp crescent, moving them only to dig in lower, one leg wrapped around his waist and holding her up, grinding insistently, not making his job any easier but she didn't care, he was here to have a job for her to make hard, and...
"Fuck you-" It was grit out alongside pleasure, hatred was not something she was unfamiliar with, and she could incorporate it into another, not caring they weren't anywhere private, that someone could come along any second.
>>>
"That's the idea. " He spoke against her neck, and Il Forte moaned at the friction, pulling away from the mark he'd made and going for her mouth again with all his hunger and desire put into the single action of kissing her. Oh how he hated himself for needing her this much, hated how she could make him into this animal who would fuck even in such a public place.
He told himself he could walk away at any time.
That thought was destroyed, though, as his hakama finally fell free, and he had to gasp as the cool air hit his heated skin. But, he didn't pause, didn't hesitate for a second as his hands came up to push her skirt back to her hips and steady her there as he lined himself up.
He hated her so much.
>>>
"As if-" She denied, as if she didn't want this, as if she were doing him some sort of favor by allowing him to touch her, by allowing him those sounds and that feel, though she was just as needy as he was. How long had it been? How long? Six months. Cirucci told herself she only knew that length of time because it was around then her tongue had been cut out, but inside she knew it as the time Il Forte left. It was shameful, to have missed him and she denied it every opportunity that she'd missed him. Denied it to his brother, with his mocking, condescending eyes, denied it to her pets, who tried to say she loved - she didn't - denied it to Aizen-sama and his meaningful offhand remarks, denied it to Nnoitra, when he had her face shoved down into the floor and loomed over her, smirking that wide grin, denied it to Luppi, when he whined and pouted in bed and asked if she wasn't thinking about him when she was crying Luppi's name, and the 105th denied it most of all to herself.
Yet she couldn't deny that she'd been wet, been aroused ever since she'd seen him, since the idea of this had become real again, couldn't deny that she wanted him, denied only feebly that she needed him, hips jerking up and other leg rising, wrapping long, pale, limbs around his waist and pulling him closer, into her, a long moan muffled directly into his mouth, high-strung and passionate, hands scrambling on his back as she rocked into it, as she welcomed him back the only way she knew how.
>>>
He hadn't realized how dead he had really felt, how cold and lifeless his still animate body was until he was buried deep within her, surrounded by her warmth again. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, maybe it was just how good she was at making him want her, but electricity shot through him nonetheless. Everything was a mixture of lust and hate with her, sometimes they were one in the same, and even now he didn't know if it would be more satisfying to make her scream his name in pain or pleasure, he could only wait as events played out.
Il Forte wasn't gentle with her, he never was, as he pulled back and slammed into her again and again. He grew bored with his mouth on hers and went to attack the other side of her throat, biting into it as harshly as before and a hand coming up to pull at the clasps on her uniform to expose more of her to him, more that he could claim as his own. He wanted everything that was hers, to make her realize she may be stronger than him, but she was less than him, and for that he would always be better. Right now he just wanted her.
>>>
"Il F-" Cirucci whined, nails digging in hard at his back as the tree ground against hers, the motion, the distinct feel of being used, of using another, and she was used to this, this feeling, but with Il Forte... it brought back all the memories from his last stay, all the ones she wanted and all the one she didn't want. The times they'd killed together, bled shinigami, but also the times she'd loved, when a heart had swelled in the hole between her breasts that he bared in the awkward, jerked motions on her uniform, one hand coming back from his skin to shamefully try and cover the scarred flesh on one breast in the distinctive shape of a five.
"Watch it-" She grit out, but she wasn't trying to stop it, try to slow him down, make it more gentle, no, she didn't care it was Il Forte and he was back, and a long moan escaped her mouth, head tipped back and welcoming as he savaged her throat, a small whimper as teeth sunk into flesh, a buck against his hips, and it was all instinctual, all the pent up longing she'd had for him all that time now with an outlet for release.
>>>
Il Forte knew by now his back was a bloody mess, sharp claws cutting through cloth and skin alike, her strength forgotten as she caused him pain amidst the pleasure. He ran his tongue over one of the swollen red marks he'd left on her neck, but not to sooth it over but to taste it again, the slight coppery tinge where he'd just barely broken the skin.
"Did you..always.. talk this much?" She had, always issuing orders even as he took her, telling him what to do and what not to do as he ground into her. He ignored it all, usually, taking her as he wanted and no other way. It was a dangerous game, one he loved playing, and would eventually lose at, but what was the price now that he no longer had his life?
