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)
tampered2007-10-07 03:44 am
thunderwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-10-07 03:44 am
Log; Complete
When; Sept. 22nd [backdated like woah]
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Cirucci {![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thunderwitch}, Radu {flammenschwert}, & Dietrich {evilsincebirth}
Summary; Wanting a bit of revenge for her humiliation at the Puppetmaster's hands, Cirucci takes it by making a deal to be able to be using and abusing one Radu Barvon. After all, no one likes other people touching their things.
Log;
Cirucci Thunderwitch was waiting.
She hated waiting, but she did it, because this, she though, may just be worth waiting for. Radu Barvon. She turned the name over in her head. On its own, it meant nothing to her, he meant nothing to her. Of course, she was a reasonable woman. She could look at the Methuselah and say he was handsome, yes, desirable, perhaps, a decent fighter, sure, but he still meant nothing to her. The only thing about him that mattered to her was that he happened to be the pet of one Dietrich von Lohengrin.
She hated Dietrich von Lohengrin.
Oh, she hated a lot of people, but the slight he had given her, no, the blatant shame had to be addressed. To have behaved like that, to have ripped and torn and tasted at his soul but been, somehow, though somehow reduced to some mewling, desperate, needy whore on him, the feelings of all of that, she hadn't known where it had come from, assaulting, loving, molesting, it made her blood boil to think of it, and unbeknownst, her long nails curled harshly into the pillows she draped on. No, she'd have her fun for that. Radu Barvon would be her fun for that, and she ws waiting. She'd gotten Luppi out on the pretense of letting him play, and she was waiting.
The Privaron so detested waiting.
>>>
Radu could still not fully believe what was happening. After it had become clear that the offer was one that he could not refuse, he had decided that it was best not to think about the issue before it was actually time. Now it was, and ignorance was harder to keep up by the second.
The problem was not so much that she was an arrancar, a murderer, or a whore. It didn't at all matter what or who she was, but the shame of being a trading object sent him an aching sting of shame at the slightest glimpse of an idea he caught of it while trying to force himself to think of nothing while he walked the way to the meeting place, thin lips pressed tightly together, steps sharp and fast. The faster he arrived, the faster it would be over. And yet his steps were heavy as lead. Maybe he should just turn and go back, and abandon the idea, because surely it could only be a joke? One he arrived there, it would only be another chance for the Puppetmaster to laugh at his naïveté, mock him as the fool he was, and let him go home. For a moment, Radu almost believed it. The pain in which his hope shattered already in the next thought was less numbing than agitating, and he could not hold back a nervous shudder. Dietrich von Lohengrin was blessed with a face that rivalled the beauty of angels, and along with it, a heart more poisonous than a devil's.
It was not the worst thing he had ever done, Radu knew. It was not going to be the greatest pain he had ever experienced, the greatest despair, or the greatest fear. It was the humiliation of being a present and not having a choice but to give in to that role by his own free will that made him numb with rage and helplessness inside. But Dietrich, being who he was, could make this gentle or even worse. Radu took a last deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to calm himself, and entered.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
>>>
Ah, fashionably late, but someone had to escort Radu to the designed apartment to give him "encouragement" and a reminder what he would do if he failed.
This was going to be fun.
With a neutral expression, Dietrich followed Radu Barvon, step by step, just behind him. His subordinate was better dressed than he was, his blue-black hair far better kept and his ivory skin clean and smooth to give the vampire a particular beauty. While the Puppetmaster walked in simple, cheap clothes, with unruly hair and a shy expression that was exactly opposite to the confident glee he experienced within. Cirucci was a funny puppet and he felt like playing dollhouse lately. Boredom could push him so far in the name of research.
What would he do next after they grew dull? Mmmm… They were plenty subjects in the City. Most did not regard someone like him as dangerous because in their standards he didn't appear that way.
With both hands into his pockets, Dietrich paused when Radu shuddered. Those reactions he enjoyed, so emotional, so open with his own disgust. Where is your noble pride, my Baron? He wanted to laugh at his face, but refrained. It was crueler to appear apologetic and concerned for his welfare, just as he did now. It confused his poor, poor puppet to the point of frustration.
He stopped when reaching the apartment entrance and let Radu enter first. Staying under the threshold, Dietrich knocked the opened door tentatively and peered in.
"Neither of you will need anything?" asked the Puppetmaster in a solicitous voice.
>>>
Cirucci offered a flattering smile to the taller of the pair, though it held so much hidden just beneath the beneer of smirking, painted lips, held something wicked barely kept obvious. For the puppetmaster, however, she offered a droll expression, a sneer of disgust, almost imperceptively feeling her body tighten, tense in paranoia, since the last time she had seen him in person... flowers, feathers, hands, air, breath, hot against her skin and her own pleasured cries mingling amongst his screams. Just beneath the white collar of her uniform, Cirucci Thunderwitch flushed, closing her eyes and waving her hand dismissively, limp wristed in a fingerless white glove.
"Do go on, Dietrich." She drawled, one bare leg, short skirted, crossing over the other, small boots tapping irritably, other hand snapping her garter in frustration. She couldn't enjoy herself if he were here, stupid human, she ought to have run him through with Golondrina, the bladed whip resting still on her hip.
It was a pity she hadn't.
>>>
The question was pure mockery, or maybe he was being unfair towards Dietrich now, but frankly Radu did not care. He just wanted him gone and this over, because with Dietrich watching the awkward scene between the Arrancar and the Methuselah, he was feeling even worse than before. Half in nerviness, half in an almost malicious glee, he realised that he did not even have a real idea what to do next. The only time he had done something anywhere close to this before was blurred by a curse and not exactly what he was proud to remember. He ignored Dietrich, crossing his arms and focused on an uncertain point at the ground to have a reason to avoid the Thunderwitch's eyes.
He regretted not having used the time he had had before to make a better plan or figure out how to react in this situation. Even numbing himself with alcohol and opium would have been more productive than his bland denial. But it was too late now, and Dietrich and the Thunderwitch would hardly have taken it well to have him in a state of complete daze.
Realising his silent, stubborn stare downward would draw attention, Radu finally looked up and struggled to find words - any words - appropriate for the moment. After half a second of useless, confused searching, he at last came up with, "No."
>>>
"Alright! Enjoy yourselves, hm? Good-bye!"
Giving an informal shrug, Dietrich winked at them and smiled after they decline his help. They were doing the matter so entertaining with their reactions at his antics. It amused him to no end those "beyond" human acted far more as a proper human being that he ever was. Could they feel? Cirucci wasn't supposed to but she was either a good actor or she did.Feel…
Love was such fascinating concept, wasn't it? Regardless of what the boring old man warned, Dietrich was drawn by that idea. He still didn't quite understand all the mechanics after the attachment.
Shutting the door, the Puppetmaster left and waited, never really leaving in mind the two puppets alone in that room.
He was going to wait and see if the pair needed a little tug in the strings to start the fun.
>>>
Cirucci hmmphed in the back of her throat when Dietrich lift, uncrossing and recorssing her legs irritably, one small hand flipping back the dark purple curl of her hair.
He'd almost ruined her mood. Damn him.
"I'm going to think you detest me, looking like that, Radu~" The Arrancar murmured, eyes lidded, hidden by long, black lashes. She was reclined, apparantly relaxed, sitting draped languidly on the white couch of her main living area, surrounded by something of an idle hobby of hers. Pillows. Lots and lots of pillows, scattered on the hardwood floor, over chairs and sofa, all colors, shapes, sizes, and fabrics. True to the avian nature of her true form, the 105th fancied nesting.