The sensitive flesh of her hollow hole was his next target, tongue circling it slowly, pressed against the very edge with just the lightest of teasing touches. He could recall countless times she'd done the same to him, left him breathless and wanting just from that, lead him back to her rooms without his realizing it, in a daze from such pure sensation. It was her power over him turned around, but not quite as satisfying as those legs around him pulling him closer.
>>>
"Are you always this inept-" Cirucci's voice was caustic, bitter, but all the anger in it died abruptly when she suddenly thrashed, spine arching hard against him, pressing his mouth harder against the hypersensitive skin of her Hollow hole, throat bobbing as she choked back a cry and let it out as a wet pant for breath, the hand covering her scar abandoning hiding that shame to instead clutch at the back of his head, fist in his hair and encourage, her other hand even rewarding by releasing the flesh beneath her bloodied nails, curling over his shoulder instead, thighs tightening as her entire body stiffened, thrummed in response.
"Ah-" She tried to be quiet, noise would attract people, one, but noise was also losing, meant he was making her lose it and they were always fighting, always fighting for dominance and she couldn't afford to lose, and yet she invited defeat like this, wanted defeat, submission, anything that would make him stay, make her legs keep shaking as she cried out, dark purple hair beginning to stick to the back of her neck, white dress clinging and sticking as she began a light sheen of sweat, began to moan softly, twitching and arching into each touch in that delicate skinned hold through her torso.
>>>
His fingers dug into her hips, pressing into the soft skin through the bunched fabric of her uniform as he pulled her closer, trying desperately to push himself into her deeper. His shame may have been his death, but hers was that she was writhing against him, putting on such a wanton display. It was almost enough to drive him over the edge, but he was holding himself back, just by a thread, so he could see her squirm for a little longer beneath him.
He continued his assault on her Hollow hole, a little more pressure and a little more creativity with the design he was painting on the skin around it with his tongue. The hand in his hair would probably come away with some of the golden strands, but the loss of that little bit was well worth this. It was a difficult task to concentrate on, though, every instinct telling him to give it up and just finish the job, trying to continue through gasps and bit back moans of pleasure. He was too hot, with all this exertion and his uniform sticking to his back from both blood and sweat, even that was trying to distract him, but his will to hear every sound he could make her make was enough.
>>>
"Nn-" She thrashed wildly, bucking against him, mouth hanging open and clinging to him, grinding hard and fast, curling and arching into him. Her breath was coming faster, more shallow, gasping pants, writhing. Her legs trembled, slipped and she shoved flush against him, crying out when she felt the uncomfortable motion of being filled, taken, fingers arcing and scrambling against him, moaning.
"Il Forte-" Cirucci finally called out to him, felt the hot, wet, sensation of his tongue on the skin of her Hollow hole, where reiatsu thrummed and centered, the slipping sensation of sweat rolling down that flesh, his tongue, the scrape of teeth, straining to stretch, lips catching on his ear, his jawline, open mouthed kisses and wet touch, encouragements panted out in between high-pitched whines, awkwardly thrusting back at him, toes curling and trapped between his body, hot, too hot, her own the same despite their deaths, the usual cold pallor to their skin, her small hands pressing into his flesh to try and remember how he felt.
>>>
Control was something beyond Il Forte, the jerking of his hips becoming wilder, faster as he pulled out nearly all the way only to bury himself in her once more. He held on though, to just that tiny shred of him that wanted to push her as far as he could. He kissed her again, dominating it, taking everything she had to offer. "I.." he moaned, cutting off what he was going to say so only the last word was heard after. "...you." He wasn't even sure what it was he was going to say, he needed her, wanted her, or maybe just that he hated her.
He tangled one of his hands in her hair, just as she had done to him, tilting her head back, demanding better access to her mouth as instinct claimed more and more of him. Pulling at the dark strands in a possessive almost angry way as he stared into her eyes, watching everything that passed through them as he took her here. It was almost too much for him for her to say his name like that. Once more would be the end for him.
>>>
Cirucci Thunderwitch welcome it. She welcomed the domination, because it was him, and she didn't give a fuck whether he won out or she did, as long as he was there, damn it, and she gave in, broke and moaned out his name, quick and low, tremulous, her own hips rocking, thrusting desperately, hated being left behind, being left wanting when her males finished, clinging to him tightly and drawing him flush against her, her skin itself flushed, pale and sweat, head tipping back under the jerk of his hand and locking lips, her noises, pleasured, begging noises lost against him, eyes meeting, purple swirls of hatred, of desire and affection all in one, glazed over with lust.
She couldn't say it, couldn't bear to say it, but she let it die against his mouth, "I missed you." "I'm glad you're back." "Please don't leave again." Desperate, shameful words hidden in a sudden cry as she arched painfully, legs tightening and grip spasming as she felt her body reach its limit.
>>>
The sound of her voice, and the tightening of her muscles were the breaking point for Il Forte. Gritting out something that sounded suspiciously like Cirucci's name, he released, riding out the waves of pleasure with a few more thrusts before slumping against her, managing to keep his feet for the most part. She could kill him now, his guard was lowered, she could kill him and there would be nothing he could do. He often doubted that if she tried while he was in this state if he'd even bother fighting back. The thought was a final thrill to end it all.
He, in turn, could kill her, she would probably expect it though, be ready for an attack. In the end he'd end up the worse for wear, but it was always a thought, always lurking at the back of his mind while he held her close, almost comfortingly for those few seconds after like any normal lovers would do. Like this, he could almost believe he cared something for her, felt something beyond lust and desire, but it was just the shadow of a remembered emotion he hadn't known for a long time.
>>>
Cirucci clung, held him close, whispers and moans in his ear, tremulous, barely there sounds as he finished, as she finished, trembled and shook, warm and flushed. She threw herself into sex even more in this City than she ever had in Hueco Mundo, because it was this, friction and the body heat of another, only this, that could produce anything like the warmth of life, the delightful thrumming of a temperature in her belly, spreading, a curl of her toes and loosening her grip on him, though unwilling, yet, to let go.
She was unpredictable, just as likely to kill him as kiss him when they were through, and though she meant to hurt him, she could feel blood under her nails and that was enough to sate her for the time being, her chin resting on his shoulder and mouth playing against his throat, soft murmurs, just noise, crooned in his ear, content, relaxed sounds, spent, breasts pressed against him to breathe erratically.
>>>
It was so warm like this, so comfortable, that he could almost forget that he had died. The cold that had clung to him since his arrival seemed to be a memory, and he was contented to just stay like this for a little longer. He didn't trust her though, not even with those soothing sounds in his ear, sounds that meant her temperament hadn't gone through a sudden and violent change once she was satisfied. She was dangerous, and that's why he came to her, because she was unpredictable and he never knew when she'd welcome him and when he'd leave bleeding both body and pride wounded.
The hand that had tangled in her hair released it's grip, and he ran his fingers through the dark, well taken care of strands. It fell through his fingers like fine coils of silk, the feel of it one of the things he liked most about her. He liked her hair that was soft and begging for him to take hold of, her pale skin that his marks showed up so brightly against, and her strong legs that always pulled him closer even when her hands were busy with other things. Most of all, he liked her crooning, something she only did when she was content, only did with those she was pleased with. Something she did for him.
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"... Il Forte?" Her voice was husky, a croon, mouth slowly inching up his neck, soft, fluttering kisses, her eyes closed in contentment, she would kill anyone who implied it was happiness. Because it couldn't be, even with the words she mouthed against his throat being what they were. "Welcome back." "Please." "I missed you, Il Forte." "I'm glad you're back." "Don't go." But she could never voice those silly, shameful thoughts, she buried them in her Hollow hole, one of her small hands reaching up to his chest, to lazily stroke the rim with the bloodied tip of a nail.
"You're going to get a goddamned apartment~" The Thunderwitch hissed happily, wriggling against him, slow and languid. "I'm not doing it anymore on a fucking tree."
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"Mm." He agreed, his legs wanting to give out on him, but he forced himself to stand, to hold her up against him for a little longer. "I'll do that first thing." He needed somewhere he could move freely, but didn't have to watch over his shoulder for Szayel Aporro. He hated being the lab rat. Mostly though, he needed a place where he could get to her easily enough, no longer having to sneak into Tres Cifras it couldn't be too hard to be near her now.
Il Forte wanted to be near her, wanted to stay with her, but he knew those were shadows of real emotions. Things he remembered feeling clawing their way up from the void in his chest. He knew it was nothing more than possessiveness and lust that drove him, but for now it felt a little more real.
"I don't think the tree cares all that much, and I don't think it'll tell anyone."
>>>
"I don't give a shit." Cirucci flipped her hair, slowly separated from him, almost lazily, standing with pale legs that trembled a bit, casually letting her hand drift between her legs, lapping up fluid and licking it from her fingers as she reattached her garters, clipping them one handed, re snapped the breast of her dress, covering hollow hole and her shamed scar, the collar of her uniform not high enough to hide the red marks he'd left on her skin.
"I'm not doing it on a fucking tree anymore, get a goddamned bed, pillow, couch, I don't care." She could affect this attitude now, pleased and satisfied, wiping her fingers casually on the inner hem of her skirt, sneering disdainfully at her ripped undergarment.