"Do you?" One pale finger crooked at him, black tipped nail resembling more a talon than anything.
>>>
Radu did not so much as give Dietrich even a glance when the Terran left, but inside him, something cramped with the loss of the last bit of a relative security. Now that Dietrich was gone, he was alone with the Arrancar, and she did not seem to plan to get things done quickly. The frustration choked him. He bit his lip, looked to the side to win a moment to think, and finally found the resolve to look at her; eyes dead, expression neutral. Again, he was at loss for words.
"No," he replied at last, realising a second later that his voice was suspiciously weak, and offered the attempt of a smile. The claw was worrying him. But pain was easier to deal with than that. For an instant, he was tempted to provoke a fight and end this in a more pleasant way.
>>>
“So why so distant?” Cirucci started to giggle, cruel and sadistic, small booted feet kicking. He was so… so… adorable. In that “I have no idea what I’m doing, please don’t touch me, you’re disgusting” sort of way.
“Come here, mm?” She crooked her finger again, pursing her lips and crooning delightedly, far too amused for her own good, Flouncing on the nest of pillows she sat on.
>>>
There was hardly a choice, and Radu understood that. At least the games were over now. It took him only a second to pull himself together and follow her suggestion. He tried. He honestly tried not to appear too stiff when he sat down next to her, but it was a poor attempt. He was too nervous, too disgusted, too much trying to distract himself on the other hand.
Look at her, idiot, he told himself, and did. He was not smiling anymore when searching for an explanation. He was not even sure if she really wanted one, but Dietrich's warning had been clear; and there was no worse violation than being moved and controlled by somebody else against your will.
"This is somewhat... new to me," he explained, instantly angered about himself. An Arrancar would hardly understand, even less care. But the answer was better than none at all.
>>>
Her lips pulled into a wicked smile.
“Poor baby.” She smirked, teeth biting into her bottom lip. She was enjoying this, it was blatant, enjoying his shame and embarrassment, leaning in far too close for anyone’s personal comfort, centimeters from touching him, shifting, pressing a pillow into his lap and leaning her hands on it to brace.
“No one wants Radu?~” Eyelashes fluttered, smirk widening, wanted to watch him squirm.
>>>
The proximity was sickening. And as much as he had tried to keep up his composure, he had to turn his head away, a weird mix of hot embarrassment and cold dread running under his skin. He wanted her gone, immediately before she could come even closer, and forever. His throat moved almost imperceptively when he swallowed.
"That's normally not a problem for me," he replied. Her question was irritating, and as a matter of fact, that was good to distract himself at least a little bit from the uncomfortable feeling of exposure and shame. It was a mistake perhaps, to reveal too much, but it only occurred to him after he spoke. "I don't want them either."
>>>
Cirucci eyed him. He was an interesting person, this Radu, and she wanted to break him. Slowly, one hand raised, talons gently scraping across his throat.
“Really?~” She watched him squirm in delight, pressing harder with her hands, shifting closer until they touched, the swell of breast pressing against his shoulder, a wicked smile on her face.
“Radu doesn’t want anyone?~” Her nail dragged leisurely down his jugular. “Doesn’t want to be touched?”
>>>
Shit. He shouldn't have said that. The Thunderwitch made a fickle impression, but she was no less perceptive. Or dangerous.
The instant she came close enough to touch him, leaned against him, and lifted her hand to his throat, his movement stilled entirely. Compared to the nervous, uncomfortable flinching of just moments before, he was remarkably motionless now. Staring down at the floor, he could only make out her shape from the corner of his eye. His temples were pounding hard. The hand opposed to her direction started clawing into the surface of a pillow. He was astounded how cold his voice was when he spoke. "I'm more interested in other things."
>>>
“What other things, hmm?” Oh, but that was cold. So very frigid of him, an unresponsive body… a challenge. Each breath had her closer, breasts pressed firm against him now, her lips against his jaw.
“Fighting?~” Each word brushed her mouth against him, a soft caress, experimenting. Some didn’t respond to gentle. One had to check.
“Smoking?” She sniffed disdainfully, smelling the smoke on him, on his skin, it was absolutely disgusting. Her tongue lapped a bit at the flesh there, wickedly watching for a response.
“Scheming to kill your brother?” Her hand on the other side of his throat stroked down to his collar and swirled little patterns.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Ra~du~” The Privarons’ voice was dark and playful, wicked in its intent and all together mocking.
>>>
Had he had a choice, he would have pushed the woman off him in this very second. He tried to stay calm, fought for control, lost, and still could not bring himself to respond and help to get through this faster. He breathed deeply, concentrating to suppress the disgust at Cirucci's closeness, the new and alien feeling of a body pressed against his, the sheer disgust that came with it in the face of his unwillingness. It was not painful, and that was what scared him most. Just then, and maybe it was fortunate for him, her words fell.
Scheming to kill your brother?
His head shot around, the dead expression on his face replaced by a feral snarl, and before he could hold back, he growled, "That's none of your business! And that's not what I'm here for!"
>>>
Cirucci laughed, withdrew ever so slightly to the other end of the couch, draped over pillows and instead pressed a small, dainty foot into her shoulder, the action baring far up her thighs, up the short skirt of her uniform, giggling childishly and making it near impossible to tell if she meant to incite by that action, draw his eye, or if it was an innocent mistake.
“No… I forgot, sorry~” She sing-songed, a flush of shame of her own, barely visible, perhaps perceptible as she recalled the man behind the reason he was here.
“You’re here… because that human male owns you.” Her foot tapped his neck. “No collar, per se, but he owns you.” Her smile became indulgent.
“You hate it?”
>>>
As if to answer the Thunderwitch's display, Radu averted his eyes again, lips pressed together in frustration. The games were not over, and this could go on for the rest of the night. It would have been less bad if there had not been the strain of having to wait for what was supposed to be punishment. But for now, he contemplated if it was worse to stay and entertain this woman, or to risk her and the Puppetmaster's anger and just leave. He had stood up before the decision was completely made, arms crossed and back turned at Cirucci.
"He doesn't own me," he corrected with more aggression in his voice than he intended. "He's my superior. There's a difference."
>>>
“Sit down, Radu.” Cirucci’s voice turned no-nonsense in the time it took him to stand, crossing her legs and watching him disdainfully. Such a childish boy, this one, with no concept of what he was dealing with. She gestured with her hand, palm beginning to glow as a cero charged there. She wasn’t sure if he could sense energy, as she could, didn’t care, it was intimidating on it’s own, the buzzing noise of heating air around her hand, glowing brighter.
“Don’t forget who you’re with right now.” The Privaron reminded, cruel lips twisting into a sneer.
>>>
Radu's eyes narrowed at the sight of the cero, even though he himself had no understanding what it was. However, this simple display of power was enough to remind him of his position. He did not have a choice. Grudgingly, but calmer on the outside, he sat down again, shoulders dropping only partially out of their irritated, and secretly anxious tension. "Sorry."
>>>
“Better.” The arrancar closed her fist, the cero dying in a flash of light and dry heat, her curls rippling from the press of temperature. She surveyed the Methuselah, one shapely brow arched as she did so, near disapproving before she smirked.
“You’ve never been with a woman, have you?” She asked, steering clear of the subject of Dietrich. “So young… so very mortal…” Her fingers cracked as she gestured with them. She was hundreds of years his senior and yet she appeared young and vivacious, no hint of weakness or feebleness.
>>>
He shot Cirucci a hateful glance, but knew better than to provoke her another time. "No," he answered her question flatly. She was enjoying this, or at least so it looked to him. Her questions were no less mocking than what he expected from Marionettenspieler, and yet again, there was this uncomfortable tension of waiting. He could just as well distract himself - and her - with conversation, if this was what she wanted.
With a frown, he added, "I am 18 years old and member of the court of Ţara Methuseluth." No matter if her words were harmless or not, the implication they carried irritated him.
>>>
“Oh~” Cirucci waved her hand, laughing. “Shush, you’ll make me feel like a child molester.” She sat up, gesturing him closer. How innocent, he seemed, so very young.
“I’m hundreds of years old.” She spoke calmly, centered. “105th Privaron Espada, former Quinta Espada, of Hueco Mundo, of Los Noches, of Tres Cifras.” A giggle. “But you don’t care, do you, sweetheart.” She smiled.
“And so shy~”
>>>
Maybe conversation was a bad idea in the end. It did not matter what she said, every word seemed to drain his patience and feed his aggression, but on the other hand choked his anxiety or at least let him forget about it for now.
"I do care," he lied, coldly, and then added harder, "And I am not shy."
He could not have cared less, although the sound of her words had a somewhat familiar sound to it. He decided to ask, even if only to keep her talking. "Are you from Hispania?"
>>>
“The words are Spanish, if that’s what you mean, bonito?~” She foreign words rolled off her tongue, coy and smirking. “But Italian is more my forte, bello.” She thought it was cute, that he kept trying to change the subject, crooking her finger at him once more.
“Not shy?” She drew one long leg up and pressed it into his hip. “You can’t even touch me~”
>>>
Explaining that he had no interest in touching her and was here against his will was not an option, Radu decided. Even if he had really planned to answer, her next action would have silenced him instantly. He flinched, cursing in his mind, but forced himself to stay calm. Showing weakness in front of a creature like this would not help him in any way. He noticed the crooked finger and his expression darkened an almost unnoticeable bit.
"What do you want me to do?"
>>>
“So dense~” Cirucci smirked. He wanted instruction, so be it, she could do that. “Fine~” The Privaron sat up gracefully, stretched, accenting the sinuous line from breast to hip, long, shapely legs and lithe, pale limbs as she crawled over to him predatorily.
“Sit~” The Arrancar crawled onto his lap, straddled him and easily pushed him back, far stronger than her frame should be, mouth brushing against his neck and small hands tracing down his chest.
“You know… I really hate men like you.”
>>>
Sit. That was an easy command at least. The woman's strength was surprising, and his instinctive resistance came too late, and to no avail. It was probably just as instinctive that her lips at his neck let him freeze for a second, knowing very well what real vampires' bites felt like. Her light weight mixed with her abnormal strength on top of him was a weird feeling, not completely uncomfortable, and - much to his surprise - not disturbing in itself. What was disturbing was to know that the youthful looking woman was a century-old, unstable killer.
What was even more disturbing was the prospect of what was to come.
He noticed he brought his arm between them automatically, his hand against her shoulder and muscles strained and ready to push her off. It was ridiculous. He forced himself to relax, without too much visible success, and withdrew his hand, placing it on her back instead along with the other, after a moment's hesitation. Although thin and delicate, almost too feminine for a man's hands, the skin of their palms was, as typical for an Ifrit, callused and hardened to an unnatural degree, which in nature served to protect the underlying flesh from the heat of his flames. In a situation such as this, it could be a hindrance. He had no idea about what she expected from him other than being here and letting her do what she wanted.
He had almost missed her words. Almost too late to still count as a reply, he ignored her rebuke, and only asked, "And?"
>>>
Actually, she didn’t hate Radu Barvon. She’d never hated Radu Barvon, not truly. She hated Dietrich von Lohengrin, and Radu Barvon was merely the unlucky associate. Cirucci smirked against the hesitance of his body, wondered just how hesitant he could remain. Because whether she hated him or not, whatever she denied, Cirucci Thunderwitch was a whore. She liked sex, she liked males, she liked teasing and pressing and dominating and all of this was a game to her.
To tempt, she wriggled lightly against the touch of his hands, an approving motion, arcing until they slid lower, an invitation.
“Actually…” Her lips finally touched fully, kissing lightly at his throat as she spoke. “Not so much men like you, as men like your… “superior”.” She chuckled low in her throat, nipped playfully. “But he already knows that. Poor Radu, though… when his superior makes mistakes, it seems like he’s the one who had to pay for them.” Small, nimble fingers reached up, one hand caressing the side of his face and the other idling at the fabric on his shoulder.
>>>
Being reminded of Marionettenspieler or the position he himself was in was the last thing Radu wanted right now. It was bad enough as it was. Could she not at least stop talking?
"I don't pay for them, I only-" Radu stopped short when he felt his own leg move without his command, brushing against the arrancar's in an undignified, embarrassingly inviting fashion.
No. Alarms screamed in his mind. Not yet, Puppetmaster, give me another chance!
He hated being controlled. There was nothing worse, nothing lower than losing every bit of free will you had, to lose even the power to move on your own, feel on your own, exist only by the directions another gave.
As if to respond to the manipulation and prove his willingness to finish the work alone, Radu's hands tightened their insecure hold around Cirucci's back, one in the small of her back, the other tracing the line of her spine with his fingertips. It was a clumsy, inexperienced effort.
>>>
“You only pay for them.” Cirucci finished for him, smirking cruelly against his neck. “Denial is an ugly thing, little one. Ah, there you go~” She mocked his age and inexperience, fingers dancing lightly down his arm and tapping at the hand curving up her spine, rewarding with a small squirm. She was a mocking, caustic woman, but her guiding was gentle, so far.
“Ever wonder why that is?” She nipped hard at his jugular, soothed the bite over with her tongue. “Or does Radu not mind being under someone’s heel?” Closer, she crept, until her breasts pressed against him, soft curves of a body more likened to steel and metals, to hard bone of her release, of the whip coiled on her hip.
>>>
He jerked when she bit him, although it was not unexpected. What was unexpected was her patience. She wanted him to respond to it? He did not see what it could give her, and he would have preferred to have to take as little action by himself as possible. But she wanted him to act, react, to her guide, as it seemed. She wanted to talk.
His hand found her nape and massaged the muscles with cautious pressure of his fingers. Resistance was futile, and he could just as well give her what she wanted. He gave in, sighed, turned his head away, and replied colder than his actions were, "Yes, I do. I do mind."
>>>
“I’d be worried, if you didn’t.” She bit again, frustrated with the lack of emotion in his voice. She liked responsive partners, hated the ones who made her do all the work, and, damn, was this one annoying her.
“Now… let’s get to why so shy.” The Thunderwitch licked along his ear, whispering coy. “Abused as a child?” She straddled him fully then, shifted hip to hip and pressed none too gently.
“Molested?~” The petite woman squirmed.
“Beaten?” Curious fingers dipped under the fabric at his collar.
"Traumatic past?~” She was having far too much fun with this, though.