"You also owe me new underwear, asshole."
>>>
Il Forte cleaned himself up as best he could, retying his hakama around his waist. There was no point in him trying to make himself look respectable right now, he was covered in blood, sweat, and other things. His hair was a tangled mess and his lips bruised. He looked like he'd just got done having sex in a very uncomfortable place, and there was really nothing to be done for it.
"I was already planning on it, it's not like I enjoy standing the entire time, holding you up." Already he was back to being arrogant and cold, voice filled with sarcasm as he spoke to her. It always came back to this. "I'll buy you a new pair, but I don't know what good they'll do you."
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"Like I'm heavy?" The Privaron huffed, stomping one foot childishly and cocking her hips, drawing attention to slim, petite build. "They'll do what they always do when I don't have stupid bulls ripping them." Cirucci snapped, but it lacked quite as much hatred as she was capable of, another flip of her hair and an attractive pout on painted, bruised lips as she tried to untangle her hair, smooth her skirt down and adjust the chest of her dress.
"You haven't learned anything about handling a woman. Your brother's better, even." That was a low blow, she knew, but it slipped out, even though it had been longer than Il Forte's absence since she'd bedded the Octava. But she loved his anger, she loved that proud expression, and she wanted to see it just as much as she liked to see that other face, flushed and tired.
>>>
Whatever semblance of a good mood he'd been in quickly disappeared, and Il Forte had to use every ounce of his self control to keep his hand off of Del Toro. "Don't you dare compare me to him." He hissed out the words through clenched teeth, anger, and jealousy rising in him. "Because you're useless little undergarments won't be the only thing I'll rip." It wasn't even subtle enough to call a thinly veiled threat, and he knew it could cost him dearly.
"I wonder, would you even know anymore, or have you been stretched so much no man could really satisfy you. You're not above faking." Il forte's anger had the best of him, and he didn't care, not with this first few days here. "Maybe Szayel Aporro can though, maybe he knows just how to make you scream?"
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She was on him in a flash, a sonido before her hands hit his throat, legs knocking into his hips and slamming him to the ground, her slender limbs, their strength belied, moving to pin him, making sure to disarm him by pulling his arm away from Del Toro. But her face wasn't so much furious, though there was anger there, so much as pride, so much as excitement.
"Don't forget who you got off with, before you say such things, Il Forte." The Privaron growled lightly, voice low and dangerous, staring down at him, as if reminding him exactly where he belonged. His rank was above hers, Quince, but she was the stronger.
"And don't get so upset, hmm?~" She smirked, coy and confidant, arching down to him to suddenly bite his neck, where he had marked her, digging in till she tasted blood. "Maybe I haven't bedded your brother in a little while, mm?" Cirucci licked the crimson from his skin. "Maybe you can keep it that way."
>>>
Il Forte hit the ground hard, startling him for just a moment, but it was more than long enough to be immobilized by the Thunderwitch. He was weaker than her, higher in rank but so easily beaten down and restrained by her. It was just another thing to add to his lists of disgraces. He tried to pull away, tried to free his arms, but they were trapped by her.
He started to speak, to tell her that he could get more satisfaction from others, who he didn't know, but he was sure he could find a replacement to bed. He started to but was cut off with a sharp intake of breath as her teeth sunk into the soft skin of his neck, just like he'd done to her, and the sensation went straight through his whole body. Painful, but eliciting so much pleasure.
Il Forte was not above calling himself a masochist, in some respects.
"I'll make sure, I'll make sure you never go to him again."
>>>
"Good boy." Cirucci murmured, rewarding with a brief flutter touch of her body against him, tempted to stay and have him again, right there, but no. She'd leave him wanting. She'd be wanting, but she had other males.
"Now..." The Privaron smoothed her hand over the bone mask he wore, gripped him by the horn and hauled him up to kiss, hard and open mouthed, before she got off of him, smirking and waving her hand dismissively as she sashayed off.
"Get a fucking bed." She would wait until she got out of sight to let her shoulders slump, to duck somewhere and put her face in her hands and smile happily.
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....1 word: Rabbit.
damn that was hotno subject
She says rabbits breed.
She says it was Il Forte.no subject
He says He was being nice and not calling you a chimpanzee, who also fuck for pleasure.
She would be gloating right now, because she was right~no subject
Dolphins anyone?!
Cirucci denies anything other than, er, whoring.no subject
True, they are the whores of the sea, but they're actually cute.
...psh.no subject
Cirucci says blind, she's adorable~
♥no subject
...Oh go.... have an orgy with the Grantz Brothers.no subject
She says those are fun, but so rare!no subject
...spare her the details please.no subject
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Long log is long.
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