“Perhaps… afraid of commitment?” She laughed lightly, experimentally ground down on his hips, short skirt riding up pale thighs. “Afraid of being vulnerable?~”
>>>
Radu never had a chance to react, and maybe - most likely - that was good. When he did, it already was not him anymore. His eyes darkened the slightest bit when she ground against him, an air of amusement hidden inside them. He still managed to keep still, but his grip on her neck tightened, at her words or at her actions.
"Does it matter?" he asked, returning his gaze to meet hers slowly, expression shielded by a dangerous calm. The hardness faded in the next moment, and made space for a weak smile. He lowered his eyes and bit his lip in embarrassment, trying to ban the shaking from his voice. "I am... yours. T-That is what matters now, isn't... isn't it?"
>>>
“No, it isn’t.” Cirucci’s voice hardened equally and she drew back. “You aren’t mine, your his.” She was getting angry, that was evident, in the way her body stiffened, the dark cast to purple eyes, and the sneer on painted lips.
“What matters…” He seemed odd and she couldn’t put her finger on it, withdrew her hand from the fabric of his shirt and instead casually stabbed her fingers through his right shoulder, her sneer slowly morphing into a manic grin.
“Can you guess, Radu?” Cruelly, her fingers curled.
>>>
Freed from Marionettenspieler's control momentarily, he let out a gasp, quickly holding back a scream, expression changing from the shy embarrassment to a mask of shock, to a hateful, utter rage. An attack was an attack, and something he could deal with better than with the awkward situation that had been arranged for them. Instantly, his hand left her nape, to close around her neck, finger nails - although still in human shape - digging into her skin. He did not care what he was doing or what it would mean for him later. "Tell me," he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes shining in a rage as manic as her grin.
>>>
“What matters…” She seemed unfazed by his grip on her neck, she doubted her could do much damage if he tried, not against the natural hierro of her skin that all Arrancar possessed. She could slam her hand down on a shard of glass, and the skin would not break. Slowly she pressed her fingers deeper, cruel talons cutting through muscle until they clicked against bone.
“What matters is what you run and tell that prick of a human.” Her voice had begun to resemble a snarl. “Whether you go to him and tell him I’m easy prey or if you run back with your fucking tail between your legs.” She was insane, this was becoming clear, able to switch between moods, between gentle and kind to harsh and unforgiving in the time it took people to speak just one wrong word.
Her other hand began to reach for the whip on her hip.
“And believe me, Radu Barvon, you’ll not be reporting I’m some weak little slut.”
>>>
Well, this was bad. His grip was useless and she not only crazy, but in need to prove a point, although it was not as if he thought that far right now. Radu flinched and barely could bite back a whimper, lips pressed together tightly and teeth clenched. He was not unused to pain, but this was mind-numbing in the first instant. It was a challenge, though, and not one to which he could submit. Almost stubborn, to cover the pain by the pain in his strained muscles, he tightened his grip, whether or not it would have any effect on the arrancar. It was more a matter of pride than anything. He needed to distract himself.
>>>
Her demeanor changed again, hand reaching the whip on her hip and the cicular blade strung on the wire snapped out before she coiled it around his neck, the wires manipulated so skilfully it seemed like they had a life of their own. With a wet noise her fingers withdrew from his shoulder and she idly licked the blood off the pale digits as she observed him for a moment, coldly indifferent to the hand on her neck.
She had stopped breathing. Her chest had stilled, no air in her lungs, but she showed no ill effect.
With an idle flick of her wrist, wrapped on sword hilt, and her other fisted in his clothing, the Privaron casually tossed the Methuselah at the wall.
>>>
The impact was not so hard that it would have done real damage to the body of a Methuselah, but it hurt nonetheless. It hurt, his shoulder hurt although it was regenerating, and the aggression felt good. Radu caught himself, supported against the wall, and clenched his fist. But something let him hold back. He could not attack her, even under these circumstances. He could not, but-
He did not care. Flames sparked up from his palm when his hand unclenched, even though he did not throw them yet. The warning was clear enough. And somehow, even with the minimal chance of winning or coming out of this alive, he longed for the chance.
>>>
“I’m not so sure you want to do that, Radu Barvon.” The whip cracked, the circular blade spinning, the loud and abrasive squeal of metal on metal wire, occasionally sparking. It would seem odd that the Privaron could cut an intimidating figure, with her small, delicate form and impractical clothing, the small dress, pristine white, but she could, when she had that look in her eye and that smile on her lips.
“I’ll let you make a choice, since you want to play like a big boy.” She smirked wider. “I could fire this cero and obliterate your top half, I’m not sure you’d regenerate that.” The cero in her palm winked into existence and vanished just as quickly. “I could use bala, that might break all the bones in your torso. Or perhaps you’d like to see my release form?” Her eyes reflected nothing even as she approached him, sharp and perilous, unheeding of the flame he held. “Or, you can start playing by my rules, like the obedient little toy you are.”
>>>
It was a short struggle. Their eyes met for an instant, hot-glaring rage and cold emptiness, before it was decided. He looked away, the flame in his palm dying out, hand sinking. He would not give her any more pleasure in this than he had to.
"Understood." There was no emotion in his voice, but the hate-filled glare he offered made up for it. The choices were to either accept, or be forced to accept, by her or Marionettenspieler. It did not matter. There were other ways he could at least passively pay her back.
>>>
“Good boy.” She chuckled, approaching until she could take his chin in her hand, other recoiling the whip and blade to her hip, petting it with more affection she showed most of her males. She looked him over like one would look a horse over, lips pursed in thought.
“You know… there’s something odd about bedding mortals.” She blinked lazily, eyeing. “To know that you’re fucking something that ages… hmm… that dies of old age.” Arrancar never died like that. “Odd. Especially young things… so prim.” She looped her fingers though the ornaments on his uniform. “Proper.” She tugged. “Of course… there’s the stamina issue.” She calmly began undoing the uniform, speaking gently. “Mortals hardly ever last, they get tired so quickly. And you always have to worry about breaking them, they don’t have any hierro.” Nimble fingers worked at buttons. “It’s hard to be so gentle, you know. Being violent is best, but if you get a little carried away with a mortal, well…”
Her voice died to a fell whisper.
“You can break it.”
>>>
"Methuselah aren't easy to break, I ensure you." His glare was reaching murderous dimensions again, but he refrained from trying to threaten her again. He was not going to get out of this. Her mocking was hitting him where it was supposed to, harder than he dared to admit. Had he had a choice - and a chance - he would have loved to tear her small hands out like wings of a butterfly. But he held back, and forced himself to relaxed, signifying that this time he would not put up a fight. The woman was confusing enough as it was. He could not tell what she wanted him to do - to hold back, to submit, to put up a fight and give her a reason to put him down again?
"What do you want?" he put his confusion into words, with more aggression behind them than real interest. "What do you want me to do?! You told me to come here, I did - and what now?"
>>>
“To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure~” She smirked up at him, tapping at his chest as she undid the buttons of the uniform.
“I just really wanted to piss off that little human of yours. And I really don’t like people touching my things, so, I figure he doesn’t like other people playing with his pets either.” Cirucci shrugged, as if owning people were the easiest thing, like viewing people like that was perfectly fine.
“So~ How’s that for spur of the moment, hmm, Radu?” The Privaron smiled viciously before her hand ran through his hair, patting as one would pat a dog.
“But now that you’re here~” A sing song voice that sounded so much scarier than it should as her fingers traced down his chest.
“Let’s have some fun.”
Rating; PG-13
Characters; Cirucci {
thunderwitch}, Radu {flammenschwert}, & Dietrich {evilsincebirth}Summary; Wanting a bit of revenge for her humiliation at the Puppetmaster's hands, Cirucci takes it by making a deal to be able to be using and abusing one Radu Barvon. After all, no one likes other people touching their things.
Log;
Cirucci Thunderwitch was waiting.
She hated waiting, but she did it, because this, she though, may just be worth waiting for. Radu Barvon. She turned the name over in her head. On its own, it meant nothing to her, he meant nothing to her. Of course, she was a reasonable woman. She could look at the Methuselah and say he was handsome, yes, desirable, perhaps, a decent fighter, sure, but he still meant nothing to her. The only thing about him that mattered to her was that he happened to be the pet of one Dietrich von Lohengrin.
She hated Dietrich von Lohengrin.
Oh, she hated a lot of people, but the slight he had given her, no, the blatant shame had to be addressed. To have behaved like that, to have ripped and torn and tasted at his soul but been, somehow, though somehow reduced to some mewling, desperate, needy whore on him, the feelings of all of that, she hadn't known where it had come from, assaulting, loving, molesting, it made her blood boil to think of it, and unbeknownst, her long nails curled harshly into the pillows she draped on. No, she'd have her fun for that. Radu Barvon would be her fun for that, and she ws waiting. She'd gotten Luppi out on the pretense of letting him play, and she was waiting.
The Privaron so detested waiting.
>>>
Radu could still not fully believe what was happening. After it had become clear that the offer was one that he could not refuse, he had decided that it was best not to think about the issue before it was actually time. Now it was, and ignorance was harder to keep up by the second.
The problem was not so much that she was an arrancar, a murderer, or a whore. It didn't at all matter what or who she was, but the shame of being a trading object sent him an aching sting of shame at the slightest glimpse of an idea he caught of it while trying to force himself to think of nothing while he walked the way to the meeting place, thin lips pressed tightly together, steps sharp and fast. The faster he arrived, the faster it would be over. And yet his steps were heavy as lead. Maybe he should just turn and go back, and abandon the idea, because surely it could only be a joke? One he arrived there, it would only be another chance for the Puppetmaster to laugh at his naïveté, mock him as the fool he was, and let him go home. For a moment, Radu almost believed it. The pain in which his hope shattered already in the next thought was less numbing than agitating, and he could not hold back a nervous shudder. Dietrich von Lohengrin was blessed with a face that rivalled the beauty of angels, and along with it, a heart more poisonous than a devil's.
It was not the worst thing he had ever done, Radu knew. It was not going to be the greatest pain he had ever experienced, the greatest despair, or the greatest fear. It was the humiliation of being a present and not having a choice but to give in to that role by his own free will that made him numb with rage and helplessness inside. But Dietrich, being who he was, could make this gentle or even worse. Radu took a last deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to calm himself, and entered.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
>>>
Ah, fashionably late, but someone had to escort Radu to the designed apartment to give him "encouragement" and a reminder what he would do if he failed.
This was going to be fun.
With a neutral expression, Dietrich followed Radu Barvon, step by step, just behind him. His subordinate was better dressed than he was, his blue-black hair far better kept and his ivory skin clean and smooth to give the vampire a particular beauty. While the Puppetmaster walked in simple, cheap clothes, with unruly hair and a shy expression that was exactly opposite to the confident glee he experienced within. Cirucci was a funny puppet and he felt like playing dollhouse lately. Boredom could push him so far in the name of research.
What would he do next after they grew dull? Mmmm… They were plenty subjects in the City. Most did not regard someone like him as dangerous because in their standards he didn't appear that way.
With both hands into his pockets, Dietrich paused when Radu shuddered. Those reactions he enjoyed, so emotional, so open with his own disgust. Where is your noble pride, my Baron? He wanted to laugh at his face, but refrained. It was crueler to appear apologetic and concerned for his welfare, just as he did now. It confused his poor, poor puppet to the point of frustration.
He stopped when reaching the apartment entrance and let Radu enter first. Staying under the threshold, Dietrich knocked the opened door tentatively and peered in.
"Neither of you will need anything?" asked the Puppetmaster in a solicitous voice.
>>>
Cirucci offered a flattering smile to the taller of the pair, though it held so much hidden just beneath the beneer of smirking, painted lips, held something wicked barely kept obvious. For the puppetmaster, however, she offered a droll expression, a sneer of disgust, almost imperceptively feeling her body tighten, tense in paranoia, since the last time she had seen him in person... flowers, feathers, hands, air, breath, hot against her skin and her own pleasured cries mingling amongst his screams. Just beneath the white collar of her uniform, Cirucci Thunderwitch flushed, closing her eyes and waving her hand dismissively, limp wristed in a fingerless white glove.
"Do go on, Dietrich." She drawled, one bare leg, short skirted, crossing over the other, small boots tapping irritably, other hand snapping her garter in frustration. She couldn't enjoy herself if he were here, stupid human, she ought to have run him through with Golondrina, the bladed whip resting still on her hip.
It was a pity she hadn't.
>>>
The question was pure mockery, or maybe he was being unfair towards Dietrich now, but frankly Radu did not care. He just wanted him gone and this over, because with Dietrich watching the awkward scene between the Arrancar and the Methuselah, he was feeling even worse than before. Half in nerviness, half in an almost malicious glee, he realised that he did not even have a real idea what to do next. The only time he had done something anywhere close to this before was blurred by a curse and not exactly what he was proud to remember. He ignored Dietrich, crossing his arms and focused on an uncertain point at the ground to have a reason to avoid the Thunderwitch's eyes.
He regretted not having used the time he had had before to make a better plan or figure out how to react in this situation. Even numbing himself with alcohol and opium would have been more productive than his bland denial. But it was too late now, and Dietrich and the Thunderwitch would hardly have taken it well to have him in a state of complete daze.
Realising his silent, stubborn stare downward would draw attention, Radu finally looked up and struggled to find words - any words - appropriate for the moment. After half a second of useless, confused searching, he at last came up with, "No."
>>>
"Alright! Enjoy yourselves, hm? Good-bye!"
Giving an informal shrug, Dietrich winked at them and smiled after they decline his help. They were doing the matter so entertaining with their reactions at his antics. It amused him to no end those "beyond" human acted far more as a proper human being that he ever was. Could they feel? Cirucci wasn't supposed to but she was either a good actor or she did.Feel…
Love was such fascinating concept, wasn't it? Regardless of what the boring old man warned, Dietrich was drawn by that idea. He still didn't quite understand all the mechanics after the attachment.
Shutting the door, the Puppetmaster left and waited, never really leaving in mind the two puppets alone in that room.
He was going to wait and see if the pair needed a little tug in the strings to start the fun.
>>>
Cirucci hmmphed in the back of her throat when Dietrich lift, uncrossing and recorssing her legs irritably, one small hand flipping back the dark purple curl of her hair.
He'd almost ruined her mood. Damn him.
"I'm going to think you detest me, looking like that, Radu~" The Arrancar murmured, eyes lidded, hidden by long, black lashes. She was reclined, apparantly relaxed, sitting draped languidly on the white couch of her main living area, surrounded by something of an idle hobby of hers. Pillows. Lots and lots of pillows, scattered on the hardwood floor, over chairs and sofa, all colors, shapes, sizes, and fabrics. True to the avian nature of her true form, the 105th fancied nesting.
"Do you?" One pale finger crooked at him, black tipped nail resembling more a talon than anything.
>>>
Radu did not so much as give Dietrich even a glance when the Terran left, but inside him, something cramped with the loss of the last bit of a relative security. Now that Dietrich was gone, he was alone with the Arrancar, and she did not seem to plan to get things done quickly. The frustration choked him. He bit his lip, looked to the side to win a moment to think, and finally found the resolve to look at her; eyes dead, expression neutral. Again, he was at loss for words.
"No," he replied at last, realising a second later that his voice was suspiciously weak, and offered the attempt of a smile. The claw was worrying him. But pain was easier to deal with than that. For an instant, he was tempted to provoke a fight and end this in a more pleasant way.
>>>
“So why so distant?” Cirucci started to giggle, cruel and sadistic, small booted feet kicking. He was so… so… adorable. In that “I have no idea what I’m doing, please don’t touch me, you’re disgusting” sort of way.
“Come here, mm?” She crooked her finger again, pursing her lips and crooning delightedly, far too amused for her own good, Flouncing on the nest of pillows she sat on.
>>>
There was hardly a choice, and Radu understood that. At least the games were over now. It took him only a second to pull himself together and follow her suggestion. He tried. He honestly tried not to appear too stiff when he sat down next to her, but it was a poor attempt. He was too nervous, too disgusted, too much trying to distract himself on the other hand.
Look at her, idiot, he told himself, and did. He was not smiling anymore when searching for an explanation. He was not even sure if she really wanted one, but Dietrich's warning had been clear; and there was no worse violation than being moved and controlled by somebody else against your will.
"This is somewhat... new to me," he explained, instantly angered about himself. An Arrancar would hardly understand, even less care. But the answer was better than none at all.
>>>
Her lips pulled into a wicked smile.
“Poor baby.” She smirked, teeth biting into her bottom lip. She was enjoying this, it was blatant, enjoying his shame and embarrassment, leaning in far too close for anyone’s personal comfort, centimeters from touching him, shifting, pressing a pillow into his lap and leaning her hands on it to brace.
“No one wants Radu?~” Eyelashes fluttered, smirk widening, wanted to watch him squirm.
>>>
The proximity was sickening. And as much as he had tried to keep up his composure, he had to turn his head away, a weird mix of hot embarrassment and cold dread running under his skin. He wanted her gone, immediately before she could come even closer, and forever. His throat moved almost imperceptively when he swallowed.
"That's normally not a problem for me," he replied. Her question was irritating, and as a matter of fact, that was good to distract himself at least a little bit from the uncomfortable feeling of exposure and shame. It was a mistake perhaps, to reveal too much, but it only occurred to him after he spoke. "I don't want them either."
>>>
Cirucci eyed him. He was an interesting person, this Radu, and she wanted to break him. Slowly, one hand raised, talons gently scraping across his throat.
“Really?~” She watched him squirm in delight, pressing harder with her hands, shifting closer until they touched, the swell of breast pressing against his shoulder, a wicked smile on her face.
“Radu doesn’t want anyone?~” Her nail dragged leisurely down his jugular. “Doesn’t want to be touched?”
>>>
Shit. He shouldn't have said that. The Thunderwitch made a fickle impression, but she was no less perceptive. Or dangerous.
The instant she came close enough to touch him, leaned against him, and lifted her hand to his throat, his movement stilled entirely. Compared to the nervous, uncomfortable flinching of just moments before, he was remarkably motionless now. Staring down at the floor, he could only make out her shape from the corner of his eye. His temples were pounding hard. The hand opposed to her direction started clawing into the surface of a pillow. He was astounded how cold his voice was when he spoke. "I'm more interested in other things."
>>>
“What other things, hmm?” Oh, but that was cold. So very frigid of him, an unresponsive body… a challenge. Each breath had her closer, breasts pressed firm against him now, her lips against his jaw.
“Fighting?~” Each word brushed her mouth against him, a soft caress, experimenting. Some didn’t respond to gentle. One had to check.
“Smoking?” She sniffed disdainfully, smelling the smoke on him, on his skin, it was absolutely disgusting. Her tongue lapped a bit at the flesh there, wickedly watching for a response.
“Scheming to kill your brother?” Her hand on the other side of his throat stroked down to his collar and swirled little patterns.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Ra~du~” The Privarons’ voice was dark and playful, wicked in its intent and all together mocking.
>>>
Had he had a choice, he would have pushed the woman off him in this very second. He tried to stay calm, fought for control, lost, and still could not bring himself to respond and help to get through this faster. He breathed deeply, concentrating to suppress the disgust at Cirucci's closeness, the new and alien feeling of a body pressed against his, the sheer disgust that came with it in the face of his unwillingness. It was not painful, and that was what scared him most. Just then, and maybe it was fortunate for him, her words fell.
Scheming to kill your brother?
His head shot around, the dead expression on his face replaced by a feral snarl, and before he could hold back, he growled, "That's none of your business! And that's not what I'm here for!"
>>>
Cirucci laughed, withdrew ever so slightly to the other end of the couch, draped over pillows and instead pressed a small, dainty foot into her shoulder, the action baring far up her thighs, up the short skirt of her uniform, giggling childishly and making it near impossible to tell if she meant to incite by that action, draw his eye, or if it was an innocent mistake.
“No… I forgot, sorry~” She sing-songed, a flush of shame of her own, barely visible, perhaps perceptible as she recalled the man behind the reason he was here.
“You’re here… because that human male owns you.” Her foot tapped his neck. “No collar, per se, but he owns you.” Her smile became indulgent.
“You hate it?”
>>>
As if to answer the Thunderwitch's display, Radu averted his eyes again, lips pressed together in frustration. The games were not over, and this could go on for the rest of the night. It would have been less bad if there had not been the strain of having to wait for what was supposed to be punishment. But for now, he contemplated if it was worse to stay and entertain this woman, or to risk her and the Puppetmaster's anger and just leave. He had stood up before the decision was completely made, arms crossed and back turned at Cirucci.
"He doesn't own me," he corrected with more aggression in his voice than he intended. "He's my superior. There's a difference."
>>>
“Sit down, Radu.” Cirucci’s voice turned no-nonsense in the time it took him to stand, crossing her legs and watching him disdainfully. Such a childish boy, this one, with no concept of what he was dealing with. She gestured with her hand, palm beginning to glow as a cero charged there. She wasn’t sure if he could sense energy, as she could, didn’t care, it was intimidating on it’s own, the buzzing noise of heating air around her hand, glowing brighter.
“Don’t forget who you’re with right now.” The Privaron reminded, cruel lips twisting into a sneer.
>>>
Radu's eyes narrowed at the sight of the cero, even though he himself had no understanding what it was. However, this simple display of power was enough to remind him of his position. He did not have a choice. Grudgingly, but calmer on the outside, he sat down again, shoulders dropping only partially out of their irritated, and secretly anxious tension. "Sorry."
>>>
“Better.” The arrancar closed her fist, the cero dying in a flash of light and dry heat, her curls rippling from the press of temperature. She surveyed the Methuselah, one shapely brow arched as she did so, near disapproving before she smirked.
“You’ve never been with a woman, have you?” She asked, steering clear of the subject of Dietrich. “So young… so very mortal…” Her fingers cracked as she gestured with them. She was hundreds of years his senior and yet she appeared young and vivacious, no hint of weakness or feebleness.
>>>
He shot Cirucci a hateful glance, but knew better than to provoke her another time. "No," he answered her question flatly. She was enjoying this, or at least so it looked to him. Her questions were no less mocking than what he expected from Marionettenspieler, and yet again, there was this uncomfortable tension of waiting. He could just as well distract himself - and her - with conversation, if this was what she wanted.
With a frown, he added, "I am 18 years old and member of the court of Ţara Methuseluth." No matter if her words were harmless or not, the implication they carried irritated him.
>>>
“Oh~” Cirucci waved her hand, laughing. “Shush, you’ll make me feel like a child molester.” She sat up, gesturing him closer. How innocent, he seemed, so very young.
“I’m hundreds of years old.” She spoke calmly, centered. “105th Privaron Espada, former Quinta Espada, of Hueco Mundo, of Los Noches, of Tres Cifras.” A giggle. “But you don’t care, do you, sweetheart.” She smiled.
“And so shy~”
>>>
Maybe conversation was a bad idea in the end. It did not matter what she said, every word seemed to drain his patience and feed his aggression, but on the other hand choked his anxiety or at least let him forget about it for now.
"I do care," he lied, coldly, and then added harder, "And I am not shy."
He could not have cared less, although the sound of her words had a somewhat familiar sound to it. He decided to ask, even if only to keep her talking. "Are you from Hispania?"
>>>
“The words are Spanish, if that’s what you mean, bonito?~” She foreign words rolled off her tongue, coy and smirking. “But Italian is more my forte, bello.” She thought it was cute, that he kept trying to change the subject, crooking her finger at him once more.
“Not shy?” She drew one long leg up and pressed it into his hip. “You can’t even touch me~”
>>>
Explaining that he had no interest in touching her and was here against his will was not an option, Radu decided. Even if he had really planned to answer, her next action would have silenced him instantly. He flinched, cursing in his mind, but forced himself to stay calm. Showing weakness in front of a creature like this would not help him in any way. He noticed the crooked finger and his expression darkened an almost unnoticeable bit.
"What do you want me to do?"
>>>
“So dense~” Cirucci smirked. He wanted instruction, so be it, she could do that. “Fine~” The Privaron sat up gracefully, stretched, accenting the sinuous line from breast to hip, long, shapely legs and lithe, pale limbs as she crawled over to him predatorily.
“Sit~” The Arrancar crawled onto his lap, straddled him and easily pushed him back, far stronger than her frame should be, mouth brushing against his neck and small hands tracing down his chest.
“You know… I really hate men like you.”
>>>
Sit. That was an easy command at least. The woman's strength was surprising, and his instinctive resistance came too late, and to no avail. It was probably just as instinctive that her lips at his neck let him freeze for a second, knowing very well what real vampires' bites felt like. Her light weight mixed with her abnormal strength on top of him was a weird feeling, not completely uncomfortable, and - much to his surprise - not disturbing in itself. What was disturbing was to know that the youthful looking woman was a century-old, unstable killer.
What was even more disturbing was the prospect of what was to come.
He noticed he brought his arm between them automatically, his hand against her shoulder and muscles strained and ready to push her off. It was ridiculous. He forced himself to relax, without too much visible success, and withdrew his hand, placing it on her back instead along with the other, after a moment's hesitation. Although thin and delicate, almost too feminine for a man's hands, the skin of their palms was, as typical for an Ifrit, callused and hardened to an unnatural degree, which in nature served to protect the underlying flesh from the heat of his flames. In a situation such as this, it could be a hindrance. He had no idea about what she expected from him other than being here and letting her do what she wanted.
He had almost missed her words. Almost too late to still count as a reply, he ignored her rebuke, and only asked, "And?"
>>>
Actually, she didn’t hate Radu Barvon. She’d never hated Radu Barvon, not truly. She hated Dietrich von Lohengrin, and Radu Barvon was merely the unlucky associate. Cirucci smirked against the hesitance of his body, wondered just how hesitant he could remain. Because whether she hated him or not, whatever she denied, Cirucci Thunderwitch was a whore. She liked sex, she liked males, she liked teasing and pressing and dominating and all of this was a game to her.
To tempt, she wriggled lightly against the touch of his hands, an approving motion, arcing until they slid lower, an invitation.
“Actually…” Her lips finally touched fully, kissing lightly at his throat as she spoke. “Not so much men like you, as men like your… “superior”.” She chuckled low in her throat, nipped playfully. “But he already knows that. Poor Radu, though… when his superior makes mistakes, it seems like he’s the one who had to pay for them.” Small, nimble fingers reached up, one hand caressing the side of his face and the other idling at the fabric on his shoulder.
>>>
Being reminded of Marionettenspieler or the position he himself was in was the last thing Radu wanted right now. It was bad enough as it was. Could she not at least stop talking?
"I don't pay for them, I only-" Radu stopped short when he felt his own leg move without his command, brushing against the arrancar's in an undignified, embarrassingly inviting fashion.
No. Alarms screamed in his mind. Not yet, Puppetmaster, give me another chance!
He hated being controlled. There was nothing worse, nothing lower than losing every bit of free will you had, to lose even the power to move on your own, feel on your own, exist only by the directions another gave.
As if to respond to the manipulation and prove his willingness to finish the work alone, Radu's hands tightened their insecure hold around Cirucci's back, one in the small of her back, the other tracing the line of her spine with his fingertips. It was a clumsy, inexperienced effort.
>>>
“You only pay for them.” Cirucci finished for him, smirking cruelly against his neck. “Denial is an ugly thing, little one. Ah, there you go~” She mocked his age and inexperience, fingers dancing lightly down his arm and tapping at the hand curving up her spine, rewarding with a small squirm. She was a mocking, caustic woman, but her guiding was gentle, so far.
“Ever wonder why that is?” She nipped hard at his jugular, soothed the bite over with her tongue. “Or does Radu not mind being under someone’s heel?” Closer, she crept, until her breasts pressed against him, soft curves of a body more likened to steel and metals, to hard bone of her release, of the whip coiled on her hip.
>>>
He jerked when she bit him, although it was not unexpected. What was unexpected was her patience. She wanted him to respond to it? He did not see what it could give her, and he would have preferred to have to take as little action by himself as possible. But she wanted him to act, react, to her guide, as it seemed. She wanted to talk.
His hand found her nape and massaged the muscles with cautious pressure of his fingers. Resistance was futile, and he could just as well give her what she wanted. He gave in, sighed, turned his head away, and replied colder than his actions were, "Yes, I do. I do mind."
>>>
“I’d be worried, if you didn’t.” She bit again, frustrated with the lack of emotion in his voice. She liked responsive partners, hated the ones who made her do all the work, and, damn, was this one annoying her.
“Now… let’s get to why so shy.” The Thunderwitch licked along his ear, whispering coy. “Abused as a child?” She straddled him fully then, shifted hip to hip and pressed none too gently.
“Molested?~” The petite woman squirmed.
“Beaten?” Curious fingers dipped under the fabric at his collar.
"Traumatic past?~” She was having far too much fun with this, though.
“Perhaps… afraid of commitment?” She laughed lightly, experimentally ground down on his hips, short skirt riding up pale thighs. “Afraid of being vulnerable?~”
>>>
Radu never had a chance to react, and maybe - most likely - that was good. When he did, it already was not him anymore. His eyes darkened the slightest bit when she ground against him, an air of amusement hidden inside them. He still managed to keep still, but his grip on her neck tightened, at her words or at her actions.
"Does it matter?" he asked, returning his gaze to meet hers slowly, expression shielded by a dangerous calm. The hardness faded in the next moment, and made space for a weak smile. He lowered his eyes and bit his lip in embarrassment, trying to ban the shaking from his voice. "I am... yours. T-That is what matters now, isn't... isn't it?"
>>>
“No, it isn’t.” Cirucci’s voice hardened equally and she drew back. “You aren’t mine, your his.” She was getting angry, that was evident, in the way her body stiffened, the dark cast to purple eyes, and the sneer on painted lips.
“What matters…” He seemed odd and she couldn’t put her finger on it, withdrew her hand from the fabric of his shirt and instead casually stabbed her fingers through his right shoulder, her sneer slowly morphing into a manic grin.
“Can you guess, Radu?” Cruelly, her fingers curled.
>>>
Freed from Marionettenspieler's control momentarily, he let out a gasp, quickly holding back a scream, expression changing from the shy embarrassment to a mask of shock, to a hateful, utter rage. An attack was an attack, and something he could deal with better than with the awkward situation that had been arranged for them. Instantly, his hand left her nape, to close around her neck, finger nails - although still in human shape - digging into her skin. He did not care what he was doing or what it would mean for him later. "Tell me," he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes shining in a rage as manic as her grin.
>>>
“What matters…” She seemed unfazed by his grip on her neck, she doubted her could do much damage if he tried, not against the natural hierro of her skin that all Arrancar possessed. She could slam her hand down on a shard of glass, and the skin would not break. Slowly she pressed her fingers deeper, cruel talons cutting through muscle until they clicked against bone.
“What matters is what you run and tell that prick of a human.” Her voice had begun to resemble a snarl. “Whether you go to him and tell him I’m easy prey or if you run back with your fucking tail between your legs.” She was insane, this was becoming clear, able to switch between moods, between gentle and kind to harsh and unforgiving in the time it took people to speak just one wrong word.
Her other hand began to reach for the whip on her hip.
“And believe me, Radu Barvon, you’ll not be reporting I’m some weak little slut.”
>>>
Well, this was bad. His grip was useless and she not only crazy, but in need to prove a point, although it was not as if he thought that far right now. Radu flinched and barely could bite back a whimper, lips pressed together tightly and teeth clenched. He was not unused to pain, but this was mind-numbing in the first instant. It was a challenge, though, and not one to which he could submit. Almost stubborn, to cover the pain by the pain in his strained muscles, he tightened his grip, whether or not it would have any effect on the arrancar. It was more a matter of pride than anything. He needed to distract himself.
>>>
Her demeanor changed again, hand reaching the whip on her hip and the cicular blade strung on the wire snapped out before she coiled it around his neck, the wires manipulated so skilfully it seemed like they had a life of their own. With a wet noise her fingers withdrew from his shoulder and she idly licked the blood off the pale digits as she observed him for a moment, coldly indifferent to the hand on her neck.
She had stopped breathing. Her chest had stilled, no air in her lungs, but she showed no ill effect.
With an idle flick of her wrist, wrapped on sword hilt, and her other fisted in his clothing, the Privaron casually tossed the Methuselah at the wall.
>>>
The impact was not so hard that it would have done real damage to the body of a Methuselah, but it hurt nonetheless. It hurt, his shoulder hurt although it was regenerating, and the aggression felt good. Radu caught himself, supported against the wall, and clenched his fist. But something let him hold back. He could not attack her, even under these circumstances. He could not, but-
He did not care. Flames sparked up from his palm when his hand unclenched, even though he did not throw them yet. The warning was clear enough. And somehow, even with the minimal chance of winning or coming out of this alive, he longed for the chance.
>>>
“I’m not so sure you want to do that, Radu Barvon.” The whip cracked, the circular blade spinning, the loud and abrasive squeal of metal on metal wire, occasionally sparking. It would seem odd that the Privaron could cut an intimidating figure, with her small, delicate form and impractical clothing, the small dress, pristine white, but she could, when she had that look in her eye and that smile on her lips.
“I’ll let you make a choice, since you want to play like a big boy.” She smirked wider. “I could fire this cero and obliterate your top half, I’m not sure you’d regenerate that.” The cero in her palm winked into existence and vanished just as quickly. “I could use bala, that might break all the bones in your torso. Or perhaps you’d like to see my release form?” Her eyes reflected nothing even as she approached him, sharp and perilous, unheeding of the flame he held. “Or, you can start playing by my rules, like the obedient little toy you are.”
>>>
It was a short struggle. Their eyes met for an instant, hot-glaring rage and cold emptiness, before it was decided. He looked away, the flame in his palm dying out, hand sinking. He would not give her any more pleasure in this than he had to.
"Understood." There was no emotion in his voice, but the hate-filled glare he offered made up for it. The choices were to either accept, or be forced to accept, by her or Marionettenspieler. It did not matter. There were other ways he could at least passively pay her back.
>>>
“Good boy.” She chuckled, approaching until she could take his chin in her hand, other recoiling the whip and blade to her hip, petting it with more affection she showed most of her males. She looked him over like one would look a horse over, lips pursed in thought.
“You know… there’s something odd about bedding mortals.” She blinked lazily, eyeing. “To know that you’re fucking something that ages… hmm… that dies of old age.” Arrancar never died like that. “Odd. Especially young things… so prim.” She looped her fingers though the ornaments on his uniform. “Proper.” She tugged. “Of course… there’s the stamina issue.” She calmly began undoing the uniform, speaking gently. “Mortals hardly ever last, they get tired so quickly. And you always have to worry about breaking them, they don’t have any hierro.” Nimble fingers worked at buttons. “It’s hard to be so gentle, you know. Being violent is best, but if you get a little carried away with a mortal, well…”
Her voice died to a fell whisper.
“You can break it.”
>>>
"Methuselah aren't easy to break, I ensure you." His glare was reaching murderous dimensions again, but he refrained from trying to threaten her again. He was not going to get out of this. Her mocking was hitting him where it was supposed to, harder than he dared to admit. Had he had a choice - and a chance - he would have loved to tear her small hands out like wings of a butterfly. But he held back, and forced himself to relaxed, signifying that this time he would not put up a fight. The woman was confusing enough as it was. He could not tell what she wanted him to do - to hold back, to submit, to put up a fight and give her a reason to put him down again?
"What do you want?" he put his confusion into words, with more aggression behind them than real interest. "What do you want me to do?! You told me to come here, I did - and what now?"
>>>
“To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure~” She smirked up at him, tapping at his chest as she undid the buttons of the uniform.
“I just really wanted to piss off that little human of yours. And I really don’t like people touching my things, so, I figure he doesn’t like other people playing with his pets either.” Cirucci shrugged, as if owning people were the easiest thing, like viewing people like that was perfectly fine.
“So~ How’s that for spur of the moment, hmm, Radu?” The Privaron smiled viciously before her hand ran through his hair, patting as one would pat a dog.
“But now that you’re here~” A sing song voice that sounded so much scarier than it should as her fingers traced down his chest.
“Let’s have some fun.”
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